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into-the-stratosphere · 4 years

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Champagne Morale

Arthur x Forger Fem Reader

Summary: Going undercover at a charity ball hosted by one of the richest men in the country was hard enough as it was, but Arthur was certain flying solo would draw more attention than he’d like. If only he knew someone who could act well under pressure and improvise at a moment’s notice... like a top-notch forger. He just hopes she’ll say yes last minute.

A/N: Found this absolutely gorgeous picture (I’m still trying to find credit for it 🥺) and thought the guy looked like Arthur and this came from it. Hope you enjoy!

Champagne Morale

Arthur x Forger Fem Reader

Warnings: None besides brief mentions of some drinking.

WC: 2309

Pre-Inception

This wasn’t exactly how she’d planned to spend her Saturday night.

(Y/N) was dressed to the nines in a gown worth more than all the rest of her wardrobe combined, surrounded by the city’s wealth feigning charity. The older couples stalked the ballroom floor in their finest, eyes catching on anything less than spectacular, staring her down, trying to determine which family she belonged to in order to deserve a place on the guest list. They were like vultures on the hunt, scanning for any sign of imperfection. The only comfort she found was her hand tucked into the crevice of Arthur’s arm, leading her from the prying eyes— her “date” for the evening.

He’d been frantic when he asked her to accompany him earlier in the week, barely letting her get her door open before he’d launched into his rehearsed speech; he’d only just found a way to squeeze his name onto the private guest list of their next target’s charity ball that he’d forgotten to account for the plus one attached to it.

“It would look more suspicious if I arrived alone, plus you’re an excellent forger, so we could better cover each other if we started drawing anyone’s attention.”

She leaned on the doorframe, a bemused smile spreading her lips as he continued to list why it would be mutually beneficial for her to accompany him. He could go on for hours and not list the same reason twice, she thought. Ever the vigilant point man. (Y/N) held up a hand, Arthur falling silent at the gesture, holding her gaze.

“If you wanted a date, all you had to do was ask, Arthur,” she said, throwing a wink his way before closing the door. The last thing she caught was his mouth gaping as he stammered, the tips of his ears hinting pink.

She bit her lip to keep the self-satisfied smile off her face from the memory, reveling at how she of all people could get Arthur to crack. Glancing around, she accepted a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, sipping on it a moment before looking towards her companion. He looked dashing, really; his suit was trimmed to perfection, expertly accentuating his slim but fit figure. A black bowtie sat snugly at the base of his throat, albeit a bit off kilter. She stopped him a moment to straighten it, letting her fingers linger a beat on his lapels before smiling up at him. He grinned, a familiar half tilt of his lips before offering his arm to her again. The only thing he hadn’t changed was his hair: slicked back, his signature.

As they paced around the edge of the room, (Y/N)’s eyes darted from face to face. “Which one is he exactly?” She whispered from behind her champagne glass.

Arthur minutely jutted his chin towards a man standing near the temporary stage, surrounded by laughing millionaires. Whether what he had said had actually been funny was only consequence; anything the surrounding gnats could do to earn his favour, they wouldn’t question.

(Y/N)’s eyes fixed on the man over the rim of her glass, studying his mannerisms. He was at least mid fifties, wearing a mild suit that, while designer, didn’t quite suit his loud voice. He slapped the man next to him on the back with a laugh, the poor recipient buckling under his heavy hand. She tilted her head, watching the target hand his plate off to the staggering lackey. Though he grinned at his boss, she could see the pressure building on him as the night went on. There’s the right hand man.

She turned to Arthur, handing him her nearly drained champagne glass, “Darling, would you mind holding this for me a moment? I’ll be right back.” Before he could protest, she was halfway across the room, bee lining for their target.

He pressed his lips together, watching as she slipped into the inner circle of groupies with ease, throwing her head back with laughter at whatever their target had just said. His jaw clenched at the sight of the man turning his attention her way, bringing her hand to his lips in greeting. He gestured around the room, and Arthur swore he felt a blood vessel pop as the man put a hand to the small of (Y/N)’s back, showing her around the stations he’d had arranged for the ball.

He tried distracting himself, finishing what was left in (Y/N)’s champagne glass as he made a mental note to grab her another before she returned. A passing waiter took the empty flute from his hands, leaving Arthur to shove his hands in his pockets, gripping his loaded die with white knuckles as he turned away from the pair now meandering by the reflection pool, a posse of millionaires trailing slowly after them.

As long as she’s having fun. If he clasped his die any tighter it would surely shatter.

Arthur wasn’t left to his sulking for long; (Y/N)’s laughter drifted by his ear a few minutes later, and he turned his head to see his target walking her to where he leant against the wall. The man eyed Arthur up and down, standing straighter before pressing a final kiss to (Y/N)’s knuckles. She looked up at the host through her lashes, a coy smile gracing her features that made Arthur’s heart pang.

I’m not… no, I couldn’t be jealous.

(Y/N) was his friend, had been for years. Are we really only friends though? All his memories with her flashed through his mind in an instant, flushed cheeks and tentative touches. As he watched her bid their host a far too fond farewell, his pulse raced. Is that all we are?

She grinned until the target finally turned away from the pair, letting the disgust fall over her features when she knew his gaze was elsewhere. “I swear to God if he touched me one more time I was going to vomit.”

Arthur could barely restrain his laughter, the target shooting him a glare that he didn’t care to cower from. He wrapped one arm around (Y/N)’s midsection, rubbing soothing circles into the exposed skin as she brooded.

“Am I allowed to spend time with my date now?”

“Come on, you know I did that for the intel. Plus I can learn so many new characters from those snobby wannabes.”

“I’m sure you did.”

He grinned as she threw a weak punch into his chest, minding how she just as quickly drew back into his hold. The little green monster was sated for now. In fact, it certainly didn’t mind when she asked him for a dance, to get the feeling of his hands on me out of my mind, dragging him to the middle of the room where they blended in with the swarm of couples roused by the band.

He took her hand, his other falling to her waist, swaying quickly to the jazzy tune, watching laughter, genuine laughter bubble up her throat. Arthur dipped (Y/N) low, breathless by the way her hair fell from its intricate styling. He grinned at her, pulling her back into his chest, their breaths mingling as the tempo picked up again. For a song, they weren’t two con artists studying a target, two friends pretending to be dates— they were a complementary pair, dancing the night away oblivious to the pompous splendor surrounding them. Anyone who looked at them could tell the chemistry they shared— even the jealous host watching from the sidelines, his arms crossed over his chest.

When the song ended, their chests heaving from exertion, all the room applauded the quintet situated on the temporary stage, bowing to their audience before starting up their next melody. (Y/N) and Arthur drifted away from the dance floor, locking arms as they sought the cool air blowing over the reflection pool.

They strolled around as they talked, glancing over the small tables of finger foods scattered on their way, careful to keep a good deal of distance from the man of the hour who hadn’t stopped shooting Arthur venomous looks since their dance ended. (Y/N) was pointing out a tray full of exotic caviar worth as much food that could feed an entire household for months when Arthur noticed the security on the edge of the room, eyeing the pair with wary expressions.

He watched from his peripheral as one stepped up behind the host on the stage, preparing himself for his speech to thank all the wealthy donors in the room as the band was packing away their instruments. He stalled as the guard whispered in his ear, his gaze latching onto the pair once more with a newfound suspicion.

Arthur cleared his throat, turning (Y/N) away from the stage with a hand on her arm, looking out over the calm waters. “We may have to leave soon.”

Her eyes snapped up to his, masking her surprise with a pleasant expression. He could tell she was listening into the conversations around them, trying to key in to how long they had.

The security detail became more mobile across the room, moving towards the exits of the venue. Arthur swore under his breath, slowing their pace to be equally spaced from the nearest guards. “We’re going to need a diversion.”

“Already on it.”

Arthur didn’t need to question her plan, feeling her weight drop onto his side as she giggled airily— playing drunk, he realized. An older woman nearby scoffed under her breath, something about minding how much one should drink in public, and Arthur shot her an apologetic smile, draping one of (Y/N)’s arms around his shoulders to better support her. One of her heels caught around the hem of her dress, (Y/N) kicking it away in a mock drunken huff, pressing further against Arthur’s body. Were he not so hyper aware of the extra guards appearing from the exits, he would have taken just a second to appreciate the sensation of her warmth bleeding into him, filling his chest until he felt he could float without a dream.

He tilted his head down next to her ear, “Alright, we’re going to need a better distraction to get out of here— maybe a prior engagement we forgot about that we need to get to right away—“

Arthur didn’t need to finish the rest of his plan as (Y/N) deftly swiped a leg from under him, teetering over to the side—

Where the reflection pool lay waiting to catch them.

Gasps shot through the crowd to see the tipsy couple splash into the water, rushing to the pool’s edge to watch the chaos. While the host hastened to the microphone to call for attention and order, the feedback making all the guests cringe under the volume, under the surface Arthur shook his head incredulously at (Y/N), who only shot him a cheeky wink.

The two emerged, beautiful clothes ruined, gasping for air. A handful of guards reached for their hands, pulling them from the water as some waiters went off to fetch some towels. (Y/N) shivered, clinging to Arthur’s arm as she sobbed, apologizing for ruining such a lovely evening meant for charity.

Arthur had to keep from rolling his eyes at the theatrics. Expert forger indeed, there wasn’t a single face without a pitiful turn of the lip, (Y/N)’s performance tugging at her audience’s hearts. If he didn’t know her, he was sure she’d even get a reaction out of him.

She shivered in his arms, stumbling to her feet as her gown clung to her legs. She sniffled, her mascara dripping down her face— whether from the water still dripping from her hair or her expertly crafted tears no one could tell. As a waitress passed along some warm towels, Arthur thanked her and began to move towards the exit, catching the glimmer of mischief in (Y/N)’s eye as they finally passed through the crowd.

As the wealthy elites finally drew back towards the host on the stage, Arthur risked a whisper to his date, “Certainly not what I had in mind, but you definitely got the job done. You know, if you wanted our date to be over, you could have just asked, (Y/N).”

Arthur could only glimpse (Y/N)’s bemused face as she realized what he said before she pushed him towards the pool again, but not before he caught her wrist and dragged her back in with him.

The host sighed on stage to see the happy couple go under once more, smothering the jealousy at having lost quite a catch.

Before (Y/N) could begin to swim for the surface, Arthur pulled her face towards his, grinning as her lips met his eagerly, bubbles dancing around their bodies as they floated a moment, too caught up in one another to care for air or what waited for them when they’d resurface once more.

They finally broke apart, pulling one another to the surface to greedily drink in lungfuls of oxygen. The only crowd to greet them this time was the waitstaff informing them they would have to leave. The two ducked their heads in apology, rushing out the door before anyone else would think to stop them.

When they burst onto the street in front of the lavish venue, wrapped in one another in a desperate attempt to keep warm, (Y/N) turned to Arthur, teeth chattering, “You know, I think I’d prefer we stayed dry on our next date.”

No, she certainly didn’t expect to spend her Saturday night drenched to the bone with a man who’s kisses tasted like champagne and confessions, but she definitely didn’t regret it either.

#inception #inception 2010 #Arthur inception x reader #Arthur inception x fem reader #Arthur inception #Arthur inception x forger reader #forger reader #fanfiction #reader insert #into-the-stratosphere #into-the-artmosphere #my writing #my work

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random-imagines-blog · 4 years

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Seeing Stars (Thranduil x Reader Oneshot)

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 2189 Summary: A snowy walk with Thranduil goes slightly awry.

You’ve never breathed in air that felt so crisp and clean before. The cold was so much that you could barely feel it as you walked among the trees, bare during the winter. Your breath was coming out in a misty vapor, nearly freezing the tip of your nose, but once more, you could not feel it. The snow had paused for the moment, which was why you had decided to take this walk, and to your surprise, the grand King Thranduil of Mirkwood had decided to join you, leaving his covered throne room to walk outside. The stars were beautiful tonight, though the King was a distraction from the sights around you. And the sounds, since you could hear the animals in the forest scurrying around, getting the last of the food before hiding away for hibernation. There was no such thing as perfect in the world, but if there was - this was the closest that you believed anyone or anything could come to it.

“Is it hard to live in the forest during the winter?” You found yourself asking, then realized with horror that you had not addressed Thranduil in the way that he liked. “Your majesty,” You quickly added on. He, being taller than you, flicked his eyes downwards with amusement at how you hastened to add on the title.

“It has flaws, though they are few, of course. We elves have learned to deal with things like ... temperature.” You could feel the ego in his voice. The ‘better than thou’ attitude that you had gotten used to from him, but you never spoke aloud about. Because you also knew that it was all just on the surface. If he truly thought he was better than humans, he never would have kept you around, surely.

“With your very long lives, you might have learned some manners?” You said, more as a suggestion. You really were overstepping your boundaries, you knew, but you were of the human reason, which automatically meant a stubborn streak. He raised an eyebrow at you, very much like the Drama King that he is.

“Manners?” He pondered, looking straight ahead of him. He’ll rise to the bait, he supposed, if only to prove you wrong. “Will you accompany me out of the forest tonight?”

“Why, what’s out there?” You asked, a shiver going up your spine. There may be peace in middle earth now, with Aragorn as King, but there were still dangers lurking about, like wild animals and bandits.

“Less trees, I imagine,” Thranduil said. He offered you his arm, and you took it. This was very rare indeed, since it’s not as if you were of elven nobility. You were just a messenger that Legolas had sent from Minis Tirith, a human that he trusted to get the message across. You had expected to return right after getting an answer, but Thranduil had invited you to stay and curiosity got the better of you. It wasn’t everyday that you were invited to stay in a beautiful Elven city.

“I almost think you’re up to something, your majesty,” You added his title on quicker this time. He seemed to like that since his hand patted your own which was against his arm. His footing was sure, quick and light, while you felt like an Oliphaunt next to you. While he didn’t make a sound against the ground, managing somehow to avoid any fallen brush and branch, you sounded like you were trampling through a forest thicket.

“At least any animal would be scared away by your noise,” He retorted. You curled your nose at his direction but didn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer. He hummed, amused by that, as you walked out of the borders of the forest, and into wide open space. It was almost scary how far you could see. How far, perhaps, someone could see you. The thought made you hold onto him a little tighter. “It’s not as lonely if you look up.”

So look up you did.

There were so many stars that at first, you thought that you had walked out to see a swarm of fireflies. But it was the wrong season for those, and once it reached your mind that it was indeed the sky, and that the cold of the night whisked away the clouds so you could see them properly, and the moon was barely a sliver so it’s light was not a distraction, your breath caught in your throat. Your neck started to hurt from bending it upwards at the angle, but that didn’t matter.

Thranduil stood beside you, not looking up, but looking at your profile. His eyes were narrowed at your reaction, a curiosity with a touch of confusion. He’d seen the stars many times, but did not pay them attention the way you did.

“I’ve heard that humans have stories for the stars. Tell me,” He commanded gently. He stood with his hands clasped in front of him, waiting somewhat patiently. He didn’t like to not be the center of attention for the moment. He wanted you to look at him, or at the very least to speak.

“Stories?” You asked, finally giving your neck a break, and turned to face him. “Oh, I guess that there are a few. Don’t the elves have special meanings behind the stars?”

“Yes.” He said, but gave no other answer. He was still waiting for you to do as you commanded. There was an expectant look in his eye that drew you in, which made your mouth start to form the words.

“I guess the big one is shooting stars,” You started. “When you see one fly across the sky, you’re supposed to make a wish. It’ll make it come true. Though I haven’t tried that since I was young. My wishes never came true. I decided it was a waste of time and-”

“What did you wish for?” Thranduil cut in.

“Adventure,” You said with a laugh. You looked back upwards for a second. “I guess that it did come true, though it took some time.”

“Patience is a virtue,” He said, rather hypocritically, but you weren’t about to point that out. “Let’s begin the walk back.”

“Alright,” You said, falling back in line with him, but a step behind. “We also use constellations to find our way.”

“So humans do have some sense after all,” He said, the corner of his mouth going up in a rare smile. You laughed a little at that, smiling down at the ground.

“That’s almost a compliment, King Thranduil. Are you feeling alright?”

“Perfect,” He responded. “Does everyone wish for adventure on these shooting stars?”

“No, I imagine not. People want a wide variety of things. Love, maybe. Money, definitely. Gold. Power. The list could go on and on.” You two walked in silence for a moment, before a thought came to you. “What would you wish for?”

He turned to you, his perfect white hair hardly moving as he did so. There was not even a trace of a wind here amongst the trees.

“I am King of these woods. What makes you think that I have want for anything?” He questioned you. It wasn’t as severe as the words would have made you think. He was softer at that moment, like he had thought of something. It seemed more that he knew something was missing, and he was asking you to tell him what it was. You crossed your arms in front of you to keep in the shivers, as the still air still had a chill to it. You could smell snow in the air.

“A wish could be outlandish if you wanted it to be. The only limits are your imagination.” You let yours spread as you looked at the canopy that blotted out the stars above. “I would wish, right now, for my mother’s cooking. The way that she made bread, oh and the wine, and the cakes that were always moist! If I think about it anymore, I’ll be beside myself with hunger.”

“You’ve never tried elven cakes,” Thranduil said, as close to snorting as a distinguished elf could be. “They’d put your mothers to shame.”

“I ought to slap you for even making that comment. You’re lucky that you are a King, your Majesty. Such a thing is almost treason back home.” Your cheeks were starting to get red, as well as your ears. Those very words were fighting ones. Were you not getting closer to the company of guards, you would have yelled at him.

“And then I would have to imprison you for laying hands on the King. I’d end up having to keep you here forever. Perhaps that would be my wish,” He said, with a smirk that made orcs seem tame. Your human temper was flaring up now.

“That would be a cruel use of a wish. If I were you, I would use it on something more important, like a personality to go with those looks,” You shot back, your irritation was definitely clouding your judgment. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m the only person who spends time with you who isn’t a part of your guard. Maybe that should tell you something.”

“That I should attempt to swat the gnat that flits around my face?” He asked, clearly enjoying himself while your mood went darker and darker.

“You’re cruel,” You said with narrowed eyes, stopping your walk by going in front of him and standing. You were not the tallest human by any standards, not even as tall as Thranduil, but you knew some tricks to make you seem big. Puffed out chest, head held high. “And you’re arrogant, and you’re-”

As you leaned in to try to seem more threatening, your mind gave you a bunch of warning signs. A guard could come along and shove a sword through you at any moment for threatening the King. Thranduil himself could knock you away from him in a blink of an eye. He was a skilled warrior, after all. You froze, only a few hair widths away from the face of the King, who looked as if he were made of stone. He wasn’t moving. You weren’t moving.

But then thinking about all that he had just said, the fire returned. How dare he? Just because he was an elf, he thought that he was better than you. He thought that he could just imprison you.

You wanted to scream into his face, but that would just make things worse for you. An elf would come along and take your arm with ease and lead you to the dungeons. The tale of Bilbo and the Dwarves had reached your ears some time ago, but you would not have the same luck escaping, you knew that much. So you did something else. Something that Thranduil’s all-seeing eyes would not have been able to see coming.

Your soft lips touched his own cold ones, right at the corner where they went into a dimple, leaving just a trace of a kiss there. There was a thin line between love and hate, between lust and anger. Let him stew over this reaction for a while.

You blinked and settled back onto the soles of your feet, having somehow managed to go on your tip toes without realizing it. Thranduil stared at you still, not having blinked once during the encounter.

“I should keep you here,” He said, his voice low.

Well, that wasn’t the reaction that you wanted, or were expecting. And now you became nervous, almost terrified at the prospect of him locking you up because you went with a smug impulse. You weren’t so smug now, that’s for sure.

“That is my wish. There is a shooting star somewhere. I’ll wish on that right this moment. I wish for you...” You closed your eyes like a coward, expecting the worst. “- to stay here in Mirkwood with me for the rest of your natural life.”

“I don’t know if your son would like it that his friend,” You emphasized the word, though you were more of a messenger than a friend to the elf, “-is being kept a prisoner by his father.”

Thranduil laughed. Oh, he laughed, which would be damn adorable if it didn’t seem so threatening given the circumstances.

“Perhaps prisoner is a strong word,” He said, a rosy glow on his cheeks, which you noticed when you slowly opened your eyes once more. “I’d like you to continue to stay as my guest.”

“As your guest?” You questioned. “Even though I just kissed you?”

“It was certainly unexpected,” He said, offering you his arm to continue the stroll despite being near his palace once more. “I’m curious as to what you would do if I gave you compliments rather than teasings.”

#Thranduil #Thranduil x reader #Thranduil oneshot #The Hobbit #The Hobbit oneshot #x reader #LOTR #LOTR oneshot #request #oneshot #oneshots

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sunshinebunnie · 5 years

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Happy Holidays! If it strikes your creative fancy.. #14 with Bughead for the holiday prompts ask game!

**Squee** Thank you so much for this lovely ask, Sarah!! I hope you like it. 🤗🤗

Kissing Beneath the 23rd Floor

Jughead banged his head against the wall of the elevator when the greenish-orangish lights flickered for the umpteenth time. He hated living in the dorms, but the housing allowance that came with his writing scholarship couldn’t be transferred to off-campus housing (not that it would’ve covered anything other than 21st century tenement housing anyway given New York’s insane rents). As embarrassing as it was to be the only non-residential advisor junior living in a freshman/sophomore dorm, the housing office had at least done him the courtesy of securing him a single on the top floor. While he certainly couldn’t beat the view and he greatly appreciated not having to deal with the sounds of people having sex above him or puking in a trashcan five feet from his bed in the middle of the night, he was at the mercy of the latest and greatest in 1960s elevator technology. Nearly every other week, there were signs taped to the elevators banks indicating at least one or the other of the building’s elevators was out of commission because of repairs.

The creaky metal box came to a shuddering stop at 14th floor. As the doors slowly opened with a protesting screech, Jughead found himself silently praying that some freshman had decided to play ding-dong-ditch with the elevators. Over the course of the semester, he’d quickly come to learn that the only thing worse than living in a dorm with antiquated facilities was living in a dorm with antiquated facilities with underclassmen. It had taken him a couple weeks, but he’d eventually managed to figure out the tell-tale signs that someone was a freshman and largely avoided getting on to the elevators with them: he’d been subjected one too many times to someone’s wide-eyed story about how it was their life dream to move to New York! as well as a couple awkward instances of being sloppily propositioned by drunk freshmen (men and women), not to mention the especially memorable time after midterms when a comp sci major bawled against his shoulder for sixteen floors because he’d flunked his coding exam. He held his breath as he waited to see whether one of Santa’s “lost elves” was about to get on the elevator with him (he’d already had thirteen unavoidable encounters this week).

When no one immediately made to get on the elevator, he started to breathe a sigh of relief, only to tense up as a hand suddenly shot between the slowly closing doors. The disembodied appendage flailed for a second, trying to find the elevator’s sensor to signal that someone was trying to get on. As the doors continued shutting, he heard a muffled voice that sounded like it said ‘for fuck’s sake’ as the waving hand disappeared. For a split second, he considered just appreciating his good luck and enjoying the rest of his elevator ride (hopefully) in peace, but then he thought back to what time it probably was. It had already been after 11:30 when Archie’s gig had wrapped up, which meant it had to be nearing midnight or later. The only people he’d run into in his dorm that late at night who sounded as coherent as the person on the other end of the elevator doors were the residential advisors. With a heavy sigh, he reached for the “door open” button.

It took long enough for the doors to reopen that he was almost beginning to think he’d broken the elevator when a cheery, but tired-looking blonde stepped gracefully into the confined space. Her hunter green corduroy skirt was offset by a pristine cream-colored sweater covered with a tasteful motif of poinsettias made out of delicate red glass seed beads. If it had been anyone else, he would’ve immediately glanced at her feet to see if she was wearing the ubiquitous Uggs that nearly every sophomore girl in the building appeared to own; however, he recognized her ponytail. (He should’ve, after all, having been transfixed by it every Monday and Wednesday from 10 to 11:30 during their required survey course freshman year: Intro to Film Studies.)

Betty Cooper.

He’d wanted an excuse to talk to her, but had never worked up the nerve. Toni, Sweet Pea and Fangs had latched on to him for their group project within the first week of class, and she always seemed to be surrounded by some guy named Kevin and a forbidding brunette named Veronica. Out of all his friends, Toni seemed to be the only one who’d caught him mooning over her from time to time, and she’d jokingly given him shit that he should just bite the bullet and create an Instagram account so he could stalk her properly.

Jughead was so caught up in his own memories that it took him a minute to realize she was giving him an odd look of searching recognition: it was a look he’d frequently gotten in high school when more popular people from Riverdale High would run into the “loner weirdo from the Southside” around town. Before he had a chance to confirm to her that yes, they did know each other, her green eyes lit up a little, and she said, “Jughead?”

Any ability he had to comprehend or communicate in English–or in any other way, for that matter–abandoned him as he stared dumbly at her in shock. When he didn’t initially respond, the small crinkles at the corners of her eyes started to smooth out as she repeated a little more tentatively, “It is Jughead, right? I remember you. From Film Studies? Freshman year? You always had really insightful comments on all the Hitchcock movies. I’m Bett…”

“…Betty Cooper. I remember,” he finished for her, his brain and his mouth having finally reconnected to one another.

The tentative look she had was once again chased away by a tired smile as she acknowledged he recognized her too. Betty briefly turned to look at the floor buttons before giving her attention back to him. Having mutually confirmed that they knew each other, they settled back into that semi-awkward silence that tends to pervades elevators when the occupants know one another, but not well enough for casual conversation to come naturally. Jughead watched as she began to unconsciously worrying at the cuffs of her sweater before he said, “I didn’t realize you were one of the residential advisors here.”

Betty ducked her head to the side as she softly tittered for a second before replying, “Oh, that’s because I’m not. There’s a mold problem in my campus apartment, and facility services can’t take care of it until Monday. My friend Ethel is off skiing in the Poconos this weekend with her sorority sisters though, so she’s letting me crash in her room.”

He knew Ethel. She was one of the “motherly” advisors that the more homesick freshmen seemed to swarm around like gnats. Jughead had tried being cordial with her initially–like he was with most of the other upperclassmen in the building–but had started avoiding her more recently after she’d taken it into her head that she needed to Witness to him and had become hellbent on converting him.

Before the awkward silence descended on them again, Betty prompted, “Do you like being an advisor?”

Jughead let out a dry laugh, which earned him a confused look from her, before he replied, “I’m not an advisor either.”

Betty’s face lit up for the briefest of seconds before her brows started knitting together again. Right as he was going to ask what was bothering her, she said, “You don’t strike me as the booty call type.”

As a creative writing major, Jughead rarely found himself speechless, yet Betty Cooper had managed to strike him dumb twice in under five minutes. He could only imagine how hard Toni would be laughing if she could see him now. His normal embarrassment at admitting he lived in the building was quickly overridden by his desire to disabuse her of the notion that he was somehow preying on young women who weren’t much older than jailbait. Closing his eyes for a second, he centered his thoughts, before steadily holding her gaze as he said seriously, “I’m not. I live here.”

The confusion on her face only deepened as she said, “But you said you’re not an advisor.”

He sighed. This was the explanation he hated getting into with other upperclassmen. He was supposed to be doing a semester abroad at a prestigious writing retreat; however, getting everything settled, he found out the stipend he’d been depending on to cover his living expenses for the four months he was there had been given to a “more challenged” candidate. Unable to make the financials work, he’d been forced to scrap his study abroad plan at the last minute. While getting into the classes he wanted hadn’t been too difficult (the benefit of being a faculty favorite within the department), sorting out his housing had proved much more difficult. Toni had wound up transferring to an all-women’s college upstate at the start of their sophomore year, while Sweet Pea and Fangs moved off campus. Without really knowing any other juniors or seniors, he hadn’t been able to get into a suite with anyone he knew he’d get along with, and he wasn’t willing to risk moving in with another psychotic like his freshman roommate, Malachai. When a freshman decided to de-enroll two weeks before the start of school, campus housing had shoved him into the newly available single and called it a day.

Rather than get into his sob story with her, he opted for the decidedly more taciturn explanation: “There were complications with my study abroad program, and this was the only available housing left.”

Jughead paused, waiting for the invariable look that decried, ‘Seriously? You couldn’t find a single upperclassman to live with? What’s wrong with you?’ Before he could go on the defensive though, Betty turned soft green eyes full of genuine sympathy toward him as she said, “That must’ve been really frustrating for you. At least, I know when I had to cancel my study abroad plans it was really frustrating.”

A part of him wanted to snap that he didn’t need her pity, but the more rational side of him was able to squash the self-destructive impulse before he did something stupid—like act on it. Instead, he found himself giving her a small smile back as he said, “It was.”

Silence settled back over them again, periodically broken up by high-pitched squealing from the elevator’s ancient cable wheel. By the time they’d reached the 19th floor, several minutes had passed without them speaking, and Betty had begun looking earnestly at her shoes to avoid the temptation to stare at the enigmatic man sharing the small space with her. She was just starting to daydream about what might’ve happened if she’d listened to Veronica freshman year and simply given him her phone number when she suddenly heard him ask, “What’s the occasion?”

Her head popped up like a prairie dog at the unexpected question before she briefly glanced back down to take a look at her outfit. “This? No occasion,” she said with a slight blush, “A few of us from the student paper got together to watch the tree lighting at Rockefeller Center, then grabbed some drinks after.”

He nodded sagely, although in three years of living in Manhattan, it had never once occurred to him to go see a Christmas tree get lit up. The image of Betty standing in front of a comically large tree covered in twinkling fairy lights suddenly popped into his head—the whole idea seemed positively Rockwellian to him, and a small sardonic grin pulled at the edges of his mouth. At least, it did, until he realized Betty hadn’t gotten on the elevator at the ground floor, and his good humor quickly morphed into a scowl. “Seducing impressionable freshmen with the romantic holiday atmosphere, Mrs. Robinson?” he asked just dryly enough for it to still be considered a joke, but it was close.

Betty’s eyes shot wide open, and for the briefest second, he thought she was going to slap him, but instead, she threw her head, her ponytail dancing in time with her tinkling laughter. “Hardly,” she said when she finally caught her breath. “More like letting Trev cry on my shoulder after finding out the guy he’s sort of been seeing this semester has a very serious girlfriend back home in Connecticut, who decided to come down for the weekend as a surprise.”

Jughead winced. He didn’t know Trevor well, but he’d periodically shared a creaky elevator ride with the quiet ceramics major, and what happened to him was a shitty thing to go through.

The elevator had just pulled passed the 20th floor when it let out a particularly loud whine of protest before coming to an abrupt halt. The sudden change in momentum caught them both by surprise. Although Betty valiantly attempted to stay upright, her efforts were for naught as Jughead slammed heavily into her with a loud oof.

“Ow!” Betty cried as her hip slammed into the aluminum grab bar screwed to the wall of the elevator.

“Sorry!” Jughead said, his hand reflexively dropping to Betty’s waist as he braced himself for the fall.

His fingers feathered over a sliver of exposed skin on her back as her sweater rode up slightly, and she shivered a little from the unexpected contact. Jughead’s eyes dropped to her lips before sweeping back up to her face. A light blush spread across her cheeks as she looked up at him with something akin to longing, and his heart started to race. Her eyes flickered past his ear.

“Mistletoe,” she said breathily.

“Huh?” he said as her captivating eyes settled back on his face.

“Someone hung mistletoe from the lights,” she whispered with a husky burr coloring her voice.

His heart momentarily stuttered in his chest. He didn’t normally ascribe to the sort of forced holiday merriment that mistletoe pretended to embody; however, as Betty’s hopeful gaze slowly settled back toward his lips, he found himself leaning infinitesimally closer toward her.

“Remind me,” he said softly as he felt the humidity caused by the warm exhalations of her mouth so close to his skin, “what’s the tradition with mistletoe?”

Without another word, Betty closed the small gap between them, pressing her plush, velvety lips to his. He groaned against her mouth as all of his synaptic nerves suddenly fired off like fireworks on New Year’s Eve, and he reflexively pulled Betty closer to him. Her tongue probed his half open mouth more eagerly than he was anticipating as her fingers pulled sharply on the fine hairs at the base of his neck, and the sharp sting caught him pleasantly by surprise. Pulling his mouth away from hers, he nipped teasingly at her bottom lip when she let out a small plaintive mewl of displeasure at his having broken off their kiss.

Jughead couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face as he took in the full scope of her adorable pout. Before he had a chance to make a playfully sarcastic comment though, the stalled elevator slowly started rumbling back to life. His eyes reflexively sought out the floor guide, and he felt his heart drop a little when he realized Betty was destined to get off in two more floors. He could sense his normal “bah-humbug” romantic feelings begin overtaking him again as he realized his shared moment with Betty was all too fleeting.

As the light for the 21st floor weakly illuminated, Jughead could see Betty chewing on her lip as if she was contemplating a question. As if on cue, he heard her ask in a quietly suggestive voice, “Do you believe in Krampus, Jughead?”

His brow knit momentarily in confusion before he replied a little more brusquely than he otherwise would’ve intended, “No. Why?”

Betty gave him a blinding grin before balling her fist in his soft cotton t-shirt and yanking him toward the creakily opening doors as she said, “Good. Because I aim to misbehave.”

~*~The End~*~

#reindeergames #riverdale #bughead #Sunshinebunnie ficlet #betty x jughead

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ginger-nightmist · 4 years

Text

Day 7: Nonagenarian

5.0 Spoilers; Kohanya musing on the Crystarium and the Exarch instead of sleeping, until a ghostly visitor sings her to sleep.

When she lies in her room at the Pendants, Kohanya can always swear she feels the weight of history, crushing down upon her. It may be a ridiculous idea; she knows there is not even a full century to most of the buildings and rooms. Ishgard has over a thousand of years of war and suffering and struggle, yet being there lies upon her as gracefully as a handknit shawl curls around her shoulders. Here, she feels stiff, as if bound in starched and ironed edges, a late arrival when she was expected and needed so long ago.

The years drape on her like layers of petticoats when the Exarch watches and speaks to her, shaded in the heavy overhang of his hood, hiding all but the hauntingly familiar shape of lips. A century of waiting to call her, of grasping and grabbing the wrong people. Of leaving her friends empty shells, of nearly costing her life to Zenos, or Ta's. Of his actions putting those dearest to her at risk, as Estinien fled in pursuit of the Garlean prince after her rescue. She is still bitter at him, a constant low seethe of resentment that lingers in her belly like nausea, but at the same time…

She sees how the people react to him here. Warm, welcoming. They feel safe. It is hard to correlate, against what she thinks she once knew, yet it almost, almost makes sense. 'Tis true he's been gracious and welcoming, with small, charming flashes of humor. She only wishes he was honest and open as well. Perhaps she is spoiled by honest politicians, Kohanya thinks, rolling over onto her left side to face out into the room, towards the shutters, still standing open to the night air. The cause of that, too, lingers in her, the hollow ache in her gut beneath the resentment, the way she feels she can feel the shape of her bones, beneath the skin, as if they radiate a constant, low-grade heat. The sensation stings, itches, as if swarms of gnats or mosquitos had slipped within her flesh to bite and feast.

She's sure it will fade, eventually.

"Hey."

Her body doesn't move, but her eyes shift, finding the translucent form leaning against the wall by the dresser. In another time, having her own personal ghost of a former — she doesn't want to call him an enemy, really, given how it all ended — foe? as her own personal companion might have been distressing. After everything else on the First, she has instead found his presence oddly soothing, in much the same way that merely being near Atara can calm something in here, or how Ysayle and Minifilia sang to her heart of family of familiarity and kindness, rather than scorn and distaste.

Kohanya makes a soft sound of acknowledgement, awaiting his follow up.

Brilliantly blue eyes meet hers, just enough lighter than Haurchefant's to be distinct, far too dark for Aymeric, far too bright for Estinien. Too kind for Zenos. Blue and blue and blue again, she sometimes thinks she is drowned by blue eyes.

"You're worrying instead of sleeping, yeah?"

Sighing, the scholar scrubs a hand over her own eyes, blood at night, spilled wine on the floor. "Yeah. Familiar with it?"

His expression is not a smile, precisely, but there is something a little softer, and a little gentler in it, considering her. "From my friends. I was never much of one for philosophical musing in the dark. If that's what it is, and not that you miss them?" He puts a little emphasis on the last word; the second night after Lakeland, with the light fresher and hotter in her bones, too raw and scraped for sleep still, she had talked to him for long hours, more for having someone safe to spill secrets too, for who else would see him, who could he tell? If a ghost wanted to judge her lovers, it could not harm her, but he had not, simply looked wistful for a long time and told her he wished he'd had the courage to acknowledge things he had once known but never spoken about, and that he was glad she had.

It was surprisingly kind, from a wraith who had been wandering alone as long as this tower had existed here. "No. I mean, yes, always, but right now, just over-thinking."

"Well," his voice is still so soft and welcoming and she wonders again, who he was in life that he is so open to her now. It's not just desperation for contact; she's sure, somehow, that he feels that warmth and draw too, the way she finds it a little easier to relax with him there. "I know a solution to that. Close your eyes."

Uncertain but willing to try, Kohanya lets her lids drift down over her eyes, closing them away. She can't hear any movement but she is sure, somehow, that Ardbert has come closer, stepped next to the bed.

When he starts to sing, they fly open again, the tune soft and low. A lullaby. When he catches her gaze he stops and laughs. "You won't fall asleep if you do that. This used to work for a dear friend of mine, just keep them closed and focus on the sound." Nodding mutely, feeling almost compelled, Kohanya rests her eyes once more, wondering which of the other warriors of his time he did this for.

As the melody starts to trickle into her feline ears, the thought falls away, and she loses herself in the rhythm and words, until sleep is carried by the tune and washes her away.

#FFxivWrite2020 #FFxivWrite #ffxiv writing #kohanya

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terror-that-flaps-in-the-evening · 5 years

Text

Brownies and Bake Sales

“That’s a hard no from us. I mean, who buys magazines anymore, Stacy,” Drake grabbed onto Launchpad’s elbow when he saw his husband scooting away. He couldn’t have him running out of the meeting like he had the previous week.

“Well, Mr. Mallard-McQuack, I personally find them very enjoyable.” Stacy, the mother of that obnoxious boy in Gosalyn’s class… What was his name again? Jay? Joey? Jake? “And for your information, last time we hosted this fundraiser, Zach sold more than everyone else in the class combined.” Ah, yes, Zach. Drake made sure to erase any memory of the little terror’s name from his brain. Not worth the space.

“Well, if we sold something that was less, well, I’m just going to be blunt with you, if we sold something that wasn’t so dumb, maybe the kids wouldn’t still be sitting in broken desks,Stacy” Drake looked up at his husband, who seemed to have found a very interesting stain on his shirt, which was taking up all of his attention. Drake needed to make sure to take it to the dry cleaner’s before next meeting - the other moms were like hawks! They’d notice in a heartbeat! A swift elbow to Launchpad’s side brought him back to the conversation, “Isn’t that right, Sweetie?”

“Uhhh yeah! I vote we do something like whatever Drake said,” Launchpad threw his hand in the air, much to Drake’s mortification. He fought the urge to snap at Launchpad that this was not at all how they’d practiced, and ohhh boy had they practiced. These meetings were like a war - they were more dangerous than any night out on patrol. He’d had to train Launchpad on what to say, how to say it, when to say it, and most importantly of all - what was okay to eat.

“This isn’t a place for harsh words, Drake,” one of the other moms, Karen, spoke up, instantly dragging an eye roll from Drake. What? He couldn’t help it - they deserved to hear a harsh dose of reality every once in a while. Every once in a while being once a week.

“Well, I’m just saying that we need to be selling something that people are buying. Door to door magazine salesman is a job for a forty-year-old creep. Cookies, popcorn, candy bars, come on people, we have to get our heads in the game!” Drake glanced around the room at the various people in front of him. He and Launchpad were the only dads in the room. The spartanly decorated room, furnished only by one long table and a bunch of miscellaneous slightly broken chairs that were no longer suited for classroom usage, was filled with a variety of mothers - none of whom were fans of Drake Mallard-McQuack.

For whatever reason, they loved Launchpad. They were always asking him if Gosalyn wanted to come over for a playdate if he wanted to organize a carpool with them, if he had anything to add to their newsletter. Blasphemy! Launchpad didn’t even want to be a part of the PTA!

Drake looked around the room, which was full of faces just staring back at him after his outburst. There was Stacy, the idiot chicken who thought that magazine sales were a good way to get his daughter a good education. The talentless parrot who always tried to claim her very obviously store-bought cookies were homemade was Linda. One of the more annoying members of the group was Lisa, who never missed a chance to boast about how her kids were the best. She also had the nerve to say that she made the best casseroles. Joke was on her, because both her kids and her casserole were garbage! Lastly, there was Binkie Muddlefoot… Drake was acutely aware of just how annoyingly nice that Binkie Muddlefoot could be, though she did make some divine pastries.

“Now now, Drake, that wasn’t very nice!” Speak of the devil, and he shall arrive, or, rather, think of Binkie Muddlefoot, and she’ll start babbling. Drake laid back in his seat, propping his feet up on the flimsy table that lay in front of them.

“Being nice isn’t going to get us a bigger budget,” Drake kept his voice smooth, yanking Launchpad’s seat back to its original position when he realized that his husband had been scooting away again. Why was that how every meeting ended up going?

“We should do a bake sale then,” Linda had the nerve to suggest. How dare she suggest an event she’d obviously not be able to contribute to…

“Yeah, right, Linda, like people would pay for the cookies you already paid for,” Drake yanked Launchpad’s chair back to him again. What did that man not understand about the absolute, severe necessity of Drake’s attitude? If he didn’t stand up to the moms, the whole school would be bankrupt!

“As if you can do better,” Lisa finally spoke up, “Now just the other day Gosalyn was telling a story about you burning her birthday cake. I on the other hand, could supply some perfect eateries to this hypothetical bake sale.”

“Launchpad bakes better,” Drake practically shouted, pointing vigorously at his husband, who had scooted ever so slightly away again.

“I’m---” Drake wasted not a second in clapping a hand over his husband’s mouth. When Launchpad started getting nervous, he started introducing himself to people who already knew him.

“So we’re having a bake sale? Oh goody!” Binkie Muddlefoot’s voice created a sensation in Drake that just made him want to break something. He gritted his teeth, resisted the urge to snap at the lady that he had to see every single gosh darned day…

“We are not having a bake sale!” Drake snapped at his neighbor. “A bake sale requires people showing up. We are the ONLY people who show up to this school!” Drake had to lean to the side as far as he could to yank Launchpad’s chair back this time - he very nearly made it to the door, where he’d no doubt make his escape.

“Well then what do you suggest,” Stacy chimed back in, not even looking up from the polish she was chipping off her nails, “Because I still say we should do magazines. Zach is a master salesman, after all.”

“Well, he only won because he cheated,” Lisa mumbled under her breath, “Otherwise, Lindsay would have beat him by a landslide.”

“We didn’t cheat, we just strategically hit your neighborhood first,” Stacy snipped back, flicking a fragment of nail polish deliberately in Lisa’s direction.

“You’re a cheater and a fraud, and you know it,” Lisa was very nearly at her breaking point - a point Drake did not need to see again.

“ENOUGH!” He yelled, drawing all eyes back to where they should be - on him. “Why don’t we just do the chocolate bar boxes? Launchpad buys at least an entire box every time they come to our door. No matter how many times I tell him we have enough.”

“Aww, and Tank always buys so so many of Honker’s chocolates from him when we do that one! I vote chocolates! Very sweet for our sweet little--” Binkie stopped, eyes wide open as Drake began speaking directly over her.

“Yea, yea, you agree, thanks Binkie, moving on, chocolates it is?” He stage whispered, “This is the part where you raise your hand, LP,” but when he looked to his left, he realized that he’d severely slacked in his duty of wrangling his husband - he was gone. Drake sighed and said, “Vote. Now.”

Stacy crossed her arms and harrumphed at Drake, muttering something about magazines being better for the mind than chocolate bars. Everyone else, surprisingly, raised their hands, albeit slightly reluctantly.

“Wonderful. As treasurer,” Drake always made sure to put some emphasis on his illustrious title, “I’ll get to ordering those tonight. Remember to send out the newsletter this time, Linda. We can’t have another mishap like last time.” Drake also never missed a chance to point out that, honestly, Linda was a terrible secretary.

The worst of them all though, was yet again, Stacy, who immediately piped up, “Well, Mr. Mallard-McQuack, as residing president of this Parent-Teachers Association, I do believe I should be giving the orders. I have half a mind to order you to get magazine brochures instead!”

“Yeah, well you only have half a mind to begin with,” Drake retorted, deliberately writing on his notepad Remember to order chocolate boxes as large as he could manage.

“Kind words breed kind thoughts,” Binkie said, all of the sudden sitting in Launchpad’s vacated seat, pulling up directly to where Drake had been trying to keep his husband. “And I think we all need to speak a few more kind words. Don’t you ladies? And Drake. I don’t mean to discriminate, dear.”

“It won’t be my fault when I snap,” Drake nearly went through his whole typical reaction of clasping a hand over his mouth and trying to shove the words back in, inevitably failing, but the hell to it. They deserved to hear how much he despised every single second he spent in their presence.

“On to the last order of business then,” Stacy said, staring directly at Drake as she added on, “Which I am in charge of as president.”

“Oh, whatever shall I do, I’m being looked at meanly,” Drake’s voice was laden with sarcasm. He waved his hands in front of his face as if he were trying to fend off a swarm of gnats. Drake might be a parent, but he never claimed to be a real adult.

“I’m living in a world of idiots,” Drake heard muttered from across the room, snapping his attention in the direction of Lisa, who, he had to be honest, had no right to be saying anything about anyone else’s intelligence.

“Move on already,” Drake groaned. He had to be a part of this organization, because he had to be a part of Gosalyn’s school. How else would he ensure his pumpkin got the best education she could? He didn’t want to waste a single second longer with these casserole addicts when he could be spending it with his husband and daughter!

“Stop bitching, already,” Linda snapped right back at him. “Go on darling,” she patted Stacy’s arm gently and shot her that sickly sweet smile she was so good at.

“Last order of business,” Stacy over-pronounced her words as per usual, speaking with the volume that one would use for a full auditorium, “We need to decide whether Launchpad’s brownie recipe gets added to the newsletter or whether Linda’s blondie recipe gets added.” Stacy gave her henchman Linda a little smile before opening her arms to the group and saying, “No discussion! A simple vote is all.” She jabbed her finger in Drake’s direction as if he were some problematic force in this room.

“Launchpad at least makes---”

“NO Discussion, Mr. Mallard-McQuack!” Stacy shouted over him, deafening the room with her annoyingly high pitched voice. “All for Linda’s recipe?” She raised her hand in the air, holding it in solidarity with Linda, the only other one to vote for her own recipe. Stacy still made a huge show of adding two tally marks by Linda’s name. “And those for Launchpad,” her words were spoken with a roll of her eyes that made Drake just want to jump across the table and--- He took a deep breath. Be civil, Drake, he told himself and took another deep breath.

Of course the second Launchpad’s name was out of her mouth, his hand shot up in the air, along with the hands of Binkie and Lisa. Lisa made it very clear to Drake that this was not a favor to him. “Launchpad is a friend. You’re the enemy,” she whispered in Drake’s direction, sending a slight shiver down his spine. A war room - just like he’d told Launchpad during their practice sessions.

“Very well. We’ll add Launchpad’s recipe. You all are dismissed, I’ll see you again next week, darlings,” Stacy said, jotting a few more things down as the rest of the group filed out the door. Drake walked as fast as he could, trying to outwalk Binkie. She just had such a height advantage on him though…

“And then I watered the flowers again, because I figured the poor dears must be parched with this heat wave! And then…” Drake was practically running to avoid the onslaught of superfluous information that was constantly pouring out of Binkie’s mouth. When they finally made it to Drake and Launchpad’s car, Drake dove in without a word to his neighbor.

“Ugh, they always get so unnecessarily heated at those things, am I right?” Drake said to Launchpad, with a smile on his face.

Launchpad just stared back at him, which Drake took as an affirmation that yes, everyone but himself was an absolute whacko at those meetings. Drake Mallard-McQuack, however, was a star at being a PTA mom, and he wasn’t ashamed of it one little bit.

#darkwing duck #Drake Mallard #drakepad #launchpad mcquack #PTA meeting #Honestly though #Drake is the best PTA parent

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dbhilluminate · 5 years

Text

DBHI: Equilibrium, ch. 13 - “Periapsis” (pt. 1)

Characters: Noah / “Erwin Yvonne”, Gabriel / “Vincent Sharp”, Special Agent Gavin Reed, Director Thomas Falken Word Count: 2,842

Noah crashes an undercover FBI operation to say hello to a friend he hasn't seen or spoken to in a couple of months, but the mood is spoiled when the Zionist Inquisition shows up to deliver an ultimatum to Vincent Sharp, and issue a threat to anyone who would dare support the installation of an android suburb in Washington, DC.

***For a glossary of world-building terms relating to this series and chapter, click here.

(Chapter Art by ozaya, Co-authored by @grayorca15)

• Chapter Index • Characters • Glossary •

——

December 23rd, 2041 - 9:45 PM

From the outside, the looming auditorium locally known as The Mellon was unchanged. Whatever techno-aesthetics the Capitol had adopted in the last two decades, Washington, DC’s architecture was still mostly the same neoclassical Roman-inspired drivel the Founding Fathers probably thought the height of grandeur that any respectable city could model itself after. This particular building was very much a product of its time- a perfect encapsulation of the stiff right angles, thick brooding columns, and bleak texture-less walls, suggested nothing of what might actually be happening beyond the foyer. The red-green cutout projections of trees and reindeer and ornaments dancing across the Columbia pediment sculpted across its tented promenade and the delicate string instruments currently honoring an orchestral cover of one of a hundred classic Christmas songs was a hint though.

Noah stepped out of the Jaguar to be accosted by a shower of holographic white and blue snowflakes, mixed with the real-life equivalent wafting about that cold winter’s night. They swarmed like his very own plague of too-friendly gnats. Whatever property-wide projection program the event had been accentuated with, the programmer had evidently spent too much time re-watching Frozen as a child. He pulled his sunglasses down just far enough to peer over the lenses as a few flakes fluttered in, close enough for him to see their individual fractals, and gave an irritated huff through his nose. “Still bitter over the demise of Disney, I see.” A few seconds later, the shy valet swept around the roadster’s red taillights and apologized profusely for a near-nonexistent delay in offering to take the car to be parked. Noah felt nothing but amusement at their blathering, patted him on the shoulder and held the door open. “Quit fussing. It’s early yet, and you’ve a lot more rides to tuck in before the night’s over. Treat this one like the queen she is and there’ll be an extra fifty in it for you… Fredrick.”

The kitschy light-show and dear hapless Fred weren’t as bothersome as the front ranks of guards posted at the velvet rope-fenced entrance. The nearest man put up a hand and stopped him in his tracks at the top of the stairs. “I’m sorry, sir, but this is a charity function for contributors only. Have you made a donation?” It seemed only pre-approved guests were being permitted inside- a slight oversight on his part, but it wasn’t enough to keep him from his goal. He had a conversation to close out.

Noah popped his brows and donned a charming smile as he presented the falsified credentials, nestled in a flip-fold ID bearing the name Erwin L. Yvonne, complete with the most abhorrent manipulation of his likeness ever produced. “Not to worry, gents. I’m intimately acquainted with the curator, Mr. Sharp, and I’m here to deliver my contribution in the flesh.” Everything about the little white lie he’d spun on a whim was unnatural to him, but convincing to the two confused humans -poor, overworked and underpaid minions as they probably were- relaying questions into their headsets. After a few moments of conferring with whoever was heading security (most likely the Special Agents in charge of the sting this event was a front for), they motioned him through for a pat-down just beyond the rope. Noah didn’t bother feeling offended at them for only doing as they were instructed, but he did have a little fun making them as uncomfortable as possible as they searched his person for weapons. If his disguise, an old favorite thrown together on such short notice, held up to that much, then the rest would be a cakewalk- not that he had ever harbored a desire to actually go skipping through a fully-stocked dessert table. As fun as it sounded, he had enough messes splashed all over his real name without adding another to the list.

To his relief, the reach of the holographic snowflakes stopped at the door and vanished as he crossed the threshold of the foyer. The marble floor of the lobby had been buffed and waxed to a soft shine, and was still holding up to the foot traffic four hours after the meet’s commencement. Noah only paid enough mind to the guests still loitering about in groups no larger than six people to disinterestedly scan their faces at a glance and assign his background processes the menial task of matching names and dossiers to them. At the moment, he was far too focused on finding the one disguised face among them who was of any real importance to care about much else.

Mr. Vincent Sharp. Or should he say, Gabriel Reed.

The main hall was a wide, cavernous space, with rows of columns standing off to either side. Gold leaf sconced wall lamps provided an accentuating glow compared to the three giant chandeliers of brass and aluminum that bathed the room in ambient light. The dazzling light-show playing outdoors was only outdone by the splendor of one thirty-foot tall balsam fir erected in the center of the floor, adorned with no less than one hundred feet of multicolored string lights, dozens of strands of tinsel, swaths of garland, and a few hundred bauble ornaments. The topper, a white tinsel angel with glittery wings, faced the entrance with its hands pressed together and head bowed as if to thank all who arrived. A few outlying rings of cocktail tables surrounded the roped-off centerpiece. Those guests who weren’t conversing had taken seats to sip champagne or nibble on appetizers while they caught up on their gossip. Each cloth-covered table possessed its own small topper of a larger holographic projection of snowflakes hanging stationary in midair, which constantly shifted from one pattern to the next, spinning like a globe on a stand whenever a curious hand reached out to ‘tap’ them.

A small stage nestled in an alcove against the back of the ballroom hosted a classical band (ruled by one full-size concert piano) who looked as superfluous as the snowflakes that had greeted him outside. They wound through the last chorus of Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire as he descended the staircase, before starting back up with Jingle Bell Rock. Between the cello and violins, Noah’s hypersensitive ear detected at least three strings in need of tightening before he shunted that note aside to take a backseat with the rest of his anxieties. He hadn’t spent two hours biting his knuckles over ever approaching the Andrew W. Mellon Auditorium just to show up and critique its acoustic entertainment.

It wasn’t until a few curious eyes had turned his way, nodded and bid him good evening, that Noah realized how entirely inappropriate it was to be wearing sunglasses indoors, much less an event so high-class. The rest of his ensemble was tame enough- a dark navy blue suit bearing pointed lapels and a Zion sigil pin, complimented by a black dress shirt and loafers. The mild dose of glitter effect (same as could be found on the snow outside) projected into his black hair, accented with blue highlights, wasn’t as much of an affront as the pair of Ray Bans. Before anyone could make much of a fuss about it, he pulled them off and stashed the specs in his jacket’s breast pocket; in this kind of crowd, acting appropriate was of the utmost priority. Except when it wasn’t. Off to the left was a fully stocked pop-up bar- heads of the handful of people standing near it were turned away, giving off all manner of unapproachable vibes, including the only familiar silhouette in the room. Noah fought back a smirk when he spotted one particular set of ears before the facial recognition software even kicked in. As much as he would have loved to surprise him with his presence, he knew better than to sneak up on the owner of said ears. The last time he’d done so, Noah had wound up laid out over the fragments of his former coffee table, and he wasn’t eager to experience the cocktail hour equivalent of that encounter.

A half-hearted sweep of the room offered a few other suggestions of anything amiss, and that conclusion was about as dull as dishwater. Noah wasn’t really feeling making a scene with another guest (this event was far too classy for such delinquency), nor was he feeling at all confident enough to steal the mic off its stand and serenade the entire room. But that Christmas tree… it was giving off far too many signals to only be rigged with illumination accents. On his optical spectrum, a cloud of static encircled the poor displaced flora from top to bottom, a few of which were emitting from little lens-capped nodes disguised as burnt-out bulbs along the string. He drifted over casually and leaned in as if to admire his reflection in one of the gold metallic baubles, then carefully reached past the rope to twist and unplug one of the planted camera bulbs like plucking a petal off a flower. The fir gave only a whisper-quiet tink at this attack. The light strand continued to blink and cycle away, regardless of the missing piece. Noah held it up to eye level with a triumphant, yet mischievous grin. He knew exactly who was on the other side of the monitor observing the footage.

And having the most important discussion of the holiday season. On the other end of the feed, tucked away in the off-limits green rooms of the hall, Special Agent Reed was too busy engaging in one of his favorite pastimes of discussing classic action flicks with the unbaptized to notice that one of their cameras was moving. “I’m tellin’ you, man, Die Hard is THE Christmas movie, and if you don’t agree you’re just wrong .” “No way,” a second agent argued, “Bruce Willis himself denied that shit more than twenty years ago…” Reed let out a laugh that bordered on mocking, shook his head, and gestured to the man with one scolding finger lifted off his coffee cup. “John McClane would disagree-“ “Hey! Dumbasses! Stay focused!” Director Thomas Falken -who had insisted on overseeing the sting himself, in the event that something went horribly wrong - barked at the yapping men with a threatening leer that snapped Gavin’s head around and back into focus. On the feed of one of the bulb-cameras, an unrecognizable man rolled the glass node between his fingertips like a gem, and smirked as he held it up to the light. Reed’s brow furrowed in distress as he mumbled “What the fuck…?”, then swiped the walkie off the counter to relay the information. “Gabe.” “What is it, Reed?”

All done up in the swankest cocktail suit anyone would ever see him in, ‘Vincent Sharp’ turned, then leaned with his back against the bar and nursed a drink as he scanned the room through half-framed, squared-off, horn-rimmed glasses. One idle hand reached to throw back the hem of the tweed charcoal gray blazer, exposed the light brown waistcoat hugging his waist and hips, and slipped into the pocket of a pair of perfectly tailored, black slim-legged slacks. “We may have trouble, one of our spycams has been compromised.” Gabe tipped back his head and emptied the glass in his hand to smother the outward reaction of surprise, then set it down on the counter and gestured to the bartender for another. Rather than reach for any of the bottles displayed on the back counter, she went for a decanter on the shelf below the bar and refilled the glass with a burgundy brown liquid- thirium, distilled and dyed to mimic the appearance of Scotch. "Just one?” he asked in a curious tone as he searched the crowd around the tree. From his vantage point, he couldn’t clearly see anyone acting suspiciously. “Yeah, it’s the weirdest thing… little shit’s just holdin’ it up and grinnin’ like he knows we’re here…” And that he did. The harsh whisper to emanate over the commandeered camera’s mic said as much:

Good evening, Special Agent Reed. Fancy seeing you here.

From the other side of the room, Gabriel’s head turned a tic at the sound of crashing equipment and a few muttered ‘shit Shit, SHIT’s coming from the other end of the frequency he was currently tuned to. Like a bull in a china shop.

“How does he know you’re here… !?” Falken -known in his social circles as Tomahawk, for good reason- boomed from across the room as he rose from the couch and stormed over to the monitors. He shoved Reed’s chair aside, and scrutinized the face of the man making a mockery of their carefully planted monitoring equipment. Gavin’s heels scraped against the hardwood as he backpedaled and held his hands up in surrender. “I- I- I don’t… I don’t know, I didn’t tell anyone, I swear-” “Then who is THAT?” Falken punctuated with a slam of his palm against the monitor that made everyone in the room jump. “That’s… that’s, uh-...” He could explain that, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to. No matter how he looked at it, he was to blame for his presence that evening. His negligence had compromised months of careful planning.

“...Gavin?” His target rose from a table toward the front of the ballroom and directed his attention toward the bar, leering with the clear intent of starting a conversation. What impeccably bad timing for this to go down. “Reed! Talk to me!”

Gabriel’s intrusion provided him with the convenient excuse he needed to disengage for a moment. One visibly-shaking hand swiped the walkie off the desk and Gavin turned to break away from the glower of Falken’s death-glare long enough to respond to his partner in the field. The other hand ran through his hair with a nervous twitch in his fingers and he glanced over his shoulder as he cleared his throat and swallowed, then mumbled, “It’s-... it’s Noah,” under his breath just loud enough for him to hear.

Gabe’s thought processes came to a screeching halt as his personal life collided with his alias for just a moment. To hear that Noah was in Washington, DC, much less at the Zion Founders Fundraiser, was the last thing he’d expected to hear that evening. As Reed continued to drop curses in the background, Gabe turned to face the bar and flashed a polite, but forced smile at the bartender as she eyed him with nervous sweeps. He didn’t reach for the glass right away as it was set in front of him on a small black napkin. “Please, tell me I didn’t just hear what I think I did…” he muttered internally as a dozen different possibilities for how the night would turn out flashed thumb-nailed pre-constructions across his HUD. But Reed’s uncomfortable sputtering confirmed what he was hoping was just a joke.

“No, you heard me right.” One hand swiped over his face in a downward motion and scratched in frustration at the stubble he hadn’t bothered to shave in almost a week and desperately avoided Falken’s infuriated ‘what the fuck’ gestures in the background. “The bastard’s actually here, arrived in DC last night with Hannah and President-Elect Kamski. H-he stopped by the house lookin’ for you, but I told him you were undercover an’couldn’t make an appointment. I told him t’keep his nose outta our shit, but he-” Reed paused and squinted over Falken’s shoulder as Noah slipped the tiny camera into his pocket with a ‘Can you hear me alright in there?’ “Oh, son of a….” “What the hell is he doing…?”

The camera-bulb didn’t act as a walkie. And to their credit, all the personnel Noah could plainly see -now that his recognition software had sorted fact from fiction- didn’t stir, much less blow their cover. He knew without being told what this sting was about, and who it was the FBI were really here to keep tabs on. Perhaps him showing up was akin to being a ‘fly in the ointment’, but as yet he hadn’t done anything other than offend their Christmas tree. He gave the indifferent lens one more wordless glance as he rolled the bulb between his fingers. For a brief moment he considered winking at it, but decided at the last moment to pocket the device instead. Perhaps it’d come in handy elsewhere- for someone who hadn’t been properly equipped for this operation, it was the best he could do on such short notice. Failing that, he could always speak very loudly and deliberately at Gabriel’s collar mic, if he’d let him get close enough. The owner of the ear he recognized from before still hadn’t turned around. Outwardly he didn’t look very distressed. Only the new hunch in his shoulders, invisible to the human eye as it was, said it all. Far be it from him to keep ‘Vincent’ in suspense.

#rk900 #rk1800 #dbhilluminate #noriel #dbhiequilibrium #noah #gabriel

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incorrectsmashbrosquotes · 6 years

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The pale moonlight of a foggy night was cast over a large gothic castle of massive size and splendor. Built from the very mountain that still made part of its daunting walls, the place was a basin of darkness and a storm of ice and wind to all, and very few traveled here for good reason. But that was not tonight as the castle was teeming with the forces of the Demon King Ganondorf, who simply could not pass up this opurtunity to take the dark fortress as his domain. Thousands of minions from the lowest Bokoblins to the mightiest Lynels were busy with orders to clear house and take whatever fancied their desire as clearly no one was home in the castle and it was ripe for the picking, the owner having been long gone that now the castle was a ghost town. However two warriors had managed to sneak in and evade the monsterous forces as they trailed after the King of Demons himself as he searched for something.

Deep within the castle grounds, Simon and Richter had managed to find Ganondorf as he was watching a group of imps search through various powerful artifacts they procured from the castle treasury and brought to him. Sensing the two Belmonts enter the room as he barked out orders and the imps left with their haul before turning to the two Vampire Hunters. A Haughty smile on his face as he greet them. “Simon, Richter, still being petulant dogs i see.” He grinned wickedly as the two had recovered from thair last beating and gripped their ancestreal weapons for a fight. Ganondorf just took their silence as compliance for another smackdown as his hands were coated in dark magic. “If there is one thing I enjoy about you pesky holy warriors, its your stubborness to submit. Alas i’ll just make use of your souls.” He chortled out in a chuckle as they did battle once more, and once again it was in the favor of the Gerudo. Richter was beaten down first like he was nothing and Simon had his legs broken followed by the King of Evil proceeding to choke him with the Vampire Killer. Richter was currently pinned to the floor with the Sword of Sages impaling him through the gut, weakly reaching out for Simon as his metal whip was shattered to dozens of pieces before him.

“What’s wrong kid, your pathetic ‘holy god’ not lending a hand?” He mocked as he took to enjoying himself with viciouly beating the Belmont duo within an inch of their lives, who knew Ghirahim would have solid advice to release work stress. Simon gurgled out though strained breath as he weakly grasped a flask of holy water and smashed it against Ganondorf’s face. Which did absolutely nothing to faze him mind the light steam coming off as the shards of glass fell off and water dried away off his face. The Gerudo God King felt insulted by the attempt as he let go ov the chain whip and backhanded Simon as a few of his teeth flew out and he collapsed. Getting off and yanking his sword from Richter’s body as he watched the younger one crawl to his elder.

“Its been fun, you two, oh who am I kidding, your both pathetic.” He sneared out in mild annoyance as these two were mere gnats to his presence. If you can’t rely on others, gotta get your hands dirty yourself. Charging dark magic thorugh the long blade, Ganondorf watched in humor as Simon cradled Richter who was losing blood fast. “Rest easy son, Lucina is waiting for you at home.” Simon said as he pressed a hand to Richter’s wound and vowed to get his family safe despite both facing imminent death. Ganondorf just rolled his eyes at the show of love and fired off a beam of warlock magic to the two. Time seeming to slow as Simon shielded Richter’s body and smiling to him in pride.

However the air around the trio darkening as shadows and power condensed before the two Belmonts and took a form, the form of a crimson clad figure as the beam rammed into him. splitting apart in many directions as the beam was cut and pushed against a strong force. Ganondorf caught off guard but growling and pushing more power as Simon looked up to a pair of glowing red eyes and a pale handsome face. “You…” Simon uttered out with a frown as he stared at Dracula, who held the beam of magic off from obliterating Simon and Richter. Dracula raised a finger as if asking for a moment then looked to Ganondorf through the magic and clenching his fist as the beam burst in power and Ganondorf was pushed back a few inches from the force. The dust and smoke clearing to reveal Dracula, the Prince of Darkness, standing before Simon and Richter Belmont and facing Ganon. Dracula dusted off his hands and sighed out before looking to his 'family’.

“I see your as stubborn as my own grandson, ironic you both share the same name…” Dracula commented as he cast a spell with a wave that had Richter’s wound freeze over with ice to stop the bleeding. “While I should admonish you for acting reckless again, now is not the time. Loki, get these two children out of my castle…” Dracula said as a dwarf being burst into the room in black smoke, his green eyes sparkling with mirth as he gathered their weapons and grabbed them as all three vanished with Simon getting cut off as he was gonna speak. As Dracula focused on Ganondorf, he grew a smile and greeted his guest.

“How kind of you to invite yourself into my home and act like you own every tile, Dragmire. But what can i expect from a thief posing as a king.” The Vampire said as Ganon just glared at being stopped yet again from disposing of two peons and denied his fun. The ground next to the Dragon bubbled up with blood as it took the form of a humanoid creature, woman in figure as it bowed and spoke in a raspy voice, “My prince~…” It said as Dracula replied in a curt tone as if adressing the news. “We have uninvited guests, see to it that my legions are freed from the hibernation spell i set up centuries ago.Been a long nap, I deduce everyone is quite famished,” He said with a hint of humor as the blood creature sprouted a toothy fang filled grin and seeped into the stone and marble floor.

Dracula watched Ganondorf and could feel his anger growing at him, the one being that dared defy the Demon King and twice now disrupt his activity. Gabriel just reached into his cloak and brought out a familiar old weapon as he paused and tucked it back away. “On second thought, I’d rather not make it quick and easy. You, my little pig king, deserve a stern punishment.” Icy magic emenating as Dracula summoned his favored mystical weapon, The Void Sword, as Ganondorf lunged with his sacred longsword in a roar of fury.

Within the caverns beneath the castle was a titanic collumn, known simply as 'The Tower’, the obsidian marble was the very foundation of Castlevania and the exuded dark energies that would draw creatures of the night from around the world. The blood being reformed and moved to the beheamoth pillar as it was chanting Enochian and hands glowing with the blood of The Dragon it was connected to. Stepping up to it as its hands pressed on the black stone and glowed in power, the chanting finished on a forboding note, “AWAKEN, LEGIONS OF THE PRINCE OF DARKNESS.”

The castle let off a light glow of red power as the forces of Ganondorf all began to feel the grounds shake as some stumbled and they looked aorund in confusion and worry. Then the noise followed as they picked up the roars and wails of thousands of unholy monsters as the darkness poured out every manner of supernatural. Needless to say the forces of ganon were woefully unprepared as they were swarmed by the legions of Dracula and torn into. The sights were bloodbaths as the monsters of the night proved too fast and too overwhelming for the army of the Demon King. Harpies and Gargoyle littered the air and took down flying beasts while many beasts, undead and enchanted being overrun the invading military. One would spot a Necromancer decked in red and purple robes in the graveyards hunting the Poe’s as it was flanked by Dark Acolytes and reaping souls with fun. Lycans running down and dragging down big Moblins as Vampires cut down Lynels and Darknuts with large enchanted armors smashed away the small fry or crushed them easily. Even demons, those that submitted to Dracula after the fall of Satan got their fill as they hunted down many others. Any that were not torn apart by the supernatural were dragged off screaming and struggling to the kitchens and dungeons to be made use of.

Simon and Richter reappeared away and out of the castle grounds as they watched the castle from a distance, The imp letting them go and speaking in a humored tone. “There we are, apologies gents but I must be getting back, i can smell the goodies these visitors will be not needing~” He beamed with a smile and then reached into his pack and brought out a pair of medallions embalmed with five blue gems. “A gift from my Prince, a sign of good will and hopes that you two don’t do anything rash again. Light Magic medallions, powerful holy work capable of benefitting any warrior of light and tuning their gear for the better.” The Chupacabras smiled and tucked it into Simon’s tunic as Simon nodded in thanks, though a bit repulsed by the lil imp. He got up and felt a gauntletted hand on his shoulder, looking to see a pale dark blue clad vampire looking at him in light concern.

“Its time for you to return home young Simon, father and I will attend to this thief. May both of you have a safe journey.” The pale vampire smiled and took his hand off Simon’s shoulder as he walked to the castle. “Wait, what is your name, vampire?” Simon called out, curious and surprised the being did not attack him. The vmapire turned back and replied. “Alucard, formerlly Trevor Belmont, til we meet again, Holy Warrior.” He gave a bow and turned away as the Chupacabras already left and Simon turned his way and into the woods with Richter sleeping while the laght magic slowly seeped into their bodies and worked on healing them. Alucard approached the gates and drawbridge as two heavily armored Moblins had managed to excape free of the horrors and spotted him coming, not the brightest of Ganons races, they thought him easy prey and charged with roars as Alucard just burst forth in a teal mist and blur of white and dark blue speed. Appearing again and still walking as he flicked The Crissaegrim free of black blood and sheathing the blade with a bored look as he walked past the gates. The forces of Darkness taking a moment to bow to Alucard as they were feasting on the enemy.

The two Moblins collapsing as their runs slowed and one froze up before shattering into shards of ice and the other had white hot holes stabbed into and thorugh its armor in the vital spots, being cooked alive by hellfire. Collapsing as their shadows pooled out and they were pulled in by Shadow Beasts claws into their own shadows and the inky black mass moved into the castle to continue their fun.

Unknown to all, or just ignored by Dracula’s forces, a certain woman watched the whole carnage from a cushioned seat as she held her opera glasses up and focused on the battle between Dracula and Ganondorf, the Demon King actually being hardpressed and a scowl marring his face as The Prince of Darkness had him on his toes easily. Void Sword vanishing as Chaos Claws came out and grasped the sacred Sage Sword in one hand as another came in to deliver a punishing right hook that had Ganondorf tumble back and growl as his blood leaked through grit teeth while Dracula let out a smirk, this was gonna be fun~.

Palutena watched in light worry for Dracula as she knew to mess with Ganondorf was to risk certain death, but here Dracula was, making Ganondorf his lackey and besting him in combat, all while having that handsome smirk on his face. She had a light blush as she focused on Gabriel and his every move as he beat and humiliated Ganondorf, the orb of her staff recording the whole thing as this was gonna be a great story for the others who disliked Ganondorf and his armies.

Ganondorf was gonna never live this mockery down, and the others wouldn’t let him either.

#incorrect super smash bros #super smash bros #incorrect quotes #Gabriel Belmont #Gabriel #Dracula #Ganondorf #Palutena #alucard #Trevor Belmont #Richter Belmont #Simon Belmont #Palutena x Gabriel #Black Light #Castlevania #Legend of Zelda #Kid Icarus #submission

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kitty-chan17985 · 5 years

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I knew he’d be there.

I had felt him move in the bed, I felt him get up, but I was too newly awoken to really acknowledge it. I had woken up a couple of times during the night, but he hadn’t moved from the bed...I mostly woke up because I was too anxious about something, I don’t know exactly what, but I’d always just sink back into the inky blackness of sleep, paying practically no mind to the world around me. Maybe he moved...one or twice. I haven’t had much in the way of dreams or even nightmares lately...just emptiness until I wake up after what feels like a mere second or two. I had had my hand on his chest before he got up, my hand now resting just next to my face as I slowly open my eyes. I try to sit up after I hear the rustling of clothing, but I’m too exhausted, so I just stay in bed.

The air feels cold. Temperature wise, it’s fine, but...it’s cold. Angry. Tense. Something’s off, and I already feel my heart sinking deeper into the mattress than my body has. Still, I figure he’s just...going into his workshop. Maybe he’s just upset...Freddy’s had been closed down just a day or so ago, and...well...it meant a lot. He was beyond enraged when Henry decided on it...he hadn’t hurt anyone, but he was seething. I thought I had settled it down enough by talking to him, he seemed to settle enough to just sulk a bit in the workshop...but it seems this anger is seriously outliving any other time. I hear him huff furiously before storming out the door, though he’s...quiet. Too quiet.

By now adrenaline hadn’t yet surged through me, but it was slowly building as I hastily threw on a yellow tank top, a pale blue hoodie, a pair of deep blue jeans, and a pair of white flip flops. It shouldn’t be hard to get him back, right? I don’t necessarily need to leave the house. I leave my pairs of glasses in their places, deciding against putting either pair on as I hurry out of the room, but by the time I’m down the stairs, I hear the front door shut. What...in the heavens is he doing? I furrow my brow and frown a bit as I huff softly. I feel a slight twinge of irritation nag at my head like a gnat swarming my ears, rubbing at the bridge of my nose. I’m exhausted...I’m too tired to bother putting on a bra or anything, so I zip up the hoodie and exchange my flip flops for my old white boots. No socks, but...whatever. I’ll be back home soon after I settle him down. I head out the door, opening my mouth to speak when I notice William is...gone.

Where did he go?, I think to myself. Blinking a few times, I pull out a ribbon from my pocket as I pull my phone from the opposite pocket, calling Deacon over so he can watch the kids. It’s not okay for a mother to just leave her children at home, but...I feel worried about this, and I don’t feel Deacon’s presence is...necessary. It’d be helpful if William were a bit more calm, but...he seems to be absolutely seething. I tie my hair into a ponytail, grabbing my keys to the house, as well as the keys for Freddy’s, and wait just a few minutes for Deacon to arrive before I hurry off to Freddy’s. I don’t know why I feel the need to head there...but I do. I decide against using the car, since it would seem that would be at too loud. Is that the same thought William had? I don’t want to wake the kids, since Skylar is a light sleeper, and if I wake Penelope, she’ll never go back to sleep. Freddy’s isn’t too far of a walk anyway...and I need the exercise. I need to keep myself as healthy as I can...

As I rush over, I keep looking over my shoulder. It’s still dark, but...it’s starting to become lighter. As much as I hate being out in the dark, I know it’s...necessary, at least right now. Just a few minutes of walking and I’m at Freddy’s, and though it’s rather warm and I’m barely half awake yet, I find myself more determined to find William to pay any mind to the heat as I hear the noise of snapping metal and wires, enraged yells coming from a man, clearly William. What’s he doing?! I hear the noises stop and for a moment, I relax a little, though I still move closer to the building. I can’t see the animatronics through the windows...I figure he destroyed something, and I feel my heartbeat speed up. Maybe I should just...

Then I hear it. A scream. A horrified, bloodcurdling scream, coming from inside. I immediately run over to the doors, finding them unlocked, bursting into the restaurant.

“WILLIAM!!” I cry out, hearing nothing in direct response as I immediately run in, looking around frantically as the screaming quickly ends. I heard it from the back room, right...? Didn’t I? I pause for a moment as I rush toward the back, feeling the air grow colder and colder (now in terms of temperature), gripping my arms as I shiver. I hear William cackling from the back after only a moment or two, seeing the entrance just ahead of me down the hall. I come to a screeching halt as I make it to the large room, no door keeping me from getting to him. I turn to face him, seeing him by one of the walls as I gasp, my breath quickly catching in my throat. Our eyes lock as he stops laughing, and I’m not sure what to say or think. Whatever had him spooked appears to not be there right now, or maybe it still is? Is he seeing things? No matter about that...

What matters right now is the fact that he’s now donned the very suit that nearly killed him decades ago. I feel my eyes go wide as tears begin to well up in my eyes, and my first instinct is to pull out my phone. I don’t care what he’s doing here. I don’t care if he gets in trouble for destroying property. All I care about right now is getting that suit off of him. I cup one hand over my mouth in shock as I reach into my pocket. A scream would be let out if I could let it go, but nothing escapes as I stay still. He stays frozen as I see a panicked look on his face, and I see him start to move, hearing a creak from the old suit.

“W-WILLIAM, D-DON’T MOVE!! PLEASE!!” I scream at him in fear, my hand tearing away from my mouth as my brow furrows in an expression that would probably be best assumed to be a mix between anger or fear, based on how tense my features felt. He stops as he seems to realise his mistake, and doesn’t dare move his hand again. I call 911 quickly, my hand shaking wildly as I stare at him with fear, tears distorting my vision. Please pick up. Please pick up. Please pick up!!

Then it happens.

He didn’t even move...he just breathed a bit too much. A loud snap is followed by countless others as I gasp, watching in horror as every springlock goes off.

Every.

Single.

One.

Blood splays out all over the floor as rusted, already dirty, dry-blood-caked metal bars rip into my husband’s body in a matter of seconds, snapping and ripping through his cheeks, his stomach, arms, hands, chest, legs...everywhere. I can only watch in terror as I hear him scream in pain, grabbing at the suit while I freeze in place. A scream of my own rips through my throat, tearing it raw from the inside as I scream louder than I’ve ever screamed before, watching in a mix of disgust and horror as I see his guts spill from the upper torso of the suit, choked, gurgled noises coming out soon after his broken screams of pain. I drop my phone, my hands grabbing at my hair tightly as I can’t even hear if anyone has answered my call. I continue to scream as I stand helpless, backing away from the scene as blood pools around his feet while he slowly starts to lose his strength. His cries of pain are quick to turn into nothing more than small gurgles as I see those beautiful silver eyes roll back, scleras running bloody red, his mouth open wide and torn open from the bars ripping through him. Blood had sprayed behind him from the bars in his back ripping through him, and I know that this time no amount of surgery can fix him.

It feels like a millennia before his cries and gurgles cease and his body collapses, dozens of thoughts running through my mind. I cup my hands over my mouth as I feel my stomach turn, but I try to keep everything as contained as possible. In doing so, I feel a sharp pain in my left arm, shooting through me like a dagger rocket, ripping through my arm as painfully as a paper cut. I start to gag, coughing furiously until I drop to my knees, my chest tightening in a familiar feeling as I gasp for air. I hear someone calling for me on the other end of the line as I pant heavily, grabbing at my arm as I push myself up to sit on my knees. I throw my head back and scream again, my pathetic wails of grief reaching no one but the person on the other end of the line. I start sobbing like a child, my breathing growing short and quick as I feel as though I’ve been winded. My mind swims, everything happening so fast I can’t even comprehend it. Darkness tunnels my vision as I continue to scream and wail hysterically, though my cries are interrupted quite often by desperate gasps for air that begin to take less and less of it. I eventually cease, leaning forward as I resort to small sobs. I hear a question.

“Ma’m! Ma’m, can you tell me where you are?” a voice on the other end calls, breaking me from my daze momentarily. I vaguely hear something else from the other end, some other voice, but it grows fuzzy and hardly audible. I hadn’t noticed, but blood splattered out onto my face, a few drops running down my face and mixing with my tears, even more of a distressing sight as those tears fall just within my sight. My hands rest on the ground as I suddenly fall totally quiet, feeling my eyelids begin to weigh as much as anvils, my jaw experiencing the same pain.

Am I going to die along with him?

...do I even want to stay alive now? What’s the point of going on with this sight in my head, for the rest of my days?

“...F...Fr...edd...y’s...” I hear myself say feebly, earning a request to repeat it. “...Fred...dy’s...” I reply, using my final bit of strength to say it. I feel my eyelids grow too heavy to keep them open as darkness overwhelms me completely. I feel my head hit the ground as the last words he ever said to me ring through my head...words of comfort, the words that would always make my heart melt...words I’d never hear from him again.

“I love you, my sweet Angel.”

#drabble #Angel #Angel Ferguson #William Afton #gore tw #tw // gore #death tw #tw // death #blood tw #tw // blood

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exophilelovings · 6 years

Text

Golden Gate

This is January’s Short story, Golden Gate!

Want February’s? Go to my patreon now to get access to it for a $1!!

https://www.patreon.com/monsterlover2018

Going to her grandmother’s had never been a problem for Katrina. Her whole family had been living up in the appalachian mountains in Pennsylvania for quite a long time. They had settled there according to her grandmother with some of the first German settlers in the area. It had been a bit crazy for her family when she had moved to Carlisle instead of opting to stay up in the little mountain village her family had made. It did make their lives much easier, as every weekend she would come up and visit and bring the mail from the P.O. Box since the little cabins were way outside city, and the mail man’s, limits. Katrina placed the grocery in the bed of her truck in baskets before starting her way up the mountain road. Every week her grandmother sent her with a list even though she swore she didn’t need anything from ‘down the mountain’ as she would say. She watched as the trees grew more dense as she drove up the pass, as the asphalt disappeared into gravel. When she pulled up to the large cabin she couldn’t help the deep breath. The smell of burning pine and the thick plume of smoke coming from the chimney let her know her grandmother was baking something in that old archaic stove of hers. She gathered two baskets from the truck bed before heading into the cabin.

“Hey Grandma.” She said, setting the baskets on the table. The old woman looked up from poking at the biscuits in the stove.

“There you are girl!” She huffed, closing the door on the stove. “Late this week!”

“Told you I had to work late this weekend if I was going to be able to stay the night so I could pick out those Red Mulberries you want so much.” Katrina said, looking her grandmother over. The old lady huffed as she stirred the stew on the stove. While her grandmother was a bit hard, she knew it was because she loved her. “I got you those things you asked for, along with some of those crisp lemon cookies.” As Katrina set the package on the counter she could feel her grandmother’s stare.

“If I wanted cookies I could make my own.” The elderly woman huffed, but she knew that come morning that package of cookies would disappear into her grandmother’s bedroom so she could hide them from her uncles if they came to visit. Katrina grabbed the last of the groceries before heading to the guest bedroom, setting down her bag. She was thankful there was some cell service out here, so she would be able to at least scroll through facebook and get a few emails out before bed. She set her bag down on the bed with a sigh, knowing that the bed was less than comfortable, but she didn’t want her grandmother going out into the woods to pick mulberries. Old woman would probably break something and be stuck out there for days.

Katrina pulled her blonde hair up into a ponytail, knowing as soon as she came back out of the room her grandmother would be putting her to work. Even though she had moved to the city years ago, she knew what her chores would be before she got some dinner. She immediately grabbed the bucket to fill with water so they could heat it up to wash dishes when dinner was over. Katrina walked to the pump just on the other side of the cabin, setting the bucket on the ground and began to pump water as she remembered when she had told the family she would be moving to the city for good. Sure, some of her family had jobs in Carlisle, but no one actually lived in city limits. They had all had the same argument. The family had been living on the land for years, they worked in town and always came back home. This land had been with their family for generations and would be for generations to come, thus the family had to stay.

Even though they had been plenty upset, Katrina had still left. She had found an office job in the city and an quaint little apartment all things considered. She hadn’t always been excited to head into work to patch phone calls around the office, but there was something about the forest that...Well, that had honestly scared her. Something about the shadows that danced in the trees that sent shivers down her spine and caused her to sweat. She felt much better nestled in her apartment, doors locked and the sounds of car engines up and down the street. She didn’t know why but it was just safer to her.

She grabbed the bucket and brought it back to the cabin. “You know you could move in with Uncle Donny. He has running water and electricity at least.” Katrina said as she put the bucket on its designated place on the wood stove.

“And I’ll tell you the same thing I told your Uncle Donny. Once I cant take care of myself no more, I’ll move.” Her Grandmother said as she moved the tray of biscuits out of the oven. Katrina rolled her eyes. She was sure her grandmother would die alone in this old cabin, but she knew that was what her grandmother had wanted. She had been raised like this, and she would die like this. Katrina grabbed cups and bowls as she cleared the kitchen table off of the groceries and mail she had brought.

“I’m going to bring Uncle Donny his mail when I go to pick Mulberries, is there anything you want me to bring him?” Katrina asked as she brought the stew pot to the table. Even though her grandmother fussed that she could do it, things were getting too heavy for her now a days.

“You could bring the leftover biscuits if we dont eat the rest at breakfast...Oh! I’ve got some Jam I made that's finally done setting that you could bring a jar.” Katrina nodded as the list got longer and longer of things she would need to bring. She was glad she had packed her clothes for the weekend in a backpack this time. She ate dinner and helped her grandmother with the dishes, taking a moment to sit out on a stool just outside the cabin. It was thankfully cool enough that she wasnt batting away swarms of gnats and mosquitos. Even though she was happy in the city, she did miss this. The absolute quiet that the woods brought. She sighed, leaning her head back against the wood cabin as she listened to the rustling of the trees and a few birds call as they settled in for the night.

What she hadn’t expected was the figure standing at the very edge of the woods. She noticed him when she stood to finally head inside and get some sleep. He was amazingly tall, standing along the brush just inside the woods. Katrina blinked before deciding to speak. “Are you lost?” She asked. It had happened before, hikers going along the appalachian trail would get lost and end up at one of her family’s cabins. The figure didn’t move, only gently swaying with the brush as the wind blew through it. Katrina took a step closer, but was still cautious. Anyone up this far in the woods was family, a hiker, or a murderer, and this guy was starting to lean towards the third option in Katrina’s mind. “The trail isn’t far from here, I can get you on your way, no need to worry.”

The figure stood still as she stepped closer before suddenly setting something on the ground and disappearing into the woods. Katrina debated a moment, staring at the object the figure had placed on the ground. At this distance she could tell it was a bowl filled with something, but the contents were obscured by the brush and growing darkness. She swallowed. Definitely a murderer. Maybe a psycho, giving her a bowl full of someone's intestines. Even though she wanted to turn her back to the woods and book it into the cabin, something drew her to the bowl. If it was a bowl full of human organs she would need to drive a bit to find some cell signal to call the police. She stepped closer, still keeping an eye on the brush. One crinkle of a foot step she would be in the cabin in seconds and dragging her grandmother into her truck.

What she hadn't thought it would be would be a decent sized bowl of mulberries. She blinked, picking up the bowl. The wooden bowl was smooth, carved with flowers and leaves, little fairies dancing among the vines. As she went to inspect the berries again, seeing if a heart was under all the berries, she heard a voice.

“Cake please.” It was like a whisper on the wind, but right next to her ear. Katrina shrieked, turning quickly and dropping the bowl. She had expected the man to be there, towering over her, but there was nothing. She breathed heavy, whipping back around to the woods to see the bowl on the ground, still full. She had flung that bowl, there should have been berries everywhere, but there it sat. On the ground by her feet, still as full as it had been before.

“Careful.” The voice whispered again and Katrina swore she could feel a hand pass over hers. “Greta will know.” As those words were whispered, the wind completely stopped and Katrina swore she couldn’t hear a thing. Not a single thing in the woods and she was completely unnerved. Yet, Katrina still picked up the bowl from the ground, bringing it into the cabin. Her grandmother looked up from where she had begun to pile all of the things she would need to bring to her uncle’s house. She set down the book, going to the kitchen and grabbing her apron.

“What will he like this time?” She asked, beginning to gather baking ingredients from shelves around the kitchen.

Katrina stared at her grandmother moment. “Um...Cake?” She said, setting the bowl down. “But there are about a hundred questions before we even get to that part.”

Her grandmother raised an eyebrow. “Must I answer them?”

“If you don’t want me dragging you out of this cabin this instant you damn straight you’re going to answer them.” Katrina said, arms crossed.

“Language.” Her grandmother scolded as she took up the bowl. “It’s the Erlking.”

Katrina blinked as she stared at her grandmother. “The Erlking. Like fairytale.” Katrina would have to call her Uncle in the morning. Her Grandmother had finally lost it.

“King of the Fairies and all that, yes yes.” She said, getting a bowl from the shelf and beginning to add her dry ingredients to a bowl. “Can you get a fire started back in the oven so it’ll be hot in time?”

“Um, no? Because you’re currently cooking a cake for either an imagination or a homeless psycho, either way we are going to Uncle Donny’s for the night.” She said, but before she could move she was getting whapped on the back of the head with a flour covered wooden spoon.

“Get the fire going Katrina, wasn’t a question.” She scolded. “And if you keep doing as your told, I’ll explain.”

Katrina rubbed the throbbing place on her head, going to grab wood just to keep her grandmother happy. In the morning they would be on their way out. “Fine, Fine, but you better keep talking.”

Her grandmother continued to mix in ingredients to the bowl. “When our family settled here, back when the immigrated from Germany, They were led here by...well the Erlking.” Her grandmother said, cracking an egg. “He said that if we smuggled him out of Europe, He would find us a place to live. And it was truth. We were given this land up in the woods by him. After a while though….Children in the local towns began to go missing. Our family knew immediately it was the Erlking and we went out in the woods to hunt him down. A redemption for all of the children taken.” She gestured for the bowl of berries and Katrina handed it to her, listening intently. “When they found him though, it was way too late. This wasn’t the man they had faked papers for anymore. He had found power here he hadn’t found in Germany because too many knew his name. He said he desired sweet things, like the innocent children in the village. My grandmother made a deal with him. Our family would make him sweets if he left the children alone.” She finished buttering a cake pan and began pouring in the batter. “My grandmother made him hard candies, as did my mother, but I can never get them right, so I began baking for him.” She slid the pan into the oven and sat to wait till it was done. “I’ve got to talk to your Uncle Donny’s wife, see if she will take up the deal after I’m gone.”

Katrina blinked, staring at her. She slowly sat down in the chair across from her. “Grandma...You know how crazy that sounds right?” She said, watching her.

Her grandmother sighed. “I...I know.” She looked at her. “But you saw him, and heard him.”

Katrina couldn’t deny that. “There is probably some crazy homeless man Grandma.”

“You know he’s not.” She said, eyeing her. Katrina was in her own head about that. She was right about that. “...Bring him the cake when it’s done. You’ll see.”

Katrina looked at her. “Grandma, you’re crazy! That could be some crazy-”

“I’ve been doing this for years Katrina.” Her grandmother scolded. “If he wanted to kill me, he could have easily done it years ago.” She scolded. Katrina swallowed. “If I do this, and I realize it’s some homeless crazy man, you go live with Uncle Donny.” Katrina eyed her grandmother. “Deal?”

She looked at her a moment before nodding. “Deal.”

Katrina waited in quiet as the cake baked, playing on her phone even thought she wasn’t truely connected to anything. She looked up when her grandmother finally stood and took the cake from the stove. “Alright.” She said, taking the cake out and wrapping it up in a cloth. “He likes it still hot.” She said, setting the cake on top of the bowl. “Go on.”

Katrina took the cake, rubbing her face. It was close to two a.m. at this point and she couldn’t believe she was not only up, but going to bring a cake into the woods. She took the cake and brought it back to where she had found the bowl.

“...Alright Erlking, if thats who you are, its two in the morning and I’m exhausted and if you could just take this stupid cake that would be great.” Katrina stood in the quiet a moment, looking around as her eyes tried to adjust.

“Well Katrina, that was terribly rude.” She jumped, spinning around to see the tall figure. He towered over her, and as her eyes continued to adjust she realized he wasn’t right.

He was not only amazingly tall, but he seemed to be oddly lanky. Long arms at his sides, reaching towards the cake. His hair was pulled into a complex series of braids around the crown of his head, a tangle of flowers and leaves tucked in and his eyes….his eyes were just white. No color or pupil. She wasn’t sure if she would have been less unnerved if his eyes were completely black or like this. He took the cake, immediately tearing off a piece and taking a bite.

Katrina blinked as she stared as he ate torn off pieces from the cake. “H-How…” He groaned at the bite. “So sweet, she always does so well.” He looked at her. “...Been a long time since I’ve seen you. Not since you were a young one.” He blinked as Katrina took a hesitant step back.

“I-I...um…” She looked back at the edge of the woods, wondering if she could make it if she booked it.

“I could catch you if you tried.” Her eyes shot back as he smiled. “How have you been? I have missed you since you moved to the city.” Katrina more made gasping noises and mouth movements than answering. “I appreciate you visiting your grandmother. She is lonely often.”

Katrina held up her hands. “Wait a dang second.” She said. “How..How do you know all this?”

He took another bite of cake. “I have been with your family since they immigrated in the twenties, I owe them quite a bit.” He said, flicking crumbs from his fingers. “Well Katrina…” He held out a hand. “Would you like to take a walk with me?”

Katrina blinked. “Walk?” She asked. “Are you crazy? You can get super lost out here.”

He chuckled, gesturing against with his hand. “I know very well where I’m going.” He said. “Spend the night, just one, and I’ll let your grandmother get some peace by ending this age old contract I have with your family. You know it’s why she stays right?”

Katrina glared then. “How do I know you aren’t just going to kill me?” She said.

He raised an eyebrow. “I haven’t tried yet, have I?” He took her hand then, taking a few steps that Katrina ended up following. She couldn’t believe she was following some...creature deeper into the woods. She could hear the leaves crunch under their feet as they walked. “Just about there…” He said, helping Katrina over a fallen tree. In the middle of an empty grove stood a rusty looking garden gate. The fence had fallen away long ago, only the gate entrance remaining.

“And where are we supposed to be staying, hmm Mr. The Erlking?” Katrina huffed.

He raised an eyebrow but chuckled. “Just call me Oberon.” He said, pushing the gate open. It creaked loudly, but as it opened Katrina could hear a weird echo. It almost sounded like talking. “Follow me and you’ll see.”

Katrina swallowed, but took the couple steps forward. When she stepped forward, there was a blast of warm air...then they were in the bustling city. Though it was night, the streets were still busy with nightlife. They stood at the base of a golden archway and he brought his arm around her, pulling her to his side.

“Welcome to Golden Gate.”

#Golden gate #shorty story #fairy #exophillia #sfw

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therookieking412 · 4 years

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@forgetthetimetravel

10k words - just so you’re warned

The Grim Reaper comes grinning at your door

He comes, he comes.

Quick, remember who your windows lock for

He comes, he comes

Your blood on his sword is what he adores

He comes, he somes

The Grim Reaper comes grinning at your door

The legends were centuries old, and they swarmed her town like a cloud of gnats, persistent and never leaving.

After nightfall a man came and slit the throats of those who lurked in shadows.

It would have been easy for the myths to fade away into the pages of history, if this phantom faded as well, but he never did.

And anyone who tested the myth was sorely punished.

The last murder was ten years ago, she was but six years old, and along the high walls that guarded their town, they were found.

Two lovers, found beneath the gate.

He on his back, staring into the sky, she heavy on his chest, her neck twisted, her eyes staring, her lips limp but still uttering a warning.

There is death beyond these walls.

Ahiru’s mother forced her to look away but it was too late, she had already seen it, and even now, ten years later, whenever she caught a glimpse of the wall, lifeless eyes and bloody hands filled her vision.

It was enough to make her stay away.

But, as Ahiru aged, and grew and matured she was layden with more responsibility.

And today, her mother had handed her a wicker basket and told her to go outside of the walls and collect mushrooms.

She begged her mother not to send her. Please.

But she shook her head, you’re old enough now, there’s no excuses.

Ahiru pursed her lips but she couldn’t argue anymore, and her pouting no longer worked in her favor.

The day was warm, given that it was the very center of summer, but she pulled her hood close to her face anyway.

She asked the gatewatchers to open the doors and she was given four hours to return, or less she would be locked out.

She took the threat seriously, and went down the path until she found the mushroom spot her mother always gathered mushrooms from.

Ahiru had always wondered about the walls, and the monster that prowled their streets at night.

She wiped dirt from the base of a mushroom as she added it to her basket.

Some thought he was a vampire, or a ghost, or perhaps some immortal man that sold his soul but was now doomed to commit horrible murders.

She thought perhaps about the hunt ten years ago, when the young lover’s father’s eyes turned red with rage and swore that he would hunt the monster himself.

He called together other men, including Ahiru’s father.

They went out and disappeared. Their bodies weren’t even found, they had simply…

Disappeared.

Ahiru tucked a checkered handkerchief over her harvest and looked at the sky. Still blue, but the sun was going down, she would have to hurry to get to the gates on time.

It was a strange event, normally the monster liked to show off what he had done, or at least that’s what the legends told, that he would leave them in a place for all to find, as threat, as a warning…

As a promise.

She watched as her shadow got longer and longer, her heart beating quick when she realized that soon she wouldn’t see it at all.

She had reached the city gates, but when she looked back, the around sun was kissing the earth.

Hurry home, miss! Lord knows he’ll be out soon! The gatekeeper called, and she watched as he hurried inside the small house.

The streets were emptying, people rushing to their homes, closing shutters, locking windows, barring doors.

Quick! Quick! Where’s your father?

Get inside! A gasp Did you secure the chickens?

Where’s Johnny? Johnny! Johnny come!

She only passed a few, and no one bothered to give her pleasantries, no one would even meet her eye.

Soon, she was terribly alone, but the sky was still golden, she had time.

She felt a shiver, but couldn’t seem to move fast enough.

There was a sound, small and terrified.

Then another, louder this round.

Ahiru paused and looked down the alleyway and saw a small blue kitten, he was scrapy and scrawny, obviously a stray with no home to return to.

Then, a terrible thought occurred.

Would that monster kill this cat too?

No, she couldn’t have that, what food did she have with her? Mushrooms?

She pulled one out and walked slowly to the little beast, holding it out for his consideration, but he turned his nose up at it and began to saunter away.

Ahiru bit her lip, but the sky was still pink, and she chased it down the alley.

Come here, come here!

He didn’t listen, but he wasn’t running away, perhaps he wasn’t afraid of her.

Please, please! Come!

He turned down the road and began a jaunty little run.

She could still see the top of the sun.

The little stray lead her down a street that, during the day, was busy and full, a market street, set up with booths of jewelry and food, clothes and drinks.

She followed him until he reached an abandoned basket - rolled onto its side, forgotten in the haste of hurrying home - a fishers stand, and the cat with his head in the basket of chopped fish parts.

She sighed, finally, and picked him up, holding him close and petting his neck, he began to purr.

I promise you when we get home I’ll give you milk and real food, now come on!

She hurried on her way, but it was getting darker, and finally the sun disappeared past the horizon.

She swallowed thickly, everything turned blue as twilight fell, she had run out of time.

Still, she hurried, perhaps he waited until it was completely dark.

Her footsteps echo across the cobblestones.

She can see the moon, only half full, rising above in the sky, now she was truly well and doomed.

But she turned down her street, and she could see her mother’s door.

Then, when hope bloomed in her chest, she heard him.

She gasped, clutching her stray, and turned, and up upon the rooftops he stood, his cloak billowing behind him, hsi sword drawn, and his eyes on her.

Did they not tell you?

Her breath was caught in her throat.

It had been ten years since someone had stepped outside their doors at night.

Did they not warn you? Tell you the stories of me?

She nodded, they did, they did tell her and she knew them well.

Why did you not heed them? Why do you stand before me now?

She wanted to protest, she was almost home! She was at the door! If he just turned she could -

I never wanted to do this, but you force my hand.

Her jaw trembled, she never thought she would be so stupid as to stay outside, would her mother regret sending her out of the city? Would she never leave her house again?

He jumped from the roof and landed twenty paces out from her.

I’ve- I’ve never- I can’t stop my hand. You understand? Don’t you? I can’t resist the call to blood!

She wanted to scream but her voice was empty.

He was closer now, and she could see his eyes.

She had no idea the Devil’s eyes would be green.

I hoped that you would stay inside, please, run, run away from me and perhaps you can save yourself.

Home called to her, but she was frozen, her feet firmly planted to the earth.

Is death what you wish for?

He stood before her, his sword gleaming in the moonlight, his face filled with sadness.

N-no. I’m afraid. She said.

So am I. I cannot control my hand, and yet. He blinked, his brows furrowed in confusion, he tossed his sword aside, he raised his hand and pushed her shoulder, she turned and her pushed her back.

Ahiru stumbled home, she heard the sword scraping the earth as it returned to his hand.

She threw open the door and was safe.

Where have you been! I thought for sure-! Her mother cried as she wrapped her arms around her daughter, but it would have to wait they set to work locking the windows and barring the door.

Ahiru blew out a candle, and he caught her eye.

He stood once more on the roofs of the houses, his eyes scanning the city, he sensed her and turned, and though it was dark and he was far away, she could read the confusion on his face.

She knew this because her expression matched his own.

The next day, they had mushroom soup and mother bought a small fish for Mr. Cat, but all Ahiru could do was stare out the window, to the rooftops where he stood.

Why hadn’t he killed her?

None of the legends promised freedom, she knew that much.

It should have been impossible, but…

It had been ten years since he had killed, perhaps others had escaped him but had been too embarrassed to come forth with it.

Too scared that no one would believe them.

Mr. Cat laid in her lap, purring loudly as she did little more than pet his chin.

There was a knock at the door.

Mother had guests.

Ahiru excused herself from the room, Mr. Cat following her up the stairs.

Then, rather stupidly, she waited for nightfall.

Mother locked the windows and the doors. Ahiru secured their goat.

She waited for her mother to retire, and then, again rather stupidly, she opened her window and jumped into the alley behind their house. She walked to the middle of the street, and it was like her window being opened had summoned him.

He was already in the middle of the street, the waning moon doing nothing to tell her what the features of his face were.

Foolish girl, I cannot refuse the call of the sword twice.

Ahiru didn’t say anything, she waited for him to come forward, to raise his sword and strike her, but he didn’t.

He didn’t so much as move, or take a step forward, or even breath.

Why do you do this? She asked, and it seemed so silly, why would a vampire, or a ghost, or a man who sold his soul to the Devil for immortality but was now cursed to hunt those who walked at night tell her?

She imagined him throwing his head back to laugh, before striking, moving so quickly she didn’t see him until it was already too late.

Instead, he looked down at his sword, like it was confusing him, like he wasn’t sure why it was in his hand.

What have you done to me?

What-

What have you done to me! Not even a rabbit can resist the curse, and yet you, you-!

Ahiru’s eyes widened, somehow, she was immune.

She watched as he ran away, perhaps called to another creature that called him by merely existing.

She could wait, and tempted fate, but she returned to her window, where Mr. Cat was waiting for her.

The next day, mother had guests again, but before Ahiru could escape to her room, her mother called her down.

This is Mr. Autor, he runs the-

Ahiru spent the afternoon with Mr. Autor, who ran the library, he drank his tea plain, and corrected her mother every couple of seconds.

He excused himself before dinner and left.

Mother?

I think we should start considering your options.

Ahiru didn’t wait as long to step outside her window, having locked herself in her room anyway, she waited for the sun to go down and the sky to darken before she opened the latched, she sat on her windowsill, and he was already on the rooftop across the way.

I found you tempting me again, do you find joy in this?

Ahiru shook her head.

Then why do you keep coming out? Risking your very life?

You cannot kill me. She said, her voice confident, but her heart quaked.

Hmm, even if that’s so, why associate yourself with the likes of me?

She blinked and shook her head. I don’t know, I guess, I imagine it gets lonely always being alone.

For good reason. He sat on the edge of the roof, his feet dangling down, his silver sword glinting in the moonlight.

Why do you do this?

Why do you come?

Ahiru smiled. I asked first.

It is what I was born to do.

Do you have a choice?

Perhaps I do, but it is all I know. I cannot distance myself from this town, nor can I ignore the call.

And yet you have.

He stared at her, and nodded. And yet I have.

The next day a Mr. Femio came, and the next night, all she had to do was open her window to speak to him.

Then there came a Mr. Micheal. Tonight he stood before her window.

The next day a Mr. Dylan. He leaned on her window sill, but she still could not judge the color of his eyes.

Then a Mr. Bartholomew.

A Mr. Lesley.

A Mr. Brown.

A Mr. Lysander.

A Mr. Mytho.

She asked him if he would like to come inside, but that was a request he could not allow, that was the one rule that he lived by, he could not step over the threshold, even if he was invited.

Which ruled out vampire.

I’m heading into town, Mama!

But dear, I have Mister-

Mr. Cat needs a new ribbon! I’ll be back before twilight!

Ahiru walked to the ribbon booth on the busy market street and bought a handsome velvet ribbon that was a pale green to go on Mr. Cat, then she, of course, bought a little bell to go with it.

She walked and wondered and browsed until every door was shut.

When dusk settled and the moon started to rise, he appeared out of the alleyway, and she made him walk her home.

I understand you have a taste for risk.

I thought it would be nice to walk with you, I’ve been inside the house for so many days, I needed the fresh air.

And opening your window wasn’t enough?

Of course not.

Ahiru’s mother was worried, but she had already brought in the goat. Ahiru meet the monster by her window.

The next day her mother woke her up early, dressed her in her nicest dress and set to working on her hair.

I have made a deal with the blacksmith. You and his son will be married.

Today?

No, in one month’s time.

Ahiru nodded, today she was to meet the blacksmith and his son.

Charon was lovely, a tall man with broad shoulders and calloused hands, his son, however, a young man named Samuel was not.

He was small and was almost eye to eye with Ahiru.

She wondered how small his mother was if this was the result.

Charon explained that Samuel was like a son to him, but when his father died he took him on as his ward.

So far, he was the only one who offered.

Ahiru felt panicked, she felt too young, surely her mother would see that, but her mother was talking wedding details with Charon the blacksmith, so Ahiru had to look on nervously at Samuel’s smiling face.

She couldn’t help but crying the night, and that was the first night he touched her, he reached past the window and with his thumb he brushed away her tears.

Marry me instead.

Ahiru thought of the lacey blue dress she wore, of her hair loose down her back instead of tightly braided, she thought of how much she looked like a bride.

He pulled his hand away, thinking she had rejected him but she pulled at his hand and brought it to her cheek.

Who would marry us?

I-

Where would we live?

There’s a house beyond the gates-

When?

Right now. Come with me, right now.

The flickering candlelight did nothing to give clue to how his face looked but she meet his eyes in the darkness and nodded.

She gathered her things, her cat, and left a note, explaining that she would return soon, not to worry.

He took her bag filled with clothes and her favorite books, she held Mr. Cat close to her chest and he took her hand.

He led her past the gates and the forest, to a house at the edge of a lake and took her inside.

He stood in shadows, even in his own house, but he ran his fingers through her hair, his hand touched her cheek.

She wanted something to happen, but she wasn’t sure what, he led her to a bedroom, set down her bag and left.

Ahiru blinked, somehow… She expected more.

She fell asleep, and the next morning rose with the sunlight, and as she looked around she realized that her room was lavish, and grander than she expected.

Great windows are open and a gentle, loving breeze flows through, the sheets are pure white and softer than anything she has ever touched, the walls seemed to be made from white marble, the ceiling carved like a cathedral, the floor is cold when she touches it.

She wonders if she can wander this house, if it is hers to wander, or if she must stay inside the room, like a gilded cage.

She hears movement and looks back to the bed, there is another body, someone who slept next to her, his body covered by the draping gossamer that falls from the canopy. His skin is dark, darker than her own, his hair is long and black, and his face.

As she pulled the curtain away, excepting a sleeping face, is covered by a mask.

You’re awake. He says, his eyes opening, and their green.

Yes, did you just fall asleep?

Yes, I sleep during the day.

Oh, I’m sorry.

It’s fine, what do you need?

He sits up, his eyes level with her own, she blushes as he presents her with his bare chest, a long scar tears down from shoulder to hip.

May I leave this room?

You may go anywhere you want, but there is one rule.

Yes?

You cannot look at my face.

Her brows furrowed in confusion, but she nodded.

There is a library, a garden, and the lake, there is a dining room and anything you need just ask and it will be given.

She nodded again.

He reached to touch her hand. I will wake soon, but at dusk I must leave, will you be alright on your own?

Yes.

Ahiru left the room, her cold feet walking silently across the floor, finding her way around easily, as if she had always known where it was.

Hours passed and then he was there as well, walking around with her, gently exploring the house he already knew well.

Is this where you’ve always lived?

Yes.

Were you always alone?

No, once my father and mother lived here with me. Now they’re gone.

Oh, I’m sorry.

Don’t be, my father is now free from his curse.

Now it falls to your shoulders.

Perhaps.

They ate dinner together, although it was breakfast for him, and he left for the evening.

There was little she could do by herself, so she read, and waited for him to return, but she must have fallen asleep because she woke up the next morning in bed.

Ahiru sat up and looked for him, but he was far away, on the other side of the bed, as if he was afraid to touch her.

He laid on his stomach and she could see the scars dripping down his back as well.

She touched them gently with the tips of her fingers, racing them over his spine and dipping them beneath the comforter.

You’ve never touched me before.

I’m sorry.

It’s fine.

Where did this come from? Were you hurt?

No, this is the curse. They came to rest on my shoulders when it was my time to take my father’s place.

Then, when you have a son, and you die-

It will be placed on him.

And if you never have a son?

The curse would not be broken, if that is what you think, I will simply live on, that is what my great grandfather did. He lived for two hundred years, thinking he could become immortal, but the curse went a woman on his way that he couldn’t resist.

Ahiru’s hand hadn’t left his back, but he turned over so now her hand was on his chest, still she didn’t move it, but she blushed.

How could the curse do that?

The curse is alive in more ways than you think, it grows like the roots of a tree, never to be chopped down.

Is that why you could resist killing me?

I’ve thought it, the curse sending me a wife.

Is that part of the curse too? Never being allowed to see your face?

Terrible things happen when one rests their eyes on me, death and insanity, it is what happened to my mother, she grew curious one night and tore my father’s mask from his face.

Is your face so horrible then?

He didn’t speak, his eyes only looked at her and she wondered if these were the eyes of his father, or of his mother. My face? My face looks like yours, looks like any other man’s, but that is not what you see, you see the face of a man who has murdered thousands, every drop of blood that was spilt.

Have you killed anyone?

No, my father died only two years ago, I took his place, but the town is frightened, frightened enough to stay home and lock their houses well before dusk. All except you.

He takes her hand from his chest and kisses it.

She lets him rest, and leaves the room, but she worries for her mother, for the friends she left behind. She scratches Mr. Cat behind the ear, he was growing fat in all this endless splendor.

Technically, she is still a maiden, unwed and untouched.

All she does is share the bed of a cursed man.

He wakes later and shares dinner with her, the talk until the sunsets, and she walks him to the door, his sword by his side.

He touches her cheek, and leaves.

She tries to stay up again in the library but wakes up in bed, the light streaming in.

She brushes his hair out of his eyes and he takes a deep breath as he wakes.

Your mother misses you. Your friends stay with her to comfort her.

You’ve seen them? She feels her eyes start to tickle. Did you speak to them?

No, but I think it would be best if you returned tomorrow.

You’re letting me go?

You’re no prisoner of this house. Explain to her all that she asks, and show her this. He turned to face her, his hand extending, and if his hand is a golden band. As proof of our marriage.

But we didn’t-

Just by agreeing to come you married me, it may not show up in a priest’s ledger, but it is true nonetheless.

You haven’t touched me.

You’re scared still, of the man your mother tried to have to marry. He reaches his hand and cups her cheek. I would rather die than scare you as well.

Ahiru nods, his thumb brushes her cheek, and there is little she can do because his face and lips are blocked by a mask. But, she leans down anyway and kisses where she thinks his lips to be.

Her hands touch his chest again, and by the time night falls, she is sufficiently married.

She walks him to the door, and he leans down and she kisses his mask, when he leaves she goes back to bed and falls asleep. Sore and tired.

When she wakes, he is just returning and she kisses his shoulders.

I will leave now.

Do you feel comfortable walking back by yourself?

I’ll be fine, I don’t want to stay for too long.

He nods, and as he lays down, she moves about the room and gathers everything to her, everything she needs for a two-day journey.

She was farther than she thought, but also closer, the gates opened wide for her, the keeper not even recognizing her.

People stared at her as she went, who was this stranger?

She supposed she looked different, her head held high, she no longer wore her hair in a braid. Her clothes, too, were better than the ones she left with, when she knocked at her very own door, her mother answered, but strands of grey filtered through her hair, and more wrinkles had graced her face.

Ahiru had been gone for over a year and she had not noticed.

Pique and Lillie are there, and they two are now married, to Mr. Autor and Mr. Femio respectively.

Her mother cries and makes her her favorite tea, while she tells them that she too is married.

Her ring is pure gold, while Pique’s is only plated and Lillie’s is made of iron.

Pique is pregnant, and Lillie is trying, though they don’t seem too happy about the fact.

Ahiru wonders if she’ll be pregnant soon too, if her first child will be a son, if once her husband dies the child will have a thick ropy scar along his body.

So, who is your husband? Pique asks when Ahiru’s mother leaves them alone to make supper.

Yes, no one in town admitted to it, and Samuel, oh poor Samuel. Lillie wiped crocodile tears.

What? What happened to Samuel?

He went out looking for you! Pique said.

No one has seen him since!

Ahiru felt her stomach tighten, was that her fault? Did he get lost and stuck in the woods at night?

Your husband. Pique asked again.

I- I do not know his name, nor have I seen his face, but I love him, that much I know is true.

She was chastised for not knowing his name or his face, and she wanted to tell them that he was cursed, that she would die if she looked upon him.

How can you trust a man you can’t see? Pique asked, quite indignant.

But I do.

Or his name? Lillie said, although she viewed it all as a tragic love story.

I love him, what more do I need to know?

Pique and Lillie looked to one another, and shook their heads. They left before sunset, and Ahiru’s evening was taken hold by her mother who didn’t let her go until well past midnight. She was tired but when she laid down in her old bed - cold and lumpy to her now - she could see his silhouette in the night sky.

Pique and Lillie returned the next day with a plan.

Wait for him to fall asleep and take his mask off!

Make him write you a letter and sign it.

No! I can’t.

You must! You must!

She wanted to cry, it was horrible what they were asking her, it was horrible that it made her curious. What did his face look like? What was his name? She wanted to know, she wanted to know so badly.

They left her a candle and a match.

Her mother came in next, I’m sorry I overheard, I didn’t mean to listen, but Ahiru, I’m scared for you, I must tell you… This happened before. Not but twenty-two years ago. A young woman went missing, and when time came to visit her family, she was heavily pregnant. And fifty-three years ago, the same thing happened again. Ahiru, who is your husband?

Ahiru opened her mouth, but she couldn’t speak.

The girl who went missing, she was my friend, she confided in me that the man who took her was- was.

Mama, hush. Ahiru took her hand in both of hers. You are right to assume that I have been spirited away by the monster, but I am married to the son of your friend. He- he is a good man, mama, and I love him.

He is a murderer, that is what she said as well, Helmia, that he loved her and she him, but he must have cast some spell, for how could she love a murderer?

He’s not like that mama! He is good and he is kind, he is cursed. He has no choice, it is like his body is possessed, mama. He loves me.

How can you know? How can you know what his plans are? That he has not just taken you to bear him a child? That you are not just his bedmate?

Ahiru shook her head, tears falling from her eyes.

I refuse to let you return to him, we will find Samuel, and you marry him.

I can’t mama!

Why not?

I married him, I refuse to have any other!

But her mother stood, and set to work locking the doors and windows. She took the key with her, and when Ahiru stepped into her room, her window was covered with boards nailed to the wall. She gasped, and ran to it, attempting to pull them all out, but it was no use.

You’ll see, I promise you, once you’re away from him, the spell he cast will break and I will have my daughter again. Her mother closed the door and locked it from the outside.

Ahiru sunk to her knees, sobbing bitterly.

She was supposed to return to him this night.

She laid down in front of the window, not even an hour passed when a nail fell to the floor.

Ahiru stood, watching as the nails pushed themselves out one at a time and the boards fell.

Ahiru unlatched the window and took his hand, she kissed him, salty tears pouring down her cheeks, only when she broke away did she realize that she had kissed flesh, that he was no longer wearing his mask.

Ahiru? Her mother called through the day, but Ahiru had already crept down the alley when her mother reached the open window.

They ran until they reached the gate, and she kissed him again.

Ahiru, he muttered against her lips, We must go, when dawn comes I won’t be able to escort you back.

She pulled away, her forehead leaning against his own, breath mingling together.

Yes, of course. She said. He took her hand and they hurried along the forest path, he opened the door and lead her inside, and she kissed him again, the very touch of his lips against hers intoxicating.

He breathed heavily, and she looked up into his green eyes.

What is your name?

I cannot tell you.

Why not?

No one can know my name.

What will happen if I learn it?

I will be taken away from you.

I’ll find you.

No, it is not a task for you to complete.

And your face, I will truly never see your face?

Not until I die and the curse is passed down to my son.

She pressed her face into his neck, his hands moving up and down her back, up and down, up and down.

He left her in the foyer, for it was not morning yet, and he was still cursed.

She went to the library, this time, to find a book that would tell her about the curse.

She fell asleep, but this time, she woke up as he was carrying her back to their bed, she kissed his jaw and his neck, his face covered by the mask, and he laid her down in a dark room.

I cannot see your face, please, take it off so you can kiss me.

The light returns soon, but I will give you this.

She couldn’t see, but she imagined him removing his mask so he could kiss her, her hand tangled into his hair, pulling him close, his hand on her waist, the other holding himself up.

The mask returned quickly to it’s original place but he did not stop touching her, and when he did the sun was well up into the sky.

When she woke next, it was night and he was gone.

She went to the library again.

The days continued like this, and she wondered if Lillie was pregnant, or if Pique had given birth yet, if they had found Samuel, or if he was found dead.

She rubbed her stomach as she searched, her blood in was late, she picked up a book but it wasn’t what she was searching for so she put it back.

Perhaps…

She thought back to Autor, who was the keeper of books, it was possible he knew what she needed, the history that involved the monster of Goldcrown.

She wrote him a letter as quickly as she could, asking every question she had, she sent it and waited, his response was quick.

Dear Ms. Ahiru,

I am glad to find you well, I had my suspicions when you disappeared that you had become the wife of our town monster, and I believe these questions only prove it.

Fortunate for you, but I happen to have studied every book about the monster in a search for the truth.

Clever, that you already know about the curse, and that it is passed down, this is the most common theory and my personal favorite, so I am glad that you are able to confirm it.

There are some theories on how the cuse started, but none are confirmed.

Most involve the Devil or a Witch, and some love story, but none are very factually, and leave out important pieces.

I apologize if this wasn’t helpful, it is all that is known.

Autor

Ahiru crumpled the letter and burned it. She was becoming desperate, and pulled the candle from her pocket. It’s not as though she needed it, he slept during the day, all she really needed to do was lift his mask.

She pocketed the candle, soon it would be morning and she left the weight of sleep pressing on her shoulders.

She was under no spell, her mother was wrong, she was here as more than just a bed partner.

He loved her simply by leaving the mask on, by leaving his name unspoken.

But somehow, she had to break the curse.

She dragged her feet across the floor, her hands gracing the tall bedposts as she looked down at his pillow, she wondered how much longer he would be, if seeing the face beneath the mask would drive her insane or merely kill her.

She laid down in her clothes, in her shoes, she was too tired to change, but then too tired to sleep, as she did was stare up into the darkness until the morning came, and brought him back to her.

She felt the bed moved and there he was, his back hunched, his sword held in his hands.

She got up and crawled to him, leaning against his back, her hands pressing into his shoulders, she kissed behind his ear.

Tell me your name, love.

I cannot.

Let me see your face, my dear.

My heart, be still.

Tell me, so I can break the curse.

You cannot, no one can.

I can and I will even if it brings my death.

Then I will tie you to the bed, for I will never let death touch you.

I want to say the same, but death has marked you as his.

He turned and knelt before her on the ground, his hands on her waist. You will die if I let you see.

Then let me perish, my soul yearns to know your name.

Her hands reached his face, but he did not stop her.

When did your mother look upon the face of your father?

Two years ago.

So then, he died with her.

I cannot know for sure.

Ahiru felt her tears as they dripped over her lashes.

If we die now, the curse will be broken and all will be free.

And never see your face again?

If I was with child when the cycle would only continue.

She pulled the mask lifted it away from his face.

Tell me your name.

My name is the name my mother loved, and she, until now, was the only one who knew my name.

Ahiru set the mask beside her, and for the first time she saw the handsome face of her handsome, tanned and beautiful, thick eyebrows and full lips, his green eyes fit in so perfectly with his features.

Oh.

Fakir.

He was pulled from her grasp and eaten by the clouds, she called out to him, reaching for his hand, she had not seen death and blood, only Fakir, and she herself had not died, she felt sound of mind.

His sword clattered to the floor.

Brave little thing you are.

A voice said, Ahiru gasped and looked, sitting in a rocking chair was a woman with pale skin and beautiful hair. She smiled and fluttered her lashes.

Do you wish to get him back?

I thought he died.

He has, but you can still save him.

How?

He has not gone far, all you must do is find him and take his hand.

And where will he be found?

There. The woman pointed out the window, to the rising sun. It is a long journey, one that leads to death and insanity. Are you willing to take it?

Yes, how do I get there.

Walk in a straight line, never deviating from the path. Walk until you can touch the sun with your hand, and he will reach out and take yours. But you must hasten, for he has little time, if you are not there to meet him in twenty-one days, he will disappear and die forever.

But that’s so little time!

Then hurry, grab your cloak, and your cat, for he will be needed, and go, follow the sun.

The pale woman fastened her cloak around her shoulders, but it was her own, it was his- Fakir’s, a deep forest green, and she realizes how well it would have matched his eyes.

Mr. Cat was suddenly at her side.

Take his sword as well. She pointed to the fallen sword, and Ahiru picked it up, holding it close to her chest, she had no belt to put it on. The woman gestured to the window.

Ahiru nodded, she had no food or change of clothes, she didn’t bring water or switch her shoes to boots, as she walked, she used the ribbon that held up half of her hair to weave it into a braid, and she left her home, walking towards the sun, with Mr. Cat at her heels.

Did twenty-one days start with this sunrise? Or the moment her journey began? Or the minute he- Fakir was taken? Would time be exact or would her time end after the twenty-first sun went down?

A straight line to the east, if she deviated from the path just once would her journey end? How would she keep track when the sun was in the middle of the sky?

She grit her teeth and kept on.

From time to time, Mr. Cat would run off and bring back berries or nuts, once he caught a bird and she had to make a fire in the middle of her trail.

She had no choice but to stop when night fell, her only comfort was that the sun was directly behind her. She rested, her face to the east, and rose when the first light shone upon her face.

She climbed over rocks, jumped creeks, and once, when a tree came right between her and her path she quickly scaled the limbs up and over until she was set back on her way.

She counted three days when she and Mr. Cat came to a river, she could have swam across, or made a raft, but the river curved and went straight into the sun.

Mr. Cat jumped and settled into the hood of her cloak.

Hold tight. She said as she waded into the water, she felt his claws digging into the cloth. She did her best to keep her back above the water, but every few strokes she would hear Mr. Cat’s yowl of protest.

The current brought her to a rock and she held to it fast, looking straight to the east, where the river ran on, the water turned pale and golden as the sun set behind her. Mr. Cat jumped from her shoulders and landed on the rock, shaking from the wet and glad for this momentary dry spot.

She would have to rest here, she had no idea if the river continued straight or when it would twist her off cour-

Ahiru gasped as she was pulled straight down beneath the water, hands grabbed at her ankles and legs, dragging her cloak and choking her until the very last light disappeared.

She was no longer wet.

She could breath.

For a moment she thought she had been swept into a dark cave and pulled out her candle and her match.

When she lit it she did not find her self in a cave, but rather at the bottom of the river, surrounded by Nix.

They were beautiful, their skin the pale color of pure river water, their hair like sunlight on the stream, their sharp teeth and grimacing mouths faded as their fish-like eyes became transfixed to the flickering candle.

Ahiru herself looked at the flame in the water, the sleeves of her dress, even her socks, were dry, as if there were no water at all.

Do you want this? She asked the Nix, some jumped back, as if they had forgotten she was there.

The Nix reached out, her slimy hand touching Ahiru’s fingers and the candle passed between them.

I can bring you more, if-

The Nix looked back to her, each one trying to grab and take the candle.

If you can carry me as far east as this river allows. I cannot turn or go back, I must go straight, please, and in return I will bring you much more, and the matches to light them as well.

The Neck holding the candle nodded and pointed above her, two Nix shot up to the surface and brought back with them, Mr. Cat, purring contently in their arms now that he was no longer wet.

They secured him in Ahiru’s hood, and she wrapped her arms around the neck of the Neck holding the candle.

They swam for what seemed like hours, Ahiru watched as they would reach out and grab fish, she watched them suffocate in the Nix’s hands, dried up at the bottom of the river.

The Neck brought her to the surface, and Ahiru saw the banks and the forest. Shining just through the trees was the rising sun, the river began to curver south, and she thanked the Nix as she stood on land once more, waving as they disappeared beneath the water.

Which day was today? Had a week passed already? Or just a handful of days, Ahiru couldn’t remember, but she couldn’t waste time thinking.

She set out, despite not resting the night before, and Mr. Cat jumped from her hood to fetch breakfast of some kind and bring it back.

She was thankful, that her cloak didn’t drip wet, and that she wouldn’t have to worry about an oncoming cold.

This forest was thicker than the last, it took her much longer to scurry over the boulders that stood in her way, and she grew tired much quicker, needing to sit, sucking on moss when she found it, or kneeling by creeks.

There was a soreness in her feet, and a crick in her spine, and a knot beneath her shoulder, and there was a day she could not move at all, her feet dragging across the floor, her muscles refusing to lift her up branches.

She wept bitterly, cursing her own weakness, but she cried herself to sleep, and slept a very long time.

Mist surrounded her when she woke, the sky was grey and cloudy, her lip trembled, she could not remember which way was east, she could not see the sun or where it went or where it had been, on that day she rested too.

She sat beneath a rock, her hood pulled around her head, she lit a fire to keep herself warm, and Mr. Cat was quick to bring her food, she was not surprised when it began to rain.

She stayed, not moving, waiting for the sun to return for three days.

On the fourth morning, she woke to the sun rising, the needles dripping with rain, the clouds still had not disappeared, but she rose, her muscles and bones sore, and followed the sun, even when the clouds came back and the sky poured down on her, she kept going, knowing that she was going east to meet the sun.

The forest was thick, but there came a day when she came to a clearing, a meadow about a hundred paces, there were flowers and long grass, and it seemed a happy place. She smiled, imagining coming here one day with Fakir, sitting in the sun, being able to see his face.

Ahiru stepped into the glade and the vision ended, the grass withered and the flowers died and she was not alone.

Across the meadow was a host of crows and ravens, and beneath them a terrible, wild thing lay on the floor, Ahiru thought it was dead but it’s black wings trembled as it brought itself up from the dirt.

It cawed, loud and piercing, it’s glossy beak wide enough to fit Ahiru’s head.

Ahiru wanted to step back, away from the creature, but she could not, Ahiru had to move forward, she had to meet the sun.

It cawed again and Ahiru almost leaped back in fear when Mr. Cat responded.

The crows and ravens and even the monster itself stilled. It fixed it’s blood red eyes on Mr. Cat and cawed again, gently, it was no longer a threat, but a warning.

Mr. Cat meowed, his face rubbing against Ahiru and then meowed again.

The creature’s eyes widened and it cawed, and cawed, and cawed, each one sounding more pleading, each on sounding more desperate.

Mr. Cat jumped from her shoulders and sprinted into the forest, she could do no more than wait. Her eyes turned back to the murder and she sat down.

The creature met her gaze and held it, the world faded around her, there was a misery in those eyes, something that Ahiru knew too well.

It grew dark quickly, another day had passed, but still her little beast had not returned, Ahiru dared not look away, even as she swayed with sleep, this creature was trying to tell her something, but whatever language eyes spoke she did not know it.

The sun rose once more, a bloody dawn filled the sky and caused the crows and ravens to wake.

It had not felt like more than a minute, but a whole night had passed and still, Mr. Cat had not returned.

Then, she heard it, the small ringing bell that she had attached to Mr. Cat’s collar. He returned, between his teeth a ball of moss, the creature took it and ate it, the crows and ravens became a cacophony of sound, beating their wings as the creature shrunk, as dirty wings became pale arms, as beak melted into red lips, as a gorgeous woman appeared on the meadow floor.

She gasped as if she had been unable to breath and rose, a cloak of black feathers blanketed her shoulders, a fine black satin dress draped her.

She smiled. I thank you, traveller, all who have come through my meadow have turned back, frightened of the thing I had become.

Not I. Ahiru shook her head. I can not turn back, or else I’ll-

But she could not even bring herself to say it.

Your friend is the first who can comprehend the tongue of men. Most forest creatures have never learned anything beyond what they must do to survive, and my birds could not find the spring either, since it was blocked from their sight. For breaking my curse, I will grant you aid, what is it you wish?

Ahiru gazed at the sun, ascending into the blue sky, the clouds finally gone.

I must travel in a straight line, until I touch the sun.

You have far to go. I will help you, but you must understand, the palace of the sun is a dangerous place, not for those weak of mind or spirit.

Ahiru looked down at the earth, she wondered how many times people had disregarded her, how many people called her fragile or weak, just a young girl, with a milkmaid mother and no father.

She was under no spell from Fakir, there was no curse that could force her to love him, or enchantment that would make her give him her heart. She was tired and sore, half-starved and wanting nothing more than a blanket tucked around her, and a pillow beneath her head.

But she had made it this far, through forests and rivers, over mountains, she refused to turn back now, to leave Fakir behind, so long as she had the chance to save him…

I am not weak, and if I am then at least I will have gone as far as I was able.

She nodded. Then ride with me, Queen of the Corvids.

The Queen turned into a massive black bird, and Ahiru was quick to run across the yellow grass and fasten herself to the wings of the crow.

They soared high above the forest, through the clouds.

Ahiru held on firmly, and tucked her knees beneath her, making herself small as the wind whipped against her, she felt Mr. Cat curl up against her thigh.

She could see it now, the end of the forest, and the start of the Black Sea.

Is that where his palace is?

The Sun? Yes, to any man who travels west on foot, he would not see it, but on my wings I can. I see you are blessed too with such sight. If not for the sword in your hand, I doubt you would have found it.

When night fell, it seemed the distance was too long, the Black Sea was still only on the edge of the world, and the Queen was tired, Ahiru lit a fire, but she had already fallen asleep, not even waiting for food or water.

Ahiru brushed the hair from her eyes and wrapped her cloak firmly around her shoulders.

She herself watched the fire, and tried to count the days since she had left.

A week until she swam the river, a day on the backs of the Nix - no it was a night, or a night and half a day? She rested for one, no two days? And the rain had her trapped for three. And how long had she been in the forest before the rain came? A week as well? Three days?

She counted twenty-eight, and then fourteen, and then twenty-eight again.

She fell into a fitful sleep, numbers dancing around her head.

Wake up, friend.

Ahiru blinked her eyes, the Queen had risen and was eating something quick.

Llewelyn tells me today is the twenty-first day, does that mean anything to you?

Ahiru yawned and stretched, Who?

The one you call Mr. Cat.

Llewelyn, She said, sleep still heavy in her mind, but then the rest of what the Queen said took root.

The twenty-first day.

She only had until sunset.

We must hurry! Please your Majesty, we must go now! If we do not get there by dusk I will have failed.

I know. The Queen held her with steady eyes, and Ahiru watched as they turned to the eyes of a bird, and she mounted the Queen once more.

With one hand, she held onto the Queen, and with the other she rubbed her stomach.

What if this is the end? She asked, her face pressing into the sun warmed feathers of the Queen. What if this was all for naught?

My kingdom is small, but you could live with me, you would be safe, my birds would see to it.

I’ve wandered so many times on this journey, if his mother took the same journey I take now. If she made it as far as I did, if she failed, or… or if the endless days and endless forest with their endless trees drove her mad.

It is best not to dwell on such things.

This is no place for men, you said so yourself, who am I to come and try to break a curse that has lasted a thousand years?

Do not weep, it does not become you, lift your eyes and see, we are nearly there.

Ahiru picked up her head and saw it, out in the middle of the sea was a palace made of glass, it seemed invisible save for the solitary figure that laid on the third floor.

Fakir.

But Ahiru looked behind her, to see the golden sky and pink clouds.

She had failed.

There is still time! We have until the light fades! The Queen moved quickly, not wasting time as Ahiru would have, she went into a deep dive, her beak pointed straight to the palace doors.

But to Ahiru it was hopeless, the light of the sun was fading and she had not the sword in her hands. She closed her eyes, wishing that this would all end soon, she could live with the Queen and that would be alright, wondering if the curse was already branded on the creature growing in her belly.

They landed roughly, and Ahiru jumped from the Queen’s back and raced to the doors, she pushed them open, but as soon as she stepped inside, she felt it, like all the warmth disappearing from her body.

Ahiru fell to her knees, the quest over, behind her the pale colors of the sky turned dark. The twenty-first day over.

She felt a brutal rage in her heart, it was unfair! She took the sword and threw it away from her, she heard it shatter the glass and clatter and slide away from her cold fingers.

She wanted to scream until the whole world woke from their slumber. She wrapped her arms around shoulders, and curled into herself, her forehead pressing against the floor.

Tears fell from her eyes and landed on the glass.

The hand pressed into her shoulder, right where her knot was, and she wanted to shout at the Queen to go away, to fly back home, for she would die her, with him.

A hand took her chin and took up the heavy burden of her head and fallen mind.

Her eyes watched the hand that held her, and it occurred to her that this hand was too dark to belong to the pale Crow Queen.

Ahiru blinked, her boring eyes landed on pale green ones. Eyes that went so well with his face.

He smiled, and she reared up and launched herself into his arms.

I failed.

You reached the Palace of the Sun before the light of the sun faded.

I thought you were dead.

It was like I was in a deep sleep, I dreamed of you.

Oh! Ahiru buried her face into the crook of his neck as he lifted them off of the floor. He swung her around, and kissed her cheeks and her lips, her forehead and the lids of her eyes.

We can go home. She said.

We can go wherever we like.

The Queen smiled at Ahiru, holding Mr. Cat in her arms - or, Llewelyn, as he preferred.

I can call on my father and you can ride home with us.

Thank you, Your Majesty.

The Queen smiled, and bowed her head, she transformed and flew into the sky.

Ahiru did not know how long they awaited her return, or how many days it took until they were home, but she kissed the Queen’s cheeks, and bowed low to her father.

Fakir took her hand, and lead her inside, back into their home, where everything felt so much warmer.

You are free. Her hands cupped his face, her eyes working hard to memorise every line.

That I am. And you lied to me.

Wait? No I haven’t.

You are with child. His hand pressed her stomach, round as it was, it was hard not to notice.

I- I did not know at the time.

How far along are you?

Perhaps… perhaps three months.

Foolish woman.

Arrogant man! Did I not risk my life to save you?

Yes, Yours, mine, and the life of this child.

She argued, so he kissed her, but when he broke away she began again, and so he would have no choice but to press his lips to hers once more.

You deserve rest now, dear.

Don’t tell me what to do!

But even so, he lifted her up and carried her to their bed, he laid beside her, kissing her when she spoke and watching until she fell asleep.

Ahiru did her best to convince her town that the curse was indeed broken, she invited them to watch her stand outside, her and Fakir, as night fell over the land. She convinced Mr. Autor and his wife, too.

People watched and waited for the four of them to be murdered, but then dawn came, and they were still safe.

The town rejoiced, they burned bright pryes and danced into the night, for the first time in a millennia, the town of Goldcrown felt the cool night air, and gazed at the bright, full moon.

Ahiru leaned her head against Fakir’s shoulder, her stomach growing rounder, she gazed at the wall and no longer saw the eyes of the dead or heard the warning in her ear.

Death was not hidden beyond the walls, but life.

#princess tutu #this took forever #ahiru #fakir #I left out some details like her age #when this takes place #and how the curse begins #whatever #think about 1890s #she’s sixteen when it starts #17 when they get married #and 18 by the time her quest starts #writing #my writing #prompts #fakiru

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ikonislife · 7 years

Text

Tolerable.

-Namjoon x Reader

-Angst

-When your friendship built upon a lie, one person will always hurt more.

a/n. I had this saved for awhile so here goes, something for y’all to read before i upload the Jundong, CEO!Junhoe, High school au Hanbin scenarios.

Pic Cr. X

“Did you hear? the oldest Kim kid got into the elite police academy. He’ll probably be a great detective someday.”

“Aye, I knew he’d do well. If only our Y/n was half as motivated, maybe she’d at least have a part time job by now.”

Another day, another 24 hours of enduring insults coming from your own blood and flesh. For as long as you could remember it had been this way, it was you compared against the world, more specifically, the world that revolves around Kim Namjoon.

You bit your lips and quiet yourself, shoes gently being place back into the rack as you crept along the hallway making yourself invisible, something, perhaps the only thing you had mastered in your life. You watched as your grandparents boasted about Namjoon as if he’s their grandkid while your parents endured yet another bout of passive aggressive derision. Honestly it’d have been better if they just outright insulted you because at least then, you’d have a reason to be angry. Your parents love you for who you are and never once did they force you to do anything you didn’t want to just because the neighbor kid did it, but at some point during high school you began to feel sorry for them. How awful must it be to have a kid that was and still is completely average, meanwhile their best friends had practically raised a genius. He was good with school, a great athlete yet still somehow had time to dive into the world of underground hiphop. You, what did you do... Nothing.

To everyone else, you and him were best friend. To you, he was the source of your first crush, first heartache, and hell, even first love. To him, you’re simply the girl that live next door whom the neighborhood seemed to have decided to be his future bride. Namjoon is a polite kid, never was he mean to you but he wasn’t your friend either. Growing up seeing each other nearly everyday, the friendship between your parents had lulled you into a sense of false security, of presuming your own and his was also something of best friend material but you had long found out it was all lies - you’re barely tolerable in his eyes.

You didn’t mean to eavesdrop, sometimes things float by in the air and it was neither yours nor his fault that it was you whom happened to catch it. Blissfully unaware of the boy you loved, you were heading back to the gym to change, P.E. was over and you couldn’t be more happy as you skipped along side the fence of the football field. You had ignored the chatter at first but by the time your name was brought up for the third time, you feet stopped itself without even needing you to command them.

“Hey Joonie, are you and that girl really engaged to be married or something?”

“Who?” You heard him replied with shock in his voice.

“Y/n, your neighbor.”

“OOhh, Y/n. No, people just think so cause our parents are friends. No way, man.”

“Well it wouldn’t be so bad. I think she’s cute, not the best at school but good enough for college. She’s pretty funny too if you ever bothered listening to her. I wouldn’t be mad if she’s my betrothed.”

“Man, stop bullshitting. I don’t even like her. Hell, she’s barely tolerable if I’m really honest. She’s like the annoying little sister you know, I feel like I always have to look out for her. If not, my parents would shit on me if she’s hurt. Such a burden, always Y/n this, Y/n that.”

Suddenly every precious memory you shared with him was tainted with an ominous cloud, like a beautiful paining stained by the spilled glass of paint brush rinse water. The picture perfect friendship severed in an instant with the blade of Namjoon’s word and burned by the hurt piercing your heart.

You had always remembered Namjoon as the kid that always made sure you had a part on the playground, that no game would ever exclude you even if you weren’t the best at games but now you understand why he did it. He did it because his parents made him not because he wanted you to be with him.

And so your tears brought out the memories of middle school, the small glances he’d exchanged with his buddies, the awkward smiles and the nervous stammering whenever you’d grouped yourself with him every field trip. You had just thought he was scared a girl would ruined the dynamic of his group which consisted of 7 boys but you were his best friend, where else would you be if it’s not with him.

You thought of the little snickers his 9th grade girlfriend would share with her best friends whenever you were around and how he’d tapped her shoulders with a small smile of his own that you never really could decipher...

They were laughing at you, at how clueless you were.

It was all so wrong, your whole life had been a lie and Kim Namjoon was the one orchestrated it all. Even then, you still couldn’t stay away from him. The little butterflies in your stomach would still rage whenever those dimples were prominent under a blinding smile. You couldn’t hate him, you could never hate Kim Namjoon.

That fateful afternoon happened near two years ago and since then, second by second you learned to distant yourself away from the source of your temporary happiness that was also poisoning your heart. You now know his kind gestures and sweet smiles were nothing but lies and feigned interest to please his parents. For some reason this week, the last week of your high school life, it brought back all the pain and all the hurt of standing there in the field listening to the boy you thought you knew slandering your friendship.

You stood by the living room’s door, listening in on your grandpa gushing about how cool it’d be to have a detective in the family, listening until you couldn’t anymore so you turned around and put on your shoes. The cool yet sticky air of a hot summer night left you frustrated, even more so than the snide words of your grandparents. Your feet continued to pitter patter their way down silently out the front gate before stopping short, not really knowing where to go or what the end destination was and so you stayed there, leaning against the metal gate, sighing in relief the little bit of coolness it provided. You watched as the swarm of gnats dove blindly into the light and think of yourself and Namjoon... He had always been the source of light to everyone’s life while you were a mere bothersome herd of gnats, good for nothing and annoying. Unknowingly a single tear slipped from your eyes and with it too, a bitter chuckle. What a joke.

“Y/n... You’re okay?”

Great, he has to show up.

“Yea. What’s it to you?” You couldn’t bother to face him, Mr. Perfect, burning you with his brightness.

“Oh... I... I was heading to the coffee shop for a drink. W-Wanna come? I heard you got into your 1st choice, let’s go grab a coffee to celebrate.”

“I heard you got into the academy. Impressive. Congrats, I guess.”

“Hmm, yea! Thank you! I’m glad it worked out for you too. Come on, I’ll buy.” Namjoon’s a smart man and by now he had figured out something had happened yet no matter how much he postulated on the reason why, he had never figured out why you suddenly stopped being his friend.

It started out with eating lunch together at school, you had always been excited to share lunch but then one week you disappeared and till this day he never learned of your secret spot. Then it was the weekend movie night with both your families. You had always claimed the spot next to his and although he’d rather focus on the movie, he was more than glad to share his shoulder for you to cry on whenever your mothers would chose a sappy movie, or his chest to shield you away during a horror movie that of course your fathers chose to retaliate. Although he knew you were scared shitless when your dad had chosen to put on the grudge that night, you refused his outreaching hand, planted yourself firmly on the ground and braved the whole movie on your own. That night he watched your shoulders shivered in fear and listened to your kittenish sniffles of tear but there was nothing he could do. Till this day, he never really knew what the Grudge is really about. In the end, your face would be a rare occurrence before disappearing altogether from family dinner and he saw only glimpses as you rushed pass to the confinement of your room.

“It’s okay. I’m not in the mood for coffee and plus... If you wanted to celebrate, maybe it should be with someone a bit more special than just barely tolerable.” With a sigh, you finally said it, you said your least favorite combination of words and Namjoon felt himself stiffen. He looked up from the spot where his foot had been kicking nervously for the past five minutes awaiting your answer, sincerely hoped you’d accept his invitation only to meet your cold and empty eyes. That’s another thing that was gone along with your smile and appearance, the warmth and wonder behind your glistening eyes. These days they resembled the pitch black sky of a moonless night rather than the stars filled one he had grew accustomed to from growing up with you. Your lips neither frowning nor smiling but rather this uncomfortable nonchalantness, pressed tight into a line before you scoffed with the roll of the eyes, looked back up at the sky above.

“W-What?”

“Nothing. Don’t mind me. I’m just spewing nonsense again.” Hands shoving deep in the pocket of your sweat, you straighten yourself and with one last look, you walked off into the distant but not before muttering another congratulation.

That was the last time Namjoon really saw you, as he stood there under the yellow streetlight watching you walked into the darkness away from him. His fists balled up at his side and his heart shattered at the thought of you suffering from his words. those words “barely tolerable”, those were his exact word and he’d bet all the money and his future away you heard him that day. How could someone so smart be so stupid as to not realizing it sooner. For two years you looked at him with dejection clouding the once brilliant glint in your eyes and he was too goddamn into himself to understand why. He broke you.

You moved away soon after, silently and without even a goodbye. Namjoon had returned home that day, beaten from a long physical at the academy only to find his mom sobbing hysterically. Panic engulfed his body when his dad explained your family had bid adieu that morning before leaving for college. If only his instructor could see him run now, he’d be so proud of the speed Namjoon was tearing out of the house leaving a trail of smoke behind him despite the aching of his bone wanting nothing more than to collapse onto the ground.

“No...”

He muttered repeatedly like a fool staring at that for sale sign hung in front of your gate, hand rasping at the door hoping you’d answer but it just flung open lifelessly, the sight of your empty home pulverized the last bit of his heart. He was too late... You’re gone forever, still believing he hated you...

#BTS #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts drabble #bts namjoon #kim namjoon #namjoon scenario #namjoon imagine #rap monster #rap monster scenarios #namjoon #bangtang boys #bangtang #namjoon scenarios #RM

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hgihrepaeryster · 7 years

Text

Will’s Backstory

My dad is kinda loaded. Working in the weapons industry will do that for you. I honestly don’t know that much about Mom; she and Dad divorced when I was three, and I don’t get to see her much.

Dad and I moved to just outside the Tremorton area not long after my 15th birthday. Since Dad’s line of business hinged so much on planetary protection, he wanted to figure out why so much was happening around such a dinky little town. It wasn’t a capitol, nor was it a major industry town or military area, but alien attacks and supervillain appearances were more than fifty times the global average. He was surprised the place was still standing when we showed up, let alone thriving, but that was why he was there.

Our house, like all our houses, was huge; that was to my father’s taste, not mine. The biggest surprise about it, though, was that Dad had a safe room of his design installed near the center of the house for us to use in case an incident happened. It wasn’t that big - only just enough for my father and me - but it had everything we could possibly need for a whole two weeks, from food to water to a tiny bathroom area. He taught me every single detail of how to survive any sort of situation, and did his best to comfort my anxieties. “Those walls can withstand a point-blank blast from an ion cannon.” He said, with his usual grin of pride in his creations. “I was there when they tested it.”

Like the rest of my life, I had to take care of myself 90% of the time. Dad was off somewhere constantly: attending weapons technology demonstrations; grilling his employees to work harder on the next prototype; or reading through the legal paperwork of his latest contract. The money was only half of it, though; he cared about me - still does - and wanted to make sure I lived a comfortable life. (It’s his way of trying to make up for not understanding the way I feel about myself.) So when the call came that he had to attend a convention in Washington, DC, I wasn’t surprised. Saddened, maybe: I’ve grown tired of being alone so much, but I don’t know how to go about fixing it half the time.

He’d been gone for a day and a half when the news reports started to hit, and that’s the first time I’d ever heard of the Cluster. I watched in utter disbelief as the events unfolded on the TV, and then slowly moved to the window. The sky above Tremorton was blotted out by swarms of what I now know are Cluster drones, massing like clouds of gnats around lampposts at night. Giant dropships shaped like hornets appeared out of portals, and began to eject more drones into the air, along with larger fighter ships. I watched the laser fire burst down onto the city below, and then the formations of vessels began to spread over a wider area. I panicked and ran to the safe room as quickly as I could, locking the door solidly behind me. I felt ashamed of myself for running and hiding, but it didn't help the fear go away; it was sixteen hours before I could do anything other than curl up into a ball.

By myself there was a bit more space but it only made me feel so alone, being encapsulated from the world in a steel box, which was a bad time to realize that there was no way to reach anyone outside either. There was an alarm system that let emergency services know I was locked up, but they were so busy dealing with the rest of the invasion I knew it would be a while before anyone showed, if at all. There was enough food for me and Dad to last for two weeks, which meant I had four weeks worth for me in this situation. Still, I rationed it very carefully; there's no telling how long you're going to have to deal with this situation.

The only real form of communication was a radio receiver tuned in to the emergency frequencies. They were all abuzz with reports of the devastation that was being laid upon Tremorton, with Cluster drones taking humans as captives and destroying all sorts of public landmarks. I figured it was only a matter of time before they came for me, especially when the radio cut off one day in the middle of a transmission and was replaced with Cluster propaganda.

“Your freedom is a plague upon the universe. We are here to set it right. Comply with all orders and you will be spared. Any information regarding the location of subject XJ-9 will be rewarded; any subject caught aiding her will be terminated on sight.”

It was several days before the radio surged back to life again; the announcer was incredibly excited, the first positive emotion I'd experienced since this whole thing began. "She's back!" He announced. "XJ-9 is here to save the day!" I still had no idea what XJ-9 was, but I didn't care; if it meant an end to this invasion I was all for it.

No sooner did the announcement air, however, than the action began to increase violently outside. I could barely hear the blasts; instead, I was starting to feel them. As though someone was slamming a giant sledgehammer against the wall, begging to be let in. I began to worry about some sort of breach, even though I knew it should be impossible. Shattering a pane of glass, I retrieved my father's laser rifle: one of his developments from working with Skyway Patrol. My hands were quivering and my pulse racing as I aimed it at the entrance to the room. I expected to be swarmed by drones any minute.

Everything shook very violently for a moment and then - in a surreal moment - started to fly around, as though the room had somehow gone to space for a moment. Almost as soon as that happened, it stopped, and I was sent into a wall. I was barely able to bring up my arms to protect my head before impact; it hurt like hell, but it didn't seem to do any lasting damage. Everything had come to rest upon the same wall, so it was clear that the room itself had been toppled over somehow. There's nothing safe about this safe room anymore, I thought. Crawling my way over to the door, I found enough strength to unlock and push it open.

The house that used to surround me was now almost completely gone, and in its place was a pile of burning lumber, concrete, and what used to be furniture. The safe room - formerly on the first floor - was now in the basement area. As I rolled out of the room, I saw what had caused the destruction: a crashed Cluster fighter ship, smoldering in defeat. It was laying halfway into the cellar space, its rear end poking out above the ground. The sounds of combat continued in the distance without it.

A new sound drowned out all others, and I only had enough time to see the creaking and cracking of the beams above me to realize I should have stayed in the room. A large portion of the house collapsed over me, and I closed my eyes so that I didn't have to watch my own fiery death coming down. While I did feel an impact, it wasn't strong enough to hurt me; when I opened my eyes, I found myself pinned beneath a large concrete slab over my chest. The only thing that saved me from getting instantaneously crushed was the spaceship, which was close enough to soften the impact, yet there wasn't enough room to escape. More of the house was crumbling away around me, embers almost landing close enough to singe me. Even more terrifying was that the slab was slowly starting to slip off of the ship, putting more pressure against my ribs as the seconds passed by. I could barely muster up the strength to breathe, let alone call for help. All that escaped my mouth was a pleading whimper that couldn't have possibly been heard by anyone.

After the most terrifying few seconds of my life, I heard a sudden roar of jet engines closing in on my position. In the sky outside, I spotted a streak of blue and white come nearer and nearer until it had landed next to me. That's the first time I saw her.

She was unlike anything or anyone I'd ever seen before, her six-foot-plus stature towering over me as she touched down. Before I could even notice them, she spun around and gave a couple quick blasts of a laser gun - wait, was that her arm?! - at a swarm of Cluster drones that were pursuing her. They all burst into scrap metal, peppering the environment with their remains. She looked at the ship that had crashed into my house, likely to make sure it had been disabled, before quickly taking notice of me. Her pigtails, which moments ago had been rocket thrusters, perked up in shock, and she covered her mouth with a hand as she gasped.

"H-help..." I whispered, not able to do much more. My ribs were really beginning to hurt.

In response, she rammed a single arm beneath the concrete and flipped it over with one fell swoop. I took a relieved breath of fresh air, and the sigh of relief turned into a cough. Her eyes seemed to scan me for a moment before she spoke.

"No broken bones...no ruptured organs...the worst you have is a nasty scrape on your arm. No biggie!" I hadn't even noticed, but when I raised my right arm to see the damage, the robot girl had already turned one of her own into a tube and plunged the injured limb inside. Whatever was in there must have been amazing, because the whole arm felt numb and started to heal before my eyes. What was once a deep laceration that would have probably taken twenty or so stitches to heal was gone in a matter of seconds. My eyes widened at the sight, but my chest was still so sore that I could barely utter one word - "How-" - before coughing again.

"What's important now is to get you out of here." She replied, picking me up. "You're going to be okay now. I've beaten them all back." I heard all sorts of mechanical adjustments as she converted herself into some sort of jet-robot; she was soon lifting off of the ground, and I watched in disbelief as the house my parents had spent several million on continued to fall apart into dust behind us. All of the town was below us, with several other buildings turned into smoking debris. The only thing I could do was look at this robot - this hero - that just saved me, as she concentrated on her destination: the Tremorton High football field, which had been converted to an emergency medical center.

She touched down as gently as a feather and laid me down on a cot outside a tent. She told the doctors she'd get as many more as she could, and then turned to me, placing a calming hand against my heart.

"You'll be feeling better in no time." She said with the sweetest smile I'd ever seen. I nodded, but before I could say another word, she was gone.

------

My father came back a few hours later. He'd been worried sick ever since he saw the spaceship crash on the news, and he came straight home afterward. It was a tearful reunion, but considering the fact that it could have gone a whole lot worse, it was still a happy one.

The longer the conversation went on, though, and the more I told him about what happened, the more he seemed to change. He went from relief to resignment to a subtle, underlying anger the more I said. I don’t know what it was, but at the end he just got up and took a deep breath, as though holding himself back. We were about to talk about living arrangements when his phone went off. He took a look at the caller ID and immediately began to perk up. The conversation would be considered kind of jovial were it not for the atmosphere in which it took place, surrounded by destruction and wounded. When he hung up, he gave me his grin of pride.

“I’ve got just the place for you.”

#backstory #mlaatr #my life as a teenage robot #tremorton #rp #roleplay #fanfic #fan fiction #oc #fan character #original character #xj9 #xj-9 #jenny wakeman #will perringer #shipping

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