BELLA CORE

♢  —    @ncrthlandbank​​ asked:   It’s not what it looks like! - vlad maybe

caught snooping meme: ACCEPTING

  Someone DARED to snoop in his room? Especially someone who was NOT a harbinger? Credit where it was due, it was a level of BRAVERY and STUPIDITY he had not encountered in a very long time. It wasn’t every day a lamb pranced itself into the wolf’s den to let its blood be spilt upon the ground. This might not be Dottore’s MAIN residence, but the DOCTOR would have no qualms in REDECORATING the room with shades of red. Maybe it was lucky, maybe it was unlucky that Dottore was not currently working on a project that required more test subjects.

   His arms remained folded ACROSS his chest as he regards the fatui member. “  That is a rather PATHETIC opening line if you are hoping for MERCY.  Do tell me that’s not what ALL  the lower ranks are saying these days? No wonder the troops are taking a beating if so.  “  Although that wasn’t HIS problem so much as it was more Capitano’s.

   The door swings shut behind Dottore as he steps FURTHER into the room, blocking off any potential ESCAPE from this particular spot. The CALM that surrounded Dottore was not the relaxing kind. It was the kind of stillness before a TSUNAMI swept through a beach, devouring and destroying what was in its path. It is not so different from the truth of how Dottore had made his way to where he was now. But for now he grasps a chair from the desk of the temporary room, dragging it further out.

   “  Sit.  “  An ORDER, not a suggestion or offer. Obeying would be the BEST BET at potentially leaving the harbinger’s den ALIVE rather than in pieces- if that.  “  Looking for something to sell? Or perhaps information?  “  DISDAIN oozed from his voice as he leaned against the desk, masked visage facing the would-be trespasser and potential thief.

   A black glove casually reaches inside his coat till he pulls out a syringe filled with an amber-colored liquid that draws a HOSTILE smile from the harbinger.  “  I suggest you start explaining yourself then if this is not what it looks like. Otherwise, well...  “  His voice trails off to glance at the syringe in hand as he gives it a small squeeze to allow a drop of the liquid to raise to the edge of the needle.  “  There’s more ways than ONE to get the truth out. I assure you, they are FAR WORSE than whatever you think just telling the truth might garner you.  “

God of Dust and Paper

I try to imagine you, on occasion

I am not unique in this; we have been trying to depict the God of Creation

For generations. Paintings by Michelangelo, Giovanni and so on

Show an old man with flowing robes and white beard drawn

With that near blinding backdrop of light that washes out any details

This is consistently the image that prevails

How much is interpretation or carefully sculpted commissions doesn’t matter I guess

They are all piss poor pitiful representations that can’t capture your essence

I wonder if paintings and sculptures aren’t the only places where your essence gets missed

But that’s a different conversation so let’s not drift

Consistently you have been depicted passive and watching with bold sharp strokes

I remember the first time I saw a version of you when I still went to church with my folks

I was still a kid, listening to a fire and brimstone sermon under your sketchthin narrow eyes

Only true believers get through the narrow gate to make it to that place in the sky

Make sure you are one by following the rules and properly-staying inline

I remember my crooked bare feet and straight back spine

Trying to understand all those lines and keep away from any one side

All of these laws I was scrambling to obey and categorize

Imagine my anxiety and fear when I couldn’t fit in any of this unyielding framework

It wasn’t until years later when I started ironing out these odd quirks

That even you couldn’t possibly fit in the form or proportions of this visage

If we were created in your image

I wonder if there is any flesh to you that yields under touch

I wonder if there is any fat to you that I could clutch

Any softness I could press into and find some small amount of comfort

Do you bruise or ache from the work suffered

Or are you some Adonis from muscle and stone

Unyielding, omnipotent, omniscient creator on an equally hard throne

I think about hands hard enough to leave craters and impressions on this earth

And question if we, your creations, leave any impression on you, any at all since the first birth

Created in your image. But what shape of eye, what color, what form would be worthy to mimic you?

Is it even possible to touch you, assuming your form isn’t a light that’s too bright to see through

Or a fire that just burns like searing stars or sweltering suns

Or a live coal pressed to the lips to cleanse an unclean tongue

I imagine you drifting across the cosmos, expanding universes, decorating galaxies,

I try to imagine the world before it understood the meaning of causalities

Like a child, exploring color, heat, gravity, these cycles and rings, and halos

Breathing stars and gathering them on the tips of your fingers, refracting the light just so

These particles of darkness warping around the pureness of your light

Even black holes, insatiable for something hearty and bright

Do not have the audacity to reach for the hem of your cloak

I imagine your finishing touches on this solar system you invoked

The Spirit moving over the face of the waters

It was here you decided to add to your titles: The Potter

These particles not yet formed, but you saw our shape

And decided yes, in this nothing, I will create

A being with purpose and meaning and love and in my image

Not even the angels of heaven had such a privilege.

I wonder what the angels were thinking or if they wanted to ask your reasoning

When you swept up a pile of dust and dirt and decided it was worth something

May I be honest with you, can I leave it all on the floor?

I swear that there is an atom, some lingering molecule deep in my core

That knows that this is what we were formed

This clay, this dust, this dirt it is just transformed

We were meant to be kicked up and pushed aside

Swept and collected into the trash to be tossed outside

Cleaned and scoured away in a great flood

Staining clothes and smudging skin we were meant to be washed away

We were meant to unwanted, to be less than nothing

But you gathered all these atoms up and decided that we could be something

Collected the dust of the ground and created Adam. The first person  

Created knowing that we would be stupid enough to listen to a serpent

So, you formed these bodies and called them temples

Created in your image, these were assembled

Honestly, there are days when that feels like blasphemy

The audacity that holiness could be mimicked in this anatomy

You knew we wouldn’t house you in here either

You knew we would turn to smaller gods, creatures, and clever deceivers

Easier ideas and concepts that we could comprehend

Things that took less time and energy to love and tend

Can we be honest? There are days you hard to understand and hard to love

There are days when this world you created is hard to love

When your people, your precious children, are hard to love

When this body of Christ, this temple that is supposed to be peace and grace gifted from above

Is really hard to love?

Be honest with me, tell me we are hard to love.

Can we be honest that love is hard

Why did you think we could handle the ability to love?

But you did it anyway, only you know why

Broken bones, dust, clay, maybe kilned in holy fire or stardust, I’ll ask when I die

You created these temples then made it an option to house you

Some of us try to create a place worthy enough

For our Creator, Worldbuilder, and celestial maker who causally breathes star stuff  

When we can only work from that which we were created

Insecure and fumbling, arguing to understand the basics of the sacred

Do you hear the joints creek, these stones grinding under thin plaster

Do you feel the columns sway sometimes with natural disasters

Do you know why there is no ceiling

I am constantly looking up to see if there is any sense to my kneeling

The only thing stable here is the dirt floor

The impression of our knees side by side the only thing I have of your presence to account for

I try to imagine the temple erected by Solomon gilded in gold and bronze and iron

I think about your throne, of cherubim, ophanim, and seraphim choirs

I think about how if ethereal beings of light and star and fire are beneath you

If the Holy City will be paved in gold and thousands of precious stones imbued

What does this temple of mine have to offer?

What devotions, what praises, what love could I possible sing

There is nothing on this earth worthy enough to bring

What could I possible place upon this flickering heartsized alter

These graceless inadequate words that the fill air isn’t even mine to take

I’m just filling it, filling it like all these empty pages with essays and poems I make

These prayers acting more like letters and conversations

Is there any worth to these lengthy exchanges?

Hoping that something of value might span the generations

There were offerings here: lacethin smoke deliberations

The curlcrush edge of careful consideration and investigation

But even these will fade, reaching back to where they began

Dust back to dust, before there was earth, sun, moon or man

The temples of old were stained with blood and mine is as well

But the blood is not mine, and I could not conquer hell

Smeared on the altar and the door frame

Your lion turned lamb son sacrificed and slain

Dark skies, earthquakes, resurrected saints, weeping angels, is this how you grieve?

Was it you tearing your own cloak, when the curtain of the temple was cleaved?

There are days when I wonder if the tears that dot these floors are yours or mine

If maybe there is a reason one of the best known miracles was turning water into wine

Are there days when you really look at what we are and what we’ve done

And the reflection it makes, however distorted, about you, the holy spirit, and your son?

Made in your image and I’m told you never regret it

That you love us still, no matter if we do or do not commit

The only thing I have to offer is my life, my heart, my soul and mind  

To a being that literally, not even in images, can be confined

All temples will fall. To ruin, to destruction or to time

Even Moses, David, and Elijah left only blueprints behind

I’d like to think, after this temple of mine falls

No imprints in the sand, just shelves filled in the walls

That somebody might still pass over and say

“This is holy ground, this space of paper, dust, and clay

Love lived here, and though its alter is cold

The offerings and gifts given have been increased a hundredfold”

When they run their hands over the edges now flush

And the corners powdersoft in the climbing brush

I hope they find the core of you and all the details you adorned

I hope they say that I was well-loved and not well worn

You are a God of Love and Creation and Majesty

Glory be to the hands that weaved the tapestry of humanity

But you are also my God, a God of dust and paper

And I wonder what will happen when the efforts of my labor

Are blown away as softly as golden sand in the blazing desert

Will you collect those pieces as delicately as Adam in the dirt

Made in your image, but if I am completely honest

Of everything we have spoken of, may I have one small promise

If, in the end, I only return from that which I was created

Dust back to dust, it would have been worth it if I just could be designated

These particles of mine just placed in your brilliant light

To dance and float and shine. It would be worth every fight

Made in your image, let me see what that meant

Until then, I will do what I can with what little I understand, to represent.

Nothing Like the Real Thing

Read on AO3

"It's like sex. You do it often enough and eventually the thrill wears off."

"Pfft." The noise might have been derisive or might have been amused or both. It was hard to tell, muffled as it was under layers of polystyrene and fiberglass. "I seriously doubt it. Just because you're above it all doesn't mean I have to be."

Sloane shrugged and did not respond immediately. The late sun's rays splintered into spikes as they hit the edge of the steel garage door. They pricked the corners of her vision and made her eyes sting until they watered. She turned away from it to look at the small woman whose head rested in her lap. Her raven mask created blind spots at the edges of her vision, a black frame encircling the world, so that she could not see all of the halfling at once. Not that she would've gotten a good look regardless. The Ram still wore the bone-white visage of her namesake over her face. Horns curved backwards from the top of the glaring skull to curl around her slightly pointed ears.

This level of contact would not have been feasible months ago, when they had only just begun to race together. In the beginning, Sloane had tensed even at the accidental brush of their greasy knuckles as the Ram passed her a wrench. But she had been forced to get used to it. There had been enough of holding ice packs against one another's bruises and burns, enough all-nighters working on the wagon when they fell asleep slumped against each other, enough celebratory embraces after they had flown over the finish line both smelling of blood and dust. Touching between the two of them was, by now, nothing out of the ordinary and nothing especially meaningful.

At least, Sloane told herself that. She could even believe it up until the moment when they actually made contact. Somehow, she always forgot just how it set her off tingling whenever they touched. It caught her off-guard every time.

"I'm just saying," Sloane went on, "I've been doing this longer than you. Winning races is always great and everything, but the adrenaline rush isn't always there after awhile. You won't always have the novelty of it. You know someone's really accomplished when they just take winning in stride because they've gotten so used to it. Like me."

"Wow. You're so cool."

"Why thank you!" Sloane answered brightly, blatantly ignoring the sarcasm.

The Ram giggled and then shook her head. "Anyway, I don't believe it," she said softly. "I don't think it'll happen for me at least. You can never quite remember just what it's like until you're there in the thick of it, you know? The way the wind feels in your hair and the way the cheering drowns out everything else. You just can't replicate it, I don't think."

Maybe, for the Ram, that would indeed be true. She was hungry for life, in a way that Sloane had seldom seen in other people. Open to it, not in the sense that she passively accepted whatever was thrown at her, but that she threw herself into the thick of things simply for the experience and for the knowing. It was not the nihilism that others displayed on the track. The Ram didn't drive like today was her last, but rather like she was trying to prove herself immortal. Her racing moniker--although not befitting the unified goth corvid aesthetic that Sloane had so carefully cultivated--was well chosen. She didn't race against their competitors. She charged toward the western sun and tried to outpace it so that it would never set on her. The other racers were just in her way.

Sloane's eyes had started to drift down to the Ram's toned arms, where freckles dusted the skin like snowflakes that had yet to melt. She caught herself trying to trace their pattern, trying to memorize the exact curvature of the muscles, and viciously chastised herself. That would only lead to self-torment. She had tried, in the past, to scan crowds for the Ram, searching for halflings with the same stout body type and slightly springy gait. But she had never found any quite like her, and there was no point anyway,. The Ram had insisted on the utmost discretion from the very beginning. That had been just fine by Sloane. It was strictly business. They would not acknowledge each other outside of the track and the garage. Personal lives were to be discussed in only the vaguest of terms. And no taking off the masks.

"And hey," said the Ram, "your experiences are not universal. Maybe you've just been having bad sex."

"Hey, fuck you!" Sloane shot back, hoping she could hear the smile in her voice. "I'll have you know I have fantastic sex on a very regular basis."

"Right. That's why you're in here with me almost every night working on the wagon."

Sloane snorted. "Well, there's the pot calling the kettle black. If I'm not getting any, you're not either, are you?"

"We've both been busy, I guess," she murmured, drumming her fingers lightly against Sloane's thigh. Her flesh felt almost unbearably sensitive, all of a sudden, almost ticklish.

"Yeah." Sloane swallowed. "Yeah, we have. Too many nights with just the two of us, huh?"

For a second, she regretted saying it, as the Ram turned away from the sunset outside to look up at her. But then, she answered, "It's just...I always find I'd rather spend all my time in this garage." Sloane may or may not have imagined the note of wistfulness in her voice. She wished to the gods she could have made out her expression.

"I know what you mean."

"What happened to all that fantastic sex you keep having?"

"I lied, Ram. I'm a criminal. We do that."

"Guess so," she murmured. The Ram's chest expanded as she inhaled and seemed to just keep inhaling. She held the breath for a long time, as though waiting for some sort of cue to release. For her own part, Sloane's muscles were knotting by the second as she waited in the hot silence.

"Raven," the Ram breathed at last.

"Yeah, Lamb Chop?"

She snickered, and for an instant the tension ebbed. "I've told you that's the dumbest fucking nickname possible."

"I think it's fun." Sloane hoped her nervousness did not leak through her teeth. "You know, like the little sheep puppet? You ever see that thing? Everyone loves--"

"Can I kiss you?"

The words came out fast and sudden and struck her between the eyes hard enough to daze her. She had to take several moments to process their meaning, then several moments longer to try to convince herself that she had simply misheard. But no. The Ram was sitting up, now, and turned toward her, fixed on her.

Sloane stared, and considered it lucky that her face was covered, because she undoubtedly would have looked like an idiot. otherwise. After a time, she was able to pick up her jaw and use it for speech. "Uh. No?" She shook her head quickly. "I mean, it's not that--we can't, you know? That was your rule, the thing about the masks."

There was a slight strain to the Ram's voice as she murmured, "No one kisses with their eyes open anyway. We could just close our eyes while we had the masks off. There's no catch here, I swear on whatever god you like, there isn't. Just this once, just for a second, I...I just want to know what it'd be like." Sloane heard her voice deflate into something quiet and unsure as she reached the end of the last sentence. That hardly ever happened, high and bold and buoyant as it was. She turned away. "But you don't want to. Fuck, I can't believe how stupid this is. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have even...if you don't want to, I--"

"Wait, no, I..." Sloane thought about it. Or, rather, she tried to. Thoughts coursed around her skull too quickly for her to get a grip on them, so quickly that they blurred, until they were formless and incoherent and little more than streaks of color, of emotion. All she could do was feel, and all she could feel was want. It was, in fact, a stupid thing to do. Idiotic, first to expose herself and then to kiss someone whom she had never really seen before. A completely pointless risk. And nothing, nothing, not the diamond necklaces tucked away in the aristocrats' safes nor the finish line near the cliff had ever tempted her more. Nothing had ever seemed more worth it.

Her heartbeat was powerful enough to make her whole body quiver with it as grabbed the beak of her mask. "On three?" And the Ram nodded.

At first, she squeezed her eyes shut hard enough to make colors spark out of the darkness. She screwed them shut against her temptation to look, just once. For a moment, she sat unmoving and waited for anything, any sound of movement or any sudden touch coming from out of the dark. But none came. All she heard was breathing, her own and another's, one shallow and one steady. She had not noticed the sounds before.

Finally, she whispered, "Are you...do you want me to start?"

"If you're alright with that. If you're ready."

"Yeah."

The bench on which they sat creaked as Sloane pulled herself forward on it. That brought her close enough to sense soft, cool breaths whispering faintly along her skin. A sudden shiver jolted through her. She felt cold, and electrified. Every inch of her seemed to reach out for contact, every one of the fine hairs that stood up on her arm and the tiny raised bumps that now peppered her flesh. The rhythm of the Ram's breathing was not so steady now. It quickened and hitched as she moved nearer.

Carefully, she moved her hand forward, not so much to touch as to orient herself in her blindness. She searched for a center that she could cling to, when before she had been moving directionless through the black. She found it as her fingertips brushed the spot just above the Ram's breast. When she lay her palm flat against the expanse of her broad chest, her fingers curved over the hard rod of her collarbone. She could fit her thumb into the divot behind it and feel the velvet-soft skin there.

Up over the thick shoulder, rounded with muscle. This was the part that Sloane knew well, the soft strength of her arms. She paused just as her hand began to travel upwards, following the upward turn of the side of the neck. Perhaps she would have been too nervous to go on had it not been for the hand that she felt slip underneath her arm and wrap around her waist, tugging her nearer, just a little. Small fingers lightly gripped the fabric on the back of Sloane's shirt. Her blood ran hot. She traced the neck with two fingers. Sloane could tell that the Ram tilted her head upward to expose it fully, as the muscles shifted beneath her and she felt every hard ring of the throat as she traveled up and up, then around the chin until she reached the fragile, full lower lip, which gave so easily when she pressed a little bit into it.

The Ram's mouth was slightly open. She knew by the periodic rush of warm air over her knuckles. She pulled her fingers away. It would have been easy to meld their bodies together right then, but it was not the time just yet.

Instead, her palm settled on a strikingly warm, soft cheek. The Ram seemed to lean into it, like a cat. Behind her ear, amidst the fuzz of her shaved head, Sloane's fingers ran over ridges, rough and uneven. Scars, previously unknown to her, interrupted the topography of the halfling's head. Some were so wide that she could nearly stick her finger into the gap where the flesh had been excised. Were they all racing injuries? She doubted it. She went over and over them, trying to read them like Braille, like a map in three dimensions. As though her touch could have coaxed out the stories buried beneath the layers of hardened flesh, the memories deep in the skull. She wanted to know who she was, this woman whom she felt she could simply fall into. There was so little she knew, even now.

A moment of doubt unsteadied her. Furrowing her brow, she ran her thumb over the Ram's cheekbone, then, after a moment's wondering, moved up to brush, as lightly as possible, over the eye. She made contact with the delicate closed eyelid. The Ram chuckled, and it sounded the way a steaming cup of coffee felt. "You don't trust me?" she asked gently. "I'm not going to peek." She took Sloane's hand and placed it, carefully, over her own forehead. Sloane could feel the featheriness of the Ram's eyelashes and the slight movement of her eyes against her palm. Everything about her was hot and real and so, so close but not close enough.

It was impossible to say who kissed first. When she went to seize the Ram's lips, she could already feel her pushing against her, ready to take Sloane in. They settled into a cycle of give-and-take, with Sloane moving in further and further towards her until she finally pushed back, smoothly overtook and enveloped her like an oncoming wave, making Sloane lean back. But more than anything else she sensed the Ram's fist entangled in her hair, gripping it close to the roots. Occasionally she would tighten her hold and place a type of tension on the scalp that was not quite pain but close to it, close enough to make it feel dangerous and therefore tempting. Everything in this moment was something Sloane wanted. She wanted to hoard every sensation and detail for herself so that she could revisit them again and again, have them even in the privacy and darkness of her own room. But this was the sort of thrill that could not be replicated, the kind that, she thought, would feel new every time. She needed the real thing.

After what seemed like ages and like too short a time, Sloane broke away to recover her breath, but it hadn't been enough for the Ram. Nothing had ever been enough for her. While Sloane panted slightly, the Ram nuzzled the crook of her neck and planted feather-soft kisses along it, trailing upwards towards her jaw. When she kissed the side of her mouth, she paused, then ran a finger along the upward curve of the lips and giggled. "Are you smiling?" the Ram asked, almost playful.

Sloane gave a soft laugh as well, which only made her grin grow broader. "Are you?"

"Yes. I am."

Good. You always should, Sloane thought before she could stop herself, and that was how she knew, for sure, that she was slipping into something that would be difficult if not impossible to get out of. If her guess was right, she would have no reason to want to.

They connected again, and Sloane wanted nothing but to take all of her in, to know her, to know her.

The scream of breaking glass sounded behind Sloane's head. They both gasped in shock as she whipped around. She had to blink hard to clear her vision, and when she did the flames shooting up from the middle of the floor seared her eyes that had adjusted to the dark.

She leapt to the small smashed window, grabbing the hand-crossbow that she kept near the wall and pointing it through the opening in one motion. Behind her, she heard the rumbling of a small sound wave, and the crackle of the still-burning magic missile diminished. The Ram handled the thing the same way she deflected ranged attacks on the track, using the magical energy from her body to push it away, which left Sloane free to scan for Hammerhead fucks. But all she heard was the faint patter of footsteps disappearing down one of the many alleyways. That was fine. She could get back at them later. She knew how the door to their garage could be jiggered open and figured she could use a couple of spare radiators that they wouldn't miss.

She turned back, mouth open as she prepared to ask her partner if she was alright, since she always asked after a close call like that. Except every other time she had asked that question, her face had been concealed. It was only when she looked back and saw the face of the Ram for the first time that she remembered they were both unmasked.

The Ram was still stamping out the last of the little fires that had been ignited on the floor--the fire extinguisher on the wall was reserved for the real disasters. She looked up from the black scorch marks a second after Sloane saw her and froze, lips parted. For the glorious half-second or so before recognition set in, she was gorgeous. Sunset-red curls, which had before been hidden by the helmet-like mask that covered her whole head, were fluffed up and shone in the late light. A trail of freckles ran across the bridge of her nose and her round, still-flushed cheeks. Her eyes were large and brown and softly blinked at Sloane, as though in wondering.

All of which would have been lovely, had those same features not belonged to Lieutenant fucking Hurley.

"Son of a bitch," she hissed as she sprang away, as though the halfling were about to detonate. Instinctively, she threw her hand up over her face to cover it, but she knew it was too late. They both knew.

"Wait, wait, please just listen for a second."

Her heart was so far up her throat she feared she would vomit it up. The cop was blocking the door, and the window was too small for her to crawl through quickly, even if she toughed out the broken glass. She could only back up against the wall and wait until she was given an opening to slip past. The lieutenant was quick--she knew that implicitly, she realized with another wave of nausea, because the Ram was quick--but she was faster.

Hurley's hands were raised in front of her, palms out in a gesture of appeasement, as if she had a hope of that at this moment. "Raven, I'm sorry, just don't--"

"Oh, yeah, take off my fucking mask for you, right? You lying motherfucker!" How long had she been sitting there just now with her eyes open while Sloane stupidly refused to look? How much information had she gathered while letting Sloane believe that she was the one learning the Ram?

"No, no, this wasn't supposed to happen. I didn't mean..." She stopped and shook her head quickly. Sloane could almost hear her swallow as she glanced away. There was a touch of desperation in her voice, and Sloane hated hearing it, and she hated herself for hating it. "I'm sorry, you're...I shouldn't be asking you to stick around. You're free to go, okay? I understand if you...if you don't want to see me anymore."

Sloane stared at her. "Wh...hell no, I'm not leaving, now that you've said that. How many cops are waiting for me out there, huh?"

"This isn't like that!"

"Or the second I have my back turned you're just going to call up half your department to come--"

Immediately, Hurley took her stone of far-speech out of her pocket, held it up for Sloane to see, and then chucked it overhand like a baseball out of the garage.

Sloane followed its path with her eyes, then snapped her gaze back to look at Hurley, whose arms now hung at her sides. "It's just the two of us," she said quietly. "I promise."

The Ram had never once broken a promise.

Sloane took in a breath that shook her chest. "Why the fuck wouldn't you try to bring me in?"

She smiled a little in return. Sloane used to imagine what her smile would look like. She had imagined it to be dimpled. She was right. "Don't you think that if I were going to arrest you, I would've had plenty of chances before now?"

That, her slightly less panic-addled brain had to admit, was a fair point. "Maybe you were waiting for the right time," she mumbled. "Or for more evidence." But even she knew she sounded doubtful.

Hurley laughed. "Raven, if I..." She paused. "I...I guess that's not really your name, is it?" In response to the glare that Sloane fired at her, she smirked. "Do you really think it's going to make much of a difference now if I know your name?"

She turned away from Hurley and let out her breath in a huff. Regrettably, she was right again. "It's Sloane," she said after a silence.

"Hurley."

"I'm aware," she grumbled.

The lieutenant extended her hand. Sloane just cocked her eyebrow and looked at it, then at her face, then back at the hand. Hurley gave a little shrug with one shoulder. "Since it's the first time we're meeting formally."

"Why are you here? If not to catch me, why?"

Her arm slowly began to droop down, along with her smile. "Same as you," she murmured. "To race."

Sloane scoffed. "That's it? You, star lieutenant, decided to go against every ounce of training you ever got and work with the Raven just for kicks?"

"Would you believe it?"

She thought back to the familiar sound of the Ram's wild, screaming laughter that could be heard even over the consuming drone of engines. How she had worked for thirty-six hours straight once to get the wagon in shape for the Calaveras Sprint. How she appeared more often than not with dust in every crevice, having taken the machine far out into the desert for yet another "test run." All the charming things. "I believe it," Sloane answered quietly. She wrapped her arms around herself and turned her back on Hurley, staring at the wall of wrenches and welding torches. "That's really the only reason?"

"It was." The two words were barely audible, but they made Sloane's ears prick up before she could stop them. She glanced over her shoulder to find Hurley back on the bench, eyes turned downward, rubbing the back of her neck. "For the record, I've never tried that hard to arrest you. Even on the clock. That'd be bad for both of us."

"Not all bad for you, right? Bet you'd get a nice raise or some shit if you caught me."

"And I'd never be able to come back here again." She sighed. "I'm sorry for making this difficult, Sloane. And...for everything else, I guess. You probably have no reason to believe me, but none of this is going to leave this garage."

It was strange to hear her name coming from the Ram's mouth. She couldn't tell whether she liked it or not. "So that was all real, huh? Just now, I mean."

Sloane heard her inhale deeply, as though to brace herself. "Yes."

With a long sigh, she brought her hand up to run through her long hair, but resisted the urge to tug on it. Even so, she could still very nearly feel the phantom tingling near her roots where the Ram had pulled her closer. She would not have been able to recreate the feeling herself anyway. It wouldn't be the same. "Well, that's fucking inconvenient."

It was growing dim. Outside, the sky was red-orange where it was not dark. "Can I tell you something?" Sloane didn't answer during the pause, but Hurley still went on, "I didn't want to see your face today anyway. I was always scared you'd see me without the mask, but after awhile I thought it'd be even worse to see you without yours."

"Why?"

"'Cause I thought you might be beautiful." Sloane barely managed to suppress her gasp, but there was no way to hold back the heat she felt creeping up her neck. "And if you were, I thought I'd see you and that'd be it, and I'd finally be in too deep. I was right." She spun around to find Hurley still staring at the ground, this time smiling with something like regret. She saw the last light of day hit her face in profile and curve off her smooth cheeks and in too deep, in too deep reverberated inside the chamber of her skull, dulling all other thoughts.

So Lieutenant Hurley really was the Ram. It hadn't fully sunk in for her until that moment. She didn't know many others besides the Ram who would be so goddamn blunt.

"You..." Her face was overheated, she felt her mind short, and the only thing she could think to do was stamp her foot like a petulant child and shout, "Dammit! You can't just say that shit to me!"

"Sorry," Hurley chuckled. "I was just being honest."

She huffed and dropped her forehead into her hand. It sat there heavily for a moment before she slowly looked up again. She made the mistake of making eye-contact. Hurley's wide gaze seemed to plea with her.

For another long while, she hesitated, until finally she went to sit on the bench next to the Ram the way that she always had. Out of the corner of her vision, she noticed Hurley stare with her eyebrows arched in surprise, but she did not turn to face her even as she spoke.

"I hate your kind," she started. "Not just for personal reasons, either. I'd still think the militia was scum even if I weren't on your most wanted list."

To her surprise, Hurley mumbled, "Understandable."

Sloane sighed. "You're also the best racer I've ever met, and an even better partner. You've saved my literal, whole-ass life on multiple occasions, and I guess I've done the same for you. And..." And the Ram always seemed to glow like a small sun. And in spite of all the secrecy Sloane had still never felt more comfortable with any other person. And sometimes she got up in the morning purely because of the knowledge that she would see the Ram later. And she felt lighter just walking in to find her in the garage. And even now a part of her wanted to slip into the arms of, yes, Lieutenant Hurley. "And there's other things, too," she finished weakly.

"Are you saying you still want to be partners?"

"Well. Damned if I do and damned if I don't, I guess."

Hurley glanced at her again. There was a nervousness in her eyes, but something else, too, that made them sparkle even under her furrowed brow. The wood beneath them groaned again as she slid over. She did not so much lean on Sloane as simply touch shoulders with her. Warmth seeped from her body into Sloane's. If she let it go on long enough, the tautness in her flight-response-ready muscles would gradually melt away, and she would be off her guard.

Sloane looked down at the woman at her side, bared to her, entirely, for the first time. The adrenaline and fear in her blood had congealed into thick exhaustion, weighing down her limbs. Her thoughts spun her around, and she didn't feel like thinking them anymore. All she saw was the head of curls beneath her.

Gradually, she bent over slightly, just enough to rest her chin on top of the fluffy locks. She didn't need to look down to know the way Hurley exhaled and curled against her chest. No other feeling came close.

"Shit," she whispered and then kissed Hurley again. It was dark all around now, and she let herself sink.

((Please consider reblogging if you enjoyed!))

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde rewritten Ch. 05

(A/N: This one will be kinda violent, but without bloodshed.)

5. The not-quite-murder case Lady Summers was on one of her nightly walks, deep in thought. A few days earlier, a very upset Utterson had called her in the afternoon, reporting what a certain doctor had told him the previous evening. Now she wanted to lecture Dr. Jekyll more than ever. She liked to think of herself as an impartial and non-judgemental person, but with what she knew so far, it was hard not to be angry at the doctor, even though she had never met him personally. But instead of brooding over it, she had chosen to take a walk through the district at night. That was not something a lady did, but she was an eccentric. But tonight she had a feeling that something bad was going to happen, putting her on high alert. Just as she turned around the corner, she stopped dead in her tracks. 

There, only two yards away, an elderly gentleman was walking down the street. She recognised his silhouette as that of one of her friends, Sir Danvers Carew. That alone made her suspicious. What is Sir Carew doing out here at this hour? Then something else attracted her attention. From the other end of the street, a much smaller and younger man walked up, into Sir Carews – and her – direction. When he passed by a street lamb and the light briefly illuminated his face, even from afar, she recognised the visage of the man she remembered from Utterson's memories. There was something about him, something ominous, that prompted her to continue walking towards them in a much quicker pace. Now they were within the reach of her abilities. When she read Mr. Hyde's mind, she almost had a heart attack. By Apollo!!! So that's why Dr. Jekyll didn't want to tell Utterson what the matter was! As for Sir Carew, he was simply looking for directions to Mr. Utterson, whom he wanted to give a document. Mr. Hyde on the other hand … she could practically see the brooding anger and underlying murder intent, even twenty yards away. That prompted her to clutch the handle of her sword cane and start to run. And right in that moment, the two men met, Sir Carew bowed politely and said something to the younger man. Lady Summers saw the reaction coming, before it happened. She practically heard something snapping inside Mr. Hyde's mind, without even reading it. Then he swung his walking cane at Sir Carew, who managed to dodge this first strike, but not the next one. In the matter of a few seconds, Hyde had clubbed him to the earth and was about to beat him to death, when she reached them. In an instance, she had drawn her sword and was blocking the cane with the blunt edge of it. The young man's eyes widened. “What the–???” Sir Carew was quicker on the uptake. “Lady Summers!”, he cried, relief seeping through his voice. “Good evening, Sir Carew”, she said calmly, not taking her eyes off her opponent. “I trust that you can stand?” “Y-yes, I think so”, the old man stuttered and slowly got up, while the widow blocked Mr. Hyde's attempts to get past her and finish what he had started. “Good”, the Lady gritted her teeth, “To Mr. Utterson's office, go down the street, turn left, then at the next corner to the right into Gaunt Street. Hurry.” He mumbled a 'Thank you' and a 'Take care', before fleeing as quickly as his age allowed. She sighed with relief on the inside, then proceeded to frown at the young man she was fighting with. In contrast to his shoulder-long, unruly dark brown hair, his eyes were of such a venomous green that it hurt her own blue ones. He had dark rims under his eyes and was of a sickly pallor. “Glad to finally meet you in person, Mr. Hyde”, she greeted him nonchalantly, “Has no one told you that beating helpless old men to death is cowardly?” “Shut up”, he growled back. His voice was raspy and high-pitched. “Who are you anyway? And how do you know me?” She stepped back and smiled enigmatically. “I know everyone at the first glance. But in this case, someone has told me about you and described you to me.” “That doesn't answer my question!”, he snarled and swung his cane at her, which the blonde blocked with her sword. She shrugged: “Well, if you must know, I'm Lady Summers, I live nearby. Maybe you have seen my house before. The one with the white and dark blue facade?” Hyde thought for a second. “No … can't say I have.” She gritted her teeth again, as she struggled to hold back his walking cane with her own. He sure was strong for his stature – he was very thin and couldn't be any taller than she was. “Oh, but I'm sure you have, Mr. Hyde. Or should I say …” She bent forward, close to his face and whispered to him: “… Dr. Jekyll?” Mr. Hyde turned even paler than he already was. He swung his cane at her again, this time combined with a swing of his fist, which she dodged just in time. “How the hell do you know?”, he hissed. “What else do you know about me?” She avoided another swing, looking more nonchalant than she currently felt. “Pretty much everything”, she answered with a shrug. “And stop thinking these foul thoughts about me. I'm not a whore, I'm a grieving widow. Also, you couldn't kill me if I was bed-ridden with consumption.” He recoiled as if stung by an adder, looking at her as if she had grown a second head. “HOW DO YOU KNOW WHAT I'M THINKING?!”, he yelled. “First off, keep it down, it's the middle of the night. Also, you would neither like nor believe my answer to that”, she countered, then added: “That's a nice cane you have there. Ceylon ebony, isn't it? And what fine craftsmanship! Mr. Utterson must have paid a lot of money for it! But nothing is too expensive for your best friends, is it?” “The hell is wrong with you, you stupid–!“ He flushed with anger and struck again and this time grazed her shoulder, but nothing more. Of course her intention was to fire him up even more. Sure, it was dangerous to do that with someone like him, suicidal even. But she needed him to pour out all his frustration, to exhaust all of his rage, before someone else could fall a victim to it. She explained to the gasping man: “As for how I know what you're thinking – I can read minds.” He snorted: “Pfff! Sure!” She shook her head, sheathed her sword and leaned onto her cane to catch her breath. “No. How else could I know your secret? Or the fact that none of you two told anyone? Or the fact that this cane was a birthday present from Mr. Utterson to Dr. Jekyll?” “Impossible!”, Mr. Hyde insisted stubbornly. Lady Summers raised an eyebrow. “And splitting your own soul in two is not impossible?” To this Hyde could find no retort. Then he noticed that she was still settling down from the earlier struggle and smirked: “What's the matter, woman? Out of breath?” Her blue eyes were blazing as she leaned onto her sword cane. “Is that a challenge? Mr. Hyde, one doesn't simply challenge a Lady!” “Who cares. Get the hell out of my head!” She grinned sassily. “No.” He snarled and lifted his cane. “Are you looking for a fight, you bloody–“ Her sword cane blocked his normal one. Hyde blinked – when had the woman even moved? Fiercely she looked up to him from below and growled: “One rule you should always remember: never ask a Prussian if they're looking for a fight. En garde!” A sword, or rather, cane fight ensued. It was strangely exhilarating to fence with this strange widow. She was certainly well-trained, but he was quite sure, that not even the Prussians taught their daughters swordsmanship. He couldn't help but briefly wonder, why she was fighting him with her cane instead of the sword, why no one had called the police yet (surely someone had to see them or at least hear the noise!) and why she was indulging him in the first place. But he did feel the effect. Slowly the anger and aggression he had pent up in the last two months was dwindling and he found himself calmer than in a long time. He was impressed, even though she seemed to be in a lot of pain for some reason (which made this whole match even more exciting), she easily kept up with his movements. “You're … quite strong … for a man of your stature”, she gasped at one point. “And you're … quite a good fighter … for a woman”, he retorted. Seriously, how is she doing this? She's a woman and how the hell can she move so fast in that dress?! She chuckled: “Good point. Thank you!” Then she attacked and they proceeded with their match, talking all the while. “Why are you so angry anyway?”, she asked him, while avoiding his cane. Hyde grit his teeth. “I hate him so much!” “Dr. Jekyll?” “Who else! He hasn't let me out in more than two months! I was caged for that long! It was driving me mad!” She frowned. “That sounds horrible!” “It was!”, Hyde seethed. “Do you know how it feels to be caged?!” “Unfortunately, I do”, she admitted. “But killing old men won't make anything better.” “I didn't kill him!”, he snapped angrily. “No, but you would have, if I hadn't interfered. You know that you wouldn't have stopped hitting him until he was dead. You would have blindly struck again and again, unable to stop yourself. You would have become the murderer of a well-known and respected member of society and, just in case you forgot, that is a hanging offence.” The realisation made him freeze and gave her an opening. Before he knew what was happening, Hyde was lying on the ground, groaning in pain and gasping. “Let's make a deal, Mr. Hyde”, she said no-nonsensically and leaned onto her cane. Hyde slowly stood up and glared at her. “What shall that be?”, he growled hoarsely. The woman fixed her widow cap and her coat and spoke: “It's simple. All you and Dr. Jekyll have to do is to tell Mr. Utterson the truth about yourselves.” What?! Is she bloody serious?! Hyde mustered the creepiest smile he could manage. “And why would I do that?” “Why?” She smiled back and her smile was nothing but amiable. That riled him up even further. Why was she not looking at him with disgust and hatred, like all the others? Even though she knew who he was … Stop smiling, you smug witch! Or whatever you are! The widow laughed: “A witch? Yes, I guess I might as well be one. And to answer your question: if you do it, I will save you from punishment and dissuade Sir Carew and Mr. Utterson from having you arrested and tried. I give you an entire month to fulfil your part of it. What do you say?” Hyde had to admit that it was a tempting deal. Even if he hadn't succeeded in killing the old man, he would face prison, maybe even transportation to Australia, if the cops found him. And even if they didn't find him, he would be forced to live a life hiding away for at least two years, until everyone had forgotten about him. He didn't want to face either of these consequences. And this woman knew everything about him, even though he had no idea, how. Besides, Hyde wasn't one to resist temptation. But even so … “Fine, but … why are you doing this?”, he inquired suspiciously. She raised her arms non-committally. “Call it a feminine whim. But you seem to be calming down. Perhaps you should go home now, before the maid who's watching us calls the police. Also, I have a feeling, that you won't need as much of your precious formula to turn back tonight.” Hyde didn't need to be told twice. He ran home, deep in thought about this woman who, about that he was certain, was even stranger than he himself was. As soon as he was gone, Lady Summers sighed in relief and fell to her knees in exhaustion and pain. Suddenly she heard a door open and turned around – the maid who had observed their fencing match came running outside and towards her. “That was absolutely amazing! You fought that devil like a royal guard, Madam! Are you alright?” “I'm fine”, the Lady lied, but was promptly punished for it, when she spat blood. “Oh my god!”, the maid cried, “He injured you! That little demon should be–“ “He didn't”, Lady Summers said calmly, “This happens all the time. But if you want to do me a service, you can keep to yourself what you just saw. As for me, I will be going home now. Fighting someone younger and healthier than me has exhausted me a great deal.” Upon arriving at the back door of Jekyll's house, Hyde wasted no time, locked the door and darted into the laboratory to mix the formula. But first he needed time to gather himself. “What the hell did just happen back there?”, he wondered, turning to the mirror. Dr. Jekyll appeared in the mirror, looking equally confused. “I don't know, Hyde. But I do know one thing – that Lady saved us as well as Sir Carew.” “I guess she did, but why? I don't believe that mumbo-jumbo about a feminine whim. And who the hell is she really?” “I have no idea either, Hyde. But didn't she introduce herself as Lady Summers? I could swear that I have heard that name before …”, Jekyll mumbled pensively. Hyde sighed, changed clothes and mixed the chemical together. He didn't know what prompted him to follow the woman's advice, but to his surprise, she had been right. The half of the usual quantum was enough and after the usual time, Henry Jekyll found himself on his knees in his laboratory. When his vision cleared, he saw Hyde appear in the mirror, looking at him with strange fascination. With an exasperated sigh, he took Hyde's clothes and folded them (that little bastard could never be bothered to tidy up after himself), when suddenly something fell from the pocket of Hyde's coat. Jekyll blinked and picked it up. Then he gawked. It was a business card, or at least it looked like one. What in God's name is this?! And when did she sneak that into m- into his pocket?! 

(A/N: PLOT TWIST!!! SIR CAREW IS ALIVE AND WELL!!! Here our conveniently badass female telepath shows us, just how conveniently badass she is. Also, just one thing: Of course the Prussians did NOT teach their daughters fencing. They were no more progressive than other societies of that time, when it came to women's rights, on the contrary.)

First, I'd like to say that I already love this blog! Second, how do you think the slashers would react to finding out that someone is forcibly trying to drag their s/o with them? Like, they think they're lost or in danger so they drag them with them. (Stay awesome!

The short answer is, they’re fucking pissed

Jason

-Jason couldn’t help but feel immensely worried for you every time a new batch of counselors came to the camp, the unknowing lambs lining up for slaughter. He always insisted that you take refuge in his own cabin while he was on a killing spree, and under no circumstances were you to venture outside and possibly be seen by a runaway victim. The last thing you wanted was for Jason to worry for no reason about you, so you agreed to obey the one and only request he ever made of you. There was only one time when you broke this sacred rule. One unbearably hot night, Jason had left to complete his grocery list of kills, and that left you all alone in a cabin with no AC. You guiltily gazed at the lake out in the distance, the prospect of any sort of relief from the heat too tempting to resist, and decided to go for a quick dip before Jason realized you had gone. Giddily running out to Crystal Lake, you stopped when the water reached your knees, basking in the coolness long desired after the sweltering day you had been through. Suddenly there was a splashing behind you, the person gasping for air. Before you could even turn around their hand had gripped your upper arms and was dragging you out of the lake. You were grunting at this intruder, trying to rip your arms out of their grasp but they only held on tighter. “Be quiet! There’s a fucking psycho on the loose, I’m getting us outta here!” You bristled at their words. That “fucking psycho” was your significant other, and you did not appreciate such slander against your precious Jason. Struggling even harder did naught, and you were forcibly dragged out of the lake as panic flooded your mind. Gathering your breath, you screamed for Jason as you were pulled further and further away, praying he would hear your plea. You dug your feet in the ground to prevent any more movement, but the intruder only yanked you along, shouting obscenities at your refusal to cooperate. Their grip on your arm was beginning to burn, and you let out a sob at the prospect of being whisked away by this stranger who refused to listen to you. All of a sudden you saw movement in the corner of your teary vision, and then before you could process anything the stranger was ripped away from your arm, and you looked up at the visage of your behemoth, looking absolutely furious by the way he held the intruder by their neck. Jason glanced back at you to make sure you were alright, but when he saw how you were crying because of this low-life scum, that did it. Jason tossed them to the ground and lifted his machete high in the air. You noticed how the moon glinted off the sharp blade before it was plunged into the intruder’s chest. Over and over again. You turned away from the gruesome sight, still shaking from the sobs that wracked your body. When the squelching noises finally ceased, you heard Jason’s slow footsteps coming closer, and felt his arms wrap around your frame from behind and pull you into his chest, the strong scent of iron nearly making you gag. You leaned back into him, and could only mutter a soft apology as a tear ran down your cheek.

Freddy

-You were well aware of what Freddy did in his spare time when he wasn’t with you, despite never seeing it in person. As much as the idea was supposed to be despicable, you pushed any guilty thoughts back into the dark recesses of your mind. Most nights were spent with just you and him, any and all indications of the horrible deeds he’s committed forgotten as you were taken in by his snarky words and dark humor that never failed to make you laugh. Unfortunately, this false sense of contentment was never meant to last. You were preparing for bed one night, wondering if tonight you would be able to enter the dream realm after some time of having just regular dreams. Settling under your covers, you closed your eyes and smiled slightly in anticipation of seeing your charming Freddy. After what seemed like seconds later, you were delighted to have woken up in the familiar boiler room, the red glow almost as welcoming as….Where was Freddy anyway? He was nowhere to be seen, and it was odd because he was always right there, waiting for you to wake up in the dream realm. You gave a slight frown, and began to realize that something felt…off. Normally all one could hear was that of the boilers, but this time you heard the distinct sound of rapid footsteps, coupled with a labored breathing. And it was getting closer. You braced yourself for whatever would come around the corner, and was confused to find another person come barreling towards you. You stood there, trying to make sense of this unexpected encounter when they skid to a stop a couple feet in front of you, their chest heaving with exertion. “What’s…going on here?” you started slowly, carefully approaching the exhausted runner. They gasped for breath before replying. “There’s…a fucking…killer…been chasing me ever since I fell asleep…” Your blood ran cold. This was one of Freddy’s soon-to-be victims. Merely knowing that he killed was one thing. But coming face to face with a real person being hunted, seeing the terrified look in their eyes and the tremble in their voice…It made you feel indescribable amounts of regret for your apathy. The runner’s voice broke you out of your trance, and they grabbed both your upper arms. “Listen…We can get outta here together if we somehow manage to wake ourselves up before…He gets us.” They held out their hand for you to take, a hopeful look replacing the hunted one they wore not moments before, a beacon of light beginning to shine in their eyes. Swallowing, you slowly reached out your own hand, but before you could take it a pair of claws exploded out from their chest, their mouth open in a silent scream. You pulled away and let out a shout of anguish as blood spurted onto you and the floor. Their body slumped forward to reveal your Freddy, cackling madly as he tossed their body to the side like a doll. “Thanks for distracting him, dollface. I might have even let him go, but that fucker was going to try and take you away, wasn’t he?” Freddy came and lifted his ungloved hand to cup your cheek, wiping away a stray spot of blood. “I can’t ever allow something like that to happen to you.”  He murmured lowly. You felt your throat constrict, but leaned into his touch as he continued to coo sweet nothings, unaware of the storm roiling inside your soul.

Michael

-Living in the Myers house wasn’t the most pleasant experience in the world. After years of abandonment, everything was cracked, chipped, pealing, and faded to a shell of its former cozy and home-like self. The dirty windows were incredibly drafty in the winter, what was left of the curtains were moth-bitten scraps, and the rotten floorboards were just a hair away from crumbling under one’s feet if they didn’t tread carefully enough.Yet despite all of this, Michael still insisted on keeping residence in his former home. Time and time again you tried in vain to convince him to leave, but in the end you realized that this was probably the best option for Michael to hide out from prying police. So because of this, you spent time more often than not in the decrepit house, slowly working to transform it into something more habitable for your Michael. Ah, the things you do for love. One day you had been scrubbing down the kitchen floor, trying your best to get rid of those long lasting stains. You weren’t sure where Michael had decided to run off to, but you figured he was close enough since he didn’t tend to wander very far anyway. Dumping a sponge back into the bucket full of soapy water, you wrung it out slightly and began your efforts to clean once again, your knuckles coated in suds. A piece of hair fell in front of your eyes, and you gave a huff, trying to blow it out of the way. After a couple more minutes of futile scrubbing (damn these stupid checkered tiles), you heard the front door open and close carefully. Oh, Michael was home. You could have him try and help clean for once. Knees creaking, you slowly got up and winced, having been kneeling on the hard ground for too long. You wiped your hands on your pants, not caring since you looked like crap anyway from cleaning for more than a few hours now. “Michael, wanna come in here and-” you started to say, but stopped when you saw a random person instead. You froze, the rest of your sentence lost on the tip of your tongue. The intruder seemed just as surprised as you were, stopping dead in their tracks. ‘Wow, I honestly didn’t think anyone would be in here of all places…” The stranger muttered, looking up and down your form. You clenched your fists, angry that some rando had the gall to intrude upon yours and Michael’s space without a second thought. Sure it looked abandoned on the outside, but weren’t people not supposed to enter anyway? At least you had Michael’s permission to come and go as you pleased. This person, however, did most certainly not. “You need to leave. Now.” That was all you could manage to spit out without completely losing your cool, your words clipped and rough. The stranger just looked at you funny, and then widened their eyes. “Don’t tell me….You’re being held hostage by Michael fucking Myers?! Look, don’t worry, I’m gonna get you outta here and then we’re calling the police.” Your blood froze. No, calling the police would be a very bad, bad idea. Before you could react, the person had grabbed your wrist and was pulling you towards the front door, completely oblivious to your growls of protest. “Leave me the fuck alone, I’m not a damn hostage-!” The guy just ignored you, looking at you with a pitying expression instead. Unable to wrench free, you did the only thing you could. You screamed for Michael at the top of your lungs. By this time you and the stranger were outside on the porch, headed towards the street. Stumbling down the porch steps, you were just about to give up all hope when, all of a sudden, Michael stepped out from a neighboring hedge and blocked the pathway to the road. The intruder stopped dead in his tracks while you gave an audible sigh of relief. Michael looked between you and the intruder, and paused when he saw the visible anguish twisting your features. How dare this filth touch you, and by the looks of it, steal his precious other half away from him? His grip on the knife tightened, and he took only a few long strides to grab onto the stranger and roughly yank him off you, tossing him against the house in a loud thud. You stumbled back, rubbing your wrist gently as you watched Michael approach the trembling stranger, raising his knife above his head before bringing it down into his head. Blood began to drip in copious amounts down his face, and he slumped back against the house, well and truly dead. You ran to Michael’s side and hugged him fiercely, never having remembered a time when you were more grateful for any other person. Michael was still, but raised a bloody hand and stroked your hair softly, glaring down at the dead body and vowing the same fate on any others foolish enough to invade his terf again.

Leatherface

-Despite what most people complained about, you were enraptured with the bare Texan landscape that had become your new home. No one for miles, acres of land as far as the eyes could see, and the big blue sky overseeing it all like a picturesque postcard. Not to mention the beautiful nighttime scenery with a multitude of stars visible, minuscule jewels lining the velvet of night. You always pleaded for Bubba to go on long walks with you to take in the scenery, and also because you loved spending as much as you could with your chubby butcher. Bubba was happy to make you happy, so he usually agreed to your request to take a walk around the Sawyer property. Your favorite time of day to do so was just as the sun was setting, the colors bleeding into one another to create a watercolor of warm hues surrounding the red sun. It was a sight you never wanted to miss. Unfortunately, when you asked Bubba to accompany you, he gave a sad grunt, shaking his head and motioning towards the basement. Ah, he probably had some last minute meat to cut and package. You gave him a sweet smile as he hung his head as an apology, putting a hand on his chest. “Aw, don’t worry about it honey. I won’t be too long, okay?” You pecked him where his lips would be, and giving a little wave headed out the door in the late summer haze. You took a deep breath, and exhaled. Fresh air was always welcome after spending almost all day in the Sawyer house that, no matter how much you cleaned, held a slight stench of rust. The fields stretched for miles, seemingly going on forever and only ending at the sunset. Walking down the porch steps, you began your atmospheric trek. Eventually, you found yourself quite near the road, having wandered a bit farther than usual. A car was passing by, its headlights nearly blinding you, and to your surprise it came to a slow stop, the man leaning out the window and asking if you were lost. You smiled and replied in the negative, saying that it was late and you should be getting home soon anyway. The man, however, insisted that he show you back and get you there safe before darkness completely enveloped the sky. Your stomach began to twist into knots, knowing the fate that awaited the man should be go back with you. Backing away quickly, you shouted an apology and began walking swiftly towards the way you came, back to the house. You managed to return before nighttime, panting and sweating just a bit from the heat. There didn’t seem to be anyone else home, so instead of looking for them you headed to the bathroom to wash up and scrub the dust and sweat from your face. Not too long later, you distinctly heard the scream of a man come from outside the house. You flinched. That must be Bubba doing his job. A shout of anger, the sounds of scuffling before a chainsaw revving caught your attention, and the front door burst open.You jumped, only to recognize the face of the man who had stopped for you not an hour ago. He must have remembered you as well, because he grabbed your hand, panting that he’d get the two of you out of here. “Did he kidnap you too? I was stopped by this hitchhiker, and the rest just went to shit...” You gently tried to pry him off you, tugging away from the door and warning him to let go. He didn’t act like he heard you, and kept going to and out the front door. Bubba was waiting with his chainsaw raised, but when he saw you in the grasp of this man, he went berserk. The guy slammed the door shut and raced towards the back of the house with you in tow. The sound of a door splintering was heard behind you, and Bubba’s howls of anger rang in your ears. Your heart broke, and with a final, harsh yank. you ripped away from the man and ran back towards Bubba. Getting behind Bubba, you fearfully watched as the guy came back to retrieve you, and before he could utter another words Bubba ran his chainsaw right through his abdomen, lifting it up and up to split him from the waist in half. Blood drenched the floor and rug, and the body parts fell with a disgusting splotch. Bubba’s chest was heaving, saw dripping crimson tears onto his shoes. You backed away and slid down a wall, body trembling uncontrollably as sobs came unbidden. Bubba dropped his saw and kneeled down to comfort your shaking form, muttering incoherent words meant to ease your shock and hugging you tightly against his large chest. You gripped onto his dirty shirt and let out a choked sob, wanting nothing more than to go back to the peaceful Texan landscape, and wander forever to forget the twisted reality you refused to acknowledge.

🎃

Third installment of @disasterbisexual‘s horrortober! This one features my own AU Fae!Sans. 

Day #3: Rain

You had thought it would be a good idea to take a long hike through the deep, woodsy park near your home today. That was until the sky began to darken dramatically overhead. When you had checked the forecast this morning it was all clear brisk October skies! But looking up now you were sure it was going to start coming down any second.

Thunder could be heard overhead and you started walking faster, hugging your arms around yourself against the wind that was picking up. Your backpack was likely to get soaked if you got caught out in the storm and the thought only made you more anxious. The trees moaned and creaked and the wind whistled through them, it reminded you very much of a horror movie which wasn’t helping your nerves either. You were becoming frantic but finally stumbled across a tall twisting and knotted tree. There was a small burrow at the base big enough for you to crouch under and stay mostly dry. You nearly cried in relief as you ducked down and crawled inside. Just then the torrent began, light at first but quickly coming down harder.

You hugged your knees to your chest and closed your eyes. How could you be so stupid! Who knows how long you’d be stuck here for. It was still cold and your feet were getting sprayed despite the tree. You huddled up as small as you could and buried your head in your knees.

It seemed like a long while before you heard anything but the storm. The sound of it broken by what sounded like flapping and...someone (or something) mumbling. Your eyes snapped open immediately and there was nothing but rain and trees in your vision...then a flash of something black across the entrance of your makeshift shelter. You yelped and covered your mouth, eyes went wide. What the hell--

You saw another flash of this same black but enough to discern some details. It was much closer this time and you could see feathers...like wings.

Then you saw a figure drop to the ground in front of your hiding place. It was hard to discern in the dark. It was also clothed in what appeared to be a baggy low cut tunic and similarly baggy pants.

Its feet were bare. And skeletal. You bit back another scream as this figure’s wings folded behind it and its head snapped up to look at you. Dark green yet bright pinpricks of light shown out from what you could discern were eye sockets in this figure’s skull of a head. They were trained on you. He ducked closer suddenly and you flinched back, but all you were met with was the hard inside of your tiny burrow.

“are you stuck?” the figure spoke. His voice was low and smooth and he came even closer. His face was about a foot away.

“I-I…”

“you’re shivering.” his visage was malleable and illuminated by his own makeshift emerald eyes. A concerned expression crossed his surprisingly expressive face.

His wings unfurled with a snap and curved over the opening suddenly, blocking the rain from hitting her. She watched in stunned silence. He tilted his head a fraction and a very small smirk came to his lips. The temperature did rise a bit, like he was giving off some kind of heat.

He was so close…

“better?”

You stared at him. He waited expectantly for you to answer.

“U-uhm… yes?” you whispered, “who are you”

He blinked and then his smirk grew a little, “sans, though it’s unimportant. what are you doing so far out in the woods, little sweet thing?”

You flushed and looked up at him confused, “I was just going f-for a walk? I didn’t think I w-went out that far..” you admitted.

“oh, you’re very deep in the woods now, lamb…” his voice dipped at the nickname. It sounded like honey “could I have your name?” the tone of his voice shifted ever so slightly with that last question. Nearly imperceptible. But something about it made your soul clench in what you thought was fear...or was it anticipation? He asked it so suddenly too.

You supplied your name to him without thinking.

“lovely. what a lovely name…” he was looking at you almost hungrily. You shifted a little uncomfortably and looked away from him. With him being so close however it was hard to ignore the enticing heat he gave off and those eyes still boring down on you.

The rain battered down on his feathered wings but you were kept completely dry. Otherwise there was silence.

“...why don’t you rest, lamb?”

“W-what?” you wavered, looking up at him again.

“close your eyes. I could keep you through the rest of the storm. you have a long way to travel back after all”

“...no offense b-but I don't feel comfortable d-doing that …” you were still shivering and cold.

He simply grinned. It was oddly charming “do you not trust me? There's no reason for you not to…”

“I d-don't even know what you are”

“i’m a…. Guardian” he settled on, watching you carefully. “a guardian of the forest.”

You looked at him confused but your expression was softening. His voice was sounding more and more agreeable. He seemed pleased with your reaction so far and he leaned down a fraction further, “you're scared, that's alright.”

He was even closer now, his mouth near your ear and breath brushing gently against your hair. You felt incredibly light and her your breath was a little short at the proximity. You were relaxed and your nerves were alight.

“sleep” he whispered lowly and your eyes felt incredibly heavy. Yeah…sleep would be nice right now, you thought. He was so warm…

You really shouldn't have given him your name. The rain lifted slowly as the Fae lifted you into his arms and out of the little burrow in the tree. Sans was pleased. It had been a good while since someone stumbled unknowingly into his ring. And no one to date who was as enticing as you. Sure he'd explain everything…. later.

Maybe.

But right now he couldn't help himself. He carried you back to his home for the night. The rain had completely gone.

tag drop: bella

&. ❛ verse 001. she can’t stay in this place，she’s slowly freaking out.  — bella. ❜

&. ❛ verse 002. every day is one more inch of a slow blade sinking in.  — bella. ❜

&. ❛ verse 003. stop the words on her tongue from cutting her mouth to pieces.  — bella. ❜

&. ❛ aesthetic. oblivion is calling out her name.  — bella. ❜

&. ❛ mentality. she can’t breathe，she’s a disease，she’s slowly freaking out & out & out again.  — bella. ❜

&. ❛ physicality. no vacant stares，no rolling eyes，no irony.  — bella. ❜

&. ❛ visage. what a stupid lamb.  — bella. ❜  

&. ❛ infatuations. she will build a home for you so you won’t disappear.  — bella. ❜

&. ❛ desires. now it’s time for her to leave but she won’t let go.  — bella. ❜

&. ❛ wardrobe. she’s enigmatic，stuck like static，suffocating inside her own skin.  — bella. ❜

&. ❛ maquillage. she’s fighting the stranger in her eyes & only one of them will survive.  — bella. ❜

&. ❛ verse. atinystar. if it wasn’t you i wouldn’t want anybody close to me.  — bella. ❜  

The Devil’s due

Sarah (Arcana OC) X Julian (Arcana) Follows the main plot story, with changes. 4.3k words. ________________________________________________________________

Chapter 6 : Infiltration

The walk to the palace was… ho boy.

The entire way Julian's dramatic nature was put to work as he effortlessly slipped into the 'role' of Asra. Though the way he kept glancing over at Sarah for approval made her little brain click it's gears.

First dropping her off at Asra's shop… now trying to confirm his acting behaviour with her, as if she'd know Asra's mannerisms. He clearly expected them to have a history. Was it because they were both magicians? Or did he know something she didn't. It was impossible to tell without asking. But with the palace gates looming overhead already she hadn't the time for this ongoing mystery.

Suddenly realising that Asra, the real Asra, could possibly already be in castle grounds made the fine hairs along the back of her neck stand on end. That would be quite the disastrous occurrence. But it's too late to be turning back now. His pace is far quicker than both ladies little legs. Leaving them panting and sweaty by the time the trio reaches the bridge. "How do you suppose he'd be feeling in this moment? Like a Lamb, entering the den of wolves… or maybe, a wolf. Entering the den of…. Vipers. Hmm. Vipers he wouldn't mind, he and Faust would fit right in."

"I don't-" Her words are ended by the sharp screech of marble on heels as Julian, as Asra, halts himself. Looking suddenly sceptical and nervous. 

"Faust….. that's the snake's name isn't it?" His expression twists and turns as she nods slowly. Not entirely certain on the answer but the name certainly rang the right bells. He grumbles, rubbing at his temples in irritation as his browline pinches together. "I...I remember that shake, she nearly... squeezed the life out of me once." Who, Faust? But she looked so sweet from what Sarah could remember.

He's very clearly stalling. Keeping a slight distance from her with constant searching glances her way. Like he was looking for something under her thinly veiled exterior motives. Like she was the hard one to understand, not himself. She already knows this spell isn't one of her best and, as much as she wanted to reassure him, they really needed to do this as fast and clean as they could. At least by now he seems remarkably sober compared to before.

“So it’s safe to say he would be surprised. When he’s surprised, is he more of a…” His gaze narrows and mouth hangs open, staring off at nothing. “This? Or more like this?” Sarah struggles to keep a straight face. Watching his wide eyes swing to her, looking very shaken. It’s impressively done, but knowing he’s trying so hard was making her giggle quietly into her palm. “More like that- ” she snickers, having to turn away and rub at her freckled cheeks to get them to relax again. If she blew his cover she’d feel awful, it’s time to get serious… but not too serious. Just slightly serious. Like... casual business. Yes, this is exactly what today is, casual business.

Noticing their struggling charade, Portia takes a step or two ahead, walking backwards in front of them. “Hey Ilya, I know this is gonna be a challenge but… try not to talk too much, okay?” It was a suggestion but it certainly sounded more like a very gentle threat coming from Portia. Sarah always had the feeling this quaint sweet servant act of hers was hiding a lot of sneaky but lovable gremlin behaviour.

“Oh, no naturally, Asra doesn’t talk much.” Julian coughed, trying to hide his face by turning away, “believe me, it’s hard to maintain such an aura of mystery once you open your mouth.” 

Portia’s hands poised themselves in front of herself again, looking him directly in the face with just the faintest of a smile. “Hmm. Maybe he was just quiet around you? You’ve got a real bad habit of doing the talking for everyone, Ilyushka.”

The awkwardness in the air had been broken and already Sarah could feel her spirits rising back up with confidence. Things were going to be okay. They could recover from a slip-up even if it did happen. Which with any luck it won’t. The ever-growing silhouette of the palace grounds had reached their peak. Portia takes in a long inhale and holds it, squaring herself out… only releasing as she roughly pushes forward against the gigantic main doors. There's a grinding churning sound as they open, like stone against stone, as everyone piles in before they close once more. Settling with a heavy ‘shhhunk’. Her figure goes loose for a minute, looking around in short searching head movements. “That’s weird… where is everybody?” It looks pretty deserted. Not even a guard behind the main doors? A relief for Portia maybe but seemingly not Sarah or Julian who look around sceptically. “So, uh, where can I take you first, oh great magicians?” she chirps sweetly, slipping straight back into her role as Nadia’s trusted servant. Speaking loud and clear as she would any other day.

Julian's eyes immediately narrows. A teasingly sly twinkle in them. "The bedroom, of course." Pausing a sufficient amount of time for Sarah's entire face to redden before continuing the point of his request. Seemingly happy with himself for garnering such a reaction. "Bring us to the room where the dark deed was done." His dramatic flare made Portia momentarily scowl while Sarah tried to forcefully wipe the darkened colour from her cheeks. Lucio's bedroom, he was talking about Lucio's bedroom, you stupid dipshit. The scene of the crime, obviously.

The halls are uncomfortably empty. While Portia and Sarah's cute little shoes were both quiet on the cold floor Julian's boots clattered with each step. Rather unfitting of his Asra illusion. The sound echoing endlessly through the halls. To Sarah's growing nerves each step sounded louder than the last and her mouth ran agonisingly dry. 

Approaching the stairs it seemed something important was missing. It wasn't until the trio reached the top that Sarah remembered the usually so vigilant figures that guarded the wing. Lucio's hounds… neither of them were there, only adding to the uneasy emptiness of the palace. Her sudden curious searches had obviously attracted Julian's attention, as he too now seemed to have lost some nerve. "Looking for something?"

His words were carried so eagerly by the still air, forcing Sarah to take an unknowingly held breath and frown. Squaring her shoulders and pushing the anxiousness aside. "No. We're ok." They couldn't go getting worked up over nothing now, not after it all working to their favour. She should be relieved, not nervous. 

On breaching the hallway of Lucio's wing Julian seems to shiver, brushing his shoulder off while glaring at the almost ashen coloured walls in vague unease. "Did you say that no one ever comes to these rooms anymore?"

Portia's tightly tied hair flopped from side to side messing as she shook her head. Eyeing the walls with the same expression of turmoil as her brother. "Nope. Never, in the years I've been here… nobody, if they don't have to. And when they do… Lets just say there are a lot of stories floating around downstairs. People have heard things. Seen things."

Yes… now that she was no stranger to. The ghostly visage of something white and needlessly angry plagued the back of Sarah's mind. She had seen it once or twice, both times having been lured to the malevolent apparition by the same dogs she knew regularly guarded the stairway. A wispy almost drowned moan ripples it's way over the rafters as they reach the bedroom door. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Julian bristle from head to toe at the sound.

The door is… already unlocked. Portia leaning onto it with utmost caution. A heavy scent of dust and ageless preservation filling the air. The door, already ajar, is suddenly flung open. Accompanied by a sharp, floor shaking, crash.

The room is buzzing with activity! Positively alive with motion as servants scramble left and right to clean every surface in sight. The many years of layered dust, ash, and grime being scrubbed at and scraped away. Long curled smoke stains twirled up the back wall where the bed is. And standing beside the bed, with wide eyes and a commanding presence, is Countess Satrinava.

Her richly coloured pink-purple hair seems to bounce the light of the room away from her. Her finely defined jaw sets slightly as she glances from Portia up to Sarah and Julian with a flash of recognition. At once her surprise, which had been well hidden, was completely swept away. Replacing it was a calm and dignified half-lidded gaze. Enough to make Julian swallow as she spoke. "Portia, there you are. Hello, Sarah, Asra" she nodded just ever so slightly. The still-shocked trio nodding back in kind. "At last, we are tending to the ruin of this room. There have been a number of curious accidents."

Her eyes settle on Julian, still under disguise, and seem to deepen immeasurably. Though she cannot look to check, Sarah can feel Julian clam up and already knows he's choking on the sudden pressure. "I see you are back already. How went the search? I have trust in your reputable skills as a magician that it went smoothly?" Nadia asks who she thinks is Asra. 

"Right, I am the majulian- magician here to… I ran into my apprentice, here, on the way out and she requested my help. To help you." He stammered, his entire face turning tense and caught off-guard. Nadia takes a calculated step in their direction. 

Having recovered from not only the renovation shock but Julian's awful fibbing Sarah quickly jumps in with a smile. "I do apologise about not telling you sooner, Countess. Asra and I have been working together for a while." She smiles a sickly sweet smile, taking Julian's trembling hand in her own to hide his shiver.

Of course! Miss Nadia had already met Asra this morning! Else Portia would have had no way of finding her at the shop. His hand squeezed hers tightly, to the point of almost suffocating it, but she simply smiled as he opened his mouth again. "Yes, I, we, paired up while I was on a, uh, quest tooooo open my third ear. So I can better hear the spirits. Important for this investigation." Currently, the only thoughts going through either of their minds, looked a little something like-

'Oh my god, please stop talking, you're making it so much worse.' 

But, to everyone's luck, it seemed the Countesses mind was preoccupied with other things. Gazing longingly over at a far wall. "I do wish we would have had more time this morning to talk, you look so different now, but you are indeed a stranger to me. Or do my eyes deceive me… it is terribly dim. Perhaps if that lamp was lit?"

Sarah's tongue felt like it caught in a vice as she bit down on it nervously. Was… was her disguise spell leaking? Or was she remembering Asra's appearance wrong? The questions made her nauseous as she followed the Countesses slender delicate finger. Up the wall to an old not yet cleaned sconce dripping with cobwebs. Hung high up, far out of reach, at least out of reach to light by hand. 

She can hear Julian's throat Bob as he swallows hard once again. Her fingers tingling as she slyly puts her free hand behind her back. "Uh, lamp, what lamp?" He blurts hurriedly, pretending not to see it, only to receive a gentle tug at the hand.

Sarah looks to him with confidence swimming in her visible eye, the other hidden under long curls of hair. "That lamp." She gestures, squeezing his hand just enough to see the lightbulb in his head light up. As if rehearsed Julian's free hand flourishes in a quick nonsense gesture, a good visual distraction to Sarah's actual act of magic, as she tries to stare down the lamp.

A coil builds between herself and the target before it snaps. The sconce roaring to life but not before showering the Count's portrait below with lively sparks. A surprised "Oh my" escapes Nadia as Portia scurries for a nearby ladder.

"It's fine milady I got it!" Springing over to the portrait to deal with the smouldering sparks while they threaten to set the portrait alight. Julian allowing himself an expressive wince as all eyes are on the portrait as if awaiting the reveal of the damage. The loyal servant padding the portrait's face down with a heavy rag.

The slight chaos keeps everyone's attention. Everyone except Sarah. Something figuratively grips at the base of her neck and forces her eyes to wander from the scene. A shape, giving off malicious intent, is forming slowly out of drifting white smoke. Far off in the most decrepit, darkest, corner of the room. She feels herself stiffen; the grip she had on Julian's hand tightening very suddenly along with her chest. Though he doesn't turn in time to see what she sees, the vaguely shaped white trail suddenly rushing forward at great speed. Ramming into Portia's ladder

"My goodness, Portia!" Yelps the Countess as the ladder is wrenched out from beneath the redheads feet. Falling very abruptly down into Nadia's awaiting arms.

Julian stares for a moment, bewildered, before clearing his throat. "Ahem, so quick! That was a feat of amazing foresight, Countess. Almost as if you saw the future. You may have... abilities. In uh, in magic." Nadia's expression wavers from concern for Portia to curiosity about the disguised doctor. Gently lowering her most trusted companion safely to the floor before giving him a look Sarah did not much care for.

"I wonder. Perhaps when I am through here, I shall join you both in investigating." She hummed, eyeing them both as Portia jumped back into the fray.

"In the library! Investigating the library!" She looked as though she was more concerned about the conversation than what had just transpired only a moment ago. Bringing Nadia's cherry-red eyes back to her in turn.

"Ah yes, a perfect place to start. I believe you keep the keys." Her tone, unlike with almost everyone else, was always much softer when addressing Portia. There was no denying the two had a very cute chemistry between them. Viewing Portia through rose tinted glasses, not seeing her behaviour as suspicious as the 'two' magicians.

Portia's cheeks seem to glitter and spark as she recognises her own genius. An opportunity to keep the Countess busy while Julian and Sarah do their research with minimal interruptions. It would take a little bit of work, but nothing she couldn't handle. "I uh, yes, I… ahem. Follow me." As she motions to the hall door and pushes it heartily open all three followers trail through. Now slightly behind the Countess the Asra facade is dropped if only for a very brief moment. His face cracking into a wide stupid grin. Half-lidded confident eyes and bared teeth that nobody could replicate if they tried for a million years…

____________________________________

The journey is short but it quickly feels like an eternity. The slightly strained look to Sarah's squinted eye giving Julian an uncomfortable feeling. She was starting to slip. The facade, the disguise, let loose a long curl of Julian's natural hair colour before she sucked roughly in through her teeth and returned it to white. Swallowing on occasion, trying not to bring attention to herself, she waited until the library doors were ahead of them to allow herself a quick flexing of her fingers. Quietly gripping onto the air and letting it go over and over to keep her magic in line.

The loud 'ka-klunk' of the library doors is quickly followed by a relieved exhale as the glamour vanishes. Returning Julian to his rightful appearance as himself in a dazzling warping of reality. Much like a stone being thrown Into a pond, his Asra disguise rippling in the air before dissipating. Leaving only the doctor's surprised expression. " Well, that could have gone worse. I may not know magic, but there's definitely something going on here. Something beyond my knowledge." He admits quietly, pacing back and forth before striking a confident air. Straight back to being himself. "Luckily for us, we're at the library. Let's see what we can learn."

As he immediately strides into action, bee-lining for the shelves, Sarah takes a moment to steady herself. A spell as simple as a disguise glamour shouldn't be so taxing, yet for the short period it was on him she feels utterly drained. Trying not to let it show as she heads for an opposing bookcase and begins to lead over the titles. Despite it being a place she would assume the Countess to frequent often the library feels almost… forgotten. A lot of the shelves are coated in a thin dusty veil that makes her nose tickle. One or two even carrying the faint scent of dampness.

Ah the library. She had been here before. Not long into staying at the palace, Portia had introduced her to the wonders of the library and it's many many books. There were many shelves and countless topics, from horse care to mythological theories, though very few had been touched in years. The rare couple she had interacted with stuck out like sore thumbs as each one lacked it's dusty coating and looked well maintained.

Taking a second to glance away from the shelves Sarah found herself just standing there. Watching Julian's fingers flutter over the books spines. Unwittingly she takes a step away from her own search to follow his, just a few paces behind. His creased brow and confident walk. There was something leading him through the shelves; an air of repetition as if it had happened a dozen times before. Picking up a few books without needing to read the entire way through their titles and slinging them into a cradled arm.

"All these books, and I kept going back to the same old… Just around that corner. I had a desk." He grumbles, seeming to follow an already established path. "It's coming back to me… it's close, at the back of my mind. I can just taste it." So thoroughly focused on where he was headed he hasn't yet noticed how curious his smaller companion must be. Turning a hard crimson once spotting her trailing behind him with a bright sparkle in her eye; like a lost dog trailing a stranger with a basket of bread. "You're… mad at me?" He asks curiously, much to her surprise.

"N-no! No of course not." She assures with a winded breath, still recovering from such a long usage of her magic. 

But it doesn't seem to help much, a heavy sigh shaking up his broad chest. Staring past her. "You're not, huh?" He mumbles, seeming to already be beating something up in his frantic brain. "You know, Sarah, they do say there's such a thing as being too forgiving."

Her eyebrows fly up, not expecting the sudden almost disappointment in his statement before huffing childishly and crossing her arms. "I know you'd rather I punish you, but I don't want to. You've been doing that to yourself enough, I'll have no part in it."

Obviously also not expecting such a reply the red colour to Julian's face stays persistent as he stares at her with a slightly open mouth. Though it's quickly eclipsed by his single showing eye going wide. A sharp inhale cutting the conversation as he briskly shuffles, books in hand, past her to a large desk.

Ah… she knew that desk. After all spending time in the library means getting to snoop around undisturbed. That and she was originally hired to catch Dr.Devorak, not help him. The desk was cluttered and had a special almost unnoticeable 'normal' look to it. Unassuming would be the right word. It sat patiently and politely waiting for it's master to return with a dried up ink and quill on the side. Several notes scrapped to one side. "There it is, that's my desk." Everything must have fallen away for him as he leafs over the documents and pillages the drawers. Very clearly looking for something in particular.

Sarah manages to catch a few scraps as they fall off the desktop, placing them back on while giving each one a quick look-over with a fond smile. She had struggled to read these before, and still does now. The handwriting managed to shift from calm and cursive to loud incomprehensible scribbles. His wordless muttering is almost hard to hear over the rustling of old paper.

Though… she finds herself managing to deafen both intrusive noises. A note in her hand completely enveloping her attention. It wouldn't have stood out if it wasn't for the large drawing slapped onto the middle of the page. An ominously shaped beetle. There was no colour and yet an overwhelming sense of 'red' came to mind, enough so that she hadn't noticed Julian stiffen and still as he plucked something from an underside drawer.

His hand shakes, holding it tightly. A dark metal key with an almost slick texture. Like it was oily all over save for a large red stone in the eye. "Ah ha!" His abrupt and sharp bark jolts Sarah's shoulders. Bringing her hastily back to reality as the taste of foreboding remained in her mouth. "This is it. This is what was calling to me." He shook his head, long untamed locks of hair feathering out from the movement. "Don't ask me how I know, but I know. It's not any of these old scrawlings. It's this!" 

He throws the key up in the air, snatching it back on the way down and shoving it into his coat pocket with a scheming glint to his silver eye. Catching Sarah off guard as he grabs her by the shoulders and swiftly pubs her with an adoring grin. "I'm one step closer. If it wasn't for you, dear Sarah, I'd still be two behind." He growls, sweeping her from the spot victoriously into his arms, only stopping when his nose is only an inch from hers…

An ear splitting cacophonous screech from the large stained glass window causing every bone in their bodies to buzz. Immediately springing to move, Julian pushes Sarah hastily into the nearest dark corner. His arms lightly quivering; she can see his throat bob uncomfortably as he stares at the window. Taking a slow and steadying breath, both of their faces flush as his chest presses up against her own. He looks… pretty embarrassed. Still a little jumpy. 

"Just a bird. Sorry…" Sarah can feel herself shudder as his eyes travel down to meet every place they'd sandwiched together. Biting his lip with a grumble. "About everything. I'm sorry." His head drops with a look of askance. Closing his eyes as if looking at her would be too much to bear. "I don't know what I was thinking, rejecting you like I did. Temporary madness. It perhaps goes without saying that I find you… very, very attractive." The words make her mouth run dry. Trying discreetly to swallow. "Whether I'm destined to hang or not. And by some miracle, you see something attractive in me, too." He pauses only for a moment to bite at his lip before sneering. "But to what end? I pace, I drink, I tear my hair out. And still I don't know what to do. Sarah. What do you want me to do?" 

He whines unhappily. The tired dark-circled eye alight and aflame with a passion she'd not seen in anyone before. The question, the whole speech, was overwhelming her in ways she didn't want to admit. Was it… fear? It couldn't be. She DID find him attractive and she DID want him to be proven innocent… the shaking of her arms and stiff dryness of her throat finally started to dissipate as she managed to breathe after what felt like an eternity.

She reaches up gingerly, placing one hand on either side of his pale face, entangling his hair in her fingers. Bringing his head down far enough to press her forehead up against his. The gesture easing Julian down from whatever coiled up state he'd gotten himself into. The library disappeared, giving way to a looming sense of calm. She could feel his grip on her shoulders slowly melt as he moved to wrap his arms around her head, tightening a softened hug as she swayed with him for a few moments. Sarah hummed quietly, finally breaking the illusion of comfort by pushing him back enough to stare up at his face with a ballsy smirk. "...Try to be quiet. We're in a library." 

It worked, Julian looking abashed and finally loosening from his jumbled up position.

"So it is." He clears his throat, detangling his lanky arms and legs from the mad scramble he's forced them into. Patting the pocket with the key as if to check it was still there. "This key is coming with me. The key to everything, maybe. Now all I have to do is find whatever it opens..." He huffed, seemingly having moved on from their little 'moment.'

Sarah, too, was quickly forced out of her smug aura once distant sound broke the tension. Coming from behind the library doors. The two of them giving it a wary glare as general sound refined into what was clearly a set of voices. "AH! Milady! Finished up so soon?! That's a surprise!" Came Portia's comically loud and exaggerated shouts from behind the barrier. Nadia's composed and melodious tones waver through the library, but exactly what she says is too quiet to decipher.

In a sudden jump Julian tensed and responded like he had done the bird. Only now with a more serious intensity. Snatching Sarah's already held out hand on the way past as they scrambled to stash away amongst the awaiting arms of the library's shadows.

So I know you where unsure about whether you'd do the Axe Vs Sans in the story or out but could I request some of Axe's PoV? like the couch bit or the texting between them?

(*I’m really enjoying writing the scenes from the skeles’ POVs.  Maybe I’ll post these up on Ao3 sometime. )

“SANS! ONE OF YOUR HUMANS WAS LOST IN THE WOODS!  DON’T WORRY!  I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, HAVE BROUGHT THEM HOME SAFELY!”

Sans sat up on his bed, feeling slightly irritated at being woken up–not that he would ever let that irritation manifest toward his younger brother, of course.  His good eyesocket narrowed at the mention of one of his humans being lost in the woods.  Papyrus was more perceptive than Sans gave him credit; whenever he brought humans into this neck of the woods, he usually tried to do so while his brother was out hunting or recalibrating his traps.  He knew that his brother’s lumbering visage was enough nightmare fuel to frighten the humans, and he also knew that the moment they showed fear or made some offensive remark, well… Sans would be liable to kill them.  

And while their moronic “keepers” wouldn’t bat an eye, Sans knew the other six would make a big deal out of it.

*like none of them have ever killed a human before.  ha.

Still, it had been quite a while since Sans had cared enough to bring a human home.  It was too much of a hassle, which often negated the obvious stress relief he was beseeching.  So, the skeleton decided to investigate and padded through the house just in time to spot a human female crawling along the living room floor toward the door.

His expression darkened.

*fear.  she’s afraid of paps.

*she’s obviously hurt.  can’t be because of him.

*…one of the traps, maybe?  

*or maybe… she just saw him as a monster and tried to run.  could see her as the idiotic type to trip and turn her ankle.

He stopped directly in front of her, effectively blocking her progress.  She instantly froze, staring at his dirty slippers.

“where do you think you’re going?”

She skittered backwards, and his dilated crimson eyelight rolled across her body.  Strangely enough, she was wearing pajamas–and a certain black jacket he’d recognize anywhere.  His smile tightened; that explained what she was doing out here in the middle of the night.  

“S-sans.”  

Well, she got his name right, even if she’s thinking of him as his mirror–the version of him that wouldn’t know true suffering if it bit him on his bony ass.  He reached toward the girl, and although she recoiled away, it was easy enough to snag that fur-lined hood and jerk her to her feet.  She sucked in a breath, trying to shift her weight to her good foot, but Sans didn’t care about her comfort.  Not when she belonged to them.

“well, well. i should’ve known that group wasn’t as goody-two-shoes as they seemed. never expected them to pick up a human pet, though.”  His eyelight looked her up and down appraisingly.  He could see the appeal; she was attractive enough, but it was difficult to look past the fear filling her gaze and the stench of the others at the moment.  Before she could speak, he slung her toward the couch, drawing satisfaction from the way she hissed over her ankle. 

Served her right for looking at him like that–and for being so afraid of Paps.  

“PET?”  Speak of the devil; his brother crossed the living room to stare down at the human, frowning in confusion.  "YOU MEAN SHE BELONGS TO THE OTHERS?“

“I’m not–”

Sans cut her off.  "she’s wearing the pervert’s jacket. surprised he parted with it, though. he seems like the type to collar his pets… or maybe that was his brother’s thing.“ He shrugged, unconcerned.  He was used to edgelords at this point, and he admittedly liked the red-eyed version of himself more than his mirror.  At least that version of him had guts–had LOVE.

…Not that his mirror didn’t.  He just liked to pretend he was innocent.

His irritation was beginning to spike at the thought of seeing him again.  "that just means the others are going to come poking their skulls where they aren’t welcome.”

“SANS!” Nightmare Papyrus turned toward him, his tone reprimanding. “THAT’S NO ATTITUDE TO HAVE! IF WE’RE GOING TO HAVE GUESTS, I SHOULD GO PREPARE A MEAL! IT WOULD BE RUDE NOT TO OFFER THEM SOMETHING TO EAT!”

And give those assholes some of their food–their rations?  Sans wasn’t the sharing type to begin with when it came to their household, and the idea of the others eating their food made his smile even tighter–wider, more manic.  

*i’d sooner feed them my axe.  

“or i could just go dump her back in the woods.”

The girl frantically nodded. “Actually, that would be fantastic–”

“NONSENSE! WE HAVEN’T HAD GUESTS IN AGES! WELL, OTHER THAN THE USUAL ONES! THIS IS A CAUSE FOR CELEBRATION!”  Papyrus wouldn’t listen to reason and bounded off toward the kitchen, leaving Sans alone again with the girl.  Instantly, his smile fell, his eyesocket narrowing.  

*this is fantastic.  gotta deal with those bastards, feed them our food, and end up accused of hurting their woman.  

*‘course when anything goes wrong, they start pointing fingers our way.

He stalked toward the girl and reached toward her, only for her to actually have the gall to swat his hand away.  His frown deepened, though a bone brow raised in surprise.

*so she does have a little fight in her.  here i thought she was just a scared little lamb.

“Okay, you need to tell me what’s going on. I’m not anyone’s pet, and I don’t know who you are… but you know the other skeletons? Are you guys relatives, too?”  Despite the brave face she plastered on, the girl can’t stop trembling and her breathing came out in short gasps that made her chest heave.    

He almost smiles again.  Almost.  "relatives? that’s a good one, kid. but you can’t fool me. if you’re not a pet, what are you? their whore?“ He leaned in closer, inhaling deeply.  He could smell them all over her–especially Red, though that was likely from his coat, and Papyrus.  There was no hint of their magic on (or within) her, though, but he didn’t get a chance to properly sift through their scents before she slammed her palm against his sternum.  Caught by surprise, he plopped down onto the opposite couch cushion and stared at her.  

*terrified, yet determined to fight against me, huh…?

She looked utterly indignant at the implications.  "What?! No, I’m not–”

Abruptly, he snatched her wrist and jerked her toward him.  Her fingers splayed across his chest to avoid smashing her face against it, and he gripped her chin, forcing her face upward.  

“you smell like all of them. it’s all over you,” he admitted, his voice a near growl.  The scent it a constant reminder of their existence, and he doesn’t want it in his house.  His grip tightens, and she winced.  Good.  "…it’s annoying.“

“That’s because we live together. And we were just camping together.”  She yanked her face from his grip, but he holds fast to her wrist, preventing her from pulling away.  

*living together…?

“you’re living in the lodge?”

“I own the lodge,” she insisted, causing his eyesockets to widen in surprise.  He hadn’t expected that; his mirror had told them the lodge was abandoned.  Hell, that likely meant she owned the property his shack had been built on, but he wasn’t about to bring that up.  It was his–and Papyrus’s–and he’d kill her if she tried to claim it.  He tried to ask where she’d been this entire time if she supposedly owned it, but she cut him off with a shake of her head.  "I’m not playing twenty questions with you anymore until you start answering mine.“

He chuckled darkly, his smile tightening. "fair enough. what’d you ask again? i forgot.”

*my memory isn’t that bad, but nothing like some self-depreciating humor.

“Who are you?” Her voice comes out exasperated.

“that one’s easy.” His free hand reached into his pocket, fingers curling around a buzzer he’s been carrying around since the Underground.  The whoopee cushion in the hand trick was child’s play compared to this one. He extended his hand toward her, his smile wide. “name’s sans. sans the skeleton.”  

*the moment she grips my hand, the blade’ll tear into her palm.  i wonder what her screams will sound like.  

*the others will be pissed, but it serves her right for bringing that stench in my house.

She doesn’t grip his hand, however.  Instead, she stared at him like she had seen a ghost, the blood draining from her face.   “…What do you mean you’re Sans?”

*is she an idiot?

He chuckled humorlessly, shrugging.  "i’d say the one and only, but ya'know. that’s hardly the case.“

Her breathing is labored again, like she’s on the cusp of a panic attack.

"what? my pansy mirror didn’t tell you? lemme guess… they only told you their stupid nicknames? hate to break it to ya, kiddo, but their names aren’t red and blue and edgelord.”  

She swallowed hard, and he watched her throat work around the lump that had undoubtedly settled there.  "Blueberry called Stretch Papy,“ she murmured beneath her breath.

"his name ain’t blueberry. it’s sans. they’re not a family–well, some of them are.” He shrugged. “they’re alternate versions of themselves.”  

He knew that she believed him; that much was obvious from the way she stared at him, searching his features for the mirror version of him that she knew.  Her gaze trailed over the obvious jagged crack on the top of his skull, his darkened socket, the dilated eyelight and general unkempt appearance.  He was about to mock her for not seeing it sooner, for thinking that all the skeleton monsters looked the same and had ridiculous names, but she surprised him by reaching out and cupping his cheekbone.  

“What happened to you?”  She whispered the words, her voice thick and shaky.  Her fingers skirted upward, close to the crack atop his head–the part of him that separated him from his mirror forever–and he couldn’t do more than just stare at her in wonderment.  The buzzer slipped from his suddenly lax fingers, hitting the carpet.

His cheeks grew hot.  How long had it been since someone (other than Papyrus) showed him this kind of kindness?  How long had it been since someone looked at him like that–feeling his pain, having such concern over his well-being?

*what happened?  hell if i know, kid.  my memory isn’t what it used to be.

*heh, you could even say it’s full of holes.

He shrugged.  "who knows?“

*paps, probably, but who’m i to pry?

*not like i don’t have my share of secrets.

Slowly, her hand dropped from his face.  "What… what happened to Papyrus?”

*what happened to paps?

*undick happened.  the crazy bitch took her failures out on my bro.  made him captain of the royal guard, beat his face in when he didn’t want to fight against her and hurt her because she was his best friend.  

*i’ll forget a lot of things, but i’ll never forget what she did.  

In the next moment, he shoved her across the couch, severing all physical contact.  "our timeline isn’t as easy to stomach as the others, kid.“

She sat up, treading carefully and changing the subject.  "All right. If there’s other timelines… it’s like… other realities, right? So, how did everyone end up in the same reality?”

He shrugged and reached up to grip the outer rim of his unlit eyesocket and sharply tug. It always felt so uncomfortable and slightly painful, but that pain always helped ground him from getting lost in the past and his fragmented memories.  She stared at him as if he were insane, and his grin turned wide.  Of course he knew what happened to get everyone together; all of the skeletons had a version of that machine in their timelines, and he was no exception.  

Long ago, he knew he had been a scientist; that basement was all the proof he needed.  But, he couldn’t for the life of him remember it.  The machine was just a hunk of scrap metal with indecipherable blueprints and notes.   “you should ask the comedian. he’s the one that knows that science bullshit and likes messing around with things he doesn’t understand.”

And then, it seemed that talking about him was enough to summon him.  His mirror appeared, looking frantic until he spotted the human, and that relief was enough to piss Sans off.  He watched as his mirror made certain she was all right, before he turned his attention to Sans.  The air became electric, although Sans knew it was all a bluff.  Even if his mirror had more magic reserves than him (after the head injury, he could only teleport short distances and summoning a Gaster Blaster was out of the question.  It was annoying, but at least he was able to rely on his brute strength and bone-axe), he knew that the blue-clad skeleton wouldn’t pick a fight with him while Paps was in the house.  

His mirror could barely even look at Paps.  

*what’s wrong?  you don’t like knowing in some reality, you failed him?

*how do you think i feel, bastard?

*…. like you’re one to judge.  you’ve failed your pap plenty, or else your LOVE wouldn’t be so high.

Just as his mirror didn’t like looking at Paps, Sans didn’t like looking at his mirror.  It reminded him of who he used to be… in another life, before everything went to hell.  This was a version of him that succeeded–or one where the human RESET at least.  The barrier was broken, monsters gained their freedom, and no one had to watch their loved ones starve.  

Sans would… like to meet the Frisk of this timeline.  He has a few choice words for his old pal, but he knows that his mirror tries to keep his old friends at bay.  

Hell, even if he saw the Undyne of this timeline, Sans would probably impale her on the spot.

*you’re not innocent if you have the capacity for that kind of evil lurking just under the surface.

*and that human ambassador isn’t innocent, either.  

His mirror agrees to eat the spaghetti, bringing Sans back to reality.  

“I… can’t really walk,” the human girl admitted, favoring her ankle as she tried to stand.  His mirror moved to pick her up, but suddenly, Sans doesn’t want him touching her.  He moved quickly and snatched her off the couch, gathering her into his arms.  Turning away from his mirror, he crossed the living room.  

“axe, don’t touch her.”

*it’s the deep, spooky voice.

*heh, i bet his eyesockets are dark.

*hate to break it to ya, pal, but one of mine always is.  i’ve got you beat when it comes to the scary stare.

Sans scoffed, but didn’t turn around. “human, can i carry you to the kitchen?”  He asked the question like the answer was obvious.

“I don’t mind,” she answered, all of her previous fear gone, which caused his smile to turn a little more genuine–and absolutely victorious.  

“see, she’s fine. c'mon, kiddo, hope you’re a humanitarian.”

He’s joking of course; the brothers haven’t had the need to eat humans since coming to this timeline, and yet the others always act as if they eat them just for fun now.  It’s ridiculous, but Sans enjoys joking about their past food preferences to make the others uncomfortable.  

Speaking of uncomfortable, it’s also enjoyable for Sans to touch the human while his mirror–and later, Red–irritably shift.  It’s obvious they both think they have some kind of claim on her.

And once he finds out that she’s not dating any of the skeletons in the lodge, well… things become interesting.  

He’ll have to get her number from Paps and keep in touch.  

Endless Bella edits : 1/?

© 

tags : general .

10 Hours Of Goodbye Horses

It's the best moment to accumulate and acknowledge A Pharaonic Herculean Metasomatic line that is relating to, the whole consisting of spirit and being incorporeal. Or relating to the spirit or soul, as distinguished from the physical nature as a spiritual approach to life and closely akin in interests, attitude, outlook, etc.: "As the professor's spiritual heir in linguistics." Or relating to spirits or to spiritualists as a supernatural or spiritualistic characterized by or suggesting the predominance of the spirit, to the real or delicately refined as ... "He is more of a spiritual type than his rowdy brother" ... Because he is living a Transcence life or living in a metacognition epigenetic tranche or a digital divide nano declutter or paradigm shift that confusticate a aha-moment and work around an eco munge exoplanet aggregator as an ultracrepidarian input device which is a multiversa kaizen pixelate because he is an extremely friendly well informed that continue to be a misaffectionate ad captandum vulgus. accommodation ... I post it on The Scoping Summary of the Superior song of Visage "Fade To Grey" and The Unparalleled Song of Q Lazzarus "Goodbye Horses" from The ₮ⱧɆ ₣@ƈтøʀʏ Ɇʀʀøʀ Devenir gris Devenir gris One man on a lonely platform one case sitting by his side two eyes staring cold and silence shows fear as he turns to hide Ah Ah To Ah We Fade To Grey  Ah Ah To Ah We Fade To Grey Un homme dans une gare isolée une valise a ses cotés des yeux fixes et froids montre de la peur lorsqu'il se tourne pour se cacher Ah Ah To Ah We Fade To Grey  Ah Ah To Ah We Fade To Grey Sent la pluie comme un été Anglais entends les notes d'une chanson lointaine sortant de derriere d'un poster espérant que la vie ne fut aussi longue Ah Ah To Ah We Fade To Grey  Ah Ah To Ah We Fade To Grey  feel the rain like an English summerb hear the notes from a distant song stepping out from a back shop poster wishing life wouldn't be so long ... This was the Favorite Timeless song from The Grey King Right before I became To Be The Heyoka Sacred Clown-The Most Powerful Empath Masscult F@ctory Error F@brieksfout Εργοστ@τικό Σφ@λμα Gravel Flamefoot Daggerblow and more with its favorite timeless song The Autobiographic autobiographic to myself "Goodbye Horses" from Q Lazzarus if you don't believe me I was the only one who could give the perfect description of the song if at least YouTube didn't took this Perfect description from the seven or eight differen versions. YOUTUBE DIDN'T TOOK OFF THE FAVOURITE TIMELESS NUMBER ONE FROM Fabrieksfout Factory error Εργοστατικό σφάλμα that became a famous song in 1989 because of the movie The Silence Of The Lambs in the scene right  after Buffalo Bill said to his victim  "It rubs the lotion on its skin. It does this whenever it is told ... It puts the lotion in the basket ... IT PUTS THE LOTION IN THE FUCKING BASKET!!!"  So Bill started to sing the mysterious favourite timeless song "Goodbye Horses" from  Q Lazzarus that was playing on the radio ... But let me explain to you what is the meaning or what is Goodbye  horses all about ... It's about a person that felt and saw anything through his life and experienced the worse shit ever happen in life and like this all is not enough a mysterious person crossed over the living shit or the life of our hero and he does not agree with this mysterious simple but extremely sarcastic confusing so-called comforting person who claims to him to not worry because all the worse things ar all over in the night, just to sprinkle some salt over our hero his wounds. So our hero learned to be transcendence after a couple years hard practising on very different transcendent ways to finally lead a new transcendence way of life an seeing all those who made his life a living shit together with the mysterious simple but sarcastic confusing so-called comforting person only  from out his transcendence state as stupid earthly and finite beings that living in a stupid world and calling to them " Bye bye horses I'm flying forever away from you!!!" Since then our hero living a so called peaceful but very effectual transcendence-spiritual life as the most lonely loner or the only single singularity except when his only real best friend The only Real Pope of Darkness Satanas-Luciferi and for real only friends like myself simply Lucien comes to visit our real bigger hero than any comic book or film Superhero ...

hurloane “I won’t forget this moment.” 👀👀

((“These are going to be very short fics!” I said. You know, like a liar.))

“It’s like sex. You do it often enough and eventually the thrill wears off.”

“Pfft.” The noise might have been derisive or might have been amused or both. It was hard to tell, muffled as it was under layers of polystyrene and fiberglass. “I seriously doubt it. Just because you’re above it all doesn’t mean I have to be.”

Sloane shrugged and did not respond immediately. The late sun’s rays splintered into spikes as they hit the edge of the steel garage door. They pricked the corners of her vision and made her eyes sting until they watered. She turned away from it to look at the small woman whose head rested in her lap. Her raven mask created blind spots at the edges of her vision, a black frame encircling the world, so that she could not see all of the halfling at once. Not that she would’ve gotten a good look regardless. The Ram still wore the bone-white visage of her namesake over her face. Horns curved backwards from the top of the glaring skull to curl around her slightly pointed ears. 

This level of contact would not have been feasible months ago, when they had only just begun to race together. In the beginning, Sloane had tensed even at the accidental brush of their greasy knuckles as the Ram passed her a wrench. But she had been forced to get used to it. There had been enough of holding ice packs against one another’s bruises and burns, enough all-nighters when they fell asleep slumped against each other while working on the wagon, enough celebratory embraces after they had flown over the finish line both smelling of blood and sweat and dust. Touching between the two of them was, by now, nothing out of the ordinary and nothing especially meaningful.

At least, Sloane told herself that. She could even believe it up until the moment when they actually touched. Somehow, she always forgot just how it set her off tingling whenever they made contact.

“I’m just saying,” Sloane went on, “winning races is always great and all, but the adrenaline rush isn’t always there after awhile. You won’t always have the novelty of it.”

The Ram shook her head. “I don’t believe it,” she said softly. “Not for me at least. You can never quite remember just what it’s like until you’re there in the thick of it, you know? The way the wind feels in your hair and the way the cheering drowns out everything else. You just can’t replicate it. I don’t think so, anyway.”

Maybe, for the Ram, that would indeed be true. She was hungry for life, in a way that Sloane had seldom seen in other people. (Maybe because the Ram still believed there was a lot that life could offer her.) Her racing moniker–although not befitting the unified goth corvid aesthetic that Sloane had so carefully cultivated–was well chosen. She didn’t race against their competitors. She charged toward the western sun and tried to outpace it so that it would never set on her. The other racers were just in her way. 

Sloane’s eyes had started to drift down to the Ram’s toned arms, where freckles dusted the skin like snowflakes that had yet to melt. She caught herself trying to trace their pattern, trying to memorize the exact curvature of the muscles, and viciously chastised herself. That would only lead to self-torment. She had tried, in the past, to scan crowds for the Ram, searching for halflings with the same body type and slightly springy gait. But she had never found any quite like her, and there was no point anyway, and she didn’t know why she even bothered. Both had agreed to the utmost discretion from the very beginning. They would not acknowledge each other outside of the track and the garage. Personal lives were to be discussed in only the vaguest of terms. And no taking off the masks.  

“And hey,” said the Ram, “your experiences are not universal. Maybe you’ve just been having bad sex.”

“Hey, fuck you!” Sloane shot back, hoping she could hear the smile in her voice. “I’ll have you know I have fantastic sex on a very regular basis.”

“Right. That’s why you’re in here with me almost every night working on the wagon.”

Sloane snorted. “Well, there’s the pot calling the kettle black. If I’m not getting any, you’re not either, are you?”

“We’ve both been busy, I guess,” she murmured, drumming her fingers lightly against Sloane’s thigh. She felt almost unbearably sensitive, all of a sudden, nearly ticklish. 

“Yeah.” Sloane swallowed. “Yeah, we have.”

The Ram’s chest expanded as she inhaled and seemed to just keep inhaling. She held the breath for a long time, as though waiting for some sort of cue to release. For her own part, Sloane’s muscles were knotting as she waited in the hot silence. 

“Raven,” the Ram breathed at last. 

“Yeah, Lamb Chop?”

She snickered, and for an instant the tension ebbed. “I’ve told you that’s the dumbest fucking nickname possible.”

“I think it’s fun.” Sloane hoped her nervousness did not leak through her teeth. “You know, like the little sheep puppet? You ever see that thing? Everyone loves–”

“Can I kiss you?”

The words came out so fast and sudden that Sloane had to take several moments to process their meaning, then several moments longer to try to convince herself that she had simply misheard. But no. The Ram was sitting up, now, and turned toward her, fixed on her. 

Sloane stared, and considered it lucky that her face was covered, because she undoubtedly would have looked like a complete fucking moron otherwise. After a time, she was able to pick up her jaw and use it for speech. “Uh. No?” She shook her head quickly. “I mean–we can’t, you know?”

“No one kisses with their eyes open anyway,” the Ram murmured. There was something strained in her voice. “We could just close our eyes while we had the masks off. There’s no catch here, I swear on whatever god you like, there isn’t. Just this once, just for a second, I…I just want to know what it’d be like. But…fuck, I can’t believe how stupid this is. I’m sorry. If you don’t want to, I–”

“Wait, no, I…” Sloane thought, or rather did as much thinking as she could with her mind buzzing. It was, in fact, a stupid idea to expose herself like that. Idiotic, in fact. A completely pointless risk. And nothing, nothing, not the diamond necklaces tucked away in the aristocrats’ safes nor the finish line near the cliff had ever tempted her more. Nothing had ever seemed more worth it. 

Sloane grabbed the beak of her mask. “On three?” And the Ram nodded. 

She squeezed her eyes shut before she pulled the mask off, then reached out, blindly, carefully. Her palm settled on a strikingly warm, soft cheek. She felt the gentle breath of a contented sigh blow against her, just brushing her neck. She tried to take a note of every sensation, document every detail in her mind. She wanted to grab these few moments out of time and hoard them for herself, relive them again and again, have them even in the privacy and darkness of her own room. 

Her thumb ran over the Ram’s cheekbone. Then, after a moment’s wondering, she moved her finger up to brush, as lightly as possible, over the eye. She made contact with the delicate closed eyelid. 

The Ram chuckled, and it sounded the way a steaming cup of coffee felt. “You don’t trust me after all this time? I’m not going to peek.” She took Sloane’s hand and placed it, carefully, over her own forehead. Sloane could feel the featheriness of the Ram’s eyelashes and the slight movement of her eyes against her palm. Everything about her was hot and close and real. 

Sloane tasted her and knew that she would never forget this moment. 

((Hi this like barely followed the prompt and is three hours late but I hope you like it anyway!!! Thanks for asking as always ily.))

Visage - Fade To Grey (12" Extended Version) (Audio Only)

I post it on The Scoping Summary of the Superior song of Visage "Fade To Grey" and The Unparalleled Song of Q Lazzarus "Goodbye Horses" from The ₮ⱧɆ ₣@ƈтøʀʏ Ɇʀʀøʀ Devenir gris Devenir gris One man on a lonely platform one case sitting by his side two eyes staring cold and silence shows fear as he turns to hide Ah Ah To Ah We Fade To Grey  Ah Ah To Ah We Fade To Grey Un homme dans une gare isolée une valise a ses cotés des yeux fixes et froids montre de la peur lorsqu'il se tourne pour se cacher Ah Ah To Ah We Fade To Grey  Ah Ah To Ah We Fade To Grey Sent la pluie comme un été Anglais entends les notes d'une chanson lointaine sortant de derriere d'un poster espérant que la vie ne fut aussi longue Ah Ah To Ah We Fade To Grey  Ah Ah To Ah We Fade To Grey  feel the rain like an English summerb hear the notes from a distant song stepping out from a back shop poster wishing life wouldn't be so long ... This was the Favorite Timeless song from The Grey King Right before I became To Be The Heyoka Sacred Clown-The Most Powerful Empath Masscult F@ctory Error F@brieksfout Εργοστ@τικό Σφ@λμα Gravel Flamefoot Daggerblow and more with its favorite timeless song The Autobiographic autobiographic to myself "Goodbye Horses" from Q Lazzarus if you don't believe me I was the only one who could give the perfect description of the song if at least YouTube didn't took this Perfect description from the seven or eight differen versions. YOUTUBE DIDN'T TOOK OFF THE FAVOURITE TIMELESS NUMBER ONE FROM Fabrieksfout Factory error Εργοστατικό σφάλμα that became a famous song in 1989 because of the movie The Silence Of The Lambs in the scene right  after Buffalo Bill said to his victim  "It rubs the lotion on its skin. It does this whenever it is told ... It puts the lotion in the basket ... IT PUTS THE LOTION IN THE FUCKING BASKET!!!"  So Bill started to sing the mysterious favourite timeless song "Goodbye Horses" from  Q Lazzarus that was playing on the radio ... But let me explain to you what is the meaning or what is Goodbye  horses all about ... It's about a person that felt and saw anything through his life and experienced the worse shit ever happen in life and like this all is not enough a mysterious person crossed over the living shit or the life of our hero and he does not agree with this mysterious simple but extremely sarcastic confusing so-called comforting person who claims to him to not worry because all the worse things ar all over in the night, just to sprinkle some salt over our hero his wounds. So our hero learned to be transcendence after a couple years hard practising on very different transcendent ways to finally lead a new transcendence way of life an seeing all those who made his life a living shit together with the mysterious simple but sarcastic confusing so-called comforting person only  from out his transcendence state as stupid earthly and finite beings that living in a stupid world and calling to them " Bye bye horses I'm flying forever away from you!!!" Since then our hero living a so called peaceful but very effectual transcendence-spiritual life as the most lonely loner or the only single singularity except when his only real best friend The only Real Pope of Darkness Satanas-Luciferi and for real only friends like myself simply Lucien comes to visit our real bigger hero than any comic book or film Superhero ...