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awesomerextyphoon · 4 years

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Slit Reflection

This is my entry for @jtargaryen18’s Haunted House 2020 Challenge. Mine was Sam Wilson. Credit for dividers goes to @firefly-graphics. Check them out!

Summary: You’ve always loved Halloween, especially the haunted house at the edge of the woods. So happens when the ‘Star Spangled Trio’ enters the mix?

Pairing: Demon King!Sam Wilson x Black!Reader (Fem)

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 3,054

Warning: Kidnapping, Forced Marriage, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Stalking, Breeding Kink, Mentions of Torture, and Non-Con/Dub-Con Smut. You have been warned.

Back to Masterlist

You’ve always loved Halloween. It was your birthday and the haunted house at the edge of the woods gave the best spooks and thrills. It was your first Halloween after undergrad and this year was different.

The Star Spangled Trio were celebrity guests and they were bringing two of the old rooms back!

It took you six days to get a ticket. You tried getting one online, every shop in town, but got nothing.

Finally, a new face at the library took pity on you and gave you the last ticket along with a book on demon folklore. You thanked the new librarian and rushed out of the building. Had you looked back you would’ve noticed a smirk on their face and their sclera and pupils turning black and gold respectively.

Halloween—the day of your birth—was here, and it was shit. Your toothbrush broke, your car refused to start, the job that you desperately wanted was dashed by yet another rejection email, and both your student loan and rent checks bounced. You just need to get through today.

You missed the cutoff, but got in because the person working the line was a family friend. Anxiously, you wait in line wondering how the haunted house in your small ass town managed to nab the Star Spangled Trio when you noticed the excited expressions of the people leaving. Now you’re super anxious.

By the time you entered the haunted house, you’re doing the breathing exercises to calm yourself. This was it! You were finally going to meet your all time heroes (and possible spank bank entries)!

The first few rooms were your typical haunted house fare which you loved, but were secondary to your excitement in seeing your heroes. Maybe you could get an autograph and hug from them!

You were about to follow the person in front of you into the haunted house’s hospital room when you noticed a light flickering to your left. It revealed a door done in the Neo-classical design with some Latin text engraved in the middle (had you studied Latin , you would’ve known that the text read “Reveal yourself, my beloved”).

Opening the door, you saw that it lead to the Hall of Mirrors. This part of the haunted house was always a favorite of yours, but both the itinerary and the ticket worker said that it was closed this year. The hall itself was chillingly quite and pristine as if no one else had stepped foot inside this season.

All of the mirrors looked standard for the haunted house; some of them made you laugh or briefly catch your breath. The one at the end of the hall caught you off-guard. It was at least 12ft (about 3.66m) high with intricate carvings of characters out of dark folklore and a single diagonal slit.

You were about to turn away when you saw nothing thinking it was a small haunted house joke at your expense when the mirror flashed.

In your place was the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen, but it still looked like you..sort of. Your hair was long, luxurious and gently flowing. Your eyebrows, eyelashes, and nails were immaculate. Your nose was adorably broad and your lips were sensually full (the type of full women would shell hundred’s if not thousands of dollars for). You wore a diadem with thick gold chains ladened with diamonds, onyx, and rubies and around your neck was a ruby and onyx amulet. You were dressed in a loose, yet sleeveless form-fitting Vivaldi red gown with hints of fiery red and a thin rosewood colored shoulder veil connected to the dress by a ruby broach in the middle of your cleavage.

You looked about four or five inches taller and the mirror version of you made you feel nervous about your curves being out on display.

Curious, you reached out to touch the mirror. Your hand was less than a centimeter away when your mirrored self opened it eyes. Suddenly, it grew curved horns and its eyes glowed pale gold.

The mirrored version of you grabbed your outstretched arm and dragged you through the mirror all while you screamed hoping someone would come to your rescue, but to no avail.

Samael, or ‘Sam’ was notified of your departure and the trio had to excuse themselves from the festivities to congratulate Sam on finding his bride.

You woke up with a start and shout clawing the air but stopped once you realized that you weren’t falling anymore. Instead, you were in a huge, opulent room filled with treasures that not even Windsor Castle had. Curiosity seemed to have taken hold of you because you walked out onto the connecting balcony to find that you were on a different planet/dimension/realm, whatever!

There were floating landmasses (the smallest of which was the size of your small town) and five planets ranging from Moonbow Gold to Venetian Red in color.

You thought about where the fuck you were and how you could get back home when a voice interrupted your thoughts.

The source of the voice was a demon with Antique Ruby skin with reddish gray undertones and Cinnabar and Rosewood colored hair. She had two short outward curved horns with a gold chain and aquamarine teardrop connecting them. Her eyes were an inviting aqua blue eyes with a dark red sclera.

“Hello! My name is Scheherazade, but you can call me Sherry. I’m your Lady in Waiting. I’ve brought some food.” Sherry offered as she set the tray of food on a small table next to a dresser.

You smiled cautiously at your new elevated handmaiden,”Do you know why I’m-”

“Oh, I almost forgot! We need to get you ready for your presentation!”

The Fuck?!

“What do you mean ‘presentation’?,” you asked as nicely as possible, but reality came out more like a demand.

Sherry stopped her ministrations and faced you,”Well, when the monarch, crown prince, or princess declares their mate, they are presented to the royal court,” she then returned to her task of finding a suitable dress for you not catching the mortified expression on your face.

This day can’t get any worse. Wait?

“What time is it?”

“Oh, yes, It’s pretty much always night here. The sun only comes out for three hours. Would you look at the time! Everyone’s waiting!”

“One last question,” you started as Sherry began dressing you,”Who am I marrying?”

“Why my second cousin, King Samael, one of the Three Demon Kings, of course!”

You fought the impulse to faint.

It took thirty minutes for Sherry to make you look unrecognizable. Thankful for her assistance, you followed the floating torches to the throne room. The throne room was an enormous room with high wide vaulted arches, delicately carved pillars and columns, and a small bridge connecting the ground at the door to the center. The court comprised of beautiful yet fearsome demons of all shapes and sizes.

The king himself was seated on a grand, ornate throne atop a huge dais with at least 25 steps. He seemed familiar.

As soon as you were passed the threshold, the king raised his head and everyone stopped talking and cleared a path for you. Several courtiers whispered as you striddled towards the dais. When you finally reached the dais, the king got off his throne and walked down the steps to greet you.

You almost face-palmed. The king was Sam Wilson! Or at least, looked like him.

Sam for his part was devastatingly handsome. He had a tall, powerful build, broad shoulders, bulging biceps, muscular thighs, short well-kept hair and beard with surprisingly kind eyes.

“You’re even more beautiful than I imagined,” Sam uttered as he pulled you in for a hug. You could’ve sworn he sniffed your hair, but you didn’t want to go into that right now.

“Everyone!” The court turned to the throne,” Thank you for coming. I have finally found my bride. We will be married tomorrow night!” Sam exclaimed to thunderous cheers and applause. He slipped on a magnificent ruby and diamond engagement ring with a black gold band.

You could not believe this, “I can’t-,” you started, but Sam discreetly grabbed your wrist, “Pre-wedding jitters,” and led you to a side room.

You expected him to hit or yell at you like so many other royals in a similar setting, but instead he gave a sad smile and asked if you were truly happy in your old life. You thought about your crushing debt, little to no job prospects, both parents dead, no friends and you had to admit your life did suck, but he didn’t get to decide.

Disappointed, Sam casted a small compliance spell and pulled you in for a kiss. Your pupils blew out in lust and you lost yourself. When he finally decided to break for air, Sam stated that you will be his bride and he will not be denied any longer. You smiled and gave him a short but passionate kiss. He moaned but had to end it before he went too far.

Tomorrow night he promised himself.

He quickly called for Sherry to return you to your quarters.

Sherry woke you up the next ‘morning’ with a small army of beauty experts and maids.

“Rise and shine, Your Grace! We’ve got a bride to present!” Sherry proclaimed.

Damn it! It wasn’t a nightmare.

They managed to stuff you into a marvel of a wedding dress. It was a Torch Red long-sleeved mermaid wedding dress with soft yet detailed lace work made to look like an enchanted forest, diamond, dark ruby and pearl beads, and a floor length train. On your head was a black gold spiked sunburst goddess with deep ruby roses and a simple ruby teardrop chain that rested on your forehead, the ends of which were wrapped around your horns.

“Not even Lilith could compare, Your Grace!” Sherry gushed at her handiwork.

The wedding procession and ceremony was done in a swift fashion as Sam didn’t want to wait much longer. The vows were short as well. You wanted to object, call for help, anything but a voice in the back of your mind beat you to it.

A couple hours into the wedding festivities, Sam announced that it was time for he and his new queen to retire and led you to his quarters. It’s the fanciest suite you’ve ever seen dripping with luxurious reds, violets, and obsidian.

In all your awing of Sam’s quarters, you failed to notice him approaching you in only a simple loose shirt and trousers. He gently put his hands on your exposed shoulders,”Alone at last, my love.”

You recoiled, “Can’t we wait for a few days? It’s just…” you trailed off as soon as his jovial expression vanished replaced with something darker and hungrier.

“I’ve waited for so long to have you here with me, love,” Sam confessed while you moved towards the exit,”and I will not be denied any longer!”

In an instant, Sam pulled you in for a demanding kiss. He pushed his tongue past your lips moaning when your tongue tepidly danced with his own and from the sweet taste of your mouth. He pushed you onto a bed that had to three times the size of a California King and his lips moved jaw and neck, egged on by needy whimpers and moans.

He took his time ripping off your gown, enjoying the view like a child on Christmas, ”Fuck, you’re so beautiful. Utter perfection,” Sam murmured as he watched your breasts bounced free. He alternated between sucking and pinching your nipples with his hands and mouth,”I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he whispered in your left ear and he continued to play with your breasts like a concert-level musician. All the while moaned and cried out feeling pleasure you never thought possible.

Once satisfied with his handiwork with your chest, Sam’s hands roamed over your stomach and hips followed by strategically placed butterfly kisses that made you squirm. He tore off the last of your wedding gown causing you to hiss at the sudden sensation of cold air touching your pussy.

You used your last bit of willpower to plead, “Please stop! I’ve never-,” Sam stopped and raised his head to look at you.

“I know, love. I’ll be your first and only,” and with that, he gives your folds one long, slow lick and growled at your sweet and tangy taste, “I’ve wondered how you’d taste. You’re even better than the best Kharian wine. I could get used to this.”

He dove back in and played your pussy for all it was worth. His tongue worked its magic stroking and circling your clit sending you higher and higher into euphoria. Sam kept you right on the edge of an orgasm, just enough to beg for release.

“Say you’re mine!,” you mewled in response, to blissed out to use words. “Say it or I’ll leave!”

“Please let me cum, My King!” you cried out when he thrusted two fingers into your pussy.

“That’s a good girl. Now,”Sam started as he vigorously rubbed your pussy,”cum for me, love.”

Your orgasm came like a tsunami and Sam made sure finish his feast.

You got out of your post-oral haze to see Sam looming over in all his naked glory. His body must’ve been made by the gods because it was divine. His frame was an ode to sexiness wrapped in sinful warm sepia skin.

Sam caught you biting your lower lip and cocked his head, “Like what you see?”

Damn that cocky bastard, but damn if he wasn’t right. Part of you wanted to fuck his brains out…and that was before you saw his cock. Standing proud and erect with angry veins, his cock had to be the biggest you’ve ever seen (not like you had much exposure, just a few pornos).

Sam crawled up to you, lifted your chin and gave a soft kiss on the lips sensing your unease, “Relax, love,” He then lined his cock to your entrance and slid in as gently as he could.

You hissed from the pain, he was just so damn big. Sam praised you on how well you fit around him like ‘you were made for him’. Once the pain subsided, you bucked your hips into his causing him to moan at the sensation. He smiled at your eagerness and picked up the pace, making his thrusts come out to just the tip was in you and slamming back into you. You cried out his name each time he filled you to the hilt, pleading with him to go faster. Soon he reached your G-Spot causing to orgasm again, this time with you crossing your eyes and coming with a squirt.

Not too long after your second orgasm, Sam came with an otherworldly roar and glowing bright gold eyes shooting rope after rope of thick cum into your womb. He then flipped you onto your stomach and forced you onto your hands and knees so that he could take you from behind.

He got ten orgasms from you, each one more mind-blowing than the last. Once he was satisfied, he let you sleep.

“Soon you will be round with my seed, and we will have many children. I can’t wait.”

Ah hour after you closed your eyes, Sam left his, now yours, quarters. “Make sure she doesn’t leave,” he orders the guards although, he’s confident that she’s not going anywhere with the way he hammered her.

He strode down the corridors until he reached the dungeon. There, he found a rather nice looking apartment-style cell with only one prisoner, your mother.

“I’ve taken your daughter. Do you want to see her before you go?”

You see, Samael, Mikael (Bucky), and Stelios (Steve) were demon warlords who began conquering kingdoms left and right 1200yrs ago. They fought their way to the last free kingdom, Kharan. By the time your grandparents were brought before them, they had killed your uncle, the heir to the throne. The king and queen begged for their lives and the kingdom to be spared.

The trio agreed on one condition: if the next child the queen bears is a girl, then she would be Sam’s mate (Mikael and Stelios already had mates).

The king reluctantly agreed. The queen gave birth four months later to a girl, but she was in demon form. The queen had two of her most trusted attendants spirit the child away to another realm and raised her as their own.

Sam had your grandparents slaughtered and razed Kharan to the ground for their trickery. No matter, he was immortal. He would bide his time.

Eventually, your mother was told about her true parentage and form. She learned to control her powers, found love and she too was with child.

Sam found her a week before she went into labor and said that it was time to collect. She promised you in her stead immediately in hopes that it would buy her some time.

It did. She was able to pass you, a cambion, off to a friend of hers who wanted a child but couldn’t conceive and gave Sam a fake baby. He had your mother thrown into the dungeons.

Sam searched for you, but discovered that your mother put a cloaking spell on you. So, he approached your mother with a deal: her freedom for you becoming his mate.

It took your mother three years of torture for her to say yes.

Once the spell was lifted, Sam went to work. He made sure your adopted parents had a little ‘accident’ when you were old enough to take care of yourself, made sure that no one would want to hire you, and saddled you with debt. He even got Mikael and Stelios to pose as ‘The Star Spangled Trio’ with him to finally get you to the Hall of Mirrors.

Your mother bowed her head in shame, “No. It’s best for her to believe that I don’t exist.”

Sam unlocked the cell door with a simple spell, “You’re free to go. Have a nice life,” and returned to his quarters to be with his mate and queen.

Your mother took one last look at the palace,”I’m sorry, my little moon and stars,” and disappeared into the night.

Taglist: @jtargaryen18 @threeminutesoflife @giorno-plays-piano @lookiamtrying @sherrybaby14 @opheliadawnwalker3 @life-of-yn @mcudarklibrary @marvelfansworld @imdarkinme @sapphirescrolls @samingtonwilson @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @pseudonymphet @dahkness @saiyanprincessswanie @golden-ariess @chixkencxrry @anyatheladyclown @stargazingfangirl18 @saint-bvcky @cherienymphe @iguessweallcrazyithinktho @cockslut-padalecki

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haunthouse · 4 years

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welcome to a meta that, in retrospect, seems glaringly obvious, but that has hit me like a freight train this morning. we’re talking about the lonely as a ghost story.

ghosts as an entity are inherently about disconnect. but kaylee, i hear you say, ghosts are dead people, wouldn’t that make them in the end’s domain? but when it comes down to it, death is a good framing device for ghosts (and yeah, it’s necessary to make ghosts), but people don’t tell ghost stories just because they’re afraid of death. ghost stories are told because ghosts are irrevocably disconnected from the living in a way that terrifies us — sometimes they’re intentionally scary, knocking shit around or yelling boo!, but a lot of the time they’re just... there. and that’s the terrifying part. something that’s there and shouldn’t be; something that can’t interact with the world around it and is completely, utterly, terrifyingly alone.

ghost stories are about isolation, about being a person without any of the framework that being a person requires, without society or connection or love. being unseen and unheard and unknown to all around you — and trying so hard to reverse all those un-words, to be seen, heard, known. that’s exactly the domain of the lonely!

and onto the meat of this meta: all nine lonely-centric statements (and the journey of one martin blackwood) through the lens of ghost stories.

(spoilers for mag170 at the end, but each episode section is clearly marked, so feel free to skip it if you haven’t gotten that far yet!)

MAG013: ALONE

the first lonely statement we get (and also the first in-person statement! which is such a good inversion of the lonely being about lack of connection! jon doesn’t do a great job of comforting naomi, but he does stay with her as she gives the statement when she asks!! that’s beside the point but it is something i really love), and right off the bat, the ghost vibes are off the charts.

truly i am feeling absolutely idiotic for not really thinking about the ghosts-lonely connection before now because this statement? peak ghost story.

naomi’s fiance dies. naomi has several near-death experiences (crashes her car, then is hit by another car and winds up in the hospital), which is also a staple in a lot of ghost stories; nearly dying is set up as a way to get the living closer to the realm of ghosts, able to interact with them more clearly. it was a dark and foggy night in a graveyard, and standing at evan’s (open, empty) grave, naomi hears his disembodied voice leading her home.

when ghost stories are told from a distance, they’re about the horror of it — disembodied howling, faces in the window that keep you up at night. but when they’re told by someone close to the now-ghost, they’re love stories. it’s my grandmother hearing her father’s breathing one last time after his death, giving her a chance to say goodbye. it’s a familiar and loving presence, comforting you. that’s what naomi’s story is — the ghost of evan showing his love for her one final time.

MAG033: BOATSWAIN’S CALL

so, ships are meant to be places of community, right? ron @gerrydelano has a really good post about this regarding shanties. but ghost ships are an established trope of ghost stories: the inversion of what a ship should be, lacking all life and community, silently traversing the waters on its own.

the tundra is a ghost ship. it’s quiet (”very quiet... it was like they were doing everything in their power not to think about each other”) — the people there move around one another as if none of them are there, all so taken by the lonely. their cargo containers are empty. all they’re transporting on that ship is the ghosts of those aboard.

this episode falls into the trope of ghosts want the living to join them — though there’s still a mourning atmosphere when sean kelly is taken fully by the lonely, that final bit of life on the ship extinguished. (”no one said a word, but i could have sworn a few of my shipmates were crying.”)

MAG048: LOST IN THE CROWD

this one’s one of my favorites! andrea nunis’ statement deals with different kinds of loneliness — she begins it with explaining that she prefers to travel alone, but later, that loneliness is something terrifying. she’s in a crowd of unrecognizable people, unable to fit herself into the world she’s seeing — she’s completely separate from the rest of the world. she’s a ghost.

“it wasn’t italian being spoken ... or any other language i recognized. the more i listened, the more i realized it wasn’t a language. there were no words, it was just noise.” “their faces were a blur, each and every one of them.” and, the crowning point: “i tried to talk to them or to shout, to scream at them, but there was no reaction.”

by being taken in by the lonely, andrea’s been turned into a ghost. she cannot interact with or even recognize her environment, and that’s the real horror — it isn’t just being alone, it’s being surrounded by something that should be familiar; a crowd is something she’s been in a thousand times, as someone who travels a lot, and people are the most familiar thing in the world, like looking in a mirror! but it isn’t. everything is strange and she is outside of it all and that’s what a ghost is.

and her connection to her mother is what pulls her out. people have talked at length about how love is the antidote to the lonely so i won’t go on too long about that, but the connection between that & ghosts’ relationships to the living often being what keeps them around is sure something.

also, after getting out of the lonely andrea says “i made sure i was always in sight of at least one other person” — and there’s something to be said there about needing to be seen to be real.

chiara @red-reys brought up this feuerbach quote which fits very well: “that which i alone perceive i doubt; only that which the other also perceives is certain.” being the only one to perceive something (for example, a ghost), or the only one who is utterly unperceived, is a very lonely thing — it isolates you entirely from those who do not perceive it. being perceived, or having someone else see what you see, can give you an anchor.

wow i’m sure that won’t come back later!

also, far be it from me to talk about this statement without mentioning gerry keay. because it means something that he’s the one to give andrea the tools she needs to pull herself out of the lonely. gerry is someone completely lacking in human connection, who is literally haunted by the ghost of his mother and later is seen as a ghost himself. gerry doesn’t have friends; he tells jon “i always wanted my friends to call me gerry,” but in a tone that makes it clear he didn’t have anyone who could’ve. and of course he didn’t. a life so entwined with the entities and cut so short, a life so ruled by the cruelty of others that he certainly did not want to rope anyone else into.

though gerry’s never directly stated to be affected by the lonely, he’s certainly lowercase-L lonely at the very least, and he’s certainly got enough experience with ghosts to understand the lonely.

gerry is the trope of the helpful spirit. he’s the ghost who’ll give you directions on a deserted road and disappear when you turn around. he gives jon the information he needs to understand the entities, he gives andrea the information she needs to not become a ghost.

MAG057: PERSONAL SPACE

alright so this one is, admittedly, more cosmic horror than anything else, but if y’all’ve seen any of my comics you probably know i’m very passionate about space ghosts & haunted spaceships. and as such, i’m extremely interested in how the daedalus mission echoes ghost stories.

carter chilcott’s story pretty directly acts as a ghost story — unable to communicate with the others on the ship even when he tries, unable to interact with the world to the point of looking out the window at one point to find the world entirely missing. this is all stuff i’ve said already about the other statements, so i’m glossing past it, because what interests me more is the daedalus as malicious architecture.

because the daedalus was created specifically for this union between vast, lonely, and dark (all of which i think have significant ghostly tie-ins). everything about how the ship itself and the mission came to be is a mystery, even to those involved — manuela says “i don’t know how he convinced the lukases and fairchilds to help finance the project,” “i don’t know if they were working on rituals of their own,” “exactly how the launch was arranged, i couldn’t tell you.”

a piece of the traditional haunted house is a sort of timelessness, and mystery inherent in its building. hill house in shirley jackson’s haunting of hill house “seemed somehow to have formed itself, flying together into its own powerful pattern under the hands of its builders... it was a house without kindness, never meant to be lived in, not a place fit for people or for love or for hope.” the oldest house in the game control is malicious architecture at its finest, and it’s called the oldest house. it predates people. it exists as a giant piece of brutalist architecture smack dab in the middle of new york, but no one knows why or how it came to be. as a real-world example: the winchester mystery house is wrapped up in mythos about its creation. was sarah winchester just a lonely old woman with a hobby for architectural design, or did she create endlessly spiraling staircases and doorways with a steep drop into the yard to keep ghosts away? who knows! we sure do like to speculate, though.

yes, i’ve talked about this in tma metas before. highly recommend jacob geller’s control, anatomy, and the legacy of the haunted house for more of this content.

even manuela dominguez, the only person on the daedalus mission who actually knew what she was doing and wasn’t just there to be a victim of entities they did not understand, does not know how the mission came to be.

and the entire purpose of this spacecraft is to be malicious to its inhabitants! the very architecture is meant to make the people within into perfect snacks for their respective entities! the station is cramped (”so cramped that i could only fully stretch out in the section used to exercise,” says jan kilbride), but when the vast takes hold it’s suddenly endless — “a hollow pretense of a shell that did nothing to separate me from the void.” (cue me shouting about how much trust we put in the places we live, and whether or not that trust is warranted, how easily it can be turned against us!)

a few other bits of this statement that really echo ghost stories: “twice i was woken up by the sound of the door opening, only to find it as tight as it had ever been. throughout the daytime i would occasionally hear footsteps, which shouldn’t even have been possible in zero gravity.” and then the empty, ghostly spacesuit that floats past chilcott’s window — there are so many stories about disembodied wedding dresses or mourningwear walking the halls silently, so why not a spacesuit?

i started this section saying this statement was more cosmic horror than ghost story but i’m finishing it by saying this is actually one of the clearest representations of haunted architecture in the whole podcast. (other examples off the top of my head include upon the stair & a cosy cabin, the latter of which i actually already wrote a meta about.)

MAG092: NOTHING BESIDE REMAINS

the moment i started thinking about the lonely-ghosts connection i remembered this episode, because it’s so clear. complete disconnect, existing entirely alone in a shadow of the world you once knew, unable to interact with the living in any way.

very small bit but. “as the cab pulled away, it seemed to have no driver that i could discern” vs the theme of ghost carriages in older ghost stories. i am looking directly at it.

barnabas bennett can “almost think i hear the mocking joy of my friends, but there is nobody here.” he can see evidence that life continues around him, unseen — “i know that what is done by those i cannot see might be felt here — i have found glasses broken and pages torn that were not so the night before.” just as a ghost is unseen to the living, the reverse is true: bennett can see others having an impact on the world in small ways, and his letter is found by jonah, but he can’t really affect the world in any real way.

MAG108: MONOLOGUE

this one is so exciting to me because theater ghosts are a huge trope in ghost stories! theater people are some of the most superstitious people you’ll ever meet! especially regarding ghosts having an impact on their shows — there’s the superstition regarding The Scottish Play™, the tradition of leaving a ghost light on onstage to appease the spirits. there’s that time all the kids in my production of brigadoon when i was in middle school circled around the makeup mirrors to play bloody mary and got thoroughly chewed out by the adults in the cast. theater’s full’a ghosts!

(i think it’s something about the intense amounts of history behind it — and how, in playing a part that a thousand people have played before, you’re echoing their exact words, becoming a repetition of those long gone. and on a stage, blinding lights in your face washing out any view of the audience — you could, technically, leave the stage and interact with the people down there, but it seems pretty entirely impossible when you’re up there. you’re being perceived but can’t see in return. you’re essentially a ghost putting on a show for the living on a loop.)

the statement-giver for this one, adonis biros, echoes a lot of those sentiments, actually. “your words heard by no one — and in that no one, an entire universe.” “have you ever had stage lights in your eyes? ...you can look out into the audience and see nothing at all. just you.”

i said before that “when ghost stories are told from a distance, they’re about the horror of it — disembodied howling, faces in the window that keep you up at night.” the disconnect between the anonymous audience and the singular actor onstage makes the distance here extreme — so this is the sort of ghost story that’s unquestionably a horror story, focusing on the most chilling aspects of ghosts. their inhumanity, their anonymity. the theater masks adonis sees in the audience are “empty. it was a hollow shape of a man that had no life, no presence to it.” even adonis himself says he “had no doubt that what i had seen was some sort of specter or omen.”

he sees a “masked mockery of a human figure” in a window while walking at night. ghosts looking through windows is enough of a trope that once, when i went on a ghost tour in williamsburg, at least half the stories were about people seeing ghostly faces in windows, and i completely freaked out when i saw someone moving around in one of the houses before realizing, oh, some of them are still actually occupied.

this one’s undoubtably a collaboration between stranger and lonely, but i think that intersection’s one of the best for ghost stories — something not-quite-human-anymore, if it ever was, haunting you.

MAG150: CUL-DE-SAC

a lot of the bare bones of this statement are things i’ve already covered, so i’m not gonna go too in-depth on it. herman gorgoli’s statement is about disconnect (from alberto, and then from the rest of humanity), about isolation, about houses-gone-wrong (his and alberto’s house in cheadle, which he views by the end as a place imprisoning him, and the titular cul-de-sac).

we’ve seen the malicious architecture trope in the form of the daedalus already, but this time it’s on earth. it’s something that should, by all rights, be familiar. the houses in the suburbs are all the same, but it’s at least a sameness you know. but they’re all bereft of any irregularities, ghostly echoes of what a house should be.”there were no lights on in any of the houses.” he even finds a dead body in one of the houses — but the woman who’s body he finds is not the one haunting them.

it’s herman haunting the neighborhood, until his love for alberto brings him out. herman making his way through houses he cannot interact with in any meaningful way, whos details he cannot interpret. “how many corpses lay waiting behind the placid facade of this endless false suburbia?” he wonders, and i have to imagine he’s also wondering if he’s already joined their ranks, if he’s the haunting in a haunted house.

and connection brings him back and the houses are no longer empty, no longer waiting for a ghost to take resident in their hallways.

MAG159: THE LAST (& martin’s journey in season four, generally)

we’ve all analyzed 159 within an inch of its life but i’m here to do it again, with the context of martin’s whole journey into the lonely. because the lonely turns people into ghosts. the lonely takes away humanity and life and leaves a hollow echo in its wake.

literally the powers lonely avatars have involve turning invisible. what else is often associated with invisibility? ghosts. checkmate. i’m running out of steam a bit but i swear these are good points i’m making. trust me.

what makes ghost stories so good is that even if the narrator is not a ghost themselves, just experiencing a ghost puts them at a fundamental disconnect from society. it’s something disbelieved by so many people. (there’s parallels to be made with mental illness here, but i... don’t really feel like making them right now. they’re definitely there, as is the very potent lonely-depression connection that made ep170 hit so hard for so many of us.) in hill house, the more eleanor is wrapped up in the goings-on of the house, the less she’s able to relate to the other people there. the closer martin becomes to the lonely, the less he’s able to talk to the people around him — he’s told not to talk to them by lukas, but he’s also just... unable to relate. their experiences are different than his, at this point.

nicole @brunetteauthorette99 said something really good in our conversation about this, about ghosts “being stuck in... spaces that have moved on without them, reenacting their defining moments in life over and over again without the possibility of change.”

martin is stuck in the institute. he probably has an apartment, but we don’t see it, and i can’t imagine he as he is by season four has put much effort into decorating it or making it feel like a home. every place is impersonal — somewhere he exists without really living.

and the institute moves on without him. jon goes into the coffin and martin doesn’t know until he’s already in there. and martin can impact his environment only in small ways — leaving tape recorders on the coffin in an attempt to anchor jon home, leaving the tape of jon’s victim for melanie, basira, and daisy to find. he will not or cannot speak to or touch other living beings, just move objects around in a desperate attempt to get a message across, a ouija board of tapes and post-it notes. his moment of rejecting the lonely’s plans in 158 is dropping the knife peter has given him — another expression more through his interactions with his environment than any human connection.

martin says the lonely always had him, and with how much his story revolves around people who may as well be ghosts, that’s true. his father disappeared and left only the image martin had of him in his mind, only the echo he himself provided in the mirror, the ghost of someone who hurt him overlaid on his own reflection. his mother was only present so far as she could be malicious, disapproving; a vengeful ghost, taking out the revenging instinct she had for martin’s father on martin. and then everyone else martin cares about dies — sasha’s gone and not!sasha acts as her malicious echo for a while; tim dies; jon dies. and yeah, he comes back — but he’s different. a ghost of sorts. martin’s already pretty ghostly by then, too.

so martin is, essentially, a ghost throughout season four, and probably beforehand, as well. jon literally! asks martin! if he is a ghost! in season one! which brings us to 159: “are you real?” martin asks the first living person he’s really talked to in who-knows-how-long. because martin doesn’t feel real, so how could anyone else be? “nothing hurts here” may be a contradiction of the literal experience of ghosts we see in tma (gerry saying “it hurts, being like this”), but is a very real perception of ghosts in ghost mythology as beings beyond pain, beyond the suffering of being alive. sometimes they exist to cause others that suffering they can no longer feel, but a lot of the time, they’re just melancholy, having forgotten what it’s like to be a person or hanging on just enough to yearn to return to that feeling of life.

“i’m the reason he... i did this to him as much as you,” jon says. in ghost terms: martin died for him. of course his connection to jon, then, would be the only thing able to bring him back.

mag159 is an orpheus/eurydice story — people have made posts about that before, i’m sure, and i have too, how jon and martin invert the orpheus archetype by being saved rather than damned by the act of sight. and it feels obvious to state it, but for clarity: eurydice dies. orpheus, alive, tries to save eurydice from the underworld, where she is a spirit, a ghost, an echo of herself.

MAG170: RECOLLECTION — (SPOILER WARNING!)

this episode is the reason i’m making this post, but i may as well copy-and-paste the entire transcript for this section, because there is truly not a single part of it that doesn’t resonate as a ghost story.

the lonely house as a malicious location. the chairs are all uncomfortable, the house is large enough that just by wandering it (as a ghost might) martin grows tired enough to sit in them regardless. the decorations are wrong — all the rooms are the same and martin doesn’t like it, said he doesn’t know “why i’d decorate my house like this.”

it isn’t a small house. there’s a reason a lot of ghost stories take place in twisting mansions where you can never quite find your way back to where you started. ghost stories thrive on that isolation, that loneliness — if you see a ghost while you’re alone, are you sure you’ll be believed? doesn’t that just isolate you further? architecture can twist around those within it until they’re trapped, doomed to haunt it themselves. “it's such a - such a big house, my house, there must be other people!” martin says.

but the only others in the house are ghosts like martin.

“hundreds, thousands of lost souls, wandering the halls. hollow memories, with eyes full of tears. i’ve seen them. they’re all trying to remember.”

“i found someone else, wandering around. they were all thin and gray. faded. like they’d been here for ages.”

the ghosts cannot remember their names, why they are there, whether or not it is their house they exist in. they’ve become near-inseparable from the fog around them and the architecture that holds them hostage.

and the house itself, it takes all of that, and its quirks — the size, the chairs, the decorations, all of which martin openly does not like — are all made from the people haunting it. the house is wrong because the people within it can no longer change it. martin’s comment on the decorations sticks with me because it’s such a simple example of this: presumably, he could affect the house in some way in the past, but he no longer can, and he’s stuck with the results of his past mistakes, echoing over and over from room to room. the impacts remain even when the people have faded so far as to be practically nonexistent.

and once again: love is what makes him remember, over and over. he remembers jon, and then the lonely steals that memory — but the remembering is what’s important, because the act of loving anchors martin, and it helps him remember who he is, repeating his name over and over.

ghosts lack identity. whether it’s because they’ve been forgotten by all who knew them in life, whether it’s because it’s too painful to hold onto that when they can no longer do anything with it — we assign names to ghost stories, connect them to the living, but there’s always a disconnect there.

and that’s what helps jon find him, helps martin keep himself from fading out again. and even jon says “you were faint” upon finding martin. martin was a ghost haunting that house.

but not anymore.

the lonely is a ghost story. the lonely is about people who’ve become unmoored from human connection and their own identities, who haunt places, or who’ve been lured into places that are hauntings in and of themselves and have no choice but to take up residence as ghosts within those walls.

and ghost stories, often, are love stories. love keeps us tethered to life, and love is what saves people from the lonely, over and over again.

#the magnus archives #tma meta #martin blackwood #the lonely #mag170 #kaylee.txt #kaylee.meta #dfgkjngfd HELLO i didn't mean for this to get quite so long but ty if anyone actually reads it!!!!#this is longer than most fics i write. whoops.

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Healing isn’t always a painless experience.

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Ciel and Xanthic were already at the Polendina Facility when Winter’s summon landed. Aro was still sleeping, and without any knees she was a little difficult to carry but May figured out a way to gently cradle Aro against her.

Xanthic scowled and jogged up to them, “Dr. Polendina and my bots just finished a room for her,” May nodded and quietly left. Xanthic then glared at Winter who was already a little exhausted, “And you! Just because she’s not in critical condition doesn’t mean you can just run off with her!” She nearly yelled. Her voice then dipped into a whisper, “Second, tell me before you bust her out! There was a lot of witnesses but I erased the footage anyway.”

“You know Aro doesn’t do well in confined spaces,” Winter argued. Knowing she gets rather stubborn and impulsive behavior is less controlled when she’s angry, Penny concluded she snuck Aro out without thinking, “Staying there would have caused unnecessary stress and panic.”

Xanthic frowned. She calmed a little and crossed her arms, “You don’t want to take that fall, Schnee.” She said carefully. Penny stepped next to Winter and was a little surprised to see a subdued expression. Ciel and Penny exchanged confused and lightly concerned glances. Xanthic didn’t sneer but instead walked inside the facility with her partner.

“That seemed like it was more than it appeared…” Penny noted.

“Xanthic censors a lot of the rumors that circulate around our little social circle,” Winter explained. Her voice had a weary edge to it and her expression was a little sad, “She was just reminding me to be careful.”

For now her processors where trying to find a solution to a problem other people were more than capable of handling. She knew Aurora was okay whenever her partner was in her immediate vicinity but once May took her inside, Penny started to worry. Winter took her hand again and held it tight for a moment.

“I want you to hear this from me,” Winter started it. For some reason it activated Penny’s fight protocols. She may have squeezed her hand harder than necessary but the soldier pushed on. “Aro nearly ended up in a coma.”

Penny’s felt like she was in zero gravity again. Her gyroscope spinning wildly as she fumbled for the ground she firmly stood on. She watched Winter’s calm face slowly slip into worry.

Then Penny felt too many things at once.

She squeezed Winter’s hand, consciously harder than she should, “You shouldn’t have snuck her out.” Winter flinched a little, she did nod in agreement. Then an immense fear and worry. Aurora told them she was okay but what if that changes. “What if she gets worse!”

Winter gave her a small smile. It was completely unguarded and even her strong shoulders relaxed. “I’ve known Aurora for years now. She survived worse.”

“Her brain nearly melted!” Penny’s Aura built up in her eyes. It was pressure that couldn’t escape and glitched out her ability to focus. Her eyes kept wandering until Winter gently cupped her cheek.

Her pale face was the only thing her frying processors could focus on. She looked confused, thumb brushing near the corner of her water-less eyes. Penny threw herself into Winter’s arms. She was hugged tightly but her Aura still felt like it was pushing at all of her seams.

“She survived the reason she has those cybernetics didn’t she?” Winter murmured.

“I… I don’t want to hear it.” Penny choked. Every system and protocol was conflicting with each other and her synthetic voice came out uneven. “Reason and rational isn’t working right now. I know Aurora is going to be okay but- but it doesn’t feel like it!”

“Sometimes you need to ride through it,” Winter whispered. Penny found her eyes closed, face pressed to her chest. “What can I do to help you?”

“I don’t know!”

“… And that’s okay. We’ll figure it out, Penn.”

For a moment Penny thought everything went offline. She heard a soft and steady beeping along with the sound of breathily purrs and a light snoring. When she finally opened her eyes she slowly focused on Winter. She was tired, worry pinching her brows and corner of her lips. She still stood strong yet the ungloved hand that cupped Aurora’s sleeping face was gentle.

So light Penny felt like if she looked away it would float away from memory. Instead another one drifted in, You should kiss her, her simulators and memory must have malfunctioned at the same time because in her head she heard May’s voice instead of Winters and Penny knew something about that sentence was altered.

Then she noticed the room and the machines. An IV of cool saline running through Aro’s system to keep her temperature down. All the monitors showed signs of health like she wasn’t in danger of her own systems. Then she noticed a warm hug and arms around her. She turned enough to get a good look at May.

At first Aro’s nickname for her made Penny… uncomfortable but for May, it was accurate. Her face was a little rounder than Winter, skin a few shades tanner and… Penny gently cradled May’s face, detecting the temperature difference between her jaw and the blush that always dusted across her cheeks.

Winter, Aurora, and a few other Huntresses traded the arbitrary title of Most Attractive Women of Atlas, but Penny was starting to think May might be the most beautiful. She brushed the loose strands of hair behind her ear and found herself coming through nearly and arm length. She looked nearly unrecognizable without the lion tail wrap controlling it.

During one of her passes Penny much have pressed a little too hard because May stirred. She tried to pull Penny close but with her weight, Penny had to cuddle closer least she wakes up. Her other hand started to pat blindly at the space behind Penny. The more she grabbed at empty air the more displeased she was in her sleep. Winter came up behind them, hand sliding into May’s just as she woke.

“Good morning,” Winter said. She smiled at the pair and brought a kiss to May’s wrist. May mumbled indistinguishable words in an affectionate tone. Content May let go and Winter’s hand gently cupped Penny’s cheek. “How do you feel?”

“Immediately upon awakening? Dazed and lethargic. Presently?” Penny thought about it. She saw Aro on the bed, unconscious but stable. She was surrounded by two elite Huntresses with enough stimuli from the skin contact to keep her Aura active through her system. There was something she couldn’t quiet grasp, an emotion her processors struggled to identify because of so many variables and history and behaviors of the three ladies. “Safe and comfortable. I should be content but… I’m not.” Penny frowned. Her body had no needs so why didn’t she feel fulfilled.

Winter and May locked up for a second and stiffly glanced at each other. Winter licked her lips, her cheeks pinking ever so slightly. “… Really?”

"Good morning, Platinum!" Xanthic’s voice sang loudly into the room.

“Gah!” May practically screamed. She half jumped, half thrashed her way onto her feet. At the door was both the hacker and Dr. Pietro. Penny smiled getting to her feet and pushing past two very nervous looking Huntresses. “Good morning… sir…” May mumbled, “Xanthic.” For one she didn’t address the hacker with guarded anger.

“Good morning father!” Penny said, adding a hug to the greeting.

“Good morning, darling,” Dr. Pietro smiled at her. His grin grew a little when he looked at May and Winter. Penny tilted her head. She could tell Winter was struggling with her composure. Her movements were a little too stiff. May always worn her heart on her sleeve and she looked extremely guilty with blood crawling up her neck and cheeks. Perhaps she could go and comfort the women? Though the way she hunch in on herself seemed withdrawn, so Penny decided against it. “Good morning, Ms. Schnee, Ms. Marigold.”

“… Sir,” Winter’s voice was clipped and she barely nodded her head. It was more of a small bow and a reason to glance away for a moment. She regained herself and looked at Xanthic. “Platinum? Is that a… team name?”

“Me and Robyn’s other two misfits were talking about it,” Xanthic said with a grin. Her eye cybernetic eyes constantly glowed but this time it looked far to amused. “P-A-W-M. All of you are rich, two is heavily cybernetic, Winter usually has a heart as cold as steel and May is… dense.” In an oddly passive behavior, May lightly glared at Xanthic.

“It is a rather appropriate team name,” Dr. Pietro mused, “And you four tend to gravitate to each other.” This time her father’s eyes were twinkling in amusement while May looked ready to feint. Winter endured it, posture like a soldier but she was blushing rather hard now.

Penny frowned up at the pair, “Are you two okay?”

“F-Fine!” May barked out, voice squeaking a little. She cleared her throat but didn’t relax.

“Relax! I’m just teasing,” Dr. Pietro laughed. “Penny, Ms. Soleil is in the kitchen making breakfast, would you kindly help her?”

“Of course!” Penny smiled. She hugged her father once more before leaving. Oddly Xanthic was the only one following. She glanced back to see her father nonverbally gesturing for the Huntresses to stay. Xanthic laughed and pushed Penny forward. “Xan… why does it feel like I’m not quite understanding the full context here?”

“Because I’m pretty sure you and Aro are not neural typical,” Xanthic’s hand heavily clasp her shoulder. But it wasn’t a menacing gesture, the grin on the hacker’s face was too happy for that.

“Good morning,” Ciel greeted as the pair entered the kitchen. Xanthic took a deep breath, enjoying the smell of fried bacon and rice. Penny’s systems didn’t have any olfaction or gustatory simulating hardware but she hummed in appreciation for Ciel’s work. It was usually Xanthic that helped in the kitchen, or cooked outright but Penny took over the cutting station, slicing some meats and greens with mathematical accuracy and factory precision.

“Think you two can multitask?” Xanthic asked, “There’s somethings me and Glade should have told you two.”

“I think there’s a lot of things you need to confess,” Ciel said. She took the diced foods and sprinkled them over a cooking omelet. When she didn’t get the usual bite back the officer paused and raised a brow at her partner. “Alright. You’re being boring so this is actually serious… Oh.”

On the table was a hovering projection of Aro and Xanthic’s body. Their organic parts were in a muted gray. The cybernetic additions that was readily visible was in a vibrant blue, that included the cybernetics that raised out of the back of their heads. The color muted as it entered the body. Blue lines crawled deep into their brains, branching off into many directions. Another bulk of it traveled down Xanthic’s spine a little.

For Aro it traveled all the way down to her legs.

A coma was just one of the things that could have gone wrong. Penny quickly set the knife down and took a deep, even breath. She cleaned her hands with a rag, everything working without though as her processors tried to shut down her overactive simulators. Aro was covering, in a room with her father and Winter and May.

Instead she distracted herself by remembering Aro’s file. As Dr. Peitro’s assistant, Aurora Glade was one of the few civilian personal files Penny was installed with. She was from Menagerie, moved to Atlas five years ago.

Two years ago some SDC executives from the Watts family went to Vacuo for a business trip. Aro accompanied them. Despite Aro’s survival my military personal considered the rescue mission a failure.

“Official records state that there were a handful of survivors*,”* Xanthic told Ciel. “Only the family attendants and Glade survived.”

“Didn’t peg you for a servant,” Ciel said, crossing her arms.

Again Xanthic smirked, “Bitch, I live as many different lives I’d want. Anyway,” Xanthic tapped at the Scroll again. Slowly some parts of Aro’s cybernetics turned red many of the components in her legs turned a deep red. It faded along her spine but there was another intense patch of red in Aro’s skull.

Very close to her brain.

“People with intense augmentation such as me, Glade, Penny and Ironwood need Dust to run our cybernetics.” Xanthic started. Penny felt her Aura panic wildly in her chest. The statement was true. But for Penny and Ironwood the power was housed in her chest and had several fail safe to prevent it from overheating non-replaceable equipment, such as her memory core. None of Ironwood’s cybernetics was directly integrated with his organic neural network, instead input was transferred via the bluetooth transmitter on his forehead.

“Aro has three power units, one for each leg and the base of her skull for her aids.” Xanthic explained, drawing out the shape of Aro’s horns with her hands. “We’re getting rid of the dust core with these upgrades but if the back of our heads gets too damaged or overloaded with power, lightning Dust, whatever we’re done…” She made the motion of slicing off her own head with a clean flick of her wrist.

“You two are a video game boss, got it,” Ciel said turning around and resuming cooking. The bored drawl took both Penny and Xanthic by surprised. It stopped the panic from spreading and she looked at Xanthic, curious about her reaction. Interestingly the hacker had a slight flush and a surprised anger on her face.

“… Bitch. See if I open up again,” Xanthic grumbled quietly to herself.

“What was that?” Ciel asked. She kept her voice flat and disinterested but from her angle, Penny could see both their expressions. Ciel glanced at Penny and gave her a small smile and a wink.

“The operation will be around 6pm.” Xanthic lied with some bite. She surrendered the white Scroll Dr. Pietro lent her, “Here are the schematics so far. Since you are her partner we’ll like your input but Glade will have the last word.”

“That’d be a first.”

“Aurora!” Penny gasped and turned around. She saw green hair and horns, all the little detail turned into a blur as Penny launched herself at Aro.

For once Penny slipped past the Glyph but May quickly intercepted. She grunted hard, taking the full on tackle of a metal women plus the additional force of pushing into it. Penny was a little surprised at her strength but happy enough to wrap her arms around anything she touched. So May was good practice.

“Ow, loosen up Penn,” May said with a small laugh. Still she affectionately ran a hand through her hair- or was about too. She suddenly stiffen and it changed to awkwardly patting her head. Penny frowned in disappointment. May and Winter tried to hid their smiles at the pout. Behind them Aro and Dr. Peitro laughed. She managed to walk over on unsteady legs to play with Penny’s puffed out cheeks.

“Ms. Glade is still injured,” Dr. Pietro said and signed. Penny was a little surprised at how fluidly his hands moved. His sign language wasn’t as good as May’s but he was Aro’s mentor years before.

“Technically, I suppose,” Aro sighed with a slightly amused smile. Penny promised to be gentle. She let go of May and gently hugged her partner. Penny noted that Aro squeezed back with only a fraction of her strength at maximum effort. But she was alive and not in a coma. So Penny squeezed just a little harder and buried her face in the warmth of her shoulder and neck.

For once breakfast was almost peaceful. Possibly because Xanthic was half busy talking about the possible upgrades with the Polendinas and occasionally Aro. The mechanic was a little slow and lethargic from the anesthesia. Her sea green eyes would sometimes glaze over from behind her glasses and it looked like she fell asleep for a few seconds. It happened less as the morning passed. One startling adjustment was Aro’s deafness, it was much more pronounced with her older aids. She preferred sign language over verbal communication, happy to converse with May or to teach them new signs.

Occasionally Winter and May would give the hacker an odd glance or they seem to stay a little too long at Penny. Whenever Penny gave them a confused look they both blushed and turned away.

“If the brat is working here, I’ll like to request time to visit my family.” Ciel said glancing at Aro and Winter for permission. Aro blinked and raised a brow.

“If the bat… Oh! Brat,” Aro glanced at Xanthic with a sneer. “I’m not worried about falling behind in lectures. Robyn can drop us off. I have…” She looked at Winter and May, “Plans…”

Under the table there was a hard sound and Xanthic visibly wincing. Everyone paused to stare at the hacker. She tried very hard to keep her composure but ended up crumbling a little from pain. Ciel’s snort and hard laugh broke the stunned silence, “Did you really try to kick her metal legs? Bare foot?”

“Shut it,” Xanthic hissed, “One. No eating or drinking five hours before the operation. Two. Be more descriptive, you idiot! It sounds like your ditching them.” May and Winter frowned. If Penny had to guess why, it was that Xanthic knew Aro’s secret while the pair was kept in the dark. Penny laughed at the soft envious look on their face.

Aro rolled her sea-green eyes. With a little more confidence she gave May and Winter a small smile, “I have a surprise for you two, and no… it’s not me disappearing.” She looked at May and sign, “I promise.”

The huntresses seemed to relax but Penny frowned, “You’re in no condition to set up a party.”

“It’s not…” Aurora had to pause, a deep embarrassed flush blooming across her face and to her wiggling ears. “Joanna, Robyn and Fiona are helping me. I’m just… getting a haircut.”

“You are a shitty liar without Focus, Ms. Glade,” Winter said with a sigh. Aro made a complaining whine but didn’t argue. She didn’t look guilty but had trouble finding the words. It didn’t help that May looked rather skeptical. “How long?”

“Two hours tops!” Aurora said earnestly, fist clenched tight and wiggling before her. Penny was remind of a child at first. But then remembered Xanthic’s comment about needing a possible diagnosis from a psychotic. Perhaps it was more of a physical stimulation habit? No matter the reason, Penny smiled back. It was an adorable display of happiness from her partner that could have ended up in a coma or worse-

“I suppose that’d give us time to… discuss things with Penny.” Winter said. Penny took a small breath, trying to focus on the present. She focused on the slow blush that raised to Winter’s pale cheeks. She was trying to maintain her composure but slowly crumbled. Penny and Aro laughed softly at it.

The Mantle members of APCX headed back to Atlas with a curtsy ride from the rather happy group of huntresses, minus May. Fiona was practically bouncing in place while Joanna was grinning widely. Robyn was the only calm huntress of the group. May didn’t speak much. She signed gently with Aro, possibly trying to staying or to allow her to help. Fiona groaned and had to push May away.

"Take the hint, Marigold! It’s a surprise for PASM!"

“… You really did talk about it with Xan…” Winter murmured giving her former teammate a disbelieving look.

May just shook her head “Oh! Yeah but…” May still looked nervous. Penny wondered if that’s how she looked as soon as Aro left her sight yesterday. As a precautionary measure Penny took May’s hand and squeezed it, similar to Winter’s strategy of calming her down. May looked down at her and squeezed back but the worry never left her face. “Promise me you’ll be careful, alright? Dr. Pietro said to-”

“Avoid anything that’s heat up my neural augments, don’t manipulate Dust, let my Aura recharge,” Aurora said droned on in a playfully bored tone. She rolled her sea green eyes, “I have three people to makes sure I don’t do anything too stupid.” Fiona giggled hooking their arms together and tugging Aro to the airship.

“She’s been planning this thing for almost a year and I don’t have your patience!” Fiona said. She pulled a little hard, making Aro jerk and stumble a little. May let out a distressed noise and tried to surge forward but Penny linked their arms tightly. With her superior strength she kept May rooted to that spot while Fiona hurriedly dragged Aro onto the ship with a laugh. “You’ll thank us later.”

“See you soon!” Aro called out as the door closed. May grumbled staring as the airship left with a sad pout.

“What me and Penny aren’t good company?” Winter asked a little teasingly.

May pouted a little harder, arms crossed. “It’s not the same without Aro… and… and her semblance is off because of the drugs so I wanted to spent some time with her.” She said softly. An sympathetic silence fell over the three. She did manipulate the General of an entire Kingdom and misleading May seemed to be a common occurrence in the past.

Penny could not simulate the history the other two went through and she only knew Aurora for nearly two months now but there wasn’t a day they haven’t been at each other’s side. "Her company is always a pleasure, but even more so without Focus," Penny agreed squeezing her hand. “But… If you waited five years to be romantically involved-” At the word May grumbled and tried to run. Winter laughed gently and stepped in her way. Penny pouted, complete with a soft verbal que to get May’s attention. Penny grinned and giggled to see how flush her face was. It reminded her of the Welcoming Fair. “Your patients is astounding, Two hours should be easy for you.”

Winter stepped in close, standing shoulder to shoulder in leu of linking arms, and leading May away from the military facility.

“Speaking of romantic intentions…” Winter started. There was a light blush on her cheeks again but not as bad as May’s, who’s flush caused her steps to falter a little. Penny quickly slid her hand up, linked her arms with May and helping her catch her feet. “Penny… you mentioned earlier you wanted something more,” Penny nodded. It was a conversation still in her cache memory, “Were you talking romantically?”

Penny paused. She looked her hand joined with May’s. Her scheduled maintenance reminded her of all the reason they weren’t compatible. She needed to change knee and ankle joints due to the heavy impacts from her dive maneuvers with Floating Array, her gyroscope needed an upgrade to adjust to Aro’s artificial gravity that was in constant flux. Penny’s artificial nature…

“I… I don’t think I’m capable of romantic-” Penny’s explanation was cut short. May snorted back a laugh but it slipped out of her anyway. She pulled her arm until their hands were intertwined again and held them to Penny’s face. Her face was oddly smuggled for the blush on her cheeks. Beside her Winter raised a brow with a small grin as well. Penny huffed back at them, pouting a little as her Aura stirred up excess heat. “It’s a comforting gesture!”

“Y-yes…” May blushed and looked away. “But you do it when we’re not sad or stressed.”

“I like the physicality,” Penny admitted looking down at her feet for a moment. Touch was such an odd sensation. There was so many things behind it from texture to application, and in this case context. She was inexperienced many of its but not ignorant of them.

“I understand returning Aro’s physical gestures, but you’ve never cuddle Ciel or Xanthic.” Winter stated.

“Because they are different people.” Penny answered. With the current line of inquires Penny was able to spot the one information she was missing. “What’s the difference between romantic and platonic affection? Aro blows kisses and cuddles with Fiona.”

The two paused for a moment, stunned. Then May let out a soft human growl of frustration under her breath, “Aurora… Making shit hard even when you’re not here.”

“Platonic and romantic affection can be very similar…” Winter mumbled, “But with many people there is a distinct difference, they usually aren’t as physical as we are.” She glanced at their joined hands with a small smile.

Penny tilted her head. Her simulators tried to create a scenario of the four dating but she couldn’t imagine anything new, “What would be different?” She asked.

“I’d get to kiss you,” Winter said. The new tone and intensity surprised Penny. For a moment her shoulders squared and eyes darken in a way that sent her Aura spiking unevenly throughout her body in a shiver and pleasant hum. Several offensive protocols were triggered, but one protective code caused an odd malfunction. It was a challenge she wanted to win and lose, watch and participate. Penny refused to turn away from those blue eyes but she did tilt her head in confusion.

“By the Goddess and Brothers…” May muttered softly. She was a little short of breath and couldn’t meet either of their eyes. “She’s a top.”

“You didn’t pick that up during the Welcoming Fair?” Winter asked with a raised brow. May didn’t respond verbally, she was a little too embarrassed. She flashed several rude signs.

During their talk Winter had steered the group to the bubble tea place they had visited when Penny first met them. May quickly fled inside to order their drinks, leaving Penny giggling while Winter laughed softly. They took a seat at the same table Winter had sat her down after her first panic attack.

Penny took Winter’s hand and squeezed it gently. She recalled the memory for nearly two months ago. It was different with Aro, no excited buzz in the air or a lazy ocean calm. It was different with Winter now too. In the past and present Winter was happy and content, but there was subtle differences in behaviors… Now her touch lingered longer, she seemed content to be in Penny’s presence rather than completing an objective.

“I think I understand what you mean by platonic and romantic affection,” Penny said. The memory of the Welcoming Fair came to mind, the happiness she felt light in her chest as she watched Aurora and Winter hide in plain sight with affectionate touches. Ciel ended up winning back the money she lost during the first bet but Penny felt like she benefited the most from it. “Though I don’t know if I am capable of romantic relationships…”

“Your father mentioned something similar when he was talking with us,” Winter said. “Aurora… confessed that she only had one romantic partner.” For a moment Winter’s gentle expression soured and she glanced away at Penny, “which ended up with her unable to control her semblance.”

“Oh…” Penny felt… oddly relieved but a little furious. Relieved that she wasn’t the only inexperienced member, furious that someone hurt Aro so much her semblance couldn’t deactivate.

“Would you like to try it?” Winter whispered. The slight wavering and fear in her voice was an alarmingly new inflection. Penny didn’t like it and she tried to comfort Winter by rubbing her thumb over Winter’s and squeezing her hand. “Date all three of us?”

“Hm…” Penny ran a quick simulation but no matter what parameters she set she kept getting an error. “You three are only people I’m interested in trying with.”

Penny hadn’t realized how rigid the other women had become until all tension melted from Winter. Her spin relaxed and she looked almost smaller somehow- Penny tried to hold in a gasp, her sensors flaring wildly as her analytic systems tried to interpret a new sensation. A simple and gentle kiss to her fingers.

“Your father also explicitly asked us to take it slow,” Winter added, “He was rather confident we’d be able to restrain ourselves to your pace, since we waited for Aurora.”

“It was really embarrassing,” May said. The two jerked apart, head looking wildly for their third partner. Penny’s systems kept directing her forward but her visual analysis confirmed… May dropped her invisibility field, a tray of four drinks in one hand and a Scroll with a blinking recording light in the other. Her face was almost as red as Winter’s and a bright grin on her face. “You were always such a white knight, Winn.”

“I can’t believe- You recorded it?!”

“Aro would want to see it!” May protested. “Would you rather have Xan show her a recording?”

“Ugh, please don’t mention her,” Winter groaned relaxing back to the table, shoulder pressed comforting against Penny. May only pocked her Scroll and quickly pulled the pair up by their joined hands with a laugh.

“Aurora’s done! We’re meeting her in Mantle.”

“That was not two hours. Not even an hour,” Winter frowned.

"She did say two hours maximum," Penny clarified. She linked her arms with Winter. At first she tensed then relaxed and leaned into her, she glanced down at Penny with a warm smile it nearly overheated Penny’s power unit. Winter leaned back into her.

Winter may have misused her rank to get the fastest transport as soon as possible and May might have pushed her semblance a little far so Penny could pilot the airship beyond safe city limitations. They didn’t end up at Aro’s home or a salon, instead it was a body modification shop with experimental dust procedures called Turk’s Bodily Transformations.

Penny and May gave Winter a worried glance. Amongst the three she was the most experience Dust user, so she would understand the full consequences of direct applications of Dust on an organic body.

“Joanna Greenleaf…” Winter muttered between gritting teeth.

Through the window they could see Joanna and Robyn calmly chatted on the couch till they both saw them through the window. Robyn waved them in. It was a small race between May and Penny, both women quickly walking to the door. May’s longer legs entered the body modification shop first, the door hitting a soft wind chime. Penny paused a little. It was rare to see hinged doors instead of hydraulic ones.

“You three got here fast,” Joanna said with a light sneer. “Has that patience finally worn out, May?”

“Shut up,” May mumbled, “We’re just worried.”

“You can worry for a few more minutes… or an hour,” A voice behind the sectioned room and curtain said. The sound of a tattoo gun paused and a head marked with ink and some metal poked through the curtain for a second. Penny caught the wicked grin and altered fangs as she disappeared again. “Oh wow! They are pretty. Azure and Arctic would be jealous.”

May frowned glancing at Robyn and Joanna, “Who…” They both signed they didn’t know. But judging from the décor and atmosphere of the body shop, they were people from Menagerie. The style was almost Minstral but the Faunus had a distinctively functional design to them. Surviving outside the Kingdoms was difficult, so they adopted any advantage they could find while keeping their Faunus pride. This included Atlesian fashion and technology. Much like Aro it was a mix of two cultures.

“Can you not!” Aro said complained softly. She got scolded for squirming and it took a few seconds for the tattoo gun to hum again. “And I’m not getting the full piece… I don’t even feel right getting this one.”

“Brothers above and below know you deserve it,” they heard an unfamiliar voice say. “Can you activate your Aura for a second again? Thank you. Rumor has it Sienna regrets not intervening. If you were there Menagerie would probably have a CCTV tower by now.”

“Hopefully with the transfer my… the Glaives can get one up soon.”

“If the Glaives don’t out right leave Menagerie,” Turk snorted. “Alright! I think…” They’re voice paused. The tattoo gun took frequent pauses as the last marks and touch ups were made.

“Oh my, it looks great Aro! Don’t look, there’s still a little blood.” Fiona suddenly said from behind the curtain.

“Aura please. Thank you.” There was a short quite pause. Penny finally heard the sound of water, a little miniature stream and pond on the desk. Next to it was a portfolio laid open. Penny flipped through it. Surprisingly it was all Faunus with various of modifications. Unsurprisingly some of them were a cybernetic. Penny was particularly interested in the Faunus women with gills on her neck, a thick metal plat protruding from her spine and a hard-light tail extending from it, like a sting-ray.

“And done!”

“May! Get out the surprise isn’t finished yet!” Fiona yelled. Penny turned to see the curtains fluttering. Fiona shoving May away and seating her by Winter. “You waited five years! Just a few more seconds so she could get dressed.”

“Yeah you perv,” Robyn taunted with a laugh.

The shop owner left the private room first. They smiled eyes a lit with a kind of predatory amusement. She walked straight to May and offered her hand. “I’m Turk! Pleasure to finally meet Aurora’s mate.”

May choked and faulted hand wavering in the air. They threw their head back, rumbling laughter coming from deep in their Faunus gut. Turk’s hand clasp around May’s wrist in a forearm shake.

“Turk, please don’t harass her.” Aro pleased.

“Very well Ms… Glade,” Turk said walking behind their counter. They stripped the gloves off their hands and went about cleaning various of shelves and drawers.

“I-I’m not- Fiona!?” The curtain fluttered again. Fiona emerged first, forcefully pulling a half dressed Aurora… Glade. Penny’s processors slowly hyper focused on the new in slipping between nearly exposed breast. Then up to her collarbone where it flared out a little, and deliciously higher to her neck. It was a mix of circuit board wiring and tribal Menagerie designs.

“You… you weren’t lying about the haircut,” May noted. Penny saw the Huntress awestruck at Aro’s face. Penny gasped and quickly walked over. She made sure not to collide into her like how she wanted too and made sure to keep her hands off Aro’s chest, least May scolds her again. Instead she ran her hands over the buzzed sides of Aro’s head.

“It feels so soft!” Penny gasped. Aro giggled as her fingers passed over her scared Faunus ears. They flicked free when Penny played with the new piercings in them. Then her hands traced the cybernetics going deep into her skull.

“But… you’re image?” Winter mumbled. “You’re business-”

“Aro gave up the ADC!” Fiona blurted, nearly jumping up and down and clapping her hands.

Penny quickly pulled her hands back and held Aro’s arm, steading her as she whipped around to make a grab at Fiona. When the sheep Faunus escaped, Aro made an odd complaining growl. “You promised me that I’d get to tell her!”

"I made that promise two months ago!" Fiona yelled back.

Nervously she looked back at May and Winter. The elite graduates was rendered speechless, eyes wide and for May, mouth a little open. Aro whined again under their gaze. She shuffled, trying to step behind Penny but the metal women easily held her partner to her side. Joanna and Robyn signed encouraging comments.

“There’s no official statement yet, I’m letting the public figure it out for once. There’s still paper work but everything was finalized during my trip to Vale-”

“Ugh, and I was so mad too,” May mumbled.

“You have every right to be… I blackmailed the General, for starters, I wouldn’t trust me either-” May swept in pulling the two trainees into a hug. The fear that was creeping into Aro’s voice softly faded, leaving only an uncertain nervousness. “So… You- you guys like the make over?”

May stepped back, standing next to Winter. The Specialist had that devouring look in her eyes again, hands flexing at her sides before clasping behind her back. Her eyes were intensely focused on the new ink, particularly to where it disappeared under her half buttoned shirt.

“I can show you my appreciation later,” Winter said. The even control and calmness of her voice sent a shiver down Aro spine and blush racing across May’s face.

“It’s,” May cleared her throat to get of the low heated tone. She swallowed a few times before calming down enough to touch Aro’s neck, just shy of the ink but slowly getting closer. “It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Turk chirped. The four jumped a little and the other three happy Huntresses giggled or sneered.

“Now kiss!” Fiona yelled. May laughed and rolled her eyes. She did pull Aro into a kiss on her temple. "Ugh! Come on we’ve been cheering you two on for years!"

“We’re not one of your dumb romantic comedies and dramas!” May frowned at her. Winter chuckled lightly, her voice still a bit too husky. She opened the door, nonverbally convincing the her partners to walk out. The rest of the Happy Huntresses stayed in the shop, trying to wring more personal information about Aro from Turk.

Penny found her hand tightly intertwine with Winter’s, her eyes occasionally glancing at Aro and May, their arms happily linked together broken only when they needed two hands to sign. Her processors were slowly cooling off in Mantle’s cold air. Penny quickly archived and favorited the past hour so she could review them. Despite how advance her memory and simulations are, it wasn’t even close to reality. The feeling Winter’s cool presence at her side or hearing May and Aro’s laughter. Simulations couldn’t mimic the lips that gently brushed against Penny’s knuckles again or the way Winter’s eyes soften when they were a few inches apart.

Decoding skipped.

#Penny Polendina #fic #cutting strings #pre-fall of beacon #may marigold #winter schnee #pfenning #qued

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giant-dekubowl-ship · 5 years

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Hooky is a DAMM GOOD webtoon and you should all read it.

Every want to read a long-running epic? Do you like magic and witchcraft in your stories? Is the thought of a colorful cast (literally and figuratively) enough to catch your attention? Do you like stories that are all about love - familial, romantic and platonic? Want all of what was mentioned above to be renditioned in beautifully drawn and flowing tapestries?

If so then Hooky - a webtoon by Miriam Bonastre Tur is just for you.

Its a story deserving of a seat next to the ‘greats’ people quote when talking about storytelling on the level of Avatar: The Last Airbender and the like. This is not being said lightly. The pitfalls of any kind of story that goes on for longer than a few episodes or chapters or storytelling arcs is that they may lose their way. Lose track of what the initial chapters were trying to tell or lose focus and bloat up into messy storytelling. This can happen in any medium and webtoon is certainly not immune.

There are many great stories in webtoon - but many, just like a certain shonen jump manga which continued and stretched until the publisher itself decided to give it the infamous ax - continue their stories until they are unrecognizable. Sometimes, ending the story at just the right time makes a story that much more precious to its readers.

On webtoon, there are certainly quite a few great stories both ongoing and complete that have this ephemeral air of just right. Those kinds of stories that read confidently with the attitude of an individual who has a goal and will and does complete it.

I personally have many series I hold dear to my heart which are themselves webtoons. Today though I’m here to talk about Hooky.

The Story

Hooky, a series so good, that if it were a manga I’d want it turned into an anime and if it were a comic I’d want it turned into a cartoon. And even as a webtoon, I just want someone to bring this to the big screens.

Its a story about many things. At its heart, it's about love and the lack thereof it (as cheesy as this sounds). Divides from distrust, lashings from hatred, misunderstandings from miscommunication all looked at different levels. From the interpersonal to the societal. Miriam weives a careful and interesting narrative on what can quickly become a complicated and controversial topic.

Its a series that starts off quaint and oh so very sweet. Akin to Disney's retelling of all the classic fairy tales.

Two twins, Dani and Dorian dash through a pastel rendition of a Spanish village, dressed in matching black robes as they run late for their school bus. Upon missing their only ticket to the hidden rendition of Hogwarts this world has they have a brilliant idea to hide this from their parents. And instead, find a mentor in magic as an alternative.

From then on its a swirling adventure as these children navigate a world they’ve obviously never interacted with. It's a fairy tale - but not from Disney - that takes some interesting inspiration from the famous stories fables. Hansel and Gretel being an example which comes to mind.

Going back to comparing Hooky with Avatar - it’s a story with its high and low moments for the characters. Just like Aang, the main duo of this story, don’t always get to play around with their equivalent of Elephant koi. It’s at times grim but not overly gritty. It doesn't revel in life’s tragedies any more than it indulges in fantasy’s escapism.

Our main characters find themselves in a world they quickly realize they know very little about and it is quickly made obvious to both us the viewer and the twins, that not everything is exactly as simple as it seems to the inexperienced eyes of the child twins.

In a way, they are almost perfect reflections to us readers. Ignorant and oblivious to the reality of this open and unexplored world. Almost except for the fact that unlike them, we have some grounding story elements of the initial fables interwoven into the narrative.

Taking inspiration from a story does not mean copying it however and this is certainly true of Hooky, which is it's own grounded and fleshed out tale.

The world-building starts off in the form of little one-off lines and details which quickly snowball into a predominant feature of the story. Something that demands the attention of both you and the characters. The story and its contents evolve and mature just like the characters as they grow up both figuratively and literally.

Scenes and events happening as early as chapter one will come back later. Twists, turns, self-fulfilling prophecies - all of which given this series a wonderful re-read value (in addition to the first read-through ride).

There’s so much I could say about Hooky and it’s story and storytelling. However, much of it is walled off behind intricate layers of world-building and scenes - all of which are too spoil-ery for me to justify, well, spoiling it.

Instead, I’ll move forward to another greatly quality of this story: Its characters.

The Characters

This story’s characters are much of its charm. If you can’t find yourself enjoying Dani and Dorian’s antics along with their friends - then much of this story will fall flat.

They should not though, because, every character it a well and finely crafted piece of art.

First, we have the main duo: the aforementioned twins. Both are polar opposites in character, as many twins tend to be written - but both come off as very genuine and their sibling love for each other comes across even more so.

It’s the little things that make them work. The sibling bickering, the disagreements that put them at odds but eventually bring them back together. The fierce care and protectiveness they have despite this and hostility that will sprout against anyone that attacks one or the other. They won’t be finishing each other’s sentences but no one else in the world would understand their unsaid words better than they do with each other.

Dorian, the brother is the ‘book smart’, the skill. He likes to think of himself as a well-read gentleman but isn't all that prideful over it (for the most part). He doesn’t handle the more rambunctious boys his age well despite his admiration of them and needs to socialize.

If there is one thing he’s proud and or defensive over it’s his magic. His wizard heritage and family name - no matter what the outside world’s opinion of it is hell stubbornly hold on to it. A flip side to his genuine and endearing clumsiness when friends are in the picture is the fact that he is perhaps more cynical or anxious than his sister. He’s far from perfect, but again this is due to his youth and inexperience rather than any lingering personality flaw. Throughout the story, he does many things, both good and bad - but everything he does is consistent and grounded as the individual he’s been built up to be.

Dani is the more outgoing of the two twins, she’s more so the ‘raw power’ of the duo. Despite being just as sheltered as her brother, she’s a step ahead of her brother when facing the uncertain, confident, adventurous but rash - despite how this gets her into trouble.

She is, however just as sensitive as her brother. In fact, all the while being more outgoing it can seem like she is more easily pressured by the views of others on her than her bother at times, the more easily influenced by the world around her.

There is also a vast supporting cast of characters in addition to our interesting twin due. Some of which I doubt hesitate to even call just “side” characters with the role they continuously play.

There’s Nico, a rambunctious village boy - who just wants to properly get the chance to grow up as a wizard’s apprentice despite his ‘lack’ of ability with magic. He’s first introduced as one of those ‘rough around the edges’ individuals with a somewhat un-empathetic temperament.

As the story’s scope grows and as our characters mature with their experiences, however, Nico is quickly one of the characters who take the lead in his development. Considering where he started, he ends up one of the most grounded and wise characters.

Our next character is Princess Monica. As per her moniker - she certainly starts off impersonating her title. Stuffy, self-aggrandising, very obtuse regarding the lives of everyday people - the list goes one. Her introduction is set with her decision to embark on a quest to find her prince charming.

Just like our main character duo, she is very sheltered, however. And quickly she’ll discover that her wants and beliefs may clash with reality. This pompous air (which may annoy some readers) thankfully, does not last long. Monica quickly blooms to be one of the most empathetic and hardworking characters within the story. Her blooming relationship with Dorian is as agonisingly anxiety inducing as it is heartwarming to see.

I could talk at length about the other characters, but if I did this post would go on and on. But certainly, Mark, Alex, Damien, Will, Master Pendragon, the King, the Wytte family - all are intriguing and compelling characters which will keep you around if you’re not hooked already.

The Art

The final thing to this post is me just briefly discussing the art. If you haven't noted already from the screenshots - it’s gorgeous and unique. Here the author/artist takes full advantage of the medium provided to her. Scenes will flow down for pages, something only possible in the webtoon. Characters will talk in coloured speech bubbles, something only possible in coloured and static media such as comics.

The art in this series is nothing close to static, however. It's dynamic and inventive in its paneling in a way that brings so much charm to the series.

Emotional moments are that much more impactful as you, the readers, are swept through both dream-like and nightmarish scenes alike. Scenes will flow just as much as they will pause between panels, letting words and emotions soak in. They build up awe as well as they do tension and dread. The artistry of the author develops along with the story is nothing short of beautiful especially as we reach the current ending arc’s climax and denouement.

To Summarise

Hooky is a well-crafted piece of writing that I hope more people learn about and get to read. It's currently going into its final arc (as of writing this post) and I can attest that it certainly is worth the read. While as a story it enjoyed taking after the grim origins of our favourite fairy tales, it never forgets what it once was - a story about two twins just missing their school bus - and it makes sure to show the readers it hasn’t forgotten with a fairy tale ending fit for a child’s bedtime story its so sweet.

#hooky #hooky webtoon #dani hooky #dorian wytte #dorian hooky #webtoon #own post #webtoon review #webtoon recommendation #writing #storytelling #art

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anhed-nia · 4 years

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BLOGTOBER 10/17/2020: SPOOKIES

What do we watch, when we watch movies? This question was sparked by my SOV experience with the very different, and differently interesting BLOODY MUSCLE BODYBUILDER FROM HELL and HORROR HOUSE ON HIGHWAY 5. Within the Shot On Video category, one can find inventive homemade features that are driven entirely by blood, sweat, and the creators' feeling of personal satisfaction. The results are sometimes fascinating, in their total alienation from the conventions and techniques of mainstream filmmaking, and after all, one rarely sees anything whose primary motivation is passion, here in the late stages of capitalism. But, all this talk about what goes on behind the camera points to a discrepancy in how we consume different kinds of production. The typical mode of consumption is internal to the movie: What happens in it? Do you relate to the characters? Are you able to suspend your disbelief, to experience the story on a vicarious level? One hardly needs to come up with examples of films that invite this style of viewing. Alternatively, we can experience the movie as a record of a time and place in which real people defied conventions and sometimes broke laws in order to produce a work of art. SOV production is usually viewed through this lens, where the primary interest is not the illusory content, but the filmmakers' sheer determination to create. We find some overlap in movies like EVIL DEAD, which simultaneously presents a terrifying narrative, and evidence of what a truly driven team can create without the aid of a studio, or any real money to speak of. See also, Larry Cohen's New York City-based horror films, in which a compelling drama with great acting can exist side by side with phony but beautiful effects, and exciting stories of stolen footage that would be dangerous or impossible to attempt today. I'm thinking about these different modes of consumption now because I just watched SPOOKIES, a legitimately cursed-seeming film whose harrowing production history has superseded whatever people think about what it shows on the screen. The lovingly composed blu-ray from Vinegar Syndrome includes a feature-length documentary that attempts to explain the making of the film--which is accompanied by its own feature length commentary track by documentarists Michael Gingold and Glen Baisley. The very existence of this artifact suggests a lot about the nature of this movie, in and of itself. The truth behind its existence is as funny as it is tragic.

I'm not going to do a whole breakdown of the tortured origins of SPOOKIES, which is much better told by the aforementioned documentary. To summarize: Once upon a time in the mid 1980s, filmmakers Brendan Faulkner, Thomas Doran and Frank Farel conspired to make a fun, flamboyant rubber monsterpiece called TWISTED SOULS. It was wild, ridiculous, and transparently fake-looking, but it was loved by its hard-working creators; as a viewer, that soulful sense of joy can rescue many a "bad" movie from its various foibles. Then, inevitably, sleazoid producer Michael Lee stepped in--a man who thought you could cut random frames out of the middle of scenes to improve a movie's pace--and ruined it with extreme prejudice. Carefully crafted special effects sequences were cut, relatively functional scenes were re-edited into oblivion, and the seeds of hatred were sown between the filmmakers and the producer. Ultimately, everyone who once cared for TWISTED SOULS was forced to abandon ship, and first time director Eugenie Joseph stepped in to help mutilate the picture beyond all recognition. Thus SPOOKIES was born, a mangled, unloved mutation that would curse many of its original parents to unemployability. For the audience, it is intriguingly insane, often insulting, and hard to tear your eyes off of--but in spite of whatever actually wound up on the screen, it's impossible to forget its horrifying origin story as it unspools.

As far as what's on the screen goes: A group of "friends", including a middle-aged businessman and his wife, a vinyl-clad punk rock bully and his moll, two new wave-y in-betweeners, and...a guy with a hand puppet are somehow all leaving the same party, and all ready to break into a vacant funeral home for their afterparty. Well, this happens after a 13 year old runaway inexplicably wanders in to a "birthday party" in there, that looks like it was thrown for him by Pennywise, and he has the nerve to act surprised when he is attacked by a severed head and a piratey-looking cat-man who straight up purrs and meows throughout the picture. Anyway, separately of that, which is unrelated to anything, the island of misfit friends finds a nearly unrecognizable "ouija board" in the old dark house. Actually this thing is kind of fun-looking, having been made by one of the fun-havers on the production before the day that fun died, and I wonder if anyone has considered trying to make a real board game out of it...but I digress. Naturally, the board unleashes evil forces, including a zombie uprising in the cemetery outside, a plague of Ghoulie-like ankle-biters, an evil asian spider-lady (accompanied by kyoto flutes), muck-men that fart prodigiously until they melt in a puddle of wine (?), and uh...I know I'm forgetting stuff. One of the reasons I'm forgetting is because of this whole side story about a tuxedo-wearing vampire in the basement (or somewhere?) who has entrapped a beautiful young bride by cursing her with immortality. That part is a little confusing, not only because it doesn't intersect with the rest of the movie, but because sometimes it seems contemporary--as the bride struggles to survive the zombie plague--and sometimes it seems like a flashback, as our heroes find what looks like the mummified corpse of the dracula guy, complete with his signet ring. So, I don't know what to tell you really. Those are just some of the things that happen in the movie.

Some people like this a lot, and have supported its ascendance to cult status, which is a huge relief when you know what everyone went through to make this movie, only to have it ripped away from them and used against them. I found SPOOKIES a little hard to take, for all the reasons that the cast and crew express in the documentary. It holds a certain amount of visual fascination, whatever you think of it; something of its original creativity remains evident in the movie's colorful, exaggerated look, and its steady parade of unconvincing but inventive creature effects. But then, you have to deal with the farting muck-men. What was once a scene of terror starring REGULAR muck-men, that sounded incredibly laborious to pull off, became a scene of confusing "comedy" when producer Michael Lee insisted that the creatures be accompanied by a barrage of scatalogical noises. Apparently this was Lee's dream come true, as a guy who insisted everyone pull his finger all the time, and who once tried to call the movie "BOWEL ERUPTOR". But, of all the deformations SPOOKIES endured, the fart sounds dealt a mortal injury to the filmmakers' feelings, and even without knowing that, it's hard to enjoy yourself while that's happening.

Actually, all the farts forced me to ask myself: Is this...a comedy? Like for real, as its main thing? As the movie slogged on, I had to decide that it wasn't, but I was distracted by the notion for around 40 minutes. I was only released from this nagging suspicion when the bride makes her long marathon run through throngs of slavering zombies who swarm her, grope her, and tear off her clothes, before she narrowly escapes to an even worse fate. The lengthy scene is strangely gripping, and sleazy for a movie that sometimes feels like low rent children's entertainment. Part of the sequence’s success lies in its simplicity; it is unburdened by the convoluted complications of the rest of the movie, whose esoteric parts never fall together, so it seems to take on a sustained, intensifying focus. The action itself is unnerving, as the delicate and frankly gorgeous Maria Pechuka is molested and stripped nearly-bare by her undead bachelors, running from one drooling mob to another as the horde nearly engulfs her time and again. Actually, it feels a lot like a certain genre of SOV production in which, for the right price, any old creepy nerd can pay a small crew-for-hire to tape a version of his private fantasy, whether it's women being consumed by slime, or women being consumed by quicksand, or...generally, women being consumed by something. I wish I could describe this form of production in more specific or official terms, because I genuinely think it's wonderful that people do this. Anyway, Pechuka's interminable zombie run feels a little like that, and a little like a grim italian gutmuncher, and a little like an actual nightmare. Perhaps it only stands out against its dubious surroundings, but I kind of love it--and I'm happy to love it, because apparently the late Ms. Pechuka truly loved making SPOOKIES, and wanted other people to love it, too.

Which brings me to the uncomfortable place where I land with this movie. On the one hand...I think it's bad. It's so incoherent, and so insists on its impoverished form of comedy, that it's hard to be as charmed by it as I am by plenty of FX-heavy, no-budget oddities. Perhaps the lingering odor of misery drowns out the sweet joy that the crew once felt in the early days of creation--which is still evident, somehow, in its zany special effects, created by the likes of Gabe Bartalos and other folks whose work you definitely already know and love. But I feel ambivalent, about all of this. On the one hand, I can be a snob, and shit on people for failing to make a movie that meets conventional standards of success. On the other hand, I can be a DIFFERENT kind of snob--a more voyeuristic or even sadistic one--and celebrate the painful failures that produced a movie that is most interesting for its tormented history and its amusing ineptitude. I'm not really sure where I would prefer to settle with SPOOKIES, and movies like it. (As if anything is really "like" SPOOKIES) With all that said, I was left with one soothing thought by castmember Anthony Valbiro in the documentary. At some point, he tells us how ROSEMARY'S BABY is his personal cinematic comfort food; he can put it on at night, after an exhausting day, and drift to sleep, enveloped in its warm, glowing aura. He then says that he hopes there are people out there for whom his movie serves that same purpose, that some of us can have our "milk and cookies moment" with SPOOKIES. Honestly, I choke up just thinking about that.

#blogtober #2020 #spookies #horror #supernatural #vampire #zombie #creature feature #old dark house #cursed film #thomas doran #frank farel #eugenie joseph #michael lee #vipco #twisted souls #brendan faulkner #maria pechuka

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firelxdykatara · 5 years

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🔥 tvd. unleash the salt.

YOU BROUGHT THIS ON YOURSELF MEEKS

-cough-

no but ok, my biggest unpopular opinion re: tvd? (judging mostly from what i’ve seen come out of what’s left of the ‘fandom’ since s6 when 99% of it jumped fuckin’ ship, but anyway)

the show turning to shit had absolutely nothing to do with delena becoming canon

like, i’ll be reading someone’s anti tvd post, and i’ll see something like ‘it started going downhill in s4′ and nod along, but then ‘when dullena became canon’ and it’s like -record scratch-

no. hold up. -squirts with a waterbottle-

anyone who didn’t realize that damon and elena were being set up to become canon down the line as early as season one were either in denial or just weren’t paying attention. i could write for days about all the signs and all the ways their relationship developed and how they each developed as characters, but i don’t have the energy to focus on the good about tvd anymore so i don’t feel like it. (i always have energy for salt, though. must be my high-sodium diet.)

there are a couple things we know for a fact about early tvd. one is that kevin williamson was largely in charge of the show as head showrunner for the first three seasons. another is that williamson left the show after season three–his name was still on it, but he moved onto another project, and julie plec was left in charge. given those two facts, and my belief that the show’s decline in s4 was far more gradual and less visible than it was in s5, when the show jumped the shark and over a fucking cliff, we (or at least i do, you don’t have to agree but it’s the story that makes the most sense to me so i’m sticking to it) can infer that kevin williamson left at least something of an outline behind for the season following his departure, and the rest was left up to julie as she meandered her way through three more seasons–two of which the show should never have had–with only the vaguest idea of an endpoint in mind.

(as early as season 2, julie said that she and kevin already knew how they wanted the show to end–or at least, they knew what they wanted the last words to be. given that the series finale ended the same way the pilot episode did, with damon showing up on stefan’s porch wearing his trademark smirk and saying ‘hello brother’, i can buy that they had this particular scene in mind when initially planning the overall series arc. i also think that julie plec went mad with the power she suddenly had over the story once williamson left, and any other tentative plans that may have been made were either forgotten or discarded in favor of magic vampire uteruses and pointless romantic arcs and killing characters off right before the end of the show for no real reason. but anyway, i digress.)

I THINK I’VE GOTTEN A LITTLE OFF TOPIC. anyway. if delena wasn’t the beginning of the end (we’ve established that delena–if not as an endgame, but certainly as a relationship that would need to be explored–was in the cards from the very beginning, and had achieved most of its crucial relationship beats by the s3 finale [all that remained was elena gaining closure for her decaying relationship with stefan before she could fully move on]), what was?

two things, primarily: the sire bond, and the cure.

now, neither of these things seemed particularly egregious at first. in fact, up until the end of the season, i was convinced the sire bond would be revealed to have never actually existed, because the ‘signs’ were so badly contrived that they had to be red herrings designed to make the characters doubt themselves and their feelings. in hindsight, i realize the piss poor writing surrounding the bond was emblematic of issues that would plague, and eventually destroy, the rest of the series. and until it came back in season six and undid literal years worth of character development for the central character of the fucking series, i actually thought the cure plotline in s4 was a stroke of brilliance–shoddily handled in a few places, but still solid enough in execution to make up for it.

because elena, having become a vampire, needed to have the option to become human again presented to her–and then she needed to reject it. Which she did, twice, at the end of the season–first when she offered it to Stefan without a second thought, and second when she shoved it down Katherine’s throat, again without a moment of hesitation. (Technically three times, if you count the fact that she was ready to force it on Damon, but that, at least, was motivated by her desire to save his life, since he was dying from werewolf venom at the time.)

elena’s arc throughout season 4 (and that’s another of my unpopular opinions–elena didn’t change into an unrecognizable monster when she became a vampire, becoming a vampire allowed her to let go of the gloomy graveyard girl and finally learn to love LIVING again, and the fandom was so used to her as the suicidal martyr ready to sacrifice anything and everything without a second’s hesitation that they turned on her, en masse, when she realized it was actually ok to want things for herself but…. that’s a different rant altogether, ahem ANYWAY) was about learning how to be herself again.

not herself as she was immediately pre-vamping–herself as she was before her parents died. it’s no coincidence, i think, that the s3 finale (when she was being turned) and then s4 were some of the only real glimpses we got of elena’s parents, and her life with them before they died. she literally hallucinated her mother, in one of the most heartbreaking scenes of the entire show, trying to convince her to kill herself because of what she’d become–but this, notably, was a curse enacted on her by a vampire hunter. (here’s another unpopular opinion–elena killing connor had nothing to do with the sire bond. she would have killed him anyway, because he was threatening her brother’s life. am i the only one who remembers that elena, as a human, went to denver with the sole purpose of figuring out which original sired mary, so she’d know which ones it was safe to kill to protect her family? she was a human and willing to kill 75% of all remaining vampires on the planet. girl could be fucking ruthless when it came to protecting the people she loved, especially after losing so many.)

“mommy, i never meant to disappoint you.”

and then the sun came up. and just as the light hit her and began to burn, because she’d thrown her ring into the river, she looked to damon and whispered his name, panic in her eyes–because she suddenly realized she didn’t want to die. she wanted to LIVE. she DESERVED to live. and damon did what he always did best–he saved elena gilbert’s life. and that’s when she realized she couldn’t keep ignoring the things she felt for him, the way her feelings for stefan had never really recovered, the fact that she wanted to learn to enjoy the life she had instead of subscribing to stefan’s tortured broody vampire bullshit.

(ok, in fairness to stefan [loathe as i am to be fair to mister Hero Hair], i don’t think he actually realized what he was doing to elena. i don’t think he quite understood just how badly he was feeding into her self-loathing and how much he was making her think she would become a monster just like him–just like ripper!stefan if she didn’t take to the bunny diet and make like a good little vampire who never stepped a toe out of line. but i do think that as those first few episodes wore on, elena realized, more and more, that she would not survive being a vampire if she had to do things stefan’s way. and it became clear that the elena stefan was in love with was the idealized, human version of elena who’d died going over that bridge–the elena who could remind stefan of his own humanity and be his anchor to non-ripperness. she couldn’t be his sober companion/humanity anchor if she wasn’t subscribing to his bunny blood ideals.)

the bottom line being, season 4 was about elena not only becoming a vampire, but learning to enjoy her life AS a vampire. no, it wasn’t something she’d chosen for herself, and maybe it wasn’t something she ever would have chosen for herself–considering that even as far back as the end of s2, when the possibility of turning was first presented to her as a real possibility, she was talking about a future where she grew old and maybe even had kids and started a family, things she wouldn’t be able to do with stefan, meaning that even then, in the back of her mind, their relationship came with a potential expiry date (and then we got ‘i can’t think about always, i can only think about right now‘ in the s3 finale, further cementing that)–but while she’d gotten exposed to so much of the darkness inherent in being a vampire throughout the first three seasons and then her own vampiric awakening, she also got to see the good.

her no-humanity arc was kind of essential for this, btw. (is this an unpopular opinion? probably. i’m gonna pretend it is so it doesn’t seem like i’ve gone too far afield here.) which is another reason i hated that stupid fucking sire bond, after i gave up the idea it’d be revealed to be fake, and choose to ignore it in my own interpretation of canon–because there was no need for it. elena just lost her brother, the one remaining member of her immediate family, the one she’d gone to extraordinary lengths the entire season to protect. she was in unimaginable fucking pain. she was in agony, because not only was her brother dead, but she was still a very new vampire and her emotions were spiraling out of fucking control.

she would have absolutely destroyed herself in her grief, if she hadn’t been presented with an outlet. something she absolutely would have chosen for herself, in that moment–damon talking to her softly, reminding her that there was a way she could just be without needing to feel everything, and elena latching onto that one tiny bit of hope, that maybe for now she didn’t have to be in so much pain she thought she might actually fucking die on the spot from it. elena making that choice for herself–actually, you know, having some fucking agency as the central character of the series–would have been a much better choice, both from a narrative and character perspective. BUT ANYWAY.

it was during her stint with the switch turned off that elena first got a real taste of how fun and how freeing being a vampire could be. if the Idiot Brothers hadn’t banded together to try and force elena to be human again against her will, i really don’t doubt that the worst she would’ve done was snatch-eat-erase a whole bunch of people and live it up in the seedier unberbellies of various big party cities for a while. but whatever, the damage was done and eventually elena had her switch turned on by watching matt die, and feeling the relief at seeing him wearing the gilbert ring, and etc.

she largely had vengeance in mind once she was back to her more or less ‘normal’ self, but a crucial part of her development over that particular arc was the fact that she no longer hated herself for existing.

that was huge. it wasn’t given the focus or prominence it should have had, and i’ll again blame that on the weaker writing that was filling the gaps left by kevin williamson’s departure, but elena was no longer the suicidal martyr she’d been since the beginning of the show. she enjoyed living. she reveled in the strength she had, in the fact that she was no longer the Token Human, the doppelganger whose blood attracted all kinds of atrocities. she could protect herself now. she got closure with her brother, when the ghosts came back for a while, and with alaric, and she basically gave herself permission to want to have forever with the man she loved.

(and the fandom villified her, for it. because of fucking course they did. because she was a teenage girl who’d spent most of the previous four seasons dying or preparing to die or literally ready to slit her own throat without a second’s hesitation when it came to protecting people she cared about, but now that she’d decided it was ok to want to be selfish for a while and be with who she wanted without feeling guilty, suddenly it was open fucking season. but ANYWAY.)

where was i?

oh. yeah. season 5.

like i said, season 4 was a little shaky, but more or less solid–it wasn’t until after season 6 that i realized the signs of the show’s downfall had started in s4, with the cure and the sire bond heralding much worse things to come. it was s5 where the show really went off the rails.

here’s another unpopular opinion–it was absolutely character regression to have damon acting out the way he did that season. yes, in seasons past, damon acting out was a big part of his progression–two steps forward, one step back, but still slowly but steadily moving forward. but by the time we get to s5, damon had literally everything he wanted. he was BLISSFULLY happy, with the woman of his dreams, living in utter domestic bliss for an entire summer before she went off to university. and this trashfire of a show actually tried to convince me that he would’ve left their bedroom for more than five minutes, let alone long enough to drive across the state and murder some innocent human woman over a sixty-year-old grudge he’d never so much as thought about the entire time he was in mystic falls????? really?????

as if that weren’t enough, this man who witnessed, first hand, elena’s love for her brother, and who had grown to love him too–who was desperate to save his life on more than one occasion, including VERY RECENTLY in the show–would let enzo waltz in and nearly murder him??? i’m????? god

and then katherine stole elena’s body, and i was fucking done.

literally ragequit the show once elena got her body back, because i was that fucking pissed. they literally had to do so much character regression and assassination to even make it work???? they had to put bonnie on a bus to ‘away from the main plot’ville just so that she couldn’t tell anyone that katherine hadn’t actually crossed over–even though she was right fucking there in the living room with them when she saw katherine’s ghost, and she would have known immediately that something was wrong because katherine disappeared rather than crossing over. and then they had to make damon devolve so he wouldn’t be in a position to realize elena wasn’t herself. and then everyone else carried the fucking idiot ball, except matt who was promptly compelled, and TYLER who nearly died about it, ALL so that no one would notice what had happened until damon was right there with katherine!elena trying to get him to kill her so she could kill him so he wouldn’t reveal what she’d done, and i JUST.

anyway. the awful thing is, the last few episodes of season 5 were really fucking good. it felt like the show had gone back to circa s3 levels of writing. and then s6 was ok for two episodes and then…. fucking nosedived off a cliff and into the abyss.

elena losing all her good memories of damon just so she could fall in love with him all over again was one of the worst writing decisions ever made. just, in history. completely. we didn’t need to see them fall in love in a rushed and half-assed manner when we’d already gotten a beautiful four-season arc of their love story. at the VERY LEAST, they could have had her just lose all her memories, similar to stefan’s s5 memory wipe, so that it wouldn’t seem weird that she thought he was a monster and loved him anyway because something something toxic bullshit. (oh, yeah, i’m still bitter af that they had to beat us over the head with DELENA IS TOXIC YOU GAIZ as if they didn’t have one of the healthier relationships in the show until it was decided that there wasn’t enough drama so they had to make damon regress and elena excuse it in a series of increasingly ooc writing decisions)

UH. ANYWAY YEAH.

as a sidenote, tyler and elena’s friendship had a lot of potential to be something kind of fucking amazing, and it’s one of the most underrated friendships in the fandom, which is a fucking shame because i would have loved to see them get closer and have a real bond as supernatural orphans who’d had almost everything and everyone they cared about torn away at one point or another.

god. ugh. TL;DR: delena was planned from the beginning and was in no way responsible for the show going to shit, it just had the unfortunate timing of becoming canon right before the show became terrible; elena gilbert was an amazing protagonist and character in general, who should not have been hated for daring to be a teenage girl who wasn’t always fully aware or in control of her own feelings, and who dealt with so much grief and trauma in such a short time that it’s nothing short of a miracle that she eventually found her way back to the girl she’d been before, happy and sure of herself, and people just couldn’t recognize elena when she was happy so they decided she randomly changed when she became a vampire and it was All Damon’s and Delena’s Fault; stefan was a terrible boyfriend for most of their relationship; damon was wildly out of character for most of season 5; and the memory loss arc in s6 was pathetic and actively harmful to the show as a whole and especially damon and elena’s relationship and perception in fandom; oh, and tyler and elena had an amazing and horribly underrated friendship that should have gotten a lot more focus than it did. (i’m still mad tyler was put on a bus so much rather than allowed to be like, present in the lives of his only remaining friends lmfao.)

#rorykillmore #asked #anti tvd #elena gilbert #delena #MEEKS THIS IS YOUR FAULT #I WAS GONNA GO TO BED #INSTEAD I SPENT AN HOUR AND A HALF WRITING THIS #apparently there are depths to my salt mines i had not yet reached #i don't always get mad about tvd bc i've totally moved on with my life of course #but when i do #i drink eat sleep and BREATHE that salt #and dos equis i guess

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the-foxes-fangs · 5 years

Text

I Wish I Was the Moon: An Interlude

Requested by the wonderful @otomediary, a complementary ficlet set in the same story line as this fic with Sasuke and Mitsuhide discussing MC and modern culture while she’s away in the present <3

Warnings: Mitsuhide doing his Mitsuhide threats

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

They were, as had become their custom over the weeks, seated across from each other over a low fire in a cold musty hut with the early spring wind coming in through the cracks in the wall and alternately blowing the smoke first one way and then another.

“It’s not for me to repeat what was told to me in the spirit, if not the strictest promise, of confidence.” Sasuke said with what passed for a moody expression on his face. His eyes had a defiant glitter behind the glasses he had only recently reacquired after giving his word to faithfully assist in the effort to alter history enough to bring her back.

Mitsuhide sat loosely, elbows resting on his knees, fingers locked together thoughtfully and narrowed his eyes as he watched the sparks dance off of the damp firewood. “You’ve already agreed to change history, and yet casual information is where you draw the line? Why, I hate to insinuate that your priorities are wildly misplaced, but it certainly looks that way from where I’m sitting.”

Sasuke pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose peevishly, and studied Mitsuhide intently. “Call it calculated self-interest, a posture which you, of all people, should understand. If your plan--”

“Our plan.”

“The plan in which I have become an unwilling participant, then.” Sasuke answered wryly, adding, “regardless-- If it succeeds, then you can ask her yourself. If it fails, then I won’t have betrayed the trust of a friend.”

“A noble sentiment, but you’re forgetting the circumstances,” Mitsuhide countered lightly. “Had I known her secret before you failed to persuade her to stay, I might have asked many questions to better secure her happiness.”

“Before I failed--” Sasuke sputtered indignantly, “I miss the worst part of my day being a drawn sword in my face.” He finished moodily.

“You have only yourself to blame, you know. If you had persuaded her to stay until I was conscious, you wouldn’t be a hostage now. Curse your own lack of forethought, not me.” Mitsuhide replied with a fond smile.

Sasuke had an almost expressionless face, but his body, particularly his hands, spoke quite clearly. Trained ninja or not, his gestures were unique enough to be obvious after a day or two.

“You’re relentless, aren’t you?” Sasuke asked with an irascible gesture.

“Me? Why, I’m as diffident as a shikimi flower.”

“How is it that an insinuated threat is so much more threatening than an overt one?” Sasuke muttered to himself.

“Was someone making threats? How terribly impolite!” Mitsuhide said with a sardonic grin.

“Omfg. Ask what you want. I make no promises that I’ll answer, though.” Sasuke said, sharply.

“Oh-Em-Eff-Gee?” Mitsuhide asked curiously.

“That’s one I most certainly will not be answering, so move along.” Sasuke answered, waving smoke out of his face as it changed directions with the breeze.

“Finally, you’re talking sense,” Mitsuhide said pleasantly, adding, “did you actually come from the same town as her?”

“Not... exactly. Yes, in that we both traveled from the same location, but also no in that we aren’t originally from the same town.” Sasuke answered, hands resting loosely on his lap in a way that indicated honesty.

Mitsuhide looked at him curiously, considering which line of inquiry to pursue-- it was obvious enough why Sasuke would’ve sought her out, and even why they might have become such fast friends, but not why he would’ve chosen to stay when she left. He rose and banked the fire, and then resettled himself, deciding to leave that issue where it lay.

“Then where is she from?” He asked.

“Pass, that information is of no use to you.” Sasuke responded, flatly.

“Of course it is, all information is of use to me.” He shot back.

“I’ll give you non-specific answers only.”

“Alright, without specifics if it makes you feel better, what was her life like?”

“Well, it would’ve been unrecognizable to you. She’d have focused on education almost from birth, and she would have been in school longer than anything else.”

“Temple school?” Mitsuhide asked with surprise. “I knew she was well educated, but given her awful calligraphy, I didn’t think it was formal.”

“Not exactly temple school but something just as formal, and you shouldn’t base your assessment on calligraphy, that’s a secondary subject at best in our time.”

Mitsuhide tried to picture her in the classroom of a school as he knew it, but there was clearly a frustratingly vast gulf between his imagination and the actuality. He pushed aside the dull ache in his heart at the thought of all that he might never hear about it from her, and pressed on as the tapping of rain punctuated his reverie.

“Then what kinds of things would be primary subjects?” He asked thoughtfully.

“Mathematics, reading, foreign language, history-- clearly not her best subject-- geography...” Sasuke listed, before Mitsuhide interrupted him with an exclamation of surprise.

“Is that typical for a woman in your time?” He asked with intense curiosity.

“Women occupy a different place in society from what you’re used to, so yes.” Sasuke settled his glasses firmly on the bridge of his nose, drawing himself up slightly, and continued.

“Which is another reason that I, for the record, encouraged her not to get too attached to anyone in this time. She’s used to, and deserves, a level of respect and autonomy that’s unheard in this era. She’d never be content to be relegated to the domestic sphere and left trapped there, and would certainly not tolerate the life of a concubine.” Sasuke said, speaking more forcefully than usual.

“Do give me some credit, squirrel, her eccentricity is one of her finest points as far as I’m concerned.” Mitsuhide answered with an impatient gesture.

“Stop calling me squirrel! I’m going to start calling you moose!” Sasuke snapped at him, arms folded across his chest. “I’d have thought that if your ambition was to take the Shogunate, you would be in need of a powerful alliance with a politically useful wife.”

“You do know so many absolutely fascinating foreign words. Anyway, ambitions change. Besides, she can always be adopted and given a rank conducive to marriage.”

“I won’t even ask what skulduggery you intend to use to make that happen. If she comes back, I fully intend to use the fact that we both speak the same extremely foreign language against you. Mark my words. And don’t take it for granted that you’re just going to marry her if she returns. You have to ask first.” Sasuke said tartly.

Mitsuhide raised an eyebrow at him. “Ask who? It’s not as if I can seek an audience with her father.”

“Her, of course!”

“Well of course, but I can’t see why she wouldn’t--” Mitsuhide said, and stopped when Sasuke held up his finger, eyes gleaming as he folded his arms and took the posture of a lecturing teacher.

“I’m only telling you this because she’s my friend. The proposal of marriage in our time is firstly between the two parties in question, and the one doing said proposing is expected to go to considerable lengths to demonstrate their love and devotion to the proposee, as it were.” Sasuke interjected, fixing him with the critical eye of a disapproving brother.

“How considerable, exactly?” Mitsuhide asked, with a great deal of curiousity.

“It varies, but generally it should involve some place especially romantic and significant to the couple, and, in case the person being proposed to wishes to decline, should not be done in a way that draws too much public attention, rings must be selected with special care--” Sasuke said, ticking off each point on his fingers as he spoke.

“Rings?”

“Yes it’s a modern custom. The couple exchange rings and wear them as a public expression of their commitment to each other, generally gold, often with a gem of some sort, or an inscription.”

Mitsuhide stroked his chin thoughtfully, mind already racing with plans.

Sasuke stared at him and shook his head. “You get this terrifying glitter in your eye when you stop talking and start thinking, and somehow it’s even worse that it’s faintly romantic. I never could imagine Caesar looking at Cleopatra until I met you, and frankly I still wish I couldn’t.”

“Only heaven knows what gibberish you were just speaking, I certainly don’t.” Mitsuhide answered offhandedly. “I do wonder how she’ll explain her absence to her household.”

“By my calculation, she should have returned to almost the same moment plus or minus no more than a few hours. Either way, she lives alone, so nobody will have noticed.”

“Alone? Is that unusual?” Mitsuhide asked, surprised again.

“Only insofar as her having the economic wherewithal to do so. Running a household isn’t anywhere near as labor intensive in our time as it is now.”

The rain came down in earnest, fat drops splashing through the ragged roof and pooling on the floor around them as he tried to picture her going about her life, alien as it might be to his imagination, alone.

“Well, she used to live alone. She might have a boyfriend by now, it has been a few months, perhaps a dose of city air and the joy of indoor plumbing has brought her to her senses.” Sasuke added.

“I take it from the construction of the word that a ‘boyfriend’ is roughly the same as a lover?” Mitsuhide said, ignoring the rest but making a mental note to return to it later.

“It’s a broad term. It can be more casual than a lover, or it might be as intense as a husband.” Sasuke replied flippantly.

He was aware of his own inclination to jealousy in those rare instances where he allowed any kind of attachment to linger, and had already chosen to simply dismiss the idea that she could simply forget him in favor of taking action to prevent it, but he felt the bitter heat of it in the pit of his stomach all the same.

“Did she not have someone like that when she came here?” Mitsuhide asked, less concerned by her previous attachments than by the possibility that they might persist.

“I don’t know, to tell you the truth. Of course you can’t be certain of my honesty, given the appalling conditions of my involuntary employment. ” Sasuke answered, as a raindrop rolled down his forehead and over one lens of his glasses, which he yanked off irritably and cleaned.

“Why, you can leave at any time, should conditions prove unsatisfactory.” Mitsuhide answered, as he swept a stray raindrop out of his hair.

“Sure, I can leave, but you know I won’t and you also didn’t specify that I could leave alive.” Sasuke countered with a sigh.

“My but you learn quickly. It’s really no wonder Kenshin grew so attached to you. He must be absolutely furious at your sudden absence, and the man does have a habit of communicating with his sword.” Mitsuhide said with amusement.

“Why couldn’t she have fallen madly in love with Ieyasu?” Sasuke muttered to himself. “That would’ve been wonderful. A bad temper, yes, but at least a direct one.”

“Oh I don’t know, at least I’m a charming conversationalist. Anyway, tell me all about indoor plumbing.” Mitsuhide replied, as he warmed his hands at the fire. It would be a long hard road to reach a goal less likely than any he had ever set himself before, but the future seemed slightly less distant when he bickered with Sasuke.

***

/Shikimi is a poisonous plant that grows wild in Japan and has neurotoxic effects when ingested. It resembles a common wild food plant.

#ikemen sasuke #ikemen sengoku mitsuhide #ikemen sengoku #cybird ikemen #ikemen sengoku sasuke #the foxesfic #fic request #sorry this took me so much longer than I planned to get posted <3

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greyias · 5 years

Note

things you said when we were on top of the world

Um… this got long. Way longer than minific length… oops. 😇

It had been a long, long time since Theron had let himself get drunk — and he wasn’t quite there this evening — but walking in a completely straight line was proving to be a challenge. Although he wasn’t quite sure whether that was due to the alcohol he’d consumed at the Alliance’s celebration party, or to the way the hopelessly inebriated woman hanging off of him was now dragging her feet.

“If you’re not going to walk, I’m going to have to carry you.”

“I am walking!” Grey insisted, but the petulance was undercut by the way she started giggling and wiggling her toes to some unheard beat. “Or maybe I’m dancing.”

“What you are,” Theron corrected, “is drunk.”

“It’sh not my fault,” she slurred, “everyone kept buying me shots.”

“You didn’t have to drink them all.”

“I didn’t want to,” her loud tone dropped into almost a mumble, “but they just kept coming. And everyone was so happy. Saying no would have made them sad.”

Theron was fairly certain that, at least for this moment in time, they had wildly different definitions for ‘sad’, but it probably wasn’t worth it trying to argue that point. And to be fair, she had attempted to stop drinking as the night wore on—or rather, had started a very elaborate game of swapping her filled shot glasses with empty ones in Theron’s hands, forcing him to drink them. Thankfully he had implants that helped dampen the effect of alcohol in his system, but the sheer volume of shots had managed to tax even those to the limits. Which had led to him burning up the dance floor as a gleeful, and very drunk, Jedi had cheered him on.

It seemed like it had been forever since he’d been able to just unwind and let the weight of the galaxy fall away. Since he felt he could just be stupid and lose himself in the rhythm of a jukebox tune or in the delighted laughter of the woman he loved. Who loved him back. And had said it. Like she actually meant it. Without any hesitation or regret or even a hint of dishonesty. Stars. Not even the unsettling reports of uprisings sparking up far and wide could make him feel like he wasn’t on top of the galaxy. At least for one night.

At this point, Grey had her arms looped around his neck and her face was tucked into his shoulder. If it wasn’t for the muffled little giggles, he might have thought she’d fallen asleep where she was standing. Making an executive decision that they were going nowhere like this, he scooped her up with surprising little effort and only the tiniest of shrieks.

“Theron Shan!” The invocation of his full name was meant to be an admonishment, but she stumbled over the surname and slurred it to where it was nearly unrecognizable. He tried not to laugh. Tried being the key word there.

“‘s not funny,” she said, “I could’ve thrown up on you!”

“Well, you didn’t.”

“But I could have.”

“You’ll just have to warn me next time.”

“I did.”

“When?”

“Um.” She paused, face scrunching up as she tried to parse through her short term memory but seemed to come up blank. She blinked, staring at him with the smallest of frowns. “You have pretty eyes.”

That almost summoned a chuckle but he managed to squash it down into just a wry smile as he resumed the trek to their quarters. A little wobblier than before, but at a much more efficient pace. “Are you changing the subject?”

“No, just speaking the twooth—the truth.”

He nodded sagely. “Oh, that’s the truth, is it?”

“Objectively.” She drew the word out into several more syllables than it already was. “They’re the prettiest eyes in the galaxy.”

“I don’t know about that,” he said. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, they’re nice, but I much prefer a deep shade of blue.”

“My eyes are blue!” She exclaimed, as if this was a new discovery for both of them.

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

The punch against his shoulder was rather ineffectual, lacking all force and power. “You’re making fun of me.”

“I would never.” Theron was quite sure his faux innocence would have been less convincing had she not been nearly as intoxicated. “Although we’re going to have to have a difference of opinion on whose eyes are prettier.”

“No!” Stars, he’d forgotten how amazingly stubborn she got when trashed. “Yours are the best, and that’s that. And your hair is too!”

“I thought we were talking about my eyes. For some reason.”

Her fingers wandered up his face before lightly tapping the jagged points he painstakingly styled every single morning. “It’s very dashing.”

“My eyes?”

“Your hair!” She sighed, as if exasperated from having to explain the obvious. “It’s also really spiky.”

“I’ll pass your compliments on to my hairdresser,” he said, unable to squash the smile completely. “Dashing and spiky. Is that all?”

“You’re really strong too,” Grey said as she rested her cheek against his shoulder, staring up at him with a smile. “With big broad shoulders.”

“It’s the shoulder pads on this jacket,” he joked, “don’t let them fool you.”

“Hey, hey! Do you know what else I love?”

“What?”

She made a big show of looking around, as if needing to confirm that they were indeed alone in this big, empty corridor, before leaning in to whisper conspiratorially. “Your butt.”

He managed to disguise his startled laugh into a cough, but she didn’t seem to have noticed.

“It’s just so full and round and sometimes I just want to… bite it!” She stopped short, as if startled by her own revelation. She blinked, before looking up at him with the most solemn expression he’d ever seen, staring at him with wide blue eyes. “But I won’t.”

To his credit, Theron kept an almost complete straight face, and his voice only sounded a touch strangled as he asked. “Grey?”

“Yes?”

“Have you had any rum tonight?”

“Yeah,” she paused, and then frowned. “Why?”

He could have reminded her of the first hangover he’d had the privilege to witness, the morning after she’d accidentally consumed nearly an entire pitcher of rum punch from a seedy cantina on Rishi. He’d wound up having to drag her across half of Raider’s Cove in a similar condition as tonight, and she’d been hanging off him just as much that time too. Well, and then there had been that time on Nar Shaddaa after their first real date and—

He cleared his throat. “No reason.”

“I just love you… a lot,” she mumbled into his jacket. “I can say that now.”

That one threw him, and he didn’t really have a comeback for it. Which was probably just as well, because she just continued on, as if she’d forgotten she’d even had an audience.

“Had to be careful to not say too much, least that’s what Doc was always telling me. Said you were a flight risk.”

Theron managed to find his voice. “Flight risk?”

“Crazy, right?” She looked at him, face scrunched up in honest confusion. “Your flying’s not that bad.”

He stared blankly at her for several long moments, not even realizing that he’d stopped their stumble down the hall. Before he could determine what she meant, she started snickering uncontrollably, burying her nose back into his jacket.

“Your face—”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a very silly drunk, my dear?”

“I’m not drunk,” she corrected, “I am intoxicated!”

“You get no argument from me there.” He shook his head, trying and failing to keep a straight face. “But you don’t really think I’m a flight risk… do you?”

“Of course not.” She settled her cheek back against his shoulder so she could continue to stare back up at him. It was such a soft look, and had nothing to do with the amount of alcohol she’d consumed. “You would never leave me.”

“No,” he answered without hesitation, “I wouldn’t. You’re stuck with me.”

“You promise?” She asked quietly, blinking slowly as if she was fighting sleep.

“For as long as you’ll have me.”

“That’s a long time, Theron Shan,” she mumbled, eyes finally sliding shut. “A really long time.”

“I think I can manage it,” he said softly. “For you.”

#swtor fanfiction #theron shan x jedi knight #Theron Shan #Female Jedi Knight/Hero of Tython #otp: adorkable #oc: greyias highwind #minific prompts #(that accidentally became a full fic whoops)#kotet post-credits #swtor #fanfic #captainderyn #greyfic

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shockwrites · 6 years

Text

Study Session

Author’s Note: Aaaaaaand Deltarune trash

Series: Deltarune

Pairing: Slight Kris/Susie

Length: 1378 words

Rating: Safe

You’re having a minor panic attack.

You only say ‘minor’ because you’re just that good at hiding it. You’ve always been. Sure it seemed creepy to just about everyone else in town (they’ve even told you straight to your face on occasion), but right at this moment, that skill was a blessing in disguise.

“Sup.”

Because she was here.

Outside of school.

In your house.

Susie was at your house.

You had no idea why that was such a surprise. You invited her over. What, did you think she’d say ‘yes’ and not come?

…Well, you might’ve before the both you became friends.

“You gonna invite me in or what?”

Susie’s flicking of your forehead snapped you back to reality. She did that often, sometimes to mess with you, other times to poke you out of those daydreams you constantly found yourself in. You wordlessly invite her in with a goofy presentation pose that caused her to snicker.

Susie tentatively glanced around the place. The house was as clean as it always was. Mom always did keep the place looking spotless although it wasn’t as if you were capable of making much mess.

Susie whistled casually. “Cozy digs.” She nonchalantly eased herself onto the couch. You heard her emit a sound you swore you never heard before. You halt your first instinct to make a sarcastic jab about her actually seeming happy for once.

By all means, not an easy task.

You were reluctant to interrupt her relaxation time but you remembered that you invited her over for a reason.

Upon hearing the news, Susie groaned out of boredom as expected. “Aw come on, Kris.” She complained, lounging further on top of the couch. Toriel certainly would not have approved of feet on top of the furniture but you decided to leave it be. “It’s not like either of us are on the honor roll or some crap. Can’t we just brush off the homework and play video games?” She eyed the particularly interesting looking game console that was recently hooked back up to the TV.

You remind her that Ms. Alphys basically passes her students just by at least handing something in. Susie scoffs in reply but finally decides to roll with it anyway.

An hour passes by of comfortable silence. So far, your pencil scribbling was the only sound in the room washing over both of you. You occasionally saw Susie scrawling something down on her own paper but it was only when your hand moved away from the answer you just wrote.

This was nice. Normally, you found doing schoolwork at home was too much of a chore – at least without your brother. You recalled when Asriel would often help you with math equations you were certain weren’t real. Long division was the spawn of demons and no one could tell you otherwise. At least with Asriel there, it seemed less like a chore. You would even play Super Smashing Fighters afterward.

But then he left.

You mentally chastise yourself for bringing up those repressed feelings. Yes, he was gone but you knew that moping about it wasn’t going to do anything. And besides…

“Hey, you got anything to eat here? I’m starving.”

At least you weren’t alone now.

You inform Susie that you put a platter of cookies to bake not too long ago. Double chocolate chip, just for those moments when single chocolate chip didn’t cut it. Man, your stomach was growling just thinking about it.

“Oh…is that what’s burning?”

Burning? They can’t be burning. You only put them in the oven before you started your home…work.

SHIT

You really hope Susie didn’t see your eyes nearly popping out of your skull as you stumbled over your own feet making a beeline for the kitchen. You know for sure she’s gonna laugh at you for that.

It was too late. The cookies you stuffed in the oven were entirely unrecognizable, merely pitch black remains of what they were intended to be. You wonder how Mom makes baking seem so easy, having some sort of six sense as to when food was finished baking.

Then you remember that you forgot to set the timer.

The crusty burnt smell only served to make your walk of shame seem worse. What kind of host serves burnt snacks? And to your best friend? For shame, Kris Dreemurr. For sha-

“Oh, shit are those the cookies?”

You hardly have time to respond before your guest snatches a black cookie from the platter. You stare at her in awe for a solid minute, watching her snarf down the piece of charcoal down whole before going in for seconds. You then remember that this was the same person who ate chalk.

Out of curiosity, you decide to try your handiwork.

Only to hack it back out the second the crusty black flakes touched your throat. Your stomach felt betrayed. Deceived by the promise of chocolate and met with the bitter taste of disappointment. You didn’t answer when she asked if you were gonna finish it, merely handing the half bitten snack to her in defeat. You wonder just how tolerant monster stomachs are for a brief moment before returning back to your homework.

Eventually, it was getting frustrating staring at the same question for the better half of 15 minutes.

You could tell Susie was feeling the same way. She was mostly waiting for you to finish just to copy. You felt the urge to remind her that that method wasn’t exactly helping you. You really wanted to get this over with so you could properly hang out and play video games but you felt the itch reaching you sooner than you anticipated.

…You figure you deserve a little break.

“You suuuuuuuck.”

Susie’s salt-coated insults were almost music to your ears. Somehow, you realize that this was what your brother must have been tasting after all those years of straight up destroying you at video games.

It felt wonderful.

You cheekily asked Susie if she was up for a rematch. The monster’s pride of course never failed to disappoint. As you prepped to pick your usual main, the dread pink gumball, you heard the door open.

“Kris? I’m home!”

Smiling, you greet your mother with a wave which she sweetly returned. Her expression froze however when her eye caught sight of your guest.

“Uhh, hi Ms. Toriel.” Susie awkwardly responded. Seeing a teacher outside of school. You’ve been there. It’s beyond weird. You didn’t blame her for feeling a bit out of place.

Your mother, on the other hand, looked like her brain had just exploded and was putting itself back together. “Oh Kris, you brought…a friend?! A girl?! Friendgirl?!? Girlfriend??!??!”

Somehow Toriel pieced the whole thing together in the worst word association possible. You were speechless (which wasn’t entirely surprising). It took a moment to search for a proper response but luckily Susie did all the talking for you.

“Girlfriend?! Wh-Heck no!” You were impressed at how well she censored herself. “It’s-it’s nothing like that, I mean…Tell her, Kris!”

You attempted to back up her claim but in a tiny moment of weakness, your lucid imagination worked against you, planting a not quite unpleasant scenario of you and Susie.

You and Susie.

Engaging in only the most heinous of all debaucherous acts:

Holding hands.

The controller dropped from your hand. No words left your mouth. Even more mortifying, your face was now a shade redder. Susie looked at you with total betrayal, though from the corner of your eye, you could’ve sworn there was a light tint of pink along her scaly cheeks.

Amidst the embarrassed air of the living room, your mother grinned widely at Susie. “I’ll just leave you two be for now. Would you like some pie? Oh! How about some tea? Why don’t I set the table for you!”

She bolted right over to the kitchen faster than she rambled. Total silence fell over both you and Susie, neither of you even playing the game. You dared to glance at her, only to be met with an expression you could only describe as an unholy blend of anger, embarrassment, and…flattery?

You shoot her a sheepish smile.

She shot you a punch to your arm.

#deltarune #susie deltarune #kris deltarune #safe #krusie #that's the shipname right?

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caelesjjk · 6 years

Text

Push (Part 3)

Hello my loves. This this took so much longer than expected and I hope it doesn't disappoint! Let me know what you think okay? The feedback I've gotten has been so nice.

It was nearly impossible to stop thinking about that night. I couldn’t forget the way it felt when he touched me, even if he barely was. Something about the way he talked to me and the way he knew exactly what I was thinking was intoxicating to say the least. And yet, here I was, lying in my bed wondering if I should just skip my coffee all together again today so I didn’t have to see him. Seeing him would make those thoughts I was having so much worse and I had been avoiding the coffee shop for the last two days because I couldn’t let this go any farther than it already had. But I got up, and since it was Friday, and a dress down day at school, I slipped into a pair of jeans and an oversized sweatshirt. It was comforting, and that was something I needed right now.

When I reached the Hatfield’s coffee shop, I paused a few feet away and tried to gather my thoughts. I was most likely going to see Calum inside. He was going to be breathtakingly beautiful, as usual, and I was going to have to control myself. I took a deep breath, and opened the door, hearing the familiar sound of the bell on the door. “Good morning, Isabella.” Mr. Hatfield greeted with his usual saying. “Morning.” I said, clearing my throat. I let my eyes take a quick glance around the shop. There were only about 8 tables inside, and they all appeared to be empty at the moment. Part of me was relieved, and more of me was disappointed. Maybe he was trying to avoid me as well. “The usual please.” I said, biting my lip to try and hide the unexpected frown on my face. As Mrs. Hatfield was handing me my scone, the door behind me opened with the ringing of the bell. The smile on her face as she looked over my shoulder to see who had walked in, was a dead giveaway. “Morning, Calum.” Mrs. Hatfield said, winking at him. I couldn’t turn around, I was frozen. Mrs. Hatfield looks at me with a huge smile on her face. I close my eyes for a moment and then turn around to see him standing there.

He was dressed in all black, form fitted dress pants and a white button with black polka dots on it. He decided to top off this panty dropping look with a leather jacket and unruly curls. Damn him. Damn him to hell. “Morning, Bambs.” He licks his lips as he smiles at me. “An even worse nickname from the already horrible nickname you decided to give me?” I raise an eyebrow in curiosity. “It’s not so bad.” He steps around me and grabs his plain black coffee from Mr. Hatfield. “Why are you all se…I mean fancy today?” I almost choke when the word “sexy” tries to come out of my mouth. He laughs quietly. “I do have to go into the office every now and then.” He blows into his coffee cup and I feel my knees weaken at the shape his lips make. “Guess that would make sense.” I say, watching as he walks towards the same table we had been at just a few days ago, motioning with his head for me to follow him. Just turn around and walk out of the door, Izzy, run far, far away. But I don’t, I make the short trek over to the table. Calum pulls out the chair for me to sit in. “Thanks.” I say, a little surprised. “You haven’t been here for a few days.” He says, taking another sip of his coffee. “I know. I tried taking a new route to school.” I couldn’t meet his eyes when I was lying. "You sure it wasn’t because I almost fingered you in the middle of my kitchen the other night?” He says the words so nonchalantly, and I have to spit my coffee back into my cup. “Calum!” I quietly screech at him. “You can’t just say shit like that!” I lean back in my chair and look at him in disbelief. “What? Should we not have been doing that?” He sits his cup down and watches me. “You know damn well we shouldn’t have been.” I hiss between my teeth. “Then why’d you let me?” Calum leans over the table, his elbows resting there as he gets closer. “I…I don’t know.” My heart is beating so fast that I can hear it in my ears. “Sure you do, Bambs. And I want you to say it.” He holds my eyes with his stare as he whispers the words. “Why? So I can stroke your ego a little more? Thanks for reminding me of why I think you’re a complete ass, Calum.” I roll my eyes and make to get up from the table, but his hand his wrapping around my fingers, lightly pulling me back down. “Look. Don’t go. I’m just really bad at this.” He lets go of my hand when I sit back down. “At what? Being a decent human being?” I scoff. “At being someone’s friend, I mean. There’s only about a handful of people that put up with me.” He leans back a little. “Well that’s not surprising.” I tease him with a small smirk on my lips. He laughs quietly as I sit back down. “You’re a sweet girl, Bambi, but Mike’s my best friend.” Calum says. “Right. I mean I know. Things shouldn’t of gone this far.” I bite my lip, looking down into my coffee cup. “Please don’t do that.” He says lowly.

“Do what?” I ask. “Dig your teeth into that pretty bottom lip.” He sighs. “Stop looking at my lips.” I look up to meet his eyes, and it was a horrible idea. “I can’t even begin to tell you, how badly I wish I could.” His cheeks turn a bit pink as he sits down his cup and starts to stand up. I can feel my mouth fall open in surprise as I watch him stand. “Have a good day, Isabella.” “Calum, wait.” I say. He stops and turns back to look at me. “Michael invited some of my friends to go out for my birthday tomorrow. Will you come?” I ask. “I’ll see what I can do.” He smiles with the corner of his mouth before continuing to walk out of the coffee shop. I wait a few minutes before I get up. Mostly because I wasn’t sure if I could even walk straight with how wildly my head was swimming in confusion. He didn’t want to continue this weird attraction that we have going on, but he also says things like that and completely contradicts himself. The bigger questions here, was why I continued to entertain the idea of messing around with Calum when I was definitely dating his best friend. Why was I so willing to put myself in this situation? It just wasn’t me.

The rest of the day went by in a blur. And that was becoming far too usual lately. I tried to keep busy and distracted. I cleaned my classroom multiple times just so I didn’t have to go home and think about the mess that is my life. I took the long way home, driving around and listening to music to drown out the thoughts. But there was no way to avoid the birthday party that Michael had planned for me. Saturday evening came around and I was more nervous than ever. Not knowing if Calum would show up or not was stressing me out far more than it should. And to add to that stress, I was staring at myself in my full length mirror wondering how I had talked myself into buying this dress. It was a deep navy blue color and it clung to body in places I didn’t want it to. But it was far too late to go out and get another dress. So instead of changing, I grabbed my black leather jacket to help make me feel a little less awkward. I slipped into my favorite pair of black heels and called it good. I didn’t want to look in the mirror again, that girl in the mirror was unrecognizable these days anyways. I drove to Michael and Calum’s house where we were all planning to meet and “Pre-game” as Michael called it. Apparently we needed to get drunk before we went to the club to get even drunker. I didn’t object, because if I was being honest, I needed the drinks. Michael had invited a few of my girlfriends to come along, and when I pulled up to the house I could see that their cars were in the driveway already. Andrea, Grace, and Hillary were some girls that I had met in college and had tried to keep in touch with. We were never extremely close, but they were always fun nonetheless. I didn’t bother knocking as I walked into the house. There was loud music playing over the stereo in the living room but everyone seemed to be gathered in the kitchen. The girls were laughing and the sound of ice being dropped into cups was very prominent. I quietly stepped into the doorway, immediately seeing Hillary standing next to Calum at the kitchen island, her hand on his bicep as she laughed at something he just said. It makes my chest tighten involuntarily. “Babe! You’re here!” Michael says, walking over and wrapping me into a hug. “Happy birthday!” The girls all shout, coming over and taking turns giving me hugs as well. “I can’t believe you guys came.” My voice lacks enthusiasm, but they don’t seem to notice. “It’s your birthday, Iz! Of course we’re here! Michael seems to be quite the catch.” Grace says with a not so subtle wink. “Yeah, he’s really great.” I say, feeling Michael step up behind me and wrap his arms around my shoulders. He presses a few kisses to the side of my neck and cheek. “Can I get you a drink, birthday girl?” I hear Calum’s deep voice say from across the kitchen island. I take second to admire the way he looks in just a plain white t-shirt and black skinny jeans. It isn’t fair, honestly. “Yeah, that would be great.” His eyes don’t leave mine as I reply, but he smiles and moves to fix the drink. “I hope you’re ready for tonight.” Michael whispers against the shell of my ear. “Why’s that, handsome?” I smile sweetly and turn in his arms. “You’ll see when we get home.” He leans down and presses a few quick kisses to my lips before releasing my body and walking over to the stereo to change the song. “Izzy, come have a shot!” Andrea grabs my arm and pulls me over to where she and the other girls were standing at the counter. They poured shots of blue vodka into some shot glasses and handed them out to everyone. “Happy birthday, babe. Cheers to you!” Michael says as he clanks his shot glass with everyone else’s. I smile and tip the glass back against my lips and let the disgusting vodka burn my throat on the way down. I cringe and sit the shot glass on the counter. “No more of those.” I cough and wipe my mouth with my hand. Those words were in vain however, because before we left the house we ended up drinking three more of them. The uber van showed up just in time to save me from having to take another. I watched Calum slide on a green jacket over his white shirt before walking outside behind the girls, Hillary constantly looking over her shoulder and smiling at him. I couldn’t help but scoff.

Michael had reserved a VIP area for our group, so when we arrived at the club we were taken back to a corner area. There was a low round table in the center with big plush couches surrounding it. There were 4 or 5 different types of alcohol already on the table with enough glasses for everyone to use. “What do you think?” Michael says. “You didn’t have to do all this Mikey.” I say while he helps me slide my jacket off, kissing the exposed skin between the strap of my dress and my neck. “Anything for you.” He whispers against my skin. It should have given me goosebumps, or made my knees feel weak. “Thank you.” I lean up to kiss him quickly, but his hand slides up my back and into my hair keeping me there so he can kiss me more. I can feel the rest of our groups eyes on us and I pull back away from his hungry mouth. “More to come, babe.” Michael winks down at me before pulling on my hand for me to follow him over to the sitting area. The girls all giggle as I sit down, gushing about what a cute couple we are. Calum is sitting back, jaw clenched as he watches me. His gaze could burn a hole right through me. Hillary seems to of taken a liking to Calum, and as the night goes on, and the more shots she consumes, the closer to him on the couch she gets. She touches his leg and he puts his arm behind her on the couch, his other hand holding a whiskey neat. The only way to get rid of the nagging jealousy in my stomach was to drink. So as quickly as I could, I downed two glasses of champagne and another shot of vodka. “I’m going to dance.” I slam the shot glass down and stand up on wobbly legs. “You okay, sweetheart?” Michael asks, he slurs the words a little and doesn’t bother to get up from the couch. “Fucking fantastic.” I clap my hands together and start making my way towards the dance floor. “Wait up, Iz! Cal and I will come with you!” Hillary shouts from behind me. I feel sick for two reasons. One of them being the alcohol, the other being the fact that she just called him Cal. They’re on a nickname basis now? I bump into a few people on the way, not bothering to apologize. I needed to get on the dance floor so I could be consumed by something other than Calum Hood. There was some unknown club music being played by the DJ but I didn’t care. Once I got to the middle of the dance floor I let the music sway my body however it wanted to. My hips moved without my control. There was sweat forming on the back of my neck and my feet were killing me, but it didn’t matter. None of it did, until I felt a pair of hands touching my hips. "Why don’t we go sit back down, Bambi.” He says in my ear. “No. I’m having fun. You should go have fun with Hillary.” I pull away from his grip so I can spin around and look at him. “You’re really drunk. Let me take you back to the VIP.” He reaches for me and I move away from him again. “Pssh, you’re drunk.” I laugh and hiccup at the same time. “I think I should take you home.” He reaches out for me again, and I don’t fight it this time. He turns me so that my back is to him and his hand is wrapped around my elbow while he begins steering me through the crowd. In my drunken haze, I decide that if Calum wants to mess with my head, then I can mess with his too. I stop walking before we get off the dance floor making him bump into my back. “What are you doing?” He says lowly. I can feel his breath against my ear. “Dance with me.” I say over my shoulder. I start moving my hips, lightly grinding my ass back against his crotch. "Isabella…” He says between clenched teeth. “Stop me if you don’t like it.” I move down his body and slowly bring myself back up against him with a little more pressure this time. “Fuck.” He almost growls the word as his big hands grab onto my hips and pull me harder against him. I can feel the warmth of his body radiating into mine. He holds me close and skims his nose against my temple. “You’re going to get us both in trouble.” He whispers. “No one will see. There are hundreds of people on this dance floor.” I let my body relax against his chest. Once of his longer fingers trails down the front of my body and stops at the hem of my dress, brushing over any skin that he can get to. I wanted to get lost with him. “Enough, Bambi. We need to get back over there.” Calum moves away, grabbing my hand and pulling me the rest of the way through the crowd and back to our VIP area. When we got there, sweet Michael was asleep on one of the couches. His soft blonde hair was sticking up in all directions and his lips were slightly parted. I smiled as I approached him, Calum’s hand staying in mine up until that moment. I bent down next to the couch and softly touched Michael’s face, making him stir. “Lets get you home, Mikey.” He grunts and tries to sit up. Calum quickly comes over and helps him stand up, wrapping Michael’s arm over his shoulder so he can help him out of the club. “I gotcha buddy.” Calum tells Michael. We meet eyes for a moment before he turns and starts walking towards the exit. “Is Calum leaving?” Hillary asks while I’m gathering my things. “Um, yeah. I think so.” I slide my jacket on quickly. “Do you think he wants me to come home with him? I could use some great sex from him.” She giggles and my stomach flips. “I think he just wants to get Mikey home, Hillary.” I try to smile convincingly. I don’t say anything else, I just quickly make my way to Calum and Michael who are starting to get into an Uber. I slipped into the seat next to Michael, letting his head fall against my shoulder. I used my hand to reach up and brush some hair away from his forehead. I cared about him so much, but something wasn’t letting me give him all of myself. He would be good for me. I could be happy. But there shouldn’t be that nagging feeling of second guessing. But how could I hurt him? How could I break up with him when he’s done nothing wrong? “Love you, baby.” Michael murmurs against my shoulder. My mouth drops open in surprise, my eyes immediately going to Calum, who was sitting on the other side of Michael in the back of the car. He just looked away as quickly as he could. But I know he heard it too. The rest of the car ride is in silence. When we get back to their house, Calum helps Michael out of the car. He wraps his arm around him and lets him lean against his body while they walk up the sidewalk to the house. “You’re a good friend, Cal.” Michael slurs again. “Lets get you to bed, bro. Alright?” Calum pats Michael’s back and unlocks the front door. “Think I’m gonna puke.” Michael tries to pull away from Calum but stumbles over his sloppy footsteps. “Get him to the toilet.” My own stomach threatening to spill its contents. “Did you think of that all by yourself, Bambi?” Calum says sarcastically. He shifts Michael back against him and walks him down the hallway. After reaching the bathroom, Calum lowers Michael down until his face is over the toilet and his arms are hugging it. I move past him into the bathroom and kneel down, trying to help Michael and keep myself together at the same time. When he starts heaving, I get a horrible taste in my mouth and I know it’s coming. I crawl across the bathroom floor past Calum who only watches with an amused look on his face. “Stop laughing at me.” I whine and get myself into the hallway so I can breathe again. I breathe in and out a few times while I press my back against the wall and lean my head back against it. The earth felt like it was going to spin out from underneath me, so I closed my eyes tightly to avoid the dizziness that was sure to follow. “You alright, Bambs?” Calum asks. I can hear him walk around me, sliding down the wall across from me to sit on the floor. “This is such a shitty birthday.” I half laugh still refusing to open my eyes. “Didn’t really seem like your type of thing.” Calum says. “Because it wasn’t. Not even a little.” I sigh, letting my head roll forward and fall between my knees. “What is your thing?” He quietly clears his throat. His sudden interest in my life throws me completely off guard, so I risk opening my eyes to look at him. He’s already looking back at me. His cheeks are tinged pink, probably from the 3 or 4 whiskey drinks he had at the club. The color of his slightly parted, thick lips almost the exact same color. My body itched to move across the small space between us and grip his curls between my fingers. But I stayed right where I was.

“Something more simple, I guess. We could have hung out here on the back deck and drank cheap beer and I would have been much happier.” I sigh, and he smiles at the words, which causes me to have to look away. “Then why did you agree to the plans?” He picks at a loose string on his jeans. “Because I care about Michael. And he worked hard on the plans.” I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, biting a little too hard. “Michael’s a big boy, I’m sure he could have handled it if you told him the truth.” He looks at me expectantly, a bit of anger in his voice. “Have you always been an asshole? Or is this all just specially for me?” I let my legs slowly fall out straight in front of me. “I wouldn’t flatter yourself too much Bambi, ‘m pretty much an asshole to everyone.” A quick smile crosses his lips but he just looks back down at the small hole in jeans. “Why?” I ask. “Am I actually supposed to answer that question?” He replied sarcastically.

It was like talking to a brick wall sometimes when it came to Calum. He wasn’t willing to give many parts of himself to anyone. Except maybe Michael, who seemed to be the only friend I’d ever seen him have around. Other than that, he was always reading. There was always a book in his hands even when I’d just walk past the kitchen to see him warming something in the microwave. I turned to the side to look into the bathroom and check on Michael. He was still slouched over the toilet, snoring softly. My eyes were having a hard time focusing on much, but I could easily recognize that a copy of Wuthering Heights was lying on the side sink. Of course he had a copy of one of the best pieces of literature sitting next to his toilet. I giggled, not realizing that I had done it out loud. “What’s funny?’ I hear his voice say, so I slowly turn back towards him. “You have Wuthering Heights next to your toilet.” I can’t help the big smile on my face. "Yeah. I mean I leave a book lying in just about every room around here.” He shrugs his shoulder. “That’s kind of a strange thing to do.” I tease. “Never know when you’ll need a book.” His eyes meet mine again and we both smile. Something about the way he said it, and the idea of it, made me happier than it should of. I have to force my eyes away from his so that I don’t give away the fact that I’m staring a little too intently. I sigh, moving my back away from the wall so that I can lie flat on my back in the middle of the hallway. Staring up at the ceiling, I sense Calum scooting closer and then he’s lying down on his back, his head right next to mine but his feet are doing the other direction. “Do you feel guilty? For whatever this is that we’re doing.” I say quietly, hoping that Mikey is completely asleep against the toilet. I hear Calum suck in a long breath and exhale it slowly. “I think I’ve hurt Mike in the past, and I don’t want to do that again.” He explains vaguely. “How did you hurt him?” I ask. “Hooked up with his girl. It never should have happened, but it did. I cant take that one back. And for some reason Mike forgave me. I don’t think he would be so forgiving a second time.” Calum shifts a little, his head still close to mine. “You’re probably right.” I bite my lip, a thousand thoughts running through my mind.

“I know you’re biting your lips, overthinking this right now Bambi.” He says. I allow myself to look to the side and see him still staring at the ceiling.

“I don’t think you understand half the things going on my head right now, Calum.” “You’d be surprised.” He doesn’t need to say anything else. I knew what he meant. He was thinking the same things. He was wishing things were different. That we had met some other way. Some other time. I sigh again. “I’m starving. Is there food around here?” I finally say. “Depends what you consider food.” He says, making us both laugh in unison as we continue to look at the ceiling and not each other. “I think just about anything would do at this point.” I sit up on my elbows and look down at him, his chocolate eyes meeting my gray ones.

“Let’s get you something then, shall we?” He winks before sitting up and getting to his feet. Once he’s up, he puts his hand out for me to take.

Calum pulls me to my feet and we walk quietly to the kitchen. He goes to fridge, bending down to see what he can find inside. I slump over to the counter and jump up to sit on it, it takes way more coordination than it normally would. He smiles as he watches me over his shoulder and pulls out a couple leftover Chinese containers.

“I wish that I thought this was disgusting right now, but I’m about to devour these.” I open a container with noodles inside and sniff them. Calum laughs, throwing his head back a little.

“Hand them over, I’ll warm them up for you.” He takes the container from my hands and scoops the noodles out onto two plates, placing them in the microwave for a few minutes.

"Are we friends?” I randomly ask.

“I don’t know, are we?” He leans against the counter a few feet away from me.

“I want to be. We should be. I think we should. Right?” I stutter and trip over the words.

“You know as well as I do, that there’s something else between us.” Calum says, moving to take the plates out of the microwave when it beeps.

“We’re attracted to each other. Doesn’t mean we have to act on any of those feelings.” I take a plate of noodles and start putting them into my mouth with my fingers. Calum shakes his head and hands me a fork.

“I won’t if you don’t.” He takes a bite of his food. Only meeting my eyes for a second before he look away.

“Fine. Easiest deal I’ve ever made.” My mouth is full of noodles as I speak but calum only laugh quietly at the sight.

“Don’t be so sure Bambs.” He smiles knowingly.

The rest of the night is filled with light conversation. Books. Poems we love. Poems we don’t love. Favorite quotes. Favorite times of day. Favorite nearby parks with the best views. I told him the park on 7th had my favorite hydrangea bush. He told me the park on Monroe street had the best benches and that it was always quiet.

Things had to be different from now on. I couldn’t give into the urges I was having. I wasnt going to hurt Michael that way, not after he’s already been hurt like this once.

I could be Calums friend. That’s just how things were going to be.

@chilleezliz @slimthicccal @bbycal @kinglyhood @sugarcoated-pain

#5sos #5secondsofsummer #calum hood #Michael clifford #ashton irwin #luke hemmings #5sos imagines #5sos fanfiction #5sos fic #5sos au #part 3 is finally done omg #give me all the feedback

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spacebrick3 · 5 years

Text

Evenfall University: Ring of Fire Part 4

Part 4 of Mira’s adventures at Evenfall! And things are starting to take an interesting turn, here in @note-katha‘s university, and who knows where it will lead them…

The problem with grand proclamations like “changing the world” is that there’s a lot of groundwork. Everybody knows the leaders of the revolution, but few the ones who build the stage. “So…how do we find the First Circle?” Mira asks awkwardly, waiting outside her dormitory (and missing her class). “I mean, it’s not like we can just go up to a teacher and ask.”

“You’d be surprised,” Sam says, “but…generally better not to. Keeps them at a distance, at the very least. But they rely on their warnings more than any actual security - trust that we’ll listen to the authorities of the school, mostly.”

“What does that mean? Their authority’s pretty solid if there’s no information,” she says, glancing sideways with a frown. The early-morning sunlight shines strangely off of her, a faint translucence to Sam’s skin. Or maybe it’s just a holdover of her aura, the lighter gold over the darker brown giving it that strange effect. “I mean, no one has to guard any of the scrolls from Alexandria because they’re all gone - have they done the same here?”

Sam motions for Mira to follow, one corner of her mouth ticking upwards into a smirk. “No. They’re still in the library. Just sitting there, on the shelves. After all, they wouldn’t destroy the information that helps them, would they?”

“And…we can just pick them up?”

“No, they’re restricted. There’s a spell - it manipulates you, tells you that you don’t really want the books. People turn away and they’re convinced it’s their own reasoning, and they have no idea. After all, put up a wall and everyone will want to break in - make them think they have a choice, and they’ll willingly give up their own knowledge.” She grimaces. “Insidious, really, prying inside your head.”

It doesn’t sound good. She’d like to think she wouldn’t be affected, that she’d be strong enough to break through such a spell, but she can’t even convince herself of that. If it’s even real. Everybody speaks of it as though it’s real, because for them it defines their life, and can she risk otherwise? Can she take the risk of venturing blind into something she knows nothing about?

She doesn’t know. “So…how do we get the books, then, if we can’t even…keep wanting them?”

“Oh, leave that to me,” Sam says. “Because it’s Third Circle magic, manipulating mind and emotion. And that’s a certain speciality of mine - but I do have to be careful, to make sure they don’t know we’re there.”

“You think there’s a warning system or something?”

“I know I’d set up something if my magic was tampered with,” she says with a shrug. “So…Mira. So far you’ve not lent yourself to stealth-“

Stealth. Right. “Yeah. I’ll…leave that one to you, actually.” Mira shakes her head, rubbing her forehead with a rueful grin. “There’s a reason I’m here at Evenfall, a reason it was a good idea for me to be here and not at some normal university. And that reason, or at least all of it you’ll get, is a distinct lack of stealth on my part.”

That gets her a raised eyebrow, but no comment. “I…see. Um.”

“I mean, you don’t have to worry or anything,” she adds, “it’s not like it even made the news. And I’m not planning on trying again, obviously, plus there are less abandoned NASA workshops - well, I thought it was abandoned-“

For whatever reason, that doesn’t seem to reassure her. She pushes open the door of the library, glaring at the single student sprawled in the corner. “Right. The books should be upstairs, on the third floor, directly opposite from where we are now. I assume you know the structure of the library?”

“I’m still new here, Sam.” She looks around, at the old stone drilled into to let cables snake in and out. Lights glow in the ceiling, the filaments gaining the quality of all old libraries - bright, white light fading to yellow, with just enough flicker to make them appear aged. Books covered in velvet and gold, or at least the important ones, others tucked into shelves or stacked on top of them. “I’ve literally never been here before.”

“Oh, yes. Of course. Each floor gets quieter, as you go up - fairly standard, although it’s imbued with its own magic. Fifth Circle and Third Circle, mixed to restrict Voice and Emotion, as well as boost Mind. In a sense. There are several layers, all overlaying one another, and it will be a challenge to break one and not the other.”

You know in movies? When the scientist character says a bunch of what’s supposed to be ‘fancy scientific formulas’ and is really just a bunch of words jammed together? And all the other characters stare blankly and the one Action Hero™ asks ‘speak English’ to general laughter?

That’s what just happened, except with magic. “I…okay…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sam says. “It’s not your problem. I’ll be the only one heading upstairs, and the only one who has to deal with this. There shouldn’t be anyone in the top floors, not this early. It’ll be your job to keep them out.”

“What?”

“Mind work is delicate, and what we’re doing is very against the rules. If you’ve been breaking into workshops and you’re not in jail, your lying skills are probably better than your stealth. So lie.” Sam picks a book from the shelf, turning it over in her hands. “Make up something, I don’t care what.”

“I thought you said no one was here.” Mira looks around, noting the exactly one (1) student. “I mean, a lot of this is available online - just being on campus wifi gets people access to papers and stuff. We should be fine.” Except in her dorm, of course, where the wifi runs at the speed of a slug. At 1 fps (frame per slug).

Sam blinks, rubbing her head. “Right. Computers, of course. Then…come with me, kay? You’re still lookout.” The stairs spiral up the outside of the library, glass strips running down their length. They climb together, half in sunlight and half in shadow, Sam frowning at a name scratched into the wall. “That wasn’t here the last time…”

The scratch is in jagged script, the sharp edges of something carved with a knife. Into stone, somehow. Remember Alian, it reads, tucked away in the corner. “Do..you know an Alian?”

“No. Something probably happened to them, though, or it wouldn’t say ‘remember’,” she says, sighing. “Come on, we’re almost there. Can you feel it?”

Her voice is dropping, quieter with each step. “I think so, yeah,” she says, and she’s whispering. “How quiet do we get? Or…are forced to get? Does it quiet us just…all the way?”

“Not quite,” she whispers, “for the people who talk to themselves while studying. But close.” The landing onto the third floor is lined with silver, instead of gold, a colder blue replacing the warm light of downstairs. It’s hardly more modern, with embossed panels set into the wooden wall and shelves of dark mahogany, but certainly colder.

Colder, and hostile somehow. “Maybe we shouldn’t be here,” she says, resting a hand on the door. “It doesn’t feel - I don’t know. But I don’t think-“

“You’re not going any further,” Sam says. “It’s already affecting you, here. Just watch the stairs, make sure nobody gets up here. Say there’s, uh, maintenance or something. Bookkeeping that cannot be disturbed, by even the slightest motion.” She sighs, tapping out a asymmetric rhythm on the wall. “Now…have they changed anything?”

“You’ve been here before?”

Sam doesn’t answer. “Mind magic is a tricky thing. Sensitive, see. It’s difficult to manipulate from here, no matter what you do. Maybe…it’s a spiderweb, and so any motion on it will disturb the web, no matter how careful.”

“So…what will you do?”

She gives a small smile, though there’s something unrecognizable behind it. “The perks of not being a first-year. There’s some…uh, manipulation of Mind magic you can accomplish. It’s difficult, and dangerous, but it’s the only way to get past. It’s built for a purpose, a specific purpose - to change things in one way, and it can be bypassed.”

And we’re back to the, uh, magical jargon. “That’s not an answer. I asked what you’d do, not how you’d do it.”

“Impatient.” She takes a breath, staring out across the shelves. “Mind magic doesn’t fight itself. It can’t, or it would tear the web apart from the inside. And magic is part of you - you’ve seen the auras, and all it takes is…letting go, I suppose. Separating mind and body, or just putting one above the other.”

“Still not an explanation.”

Sam glares at her. “Just watch.” She takes a breath, then fades, the floor of the library visible through her. The parts of her in the sunlight are barely there, only a faint outline of gold. “Look. Mind over matter, quite literally.”

“I-“ Mira shakes her head, waving a hand through where she stands. “You…feel like syrup?”

“Don’t do that!” she whispers, swatting her hand away. “Would you want someone waving their hand through you?”

“How - what-?”

She makes a show of brushing herself off, still irritated at her. “It’s like…learning to swim, I guess. That’s the only way I can think of it,” she says at last. “But I’ve heard it’s different for everyone who tries it.”

“What do you mean?” she asks, still hopelessly lost.

“When you first learn to swim, you - you’re scared,” she says, shrugging. “You cling to the shore, barely in the water. That’s how most everybody is, clinging to the world. And it’s terrifying to let go, but…if you can…well, if you can let go of the shore, of the world, then…” She gestures at her transparent self. “But stay in shallow waters.”

That’s ominous. “What’s…what’s in deeper waters?”

“Nothing’s there,” she says darkly. “Nothing at all. If you’ve ever been to the sea, you know how it drops off, how the shore falls hundreds of feet to the ocean floor. You stay in shallow waters because otherwise you drown, and there’s no way back. Those are the realms of…of ghosts, of spirits, mostly, the minds who’ve lost all connection with the world.”

“But you still have one.”

Sam scowls. “Yes. Although it’s still scary, letting go. There’s a reason people cling so desperately to the world, and there’s always that fear, that I’ll never be able to get back. That I won’t hold tightly enough to the world and I’ll be lost, falling back into-“ She sighs, breath shaking a little. “Never mind. Just keep watch.”

“I’ll do that.” Sam strides into the library, vanishing as she walks into the sunlit patches. She leaves no footprints, no trace that she’s ever been there. “Wait-“ Mira whispers after her, though it’s much too quiet. “How are you going to carry the books-?”

She’s gone. “Right, then,” she mutters to herself. “…what more can the First Circle give us? She can - she’s like, psychic or something, and Ardis - that is his name, right? - can control time. Apparently.” Mira can’t get closer to the shelves, her own fear that she doesn’t belong there keeping her away.

Except it’s not her own fear, is it? It’s somebody else’s, manufactured and put into her own head. And she can’t escape it. Mira tells herself it’s not real, and that doesn’t make it any less so. “Get out of my head!” she whispers at it, pacing back and forth on the landing, and it doesn’t.

Maybe that’s what the First Circle does. Maybe it doesn’t do anything but protect her from magic.

It takes exactly 40 minutes and 11 seconds for Sam to return, according to her watch, or enough time for the sun to burn off the last of the fog as it rises. She has a stack of books in her arms, the pages faded to yellow and with dust still thick on the covers. “I got the ones I could,” she says, handing Mira the stack. “The ones that will help you most, anyway.”

“How do you know - how can you tell?” she asks, brushing the dust off one of the titles. The Inner Circles of Magic, it reads, A Comprehensive Guide to Exploring the Second and First Rings. The author is unreadable. “What will be useful and what’s not, I mean?”

“I have my ways,” she says, wincing as she becomes (mostly-, although Mira doesn’t mention it) opaque again. “Probably best to leave, and quickly, too. Come on, you probably already want to-“

She’s not wrong, and Mira hates it. “So what now? We have the books, but…”

“That’s the easy part,” Sam says, shaking her head. “Magic is an art, and - well, any closer to believing in magic?” she asks, almost resignedly.

Yes. “No.”

“Great. Time for you to become an artist, with colors you can’t see.”

Tag list: @lady-redshield-writes, @no-url-ideas-tho, @ratracechronicler, @ken-kenwrites, @ravenpuffwriter, @cirianne, @lonelylibrary @maxbeewriting, @endlesshourglass, @thebloodstainedquill, @anip-ocs, @note-katha @dreamwishing, @incandescent-creativity, @fatal-blow, @danafaithwriting, @wri-tten, @writingwhithotchocolate, @katekyo-bitch-reborn, @klywrites and @dogwrites!

(and if you liked this, don’t forget to check out Evenfall University at @note-katha, since it is actually their amazing story and all!)

#evenfall university #ring of fire #writing #uh….i don't really know what i'm going to say about this bit #things happen #yeah #note-katha

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words-writ-in-starlight · 6 years

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Who is toby daye? What is this book series? You have me extremely curious.

Toby Daye, or October Daye, is the titular character of the absolutely phenomenal urban fantasy series by Seanan McGuire, and YOU NEED TO READ THEM.

Listen, I’m gonna pitch them under the cut at more length, but seriously.

Do you like urban fantasy, Celtic folklore, and fairy tales?

Do you like emotionally complex characters?

Do you like creative magic, diversity, and/or well-executed romance?

Do you like the Dresden Files but wish that it had less...Written By A Straight White Dude-ness about it?

Have you ever read a book on my recommendation and liked it before?

If you answered yes to any of the above, then don’t bother to read any further. Congratulations, I have your next series, it’s called October Daye, get the first book on Amazon for two dollars. Just trust me and shell out for Rosemary and Rue and come talk to me after you’ve been converted.

Now for a long pitch.

All right...listen.

Do you see up there where I mentioned the Dresden Files? And the Written By A Straight White Dude-ness of it? I’m gonna take a minute to drag Jim Butcher.

I love the Dresden Files. I really do. I haven’t read many of them, but Harry’s a great character and it’s a deeply crazy universe that I enjoy very much. HOWEVER. You know what I have trouble with? How much Butcher talks about the nipples of every woman Harry ever meets. The way that there are only women who Harry wants to fuck, basically. The frankly limited scope of characters--I think there might be one gay character in the series thus far? Does he have a boyfriend? Not sure.

Trust me. Now that I’ve mentioned the nipple thing, you’ll never unsee it.

But so this landed me in kind of a dilemma, once I realized these problems. See, I love the fantasy noir thing, and Jim Butcher does a good job with it, but I was having a lot of trouble finding a series that filled a few vital criteria:

Original fantasy content

Detective novel

Does not treat women like props

Engaging writing style

Like, maybe one gay character who’s onscreen more than once, like maybe at least one

Which does not seem like a high bar, but most of the books I found managed 3 or 4 out of 5, so I settled. A lot. And I was aware of settling, but I wanted books to read more than I wanted to observe ideological purity, so whatever, right?

I N C O R R E C T

Because turns out Seanan McGuire exists. And in her infinite kindness, she has blessed us with the October Daye series. Which has all of those things, plus some really fascinating fantasy politics and an absolutely warm and uplifting found family plotline. Toby goes from being a depressed loner with a death wish to living in a house full of people who love her with allies all over the coast, and it’s just...extremely nice.

The basic idea of Toby’s world is pretty simple: Faerie directly overlays our world, and that causes some problems. Toby is a changeling, half-human and half-fae, and when the books pick up, she’s well out of her life in Faerie, having recently lost fourteen years and her entire mortal life--home, husband, and daughter--to a curse. So she works as a cashier in a grocery store and tries not to see the pixies, as it were.

Then her friend gets killed and uses the oldest, cruelest magic available to bind Toby to solving her murder, leaving Toby with the option to either rejoin Faerie or die under the weight of the spell. Toby, not being a fucking moron, opts for the former.

Whatever you want, these books pretty much have.

A huge variety of family dynamics, found and blood related, ranging from “you tried to murder me but it’s okay I love you anyway” to “you ignored me for my whole childhood so fuck off” to “it doesn’t matter that we’re family because I’m going to kill you if I can” to really genuinely healthy “hey listen I’m here to support you and protect you because I love you”.

A really delightful mix of the archaic with the modern--sure, that boy might know the forms of courtly manners like a 15th century lordling, but he’s also got Opinions on Toby’s musical taste. Hey, that faerie saw the rise of civilization, but she likes Phish Food.

T R A G E D Y. Oh boy, wait till you get to One Salt Sea.

Romance! Toby is straight, explicitly, and her romances are very Good in very different ways and the endgame romance is just *chef kiss* perfection. Her endgame love interest is bisexual, explicitly. Her squire is bisexual, explicitly, and has a girlfriend and a boyfriend. Her [REDACTED] is a lesbian, or at least is a woman with an extremely adorable girlfriend. One of her allies is the aforementioned faerie from the rise of civilization, who has an exceedingly sad story about her short-lived romance with a woman. Every relationship is totally unique and engaging and reads as very real, which I’ve observed in the past as one of Seanan’s strong points--the characters very clearly like each other as people and spend time demonstrating that, rather than just having dramatic love scenes and nothing else.

This one might just be me, but I really appreciate that there’s no romantic tension rooted in cheating or vast misunderstandings or even really love triangles. People have fucking conversations, if they’re upset. For the brief period where there’s the suggestion of a love triangle involving Toby, the attitude of the non-boyfriend is very much “Hey, you know what, I didn’t step up before you got together with this guy, when I had the chance, so I can’t complain although I reserve the right to dislike your boyfriend.” And that’s...so goddamn refreshing I can’t even articulate it.

The magic is super cool! The faeries are super cool! The high fantasy politics are super cool! The plots are super cool! Seanan does an amazing job of drenching fairy tales in blood and making them beautiful!

Ultimately, here’s my pitch. This is an adult fantasy book series that loves being what it is, and it’s genuinely a joy to read. There has never been a moment where I have been dissatisfied with the progression of it, nor a moment where I felt left out of the universe. As Toby grows into herself and the dynamic changes, I never feel like the tension of the universe or the relationships between characters have suffered for it, nor that Toby is unrecognizable--the development of her character is seamless and genuinely uplifting. This is a universe I could spend years in without getting bored, and a character I’ll never fall out of love with.

Read. These. Fucking. Books.

#october daye #toby daye #book rec #seanan mcguire #YOU CAN AFFORD TO SPEND TWO DOLLARS ON THE FIRST BOOK OKAY #OR ELSE GET IT FROM A LIBRARY #JUST #FUCKING TRUST ME ON THIS ONE #if you have EVER read a book on my recommendation then just trust me on this #i know a bunch of you folks read animorphs on my recommendation #this one is not free but if you read animorphs you should read this #they're bloody and vicious and loving and perfect #i will write whatever you want about them #there is not an incorrect october daye quotes blog and frankly it's a crying shame #if i had any ideas i might start one myself #but yeah anyway #[justdoit.gif]#god and these books just LOVE themselves you know?#nothing is more welcoming than a book that knows exactly what it is and loves being that thing #in this case: urban noir meets classic fairy tales meets high otherworldly fantasy full of flawed characters doing their Best #just fucking read them okay #just do it #i've talked about this for so long just do this for me #idiot teenagers with a queue #anonymous #asked and answered

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somethingvaguetodo · 6 years

Text

The Chat of Monte Carlo

This was written for @auyeahaugust Day 10: Secret Agents. It is somewhat suggestive, so keep that in mind before choosing to read. Read on AO3 here

“Well, chaton, what do you think?”

Ladybug scanned the room from her spot in the corner. The ballroom in Hôtel Hermitage was as opulent as the rest of the building, but she was well trained in not letting her awe show.

Chat Noir’s voice came through her earpiece as if he were standing next to her. “I think you look stunning in red. Surely I’ve told you that before.”

Ladybug rolled her eyes but hid her smile behind her champagne flute. For this job she needed to blend in to the wealthy crowd, but not stand out more than any of the other opulently clothed women. She personally disagreed with the idea of a bright red gown if the idea was discretion, but Tikki, her desk agent, had assured her that it would be fine. Besides, the dress waiting for her in the small hotel room in Nice was gorgeous, and she would be a fool as a person and as an aspiring fashion designer not to wear it. It was sleek and rather modest, with an embellished bodice and three quarter length sleeves and a small peplum at her waist.

Next to most of the women in their designer ball gowns, she barely stood out.

“I meant do you have eyes on the target?” she muttered in response to him. All she knew was that the comb they were supposed to be obtaining would be on the head of a blonde woman around her age. Her cursory glance around the room showed many blondes, but neither of the two blondes she wanted to see.

“Also remind me why you are waltzing around with a tray of drinks while I have to smile and pose?” This was a simple, but unusual mission for Ladybug. She was quickly gaining the reputation as the agency’s strongest player, and was often sent on reconnaissance and assassination missions. They typically didn’t involve parties for the rich and famous in Monaco, and the acquisition of a small piece of jewelry. She had no idea how this was helping to take down Hawkmoth. But Ladybug knew by now that Master Fu had his reasons for everything, even if she didn’t understand them.

The other unusual part of this mission was that she and Chat Noir were split up. When they were paired together, they were usually given the opportunity to actually work with one another, but here she was nodding her head at dignitaries while he was somewhere with the kitchen staff.

Chat’s laugh was clear in her ear. “I can’t be Chat Noir with this crowd,” he said enigmatically. “As a waiter, I’m invisible, which is what I need to be with these folks. Top of the room, buy the windows.”

His sudden change in tone alerted her to move, and she started making her way around the perimeter of the room. Ladybug was not interested in having to make any more small talk with the other guests, and the cover story that had been constructed for her reason to be invited to such an exclusive affair felt sticky on her tongue.

A waiter with a tray of paté was coming toward her. Ladybug quickly drained her champagne and set the empty flute down on his tray. He glanced up at her, his green eyes bright under his bangs, and she let her fingers linger over the ring on his right hand before they separated. Chat’s hair was longer and shaggier than usual, and he was dressed in solid black: a button down with the sleeves rolled and a sleek vest over it, trousers, and patent shoes. The only exception was a pure white bow tie at his neck.

“You look pretty good in a uniform, minou.”

“You should have seen me in the police officer getup last month,” he answered automatically. She glanced back quickly to see that he was already on the other side of the room, but noticed that he was looking her way. He winked.

Ladybug shook her head as she walked toward the windows. Not for the first time, she wondered who Chat Noir was when he wasn’t working as an agent. Marinette Dupain-Cheng was an anonymous Parisian, which made it easy for her to be Ladybug. Chat had dropped hints, like the one before, that he was someone who fit in and would be recognized in these exclusive social circles.

Chat was a mystery. She didn’t always work with him, but he was by far her favorite to team up with. Carapace was good for tech jobs, and she got along really well with Rena, but Chat made the job fun, despite what had happened the first time they worked together. That was a day she would never forget, but it meant more than she could describe in words that Chat was the one to help her through it. Perhaps because of that, she trusted him more than anyone else. She hated that she never knew when she was going to see him, or even if they would ever be paired up again.

Ladybug’s attention was suddenly pulled to a woman by the window, her blonde hair piled up on her head in an elaborate updo. Her gown was voluminous and bulky, a flashy yellow tulle skirt taking up most of the space around her. A gleaming comb was nestled in her hair.

“Spotted,” Ladybug whispered, hoping Chat enjoyed the little joke. His chuckle told her that he did.

“Work your magic, LB.”

Ladybug made eye contact with the woman, sending her a friendly smile. The blonde raised one delicate eyebrow, her gaze traveling down Ladybug’s dress before sneering. “Something tells me you would have better luck with this woman.”

Chat laughed again. “Unfortunately, you’re right. But we go way back, there’s no way she wouldn’t recognize me.”

Ladybug was curious about that, but didn’t say anything as she pulled her purse open to see what Tikki had given her this time. A pair of reading glasses were nestled between a pack of tissues and her burner phone. She slid them on her face. A tint of green was over the lenses. Night vision.

An idea sparked in her mind. “Chaton, is there an electricity breaker near you?”

He hummed while looking. “Give me a minute.” Ladybug patiently waited, turning her body to look out the window while making sure to not let her target out of her sight. “So…” Chat began, “I was thinking maybe after this you and I could grab a bite to eat. Café de Paris is open until 2.”

That was… new. And potentially dangerous. This was a lonely job, and they weren’t meant to be friends outside of a mission. Or anything more than friends. She knew that Chat was attracted to her, and she knew that he made her feel more alive than anyone else. It could get dangerous very quickly.

It was a good thing she liked danger. “Depends how quickly you can cut the – ” The lights cut out before she finished her sentence.

“Sixty seconds before the generator kicks in.” Chat’s voice in her ear spurred her to move, and she quickly darted forward, able to see through the panic of the guests due to her enhanced glasses. She quickly stepped forward toward her target, swiping the comb off her head.

Ladybug was on the other side of the room when the lights came on, her glasses and the comb tucked into her purse.

She walked at a leisurely pace, listening idly to the conversations of other people, speculating about why the power surged. She slipped unnoticed out of the ballroom, and around the corridors to the lobby.

“All set, M’lady?” Ladybug hummed, smiling gratefully at the doormen as she exited the building.

“Yes, what a lovely evening it is,” she commented. She paused for a moment to look at the sky, which had just darkened despite the late hour, before making her way toward the sea bank.

“I’m sure,” Chat said. “So are we on for eating?”

The air by the docks smelled like the ocean. “Don’t you have a shift to finish, garçon?”

“I can be there in 20 minutes.”

She spotted Wayzz on the deck of a yacht. She didn’t acknowledge him.

“Give me a half hour. I need to get out of this dress.”

“I was hoping you would say that.”

Ladybug woke up to bright sunlight streaming through the terrace doors. She was confused for a moment, as the room she was in was far nicer than the one the agency reserved for her in Nice.

A glance at who she was laying on reminded her of the night before.

Judging by the color of the sky, it was much later in the morning than she would have liked. Chat was warm underneath her, and she snuggled into him. One hand rested on her lower back, fingers splayed, the other was slowly and rhythmically stroking her hair. It almost lulled her back to sleep before she realized his movement meant he was already awake.

“Shit.”

“Good morning to you too,” he said, his voice light. She looked up at his face. When Chat had met her in the restaurant last night, he was almost unrecognizable from the waiter at the party. His shaggy hair was back to short and meticulously combed (“extensions?” she had exclaimed), and he had rid himself of the white bow tie and popped a few buttons. Thankfully he had kept the vest. She could blame that for her lack of self control.

Now, he looked much less put together. His hair was rumpled, his eyes were sleepy, and his smile was far too sweet and innocent.

“What?” He asked when she didn’t respond. She propped her chin on his chest. His hand was still running through her hair.

“I don’t usually do this,” she answered. He smirked. “I mean the whole cuddling-morning-after sweetness. It’s not my MO.”

“So I should count myself lucky you didn’t bail before sunrise?”

Ladybug hummed, not mentioning that had been her plan.

“You seem to be doing pretty good at it right now,” Chat commented. She could hear the laughter in his voice.

“You’re warm, the air is kind of chilly. That’s all.”

“I see.”

They lay in silence for a moment. Ladybug tried to decide what to do. She didn’t think she could stand it if she never worked with him again, but how awkward would it be to see each other and pretend this never happened? It wasn’t like there were other options; they were secret government agents. She didn’t know his name, or what he did for his day job, or how he could afford a sea view suite in L’Hotel de Paris. And that wasn’t supposed to change.

Chat was watching her carefully. He leaned down and kissed her, soft and sweet. It was something that Marinette, before being hardened into Ladybug, would have loved.

She pushed herself up so she was hovering over him, trying to deepen the kiss because she just couldn’t stand how gentle he was. Chat pulled back, his hand moving so his thumb could graze her cheek.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“If I need to tell you, then I don’t know how to explain last night,” she responded.

Chat smiled. “Not everything has to be the maximum, LB. I wanted to kiss you just for the purpose of kissing you. Nothing more.”

Ladybug regarded him carefully. “You’re not what I expected,” she muttered, not moving from her position above him. He tipped his head to the side in question. He looked like his code name. “You’re softer,” She elaborated.

His smile was back to achingly sweet. “Is that a bad thing?”

Ladybug sighed, letting herself drop back down to rest on him. “I don’t want to hurt you, Chat, and I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize what we have. But I don’t know how to handle a relationship, especially not one with a co-worker. I’m too stubborn, too independent...” She trailed off at the look on his face. “What?”

“You think I don’t know all that already?” He asked. His hand had never left her back, and it felt like it was burning. “You think that doesn’t make you a million times better in my eyes?”

“Chat...” She didn’t know what to say. He seemed content to let her figure it out, and resumed stroking her hair. She could see the tip of a sailboat on the sea. “So what does this make us? Lovers?”

He stilled at the word. “I was hoping you would be interested in the title of girlfriend.” She felt her heartbeat increase, and Chat seemed to understand. “What about partners?”

Ladybug smiled. “Partners.”

She looked at him, his green eyes sparking and a happy smile on his face. She kissed him then, just because she wanted to kiss him.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #au yeah august #adrinette #ladynoir #at the same time #secret agent au #my writing #sorry for the disclaimer but ive been thinking about the youth who could be reading #and the fact that im an adult writing adult characters based on a kids show #so yeah #last for a while because its almost my BIRTHDAY

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sunflowerseedsandscience · 8 years

Text

X-Files Fic: She’s Beauty, She’s Grace- Chapter Seven

Note: Special thanks to @crossedbeams (who has all the best ideas) for her help and ideas with the interview section; it was driving me crazy!!!

Also, special thanks to @emceecapitalc, whose wishes regarding Elise led to a completely new storyline that I’m loving like crazy!

Six o’clock arrives far too quickly, and before she knows it, Scully’s sitting at her changing station in the dressing room again, doing her best to calm herself down and stop shaking long enough for Elise to finish applying her makeup. She feels as though what little dinner she’d been able to force down will be making a reappearance at any moment. She tries to wipe the sweat accumulating on her palms onto her dress- the same sparkly silver gown all the contestants are wearing for the opening number- but the sequined fabric is not the slightest bit absorbent.

Elise finishes Scully’s makeup, dusts her face with powder, and comes around to the front of the chair, crouching down and taking Scully’s hands in hers.

“Dana,” she says, keeping her voice low, “just try and relax. You’re going to be just fine.”

“She’s right,” says Skinner, who is standing to the side. “This isn’t any more frightening that any of the other nonsense you and Mulder have gotten yourselves into, is it?” Scully shakes her head, not trusting herself to open her mouth, lest she gets sick.

“You’re all set,” says Elise, and Scully stands on shaky legs. “Oh, hang on a second, your bra’s showing a little bit. Let me grab a safety pin.” She dashes off, and a moment later, Tina appears, smiling shyly.

“Katherine?” Scully turns, hoping her complete and abject terror isn’t showing on her face.

“Tina, hi!” she says, fighting to keep her voice steady.

“I just wanted to wish you luck,” Tina says, bending over and giving Scully a friendly hug. When she stands back up again, she’s looking concerned. “Katherine, you’re trembling,” she says, in a soft voice that doesn’t carry. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” says Scully, pasting on a shaky smile. “I always get like this right before I go onstage, don’t worry.” Tina doesn’t look entirely convinced.

“She does, believe me,” says Skinner. “She’ll be absolutely fine the moment she sets foot onstage.” He claps a comforting hand on Scully’s shoulder.

Suddenly, the smile drops off of Tina’s face. She’s looking over Scully’s shoulders with wide, shocked eyes, but before Scully can turn, she hears Elise’s voice behind her.

“All right, crisis averted! I’ve got a safety pin! Let me see that strap and we'll just-" Elise freezes in place when she sees Tina, and all the color leaves her face. "Tina," she says in a soft voice.

"What are you doing here, Elise?" Tina asks. She doesn't sound angry, exactly, but she's certainly not happy to see Elise.

"Helping out," Elise says. She gestures to Skinner. "This is Walt's first time at the national level and I'm here to show him the ropes." Tina nods.

"You didn't tell me you were going to be here," she says.

"Well, it's not exactly as though you were speaking to me, was it?" asks Elise, and it's the first time Scully's seen her anything approaching angry. Tina looks pained.

"Look, Elise-"

"Five minutes to curtain! Ladies, please take your places in the wings!" The stage manager strides up and down the dressing room, calling the contestants to their marks. Tina looks back to Scully.

"Good luck, Katherine," she says, and she's gone. Scully looks over at Elise, eyebrows raised.

"Yeah," sighs Elise, responding to Scully's unasked question. "Tina is the contestant I used to coach." She shakes her head briefly, as though throwing off the entire interaction. "But let's not worry about that now; you've gotta get out there!" Elise turns Scully around and uses the safety pin in her hand to secure Scully's dress, hiding the top of her strapless bra in the bodice. "There you go." She spins Scully back to face her and gives her a quick hug. "You'll do great out there," she assures her. "I'll see you in a little while, okay?" Scully nods numbly and turns away, heading for her mark with a deepening sense of dread.

When Scully had been nine years old, she'd been roped into giving a speech at an assembly in front of her entire primary school, as well as most of the students' parents. She doesn't even remember, now, what the subject of the speech had been, or why she’d been chosen to give it, or even how long she’d spoken for.

What she does remember is the way her legs had shaken as she'd mounted the steps up to the dais, the way her stomach had clenched as she'd looked out over the hundreds of faces in the audience, the way her heart had beat so fast and so hard that trying to catch her breath had been almost painful. Her Irish dance performances had never, ever terrified her like that, because at least then, her sister had always been by her side through the entire thing.

Since that day, she's spoken alone in front of people many times- on the debate team in college, as an instructor at Quantico, and as an agent giving reports and presentations to groups of her peers. She’d thought her fear of crowds had been a thing of the past… but now, standing in the wings with forty-nine other women, she is suddenly once again reduced to that terrified nine-year-old girl. It doesn’t matter that she won’t be going onstage alone; any comfort she might have gleaned from the other contestants’ presence is negated by the sheer size of the audience- not to mention the millions of television viewers watching at home.

A sudden thought strikes her: what if her mother sees her? Maggie Scully is not and never has been given to watching beauty pageants- she doesn’t watch much television, period- but what if she just happens to be flipping through the channels and catches sight of her daughter’s face?

No, don’t think about it, she tells herself firmly. Can’t worry about that now. And even if it happens, there’s nothing Scully can do about it. Her mother will just have to accept her assurances that this is safe, that nobody is going to hurt her when she’s surrounded by FBI agents.

And she really can’t worry about it right now, because the announcer has taken his place, the house lights are down, the stage lights are up, the music is starting, and she’s striding out onto the stage with the others to thunderous applause and deafening cheers.

Scully goes through the dance routine on autopilot, almost detached from the entire experience, trying very hard not to think about the enormous crowd in front of her. It helps that the footlights are so bright that she can’t really see the individual faces. She knows Mulder is watching on a monitor right next to the dressing room, but she wishes he were in the audience instead, even though she’s well aware she wouldn’t know the difference if he were. They’d decided, as a team, that there was no need for her to wear her wire during the performance- the theater is crawling with agents, Skinner is in the wings, and Kersh and the others are in the command center right next to the dressing room- but right now, she’s wishing she’d worn it anyway, so that she could have Mulder’s voice in her ear, encouraging and calming her.

Finally, mercifully, the dance number ends, and Scully has survived it without making a single mistake. The audience’s applause seems to go on forever, and for a moment, it almost feels good, standing up here with a thousand strangers clapping for her. Not good enough for her to understand the attraction of competing in a pageant like this, not really, but good enough so that she’s not quite as nervous as she’d been before coming out onstage.

The pageant’s master of ceremonies, an older man named Freddie Clark who’s presented the pageant every year since its inception, takes the stage again as the audience’s applause begins to die down, and as he entertains the crowd, the contestants leave the stage to change into their evening gowns for their interviews. Scully’s surprised, when she returns to her changing station, to find Mulder there with Elise and Skinner, waiting for her. He scoops her up into a giddy hug, twirling her around.

“See, what did I tell you?” he exclaims, setting her back down on her feet.

“That I’d be fine,” says Scully, smiling reluctantly at him. “And you were right, I was.”

“Oh, no, I’m not talking about that,” says Mulder, grinning mischievously. “I mean they put you right in the very front row, just like I said they would, didn’t they?” Scully glares at him, but before she can fire back, Elise is stuffing her evening gown into her hands and guiding her towards the curtained-off changing stall.

“No time for that,” she says, shoving Mulder back towards the door leading to the command center.

“Good luck on your interview,” he calls over his shoulder as he leaves. “Remember, smile big! Call for world peace! Nuclear disarmament, an end to world hunger, peace, justice, and the American-” That’s as far as he gets before Elise slams the door in his face.

“I’m starting to wonder how you get through the day without hurting him,” she says to Scully, through the curtain.

“I’ve been wondering the same thing for six years now,” grumbles Skinner, and Scully laughs.

For her evening gown, Elise has gone back to trying to emphasize Scully’s eyes. The dress is ice blue, floor-length, covered in a heavy pattern of beadwork that gives weight to the fabric and makes it drape beautifully over her hips and legs. The back is low, but high enough to hide both her tattoo and her gunshot wound, and the sleeves hang just slightly off of her shoulders.

Elise, Scully decides as she studies her almost-unrecognizable reflection in the mirror, is a wizard.

Waiting in the wings for her turn at the interview is every bit as unnerving as waiting for the opening number to start had been, but at least now, since the contestants are being called in alphabetical order, Scully has ample opportunity to get a feel for the kinds of questions the contestants are being asked. They range from the personal- questions about influential figures and dreams for the future- to the political. Whenever the latter types of questions come up, Scully notices, the contestants do their best to appear as neutral as possible, trying hard not to alienate either the judges or the audience.

Tina, as the representative from California, gets her interview out of the way very early, and Scully finds herself holding her breath as she watches her crossing the stage, tall and graceful in her sparkling emerald-green gown. Tina's kindness to Scully, her friendliness, as well as her obvious vulnerability in the face of whatever has happened with Bellman, has Scully rooting for her.

Tina takes her microphone from Freddie Clark and stands ready, the very picture of grace and poise, smiling out at the audience in a way that somehow doesn't look fake at all. Her question is relatively easy, personal in nature, and she speaks eloquently, not betraying even the slightest hint of nervousness. She's a natural public speaker.

When Tina leaves the stage to thunderous applause, re-entering the wings further downstage, Scully badly wants to go and congratulate her, but she's not supposed to leave her place in line, even though she's got plenty of time until her turn. She's strongly considering going over to Tina anyway... but as she watches, Elise beats her to the punch.

Scully's too far away to hear what's being said, but the emotion in bothTina's and Elise's faces as they talk together tells her almost everything she needs to know. Elise is smiling softly and sadly, and Tina does not seem quite able to meet her former coach's eyes... but at the same time, she also doesn't seem quite able to resist moving to stand closer. As Scully watches, Elise reaches out and takes Tina's hand in her own. She puts her other hand at Tina's chin and draws it up slightly, forcing the other woman to meet her gaze. She says something that Tina, for a moment, seems to be moved by... but then Tina gives a sharp shake of her head, jerks her hand out of Elise's grasp, and walks quickly away. Elise remains where she is a moment longer, head down, and then disappears into the changing room.

The pieces begin to fall into place in Scully's head as she moves up in line. Elise had been Tina's coach, for years, but it's pretty clear now that their relationship went much further than that. She remembers, suddenly, Mulder's comment last night, about how Elise had grilled him for information about Scully, but had asked him nothing about himself... and she remembers this morning, how she'd expected Elise to ask if Mulder had a girlfriend... but she hadn't.

She'd asked about Scully, though. And she hadn't asked her if she had a boyfriend; she'd asked if Scully was "seeing anyone."

Scully can't help smiling a little. Here she'd been relentlessly chastising herself for the twinge of jealousy she'd felt about Mulder and Elise wandering the hotel alone together yesterday, and it hadn't been the slightest bit necessary. Mulder, if anyone, should be the one worrying about all the time Elise has had alone with her.

So all this begs the question: what's happened between Elise and Tina? They clearly still care for one another; that much was evident in their faces just now. Elise had told Scully that their professional relationship had come to an end immediately following Tina being crowned Miss California, that Tina had, in Elise's words, become a "completely different person overnight." So what could have....

And suddenly, Scully knows... and she wants to march out into the audience and punch Alan Bellman right in his smug, disgusting face.

Victims of trauma, sexual and otherwise, often respond by pushing away the people they've been previously close to. Scully knows this. She's done this, on occasion. And it makes perfect sense that if Bellman had, as Scully suspects, assaulted Tina during his lunch with her, that Tina might try to cope by freeing herself from any and all romantic entanglements.

Scully promises herself that, whatever happens with this case, she will get Tina to talk about what's happened to her, and hopefully find a way forward.

As she's been standing backstage, waiting, running all of this over in her head, the line has moved forward considerably, and before Scully knows it, Miss Vermont is walking offstage, and it's her turn.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Freddie Clark is saying, "please welcome Miss Katherine Hale of Virginia!" And it's time.

Scully knows the crowd is applauding, and she thinks it might even be enthusiastic applause, but she can't quite tell over the buzzing that is filling her ears. She manages to make her way out onto the stage without falling, which is a shock, because she's barely aware of her legs even moving. She smiles widely out at the audience, feeling like an idiot the entire time, and comes to a slightly unsteady stop in front of Freddie, who smiles and hands her a microphone, which she accepts with shaking hands.

"Katherine," says Freddie, "as of now, the American Armed Forces has placed a ban on women serving in combat positions. Do you agree with this? Why or why not?"

Scully blinks at him, wondering if Bellman has chosen this question specifically for her, in retaliation for standing up to him at their initial meeting, and again at the dance rehearsal. But so what if he has? Unlike the other contestants, Scully does not have to worry about alienating the judges- like Skinner has said, she's guaranteed to make the top eight- and it's not as though she's in this thing to win it, anyway. There's no need for her to stay neutral.

"I am a licensed firearms owner," she begins, "with an accuracy rating above ninety percent. I can shoot better and faster than ninety-eight percent of tested firearms owners across the country- and that includes the members of our armed services and police force." There's an impressed murmur throughout the audience, as well as a few scattered admiring whoops. "Of course, being able to hit what you're aiming at, while helpful, is not the only indication of a potential soldier's fitness for combat. Many women are, it's true, physically smaller, and in some cases weaker, than their male counterparts- but that's not always the case. If a woman can demonstrate the same level of physical fitness required of our male soldiers, sailors, and airmen, there is no real reason why they cannot serve in combat. Our police forces already have female officers patrolling our streets, and even the FBI has female agents working in the field every day. I believe it is past time for the military to follow their lead.

"Self-defense is an important weapon for every woman to have in her arsenal, and we cannot overstate the importance of making sure every woman is properly equipped to defend herself and what matters to her from whatever threats may come, whether she's protecting her country from enemies abroad, or protecting herself from predators right here at home." She turns, as she delivers her final words, to the spot in the front of the audience where she knows, though she cannot see him, that Alan Bellman is seated. She can't resist.

The audience's response is warm and receptive, and long before the applause has died down, Scully has returned backstage, heading for her changing area to change into the dreaded swimsuit. She's been trying, all day, to stop worrying about showing so much skin in front of millions of strangers across the country, but she hasn't had much success.

Mostly, she's been trying to distract herself with thoughts of how Mulder will react. It's a pleasant thought, to be sure, but so far, it hasn't been enough to fully drive away the terror.

Elise is grinning broadly at her when she arrives, and Skinner is shaking his head- but he's just barely suppressing a smile.

"You had to, didn't you?" he asks gruffly. "You just couldn't help yourself."

"Hey, I was all set to call for world peace," says Scully, smiling. "It's not my fault that that's not the question they gave me." The door to the command center opens, and Mulder squeezes through, beaming at Scully.

"You're never gonna miss an opportunity to remind me that you're a better shot than I am, are you?" he asks her.

"Not on your life," she says.

"They're just finishing up the 'W' states," says Elise, "and then there'll be a short intermission before the start of the swimsuit competition. Go on and get in your suit." Scully nods and rifles through the clothing rack, locating the smallest garment bag and unzipping it to reveal...

...a bikini.

Where the carefully-chosen royal blue one-piece swimsuit had once hung, there is now nothing but a bright red triangle bikini. She pulls out the hanger, and behind her, Elise gasps.

"Where did that come from?" she asks. She begins unzipping the other bags on the rack frantically, but the correct swimsuit isn't there. "I don't understand! We put it back on the hanger this morning, after you tried it on, and nobody's touched it since then, except-"

"Marino and Young," says Scully, realization dawning. "They brought the rack down from my hotel room this afternoon. I guess that's why they were smirking at me." Skinner and Mulder stare at her in horror for the space of a heartbeat; then, moving so fast they nearly smash into each other, they throw open the door and race into the control room. Skinner snatches up the skimpy red bikini on his way. Scully follows.

"Marino! Young! Get the fuck over here now!" Kersh leaps up from the video monitor he's been watching.

"Skinner, what the hell are you doing?" he demands furiously. In answer, Skinner brandishes the red bikini.

"Your boys thought they'd play a little joke on Agent Scully," he says, "by switching the swimsuit that had been carefully chosen to cover Peyton Ritter's handiwork with this." This is an offense that even Kersh cannot overlook. Bellman is sure to notice Scully's scar, as will the entire audience, and he'll almost certainly complain.

"Agent Young, get over here!" he calls. Young slinks over from where he's been cowering, a sullen expression on his face. "Did you do this?"

"What's the problem?" he asks insolently. "They'll all be wearing bikinis, won't they? She's not gonna stand out."

"She will if she's got a month-old bullet wound in her stomach, you asshole!" snarls Mulder, speaking for the first time. Young pales.

"We didn't know!" he protests. "Nobody told us that!"

"Nobody should have to!" says Skinner. "There was no reason for you to touch Agent Scully's wardrobe! What did you do with the right suit?"

"I don't know, Marino took it somewhere! I don't know what he did with it!" Kersh swears profusely.

"Marino's patrolling the parking lot," he says. "He'll never get back here in time. Mulder, get to the parking garage, find Marino, and-" He stops when he realizes, at the same time as everyone else, that Mulder's not there anymore. "Where the hell did he go?"

"We don't have time for that now," says Skinner. "Young, get your ass out there, find Marino, and find out what the hell he did with that suit." Young takes off, looking glad to escape. Skinner turns to Scully. "Agent Scully, I'm sorry, but for now, I need you to put this on and be ready to go onstage." He looks to Elise. "Can something be done with makeup?"

"I can try," she says, and Scully cringes inwardly. The area is still tender to the touch, even weeks later, and having someone jab at it with a makeup sponge will not be a pleasant experience. Together, she and Elise retreat to the dressing room, Skinner following in their wake.

"I'm sorry, Scully," says Skinner again, once the door is closed. "Rest assured, even if Kersh won't discipline them, I will. I'm gonna make sure their asses get hung out to dry for this."

Ten minutes later, Scully's clutching a towel around herself, trying hard not to shiver in the tiny red bikini. Elise has done the best she can, but the scars on both her back and on her stomach are still plainly visible. Standing in the front row, Scully has even less hope of hiding them. Elise is rubbing her shoulder comfortingly, and Skinner is standing off to the side, still looking as though he'd like to throttle someone.

There's a sudden commotion in the control room next door, and a moment later, the door is thrown open, and Mulder rushes in, out of breath and clutching a plastic bag. He thrusts it at Scully, who reaches in, and pulls out a black one-piece bathing suit.

"I think it's the right size," Mulder pants. "I got it from the hotel gift shop, and there wasn't much selection, it was mostly two-pieces and-"

That's about as far as he gets before Scully drops the bag, the suit, and the towel, launching herself at Mulder and kissing him for all she's worth. Mulder wraps his arms around her and kisses her back- at least, for a moment, before they both come back to themselves and remember that they are not, in fact, alone. Scully pulls away, feeling her face go red. Mulder looks as though he's been clobbered over the head.

"I'm going to pretend," Skinner says, pointedly, "that I did not see that. Agent Scully, get in there and get changed."

"Yes, Sir," says Scully, and with an embarrassed smile at Mulder (and ignoring Elise's grin), she ducks into her cubicle to rid herself of the hated red bikini.

#X-files fanfic #my fic #she's beauty she's grace

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seven--eyes · 5 years

Text

I didn’t proofread this. Seosipian crack ship part 2

I returned back to the docks with only the Messiah’s safety report. The date, name, crew and other details filled out to the every space and checked every box. All except for the complete lack of anything to repair or improve on the great Messiah. And she was fine; yet something brave enough or stupid enough decided to plant itself on the bottom of the vessel. As it were, it didn’t want to come out either.

I brought my equipment with me this time. My rapier, my hand crossbow, some ropes and the miscellaneous. By the time I had myself together it was late evening; so I took even longer to get food and ales. It would be a long night.

I set all my things directly upon the edge of the dock. The alcohol I set a but further back because I’ll be damned if this thing were to snatch up hard earned alcohol. “Alright, big guy,” I greeted it with a huff upon sitting down on the docks and folded my legs underneath me. “What’re you doin’ so far from home? What are you?”

It make no kind of answer to me. The creature’s limbs continued to wave aimlessly beneath the surface. They reached upward for it, but never ever did they breach it. I watched them for some time, deliberating what to do. The thing moved so effortlessly and with great flow, there wasn’t the slightest ripple in the water.

“Are you tryin’a… blend in?” I asked it once more. I reached my legs over the docks and dangled my legs over the water. My heart dropped into my stomach in a sudden moment; the limbs moved directly underneath me. I readied for a fight with a reach of my rapier and bend of the knees, but it didn’t do anything. The limbs just continued to undulate where they were. But where they wagged just so happened to be below my shadow. Finding out I wasn’t in danger just made it fun, because swinging my legs made the tentacles follow my shadow like wagging a treat in front of a dog.

I took my rapier and prodded it. “So you’re obviously not trying to blend in. Are you hungry? Or just curious? Come on give me something to work with. Come out.” Each prod of the rapier it flinched away, but eventually it became numb to the poke, and starting wrapping around the end of the weapon. Dipping the whole weapon in, even more tried to grab it. Strangely gentle as they did. “Ok big guy, curious, then.”

Trying to pull the limbs out of the water with my rapier didn’t work. It avoided the surface and the sun like the plague. I even tried some mops from the Messiah, because the rapier might be too slick. And to no avail. Deciding to rip into dinner, I worked into the wrapper between me and the ham sandwich of my dreams. I grumbled, throwing the paper wrapper into the water. “How the fuck am I supposed to figure out what you are if you stay so far in the dark?”

One of the limbs reached for and pulled under the wrapper so quick, it actually made a ripple on the surface.

I froze. I looked to the sandwich. Wagging it over the side of the dock, I teased it, “Want some food?” I tore it in half, because I wasn’t so invested as to go without food today. Lowering the bread closer to the surface of the water, it mirrored my movements completely. But I never touched the threshold of the water, and so neither did it. I cursed at it. So I peeled off one side of the bread and tossed it in.

Like clockwork, one of the limbs snatched the piece and pulled it under. So far deep under I couldn’t see where it was yanked under, nor what kind of fucking beast ate it.

“I don’t like that. I don’t trust like that.”

And so I tossed in the lettuce. Same thing. I threw ham about 10 feet out from the dock. Same thing with frightening precision. Absolutely no splash or noise was made either; it was as silent as though nothing even happened. “Yep. I don’t trust that.” So I ate the other half of my sandwich. I dangled my legs over the water just to watch the creature squirm. Dinner and a show.

“Sipian?” I heard a voice ring out. My shoulders jumped, and I pivoted to see if the voice matched the character. It did, and that’s what I was scared of.

Seosul stood, her feet shoulder width apart and her posture straight and tall. She didn’t have her dress blues on, not even the coat that she would pin her Admiral stars onto. The woman had joggers and sandals on, practically unrecognizable to me. I wish I could say that’s what caught me most off guard. She called out again, “Sergeant. Sergeant Sipian?”

Oh gods. I could feel my face going red again. I swallowed the ravenous bite of food down and coughed. In between my struggles to breath, I said, “I.. that’s me, ma’am. Good evening.”

“I… Good evening. I didn’t see you at work yesterday; what are you doing?”

“That’s ‘cause I didn’t go to work yesterday. But I uhh, I’m… I’m doing Donna a favor, that’s all. It’s nothing.”

She paused. Glanced over the surroundings. Like a moth to a flame, she caught sight of the octopus beneath the water near immediately. As though she was drawn to it. “Looks like a whole lot of something.”

“I’ve got it under control,” I said, as I shoved my face full of food.

Seosul chuckled. Pausing, and rubbing her arm. “Can I join you?” I glanced to the open planks beside me in response, and she sat there beside me. She swung her legs over the side in sync with mine, watching the limbs mirror her. The silence fell, and damn was it uncomfortable, but neither of us tried to break it. I noticed her trying to glance in my direction and read my expression, but her eyes never lingered on mine for more than a moment.

“Is… is there anything-”

Seosul accidentally interrupted me. “I was worried when I didn’t see you around yesterday.”

“Why?” I asked plainly.

She found the resolve to truly face me fully. “Well, I think we ended the night before last on a sour note. And when I didn’t see you and I couldn’t talk to you, I thought something was wrong.”

“More like a, uh, sweet’n’sour note.” I snorted. She wasn’t amused. Apparently it wasn’t the moment to be funny. “But um.. Yeah. Yeah it did. But it’s fine, you know. I get it.” She didn’t move or respond, so I continued. “You know, um, this work is important to you, and… I can’t follow you where you’re going. You deserve that and that was…” The pressure in my chest snuffed out my breath. I paused, catching my breath and thoughts. “That was selfish of me. To make you feel like you had to choose between.”

“Um.. Feels like you’ve got it sorted out then.”

“Yeah. I do.”

Seosul leaned back and gestured her hands out, like she was trying to figure out her words, and somehow I would understand the more she motioned. “I just.. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“I am and we are.” I lied.

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you lying?” Oh fuck. I just shoved the entire last fourth of the sandwich in my mouth to avoid replying after being caught so off guard. “You get red when you lie. What are you not saying?” She added, like sprinkling salt in the wound.

A stone weighed down in my throat. I cleared it. “I- maybe-- Sure, I’m lying,” I said, giving into the sting. “I understand why, you know. I know why we can’t. But at the same time… I- I never got your answer. I know why you can’t tell me the truth but I still want it. When I asked you what you really wanted, you gave me a half-answer. You gave me the textbook answer. Then you kissed me; telling me absolutely everything yet nothing at all. Leaving me with everything to think about.”

Bracing myself, I expected a larger response. In a split second, I imagined the dozen possible ways she could assume command presence in a heartbeat. How she’d tell me about respect and insubordination. About fraternization and “muddying the waters.” I imagined what I probably deserved to hear, trying to coax the truth out of her in such a confrontational way. But the moment of intensity in the air passed as though the wind swept it away. All that was left was this woman, calm and compassionate as ever. Her attention was far out into the sea, in thought. Serene, like the water itself.

“I don’t know.” She said.

My jaw locked up for a moment. “You… ‘I don’t know?’ you came all this way for an ‘I don’t know?’”

“I came here to know if you’re okay, Sipian. Not to know if I am.”

“Well, I lied then. I’ve it sorted, in a way, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy with how the pieces fell.” I wrung my fingers through each other. Threading out the locks in my knuckles. The tentacles ever swimming, carefree. Oblivious. It must be nice.

Her heavy heart and tiredness bled through her in the way she leaned forward over the water. “I’m sorry I don’t have an answer for you. I just...” she held her hands out in a gesture. Grasping out to the air like she was threading through the words in her head. She couldn’t find them.

Looking into her face, I sighed. “By Lechnka,” I muttered to myself, but fully intending for her to hear. “This was stupid. It was stupid of me to even ask.”

“Sameal-”

I flinched in reaction to hearing my first name. It sounded as unusual as the first time it passed her lips, but cut deeper when I wanted nothing more in the moment for her to keep me at an arm’s length. To know me how everyone knows me. So I interrupted her before her breath caught, “I said this was fucking stupid. Go ahead and take all the time you need, so you can go leave me the fuck alone!”

I swung my leg outward in the fit, splashing my heel against into the water. Breaking it’s surface.

Not one, but three limbs erupted from the water and clamped around my calf, pulling me down with ferocious force before I could resist it. My back slamming into the docks knocked the breath out of me. It shocked enough pain through me, my reaction was more focused on forgetting the bruises in my bones. I rolled onto my stomach. I tried hooking my self to the wood, digging my nails into the dock. I clawed them into the rolls of the wood until my fingertips burned deep with splinters tearing into me. Before I could even fully roll, my legs were in the water and half my body was off the dock. “Fuck fuck fuck- Seosul!”

Admiral Anchor dove and reached for me. She knocked off everything into the water doing so, the rope tangling in the water and the rest sinking fast before I could try to grab anything. She clutched the back of my coat with enough strength for to keep me above water for another split moment.

“F-- I’ve got you!” She cried out as I felt myself slip further. “I’ve got you, Samael!”

Each thread in the cloth ripping sounded like a clock counting down. She was losing leverage. The pain in my hands singed, begging for me to let go. My right hand skid across a large wedge of wood, cutting open my skin right down the palm. I felt the warm blood at my fingertips and seep into the cracks of the wood. My nerves screamed and cried to let go, LET GO. I just glanced into her eyes as the clock counted down. They were so intense. Scared, because that’s what fear looked like one someone like Seosul. Then the clock hand hit it’s last toll, and I was hurled into the water.

I filled my lungs with every lick of air I could swallow. The thing pulled me down and down further until I felt sand dusting like clouds in the water. Through a tangle of tentacles, the bottom of the Messiah bobbed afloat the surface. Seeming a hopeless distance away.

This creature planted itself like a feral beast, palms into the sand. At first, it looked like nothing. Calm and uninteresting like the dark expand of the sea. Expressionless. Curious, almost. It watched my fruitless efforts to pull the tentacles off my thigh the same way a cat follows the movement of a piece of string. Playful. Amused. I angled my grip and tried to wedge the limbs off from the underneath, feeling the familiar sensation of pain throbbing in my hand to let go, let go, LET GO! And so I did. I yanked my hand back from the bulk of the constricting grip. Relief sighed through me as my nerves slowly calmed. However- blood shadowed my fingertips and center palm. Bright and twirling in the water waves like a ribbon in the wind.

Pearly white spots started to form all over the thing. Eyes and mouths breathed in life. Baring teeth and tongue. It’s pupils sharpened. Wooed by the fancy dancing ribbon just beyond the open wound in my flesh. In the second between my realization and this creature’s jaw snapping open, it slithered around me from the fingertip down to the shoulder blade. It tightened. It pushed my body outward, and pulled my wrist inward.

Fuck.

My opposite hand flew to my arm to brace it. My claws dug into the tentacle in a corkscrew around me. I felt the bones in my wrist pull. Then my elbow snapped. The muscles and tendons- every single one stretched taut like a million lines of string about to snap. I dug my claws in further and further. I bit my teeth down, forcing myself to swallow the pain and keep it down. Keep it down with the last breath of air I’ll ever have. The blood rushing out of the tears in my arm pleading, crying for it to let go, let go, please let go. But it didn’t.

The creature shoved me down into the sand and recoiled into a twist of tentacles with my arm from the bicep down. The dust thrown up fogging my vision, but offered me a slight cover. I reeled from the pain flooding into me as blood poured out. My heart felt like it’s next beat wouldn’t be enough. I rolled to my right. Sand shifted through my fingers. But something else lay in it…

My rapier. Like a sword in it’s sheath, the handle was jutting out of the sand, poised and shining silver.

I kicked myself forward those few inches as I reached for it. As luck would have it, I’m not fucking left handed. It’ll have to do. My touch grazed the edge of the handle but was swiftly robbed of it’s grip. The creature found me again through the sandy fog, and dragged me towards itself. Adrenaline flooded through me like a fire. The burst of terrible fear and energy shaking in me shot through me faster and harder than any lick of pain this thing just suffered me through. I wasn’t about to be torn limb from limb just yet. I felt around the sea floor for something- anything. And just as the creature pulled me from the sand, my fingertips grazed something else. The cork of a bottle.

I guess it’ll have to do.

I snagged the bottle. A line down the creature’s chest opened, teeth flaring out in large jaws, revealing the… Gross, deep, fleshy but vulnerable inside of it’s throat. Eugh. Tangling around my knee, one sudden yank pulled my right leg down it’s throat. With the momentum, I clobbered the bottle into the side of it’s ugly face, shattering the glass. It’s jaw shot open in a cry of pain, tongue flipping angrily. It eyes winced to the alcohol burn, limbs letting go of my legs.

Fuck yeah!

But the monster’s jaws clamped around my ankle. Oh fuck.

I planted my free shoe onto it’s shoulder, trying to pull my ankle free. Like barbs, any resistance just worsened the biting pain. The muscles started to tear again. Through gritted teeth, I glanced to the unshattered half of the bottle in my hand. I clutched it. Looking to the wild, watery eye in the side of it’s head, I turned the blades to the eye and pushed the shattered glass deep into it’s skull. The moment I heard a fatal crunch from the inside of it’s head, the same crunch quaked up my bones from the ankle up.

Blood spewed from it’s wound, and out of the mouth on it’s screaming maw. I twisted the bottle in the socket. Shoved it in a further inch for good measure. Before I could rip it back out, the beast pushed me away with a sudden, strong hit in my ribcage. The force squeezed the air from my lungs and forced it out my throat. I instinctively tried to breathe in and flooded my lungs with salt water.

Watching the bubbles rise, I saw how little of a distance they ran for the top of the water. I rolled my back around, facing myself to the surface. The moon faded in and out of brights and lows. I clawed for it, bringing myself closer to the surface moonlight, but the closer to the sky I swam the darker the world around faded. Trying to cough, anticipating the night air, I only swallowed more sea water. I felt my fingertips dry, a grip close around my palm. A yank and a gasp later, I hit the wood dock hard enough to jolt out a crack in my spine.

The vagueness in the feeling of muscles starved of blood made interpreting the sensations around me impossible. All I knew is that I was facing up. And… in the arms of someone. Against the navy night sky, the moon framed the face of Captain Anchor in silver. “Samael? Samael? Samael, please answer me, please, are you awake?”

Oh, how I wanted to answer her. I wanted so badly to reach up to her face and brush off the blood I’d flung onto it. Somehow, blood loss makes one very emotional. I wanted to apologize. But I didn’t, and I couldn’t. My muscles didn’t move when I commanded them to, my tongue didn’t articulate such, and my mind was slipping slowly from her. Into and out of black and red. My lungs couldn’t even lurch out the seawater. And so my jaw lodged open, anticipating a cough, a word, a breath- anything- and nothing came.

“I’m sorry I don’t have an answer for you,” I began, “I just...” I just feel scared. That’s what I wanted to say. I feel everything I know and want to be threatened by letting myself love you. I am used to being in control, and if I loved you, that would put me out of it. How do I explain that?

“By Lechkna… This was stupid. It was stupid of me to even ask,” The sergeant barked before I could answer.

Stupid, stupid. That word cut through me in such a vulnerable place and twisted the knife. “Sameal-”

Suddenly his eyes shot open and his entire posture shifted. He bristled in anger so quickly I didn’t even get my word out to stop it. “I said this was fucking stupid!” My gut churned as the knife twisted another way. “Go ahead and take all the time you need, so you can go leave me the fuck alone!” He roared, lashing out his heel in a kick into the water. The shadows of those limbs reacted in a split moment.

The dark tentacles spun around and tangled around his calf. They squelched and slithered in a gross sticky slim, immediately pulling him off the dock. His body crashed against the dock and his legs slid into the water. “Fuck fuck fuck- Seosul!” He panicked. I closed the distance between us as quickly as I could and latched onto whatever I could get my hands on; the back of his coat. But the position was awkward; the fullbody strength I summoned to keep him above sea level for even a moment drained too fast for me to realize it.

I saw blood gather around his hands. As he was clutching the splinters to anchor himself in place. He was desperate. “F-- I’ve got you!” My voice shuddered out. “I’ve got you, Samael!” I comforted, when I really, really didn’t have him. I tried to adjust my fading grip. As soon as I did, my other hand shot open as his jacket ran through it.

A great splash threw up onto me. I blinked, squinting through the mist, to the outline of Sipian’s red jacket fading in the deep sea. Then silence. Then nothing. Nothing at all, and everything. My heart was thundering in my ears, pulse hammering the inside of my ribs like I was about to burst. My entire body shook with adrenaline. I couldn’t think straight. Everything happened so fast. I just… looked into the water. Could I have held on for a moment longer? A moment went by. No red jacket floated to the surface. Another moment, nothing. What the fuck was I waiting for?!

Stumbling to my feet like a newborn fawn, I clumsily walked myself through the options. My attention went to my surroundings and my person. All his belongings sank with him. I patted down my pockets and belt. I decided not to take my weapons today. Perhaps there was a tool, harpoon, or something a cadet failed to put back where it belonged. But no, I’m thorough. The docks were empty. Then a lock of my hair tickled my eyelashes. Fixing it, the realization of it, my heart quickened even more so. I had myself.

I stepped closer to the dock edge, overlooking it. Breathing hard, panting hard, my gasps escaping my lungs regardless of how much I yearned to hold a breath in. Thoughts and plans swimming in my head so quickly I practically felt drunken. My weight shifted. Jump, I willed myself. But what if he’s already dead? Jump, admiral. But this is suicide, admiral. Jump, Seosul. Even if he was dead, you owe it to him to try after those horrible excuses. My weight focused to the front of my toe and I robotically lifted my arms, readying them for breaching the water. They were shaking. Beyond my fingertips, the navy sea color transformed into a more heavily saturated color. Blood, oh Lechkna that’s so much blood. I gasped; there was something else. I reached my hand out to meet Sipian’s.

Clutching him with more force I previously thought I had, I pulled him from the water like a sailor overboard in a storm. I fell backward, catching his body against me. His entire body was limp, cold, and pale. As I reached for his right arm to pull him closer into my lap, there was no leverage to hook onto. His entire… his….“Si-Sipian-” I started, willing my voice to steady, looking away from his missing limbs. “Samael? Samael? Samael, please answer me, please, are you awake?”

His eyelashes were fluttering, but his chest wasn’t moving. Mouth agape in a silent cry. With his free arm, he moved it to my face. Before his fingertips came to my cheek, his arm dropped suddenly with a thud.

“Samael.” I called out to him more firm. No flinch, no flutter, nothing. He was unconscious. “By the fuckin’ sea gods,” I cursed to myself. I shuffled, ripping my belt from the loops of my pants and fastening it around whatever was left of the wound torn open. Fiddling with the buckle, my breathing steadied. I knew what came next, and I wouldn’t let any sense of muddying the waters to beat me into submission again tonight. I didn’t have the luxury to hesitate.

So I pinched his jaw between my fingers, tilting it back, and breathed life back into him. I laid one hand over the other, forcing a beat back into his chest. I cursed and cried for him to wake up. I took a breath in, but before I could try again, the sound of water hitting the top of the dock froze me in place. “You’ve got’tuh be kidding.”

One of those horrible, infected, beastly creatures was clawing itself onto the dock. It’s tentacles slithering across the top of the surfaces as though searching for a foothold. A single tongue from it’s mouth had blood pouring down it in waterfalls. An eye in it’s head was stabbed out, the cap of a bottle still sticking out from it. The okakapi reached out one tentacle for Sipian’s leg, but I crawled away with him in my arms. It roared at me. Saliva and blood splattering my all over. The sound piercing my ears and complaining, ‘I wasn’t finished yet,’ as it went again for my sailor. Swinging it’s limbs wildly, each hit against the dock grew increasingly in strength. By the time the creature pulled itself onto the wood, splinters were flying.

I balanced myself, staggering with Samael’s lifeless body. I crept backward. Attention facing the creature. Anger flooded my senses and veins, overtaking the panic. My emotion simmered at the surface, entirely prepared to somehow make that thing suffer for this. To make it hurt for this, even if my only tools were my bare hands. It was struggling to move across the dock, finding it’s feet and adjusting to perception without an angled eye. It’s teeth started to snarl and show, intimidating me in a standoff. Damn, did I want to make it hurt. Hand soaked in blood, staining my skin and sleeves, I clutched Sipian’s shoulder and brought him closer to my chest. I turned on my heel. I broke into a sprint in the other direction.

The fuzzy world slowly came into view. The first breath I took felt like pins digging into the inside of my ribs the more air I took in. Then those pins ripped back out upon exhale. I brought my hand to the widest point of my chest and pressed down, as though that would help. My consciousness was fighting tooth and nail to keep it’s foothold, but the pounding on the inside of my skull wished nothing more than to take another swallow of bloody ocean water and submit to the sea.

I heard gasps and questions. Some unimportant (probably) banter around me. Whoever the voices belonged to, I couldn’t figure out. The figures around me were cloudy and indecipherable. Every rising tone was another blow to my skull. But then one, the closest leaning into me… her rosy cheeks and bright smile shined through the clouds in my peripherals. “D...don...Donnf..” I choked out, and she nodded as I tried to acknowledge her.

“Mister- Mister Si- Don’t move, please! Don’t move, please. Just lay back down.” The cleric with the pretty pale yellow eyes gently pressed her palm to my shoulder, convincing me to go down and stay there. “You’re safe, just please stay still. How in the heavens is he awake, I gave him enough anesthetics and opiates to knock out an ox,” they remarked.

I squinted. “Fuck the opiates, can I have some whiskey?”

The pretty cleric’s demeanor dulled. “No mister, err, Sipian. I can’t give you whiskey. Please rest.”

“Damn it.”

I accepted my fate, and leaned my head far back into the pillow. The softness of my surroundings easing my aches and pains. The daggers stabbing at the inside of me had their edges smoothed by cozy company and soft sheets. Good thing; the strength to ask for alcohol was all I had. Strength in my muscles well spent. From the corner of my vision, Dollface was nudging me and making a gesture. She made a fist and held it to her chest, then made a circle over it again and again and again. Her breathing was horrifically shaky and in short bursts. But she kept doing it. I was confused, but then I understood; she was apologizing.

“Dollface,” I said as slowly as I could. “Don’t be sorry. It’s okay.” She shook her head side to side, and kept apologizing, with her fist pressed harder to her chest. “Dollface, please stop.”

The halfling signed ‘Sorry’ one more time. Then she just reached for her clipboard- the one I borrowed and ruined all the paperwork on it in the water- and wrote something. She turned it to face me, and it read ‘This is all my fault. I should have done the safety check myself. This never would have happened.’ This woman positioned it in front of me just long enough, then collapsed into my shoulder, grasping tightly onto me. She heaved like she was sobbing, but didn’t have the vocals to create the sound. So she just shuddered.

“Donna,” I whispered, “Please don’t cry, please, I can’t see you like that.”

She pushed herself off of me. Her hand shuffled underneath the sheets for a moment, and she intertwined her fingers with mine. Wait- mine? I opened my eyes and focused them. My cold, bloodless fingers intertwined with her warmness. For a moment, I figured she was folding her hands together. My eyes followed the line from this cold, metallic hand. Down the wrist, forearm, elbow, and-- this was mine. She gave me her arm.

“Donna,” I said again, more firm this time. “You didn’t have t-”

And she pushed her finger to my lips. Hmm… Another cleric stepped beside my bed, opposite of Dollface. “Mister Sipian,” they started. “You lost a lot of blood. And there’s still severe, unhealed damage done to your arm. We are to monitor you while you recover, and we can find more permanent limb replacements from the Arcane Forge.”

I mumbled, not really wanting to hear anything right now. Which is why Donna was always welcome. The slightly less handsome cleric said some other things about not moving too much and getting some rest, the things I always get told. Somewhere in the haze of thoughts, I smacked my lips together and tasted the salt. I straightened up and reeled from the pain shooting into my right side. “I-- Hang on, where’s the Admiral? Where is she, how is she?”

The clerics looked at each other. “She’s quite alright, nothing happened to her,” said the pale yellow cleric. “In fact, I believe she’s gone to work.”

“Work… doing?”

“Finding out where the beasts came from, of course.”

#a writing dabble #Tne

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