#he IS dead. the MAN is dead and replaced by the neon led cross and the classical paintings

[karinyosa]

i was going to capitalize jesus' and god's pronouns throughout the essay as a visual demonstration of the way some of the stories juxtapose christian divinity with other things so there's something reinforcing the discussion other than dense repetitive text, but the thing is. jcs jesus is not a He/Him. that's a he/him. am i wrong??? i feel like that's the whole point. so now i am going to add some kind of note somewhere to clarify why and when i address him as which. so basically i am making jesus a pronoun carrd

[hitsuackerman]

Why Did It Have to be Him? pt. 4 (Aizawa x Reader)

a/n: sorry this got delayed :( this was supposed to be uploaded a lot earlier but then my laptop is basically dead at this point huhuhu legit waited for 30mins just for the chrome to stop lagging T.T welp... thank quirks for company laptops XD

that being said... here is part 4 for our Daddyzawa! <3

ps. i had to put an age for this fic :3 so you are 17 as the rest are 16 xD

Warnings: Student-Teacher relationship, Age-gap, Cursing, Not so subtle flirting

Link: Part 1, Part 2, part 3, part 5

Materlist for my other fics :) here

All aboard the Aizawa-train!: @yukiimanic​ @leeeah-loooser​

A few days have passed and you were now fully settled in your dorm. There wasn’t much to it but Aizawa managed to persuade you to buy new sheets and curtains to match. You weren’t exactly sure why but you complied nonetheless.

Monochromatic that’s how you liked things. Since he gave you full control as to what colors you could choose, you simply went for black.Of course, you made sure that a pop of color would add life to your room. A few trinkets here and there, your room looked good to go. Simplicity is key, that’s what you kept reminding yourself.

But it was rather ironic how your “love life” wasn’t as simple. It was much easier to see him back in your house. Now that you were living only a mere block away from the teacher’s dorm, it only made things much harder. Though, you understood, it was still frustrating not being able to see him as much as you wanted.

While doing your assignments, your phone rang. Not bothering to see who the caller was, you picked it up. Slowly, the corners of your mouth turned upwards. Right on schedule.

“Not disturbing anything, am I?” He asked. In the background, you could hear the keyboard’s soft tapping.

“Nope. I’m just about finished here.” Gathering your books and papers, you neatly stacked and put them away. Looking at the time, there was still 45 minutes before curfew starts. “I am hungry though, so I might have to run to the nearest convenient store~”

“Isn’t the fridge stacked with snacks, though?” The typing sounds had stopped and you heard a soft grunt.

“It is but they don’t have those juice packs I like.” There was some risk to this but you wanted to see him. It was hard enough that all you could do inside the classroom was to sit and stare at him. “Of course, I’m not implying anything. I do plan on leaving in about 5 minutes or so.”

“Do as you please, (Y/N).” He let out a soft chuckle before hanging up the call.

Grabbing your sweatshirt and wallet, you silently exited your room. Thankfully, the majority of rooms had their lights on. And, technically, it wasn’t curfew so you could still manage to buy a few snacks the dorm’s fridge had to offer. Shaking your head, you knew you couldn’t fool yourself.

Ever since the kiss, he became even more intoxicating. His musky scent and how you felt his arms wrapping around your small stature (compared to his at least) was addicting. It was a picture hard to forget, him straddling you in the comforts of your bed. The strands of his soft hair caging you from the outside world. Or maybe it was how his hot breath brushed your cheeks that made things even more irresistible? Closing the doors to the building, you were met with the row of streetlights. Each of them casting enough light to ensure safety to those who would walk the streets at this time of night. Of course, everyone knew this area was safe, afterall, only an idiot villain would dare attack near UA.

A little further and you could see the neon sign of the convenience store. Near the entrance, a man caught your eye. He was wearing an all black ensemble and his grayish pale skin made him look unreal. Yet, the all too familiar bun caused your heart to race.

Upon seeing your figure approaching his, he could feel the smirk forming on his mouth. It had only been a few hours since he last saw you but it was inside classroom settings. The secret glances you two would give each other was fun but he somehow wanted more. When you passed by him, he could make out the faint smell of your lingering body lotion. Very stimulating to the senses.

Trailing behind you, his eyes began to linger all over your back. Sure, you had a sweatshirt on but in his eyes you looked too good not to hug. When you turned towards the small aisle for chips, he glanced at the ceiling. The cameras were on the other side of the store. As you were choosing what junk to munch on, he leaned forward and rested his head on your shoulder.

Jumping at the sudden sensation of his warmth radiating on your cheek, all the heat travelled upwards as your eyes met his. The dullness to them now replaced with a hint of playfulness. His calloused hand began to brush yours. Slowly making their way up before he let go to grab a bag for himself.

Once again, your stomach felt all the butterflies going crazy with his touch. Chewing on your lower lip, you let out a shaky sigh as he lifted his head. Slowly walking away without looking back.

Such a tease.

Two can play that little game, you thought.

Aizawa made his way towards the refreshments. Searching for the perfect drink to pair with his chips, he settled for a can of beer. It wasn’t allowed but he could easily sneak it in knowing it was almost curfew. In his peripheral version, he could see you choosing as well. Following your hands, he saw how you had just chosen a can of soda.

“Got everything you need?” He asked.

“Not yet. I need some chocolate.” Pulling him towards the aisle with chocolates, you saw your target. The one you had been craving for a week now. Scanning the area, you saw how the coast was clear and it was your turn to make your move. “Hey, can you hold these for a sec?”

Handing him your stuff, you turned around and began to tug on the hems of your sweatshirt. His eyebrows jumped at your small actions. When you began to strip off your sweatshirt. The heavy material lifted your undershirt quite a bit. A bit of your skin got exposed to the coldness the store had to offer.

The coldness had no effect on Aizawa. Instead, he felt heat growing in his system. His mouth suddenly felt dry. His finger twitched and his jaw clenched. The hold he had on the goods tightened. Upon seeing you bend down to grab a bar of chocolate, the neckline of your shirt was big enough to expose the black strap of your bra.

‘Behave, Shota.’ His mind scolded him. ‘This is the only line you should NOT cross. At least not yet.’

Through your peripheral vision, you could see just how much your plan had worked. His squinted eyes only gave away his deposition. Flicking your hair just as you faced him, you caught a hold of his stare and blinked innocently.

“What’s wrong,” You took a step forward as you got a hold of your things. “Shota?”

His eyebrow jerked and his mouth was now a desert. Not wanting for things to get out of hand, he walked past you and made his way to the counter. Every ounce of his concentration focused on not pinning you against the wall and giving the cashier a show. Biting the corner of his tongue he paid for his purchase and waited outside as you paid for yours.

“You okay, sensei?” The last word was rather breathy, just as you intended it to be. Seeing him controlling himself was rather fun. He was struggling and the signs were very subtle. The only thing giving him away were his twitching eyes and furrowed brows.

Grabbing the bag of food from you, he led the way back to campus grounds. His eyes scanning the area and taking note of the small cameras set up on the street lights. The both of you were now approaching a blind spot. Letting out a rather long sigh, he held on to your wrist and pulled you into the dimly lit area.

“Be quiet.” Aizawa instructed.

Your eyes widened as you began to realize what he was planning on doing. The cameras would surely pick all of that up but then again, if he knew the area well then it should be fine. Heart now racing, you chewed on your inner cheek as the both of you were now approaching the blind spot. The small alcove one of the buildings had.

Things were now a blur.

The small squeak that escaped your mouth as your back hit the wall was immediately muted when his lips crashed into yours. Literally taking your breath away, you eased into the kiss. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pulled the elastic band from his hair. On your tiptoes, you leaned on to his torso for support. Your knees were now barely functioning.

Knowing what was running through your thoughts, he bent down a little. His hands held tracing whatever curves your body had to offer. When you began to nibble on his lip, his hand grabbed your knee pit and lifted you. More than happy that you instantly clung your legs around his waist.

Tugging on his hair, he accidentally let out a small groan. Feeling your soft lips making their way towards his neck sent was enough for him to tighten his hold on you. The sucking sensation that followed made his member twitch and his pants tighten. A chill ran down his spine when your tongue trailed its way up to his jaw.

“Fuck...” He growled once your noses were touching once more. Running his tongue across your lip, you parted your mouth to give him entry. Tugging on your lower lip, he went back in with a much more long and thorough kiss. When he parted his lips from yours, his hot citrusy breath brushed your face. “Don’t tease me unless you know what you want, kitten.”

“Oops.” You brushed your nose against his. Your heavy lidded eyes hazy with need. The way he gave you a pet name hit differently. “My bad~”

The tips of his lips began to travel down your neck. Using his nose to move the neckline of your shirt, he licked a patch of your skin before biting on to it. The small moan echoing in his ears made curious. What other sounds could he make you do if he were given the chance?

‘This isn’t the right place, Shota.’ Once again his thoughts managed to save him from moving any further.

Pecking your lips once more, he put you down and patted your head. Despite the dimness, he could still see how flushed you were. Fixing himself, he looked at his watch and gestured that it was time to head back.

“Just in time for curfew~” You teased. “I won’t get in trouble now, right?”

“(Y/N).” He brushed his fingers with yours. The short contact the both of you shared was something his body still yearned for. “You are aware that you're still 17 right?”

“Yes.” Your step still had a certain hop to them. “And I’m aware that my birthday is coming up.”

“I’m not implying anything.” He handed your bag of food. Now giving a safe distance between you two. “I just want us to be careful. You’re still young.”

“Are you doubting?” The slight sadness in your voice was something you couldn’t hold back. “If it clears things up, I really am serious about you. I was shocked but elated that you were more than willing to try if things would work out. But, if you really don’t want to do this then I’ll back out. At least it’s still early and won’t hurt as much.”

“I never said I didn’t want to do it.” He stated. “What happened back there, I almost got carried away. I wouldn’t want you to regret this or… us.”

“Us?” The smile on your face was rather adorable for him. You felt your cheeks heating up at the confirmation that there really is something between you two and that it wasn’t just you carrying the feelings.

Lifting the corners of his mouth, he patted your head once more before picking his pace up. Ready to head back to the teacher’s dorms.

“Wait for my call later,” He glanced at you over his shoulder. A smirk on his face. “Kitten.”

“That I will, Aizawa-sensei.” You replied with a huge smile on your face.

Running back to the dorms, you carefully opened the doors. Making sure that no one was around, you snuck across the hall and took the stairs. The dimly lit hallway towards your room made things easier.

Moments later, you were now munching on chips. Your phone rang and for the rest of the night, till one of you finally caved in to slumber, Aizawa and you spent it on talking about whatever topics came to your mind.

At the end of call, both of you agreed that convenience stores would now be a recurring thing.

- - - - -

if you want to be tagged in part 5 :) feel free to leave a comment :)

[feel199x]

CLOUD NINE; CHAPTER VII

I II III IV V VI VII m.list

street racer!minho, god/demi-god!minho

warnings: swearing and maybe a teeny bit of angst?

a/n: ITS HERE !! ITS HERE !!!!

 You sat there for a while, staring at Chan, who stared at you.

“What-,”

“Shut up, Chan.”

 The truth was, Minho had gotten under your skin, and you knew that was the goal from the beginning. You clenched your fists, turning your attention to the very bright day, unlike any other that week. You could feel him smirking, you just knew that he was so pleased with himself. And now, you had gotten yourself in too deep. You crossed your arms, the anger only rising up.

 “Chan.”

 “Oh, now you want me to speak?”

 “Do you,” you cleared your throat, “do you know where I can get a motorcycle?”

  He responded with a deep sigh, “I’d be able to get one, but why are you even doing this?”

  “Well, I’m doing it because of spite, and,” you got up, “because I want to wipe that stupid smirk off of his face.”

 You took your bag, and shoved all of your books and papers in them, for once not caring about organizing them and agonizing over the state of your notes. “Let’s go. We don’t have that much time.”

 Chan obliged, for reasons you didn’t know, but, in the end, it was just important that he was. You walked outside, and while leading him, you realized something.

 “Wait, Chan, where are we going?”

 Chan smiled, “I was waiting for you to realize that.”

 Your pace slowed, and you came back to the side of Chan. His pace went more natural, as he was keeping up with your running. He paused for a moment, turning to you, “Hey, _____, are you sure you want to do this?”

 You looked at Chan, dead in the eye, with your fists clenched, “I’m going to wipe that shit-wating grin off his face if it’s the last thing I do,” you looked up at the clear sky, and you would’ve been happy that the weather cleared up, if it wasn’t for Minho, “And, you’re gonna be there. You’re gonna help me.”

 “I am?”

 “You are.”

 You furrowed your eyebrows, “I know that it’s better for me not to pay attention to him, but I just want to show him once and for all, that he’s not as cool as he thinks he is. And then, it’s like he won’t even matter.”

 “You could’ve done it by taking tests or something, I’m not so sure about illegal racing.”

  “It’s the only way to make him shut up. I’m gonna crush him. Got a bike?”

  “I got Minho’s old one he didn’t have the heart to throw away.”

  You smiled, “Perfect.”

  Chan got in his car, and although you didn’t know what kind it was, it appeared to be a very expensive, luxury car.

 “Aren’t you just a teacher’s assistant?”

 “I got side hustles, babe.”

 You shrugged, “It’s a nice car.”

 You felt slightly out of place in the car, and a wave of realization hit you. Maybe it was a little unrealistic to learn how to ride a motorcycle, and then race on one, with people who have been doing it for quite some time. But it couldn’t be that hard, right? You know how to ride a regular bike, and it can’t be all that different. 

 Turns out, it was slightly different.

 Life moves fast on a bike. 

The first time, you got a little ahead of yourself. Chan had brought out the bike, and you’re mature enough to admit when you’ve done wrong. You knew you looked stupid when the bike sped up and you fell onto the ground, the bike crashing into a nearby tree without anyone to steer it. But you were thankful enough that Chan didn’t laugh at you.

 “You know, _____,” Chan smiled, “You have to be on the bike to ride it.”

 But he wasn’t above making a joke, apparently.

 You sighed, dusting the dirt off of your butt. Chan had brought you to a country road not too far from his house. You marched off to get the bike, and once you were at the tree, you picked the bike up. You sighed, closing your eyes. Throwing your legs over the bike, and clenching your hands around the handlebars, you opened your eyes. 

 And then you were going.

 You don’t think you’ve ever felt so in control in your life. You don’t even know how you were doing it. Your mind was just blank, thinking of nothing but the road ahead of you. You drifted, sending some dirt flying and you slowed as you reached Chan.

 “Where’d you learn that?”

 You shrugged, “It’s like a regular bike. Just faster.”

  Rolling your shoulders back, you straightened both the bike and your posture, “Time me, okay?”

 “Do you think you’ll be able to tell your way around? You’ve never been around this trail before.”

 “I’ll figure it out, it’ll circle back around eventually.”

  Chan pursed his lips, taking out his phone, “Just be careful okay?”

 “I’ll be fine. You ready?”

 “Time’s going!”

 You set off suddenly, with almost an uncomfortable amount of speed. The machine under you was humming, content with the power it had. Driving the motorcycle gave you a previously unknown amount of ease. The feeling was just so much different than anything you had ever known. You circled around, coming back to Chan and stopped.

 The only thing that came close to it was being with Minho.

You shook your head, shaking off the mental image of Minho riding his bike. You took off your helmet and looked at Chan. “How’d I do?”

 “Fifty three seconds.”

 “Is that good?”

“It’s incredible.”

“But?”

“You’re still an amateur, riding on pavement is different from dirt.”

 You threw your head back, running your hand through your hair, “How fast would Minho be able to do this trail?”

 He looked at you, almost smiling, “Fifty three point one seconds last time we were here.”

 “Which was?”

 “Yesterday.”

 You jumped off the motorcycle, and did a little dance. The smile on your face was stupid big, and you felt your face ache. Chan shook his head, something knowing behind his smile, “C’mon,” he spoke again, “Go again, see if you can beat your time.”

 Second way around? Fifty seconds.

 Third? Forty eight.

 Fourth? Thirty nine. 

 On the fourth time around, you got off the bike. “If this is where Minho practices, shouldn’t he be here?”

 Chan shrugged, “He’s probably at the bar or something, or hanging out with some friends, playing card games.”

 “Oh,” you scrunched your eyebrows, “He doesn’t practice the day of the race?”

 “Nah.”

 “Hm.” you held Minho’s old helmet at your side which smelled like the conditioner he uses, but you brushed off the nostalgia, “Show me. I want to go.”

 “You’re a stubborn one.”

 You smiled, “It’s the only way to get anything done.”

 Chan led the way in his car, and you trailed behind him on Minho’s old bike- scratch that, this was your bike. And then, he parked right in front of your workplace.

 Huh.

 You stationed your bike, putting down your helmet. You felt almost ecstatic. Like you were on cloud nine. You contained the energy and walked into the bar, realizing you had never really paid any attention to what it looked like inside.

 It was actually kind of nice, in a trashy kind of way. 

The neon sign blinked outside and the leather seats inside were worn down. And as soon as you and Chan entered, your eyes met Minho’s. A wave of surprise quickly rippled across his face, and then an explicit smugness set in to replace it.

 “Fancy seeing you here, _____.”

 “Heard it’s where the racers hang out.”

 You sat at the booth, next to a boy you didn’t recognize. He smiled at you, saluting you with two fingers from his forehead, “Hey, I’m Jackson. Saw you at the race last time, didn’t Minho leave you to get arrested?”

 “Yeah, he did.”

 Minho pursed his lips, “Mistakes happen.”

 “Yeah,” you smiled sweetly, “Like you.”

 “Oh man,” the group of boys laughed, and Jackson threw his arm around you, “damn, Minho, she really came at your neck like that.”

 Minho opened his mouth and closed it a few times, trying to decide if he wanted to say what he was thinking, “Yeah, wouldn’t be the first time, and it won’t be that last time. I think,” Minho paused, smirking, “it’s her second favorite body part to come at.”

 You sucked your teeth, “Only in your dreams, bitchass.”

It was a weak retort, you were aware, but it was enough to make everyone change the subject. Jackson took it upon himself to shuffle the deck, and deal.

 “You playing?” he asked.

 “Nah, I’ll just watch this round.”

 Card games weren’t your thing, money was tight and you didn’t like the risk of the whole thing. And the amount of money on the table made you uncomfortable. You turned, suddenly remembering Chan, but not finding him anywhere.

 “Chan left, ___,” Minho said.

 You nodded, looking up at him when you felt his gaze come off of you. He had changed clothes from when you had seen him. His hair was slicked back, out of his face. He wore his signature dangly earring, a white shirt. Even in the bar lighting, he looked incredible. Your gaze lingered even after he met your eyes for a moment, and in that second, that glimpse of time, you saw the real Minho. 

 God, even you could admit that you missed him.

 He turned away, and you looked back at the game. You don’t know how, but Minho had won the round. And, as you watched, you won at least a third of the rounds. Minho watched the faces of all the boys, and his cards. But his face revealed nothing, you had no idea what he was thinking of. But whatever was going on in his mind, it enabled him to win. 

 Time passed, and you had gotten the gist of the game. But that didn’t make you confident in your ability to win. Each time Jackson dealt the cards, he asked if you wanted to play, and you politely declined.

 Maybe next time. 

 But soon the time came, and the group of racers dispersed to attend the race. You rode without the companionship of Chan. You pulled out your phone, calling him once you got to the lot. 

 “Where are you, Chan?”

 “Side hustle, ____. Something came up.”

 “Three in the morning?”

 “Three in the morning. Listen- I gotta go. I’m fine. I’ll call you later.”

 You furrowed your eyebrows, but the worry was replaced as Minho pulled his bike up next to you.

 “You don’t have to do this, _____.”

 “I’m going to.”

 “It’s dangerous.”

 “Anymore dangerous than riding on the bike with you?”

 “I’d never let anything happen to you.”

 “We’ll talk later, Minho.”

 It was time. It was finally time, and the adrenaline made you dizzy. You had to pay a racing fee, and it made you nervous, but you dropped two hundred- the minimum- and pushed your bike to the line. A girl you didn’t recognize walked out into the street, holding a bandanna high up in the air. 

 “All right racers, you know the drill, one lap around the city, Fastest gets all the money, champion of the week.”

 You pulled your helmet on, turning to look at Minho, who was already facing you. Some racers revved their engines, others faced the road in silence.

 You stared at the road ahead of you. One lap around the city. You could do it, you could beat Minho. 

 “Ready? Set. Go!”

 And before the bandana hit the floor, you were off. You didn’t pay attention to anything else, your awareness becoming full of only the city lights and the feeling of the pavement under you. The hum of the machine under you was music to your ears. You and the machine moved in sync, it tilted and drifted with you, following the motions of your body. It was something else, being in control of all this speed. It almost felt like too much. 

 You heard the engines of some behind you, but it didn’t faze you, all you did was look ahead. Just keep going, that’s all that matters. Minho was in front of you, pushing his bike to it’s absolute limit. You weren’t worried though, it was about patience. Precision. Minho didn’t have that. 

 But you did.

 Making the loop around, you could see the distant girl from before, her arms raised. Minho was no more than a foot ahead of you. And you pushed your bike, you felt faster than light as all the colors blurred and became a watercolor mess, blending into one another. 

 Your body stopped the bike before your mind could process was going on. You turned, your bike suddenly going quiet as you rested next to the girl.

 She raised her bandanna, “First, the rookie! Second, our beloved Minho! Third…!”

 In your fucking face, Minho.

[the-thirteenth-note]

Frigid Sonata

0104 U.V.A. - Angora

“When I give the signal; plug the Mook with the red suit immediately.” Kwynn heard the man through his com-link, while observing the scene below through the scope of his long-range railgun.

“No worries, Piezos’ got about thirteen rounds. Should be enough to keep you covered.” He sat on a small chair near the window, his hotel room giving him a birds eye view of the entire plaza two streets over. Ornate light poles with white gem-stones embedded atop them lined the streets, set at regular intervals between long squat buildings constructed of ice and snow. It was still early and  the locals had yet to leave their homes.

There stood a fountain carved from Angorian quartz in the center of the plaza, the ivory structure caught the early morning light. Pulling it in and focusing it beneath the fridged water giving it an ethereal glow.

The mercenary pulled up a hardlight screen that displayed all the information he’d been sent the previous day, while his employer strolled over to the fountain and sat on one of the nearby benches. “So we’ve got some time,”— Kwynn rested his weapon at his side.

“Alpha one, what’s someone from E.I.D. doing on Angora asking for help from a ‘barbaric’ shambler?”

‘Alpha one’ was the nickname he’d given the Gyiyg who’d shown up with a job. Agents in the Enkeinian Intelligence Division were instructed not to disclose their designation-a combination of, one of the symbols used to classify PSI; ‘Alpha’ ‘Sigma’ Omega’ etc. followed by a number-while conducting espionage missions all over the Virindis system.

To any outside observer, the man on the bench appeared to be a tall, almost lanky Nevidian with brownish-red bristle like fur and a long silver-white fur cloak draped over his insectoid features, shivering slightly as the Shambler homeworld was the polar opposite of his own arid planet. Alphas holographic camouflage let him create numerous personas, allowing him to anonymously move through the criminal element of any world he visited. Of course, there was any number of ways to dispel the illusion; an E.M.P., PK Thunder, Even a good solid strike could cause it to fail. But barring those circumstances, it could be a useful, if not expensive tool.

Alpha reached out with his mind, establishing a telepathic link. “I’m after an interplanetary ring of ship thieves, they operate mostly out of Tii’mown but my intel and contacts have led me here.”

Kwynn deactivated his own communication system as he replied to the Gyiygs brisk voice in his mind, exercising his own telepathic abilities. “You’re going after Ziwen’s gang? For what? Does the Monarch need a new dreadnaught or something?”

“If successful in this mission not only will I secure, skilled engineers and useful technology. We’ll be able to use this opportunity to secure a lifeline directly into the heart of one of Lymeras’ most prominent criminal enterprises.”

While simultaneously turning the Vlynari crime family and the ‘The Scholar’ against each other, though Alpha elected to keep that bit of knowledge to himself. “I’m definitely gonna need a Cruiser when this job is over with, I’m talking top of the line tech; a full A.P.R. defense system, Photon cannons, 4th-D Ontological engine. All the bells and whistles.” The sniper said.

“I will see it done.” Alpha agreed.

The Shambler was already being paid quite handsomely but Alpha knew a free ship would go far in securing the mercenaries continued assistance at no extra cost to himself. Another fifteen minutes passed before a Mr. Saturn flew into the area, clad in Pangolin armor. As they landed the shifting hexagonal pattern of their suit metal morphed. Changing from heavy plating to merely coating them in a black and blue skin tight form, revealing the aliens’ eyes behind a pair of goggles a shade of midnight blue matching their armor.

He walked over and hopped beside the Gyiyg on the bench before saying. “Lenet send prices?” Getting straight to business. “Making sure you knowing what need, Zoom!”

Alpha nodded. “She’s informed me of the necessary arrangements, though I have a special offer that I wish to bring to your attention.”

“Request? " 

The rotund creature sitting next to him offered the Agent a wary look. “Kay-O. Am Listening.”

Ignoring the Mr. Saturns obvious apprehension he continued undaunted. “I’m willing to pay triple what I would’ve payed for my ship, for the opportunity to learn from Ziwen’s engineers. The reconfigurations they do to the ships you ‘acquire’ are known to be some of the best in the Virindis. Not even the shipyards on Nucade can compare to such levels of craftsmanship.” Alpha smiled internally. “Though they will very soon.”

“Can no do.” They replied bluntly, shaking their head. “Big risk in bringing. Lenet vouch but Ziwen slow to trust, Boing!”

“What if I were to eliminate the contracts placed on both yours and Ziwen’s heads?” Alpha offered.

“Lenet tell who put out hit?” The little alien said hopefully.

“No, she hasn’t found out who it was yet.”

“When I contacted her requesting your groups’ services she told me you two had been targeted recently, that the assassins had been relentless,” Alpha answered, letting a bit of sympathy line his words.

“Relentless, Zoom.” Was the only reply they gave, sounding worn out by the ordeal.

The sombre silence hung for a few moments, punctuated by the sounds of the bubbling water in the fountain behind them.

“Let us help each other,” The deceptive agent continued, attempting to make his case. “I won’t be able to get my ship if the both of you end up dead so here is my deal; Triple my ships price and I will find the source of these hitmen and terminate them. In exchange, you bring me to your boss and I’ll negotiate further terms with him.”

The Mr. Saturn seemed hesitant still, but after a few minutes said. “Will call Ziwen, see wha-”

His answer was drowned out by the loud roar of engines as a black and gold Cruiser came down from the skies above, banking hard and veering directly toward them. In a split second, the Mr. Saturn armored up and had a cannon floating beside their body, ready to retaliate.

Alpha merely rested a hand on the barrel of the weapon, indicating for the Saturn to lower it. As the Cruiser descended the glass of the cockpit slid back to reveal a Mook wearing a red suit standing in the back seat, holding several plasmatic pistols in numerous tentacles; all aimed at the armored alien. 

The agent activated the device on his wrist with the press of a button and spoke into it. “Alpha protocol.”

Without warning a streak of crimson light tore across the plaza, colliding with the Mook hitman; engulfing him in flame so fast he couldn’t even cry out.

“Again.” Was Alpha’s final command before two more well aimed shots slammed into the ship’s engine throwing jagged scrap metal in all directions.

Sparks danced across the surface of the spacecraft as it plummeted to the ground with a loud crash, bellowing thick trails of smoke. It smashed into one of the buildings that surrounded the plaza causing several denizens to exit their homes to inspect the damage and commotion. 

“We can’t stay here,” Alpha said turning to the Mr. Saturn who only nodded in response.

Alpha drew on his psionic abilities while he placed a hand atop the aliens armored head and with a thought they both teleported. Warping instantly from the plaza outside to a hotel room located two streets over. When they appeared Kwynn was already preparing to leave, he had his psionic railgun hanging from a strap over his shoulder and was coming inside from the balcony that had been his snipers nest.

He wore a black leather jacket and had a holster secured around his waist, lined with various pieces of technology. His bicloptic eyes were green and his left tentacle had been replaced with a cybernetic prosthetic.

“Time to get while the gettin’s good,” Kwynn said, crossing the room in a couple of long strides. 

Coming to stand beside the two before being whisked away again by another use of PSI. Their next location was on the roof of the hotel, where a Dreadnaught class ship waited. Small for its classification, the larger vessels of its type were usually manned by crews that ranged from between five to fifteen people, this one looked as if it could only hold ten if that.

As they approached their own ship, two more came down from the sky; diving at them with swift fury. Alpha and the Mr. Saturn ran straight for the getaway ship while Kwynn turned toward their aggressors, pointing his prosthetic at the newest opponent. 

The black and blue metal limb transformed; becoming straight and ridged before splitting into the trisection barrel of a cannon. A missile slid forward with a motorized whir, before clicking into place and with a thought the mercenary let loose the projectile.

An intense jet of neon blue energy carried the rocket toward the enemy vehicle leaving a glowing trail in its wake. 

Before it could make contact a beam from one of the opposing ship blasted it from the air, detonating a massive explosion causing the ships to wobble in the air from the backlash of the force.

The Shambler fired off several more missiles before jumping onto the ship while Alpha practically threw himself into the pilots seat, flipping switches and pressing buttons with haste and efficiency. The engines roared to life as power fed into them and in seconds they were air born, flying away from the small town out into the frozen wastes of Angoras tundras; an infinite expanse of baren ice as far as the eye could see.

Alpha weaved and dodged around their pursers’ relentless assault of missiles and concentrated bursts of thunder as Mr. Saturn returned fire. Telekinetically manipulating the controls to operate the gunners’ chair though the enemy’s shield systems were too advanced, easily shrugging off their retaliation.

“No good, needing plan, Boing!” He yelled fighting to be heard over the explosions and beeping sensors alerting the crew to the imminent danger.

Alpha called over his shoulder. “This ship doesn’t have enough firepower to break through that level of shielding.”

“I’ve got something in the back for that, but I’ll need to get real close. Let me off and I’ll take care of ’em.”

The Shambler got up unbuckling himself as he sent his employer a quick telekinetic message.

“Don’t you go forggetin’ my Cruiser, Alpha.”

The agent nodded as he speeds up the ship. “All the bells and whistles.”

Satisfied Kwynn turned, followed by the Mr. Saturn through the sliding door that separated the cockpit from the back part of the ship as it swayed, dodging incoming fire.

It was spacious; there were several seats for passengers and a few crates stacked near the back wall. As he walked through the area Kwynn set down the railgun he had used earlier, exchanging it for a massive double-sided axe he grabbed off the wall, the mercenary walked toward the door and pulled a small lever to its left, revealing the icy plains

As they speed over the frigid environment it looked like a broken video feed; repeating the same loop endlessly.

“You not wear Pangolin armor?” Mr. Saturn asked.

The Shambler shook his head. “They’d be able to detect an armor reading,”

There was a smile in the man’s voice as he continued. “I need the element-”

He probed within the axe with his mind, telekinetically flipping an internal switch in the weapon to active it. The dull grey of the axe was replaced with a shimming silver white as small dots of ebony blinked into existence along the blade.

“Of surprise.” Kwynn disappeared right before the Mr. Saturns eyes, becoming invisible before jumping out of the ship into the fray.

[southsidewrites]

Seven Years Later || Part One || Sweet Pea

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

summary: Seven years after leaving Riverdale and your boyfriend behind, you rush home after your father is hospitalized for a heart attack.  It’s been seven years since you’ve even seen Sweet Pea, and now you’re not sure you’ll be able to avoid the onslaught of painful memories.

words:  2159

Masterlist || Requests are Open

~~~

When I stepped off the plane to see none other than Jughead Jones waiting for me, one thought crossed my mind: Why the fuck is he still wearing that goddamn beanie?

"Hey, you," Jughead greeted me, pulling me into a warm hug.  He was taller, broader, no longer the skinny kid I graduated with, but a man.  Guilt washed over me when I saw the simple gold band on his finger.  

"Jughead, I—you didn't have to."

"I wanted to." He took my bag from me. "This has got to be hard enough right now, and a taxi ride back to Riverdale would've cost you a fortune."

I bit my lip and nodded. "Thanks.  Any news?"

"Well, he was definitely feeling better when I left." Jughead chuckled. "I mean, he was cursing up a storm about how he had to have a goddamn heart attack to get his daughter to come home."

Guilt washed over me again, and I wanted nothing more than to march myself back to the ticket counter and buy myself a one-way flight back to Chicago.  I was already missing my cozy apartment, my fluffy dog that had been with me since I rescued him as an undergrad.  

"I don't know how I'm going to face him, Jughead."

"Your dad?  What are you talking about?  He's not mad, not really.  I mean, you fly him out to Chicago like twice a year and you meet him in New York all the time.  It's--" He stopped when he saw my face. "Oh, you didn't mean your dad."

I shook my head. "No.  Dad gives me shit, but he doesn't mean it.  I'm more concerned with--" I couldn’t bring myself to even say his name.

"I know."

"Has he been there?"

"Hasn't left his side.  He's the closest thing he has to a father, you know."

"I know, which is why I almost didn't come.  I can't bear the thought of facing him." I clung tightly to my purse, and my head started to throb.  When we stepped out of the airport into the cool night air, it was bone-chilling instead of refreshing.  I sucked in a breath, and my lungs burned.

"He hasn't been mad in a long time, like six years, eleven months."

I scoffed. "It's not his anger I'm worried about.  I broke his fucking heart."

"You broke each other's hearts," Jughead corrected. "He would have hated himself if he didn't let you go."

"We could have been happy together," I said softly.

"Not if you were stuck in Riverdale." Jughead led me to his car and put my bag in the backseat. "No matter how much he loved you, you would never be happy in Riverdale, going to Sweetwater Community.  You knew that, he knew that, we all knew that.  You had to go."

I bit my lip, holding back tears as I buckled my seatbelt. "We could have made it work."

"It's been seven years.  When are you going to stop telling yourself that?"

Resting my forehead on the cool glass of the window, I shook my head. "Probably never."

"That's not healthy."

"My therapist keeps telling me that." I sighed, my breath fogging up the glass. "I don't know why I can't let go of a one year, high school relationship from seven fucking years ago.  It's downright pathetic.  Like, day to day, I'm fine.  I have friends, a social life, a great job, everything, but then I try to start a relationship, and I turn into one big basket case of unresolved emotional baggage."

Jughead sighed slowly. "You're going to have to face him, you know.  It's not like you can spend any length of time in the Southside, with your dad, surrounded by Serpents, and avoid him completely."

"I know." I sat up and reached over to squeeze his hand. "And Jughead?"

"Yeah?"

"I am so sorry for missing your wedding."

~~~

"Dad!" I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw him sitting in his usual armchair, a glass of water in one hand and his phone in the other.

"Hey, kiddo." His face cracked into a smile when he saw me. "It's been too long."

I rushed over and pulled him into a hug. "I was so fucking worried when the doctors called me, Dad.  Don't you ever scare me like that again."

He laughed, holding me close. "No promises, kid."

"I swear to god, Dad, I will move my ass home to burn every last cigarette and toss every last beer," I warned. "Don't think I won't."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, kid, don't worry.  You're not the only one purging the house." He gestured at the fridge. "Take a look—the kid cleared out everything that he deemed bad for my heart."

My heart thumped in my chest.  Even he wouldn't say his name in front of me.  It must have been obvious how much of a basket case I was.

"He left when I told him you landed," he said. "First time I've gotten him out of here since the doctor's cut me loose."

Biting my lip, I shook my head. "I guess he doesn't want to see me as badly as I don't want to see him."

"Not true.  His eyes fucking light up when he heard you were coming home.  He only left because he knew you'd want him to.  I mean, the kid's no moron about why you never visit."

I sighed, walking into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water. "Dad, this visit is about you, not him."

"And how long do you plan to stay?"

"I took off the rest of the week."

"And you plan to avoid him for that long how?"

I shrugged. "A combination of hiding myself in my room and drinking exclusively on the Northside."

"So you're not going to visit Toni or Fangs, maybe F.P., Laura?"

"I don't know, Dad." I clenched my jaw in frustration. "I mean, yeah, I'd love to see them, but I'm sure as hell not setting foot in the Wyrm."

"Whatever you say, kid, whatever you say."

I sat down on the couch, fixing my gaze out the window.  It was the same view from seven years earlier.  It almost made me feel like nothing had changed.  Of course, that wasn't the case.  Everything had changed.

~~~

After three days in Riverdale, I was going stir-crazy.  I had gotten to the point of getting in the truck and just driving down the Sweetwater River highway.  It used to be my go-to route when I needed to get away, and it still worked well.  Unfortunately, Laura hadn't stopped texting me since I was home.  Although I had seen her semi-regularly since I moved, it had been months since we'd seen each other.

My phone rang from the seat next to me, and against my better judgment, I picked up.

"Hey, Laura."

"Hey there, Miss Social Recluse.  Come to the Wyrm."

"Not likely."

"Oh, fuck off.  He's with your Dad, which usually means he'll be gone 'till the old man goes to sleep."

I rolled my eyes.  While everyone else felt awkward enough to dance around the subject, Laura was not having it.

"Fine."

"Finally.  I'll have a whiskey-coke waiting for you."

"Make it a double."

I could practically hear her smile. "See you soon."

"See you soon."

~~~

When I got to the Wyrm, it was just starting to get dark, and the familiar glow of the bar made my chest hurt.  I wondered if that was what a heart attack felt like—after all, it might run in the family.  Steeling my nerves, I pushed open the door, and it was like going back in time.  

The bar looked almost exactly the same—the same dingy bartop, the same red barstools, the same neon PBR sign behind the bar.  The only thing I could spot that was different was the TVs.  They had been replaced.  I couldn't help but smile—the cracked TVs had always been a pet peeve of his, so it made sense that he replaced them when he took over as manager.

I pulled my sleeves down past my hands, grateful that I had worn a long sweater.  I could practically feel the snake insignia burning a hole in my forearm.  I'd never gotten rid of it, even when it meant I had to be extra careful what I wore to work.  A lawyer with a gang tattoo wasn't exactly a good look.

"Well looks who's here," a deep, sing-songy voice called across the bar. "Back from the dead."

I looked over to see Fangs sitting on a barstool.  My jaw almost dropped.  I didn’t think it was possible, but he had somehow gotten both bigger and hotter. "Fangs!" I walked over, my low heels tapping the wood floor. "Oh my god, it's so good to see you."

He stood up and pulled me into a tight hug, his muscled arms wrapping around me that felt infinitely familiar. "It's been too long."    

"It has." Before I could get another word out, I felt a soft touch on my shoulder.

"Alright, my turn."

"Toni." I couldn't contain my smile.  Toni had barely aged a day.  Her pink hair was gone, replaced with her natural brunette, and her style had grown up a little bit, but she was still the same Toni.

"Hey, girl." She hugged me, and she still smelled like vanilla. "I've missed the hell out of you."

"I've missed you too."

"Okay, okay, everyone's had their turns, and now it's mine."

Recognizing the voice immediately, I turned, my grin growing. "Laura Fogarty, you better be glad I came."

Laughing, she nearly tackled me in a hug. "You don't know how good it is to see you!" Lifting me off my feet, she swung me around as I shrieked with surprise.  

"Laura, you bitch!" I laughed.

She laughed harder, setting me back down for another hug. "God, I fucking missed you.  It is so good to see your Ivy League ass in Riverdale again."

I rolled my eyes. "I guess it's not the worst thing being back."

We settled in for a drink, and the conversation flowed easily.  Jughead got there a few minutes later, and it almost felt like old times again.  If anyone was hyper-aware of the ex-boyfriend sized hole in the group, no one showed it.  

As we talked, I could practically feel his arm around me, resting in the spot just above my hips, holding me close like he needed the contact.  I swallowed the lump in my throat and washed it down with another sip of my drink.  Laura had lived up to her promise, and it was strong.

"So, how's Chicago?"

I shrugged. "So far, I like it.  I don't know how long I'm going to be there, though, because I've been getting some recruitment calls from firms in New York."

"I bet your dad would love that," Toni observed.

Smiling, I shook my head. "Yeah, he's made it very clear where he'd rather I work.  It's hard, though, because I do really like the firm I'm at now."

The conversation was light, easy, and the drinks flowed freely.  We talked about Laura's job teaching, Fangs's promotion to manager at the garage, Jughead and Betty's latest house drama, and Toni's new Master's degree.  After a while, the phantom arm faded, and I finally started to relax.  That should have been my cue to get the hell out.

Behind me, the door to the bar opened, and Laura cut off mid-sentence.  The look in her eyes told me all I needed to know.  As my heart sped up to a lightning pace, I gulped down the rest of my drink and turned around.

He was older, for sure.  His hair was longer, and slight laugh lines creased his eyes.  There was a new scar close to his hairline, and he seemed impossibly taller.  The Serpent coat he was wearing wasn't new, but it wasn't the same one I'd borrowed so many times.  Clearly, he was too big for that one, having filled out from a teen to a man.  His lips were the same, as were his hands.  I couldn't look away from his hands.  Then, I was forced to look at his eyes.  Of course, they were the same, exactly the same.  In fact, they even held the same hurt expression I'd last seen over seven years earlier.

"Hey, Sweet Pea."  

~~~

[wavesofinkdrops]

Naïveté

pycame asked: For the request thing: RusAme based on "But It's Better If You Do" by Panic! at the Disco music video or just the lyrics? You decide. (Love your Reincarnation RusAme by the way!)

Thank you so much!! I’m glad you liked it! So this is indeed based on the video, the beginning of it modified and with more backstory. Set in about the 70s (in a universe and time when male/gay strip clubs were not *officially* criminal, but any excuse would be good enough to raid such a place, to go with the video). (This is kind of angsty/unhappy, more so at the beginning - I get sappier towards the end).

Warnings: uhm, not a lot in this one tbh, some slightly sexual themes but nothing explicit.

“Alfred, I’m in a meeting,” Ivan hissed into the payphone, trying not to let his temper rise and attract attention. He looked up, the only light the old streetlamps above him. “It’s running late. I don’t know when I’ll be-”

“Do you even try any more? Or are you gonna get married to your goddamn business?”

“Alfred-” Ivan sighed, wanting nothing more than to slam the receiver into its place and find forgettance at the bottom of a glass of cheap whiskey lit red by dimmed lights.

“When’s the last time you were even around for dinner, Ivan? You leave before I wake up, and you come home after I’m gone!”

“Do not blame me for your night-shifts.” Ivan’s anger was rising, irritation rearing its claws in his tone.

“You know what? Fine, I don’t care, lie as much as you want, because I hope you realise I can always smell your breath when you come home.”

Ivan leaned against the payphone stand, beyond caring of Alfred’s words. “And how do you think I manage to make as many deals as I make? By treating the businessmen to a bottle of Coke? Don’t be ridiculous.” Ivan scoffed. It was futile, he knew, but for some reason pretending felt easier than facing the music.

Alfred laughed coldly at the other end of the receiver. “Fine. Fine. Take all the time in the world, it’s not like we could have a life to live, you know?”

A hollow click and the dead dial tone only made Ivan question why they kept it up, when everything had spiralled into such a mess, and how long they would keep it up. Alfred’s night-shifts as security guard and Ivan’s long days with the company kept them apart for most of the day, if not all of it - unless Alfred woke up early or Ivan woke when Alfred came home.

Ivan replaced the receiver with enough force to make it rattle slightly, and pulled his coat closer to himself. He glared at nothing in particular, before his vile habit came to itch at his mind again - something he’d tried to get rid of, but only seemed to grow more dependent on as time passed, as days turned to a grey blur, as his relationship seemed to wither to nothing.

He crossed the street and allowed his subconscious to direct him to the narrow side-street, the ill-lit doorway, the depraved haven of cold neon lights, hidden faces and hollow music. He found the bar and ordered a strong drink, and allowed his eyes to wander to the clumsily young figure on stage. Her attempts at sensuality often fell short, but few in the joint seemed to care as she exposed her chest, and Ivan averted his gaze when his drink arrived.

Her performance ended and the music stumbled into another beat, and he briefly glanced up at the next dancer - a man, this time - and was momentarily transfixed by his vulgar, deliberately exaggerated motions. His outfit was uncommon, laced-up boots with histrionic heels, a corset that accentuated his lithe body, and a subtly ornate mask that concealed his face behind a complementary smirk and bangs of gold, tinged red by the dim light.

Ivan had forgotten how carnal desire felt, but staring at the erotic scene before him he was reminded of it. He had forgotten when he’d last felt passionate, but the man reminded him both so much and so little of Alfred that his resolve wavered. He finally turned to the man behind the bar, and for the first time didn’t consider any repercussions as he asked whether the man had private audiences.

A positive response, and his attention turned back to the enticing show, and it was all too soon that he was making his way to the back of the joint, and was led to one of the rooms. He was told this man was keen on anonymity, and was handed a plain, black mask. He arched an eyebrow, but the other man simply shrugged. He placed it on his face, and was allowed into the room.

Ivan seated himself in the worn armchair, that had probably once been plush and almost luxurious, but now merely added to the almost derelict indecency of the place. A few moments later, the door behind him opened, and he heard distinct, defined footsteps coming closer.

“What can I do you for, tonight, Mister?” A carefree, lilting voice asked him, and he allowed himself to fall into the act, the pretense, the forgettance. There was a light hand on his shoulder, tracing a swirling pattern across his back. “You got ‘nything special in mind, or d’you want me to surprise ya?”

The words were so similar to something he had once heard, something said by another mouth, in another voice, and he pushed away the intrusive memories. “Surprise me,” he answered in an indulgent, low voice. There was a loud bang from the outside of the room, but Ivan ignored it as he felt the performer’s hand drift around him, and the man came to face him. His features, what was visible of them, were strong and striking - a defined jawline, the mischievous curl of his lips, eyes that glinted behind the mask…

The performer swung a leg so that he stood above Ivan’s legs, and made quick work of straddling him. He rolled his hips downwards and Ivan’s eyebrow swung up to an an intrigued arch. His tie was gripped, a gentle hold but with vice-like undertones. The sound came again, and when Ivan’s eyes drifted from the performer his gaze was quickly pulled back.

“Don’t mind the outside world, I’m here and now.” The other man rolled his hips again, and Ivan felt pure want burning within him. “You know, customers don’t often catch my attention,” the performer said, his amused voice a decadent melody to Ivan’s ears, his lips tracing the curve of Ivan’s jaw. “But you, sir, certainly have - and I wouldn’t mind throwin’ in a little extra if you’re lookin’ for a good time,” he finished, and Ivan felt the smirk against his skin.

Ivan inhaled the captivating scent of the performer, and threw every caution, every worry, every memory to the wind. Perhaps, he could forget, if just for a moment. “I would certainly not object,” he stated, but paused briefly. His hand almost reached up to touch the other man, but refrained.

He laughed. “You can touch,” he said.

Ivan’s hand drifted to the almost faultless cheek. “Would it be too much to see the face of such a transfixing man?”

An eyebrow quirked up. “You know, I like you already enough to grant you that - only if you let me see you, too.”

Ivan smiled. “I have no objections to that,” he stated.

The other man grinned before capturing Ivan’s lips into a kiss - searing, lustful, scorching desire reminding him why he was here - and his hands came behind Ivan’s head to untie the knot of the plain mask. Ivan did the same, and when the other man released Ivan’s lips the masks fell away.

And every deceit along with them.

Alfred stared right at him, his expression quickly falling away from sultry to shocked. It was a blur of movement when Alfred scrambled off of Ivan, silent shock having taken over both of them.

At that same moment, the door of the room opened violently, and three police officers streamed into the room. It was a stream of shouts and both men being wrestled into handcuffs, Ivan trying to get to Alfred and trying to injure the officer holding him while Alfred was more than happy to kick at an officer’s shin with his heel - only to be caught again by another two, but not without shouting obscenities at all of them.

It didn’t take too long before they were dragged into the main room, where one officer explained to the furious bartender that the establishment was raided because of illegal activities, and they were soon brought outside into one of the cars parked there, both unceremoniously shoved into it.

When the doors were closed, there was a moment of silent fury before Alfred whirled on Ivan.

“What the hell, Ivan?!”

Ivan’s defences went up immediately. “Me?! You’re the one working at a strip joint! It’s illegal!”

Alfred scoffed indignantly, incredulous. “Well you were the one who’s payin’!” Alfred paused, disgust coming to his face. “You paid to cheat on me!”

“With you, apparently!” Ivan retorted. “How can I be sure you haven’t cheated on me time and time again, if whenever a customer catches your attention you decide to become a bit more acquainted-”

“I’m not a whore, Ivan,” Alfred growled.

“I never said-”

“Don’t insinuate it, either,” was snarled, and Ivan huffed. “How long have you been coming here? Is this where you go whenever you ‘have a meeting’?”

Ivan paused, and having previously opened his mouth to retort, he quickly snapped it shut. “How long have you been lying to me about your job?”

“Well I gotta earn something someway!”

“Not by lying to me!”

“Says the bastard who gladly would have cheated on me!”

“What does that make you?!”

“I - that’s - real mature, Ivan,” Alfred hissed back and resorted to staring at the seat in front of him. Ivan only now seemed to remember the very… ah… audacious outfit Alfred was in. Alfred noticed the silence. “Stop staring!”

“Well, you forget there is a reason I… er…”

“Requested me?”

Ivan hesitated. “Yes.”

Alfred huffed, before glaring at Ivan.

“Well, I mean, I guess we’re both even?”

“You lied to me about your job, I lied to you about my meetings, you almost… cheated on me with a customer and I almost cheated on you with a - an entertainer,” Ivan finished.

Alfred snorted. “That-” He snorted again, as if trying to hide a laughter. “Okay, well, you say it like that, well it’s,” he coughed, “it’s a bit stupid,” Alfred finished before glancing at Ivan. They both burst out laughing, and Ivan now remembered why he had once decided to spend the rest of his life with Alfred.

[sarissophori]

The Records Of Aidon, Chapter 12

       XII—

         An escape pod isn’t much for manual flight, but I managed to guide mine fairly well while avoiding pieces of the gateway, and fell over Atlantis. I landed in the western mountains away from the city, suffering the expected turbulence of crashing. Fortunately for me, escape pods handle that better than flying. I was not harmed beyond a few cuts and bruises. I ran a self-diagnostic to be sure.

       I was in the wilderness again, subsumed by the unbroken forests that clutched at the mountains’ craggy slopes and followed them from the north capes to the south shores; a little further than I wanted, but since this whole experience had yet to kill me, I couldn’t complain.

Everything was quiet. I looked up, and saw long tails of red and orange fire flash across the sky, flickering on the horizon. A particularly large meteor raced down, broiling brightly and leaving a trail of heavy smoke. I saw where it fell, and stared for a while. It was the largest piece of what was left of Explorer Six. I was near certain, anyway.

       I felt strange, almost sad, as if that ship were no less a part of my team than Anhíl had been, or Sato, Tíun, Zalín…at least there was a pyre for this death. Oh my, listen to me go on about a material thing as if it were a living being –I suppose I was starting to embody some of humanity’s more irrational qualities, to my liking oddly enough.

         There was a soft wind in the boughs and leaves, but the trees were otherwise still. There was an air of anticipation, like someone holding their breath as they waited for something terrible to happen (well, perhaps not just someone). The terrain was navigable, if hazardous; sudden cliff faces, rocky foothills, jagged ravines, and whatever pitfall the forest hid. I skirted what I could avoid, and eventually came to level ground late on the second day since breaking the gateway. The forest thinned out, and the tall grasses swayed.

       Even in the fading daylight, the harbors and spires of the Atlanteans shone as undimmed silver glistening in the rich sunset. I need not tell all the details of my return to the city; most of them are unimportant. Do know, dear discoverer, that since the gateway’s destruction (proof of the fallibility of the Anunnaki) and the negative omens derived from the sudden ‘falling of stars’, that an ancient rift was growing anew among the Atlanteans: the majority still revered us, but a steadily rising number began to regard us as false gods –wayward prophets who had meddled in their simple affairs for too long, and were leading them astray. By the time I arrived, there were people in the fledgling underground movement willing to assist me in my final task, after I eased their fears in helping me.

       Evidently, the magistrate and other colonial supervisors had been concerned with these dissenters for a number of years and sent agents to seek them out, infiltrate them, and make them disappear as they did my crew; so not being human made them think twice of trusting me.

Hours were wasted in debate. I became defensive and told their leader, a man named Kallois, that if none of them would join me, I would go off on my own. He alone relented to my persistence. He alone agreed to show me a safe path to where I needed to go: the central temple.

He asked why there. I told him it was for the salvation of his species. That seemed to suffice.

         Beneath the streets ran an intricate system of tunnels that the breakaways used to move around under the feet of the patrols looking for them; they were smooth, clean, and hummed with energy. The tunnels were narrow at first, then gradually widened as we crawled our way closer to the city’s heart. They curved with the concentric rings that the buildings, towers and harbors were built on, and followed the bridges that linked each ring together, onward to the innermost island of the temple.

       The noises of the metropolis were over our heads, though muffled by the many layers of soil and stone. I could tell our location simply by the sounds, and how far we had progressed.

Kallois led me swiftly, knowing his way well through the tunnels.

       “I will take you to the temple’s culvert” he said. “But no further. Forgive me lady, for I still trust you little; it is not as before, when I believed everything an Anunnaki said, until experience cautioned me against it.”

       “I thank you for leading me this far despite your misgivings” I said. “I don’t grudge you them. On the contrary, I understand them all too well.”

       Kallois said nothing back, either to silently agree, or to further express his distrust.

       We came to where the tunnel was intersected by many other ways and outlets. Kallois motioned to the one directly over us.

       “Go up from here, and you will be in the temple” he said. “Fly to your errand with all speed, lady, for now is where we part. Fare you well, and good luck.”

       He returned to the shadows, and I climbed. I saw a dim light at the end that became stronger as I got nearer to the top, blue and pulsing.

       There was a clear lid in place made of crystal-glass. I removed it, and came to a chamber of immense volume: so large I couldn’t see the walls, so high I couldn’t see the ceiling; rows of tall crystalline displays ran the chamber’s length, their far ends vanishing into a blackness that swallowed all but my closest perceptions. They glowed blue (being the only light sources in the room) and thrummed.

       I was inside the Library, the very heart of the temple, the center of all Atlantean and non-human knowledge on Aidon and its greatest means of exportation. Here was where all sources of information on the continent were interconnected in a web that extended far beyond the metropolis, even to the colonies on the other side of the world. A planet-wide audience was at my fingertips. My mind swam with the implications.

       My hand grazed the main data terminal, itself surrounded by columns of displays that hummed with vibrating sighs. I removed the storage implant from the back of my skull, and slipped it into the base. Holographic screens appeared over the bare console, awaiting further directions. My fingers shook, and I hesitated. Was it right to do this –to lay open all conspiracies to the humans, with no way to foresee its consequence? What assurance was there that I wouldn’t make things worse instead of better?

       What should I do?

       I closed my eyes, exhaled, and blanked my thoughts. My hand touched the icon for distribution, and the console whirred in acknowledgement. The glow of the chamber became steady, the somber blue flickers illuminating to a neon brightness.

All data networks, every terminal, holo-display, personal projector…every outlet would broadcast what Anhíl gave me, and what was collected from our colony: the lies, the secrets, the plotted subversion of an entire species.

       I monitored its progress, clearing out the major channels so more information could be sent at faster intervals, while blocking any attempt to stop it from outside sources. They caught on sooner than I thought they would. I introduced an override protocol to target these attempts, neutralize them, trace the signatures to their parent terminals, and wipe them of their hunter-killer programs. I also figured it wouldn’t hurt to take some of the now vulnerable files from the system as payment for my troubles, then set my replacement information in its place. If they wanted to stop it, they would have to destroy the network entirely.

       I considered it a parting act. I went back down the conduit I came from, and found my way through the winding underground; not as quickly as before, I slowed often to listen for signs of pursuit. I only heard my beating heart, my steady breath, and a hard, dead silence. The calm before the storm of my creation.

       When I finally emerged, it was by a culvert on the outermost ring of the city, near the mouth of the north harbor. The forest and mountains were gray and indigo in the dawn, the sky itself a pleasant spectrum of orange, gold, and fading nightly hues. There were maybe four or five stars still shinning in the west.

       I was alone, and lost any sense of anxiousness or urgency. Birds across the field chirped to welcome the new day, and a slight breeze stirred the grass. I sat by the lip of the culvert, crossed my legs, drew in a breath of pristine air, and bore witness to Aidon’s collapse.

[phoenixcelestino]

As Fast As You Can

My abdomen burned. No, that’s not right; my lungs burned, and that fire was engulfing everything else. My hands were already bloodied, and dirt was shoved deep into cuts that crisscrossed my palms. I knew that, had my knees been exposed, I would see a similar picture there. The pain was excruciating, but I refused to stop to tend to my wounds. I wouldn’t take the chance of being found in a bush, wounded and weak like a fox in a trap. There wasn’t any place to stop anyway, not for another fifteen feet, and that was above me, but I had to keep going or I’d be caught.

I shoved my foot into a small indention in the stony cliff face and pulled myself higher, then I did it again. And again. And again, until finally, scraping my belly across the jagged ledge, I was able to pull myself onto a small overhang in the side of the mountain. Panting, I crawled on my hands and knees to the edge and looked over. Below me was the portion of Mount Elbert that I had just scaled. It was almost completely vertical, with some of the trees and bushes that were strong enough to hold on creating a patchy covering that hid me as I climbed. With no equipment to assist me I wasn’t making very good time, and that was very, very bad.

I backed away from the ledge and turned to look at the next obstacle in front of me; another cliff face, this one littered with fewer bushes and trees than the last. There would be less to hide me as I made my way up, which meant that I was easier to spot. It also meant I was easier to aim at. I had heard the crack of gunshots for the past hour, and they seemed to be getting closer to me much too quickly.

           It was already getting dark; the sun was sinking behind the mountain and it became harder for me to see where I was heading. I looked around the small ledge that I was resting on and saw a dense patch of shrubbery just large enough to keep me hidden through the night. I prayed that nothing would be able to reach me up here as I crawled behind them and did my best to cover any little bit of my body that I could.

After having run for what must have been miles, and then climbing the cold stone, my body was exhausted and weak. I could feel the tremble in my limbs as I moved, and the only thing keeping me conscious was sheer willpower at this point. I wouldn’t be able to go on much longer, and suddenly I wondered if I would die on this mountain despite my efforts. I was cold and starved and couldn’t tell which of the two made my injuries hurt worse. I knew by the bright red flesh surrounding the openings that some of my cut had already become infected, and I hoped that someone would find me before the infection poisoned my blood. My probability of surviving wasn’t even decent.

I shook off that thought and thought of how far I had come. Not only had I run through a forest and climbed a mountain, but I had also broken free from the small shack where I had been held captive for approximately three weeks. I was fed next to nothing and given even less water. I had formed a few beads of sweat when I first escaped, but that was hours ago and I hadn’t produced any since.

The shack had been small, barely big enough to hold the bed and the small chair I had sat on for nineteen days. For nineteen days I had stared at a rough wooden wall that had nothing on it but a small crucifix and the phrase, “Those captive in sin are freed.” For nineteen days I watched as the sun went down and drenched the room I sat in with a thick, heavy darkness, then rose again to turn the wall pale gray, then its full brown. For nineteen nights I didn’t know if I would see the next sunrise.

The man who had kept me there hadn’t said much, and what little he did say was rarely directed toward me. He would mumble and stutter then flinch and swat at the air around him, as if he could see and hear someone who wasn’t there. He would sometimes get into arguments with this imaginary person over who had left the light on or why the refrigerator door was open, neither of which the shack had.

He never touched me, not even when he gave me food or water. I would have to bring my knees as close to my face as possible while having my hands still tied behind me, and then he would carefully place a plate on my knees so I could eat whatever he served like a dog. Any drink had a very long straw that he would guide toward my mouth.

I dropped one of the plates of food he made me just once, and it was like a switch flipped. He shrieked and stomped about, and I’m certain he would have thrown things had there been anything to throw. Instead, he pulled a large Bowie knife from his boot and began to carve into the wall. There was no pattern or form to his carving; it seemed like he just wanted to make a hole to get through. He was panicking, like he thought he was trapped. I watched the scene unfold in terrified wonder. He was obviously crazy and hallucinating. The wood tore from the wall in chunks; some of them so large I was able to use a piece to saw into the thin ropes he had bound me with after he left.

When he finally stopped a calm suddenly came over him. He walked to the door, took a brief glance at me, and then ran as fast as he could out the door making sure to slam it behind him. I waited long enough to hear his foot falls gallop off into the distance before I threw myself down, chair and all, to grab one of the large splinters.

After I finally dragged myself away from the bleak interior, I knew that the easy path down the mountain, one that had at least a rough dirt road as a guide, was being carefully guarded. The man who had set the trap I walked into supposedly owned the land the shack sat on, and there was no reason for anyone but him to make the trip up the path to find me. I wouldn’t be able to run into some helpful stranger. I had no choice, so I turned to the mountain behind the shack hoping for a miracle. There was a small town in the valley on the other side, and I figured that if I could get to the top I had a good chance of making it home.

Home. I missed my home so much I ached. I thought about my parents sitting at the table for breakfast, both of them flipping through different sections of the newspaper. I thought of our creaky stairs that needed replacing. I thought about the porch swing that I’d spent many sunny days lounging in.

I had spent my whole life in that same house. I knew every creak, every chip in the wall, everything about the place. Every inch was covered in memories for me. Holidays, birthdays, lazy Sundays, all of them were spent in those rooms.

The four walls of my home had always made me feel so safe and secure. My mom had hung crosses and scripture all over the place, and at the time I thought it was a little much. Now, as I lay beneath the open sky, I realized how comforting they really were. I wondered if God could see me hidden in this bush and if he actually had a plan or if I was on my own. I wiped the tears from my face and drifted off to sleep with the thought of home still in my head.

I had nightmares that night, but they weren’t anything like normal nightmares. In normal nightmares there is some telling clue that lets you know that it’s just a dream. The ones that plagued me weren’t even made up by my subconscious. These nightmares were just flashbacks of the past few hellish hours I’d spent running away.

           I had ran for miles through thick pine trees that had left any of my exposed skin with small, stinging, sap filled cuts. I had tripped a few times over fallen limbs that had lay rotting on the forest floor, and more than once heard some form of animal scurry away from me in fear. I knew how they felt as I tried to stay at least one step ahead of the predator that stalked me.

           I woke up well before dawn drenched in sweat, and was never able to get anymore rest after that. My adrenaline had obviously worn off, and my body was finally letting me feel my wounds. All I could do was sit and wait until the sun came up again.

           Never again would I hunt, especially not in these woods. The question of how I went from hunting to hunted never left my mind, and I vowed never to forget that man was at the top of the food chain for a reason. We were the ultimate predator, a fact that I was reminded of the second I stepped into a psychopath’s trap and was left to dangle unconscious from a tree.

I had discarded my neon orange vest in a hole beneath a tree, covering it with mud, dead leaves, and anything else that would hide the color. I didn’t want my captor to find anything that would help him follow me, although the broken twigs that stuck in my hair and dried mud covered my body led me to believe that I had left a very obvious trail. The man who had taken me knew where I was hiding now, I was sure of it. He just needed to spot me and have good aim.

The sun began to peak over the opposite horizon, and I knew I had to move as soon as it was light enough to see. I began to try and stretch out my muscles to limber them up; I wanted to be at least a hundred and fifty feet higher before full light. I climbed slowly at first until I worked out the stiffness, then I settled into a steady pace.

I was in a bald patch on the side of the mountain just as the sun had come to sit on the peak of the mountain opposite me, when all of a sudden there was a loud boom and shattered rock flew into my face, cutting the skin above my eye. Blood began to pour into my field of vision, and I reached upward to try and find another hold. How did he find me so quickly? He couldn’t have been able to follow me after the sun went down, there was no way. I climbed, desperate and terrified, sobbing into the stone, but I climbed. My fingers wrapped around the thick limb of a tree when I felt something like a whip hit my side. I knew I had been grazed by a bullet, and suddenly all I could think about was the swing on my front porch at home. I had sat there countless times reading or studying or simply enjoying myself. I wanted to be back their so badly it caused fresh pain in my chest. I wondered if my parents would ever sit on that swing again.

           I pulled myself into the tree and waited, gasping for breath, to hear the gun fire again. When it had been quiet for what seemed like an eternity, I reached upward and pulled myself higher again, then I waited again. It was still quiet another eternity later, so I kept going. Seeing the peak about 150 feet above me, I felt a burst of energy and climbed faster, working my muscles until I screamed from the pain.

           And then I heard the gun.

           Suddenly, I was no longer clinging to a mountain. I could see the early morning sky getting further away by the second.  Suddenly I was falling, and it felt beautiful. As I fell, I felt hands grab me, then arms encircle me, and suddenly I wasn’t worried about making it to the peak anymore. Suddenly, I was home.