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thesightstoshowyou · 4 years

Note

Okok Pennywise fluff? If you can. Just a cute little thing with pennywise. If you need an idea maybe Pennywise seeing s/o dancing in their room on a rainy night then he decides to join in? And then cuddles after ?( ^ω^ ) hope you are doing well and this isn’t too much to ask.

I am doing very well! Thank you so much for the ask. You are very sweet, anon. I gotta be honest with you, though. I struggled with this ask! With the way I write him, I have difficulty seeing Pennywise in fluffy situations. But, I’m always up for a challenge. I’ve come up with a compromise that I hope suits us both. I’m calling it “creepy cute.” Enjoy :)

For familiarity, I’m sticking with the same reader from my other Pennywise fics on my Masterlist.

Warnings: Horror elements, nothing too crazy

A movie plays on the television, one whose title you cannot recall. A heartfelt scene between generic man and woman characters reflects off your glassy eyes. Absently, you scratch the scabbed over bite marks on your shoulder.

Your eyelids droop. You hover on the precipice of sleep, the movie’s soundtrack now a distant drone in the back of your mind. The muted colors on the screen begin to morph, growing bright and loud. A clown wearing red and white face paint dances around a neon stage, giggling and kicking red balloons that fall from an unseen ceiling.

Your eyelids flutter. Pennywise points to the side of the screen and grins wide with too many teeth.

Wakey, wakey. There’s someone at the door.

BANG BANG BANG

You jerk awake, sitting bolt upright. Disoriented, you look wildly around the room. The television is off—hadn’t it just been on—and the living room is quiet and mostly dark, only illuminated by the light from the kitchen. Rain pummels the windows and wind howls through the trees outside, lightning and thunder cracking overhead.

You take a shuddering breath and realize you must have been dreaming of the clown again. They happen so often anymore, the dreams. You think you should be used to them by now.

Dragging a hand down your face, you stand and head to the kitchen. You peek in the fridge and open cupboards, your body anxious to move and relieve your jitters. You decide to make a snack. Maybe food will calm you down.

You choose a playlist on your phone, hoping some music will fill the uncomfortable silence broken only by the pitter patter of rain on the roof and the rumble of thunder. You push the tab on the toaster, mindlessly swaying to the music crooning quietly from the speaker.

You sing along, tapping your fingers on the counter in time with the beat. You pause, falling still. Unease settles heavy in your gut.

Your skin crawls. You tense. There’s something behind you, right behind you, breathing down your neck, hot, metallic breath that reeks of death—

You whirl around, eyes wide and heart hammering. The kitchen is empty, save for yourself. You draw in a shuddering breath, gripping the counter in an effort to steady yourself.

He’s here, somewhere, toying with you. You’ve long since abandoned the hope that these little occurrences are all in your head. The reality is far more frightening. Something hunts you.

You shriek when the toast pops out of the toaster. Gripping your chest, you smile sardonically and shake your head. Fuck, you’re gonna have a heart attack—

Suddenly, the lights go out with a click. You’re plunged into darkness. Your music slows unnaturally, tone deepening, a low growl replacing the lyrics and rising to a deafening roar.

You slap the screen and pause the song, your breath coming in rapid gasps. You sprint to the light switch, flicking it off and on to no effect. Trembling from head to toe, you wait for the laugh, the bite, the long, gloved fingers closing around your throat, the next trick.

Nothing. The rain and wind still rattle the windows. Lightening briefly illuminates the kitchen and thunder booms. Nothing.

Then—

BANG BANG BANG BANG

You yelp, clapping a hand over your mouth. Someone is pounding on the door, just like in your dream. Maybe it hadn’t been a dream after all….

Slowly, timidly, you make your way down the hall toward the front door. You stifle a whimper as you round the corner to the entryway.

BANG BANG BANG

The door rattles with the force of the blows, the frame splintering, wood chips skittering across the floor. A scream tears from your throat and you jump back, tensing and wanting nothing more than to flee.

Do you run? No, you’ve done that before. You can’t escape him. Then, do you open the door?

You wait. And wait. Silence. Lightening flashes, thunder rumbles. Silence.

Where did he go?

You turn and run straight into a solid chest. Bells jingle. A white glove wraps around your throat, cutting off your next panicked shriek.

“Rude, rude, girl to leave poor Pennywise out in the rain.” You meet his glowing yellow gaze, drool dripping from his full, bloody lips to splatter onto the floor between you.

You don’t fight. There’s no point anymore, no escaping him. There was only ever one outcome. This doesn’t mean you are any less afraid, however. You’re shaking so badly your teeth are nearly chattering in your mouth. You wonder what fresh horror he has in store for you tonight.

Pennywise tips his head to the side, leaning over you, observing you. He hums thoughtfully. The hand around your throat moves to your jaw and he gives your head a playful little shake.

“Little thing.” Odd. It almost sounds affectionate, the way he says it, instead of condescending as it does normally. He leans low, burying his nose in your hair and inhaling deeply, “Want to know how your fear tastes? Sweet, honeyed, sticky, sticky girl. Addictive.” The last word is purred against your cheek.

With a giggle he takes your hand, spinning you in a circle before pulling you back against his chest. His other hand wraps around your waist and he sways back and forth, just as you had in the kitchen. He takes a huge step, long, gangly leg reaching into the hallway, towing you with him as he goes. He’s swaying still, waltzing down the hall toward your bedroom. Frantically, you think this is, without a doubt, the most bizarre thing that has ever happened to you.

As he swings you around, he hums a tune that sounds vaguely familiar but, at the same time, impossible to place. You struggle to keep up with his long strides, stumbling along awkwardly as he half drags, half swings you down the hall. He pauses at the doorway to your room to kick it open, laughing when it bounces off the wall.

Once inside your room, Pennywise scoops you up and tosses you onto your bed as though you weigh nothing. You bounce, nearly rolling off the other side completely. Before you have a chance to right yourself, he’s gripping your calves, pulling you toward him.

You expect him to tear off your clothes, but he surprises you once again by bundling you up in his arms and curling up on the bed. The way he holds you, tucked neatly under his chin, drowns your face in the ruffles of his costume and you must crane your neck to avoid suffocation. This close you can smell everything, the rotting carrion scent of his breath, the musty smell of his costume, the metallic tang of blood still lingering on his lips from who knows what.

You can’t see his face from where you’re smashed against his chest so there’s no way to tell what he’s thinking; if he’s leering at you with all those teeth on display. What is he planning? The suspense is going to make your heart burst.

“Wiggly thing. Hold. Still,” he commands, crushing you harder against his chest and burying his face into the top of your head. Immediately, you still, your panicked breaths making the dingy ruffles billow. What is happening?

Is he…is he cuddling you?

You were wrong before. This is the most bizarre thing that has ever happened to you.

“Poor pet. Too many thoughts. Human minds are always so frenzied, a thousand wretched insects fluttering, buzzing….” As he muses, he pets your hair, twisting the strands between his spidery fingers. He playfully tugs a strand before resting his hand on the back of your neck.

Minutes pass where you stare, wide eyed, at the ceiling. Pennywise hasn’t moved, aside from the steady rise and fall of his chest. You’re so confused, anxious thoughts reaching, reaching for an explanation.

You jerk when a low rumble starts up in his chest. At first you think it’s a growl, but when it continues, an incessant, deep, rolling sound that vibrates in your own chest, you realize it’s something else. You gape.

He’s…purring. Purring, like a cat!

You give up. The more you try to understand this unusual situation, the more curious it gets. There’s nothing you can do about it anyway. You’re trapped here in his arms until Pennywise decides he’s had enough.

The clown titters quietly above you. He must realize he’s won. You sigh and will your tense body to relax.

Eventually you do relax. Your frantic heart rate slows, your gasping breaths even out. The gentle drone emanating from his chest is oddly soothing and soon your eyes droop. The heat from his body lulls you into a cozy, semi-conscious state. Slowly, hesitantly, you slip into slumber.

In the morning, he’s gone, the mussed bedsheets the only hint he was ever there at all.

#pennywise #pennywise the dancing clown #pennywise x reader #horror writing #my writing #it movie #it #it 2017 #it 2019 #it chapter 2 #reader insert #slasher fandom

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loyally-unfaithful · 4 years

Text

—; i’m bad behaviour but i do it in the best way

word count: 6320

pairing: connor | rk800/gender-neutral!reader

genre: fluff; kinda crack treated seriously

summary: « as a wise man once said: “you haven’t lived until you’ve committed at least one blue collar crime” – wh-i… literally no one said that! he sputtered in bewilderment. – i just did… you said as you stomped on your cigarette. or are you calling me unwise? – yes! that’s exactly what i’m calling you! he exclaimed. you chuckled. – oh come on… live a little. it’s not even that bad. you consoled. »

the android before you was conflicted. you could tell from his yellow led, which kept flickering and spinning. the guy was seriously debating this. he’s intrigued. he wants to try it out, you just have to egg him on.

« i won’t tell if you don’t? you offered. »

you’re sure you had a harder time persuading others compared to this detective model android...

a/n: the time has come. i have inspiration. i have motivation. i managed to unblock myself. i think it’s because of stress? i couldn’t write because of stress lmfao or maybe it’s cuz of that oc x canon snippet i did idk.

both.

and uh, the story went out of hand and evolved by itself.

ping. a small popup in the top right corner of his hud caught his attention as he rearranged his folders, neatly putting them in his bag.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[ 1 ᴺᴱᵂ ᴹᴱˢˢᴬᴳᴱ: Love ]

> hey im outside waiting for u xx Noted. <

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

he quickly replied and picked up the pace, securing his beanie and wrapping his scarf. grabbing his bag, he excused himself: « see you tomorrow, lieutenant. – wait! connor! the younger man stopped in his tracks, and turned to face the lieutenant. – just… you know how i feel about [ y/n ]... the android patiently waited for him to elaborate. – if you don’t feel comfortable doing what they want you to do, just... know that you don’t have to. he instructed. and if they force you, or hu— – hank. he gently interrupted. the older man stopped his tirade, a mix of emotions on his face: surprise. concern. annoyance. mostly concern. – hank, he restarted. i’ll be fine. he reassured him. i know you don’t trust them, and i can’t force you to, but have a little faith. “in me” in that last sentence unspoken. – i… fuck, i know… but- he grumbled. just, if you don’t feel safe, call me. ok? – of course. he answered. »

before stepping out of the building, the android looked back at his father figure, « take care, see you in the morning. », he did a small wave and threw his best pacifying smile. acute scans heard the older man’s resigned sigh and the twinkle of lingering concern in his features.

once out of the building, his sensors noted the drastic drop in temperature, the warmth and ambient brightness of within was replaced by the cold and windy dullness. it was a rather chilly night, clocking in at 14 degrees celsius, wind blowing rather harshly. wrapping his coat tighter around himself, he heads for where you normally park: take a right from the precinct, a few blocks away. when he reached you, you were leaning on your motorbike, preoccupied with something on your phone, and only noticing the android through his footsteps. looking up, you smirked, and stuffed your mobile into your pocket: « glad to see that they freed you, you said, flicking a cigarette butt away. – yes… i hope i didn’t make you wait too long? he greeted back. – nah, it’s fine. »

you chucked the spare helmet you brought towards him—which he caught effortlessly—« come on, i wanna show you something. »

the ride to the destination was uneventful: it was the usual fare. you sped through the traffic, weaving through the different vehicles at a speed connor was sure was much over the speed limit (he has since given up on informing you as you seemed to ignore him, not keen on slowing down anytime soon).

this location seemed to be some distance outside of the city, as the street grew narrower and darker. the sounds of other vehicles no longer accompanying them. all he could hear was the air that you were blazing through and the humming of the motorcycle underneath you. the cold wind blew from the direction you were heading, and he could feel the rush of air against his body, a sensation that, he figured, would feel chilly and unpleasant if he could “feel” cold. still, he instinctively clung tighter to your body to preserve body heat. he watched the scenery change, sights buzzing by; the dark sky grew clearer and clearer, until a few bright stars were visible unlike back in the heart of the city.

the motorcycle slowed down to a halt, and he dismounted the vehicle. « here we are, you struck out a hand to dramatically gesture at the building. my usual haunt. »—the android squinted as he scrutinised the place, but before he could get a good look, his sight abruptly turned to black, his eyes not yet caught up with the sudden change in lighting. it was as if someone turned off the light switch, the world suddenly plunged into darkness. and apparently somebody did: you finally joined him after turning off the bike, killing the only light source. nudging him to alert him of your presence, you pulled out a flashlight from your bag and flicked it on, illuminating the area once more. you headed towards the building, and twirled to face him. « tada! my happy place, where i usually come to relax after weeks of finals. you announced pridefully. »

[ ᴬᴺᴬᴸᵞˢᴵᴺᴳ ]

he regarded the place apprehensively. to say that it was what he expected it to be would be lie: what he expected to be a warm and rustic cottage, one that exudes cosiness, turned out to be the old remains of an unfinished construction, merely the skeleton of what would be commonhold. it was dark and dreary, shadows covering the empty spaces and the walls. some of the surface were left unfinished, making the “building” perforated, cold and unfriendly. brutal, even. It was clearly dirty, not taken care of, with rubble littering the floors. he analysed the building and was concerned over its structural integrity. it didn’t seem that stable… surely you wouldn’t…?

you noticed your boyfriend’s souring impression and quickly tried to redeem the monument in his eyes: « that look on you face… you hate this... don’t you? you winced. your question caught him off guard, causing him to fumble for a recovery. – i-uh… no! it… has a unique charm. – you’re allowed to be honest, you know? you sighed. – it’s … certainly not what i had in mind, he winced. you bit your lip in a nervous smile. it’s far from prim and proper for straight laced connor, but you hope that this doesn’t end in a disastrous date. – give it a chance, let me show you up there… you’ll love it! you grinned, trying to lighten the mood. »

entering the structure almost felt like entering a different reality: the white noises of the outside world, the hooting of owls, the chirping and buzzing of insects and the howl of the wind were dampened as soon as he followed you in. it was a different realm, where shade crawled about and reigned, the silence deafening and oppressive. « mind the step. you alerted him. » the murk did not deter you one bit, and, knowing the layout of the structure by heart, you led him through different twist and turns, avoiding what he deduced would be multiple deadends. only the light of the flashlight illuminating the way. he followed you obediently, not straying too far away from you, at the risk of becoming lost in this labyrinth. he observed the environment, perturbed. the area contained so many potential hazards, and the thought that you frequented this place often distressed him slightly: though he did not doubt your ability to take care of yourself, he didn’t like the idea that you could’ve potentially hurt yourself every time you went here. he snapped out of his musing millimetres away from colliding with you and directed his attention to what you were currently preoccupied by: a ledge that led to the second floor. « hey babe… how much do you weigh? he took a few moments to answer, but you quickly rephrased. – sorry, you chuckled, that turned out more personal that i thought. can you give me a leg up? you nodded at the protruding wall. the stairs that lead to the upper floors are blocked by rubble so i’m afraid this is our only way up. »

he simply nodded, you securing your light on your belt as he put himself in position against the wall to boost you up. the climb went through easily, and you quickly turned around to pull him up after his running jump. you both quickly stood up, the android dusting himself, ridding his clothes of soot and dust, before you start your trek once more.

« i was wondering—assuming you usually frequent this place on your own—how do you get over that wall by yourself? he asked. – with great difficulty, you answered truthfully. the android rolled his eyes. – obviously, he says, in that lilt that never fails to make you chuckle. – yeah? well i hope you’re not too tired today, ‘cause we have a bit more scaling to do. don’t want you slowing me down, you teased. – as if. he scoffed. »

once on the highest floor, you led him towards an open chamber whose floor was largely intact but had a large gaping hole on one side—one that helped ventilate the room who, compared to the rest of the building, was properly aerated, the air much cleaner and safer to breathe than the musty and stale odor down below. the opening allowed the moonlight to bathe the room in a soft glow, illuminating the occupants with an ethereal white. a second source of light caught his attention: a small fire that you ignited inside a metal drum, a flame whose heat was a pleasant contrast to the cold, an ember that highlighted the place with a stark, warm, orange glow against the satellite’s smooth, cold, bluish-white light.

you sat down unceremoniously on a worn out and unfinished windowsill—resembling more like a vaguely rectangular opening—the android joining you on the opposite side. lighting a cigarette, you took a deep breath and sighed, leaning back and gazing into the sable sky decorated by a plethora of stars. the man facing you mimicked your movements and gazed at the celestial bodies, little lights twinkling in the dark, innocent and brilliant. able to take his time to view the heavens, he noted that it resembles an elysian painting, tinted an aegean blue. accompanying the sight was the rumbles of a rock song he wasn’t familiar with, probably from a rock concert a few kilometres away—making a note to find out and identify the venue. he could feel the deep thrumming of the bass and vaguely hear the melody, and though the dampened music made it slightly harder for him to pin it down, he managed to identify it: a hit song from a local indie band. he turned to face you, your form peacefully resting against the wall behind you, eyes closed; features relaxed. breathing deeply, you blew puffs of smoke with a lazy, yet content, smile.

« so? what d’you think? your eyes were directly on him now. i know you had your reservations about this place... »

there was a small twitch in your smile, a tell he caught that told him of your nervousness. despite his previous opinion of this place, he could see why you liked it, and considered it your happy place: it was a distance away from the big city, the air pollution and the noise. it was quieter and calmer here, without any of the loud colours and chatter that never seemed to cease. the location also provided a good view of the woods around it and the elegant skies above, along with ambient music. one that certainly fit your tastes, but at a distance that didn’t make the atmosphere overbearing. it was a good place to recharge; to rest and to think, away from the cumbersome responsibilities, if only for a little while.

« i like it... it has a unique charm. he found himself repeating himself. it’s a good place to escape. – do you? as if a switch was flicked, your uncertain demeanour was replaced with a cheeky grin. i’m glad this place grew on you! you stood up and placed yourself closer to the android, sinking back on him. – i... like places like these and exploring them… just glad i didn’t bore you away. »

you sighed as you settled comfortably against his chest, his arms quickly wrapping around your waist to cradle your form in a tight embrace. he replied with a hum of approval. placing a hand on yours, he brings it up and presses a kiss on your palm. you gently caressed his cheek as he did. « i’m never bored when i get to spend time with you, my love. he says softly, earnestly. – you’re not half bad yourself, babe. you replied. »

he smacked your arm in faux disdain as you placed a kiss on his jaw, and the conversation ended after that. It was quiet, but it wasn’t an awkward silence; no, it was a comfortable one. no other words uttered. just the two of you, the crackle of the flame, your thoughts and the heavens. connor is tracing soothing circles on the back of your hand, resting his head on the top of yours—his focus switching from the galaxy above and you—while you simply relish on the warmth of his presence and hum along to the song playing in the background. though you knew he meant what he said, you notice him start to fidget and become restless. you’re never sure if it was due to the fact that he was a tireless android or if it was simply a tic of his, but he’s unable to simply sit and be. he’s already analysed all that could be analysed in this place, and you know it’s something he can’t help but do. he had a constant need to be up and about, doing something or preoccupying his mind with something.

« beautiful night, tonight, isn’t it? you started, catching his attention. there was a few moments of silence before he answered. – but certainly not as charming as you. – ha. smooth one, anderson. » the flame in the drum is dying, the heat it brought fading away: an attestation of the time that has passed. it’s been that long huh? the band has changed to a different song, though it shows no signs of finishing anytime soon. you decided it was time to put connor out of his misery and do something else.

snapping up unto your feet—startling the android slightly—you offer a hand and pulled him up: « i got an idea. and it’s probably going to sound like a terrible, inane idea… – how foolish are we talking? he asked, unfazed after going through with multiple of your “dates”; including, but not limited to, urban exploration, base jumping, and graffiti (he still doesn’t know why he agreed… he remembers you saying « rebel against the humans! ») – i mean… it’s pretty tame considering the stuff i proposed before. you shrugged. he raised a brow in suspicion. – you... might be charged with criminal trespass… you admit and he looks horrified. but! but! you continued. that’s only if you get caught! which you wouldn’t be if you’re with me! you reassured him. – what are you planning to do, exactly? – i was thinking about sneaking in the concert and just bask in the energy. head for the moshpit or something. you’re bouncing off your ideas, hoping it might interest him. have fun, enjoy the music. – i’ve researched that venue, it’s a private property! do you know the charges that’ll be pressed against you? he asked, perplexed. – duh! it’s a misdemeanour trespass, as is stated in the michigan penal code: county jail for 30 days and/or a fine. section 750.552.. you answered nonchalantly. it don’t really matter! as i said: we won’t get caught. – how are so calm about breaking these laws? he questioned, perplexed. for a law student, you seem so adamant to break them… – look, con. i’m not gonna force you to do this. i love you, and i understand that you have a reputation to uphold, being a detective and all. you assured him. i don’t want you to feel that i’m peer pressuring you into this. – i… i don’t.. you notice how his eyes shift, looking to the far left, unable to make eye contact. you notice that he’s conflicted, that he wants to do this, but doesn’t. you sigh. – look, we can walk back to the bike while you think about it, and you can tell me your decision once we’re there. alright? »

he doesn’t answer, but you know he heard you, so you start to make your way back down, the android following you wordlessly. once down by your bike, you lean on it—rather similarly to how he met you earlier today—and nod at him: « so? what’s you’re decision? – this sounds like a bad idea… still disagreeing, but not outright denying it. you meant what you said: you don’t want to make him do what he doesn’t want to do, but a partner in crime doesn’t sound half bad. you huff. – connor anderson. the connor anderson himself, who snuck into jericho. the same one who infiltrated cyberlife tower in what seemed to be a suicide mission. is scared of a little trespassing? you teased. live a little! – i don’t see how me committing a crime would contributes to my satisfaction with life. – haven’t you heard? as a wise man once said: “you haven’t lived until you’ve committed at least one blue collar crime” – wh-i… literally no one said that! he sputtered in bewilderment. – i just did… you said as you stomped on your cigarette. or are you calling me unwise? – yes! that’s exactly what i’m calling you! he exclaimed. you chuckled. – oh come on… live a little. it’s not even that bad. you consoled. »

« i won’t tell if you don’t? you offered. »

you seat yourself on your bike and turn back to face him: « so, are you in? a moment of silence. the android seemed to have a renewed confidence. – as a law enforcement officer, what’s stopping me from arresting you right now? his eyes held a newfound determination. you smirked lazily. – absolutely nothing. »

he swears to god, or ra9, or whatever higher power there is, that you will be the death of him.

« get off. your ordered. he followed the command without a word. – we’re gonna walk the rest of the way. you added. »

the concert venue was now at a reasonable distance away, and it was within eyeshot. however, that also meant that everything was much louder. he could now feel the boom of the loud music, and make out the lyrics.

« so i’ve stalked this place before, and i know an entry. here’s the plan: we’re gonna immediately go to the right side. the fence that side is less guarded, since there’s a ditch that leads there; we can hide in there. however there was a drone, just one, and a cctv camera—and we also need to look out for guards—alors fais gaffe1 ok? this far along and he still seemed hesitant, so you give one final push. – too late to back out now buddy. you’ll be fine though. just follow my lead and disable that camera. – wait! you glanced back at him. once inside, what do we do? – just act natural and have fun. you grinned. » and with that, you took off, making your way to the future crime scene. he sighed, still unsure on how you managed to coerce him into this, but jogged to catch up to you.

you hopped down in the ditch, connor not too far behind, and you quickly mentioned, while pointing at a sign that said “no androids allowed”: « by the way, you might want to keep that led of yours hidden. i’ve got some bobby pins if you need ‘em. you motioned to the beanie that he was currently adjusting. »

once he seemed satisfied with his changes, you asked him if he could tamper with the camera, which he swiftly disabled. you come out of your little hiding space and start climbing up the chain link fence, telling connor to keep an eye out for the security drone currently patrolling. what you forgot to tell him was the part where you were going to take it out, catching the android off guard as you throw yourself off the top part of the fence you were clinging on onto the passing drone. your swinging and flailing, combined with your weight pulling it down, caused the contraption to crash and the android—who seemed to have snapped out of his stupor—grabbed a metal pipe lying near the barrier and proceeded to smash the machine. chucking the object to the side, he went to help you up on you feet: « are you alright? – i’m fine. you looked at the metallic junk that was once a drone. we make a pretty good team, don’t you think? he looked back at the destroyed drone. – i don’t want to keep thinking about it… – destruction of property. you clicked your tongue. i’m proud of you con. you pretended to wipe a tear off your eyes. – let’s just go. he turned away , and you follow him up the fence with a chuckle. – cheer up con. you hopped over the chain. it’s okay… you’ve done worse. »

he was about to retort, when a figure seemed to head your way, and you both managed to duck out into a corner before being discovered by the flashlight. when it was clear, you snuck out of the hiding spot and proceeded to join the masses. it was different. he’s never been to a concert before. sure, he was a fan of rock, often listening to it with hank, but experiencing it live was so very different. he knew it would be loud, deafening, but he didn’t expect the surge of excitement and vivacity. it was exhilarating, a completely different world: the bright colours, the loud ambiance, the energy of the music. the android couldn’t help, but let himself get a bit excited. he was glad he decided to come though he’d never admit it to you.

you both floated around the edge of the crowd, the venue being full. it wasn’t a particularly big place, but there were quite a lot of people there, you mused out loud. must be a pretty popular band, their song being catchy enough. at some point or another, you both cheered along with the crowd (though he was much meeker in his cries), and for some reason, decided to try and wade through the people to get closer to the front—the moshpit—this time, the android seemed to play along with your plan without complaint.

he sort of wished he had now. you don’t really know when it happened, whether it was when you rummaged through the people or during a collision while moshing, lost in the intensity of the crowd—every member in state of ecstatic delirium. the beanie came off. when he realised, he quickly hid his led, which was a disturbed yellow, and notified you. you didn’t have to hear what he said to know what was happening. you quickly led him towards the “exit”, the immediate crowd—who saw the black sheep—parting like the red sea as you crossed, but as your neared the edge of the venue security finally reached and cornered you. you quickly placed yourself besides connor, sending across a relaxed body language. you discreetly grabbed his hand, and whispered « play along » which he wouldn’t have heard if he were human.

« how may we help you sir? you asked, flashing your friendliest smile. – i’m concerned about this friend of yours… his eyes glanced at your boyfriend, but you keep your eyes on him. connor was unfazed. perhaps because he trusted your ability in getting yourselves out of this mess—awww, you’re flattered—or that his model are used to high stress environment—most likely, but you certainly hope it was also because of the former. this was a darker area of the place, so it would obscure most of your features, and the band was still playing in the background—ignorant to the revelation—which would somewhat hide your voices. – what about him? curt and indignant. – androids are not allowed in this area. he pointed to the anti-android post outside the fence. the fence that led to freedom. i’m going to have to bring him in for trespass, and you for smuggling him in. androids were recognised as their own sentient species, but laws protecting them have yet to be passed: android-free zones were still legal. most places in the city removed their anti-android signs, but people from the periphery seemed more resistant to change. fuck. – oh that old thing? the led? that don’t prove nothing. you shrugged. be cool [y/n]. it’s just a temporary tattoo. motherfucker lost a bet. you thank whatever gods above that the rk800 models could somewhat control their led colour, so that his remained blue. – is that so? he turned to connor. you seemed adamant on hiding that led of yours. the asshat must have a grudge against androids, huh? You wished he’d just kick you out. make life easier for both parties. – it’s a fake tattoo. he played along. and it’s a bad one at that—i don’t want to be associated with those plastics… he grumbled. you cackled. – well, maybe you shouldn’t have lost that bet, michael. the guard in front of you grunted, displeased. he really wanted to bring in an android huh? prove something to someone? or just pure malice? you never really paid attention in psych class. – if that’s the case, since you’re both humans, i’d like to see your ticket. »

you went rigid. clenching your jaw you planned your next course of action. you have your phone in your pocket, but there was nothing. you could surrender it, and run away as he was distracted, but he could then trace it back to you and press charges… you could fight? the both of you could easily overpower him, outrunning him wouldn’t be a problem either. but you’ll never hear the end of it if you decided to hurt someone when you had a more pacifist option, so you chose to run. it was abrupt. you were in a standoff, one party waiting for the other to make their move. and all of the sudden you make a break for it and dash off for the fence, your partner running for it too. there was a bit of a scuffle but you managed to fend him off long enough for you to scramble up the fence. the man quickly caught up and yanked your leg—alarming you—though a well placed kick from the other freed you long enough to jump off into the other side, ready to make a dash for your life as you land.

the two of you ran until you reached your bike, which was quite a distance away (thank fuck for that, at least he won’t follow you that far—unless he’s really fucking persistent), where you collapsed on the spot and panted slightly. the android himself was looking slightly weary. heavy breathing turned into wheezing laughter as the absurdity of what just transpired settled into your mind.

« i can’t believe that actually happened! you exclaimed between laughs. – we barely got out of there! he chided. we were almost arrested! – but we weren’t. told ya’ con. should’a believed me. you tsk-ed, having calmed down from the giggles. i’m insulted to be quite honest. you exploded into another fit of laughter. – i don’t know how i managed to get you to do this with me! you howled. – never again. he stated, a finality in his tone. – oh come on, you loved it. you rolled your eyes. he stared at you in silence, unimpressed. it was true, but you’ll never hear that from him. – i hate you, he frowned. – love you too babe, you responded, running a hand through your hair. »

he sighed and let himself fall beside you. taking out your backpack once more, you rummaged through and handed him an item: an inconspicuous water bottle. when asked what it was, you answered « thirium. that’s what you guys drink right? » as you opened your own water bottle, gulping down its content. he informed you that androids don’t need to constantly replenish the thirium in his body like humans did with water—only drinking them when they have lost a significant amount—but that he appreciated the gesture. “it’s the thought that counts”.

you huffed, slightly bashful, going into a tirade about how you can’t keep up with the constantly evolving technology. « you’re starting to sound like hank now. » he chuckled and you grimaced and pretended to vomit in response, though you joined him in his laughter. you both spent time sitting there. just breathing. coming down from your adrenaline rush.

« wanna crash at my place? you offered. – i’d be more than happy to, he obliged. »

that night, you both slept like a rock. well, you did. you completely conked out. connor peacefully entered stasis as he usually did. you arrived at your flat sometime in the morning and passed out. barely managing to blearily have a “shower”—dousing yourself in water—before passing out.

come later in the morning—when the light shone softly and the white noise of the city: ambient sound of traffic, chatter, chirping of pigeons—you were sleeping peacefully when you felt someone shift beside you, rousing you slightly from your slumber. you groaned as your head gains enough coherence to remember about university and the brunt of the waking world. think you’re gonna play hooky today. maybe kenneth can take notes for you… you made a note to ask him later...

unwrapping himself from you, your partner stood up to get ready to go to work—going off to change into neater clothings that he stored in your house and getting decent—and went off to prepare a pot of coffee for you and stick bread in the toaster. feeling the sudden loss of heat as he went away, your sleep heavy mind blindly felt the portion of the bed that he usually slept on—the right—patting it, looking for the missing presence. this went on for a few minutes and your limb felt heavy as your tired body fell back asleep. you resigned to simply poke your arm from under the cover, hoping it’d catch someone. you were half asleep when the reaching hand finally found something, as it was held and gently guided to another’s cheek, yet another kiss pressed on your palm. you felt your heart melt, and hummed approvingly. « stay. you mumbled. he smiled at your naïve request. – i have to go to work. – skip work… f… ight the government… you yawned. – you know i can’t do that, my love. – i… order you... you sleep riddled mind was struggling to keep up as you slowly dozed again. to… – i’ll see you again this evening, i’ll be right back. oh yeah it’s saturday, you reminded yourself. no classes. you mentally cheered. – okk… you were going to pass out again. »

his warmth left you, and you find yourself yearning for it again. before he left, he glanced back towards you—practically buried under the duvet, only visible as a lump under the blanket and the hand poking through the right side. « i love you, [y/n] »

you were too gone to reply, but regardless, he left for work with a small smile.

work went on as usual. filling reports was boring, but it had to be done. at least he could finish them in record time, built to be more efficient at it than your typical human officer. being a detective assigned to the anti-android crimes taskforce, it was rather quiet right now, and though he was grateful that androids weren’t being harmed, it was terribly boring. though colin, who had to start all the way back at the beginning as a beat cop, seemed to be enjoying a peaceful break. he sighed for the umpteenth time as he fidgeted and fiddled with his coin, having already abused the fun out of his multiple pens and pencils. he missed spending time with you; at least it was exciting and unpredictable (getting to be with you is an enjoyable bonus). he stared blankly at his coin and sighed again. his father figure gave him a look across the desk—“did anything happen?”. he shook his head.—“no nothing bad or dangerous happened while i was with [y/n].”. the android then asked if he fancied a cup of coffee from the coffee shop across the road. the old man simply grunted.

« you can just take a walk, you don’t need to use me as a fucking excuse. – alright. he answered placidly. »

the android thought about walking to stretch his legs. maybe go to that bakery that you fancied so much. you did like the strawberry shortcake a crazy amount. but as he would find out, the slow and easy moments shouldn’t be taken for granted: a very disgruntled man, who stormed in to file a police report, happened to run in with the android, still somewhat deep in his musings. oh boy was he in for a rude awakening.

they both promptly apologise, however, once they saw each other they instantly recognised each other—though the detective kept his face neutral. « you! you’re the fucking android that trespassed into a restricted area! he accused. straight faced, he replied calmly. – i am indeed an android, but i believe you may have accused the wrong one. there often many iterations of the same model. he cursed his stars and the fates that put him in this situation. one that meant he was, as hank would put it, in deep shit. »

he was glad most people didn’t know there were only 2 rk800 currently in circulation: him and his brother, colin, whom he was trying to contact. as connor continued trying to placate the angry man, and deny his involvement in anything, he heard his brother’s voice come through.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[ ᵂᴴᴬᵀ'ˢ ᵁᴾ? ] > [ ᵀᴴᴱᴿᴱ ᴵˢ ᴬ ᴹᴬᴺ ᴼᵁᵀ ᴴᴱᴿᴱ, ᶜᴸᴱᴬᴿᴸᵞ ᵛᴱᴿᵞ ᶜᴿᴼˢˢᴱᴰ, ᵂᴴᴼ ᵂᴼᵁᴸᴰ ᴸᴵᴷᴱ ᵀᴼ ᶠᴵᴸᴱ ᴬ ᴾᴼᴸᴵᶜᴱ ᴿᴱᴾᴼᴿᵀ. ] he decided to give him a clear picture.

[ SENDING AUDIO-VISUAL FEED TO RK800 #313 248 317-60—COLIN ] [ LINK ESTABLISHED. WAITING PERMISSION… ] [ ACCEPTED. ]

> [ ᴬ ᵀᴿᴱˢᴾᴬˢˢ ᴼᴺ ᴾᴿᴵᵛᴬᵀᴱ ᴾᴿᴼᴾᴱᴿᵀᵞ ᴮᵞ ᴬ ᴰᴱᵛᴵᴬᴺᵀ ] there was a moment of silence before his brother replied. [ ᵂᴴᴬᵀ ᵀᴴᴱ ᴴᴱᴸᴸ ᴰᴵᴰ ᵞᴼᵁ ᵀᵂᴼ ᴳᴱᵀ ᴵᴺᵀᴼ ᴸᴬˢᵀ ᴺᴵᴳᴴᵀ? ] > [ ᴵ ᴬᴾᴾᴿᴱᶜᴵᴬᵀᴱ ᴴᴼᵂ ᵞᴼᵁ ᴵᴹᴹᴱᴰᴵᴬᵀᴱᴸᵞ ᴬˢˢᵁᴹᴱᴰ ᴵᵀ ᵂᴬˢ ᵁˢ. ] connor replied, sarcastic but devoid of humour. [ ᵂᴱᴸᴸ? ᵂᴬˢ ᴵᵀ ᴿᴱᴬᴸᴸᵞ ᵞᴼᵁ ᵀᵂᴼ? ] the android, who somehow felt a migraine develop—even though that shouldn’t be possible—sighed. > [ ᴸᴼᴺᴳ ˢᵀᴼᴿᵞ ˢᴴᴼᴿᵀ, ᵂᴱ ᵀᴿᴱˢᴾᴬˢˢᴱᴰ ᴵᴺᵀᴼ ᴬᴺ ᴬᴿᴱᴬ ᵂᵂ ˢᴴᴼᵁᴸᴰ'ᵛᴱ ᴬᵛᴼᴵᴰᴱᴰ. ] > [ˢᴱᴺᴰ ᴴᴱᴸᴾ? ] [ ᵞᴼᵁ? ᶜᴼᴹᴹᴵᵀᴱᴰ ᴬ ᶜᴿᴵᴹᴱ ᴼᴺ ᵞᴼᵁᴿ ᴼᵂᴺ ᵛᴼᴸᴵᵀᴵᴼᴺ? ]

the android could hear his brother cackle at his misery. though outside of earshot, the sound echoes in his mind as the link was not yet severed.

[ ᴺᴬᴴ, ᵞᴼᵁ'ᴿᴱ ᴼᴺ ᵞᴼᵁᴿ ᴼᵂᴺ ᴼᴺ ᵀᴴᴵˢ ᴼᴺᴱ ] [ ᴳᴼᴼᴰ ᴸᵁᶜᴷ ᵀᴴᴼᵁᴳᴴ. ] [ ᴴᴬᴺᴷ'ˢ ᴳᴼᴺᴺᴬ ᴮᴱ ᴾᴵˢˢᴱᴰ ] and with that, his brother abandoned him.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

the man was absolutely irate, convinced that he was the one who trespassed in the venue—he wasn’t wrong—be he kept accusing someone of the same profile as him, but named “michael”. you really did him a favour on that one. it seemed like salvation had come however, as hank intercept the confrontation—the man calmed down after seeing a human officer. his brother must’ve informed the lieutenant (connor wants to thank him, but not), knowing how the appearance of two rk800s would only aggravate the situation. through a stroke of luck, the man didn’t have enough evidence to successfully file a report—against an rk800 named “michael”... who didn’t exist.

but to say that hank was pissed was an understatement. thus begins the walk of shame as hank demanded to « talk in private ». at the end of a severe tongue-lashing, decorated with many “fuck”s and “shit”s, he was in a sour mood and positively fuming. forget the shortcake. he was absolutely going to get back at you for this.

you were snoozing peacefully, off in dreamworld, when you woke up to the buzzing of your phone. groggy, you ran you hand under the pillows and felt for the object until you found it. checking it revealed that you 27 missed calls from an unknown number and a few message from them:

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

unknown number [ two missed message ]

> what the fuck did you get connor into? > ???????

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

bzz. bzz. a new message?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

unknown number [ 1 new message ]

> i know you saw the messages, fuckibg answer

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you also had a new message from connor, though his message didn’t bode well for you either:

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

connard2 anderson <3 [ 1 missed message ]

> we need to talk. > ):<

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

the use of the emoji made you chuckle, but you were scared of what the future brought for you. oh boy… you were in deep shit weren’t you…

e͟p͟i͟l͟o͟g͟u͟e͟:

you lived to see another day. hank gave you an even more brutal scolding than what connor received, and you swore that if this were a shitty choice-that-matters game you’d see a metre for his friendship go down. not that there was much there in the first place.

connor gave an even more punishing sanction: he gave you the absolute silent treatment for a month. no talking, no hugs nor cuddles, and only the odd texts once in a blue moon. an absolutely miserable 31 days for you, spent by sulking. safe to say this was a punishment you’ll never forget, and one that will discourage you from ever trying that kind of stunt ever again.

or at least when connor’s around. it’s free game when it’s just you by yourself. connor knows this and simply sighs in resignation and just hopes you don’t get yourself in potentially future career ruining situation...

f͟o͟o͟t͟n͟o͟t͟e͟s

1. french expression that i was too lazy to translate, essentially means “watch out/stay alert”,,, somewhere along those lines, but informal. 2. connard is a french word pronounced almost like connor, but it means shithead. reader i have a strange sense of humour.

like my work? consider buying me a coffee // checking out my masterlist | links can be found on my desc

#detroit: become human #detroit: become human x reader #dbh x reader #connor dbh x reader #rk800 dbh x reader #connor detroit: become human #connor rk800 #rk800-60 dbh #falselywrites #crosspost from main acc

51 notes · View notes

pointedly-foolish · 4 years

Text

[ í'm вαd вєhαvíσur вut í dσ ít ín thє вєѕt wαч ]

word count: 6320

pairing: connor | rk800/gender-neutral!reader

genre: fluff; kinda crack treated seriously

« i won’t tell if you don’t? you offered. »

you’re sure you had a harder time persuading others compared to this detective model android...

both.

and uh, the story went out of hand and evolved by itself.

ping. a small popup in the top right corner of his hud caught his attention as he rearranged his folders, neatly putting them in his bag.

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[ 1 ᴺᴱᵂ ᴹᴱˢˢᴬᴳᴱ: Love ]

> hey im outside waiting for u xx Noted. <

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you chucked the spare helmet you brought towards him—which he caught effortlessly—« come on, i wanna show you something. »

[ ᴬᴺᴬᴸᵞˢᴵᴺᴳ ]

« so? what d’you think? your eyes were directly on him now. i know you had your reservations about this place... »

« i won’t tell if you don’t? you offered. »

he swears to god, or ra9, or whatever higher power there is, that you will be the death of him.

« get off. your ordered. he followed the command without a word. – we’re gonna walk the rest of the way. you added. »

« wanna crash at my place? you offered. – i’d be more than happy to, he obliged. »

you were too gone to reply, but regardless, he left for work with a small smile.

« you can just take a walk, you don’t need to use me as a fucking excuse. – alright. he answered placidly. »

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[ SENDING AUDIO-VISUAL FEED TO RK800 #313 248 317-60—COLIN ] [ LINK ESTABLISHED. WAITING PERMISSION… ] [ ACCEPTED. ]

the android could hear his brother cackle at his misery. though outside of earshot, the sound echoes in his mind as the link was not yet severed.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

unknown number [ two missed message ]

> what the fuck did you get connor into? > ???????

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

bzz. bzz. a new message?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

unknown number [ 1 new message ]

> i know you saw the messages, fuckibg answer

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

you also had a new message from connor, though his message didn’t bode well for you either:

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

connard2 anderson <3 [ 1 missed message ]

> we need to talk. > ):<

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

the use of the emoji made you chuckle, but you were scared of what the future brought for you. oh boy… you were in deep shit weren’t you…

e͟p͟i͟l͟o͟g͟u͟e͟:

f͟o͟o͟t͟n͟o͟t͟e͟s

like my work? consider ordering a commission // buying me a coffee // checking out my art tag or my masterlist | links can be found on my desc

#detroit: become human #connor detroit: become human #connor x reader #connor rk800 #rk800 detroit: become human #rk800-60 detroit:become human #hank anderson detroit: become human #falsely writes

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oneofyatosfollowers · 5 years

Text

Noragami/Wall-E AU

Prologue

The air was a visible mustard brown with dirt particles and other debris mixed in. It gave the natural sunlight a dull glow, just enough to illuminate the hunks of useless metal that orbited the planet. On the planet, similar junk made up mountains, piled high against windmills and phone poles. Lose paper and plastic bags caught against the skeletons of old sky scrapers that have long-since collapsed into more rubble. Everything old, rusted, and abandoned; covered in the same brown dust that seemed to make up the planet itself.

On the outskirts of the city, the trash dunes were much smaller. Pressed into compact squares and piled into neater cubes. Pathways between these heaps curved and stretched on for miles, the darker shade of brown the dirt made showing which were the most traveled on. Traveling at a relaxed pace, an object made it's way through the cubes with practiced ease, not even glancing at it's surroundings. Old 80s music echoed from the object, traveling without any clash.

The speaker was a small, bright pink electronic, plugged into another machine. This machine was imbedded into a creature that was once human, but now a cyborg of ancient technology, made only to clean up the leftovers of man-kind's time on Earth. As he traveled, a short breeze or two ruffled his black hair, greasily pulled back into a short pony tail. The pink iPod was shoved into the pocket of a light brown fullbody coverall. One of many small nicknacks in one of many pockets. The jean fabric more than wore down, but with every rip stitched back together almost seamlessly. On his right breast pocket, the name 'Yato' was stitched in black, below the title 'Wall-E'.

The trash cleaner made his way to the nearest non-compacted trash pile and took a deep breath through his oxygen mask. Sitting down the small cooler he carried, Yato reached above his shoulder to grab hold of a lean metal handle, his brain send the signal for object to unlock. The metal clasps embedded in his back fell open and the flatted compactor came lose. He brought it to the front of him and set it on the ground. Opposite to the handle was a folded steel box that would click into shape. In the middle was a heaver iron square that molded into the handle. Once set up, all the cyborg had to do was gather as much trash as can fit in the hollow box bring the handle- with the lid- on top and press down. After the trash was in a neat square, the Wall-E would yank the handle up and let the cube roll out before placing it next to the billions of others.

This jostling woke up a small cockroach, who peaked outside a soup can to see what the ruckus was. At the sight of the cyborg, the insect squeaked and made her way over to the pile that only grew as the years went by. She made her way up the piles without much effort and sat herself on the new block. At the sound of her squeak the trash-collector turned with a wide smile.

"Stray!" he exclaimed cheerfully, "You're awake! Goodmorning!"

At his words, the cockroach let out an annoyed shriek. Yato recoiled but never ceased smiling.

"Sorry. Nora. There is that better?" Yato reached a hand out to her waiting for her to climb on. Nora flicked her antenna and crawled on slowly, with her nose in the air.

"I don't know why you like the japansese way better," he said as she settled on his shoulder, "though I guess Nora is more of a name." he mumbled the last part. Grinning at her when she chirped in agreement.

To his left, something shiny caught his eye. Making his way over to it, Yato moved aside some old newspapers and found a trash can lid. He held it up and watched as the sunlight shone even brighter against the silver disk. Yato's blue eyes didn't look away as he moved the light to different parts of the lid.

"Pretty cool, huh? Rare to find something not rusted." He said, walking back to where he left the cooler and placing it with the other treasures found earlier that day. On his shoulder, Nora's head made the movement of rolling her eyes. Yato contiuned back down the path that winded around a skyscraper made of the trash-cubes. Nora faithfully on his shoulder. He made his way past the abandoned super store, its food long since degraded and any other item caked in dust. Some of the hallow gram advertisements flickered on and off, their color long since dulled and the music coming out slow and deep. One sign stood out to him, just for a moment, the sign posted across the globe long long ago. "Become a Wall-E and save the world! Be taken care of and live for ETERNITY!"

Yato remembers his father, a biotechnical engineer who lost all faith in mankind. Who chose to stay far away from the rest of humanity- here on Earth- but remained human. He remembers being the first sucessful Wall-E test subject of his father's design. Outliving his creator and all the other Wall-E volunteers who later realized money is irrelevant as a cyborg without a government.

Nora made a soft noise and Yato gave her a small smile- covered by the oxygen mask- and continued on his way, his footsteps echoing in the empty city.

When they made it to the train tracks, Yato looked both ways out of habit, then made his way north. Walking down the tracks, Yato stood above 'The Graveyard'. A place where Wall-Es that forever stopped working were laid. Most of their organic bodies have eroded away, leaving behind their inorganic parts. The young woman he helped lay down decades ago, was a special friend to Yato. the last of the Wall-Es. Except for himself. Yato took a deep breath in, his filter has become more and more worn down by the particles.

The stairs creaked as Yato padded down them, dirt falling in an avalanche to the ground below. He silently and carefully weaved among the older remains, looking to take only what he needed. One mask looked hardly touched, so he pocketed his old one and quickly exchanged the new. It wasn't as if he lungs needed clean oxygen, but the filtration is what kept him going so long in the first place. The owner of this one, either ignored it in favor of their new 'immortality', or no longer wanted to live forever.

By now Yato had reached the old transit staion. Large bridges connected to tall stair cases that hovered over empty terminals, deep enough to fit a blue whale and long enough to fit the Empire State building. Twelve of these ports were lined up for this station, all empty without waiting for return. More advertisements flickered into action as the Wall-E went by. Nora hissed at the reassurance the audio gave as it showed family deals for the Outer Space Luxury Cruise Liner. Pictures of Yato's former colleges compressing the trash in the local dump flashed by in a promise for the humans to return to a better home.

As he walked through more advertisements popped up, one for the main cruise: "Heaven's Sun"- mostly just called Heaven-which would hold the majority of the upper class and the worker-bots like Yato, as well as the very first space branch military. It held promise of the best food, comfort, and entertainment out of all the other cruises. Heaven's Sun is lead in this flocks departure, with a captain and cyborg copilot.

Yato stared again at the picture as the advertisement kept glitching. The promise was for five years. It was well past that. Of course the planet wasn't cleaned up yet, so of course they weren't back. But Yato hasn't heard word from Heaven asking for an update, or if they were even coming back. Or even if they were still out there.

On his shoulder, Nora buzzed. Yato didn't look at her.

"Did I ever tell you my dad designed the copilot after he worked on me?"

Nora didn't answer. He had, many, many times. The two had long since run out of new things to talk about, other than Yato's dreams or things Nora found. The copilot stared back with glowing red eyes and a small smile, his hair a light brown color, it matched the dust that littered the atmosphere.

By the time Yato made it home, it was dusk. He lived in an old massive semi-trailer, modified to open only at the pull of a lever. The inside was also modified to have rotating shelves, in order to neatly hold all of Yato's findings and necessities. Odd shiny nicknacks tied together with string hung from the ceiling, along side Christmas lights and posters. The lamps and lights all connected flickered on once Yato flicked up a hanging switch.

Once the door was closed and the air filter was on, Yato tugged off the mask letting out a large sigh, hanging it up on a hook. He then took off his ascot and hung that up too, before letting his hair fall out of its tie. He then set down his cooler of goodies and opened it. First came the trash lid, which he placed with the other shinnies. Next came some Capybara land keychains- each wearing different color overalls and a crown- which went with the other small Capybara toys. He continued emptying the box, a lighter with other lighters, a glass bottle, a pink scarf.

He had a movie playing in the background, often playing it when he got ready for work in the morning but it was finished by the usual clock-out time. But today he had called it quits early, so the movie was on the final scene. The lady capybara and the man capybara having successfully made it to an island together, after a harrowing journey. Yato crept closer with shiny eyes. They sang a beautiful song of love, having made it through together because of it and now never having to be alone.

Yato numbly took out his iPod and hit record, placing it next to the TV's speaker. His eyes never leaving the screen. He watched them sing while gazing into each other's eyes, their hands held between them, twining together seamlessly. When they leaned in for a kiss, Yato's eyes got even bigger and his heart did a bittersweet dance.

The movie then faded to black and showed the names of humans that created it. He sighed again and clicked the television off, taking his iPod as he did so. Walking back towards the the door he opened it again, placing the mask back on as he did so. He then plopped down on the ramp and began shaking out his cooler, feeling the wind shift as he did.

Yato looked up as he dusted the box, and himself, off. The smog clearing so that the stars could be visible. It filled Yato with the same wispy feeling the movie did, so he pressed play on his new recording. It echoed off of the small round speaker just under his chin, filling his bones with the melody. That was until is mainframe sent an alert through it. The song cut out as the alarm blared though the night. His blue eyes quickly flickered back and forth, numbers and words flashing through his parifial.

His vision went red when he focused to the front of him, the words 'Weather Alert' and 'Danger' flashing. A massive dust cloud was barrelling towards his home at an alarming rate. This wasn't common, but it wasn't unheard of. Regardless, Yato quickly got back inside, calling Nora as he did so, and shut the door before any dirt could get in.

He wouldn't be able to go out for a while so, it was time to hit the sack. Yato gave Nora some food, eating some dry ramen as well, then made his way to the bare mattress in the far corner next to the TV. He flopped down and threw the blanket haphazardly over himself, ordering his system to set an alarm for the morning, then go into sleep mode. Yato was asleep instantly.

#In celebration of Yato Day #noragami #yato #yato day #yatogami #yukine #yaboku #hiyori #noragami family #noragami aragoto #yatori #wall-e #wall e #fanfic #fanfiction #AU

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sheepsandcattle · 5 years

Text

Chapter 9

“Benders!”

Both of their heads whipped around at once, zeroing in on a group of four men across the street, chuckling among themselves as they walked on.

“You what?” Brandon scowled at first, squaring up his shoulders as he jutted out his chin. “You know what they say, mate; it’s fags that can sniff ‘em out best.”

“Gaydar,” Curly had supplied, giggling mostly for show.

They’d heard it all before, been pushed about a few times for being a bit camp, but they were seventeen and drunk on a Tuesday afternoon and had no reason to take life too seriously. Besides, they’d found a long time ago that carelessness is contagious; most people that would take the piss would end up taking a shine to them if given the chance.

That day didn’t seem like one of those times though, because the poor bloke’s mates were cackling, shoving him playfully to keep him sweet, but he’d gone red in the face and looked over the road at them like he was thinking about crossing it. He’d said, pathetically, “fuck off,” but couldn’t think of much more.

“To be fair, mate, you’re a bit of me, you are,” Curly snorted, pointing across the road, back at him.

The stranger, still glaring as his mates chuckled (at least they knew how to have a laugh), looked like he was about ready to fire a comeback their way, but Curly already had Brandon bent over a bollard as he humped him from behind. Brandon did his best to wriggle away, but was too busy laughing too and couldn’t quite straighten himself out.

“Fucking rank,” the bloke scoffed, then added, “you’re sick,” as he stormed up the street in the other direction while Curly and Brandon stood doubled over, snorting and whooping with laughter as the red-faced wanker stomped off.

***

Curly’s never fancied a bloke in his life. That’s how he knows he’s not gay — and, trust, he’s had plenty of opportunities (mostly since he moved from home, actually) to dabble in all that shit, but it just doesn’t… It’s not…

But then he’s never really fancied a bird before, either and he’s had chances there, too. He’s just always felt a bit too immature to be thinking about getting himself a girlfriend so, honestly, he’s not quite sure what it’s meant to feel like to like someone in that way. All he does know is he hasn’t looked at Jordan and wanted to snog his face off or anything, which he knows is a bloody big part of it.

He can’t really say he looks at Jordan and sees him in any kind of way other than wildly bold and just a bit too cool for him. Maybe that’s all it is though; maybe he’s just chuffed because some fella he thought was cool at a party now seems to quite like him and it’s got him all giddy. But then, he supposes, straight guys don’t go on dates with guys because they ‘seem cool.’

“So you are gay?”

“What? No, I aren’t gay. I don’t want to shag the guy, m’just…” Curly huffs, stunted in thought as he forgets where exactly he was going with it in the first place.

“You’re just…” Lola smiles, amused. He doesn’t know what he just is, but she’s waiting patiently — for his conclusion or for him to find the tabs he’s trying to dig from his inside pocket as he speaks.

They only met tonight, at a party he came to with the sole purpose of dealing then fucking off, but ended up staying until now, 3am, to talk to this lass called Lola about a love life he’s never had but might have soon but also might not because he’s not gay and, in fact, might not ever have because he in’t straight either, so where does that leave him?

“Curious.” He shrugs, satisfied for only a moment before he adds, “about him. Curious about ‘im, not about my… Preference. Or whatever— Where the fuck are my drugs.”

“I told you. I’m sure I saw you sell the whole batch,” she insists for the third time in the past ten minutes. “You should keep better track of your stash, Curly.” She still says it like she’s testing it out, even after never having heard his real name. “Listen, I have these pills. You let me try a line for free, so I’ll share.”

And she does. Fuck knows what she shares, but she does, and Curly loses some time but ultimately ends up sat in the living room as he watches some bloke talk obliviously to his mate as a long, black, thousand-legged creature shines beneath the ceiling light as it scurries out of his right ear and down his face and neck, over his shoulder, down his front, exoskeleton creaking as is bends, down his trouser leg, growing longer and wider as is crawls…

“Fuck me,” he mumbles, reaching blindly to his right to grab Lola’s wrist, get her attention and ask, “what the fuck is coming out of that geezers—“

Lola just laughs, powder pink hair falling into her face as she multiples right there beside him. He’s about to comment on that, but then he’s distracted again anyway, back to the giant insect, and his eyes wider than the black hole in the ground that the creature crawls into before it closes back up again, beige carpet growing back over like ivy.

It’s the shortest but most intense hallucination he’s ever had.

***

“What are you on?” Jeff tries to frown but ends up laughing as Curls plops into the passenger seat of his car.

“I d’know mate. I didn’t ask,” Curly grumbles and buries his head between his legs, shutting his eyes because he’s about three wrong moves away from yoshing in on Jeff’s car mat. “I think I saw Beelzebub.”

Jeff scoffs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Buckle up.”

“Can’t.” He groans. “I’ve never in my life… esveranced—” Air gets trapped in his throat. ‘No,’ he thinks, ‘no sick in the car,’ and breathes.

“Esver-what?”

“These girls I met tonight,” Curly wines. “She was about fifty of them.”

“I have no idea what—“

He groans, head shaking in his hands. How is Jeff not understanding how mortifying this situation is? “Then this bloke ‘ad a thing in his ear an’ then the floor went. And I looked like a twat.”

His mate chuckles then and says, “well, yeah.”

“Have y’got milk in? I need coffee and maybe a… What’s them things with—“

“Sorry, pal, I may be your cabby but you’re not my lodger tonight. Couch is taken,” Jeff says as the car turns left and Curly falls sideways against the door. “And we thought J was wasted.”

“J,” he repeats and then slowly raises to sit back in his seat. All the streetlights smudge together. “Jordan, J?” Jeff hums and oh God, he can just see it now; Jeff going home and telling Dean about this, Jordan overhearing, all of them getting a right kick out of it. Jordan will never text him then because he’s a weirdo that gets high, has a gay crisis and sees the devil in strangers’ ears. “Don’t tell ‘im I’ve seen the Devil.”

“You got it, pal,” Jeff says.

"No, serious,” he insists as he flails his right arm before something flies out of his sleeve and onto the floor between his feet

“What the hell was that?”

He looks down, feels about until his hand touches plastic and he retrieves a small baggy. “Are you taking the piss,” he scoffs. He knew he never sold a whole batch.

***

“I’m telling you mate, I’ve never known anything like it.” Curly shakes his head, slouched back on the couch as Oscar presents him with a mug of coffee. “It -cheers- it lasted about thirty seconds; monsters; back holes; seeing doubles; everything, and then it was just… Done. Proper creepy.”

“You’re not cut out to be a drug dealer, Curly,” Jules mocks as he spreads out in the recliner. “You don’t have the self-discipline or tolerance.”

Oscar chuckles as he sits beside him on the couch. “Or the stomach for it, if the steps outside have anything to do with you.”

“Better than yoshing in the kitchen sink,” Curls shoots back, and Oscar can’t argue with that because, yep, that was fucking minging and Curly thanks his lucky stars often that it was Oscar and not him that clogged the sink with—

His phone buzzes as Jules goes on a rant about said sink fiasco, suddenly reliving the fury of that night, and Oscar has to defend himself all over again.

Curls digs his phone from his pocket, just glances at first to see— Fuck sake.

Jordan.

He knew that dickhead wouldn’t be able to keep his mouth shut and, although his dramatics left with the contents of his stomach last night meaning he’s not so convinced now that Jordan would cut him off over his drug-induced (un)holy experience, he’s positive he’s not going to enjoy reading whatever punchline the guy has about Curly’s antics. He’s heard how brutal Jordan can be.

15:24 - guess i’m texting first - game over

Oh. Oh, okay. Curly can feel himself grinning already, shit, and has to excuse himself to his bedroom because he can feel Oscar frowning over his shoulder and needs a minute to just… Smile like a twat. He perches on the edge of his bed, tries to think of something exciting to say but his mind is blank.

15:25 - youre a good sport

Is that funny or rude? Both? None? Should he have said ‘lol’ or is that not cool anymore? What if—

15:25 - 2 questions

Okay, fast replies. Curly likes that but also kinda needs time to gather his thoughts because apparently Jordan is even cool over text and he needs to work out how to match that and how not to make it obvious that he’s usually the type to use text-talk and excessive smileys.

15:27 - just no maths pls

15:28 - deal. 15:28 - 1. will you be free at 7pm friday?

15:31 - yep thats good for me!

“Curly your coffee,” Oscar calls through the door.

“In a minute,” he shouts back, maybe a little too harshly, but he’s too busy stressing over whether or not exclamation marks are stupid. “Sorry, just. Hang on.”

15:32 - cool 15:32 - 2. will beelzebub be free at 7pm friday? :(

Heat rushes to his face before he ever reads past ‘Beelzebub’ and he physically slams his phone into his mattress as he groans.

“Curls? You good? You sound like a dying—“

“I’m fine,” Curly groans as he lays back on top of the sheets. “I’ll be back out in a second,” he adds and feels for his phone.

15:35 - jeff will die.

#fs in the chat for our boy JEFF #Hope the texts werent confusing. italics = j. bold/italics = curls #Also 'I aren't gay' - i think that bad grammar might be a british thing but it was intentional lol #ch #ch9 #writing

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d-leviathan · 5 years

Text

Clock Is Ticking - Personal Pt. 2

72 hours to Blood Moon

He looks at the picture again. A young man killed in the most brutal way imaginable. And he’s seen crimes scenes like this before. Miles is no stranger to the horrors that come from living in Ashbourne. A vampire. He knows it had been the work of a vampire because of the amount of blood that had been drained from the bodies. How he ended up here, sitting outside this particular vampire’s home? Police work. Turns out that not even monsters can hide from the wonders of technology. He’s sitting behind his desk when he got the footage from the Miller’s security tape. No one else wanted to see it. No one else had the stomach to. So he did. Sat there and watched as this demon ripped through flesh and muscle. Screams of terror and horror on faces. A massacre. Miles felt sick to his stomach. It twisted and sank. And not even him, the watcher with the guts of steel, could stop the vomit from crawling up his throat. Reaching for the nearby trash can, he spilled scraps of his lunch and stomach acid.

Seems hard to believe, but arresting a vampire is not that easy. There should never be so much paperwork involved. Specially when there’s no doubt of who the culprit was. Perhaps this is where he fails. He tries to take matters into his own hands when it comes to these creatures. Because when he sees Andy’s head being severed from his body, all he can see is his Marie. And he knows that if arrested, the vampire would be trialed by the Council. He’d face vampire law and either end up incarcerated or burning in some hole moments after sunrise. And he can’t accept it. He makes a choice. He’s going to get him and kill him himself. But first, he needs to see him. Face him. Look into his eyes and watch him deny the whole thing. And that is why he is here. Sitting behind the wheel, holding a photograph, shaking and breathing heavily. He manages to gather his composure before knocking at his door and when he sees him, he knows that he wants this. Wants to make this vampire an example. Wants to tear that smirk right off his face with a butter knife and the fangs off his mouth.

“I’m on to you, vampire.”

42 hours to Blood Moon

He’s been following him. Following him as he visits his club. The vampire spends a lot of time in there. He makes notes of the people he interacts with. Vampires, mostly. He has a lover. A witch friend. Something she said makes him run out of Pandemonium in a haste and now he’s inside a building. Stays there for a few hours, then he’s off again. To a warehouse. Miles parks his car outside and waits. There is a sinking feeling in his gut now. And it’s only made worse when he sees the vampire step outside covered in blood. He’s calling someone, but he can’t hear what he’s saying. Sadly, he possesses no vampire hearing. Miles takes his gun, loads it with wooden bullets and steps out of the car. The cold breeze hitting his face makes the sweat on his brow feel like ice. Still on the phone. The Watcher moves slowly around the building, finding a small crawl space he can use to get inside. He finds him there. A man, strapped to a chair, blood covering every inch of his skin and clothes. Still alive.

“Hey, it’s going to be alright.” Voice low and reassuring. The victim is scared, trembling, looking at him with wide eyes that made his chest cave in. “I’m going to get you out of here.” Miles uses one of his knifes to break the ropes and untie him, lifts him up, and wraps one arm around him for support. His free arm holds the gun, and he aims ahead, ready to shoot at anything that might jump at him.

22 hours to Blood Moon

But that is life, right? One moment you’re standing there, shooting your gun at a shadow that moves too fast for your human eyes. And the next you’re waking up with blood dripping down your throat. Dizzy. Sick. Your heart pumping in your throat. Miles hears noises in the distance. It strikes him like a hand across the face– or maybe there really is someone slapping him– and his stomach sinks with dread as he is ripped back into the here-and-now. Malachi Thorn. He remembers now. He clenches his eyes shut, trying to get some of his consciousness back, but it isn’t doing jack. He tries to move his arms and legs, but the only result is a sickening jangle of chains. This is bad, this is so bad– as his thoughts are getting more and more lucid the situation he’s in feels more and more helpless. He’s in some dank and dusty building, tied up, and with a sadistic vampire. Sick bastard looked like a dog with a goddamn bone. A caustic mix of helplessness and fear wells up inside him, but Miles does his best to force it back down and not show any emotion. It’d be a flag to a bull.

“Where is he?” He has to know. The man he tried to save. At least he needs to know that he had saved him. That his stupid reckless behavior had saved someone. “Don’t worry, he’s gone. I don’t need him anymore. Besides, he has someone. And who am I to stand in the way of true love.” The vampire speaks but his words are so cold and full of sarcasm that makes his skin crawl. It felt like he was being pistol whipped across the face. This is his fault. His fault for wanting his revenge instead of seeking justice. “What do you want? Are you going to kill me?” Of course he is. The question is so stupid that he finds himself laughing moments after asking it. He wants to punch the vampire in the face, but he can barely move or breathe. Then the vampire speaks again, saying something about needing his heart, which doesn’t make sense. Then his thought is cut off as he sinks his teeth into his neck. Miles gasps with the bite, a fresh, searing pain there. All he can do is choke, hoping it would be over soon. His eyes fall close, consciousness leaving him, his last thought on who will find him.

The first few seconds of dying are the most terrifying. In that small amount of time, a million things take place. First, you panic. Automatically, your brain realizes you're suffocating, causing your breathing and heart rate to increase to a painfully fast speed. You feel the uncontrollable need to scream even when you know you won't be heard. Immediately after the panic attack, once the fear is set in, you get used to the idea of dying. The alerts your brain is sending out are discontinued and your mind begins to wander. Heart beat drastically decreases, breathing becomes slow and shallow. Your entire body relaxes and the prospect of death doesn't look so bad. It's almost inviting, soothing.

The last few moments are filled with silence. You take one last breath and your body and mind shut down as you slip off the edge of life and fall towards death.

Unless-

Your fall is interrupted

15 hours to Blood Moon

He’s so hungry. So, so hungry. And his skin feels like it’s catching fire. Liquifying from the inside. Everything hurts. Every nerve. Every muscle. His eyeballs are burning and he can feel the blood in his mouth. He wants to rip his flesh from his bones. “What is happening to me?” He knows the answer. He’s in transition. He’s turning. Into a vampire. No, please just let me die. The last thing he wants is to be one of them. He closes his eyes but he finds no comfort. He swears he can hear things. Voices. His daughter calling him in the distance. A coarse laughter pulling him. There’s a buzzing sound, like an insect has crawled inside his ear and is scratching his ear canal. And somewhere in that chaos he can hear him. Malachi. His voice sounds contorted. Like it has been put through a synthesizer. “Yeah, it hurts. Furorem blood can do that to you. Sorry mate, but I’m running out of time.”

Fuck! He can’t stand it. He wants to reach into his stomach and pull out his organs. His gums ache and he can feel his fangs there. And he’s screaming and wrenching and holding on his mid-section with both hands. “Please, make it stop.” Just make it stop. He doesn’t want this. He can’t. He knows that he won’t make it. He’d take a wooden stake and impale himself on it the first chance he gets.

But he won’t have such a choice.

He hears an echo. Marie telling him to come home. And Malachi’s hands cold against his face. His neck cracks and there’s darkness.

#personal #blood tw #violence tw #also changed his fc to his original one

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fieldsofview · 6 years

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Day 18 AU Yeah August: Circus - “Answer Me”

You can read this on AO3 and all my other ML fics here.

Summary: Alya tries to find answers when at the magic circus of mysteries, but everyone is cryptic and unresponsive. She'll do everything she can to get her big break and show everyone that she's a true reporter. (Very loosely inspired by The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern)

I haven't read The Night Circus since I was 14, so this isn't really compliant with that universe. Mostly just strongly inspired by the magic and whimsy of a mysterious circus appearing in the night. If you haven't read that book, it's totally fine. If you have, let me know how close/far off I was!

Alya had seen many traveling shows and circuses come through her town, and none of them had ever been anything special. With their novelty toys, animal cruelty, and creepy clowns, she’d decided that she never needed to see another circus again. Her town was only a short drive outside of Paris, and its abundance of wide open fairgrounds and parks made the perfect stopping point for these groups to set up shop for weeks on end. She usually couldn’t wait for the first winter chills to come sweeping through and send them packing.

This circus though, well, this was different. This was Le Cirque Disparaître. Le Cirque Mystérieux. La Nuit Joyeuse. This was the circus of rumors, of myths, and above all, Alya knew she was not going to miss it.

Just like the rumors always said, the tents formed in the middle of the night. No one saw anyone new enter or leave town, the fence constructed, or the tents being put upright. There were no flyers or billboards, no noises from the grounds, and nothing on any social media. Alya was always skeptical of those things, especially given the age of the internet and cell phones, but there was apparently nothing, not even security footage from the nearby gas station.

During the day the fairgrounds were deserted. No one could be seen through the fence posts milling about or preparing anything. Only as the sun started to set did people come out in their costumes, firing up the food vendor stations near the main entrance. The ticket booth started accepting payment just as the sky was turning pink, but no one was allowed through the entrance until after the last of the sun’s light faded below the horizon.

There was no way Alya was going to miss this. She was going to document everything and post it straight to her blog as soon as she could. Then those agencies would see. She’d wave her proof in their faces for all the rejections.

She would finally get out of this little town.

Alya could see the flickering of the lanterns in the distance as she trekked across the grounds to the entrance. A seemingly endless set of vintage-style pop-up tents peppered the landscape, all of varying sizes. The tents were all black with white accents, some spotted, striped, or splattered. The ground turned from the dead and dying grass to a soft, plush, leaf covered moss as she approached the gates. Strange for this time of year.

After Alya bought her ticket, she made her way through the crowd hovering near the entrance. The breeze cut through her coat and she hugged her scarf closer to her neck. She pulled her hair down from its braid and tossed it into her usual wild mess of curls, hoping for a little extra warmth.

With her camera out, she took as many photos as she could, of tents, the crowd, and the booths. She pushed her way to the edges of the main crowd and moved further into the sea of tents. With her phone, she took a quick selfie and then a video spinning 360 degrees from her spot. In her excitement, she slipped both devices into her bag and decided to explore for a while.

She slipped into the first tent, one of the largest and situated right near the front of the park. Inside, she couldn’t believe her eyes. She took a few steps forward and stared.

Inside, the walls of the tent seemed to disappear. The ground was plush mossy grass covered with bright summer flowers. Trees sprouted up on either side of her, growing into a thicker forest in front of her. Insects buzzed all around and the air felt warm and damp. She saw many other people enter where she did, but as she stepped forward many of them were blocked from her view by the trees. The canopy of the tent couldn’t be seen, only the thick leaves of the trees acted as a roof.

In front of her were some stepping stones made of dark wood that formed a path through the trees. Alya followed them in awe, brushing her fingers along the tree trunks as she walked.

The path led her up from the ground, turning into an elaborate series of wooden walkways and platforms. She could see a few people milling about in the distance, all on other parts of the walkways or still on the ground, but the tent went on beyond her eye’s reach, and from the people she’d seen enter, there had to be so much more unexplored area.

As she walked along a path surrounding the base of a particularly large tree, a ladybug flew straight towards her, perching on her glasses. For a moment she didn’t realize what it was and danced out of the way, but the bug clung on. She lifted her finger to the edge of her glasses and let it crawl into her hand. She kept walking, but her gaze was fixed on this bug that didn’t want to leave her no matter what she did. She pulled her camera from her bag long enough to snap a picture of it perched on her thumbnail.

In fact, she was so fixated on this bug, she barely registered a pair of shoes in front of her face before she could dodge them.

Alya spun herself around in a wide circle, half-crouched. Her whirlwind of hair blocked some of her vision, but she was able to straighten on the other side of these shoes after a moment’s breath.

Looking up, she saw that the shoes weren’t alone but rather were attached to a voluminous pile of black skirts. At first, she couldn’t see much past the layers of fabric, but the girl wearing them leaned over her knees and showed herself.

Her dark hair was pinned up in an elegant bun, with glittering jewels dusting the loose tendrils. Her face was pale, and her eyes gleamed bright blue behind her dark mask. Her entire outfit was black, except for the red ribbon weaving through her hair and a glittering red jewel set in the hollow of her throat. She watched Alya from her perch on one of the low hanging branches, and for quite a few breaths they stared in silence.

“Could you watch where you put your feet, lady? I’d rather not get kicked in the head.” Alya huffed in annoyance and straightened her coat from where it had twisted around herself.

“My friend likes you. I wonder why.” The girl continued to watch her, eyed locked on where the ladybug stayed crawling on Alya’s hand. How did it stay there all this time?

“Did you hear me? You nearly kicked me? I could have been concussed.”

In a flurry of bouncing black skirts, the girl jumped from her perch and landed on the walkway in front of Alya. She held her hand out and the ladybug flew over to her. The bug crawled up her arm and settled on her shoulder. “What do you think of my creation?” She gestured around them.

Alya took a step back, creating some space between them. “You made this place? It’s beautiful. Would you mind giving me a statement?” She held out her phone to record.

The girl giggled, “That won’t work here, but you may try if you must.”

Alya started recording and asked, “What’s your name? How did you create this tent? It seems to go on forever.”

“Here, I don’t have a name, although,” she rested a hand on her collar, not far from the bug’s perch, “You may call me Ladybug. I create many things. This tent is for those who need something they have not found elsewhere.”

“How did you get here? How long will the circus be here? Can you show me how you created this tent?”

“I could show you if you like, but, I think there is another path for you.” Ladybug started walking away, stepping down a stairway back to the ground.

“Wait, Ladybug!” Alya quickly followed after her, trying to keep her phone at an appropriate height for filming her face. “Why can’t you show me? The world needs to know. I need to know.” She nearly slipped on a slippery moss covered stone. Grabbing onto a nearby branch to catch herself, she watched as Ladybug moved further and further away.

Ladybug seemed nearly gliding along the path now. As she grew more and more hidden by the trees, she called over her shoulder, “Make your way to the Golden Girl when you are ready. You should find what you need.” Before Alya could reach her, she was gone.

Alya tried rushing down the path, but no matter how far she ran there was no sign of Ladybug. Eventually, Alya started walking, and then she started grumbling, and then she started complaining about being lost in this stupid, nonsensical forest.

A forest this big could never have fit into the space the tent occupied, and it wouldn’t feel this empty when so many people had been seen entering.

Not more than a few minutes after, Alya started seeing people. And then she saw the flickering lights of the entrance. She rushed towards the opening, nearly bowling over a few people in her rush.

Bursting through the entrance, the first thing that hit her was the chill. Then the noise of the crowd flooded back to her ears and the smells of the vendors. This side of the tent was unfamiliar to her, though she could see where she originally entered in the distance.

Pulling her scarf tight again, she contemplated leaving now, but she still wanted as much information for her blog as possible.

Turning away from the Ladybug tent, she trudged further into the park. There were people milling about here, but the crowd had thinned and it was easier to see the different tents around. She almost went into a few, but she decided to heed Ladybug’s words and first try to find this ‘Golden Girl’.

It didn’t take long. Not 100 meters from where she exited Ladybug’s tent there was a brightly glinting golden statue of a girl standing on a pedestal. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders in waves. While one hand held the topmost layer of her voluminous skirt, the other pointed upwards in the sky. Her gaze followed her own hand upwards. Everything about her was golden, from her dress to her skin to her hair.

Alya stood at the edge of the small crowd fascinated with the statue. She wasn’t sure how this was supposed to give her what she was looking for, but she took a few photos all the same.

Alya wasn’t expecting the statue to move.

The statue’s head turned to face Alya where she stood, and their eyes met. In one fluid motion, the Golden Girl took her hand from where it was aimed skywards and pointed it towards the entrance of one of the other tents. It stayed frozen, staring at Alya until she started to walk towards the tent. Only then did the statue return to its previous position.

This tent was smaller than Ladybug’s – at least from the outside – but it was larger than many of the other tents around. With moving statues and fantastical forests, Alya really wanted to get some answers.

She pushed her way into the tent and marched forward, but she regretted it a moment later. As the flaps of the tent closed behind her, she was encased in near total darkness. The room was eerily silent, the noise from outside was muffled beyond recognition. In front of her lay a sea of floating crystals – the only light in the room.

She walked up to the nearest one, holding her hand to it. The dim light reflected against her palm but didn’t reach even to her wrist.

She waved her hand around it in every direction, trying to figure out how it was suspended like that. No matter which way she put her hand, she could feel no string, no post, nothing connected in any way.

When she touched it, it felt cool. It gave some resistance, but it moved to where she pushed. It did not swing back into place as if on a pendulum, or slide back like on a pulley. It merely rested where she left it. She tried examining a few of the other crystals to no avail. They all reacted the same.

Making her way through the tent was difficult. The darkness was so thick that even as her eyes tried to adjust, she couldn’t see herself in the space, and each step felt like stepping off into an abyss.

She knew her camera wouldn’t be able to take photos in such low light, so she started to record her voice on her phone and dictate what she saw. She spent a few moments cautiously stepping through the sea of crystals and dictating in a low voice.

“Those don’t work here.”

Alya jumped and spun around looking for the owner of the voice. She pushed a wave of the crystals away in her haste. The voice had come from right next to her ear, but she couldn’t see anyone in the darkness. She called out, “Who’s there?”

She could see the flash of a hand in the glow of one of the crystals. A pace away she caught the tails of a tux. And after another pace, a face came into view. His green eyes glowed as he peered into one of the larger crystals, and his black mask sparkled – not unlike the one Ladybug wore earlier. He held his hand to the crystal and ran his finger around the edge.

Alya took a step back and watched him. “I was told you could give me answers.”

“No my dear, I believe you were told that I could show you what you need.”

Alya scoffed, “Same thing. I need information about this place for my blog. It’ll be my big break!”

“What do you think of this room?” He stepped away from the crystal he had been examining and disappeared into the shadows.

“It’s interesting. How do you get them to move like that and stay suspended? Magnets?”

The man’s laugh resounded loudly. “You can put that away now, it’s no use here,” he gestured to her phone – it was still recording.

Alya clutched her phone tighter and didn’t move. She didn’t know where he was now in the room. “What’s your name?”

“Call me Chat Noir.”

Alya whirled around to face behind herself where his voice came from. “How does the circus work?”

Right next to her ear, he said, “I cannot help you.”

She jumped and stepped back. She still couldn’t see him anywhere. “Stop that! It’s creepy.”

He laughed and he laughed, eventually saying, “Good luck, but you won’t find your answers like that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Alya was met with silence. “Chat Noir?” After letting a minute pass with no response, she decided to leave the tent. He obviously didn’t want to help her, and whether or not he was still in the tent, she had no idea.

She shuffled her way through the crystals until there were no more in front of her, and she soon felt the fabric of the tent under her fingers. Following the wall sideways, her fingers caught on the edge where a thin sliver of light could be seen. She pushed and was surrounded again by the bright lights and loud noises of the crowd. Though the fairgrounds were lit only by lantern, it was so bright to her and she stood there for a moment to let her eyes adjust.

Frustrated and unsure of what to do next, she decided to look through all of the photos and video she’d taken so far this evening. She sat down with her back to one of the tents.

She didn’t think it was possible for nearly every photo to be ruined.

On her camera roll, every single photo was unusable. Some were completely black, some blurry beyond recognition, and some said that the file was corrupted and unreadable. Her phone wasn’t much better. The only photo that came out clear was the selfie she took at the very beginning, and even that one had an overexposed background that was nearly white. The video she took was all corrupted. The visuals were completely black, and the audio was garbled and full of static. It was possible to hear things she said occasionally, but everything else was white noise.

Alya pushed back tears of frustration. Throwing her camera and her phone into her bag, she pushed herself up and marched into the nearest tent.

Alya didn’t take much notice of the room, only that there were no patrons, and a man in a mask sat across the room. She strode right up to him and said, “Look here mister, I don’t know what everyone is trying to get at but I’ve had it! Your little friends have been nothing but dead ends and I need answers. I’m not leaving until I know everything about this place!”

He smiled at her. “Hello Miss Cesaire.”

When he said her name, she stepped back in surprise. “How do you know my name?” He didn’t say anything else, so she looked around as she collected her thoughts.

This tent was smaller than many of the others. Inside the walls were layered with fabric in many shades of green and black. The light in here was brighter than outside, with a ring of lanterns strung to the top of the tent. There was a small table to the side of the room with two chairs. One of these chairs is where the man sat.

He was dressed in a dark suit. The fabric seemed black at first glance, but when he shifted and caught the light it was actually a very deep green. Though he had a mask across his face as well, this one was much simpler than the ones Alya had seen on Ladybug and Chat Noir.

“Well?” She asked. “How do you know my name? What can you tell me about this place? Why is everyone here so cryptic? Why won’t my phone and camera work?”

“Will you dance with me?” He stood from his seat and held out a hand to her.

Alya groaned in frustration and shoved her hands in her hair, tugging harshly. She felt the need to ground herself. “Why won’t anyone here answer me?” She nearly shouted at him.

“Will you not dance with me?” He gently coaxed her hand from her hair and held it in his own.

She dropped her bag to the ground with a thud and held out her other hand. “If it’ll get you to answer a damn question, sure. What more do I have to lose?” She looked into his honey brown eyes and waited, but her resolve faded under his gaze. “I –uh, well. I can’t dance though.”

He laughed and took her hands in his. Sliding one to his shoulder, he held her closely around her waist and danced. He spun them in circles so quickly that Alya felt she could barely keep her feet beneath her. Her hair fanned around her and her scarf slipped from her neck. The walls blurred behind her, and to stop from feeling sick she kept her focus close. She examined the subtle embroidery stitched into his suit coat and her hand on his shoulder slipped down to touch it.

Eventually, his laughter infected her too. She laughed as she felt the room spin and her stomach filled with excitement. Her head felt light from the movement and her frustrations melted away. Maybe that was the point?

He slowed their dancing and their laughter faded, but Alya could still see the smile on his face. She could feel the twinge in her cheeks from smiling so long.

“Call me Carapace, Miss Cesaire.”

Alya wasn’t sure what to say. She looked down at her shoes, only to see the floor meters below them. Somehow, they were dancing on thin air as if it were solid. She shut her eyes tight and waited to fall but it never came. After a while, she opened them again and looked to Carapace. “What is this place?”

He pulled her even closer, though Alya hadn’t thought it possible, and asked, “Would you like me to show you? Would you like to join us?”

Alya thought about her blog and her tiny apartment and everyone that thought she’d never make it in the world of journalism. She thought about her time here and her friends away on their own adventures and being stuck in this godforsaken town. She thought about the magic and the mystery and the unanswered questions. She thought.

“Yes.”

#mlauyeahaugust #au yeah august #alya cesaire #Circus au #fantasy au #alya cesaire/carapace #carapace #jade turtle #ladybug and chat noir #day 18

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twowish · 6 years

Text

Chapter 1: Your Ride is Here

Two wishes: that's what everyone gets. Make one at twelve, one at twenty-four, and at twenty-five, one of them would finally be granted.

But what did a twelve-year-old know about wishing for a twenty-five-year-old?

Noelle just wanted to fly.

So, as she neared twelve and it was soon time to make her first wish, that was her simple request. Others her age planned to ask for far more fantastical things, like super strength or the ability to manipulate plant life, so Noelle often felt like her wish was inadequate. Her parents and other adults didn't help in this regard with their gentle advice to ask for something practical; something that might secure her future, like mathematical genius.

But wishes had to be genuine or they'd be rejected, and for Noelle nothing was more honest than her desire for flight.

The entire wish making process was difficult, scary, and exciting. Or, at least, everything leading up to it was. It comprised a lot of playground talk, and older children would tell younger ones stories of the monster that hears your wishes. Others said it was a ghost, some said alien, her own grandmother once told her it was probably god. It's name varies from place to place, but its most common one is The Avis. You only speak to this being to make your wishes; twice you’d be in its presence and no more. Wars had been fought and religions had been formed in The Avis's name.

Noelle thought she'd know for sure what it was once she'd made her first wish, but instead she only came to understand why it was so undefinable.

At the exact hour of the start of her twelfth year, it happens. At 9:13AM she was sitting in the backseat of her parents car on the way to a birthday camping trip, a new scarf her mother had crocheted sitting in her lap. It had one big, light blue stripe, another yellow one, and a smaller white one separating them. It reminded her of a sunny day. She’d only had it since her mother completed it at 9:02, and handed it to her from the front of the car, but already it was her most favorite possession. Her hands were still lovingly petting it when at 9:14 she falls into a trance.

It's dark and there's nothing around her, but she knows someone - or something - is there. However, this isn't terrifying, but rather, comforting. A voice somehow speaks to her without making a sound. She can't tell if it's male or female, or if it's even human. It's familiar, yet strange. It's everywhere, but nowhere, and still there is nothing to see but darkness.

It's time. What is your first wish? The Avis asks.

Noelle hesitates. This is her last chance to change her mind. What else could she ask for? She'd once heard that someone had wished to go back in time to see their dog that had suddenly passed away. A boy in the grade above her told her that time requests were rarely granted, but possible. Should she ask for that? Her grandmother died last year. Surely even at twenty-five she'd want to see her grandmother again.

No. You cannot wish for that. The voice says, reading her thoughts.

Another lie the older kids had told her then. Panic is starting to creep in as Noelle scrambles for more ideas. She'd finally come to terms with what she wanted, but now that she was in the moment, her doubts are overbearing.

What were the rules? Because, of course, there must be rules; to wish for anything at all would be chaos. Could she remember all the rules? Which ones were even true? Which ones could be bent? You can't wish harm, you can't wish to rule, you can't change the course of history, you could wish for something for someone else but those were truly rare, you can't wish to-

You know what you want. The Avis interrupts her thoughts. Say it.

"I wanna fly!" Noelle blurts out. And it's true. She doesn't care how it happens, be it wings, levitation, floating, a jetpack, anything. This wish was the truth and it was the one she'd come back to time and time again, so how could she ever say anything else?

Accepted.

She opens her eyes and she’s back in the car with her parents. Her mother welcomes her back with a smile as bright as the scarf in her hands. Noelle smiles back, feeling relieved and grownup. She’d finally made her first wish.

At 9:24 there is an accident. So much is lost in those few moments, including Noelle’s desire to fly.

____

One month before her twenty-fifth birthday, Noelle stands outside what was formerly her apartment. Now, like the job she quit and the possessions she sold, it's nothing but a shell she's leaving behind. Years of work and research have led to this. Nothing left now, but the money she's carefully collected and items she decided to keep in an overstuffed backpack hanging on one shoulder. The ends of her scarf blow in the wind and she pulls her jacket closer to her.

This was it; she was finally going to do this. How many times had she imagined what this moment might be like? Sometimes it felt like she couldn’t wait to set her plans into motion, and other times she wondered if she could really go through with it at all. Right now she feels both of those things. There’s a nauseating combination of anticipation and anxiety crawling up her spine as she looks about this Seattle street one last time.

It’s busy, as always, with people hustling about. Noelle watches two men standing on the sidewalk opposite her. One was much older, while the other looked about her age. Suddenly the older one dissolves before her eyes, his form fizzling out in a cloud of lights. Then the lights reform and the man is standing beside her, already placing his hands around his mouth and yelling to the younger one, “Now you try!” A grandfather showing his grandson how to use his newly granted teleportation abilities. Funny how often members of the same family would wish for the same things.

The man across the street looks hesitant, his shoulders high and tense. Then, with a look of great concentration, he too dissolves...

And reappears atop a car stopped at a red light in the middle of the road, missing his mark.

The window of the car rolls down and the driver’s head pokes out. The woman begins berating the man standing on the roof of her car and as she does so, her neck continues to elongate, stretching out from the window until she’s face to face with him. He quickly climbs off the vehicle, nearly falling, and retreats to the sidewalk where his grandfather is standing. The woman’s head, still glaring at the pair of them, recoils back inside as the light turns green and she drives away.

There’s a shadow above Noelle and she glances up to see a slim woman flying by, her insect-like wings iridescent and translucent in the sun. Noelle reflexively looks away. Flying is a common wish, but it still irks her every time she sees it. Couldn’t her twelve-year-old self have wished for anything else? She’d even take a boring wish, like being incredibly good at doing taxes, over flight. But, that’s why she’s here, right?

She grabs her phone from her pocket, presses a button, and the screen brightens. A still frame of a man stares back at her - a video she’d paused earlier. His eyes are exceptionally friendly and warm, as is his smile. He’s got long dreadlocks tied back behind his head and he’s wearing his signature galaxy print shirt. In front of him is a painting of a bright orange and yellow bird - mercifully perched and not flying. His hands are frozen over the canvas in mid-sweep of a brushstroke.

Only a few seconds left on the video. Noelle hits play, and his hand continues its motion.

“Just one step at a time,” the man says, the words popping up in closed captions. His voice is smooth, soothing, and calming, though she can’t hear it after leaving the quietness of her apartment. Still, she could imagine it in her head perfectly - she’d listened to him so many times.

The man’s username below the video is Quasar. He’s known for making videos that have an almost sedative effect. In each he talks slowly, but confidently to the viewer while doing artistic activities like painting or sculpture. His movements are always precise and fluid, with every brushstroke always seeming to go right where he intends.

They might seem silly, but the videos are extremely popular, making Quasar nearly a household name. Plus, they were good for easing anxiety or insomnia.

There’s a rumor that he’s an Augur - someone granted a wish early at the age of twelve. For Augurs, the wish is always the same: the power of persuasion. Noelle had heard that they can convince anyone to do anything, though she’s never seen this firsthand. She’s never even met one; most haven’t. They are extremely rare with only two or three alive at any one time. When one passes, another is born somewhere.

They’re said to have a special connection to The Avis, and many of them become religious leaders. For as much as Quasar’s videos have developed a cult-like following, he isn’t that.

Still, people swear up and down that Quasar’s calming videos are the result of him being an Augur. Maybe he’d merely wished for internet fame, and this was how it manifested. Surely if he were truly an Augur, it would be more widely known. She would know, given all the digging she’s done on them.

Though the videos calm her, they do not always have the same effect on her compared to her aunt, who’d recommended them. High-strung aunt Darcy would be completely mellowed out after a couple Quasar videos. Noelle was mostly just more able to focus or at least reassured. Relaxed yes, but not quite the zen state aunt Darcy achieved.

Regardless, Noelle’s grateful for the videos and watches them on occasion when she's anxious, like now. Most things she could keep a level head about, but this? This trip and what it means? How can she not be nervous about that?

She’s going to ensure the wish she’d made at twelve will not be granted. It had taken years to get here, all to make sure she will never fly.

Flying. She chased away the images of the woman who’d buzzed by earlier. Sometimes even if she so much as thought too hard about heights or flight she’d shiver. Nightmares where she endlessly falls are frequent. Sometimes it’d make it hard to sleep - another instance where Quasar’s videos came in handy.

“One step at a time,” the mini Quasar on her phone screen continues, “and we’ll get there. Don’t matter how long it takes. All that matters is that we get there.”

The video concludes and Noelle returns to the home screen. Right, one step at a time. Now, it’s time to take the first step in her plan.

Inhaling, Noelle opens an application called Fun Ride Timez. A map appears with a pin on her location. Tapping through options, she requests the nearest car to take her as far as the app will allow.

A notification pops up. Your ride's on its way! Your driver's name is Felix. A tiny virtual car begins moving towards her pin on the screen. The driver's name sits below the map along with a countdown to his arrival. Noelle taps on the name and scrolls through the reviews left on the driver's profile. His rating is two stars out of five. It doesn't look good.

Literally the worst Fun Ride Timez driver there is.

I dunno. He's ok.

This man has an actual wild animal in the car with him.

How is he still a driver? See this is why no one uses FRT.

Omg that last person called it FRT. I can't believe how close that is to fart. I never realized. Anyway, yeah, this guy is a disaster.

Yeah he's just bad. He's got like a possum or something with him. Or is it opossum?

I earn $4435 a week working from home! Follow the link to find out how!

The only music he would play was Belinda Carlisle and Cyndi Lauper... I asked if he had anything else at all and he made me get out of the car.

I jumped out of the car. While it was moving.

Well these people are all just awful! I had a fine time and I enjoyed the music. This was the music I listened to when I was his age! He reminds me of my son.

He went into waaaay too much detail on what's involved in operating on a dog's eye and I was made to be very uncomfortable.

Just cancel your ride and find another driver.

No, not good at all, but maybe this was useful. Truthfully she's going to need someone desperate. With these reviews and ratings, people probably often cancel rides on him, so maybe he'd be willing to take her up on her offer. She'd rather not continually switch cars and drivers, so if she can manage it, she's going to convince this one to take her further than her specified location. The less shuffling around she has to do, the better.

The problem was convincing. She could lie - make up some more believable story that would enlist some stranger in her meticulously planned road trip - but, she’d never been good at lying.

“Ah, Noelle,” she heard the memory of her aunt Darcy say in her head. “So pragmatic you are, just like your mother, my sister.”

Aunt Darcy raised her after the accident - a feat she wasn’t always prepared for. Her aunt is awkward, but friendly; always outgoing, even if everyone around her is staring at her oddly. She’s so bubbly and strange, like a drink flavor you weren’t sure should be carbonated. Noelle adores her, despite the fact that she’s always comparing her to her deceased parent.

The phrase “your mother, my sister,” begins so many conversations with aunt Darcy. She says the words so often they’ve lost their meaning. They feel like a royal title her aunt has bestowed on her beloved lost sister - a sister that she insists Noelle is so very like.

Noelle doesn’t mind the comparison, but she wonders how much of it is true. Her memories of her mother are bright and cheery and Noelle often doesn’t feel that way, even if her hair is as sunshine yellow as Your Mother, My Sister.

Aunt Darcy is a librarian, and, how could she not be with the wish she was granted? She can call books to her and they fly towards her open hand with amazing speed. She can put them back in their proper place in much the same way. She sashays around the library with her huge glasses and purple shawl (another crocheted gift from Your Mother, My Sister) sending books this way and that.

She is, unfortunately, a bit clumsy with this gift. The other librarians set up warning signs when aunt Darcy is working. They urge patrons to watch their heads lest they get smacked with a book.

Noelle had spent so much time growing up in that library - It’s where her plans for this day had begun.

Aunt Darcy’s wish also made her a proficient researcher - a beneficial side effect. She can track down just about any info you please and Noelle used this to her advantage, despite protests.

“Ah, Noelle,” another Aunt Darcy catchphrase. “You know, even if you get wings you could just stay grounded! Is all this really necessary? Maybe we could work on finding ways to... come to terms with this instead? No? Ha! Still as stubborn as your mother, my sister. Alright, what you’re looking for should be here.”

Aunt Darcy is supportive, always, even if she doesn’t fully understand, like when it came to Noelle’s love of horror movies. She’d cover her eyes throughout almost entire run times, but she’d take her niece anyway. Every subtitled showing of the latest gory scare fest, they’d be there.

There was a third thing the accident had taken besides her parents and will to fly: Noelle is nearly deaf in her right ear.

She’s worn a hearing aid for years, which helps, but it’s still nowhere near the same as before the accident. In quiet places, like her aunt’s library, it’s easier. There, she can focus, hear, and usually make out what people are saying. Crowds, loud machinery, and noisy scenes like this busy street are more difficult.

Aunt Darcy had taken notice of her frustrations early on. By now, Noelle’s fully adapted to being hard of hearing, but this adjustment wasn’t always easy, especially not at first. Classmates were less than understanding, often telling her that she now “talked too loud,” and they grew tired of repeating themselves for her.

One day in the library after school, her aunt came and sat with her at the table where she’d been reading. Aunt Darcy placed a paper on the table and gently slid it towards her, giving her a thoughtful look. “Would you like to do this? We can both enroll.” Aunt Darcy learned to be easy to understand in a way that wasn’t condescending - always facing Noelle, and always at her normal speaking pace - no exaggerated slowness or yelling her words the way the children at school did on the playground or in the cafeteria.

Noelle picked up the paper. It was an ad for American Sign Language classes.

This opened up a new way for her and her aunt to communicate. It was another in a new box of tools she was learning to use. She’d utilize different things depending on the situation, be it spoken word, sign language, text, or pen and paper. Her aunt would watch her for clues on how she felt like communicating at any given moment and respond accordingly. If her aunt were here now, they probably would have signed amid all the noise.

But Aunt Darcy is nowhere near here. She’d stayed back in her library, while Noelle had gone off to college in Seattle. School might have gone better if it weren’t for the one thing that was always on Noelle’s mind: thwarting this wish.

That had become obsession to the point that she ignored schoolwork. She’d done much the same throughout high school too, but that seemed somehow easier to manage. While at college, she’d reached a breakthrough and she had to follow through with it, no matter what the cost, even school. In any case, there would be time for that later.

She’d stayed in Seattle even after dropping out - it was crucial to what she’d found. She got a small apartment and took whatever jobs she could find working from home, carefully planning and saving money in preparation.

All of this - everything - has led to the silver car coming to a stop in front of her now. Her phone vibrates with a new notification. Your ride is here!

Noelle takes one steadying breath. She’s ready for this.

She opens the door and is greeted by the voice of Cyndi Lauper loudly singing, “Flashback, warm nights. Almost left behind. Suitcases of memories-” The driver inside turns off the music.

Noelle begins climbing into the car, but the driver doesn’t look at her. He stays staring straight ahead, and says in a bored tone that she strains to make out while the door’s open, “Hello and thank you for choosing Fun Ride Timez. I’m your driver, Felix, and- okay you’re sitting in the front seat. I guess that’s happening.”

Noelle moves a bag, a water bottle, and other assorted items to the back, so she can sit properly in the front passenger side. She shoots him a perturbed look at his not so friendly greeting, but he still hasn’t turned his gaze toward her. She closes, the door, making sure not to shut it on her scarf.

She knew the items in the seat were meant to discourage passengers from sitting there, but sitting up front with him might make it easier to correctly hear him. She could have sat in the back and tried to catch any missed words by reading his lips in the rearview mirror, but that was always so exhausting and inaccurate.

Felix continues his obviously corporate mandated monologue as she clicks her seat belt into place and the car pulls away from the curb. “We here at Fun Ride Timez hope you enjoy your ride and leave our fine driver a four star review. Be sure to recommend Fun Ride Timez to your friends for a discount code. Yada yada yada and so on and so forth.”

Noelle looks around the car. A couple of the reviews had mentioned a “wild animal” but she doesn’t see anything. It’s just your average, relatively clean, reasonably new, four-door car. No animals in sight, wild or otherwise. He’s yet to turn the music back on, keeping the car mercifully quiet.

She turns to Felix. His eyes are still immovably forward. He doesn’t seem interested in engaging with her at all, but she needs him to if she’s going to sell him on her plan. This wasn’t exactly her forte. The ferocity with which she chased her goal didn’t leave much time for socializing. What would Aunt Darcy do? She was so good at making conversation in her own strange way. Noelle decides to go with discussing his music choices. “So… Cyndi Lauper?”

For the first time Felix glances at her for just a moment. “Yep.” Nothing more.

Fine, if he wasn’t going to talk much then maybe she should just add to her notes. Noelle opens the backpack by her feet and sifts through it. Her hand brushes against some yarn and crochet needles - she had picked up her mother’s hobby a few years back. Well, if the situation became dangerous, at least she had some sort of makeshift weapons. She finds the folder she’s looking for and pulls it out. It’s yellow, worn, and very full of paper. She removes the pen clipped to the front of it.

Noelle has notes of all kinds related to her quest, some kept on her phone, others on her computer, and some in the folder on her lap. The chart she’s taking from the pocket now comprises the bulk of the folder. On it are names and traits belonging to them that she’s kept for years.

She thought that maybe she could predict the likelihood of knowing whether her twelve-year-old or twenty-four-year-old wish would be granted based on physical attributes. For example, from the data she’s gathered, green-eyed people were more likely to get the wish they’d made at twelve, while blue-eyed people more often got their twenty-fourth.

At the top of this list on the first page is her own name: Noelle Dobs, eyes: brown, hair: blonde, gender: female, wish granted:? Then there is her aunt: Darcy Webster, eyes: green, hair: brown, gender: female, wish granted: 24th. And on and on the list goes with countless names and stats she’s collected.

When she was younger, there’d been more categories on the list. However, she quickly learned that not everyone was too keen on being asked more personal questions. Places for things like weight and height had been removed to make it less awkward.

Noelle clicked the pen down. “How old are you?” she asks Felix matter-of-factly.

Another dubious glance from her driver. “Um, what?”

“How old are you?” she repeats.

“Twenty-seven. Why?”

Good, he’s been granted a wish and so would be good data to add. “And which wish did you get?”

This time he stares a bit longer, giving Noelle the opportunity to jot down that his eyes are brown and his hair is black. His dark hair is a bit messy and shaggy, like it’s a week or three past needing to be cut. She adds his gender in the proper category.

The car suddenly swerves a bit. Noelle looks up to find Felix craning towards her.

“What’re you writing down? What’s this for? You know, most people just leave a bad review, they don’t do… whatever it is you’re doing.” He looks alarmed.

“No, no, it’s not like that,” Noelle tells him.

“Then, what’s it like?”

“This is just for me. It’s for a project. Nothing bad. I’m not going to leave a bad review or anything.”

His face is screwed up in confusion. “You do this to every driver?”

“Yes, actually.” She gives him a small smile. She does this to anyone she dares ask. The more data, the better.

Felix blinks a couple times, his hands nervously shifting around on the steering wheel. “I got my twelve-year-old wish.”

“And what was it?” This isn’t a category on her chart, but he has no physical indications of what he’d been granted and she’s always curious.

There’s more fidgeting and then Felix mumbles something that she doesn’t catch.

“I’m sorry?”

“Animals,” says Felix. “I can - I can talk to animals and they can talk to me.”

This feels surprising to Noelle, but maybe it shouldn’t. Maybe he’s just better with animals than he is with people. “Oh, that’s pretty neat.”

“Yeah, well, you got any more questions or are you done?”

“Last one. What’s your full name?”

“Felix Yin.”

And with the last of the information filled out, Noelle replaces the folder in her bag. She looks him over. The torso of the jacket he’s wearing is a gray denim, while the sleeves and hood are made of a black sweatshirt material. The colors almost reminded her of-

A raccoon - a real, live raccoon - leaps up onto his shoulder and lounges there as he continues to drive. Noelle jumps and stifles a scream. Felix doesn’t react.

Noelle stares openmouthed as the animal chitters at her. Where had it been hiding?

“Nah, it’s fine,” Felix says.

She’s nearly asks him what he’s talking about when she realizes he’s talking to the raccoon.

”It’s kind of far, yeah, but it’s fine,” he continues. Then he glances at Noelle and does a double-take at her still shocked face. “Oh, uh, so this is Claude.”

“Claude?!”

“Well, Claude Bourgelat founded the very first veterinary school back in 1762 and- what?”

Noelle is dumbfounded. “The raccoon’s name is Claude?”

“I mean, I could tell you his name in raccoon, but I think that’s just gonna confuse you more if ‘Claude’ is so mind blowing.”

“It’s more that there’s a raccoon in the car at all,” Noelle huffs.

“Don’t like raccoons?”

She pauses. “I’m not the biggest fan.”

“Oh.” Felix looks disappointed. He nudges Claude with his shoulder. “You shouldn’t be up front anyway, buddy.”

More chatter from the creature - arguing Noelle isn’t privy to.

Felix reaches into one of the pockets on his jacket and pulls out a small, white object - a marshmallow - and tosses it over his shoulder.

Claude watches it sail into the back of the car and dives for it.

As Felix leans back into his seat the sun glints off of something stuck to the left side of his jacket. There’s three pins there. One of a piece of broccoli, one a golden plus sign, and the last is something familiar, yet unexpected: It’s a silver feather standing upright, it’s top end curling into a spiral - the symbol of The Avis. “Are you… religious?” Noelle asks.

Felix looks perplexed by the question for a moment, then his hand seems to subconsciously cover the pin in an almost defensive way. “Not particularly.”

There’s a scrambling up the back of her chair. Raccoon paws clamor to the top of the right side, and Claude perches beside her head. He sniffs at Noelle and regards her suspiciously. She leans away.

“Leave her alone,” Felix tells him. Did his pet always bother customers like this?

Claude nearly barks at him. Felix glances away from the road, about to speak, but Claude continues.

“What?” Noelle asks as a raccoon hand pats her head.

Felix clears his throat. “He, uh, wants to know what’s in your ear.”

He’s an observant little guy. She tucks her hair behind her ear as Claude watches. “It’s a hearing aid. I’ve lost most of my hearing in this ear.”

“Ah.” There’s an awkward pause. “You know sign language?”

Do you know how to sign? She signs to him, though he can only look for a moment at her motions.

Felix shrugs. “I don’t, uh-”

“I know a good bit, but I’m rusty,” she tells him. She’d felt out of practice with it since she’d moved to Seattle.

Claude continues to pat her head. He chitters again at Felix.

“It’s just helps her hear,” Felix says. He reaches a hand over, attempting to push the raccoon away from Noelle, but Claude just shoves his hand back with his paws. “Would you quit bothering people!”

The car swerves again.

“It’s fine!” Noelle shouts as Felix corrects the vehicle.

His hand retreats from Claude. “You sure?”

Noelle looks up at the raccoon. Claude stares back at her, his head turning to the side. She really isn’t a fan of raccoons, but this one was cute enough. Besides, whatever kept the car from wavering. “Yes.”

Felix gives her a relieved smile and points to the glove box in front of her. “There’s marshmallows in there, if you wanna give him some. Just be careful - he’ll take the whole bag if you let him.”

Claude goes on full alert. His face goes from hers to the glovebox and back again.

“Guess you gotta now,” Felix laughs.

Noelle carefully pulls the latch and the compartment swings open. An open bag of marshmallows sits inside. Claude sniffs at the air. Quickly, before he can get any bright ideas, she takes one and closes the glovebox.

When she holds it up to him, he slowly reaches for it, almost reverently, before snatching it from her hand. He scurries to the left side of the top of the chair so he’s between her and Felix. He pats her on the head once more in an appreciative way while the other paw shoves the marshmallow into his mouth.

“So you’re headed to...,” Felix glances at his phone sitting in a cradle attached to the windshield. “A gas station?”

The furthest location the app would allow her to select was indeed a gas station about an hour away.

“So about that,” she begins. “Would you be willing to drive further than that? I’ll pay you of course.”

“How much further?”

“My first stop is near Spokane and-”

“Spokane? That’s, like, four hours away.”

“Yes, but-”

“And what do you mean ‘first stop?’”

Noelle inhales and exhales. Well, here goes nothing. “When I was twelve, I wished to fly, but then there was an accident and now? Well, now I need to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

Now it’s Felix’s turn to look at her with his mouth slightly agape. “What?”

“I’m going to make sure I get the twenty-fourth one instead.”

Claude notices Felix’s alarm and looks at her, his face coming between the both of them.

Felix tries to push him out of the way. “I’m sorry, there’s an entire raccoon happening between us and you - you’re gonna do what now?”

Noelle swallows. She knows how this next sentence is going to sound. “I’m going to convince The Avis to choose that wish.”

Felix turns a corner a little too sharply and Claude almost loses his footing on the seat. “What, you think you’re gonna get a third chance to talk to that thing?”

You do usually only talk to The Avis twice, and the second time had not gone so great for Noelle, in fact, it felt rather disastrous. This third time, if she can get it, would be better.

“Yes,” she tells him confidently.

“And how, exactly, are you going to do that?”

“You know what Augurs are, right?”

Felix laughs in a strange, rueful way. “Yeah.”

“You look up enough about them, and you’ll keep coming across mentions of objects they have that seem to be supernatural - lucky items. Sometimes they’re called ‘auspices.’ Usually they look just like any old thing, but they’re personal.” Noelle’s hand goes to the scarf around her neck. If she’d been an Augur, she’s sure it might have been her auspice.

“Okay, and what’s this got to do with Spokane?”

“If you can gather enough of these objects, it might,” she stops for a moment, feeling silly speaking this all aloud. She can tell by the look on his face that he’s not even slightly convinced. She deflates a little. She knew it couldn’t possibly be that easy. “It might be enough to call the Avis. A literal ‘taking of the auspices’ so to speak.”

“I know for a fact that’s not true,” is all he says.

There’s a flicker of defensiveness in her chest. “And how could you possibly know that?”

“Well, for one, that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. And two-”

Noelle rummages through her bag again.

“What now?” he asks.

When she sits back up, there’s a tarnished copper pocket watch hanging from a chain in her hand. There’s a feather etched on the front - the same symbol as Felix’s pin. “I’ve already got one,” she tells him.

Felix glances at it a couple times. “Yeah, that sure is a pocket watch.”

“A pocket watch belonging to Hector Evans, an Augur in the 1920’s. His auspice.”

“You really believe this, huh?”

“I have to.” Noelle clasps the watch in her hands, her thumb running over the symbol etched on the cover.

“All this because you don’t wanna fly?”

“It’s more than that.”

“You’re afraid?”

Noelle is quiet. “Afraid” feels like such an understatement. This is more than being “afraid;” this is all-encompassing - it’s crushing.

“Yes,” she says anyway. It’s still a simple enough word to try and sum up what she feels she can’t convey.

Felix’s hands shift around on the steering wheel again. “Flying’s not so bad. My brother flies… and he’s also indestructible and got the whole super-strength thing going on.”

Noelle barely resists the urge to roll her eyes. Flying is “so bad” to her and it’s frustrating when others try to diminish that. “Is he part of the National Superman Association?” she asks. One of the more common wishes people make is to be a particular superhero. There are many, many Supermen.

“Nah,” Felix huffs. “He’s lacking the heat vision. Or something. Ha, he was pretty pissed when he couldn't join. Anyway, point is, you get used to it, don’t you? Flying?”

Noelle shakes her head. “I just - I just can’t.” She needed to move on from this subject.

“So now you need someone to escort you on your wild goose chase?”

Noelle feels like she’s losing a handle on the situation. “Look, it doesn’t matter if you believe me. I just need someone to take me to these locations. You’ll be paid. You don’t have to do anything but drive. Are you gonna do this, or not?”

Felix drives quietly for a moment. Claude chitters in the silence. “You got more stops after Spokane?”

“A few.” Maybe more than a few.

Felix sighs and puts a hand to his head. The car begins to pull over, stopping by the sidewalk.

Noelle feels disappointment creeping over her.

His gaze meets hers, his face resolute. “Yeah, I don’t think I’m your driver for this one. Sorry.”

No, of course, it wouldn’t be that easy. Noelle says nothing, but opens the door and gathers her bag, stepping out onto the sidewalk. Claude gives her one last bark as the door closes.

Is it worth calling another driver? Will every reaction be just like this? She’d hoped the promise of pay would be enough to do the job even with all the implausibility, but maybe she was wrong. No, she won’t give up, but is she going to have to find another way?

She gets out her phone, waiting for Felix’s car to pull away, but it doesn’t. She can’t hear them, but inside it looks as if Felix and Claude are having some kind of heated debate. The raccoon is waving his paws in the air and chattering in his human companion’s direction. Felix looks exasperated and is shrugging his shoulders with his hands in the air in an “oh well” kind of motion.

Noelle’s lowers the phone in her hand as she continues to watch them. What? Is it too much to hope that they’re changing their minds?

The door opens. Felix stands out of the car, Claude hanging over his shoulder. He walks around the back, approaching her. “You’re gonna pay for gas, food, driving, everything?”

Noelle blinks, feeling disbelieving, but relieved. She nods.

Felix stares at her for a moment, considering. Then he turns and begins picking at something on the car window. Confused, Noelle leans to look. It’s a Fun Ride Timez sticker.

He scratches at it, cursing under his breath in words that Noelle can’t catch, until Claude runs down his arm, and in one swift pull peels off the sticker, handing it to Felix.

He turns back to her and with utmost seriousness, tosses the decal onto the ground.

He’s about to speak when his raccoon lets out a distressed squeal. Claude scrambles down, grabbing the sticker, and climbing back up to shove it in Felix’s face, clearly reprimanding him.

“Yeah, yeah, alright,” Felix takes the sticker back.

Noelle steps toward them. “What’s he saying?”

Felix sighs. “He said, ‘Don’t litter. What are you, an animal?’”

Noelle laughs. Well, this certainly won’t be a boring trip.

“So,” says Felix, opening the door as Claude gives her a ‘right-this-way’ gesture. “Spokane, right?”

Next Chapter

#chapter one #chapter 1

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oneofyatosfollowers · 5 years

Text

One Of A Kind Chapter 1- Prologue

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20191861/chapters/47843311

FanFic: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13360973/1/One-of-a-Kind

The air was a visible mustard brown with dirt particles and other debris mixed in. It gave the natural sunlight a dull glow, not enough to illuminate the hunks of useless metal that orbited the wasteland. On the planet, similar junk made up mountains, piled high against windmills and phone poles. Lose paper and plastic bags caught against the skeletons of old sky scrapers that have long-since collapsed into more rubble. Everything old, rusted, and abandoned; covered in the same brown dust that seemed to make up the planet itself.

"Stray!" he exclaimed cheerfully, "You're awake! Goodmorning!"

At his words, the cockroach let out an annoyed shriek. Yato recoiled but never ceased smiling.

"Sorry. Nora. There is that better?" Yato reached a hand out to her waiting for her to climb on. Nora flicked her antenna and crawled on slowly, with her nose in the air.

Nora made a soft noise and Yato gave her a small smile- covered by the oxygen mask- and continued on his way, his footsteps echoing in the empty city.

On his shoulder, Nora buzzed. Yato didn't look at her.

"Did I ever tell you my dad designed the copilot after he worked on me?"

Chapter 2: https://oneofyatosfollowers.tumblr.com/post/187701265234/one-of-a-kind-chapter-2

#Noragami #Yato #yukine #hiyori #iki hiyori #Hiyori Iki #wall-e #wall e #noragami fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction

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pointedly-foolish · 5 years

Text

[ í'm вαd вєhαvíσur вut í dσ ít ín thє вєѕt wαч ]

word count: 6320

pairing: connor | rk800/gender-neutral!reader

genre: fluff; kinda crack treated seriously

« i won’t tell if you don’t? you offered. »

you’re sure you had a harder time persuading others compared to this detective model android...

both.

and uh, the story went out of hand and evolved by itself.

ping. a small popup in the top right corner of his hud caught his attention as he rearranged his folders, neatly putting them in his bag.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[ 1 ᴺᴱᵂ ᴹᴱˢˢᴬᴳᴱ: Love ]

> hey im outside waiting for u xx Noted. <

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you chucked the spare helmet you brought towards him—which he caught effortlessly—« come on, i wanna show you something. »

this location seemed to be some distance outside of the city, as the street grew narrower and darker. the sounds of other vehicles no longer accompanying them. all he could hear were the air that you were blazing through and the humming of the motorcycle underneath you. the cold wind blew from the direction you were heading, and he could feel the rush of air against his body, a sensation that, he figured, would feel chilly and unpleasant if he could “feel” cold. still, he instinctively clung tighter to your body to preserve body heat. he watched the scenery change, sights buzzing by; the dark sky grew clearer and clearer, until a few bright stars were visible unlike back in the heart of the city.

[ ᴬᴺᴬᴸᵞˢᴵᴺᴳ ]

« so? what d’you think? your eyes were directly on him now. i know you had your reservations about this place... »

« i won’t tell if you don’t? you offered. »

he swears to god, or ra9, or whatever higher power there is, that you will be the death of him.

« get off. your ordered. he followed the command without a word. – we’re gonna walk the rest of the way. you added. »

the two of you ran until you reached your bike, which was quite a distance away (thank fuck for that, at least he won’t follow you that far—unless he’s really fucking persistent), where you collapses on the spot and panted slightly. the android himself was looking slightly weary. heavy breathing turned into wheezing laughter as the absurdity of what just transpired settled into your mind.

« wanna crash at my place? you offered. – i’d be more than happy to, he obliged. »

you were too gone to reply, but regardless, he left for work with a small smile.

work went on as usual. filling reports was boring, but it had to be done. at least he could finish them in record time, built to be more efficient at it than your typical human officer. being a detective assigned to the anti-android crimes taskforce, it was rather quiet right now, and though he was grateful that androids weren’t being harmed, it was terribly boring. even colin, who had to start all the way back at the beginning as a beat cop, seemed to be enjoying a peaceful break. he sighed for the umpteenth time as he fidgeted and fiddled with his coin, having already abused the fun out of his multiple pens and pencils. he missed spending time with you; at least it was exciting and unpredictable (getting to be with you is an enjoyable bonus). he stared blankly at his coin and sighed again. his father figure gave him a look across the desk—“did anything happen?”. he shook his head.—“no nothing bad or dangerous happened while i was with [y/n].”. the android then asked if he fancied a cup of coffee from the coffee shop across the road. the old man simply grunted.

« you can just take a walk, you don’t need to use me as a fucking excuse. – alright. he answered placidly. »

he was glad most people didn’t know there was only 2 rk800 currently in circulation: him and his brother, colin, whom he was trying to contact. as connor continued trying to placate the angry man, and deny his involvement in anything, he heard his brother’s voice come through.

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[ SENDING AUDIO-VISUAL FEED TO RK800 #313 248 317-60—COLIN ] [ LINK ESTABLISHED. WAITING PERMISSION… ] [ ACCEPTED. ]

the android could hear his brother cackle at his misery. though outside of earshot, the sound echoes in his mind as the link was not yet severed.

[ ᴺᴬᴴ, ᵞᴼᵁ'ᴿᴱ ᴼᴺ ᵞᴼᵁᴿ ᴼᵂᴺ ᴼᴺ ᵀᴴᴵˢ ᴼᴺᴱ ] [ ᴳᴼᴼᴰ ᴸᵁᶜᴷ ᵀᴴᴼᵁᴳᴴ. [ ᴴᴬᴺᴷ'ˢ ᴳᴼᴺᴺᴬ ᴮᴱ ᴾᴵˢˢᴱᴰ ] and with that, his brother abandoned him.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

but to say that hank was pissed was an understatement. this begins the walk of shame as hank demanded to « talk in private ». at the end of a severe tongue-lashing, decorated with many “fuck”s and “shit”s, he was in a sour mood and positively fuming. forget the shortcake. he was absolutely going to get back at you for this.

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unknown number [ two missed message ]

> what the fuck did you get connor into? > ???????

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bzz. bzz. a new message?

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unknown number [ 1 new message ]

> i know you saw the messages, fuckibg answer

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you also had a new message from connor, though his message didn’t bode well for you either:

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connard2 anderson <3 [ 1 missed message ]

> we need to talk. > ):<

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the use of the emoji made you chuckle, but you were scared of what the future brought for you. oh boy… you were in deep shit weren’t you…

e͟p͟i͟l͟o͟g͟u͟e͟:

f͟o͟o͟t͟n͟o͟t͟e͟s

like my work? consider ordering a commission // buying me a coffee // checking out my other works

#detroit: become human #connor x reader #dbh connor #rk900 x reader #rk900 nines #dbh hank anderson #dbh cyberlife-tower connor | rk800-60 #falsely writes #bad boy reader #partners in crime #reader is a bad influence on connor lmfao #i finally write again #and regurgitated this monster #established relationship #hank is slowly shaking his head in disappointment in the distance

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