#in the business of reattaching limbs indeed | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

spacegaywritings · 3 years ago

Text

Sweet, sweet Birthday Boy (A Happy Birthday fic for Casper)

General

Relationship: Remus X Casper (OC /Attachment)

Tags: QPR, QPP, tentacles, SFW, sweets, eating, candy, this is the epitome of a sugar sweet aesthetic, scavenger hunt, Remus is a sweetheart, he is just an excited puppy, light hint that the light sides are kinda uncool, (esp young Roman), talking candy, ellipses, This Story Contains Lactose, This Story Is not Diabetes- compatible, mentions and vague descriptions of candy gore, mentions of bunny and duck onesies, Breaking and Entering, nighttime, caps like once, they are threatened like twice, jawbreaker nightmares, mentions of christmas treats, ethnic candies, killer popsicles, the Dragon Witch!, small bits of angst you will not notice, hurt comfort, kinda, tears, goo, acceptance, love.

Summary: It‘s Casper‘s birthday and Remus would be a rotten partner if he did not go all out of his way to turn the world upside down for his horrible love.

Note: Casper is “Attachment“. He is an OC and his birthday is Pink Shirt Day - an action to raise awareness of bullying, prevent it and stand up against it. For more info on Casper, refer to my other Casper stories such as “Cursing into Emancipation“.

Also, if you are triggered by certain candy brands, you are lucky, cuz I avoid mentioning any specific one!

My KoFi - Support me ♥ or Commission me

Note: If you miss any tags, have issues with links or any other concerns, please feel free to contact me. Anon is on and my DMs are open.♥

Links broken? Inform me, please!

(Story under the cut: 13,7k)

***

11.59pm.

Remus crept over the floor. Darkness was flooding his vision. He was lucky to be Creativity, albeit the more or less forbidden one for Thomas. He fulfilled anything people would consider to be “cursed“ thoughts. He brought about nightmares, taboo topics and horrible or even dangerous ideas. He resided in the Imagination but sometimes, he liked to come out and mess around. Tonight, he was not up for messing around.

The man had a mission!

His tentacles and he slid over the floor of the light side territory.

For a group call liked that, there was a whole lot of awful darkness down here! Not that he was complaining. It made things easier for him.

The dark side of creativity turned his head from one side, to the other, then back to where he had started. After a whole 360° of turning, he proceeded. Nobody was around.

HA!

Even logic was asleep. Virgil had not noticed a thing, or maybe had noticed, yet did not care for him and his shenanigans. It was just him, a harmless little octopus yeeting himself into someone‘s room through the slit between the door and the floor.

His body was flattened to be as thin as a shadow. Indeed, he was a shadow trying to get to all the other shadows in this room. Remus squeezed himself through the little slit and soon enough had his thicc butt on the other side of that door.

He allowed his body to take proper, three-dimensional shape again. Instead of tentacle shadows, he returned to his full body. A proud butt, a rather regular body and toned limbs.

If he had a say, he would make Thomas work out less and eat gross things more! But that was another topic. He was here on a mission.

The dark side peeked up to a little night light. It was shaped like a heart and just a s rosy. Remus smirked.

How cute!

His body crept over to the bed.

Yes, he had let himself into a bedroom and it was just about time.

The clock ticked and his body rang like a bell! Vibrations shook him, running through his body. The dark side felt himself leap into the air like a cartoon character struck by lightning. He squeaked and with yet another leap, landed in the bed he had been busy approaching.

A figure moved.

Midnight! Midnight!

Remus flung himself at the person.

“Cas! Awful birthday to you!! I wish you all the slimy horrible things to happen!“

The sleepy figure hummed softly, barely capable of verbally communicating. The night light was prominent enough to illuminate his smiling face. It took them a few more moments, Remus grinning patiently.

Then, Cas was awake enough to process what had been said to him. He threw his body at the other and engulfed him in a hug. He squeezed his partner and Remus squeaked in delight!

Casper giggled.

“Shhh!“

He shunned the other and both giggled, stopped because they might have altered the others, then giggled again, this time quieter. Their eyes met, conspiracy giving them a wild gleam.

“I have a plan for you! For us! It has been your birthday for seven minutes already!“

Casper hummed softly. His body sacked against Remus‘ chest. Casper was a bit smaller and meeker than Thomas. Every side was a bit different in terms of body and personality. The pink side was about as pink and sweet as he seemed like a rather childish kid.

Remus brushed through his chestnut hair and patted his head ever so softly. It was soft like a breeze, fluttering like a kiss to Remus‘ heart. The weight of a grown man was in Remus‘ lap and he felt it more and more as Casper dozed off into his warm, sweet sleep.

“Caaaaaas~“

He grinned softly.

The body in his lap twitched. The dark side brushed over his back. Attachment responded with yet another hum. This time, it seemed less warm and lethargic.

“Huh?“

Casper‘s body jumped back into place, upright and awake at once. The green side giggled and gathered him back into his arms. He heaved him up and kissed him onto the top of his head.

“I made you breakfast!“

Casper curled up in Remus‘ arms as he teleported them into the Imagination. Of course he could have teleported into his room, but where would the fun have been? So, he promptly changed their location from a pink room to a pink world.

Remus had modelled his part of the Imagination to look like a candy wonderland. There were huge candy canes, striped with glittery rainbow colours. They stood, framing paths like trees. Sugar crusts with cute faces were hanging from them like baby mobiles.

Casper blinked himself awake. His body was lethargic, still heavy with sleep. He turned his head to look around. Surrounded by cotton candy clouds and dog-sized gummibears, the pink side found himself right in front of a row of tables standing close together to form a heightened path of space. It was decorated with funny strings all over and even a table cloth which was made of edible “paper“. Sprinkles and heaps of whipped cream adorned the table at every seat. The seats were made of chocolate wavers and had icing to glue it together and decorate it.

Attachment perked up at the sight and hopped into one of the seats. His arms reached out to drag Remus down with him. They shared their stead and Remus eventually broke off a part of the wavers and reattached it with a bit more space for the two. A bit of whipped cream was whisked off the table to serve as glue.

Remus huffed, satisfied with the space he had now established.

“We shall feast, birthday man!“

Casper giggled.

A little bit of sleep was still veiling his eyes.

He looked at the table of sweets. A huge grin spread over his face and he turned back to face Remus. Was that for real? This seemed like a dream! Also, the Imagination usually looked like a huge mess, all colourful and straining for the eyes and full of bad smells and things but-

... Casper blinked.

Oh! It smelled like pancakes in the morning!! And chocolate syrup to balance out the chocolate-mint chips. His stomach habitually bubbled at the temptation of a scent.

Did that mean he would get pancakes? Any of them were great, but personally, he really liked them with sprinkles inside and sugar on top (optionally! - it depended on the amount of sprinkles inside of the pancakes.

Remus turned to exchange a knowing look with the other and Casper felt himself become somewhat warm inside and all fuzzy.

“We can get pancakes“, he whispered in realisation.

Wow.

Remus simply nodded back at him. The birthday boy perked up.

Before he could try and materialise his own pancakes like the other had shown him once, he realised something else. It was a realisation worth noting!

Looking at the other, he realised that Remus was not in his usual attire of fancy clothes and funky accessories. Instead, Creativity was dressed in a fuzzy suit of furriness. An eye-strain of colours met Casper. It made him wonder how he had not noticed it before. Remus was wearing a bunny suit, but it was something that Casper would call „“candy gore“ in appearance. It was about the only kind of gore things he could handle.

Remus must have worn it just for him and his birthday. After all, scary things were not okay to him. He still slept with a night light in order to keep the mean things away. Especially because the light sides were not okay with the two having regular sleepovers.

They did not know the two were somewhat dating, either.

A breeze to the face distracted him from his thoughts. He blinked, reality slowly fading back into his awareness.

Remus was blowing air to his face and making weird movements with his hands. Was he trying to fan Casper some air? He was okay!

Before he could ask, Creativity already cheered.

“Finally! It has taken me ages to blow your dummy thoughts away!“

Casper giggled, his love soon joining in.

He was blessed with the best of the best! No matter what the others were thinking about them! They were as they were, but they were happy.

“Thanks, Ree!! Now, back to the pancakes? I want the cute ones with sprinkles inside, the colourful chocolate ones! And AND AND!“

Casper hopped in Remus‘ lap.

“Can they be shaped like cute animal faces? Pleaaaaase?“

His pink eyes seemed wide like a doe‘s. The irises were hearts that seemed to grow and throb as he looked at the other in anticipation. Remus could get lost in them, but he was pre-occupied. He had planned a birthday for his boy and he would give a birthday to his boy!

“You can have anything! You know I would give you my heart!“

Casper squeaked.

That was a literal statement. Remus had offered him his bloody organ more than once and while his reactions to it had dulled down to an awkward giggle, Attachment still did not enjoy the action.

“No hearts!! I am happy with a funky bunny in my arms!“

He squished his body closer to the other as if to demonstrate how close they were. Remus chuckled softly and pushed himself against the other too, their bodies snug.

“Pancakes, then~ I will give you little kitty cats, my ducky~“

Casper blinked at the nickname.

Thomas had resorted to calling Remus “Dukey“ but what was “ducky“ all about? Remus summoned a plate made of oblaten wafers. Soon enough, pancakes started falling onto them. One by one, Remus caught them. His hand moved around, nowhere yet in all places at the same time as he brandished the plate around like an acrobat.

Casper clapped his hands together, giggling.

“Yay!! You are doing it, Ree!“

He grinned at his best friend and platonic partner. The mustache grinned back.

Remus summoned himself a plate as he retreated his arm with the plate to his chest where Casper leaned against. The duck-onesie-clad man was curled up and hugged the thin plate to his chest at once.

Dogs and cats had their faces marked into the colourful sprinkle pancakes he had in front of him.

“For you, Cas!~“

What was better than this?

Casper could not imagine anything better. However, knowing Remus, there was much to come for sure! So, he took what he had and dug into the food. He had no cutlery but those were pancakes and they were just perfect~

Warmth spread in his mouth. The soft, dough-y texture of pancake flopped onto his tongue and he started to chew. The sprinkles were partly molten but his teeth still made some parts of them crack and crush under their power.

“..wow.“

Chocolate, sugar and wonderful dough melted in his mouth, combining to an amazing taste of a breakfast way too sweet to be consumed by any ordinary person.

But none of them was ordinary. Also, Casper could swear that the cat faces made cute kitty purr sounds in his mind when he ate them. The dog ones were making dog sounds, like yawning and stretching and panting.

It was amazing.

He never would have thought about any of these things. Attachment had never known just how much he had needed these things and wanted them before he had gotten them. They were not necessary for his regular life but they did make it much better!

Remus seemed to be done with his plate, already devouring the kitchenware. Considering it was made of sweets, Casper bit into his, too.

Crystals of sweetness broke inside of his mouth, slowly melting on his tongue, or cracking and exploding between his teeth.

He had never had anything as tasty as this. Not even Patton‘s home-made cookies were as good!

They ate for a while and eventually, Casper called it a meal. He was not sick of the sugar, nor sick from it. The pink side was energised and sufficiently filled.

Remus snuggled him from behind and brought his tickling fingers to his sides.

“Ah, Ree, nO- AHH!“

Attachment squealed in delight. Giggles made the air vibrate. Remus‘ mustache was twitching in cheerfulness. The screams of pure delight and ecstasy were enough to replace his need for agony and blood.

Plus, Casper was one of these people to squirm when tickled. A pure gift to Dark Creativity.

“Reeeee~“, Casper whined.

He was breathless and mindless. Giggles had overridden his thinking, his common sense. All he could think of was pushing Remus away to stop the tickles.

Or..

A devious grin spread over his mental mouth. He was perpetually grinning and chuckling at the moment. His body wormed around like an excited dog, trying to get away from the tingles spreading from Remus‘ chaos hands.

He took a huge breath.

Remus was taking a break. One glance at his eyes suggested he was only waiting for Casper to catch his breath. The pink side was unaware of the little glitter tears in his eyes, the wetness from being tickled throughout.

While the dark side bathed in the triumph of their one-sided tickle fight, Casper angled his body and got into position. Remus was grinning at him with that huge mustache all over his face. Sugar crystals adorned the corners of his lips. A few crumbs of cookies resided on his cheeks, still.

Casper charged at him.

His (baby) duck-onesie-clad body made him fluffy. He appeared to be even smaller and cuter than usual. To be fair, he was objectively the most adorable side in the Thomasphere but that was not the topic in this context.

The topic was this pink boy of sugar slamming his body against Remus‘, effectively pinning the long boy down. It certainly was a sight to behold. A duck was hovering over a neon-gore bunny accident, driving hands up and down the messed up fur.

“I got you !! HA!“

Casper asserted in triumph.

Remus was squirming and writhing underneath him. Despite his wild movements, he was chuckling like a madman.

“YOu!“

He nearly snapped but laughs and breathlessness cut him down to mere chuckles and incoherent sounds. Casper grinned at him from above, finally in the position to give back what he had gone through beforehand.

“You!“, Casper mimicked sassily.

Fingers flew.

Hands sought out the best spots, ears accounted for which reaction was greater than the other. All the while, mouths were only moved to complain or giggle - rarely to suck in the sweet, sweet relief of oxygen, which the nose could not provide enough for.

They ended up entangled, limbs going anywhere as they had flopped over again and again like a pan-fried cheese sandwich.

The sound of heavy pants filled the air. Both pushed at each other‘s chest to successfully de-tangle the mess of their intertwined bodies. Remus rolled down onto his back, right next to Casper.

Casper‘s lungs were burning. His eyes fluttered shut.

He was tired, technically. He had not slept the whole night. His mind knew he was supposed to be tired, to be asleep. The amount of adrenaline and dopamine running through his body were not on par with getting back on track with his sleep-wake cycle. His serotonin wanted to complain but there was nothing to do about it now.

The pink side was numb to complains. He only heard the rhythmic pants of himself and his love. He turned to watch Remus. His chest fell and rose fast but the creative side restrained his lungs to fall back into a more slow and natural dynamic.

Warmth bloomed inside of his chest. Little flowers of hearts seemed to grow and spread inside of him. Looking at Ree bore no more but good feelings to him.

It was illegal to think bad of him, to see him as mean or harmful when he had been the only one to be open, honest and caring with the other. To Casper, Remus was the farthest away from being an unreflected hypocrite of all the sides in Thomas.

His face grew warm. Casper‘s, not Remus‘! The little heart-shaped freckles of his cheeks were starting to sparkle with colour. Whenever the pink side got excited or really emotional, the freckles would become bright and show off their amicable shape.

“One more thing!“

Remus rolled his body up into a squatting position, then jumped to his feet. How was that dude so fit? They were both part of Thomas, simply representations of their functioning inside of him. How was Casper so unfit compared to someone made of the same stuff?

It did not make sense to him, but considering they were residing on a path of chocolate stones, green grass of almond paste all around them, he could not complain about a lack of logic at all. Instead he sat up and stretched out his hands.

“Reee~“

Remus gently took them and helped him up. The pink side was beaming up at him. The sight of his warm freckles, bright and wide, brought a red dust to Remus‘ pale cheeks.

“Yes, yes! You need to have your present- well, a part of it, maybe!“

Casper gasped.

“You got me a present? But this was a huge breakfast and it was secret!“

Remus wiggled his eyebrows as if he had started a career in it.

“A present for the gift to my life!“

A part of Casper‘s mind was still stuck on the fact that his present was not one but multiple parts. He was, in fact, so occupied by this thought, he had to blink when a new something appeared in front of him.

The present was wrapped up in almost see-through paper. Was that rice paper? It seemed to be .. no, that was candy glass!

Casper stared at Remus, then back at the gift. Again, he looked at Remus and then at the gift and at Remus-

H-

How was he supposed to open th-

Something ding!“ed in his head. He lowered the gift and threw himself against Remus, squeezing him in his arms. It was a huuuuge bear hug. Creativity squealed in his arms. He shook his head and hugged Casper close in return. The pink side sighed softly.

“Reeee~ I need your hammer thing!“

The dark side stopped dead in his tracks.

For a moment, Casper had the feeling the other had frozen. Time seemed to stand still and suddenly, he was heaved up into the air.

“CAS!! YOU ARE LEARNING!“

The squeaky delight was evident in the increased scratchiness of Remus‘ voice. He almost sounded like a messed up record from the 60s or whatever. Scratchy, horribly quality and a complete ear-fuck to listen to.

However, he caught Casper like a pancake and pushed a huge pole into his hands before letting him go. Attachment landed on his feet, a bit wobbly. The weight of the pole tilted his balance to the side. It was the side on which end the pole had a huge ball to it.

“I am so proud of you“

Casper tried to balance the pole in his hands. The spiky end was a giant weight to him, really unbalanced. It was unusual to him to actually do any heavy lifting. He was attachment! He held hands and liked people and cried for them and over them. He suggested how to handle relationships and whether or not to detach.

Holding a big-boned bastard of a bone-crusher in his hands was NOT his expertise, but as Remus had mentioned, he was learning.

And he was proud of him.

His freckles felt brighter again, cheeks and heart warm. Casper liked to imagine that Remus‘ nice words and weird ways of showing affection liked to mend the broken heart that was his symbol. He wanted to wonder about whether or not a side‘s logo could change but he saw the gift again, his mission right in front of it.

Crush the bomb!

Casper pushed his hands a bit away from his chest. His arms were angled to his upper body, in the right position to best provide muscular support to heave the immense weight of this unusual weapon of choice. He focused his eyes on the gift and thrusted the mace into the air, letting it crush down with his arms tensing as much as possible against the obstacle.

The sound of a pathetic crushing and breaking filled the air. Sugar flaked and cracked, pieces of it flew through the air, seeking to hit and destroy in revenge. Other parts of the hardened gift wrapper was pulverised and seemed to spread over the ground like sweet snow.

It was pink and green.

Remus caught a few of the pieces and offered one to Casper.

“I‘m good but thanks a lot!“

Casper grinned up at him. The green side shrugged and started snacking on the razor-sharp bones of what used to be a loving gift‘s shell.

Small, pale hands reached into the splinters of candy glass. If it had not been for the plans he had yet to be informed about, he would have tried to play with the shards, trying to put together a sweet and colourful mosaic of sugar and uniqueness.

“Huh..“

The birthday boy pursed his lips ever so slightly. He trained his gaze on the shards, hands starting to push the broken shell out of the way. Slowly, a little piece of paper seemed to appear. It was folded, string keeping it together.

If this was candy, then it was no candy he knew how to name it. It was new.. felt like actual paper in his hands. The ink seemed to be dark chocolate, darker than Thomas‘ eyes. He smiled at the thought about it.

“What is this, huh?“

Ree grinned widely. His face seemed to get larger, just large enough to accommodate the growing grin of his lips. Casper was squinting at the paper as he unfolded it properly and inspected it carefully. There were more lines than words. A few symbols indicated a deeper meaning.

He was holding a map in his hands.

WAit a moment-

He turned over the map only to find instructions plastered all over its back.

“You made riddles for me! This- This is a whole treasure hunt!“

Casper jumped up.

Energy fuelled his body enough to make him jump. Being physically idle did not do well in letting out all the feelings he was experiencing. Thus, he had to wiggle his body a bit. Remus happily joined in on their improvised, weird dance.

The dark side giggled at his partner. Casper felt his heart halves melt together.

“This is a map!! Thank you so much, Ree!“

There was an unspoken transfer in this action. While Remus‘ present was a whole adventure and a lot of work, there were implied values attached to it. Casper was rather childish and seemed to be more like a young child, rather than an adult side.

He was pink, he was cheerful and he liked candy and childhood friendships more than adult topics, mature matters and questions of morality. All he cared for was playing catch with his friends, cuddling his favourite pets and finding someone to really feel complete with. Someone he would never have to be fully separated from.

Thus, the light sides treated him like a young child.

The map in his hands was more than just a task, a means to build up tension to an even bigger gift. It was trust in Casper‘s leading abilities, trust in him understanding and being competent enough to navigate them through this wild candy land.

His heart swelled up until it felt like it was twice its original size.

“Thank you.. really. Thanks a lot.“

Tears started to well up in his eyes. He smiled despite of it - or maybe he smiled because of it, smiled along with the tears in his face.

Remus drew him into a hug.

“Aw, Cas!“

He papped the other ever so gently and gently nudged him with his shoulder. A compass appeared in the hand of the arm that had nudged the other. The pink side looked up at him, eyebrows narrowed.

“Ree, this is wonderful- I.. May I lead?“

His big, wide eyes looked up at him. They were magenta around a dark heart at its core. Remus blinked at him, his eyelashes like lavish fans.

“That‘s your gift. Your present wants you to lead.“

The compass in his hands was chocolate, laced by gold. A few sugar crystals adorned the round device. The little pointers were made of sugar, too. The little letters were licorice on an oblate base. In Remus‘ hands, the pointers went into any and all directions. Once in Casper‘s palm, it seemed to recalibrate, to organise itself.

The thing was reacting to him and him alone. After a bit of watching the pointers dance, the little tip came to a shaky stop.

It pointed them towards South at the moment.

Casper checked with the map.

The candle table was.. there, at the left top of the map. The x-mark was on the other side of the map, in the very corner. The candy table rose on the map until it was materialised.

“Wow-“

Ree nudged him to keep looking at the map. South was downwards, according to the compass of the map. The map started illuminating a spot below their current location. A sketch of a forest was light, yet did not rise like the candy table and the wonderful arches they had here.

If Casper found the spot, maybe the map would save it and materialise it, like the one they were at. Maybe it would only show the spot they currently were at with a three-dimensional model.

Attachment gripped the map tight, then gently folded it, his fists melting onto the parchment. Rivers of fingers curled around the paper and gently decreased its size. He put the map into his onesie pocket and cleared his throat. The compass was firm in his right palm.

“We shall get on track with this adventure!“

Ree squeaked like a dog toy. His body twitched up into the air, just a few inches above the ground. His limbs wiggled a bit before he came down again, attaching himself to the slightly smaller Casper.

“Aye, we shall, Leader Cas!“

Pink returned to his cheeks, marking his name as “pink side“ as a rather literal phenomenon. Creativity grinned at him, eyebrows arching.

“You shall come with me, oh yee... uh.. thee magical union of creation and dis-creation!“

Remus nodded, a hand over his chest as if to contain his wild heart. Casper believed this to be not unlikely at all. He gently smiled, pride gleaming in his eyes.

“I shall!“, Ree agreed. His voice was strong, resonating with his body. Casper felt almost taken aback by it. He grinned over it, after regaining his posture, and used his finger to indicate what the compass wanted from them.

“There we have to go to! March!“

Ree groaned playfully.

Their feet started to march away, down to south, to the mysterious forest. It did not take a lot of time for them to see the scenery change. The candy table and wide space seemed to disappear, swallowed by how narrow the path got. The chocolate stones and pebbles faded until sparkling sugar sands took over, turning darker and giving way to almond paste grass, green like Remus‘ wonderful logo.

Casper‘s free hand intertwined with Ree‘s. The taller one gently squeezed the hand in his bigger one. It took only a few moments for Casper to squeeze back - but not in response to Remus‘ actions.

Cake pillars of trees were dancing around them. The map seemed to vibrate in Casper‘s pocket, so he let the compass plop into his pocket and pulled the curious map to his sight.

“There seems to be something going on, mate!“

Ree giggled like a maniac at Casper‘s comment. He grinned, nodding again and again as if the pink side had said so much more than he actually verbalised.

The birthday boy peeked at the map. There was a change, indeed. The forest was starting to rise from the paper, drinking up colour until it was bright. Huge strings of gummy-like sweets were hanging from the trees, sometimes intertwined with the chocolate flakes of bark. The real trees in front of them were more detailed, had the natural carvings of tree bark, the wrinkles of plants. Here and there, golden syrup was leaking from a few injured trees. Others had dried trails of such syrup on them, marking them as recovering trees.

The pink side swiftly turned to the other, mouth slightly agape.

“You are doing all of this? This is so cool! Ree, you outdid yourself!“

Attachment beamed brighter than the soda candy sun in the sky. It was smiling a candied slice of lemon. The pink side, however, was grinning white teeth and excitement. His hand tugged at Ree‘s and dragged him into the forest. His feet moving swiftly.

The bigger, elder trees had huge branches of churro sticks. They built a sort of canopy above Casper and Remus, shielding them with shadows from the soda sun and cotton candy clouds.

A lake of purple grape pop crossed their way.

“Will we just f- UAHHHH!“

Casper turned to Remus to ask something, steps slowing down together. However, something made him trip over. Casper landed on the grass which seemed to become darker in colour and more in numbers.

Rock candies were glistening from underneath blankets of chocolate crumble earth and almond paste grass. A few stray rays of sunlight warmed the solid, translucent rocks. They seemed to shimmer. A few beams of light reached up to Casper - or rather, down. He was currently sitting up, Remus squatting down next to him.

“You alright?“

Casper had a smudge of green on his elbows and quickly licked it away. The action curled his and Remus‘ mouths upwards.

“Yup!“

The pink side wanted to ask something, but a marshmallow with strawberry “softies“ on top walked over. Was this a little mushroom?

Casper squealed.

“ Ree!! Look!! I want to be friends with them!“

He hopped back onto his feet. The candy mushroom approached them, a few smaller mushrooms following after. All of them had little black eyes but only the bigger ones had enough face to fit a mouth onto them. They looked like black candy tint on them. The eyes were in different colours.

“Are you one of the biped heroes? Will you help us?“

The mushroom hopped up. How did it jump without feet? Well, how did it talk when it was fully candy. This was a paradisical dream world, not a logical report on extraterrestrial objects. Of course there was no real logic in here.

“A hero?“

Casper repeated. His eyes grew wide. Pink hearts seemed to sparkle at the word.

Hero.

Who in this sugar forest was a hero? Remus was the classical villain to everyone but Casper. The pink side was just him, right?

The mushroom nodded.

An umbrella of red leaned close, facing the ground for a moment, then stopped right before touching it. The mushroom sighed back into position, the red umbrella resting in its intended place.

“The legend says only biped heroes can mend our issues! You need to help us!“

The pink side blinked.

This was getting interesting. So, he did the natural thing and -

“But this can‘t be. We just happen to be on two legs. That means nothing!“

-doubted himself.

Remus nudged him.

His mustache seemed to transform to licorice curls. He looked at his partner, eyebrows arching.

“You have to be the heroes! You are our only hope! We cannot leave the forest because we cannot climb down the beach where the water comes from. Please, we need help!“

Remus whistled softly.

The crowd of mushrooms was trembling a bit, collectively staring at the others.

Attachment looked at them, eyebrows cast downwards. His eyes seemed to decrease in size as he observed the little mushrooms. They barely got us to his thighs.

They were so helpless.

“...Alright, we can try. What do you need us to do? What‘s outside of the forest that matters so much to you?“

Casper got back down onto his knees. He wanted to be on eye level with the mushroom people.

“Our flower friends need a lot of strawberry milk. We get our milk from a river outside of the forest! It usually fills up a whole pond and our flower friends grow all around it. But.. but now they are hurting a lot because they are so hungry. Everyone has syrup, but that is not enough for them. Some gummy bats fly around to help them bring some strawberry milk. They take chocolate egg shells to transport it but it is not enough. Please, our flower friends need help!“

Casper nodded.

The tallest mushroom of all was starting to shed little marshmallow fluff tears. Attachment‘s heart felt hurt, too. He placed a heart on the red umbrella part as the smaller mushrooms started to wail along.

“Don‘t worry! We will do our best to help. I- I don‘t think any of us is a hero, but we can do our best to mess things up!“

Remus cheered him on and nodded wildly. He glomped Casper from behind. The pink side giggled softly.

“You would?? Thank you so much!“

A few smaller mushrooms started to stray from them. They seemed to line up with a path away from where they had come from.

“The smaller mushrooms will lead you the way out of the forest.“

As if this sentence had been a clue, the small mushrooms jumped up, their marshmallow torsos buried by their bright red umbrella heads. Promptly, they started glowing.

Casper gasped at the sight.

“Wow! That is so cool!“

He turned to Ree, then to the mushrooms. The small ones were radiating a halo of glow around them. It was slightly greenish. Maybe that came from the rich surroundings of the jungle-like forest they were in.

The dark side nodded. To him, that was just one of the most normal sights. It was usual, so he saw nothing outstanding or gasp-worthy in that. But he saw Casper‘s excitement and it brought a smile to underneath his mustache.

„“Let‘s go follow them, then, huh?“

Casper nodded.

His mouth was still slightly agape but he closed it then and there. The pink side hopped on the spot and turned his whole body towards the glow path.

„“Farewell, biped heroes. Farewell. Our trust is in you!“

Casper felt a warmth in his heart. It seemed as though it had started to grow wings. It lifted itself up inside of his chest and it was wild and swollen in power.

He waved at the big mushroom with eyes and a mouth, then let his hand intertwine with Remus‘. The taller one gave him a squeeze.

And off they were.

The partners followed the glowing mushrooms for a while. At some point, they had walked for a long time and Casper sighed softly.

“How long do we have to travel? I am getting hungry.“

Remus shrugged.

His free hand indicated the worlds of sugar around them.

Casper hummed softly.

“We could take a break, how about that?“

Just as he said so, they got a peek on a huge tree. It seemed broken, so Remus suggested having some of it. Casper agreed. The two walked over, four legs approaching the broken tree.

As they did so, they realised that fog started to come up. At first, Casper thought that light cotton candy clouds were coming down on them. Instead, something heavier seemed

“Oh, is it really okay to just..- huh?“

Attachment stopped himself.

More and more sugar thread seemed to come down onto them. At the end, it felt as though the whole forest was covered in hair made of sugar. This was the oddest thing to ever happen to him, even despite all the years he had spent with Remus, visiting the weirdest places of the Imagination and so on.

This really made an example of how odd things tended to be, sometimes.

“Ree, I think we have a problem-“

Said side already tugged Casper closer.

“I bet it is too late to check the map now, isn‘t it?“

Casper snorted.

“Great idea, but too late indeed. Now.. what can we-“

Again, the pink side stopped himself. He looked up at.. uh.. well, more and more hair, considering he was unable to detect Remus at all. His gleaming spark of ideas in his eyes was not visible to the other, nor were his own hands before him.

“I have an idea instead, Ree. I know we can‘t see one another, so it is really important to stick together. Don‘t let go of my hand.“

Ree nodded.

It took him about three moments to realise the birthday boy could not see him. So, he cleared his throat and played a loud “Aye, Sir! Mister Casper, Sir!“.

The pink side jumped on the other side of his hand, but regained his posture enough to squeeze back in reply.

“Very well then. Listen to where my voice is coming from, follow to where your hand seems to be with mine.. and slowly eat the fog away with me.“

The idea his Ree like a truck. Without seeming him, Casper could physically feel the other snap into action and suddenly start eating away the fog. It was pismaniye. It tastes sweet, mostly, but also a bit nutty. It was nothing like cotton candy. It fell like hair.

It was almost creepy to be surrounded by something that looked and felt and fell like hair, yet was sugary sweet and kind of tastes like sesame and pistachio.

Attachment followed his own advice after becoming oddly aware of his own inaction. He started to eat, his hungry body grateful for the input of actual sustenance. They had been walking for a few hours, so breakfast had been a longer while ago. The steady exploring had exhausted him.

Now, he just wanted to see his Ree and be sure they were with one another, even if he could feel him on his hand.

Diligently, almost as if they were quite enjoying it, the two were eating away the barriers between their love. Hands held softly were the guidance to their inner compass directing them. It took them a short while, but eventually, they had eaten away enough fog to start seeing colours shimmering through, then even pieces of actual clothes appearing behind the thick curtains of light blonde angel hair.

“Ree! There you are!“

The dark side did not let himself be called twice. He reached out and picked up his smaller partner. Carefully, he drew him to his chest.

“This is my Cas, and the forest won‘t get a single piece of you!“

The pink side giggled. Remus brushed a piece of sugar wool off his face and instead stuck it into his own mouth. His partner giggled.

“We should get out of here. Maybe the fog will get worse. We need to be quick. As much as this was a good snack, we need to think of moving first.“

Cas commanded. He quickly checked the map and the compass. They needed to go to the west. The funky trees on the map started to retreat. So, they were almost outside of the forest!

“Let‘s see for the lights!“

Maybe the mushrooms were glowing because they knew the fog would be coming? In any case, Casper held onto Ree‘s hand again and started walking, when he experienced the worst deja-vu of all-

Once more, he tripped, once more, this triggered a whole bunch of plot.

Remus was helping him up when they heard ripping, the sound of branches breaking. Something heavy was breaching through the forest and it would not be kind to them, as it sounded.

“Ree, we need to go!“

Casper pushed the other over the dead tree and they tripped over it, curling into a ball of a falling and rotating mess. Their bodies stuck together due to their hands finding one another, but it did nothing to help with the rapid movements as well as the intense churning they experienced.

When the pink side laid eyes on what was chasing them, he was more than glad to experience this rather than.. that!

A huge jawbreaker was rolling after them, breaking and running over many plants and animals. A “squish“ noise reminded him of the mushmallows.

“I hope they are okay..“

Casper had a last thought before a horrid squeak cut through his mind. All worries about the others were gone when his hand was gripped tightly. It was so tight, it started to hurt, his bones aching already. He wanted to turn around, ask Remus to stop.

He could not.

His body was drawn in and engulfed by arms. Remus was was holding him close, blocking his mouth with a whole bunch of furry onesie. He thought he was actually breathing in the gore-bunny‘s heart or whatever kind of monstrosity was growing from it‘s chest.

While Casper was unable to ask or scream about what was happening, he clearly heard wind whooshing around him. The ground under his feet was gone and all the safety he knew was Remus‘ grasp on him.

He was sure he was going to be safe, yet his broken heart was aching. His lungs seemed to string.

He closed his eyes harder and focused on Remus‘ smell.

This time, he did not have pickled poo logs on. No, he was wearing vinegar and rotten roses. What a romantic.

As Casper tried his best to focus on Remus being warm, being smelly as always, he did not notice the heat rising around them.

However, a soft thud occurred. It was followed by millions of variations of one single sound. It was difficult to describe, but Casper felt as if it sounded like plastic pieces crashing together. It was a series of dull noise.

To Casper, it was an unspoken sign, a permission to look again. Now he would be able to open his eyes again.

Slowly, he did exactly that.

His eyelids fluttered. The pressure on his face decreased.

“Oh, we fell and landed softly! How wonderful!“

Remus‘ voice reached him.

It was close. His voice box was so close, it made Casper‘s ears rumble a bit from Remus‘ vibrating chest. His lips curled up, just a tiny bit.

“Fell?“

He detached himself from the other‘s chest and blinked, trying to slowly let reality dawn onto him. The world was different now.

A thought flashed inside of his mind and he quickly took his map and his compass out of his pocket. He looked around, trying to filter out certain landmarks which would tell him where exactly they were.

“Oh.. we did fall. Where-“

He blinked at his map.

The jungle.. this.. forest.. it was gone, away away. Instead, a new space was rising from the map and even making a sound. He could hear the rushing of wav-

“CAS!“

Remus jumped into him.

The dull sounds of plastic meeting plastic started to sound up again. It kind of felt drowned out in all of the sounds of waves. Coming closer and closer and crashing over them, breaking and burying them in..

Candy beans?

Different colours filled his vision. Huge logs of colour fell from the sky, rained down onto him. Casper could not hear more than the deafening noise of dull plastic crashes.

His whole body was walled in by a huge Remus as well as the plastic sounds and big colour logs. He wanted to narrow his eyes but felt himself close them instead.

“WOO~“

Casper felt his chest become free with the sound of Remus cheering.

Attachment did not know what was happening but he knew that a LOT was happening. The sounds of Remus being Remus were closer but not louder than the plastic ones.

But it was warmer.

He felt a warmth spread inside of his chest.

Slowly, the noise subsided again. It faded away but never really disappeared.

Maybe he had internalised it by now. Who knew.

Casper, for his part, was giggling a bit. He had his things, still, so he took what he had and tried to get up. Beans were around him and as he got up, Ree followed.

“This was a nice ride!“

He hopped up and looked around, one hand over his eyebrows as if to build a makeshift roof with it.

“Huh, we-“

Casper interrupted him.

The golden colour before them cued him.

“WE ARE AT THE BEACH!“

He squealed and screamed. His body turned towards Remus once more. The dark side was more than happy to reply with screams and squeals from his own side.

“AHHHHH!“

Casper grinned: „“WE DID IT!!“

Remus wiggled his body and nodded. He looked like a Golden Retriever.

“WE DIIIIIID!“

The duo giggled at one another before jumping at one another, chests first. They melted into a hug, laughing still the soundtrack to their current situation.

Casper was the first to pull away but Remus quickly picked him up, pulling him closer. He gently rested the other on his shoulders.

“Look out for waves. I will walk us back to the beach.“

Casper nodded. Not, that the other could see it. He still had his compass and his map in his hands, so he put the compass away. But he did shoot a glance at the map, considering he wanted to see the “beach“ part of the map start to rise up.

Carefully, he observed it, witnessing how the candy bean sea became more prominent in colour. They seemed to roll a bit, much like a regular sea‘s many waves.

“Will do.“

He looked over at the waves, but the sea was rather calm now. The next few waves were barely one full layer of beans reaching over to them. By the time a bigger one started to build up, Remus was ankle-deep in the “water“.

A few more steps and he was outside. He softly put Casper down.

„“We did it!“

Casper giggled softly.

Now that he was standing on the shore, he took the time to examine the land around them more closely. Previously, he had focused on looking out for the waves, but now his attention could be redirected to their mission again.

He checked the map.

It very much was the beach, it really was.

Casper felt as though his heart was being lifted in his chest. It was an almost violent feeling but it made him want to hug Remus close.

And so he did.

“Come here, Ree“

He pulled the other into a huge bear hug. Casper gave those a lot to Ree, especially when they had not seen one another in a while. It was their “welcome hug“ when Casper was not too tired or exited to give it.

The dark side could feel himself being squeezed tightly. Warmth surrounded him. Warmth seeped into him.

“Aww, Cas. I am proud of you. You got us right here where we needed to be.“

Casper nodded softly.

He was unsure about it but his success did the talking.

“Hey, wait a moment!“, he exclaimed. Remus looked at him, a loyal companion as always, “there are sandwiches!“

Indeed, there were.

Casper flashed his pointer at a row of cacti around the beach. They seemed to be never-melting popsicles rising from the sandy ground. A few fruits seemed to hang there.

“Cas, I think that‘s jus-“

Yet the other was running before Ree got to finish his talk. He was about to say something important even, or so he thought. But there was no stopping the other, so it was apparent that the taller one had to follow the birthday boy. Said person was getting closer and closer to the cacti.

Like, he actually did.

Remus could not believe it while Casper believed and knew it all the way.

“Sandwiches!! They are sandwiches!“

For the first time in the sweet little world, - quite literally sweet - Casper found something not exactly made of sweets and sugar. This was bread, actual bread.

Ree stopped right behind him as he gripped the “fruit“ until it came off. The dark side cleared his throat.

“Is that safe?“

He was mimicking Patton‘s voice. Casper only shrugged. He rolled his eyes as he turned to face his partner.

“Do you want to try it?“

He handed the round-ish ball over. The “fruit“ had a little stem of cheese.

Why did such things come from a popsicle cactus?

One would never know.

Ree inspected the thing.

It was.. somewhat circular, kind of golden in colour. Some were a bit different in colour, like more green or more red. It was funny. The one he took out of Casper‘s hands was clearly golden like the sun - well, the sun in the non-candy world.

He looked back at the other fruits. His mind held the fruit absent-mindedly, squeezing about tighter as usual. Casper gasped.

“Ree! Let go! Look, look! I told you it was sandwiches! I could see it, I could smell it!“

The pink side‘s hands came around Remus‘ larger ones. He carefully eased his grip on the fruit. Remus just let him do and shift as he pleased. His hands were almost limp, making it easier for Attachment to move them around and pry them away from the fruit just a bit.

The cactus fruit had unfurled itself, revealing a golden crust. In fact, it seemed as it had shed a little case in which the sandwich had been stored.

“You were right!“

Ree concluded in awe. Casper nudged him playfully.

“Stop sounding so surprised! I know my food. Let‘s sit down and eat. I can study the map and you and I could need a little break. Also, I am hungry. What about you? Aren‘t you hungry, too?“

Ree shrugged but picked a fruit for himself as well.

Around the popsicles, it was a bit cooler. The soda sun was actually burning down pretty hard, but the cacti provided more than enough cool and shadow for them to not really sweat a lot. The run and fall had done a number on them, so the warm breeze and sunny heat was enough to dry them off and give them a nice time to relax.

“Those are not bad. I got tomato on mine.“

Casper giggled.

He had unpacked his map, eyes fixed on the compass on it as well as the beach rising from the flat parchment again. Slowly, he started biting into his own sandwich. He took his eyes off the map, letting it process all the changes around them.

As he ate, an explosion of warm, umami flavour flooded his mouth. The sandwiches were warm, but not hot. The cheese was molten pleasantly. He did not seem to have tomato in it. Instead, it was just a whole lot of cheese.

Attachment loved it.

“Jus‘ chees‘“, he mumbled around his food.

Ree giggled.

His hand swung over to his partner, silently presenting it to the other. The dark side took a huge bite from it. In return, he grinned and started chewing away at it while offering Casper some of his. The pink side was staring at the map, yet noticed just enough to react and bite into the tomato-fed piece of delicious.

“Mhmm...“

Both sat in silence. Relative silence. A few chewing, humming as well as general eating sounds occurred from them.

They both reached for another sandwich when one was done.

“Oh, see. Is that the river they talked about? It was not there before, but now it is flowing. It looks pink. Hey! Like me!“

He smiled softly. Ree shrugged.

“Looks rad. Does that mean we can go on?“

Casper shrugged.

“I think so. We must have fallen through the barricades or whatever was annoying the strawberry river. Well, we can go further to here.“

He pointed at a place further below the beach they were currently at. At least when considering the positions on the map.

“It seems like a forest or something else is gonna await us.“

Remus shrugged.

He had already finished his food and was interested in biting into the cactus. Would it hurt? Pain only made sensations more interesting. He leaned in and bit into the plant.

“AHHH!“

Remus pulled away at once. Casper flinched closer to his partner and best friend. His forehead was wrinkled up. Remus looked almost offended in contrast to the pink side.

“What did you do?!“

The cacti started to bow over them, arching their bodies.

“Why did you bite me!“

A new voice arose, demanding and accusatory. Casper looked at the cactus, the source of sound coming from that direction. He could see the bodies of the cacti turning a bit, revealing faces.

Angry faces.

The cacti were colourful, white and red and orange up until the tip where they were green again with a few red dots and little pricks to them. One of them seemed to be missing. Remus pulled it out of his mouth and threw it into the sand.

“Bite?“

Casper repeated softly. The moment he said it, he realised just what has been said. The cactus was accusing them of having bitten them. Sadly, Attachment looked at Remus holding his mouth in mild pain. A small pout was making his lips appear bigger and more innocent than usual.

He wanted to hold him but also push him away for being such an impulsive idiot. Exasperation took hold of him and he sighed.

“Ree, you cannot just bite people!“

Ree‘s pout grew bigger.

“I didn‘t know! I just wanted to test the cronch!“

The cactus cried out as if having been bitten even harder. It shook. Casper squeezed against Remus‘ side. The taller side was hurting, but put one arm around the smaller one, carefully holding his partner a bit closer.

“Cronch?! I am no cronch! You hurt me!“

Remus shrugged.

“Well, sorry about that. I cannot change it now, tho.“

Casper nudged him.

“Can we do anything to make it up to you?“

He felt a pit inside of him. There was emptiness. Despite the sandwiches, he felt as if nothing but self-eating emptiness was inside of him. And it hurt.

No, actually, the sandwiches probably made it worse. They were the poison in the well that was his body. Casper wanted to wince but he tried to be as nice as possible. It must have hurt to be bitten by Remus.

Remus was quite the strong one after all.

The dark side huffed stubbornly. The cactus stood as tall as possible. Casper had the feeling the cacti were trying to stand even taller and broader than before, maybe to just look a bit bigger.

The shadow they cast onto them was growing huger, longer. They were dooming stripes, thick prison bars in the sand, trapping them in place.

The cacti were actually growing, the middle one, the talking one, more than the others and much faster at that.

Casper took Remus‘ hand again.

“I think we tried a lot to be friends with the cactus again, but they won‘t listen. We should go, really-“

Attachment‘s voice spoke with a much more intense haste than usual. He checked his compass and started to take the initiative.

He was the leader of their little troop, their small team. He was to make decisions and do things. So, he made the decision to run away at once. Behind them, cactus pricks shot through the air. They bore into the sand, digging deep into the loose sand.

Remus turned his head to throw one last glance at the angered cactus, now much taller than them, surrounded by a few cacti which grew into similar sizes. They started to free themselves from the sand, popsicle stick feet were hopping through the sand.

They were after them.

“We need to hurry!“

Casper was running like the wind.

His partner alerting him was more than enough to push his mind over the edge. He had to make a decision fast and quick. Where would they go? There were sugar bean oceans, strawberry rivers-

There!

A huge pond!

Casper pulled Remus after him. His feet were almost flying over to the pond. It was a temple of safety in Casper‘s mind, the kind of place were they would be sheltered from the mean cactus.

Well, the cacti were kind of right to be mad, but chasing them around and trying to prick them? That was a lot!

The cactus monster was hot on their heels, nearly breathing down their necks. Remus had the feeling they were melting down onto their exposed body parts and absolutely non-innocent skin.

The pink side felt an idea hit him much harder than a prick could have. The cactus started to “reload“, prepared to pierce sharpness into them.

The leader was against that. So, Attachment took a sharp cut into another direction. The cactus monstrosity was huge and did not react well. The sudden change of direction had the meanie baffled. The cacti union wanted to turn around just as sharply, but lost balance. The many branches of cactus heads were too enormous in size and different ideas. One wanted to gather their balance again, while others were arguing whether to give it up or actually still pursue them at all.

By then, the pink side had them safely hidden away in the muddy warmth of a dark chocolate fondue. He waited a bit, dragging the curious Remus behind him before his air was out and he had to get up and breathe again.

He squeezed Ree‘s hand and gently tugged it upwards as he returned to the surface. Two heads, completely immersed in dark chocolate, popped out of the darkness.

It smelled like cocoa butter, a bit bitter, even.

The two cleaned their faces carefully, trying to free their eyes and mouths and noses first, so they could breathe and see right.

The cacti seemed all gone.. they were safe?

“Good idea!“

Remus‘ mustache was now double its size. Casper started to giggle.

“Ree!!“

He chuckled to himself.

“You look so funny!“

The dark side grinned.

He tried to glance at his mustache, but it was hard. How was he supposed to see his face? He scrunched up his nose. He craned his neck a bit, showing off the side of his throat.

No, he could not see better like this either.

Casper could not hold his laughter back.

He was curling in on himself, shook by his own amusement. Seeing Remus trying to turn his face upside down and whatnot just to see himself was hilarious. The pink side shook his head, little crystal tears appearing at the corner of his eyes once more.

“You..You-“

He tried to express anything with even a hint of coherence.

Needless to say, he did not manage. His breath was short from how much he was laughing, also, he was laughing way too much to actually say more than one or two syllables in one go.

Remus pouted playfully.

“Cas, you are being meeean~“

A huge grin adorned his chocolate features.

Time to take matters into his own hands! He approached the laughing side. His partner was currently wiping tears from his eyes. They were squeezed out from how much he was laughing, balled up cheeks squishing his eyes like lemons.

He realised the other too late, and even later.

Casper could barely squeak out a plead, a word to turn Remus‘ mood more mild. The other already threw himself onto him, arms finding his muddy wet sides. Warm chocolate covered his ticklish spots, but did not desensitise them.

Attachment was squirming.

„“Ah..Ahhhh~ Ree!!!“

His giggles had barely faded, just to be resumed once more. A new force was accompanying the sounds of his laughter. Casper‘s little body was flailing its limbs into every direction it could possible reach. He squealed like prey.

„“You deserved that!!“

Remus playfully shot back. Attachment wiggled away, trying to move out of Ree‘s reach. He reached the end of the chocolate pot and heaved himself out eventually.

Sweet, sweet - ouch!

He landed much harder than expected.

It was a deep fall, leaving him to roll over a bunch of leaves. He blinked softly. His sides were hurting now, but he was okay.

A loud breaking sound rushed to his ears.

„“Hu-“

He gasped. Obviously, his mind was going many places.

They had faced a lot of obstacles, nice and mean people. Now, the sound was promising a fall -

...a fall of Remus, apparently.

As Casper before him, he was breaking out of the pot without a lot of grace. He had broken some branches in the process but took it with a giggle, as he too, rolled over.

“That was fuun!! Wooo!“

He cheered.

The taller one sat up, his hands up in the air. They were all chocolate.

“It was, but it hurt.“

Casper retorted.

He shrugged it off, though, and simply looked at his hands. They were full of leaves - as much chocolated as he was. Chocolatified? Chocolate-covered.

“Ha, look at this! We are covering everything in chocolate!“

The light side beamed up at his partner. Remus slid over to him.

“Truce. No more tickling!“

Casper nodded. They shook chocolate-hands on that!

“Alright! But we need to do something about this chocolate stuff!“

Remus shrugged.

“We can wait this out. Just take a nap and the chocolate will be hard as a d-“

Casper nudged him away.

“Staaaaahp! We can take a nap, alright alright!“

He had a pout on his lips now, too.

They playfully pushed one another before paying down and curling up together, one against the other. Remus curled around Casper like a bowl, or maybe a nest. Casper nuzzled his chest softly.

He was sure he would have a hard time sleeping now. He had been up all night, they had been chased yet again. Adrenaline was rushing through his veins, his brain. The chase, the fall, the tickles and the rest of it all. They were in his mind, flashing before his inner eye.

He could see what had happened to them, he thought about everything they had experienced so far. Before he knew it, he was caught in a deep sleep.

His body was snug against Remus‘. Together, they slept into a state of hardened chocolate.

When they woke up, they felt odd.

Hardness kept them in place. They were restrained, even when they tried to breathe a bit deeper. Chocolate armour was attached to them like a second skin. It was not tight, nor was it really heavy, but it was everywhere, even in their hair as they now realised.

“Oh.. oh, what‘s that?“

Casper nagged.

He wanted to un-curl, get up and see the world, but every twitch of muscles was met with resistance. He felt pressure against his skin when he tried to move. Very much from his chin down, he felt immobile and restricted. Little walls were keeping him in space.

A frown fell over his features.

He had been soft, even a bit disoriented from switching over to reality after his warm, heavy sleep and dreams. Now, he was surrounded by so much confusion, he barely knew what to do. The world was odd, their situation was odd.

For a moment, he feared being unable to ever move again. His throat tightened.

Oh no.

Now, even the rest of him would freeze and become unmovable! The rigidity around him seemed to worsen. It pressed a moan out of him. Little tears formed at his eyes again.

Instinctively, his throat formulated what he usually did when Casper did not know what else to do. The helplessness of having no more logical thoughts to help but only panic to guide him made his chest heavy.

But his automatism kicked out a powerful: “Remus!“

Instead of a whine, a pathetic plead, he strongly pronounced the other back into their reality. Remus awoke with a sudden jolt through his body. Though, he could barely move. The twitches resulted in pressure against his skin.

There was a whole lot of pressure instead of the nice, heavy warmth of a chocolate blanket from before.

Remus caught on rather fast.

He wiggled his body as powerfully as he could. Little grunts and moans came from him. He sounded like a character from Dragon Ball in a ten-episode filler fist-fight.

Cracking was soon to be heard. It filled the air, much like the sounds of opening an egg.

A louder sound breached Casper‘s ears.

He was unable to see much, considering he was much glued to Remus‘ chest shell. Yet, he could see and hear how Remus removed himself from Casper‘s face with a sudden motion. The dark side rolled all over the space around them. This time, his body did not pick up any more leaves or straws of grass. He jumped to his feet and yelled.

“I AMST FREEEEE.“

Remus shed a last piece of dried muddiness around him. The dark, bitter shell crashed to the floor and burst into pieces. Casper flinched into an embryo position, trying to curl up as much as possible. The dark side shrugged and sat down to his friend.

“Actually, I can get you out even better!“

He gave Casper a smug grin. Before Attachment could think twice, the other was leaned over him and bit into his necK!

“AH! Ree!“

While Casper wanted to complain, he.. felt no pain. He looked up. Actually, he COULD look up once more. He felt his neck crane ever so softly. IT worked! He could move again!

Oh.

The pink side felt the other carefully bite and push until the shell gave in. Casper giggled at times. The chocolate was brushing against his skin, sometimes with the warmth of Remus‘ breath.

“That tickles!“

He started to squirms.

Soon enough, Remus‘ work as well as his additional wiggling helped him out of the shell. Casper chuckled, snuggling up to his partner.

“Thank you, Ree. I got really scared.“

The dark side shrugged.

As nonchalant as he acted, he still leaned down to kiss the tears building up in the corners of Casper‘s eyes. They were crystal-like, precious like sugar.

“Awww, what for?“, Ree reasoned softly. Casper was giggling but still holding onto the other. The dark side held his partner softly, „“there is nothing I wouldn‘t save you from. See? I defeated the chocolate!“

Casper chuckled.

When he looked up at, Remus‘ face was smudged with chocolate. It was all dark brown around his mustache and lips. Attachment chuckled and snuggled into Ree‘s arms again.

“You are so silly! You are full of chocolate!“

He was giggling with the other but when Remus brought both his arms around the smaller side, he sighed softly. His heart was melting inside and he felt.. right, being so close to the other.

They stayed like this for a while.

Only after a longer while did they part. Casper wiped his eyes. Remus wiped his mouth.

“I have the feeling we can use the chocolate leaves a bit. Let‘s take them with us.“

Remus nodded. They took a sugar glass cup from the trees around them and collected the leaves. They then locked their hands again, fingers intertwining. They smiled as they walked through the calm trees of the forest.

It seemed different than the other, more plain, less crowded. There were no funny mushrooms... marshrooms? Well, they were none, so it did not matter. However, they saw some cute mice racing around. Some birds and bats flew around. Licorice and yoghurt gummy bears crossed their ways.

They kept on walking.

Eventually, Casper checked the map again.

The last stage before the treasure seemed to be highlighted. Much like the others before, they rose from the map and stopped, slightly moving since mice from the map were moving around, too. Gummy birds were tweeting and chirping.

It felt like a song for these two alone.

“Hey, there is a funky thing here.“

Casper pointed at something. Remus nodded softly.

“Yes, yes.“

The dark side‘s response prompted him to go on.

“Let‘s go there.“

They did as they decided on and eventually came around to a clearing. There, their favourite mixed-race person was sitting!

The dragon witch!

“Good day, children.“

She had a table set up, a few plates made of stroopwafel were laid out. Little cups of chocolate were prepared. There even was a little kettle.

The table looked like a horizontal yule log, lazy in the sun. It was surrounded by smaller Baumstriezel which formed little things like chairs. Candy glass covered the hollow inside on top, so people could sit on it. It had funny colours. The dragon witch gestured to the seats. They were two free ones, the exact number of butts that needed a rest after nearly walking and falling all day. Even their nap was not enough. They had walked for over one hour once more after this.

The duo sat down with the witch, happy to be welcomed.

“I hope you brought some leaves for our tea.“

Casper perked up.

“We have chocolate-coated ones!“

The dragon witch giggled.

She was a huge dragon with a stereotypical witch-hat adorning her head. Roman had made her up. Remus had befriended her after his light-reflection kept on fighting her. She was his first friend on the “dark“ side.

She opened her hands. They were claws and wonderfully colourful. Scales of all colours decorated her body. Casper smiled and put the leaves into her opened palm.

“Thank you young man! This shall make a wonderful, spiced hot cocoa.“

Gently, she started to blow her hot, steaming and flaming breath onto the bottom of the tea kettle. Soon, it started whistling.

Casper giggled.

The warmth was very much welcome. He and Remus warmed up on it, hands stretched out.

“Nice..“, they breathed out softly. Smiles decorated their faces.

Behind them, the bushes rustled. Little mice and other animals came to join them. Casper picked a bit of stroopwafel and handed it over to them, bit by bit - crumble by small crumble.

The dragon witch giggled at him. Her hands moved and a new piece of food entered the scene. A few mice ran over, bringing them a loaf of dense, dark bread. It looked like dark caramel on the outside. On the inside, it was much more yellow than people would expect bread to be.

Of course, it was something special.

“I made Ontijkoek for you. I hope you can enjoy it, child.“

Casper grinned up at her.

His and Remus‘ hand intertwined under the table. The dragon witch paid that no mind. She cut the bread and gave everyone a little piece.

“Happy birthday, Casper.“

She started to take everyone‘s cup. One by one, she filled in some of the tea which had steeped for a while. Well, it was less tea and more chocolate chai whatever.. He did not know. But what he knew was that the second the dragon witch started the fill his cup with this chocolate mix of hot liquid, little animals of chocolate liquid started to rise from his cup.

They danced above their heads, chasing one another.

He looked up, eyes gleaming.

“Ohh!“

Remus giggled.

“That‘s cool! I want too! Please, dragon witch!“

The dragon witch shook her head. She pulled out a wand. It seemed to be made of crystal candy. Colourful, shining, powerful.

She poked Remus‘ nose with it.

“Nah, nah, little naive man. You shall get a little surprise for your birthday when it comes about. Until then, we are celebrating for Casper.“

Ree‘s lips were fallen into a pout for just another moment. Then, he gently nudged the other.

“I bet on the funky horse.“

Casper frowned.

“No, no! The cat will win.“

The dragon witch let one animal per cup rise above their heads. Now, her cup had its turn. She catapulted a bit of the steaming liquid into the air. Promptly, a raccoon formed.

“I hope my raccoon friend can show you what counts~“

They ate their bread as the animals raced for them. Sometimes, they ran into one another for fun, jumped at one another and so on.

Like that, they let the world move on for a bit longer. The animals ended up playing around and flowing into a little puddle for the other animals to enjoy. The Dragon Witch gave a little gift to Casper, but left it under his bed, like a secret.

The duo travelled on.

They had passed the last stage, had a nice afternoon tea and now, the sun was slowly sinking down. Casper was yawning again.

“This was a cool birthday..“

The pink side snuggled up to Remus who held him loyally.

“What‘s the last stage?“

He asked softly. Remus shrugged. Casper felt his head move along, considering he was leaning onto the other with most of his weight. He stifled yet another yawn.

Remus pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“We are right there. Come on there, my prince. I will carry you.“

Casper did not answer verbally. His body moved to spoon Remus half-way from behind. His body was snug against the dark side‘s back. Swiftly, the journey continued.

His eyes blinked.

The forest seemed to be over.

There was the little hill they had seen. From there, the jungle-like forest they had been in at first was visible. It was far away, but Casper felt it in his heart that they were somewhat back where they had been before. The strawberry lake trickled into the side of the jungle. It was a fine line of thread, coloured like self-made strawberry yogurt in the summer.

The nostalgia made Casper feel more like he was in his bed. Remus usually made him feel liker that, but also remembering nice and simple times.

He was sure the other knew about this.

Mentally, Casper focused on this for just a while. He barely realised when Remus gently settled himself and the lighter side down onto a nest. It was green and made of funny candy. Casper new it was edible Easter grass, but he did not know how it was made. It looked weird and he had never really liked the taste.

Still, he would usually ask for it, ask for the completion of a holiday child dream.

However, he noticed a change of pressure on his butt. He hummed softly. The nest was soft, but not as soft as the air his butt had nestled against beforehand.

“Hmm... Ree..“

He smiled softly and patted the space next to him.

Ree sat down next to him. They enjoyed the view for a while.

“The strawberry lake.“

Ree nodded. He hummed, because he realised the other did not look at him but at the world created for him and him alone.

“Can we go back here, sometimes?“

Ree nodded once more.

Again, he made it more clear to the other, even when Casper looked up at him with his big, pink eyes.

“Of course we can, Cas.“

A calmness settled over his head.

“Thank you, Ree. Really.“

They both looked at each other, then, as if they had communicated about it, they looked back at the jungle for a while.

“You made a great world.“

Remus smiled.

He had made it for Casper only. Casper was more than a world to him, so he knew he would build more and more worlds for him - as long as the other would let him.

But of course he did not say that.

He smiled, his mustache twitching a bit with it.

“I am ready for the end.“

Ree nodded.

This time, he did not have to indicate his approval, his understanding, any more in order for Casper to understand.

Sounds of rustling tickled Casper‘s ears. Like a set of butterfly kisses, the light touch delighted his skin and caused some areas to curl up in a veil of goosebumps. He tilted his head a bit, towards the source of this new noise.

Around them were eggs. Not the small ones.

Oval balls of all colours were in the lime green nest. They were sprinkled with some spots of the dark chocolate, revealing its true nature of chocolate at heart.

“Oh?“

Casper felt the sound leave his lips, slipping from him like a fleeting thought.

He sighed softly. A smile warmed his lips.

Each egg was huge. Had he been standing, it would have reached just below his knees, he was sure. It was similarly broad, but definitely taller than broad.

The pink side reached out, feeling drawn to touch the eggs.

Softly, he approached one by one. He placed his ear against the shells. All of them had sounds. Only one of them was quiet. When he listened to all of them, he glanced at Remus for just a moment, then returned to look at this egg.

It was yellow, less oval than the others. It also did not seem as sprinkled. In fact, the golden like colour was spot-on. Or rather: spotless.

While other eggs had vibrated against his ear, sounds and movement keeping him mentally engaged, he saw this motionless egg.

It was almost lifeless.

A feeling of knowing came upon him.

His eyes were fixed on the one egg. Golden, glistening. It seemed to be sparkling at him and him alone.

Attachment placed his palms onto the peculiar egg‘s shell. It seemed... surprisingly thin. Instead of a robust, thick shell, it felt as though Casper could reach right through it, almost like tracing his finger tips over the see-through veil of rice paper.

A part of him wanted to look at Remus. He did not know why. At this point, it felt like instinct, maybe habit. In any case, he experienced the urge to look at the dark side. Yet, he refused it.

The egg first.

This, he mused, was his time. Although provided by his lovely partner, it was a moment for him alone and he wanted to value it - for the sake of himself, really.

Almost as if following a deeply ingrained ritual, his fingers started to grasp at the egg, carefully cracking its top. His nails scraped off the thin layer of colour. Golden fractures of colour split off of the egg.

Soon enough, the little mountain top of gold was melting away under Casper‘s magical hands. He worked until he could see enough and even reach into the inner of the egg. A little bag was inside of it. Dark.

Not candy.

Casper‘s fingers brushed over the fabric, trying to take in which candy it could be until it occurred to him that it actually was no candy at all. It was too smooth, not sticky enough. It was light, breezy. It did not feel air-tight at all.

He wanted to ask what this was, but his eyes were focused, his brain not even considering the idea of opening up his mouth in order to even try and produce a single sound. All he did was to open the bag and insert one hand.

The inside was.. odd? To the touch at least, he felt nothing but weirdness. Somehow, it was several textures at the same time. It was somewhat gooey, yet also firm. Was that slime over something?

His eyebrows narrowed together, nearly meeting above his nose.

He pushed his thumb into the item.

It felt very much solid, covered in something like grime.

Attachment gently retreated his hand. He had his eyes closed. He had not even realised it, but he must have done it during the time of him trying to feel just what it was. He was guessing mentally, was attempting to understand it all.

When his eyes fluttered open, his freckles were a faded, peach colour. He blinked a few times.

The item was not just small enough to fit into his palm, it also seemed to reach around his palm. It was spheric, hollow inside. His hand fit right through.

He looked properly at it, squinting ever so carefully. The line around his hand was made of interwoven tentacles. Green goo was dripping from it. It was translucent, yet did not feel disgusting. It was smooth and silky, instead of sticky and stranger.

It felt as natural as water to his hand but did not stain him or wet his fingers.

“Wh-“

Now, his mouth was moving. But he stopped himself at once.

He did not know what to say. He wanted to say so much, wanted to what this was. His brain assembled the pieces, slowly solving the puzzle one object at a time.

This was the most Remus gift ever, for the most Casper person in the world.

Attachment scratched at his friendship bracelet. He had made them all, for any side Thomas had, any side he knew and liked. He had made them and sometimes, the others did not even wear theirs.

Not once person had returned the favour, had given him a similar treatment.

“Thank you..“

He took a really deep breath.

His body was in Remus‘ arms all of a sudden, his body moving into its right place right by his partner.

This piece of weird string, eternally dripping its weird, unaffecting goo, was a symbol of so much more. The tentacles never-ending, never stopping. It was snug against his ankle soon. Remus‘ hands hugged the root of his foot, gently squeezing it before putting it back down onto the bottom of the nest.

The first eggs started to crack around them. Little blocks of Turkish delights, flush and warm in colour were starting to jump around them, up and down. They made funky, wet sounds.

Slurp, Smorf.

They shared a giggle.

This time, Ree let the other cry.

When Remus curled up in bed, Casper was with him, a little ball of ducky onesie in his arms, a trail of crystal sparkles over his cheeks, stopping right above the curl of his smile.

#remus sanders #sanders sides #fanfiction #fanfic #ts fanfic #ts fanfiction #tw food

3 notes · View notes

silvokrent · 5 years ago

Text

The Almighty Maker Him Ordain

Tyrian’s salvation came, not in the form of repentance, but of a woman garbed in black and heralded by monsters.

After three days, the restraints were starting to chafe.

Tyrian gave the bindings on his arm another experimental tug. Although he’d long since given up on the possibility of loosening them, it did little to dissuade him from testing for structural weakness. A pull here. A tweak there. His captors had been nothing if not thorough in securing him within the confines of his cell, to an almost paranoid degree, really.

The stasis-cuffs and shackles for his tail, certainly, he could understand those. The muzzle was a bit much.

There was a sharp sting in Tyrian’s shoulder where the leather strap dug into a half-healed wound. He let out a hiss through his teeth, eyelids fluttering shut as he paused to revel in the pain. He welcomed the sensation, the way it lit up his nerves and made them sing. It was a shallow substitute for the exhilaration of the chase, the thrill of blood slick beneath his fingertips, the intoxication of the screams. Little more than a distraction, to be sure, but a very badly needed one. Time in the intervals between guard rotations left him desperately in need of an outlet. Like an addict in the vise of withdrawal, the manic energy surged beneath his skin, on the verge of overflowing without the necessary stimulation to siphon it.

It didn’t help that the sentries had quickly been conditioned by his attempts to cajole them into running into his room. There were only so many times Tyrian could claim his stitches had come undone, or that he needed to use the bathroom, before the response became Pavlovian and they wised up.

His treatment was simply appalling. After all the effort put into capturing him, one would think they’d at least pay him more attention. He was a Very Important Prisoner, and he’d be damned if he didn’t remind them of it.

“Surely you haven’t forgotten about me?” Tyrian glanced at the camera suspended in the corner of his cell. “Or are you still busy cleaning up that little mess we made?” His fit of laughter ended in an abrupt cough. There was an unmistakable coppery tang across his tongue. “I can’t remember the last time I had that much fun. I hope Atlas wasn’t too upset about those Paladins. Though really, they have no right to be. If they were smart, they would have budgeted for collateral damage.”

If they were smart, they would have stuck a knife between his ribs by now.

“Ske sha skele,” he said. “Don’t you think this is getting ridiculous?” He let out a dramatic huff. “I’ve received better customer service in Vacuose brothels. All those soldiers in uniform, and you can’t spare one to—”

The electronic lock on the containment cell door pinged, before it slid open along its track. The first newcomer was a stranger to him, another hackneyed guard whose only distinguishing feature was the way his arms shook as he stepped into his room. His second visitor, however—

Tyrian grinned, wide and bright and vicious. Even with the mask concealing part of his face, the expression reached his eyes. It was enough to make the guard falter in his step.

Oh, yes. His prayers had indeed been answered.

“Room service!” Tyrian exclaimed. Locks of matted hair cascaded down the side of his face as he lifted his head. “I was beginning to wonder when you’d come. It’s quite rude to leave a guest unattended for so long.”

Pickerel folded his arms over his chest. “I thought you would’ve had the meal schedule memorized by now.”

“And where’s the fun in that?” he asked. “Predictability makes everything so dull. Routine is more of a prison than any dungeon you could throw me in. The monotony of repetition, the relentless march of time, shackling yourself to an existence sterilized of any meaning.” Tyrian let out a long, shuddering breath. “There are ways to kill a person without knives and daggers.”

“And you’d know a thing or two about that, I’m sure,” the guard said. Pickerel’s attention briefly flitted to his companion, before he redirected it back to Tyrian. The heavy weight of his stare made him positively itch.

“I’m glad to see you’re putting all this time to good use.” The Huntsman’s voice was dry as Dust.

Tyrian inclined his head. “And what else would I be doing?”

“Feeling remorse for the dozens of lives you’ve taken?”

The guard jumped at the sudden, vibrant cackle that was amplified by the acoustics of the room. It took Tyrian a moment to compose himself. “Ask a fire not to burn you, or a storm to soak you to the bone.” He sneered. “See how far you get.”

“Is that what you are?” Pickerel asked. “A force of nature that indiscriminately kills whatever crosses your path?”

“What I am right now is starving,” Tyrian said. The guard made the effort to not flinch as he pointedly glanced his way. “As scintillating as this conversation is, we’re stalling. Come now, no need to be shy. I don’t bite.”

“I should remind you—” Pickerel’s voice sharpened. For all he should have been listening to his captor, Tyrian found himself drinking in the unease he incited in the approaching guard. Hands reached for his face, skating across his cheeks and working at the fastenings on the mask. “—that this is a privilege, not a right, that can be revoked at any time if you choose to act out or refuse to cooperate. We’re obligated to keep you fed. The manner in which we do so, however, is at our discretion.”

Tyrian jerked back his head in a startled laugh, pulling his face out of reach. The guard scowled. “Now that you mention it, I’ve never had a feeding tube before.”

“First time for everything.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” With the final strap unbuckled, the mask slid from his face. It didn’t matter that the air was stagnant, that perspiration had begun to bead above his lips. A sigh eased its way from him as Tyrian rolled the muscles in his neck, and basked in the cool impression upon his skin. “Much better.”

The guard didn’t recoil, but it was a near thing as Tyrian leaned into his space. The chains anchoring his limbs to the wall rattled with the strain. “I believe you have something for me?” he asked. An undercurrent of menace laced his voice.

Whatever the guard wanted to say he bit back, with a delightful look on his face that wavered somewhere between dislike and revulsion. Instead, he dug through the contents of the bandolier pouch slung across his chest, and removed a nondescript plastic bottle.

Tyrian frowned. “I do hope they took my nut allergy and lactose intolerance into account.” The fretting was ruined somewhat by the giggle he failed to stifle.

The guard scoffed. “I’m sure they did. Head back, asshole.”

It wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever had (carrion scraped off of tarmac still held that dubious honor) though the chalky texture and diluted taste left a lot to be desired. Still, presentation mattered, and Tyrian had an audience he didn’t intend to disappoint. He made a show of tipping back his head, Adam’s apple bobbing as he drank. Each exaggerated swallow was visibly savored. For a moment he let his features soften, his eyes close, a noise of contentment forming at the back of his throat.

“—okay, it’s empty, you can stop.”

And just like that, the bottle was yanked from his mouth.

The pair watched with varying degrees of disgust as Tyrian slowly licked his lips. “Wasn’t that refreshing?” he crooned.

The guard muttered something under his breath as he hastily reattached the mask, all while Pickerel watched. In the tense silence Tyrian found his thoughts gravitating toward his adversary. The Huntsman was a statue, his bearings carved from finely-tuned instincts and discipline rather than the traditional medium of stone or clay. It had occurred to Tyrian—in the liminal space his mind occupied, where isolation had blurred any conception of time—there was a reason why Pickerel had been contracted to assist in his capture. Over a decade of snuffing out lives, ensorcelled by the embers as he watched their fires fade. All of it, at last, come to an end.

How it gnawed at his thoughts.

“All right.” The guard stepped back. “We’re done here. C’mon.”

Pickerel moved to follow.

“Leaving so soon?” Tyrian called after them. “Stay a while, Pickerel. Let’s have a little chat.”

The guard froze. Nervously, he glanced at his escort.

Pickerel hesitated for all of a second. “Go. I’ll be fine.”

Not needing to be told twice, the guard fled from the room without so much as a goodbye.

Pickerel waited until the door lock clicked into place. The Huntsman took up position by the wall across from him, making himself comfortable as he leaned against its surface. “What do you want?”

“The hospitality here is amazing. Really,” Tyrian chided, “I had hoped we could have a civil conversation. After all, this might be our last chance to do so.”

“You’re a prisoner. You’re hardly in a position to be making demands.”

“But I’m not making demands.” Tyrian leered. “I’m asking nicely.”

“Nicely.” Pickerel said the word nicely the same way he might have said mandatory employee seminar.

It was refreshing to be regarded with something other than fear or hate, even if that something was incredulity. The other man didn’t easily submit, unlike the revolving door of guards that had been paraded in and out of his cell the last few days.

Good.

Tyrian shook his head, in a futile attempt to dislodge a strand of hair in front of his eyes. Those were starting to get irksome. “Well, yes,” he answered, rather conversationally. “And I had thought you might humor me.”

If Pickerel arched his brow any higher it would be in danger of permanently disappearing into his hairline. “And why,” he asked, “would I do that?”

The muzzle obscured his grin, though Tyrian doubted the gesture was lost on his companion, by the way he shifted his weight between his legs. “Curiosity,” he breathed. “Before Mistral saw fit to ask for your help, I was little more than a ghost, creating more ghosts wherever I went. How many months did you waste chasing dead ends and following rumors before the combined might of two kingdoms finally brought me to heel?” His lip curled. “The ghost has been made corporeal, though for how long, I can’t say. Tell me, Huntsman—when do you think you’ll get this chance again?”

Already, Tyrian could see the impact his little speech had on Pickerel. He’d taken the bait, long before he’d made up his mind. His jaws parted, once, twice, before he crossed his arms and kicked his heel into the wall. “All right.” Guarded, but not hostile. “Ask your question.”

“Thank you. I do so appreciate the company." Tyrian let the words hang in the air between them, condensed like poisonous fog. “Any idea when they’ll be moving me?”

There was a beat of silence as Pickerel regarded him through half-narrowed eyes, clearly debating how confidential the intel was, and what the consequences of sharing it would be. “Two days, give or take,” he admitted. “We’re waiting for a reply from the admiral at Fort Nubuck, confirming that they sent the additional troops and supplies we asked for.”

Tyrian blinked slowly, head tipped off to the side. “Nubuck. Nubuck. Where have I heard that name before?” The chains softly clinked in time with the tap of his foot. “Ah, yes. Argus. Charming little port city up north. I hear their seafood is to die for.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“It’s odd that Mistral would ask an Atlas military base for more resources if their intention was to simply relocate me somewhere local,” Tyrian continued. “Which means that they’re not. Remind me again, where exactly am I being transported?”

Predictably, Pickerel said nothing.

“Atlas never does things in half-measures, so I can’t imagine they’d be content with merely locking me in a dingy cell and throwing away the key. No, no. It would be an insult to both of us if they did.” A thoughtful quiet descended upon them. Eventually, he let out a knowing, self-deprecating chuckle. “Íssvangar. Good choice.”

“The most well-funded maximum-security prison on Remnant.” It was subtle. Had Tyrian been a lesser creature, he might have missed the way Pickerel straightened to better stare down his prisoner. “Equipped with state-of-the-art weaponry and over a hundred guards, each handpicked from Atlas’ military, all with unlocked Semblances. The ADX security hardware includes infrared and pneumatographic cameras, motion detectors, and reinforced blast-resistant doors capable of withstanding 4.1 gigajoules from a Dust explosion.”

“Someone did their homework,” Tyrian remarked. “Was that rehearsed, by any chance?”

Pickerel ignored him. “Even if someone hypothetically made it past all of that, it’s in the middle of an icefield, miles away from any settlement. You’d succumb to hypothermia before you reached civilization.”

“All of that just for me? I’m flattered,” he purred. “I always did enjoy a challenge.”

The Huntsman’s eyes turned flinty under the fluorescent light. “You’re not escaping, so don’t get any ideas. Then again, I suppose it doesn’t matter”—he scratched at the stubble on his chin—“seeing as your stay there might be brief. There’s talk of whether or not you’re worth the resources to keep permanently housed there. Once the Mistrali and Atlesian courts convene and finalize your conviction, well, all those felonies make a person wonder if the punishment fits the crime. Incarceration might be too light a sentence, if you ask me.” Pickerel shrugged. “I think capital punishment might’ve come up.”

Of all the reactions Pickerel might have expected, and, if Tyrian was being honest, was probably trying to provoke from him, convulsive laughter wasn’t one of them. Contrite platitudes, pleas for mercy, maybe even some manner of bargaining in exchange for his life—any of those would have fit the script. Those were perfectly reasonable reactions from any sane person.

Tyrian stopped being sane long ago.

Tears of mirth gathered in the corner of his eyes as his laughter subsided. “Oh, I wonder what it’ll be.” He giggled. “Hanging? Perhaps not, takes too long. Electrocution? Hm. Too draconian, though I wouldn’t put it past Atlas to still condone it. Lethal injection?” His speech slowed, becoming darker. “Now there’s something that would let them pass judgment without offending their morality. And I’m sure someone out there would appreciate the irony. After all, I’d know a thing or two about lethal injections.”

His tail curled against the shackles.

Shock slowly reshaped itself into an emotion resembling subdued hate. Like the silhouette of a thing viewed through frosted glass, more impression than reality. “You know.” Pickerel’s hands flexed. “I often wonder how people like you sleep at night.”

“On my left side, actually,” Tyrian said. “It makes it harder for someone to reach the heart.”

“Can’t stab what you don’t have.”

“Such hostility!” Tyrian leaned into his binds, an unseen grin spreading across his face. “And here I thought we were finally getting to know each other.”

Oh, he was good, he was very good. It didn’t cease to entertain Tyrian, watching the ebb and flow of his emotions, the onset of one obliterating the last, all while Pickerel struggled to keep his composure. How long would that last? What could he do to break it?

With agonizing slowness, the tension bled from Pickerel’s body in a long, silent exhale. “You’re delusional,” he said.

“Madness and genius often go hand-in-hand, befitting an artist such as myself. Tell me, as someone who’s been following my work, how have you enjoyed it?”

“I wonder if they’ll let Atlas’ scientists dissect your brain, if they do decide to execute you.”

“Like a bug pinned to a board?” His tail flexed.

The last of Pickerel’s indulgence was evidently spent. The Huntsman snorted as he pushed off the wall. “I have reports to finish. If you actually need something, yell for security. You’re good at that.” With that said and done, he headed for the exit.

“Will you be coming with me to Atlas?” Tyrian inquired. “After all these months dancing around each other, it would be a shame if we were to part ways now and not see this through to the end.”

He paused on the threshold. “Why do you ask?”

“You’re from Anima, are you not? You have a Mistrali accent.” Tyrian studied him. He could feel the delirious climb, the anticipation, coiling at the base of his spine. He could taste the copper again. “Have any family here? Friends?”

Pickerel glanced over his shoulder.

“It’s going to be an awfully long trip.” Malice dripped from his words. “Make sure you say something meaningful before you leave.”

What little color Pickerel had drained from his face. In the heartbeat Tyrian had to memorize his expression, the other man’s pupils dilated in undisguised fear. With considerably more haste than before, he keyed open the door to his cell.

Tyrian’s laughter echoed in the room, long after Pickerel left.

His day got off to a flying start when a squad of soldiers barged into his room.

Sleeping vertically was already hard enough without the additional racket. Blearily, Tyrian cracked open an eye at the armed assembly in front of him, trying (and failing) to suppress a yawn. “I don’t remember asking for a wake-up call.”

One of the soldiers, whose uniform sported a decal pinned above the breast pocket, addressed the group: “Prep him for transport.”

“I don’t suppose we could postpone?” The muscles in his neck protested as he lifted his head, and attempted to shake the curtain of unkept hair out of his face. “I had a rather long night planning my escape. I don’t think rescheduling would be too much to ask for.”

Either they’d been briefed on what to expect, or his reputation preceded him. Disappointingly, none of the soldiers reacted. As two of them stepped forward and began to undo the locks anchoring his chains to the wall, a third wheeled a padded hand truck forward.

“Watch the tail.” The soldier who’d spoken earlier consulted her scroll. “The medical team still hasn’t manufactured an antidote. Last thing I want is for someone to get poisoned.”

“Honestly, would it kill a person to learn the right terminology?” Tyrian affected a scandalized little noise. “Poison enters the body through touch, ingestion, or inhalation. Venom is directly injected into the bloodstream.”

It ached where the metal dug into his skin as the soldiers pulled the chains taut. A hand wrapped around the base of the telson, securing it firmly in their grasp. The unfamiliar touch upon his exoskeleton set the nerves alight.

“Won’t matter what ya call it if we decide to cut it off, half-breed,” one of the guards muttered.

“Ooh, half-breed. Like I haven’t heard that one before. If you’re going to be prejudiced, at least try to be creative.” A palm on the center of his back firmly pushed him toward the transport. He stepped back onto the platform, unresisting as the soldiers secured his restraints to the hand truck. “Let’s see, what are some of the ones I’ve heard? There’s vermin, mongrel, collier—”

“That’s enough.”

“So what does that make all of you? The animal-catchers?” Tyrian erupted into a peal of laughter that caused one of his entourage to draw back a fraction. The soldier who had made the original comment averted his gaze as Tyrian leered at him. “What’s the matter?” he asked. “Scorpion got your tongue?”

The squad lapsed into an uneasy silence. It wasn’t quite the full-blown panic Tyrian had been aiming for, but it was an improvement, if nothing else. He could live with that.

“Let’s move.” At her command the soldiers flanked him, with the exception of the unlucky bastard tasked with wheeling him from behind. There was little in the way of fanfare as they traveled through empty corridors and halls, every rounded corner met with the same drab color palette and conspicuous lack of personnel. Tyrian didn’t spare much thought for his surroundings until they passed through a pair of imposing, heavily-fortified doors, and he found himself outside.

The moon glowed coldly overhead, casting a silvery sheen across the rooftop and nearby Mistrali airship. Tyrian shivered beneath its light.

“Might I ask what time it is?” There was a slight pop along the vertebra as Tyrian stretched as far as the restraints would allow.

The squad leader slanted him a look out of her periphery. “Zero three hundred hours.”

Well, that put things in an unhelpful context.

“While there’s nothing quite like a moonlit stroll,” Tyrian said, “it’s strange to be doing this so early. Or late. Depends on how you look at it. It’s all semantics, really, though I’m sure someone must appreciate the distinction.”

She said nothing.

“Oh, do I get to guess?” The hand truck rocked slightly as Tyrian gave a little bounce—well, more like an aborted hop, at any rate. It wasn’t like he had a wide range of motion to work with. “Most of the population’s asleep right now. Less people awake, less of a chance someone’ll see me, minimal risk of mass hysteria. Of course,” he mused, “the cover of darkness provides quite a few tactical advantages. Though who the advantage is meant for in this case is a bit hard to tell. I see in the dark, after all.”

He tilted his head, just enough to let the overhead glow bathe his face. He could picture the light catching on his eyes and creating the distinctive eyeshine. It was convenient for the aforementioned night vision, and for the added bonus of unnerving the racially small-minded. (It didn’t escape his notice, the scornful squint one of the soldiers directed at him.)

His lip curled beneath the mask.

“Cornetto!” She strode toward the gangway that had been erected alongside the airship. At the sound of his name, a man poked his head out of the starboard hatch. “How long until departure?”

The pilot tucked his helmet under his arm. “We’re ready to go whenever you are, ma’am.”

“Good,” she said. “I want this over and done with. You heard him, gentlemen. Get Callows onboard.”

“Wait!”

The small procession halted and turned to look at him.

Tyrian made a show of scanning the vicinity. “We can’t leave yet. We’re missing someone.” He leveled a knowing look at the woman ahead of him, all innocence and concern. “Where’s Pickerel?”

“None of your business.”

He clucked his tongue in disapproval. “That is a shame,” he sighed. And then, very softly, he giggled. “Was it something I said?”

She narrowed her eyes. With a sharp hand gesture, she signaled for her subordinates to wheel him onboard. Over the roar of the airship’s engine, Tyrian’s voice carried, in a dissonantly amicable tone: “Do you think I’ll get a window seat?”

Tyrian did not, in fact, get a window seat.

He didn’t even get a seat.

In the end, his handlers had deemed it “a waste of time” to undo his individual manacles and assorted restraints, only to then have to reconnect those directly to the hull of the ship. And so, they’d opted for the much simpler solution of leaving him on the hand truck, and attaching that to the hull instead. Cutting out a few steps, as it were. The unconcerned attitude, coupled with the surprisingly small five-person squad overseeing his transport, left Tyrian a bit insulted, frankly. It gave him the troubling impression they either overestimated their own capabilities, or underestimated his.

He preferred to think it was the former.

It could hardly be called an improvement over his previous accommodations. At least the company was a nice change, even if their only contribution to the conversation was stony silence, with the occasional for gods’ sake, shut up thrown in for good measure.

He’d worked with worse.

“It’s all in the wrist,” Tyrian was saying. He did his best to pantomime the movement around the stasis cuffs. “Once the old cuticle is ready a crack starts to form in the shell. By then it begins to dry out and expand, so it gets easier to wedge a knife underneath. The new cuticle’s particularly sensitive—learned that the hard way when I nicked myself trying to prise it off. But if you can get the blade in at just the right angle, it’s like peeling an orange. And while it helps to speed up the actual moulting process, I’m afraid I haven’t found a handy home remedy for the itching as it starts to—”

“Can’t we just push him off the ship, and say he died in a prison riot?” The soldier shot his CO a hopeful look. “It’s not like anyone’s going to care.”

“No.” She paused mid-type, and glanced up from her scroll. “Just ignore him.”

“What’s the matter? Don’t tell me all these brave, strong soldiers are squeamish.” Tyrian laughed. “If you can’t handle a little anatomy lesson, perhaps you’re in the wrong field. Besides,” he said. “Nothing wrong with swapping beauty tips to pass the time.”

The soldier reclining against a stack of crates snorted. “Do we look like bugs to you?”

“I’ll have you know I’m an arachnid,” he retorted, in mock affront. The chains securing his tail rattled faintly. “You ought to pay attention.” His words held all the subtlety of a fireworks display, audibly aching with the desire to watch something bleed. “The difference might get you killed one day.”

There was a brief silence.

“You know”—the soldier taking a whetstone to their axe spoke up—“I think he has a point. We should put it to a vote. All in favor of executing the prisoner now, say ‘aye.’”

“For the last time,” she groused, “we are not executing him. We have orders to transport Callows and that’s it. If you wanted to kill something, you should have asked to be deployed on the assignment to hunt Grimm—”

The lights flickered as the airship shook. The squad scrambled to their feet.

“Cornetto!” She hurried toward the cockpit. “Did we hit turbulence?”

“Negative, ma’am.” He sounded bewildered. “My instruments aren’t picking up any changes in air pressure. It’s weird, though. The ship’s decelerating, almost like she’s flying into a Dust vortex.”

“Can you do something about it?”

“I can adjust our course and see if that fixes anything, but truth be told, I’m not keen on flying with unknowns. If the problem persists we might have to land and inspect for—”

A second tremor sent the ship lurching sideways. This time, it was accompanied by a roar.

“Grimm!” She unsheathed the scimitar at her waist. “Brace yourselves for a fight if they penetrate the hull. Cornetto, get the ship’s weapon systems online and—”

“What weapon systems?” Tyrian could hear the slap of a hand frantically moving across the command console. “This ship is rigged for fast transport with no heavy armaments. It doesn’t even have shielding!”

The soldier with the axe staggered into the wall beside him, knocked off balance by the ship’s epileptic tremors. “Why the hell not?” they shouted.

“Mistral Command said Grimm activity in this sector was minimal. The Atlas base denied the request for firepower because they thought we wouldn’t need it!”

A black, serrated beak punctured the ceiling.

“Does that look minimal to you?” one of the soldiers yelled.

The Nevermore withdrew its head before her scimitar could connect. “Then use evasive maneuvers,” she spat. “We need to dislodge them before they get into—”

Whatever she’d been about to say was drowned out by the sickening screech of tearing metal. They had all of a second’s warning before a large sheet was torn clean from the hull.

In hindsight, Tyrian would marvel over the serendipity of the hand truck being anchored to the wall, the only thing that stopped him from being sucked out of the aircraft cabin as it decompressed. He narrowed his eyes against the sting of debris and torrents of air rushing past him, only just able to catch sight of two soldiers plummeting into the atmosphere. The remaining three had narrowly avoided the same fate, by virtue of grabbing onto pipes winding through the wall, and in the case of one, embedding their axe into the hull.

A Griffon lofted onto the platform created by the rift.

To his surprise, the creature didn’t move to strike. Coal-red eyes swept over the group as it studied them one by one. There was an alien intelligence in the recesses of its skeletal face, unsettling in its familiarity. Even as his heart beat against his ribcage, the adrenaline raced through his veins, Tyrian felt no fear.

Perhaps it was a suicidal thought to harbor, but he felt an unrequited kinship with the Grimm. What it must feel like, to be compelled by some primordial instinct to kill. Was it the same for them? The hedonistic rush that accompanied each life he took? The hunger no bloodshed could ever sate, that he never wanted to be sated?

When people called him a monster, it was in recognition of what he did. When Grimm were called monsters, it was in recognition of what they were.

The Griffon’s four eyes lit upon him. For a moment it merely stared, its jet-black feathers ruffled by the wind.

Then it lunged.

With their axe anchoring them to the wall, the soldier didn’t have the ability to react as the Griffon bore down on them. The space inside the ruptured cabin was filled by a whirlwind of black, white, and red as more Grimm pushed their way inside. Any view Tyrian might’ve had was obstructed by the thrash of limbs. It did nothing to deafen him to the discordant song of the Grimm and their victims, whose screams had shifted from terror to pain.

So transfixed was Tyrian by the chaos, he nearly didn’t notice the Nevermore approach.

It crawled toward him on clawed wingtips and came to a standstill less than a meter away. With no Aura to protect him, no ability to move, Tyrian was defenseless. He bared his teeth in a wordless snarl, daring it to attack.

The great beast reared back and unfurled wings that bristled with serrated feathers. With a spectral cry, it flung them.

The restraints on his limbs, tail, and face, and the stasis-cuffs on his wrists, shattered.

Renewed energy surged through him. Tyrian held up a hand to inspect the abraded skin on his wrists, watching as a purple sheen rippled over the appendage and spread across his body.

His Aura had returned.

He was free.

At some point the screaming had stopped.

Tyrian turned his attention back to the Nevermore. It had yet to move away, or make an attempt to injure him. Wariness faded to confusion as he regarded the creature. Before he could stop himself, he reached out, fingertips hovering over the wicked beak.

He was close enough to touch.

That was when a sound like magnified thunder rippled through the fuselage, and the airship split in two.

The air left Tyrian’s lungs as an explosion punched him through the hull. The impact sent him spiraling away from the wreckage that had joined him in freefall. Unbidden, his eyes mapped the trajectory of his descent, seeing without comprehending as the earth grew ever closer. There was a distorted beauty to the world around him, great plumes of smoke trailing behind the debris as it fell with all the power of a meteor strike. If he hadn’t been suffocating, the sight would have left him breathless.

A shadow passed above him.

It was all the warning Tyrian had before a pair of talons wrapped around his biceps. Animal instincts screamed predator and escape and fight. His tail coiled behind him, bracing in anticipation for attack. He looked up at the Nevermore, his thoughts already pushing a thousand strategies to the forefront of his mind, looking for weaknesses to exploit, advantages to leverage.

And then he saw her.

Tyrian would never forget the way she moved, silhouetted against the shattered moon while Grimm encircled her. She lifted a hand, and the flock twisted through the sky like starlings. They were poetry in motion, like black ribbons come to life, weaving around the woman as she slowly descended toward the ground.

There was a burning sensation in the corner of his eyes that caused them to blur. Tyrian blinked, and his vision cleared.

The wind caressed his face as the Nevermore banked, its wingbeats slowing as it sailed downward. Toward her, he realized. His chest seized.

With a surprising amount of gentleness, the Nevermore lowered Tyrian to his knees and retracted its claws. It let out a soft, melancholy warble before rising back into the air.

Very slowly, Tyrian lifted his head. He wasn’t quick enough to compose himself, and failed to choke back a sob as he beheld her.

Long, black robes fluttered behind her in the grass. It created a mesmerizing contrast against the pallor of her skin, like freshly-fallen snow, untrodden and untainted by the decay of time. The woman studied him with eyes not unlike those of the Grimm, embers stoked with power that transcended those of the fell beasts gathered around them. A Griffon crept next to her, and she rested a palm atop its face, her gaze never once straying from his. Had he not already been on his knees, Tyrian would have fallen.

“What are you?”

The rasping voice pulled Tyrian from his trance.

Cornetto had survived the crash. The pilot managed to drag himself by the arms, out from underneath a section of the ship. Blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth, and when he tried to crawl forward, let out a moan. It only took a moment to see why—a bone had torn through the back of his leg.

Even as he hemorrhaged, even as his strength failed him, the pilot continued to speak, each word teetering on the cusp of incoherence, dragged from his throat like shards of glass: “What are you?”

The woman inclined her head. A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. The first words Tyrian heard her speak were in a language he didn’t recognize. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t comprehend them; they chimed like portentous bells, a death knell he would have understood in any tongue.

Tyrian didn’t get the chance to act on the impulse before one of the Grimm intervened. A Beowolf padded toward the broken pilot. He watched, enthralled, as the Beowolf lowered its muzzle and extended its jaws around his head. A mangled noise escaped him.

“What are you—?”

There was a sickening crunch. Tyrian didn’t look away.

It took him a moment to feel the hot streaks trailing down his cheeks. His tail kinked behind him as he gazed upon his savior, drank in her triumphant expression with a thirst he’d never known. Tears flowed freely across his skin.

“Beautiful,” he whispered.

For the curiously-inclined, I thought I’d elaborate on some of my RWBY headcanons and worldbuilding.

Stasis-cuffs – Also known as pneumatostatic cuffs, or Aura-breakers. A feat of Atlesian engineering, these devices artificially inhibit a captive’s Aura, sapping them of combat strength and their ability to self-heal or use their Semblance (if unlocked). The handcuffs siphon energy from the captive, using the very thing they suppress to power their circuitry. These handcuffs aren’t made available to the public, with usage restricted to Atlesian law enforcement, military personnel, and Class-B Huntsmen.

Ske sha skele – An idiom used by speakers of Xeric Arcadian. Literally, it translates to “a cloud brings a storm.” Figuratively, it means “don’t ignore the small things before they become big things that catch you unaware.” In Vacuo, a single cloud, if not carefully monitored, can quickly become the precursor for torrential rainfall and flashfloods that are highly dangerous. Skele, originally a derivation of the plural for “clouds,” is a relexicalized word with the acquired meaning “storm” (as in, a storm is made of a bunch of clouds). Tyrian is using the idiom to taunt his captors; “You should pay attention to me, before I give you something to really worry about.”

Íssvangar – A maximum-security prison located in the desolate, frozen wastes of Solitas. Its name translates to “fields of ice” in Old Norse. Its name is a play on words that alludes to both Isengard, the fortress in The Lord of the Rings where Gandalf was held captive; and Bolvangar, the facility from His Dark Materials where children were detained and experimented on.

“Collier” as an insult – IRL a collier is a coal miner. In RWBY, a Dust miner would be the equivalent occupation. Because Dust-mining is an underregulated industry with high fatality rates, the work is often outsourced to Faunus. Over time, collier and Faunus became synonymous. When you call a Faunus a collier, you’re basically reducing their existence to a job that’s cheap, dangerous, and exploitable. You’re saying that they’re expendable and fit only to provide the resources other people benefit from. It’s the implication that a Faunus is meant to go about unseen, toiling away in Dust mines, and when those mines collapse, die in anonymity.

Dust vortex – A term that describes areas with large concentrations of naturally-occurring Dust veins, that interfere with natural phenomena. Depending on the type, the effects of these vortices vary. Gravity and Wind Dust, for example, can create localized high- and low-pressure fields that generate turbulence and storm cells. Other types, like Fire and Ice Dust, can cause disparities between the vortical and ambient temperatures that result in volatile microclimates. Examples of Dust vortices include the floating islands above Lake Matsu.

#rwby #rwby fics #rwby thought dump #tyrian callows #salem #f. pickerel #t. cornetto #the almighty maker him ordain #my posts #i speak #rwby worldbuilding #canon compliant as of V7E7 #look i just really wanted to write tyrian being creepy okay

30 notes · View notes

stone-man-warrior · 4 years ago

Text

April 15, 2021: 12:33 pm:

===============================================

Pfizer CEO is Trending on Twitter.

That can‘t be good, today is “Death & Taxes Day”, an annual event in USA.

https://twitter.com/search?q=%22Pfizer%20CEO%22&src=trend_click&vertical=trends

I have been trying to find some kind of connecting dots to the existence of vaccines for which there is no ailment necessary to cure, such as is the case of the so called COVID Vaccines, a strangely promoted competition of commercial brands for inoculation purposes, the likes of which have been necessary in the past, but never with so much emphasis on brand preference or product loyalty for the choice of which manufacturer of a drug an individual person may prefer,

So far:

Astra Xenica = Heroin

Johnson & Johnson = Cocaine

Remdesvir = A whore, brothel, call to kidnap women for use as sex slaves,

Sputnik = A trap, strong poison, a lie, lure, bait designed to lead investigative persons into dangerous conditions, bottlenecks, “Klein Bottle”. Sputnik is :”The Russian Whore”, is “the woman who lured Jesus to the crucifix and worked for Markus, is ‘Jesus Ol’ Lady’, only because she fooled him in league with Markus”

Moderna = A French Gibson Flying V Guitar, is not the real thing. is a French Ax ... a Guillotine.

So. now Pfizer is Trending.

I have inside information that may prove to apply to the Pfizer Vaccine set of terror commands, as follows:

There is a woman by the name of Paula Pfiefer. I believe she resides in Medford Oregon. I know that Paula Pfieifer is a SAGClubMed High Command General of the SDA terror army, Ms. Pfieifer has two important job descriptions.

She is a Lead Management Person at Medford Medical Clinic (as of 2014 last known date of association there).

Ms. Pfeifer is also a Lead Management Person of the Kaspersky Internet Security Software Products. The Kaspersky was part of the bundled software included with Sony Vaio Computers and other Sony products, and also was included standard on other computers of different manufacturers. The significance of the Sony Vaio is important, as the Vaio is one of only a few computers a person can buy that comes with a factory installed STEREO sound card. Macintosh and Sony Vaio are the only two computer manufacturers that I am aware of that offer a factory installed stereo sound card. You can buy and install aftermarket stereo sound cards, but to purchase a new computer that comes from the factory with stereo recording capabilities is very limited for choice, you can buy a Sony, or a Mac, those are the choices, and the Kaspersky comes with the Sony, and Paula Pfiefer comes with the Kaspersky, and Medford Medical Clinic (is now an Asante Health facility) also comes with the Kaspersky and Paula Pfeifer.

If you want to speak with Ms. Pfiefer, you need to pronounce her name in a coded way that only the insiders know of, you need to say: Pffffffiefer, and lay into the “Pfff” sound as you speak her name, otherwise, she will just fool you. Insiders say: “Ms. Pffffffffiefer” when they need to speak with the General.

I suspect the Pfizer Vaccine is going to be associated with SAGClubMed, the MedDems terror cells, Asante Health, and by extension to the “Pleasure Dome” in Medford (a secret, hidden underground experimental surgery center where kidnapped victims are made subject to horribly cruel surgical changes that render them unrecognizable as Human Beings after the procedures are complete, typical procedure time takes five years to complete, with multiple plastic surgery, amputations, and reattachment of limbs in places where they don’t belong. The “Partner Productions” are done at the “Pleasure Dome” by custom order of SAG members who want to order a custom built per pet person, made to their specifications.

That is what I think the Pfizer Vaccine is going to be connected to in some way, and to Paula Pfeifer, Sony Computer, and Kaspersky Internet Security Products.

Pfizer = a victim who has been selected, marked, as “Specimen”, to be captured, and taken to “The Pleasure Dome”.

The “Partner Specimens” need to be some of the strongest, healthiest people there are. The procedures they are subject to are absolutely brutal, and for that reason, only the very strongest of people survive the procedures. US Military personnel are said to be some of the most desirable “specimens” after they attend the boot camp, and some military training because of their ability to withstand the brutality of the procedures done at “The Pleasure Dome”.

The experimental procedures are such that arm length, leg length, and placement are changed on the victims. Other special considerations are custom ordered by the SAG members who want one, such as number of breasts, and where on the victims the breasts are attached surgically.

These sickening procedures are done as experiments to see what will work, and what will not work when the terror army is successful at achieving the goal of Global Domination. When they are successful, there will be “The Master Race” of SAG members and British House of Lords members. Those people are limited to about 500,000 world wide. Everyone else will attend “British Still” education and be subject to the horrible surgical procedures that render the victim to appear as they are not Human Beings, so, the victims will begin to undergo the surgeries from birth, and be changed, into a base of slave population to serve “The Master Race”. The procedures are designed to make ergonomically crafted humans, while the “British Still” education will teach them from birth that they are not Humans, but are a sub species put on earth to serve the “Master Race”

I have seen many “Partners” in my lifetime. The first one was in around 1984 in Thousand Oaks California, a young woman who said she had been kidnapped from a music concert, and was surgically changed, she looked more like an Afghan Hound than a Human being, and was kept in an attic of a residential house.

=================

2:48 pm:

Trending on Twitter terror high command:

https://twitter.com/i/events/1382675724260102144

The way I see it, everything you need to know about “Russia” can be described as a “Master set of lies, stacked, layered, established as truth, accepted as fact, indeed are lies”

There is no Russia.

The place we are told is Russia, is an imaginary place. If you wanted to go there, to Russia, you could conceivably get a commercial flight to “Russia”, however, when your plane lands, and then leaves, there you will be, in Mongolia. You may ask the locals “Which way to get to the Kremlin?” and they will laugh, and tell you “India” is where the Kremlin is at, this is Mongolia.”

It’s a one-way trip.

There are no Russians in Mongolia.

This is some practical information about “Russia” that can be used to solve problems if there are people who are in the business of protecting USA from terror takeover, and by extension, protect all of the world from slavery, and preserve freedom. I don‘t think such persons exist anymore.

Here is a link to a simple Bing Search that can help to get interested persons a starting point to learn more.

The character “ Volodymyr Oleksandrovych Zelensky, or Vladimir Aleksandrovich Zelenskiy, officially Zelenskyy” is a movie actor/producer.

That is really all you need to get started, he came to power recently, in 2019 just ahead of the Corona Virus Global Attack Roll Out.

Take that easy to find information and combine it with information that is more difficult to obtain, specially that Pharmaceuticals are among the top exports of Ukraine. Ukraine is a global leader of Pharmaceutical manufacture.

Zelensky is a movie actor/producer, and SAG members are movie actor/producers. Do math, and you can see the potential for a relationship between Hollywood DC, and Ukraine.

The relationship is a drug based one. While US DEA are busy looking at Columbia and Peru as drug sources, the real global suppliers are on the other side of the world, in Ukraine Hollywood.

Russia is a layered, stacked, established set of lies, one lie requires ten more lies to cover up the first one, and each of those require ten more lies for them to make sense, so, the Russian Mother of All Hoaxes is born of a series of lies, beginning with the day that Jesus was nailed to the cross, set up by his Ol’ Lady, and Markus. 2000 years of lies, all piled one over the other, an orgy of lies, is what Russia is.

The Russian Mother of all Hoaxes is laid out and controlled as a set of terms, phrases, points in history, locations and events by the British House of Lords leadership, and most likely is categorized by GCHQ of SIS, which is also Reuters news, and Google is a component of that MI6 SIS GCHQ, but with a Vatican centered stance. Amazon and Tesla also sit in the same position as does Google. The Russian Mother Hoax serves the British Global Domination advance as a set of command shell language that can be spoken in mainstream news, be accepted as truth, and advance an army at the same time, while maintaining credibility by fact checkers. 2000 years of lies, all kept track of, organized and searchable on the internet.

There is truth, however, in Mongolia, and Ukraine.

https://www.bing.com/search?form=MOZTSB&pc=MOZI&q=Ukraine+Zelinsky

I don‘t know where to begin to decode what the “SolarWinds” story may be truly about, so, let’s explore, starting with very simple details:

There was a computer hack: = Digital; Binary; On/Off; One/Two (in the terror comm, where there are “two”. lies an invisible “third”, so, “two = three” by default because of “Father, Son; Holy Spirit” rules to the terrorism. the “Holy Spirit” stays out of view but is ever present)

Solar = Sun; Ray; Heat; Life; Light...

Wind = The activity of movement when air moves from high pressure conditions due to expansion of the air from exposure to heat, to low pressure conditions.

Assessment:

There is some kind of on-line pressure driving Mr. Biden to make a move from a high pressure condition, to a more comfortable low pressure condition.

That is basically what is happening in the Biden camp.

=========================================

3:41 pm:

This outfit here, Constant Contact. is somehow associated to recent terror events. I see a connection to the Biden White House and Constant Contact advertising agency. The Constant Contact presence was first shown to me to be a major part in the terror with my last visit to Walmart, the connection extends to Walmart. I don’t want to say more at this time, as innocent people may be in danger if I elaborate about how I made the connection to Biden. Walmart, and advertising agency Constant Contact, so, you can do research on your own, or not, that is up to you. I will continue to look for specifics as to why, or how Constant Contact serves Walmart and the Biden White House, for now, specifics are a mystery but the connection is not a mystery.

The Walmart/White House/Constant Contact association I made was presented to me in email from music industry promotions, so, the music advertisers are also in the loop, that is very important for learning why the relationship exists between the groups mentioned.

https://www.constantcontact.com/?cc=MSN-115517&gclid=18af3de7bbfc1b2f96d05d9f7b54dbd6&gclsrc=3p.ds&msclkid=18af3de7bbfc1b2f96d05d9f7b54dbd6&pn=search&utm_campaign=PPC_BRAND_EMM_PERF_PROSP_PROSPECT_BRAND&utm_content=Brand&utm_medium=cpc&utm_source=bing&utm_term=constant%20contact

=============

4:21 pm:

More about the attempts to check my mail yesterday:

As I reported, I mentioned possibility that the woman who was at the Monroe Offensive Surveillance Travel Trailer with two young men may have been Kate Brown.

now, I am more prepared to further say with increased confidence that indeed that was Kate Brown. The woman I saw, burst of nitrous oxide ignition when her internally holstered nitrous tank ruptured due to ignition of the gas. One of the two young men threw-up after he saw the woman’s guts come out of her belly. The woman sat in wicker chair that is near the trailer, after launching a short distance from the porch of the trailer. That all happened as the Nissan Quest van stopped momentarily in front of the Monroe residence. I was going to get my mail if my foot was feeling good enough to make the walk, and was on a trail in my woods in front of my house at the time. I saw the van stop at the mailboxes, then heard some people yelling from the Monroe trailer, saw the woman fly about fifty feet and land where the wicker chair is, she stood up. her guts were on the ground, so she picked them up and sat in that chair, that is when one of the young men ran to where there is a picnic table, and he threw-up there having been sickened by what he saw. “He must be new” I said out-loud as I saw the young man throw-up. At the time, I did not realize what was happening, as there was quite a lot going on around me, all of it was part of a plot to kill me, and there was a lot of poison gas in the air. I remember now seeing that woman pick her intestines up off of the ground, then sit down, then her intestines came out more. I have some low power binoculars, and used those to see that the woman looked like Kate Brown, and I heard Kate Brown‘s name mentioned at that time.

There was an attack inside my home that I did not report about two nights ago, as I was unable to see the person, who was wearing a “Pixel Suit” and struck my injured leg as I was having dinner, the intruder came in while I was cooking some food. That person was suspected of being Dan Brown, Kate’s husband. I don‘t recall fighting him. I do recall that my leg hurt, and I used some neo-sporin against my better judgment. The pain I was feeling may have been result of being hit in the wound area by Dan Brown that night.

There is so much nitrous oxide mixed with medazolam gas released around here, that I am amazed I can remember my own name. Fortunately, the memory of events does return later on after exposure a little bit if I try real hard to remember what happened.

Kate & Dan Brown came to kill me, that is what happened.

============================================

5:07 pm:

https://twitter.com/search?q=%22Pat%20Robertson%22&src=trend_click&vertical=trends

With an abundance of caution, a strong will to survive, and a lot of experience, I am going to say that the above Tweeted Trend is a command order from “On-High” to have Dereck Chauvan sent to Josephine County, to check in with local terror actors from Hollywood who run the Josephine County Jail and sheriff’s office, where he and some accomplices will be given keys to my house to come to kill me and take this Tumblr account down.

There are tunnels beneath the sheriff office and jail.

It’s happened many times before. Remember Eddie Galagher? He and his wife, and others came to kill me, they attacked me at the Walgreen‘s, it’s all documented here on this account. Eddie was killed in defense, I think his wife was the only one of the group who was not killed or injured badly. That was the same day when Megan Markle was also there as an observer, was inside of a big cardboard box on wheels, and put in a place where she could see what was going to happen there at the Walgreen‘s. It was the day after Harry Windsor attacked me at the Walmart with a sword, and I took the sword from him, and turned it around, Harry stumbled into the place where the video games are at in the front of the Walmart, and was treated with first aid right there while I walked passed and out of the store with my groceries paid for and bagged.

So, based on that, and other similar times when Twitter was used as a command post for sending assassins to my house, I am going to say that Dereck Chauvin is likely to come to Grants Pass by the end of April, for a hit ordered by US Government, and commanded on Twitter, with a news story from Pat Robertson.

Most of the Donald Trump Former Cabinet also came to kill me with the same kind of commands posted on Twitter. That is why so many of the Donald Trump cabinet became the “Former Cabinet”. They all failed. Kirstjen neilsen, Director of Department of Homeland Security was one of them, she followed me to the Walmart, then to the Burger King, where she drove up in an old black Ford truck, came into the restaurant, and stabbed me in the mouth with some kind of sharp needle, and my face was infected for a month after that, I defended though, and her wounds were lethal.

Real terrorism is not the kind that you can learn about from news media. Real terror comes from the US shill government, and the shill government officials are commanded by the news media as assassins. That is part of why the terror is so successful, they have it arranged where the celebrities are the murderers, and that is why no one believes what they can see for themselves, terror commanded from the six o’clock news.

=============================

5:43 pm:

Reminder:

I asked Joe Biden for help to stop the terrorism in Oregon, and throughout USA.

He sent this response from the White House, the request for help was received. acknowledged, and replied to.

You can see the request for help on my February 13 entry.

There is nothing fake about any of it.

no help has come. There are no signs of helpful people anywhere.

I sent to request for help when I overheard plans by the local terror cells that they were going to use horses to “Draw & Quarter” me. Maybe, had I not already seen people being drawn & quartered with horses, I would not have been so alarmed as to contact the president of USA to ask for help; but I have seen people drawn & quartered with horses, in fact, it happened in my front yard, on my property.

=================

6:20 pm:

Yesterday and the day before I was doing some decoding of the “Cup of Joe” as I wound up referring to it, where the “Pause” of the Johnson & Johnson so called “COVID Vaccine” seemed to somehow Co-inside with the news of the delayed withdrawal of US Troops from Afghanistan, the delay being from May 1, to September 11, in memory celebration, from the terror perspective, of the WTC attack.

I mentioned that presidential terror comm has three messages built into one set of comm language, and that I could see there were two messages, the third being illusive.

The two messages are too complicated to repeat here, you can read the lengthy information on yesterday’s entry and the previous day’s entry.

One of the terror coded messages simply was “Johnson & Johnson Vaccine = Cocaine” however, there is a lot more to it than a simple identifying announcement. I am optimistic that others who are better equipped will continue with exploring what I started with for those decodes.

I have the third, illusive part to the presidential terror comm about the J & J and the Afghanistan news story, as follows:

There was a “pause”.

There was a “Paw’s”.

There were “Father’s”, they are “The Paw’s”.

With that, add the cocaine, and you have “Sugar Daddy’s”.

We could take that into the realm of sex and a place where a “comfort person” could find a place to stay, and money to survive, the regular street definition of Sugar Daddy is someone who will pay the living costs for a personal friend in exchange for sexual favors.

I see that there could be more to it than that.

Third Amendment.

Perhaps, the “Sugar Daddy Cocaine Johnson & Johnson presidential Afghan Pause” is about finding places for terror soldiers to stay, and, finding new ways to fund those terror soldiers in a world were the usual ways to fund them have been exposed.

That is what I see as the third illusive part to the “Cup of Joe” that I started with a couple of days ago. Quarters and funding needed for Joe’s terror soldiers in a particular geographic region, or, in a more emergent generalized way, where the current system for housing and funding the vast Canadian terror army may have been exposed at the JP Morgan Chase Bank level. and the Too Big To Fail funding method done with digital money moving magic and falsified store inventories, could have been exposed to people who won‘t tolerate that, and perhaps, have power and authority to shut down the funding of the terror army that has been done that way since 2008, when George W. Bush stole the contents of the US Treasury and the Federal Reserve, AKA: “The Alpha Breasts”.

That would be good.

It could be start to restoring Freedom and preserving the existence of USA.

To those people who may have authority and power, and won‘t tolerate terror funding by the US President or Congress, I warn you again, Twitter must be taken offline, or your efforts are likely to fail.

That would be bad.

Please consider caution, and take the command vehicle offline, Twitter is that vehicle.

===========

7:01 pm:

https://twitter.com/DailyMailUK/status/1382830864329936897

https://twitter.com/DailyMailUK/status/1382828602593529857

https://twitter.com/DailyMailUK/status/1382826104092815362

https://twitter.com/DailyMailUK/status/1382826103677550595

https://twitter.com/DailyMailUK/status/1382824825660530693

https://twitter.com/DailyMailUK/status/1382823577880305667

The linked Tweets above can be associated to John Wayne International Airport.

That is all I have on that.

I chose not to include any more screen shots than is necessary to say why the airport could be important.

FYI: The Range Rover Defender 90 (not shown) came new from the factory with three different tops. One is a hard top, one is a soft-top full enclosure, and the third is a Bikini-Top.

Alpha Breasts are in the Tweeted coded news today, so is the Range Rover Defender 130, modified to a Hearst. (130 is bad luck in terror comm)

John Wayne = “Diminished Patronage”, something to consider.

=======================

7:16 pm:

This thing is trending on Twitter terror command HQ:

https://twitter.com/surface/status/1382695206542270465

Please understand that there is a “Covfefe” happening here.

The “Covfefe” includes that there will be two opposing ideas where pressure towards the center in between them is applied, as a terror attack strategy. The people who are lured into the place between are marked, and become targets, downrange from two perspectives.

That “surface” thing is super whimpy, while that Range Rover Hearst is super stout. Those are only two of the opposing situations I am seeing today, they are easy to identify and explain, there are other, more complex “Covfefe” today that is too difficult to show, so, see the contrast being demonstrated in various places today in order to see the existence of the “Covfefe” attack conditions that are forming in the tweeted terror comm today.

Please search this account for “Covfefe” if you are not familiar with the way “Irony” is done as an attack plan, where the Screen Actor Guild is the command entity, and the “Irony” is what happens when victims are placed between the two masks of SAG, “Comedy & Tragedy”. Basically, that is what the “Covfefe” attack scenarios are made of.

Something to consider:

People who have lived in modern times have grown up and lived their lives in the shadow of televised programing, where before there was television, the reality was simple, reality consisted of what was actually happening around where people were at.

So, in the past, before TV, when a war broke out, the reality was known by the existence of an invading enemy within view in the neighborhood.

now, we have per-concieved ideas about what constitutes war. Most everyone I ever knew, including myself, always thought that war included men in uniform, with attack that includes bombs and machine guns, and everything is blown up real fast ... and that is war the way modern people have been programmed to see it, on a TV.

Reality these days, is that the Screen Actor Guild is the offensive party, and, they are also the people who made sure that the people they are going to attack don‘t know what modern war is made of, they programed us to see only that war happens when the men are in uniform, and the shit is exploding everywhere.

Modern war, has a Covfefe built into it, it has a story, a plot, it has an introduction, character development happens ahead of the attack, so we get to know the people who are killing us. We end up worshiping the attacking army. Modern war has no uniform, it has a costume, it has props, is choreographed, and includes an intermission so that victims can be taken at the concessions stands.

Modern war is slow, it’s scripted, written out to great detail such that the attacking army has very little chance of being hurt, because there were numerous dress rehearsals, where every conceivable situation could be anticipated, and a counter measure applied, roled out from a parallel screen play, on the fly, in such a way as to only increase the dramatic quality of the attack, and keep the victims entertained ahead of the slaughter.

The “Covfefe” includes that an attack will entertain as the killing progresses, and while the objective is reached, while no one is aware that there is a war. The victims are replaced with impostors before the body cools off, and no one knows that any victims ever needed any help.

Comedy on one side of the victim, tragedy on the other. The victim runs towards the comedy in order to escape the tragedy, then, the plot thickens, and the comedy turns to tragedy, as the victims is seeking some help.

That is Covfefe. We were programmed for it with sitcoms, drama’s and horror films.

=====

10:07 pm:

This Kroger news has been trending on Twitter terror high command all day.

I’ll go ahead and do a quick “what can be said about this” approach to it, but I am hurting so bad at this time that I am not thinking clearly and the poisons I was injected with is coming out of my eyes, it drains out like tears, is ice cold, makes blurry vision and is otherwise painful along with my leg, which is also hurting bad after a short walk outside that produced nothing to speak of.

https://twitter.com/i/events/1382462465330528256

First thing to say is that today’s Kroger Foods is the legacy of the very first terror retail takeover that I am aware of, when the Ralph’s Markets on Topanga Canyon Blvd and the one across from Taft high school in the San Fernando Valley California were hijacked in around 1972. Ralph’s became a Kroger Brand since then, now, all of the Kroger Family of Brands are terror controlled and have been that way in Oregon for as long as I have lived in Oregon, more than 24 years.

The next thing to say, is that at minimum, the Grants Pass Fred Meyer store was hijacked again, taken from the first terror controlling entity by an opposing terror controlling entity in around 2002 or so. One terror army was overpowered by a different terror army at the Grants Pass Fred Meyer store, and I suspect that others including the Brookings Oregon Fred Meyer were also taken over by that same opposing terror army, The original controlling terror army before 2002 was a mostly quiet sort of group of Seventh Day Adventist Cannibals who did not draw much attention to themselves as the store provided a continuous supply of victims for their Cannibal culture. The new controlling terror army is also SDA Cannibal, however they are far more aggressive than the other group. The new SDA at the Grants Pass Fred Meyer store include a lot of people of German heritage, are more aggressive than the others were.

Then, it says “Robots” are going to possibly be deployed. Let’s explore “Robots”:

Things to consider: Robe’s are worn by Judges and people associated with Social Fraternal Orders.

Robe + Ot’s = Robots

Ot’s = Odd’s = asymmetrical = people who are “inclined” one way or another way. Joe Biden shows us an example of “Odd’s” when he speaks, and leans to one side momentarily, in that way, he is “Asymmetrical” and has a “List”, is “Inclined”, is “Lopsided” for a moment during his speeches.

===

(additional thoughts: 4-16-2021: 12:30 pm: The “Ot’s” may better be viewed as “ought’s” witch are “zero’s”. Abrasives are measured with use of “ought” rather than “zero’s”, is a strange concept, where “100″ grit sandpaper means there are 100 grains of sand-like grit per square inch of sandpaper, while on the other side of “zero” where the sandpaper is increasingly fine, it is measured with use of “ought” where “Three ought” or “triple ought” is less abrasive than is “Two ought” or “Double ought”. With “double ought”, there are too many grain particles to count, and with “Triple Ought” there are yet more abrasive particles per square inch of sand paper material. Where does the “other side of zero” begin? I have seen 600 grit, and even 800 grit, but beyond that somewhere as the abrasive is increasingly finer, the measure changes to “ought”, “double ought” and “triple ought” as the sand paper gets finer, less gritty, is useful to buff and polish rather than remove material in effort to smooth or remove unsightly scratches.

Also, I mentioned somewhere something about Joe Biden‘s edited video clip about US troop withdrawal from Afghanistan, where Joe leaned to the right of the screen, it was edited to occur at the 0:06 mark of a 1:10 minute video. So, I did a Bing search for the word “trillion“ just now, and was reminded that a “trillion“ is a real number that is equal to a one followed by twelve zero’s to express the value numerically in long hand. I did that because the amount of money we are seeing reported as being spent by the White House, for special circumstances that are beyond the usual US Budget amounts, is astronomical. and it’s become commonplace for such amounts of money spending to be measured in the trillions of dollars. Most people are oblivious to what is happening with those numbers, that amount of money, why it’s said to be necessary, but I know that the Canadian terror army is funded by the US government, with money stashed away from the Too Big To Fail of 2008. In event that investigative persons who have power and authority were to identify and seize that Too Big To Fail cash of terror funding, then, the government treasonous shills would need to find alternative ways to fund that terror army, about 20 million men & women is my conservative estimate, all of them need food, housing, and transportation paid for by the SAG leadership, AKA: the US Shill Government. So, that 0:06 mark where Joe leans to the right of the screen starts to look a lot like an “OK” statement, where he says: “I can do half a trillion” and is stated with body language. Vague, not a lot of substance to my read on that with what I have to support saying it, but there is so much more information that I don’t include, all of it is also driving my desire to decode what I see, in effort to get some help to come to Oregon where that terror army lives for free, all expenses are paid for, and they already have killed and replaced the entire Oregon population, I am the last remaining US citizen in Oregon.)

(Creativity to produce a stream of cash flow that will reach the terror army at their roots, in the actual “terror family cell” where the money trail needs to show as sustenance of a family in a way that is no different than any family uses income to support their needs. The house payment, car payment, insurance, food, all of the normal expenses that “terror family citizens” must pay to survive all need to have a paper trail, (True Grit) the same a the US citizens that the terror army is systematically killing in order to keep from being caught, or identified as a enormous terror army.

Yesterday I saw a very offensive Tweet. The information presented in the Tweet (from a major news network) was about “victims of Corona Virus who died”. The information says that the surviving family members are eligible to apply for a special “COVID Funeral Expense”, where those who apply are granted $9,000 per deceased family member who died due to COVID.

The amount of $9,000 for a funeral expense paid out by the federal government is ludicrous. The cost of a standard cremation is about $300 anywhere in USA. I don‘t know what a fair amount would be, however, to date, not one single victim world wide had died of anything that can be deemed as “Corona Virus” or “COVID”. The truth about how that $9,000 is handed out, is that is money that will be paid to a terror army soldier who murdered a US Citizen, and then claimed that the citizen was a family member. Think about people who are confined to Extended Care Facilities here, the old people, the terror bastards kill them off, and then apply for $9,000. I can see something like that is very possible. I saw the information in a Tweet, and I can see that the Biden WH is being some what crafty for excuses to hand out large amounts of money,

Something to think about: “where does the terror army get it’s sustenance from?

The idea of a $9,000 funeral expense payout from federal government to cover costs of COVID death has a problem that is not consistent with the usual terror murder scenarios. So far, for fifty years, the Canadian terror army has been murdering one single US Citizen, in effort to gain one Vote for a SAG government shill. They kill the citizen, there is no death report, and no one is aware that a citizen died. The terror army grows in size with each murder, as SAG “casts” a “look-a-like” terror soldier from Canada to replace and carry on while portraying that dead citizens life. The live in the victims home, drive the victims car, use the victims name, and hunt the victims extended family, and, the terror army replacement votes for the candidates on the ballots as SAG Leaders [Nancy Sinatra] instruct them to vote. The vote is all pre-arranged that way, SAG knows which candidates will prevail because they instruct the voter base about what particular candidate they are to vote for, for all of the contested positions on the ballots.

So, one murder, no death certificate, no body, no crime ... is the basis of the terror take over of USA.

That $9,000 dollar pay out changes that. With that plan implimented, the terror army MUST produce a body, a name, and then be paid for the death of the victim, so, the way it looks to me, is that the priority changed, from “we need Votes”, to “We need more money”. It goes from “Murder to elect” to “Murder for Pay”. Therein lies the problem associated to the $9,000 death payout.

They cannot have both the vote they do the murders for, and, the money they need to sustain the army. They can have either the Vote, or the money, not both,

Maybe that is what the Honduran Caravans are for, a constant supply of $9,000 bodies waiting to happen at the refugee camps.

With the Honduran Plan, the Canadian SAG army would need approximately one dead Honduran in order to sustain a terror family cell for two months, or, six murdered Honduran Caravan Refugee’s annually to survive at a rate of $9,000 per each “family member who died of COVID or Corona Virus”, So the question is, “what propaganda is being fed to the Hondurans to get them to keep coming to USA?)

(Other “Ought” oriented info, not necessarily associated to any other thing I wrote about above: “Ought” is one of those words that is wielded as a tool used more for secret communication than face value speech by persons associated with Social Fraternal Orders. The word literally is a “zero”, it also has a “nothing” sort of use, but it has mystery associated with it’s use. For instance, if I say; “My car is dirty, I ought to wash the car”. Many people use the word “Ought” like that, as a sort of “Maybe” statement, “maybe I should wash the car”. The historical use of “Ought” is far different. It was really used for saying “Don‘t do that” and in that way, is a “zero”. “When in doubt, leave it out” is “Ought” at it’s real value. Think: There is a mean dog on the front porch at the neighbors house, and two young people are walking by, one says to the other: “I think you ought to go over there and pull that dog’s tail”, inevitably, the one that the statement was directed at, will go over there and pull the dog’s tail, and get bit in the process. That same young person, with his father who see’s the mean dog on the porch, is told: “I think you ought to pull the dogs tail” and a hundred years ago, that meant: “don‘t fuck with that dog Son”. “Ought”, is complicated that way.

Another Social Fraternal Order thing that I learned from a Grand Master, has to do with buying some time to think. Sometimes, people are asked some tough questions that require a good response immediately. and, sometimes the correct response could be an embarrassing one, so, at times like that, the Fraternal Orders practice with use of the word: “why” for starting a sentence in answer to a potentially embarrassing question when under pressure. For instance: Someone asks: “Were you at the park last night?” ... the answer seems simple, yes or no, but, there could be some reason not to answer, while a response is really made to be important by the person asking the tough questions. So, in response, to buy a half second of extra time to think while under pressure, the response is something like: “whyyyyyy...... no, I didn‘t go to a park last night” That stretched out “whyyyyyyyy....” is an easily overlooked tool used by people who are feeling pressure around the waistband of their fraternal robe. You have heard that “whyyyy... a thousand times, and probably never thought twice about why, people say “why” when they begin to speak. It’s used to make a purchase of a tiny bit of time, and, it also identifies the speaker of “whyyyyy....” as a Fraternal Club Member, just in case there are other secret society members around, who can help. If so, they may say something about “The widows, and the orphans at the park” in order to identify themselves secretly back to the one who said “Whyyyy....”.)

===

The tweeted information says: “Dishwasher Size Robots”. Ok. The thing that comes to mind is that the SDA are a group of people who really have harnessed all that can be done in a Petri Dish. They love to invent poisons that can be reproduced with nasty, creepy, fungus, mold, mildew, spores, anything that is “mold”, and they are famous locally for all having a dishwasher in the kitchen that is only used for keeping enough water inside of it that it will grow the mold they use for making such poisons with. There is a poison they call “Sewer Gas”, it makes a person feel the same symptoms as sea sickness, with addition of vertigo symptoms. That stuff is made with the kind of mold & mildew that can be grown in a kitchen dish washer is the way I understand it.

It says “Automated Warehouse”. That can‘t be good. Sounds like Kroger Foods has a list of addresses to automatically go to for Corona Attack.

There is mention of a desire to “Catch Up”. That can‘t be good, and the statement comes on the heels of other news about a national shortage of Ketchup Packets at fast food restaurants. I see a Cannabal theme happening with the Catch Up statement, and, there was also recent mention from Jen Psaki (hard core SDA General) about “Deadliest Catch” the other day. The news about the “Catch Up” is the worst part of the Kroger story. It also would include the “V-8“ and “Red Hydroseed” that I don‘t want to explain right now.

I cannot see. I have to stop for now. Maybe I can continue when my eyes are done leaking out this poison.

===

11:47 pm:

The only thing left that I can see for now in the Tweeted Trend description is there is a vague reference to a sort competition the seems to exist at Kroger, avd what I am reading in the statements makes sense to me, but probably won‘t make sense to many others. The part where it says: “ ... a gigantic mistake or solidifying ...” is nod to Ann Wilson vs a nod to Donald Trump. Wilson being lead Amp Guru at Vatican Choir high command, and, also is General of SDA Cannibals world wide, gigantic that way, where the “solidifying” part is where things get more “tangible” in the Twitter terror comm, they turn “tangerine” right there, and even Donald Trump would say he is an Orange, and definitely not an Apple.

That’s all I have on that.

==================

11:38 pm:

This just in:

https://twitter.com/i/events/1382906192217792515

I was saying the John Wayne international airport was of interest today according to Daily Mail UK, however, I did not take into consideration that you have to turn everything around backwards when the news crosses the Atlantic.

My bad.

John Wayne turned the other way, is “Indians”. John is the “Cowboy”.

Even so, that should demonstrate the urgency needed to take Twitter offline as soon as possible, as Twitter is the terror high command HQ vehicle for delivering marching orders to Canadian terror soldiers in the field.

=====

11:55 pm:

I’ll wager dollars to doughnuts that the recent news on Twitter presented by a number of “trusted” news networks about something that was happening in South Dakota is also associate to the planning and the carry out of whatever occurred at the Indianapolis international airport, and I’ll suggest the they all are in league with the Daily Mail UK.

I also saw at least one Tweet somewhere at a news network Twitter feed that mention a American Indian tribe. If I were to go scour Twitter for native American references right now, i don’t think I would come away empty handed.

(4-17-2021: 3:11 pm: An example of a prize that I might obtain by hunting around in the Twitter major news media stories for “Indian”, or, “native American” references, is a scalp. So, my question right now is: “If Boris Johnson goes to a barber to get a haircut as the very first thing he does as Corona Lockdown is lifted, does that constitute a scalp?”)

Twitter is THE terror command vehicle, is a Google product, and Google is the same as Vatican. Those who are in the business of protecting USA from terror attack should have learned that years ago, and shut down Twitter, and taken custody of all of the Google holdings, and arrested any and all of it’s employees and corporate officers.

=================

4-16-2021: 4:47 pm: miscellaneous unnecessary surplus terror comm presentation on Twitter terror high command HQ:

https://twitter.com/CBSEveningNews/status/1383193057819041793

This above is a juvenile, armature attempt by CBS news Twitter account, to say simply: “There is someone on the internet talking about details of the hijack of USA”,

They tried to bury the hi-jack in a word craft.

Everyone already knows that orbisculate is a revolution in distress.

Did anyone notice that Castro did not last a month in absence of Philip Mountbatten?

0 notes

killcapitalizm · 7 years ago

Text

the louvre; peter parker

request; can you do an imagine where reader has a crush on peter even though he and michelle were dating in high school (which makes the reader distance themselves from the group) and after they graduate, peter finds them and says that he and michelle didn't work out? then the reader finds out it was because he liked the reader the whole time. sorry if this is confusing and super long!!

word count; 2,990

warnings; tw self harm, here’s a no tw version. also i didn’t edit this as always

a/n; YALL IM SO SORRY IM TAKING CENTURIES TO WRITE I SWEAR IM TRYING SFSJGLJ; wheezes im still in the middle of writing the next part to this, it was originally gonna be one big fic but its taking too long and i have enough for a part one at the very least so i decided to break it up. listened to the louvre by lorde while writing. gosh im sorry this took so long

tags; @kaliforniacoastalteens

Your name: submit What is this?

You had supposedly gotten over Peter a few months ago, when you'd accepted the fact that he and MJ– or rather, Michelle, you remembered, she's Michelle to me now, isn't she– were dating and you'd finally ceased intentional contact with him after painfully long weeks of being too busy, too sick, too tired, too hurt; and you have yet to admit that last one. With Peter's absence of course came Michelle's, they were a couple and therefore somewhat of a packaged deal. That was no surprise to you, when you regretfully unwound yourself from Peter you had known that you'd lose Michelle, too. What you hadn't expected was the sudden absence of Ned– someone who you had grown quite close to. Even Liz was separated from you, so subtly you nearly hadn't noticed she was gone. In the first few seconds of hurt and loneliness and confusion, you were awfully lost. But then you considered: you met Ned and Liz through Peter and indeed they were closer to him than you'd ever be, ever been. And so you start from scratch.

You tried your absolute best to make some friends in each of your classes. You swallowed that familiar feeling of fear-filled blankness and managed to talk to one person in each of your classes. They all had their own pre-established friend groups that you knew you wouldn't be able to be a part of, but you gratefully settled for acquaintances that would give you a partner in class and someone to ask for notes when you were out for a day or two. You lived without a friend for the last four months of your senior year, right up to graduation where you saw Peter and Michelle kiss under the shade of a city tree in front of the school and then you caught Ned's eye later and his mirrored yours, but softer. Never before had you weeped over being unable to text a friend about how entirely shitty you felt because your mother was angry again and, more importantly, you missed them, but in that summer you stained your pillow at midnight as your back and legs and chest ached as if they were holding your bruising sorrows. Your parents weren't home that night when an impulsive thought seemed sensible for a second too long and you threw your gentle arm against the turn in the kitchen wall with a force that was everything but gentle. Instantly, you regret it– just like you regretted deleting all of your old friends' numbers from your phone all those months ago. You sobbed harder, cradling your pulsating arm and retreating back to your room for five minutes, then the bathroom for ten, and back to your room for the rest of the night. Those kinds of nights don't happen often but you hate that they happen at all.

On your first day of your new job at a popular bookstore, you were glad it was chilly because last night left you with bruises that were deep and dark. You wore long sleeves and hoped they'd fade soon then told yourself that if they did then you wouldn't do it for another two months, and when you walked in you saw no one you knew until you turned your head and saw Ned, you saw Ned in the soft yellow light of the morning and you nearly cried because you saw him like that many times before, with Peter at sleepovers when you'd wake up early and again with Peter when you'd walk to school with them. He saw you and smiled at you, and didn't look away in that don't-talk-to-me way but instead he glanced down at the empty area next to him behind the register then back up at you. You were terrified in that anxious, empty way but you yearned for a familiar friendship, so you walked over to him and spoke too much right away.

"I've missed you." You didn't sound polite or happy and that's what made it sincere.

"Oh, thank god," Ned says. "I thought it was one-sided."

"Is it?" You ask still, but you're smiling brightly for the first time since you cleared your phone contacts.

Ned snorts. "I would assume you'd infer from what I said that it's not, but whatever. I've missed you, too."

It was in that moment that Ned forgave you; in the same moment he realized there was anything to forgive you for. While Peter had dejectedly told him you were probably avoiding him because of something he did (Ned knew it was because he was together with MJ), he had still missed you without an answer, missed you in the same way you'd miss a friend the night after a sleepover, when you turn in your bed in heavy solitude and whisper to the wall that they hadn't slept next to, because if you'd look to the space where their mumbles had been then you wouldn't sleep all night. Your absence had him turn over to the wrong wall, and that hurt him.

You remember the time Ned had accidentally tripped you in gym class back in your junior year and you saw him nearly cry, then you spoke again. "I'm sorry." For what, Y/N? You try again, "I'm sorry for leaving you and not talking to you. That you had to miss me. I missed you a lot. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," says Ned, "I forgive you." He forgave you twice, because he hadn't realized how satisfyingly pleasant it feels when someone doesn't have to apologize but they do with their heart.

"Thank you," you say, because he welcomed you after you had cut him off for so long and he shouldn't have smiled so dearly at you, and you're grateful.

Ned helps you with your new job that day, then that week, and into the next week. You add his number back onto your phone and write it down in your journal that you've stopped writing in ever since Peter told you with so much joy and love that he was dating Michelle. You try not to think of them, just of how much you missed him and her each as their own. If you think of them, then the next time you bruise yourself you always end up with deeper and more plentiful bluish-purple spots. You don't tell Ned about the bruises and you don't ask about them, you don't ask about Peter at all but you know he's talking about him when he says "my friend," or more often, "a buddy of mine."

But Ned is smart, and he knows you had liked Peter back then and because you never ask about his friend (he knows that you know who he's talking about), he knows you like him now. He also knows that Peter and MJ broke up, he knows why and how and when and where and the boy was a boy of the Earth, he is rooted to the ground and because of that he knows it's not his place to tell you all of that. Ever-growing with the kindest smile, he knows that Peter needs to tell you himself if you're to ever know. And he wants you to know, so he decides that five weeks of talking daily with you, after reattaching yourself to him and him to you, that he'd start to reconnect you and Peter. He starts off conveniently.

"Look, dude, just get it over with and you'll feel better… What? Peter, no, you need a job, you're eighteen now–" Ned spots you walk in early one Thursday morning and talks just loud enough into his phone so that you could hear him say Peter. Surely enough, you duck your head as if you hadn't been listening. His name out of Ned's mouth, so bright like you remembered it, twists your heart. "Hey, man, I gotta go and you do too. You got this, I know you do. See ya'."

You stop beside Ned as he hangs up and tucks his phone into his back pocket. As always, you greet him with the biggest smile you can manage. These days, it's been some of your brightest, full ear-to-ear grins, but today you barely show your teeth. He notices and for a second he rethinks his plan, but you still love Peter and he knows he loves you too so he keeps going. "What was that all about?" You instantly regret that, but it flew out of your mouth before you could think of another conversation starter.

"Peter, actually," he does his best to sound gentle, but you inhale sharply at his name anyway. "He's going for a job interview later today and he's panicking again. As always. But I know he'll do just fine."

You were silent for a second too long, quickly spitting out something when you realized it. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, he was always like that… panicky. 'N stuff. Before things. He always did good and… yeah." You straighten your back and shift your weight from leg to leg, a poor attempt at looking casual that really just made you look just as nervous as you felt. You were looking down at Ned's shirt with a pleading gaze that he surely saw, begging him silently to just leave it be, to change topics, to not say his name again. He saw all of that, but he knew he had to.

He looked sympathetically at you as he spoke again, "Speaking of him, I think we should all meet up sometime or whatever. It's been a really long time since we hung out." He sounded like he was hurt, feeling awful for putting this on you but knowing it'll end up better in the end if you're willing to work with him.

You, on the other hand, sounded genuinely wounded. "Y-Yeah." You nearly wheezed. Unconsciously, your hand rested on your hip, angled so that your palm was more on the back of your hip. Ever since you could remember, emotional stress would center at your back and slowly start to crawl down your limbs. Always starting in your lower back, it ached with whatever you felt, then burned its way up, making the spot between your shoulders sore, then shooting down to your legs. If Ned insisted on talking about this for very long, you'd have to bring a stool to the register with you today. "I mean, I don't really think… he'd want to see me. After what I did."

"Actually, he really misses you." Gosh, he was trying so hard to be soft, but it felt like he was smothering you with a pillow. While he wasn't lying, he hadn't actually told Peter he's been hanging out with you. "He'd love to meet up sometime– I'll ask him later today. You can set the date."

"He…" misses me? you finish in your head. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears, blood rushing up your neck and kicking your brain, then rushing back down before starting again. You were growing a bit of a headache, maybe from staying up late last night but maybe the aches were skipping your limbs today and getting right to your head, towards the back where it wouldn't let you lay down on your back later. "Uh… Yeah. Y-Yeah, I'll– I… Sure. Sometime."

Ned watched your discomfort with a wince that went unnoticed. He reminded himself it would get worse before it got better. "Anyway, we should start preparing. We open in an hour," he said, trying to edge you away from the topic, although it was too late to stop the images and memories of Peter from firmly planting themselves in your head. You nodded once, slightly, then again with more motion. That day, you made sure to never be seen without a water bottle so that you had an excuse when someone asked you why you were going to the bathroom so much. You'd go when your started thinking too much, to the point that it interfered with your ability to shelve books and even think to yourself a single, coherent thought. You'd excuse yourself, rush in, and find yourself gasping for air that you hadn't realized you lost.

You went home that day feeling more alone than not, despite the sudden vague reconnection with Peter. But you shouldn't be surprised, the thought of the boy has been a presence of loneliness for a while now. When you think of him, it's as if you're thinking yourself into a void, where you detach from the Earth, as if you exist in your body but your body does not exist in the world and it simply moves around in it. Sometimes you suspect that because you feel something so drastic and real that Peter wasn't the only cause of it, but it did you better to not think too deeply so that you don't wake up the next day with bruises from frustrated confusion. You went home that day and asked Ned to call you, because you hid your bruises from him and knew that if he were with you in any way that you would be able to keep your promise of two months of freedom. When Ned was gone, you moved to the TV to distract you. Then you pulled out your phone and decided to read something, then opened up your laptop to watch a YouTube video, and after a minute you retrieved a book to read and a comic to look at– you were doing everything and nothing at once but what you weren't doing was hurting yourself and that was, in the end, what you wanted. You cried when you settled in bed that night, your body detached from the Earth for a while when you panicked in your (too) many thoughts of Peter and other things, although you don't remember what those other things are because its easier to just say one thing, despite him being the hardest thing to say at all. You had to stumble out of bed and lay on the ground– on your side because the very back of your head still hurt– look at things in your room one at a time, then listen to things outside one at a time, tell yourself what apricots and your favorite tea taste like before you could finally feel the carpet beneath you again. Your head spun with busyness and contradictions as you got back in bed, but you slept right away and that was all left to touch in the morning.

And Ned was true to his word; when he had to hang up to catch a bus, he made sure to text Peter when he got a seat. It took him ten tries, but he decided to bluntly tell Peter that he's been talking to you, and then gently ease into his proposal of hanging out again. Then, because he stayed with Peter in those months you were gone, he felt it was right to hook another text onto that one: he knew you felt something for him, and he told Peter that he didn't knew exactly what you were feeling (and that you probably didn't either) but that it was something reminiscent of strong love, broken love, fear, and a lot of missing him. You had looked bewildered at the mention of Peter, and he told him that, too. Told him that he should try with you. Told him that you needed him to try with you, or, at the very least, you needed him (not him, but him there, you needed his nearness, the familiarity Ned had fulfilled had to be filled by more than just him). And Peter answered with time, so he went back to the usual, being the Earth boy he always was, sleeping close to the ground on the first floor of a cheap apartment that looked magical later that week when he taped up all of his posters and switched out the bright, fluorescent white lights for the yellowed lights he always preferred because they look more like sunlight.

So Peter, in his dress shirt and nice pants and new shoes, sitting with his back straight against the wall near the entrance of his apartment, still sweating from the conversation that had happened hours earlier, closed his eyes and remembered you in the moonlight like you had remembered him and Ned in the sunlight, he remembered those many late night conversations he had with you in which he was filled to the brim with nothing but nerves and stress and anxiety, he remembered how you'd remind him all night and day and week that he was important and needed and okay and here, on this planet, in this town, living and breathing and growing and that he's not as small as he felt nor as big as he fears. He remembered how you'd call him sunshine, sunshine and he told Ned that he needs you because he wants to hear that again. A sky boy he was– he was constricted and bound by his own breathing so he threw off his clothes, pulled on his suit of red and blue, and sprinted across the roof of a long, tall building so he could jump off and then web himself to the next building. He toppled over and rolled along the hard surface of what was probably some apartment complex, he stared up at the last sky blues for the day and panted. His throat burned with his wheezes, but soon he smelled the city and smiled, deep in his mind he was sure that you'd call him sunshine, sunshine again soon. He slept long after you and Ned had fallen to slumber, after flying around buildings and waving at an infant and helping an older couple catch their bus.

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker fanfic #spiderman #spider man #spiderman fanfic #spiderman homecoming #spiderman x reader #my writing

49 notes · View notes

zimniysoldat-fiction · 8 years ago

Text

Angel Eyes

Summary: An angel/demon AU featuring demon!Bucky and angel!Reader based on this request:

Pairings: Bucky x reader

Warnings: Religious imagery, probably some blasphemy, language, unprotected (graphic) sex

Word Count: 2,915

A/N: Ask and ye shall receive. I kinda got carried away with this one. I do hope it’s okay? (.gif has nothing to do with the story. I just like staring at it)

What happens when an angel knocks up a demon? You get a devilishly handsome half-breed with angelic charm and passion like hellfire running through his veins—you get me. Maybe I’m not as impressive as Lucifer, I didn’t fall from grace, I didn’t cut off my wings to spite my father—I never had wings—but I am more impressive than other demons. I’m stronger, smarter…just overall, I’m better. My unique position comes with perks from Luci, but jeers from full-blood demons. They say I’m not pure, that I have a disgusting heavenly glow about me. They say I don’t belong in Hell.

They’re right. I belong on Earth.

I belong in the realm of fallibility, temptation, desire, and rebellion. And over the centuries, I’ve come to realize that I really fucking enjoy destroying the bliss of ignorance so many humans cling to. Usually, this is welcomed by the people I share some of my knowledge with, but sometimes it is met with fear, anger, and violence. I’ve been ‘killed’ a few times by those desperate to remain ignorant. Hell. One time a few of them pushed me off a train in the Swiss Alps. I survived that, somehow, but my arm most definitely did not. I’m not a lizard, my limbs don’t simply grow back after being cut off, and I really didn’t want to be another one-armed Joey returning home after the War. So I went out and got this badass metal arm. It isn’t a set of wings or a spine of spikes, but it does set me apart from humans. It feels nice having a visual cue that I’m not like those I walk amongst.

The twenty-first century has been interesting. It took a while to find my footing among the technology and growing apathy. That is, until I walked into this place. This gorgeous, turn-of-the-century building with an open concept interior and a speakeasy in the basement immediately grabbed my attention and refused to let go. So I bought it. And I renovated it. And now it’s an independent bookstore and coffee shop. With a speakeasy in the basement. The speakeasy is my pride and joy.

So imagine my ire when two officials from the state strutted into my shop this morning asking questions about a possible illegal drinking den on the premises. As soon as I saw her, she made my blood run cold, sending a shiver through every nerve pathway in my body. She seemed to glow in the morning sun that filtered through the shop’s windows. And her hair…

Sure, silver/grey hair is trendy at the moment, but hers… The grey locks highlighted by metallic silver wisps… It reminded me of Luci’s hair. Minus the charred ends. It was captivating, but it also made me bristle. She was captivating, but also made me bristle.

I could tell that she took an immediate disliking to me, her features contorting as if she just drank battery acid the second she laid eyes on me. Normally, my chiseled jawline, sharp cheekbones, and icy blue eyes were enough to turn women into putty in my hands. Failing that, the henley shirts that feigned modesty while clinging perfectly to my muscles and haggard jeans that could barely hold in my dominating thighs definitely caught their attention.

And yet this woman could only look at me with contempt.

Being a Servant of the Lord is like walking on eggshells. If the eggshells were already smashed to dust before you entered the room and have to glue each bit back together, all the while trying to prove you weren’t the one to break the stupid things in the first place. So when you accidentally allow a megalomaniac to sit in the most influential, most powerful seat in the world while you were trying to prevent a race riot that would lead to genocide, nothing you could say or do will save your ass. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I’m living in New York like some mere mortal. A millennial. Do you have any idea how confusing and tedious this generation of humans is? Extremely. The answer is ‘extremely’. If it weren’t for the internet, I would never have survived this long. Even though the more I read it, the lesser the likelihood of ever going home again. My fondness for Neil deGrasse Tyson alone is enough to have me permanently exiled.

One part of living like a human that really, truly sucks is having to work. It’s just so boring. I managed to get a job as the Mayor’s secretary, which isn’t too bad, but it feels like I’m always working. How do these things manage to have a life outside of the ‘daily grind’? I mean, just finding a job was hard enough. I lost count of how many employers assumed I dyed my hair and were disapproving of, what they thought was, my tattoo. None would believe that silver is my natural hair colour and that the celestial locks refused to be dyed any other colour. And I couldn’t very well tell them that the ‘tattoo’ of an albino snake slithering about my shoulder, traveling across my collarbone and whispering in my ear is, in fact, a very painful brand I received for my failings. Luckily the Mayor didn’t care about any of that. Honestly, I think he hired me just because he finds me attractive.

That would certainly explain this morning—his temper tantrum over being told someone from his office had to accompany an inspector, and that I was the only person available. Honestly? I wasn’t much happier than he was. This dress isn’t made for ‘official visits’. The pencil skirt alone makes it hard to walk at a respectable pace. But here I am, still desperately in need of a cup of coffee, walking into some bookstore. What business the Mayor’s Office had with a bookstore, I couldn—holy shit! Is that coffee I smell? I wonder if I can slip away to grab a cup?

Fantasies of coffee evaporated as soon as I saw the proprietor. He is most definitely not human. But…he’s also not an angel? Despite having the ice blue eyes of our race? What is he? And why is he so goddamned cocky? What I wouldn’t give to just tell this poor human that whatever it is he’s looking for is in the basement, behind the supply closet, so I can just go get a cup of coffee. But this…Bucky. He just said his name was Bucky, didn’t he? He’s a seriously adept liar. He has the poor rube convinced that he was mistaken and wasting his time.

Whatever. At least I can get some coffee now.

No matter how hard she tried, the exiled angel couldn’t get her mind off of Bucky. What is he? Her brain, her curiosity, wouldn’t drop the question. Even after getting home, getting out of that uncomfortable dress, and indulging in a bottle of wine, the question danced on her brain. What is he?

She couldn’t take it anymore. It was keeping her up in the middle of the night (not that she really slept—she mostly just drank coffee and wine). So she decided to throw caution to the wind, pulling on her favourite pair of boots—black stilettos in the style of combat boots—over her aubergine yoga pants. The black, off-the-shoulder sweatshirt that used to be an oversized hoodie was warm enough for the walk from her apartment to the bookstore. Or rather, the speakeasy underneath the bookstore.

Luckily for her, Bucky was still there, laying on the bar and puzzling over her. He had kept the speakeasy closed tonight, wanting the space and alcohol to dwell on her hair, her eyes…her. Could she be…? Maybe she’s just a hipster, riding the trend of silver hair and white tattoos on white skin. Was it even a snake? Maybe it was just some tribal scribble. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was familiar. Like he had seen it somewhere before. Turning his head to the side, he carefully sealed his lips around the neck of the whiskey bottle before chugging its entire contents in a desperate bid for relief.

Having heard the click of the door opening, Bucky sat up, sitting crosslegged in the middle of the bar. He should have been on red alert, or at least curious about what was on the other side of the door. Instead, he felt calm, like he was expecting a guest that was running a little late. And when he saw her silver hair and piercing eyes, he smiled widely, like he was just laying eyes on a long-lost friend. Captivated as he was, his eyes couldn’t help but to drop, looking at the tattoo that her sweater put on full display.

She walked into the speakeasy with a stubborn determination. She needed one answer to one question, then she could go home. Though she’d be lying to herself if she said she didn’t find the establishment’s décor alluring, intoxicating in its own right. And the way he stared at her filled her with self-doubt. Why is he looking at me like that? Her stride slowed halfway across the room, slowly coming to the end of the bar, keen on keeping at least that distance between them.

He was indeed bewildering. The eyes of an angel, the body of a demigod, and…a metal arm? He definitely wasn’t an angel if he couldn’t regrow or reattach parts of his corporeal form. Which brought her right back to why she was here in the first place. What is he?

“What did you do?” His voice led her gently out of her thoughts, bringing her attention solely on him.

“Sorry?”

“That brand.” He nodded to her exposed shoulder and subconsciously she pulled her sweater up and over the snake, shame washing over her. “You’re a fallen angel. So what did you do?”

“I…” she sighed and her eyes fell to the floor. “I stopped a race riot and in doing so, let a megalomaniacal idiot gain the power to bring about the end of humankind.” She bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. “And am a fan of Neil deGrasse Tyson.” She added as an afterthought.

She hadn’t noticed that Bucky had slid off the bar and was now standing directly in front of her. So she flinched with surprise when his thumb and index finger took hold of her chin, forcing her gaze up to meet his. His eyes beheld her with warmth, drinking in her beauty for a minute before bringing his lips down to meet hers in a soft, reassuring kiss that lingered longer than even he had anticipated.

“Don’t worry about that idiot,” he murmured, smiling as he finally brought himself to pull away from the kiss. “He won’t destroy humanity. Too stupid.” Both chuckled at this for a moment before falling silent, Bucky still indulging in the angel’s beauty.

Before either of them could process the chemistry between them, Bucky had her pinned against the wall with such a force that a few liquor bottles fell from the nearby shelf, shattering against the wood floor. His lips crashed against hers, taking what he wanted, though she offered no resistance, delighting in this entirely new heat coursing through her veins. His body was enough to keep her pinned to the wall, allowing his metal hand to wrap around her neck, gently cradling it, offering a tender form of support as he neck craned so her lips could meet his. His flesh hand felt its way down her body, hungrily exploring her curves with an impatient passion, until he reached her thigh, fingers digging in as he lifted her leg, wrapping it around his waist. He was grinding his hips against her, his hand pawing at her ass, squeezing and rubbing the soft flesh, when he started to break off the kiss, wanting to ask her if angels even knew what sex was.

“What are you?” She panted before he could even form his own words.

The question stayed his lust momentarily, though the way her fingers ran through his hair, the was she played with the chestnut tresses, and the way she chewed lustfully at her swollen bottom lip reignited it just as quickly, and he kissed her softly, pushing his hips forcefully against hers as he smiled.

“I’m a half-breed,” he barely got the label out before his lips were at the nape of her neck, chewing and sucking at the skin, enjoying the way he could feel her blood pulse with lust. “Mother’s a demon,” he managed as he took a second to catch his breath before bringing his lips to her earlobe, sucking and tugging, knowing the pleasure it would bring her. “Dad was some angel she never talked about.” He finished explaining before biting her lip, pulling her into another passionate kiss.

Having her answer, the angel surrendered herself entirely to this half-breed, chasing the whirling heat that was growing between her legs. Bucky was so turned on by her eagerness that he didn’t bother making a show of undressing, getting naked as quickly as he could, impatient for his next taste of her skin. It was only when he noticed her gaping at his fully erect cock that he remembered the question he had wanted to ask. He cupped her cheek with his flesh hand, pressing his forehead against hers as his chest heaved with lust, forcing him to catch his breath.

“Have you ever had sex before? I mean, do angels even know what sex is?”

“I’ve never had sex before, no.” She confessed, “and angels only have a basic understanding of the concept. But…” She smirked as she pushed him away, throwing her sweater behind the bar, sliding out of her pants. “I know perfectly well what sex is, sir.”

It was his turn to gape now—at her confidence, at her body, at her. The way she said ‘sir’ made his cock twitch and he found himself putty in her hands, those soft, warm hands that were rubbing his chest. As she pushed him back, his smile grew with every step they took, anticipating her next move. And she didn’t disappoint, pushing him down against the plush upholstery of the bench before climbing on top of him, knees on either side of him as she straddled his hips, her dripping wet pussy ghosting over the head of his cock.

He was lost in her eyes, and she in his while she slowly lowered herself onto him, moaning loudly at the pressure, and the pleasure that came with it. She clung to his shoulders as her body trembled, overwhelmed by his size, and the confusion of pain and pleasure that it brought. Wrapping his metal arm around her waist, Bucky leaned forward, bring his flesh arm up her back, his fingers tangling in her hair as he braced her and began to move inside her, doing all of the work while she adjusted to this new experience.

He couldn’t believe how tight she was, his cock tearing at her walls, twitching with the pleasure of her lust pulsating all around his girth.

“Fuck.” He groaned with the obscene pleasure she brought, his lips tenderly molding with hers, his tongue luring hers into a passionate, sloppy kiss.

He continued to slowly grind into her, his hips rocking up against her pelvis, his head dropping, burying his face against her breasts. The way she whimpered and moaned was intoxicating, and his grip around her tightened, not wanting to risk letting her go. Slowly, it became easier to move inside her and he began thrusting gently into her, smiling into her cleavage as he felt her nails dig into his shoulders and rake against his skin as she struggled to keep a grip.

She began to moan louder, completely lost in the pulsating heat while pure, blind pleasure pulled her muscles into her core. She didn’t know something so painful could feel so obscenely good. She wanted more, needed more, and began rolling her hips in time with his thrusting, chasing that obscenity. She was panting when she looked down at Bucky. His eyes were shut, his hair falling in his face as he groaned and growled with raw pleasure. The sight made her smile, inspired her to ride him as intensely as she could manage as she brushed the sweaty hair from his face, her fingers raking through and gripping at his hair.

Soon, she was gripped by the riptide of her climax rushing through every muscle, every vein in her body. As she reached the peak of her orgasm, she threw her head back, screaming with ecstasy while her body stiffened and her wings stretched to their full span, showering Bucky in their effervescent glow.

The hot sensation of her cumming over him was so intense that it pushed him over the edge, his hips bucking as he emptied himself inside of her. They rode out their orgasms together, Bucky still bracing the angel’s trembling body, holding her close. Even as they came down from their high, he stayed inside her, letting her body melt perfectly against his as though they were one.

Now that he found her, he was never going to let his fallen angel go.

TAGS: @oneshot-shit; @marvel-ash; @bovaria; @hymnofthevalkyries; @archangel-trauma; @bionic-buckyb; @lostinspace33; @morbidmary; @bucky-plums-barnes

#bucky x reader #angel/demon au #bucky barnes #smut #smut request #fic req

316 notes · View notes

petite-neko · 8 years ago

Text

Dissentient - 3

Fanfiction: Dissentient Story Summary: Trafalgar Law wasn’t a lot of things. But the one thing he most definitely was, was a man in denial. But you’d never hear him say that. Instead, he’d just blame that damned Strawhat. Characters: Zoro, Luffy, Law Pairing: Eventual LawLu Rating: T Warnings: Swearing, Angst, Mentions of Suicide, alcohol use A/N: YOU NEED TO READ THIS STORY FIRST.

Sorry, insomnia plus hectic life struck again. (I was far too busy Thursday, and I needed to correct my sleep schedule last night on top of being tired still) But here we go.

Previous story || Read on Ao3

Part 2 || Part 3: 6.5 Smile|| Part 4

Perhaps the only reason he managed to sleep so well was due to the fact that he had passed out due to exhaustion and a physical necessity.

When he woke up however, he didn’t exactly realise that.

He had no clue how long he slept.

He was tired – that was usual – but there was something different about it. It was more of a bodily exhaustion as opposed to the mental exhaustion that always accompanied him with every waking moment of his life.

(In fact, it actually seemed like it was gone which was quite unusual indeed.)

The exhaustion ran deep, as if he could feel it in his very bones.

The only thing he could think of was that the probability of his overusing his powers was high.

It wasn’t just that. Certainly, yes, he didn’t want to move a muscle and just go back into that fog that was sleep, there was…

He knew if he moved a muscle, his body would probably yell at him.

Maybe not now, but most definitely later. The lethargy that wasn’t related to the overuse of his powers was more than likely due to some injuries of some sort. But, despite the fact that Law wasn’t about to lay around and do nothing when he wasn’t too certain on his relative safety (passing out did that to ones memory), Law knew he had to get up. A deep sleep like that was a rarity and Law wasn’t foolish enough to think he could get back to sleep like that.

(The last thing he needed was a nightmare when he didn’t even know where he was.)

So Law sighed and moved his hand to run it through his hair before-

His arm wouldn’t move.

(Now that was unusual. Most times he had an injury he could still-)

The pain. He recalled screaming and oh God…

The Birdcage. Laughter. Mocking. Luffy. The Gun… Dressrosa.

Luffy.

With a groan, Law pushed himself upright with his good arm. Then he moved his head to look at his right arm. It was bandaged. Ah right… didn’t the little princess do that or something? He could also feel the stitches – that was a good sign. It was still mostly numb and tingling, but again, that was better than nothing.

He supposed he might even be able to will it to move too if he put a conscious effort into it, although that may do more harm than good. Perhaps he should wait until he subconsciously could move it before trying anything.

While severed limbs were his specialty, at least the limbs he severed could be easily reattached.

He already had a few ideas on helping improve the rate of healing the limb, but…

He’d wait until he knew he could expend the energy.

Because he also knew, just due to the stiffness in his limbs, there was more pain to come. Who knew what the full extent of his injuries was? (He was certain that the little princess had worked on more than just his arm as well, although the majority of the treatment went to that.)

He most definitely wasn’t looking forward to when that sweet, numbing fog effect of sleep wore off.

He took in his surroundings: They were in a house of some sort and it was quiet inside due to the dampening effects of the walls. (He could hear sounds and murmurings outside.) They were probably also being quieter than normal for those who were still recovering.

He could also remember being successful to some degree. (He didn’t even get to kill Doflamingo then and there and Luffy had even allowed him that chance and… fuck!)

So, theoretically they were safe. The bandages he had on had been changed at least once, he had no shackles on him, and there even was food nearby. So on the plus side: they had not been caught by the marines.

It only made him wonder just how long he had lain unconscious.

And by they he had meant him and Luffy. (The other captain was out cold nearby, and he didn’t need to sense him to know that. No he was loudly snoring off to the side. Not that he actually saw him. Part of him didn’t want to.)

And, of course, not just Luffy either. No, that annoying, bull headed swordsman of his was in the house with them too. He also hadn’t looked in his direction, but he could feel that gaze on him, and hear the swishing of his alcohol as he tipped it back.

Law ignored him too.

Things had most definitely not turned out as planned. In fact, things probably went the complete opposite of that. The question remained: Was he happy about it?

Trafalgar Law didn’t know. Trafalgar was supposed to know, dammit!

Joker had been taken down and dethroned, as he had wanted. But not in the way he wanted. Sure he had been stopped. Probably even arrested at that. And he even got to see the bastard fall.

He supposed that was what Cora-san had always wanted…

(But what about what he wanted? That bastard was supposed to pay dammit! Pay with his life and know what it was like to fear! He killed Cora-san!)

And while, yes, Law was unable to see the actual fall… he had been content. Content in knowing that Doflamingo would pay and fear and die… that Kaido would torment and chase him before killing him…

That eventually he would be stopped.

So… what now?

This… Doflamingo… it was his purpose. His reason for living. He planned to sacrifice everything for this. He was supposed to die all those years ago anyway… So many times over. He was a man who, despite the odds, slipped away time after time, was destined to die before he even reached sixteen. Die due to the disease that ate away at his body.

But he lived.

Cora-san. Cora-san.

That was the man who saved him. And that was the man he lived for.

The man he planned to die for.

(It was his fault that he died after all. In some respects anyway…)

Trafalgar Law wasn’t supposed to be alive right now.

No, not after challenging Doflamingo in his own playground. He had every expectation to die in the process. He had been prepared and willing to sacrifice his life if it meant that he would drag Joker down with him.

But Mugiwara-ya didn’t let him.

For a second time in his life he had escaped inevitable death.

(Perhaps there was more. Like his home town, or the birdcage with Cora-san, but he only counted the disease and now. One was just a fact of life and the other was of his own doing. Where he faced death, knowing it was the result and his fate. Flevance and the Birdcage were just results of his sheer luck and the stupidity of those hunting him.)

And both times. Both times he had been saved by somebody who decided to do it on their own accord. Who did it without him asking to. With him trying and failing to push them away.

This time, however, he had no reason. He couldn’t find one.

He had made his arrangements… he did what he had to… and yet… yet he had still been saved.

Again: what now?

He didn’t expect to survive this. He dedicated his entire life to this moment, and now that it was achieved, he was lost.

Trafalgar Law never got lost.

Do you get lost like Zoro does too?

That damned Strawhat.

He found his eyes wandering towards the peaceful form. He found them narrowing. He was angry.

At least that was one thing Trafalgar Law tended to be.

Because this wasn’t supposed to have happened! He wasn’t supposed to be sitting here right now and glaring at this fucking idiot and—

“I would’ve figured you’d be happy.”

Law snapped his head towards the swordsman. (He shouldn’t have done that, he thought as his muscles screamed at the sudden motion.)

“Shut up!”

Thankfully, it seemed the moss-head actually had some brains in there and kept silent.

It helped though, that momentary lash, it sated his initial anger enough for him to calm down. He was able to soften his gaze a little as he looked at the younger captain.

What was it, he wondered, that made Luffy who he was? He knew the boy from the inside out, but none of that told of his soul or spirit. The thing that brought everybody together. The thing that saved people, even if they denied they wanted saving. The boy was idiotic, stupid even, and yet… there just was something about him. Was it the D? Or was it something else altogether?

He drew others towards him without even trying.

What now?

I was afraid of being alone.

Law didn’t forget those words either. The words that Luffy had spoken to him that night he had dreamt of Ace. (Was it still last night, or more than that by now?)

When Luffy had told him what he was most afraid of…

No, Law couldn’t forget that. It… meant something. Trust perhaps? (And Law wasn’t the type of person to utilise that sort of thing against an ally, or even a comrade. Perhaps if they became utmost enemies, like Doflamingo was to him but… he doubted such a thing would occur.)

It started something it shouldn’t have.

Despite himself. Despite how much Law tried, or how much he denied it…

Luffy kept coming back, and Law wanted him to.

(Trafalgar Law wasn’t supposed to.)

What was it? Was it that he saw Cora-san in Luffy? Despite all their differences, did he see the similarities and parallels?

(Certainly, Law wouldn’t be able to handle two of either of them!)

Perhaps… but Luffy was still such a… unique individual.

Law wouldn’t deny that he hated Luffy however. At least at this moment. He hated him for what he did. What he was doing to him even now just laying there unconscious. It frustrated him.

Something told him the Strawhat would never cease to annoy him.

They were quite opposite when it came to things after all. He was cold and calculating. Meticulous. A plotter. Luffy on the other hand was warm and random. Spontaneous and instinctive.

They did have their similarities however, otherwise their alliance wouldn’t have worked. (Whether or not one called this a success was up to debate.)

But Luffy frustrated him. Angered him. Luffy wasn’t predictable. It created chaos in his otherwise organised life and he didn’t know what to do with it anymore.

What to do with Mugiwara no Luffy.

What now?

Especially now that he was at the end of the rope he had tied for himself. He had no plans. No points of action. No nothing. He hadn’t planned for this.

He hadn’t even a will or purpose to keep going…

But he had to keep on going. He knew that his crew would have accepted his death if it was facing somebody like Doflamingo, but a clear-cut suicide?

He couldn’t do that to them.

I was afraid of being alone.

Nor could he do that to Luffy either. The boy fought so hard to rescue him (but not being patient enough to wait for the keys to his cuffs. As long as he was alive, right?) and Law couldn’t slap him in the face like that.

Shishishishishi, so that means we’re nakama, right?

He felt his lips twist as the voice rang in his head.

Now, Trafalgar Law wasn’t supposed to smile or have friends but…

“I suppose it does, Mugiwara-ya.”

(A/N: Or the alternate title: 6.5: Friendship)

#monkey d luffy #trafalgar law #lawlu #one piece #roronoa zoro #fanfic:dissentient #petiteneko:story #tlaw #luffy #onepiece #zoro

26 notes · View notes

shadesmaclean · 8 years ago

Text

Tradewinds 20 CH 19

At the sound of Max’s voice, Bandit practically tackled him when Roger opened the cargo door. “I missed you, too, old friend…” Tears of joy and relief streaming down Max’s face. As he struggled back to his feet, he turned to the pilot, still wiping his eyes. “Thank you, Roger. Thank you so much for watching over him.” “Um, sure thing,” Roger mumbled, “we were kinda in the same boat anyway. I was startin’ to think stayin’ with the plane was a mistake…” “The Woods were no picnic, either,” Justin remarked. “With your leg, you wouldn’t’ve survived half the shit we ran into out there!” “There are worse mistakes to be made in this twisted place,” Shades assured him. “We were half afraid you might’ve tried to go to Rannigan’s Wharf anyway.” “Speaking of which,” Max brought up, “any word on Roxy or Erix?” Roger shook his head. “I see,” Shades replied. “We don’t have a lot of time, so we’re here to pick you up.” Roger shook his head again, frowning. “You can’t be serious…” Justin muttered. “I’m very serious,” Roger told them. “That ship is big enough to tow my Albatross, so I ain’t leavin’ without her.” “Fine,” Shades said, nodding to the radio. “You get to argue with Shelby about it. Max, you stay with him, we have some unfinished business with Stilton Lodge.” For reasons he couldn’t quite put his finger on, he kept thinking about that haunted island where they originally found the Maximum. Of wanting to leave some kind of warning for any passing travelers. Couldn’t help thinking of this as a chance to do it right this time, perhaps save the lives of anyone else unfortunate enough to find this place. He and Justin wasted no time entering the lodge, trying to shrug off how surreal the place felt, now that they knew the truth, or as much of it as anyone was ever likely to find out. After traveling so far to get away from this place, after all they’d seen, nothing looked the same through their opened eyes. Once inside, they made for the bulletin board, finding it exactly as they left it. Shades reached into his jacket pocket and unfolded a new map Shelby found him to replace the one that got ruined when they fell into the river the other night. Even added all of the original warnings, plus one about the Woods themselves (Woods are death-trap – stick to coast), for the benefit of any future castaways. Skipping the upstairs office, he simply tacked it up on the board next to the missing child poster. He then picked up Kelly Edwards’ photo and tucked it in his pocket for Shelby and Lorna. According to Shelby, the photo was originally a birthday portrait from a small family party. There was supposed to be a bigger camp birthday party, that would have been held only a day after the disappearances started. In the blank space on the poster, he whipped out a permanent marker and quickly added: remains found – trees got her. All the while, he tried not to think about all that old logging equipment left to rust nearby. Kept telling himself that if it could have, it would have by now. Still, he remained tense, ears straining for the faintest sound of engines starting… Mission accomplished, they made a hasty exit, stopping only long enough to prop up the weathered warning sign on the floor next to the door, where it could readily be seen. Though it was hard for Shades not to imagine that some malevolent force would soon be hard at work to remove the new warnings… By the time they got back to the plane, Roger had apparently convinced Shelby to have a go at towing the Albatross, so they rowed back to the Shorewind to haul out some lines. Turned out the fact that the tide was coming in was the only reason Shelby agreed to the attempt at all. After retrieving the mooring lines, they attached the tow cables, Roger supervising while the three of them did the legwork. When all was in readiness, they also got out and pushed while the Shorewind pulled, though they had their doubts about how much help it would be. In spite of the Albatross having the better part of a week to settle in the sand, they just barely managed to pull the old bird free. One pontoon was slightly waterlogged, listing to port, but still stable enough to tow. Still cheering, Justin and Shades rowed back to the Shorewind, Max and Bandit staying on the plane with Roger, who refused to leave the cockpit now that his bird indeed proved seaworthy. After reattaching the lines to pull the Albatross forward for easier maneuvering, it was already past noon by the time they were ready to return to Pickford, and Shelby was sounding more and more anxious to be on their way, as he hadn’t counted on towing anything. Justin and Shades were making one final check of the tow lines as they got underway, Shades looking back at Camp Stilton. Wanting to sigh with relief that they were now out of range of any rampaging machinery, not wanting to speak too soon about dodging a bullet with a menace that never materialized. Much like at the bridge to Pickford, yet still felt as if he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. As he turned his attention back to the tow lines, Shades spotted something drifting up toward them. For a second, he almost started laughing, because on closer inspection, it just looked like a clump of seaweed that spooked him. Still, something about it just didn’t sit right with him, and even as he wondered why it was coming loose from that depth, he saw a pair of chalk-white hands reach out from that eerie swirl of fronds, still more parting to reveal a pale dead face staring up at them as it approached the surface, reaching in their general direction. Its mouth slowly opening to reveal rows of needle teeth. “The fuck is that!?” Justin screeched, already unslinging his crossbow. The creature, meanwhile, started groping one of the propeller screws, seaweed wrapping around the blades. Justin opened fire at it, shredding the marine monstrosity with a laser barrage. “Don’t look now, but we’ve got company!” Shades alerted them, sighting more of the foul things drifting up from the deep. “Don’t let those things damage the screws!” Shelby warned them. “If they do, we’re down to sails, and we’ll have no power to tow your friend’s ship back!” There was no mistaking the look of abject horror on Roger’s face as he looked on helplessly from aboard the Albatross, at the very idea of being left behind after coming so close… Justin and Shades both opened fire on the creatures as Shelby opened up the throttle. With another vessel in tow, the Shorewind was slow getting up to speed, so it was a constant struggle to push back the unsettling onslaught. Especially while taking care not to shoot out any of the tow lines while they were at it. Just when it looked like they were about to get tangled in a glom of seaweed and dead limbs, both Shades and Justin having to let up to reload, they finally started accelerating enough to pull out ahead as their twisted attackers began losing ground by the second. In the Albatross’s wake, a few of them tried to cling to the pontoons, but Max popped out a couple windows with his power pistol to clear them off. Having narrowly escaped that macabre mess, they angled back closer to the shoreline and resumed course, Shelby informing them that they would be lucky to make it back to Pickford by nightfall at this rate. Too soon to celebrate, they all understood, the whole way around the peninsula, as they braced for the worst and hoped for the best.

1 note · View note

killcapitalizm · 7 years ago

Text

the louvre (no tw); peter parker

request; can you do an imagine where reader has a crush on peter even though he and michelle were dating in high school (which makes the reader distance themselves from the group) and after they graduate, peter finds them and says that he and michelle didn’t work out? then the reader finds out it was because he liked the reader the whole time. sorry if this is confusing and super long!!

word count; 2,981

warnings; angst, this wasnt edited

a/n; SSCREAMS IM SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG ugh im disappointed in myself.. theres gonna be more parts to this im currently writing the next one dw. listened to the louvre by lorde while writing this. love u

tags; @kaliforniacoastalteens

Your name: submit What is this?

You tried your absolute best to make some friends in each of your classes. You swallowed that familiar feeling of fear-filled blankness and managed to talk to one person in each of your classes. They all had their own pre-established friend groups that you knew you wouldn't be able to be a part of, but you gratefully settled for acquaintances that would give you a partner in class and someone to ask for notes when you were out for a day or two. You lived without a friend for the last four months of your senior year, right up to graduation where you saw Peter and Michelle kiss under the shade of a city tree in front of the school and then you caught Ned's eye later and his mirrored yours, but softer. Never before had you weeped over being unable to text a friend about how entirely shitty you felt because your mother was angry again and, more importantly, you missed them, but in that summer you stained your pillow at midnight as your back and legs and chest ached as if they were holding your bruising sorrows. Your parents weren't home that night when you were crying, crying for hours into the early, early morning. You cried until you had no more tears to cry, and you simply wailed to yourself, exhausted an drowsy but unable to sleep because you felt too terrible to be able to rest. Those kinds of nights don't happen often but you hate that they happen at all.

On your first day of your new job at a popular bookstore, you were glad it was chilly so that your red eyes and nose and cheeks were excusable. You brought eye drops and hoped the red would drain from your face before anybody noticed that it wasn't the cold causing it and you told yourself that if it did fade then you wouldn't have that night for another two months, and when you walked in you saw no one you knew until you turned your head and saw Ned, you saw Ned in the soft yellow light of the morning and you nearly cried because you saw him like that many times before, with Peter at sleepovers when you'd wake up early and again with Peter again when you'd walk to school with them. He saw you and smiled at you, and didn't look away in that don't-talk-to-me way but instead he glanced down at the empty area next to him behind the register then back up at you. You were terrified in that anxious, empty way but you yearned for a familiar friendship, so you walked over to him and spoke too much right away.

"I've missed you." You didn't sound polite or happy and that's what made it sincere.

"Oh, thank god," Ned says. "I thought it was one-sided."

"Is it?" You ask still, but you're smiling brightly for the first time since you cleared your phone contacts.

Ned snorts. "I would assume you'd infer from what I said that it's not, but whatever. I've missed you, too."

"It's okay," says Ned, "I forgive you." He forgave you twice, because he hadn't realized how satisfyingly pleasant it feels when someone doesn't have to apologize but they do with their heart.

"Thank you," you say, because he welcomed you after you had cut him off for so long and he shouldn't have smiled so dearly at you, and you're grateful.

Ned helps you with your new job that day, then that week, and into the next week. You add his number back onto your phone and write it down in your journal that you've stopped writing in ever since Peter told you with so much joy and love that he was dating Michelle. You try not to think of them, just of how much you missed him and her each as their own. If you think of them, then that night you'd weep and weep until you felt so pained and sick that you shook, curling up and holding yourself as you hoped you'd fall asleep. You don't tell Ned about those nights and you don't ask about them, you don't ask about Peter at all but you know he's talking about him when he says "my friend," or more often, "a buddy of mine."

You went home that day feeling more alone than not, despite the sudden vague reconnection with Peter. But you shouldn't be surprised, the thought of the boy has been a presence of loneliness for a while now. When you think of him, it's as if you're thinking yourself into a void, where you detach from the Earth, as if you exist in your body but your body does not exist in the world and it simply moves around in it. Sometimes you suspect that because you feel something so drastic and real that Peter wasn't the only cause of it, but it did you better to not think too deeply so that you don't return to work the next day with red eyes and darkish bags that hung underneath them. You went home that day and asked Ned to call you, because you hid your tears from him and knew that if he were with you in any way that you would be able to keep your promise of two months of freedom. When Ned was gone, you moved to the TV to distract you. Then you pulled out your phone and decided to read something, then opened up your laptop to watch a YouTube video, and after a minute you retrieved a book to read and a comic to look at– you were doing everything and nothing at once but what you weren't doing was sobbing and that was, in the end, what you wanted. You trembled a bit when you settled in bed that night, your body detached from the Earth for a while when you panicked in your (too) many thoughts of Peter and other things, although you don't remember what those other things are because its easier to just say one thing, despite him being the hardest thing to say at all. You had to stumble out of bed and lay on the ground– on your side because the very back of your head still hurt– look at things in your room one at a time, then listen to things outside one at a time, tell yourself what apricots and your favorite tea taste like before you could finally feel the carpet beneath you again. Your head spun with busyness and contradictions as you got back in bed, but you slept right away and that was all left to touch in the morning.

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker fanfic #spiderman #spider man #spiderman fanfic #spiderman homecoming #spiderman x reader #my writing

5 notes · View notes