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#throwing myself against the bars of my cage

4doorssys · 7 months

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Vibrating out of my skin every time I see Matt Murdock put his unreasonably big hands on his slutty little waist like a bratty bottom who doesn't get his way.

This is completely unfair he knows exactly what he's doing

#puts him in a jar #im shaking #crying sobbing screaming #more like (s)creaming #matt murdock #matthew murdock #mcu daredevil #daredevil #how could he do this to me #chewing on him #throwing myself against the bars of my cage #wade posting

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wolfsetfree-if · 6 months

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Crying shaking.

I hate coding.

#throwing myself against the bars of my cage

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nordarknessdimsthesky · 8 months

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A linguistic analysis of tumblr hyperbole in the tags

This post expands my previous analysis of hyperbolic reactions to cluster tags by themes. There were too many themes, some of them overlapping, to create a cohesive graph. Instead, I present several overarching themes from a data set of 50 tags observed and documented in various corners of tumblr.

1. Feeling Normal™️

Tags within this cluster profess Normal feelings (read: extreme excitement, enthusiasm, obsession, derangement, etc.).

#mmmmrrrghuhhhhghhh #I'm so normal about it teehee #absolutely not rending my clothing #feeling very normal and not feral at all #i will simply never recover #gif sets sent to personally destroy me #i can't cope #the eyes #i'm a puddle #i am INCONSOLABLE #i am DISTRAUGHT #IM NOT OKKAAAAAAYYYYYY #FEELING TOTALLY ONE HUNDRED PERCENT NORMAL

2. Feralness

The following data points conjure animalistic behavior. There’s a non-zero amount of biting and chewing involved.

#chomping biting barking #biting my arms off #rattling my cage #[incoherent biting noises] #chewing glass #chewing through wood #*shaking the bars of my enclosure* HELLO!!!!!!!! #climbing the walls #biting gnawing chewing #im gonna rip off my front door and eat it

3. Noisy Emotional Outbursts

These tags encompass crying, screaming, yelling, and other loud reactions.

# shaking sobbing crying #SCREAMIIIING BANGING MY HEAD ON THE WALL #*no thoughts only wailing* #i am SOBBING #IM CRYING LIKE A BITCH #*just fucking yelling* #S C R E A M #screeching into a pillow #brb sobbing for 5-7 business years

4. Throwing

All of these tags except the last one involve being thrown instead of throwing things. I, personally, am entertained by the range of places/situations people are throwing themselves into.

#i am going to THROW MYSELF into the SEA #hurl me into the sea #hurl me into the sun #trebuchet me into the sun #hurl me straight at europa #vent me out of an airlock #slam me against a wall #put me in a box and throw me down the stairs #throwing myself into traffic you know? #just defenestrate me already #defenestrate me #absolutely hurl me through plate glass #i'm going to start tossing furniture

5. Bodily Harm

There’s a good deal of overlap with the previous theme. Nearly all of the tags involving throwing would result in varying degrees of bodily harm. Here are the tags outside of the Throwing subgroup.

#im going to throw upppppp #tearing my hair out #banging my head against the wall #SCREAMIIIING BANGING MY HEAD ON THE WALL #biting my arms off #microwaving myself #crumple me up and microwave me

6. Absurdism

My personal favorite cluster. The imagery conjured and resulting comedic hyperbole is just [chef’s kiss].

#im gonna rip off my front door and eat it #crumple me up and microwave me #put me in a box and throw me down the stairs #defenestrate me #absolutely hurl me through plate glass

7. Keysmashes

These tags center less around meaning and more around style, so they form the last group. A handful of these could fall under Noisy Emotional Outbursts because they represent reaction noises. In my linguistic judgment, keysmashing increases the hyperbole – consider augh versus aughfhghghghhh – the latter reads as prolonged and more intense emotionally.

#aghdjakgsjadhjaka * #hrhrhrhgnnnghhhhh #aughfhghghghhh #mmmmrrrghuhhhhghhh #I'm so normal about it teehee #waughfhghghh #oughhhhghghhh

*one digression in a friend discord server was how people interpret keysmashes in their minds. Some hear the first couple letters and then some sputtering, others hear static. It’s a common joke that you need a minor in linguistics to understand conversations in this friend group. Such is the nature of things when the chaos linguist energy is strong.

#internet linguistics #tumblr linguistics #tumblr dialect #hyperbole #linguistics #tumblr #speaking and musing #the chaos linguist speaks

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wonryllis · 1 month

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I CAN BE WHATEVER YOU WANT ME TO BE ⭑ LHS.

⭑ ᵎᵎ preview. where heeseung finds himself once again locked in your cages when you drunk call him to pick you up at night. where heeseung has no intentions of escaping the said cages, forever remaining under the spell of your love. LIBY?

wordcount `834 ﹙𝒘? + 𝒄𝓪𝐬𝐭﹚toxic situationship with a down down down bad lee heeseung x kinda naive philophobic fem!reader, age gap, suggestive: mild.

she's crazy but i love her.

heeseung's steps are slow and calculated, eyes glued on your figure trying to make your way to his car. stumbling and wobbly in heels you (kind of) seem accustomed to, feet clicking against the pavement in a hasty stride. he's worried. you were out with friends past midnight on a weekday, called him all drunk to pick you up from the bar and now you are barely able to walk straight, ankle on the verge of twisting at any given moment but you wouldn't let him hold you. he's worried sick.

"angel please just hold onto me hm?" he pleads rushing over when you visibly slip on an uneven part, hands almost gripping around your waist as you manage to keep your balance, staggering back into his arms in a couple of steps.

"you! who are you!" your hands push against his chest as you turn around startled. there it goes, again! heeseung sighs knowing what's to come. it's the third time in the last fifteen minutes, going over this exact conversation word to word.

"it's heeseung, your cousin's friend and your friend," he makes sure to emphasize on 'your friend' trying to stop this before it gets further into the loop.

"where's my cousin?" you ask, looking around the rather empty parking lot.

"he working," heeseung's explanation is dry because he knows you'll cut him off before he can say anything more,"and why are you here?" just like that. he remembers the first time this happened, when you were actually sober and met him at your cousin brother: jay's workplace. you showed up out of nowhere, without any notice and jay was going bonkers at how he'll get you back home when he has the most important client waiting for him in the next room. heeseung hadn't thought much when he offered to drop you off, a favor for a friend that was all it was to him.

"because you called me, angel," but god was he wrong, for he swears the moment he laid his eyes on you he was a goner. you were too darn pretty to be just a favor. you were younger, a party girl always running out to frat and sorority gatherings, bars and clubs. often calling jay to pick you up to avoid letting your parents know of your shenanigans.

"why did i call you and not my cousin?" everytime he had wished it was him and not jay, even though ultimately he was the one who went. carrying your cute drunk ass to your mansion and getting you to your room as discreetly as possible. you are a rich girl, two worlds apart and heeseung has felt it in many ways than not.

"because i'm your cousin's friend and you know me well," heeseung never thought he'd ever be more than just your cousin's friend to you. at least he hopes he is more. you have done things with him that you'd definitely not do with just your cousin's friend. a space curtaining acquaintance and lover, he hangs dangerously cold and heedless.

"so where's my cousin?" between days left ghosted and nights you throw your arms around him he stands unsure of his place in your life. at times he feels you know he's the one who could treat you better than any of the guys you cry for. yet there are moments when there's this sturdy wall you build, holding him away for the sake of not losing him like others. afraid of love is what you refuse you are but heeseung knows your conceptions of it are a little too twisted, broken he dare say. and his love for you is so far and conflicted to the things you have experienced, he understands the lengths and the time it will take for you to recognize and accept him.

"you know what, i'm getting you in the car myself," in an instance his hands grip at the back of knees and the curve of your waist, hauling you up in his arms. he walks quick to his car parked at the far end, smiling through the constant pouty mumbles of yours. eyeing you every two seconds, not being able to resist that pretty face of yours.

it is absolutely not in him to ever resist that pretty face of yours, your pretty eyes and your pretty lips as they graze against his own in gentle brushes. arms looped around his neck and thighs resting on the soft matress of your bed, albeit on each side of his own, yet again. sitting on his lap, so close, bodies pressed. "heeseungie, please stay," your voice a sultry whisper of a whine, a naive vixen, if that's even a thing.

lee heeseung knows he will never have the power to refuse you, he will be whatever you want him to be for how ever long you will want him to be.

you make him crazy and he loves you for that.

taglist ( open. ) @kangseulgithegreat @s00buwu @luvyev @pockyyasii @nctislifue @ashtxrie @miniature-tragedy @jayujus @brachives @thoughtsmeander2tumblingblindly @eeunoia @nxzz-skz @shawnyle @enhaswirlds @enhasnuggles

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ohbo-ohno · 7 months

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omgomgomgomggggg u mentioned reader locked in a cage watching her stuffed bear through the bars and my mind immediately started racing. do u think when they have her locked up they sit just outside the bars teasing her with her stuffed bear shaking him around just outside her reach? taunting her and cooing when tears slide down her cheeks😭they throw a blanket over ur cage and leave u there for “puppy’s nap time” i’m actually shaking

oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my

this is a little long one because both of these concepts have killed me and i lost control of myself

im shaking. hyperventilating. quivering. i am an unrecognizable person after reading these asks.

forced into a cage fucking GETS ME!!! noncon puppy play you will always be famous. both of my noncon/dubcon ghostsoap puppyplay things (say that five times fast) have johnny falling into a type of subspace really quickly so i haven't actually gotten to write a lot of a forced puppy reacting badly and i want to so MUCH!!! might do it with ghostsoap in a follow up to the thing i just posted honestly. it's so fucking delicious

but anyways. in this au the cage you get shoved in isn't johnny's cage, it's one they made for you so you can keep them company during their murderous free time. that means the cage is small, you-sized :( you can't sit up straight in it, can't stretch your legs out the whole way, can't even really kneel straight up. a tiny little space for a tiny little girl oh im going to be SICK

i like the idea of reader having a little nest of her own in their cabin, filled with soft things for her to relax into (and, of course, a hook for them to leash her to) so i feel like her cage in the basement is probably a little ugly. probably no blankets or pillows, shoved in the middle of the room somewhere so there's no place where you can hide (aka press yourself against the wall), leaves you exposed and vulnerable and cold. poor little puppy :( crying and sniffling and begging them not to force you in, but they just chuckle and ruffle your hair a bit, force you to your knees.

all that being said: your little bear johnny and bear simon are in the bad cage with you <3

the stuffy (im calling it a bear but fill in an animal if you'd like) is a total comfort object for you, something that has gone through every bad thing right by your side. when they fuck you, you almost always have the bear in your arms. when they force you to their torture dungeon, the bear is either in your arms or in your eyeline. maybe one of the times they hunt you simon slips the little bear into your arms while johnny is fucking you in the dirt, smirks a little when you thank him and hold it tight to your chest.

if you get really worked up from what they're doing one of them throws an old blanket over your cage. it makes everything so much worse - you can't see anything, you're left alone in this cold dark space, and you can still hear every sound of pain and the tools your kidnappers are using. but for some reason you feel more vulnerable in the dark (like a bird lol) so you go quiet, hunch down real low and squeeze your eyes shut so you can't see the bloodstains on the blanket. simon on johnny think they're helping you cause you don't sound nearly as scared when you can't see anything <3 gives them horrible ideas involving blindfolds but that's another thing

johnny keeping your bear from you. it's like the two of you want me dead. “do you wanna come out now?🥺” “you want your bear??🥺” “are you gonna be a good girl now???🥺🥺” and "teasing her with her stuffed bear shaking him around just outside her reach? taunting her and cooing when tears slide down her cheeks" like im so fucking GONE it's actually not even funny.

you get real puppy-like when they make you beg for your bear. little paws held out, eyes all big and teary, panting and wiggling around cause you want your toy so badly. simon telling you to take the stuffy with your teeth, and you whine because you don't want to bite your bear!!!! but he says johnny and i bite you all the time, puppy, if you can take it so can your bear so you finally lean forward, get a little loose hold on the stuffy's leg where johnny's holds it out

but he's so mean, because he doesn't let it go :( just smiles real big at the sight of you on your knees, little puppy toy between your teeth. go on, he'd say take it, lass. and you try!!! you tug it a little, shake your head a bit, but he won't let go!! he won't give you your bear!!!

until simon tells him to, a gruff that's enough tug o' war, johnny, she's been a good girl. hand it over. and then the stuffy is yours again, finally. you'd tuck it up right in your arms, hold it close to your chest and bury you nose in the soft fur with your eyes squeezed shut. you ignore the little coos from above you, fully throw yourself into loving on your bear

#asks and answers #serial killer ghoap x reader #favorites #if only for those fucking ASKS jfc #off topic but ghoap locking you in the Bad Cage (tm) as punishment and leaving you alone with the corpses. hm.#🧸 anon

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wholesomefluffdaddy · 22 days

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Wednesday's new court mandated therapist is having her keep a journal of her thoughts and feelings. Wednesday finds this to be a complete waste of time and decides instead to use it to record her observations of her unusual roommate Enid Sinclair. Wednesday POV.

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Entry 5

Current Moon Phase: Full Moon / Hunter's Moon 🌕

I am at a loss for words and yet I must record my findings. I… made a mistake.

The day of the full moon was as typical as can be expected. Enid requested to sleep in my bed the night before. I acquiesced. This has become a common occurrence on the evening before the full moon. She says she finds herself too restless to sleep and that a close proximity to me provides her with some sort of comfort. I admit that I find the arrangement to be mutually beneficial. Enid is able to rest and I find that my own slumber is deeper and darker. I get to awaken with the feeling of sharp deadly claws gripping me close, beautiful long fangs inches from my neck, and the melodiously threatening snarls and growls of an apex predator in my ear.

My body's reaction to such tantalizingly imminent danger is rather contradictory. At first I feel heart palpitations, likely from a rush of adrenaline. Second, I feel my whole body's temperature rise, which is unexpected. If it was truly fear then the heat increase should be contained to my head and torso, not the whole body. Third, I feel my mind become hazy. This is quite the opposite of how it has been in the past. I usually find myself to become sharper under life threatening situations, not duller. It is as if my body enters fight or flight but also accepts an inevitable death. Death at the hands of my partner friend roommate a werewolf is most befitting of an Addams. It would be an honorable death.

I seemed to have digressed. It was the evening when things became more eventful, as Enid spent most of the day cooped up in our dorm room. As the moonrise was fast approaching she made a predictable request; that I accompany her to the Lupin Cages. I do not see why she still believes the need to ask, it should be a given that will join her. My backpack was already prepared with the usual things.

We made our way down to the cages and selected the one at the far end as has become customary. As I made to follow Enid into the cage she held out a hand. She said she didn't want me to join her. I was perplexed. She said she didn't know if it was safe. I protested but she held firm. The cage was locked and I begrudgingly sat beside the bars as I pulled out my book and reading light. I made sure to shift my body away to allow Enid privacy as she disrobed. My eyes felt inexplicably drawn to the horizon as the moon rose.

Its progress seemed agonizingly slow. The sound of Enid's labored breathing was incredibly galling. Once the moon had fully arisen I waited for Enid's howl but it did not come. Instead I felt hot breath on the back of my neck. I turned around to see the werewolf panting heavily. I stuck my hand through the bars and Enid brushed up against it in apparent gratitude.

Several howls soon erupted around us, which made Enid raise her hackles. I tried to focus on my book as Enid began pacing. Occasionally I'd feel her fur as she tried to rub up against me through the bars. I was admittedly frustrated that she did not allow me inside the cage with her, as I was most certain I could soothe her disquiet. How wrong I was. The light from the moon was so bright that I eventually had no need for my reading light.

Enid grew increasingly more agitated as the moon rose higher and higher. She started growling, then pawing at the bars, before finally throwing herself at them. I heard similar sounds around me which indicated that Enid's kin were facing much the same affliction. I stashed my book away as I tried to pacify Enid. My words seemed unable to reach her as she tried desperately to free herself from the metal prison. It was deeply distressing to witness. I felt a sense of helplessness that drove me to a foolish and selfish act.

I unlocked the door to the cage. My intention was only so that I could enter to calm her. However, as soon as Enid heard the click of the lock she rammed herself against the door, bowling me over, before sprinting off into the woods. I cursed most vehemently at my own stupidity. I made to follow but it was quite clear, with my short stature, that I would not be able to catch up to a werewolf that had been driven mad by the moon.

This did not mean I was about to give up my pursuit. Enid had entrusted me with her wellbeing while her mind was in such an altered state. I would not fail her. Though it was my failure in the first place that led to such a predicament. As I ran I found that my vision had become blurry. Perhaps it was the low light, pollen, or rush of air as I ran that caused the physical irritation my eyes were experiencing. I had to wipe away the continuous buildup of excess fluid obscuring my vision.

When I could run no more and I lost the trail I began calling out Enid's name. My efforts were for not as Enid was clearly too far gone, whether physically or mentally. My own ineptitude weighed heavily upon me, so much so that it brought me to my knees. I did not give up, for I could not give up. I continued calling Enid's name until my voice was hoarse. I forced myself back to my feet as I searched the ground for the werewolf's trail. I do not know for how long I wandered those accursed woods. My perception of time was no doubt altered by my distressed mental state.

As my voice was almost dead upon my lips as my vocal cords threatened to give out I heard something crashing through the underbrush towards me. My relief and anguish was unbearable as my werewolf returned to me. Her eyes were wide as they landed upon what I'm sure was a most disgraceful sight. I pounded my fists against the solid mass of fur and muscle before me. I cursed and ranted with what little voice I had left. I was silenced as a set of large fluffy arms pulled me into an almost bone crushing embrace.

I made to apologize most profusely for my own foolishness but my voice had finally abandoned me. I buried my face, out of shame, into her fur and clutched it tightly with both hands. I was not going to let the werewolf leave my sight again. I heard her soft whines but they were somewhat muffled. I felt a wet nose press to my cheek as it began sniffing me over. Once she had finished her inspection of my piteous state she began moving, carrying me with in her large arms.

I do not know when we arrived back at our dorm, only that it felt like mere minutes between being in the middle of the woods to being deposited back onto my bed. I rubbed my eyes to clear them and discovered the source of that evening's madness. Enid gently placed a dead squirrel into my hands. I looked at it and then at the seemingly anxious werewolf. My voice was hardly more than a whisper as I thanked her for the gift. Of course she was driven to hunt on the Hunter's Moon. How gormless was I not to realize it? My words had only just escaped my lips when a large tongue enveloped my face.

I tried in vain to push the overgrown mutt away but she was persistent in drenching my face with her slobber. The springs of my bed creaked loudly as the werewolf crawled onto my bed and took me once again in her arms. The wind was squeezed out of my lungs as she proceeded to lay atop me after the onslaught of licks. Being crushed to death by a werewolf was an acceptable punishment for my own witlessness. Either from exhaustion or the lack of oxygen in my lungs, I soon lost consciousness.

#ao3 fanfic #archive of our own #enid sinclair #wednesday addams #wednesday netflix #wednesday x enid #wenclair #wednesday is oblivious #wednesday is soft for enid #wholesomefluffdaddy

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raccoonfallsharder · 9 months

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here are a few sneak previews of what we’ve got going on (this is really more to organize my thoughts and force myself to come up with titles than anything else)

upcoming rocket raccoon fics behind the cut

1. Window Across the Galaxy

aka long&angsty. hoping to start posting on Sunday or Monday.

Slooowww burn + eventual smut. elements of hurt/comfort because rocket is the saddest-angriest boy. Slight AU starting pre-GOTG volume 1 (but will hit most of the same major plot points).

Rocket is captured by a Ravager crew hoping to get rich off the excessively large bounty on his head. Throwing a wrench in everyone’s plans is the Terran girl they hired to do some freelance assessing on a recent haul of goods they’ve seized from a Xandaran luxury liner. Oops.

She looks at the rusted bars, and back to her brute of a tour guide, and sighs heavily. Slowly, she turns back to the cage, swaying toward the bars so she can peer in at eye-level. She’s immediately face-to-face with the creature. His ears are still pressed flat against his head, fur bristling, and he’s gazing back, clearly suspicious and probably - justifiably - feeling more than a little bit mean. She’s suddenly certain that if she got close enough, he’d take out her eyes. There’s no helping herself, is there? One corner of her mouth twists up in exhausted resignation and she nods. “Welp,” she says solemnly to the raccoon, “fuck me, my dude.”

2. Blackmail Material

(codename: pwp???). will probably post part 1 in a week or two.

just pure fucking smut. this was gonna be two parts but I'm leaning toward three now (smut // fuff // smut). probably takes place sometime after endgame but before volume 3? not that it really matters tbh because there is NO FUCKIN PLOT HERE. ur girl's got a praise kink so that'll definitely be featured per usual.

basically: rocket finds your vibrator.

“I’ll tell you what,” he offers up, still grinning that shit-eating grin. “I won’t say a word and I’ll give it back to you. You can even keep whatever batteries are in it.” That sounds too good to be true. You raise a brow and cross your arms in front of your breasts. “If?" “If you let me watch you use it,” he challenges, eyes daring you. “For science.”

3. Domestic Scenes in Space Travel

(codename: ok sweatshirt girl.) i dunno -maybe post the first one by mid-august?

Comics-inspired but not exclusive - just a buncha feel-good fuffy one-shots and equally feel-good smutty one-shots. Series of slice-of-life readerxrocket one-shots following The Very Boring Adventures of Space Pilot & Sweatshirt Girl.

“Just try not to push any buttons or pull any levers till you know what they do.” You snort. “I fully intend to keep my hands completely to myself unless I have your explicit permission to touch.” Rocket leers. “That could be fun.” Your eyes narrow. “Space Pilot, I’m gonna need you to focus on the task at hand so I don’t end up accidentally jettisoning us.”

4. Other Duties As Assigned

(codename: schemers, dreamers, & multicalendar memers) i don't have an intended outcome for this fic yet so while i am VERY much enjoying it, i first need to grapple with whether or not i'm okay posting something that may be unfinished. i usually try to avoid that.

I have no idea whether this will get smutty or not (probably, knowing me?). Begins five months after The Snap.

Natasha Romanoff is an administrative nightmare - a fact that does not go unnoticed by the (interim) captain of the Milano. First she demands that the remaining two Guardians of the Galaxy be reachable via a primitive Terran messaging system, and then she can't be bothered to read the frickin' emails.

Thank fuck she's hired a new assistant.

**THIS MESSAGE IS ENCRYPTED** To: <[email protected]> From: <[email protected]> Subj: re: WHAT THE FUCK RED Date: Monday, September 24, 2018 7:34am well that’s probably the nicest message I’ve gotten since I hacked the internet I’m gonna have to kill your boss though

(a super-secret spoiler sidenote - i have a formula and I shamelessly overuse it, so there are no surprises here: girl falls first, raccoons falls harder. every fuckin time friends.)

#rocket raccoon #rocket raccoon fanfiction #rocket racoon x reader #gotg rocket #rocket raccoon x oc #rocket raccoon x you #reader insert #gotg fanfiction #guardians of the galaxy #rocket x you #fanfiction

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greymoonfeelings · 2 years

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Beauty Over Brains

pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x fem!Reader

word count: 1.3k

summary: you loved your husband for many reasons, one of them being that magic mouth of his.

warnings: smut, fem receiving oral, dirty talk

~~~

“You’re such an idiot,” You snort watching as Phoenix walks away proudly, having just tricked your husband out of ten dollars.

“This isn’t news, honey. You know you’re the beauty and the brains in this relationship.”

“You’ve got plenty of beauty and brains, Bradley.”

“Yeah, but which did you marry me for?”

“Hmmm let me think,” You pretend to put a lot of thought into the question. “Beauty. Amongst other things.”

“Oh yeah? What other things?” Rooster eyes you suspiciously.

“Your monster cock. They don’t call you Rooster for nothing.” You wink.

“Oooh la la, tell me more mon amour.”

“I definitely married you because of that magic tongue of yours too. The way you ravish me, devouring my pussy like it’s the Great Depression and I’m the first meal you’ve had in days.” You continue dramatically.

“If I could only eat one thing for the rest of my life you know it’d be you, darling.”

“I wish I could say the same, but I’d have to choose mac and cheese.”

Rooster lets out a loud gasp and throws his hands over his heart as if you’ve deeply offended him.

“You wouldn’t choose my monster cock?”

“Hmmm, now that you mention it, Hangman’s ass might be a good last meal.”

“You’ve been stepping out on me? and with Hangman of all people?” Rooster pretends to be even more offended by the mention of his frenenemy.

“Never, my love.” You assure him. “Although I may consider it. He looks like he knows how to use what God gave him.” You turn your head to look at your mutual friend across the bar.

Rooster follows your gaze and watches as Hangman thrusts his hips into the air, celebrating his pool game win.

“Suck on that, baby!” Hangman yells, getting in Coyote’s face.

You and your husband laugh at his ridiculousness.

“You think that idiot could fuck you better than me?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you should prove to me he couldn’t.” You challenge.

Rooster knows you’re just teasing, but he can’t help but grow hot at the thought of someone else getting to have you the way he does. It brings out something animalistic in him and he feels the insatiable need to show you right here and right now why you’ll never need another man.

He gets down from his bar stool and pulls you off yours, placing you in front of him to hide his growing erection.

“Feel that, baby? You drive me fucking crazy.” He whispers into your ear in a husky tone.

Rooster leads you through the crowded bar, waving away your friends when they call out to ask where the two of you are going.

Soon, you’re stumbling through the sand as Rooster’s lips attack your neck, causing you to giggle and squirm away from his grasp. Once you’re free, you start running towards the nearby house you were renting while he chases after you.

You couldn’t open the door fast enough and by the time it's shut, your husband has you pushed up against it, caging you in with his muscular body. You’re taken aback as his lips are on yours faster than you can register, but soon you’re kissing him with just as much passion.

He desperately shoves his tongue into your mouth, and runs his hands underneath your shirt, rubbing against the bare skin of your torso and snaking up to grope your breasts.

“Jesus, Rooster. Slow down.” You laugh as he moves his mouth down along your jaw.

“Can’t help myself. You drive me wild, woman.”

He peppers kisses all over your face, one on your mouth, your cheeks, and your nose, causing you to laugh out again.

“Your mustache tickles.” You playfully push away his face.

“Don’t lie, honey, you know you love the way it feels.”

“Mmm especially when you’re down there.”

You tangle your fingers in his curls and gently push him down. Rooster gladly gets down on his knees, undoing the button of your shorts.

He stops for a second to read the words embroidered into the denim behind the zipper.

“Lucky you.”

“Cute, don’t you think?” You grin down at him when you realize why he’s stopped.

He pulls off your bottoms and panties, helping you step out of them before discarding them across the room.

“I couldn’t have said it better myself, baby. I’m a lucky man because this pussy is all mine.”

He emphasizes the last word before throwing your legs over his shoulders and carrying you over to the kitchen island.

He lays you down and immediately runs his tongue through your folds, parting them. Rooster’s hands grab onto your thighs, pushing them open farther so he has better access to your pussy.

“Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He spits, letting it dribble down to your hole before diving back in. He licks a stripe up your cunt, your hips buck up against his face when his tongue lands on your clit and flicks it. He closes his lips around it, sucking on the delicate bud.

He knows it drives you wild when he plays with your clit. it’s the quickest way to have you writhing against his tight grip, but tonight he wants to take his time.

With a final graze of his teeth that sends shivers through you, Rooster moves his mouth down. He spends some time circling your dripping entrance, each run of his wet tongue against your needy pussy causes you to whimper and he swears it’s the sweetest sound he'd ever heard.

Rooster’s hot mouth covers you as he sticks his tongue into your core. he moans in ecstasy at the taste of your sweet cunt as he begins fucking you with his rigid tongue.

Rooster becomes a crazed man when he eats you out. The way he attacks your pussy is purely animalistic. He vigorously shakes his head between your legs, coating his face with your arousal. He’s doing things with his tongue you didn’t even know were possible until you met him. You’d be jealous that he had so much experience with pussy eating, no doubt from other women if you didn’t get so much pleasure from it.

You grip his curls, helping yourself to grind against his face. Rooster’s deep groans reverberate through you, adding to the pleasure. With every shake of his head, his nose bumps against your clit, and you are consumed with an overwhelming feeling like your body is being set alight.

As he pushes you closer to the edge, your hips struggle against the hold he has on your pelvis.

“Oh my god! I can’t anymore! I’m gonna cum!”

Rooster doesn’t verbally respond, but his fingers dig into your thighs, no doubt leaving bruises as he prepares for your orgasm.

You come undone with a shout of his name as he laps at your entrance, savoring your juices as your ride out your orgasm, but once you’ve calmed down he doesn’t stop. He shoves two fingers in your pussy, curling them as his mouth moves towards your clit.

“Rooster.” You whine trying to close your thighs around his head.

“Be a good girl and give me one more.” He plunges his fingers in and out of you, the lewd sounds of wet squelching filling the air.

“God!” You cry out.

“Not God, just me.” He smirks at you as his fingers continue to work you towards another orgasm.

His thick fingers stroke the fire inside you, pushing against that sweet spot and filling you in a way that only came second to his cock. With a few more twists of his fingers, you’re screaming again as you gush all over his digits.

“Fuck.” Rooster moans as he slips his fingers out of you and brings them into his mouth, sucking them clean. “You taste so good.”

“Now it’s time to show that pussy of yours that nothing will ever compare to my cock. That idiot Hangman couldn’t fuck you the way I do on his best day.”

#heather writes #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #rooster x reader #rooster smut #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw x reader

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shirohige-pirates · 5 months

Text

Birds of a Feather

CisFem Reader x Marco

CW: Violence, blood, language, adult themes and scenes. 18+ only

Summary: Life has not been kind to you. After a string of bad relationships, you're a little jaded and a little depressed in all honestly. The worst day of your life seems to be the turning point, but the roller coaster ride that follows could either throw you soaring free, or have you caged forever?

Tag List: @clumsyraccoon

Chapter 25: Family

Marco returned after a series of apologetic texts explaining that his brothers weren’t letting him leave until he answered some of their questions. Once he walked in the door he set a suitcase and backpack down, took off his shoes and scooped you up into his arms, hugging you close and breathing deep before saying anything.

“Welcome home,” you say quietly, giving him a few soft kisses before he finally set you back down.

“Home, eh?”

“For the foreseeable.” You grin. “You want some tea? From your texts it sounded like your brothers were interrogating you.”

“Tea sounds wonderful, yoi.” He admits, walking into the kitchen with you, and sitting on the breakfast bar. “Ace was the worst of the lot, and he was feeding the others.” He grins and sighs. “I had to promise to visit at least one Saturday a month just to reach my closet.”

“Well, you have your promise for October in the bag.” You point out with a smile. “Since that’s when the party is.”

“I am expecting to hear ‘that doesn’t count’, from someone.” He admits with a grin.

You hand him a cup of tea, stepping back and leaning against the counter top, taking a sip of your own cup. “Any other concessions?”

“They haven’t even met you yet, and I’ve been requested not to horde you all to myself.” He says with a grunt. “I pointed out that you had a say in that, that they couldn’t control, yoi. But also,” he begins taking another sip. “I warned that if they crashed too many dates you might get your fill of them.”

You laugh. “Well, that’s one way to solve that concern.”

“Have you alked to Ivan yet?” He questions, looking over at you before taking another sip.

You shake your head. “I’m going to Monday. Figure I can just let all three of them know at once and then use my work commitments to cut the whole thing short.” You explain with a smile. “I mean, no one’s going to say anything bad, they know better.”

“I feel like ‘willful child’ was something used to describe you.” Marco muses, affection in his voice.

You grin, setting down your cup of tea. “Repeatedly, I’m sure.” You lift yourself up onto the counter to sit and let out a heavy breath. “Less so, before I ran away.”

You pause for a moment, looking around the room before looking back at Marco. “I don’t know the name of the island I was born on, but I know it’s in the New World somewhere. My family were… broken. They were broken. Three brothers, a sister, my mom and dad, all just empty shells going through the motions of living.”

You press your lips together and put your face in your hands for a second, pulling your feet up onto the counter, practically hiding behind your knees.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Marco says softly, staying where he is.

“No, I do. I do,” you admit putting your hands down and doing your best to look at him. “Because it would be cruel to feel this way, and to be this close, and then not say anything." Sorrow, deep and powerful crosses your face, despite your efforts in trying to maintain some level of neutrality.

You knew how the world felt about-

“- My family were nobles.” You say flatly. “Disgraced nobles, as far as the story goes, living in squalor after being removed from the lists.” You look away a little, eyes unfocused on anything in the here and now. “But that life was all I knew. I was born after their fall. I knew nothing else but that house, and it was a little larger than this place. It was hardly squalor, hardly poverty. It was comfortable. Dry and warm when it was cold outside and dry and cool when it was hot outside.

“We had to make our own meals, and clean our own things, but even removed from the lists, there were concessions provided to us. There was a certain image and importance to maintain, as though disgraced nobles were still worthy of more than common folk.”

Licking your lips a little, a bitter sweet smile slips along your features. Your shoulders droop and you sigh. “I was, for a time, happy. Even surrounded in the misery of a family who did little more than lament all they had lost, I wanted for nothing. I ate, cleaned, and played outside. No one paid much mind to me, within the house or without. I had a couple friends in a neighboring town, people who didn’t know who I was, unlike the townsfolk near our home.”

“What worked in my favor was that I didn’t have any of the recessive traits most of the nobles on the island had.” You sigh, quiet for a long moment. Marco didn’t move, even to drink any of his tea, and sat silently until you were ready to continue. “Which eventually did not work in my favor.”

“Lets go sit on the couch.” Marco prompts, getting up from his spot and walking over to you with his arms open. “If you were worried about your lineage scaring me off, yoi, it won’t.”

After a few hitched breaths, you wipe your eyes, scattering the errant tears, before reaching out toward him in return. He lifts you up easily, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, and your legs around his waist. There is comfort in the embrace, and the position, and it’s nice to just lean into him for a moment as he makes his way to the living room.

“Am I setting you down, or just sitting down?”

“Just sitting, please.” You reply quietly, moving your legs so you could comfortably lean against him while he sat back on the couch.

“You’re… really okay with it?” You question, voice still quiet. You know how the world views nobles. You know how nobles treat and view the world.

You wouldn’t be able to blame anyone for seeing you differently.

“I’ve seen who you are with my own eyes.” He assures you, holding you tight, nuzzling against the side of your face gently. “Blood’s never mattered to me.”

“… They were going to marry me back in.” You admit after a moment. Keeping your head on his shoulder you just sit there for a little longer. “Someone… someone thought I’d make good, healthy, heirs.”

Your fingers tighten, bunching up the fabric of his shirt. Even now the whole situation still turned your stomach.

“They sent a gift. Something considered priceless. I didn’t even know the concept of devil fruits before then.” The words become easier and easier to say, and so you just let them come out. “I didn’t want anything to do with it. I was barely old enough to understand it all. To understand that they were basically selling me to get their names returned to the lists.

“I ran off. I ran off a dozen times, dragged back each time, but I didn’t stop trying, and they could only do so much. Shackles are for commoners. You can’t beat a bride to be and risk injuries before the wedding. Can’t break my legs, you need me to walk, and so I ran.”

Marco’s arms seem to engulf you, as though he’s trying to consume the pain that comes from your words, or shield you from the anger bubbling up in him. You aren’t sure which. Maybe both. You just know the action is comforting. Protective. Kind.

“I gave it away, the fruit, to a kid on the street, but he was smart, or scared, and wouldn’t eat it. Thought it was poisoned. So I took a bite first.” You’re quiet for a moment, letting the memory play in your mind again after so long. “It was sweet. Rich and full of honey. I know now that devil fruits usually taste awful, but this was delicious. He loved it so much he helped me leave the island.

“He couldn’t have been eight. I was barely twelve. We never used names, swore we’d never meet again. I think we both understood on some level, how dangerous it was. I stowed away, on some ship, and ended up here.”

“… You remember anything about the ship?” He prompts.

“It was huge…” you lean back so you can look at him. “It was one of the reasons we picked it. Figured I’d have less chance being caught on a really big ship.”

“Huge doesn’t narrow things down for me.” He says with a grin.

“… Oh right! You and your family sailed.. I guess this was about twenty years ago now.” You lean back, sitting on his thighs, thinking for a few long moments, trying to make sure you remembered the details correctly. “The front was white, rounder than other ships in the front. It had so many sails too, and I think it had blue down the sides, and, I don’t know, yellow or gold trim.”

“… Did it… look like a whale at all?” He questions hesitantly, eyes focused on you. “The front part, I mean.”

You tilt your head, and smile. “Yeah it did, kind of like a white version of a big blue whale.”

Marco purses his lips and furrows his brow, blush running across his face.

You’re confused for a moment before realization dawns. “You… know the ship?”

Marco nods.

“… Do I owe Shanks an apology?”

Marco’s face flinches a little, and he shakes his head slowly.

You can feel the blood drain from your face. Not out of fear, but the dread of true understanding.

“I… owe… you, an apology.” You say slowly, and catch just the briefest nod from Marco. You look away and cover your mouth with your hand, thinking about your date at Thatch’s restaurant. “I thought that sauce tasted familiar.”

“Thatch practically started an inquisition!” Marco teases, grip tightening on you when you try to leave his lap. “We had locks on the refrigerator and pantry for five years after we got here!” He’s laughing as he pulls you against him entirely, kissing and nipping where he can. The light actions are ticklish on purpose and you can’t help your own laughter.

“I barely ate anything!” You insist, half-heartedly trying to escape. Marco grabs you suddenly, and firmly. Holding your head and body in place, eyes focused on your lips for a second as your laughter dies down.

The first kiss is soft and persistent, his body on edge as though he’s waiting to see how you’ll react. The next kiss is deeper, more insistent and needy, tongue pushing into your mouth and bringing soft moans up to your throat.

“He thought we had rats at first.” Marco says, still holding your face, not letting you back away too far.

You nod a little, eyes shifting from his reddening lips to his eyes. “I thought he spaced them out for his own foot size, and it was easy to step over them.”

“Did you trip a few on purpose?” He questions, and you nod.

“He was using such good cheese.” You admit, laughter bubbling up in you again.

Marco tries to keep a straight face and fails, the two of you falling into giggling laughter again. It takes a couple minutes to calm down and you set your head on his shoulder.

“I can’t believe it.” You murmur, fingers tangling into his.

“We left from that island, and stayed here.” Marco says. “That was the last trip we ever took.”

“Ivankov caught me.” You explain. “I thought I’d cleared the docks and was free and he picked me up like some stray cat.”

“I always wondered what secret she had.” Marco grins, changing his grip and capturing your hands behind your back, freeing up one of his. “Kept your secret all this time.”

“M-Marco,” you gasp, squirming a little as he pulls your collar aside, leaving kisses against your throat.

“Stowing away on a pirate ship is dangerous.” He says, voice low and heavy against your skin.

“You… you were Whitebeard pirates.” You state it and Marco pauses for a brief second before nipping at your ear.

“When’d you know, pretty bird?”

Your breath leaves you shakily. You aren’t worried about him hurting you, not now, maybe not even from the beginning, but the tone of his voice caresses your bones. From his tone alone you were at his mercy.

“A week, or so.” You admit. “The tattoo looked familiar, and then everything else just… added to it.”

“You weren’t scared?”

“Of you?” You can’t help the disbelief that slips into your voice.

“Most people are afraid of pirates, yoi. Even if they haven’t been pirates for years.”

“Most people think the marines actually protect them.” You retort, feeling Marco’s lips pull into a smile against your skin.

“I’m glad we never caught you.” He says quietly.

You laugh softly, sighing. “It would’ve been awkward to have been an honorary little sister or something and then end up here.”

“Little bit.” He agrees, letting go of your hands and pulling you into another kiss. “I’m pretty sure I would’ve lost either way, yoi.”

“Less bothered by the lost yesteryears, yeah?” You prompt, watching his cheeks turn red.

“Only a little.” There’s a pout in his tone, and another kiss follows it. “Gonna make up for all the lost time anyway.”

His hands tug at your shirt, and you lift your arms, letting him pull it off, breaking off the kiss for just long enough to let the article pass and get tossed aside. Leaning into the next kiss you tug at his shirt, and he leans forward, breaking the kiss and helping you pull it off.

No other conversation is had that night, nothing beyond quiet words of acquiescence and desire, peppered by the occasional sweet words of love and need. Tender kisses and desperate fingers trail over sweat speckled skin.

Pleasure is chased and caught, again and again, until limbs tremble simply from existing.

The clock chimes the name of a new day before dinner is consumed. The soft shuffle of sheets afterward, the brief moments of sleep, and the delicious scent of coffee to rally the morning.

And so began Monday.

#Birds of a Feather #Marco x reader #x reader #reader insert #marco the phoenix #marco the pinepple #modern au

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countrymusiclover · 9 months

Text

Part 1

Part 2

His Sky - masterlist

Tag list - just ask to be added @aintinacage

I just watched Guardian's of the Galaxy Vol 3 last night, and now I feel that Rocket needs a story from me. So, I am going to attempt this.

Getting thrown into a dark cage I grunted slowly looking around seeing that everything was almost pitch dark around me except for some small lights hanging. Pushing myself up on my hands I looked back at my orange tail seeing that it had some meat attached to it. I also had some metal on my left arm up to my elbow but it stopped right at my hand. "We have a new friend. Who are you?"

Lifting my head up quickly I gasped seeing an animal that had metal arm's that was looking at me. "You're an Otter.." I somehow recognized what the animal was by her white fur that then turned black and her small looking tail.

The otter just smiled and introduced herself. "I used to just be 89Q12. But now I call myself. What's your name?"

"I was 89A95. Now I'm Teefs." An animal with two long teeth and metal wheels attached to him rolled over as close as his cage would allow.

Blinking my eyes I knew what he was again which was freaking me out. "Walrus."

"I'm Floor cause 89L06 isn't a good name." I sniffed through tears seeing a white creature come to me with a metal mouth and multiple metal legs with her ears bent down.

Playing with my fingers I ran them through my fur starting to panic over how I knew what animals they were. "She's a Rabbit. This can't be happening to me...what are we...why are we like this?"

"What kind of things are you?" Someone asked where I gripped the metal bars seeing another creature with the number printed onto his metal chest plate, 89P13.

Looking back at myself I watched my tail move around behind me. My fur was a bright orange aside from the metal that was on my body. My small ears were peaked upwards and I had tiny teeth that felt like they could tear through a nut. "I think I'm a Squirrel...and you're a Raccoon."

"Don't call me a raccoon!" He snapped while I stared at his face that looked like a mask and his tail was black and white meaning he was for certain a raccoon. "My name is Rocket and I am not a raccoon, Squirrel girl."

Crossing my arms over my chest I rolled my eyes at the guy in front of me before I sat down on the floor looking at Rocket. He sat down watching me where he silently looked at me. "If we're making names mine should be Y/n. Y/n Squirrel."

Suddenly the door opened down the hallway where I stumbled to my feet watching a figure in a white coat come toward my cell. They opened the door and yanked me up away from the others. I attempted to fight against the guy but he was stronger than me until he released me onto the ground where I could see something bright blue brightening the room...meaning that must be the sky. "89K22, I'm glad to meet you finally." A black guy dressed in purple came over to me.

"My name is Y/n. Who are you?" I asked, standing away from the stranger.

He walked forward bending down on a knee to be my level scanning me over where I didn't like the way he was looking at me. "I'm the High Evolutionary. I am the one who made you, K22. And I must say I don't understand how you are so small and yet your brain is so much smarter than the others."

"Smarter than everyone here. I don't think that's possible." I pointed out meeting his gaze.

The high evolutionary smirked, grabbing a hold of my head. "Oh yes except for one, P13. I will need both your brains to help create the new world."

"But you made us look like this. Experimenting animals with metal on them. This isn't a perfect world." Pushing myself away from him I grunted not trusting what he was saying to me.

He got his feet tilted head at me gesturing towards the guy that had brought me into the room. "Hmm you might be a problem. Put her back with the others. But not before this..." He grabbed me harshly before he hit me in the chest putting a metal round device on my chest throwing me back towards the guard.

"Y/n, what happened. Did he hurt you?" Surprisingly I heard concern in Rocket's voice after I was thrown back in my own cell beside his.

I attempted to get to my feet but when I did I collapsed holding my chest before pain shot through my body. "The high evolutionary is a lair, Rocket - ahhh!"

"Y/n hurting." Floor ran around the inside of her cell just saying those words over and over again.

Lylla held the bars. "Sire wouldn't hurt us. He will take us to the new world where we can see the bright beautiful sky forever."

"Y/n, look at me." Rocket reached a hand through the bars being able to touch mine that was closest to his cell. He intertwined my hand with his seeing me struggling through tears. "They can't hurt us as long as we stick together. Lylla, Floor, Teefs, me and you. All of us together." I didn't know how long it had been since they left us in these cages but the next time they opened mine I wouldn't let go of Rocket's hand...knowing he was the only one I had left.

Rocket suddenly woke up on the medical operation table gasping for breath. He saw Gamora and Quill standing over him. Grout was near the table too while he remembered where he was. "Why are you on the ship!" Quill yelled through his communication device.

"To save you obviously." Nebula responded back to him.

Quill raised his voice, getting frantic. "No, I told you to go back. You should know I always figure out an incredible way to get out of fix."

"Tell him I said hi." Drax said back.

Groot nodded. "I am groot."

"Jumping a thousand feet to your death without a parachute is a clever way of getting out of a fix." Mantis scolded him through the device.

Gamora snapped. "You're all just making stuff up that he's saying right."

"The important thing is we are all okay." Rocket put his hands on his knees finally saying something to his friend group.

Nebula was almost sobbing relieved he was alive. "Rocket?"

"Yeah he's here. And he's okay." Quill informed her.

Mantis said overjoyed. "Rocket, we love you very much and we're happy you're alive."

"Well that makes you the idiot then..." He scolded before he remembered a certain someone was still being held with the High Evolutionary and his ship. "If you guys are inside the ship have you seen someone named Y/n Squirrel?"

Peter Quill made a confused face at his friend. "Who is Y/n. I thought you didn't have any family besides Groot."

"I am Groot." Groot said.

Rocket shook his head jumping off the table rushing to the front of the ship and into the pilot seat flipping on some buttons. "You wouldn't know her, Groot. She's from my past. She....I had to leave her there.

But I'm getting her back."

"Why didn't you tell us about her before now?" Peter asked to meet him in the other pilot seat.

Rocket grips the handle bars powering up the ship struggling to not cry when he told his friend. "She's the one who has my heart, Quill...she's my sky." He started flying the ship knowing that he wasn't going to let her suffer anymore than she most likely had for years since he had escaped.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

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bubblegum-blackwood · 8 months

Note

Armand for the character thing

Sexuality Headcanon: BI, BITCHES. I can see him probably leaning more toward more masculine people most of the time, but he definitely also likes women.

Gender Headcanon: Is twink a gender? ;P

Haha jk. Sorta. I mean he's definitely got those ✨androgynous vibes✨ for better or for worse but he's a gentleman. Also a little shit. But he's a gentleman.

A ship I have with said character: Devil's Minion babeyyyy. Although lately I'm leaning more toward Marius/Armand than me two years ago ever thought I would 😅

A BROTP I have with said character: I guess this is more of a parental/filial relationship but I love him with Benji. Benji's just so fucking qiohbdiefpwjioh2j. Matching levels of small boy chaos.

A NOTP I have with said character: I don't know. Santino, maybe? Although I won't say I definitively don't like that until I've tried it.

A random headcanon: He loves Phantom of the Opera. He looooooves Phantom of the Opera. I can definitely see him enjoying musicals and Phantom has that dark, romantic, fucked-up, sensual vibe to it that just meshes with his character so perfectly.

General Opinion over said character: Screaming, crying, throwing myself against a wall, rattling the bars to my cage, foaming at the mouth, thinking about him forever. He's too fascinating and multi-faceted and sad and badass and insane and fucked-up and tragic and wfhro2ufweihr2u4kjfv not to love. What else can I say? - he's Armand.

#vc #armand #ask game

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matthias-the-tulip · 2 years

Text

parts i hope they keep in the red white and royal blue movie: a list.

for @failinginwhatdirection here you go

• "i'm going to throw up on you" at the stables

• "i'd rather be waterboarded" also at the stables

• "i bet he has a secret lovechild," nora says. "or he's gay. or he has a secret gay lovechild." "it's probably in case i see his equerry putting his batteries back in," alex says.

• midnight ice cream on instagram and "i didn't know you wore glasses."

• the awkward fist bump on "this morning"

• "do you mind?" in the cupboard at the hospital

• "you're not the prince of me"

• "i cannot believe even mortal peril will not prevent you from being the way you are."

• "are you psychoanalysing me? i don't think royal guests are allowed to do that."

• "is that the time you threatened to push me into the thames?"

• "no booty calls."

• "it was like you were trying to set him on fire with your mind."

• "don't let the papers print lies about me after i've garroted myself with my tie."

• "you are the thistle in the tender and sensitive arse crack of my life."

• the whole turkey situation but they really can't get rid of that it's too important - "buy a summer home in majorca with the turkey"

• mr wobbles and jabba cakes please.

• "you're jeff goldblum"

• "I BEG YOU TO NOT"

• "please do not attempt to steal my shine. you will fail and i will be embarrassed for you."

• "christ, you are as thick as it gets."

• alex falling while running with june cause he was thinking about henry

• "still waters, deep dicking.”

• “prince henry is a biscuit,” nora says, “let him sop you up.”

• "you're not going to kill him, are you?" she says. "probably not," alex tells her

• "i mean, er, should we, i dunno, slow down?" henry says, cringing so hard at himself that one eye closes. "go for dinner first, or-"

• "i'm going to die," henry says helplessly. "i'm going to kill you," alex tells him. "yes, you are," henry agrees.

• alex fixing his hair for him

• fucking eyelashes

• the whole polo kit situation. henry slowly putting his foot back on the floor 😂

• "you're a mad, spiteful, unmitigated demon, and i'm going to kiss you until you forget how to talk."

• birthday floggings et al

• i will staple your dick to the inside of your leg

• baby.

• "i miss you," alex says before he can stop himself. he instantly regrets it, but henry says, "i miss you too."

• "i want to... put my fingers in his mouth..." she moans, sounding horrified. (WE NEED JUNE)

• "if only you had known the mighty work of thine loins would be undone by a gay heir who likes it when american boys with chin dimples are mean to him."

• just the whole karaoke bar situation. plz.

• o captain, my captain

• "when at wimbledon."

• "i want to see a cage match between your grandmother and this fucking ghoul running against my mom"

• "and you are good. most things are awful most of the time, but you're good."

• "he is truly a picture, wearing an expression of bewildered panic and absolutely nothing else."

• all of zahra's little quips - "every time i see you, it takes another year off my life." - "ask me if i'm afraid of the crown."

• SEXUAL EXPERIMENTATION WITH FOREIGN MONARCHS: A GRAY AREA.

• EXPLORING YOUR SEXUALITY: HEALTHY, BUT DOES IT HAVE TO BE WITH THE PRINCE OF ENGLAND?

• FEDERAL FUNDING, TRAVEL EXPENSES, BOOTY CALLS, AND YOU

• "some saucy tart once tried to impugn my virtue against an oil painting of him, and in the halls of memory, some things demand context."

• I GUESS THAT MAKES YOU. THE MF. NORTH STAR.

• a catholic moment

• santa maria is watching

• "philip is the heir and i'm the spare, and if that nervy bastard has a heart attack at thirty-five and i've got malaria, whither the spare?

• alex's meltdown outside kensington. very important. - "how 'bout i just keep yelling and we see which of the papers show up first!" he turns back to the window and starts flailing his arms too. "henry! your royal fucking highness!"

• henry nuzzling his nose behind alex's ear.

• "next time we shall visit some of the george III pieces and see if they burst into flame."

• DANCING TO YOUR SONG IN THE MUSEUM

• "once shaan managed to dislodge him from the chandelier"

• "i will physically fight your grandmother myself if i have to, okay? and, like, she's old. i know i can take her." "i wouldn't be so cocky," henry says with a small laugh. "she's full of dark surprises."

• "your spine's a ridge i'd die climbing"

• "check the fucking news, you horny little miscreant"

• you're my mean friend

• I 😭 LOVE 😭 HIM 😭 ON 😭 PURPOSE 😭 once again they can't leave that out if they do i'll k!ll someone

• "what are we even defending here, philip? what kind of legacy? what kind of family, that says, we'll take the murder, we'll take the raping and pillaging and the colonizing, we'll scrub it up nice and neat in a museum, but oh no, you're a bloody poof? that's beyond our sense of decorum! i've bloody well had it. i've sat about long enough letting you and gran and the weight of the damned world keep me pinned, and i'm finished. i don't care. you can take your legacy and your decorum and you can shove it up your fucking arse, philip. i'm done."

• "for what it's worth," he says to philip, "that is the bravest son of a bitch I've ever met."

• "I've been gay as a maypole since the day i came out of mum, philip."

• bea pouring the tea on philip's lap

• henry pulls alex close and kisses him, whispers, "i love you i love you i love you."

• never 😭 tell 😭 me 😭 the 😭 odds 😭

• "my life is a cosmic joke and you're not a real person"

• "listen, you've had your first big sex scandal. no more sitting at the kids' table."

• how to love each other in plain sight

• "holding henry's hand atop his own knee" in the portrait

• "all this fundraising for sobriety is going to drive me to drink."

• "I'm the prince of...here"

• "you spent a month of your gap year talking to yaks in mongolia, h."

• "i know it's a lot, but you give people hope. so, get back out there and be alex."

• the super six

• alex tripping on the magazine with them on the cover

• henry fixing june's hair

#red white and royal blue #alex claremont diaz #prince henry of wales #henry fox mountchristen windsor

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madmarchhare · 3 months

Text

When the Times Change Chapter 1 and 2

This is the first and second chapter of my post-apocalyptic story, that if first began in September 2020. It may still need some corrections, but represents a story that I am incredibly proud of and is the one I intended to get published and finalized first, above all else. The whole set of chapters currently written only would encompasses less than one third the whole narrative I intend to write, but will form a full novel. I hope you all enjoy it.

Crossroads: ‘of the devil and saints’

In the year 2025, following a petty squabble between the nations of China, India, America and Russia, the world ended. Then, the New World began, and, as always when new lands are found, soon again rose the conquerors. The megalomaniacs, those consumed by avarice, the zealots, the preachers and the profiteers.

As has always been the case: from the discovery of the ‘New World’ in the age of colonialism, European nations, most prominently Spain and Portugal, leapt upon those resource-rich lands. Conquistadors plunging headfirst to the new age, consumed by lust for riches and power in frantic megalomania. And, when this age came to an end, heads turned to seek the riches of the Middle East, Asia, Africa, Oceania and the islands of the Pacific.

Whatever tragedy befalls the world, in whatever new age it is dragged, kicking and screaming into, there will always be someone who will make money off it. So now I bring my narrative to myself. Sat in a cast-iron cage upon the back of a lorry, held together by zip ties and hardened blood and pus. Bound and shackled to the seats: grimy with grease, ash and blood, striped where sweat and rain had rolled down my skin.

Some would call it comeuppance. That this is what I get for a few ‘fraudulent deals’ or ‘scamming’ people. I personally saw it as an affront to my entrepreneurialism; sadly, they were rooted in old ideas. Which I knew held no sway on this New world. But c’est la vie, there would be other opportunities. At the very least I found out that hiding my money in the soles of my shoes was a good idea, as they didn’t check them. Not that it made any difference overall as they just sold off the shoes themselves along with everything else, leaving me in rags.

While others in this situation would either sink into a reverie of dread and self-pity, or throw themselves into fervour to devise an escape, I personally saw it as an opportunity. After all I was too small of stature and too meek in strength to be useful for work. So, the natural conclusion would be that I would probably be sold as a coital slave or ‘boy-toy’. This would mean I would be in close, if slightly sticky and uncomfortable proximity, to an either powerful or wealthy individual.

This situation, if manipulated correctly could bring me to a position far better than before. After all, it is quite easy to manipulate the minds of people consumed by lust. A whisper there, a suggestion here and, if worst-comes-to-worst, a sharp object in a few… sensitive points; and they are putty in your hands. Granted there is always the possibility of being offered up as the bitch for one of their pets or a further gone Quazi… But that eventuality could be dealt with at the time.

It was at this time, however, that I was interrupted from my scheming by the sudden eruption of roaring gunfire. I knew it wasn’t the guards taking shots at far off creatures or fending off one of the bigger beasties of the wasteland, as the guards’ rifles fired much more slowly and with a crackling roar-likely due to poor maintenance. Raiders or bandits seemed unlikely as the chance of people like them having quality weapons like that around here, was slim.

I pulled against my shackles to try and peak through the rough iron bars to see the shooter. I saw essentially nothing, barely able to put my head through the bars, but was able to see a large silhouette laying heavy fire upon the brown coated guards of the lorry, barking loud shouts to someone hidden behind the lorry’s cab as the guards returned meagre fire. I slumped back and cursed the interference. Chances were now I was to be sold to some syphilis ridden, toothless raider, or be used by the massive silhouette themselves, as a plaything, and I doubted I could influence them. At least not before they ended up offing me.

The firefight came to a close with a few blood-choked death garbles then fell to silence. The interferers made their way to the back of the lorry and shot the lock off the door. One was a Quazi, a smaller man than the silhouette I had seen. He had no distinguishing features of a Quazi, no ears, tail or claws typical of them, but had faint scales like freckles on his cheeks and fore-arms that were a shade darker than his tanned skin. His hair was a similar colour to his scales, and his eyes were slightly reptilian looking.

He sighed exasperatedly and said to the larger individual, who was apparently a woman, “Why did you have to shoot the lock? We have the key!” The larger woman blushed slightly and replied, embarrassed:

“Sorry force of habit,” she apologized, embarrassedly. The woman was, well ‘normal’, I suppose would be the word. She was around six foot, possibly over, and muscly, though not homely as some would expect, with close cropped blonde hair and cauliflower ears. The man wore a SWAT vest and a belt made from what looked like snake hide, ironically, looped through jean like trousers, and carried a Veston SMG. A post-war weapon made from tubing and scrap metal. The woman however was dressed in khaki combat trousers and hiking boots, wearing a tactical vest and steel arm guards. She carried what looked like a pre-war LMG.

Straightening herself again she turned to me, “Now come on, we’re freeing you,” she said sternly. I raised an eyebrow at her and gestured to my shackles, rattling them ever so slightly, “oh right,” they unlocked my shackles and helped me down from the lorry.

“Thank you,” I responded flatly “though it was unnecessary,” this made the man give a start and whirl around at me.

“What do you mean ‘unnecessary’ you were being made a slave!” I regarded him coolly and responded.

“I had determined what area I would be used in and I believe that I could have manipulated the situation to either put myself in a position of power or one to escape from if needed,” I fixed him in and irritated gaze though making sure to not let it show heavily on my face. I loathed heroes, “so really, your interference has cost me.”

The man, now red-faced with fury, was pulled back by the large woman, “Rock, calm down, it doesn’t matter, we are fighting to get rid of slavery, not him. Look we saved this young boy from being a slave. Honestly, what monsters would do this to an innocent child?” she remarked, somewhat repulsed.

“Innocent?!” yelled out one of the guards, the other two whirling round, expecting a fight, but saw the man unarmed and hunched over, grasping at his stomach. “He is a criminal! He scammed half the cities residents and two thirds of the visitors and traders,” ending his shout with a bloody cough as he pointed at me with a blood-soaked finger.

“I didn’t scam them, my dear sir. They simply didn’t ask enough questions: it was legitimate business,” I replied in mock indignation. A plain smile affixed to my face, though the tugs of smug fought it.

“So, wait,” Rock interrupted “what did he actually do?” the woman stood to the side of him, somewhat dumbfounded by the situation.

“He,” the guard hissed agitatedly, clutching his gut stiffly as it turned to a russet colour from his blood, “sold half pressure bullets as standard bullets and radioactive water as drinking water,” he glared maliciously at me as he spoke.

“I never said it was standard pressure ammunition, my customers simply assumed. What I said was ‘cheap ammunition in bulk that performs well,” I regarded him plainly, looking through the other two who stood between us.

He again went red, a flush of fury overtaking his face. “That’s false advertising!”

“No, I said it did it’s job well, and its job was to fire and hit the target, not as well as standard bullets maybe, but for what it was it did it well. I never lied or said anything fraudulent, my friend. And if I, were you, I wouldn’t get so worked up, you’ll bleed out faster,” placing my hand to my breast with mock earnest.

“Then what about your water, got an excuse for that?!” collapsing against the side of the lorry as he spoke, the fury in his face slowly being replaced by a white pallor of exhaustion.

“An excuse would imply I did something wrong. I have a reason as to why I am in the right, I said it was ‘full of natural energy’ and that it ‘would make you glow’. It is not my fault my clients neglected to ask what type of energy or if it was a ‘healthy’ glow,” I answered in a patronizing tone, the guard descended into a silent fury, and sat hunched against the lorry grinding his teeth.

“Wait, let me get this straight,” broke in the woman, “this kid’s a criminal?” gesturing broadly to me.

“Yes,” the guard grunted out uncomfortably, which he followed with a hacking cough. She then turned to me and ran a hand through her short hair.

“Well according to them, I am a criminal. I, actually did nothing legally wrong. I was a business man, doing business,” I replied honestly, my arms outstretched but keeping my palms closed. “Oh, and I’m not a kid, I’m fifteen.”

Rock twisted round to look at me furiously before turning back to the woman. “We’ve already freed him Lil’, so we might as well, sides, like you said, no-one deserves to be a slave,” the woman sighed and agreed with him and then walked over to the now unconscious guard and laid him out on the ground with his rifle on his chest, strangely not looting the corpse. A waste in truth, one can never have enough supplies, a good bit of advice from an old friend.

“Well, thank you again for your, albeit unnecessary, freeing of me. But I am afraid this is where we part. Au-revoir,” I thanked and began walking away while giving them a backwards wave. I then felt myself being grabbed by the back of my shirt and was yanked back and held up to Lils’ gaze.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she demanded in a low tone squinting at me angrily.

“North, I hear Atost is having a rise in their commercial markets. Drilling is doing well to-” I replied flatly but was cut short.

“Oh-no, not after what we know what you did. You’re coming with us. That way we can keep an eye on you,” she rumbled, glaring at me as she spoke. I looked at them flatly and put a palm to my face, groaning to myself.

One imprisonment to another, I suppose my earlier assessment was not too out of line. She dropped me onto the ground and gestured with her weapon for me to walk. I complied, a feeling of indignation subconsciously boiling in my stomach, though, more preferable to that of a round ripping through it.

Olrick: ‘The Empire of Black Gold’

They walked past the lorry, not even attempting to loot the cab, so I assumed they had another vehicle further on ahead. But they kept walking, and walking. After three quarters of an hour, I asked them agitatedly “Where is your car? You parked it too far away!”

Lil’ glanced at me and responded somewhat happily “We don’t have a car. Why do you ask?” I stared blanched faced at her, my eye twitching slightly as I looked at their backs.

“Then why,” straining as I spoke to appear calm, “did you not take the lorry?” she looked at me as if I had said something ridiculous and responded,

“Because it was a slave truck,” I stared at her waiting for her to continue,

“And?” I asked somewhat savagely, agitation digging at me.

She again looked at me oddly and said, “Does there need to be another reason,” I looked at her deadpan, and sighed heavily, already exhausted with this charade.

“For your information con-man, we do have a car,” called back Rock, dislike gnashing in his voice, “but it’s being fixed at a friends’ shop in Olrick. That’s where we’re going now,” he answered, rocking his head in an odd way as he spoke, like some would when lecturing a bad pet or child.

I looked ahead of him and said plainly, through gritted teeth. “While I appreciate you telling me, my name isn’t ‘con-man’,” he turned back to me and yelled,

“Oh yeah? Then what is it? Charlatan, Swindler, Crook, Loan shark?”

I regarded him coolly watching him for moment before responding. “Asriel. Asriel Lemoni. No- “

“Oh, then I’ll call you Azzy!” Lil’ burst out, cutting me off. I turned quickly to her,

“No, not ‘Azzy’, Asriel! Either call me Asriel or Mr. Lemoni, nothing else.”

“Now, ‘Azzy’, I don’t believe you are in a position to make demands. After all you are, essentially, our prisoner, so we decide what to do with you and, therefore what to call you.” Rock called back, a mocking tone loosely hidden in his words.

“Oh joy…” slouching as I groaned. One would not expect to be held prisoner by two sets of ‘vigilantes’ in one’s lifetime, much less in the same day.

We walked for three and a quarter hours. The journey was both pleasingly and infuriatingly uneventful. While there was no risk of being killed by an attack from a monster or some lunatic with a hacksaw, consequently there was not a single period where the two self-proclaimed ‘liberators’ were distracted enough to allow me to escape unnoticed. The journey was conducted with the two others continuing an endless prattle, in which they did not include me. I paid attention of course, hoping to obtain some substantial information, either to ward off their suspicion of me or to seek the aid of someone they crossed. ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend’ after all.

But it was little use, they talked mostly of what they should do next, either traveling to Grant or Palace, two low-level slavers, and trying to free the slaves there or going and stocking up at Memorial. A pleasant little market settlement, though not one to stay the night unless you had either some skill with a knife or a few indebted clients to act as bodyguards. As for enemies, those that they mentioned as crossing, were mostly too weak to be of any assistance, and the two that were of any real power, either wanted me in gaol, or were not the type to bargain.

We arrived by the outskirts of Olrick, the grand ‘city’, as they insisted it be called, stood backed against a high cliff whose crest was hidden by a dirty mass of black and yellow clouds of the city’s own making. The lanes winding round it led off in all directions. An irregular flow of lorries and vehicles ran along the lanes. The high tower of the oil derrick that gave the city its name stood above the entire city, towering over its formal grounds and the ramshackle slums that stood outside its walls. All were drenched in a thin layer of oil and tar. Olrick like many cities in the wastes was a walled city. Entrances being at each of the three compass points around its perimeter, excluding, of course, its back. Yet despite the image the slums presented, even those who dwelled there found reasonable wealth. Such was the way in Olrick.

We entered the city through the Western District, having to pass through the deep slums that crowded up to the city walls like dirty ivy. The town, as I said, was built around a large oil derrick, and as such was a prime centre for oil. Since the resource was vital, as few had the know-how to convert vehicles, even less build new ones, to use another fuel, it prospered, surrounded by refineries and scrappage flats that housed the vast number of workers that the city required. There had been many tribal wars over it: small settlements and warlords seeking it out as the black jewel in their crown, or the gilding of their ‘empire’. But the aggressors always lost. Even if they did win and seized the city, they couldn’t run the derrick, lacking the manpower and the intelligence, or even simply the funds. So as soon as they buckled and fled, the old leaders returned.

It was a filthy place. The instant you walked near its walls a shortness of breath caught you as if you were up a mountain. The air was always heavy with oil fumes, tarry and soot stuffed, yet perpetually dry. The ground around the settlement was coal black with the rainbow splash of oil painting every canvas and strangling every puddle. The grand cliff face behind it so thick with soot and oil that it appeared solidly made of darkness itself. It was a wonder of industrial progress and a grand example of New-World entrepreneurialism. But one could see why the settlement leaders here all lived in houses outside or shielded from it.

We walked along the Main Street for most of the way, dodging the endless crowds of workers in dirty overalls rushing betwixt the streets and electric mini-trucks and the oil half-shunters, each sinking into the background as they walked, or drove. Thankfully I had some shoes on, unfortunately they were ineffectual-the black mud and sand continually creeping over their rims. It presented a foul sensation, like walking in mud and being covered with petrol at the same time. They were fashioned, apparently, after Japanese ‘uwabaki’, a slipper they had once used in prisons-and a simple design for a place with limited textiles like Verdant. I looked about the street for a large group, hoping to slip between them and loose the other two, but before I could move away, they turned down a back street pulling me after them, dashing that plan of escape.

We weaved between the winding and crooked backstreets, ducking under, and hopping over the winding pipes and cabling that hung off the walls and crawled across the city within its streets and alleys, popping in and out of the ground like old roots. Dirty gas lamps hung on the walls all interconnected by a copper cobweb that supplied them, offering their weak light in the covered alleys, grimly showing the cast steel, sooty brick or concrete walls of houses. We exited one of the alleys, the fingering light poking through the top of it, and it opened into a half street.

It was stuffed with shops and vendors, the shoddy buildings practically elbowing each other aside to be on the street front. The roadway was filled with raggedy-clothed workers off-shift, or those hunched against walls: homeless or lame. A perfect quarry for money lenders, seeking those who are desperate but not destitute. The two of them pulled me across the street, weaving between the exhausted and dishevelled faces of the workers into a garage.

It, like all of the other shops sported a neon painted sign, made of scrap and hand forged metal. It was called “Victors Vehicles”, an instant smack of the ‘quality’ of the establishment. Still, I could respect a sense of business in anyone.

“Lil’, Rock! How the fuck are yah? Aint heard hide nor hair of you two since you dropped off yer waggon!” yelled a man clad in oily blue overalls. He spoke with a long, heavy drawl, making his words sound as if they were more fitting to a drunkard’s lips. He stood about 5’11” wearing a mouldy petrol cap atop his dirty blonde hair that poked from its plastic brim. His face was framed by a pair of box-rimmed glasses which were tied tight to his brow by stained twine, so his squarish face was only really able to be seen in silhouette, due to the layered grime that caked it.

“We’re good. We went to see about that story about Verdant trafficking slaves. We raided the lorry that they were supposedly using and that’s where we found him,” Lil’ answered, gesturing to me with her thumb as she finished. I regarded them coolly from the corner of my eye, then started to walk about the shop, letting my gaze wander about. It was a single storied building, the roof made of a mix of corrugated iron sheets and multi-coloured scraps of tarp pulled taught over the top, stuffed full of old shelves of tools and mechanical scrap. The roof sloped with a gradual gradient on each side of the building, making it seem higher than it was. Dim bulbs hung from it, a mixture of old LEDs and filament bulbs. The latter were the easiest things to make apparently and could last for a century if made right. A man in Coldern up north told me that. Unfortunately, I saw no exit during that first look.

“Unfortunately,” Rock added, “the slave, that bloke we were talking about, happened to be a convicted con-man and scam-artist. I guess that was his punishment for the suffering he caused.” He glared at me hotly, Victor following his gaze to look at me closely his expression still unidentifiable through the grime.

“I am as irritated as you are,” I responded, keeping my back to him, as I walked closer to one of the shelves and began to look through them idly, “you have in all likelihood, robbed me of a golden opportunity to get close to a member of Verdant’s elite. The sheer political and financial gain you have cost me is frankly immeasurable.”

At the end of my remark Victor turned to me again and shouted: “Now listen here, you brat, do you understand the vastness of that situation?! You, were, a slave!” I turned to him and studied his expression, faint wrinkles barely expressed his outrage- an odd thing as his fury was in all truth baseless.

“I don’t see why you are all getting so hot-collared about this. Slavery is a legitimate business practice, has been for decades, and was so for many centuries before the War,” I dismissed, their faces twisted into greater anger, a plain revulsion in their stances as I turned back to looking through the various drawers on the shelfs.

“It’s a violation of human life. What is a person’s life worth to you?!” Rock yelled, his face revealed his clear disgust, somewhat more so than the others, as I peered at him from the corner of my eye.

“Going rate at Vesta’s, bit more for Quazi’s. They have all that extra muscle and the ‘exotic’ feel,” I answered. All three of them looked about ready to bite my head off but I cut them off: “Ironically, most people end up going for less than the sum of their parts. Do you have any idea of how much a good heart can cost? I’ll give you a hint, it’s more than an arm and a leg! Hah!” chuckling at my own joke as I finished, while they stared at me in fury and disgust. I chuckled to myself for a moment before falling silent and turning before I waived them off and turned back to the shelves, hoping to find something of value. Misery guts!

Both Rock and Lil’ sighed heavily and turned back to Victor. “So did you manage to fix her?” Rock inquired, wanting to leave the subject behind. Victor turned from me and adopted a pensive expression, rubbing the back of his neck as he did so.

“I did, but, the repairs… They cost more than what you left me, so you kinda owe me right now,” he finished, pausing frequently as he spoke, somehow making him sound even less coherent, his gaze lingering in a section in the back of the shop that led to another room where the car was probably sat.

“Why didn’t you take some of the money from our pack? We said you could if what we gave you wasn’t enough,” Lil’ asked naively, Rock nodding along with her. I wondered how on earth they had managed so far.

“Well, I did- and it still weren’t enough, new parts like what your car needs cost a good deal yah-know,” a pensiveness punctuated with irritation in his voice. The pair gave a start and stared flabbergasted at the mechanic.

“How?!” Lil’ demanded. “There was over fifty-thousand Note in our pack! Along with the twenty-five thousand we gave initially!” at the mention of the fifty grand, I turned to look at them and began to slowly edge close to them, the trio too sunken in their conversation to notice me.

“I know darlin’, but that still wasn’t enough! Y’all needs ta understand: car parts are expensive anywhere, ‘cept maybe JunkTown, but your car needs high quality parts. Combined with the natural inflation of prices in this city, an’ what you paid barely covers half of the price of the repairs,” he explained, trying his best to sound apologetic, the sincerity of it though, was unlikely.

When they finally understood both Rock and Lil’ took on a crestfallen look, almost seeming to shrink, but quickly switched to an expression of anxiety and panic. “So, what can we do?” Asked Rock, his voice panicked and somewhat pleading, a sound I had not heard before. Victor looked at him somewhat nervously, uncomfortable in the situation, looking as if he was stood on a bed of nails.

“Well, you know I’m not charging yah for labour, so it’s just the cost of parts,” he began, attempting to calm down the pair “and I’m fine letting you work at the shop to pay off what you owe, help with the Watch too, always could do with some more rifles to bare, but it’s gon’ ta take a while. An I know you wanted to get moving as soon as your car got done, but this job, despite what I charge… isn’t that lucrative,” he finished, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead, striping his filthy brow to reveal skin pale with stress.

“But Victor, we need to get going! You know we’ll make it somewhere and come back. Lives are at stake here!” Lil’ pleaded, a wild look rooted deep in her eyes.

“I’m sorry Lil’, truly I am, but I don’t know that. I need you to make it here, preferably quick, for both our sakes,” he answered, a sternness in his voice that had hidden itself before. Lil’ glared at him for moment then sighed heavily, slumping over, Rock stepping in closer patting her back. A smirk played on the corner of my lips, which I quickly hid. I understood the opportunity presented. I sauntered close to them.

“So, you need money, do you?” I asked sardonically, standing with my side to them, hiding my other side as I caught their attention, “Now if only you had someone who could help with that,” I continued cheek lifting my words. They stiffened slightly as I turned to one of the shelfs by the door and made as if I was looking through them.

“We don’t want your help,” Rock’s voice turning to a low growl, a foulness in his tone as if the devil had just asked him to pass the sugar. I clicked my tongue at him admonishingly.

“Whether you want it or not is irrelevant. What matters, is that you need it,” I turned back to them a smug smile hung from my lips. Rock was just about to protest when Lil’ began to straighten up and walk over to me.

“What are your demands?” she choked out. I smiled at her, attempting to look consoling.

“Very professional. Now don’t look so glum, I’m not the devil,” I replied jovially. She looked at me dead-eyed and I continued with a dull expression, “thirty percent of the profits, and I get to choose how I make it, and you take me to Verdant.” I was slightly sore at the low cut, but decided to be cautious of how far I could push them.

“Why do you want to go back there?” asked Rock, surprised.

“I had something confiscated when they arrested me, I would like to get it back. I know where they are selling it before you protest,” leaning past Lil’ to answer to him.

“Fine” Lil’ said heavily, I smiled at her and opened my mouth to speak, but she put a finger to my lips before I could. “But I have one condition of my own,” I looked at her, putting my hand behind my back, motioning for her to continue with my other one. “If you scam these people, or put their lives at risk…” she punched her fists together and cracked her knuckles, “I’ll break you in half.” She stood still for a second then bent down close to me and whispered hoarsely: “Don’t forget who’s in charge here.”

“Of course, why do you think I asked for such a small cut,” she growled at me, somehow she was more beastly than Rock. “Yes, yes I won’t, or at the very least, no more than the norm of this place,” she glared sternly at me before giving an angry huff and walking back over to Rock.

Again, bound by their vain ideals, still, money is money.

“Well, Victor, lend me a water filter, condenser, trowel and a fractional distiller along with a fruit press and I’ll get started,” I called to him brusquely as I walked over to a steel table on some wheels that stood by the garage’s main door draped with tarp.

“Why do you need all o’ that?” Victor yelled after me, then a second later adding on “And How did you know I had all o’ it?”

“Intuition my friend: now, let us begin,” I declared, rubbing my hands together.

Victor set up the tools I asked for on the table and I got to work. Setting up the fruit press and connecting that with tubes to the water filter, then that to the condenser, which led into two separate jugs, then hid the whole thing under a box. A secret is as valuable as any treasure in trade. I painted the title ‘Lemoni’s cheap oil and clean water’ on the tarp and draped it over the front of the table, which I had placed on the street outside of Victors.

“Really?” asked Rock accusatorily, “Oil? Where are you going to get that?” his gaze harsh on me. I regarded him coolly.

“Watch, my pessimistic jailer,” before Rock could again speak, I shovelled a large pile of the oil slick sand from the street and poured it onto the fruit press. I then pulled down hard on the lever for a few seconds, a dirty black fluid crawling through the tubes into the filter. After a minute both oil and water began to condense in the tubes and collect in the jars. After a second or two of the pair staring at the jars in amazement, Lil’ spoke up.

“Wait so your selling people, that, water as well? It just came from the ground!”

“All water comes from the ground at some point my dear-besides it’s been filtered and boiled, and I’ll boil it again so it will be fine,” I replied, waiving off her concerns and began to set the water on boil again, though really just when she could see it, simply once was enough to sell.

“But it’s still irradiated! Is this what you did at Verdant?” she berated, I was ever so slightly confused by her implication, who would sell purified water? Irradiated would do!

“It’s still better than what most people have to drink here, in most places really. Very few places have a water purifier, and none of them sell that cheap. At least this is clean. Most people have to drink water so thick with muck that it is practically mud,” I hoped to convince her, after all to earn a lot under her gaze was hard enough without having to come up with plan B.

“He’s not wrong Lil’,” Rock admitted, a sour expression on his face as he said it as if the words tasted bitter in his mouth.

“Yeah, most the watering holes in this town serve irradiated drinks, and half of them are made with dirty water,” Victor added, his expression a faint mimicry of Rock’s. At this she took on a crestfallen look, Rock putting his arm over her shoulder to try and cheer her up.

“It just doesn’t feel right,” she said sullenly, her expression in hanging melancholy.

“If it makes you feel any better, think of it as public service! We’re giving them something they need after all,” I added, hoping to get her content enough to leave. It is bad for business to have a heavily armed bleeding heart hanging about.

“I guess you’re right,” she finished in a conflicted tone, taking a breath and straightening up. “But,” she again said leaning in close, “don’t you forget our deal,” she drilled with a sternness in her voice, backed up by a harshly muzzled red fury in her eyes.

“I won’t. Now go; take care of those jobs Victor gave you so I can get to work,” I replied in a reassuring tone, they gave me one last fleeting look then quickly walked round into one of the backstreets that led to some ‘neighbour hood watch’ place.

I made no hesitation in starting. I stood myself on an old crate planted firmly into the ground and prepared my best showman voice. “Cheap Oil! Get your cheap oil here! Just as effective as any other oil you could procure but a fraction of the cost! And if that fantastic deal doesn’t entice you, for every four purchases you get a pint of our clean water free. Full of natural energy, and will give you a glow!” I called into the street, spieling my product boldly into the packed streets, a smile made plainly on my face. Barely a minute went past before a man came up to me.

“S’cuse me sir,” he asked, his voice raspy and popping, like his lungs were made of paper bags, suiting his paper thin face, blue with stubble and steel shavings, “how much?” I smiled broadly at the man, grabbing his hand and shaking it, keeping my palms on the outside of his hands.

“You have made a brilliant decision today my friend! Now what can I get for you today?” I asked with eagerness. The man took on a slightly surprised expression for a moment, most likely used to solely a sour grunt in response, but quickly pulled his wide mouth into a smile, pleased nonetheless.

“One quart of oil please.” He asked a bit more confident than before, straightening himself up slightly.

“Of course, sir, one quart of oil is a hundred Note. Would you like anything else?” as I placed the jar on the table the man looked at me flabbergasted, as well as a few others that had heard and stopped to turn and look at the stall, ears pricked to us. Perfect. He narrowed his eyes at me, the brownish dots plain in their disbelief, and inspected the jar of oil I had placed down.”

“Hundred Note? Are y-you sure?” he asked still uncertain. I nodded to him and he looked across the table wide eyed. He then looked heavily at the water, licking his lips, as if noticing, quite suddenly, how dry and cracked they were. “So, h-how much is the water?” he inquired shifting nervously on his feet trying poorly to remain nonchalant.

“Eighty Note,” I replied quickly, keeping a broad smile on my face. Got him. “I’ll take two quarts each,” he said holding up two black fingers on his left hand and giving a jerky nod. I handed him the jars and he handed me the money in a ratty bundle and half-ran-half-skipped off, trying unsuccessfully to hide his excitement.

Customers came in droves after that, word of mouth spreading quickly, people clamouring both for water and for oil. In the brief pauses of the waves of people, I would continue spieling my product while wandering my gaze over the street.

It was a low street with most buildings only being one storey tall, and only a few being up to three. They were all made of scrap material-as there were no houses around here before to salvage. They were made of brick, concrete, wood of any timber and steel and iron of as many types. Each was spattered or caked in the grime and grit of Olrick, with rust red copper and steel pipes wrapping around the houses like multi-coloured vines, wrapped in stained bunting and tarp for decoration and repair alike: where windows were present, they rarely had glass, a costly luxury made useless by the black air, often empty vacuums or barricaded by shutters or blinds, or imprisoned in railings.

The roofs were often flat or tented, with few being pointed. Railings and platforms were on many of the rooves, children dashing across their tops, their giggles and shouts accompanied by the yells of angry tenants. Gutters led straight into the street, crooked pipes leading into concrete aqueducts, covered by gratings at crossroads. Dirty and tarry bunting was hung across the street, their bright colours muffled by the muck, along with strings of bulbs with no uniformity. Lamps were hung from walls, wires crawling up them like Ivy. Then bunching up and being hung to a power line, off which hundreds of other wires sprung from like a grand spider’s web, their faded, yet diverse colours striping both the sky and the walls.

The road itself was made of sand and dirt, packed firm in places by the flowing rivers of workers who pounded on it with their heavy steps, but still loose due to the wetness of the city. Oil, paint and other fluids had collected in puddles where the road pitted and bowled, splashed up by an unobservant walker, shortly followed by a short curse, and a grumbling limp. Jetsam and flotsam clumped about the sides of the pavement and were strewn about the roadway itself as well, the occasional loose shirted child dashing out into the street to snatch it up or to use as cover, as they dipped their fingers into loose pockets, a cacophony of yells sounding when they were caught. Street signs either hung from the thin steel wire over the street or on arched over poles stuck fast in the roadsides.

The street was always packed, though thinned out at certain times. The mini-trucks putted or whined up and down the street carrying either goods or workers respectively. The electric ones tended, as I gathered, to be for passengers and non-oil stock. They were built wider and with a taller cab and rear compartment. They were painted a, what likely used to be, cream colour with a purple stripe across its base, the back without doors or seats, simply having poles that passengers held, the four wheels kicking up the sand as they whirred quickly about, stuffed full of workers who held desperately on to the poles. The oil powered ones however were shunters, short with a long engine rather than the flat nosed electric ones. They had no top, the drivers simply in a thick coat and gloves. It had a single front wheel for turning and the two wheels that sat under the long flat bed, always stuffed with white and purple oil drums, were caterpillar tracks.

After a few hours I had earned more than enough, and now I sat in the dimming day, hoping to get the last few dregs of sales. During a moment of reverie from the ebbing flood of customers, where I was again letting my eyes trickle lazily across the streets features, I noticed a group of three men walking boldly across the street from the north end of the road. They walked diagonally across the street, people backing off as to not block them, a slight nervous pallor taking their faces, vehicles coming to a screeching or puttering stop as to let them pass. Passers-by hung pensive gazes on their backs as they strode determinedly forward.

They were members of the Assembly of course. The leaders of this city who managed to outlast all other invaders and occupiers. They wore suits of varying shades of black or grey, with long square tipped shoes. They were distinguishable from lower administrative men by their ties and broaches; each one wore a purple tie with a cream stripe down their middle, the colours of Olrick, and on their right lapel a sun shaped broach cast in a dirty nickel with a cast iron oil derrick with the initials ODA. The ‘Olrick Diplomatic Assembly’.

All three men were tall and slim, though the one who was in the middle was a bit plumper. The tallest one wore a grey top hat with a purple sash, his face grave and both eyes deep set in his head, yet almost seeming to glow despite that. The middle one was of healthier complexion with a great ginger beard and trimmed hair pomaded into a swished back form. He was a Quazi, a slight rarity considering the prejudice some in the Assembly had for them; and was likely some form of felid, though was on the low end of the spectrum like Rock, having only ears and a plump tail swishing about his ankles in a ticking motion. The shortest man, though that term was subjective, wore a black trilby stuck stiffly on his head and was bald, his face hard and thick like that of a boxer or an arena man.

They studied me harshly, inspecting me and the stall as if we were one thing. “Young sir,” The tallest one began, “how did you acquire this oil?” A snideness in his words but spoken with an old yet unwavering voice.

“Do not worry, sir,” I began, planting an amiable expression on my face “I am not here to undermine your profits. This oil is created from some waste components, and I will be taking the stall down before tomorrow.” Finishing politely, a smile on my face.

“Then if we were to check the bunker, we would find no oil missing then?” Inquired the middle one slyly as he leaned close, grinning like, ironically, a Cheshire cat, despite the morbid looks the other two were giving him.

“I thought you didn’t have a spare oil supply.” I replied in mock surprise. Making the middle one instantly realise his error, and quickly became flushed, falling under the fiery sideways stares of his fellow Assemblymen.

“After all you denied it during the Flash Freeze six years ago. Terrible tragedy that.” Turning to look them in the eyes, and keeping my voice low so that it would not carry. “Tens of thousands of deaths, the fall of Oakyard and Pitch, and the devils’ dozens of smaller settlements that sunk into the frost and stayed down. But it could not be helped, after all you were already giving out as much as you could, and anymore would outstrip supply and leave everybody dead, better to save some than lose them all.” I again looked at the men, a slight pallor coming over their faces, as they stood stiffly in the street, the impatient gazes of passers-by likely feeling like knives on their back. “But there is that conspiracy theory that you did have some more, and that you were saving it for profit after the freeze was over.” The men remained silent, most likely either in a flurry to draw up excuses or the names of ‘cleaners’ in equal measure. “But they are just that, conspiracies.” At this the men seemed to relax slightly, an ounce of colour trickling back into their cheeks.

I chuckled happily and said considerately; “Do not worry, esteemed Gentlemen of the Assembly: I have not stolen from your Bunker, nor do I intend to speak of it. I am not one of those self-righteous imbéciles who declaim need of ‘good morals’ in business, if you had supplied them all it would ruin you. It was simply good business. They had every opportunity to stockpile, but they didn’t. You are guiltless, especially considering how most of those settlements would have been wiped out by Valco, Madre, or the Empress, and Oakyard’s leaders were only good for blowing bubbles about forming a ‘New Union’ or some other half-baked plot while paying off Salvatore with timber.” They looked at me with ambivalence, their relief at my promised silence, along with their discomfort at my nonchalance over others deaths making them uncertain of whether to be happy or disturbed.

“Thank you for your discretion.” Replied the tallest man, dabbing his brow with a monogrammed handkerchief bearing the letters AC. A man with at least some wealth then. “But we still must ask for your name, as record for your business here, regulation you see, we don’t need any details before you ask, just to know that you were here.”

It was a slight bother, but a needed thing for them to protect their business so I could see some sense in it. “Of course.” I replied attempting geniality, the smallest one taking out a scruffy notebook bound in peeling leather, and a stick of charcoal wrapped in scrap tarp, as he leaned next to me as to let me see what he was writing. “Asriel Lemoni, that’s A-s-r-i-e-l, L-e-m-o-n-i, no z’s in Asriel.” I told him speaking in a slow tone as to let him better catch my words.

“Asriel Lemoni? Bit of an odd name.” The tallest man remarked, though not derisively, but as curiosity.

“It’s French.” I replied, with a snap of irritation, it was my name after all.

“Shouldn’t it be pronounced Le-mon-e, not Le-mon-ee then?” Asked the middle man curiously, catching the curious glances from the other too, as well as me. He realized he was under watch and quickly responded “My mother spoke a little bit; her family came from the old Bayou.” The other two nodded in realization then turned back to me.

“It was how my father said it.” I replied with a slight bit of irritation.

“Ah. Well, that resolves the matter of a name.” The tallest one announced, ending the topic. “Well, that is all we required, have a good day sir.” As he began to walk away, I called to him;

“I believe there is a trade fee in this town, so here, I believe this will stifle any protests you come against.” Placing a stack of ten thousand Note into the palm of the tallest one, his face twisting into a nervous smile, his probable plan of nabbing me for not paying the fee foiled. That or he felt it was a bribe and actually forgot, though the latter was unlikely. He tipped his top hat to me as he again bade farewell, the smallest one following suit with his trilby and the middle man offering a simple wave. They began their march back to the Assembly Hall, powerful and direct in their stride, though with a niggling irritation that no busses led there.

A wide smile split my face subconsciously into a toothy grin, what man would not relish in being able to blackmail and entire government. "Un grand jour de commerce, une journée d’opportunité encore plus grande."[1] I took down the stall shortly after that, the presence of the Assembly men having scared the nerve from the passers-by, probably what they had planned, nonetheless, the sun was now slumping low in the sky, half hidden by the high perimeter wall that wrapped Olrick and the collecting black-mist, locally referred to as Oli-mist, that hung in Olrick when wind blew down from the cliff, frosting the town in the dust of old quarries now breeding pits for the monsters that stalked them and the mass graves of raider massacres. Easy clean up.

I sat in a stained deck-chair, half made of plastic tarp from decades of repairs, and counted up my profits. All in all, I made roughly two-hundred and sixty-seven thousand Note from the sales, discounting the ten-thousand I gave to the Gentleman from the Assembly: my 30% share netting me eighty-thousand and one hundred Note. A grand haul considering it cost nothing to make.

The other two got back roughly two hours later, their bodies battered and grimy, shallow slashes across their arms. They had the presence of those whose work defeats them, yet they stood proud, en-doubled by their labour. An odd juxtaposition. Madness really. They reached the store front and Victor came out to meet them, a pleasant expression on his face. Lil’ gave a tired yet proud smile, yet was pulled down by the ropes of failure.

“Hi Victor, we did all those jobs you told us about and we made a decent bit of money, but I don’t think it will be enough.” She said to him a slight humiliation in her tone, slumping over slightly.

“How much did you make.” He asked initially concerned, but then remembered his place and rushed to put on a harder look.

“Forty-nine thousand and five-hundred and forty Note…” She replied embarrassedly, half hiding her face to him. Victor took on a look of amazement and irritation.

“Darlin’ I am amazed you made that much so quickly, but those jobs, if you did all of them should have got you near a hundred thousand! They fleeced ya!” A slight red flush coming to his now somewhat washed face, having dunked it in a basin of cleanish water a bit ago, though still caked with a thin lacquer of muck. He attempted to cheer her up by turning her to anger, but I doubted it would work, the woman barely had any, aside for me, probably taking any sob story they could muster. ‘My kid needs medicine’, ‘I got a bad leg’, ‘I’ll get it to you by the end of the month’ etc. Honestly.

“But they said they were on hard times, and that if I only took a bit, it would help them so much and I…” She responded firmly defending her choice fiercely, something she well had practiced. Victor groaned inwardly, placing a large palm to his face, as I inwardly thought ‘knew it’. Rock tapped her on the shoulder and said to her calmly;

“Don’t worry, we can always work tomorrow and we have Azzy here who’s probably got some loose change from his little lemonade stand.” He finished with a mocking tone, looking at me lightly, not expecting much.

I looked at him irritated, annoyed not only with the nickname but his remark. I stood up calmly with a slightly sour expression on my face, though I wasn’t quite sure what a lemonade stand was, I could tell what it meant, and walked over to the crate where I had placed the money and pulled out the slab of cream-ish notes along with some loose wads, and bundled them into Rock’s arms. His jaw dropped so far that it almost touched the money, Lil’ looked equally as flabbergasted.

“Your seventy percent share of a hundred and eighty-six thousand nine-hundred Note. I earned two hundred and sixty-seven thousand Note in total, minus the fees to trade here. I believe that should be enough for you to pay off your debt now, and with a little to spare as well,” I finished with a smug tone, a bite of sourness within it. I started walking back to the chair, when I turned back and said, “Oh, and don’t call me Azzy,” sitting down and getting myself comfortable in the chair muttering to myself, “Honnêtement, comment avez-vous réussi?”[2]. The pair stood there completely caught off-guard at my gains, truly showing the expectations they had of me.

“I just can’t believe it. How could he earn so much so quickly?” Rock asked incredulously, sitting down on an upturned crate, followed suit by the other two, Victor pulling up a bent folding chair and Lil’ a small wire stool.

“Well, oil is a precious resource even here, along with clean water,” Victor began catching the attention of the other two, “for it to be going so cheap, and for it to seem to be of decent quality, it’s a hot commodity. ‘Sides this is a busy road most of the time.” He finished looking at them calmly, pulling a trio of bottles from a little metal box that were filled with a bluish liquid. Probably rad-berry, a little berry like thing that was quite sweet, if sour sometimes, especially if you picked it too early.

He handed two of the bottles to the pair and before they could speak, he added, “and didn’ you say he was arrested for scamming people? Now, for that you either need to have a good head on yur shoulders, or have charisma pouring off you like syrup from a pancake. An’, from what I heard today, he’s got buckets of both. Got a flair fer it.” He bit the bottle cap in his mouth and pulled it off, the wheeze of carbonated drink echoing in his mouth, and spat out the plain metal cap that was bent round the bottle.

At this Lil’ snapped out, jumping from her seat. “But it was all fake! The water was boiled from the ground and the oil was picked from the same place. He scammed so many people by saying his products are things that they aren’t, then uses how he wrote it to try and dodge and displace the blame onto the people he cheated! Why do people fall for his lies!” her face going red, as she yelled, shoving her face into Victor’s.

“Because they aren’t lies,” Victor said exasperatedly, rolling his head in tired ness after Lil’ snapped back in shock. Lil’s face falling into a mortified expression as Rock stiffened slightly. He sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose and looked up at the ceiling. “Now don’t take me wrong. He is in the wrong, yes. If not immoral then amoral at the very least.” Lil’ sinking back down to her seat as he spoke, a sour expression still firmly fixed on her face. “But he doesn’t outright lie to these people, he sells what people need and relies on people to not ask too much further into his half-truths. Most other business men do this, and it tends to be that those are the ones who prosper.”

Lil’ shifted forward and looked as if she was about to say something when Victor put up his hand to stop her. “I’m not saying this to make you like him. Man’s a rotten piece of shit, but there are worse people, and what he does helps some people. You can’t pull up everyone who only knows what they have seen, to your standards. There are better battles to be fought,” his face was drawn as he finished, uncomfortable with his own words. She looked at him, harshly and growled under her breath:

“Just because they are from somewhere else doesn’t mean they get to have worse principles. He is just as human as you or I, he isn’t some feral beast or brain-rotten raider. He has no excuse to be evil just because of who he is and what he believes.” She finished bitterly, tightly gripping the neck of her bottle, glaring at her boots. The pair said nothing, and sat drinking from their bottles, and eventually got up and walked to the back of the shop to lay in the beds apparently in the back of the shop. As I moved to follow, they turned to me and pointed to a black wool cot by the door to the workshop, plain in view, not trusting me to stay put. I turned and hopped into the rough wool, the thick smell of old petrol and bad whiskey wheezing out of it, grumbling I sunk to sleep.

The next day the pair rolled out the car from the garage and handed Victor the pay for his work, giving the man some extra, as a ‘tip’. They piled most of their packs into the car then pulled on some empty rucksacks, saying they were going for supplies. They were just about to leave when someone called to them.

I turned to look and was surprised and irritated to see the same three Assembly men from yesterday walking down the road to them. The tallest man giving a light wave as he approached, the other two walking quickly behind. “You must be ‘El Libertador’, I heard about you on Rio Grande Radio,” the tallest one said warmly, reaching his hand out to her, which she nervously shook a slight look of confusion on her face. “Allow me to introduce myself, I am a member of the Olrick Diplomatic Assembly and the leader of the Environmental Progress Party.” A note of pride in his voice as he spoke, standing up straight as he continued.

“The Environmental Progress Party?” she repeated, cocking her head to the side like a confused dog. The man was unbothered and continued.

“Yes, it is a party in the Assembly that promotes the increasing of safety measures and environmental solutions to energy and the city, and a general clean-up program to try and improve the living conditions of the citizens by reducing the pollution around the city.” His pride beamed across the room. While it was plain that Lil’ was somewhat confused, she perked up at the mention of improving the conditions for people and practically jumped on the man.

“You want to help these people?!” she asked eagerly, like an old warrior who had finally found an ally.

“Not just them, everybody! The reforms we have proposed will improve the lives of everyone in this town. Though more to those that actually need it of course,” the middle one explained looking pleased, a passionate look etched deep in his eyes. Lil’ looked giddy at the thought of it.

“In fact, ma’am,” The tallest man began again, straightening himself up and taking on a much more diplomatic look, “that is why we have come here to talk to you today…” He coughed into his hand, clearing his throat, “you see- despite the benefits these reforms will bring to the people, they face near total opposition within the Assembly,” he finished a pensive look on his face, and shifting his feet about awkwardly, keeping his gaze on the pair, not once having looked round the shop, missing me in the process.

“So, we were hoping you would pledge your support to our party,” the shortest man continued, speaking in a gravely two-tone voice, making it sound like it required great effort for him to speak. “Our cause would gain some publicity, and the people would learn about it and thus put pressure on the other parties on the Assembly… We do rely on the will of the people even if it doesn’t look like it most of the time,” he lightly joked, Lil’ took on a slightly apprehensive look, unsure of what he meant in pledging support. “Nothing massive before you get too worried, just a word or two in approval or promotion will be enough. No need to run around with an initialled Jersey,” he reassured chuckling slightly forcing his face to look friendly, but not quite succeeding, causing Lil’ to slacken slightly.

“Wait, wait, wait. Hold on a darn second,” Butted in Victor, moving his hands like he was physically forcing his way into the conversation, the three Assemblymen turning to him. “I thought the Assembly was already doing environmental policies?” he questioned seriously, jabbing his gloved hand in the direction of the three men.

“They are, but what they are doing at the moment is essentially the equivalent of licking a tree and hoping for maple syrup,” I called from the cot, the three Assembly men turning to look at me surprised, the middle one’s tail bristling in panic.

“I didn’t know you were here Mr Lemoni,” the shortest one said, having to catch his tone as he calmed himself down, the middle one settling down his tail as they spoke. At this the other three turned to me, suspicious looks on their faces.

“You know them?” Rock asked, as I looked at him flatly, not bothered enough to get up from the cot yet, despite the stench and filth of it.

“I met them yesterday. They came to check on my stall and to collect trade fare. It was simply business,” I answered, but they still looked at me with gazes destitute of trust. Sensing the opportunity he was being given the tallest man broke in.

“Mr Lemoni is correct on both counts,” he attested, the other three settling down at that, though still eyeing me heavily. “While outwardly, the current leaders of the Assembly do say they are pursing more ecological practices, it’s all lip-service and pan-handling. The current majority faction, the Olrick Economic Party, is quite conservative in character-they are more concerned with the implied drop in efficiency and efficacy that would come with the change to a more environmentally sound business model, ” he explained somewhat agitatedly when describing the conservative members, showing his apparent dislike of the Assemblymen in question.

Personally, I was more on the side of the conservatives.

“That’s not right,” Lil’ rumbled, clenching her fist as she stood. Suddenly she burst out, brimming with conviction “I’ll support your party Mr…uh, I don’t know your name,” she petered out slightly embarrassed, a flush of red coming across her face.

“Oh yes how rude of me,” the tallest one said nonchalantly. “My name is Antony Carew, this gentleman here,” gesturing to the shortest of the three, “is Burke G. Potts, and finally this man is Charlie. M. Bertillion,” as he finished, he jostled slightly like he had just realised something and added, tuning to Charlie, “I just noticed that your name is French, Charlie. I feel rather foolish now,” Charlie waived him off not bothered while the others were left in the dark about the exchange. Except for myself.

“In any case, thank you ma’am for your endorsement of the party and its’ aims,” Carew resumed a wide smile adorning his face, one matched by Lil’. “Will you be offering your support too, Mr Lemoni?” he asked, turning to me. I returned his look with a flat expression, irritation bubbling in my mind at the question, knowing I would have to work hard to say ‘no’ near the mad animal that was Lil’.

“While your cause may sound admirable, I will not support it. I do not agree with the sentiments behind it,” predictably the three stooges turned to me flabbergasted as I refused, preparing to bite my head off at not agreeing with them at what they saw as right. Somethings cannot be compromised.

But Carew himself simply nodded a slight smile adorning his lips, “Very well, but I assume you will neither support the opposition then?” he added, a slight slyness in his voice. I looked at him lazily from the brim of the cot and replied.

“No, I won’t. I don’t pick sides. Especially if the one whose view I share thinks I should be treated as a second-class citizen in their city unless I pay a hefty premium. I work by business not by politics,” I kept a civil tone as I spoke, keeping to the truth, almost. Carew again nodded, a smile still on his face, still keeping a smug look of victory on it that brought with it a sort of burning sense of irritation as I looked at him.

“Well, now that the formalities have been taken care of, I bid you all good day,” he finished politely, turning as he began walking away. “Oh,” he sounded, stopping suddenly and turning his head back to Lil’, “and Miss, I neglected to ask your name?” A slightly embarrassed tone in his voice at having forgone introductions twice.

“Oh, it’s Lillian, but call me Lil’” she introduced cheerily smiling back at him. The Assemblymen walked off, waiving goodbye, and then the other two resumed loading their car, lifting boxes out from the garage, filled with ammunition, petrol, food, and medicine. A treasure trove any raider or bandit would foam at the mouth for.

I waited for about ten minutes while they loaded the car standing by Rock as he packed something and Idly asked, “So why is she called ‘El Libratador’. Did she get it in an arena?” Rock looked deeply offended at the question, though that was hardly unusual for what I saw of him.

“No, of course not!” he snapped back, lifting up a faded plastic cooler with ‘Medicine’ scrawled in black across a strip of old masking tape and moving over to the car.

“Then what from?” I pursued, a bored tone in my voice. He dropped the tub into the back of the car and then turned to me and bit back,

“Why do you even care?”

“I don’t, I am simply bored, and like to know a few details about my ‘business partners’. Plus, I don’t trust you enough to go buy some better clothes in case you drive off, so I’m waiting until you are finished to escort me,” I answered honestly, getting a sour expression in response, practically the default for his tanned face.

“What do you even need clothes for?” he asked turning back to the car, trying to dodge the question.

“Whilst some in this wretched wasteland may be content with the dress of an escaped convict, I prefer a more dignified, human, sense of dress,” he whirled around quickly his mouth wide to shout, his large teeth on full display and an infuriated expression crossed his features.

An impressive sight.

But I cut him off, “and no that wasn’t a jab at your heritage. I have nothing against Quazi’s personally and still hang you under the moniker of human, so don’t take that as a slight against you,” I snubbed boredly. He settled down slightly but still looked at me with a grimace, baring his teeth. I walked over to the deckchair and laid down in it, Rock standing off from it next to the car.

“All I really know about Lil’ comes from this time and after. I honestly have no clue who or what she was before this,” his voice almost hollowed as he spoke, his usual snide tone almost absent, catching my vague interest. “Eight years ago, around Diera down south, she came across a caravan, she didn’t know what it was at the time. Out of nowhere a bouncing-betty, you know the landshark looking things, it just, leaps right out the fucking ground at them an’ starts literally tearing apart their guards…” he took a pause and glancing down at his feet before he started again,

“So, Lil’ gets out her rifle and kills the thing, saving them. The leader of the caravan is really thankful, calls her a hero, so he leads her to the rearmost carriage, and pulls back a big cloth cover to reveal a bunch of people all in rags and manacles.” He stopped again, his mouth open hanging as he tried to say something, but couldn’t manage it the first few tries, “And he says to her: ‘these are the best of our stock, take your pick, without you we would never have survived.’…Then she pulls out her rifle and points it at them, telling them to free all the slaves, ‘else she would shoot. They didn’t. A firefight goes on for a few minuets, the rump of the guards and the head driver not being worth much in a fight, and she freed the slaves.”

He kept looking out into the road, with a hundred yards stare on his face. “One of the slaves was Venezuelan, though most of them were Latino apparently - from Nemex and Jalapa among others, and called her ‘El Libratador’ after a Venezuelan who freed Latin America from the Spanish,” he looked up at the sky, an almost pleading look in his eyes.

“Imagine what that would do to a person, to have fought shoulder to shoulder with these people, however briefly, and then found they were doing such horrible things, and that you were protecting them while they were doing it,” he finished, his face pale as he looked at the sky, the bead of a tear lingering in his eye. Then it shifted to a sour look and he turned to me. “But I suppose you don’t care, do you? After all you seem to lack the comprehension of the vileness of it, for these people to have their freedom taken from them,” he accused making his disgust with me plain both in his tone and his expression.

“And what good is ‘freedom’?” I gave in response, looking plainly at him, making him take a step back. “After all it was the pursuit of ‘freedom’ that gave us this world of ruins. A Lofty principle of an old world that used these grand words and ideals to justify the rain of fire and radiation that they brought down in play of their self-satisfying goals. This world is the price of that freedom, despite how you wail that it is in absence of it,” I said quietly, looking out into the road as Rock levied his gaze on me his eyes rocking in their sockets, either from anger or fear. Who could tell?

“I had total freedom, it is you that diminished it, not anyone else here. So don’t stand there acting like you embody a tradition lost to the world,” standing up from the chair and brushing myself down slightly as Rock leered at my back. “Some things are left behind for a reason,” I let the conversation sit for a second almost feeling the heat of the quiet fury of the Quazi.

“In any case, I believe you are nearly done, so you can accompany me if you wish. Or can you state that you won’t drive off without me?” I questioned critically, somewhat hoping that he would let me go alone, though that would likely complicate matters later on in Verdant. He turned to me with a deep-set look of sour hatred, so often held on his face one would think it had frozen in that expression.

“Neither I nor Lil’ would harm these people as by leaving you uninhibited in your practices, you blonde-haired bilker,” he growled out, striding ahead of me, stamping hard on the ground like a child who was told to do a chore he didn’t want to. I smiled charmingly at him.

“Good alliteration, my lecturious lookout. Now shall we depart to the dressing district before we become so enamoured in our little chats that the sun slinks below that rotten sky above,” I replied smarmily, walking quickly past him, forcing him to have to jog to catch back up.

“Piss of you, poultice preaching prick,” he spat out grumpily having thought about his words. I chuckled at him in response, causing him to stew even more. The streets and alleyways were flooded by workers, amplified by those that streamed out from the backstreets, slamming and rushing against each other as the flows of those discharged and those commissioned surged against each other, their uniforms all unanimously caked and sodden in grease, grime and the other foulness of the refineries and factories that bulked the town of Olrick.

I led us along the thoroughfare to the main crossing on the east side, a tiny little square with a greasy clock stood in the middle ready to cry out the ensuing day, then turned inward into the city’s centre. Impossibly, the packed roads in the inner city somehow became ever more packed and compressed, the buildings pulling themselves up taller, the light fleeing higher away from the street. The grand factories sparked and crackled as the workers toiled and laboured inside, lit only by burning fumes and naked bulbs. The factory walls, like the rest of this grand settlement, were caked in kerosene and oil made of debris and other flotsam that had been dragged over, a quilted patchwork of bodged repairs and quick fixes made to prevent an even momentary lapse in production, making them look like Frankenstein structures. Despite the darkness, hanging floodlights, asleep to save power, were left wasted.

I then turned into a small alley on the left side of the lane, to the harshly supressed relief of Rock as he followed, wheezing slightly with the heavy air. We again came to a street of low-standing houses, all of them stalls set up for trade. But it was a much calmer street than the rest of the city, with an actual road, though only made from packed gravel unlike the paved streets of the true inner city. This was an area of fine trade, where the artisans of Olrick were endorsed to stay in their well made and supplied stalls, so as to supply the wealthy and any visitors. It was an attempt by the Assembly to make out the city as nicer than it was. A good tactic in concept really, but not truly effective, as you had to walk through the dirtier bits of the city to reach it.

Rock looked on astonished, glancing about as if he had walked into a mystical place. “Where are we?” he questioned in a quiet voice, almost as if a raised voice would shatter the vision before him.

“We are in the Artisans’ district. The shop we’re going to is the third down the street, come along,” his expression soured at the order and he grabbed me by the arm.

“How is it that this place is so… nice, and that bit back there so horrible?” he asked fiercely, as if he held me responsible for the sight.

I snatched my arm from his grip and answered, “A nation’s wealth always concentrates at its centre, it’s quite natural really. But here so does its power. This place has been besieged quite often so they have become quite zealous in their control of power, so they don’t like people getting too close and looking at them, when they used to come to sample the works of the artisans here,” I explained, walking forward as I spoke, with Rock following just behind. “So, this district arose. A great showing off of the splendour of the city, while also being a way to keep people away from their centre of power,” I finished as we came up to the stall. “Here we are,” I declared, gesturing to the shop, stopping Rock from leaping into his likely rant about ‘injustices’ or some other token cry they so often used, and walked into the shop, the slightly destabilised Quazi following after me.

It was modest, as were the rest of the stalls, but it was well made and well kept. The store clerk noticed us and began to walk over. He was a tallish man, very thin, with slicked back blonde hair, but he had a rather effeminate air about him. He was a Quazi, horned and taller than most, so either a deer or caribou, with tailor’s tape draped over his neck, hanging over a, rather bravely, white suit, with brown Oxfords whose bottoms were splashed grey with gravel dust.

“Hello, how are you my dear fellows, what can I get you today?” he asked with a smile, bending over slightly as he neared the edge of his stall, his large horns threatening to catch upon the roof. As he looked at me, he took on a mortified expression. “My dear sir, what are you wearing?!” he asked, aghast, referring to the prisoner rags that still adorned me.

“A dreadful set of attire that I am all too eager to replace and burn to ash,” I replied looking down at myself quickly, with a look of repulsion.

He smiled, and responded, “I couldn’t agree more sir.” He then led me over to a raised platform where he began to take my measurements, asking me what colours I wanted and what fabrics I preferred and certain fits and other details. Then he quickly set to work, leaving me with a set of three suits and some shoes and separate jackets. He then turned to Rock.

“And what will you be having sir?” the tailor asked pleasantly, causing Rock to give a start.

“O-oh, I-I’m not here for anything, it doesn’t really suit me,” Rock replied, caught off guard and stammering. Unabashed the tailor continued with a smile that made Rock quiver slightly.

“Oh, don’t say that - a man of your figure would cut a suit quite well. After all, just feel these muscles,” the tailor argued softly, coming up behind Rock and squeezing his arms, making Rock blush a deep red.

“I-I-uh-b-I…Okay,” he stammered out, obviously flustered. He then began measuring him, taking noticeably longer than he had with me, which progressively made the usually tanned man turn as red as a tomato at the tailor’s sultry glances. After about half an hour he stood there in a tawny brown corduroy double vented jacket, thin lapelled, with a cinnamon coloured, standing collared shirt with matching brown corduroy slacks, fitted into tall black boots. The tailor again regarded him with a sultry gaze.

“Yes, you are definitely my type,” he said with a pleasant smile on his face, once again prompting Rock to erupt into a deep blush.

“I’m sorry I’m not interested,” Rock replied, his voice fluttering slightly, an amusing sight, but the tailor waived him off.

“Don’t be concerned. You are good enough as eye candy,” he replied velvetly, causing Rock again to bristle.

“So, how much?” Rock breathed, tugging down on his jacket, attempting to regain his composure as he tried to take control of the conversation.

“For you, think of it as a gift,” he replied pleasantly, cocking his body at the hip, “for you,” he continued, turning to me, “fourty-two thousand Note, but since you bought so much, I’ll give you a discount. So, it comes to thirty-eight thousand,” he finished, smiling broadly. I handed him the money and nodded to him in thanks.

As we began walking out, he turned to me and asked quietly, “Oh, and may I ask who told you of me? I haven’t seen you before,” I regarded him pleasantly and responded.

“I heard about you from Ollivier up North, he was an old client of mine, spoke quite highly of you,” the tailor went slightly pale for a second, as if he had seen something foul in his periphery, but quickly regained his composure.

“Well, I’m glad he thinks of me that well,” he replied smilingly. I nodded to him and walked out of the stall, Rock having already returned to the street.

“Oh,” he called as we walked, “and if you ever need to talk, Rock, just ask for Sebastian down at one of the shopping districts. They’ll tell me,” he called out in a dulcet tone, smiling kindly.

“Thank you for the offer, I’ll keep it in mind,” Rock replied shortly, slightly abashed as we walked out of the district, straining his face as he hurried away walking slightly faster than normal. “Tell no one of this,” Rock growled harshly at me as we walked, not turning to look at me. I grinned as I regarded him flatly.

“Now why would I do that? Good information is best saved till needed,” I replied sardonically, chuckling slightly. He then hovered his hand over his holstered pistol and cocked his head to me, a dark look on his face, nearly done with me. “Fine, fine. Now allon, punctuality has not gone out of fashion since the apocalypse,” I responded, slightly put out, but rushed him forward.

We returned to Victor’s just as it turned three O’clock, the sun beginning to hang close to the western buildings. As we approached, I noticed a person hanging around the front of the shop dressed in militia-esque garb. Upon getting close to them, Rock burst out in alarm.

"What happened to you, are you alright!?”

He was referring of course to the woman’s complexion. Her skin appeared rotten, or completely fallen away in places displaying plainly the fetid red and white muscles beneath. Her hair had all fallen out, and her pupils had covered the entirety of her eyes leaving them like black stones in her head, either side of a rotted off nose, a sent of gangrene and rot hanging about her. She immediately took on an insulted but expectant expression as if was a normal occurrence.

“It’s quite rude to say that Rock,” I broke in, the tall Quazi sending me a confused look, “after all, don’t you get upset when someone shouts about your own, unique attributes, in the street.” My remark made Rock pause for half a second before the meaning dawned on him and his face morphed into a mortified expression and he leapt into making apologies, attempting to explain himself, the woman taking on a pleasantly surprised expression. As Rock continued to abase himself, I meandered back into the shop to load up my clothes and funds into the car, when Lil’ and Victor walked out. Victor took on a concerned expression at seeing the meeting, or more specifically one part of it, and Lil’ looked pleased to see Rock, though looked at me with well contained contempt in front of the woman.

“Rock, you look nice, where did you get that?” Lil’ questioned, prompting Rock to blush faintly. Rubbing the back of his neck tentatively he responded, though with a slight quaver in his voice.

“Oh… well, I was looking at the clothes and I saw this nice piece that I liked and Azzy bought it for me, though probably in an attempt to buy me off to let him go,” I flicked my head back to fix him with a glare at his excuse, but he gave me a hard look from the edge of his gaze, and I stowed it away. Not only did he use that numb-brained nickname, he’d set the precedent I’d buy ‘gifts’ for these people.

“Well, I think it looks lovely on you!” Lil’ said cheerily, flustering Rock even further. As I was at the back of the shop, Victor walked up to my side.

He then leant down to me, keeping his gaze on the trio and asked, “Sebastian?” though obviously already knowing.

“Sebastian,” I confirmed, Victor nodding and chuckling slightly. Well, some fairness after all. Then the trio turned their attention to the woman who was at the front of the store, waiting patiently for them to finish their little pleasantries.

“So, miss, what can we help you with?” Lil’ questioned pushing her curiosity to the side, displaying some tact, which I didn’t quite attribute to her. The woman nodded slightly then spoke.

“I’m looking for where they sell supplies, I know that doesn’t really narrow it down much but I just want somewhere that sells most things, and will sell them to Remnants,” her voice was crackly as she spoke, like a chain-smoker was talking through an intercom, rusty and abrasive, but with a dignity and refinement woven into it.

Lil’ took on a thoughtful expression and then cautiously asked: “Yes, but what exactly, are, Remnants,” The woman looked at her with a deadpan expression not bothering to hide her exhaustion with the conversation.

“They are what she is,” I broke in, having loaded my clothes into the car and put on one of the suits, an emperor’s yellow chequered one, and walked over to where they were all congregated. “When the bombs dropped, many were exposed to lethal doses of radiation, but due to an apparently somewhat common mutation in people’s genes, instead of sub coming to it they just mutated. Some went mad, not entirely surprisingly, and became what we call crotes, or cryptids, after monsters from the old world. But a decent amount stayed sane, keeping their memories. Course anyone who saw them only remembered the ones that stormed and slaughtered settlements. Who haunted the nightmares of many. So, they attacked, and persecuted, as people tend to do,” I explained boredly before I looked to the woman and paused to see if she wanted to speak up, she kept quiet. I sat down on one of the crates and continued, watching the confused and somewhat begrudgingly impressed faces of the other three.

“Because of that most of the stable ones fled north, till they were out of reach of anyone who saw them as a threat. They build a settlement out of the blasted-out ruins of a bombed city, hoping the fallout would stave off any hunting parties or expeditions. They called it Catacombs. Eventually, as time went on people started to brave the trip and learned about the Remnants and told people they were friendly, and slowly, trust in them grew, though really only in the North. So, they began sending out delegates or letting people explore outside the city. But most don’t come this far down south,” the three turned to the woman, looking to confirm what I said.

Honestly, at least have some sense to not be so plain about your distrust. She nodded that it was correct, though looked slightly surprised herself.

When the woman nodded in agreement with what I said they all glanced back to me. “How do you know all that?” Lil’ asked incredulously as the other two matched her expression. I regarded her flatly and responded;

“I went their once a while ago, I travelled south after that, and now,” spreading out my arms like I had finished a magic trick in mock grandeur, “I’m here.”

“What, did you scam all of them too. With some magical snake oil that would turn them human again, repair their skin and make their hair grow back,” Lil’ demanded, her face going slightly red. I looked at her then looked down at the ground as I looked for the words.

“No, I was there for a different reason,” my voice taking a hollowness without my noticing. “I believe it was Griffon who was trying that wasn’t he?” I said, diverting the conversation, looking to the woman for affirmation, to which she nodded.

“Yeah, that was him, gave up after a while, people didn’t take too kindly too it. But, what can you do," the woman agreed, shrugging slightly. Lil’ composed herself slightly, her curiosity and anger at me still etched into her copper-blue eyes, caught off-guard at the mention that her accusation had actually occurred.

“Moving on, I don’t believe we got your name miss,” Lil’ asked, at this the woman straightened up, almost as if some old training in her kicked in.

“Emilia, Regina, Carter, a pleasure,” she answered highly offering her hand with the back of it facing up to be kissed initially then seemed to think and quickly turned it to the side for a normal handshake, which Lil’ seemed to miss.

“And it is shared Miss Carter,” Lil’ responded earnestly taking her hand and shaking it vigorously, Rock nodding in agreement.

“Charmed,” I called over, the woman nodding at me in agreement. I looked at her hands and noticed a signet ring on the left one, stacked with a wedding band. I was correct to assume she was high class then. That or a very lucky scavenger. I shall remember her just in case. Victor then took her over to the side, and eventually sent her off to the northern district of the city where he remembered a shop with a sign that read ‘Remnants Welcome’ on the door. She thanked him and walked north down the alleyways of Olrick.

After that, I got in the car along with the pair, and began to drive out of the workshop, both Lil’ and Rock waving fondly goodbye to Victor as the light of the city sporadically plinked into life, bathing the dirty streets with a warped mix of colours. Making the whole city look like a giant oil slick in water. The sun was now diving below the jagged and unordered, yet somehow subdued and defeated skyline of Olrick. They drove hurriedly out of the city, going as fast as possible in the still cluttered streets. As they left through the great walls of that city, we were again bombarded by the setting sun, its silky blood-red rays muzzled through the low hanging slums that surrounded the grand oil capital of the wasteland, the rough homes beginning to light up braziers and torches as it descended.

Leaving that great ‘empire of black gold, and black hearts’ as was the expression.

[1] Un grand jour de commerce, une journée d’opportunité encore plus grande. Meaning: A great day of commerce, a day of even greater opportunity’

[2] Honnêtement, comment avez-vous réussi? Meaning: Honestly, how did you ever succeed?

#original writing #creative writing #writing #fiction #science fiction #post apocalyptic #apocalypticfiction #HMAD

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sidhewrites · 4 months

Text

25 -- the power of ADHD is going to help save the day! Just 2 more chapters to go

Project Info

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

My legs pump hard beneath me. I feel Magnus' delight in a strong, physical body with toned muscles able to be pushed to their limit. My calves start to burn, and a new wave of terror hits as I realize where he's taking me.

There's an elevator shaft up ahead. Rusted iron bars catch what little light is left from my phone screen, but there's nothing but void where the cage should be. I imagine the ground falling away beneath my feet, the air rushing past as I fall -- god knows how far.

I can't help it. I think of the sound that would be made when my body lands.

My legs would hit first, snapping entirely. Then the momentum would carry me forward, and I'd trip over myself, landing hard on my face.

I'd probably lose my nose. Crack the bones around my eyes. Bite off my tongue and lose some teeth.

Would my spine snap? Would I break my neck?

I could only hope so.

The alternative is worse. Lying there on the damp ground, in the silence, nothing but my own pain and this asshole in my head to keep me company as my phone battery drains out and I die from bleeding out -- or, worse, dehydration.

The fear gives me enough strength to work my mouth and get out a single word: "Please--"

"Shut up," my mouth says, and Magnus snaps my teeth together.

Something in me snaps when he says it. How dare he? How dare he worm his way in through my bones and use the air in my lungs? How dare he use my hands and my mouth? And for what -- a bit of quiet? A sad grasp at revenge against the world?

I think about Lucy. I think about her unending curiosity. Her love for mischief. Her desire to experience everything she can, no matter how limited her world has become.

I think about her smile.

I think about her hand in mine.

I almost kissed her tonight.

How dare he take that away from me.

More than my fear, my anger breaks through. I twist my foot, and the next step lands wrong. My body goes sprawling, but I can handle a few scrapes on my already wounded hands. What's worse is the phone, clattering away somewhere. I heard glass break, and the light went out. The darkness doesn't hesitate to close in.

Magnus curses, and fights to get my hands under me, to push my body up from the ground. I spit back with all the venom I can, and throw myself off balance. My body flies to the side, landing hard against the uneven ground, and I feel new scrapes open up. It doesn't matter, because as soon as Magnus gets oriented, he rolls my body over and gets my hands under me again.

It takes a moment for me to be able to react physically, and he has me up on my feet. I spin in place, disorienting us both.

"Be still," he spits with my mouth, and runs my nails down my stomach. My nails are dirty and dull, but he presses hard enough to hurt anyway.

"Kaz!" Lucy's voice echoes down the stone [corridor].

Magnus tries to keep me still, but I manage to open my jaw. I can't work my tongue, so I just let out a long, wordless yell.

"Down this way!"

I see the first hint of light at a junction too far away, and the hope distracts me enough that Magnus realizes we're facing the wrong way. He turns me on my heel, and begins to run again. I feel every scrape and bruise slowing my body down, and I let myself mourn the following week of pain just for a second.

But they're so close. Lucy and Josie are right there.

I just need to slow him down.

"If you kill me," I growl, "You'll only damn yourself."

"I said be still--" He snaps my jaw shut, but I force it back open.

The words come out shapeless and sloppy, but he doesn't need me to speak clearly to know my thoughts. "What makes a ghost, Magnus? Unfinished business. Violent deaths. Anger and pain."

He stumbles, but doesn't fall. He slaps my face.

I keep going. "I'll be down there with you. Pissing you off. Making noise. Bothering you, forever."

"Silent, woman!"

"I've never been very good at that."

I fill his head with all the stupid shit that runs through my head any given moment. Pointless, aimless thoughts. Squirrels, old commercial jingles, embarrassing memories from ten years ago. I've never once known a moment of quiet in my own damn head, and I'll make sure he knows the pain.

I feel his confusion and anger at the sudden onslaught of disjointed thoughts and half-formed ideas, and it slows him down even more.

Josie's flashlight is growing brighter behind me, filling the tunnel with a dim but steady light.

Come on, I beg, not caring if he can hear my thoughts as loudly as his own. I was never trying to hide what I was doing.

"Stupid child," Magnus says, and drags my body further still. I know the pain is starting to get to him, but he's too close to his goal to give up now. I feel his determination, oily and cold in my chest, and he tries for one more burst of speed.

We near the elevator shaft. Just another hundred feet. Fifty. Thirty.

I manage to kick us over one more time, but even as we go sprawling, even as the impact slams my teeth together and blood fills my mouth, he drags my body back up and keeps going.

I can't help the fear that worms its way in through my anger again.

I'm going to die.

I'm going to die alone and cold.

"Fucker."

"You'll be silent soon enough."

One foot leaves the solid stone in the tunnel, and hangs in the air.

The other one lifts behind it.

Fat arms wrap around my waist, and Josie drags me back away from the edge. I'm stronger than her, but she has me beat in sheer size alone, and rolls over, pinning my body beneath her as Magnus kicks and screams.

"Kaz! Kaz are you in there?" she begs, forcing my arms down.

"Get off me!" Magnus spits, but the words come out slurred, mixed with my own.

I can't manage much, but I get out a short, "Jesus fuck Christ!"

He's writhing too much, twisting my head back and forth, but I manage to see the relief on Josie's face. She nods to someone else. "Let's get this over with."

"Right," Lucy says, somewhere to my left.

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letsgetsquiggly · 2 months

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Dandy Boy

Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial 243rd prompt.

Word count: 538

Audience: General

Themes: musical performances, emotional responses, slice of life

Descending the stairs, I approach the disco pop hell hole that has imprisoned my attention this last week. Such posh places were usually beneath me. I am much too old for curated vibrancy that only attracts young, flighty patrons with fleeting attention. This particular pocket of technicolor hell held an anomaly, however. A vast soul caged in a vapid gig.

I breathe in a deep puff of cotton candy cloud and snort the exhale at the no vaping sign that nobody follows at the bottom of the stairwell. I place my hand on the gaudiest velvet-clad door and push into the offensively neon venue. As an old woman, I trail an aura of grey through the pastel energies of today's youth gathered in this snug club. I don't belong, and I don't care. All I care about is that, in this unexpected place, is where the music happens. Not this spliced and sliced chords and bars pieced together by software and black boxes that I had grown accustomed to in the slog of shows I must sit through daily, but actual, grassroots composition born from tube amps, strings, and profound sadness. Pushing against the collection of confused stares, I make my presence known at the 10-seat wood top tucked in the back of this flashing sign and velvet box. I order what I've ordered the last four days I've been here; a Manhattan is burning, which, while cleverly named, was all flare and no flavor. I found myself at my corner booth, where I just sipped and waited.

It was mere moments before the object of my obsessions stumbles onto the cramped corner stage. A shy swallow who chirps an enchanting melancholic melody. He was a dandy dime, all glitter and blues. He has big, slick black hair and dark skin, a beautiful contrast to his foil-textured white fitted suit top sporting a deep v and a thoughtful gaze that never leaves his lifted-heeled boots. His Epiphone 8 string, a shimmering baby blue, plugged into a burnt orange tube amplifier. He drips with a brilliant shyness and sorrow, dressed in an awkward guise of confident colors and attire. I hold my breath while waiting for his set reveal, ready to be infected with his unexpected sparkle.

And then, he sings. He strums. The warm reverb of the transistor tubes worms through the pastel plain and hits my grey. He fills the room and turns it bold. Turns it blue. His performance erases the neon, coats the velvet, and masks the humanity of the room. All is him, and he is all. A deep baritone voice, crass and uneven, solid and vibrant, blends with the strings' vibration. His music is home, love, heartbreak, and loss. His music holds life and tells of change. This utter stranger has given me things I never knew I needed and showed me there is life I am missing to live.

At the end of the set, I release myself from my viewing station and approach the stage, money in my hand to show proper appreciation for the once again visceral performance. Throwing the cash into the open guitar case, I address the only thing in the room with soul.

"Excellent work, Dandy Boy."

#if you read this thank you!#writeblr #flash fiction #flashfictionfridayofficial #flashfictionfriday

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