#he moves forward with absolute certainty that he WILL be able to handle what comes next | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

paper-n-ashes · 3 years

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sparks and embers - chapter 1

Characters: Poe Dameron x Original Female Character, Kylo Ren x Original Female Character

Story Tags: Explicit (18+), Canon Compliant/Divergent (Set after TLJ), First Person POV, Love Triangle, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Porn with Plot, Hurt/Comfort, Kylo Ren hates Poe Dameron

Summary: Alexys is a doctor living a life of exclusivity on Raxus, hoping to survive through a peaceful existence, concealing herself from those she believes would use her, or kill her. When fate intervenes and instigates a perilous journey she'd been desperately trying to avoid, Alex finds herself caught in the middle of two sides in both war and love.

Preface: Let me say, I am immensely nervous about this. After months of back and forth inside my mind, I’ve decided to go for it and begin the long process of moving my long running series to Tumblr, along with changing the name (something I’ve wanted to do for a long time). I hit a big emotional road block after over a year of writing and posting, so I’m hoping this move will eventually get me back into the swing. But for now, I’m looking forward to revisiting the beginning of this space love triangle.

If you’ve already read the saga, absolutely NO pressure to read again. Each chapter will be edited a little, but no major plot points will change. To any newcomers who find themselves interested, the story is already posted on AO3 if you are desperate to continue. Otherwise if you prefer reading on Tumblr, or simply like the forced breaks between chapters, I’ll be posting a new chapter every couple of days. I know it’s not written as reader insert, but I just couldn’t make the story work out in any other fashion. I poured a lot of love and heart into Alexys so I hope you’ll give her a chance.

Chapter 1 - Crash Landing

Words: 3.4k

Chapter Tags/Warnings: descriptions of severe injury including blood and bone, medical procedures

Read on AO3

I felt it before I heard it.

A booming crash of metal and glass, sending a shattering vibration through the walls and furniture around me. After the years of mostly silence I’d become accustomed to, the noise that came pummelling into my ears almost made me shriek in surprise. It was short lived, coming and going in a flicker so quick I had to wonder if it was real at all.

Lights began to flash, blinking rapidly in uneven time. The mixture of harsh beeps indicated something was faulting my electricity circuits, plunging me into the darkness of night over and over.

I could only question myself again at the plausibility of this being a dream, but the slow, increasing creak emanating from beyond the walls of this building brought me to a certainty.

Something had crashed outside.

Fear radiated through my limbs, leaving me stuck where I was standing for a few moments, before an uncontrollable urge of selflessness and honestly, curiosity, forced me to move and exit the safety of my clinic.

There wasn’t really a way to prepare for what I saw not metres away from my front entrance. A ship, an X-wing of some variety, was wrecked into itself, varying metals twisted and curled over each other, flames beginning to billow out from the creases. I could feel the heat of them rise as I cautiously stepped forward, taking in the scene with wide eyes. Only seconds had passed when I saw it – the movement of something – no, a person, demanding my attention. The pilot of this battered machine had been thrown just beyond the edge of its hull, broken transparisteel smattering the ground around them.

Hm, the Resistance should probably investigate their flight safety measures.

That thought quickly flittered away when the pilot moved again, this time with a painful moan echoing into the atmosphere. The switch inside quickly flipped, and an all too familiar feeling of conviction flooded through.

This is your cue Alexys.

I raced quickly to the pilot and knelt on the ground before them, fingers carefully removing the black and red helmet with both urgency and restraint as to not cause any more possible damage to their head or neck. The moan I'd heard just moments before let me know this person had some kind of airway, but it was pertinent I assess further. With the helmet gone I noticed the short, lightly waved black hair of a man, his eyes pulled closed, a few bruises and smudges of grey soot smattered over his face. His chest was moving, laboured breathing with the occasional heave on inhale.

At least he’s breathing.

“It’s alright,” I insisted. “I’m here to help you.”

There wasn’t any discernible response from the pilot other than a groan that withered away slowly, and that in itself was worrying. Kneeling over his body, I placed two fingers under the line of his jaw, halfway down, trying to feel for a pulse. I could sense the thump of blood under my fingertips, but it was too slow, too faint, too uneven.

Not great, but it was enough for now.

I began to scan over his body, knowing it was time to assess what was giving him reason to cry out in pain. There were severe burns on his left arm which had caused some of his flight suit to stick to the skin, with more scalds reaching down to his torso and abdomen. His right arm was almost definitely broken with the limb morphed into an irregular angle almost halfway along.

Without being able to look at them directly to ascertain whether I was going to be able to move him, I pressed on his hips gently, silently praying he hadn’t broken his pelvis. He muffled softly, but anyone who had actually shattered the bone would have screamed. As my eyes continued to scan down, it became obvious all too suddenly the shattered edge of his right femur bone poking out of the orange flight suit.

Kriff, this is not ideal.

I wanted to kick myself for not noticing it before, but there was no time, not with the very real possibility of him bleeding out in front of my eyes. My feet moved under me, racing back to the clinic room, knowing where the bandage and splint lay waiting, along with the anaesthetic injections I had stocked in the pharmacy cupboard.

He was certainly going to need them.

Within minutes I was back to the ground with the pilot, clicking together the injector handle and vial, piercing the needle straight into his thigh above the fracture site. I wouldn’t be able to wait for it to dull most of the pain, so internally, I braced myself for the scream I was about to elicit from this poor human's chest. The second I started to wrap the bandage around the splint, a piercing wail echoed through the air, almost causing me to hesitate. Still, my hands continued to haphazardly wrap the white material around his leg, pushing through the guilt it ignited.

Suddenly, the noise stopped.

My eyes darted to his face as his head slumped over on its side. “Hey!” I shouted into his face as I scrambled back to the top end of his limp body. “Hey can you hear me? Open your eyes if you can hear me!”

There was no response.

I pinched at the muscle on his shoulder, harder and harder to elicit any kind of reaction. Nothing. My hand pulled into a closed fist and grinded against his sternum. “Come on, open those eyes if you can feel this!”

Still nothing.

Again I took check of his breathing, chest still rising and falling, yet shallow and with little power. His heartbeat had begun to race, but through my fingertips I could feel the strain in the muscle. Something was seriously wrong, even more so than his other injuries. Something internally. If I didn’t get him into the clinic, he was going to die.

In a snap decision, I chose to forgo an attempt to run back and locate the hover-stretcher. It would take too much time to set up and power on, time this man didn’t have. I would have to move him myself.

How the hell am I going to do this?

With my arms hooked and locked under his armpits I began to drag the pilots hefty body backwards towards the clinic behind me, thankfully only a few meters away, barely making it past the entryway when a roar of flames overtook the X-wing. I looked up to see the blaze almost completely engulfing the ship, a ferocious heat searing into my eyes and face. With even more urgency I heaved the body into the large clinic room, getting up and slamming the door just in time. Just before a house rattling explosion sent shockwaves into the atmosphere.

Lucky didn’t seem to be an appropriate feeling considering the situation I was in, but at least no one had died. Yet. With my last bit of brute strength, I hoisted the pilots limp body onto the closest hospital bed, noticing then the trail of red liquid I’d brought along with me.

Oh no no no.

With him still lifeless, I tugged at his body and limbs to lie flat on the bed, scurrying to my medical trolley and hauling it back to where the pilot laid, ragged breaths still thankfully escaping into the air. Snatching the heavy shears from the top drawer, I began to tear through the thick fabric of the flight suit, unclipping and removing as much of the life support vest and belt as I could. I had to be careful not to rip away the fabric that melted into the burns scattered all over his body, the number of them increasing as I peeled away the suit, starting from his legs, up to his abdomen and chest over to his upper arms. His torso was in full view now, a smattering of dark hair over his pectorals, underneath which showed the bruises of his crash’s impact.

Oh he’s definitely got some broken ribs.

As my gaze scanned over his skin, I could finally isolate where all that blood had escaped from. A deep penetrating wound just below the last rib on his left flank. As I registered his quick shallow breaths and the uneven rise in his chest, it became obvious.

Collapsed lung.

Whatever had pierced through his chest had poked an extremely damaging hole in his lung, the pleural space now filling with air, leaving no room for his lung to expand. My following movements were swift and calculated, almost automatic. A pointed scalpel was soon in my hand, poised to cut. But I couldn’t help but hesitate. It had been so long since I’d had to do this. And yet, somehow, concern for this stranger’s life was quick to weave it’s way through, dissolving my fear into pure resolve.

I made my incision in between the 4th and 5th ribs, using a clamp to push into the underlying tissue and past the pleural cavity, a gloved hand then entering to check I’d made it through. With an instinctive confidence, I guided the chest tube between the layers of tissue, undoing the ratchet of the clamp to an immediate rush of air. The pilot’s chest heaved in relief, along with my own.

One crisis averted.

But there was more to do. Connecting a drain to the tube, I haphazardly sutured it in place, before flying to the pharmacy cupboard. My stock of bacta was limited, returning with an already prepared vial into the pressurised injector, reminding myself I would need to use it sparingly if this stranger was going to make it through the full extend of his injuries. I had cursed at myself only a few times in the years past at being so far removed from a higher level medical centre that would be overflowing with bacta and medical droids that could help in exactly this kind of situation, but the thought had never burned me so badly. There was no way to know if I could keep this man alive with the resources that yesterday I had been more than comfortable with. I would just have to try.

I injected some of the bacta solution throughout the surrounding area of the wound and covered it with heavy dressing, knowing the bleeding would quickly be curbed. Unfortunately, the wound itself would take a few days to fully close, only ever being able to afford lower quality bacta. Before moving on to the burns, I placed some basic monitoring, lines extending from electrical dots over his chest, wrist and neck to the data monitor above the bed. As the numbers lit up on the holo screen, I felt myself breathe a small sigh of relief, having prepared for a much worse result. His heart rate was better, oxygen levels returning to normal, blood pressure not optimal by any means but high enough to sustain his life, for now.

After securing an oxygen filter over his battered face, I continued to inspect and clean as many of the small and more sizeable burns dotting his body. Even with the many I had uncovered, the one extending from his shoulder past his elbow was the one of most concern. Third degree and extremely unhappy looking. If I wasn’t quick to treat this, it could leak even more fluid from his already compromised circulatory system. I was thankful he still remained unconscious when I began to slowly shed the charred material melted into the skin layer. I couldn’t help but shudder as I remembered the initial scream this man had let out, knowing I would be hearing it now if not for his comatose state.

Covering the immense scald in as much salve as I could spare, I began to wrap it in protective antibacterial bandage, soon moving on to protect his many blisters and deeper burns with dressings. Glancing at the monitor screen, he was still stable, and swallowed hard. Now it was time to attempt possibly the most daunting part of this patient’s treatment.

His femur was still sticking through the tissue of his thigh, slightly dried dark red blood creating lightning strike looking lines extending from the wound.

I need to get some blood into him before moving this.

I quickly got to work on an IV cannula, his poor blood pressure making it significantly more difficult than it should have been. Two bags of O- blood were all I had, and a wave of dread coursed through me with the thought of that not being enough if this all went wrong. My fist squeezed the fast flow pump of the IV line, pushing fresh blood urgently into his system, making his blood pressure rise only slightly. With the last of the red liquid trickling through the line I wheeled over the portable X-Ray. It was so old the mechanical arm screeched at me as I positioned it into place over the pilot’s leg. The bone had to be at least somewhat in place before getting the bacta to work its magic or this guy might walk with two uneven legs for the rest of his life.

If he actually made it through the rest of his injuries, that is.

Shaking my arms out at my side, I sucked in a few deep breaths to build my stamina. Unfortunately, this stranger was stuck with a small framed female to attempt reducing his severe fracture. With one last inhale, I drew the courage to pull as hard as I could horizontally at the knee joint, digging my fingers into a vice grip around the limb and yanking it towards me. To my relief, the fractured edge of the femur to slipped back into the hole it was peeking out from, settling back under the skin.

Thank all the stars in the galaxy he’s not awake for this.

I quickly pressed the image button on the X-ray to assess the progress I’d made. The faint white lines of bone edges were stark enough on the grey background of the image. The fracture wasn’t reduced even nearly enough. I prepared myself again, with another deep breath I pulled hard. This time my efforts were forced into angling the lower portion of bone to try and lock it back into place. The grinding of bone edges could be felt through my fingers, pushing myself to pull even harder, creating more space between the fracture in the hope of giving a fighting chance of lining up the splintered edges. My muscles were whining, begging for this to be over, tears of exhaustion soon stinging at the edges of my eyes.

With one final twisting motion there was a sudden click.

Finally.

My relief was short lived.

It was slow at first, before racing faster. A stream of dark red blood pooling at the wound the broken bone had made.

Oh maker no.

Within moments the pace of the blood quickened. I shot my hands to the open flesh site, pressing down hard in an attempt to disturb the flow. The liquid quickly covered my gloved hands, already sure I’d sliced into the femoral artery. The pressure of my hands into the area made the blood spurt out onto my arms, my clothes, my face, everywhere. The monitor was screaming, blood pressure falling quickly. Wiping some of the hot coppery fluid away from my left eye, I slid my fingers back into the gash, moving desperately to stop the overflow before the man lying in front of me bled out, knowing it would all be my fault.

You have to do it Alexys. He will die if you don’t.

The voice nagged at me, pleading to do what it wanted.

He’s with the Resistance! If he survives, if he contacts them, they’ll find me. And they’ll know.

It is time to decide. His life. Or yours.

Seconds ticked by fleetingly, numbers flashing on the monitor trickling down, the speed of blood flow from the pilot’s leg stubbornly keeping it’s intensity.

Everything I’d done to get here, to isolate myself so no one could find me. It would all amount to nothing. My easy, albeit lonely life, would be gone. All because of this stranger.

But I couldn’t let him die. Not like this.

In one flash, I removed my hands from inside the wound, ripping off my gloves and placing two palms at either side of the leg. With closed eyes, I willed the energy out of the depths of its slumber. From the darkened corner of my mind I pulled it back into existence, opening the gate I’d locked it inside for so long, letting it finally burst through and fill up my brain. From there it down through my neck, through my chest and down my arms, right to the end of my fingertips. Its warming glow was almost comforting, friendly. I would have basked in it for a while if not for the life that hung in the balance before me.

Through the pads of my fingerprints I pushed the stream outwards, connecting past the skin of this innocent human being, and felt the overwhelming heat of pain and dimming of energy.

Hurry, he’s dying.

I began to map out the tissue of his leg, frustratingly slowly, starting at the smallest of capillaries, weaving and winding through the flesh, connecting them through the maze of fat and muscle. I could feel the sweat forming on my forehead, my breathing forced and harsh. The vessels grew bigger as I pushed the energy through, skipping past broken points of other smaller injuries. I could fix them later.

Finally, I felt a molten warmth radiating close to where the maze had guided me. Racing to it, I sensed something pushing me back, the pressure of escaping fluid holding my efforts. I’d found the cut, but now I had to somehow knit it back together.

You’re taking too long.

The alarms of the monitor started to echo with a hollow ring inside my ear, fading until I could hear almost nothing. The world around me was blurry, only the image of vessel tissue and all-consuming redness visible in my minds eye. The energy I was expending began to burn me - I wouldn’t be able to keep this up for much longer. I reached out with it, what felt like many hands grasping desperately at the severed edge of the vessel, frantic yet delicate, pulling whatever tissue I could hold back into place.

Several fringes connected, the pressure pushing forcefully against me, making it harder to hold. I couldn’t help but begin to shake at the strain, the sound of my own heart pounding over the slowing heartbeat of the pilot. My grip was already beginning to fade before I started to sew the pieces of artery back together, an ache growing behind my eyes as I pierced an invisible needle through the tissue, over and over, still clawing at the unsewn edges as I made my way around the tube.

I was so close, the tension of the fluid still being driven out of the broken seal almost overcoming me. The unseen thread had almost made its way full circle. I was almost there.

My entire body rattled with exhaustion and pain. One final thread wove itself around the artery, its abrupt closure alleviating the strain on invisible fingers that had been clutching it all together.

You did it.

The energy dissipated quickly in a rolling wave, letting it retreat back into my mind, scampering to the secluded area of my brain, hidden once more. I felt light suddenly, dizzy, the world coming back into focus, screaming alarms growing louder. It was too much, all at once.

A sharp pang of fatigue enveloped every part of my senses and I faltered back, knees giving way, slumping to the floor.

Then, there was only darkness.

Next Chapter

Tag list: @tlcwrites @roanniom @foxilayde @blackberries45 @hopeamarsu @caillea @princessxkenobi @direnightshade @mariesackler @leatherboundbirate @blowthatpieceofjunk @mylifeisactuallyamess @poedameronloverx @millenialcatlady @jynz-andtonic @lightsinthedistancee @star-killer-md @morby @modernpaw @cornmousequeen @paterson-blue

Just let me know if you would like to be removed or added, no judgement!

#poe dameron #poe dameron x original female character #kylo ren #kylo ren x original female character #star wars #star wars fanfiction #adcu #adcu fanfiction

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official-michael-afton · 3 years

Note

Wait what's the recent event and news things?

Let me not only explain but also give an initial reaction to things!

Tw: US Politics, mentions of transphobia, homophobia, and racism

WHAT WE KNOW: A few hours ago, today (June 10, 2021), a tweet was released explaining that Scott Cawthon had donated thousands of dollars to various Republican parties including Donald Trump and Mitch McConnell prior to the 2020 US Presidential Election. You can find the tweet here.

This source can be accessed here

WHAT WE KNOW ABOUT THIS INFORMATION: While not 100% certain this is our Scott Cawthon, it's safe to assume so. The location and occupations line up. This site also appears to be legitimate, though I cannot confirm with certainty. But considering it's a whole database and not just a screenshot, I think it's safe to assume it's a legitimate source unless proven otherwise.

This is the facts, from this point on I will give some advice on how to handle this.

WHY THIS IS A BAD THING: To many people, this seems like a non-issue. People have the right to their political beliefs and I will forever argue that cancel culture is absurdly toxic. However, when ones political beliefs actively harm minorities, they're more than just "beliefs".

Many of the people that Scott has financially supported have pushed anti-LGBT bills and have pushed homophobic and transphobic ideologies. Many of these people have also pushed bills for voter suppression(often in largely democratic and/or POC communities) and pushed racist ideologies as well. Unfortunately, by financially supporting these candidates, one is actively causing harm to minority groups.

Scott has the right to use his personal money how he wants, but there's no denying that FNaF is a major source of income for him. And he likely used a lot of his profits to support these parties. It hurts to say it, but it's very likely that by financially supporting fnaf, we gave him the funds to support the very people trying to hurt us. Thats where the problem is.

WHAT DO WE DO NOW?

I encourage people to take some time to deal with this news. Because it's big and it's heavy. We shouldn't form parasocial relationships, absolutely, but it's very reasonable to feel hurt by this. I've supported Scott since I was a teenager, since 2014, and to know that, while this whole time I've realized I was a man and started transitioning and everything... I've been giving my money to someone who likely used that money to support the same people who fight against my right to exist. I'm sure you can understand why that's painful. Many people grew up on this series and many of us are POC, LGBT, and/or other minority groups that have been harmed by far right political parties.

So take some time to comes to terms with this, find out what this means for you, and how you want to move forward, there is no right answer.

That being said, this is very new news. There may be more that gets revealed, so I encourage waiting to hear more. I want to wait until I hear a statement from Scott or enough time passes that- he just won't. The biggest problem with cancel culture is the idea of dropping someone like a hot potato without even knowing why- so take the time to find out more if you can.

DO NOT. UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES. HARASS ANYONE IN THE FNAF COMMUNITY FOR STILL LIKING FNAF. It does no good for anyone. People have been in this fandom for literal years, and to expect people to just ditch it is not only unreasonable, it's unproductive. People are still allowed to like this series, own merch, make content, etc. Your mutuals are not the enemy.

SHOULD I STILL LIKE FNAF?

I have 2 points I want to make about this question

I encourage you to stop financially supporting official fnaf stuff. Again, knowing that my money is quite possibly being used to support the people who want to harm people like me and my mutuals, I can't in good conscience continue to give my money to Scott. I won't harass anyone over this, but I encourage you to do the same. I recommend instead, if you have the money, to support fan creators! Commissions, fan merch, etc- that way your money goes to supporting minority creators instead! (If you already own merch, there's no point in throwing it out. I mean you won't get your money back so it doesn't make a difference one way or another)

That being said, I personally believe that you are still allowed to enjoy the fnaf series. The series doesn't push any problematic ideologies(the worst is an insensitive joke here or there, but that's literally every media ever), so I believe you're not doing any harm by liking it still. It's like how people can still like Harry Potter as a series, but refuse to give any support to JK Rowling.

Honestly if you still want to consume new content/games, I recommend watching a let's play or something where you're not spending any money. *Puts on Camp Counselor Voice* And remember kids, don't ever p*rate things, that's bad *wink wink*

Again, this is all very new, so take your time to deal with it, okay?

TL; DR- It's extremely likely that Scott Cawthon has financially supported far-right Republican parties such as Trump, McConnell, etc. Supporting these parties does active harm to minority groups- especially POC and/or LGBT+ communities. This is all very new, so I encourage you to take your time in reacting to this. I encourage you to stop financially supporting Scott, and instead support fan creators instead(if you're able to of course). I believe it's still okay to continue to enjoy FNaF though, and encourage you to support your mutuals instead of dropping the series like a hot potato, if you can.

Remember to practice self care, and please don't discourse on this post. This is just the facts and how I believe we should react to this in the most productive way we can. Love you! 💜

#discourse tw #long post #us politics tw #transphobia mention #racism mention #homophobia mention #ask to tag #sorry for the heavy shite guys but we'll be okay!

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thicctails · 3 years

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Summer Of Whump Day 26 [Asphyxiation/Drugging]

Three more to go!

The warning came too late.

Omega had been moving as fast as she could, worry clouding her mind as she limped and stumbled her way through the shipyard. Cal held her hand the whole time, supporting her when she came close to falling. His own Force signature buzzed with nervous apprehension, and he kept glancing up at the sky, like he expected a fleet of Imperial ships to come out of hyperspace right in front of them.

The sun was halfway over the horizon, its pale glow bleeding into the sky and turning the night into a muted pinkish-yellow backed by a sea of dark blue. The light would wake the sleeping clones they’d left on the Jedi cruiser, and she was not looking forward to the lecture they were likely in for when they got back. Perhaps their warning of approaching danger would distract them long enough to forget about her and Cal’s little escapade.

They were just over halfway back to the ship when the ground began to creak.

The two children stopped in their tracks, looking down at the smooth metal they were standing on. They stood there for a moment, unmoving. When nothing happened, they started to move again, slower this time. The metal groaned, and Omega gasped when she felt that warning buzz explode into the back of her mind. Suddenly, the ground beneath them gave way, sending the startled kids plummeting downwards.

Omega screamed, arms flailing out as if to search the air for some sort of purchase. The feeling of dropping into nothingness made her stomach flip and her heart lodge itself in her throat, almost choking her cries of terror. Cal was still gripping her hand, his hold tightened to the point of painfulness by his own fear. She could feel his terror through the bond, and it only served to increase her already thundering heartbeat. She squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to see the ground rushing up to meet her.

Suddenly, she hit something, the force of her impact wrenching Cal away from her. He fell for a short while more, before she heard him hit something as well. Smooth rubber rubbed against her, coiling around her limbs and wrapping around her torso. The serpentine object snapped taunt, and Omega wheezed when she felt a pressure form around her neck and chest. She tried to wiggle free, but that only made the tightness increase, further cutting off her air supply. Panicking, she managed to get an arm free, and she pulled what felt like a thick wire away from her neck. She couldn’t hold it for long, but it allowed her to take in a few desperate gulps of air before her strength gave out.

Her leg was screaming in agony, the wires pressing into her injuries. Her neck and back were also aching, though the pain was far less. The Force around her crackled with worry, whispering soothing words that she couldn’t quite understand. It urged her to summon it, to use the power she’d been created to wield to save herself. Gritting her teeth, she listened to the quiet whispers, reaching out and gripping the wire around her neck. The Force guided her movements, and she focused her remaining energy on breaking the wire. The power came to her easily, and the wire tore in half with a whip-like snap.

Air rushed into her lungs, and Omega collapsed in exhaustion, sagging against the wires. She panted, chest heaving as she took in the much needed oxygen. Her eyes drooped, made heavy by the amount of effort she had just exerted. Someday, she might have more stamina when it came to using the Force, but today was not that day. Against her will, darkness filled her vision, and she fell into a dreamless sleep.

Hunter jolted upright, a gasp catching in his throat. He ran a hand over his face, sighing deeply. He’d just been caught in a terrible nightmare. In his nightmare, he’d been leaning over the edge of an enormous drop, his hand outstretched. Below him, stuck in a tangled mess of fraying wires, was Omega, her eyes filled with fear but also shining with trust and relief, like she knew, with absolute certainty, that Hunter was going to be able to save her.

“Come on kid, reach for me.” He’d said, leaning down as much as he could.

And she had. She’d reached her little hand up as much as she could, their fingertips almost touching as they both stretched as much as they could.

Then the wires snapped.

It was like some unseen hand had sliced them with an invisible knife. Hunter lunged forward, nearly toppling over the edge with how fast he moved. Omega had jolted forward, crying out in fear when her hand just barely missed Hunter’s own.

“Hunter!” Her voice had sounded so broken as she disappeared into the darkness, and it had echoed even after she was gone.

Suddenly, the inky void had moved, wrapping around his wrist and tugging him down into the black hole. That had been what woke him up.

Now he was back in the waking world, and the gentle glow of day shone down on him, chasing away the darkness of sleep. He took in a deep breath, easing himself back down. He could hear that no one else had woken up yet, their heartbeats calm and slowed by sleep. He was surprised that his sudden movement hadn’t woken Omega up. Rubbing his eyes, he reached down to make sure that she was still sleeping calmly, needing the reassurance that she was okay.

He found nothing but an empty space, devoid of the warmth that should have been there.

He brought his hand down, frowning as he looked around. Their pile was missing two little bodies, the space beside Hunter and Crosshair lacking the children that had been curled up there last night.

“Kids?” He called softly, not wanting to wake his vode if they had simply gotten up early and were hanging around.

He waited, listening for a reply, whether it be in the form of a verbal response, or just the pitter-patter of small feet coming closer.

Nothing. Not a call, not a noise of acknowledgement, not even the quietest movement.

Panic-laced worry rippled through Hunter, and he gave his closest vod, which happened to be Crosshair, who’d had his chip removed last night, a light kick. His youngest brother snorted, rolling onto his stomach.

“What?” He hissed. Crosshair was a night owl, through and through, so waking him up at sunrise had always left him a bit agitated. It had been such a pain when they had been younger.

“Omega and Cal are gone.” Hunter said, getting up.

Crosshair’s eyes widened, and he quickly looked around to confirm Hunter’s statement.

“Kark!” He yelled, getting to his feet. The others startled awake at his yell, various noises of complaint and confusion coming up from the pile.

“What’s going on?” Rex asked, sitting up and stretching.

“The kids are gone.” Crosshair growled, getting on his armor. “Maker damn it, they’re going to make me keel over from stress.”

“Gone? How can they be gone?” Wrecker asked, sitting up. “We were all right here, so nobody could have taken them, right?”

“No, we would have woken up if there was a struggle. They likely just wandered off. We all know how curious Omega is.” Tech said, quickly putting on his goggles. “I’m sure they’ve just gone to look for something to poke with a stick, or some other childish game. They’re fine. Totally safe.”

The words were said to try and comfort, not because he had any real proof that what he was saying was true.

“Let’s hope you’re right. Tech, Wrecker, Echo, you three search the halls. Rex, Crosshair, come with me. We’ll check outside.” Hunter commanded.

A sinking feeling had made its home in the depths of his gut, and he wanted nothing more than to find Omega and Cal quickly so that he could shake it off.

The world came in fuzzy at first, a blurred mess of muted yellows and dusty reds. Cal groaned, wondering why his head felt like it was going to burst open at any moment. He opened his eyes wider.

Ah, he was upside down. That explained some things.

It took a few seconds for panic to seep into his frazzled mind, but once it does, he’s scrambling to get upright. One of his hands finds a wire, and he grabs it, pulling himself up. It’s at times like these that he’s so thankful for the core muscle strength he’s built up through his years of padawan training. Cal gripped the wire with the strength of a hundred clone troopers, shaking as he waited for the feeling of dizziness that washes over him at the sudden movement to pass.

There are wires wrapped all around different parts of his body, mostly coiling around his waist. His breathing picked up, his heaving breaths almost matching his rapid heart rate. He whimpered as the wires swayed, trying to ignore the fact that, if he fell, he’d be little more than a stain on the ground.

He closed his eyes and reached out with the Force, searching for Omega. He found her nearby, her Force signature dimmed ever so slightly by the veil of sleep. He tried to call to her, but he gets no response.

‘She must be really deep in sleep.’ He thought to himself. He was worried that she might have hit her head on something, and that she might be unconscious rather than asleep.

“’mega.” He croaked. Cal coughed, his throat feeling sticky.

“Omega!” He called again, louder this time.

Nothing.

Damn. Guess he’s going to have to do this the hard way.

Cal brought a hand down to his waist, gripping the smooth handle of his Master’s lightsaber. He ignited the weapon, the bright blue glow illuminating his surroundings. Carefully, he sliced away the wires around his legs and waist, wrapping his legs around the one remaining wire that he was holding on to. Once he was free, he let the lightsaber deactivate as he clipped it onto his waist.

When he’d first touched the lightsaber after he’d ended up on Bracca, the flood of memories had almost broken him. His psychometry could be a blessing at times, but it could also be a terrible curse. The Force had wavered in his despair, his connection with it becoming damaged. He used to have a variety of skills that he could call upon, but he had lost many of them to his trauma. He’d regained his ability to throw things with the Force when he’d needed to protect Omega from Chex, and he wondered if, over time, she would also be the key to regaining what he’d lost.

He shook his head, clearing his mind so that he could focus. Gripping the wire, he started his assent, relying on what minuscule amount of sunlight could reach down into the newly created hole to see. He climbed up the wire, grunting with the exerted effort. He hadn’t been keeping up with his daily exercises in the past weeks, so he was a bit out of shape. Once he was high enough, he started to swing back and forth, praying that the wire would hold.

Soon, he was close enough to jump to the jumble of wires and cables that were supporting Omega’s limp form. He held his breath when one of the wires snapped under their combined weight, his stomach dropping as he realized that the wires might not be able to hold them both.

Once the swaying came to an end, he slowly climbed up, relying on his leg and stomach muscles to support him as he gently shook Omega.

“Omega? Omega, get up!” He commanded, gripping her shoulder.

The pressure must have startled her, because she jolted awake, her limbs flailing. Cal increased his grip, trying to calm her down.

“Stop it! You’re gonna make us fall!” He hissed, looking up at where the wires were coming from.

“Cal?” Omega breathed a sigh of relief. “Are you okay? I heard you hit something after we got separated.”

“I’m a bit lightheaded, but I’ll be okay. What about you?” He checked her over, frowning in concern when he saw how it was wrapped around her leg.

“I’ve been better.” She admitted.

“Do you think you can climb up one of these wires?” Cal asked.

Omega shook her head weakly. “I don’t even think I can lift my arms. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Omega. We’ll figure something out.” He reassured her. “Maybe I could carry you up?”

Omega arched an eyebrow. “I think I might be too heavy for you.”

“You don’t look that heavy.” Cal responded.

“Thanks, but I’d rather not risk it.” She said, shifting a bit.

Suddenly, one of the wires holding her arm snapped, causing her to fall to the right.

“Kriff! Looks like we might have to!” Cal cursed.

He reached for his lightsaber, but paused for a moment when a sound reached his ears.

“Wait, I think I hear someone.” He looked up towards the hole that they had fallen through.

“These two seem incapable of avoiding trouble. We should have found them by now.”

“Crosshair!” Cal and Omega shouted.

There was a flurry of footsteps, and then three faces appeared over the edge of the hole.

“Kids! How the hell did you get down there?” Hunter called.

“We fell!” Omega called back.

“We can see that. Hold tight, adike, we’ll get you out.” Crosshair said, before disappearing from view.

Crosshair looked up at Hunter, who’s brow was furrowed in worry.

“What’s the plan, sarge?” He asked.

“We need to find a way to get down to them. Rex, come with me and help me find some wires or cables. Crosshair, keep them calm. I can hear that those wires are gonna give any minute now.” He lay a hand on the ground. “This whole area is fragile, and I don’t trust it not to collapse, so let’s get out of here quickly.”

The sniper nodded, and the captain and sergeant ran off to find the needed items. He leaned back towards the edge, hands gripping the weakened metal. Another wire gave, and Crosshair jolted forward on reflex as Cal and Omega yelped in fear, hand twitching forward as if he could just reach down there and scoop his kids up and bring them away from the danger.

Wait, his kids? When had they become that?

‘They day they trusted you enough to save them.’ A traitorous little voice supplied. ‘And now, they’re doing it again. Don’t break that trust.’

“Udesiir, ade.” He called, trying to keep his voice calm and reassuring. “Everything will be fine, just keep calm and try not to move.”

“O-okay.” Omega replied shakily. “Crosshair, could you teach us that language you guys have been speaking?”

Crosshair gave her a slight smile. “Of course, it is, after all, your language too. “

Omega returned his smile, and managed to stay still as he taught them a few basic words in Mando’a. By the time Rex and Hunter managed to gather the needed supplies, both Cal and Omega could introduce themselves and ask for help. The older clones tossed down a line of wires, old but sturdy rope, and some spare cables. Cal used his lightsaber to cut Omega’s torso free (which startled the men because who gave the kid a lightsaber?) before tying part of the line around her. Once she was secure, he cut all but one wire, clinging to the swaying object for dear life.

Carefully, Rex, Hunter, and Crosshair carefully began to pull Omega up, inch by inch, not wanting to test the strength of the old materials they were using. While they did that, Cal shimmied his way up his wire, reaching the exit before Omega did. Just as he hauled himself up, the wire came loose and fell down into the darkness. The redhead collapsed onto his back, shaking from all the adrenaline that was coursing through his veins.

As soon as she was close enough, Hunter grabbed her as fast as he could, bringing her into his chest. The blonde haired girl curled into him, gripping his armor with shaking hands. His arms wrapped around her, shielding her from the world as he hoisted her up.

“I can hear the metal starting to give, we gotta go.” He said, backing up.

Crosshair scooped up Cal, letting the kid rest his head on his shoulders. Rex quickly stepped back as the edge of the hole crumbled away with a screech, the metal snapping off into smaller chunks.

“Go,go,go!” The captain yelled, making sure that Crosshair and Hunter had started running.

It was like his words had triggered the forming of a sinkhole. Metal collapsed all around them, the rapidly expanding maw of darkness nipping at the armored clone’s heels. A lesser group of soldiers would have been too slow to escape the danger.

Luckily for everyone involved, clone troopers were anything but lesser.

Hunter leapt up onto a chunk of ship, gripping a broken wing and hauling himself up with one hand. Rex and Crosshair were not far behind, easily maneuvering their way to safety. Below them, the ground disappeared, swallowed up by the collapsing cavern. Hunter stared at the emptiness, swallowing when he realized that Omega and Cal could have been trapped down there, crushed beneath tons upon tons of metal.

“Why,” He rasped, looking down at Omega, “did you leave without telling any of us?”

Cal raised his head, eyes wet with tears that had formed from all the adrenaline going through his little body.

“I-it’s my fault. I needed to go get my Master’s lightsaber and I asked Omega to come with me. I-I didn’t think we’d be gone very long, or-or that we’d run into trouble.” He stammered. “But then we ran into that ghost, and then the ground broke, and-and-and-”

“A ghost?” Rex asked. “As in, a Force Ghost?”

“That’s a thing?” Hunter asked.

“I’ve only heard of it briefly. When a Jedi Master dies, and they don’t decide to become one with the Force, they can manifest themselves to other Force users.” He explained.

“So… the kids can talk to dead Jedi.” Crosshair pinched the space between his eyes. “Wonderful.”

Suddenly Omega gasped, sitting up.

“OhmyMakerthewarning!” She said in a rush. “Hunter, we need to get off Bracca!”

“What, why?” The bandanna-wearing man asked.

“The Imperials are coming! We’ve got to get out of here before-!” Omega cut herself off, her eyes widening in fear.

“Omega?” Hunter questioned, turning to see what she was looking at.

His heart just about stopped.

For there, looming high above in Bracca’s atmosphere, was a Subjugator-class heavy cruiser, black as the void of deep space. A fleet of smaller ships appeared all around it, screaming through the skies.

The Empire had found them.

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump[26]#star wars the bad batch #the bad batch #omega bad batch #cal kestis #echo bad batch #wrecker bad batch #tech bad batch #hunter bad batch #crosshair bad batch #captain rex #rex clone wars

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bookwyrminspiration · 3 years

Text

Shattered Upside Down

A kotlc wings au: masterpost here

chapter summary: The consequences of Sophie’s decision are starting to catch up to her, but she doesn’t know how to handle them.

Chapter 4: The Broken

Word Count: 4.7k

warnings: crying, numbness, avoiding problems, emotional breakdown (that’s the crying part), swearing, let me know if I need to add anything else

taglist: listed at the end, let me know if you want to be added or removed!

everyone ready? here we go!

ao3 link here or read beneath the cut!

Sophie held onto the imparter until the buzzing stopped, having gone to whatever the elven version of voicemail was.

It started ringing again.

And another, behind her.

She turned painfully slow, dread curdling her skin, watching as Fitz pulled out his own imparter, staring down with that eerie gaze as it buzzed in his hand.

Then Biana.

Then Dex.

Then Wylie.

None of them answered.

The imparter in her hand chimed once, then again. They’d stopped trying to hail her--now they were sending messages. She couldn’t concentrate on the words flooding the screen, her fingers trembling too severely to hold it steady.

Before she could think it through, she opened the imparter, purposefully not reading the dozens of messages pouring in--from more than just her parents. She typed out a quick message, sent it off, and turned off the notifications, shoving it back into her bag.

The words burned the back of her throat, the ones she’d never get to say aloud, had left sealed behind with that cover when she made the choice--she made this choice--to leave.

She didn’t see what the others did as she continued moving forward, the grasses shifting from decrepit and decaying to unkempt but thriving, the vines becoming more lush, thicker and snaking and warm and untended to.

But she didn’t hear anyone pick up a call. She kept moving.

The area was...peaceful, if a bit wild. The marks left behind were clear--this area had been cared for, once upon a time. Now moss overgrew the trees, the rocks shaped as though meant to be sat upon, woven baskets left discarded on the grown, now-rotten fruits spilling from each.

“Over here,” Biana called, blinking into sight in the distance. Sophie hadn’t realized she’d disappeared.

Biana stood at the base of one of the thickest trees, towering, curling roots tearing into the soil below, sturdy enough that she stepped atop one like a stair. Biana pointed upwards, to what she’d called them to.

Their panting wasn’t the only sound amongst the trees, the faint chimes of soft bells pealing from above, so quiet she’d almost thought the trees themselves were singing. The sound sucked the air from her lungs, draining her dry as she ran her fingers through the knots of her hair, peeling it from her sweat-soaked neck, twisting it through her hands. Resisting the urge to tear it out.

Once upon a time someone had sung such similar songs to her as they braided her worries away.

Once upon a time she’d sat with them, and cooked with them.

Once upon a time they’d died.

She dropped her hand to her side. Now was not the time.

“Okay...how do we get up there?” Wylie stood at the base of the tree near Biana, hand resting at his chin as he frowned upwards.

Just barely visible through the thick canopy of leaves and vines a rustic, curved base was visible, wrapping and coiling itself around the thick trunk, as if it’d always been there. Greenery covered it, untamed and overgrown, spreading from somewhere unseen up above.

The gnomes abandoned tree-houses.

“We climb.”

Sophie panted softly in the light of the rising sun, palms scraped and aching. It had been higher than she’d thought, no easy way up aside from the branches gracing the trunks--the gnomes had planned it that way. Hadn’t anticipated anything would be able to find a path.

Not that it mattered now.

They stood on a wooden porch, able to clearly see the rest of the homes from here--it was an entire community. She’d known, logically, the scope of the gnomes who’d gone missing. Who’d left. But standing here--there were dozens of elaborate, woven residences clinging sturdy to the forms of these trees, wrapping around them with the trunk jutting through the center.

The chiming of those faint bells reverberated throughout the area, the budding rays of sun peeking through the foliage, reflecting off small gems and pieces of glass scattered throughout the builds.

“Holy shit,” she breathed, spinning slowly, taking it all in.

Linh curled her fingers, and the sound of bubbling water rose from various places throughout the trees, delicate dripping irrigation systems diverting the dew and catching the light. Cascades of warm flowered vines fell from the roofs, curling around the braided edges of the railings on each porch. There was a gap, a gate in each, where a thin path--wood suspended on loose vine--stretched out to the next tree, the next habitat over, some meeting and crossing, each dripping with moss and foliage and morning dew--and gouge marks.

Her stomach turned ice as she tentatively stepped out onto one of the bridges, gingerly fingering the marks. This place was beautiful, yes.

But it was abandoned. Empty.

The people who had woven these bridges, molded themselves into the trees--none of them remained.

The wings at her back shivered, twitching with her despair, and the urge to rend them from her skin nearly consumed her. Monsters had ransacked this place, torn the people from their homes and broken their paradise.

Nothing from below, no.

They’d been attacked by monsters with wings.

“What now, Sophie?” Keefe was looking at her so softly, head cocked to the side, it made her want to rip it from his face. She shook herself internally, dousing the thought with alarm. No. She didn’t want to hurt him. She’d done all this...come all the way out here, just to keep herself from hurting people.

She wouldn’t start now.

She would fight this, whatever was happening to her, whatever was changing within her, as long as she fucking could and she would not let it control her. She’d needed to get out of the underground, couldn’t trust herself to be near them anymore--but neither could they.

“Now…” she paused for a moment, unsure what to do. So many things had gone so wrong so quickly, the ground ripped from beneath her feet. What would they do? “Now, we hurt them back.”

Her resolve was steel against the chill morning air, cutting through the loathing with absolute certainty. At least for now.

Maybe she couldn’t trust herself to be a safe person anymore, but neither could any of them. The wings had come first--and Tam’s eyes had come next. Who knew when--if--it would stop. Where. Maybe it wouldn’t.

They could all be on a collision course, already doomed and just waiting to reach the end of the road. But until then. She was going to do everything she could to hurt back the people who’d taken the safety, the individuality from her friends. From her.

The others felt her thoughts, her determination through their linked minds, and she watched as each of their faces hardened alongside her own.

They couldn’t trust themselves either.

Didn’t matter whether or not they had a dangerous ability, they’d still become an unknown to the people they loved. Still hated not knowing when and if and what would happen and where and if it would stop and whether or not they could trust their own minds.

None of them could, but they were all in it together.

It was a risk. Any of them could lose themselves, turn on each other they way they were afraid they would underground.

But it was a shared fear, a shared future, a shared determination.

But it was all of them, all of them versus themselves.

And that was a risk, a chance, they’d take any fucking day.

The window in Sophie’s space was broken.

It would’ve been beautiful, once upon a time. Gnomish things often were. Curling, intertwining branches curved around each other, climbing up the wall in a haphazard arc, overgrown with flora. The view beyond was somehow better, the tops of the trees bursting with color, dripping dew set ablaze by the early morning sun.

Now glass littered the floor, dusting the panels, scattering themselves across the floor, pieces of different colors of someone else’s life. Faint tendrils of vine clung to the few cracked panes remaining in the frame, as if desperately holding itself together.

She tucked her knees in closer to her chest.

The light flowed through that shattered window, catching on the pieces on the ground, reflecting back up on her face as she sat there atop someone else’s bed, mussed and pressed against the wall, those wings spread behind her as she sat staring through that shattered hole.

She should be sleeping.

The others were.

She wasn’t.

She couldn’t. Not when the last time she’d done so she’d woken to be someone--something--else. Not when her imparter lay beneath her legs, ablaze with messages she may never read.

Those wings shifted behind her and she grimaced, gaze fixed straight ahead.

She hugged her knees closer.

Sophie Foster was

tired.

The wings twitched again, and her breath caught. The trees outside that shattered window grew slightly blurry, and she blinked hard. It wouldn’t go away.

Tear after tear tracked its way through the scrapes and dirt on her face, drifting down her cheeks and dripping their way across the sensitive skin of her neck.

Her nails dug into her skin, trying trying trying to hold those pieces of herself together, hold herself together like that broken window. Those pieces that had been shattered and scattered within moments, flipped around and tossed with abandon.

She couldn’t find that Sophie who’d been so angry, so determined, bursting with fight. Her friends had made a commitment to her and themselves, to get back at the people who’d done...this...to them.

They’d each claimed a home, an old gnomish space.

And when Sophie had walked into hers, chosen it for the wreath of moonflower vines framing the door, the moment her friends’ eyes left her, every bone in her body had turned to stone and her muscles to feathers.

She’d sat before that broken window and she hadn’t moved since.

She couldn’t.

Every time she moved, so did…they.

Just thinking about it sent a jolt through her spine that had them twitching. She hadn’t seen them, hadn’t looked.

She’d seen the stumps in the mirror, had caught glimpses of color and shape in her friends’ minds when she’d crashed into that tree, when she’d jumped from that creature.

Not enough to see them.

There was a part of her, a foolish, hopeless part of her, that thought if she ignored it long enough, it would go away.

If she didn’t look, they weren’t there.

If she didn’t look, they weren’t real.

Seeing them made them real.

She didn’t want them to be real.

She

was

tired.

Sophie’s gaze drifted outside the window, wandering between the different colored leaves and the draping vines and the flowers dangling from the--her--broken window.

Then it caught.

Alongside the bottom of the twisted branches was enough glass left for a splintered reflection to stare back, hollow tear-stained eyes, knotted hair stuck to her skin, curled up like she could disappear if she held herself close enough.

Wings.

They were hard to see in the glass, but they spread behind her, as if reminding her they were there. Her pulse roared in her ear, body overcome with that numbing tingle of pure panic.

Sophie inhaled. And slowly turned to look at them.

They were...real.

Attached at her shoulder blades, they spread from her back, the entirety of them on display. She couldn’t...tell what they were. Her friends, they each had something identifiable. An animal, a creature of some kind. Something distinct.

These...weren’t.

But she could identify the base.

Bumblebee.

That was the shape. The delicate, thin membranes threaded through with veins, and as they beat they made the same buzz. That’s what she’d been hearing earlier, she realized. That hum as she walked through the forest--it had been the wings.

But the color was off. Bees' wings were colorless, maybe a gradient of beige near the body. These were alive with splotches of color, translucent blues fading into purples blending into greys, speckled throughout with blinding white.

Like the endless expanse of the night sky. The hollow echo of the void.

Her eyesight blurred again, and she blinked hard as she followed the veins from the edge of the wing, all the way to where it met with her back. It took her a few moments to understand what she was seeing.

Another way she’d been set apart.

There were...feathers. Small, colored feathers textured through with speckles and swirling white patterns at the very base--only at the base. As if those wings had been unable to decide what they wanted to be, and had decided to be everything.

Sophie reached out, tentatively tracing a finger along the membrane.

She jolted, back arching reflexively, as if someone had tickled the bottoms of her feet.

She pressed out an exhale.

So they were sensitive.

Very

sensitive.

Sophie turned back away, looking out through the window once more, suddenly so so...numb. Her eyelids became lead, trying to succumb to gravity.

No.

Please.

Jerkily, exhaustion-worn, she reached for her imparter, still pressed between her legs. Anything. She’d do anything to keep from falling asleep again.

She thumbed open the messages, the unanswered chats between her and her terrified, desperate, confused parents. She couldn’t read them. The adrenaline trying to sear its path through her veins could’ve been nothing for all she felt.

She knew it was there. But it was doing nothing.

Sophie’s shoulders dropped, imparter slipping from her grasp as the electrical signals in her body stopped working. Her fingertip caught the edge of the screen, sending the conversation scrolling back back back.

Until she could see that one, final message she’d sent her parents.

I’m sorry. I left of my own will. I didn’t want to hurt you. Don’t look for me. I’m sorry. I love you. I always will. I’m so sorry.

And then Sophie Foster collapsed.

She could see herself. She was supposed to, at least. She wasn’t actually there.

There was no her to see.

The mirrors only reflected themselves back on each other again and again, becoming a darkening, sickening shade of green with each faux version of not-her.

The mirrors were empty.

Where was she?

Why couldn’t she see?

She was here, wasn’t she?

Why couldn’t she see herself?

The mirrors weren’t supposed to be empty.

Where had she gone?

Cinnamon and wind pressed against Sophie’s face, and her eyes snapped open, instantly on edge. She jerked up, those wings buzzing with alarm. Her fingers splayed behind in the torn sheets of that bed as all her senses overloaded her mind with too much information all at once.

The sun was still out but it was setting the trees were wet and the fibers of this blanket were individually woven together and the air was rusting the flower petals on the door and--

“Woah, woah, woah. Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you like that.” Fitz was holding his hands out placatingly, like she were some startled animal. Which...she supposed she was.

Sophie took a moment to respond, breathing slowly until all that sensory information became no more than background noise.

“Are you...alright,” he asked, lowering himself onto the bed, sitting diagonal so those wings didn’t get in the way. Those wings. She’d hadn’t looked at them closely yet. Had been too frenzied on adrenaline.

She changed the topic. “Do you know what...kind...those are,” she asked, gesturing towards the wings with her chin.

He grimaced, gazing over his shoulder. “I tried not to think about it, if I’m being honest.”

“But…” Sophie prodded, encouraging him gently with a nod of her head. Her face softened as she scanned him, the rumpled clothes--he’d changed into a new outfit--the unkempt hair, as if he’d pushed it back and forth, torn his fingers through it; the circles and lines beneath his eyes, framing his face like bruises; the scratches lining his knuckles, the way he pulled and fidgeted with his hands as he looked back at her--behind her.

The wings tucked in, resting against her back as she gently nudged him with her arm.

“Well...obviously, I’m assuming a bird of some kind.” He exhaled lightly with faint amusement, rolling his eyes. “You know. Because of the feathers.”

“Can I...may I see?” Her voice was too quiet, should’ve been too quiet. But they both heard her all too clearly. She winced, starting to pull back, lean away. She’d so clearly hidden the ones attached to her, now she was asking him to show off the pair on his back.

His eyes widened slightly as she retreated, and the wings spread slightly. He shifted on the bed, and the full length extended, wrapping up and descending around her, nearly enveloping her.

She couldn't keep the silent gasp from slipping through her lips, mouth falling opening as she saw the full pattern of those wings. Rich brown feathers melded into warm, golden honey, spattered throughout with occasional pops of cream. The feathers were smaller closer to his back, growing steadily longer and sleeker as they reached the outer edges of the wings, nearly the length of her forearm.

“I don’t know what kind of bird they could be,” he admitted, blush staining his cheeks. “There aren’t many with natural, earthy coloring in the Lost Cities.” His voice broke at the end, and he cleared his throat to cover it. The Lost Cities. They truly were lost now, weren’t they. A faux paradise broken into pieces, nothing more than memory. As ruined and haphazard as she was.

Sophie shook herself. Not now. Fitz needed her. She needed him. She cocked her head, looking at the pattern. “They remind me off…” she trailed off, sending her mind back back back. Something was pulling at her, a memory; something from her human life. There. A day at the San Diego zoo, her human mother holding her hand as they looked through the habitats.

“A golden eagle,” she whispered.

Fitz said nothing as she reached out, almost in a daze, running her finger along the edge of those feathers. He didn’t react, so…

“These aren’t sensitive, are they?” It was more statement than question, but he nodded anyway.

“Why? Are yours?”

Something clanged through her at that, jolting through her muscles and sending her thoughts convulsing into the shadows. Hers. She pushed it aside.

“We’re talking about you right now,” she teased, a little too out of breath to be okay. Her fingers fisted in the ragged bed sheets, resisting the urge to pull at her skin, her scalp, anywhere she could get her hands on.

He frowned at her, scrunching his nose a bit. “This isn’t just a me thing, Sophie.” His voice was too gentle, too caring, too too too aware of everything going on inside her and reading her like a book of melodies he could leaf through at his whimsy. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to you after everything. But I know you’re trying to hide it. The leader we--all of us, Sophie--want you to be isn’t a person who will hide themselves from us. I know it wasn’t the same for you, the mission, waking up, but that doesn’t mean we’re that different.”

He glanced over her shoulder at both those pairs of wings, bumblebee and golden eagle. “Please don’t push us away. You don’t have to talk to me,” he continued, looking down at her clenched fingers, gently uncurling them and holding her hand in both his own. “But please talk to one of us.”

Fuck.

They sat there for a few moments, just breathing next to each other in heavy silence as Fitz brushed his thumb rhythmically over the back of her hand, ready to wait. To wait as long as it took her to say whatever was boiling brewing curling steaming screaming inside her.

It broke her.

Her fingers tightened in his as her whole body wracked with sobs, shuddering and collapsing in on itself. Her free hand slapped to her mouth, trying to push the noises back into her lungs, the room splotchy and blurred as those tears she’d tried so hard to ignore and to keep to herself and to pretend were only temporary slipped through.

She didn’t scream.

Fitz pulled her into an embrace as she shuddered, crying silently into his shoulder. Her throat was so so thick, so tense, her tongue so heavy in her mouth she couldn’t speak. Nails digging into his shoulder blade, fingertips brushing against the base of those wings, and she cried harder.

She wanted to tell him. She wanted to--. What did she want?

His arms were so warm around her, so steady as he held her, squeezing her closer and waiting waiting waiting for her.

She couldn’t find the willpower to voice it, to speak it aloud.

She didn’t need to.

She didn’t have the strength to speak, but her mind was stronger than her body.

I don’t want to become a monster.

That was what she was running from, hiding from. This possibility. The chance that the wings weren’t the end, that maybe this was where the first monsters had come from, all those months ago. And she was next. She’d have to sit inside her body and watch it rot, becoming the very thing she hated, despised, so dearly. Something with nothing inside it, something bloodthirsty who frothed at the opportunity to attack, no thought behind her actions, a danger to anyone near.

And that had driven her away from some of the most important people in her life. Looking back, it was still safest for her to be as far from her family as possible, but it still hurt hurt hurt hurt hurt.

She hadn’t been able to read the messages from her parents, whatever they’d said to her in terror, desperation, fear for her.

Maybe one day it would be fear of her.

She hated what she’d done to them, but she couldn’t fix it. Not when she was like...this. An unknown assuming the worst.

I know. Fitz inhaled shakily next to her ear, and she realized he was crying too. I know...exactly what you’re feeling. His mind was whirling beside hers, both their mental shields lowered as they sat beside one another.

His thoughts were slow but oh so tragic. Each one a nightmare, his body ruined and decaying, a monster that had once been him crawling its way into the underground, tearing the stones from the walls, gouging into the unprotected below.

Ripping his mother’s heart from her chest.

His arms clenched around her and she held him closer too.

Hey. Hey. Hey, she consoled, gently rocking the two of them back and forth. You...You’re not a monster, she finally whispered, and he sagged in her grasp, burying his face in her neck. I don’t think you could be. You’re too...good.

He laughed hollowly against her skin as she released her death grip on his shoulder blades, a hand coming up to cradle the back of his head, fingers running through his hair.

She’d tried to distract herself from the wings on her back by asking about the ones on his...but he’d also tried to distract himself from his quiet nightmares by asking about her own. What a pair they were.

What a group.

This was the two of them, but they were not solitary lights. They were fragments of stars amongst the constellations of people they had chosen to love.

Eight of them living through the exact same waking nightmare, only a few doors away.

“We’ll fix this,” she promised, voice hoarse from her tears. “I don’t know...I don’t know what fixed will be. Maybe we’ll be out here for the rest of our lives. Maybe we’ll go back to the underground eventually. Maybe...maybe we’ll even go home.” Her voice broke on the last word, but his breathing had slowed. He was listening. “But whatever it will be, we’ll find it. We’ll make it. All of us. We work best when we work together. If anyone can fix this...it’s us.”

Fitz leaned back, his palms running down her arms and coming to rest in their laps.

“Yeah,” he whispered, staring down at their interlaced fingers, eyes red and vacant. And it was so so natural to reach forward, brush his tears away with her thumbs, hold his face in her hands for a moment before picking up his own once more.

He looked up at her at that, opening his mouth as if to continue, but he paused, head cocking to the side and a slight smile spreading across his lips.

“What?”

“Nothing. I just...are you--” he cut out, looking down at his palms, laughing slightly as he angled them towards her, so she could see.

The skin of his palms was dusted in a faint layer of light powder, almost a translucent silver. He pointed to her own arms, and she followed his gesture.

“What are you--oh.” All thoughts left her mind, leaving her with just a what? Every inch of her exposed limbs was brushed with a fine layer of powder, clinging to the surface of her skin and catching the sunlight streaming in through that broken window.

Sophie scooted back on the bed, shaking out her arms, a shower of light dust raining down. She wasn’t even angry about it, there was only pure dumbfounded bafflement as she brushed the powder off again and again and again, mostly of it falling to the sheets, but enough clinging to her skin that she was sure she’d never be rid of it.

Fitz laughed louder at her perplexed expression, glancing at him as she shook out her hands again, his voice cracking slightly as he stood, bounding to the broken window and eagerly leaning out, looking around.

“What are you doing? This is a very serious situation Fitzroy,” she said, scrunching her nose at him lightheartedly. Sure, she was confused. But she could handle that if it got rid of that horrid numbness shadowing his face. Whatever it was sent a sweet scent wafting from him, and she smiled slightly herself. He was...genuinely amused. But what was he doing?

He turned towards her and grinned, pointing to one of the flowers framing the glass, a soft periwinkle encrusted with speckles of grey, drooping from the vines. “Look.” Flower between his fingers, he tapped it a few times, a shower of that fine powder falling from the center.

“...and?” She wasn’t following.

“You’re a bumblebee,” he laughed slightly. “It’s pollen.”

“Oh for fucks sake,” she sighed, pressing her hands into her cheeks, squishing her face as she turned to look at him. “Our homes being overrun by mindless bloodthirsty creatures: I can handle. Living underground for months: I can handle. Running away from our families: I can handle that. Growing fucking wings? I can handle it. But this pollen. I just don’t think I can take it. I think this, right here, this will bee my breaking point.”

Fitz full on snorted at that, her little pun, and she found herself grinning back at him.

His smile faded after a moment and he titled his head to look at her, the movement inhuman. “You can handle it, huh?”

She dropped her hands down to her lap, thinking it over. She’d been joking around, wanting to make him laugh, ease the weight off both the shoulders the way Keefe did so effortlessly, but...the words hadn’t come out of nowhere.

“Yeah,” she answered finally. “I think we can.”

Maybe not now. This would hurt, this would linger for a while yet, but she’d get there. There was a while yet to go, but it would be manageable someday.

She’d have to remind herself of that.

He nodded to himself, briefly meeting her gaze, and she was put off for a moment at the intensity of his stare. He nodded again, and something shifted in his stance. His muscles eased and a sturdy calm washed over him, like he’d seen something in her that’d given him confidence.

“I guess then we’ll--” he cut off as both their heads snapped towards the door.

The sound.

Light footsteps pounded erratically against wood, losing their balance several times as they skidded right onto that patio outside. Something pinged in the back of the mindbubble.

Something’s wrong.

They each flinched as the door burst open, Biana’s hair frazzled, eyes wide with pure panic, the scent of damp terror permeating the space. She leaned in just long enough to say two awful words.

“It’s Dex.”

Taglist: @loudnerdfest @rainbowtay-11 @cadence-talle @pyrokinetic-loser @ahecktonoffandomsinoneblog @itstiger720 @loverofallthingssmart @cowboypossume @jolieharkness @wings-of-hell-and-beyond @shellyseashell @blossomjennie @akotlcblog @imaramennoodle @booknerdddddd

#I do not feel bad at all #I have been planning this since the very very beginning #the cliffhanger I mean #one of the og parts of my outline #anyways please share your thoughts #I have many of them #I will talk about this au forever #also it just keeps getting longer #anyways #there are little details in here I'd love to talk about if you just ask #because I'm worried you won't pick them up #kotlc #kotlc fanfic #kotlc fic #kotlc wings au #shattered upside down #my writing <3 #keeper of the lost cities

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razieltwelve · 3 years

Text

Deliverance (Final Automata)

Commander White eyed the tank with a combination of awe and terror. It was time. “And you are sure you can handle it?”

Vanille sighed. “We’ve been preparing for this day for years. We can handle it. We have our finest medical staff and equipment at the ready. It is going to be fine.”

“But what if...?”

Vanille’s lips twitched. “The time for ‘what ifs’ was years go. The only way now is forward.”

In the tank in front of them, the first infant of Generation 1 shifted ever so slightly in the faux-amniotic fluid that filled the tank. Perfectly formed hands tightened, and a shiver ran down a small back.

Above the tank, the timer continued its steady countdown to the moment of birth.

X X X

Diana continued to munch on a sandwich stuffed with enough hazelnut spread to give a normal person diabetes three times over. None of the androids was saying a single word and many of the friendly machines had stopped to stare as well.

Screens showing the logo of the Android Alliance (a combination of Yorha and other androids) had been set up everywhere in preparation for the birth of the first Earth human of Generation 1. It was a bit disturbing, but she could also understand their obsession. Babies were born every day on Remnant. This would be the first ‘birth’ on Earth in thousands of years.

As the wait for further information dragged on, the androids grew uneasy. They looked to one another, and she could see the fear worming its way past their defences. Had they failed again? Would this attempt to revive humanity come crashing down like all the others? Would the birthing tanks in the restoration facility become nothing more than coffins?

Finally - finally - the logo screen gave way to a new image.

It was a baby boy, and he was held in Fraise’s arms. Beside her, seemingly struck utterly silent, Commander White stared at the infant with absolute adoration. Fraise had probably offered to let the commander hold the boy, but the android had likely refused out of fear of harming him since she had never held a human infant before.

“Say hello,” Fraise said quietly. “To Janus.”

“Janus, huh?” Diana murmured. From what her Aunt Vanille had said it came from an ancient Earth language. Janus was the name given to the God of Beginnings... a most fitting name for the first member of Generation 1. “Not a bad name.”

For a long moment, the assembled androids only stared in shocked silence. In Fraise’s arms, the baby boy shifted and then let loose a loud cry. The Faunus immediately moved to soothe him, but the sound drew forth an outpouring of emotion from the androids. Some wept. Some fell to their knees. Others cheered.

X X X

Commander White walked through the nursery. For millennia, not a single native human had set foot on the Earth. In the span of a fortnight, a hundred had been born. They had been split amongst five separate nurseries, each of which was fortified and guarded to the best of their ability. Even after their victory over the machines and the forming of a coalition between the Android Alliance, the Friendly Machines, and Remnant’s various factions, she would not take any chances. There could be no mistakes. There could be no screw ups. Against all hope and reason, they had been given a second chance. They could not afford to waste it.

Still...

“Relax.” Vanille chuckled and patted her on the shoulder. “You guys will get the hang of it sooner than you think.”

“I...” Commander White took a deep breath to steady herself. It was galling to realise that they knew so little about how to care for human infants. Instead, they were relying on their allies to see to their care. However, she had called up her most trusted subordinates and they were being instructed in the proper techniques and procedures. There had been talk amongst the androids of constructing new models or at least repurposing certain older models to ensure optimal care for the newborn humans. “Thank you.”

“Don’t feel bad for being terrified. New parents usually are.” Vanille grinned. “I’ve raised four kids, commander. Each one of them was different, and there were definitely scary moments for all of them.”

“What if we fail?”

“Fail? This isn’t a mission,” Vanille replied. “You do the absolute best you can. Hopefully, that’s enough. If it’s not... well... you do your best to make up for your mistakes. Humans are surprisingly resilient, you know.”

“I was hoping for a more... concrete answer.”

“Nothing about raising kids is a certainty.” Vanille’s eyes twinkled. “But you’re not in this alone. We’ve been raising kids for a long time on Remnant, and we’ll do our best to help you raise these ones too.” She paused. “You know, there’s a story from the Yun Clan that might help you here.”

“The Yun Clan?” The androids had become quite familiar with the clans. The Yun had proven themselves to be able warriors in every respect.

“It’s a story about a warrior who took up the sword at a young age. He spent so much of his life fighting that when the wars were done, he didn’t know what to do. So he became a farmer. He beat his sword into a plowshare, and he got to work. It wasn’t easy. The first years were awful. But eventually, one day, he looked out across a farm filled with crops and livestock. He picked up a sword and for the first time he could remember, it didn’t fit into his hand as well as the plowshare did.”

“I see...”

“That brighter future you’ve been dreaming of is within your reach. Don’t let fear of messing it up prevent you from even reaching for it in the first place.”

X X X

Nine months later...

“Come to mommy.” Commander White knelt and beckoned Janus forward. The baby boy slowly got to his feet. For a moment, he stood there, uncertain and unsteady, but then, halting step by halting step, he began to walk toward her. “Oh!” She waved him forward. “You can do it! Walk to mommy!”

The door of her office opened, and her secretary let in 2B and 9S. However, she paid them no mind. Instead, her attention was focused solely on the baby boy who was only a step or two from reaching her.

Hazel eyes narrowed in concentration, the boy continued his landmark journey.

“He’s walking!” 9S yelped. “He’s walking!”

“Incredible.” 2B stared. “Are you recording?”

“Of course!” 9S clenched his fist. “Come on, little guy. You can do it! You can make it!”

“For the glory of mankind!” 2B added.

With one last step, Janus reached Commander White and then tumbled into her arms. He was immediately showered with praise and affection by all three androids.

The three were still fussing over him when Fraise entered the room to discuss the latest status update for Generation 2.

“Did something happen?” Fraise asked.

“He walked!” Commander White’s smile was brilliant. “The first native human to walk in millennia!”

“Excellent.” Fraise nodded. “It won’t be long before the others are walking too.”

In the days to come 9S would become a hero amongst the androids for sharing the footage of Janus’s first steps.

X. X X

Author’s Notes

A snippet set later in the timeline. In this AU, Fraise ends up spending a lot of time on Earth since she is arguably the most skilled expert in genetics and reproductive science that Remnant has. Once things are more stable, she can back off a bit, but with the drive to restore humanity in its early stages, they need someone of her calibre to oversee the project. She ends up meeting Satin because Satin has qualifications for teaching preschool and elementary school, which will be vital as the new humans get older.

If you’re interested in my thoughts on writing and other topics, you can find those here.

I also write original fiction, which you can find on Amazon here or on Audible here.

#final automata #fanfiction #oerba dia vanille #commander white #fraise #9s #2b

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wincestismyguiltypleasure · 4 years

Note

Amber, I'm kind of obsessed with casino owner!Jensen and his pet. And how angry Jensen's gonna be when the new security guard Chad tries to 'rescue' Jared. And how Jared plays along with Chad, because he kinda wants to see what Jensen does and the guy's hot so it's fun. And how Jared's punished when Jensen finds out just how far he let things get with Chad, especially when Jared says "Well, if you'd fuck me more often maybe I wouldn't look for toys to play with while you're busy." (bad puppy!)

KELLY!! THIS IS WHAT I'M HERE FOR!!

If there's one thing Jared knows with complete certainty, it's that Jensen Ross Ackles is a possessive, vendictive son of a bitch. He does not share, and he does not take kindly to anyone putting their hands on what he considered his. Which is precisely why Jared was willing to bet his teeth that Jensen would go absolutely ballistic once he knew about Chad and the dark purple hickeys that he'd left all over Jared's, temporarily uncollared, neck.

But his dirty little secret was out in the open now, and Jensen hadn't so much as batted an eyelash. The casino owner's inate ability to foil him at every turn serving as painful reminder why Jared had quit gambling in the first place.

"You're right, Jared," Jensen says, taking a small step forward. Then another. Jared's blood pressure raising higher and higher the closer he got.

Of course, his first instinct was to reach out for Jensen, beg him for forgiveness, and keep his fingers crossed that he'd be able to sit down tomorrow morning. But that wasn't an option because Jared's pride had been hurt this time, and not in the break you down and make you beg for filthy things kind of way either. No, his Dom's reaction, or lack thereof, had made him feel unwanted. Like Jensen could care less who used his body just as long as Jared came crawling back to him after they were done.

So when Jensen reaches out, warm palm cupping his cheek tenderly, Jared resists the overwhelming urge he has to lean in and nuzzle against it. He'd be damned if he was going to let Jensen win that easily.

"You're absolutely right."

The rough pad of Jensen's thumb brushes over Jared's parted lips in a soothing manner. And even when Jared nips at him playfully, because he's desperate to get a rise out of his Dom, Jensen doesn't flinch. No signs of frustration darken his handsome features, or anger giving his hands a slight tremor. He just stands there in front of Jared, staring thoughtfully into those wide, innocent eyes.

It's intense, to say the least. But then again, intense was practically Jensen's middle name.

"I am?"

Jared blinks nervously a few times, clearly confused but Jensen doesn't give anything away. He just pats Jared's cheek softly and continues. "Mmhm. I really have been working too much lately."

Panic swells in Jared's chest, thick and suffocating, when he sees Jensen's lips twist upward into cruel smile. Realization hitting him full force in the gut like a freight train, and just like that, Jared finds himself whimpering in Jensen's embrace. The hot tears welling up in the corners of his eyes reminiscent of the first time that Jensen had caught Jared breaking the rules.

"Hey." Jared's chin is pinched between Jensen thumb and index finger before he can even blink. Grip tight enough to bruise as he forces the younger man to look him in the eyes. And right then Jared thinks damn, this is it. The moment that his Dom cuts the lovey dovey bullshit and puts him on his knees.

That's why when Jensen presses a soft kiss to his cheek instead of landing a cruel backhand, Jared is at a total loss. His bulletproof way of getting what he wanted from Jensen shattering all around him like jagged shards of broken glass.

"Don't pout, Jare. Tonight, I'm all yours."

"O-okay," Jared concedes, trying desperately to swallow down some of the acidic bile rising up in his throat. Barely managing a slight nod of agreement before Jensen turned on his heels and dissapeared, leaving Jared in his bedroom half-hard and shaking. The younger man not quite sure if Mr. Ackles had just made a threat or a promise.

---------

When Jensen calls him to the living room later that night, Jared gets his answer. It had been both a threat, and a promise.

"Ah, there's my boy," Jensen purrs, tracking every one of Jared's cautious movements with a predatory gaze. And suddenly, standing there in just a thin pair of light grey boxers, at his Dom's request of course, Jared feels more vulnerable and exposed than he has in over two years.

"Wh-what's going on?"

Jared takes a hesitant step forward, tearing his eyes away from Jensen with more difficulty than he'd like to admit to focus them on the blonde motionless heap just visible past Jensen's broad frame. A surprised gasp ripped from his lungs when Jared studies it a little closer and suddenly recognizes that longing gaze.

"I know I said we were going to have some alone time tonight, sweetheart," Jensen says, soft and apologetic. Yet still managing to look every bit like the pissed off alpha male that he was standing there in his navy blue Armani suit, clearly ready to do some serious damage. To Chad's vital organs or his ass, Jared wasn't quite sure. "But Mr. Murray just seemed so lonely out there on the casino floor. Hope you don't mind that I invited him over."

Behind Jensen, Chad's bright blue eyes were boring into the back of his boss' head with murderous intent. And Jared could tell by the state of his disheveled clothes and the fresh cut oozing blood above Chad's right eye, that he'd been thrown onto Jensen's couch rather than seated there. Hands bound behind him tightly with what Jared could only imagine was rope or a zip-tie. The single strip of silver duct tape secured across his mouth clearly the only thing keeping Chad's temper at bay.

"Jen-" Jared began, making a move toward Chad only to he stopped dead in his track when Jensen raised his finger. Those gorgeous green eyes buring bright with rage as he pointed to the ground, slow and deliberate.

"Sit."

Jared hears Chad make a wounded sound when he falls to his knees without question. His palms automatically resting flat on top of his bare thighs as he leaned back on his heels, head bowed in submission.

"Good boy."

Jensen's voice is smooth as honey. His words of praise drizzling down Jared's spine, warm and sticky-sweet, soothing him. And by the time Jensen had closed the gap between them, Jared's shoulders were relaxed. The last bit of tension draining from his body completely when Jensen reached out to scratch behind his ear.

"Very good, pet."

Jared hums his acknowledgement but he doesn't dare move. Because despite Jensen's words of affection and his gentle touch, Jared knows his Dom is one wrong move away from completely snapping.

Bending the rules now would only make things worse. And Jared is absolutely positive that neither he or Chad could handle that.

"Baby," Jensen coos, running his fingers gently through his pet's sweaty hair when he notices the pained expression on Jared's face. "I need you to talk to me."

Communication, this was good. This was something they'd learned together over the course of the death-defying rollercoaster ride that was their relationship. And it was definitely a relief to know that Jensen's finger was on the guard of the gun and not the tigger, so to speak.

"C'mon, Jare."

Jared takes a ragged breath and nods, daring to steal another glance at Chad before he looked up at Jensen, body trembling.

Outside he could hear the rain staring to pick up, thunder rumbling low and eerie in the distance but still, it was nothing compared to the storm raging in his Dom's eyes. So much for thinking Jensen didn't care.

"I'm worried about...him," Jared says, voice cracking. He makes sure to put an emphasis on the word "him" because Lord knows if Jensen had heard the guard's name come out of Jared's mouth, that there'd be six, not seven, bullets in the magazine of the Colt .45 Jensen kept tucked in his waistband and blood splatter all over his pristine white walls.

"Aw," Jensen mocks, eyes pitch black and full of venom. Clearly not giving a shit that he sounded petty. "Is my sweet puppy worried about his dumb little toy?"

A hard yank on his hair makes Jared lean up on his knees, whining. Chad's eyes growing wide with concern when Jensen's free hand found Jared's throat and squeezed. "Well, rest easy baby. I'm not going to kill this useless waste of space...Unless," Jensen pauses, tilting his head to the side like he's weighing his options. "Unless you want me to?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Jared can see Chad squirming a little, sad and helpless, and he hates himself for even considering Jensen's proposal. God, he wasn't this person. Or at least he'd convinced himself that he wasn't.

Before Jensen it was so much easier to ignore the darkness that had been gnawing at his insides for what felt like eons. But then this gorgeous, sadistic bastard came into his life, an unstoppable force, pushing Jared's boundries and offering him things that Jared would've NEVER asked for on his own. It was too much, and he wanted it all.

And yeah, the idea of Jensen bathed in the blood of a man who dared to put his hands on Jared was a (huge) turn on, but he can't do this, not to someone with a good heart like Chad.

"Jensen, please."

Jared's throat is dry, his voice raspy and broken as he reaches up to grab his Dom's wrist. "I'm so sorry. Just- punish me and let him go. This is all my fault." And it really is. Jared was never interested in Chad, at least not in the way he'd let the guard believe. Sure, they'd some fun, but it had all been a desperate attempt by Jared to get Jensen's attention. Everything Jared did, every time he acted out or pouted, it was all because he craved seeing that look in his Dom's eyes. This had always been about Jensen, and if he hadn't pretended that it wasn't, Jared knows now that he would've gotten everything that he wanted.

"That's very noble of you, baby." The older man digs his nails into Jared's sore skin as he hauls him up from the floor. There's a hint of amusement on Jensen's face now, standing there nose to nose with Jared. And somehow, this wild eyed, unstable version of his Dom terrifies Jared more than the cold, calculated one. "But I assure, I don't plan to hurt Mr. Murray. Well," Jensen stops short with a sly smirk before correcting himself, "you know what I mean."

"But I thought-" Jared's eyes dart from Jensen to Chad and back again, eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

"I know what you thought, Jare. I know everything that goes on in this pretty head." Jensen interjects, tapping his index finger lightly against Jared's temple. He smiles, bright and toothy, and Jared can feel the color drain from his face. "But believe it or not, Mr. Murray is here on his own volition."

Jared's jaw nearly hits the ground when he registers his Dom's words, teary gaze now focused on Chad who looks extremely apologetic and twice as embarrassed.

"The restraints?" Jensen is standing behind Jared now. He can feel the buttons on Jensen's dress shirt digging into his back, strong hands settling possessively on his hips, pulling him closer. "Just a precaution," Jensen explains, pressing a hot kiss to Jared's neck that makes him shiver. "In case he decided that he wanted to play the hero again."

Jared feels white-hot pain, sharp and intoxicating, twisting up his spine when Jensen bites down on one of the raw hickeys that Chad had left on his throat. Toes curling against the carpet as his dick throbs, dribbling pre-cum all over his boxers, head starting to spin. God, Jared doesn't think he's ever been this hard before in his life and it hurts so fucking good.

"Wh-what are you gonna do now?" Jared dares to ask while Jensen nibbles at his throat. Clearly trying to cover up Chad's handy work with a possessive mark of his own. And Jared's hand is trembling when he reaches up blindly, cupping the back of Jensen's head in his palm to bring him closer. Because fuck it. He'd already broken every rule in the book and he was still breathing, so why stop now?

"First," Jensen growls, delivering a sharp smack to Jared's outer thigh that immediately makes the younger man drop his arm. A half choked groan spilling from Jared's lips when his Dom suddenly flips him around so that they are face to face again. "I'm gonna spank your ass purple."

Jensen hands are warm and rough as they slid down Jared's sides, claiming every inch of smooth, tanned skin along the way. "And when you're so sore that you can barely think, begging for me to stop," he adds darkly, hands settle on Jared's ass. Fingers groping and kneading at the meaty flesh before Jensen pulls his ass cheeks apart, hold tight enough to make Jared whine and buck his hips. "I'm going to bend you over the coffee table and fuck you within an inch of your life. And I'm not going to stop until the only word that you can remember is my name and you're drooling all over Mr. Murray's cheap shoes."

Behind them, Chad is fighting against his restraints, mumbling something Jared can't quite make out but he's sure it's along the lines of "fuck you."

"And when you think you can't take any more," Jensen continues, completely ignoring Chad's temper tantrum, "I'm going to throw you over my shoulder, take you to the bedroom, and do it all again."

Jared's knees almost buckle when Jensen leans in to rub their noses together playfully. His lips ghosting over Jared's, so close and warm, daring his sub to close the gap between them and take what he wants without permission. But Jared's learned his lesson. Stays put even though he's dying to taste the jealousy on Jensen's lips.

"Can I wear my collar then?" He asks, soft and hopeful, pretty eyes locked with Jensen's.

"Of course you can, baby. I'm never going to let you leave the house without it on again."

Jared almost cries tears of joy when he hears the wicked tone in his Dom's voice. A sick part of him wishing that Jensen wouldn't even let him leave the house until he made sure Jared knew just who he belonged to.

"Thank you, Mr. Ackles."

"You're welcome, pet."

Jared feels a bit unsteady when Jensen steps back to take him in. His dark, hungry eyes giving Jared such a thorough once over that it makes the younger man's cheeks heat up with blush. He wants Jensen so bad right now that he can barely breathe. His need to be touched, to be controlled by the only man who knew how to handle him, hitting Jared like a sucker punch. He was so turned on now that it was causing him physical pain, and to make matters worse, Jared knew he had a long, torturous night of begging ahead of him before his Dom would even consider do anything about it.

"Oh, and don't worry Mr. Murray," Jensen says suddenly, looking over Jared's shoulder to address Chad directly for the first time that night, "If you sit still and behave, I'll make sure to leave the bedroom door open so you can hear my puppy scream."

Fuck, maybe Jared's plan had worked after all.

#Kelly I love this au with my whole heart 💕💕#J2 #casino owner!jensen #card counter!jared #dom!Jensen #sub!Jared #guard!Chad #this got out of hand lmfao #long post

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for-tree · 3 years

Text

La Falaise Forte

Summary:

Jack's first encounter of a type with a certain someone who is a bit (read: very) unhinged for reasons currently unknown.

There is a house that lies in a vast field, on a cliff that overlooks a screaming ocean. The ocean is as deep as it is hungry, which is to say, unimaginably so; and it screams at the cliff that looms above it, begging for it to crumble into its waiting waters, begging for it to just give it one tiny piece.

But the cliff is strong.

In the house, there lives a woman. She takes pride in her home, and, though she does not know it, the cliff takes pride in her as well. She finds the screams of the ocean charming and the strength of the cliff comforting. Many call her a witch, but she is no witch. She is a warlock who has lived for three centuries before this day, but still, she is young, her years lived miniscule in the face of the strong cliff she resides on, whose existence, and therefore resistance of the ocean’s pleads, have stretched on since time immemorial.

That’s right, the cliff - her cliff - is strong. Strong enough to resist the calls of the screaming ocean and plenty strong enough to support her and her house. This cliff of hers is strong. So when the eastern most edge crumbles into the ocean’s waiting waters, to say Jack was rattled would be an understatement.

There is a man, no, a boy, outside. His figure is almost completely engulfed by the storm and Jack can barely even make out the color of his hair; only able to faintly tell that it is dark and wild. A rumble reverberates through the cliff, sending tea sets and books clattering to the ground with a crash all around her. A stray piece of porcelain nicks at her calf, but she does not feel it. She continues to stare at the boy outside in shock.

There is an air about him that she cannot comprehend, and, even though she knows she cannot see them, she can say with absolute certainty, that his eyes are a turbulent gray, that deep within them lies a storm of unprecedented calamity. The screams of the ocean no longer sound as charming as they once did; their timbre swirling into a chilling excitement that sends a shock of fear coursing through her.

She tears the curtains closed, stumbling away from the window as the ground beneath her shakes, or, at least she believes it does for she cannot tell if it is her or her cliff that trembles in fear. She does not understand, cannot comprehend, the idea that has become a fact: that her cliff can crumble. She shakes so hard, it’s a miracle she is still able to stand.

Outside the world thunders and a sharp crack pierces the chaos as the southernmost tip of her cliff crumbles. The ocean screams in glee, overjoyed with its fresh droppings, it’s waves reaching out desperately to claim what is now theirs.

Jack does not know how she manages to get to the door, but she does so nonetheless, her arm swinging it open before she can even think to do otherwise, a sudden wild desperation ripping through her. The wind and rain tear past her, as if it were waiting, and it genuinely surprises her when she finds herself still standing, her knuckles white in their grip around the door handle.

She sees the boy almost immediately, she could swear he has not moved a single hair forward, yet he feels closer. His presence is thick and heavy and electric and Jack wants nothing more than to escape it, escape him. But then his turbulent eyes meet hers and, despite the distance, Jack can see the amusement dancing in them like the lighthearted pirouette of a jester.

Anger flares in Jack’s chest, strong and unyielding. He did this. He’s having fun, while everything Jack has ever come to know as her home crumbles around her by his hands. He seems to notice her anger, his eyes crinkling and his mouth curving upwards in a childish joy. His lightning bright teeth seem to shine with an excitement that would rival the ocean’s, and the anger in Jack boils over into fury, all of her previous fear dispersing within an instant.

The air rumbles violently and the acrid smell of ozone permeates the rain around them. The boy’s smile grows wider as he throws his head back, his mouth opening wide as lightning strikes down on him, his thundering laughter cracking the air. Electricity shoots off him like fireworks and, though Jack loathes to admit it, it’s breathtakingly beautiful and for a second she cannot think.

But then, the boy’s eyes meet hers once again, still full of that electric amusement, and all of her fury bursts through her once again, forcing her legs forward. She doesn’t feel the piercing rain or the lashing wind as she makes her way towards the boy. She feels nothing but fury, her thick dress soaking through in seconds as it whips around her body.

Her hands fist roughly in his shirt, ignoring the way it sends a sharp jolt through her arms, and she’s screaming, screaming at him for defiling her cliff, her home. But she can’t hear herself over the storm and he still has that infuriating look in his eyes.

Jack curses at him, and moves to…to do something to him, something that would wipe that sick look of amusement off his face, but before she can even release her grip on his shirt, his hands are over hers and she’s suddenly screaming for a completely different reason.

His hands are hot, virulent and viciously hot. She can feel her flesh boiling, can feel the overwhelming shock of electricity fraying her nerves and blistering her skin. All the anger she had previously felt, now shocked clean out of her. Her mouth opens in shock and she doesn’t even think to pull away, can’t think at all, really. The only thing flaring through her mind was white, hot pain.

She doesn’t even realize her knees have buckled, doesn’t even realize she’s fallen to the ground until she is suddenly looking up into those horrible, horrible eyes.

“W-what are you?” She screams, her voice barely audible over the deafening rumble of thunder. The boy’s eyes crinkle at her question, but Jack can tell he is not smiling.

“I,” The boy says, his voice smooth and playful and thick with an accent Jack had never heard before. His hands release their hold on hers.

“am a God.”

And Jack watches, horrified, as his hands cup her face.

end notes:

There was a little bit that I had written after the whole "I am a god" part where Adrian, Jack's disciple/child of sorts (who will be featured in another very soon to come work) shows up and then it is realized that this whole thing is a dream, but it just didn't flow well enough for me so it was removed!

#my writing #original writing #original character #original work

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purrykat · 4 years

Note

Would you be interested in writing a Plus One fic where Mulder does come back to bed and theres no intrusion of dopplegangers lurking around?

Thanks for the prompt! Hope this is something resembling what you were looking for.

Tagging: @today-in-fic @suitablyaggrieved @sarie-fairy

×××

"Come back to bed."

Her words manage to penetrate the fog surrounding you, and you slowly escape the edges of sleep. She's sat up in the bed when you're finally able to focus on her, sheet clutched to her chest. Powerless, you crawl into bed, shaking the remnants of an all too realistic dream from your conscious. As if by instinct, you pull her towards you, her back nestled against your front. The tension in her body immediately takes you back to the weeks before she left.

"That hasn't happened in a while," she prods, only recieving an weak murmur of agreement in response.

But it's Scully. And dammit, if she doesn't know you too well.

"Not since we were on the run."

Your silence tells her everything she needs to know, but she prods forward, voice tremulous.

"Mulder?"

You know the memories are as clear for her as they are for you. The nights were hard, post-abduction. The realistic dreams, awaking to find yourself in an entirely different part of the house, sweat soaked and panicked. It all felt so real — the sterile white room, the surgical instruments. They'd shifted, not long after William was born. Men coming to take your child away — to kill his mother.

Night terrors, Scully had called them. She'd spent months on high alert, awakening you before they dreams would take hold. Some days it worked. Others, not so much. They'd calmed in time, months after you'd moved into a unremarkable house in the countryside. Years of uninterrupted sleep; of marital bliss.

And then she left.

It was the perfect storm of sensations. Heartbreak, disappointment. Years spent obsessing over a single event, disproved in one single night. The resulting depression you'd fallen into proved to be too much for her to handle. You'd stopped sleeping at night entirely, fallen deeply into the web, determined to seek the truth.

You'd thought the smoking man had ruined you with the truth, only to find the lie so much more detrimental. The old bastard knew exactly what this date would do to you.

The night terrors returned in her absence. You alternated between total paralysis and sleepwalking — often finding yourself kneeling in the dirt just beyond the porch, throat raw with her name on your lips.

"Scully—"

"How long?"

You search your mind for a way out of his, attempt a distraction in the form of your hands on her skin. But her body has grown tense — a far cry from the warm putty that melted beneath your touch mere hours ago. You sigh, reveling in the shiver your warm breath against the nape of her neck induces.

"Two years."

The words scrape on the way out, paining you to say them almost as much as it pains her to hear them. You can all but feel the guilt radiating off of her, the silence that ensues deafening. You've never been very good at this part — sharing your feelings, shielding her from her own.

"They've gotten better," you rush to explain. The very last thing you need is for her to suspect you were still being dragged down by the same darkness that had plagued you before she left. You'd made steps, gone so far as to set up weekly appointments with a therapist. Meditation, relaxation techniques, even hypnosis. You know she's been wondering. You're not oblivious to the curious looks she tries to suppress every Thursday when you take off half an hour early.

"My therapist," you begin, and you can almost feel the relief the words bring her, body sagging back against your own. "He thinks keeping active helps, whether physically or mentally."

She grins at that, and you can hear it in her voice.

"Mm," she hums. "Well, it certainly does seem to be paying off."

She hadn't exactly kept her appreciation for your new regimen a secret earlier, her fingertips digging into your pecs, tracing your abdominal muscles. Your dick twitches at the memory. She clearly hadn't been slacking off either — her thigh muscles strong and capable beneath your hands as languidly rode you to the brink of insanity.

Judging by the way her hips back into yours, she's doing a little remembering of her own. You wonder if this is what she'd expected when she'd come to you this evening, whispering her fears in the discomfort of this very same pull out sofa. It takes you back to your days spent on the run, motel room after motel room — her voice a mere whisper against your chest as she relayed her concerns. The sex it resulted in was always rough and raw — an escape.

They weren't running anymore. Where it had been a method of avoidance before, there was only recovery now. Homecoming.

She draws her knee up; hooks it over your thigh and draws you closer. Gentle hands guide you — your hands to her breasts, your chin to her shoulder. You can feel her gasps in the form of warm puffs of air on your cheek, nipples pebbling beneath your palms.

You work her languidly, sloppy kisses trailing along her neck and shoulder until she's trembling, voice wavering on your name. A tiny foot presses against the back of your thigh, pulling you in. Taking her hint, you adjust yourself and slip slowly inside of her.

You may not have realized it at the time, but these moments have always been shrouded with uncertainty. The very beginning — not knowing if this was something that she wanted long term. Later, after your return, you didn't know exactly where you stood. Not until William. Not until you put the family you never knew you wanted in your rearview mirror. Even after, during those years on the run, you weren't altogether convinced that this was what she wanted. Was it her love for you or her unwavering loyalty that kept her along for the ride?

There was no question now. Not a single doubt in your mind. Your hand splayed over her belly, abdominal muscles tensing and releasing with each backward thrust of her hips. Her cries, her pleas, every utterance of how much she's missed this. Your world is more uncertain than ever before — the very real threat of a plague that will end the world as you know it lurking around the corner, your son at the center of it all. And yet...

She's coming apart, alternating devotion to you and to her God, and for all the disquiet that exists in your world, she's the one sure thing. It's taken years of separation and heartbreak to get you here, to security to absolute certainty. Whether numbered or not, you know that you'll be living out the rest of your days with this woman. The thought has you choking out a sob into her shoulder with the force of your release.

The world outside is unforgiving — unrelenting in it's cruelty. But here, with Scully shifting to cling to you, the evidence of your combined love seeping onto your hip, you find stillness at last. A kiss to your chest and a murmured declaration of love and your eyelids are slipping shut, your mind quieting long enough to sleep through the night.

#my fic #prompt #i did this on mobile so i apologize if formatting is weird

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bubonickitten · 4 years

Text

TMA fic: Knock-Knock

While relistening to the scenes where Elias implants knowledge into Melanie's and Martin's minds, I got to thinking, "What if he did that to Jon?" and... yeah.

Summary: Statement of an unnamed childhood bully regarding a fatal encounter with Mr. Spider. Statement procured by Elias Bouchard, head of the Magnus Institute, for the edification of one Jonathan Sims, the Archivist.

More below the cut, or on AO3 here.

[Note: A lot of unsettling and visceral spider imagery in this one, so big CW for that if you have any degree of arachnophobia.]

[SPOILERS up to and including MAG 92.]

[There are a few verbatim lines I used from the podcast itself; they're all marked by an asterisk.]

ARCHIVIST

I never chose this.*

ELIAS

You never wanted this, no. But I’m afraid you absolutely did choose it. In a hundred ways, at a hundred thresholds, you pressed on. You sought knowledge relentlessly, and you always chose to see. Our world is made of choices, Jon, and very rarely do we truly know what any of them mean, but we make them nonetheless.*

[SILENCE.]

ELIAS

You seem uncertain, Jon. Do you need convincing? [sighs] Very well. Shall we discuss the very first door you chose to open?

ARCHIVIST

What are you –

ELIAS

A Guest for Mr. Spider. A particularly nasty book, wasn’t it? How did you describe it?

ARCHIVIST

I – how –

ELIAS

“A violence seemed to ooze from it, sticky and pungent—”*

ARCHIVIST

Stop it.

ELIAS

“—I had no idea what was inside, but I knew I hated that book—”*

ARCHIVIST

You’ve made your point.

ELIAS

“And I knew that wasn’t going to stop me from opening it.”*

[A PAUSE.]

ELIAS

Your… childhood bully, I believe you called him. You don’t remember his name, of course, but you remember what happened to him – or so you think. But you don’t have the whole picture stored away in your memory, do you? No. He died alone, behind the door you ushered him through. You couldn’t face the thing that took him.

ARCHIVIST

I – I was eight –

ELIAS

Oh, Jon. We both know that survivor’s guilt is rarely rational. You agonize over hypotheticals, let your vivid imagination run wild with all the gruesome possibilities of what happened after the door closed behind him.

[A LONG PAUSE.]

ELIAS

[with a smile in his voice] Do ever wonder what his statement might have been like, had he lived long enough to give it?

ARCHIVIST

[brusquely] No.

ELIAS (STATEMENT)

He knows from the moment he cracks open the book that he is pinned beneath the might of something other.

ARCHIVIST

Don't –

ELIAS (STATEMENT)

[overriding] Before he drinks in the first page, he is flooded with dread and his only wish is to cast the book into the gutter and run until his legs fail him. Instead, he finds his eyes locked on the words, scanning feverishly left to right without his input, and when he tries to shut his eyes, he finds that he cannot even blink. He has the sudden, unshakable impression that some tacky substance is pulling on his eyelids, holding them in place; his eyes begin to dry and sting and still he stares, riveted—

[FAINT STATIC.]

ARCHIVIST

[compellingly] Elias, stop –

ELIAS

[a short laugh] You need more practice before you can command me, Jon.

Besides, you’re riveted, too, aren’t you? You tell yourself you don’t want to hear this, but you do – there is a guilty part of you that believes you deserve to suffer through this knowledge, but that’s not all, is it? Eclipsing your guilt is the simple desire to know. To observe, to fill all gaps in the testimony.

So sit, and listen, and drink it all in.

[ANOTHER PAUSE. THE ARCHIVIST TAKES A SHAKY BREATH.]

ELIAS

[self-satisfied] Good.

ELIAS (STATEMENT)

He turns the page. He does not want to turn the page, but he is a marionette with gossamer wire wrapped twice, thrice, a dozen times around his wrists and he turns another page, turns another page. Mr. Spider’s legs are shifting and he realizes all at once that so are his own legs, marching him steadily forward – to where, he does not know. He can see nothing except for the book.

He turns another page.

KNOCK-KNOCK.*

The words reach out to him like so many spindly, creeping legs.

He turns the page again, again, again and the considering, hungry eyes of Mr. Spider bore into him like botflies burrowing into flesh.

MR. SPIDER WANTS ANOTHER GUEST FOR DINNER.*

His knees lock and he comes to an abrupt stop. He does not know where he is; his eyes are still glued to the page.

IT IS POLITE TO KNOCK.*

He raises his clenched fist and reaches out.

ARCHIVIST

[strained] Elias –

ELIAS (STATEMENT)

[louder] When the door creaks open, something in him releases and he is finally, finally allowed to look up.

He wishes he did not.

[THE ARCHIVIST’S BREATHING IS AUDIBLE, QUICKENING.]

ELIAS (STATEMENT)

The spider silk winds its way through the crack and the door, sticky and writhing; slowly and deliberately it twines itself around his arms, his knees, his neck, and he is pulled inexorably toward the impossible, palpable darkness that lies behind the door. Something shifts in the shadows and he catches a glimpse of an enormous, bristly limb. It stretches toward him, curls around him in a possessive, many-jointed embrace. The click-clack of mandibles surrounds him as he is drawn in closer, closer, closer, like a doomed fish on a hook. He is pulled past the threshold, and only then is he finally allowed to scream.

[A SHARP INTAKE OF BREATH FROM THE ARCHIVIST.]

ELIAS

Spiders are remarkable creatures, aren’t they, Jon? Those eight skittering legs grant them such agility; all those eyes, watching and waiting; the fragile beauty of the deadly webs they spin. So many millions of years of evolution coming together to weave such a perfect little assassin.

They could be anywhere at any time – and that’s what scares you most, doesn’t it, Jon? Any tickle at the back of your neck, any subtle movement out of the corner of your eye, every tentative reach into the murky space under your bed – your mind jumps immediately to the spider. You enter the dusty storage room and it’s not a question of whether they’re there, but where they are. Did you walk through a web just then, or was it your overactive imagination? You run your fingers through your hair, dreading the moment your fingers brush against the spindly legs of an unwelcome passenger, but dreading even more the idea of not checking, of not knowing whether it’s there.

You tell yourself you can handle reading about spiders, but I see what those statements do to you, Jon. As you read, you feel the faint tiptoe of too many legs on your shoulder, the stubborn cling of web on your cheek, the many eyes watching, waiting in the corners of your office. You picture wicked chelicerae, moving independently of one another, dripping with venom that can paralyze, necrotize, tranquilize. Your skin itches, and crawls, and you shudder, and no amount of restive fidgeting will relieve it.

ARCHIVIST

That’s enough –

ELIAS

[speaking over him] You finish the statement and try to pretend that you aren’t gagging on cobwebs. You try not to think about the fact that spiders don’t knock, don’t even announce their presence until they’re crawling down your spine.

Unlike you, Mr. Spider’s sacrificial victim never paid any mind to spiders. But when he saw those legs… oh, the primal, gnawing fear that clawed its way out of his throat like so many needling, skittering legs. You didn’t get to hear it, did you, Jon? The door closed on his terror before you were able to behold the full experience of it.

Feel it now, Jon.

[A PAINED NOISE; PANICKED, HEAVY BREATHING.]

ELIAS

There you are. Hear the clicking and snickering of the monster pulling you into the dark. So many legs, certainly more than eight; so many eyes, hundreds of them – you can’t see them, but you can feel them dissecting you. You are lifted into the air and the legs begin to spin you in slow circles and you’re flooded with the image of meat turning on a spit. The spider silk clings to you layer upon layer and you think hysterically of all the times you glimpsed a spider preparing a fly, such a small and mundane thing to witness that you never spared it a second thought.

You do not want to think about how spiders feed, but the human mind is predictable and it supplies you with every scrap of information you ever encountered, filed away as insignificant and promptly – you assumed – forgot. You know with crushing certainty that you will be fully encased in web; you will feel yourself suffocating, but what ultimately kills you – slowly, so very slowly – is the spider’s bite. You feel the double puncture of fangs, the digestive enzymes injected into your body, the leisurely liquefaction of your innards. The creature sucks in the visceral slurry, transforming you into a dehydrated husk.

You are conscious for every moment as it wrings the terror and life out of your fragile young body.

[THOUGHTFUL PAUSE.]

Do you know what his final thoughts were, Jon? When the fear burned away into numbness, what was left was anger – dull and desiccated, but anger nonetheless, and all of it reserved for you, Jon. An infuriating, arrogant, know-it-all brat with his nose in a book and so many insolent, prying questions.

It should have been you, he thinks. This fate was intended for you.

[THE ARCHIVIST TAKES A DEEP, SHUDDERING BREATH, AS IF FIGHTING BACK TEARS.]

ELIAS

You still can’t remember his name, can you? He became a mystery, and you let it happen, hoarded the memory to yourself and never told a soul. For all your hungry observations, you have remarkably little consideration for the people who cross your path, don’t you? You devour the details that help you complete whatever puzzle you’re working on, and discard the rest as so much superfluous detritus. I would call it egocentric, but you don’t even prioritize yourself, do you? No, it’s all about the knowing. You would sacrifice yourself and anyone unlucky enough to cross your path if it meant satiating your own curiosity.

[ANOTHER PAUSE, AS IF TO ALLOW THE WORDS TO SINK IN.]

ELIAS

This isn’t a criticism, Jon. Consider it a performance review. I believe I made the right choice in appointing you as the Archivist. You had the temperament for the role long before you ever joined the Institute. You opened the book, you stood on the threshold, you just as good as opened the door. You would be making the same flavor of choices regardless of whether you became my Archivist. You never could tolerate an unsolved mystery.

If you want to stop the Unknowing, you cannot afford to stand around wringing your hands over what it means to be human. And you won’t allow the Unknowing to happen unopposed. Cling to that conscience as proof of your humanity, if you’d like.

But more than that, we both know that the Archivist in you can’t leave a question unasked or unanswered.

[A HEAVY, SHAKY EXHALE.]

ELIAS

[businesslike] Now. Do you have any further concerns, Jon?

[LONG SILENCE, PUNCTUATED BY THE ARCHIVIST'S RAGGED BREATHING.]

ELIAS

Good. Well, I have work to be getting on with. I’ll send you a Return to Work form, but don’t worry about the doctor’s note.*

[THE SOUNDS OF PAPERS RUSTLING, A COMPUTER MOUSE CLICKING, AS ELIAS TURNS TO OTHER MATTERS.]

ELIAS

[gloating] Do take care, Jon.

[HARRIED FOOTSTEPS, A DOOR OPENING AND CLOSING. A HEAVY, CHOKED GASP – PERHAPS A SOB – MUTED BY A CLOSED DOOR.]

#tma #tma fic #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #elias bouchard #long post #spiders cw #tma spoilers up to mag 92 #haven't written fanfic in over 4 years RIP

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cutegirlmayra · 4 years

Text

Sonamy Prompt (Original idea!)

It’s so nice that I can finally stretch out my fingers and write my OWN prompts again! It’s been years since I’ve been able to do so. I love writing other people’s ideas, but sometimes, don’t you wonder what my own might be like too?

Here is one of them, I’ll try and write quite a bit more before I actually release the date where the Grand Reopening will happen for the prompt ask box! Until then, please enjoy my carefully written out prompts that I’ve been wanting to write down for years now!

PROMPTS ARE STILL ON SHUTDOWN! But what’s this I smell? *sniff sniff* Smells like something’s coming just around the horizon... Don’t submit any prompts until the grand reopening announcement! :Db

Prompt:

“Where’d you say the universal message was?” Sonic seemed confused, but Tails happily took a breath and explained it all once more.

“To put it simply, It’s an ancient device that allows your message to vocally be carried wherever it’s counterpart is. However, the counterpart that Amy was tracking down wasn’t in the best of places. Amy’s now captured and they’re trying to lure you to them through her!” He seemed to get more and more animated as he spoke, finally bundling up his hands as he leaned forward to emphasize the danger ahead.

“What?” Sonic seemed to finally understand, honing in on the dangerous part. “Why didn’t you say so, Tails?” Sonic patted his shoulder and was about to take off, but Tails quickly reached back and grabbed his arm with both his hands, shaking his head frantically.

“Wait, wait, wait! You don’t even know where she is!”

Sonic smirked, “I got an idea.” He winked, holding up the stone, compacted vase that almost looked like a small and holed through Hokora.

He was about to speak into it, but suddenly heard windy sounds from within it.

He paused, placing his ear to the hole as Amy’s voice became more clear...

“-and that’s when I swore to never show my insecurities, never let Sonic or any of my friends see just how much I really do miss him. I have many troubles... I get sad sometimes... but I know how much Sonic loves smiles. If I didn’t smile, would he not like me? W-would he not stand to be around me? No matter how hard it might be to smile while he’s gone, I will never stop smiling. I still, hehe, remember when Sonic first called me Amy instead of my nickname, Rosy. I’ll never forget it, he said that I looked unafraid. That’s why I always say, no fear! And that’s why no matter what happens to me today... I know in my heart, no matter how weak or insignificant I may feel... that Sonic still believes me to be brave. If I can channel his courage, and make it my own,... his memory will always make me smile. No matter what! I will fight! No matter the cost, I’ll find Sonic!”

Sonic suddenly heard her voice crack, he heard the soft sobbing... that suddenly turned to a muffled cry that he had never heard from Amy before.

His face dropped and his mouth opened to say something, but he was cut off by her voice echoing through the strange, handheld ancient technology again.

“I can’t let him know how truly afraid I can be sometimes... How I really don’t think I’m that strong... but I want to be. If everyone believes Sonic puts on an act of heroism then is it so wrong to put on a brave face too? I may not know...” another interuptive, sharp breath pulled Sonic’s ear out of the device a moment before he slowly and willingly put it back into place. “I may not know where he is or how long he’ll take but I know Sonic will find me... I hope he believes in me as much as I do him. I hope he knows how much I care... how much I miss him... but I know that’s so selfish. I don’t want him to feel sad because I am. I wish he wanted to be around me more... but I know that wishing can sometimes affect the hearts of those we long for the most. If I hold Sonic in my heart, I know he’ll feel me, and then... he’ll know that I’m waiting for him. I want to be strong, I want to fight! But when all seems lost... I won’t ever lose my hope in Sonic The Hedgehog..! Please be alright... Please,... let him be safe and on his way soon. Let him trust in whatever courage he believes me to have... let me have it. Let me never lose my smile and disappoint him... Oh, Sonic... Where are you?”

He closed his eyes, letting her words--which he never before had thought she felt--sink into his heart before pulling the device away.

He looked at it, lightly bobbing it in his hands and feeling its weight, as he figuritively felt the weight of her personal prayer for him and delcaration in his hands.

Her voice sounded so distraught, desperate, as though this was just her peptalk to herself. He had listened in on an intimate moment he was never meant to hear, but he knew he needed it.

He had taken this whole adventure so light-heartedly... he had no idea how scared she really was. What if they captured her? What if she was motivating herself to fight the enemy alone?

All alone...

Not on Sonic’s watch.

He tightened his grip on the device and narrowed his eyes, fixing his convictions securely in his heart as though stabbing a declaration to the ground and digging it through the center of the earth, making sure it stood forever.

“What’s wrong? You looked like you were taking a call...” Tails bent his ears back, not sure why Sonic had ignored him for so long.

“It’s like a seashell, I suppose.” Sonic admitted, turning around to point to the device, “If you hold it close enough, you can speak into it, and someone can hear you.”

“I know, that’s why it’s the universal message system of the past!” Tails exclaimed, but Sonic just held the device away from him, not wanting Amy to accidentally hear something...

“Right, right.” Sonic nodded, being careful. “Tails, quickly, I need Amy’s location. Think you can pull it up for me, buddy?”

“So you will save her!” both his ears and tails perked up.

“Of course I will! What kind of exclaimation was that?” Sonic gestured a hand out, trying to seem carelessly chill but really... his heart was racing.

Was Amy still crying? How would he pull her smile back? How would he help her find the strength he knew was always in her? When did she start missing him so terribly that it left her so... so crippled like this without him?

He had always thought she could manage on her own... but now, he truly saw how much she hated that. She wasn’t one to live on her own... but just by her own terms.

He had been silently making her follow his lead after all these years... A mask? He had always seen her as wearing her heart as her dress, in a sense, having it be too big to just sit on her shoulder--it’d topple over!

So now... his poor friend, what was she up against? Both in her mind... and in her heart?

“Got it!” Tails rushed back, and seemed to finally have time to answer Sonic’s question. “This will lead you to Amy. Sorry, I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad...” He scratched behind his head, “I knew you would! I was just worried you would say there was something bigger out there, and that Amy would have to handle herself for a little while longer.” Tails’s explaination stung Sonic even more.

‘...Do all my friends want me to feel secure in their abilities... That they won’t ask me for help when they desperately need it the most?’

Sonic’s heart felt heavy, and he instinctively put a hand to Tails’s shoulder, “I always have time for my friends.” He stated that with absolute certainty, as though that should never be put up for question again. “I’m here for you all, Tails. That will never change.” He shook his head and tilted his body, showing he had to go now.

Tails looked touched by the gesture, “Wow... S-sorry! I’m just not used to seeing you this way!” he shook his hands out as Sonic removed his hand. “You’ve... You’ve changed in a matter of seconds! When did you suddenly get so considerate of us, Sonic?”

Sonic looked to the universal message device.

“I guess I just needed my eyes opened to what was really happening while I’ve been away from you guys... Sorry, Tails. I never meant to make you all feel you had to be a certain way for me. I know my life style can be... challenging... but I’ve always been thankful for you all.” He nodded to Tails, then waved his farewell, “We’ll have to talk about this later, Amy needs me!”

“Right!” Tails rubbed his nose on his arm, fighting back the urge to get emotional. “I’d like that. Take care, Sonic! Good luck! Make sure you find Amy!!!” He called out, waving as Sonic took off at lightspeeds!

-After some time-

“It’s the end of the road, hedgehog!” A brutish, interdimensional animal and his gang had used an invisible technology to clear a giant and narrow ravine between them. “Hand over the counterpart, and we’ll let the girl go!”

Amy was being held by two of their men, each gripping an arm so she couldn’t move, but she struggled anyway.

“Sonic! Don’t listen to them! They’ll throw us off the-!” she was grabbed from behind as a man threw his arm up to cut off her words.

Sonic, on the other side of the ravine, having chased them and taken down their small spaceship carried an air of superiority and strength as he watched them.

He knew if he made a careless mistake now, that they wouldn’t hesitate to throw Amy down into the gorge below.

“Your choice! Either you fling over the device, or we fling down the girl!”

Amy tried to fight back but soon gave up, looking to Sonic for her answers.

Sonic’s harsh gaze turned sweet as he moved his attention from the ringleader of the interdimensional animals to Amy.

‘...How do I help you understand?’ he thought to himself, slowly bringing his hand up with each thought. ‘What true power lies inside you..?’

In actual reality, he was too beaten down to really fight the alien scum. They wanted to invade the planet, and beforehand, he was barely able to keep their fleet at bay.

Eggman had given them too much information about the planet, it was clear they wanted to mutate it, which would cause life to mutate into their hideous hides as well. Plants... Animals... everyone would be corrupted like them with the poison that destroyed them.

“...Amy,” Sonic extended his hand out, as though she could reach out and grab it.

“Come on,... Let’s go.”

It seemed like simple words, but even at ‘Come’ Amy felt a strength in her rise.

‘He... He trusts me.’ she felt the world move in slow motion for a second, but her heart intensify into a raging drum. ‘He believes in me... that I can do this. He never once doubted me... did he?’

“Grr... Enough games! Shoot him down-!”

As the leader gave the order, Amy shook the guy with a powerful jerk to the side, flinging him off of her and forcing him off the ground. She flung him down behind her and ripped the other creature off her trapped arm to where he faltered forward and then was shoved to the side.

With each powerful footfall, Amy’s escalated heart rate propelled her body to the edge of the cliff.

“Nooo..!!! Stop her!” the leader tried to grab her, and others tried to shoot her after their initial shock subsided.

She felt like air itself was pushing her forward, that her steps felt like blasting explosions that kept moving her on.

Sonic’s outstretched hand... him beckoning her to come to him... it was more than she had ever wished for.

With lasers flying around her, she leaped.

The men were stunned as Sonic looked to see she was long-shooting the distance, and scrambled back in his slight amazement to adjust where he was, seeing her arms swirl as she tried to remain upright in the air.

He replaced the outstretched hand with both arms encircling her, catching her as lasers finally sparked up again around her in the air, and she completely fell into his arms.

“How did she make that..?” The leader gawked.

Sonic held her a moment longer, his head ducked down to bring her closer and his hand moving up to encase the back of her head.

“You... You believed in me.” Amy whispered. “How did you know I could make it..?”

He didn’t say anything, just looked up and saw the men reforming to try and fire at them across the ravine.

He pulled Amy up and into a bridal style hold in his arms, “Thank you, Amy. For your words.” He nodded to her, and for a moment, she was lost in the strong look of a hero he gave her. It looked so sincere... was he saying he truly never doubted her? “I now have the strength I need to win this.” He held her a bit more firmly in his arms, causing her to blush.

He then looked behind him, over his shoulder before racing off, “Let’s get going, Amy!”

As he took off, Amy finally had the guts to ask what he meant by ‘her words..?’

He let her figure it out. The device had worked! She was awestruck and mortified that he had heard her inner-ramblings that she had spoken out loud to try while holding the device close to her.

“I-I never intended you to hear that!” she covered her face, but he just shrugged and smiled.

“It doesn’t matter now, it’s in the past. Then again...” He leaned his head down to her, looking directly at her, “It meant a lot... hearing how worried you were about looking weak or insecure around me.”

She let out a high-pitched cry that could only mean one of two things. One, she was hyperly embarrassed by him understanding her secret emotions and struggles, and two, she was still swooning~

“This is so embarrassing!!! No, no, no!” she squirmed in his grasp, but he just readjusted and chuckled to himself.

“I heard a different side of yourself talking, Amy...”

He caught her attention again, making her peek through her hands to look up at him again.

“And I can honestly say... that even your sorrows are beautiful.”

He met her gaze, seemed a bit shaken, and looked up at the sky to avoid the genuine look of love on her face.

“I’m glad for what I heard... even if it was hard to hear you crying, Amy... That without me, you really do feel helpless... but so long as you don’t feel worthless, or even just knowing you can clear that entire crack in the earth with a single bound,... that you bring more to me than I do to you.” he finally got over his shyness and met her eyes again.

“I will never take back what I said... So don’t ask me a second time, okay?” He grinned, trying to play it off, but he knew the effect had hit home and there was no going back now.

When the adventure was over, Sonic had incorporated each one of his friends’ strengths into the fight. He made absolutely sure everyone knew their own power from within before ever taking another step forward, and for that, the whole team praised and adored him, celebrating in his victory as though they won it together.

Sonic reminded them that they did.

Later, Amy hadn’t gotten over her flustered behavior and was still sighing about how awful it was for Sonic to hear her true feelings in such a way. “He must have felt so bad...” the counterpart device... was still with her.

“OoooOOOOooooohh... how will I ever get Sonic to like me now that he knows how desperately I pine for him every day!” She fell back on the couch, her arms spreading out as the device rolled to her lap. She kicked a foot out, “I wonder if he ever misses me that way too... was he empathetic when he said that? Or sympathetic? Ohhh! I can’t tell!” she covered her face, blushing.

“Hopefully, not as either -pathetic!” as though hearing an alarm go off from a distant tunnel, Amy shot up straight and looked only with her eyes around her home.

“Boy, it’s sure funny hearing you talk to yourself out loud, Amy. It’s like the walls can hear you too!”

“Sonic!” She cried out, grabbing the device she realized was still with her. “Are you..!? Spying on me???”

She nervously placed the device up to her ear, realizing he was speaking loudly into it so she could hear him.

“It’s kinda hard not to when you make so much noise with this thing! Honestly! Do you realize how loud you project your voice?”

“AH!” she threw the device off the couch, struggling to remain calm now and kicking her feet under her and away from it.

The device, like the block of stone it was, flopped to each of its squarish sides before finally settling.

“Hey! Watch it, Amy! This thing’s thousands of centuries-old! Tsk, tsk. This is why you can’t have nice things Not to mention your hammer-tantrums! Why you really shouldn’t display anything nice in your house!”

She squee’d, covering her face in further shame. “Tails..!” she breathed out, reaching for her miles-electric.

“What was that? Tails? What do you need him for?” Sonic’s voice turned more humorous, she could tell he was mocking her.

“Tails! Oh, thank goodness! Get Sonic away from the universal message device!” she begged through the communicator, glaring at it before looking hopeless as Tails just let out a long--Weeellll...

“He can’t help you now, Amy! As long as you got this thing, you’re stuck with me!” he openly teased again.

“What? Did you stick your whole ear in it!?” she was confused about how he could hear her so well, “Nosy!”

“Besides, haven’t you always wanted my number..? An easier way to reach me? Honestly, Amy, I thought you’d be thrilled just from the presence of my melodious, handsome voice~ Ringing through the universe to send you a message... straight from my lips... out from my heart... You’re too loud!”

“Ease-dropper!” she hollered out, turning off Tails as he seemed to roll his figurative eyes and slightly laugh at this exchange and then stomp over to the device. Picking up the device, she shock it, “Ohhh!!! Creep!” she was blushing madly by now, puffing up her cheeks. “Sooonnniiicc!!!” she cried as loud as she could into it.

“Yikes! I’m deaf! Satisfied?”

“I’d be more so if this were your actual ear!” she continued to scream into the device, but suddenly...

She heard her voice from across the way...

In behind her door...

She gulped.

Slowly opening it, she peeked out to see flowers.

She gasped and dropped the device again, but Sonic’s foot swooped into the gap in the door--causing the door to swing wider now--and caught the stone on his foot.

It was a delicate thing, but he was showing off his reflex skills. “Geez, Amy. You really can’t have a phone can you? You’d crack it before the day even started!�� he kicked the device up into his hand, pairing it with its true receiver and then balancing the flowers towards her with his other hand.

“So? Can I come in? Or are you really gonna blow my eardrums out?”

It was a sweet end to a long, tireless, draining day for Amy...

He held her on the couch and talked about his adventures, something he knew she never got tired of, as she clung to his arm and leaned against his shoulder, listening and commenting as any doting girlfriend would.

By the next morning, she woke up to notice the flowers in a vase of water and Sonic nowhere to be seen.

She smiled.

She didn’t feel so lonely anymore...

He must have pulled a blanket over her, and realized then that...

Under the blanket, right up against her, was the device’s counterpart.

She smiled leaned it up to her face, slipping back under the cover of the blanket and whispering out, “Good morning.”

She waited a moment, shot her eyes to the corner of her vision in annoyance at having to wait so long, and then stated a little louder. “Good morning, Sonic The Hedgehog.”

She heard wind wooshing then, as though the ocean through a conch shell before a familiar voice chimed on through the universe to reach her.

“Well, long time no hear, Miss Rose.”

She beamed and blushed as she scrunched herself deeper into the couch, grinning widely on her muzzle.

#sonamy #sonicxamy #sonic prompt #sonamy prompt #cutegirlmayra

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clan-sayeed-fic · 4 years

Text

Let me earn your trust (Kamilah Sayeed & MC)

Previous chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15

Book: Bloodbound (property of Pixelberry Studios) Pairing: Kamilah Sayeed & MC: Amy (I do not own those characters, they're the property of Pixelberry Studios as well) Warnings: angst, strong language, mentioning blood, dealing with trauma (detailed descriptions) Rating: Mature Author's note: I'm not a native English speaker, I'm sorry for any mistakes (feel free to correct me).

I'm not sure if I'll be able to post another chapter until next week. I'll try to post the next one tomorrow, but I can't guarantee it.

~ 2100 words

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Chapter 16

Two weeks had passed in a flash.

During this time, Amy worked restlessly for Adrian. She didn't take weekends off and kept staying at work from mornings to the late evenings.

That was the only way she could survive through the days. By getting herself lost in work.

But finally, she took a few days off.

Adrian decided that he would give her time to rethink his offer of Amy, still working as his personal assistant. It was a tempting proposition, she couldn't complain about this high standard job. But she wasn't entirely sure either if work should be the only reason for her to stay in New York.

One thing was clear, she needed to deal with one last problem before even considering this offer.

***

Amy was rethinking her past month while waiting for the elevator to stop on the right floor.

Meeting vampires, living among them. Being a Bloodkeeper. She still couldn't believe in all of this. Her life had never been ordinary for sure, but even this was too crazy to accept.

The doors opened, so she walked out into Kamilah's penthouse hurriedly.

"I said that you can handle one more day without seeing me, Adrian," sound of Kamilah's voice came immediately from the living room.

The woman had arrived a few hours earlier from her trip to France. The only person she would assume to visit would be Adrian. Especially since he was the only one who knew the password to the entrance. Or so she thought.

"I won't bother you long," Amy said, coming to the main room of the penthouse. "I just wanted to return what's yours."

With those words, Amy put the envelope full of money on the desk and turned around without another word. Ready to leave.

Amy would have left without much thinking if not the fact, that the woman kept silence for this whole time. That made Amy suspicious, so she turned around to face her.

Kamilah was sitting on the couch under the blanket. Her body was shivering, skin pale, which by itself was alarming. The woman was keeping a cup in her hands, probably some herbal tea. What really captured Amy's attention was Kamilah's glassy eyes, staring weakly in the girl's direction.

And weakness was the last word that matched Kamilah Sayeed.

Amy stayed there for a moment with furrowed brows. Finally, she spoke with her arms crossed.

"Why do you look like this?" Amy asked, confused.

Kamilah gulped nervously, she hoped that the girl would leave her alone.

"What do you mean by: like this?" Kamilah repeated, her voice shaky.

It was clear that she didn't feel comfortable in this situation as she shifted nervously on the couch.

"Like you are sick," Amy kept staring at her, which made Kamilah even more anxious. "I thought vampires can't be ill."

Amy couldn't find a solution to this puzzle.

It annoyed her so much that she didn't even find it weird that she kept staying in front of Kamilah, watching her closely.

"Look, Amy," Kamilah leaned forward, putting her cup on the table and trying to reach the envelope. "You don't owe me any money," she gritted her teeth with pain after making too fast move.

That's when Amy got it.

"You're wounded," she stated a fact, making Kamilah froze in place, which only confirmed her theory. "How did this happen?"

The woman leaned back on the couch. She didn't prepare to explain this to Amy. Actually, she wanted to keep it to herself, not saying about this to anyone.

"I don't have to answer to you," Kamilah spoke with difficulty.

Her voice was cold, similar to the one she used around Amy during weeks before she left the country. That triggered Amy's mind and made her feel annoyed with Kamilah's attitude. And at the same time, motivated her, even more, to get to know the story.

"Of course you don't," Amy said, reaching for her phone, acting on impulse. "I'm sure you would rather speak with Adrian."

"No," Kamilah's reaction was fast, Amy raised one eyebrow at her tone, so she added. "Please, Amy."

The girl smiled to herself. She hid her phone to the pocket and sat down on the coffee table in front of the woman.

"So?" Amy encouraged her.

It was clear that Kamilah still didn't want to talk about it. She was looking at Amy's eyes with her piercing gaze like she was trying to scare her off, but that didn't make an impression on the girl. Kamilah should have learned by then how stubborn Amy could get. And how little could stop her from getting to know the truth.

With this thought, Kamilah shouted her eyes down. She opened them slowly again, this time without an angry look.

"It happened on the trip," Kamilah started, inhaling deeply. "I was there to fight organization which had been working against vampires for centuries. They are a common problem in Europe."

"They did this to you?" Amy tried to help her focus on the question, afraid that Kamilah would consciously skip the important part.

"Not directly," she forced a weak smile as pain took over again. "Their ferals got loose and attacked us. I wasn't fast enough trying to stop them from spreading in Paris."

A cold shiver went down Amy's spine.

"Did the feral bite you?" she tried to remember if feral's bite wasn't by any chance, fatal for vampires.

"More like scratched me," Kamilah corrected.

There was a silence between them for a moment. Amy's expression showed hundreds of emotions at the same time. She felt upset, concern, angry at the ones who were responsible for all of that, and highly unsure of what she should do. She wanted to help, but at the same time, she was afraid of being rejected. Finally, she worked up the courage to ask.

"You mind if I take a look?" Amy's eyes showed good intentions. "Please?"

Kamilah saw how much it took from the girl to say this. It didn't make it any easier to agree, but finally, she gave up with a loud sigh escaping her mouth. The woman slowly removed the blanket, and Amy's emotions limited themself to anger and concern in an instant.

Kamilah's tank top was entirely covered in blood at the right side under the ribcage.

"Holy shit," Amy couldn't stop the curse.

Without much thinking, she kneeled before the woman. Amy reached gently for the edge of her tank top, trying to raise it. It made Kamilah grit her teeth again, stopping a groan of pain.

"Shh," Amy was focusing on the task. She lifted slowly the material, revealing the bandage which was soaked in blood. "It doesn't look good, we need to irrigate the wound and dress it again. It could get infected," words left her mouth like it wasn't the first time that she saw such a view.

Amy looked in Kamilah's eyes with an unspoken question. The woman nodded slightly, and Amy lifted her tank top higher. Kamilah obediently helped her by raising her arms, and after a moment, she was left in her lingerie.

"Now wait here," Amy said seriously.

She stood up and made her way to the bathroom first. The girl filled a big bowl with water at room temperature. She brought a towel and found a new bandage with sterile gauze.

Amy went back to the kitchen to heat the water. Then, she searched in drawers since she remembered seeing somewhere an advanced first-aid kit. Amy had a lot of time to get to know every inch of Kamilah's penthouse during the time she lived there.

"This wound has to be deeper than you thought if it's still bleeding," Amy talked mostly to herself, trying to stay calm, not letting emotions get in the way. "When did it happen?"

"Last night," Kamilah answered.

Amy put everything that she gathered near the couch, on the coffee table, and the floor.

"Where do you keep alcohol?" she asked randomly.

"In my office," Kamilah answered, unsurely.

Amy went there after throwing the needle to boiling water to be sure that it will be absolutely disinfected. She came back with a bottle of whiskey. To her surprise, it was one of the greatest alcohols in the world.

"Okay," Amy took a deep breath to clear her thoughts. She kneeled down back before Kamilah. "There is what's to come. I'm going to remove this old bandage and clean the wound with water," her voice firm, full of confidence. "If it's deep, I'm going to stitch it."

"Excuse me?" Kamilah couldn't stop surprise in her eyes. "There is no need to, I'm going to suffer from this scratch either way."

Kamilah moved back away on the couch, mistrustfully. It made Amy put a hand on the woman's knee to calm and steady her in place.

"Easy," she said with certainty in her voice, "I've done it several times. It's going to hurt like fuck, but you can handle it."

"I know that I can," Kamilah frowned.

Amy looked at her and couldn't stop a soft smile when she saw that Kamilah's pride was hurt. She was sure that the woman would like to prove to Amy how much she can handle.

"Yeah, no doubt with that," Amy gave her the bottle with alcohol. "It might help."

Kamilah took a sip, and after that, Amy started gently removing the bandage. It stang when the air met with the wound, but Kamilah stayed still, not wanting to disturb Amy's work.

When the whole wound was revealed, Amy dipped the towel in clean water and got to cleaning the skin around the scratch.

Blood started instantly flow from the injury because of the water breaking fresh clot. At this point, Kamilah was trying her best not to tremble from pain.

"You're doing great, believe me," Amy told without looking into her eyes. She cleaned the wound and sighed lightly before saying, "You might like to take another sip. A big one."

Kamilah understood what was about to happen when Amy reached for the needle. The woman grabbed the edge of the couch, trying to control herself.

"I'm sorry," Amy said honestly with hurt in her voice before the first pinch.

Kamilah growled, holding back the shout. Amy's stomach squeezed immediately. She knew exactly how much pain the woman was going through. Amy turned down the memory and kept on stitching her wound. It was a hard thing to do while blood was flowing uncontrollably, blurring everything before Amy's eyes.

But she kept going, as always.

The last one stitch and it was done.

Amy reached for the sterile gauze. After cleaning the skin from blood around the stitched wound, she dressed it with a new bandage, making sure that everything fitted properly. She didn't want the dressing to be too tight.

Kamilah was breathing heavily. The process weakened her fully to the point when she had a hard time keeping her eyes open. Amy took a fresh towel and dipped it in clean, cold water. She wiped the sweat off from Kamilah's forehead.

"You should get some sleep," Amy couldn't look into Kamilah's eyes, knowing how much she misjudged her intentions and actions.

Kamilah sacrificed her own good to strangers.

To humans.

The girl covered Kamilah's exhausted body with a fresh blanket. Keeping her warm was the most significant part at the moment since the fever wasn't over yet.

"Amy..." Kamilah whispered with difficulty, trying to form a sentence.

"No talking," Amy corrected the woman's hair, which fell on her face. "We'll have plenty of time for that when you wake up."

Kamilah nodded slowly and closed her eyes.

***

Amy took all dirty towels, blanket, and tank top to the bathroom. She tried to wash it with her own hands.

She poured the hot water to the sink and started rubbing the material with each other. Water quickly changed its color, easily absorbing the blood. The pungent smell of it made Amy's mind drift away. Seeing how red everything got from the blood made her body tremble as the memory hit her.

Amy took a few deep breaths, not letting the thoughts take over, and she finished the washing.

Without looking back, she moved on to the dining room from where she had a clear view of Kamilah sleeping on the couch.

In the meantime, Amy gathered books about vampires' history from the woman's office. She wanted to find out what could happen to the vampire after ferals scratch.

Between her research, Amy was checking on Kamilah's fever. She felt relaxed only after the woman stopped shivering.

That was a good sign.

Finally, her forehead stopped getting any warmer too.

Amy sat down back to read books. She didn't even notice when the night fell.

Her head became heavier, after full two weeks of working, and this day's stress.

Eventually, she fell asleep.

Next chapter: 17

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tag list: @onyxgaytrash, @lightning-fury, @scarlet-letter-a0114, @caliseds

#kamilah sayeed #kamilah x mc #kamilah #bloodbound kamilah #bb kamilah #bloodbound mc #bb mc #blood #angst #choices bloodbound #choices bb #choices stories you play #choices fanfiction #choices fic #sensitive subjects

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cinaja · 4 years

Text

Before the Wall part 20

Masterlist

Summary: Five hundred years before Feyre Archeron is born, the world is much different from the one she lives in. Humans are slaves, seen as little more than animals by the Fae who rule. But things are beginning to change. Talks of rebellion is spreading and on the Continent, some Fae territories begin to consider the potential gain of War. All it takes is one spark and everything will explode.

----

The Autumn Court is beautiful, but its beauty is a strange one. The forest is full of colours, so vivid that Miryam barely knows where to look, yet the entire land seems laced with a scent of decay.

Absentmindedly, Miryam tugs at the sleeves of her dress, wishing she had brought something warmer. The Autumn Court is not cold by any means, but Miryam was born in a desert country. Next to her, Helion waves a hand and she is immediately warm.

“You okay?”, he whispers. Miryam nods, but he still gives her a questioning glance. “You seem worried.”

Well, what can I say? My lover is just meeting with one of Hybern`s deadliest generals and trying to seduce her. So yes, I may be slightly worried.

Before she can think of an excuse, though, the guards pull open the huge doors to High Lord Beron`s Forest House and she is able to step inside, Helion half a step behind her.

The wealth that greets her inside would be enough to make most people stop and gawk. Golden chandeliers, silk carpets on the walls, doors made of pure gold. Miryam only gives her surroundings half a glance before she continues walking. She does her best to ignore the guards trailing them, staring at her. All of them are High Fae, there is not a single faerie in sight. Mor`s warnings are ringing in her ears and make her senses go on high alert.

The walk to the throne room seems endless. Helion links his arm through hers and leans in to whisper into her ear, “A joyful place, right?”

Miryam smiles and nods. “Have you been here before?”, she asks.

“Once or twice.” Helion is grinning, but there is a tension in his face. Strange. Miryam doesn`t know of any tension between him and the Autumn Court, but she isn`t stupid enough to ask here, where the guards are sure to report their words back to Beron.

Finally, they reach the throne room. Two guards open the door for them and Miryam walks in, head held high.

High Lord Beron is sitting on a throne made of antlers at the end of the long throne room. His red hair looks like living flame, the red aura of his magic is glowing brightly around him. There is a cruel cast to his mouth, though, that has Miryam become even more cautious.

Miryam steps forward and inclines her head. “My Lord. Thank you for inviting us.”

Beron doesn`t reply. He just watches her. Sneers. Miryam holds his gaze.

“Look at that”, he finally drawls, “Is the Alliance running short of proper politicians, or is there another reason they are sending a child to represent them?”

“My Lord, I am-“, Miryam begins, but he cuts her off with a wave.

“I know who you are, girl. Don`t take me for stupid.”

She bristles. “If you know my name, then perhaps you should use it.”

“Careful”, Beron hisses, “I am a High Lord – I do not allow half-breed filth to talk down to me.”

Helion takes a step forward, but Miryam holds out a hand to stop him. She says, “And I am the emissary to the human-faerie Alliance. You`ll find that I do not take kindly to being insulted, either.”

Beron studies her for a few seconds. “A witch alright”, he says with a smile that sends a shiver running down Miryam`s spine. “We shall discuss business later. But first, allow me to show you the pleasures my court has to offer.”

He claps his hand and a band starts playing. Courtiers begin milling around. Beron turns to one of them without sparing Miryam another glance.

Helion laughs and links his arm through Miryam`s to lead her away. “Could have been worse. Do you want me to stay with you, or-“

“Go enjoy yourself”, Miryam says. She remembers Mor`s warning, but she doesn`t want to look weak in front of these people and hiding behind her Fae companion will certainly be seen as a sign of weakness.

Helion winks at her and vanishes amongst the assembled Fae. Miryam spends the next few minutes in tense conversations with courtiers who either look at her like she is a piece of dirt staining their pretty palace, or a particularly pleasant meal. Typical High Fae arrogance.

Finally, Miryam has had enough and pushes her way through the crowd to a quiet corner. From there, she has a good overview of the throne room. She spots Helion almost immediately. He is talking to a pretty Autumn Court female with red hair. Or rather flirting with her. He keeps casually touching her arm and smiling with enough heat to make the female blush. Only after a moment does Miryam recognize her as the Lady of Autumn. Indeed, Beron is watching the pair as well, his lips pressed together into a thin line. What in the Mother`s name is Helion thinking?

Miryam is about to go over and do her best to prevent a disaster when she gets the weird feeling of being watched. She looks around the room until her gaze settles on a young Autumn Court male whose aura marks him as the Heir of Autumn. Eris. When he notices Miryam`s attention, he smiles slightly and dips his chin. She frowns in return and he begins making his way through the crowd towards her.

Once he is standing in front of her, he bows to the waist. “May I have this dance, my Lady?”

“I`m sorry, but I do not dance.” At least not with you, you pig. It is a struggle to keep the disgust out of her voice. She tries not to think of Mor, or the part this male played in her suffering.

Eris smiles. “Make an exception. You won`t regret it.”

“The lady said she doesn`t dance.” Suddenly, Helion is standing next to her again. “You heard her.”

Eris smirks. “A pity”, he says and stalks off.

Miryam turns to Helion. “Thank you”, she says, “But I-“

“You could have handled yourself. I know.” He grins. “I would have expected nothing else of Miryam Godsblessed.”

“Oh, don`t call me that.” Bad enough that the soldiers keep whispering that name behind her back. Miryam sighs. “Well, I`m still glad you`re here.” She nudges him in the side. “How is flirting with our host`s wife in front of his entire court helping this diplomatic meeting?”

Helion gives her one of his dazzling smiles. “Oh, it is absolutely vital.”

Miryam arches an eyebrow. She doesn`t buy that swaggering bullshit for one second. Something is bothering Helion, she can tell. But before she can find a subtle way to ask, Lord Beron`s voice rings out over the crowd.

“Helion!”

They both turn to face the throne. The High Lord is holding out a letter.

“Your uncle is asking for your presence in Day. There appears to be an emergency.”

Helion frowns. He barely skims the letter Beron hands him, then turns to Miryam. “He says it`s important.”

“Go. Just don`t forget to pick me up later – if I get stuck in Prythian because of you, I`ll be pissed.”

“Thank you”, Helion says and rushes out of the room.

Miryam returns to her corner. It doesn`t take long, though, for trouble to find her. Eris Vanserra stops in front of her, an expectant expression on his face.

“What is it?”, Miryam asks.

“You still owe me a dance”, the male says, smirking.

“I told you: I don`t dance.”

“I don`t believe you. Why won`t you dance with me?”

Miryam hesitates, then says, “I`m friends with Morrigan.”

She wonders if she imagines Eris flinching. A second later, his arrogance is back. “A pity”, he drawls, “I thought you had class.” Miryam bristles, but he just laughs. “Come on, now, I`m your host`s son. Refusing to dance with me might be considered a slight.”

The worst part is, he is right. There`s no polite way for her to refuse. So Miryam grits her teeth, takes the hand he offers her and lets him lead her to the dance floor.

She almost immediately regrets it. Being this close to Eris, having him tough her, makes her skin prickle. His hands are on her waist, pulling her closer. Miryam`s first instinct is to push him away, but she can`t do that – it would be a political nightmare.

“Not so bad, is it?”, Eris drawls.

Then, he leans in closer until she can feel his breath on her neck. Miryam doesn`t think she`s breathing. She wonders how her feet are still moving when she is all but frozen with fear. Too close, too close, too close.

“Now, you listen to me”, Eris whispers into her ear, his voice so soft she can barely understand him, “And if you want to survive this night, I`d suggest you do exactly as I say. This is a trap.”

----

Jurian awkwardly sits down on a rock next to Clythia, but he makes sure that there is still lots of empty space between them. This female is a general in Hybern`s army. She slaughtered countless humans – his people – without mercy. If his spy`s reports are anything to go by, her sister and her delight in torturing humans before ending them. Yet, he is sitting next to her like nothing is wrong. His every instinct is roaring at him to draw his sword and just kill her.

“I know you`re hesitant”, Clythia says, breaking the silence.

“Not so much hesitant as confused.” And repulsed. “I got the impression that you don`t hold humans in the highest regard.”

Clythia waves a hand as if dismissing the comment. “You`re different. Not at all like the other mortals. They are worms, but you…”

It doesn`t seem to occur to her at all that Jurian might mind her insulting his people. That he might not want to be considered an exception or spend so much as a second in the presence of a female who considers his kind to be less than animals.

“What about me?”, he asks, hoping that his tone doesn`t show his anger.

“You belong with me.” At least she doesn`t say belong to me, but Jurian isn`t sure if she sees a difference. “I`ve seen it – seen it long before I ever heard your name. We will be together.”

She says it with such certainty that Jurian shivers slightly. If she`s a seer and she`s seen them being together… No, she has to be wrong. Or maybe she`s lying. This can`t be his future.

He pulls himself together. He`s a soldier, for Cauldron`s sake. This is just another mission. He shouldn`t let it get to him.

“Well”, he says, “what an interesting future. You may have heard, though, that I am in a relationship. Happily.”

Again, that dismissive hand wave. “Inconsequential.” Clythia smiles. “I`ve been a seer for three centuries now and believe me: The future does not lie.”

Jurian briefly considers her words. She is sure of herself. Obviously believes that she has won already. Jurian knows opponents like that. They are usually arrogant and don`t look past the first impression. Easy enough to trick. Even better, she doesn`t seem to consider that Jurian might be seriously opposed to the idea of this relationship.

As if to prove him right, Clythia puts her hand on his leg.

Jurian makes himself give her his best lazy smile. “Why don`t you show me what that future`s going to be like, then?”

----

“That`s not possible”, Miryam whispers. She keeps dancing, keeps her face neutral, even as her mind begins to race. “I`m a guest in his house – he wouldn`t dare harm me.” Not even Ravenia, for all her cruelty, ever broke that rule.

“Continental rules”, Eris replies, “They don`t hold as much sway here. And he doesn`t need to harm you himself – he can just stand by as others do.”

“Why?”

She can feel Eris sigh. “Is that really the pressing thing to discuss? We only have minutes!”

But Miryam still hesitates. She doesn`t trust Eris. He might well be lying and if she acts on his words only to find out that he was tricking her, it will be her who jeopardizes this alliance. If she acts and turns out to be wrong, it will be the biggest mistake she ever made as an emissary – it might cost her any standing she has within the Alliance.

“Why?”, she repeats.

Eris groans. He twirls her around, then pulls her close again. “The Loyalists offer quite generous terms – far better than anything the Alliance could give us. Your head is the asking price. I assume you know why.”

“What`s the plan?” Miryam has to keep from glancing around in the room to look for anything that seems out of place.

“That letter to Helion was forged – they wanted to get him out of the way. A group of soldiers will arrive to take you away in… five minutes.”

Miryam curses. If he`s saying the truth, she is really and truly in trouble. “What do I do?”, she breathes.

“On my note”, Eris says, “you will shove me away. Make a scene. Then, you storm out of the room. You need to go down two flights of stairs. There is a carpet with a huge deer on it. Behind it, you find a hidden room. Wait for me there.”

Miryam nods. They keep twirling around each other. Then, Eris pulls her close again.

“Now”, he whispers.

Miryam doesn`t hesitate. She shoves him away from her as hard as she can – which, given that he`s Fae and she`s not, barely makes him stumble. Around them, people stop dancing to stare at them. Miryam darts forward and slaps Eris. (She can`t quite contain a feeling of satisfaction at the surprise on his face.)

“You bastard”, she hisses, “How dare you touch me?”

She turns around to glower at the Fae who are snickering around them, then turns to Beron who is watching her from his throne.

“I need some fresh air”, she snaps.

Without waiting for a reply, she stalks out of the room. The guards at the doors do not stop her.

Instead of trying to go to the meeting place, Miryam lingers by the door. She paces like she is simply a female annoyed at some male`s behaviour during the party, but keeps shooting glances through the doors. She can`t leave – not without being absolutely sure that this is indeed a trap. It might be reckless, but anything else would be political suicide.

She doesn`t have to wait for long. Only a few minutes pass before a group of people appear in the middle of the throne room. All of them are armed and bearing the Black Land colours. Miryam stumbles back a step as she recognizes the male at the front.

Artax.

For a second, Miryam is frozen with old fear. Then, her instincts kick in. She spins around and runs. Thank the Cauldron, none of the guards reach out to stop her. Miryam dashes down the stairs. She already took the first flight when she realizes that she is going to lead Artax straight to the meeting place and if Eris isn`t waiting, she will be done for.

So instead, she turns to the right on the first landing and sprints down the corridor. She hears steps following behind her, almost lazily. She has nowhere to run and they know it. Artax probably enjoys the chase. She needs to buy herself some time, but how is she supposed to do that against the head of the Witcher`s Guild?

Miryam dashes around the next corner. The guards follow her with their eyes, but don`t move. Apparently, Beron`s twisted view of guest`s right means that his guards won`t touch her.

The next corridor is empty. Then, out of nowhere, a female steps into her way. She is dressed in servants` colours and marked as a faerie by the antlers poking out of her brown hair. It is too late for Miryam to jump aside – she crashes straight into the female. They both go crashing to the ground.

“Sorry”, Miryam gasps.

She pushes back to her feet, but then, she pauses. The female had to have come from somewhere. Indeed, there is a small door in the wall, almost invisible. The servant`s corridors, of course – those existed in the Black Land as well. Steps are approaching from behind. Miryam pushes the door open and slips through. She pulls it shut behind her the moment Artax rounds the corner.

The corridors much smaller and darker than the huge hallways of the palace. Miryam keeps running. At each crossroad, she takes a different turn. Soon, she is completely lost, but she can still hear steps following her. She looks back over her shoulder to see if Artax is already in sight, and –

Suddenly, the ground is gone from under her feet. Miryam barely has time to yelp before she is falling.

She lands in something soft. Clothes, Miryam realizes. She is lying in a pile of clothes. High above her, there is a hole in the ceiling – likely used by servants to dump the laundry into. Miryam quickly rolls to the side and presses herself against the wall.

It doesn`t take long for Artax` face to appear in the hole. Miryam doesn`t dare breath as he looks down onto the pile of clothes. After what seems like an eternity, he continues on the corridor. Miryam sags with relief.

Even though she got rid of her pursuers, it takes Miryam almost an hour to get to her meeting place with Eris. The Forest House is a maze and Miryam has to avoid anyone who might see her. She has just begun to believe that she`ll never find the hidden room when she rounds a corner and comes face to face with the carpet.

She pushes past it and into the room beyond. The carpet falls back into its place and a flame flickers to life – right in front of her face. It illuminates Eris`, who pushes off the wall he was leaning against.

“Finally”, he hisses, “I thought you had been caught.”

Miryam is shaking, but manages to glare at him. “Just take me out of here, please.”

“Not so fast”, Eris says and takes a step back. “First, I`d like to discuss my conditions.”

“Your what?”

“Well, I´m risking quite a lot by saving you. It would only be fair if you were to repay me.”

Miryam glances towards the door. She is sure Artax is still searching for her, and if he finds her here… “What do you want?”

“A favour”, he replies, “to be decided later.”

“No.” How stupid does he think she is? “You could ask anything. I won`t do it.”

“It will be within reason. And I don`t see how you have much of a choice. You can stay here, of course, but you`ll find that you`ll have a hard time winning this war if you`re dead.”

Miryam hesitates. Damn that male, he is right. “Nothing that harms the war effort”, she says.

“Alright.”

“And I won`t sleep with you.”

Eris snorts. “I honestly don`t know where you get the idea that I´d have an interest.” He holds out a hand. “Do we have a deal?”

There are steps approaching outside. It might just be guards – or it could be Artax.

“Yes”, she says and takes his hand. As soon as their fingers touch, he winnows them away.

They land in a forest that looks as old as this land. Miryam is shivering in her too-light dress. She doesn`t know where she thought Eris would take her, but she certainly didn`t expect this.

“Where are we?”

“The Middle. I´ll send word to Helion that he can pick you up here.”

Miryam nods. Something about this forest seems off, but she tries to tell herself that it can`t be so bad. She survived the trek through half the Continent on her own – she should be able to last a few hours here.

“Why?”, she asks, “Why save me?”

Eris gives her that insufferable smirk of his. “Your death would have been a waste. Alive, you may yet be useful.”

“Of course”, Miryam mutters, “How could I believe you`d ever help my for any reason other than your own gain.”

Any amusement vanishes from Eris` face. “I had my reasons. Back then, I mean.”

“You left a girl of seventeen in the forest to die. You truly believe any reasons you might have had make it fine?” Miryam hesitates for a heartbeat, then adds, “I thank you for your help, though.”

Eris gives her a mocking bow, then vanishes, leaving her alone in the forest.

----

A/N: I thought quite a lot about how to portray Eris. On one hand, it is made pretty clear that he is not as horrible as he seems. But I also really didn`t want to dismiss Mor`s suffering or excuse his actions, so I choose a middle ground (I mean, I don`t like him, so I wrote him as a kind of self-serving asshole, but still not as bad as his father.) I hope that worked out!

I also feel like I should probably tell you that I don`t write sex scenes. I don`t like reading them and I certainly don`t feel comfortable writing them, so all sex scenes in this book will be fade-to-black.

Tags: @sjm-things @herpowerisdeath @clolikescloquetas

#miryam #jurian #helion

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soundwavereporting · 4 years

Text

day 4 of @prowlweek! today’s prompt was ‘sensory’.

it’s pre-cosmos/prowl/soundwave! if you’re inclined to read everything preceding this, you can do so here. if you don’t want to? the tl;dr is that prowl ended up on sanctuary station and he, cosmos, and soundwave are in the maddeningly slow process of getting together.

this fic features absolutely terrible decisions, the most important of which is trying to make important life choices while drinking. anyone still uses the citrus scale, this fic is the cybertronian equivalent of a lime.

five half-lies and one full truth

If anyone asked (and he were inclined to actually answer) Soundwave would report that he didn’t remember who made the first move. He supposed, lying in a tangle of cables and the scent of ozone, he would have to tell Cosmos the truth. They both would.

The truth was Prowl, optic bright with copper-infused engex and a sudden burst of bravery that would have put Optimus Prime to shame, had leaned over the desk and kissed him square on the mouth.

“Do you think…”

Soundwave had been in the process of taking another sip of engex, but as Prowl spoke, he paused leaving the glass frozen halfway between the desk and his mouth.

Prowl’s mind was…duller than usual. Toned down. And a little muddled.

But Soundwave still liked it.

Soundwave waited as Prowl mulled over his next words. It wasn’t impolite to take a drink when someone was thinking, was it?

Soundwave wasn’t sure. He could count the number of times he’d been a social drinker on one servo, and each and every instance he had been expected to sit on the other side of a desk and agree with whenever Ratbat said. That kind of social drinking wasn’t particularly conducive to actually drinking.

Hm.

“Things could have ended up differently, if I were you and you were me?”

“Yes.” A simple answer, though he knew that wasn’t the question Prowl meant to ask.

Prowl groaned and took another swig of engex. Soundwave could see the engex crackling in his mind. Watching it was…

Soundwave looked away.

“If I were a Decepticon…” Prowl glared at his engex. “The war would’ve been over four million years ago.”

Soundwave nodded. He didn’t think Prowl actually wanted him to agree: calling someone like Prowl a Decepticon was a surefire way to get a punch in the face.

“That’s all I wanted to do,” Prowl muttered. “End the war. Save lives. Preferably both.”

Before Soundwave could respond, Prowl started talking again.

“Sorry. I’m not good company when I’m overcharged, am I.”

It wasn’t a question.

Soundwave looked up to watch the stormy clouds circling his head. Prowl frowned, and the scar on the bridge of his nose—

Soundwave heard his fans click on.

He looked away.

“I do not mind. Your—”

“My mind is nice,” Prowl said, though there was no malice in his words. He sounded confused, as though he had never heard those words applied to him before. That was strange—Soundwave knew for a fact that during their time as a gestalt, the Constructicons paid his mind compliments. Vocally and often.

Prowl finished off the glass and set it on Soundwave’s desk.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“My mind.” Prowl rested his elbows on the desk and leaned forward. Soundwave forced himself to meet Prowl’s optic. “Why do you like it so much?”

“I cannot tell you,” Soundwave said. “You know that.”

“But you can show me.”

Prowl was the one who made the first move, but it was Soundwave who knocked the desk over. He had a moment to feel equal parts stupidly embarrassed and foolishly emotional, but any misgivings were quickly quashed by the feeling of Prowl’s mouth on his own.

They fell, tangled, to the floor. Prowl’s engine kicked up a notch, drowning out the sound of Soundwave’s gasp.

And now he was thinking about the desk. Soundwave pulled away to follow Prowl’s gaze—he was looking at the overturned furniture, thinking about flipping tables of all things, how Tumbler used to joke about bolting his desk down except Prowl was never sure if it was a joke or not and—

Soundwave kissed him again.

The distraction worked, but now Prowl was thinking about him, which was a wholly intimidating thought. Without a direct connection (which Soundwave really, really wanted, and was beginning to suspect Prowl really, really wanted as well) the beautiful lines and angles were fuzzy, muddled by noise and engex.

Soundwave loved them

He canceled the battle protocols that had activated when Prowl lunged and was treated to the sight of Prowl perched on top of him. One hand traced the edges of his tape deck—did he know it was sensitive, or was it just something to touch?

Soundwave imagined Prowl’s hand in him. Touching circuits no mech outside of his cassettes were supposed to see, much less touch, tracing the contours of his docking ports.

He shuddered, and sat up to mouth the cabling on Prowl’s neck and was rewarded with a gasp that felt…oddly deliberate. Genuine, but unsurprised.

He blinked.

Number cruncher floated across both their minds.

Were it not for the hot flash of red embarrassment that followed the phrase, Soundwave would never have considered it an insult.

Oh.

“You know what I am going to do,” Soundwave mumbled into Prowl’s neck. “You can predict it.”

“Within a—” Prowl yelped. He hadn’t seen Soundwave lift a hand to caress the sensory panels affixed to his back, Soundwave realized. “Reasonable margin of error.”

“If you can see it.”Soundwave felt the paneling twitch under his hand. Prowl nodded, and Soundwave tasted the sensation of being touched in the back of his throat. “What am I going to do next?”

“Uh.” Again, Soundwave felt the weight of Prowl’s stare come to rest on his frame.

Soundwave hoped he would remember this in the morning. The line between lowered inhibitions and stupid drunk was a thin one, but neither he nor Prowl had ingested enough engex to cross it.

Probably.

“Um.”

Soundwave traced the length of the sensors on Prowl’s back, an action that elicited a hastily-silenced moan. “Do you really want a comprehensive breakdown of your potential actions?”

“Maybe later.” Soundwave drank in the sharp certainty of Prowl’s mind. He’d never given Soundwave explicit permission to snoop, but at this particular moment…Prowl didn’t seem to care. He wondered, for a moment, if Prowl could become to his anchor.

His Ravage.

His Megatron.

He had hoped Cosmos might be willing to accept that role, but Cosmos was…ubiquitous. Cosmos was everywhere, and nowhere, too easily able to slip between Soundwave’s fingers.

Prowl was clarity in a sea of static. And Cosmos was the static, cocooning him and caressing his spark, fierce and gentle and—

Cosmos was going to hate them.

Or worse…he would be hurt.

Soundwave kissed the edge of Prowl’s jaw and wished could stop thinking. Just for a moment.

They should stop. Right now. Stop and pull away and come back to this when Cosmos was around, and then they could be sensible about this.

Whatever was going on between them, Soundwave didn’t want to ruin it. Prowl didn’t want to ruin it.

None of them wanted to ruin it, and Soundwave and Prowl were about to do just that.

“My turn,” Prowl whispered, and raised a brow as Soundwave obediently leaned back, feeling the chill of unheated metal against his plating.

“Told you to stay out of my head,” Prowl muttered, though his optic widened when Soundwave smiled.

“You don’t mean it. Not now.”

“Tomorrow, when I do,” Prowl leaned forward until their breaths came together in a dizzying, tantalizing mix of near-sensory overload. “What then?”

“Your thoughts will be your own.”

Prowl was far too heavy for Soundwave to even consider attempting to sit up, but he had no real inclination to try.

“We should—”

Soundwave heard a click and realized with a jolt of embarrassment that it had been his own interface protocols coming online. Prowl blinked, but didn’t seem particularly dissuaded.

He tried again.

“We should stop?”

Prowl froze.

“Cosmos,” was all Soundwave said, and Prowl nodded. But he didn’t move to get up, and Soundwave didn’t push the issue. Soundwave manually canceled the protocols and thanked the stars his cables hadn’t already unspooled—manually coaxing them back into his frame might have been slightly more embarrassment than he could handle.

“If you are willing,” Prowl said slowly. “I would still like to know how you see things.”

A little too quickly, Soundwave nodded.

“…oh.”

Soundwave felt his lips twitch. Prowl had gone still on top of him as his mind struggled to process the new wave of sensory data. Soundwave didn’t dare move or touch Prowl for fear of eliciting more sensation than his processor could comfortably handle.

“It’s a lot.”

Prowl steadied himself on Soundwave’s chassis, and nodded. Soundwave peeled back another layer of firewalls.

“It is.”

The tenuous connection between them was just enough for Soundwave to get a glance at the blurry lines and numbers. Idly, Soundwave tugged at the cable connecting him to Prowl—as much as he would have relished the chance to be invited into Prowl’s mind and spend a few blissful minutes immersed in angles and pure data, this was for Prowl.

The very notion of someone (Prowl) wanting to see in his mind had Soundwave feeling a unique mixture of elation and nauseating anxiety. His fuel tank cramped painfully at the mere notion of rejection, but Prowl—

“Shh.” More gently than he thought Prowl—anyone, save for perhaps Ravage—capable of, Prowl touched the spot on his armor just above his fuel tank. “I understand. I think.”

Immediately, Soundwave relaxed. Several layers of stress-induced color that Soundwave had forgotten about faded. As he looked up at Prowl, the world became dizzyingly clear. Soundwave allowed Prowl to bypass every firewall save for the ones keeping guard over his vital functions. Mentally, he lay back and watched Prowl peruse his datafiles. Amusement zipped across their connection as he realized Prowl was going through his most recent memories, lingering over his reaction to Prowl predicting Soundwave’s movements.

Prowl frowned.

The colors snapped back into existence.

“I’m not going to be Megatron,” Prowl snapped.

“It is not like that.” But Prowl knew that, didn’t he. He was in Soundwave’s head. At that moment, Prowl knew him better than any mech ever had. Except—

“Stop thinking about him.”

“Apologies.” But he hadn’t yanked Soundwave’s cable out of his waist port. Desperately, Soundwave clung to that fact.

“I’m not here to be your leader,” Prowl snapped, saying the word leader like someone might say the word incurable, late-stage cosmic rust. “No. Full stop.”

“Not like that.” But they all had been leaders, hadn’t they? Ravage had led him from the Dead End, showed him a new way of existing that wasn’t just survival. And Megatron had led him far, far beyond what he once would have deemed acceptable. “It helps,” Soundwave offered. “To have someone to focus on. Someone strong. Unique.”

“You said you would stay out of my head.” Prowl’s voice was quiet.

“And I will.”

To Soundwave, the truth smelled like ozone. And Prowl knew it.

Prowl snorted.

“You really like my mind, don’t you.”

Dumbly, Soundwave nodded.

Soundwave felt Prowl give in.

He watched as Prowl leaned forward to rest his elbows on the glass of Soundwave’s chest. Not for the first time, Soundwave was glad the cassettes were out for the night and wouldn’t be expecting him back at the habsuite.

“We shouldn’t have done this.” Prowl made no move to get up. Soundwave watched as he wrapped the cable around his finger, then let it unwind. “Not without…”

Prowl gave up all pretense of respectability and slumped against Soundwave.

“This is hard,” Prowl mumbled into Soundwave’s shoulder. Soundwave hummed an acknowledgement. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Neither do I.”

He didn’t feel particularly better after admitting it. Enough of the engex had worn off that they were beginning to feel tired—and more than a little awkward.

He wondered how many times they would have to do this dance of engex and lowered inhibitions, only to be countered by the uncomfortable reality of sobriety. It wasn’t that getting drunk with Prowl wasn’t nice (in more ways than one) but…

Soundwave moved to sit up. Prowl groaned his assent and began to slide off, but Soundwave shook his head.

Prowl was very nearly too big to comfortably sit in Soundwave’s lap.

He didn’t mind.

“Tell me,” Soundwave said, and Prowl looked up. “What am I going to do next?”

“Oh.” Prowl blinked, registering the question Soundwave had pushed over their connection. “Oh. Er, yes. I suppose.”

He tasted like gritty engex.

But Prowl liked gritty engex, and Soundwave liked Prowl, so Soundwave supposed it was alright.

#initially this was gonna be soundwave/prowl hate sex and then it became soundwave/prowl plug n play and then it became...............#whatever this thing is #prowlweek #prowl #soundwave #transformers #i guess this also qualifies as a 5+1 fic #lime #robot. lime.#if the readmore doesn't work...i am Really Sorry

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elopez7228 · 4 years

Text

Scenic Route 27/47

Read on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/18268208/chapters/43229774

Start over : https://elopez7228.tumblr.com/post/620919089893933056/scenic-route-0147

***

Ben Solo struggled to suppress the trembling of his hands. He could feel himself cracking under the pressure, gripping onto a fragile equilibrium that inched closer to a meltdown with every passing second.

Syed Ren had already disappeared, nothing but radio silence on her end. No one knew when she would reappear but he already felt like the horsemen of the apocalypse were closing in.

He performed the concert with the certainty that it would be his last. At best, Snoke would assure he did nothing but paperwork for the rest of his days. Worse yet, he would be exiled, or terminated. For someone who had always been the wolf, it felt eerie to suddenly become the prey.

Finally, he spotted Rey in the hall. She was beautiful, all dressed up for the occasion.

He managed to gaze at her through the crowd. Was she here in response to his text message? He had promised her a backstage pass but in light of all they had transpired he wouldn’t dare put her in the eye of the storm. She was more secure where she stood, in the middle of the crowd, in the pit. Skylar had done his job perfectly.

Even from a distance, it was obvious that she was furious. Was Skylar too hard on her, or was it something else? She was clearly looking for a confrontation, if “we need to talk” was anything to go by.

Had she realized that he had stolen her phone and gone through her contacts? He knew that Syed Ren was capable of anything, and with someone like her on the loose, there was no telling what would happen. The uncertainly killed him inside. How could he possibly answer her when he didn’t even know what she wanted?

On stage, he used up every last drop of his being. He screamed his rage and his hatred for his tormentors, his resentment for his parents, and all of the self-loathing that he had felt inside. But above all... thanks to the steadfast support of five capable musicians who were able to improvise anything, he finally sang of his longing for a young English woman with brilliant hazel eyes who had taken his life by storm.

This girl would be the death of him.

It was like she had unleashed the elements against him, first Syed, then Hux and Snoke. She had upended his life and made a pariah of him...but he didn’t regret crossing paths with her. It in was worth the trouble. The smell of her hair and the taste of her skin were worth all the sacrifice.

He was aware he was screwing up his life. He was aware of it, and he didn't regret anything...but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t scared to death.

After the show, he separated from the others. Shakti, Skylar, Kelsi, Tyra and Saul had put away their instruments, sharing a few beers before finally leaving the venue in two cars to rendezvous at the hotel.

He was alone in the empty concert hall when his phone vibrated.

He picked up.

“Kylo Ren.”

It was Syed.

“Congratulations on the concert, Ben Solo-Skywalker. Everything went well, I hope—or did I miss anything?”

It was the first time she had called him by his full name. That she dared to do so was beyond absolution. This meant war.

He took a deep breath to reign in his anger. “Everything went well. Having fun in Armitage Hux’s bed, aren’t you? You traitorous bitch.”

“So it’s fine when you sleep around, but not me?”

“I don’t care who you fuck. But I do care that you’ve apparently forgotten who your boss is.”

“My boss is Snoke, and as I recall , he’s also yours, Ben.”

He gritted his teeth, on the verge of explosion.

“That’s not my name!”

He heard her laugh in response and felt a pang of hatred. He would kill her for that.

“I'll call you whatever I want, sweetheart,” she retorted. “Or I could scream at you all night. Come out and play, I'm just outside.”

Ben Solo had never been good at containing his emotions, good or bad. And Syed Ren knew it.

She knew exactly what she was doing, while he, as expected, acted on instinct. And by pure instinct, he rushed outside, ready to strangle her with his bare hands.

She wasn’t behind the door, and he took a moment to realize that he was alone. He still had his phone in his hand.

“Show yourself, coward!”

Another little laugh, crystal clear, unbearable, and utterly infuriating.

“Search, good doggie, keep looking!”

He would make her pay for her insolence. He hung up, fingers clenching around invisible prey. He would kill her. And if that wasn’t enough, he would burn her corpse in the fucking car.

The man stood a dozen of meters in front of him, looming against the metal façade of a warehouse. A cigarette glowed between his lips. Ben couldn’t make out his face against the street lamp, but the dim light illuminated his silhouette in the distance.

He drew a knife, the blade springing into his hand with a satisfying click. And then, Syed whistled. In the back of his mind, Ben registered that Syed had whistled to him like she was calling a dog.

He advanced, ready—but instead found himself slumping forward as a sudden blow knocked him off of his feet. His joints failed under the impact, and he fell to his knees on the concrete, suddenly winded.

Someone had just hit him from behind with a baseball bat.

He looked up to meet Syed's gaze, triumphant. She flicked the butt of her cigarette to the ground before slowly crushing it with the sole of her boot.

“Again.”

Skylar Ren came out of the shadows and struck him again, crushing his back with the baseball bat as he fell onto his elbows with a groan. Ben squared his jaw in defiance, fists clenching until his knuckles turned white. He lifted his head to look Syed in the eyes despite the fact that his vision was red and clouded with tears and pain.

“Filthy traitors, I’ll kill you both!” he hissed, attempting to regain his breath.

Syed crouched down to grab his chin in his her hand, an almost tender gesture if it hadn’t been so lethal. In her right fist, the knife blade shone menacingly.

“Enough lip service, Ben Solo. What you’re going to do is call your girlfriend and ask her to join us.”

His expression shifted instantly,

the pure hatred that distorted his features disappeared, suddenly giving way to a fresh wave of horror.

“What do you want...with Rey?” He whispered breathlessly.

“I ask the questions here,” Syed spat. “Call her, now!”

He clenched his teeth and refused to obey, even as Syed slapped him across his face with the handle of her knife. A streak of blood smeared his eyebrow, and she raised her hand to strike again—

“Hey bitch, I’m already here!” Rey yelled from behind.

Syed straightened, ready to make good on her promise, but Rey was faster. In one swift move she aimed the canister and pressed down firmly, spraying her opponents with a cloud of bear spray.

Skylar and Syed fell to the ground, half-blind and gasping for air. They rubbed at their burning eyes in vain, their flailing limbs groping blindly as they gasped for painful lungfuls of air between a stream of breathless curses. By the end they were little more than a boneless heap on the concrete.

Syed made a futile attempt to grab her knife, which Rey kicked even further out of reach.

As Syed’s hand clawed around the empty air, she raised her bloodshot eyes from a pair of high heeled boots to see the young woman, who was watching her with pursed lips.

A metallic sound caught her attention, and she turned her trembling head just enough to realize that Rey was holding a bullet under her nose.

“This is the bullet that you used to save my life. By sparing you now, I consider us even. Don’t ever come near me again, bitch.”

Syed and Ben raised the heads at the same time, clearly surprised. Syed, despite being out of breath from the coughing, managed to croak a response.

“You...knew?”

“I’m not entirely stupid, Syed Ren. I saw your car when we went hiking. I put two and two together—I knew you were following me.”

Syed wanted to laugh. Maybe it was a nervous laugh, a laugh of hatred, or disgust...she should have used that bullet correctly when she had the chance. Missed opportunities, and all that. She could barely think as another fit of coughing overcame her.

Rey slipped her arm under Ben's shoulder and helped him to his feet.

“Come on, that looks like it hurts. Can you walk?”

He nodded with a grimace.

Dragging Ben more so than walking with him, she crossed the parking in the direction of the cars.

Ben made a gesture in the direction of his pickup.

“Let's take it. My car....it’s fa—faster,” he managed to whisper hoarsely.

“No, it's dead,” Rey replied, “Syed slashed your tires earlier—we need to take mine.”

Ben had no answer, and stumbled, leaning on Rey as his knees tried not to buckle under his own weight, until they reached the Millennium Falcon.

Ben stopped abruptly.

“No. No, no, no. I’m not going in there.”

Rey wasn't in the mood; she let go of him and unlocked the door.

“Don’t you dare start with your shit, Kylo fucking Ren, get in!”

But Ben, despite being bent over in pain, taking in trouble on his legs, took more weight on his own legs to stand up straight. His face darkened.

“I’m not getting in that car! I’d rather die out here!”

Rey seriously contemplated re-fracturing his knees.

“Okay, really? 'Cause we will die out here! I can leave you alone with your friends, who I just bear sprayed in the face, I’m sure they’d be happy to finish the job!”

She lowered her arms, suddenly tired.

“Bloody hell. Do whatever you want. But if you don’t get in this car now, don’t even attempt to call me back because we’re through. I’ve had enough of your tricks.”

She sat in the driver’s seat, slammed the door, and started the engine. Ben remained standing, in an effort to mask the true extent of his pain...finally, without a word, he opened the door and sat down in the passenger seat.

Rey drove off.

“Where are we going?” He asked eventually, his voice broken.

“I don’t know, my campsite? I have a first aid kit, I can patch you up a little...unless you prefer a hospital?”

“No—no hospital!”

“Okay, back to square one. Do you want to tell me what your problem is, exactly?”

Ben shrugged, preferring not to respond. With one hand, he touched his wound on the eyebrow, only to realize that he was bleeding.

“You don't have a tissues, do you?”

“In the glovebox.”

Rey was watching the road, the sharp curves illuminated only her headlights, but she glanced now and then at Ben. He was apparently crouched in front the open glovebox, in the search of the tissue box.

Instead he held in his had an envelope, with something scribbled on one side. Life is too short to spend wallowing in tears.

She blushed, and stared at the road before her; hoping that he wouldn’t ask her about it. Hoping that he wouldn’t find it funny. She was far too exhausted to explain what the words meant to her.

But he was blushing too, as much as he tried to hide it. She saw the red creeping up his ears, though his face remained impassive. He pushed the envelope to the side, searching once more, and suddenly he stilled.

Slowly withdrawing his hand, he looked incredulously at the little red toy.

He opened the mouth, moving his lips silently as though trying speak without words. His face was pallid.

“Hey, are you okay? Do you want me to stop?” She asked worriedly.

“Where...” he stammered at last, “where did you find that?”

“In between the cushions of the back seat. You’ve...you’ve lost a lot of color, are you sure you're okay?”

Pale or not, his eyes were bloodshot red. Rey noticed him wiping a tear with the back of his hand. He was in a difficult place, that awful crevice between physical and emotional pain. Suddenly he looked frighteningly vulnerable.

In a moment of tenderness, she kept one hand on the steering wheel and reached out with the other to hold his hand.

“Hey,” she whispered. “We're almost here. I think you and I have a lot to share.”

He didn’t answer. She was asking for things he had never told anyone. Not to Hux, even when they still got along, neither to Syed, nor to anyone else in the band. Not even to Leia, his own mother.

The secrets between him and his father Han, before he was even Ben Solo. When he was just a small boy with a mop of curly hair that failed to hide his ears, high upon the Denver military base, miserably watching his family leave on deployment after deployment. And it was often. He had the impression of having spent his childhood on the look out, patiently awaiting their return, so the the feeling of abandonment would stop consuming him.

Rey slowed down as they arrived at the campsite. All was dark and silent, with the exception of a light illuminating the living quarters. She drove past the occupied units, some of which had the luxury of electricity, and sank deeper under the trees to reach the square lawn surrounded by pine trees where she had set up her tent earlier.

“Okay,” she said, placing her hands on her temples. “Let’s take care of you first.”

Ben climbed out of the car with a groan, while that Rey rummaged in the back with a lantern to find the first aid kit.

She put the lamp on the hood of the Falcon Millenium, and pulled a bottle of disinfectant out of a telltale red case.

“Sit here,” she said, motioning to the car.

“On the hood?”

“Yes, sadly I don’t have a hospital bed, so we’ll have to make do.”

He sat down wordlessly, stifling a groan. Rey, though her fingers were trembling, tried to keep her voice upbeat to encourage him.

“Okay, so we’ll start by disinfecting that.”

She poured a few drops of alcohol on a cotton ball and dabbed it gently on Ben’s eyebrow. He shuddered, probably due to the sting, but refrained from any comments. With soft movements, she used the same piece of cotton to clean the dried blood around the wound.

A bruise was already forming around his right eye, tinging his eyelid with purple.

#reylo #fanfiction #Modern AU #Scenic Route

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skepticalcatfrog · 4 years

Text

Among The Stars Chapter 2

First Chapter Previous Chapter Next Chapter Masterpost

Summary: Logan Watts is a famous scientist, known by almost everyone in the galaxy. His most famous invention is his friend and assistant, a healthcare android named Patton. When they are called to another planet for a meeting with the local ruler, they're expecting a completely normal trip. Little did they know, this trip would send them into a daring adventure to protect their galaxy and stop a war. Teamed up with unlikely friends, including a runaway gladiator and an infamous crime trio, Logan and Patton have to figure out how to make peace and save their universe (and beyond) from being destroyed.

Pairings: (Eventual) Logicality, Prinxiety, and Demus

Word count: 2,660

Author's Notes: This chapter is a little bit shorter than I usually go, but I like it anyway. Until the three groups of characters meet each other, the chapters will be from a different group's perspective each time. It won't be like that for too long, but this one is.

Roman looked at himself in the small mirror he kept in his room. He could say with absolute certainty that he was ready to go back out to that arena, but he'd be lying if he said he was looking forward to it. He had been a gladiator for a long time, but it was never what he wanted to do. He wanted to be royalty, but that would be impossible. One, he wasn't born into it. And two, this city didn't have royalty, they had a president.

He was a local of this planet, so he had the crystals around the corners of his eyes, on the back of his neck, and on his shoulders. All the crystals- and his eyes- had many warm colors in them, like red, orange, yellow, and pink. He always liked to show off, so he usually wore shirts with short sleeves, or no sleeves at all. His hair was mostly brown, with a couple of bright red streaks in it.

He had gotten up and dressed a while ago, because in his time working in the arena, he'd learned to rise with the sun. You never knew when you'd be a part of the first battle of the day, and you could almost never get away with being late. The whole day lasted from sunrise to sunset, and most people battled multiple times a day unless they were badly injured, or worse. Needless to say, he really hated it there. And he wanted nothing more than to be able to leave. But unfortunately, that wasn't going to happen. The only way to legally leave was to either be fired, or die. Roman wasn't planning on dying any time soon, so that was off the table. And for some reason, no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't get himself fired. He would occasionally wake up late, break or 'lose' things on purpose, things like that. But he just couldn't get fired.

So that was when he started planning his escape. Who was going to care that it was illegal, because he certainly wasn't. He wasn't going to come back to this planet once he left anyway, so it wasn't like anyone would be able to find him. He would sneak out, maybe to one of the emergency evacuation ships, and silently make his leave in the night. No one would ever know, except for maybe when they noticed he was gone the next morning. But he would work out the finer details later.

He had already read and memorized the schedule for the day, so he knew he would be next on the list of battles. He also knew he'd be facing another person. Sometimes the leaders of this ordeal would catch some sort of beast for one of Roman's colleagues to fight. He was lucky he wasn't doing that, because gladiators who had to battle those creatures usually didn't get out alive.

The buzz of the intercom system turned on in his room, and he looked up at the speaker on the wall. A slightly static-y voice spoke.

"Roman Northbrook, you are needed in the arena." The intercom beeped to show that it had turned off.

"Yeah, I was expecting that." He muttered, going to grab his sword.

It was a bright red double-edged blade with a smooth cylindrical handle. Even the handle had a point on the end, so it was like a second weapon. He slid two gold bracelets on each of his arms. They didn't touch his skin, but instead hovered around his arm so his wrist was in the center. He sometimes used them to block attacks, since he was never given a shield.

He left his room, walking down the pristine silver hallway into a chamber that greatly resembled a jail cell. He always thought about what an ironic metaphor that was.

He could hear the commentator announcing the battle. The audience started to cheer, and the bars on the wall began to rise. He walked slowly to the center of the arena, and everyone went quiet. Then his opponent charged, and the crowd began yelling again. Roman tuned them out, because there was no way he'd be able to focus unless he did.

When the other gladiator was close enough to strike, Roman easily dodged their sword. He was tall and slender, so he could move quickly. While his opponent was in shock, he swung his sword and hit them in the side. He didn't use all of his force, because his sword was ridiculously sharp, but he definitely hit them hard enough for it to hurt. They stabbed towards him with their sword, but he simply turned and the sword went right past him. He grabbed his opponents wrist, sliding his hand to the handle of their sword and seamlessly plucking the weapon out of their hand.

"That was easier than I'd expected." Roman smirked. The other gladiator stared at him, completely dumbfounded. The battle seemed to be over before it had even begun. He raised the two swords to his opponent's chest. A hopeful silence fell upon the crowd, and Roman rolled his eyes internally. He looked around at the audience and raised his voice so he could be heard. "You want to see some real blood, don't you?"

The crowd went wild. Roman's ears were filled with the sounds of people yelling. He could tell that his opponent was experience pure fear. He winked at them discreetly, and a little bit of it went away.

"Well you're not going to get it." He lowered the swords. Suddenly, the cheers from the audience became jeers and insults. "What's wrong, were you expecting me to actually do that? I see a lot of familiar faces in this crowd, you know! Some of you come here every day to watch these battles and yet, for some reason, you're not entertained unless the winner is willing to stoop low enough to meet your standards! There will be other battles! There will be other people out here, people with fewer morals than me. But you aren't satisfied! And I'm sick of it! Maybe if you got out of this arena long enough to see anything else, you'd know why!"

He stabbed one of the swords into the ground, holding on to his own still. Then he started walking away. He was originally going to wait until night, but it wasn't worth it anymore. He ran out of the arena into the darkness of the hallway, where a security guard grabbed his arm tightly.

"Try to get out of this one, tough guy." The guard scowled behind dark glasses.

"Gladly." Roman kicked the guard in the stomach and kept going. At first he was walking with purpose, but as a group of guards built up behind him, he started running with purpose. As previously mentioned, Roman was fast. Really fast. So he had no trouble running from the guards. And soon enough, he had lost them.

He burst through the front doors, barely slowing down. This was the first time he'd seen the sun in what felt like forever, because even the arena was closed off. He took a deep breath of fresh air, and couldn't help but smile. He bolted down the street, past the presidential skyscraper, all the way down to the parking lot. He saw a small ship that was already started, and the top was open. It was prime real estate. The only problem was that the owner of the ship was already there. The ship's owner had bright blue hair and was wearing what looked like a white lab coat. Not that Roman had time to care about any of that.

He just pushed this stranger out of the way and jumped into the ship. The door automatically closed around him, and he was faced with the reality that he wasn't a pilot and didn't know how to fly a ship. Not to mention that the random scientist yelling at him from the outside of the ship didn't help.

Roman began pressing a bunch of random buttons. His eyes widened in surprise as a screen popped up in front of him. It had a picture of a planet on it, with data next to it. His eyes went directly to the part that said 'Population'. It didn't really matter how many people lived on the planet. But in Roman's mind, the less people that lived on the planet, it was better for him. He looked up for a second, only to see the group of guards quickly approaching. He scrolled through the different planets as fast as he could until he found one that said 'Population: Zero (?)'. He completely ignored the question mark next to the number and pressed the button on the screen that said 'AUTOPILOT'. The ship began to lift into the air and Roman cheered. He could just sit back and relax while this ship did all the work. Unfortunately, the loud noise got the attention of the ship's owner again. As it took off Roman felt a slight imbalance in the ship. This could mean many things, but he assumed that it meant that the scientist had tried to grab on to the ship before it got away. That was a crazy thought, Roman knew it wasn't true. Or at least, he thought he did.

Soon enough though, the ship balanced itself out again. He was back to smooth sailing. He let out a sigh of relief. Finally, at long last, he was free. He checked the fuel on the ship. It has almost a full tank. He didn't know how long this trip would take, but he assumed that would be enough. There was a seatbelt attached to the seat he was sitting in, but he wasn't using it. He had a basic understanding of how ships worked, so he was sure he'd be able to land it safely. His sword was in the seat next to him.

The moment his planet was out of sight, he came to a realization. There was no one else on this ship with him, and no one on the planet he was going to. He would drive himself crazy eventually.

"Well it has to be avoidable, right?" He muttered. "Oh, great, I'm already talking to myself… How long is this flight anyway?"

He pressed the button that caused the screen to pop up the first time. This time, there was a timer on the screen. It said 'Flight Duration: 1 day, 22 hours, 50 minutes, 16 seconds'. He covered his face with his hands out of frustration, leaning back in his seat. This was going to be a long ride.

He passed many different planets along the way. All of them were completely different from anything he'd seen before. One of them was made entirely out of water, with an entire village floating on what looked like wooden rafts. Another one was completely uninhabited. It looked like it had a core of lava, with patches of rock over top.

Two days later, Roman was woken up from a nap by a blaring alarm. Red lights were flashing inside the ship. He reflexively reached for his sword to fight whatever was attacking him. When he finally came to his senses, he realized that he wasn't under attack. The screen read 'AUTOPILOT FAILING'. He dropped his sword and grabbed the steering wheel. He tried to turn it and control the ship's trajectory, but it wasn't working. Then he saw what the problem was. The ship was completely and totally out of gas. Then it started falling.

He caught sight of something below. It was the surface of a planet. There was no gravity in space, so he came to the conclusion that he was already inside the atmosphere. He frantically buckled his seatbelt, bracing himself for impact. It came sooner than expected.

The ship crashed into the ground head-on, and even though he had a seatbelt on he went flying through the roof. The glass shattered and he was thrown to the rocky terrain outside. His sword landed next to him, stabbed into the ground just a few inches away. He was lucky that he hadn't been just a little bit to the side.

He was covered in cuts, scrapes, and bruises. But he didn't think he had any broken bones, which was good. He saw the ship a few yards away, and he realized that he must've flown far. He stood up, took his sword out of the ground, and walked over to the ship. The top was completely broken, the engine was smoking, and the screen Roman had been reading off of was cracked. The last thing he could read before it went completely dark was 'Destination Reached'. Which meant that this was where he'd decided to go.

"Great! I crashed the ship, I don't have any food or water, and there aren't any people on this planet!" He hit himself in the head. "Why do I have to be so stupid all the time!"

Luckily no one else was around for miles, otherwise they would have heard many loud swears and screams of frustration following that statement. He kicked the ship repeatedly before sitting down on a nearby rock to calm down.

"Okay, time for a plan I guess…" He muttered to himself. "Maybe the ship has food in it? That's my best bet right now, otherwise I might need to find some animals or something…"

He climbed into the ship, being very careful to avoid all the broken glass. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw wooden crates that were being stored behind the seats. He used his sword like a crowbar to open the boxes. The first one was full of bottled water.

"Plastic bottles." He picked one up and looked it over. "A little old fashioned, but I'm not complaining."

He kept looking through the boxes. There were two more that had water in them, three with non-perishable foods, and two with clothes for different climates.

"Must've been an escape pod." He concluded. "No other ship this size would have this much in it."

He dragged some of the crates out of the ship, just in case. That ship was pretty damaged, so he was mainly concerned about it exploding and destroying everything inside. He used his sword to slice some of the rocks so they could be used to build a shelter. As previously stated, that sword truly was ridiculously sharp. He started stacking the rocks until he had a solid shelter. He was proud of himself. But that pride only lasted a moment before a small breeze blew and the entire shelter crumbled to the ground. He sighed, getting back to work on rebuilding it. This time he packed dirt between the stones to stabilize them a little more. When he finally finished building it a second time, he sat on the ground and looked up at the sky. There wasn't really anything interesting up there. Not even any stars. The sky was so cloudy that it was just a sheet of gray at all times. He regretted picking somewhere so boring to travel to.

At least back home there was always something to look at. It didn't matter if it was the city, or the people, or even the stars. There was always something. But on this planet, it was the same in every direction. Just hills and rocks and dirt.

Then he realized something. He never thought that he would have experienced it. He thought that when he left his home planet, he would finally be happy. But he wasn't. He was miserable. Not only that, but also something else.

Looking up at the empty sky on the empty planet, he realized that he was completely, totally, unbearably, undeniably homesick. And there wasn't even anything he could do about it.

Taglist: @idkwhyimhere0o0 @icequeenoriginal @mostpeopleannoyne @007ardra @logan-is-my-spirit-animal

#sanders sides #roman sanders #creativity sanders #ts roman #logicality #prinxiety #demus #fanfic #science fiction #scifi #among the stars au

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