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stelfox · 5 months

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Thank you @yezhk for the translation! Go to this account, there is incredibly beautiful creativity

"Dinner Time"

It was not the first time Gordon watching the recordings, but it was the first time when he noticed the chain lay wrong. He moved closer to the TV and leaned over, peering into it. Something was wrong. Something was unreal. Something…The chain just was on the wrong leg. Confused and embarrassed, he frowned.

How many names Adam got? One, double? Were these documents real actually? You should never trust a person, who makes money by spying. And you should not think that such a rascal could have found a way out. Adam had a gift being such an unordinary idiot – he was not prepared for life, but he wanted to live, no doubt.

Whether on cameras or in the bathroom, the sight was ridiculous. The corpse’s head dropped and pressed to his chest. Cheeks were stained with pale blue, shadows inked eye sockets and cheekbones. Adam’s build was unrecognizable. Even the clothes looked different: they were longer, had another color, they were grey and dry. The collar was lower and wider than on That day.

There are dozens of tapes near the TV, but not a single recording of Adam’s death. Gordon sat down, stretching out his leg and hitting the button on the remote control. The first recording, second, third. The images changed like evening channels, as if he was at home, and people on the other side of the screen were no more than actors in stupid TV shows. One horror movie after another, one after another, and none of them glisten with familiar blood stains. Gordon knew the bathroom in every crack; he would never mix it up.

When he found a recording he needed, he realized that it broke off at the sight of a closed door. Nothing else. The darkness. Long and black.

***

Dark. The clock has not strike eight yet, but the sun had long set. Autumn was empty and desolate. Gordon walked with his head down, used to returning alone. He shared the street with the cars parked on the right and with the man who was wandering in front.

Cold. The coat warmed his wrists, but his back and stomach froze in the wind. The leg ached. The shiver hardened below the knee, and the ankle seemed to crack under the boot. The man in front was not wearing a jacket. He walked slowly, kicking puddles. It was stupid, but the only thought lit up in Gordon's head.

Adam.

What did he look like?

Not much time had passed, but Gordon no longer remembered what his face looked like. In his mind a bullet wound remained, a white T-shirt, a cigarette and... nothing.

The memories were blurred. Instead of Adam's face, there was only a pale spot. Gordon winced. He felt as if something personal had been stolen from him, something that belonged exclusively to him. Not a jewel, but a body part. An eye, lips, or finger. Adam belonged to him as an object. Not only because he was dead, but also because he was still part of the trap. Kramer wanted Adam to be just a story, and Gordon remembered it in every line and detail. In every scream, drop of blood and electric shock. But the face, the only thing that cannot be torn out of memory, dissipated.

The man was approaching, and Gordon flinched, trying to control his trembling. Adam survived. He survived. And that meant that Kramer had found a place for him in Saw's plans.

The part of the body that was responsible for the danger buzzed inside.

The next time he saw Adam was in the hallway. The whitish light lay on him like a robe. The meeting was short and accidental. Gordon refused to hug, but ran his palm next to the T-shirt several times, checking if it was real. And, right, the T-shirt was soft as cotton, and a little cold, as if after washing.

It was fine with him.

The first minutes went into the void. Gordon tried to keep a calm expression on his face, but it did not suit him — his glance changed, lips curled. He was disgusted, no doubt, but only with himself. Of Adam, he felt something akin to paternal pride.

Lawrence saw Diana a year ago. From that moment on, she changed, became all grown up. Time goes differently when you live alone, and Gordon often watched the clock. Diana returned from school at two o'clock, and Alison started cooking dinner at four. Gordon returned at six [at best], and at seven the spoons would clink. The evenings of the last few weeks have passed without food. Gordon had lunch, through force. At home he couldn't even eat a piece of food. His throat ached, he felt a spasm as if he was being choked, and the urge to puke crawled inside.

Adam caused a similar feeling, somewhere between waiting for Diana and sickness. Adam was living, loud and bright. The survivors of the Games follow one of the paths: suffer from self-hatred or feel unstoppable, almost sectarian, happiness. Adam chose the second one. He reeked of love for life, for every day, for the fact of his existence. Even though he was poor. Even though he was alone.

Slowly pride gave way to envy. One more meeting. And another one. Every day after work. There was a persistent lump in Gordon’s throat.

“That’s enough, Adam.”

“What?”

“What did you just say?”

“I wanna go to a concert.”

“Mmm,” Gordon made a sound resembling a low humming. There was nothing strange or stupid about the concert, so swearing, insulting, making a remark did not come to mind. He fell silent, not finding how to throw out the stuck phrases. “You have nothing to be happy about and nothing to live for. Idiot”, he thought.

“Come o-o-on. I see. I’ll just get another job or something like that.”

“What kind of?”

“A photographer.”

“Offi…”

“Yeah, officially. No one knows what I did before, so…”

“Are you sure?”

“Yep.”

“And…this will be enough?”

Adam raised his eyebrows in kind of a cartoonish way. Enough for what?

“For…living.”

Maybe the only one who had nothing to be happy about was Gordon.

He wakes up to a rumble somewhere between a sob and an iron friction. In some ways, this sound resembles a fly stuck in glass. Rushing around. Back and forth. Rushing around.

Then Gordon smells blood. He gets up, confused, trying to figure out if he is imagining things, and he found Adam. Half of the shin is cut off, the saw is fidgeting inside, moving firmly after the handle. Adam is persistent, with a sharp movement he lowers and raises saw blade, lowers and raises, moves it left and right, right and left, and for the first time Gordon sees determination on his face.

“Why…”

Adam's voice is high but harsh, flaring up and melting into screams, sobs and tears. The saw does not suit him, it seems strange, but fascinating, as if to see a child with a match surrounded by canisters. Gordon is frightened by this freezing, even the screams seem to be silence before the explosion, but pity loses to helplessness. He watches Adam, and himself from the outside, and his little hope.

The flesh, bent under its own weight, looks like a wrapping. It is like Adam's leg is nothing more than a bone surrounded by foil. The foil rustles as if he is unwrapping a present, cutting ribbons with a knife, how would Gordon do it on Christmas or his daughter's birthday. And inside the box, inside…

Adam's foot remains on the floor, and he howls, seized his skin. He is too weak to cauterize the wound, so he just sobs on the floor. Weakness shakes his shoulders, and panic disturbs, known only to those who remain without a part of the body. Then it creeps over his face. Gordon had never heard such a mournful, rhythmic howl. When he cut his leg himself, he seemed to be silent. And Adam [it's part of his character] can't shut up. His resolve fades, and Adam sobs incessantly, often swaying absurdly with his forehead on the floor.

Finally, Gordon comes out of his stupor. The body, inflamed with horror, begins to move and breathe.

“Adam,” he whispers, without closing his mouth. The jaw remains in the air, and there is not enough strength to clench the teeth. “What are you doing…at my house?”

He wakes up in a cold sweat. The room is dark, moonlight is shining through the window. There was not even a stain on the carpet, red with blood a moment ago, crushed by Adam's weight and his shadow.

Nightmare. A bad dream. Gordon grinned, turning on his back. The ceiling is the same today as it has always been. Except that Gordon feels more meaningful when he looks up.

The chain is lying…wrong.

***

Maybe he was too cruel?

Gordon rolled over onto his side and watched the outlines of the wallpaper. The sun was blurred by the glass, and even the bedroom now resembled a hospital room.

When Diana cried, he tried to be with her. He found the right words, stroked her head. Gordon was happy when she was happy, and he gave advice when she was guilty. It was worth learning to argue like Alison, but he did worse — he left when Diana wanted to talk, and when she was waiting, he did not return. More and more often, until he disappeared.

Waking up in the bathroom meant disappearing. He was sure he was dead when he opened his eyes. The calm was overwhelming, but as long as Alison and Diana were okay, even with the chain on his leg, he felt the same as in a hotel room with another woman. In fact, these circumstances made no difference. In any way he “left at the wrong time and did not return at the wrong time”.

Sometimes the thought came: how does Diana live without this advice? However, Gordon quickly found an answer: Diana lives the same way. But without any hope of getting them.

Adam's face was just as blurry. Neither the meeting, nor the flashbacks did not get rid of the blurred, empty features. Now, staring at the wall, Gordon reflected that he only occasionally saw Adam's eyes, and his gaze was not filled with the joy that sparkled in the words. And the next meeting was no different from the previous one:

“I wanna become a photographer”, “I wanna go to a concert”, “I’ll cherish my life”, “I’ll make it up to my family”, “I’ll get back together with an ex”. Adam talked, talked and talked.

“I had a dream where…you cut off your leg.”

“Huh?”

“I had a dream…” Gordon repeated, trying to keep a tone to his voice. He did not have to continue the phrase.

“That would be probably painful.”

“Yeah. Much.”

“Ouch,” Adam’s voice shrank like a piece of paper, and he could not help laughing. “I’ve forgotten you had cut off your own leg.”

“It’s hard to forget…”

“Come on…Seriously, I’ve forgotten you’re a cyborg.”

Gordon looked down. A glint of silicone appeared between the pant leg and the boot. It cannot be seen. Just the edge. He wondered how quickly Diana would have get accustomed to the possibility of leg being taken off. And then again

In fact, his self-belief is amazing. Not everyone can make dozens of plans. One day Adam wants to go to another state, then get a dog. The next day, he tells Gordon how he shoots models, and how he dreams of photographing Lana Rhoades.

After a couple of weeks, he still manages to make up with his parents. It takes effort and time, but Adam, happy and alive, gives hope that Diana will have the same fate. Sometimes you do not need advice to be happy, and Gordon smiles as he listens and swallows tears. Sometimes Adam's chatter becomes unbearable. Especially when Gordon finds a recording of his death in the drawer, but the world remains as calm as ever, plans remain plans and there is no dinner at seven o’clock.

#jigsaw #adam faulkner stanheight #saw fanfic #saw 2004 #dr lawrence gordon

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ill-skillsgard · 3 years

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Another goth out here - Can I ask for hc's of all the Bill boys you write for with a goth girl, please?

Why, yes! I’d love to. After all... Everyone needs a cute goth GF, right? You know it’s true.

Axel Cluney

He steals her fishnets. They just look good on him. Axel likes to show some skin and he’s not a fan of real shirts. Only garments with holes in them, and she happens to have a lot of those. Axel will convince her to do a clothing swap with him until she gets fed up sacrificing her clothes and brings him to a goth market where he can buy his own stuff.

They compare tattoos. She has some meaningful and dark tattoos and Axel is covered in ink he let his friend put on him as “practice”...That friend is now in jail tattooing convicts, but Axel insists they’re not prison tats.

He shows her new music. Everything she loves, Axel loved when he was a kid, and makes it a point to remind her of his refined taste by bringing her mix CDs which she can’t play because who even owns a CD-player anymore? (He buys her one from the local pawn shop so they can listen to Smashing Pumpkins together.)

Axel contemplates dying his hair black. He loves hers, so why not his?

Roman Godfrey

She has a crush on him first, thinking he’s the closest thing to the local “goth” boy, then realizes he’s not goth at all. She might think he’s a poser. After much back and forth, she decides he’s just a fashion guy, but he already has his sights set on her. He wears all the black in his closet and then buys more to assimilate.

Roman’s idea of a first date is bringing her to a forest where he smokes cigarettes and talks about being an outcast. She makes fun of him only a little bit, then steals his scarf. He lets her keep it, saying it looks better on her anyway.

He asks her if she knows any witchcraft or spells; if she believes in spirits and all that. It surprises her to hear these questions and she answers, “why? You wanna put a hex on someone?”

Roman has found a match for his attitude. He thought he was the world’s biggest brat until he meets her. It’s a huge turn-on for him to have a girl that doesn’t put up with bullshit.

Henry Deaver

She scares him. Like a lot. But it’s hot...Right? He doesn’t know if she hates him or not, but he’ll find out once he summons the courage to talk to her.

He’s wildly afraid of coming off as unimpressive, but he doesn’t know what these kinds of girls like. So he buys up a bunch of old-school horror movies, some of them truly god-awful, and hopes she’ll want to watch one of them. Oh, and he has to keep the lights on, and no, he won’t explain why. He just likes to watch movies with the light on. Yes, there’s a glare on the screen, and no, it doesn’t bother him.

She figures out Henry is jumpy and will lurk in the shadows to pop out at him at any chance. He screams and clutches his chest the first couple of times, then spends the rest of their time together peering around corners and assessing where she is at all times.

He will not make the first move. She kisses him first, under a full moon, and Henry practically melts.

The Kid

He’s the only man that kind of freaks her out. He’s tall, dark, quiet, and not in the typecast way. This guy looks like a dead tree. He kind of sits there all stiff and wide-eyed like ghosts are talking to him. Until he cracks his first gentle smile, she’s not even sure he has a pulse.

The Kid knows all the best scary movies, and we’re not talking Friday the Thirteenth and A Nightmare on Elm Street. He has a stash of the freakiest underground film that makes even her feel uncomfortable watching, and she grew up on this shit.

She likes to wear dark lipstick, and he’s the only one who doesn’t make snide or “clever” comments. He likes the way she dresses and does herself up. It reminds him of a little porcelain doll. A cursed doll, but cute nonetheless.

To her surprise, he kisses her first. He’s not the most vocal guy, but he can read body language, and he knows it’s the right time. When he pulls away, the smile on her face turns his icy insides to liquid.

Henry Pearl

They meet at a midnight art showing in the middle of the town’s square. Her booth is set up with her spooky dolls and sinister paintings, sculptures and metaphysical crafts of bone and crystals. Henry gravitates toward her when he hears people whispering about her weird art.

She begs him to teach her some painting techniques, as she’s intrigued by his skill, and he obliges, but only later at night.

He makes her breakfast at night, explaining that nine PM is the perfect time for pancakes. She doesn’t mind since she’s a night owl by nature.

After they see each other for a few weeks, Henry paints a portrait of her and gets his first kiss as a result. It rocks his entire world. After the kiss, all he ever wants to paint is her face.

Mickey

He tries a little too hard to get her attention at first. She doesn’t know whether she finds him pathetic or if it’s kiiinda cute how he follows her around like a puppy.

They bond over music one day in Mickey’s car, which is NOT the car she first saw him driving. He lights up when metal plays, croons to power ballads, gets emotional over the break-up songs. She can see he’s a genuine dude who wears his emotions on his sleeve.

Mickey brings her flowers he stole from various gardens. He had a vision of buying her a bouquet of black roses, but they wanted 60 bucks at the store, so he improvises by prowling the garden district with a pair of shears.

Her black collars excite him. He asks if they mean anything or if they’re just fashion. She teases him and tells him if he wants to find out, he’ll have to prove himself. So he spends the rest of the week acting like the perfect boyfriend, though they’re not “official”, they are in his mind and he doesn’t have eyes for anyone else.

Merkel

Maybe the only guy who might be more goth than her. He likes black, wearing make-up and knows all the best underground clubs where they play dark industrial and everyone dresses like her.

He asks if he can dress her one day. To her surprise, Merkel has trunks of clothes he’s taken from fashion shoots. He styles her and stages his own photoshoot with her as his muse. The pictures are strikingly editorial, and she has the best time.

Merkel talks about hanging out with all her idols. She listens with heart-eyes and a smile to rival a sunrise to the stories of Gordon’s travels through Europe.

Invites her over to his place one night for wine and black-and-white movies, but all she wants to do is check out his handcuff collection and put them to use. With a coy look, he escorts her to his studio apartment, asking, “do you have your own safeword, or should we decide on one now?”

Willard Russell

He doesn’t understand all the black, but he wants to because he thinks she looks beautiful. He’s never seen a girl like her before. Maybe she’s an angel, maybe she’s the opposite... All Willard knows is he wants to talk to her.

She understands his melancholy, and he doesn’t feel like he needs to put on a happy mask when she’s around. It’s a breath of fresh air to feel like he can be himself in front of someone who doesn’t try to change him.

Her intelligence baffles him, and she doesn’t speak like the folks he grew up with. She’s different in every way, and he falls in love with her quickly.

Willard makes her a tree swing in the forest where they like to go to be alone. She finds this incredibly sweet and kisses him on the cheek before taking a seat on the wooden plank. His skin heats from where her lips touched, and he spends the rest of the evening with her in a lovestruck daze.

#Bill Skarsgard hc #Bill Skarsgard imagine #Bill Skarsgard drabble #Bill Skarsgard fanfiction #Roman Godfrey #Axel Cluney #Henry Deaver #The Kid #Henry Pearl #Mickey Villains #gordon merkel #willard russell

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bakubabes-tatakae · 4 years

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The Man With The Shadows

Author’s Note: If anyone wants to be in a taglist for this feel free to let me know! Happy to do it for anyone!

(Yami Sukehiro x Reader)

Summary: Yami has his hands full with the Black Bulls. Y/N might be a member of the Silva house, but she was disowned for being in love with a commoner. Together they lead this band of misfits, one chaos driven mission at a time.

AO3 Link

Part One:

Word Count: 2,090

It was a normal day in the Black Bulls hideout. Pandamonieum was always afoot, there was never a dull moment in this place. Magna and Luck flew about the place, fireballs bounced off furniture, lighting strikes left marks on the floors. Charmy sat at her usual table, enjoying some delectable snacks made by her sheep cooks. Gauche sat at another table, admiring a picture of the adorable Marie, something we all thought odd, but we let it happen anyway. Vanessa laid on the couch, still hungover from the night before. Everyone was just the same as they always were, just a little more intensified with the Captain not here to supervise.

Yami Sukehiro, the Captain of the Black Bulls, was out at the entrance exams for the Magic Knights, looking for some fresh meat to bring home to us. When Yami was away I was in charge, something that I tried my best at, but the luck just wasn’t there. You would think that being the girlfriend of the big, bad, Yami Sukehiro, would at least strike some fear in them, but these jokers didn’t seem to have a fearful bone in their body. They all knew that when Yami returned and saw the place in shambles they were all in for it.

When the doors opened nobody but I seemed to notice. A young boy with ash blonde hair pushed it open and stood in front of us. “I’m the newest member of this squad, fresh from Hage village.” A fireball from Magna that was just hit back toward him by Luck began careening toward the boy. As he began to speak again the fireball hit as his feet, sending him flying out the door as he hollered his next words. “I’m Asta!” He name began to echo as he got farther from the door. I cringed as I saw Yami’s figure start to appear.

The rest of the squad hadn’t even noticed. Magna was screaming at Luck again. “Okay, now I’m really mad. Are you ready to take me on!?”

Luck was jumping away from him. “Nope, not really, but lets go!”

Fireballs started to fly everywhere again. I face palmed and looked around at them all. Vanessa was starting to awake next to me. She sat up a little and smiled at me. “Hey baby girl.”

I smiled at her and laughed. “How’s your head feel?”

She groaned. “Why is it so loud in here? I should have skipped those extra drinks. My head is killing me.”

Gauche was getting agitated really fast. I could see it in his body posture. Finally he exploded, turning to face the two fighting in the common area. “Enough! Shut up damn you!”

The young boy hollered again, trying to get everyone’s attention. “I’m Asta from Hage village! I’m a Black Bull now too. Some day, I’m gonna become the Wizard King!”

I watched him and glanced at Yami, giving him an apologetic smile. Yami took a drag from his cigarette and shrugged at me.

Gauche was getting angrier by the second and so was I. He exploded for a second time before I could even get a word out. “Come on, give it a rest you idiots! You’re going to wake up my sister with all the noise you’re making! DAMN IT!”

Vanessa’s hangover was just making her grumpy. “Get over it you freaky sister lover!”

I slapped her arm. “What the hell happened to you?”

She scratched the back of her head. “I remember getting into a drinking contest with some guy, but after that…” She smiled at me and laid against my shoulder. “Will you please shut up!” She hollered at the two that were destroying the hideout. “I’ve got the mother of all headaches.”

Magna stopped what he was doing and looked at her. “That’s your own problem you drunk!”

Vanessa and I stood up quickly, the three of us got right into each other’s face. Vanessa was seeing red. “What did you say?”

“You heard me.”

I pointed at him. “At least she’s not a virgin street punk!”

“Virgin street punk, where do you get off calling me that?”

Luck flew over to where we were. “Better be careful,” He spoke to Magna. “Get distracted and I’ll get you.”

Magna’s short attention span once again got the best of him. He turned and started toward Luck. “Oh yea, then come here and give it your best shot.

I groaned loudly and walked away, headed toward Yami. More chaos went on behind us as I got to him. He wrapped one arm around my shoulder and kissed the top of my head. Our height difference made it a perfect opportunity for him. I looked up at him and gave him the same apologetic smile from before. “I tried to keep them in line, but you know how they are.”

Yami chuckled. “Don’t worry about it princess.” Princess was my name when he knew we were the only two to hear it. Finally, Yami had had enough. The power of his magic radiated off of him, a shade of purple surrounded his body. “Alright, I’ve had enough.” He took his arm off my shoulder and before I could object to him doing it, his fist hit the wall beside us as hard as he could. “Quit breaking stuff already!!” The wall collapsed a lot more around where Magna had sent a fireball through the door.

Asta was in shock. “Oh man, now it’s way broken.”

Everyone finally turned around, finally noticing that Yami had come back. The group all came running toward us, all talking to Yami at once. Magna fought his way to the front. “How was it? Did you find us an arrogant newbie? I can take him down notch if you want.”

Luck shoved Magna’s face and moved him to the side. “Please sir, can I go against you today?” He began to punch the air. “Come on, don’t hold back.

Vanessa grabbed my arm and pulled me into her, shoving herself in front of Yami. “Now, now, forget all about these little brats. Wouldn’t you rather come out for a drink with us?”

Charmy sat patiently, waiting for Yami to look over at her. “Hey, hey, try this.” She held a cupcake out to him. “It’s really good. Take a big bite, go on.”

Gauche was impatient as usual. “I’m sorry, I can’t take it anymore, may I please go see my sister?”

Yami laughed at them all and grabbed my arm, stealing me back like Vanessa had from him. “Yea, yea, glad to know how much you all missed me.” He took another drag from his cigarette. “Now shut up, will ya?”

They all sat down at once on the floor, like obedient little dogs. They spoke together. “Sorry sir.”

“I’d like you all to meet our new…” Yami looked around. “Huh? Where’d he go?”

We all looked over when we heard the faint talking of a young boy. Asta was underneath Grey, whom was in her form of a giant man. “Please help me. I can’t breath.” Asta was reaching out for us.

Instead of helping him Yami got frustrated. “Quit messing around!” Grey stood up and Asta made his way over to us, standing next to me since Finral stood on the other side of Yami. “Now, as I was saying, this shrimp here is our other new member.”

Asta looked over at him. “What do you mean other?”

Yami ignored him. “Go on, tell them your name or something.”

“Yes sir. My name’s Asta from Hage Village. It’s really nice to meet everyone.”

Everyone was quiet for a second, until Magna broke the silence. “You’re from Hage? That’s out in the middle of nowhere.”

Yami looked to his left. “Finral, introduce everyone, would you?”

Finral looked at the group in front of him. “Sure thing sir. Let’s see, where to start.” He looked to his left. “You know Gordon Agrippa. Not always the easiest guy to talk to, but he’s good people.” Finral moved on. Next he stood in front of the pink haired witch. “Next we have Vanessa Enoteca. Tends to pick fights when she’s drunk, but she’s good people.”

Vanessa glared at Finral. “Picking fights? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She looked over at Asta. “Hage village, way off on the outskirts of the kingdom?”

Asta smiled. “Yea!”

Vanessa got close to Asta and he blushed and looked shocked. “To make your way from a little back water village like that to a Magic Knight Squad, you must have worked so hard. Nice kiddo. How about I give you something as a reward, huh?” Before she could say another word Vanessa threw up on the floor in front of her.

I turned and hid my face in Yami’s shoulder, trying not to let her see me laugh at her expense. Finral continued, not even acknowledging Vanessa anymore. “Alright, let’s continue, shall we?”

Luck stood up in front of the two of them as Vanessa threw up again. “Hey, do me next!”

“Luck Voltia, a battle freak who’s addicted to fighting, but he’s good people.”

“Nice meeting you.” Luck smiled. “So hey, do you like to fight?”

“Uh, sure.” Asta didn’t seem to confident in his answer.

“Yea?! That’s cool. I love it.” Luck punched the air again. “What do you say? Wanna go?”

“Well, uh…” Before Asta could finish speaking Gaucha stepped up to him.

Gauche held out a sister of Marie in front of his face. “Hey, see her?” Asta was confused now. “This is my sister Marie. She’s an angel.”

“Yea?”

“Listen, if you lay a finger on her, then you die.”

Asta yelped a little and Finral interrupted. “Gauch Adlai, loves his sister a tad too much, but he’s good people.” Finral pointed toward Charmy. “This here is Charmy Pappitson, a big eater, but she’s good people.”

She raised her arm while eating a muffin. “Nice to meet ya!”

“And this is Grey, I don’t really get him, but he’s good people.” They walked over to Magna. “Then there’s Magna Swing, a street punk, but he’s good people.” He pointed to himself. “And I am Finral Roulacase. Lady Killer.”

I stepped forward a little and smiled, interjecting. “But he’s good people.” Asta turned to me and smiled a little, chuckling.

Finral’s eyes flattened some. He knew I was mocking him. He put his arm out toward Yami and I. “And finally, we have the Black Bulls fearless leaders. Co-Captain Y/N Silva and the great Captain Yami Sukehiro.”

Yami took a drag of his cigarette and wrapped his free arm around my shoulder again. “There are other members, but they’re either on missions, or on leave, or… I don’t know…” He smiled at Asta. “Think you can play nice newbie?”

“Yes sir! We’re gonna get along so well! Like I said before, IT’S REALLY NICE TO MEET YOU GUYS!”

Vanessa stood up and walked over to me, leaning into my arm. “My god, is he trying to kill me?”

Yami chuckled. “That’s something I didn’t notice before, you’re as loud as you are short, aren’t you?”

“Yea!”

“Shut up.” Yami turned and looked at him menacingly. “Alright, let’s go. Give him a good workout, but don’t kill him.”

Magna was the first person to stand up. “Did you hear him? Yami wasn’t us to make sure you get a good workout.” Magna had a diabolic look on his face. “That’s just what I’m gonna do.” He crossed his arms. “A pathetic runt like you? And from where? Hage? A village almost no one had ever heard of before. Not much mana either. And you’re the newest member of the Black Bulls? You gotta be kidding me? I don’t know what some magic poor hick like you could have possibly done to impress Yami. Do you wanna wear the robe that will prove you’re a member of the Black Bulls?”

Asta was like a starving animal, he reached for the robe. “Yea, I do, gimmie, gimmie!”

“Wow, you’re really excited. You want it that bad? Okay, but first you need to earn the approval of Yami’s chief subordinate, me, man among men, Magna Swing. This marks your entry to the black bulls. A true baptism by fire.”

I looked over at Yami, hoping he would stop Magna, Magna had never been one to go easy on people. Yami smiled and kissed the side of my head. “Don’t worry Y/N. Everything will be fine.”

Updated: 5/13/2020

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hoodie-lover · 4 years

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My Multiverse Ask Event! #4

KikiTheSapphireKitsune - Archive of Our Own - First, Second, Third Megalovaniaintensifies - Archive of Our Own - Fourth KikiTheSapphireKitsune - Archive of Our Own - Fifth, Sixth, Seventh Megalovaniaintensifies - Archive of Our Own - Eighth KikiTheSapphireKitsune - Archive of Our Own - Ninth Megalovaniaintensifies - Archive of Our Own - Tenth, Eleventh KikiTheSapphireKitsune - Archive of Our Own - Twelfth, Thirteenth, Fourteenth Megalovaniaintensifies - Archive of Our Own - Fifteenth, Sixteenth KikiTheSapphireKitsune - Archive of Our Own - Seventeenth, Eighteenth Megalovaniaintensifies - Archive of Our Own - Nineteenth KikiTheSapphireKitsune - Archive of Our Own - Twentieth, Twenty-First Megalovaniaintensifies - Archive of Our Own - Twenty-Second, Twenty-Third, Twenty-Fourth, Twenty-Fifth KikiTheSapphireKitsune - Archive of Our Own - Twenty-Sixth, Twenty-Seventh, Twenty-Eighth, Twenty-Ninth, Thirtieth Megalovaniaintensifies - Archive of Our Own - Thirty-First, Thirty-Second, Thirty-Third KikiTheSapphireKitsune - Archive of Our Own - Thirty-Fourth, Thirty-Fifth Glorious_Smut - Archive of Our Own - Thirty-Sixth KikiTheSapphireKitsune - Archive of Our Own - Thirty-Seventh, Thirty-Eighth, Thirty-Ninth

Error managed to get into the Creator Realm, he brought the gang with him and they were looking for Maxie and her friends. Though that implied the creators wouldn’t find them first, which they did.

“Hello, hello, hello!” Maxie said, wrapping her arms around Error as he glitched and screamed.

“LET ME GO!” He screamed, and Maxie let him go with a pout.

“So, as Kiki said, we will be inhibiting your quest! Trials and tribulations to test how much you have actually grown to see if you actually deserve to know. Also we’re bored and want to mess with you.” Maxie said, and Error facepalmed.

“So, what do you want us to do?” Nightmare said, growling.

“Please Nightmare, nowadays your bark is worse than your bite. Anyway, we have a few obstacle courses, some logic puzzles, some PTSD triggers.” Maxie said, smiling evilly.

“What…?” Cross said, and Maxie raised an eyebrow.

“What?” Maxie said, and Cross facepalmed.

“Oh, no no no, I have only written a story about forest rangers. I would never torture Error. I am usually the one hissing in the comments to punish anyone who does hurt Error, I wish the hissing thing was a joke. Nightmare would kill me if I hurt Error, right? Getting killed by my second favorite Sans for hurting my first favorite Sans is not on my list pal.”

“Well, it seems we have a good noodle. Truly a rare find.” Error said, and Cross snickered.

“One, I’m flattered that you like me. Second, I’m glad you fear me.” Nightmare said, looking around for the voice.

“You won’t see them, from here on out, you’re in a little playground my friends and I made. Good luck.” Maxie said, snicking.

“Oh dear, guys, watch out the voices are planning to get the askers to mess with your search. They wanna draw this out so take any hints we give with a grain of salt. I'd start by looking at what Error is ẁ̵̡̼e̷̪̿à̸̩r̴̜͗i̸̛̦̗n̶͕̄ǵ̶̲, not many Sans with both a j̷͕͕̈́͂a̸̹̓ċ̵̲k̵̳͈̓̆ȇ̵̟̎ṭ̶̯̈́ ̵̨̺͋a̵̜͝n̵̠͋d̸͙͝ ̷͖̇͊s̵̢̟̑c̷̦̜̐͠a̸̦̘͗̎r̶̪̣͛f̵̰̄̾.”

“I think you guys are being censored. And I think we know who.” Error said, glaring at Maxie as she whistled.

“So any other possible relationships in the making? come on my gloomy boys feed me gossip!”

“None over on our end. Though Swap!fell has a crush on Blue, and Red is territorial. We’re waiting for the brawl.” Killer said, chuckling at the thought.

“sanses and the one or two AU papyruses when you try to stop the human at the judgment hall why not stop at the soul room to get near god power”

“Doesn’t matter. They would still beat us. We would have six, and the human has beat the photoshop abomination.” Sans said, and the others nodded. They had come over for a quick hang out.

“Ok my little Horror, aka my third fav, how good a cook are you? Like we talkin Gordon Ramsey of skeletons or what? Also are you aware you are a cute little bean?”

“I love Gordan Ramsey! He’s awesome! He has no qualms about yelling at people for their awful crimes against food. And I am aware, trust me, I know how to use it.” Horror said, winking.

“May I hug all the dark sanses or would that cross a line? You all deserve all the love the megaverse can give you. I know what it feels like to be trapped, alone, and hurt in so many ways, I know what it is like to feel out of option and angry. You don't deserve that, despite everything you are all wonderful.”

“I’d love a hug!” Cross said and felt the hug, though no presence was seen.

“Can I have a hug?” Horror asked and was given a hug.

“I’m good.” Killer said, and everyone else nodded.

“Oh guys there are so many people who have written lyrics for your song megalovania. They can be quite good. I have only ever played the pacifist route myself and can't bring myself to watch an actual playthrough cause I can't watch my beloved monster friends get killed, but it is a catchy song. Have you guys seen any of them yet? Also I think you will like this fan song a lot https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TtCBLvAw4ZY&t=71s”

“What the fuck?” Killer said, nearly everyone had the same reaction.

“I liked it.” Cross said, humming the tune.

“papyrus how does your special attack work like if the annoying dog didn't take it”

“It’s just a blaster. Though it would be much friendlier than Sans’.” Papyrus said with a shrug.

“Can I also hug Blueberry? He is my fourth favorite.”

“Absolutely! I love hugs!” Blue said and felt the hug as he smiled.

“You voices are weird.” Stretch said, lighting another cigarette.

“No more. That’s your third, I’ll burn the pack if you smoke another.” Blue said and Stretch groaned.

“flowey if you really think its fun watching human kill everyone why do you beg for mercy if you act like you dont care ps if u wanna murder human kill toriel first.”

“I don’t beg! I was just scared at first and knew I couldn’t break the script! And in case you didn’t hear, I have literally done everything.” Flowey said, rolling his eyes.

“to annoying dog sorry to papyrus in advance please follow papyrus all day while playing dogsong and steal all his bones ps im glad ink didn't murder you”

The annoying dog yipped, he was glad he wasn’t murdered too. He kicked his stumpy legs and wagged his tail as he flew off to Papyrus, who had a feeling of foreboding and anxiety.

“YOU STUPID CANINE!” Papyrus declared as he tried to run while missing his femur. The dog smiled as the song echoed through the Underground and the dog smiled an innocent smile.

“So here is a question to the Sans personality types, why do you lie to your brother about their food? You're not helping them, it would be far kinder to be honest and help them learn to be better. Someday they are likely to meet someone who will not let them down gently and will hurt them.”

“Implying we can. They either run out the door before we can talk or we have to try talking over them.” Sans said.

“Impossible in many AUs, plus, it’s actually good half the time.” Outer said, and Red nodded, glaring at Swapfell as he was ogling Blue from a distance.

“Dream, what is it like being with your brother again? How is your guys brotherly bond affected by well everything that happened?”

“It’s awesome. We have fun and prank some unsuspecting Sanses every now and then. As people seem to forget for the longest time, we were mistaken for fey. And we didn’t help those accusations.” Dream said, “Though we never hurt anyone. Just harmless things like a pie going missing or flowers vanishing into thin air.” Dream snickered, he was back in the Doodlesphere by this point and reviewing paperwork.

“Boys how do you feel about Uncle Dreamy?”

“Don’t.” Killer said.

“No.” Cross said, eyes blank as he shook his head, everyone else was silent as they shook their heads and cringed.

“frisk how is murdering everyone one fun after all i dont think you enjoy getting repeatedly killed plus since you reset so many times you know everything that happens underground besides there are more things to murder in surface ps you didnt answer if you got to the surface on genocide”

“I like to see the dust fall, them scream in pain, and beg for mercy. It’s cute. And yes, I can murder more things on the surface, but they don’t turn to dust or give the, for lack of a better term, high I need. And I don’t get to the surface, only if I spare everyone do I get there. And before you ask, in neutral runs I’m in a limbo state, have to RESET to leave.” Frisk said, smiling as their eyes glowed red.

“frisk what about napstablook or mad dummy you can't kill either”

“I can kill Glad Dummy, and Napstablook is worthless. I don’t wanna waste my time on them.” Frisk spat, growling as they left the ruins, stepping over Toirel’s dust.

“You know what is cute? all the baby bones art of you guys. Awww why is every baby sans just so huggable? Ok ok but really baby Error! just picture a tiny baby Error and tell me that shit is not cute.”

“They’re very cute.” Nightmare said.

“But they didn’t show us any.” Killer said and Nightmare froze.

“Oh.” Error said, and Nightmare turned into a puddle out of shame.

“And payback time, Nightmare, any stories about Dream?”

Springing back to life Nightmare donned a wicked and demonic grin. “Dream didn’t know what a bed was until he was 100. And it took three people to pry him off of it.” Nightmare said.

“That’s actually sad. How long did you sleep in a tree?” Cross asked and Nightmare whistled.

“Our whole lives before the apple incident. Up until then we only slept in a bed seven times each.” Nightmare said, and Cross gave him a teary hug.

“dust how come your a bad guy you were forced to kill everyone your not a bad person if someones a bad person its the human and chara”

“First of all, Chara is only a problem because of Frisk, so they aren’t as guilty as you think. Though they are not innocent. And no one wanted to befriend a killer, sure they like Red, but it’s the culture. And Ink played his cards right so I couldn’t make things worse for him, there’s a reason he didn’t stop Nightmare from helping me.” Dust said, “Same goes for everyone else.” He finished and everyone nodded.

“Hold on a sec, contacts? How do contacts work with eyelights? I don't understand...”

“Magic.” Error said, and Maxie snickered.

“So, let’s begin the challenges!” She said and they were separated and thrown into a version of Snowdin.

“Where are we?!” they cried out, looking around but Maxie laughed.

“Welcome to your first challenge! Can you handle the Star Sanses all by yourself? Only one of you has to win for all of you to proceed, and the battles will be scaled so you are evenly matched.” Maxie’s voice echoed through the area, but she was not seen.

“Maxie. What are you doing?” Jana asked, accompanied by Beatrice.

“Having a bit of fun. What are you doing?” Maxie said, smiling innocently.

“Are you seriously messing with them?” Jana said, shaking her head in disapproval.

“You didn’t raise any concern when Jack, Zack, and I were talking about our plan. So why are you looking at me like that?” Maxie said, and the two sighed.

“Because we want to help. But only to an extent.” Jana said, and Maxie was intrigued.

“To what extent I may ask?” Maxie wondered, smiling.

“If you trigger their PTSD or do anything relating to Ink, we’re out and we will tell them who Error was.” Beatrice said, and Maxie shrugged.

“Sure. It’s a deal.” She said, holding out her hand as Beatrice shook it.

“We’re still going to Jack’s for pizza right?” Maxie asked, changing the subject.

“Hell ya. I’m bringing garlic knots.” Beatrice said and Maxie's eyes lit up.

“Garlic knots!” She held her hands up in joy.

“Blue most of us saw that Christmas party webcomic already. We know you spiked the eggnog. Why do you always pretend to be so innocent? not that I have much room to talk on that front...”

“I have long admitted to spiking the eggnog at that party. And I haven’t spiked anything since. No one seems to believe me!” Blue said, grumbling as his eyes turned to small broken hearts as tears filled his eyes.

“Sure.” Stretch said, and Blue glared, some glitches popping up.

“to sci and alphys is it possible to turn flowey back into asriel.”

“Without 7 human souls, I don’t think we can. We’ve looked into it, just to see if it was possible. He may be ok with staying as Flowey, with the exception of the pacifist run, but others in his situation aren’t. So we looked at his code to see if it was hypothetically possible, and it isn’t.” Sci said, sipping coffee.

“Yeah, h-honestly, I was h-hoping that we could. I-I regret i-it so much. I-I wanted to see i-if I could help others. B-but this is i-irreversible.” Alphys said, ringing her hands.

“It broke Toriel and Asgore’s hearts. Though, they would respect Flowey’s wishes if he didn’t want to, he is still a person whose opinions should be listened to. Even if he is a jackass.” Sci said and Alphys nodded.

“sanses how do you guys stop genocide routes from starting since you said there were very few”

“We don’t. They just stop, and then they start up again. Like wet and dry seasons, only more sporadic.” Classic said.

“Some worlds, like mine, don’t have as many, the way the world works kinda discourages it.” Red said, and Swapfell nodded.

“frisk what was the strangest interaction you have had with someone in the underground”

“Gaster. He is so mysterious and strange. I wonder what his deal was, but I never can find out. I’ve met his followers and such, but I’ve never heard him speak, and I’m assuming the person I saw was Gaster!” Frisk said, they were somewhere in Snowdin forest, marking down words on their arm.

☝☜❄ 💧✌☠💧 ❄⚐ ❄✌☹😐 ✌👌⚐🕆❄ 💣🕆☹❄✋✞☜☼💧☜.

❄☟☼☜✌❄☜☠ 🏱✌🏱✡☼🕆💧.

“so what has been the most dangerous mission the dark sanses have been sent on”

“There was HorrorLustFell.” Nightmare said, “Unaware of what was going to happen, I had Cross deal with it.”

He was waiting for Maxie to start up her game, and he hoped his boys were doing well.

“HorrorLustFell.” Cross said, “I took a month-and-a-half break after that to recover.” Cross said, raiding Grillby’s and the shops for armor, supplies, and food.

Everyone gave similar responses.

“Who all is helping with the search? everyone or just the gang?”

“Just us. Everyone knows what we’re doing and they’re willing to help if we need it.” Error said, shrugging as he made himself a swing and began to swing.

“Okay here is one for the classic undertale gang, since they know about the resets and multiverse now. thoughts on this video? https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H8hGMFQPBDw”

“Sans, do you want to talk?” Papyrus asked, and Sans was gone.

“I knew he had problems, but if someone can deduce that? Wow.” Toriel said, holding her hand over her mouth.

“We have several therapists available.” Outer said, “The hard part is getting him to see one. And I know I’m a hypocrite.” Outer said, shrugging.

“You are correct, space Sans.” Papyrus said, “I just wish he could talk about it.” Papyrus said.

“I mostly wanna see what paps has to say about his brother hiding his mental health problems.”

“I knew he had issues, but I want him to talk to me, I know it’s hard to talk about your mental health problems, but it’s been five years. Though he has suffered far worse than any of us, if the Dark Sanses are anything.” Papyrus said.

“I’m going to stall Frisk, Toriel, you need to get out of here. Frisk will be getting here soon.” Papyrus said and everyone dashed out of the house.

“Have the sans ever had to have an intervention for any of the other sans, like Blueberries alcohol problem?”

“I have no problem first of all. And secondly, we have had to have interventions.” Blue said, “Black had a drug addiction a while back, and we are trying to get Papy to stop or reduce his smoking habits.” Blue said and Stretch sighed.

“At least I’m working on it.” Stretch said, and Blue nodded.

“oh i'm just teasing him, cause I love him.”

“Thank you!” Blue said, smiling.

“frisk has there ever been a timeline in which the annoying dog didn't take the legendary artifact and if it wasn't taken what does the artifact do”

“I have never gotten the artifact.” Frisk said, Papyrus and Sans coming into view.

“to error how much exp did ink get you?”

“Quite a bit. The number escapes me, but it was in the hundreds.” Error said, swinging.

“flowey at the end of the pacifist timeline you decide to give up the souls and break barrier once the barrier was broken you could have easily murdered more humans and get to be a goat again so why kill a few for their souls?”

“Timelines never last that long, and when I turn back, it leaves an impact on me that makes it hard to be a jerk for a while. Residual effects of being that whiny crybaby.” Flowey said, “And it wouldn’t change anything.” Flowey said, wilting a bit.

“Fresh, tell me about your furby collection? I miss mine. I had 3, they always said they were hungry last at night when I was falling asleep... it was kinda creepy.”

“I have a version of every Furby ever made. 3 is pathetic yo. Though they are demanding and creepy sometimes, I’ll give ya that brah.” Fresh said, looking around as snow fell around him.

“What are you guys doing to find Error's origin anyway?”

“We were going to ask the creators what they knew, since none of Killer, Dust, or Horror’s code could help us and Error’s code is a mess on account of him being a glitch, then we’d go from there, asking questions and making guesses based on what we knew.” Nightmare said, “For all we know Error could be from one of the many neutral timelines, and that wouldn’t pin anything down at all.” Nightmare said.

“Blue, how do you hide your glitches? That seems like a very hard thing to explain to people you don't want knowing about the multiverse.”

“Dream made a small illusion charm with Sci and Alt’s help that makes me look normal. It’s also pretty!” Blue said as he held up a golden charm in the shape of a blueberry, it was attached to a gold chain that was hidden by his battle body.

“Have the rest of the Sans seen Error in his glasses? I need to see them all squirm at how cute he is!”

“Only Blue and Classic have seen him in his glasses. Other than us of course.” Killer said, “I helped make the frames, and the way his eyes lit up when he could clearly see for the first time, it was the best feeling in the world. I remember taking care of Pap, it felt like that.” Killer said, and he smiled at the memory.

“How does Dream feel about being an uncle now? Is he a FUN Uncle?”

“I’m not really considered an uncle per say, but I do try to be fun. And it is fun to say that I am technically the Dark Sanses’ uncle, they have the funniest reactions.” Dream said, laughing.

“Error am I embarrassing you too much?”

“Yes.” Error said, still swinging.

(Tumblr, I need asks from you guys too.)

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spookyspaghettisundae · 4 years

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Try English

Mary blew smoke out through her nose. It stung.

The empty beer bottles on her grimy kitchen table clinked and clattered as her sleeve snagged on something that made the cluttered table’s surface rattle. She flicked ashes from her cigarette into an overflowing ashtray. She ignored this mess, her eyes instead trained on the person standing in front of the refrigerator.

Her brother, Malcolm. He stood there with an almost meditative calmness and stared back at her. His gaze swept through the messy place, never lingering too long on anything like the pile of unwashed dishes, the stacks of old newspapers, or the mountain of empty cans heaped up on the counter. Malcolm looked far better than she remembered him: less pale, and stronger somehow—like he had been working out.

Most of all, how he looked when she last saw him, lying in a casket. Malcolm had been dead for over four years.

The hand Mary used to hold her cigarette trembled. Not with fear, but anger. She was an angry person. Always had been, always would be. Seeing Malcolm back had made a pit form in her stomach, because she wasn’t finished with him. She wasn’t finished with a lot of people.

See, when most other people see anybody return from the dead, they go straight to shock, denial, or pure, unadulterated dread.

But not Mary. Most of her family members had died. And they had had the audacity to kick the bucket before she could really tell them how she felt about them. A lot of messed up history to sort through. A lot of pent-up rage, waiting to be unleashed. And here was Malcolm, loitering around in her home like nothing had ever happened.

She took another long drag from her cigarette and rolled her jaw while she searched her mind for the right words. But none came yet.

“Love what you did with the place, Mary,” Malcolm mused. The corners of his mouth twitched until they twisted upwards into a creepy smile. “You think Mom would have appreciated how you turned this place into such a miserable dump?”

He licked his lips and hooked his thumbs into the belt holding up his jeans.

“Fuck you,” Mary snapped at him.

Malcolm showed no instant reaction, then burst out with a brief chuckle. Knowing. Malevolent.

“I didn’t turn this place into a dump, I let it turn into a dump,” she then corrected him, letting the smoke pour out of her mouth while she spoke.

Malcolm grabbed an open bottle of stale beer from the counter and sniffed it. He raised it as if to perform a mockery of making a toast.

“I see you’ve become a philosopher in the meanwhile, sis,” Malcolm mused. The creepy smile maintained its place on his visage. It turned into a cringe after he took a swig from the bottle, and the rotten taste assaulted his pristine taste buds.

“Yeah. Night shifts at a shitty gas station for over six years sure do lend themselves to deep introspection. Take that bottle, for instance. Is it half empty, or half full of go fuck yourself?”

He smirked and put the bottle down, which caused a small pyramid of empty old cans of beans to collapse as the glass connected with them. He turned away from her and plucked a piece of paper attached to the fridge’s door with a magnet without even shooting it a passing glance.

Mary flinched, somehow sensing that he knew the contents of whatever was written on it without reading. It just made sense. She just made sense of things.

“How are your anger management classes going? Any progress with that, Maddy?”

Her left eye twitched upon hearing that old nickname.

“They’re goin’ good, dickweed. I have a crowbar I can get to cave in your tail lights if you need a demonstration,” she said. She snuffed out her cigarette, mashing it into the pile of other butts in her ashtray, causing more cancer dust to spill out and onto her table.

That wiped the grin right off his face. Which, in turn, prompted a satisfied smirk of her own to form on Mary’s face in response.

“How’d you get here anyway? Hijack a car? Also, not to really address the elephant in the room here, but how the fuck are you not just a pile of maggot-riddled rotten meat and bones? It’s been six years, chickenshit.”

He approached the table and leaned forward until he rested his knuckles against the only vacant spots on it, hunching forward to move uncomfortably close to her. Mary picked up one of the beer bottles in front of her and took a sip from it to wet her chapped lips. She gripped the glass so hard that her knuckles turned white, ready to weaponize the object.

It was not fear that she felt. Mary’s blood boiled.

“See, I’m not really your little brother. I’m just borrowing his body to come see you in person, Mary.”

“Of course, just my fucking luck. Fuck me for hoping to finally get some closure by telling my little dipshit of a brother to eat shit.”

He flashed a toothy grin before he replied, “I can play pretend, if you want. We know many things, Mary. We who pierce the veil and cross over as we wish—we know everything.”

She relaxed her grip around the bottle, ready to flip it and use it as a club. Wasn’t her first time to do so.

“Like that one time you tried talking to Bobby Gordon but shat your panties because you were too scared. Excused yourself quickly and were too late for swim team because you scrambled to clean up your mess,” he said in a singsong tone—referencing an embarrassing memory that she had never told anybody else. Not the AA meeting groups, the anger management support groups—not even her therapist.

Struggling to understand how he knew the pause gave him cause to chuckle again.

He continued, “Or were you just so drunk off your ass that you told someone about that and can’t remember?” Another chuckle, more sinister this time. “Yes, I can taste what you’re thinking, Mary. Or maybe you told it to the thin air, reaching someone who’s now just another body, six feet under, whose memories bled through the thin fabric between worlds?”

“Okay, asshole. I see you’ve got some tricks. Is that the best you’ve got? Am I supposed to be impressed? Shit, man, if I was some sort of dillhole ghost, I would go join a circus or something.”

“A circus?” he asked in confusion.

“Yeah. Y'know, anywhere where people actually give a shit.”

He smirked again.

“Cute, Mary. So edgy. So rebellious.”

The sound of metal scraping cut through the air as he snatched a long sharp knife from the kitchen counter. The chair on the opposite side of the table groaned as he dragged it out, swiped some unopened letters and plastic junk from its seat, and sat down.

Mary’s weary eyes focused on the knife on his hands, clutched in his fist and resting on the table in between them now. She met his gaze again. Glared at him.

“If you’re not Malcolm, I’m gonna have to give you a different name. Least you can do if want to carve me up with that pig-sticker over yonder,” Mary said, pointing at the knife in his hand.

After the gesture, using two fingers, she let her fist slam onto the table. Not a motion fueled by rage, but by frustration, and fed by resignation. All the glass and plastic objects on the table stopped clattering with delay.

“I’d prefer Malcolm, given the meat-suit I’m wearing now. But you can call me Gall,” he said. Something evil flashed in his eyes. It did not even seem inhuman, just unfamiliar. Nothing like Malcolm, no matter what kind of a dick he had been to Mary.

“What kinda stupid fucking name is that?”

His eyes darted and tracked her every movement when she swiftly snatched the crumpled pack of cigarettes off the table, produced a cancer stick from the package and lit it up in one fluid motion, suggesting decades of unfiltered addiction. From the periphery of her vision, she saw his fist tighten around the grip of the knife.

“I’ll just call you shit-stick. And what exactly are you?”

The grin on his face returned. Widened. He tilted his head; movements that did not fit the way Malcolm moved or behaved in his lifetime. Alien, unsettling. He licked his lips but did not yet respond. Like he was sizing her up. His eyes scanned up and down her form.

“Come on, man. Level with me here. I’m sure your whole spiel here is a real hoot at parties and can scare old grandmas, but it’s not really doing anything for me,” she continued taunting him. “Also, if you’re gonna threaten me with a good time by waving that knife around, either fix me something to eat or end me now. I’m starving, and also good for kicking the bucket. Fuck, man. I’d rather puke than go on my next shift, so carving me up like a turkey’s gonna feel like a favor to me at this point.”

She sucked in more smoke. It did nothing to calm her nerves, only drove up her pulse, pounding in her ears. Mary blew it out after the long pause that followed, with nothing but the constant drip of water from the faucet into the dirty sink. Malcolm—Gall—did not answer.

She lifted her arm as if to check her wristwatch but kept her gaze locked onto his. A labored, deliberate sigh escaped her throat.

“You have many names for what I am,” he said. His voice silkier than before. “Ghost, revenant, demon. It doesn’t really matter. Your words are so limited in their scope, so confusing without elaboration. And we don’t have all night.”

Now she waited, continuing to smoke. She once more picked up the bottle of the stale beer to nurse it in between greedy drags from her cigarette.

Before the pause went on for too long and she could reply with another mean-spirited quip, Gall continued, “Have you not seen the signs? I am an agent. I serve the Glass King, and have come to remind you of your duty to Him.”

He spoke with such reverence. Such gravitas. Might as well have been a radio speaker, or one of those narrators on a cheesy movie. Mary blinked and then shook her head. Searching her mind for what he meant did nothing to help.

“I don’t understand a fucking word you’re saying,” she muttered. “Try English, shit-stick.”

He visibly stifled a sigh and lifted the knife, cradling it in his hand. He then used it to point to the pile of newspapers on the counter.

“Did you not see the words forming on the edges of your trash?” he asked. Then pointed the tip of the knife to her phone on the table, its display screen marked with a spiderweb of cracks. “Did you not see the messages that transcended worldly gibberish? Signs, everywhere, pointing you in the direction of finding meaning in your sorry life?”

He then pointed to the empty coffee cups on her table. “Hell, did you not even see the letters taking shape in the foam of your beverages? And here we thought your substance abuse would make you more receptive to the signs everywhere.”

It finally clicked for Mary. She had indeed been seeing strange patterns and signs everywhere. “Obey” or “buy a gun” or some ominous instructions that seemed to be ritualistic or occult in nature—many strange words had, in fact, been appearing to her with frightening regularity over the past week.

But she had been ignoring them. Chalking it up to all the medications and booze and recreational drugs she popped on a regular basis, things that instructions in tiny print told her not to mix.

At the end of the day, Mary was a realist. One whose mind had been turned to Swiss cheese by all the substance abuse, but a realist nevertheless. The sheer thought of that gave her cottonmouth and made her crave a joint.

“If you wanted me to get some message, then fucking spell it out instead of giving me some cryptic crap. I thought I was losing my mind, and was perfectly fine with that. Now you’re telling me it all made sense, which is somehow more obnoxious.”

Gall slowly nodded and his grinning lips parted to show teeth.

“Yes, Mary, now you’re getting it. The Glass King wants you. You will help prevent the end of the world as you know it. You, who yearn for meaning in this God-forsaken world. You, whose miserable and pathetic existence can serve a higher purpose, can help shape a new world. A world of your desires. Do you not feel it? Do you not feel its pull?”

Mary downed the rest of her beer, wincing at how bad it tasted—warm, and opened up for at least a day. It helped masked whatever truths this “Gall” was alluding to.

“You really don’t get it, do ya? Listen, shit-stick, and listen really carefully, okay?”

She slammed the bottle back down onto the table with force, causing all the objects to erupt into another cascade of clanking and clattering noise. He said nothing but his gaze drilled into her eyes, burning with anticipation.

“I’ve worked shit jobs for long enough to know management assholes when I see them. And I’m looking at one right now.”

“But—”

“Shut the fuck up,” she interrupted his interruption. “I’m speaking, shit-stick. You can go back to your boss and go tell him to get fucked. I ain’t doin’ shit for no pay. You’re trying to sell me on some ‘higher meaning’ bullshit like that’s supposed to motivate me? Might as well try to pay an artist with 'exposure,’ you stupid twat.”

“I, uh—”

“I said I’m talking.”

He sat there, slack-jawed, taken aback by her forceful speech. Like the smoke billowing out of her mouth, every word spilled out with repressed rage. Not one that threatened to boil over into violence, but a fury compressed into the shape of a diamond—sharp and smooth and hard and untouchable.

“Like I said, I know management pricks when I see them. I can see your weaselly little sniveling brown-nosing turd behavior from a mile away. I know you’re just here to get me to do something and if you fail to mobilize me, you’re in deep shit. I don’t know how things work over there, wherever you’re coming from. But I’m guessing that you don’t just get a pay cut or fired,” she said.

Now she, like him, flashed a toothy grin. Sadistic, angry, and beginning to enjoy herself.

Was her first in getting to fuck with a non-human entity.

“So how about I give you the finger,” she said, following up with the matching gesture of flipping him the bird. “And you go find someone else to do your dirty work for free.”

The demon was speechless. Never before had this entity seen anybody respond with such belligerent resistance and unrelenting venom in her words.

He eked out another evil grin, but Mary recognized the insecurity in it. Malcolm used to look exactly like that when he tried to impress people, and Gall was running out of cards to play. He raised the knife again, toyed with it, letting the handle roll around in his palm, causing the blade to cast scintillating reflections in the dingy kitchen light.

“I can be very persuasive. I can make things slow and painful, Mary.”

“Oh, fuck you,” she said with a groan, stamping out the next cigarette. She just glared at him, yielding no attention to the knife now. “I see right through cheap shit tricks like that. What stupid movie did you get that line from? You need me—you need me to do something, so you’ll need me at full capacity. Your threats are empty, you spineless shit stain.”

Without missing a beat, she lit up yet another cigarette and leaned over the table, shortening the distance between her and the knife.

“Try me, motherfucker. I can’t wait to die. Life sucks, so I will spite you by dying before I lift a single God-damned finger for you or whoever the fuck you work for,” she said. Her grin widened, the cigarette lazily drooping from the corner of her mouth, displaying even more spite. “I wonder what happens to you if you fail to get me to do whatever you want me to do. I bet that’s worse than whatever kiddo crap you’ve cooked up for me.”

The chair underneath Gall creaked and its legs scuffed over the filthy floor as he got up. He backed away from her and placed the knife back on the counter.

“Yeah, get the fuck outta here, you little chickenshit. You come here, wearing my little brother’s sorry-ass face, waving a knife around, threatening to torture me and end my life? Fuck you. Don’t come back until you come up with something scary.”

Gall continued to back away. The grin never left his face, but not one inch of it was sincere anymore. Just a mask to hide his growing dread.

Everything she had said rang true. Punishments for failure were no trifling matter. The Glass King’s orders needed completion. He would have to find someone else, for this Mary was not a lost lamb they could manipulate into doing their dirty work—she was just a lost cause.

“My shift’s gonna be nine hours, asshole. You can visit me at work or you can come waste my time when I’m back, or whisper your dumb sweet nothings in my ears while I’m trying to sleep. See if I give a shit,” she said, continuing to harass the demon as he continued to back out of her kitchen. “Maybe bring good dope or a massive dragon-shaped dildo next time, maybe you can bribe me. Maybe a stack of hundred dollar bills. See, I’m responsive to material goods and pleasures. But I bet you’re too cheap of a shit for that.”

She continued to rant, even well after he had gotten out of earshot and retreated from the old decrepit home. It was true what they said, Gall thought.

Humans were the fucking worst.

—Submitted by Wratts

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fidothefinch · 5 years

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Unauthorized Understudy: Chapter 4

Ao3

First Chapter \ Previous Chapter \ Next Chapter

(I posted this to Ao3 yesterday but I wasn’t on tumblr so here ya go)

Dick’s mind raced while he thumbed through the contacts on his phone. Gordon wanted to talk to him. It was urgent.

As far as he knew, Gordon didn’t know Batman’s secret identity, but then, what could the call be about?

His knee bounced as the other line rang. He didn’t have to wait long.

“Gordon.”

“Commissioner. It’s Dick Grayson.”

“Dick?”

“Alfred said you wanted to—”

“No, Barbara isn’t here right now. Can I take a message?”

Dick’s momentary confusion was cut off when he heard Gordon’s voice drifting in further from the receiver. “Just a family friend, Michael, I’ll be right back.”

There was shuffling as the cellphone was passed between hands. “Sorry, Dick. This bodyguard business has gotten out of hand.”

“It’s okay. I want you to be safe.”

There was a long pause where neither of them spoke. Dick opened his mouth to say something else, but Gordon cut him off. “Let me get something to write that down with.”

Dick had to stand up. Gordon wouldn’t be keeping up the ruse unless he was worried about the line being monitored. Which meant something was up. Maybe this was an Officer Grayson issue; he hadn’t carried the badge since returning to Gotham, but he knew that the commissioner trusted him. “Tell Babs her package came here on accident. Can she come pick it up?” Can you come here?

“No, I’m worried about her safety.” I’m worried about my safety.

“Can I send it to her?” Should I come?

“No, don’t worry about it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Actually, since I’ve got you on the phone, could you do me a favor?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Babs’ friend, Bridgette?”

Dick paused in his pacing. Batman? Bruce was known to fund Batman through Wayne Industries, what leap was it to assume he could get a message to the vigilante? “The one who stays up all night?”

Gordon’s voice tightened a bit. “That’s the one.”

Dick’s eyebrows drew in. “Are you worried about her?”

Gordon huffed a laugh. “She can take care of herself. She has Barbara’s camera, though. I don’t want Babs going out right now, but she needs the camera for a project with the library. Any chance you could pick it up for her?”

“You want me to meet Bridgette?”

“Yes, and let her know that Babs wants to talk to her.” I need to talk to Batman.

Dick’s eyes widened. “Have you tried calling her? I have her number.” Why don’t you use the signal?

“Babs has been trying to reach her, but her cell is broken. The calls keep getting dropped. I can’t use mine because of the. . . situation here at the precinct.”

Dick was right. Something was up.

He began making his way toward the Cave. “I’ll try to talk to her, but no promises.”

“I know; she’s stubborn and flighty.”

A wry grin broke across Dick’s face. Bruce had made quite a reputation for himself. “No kidding. Where should I meet her?”

“8900 Poplar Way. She’s usually there around 10?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks, Dick. I owe you one.”

It had to have been more than an hour.

Damian’s legs shook. His throat burned. His toes throbbed where he had so much weight resting on them.

It was completely dark. He couldn’t move enough to set off the motion detectors.

With a heave, he used what strength he could to hoist himself up using the chain above him. Again. It only granted momentary relief. His oxygen-deprived fingers lost their grip and sent him sliding down onto his toes again too soon.

His eyes hadn’t stopped watering, and it was making the old spirit gum itch against his face. He didn’t dare rip it off; it would mean releasing his hold on the chain and—

Without his consent, his right leg buckled.

The collar—the noose—pulled taught, cutting short Damian’s wheeze. In his surprise, he lost his footing, and for a terrifying second he hung by his neck.

He kicked with his left leg until he found the floor again.

He began to shake for reasons beyond the cold or the fatigue.

Damian was getting scared.

His legs were cramping, and what was painful before was excruciating now. It was only a matter of time before he lost control.

The door opened, light flooding the small room. The light made his eyes water harder, and he felt the edge of his domino break loose from his skin. Cold tears dripped out.

“I’m back,” Heymann announced, unnecessarily. He stopped halfway down the steps to pat Damian’s sweat-soaked hair. “Are you ready to listen now?”

Damian couldn’t bring himself to answer. He gasped for each shallow sip of air.

The leash suddenly got shorter, forcing Damian to hold on with all of his dwindling strength. “Answer me.”

“Yes,” Damian immediately whispered. Another tear slipped out, warm this time.

Heymann didn’t release the pressure. “Yes sir.”

The bottom half of the domino had disconnected. Damian’s fingers slackened. “Yes, sir,” he barely breathed.

Heymann lowered him. Back to his toes. “I thought so.”

Damian tried to stop his shaking as he listened to the large man descend the steps. It was harder than it had been before. Heymann approached him slowly, not at all perturbed by Damian’s heels beginning to lower against his will.

“No, you can’t get out that easily,” he said. He pulled the bucket from the corner and capsized it, lifting Damian so he stood on top.

The pressure gone, Damian lowered his burning arms. He coughed, hard and deep and long. His legs wanted to give out again, but he planted his weight in his heels. The leash was still short enough to choke him if he crouched.

Heymann raised a hand. Damian flinched back, but the man’s hands were slow and soft as they traced up his cheek, following the tear tracks there. He fingered the edge of the domino where it had pulled loose. Even the small push he made caused it to pull off more. He clicked his tongue. “No, that won’t do.”

Before Damian could react, he gripped the bottom and ripped the mask off.

Damian hissed at the feeling. He shut his eyes reflexively and turned away.

Heymann laughed. “Come on, let me see those eyes,” he coaxed. He pulled on Damian’s shoulder, causing the bucket to tilt before slamming back down.

“No,” Damian said. His own voice sounded foreign to him. Hoarse. Quiet.

Heymann’s hand slid down to Damian’s collar. It constricted, just slightly, as he slipped two fingers beneath. It was enough to make Damian’s breath hitch in fear. “No?” Heymann repeated.

Damian’s heart was speeding up. “I can’t be Robin without my mask,” he rushed to explain. “I can’t help Batman—I can’t help you without it.”

Heymann’s fingers released his collar with a hum. “I guess you’re right. I’ll be right back.”

He left. Damian didn’t open his eyes until he heard the door shut and lock again. He irritably rubbed away the tears where they were drying on his face, and that’s when he saw the dried blood on his hands, where he had worn through callouses trying to hold the chain. He tutted half-heartedly at them.

He was exhausted. His legs felt like jelly, his heart was beating too fast. Now that he wasn’t in immediate danger of suffocating, his stomach had regained interest in the sandwich still lying in the corner. But he could do nothing but stand on the bucket while he waited.

Heymann returned, and Damian didn’t risk the man seeing his face to watch as he approached. He heard old knees creak as the man dropped to a crouch in front of him. Something uncapped—adhesive? “Face me, kid.”

Damian shook his head. “I’ll do it.” He held a hand out behind him blindly. Heymann grunted, and something a little too heavy fell in his hand. “This isn’t my mask,” Damian said.

“It’s an improved one. You can’t beat the original.”

Damian brought it in front of him so he could examine it. It was a simple shape, round edges just large enough to cover his eyes and brows. He recognized it from the Robin display. It looked like Grayson’s, if Grayson’s had been made of craft foam and liquid latex.

“Hurry up; the glue dries fast.”

Damian tutted and raised it to his face. The glue was cold; thinner than he would like. He suspected it wasn’t prosthetic adhesive.

At least the proper lenses were in the eyeholes. They looked like they had been ripped from his domino.

He turned to face Heymann. The man grinned hungrily. “Perfect,” he mumbled.

The glue burned slightly where it was attached. Damian ignored it.

Heymann appraised him for a longer time than was probably necessary. “Smile.”

Damian didn’t have enough saliva to spit.

“The old Robin smiled. You’re too angry.”

There was fire in his stomach. “I’ll smile when I kill you,” he said, lowly.

“Robin doesn’t kill,” Heymann shrugged. His face dropped into something more serious. Damian startled when he began using his father’s voice again, saying, “Turn around, face the wall.”

This time, he complied after only a brief hesitation. He listened while Heymann fished the key from his utility belt. The leash fell slack, only to tighten again as he wrapped the length around his wrist. There was a soft snap as he locked it in place.

“Let’s go.”

“Gordon,” Batman greeted.

The commissioner twisted around with relief. “Batman, you got my message.”

Batman nodded. “Why here?”

They stood on the deck on the fifth story of an empty apartment. The wind carried the smell of Gotham Harbor, only a few streets away.

Gordon was alone; no bodyguard.

“I don’t know who I can trust. I needed to talk to you, in private.”

Batman stayed quiet. Gordon pulled a file from beneath his trench coat. “I have reason to believe that our blackmailer works with the police.”

Batman accepted to proffered file. “Evidence?”

“Everything I have is there.” Gordon shook his head. “I know it’s not a lot, but it’s hard to investigate with people breathing down your neck.”

He took a drag from his cigarette, glancing around. His eyes softened. “Still no sign of Robin?”

Dick paused; Batman straightened his posture. He tapped the file once in his hands. “I’ll look into this.”

Gordon opened his mouth to say something else, but never got the words out.

A building down the street shot up in flames.

Next chapter

#fido writes #unauthorized understudy #damian wayne #dick grayson

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junkpoetic · 3 years

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Four

On the verge of his tenth mile, Elliot had a feeling like he had to urinate. With seemingly no shrubbery around he contemplated just going in his shorts. He figured by the time he’d reach the finish line the ratio of sweat to urine would hide the fact that there was any urine at all. When he made the decision that he was going to go for it, he slowed to a trot and attempt to release, but he couldn’t. There was only more feeling of having to go. He decided to ignore everything and began running faster again.

The wind and sweat made the road rash on his wrists and knees scream. On a whim he took a left at the next side street and slowed his run to a walk. Eventually he came to a complete stop. He found himself in a sort of rundown neighborhood that had a shoddy old shopping plaza in it vacant with more boarded windows than windows. For some reason he turned his microphone off. I did not realize this until we played back the tape later on, I was consumed in the bar lights with Juno Rafferty.

Elliot began walking door to door and pulling on them to see if any were accidentally left unlocked. He figured there had to be an old toilet somewhere inside. He doesn’t remember if it was the fourth or fifth door he tried but he noticed the board on the window next to it was loose. He looked around to make sure he was alone before climbing in. He was shocked when the light flicked on when he flipped the switch. The majority of the bulbs were burnt out but there was enough life in the lights that lit to allow him to see things clear enough. It looked like an old insurance company or doctor’s office, the smell of ink and paper still lingered among the dust. It was a room that sat stagnant, waiting for nothing. When he turned the bathroom light on the light flickered and fought before eventually burning consistently. He stood over the toilet waiting a lifetime to piss. He inhaled deeply and then exhaled before finally feeling a painful trickle. It looked more like apple cider than lemonade. Fuck he said beneath his breath. He attempted to flush but nothing happened, nor did the water turn on so he couldn’t wash his hands. He cranked the paper towel spool and unraveled a few sheets of hardened yellowed tissue and dabbed his wounds with it. Thankfully his cuts didn’t look as bad as they stung.

When he walked back out into the office the room felt dimmer. He wondered if more bulbs had burnt out while he was urinating. He pondered lightbulbs for some odd reason. He found it funny that when one burned out at his house, he didn’t change it right away. He’d just get used to dimmer light. He’d wait until enough burned out and change them all at once. There’s less flaw in dimmer light, he liked that. It leveled the playing field. He felt the same about the snow. Everyone’s yard looks the same in a snowstorm.

When he climbed back through the window, he gazed out upon the empty parking lot. The broken streetlamps, the dead weeds stuck between cracks in the concrete. The trashy graffiti that meant nothing to most people and everything to whoever created it. He tried to resurface from his cavernous mind, but something was off. He kept falling deeper. He stared at the graffiti for much longer than a moment. Stuck in gaze, he couldn’t make out what it said. A voice shouted startling him from his daydream. He didn’t hear what they said, he waved and trotted back toward the marathon course.

10.87 miles- Bloody. Brown piss. Delirium.

He didn’t remember to turn his mic back on until he felt the adhesive tape itching against his chest reminding him that he was wearing it.

“Paulie? You there?”

“Jesus Elliot, where have you been?”

“Took a fall, had find a toilet.”

“You alright?”

“I think so.”

He would never admit that he was not okay. He wasn’t even halfway through and so dehydrated. I told him to stop running but he kept rambling about lightbulbs and parking lots attempting to sound philosophical. It apparently made sense in his mind. I had to laugh because it reminded me of the first time we got drunk together.

“Call off the dogs E. I am worried about you now.”

“They’re so lonely and beautiful.”

“What?”

“Parking lots. They’re always waiting.”

“What?” I laughed but not really.

“Arrivals and departures. They’re stuck in between. Like an elevator if you pressed all the floors at once.”

“I am coming to meet you.”

He continued. “I have to show you the most beautiful parking lot I found.”

“Elliot, you need water.”

Total distance eleven miles. Total time one hundred twenty-five minutes and fifteen seconds. Split pace eleven minutes and thirty-seven seconds per mile.

Not long into his twelfth mile, his legs wouldn’t allow him to run. He struggled to walk for a short while before he couldn’t move at all. An ambulance arrived and took Elliot Knox away from the race. They took him to South Shore hospital and pumped him full of fluids. The last thing he said before turning his microphone off was “keep the clock running”.

I parted ways with Juno. She was kind enough to stay with my stuff at the bar while I took a cab to South Shore. The cab drivers name was Kingston and he drove like Jeff Gordon. It felt as if the tequila sodas I consumed were very disrupted in my stomach. He took sharp turns through back roads and went fifty miles per hour on straightaways. I managed to keep from vomiting but not by much. When I got to the hospital there were two other marathon runners awaiting a room, apparently Elliot was bad enough they booked him right away.

I tried to make sense of everything a I walked the long corridors of lights and glares pasts room that smelled of insulin and disease. He only ran eleven miles… sure he drank alcohol the night before and probably didn’t hydrate but Elliot seemed healthy enough to run at least a half marathon and possibly walk another half. It wasn’t until I arrived at his room and the doctor informed that Elliot wasn’t healthy enough to run a marathon nor was he healthy enough to run a half marathon. I felt dizzy and delirious much like Elliot sounded when he was talking about parking lots and light bulbs. Everything went blurry. I felt worse than I did in Kingston’s cab. I could no longer hold back the vomit once the doctor informed me that my best friend was dying.

When I went into his room, he was lying in bed smiling as the IV drip nursed him back to hydration. I did not tell him what the doctor told me. He’ll tell me when he’s ready. Suddenly the jargon about light bulbs and parking lots made much more sense.

Parking lots are places that no one ever talks about. They’re not glamorous. They’re often quite the opposite. They hold no address, and they’re left off maps, it’s like they don’t exist. So full of exhaust and the pollution of strangers constantly arriving and departing. So full during the day and so empty and lonely at night. Painted in bird shit, chewed gum, and cigarette ash. Full of Styrofoam trash, and paper cups of smoke, and they carry the weight of the happiest hellos and the saddest farewells.

I sat down in the chair at his bedside, and he insisted he was not done running. He brought up the time I saved his life. He always makes so much more of it than it was. I don’t think I really did much, but I suppose it goes to show how much we are affected by one another. Not just our friendship but people everywhere. The little things make a difference. The slightest detail can change someone’s everything.

“I didn’t save your life Elliot. I just happened to be there.”

“Yeah. You were there when I did not want to be.”

“It was Christmas Eve, I was just dropping off a gift.”

“Not just a gift. You gave me a Blonde On Blonde signed vinyl… possibly one of the greatest records of all time, signed.” He laughed.

“I didn’t realize you liked it that much.” I said.

“I don’t. I like that I was going to kill myself that night and you showed up with a gift.”

I didn’t know how to respond when he said that, so naturally I said. “How come you didn’t tell me that you’re dying.”

“Everyone’s dying.” He replied.

“You’re dying quicker.” I said.

“Imagine if I could apply my speed at dying to running a marathon.” He joked.

“Yeah.” I said not knowing what to say.

“Look, life is a marathon. I have been running my whole life. I’m tired Paulie. The outlook isn’t good. I want to enjoy whatever time I have left.”

“Did you enjoy running the Boston Marathon?” I teased.

“That was miserable. But I have to finish it.” He sniffed his nose toward me. “You smoke?”

“I smoked three cigarettes. Yes.” I replied.

“You’re a smoker now?”

“Does three cigarettes make me a smoker?” I said.

“Does eleven and a half miles make me a runner?” He replied.

“God no.” I laughed.

There was a resounding pause after that laugh that I’ll never forget. It was as if I could feel him coming to terms with his mortality even though he showed no signs of vulnerability. I guess when you know someone well enough you can see through them. It was difficult seeing Elliot be weak. I had only seen him week twice in my life, once that Christmas Eve night, which we never spoke of after, and then today on this October afternoon so full of gloom.

Later that evening he felt stable enough to refuse any more treatment. I called us a cab and lo and behold, Kingston was our driver. Elliot enjoyed the ride much more than I did. When we got back to the hotel, Elliot vanished into his hotel room for the remainder of the evening. I walked back to the bar hoping to God that she would still be there. I felt almost out of body as I reflected on the day. I felt a little guilty that my life back home hadn’t crossed my mind. I found myself wanting to smoke one hundred cigarettes with the Goddess of Light, Juno, on a sidewalk in the dark.

I pushed open the heavy door and walked in to find that she was gone.

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torontohypnotherapist · 6 years

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NOVEMBER 10 — GEORGE GURDJIEFF QUOTES

WE MUST PAY FOR EVERYTHING

Orage and I were sitting in the Russian dining room one wet morning talking over a cup of tea. Gurdjieff came in, looking very handsome in a light grey suit, and carrying a walking-stick. He stopped, sat on the table, and lit a cigarette. Then he began to talk about the accident. He said that it was a habit of his when driving along that part of the road from Paris to Fontainebleau to put his hand out of the window and pick an apple off a row of trees that grew there. On this occasion as he did so the wheel of the car must have bumped into something, for he remembered nothing further. He said he must have unconsciously taken a cushion from the car and put his head on it to prevent the blood running into it. Of the rest of his story I could make nothing. He was speaking in parables, conveying something to Orage. After a pause, in which he lit another cigarette, he continued:

‘You know, Orage, when you give something to a man, or do something for him, the first time he will kneel and kiss your hand; second time, he takes his hat off; third time, he bows; fourth time, he fawns; fifth time, he nods; sixth time he insults you, and the seventh he sues you for not giving him enough.’ Then, glancing at me, he said: ‘You know, Orage, we must pay for everything.’

When he had gone, I asked Orage what he meant.

‘He was probably getting at us for not knowing how to give,’ he said. ‘Neither of us, it seems, has yet learnt. Perhaps Gurdjieff himself has had to learn how to give.’

Orage, always pouring out love on people; I, from fear, always holding back. To one of his older men pupils, not Orage, Gurdjieff once said: ‘You love me too much. When you leave me you will suffer, because you love me too much.’

Pondering what Gurdjieff had said, I began to see that everything, even salvation, has to be paid for. Jesus said: ‘You shall not come forth until you have paid the uttermost farthing.’ For literally everything we have, someone has had to pay, in toil, sweat, or suffering or struggling of some kind. And we must learn how to pay our debts, learn even to pay with money for our salvation.

~ CS Nott “The Teachings of Gurdjieff - A Pupil's Journal” ...

FOR HIS SUBJECTIVE SICKNESS HE WOULD MAKE A MILLION PEOPLE SUFFER

Friday. December 10,1936

Now the king has left [King Edward has given up the British throne], the radio speech says not for a long time will he return. He is like a man without a country, I say.

GURDJIEFF: This case, he is my colleague. Children-toy is good thing but when you see responsible man play with such, you feel shame for him. This is what your king do.

[Alice sympathizes with Queen Mary who has seen her first born fail, etc.]

GURDJIEFF: No, not pity. She is exceptional, not ordinary person. Early she took habit of vanity. All her humaneness went into ego. She has pride for class, only people who represent something can be important for her. Already she turns to this next son [who becomes King George VI — Queen Elizabeth II's father]. He is more nonentity than brother, therefore safer for country. Kind he is, for example, if he wish kiss your hand, he will between arising of wish and expressing it, forget a thousand times what he wished and when he speaks he will not say, '‘I wish kiss your hand," but "I wish break your ribs.” This is good formulation for nonentity. Now his brother who was king, I could cure in two days of his disease. If I had to choose between being like him, King of England or eating plate of merde, I would choose plate. For his subjective sickness he would make a million people suffer. Miss Gordon, you not have objective reason about your king, such idiot you are, though our patriarch. Why I talk with you, I not know. Until your king, the dirtiest thing I know to say is dirty dog psyche. Now I know even dirtier and I can kiss hand of dirty dog because king is dirtier.

~ "Gurdjieff and the Women of the Rope" ...

MIND ALONE IS NOT A HUMAN BEING

SUMMARY OF LECTURES FIRST LECTURE

SATURDAY, 20 JANUARY 1923

We cannot remember ourselves because it is only with the mind that we try. The other two centers have no interest in it but they must change for the total change is only possible through the emotional and instinctive centers. But they have no common language. Yet mind alone is not a human being any more than a driver alone is a whole equipage. This center of gravity of change is in the emotional and instinctive centers but these are concerned only with the present—mind looks ahead. But the desire to change must be in our emotional center and the ability to change must be in our body. Yet reason is not a total stranger to the feelings of the body but it must learn their language. This is with work of self-observation.

~ "Gurdjieff's Early Talks 1914-1931" ...

IT IS A BIG RISK. DON’T HOLD ON TO IT

PA: A few days ago, I spontaneously felt a state I had never experienced before, in which ordinary life gave me an impression of unreality; and, on the contrary, what I experienced seemed to be really the truth. When I say that it was spontaneous, 1 don’t know, in fact; it came thanks to an exterior cause, no doubt. It was after a period of about ten days during which I had made more sustained efforts than usual. I would like to ask you, on the one hand, what this means, and on the other hand, what can be done with such states.

GURDJIEFF: ‘On the one hand ... on the other hand.’ You are asking two things!

PA: I am asking two things: what value this has, what it means; and what to do with it.

GURDJIEFF: On the one hand, continue what you were doing before, don’t pay attention to it; on the other hand, don’t value it in itself. It is the beginning of a state of being a real man. Are you satisfied?

PA: Very satisfied. When I experienced this, I tried to keep it, and the contact with others tore it away from me.

GURDJIEFF: It is a big risk. Don’t hold on to it. Do not do this to satisfy your curiosity. Sometimes, by doing this out of curiosity, you can break something. This could compromise a good direction of work.

~ “G. I. GURDJIEFF — PARIS MEETINGS 1943”

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