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oftenwantedafton · 3 months

Text

The Perfect Girl - Dave Miller/William Afton x Female Reader

Chapter 1

Rating - Explicit

Warnings - none for this chapter

Summary: Dave Miller sees you hesitate. Perhaps reluctant to stay alone in the dark. Perhaps some sense of self preservation is finally kicking in, making you wary of following a virtual stranger more than two decades older into the recesses of an abandoned restaurant.

No one knows you’re here.

Anything could happen.

Also available on AO3

Fate brings you into the man calling himself Dave Miller’s path on a Monday afternoon.

You’re in line ahead of him at a kiosk at the mall, where a vendor sells bags of artificially colored and flavored popcorn. There are a variety of unusual offerings like chocolate orange and strawberries and cream and peanut butter and jelly, the latter dyed purple and yellow. That was a personal favorite of his.

You’re next. You take a step forward and Dave moves right behind. He hooks a thumb in one of the belt loops of his security guard uniform pants and fiddles with the heavy ring of keys. There are so many. He doesn’t even know what half of them are for, in truth; only concerned with the ones that matter.

He can smell your fragrance from here. Not some cloying perfume that older women seem to favor, but something fruity and vibrant. A body spray of some sort perhaps. He also detects a light floral scent from your shampoo. You’re not long out of the shower, he thinks.

You order Wacky Watermelon. The kernels are colored red and green. You rummage in your purse. A tidy little thing, compact, thin strap, single compartment. It appears you’re a little short on cash.

“I’ve got it,” the security guard says, stepping beside you, reaching for his wallet.

Your cheeks flush. Such a pretty pink hue. “That’s ok, I…”

“It would be my pleasure.” He smiles. It’s a large one, lips stretching over sharp looking teeth. A bit intimidating.

“Oh, okay. Th…thank you,” you stammer.

So now you are indebted to him. At least, that is how he sees it. You collect your bag of popcorn and smile nervously.

“I’ll treat you next time. I just got a job working over there.” You point to a clothing store for young adults. He can hear the music blaring inside from here. The mannequins in the storefront windows are currently wearing distressed denim leggings and cropped hoodies. The fashion of today’s youth is something that eludes Dave, but then again, he supposes every generation has their trends. He’s seen bell bottoms and leg warmers come and go. Earth tones and neon. Now this blatant exposure. A jarring mismatch of wanting to be covered but also exposing tantalizing amounts of flesh. And he was not supposed to look. Well.

You don’t appear to subscribe to that same sense of style. Your clothing is demure. Everything covered. Not too tight. Hinting at nothing. Leaving it to the imagination. He likes to imagine.

He nods and a piece of the dark hair that’s a bit untidy falls over his brow. He sees you swallow thickly. How lovely your throat is.

“So I gotta get back. I’ll see you around.”

Oh, indeed you will, he thinks.

***

It’s Thursday. It’s pouring outside and the mall is crowded, people driven to find activities indoors. The pizzeria would have been very busy on a day like today, if it was still open.

He wanders the dusty rooms. Brushes fingers over the joysticks and buttons on the arcade cabinets. Draws back the stage curtains to view the animatronics frozen in place, waiting patiently for a future peformance. He’ll wake them again, when the time is right. He returns to the security office and surveys the monitors. There are intruders on occasion, but they’re rare, as the restaurant is actually concealed behind a wall, its existence forgotten. Those that do happen to stumble into it, well. They don’t live to tell the tale. So it remains hidden, secret. Like his real identity as the former owner of the establishment, William Afton.

He eases back into the office chair and it creaks loudly in the stillness. He can spare a few more moments before he returns to his actual job patrolling the shopping mall. How tedious it is. Assisting customers when they’ve locked themselves out of their cars. Giving directions, usually to the restroom even though there are mall directories everywhere. The occasional shoplifter. Reuniting lost children with their parents. That last task was especially difficult to keep a straight face during. It’s a waiting game, something to do to fill the in between times, until he can begin the work again. At least it gives him an alibi, an excuse to be near his old restaurant.

He’s thirsty.

The soda vending machines are empty, of course, the supplies of the franchise’s stock long depleted. No more Freddy Fazbear’s Fizzy Cola or Bonnie’s Bodacious Orange Blast. He’ll need to get something from one of the vendors in the food court. Perhaps you’ll go with him, pay him back as it were.

He has found you coming into his mind all week.

He’d seen you a few times during his patrol. Paused to watch you refold sweaters and organize pants hanging on a rack when he thinks you’re unaware. Sometimes he waits for you to notice and he waves and smiles. A softer gesture, no teeth. You wave uncertainly back.

The wheels drag across the floor as Miller pushes back from the desk and rises to his feet. It’s time to leave his beloved pizzeria. For now.

***

You’re in high school. Senior year. Eighteen, an only child. Parents divorced. You’ve just purchased your first car. Want to study Archaeology, specialize in Egyptology.

You’re babbling, alternating between nibbling on a chocolate bar and sipping lemon lime soda. Dave patiently listens to the prattling. He likes the way your glossed lips look wrapped around the straw, the suction you apply. He takes a sample of his own cherry soda and leans back. The metal cafe chairs in the food court aren’t the most comfortable, especially since his legs are so long, his six foot four frame cramped. But he’ll endure it, and gladly. The chatter and the discomfort pale in comparison to what he wants to take from you.

“How long have you worked here?” You ask him, taking another bite of milk chocolate.

“Two years, nearly.”

“What’s the most interesting thing that’s happened? Like, did you ever have to call the police or anything?”

“There are the occasional shoplifters. Nothing dramatic.” The security guard takes another pull from his drink.

You look a little disappointed. “Oh, okay.” The candy wrapper is empty. He can hear the ice rattling around in the nearly empty cup. Your time together seems to be running short. “Well, I gotta get back. It was nice talking to you.”

“Likewise. I appreciate the beverage.” He finishes his drink and dumps it into the trash bin nearby.

Dave accompanies you back to the clothing store. There’s no reason for it. You don’t need an escort or a guide. But it’s an excuse to be by your side a little longer. You’re wearing a different body spray today but this scent is equally as appealing. Vanilla. Warm and sugary.

“Have a good rest of your shift,” you say, stepping back into the store you’re employed at. Dave watches your thread your way between the shelves and the racks and he thinks he’s going to bring you into the darkness of the pizzeria very soon.

***

The following Sunday. Sunny, mild, the perfect spring day. The mall is less crowded, customers seeking the good weather outdoors.

Dave braves the music and enters the clothing store you work at. You’re leaning against the counter. He’s watched you wipe down the same clean space five times in as many minutes. Keep glancing at the clock, eager for the shift to end. You’re clearly bored.

The security guard joins you at the counter and leans. Narrow hips much higher next to your curves. Arms folded over a gray shirt with black epaulets. Long and lean. The heavy ring of keys jangling when he shifts positions.

“Is it me, or is today incredibly dull?”

“Oh my gosh, yes,” you agree immediately.

“What time do you get off?”

“Two.”

“I’ve got something to show you.”

The phrasing throws you off. He can feel you stiffen a bit beside him, your breath catching.

“I’ve found an old arcade walled up at the other end of the mall. Thought maybe you’d like to go explore. It looks pretty interesting.”

“Oh!” You exclaim. He feels the tension ease in your limbs. Back to trusting again. “That’s kind of neat.”

“Don’t tell anyone about it, okay? I don’t want people to find out. It’s just our little secret.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“I’ll come back at two to get you.” He pushes off from the counter, raking a hand through the dark locks that are just a touch too long.

“Okay.” You sound a bit uncertain. But the deal has been struck. It doesn’t matter if you’re a bit wary.

He’s got you right where he wants you.

***

Dave Miller doesn’t really need the flashlight.

He knows his restaurant by heart, of course; knows the placement of every machine and table and chair and counter. But he has to illuminate the path, for your sake.

You follow close behind him. He has a habit of stopping abruptly and you collide against his spine more than once. You don’t see his feral grin.

He beams the light around so you can see the remains of the pizzeria’s glory: the claw machines and the pinball cases, the partially stocked prize counters and the arcade cabinets.

“What’s behind the curtains?” He sees you looking curiously at the stage.

“Animatronics.”

“Like Chuck E. Cheese?”

Miller scowls. “A superior version. They copied Freddy Fazbear’s.”

“It’s a shame there’s no electricity. I would totally give some of these games a try.”

“Oh, there is. I just have to hit the switch. It’s way in the back near the offices. Are you going to come with me or stay here?”

He sees you hesitate. Perhaps reluctant to stay alone in the dark. Perhaps some sense of self preservation is finally kicking in, making you wary of following a virtual stranger more than two decades older into the recesses of an abandoned restaurant. No one knows you’re here. Anything could happen.

“I’ll come with you.”

Dave grins. “Follow me.”

#william afton x you #william afton x reader #dave miller x reader #dave miller x you #william afton #dave miller #fnaf fanfic

58 notes · View notes

softevnstan · 1 year

Note

From the NSFW genarator

reader handing Bucky Barnes a bowl of cream/chocolate/honey and telling them to spread them on their own body where they want it eaten by reader. Bucky Barnes eagerly complies, and everything starts (or ends) with a sloppy smear on person Bucky Barnes's lips.

pairing. bucky barnes x gender neutral!reader

summary. for valentine's day, bucky brings you a bowl of whipped cream and strawberries. with a game proposition, you very quickly come to learn you're hungry for a different type of cream.

warnings. bucky loves you with all his heart but he's also a hard dom at heart. misuse of strawberries and whipped cream, dom/sub undertones, spitting/spit, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, food play - whipped cream, facefucking, petnames (specifically 'doll' and 'sugar', but these are intended to be for any partner, not just f), fluff, pre-established relationship SMUT - minors DNI. reader's bits are not mentioned in depth here so gender is ambiguous, i like all of my stories to be as inclusive as i can make them :)

a.n. hi, nonny, i wanted this to be out on valentine's day but some things in my personal life held that up. additionally: kinda interpreted this a little bit of the way i wanted to and the way i thought i'd best enjoy writing it, so bucky is the one with the game in mind (bonus: listen to this song as your background music like i did to add to the experience) -- reader is nerdy and likes things like books and candles and reading (reader is me projecting lbr)

also winterdevil friendship briefly mentioned bc i can

w.c. 7.3k

You were only a few pages into your new book - ‘Good Omens’; You’d heard good things about the story in its witty writing and amusing tale.

Bucky had been paying attention when you’d both gone on a bookshop date and scoured the shelves hopefully for the novel. Even when asking about the bookstore’s directory, the worker reluctantly let you know the book wasn’t in stock. You’d shrugged the loss off with a warm smile; ‘Better luck next time, right?’

Imagine your delight when Bucky brought you a red gift bag with four golden arrows decoratively laid horizontally and stacked upon one another with the words ‘Happy Valentine’s Day’. Inside the bag had even more delightful contents; Peeling past the elegant golden tissue paper, you were excited to find your very own copy of the novel you’d been unable to find in stores. Additionally was a box of chocolates and a candle scented ‘Rose & Apple’.

“Aw, Bucky,” you swooned, “I thought we said no gifts…?” “I know,” Bucky admitted, moving around the kitchen island to come to stand behind you; Arms of flesh and vibranium slowly winding around your waist to hug your body to his own, settling into a comfortable hold so naturally. “But I like seeing you smile.”

You looked fondly at the cover of the book, thumb gently brushing over the paperback cover before setting it down on the counter. You bit your lips together in an appreciative smile, and you felt Bucky’s grin against the side of your neck where he tucked away. Nose rubbing affectionately against your pulse before pressing a chaste kiss.

“...At least now you won’t feel surprised when I tell you I got you a few gifts of your own,” you reveal as you turn your head to usher Bucky’s chin up. “Oh, of course, you got me something anyways!” Bucky huffed on an amused laugh, eyes crinkled in the corners with his smile, and your heart was left to melt.

He nosed into you lovingly, nuzzling and then pressing foreheads together. You took the opportunity to drape your arms around Bucky’s shoulders in a warm embrace; the rest of your quiet valentine’s day was spent peacefully with expensive sushi ordered to your shared apartment, moving the furniture and putting his records on to sway together playfully with giggles and kisses, then wrapped up with movies in the living room and popcorn kernels in between the couch cushions from the way you’d been pelting pieces at one another. You needed no fancy dinners or dates. You both were capable of making a night-in a remarkable memory all on its own.

Though the favor you called in from Zemo wound up with gifting Bucky a signed copy of ‘The Hobbit’ signed by J.R.R. Tolkien himself, and that was pretty good at also making an evening remarkable. The absolute awe in Bucky’s eyes and the way he’d gone slack-jawed when unwrapping the book was worth the six digits that were poured into the cost. Zemo had more than enough to spend and was happily willing to pay off his debt. A book was child’s play for Baron - simple.

You'd only been a few pages into your new book; Having been eager to begin drinking in the story as soon as possible. Bucky knew you were a bookworm; it's part of what you two had so in common - Bucky knew how to appreciate a good story, too. Eagerly diving into the paperback and excitedly tearing through pages was what you did best; On Multiple occasions where Bucky and you had surprised one another with blind-book dates and annotated novels for one another, reading was perhaps a love language between the both of you.

So you’d think Bucky would’ve expected that from you as soon as that book was between your nimble fingers. Good luck with any attempts that may sway your attention or distract you as a whole; everyone should know it’s useless to try. But Bucky wasn’t everyone else. Bucky knew you and knew how to wriggle his way in between you and a good book.

And his key tool for that this evening seemed to be a wooden food tray with a bowl of hulled strawberries and a tub of whipped cream, and then an additional can that made you raise a brow. Any skepticism was dropped in moments given the natural delight you felt with Bucky in a room. When it was just the two of you, he was the sweetest man you’d ever met. “Surprise,” Bucky beamed softly, earning an amused smile from you in the process. He moved from the archway of the kitchen to step into the living room, rounding the coffee table to take his seat beside you on the couch.

“Strawberries? You shouldn’t have,” you hum appreciatively, picking up your bookmark to hold your page; You didn’t dog-ear your pages like some savage.

“Strawberries and Valentine’s Day go hand in hand last I checked. Whipped cream just makes it even better.” the soldier defends, earning a playful roll of your eyes.

“You’re makin’ me feel like a chump here, Bucky, we said no gifts and surprises,” you softly protest albeit with little sternness to your voice. Book abandoned on the side table of the couch, you leaned to reach for a piece of fruit.

“Ah ah ah,” Bucky stops you, vibranium hand coming to cover the mouth of the bowl. “This isn’t for nothin’, I wanna play a game, sweetheart…” The sultry purr to Bucky’s voice insinuates he’s up to no good. “Huh?” You pause, confused as you look between Bucky’s hand and the bowl. A game? “I should’ve known there’d be a catch. You’re a menace, James.” The words are light and teasing; No real harm behind them.

“Oh quit bein’ so dramatic,” Bucky playfully chides with a teasing pinch to your outer thigh - it makes you squeak in delight and burst into soft laughs before shooing his hand away. Bucky absolutely thrives on your smile and laugh; It drives him crazy. “I’m not dramatic, I’m melodramatic!” you titter happily. “Well, if by ‘melodramatic’ you mean ‘theatrical’,” Bucky commented with a mischievous grin as he safely set the tray on the coffee table. You took the liberty of pulling the throw pillow you’d been laying on and help it live up to its name; Hitting Bucky in the shoulder with the cushion for his ‘theatrical’ comment.

“You love me and my melodrama theatrics all the same, don’t act like you don’t.” “Alas, it’s true.” he sighs sweetly, nothing but love in his gray eyes as he says it; Smitten. The softness of it helps melt some of the banter that had been building. “...And what was this ‘game’ you were talking about, exactly, Bucky?”

Bucky’s eyes light up with arousal, wetting his lips and treating the question as though he couldn’t wait to answer. “Have you ever plaid chicken before, sunshine?” Bucky inquires, and your head shakes side to side. “Alright, I brought out whipped cream. Wherever one person smears whipped cream, the other has to lick it off. The first one to refuse - or chicken out - loses.”

Your own gaze widens with delight at the sound of the provocative game. At least a game was something you could get behind, and it definitely had a means of spicing things up with Bucky; Not that your sex life was boring, but something new every now and again was exciting for the both of you.

“Aw,” Bucky tuts sympathetically, “I can see it on your face, poor thing. The way your eyes lit up… Sheesh, people are gonna think m’not takin’ care of my babydoll.” The heat that rises to your face is familiar and leaves your chest feeling fluttery. “You do take care of me, Bucky,” you softly utter, squeezing your thighs together. “I wanna play.” the words are airy when they leave your lips, and the voice in which you speak makes Bucky stifle a soft groan in reply.

“Knew you would, baby. Such a perfect little thing, always onboard for whatever I want to try.” Bucky hums his approval and something inside of you swoons for the praise. He even takes a moment to use his fingers and tenderly brush the stray hairs from your face; touching you nothing but gently.

“Uh huh,” you confirm with a jerky nod and a doe-eyed look as Bucky smiles, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. He reaches for the container of whipped cream, popping the lid off. “Wait.” The thought creeps up on you.

Bucky stills briefly, eyes flickering to your face in a brief haze of concern. Pausing the act he’s been putting on for a moment to assure you’re not being genuine when you ask him to ‘wait’. You swallow around the tightness in your throat, attention solely on Bucky as you watch his studying face. Leave it to Bucky to be ready to fret over you at the drop of a dime.

“What if I win?” Bucky’s expression falls for a brief moment before twisting into disbelief and amusement. He laughs, entertained but relieved that’s where your concerns lie rather than somewhere more concerning.

“If you win, huh? Hmm,” Bucky takes a deliberate moment to hum and you shift with eager anticipation. Curious for whatever delicious thoughts may be brewing in that beautiful head of his. “Why don’t you choose — What would my babydoll want as a prize…?” the drawl of his voice nearly makes you squirm where you sit on the couch.

Your mind runs wild with ideas for half a moment before settling on something simple; “You have to go down on me, mouth only. No hands to help.” A swell of pride in your chest at the thought, you could already imagine Bucky looming over you and the warmth of his breath on your core before delving in without the aid of his hands.

Bucky seems to like the idea as well if the devilish way he watches you is anything to go off of.

“Sounds like a deal, and if you lose, you go down on me, sunshine.” You would hardly consider that a losing game.

“Sounds like a fair match - may the best player win,” you chuckle, the words a meager attempt to take back the reigns on your confidence and not become complete mush for this man by default. Bucky had this charming way of entrancing you. He did it to everyone that got to know him, half the time Bucky didn’t even need to think about it.

“I’ll get us started,” the sergeant takes lead - setting the lid of the whipped cream container on the coffee table and using a spoon he’d brought along with him to scoop up a dollop from the container. Messily, Bucky smears a dab across his bottom lip - all too aware of what he’s doing. Bucky may look innocent, but there are devil horns holding up that halo. You wonder if that’s a reflection of his friendship with Matt.

The grin Bucky wears is devilish when he looks at you; Eyes piercing and somehow even seductive with a swipe of whipped cream on his bottom lip. A soft giggle emits from your being before leaning to pluck up a strawberry. You use the piece of fruit to swipe along Bucky’s bottom lip, successfully scooping up traces of the whipped cream before taking a bite of the strawberry. The taste is ripe and sweet, no wonder they’re occasionally considered a form of natural aphrodisiac.

Bucky’s flesh hand finds your wrist tenderly after the first bite, causing you to arch a brow.

“Licking, sunshine.” Bucky corrects. “Pick at strawberries all you want, but the rules of the game required you to use your mouth. Otherwise, that’s not nearly as fun, is it?”

It’s moments like those that made you feel all light and fuzzy. When Bucky talks to you as though you were a helpless and useless thing; It makes your brain fog up with cotton with the way he speaks down to you.

“No, Bucky,” You exhale sweetly. “Good baby,” Bucky’s hand releases your wrist to lift and cup your cheek, giggling when you’re faced with the whipped cream on his lip again. Not as easy to take him so seriously. Bucky gives an amused huff at the response. “Now c’mon, before this melts and you have to lick that up, too.”

Popping the rest of your strawberry into your mouth, you finished chewing and swallowing before cupping Bucky’s jaw to steady him. Holding him in place when you lean forward into his space; being able to smell the traces of sandalwood and cinnamon on his skin made you shiver. It didn’t matter how many times you were like this with Bucky, your belly filled with butterflies every time in the best way. Tentatively you drag your tongue across his bottom lip, whipped cream sweet on your tongue.

There’s no chance to pull away when Bucky catches your lips in an immediate kiss following. Mouth slotting to yours in the opportunity that the man has, grinning against your lips like the cat that got the cream. His large palm lifted to come and cradle your cheek, the tips of his fingers brushing into your hair where it cups under your eat. Palm cooler than the average person due to the way his body ran cold, but your own warmth helped balance out the temperature difference from time to time. Your cheek felt like fire beneath this hand.

Bucky kisses you hungrily, a searing claim when he licks hot into your mouth and makes you whimper and shiver. Your fingers still hold his bearded cheeks as Bucky takes his time tasting you; Enjoying it far more than any whipped cream he could ever buy. Bucky parts only after he’s left you breathless, wiping a thumb at his bottom lip with a low chuckle. Your head is left to spin with your heart hammering in your ears.

“Been achin’ to kiss you like that all day,” Bucky confesses. Your lips tingle, mourning the loss of Bucky pressed against your like that. “You’ve had countless chances, Bucky - we’ve been here alone all day.” You defend while lacking a legitimate malice to your tone.

“It’s different,” you almost wave him off at the defense and make yourself busy with the whipped cream when Bucky elaborates. “I wanted to be soft with you today; I think we both deserve a little tenderness every once in a while. But sexy games give me a reason to kiss you like that.”

“Sometimes I struggle to believe that you’re the same stoic sergeant everyone quakes in front of.”

“I’m not; Not with you.” The words are raw, and it would make your heart turn to mush if you weren’t turned on by his kindness.

“You’re sexy when you’re sweet,” you coo, fingers brushing up his jaw to draw Bucky in for another quick kiss.

“And you’re sexy all the time, sunshine.” Bucky hums right back before meeting you partway for a small exchange of pecks. You both linger there for a moment, the kisses stolen not nearly as heady or heavy. Then you’re taking your turn. Parting lips and Bucky nearly chases your touch for more when you tut your tongue. A mock of his earlier tutting. “Aww,” you echo back to him, half condescending and half frisky. “I see it on your face, people are gonna think m’not taking care of my Buckybear.” though with your delivery, the words are far less menacing and end with you breaking the character to laugh, especially when Bucky is already crumbling into chuckles in front of you.

“‘Buckybear’?” Bucky parrots incredulously and entertained. “Trying out new nicknames,” you say with an innocent shrug, plucking up the spoon to get more cream on the utensil. “I think it’s cute.” “I like it,” Bucky agrees, shifting to get comfortable on the couch while his predatory gaze follows your hand. “It’s a nickname you gave me, just… Maybe let’s not let Sam hear this one.” “Does he still call you ‘Buckaboo’ sometimes?” You ask, momentarily distracted and appreciative that you and Bucky are able to break up seductive moments with cute ones. You’re convinced it’s proof you’re both truly in love to be able to be this casual and open with one another.

“Unfortunately. Torres heard Sam over the commlinks last week, both of them were dying of laughter.” Bucky deadpans, clearly not finding the situation as humorous as the boys did. You snicker with a shake of your head, assessing the spoon in your hand for a moment before setting it down in the container and abandoning it as a whole.

Instead, you pull your shirt up and over your head – stripping away the layer. The response it earns from Bucky fuels your confidence, the way he straightens up on the couch and wolf-whistles at each inch of skin you show off for him. Bucky always has a way of making you feel perfect; All your insecurities blanch when you were able to feel his comforting presence, always leaving you feeling loved and unequaled in your skin.

“Givin’ me a show, doll?” Bucky muses, a small tilt of his head while he studies you. “Why, enjoying the view?” You coo in turn, meeting Bucky with that same playful banter - this was a game after all, and games are meant to be fun. You discard the top haphazardly to the floor, no doubt to be gathered tomorrow morning.

“Oh absolutely. Got the prettiest baby in all of New York… I’m a very lucky man.” When Bucky speaks, his voice is thick and warms your face. Bucky is very much the flatterer.

“I know you like it when I say things like that,” doesn’t even hesitate to single you out on the thought. “When I remind you of how precious you are to me, sugar… Just how much I fucking adore you.” Bucky’s voice drips with lust and devotion. Utterly in love. It almost tempts you to drop the game before it gets too far in and have him now; Peel away the remaining layers separating you two and open your legs in an invitation for Bucky to fuck you so roughly into the couch that the legs break and the neighbors know Bucky’s name loud and clear.

God, you’re fucking whipped for this man.

Sometimes you’re still not prepared for the outpour of loving words; Still, you’re trying to remember that Bucky means the things he says and isn’t merely humoring you as exes have in the past. Bucky is nothing if not genuine.

“Keep sweet talking me, Sarge, and this game might end sooner than you want it to,” You warn with a coy smile before picking up the formerly abandoned spoon. “I’m bein’ honest,” Bucky defends, lifting his hands in a feigned and mischievous. “You know you love when I talk sweet to you, anyways, sugar.”

“You also know it makes me freeze up; I never know what to say things like that, Bucky.” a gentle reminder and your cheeks hurt from smiling - do you look stupid? Bucky would love you anyways, truth be told.

“Oh, but that’s the best part,” Bucky replies, leaning forward on the couch and closer into your bubble of space. Taking his time letting his eyes drink in the pretty sight you make for him without your top. “It turns you into putty, baby. You start floatin’ so easy, ‘s cute - it’s worth it gettin’ you cock-drunk in the end.”

You stutter - jaw clenching and you feel the tips of your ears burn. Bucky takes more sadistic amusement in the responses he pulls out of you. Plays you like a fiddle. It embarrasses you as much as it makes your thighs tighten and a wetness forms in your underwear. He works you up for fun. It’s maddening and exhilarating and perfect.

“Buckyyy,” you whine, pitiful and with a harmless scowl. Bucky’s laugh is rich and makes your face soften almost immediately. “Well, on with it, sunshine.” Bucky nods towards the spoon clutched between your fingers.

You take the moment to regain your composure. A deep breath - Attempting to shake out Bucky’s influence and his attempts to deduce you to a ditz so soon. Then, with the cold metal of the spoon, you smear a generous streak of whipped cream from your left clavicle to the top of your left breast.

When you lift your attention from your careful work, you find Bucky’s hungry eyes on you. Looking like a wolf preparing to strike his prey; Oh, to be littered with bites from Bucky’s mouth sounds like a dream.

“You’re bold tonight. I can already tell this is gonna be fun,” Bucky husks, voice low before moving into your space.

Right hand coming flush against your hip before smoothing up to frame your chest. He wedges himself between your legs, bringing your back flush with the arm of the couch as he looms over you; The semi that the soldier has been packing pressing prominently against your ass through his jeans. His vibranium hand brushes your hair out of your face, eyes studying you.

“You’re always so small under me...” Bucky hums, metal fingers brushing down your cheek as you lick some of the remaining whipped cream off the spoon; Putting on a show with the slow and deliberate lave it was the tip of his cock.

Bucky groans, his touch hardening where he holds your chest before lowering himself to let his hot mouth lick over your collarbone. Trailing down, his tongue glides across creamy sugar while littering open-mouth kisses to your flushed skin. His beard scratches against tender flesh and you keen underneath him - Bucky subtly presses tighter against your ass so his cock can make itself well acquainted and he growls low in his chest. Hot breath fanning over your flesh.

The soldier’s hot mouth threatens to go further, tempted to explore every inch of your delicate skin and leave you covered in hickeys. Bucky practices self-restraint, but not before licking up the swipe of whipped cream and suckling a deep hickey into your skin. The purpling skin is beautiful under his skillful tongue and you moan into the air of the living room.

May the best man win.

You’d both gone back and forth. After Bucky licked the mess from your chest and tasted the sugar on his tongue from a shared kiss, he had fun spraying whipped cream on his fingers.

Watching you have to take each digit between plump lips to suckle and lick the cream off. Beyond the sweetness of the cream, you could taste the roughness of his skin while he played with your tongue. Bucky even took the liberty of pressing his fingers to the flat of your tongue and holding your mouth open until you were drooling when there was no more cream left. When his fingers slip too far, you gag around the intrusion and Bucky grins.

He spits in your mouth to compensate for your time. You moan, thankful.

When it’s your turn again, you take the chance to shimmy your pants off next. Bucky licked his lips - watching you get undressed and not having to do a bit of the work but also being tempted with the inability to touch. Eager hands wanting nothing more to grip supple flesh and lay his claim while he takes you. With him. All good things come to those who wait.

You smeared whipped cream on your inner right thigh - dangerously close to your center and trailing towards your v-line. Bucky took his time settling between your legs. Kissed stamped to the inside of your calves, calloused hands smoothing out the outer of your thighs. Trailing upward, Bucky’s breath ever hot and the whipped cream threatens to drip.

Bucky catches the drop with his tongue before it can find the couch, licking up the inside of your thigh. His tongue makes you tingle and your brain stops working for a moment; shuddering under his touch and your toes curl. Bucky presses a kiss over the wet patch in your tight briefs and you hide your face. Your core quivers with want.

Bucky refuses to let you hide for long, working his way back up and gently prying your hands from your face. You share a heated kiss and sigh shakily against Bucky’s figure; Melting between him and the couch.

When it’s Bucky’s turn again, he takes a page out of your book and uses the opportunity to shed away layers. The jeans hugging his deliciously thick thighs are discarded, Bucky hiking up the plain black tee that left little to the imagination of the definition of his abdomen. It’s no mystery that Bucky was packed with muscle; Even in thick coats, you could still somehow always make out his distinct shape with rippling arms, a thick chest, and somehow a narrower waist. You’ve joked about him being a Disney princess once or twice.

The scoundrel smears the chilled spoon over his chiseled abs and for half a moment you’re in one of those steamy romance novels your mom would read and you’d giggle at.

You lap up the trail from over the concrete muscle down to Bucky’s groin - and he sighs out shaky and delighted. Hooded and heated eyes always watching you, you, you. Nothing else exists in the world to him other than your game. You feel a swell of pride knowing you have such a catch as Bucky; his thick fingers tangled in your hair and carding through as you innocently lick up the cream with a sinful tongue.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous, sunshine.” the words are drawled out lazily and hushed from Bucky’s swollen lips; He’s been chewing them and biting like crazy.

The tent in his briefs doesn’t surprise you at all - you’d be insulted if he wasn’t aroused.

Still, you’ve taken every task he’s given you like a champ. Bucky is running out of safe skin to present, and you’re in for the long haul. Winning or losing makes no difference to you. By the end of the night, it’ll be Bucky’s hands that have touched you and brought you to your climax. No one else. You’ve already won.

But that doesn’t stop you from sitting back and shivering when the cold metal touches your bare nipples. Smearing a generous amount of cream to both bare and pebbling buds. Bucky is simply excited to get his mouth on you in a way that isn’t so safe anymore. His lips close around your nipple and leave you gasping - sucking and rolling the bud against his skilled and velvety tongue.

You’re wet; fingers holding Bucky’s head, merely along for the ride as he circles the areola with the tip of his tongue before pinching the delicate skin between his teeth and making you cry out. So sensitive. He kisses your ache better before subjecting the other nipple to the same torment; Bucky’s hot and wet mouth is heaven and your body speaks louder than your wanton moans or words ever will. You want him so unapologetically, and Bucky knows it. Prides himself on it, even.

It’s only a matter of time before you’re out of whipped cream and both of your teeth have rotted from your skull from the sugar; Something has to give otherwise the both of you could be at this all night - would that be so awful, though?

Bucky could wait you out easily. Run you out of choices until all that's left to cover with cream are the places he wants to get his tongue on the most. That's too easy; the back and forth between you two is what helps sparks fly.

Your fun is interrupted on Bucky's turn. He's trying to swipe whipped cream on his chest when he fumbles the spoon; the dollop slides right off the flimsy metal and falls to Bucky's bare shin, trailing down to his foot.

Both of your noses scrunch. Bucky's look of disgust is quickly replaced though by a mischievous glint, the soldier raising his leg up to balance his heel on the couch cushion.

"Better hop to it, honey." Bucky singsongs.

You playfully swat at his thick thigh, hand wanting to linger just to feel the muscle under your palm. How easy it would be to glide up and cup his cock.

"I'm not licking your foot, Bucky." You stifle the words only because you can't contain the giggles.

"Rules are rules - unless that means I win…?" Bucky perks up, and ah, no wonder why he got all delighted. He sees this as his golden ticket win.

No way he's serious. Your relationship and dynamic is very experimentational, but feet aren't on the table - sorry, Bucky. Licking one of his boots is a different story, but that's for another day where you have more time and the sweet words are replaced with filthy titles and the soldier joins you in the bedroom rather than your loving and chaste boyfriend.

“I’m not licking your foot.” You reiterate, “Pick somewhere else, for real?” “Ah ah ah, Sunshine. When we started playing we agreed.” Bucky protests and you are tempted to steal that spoon away from Bucky and swat another spoonful of whip cream at him. Instead, you pout; trying to wiggle your way. “Oh c’mon.” Bucky knows you won’t do it, the pain in the ass that he is (and you adore).

“Then I win,” Bucky declares matter-of-factly, and really, has defeat ever been such a pleasure? You shrug your shoulders to acknowledge your defeat, flashing the man across from you a bashful smile. At least you don't have whipped cream sticky on your foot - you're the real winner in that case.

“That means you, sunshine, gotta get that sweet mouth of yours on my cock.”

“Yes, Bucky,” you agree with an airy giggle. “I know what going down on someone means.”

When you go down on Bucky, he’s kind enough to give you a pillow to kneel on between his thighs. It helps recompense for the iron-grip in your hair as he guides your head up and down the steady length of his cock.

You’ve long started to adapt to the girth by now. The first time you’d attempted to go down on Bucky, the thickness of his cock had overwhelmed you. You could only take so much before nearly sputtering - and vomiting during sex isn’t sexy. It left you to have to make up for what your mouth couldn’t reach with skilled hands pumping the base of his dick and playing with his balls.

Now you can take Bucky without gagging, and it’s worth it to watch his eyes roll into the back of his head when you suck his cock. You’re his pretty cock-sleeve and Bucky has no problem letting you know it:

“Yeah, that’s it… Such a slutty fuckin’ mouth, droolin’ all over me, baby.” His fingers fist your hair at the root, every pull a delicious sting as he guides your head up and down his cock. The corners of your lips stretching around the intrusion, eyes watering and everytime you moan at the way he fucks your mouth, it sends a vibration through Bucky’s cock that just has him reeling for more. “Oh, oh God… I’ve got the prettiest fuckin’ cocksucker - a work of art."

The words are filthy yet flattering; your chest fluttering while your hands brace on Bucky’s thighs. You keep your jaw slack, making the slide as easy for him as possible as the tip of his cock abuses the back of your throat. There's a certain fulfilment that comes with being used so filthily; Solely existing for Bucky's pleasure in that moment as he shifts from guiding you to thrusting.

Your nose buries in the neatly trimmed pubic hair, flush with his pubic bone every time he cants his hips up into your willing mouth. This is how all blowjobs tend to go. With you taking the lead before Bucky can't handle it anymore and pummels your poor mouth.

It leaves a delicious ache.

Drool slips down your chin, doe-eyes fixed on Bucky despite the bleary picture he makes with tears dripping down your cheeks. Your sounds are muffled yet still whorish; your skin prickled with heat and the knot in your stomach slowly building. You grind your hips into the air looking for something to hump. You whine when you find nothing; more drool pooling past your red mouth as Bucky tilts his head back into the cushions with a low moan.

"That's it, take it, take all of my cock, baby. Like you were fuckin' made for it, mm, my precious little fuckhole. God, I love you, love my messy whore."

Your head is swimming, all you can focus on is the feel of the cock thrusting in and out of your slack mouth while Bucky uses your hole to his delight. Even when your head feels light from the lack of air, you float happily and trust Bucky. Bucky always takes care of you.

He tugs your head up by your hair, pulling you off his cock, and only then are you able to swallow lungfuls of air; gasping with spit-slick lips and a gossamer connects you to the tip of Bucky’s flushed cock.

“Cock-drunk. Like I said.” Bucky playfully chides and you whimper pitifully in response. Bucky laughs condescendingly at how pathetic you are and your chest blossoms. His hand cups your face tenderly, vibranium fingers wrapped around his dick while he smears his cockhead against your cheek. You turn your head instinctively towards the cock, mouthing wet kisses up the length and Bucky barks out a laugh at how hungry you are.

“Fuck, when did you get so desperate? You’d think I never touch you.” He traces your lips with the flushed tip; your tongue darts out to lap up the pre-come.

“As if I don’t have you bent over the nearest surface every other day; Pumping you full of my seed and leaving you fuckdumb.” Bucky slaps the length against your cheek wetly. You tongue down his shaft, as much as Bucky’s clutch in your hair will allow, and mouth at his balls hungrily. Bucky groans low and primal in his throat.

“Dirty, dirty…” His hand comes to hold your jaw, tongue sliding past your loose and parting lips. Playing with your tongue, Bucky shakes your head like a dog and you mewl. Fingers curling into the flaps of his jeans from where you’d pulled them open. “Shh, you’re alright, honey. M’just playin’ is all, yeah, you’re so cute like this. So airheaded n’ dumb.”

You suckle on Bucky’s thumb, your reply coming in a pleased purr to have your mouth full again. It’s not his dick, but you’re more than happy to bob your head. Bucky bites his lips and grins wickedly.

“I love how stupid you get for me, baby. It’s absolutely adorable, knowin’ you’d let me do anythin’ I wanted to you,” Bucky coos all too lovingly for it to be merely lust and heat.

He slips his thumb from your lips and you chase the digit with a whimper; Mourning the loss. Bucky just grips your hair again and pulls you back to his balls.

“C’mon, sunshine, suck on my balls.” The weight in your mouth nearly has you salivating, sucking on Bucky’s balls and right where you’re meant to be; Worshipping this man.

His cock is heavy against your face as Bucky jerks off to the gorgeous and whorish sight you make for him. The bruent groans, stroking his cock as Bucky watches you intently mouth as his heavy sac; Saliva dripping all over his skin and making a mess. His cock jerks infront of you, pulsing and veins bulging.

“That’s it, good pet… So fuckin’ good, yeah, you’re so perfect — Fuck, what am I gonna do with you..?” Bucky guides your mouth back to his cock. Up the length and taking the head between your lips before swallowing him down entirely. Back to the steady bob as you moan around the intrusion and Bucky groans roughly into the thick and heavy air.

“I wanna fuck your face, sunshine,” Bucky rasps out, and you stutter your ministrations for half a moment to peer up at him in the helpless daze that consumes you. “Yeah, you like that idea? Don’ gotta do nothin’, honey, just let me use that pretty fuckhole of yours.” The words purred out so sweetly, you profusely nod. Eager to be of use. Pulling off his cock, you utter the word: “O-Okay…” “Good fuckin’ pet…” Bucky’s fingers thread delicately through your hair until he’s tightening the grip. Sinking you down onto his length yet again and forcing you to take every inch he gives you. It doens’t stop there. Instead the soldier braces his feet on the carpet alongside where you’re sat between his open thighs. He pistons his hips up - hitting your gag reflex and causing you to sputter around his cock.

There is no mercy. Bucky fucks up into your face, setting a progressive pace to allow you to slowly adjust but not for long. It’s only a few moments later that he’s fucking up into you like his own personal hole. Piercing steely eyes burning through you as he watches you choke and sputter on his impressive girth. It’s a mess of spit and tears that stream down your cheeks from the brutality of the face-fucking.

Heavy balls slap against your jaw and Bucky moans. You tingle between your legs, wet from being able to be a tool for Bucky. An object of pleasure; Something about it has always turned you on in being able to please your partner. There’s no better pleasure than Bucky using you like the fuckhole you’re made to be, and he lets you know that.

“God, baby, you were made for this. Should just keep you for this one day; Make you my pretty little fuckdoll and the only thing you gotta worry about is fuckin’ yourself stupid on my cock. You make such a pretty sight, fuck, I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you…” The litany is breathless as Bucky continues to thrust his dick in and out of your welcoming mouth.

You choke and sputter; Face hot and eyes burning with tears that drip off your chin in fat droplets. Cries die in your throat, high off the euphoria of the moment and burning on the adrenaline of being used as a fleshlight. Your lips ache; His pelvis smacks into you every time he ruts his hips up. Bucky slides down your throat easily. He’s right. You’re made for it.

You don’t know how long it goes on for. Instead you ogle in heaven, seeing and feeling nothing but Bucky. Even through the wet and slick squelches of your mouth being used, you couldn’t be happier. You roll your hips to find nothing - you suppose that’s the punishment of losing the game. Only one of you get off.

He fucks your face until you’re dizzy and can’t breathe. When you fear you might sputter for air is when Bucky unravels; Your throat flexing around his cock and fingers feeling every now and again in your throat for the tell-tale bulge.

It’s when Bucky’s hips stutter and the dirty talk bleeds more into primal noises rather than words. Grunts through his teeth, low growls while he abuses your throat up until the moment Bucky’s hips jerk harshly. The movements stutter, and Bucky punches out a harsh gasp. Then you feel it.

The hot pump of his come down your throat; Filling you up.

You threaten to choke and Bucky hushes you, rubbing sympathetically over your windpipe. “Shh shh, that’s it, swallow every last drop, baby. Take it all…” He rolls his hips impossibly deeper into your sore jaw. You feel drunk and you weren’t even the one that got to ride out their orgasm. With a few last grunts and rolls of his hips, Bucky withdraws from your sensitive mouth. Half-soft cock falling and you greedily swallow for air.

Bucky pets you through it all - whispering out your praise. How good you did for him. How much he loves you.

You take a moment to recover, head pillowed on Bucky’s inner thigh as he pets your hair lovingly. You drool onto the denim of his jeans, and if Bucky minds, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he watches you with loving eyes and a soft hum; As if this wasn’t the same man who just deduced you to his filthy fuckhole. If you didn't know any better, sometimes you'd think the man who fucks you and the man who bought you a book you'd been dying trying to find for Valentine's day were two separate people.

Bucky does it because he knows you love it. You could tap out any time with the special little word you both selected months ago when your sex life began to spicen up past vanilla rocking. But you don’t. No, you take it all and then some because it feels good and sometimes you’re convinced it’s what you were made to do.

You take your time recouping. Bucky rubs through your hair lovingly and affectionately, soft hums to add noise to the space. You smile, delighted, as if you’re the one who’s won and come. Calloused fingers trace the shape of your smile and you nearly preen. Slotting open your droopy eyes, you find Bufcky still there. Still sweet.

“You did so good, honey. M’so proud of you.” He praises, knowing now that he has your attention. Your grin splits and give him a toothy smile. “My sweet sunshine,” Bucky’s voice is soft and inviting, a lopsided grin on his chiseled features. You feel like the only thing in the world for a moment.

Although you want to talk, words don’t come easily and instead, you drag Bucky down into a languid kiss. Bucky groans at the taste of himself on you, but other than that, he’s chaste and gentle. Knowing when to play rough and when not to. It’s heaven when his lips move against yours so tenderly. Your heart still flutters like a teenager in love.

The both of you remain that way for a few minutes. Slow kissing even if you imagine Bucky’s back burns from the lean and your neck is starting to ache from how you crane it. Still, there’s nowhere you’d rather be than with Bucky.

“How about we head on to our room, sunshine, and I’ll take care of the rest?” Bucky purrs against your throat when he trails kisses down. The brush of his beard tickles and the feeling of his warm breath on your skin makes you happy to be alive.

“Actually,” you say after a beat, swallowing hard and clearing your throat. You pull yourself together as much as you can before leaning back and away from Bucky.

He eyes you with a mild look of concern as you prop back against the coffee table, reaching for the untouched can that Bucky had brought in with his game proposal. You pop the red cap off and it scatters to the floor below, lost. Then, pulling yourself up to sit on the edge of the coffee table, you shake the can. You lift your hips, shimmying out of the underwear you’d been left in - both of you are half naked at this point and you’ve seen one another countless times, you have nothing to hide.

The pair pools around your ankles and you use your foot to toss them, discarded like everything else that’s met the floor this evening - save for you. Bare legs spread, an open invitation and show. Bucky’s eyes light up, and you adore how he seems to treat everytime like the first time again, too.

“I was thinking about a round two,” you purr with newfound confidence and second wind; Spraying a strip of whipped cream down from your navel and disappearing between your legs. “What do you say, Barnes?”

“Oh, you’re on.”

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thee-morrigan · 3 months

Note

Caught up with Adam and Nate and ahhh!!! Katie!! Can I beg for a sneaky late wip-wednesday, or just ask you to chat about the story more for a bit? So very invested.

Bunny, you are WONDERFUL, thank you for asking about them/this story!! <333333 hmmm, okay, things to say about the story that don't totally reveal the mystery...what about a grab bag of lore about the upcoming chapter and things that have inspired different aspects of the whole piece?

the next chapter involves literary riddles (which will make this the second third fic in which I will have sent Nate on a bookish scavenger hunt lmao. at this point i might be indistinguishable from a bridge troll with my riddles three...or the library equivalent of one)

the term the ~mysterious voice~ called them in ch3 (Nachzehrer) will (probably) pop back up again next chapter

some things I've been (re)reading specifically for Story Reasons:

a book of love letters between Rainier Maria Rilke and Lou Andreas-Salomé (there are some lines in that book that are so deeply N-coded that they make me a little crazy)

a lot, a lot of Adrienne Rich (and specifically this poem, especially the first 1-2 stanzas of section II...the "what is not simple: to wake from drowning/...these two selves who walked half a lifetime untouching" destroys me, in general, but particularly in the context of N + A...!!)

I do ALSO have a snippet from the scene I was working on earlier today — dropping it below a cut with the caveats that:

1) it's not from the next chapter (and *probably* won't appear for at least another couple of chapters) and 2) it's somewhat spoilery as it's from a more...emotionally intimate section 😌 BUT it doesn't have any spoilers that pertain to the plot/overall mystery! (and like, it's not exactly a spoiler that they love each other ahaha)

“Did you mean it? What you said back…there?” For a long while, Adam was silent, his face inscrutable. Long enough that Nate wondered if he ought not to have brought it up, to have prompted a revisit of that particular conversation. That particular confession. But Nate had never been good at pretending not to feel as he did. Had never had Adam’s gift for locking his emotions away, unexamined and ignored. Still, after another long moment, another glance at his oldest friend’s face, another attempt to see whatever thoughts and emotions churned beneath that impassive facade, he offered, “We can leave it there — in that...place — if that is what you wish. Only tell me, please, if you meant it. What you said, before. Just…please.” Nate could not quite bring himself to say it more plainly, to let that bright kernel of emotion fill his mind — fill his heart — just yet. “Only this once, please: tell me, and then we need never speak of it again, if that is what you would prefer.”

#this is probably Way Too Much info but i have absolutely no chill sooo 🤷🏼‍♀️#but tysm again for asking/letting me flail a bit about them! 🥰#lmk if you don't want a spoilery snippet though and I'll post a different one!#I just really like how this scene and the one preceding it are going and couldn't resist sharing a bit of it #answered #kt wips #ship: a home in your familiar heart

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khelinski · 2 years

Text

Hellplex

What goes through any usher’s head when they are sweeping popcorn in a vacant movie theater? Hmmm…hell do I know!? I just know what goes through mine. And right now, what am I thinking, other than the pile of shit I have to sweep up? Perhaps I can side sweep the kernels under the seat? The managers never notice (or at least, never bring it up to me). A few of the ushers hate me because of what I do. Side sweeping. I mean, you aren’t exactly cleaning it up, are you? But who cares?!?! This is a run-down crap theater no one goes to anyway. Showcase lost its prime a long time ago. Titanic was the last of its prime. Since the Forum opened up in ’99, no one gives a shit about this theater. I am surprised it’s even open. I mean, it’s been what, over ten years since the Forum took Showcase’s biz, and Showcase is still open. What the hell?

Ok, this theater is almost cleaned. Got to cup the theater, then I’m outta here. Got to see what’s playing next?

Kevin pulls the usher list from his white shirt pocket underneath his blue blazer. The Dilemma is next, [theater 3]. Kevin picks up the popcorn bags and cups, walks out of theater 14, and drops it off in the trash. He heads straight through one hallway, hangs a left, then right, and then heads to the main empty lobby. He passes the Pic-N-Mix with its stale candy. He sees a few people at the concession stand.

Dead for a Friday night.

He passes theater 10 and heads straight to lobby B. The empty, vacant concession stand is dead center. He hangs a right toward theater 3. He enters it. The blue and white carpet is covered with popcorn. The entire carpet, from the entrance of the theater up to the front row of the screen, is a river of popcorn. The CRUNCH-CRUNCH can be heard as he walks on top of it. He starts sweeping.

I really hate my job. I‘ve been here since ’99. I should’ve been promoted by now. Hell, I should have been coordinator a long time ago!

He notices some of the green seats are covered with pop. He looks up and sees the stained wall. He used to throw cups full of pop at the speakers when he first started out. He was once suspended for such behavior. This was one of the theaters he targeted. A patron must have thrown a cup at the wall too for the pop to be on the seats. Or a customer could have spilled it all over the seat. He does not care about it in any case. His attitude shifted over the years and has gotten lazier and lazier. He even sits in empty theaters sometimes and watches bits and pieces of movies on the clock. Perhaps it is the thrill of getting caught eventually. Or maybe he just does not care.

He looks back down and starts sweeping the carpet again. He then drags his dustpan up and down, catching the flood of popcorn. As his back is toward the theater entrance, he hears shuffling from the booth upstairs.

What the hell?

He turns around and looks up. No one can be seen in the booth. The booth is dim and hard to tell whether someone is in there or not. The theater still runs on 35-mm projectors. The Forum is all digital in which adds even more frustrations out of the business Showcase is not getting. The only reason why this particular Showcase is opened at all is that the office upstairs in the booth is the only district office in the area.

Kevin turns back around and shrugs. He looks down at the carpet and knows he has a lot more popcorn to pick up. He walks out of the theater, dumps his popcorn-filled dustpan in the trash, and heads back in the theater. He drags his dustpan on the carpet, as he sees the blue and white becoming more visible. All of a sudden, a loud thump is heard in the booth. He immediately looks back. Once again, nothing. Then he notices the lights start to flicker through the window. The house light suddenly turns on. It is actually brighter than usual. Kevin shuts his eyes as it starts to blind him like he just looked straight into a flashlight. The house lights turn off. He then unclips the radio off his belt loop.

Is anyone messing with the lights in theater 3?

No response. Static.

Hello? Anyone? I’m in theater 3, and the lights keep turning on and off.

The same nothing response. He clips the radio back on his belt loop. He shrugs and then goes back to his business. He hears shuffling from the booth but ignores it. All he wants is to get this theater cleaned, his shift done, and get out of here. He has worked seven days straight and is running on E.

He has been at the theater for eleven years (started at the multiplex when he was 15). He gets bottom-of-the-barrel health insurance, barely reaches the weekly 40-hours, and is struggling like crazy. His dream of being a theater manager never really paid off. They still dick him around, playing him like a yo-yo. And he never motivated himself to look for other work.

I really hate my job.

The projector starts playing a movie with the ad projector still on. But it is not The Dilemma the theater is playing (despite that is what the marquee outside the theater reads). It is Jurassic Park with no sound. It is at the scene where the T-Rex stomps on the yellow Explorer.

What the hell?

He looks back at the booth upstairs and still sees no one. He then looks back at the theater screen. He walks mid-way through the theater and then turns around. He tries to focus his eyes into the booth. He still sees nothing. He looks back at the screen. Jurassic Park is no longer on the screen. Instead, Halloween: H20. It is at the scene where Michael stalks Laurie in the school hallway. Kevin whips out his iPhone and goes through the apps on it. He clicks on a little ghost figure and pulls out the Ghost Radar app. The radar is supposed to show if there are any ghosts in the area. The line that goes in circles speeds up, but there does not appear to be any dots on the screen. Green dots indicate if there are ghosts nearby.

Kevin does not really believe in that kind of stuff, but it was a free app. and he had that, “what the hell,” attitude. His belief-meter changed one weekend with his friends. Legend had it; a girl got ran over on a busy street across from the school’s soccer field. Every midnight, a faint image of the girl appears walking across the street and then repeats the roadkill imagery. After reading that on Google, Kevin and his friends decided to pile in his car and go out to this school around midnight. They parked in a neighborhood close by and walked to the school. They waited anxiously to see a ghost of some kind. Kevin sort of mocked the whole thing, and kept on making jokes. His friends warned him not to joke about it. It was evident his friends got into it more than he did. One friend had a tape recorder and documented the event (but nothing came about the recording other than Kevin’s obnoxious loud voice). By midnight, no faint image of a little girl walked across the street. No graphic roadkill. No ghosts appeared at all. The green dots did appear on the radar, but who can take a Ghost Radar on an iPhone serious when it had many ads for other apps on top of the radar?

His friends got into the whole Ghost Hunters and Ghost Adventures fad. He, on the other hand, enjoyed that kind of stuff on an entertainment level, but never once believed in it on a real-life scale. He felt the same about UFOs, Bigfoot, and the Loch Ness monster. As they walked back to the car, he mocked the entire ‘event.’ On his Ghost Radar, it also picks up words ghosts might say. Most of the time, it is incoherent. But at that moment, when he mocked the ‘little girl,’ the time they wasted at the school, and the whole ghost nonsense, the radar interrupted his mockery and blurted DICK in a HAL 9000 tone. Everyone stopped walking, looked at each other with big bug-eyes, and freaked out. Kevin especially got freaked out. He went to bed that night, dreaming of that little girl and the car that ended her life. Ever since then, though he has not been completely converted into the belief of the supernatural, he has not mocked it either.

He continues to look at the radar and still sees nothing. His head then turns back to the white celluloid screen. But what he sees is not white. He sees yet another spliced movie. This time, it is Titanic as the ship goes down. He does not sense the irony of what he sees and his situation unfolding. Instead, he freaks out. He unclips the radio off his belt loop and talks into it.

Hello? Anyone upstairs? Anyone at all? Hello? What the hell is going on? Different movie scenes are playing in theater 3. Hello? Anyone?

With each thing he says, he pauses for a second to hear some kind of response. Someone. Something. Anyone. Anything. But static is the only thing he hears from the radio. The same sort of static that can be heard when a channel on TV turns to scrambled snow. He tries to focus all his attention up in the booth. He walks back toward the entrance, unfolds one of the green seats and stands on top of it, trying to look through the glass window. The window is up high, so he cannot really see on the same level he is at. He only sees it from a low point of view, like a child trying to look up on a countertop. He hears shuffling but does not see anyone. He does not even see any shadow of any kind. He looks back at the screen and now sees Batman Returns. It is the tail-end of the movie when Penguin falls to his death.

These are all movies I’ve seen here before I worked here. Why am I seeing them now?

Kevin gets off the seat and walks out of the theater. He walks into the theater next door. He sees The Lion King on the screen, with the scene when Simba approaches his dead father. He walks out of that theater and heads to theater 1. A hovering spaceship blasts the White House as Independence Day ignites the screen. The sound is deafening as the White House explodes. Kevin walks out of the theater and stops dead center. He closes his eyes, re-opens them. He is unsure if he sees exactly what is in front of him. He then looks at the theater house he had just cleaned. Instead of Little Fockers on the marquee, where it is supposed to be, he sees something different.

Smokey and the Bandit?

He then looks back at what he is puzzling over. The vacant circular concession stand is fully stocked. The popper is popping popcorn. The fountain pop is functioning. The candy case is filled with various candies. All the candy has nostalgic 1970s packaging on them. The prices were dropped down considerably. There are people in the stand, all with 1970s hairstyles. The box office to the right has two people in it. The mini-marquee sign at the box office reads SHOWCASE 1*2*3*4*5. The movies include Smokey and the Bandit, The Bad News Bears in Breaking Training, MacArthur, and Star Wars.

The long line suggests Star Wars is the top seller at the moment. The lobby is filled with people. The bell-bottoms, KISS/Aerosmith iron-on jersey shirts are worn among the teens.

Kevin is clueless about where he is. He has seen pictures of Showcase’s heyday, but there is no logical way this is happening. He runs down the hall to the main lobby. His jaw drops completely. The art gallery that stopped in the late 90s appears on the wall, further away from the small hallway for theater 9 and 10. He walks over to the small hallway and hangs a right to the usher room. He opens the door, gets inside, and takes a few seconds to gather himself. The usher room is his only Fortress of Solitude in the entire theater. He had a lot of good times there. His first kiss was in that room.

He was crushing on a girl that worked with him and had the guts to finally ask her out on a date. She said no. The look of disappointment surfaced on his face, and she felt terrible. Without much thought, she took his hand, and ‘ushered’ him into the usher room (which is really a custodial closet where brooms/dustpans/ladders/cleaning supplies/and letters for the theater marquees are stored). There they were, to their own private enjoyment. She closed her eyes and laid one on him. He closed his eyes, and his heart was beating a mile a minute. He then had an instant…

What the hell?

Kevin looks straight ahead. Chicken-scratch graffiti on the wall caught his attention. He looks closer at it and reads it out loud as if he is reading it in a classroom:

WELCOME TO HELLPLEX.

What the hell is going on here?

He then hears the commotion from theater 10 (right next door to the usher room). He gets out of the room and walks into the theater. He stares straight at the screen and is baffled with what he sees. Another shocking bombshell drops on him. He plops down onto the first folded seat he sees. On the screen are spliced moments of his life. His life he never had. His life as a motion picture, edited for the good of entertainment. The theater is packed. Everyone laughs at the wrong parts and is silent at the right parts. His job at the Forum. His job at Big Boys. His job at Walt Disney World. He is seen cleaning toilets. Everyone laughs hysterically. He is seen washing dishes. Laughter invades the entire auditorium. Another scene where he is stocking shelves at Meijer. On cue, everyone laughs out loud. The list goes on. For an added bonus, his failed relationships and flings over the years are mixed in with all the other moments of Kevin’s life. Everything he never had, or never did, was exploited for all to see. And everyone is enjoying it as if it was a Seth Rogen comedy masterpiece. He closes his eyes, and as if time just instantly stopped, the theater goes quiet. He opens his eyes, and everyone is gone. Nothing is on the screen.

He gets up. The lights are still dark as if there is a movie playing. A light source beam magically appears from the booth. He looks up, and the entire window is glowing of light. The house lights turn on. The ceiling tiles start falling down around Kevin. The tiles shatter as they drop to the ground and seats.

Kevin walks out of the theater, out of the hallway, and runs to the door leading upstairs. He opens the door and walks the spiral stairs to the break room/booth. He walks slowly in the break room, eyeing who is in there. A couch to the far right against the wall is filled with a few people. People he has not seen in years. Al, Marcus, Sam, Long. Everyone takes a glance and then goes back to counting tickets. Kevin has a look like he just saw a ghost. He then walks back to the door that leads to the projector booth. He has no key for the door, and it is typically locked. But out of shits and giggles, he extends his hand and touches the knob. He turns it, thinking it would not turn, but to his surprise, it turns clockwise. He pulls the knob, and the door opens. He walks slowly into the projector booth.

The 35-mm projectors are not there, as he would normally see them. In its place, digital projectors with a computer hard drive controlling what the projector projects.

Kevin’s confusion expands his own comprehension of reality and fantasy. He heads left all the way to the offices. No one appears to be in the office (or booth, for that matter). He heads back. As he slowly walks back to the doorway, he came out of; the lights of the booth turn off completely. It is pitch black up in the booth. He runs, slips, and falls. He lies there, taking the few extra moments to reconsider everything that he was experiencing.

Am I dreaming? Is this really happening? I’ve had dreams of Showcase before. You work here long enough, dreams and reality start to blend together like days/weeks/months/years, like that Inception movie! Seriously though, what the hell is going on?

He hears a noise, a noise he is all too familiar with. The sound of a 35-mm projector. The clickety-click of 35-mm film moving with every single frame per second. Without even thinking about it, he whips out his phone and pulls the Ghost Radar app up. The moving circular line rotates fast, and a green dot appears right where he is. His leg tenses up; his nerves invade his entire body. His rapid eye movement looks around at all angles.

Hello?

He hears faint breathing right above him. The lights turn on. The 35-mm projectors appear at the right spots. He looks around and sees no one. He breathes a sigh of relief, gets up, and continues his path toward the doorway. He pushes the door open, walks through the doorway, and closes it behind him. He then leans against the door, shutting his eyes.

I’ve got to get out of this hellhole.

He then hears shuffling from the break room to the right. He follows the noise. The entire break room is empty. He walks toward where the couch is and then stops.

What the hell?

On the wall across from where the couch is a painting of the little girl he dreamt about. The little girl that ended up becoming roadkill. He walks toward the painting and touches it. As he does that, the light turns off. He then yells at the top of his lungs.

WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?

Shuffling can be heard in the female locker room. He tries to look toward where the noise is, but there is no such luck with how dark it is. The light comes on; he sees what caused the commotion. He steps back toward the stairs, loses his balance. He falls ass-first down the stairs. What he saw in the locker room started to approach him. It was a faint image of a little girl. The roadkill girl. But she was not the same as he dreamt about, or what the picture looked like. Instead, she looked exactly like what any person would look like if they got ran over by a moving vehicle. She was all kinds of messed up, certainly would not be competing for Toddlers & Tiaras anytime soon.

Her face…her stomach…oh…never mind.

His feet thought before his brain did as he got up, went out the door, and through the lobby. He ran past two older women fighting in front of the concession stand because of one cut in front of the other. He was out of the building by the time the one lady fell on her ass, and the other lady was dragging her by the hair. Popcorn flew everywhere. But Kevin did not see all of that because he ran out of the building as if it caught on fire. His back is toward the entrance of the theater. He catches his breath and sits down on the pavement for a few moments. He looks back at the theater through the lobby windows. He sees no ghosts following him. No roadkill girl on the pursuit. He breathes a big sigh of relief. He puts his hand in his pocket as if he was going to get his phone and does not feel it.

Hell. I must have dropped it.

And indeed, he did. He held it in his hand, up until he had a scare of a lifetime. He takes a big deep breath, gets his keys to his ’93 Camaro out of his pocket, and stands up. Before he plans on leaving for the day, the strange-strange day, he wants to look at the theater one last time.

Perhaps this is a perfect moment to quit. It was a dead-end job anyhow.

Kevin did not grasp the irony of that thought.

He turns around. Instead of a rundown old white building with a SHOWCASE sign on top, movie paintings on the window doors overlooking a ghetto movie theater lobby, he saw wreckage. He saw the aftermath of destruction. The glass doors were still there. A Scooby-Doo painting resides on one of the windows to the far left. Through the windows, the lobby’s ceiling is completely caved down. He looks up to the sign. It does not read SHOWCASE. It reads HELLPLEX.

He opens the door and walks through ground zero. The site is unrecognizable, even though he knew where everything is. He walks through the lobby, passing the concession stand where he saw two women fight over something trivial just moments ago. The walls where paintings used to hang are gutted. To the right were the hallways that housed theaters 11-15, none of it is there at all. He then walks back to the main lobby and heads toward theaters 1-8. Instead of being inside of a building, there was a wall to the left and to the right. Kevin can see the night sky through where the ceiling used to hover above his head. A good part of the building is completely torn apart. There is no booth, upstairs, or projectors of any kind. He walks into an area where it used to be a theater house, theater 7, to be exact. Instead of an auditorium, it is an open area.

I am in hell.

Kevin is not too far off from the truth. Shuffling can be heard behind him. He turns around and sees the little roadkill girl. But she is not faint, clear, or anything Casper-like. She is of flesh and blood (so to speak). It is like a moment out of a Stephen King novel. She extends her hand. She is holding Kevin’s phone. Kevin takes it from her.

Am I dead?

The little girl does not say anything. She just nods her head yes in agreement.

Am I in hell?

She does not move her mouth at all. She nods her head, no.

So, where am I? Why am I dead?

She points to the phone he is holding. He looks at it. He sees the Ghost Radar app. He then looks up to the little girl. The roadkill girl is not present at all. He looks back down to his phone. No green dots. But words are blurted out in a computerized tone.

2012. END-WORLD. DEAD. DIMENSION. BLACK. HOLE.

Kevin understands now as he looks at the wreckage. His memory is a little faint, but it is coming back to him like an old photo album. He lived in Florida. He was working outside when end-times emerged. It was December 21st, 2012. A typical ordinary day. The media news overly talked about this day like it was Y2K all over again. And to their surprise, nothing happened. But it was the day after; all hell broke loose. No one predicted it, not even the Mayans. A black hole erupted close by the planet, sucking everything in its path. Many scientists believe Earth was created by the Big Bang. Many religious people believe the Big Daddy in the sky created everything. But no one predicted or had an answer to how everything ends. They thought they did. But they were all deceived. December 22nd, 2012 started like any other day, much like the day prior. Everyone went to work, school; his or her daily routine went on without a hitch. No warning. No media news coverage. No warm-up. No start time. No previews before the main feature. No opening act. One second: normality. The next second: nothingness. No deep exhale before gasping. No bloody murder screaming. Absolute dead silence. If it took God seven days to create everything, it took nothingness seconds to destroy it all.

One would say rapture was unleashed. But it was rapture with a twist. No heaven. No hell. A parallel universe of the hellish kind. Every human being was reliving their memories, with alternate starts and various endings. People that were happily married for 50 years divorced each other after three years of marriage. People that got divorced within three years stayed happily married for 50 years. People’s first job became their career. People’s flings became their spouses. People’s spouses became their flings. Everything was reversed and shuffled. Everyone was part of one giant iPod shuffle. It was a never-ending Twilight Zone episode with no Rod Serling to introduce it.

Kevin stands there at the wreckage of a movie theater that closed down in 2004 and demolished the year after. He closes his eyes. Reopens his eyes. He is standing on top of a ladder, putting a banner up. He is confused with the where’s and when’s. Just a second ago, he was in the middle of total multiplex-wreckage. Now he is on top of a ten-foot ladder, putting up a banner for a new movie release. He loses his balance and falls off the ladder from the top. As he falls to his doom, the ladder comes down with him. The second gravity took hold of him; he was no longer falling toward the ground. He was standing in front of a water fountain in lobby C with a bucket of water. He dumps the water into the water fountain, so he does not have to carry the heavy bucket anymore. He closes his eyes again. Reopens them.

He is standing in the middle of theater 14. His left hand is holding a dustpan. His right hand is holding a broom. A black broom. A pile of popcorn awaits his dustpan. He starts sweeping without much thought. Then a thought comes up, should he side sweep? After all, no one expects high standards at the dump that is Hellplex.

K.H.; January 28-29, 2011.

#hellplex #movie theaters #self written #Twilight Zone #short story #showcase #black clouds & silver linings

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bowlegsandbiceps · 3 years

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Suptober Day 1: Harvest

The Harvest Festival (An In Lebanon-verse fic)

Teen / Mechanic!Dean/RN!Cas / Destiel / 1,312 words

Read on AO3

Suptober Masterlist (A03)

Castiel squinted into the dying light, the autumn sunset nearly blinding from where he sat on one of many hay bales spaced out around the Lebanon town square. Children squealed as they ran around him, chasing each other with bubble wands, their faces painted with pumpkins or maple leaves or done up like scarecrows. Other adults watched amused, snacking on fresh kettle corn or apple cider on their own hay bales nearby. The wind kicked up and mutual brrr sounded through the crowd, everyone huddling closer together or pulling their jackets tighter around them.

“Woo gonna be chilly once the sun goes down.”

Dean plopped down onto the bale next to him, hands full of treats which he promptly started handing over to Castiel. “That’s cast iron brewed hot chocolate, a state fair favorite. I got a candied apple to share - shut up and take at least one bite, I know you don’t like apples but humor me here - kettle corn, some taffy, and of course,” Dean dipped a hand into his jacket, producing a beat-up old flask, “some ‘shine to keep us warm.” Dean wiggled his eyebrows and Castiel rolled his eyes, but a smile was tugging at his lips. “You got the blanket from the car right?”

“Yeah,” Castiel shifted to the side so Dean could tug it from underneath him.

“Perfect.” Dean tossed it around both their shoulders, fussing with it until they were cocooned inside the old army wool, their bounty spread on their laps. Dean leaned over and planted a wet kiss on Castiel’s cheek.

Castiel watched as Dean wiggled closer to him, their thighs pressing warmly against each other as he snagged a few pieces of kettle corn then reached for the stick of the candied apple. The sunset light painted his skin golden, the freckles smattered there starting to fade as the summer sun left them for the year. His long lashes were especially visible at this angle, green eyes alight with joy as he licked his full lips, eyeing the treat for a moment before settling on a place to bite. He opened his mouth wide, teeth sinking into the sticky coating and breaking the skin beneath with a satisfying crunch. Castiel felt a smile tugging at his lips as Dean made a disgusting slurping sound to try and keep the juices from sliding over his chin. Castiel reached out with a thumb, smudging over the stubble there and catching the sweetness before it could slide down his neck. Dean hummed, bringing up the hand holding his hot chocolate and used the back of his wrist to dab at the corner of his mouth.

“‘Fanks,” Dean said, mouth full and Castiel huffed a soft laugh, his hand moving to run down the back of Dean’s head, nearly covered by the stiff blanket around their shoulders. Dean looked over at him. “‘H'wha?”

Castiel shook his head, eyes still shining as he repeated the motion, Dean chewing contentedly as he wiped at his cheek again before taking a sip of his hot chocolate. The sun was nearly gone now, the only light from the blank screen down the street and a few of the street lamps on Main. Dean held the candied apple up to Castiel’s lips, offering him an easy bite from the side of the one Dean already took and Castiel dutifully obliged, grimacing a bit at the tartness of the Granny Smith but hummed as the sweet caramel balanced it out. Dean grinned.

“Told ya.” Dean’s shoulder nudged into Castiel’s and Castiel lifted his cup of hot chocolate to keep it from sloshing. “Gimme some kettle corn will ya?”

Castiel lifted an eyebrow but Dean merely opened his mouth obnoxiously wide and Castiel rolled his eyes as he gathered some kernels in his hand and shoved them in. “You’re a heathen.”

“Yeah, you love this heathen.” Dean chewed noisily. “Show should start soon.”

“I can’t believe this many people come out for the Peanuts Halloween special.”

“‘It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown’ is a Halloween staple. I can’t believe you’ve never actually seen it.”

“I pegged you more as a scary movie guy.” Castiel threw some kettle corn into his own mouth.

“Oh, I am. Once we’re done here it’s back to my place for a slasher fest.”

Castiel groaned. “I told you I hate scary movies.”

“Why?” Dean asked, head tilted to the side as he went for another bite of his apple. He smirked before sinking his teeth in. “Scared?”

Castiel huffed. “No. They give me nightmares.”

“So… they scare you.” Dean waved his apple as if punctuating his point.

“No, I’m not scared of them. They’re stupid.”

“But they give you nightmares. So, you’re scared.”

“The movies do not scare me. What they inspire my mind to conjure up while sleeping does.”

“Ah, surely a distinct difference,” Dean rolled his eyes and Castiel nudged him with his shoulder. “Hey don’t spill my chocolate.”

“Don’t be obnoxious.”

“I’ll protect you from the big bad scary slasher, Cas. Don’t you worry.” Dean grinned and took another obnoxiously large bite of his candied apple. “Cuddle you all close so nothing can get you.”

“Plus you have a gun,” Castiel pointed out and Dean’s eyes widened.

“Exactly. If Jamie Lee Curtis had a .357, Halloween would have been a whole ‘nother movie.”

Castiel groaned. “I hate that movie.”

“Good thing we’re watching Nightmare on Elm Street then.” Dean shimmed happily, sipping at his hot chocolate and Castiel wiggled as he whined.

“Dammit, Dean. I’m not gonna sleep for a week.”

“Oh I‘ve got ways of putting you to sleep,” Dean smirked at him from the other side of his half-eaten apple and Castiel actually felt himself blush, glancing around for anyone who might have heard.

“Freddy Kruger kills you in your sleep, Dean,” Castiel pointed out and Dean rolled his eyes chewing laboriously before discarding the last of his apple on the ground next to them.

“Then I know just how to keep you awake don’t I darlin’” Dean leaned in, nibbling at the side of Castiel’s neck and he felt his cheeks heat up.

“Stop it.”

“Don’t think I will.” Dean nuzzled behind his ear, breathing hot against the lobe before biting it gently. “Ya know this is a pretty big blanket…”

“If you think I’m giving you a handy in the middle of town square during a children’s film you are sorely mistaken, Winchester.”

“If you think I’m not gonna try and give you a handy in the middle of town square during a children’s film you are sorely mistaken, Novak.”

“Don’t you dare.”

Dean’s hand slithered across Castiel’s stomach, pulling him closer. “Trick or treat, sweetheart.”

“People are staring,” Castiel murmured, eyes moving around them and noting a look of disgust on a few faces. Castiel fought a sense of shame at their disapproval but Dean only pulled him closer.

“Let 'em stare.” Dean’s hand went to Castiel’s cheek, thumbing at the corner of Castiel’s mouth and Castiel looked back at him, his stomach bottoming out at the low fire smoldering there. “You’re all I’m lookin’ at.”

Castiel’s manic chuckle made Dean grin, knuckling at Castiel’s now burning cheek as he looked down at the small space between them inside the blanket. “You’re a sap.”

“I’m on a bit of sugar high. Makes me sentimental,” Dean grinned bringing his cup to his lips and sipping. “Also I love you and it’s starting to get disgusting.”

Castiel barked a laugh, nearly spilling his hot chocolate but Dean steadied his hand. “Is that so.”

“Yep, whether you give me a handy or not.” Dean let his forehead rest against Castiel’s

“So romantic,” Castiel teased, his nose nuzzling against Dean’s. He was just about to lean in for a kiss when Dean pulled back, head turning towards the darkening screen.

“Shhh… the movie’s starting.”

#suptober21 #supernatural #destiel #fanfic: supernatural #writing by me

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heyheydidjaknow · 3 years

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Why do I not have the option to copy and paste formatting? Why is that an option I am not given? Who thought that I wouldn’t need that when I’m on my phone? Screw that guy, who I am arbitrarily calling Adam. If anyone knows how to do that, please tell me.

Chapter 6 Pt 2

“There is no fucking way you got a date with her.” Raphael does not even look it up. “No way in hell.”

“And yet the flow chart worked.” He laughs from his lab, shutting off any excess equipment as to not overwork it. “It worked like a charm and she asked me to go to her place so ha.”

”You didn’t show her the chart, did you?”

“I did not.”

“Well, there you go.” Leo looks back at him from his seat on the couch. “What time?”

“Seven o’clock.” He slides the door closed. “But I’m planning on being there at six fifty-five so that she knows I value her time.”

“Does the sun set that early?”

“Why do you even ask?” Raph turns a page in his once periodical periodical. “You know he looked it up.”

“As a matter of fact, I did. Forgive me for also valuing preparedness.”

“Nobody likes a know it all.”

He grins smugly. “That’s where you’re wrong. See, I,” he gestured to himself, “have a date with a gorgeous girl tonight, one where she has already invited me into her home, and you,” he gestured to Raphael, “are reading a magazine from a company that went out of business two years ago alone.”

“Donnie, don’t be a jerk.” Leonardo looked back at the television. “Raphael brings up a valid point; you tend to act like you know everything, and the actual request wasn’t for a date.”

“How else can I interpret one on one time with her?”

“Well,” he counters, “how do you interpret one on one time with us?”

He blinks. “Wait, so you’re saying she’s… how do you put it?”

“Nah, I don’t think she’s friendzonin ‘im.” Mickey looks up from his drawing. “Think she’s sending signals she doesn’t mean to.” He sets his half-shaded piece aside. “Think about it; she said she’s been all stressed out, right? She died like two weeks ago.” He shrugs. “She’s probably just lonely and needs the company.”

“That’s… actually really insightful of you.”

He grins. “What can I say? I’m a modern McPherson.”

Raph snickers at that. “Donnie is more of a McPher—how old is that movie, anyway? A hundred?

“Hey!” He shoots a glare at his brother. “Respect the classics.”

“Not to interrupt your riveting intro to film class,” Donnie interjects, losing his shit, “but I really need to know what this is before I go, and it’s already fifteen ‘till.”

“Look, maybe she’s interested, maybe she’s not.” Leonardo’s eyes are back on the screen. “Just try to tread carefully and you’ll probably be fine.”

“Probably?”

“Again, Raph had a point.”

He groans, walking to the entrance and exit of their home. “You guys aren’t helping.”

“Not our job.”

Leo calls after him. “Be home before six!”

He turns the corner, cradling his head in his hands. ‘I am totally and thoroughly fucked.’

GoodFellas.

Of all the movies in the world, that is the movie you have decided to use to explain these concepts. This is the example piece that you are going to show to the vigilante. All you know is that you had started watching the Phantom Menace and had decided against explaining the concept of racial coding and this is the only other movie that you can think of right now. You have decided to commit, and you are already regretting it, but you decide to figure it out as you go.

You set the pizza on the coffee table, throwing a bag of popcorn in the microwave to pop. You do not expect Donatello to be late, so you decided to start now so that they could get started right away. You start walking to the window, stopping at the mouth of the hallway. You look yourself over one more time in the bathroom mirror despite yourself. You do not exactly know why you care so much; this was not a date, and you had not advertised it as one. Still, impressions are important, and the last thing you need is for him to not listen to you because of it. That is what you are telling yourself, anyhow.

You hear knocking against the glass. You check your phone for the time. ‘Five minutes early.’ You smile softly. ‘How responsible.’ You open it up, smiling at your guest. “Welcome, Donatello.” You take a step back. “Please, make yourself at home.”

He barely makes a sound as he steps off the windowsill, looking around your apartment, fully illuminated, for the first time.

After about thirty seconds of his investigation, you clear your throat. “Donnie?”

He snaps out of it. “Huh?”

You smile gently. “You wanna sit down? I bought pizza.”

“Uh, yeah.” He nods, sitting down and facing the television screen. “I like your place.”

“Thanks.” You sit down next to him, tucking your feet under you as you flip on the television. “How do you feel about gangster movies?”

“Gangster movies?”

“Yeah.” You list a couple on your fingers. “Scarface, Godfather, all that jazz.”

He shakes his head, brow furrowed in confusion. “How can you make gangster movies legally?”

“That is a long answer. The short version?” You lean forward, taking a slice from the box. “The police are kind to those who cooperate, and people think their stories are fascinating.”

“So they’re documentaries?” He mimics you.

You shrug. “Sometimes. Not always, but sometimes. You want something to drink?” You hear the microwave beep as you stand up.

“Water?”

You nod, walking over to pull the popcorn out of the microwave and grab your drinks. “I trust the walk wasn’t too bad?”

“Not at all.” The small talk is torture. “Getting to your window was a bit of a challenge, but it wasn’t anything too bad.”

“That’s good.” You pour him a glass. “I’ll have to get something for that; maybe a planter or something, so you have a bigger ledge.”

“It’s alright.” He taps his fingers against his knee. “It’s wide enough to stand.”

“Still.” You place his cup on the counter, dumping the kernels into a large plastic bowl. “I wouldn’t forgive myself if one of you guys got hurt trying to come in through the window.” You grab a can of soda out of the refrigerator, sitting down and handing him the glass.

He smiles slightly. “You’re really sweet sometimes, you know that?”

You grin. “I try,” you hum, starting to pull up the movie. “I think you’re pretty cool too, Hamato.”

He chuckles. “You make me sound like I’m fifty.”

“Oh, totally.” You nod in agreement. “You’re an old soul.”

He blinks. “Old soul?”

“Mature, I mean.” You shrug. “I mean, handling the stuff you do with any degree of tact, to me, displays a great maturity you don’t see in most teenagers, myself included.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

You get back up for napkins and plates. “Not at all.” You hand him one of each. “It’s an admirable quality, though not one I particularly envy.”

“You think?” His hands linger for a moment longer than typical as he took them.

“Yeah. You want me to turn down the lights for the movie while I’m up?”

His face goes red. “I-I mean,” he stutters, “if you want to.”

“Then I will; shows the image better when it’s dark.” You walk to the wall, flicking off the lights and sitting down next to him, setting your slice on your plate as you turn on the movie.

Your reactions to it are different.

He does not seem what you would call disturbed, but he gets grossly invested in the story extremely quickly. He is noticeably more interested in watching you watch the movie, but he studies the plot intently, noting the more domestic plotline between the lead and his wife in particular. His reaction to the violence is strange to you; he is not aloof, so to speak, but he does not flinch much until the fighting is between Henry and Karen.

You have seen this movie what feels like a thousand times. Whenever you think it applicable, you lean over and whisper to him about the directing, the script, the plot—it is supposed to be a lesson, after all. But you realize that your attention, every so often, shifts to the bed, to your pillow with the knife underneath it. The violence of the movie makes you edgier than you are used to.

About halfway through the movie, you move closer to the boy sitting beside you. You lean your head against his shoulder, closing your eyes as you listen for cues for comments. You don’t notice his reaction, but you do notice how his arm snakes around your waist, pulling you closer to him. You do not object; you were the one who initiated, after all.

“Here’s a psychology relationship thingy you can tell your family about.” You cringe at that poor little girl standing in the hallway. “’That’s all in your head’ is classic gaslighting. I dunno if that’s really your area or not.”

“Oh, yeah, I see what you mean.” He fiddles with the cloth of your jacket absentmindedly. “It’s kinda hard for me to wrap my head around, people staying like that. I mean,” he clarifies, “I get why, but—”

You both tense up as a young man on screen is shot dead by Joe Pesci’s character.

You exhale. “Yeah, I get what you mean.” You shrug. “But folks get scared, ya know? In her case, she doesn’t want to break the family apart, and she’s really into him.”

“What? No way.”

“Yes way.” You look up at him. “What can I say? We fall into infatuation so fast with bad people who say what we want to hear.”

“Don’t you mean fall in love?”

You watch as Lorraine Bracco holds a gun to her husband’s face. “Nope. Love is entirely different.”

“Yeah?” He glanced down at you.

“Apples and oranges.” You gesture to the television. “Love is supplementary, a beautifully imperfect connection between people.” Your voice becomes smoother, airier. “It’s a bond built on trust and respect. Infatuation is more of an addiction than anything.” You sigh as Liota meets to discuss his relationship with Sorvino. “At least I think so. That’s why love at first sight is a bunch of bullshit; you can’t have that kind of profound trust with someone you just met.” You shrug, looking back up at him. “Then again, what do I know? I’m an inexperienced, fifteen-year-old girl.”

“That makes a lot of sense, actually.” He looks back down at you. “I get what familial love is, but whenever Master Splinter talks about his wife, he has a hard time putting what he means into words.”

You hear their guilty verdict. “Totally get that. Articulation is not easy to do.”

A few minutes go by.

“May I be frank?”

“Please.”

You watch as a man drags his wife out of a Christmas party. “This movie is exactly why I don’t ever want to learn how to do the stuff you do. It changes you, all that violence; desensitizes you.” You bring your knees to your chest. “Especially Raphael. I swear, that shift was as dramatic as his, at least at this point in the flick.”

He pauses. “Please, tell me you’re kidding.”

You close your eyes, breathing slowly. “I’m going to try my best,” you swear, “do everything in my power, to see to it that you guys don’t experience more than you have to.”

You mean it. He can tell.

You two are quiet for the rest of the movie. You explain why certain directing choices were made, connect the beginning with the end, talk about the theme, all while you two watched their fall from grace. When the movie ends, you realize how tangled up in him you are; your head on his chest, legs draped over his with his arms around your waist. You feel the icy air against you, as if his skin attracted it to you. You push the hair out of your face. “So,” you stretch, turning the light back on, “do you wanna see another movie, or do you have a curfew?”

He pauses. “I should honestly probably get home,” he sighs. “If I’m not home early they’ll start getting ideas.”

“Oh, yeah.” You nod, completely understanding the reasoning. “You can take the leftover pizza home if you want; the guys’ll probably eat it before I do.”

“Mikey’ll be on cloud nine.” He picks the box off the coffee table. “Thanks.”

“Any time.” You stand at the window, opening it for him.

He climbs onto the windowsill, looking down at you from his perch. “I had a good time.” His face flushed. “We should do this again.”

You nod in agreement. “Definitely.” You rub the back of your neck. “I’ll pick a lighter movie next time.”

“Alright. It’s a plan.” He gives you a thumbs up.

You steal yourself, cupping one side of his face and kissing him gently on the cheek. “Goodnight, Donnie.” You smile. “See ya tomorrow.”

You are a bit concerned he’s going to fall off the windowsill. “Y-Yeah,” he grinned, words slurred. “See ya later, Y/N.” He waved, climbing up and out of your window.

You smile softly, sigh. You flop back on the bed, rolling over. You have not been this at ease since you died.

‘I really like that guy.’ You close your eyes. ‘I really, honestly do.’

You drift off to sleep, dreamless for the first time in too long.

Table Of Contents

Chapter 6 Part 1

Chapter 7

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mrvdocks · 3 years

Text

Plus One

Summary: Steve gets some closure. You and Nancy get a big surprise.

A/N: well, well, well, here we are. One chapter away from the finale. I hope you guys enjoy it. :)

Two weeks. You’d been gone for two weeks.

At first, he thought you just needed some time to cool off, so he waited. And waited.

And waited.

When you didn’t return after the third day, that’s when he started to panic. He’d called Robin, only to be met with an earful of how you were too good for him and that he needed to make a reassessment of his life. He knew that.

The days started to feel long and lonely. Mickey was there sure, but he was starting to miss your presence. Your loud and annoying laughter didn’t fill his ears when he would watch your favorite shows. He wished you’d come out of the room at times and yell at him for using your luxurious things.

He’d broken the foot tub. He didn’t know how, but he’d broken it and he wasn’t nearly as knowledgeable about fixing things as much as you were.

Just when he was cleaning up his mess for the day, there was a knock on the door. He froze.

His heartbeat suddenly started to shake and rattle against his rib cage. There was an uneasy feeling in his stomach. One where you know you’ve done something wrong and tried to put it off and now have to face it.

He exhales slowly, dropping what he’s doing and preparing himself for the worst. Maybe you’d push past him or call him names or take Mickey. He thinks taking Mickey would be worse. He didn’t like being alone with his thoughts and God knows he couldn’t charm anyone else to spend time with him lately.

He opens the door in a swift motion, ready to say the usual “I’m sorry” but is met with someone he did not ever expect to see in the area.

Don Harrington. And company.

He’s in a grey suit jacket and jeans and sensible shoes, all things Steve hadn’t seen in a long time. Next to Don are two kids, the same kids that he hadn’t seen since he’d left Hawkins.

“Stranger! Stranger!” They yell in unison, pointing at Steve.

“Guys! It’s okay, it’s just Steve, remember?” Don laughs charmingly, bringing his hands onto the boys’ shoulders and rubbing them to calm them down.

“Dad?” Steve asks, completely wide-eyed.

The kids push past Steve and begin their scream-a-thon again. Steve is too struck by his father standing in front of him to even care that they’re probably making a mess inside.

“Hey son,” Don shoves his hands into his suit jacket. “Got a minute?”

Steve sighs.

Steve reaches for the water basin to give his dad water and almost hides his opened bottle of alcohol but in a small thought, offers it to his dad. Don refuses it, saying he’s watching his figure. Steve scoffs to himself, just a few years earlier his dad would’ve loved a cup, or at least the whole thing.

“What are you doing here, Dad?” Steve asks, pouring the water.

Don’s fingers tapped against the wooden table in drum-like motions. “Can’t a father visit his son with his future step-brothers? I’m worried about you, kid, you haven’t responded to any of my calls.”

Steve stops pouring. “Let’s not do this, alright?”

Don’s brows furrow. “Do what?”

Steve shoves the basin to the side. “Don’t pretend like you want to be there for me now. You had all that time then, why now?”

Don shuts his eyes.

“Steve, I’m sorry. Really, I am. Listen, I know I wasn’t the greatest -”

“You were a grade-A asshole who ruined our family.”

Don doesn’t fight with his son. He knows his sins. But that’s what he’s here for, atonement.

“Did I make some harsh decisions for you to toughen up? Yes. Did I make your mother and you lose trust in me? Yes, but I’m here now Steve. I didn’t leave. I could’ve but I didn’t.”

“So all of this,” he gestures to Don and the kids, “suddenly just makes up for all the bullshit you’ve given me? Do you know how many times I heard mom crying in the middle of the night? All those times she pretended like those business trips you took were actually for business? Hell, do you even remember what happened when I left?”

“Yes, I do.” Don nods, closing his eyes again in uneasy remembrance.

It would be better if the past was just forgotten.

“I know you’re angry at me. You have every right to be, but I did say I wanted to bury the hatchet. Everything I did is in the past now, your mother and I - you know, we moved on. She found someone and I did too. I think it’s only fair that you do as well. And I see you have.”

Steve tenses up a little at the latter half of Don’s sentence. He did, didn’t he?

“Yeah. Maybe not, Dad.” Steve avoids his father’s eyes and fiddles with things on the counter.

Don catches on. “Why?”

Exasperated, Steve stops what he’s doing.

“What happened? You made this girl sound like she was your soulmate tenfold!”

“Maybe soulmates don’t exist, Dad. Maybe not for me anyway.” Steve plops himself down in front of his dad, clutching the mug of water to sober himself up more.

Don frowns. “What happened?”

Steve hesitates. He’s never bared his feelings to his dad since he left. And even then, it was all just dry replies and sarcasm and bitterness. But maybe it’s the alcohol talking or the fact that his dad really does seem like he’s changed.

“I screwed it up. I just let myself get in my head and I - I pushed her away.”

Don places a comforting hand atop his son’s own. Steve recoils at first but settles. His father had never been too affectionate, no, that was his mother’s job. It felt off.

But it also felt a little more comfortable, honest. Like there wasn’t a hint of being affectionate for the sake of hiding some grand affair.

“Steve, you’d tell me the truth if I asked you right?”

“I guess.”

“Do you hate Mary?”

“What? No. No.”

“Then why are you so mad about us?”

“I’m not mad, Dad. I just - when you and mom split, it messed me up. I didn’t want to be like you guys. I just wanted to find the one and hang onto her forever. And now I’m completely alone, so. And you’re just moving onto your next family.”

“Steve, I’m sorry that your mother and I splitting up hurt you so much. I’d be nothing if I hadn’t met her and I also wouldn’t have you. But kiddo, as long as your mother and I are alive, you’ll never be alone. Including your girlfriend. It's not too late to fix things."

“Thanks for letting me crash here, Nancy. I promise I’ll be out of your hair soon.” You say, fixing up your couch bed.

Nancy waves your concern away.

“Don’t even worry about it, it’s nice having company. Plus it gets kind of lonely at night.” She says, setting the white timer on and setting it down on the counter.

“You cooking something?”

“No….just trying to time something.” She says vaguely. You don’t read too much into it for now.

Nancy smiles warmly instead, passing you a thick fleece blanket from the other couch. Jonathan was off doing a piece on the Northern Lights somewhere in Alaska. When Nancy had first revealed to him that you were staying with her until things settled, he had a few choice words for Steve.

You felt odd, having turned Steve’s friends somewhat against him. Nancy reassured you that this was familiar territory. They knew how Steve was. This is how she had remembered him in Hawkins during that honeymoon period they were in.

“Do you miss him?” Nancy asks, settling into the blanket with you and putting the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. She was about to play the movie you two had debated on for a solid three minutes.

You shrugged as you fiddled with the chipped nail polish on your fingers. “I love him, Nance. But if I can’t convince him that nothing’s going on, then what’s the point?”

You sigh as you close your eyes and try to imagine when the last time you saw Steve happy was. You think the day in California was the best day of your life. He was like a little kid again, running around the boardwalk and trying to impress you with the “test your strength” games. The sunset perfectly illuminated him when you laid on the cooling sand, a single curl falling loose on his forehead from his quiffed hair.

“I don’t think you should let this deter you. Maybe Steve’s just scared. I mean why wouldn’t he? He’s had a fear of unfaithfulness forever. His parents, his friends, me and Jonathan. To him, there’s always been someone better.”

“I know.” You frown. “But, and excuse the cliche, when I’m with him - it’s like nobody else matters. If I was still with Danny the second I moved in with Steve and Robin, I think I would’ve been in trouble.”

Nancy’s brows perk up, intrigued. “How so?”

“I’ve been in love with Steve since the day I moved in. I promised myself I wouldn’t move on so fast after Danny but, I messed up that day.”

Nancy smiles at the sweet thought.

You shake your head in thought. “I don’t know. Maybe I wasn’t his type after all.”

“Oh please, you’re definitely his type. Smart, tough, independent AND you have the balls to call him out on his bull? You’re his dream girl!”

You blush at the compliment. “Thanks, Nance.”

“You’re very welcome. Now, let’s riff on this romcom and throw popcorn when things get too cheesy.”

The movie goes on for half an hour, the bottom of the tv set covered in popcorn bits and kernels. You and Nancy laugh hysterically and boo at the cheesy romantic scenes whenever they pop up. When the timer goes off Nancy glances over her shoulder and stands, giving you the half-empty bowl of popcorn.

“I’ll be back.” She says, going to the upstairs bathroom.

“Alright, but don’t take too long. I think Tom Hanks gets naked in the next scene.”

“I won’t.” She chuckles and disappears.

You take a handful of popcorn in your hand and dump it in the hood of your sweater, bobbing for it in an attempt to stay distracted.

Five minutes pass and Nancy hasn’t returned. You glance at the time on the tape player. It’s only so long that you can bear to stare at Tom Hanks’ eyes before he loses his charm.

“Nancy?” You call out, hearing shifting from upstairs. No response though.

You count to three, getting up and letting pieces of popcorn fall to the ground.

“Naaancy.” You step onto the stairs carefully, grabbing onto the wooden railing.

Still no answer. You huff and resolve to go up the stairs.

“Nancy if this is your idea of a prank, just know it’s not great! I don’t get scared easily!”

You make it all the way to the top and glance down both ends of the hallway. You see a light on at the end of the hallway on the left, the door left ajar just enough to see the shower. You approach with caution, hoping not to catch Nancy in an unflattering position.

“Nancy?” You call again, now at the front of the bathroom door. You can hear sniffles like someone’s crying. Your brows furrow.

“Nancy?” You swing the bathroom door open slowly, meeting a crying Nancy on the floor next to the toilet.

“Hey,” Your voice lowers an octave and becomes soft. “You okay?”

You kneel down to her level and put a hand on her back, rubbing in circles.

She shakes her head, revealing a white stick in her hand. Your eyes widen when you realize what it is.

“These aren’t real right? These are joke tests?”

Nancy looks up at you in teary puppy dog eyes.

“I don’t know,” she hiccups. “I don’t know what to do. I was hoping it was a false alarm.”

Trying to make her feel better, you grab one of the untouched sticks and sit on the top of the toilet. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll pee on one too, and then we can see if it’s a false positive okay?”

“Okay.” She murmurs softly, chin now resting on her knees as she cowers against the shower door.

“Have you and Jonathan talked about this kind of stuff?” You ask, shimmying your sweats down.

She shrugs and looks to the side. “It’s too early. He’s just so focused on his career and I just got this job….it’s in the plans...just - not right now.”

You cock your head to the side with a sympathetic look.

“Hey. It’s all going to work out fine alright? You don’t have to tell him yet. We can figure it out. I’ll help you.”

Nancy sniffles and dabs at her teary eyes. She nods.

You both wait for the test results after a few minutes. You try to make her feel better with some small talk but you can tell the results weigh heavily on her mind. You grab the stick when enough time has passed, eager to make her feel better until you take a look at it.

“See? Nothing to be worried about.” You reassure her, waving the stick a few inches away from her face.

Nancy does a double-take. Her mouth formed an “O”.

“What?” Your grin falls. “Two lines means not pregnant right?”

She stands quickly, balancing herself on the edge of the sink. “Two lines is….pregnant.”

Your heart drops.

“Please say you’re joking.”

“No, it says it right here, look.” She hands you the paper from the box and on it clear as day, two lines equal pregnant.

You drop the stick onto the sink and start to hyperventilate. Nancy abandons the paper and wraps an arm around you.

“Are you? Are you - pregnant too?”

“No! No, I can’t be. I - I haven’t had sex since like Halloween week!”

Nancy gives you a knowing look. Your face falls.

“I’m too young to be pregnant!” You exclaim.

“What?”

“Nothing, brain fart.”

You rush out the bathroom door and downstairs to the kitchen where she keeps the home phone. You dial Robin’s number as fast as you can and tap your feet impatiently as you hear the line trilling.

“Come on, pick up.” You whisper.

Nancy rushes downstairs to stand in the doorway, clutching the manual and listening.

“Hello?” Robin’s voice alleviates some of your panic.

“Hold on I’m putting you on speaker.” You say, letting Nancy get a better listen.

“What? What’s going on? Did Steve apologize yet?”

You exhale shakily. “No, no he didn’t, I - um, I have something to tell you.”

You can hear Robin set down whatever she was holding as you capture her full attention. “What is it? You’re scaring me.”

“There’s no easy way to say this….but…I think, I’m pregnant.”

“You’re what?! Shut up!” Robin screeches. “Kali! Get in here!”

“What happened?” You hear Kali’s voice a split second later.

“Say what you just said again!” Robin commands.

“Kali, I think I’m pregnant.”

“You’re what?!?!” She gasps.

“I know!” You clap your hands over your face in shame and silently scream into them.

“Oh my god, what have you done? To like - the world?!” Robin cuts in.

“Robin…” Kali scolds.

“I’m sorry!”

“Oh god, what do I do?” You question the speakerphone.

“That kid is going to come out with a full head of hair and try to flirt with the nurse the second it’s born.” Robin bursts into a fit of laughter.

“Not funny, Robin!” You glare at the phone, trying to remain calm.

“Well, now you have to tell him!” Kali says.

“No, I don’t! You saw how well things went over a coffee machine, imagine a kid!”

“You have to! What if this is what he needs to stop acting like a kid?” Robin tries to reason. “He was always good with kids in high school and part of the reason is that those were his only friends!”

You cringe, remembering those stories.

“If losing his best friend wasn’t enough for him to stop acting like an idiot, what makes you think throwing a kid into the mix would?”

“I dunno. But Kali’s right. You have to tell him. Otherwise what happens when you start showing and the worst thing he can think is you’re getting fat?”

You scoff.

“Maybe they’re right,” Nancy chimes in. “I mean, how long are you going to go without talking to him? You have to make up at some point.”

You groan in frustration, raking your hands through your hair.

“I really hate that I consider you guys my moral compass. I truly do.”

Having responsible friends really was a pain sometimes.

The phone line rings and blares red as another call was coming through.

“That must be Jonathan.” Nancy guesses.

“Robin hold on, Jonathan might be on the line.”

“Oh good, I want to know what he thinks of all this.”

Nancy puts Robin on hold and picks up the phone from the receiver.

“Hello? Hold on, hold on, what’s going on?”

You can hear whoever’s calling speaking fast.

“No, she’s not here.” She lies.

You take a break from your panic attack to try and listen to the frantic voice on the other end. It’s all too fast for you to understand.

“You’re where? Slow down!” Nancy asks, glancing at you now and pointing to the phone.

“It’s Steve.” She mouths.

You freeze.

“Okay! Okay! I’ll let her know if I see her.” She hangs up and presses the button to get Robin back.

“What’s the sitch?”

“He said something about a dog.”

“Mickey?” Your voice grows concerned.

“I guess? He just said that something was wrong and he went to take him to the animal hospital.”

Your stomach dropped to your ass. You rushed over to the front door and put on your shoes as fast as you could.

“Did he say which one?” You ask, borrowing one of Jonathan’s coats. There was no way you were going out there in just sweats and a henley.

“Ummm I don’t know, I think the one on West and 61st street.”

“That’s where I work!” You exclaim. “You don’t have a car?”

Nancy shakes her head. “Jonathan’s the one who drives.”

“What about you Robin?”

“No can do, me and Kali have a meeting but keep me posted! Good luck!”

“Screw it I’ll take a cab.” You say goodbye to Nancy and rush out the door and brave the cold.

You whistle down a cab and hop in. “Murray’s Animal Hospital, please. And step on it!”

“Wait, (Y/N)? Is that you?” A familiar voice asks you.

The driver turns around, revealing himself to be…..speak of the devil, Danny.

“Danny? Oh for fuck’s sake.” You sigh and rub at your temples.

“Hey!” He says in a lighthearted tone. “Long time no see.”

“Danny, I will literally pay you extra to shut up and drive like hell alright?”

Danny does as he’s told and hauls ass. You grab a hold of the bar on top of your head for each swerve and crazed turn he does that earns him a honk of the horn from other cars and nearly sends you flying out of your seat.

Two messy car ride minutes later and you rush out of the taxi as soon as he parks outside the entrance to the animal hospital.

“Hey!”

“Give me a minute!” You flip him off and ignore him as you try not to think of the worst-case scenario happening with Mickey.

You must look like a lunatic to the girl sitting at your desk with wild hair and an overall messy appearance. You try your best to fix yourself up.

“Where is he? Where’s Mickey?” You ask frantically.

“Who?” Your replacement sitting at your desk asks.

“A black dog! He came in with someone, big hair? Big head?”

She gets the gist and points to the right and down the hallway. You take deep breaths as you will yourself to put on a brave face.

Steve’s sitting on a chair with his face in his hands. He looks up when he hears the patterning of your footsteps against the sheet vinyl flooring. He gets up quickly, nearly knocking the chair over.

“H-Hey.” He says nervously, hand on his arm.

Come on, you can do this. You can do this.

“Hey.” You breathe.

He’s taking you in from top to bottom. It’s the first time he’s seen you since Halloween night.

“I missed you.”

“What happened?”

You both say in unison.

Your mouth falls agape as you take in his confession. Fortunately, he pretends like your question took more priority.

“I don’t know. One second my stepbrothers are playing with him, the next he’s choking on some toy they brought.”

“What was so important that you couldn’t keep an eye on him? I knew it. I knew I should’ve come back for him.”

You didn’t mean for it to sound so harsh but the situation was starting to make you realize something. Say you did have this kid, would it even survive for a month?

“My dad came to visit.” He stares down at the tips of his shoes, shoving his hands into his pockets. The same way he did last time you saw him.

“Oh.” You let out. Well, this changes things.

“What did he want?”

“He wanted to fix things.”

“Did it work?”

He shrugs. “Having that talk with him, it made me realize something.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat. “What is it?”

“Hey, you coming or not? The meter’s running.” Danny’s voice comes to interrupt a peaceful conversation.

“Danny.” Steve acknowledges.

“Hey,” Danny replies, eyeing him. “Stan, right?”

“It’s actually Steve.” He corrects.

Danny laughs it off. “Okay man.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as you know this situation just took a turn. You grab a handful of bills from your pocket and shove them into his chest.

“Fuck off.” You command.

Danny takes his wad of money and leaves.

Things fall silent again as Steve clears his throat.

“So….Danny huh?”

“Oh shut up, I needed a ride. I didn’t know he was the one driving the damn cab.”

“Does he know about me?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know. I figure the whole sleeping with my sister thing cancels out if he sees me with someone else.”

Steve nods, confused.

Beat.

“Can I...can I tell you something?” Steve asks, getting closer and closer to you. You feel butterflies when he does.

“Please don’t make a big speech.”

“It’s not a big speech. It’s a medium - medium speech.”

“Okay….”

“You were right. You were completely and totally right about me. I am an asshole. And you were right about these weddings. I didn’t know what I was looking for. I would get in my head about all these things that the perfect person should or shouldn’t be. And I’ve been thinking. A lot. Being alone in that apartment made me realize something.”

“That you’re lonely and afraid of commitment?”

He chuckles. “No. You’re not there to insult me or make fun of me when I come home from work. You’re not there to tell me how much of an idiot I look in the groomsmen photos or how my speech was shitty. You’re not even there with me and Mickey.”

He’s starting to tear up, his eyes get blurry and watery and he has to wipe discreetly at them. It was time to confront his demons and make it up to you. Being alone was just a taste of what would become of him if he didn’t swallow his pride.

“And I know the only reason you’re not there is because I hurt you. I hurt the one person who never deserved it. And I pushed you away because I’m stupid and I’m selfish and fuck me for being too late but I love you! I love you.”

You felt your lip quivering with each little detail he added about his epiphany. But the straw that broke the camel’s back was the declaration of love.

“Y-You love me?” Your voice cracks.

“Of course.” He breathes out, hands reaching for yours to take reassuringly.

“Steve...I really….I have to tell you something.”

“Please don’t say you and Danny are back together.”

“No...no it’s not that,” you try to work up the courage to tell him. “I’m....I think - I’m pregnant.”

Steve steps back for a moment. He feels the shock settle in. He lets out a surprised gasp as he takes both his hands and folds them behind his head.

“You’re what?”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #plus one #stranger things imagine #HERE YOU GO

81 notes · View notes

goodgirlsfanficawards · 3 years

Text

Happy WIP Wednesday! This week we are featuring five canon/canon divergent WIPs we can’t wait to read more of!

don't get cut on my edges by whiskeyjack / @whiskeyjack

06 Feb 2021, E, 21K, 4/10

She had been there, with her stupid socks, looking at him across her room, waiting for him. She had been wearin’ her pearls, the same ones that were currently sitting tucked away next to three disfigured slugs, a torn piece of pop’s baby blanket before Rhea’d fixed it, a polaroid, a school land-yard and a movie ticket; feelings Rio can’t and doesn’t want to be liberated from no matter the cost. He needs the token reminders. The best and worst moments of his life, these items monumental in their significance.

And then the dream had shifted. Sweat wicked silk sheets jarred impossibly against stiff black fabric soaked with tears. The look on her face when he pulled that black bag off her head was mutinous. He caught a flicker of relief before she succumbed to her confusion and anger. Rio turned to show her Turner on the floor, when suddenly he heard the shots being fired. Blindin’ fuckin’ pain and the world went black.

He couldn’t help the infuriating heat that was building - anger shocking his body out of any remaining deliriousness. The pain, subsiding gradually, only left room for comprehension to yank him abruptly back to reality.

A Gangsta To Love Her Better by HisBossBitch (Kithi1), Kithi1

09 Feb 2021, M, 103K, 35/?

“You did that deliberately, you cheat,” she sputters and elbows him gently. She’s laughing and he grins back, unrepentant. “But seriously, Christopher, say what you said again.”

He smirks, “Maybe next time you could actually try hitting…” She pushes him again as he gets his towel and he laughs at her, a smug sound.

“No. The thing, the other thing, Christopher. Don’t be obtuse.”

“What? Elizabeth’s pregnant. You heard me the first time.” He walks off the court. He sounds matter-of-fact about it but she thinks it’s an act. He had known that what he was saying was surprising to say the least and that’s why he had waited until the end of their match to bring it up.

She grabs her bag, walks beside him. “ The Elizabeth?”

“Yeah.” He slings his towel around his neck.

“The one who shot you.”

Yesterday, Forgotten by thingcalledlove

09 Jun 2020, M, 4.8K, 2/3

“You dated.” Rio said it so matter of fact, that for a moment, all Beth could do was stare at him. Then it clicked.

“You already knew,” she accused, turning to jab a finger into his ridiculously hard peck.

“Dangerously close to where you’ve already done some lasting damage.” His voice was like ice, but there was a hint of amusement that Beth could only now pick up on after paying so much attention to the little quirks of the man that stood before her. “Nah,” he continued easily, “I suspected, but I didn’t know.”

She wanted to ask him how. How did he come by this information? It was part of her past that not even Annie knew about. Ruby also only had the smallest kernels of information, and none of it important enough to truly resonate. No, this was secret she had planned to take to the grave with her. An embarrassing chapter in her life she had practically forgotten until it had walked up to her. She had a million questions for Rio but settled for the most important one.

“How are you connected to all this?” Beth inquired, taking a slow sip of the newly pilfered bourbon. She decided to ignore his little remark about her shooting him.

“Andretta,” Rio said, nodding in the direction of the other man, who Beth noticed was still looking at her as he spoke to a few other well-dressed men, “He runs this whole thing.”

Get To Be Mine by septiembre / @septiembur

25 Sep 2020, T, 34K, 3/8

“Oh, Christopher.” Beth laughs and moves closer to take his hand in hers. His mouth drops open the smallest smidge. “Sweetie,” She says to dig the dagger in that much deeper. “You are too much. I can’t believe you kept it a secret this long.” Her tone shifts inquisitive, slipping into a role honed by twenty years of marriage to Dean Boland, and envelopes it with the rapport she had built with Marjorie and Miriam the day before. “Is this my Valentine’s Day present? Or-“ She gasps. “Is this for our anniversary?”

Rio looks at her like he can’t decide if she’s batshit or if he wants to stab her. It’s her new favorite look, she decides. The Vandenberg sisters watch on trying to make sense of the scene in front of them.

“Christopher’s my partner.” It isn't an untruth. Beth makes a show of biting at her bottom lip, a tad gleeful. Suddenly the scene is nervy -- she's going to win. Is this how he felt that night at the dealership? Her fingers twitch.

To Rio’s credit, he recovers quickly. He gives a little cough. “Darlin’, you know our anniversary ain’t 'til April.”

Oh?

“Y’know, when we met that first time. At the store.”

i will collect you and capture you by foxmagpie / @foxmagpie

28 Jul 2020, E, 17K, 2/3

“I just think we should find another spot,” she says, ignorin’ that slight, “to do drops and exchanges.”

And Rio had said “fine,” and Elizabeth had been surprised, shocked even, at how easily he’d conceded. She’d nodded, like she’d beaten him in some game, and he let her believe it.

But the look on her face when she walks into her own bedroom to see him languidly riflin’ through Dean’s side table drawer is worth it. She drops the laundry basket huggin’ her hip, and a li’l scream gets caught in her throat, just like that first time he’d surprised her sittin’ on her kitchen island.

“‘Ey now,” he says smoothly.

“What are you doing?” Elizabeth hisses, bendin’ over to pick up the few items of clothin’ that spilled out of the basket. She sets the basket on top of the dresser and notices that her pajama drawer is cracked just slightly.

Rio didn’t actually go through it—he just wants her to feel as invaded as he does.

Half the time he feels like she’s fuckin’ shattered his sternum and crawled up between his ribcage. Time, distance—none of it dulls it anymore. In the beginning, it was all triggered by seein’ her. Now he can go a week without seein’ her and still feel fuckin’ stir crazy.

Rio pulls out some cheap watch Dean’s got tucked in his drawer, assesses it. “You said we needed a new spot, no?”

If you know of anyone’s tumblr/twitter and we haven’t found it or tagged incorrectly, please send us an ask to let us know.

#good girls nbc #nbc good girls #good girls fanfiction #brio fanfiction #good girls fanfic #wip wednesday

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voxymoxyboxy · 3 years

Text

Scrapped Secret Santa Idea

While struggling to write for my AU drabbles, I was looking at my old writing and stumbled across this abandoned draft for the Sam and Max secret santa from last year! I read it and found that I still really liked it so I thought I would publish it on here for people to read! It’s not finished, but I do really like what I wrote. Please enjoy!

The familiar thrum of the microwave sounded through Sybil’s kitchen as she leaned against a nearby counter. Little pops began a few seconds later, the smell of butter and salt slowly, but surely, washing over her like a warm bath. Thin fingers drummed against the large plastic bowl in her hands. Rather than compose a new symphony for one- though that didn’t sound too bad for her next career-, Sybil decided to cross things off a mental list.

Comfortable pajamas pulled from the depths of a bottom drawer? Check.

Snacks? Enough to feel like utter garbage come morning.

Fluffy blanket? Spread on the couch just waiting to be wrecked by her guest.

Speaking of her guest… Sybil checked her watch. It was almost eight o’clock, the time when their little girl’s night was supposed to start. Supposed to, because Max wasn’t exactly known for his punctuality. The woman sighed. If she had to guess, the lagomorph would burst through her front door at about nine, a full hour late, wide smile on-

A knock on the door startled Sybil from her thoughts. The bowl clattered to the floor, but the women kicked it aside as she made her way through the living room. Whoever was waiting outside stopped for a second, only to be begin spamming the doorbell instead. Sybil quickened her steps.

“I’m coming!” she shouted. “Just give me a second!” The ringing continued, much to the woman’s dismay.

“Sybil!” a high-pitched voice called through the wood. “What you say in the bedroom’s none o’ my business!” Nearly banging her arm against the doorknob in her hurry, Sybil threw open the door to find Max, wide teasing smirk on his face clothed in nothing more than a flimsy scarf. His hands were clasped behind his back and he rocked back and forth on his heels.

The woman rubbed the bridge of her nose but returned the lagomorph’s smile. “Good to see you Max.” She stepped to the side to let him in. “Come on in.”

Max strutted inside, a bag the woman hadn’t noticed until then clutched in his paws. Sybil raised a brow when, instead of just dumping it on her carpet, the lagomorph gently placed the bag under the coffee table. Free from potential harm and the crumb zone, the woman noted. He jumped on the couch, already making himself at home by wrapping himself up in Sybil’s blanket like stuffing in a burrito.

“So.” The lagomorph eyed the snacks on the coffee table. The woman watched as Max snatched the largest chip bag of the bunch. Ripping it open, Max dug out a handful of salty goodness and stuffed it all in his mouth. “Where’s the kid?” he asked, crumbs spraying everywhere from talking with his mouth full.

Sybil grimaced. Tomorrow would be a clean-up day for sure. “I left Penny with a good friend of mine from work.”

“What is it this time? Graphic designer?” Max picked at his teeth. “Toy making? No!” He snapped his fingers. “Mall Santa!”

“Elf, actually.” Sybil said, making her way back towards the kitchen. “Hired me on the spot after finding out I’m a mother.”

“Must be desperate to avoid any lawsuits this year.” Max commented and dumped the rest of the bag down his gaping maw. “Probably don’t wanna lose another Santa.”

“Lose another Santa?” the woman parroted, confusion plain in her voice. “I don’t remember hearing anything about a Santa being arrested last year.” Max flattened out his blanket nest so his arms were now free to move about. He grabbed a soda and popped it open.

“Whaddaya mean?” The lagomorph took a small sip before continuing. “You were there! I kidnapped you that mornin’ to help me get a present fer Sam! Near ‘bout had a heart attack when he burst in and handcuffed the bastard.” He traced the rim of the can, ears drooping a bit before shooting right back up. “Right?”

Sybil had to tread carefully.

“The popcorn’s done. Why don’t you get it while I turn on the tv?” Max was silent for a beat. While subtle, she could see his jaw tighten, grin turning forced. The grip on his soda tightened, leaving tiny dents in the aluminum. And yet, just as quickly, Max was bouncing back. Literally, as he’d jumped to his feet.

“You actually trust me to go within six feet of yer microwave?” the lagomorph said. He brushed away an imaginary tear. “I’m touched!”

“Get going before I regret my decision.”

“You probably should.”

“Go.” The woman chuckled, playfully shoving him towards the kitchen archway. Max ‘harumphed’ and left the room. Sybil rolled her eyes. It was all just for show. The guy was a drama queen through and through. What had caught her eye were the muscles in Max’s shoulders. The habit leftover from her old job as a masseuse proved to be useful, for they were tense, almost like the lagomorph was preparing to fight.

Or flee.

Sybil reached over the side of the couch and pulled out the remote. After finding the device in Penny’s mouth one too many times, she’d decided to buy one of those stupid arm slings to hold it. Admittedly, it worked pretty well. She flicked the tv on, muting it before leaning to get comfortable. Flipping through channels, the woman looked for the right one. No, no, uggh, ah-ha! Now she could really get settled in.

Before she could really hunker down, Max slid in front of the flat screen. His back faced Sybil, pristine white fur now covered by a long-sleeved purple pajama shirt, both sleeves and matching pants rolled up. Bowl held over his head, he leaped back onto soft cushions, stray pieces flying to hit Sybil’s arm and leg. Her gaze traveled over Max and she stifled laughter with a hand as she saw what was hovering over his chest.

“Merry Christmas, Ho, Ho Hoes?” she read, giggles bursting through her fingertips. For the first time that night, Max’s smile turned genuine. The lagomorph puffed his chest out, pride radiating off his person.

“Jealous?” he nearly purred.

“Hardly.”

“Green doesn’t become you, Sybil.” Max sing-songed.

Said woman gasped. “I’ll have you know it brings out my eyes!”

“Whatever helps ya sleep at night!” Max shot back.

The two started at each other for a moment before bursting into hearty laughter. Some of the tension from before ebbed away as they clutched their quickly hurting middles. Wiping away small tears, she glanced over at her friend. A weight Sybil hadn’t known about lifted from her shoulders as the rabbit devolved into giggles, stray pieces of popcorn flying everywhere.

“You know,” Sybil scootched back to her side of the sofa, "I was wondering.”

“Bout what?” Max tossed a kernel and caught it with a loud crunch.

Sybil gestured towards the television. “Why Hallmark movies?” She tucked her legs under her. “I thought you hated those.”

Max froze, caught off-guard by the woman’s question. He recovered fast, face blank as his attention turned to the movie. The woman on the screen- the heroine, Sybil assumed- walked under a garden arch adorned with Christmas lights. A man followed close behind, a look of complete adoration gracing his features. Slowly, he plopped the dish onto the middle cushion.

“Yeah,” he brought his knees to his chest, “I do.”

“Then why…?”

Max buried himself in Sybil’s blanket. He placed his chin on his knees. “How long’ve we known each other, Sybil?”

Sybil tilted her head quizzically. “About two or three years now, I think.” She paused. “Why?”

Snow began falling in the movie. The woman laughed and pulled the man towards a tackily-decorated gazebo. He followed without fail, lips flapping as he probably spouted cheesy dialogue.

“It’s funny, ‘s all.” Max said, sad little smile on his muzzle. Sybil had a feeling he didn’t really mean it. “From what I remember, it’s been at least five. But then again,” the lagomorph tapped his head, “Never did have the best memory.”

“Don’t sell yourself short Max.” Sybil scooted closer and lightly placed a hand over Max’s. He flinched but didn’t move to rip the limb off. She took it as a good sign, welling with pride as she squeezed the paw. “You’re smarter than you think. But that’s not the real issue here, is it?”

“Dunno. You tell me Miss Psychotherapist.” The rabbit tried to crack a joke, but the woman wasn’t having it.

“Max.” she said, slightly increasing the pressure on his hand. By now the soon-to-be couple were sitting on a bench found in their temporary shelter, shoulders brushing while they talked. “You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong. But know, as your friend, I’m here for you.”

Max tossed the words around in his head. He pulled his hand from Sybil’s and grabbed a mug from the table, whipped cream already melted into the warm cocoa. Holding it with both paws, the lagomorph took a deep breath.

“It happened a few years. You n’me were just fuckin’ around at one of our movie nights.” His grip tightened around the porcelain handle. “Landed on the channel and had the crappy idea to mute it and write our own story.” Patiently the woman waited as Max took another swig.

“Was so stupid.” the rabbit mumbled, corners of his mouth pulling up just so. “But fun. Were laughin’ our asses off by the end of the night. When I was ‘bout to leave, you suggested we do it every year and-“

“You wanted to keep the tradition going.” Sybil finished, voice wrought with understanding.

Max sent his friend a look, mouth shutting with a clack. “Somethin’ like that.” The rabbit’s gaze wandered back to the film, pang in his chest at the woman and man twining their fingers together. “Guess I just wanted something familiar in m’life.” he confessed.

Sybil peered at her friend intently. “…Have you told Sam?”

“Hell no!” Max said. “He’s the last one I wanna tell!”

“Is something going on between you two?”

“No.” he lied, thumb running over the edge of Sybil’s mug.

“Did he do anything? Because I know the guy can be dense sometimes-”

The lagomorph shook his head. “Yer readin’ too much int’ it Sybil.”

The heroine and hero were staring at each now, the camera rotating around the outside of the gazebo in a way that had to make some people sick.

“…Has he been distant lately?” Sybil tried, sadness clawing at her throat when Max’s ears pinned against his skull. “Do you know why?”

Max bit the inside of his cheek. “No. But what I do know,” the rabbit hugged the mug closer, “is that he’s been weird round me. It’s like…” he tugged at his pajama sleeves, racking his brain for the right words, “guy’s always on edge. Just yesterday me and Sam were caught n’ the middle of a few mafia goons.”

“Tis the season.” Sybil chimes in, prompting a snort from her friend.

“Bullets are flyin’ everywhere, the smell of gun smoke heavy in the air. I take two of ‘em down no prob but then,” Max furrows his brows, “then Sam just freezes up. Had ta save his sorry ass and off the rest myself. When I asked what happened, he tried to play it off like it was no big deal!”

“How long’s this been going on?”

“Not too long after we started dating.” The lagomorph sighed. At that moment, the man pointed out a sprig of mistletoe hung on the ceiling. Trapped like rats, the two hesitate but for a beat before kissing. “Makes me feel like, like-”

“You’re the problem.”

Max pouted. “Stop that!”

Sybil chuckled. “Sorry. Force of habit. Still.” She placed a hand on Max’s shoulder. “You should tell him. You two may be terrible at talking about anything emotional, but Sam appreciates honesty.” The woman squeezed it and slid back to her claimed space. “He’ll listen. You’ve just gotta trap him somehow.”

#sam and max #sam & max #sam and max freelance police #my fics #post season 3 #spoilers

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betelgeuse-boo · 4 years

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been thinking about beej being part eldritch and the cool kinda stuff that comes with it- (i am, of course, monsterfucker supreme)

tw for body horror!! please be careful proceeding if body horror triggers you!

————

it usually happens when he’s not even thinking

“it” being the more...archaic sides of him showing

he yawns and his mouth opens a bit too wide

when he’s scratching a particularly bad itch he starts grumbling in an infernal language that makes your head swim- he quickly stops after recalling you’re there

eyes just sometimes open ?? on random parts of his body?? you screamed the first couple of times

one time, he was so happy with the dinner you had made him, a huge maw in his throat opened up and ate the entire meal- plate and all- in a single chomp

the tentacles are probably the least weird but they’re still...strange too

he walks like a “human” around you but when he thinks you’re not looking he scuttles across the walls with those fucking tentacles to get around

his neck can go full exorcist regan macneil - he can turn his head to look directly at you while his back is turned towards you

one time he held a bag of popcorn really tight and what you could only assume happened next is that he somehow had produced enough heat to pop all the kernels

“i was too lazy to use the microwave” he nonchalantly said while tossing a few pieces into his mouth

it’s...jarring to say the least to see your that your partner is not only the love of your life but a terrifying horror too, and had he not been in search of love and affection from humans, you could only imagine the sort of devastation he could bring with his power

still that made him cuddling you at night feel all the more loved

he had no true obstacle to harm anyone- given that he was summoned first- except his own inhibitions

and while he jests about murdering people that upset you all the time it’s clear he doesn’t want to bring down harm on people for no reason

here this big scary creature was, loving you, purring when you played with his hair and holding your hands in his significantly larger ones

occasionally using a tentacle or two to cup your cheeks when he kissed you

he has his moments where he truly seemed like the demon he was born-dead as, but the fact that he loves you is more than enough to make your heart flutter

#sunny’s headcanons☀️☁️#tw: body horror #i just had to throw some fluff in there too #i think thats my brand

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kylorengarbagedump · 4 years

Text

Little Bird: Chapter 41

Read on AO3. Part 40 here. Part 42 here.

Summary: You need Kylo Ren to understand. He needs you to understand, too.

Words: 3900

Warnings: an attempt at emotions

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: Is this angst? Is this how you write angst? Is it angsty enough? Hahaha.

Thank you all very much for reading. Only four chapters left, and I am honestly terrified! Haha. I really hope you enjoyed this chapter, I tend to like the ones where I can attempt something new. I want the emotional beats to feel correct.

I love y'all very very much. THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU.

You were awake.

Your bed was stone, a slab that poked through your flesh into the bone, forcing adjustments between tired sighs. Even though this movement exhausted you, you found it impossible to sleep.

It couldn’t have been the baby. After all, it was blueberry-sized at this stage, a time when most women didn’t even know they were pregnant. And it couldn’t have been pain, as most of it had subsided, or faded to a pleasant, ambient hum in your nerves, far more comforting than distressing. It couldn’t have been hunger, either--at least not anymore. Sneaking food from the kitchen after sunset had quelled your raging stomach.

But you still found it impossible to sleep.

It was obvious, of course, why you couldn’t, but it was a memory you wanted to avoid processing. Johana’s tattered voice, gleaming tears, her admission--I give up, you won--played in your head like a busted cassette tape, rewinding with a sickening click every five seconds. Your Commander’s decision, his cruelty, that remained unprocessed too, a willing rejection of his apparent reckless obsession. You would not, could not consider just how deep, how desperate this obsession was, would and could not consider the urgency of its terrible course.

If you considered it too long, you would feel its twin, the ache in your blood, the silver pulse of your own mirrored need--and know its depth and its desperation as easily as you knew to breathe.

You sat up in a sigh. Beyond your porthole window, the quarter-moon was an opal shimmer over the garden, and the only stirring residents outside were crickets, grasses shifting with the whispered wind. If you were going to be awake and miserable, you could at least gaze into something other than your own empty ceiling--so you rolled out of bed with a groan, deciding bare feet and a nightgown were plenty appropriate for a time where you planned for no one else to see you.

On your tip-toes, the creak of wood could be mistaken for the settling of an old home, your fingers skimming the walls for stability while you crept down the steps and through the darkened halls. You weren’t sure what time it was, but you knew your Commander to be a man of little sleep and littler compromise--seeing him was the last thing you wanted at this moment. When you reached the back door, you held your breath, flipping the lock and easing the knob to the left, prying it open, only to be greeted with a huge black shadow.

“Jesus Christ!” You bit a scream between your teeth, stumbling back--as your vision focused, heat rushed you. It was a Knight Templar. “Um. Hello.”

“What are you doing here?” This was Ushar again--you recognized his voice from earlier--and you relaxed, slightly. Your awkward moment with him was already addressed. “You’re not permitted to leave the premises.”

Another sigh escaped you, and you crossed your arms. You would’ve felt more embarrassed to be only in your nightgown if he hadn’t already seen everything else.

“I’m not leaving,” you replied. “I just want to be outside for a second.”

Ushar glanced into the garden, then back to you. Or at least, you thought he did. Helmet and all of that. “It’s late. The Commander will expect you to be sleeping.”

“Well, to be honest, I don’t really care about that right now.” You went to push past him, and he side-stepped to follow you. “Oh, come on,” you said, “why are you even here? He’s home, he shouldn’t need you.”

“We’re on duty until his meeting with the Council tomorrow.”

You blinked. “Oh. I thought all of that was today.”

He shook his head. “Preparation. Tomorrow is execution.” A pause. “Figuratively speaking.”

Dread sank its tiny teeth into your stomach. “Or maybe literally, knowing him.”

Ushar cleared his throat. “Yes,” he said. “Well.”

Silence settled between you. Strange, to speak with a man who had, less than 24 hours ago, stood in a circlejerk to spatter you with sperm, and stranger still to converse casually with him about the fact that your mutual Commander’s preferred solution to any issue was to blow its brains out.

“Well.” You cleared your throat, too, as if this would ease the tension in any meaningful way. “Look. I just want to walk around the garden a little bit. You can stand and watch me the whole time.” Half-grinning, you held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

“What’s that?”

“Oh. Um. Boy Scouts?” Your shoulders sagged. More heat at your face. Perhaps the strangest thing of all was the reminder that anything and everything familiar had been razed like a forest by Gilead’s flame. “They were like. A thing. Before…”

“Never heard of them.” Ushar paused, and pivoted to the side. “Go ahead. Don’t be long.”

“Thank you.”

Pinching your lips between your teeth, you slipped outside, neglecting the stone pathway and cutting into the grass. The little blades were fuzzy at your feet, wedging between your toes, and the air cleaned your lungs, the sky a lonely galaxy beyond the hedges and the yard. Gold twinkle lightning bugs flickered between the flowers, hovered above the pond, the sole source of light outside of the sterling moon and stars. You peeked over your shoulder at your sentinel--but he was motionless, observing you in silence.

Your feet carried you past the bench into the mini-maze, catching sight of the birdfeeder, the bag of seed. The Marthas hadn’t gotten to it, yet--not that they would have had time to--and in its day and a half of neglect, the bag had toppled over, spewing seed onto the ground, the feeder abandoned in two pieces by its side. It seemed almost rude, now, to see this mess and decide it was a job for someone else. With a shrug, you strode over, heaved the bag onto its bottom and started scooping handfuls of tiny kernels, dumping them back in.

They spilled like water through your fingers, raining onto your feet and the dirt--you seemed no closer to your goal with the next scoop than you had with the one previous. Another one, and another, and still the seed scattered, palms empty before you reached the bag. Sighing, you gave up, choosing instead to grab the feeder and pop on its top. As you gathered both halves in your hands, the backdoor opened, and you froze.

“Where is she.”

Your throat thickened. You dropped the feeder. He was here.

“She’s beyond the hedges, sir,” Ushar replied. “She just--”

Scuffing soles on stone cut him off, storming toward you--and you remained, unflinching. Even if you wanted to run, there was nowhere for you to go.

Kylo charged the corner into the maze, still dressed in black, his shirt unbuttoned low enough to expose his clavicles, which you hated to acknowledge. At the sight of you, he stalled, capturing you in his gaze, focusing on your figure, curves draped in your white nightgown, your breasts unbound, your hair wild vines over your shoulders. He swallowed, air rolling through him, attention drifting to your face. The muscle under his eye fluttered, his fists furled.

“You weren’t in your room.”

You knew hadn’t imagined it--the tremor in his voice, the quiver at his chin. He didn’t sound angry. He sounded scared.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

Kylo took a single step--the distance between you seemed at once too great and too smothering, and he stopped, drawing a long breath through his nose. He stared, held it, chest rising, then released it, hands relaxing as he exhaled. His gaze slid to the hedge, tracing the woven ropes of leaves through the trimmed branches, wandering to the grass and landing there. The crickets hummed in the void. You would’ve asked why he had headed to your room if he hadn’t made the answer so plain to your eyes.

“The first time we met here,” he began, “I said I wanted to know you.”

You offered a slight shrug. “We’ve definitely become more familiar.”

“I do know you.” He glanced up. “I know that there’s a part of you that wants to stay.”

“Really.” Frowning, you shifted on your feet, ignoring the warmth at your cheeks. “You know that.”

Kylo stole a step. “Yes.” Another, and another. “I do know that.” Two more, and his long legs had brought him within arm’s length, his pupils wide in the night. “Because there’s a part of me that wants to leave.”

Oxygen escaped you, and you shook your head, averting your gaze. Crackled embers glowed in your heart; given his hesitations, his strangled frustrations, and your own inability to find resolve, this had been a part of him you’d already known. But to hear it from his mouth, given life on his lips, it was palpable. Tangible. You met his eyes again, paralyzed by their power--they were endless, brimming with emotion even you yourself had never been asked to name.

For a second, you forgot to speak, wondering how you could snatch this moment like spun glass in the air. Then you stepped closer, and grabbed his large, strong hand.

“Then why don’t we?” you murmured. “We can go. Just be. We can forget all of this.”

Kylo fled--for only a millimeter--before steeling himself, curling his hand around yours, and bringing it up to his face. He examined your thumb--now scabbed, but still sore, and stroked it with his own. Satisfied, he wove his fingers between yours, pulled you to his chest.

“All of this,” he said, “is under my control, now. I can keep you safe.” His other hand cupped your cheek, fingers coasting over your skin. “Make you want for nothing.”

Staring into him, into the vortex of his gaze, you tried to swallow the thickening desire to admit the only thing you did not want him to know.

“You keep saying that,” you replied, tugging his hand from your face. “But as long as I’m in Gilead, I will never want for nothing.”

His hand squeezed yours. “There’s more I need to do.”

You shook your head again. “Well, even if you could make that happen--”

“I can.”

“Even if you could.” You unwound your grip from his, stepping away. “What about everyone else?” The Resistance, the car chase, Poe’s head, Snoke’s mansion, the dress, the party, Tera Jackson, the Widows, the Wives, Johana--all dangled above your brain, a broken mobile composed of the casualties of your affair. “It’s not enough, it’s not fair to change my life when it makes everyone else suffer,” you said. “Why not just live a life where you don’t have anything you need to change?”

He raised a brow, as if he hadn’t understood the question. “Because I need to.”

You sighed. “But why?”

Kylo’s gaze broke from yours, aiming beyond you as his tongue traced his teeth in thought. A soft exhale, and his attention returned. “The world was flawed, before Gilead.”

“Gilead has only made the world more flawed.”

He grumbled. “Do you understand what happens to those without direction?” he asked. “Without order?” You were silent, waiting for him to continue--he speared you with his stare. “Chaos.” A tension in his throat. “Suffering.”

“Those without direction…” Head tilting, you searched his face. Puzzle pieces shifted close, edges locking--his rage, the graveyard, his terror, his Wife’s own words. “If the world wasn’t flawed, you wouldn’t have been abandoned,” you said. “That’s what you think.”

His eye twitched, jaw rigid. “It made sense.” Blowing air through his nose, he paced around you, fingers curling in and out of fists. “Snoke made sense. At first.” He huffed. “But he was just as flawed.” Steady and still, you watched him, watched his thoughts race through his mind, watched while he struggled to match them with words he had never had to speak. “Only I understand the consequences of chaos. Only I have the capability to perfect this.”

It emptied you, his hopelessness, his resignation that the only way out of his depthless hatred was to drown it in a void of control. You knew another way--knew it was nested within the words you couldn’t say.

You sighed. “You think that will fix it?” you asked, folding your arms over your chest. “You think that will make you satisfied? More whole?”

Kylo rounded, shoulders pinned back, a predatory curve to his spine. “Were you satisfied with life before Gilead?” he asked. “The loneliness. The uncertainty.” He drew closer, trapping you in his gaze. “Falling asleep empty. Waking up in agony.” Inches from you, he clutched your shoulder, turning you toward him, brushing your hair to your back. “I know your life, little bird.” His hand pinched your chin, his tone tinged with ire. “I know it because it was mine.”

Heat flashed through your spine. “It still is your life,” you growled, swatting his wrist and backing away, “you’re still miserable. And it’s still my life too, and it will be as long as you keep me!”

“You’re miserable,” he said, following you step for step. “You are the one who said you wanted all of me.” He was chasing you, stalking you as you retreated further into the maze, eyes rimmed gold in anguish. “And now you want to leave. Like everyone else.”

Your heart fractured. “Kylo--”

“I will end the Council if I need to.” He was black-winged in the moon’s shadow, a luminous Lucifer. “I will tear out every tongue that threatens your life if it will keep you here.”

A branch caught your sleeve, and you stumbled for only a moment, chin stiff. The threat was not hollow, but it was equally not wise. In his wrath, Kylo Ren did not believe there was a fight he could lose. In your sanity, you did not believe there was even a fight to be had.

“You can't do that. You know you can't.” A curly finger of the maze tugged you into the vines--you shrugged it off. “You know you won't be able to keep me safe forever.” There was no cease to his advance, no glimmer of cessation. “Johana is right.” The words flew from your mouth in a bid to convince him. “The Council won't stand by this. There's no such thing as divorce--”

“I don’t care.”

“--there’s no such thing as living with your Handmaid, I mean, do you expect us to get married--”

“I don’t care!”

Rapt in his gaze, you stumbled again, back flush with a wall of leaves, and Kylo consumed you, a silhouette against the sky, swallowing your sight. One hand grasped your wrist, the other pressed to your cheek, his palm smooth, your skin hot at his touch. You resisted the urge to melt into it.

“I want you,” he breathed, your name a ghost on his tongue. “I need you.” His lips trembled. “You are the only thing that makes sense.”

You were trembling too, quaking as you struggled to restrain the inevitability forming in your throat. Kylo Ren had been your Commander, the architect of your suffering. And he had been the only one in over three years to stir you, save you, see you--to care if you lived or died, to truly and genuinely desire not just your mouth, but the thoughts that came with it.

He had found you. You didn’t want to be lost again.

“I want you, too.” You nuzzled his hand, and he led you closer. “I need you, too.”

Kylo gathered you against his body, the hand at your wrist sneaking to caress your back, his fingers carding through your hair. There was no vacancy in his eyes; they were flooded, overflowing with warmth, with worship. You felt it--the thump of that silver pulse, the genesis of a clandestine reality you wanted, with every screaming cell in your body, to speak into existence--felt its weight as an echo on his tongue. His lips parted, his focus falling over your face.

Words would damn you. So you thrust your hands in his hair and pulled him into a kiss instead.

He enveloped you, mouth meeting yours as if it’d been years, a tender groan cresting in his chest while his grip clung to you, seeking your flesh through cloth. Humming in bliss, you sketched over his scalp with your nails, basking when he gasped and shivered at your touch, your tongue slipping past his teeth and sliding over his own. He moaned into you, pressing you to his frame, breaking off only to kiss you again, lips touching once, twice, before his full, plush mouth massaged yours and his tongue returned. There was no fury, no primal insistence--Kylo cradled you and contained you, held you like a man who was terrified to lose you, terrified to let you go.

Soft lips skimmed yours, and he stepped between your legs, pressure digging the hedges into your back. You whimpered in shock--he stopped and snatched you to his heaving chest, seeking the origin of your pain. It almost made you laugh, this protective urge, when you still bore the bruises and bumps from the previous night. Grinning, you eased away, catching his face in your hand and forcing him to meet your gaze. His eyes swam, spinning oceans, eager and alive. Your breath hitched. It left your mouth without even trying.

“I don’t want to leave you,” you said. “Leave with me.”

Kylo paused--you could almost see his mind reeling--as he stared at you. His chest fell with dejected air, and he held you closer, tighter. A strong hand returned, cupping your face again. His head offered the tiniest shake.

“It’s too late.”

Your heart fractured further. “No, it’s not.”

His hold left you, then, comfort torn like skin from your bones when he stepped back. In summer air, you froze, icy without his embrace.

“What I’ve done…” He glanced to the side, pacing away, steps taking him a slow circle while he gazed into the corners of the mini-maze. “What I’ve done cannot be undone.” Looking back to you, the knot in his throat bobbed. “Even if I wanted it.” His hands clenched, unclenched, and he approached you again. “If I leave,” he said, “it won’t be with you. I will be arrested.” The severity in his expression petrified you. “Or I will be dead.”

Perhaps, in the back of your head, you’d always known this, always known that escape was not a simple solution for a Commander, and certainly not a man like Kylo Ren. But to hear him acknowledge it too, to seal himself to his own inexorable conclusion--it decimated you.

“Oh,” you said, as it was the only sound you could make for a moment. “War crimes.”

Kylo’s head dipped in acknowledgement. “Yes.” A pause, and he turned, thoughts cast across the yard, before swiveling back to you. “To stay is the only way,” he said. “For you to be mine.” He gestured to the garden. “For this to be ours.”

You frowned. “Ours?”

His hand dove into his pocket, plucked his wallet free. Stone-faced, he flipped it open, fished into the slot and produced a folded piece of paper, presenting it to you as an answer. Cocking a brow, you pinched an edge, looking between him and the little note as you unfolded it.

One corner was swathed in smooth, swooping ink, the opposite end festering with wobbly attempts at leaved-lines. In the middle, they met, blooming into a tiny Eden--beautiful, borne from the hallowed recognition that suffocated, unspoken between your mouths.

“Kylo…” Chin quivering, you suppressed a laugh. “You think,” you said, “after all of this, what I want is, is… to what, control this with you?”

“No.” His tone was serious. Sincere. “You want freedom. You want me.” Stepping toward you, he took your hand, dwarfing it in his own. The heat of his body choked you. “But we don't get to choose what we're owed, little bird. Destiny decides it for us.” His attention flitted to you and the drawing. “I know what roles we are meant to fulfill. This is not just mine.” His gaze bored into you, chaining you in a plea. “It’s yours.”

Kylo Ren did not want to leave. He wanted you with him. In power. In whatever capacity he decided.

The offer was not only disappointing, it was insulting. To think you would want to stay in a land where you’d watched women hang, to remain in a nation where, without him, you could never hope to survive. No matter what route you chose, with him, you lost. There would be no agency for you in a world where you reigned standing on cadavers. And for your child--there was no purity coming home to a burial ground.

You glanced at the drawing, mapping it to memory, imagining it in his pocket while he met with Council members, ferreted threats, worked late into the night--pictured it tucked away at his hip in the Audi, stowed somewhere safe on the Buzzard when he was with his men. And your fractured heart splintered into scarlet shards.

Meeting his eyes, you shook him free, taking the sheet in two hands. Without a blink, you shredded it in half, layered it, ripped again. You caged him in your stare, unflinching, as you turned the paper into flakes, tear by tear, and littered them across the grass. Kylo watched, carved from redwood: large and flushed and eerily still, until his gaze dropped to the ground. He was speechless--and the inevitable words burgeoned, a tangled mass in your throat again. This time, you said them.

“I hate you.”

His eyes snapped to yours, struck black with horror--but before he could think to respond, or you could take it back, you fled, sprinting through the maze with your nightgown hiked to your knees.

There was no sound behind you, not even the crunch of boots, and you were grateful for it, grateful as you skipped past the pond and up the stone path, as Ushar veered to the side, as you pounded the halls and up the steps to the annex. You were grateful that you hated Kylo Ren, grateful that it would not hurt when you rended him from your heart, grateful that whatever route you chose, without him, you’d win.

It was gratitude, certainly, you felt when you opened the door to your room, an empty hole and empty bed. It was gratitude, too, that flooded you when you collapsed onto the mattress with a groan, and gratitude that stung your sight, flowed past your cheeks, stained your pillowcase. Thank God, thank God you hated Kylo Ren, thank God he was so easy to hate, thank God you would not ache when you left him behind, made a home without him, or gave birth to his child.

A tiny knock on your door. You stopped, cries arrested in your chest, as you cranked your neck to the threshold. Were it not for this timid request for permission, you would’ve ignored it in belief it was the only person you did not want to see. Clearing your throat, you straightened and hopped onto your feet, wiping your face clear--not of tears, but gratitude--while you turned the knob and cracked it open an inch.

Johana, cloaked in a frilly blue robe, stood anxious in the hall. Her face twitched with fear, her eyes stark, her mouth tight. In silence, she held out her fist, and opened her palm.

The switchblade.

#kylo ren smut #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren #kylo trash #little bird #handmaid au #fanfiction problems #i am so sorryyyyy

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canyouhearthelight · 4 years

Text

The Miys, Ch. 106

I know I’ve been on a fluff kick lately, and I’m not even remotely sorry. This chapter started out as an excuse to re-visit an offhand comment from a previous chapter, and ended up with Sophia having the kind of night off I wish I could have.

Thanks go out to @baelpenrose (beta and also creator of our favorite teacher-cum-warlord-cum-teacher), @charlylimph-blog (because no one else could have created the ball of chaotic friendliness that is Charly, nor her strong, silent, and charming partner), @werewolf2578 (because I will never not love Maverick), and @creakingcryptid (for donating faerself and Antoine early on to the cause, and putting up with me in real life. This entire story, from chapter 1, would never have happened if not for faer, and I’m not even remotely exaggerating about that).

“Lift the right corner a bit more,” Tyche called out. “Yeah - Dammit, Arthur, that’s too high. Bring it down a bit more.”

“Do you want to swap?” he quipped, dropping his side of the large, white sheet to exactly where it had been before.

Ignoring him, Tyche asked Maverick to lower his corner instead, to much greater success. At least satisfied with the results, she turned to me and made a ‘ta-da’ gesture towards their work.

I shook my head at her. “And we need this why?”

“Movie night,” she reminded me needlessly.

“Eyeah. It was kind of my idea.”

“And none of us have been to a proper movie theater in ages.” She had a point there.

“Do we even have a projector?” Maverick asked, grinning, as he walked up.

Arthur, right behind him, grinned almost malevolently before Tyche cut him off with a glare. “I told Charly we were doing a movie night,” she offered by way of explanation.

“She insisted she had popcorn covered,” Arthur ventured carefully. “Do I even want to know?”

Eyes wide, I turned to him. “She didn’t tell you?”

He shook his head. “I asked what that meant, and all I got out of her was a maniacal laugh. By any chance, does she always carry around a cartoon-villain moustache in case she needs to twirl it?”

“And cat ears, yeah,” I confirmed absently. “She really didn’t tell you?”

“I just asked if she got the consoles to actually make popcorn that wasn’t better used as packing material,” he admitted.

Maverick erupted in laughter. “You are in for a treat.”

“Will it poison me?”

“Doubtful,” Tyche shrugged regretfully.

“Hmm. Pity.”

Trying to get somewhat back on topic, I pressed on about the projector. “So, you told Charly we were doing movie night this week, so she is going to… obtain? Steal? Jury-rig a projector?”

“I try not to ask, unlike some people,” Tyche arched an eyebrow defiantly. “Gift horses, mouths, you get it.”

“I doubt she’s stealing one,” Maverick offered. “She’s an engineer. Pretty sure she already had one she made, or is finishing one up as we speak.”

Fair. “What movie did we end up agreeing on?”

Maverick and Arthur answered in unison. “Star Wars.”

“Nuh uh. Nope,” my sister argued. “Repo! The Genetic Opera.”

“I’m with her,” I jerked my finger toward the person not insisting I watch a movie about a war in space while actually on a spaceship.

We continued arguing good-naturedly while getting non-popcorn snacks and drinks together. Arthur, to no small amount of surprise, was putting a very impressive amount of thought and consideration into the arrangement of blankets and pillows on every conceivable seating surface in my living room - some of which I didn’t even recognize and probably didn’t want to know where he got them. At some point, Derek and Sam arrived, judging by the latter sitting happily next to a moving lump in Arthur’s careful construction and petting my cat.

About the time snacks were ready to be carried into the living room, the door opened to reveal Conor, who abruptly stopped to remove his work boots. Unfortunately, he was knocked down by a clattering intruder behind him and saved only by the - no joke - knee deep ocean of bedding. A hinged brass lid and a metal piece of something went flying past his head, revealing the intruder to be Charly. “Hi, guys!” she waved cheerfully. “Don’t worry. Coffey has the projector.”

White teeth flashed in a dark, handsome face as the man in question held up the device. “Her hands were full,” he shrugged before glancing past Conor. “You take movie nights seriously,” he added with an approving nod.

Charly, who I couldn’t remember having even seen wear shoes, had already scrambled over Conor’s laughing form so that she could grab the lid and basket, which she brought along with the enormous pot into my kitchen area. “Popcorn,” she declared, gently slamming the pot on a heating surface. “As promised. I’m thinking green today.”

“That’s not popcorn,” Arthur pointed out, curiosity etched into every bit of his face.

“Duh, Mr. Farro,” she sputtered. “It’s how we’re going to get popcorn. The consoles never season it, and it’s always stale, or soggy, or just… not good. So. I made a whirlypop.” With a clatter, she patted her copper contraption. “It makes absolutely perfect kettle corn, every time. And I can make it whatever color I want, too.”

“It’s really good popcorn,” I confirmed. “She brought some to your fight with Jokul.”

“Of course she did,” he sighed. “I thought you said no selling tickets and no concession stand for that?”

“Doesn’t mean she can’t bring her own, screaming blue popcorn with her,” I held up both hands in surrender. “I couldn’t argue with the logic, and she was the only person there with popcorn, can confirm.”

When I glanced back at her, I saw what I pretty much expected to see: her handy cartoon-villain moustache was pasted firmly on her face and she was twirling one end in what could only be described as a dastardly fashion. Arthur, on the other hand, was almost sputtering. “I - how? I was facing you, Charly. How?”

“Don’t ask, you probably don’t want to know,” I sighed with a wave of my hand. “Besides, I’m reasonably certain the answer involves a collective hallucination, blood sacrifice, or time travel.”

“Two out of three,” Charly nodded, sounding impressed but not clarifying any further. “So! Everyone ready for- oo! Mini pizzas! - popcorn and Master and Commander?” A collective groan went up at a third movie being added to our ongoing argument over what we had agreed to watch. “What!? It’s my favorite!”

Maverick explained the conversation we had earlier to those who arrived after. Even having nine people voting now didn’t help: we were still split evenly across all three movies. In the end, we agreed to take a run at watching all three, but that led to another discussion - what order? We knew the odds of getting through all three were slim, and nobody wanted theirs to be left out.

Sam finally interrupted us. “If we don’t stay awake through all three, can we watch the last movie on another night?”

My jaw clicked shut mid-argument. Tyche tilted her head, “That makes entirely too much sense.”

With that anticlimactic resolution, we quickly took votes to determine which movies were most popular. In the end, we ended up with Star Wars first, Master and Commander second, and Repo! last, much to my and Tyche’s chagrin. At least we weren’t the only ones who voted for it, so I was mollified. Somewhat.

While we were hashing all that out, Charly somehow called upon the popcorn deities and managed to fill nearly every bowl and bucket she could find in my quarters with a rainbow of fluffy kernels. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t figure how she managed to make that much in roughly fifteen minutes, and when I asked, the only answer I could manage to get from her was “Two out of three, like I said.”

I wasn’t asking after that, because I wasn’t sure I wanted to know if blood magic was involved, honestly.

Antoine arrived right as I was trying to figure out how to fit on the couch, where Maverick and Conor were cuddling and hogging the whole damned thing. Unfortunately, between the immense quantities of popcorn, blankets, pillows, and people strewn everywhere - and somehow my Christmas lights were carefully hanging from the ceiling, which I had a sneaking suspicion was Derek’s doing - our poor resident therapist looked a bit confused.

I couldn’t help but grin as I waved at the chaos. “Welcome to movie night, apparently. You can sit anywhere except there,” I explained, gesturing at a particular pile of blankets.

“Why not - ah….” he trailed off in understanding as a hand darted out of the ‘pile’ to snag a mini pizza.

“Eyeah, only Mac can sit there, I think. And nobody better be feeding him pizza?” I warned. “Whoever does gets to keep stinky cat for the night while he has tummy trouble.” Turning back toward the couch, I stuck my lip out in a pout. “Where am I supposed to sit?”

“We’re comfy….” Conor whined, hiding what was probably a grin behind Maverick’s head. Rather than sitting up in any capacity, the two were laying down along the entire length of the couch, both their feet sticking off. There was maybe two inches of couch between them and the edge.

While my attention was focused on my boyfriends, two strong hands grabbed each of my arms and tugged me down. With a yelp, I fell across Charly and my sister, both of them giggling. Deliberately, Charly started to pet my hair as clumsily as humanly possible, and the scowl I directed at her set Tyche off in hysterics. When I opened my mouth to protest, popcorn was thrown in. With another scowl, I surrendered to being draped across both of their laps, with a fluffy blanket spread over me from somewhere.

I still sulked, and ignored that I probably looked like a particularly perturbed cat. With much determination, I managed to keep a scowl on my face until the first movie started rolling. It was hard to stay even faux-upset after that, as what ensued was the most laid back night I had enjoyed in longer than I could remember. Seats were stolen every time someone got up for any reason, snacks were eaten and refilled, popcorn got everywhere….

It. Was. Glorious.

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#the miys #science fiction #humans are weird #found family #found family tropes #humans are space orcs #fiction #original fiction #earth is space australia #hfy #humans are space fae #humans baffle aliens #humans are crazy #movies #cuddles #popcorn

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

Text

Humans are Space Orcs, “Stalemate.”

An update on the Burg war :) Hope you like.

“Commander be advised, more Burg ships have appeared from warp.”

“Shit, how many.”

“I uh….they don’t know sir, but they say it has to be an entire fleet.”

“Damn it.” The darkfire banked a hard right and began angling upwards. McCaster did his best to get information on the battle proceeding above their heads, though most of the information was garbled and confused.

The dogfight above the Gromm city hadn’t lasted more than a few minutes, and while there were still burg drones about, the commander clearly trusted the other pilots to take care of this mess.

They had lost three jets over the course of the battle, which was a surprisingly expensive ad large percentage of their flight budget in the UNSC, of course he ws sure the commander was less worried about the monetary cost as much as he was worried about the cost of lives.

Six pilots dead, and more sure to follow.

McCaster’s stomach dropped back against his spin as the commander cut the jet engines and switched to fusion. The switch was so quick that he only had a momentary feeling of free fall before they were rocketed back skyward cutting through the atmosphere and breaking into the dark reaches of space, the eggshell blue of the sky fading about them until darkness and the vast universe beyond unfolded before them.

A universe that was now besieged by silent explosions and eruptions of short lived fire immediately snuffed by the vacuum of space. Debris flew in all directions, and even the commander was having a hell of a time keeping from exploding cutting this way and that, pulling maneuvers that shouldn’t have been possible slicing between two parallel pieces of floating metal so close that McCaster could see the individual rivets running down its silver length.

Cutting past that, the commander pulled down bringing them in a stomach churning dive before moving back upwards, pressing them back into their seats.

Ahead of them chaos was unloading, the GA on one side and the burg on the other. Ordinance flew back and forth, and, as they watched, stuck and unable to do anything to help, one of the burg ships cut around from the side and tagged one of the UNSC vessels, with a round straight to the port side.

There was a silent explosion, fire ripped through the inside of the hull as oxygen was quickly consumed. The ship listed heavily to one side.

“Fuck! Who was that! Get me a casualty report NOW!” The commander ordered.

McCaster rushed to do as told, but was having trouble with all the comms interference. As they watched, little pods began breaking away from the ailing ship, most of them coming from the breached decks as panicked crew-members fled to the escape pods.

One escape pod was completely annihilated by a passing piece of debris, popping like a popcorn kernel does in a microwave, ripping open and sending bodies flipping like rag-dolls out into the vastness.

McCaster grew sick just thinking about what dying like that would have felt like. Freezing to death as all the glasses slowly boiled from your blood. He hoped that they were all to dead to think about what had happened to them.

“That was the UNSC Esperanca, commander. Captain Silva is not responding, and all coms to the bridge crew have been cut. GA rescue teams are being dispatched casualties are estimated in the hundreds.”

“Shit, shit, shit.” The man continued to cure wildly, “Radio in to the harbinger.”

“Yes sir.”

He connected the coms link so the commander could speak freely, though he was rather concerned about the man’s ability to fly and talk at the same time.

They rotated to the side, executing a tight barrel roll and dive taking them out of the line of a fast moving group of space debris which threatened to pop their ship like a can opener and expose the two of them like a couple of sardines.

“Commander.”

“Tell me what’s happening.”

“The burg brought in a second surprise fleet to back up their first. The Burg command ship has landed planetside just outside the central city, and ground troops are making a march for the capital city. Captain Silva is in contact, and unharmed, but the ship is heavily damaged. Casualty report is up to 220 from all ships 150 of those being from Silva’s crew, and the death toll is rising as we speak. Sunny has dispatched marine drop troops to deal with the burg invasion of the capital city.”

The commander had to stop talking for a moment, as a burg vessel dropped in behind them. The commander cursed again rather violently before bringing them straight towards the debris field. McCaster hopped on the under-wing guns shooting away any piece of debris that he could manage flying as fast as they were.

Again, the commander proved his metal, cutting through the field with only inches to spare leaving the burg drone in pieces behind them.

A couple more GA ships popped into view.

“Get silva to fall back, have some of the GA vessels form a protective perimeter around their ship, I don’t want anyone else getting killed, have them fall back and wait for assistance. Do we know of any GA ship that is capable of multiple microwarps without overheating?’”

There was a long pause.

“Sunny says that the Rundi ships should be able to do at least ten before it becomes dangerous.”

“Alright, new plan, have the rundi ships alternate micro warp behind the enemy fleet, have them take a shot and then warp out, then have the next ship do the same but in a different location. Aim for one ship at a time if you can, or be random if it looks like they are catching on. Pair each of our fleet with one of the Rundi vessels and have them communicate with each other about the micro warps. Let's see if we can’t flank them. Try to hit them at the same time then use the rundi shields to block our unshielded vessels between bouts.”

“Yes sir.”

“And lieutenant?”

“Yes sir?”

“Can you hold the ship or do you need me to return.”

“I have it commander, you do what you need to do.”

“I have a better eye from up here.”

“Good, sir.”

The commander kept the line open listening to the general chatter of the battle. While they watched, the Rundi ships fell back into formation with the four remaining human vessels, while the tesraki ships pulled back to protect the limping remains of the Esperanca.

A body rolled past their window, face pale and cold in death.

The commander kept his cool though.

The burg Ships were still firing, but now the Rundi ships were taking the brunt of the attacks, their superior shields lighting up in shades of blue.

One of the ships vanished leaving it’s human counterpart open to fire, however as the Burg were gearing up to take a shot, the rundi ship appeared behind them. There was a pause as the ships seemed to be deciding what to do, during which time both the human and the rundi ships took that moment to take their shots.

It was a dangerous maneuver, for if either one of them missed the could potentially send their ordinance into friendly territory, but it worked for the time being, and an explosion rocked the leftmost side of the burg hull ripping three decks open to bare space.

Bodies were sucked out into the void and tossed like ragdolls into floating objects.

The rundi ship vanished and appeared back before the human ship just as the burg began to fire.

The rundi shields were not looking great, but another pairing was ready to dot the same taking the focus off the first ship for the time being.

“Commander, Commander.” The garbled voice rushed over the radio marred by the sound of explosions in the background, and shouting.

“Go.” The man ordered taking the ship into a steep incline locking onto one of the burg drones and erupting it into a ball of flame.

“Sir, This is Ramirez with the ground forces. The burg have deployed ground transport and artillery units and are advancing towards the city. We have made a protective perimeter, but our weapons arent going to do shit against those ground units.”

“Sending in air support. Hold tight Ramirez.”

He turned back to the coms and requested bombers to be deployed to the surface.

“What do they want with the capital city?”

McCaster wasn’t exactly aware of alien politics and so couldn't help but asking.

“The Gromm homeworld is the center hub for trade in the galaxy. Each of the home worlds has a warp disruptor that doesn't allow direct warp into a solar system unless authorized. The Gromm capital city holds the coding software that allows this to work, considering it needs access to almost all planets in Andromeda and, by extension, earth as well. We cannot let them get access to that information or else they can easily move in for an attack on any one of us. The rundi homeworld, the Tesraki, humans.”

They cut around the side of the burg ship.

And the commander kept an eye out in the field for something he knew he wasn’t likely to spot.

“Conn, Conn, are you there, can you hear me.”

There was silence, and for a moment the commander thought the worst.

“Right here captain, though I would appreciate if you told everyone to stop blowing each other up for a few minutes. That would make my life much easier.”

He ignored the snark for the moment, “Have you managed to get close enough to hear them?”

“Mmm only close enough to get general impression. If I get any closer, I run the risk of getting exploded, and right now I am already at risk of being chopped in half, which I am not highly appreciative of.”

“What if we came, picked you up, and flew you past. Could you do it then?”

“I could probably manage that. Sending you my location now.”

McCaster hadn’t heard the conversation for obvious reasons, and so was confused as the commander pealed away from formation and started heading straight towards the burg fleet line.

Luckily the larger ships didn’t consider one lone jet enough of a worry to actually fire at them, though the burg drones were eager for blood. The commander pulled some risky maneuvers, cutting through fields of metal, and maneuvering two drones to crash into each other.

He ordered McCaster to follow a beacon into the debris field, and with his help they were able to maneuver further in, slowing greatly and hiding their signature as they turned off the engine and coasted for a bit. They were going very slowly now, cutting through an eerie junkyard of mingled bodies and the skeletal remains of ships. A rundi corpse gently bounced off their right wind and went tumbling away into nothing.

McCaster was looking around for the beacon assuming they were after a ship of some sort, when there was a clatter atop the canopy. Of course there was no sound from outside, but the reverberations through the air on the inside of the canopy made him look up.

And immediately almost peed himself.

The black eyed- leering face seemed quite amused with his near panic attack, white ribbons billowing out from behind it, as it settled itself into place at the back of the canopy.

“Sorry McCaster, forgot to mention we were coming to pick up a friend.”

“Friend my ass.” he muttered under his breath, looking back at the still leering face.

They began a slow creep towards the burg ship, keeping low and below their enemy.

It was a strange angle , hard to remember that in space there was movement in almost any direction. Generally speaking all of the burg and GA ships were on the same grid level, so their approaching presence was hardly noticed. Burg drones hung about the outside of the enemy ship so this was about as close as they planned on getting.

“How about here, this is about as close as I can get you.”

“Mmmm, it may take a few minutes, there is only so much I can do between bouts of screaming.

Their faces were lit a moment later by the fiery glow of another explosion, silent and dead in the vacuum of space.

Everything around them was eerily quiet.

“Well, shit.”

“Don’t give me that conn, tell me what’s going on now!”

“Might want to hurry up commander. This little space battle is simply a diversion for the real plan happening on the surface. Those artillery guns aren't just artillery. Some of the rounds have data nets on them, and may be able to hijack the pertinent information without them even getting into the city, if they land one close enough. I would wager to say you have ten minutes.”

“Shit!”

What followed was sincerely the most insane and terrifying thing that McCaster had ever experienced. The commander flew like a madman, cutting duck rolling and spinning through the debris field with drones hot on their heels all while on the radio yelling for all air units to target their fire on the burg artillery. He probably would have ordered all the ships to break off and use orbital targeting as well, but they were too close to the burg city for that, and too close to the marines who were valiantly impending the burg efforts.

Luckily for them a single one of those data rounds would have to hit an exact target in order to work, but the closer they got the more likely it would become.

Jets whizzed around the city shooting ordinance from the sky when they could.

The data rounds had to be slow in order to remain in tact for the flight down, so that was one advantage they had.

All remaining bombers and jets were ordered down to earth, with the burg drones peeling off behind them.

The freaky alien, Conn let them go just as they were about to fall into orbit ribbons billowing out about him as they vanished into the distance rocketing towards earth at fenominal speeds. The fire licked up at their wings again, but this time McCaster knew what to expect.

He moved himself to the under-wing guns determined to help in any way he could.

They were approaching the ground fast, and an entire formation of aircraft rolled in one mass dogfight over the scene below as burg drones fought aggressively to protect their precious artillery units. The Burg command ship lobbed Anti-Air missiles into the sky causing one darkfire to erupt into a ball of flame.

McCaster though they were going to join another formation of jets heading towards the artillery units, but was surprised when the Commander continued their dive the ground approaching at a stunning speed.

This time he held himself conscious as the commander pulled out of the dive, at the last possible moment. They were going so low, that the power of their engines kicked up a trail of dust behind them knocking burg soldiers to the ground as they marched.

AA guns were useless against them as they careened towards the artillery line.

The wing guns fired repeatedly tearing up the ground, and sending burg bodies erupting in all directions.

The commander narrowed his sights, locking on, and then fired, before peeling off and pulling up. The right wing of their jet was so close to the ground, it clipped the top of a tall shrub sending plant bits in all directions, though it made no difference as the shrub erupted into momentary flames as the explosion reached it.

McCaster tried not to think about how close they had come to dying, and was reminded seconds later when a burg drone, which had been following them from their dive, rammed into the ground exploding just as violently and taking out a second piece of friendly artillery.

Burg bodies were thrown to the ground in the ensuing explosion, remaining cold and still.

One of their bombers was clipped hard in the wing, and went down with an explosion.

A white parachute opened after a moment only to be torn up by an incoming burg drone, with no qualms about shooting a man while he was defenseless.

The commander made sure it was the last move that drone ever took.

Back towards the city more troop transports were dropping soldiers onto the front line. Marines, rundi and Tesraki soldiers were spilling from open pods setting up a defense line around the city. The Gromm were doing what they could to assist though their military technology was rudimentary at best.

“They almost have the nexus back online!”

As it turned out the Burg were well aware of this fact, at at least twenty incoming burg ships cut into atmosphere and were forced to descend to land, creating a defensible position around the burg command ship just as as the nexus went back up

A large, translucent amber dome erupted about the ground where the burg ships were stationed locking them into place with their own shields.

The drones fell back to defend the position, leaving the exhausted pilots to circle around the perimeter unable to get close to the well defended position.

On rundi pilot made the mistake and was immediately shot from the sky.

Overhead, friendly forces had made a defensive perimeter of the Nexus and the remaining burg ships had fallen back leading everything to a standstill. They could do nothing about the burg ships already on the planet for fear of hurting the civilian population.

As for now, the battle had come to its conclusion as a draw, though the war was far form over.

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lilyharvord · 4 years

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The Chain (Part 7)

Main concept: Two love struck idiots get sent back to a pretty UGH time period in their lives (that required me to reread all the books again) and have to hide the fact that they know everything.

Find Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6

tag list: @delilahlbard, @king-maven-calore, @thatoddgirl777, @elliekratzzz, @evangelineartemiasamos, @evangeline-of-montfort, @scxrletguardsdawn, @freaky-freiday, @petergrantkavinsky, @kuwei, @whatsup-gorls, @katiemoore (here ya go ((: thank you for your interest), @redqueenetwork(let me know if you want a tag and I’ll add you to the list ((: )

I wake to watery blue sunlight. The sun has just finished peaking over the horizon, making me grumble immediately. There was no reason I should be up this early. I didn’t schedule training, and I didn’t promise Gisa breakfast. Besides, I’m exhausted and my head is foggy, which is a very unwelcome combination.

Sighing loud enough that Cal should hear me, I bring my arm up to cover my eyes. “Cal, close the curtains.” I murmur, before smacking what would normally be his back. I only hit empty sheets though. My eyes fly open as I sit bolt upright.

This isn’t Montfort.

The buzzing in my head is from the cameras trained on me, and the fogginess is from the alcohol last night. The alcohol I drank to keep from grabbing the knife next to my hand and stabbing it through the top of Maven’s when he reached across to offer me a glass of water. Even with that moment, I had made it through the night. I had given him a smile, one that I almost thought was real. I’d forgotten that he had been funny, that he had a good sense of humor. He was kind to me last night. I know he had been the first time around too. Deep down in a place that Elara had never touched, he had protected that kernel of love that made him fall in love with a Red boy in Corvium. I wonder if Thomas knew that he was one of the few things that kept Maven from completely losing his mind. So odd how two Reds made two princes question everything.

I rub at my forehead to try and alleviate the ache there before giving up and throwing the comforter back to swing my legs to the side. The marble floor is freezing, especially after the warmth of my bedding. I wish Cal was here, just so I could throw myself back under the blankets and I stick my feet against his legs to warm them. He always hissed at the feeling when I did it, but let me anyway, only to leach the warmth from one of his hands and press it against my thigh to make me squeal.

I have half a mind to crawl back into bed, bury myself in pillows and blankets, and pretend I’m in Paradise Valley during a snow storm. A light knock on my door startles me though, and wipes away the remaining fog in my mind. No rest for the wicked apparently.

Standing quickly and ignoring the gooseflesh that erupts on my skin, I hurry over to the chair where I unceremoniously tossed my robe from last night. I blindly shove one arm into a sleeve and call for another second from the maids waiting outside, hoping they at least give me that time to look semi-decent.

The three of them hurry in though, the one at the front carrying my dreaded schedule. I’d almost forgotten about it, and honestly wish that I had. Lessons that will bore me to tears, and then tense lunches and dinners with the ladies of the court are going to haunt my days while Elara stalks my nightmares. More acting, more games within games, I think I’d rather run head first into a wall than do all of that.

The girl, who can’t be much older than me, dips her head as she offers the thin piece of paper, drawing a sigh from me as I take it and sink reluctantly into the vanity chair. I know exactly what it will say, but that doesn’t stop me from scanning it to check for discrepancies. Nothing seems out of place. Then again, Elara was too smart to give herself away on something like this.

Protocol lessons will be miserable. I can remember most of what I learned, but I can’t exactly show up and claim that. Maybe I can tell Cal to put me in training earlier. There was no harm in that right?

I know that the best part of my day will be Julian. I hadn’t seen him at the feast last night, not that he would show up to something like that. He probably spent the night surrounded by his books, sipping whatever bitter alcohol he was willing to stomach for the night. If he’s on my schedule, Elara can’t possibly know anything. She wouldn’t dare put us together. He’d been a major collaborator with me, and we posed a serious threat because of that.

I read the schedule over and over again as the maids arrange my hair and pick out my outfit. When I glance over my shoulder at the tight leggings on the bed that have been laid out, I grimace. “Anything more… practical?”

The maid brushing out the skirts of the gown to go with them glances at my closet hesitantly, only to disappear inside again. Another maid turns my head forward to the mirror as she begins painting my neck, chest and face with the silver paint. Her hands are delicate. With the work she does, and how well she does it, she must be an artist of some sort.

Pants and a jacket appear in my peripheral vision, a silent question from the maid holding. I nod in agreement, and she hurries away to press and prepare them. My skin crawls in the growing silence. I can’t even hear the birds that are probably singing as they wake up outside.

I don’t remember it being this awkward. Then again, I had been so focused on avoiding mistakes that I didn’t have time to think about the people around me. It had been that selfish part of me that fed the character of Mareena. She had died years ago though, and I plan to keep her dead and buried after what I did as her.

I glance at myself in the mirror again, looking over the paint as the maid finishes and begins lining my eyes. It has been a long time since I let someone put this heavy of makeup on me. I look wicked and lovely. Beautiful, like a knife Evangeline would twirl between her fingers.

Today will be the first chance to truly observe Elara since our encounter in the cells. Nothing appeared amiss last night, but I wasn’t going to put anything to chance in this den of wolves. Too much rides on my success to fail at this point.

Stepping carefully into the pants, I let one of the maids help me into the jacket. Her fingers dance along my skin quicker than my lightning, careful to avoid touching the paint and smearing it. I feel like a china doll that might shatter if they handle me too roughly.

Still, I’m ready earlier than I anticipate. Lucas and I might be able to simply stroll through the palace instead of the sprinting walk I remember from my first day. Even if I had arrived late before, arriving early this time around won’t change anything. In fact, it might even make Elara over look me more. I could use that to my advantage when I start poking my nose in places it doesn’t belong.

The maids bow away from me when they finish, their hands tucked into the sides of their skirts. I raise my chin at the girl looking back at me in the mirrors. She looks cold, colder than I remember. I won’t let her take over again though. I won’t let her get the foothold she got during my initial time here. She had been armor then, but she’d still almost drowned me before I threw her to the side to save myself.

Swallowing I turn away from the mirror and whisper my thanks to the maids before crossing the room for the doors. One rushes to open it for me, her eyes downcast. I glance her over, taking in her delicate features. She reminds me of Gisa so much, my stomach turns thinking about it. What is Gisa doing now besides bemoaning a lost future along with her broken hand? She heals, I remind myself, even if a part of her will never forget that phantom pain.

I want to reach out and set my hand on this girl’s shoulder though. I want to comfort her, if only to reassure myself that everything will be fine. I squeeze my hand in a fist though and thank her before stepping into the hallway. I shouldn’t be thanking them so much, but the words leave my lips so easily.

Lucas waits across the hall, his expression carefully schooled into neutrality. But the minute I step out and smirk at him, his lips quirk up in that grin that sometimes haunts my nightmares. He would have continued giving that smile to world if it wasn’t for me.

“Babysitting duty again?” I tease lightly, hiding the hitch in my breath by adjusting my jacket and pulling it closed too tightly. Nodding in the direction of the breakfast room and starting at a comfortable pace for my short legs, he says, “Do you want an honest answer?”

With a shrug, I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. He gives me another smile and I give him a weak one in reply. “Here’s to us having a good friendship, Officer Samos.” I can’t bring myself to wish for it to be long. The pang I’d felt when I saw him for the first time again was not as bad as I thought it would be. It still ached, but at least I didn’t feel like I was swallowing nails when I looked at him. Maven was another matter entirely. The only positive was that I didn’t have to see him much around here. Not yet that is.

“Likewise, my lady.”

I chuckle at the title, both disgusted and amused by it.

The breakfast room is empty when Lucas ushers me in ahead of him though. And when he enters on my heels, he glances around for a moment before whispering that the queen should be on her way. With a quick, practiced bow, he departs from the room.

I’m earlier than I expected. I had hoped Elara was here already, that way she wouldn’t have the chance to surprise me. Lucas’s quick departure means Elara cannot be far away though, and I wonder if she scares him as much as she does everyone else. It’s odd to think everyone sneered at Cal’s mother just because there was a possibility that she had sung his father into marrying her, yet no one dared to whisper about the possibility that Elara might have done the same thing. I think if anyone tried they would end up dead though. I want to believe I would have said something.

I walk by the wall of windows that overlook one of the numerous gardens, watching the way the rising sun’s rays catch on the dewy grass below. Reaching my hand out, I let the light play on the rings decorating my fingers. I miss my engagement ring, as silly as that is. I never thought I would miss a piece of jewelry. Still, I missed tracing the braided bands with my thumb and spinning it on my finger. It had become a habit during meetings while I was thinking. I miss that blood red stone the most though.

The door from the other side of the room opens, and I tilt my head to see who it might be in the glass. Too bright to be Elara. My lips curl up in a smile as I spot Evangeline’s curtain of platinum hair cut across my peripheral vision.

“Good morning, Lady Samos,” I tell her, not bothering to look at her as I do. Just the fact that I am not remotely surprised by her appearance will make her blood boil. I’m sure she spent countless hours perfecting her hair and outfit to make me feel inferior. The fact that I haven’t even deigned to give her the response she wants will send her reeling. I know it will. She’s too calculating to let it show when she replies though.

“Such a change of costume for you Lady Titanos. Where are the pretty dresses?”

“I figured today called for practicality. Don’t you agree?” I finally turn to look at her, my smile rapier sharp. She returns the smile, her fingers dancing at her side.

Turning toward the table to sit down, I catch Elara sliding into the room like a wraith. Our eyes meet and I drop mine quickly, building up the mirrors I did when she first tried to invade my mind. It’s a maze in there, one that even I wouldn’t be able to find my way through. I trust it to hold, but only for a short time. My brain might be jelly by the end of this breakfast and I’ll have to go through the rest of my day with a headache if I’m not careful.

Even during the long, grueling interrogation I had been terrified that she would find a crack in my armor, that she would slip through and find everything. I didn’t want to think about how pathetic I had felt, locked up in that silent stone cell, panic lacing my blood like a drug. There had been no way out, no way out if anything went horribly wrong. I guess I should be thankful that nothing did go wrong.

She walks to the head of the table, where a neat placement is waiting for her. “You should eat quickly, Lady Blonos does not tolerate tardiness.” She drops into her chair with cat like grace, and without another word. One of the servants that came in with her hurries forward with a bowl of fruit.

I edge toward the table, but not before Evangeline cuts by me, one of the rings on her finger elongating to a point that she tries to swipe at my hand with. I yank my hand away to grab the chair and pull it back, hiding the dodge expertly. My eyes dart to her, and although she tries to hide her surprise at my agility, some of it still slips out.

“You’re still taking Protocol?” She asks as she slides into her chair, trying to hide her discomfort as I do the same.

Raising a brow at her, I smoother my confusion. “You mean you aren’t?”

A servant places a bowl in front of me, but I don’t tear my eyes from Evangeline. What possessed her to try and snap at me like she did? I know she wants the truth, and I know she’ll eventually try to get it in the training arena, but I didn’t think she’d be bold enough to try here. Maybe she thinks Elara isn’t in on it, and she’d get away with exposing me? I doubt it. Evangeline is not stupid. She knows a puppeteer when she sees one.

I pick up my fork and spear a melon before taking my knife and spinning it just enough that it catches the light. With a graceful flick of my wrist I slice of the extra green rim that must have been missed. Evangeline eyes the fluidity of the movement though, her cheek twitching imperceptibly at the silent threat.

(///////)

I hate Protocol.

That is all I think as I stalk with Lucas toward the Glass Terrace for luncheon. I hate Lady Blonos and I can’t wait until I never have to see her again. Cranky, nasty old woman, with fingers like spiders grabbing my shoulders. A heartbeat after the thought crosses my mind though, I grimace. She dies a quick death at least. My hand twitches towards my own throat, imaging the blade that severed her head from her shoulders. There will be one at my throat too soon enough, when Evangeline faces me in the Bowl of Bones.

In my distraction, I almost miss when we step out into the warm sunlight. My first inhale of fresh air settles my nerves though. What I wouldn’t give to be outside all day. But as I step under the glass canopy, I end up just hoping I don’t sweat my paint off. It’s hotter out here than I remember, and the humidity is miserable. At least in Montfort when it got warm there was a breeze. A bead of sweat rolls down my neck, and I tense as it rolls between my shoulders blades. Shimmying to get rid of it, I feel a few more beads pop up on my hairline. Cursing, I try to stand as still as possible.

Elane appears in front of me so suddenly I feel like she purposefully cloaked herself to surprise me. Sonya is not far behind her either. Two parts of Evangeline’s little trio. I wonder if she kept Sonya around to hide her affair with Elane. I doubt it. Sonya would have figured out the truth before anyone else.

“Lady Mareena,” they coo in unison, before bowing stiffly. I incline my head in response, playing the game they have started.

“I’m Sonya of House Iral.” Soyna tosses her hair gracefully. I can see the way she shifts to make sure that movement is perfect. I would smirk at the posturing if I wasn’t focusing on locating Elara in the crowd of ladies. “And I’m Elane of House Haven.”

Oh, I know. I’ve had far too many awkward walk-ins on you and Evangeline in her office for my liking. Then again, she had snuck up on me and Cal plenty of times too. A perfect little spy. Her lips curl up in a delicate smile as I look her up and down. Flirt, I want to tease, and have to almost swallow my tongue to keep from saying just that.

“We wanted to welcome you.” Elane says as she looks me over as well. A few weeks ago in Montfort, she had looked me up and down under the outdoor lights of a restaurant too. Smiling after I had thrown my head back to laugh at something Carmadon had said, she remarked that I was glowing. I had turned a pointed glare on her, and she had turned away to sip her wine with a smirk. I’d waved her away saying it was just a trick of the light. Now, I can feel the same stare as she observes me, looking for the most minute details to hold against me.

“Thank you.” I clear my throat after that, letting her know she’s stared just a little too long. Her lips purse just a hint, and her cheeks flush white under her makeup.

“You also participated in Queenstrial?” I ask quickly, giving her a chance to recover. She may be a pain in the ass now, but she is my friend in the future and I don’t need Sonya getting any ideas about anything.

Still, Sonya almost sneers at my words. “We did. Obviously we were not so lucky as you or Evangeline.”

Luck really had nothing to do with it. I would never consider myself lucky. I dip my head in understanding. “My intentions—”

“Your intentions remain to be seen,” Sonya purrs, before turning about quickly and snapping her fingers. “Grandmother, come meet Lady Mareena.”

I scan the crowd of older women that Ara departs from, looking for a familiar orange gown. Anabel is nowhere to be seen though. I don’t know why I thought she would be here. How had she managed to slip back into the court during Maven’s reign though?

Ara eyes me even as she walks over, making me stand a little taller to try and appear like I’m uncomfortable with her presence. It doesn’t take much to do that though. All I have to think about it how Ptolemus severed her head from her body.

Sonya yaps away, trying to make me uncomfortable, and for a moment she probably thinks she’s succeeding. It’s Shade’s face flashing through my mind at the same time that I remember the light leaving his eyes that really drives me to shake slowly though. I can almost taste the smoke of Corros on my tongue when I inhale. I can hear the airship engines screaming behind me, calling me like a siren song. All I had to do was turn and keep running for them. But Shade, Shade had to come back for me because I had to get my revenge.

My stomach drops and I know my face pales. Not right now, I can’t fall apart right now. I squeeze my hands into fists, focusing on my nails dig into my palms.

Sonya finally stops speaking and I almost jump before dipping my head. “Apologies for my absent… thoughts. It’s a pleasure to meet you my lady.”

“I knew your father, Mareena. And your mother.” Ara observes coolly, her eyes looking me over like a butcher would their next slaughter.

“I wish I could have known them like you do.” I reply, my mind still trying to keep up with the conversation while also trying to prevent a barrage of Samson’s carefully concocted memories from taking over. It’s a losing battle. My stomach turns as the Blackrun going down plays at an inhuman speed. Metal tears around me, and wind whips at my hair. I’m falling so fast that I can’t even draw enough air to scream. Am I falling into a cage or am I standing in a garden full of pretty women with fangs and claws? Am I wrapped in Cal’s arms or am I suffocating in the heat of this glass gazebo?

“Your father had blue eyes, as did your mother.” Ara tests, her expression cold.

I drag my eyes up and dare to meet hers. I tilt my head to the side, the sound of the gardens fading back into focus as by sheer willpower I force the memories back so that I can gather enough air to breathe. There is no way out of the corner I am in, and I can’t even begin to think of something to say to fill the silence. A whisper of skirts on stone distracts Ara as Elara cuts behind us to ask everyone to sit. I hide the twist of relief in my stomach by dipping my head again and excusing myself.

(/////////)

I’m so deep in my own thoughts, planning responses for any future Iral interrogations that I almost miss Maven appearing around the corner on my way to Julian’s.

“Still alive?” His words make my back snap to ram rod straightness as I come to an abrupt stop that makes even Lucas stumble. My toes curl in my shoes and I can almost feel my lightning begging to come to the fore as Maven closes the distance. Why does he have to look so kind and young? How could I not have seen the honey coated trap for what it was? I’d needed a friend though, and he had been the perfect map to mirror all my insecurities onto. Elara probably didn’t even need to read my mind to know that.

Play the game. I remind myself to smile sheepishly at him. I’m a good actress now, and I will make sure he believes every second of my performance.

“Unfortunately for the other Queenstrial girls, yes.” The joke is a weak one, but he still chuckles at it. Next to me, I can feel Lucas’s presence still. He’ll usher me along so that we’re not late for Julian. His presence actually eases my tension. I don’t know if I’m ready to be alone with Maven just yet. The temptation to end all my suffering before it can begin might be too great. I need Lucas to get us moving again. I’d rather be early for Julian. The more time I spend with him, the happier I think I’ll be. And I’d rather be as far from Maven as physically possible right now.

“They’re a slippery sort.” He admits, looking me over. I squeeze my hand into a fist, pushing my nail into my thumb to avoid lashing out at him. The silence gets so heavy his skin tinges silver and he looks down to avoid my unwavering glare.

“Where are you off to?” I finally mange to get out, forcing my fingers to unfurl. His eyes snap up and he blushes hard for a heartbeat. I caught him off guard. Good, slip up and give me a reason to hate you more in this moment.

“I was actually on my way to walk in the garden. Cal was—” his lips draw tight for a moment before continuing “—supposed to meet me. He got caught up in a meeting.”

I don’t want you around him either. I want to sneer and dig my nails into his neck when he shrugs in disinterest. I don’t want you hurting him more than you already have.

“How unfortunate,” I admit instead. He actually looks like he feels bad for Cal when he replies, “I don’t envy him his schedule.”

Lucas clears his throat, and my eyes snap to him as he nods in the direction we should be going. “Someone told me she didn’t want to be late to anything today. And we’re going to be late now.”

Maven’s eyes dart to him as if he just realized he was standing there. Tilting his head to the side like a little puppy, he says, “I was actually wondering if you were done for the day and wanted to join me in the garden.”

“I have Lessons.” I want to smirk at the way his smile falls. He recovers marvelously though, and reaches out to take my hand. His skin is warm, the perfect temperature. He’d been icy last night. I wonder if Elara told him to find the perfect temperature, one to match Cal’s.

“I won’t keep you then.” He murmurs before he passes us and continues down the hall. I feel like I’m going to be sick. That was how she did it. That was how she molded him into the perfect little shadow for me to love. She’d picked my brain for everything I liked about his brother from our first meeting and whispered it in his ear. Warm smiles and warm hands, she had probably told him, ooze sympathy and kindness, you’re the sibling that is unloved, the one to match my longing for something greater. Then she had molded his words and his ideals to match mine, the perfect counter to Cal’s abrasive thoughts of wanting to keep the world the way it was. I hadn’t even realized it, but Maven had put his foot in the door with this moment, and I had held it open for him. Sneaky son of a bitch.

“You know, we’d get there much faster if you actually moved.” Lucas teases, making me almost jump. I glare at him before starting down the hallway so fast that he jogs his first few steps to catch up.

“Shut up Lucas.” I growl under my breath.

(////////)

The minute I’m in Julian’s rooms I shrug off every bit of protocol, every nasty thought and let myself sag in relief. It smells just like his Montfort apartment in here. My heart aches even more when I remember the teas Sara used to put in my hands with her gentle smile as she sank down into one of the massive fluffy chairs they kept in their sitting room. It was always warm there too. Sara liked it cozy, and Julian let her have whatever it was she wanted, even if he melted into a puddle of sweat in every sweater he owned.

Married for four years and Sara still acted as chaste as a young girl when he was around. I want them to have that happiness here too. I know I won’t see Julian smile the way he does when she walks behind him and trails her hand along his shoulders for a long time though. Every moment in Montfort was like she feared he’d disappear if she didn’t touch him continuously throughout the day.

I run my fingers along the faded covers of the books he keeps stacked around these rooms like columns holding up the weight of the world. I wish I could grab and carry stacks of them back to my room. I could bury myself in them and pretend I was curled up on my couch with my head in Cal’s lap while he ran his fingers through my hair and tried not to fall asleep. I could pretend I’m hundreds of miles and years away from this horrible place.

I stop before the map I remember so well. I’d seen it so many times in this room that it had become a staple. I tilt my head as I look at the mess of lines and colors. The old world, before people tore it to shreds. We put it back together, or at least we had been trying to. I drag my eyes west from Archeon to find Ascendent buried deep in the mountains. It’s not even marked on this map. It never seemed so far away than in this moment. Even when I had looked at this map for the first time those mountains had only seemed a few hand lengths away.

“It’s strange to look at the world as it once was,” Julian’s quiet voice makes me glance over my shoulder in his direction. In the silence of these rooms, he is a faint ember of life. He appears out of an aisle of his books, the afternoon sun cutting across his face like bars in a prison. His yellow robes whisper along the floor as he approaches me. I’d forgotten how this place had drained him. He looks like old, cracked paper. It’s fitting I suppose, but it’s not right.

I can’t help but grin at him, unable to hide how happy I am to see him. He takes it in stride though, even giving me a little smile as he gestures to the map. “Can you find where we are?”

Don’t go so fast, I want to beg him. Let me stay here as long as physically possible. Let me be here in this sanctuary as long as possible. “I’ll try.” I whisper as I pull my eyes away from him to look at the map. He waits while I pretend to read. I could pick us out as easily as I can call lightning these days, but I go slow on purpose. Reaching up with a finger, I point to the inlet that is the Stilts. “There.”

He nods, pleased. “Do you recognize anything else?”

I bring my eyes back to the map. For a moment, I contemplate pointing out Montfort. Julian would be an impossibly useful ally here. The wisdom he could give us, the advice, it would be priceless. That’s a conversation to have with Cal though. He’ll probably refuse to bring Julian into this mess any earlier than we have to though. He can be so damn protective over the few people he has left. Julian would be able to handle himself though. Better than me and Cal probably.

In the end, I point out Harbor Bay. His smile deeps and I relish in the warmth that floods through me by simply being in his presence. Even if he’s oblivious to our future relationship, I trust him more than anyone else here.

“This is Delphie now,” he points out the city, and I nod as he traces the river to point out Archeon. We’ll be there soon enough, and Julian will not make it further than the gates of this city before Elara catches him and Sara.

When he finishes, he looks at me expectantly and waits to hear anything else. Instead I turn to him and say, “The cameras are off in here.”

His brows shoot up toward his hairline comically, and I have to stifle a laugh. I haven’t seen that look in a long time. There wasn’t much I could do to surprise him after our years together. The news I was planning on sharing might have been the last time I saw that look.

“So there is a difference,” he mutters.

“How did you get them to turn them off?” I want to know so that I can turn them off in my own room without people noticing. Cal and I could meet then, discuss our next moves without people noticing. We could meet to determine if things were proceeding correctly too. It would make all of this so much easier.

“Mare, I’m here to teach you your histories, to teach you how to be Silver and how to be, ah, useful.”

His lips pull into a disgusted expression, and I raise a brow as he changes the subject quickly. The way he looks at me though, makes me swallow the next words I am about to tell him. Instead, I tilt my head to the side and ask the same question I had asked before.

“How do you plan to do that Lord Jacos?”

His eyes narrow for a moment, and I tense as I realize he never did tell me who he was. It’s not on my schedule, and there is no way Elara would tell me his name. She can barely spit out the name Jacos anyway. I have a feeling she thought Coriane’s spirit would be able to haunt her if she did utter it.

“Your colors, yellow, house Jacos. Lady Blonos taught me the colors this morning. Your sister was Queen wasn’t she? Cal’s mother. You two even look a little similar.” I stumble over the words, trying to cover my tracks. It’s a pathetic attempt, one I know he can see right through.

He at least has the grace and mercy to laugh outright at my last comment. The light returns to his eyes as he says, “your flattery will get you nowhere with me, Mare Barrow. But yes, I am the late Queen’s brother and Tiberias the Seventh, otherwise known as Cal, is my nephew.” He drops into a comically low bow. I chuckle at it. Even though I feel like I’m playing a game with him, it still feels like we are sharing a secret truth with each other. Forgotten gods, I just want to tell him the truth so that he can know and help me. I wonder if he would actually believe me if I did. Julian had seen plenty of crazy things in his life. What was one more?

“So you and I are supposed to stop a rebellion?” I ask as he rises. He tilts his head to the side, considering my words before saying, “yes, I suppose. My dear brother-in-law and his queen believe you can do so, if we use you properly.”

“It’s idiotic,” I admit before turning back to look at the map. He watches my side profile carefully while I look over the map, and try to keep my eyes from snagging on Montfort. “They’re wrong if they think the riots will stop, and the people will stand down. The Scarlet Guard is marching, and they are not afraid. Change will come someday, whether that’s tomorrow or in a year, it will come. The world won’t stay the same, I won’t let it.”

For a moment, the ragged inhale he takes makes me think I’ve said too much. But when he steps up next to me to look at the map he says, “I have waited a long time to hear someone say that. What my people are doing to you and yours is wrong to the deepest levels of humanity. You are right, change is coming, because the continuous cycle we put you through will end poorly.”

I look at him, seeing a different type of warrior. Julian had never been one for violence and destruction like me and Cal. He was built for manipulation and careful chess games. But he had spent just as much time if not more shaping the world alongside us. He would do it all over again too. I know he would. If he were in my shoes right now, he would suffer the hell, the torture, and any agony just to get us all to that shining future. “So what do we do?”

He grins at me, a tiny hopeful smile that makes me square my shoulders proudly.

“We start by figuring out exactly what you are.”

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sparrowwritings · 3 years

Text

Final Fantasy Writing Challenge Day Twenty-Eight: Infinity

Day Twenty-Seven -- Masterpost -- Day Twenty-Nine

The city was just a facsimile. An illusion solid enough to pass casual inspection, but ultimately contained nothing deeper than the bare bones of what once was.

Sure, he’d had power enough to build the place--to string lights and lay paths and fashion structures--in an almost picturesque manner. Every twist and turn of metal, every pane of glass, every leaf of every tree that had existed in Amaurot, he remembered perfectly and could recreate it as such. Emet-Selch was known as the Architect for a reason.

As always, however, it was people that gave him the most trouble.

The best he could manage to do, even for all his power, was create approximations of people. He had at first attempted to remember various people he knew back then and populate the city that way. Too quickly, he’d found that beyond those he had been closest to (whom he refused to create as a matter of principle) he could barely remember how they were. Thus, when let loose upon the city, the shades would end up breaking the illusion in various ways until in frustration Emet-Selch would dismiss them. Eventually he settled for making the puppeteered populace walk simple paths and spout lines depending on which place he had assigned them to. Set this way, he could almost believe that he was walking the streets of his old home. So long as he didn’t stop to speak to anyone. Or think too hard about the fact that he’d created this place.

Really, he was putting far too much effort into creating this elaborate playground for people who would be too pained or too incensed to care. If they managed to show up at all. There wasn’t even a good reason to recreate Amaurot. It satisfied some whim of his, nothing more. A backdrop by which he would impress upon the Warriors of Darkness how much better the world had been one final time. The fate of the star, and all of the other worlds left would be decided where it all began.

One way or another.

Emet-Selch wasn’t sure where that thought came from, nor why he was suddenly weary. Perhaps he should have taken a nap. The temporary oblivion of sleep seemed far more inviting than completing his plans. Suddenly remembering the man he’d brought to torture until all he knew spilled forth, Emet-Selch made a mental note to check up on him in a short while. He was fairly certain that the Crystal Exarch would reveal all of his mysteries once the Warriors of Darkness had perished, but pain and the promise of more could help expedite the process. Not that he’d needed to be the one to directly perform the torturing in centuries, mind. He hated doing the dirty work. It’s why he was more than pleased to take over nation building for the Ascians; so that he could force others to do it for him.

So distracted by his own thoughts, he didn’t realize he’d sat down at a bench until another figure had sat down with him. Emet-Selch blinked, then sneered. He must have added in a routine for the puppets to sit when others did so. That might lead to problems down the line. Better to fix it now, then have it destroy the act he was so intent on creating.

Just as he was about to reach into the mechanics of the figure sitting next to him, it spoke in a voice that made his blood turn to ice. “I thought it ironic that you made your way to the park where we first met while wrapped up in your own thoughts, so I had the impulse to join you much like I did that day.” The figure inclined its--his? No, it was impossible. It couldn’t be--head towards him. The people he set in the city were all faceless except for their uniform white masks and dark grey robes. Despite this, Emet-Selch could still sense the smile in his old friend’s tone. “I suppose you’re going to erase me now,” Hythlodaeus said as casually as if he were commenting on the weather.

“You can’t be--I wasn’t going to--” His voice was rough. Perhaps from how unused to his native tongue he was, or perhaps from something to do with how his eyes were starting to burn. Either way, Emet-Selch cleared his throat and made himself speak more clearly. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“And yet, here I am.” Again Hythlodaeus--no it was not him--seemed to smile. “You look tired, my friend.”

Emet-Selch was exhausted. “There’s been a lot happening lately. You know how it is.” He should just erase it. It wasn’t real. Couldn’t ever be. It would hurt all the more to keep up the charade. He flexed a hand as if to try...but instead he closed it once more to settle at his side. “Or perhaps you don’t. I find I’m not really sure.”

“Technically, I know nothing much beyond that I am Hythlodaeus, and that I and this city was created by you for a purpose all your own.” The shade fixed his gaze forward, leaning back in much the same manner as what Emet-Selch was doing. “But I can extrapolate quite a lot from the information I have and what I can observe.”

They sat in silence for several beats. “Well?” Emet-Selch gestured a hand in a small circle to his right, indicating the street next to them. “What do you think, then?”

Hythlodaeus made a show of looking around, in spite of what he’d said before. “An impressive feat of artistry, and quite solid for a glamour.” His mask turned towards the sky--or, well, the water high above the city. “We’re under some sort of sea, yes?”

“The ruins here made for a good foundation. The magic can hold for far longer with minimal to no effort to keep it up.” A part of him was pleased that this likeness of his old friend nodded along in places exactly like he used to. Another coldly reminded Emet-Selch that it wasn’t real, that it was just part of the false Amaurot. The first part shushed the second, if only to enjoy this moment while he could. “Even should I leave it behind, the city will last for some time afterwards. Even unappreciated, Amaurot will shine beautifully for a while yet.”

That seemed to draw the shade’s full attention. Hythlodaeus’ mask tilted curiously, aimed at Emet-Selch’s face. “Is this a planned sort of exit?” His expression must have shown something, for the shade continued, “I ask because, whether you know it or not, you’re setting the stage for a confrontation. It’s not like you to be so cavalier about what the outcome could be, regardless of what condition you expect your opponents to be in.”

He stared at Hythlodaeus in wonder. His subconscious had added his long-dead friend to the city, that much was for certain. But was he so observant because Emet-Selch remembered him being so, or was it because he had arrived in this replica of Amaurot from the innermost workings of his mind? Something in him wanted to stay like this, to talk and experiment until he could find the flaws in this puppet whose strings he couldn’t see.

Alas, there were more things he needed to prepare for, as Hythlodaeus inadvertently reminded him. He should wrap up the conversation before too long. If he knew the Warriors of Darkness as well as he thought he did (and while he wasn’t always good with people, having spent centuries around them did wonders for being able to suss out behavior), they would be arriving soon enough. Given the choice between turning into monsters in front of their friends, and turning into monsters attempting to save the Crystal Exarch? Emet-Selch knew exactly what choice they would make, and what the result would be.

And yet...as he thought over his plans he realized that a kernel of doubt had indeed taken root. It was something to do with the color of their souls. Some part of him was braced, ready to see and experience the impossible. Even with his victory assured. Almost especially so.

Emet-Selch put a hand over his face with a groan. “I hate it when you’re right.”

“It’s only because it happens so often.” The smile returned to Hythlodaeus’ voice, even the grey behind his white mask showed nothing of the sort. “So. What will happen should you lose?”

He’d never consciously thought of it before, so he spoke through the steps aloud. It was something he and his friends had done with each other to work out an especially trying problem. Something that stopped when all of the other participants had gone. Sitting like this, in even a reflection of the city he loved so dearly it never left his mind for long, had brought it back. “Then our plans for the First will have failed. There won’t be an Eighth Umbral Calamity.” Thinking of Elidibus, he amended, “Or at least not from my efforts.”

“Then what will happen?”

“Well I’m sure Elidibus would have something up his sleeve.” Emet-Selch waved a hand as if to dismiss the thought when he paused. “...But he would be alone in his efforts. With Lahabrea and myself gone, he’d be the only one left unsundered.”

“A lonely existence indeed.” Hythlodaeus wouldn’t have known what an unsundered was, but he was also just as likely to pretend as if he knew what Emet-Selch was talking about if only to keep him chatting. “I might not be real, but I still can’t imagine what it would be like to be the last one left of anything. And for poor young Elidibus to be alone while his brothers were gone…”

The Emissary hadn’t been young in literal ages. Still, the idea of him facing eternity as the sole bearer of the burden of bringing back all of the lives that had been lost in ages past made Emet-Selch’s brow furrow. “...he might take revenge.”

“A reasonable conclusion.”

“I can’t be sure what form it would take, but...he doesn’t even remember why we are attempting to bring back Zodiark in the first place.” The pieces were coming together in his head. Prophecy wasn’t something he’d ever been interested in. Logically figuring out what path someone, particularly someone whom he’d come to know entirely over the millenia, was a different matter. “Even should he succeed, he wouldn’t understand the why of it.”

“So what do you propose to do about that?”

A memory struck, and Emet-Selch snapped his fingers. Thirteen colorful crystals materialized in between Ascian and shade. Each of them held the symbols of the position in the Convocation that they represented. Unlike the rest of the city, these were entirely real. He reached out for them before hesitating. Heaving a sigh, he snapped his fingers again. A fourteenth, orange crystal, settled next to Hythlodaeus. The shade picked up this one, fingering the symbol of the sun carved within it. “Memory crystals?”

“The very same. And the fourteenth, illegal, one to lead him back on the path.”

“How legal can anything be, so far away in time from when such laws were created?” Hythlodaeus mused as he pressed in both sides of the symbol at once. The crystal fell in half, leaving two even pieces in each of his hands. “And made to be certain neither would feel left out. How clever.”

He ignored what his friend was saying and spoke over him. “I’m going to erase your memory of our meeting here,” Emet-Selch tried to meet eyes that he knew didn’t exist. Hythlodaeus kept the eye contact anyway, as if sensing how serious his friend was. “Otherwise you’ll be free to roam the city as you see fit with your personality intact. I’ll leave these instructions with you should my plan fail. If I die, you must be certain these crystals make their way into the hands of the Warriors of Darkness. If they’re clever and strong enough to take me out of the picture, they’ll be ready enough to make Elidibus follow.”

“I understand.” Hythlodaeus nodded. “I hope you get some rest soon, Hades.”

“I hope so too, old friend.” Hades then snapped his fingers. Once to erase the memories of the shade of Hythlodaeus, once to return to where the Crystal Exarch was being held.

There was much to prepare. He had no more time to waste wallowing in emotion.

#ff14 #Final fantasy 14 #final fantasy xiv #fanfiction #writing challenge #infinity #Emet-Selch #hythlodaeus #dual WoL AU #shadowbringers #shadowbringers spoilers #altho the warriors of light aren't directly here #a little somber conversation that definitely happened #and definitely didn't help emet's mood when the Warriors of light bring the scions #the crystal thing was something i made up to help out the AU lol #second of the 1-2-3 punch for *this* weekend lol #birthdays man #even when they're not your own they get in the way of challenges lol #twenty eight down three to go

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