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angst-fairygodmother · 4 years

Note

Scenario 18 and/or dialogue 23with Nathan and the Misfits crew might be fun?

A/N: I think I had a little too much fun with this one... Also if anyone wants recommendations for creepy carnival/circus music to add ambiance check the tags for my listening-list. Word Count: 4032 Content Warnings: death, murder, death threats, attempted murder, implied threat of sexual violence (very implied)

“Ugh,” you groaned, leaning on the railing outside the community center. “How long is that going to be there?”

The others looked to where you were gesturing to the bright colorful tents and flagpoles being set up on the far end of the park.

“The carnival is going to be in town for a week,” Simon said, shrugging. “It’s not so bad, although it does mean a lot more people around.”

“Yeah, but it’s a carnival. There’s halls of mirrors and kettle corn and candy floss,” Nathan listed off, sounding more excited than he usually let you all see. “And clowns!”

“I hate clowns,” you said with a shudder.

“Don’t act like you do,” Curtis muttered, casting a glance over at Nathan and rolling his eyes.

You glared before turning your attention to your boyfriend, who had decided to take up his usual antics and was hanging over the rail by his knees (and one hand which he tried to hide) like he was trying to be a trapeze artist and hassling Kelly, who kept threatening to push him over into the lake.

“Nathan Young, this lake is worse than the Bog of Eternal Stench, and if you end up in it, I’m not shagging you for a week,” you called over.

He shot up instantly, almost losing his balance in his scramble to get not only off the rail but as far from it as he could, as if the water could reach up and drag him in. Suddenly his attention was caught by a poster on the nearby column and he wandered over to it. Curious, you all followed, leaning around to read the bright purple page.

‘Raven Brothers’ Carnival and Sideshow! Now hiring local performers with unique talents to be featured in our show!’

“We should totally do it,” Nathan said. “I mean with our powers, we’ll be a hit.”

“Mine’s not exactly one I want to be showing off,” Alisha pointed out, flinching at the thought, “so I’ll pass.”

“Fair point, what about the rest of us?” Nathan looked around the group, none of you particularly keen on the idea of using your powers like cheap tricks, especially not so close to home where you were sure to be seen by loved ones and neighbors.

“No,” Simon said, shaking his head determinedly. “It’s not right. We shouldn’t abuse our powers like that.”

Well, it wasn’t quite the voice of reason you were hoping for, but it was close, so you half-heartedly agreed.

“Well I’m going to anyway. It says ‘cash paid.’” Nathan snapped, trying to play off his hurt that you had all sided against him off as nonchalance.

“Nathan…” you sighed, curling your fingers around his bicep, only to be shrugged off as he stormed in the direction of the carnival.

“It’ll be fine...right?” you asked the others, a bit fearfully. No one answered you, Kelly and Alisha casting you sympathetic glances and Curtis shrugging before all four of them turned back to gather their things and carry on with work for the day.

“The Playhouse?” Nathan read the sign above the red structure that had been erected with surprising speed given how sturdy it looked. “Kinky.”

He had followed the signs, and then the crowd of freaks, here so that he could audition. But now that he was here...he fidgeted, running a hand through his unruly hair.

He wasn’t nervous exactly, he told himself, trying to maintain his bravado even as an internal monologue. He just wished Y/N was here, to give him a kiss for luck. Not that he needed luck when he had charm and natural talent. He just liked the excuse to kiss her. Yeah, that was it.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed the little black door open and strode into the dim, velvet-lined interior. He had to admit, it was spookier than he expected a carnival to be, but maybe that was just because it wasn’t all done up and lit yet.

“Hello,” an airy voice called to him. “Are you here for the auditions?”

His eyes fell to the small, dark haired woman at the front of the room, sitting in front of a raised stage. She had a clipboard in her hands and a very glittery tophat perched off-kilter on her head. “I’m the Head Floozy, I run all the stage performances and the carousel.” She offered him a brilliant grin.

He frowned, puzzled by her title, especially given that she certainly wasn’t dressed like a floozy in her loose jeans and bulky turtleneck sweater. Not that he would have noticed if she was. Because he had Y/N and would never look elsewhere when she was right there. But she wasn’t right there…

He shook his head, pulling his thoughts back to the woman who now raised her eyebrows questioningly at him.

“Oh, yeah. I am,” he answered, once again trying to play up the bravado.

“Great! I love how many young people are still performers at heart! What’s your name and your talent so I can add you to my list.”

“Nathan. Nathan Young,” he smirked. “And I’m immortal.”

“Sorry what?”

“I’m immortal. I’ve got this weird power from a freak storm and now whenever I die, I just come back to life. It��s great!”

She stared at him for a moment. “Well then, Nathan Nathan Young,” her voice held a hint of something dangerous under its lightness. “You just moved up to the first slot. Why don’t you hope up there on that stage and show me what you’ve got.”

“Oh…” he hadn’t thought about the fact that they’d want a demonstration. Too late now… “Well, of course! But I need some way to die first.”

“That won’t be a problem. You just hope on up and I’ll take care of the rest.”

Nathan climbed onto the stage. The woman pulled a wicked looking knife out of seemingly nowhere. She pulled her arm back and Nathan felt a jolt of regret, and pain as the knife embedded itself in his gut.

He sank to his knees with a wheezing groan.

A few moments later he woke with a gasp, his eyes flying open to find the Head Floozy standing over him, the knife (still covered in his blood) in her hand.

“Welcome back,” she chirped, a bright grin on her painted lips.

She reached her free hand out to offer him help up. He decided not to take it, and her eyes narrowed but the smile never disappeared.

“You are definitely in. But, Nathan Nathan Young, do you have any friends with cool talents like yours?”

“Sure. My mate Kelly can read minds, and the weird kid, Barry, can make himself invisible. And my girlfriend…” he trailed off, your disapproving frown flashing across his mind.

“Whatever her power is, you can surprise me with it later,” the Floozy waved her hand dismissively.

“What?” He frowned.

She locked eyes with him, her face growing serious. “Bring them to me.” The command sounded nothing like her normal voice.

Nathan’s eyes went glassy for a moment and he found himself unable to resist, not wanting to even, before the world came back into focus.

“What was that?” he asked, having not heard what the woman said after asking if anyone else had powers.

“Oh nothing!” That bubbly trill was going to get annoying fast, he thought. “Just be sure you’re here first thing tomorrow for rehearsal. We don’t have much time before the Grand Opening!”

After Nathan left the room, the Floozy turned to a man who had been watching from the shadows.

“This will be the Greatest Show Ever!” she exclaimed.

“Yes, a trick like that is sure to bring in the crowds,” he replied. “It might let us be stable for a while, not worry about it.”

A few days later, things were still tense between you and Nathan, and the others had convinced you that you should all go to the carnival, to support him and also just have some fun. It would be nice to have a change from just drinking at the bar or sitting around eating bad pizza for a change.

“I just want to state again for the record that I hate this, and if a clown comes at me, I’m punching first and asking questions never,” you protested weakly as the group strolled up to the ticket line. “And if it goes all Something Wicked This Way Comes, I will say I told you so.”

Even you had to admit that, all lit up in rainbow lights, with pennants fluttering in the breeze, and tasty smells and cheerful music floating out, the carnival did look pretty inviting.

“Five with Nathan Young?” Alisha asked the ticket attendant pleasantly.

The heavily face-painted man in the booth smiled. “Right this way. VIP treatment for all of you. These wristbands will let you skip the lines and get you a free funnel cake!” He ushered each of you over and you reached your hand over the counter to have the blue paper bracelet taped on.

“And which one of you is the girlfriend?”

You raised your hand meekly.

“Ooh, good taste Mr. Young has!” the man exclaimed. “Come with me, young lady. Nathan has a special treat for you.”

“Eugh, gross,” Curtis muttered and the ticket attendant gave him a funny look before an exaggerated look of shock crossed his face.

“Oh, no! I didn’t mean it like that! Although I’ve only known him a week and I’d say he probably had it on his mind while arranging this…”

You flushed hotly.

“Let’s just...stop talking,” you pleaded. “You guys go ahead, I’ll catch up with you for funnel cakes later.”

The ticket attendant slapped a little cardboard sign on his booth to let the crowds know he’d be back later and led you away, winding confusingly through the crowds.

“So where are we going?” you asked.

He shook his head. “I promised not to tell.”

Eventually, you were brought to a stop near the base of the ferris wheel. “Wait here.”

You nodded and the attendant disappeared, melting into the sea of people around almost as if he’d never been there. The minutes dragged on. You tapped your foot impatiently. If you were going to be here, you wanted to at least get to explore the show, not wait around for your chronically late boyfriend.

Suddenly a hand tapped you on the shoulder and you jumped, spinning around angrily, only to find laughing green eyes staring down at you, peeking out from behind a potted flower.

“Nathan! Don’t scare me like that!” you shouted. You probably would have slapped him on the shoulder if it didn’t threaten to make him drop the plant.

“I was gonna do a bouquet, but I thought you might like something alive more,” he explained, holding it out for him. You took it, carefully, noticing that the clay was painted the exact shade of his eyes and had both your initials painted on it.

“That’s sweet, Nathan,” you sighed, instantly forgiving him. “Although I don’t know what I’m going to do with a marigold all night…”

“Ye can keep in my dressin room and then we’ll get it at the end o’ the night.”

“Is this just an excuse to get me back to your dressing room for a quick shag?”

“No! I would never!” he pressed a hand to his chest in mock horror. “Unless ye wanted to…Actually I was gonna take you on a romantic ferris wheel ride but it took me longer t’ get here then it was s’posed to. So I gotta get back for the show...you’re comin right?”

“I don’t know Nathan…” you bit your lip apologetically. “You know I hate watching you die…”

“Please?” he whined, giving you those irresistible puppy dog eyes. “I need my best girl…”

“I had better be your only girl,” you said warningly before sighing. “Alright, fine. Lead the way.”

There was something strange going on. You were sure of it. The hairs on the back of your neck prickled as the lights in the theater dropped to signal the beginning of the show. And as much as you wanted it to be, it wasn’t just because carnivals creeped you out as a rule.

You couldn’t shake the feeling, even as you tried to enjoy the performances. And then your powers twinged and you looked down to see the marigold, balanced on your lap because you hadn’t had time to stash it before finding your seat, was wilting rapidly before your very eyes.

The MC - a short, frighteningly pale woman with very little clothing and a very glittery top hat - came out on stage to announce the next act in her high, breathy voice that sounded better suited for a sex hotline. The clapping audience sounded smaller than it had in the beginning. The man came out, juggling a collection of fruits. You glanced at the person beside you and had to clap a hand over your mouth to stifle a scream. He was mummified!

You scrambled out of your seat, dropping the marigold corpse. The shattering of the pot against the laminated wood floor drew more eyes than you would have liked, but fewer than there should have been in the crowd. In particular, there was a man, dressed all in black, with a cold, cruel stare watching you now from the shadows at the edge of the stage. A shiver ran down your spine.

“Get her.” The MC called out in a voice that radiated power.

Everyone in the room moved toward you. Several performers came out from the wings, moving toward you. A familiar curly head appeared among them, moving toward you. Ice filled your veins and your stomach dropped like lead.

You ran.

You were panting and out of breath, cheeks stained with tears and desperate by the time you collided with the others, all standing around a bucket of kettle corn and watching a fire dancer.

“Oh thank god,” you cried, not caring that you had crashed directly into Curtis who had caught you in confusion and was staring.

“Y/N?” Kelly asked, confusion making her accent thicker. “Wot the fock happened to you.”

“Mummified...at the sideshow....evil...Nathan...mind control...have to…” you gasped, trying to explain around terror and exertion and your own heavy dose of confusion.

“Slow down, I can’t understand ya.”

You took a few deep breaths and finally pulled away from Curtis, who shrugged when you tried to apologize. You explained what you had seen and they all stared.

“I think having the plant with me saved my life, like my power used it to take the draining effect instead of me,” you concluded, sort of proud of it and sort of hoping you were wrong and imagining the whole ordeal.

“We have to save Nathan,” Simon stated matter-of-factly. “And stop the carnival from killing more people.”

“There could be more of them though. Everyone here could have powers and be in on it,” Alisha pointed out. “We should just go to the police.”

“Like they’ll believe us? They’ll book us all on suspicion for drugs,” Curtis countered, earning a dirty look from his ex-girlfriend.

“I’m with Simon. We have to try at least,” you said eventually.

The five of you settled on a plan and headed back to the Playhouse, not noticing the extra figure following in the shadows behind.

The crowd was gone when you arrived and the building was dark.

“Shit, they must be scattered looking for ya,” Kelly whispered, all of you hiding just in case.

“Well then maybe we should let them find me,” you gritted your teeth, suggesting a new plan which involved you being bait for a trap.

Running back to the entrance, you spoke to the friendly ticket attendant again, finding out that the two people you described were The Floozy and Lloyd Raven, the two people who basically ran the show.

“Great. Does this PA system broadcast to the whole carnival ground?”

“Yeah, why?” he asked.

“I need to borrow it.” Before he could say anything you grabbed the microphone, pressing the little button to activate it.

“This is a message for The Floozy and Lloyd,” you called, hearing your voice echo tinnily over the speakers everywhere, cutting off the bouncy music. “Give me back my fuckin boyfriend or else!”

Then you thanked the attendant and made for the wide main lane. Nearby you spotted your friends in the shadows of a booth and took up your position. Alisha pointed to the booth, calling your attention not to the dart game, but the array of prizes: marigolds, succulents, peace lilies, and tiny philodendrons. You smirked. It might be their carnival, but you had a perfect counter to their home field advantage.

A few moments later, the pair came strolling out of the crowd, Nathan walking placidly and stiffly between them.

“Hello there,” the man, Lloyd, purred, tipping his purple velvet hat to you as they stopped, right at the perfect spot.

“A fucking goatee?” you asked. “Really? Why not just wear a sign that says ‘I’m a villain’?”

“I don’t think you have much room to criticize my appearance dear. At least I have fashion, and the sense not to try threatening someone while wearing denim or ripped tights.”

“Let Nathan go.” You glared at them, reaching your powers out.

“But he’s ever so pretty,” the Floozy chirruped. “And would be so much fun to play with. Hey Lloyd, what if you fed off the immortal boy instead of the crowd?”

“I could sustain myself forever, and I just might. But it does so lack panache.”

Kelly looked ready to leap out at the Floozy. Curtis and Alisha were watching you for a sign that you needed them. Simon was nowhere in sight.

“Let. Him. Go. Now.”

“Oh fine,” Lloyd sighed dramatically, turning his head to the Floozy. “You know what to do dear.”

Her smile practically dripped venom as she leaned down to whisper something in Nathan’s ear. He started walking toward you, still stiff and glassy-eyed. You swallowed nervously, taking a step back. He increased his pace, running at you, hands outstretched, and definitely not for a hug.

And then suddenly he jerked to a stop in seemingly midair. You nodded in thanks to Simon, or where you approximated he was.

The grating sound of ‘Entry of the Gladiators’ blared over the speakers.

“Fucking cliche,” you muttered, just as the first strands of trailing vine wrapped around the Floozy’s ankle.

From there it was quick work to launch your attack, every little plant rising up to attack the two, subduing them and leaving them suspended upside down. Somehow their hats stayed on and irrationally it made you hate them more.

“Release him, and everyone else from your stupid mind control,” you ordered once more.

The rest of your friends had joined you by your sides, including a now-visible Simon who was still holding back Nathan, with aid of Kelly, to keep him from trying to throttle you.

“No,” she hissed.

“You know, we’ve figured out that when people die, it stops their power,” Alisha pointed out. You all whipped your heads around to stare, not expecting that suggestion to come from her of all people.

“I can handle that,” an unknown voice said.

“Who the fuck said that?” Curtis snapped, looking around.

Meanwhile you absently shook the pair around by their binding vines, determined to knock at least one hat off without actually touching it.

“Me,” the firedancer from earlier said, stepping forward. “They killed my sister at their last show, so I hunted them down here. I would have introduced myself earlier, but you didn’t really give me a chance.”

Maybe after we’re done here you can heat things up with him, you suggested internally to Kelly, noticing the way her eyes roamed over the stranger.

She rolled her eyes at you, smiling.

“I was just going to use my power to smother them, but if you want to have a go, be my guest,” you said, gesturing invitingly to them.

You watched a ball of flame flicker in his hand.

“Oh!” you cried out, surprised that he had a power too.

Simon looked nervous, probably about the number of powers gathered in one place.

“Hey, you should use that talent to cause a tragic accident over at the Playhouse,” you said, off-handedly, hoping he would pick up on the suggestion of using a fire to cover up a mass murder.

He flashed you a smirk. “I like the way you think. But first, them. If you care about those greens, you might want to withdraw.”

“Nah they’re...actually wait, I really wanna do something first.”

“This’s for threatening Nathan,” you growled. “And don’t think I don’t know what you meant.”

You narrowed your eyes, honing all your focus in on the Floozy. You whipped her up, high into the air and dropped her quickly down, jerking short just before she smacked into the ground. The stupid hat finally tumbled off her hair as she cried out in pain from the whiplash you had most definitely caused.

You grinned victoriously, and maybe a little manically if the looks the others gave you was any judge.

“Go ahead, I’m satisfied now.”

A few moments later, as the bodies burned, Nathan finally slumped, nearly knocking Simon to the ground as he became dead weight. Then he stirred.

“Where am I? What happened?” he asked, looking wildly around.

“Still at the carnival. You were mind controlled,” Simon explained, helping him right himself.

“It’s a long story,” Kelly added.

“Y/N! Are you alright?” he asked, hurrying over to you and cupping your cheeks between his graceful hands.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you said. “How do you always end up the damsel in distress?”

He shrugged and flashed you a flirtatious smirk. “It’s because I’m so goddamn beautiful.”

“Hate to break up the party, but you should go so I can torch this place,” the firedancer said.

You all nodded, making your way to the entrance.

“Hey wait, where is everybody?” Nathan asked.

“I got them evacuated before we set our trap. The second time,” Curtis said, nonchalant.

“But not the people at the show?” you asked.

He shrugged. “I didn’t go back that far. You know how it is.”

Later, the six of you, plus one firedancer (Andrew he was apparently called) lounged against the rail, passing around a joint and watching the flames of the carnival lick at the night sky, reflecting beautifully in the lake. The fire department would be there soon, and until then, Andrew assured you, it wouldn’t spread past the farthest tents. All in all, it wasn’t a bad end to the night.

“Hey, Y/N, can I talk to ya?” Nathan asked, pulling you aside.

“Are you alright Nathan?” you asked, concerned that the mind control had some lingering effect.

“Hm? Yeah. I just...tonight was s’posed to be special and I fucked that up,” he started, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “But I wanted you to know anyway, I think I’m in love with you.”

“What?! Nathan, tonight has been a mess. You tried to kill me!” You cried incredulously.

“That wasn’t my fault! You said yourself I was mind controlled,” he whined guiltily, dropping his voice as the others looked over curiously. “And it’s still how I feel…”

You sighed. It was no fun giving him a hard time if it made him actually feel bad.

“I love you too, you idiot,” you said, threading your arms around his neck and idly toying with a curl.

He grinned a wide, dopey grin. “I knew it. I mean I am pretty irresistible.”

You rolled your eyes. Before you could say anything though, his lips were on yours and he had pressed you back against the brick wall. You moaned softly into the kiss as your tongues battled for dominance, and all your witty comebacks were forgotten.

“By the way,” you said when he finally pulled back, reluctantly, for air. “I told you so. Carnivals. are. always. evil.”

#Listening List: Something Wicked This Way Comes - Vernian Process. Circus Apocalyse - Vermillion Lies. Entry of the Gladiators.#I basically just had those three on loop #also Uncle Raven's Super Happy Funtime Carnival (album)#Nathan Young x reader #horror prompts #Halloween prompts #Misfits fic #I LOVE creepy carnivals so...#that's why I went so hard on this fic #and basically wrote a whole ass episode #also I had a lot of fun dropping references to various other medias and things

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adarlingwrites · 4 years

Text

Absolution

Summary:

noun: formal release from guilt, obligation, or punishment

The Capital Wasteland lauded the Lone Wanderer as a hero, a Messiah, a savior who's willing to give her life for the Good Fight. Beyond the legends, the propaganda, and the mythification that surrounded her legacy, there is only one person who knew her bare soul. She gave him his absolution, and now he will fight for hers.

February 3, 2278.

Some of the Brotherhood came over to gawk again. A simple growl made them back off, but it doesn’t stop them from throwing an insult about my skin. Not that it fazes me. I must say, I don’t care. Percy though? If she were awake right now, she would’ve mauled those tin cans.

The doctors put Percy in an induced coma. One of the scribes said that being awake for her now would be painful for her.

It’s been six days since the purifier, and I remember an explosion from inside the chamber knocking me back, the glass flying everywhere. When I came to, I saw her lying there, her armor damaged and glasses shattered from the impact, some of the glass piercing her skin. I hauled her out of there. Didn’t let anyone near her, not even Dr. Li. I must’ve looked like a yao guai refusing to let go of their kill to these Brotherhood bigots.

There are holes in my memory, but I remember seeing blood on the floor when they tried to wrench her away from my grasp. If the blood belonged to me, or to one of the tin cans, I can’t recall. My ears were ringing, but I know someone was shouting, telling the power-armored assholes to give me a wide berth.

It wasn’t until Li told me that my partner would probably die if I didn’t let them administer medical attention that I reluctantly laid her body down on a gurney. I stayed by Percy’s side as they wheeled her to the emergency room. The scribes told me to get lost, but a cock of my shotgun made them cease their pestering.

As they hooked her onto life support, I sat down at the ground near the foot of the bed. I barely moved an inch since. The doctors made blood transfusions, pumped her with RadAway, injected a cocktail of chems to keep her sedated, anything to keep her alive.

The worst part was the seizures. I don’t think I can burn those memories away, watching my partner’s body convulse and thrash against the bed.

From time to time, Dr. Li and a few of the scribes who weren’t bigots would send me food and water as they checked on Percy’s condition. With her father dead, there was no next of kin, but they knew how I stuck by her side, they shared the prognosis with me. They mentioned some terms like leukopenia, hypotension, and other terms I couldn’t understand.

All I know is she’s unwell and I can’t leave her.

Tonight, Li approached me and brought some news. Percy is stable, for now. To my surprise, she sat on the floor beside me, and pressed her hands against her face before letting out a nervous sob.

“I barely got to know her and she could be gone anytime. And to think I tried to push her away. God. Not like this...”

I let her continue mumbling.

“I should have known better than to let her in. I shouldn’t have let myself care for her. But that girl is persistent, isn’t she?”

That, I can agree with. Percy wormed her way into my heart, too.

“You,” she spoke. I look in her direction, but she’s looking straight ahead, her thousand-yard stare familiar. “You got her out of that chamber in the nick of time. A few more seconds inside and she… she could’ve ended up like James.”

I couldn’t stop myself from grimacing.

December 26, 2277.

I was watching Percy’s back as she took care of the intake pipes when the Enclave’s vertibirds came flying in.

“Charon. I have a bad feeling about this,” I remember her saying.

The image of the black machines landing near the memorial stirred a feeling of dread. A pressure on my neck choked me despite the lack of anything constricting it. Before I knew it, the dull pressure in the back of my eyes made me pull what’s little left of my hair. My chest hurt like a bitch and it felt like my rib cage was going to explode.

Percy was quick to notice my distress.

“Hey, hey, I’m here,” she cooed in a soothing manner, placing my ruined hands against her soft cheeks to stop me from hurting myself. “Breathe, Charon. Focus on me,” she continues, squeezing my hands. She leads me through the grate to remove me from the situation and turns on her Pip-Boy light.

“Remember what we did in Megaton? Can we do that?” she asks me; it wasn’t a command. “Yes,” I manage to rasp out. My head was spinning, but I focused on her voice to stop myself from blacking out. I won’t let myself black out. She’ll need me .

“Five things you can see?” she starts, and I comply, trying to speak though it feels like I’m choking on mole rat shit. “I see the metal gate. My hands. My feet. The Pip-Boy light. You.”

“Keep going,” she encouraged me, digging inside her pack. “Four things you can touch.”

“I feel the fabric of my shirt,” I continue, sweating hands palming at myself. “I can feel my shotgun,” I rasp, grasping at the barrel. “Warm, right? Like how you like it?” Percy breathes, and I see that she found a bubble gum wrapper and placed it in my palm, before gently closing her hands around my fist. “Yes. I can feel the bubblegum wrapper,” I continue. “I can feel your skin,” I say at last.

“Three things you can smell.”

Her hands stayed on mine. I unclenched my fists, held them, delicate against mine, and pressed them against my ruined cheeks. Percy draws a little closer, her eyes searching mine.

“I think I can manage now,” I exhale, lucid once more.

“Are you sure?”

“I am certain.”

“What triggered it?” she asks me, and I let go of her hands to fetch my shotgun.

“Vertibirds. Enclave. Your father might be in danger.”

Panic replaces the questioning look in her eyes. “We have to help dad.”

We were running back when one of the Enclave soldiers fired plasma rounds at us. I manage to shield my mistress from the onslaught and the hot plasma burns through my armor, exposing my arm. Taking the opportunity, Percy crouches, disappears, and takes out one of the soldiers with her Gauss rifle. I covered her while the panicking soldiers searched for her. We managed to barrel our way through a platoon, and I can hear her sigh of relief when we reached the door to the rotunda.

It was too late when we arrived.

A man who introduced himself as Colonel Autumn was inside the purifier, along with more soldiers in power armor. James was inside, with another scientist in their team. My mistress runs up to Dr. Li, who watches with wary eyes from the other side of the glass.

A shot rang throughout the rotunda. Autumn killed the other scientist.

With no hesitation, Percy and I ran to the entrance of the purifier. She bangs against the glass, calling to her father.

“Dad! Let me in,” she pleads, begs, but her father doesn’t acknowledge her. Gun still pointed at his head, James walked over to the control panel, pressed a few buttons, and then all hell broke loose.

She tried her damn best to pry the blast door open when James locked himself in with the Enclave colonel and radiation started to seep out of the damn chamber. He let his daughter watch as he died a slow and painful death from the radiation, just so she could get away.

She pounded her small fists and threw her shoulder against the glass, but it didn’t budge.

The wild, desperate expression etched on her face will haunt me.

Is that how I looked like when I pounded against the glass?

Was I that afraid to lose her?

February 4, 2278

I was shaken back to reality when the doctor spoke up once more.

“Look, I don’t know about the nature of your relationship with Persephone. I will not pry, and it is not my place to judge, especially after you saved her life. I- I thank you.”

I grunted at her in acknowledgment, and watched as she stood up to glance at Percy one last time.

“Excuse me, I need a small break,” she almost rasps, fatigue evident in her voice, and she shuffles out the door.

Time passed for I don’t know how long, and with a groan, I stood from my usual place at the foot of Percy’s bed and checked the time on her Pip-Boy. She taught me how to operate it in case she gets incapacitated. 00:03. Already past midnight. My legs fell asleep sitting all day, so I walked around in the room. As I pass by the door, I can hear voices on the other side.

“Patient Persephone Zhou’s test results are abnormal,” I hear a scribe say. “Cellular regeneration is remarkable despite lethal radiation exposure. No …”

I press my ear hole against the door upon hearing my partner’s name. I didn’t dare make a single sound.

“She’s being healed by it.”

“Healed? Do you think she’s undergoing… eugh, ghoulification?” one of them says with disgust.

My breath quickens. I wouldn’t wish this… this condition on anyone I cared for. Especially Percy. Not Percy. Rage replaces my anxiousness at the tone of one of the bigots. It has become clear to me that despite all the things my partner did for the Brotherhood, the moment she turns into a walking corpse like me, they’ll be more than happy to dispose of her. I wanted to send the door flying open and strangle the bastards.

But I only kept listening.

“It’s too early to tell. Ghoulification can take years, but at the dose she was exposed to, if it happens, it should be instantaneous. There is no tissue necrosis, and her initial burns are almost healed. We can’t rule it out yet, but there are no symptoms.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“We need to acquire tissue samples. Run tests.”

Footsteps. They’re getting louder. I stop leaning on the door to plant myself firmly on the ground I stand on. The doors swing open, and the scribes almost jump out of their skins when they see me.

“Step aside, ghoul,” one of them spits. The small tremor his hands made while holding the clipboard tells me he’s scared shitless.

“No.”

I take one step towards these bastards and they’re already shouting for backup from the tin cans. Two arrived, but I stood my ground, shotgun in my hands.

“Let the scribes in, zombie,” one of the armored soldiers hissed, pointing her laser rifle at me. “We won’t ask again.”

“What is going on here?” Dr. Li. I lower my shotgun. She’s just in time. I wouldn’t have hesitated to open fire if she didn’t come.

“We’re just here for nightly rounds on the patient-” one of them starts, but Dr. Li waves her hand, dismissing them.

“I am responsible for the well-being of Miss Zhou. The Brotherhood only lent you scribes to assist me, and I don’t need assistance right now. Now please, stop disturbing my patient,” she snaps, the authority in her voice making the haughty scribes back off. I couldn’t help the small, upward tug at the corner of my mouth. Serves you bastards right.

“Call me on the intercom if they pester you again. I need to take Persephone’s blood pressure.”

“They said something about taking samples from her,” I spoke up, and the doctor’s head whips towards my direction.

“Damn them,” she mutters. “Thank you for telling me. Do not, under any circumstances, let them.”

One of my eyebrows cock at the doctor’s orders. “Is there anything I should know?”

Dr. Li stops, sighs, and turns to face me. “With James gone, I know she has no one else but you. I’d prefer if Persephone is lucid and away from this place if I was to breach this topic. Please, you have to understand. It’s unsafe here.”

I nodded at her, and she exhales slowly, unwrapping a pack of bandages to tend to what little burns Percy has left on her.

As I watch the doctor tend to Percy, her words play over and over in my head.

“She has no one else but you.”

#lone wanderer #female lone wanderer #charon #fallout charon #charon fallout #madison li #oc: percy zhou #fanfic: absolution #series: through river acheron #fallout 3 #fallout 3 fanfic #fallout #fallout fanfic #writers on tumblr

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cinful-stories · 6 years

Text

Dissection Day (Nico x OC)

This was made as a short-story request for @tykira45 using her MC. The story is set in an AU where the MC Natalie and Nico attend school together.

Warning: SLIGHTLY NAUGHTY THINGS AHEAD!! Rights to Natalie’s design belong to @tykira45.

We were told to pick up the metal scalpel, but I didn't do it. We were also told to have the pins in hand. I didn’t do that either. My hands don’t move from my lap, nor do my eyes tear themselves away from the window. It’s raining outside--a torrential downpour.

“Natalie, please follow directions.” The voice of Professor Daniels swims in my head. It’s muffled, as if I was submerged in water. I nod shyly, pretending to reach for the scalpel.

Dissection day. It’s an annual event put on by the Academy’s biology department where a different animal is presented to us on a silver lab tray to have its flesh and organs picked apart by vultures wearing googles and gloves in the name of “science”. Each year, the animal of choice is larger and more difficult to dissect, and each year I have a different excuse to stay home. Last year, I abruptly contracted a rare strain of the flu that was so vicious that I had painful blisters all over my face. The year before that, a distant cousin from Albania had mysteriously died, leaving all of his possessions to me, and I had to attend the funeral or I wouldn’t inherit the dowry. This year, I couldn’t come up with anything convincing enough and walked to class with my head hung low and my eyes brimming with tears.

I always had a profound love of animals. I volunteer at the local animal shelter and help stray dogs and cats find loving homes. A large sum of my weekly allowance is donated to the environmental center for conservation efforts for threatened ecosystems. I never dream of hurting another living thing, and in this moment, I am having an internal battle over dissecting the fetal pig sprawled out before me.

“Natalie, what did I just tell you to do?” my professor gripes, crossing the room to loom over my lab bench. His glasses slip down the bridge of his nose, and he eyes me like a snake ready to swallow its mouse.

My voice comes out as a whisper, afraid to draw more attention to myself. “You told me to follow directions.”

“Very good, now do as I say,” he commands. “I’m only trying to help you.” His hand swipes his brow, coated in slimy perspiration. “I know how to fix this. Nico!”

My head swivels to a lab bench in the back of the classroom. With his head craned over the pig’s open stomach, Nico Meier, the student with the highest marks in biology class, is focused intently on the task at hand. He had already advanced far beyond our professor’s verbal instructions and was halfway through the dissection. Tufts of strawberry hair flounce as his head pops up. A sweet smile adorns his lips. “Yes, Professor?” he asks, his tone chipper and obedient.

My heart pounds wildly in my chest. I had spoken with Nico several times but only with formality. My grade is obscenely low in biology, and at the request of Professor Daniels, I meet Nico in the library for tutoring sessions twice a week. He’s always patient with me, guiding me through the lessons at a comfortable pace. When I begin to show an understanding of the concepts he covers, he praises my progress and offers rewards such as going out for ice cream or taking a leisurely stroll around campus. He’s encouraging and easy to converse with, but he only sees me as a peer when I wish he would see me as more.

Nico steps over, hands behind his back. He grins warmly at me, and I blush, quickly turning my cheek to hide my affection.

“Nico, you are doing exceptionally well so far, so I will go ahead and give you full marks for this exercise. Instead of finishing your work, I need you to assist Miss Natalie for the remainder of the period. It’s evident that she needs some coaxing,” Professor Daniels sneers, cutting his eyes toward me.

The young man seats himself next to me. “Sure thing, Professor. I’d be happy to help!” Professor Daniels walks away, satisfied with Nico’s enthusiasm.

I do not turn to face my new lab partner. I continue to stare down at my hands, twiddling my thumbs in anticipation. I secretly hope that Nico will acknowledge my discomfort and just do the dissection himself without making conversation.

“Natalie, are you feeling alright?”

Dammit.

“I-I’m fine, Nico,” I say hastily, averting my gaze. A crack of lightning strikes the courtyard outside, nearly splitting one of the older oak trees closest to the window. It’s much easier to accept that there’s a dead pig in front of me when worrying about getting struck by lightning.

“Hey,” he replies, his voice gentle next to my ear. I feel the warmth of his hand on my own, still folded in my lap. A fiery blaze of scarlet rises on my face, and I begin to sweat and squirm anxiously. He never made any moves to touch me during our tutoring sessions, but I had always wanted him to. “You can do this, okay? I’ll walk you through the steps and make sure the dissection is as clean and quick as possible. If you need to step out, just let me know.”

His kindness causes a stirring in the pit of my stomach. I gain the courage to face him and melt at the tenderness in his smile. Small lines tug at the corners of his amber eyes as they squint at me, gleaming like precious rhinestones. I feel my lips moving involuntarily, agreeing to his proposition.

Nico tells me to grab the scalpel and run it along the center of the pig’s stomach in a straight line. I swallow a lump in my throat. I watch in horror as my hands drive the tiny blade into the lifeless creature’s gullet. The scalpel is dragged downward toward the pig’s tail, and the sour stench of death sterilized by formaldehyde fills the air. I drop the scalpel. It clatters on the tabletop and I plug my nostrils.

“Eugh--that smell is awful!” I cry, laughing nervously.

“That’s the worst part about dissection day,” Nico jests, unfazed by the stench. “The science wing reeks of chemicals for weeks.” It’s obvious that he’s trying to divert my attention from the disturbing scene.

I follow the instructions written on the board. The next step was to peel back the flaps of epidermis on either side of the animal and pin them down to the lab tray using dissection pins. I stare down hopelessly at the rift in its stomach. The pinky-gray hue of intestines peeks through. It makes me nauseous.

My fingers slowly dive into the crevasse. The sensation of the pig’s internal organs touching my glove was unbearably cold. I squeeze my eyes shut as I move the skin and skewer it to the pan.

“Natalie, look! It’s so cool!” Nico exclaims. I feel his body shift next to mine as he leans over to inspect the pig. “You’ve gotta see this!”

I open my eyes and peek at the animal and instantly let loose a squeal. Sitting deep within the pig’s abdomen is an unborn pig fetus the size of my fingernail. Nico’s eyes flash, realizing that the scene probably isn't as “cool” to me as it is to him. He quickly unpins the flaps of skin, removing the fetus from sight.

“Nico, I-I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can do this anymore,” I stammer. I’m ashamed of myself for giving up so early, but I just couldn’t bare to look at the pig’s innards knowing that it had died while pregnant, knowing that two beautiful creatures had to die for “science”.

There is a flicker of sympathy on his face. He watches me with concerned orbs, searching my soul.

“What on earth is going on here?” Professor Daniels demands, hurrying over to our lab bench.

I look up at him with sorrow. “I-I’m sorry, Professor, but I can’t. The pig--it’s pregnant--er, was pregnant. I think I need to leave the classroom.”

Our professor glances from Nico to me again. “Get out of your chair. You’re coming with me to the dean’s office. Nico, you may return to your seat. Thank you for trying to help, but I’m afraid she’s a lost cause.”

I stand from my stool. Every eye in the class is on me but no mouths are moving. Nobody was going to object to sending the tree-hugger to the dean for a reprimand. My feet shuffle behind Professor Daniels, my eyes looking anywhere but the dissected pigs.

“Send me too.”

The pair of us halts abruptly at the sound of Nico’s enraged voice.

“Pardon me?” Professor Daniels challenges.

Nico rises from the lab bench. “I defied you, Professor. I didn’t help her at all. Send me to the dean’s office too.” His usual sweet smile twists into a nasty scowl.

The professor is stunned. “Don’t be ridiculous, Nico. You’re my best student! There’s no reason to send you with--”

“Then I’ll go myself. I’m not going to stay here and finish your damn dissection when you’re punishing a sweet girl just for not wanting to harm animals. C’mon, Natalie!”

Nico pushes his way through desks and appalled students. His shoulder gives Professor Daniels a rough shove as he passes by. He grabs my hand tightly, dragging me behind him. I stumble trying to keep up with his brisk pace, the hem of his Academy blazer flowing in his wake. He yanks me haphazardly through the halls, ignoring my complaints of his grip being too tight, until he reaches an unmarked door at the end of the foreign language wing. He pulls the door open and practically tosses me inside, shutting it behind us.

“Nico, this isn’t the dean’s office. If the professor finds out we’ve--”

The quick movement of his lips cuts my words short. That charming smile, tinged with lust, collides aggressively with my mouth. Hands cup both sides of my face, his body pressing my spine against the wall of the dark closet. I try to push away for breath, but Nico’s lips reign down on me mercilessly. He is unforgiving, sliding a knee between my upper thighs beneath my skirt. He finally breaks away, amber orbs dilated and pulsing in the dark.

“What was that?” I whisper. My hands are still trapped, smothered between his chest and my stomach. I feel his heart beating like the wild gallop of a stallion.

He pants, chest heaving. Fingers comb through my dark locks tenderly. “Something I’ve wanted to do since we first started meeting in the library.” His eyes are focused on my lips as if examining them for dissection. “I’m sorry if that wasn’t mutual. I just couldn’t help myself. I’ll stop now if you want me to.”

My heart flutters. This isn’t quite how I imagined my first kiss with Nico would go, but I was immensely glad it was happening. “No, please don’t stop. I liked it.”

He smirks at me, leaning in once more. “Good,” he murmurs against my mouth. My mouth is claimed by his own. He nibbles my lower lip, tugging it between his teeth. His hands greedily feel the curves of my figure. Those fingers--gentle yet hungry for more--trace across my bared breasts. I am certain that our moans and giggles could be heard all the way back in the biology classroom, but neither of us cared.

The pair of us spend the remainder of the school day in that closet, exploring each other’s bodies with our hands, mouths, tongues. Nico thoroughly examined my insides, feeling every inch and eliciting sensations I had never experienced before and didn’t want to experience with anyone else.

Perhaps this year’s dissection day wasn’t so bad after all.

#nico meier #sexy nico #midnight cinderella #MidCin #midcin fanfic #fanfic request #i hope you like it #ikemen series #otome games #romance

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javis-beretta · 6 years

Note

hi if ur taking requests could i get a race x reader with a brooklyn girlsie who’s spot’s best friend & second in command which mean spot’s super protective over her?

this is my first time writing race in the canon verse so go easy on me (and i’m not sorry that it got so long). also, this is my first request so y e e t. enjoy! (daisy is ur newsies nickname btw)

Race Higgins was not a feelings kind of guy. Crutchie, with his ever-hopeful smile and bright, optimistic eyes? He did feelings. Jack, with his pretty girlfriend and heart-on-his-sleeve love for his boys? He did feelings. Race did not do feelings. So, why did his heart get all – eugh – fluttery when you walked into the lodging house, with a message for Jack? Why did he lay awake at night, staring at the ceiling and picturing you, with your twinkling eyes and your ever-present smirk, lying there next to him?

Race was also horrible at keeping secrets. But, you, he was pretty sure, were worth it. There wasn’t anything much to tell, anyway. He met you at the rally, standing off to the side while Spot Conlon shone in the spotlight. There was something about your stance, your crossed arms and straight back, that looked familiar. Maybe, it was because he knew how it felt to stand away from the spotlight, and to be proud of it. He had been Jack’s second-in-command until Davey’d come along, so he knew that look in your eyes. It was challenging, but certain. It said that you had faith in Spot, in the same way Race trusted Jack with his life. There was also a flower, stubbornly unwilted, tucked behind your ear and sticking out from under your cap.

That night was the first time he talked to you, too. His feet had drifted over to you, before he could stop himself, and he searched for something to say. You looked him over quickly and beat him to it.

“You’re from Manhattan, ain’t you?”

He nodded dumbly.

“Be honest with me, are your boys serious about the strike?”

He nodded again, finding his voice this time.

“We been hurt too bad to not be serious about all this.”

It was your turn to nod.

“This ain’t just a strike about us, no more. It’s about all of New York. There’s kids getting hurt all over. Someone needs to look after the little guys.”

He surprised himself with his own words. He hadn’t realised how much the strike truly meant to him until then.

You grinned, satisfied.

“Well, alright then. I’m Daisy,” you motioned to the flower in your hair and then stuck out a hand to shake. He met your eyes.

“Race.”

The first time he hugged you was after Manhattan had won their strike. You were both caught up in the excitement of it all. It wasn’t your first strike, but it was the first that carried the winds of change for all newsies with it. He was standing next to you and when Jack yelled their success, you leapt on him in pure joy. The music in Medda’s theatre couldn’t hold a candle to the melody of your laugh and he was certain that nothing could be prettier than your smile.

There was something between the two of you, something that pulled you together like magnets, even after those firsts. Neither of you had any idea what it was, but it felt decidedly unique. You had come to an arrangement.

Every Thursday night, just after sunset, when all the newsies were going to play cards or bet on the horses, the pair of you would meet at the point where the Brooklyn Bridge ended, and Manhattan began, and, there, you would sit and talk. There wasn’t anything scandalous about it, but it was understood that this was secret. Your relationship, friendship or whatever it was, was something that you kept to yourselves. Neither of you talked about it, but you knew that as good as Brooklyn-Manhattan relations had been since the strike, this something between you would make all of that a messier. Especially, since neither of you even knew what it was.

Race found himself telling you secrets that he didn’t know he was keeping. He told you stories about his long-gone father, or the way his mother looked when she smiled. You told him things, too, about the week you had spent in The Refuge and the way Spot had broken you out. The pair of you sat and talked and sometimes, when he made a stupid joke, you’d punch him lightly on the shoulder. Sometimes, when your voice got choked up talking about the little kids you’d almost lost, he’d reach over and hold your hand. He’d squeeze it once, twice and let go. There was always a look in your eyes, like maybe you wish he’d hold it for longer.

Your arrangement worked with the same regularity that bells in the city rang. You’d saunter up to him, give him a too-quick hug, and you’d sit down on the edge of the bridge, with your legs hanging over the side. You’d talk for hours and, when the moon was high in the sky, one of you would get up, and say, “Same time next week?”

Sure, he woke up groggy on Friday morning, but he looked forward to his time with you all week. He’d listen to the boys, storing up stories and jokes that he knew you’d like.

The pair of you worked like clockwork, which was why he felt nauseous when you didn’t show up that night.

He waited for what felt like ages, figuring you were probably busy talking to Spot, or sorting out some good-for-nothing kids who were giving you and yours some trouble. The longer he waited, the more his mind began to race. You wouldn’t do this to him, something had to be wrong for you to miss your moment together. Still, there was that doubt in the back of mind. You were probably just bored of him. You’d forgotten or found something – maybe, someone – more important. Girlsies were few and far between, but pretty girlsies, with kind smiles and uncompromising eyes, who didn’t need anybody but themselves to survive on the stinkin’ streets of New York? Those were near impossible to find. Boys like Race came easy, though, so he figured you must have got caught up in something better.

He walked back reluctantly, still somehow hoping that you hadn’t forgotten. He slept uneasily, wondering what could have possibly kept you away. On Friday, the more he thought about it, the surer he became that you meant to miss the meeting. He thought about the week before. Maybe, he had hugged you for a moment too long when you were leaving. Maybe, he teased a little too meanly. Maybe he smelled. Either way, he was almost certain that something about him had to be unappealing.

“Hey, Elmer, you heard about that girlsie in Brooklyn?”, his ears perked up a little at Albert’s words.

“Yeah, heard she got into a fight or somethin’ with some guys from Queens who were giving some Brooklyn girls some trouble. I heard it didn’t go so good.”

Race’s heart was pounding, and, without thinking, he jumped up from his bunk. He didn’t even bother masking the concern in his voice.

“What girl? D’you know her name?”, he said, with a hand on Elmer’s shoulder.

“Nah, sorry,” he gave Race an odd look.

“She definitely rolls with Spot, though,” Albert said, frowning at Race.

Before either of them could ask what was wrong, Race was out of the door. Girlsies were few and far between, but girlsies who’d get themselves into trouble protecting others and rolled with Spot Conlon? There could be only one girlsie like that.

He ran most of the way too Brooklyn, with his hat in his hand and his heart in his throat. His nausea the day before was nothing compared to the turning of him stomach as his feet pounded the pavement. Some Brooklyn boys gave him odd looks as he thundered through their turf, but none of them were old enough, or ranked high enough to stop him. He found the Brooklyn Newsies Lodging House easy enough, and breathlessly pushed open the door.

The first person he recognised was Spot, who stepped aggressively towards the door, as soon as Race stepped through it.

“Anything I can help you with, Manhattan? Is your Cowboy startin’ another strike, or something?”, he sneered.

“Uh, no, I,” Race trailed off, looking around the room, desperately. His eyes caught on you, with a blue eye and a bandage around your forehead. One of your arms was in a sling and the other was wrapped around a little girl’s shoulders and, for the first time since he’d known you, there was no flower in your hair. Your head snapped up as you heard Race’s voice, and you saw him moving towards you. Your feet were carrying you towards him before you could stop yourself.

“Hey, where d’you think you’re going, Manhattan?”

Suddenly, you remembered Spot. He was your best friend in the world and the only one who could get away with thinking that you needed looking after.

“Spot, he’s a friend, don’t worry about it.”

The Brooklyn leader looking at you, incredulously.

“A friend? From Manhattan?”

You nodded.

“I met ‘im at the strike. He’s, uh, just here to talk. Sorry, I forgot that he’d be coming by.”

You glanced between Race’s wild blue eyes and Spot’s concerned brown ones.

“A friend from Manhattan?”, he repeated. “Well, what are ya thinkin’ bringing him here? And, to talk? What else would you be doing with a kid from there?”

“Spot, I gotta sort some stuff out with Race. How ‘bout I talk to you about this all tonight, yeah?”

Without waiting for answer, you grabbed Race’s arm and dragged him out the door, and into the moonlit street.

“What the hell are you doing here?”, you whispered harshly, all too aware that everyone inside was probably listening to whatever you had to talk to a Manhattan boy about.

“What the hell am I doing here? What the hell are you doing getting beat up by assholes from Queens? I thought you might’a been dead or somethin’!”

His voice was louder than yours, and you could see his eyes brimming with tears. You realised that you were still holding tightly onto his arm. Your eyes softened, and he spoke again, a whispering this time.

“I-I thought somethin’ really bad could’a happened to you.” His voice got impossibly lower. “I know how some guys treat girlsies.”

He looked at you with those wide blue eyes, waiting for a reply.

“I-It’s nothin’,” you hoped he didn’t hear your voice shake. “Some asshole was roughing up these little girls, who ain’t done nothin’ wrong. Somebody’s gotta look out for the little people, right?”

He took your face in his hands, holding you gently, as if you were some fragile thing.

“You swear you’re okay?”

You nodded, dumbly, looking young and about as feeble as he felt when he first met you.

“You should see the other guys,” you joked. He didn’t laugh.

“I’m sorry I didn’t show up yesterday.”

He suddenly realised how near he was to you and took a small step back, scuffing his shoe on the pavement, and glaring at the ground.

“Wasn’t your fault. Sorry I stormed into your lodging. Spot looked ready to kill.”

“I don’t blame ya. If something had happened to you, I’d probably book it to Manhattan, too. And Spot’ll get over it.”

Race looked up, brilliant blue eyes locked on yours.

“What’s he got to get over? I’m a friend from Manhattan, nothin’ to worry about,” he chuckled wryly at his own words, sounding half-bitter.

This was dangerous territory. You took a step nearer to him.

“You ain’t just a friend, Race. I figured you knew that.”

“Well, I know that I like ya, but we ain’t never talked about being more than friends.”

“Then let’s talk now. I think I’d like an excuse to swing by Manhattan more often.”

He grabbed your face gently, and his lips were on yours. Your eyes screwed shut and you felt warmth washing over your body and, after too short a moment, he pulled away.

“I, um, how’s this gonna work? Us, I mean, if there is an us.”

His eyes searched yours.

“Brooklyn and Manhattan ain’t so far away, really. We’ll figure it out.”

After promises to see each other sometime sooner than next Thursday, and a couple more stolen kisses, you and Race reluctantly parted ways. You pretended not see the little jig he did as he walked home.

You must have been outside longer than you thought, because when you opened the door to the lodging house again, most of the kids were asleep in bed and Spot was standing with his hands on his hips, glaring at the door.

“A friend from Manhattan, huh?”

His voice was low and yeah, you thought to yourself, you were definitely in for it.

Spot’s scowl softened a little when he saw your smile.

“I’m paying him a visit tomorrow. Gotta make sure he’s good for you.”

Your smile somehow brightened even more, and you wrapped Spot in a quick side hug.

“He’s definitely good for me.”

“Yeah, well. He better not come by the lodging again. I’m already tired of his stupid face.”

That night, you and Race fell asleep with matching smiles on your faces. He knew that in the morning he’d have to tell Jack that he was with a Brooklyn girl and deal with all that came with it, and he knew that Spot Conlon was probably already planning his death, but he didn’t mind too terribly. He thought of the feeling of your lips on his and the look on your face when he pulled away. No, he didn’t mind facing anything at all, as long as he had you.

#race higgins x reader #newsies x reader #newsies: the musical #newsies fanfiction #kay writes stuff!#keep requesting pls ily

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tma-entity-song-poll · 8 months

Text

Battle of the Fear Bands B2R2: The Corruption

Spiral of Ants:

“hnnrgrh ant time. Welcome to the ant hive mind!!!! Who are you? Lmao you’ve never been anyone before Ant Time, silly!! Sharing a collective consciousness with thousands of squirming critters!!!!!!! (also remember the ant exterminator guy episodes played by gunpowder Tim? yeah)”

youtube

The Masochism Tango:

“I love how both parties are happy when it comes to the corruption. All consuming (sometimes literally) love on the behalf of both parties. Full of fear but still love all the same. This song is about violent, passionate love. The kind that needs major surgery after.”

youtube

Lyrics below the line!

Spiral of Ants:

Over and over The pheromones, the overwhelming harmony Consuming the colony The Circle rules your life Chop, chop! Don't want to be late Lift up and carry your weight You've got no choice but to dance in a spiral of ants True bugs might laugh in your face Don't fret, you're leading the race Don't let the bastards step on your hands in a spiral of ants You can't remember where you came from (In a spiral of ants) You can't remember where you're going (In a spiral of ants) You can't remember knowing You are one ant Over, it's over The pheromones, the self-avoiding odyssey Consuming the colony The Circle rules your life Now, now! Don't run out of breath Don't feel surrounded by death, no Take the wheel, this could be your chance, in a spiral of ants False bugs, you'll soon be alone See how they drop like a stone You're free now forever to dance in a spiral of ants Now you remember where you came from (From a spiral of ants) Now you remember where you're going (To a spiral of ants) You've got to keep it flowing You are one ant (Over, over, over) Over and over The pheromones, the overwhelming harmony Consuming the colony Creating its own gravity Before we knew it we became a hurricane And the bugs who laughed got blown away As we proclaimed: The Circle rules your life

The Masochism Tango:

I ache for the touch of your lips, dear But much more for the touch of your whips, dear You can raise welts like nobody else As we dance to The Masochism Tango Let our love be a flame, not an ember Say it's me that you want to dismember Blacken my eye, set fire to my tie As we dance to the Masochism Tango At your command Before you here I stand My heart is in my hand (eugh) It's here that I must be My heart entreats Just hear those savage beats And go put on your cleats And come and trample me Your heart is hard as stone or mahogany That's why I'm in such exquisite agony My soul is on fire, it's aflame with desire Which is why I perspire when we tango You caught my nose In your left castanet, love I can feel the pain yet, love Every time I hear drums And I envy the rose That you held in your teeth, love With the thorns underneath, love Sticking into your gums Your eyes cast a spell that bewitches The last time I needed twenty stitches To sew up the gash, you made with your lash As we danced to the Masochism Tango Bash in my brain And make me scream with pain Then kick me once again And say we'll never part I know too well I'm underneath your spell So, darling if you smell Something burning, it's my heart Hic! 'Scuse me! Take your cigarette from its holder And burn your initials in my shoulder Fracture my spine, and swear that you're mine As we dance to the Masochism Tango

#the magnus archives #tma #poll #the corruption #Tom Lehrer #Lemon Demon #Youtube

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cinful-stories · 6 years

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A Royal Challenge (Bryon x OC)

This was made as a short-story request for @sukio-sakamaki using her OC Jeshika. No warnings! Character concept for Jeshika belongs to @sukio-sakamaki and all other characters are property of Cybird Holdings.

Stein Castle sparring arena, July.

“You’re losing focus, Jesh” Albert scoffs. He hovers above me, eyes cast elsewhere in the room. He reeks of disinterest, but the single bead of sweat dripping from his brow exposes his inner turmoil and the strain I put on his muscles. My short sword collides with his. It ricochets back, and I stumble, raising it above my head.

“And you’re bad at playing bead games.” I swing again. The blade strikes the hilt of his sword, forming a gash in its tightly-wound leather. I lunge forward and slash at the air beside his ear. Albert’s face wrenches into a countenance of horror and embarrassment. “You need to conserve energy by talking less. Let’s take a break, I’m sweating.”

My weapon clatters to the ground. My sweat towel lies crumpled at my feet, collecting debris and filth from where Albert had trampled over it during our match, but I swipe it across my face anyway.

A sigh parts the knight’s lips. “I suppose it is time for a break. King Byron will be most unhappy if his Commander is out of commission.” He joins me, robbing the towel from my hands and bringing it to the lens of his glasses. “You should really clean this.”

I roll my eyes and stifle a chuckle at his insensitivity. Sparring was an activity I did often with Albert and the other knights of Stein, preparing them for any unanticipated attack. As Commander of Stein’s Royal Guard, it’s my duty to ensure the safety of my country and king above all, even if it costs me my life.

“I wasn’t distracted, by the way.”

“Pardon?” Albert asks, pausing to cut his eyes at me. They narrowed into slits like a serpent’s, straining to make out the details of my face without his glasses.

“You accused me earlier of losing focus, but you made a mistake.” I dart around him and pluck my sword from the ground. With one swipe of my blade, his trousers fall to the ground, revealing a pair of orange boxer briefs. “Don’t ever assume the opponent is weakened until they’re on the ground, groveling at your feet.”

The knight stammers and fumbles with his glasses. His trousers had been ripped and would not stay situated on his waist again, falling to his ankles instead. “Erg—dammit, Jeshika.” Anger crosses his face briefly, before he relinquishes a defeated sigh. “I suppose you’re right.”

“I beg to differ, Commander.”

The voice that rings out in the sparring arena is new, yet familiar. My heart begins to pound in my chest.

“Hello, King Byron.”

A squeal forces its way through Albert’s lips, and with a hushed apology to Byron, he scuttles out of the sparring arena like a petrified mouse, pants hooked around his ankles. I shift my gaze to the impressive king before me and bow lowly.

“What brings you to the arena, Your Majesty?” I inquire, sliding my sword into its sheath.

He nods, permitting me to straighten up in his presence. “I came here to speak to you about matters concerning a trip to Wysteria, but now I have other matters I wish to discuss.”

The king glides toward me as if on air and uproots a long, skinny blade from his back. A flash of silver from behind his spine catches me by surprise, and I am unable to move out of the way before the tip of his sword is pressed beneath my chin.

“Always assume the opponent has a weakness, Jeshika,” he muses, lifting my chin to examine the features of my face, committing every detail to memory in fleeting seconds. “If there is no obvious weakness, you must make one.”

His face, settled into a mischievous grin, entices me—glittering orbs, hollow cheekbones, parted lips. His tongue laps over his lower lip and the pearly peaks of his teeth.

“I wonder what your weakness is, my dear,” he says.

“I suppose there’s only one way to find out.”

The king chuckles in his chest, and it sounds like the distant rumbling of thunder in summer storms. His gloved fingers reach for the gold medallion that attaches his cape to his military ensemble and releases it. The fabric flutters to the floor, and debris rises around it in a cloud.

“I’m no fool, Jeshika,” he grins, tracing a thumb over my rosy flesh and running his fingertips through my silky, blue locks. “A gentleman never enters a battle without knowing his purpose for fighting. Only the blood-thirsty fight for pleasure.”

A bead of sweat travels down my temple. It dribbles onto the point of his blade and travels down the silver metal, slipping into the valley of the sword’s fuller. It sits there, forming a pool that laps with every miniscule movement of Byron’s hand. Steam seems to rise from it; the heat of my perspiration coming in contact with the chilled metal of his weapon.

“I have a purpose for this fight, My Lord,” I begin, my eyes never leaving my reflection on the blade. “If I win, you have to kiss me.”

Without hesitation, the king agrees to my terms. “And if I win?”

Silence lingers between us like a weighted blanket. The undeniable tension in the room places its hands around my neck, and my breath is forced back into my lungs that ache for oxygen.

“I will accompany you in the carriage to Wysteria, just the two of us.”

His silvery orbs, bordering on a smoky-gray in his handsome smolder, consider this. Satisfaction swims in the iris, and the glimmer of adrenaline betrays his facade of composure. Without placing a hand to his chest, I know that his heart pounds feverishly.

“I accept your challenge, Commander.”

The words do not even finish leaving his mouth when the sword is removed from beneath my chin and replaced with the crook of his arm. The pressure is light, but it is enough to restrain movement of my head. I fall limp in his grasp and drop to my knees, forcing him to relinquish his hold on me. I scramble to my feet and raise my blade high above my head. As expected, Byron’s sword bares down on mine. I am taken aback by his strength as my blade inches closer to my face. I roll out of his reach, and he loses his footing. My leg swings out, taking the King to the floor. He drops his sword, and its snatched up in my hand before he can process its absence.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” I jest, rolling on top of him, pinning his arms above his head with an empty hand and pressing the sides of both our blades against his breast. “I’ve been in need of a new weapon.” My lips kiss the crest of his ear, and a shiver erupts down his spine.

“I should’ve known better than to challenge my Commander to a duel. I’m afraid I’m rather out of practice, being cooped up in the office all day.” The corners of his mouth curl up into a warm smile full of anticipation. “I believe I owe you a kiss, Jeshika.”

“I believe you do.”

My face sinks down to his, leaving a trail of pecks from his forehead to his jawline. The dampness of my mouth intermingles with the softness of his flesh. Our sweat mixes into a natural lubricant, making his skin glow and shimmer in the sunlight, and I ache for this long-awaited moment; I yearn for the distinct feeling of his lips on mine. I draw closer, fluttering my lashes to calm the flush burning on my face.

Unbeknownst to me, the cape that had fallen to the floor was within Byron’s reach, and before the deal was sealed with a kiss, his hand had clutched it.

“No, eugh—“. My vision is obscured, blanketed in a rich navy blue sky. I feel my weight being thrown off of my opponent and pressed on the ground. His legs tangle with mine, and his waist digs into my abdomen.

“Not every good warrior needs to bring a sword to battle,” Bryon says. He rips his cloak off of my head, and I’m blinded by the flickering light of the overhead kerosene lamps. Both swords had been lost during our switch, and his had returned to Byron’s grip, pointed at my breast. Mine remains abandoned on the ground, sticking up out of the dirt like King Author’s sword embedded in stone. Byron lowers his head and nibbles on my bottom lip tantalizingly. He whispers against it. “We’re scheduled to depart for Wysteria in two days. I look forward to our ride.”

The king retreats from me and sheaths his sword. The cape is tossed around his neck as he exits the arena, a smile stitched permanently onto his mouth. I remain in the sparring arena, gazing up at the ceiling, jaw unhinged. My skin is devoid of pigment. A pair of combat boots approaches and stands resolutely by my head.

“Like I said before, you’re losing focus, Jesh,” Albert mocks, securing the buckle of his belt. A fresh pair of pants replace the torn one. The knight’s toothy grin drips with satisfaction.

I groan and stick my hand out. He helps me up from lying prostrate on the ground, and I march over to where my sword stuck in the dirt. Its bejeweled handle gleams in the warm, summer light.

“Oh hush, Albert. Grab your sword, and do try to keep your pants on this time!”

#fanfiction requests #midnight cinderella #midcin #otome game #ikemen series #cybird #suitors #albert burckhardt #byron wagner #stein boys #stein #i hope you like it #oc

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