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lunewell · 3 years

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The Lunewell Saga - Natura: Chapter 1

Finally, finally I can show you guys a preview of the horror book I’m publishing in October (:. You can find chapter 1 below, and if you’d prefer, you can read it on ao3 by clicking here!

Chapter 2 is now out and can be found here (:

Enjoy!

Book Sumary:

Zarifa Birch, an antique shop worker with an unusual past, has made a home for herself in the sleepy town of Lunewell. Though the shop she works at is not exactly ordinary, with cryptid items and odd occurrences, she has managed to carve the normal life she always desperately wished for out of it.

However, all that comes crumbling down, as a woman from Zarifa’s past throws everything into chaos. Faced with unimaginable horrors, seemingly unsolvable mysteries, and returning repressed feelings and memories, Zarifa along with her coworkers, must find a way to return the balance- and escape the cruel hands of death in this eldritch horror mystery.

Chapter 1:

Thorn’s Antiques and Restoration, tucked away in the tall trees that encircled the small town of Lunewell, wasn’t the place where one would expect a woman like Zarifa to work. The building was merely a converted two-story brick house, though even then the antique shop itself only operated on half of the ground floor and the basement, and the employees could consider themselves lucky if even so much as a single soul wandered in.

From an outsider’s perspective, it made no sense. Zarifa did not originate from Lunewell, had little to no interest in antiques, and had a Bachelor’s in English of all things, whose only tie with antiques was the pompous, ivory tower assholes pestering both fields. However, if said outsider were to ask Zarifa herself, or any other of the two working in the building, why she had this job, she would have said that it was the only path she could have ever imagined herself working.

Though even she had to admit, for as much as she loved her job, it could sometimes be… tedious.

Very tedious.

“How many crates of… art did we receive again?” Zarifa asked, white patched ebony fingers holding one of the many, many paintings of eerily realistic human eyes shoved haphazardly in a box. The crates had arrived this morning, heavy and worn, and were sitting in the off-white ‘employees lounge’, that only equated to a singular desk, a sofa, a microwave that never heated all the way through, and two uncomfortable plastic chairs.

“Only two,” Bruin responded, not bothering to look up from the wooden desk, where he had his nose buried deep in a black title-less book. Zarifa would have asked what he was reading, but stares through dark thin eyes and sighs had long taught her not to. “Bought in by an Anthony Bell earlier this morning.”

“Thank you,” Zarifa said, giving Bruin a warm smile that didn’t go noticed. She then turned to her other coworker, who had been sitting sheepishly on one of the back-destroying white chairs. “Why do we have two crates of creepy eye-paintings, again?”

“Okay there’s actually a good reason this time boss,” Grant said hastily, chestnut brown hair messy and glasses half sliding off his face, “I was taking a walk to that cosy little bakery- you know, the one owned by that very sweet elderly couple on the other side of town, which by the way makes cakes straight from the heavens-”

“So you were walking to the bakery, and then?” Zarifa interrupted.

“Oh right. I had walked a little ways from the house, when I saw a white van stopped up by the road with a man looking quite pissed off outside. I went up to have a chat with him and found out he was an absolutely fascinating art major named Anthony who had run out of petrol. To make a long story short, I invited him in for a cuppa whilst he waited on the towing truck, found out he was getting rid of these absolute gems, and bought them off him.”

Zarifa and Bruin, who had finally looked up from the pages, both stared at him. Bruin was the first to break the silence; “you bought antiques from an unverified source, in a van out of petrol, who you also invited inside my home for tea?”

“Hey! I pay the rent too!” Grant defended, “and besides, I got, you know, the feeling off him. There was already a description of the antiques inside the box, meaning they’ve been passed around a little. If you two don’t want them here, I can take them.”

“We can keep them,” Zarifa decided, looking at the realistic paintings once more. They were all extremely similar, each one having a blue iris and white pupils. As she moved around the box, it almost felt as though they were all following her movements. She shivered and put the lids back on; “I’ll carry this down. Grant, go open shop, and Bruin, go register these in the system, please.”

Grant gave her a mock salute, before trudging out of the door and into the shop room, whilst Bruin nodded and turned to the big, archaic box of a computer sitting on the desk. Zarifa stacked and grabbed the two worn crates, surprisingly light in her arms, and made her way to the spiral staircase. They were narrow, seemingly ever looping steps falling into darkness that made walking down them almost impossible. She had once tried to convince Valour to install some lights over the stairs, to reveal the actual length of them and to make sure Grant would stop tumbling down into the abyss, but she had only received a stern no and an icy glare that could kill.

So her only options were to walk down carefully, whilst gripping onto the wall for dear life, like she was currently doing. The stairs went on for what seemed like minutes, nothing in her sight as she was swallowed in complete darkness, with no way to judge her surroundings except her shoes hitting the steps. Finally, a flickering light made its way up the stairs, and she saw the start of grey concrete.

To say the archival basement was lit, was perhaps a bit of an overstatement. There was precisely one dim and occasionally flickering lamp in the room, slightly illuminating cobwebs glued to the walls and dusted shelves of antiquities, but not much else. However, the room was like a scorching desert sun compared to the void Zarifa had previously descended.

Making her way between the shelves, past the bag of hand-sewn doll-heads, slightly cracked vases, and mirrors so ladened in dust that one couldn’t see the distorted reflection anymore, she found a small group of paintings. Paintings were one of the rarer antiques for them to receive, so there was plenty of space for the two crates.

Before slotting them in, she opened them, quickly counting the amount. There were fourteen in total, seven in each box, all in a roughly similar condition and all painted in the same way. Oddly enough, there was no signature nor name, but there was a little slip of paper at the bottom. She picked it out of the crate, and stuffed it in the pocket of her blazer, before closing the lids again.

Zarifa slid the boxes between a painting of a single red rose titled ‘Chaos’, and a two-hundred-year-old painting titled ‘A Girl in Field’ containing a suspiciously girl-less field. There had been a debate on whether they were all just missing her, whether it was a mislabelled piece, or if it was supposed to be some kind of metaphor, but seeing as it was hardly the weirdest thing in the basement, they had all just grown to accept it. She shivered once again, the basement giving the feeling of being watched, and grabbed the golden butterfly that hung around her neck. She fiddled with the wings, every touch calming her slightly as she began making her way up the stairs.

The ascent up the spirals always seemed to take a considerably shorter time, perhaps because the imminent danger of falling had disappeared. Zarifa was up at the top in the blink of an eye, walking into the lounge to see both Bruin and Grant inside. Bruin turned to her from the computer; “‘Antique Eye-Painting x14’ has been written on the document,” he informed. “Did we have any other information?”

“I couldn’t find any signature or date on the painting itself,” Zarifa said, reaching into her blue blazer pocket and pulling the paper with a heavy brown tint out, “but there was a note accompanying it. The paper looks old enough to consider it an antique, at least.”

“Well, go ahead,” Grant piped up from the couch, “tell us about dear Anthony’s creepy eye pairings.” Zarifa nodded, unfolding the paper as carefully as she could, and began reading.

‘The Grey Man’ by Elizabeth B.- 1885

He is watching from the water. Watching with the trees.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The Grey Man is knocking

“Grey Man?” questioned Zarifa, “that’s not a reference to anything, is it?”

“Not as far as I know,” Grant said, sitting up from where he had flopped on the couch, “help us out Bruiny?” She heard a sigh from the corner, and a slight grumble, but he did eventually speak.

“The Grey Man isn’t a reference to any historical event, no,” Bruin began, “but it isn’t something we haven’t heard before. I believe it’s referenced somewhere in Valour’s notes”

A heavy silence fell over them at the mention. “Oh no,” Grant began, “no, no, no. The weirdly detailed cult worshipping cows with inverting eyes was enough, and the murderous glare Valour gave me afterwards almost made me piss myself. I am not going through those notes again, I don’t want to be skinned alive by our own version of Leatherface.”

“That’s a bit far, isn’t it?” Zarifa said, “We shouldn’t go around accusing her of being a murderer, just because she’s a bit…”

“Mental?” Bruin quipped from the back.

“...peculiar,” she settled on, “she’s a bit peculiar.” Zarifa knew, of course, that calling Valour peculiar was a massive understatement- and even calling it a massive understatement was a massive understatement, but she would not be the one to speak ill about her boss with a potential murder streak thank-you-very-much.

“Need I remind you of that day Valour came covered head to toe in ‘red paint ’ that smelled suspiciously like copper?” Grant said, “she obviously did some serial-killering-“

“Killering?” Bruin asked with a cocked brow, turning Grant a salmon shade of pink and bringing a bright smile on Zarifa’s face that reached her dark brown eyes.

Grant made sounds akin to a drowning man. “It doesn’t matter,” he finally sputtered out, “what matters is that our dear creepy landlord was covered in what was clearly blood, passed it off as paint, and we just acted like it was normal!”

“I don’t like it either, but I’m not going to be the one to call her out. Besides, maybe it’s a good thing. At least the days here are... interesting.” Zarifa said with a smile. “If we stopped the weirder stuff from happening, these days would pass slower. Especially since we don’t have any custom-“

The sound of the bell that hung above the door, a loud and horrid thing, rang through the building.

“You were saying?” Bruin said, looking as amused as Bruin could be. Meanwhile, Grant shot up like a puppy, sprinting in an unprofessional manner towards the counter. Zarifa joined him, though her walk was much more slow and graceful.

She crossed through the shop door, which always stood wide open nowadays, and turned the corner. However, she stopped before she could reach Grant, who was staring at the stranger as much as she was.

Now, what needs to be said and understood about Thorn Antiques Shop, and the town of Lunewell in general, was that strangers were one of the rarest sights. Sure, occasionally one could find one of the neighbours’ relatives, or a gang of cyclists and hikers, and even tourists that had gotten hopelessly lost, which was impressive considering landing in Lunewell was a skill within itself, though these were few and far in between.

The customer, who was scanning through the shop with what Zarifa could almost call interest, didn’t look remotely like a relative, a hiker, a cyclist, or even a lost tourist.

She was short, with strawberry blonde hair tied into pigtails by two baby pink ribbons, pale but warm skin that made the light freckles on her cheek pop, and a stark black leather jacket which was visibly well-loved. There was something incredibly familiar about her, though Zarifa couldn’t pin down exactly what it was.

The customer’s fingers trailed over one of the antique chairs, before she sprawled over the priceless thing like a rag-doll. The violation snapped Zarifa out of her trance; “Excuse me, miss, but you can’t sit in those chairs!” she informed the customer, her voice raising a pitch higher when the blonde started fiddling with a lighter suspiciously close to the fabric.

The customer’s head snapped up like a predator hearing prey, and for the first time, Zarifa noticed the woman’s eyes. The irises were a bombastic explosion made of hues of bright green, though it was almost impossible to tell from a first glance, as the pupils were blown so wide as to make the colour but a ring around a black hole.

There was both something incredibly dangerous about the way she stalked over, sizing her up with those void eyes, but simultaneously, something incredibly intriguing- dare she say attractive- about the girl that made Zarifa want to keep her eyes on her forever.

“Waste of a good chair, really,” the customer began, leaning over the counter, “what the fuck kind of shop doesn’t allow you to test the chair before you get it?”

“I know!” Grant exclaimed, turning to the dark-skinned woman. “That’s what I keep saying! How can I know if the chair is good if I’ve never tried it!”

Zarifa shot a disapproving look at him, irritated that he would encourage this girl. “What can we help you with, miss?”

“Oooh, miss.” the woman drawled, “I’m looking for a collection of very… special papers that I left in the hands of one Valour Thorn a few years back.”

“Special?” Grant asked, a look of confusion passing over his face. Zarifa was sure she mirrored the same puzzlement, but the woman merely grinned- an expression that yet again invoked that familiar feeling.

After a few seconds had passed, and it had been made clear that she would not elaborate, Zarifa grabbed the notepad and pen on the counter and asked for her name. Maybe she was registered somewhere in the frankly ancient system. Assuming they even had a sort of registering system. She had never been the one to handle the technical aspects.

“Lottie. Lottie Rose,” she said, and Zarifa’s hand froze on the paper. She glanced back up at the blonde, eyes wide and mouth dry. Of course, how hadn’t she seen it earlier? The clothes, the eyes, the lighter everything suddenly made more sense as her memory flooded back.

“Lottie?” she whispered, faint as the whispers of a breeze, and there must have been something in her tone, because the striking green eyes widened comically, before the blonde suddenly burst out into a tension filled laugh.

“Should’ve guessed it,” Lottie said after calming down, “can’t be that many Southern old-book nerds with vitiligo around. You should get name tags, I would have recognised Zarifa anywhere.”

Her name was said in a smaller tone, filled with… with something that melted Zarifa’s insides like molten lava. They stood there in silent pressure, eyes on each other but gazes not quite meeting. It was for the better, as Zarifa’s heart was hammering hard enough that she was worried her ribcage might break. Whether it was from fear or something much scarier, she couldn’t quite tell.

Grant snapped his fingers, both of them practically sighing in relief as the tension lifted; “Oh”, he began, smiling widely, "exes or childhood friends?” And just like that, the tension was back to crushing.

While Zarifa wasn’t quite sure of the state of her own face, Lottie had gone a complete shade of tomato red. “We’re neither,” Zarifa squeaked out curtly, Lottie nodding frantically along. “Can you give me a description of the papers?”

Lottie straightened out at the request. “Can’t miss them. They’re in an ornate wooden and gold box, with a leaf engraved in the front,” she said, “it’s locked, as far as I know. Don’t know where the key is, but that’s hardly a problem.” She made yet another predatory smirk.

“I-I’ll go look for the papers, uh, in the back... miss,” she pushed herself from the counter at an almost inhuman speed and paced into the lounge. On her way, she bumped into one of the chairs, toppling both herself and the object. The sound alerted Bruin, who looked at her quizzically.

“Was she your ex?”

“No!” Zarifa exclaimed exasperatedly, “Not every woman I know is an ex!”

“No need to get defensive,” Bruin said, flipping a page, “I was just wondering if Grant’s observations were correct.”

Zarifa took a deep breath. “Sorry about that. I suppose her visit just… surprised me.” she straightened the chair, and looked at Bruin, “You haven’t seen a wooden and gold box engraved with leaves around here, have you? I can’t recall it, but you’re usually the one sorting the items, so I figured you might have seen it.”

Bruin hummed, putting down his book and looking pensively at her. “I might have,” he said, after a quiet moment, “though if we do- or did, at any point, it’s not anywhere in the basement.” He glanced up at the ceiling, before returning to the book.

“I suppose it’ll be upstairs, then,” Zarifa said, with a heavy sigh, “I’ll make Grant call Valour, see if she can bother to show up from… wherever she’s gone.” And try to explain to Lottie that those papers might be inaccessible, she thought, but didn’t add. Lottie was a lot of things, but patient and calm, she was not.

As she made her way back to the counter, gripping the golden butterfly hung on her neck tightly, she tried to calm her heart and thoughts. A part of her still refused to believe Lottie was here, after all these years, in an antique shop of all places. It almost felt taunting, in an odd way. The life Zarifa had tried so hard to run from and avoid sneaking through the door, looking more dangerous and simultaneously more intriguing than ever.

What life had Lottie led? What had happened since that last night? How did she know Valour? What did she want with the papers? All the questions buried themselves into Zarifa’s head, burning and begging for answers. And as Lottie, drumming her fingers on the counter as Grant rambled off about something, came into view, she realised what Eve must have felt like looking at the apple.

Lottie perked up as Zarifa entered the room, though as her eyes drifted to the empty hands, her smile fell. “Thought I asked for a box,” she said, a raised eyebrow and mean glare that would have been intimidating, had Zarifa not had to deal with years of Valour, and not known that for her, Lottie was all growl.

“We do, most likely, have the box,” Zarifa began in her most soothing voice, placing her hands on the counter, “but, it’s currently upstairs, in Valour Thorn’s flat, to which none of us has the keys.”

Lottie sighed, in an exasperated and slightly overdramatic way; “‘Course you fucking don’t. Guess she hasn’t changed at all, still closed off, disappearing, and secretive.”

Pot meet kettle, thought Zarifa, though kept her cranberry painted lips sealed. “Grant will give her a call in the morning,” Zarifa said, pushing over a blank slip of paper which had Lottie R- half-written on it in quite nice penmanship. “Just write down your number, and we’ll call you when she arrives.”

Lottie pulled the paper closer to herself, though made no move to write. “Think she’ll even show up?” she asked, turning to Grant, who smiled at that.

“Valour actually seems to like me,” he said, proudly, “or, tolerate, at least.”

“Huh. Didn’t know people still practised witchcraft around this part.”

“It’s all in my muffins, cakes, and pitiable nature,” Grant said, only half-joking, “I’ll give you a taste one time if you decide to stick around.”

Lottie nodded, before scribbling onto the paper, and sliding it back. It contained no number, but the name had been completed, albeit with a much sloppier if artistic handwriting. “I’ll know when she returns,” Lottie said, bouncing from foot to foot. There was a firmness in her voice, and she said it with such confidence that Zarifa almost believed her. Almost. “How’s the nightlife here? Worth sticking around for?”

“Horrid, simply dreadful,” Grant butted in, before Zarifa had the chance to give a quick answer and an even quicker goodbye, “but we do have a lot of pretty places to take a midnight stroll. Trees are lovely here, especially now in the autumn.” He paused, a contemplative look over his face, “Come to think of it, I do know quite a lot of dealers around here that can hook you up, if you’re up for it.”

“Grant!”

Lottie chuckled, amusement painted in neon on her face. Seeing some of that flame inside her come to light filled Zarifa with a sense of joy, that she pushed down with a strength bodybuilders would be jealous of.

“Oh, I like him,” Lottie declared to Zarifs, jabbing a finger in Grant’s general direction. Her green eyes- which Zarifa had to stop looking at, traced down from Zarifa’s own eyes before landing on her neck. Lottie’s posture, previously energetic and bouncy, froze. “You kept the necklace,” she whispered, though the sound felt louder than all the explosions of the universe.

Zarifa’s hand was instantaneously on the golden butterfly hanging around her neck, shielding it from the world. The metal felt cool against her skin, even if she could feel her racing heart where her hand rested. “Felt it was a shame to let it go to waste,” Zarifa murmured, technically true, “so I just kept it.” She shifted in the silence for a while, doing her best to ignore Lottie’s eyes glued to the necklace, before clearing her throat and putting on her best ‘professional’ tone; “Was there anything else you needed?”

Lottie shook her head, leaning back from the counter and adjusting her leather jacket. “No, I’ll be back soon,” she said, before speeding towards the door. She knocked into the vases, making them wobble like jelly, before pushing the door open like she was assaulting it, and leaving nothing but the sound of a bell and the distant thrum of a motorbike.

“Lottie, huh,” Grant said, his tone dazed as though he was lost in a daydream, “she was certainly interesting. I’m a fan. Think we’ll see her around more?”

“Hopefully not,” Zarifa said, running fingers over the butterfly, “hopefully not.”

#original writing #book excerpt #bookblr #writeblr #writing wip #The Lunewell Saga - Natura #the lunewell saga #natura

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juliettalfacharlie · 3 years

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Day 4, alt: Visiting a Grave

CW graphic death, gun violence, suicide, acceptance of death, and drugs.

The previous two years, she'd shaken with emotion. First with anger, then grief. Anniversaries weren't necessarily special dates; they weren't anything she looked forward to or dreaded, but it was still jarring to realize how much time had passed. She'd experienced a minute of disbelief when she first recognized it'd been a year since her wife was with her.

It was customary in the Earth Kingdom to show respect only towards elders. When parents lost their children, no vigils were held, for it wasn't acceptable to honour those your junior.

It was a practice that thankfully hadn't taken roots in Republic City. Kya wouldn't have cared, regardless. She was hurting, damnit, and that wasn't lessoned because Lin was three years younger than she.

Now, 1,095 days past her lover's death, Kya was finally in a place of peace. Not with Lin's killer, or the circumstances surrounding it. She didn't believe she'd ever accept that.

The two had been walking out to their car after an evening dinner, and Lin sensed an altercation a block away. Kya sat in the Satomobile while Lin cautiously neared, concerned over a potential mugging or assault. It hadn't felt like anything serious, especially compared to what both women had already seen.

Lin used her seismic sense when she'd crossed half the distance, seeing two figures. One was pressed against the wall, the target, while the other stood in front of them, the instigator.

She treaded as quietly as possible, peeking around the corner to assess the situation.

There were two men, both tall and muscular. The assailant held something Lin originally believed to be a small baton, but as it caught light from the streetlamps, Lin saw it was a handgun. They weren't exceedingly common, due to being new inventions that were quite costly, but the amount of nonbenders in Republic City meant they were more concentrated here compared to other nations.

Lin desperately wished for her old spool of cables, but she'd retired them fifteen years prior, and they'd been gifted to the top metalbending prospect at the time of her departure.

The weapon was pointed at the victim, so any surprise attack risked him firing. She instead went for a civil approach, calling from behind the corner, "Step away and put your weapon down." she instructed, hearing his loud gasp.

"Who's there? Don't come close or I'll shoot!" the attacker yelled. His voice was strained, likely from fear.

"You haven't done anything yet, kid. Just set the gun on the floor, and we can talk about it." she replied, using a tone of placating authority. She displayed power without intimidation; the other man was acting on pure emotions, he needed to feel like he had an ally.

"I don't want to talk. That's not going to do shit to bring back my brother." he said, and Lin heard a head hit the concrete wall.

"Killing someone else won't either. It's also not going to make you feel the pain any less. The only thing it'll accomplish is ending your own life as well." she told him, voice softening just slightly. One constant in life would always be violence, and there would always be people hurt by it. Lin stepped around the corner, hands up in submission.

The gunman yelped, swinging the weapon towards her. "Hey, I know you! You're a cop!" he said, and Lin had a full view of his face. He was young; not boyishly so, but somewhere in his early 20's.

"I'm not an officer anymore, but the experience I have means I know exactly how this can end up. I don't want to see that happen to you; there's so much left to experience." she told him, calm under his pressure.

His hands trembled just so, eyes full of pain. "There would have been if it weren't for him!" he yelled, turning his head to the other man.

His face was bloody but he looked otherwise unharmed. "It's not my fault the idiot overdosed, I just gave him the shit." he argued, and the young man clenched more firmly around the gun.

Lin intervened quickly, taking attention off of the loudmouthed dealer, "I know what it's like to lose a sibling. My younger sister. My mom took her side, so it felt like I was entirely alone, but I found joy in my job. In my hobbies and friends. It made that pain feel much more manageable, and I couldn't be happier right now." she explained, eyes not straying from his face.

"I don't have any of that. I just had him." he said, shaking his head.

"For a long time I didn't either. I held onto my anger for decades, and it prevented me from fully enjoying myself. I don't want that to happen to someone else," she told him, "It wasn't until I was 52, actually, until I let that go. I didn't get closure, and the people who hurt me never apologized, but I saw how much harm it had done to me. Shortly after, I started talking to the woman I came to marry. She's the best person I know; beautiful, kind, insightful, she brought out the best parts in me, and I found myself wanting to be happy for her.

"If it's too difficult to feel joy with yourself, would you pity an old woman and feel it for me? I promise you, this hopelessness isn't permanent." Lin said, watching as the man slowly relaxed his grip and lowered the weapon.

"How about you start by telling me about him, hm?" she encouraged. He kept the weapon up, pointed at her knee, but his shoulders had dropped.

"His name was Mingyu. I was eight when he was born, and I was so excited. We didn't have a lot of money, and mom and dad were always working, so I had to look after him instead of going to school.

"I taught him what I had learned, and he was so smart. I got a job to make sure he could go to school when he turned 6. He was so good at kuai ball.

"We lost our dad this year, and Yu took it so hard. I was too busy with my job to see it, but he at school he started- why didn't I just-" the man finally lowered the gun, eyes welling up.

"Kids make mistakes. It's not your fault that Mingyu slipped." Lin told him, taking a cautious step forward.

The man didn't respond, so she continued to close the distance.

Lin straightened, feeling the distinct thud of metal-soled boots. The police had been called before she showed up.

"Hey, give me the gun and we can keep talking." She urged, and he looked up at her, startled by her change in tone.

"RCPD, hands where I can see them!" an officer behind her bellowed. Lin felt a pit open in her stomach, watching the emotions flash across the man's face.

In a moment the gun was back up, four feet away and aimed right between her eyes. "You lied to me!" he shouted, and pulled the trigger.

Kya had heard the shot, and immediately she knew what had happened. She felt a tug in her soul, similar to the feeling when her mother passed, and she sat in the passengers seat for hours, unable to move.

The man who murdered Lin was only 22. His name was Han. He ended up receiving life in prison for killing the former police chief, compared to the 30 he would have gotten if he killed the drug dealer, but he instead hanged himself in his holding cell. He was survived solely by his mother, and Kya deeply pitied her, but it was because of her son that she was now a widow.

It was unbelievable to imagine Lin losing her life there, in the alleyway fifteen years retired from the police force, instead of the dozen times she'd been severely injured, or the hundreds where she'd faced worse danger. Kya forgot, sometimes, in the beginning. She'd return to the empty house and think Lin must be in the backyard, or wake up in a cold bed expecting the smell of Lin's favoured morning tea, tieguanyin, to have permeated upstairs.

Kya had been so achingly raw with pain. She'd felt nothing like it before, where the jagged edges of her grief made her lash out instead, but for months she hated Lin for having left her. Spirits damn her noble nature.

After five months the wounds finally soothed, but she'd been terribly surprised to feel its return when she visited Lin's grave a year past her demise.

She then felt guilt over her reaction; Lin had told her countless times how Kya had "saved" her. Shown her love, and helped her realize to be cared for wasn't negative. Kya wished so desperately just to speak to her once more. To thank her for all that she gave, and ensure Lin knew how deeply she'd been loved.

The second anniversary was when she felt sorrow, but in the past year she'd received news that wasn't altogether bad. It made the third occurrence pass with far less grief.

Kya had been experiencing chest pains and severe shortness of breath. From her own diagnosis, she surmised her heart was giving out, but a healer in the city confirmed it with ease. There wasn't too much surprise given her age, approaching 84, her lifestyle, not always the healthiest, and the compounding emotional experiences she'd weathered. While she'd never looked forward to death, she found that she was ready for it whenever the time came.

It was almost freeing, sitting in front of Lin's grave without the cloud of overwhelming emotion. She didn't visit her final resting place except for this anniversary, as she'd been buried in the Beifong family's tomb all the way in the Earth Kingdom. Lin had been rigid on tradition that way, even if Toph insisted against it and Su planned to start her own in Zaofu. Kya had only wanted to honour her wishes; being with her mortal body didn't give her a particular sense of closeness. She sensed Lin at random moments regardless of her location, which had been one hint she hadn't yet chosen reincarnation. Her spirit had remained hidden despite thorough searching in the Spirit World, but Kya knew she was only waiting for Kya's time.

And with it nearing, for the first time she faced the gilded headstone with a glimmer of hope.

#kyalin #lin beifong #kya lok #cw mental health #in honour of the Qingming Festival #why did i write so much these were supposed to be like 300 words each #angstpril

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popwasabi · 4 years

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“End of Evangelion” and the tempting nature of oblivion

(TW: Suicide, Self-harm, Pain, Depression, Mental Health, Death)

“End of Evangelion” is a perplexing movie to say the least.

Not that the original classic anime “Neon Genesis Evangelion” series ends on exactly the most conclusive note itself, but “End” takes everything that transpired in the series and literally destroys it.

The films ends with Earth experiencing the long foreshadowed Third Impact and all of the planet returning to the primordial “soup,” as fans call it, with its main protagonist Shinji Ikari and comrade Asuka Langley Soryu as the only remaining humans left. A pseudo, twisted rebeginning of Adam and Eve’s Genesis.

The film is fairly divisive among the fans to say the least. Some fans consider it a masterpiece for its nihilistic tone and mind-bending illustrations of body horror and others despised it for being too dark and confusing with no clear explanation of anything that happened in the film’s events. Hell, even the movie’s fans have a difficult time explaining what exactly happens in the narrative.

I was somewhat in the middle with it after I watched it the first time not super long ago. It was certainly abstract, and I like plenty of stories that don’t make it easy for me to understand. The animation is definitely the franchise’s best and I enjoyed the character moments between Shinji, Asuka, and Misato. But it was also, as stated before, dreadfully confusing and still to this day hard to makes heads or tails out of with its plot.

But, as with more than a few movies I have revisited this year, 2020 helped me contextualize one aspect I think the story is concretely trying to get across.

(We’ll save discussion of “Rebuild” for another day...)

At my lowest points not long ago, I had this frequent vision that would crawl across my mind.

I imagined being up in the clouds on a beautiful sunny day, but I wasn’t floating or flying. I was plummeting, falling like a bird without wings at a speed that would definitely kill me once I got to the ground. But I never imagined actually hitting the Earth like a meat-bagged, human sized asteroid. I only ever imagined the falling part. The wind reaching a terminal velocity and the air rushing past my body and you know what look I had on my face?

Happiness.

I was confused a bit by why I kept imagining this moribund fall into oblivion over and over again. I wasn’t suicidal, though I certainly have had thoughts of self-harm plenty of times before and general detachment from life. But why the fuck was I so happy? I’m about to die after all!

What I have come to realize in recent years, as I’ve developed a better understanding of my mental health and what makes me tick, it wasn’t that I wanted to die so much as I wanted the freedom that comes moments before it. The feeling of finally letting go and letting fate/gravity do the rest.

Years of my life failing at various aspects of societal expectations and career obligations from not being able to get the girls I wanted to date so badly, relationships ending poorly, not quite applying myself the way I should’ve in college, and working a plethora of unfulfilling jobs since graduation made me yearn for that release. Just that feeling of saying “fuck it all” and giving in to the void.

I wanted to stop feeling out of control. The way the world is structured often feels like you are on a wild, rapid river flowing in one very stark direction but you desperately want to go the other way. You keep fighting and fighting it and realize after a while you are just swimming in place, you tire out and either float where the river wants you to go or you drown. I wanted neither of those things, I just wanted control and unfortunately part of life is accepting that a very large percentage of it is beyond your power to alter.

2020 made this feeling starkly apparent once again as we were hit with a once in a lifetime global pandemic that has killed 2.21 million people and counting. As common people struggle to find ways to handle the loss of loved ones and the fallout from economic instability those tasked with protecting us have more or less ignored the cries of needy. Hell, they’re fucking miffed that we would even have the audacity to ask for $2000 of our own fucking tax dollars to put a band-aid on the situation. Combine this with an extremely volatile two-party system and late stage capitalism, we are about as out of control as ever in terms of how much we actually can course correct our destinies in a period like this.

It is why so many irony-pilled millennials and gen z-ers are posting dank memes about meteors colliding with the earth over the course of the year. We’ve lived through two recessions, two forever wars, and now a pandemic in our lifetimes while paying off our crippling debt with slave wages and yet boomers still wonder why we are near universally depressed as a generation.

(Seriously, everybody needs a fucking therapist right now...and also to dismantle the fucking system that’s making us depressed!)

This is what I feel is the real heart of “End of Evangelion.” The movie is a lot of things, obviously, but, after the events of this year and looking back on the more depressing parts of my life, I feel this film is about the tempting nature of oblivion. Giving up when things are clearly beyond your control so you can get that sweet but twisted, fleeting sense of freedom from it all.

Director Hideaki Anno didn’t feel too entirely different about the state of life when he made this series and certainly by the time he made “End” he was in a very dark place.

So, quick history lesson, “Neon Genesis Evangelion” debuted in 1994 and quickly became a classic among fans of anime and the giant mech vs monster genre. Critics loved it for its exploration of mental health and depression and of course plenty enjoyed the hell out of it for its giant monster/robot escapism as well. Fast forward to the conclusion of the series, critics and fans especially are far more polarized. I won’t try to explain exactly what happens in the ending and frankly I don’t think anyone can, but that confusion led to quite a bit of outcry by the fans.

Hideaki Anno, the series’ director, received tons of hate mail and death threats following the series conclusion. The fans hated how abstract it was, how it had an undecisive ending and chose to dive into the mind of Shinji instead of conclusively describing the events of the Third Impact with plenty going as far as to say he had “ruined” his own series for them. This made him unfortunately quite depressed himself over the ending he felt creatively fairly content with.

(I think it should be clear who Shinji is mostly likely a stand-in for in this anime...)

The fan reaction was toxic to say the least and all too familiar for many creatives who didn’t adequately satisfy the insatiable vapid needs of their fandom. Anno did not take this well to put it lightly. A man who was known as a delinquent in high school and expelled from the Osaka University of Arts much earlier in his life, and dealt plenty with his own bouts of depression, Anno had plenty of his own demons to sort out and quite clearly wanted to explore that mental state in “Neon Genesis Evangelion.”

I’ll be honest and say that I myself was not fond of the ending either when I watched it the first time as a freshman in college, and even went as far as to describe it as everything that was wrong with anime to friends in the years that followed for a while. I felt it was confusing and “fake deep,” existential for no reason other than because it just wanted to and people were “dumb” if they liked it.

When I rewatched it again as a much older adult when it came on Netflix last year, I found it much more fascinating and interesting. A sort of abstract introspective into the mind of a troubled teenager, who I had written off many years prior as a “whiny baby.” Though I wouldn’t say I completely understand it still, I get it much more now and I think it has a lot to say about depression and mental health.

Unfortunately, most fans did not have that reaction back then and as a result Anno made his true conclusion “End of Evangelion” as a response to that negativity.

(You’re welcome, nerds.)

As mentioned before, “End of Evangelion” is an extremely nihilistic film that seems to one up each dark moment as you traverse its spiraling narrative. It’s a film where things never get better. If you go into it blind expecting that big last minute heroic save the day moment, it’s always teased and never comes. Things just end very badly for everyone. Nobody gets a “happy ending.”

While the ending to the original series is strange for sure, it does end on a light note that can be interpreted in a number of different ways but ultimately positive. With the way fans reacted to it Anno decided to write a big “fuck you” to them by, in many ways, smashing his toys so no one could play with them again. He even went as far as to splice in the actual hate mail he received into the movie to quite clearly show to the audience, as their favorite characters met their grissly ends, that this was their fault.

(“Gee, I wonder what that was all about.” ~ a fan walking out of the theater back in 1997.)

In a way though, Anno created something strangely beautiful from that reaction. “End of Evangelion” is about giving up in some ways and accepting our inevitable doom. There are no easy answers, no workable solutions to achieve a happy ending because sometimes in life there isn’t one. Despite last ditch efforts by Misato, Shinji, and the crew of NERV the world still ends through the Third Impact. But tonally it’s not quite pessimistic; it’s actually positive, in a very twisted sense of course.

Set to the song “Komm Susser Tod” by ARIANNE, the film’s apocalypse can almost be described as a celebration. With people “popping” and turning into the primordial soup they all largely have smiles on their faces as they kind of get what they want whether it’s a desire to reunite with loved ones, to be with people they have crushes on, or happiness that they have sought for so long in the embrace of others. Everyone’s depressed! But now they are happy because it’s finally all over, they don’t have to give a shit anymore.

As the planet lights up like a Christmas tree, there are images of suicide and death that rapidly cross the screen in the form of the Angel’s final transformation but again, nobody is truly sad about it. They all have some kind of twisted smile or joy that they get from it. It’s a shocking film, if you’re not already prepared for what’s going to happen, and provocative to say the least.

youtube

(Can’t decide if I recommend watching this high or not...)

I had no idea what any of it meant at the time when I watched it several years ago (I watched it well after I had seen the original series), and to be fair there are many ways fans have interpreted what exactly took place in the film and have debated endlessly on its meaning for decades now. But at least in my interpretation, after everything we’ve been through this year, “End of Evangelion” to me is about the sweet release of not giving a fuck anymore.

Whether it’s about Anno feeling that way about his own life or the expectations of his fans or both, the film quite clearly doesn’t care about what people may or may not have wanted for Shinji and the NGE characters and is perfectly fine with the way it all comes “tumbling down.”

(He just wants to be with his boyfriend, guys.)

This past July 4th, city fireworks shows were prohibited in my area because they wanted to limit mass gatherings due to COVID but this didn’t stop people from buying plenty of their own to fire off. In what amounted to a collective “fuck you” to everything and 2020, beginning pretty much exactly at dusk people started firing off their at home lightshows like they were mortar gunners in World War I and did not let up until well past midnight. The entire Southern California night sky was lit up not to unlike the thousands of crosses that filled the screen during the Third Impact of “End of Evangelion” and though it could certainly be interpreted as a moment of people patriotically going “Yea, America!” that night, my head canon was much different. It felt like tens of thousands of people across the region just saying “Fuck it” into the night sky at everything; COVID, our horrendous government, police violence, pending World Wars, environmental disaster, and our collective impending doom from it all.

As these fireworks hit their zenith around 9pm I broke out my phone and started playing “Komm Susser Tod” from the movie and it felt perfect. Everyone just wanted to feel that freedom in the moment, that freedom of not giving a damn anymore. To be removed from expectations, from control, from hatred, from pain and it was kind of beautiful in a sick way.

And that’s what “End of Evangelion” feels like to me now; kind of beautiful in a sick way.

(Not saying the LA skyline looked like this exactly but it felt like it haha...)

There are still many ways to interpret Hideaki Anno’s cult classic, and it’s part of its charm but I think the take away fans should have is definitely not that suicide is ok but that we get it. We understand why people have those feelings and why it feels freeing to desire the void and oblivion. It’s a pity that the series most toxic fans didn’t get that clue through the original finale but Anno, not a person who likes being shoved around, clearly created perhaps the most twistedly beautiful “fuck you” to that in anime history.

As we enter 2021 all I can say is it’s ok to feel like this, it’s ok to desire freedom from the relentless gloom and doom of the world and people’s prying expectations of what they think you “should” be. No one blames you. At the end of the day, we’re all just trying to survive the apocalypse we have zero control over, so the least we can do is be a bit nicer and considerate of one another.

At least it’ll make the Third Impact more pleasant whenever it eventually comes...

Happy New Year, everyone!

Congratulations on surviving 2020! Have fun in 2021...

#neon genesis evangelion #end of evangelion #evangelion #hideaki anno #anime #japan #90s #vintage anime #2020 #apocalypse #covid #mental health #depression #sadness #horror #shinji #covid19 #quarantine

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justimagineitblog · 4 years

Text

“You Used To Love Me”: Michael Gray Fan Fiction - Chapter 1

A/N: Please enjoy getting caught up in this love story :)

Like / reblog and let me know if you would like to be added to a tag list for the next chapters to come ....

thankyou my loves and don’t fook with the peaky blinders! ;) xx

It’s the usual smog and cold air as I make my way down town, dirt and gravel roads crunching beneath my heels. Mostly, I concentrate on trying not to lose my footing and dodging the young boys who are playing tag in the street. But there’s a very small, tucked away portion of my brain who is constantly, subconsciously, thinking about him. Michael Gray. Even though its months since the day he left, months since I’ve seen or heard from him, it still feels strange to walk these streets without his hand locked firmly with mine. These days I just bury my hands deep in my coat pockets, trying to distract myself from how empty they feel. And from how fucking cold it is.

I round the last corner, away from the houses and straight into the Main Street. Busy and bustling with people leaving and entering businesses, horse and cart, cars all adding to the noise. In a crowd of people, a familiar face sticks out.

Polly Gray. Standing outside of the train station. A smile falls over my face immediately upon spotting her. If there’s one woman I love like my own mother, it’s Polly Gray. When Michael and I began dating and he first brought me home to his family, Polly opened her arms to me like she’d known me her whole life. Like I was already Michael’s wife. They all did.

But when Michael left for America, he didn’t just cut of communication with me. He cut of communication with everyone. Even his own family. The only way we knew he was still alive was through the rest of the staff Shelby Limited has in America. Apart from that, Michael may as well have been dead. Or at least we were, to him. Despite this, Polly and the Shelby’s didn’t just cast me off like I was a dead weight. Like an extra person that they didn’t need the burden of hanging around. Once you’re in the Shelby family, you’re in for life. I still work at the pub for Tommy. Still come around every Sunday for roast. And I know part of it is the guilt that Polly feels for what her son did to me. To us. To our love. But I know she genuinely loves me, too.

Only a few meters away from her now, I call out to her, waving my hand.

She turns towards my voice with a smile, but the moment her eyes fall over me, it disappears.

“Isabelle, my darling…” she greets me with a smile that just doesn’t seem… right “What are you doing here?”

I furrow my brows “Well I could ask you the same thing, standing outside the train station of all places” I chuckle softly but she just gives me that same, nervous smile.

“Poll, what’s wrong?” I look around suspiciously, for someone who might be causing her to act like this “Is there someone here that shouldn’t be?” It’s a rare occasion that Polly Gray acts anything but confident and calm.

When I look back to her for an answer, she just stutters. Glancing between me and the entry to the station anxiously, she shakes her head.

“Um, now isn’t the time darling, maybe you should go-“

But before I can even figure out what on earth has got her acting this way, the answer to my question walks out of the station lobby and into the street.

Michael.

Suddenly, the obnoxiously loud street becomes muffled, everything sounds like I’m listening from underwater.

Once our eyes lock, he freezes in his tracks, like someone hit the pause button and now all either of us can do is stare at one another.

“Shit” I hear Polly hiss under her breath beside me.

6 months. 6 months of nothing. No calls. No letters. No explanation. 6 months of anticipation. Crying myself to sleep. Making myself sick with worry. Wondering if he ever loved me at all. And how he could just leave me like this. Did he feel bad at all? 6 months has all come down to this moment. And here he stands. Alive and well. A little older. A little more well dressed. And perfectly fine.

Michael.

Acutely aware of my pounding heart, my breath begins to quicken too, my chest rising and falling rapidly beneath my dress.

And if my complete shock or lack of oxygen hasn’t made me completely delusional, I begin to see the smallest hint of something in his eyes. Like a flicker of light through a crack in a concrete wall. It’s gentle. Warm. Hopeful. Is it a smile? Or… love?

“Michael, baby?” A heavily accented woman’s voice cuts through the heavy air around us like a knife.

And just as fleetingly as the look came, it is whisked away. Before I got a chance to read what he’s even thinking after seeing me, the girl he was supposed to be in love with, for the first time in 6 months, the page was ripped away.

It’s replaced by a cold, empty stare and it soon dawns on me why. The heavily accented voice calling his name belongs to someone. Arrogant and proud, she strolls out into the side walk and straight to Michael, placing a possessive hand on his shoulder.

Like watching a car accident, in which my heart is the car and every moment that follows is another piling up on top of it, I can’t look away.

She’s tall, slender, blonde. And she leans into Michael, pressing her red lips against his cheek. The cheek that I used to kiss like that. Leaving a faint lip stick stain like I used to.

My eyes lock with Michaels and again I find another hidden message behind them. Does he look… guilty?

“Baby?” The American demands, her sharp and commanding voice finally snapping us both out of our trance.

“Yes honey, sorry” Michael apologises quickly, dragging his eyes away from mine as he turns to the woman with a smile on his face.

“Well aren’t you going to introduce me?” She chuckles, with a hint of irritation behind it.

He stares at her, his mouth parted ready to speak, but no sound follows it’s lead. The woman gives him one final, warning glare and Michael swallows, turning back to Polly and I.

“This is Gina… Gina Gray”

My head shoots to Polly immediately, and she just shakes her head at me. Polly must have already known. How long has she known about this.

She doesn’t say anything but her her eyes are screaming.

‘I’m sorry’ they cry.

Gina. Gina Gray. Gray.

She’s Michael’s wife.

“Sorry, do we know you?” She asks me pointedly, right as I’m trying to understand what has unfolded in a matter of minutes. So she doesn’t know about me? Michael hasn’t told her. He never mentioned the woman he has been in love with for 4 years. Never crossed his mind? Was our love not worth a mention? Was I not worth it?

I feel Michael’s eyes burning into me as he waits for me to answer, but what am I supposed to say?

‘Oh I was just your husbands lover before he left for America, where I never heard from him in 6 months, but apparently he met you and now you’re married so I guess I’m just some jaded ex lover’

Michael never was a man of God, but I bet he’s praying to whatever God is listening right now. Praying that I don’t reveal his secret. Expose his big lie. Reveal his double life?

“This is Isabelle,” Polly’s voice pushes in very suddenly, but as she goes to continue, Michael cuts her off before she even can.

“A family friend” he interjects quickly, almost tripping over his own words with urgency.

A family friend.

If there was a moment to describe the feeling of twisting the knife once you’ve already been stabbed, this was it.

The sentence rattles around in my brain. How can he just stand there, look me in the eyes, and call me that.

Maybe if we had of broken up before he left, then he would be justified in calling me nothing but a family friend, if he doesn’t want to say I used to be his lover. His girlfriend. His person.

But I clearly remember how he made love to me the night before he left. How he kissed me at the station before he left. How we both cried and held each other, almost causing him to miss the train. And I know he remembers it too. But yet here he stands. With my heart in his hands, and clenching it tightly as he calls me nothing but a family friend.

I’m suddenly painfully aware of the silence between us all, and realise I haven’t spoken once this entire time.

“Yes, sorry” I nod quickly “I’ve known the family a long time”

“How sweet” Gina replies with a tight smile, as she looks me up and down.

A feeling of sickness washes over me the same way her eyes do. I don’t belong here. Standing like a complete fool as Michael and this woman, his wife, pretending to be someone I’m not, just as much as Michael is.

“I’ll let you guys get on your way” I shake my head “I’ve uh, I’ve got a shift to get to anyway”

Gina nods with another sickly sweet and clearly fake smile, and Michael just stands there, still watching me nervously.

“Bye Poll” I breathe at Polly who is biting her lip, doing a terrible job at hiding the distraught look on her face. I can’t even imagine what mine looks like.

I give one last nod at them all, my eyes catching Michaels for the last time as I begin to walk away. My legs feel like lead as I force myself to walk away from them, moving from the spot I felt as though I was frozen to.

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one-shot-plus-size · 4 years

Text

Home is where the heart is. Part 6.

Imagine : Clayton Cardenas meets Olivia Mazru, who is on vacation in the USA for the first time.

Chapters: 6/10

Each of the 7 chapters will cover 3 days of Olivia’s vacation, and 3 chapters will cover the time after returning home.

Part 5

Clayton took her for breakfast and then for a walk to Central Park. Their hands were all the time intertwined, they walked through the green area. All the time his hand embraced her, his thumb gently smoothed her skin. At noon, they took the food out of the pub and settled on the grass in the quietest part of the park - Sheep Meadow.

- And how do you like it? - Clayton was looking at her pushing pasta into her mouth.

- I am not used to such noise, you know I live in the countryside. In a small house in the forest, I have a garden and a sacred peace. This city is vibrant with life, it also has its charm. But in the long run it would be tiresome - she smiled at it, putting a little shrimp in her mouth.

- How is it where you live ? - he rested his hands on his knees.

- I have a beautiful little house made of wood. I built it myself, my colleague is an architect. She helped me to put on paper what I had in my head, then she adjusted it to the building conditions in the area. The family helped me with the construction and in about two years my dream places were created. - She was looking at it.

His eyebrows reached the hairline, he was surprised how resourceful it was.

- I don't care about the picture - she pulled the phone out of her pocket.

She searched the photo gallery on the phone until she found this one picture of her house. She turned the device in his direction, Clay looked at the photo.

- This is a photo a few days after the construction and cleaning up of the site. Now I have an access road, I've given myself a place where I park my car. A friend helped me to make a terrace at the back of the house and a porch in front.

- I will be honest, right ? - He was looking at it.

- Sure - she nodded her head blocking the device and putting it away.

- Marry me - he laughed - he has lived in this world for 33 years and I have never met such a resourceful and overwhelming woman as you. You have your own company, you work on a full-time basis and you have built a house with your own hands. I am in shock, the guy you give your heart to will be the happiest guy in the world.

She snorted under her nose and twisted her head.

- Poland is not like the United States. In my country, people like me are somewhat excluded. Maybe not excluded but more unwanted. There, people with colorful hair, numerous earrings and quite a lot of overweight are different, avoided. Guys want beautiful women, slim with normal hair color. Well I don't fit in, I've never been like most people and never will be. My introverted character doesn't help to meet new people. Some time ago I realized that I want to live on my own terms. This is my life, I am what I am and nobody can dictate my conditions. - She looked at it - I'm sorry, I'm talking nonsense.

Clayton was staring into the space in front of him, holding a box of food in his hands. His eyebrows were wrinkled in thought.

- You don't say stupidity, people can be cruel without any reason. And how you handled all this is admirable. Wear yourself proud, because you deserve it - He leaned slightly and wet her on the cheek.

- Thanks - she blushed.

After the meal they lay down on the grass and talked about everything and nothing concrete. They simply enjoyed their company. After resting they went to METROPOLITAN MUSEUM OF ART.

- Do you want coffee? - Clay stood before her.

- With milk, please - she smiled and sat on the stairs.

- Good - he nodded his head.

He put his hands on her knees and leaned on them. He leaned down and kissed her a little bit harder first. Her hand rested on his cheek and smiled slightly. He broke away from her, cmocked her in the forehead and went to the coffee shop. Olivia ran her thumb over her mouth and smiled like a fool.

- It's good to be in love - a voice was heard behind her.

She turned around behind her, saw a middle-aged woman with a smile from ear to ear.

- That boy of yours must love you - she looked at him - you can see it from people, I used to be like that too. Please nurture love is the most important thing in your life.

- Thank you - she smiled slightly.

She turned her head when Clayton ordered coffee. She looked at him, his ass was perfectly exposed by dark jeans. The horizontal line shirt emphasized his shoulder muscles and slim figure well. Hair in total disorder added to his charm, he turned to her as if feeling her gaze. He smiled widely and returned to the woman in the booth with his gaze. When he smiled on his cheeks two sweet bouquets were formed on his cheeks like in small, plump children. The smile was spreading all over his face, he looked so charming then. She smiled to herself and let her head down. She wanted to have such a guy with her, all her co-workers' jaws would fall down. After a few moments, Clay fell down next to her giving her a cup of coffee.

- Thanks - she nodded her head.

She looked at the streets and the cars driving around, this city was really bustling with life. Crowds of people were walking the streets, people were hurrying. Businessmen in well-cut suits, women in perfect suits. Everyone was in a hurry, chasing for money. For a fortune which, after death, will be of no use to any of us. But each of us had different priorities in life, each of us wanted to experience them differently.

- What are you so proud of? - Clay poked her on the shoulder.

- Nothing concrete.

He nodded his head slightly and stared at the space in front of him.

- When do you start recording the second season of Mayan's MC?

- In just over a month we start working on the set.

- Cool, I watched all seasons of Sons of Anarchy on Netflix when I worked at home for some time. I was absorbed by this series endlessly, Kurt Sutter did a good job.

- Have you watched us? - He looked at her - in the sense of Mayan's MC?

- Of course I did - she was nodding her head - a bit illegal, but I had no other choice.

- Oh - he laughed.

- You know, in my country there is no such access to series and films as here. Sometimes you have to exercise yourself to get over something.

- He promises you that when we record the second season he will send you records with episodes so you don't have to break the law - he laughed.

- I take your word for it - she patted it on the shoulder.

- SAMCRO's favorite character?

- Chibs - she laughed.

- Why ? - He was drinking coffee by peeking at it.

- Throughout the whole series he probably went through the biggest change, even though he was broken so many times, he was hurt so much, he was still such a wicked Scotsman. Then I guess Jackson didn't quite understand the ending, but after a while I know that he was just being eaten by remorse.

- And at Mayan's?

- Honestly it's hard to say, this is only the first season, it's not known how the characters will develop. But if I were to say now it would probably be either Bishop or a young part of the club. Bishop because he emanates such strength, decisiveness and power. And young because there is a great relationship and interaction between them. Your role of Angela Reyes is really cool, you play him great.

- Thanks - he blushed on his cheeks.

- You play really well, you are talented.

- That's enough or I'll blush.

- Too late - she laughed.

- Shut up - he snorted at her.

She leaned her chin against his shoulder. He looked at her and smiled slightly.

- So where are you going to take me today, what?

- What would you like to see? - He finished his coffee.

- I was planning a Time Squer in the evening.

- So we will go there - he nodded his head - any more special wishes ?

- I guess not for today anymore, but I will come up with something for tomorrow.

- How about if he plans a great day tomorrow, then we'll go to dinner in the evening. And we will spend the next day in bed ? You're out in a few days, and I'd like to give you some more pleasure.

He noticed how he bites his lower lip.

- If you want to, of course - he added quietly.

Olivia put the coffee mug on the step between her legs, grabbed Clayton's beard and turned his face in her direction. She dipped him in the mouth without taking the look away from him.

- She wanted to - she smiled slightly.

He leaned harder towards her, nudged her nose and kissed her lightly. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the taste of her as she opened her lips, he entered them with his tongue. He broke away from her and looked around him biting his lower lip.

- Come on - he squinted and rose.

He dragged her behind him to the Museum building, walked quickly to the ticket offices.

- Can we use the toilet? My girlfriend wants to pee terribly - he gave the cashier his company smile.

- You have to buy the tickets - the cashier did not even look at them.

Clayton snorted under his nose, took the amount deducted to the counter. Then he dragged Olivia to the bathrooms.

- What are you doing? - She followed him.

- You'll see - He pushed her into the bathroom.

He looked around again and followed her into the room. He locked the door behind him, pressed her firmly against the wall and kissed her. A moan came out of her mouth when he rolled his hips into her. She felt his penis pressed against his pants, her hand slipped down on his crotch. She rubbed them a few times, and he broke away from her. He leaned his forehead against her forehead and moaned.

- Do you like to do this in a public place ? - she looked into his eyes.

He smiled wide, his hands slipped on her pants. He unbuttoned them and slid his hand into her panties, he felt how wet it was. He slipped his fingers inside her, she moaned in his ear. He moved them strongly and quickly, stabbed his teeth in her neck.

- Clay...- she moaned constantly.

- Come on, baby - he whispered in her ear - he feels you clench, come on my toes. And I'll give you what you need.

He moved faster and faster, she leaned her forehead against his shoulder. When she had an orgasm, she stuck her teeth into his shoulder, and he hissed. He pulled his fingers out of it and put them in his mouth, stared at her eyes.

- You taste so good - he muttered.

She grabbed his hand, slipped her fingers into her mouth. She braided them with her tongue and kept eye contact with him all the time.

- Enough - he muttered.

He grabbed her ass and led her to the sink, on which he had planted her before taking off her pants. When he kissed her, she was getting to him. She unfastened his belt buckle, button and lock. He helped slide them down to his knees together with the boxers. She embraced him with her hand and moved him several times.

- Fuck - he leaned his forehead against her shoulder.

She braided him with her legs at the waist and attracted to herself. He moved his penis along her entrance, irritated her for a while, and then finally went deep into her.

- If they catch us it will burn - she moaned.

- A note of adrenaline - he laughed.

He did not brake, they did it quickly. Initially she was worried that someone might catch them having sex in the Museum bathroom, but as the pleasure grew, she did not care. She was sticking her teeth into his shoulder when she had a second orgasm, Clayton needed a longer time to come. He stabbed his face in her neck and grunted when he was falling down inside her. Olivia was smoothing his hair while he calmed his breath, raised his head slightly. He wetted her in the mouth and slipped out of her. First he wiped himself and packed into his boxers and pants and then cleaned her up. With a soaked towel, he helped her put on her underwear and pants. He pushed her to the door for a while and kissed her deeply.

- You are the first woman I have done such a thing with - he smiled at her mouth.

- I am usually not like that.

- Usually you are polite and laid out ? - she improved herself in the mirror.

- So that you know - he nodded his head.

He opened the door, slid his head through the door and looked around the hallway. When he saw that nobody was there, he pulled Olivia out of the room.

- I won't believe you are a good boy - she laughed following him.

Part 7

#Clayton Cardenas #Mayans MC #Mayans fandom #Love #Olivia

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tiliamericana · 3 years

Text

Muay Thai: 1.09

Nairi double checked the address Linden had texted her and looked back up at the set of buildings. They were squat and stuck together, looking kind of like a demountable set up someone had made permanent as best they could. The foundation was brickwork that looked more recent than the dirty siding, and about halfway up the wall it was all old windows, half of which were propped open.

The number she was looking for was around the side and about halfway down, and Nairi could smell cleaning supplies and cooking food, and hear discordant music as she walked up the ramp towards the door she was looking for. It was propped open a couple of inches by a worn paint can filled with concrete, a little angry face painted on it in red. She knocked on the window panel in the door. “Linden?”

The door swung all the way open, and Linden poked her head out, smiling at her. “There you are! Found it okay?”

She was completely bare faced for the first time since Nairi had met her, and while the denim cut offs were a familiar part of her wardrobe rotation, the oversize grey t-shirt was new, shapeless and paint spattered. There was also paint all along her forearms, some of which had managed to get onto her legs as well.

“Yeah,” said Nairi, holding up the paper bag. “And I brought lunch, as requested.”

“Oh, I’ll have to keep you around,” said Linden, grinning as she stepped back and opened the door properly to let Nairi in. She took the bag as Nairi stepped past her, digging in to retrieve her enchilada with a pleased noise.

“Having a… productive Tuesday?” asked Nairi as Linden let the door fall back into the paint can with a muffled clang.

Even with all of the windows propped open and the extractor fan wheezing loudly, the room still stunk of turpentine, paint, and something else chemical and sweet that she couldn’t quite identify. There was an unfinished counter running along one side of the room, cluttered with tubs of paint and half-filled bottles of oil, dirty jars and mugs, with an industrial sink at the end with an old microwaved plugged in next to it. One of its hinges was held on with electrical tape. The shelves under the counter had a lot of plastic tubs filling the space, labelled in masking tape and marker.

Linden crossed the room to a section where the floor was covered by an old bedsheet, sitting down on a wheeled office chair with the back broken off in front of an easel holding a canvas that was mostly pale green. She nodded as she picked up a tall ceramic mug with a lid, and she drank deeply from it, gesturing at a ratty couch under the windows on the wall. The mug had a strip of masking tape wrapped around it, ‘NO TURPS >:|’ scrawled on it in thick marker.

“Yeah, I got my wash layer down for the base of this bad boy,” said Linden, setting the mug back down and jerking her thumb over her shoulder at the canvas. “I spent a good chunk of last week fucking around with thumbnails, but your housewarming gift is officially on the way as of now.”

Nairi, sat on the couch. A strut creaked under her, threatening to crack. “You don’t have to—”

Linden waved her off. “I told you, your walls are too bare, and this is literally my area of expertise. How was your morning anyway?”

Nairi shrugged. “Okay, I guess? I really only got out of bed when you texted me.”

“Nice for some,” said Linden, grinning at her. “Layabout! How do you and Aggy get anything scheduled? She’s up by six and in bed by ten sharp.”

Nairi shrugged, unwrapping her own lunch and shifting uncomfortably on the terrible couch. “I guess we’ll find out; I’m having dinner at her apartment tonight.”

“Co-sy,” said Linden sarcastically, setting her enchilada on the folding table next to her ‘not turpentine’ and a clear jar filled with what was presumably turpentine. She picked up a flat paintbrush and dabbed it at her palette, rolling her chair forward and making a couple of light, decisive strokes on the green. “You two are enjoying yourselves, then?”

“I think so,” said Nairi, not entirely certain if she’d messed something up or was missing something. “Have you got plans for the night then? Or are you working?”

“Both,” said Linden promptly. “Got a hot date with a cool hook up, and then a much hotter date with the rest of next month’s rent check. Can I ask you a favour?”

“Sure,” said Nairi, chewing slowly. “For your cool hook up or next month’s rent?”

Linden turned her head and bounced her eyebrows at Nairi. “Next month’s rent check. Si’s kind of a dickhead, but he’s only dangerous if you don’t like T.S. Eliot or are allergic to, like, papercuts, or lignin, or something. I need a safety check in for when I finish my job. I have a couple of people I’d usually ask, but the one I normally go to during the week has a daughter in hospital for her appendix, and Flo takes melatonin to keep her schedule, like, regulated during semester so asking her to wait up on a school night is a no-go.”

“I should be able to do that,” said Nairi, nodding, partially because her only other option was asking what the hell ‘lignin’ was. “What do you need for it?”

“It’s just waiting for me to call when I’m finished with my job, or calling to check in, just to make sure I haven’t been murdered or whatever,” said Linden, leaning back a little to scan the lines she’d marked out on the canvas. “I’m booked for eleven, so I should be done before one. I’ll like, send you the address and the number for my work phone and stuff.”

Nairi nodded again. “Okay, sounds easy. So, if I can’t reach you by one, what do I need to do?”

“I’d tell you to call Nick, but he’d only call the cops so you can probably just cut him out of the equation and go straight to them. I’d like, rather not with them, like at all, ever,” she emphasised this with a slashing motion of her paintbrush, “but if it comes to that, then tell them like, I’m on a first date with a guy my dad thinks is creepy and I promised to check in or something, I don’t know.”

If she had the address, then… well. “Why would Nicholas call the cops if he knows you’d hate it?”

Linden rolled her eyes extravagantly and set her brush down, going for her enchilada again. “Because he believes in the power of the system, doesn’t approve of my job, is convinced that one day cops will magically stop being shitty to me, and also he apparently still thinks I’m sixteen.”

“Right,” said Nairi, slowly balling up the foil and paper of her lunch. “He uh, cares a lot about you, huh?”

“Yeah, he’s an old friend of my dad’s,” said Linden, nodding and swallowing. “Looked out for me when I was a teenager, you know? He’s still convinced that every time he turns around I’m gonna run off and nearly get myself killed again, it’s a real pain in the ass.”

“Again?”

A rueful smile flickered across Linden’s face. “Yeah, I ran away from home when I was about fifteen. Jim’s the one who found me and got me off the streets at first, but Edie and Nick were the ones who really made sure I got on my feet.”

“Right,” said Nairi, and she hesitated. “Jim’s a friend of theirs?”

“Was, yeah,” said Linden, glancing down at her lap to brush off an invisible crumb. “He died when I was about nineteen. Lung cancer, you know. It happens.”

“Damn,” said Nairi, not sure what to say in the face of that. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too, sometimes,” said Linden, her smile a little lopsided as she looked up. “It was a long time ago, though—water under the bridge and all that.”

“Yeah,” said Nairi, glancing at her hands briefly. “So what, Nicholas is worried that you’ll end up in a gutter?”

“Street corner, more like,” said Linden, dryness creeping back into her tone as she popped the last piece of her enchilada into her mouth, shaking her head. “He was pretty pissed off when I got out of college and went straight back to hooking.”

Nairi snorted. “Yeah, he doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who’d ‘approve’ of that.”

“Real stick up his ass, yeah,” said Linden, nodding again. “Edithwas the fun one when I was a teenager, so you can imagine what a downer life was back then.”

“A little, yeah,” said Nairi, her mouth twitching. “I didn’t know anyone like that as a teenager, maybe it would’ve helped me out some.”

“Oh, I know that feeling,” said Linden with a laugh, giving Nairi a carefully measured side-eye. “He’s very useful to have around sometimes—my taxes get filed on time every year and all that.”

Nairi laughed. “Nothing shows you care like robust budgeting, huh?”

Linden cackled with laughter, a loud, startled noise. “Yes! Exactly—god, you should have seen him when I got my first apartment. He came with me to sign the lease and he interrogated my landlord, did his own goddamn tour, took his own photos of the place when I moved in and hunted the guy down to sign that he’d seen them, made copies of my bond payment, and thenhe was on me every single month to make sure I had a receipt for my rent.”

“Ferocious,” said Nairi, grinning at her.

“And wildly disappointed in me the first time I got evicted,” said Linden, grinning back at her.

Nairi laughed without expecting it, the lines around her eyes creasing. “You’re a menace, then?”

Linden was smiling with bright eyes; head tilted a little. “Damn right I am. Nick’s been putting up with my shit for ten years, I really thought he’d’ve clued in by now.”

“Maybe he thinks you can be better than shit?” suggested Nairi.

Linden’s smile softened a little as she picked up the paintbrush again. “No, he’s a little better at managing his expectations than that. I mean, he sticks up for me with dad, but it’s not like I get away scot free when I fuck up!”

“Your dad’s not a fan of the hooking I take it?”

Linden made a wheezing sort of noise as she went for her paint again. “Oh god, no, my dad doesn’t know about the hooking, he’s an attorney, he’d kill me. That’s part of why Nick fucking hates it, he doesn’t like lying for anything, least of all my sorry ass.”

Nairi nodded again. “Okay, so, your dad’s just kind of a dick, huh?”

Linden paused and turned her head to look at Nairi, giving her an annoyed look. “No, he’s fine. We don’t get along that well, is all. And that whole thing where I was a missing teenager for four years and then came back queer and punk didn’t exactly help things either. We’re fine, I’m going up for dinner with him in a couple of weeks, actually.”

“Right, sorry,” said Nairi, holding up a hand. “I never met my parents, I don’t know what’s like, normal or whatever.”

“It’s fine,” said Linden, shrugging at her. “People get the wrong impression sometimes, is all.”

Somehow Nairi wasn’t shocked by this. “Will I hit another pothole if I ask about your mom?” she said instead.

Linden laughed. “I never knew her. I asked about her a bunch when I was a kid, but my dad was kind of really evasive and I stopped asking—I sort of got the impression she died when I was extra small or something. Edie reckons that whoever she was they were never really, like ‘together’, ‘cause apparently I was a surprise baby for everyone who knew him.”

“Oh, I don’t think kids work well as surprises,” said Nairi with a wince.

“Definitely not,” said Linden, grinning widely. “He did okay, though.”

Nairi shifted uncomfortably on the couch again. “You turned out okay, so he must have.”

Linden snorted.

Nairi’s phone chirped in her back pocket and she tugged it out to check the message. The couch creaked ominously as she shifted again, and she paused, glancing down at it. “Just out of curiosity, how much did you pay for this couch?”

“I didn’t, I nicked it from a guy who was throwing it out,” said Linden, taking a drink of not turps as Nairi’s phone chirped again. “Who’s texting?”

Nairi glanced down at her screen, tapping open the messaging inbox. “Agatha. She’s just checking that we’re still on for tonight.”

“You’re not gonna disappoint her, are you?” teased Linden.

Nairi looked up at her, not sure what to make of the way her tone had dipped. “No?”

Linden hummed, her mouth twitching. “Well, don’t party too hard then,” she said in the same tone again, and she turned her attention back to her canvas.

#serial fiction #lgbt fiction #109 #series honey tree #book muay thai #book 1

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intoanothermind · 4 years

Text

The Glue - Part Three

T H E G L U E

Word Count: 3.8k words

Synopsis: Glue or Variable? This is the big question about Frankie’s existence. Assigned to the same role as Newt in WCKD’s Lethal Experiments, Frankie suddenly realizes that she will become just a variable to activate brain reactions in her former Group A friends. Without memories and being the only girl among several boys, she has the feeling of already knowing some of them. The new question that matters to WCKD is: will Frankie play her role as a variable correctly?

- Newt x OC (Frankie)

Masterlist

(This will be a miniseries of Newt from Maze Runner. It will consist of 7 parts and a spin-off. I won’t do a reader insert as usual, but you will soon understand why.)

—

P A R T T H R E E

The girl paced back and forth, from hall to hall. She didn't want to participate in those stupid challenges again. She was exhausted from them, and although she now understood WICKED's goals after five years there, she didn't agree. It wasn’t fair that now hundreds of children had to suffer for a incorrigible mistake the egoism of the government made. It wasn’t fair, even more when she had managed to access the secret reports that said they would be exposed to the Flare virus at some point in the future Phase 2 trials. And she knew someone who wasn't Immune.

So whenever she could, she would dodge her challenges with the other girls and sneak into the boys' dormitory wing. She looked through the door with the GA1-10 sign, from the room belonging to the Group A individuals, from 1 to 10. Her non-Immune friend would be there, as usual at any other time. She wanted to spend as much time as possible with him.

She knocked and waited for thirty seconds, as agreed. She heard the doorknob turn, and seconds later the door opened revealing a boy, instantly recognized by the girl. Brown hair and eyes drawn, Minho hugged the girl and guided her inside after checking if any WICKED agent was following her.

"You shouldn't come every day, Frankie, it's dangerous!" Muttered Minho, saying what he always tells the girl when she was going to see them.

"Stop being a killjoy, Asian boy." Said a voice behind them, with the strong British accent that always soothed the girl.

“Newt!” Exclaimed the girl with a smile from ear to ear to hide the tears that threatened to spill.

“Hey there, shorty!” The ten-year-old blond boy greeted her, but didn't expect the girl to throw himself into his skinny arms, hugging him tightly.

“Will you guys never stop calling me Asian boy?” Complained Minho, but he laughed.

The girl turned away from the blonde, laughing too.

"Admit it was the best nickname I got after Newt." She said.

Minho rolled his eyes. “Frankie is a better nickname!”

“But this was me who invented it!” Said Newt, and the girl laughed.

“Where are the other boys?” She asked, looking around and seeing the untidy, empty beds.

Newt shrugged. “They went to eat.”

“Pack of hungry idiots.” Muttered Minho.

“Perfect, I have more time with you.” Said the girl, smiling and throwing herself on the bed that she knew was Minho’s.

The two boys threw themselves beside her, talking and joking. The girl knew moments like this wouldn't last forever. So she promised herself that she would enjoy it while it last.

~ * ~

I opened my eyes a little sleepy, only to find that the Glade wasn’t just a figment of my imagination or a nightmare from which waking up would be enough to find that nothing was real. And now, more than yesterday, I wanted to know where I came from. Did I usually wake up alone or did my mom call me? Or did I have a sister and share a room with her? And my dad? I found him sitting at the table and reading a newspaper every time I went down to have breakfast or he was going early for work so he could return soon and spend more time with me?

I sighed, feeling sadness and melancholy hit me hard as I realized that I may never know the answer to these questions. I wriggled free of the sleeping bag, already feeling the weak sunlight striking my skin, even though I couldn't see the sun in the sky above the Glade. I tasted bitter in my mouth and my stomach growled. I knew Newt slept with the keepers at the Homestead, maybe I could go there and ask if I could get something from the kitchen. But it was possible that I had to wait for the Frypan’s breakfast. I straightened my hair with my fingers while walking through the grass towards the Homestead, promising myself that I would also beg for a toothpaste.

But I didn’t make it to the Homestead.

I saw a movement in front of a construction that I haven’t noticed yet. A few yards south there was a squat building, apparently made of coarse concrete blocks, with only one steel door as its only entrance. And it didn't seem to have windows. At the door was a large round knob that looked like a helm wheel. That door looked like the entrance to a submarine or a safe - and I had no idea why this comparation popped into my mind. In front of the construction, I saw Minho and a boy who, if I was right, was called Ben talking a bit rushed. Both had a backpack on their shoulders and knives on their trouser belts.

I looked in in the Homestead direction, wondering if Newt would be wake. I shrugged - I could find him later - tucked my own machete in my belt and walked towars Minho and Ben. Curiosity spoke louder than my desire to see Newt.

“Good morning, boys.” I greeted shyly, but still smiling.

“Hi, Newbie!” They said excitedly, and I rolled my eyes.

“Where are you going with those backpacks?” I asked, making myself sound innocent.

They looked at each other before Minho answered me.

“There.” He said simply, pointing to what Newt had called Doors, still closed, but I had a feeling they could open at any moment.

I frowned. “And why?”

Ben bit his lower lip and Minho rubbed the back of his neck, as if he wanted to tell me, but they didn't know how or could not.

“We can't talk much to a newbie before the ride.” said Minho. “But everyone here has a job. Alby will explain this to you, but our job is to go there.”

I watched him, looking for something in his expression that indicated a lie, but found nothing. So I decided to give him some trust.

“I won't ask much, I'll wait for this tour.” I said, smiling slightly.

“Good that.” Said Ben, smiling at me.

Minho looked at the digital watch on his wrist, animosity taking over him.

“It's about time, isn't it?” I asked, smiling sadly.

“Yes, the Doors will open soon.” Answered Ben. “The other are ready at the other doors.”

l bit lower lip; the idea suddenly popping into my head.

“I’ll follow you.” I said, and Minho's eyes widened, about to answer. “Relax, just until we reach the Doors.”

Minho opened his mouth to protest, but finally nodded and we followed towards the South Gate, between the forest and surrounded by animals. The walls projecting all their grandness and I felt a sensation of suffocating and claustrophobic. I sincerely hoped that my irregular breath wouldn’t seem as much. We stopped in front of the door, and I avoided looking upwards to the impossible height of the walls. It was scary and intimidating. The same noise from the night before was heard, the rough, dragging rock sliding against rock. Dust was raised, transforming it in a horror movie. I resisted the urge to cover my ears to prevent the loud noise. And then, as impossible and abnormally as the night before, the Doors began to move, all four on the right, opening a long corridor ahead. At the nearest Door, I could see two boys running down a corridor even before the Door was fully opened. Minho and Ben waited, maybe for me to recover before they left.

“We have to go, Frankie.” said Minho.

I gave her a small smile. “I'll be waiting for you to come back.” I promised.

Minho smiled at me, placing a kiss on my forehead. If it were anyone else, I would have been uncomfortable, but with Minho I just felt again the same familiarity I'd felt before, like a tingling in the corner of my mind. Ben just waved at me, and they left just leaving a sentence in the air.

“See you later, Shebean.”

I still stood there for a while, just watching the end of the huge corridor where Minho and Ben disappeared on the right. The light didn’t seem to reach the ground, and the ivy on the walls seemed thicker, which made it cold and mysterious and frightening. I was torn between the fear of entering and the curiosity to explore.

“What are you doing here at this time?” Asked a voice behind me.

I got out of my trance and turned to face Newt and his messy blond hair, as if he'd come to see me as soon as he woke up. I almost smiled at the thought, but I suppressed the laughter before it was too late. It would be better to keep my thoughts to myself.

“Good day to you as well, Newt, sleep well?” I asked sarcastically and he laughed.

“Good morning, Frankie.” he said, opening a smile so beautiful and worry-free that could brighten the day of anyone.

And I smiled automatically and answered your question.

“I came with Minho and Ben until here.”

Newt's eyes widened. “Minho told where he was going?!”

"Not really, he just said his job was to go out and that Alby would explain to me on that tour." I said, grimacing at the thought that I would spend some time with the boy who didn't seem to like me very much.

Newt sighed.

“So let's get started with this.” He said and I frowned in confusion. "Alby doesn't trust you so much because you’re the first girl to appear here, so since I'm second-in-command, you 're under my responsibility."

I widened my eyes. “Your responsibility? Second-in-command?”

Newt chuckled.

“From all I said about Alby not trusting you, all you heard was that I was second-in-command?” He asked, half joking and half surprised.

"Well, I can't say I was surprised or hurt, I was expecting it. It's not as if I trusted him very much either.” I said, shrugging as if it were unnecessary information.

Newt rolled his eyes and I laughed.

“Can we start?” He asked.

"Will I finally have my answers?" I answered with another question, and he nodded. “Then we can.”

Newt guided me across the the grass towards the center of the Glade. I didn’t really understood what he intended, until I saw double doors metal lying in the ground, covered with a white paint, cracked and worn.

"This is the Box, Frankie, and once a month a newbie arrives for us." Newt started. “Every week it comes up with more supplies, clothes, food. It isn’t much, but we already produce the most here in the Glade.”

I remembered the fields with corn and the sound of animals in another corner in the Glade.

“What do you know about the box?” My tongue started and I couldn't hold back the questions.

“Almost nothing.” He admitted, his mouth twisting. “Whoever sent us here won’t tell us anything. Those shucking Creator watch us day and night through a mechanical beetle blade that seems to be everywhere. The good thing is that we can ask for some convenient things.” He said with a wink.

I laughed.

“And where does the electricity come from?” I asked.

Newt shrugged. “We don't know, we just use it.”

Damn things that put us here, I thought irritably.

“The Glade is divided into four parts. Gardens,”Newt continued, pointing to the northwest corner where the fields and fruit trees stood. “where we grow most of what we eat. The Blood House” pointed to the southeast, where there were waterfalls and animal enclosures. “where comes the water, which is pumped by pipes on the ground. Never ran out of it, which is strange since it never rains. We also raise and slaughter the animals there. The Homestead you already know.”

I nodded, trying to absorb as much information as possible, even if it resulted in more and more doubts.

"We call it Deadheads," he pointed to the south west corner, where the forest was marked by the presence of several dead and diseased trees. "The cemetery is in the middle. There isn’t much, but you can go there to rest whenever you want. For the next two weeks, you will work one day with each Kepper to know where to fit in and where to go to work.”

Newt then turned south, pointing to the door that lay between the Deadheads and the Blood House.

"See the door and the corridor before her, Newbie?" He asked, and I nodded. “Over there is the Maze.”

Widened eyes, stunned with the news.

“Ma-maze?” I asked.

“Yeah.” Newt confirmed with a serious face. "The oldest one of us living here have been stuck for two years”, and all our lives revolve around the Maze, finding a way out of this place and being able to return home."

I thought a second about that word home. What, after all, would be our home? A pile of bricks that together formed a construction less uncomfortable than the Homestead? Or a world we no longer know for the lack of memory?

"One of the jobs we have here," Newt continued, snapping me out of my train of thought, "which is forbidden to any Newbie are the Runners."

“Which is what Minho is the keeper of.” I commented, coming to conclusion myself.

“Exactly. They run the Maze every day, mapping every inch and every path...”

“And why then didn’t found their way yet?” I interrupted him.

Newt flashed a light, amused smile. “It was getting there. Well, it's hard to map to find a way out, because the Maze changes every night, the walls moving. Literally.”

I was still amazed. And I'm afraid my brain would explode.

“Besides, there are the Grievers.” Said Newt, and I frowned. "They are beings who go out every night in the Maze, and if the Runners are trapped there, they will not return." he said with a different emotion in his the voice. I knew he had some personal proximity to the Maze. "No one ever survived a night there. I'd even show you how they are through a window, but I don't want to submit you to that.”

"And that's how you hurt your leg?" I asked, pointing to his limp leg before I could even realize what I was doing.

Newt's face turned into a dark mask. “I don't wanna talk about it, all right?”

I just nodded, even though something in the back of my mind told me I was right, but that the Grievers had nothing to do with it.

‘Now let's get to the basic rules. And the only ones we have.First rule: everyone here should do their job without laziness.” I nodded to show that I understood. “Second rule: we al respect each other, then no hurting another Glader, although I think you can’t kill a fly.” He laughed, and I rolled my eyes but followed him. “And last and most important rule: never, never, cross the walls for the Maze. Only Runners have this permission.”

I nodded once again, feeling a swirl of questions clouding my mind, but I shut up, realizing that maybe Newt wouldn't be willing to answer all of them.

“Now, Frankie, I need to go help make the fire for your welcome party, but you’re already starting with the work.” He said, and then flashed a mischievous smile. “What do you think about starting with the Slicers?”

~ * ~

“Shebean!” I heard Minho's familiar voice and jumped up.

I was waiting for a few minutes in front of the South Door, where I said goodbye to Minho almost ten hours ago. I worked all day with Winston and the other Slicers, but had asked him to let me know when it was about Runner’s time to return. So when it was a few minutes earlier, I just washed my bloodstained hands and ran to wait for Minho.

“Minho!” I shouted, truly glad to see him, and just waited for him to cross the door's boundary to jump into his arms and hug him tightly.

And we didn't care that I was smelling of slaughter pig and he was sweating like one.

"I didn't think you would really be here." He commented, smiling and releasing me.

"I said I'd come, shuckface ." I joked, winking.

He wrinkled his nose at the sight of me. “Slicers?”

I rolled my eyes.

“Yes.” - I confirmed. "I hope tomorrow is some better job. I am feeling a lot of klunk.”

“Where's Newt?” He asked, and I pointed to the corner of the Gardens, where Newt helped the Builders prepare what he called "my welcome party " Understanding flooded Minho's face. "Ah, so I'll take you to the bathroom myself for a shower. Ben!”

Only then did I realize that the blonde came not too far away.

“Hello , Newbie.” He greeted me, and I waved at him, smiling.

"Can you take care of the maps while I take her to the Homestead?" Minho asked him.

Ben nodded, and Minho guided me towards there.

"While you 're taking a shower, I'll try to get you some clothes and try to keep the other boys out." Minho offered, and I accepted, smiling.

We went through the door and towards the bathroom, but not without before being stopped by a dark haired boy and a serious expression. Alby.

“Shebean.” He said, and I scowled. There was something about the way he called me Shebean that didn't look anything like Newt or Minho called me. Alby used a derogatory tone in his voice every time he addressed me. “The machete.”

I frowned angrily and put my hand over the machete handle on my belt to protect it.

“Why you?”

“Only Runners are allowed to carry weapons in case they see any Grievers.” He said, indicating Minho beside me with his chin.

“B-but...” I tried to argue, trying to keep my irritation at bay.

“But, as you are a girl, then I’ll allow you to have it.” Alby said, as if he was doing me a big favor or a huge sacrifice.

And the hatred took me completely. So the leader of those guys needed to be sexist and prejudiced? Suddenly I was disgusted to have that machete in hand, as if that was the necessary proof that I was, and always would be, weaker than he was. I quickly unsheathed the machete in a hurry and threw it at Alby's feet.

“I don't need this to beat any of you.” I said, disgusted, and went straight to the bathroom.

~ * ~

With the knife Minho had handed me, I was standing in front of one of the Glade walls, searching for a single name carved in the stone. My eyes went over several - known, unknown, scratched - but the one I was looking for didn't seem to be there just to see me humiliating myself. But then I found it, hidden just under my nose and under the names of Alby and Chuck. Luckily I had enough space to carve my name beside his. With some difficulty, I propped the tip of the knife next to Newt's name and began the work of "officializing," as Minho had called it. Usually it was Alby who did it, but he hated me and Newt, as second-in-command, must be there. But since welcome party started, I hadn’t seen him anywhere, so Minho took their place.

“Ready.” I said, when I finished carving my name and my fingers were already sore. I handed the knife to Minho.

He looked at me smiling, which made his eyes even smaller than they were.

“Welcome to the family, Frankie.”

I smiled at him, taking advantage of the sensation of belonging filling my chest.

“But why did you have to put your name next to Newt's?” He asked, and the feeling went away as quickly as it came.

I blushed instantly. “Oh, it was nothing.”

“You shanks have something going on, don’t you?” Minho asked with a mischievous smile on his lips.

“What?! No!” I said quickly, my voice rising an octave and becoming thinner, making my lie clear.

Minho raised his hands in surrender, but I knew he wouldn’t leave me in peace so soon.

Suddenly, a cup-like container with unidentifiable contents appeared before me. I twisted my torso, and found Newt staring at me with an amused smile on his lips.

“Newt!” I exclaimed, happier than I intended.

Minho laughed when he realized my slip and went away towards the other runners.

“What are you thinking?” He asked.

I looked around at the drinking boys who talked and shouted and fought around the fire. There weren't any girls and I felt out of place. But not that I would say that to Newt when he had so much work to organize it for me.

“I am liking it.” I said, smiling, and was I surprised to find that my smiles would always come out more naturally when I was with Newt.

“And the work with the Slicers, do you think it's there?”" He asked, laughing. He probably already knew the answer and the story that I almost threw up on a pig that I should be slaughtering.

I cracked a cynical smile . “I think I'll become a vegetarian.”

Newt laughed and handed me the container.

“Taste it, it's Gally's homemade recipe.” He said, and pointed with his chin at a tall, square-jawed blond boy who was in the middle of a circle, fighting some other Glader.

I shrugged and took a sip. As soon as it touched my tongue, I turned my face and spit it out.

“What the hell is that?!” I asked, exasperated.

“Nobody besides him know, and is a tradition to drink it in the welcome party.” Newt said, and if it were possible, his smile opened even wider. “Welcome to the family, shorty.”

#newt #newt maze runner #newt imagine #newt x reader #newt x oc #maze runner newt #maze runner #the maze runner #thomas #minho #minho x reader #maze runner x reader #maze runner imagine #minho imagine #thomas imagine

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glittercndgcld · 4 years

Text

( 𝑝𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑥 𝑠𝑐𝑜𝑡𝑡 )

📲 text messages | @xboutlxstnightmuses

peter Good morning. Or well, it's almost afternoon already. So good afternoon? You said you'd text me when you got to work which is totally fine. I guess I just wanted to say... hi. I already feel silly, and I realize that I can't take any of those texts back, so I'm just gonna roll with it :upside_down:

scott Good afternoon, Peter :) Sorry for not texting you before but I got really caught up with work and then studied on my breaks it is generally a very busy day haha so hi!!! how are you?

peter Noo, do not apologize. I completely understand. I shouldn’t have even texted. I am okay. It’s a semi-busy day for me, but it’s really not too bad. By all means, ignore my text messages and do what you have to do.

scott no no I just finished my shift and I am returning home. That is why I got to answer now Did you have classes today?

peter Oh! Okay. Cool cool. Well then, how was your shift today? Every day, almost, except Friday. But that’s me leaving my schedule open for meetings, tutoring and all of that. So it’s still usually a busy day.

scott It was awesome. I get at least one extremely new coffee order each day And it is super fun to learn those things. I mean it got me interested in coffee art...that is something that I never thought I'd say :thinking: Aw I see. Are there a lot of students that ask for tutoring?

peter That’s good to hear - I’m glad that it’s inspiring you in some way. Even if it is coffee art and something that you never thought you’d be interested in. Yeah, there’s a few. If they need extensive tutoring, I can’t really offer more than a half hour or else my day gets away from me, then I refer them to the student success center - for peer tutoring. They offer more one on one time.

scott Yeah, I guess. New York really got me into some new things for sure. Oh I didn't know that this was part of your job? But it sounds cool.

peter It'll do that to you. When I moved out here, I became slightly obsessed with Broadway :laughing: I never really considered myself a big fan, but after I saw Wicked live, things changed, for sure. Have you seen a show on Broadway yet? Well, not all professors offer that one on one time, but I have this impulsive need to help people? So if I can help, I do. Or well, I try to.

scott Ah the planner is more than needed now :joy: YOU HAVE WATCHED WICKED? To be honest, I am well versed at what plays is on Broadway right now But I neeeever got the time to get to them I intentionally pass by those theatres though What a perk living in New York though It is because you're not just a good professor, but also a nice person :)

peter :laughing: :laughing: I guess it is. Does that mean you want to see a Broadway show with me? Because I can absolutely arrange that at some point. I HAVE. I think I died at LEAST, 4 times throughout that whole show. At least. Aw. Let's change that then! What's number one on your list of must-see's right now? Honestly, I imagine there's nothing like living in NYC. It has it's pros and cons, but if you can handle this 'concrete jungle', it's such a great experience. I just like helping people? Especially when it comes to their education. Education is so important.

scott No...:flushed:I mean in general. Because you said that you are going to change that. And then the Broadway conversation came up... But sure... That is really difficult to answer. I would say Hamilton but I don't know if we are going to find tickets But maybe...I can't answer that.....wither Hadestown or Book of Mormon And of course, I want to watch Wicked now :smiling_face_with_3_hearts: NYC has mostly pros for me at the moment. It has its cons, but honestly,I love it Not necessarily, it is liking to help people. Which is quite endearing. :blush:

peter Well, I guess we can add it to our growing list anyways? :laughing: I doubt we’ll get to it all, at this point. Hamilton though - you have to like, buy tickets a year in advance or something :joy: but that one is on my list, too. Book of Mormon :ok_hand_tone2::ok_hand_tone2: great, definitely one to see. Haven’t seen Hadestown though! Honestly though, Wicked might be my favorite thus far. It’s so great. Good! That’s awesome to hear though. I’m glad it’s treating you well. Well, I do enjoy it, that’s for sure. Part of the reason I got into this line of work - teaching.

scott Yeah, why not? We do have all the time in the world, don't we? Yeah, maybe we should wait for Hamilton. So we are starting with Book of Mormon? And then probably Hadestown? I do hope I find something to do that I will be as passionate as you in your job

peter Around our busy schedules, I’d like to think so. At this rate, you might end up getting tired of me :laughing: Well, I keep an eye out anyways - if I ever have the money when the tickets might be available. Because it’s a must see, I hear. Book of Mormon, Hadestown and Wicked. Maybe not in that order particularly, I’ll see what’s available though and I’ll get back to you?? See if our schedules can work around it. I hope you do, too. What are you majoring in currently?

scott I don't think I would ever get tired of you, Peter. Same, I will keep an eye for that, as well :fingers_crossed: I didn't say okay for Wicked but I will just go with it. The more shows I watch, I think the more inspired I will become. Hmm I am currently undecided and trying to figure out stuff together with my faculty advisor? But i have chosen a good amount of choices that we'll help me figure out my major, until next semester

peter I don't know about that. You might be speaking way too soon :joy: You didn't, but you did say that you wanted to watch it after I mentioned it... so yeah, lets add it to the list. That's good! There's so many options, so many directions you can go in, it's almost overwhelming for some people. But whatever you choose, you can't go wrong.

scott Well, okay...fair enough I don't want to be speaking way too soon But so far, I don't see myself getting either tired or bored of you As long as that takes.... I feel like...this won't be the case... Hmmm okay :thinking: :point_right:me is some people too overwhelmed Even when I am not drunk and not ranting about it randomly to my english lit professor in a bar

peter Well, I won’t lie, I hope that isn’t the case, too. I like you, Scott, and I don’t really see myself getting tired or bored of you either. Aw, you’ll figure it all out. Just give yourself time. There isn’t even a specific time line that you need to have it figured out by either. So just relax and weigh out your options. Drunk you is adorable, by the way.

scott Soooo, then we should make the schedule planner worth it, then? I think by junior year, I need to have decided on my major oooooh no, I am NOT

peter It seems that way, doesn’t it? It might come in handy. Sure. Having a goal like that is good. Goals, I’m general, are great to have. Mm, no. You definitely are.

scott Yeah sure :blush: I have a lot of them, just probably need another planner for that Get ready to see more of him on his birthday :joy:

peter I have a few myself. It’s hard to keep track of meetings and whatnot without one. For myself, I mean. Hahah, oh yeah? That should be fun!

scott Oh..and I bet your schedule is much crazier than mine I doubt it; but as you are having fun, I am good with it I am really really sorry , but I need to go Need to catch up on some studying.... But we will talk tomorrow, yeah? Oh....and Peter.... I think, I like you, too.

peter It can get a little crazy, yeah. Well, I’m only having fun if you’re having fun, too. Oh, okay. That’s good. Studying is good. Do that. We will talk tomorrow. That’s really good to hear :blush: Goodnight, Scott. Happy studying.

scott Thank you :blush: Good night :hugging:

#muse : peter brice #peter x scott #peter x scott 003 #peter 006 #peter : texts

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ifsomeoneasksiwasnothere · 5 years

Text

Drunk Talk [One-Shot]

(Cover not available yet)

_________________________________________

Character Pairing: Offenderman/Bartender!Reader

Word Count: 4000

Rating: T

Warnings: Mention of murder, violence, and sexual abuse.

Synopsis: You are a stressed bartender from an old bar called "Midnight Rambler". A place where monsters were usual customers. Unfortunately, a violent storm came just as you had to close the bar. Forced to stay inside and wait for it go away past midnight. One last customer comes by. One that you already knew for a long time. Offenderman, the tall, charming, and alcoholic man, has entered the Midnight Rambler once again to drink his problems away.

A/N: Sorry for delaying this for so long ^^

If you think there are points to be improved, as long as you are respectful, criticism is welcome :D

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There is nothing better than spending a cold rainy night inside your home – soft sounds of raindrops colliding on the window, relaxing music playing in the background leading your thoughts far away, along with the warm embrace from thick layers of blankets causing your body to sweetly melt out of comfort –it was the perfect scenario for a stressed mind like mine. All that I needed, and wished for, was at least having a few minutes of rest. Unfortunately, this night I am not watching the rain from my home's window, but instead from the bar's, the Midnight Rambler.

My job mixing and serving drinks at the Midnight Rambler bar is entirely exhausting. The quantity of money I receive per hour for my effort is disappointedly unfair. I live on my own, in a humble apartment that besides its little space, makes me feel welcome in the short time I am not working. To pay my rent, I have to cover three of four shifts, which results in almost 15 hours a day during the whole week, except on Sundays. It is the only reason for me to like Sundays.

However, my exhaustion did not affect my professionalism. No matter the time nor the weather, I do the necessary to achieve utter perfection, hoping that one day it will be paid off.

Inevitably, working for such a long, tiring time, can sometimes make my mind wander far away from Midnight Rambler, unintentionally grazing on 'what if's —

"— And then he turned around and I appeared right in front of him! He got so shocked that he passed out instantly! Like, DUDE, you should have seen his face," Nora, one of my most frequent customers, busted out excitedly.

The positive point of working here was meeting its unusual clients. Nora, for example, as lively and cheering as she can be, she is, in fact, dead. Gone, for good. Living as a wandering ghost. But how? Every time I asked her, she would drastically change the topic, or tell an absurd story that could never have happened.

Yet she was right in front of me, talking, drinking, interacting, except she was not. It took me a while to get used to seeing her disappear behind the entrance door, and not reappearing on the outside of the windows as she walks away. Grasping the idea of serving alcohol to an undead can be challenging. For myself, I'm still adapting. Besides, Nora is often very talkative and outgoing, therefore I easily forget about her true self and get along with her well.

I lift my gaze from the glass I was cleaning to glance at her from across the counter, brushing my daydreaming away and blinking slightly.

A soft smile forms on my face as I return to focus on the dirty cup in my hands.

"Sounds like you had fun."

"You have no idea," she said snickering, "He was so jumpy! I mean, a simple 'Good morning' startled him. It was ridiculous — funny — but ridiculous."

Nora then raised her hands in the air defensively, looking away from me.

"But I must admit that I might have purposely made him get to this point."

I rolled my eyes at her, knowing it was typical of her to haunt random individuals for no reason. She saw it as entertainment.

"Really? I could never imagine you doing something like that." I said with a sarcastic tone in my voice.

"Aw c'mon, it was just for fun!" she whined, "Besides, he deserved it. I saw him harassing a girl the other day, along with his friends. He was forcefully lifting her skirt so he could take a picture of her underwear."

As I finished washing the last glass and put it aside, I snapped my gaze at her, gasping in disbelief.

"What a bastard! The hell why would he do that?!"

"YEAH, RIGHT?!" Nora snapped hysterically, her words echoing through the bar so intensely that its vibration almost broke one of the recently cleaned cups. Luckily, she did not attract attention from others. The clock on the wall showed nearly four in the morning, which meant that everyone had gone away, plus, it was time to close the bar.

Shaking my head disapprovingly, I confessed: "Alright I take that back, you should have done worst to him. But damn, you do need some alcohol assistance. Here. This one is from me."

She cracked a playful grin, later breaking into a burst of laughter, whilst she leaned forward hitting her fist on the table repeatedly. Her strong arms left punching marks over the entirety counter.

I could not help but giggle softly at the sight of her dramatic reaction. Her laugh was undeniably contagious.

"Good thing they're dead. Now he can be a dick in hell."

"What? What do you mean?" my smile fell and I glanced at her seriously, doubting her revengeful spirit nature, "Did... did you...?"

"Me?! No – no, no, no –" Nora blurted incredulously, then continued, "I picked on them about a week ago, but they were murdered the day after. Not sure by who, though — the news didn't know about the killer."

Shaking my head, I hummed, "I... I see."

As I looked around the bar, I found myself staring at the raindrops gracefully sliding on the window. The thunderstorm blasted loudly whilst rain came violently splashing on the rough concrete.

Don't think I'll be able to go home anytime soon.

I sighed tiredly, turning my vision to check the hour. It was already past three in the morning. Nora noticed worry in my expression and immediately directed her eyes to the wall clock as well, following my gaze.

"I should go... it's getting late," she said as she got up from her chair, "Besides, you must be tired of me by now. I know I talk too much."

I throw at her a sympathetic look, which she gently reassured with a wave of her hand whilst she got near the exit. Lightings flashed out the window aggressively and thunders blasted in my ears, making me worry for my friend.

"Nora, you're going to soak yourself, plus, it's thundering outside! Are you sure?"

"Aw, you're so adorable! Caring about me and stuff! But I'll be fine," she responded lazily, "Don't worry about me so much; it's not like a little rain it's going to kill me."

Before I could protest, Nora disappeared after the wooden doors muttering a friendly "See ye later!".

It was a fact that she would reappear someday later, therefore despite continually looking after her, as a friend would do, deep down I knew I would see her again. Besides, Nora is tougher than she looks. Nothing (and no one) could harm her that badly.

Sighing hopelessly and tiredly laying my body against the counter, I enjoy the few seconds of break with my head between my folded arms. The silence filled my ears like the music of an orchestra – every minute was precious and made my body gleam in delight. My frame slowly turned all its energy off, relaxing completely. I unintentionally closed my eyes and took a deep breath in relief.

'Don't forget to close the bar when you're done with the clients!'

My boss's voice echoed in my head, interrupting my sleepiness. As I got off the table and grabbed the keys, I head towards the exit with loosely footsteps. Through the door's glass, I could watch the intense storming outside that made me stop in my tracks and wonder — How was I supposed to go home with the weather like this? — My eyes examine the place, looking for answers. We did not have an extra umbrella that day, although it would be dangerous either way to walk home at this hour. The street seemed deserted and no cars passed by.

Then I took my final decision: not going home at all. Fortunately, we had blankets plus some comfortable pillows for these occasions, besides, couch seats are not that bad.

Just as I was to lock the exit, a familiar figure sitting on the sidewalk catches my attention. I immediately open the door wide enough not to get wet, taking a better view of them.

"Offenderman?"

He turns to me with a surprised expression which quickly changed to a pleased smile.

"Oh, hello darling. It's so good to see you," his voice was deep and low, almost inaudible due to the storm. Every time Offenderman opens his mouth, my entire body gets goosebumps. His words were so easily stuck in my mind; All due to his charms.

"Are you okay?" I ask worriedly.

"Better now," he grins wider, showing me his shark pointy teeth. I tediously rolled my eyes at him, while trying to avoid starring at his clear teeth.

"Just come in already! Unless you prefer to —"

"Alright, Alright!"

As Offenderman walked through the entrance and closed the door behind him, I rushed towards the cabinets under the counter.

He eyed me curiously, letting waterdrops fall on the floor's wood while he took his dark hat off. His accessory was the same color of his long black jacket — the ends of it hid his inhuman, and long, pale legs — dark, plus discreet.

Ah, Offenderman, what could I possibly say about him? Another one of my unusual clients who happened to find Midnight Rambler just when it was most needed. Alcohol is the same as water to him, no matter how many beverages I served, he was never satisfied. The night we met, I served him Whisky, — drink after drink, our conversation flowed— Offenderman's first impression to me was the stereotype of a womanizer. An impressive persuasive, charismatic, and confident man whose charming personality could win – or break – anyone's heart if desired. Usually, he would leave the bar at dawn, alongside woman he allured, who he'd never speak with again.

Towel in hands, I approach the tall figure and offer him the thick fabric politely.

"Here, take this," I said to him.

"Well, why thank you — how kind." He murmured.

I grew used to his compliments and kind words, aware these were all it meant to him: words; Nothing else. Meaningless words. I keep my walls up to prevent getting hurt, clearly due to his intentions. But, even with my negative thoughts of him, something always caught my attention.

"Do you have anything for you, though? It's freezing, you must be cold."

Unlike differently from his other lovers, Offenderman cared for me with true affection. He genuinely worries about my well being; it always caught me off guard. This was uncommon for the usual superficial flirty I knew.

"I'm... okay... don't worry about it," I responded airly, "and please dry yourself because I don't want to have to clean this floor again."

He carelessly pats the towel on his jacket a few times as I contour the counter. Thus, the tall man naturally relaxed on the chair opposite me. I stared at him, then asked:

"Since you're here, what do you want to drink today?"

Slightly surprised, Offenderman's shark teeth are exposed to me once again along with his characteristic smile.

"From you, sweetheart, any drink is a paradise. Serve me whatever."

Ignoring his comment, I prepare a strong and bitter beverage like the ones he mostly asks for. My tiredness has not gone away, therefore I had to concentrate not to spill the fluids as these were poured in the mixer — Little bit of this, little bit of that — after shaking the product, the drink was done right in front of the customer, who finished the first glass in one single sip.

"Perfect. As always, of course." He complimented, humming delightedly.

"Thanks," I answer, clueless of how to react to his constant flirting.

"So," he started, "How was your day?"

Faces can say just as much as words, they say. A frown was all it took for Offenderman to shake his head disapprovingly. His smile faded to a more sympathetic one.

"Ah, not so good, I see," he said as I poured more drink into his glass, "Mine wasn't that nice either."

"What happened?" I turned to him right after filling another round. The pale man sighs, tapping his long fingers on the table.

"Family meeting."

Oh.

"I'm getting a bigger glass."

I turn my back to him and head to the top cabinets. A few moments later I offer him a Seidel: the name of a German-style mug as large as a human head, plus thick walls to help maintain a cool temperature. The rest of the drink left in the mixer — still fairly amount of volume — was now in Offenderman's mug, however, the liquid hardly filled half of his glass. As I realized this, my hands automatically worked on a new beverage.

"Ah, yes, that will do," approved him softly, not wasting time to turn his drink as quickly as he could before telling me the details of his day.

"So," he started, "Have I ever mentioned about my family? Because if I did, I probably was too drunk to remember it, and that doesn't happen often."

"I don't think so," I said, trying my best to recall anything on the subject, "You never talked about them to me."

Offenderman shifted in his chair, before continuing:

"Basically, I have three brothers — Trender, Splendor, and Slender — It's just us," I nodded as he spoke, following his reasoning, "We aren't close and don't interact often — but Splendor insists on having meetings at least once per month; he tries very hard to unite us as if at some point we'd all magically understand each other."

"He sounds quite the dreamer," I commented.

"Indeed," he agreed, "And he's extremely optimistic, and cheering if you ask me, — like all the time — pure sunshine, example of the family."

"Is that how you think of him?" I wondered, raising my eyebrows, "Must like him then."

He glanced down at his empty glass, his jet black hat covering most of his face, "Eh. Kind of, yes. I still manage to get along with him mildly well despise our... different tastes."

"I see," my smile was inevitable due to the simple thought of Offenderman having such a positive brother, opposite of his personality. "If that's how you see him, I wonder how they see you as."

"The black sheep," he muttered.

"Really?" I questioned him.

"Yea," his weak, almost unhearable sigh, made my heart sink, "They think I'm a disappointment."

"Don't say that! Offendenderman, they're your family and I'm sure they love you." I comforted.

"That's not how it works, y'know," he scoffed, took a big sip of his drink, then smiled at me, "Aw, but aren't you adorable when you look out for me?"

Funny. I thought. Not the first time people say this to me.

My lack of energy prevented me from expressing my unamusedness — face blank as stone, immune to his charm, — my thoughts remained unreadable by him "Mhm. And how come you never commented about your brothers to me before? For how long do I know you? Five years or so?"

His nonexistent eyes avoided mine, "I don't talk about my family to anyone, opening up is not my specialty," he said.

"Yet you're doing quite well," I stated kindly, "Glad you told me. This kind of stuff can be hard to deal with on your own."

Offenderman stayed quiet for a moment as he gulped down half of his drink.

"I'm aware," he glanced at me with a sincere smile that I have never seen coming from him before, "You're not anyone to me, you know that, right? — I'm happy I can count on you."

I was utterly speechless to his reaction, had he truly exposed his true self? Had he, even for a second, abandoned his womanizer facade?

"Yeah. Sure. Good to know." I managed to mumble out. He shortly redirected the subject.

"Anyway, I'll spare you the details of the meeting. It's always the same. Awkward silences or passive-aggressive bickering, usually from Slender, while Splendor tries to settle it down by offering house-made food."

I agree with understanding, "Was the food good, though?" Offenderman snorted, making me smile in return, "Mildly, I'd say," he says, barely hiding his sarcasm, "He's still learning. Still learning."

"Hah, I see," more drink is put into his cup. He thanks me silently.

"By the way, why were you sitting on the sidewalk back there?" I asked.

"Oh, that. Well I — I was just... thinking..."

"Mhm, thinking...?"

"It's just — I don't know, guess I was just pissed."

"About seeing your brothers?"

"That too," he paused, "But it was also because of something that happened the other day. I was leaving a bar to smoke a cigarette on my own. Like I mostly do, as you know, I like to isolate myself and reflect upon things. It was all chill, until this man suddenly appeared on the sidewalk, talking with a girl at his side. The moment I took my eyes off them, I heard the girl screaming, begging him,"

"LET ME GO!" she pleaded as the man grasped her arm so tightly that left a mark.

"Take your clothes off," He ordered, pointing a pocket knife at her.

"NO — No... please," She panics with tears appearing in her eyes, but soon realizes that there's not much she can do to avoid the situation due to the male's strength. She was the victim, powerless. Afraid and vulnerable. "Please... do you... want money? I'll give you my money! Just leave me alone!"

"I can get your cash later, now do as I say " The man got closer, cornering her, thus showed his shiny blade that was held in his firm hands. He waisted no time to press the knife against the younger's throat.

"I'm only repeating myself once: Take. Those. Clothes. Off. Now," he repeated.

The girl watched the man in pure shock. Petrified, even. Terrified of what she knew would come next. Tears escaped her eyes as the older one approached further. Her eyelids opened so much that her eyeballs could have jumped off her face. She couldn't believe. She had never felt so much fear in her entire life; it only got worse when a silhouette of a tall man wearing dark clothing appeared behind the harasser.

The man noticed how the environment around him darkened, so as he twisted on his heel to look back —

"— I tore his head off his body using my bare teeth," Offenderman finished, "I haven't felt this much rage for a long time. It took me by surprise, really."

I did not dare share a word. How was I supposed to answer this? Was he the killer that Nora mentioned earlier?

"I hate when people see me as that guy! I HATE IT!" he snapped suddenly and breathed heavily with every single one of his sharp teeth shown. "I AM NOT SOME ASSHOLE WHO RAPES WOMEN WHO DOESN'T WANT TO GO TO BED WITH ME! THEY DON'T WANNA GO SLEEP WITH ME? FINE. HAVE FUN. IT'S AS SIMPLE AS THAT! NO? NO!" He takes a moment to breathe, "...It's unfair... y'know? I never did anything like that. You know me! You know I'm not like that fucker. But why can't people see that too?"

"They will see, with time," I assured him, "If people get to know you, like I did, they'll see you as who you truly are and who you wish to be." I comforted.

"I hope one day... that happens..."

"It will. I'm sure of it. There's always a chance."

"Thank you... Y/N," he said not louder than a whisper.

We both take a glimpse of the window beside us, staring at the knife rain that was strong as ever despite the time spent. By this moment I simply gave up on the idea of going home. It did not matter to me anymore. However, Offenderman was here with me, and perhaps we were not thinking the same. Kicking him out was not an option I was considering. What was I going to do?

His voice brought me back to earth, "Damn, it just won't go away, will it?" he lamented, "Guess it means that we will spend more time together. How nice."

"You're not stuck here, Offender. If you prefer to go home I won't stop you."

"Nah. This is fine. I have nowhere to go, to be honest. Besides, I like being here with you. Your company is... pleasant."

"But you can't stay here forever —"

"Neither can you," I fell silent, "Are you going to sleep here or something?"

For a second my words failed to leave my mouth. Embarrassment covered my face. He was joking, but it was a sad truth. My lack of response ironically answered his rhetorical question, and he was paralyzed.

"Wait. Is this serious? You're going to sleep here? In this place?"

"What do you mean by that? I cleaned every corner of this bar and you dare to refer it as 'this place'?"

"No, look — it's not like that — that's not what I meant, sorry. It's just that here is not the best place for you to rest. And I know you need it. I noticed how tired you are, and I know you put a lot of effort not to show it, but you won't convince me. You deserve to sleep in an actual bed. Somewhere minimally comfortable for you to lay on."

"The couch seat over there is cozy enough. It's not my first time doing this. I appreciate your worry, but I'm fine." I mumble.

"Alright, you may not believe me, because you're too stubborn, but I can tell you're not fine. So I'm not going to let you do that."

"Offenderman, there is no other option —"

"Of course there is!" he stood up from his chair confidently, "C'mon let's get you ready to sleep!"

"What," I stood still in place, "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to tuck you in, the best way I can. 'Do good things for people you like'. That's how Splendor usually does it. And it works — people like him a lot — so I'm doing the same for you."

"You're drunk, aren't you?"

"I'm always drunk, honey."

We stare at each other without sharing a word.

"Okay. Fine. Just tell me what you want me to do."

Holding as many pillows as he could find using his arms and tentacles, Offenderman arranged a fluffy nest on a long seat close to the window. Nevertheless, the remarkable effort he put on a simple task was not what surprised me. After he finished adding more comfy details, he popped himself on to his masterpiece on his back, then patted his chest.

"Lay here, sweetheart," he said.

I blinked at him doubtfully.

"C'mon," he continued, "I'm not gonna do anything, promise."

Too tired to protest. Not enough patience. Never enough. I just did as he asked.

He was stupidly tall when compared to me. It was scary how he could easily tower over me, but was never intimidating. Never to me. I lay on his warm torso that felt as gentle as the sun's touch on my skin, and his arms surrounded me like long, protective snakes.

"There. Comfortable?" he asked as he admired me sleepily shift on him.

"Meh," I answered lazily, "It's ok," he smiled thankfully.

"Perfect," Offenderman lowered his voice, then turned off the lights barely moving from his original place, with the help of one of his tentacles to reach the switch, "Good night, Y/N," his deep voice echoed.

"'Night," I mumbled.

My vision darkened, and all my stress disappeared. Finally, I had what I needed. Just before my mind shut up, I could swear thin fingers played with my hair locks. Nevertheless, I paid no mind. Too tired to protest. Not enough patience to deny. Never enough of him.

============================= Hellow dear reader! Thank you for reading this far ♥️ （*'▽｀*） I put a lot of effort to do this one, but I hope it paid off.

#fanfic #creepypasta #Creepypastas #offenderman

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groovyzombiellama · 5 years

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You Are My World

Title: You Are My World

Requested? Yes.

Plot: You are a plus size girl and you are dating Dacre Montgomery, and when you start feeling insecure, he assures you that you’re the one he loves more than anything.

Word count: 1022

—***—

You were always conscious of your looks and you have never tried to impose your feelings on anyone, nor make them feel bad for you. You never wanted that, but however, that only prompted you to close your heart even more and build a wall around yourself. Nobody could break it, and nobody really tried, that was until you started working behind the scenes as the set directors assistant on Stranger Things. There you met Dacre Montgomery, the man who was soon going to break down all your walls and make you realize how beautiful you really are. When you met him, it didn't really take long for you to fall for his dashing smile, and his gorgeous eyes. But following your introvert mentality, you would start thinking that there was no possible chance of Dacre ever noticing you. You figured that even if you were working closer to him, the highest he'd think of you is a friend bar, and nothing more than that. So you tried to put your feelings to the side, and focus on your work. You and a few other employees were getting a scene ready, following the directors orders when Dacre first noticed you.

Up until now, you were always hidden in some remote corner of the set, eyeing everything to make sure it was in the right place and nothing was missing or wrong. And of course you were eyeing Dacre a bit. But that day was the first time he had the opportunity to spend quite some time looking at you. The determination in your eyes and the ocasional smile you'd send your co-worker's way, it had him staring at you in complete admiration. And he couldn't help but smile at the dark red blush that overpowered your cheeks when you finally noticed him. There was something about you, something he couldn't really put into words, but he knew that he would be missing out big time if he didn't meet you. And when he finally approached you during a lunch break on set, while you sat on one of the crates containing items for the next scene, slowly munching on a protein bar, a bit embarrassed to be chowing down on something more significant, regardless of how much your stomach growled, the first thing you heard him do was click his tongue. You furrowed your brows at first, turning towards him, when you realised he was gesturing to your protein bar.

"There's no reason for you to still be hungry after lunch and have to work again after that, if not more than before. Don't look at the other people around you, in the end its gonna be you who will be doing the heavy lifting to make sure your job is done properly. Stop doing yourself harm and eat."

He finished handing you one of the sandwiches he picked up from the catering table, taking another bite of his own. After that first meeting, the two of you started hanging out more and more, and Dacre finally realize it was that big, amazing heart of yours that was filled with love that drew him to you. You felt really good in his company, not having to worry about judgement or him looking down in you, and every single day you spent together, the two of you grew closer and closer, and you didn't even think before accepting when he asked you to be his girlfriend. You didn't have to think about it. The guy you were in love with just told you he loved you back, there was no doubt in your mind that you wanted to be with him.

At first, the two of you dated in secret, not wanting to attract any unnecessary attention towards yourselves. You just wanted to enjoy your relationship. And unbeknownst to you, it was also Dacre's attempt to make sure you didn't start being down on yourself again and ask him all the questions he knows all too well that you'd ask. Some of Dacre's fans speculated that the two of you were together, but nobody really had any concrete evidence to support their claims. And then a group of fans spotted you as you were sitting in a restaurant, across from each other, smiling and laughing as you chatted, with a bright glimmer in your eyes. People would probably even think it was just a friendly dinner between two friends, following your cameo in the show, but as soon as Dacre placed one of his hands on top of yours, taking it, to place a delicate kiss on your knuckles, the cat was out of the bag as the group of fans started snapping photos.

The moment that removed all doubt about the relationship was when you were getting up from the table, after paying, and Dacre placed one lock of your hair behind your ear, cupping your cheek, before leaning in to give you a peck on the lips. That's when people started looking for all your social media, and the moment to be overwhelmed has arrived. Upon arriving back to your home, convincing Dacre to go his way and you would take a cab, you were bombarded with messages from his fans, some good and some not so much. As you started reading through them, all your old insecurities came rushing to the surface, and your heart started beating fast, as tears blurred your vision. Was your appearance such a deciding factor on weather you should date Dacre for so many people. The response to your relationship were actually positive in majority, but this negative comments stood out to you so much, that you barely even saw people who were happy for you. Walking over to your mirror, you scrolled through the comments as you checked yourself out. That little voice in your head was back. It was once again telling you that you were worth nothing, that Dacre doesn't really love you, and is with you out of pity instead, that nobody can ever love you, because you don't deserve it.

Suddenly, a knock on your door took you out of the trance you were in. Who would be knocking at this hour?

"Come on, Y/N, let me in, please. Don't listen to the haters, just talk to me."

You started to walk towards the door and with a shaky hand pondered weather to open the door to your loving boyfriend or not. He wasn't giving up, so you decided to take a deep breath and open. As soon as you did, Dacre engulfed you in his arms, not even bothering to close the door behind him at first. But after you spent several minuted sobbing into his shirt, he cupped your face, after slamming the door closed with his foot, and placed a loving kiss on the tip of your nose. Every time he did that, you would smile, and even though you were fighting it now, you still couldn't hide your lips curving upwards.

"Look at me gorgeous. You are my world, no matter what anyone says. Do you really think I'm the type of person to be with you out of pity? You can't let our relationship change just because some people don't see us fit to be together. I asked you to be my girlfriend, not "any other girl that I could have". I asked you, and you know why? Because I love you, so freaking much, from head to toe. Please believe me when I tell you that you're my kind of perfect, and that I want to spend forever with you, just the way you are."

He followed it up with informing you that you should change yourself only if you truly wanted to, not because of him, or anyone else. His words brought tears to your eyes, but this time, they were happy tears, and you were so glad to have his in your life, because you wanted to spend forever with him too. And it hit you that after almost a year of dating, he told you that he lived you for the first time. You both agreed to say it when you feel it the most in a certain moment, and he said it now, when you needed to hear it more than ever.

"Im so lucky to have you, thank you. I love you too baby, so much."

"Im the lucky one darling. Now how about we cuddle a bit on the sofa before going to bed, from now on, I can proudly tell the world you're mine."

---***---

I hope you liked it anon <3 let me know <3 thanks for requesting a plus size imagine, it got my own feels out during writing <3

Also, guys, I found a new obsession for myself, in the form of Diego Tinoco / César Diaz 😍😍 so expect some of him in the future too 🤟❤️

#dacre #dacre montgomery #dacre montgomery imagine #dacre montgomery x reader #Plus Size #plus size imagine #ACTOR AU #actor imagine #stranger things imagine #stranger things #stranger things au #stranger things actors imagines #stranger things actors

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ginnyzero · 4 years

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Completely Harmless Ch. 40

Completely Harmless An SSO SilverGlade Re-imagining Story (Or Fix it Fan Salt fic) By Ginny O.

When Lily and her friends wanted to buy horses and were directed to the Silverglade Manor and its myriad of problems, they didn’t expect to start a revolution. They were just a bunch a stable girls. Completely harmless. Right?

A/N: Things are only canon if I say they’re canon. Pre-Saving the Moorland Stables compliant for the most part. Posted in its entirety on my website. Posted in 2000 to 4000 word bits here. Rated T for Swearing Word Count 177,577

Chapter Forty Onward to Firfall!

Lily nodded at the foreman of the North Link site and looked curiously past him at what they were doing in the hills. It looked like a tunnel. Hadn’t there been a perfectly fine road around here? She pursed her lips and shrugged. There was too many boxes and debris for her to really tell what was going on.

“What do you want now?”

“To give you payment for work with actual permits,” Lily said. “And cookies.”

The foreman’s brow furrowed. “Are you trying to bribe me?”

“Fresh baked cardamom cookies,” Lily opened the box and waved them towards him. “I mean, I can eat them all myself.” She reached into the box.

“No!” The foreman shouted and then flushed catching himself. “What do you need?” His eyes strayed to the cookie box with longing.

“Bulldozers and excavators. We’ve got skips on route from Jorvik City. We need equipment.”

The foreman rubbed the back of his neck. “I can’t keep loaning you our equipment.”

“Then no cookies,” Lily pouted and shut the box getting ready to tuck it back in her saddlebag.

“Where?” The foreman barked.

“North of Dundull,” Lily smirked. She had him now. “The road to Firfall has had an avalanche. We want you to help dig it out for shillings and cookies.”

He plucked at his lip and eyed the box of cookies. “That is more than one box of cookies type of job.”

“How many boxes?” Lily asked.

“Ten,” the foreman said firmly.

“Done,” Lily grinned. She handed over the box in her hands. “We’ll lead your men there. Linda, come give this guy half his payment!”

Linda was on the phone with the Baroness. She handed over a sack of shillings to the foreman. “Other half on completion of the work,” she said as she nodded to whatever the Baroness was saying.

The foreman took the shillings, juggling the box of cookies into his other arm.

“Do you want your cookies now, or would you like to wait until we stop for lunch?” Lily asked. “Ten boxes of cookies is quite a bit.”

The foreman bit his lip. “I’ll wait,” he said as he rummaged in the box and ate half a cookie in one bite. His eyes rolled upwards. “I’ll go get the men together,” he said around the cookie and jogged off.

They made quite a parade as they left North Link, turned east at Silverglade Village, and crossed the bridge to get to the Fire Path to head towards Mistfall. The Silver Drakes on their horses were in front and to the sides of the machines. The Baroness’ car and Bjorn’s truck followed in the rear.

Meeting the Flying Foxes near Dundull, they turned North up what was little more than a logging road. At the site, there were several Rangers. They weren’t happy to see the G.E.D. uniforms. But there were several skips already in place for the debris.

Agnetha got out of her truck and revved her chainsaw. “Girls, latch onto the bushes and drag them away as I cut,” she said.

The girls took ropes out of their bags and the work began. The bulldozers treads were able to get up and over the broken stones and dirt and pushed it towards southern Mistfall. From there, the excavators picked it up to dump it into the skips. If there were bushes or brambles, Agnetha and Bjorn took them with their chainsaws, while the girls dragged them to the skips and dumped them in.

They broke for lunch. The Silver Drakes brought out the promised cookies for the G.E.D. workers.

After lunch, they went back to work. By evening, the Baroness was able to drive through Rovar’s Gap. The lights of the car hitting the forest trees on the other side.

Linda paid them and it was another odd parade back to North Link.

The Baroness insisted on inspecting the North Link work site herself. After being given cookies, and being paid a fair amount for a day’s labor, the foreman couldn’t refuse her. Not that it was wise to refuse Baroness Silverglade. They were right next to her lands and if she cared to not look the other way, they’d be gone like the oil field was gone. And they well knew it.

The road continued northwards as it should while G.E.D. were digging into the mountain towards the west. Their equipment and the debris from the tunnel blocked the road more than their excavations did.

The Baroness gave the foreman a look and ordered him to keep his workings to one side of the road so people could pass and put one of the trainees on directing the traffic. She would send someone back to make sure her orders were being obeyed.

The foreman didn’t bother trying to bluster. He hung his head, nodded, and that was that.

It had been an interesting day. Maybe they’d get some answers tomorrow about what had happened by the Weeping Widow. But no one was betting on it.

Pauline made a schedule about who was to take care of Techno each day. It was another addition to their daily chores. Not that any of them minded. Techno was a friendly dog who enjoyed the horses’ company.

The contractors were setting the walls up onto the footings they’d put into the concrete floor when they’d poured it. This apparently required a small crane. Things were moving right along and the Riding Arena hadn’t been vandalized for the second day in a row.

The grapes took priority over Firfall though. They spent the morning helping Agnetha spray the moldy grape vines (masks on, safety first) and planting roses at the end of each row of grapes. Like Agnetha had explained to the Baroness, the roses were more sensitive to fungus and rot and the like, so they’d be affected by any blight before the grapes. They’d just have to be inspected.

“Like everything else,” Elsa drawled.

Once the grapes, the Manor’s livelihood, were done. They took the transport to Dundull so they could ride up to Firfall with the Flying Foxes.

The road was long and littered with logs.

“We’ll have to clear those,” Sonja said. “If we want traffic between the towns.”

Lily nodded.

The road went between two lakes and between those lakes and another one to the north, they found the town of Firfall nestled in a fir forest. It had stone houses with large logs as bracers. In fact, it reminded Lily of a mix between Valedale and Firgrove architecture. Though it had a Tudor flair to it that those two villages lacked.

There was a stable of course.

The stable master waved at them and introduced herself as Genevieve Goldtooth. “Welcome to Firfall! You’re the first visitors we’ve had in an age.”

“That’s what happens when Rovar’s Gap has an avalanche over the winter,” Sonja said. “I’m Sonja, this is Luciana and Rania. We’re of the Dundell Flying Foxes Riding Club.” She gestured at the rest of them. “And these are our friends the Silver Drakes Riding Club.”

“Lily,” Lily said and held out her hand. “I’ll let the others make their own introductions.”

“My, there are a lot of you,” Genevieve murmured looking at them all dazed.

“Well, we’ve never been to Firfall,” Lily said cheerfully. She sobered. “Actually, as much as we’d love to explore your village. I’m here on a job from the Baroness. Dark Core has an illegal mine site to the mountains north of here. We’re worried that their dumping is putting toxins into the water. I’m here to take samples for Professor Hayden.”

“Oh, you must see our Medieval Faire first and we’ve got a pub with great food and a bunch of little shops and even a medieval market. We also have Irish Draught horses if you’re interested.”

“That sounds great,” Pauline said.

Genevieve was happy to show them around. Lily slipped away and took her samples and the north and southern sides of each lake. She capped them and labelled them for Hayden and snuck back in time for chips and burgers at the pub.

There were a couple of farmers around, Gary Goldtooth was the biggest and he kept pigs.

There wasn’t a lot of arable land around Firfall. So they relied on keeping animals like sheep, pigs, cattle, and chicken, for which they traded for grains. They kept vegetable plots of course and there were berries in the woods. Along with truffles, that’s why Gary kept pigs.

They all nodded.

“Central Jorvik is Jorvik’s breadbasket,” Genevieve dropped the information casually.

“That makes sense,” Lily said.

They thanked her for her time and rode back to Dundull.

“Well,” Luciana said. “That’s all very interesting.”

“I bet it won’t take long for word to spread that there’s a stable open in Firfall.” Pauline grinned.

“And I’m not going to take that bet.” Lily rolled her eyes.

“Why not?” Pauline pouted.

“You’re emailing pictures to Linda. I’m off to Valedale.” Lily smirked at Pauline and caught the first transport to Valedale.

Linda and Alex were talking with Professor Hayden as she approached. Starshine, the white and grey stallion, huffed alerting every one of her presence.

Linda smiled up at her. “Lily!”

Lily leaned down and passed her water and soil sample vials to Hayden. “Samples from Firfall, Professor.”

He grumbled but took them. He set to work checking them both for contaminants. All the while he muttered that he loved bugs and this wasn’t his job.

“Yes it is,” Lily said. “I’ve watched Bones.” She paused and tilted her head. “Okay, maybe he had more than one degree, but he was a bug and dirt guy and you have to know whats in the water and dirt because that’s where your bugs live. Healthy water and soil, healthy bugs.”

Hayden glared at her. “Young whippersnapper, don’t tell me how to do my job.”

“I wasn’t telling you how to do it. I was merely pointing out contrary to you whining which is very unbecoming, that it is in fact your job.”

“No respect these days, none.”

Lily sighed dramatically. “You have a valid coping mechanism in place for it. Who am I to stop you from complaining?”

Linda and Alex restrained laughter.

Hayden finished and slapped the new reports onto Linda’s clipboard. “These are for the Baroness. Not that she’ll know how to read them.”

“Then write notes in proper English so everyone can understand,” Lily looked up at the sky as if she could read the future in the clouds.

Hayden grabbed a butterfly net and stomped off.

“You shouldn’t be so mean to him,” Linda scolded.

“I’m barely being mean. He rants about youth all the time and wants us to respect him.” Lily snorted. “He’s a grouch. If he was nicer, I wouldn’t poke at him so much.”

Alex glanced about for Avalon and lowered her voice. “Is there a place that’s secure where we can all meet?”

“All?”

“I guess, we want to talk to all the riding clubs.”

“You do know that’s close to 150 girls at the moment. I’m not sure even the Council house in Silverglade can hold that many. Let me get on the phone.” Lily pulled her phone out and sent a President wide text about places to hold a meeting that was secure and could hold everyone.

Ingrid volunteered the Flea Market building in Firgrove. No one was using it at the moment and it was big enough to hold over two hundred people.

“Okay, when?” Lily asked.

“Is now all right?”

Lily sent out more texts. “Now seems good. Though Loretta says she’s got an argument in Moorland about which thirteen girls are forming a club in Firfall.” Lily muttered. “Handle it, Loretta. No. This isn’t my fault.”

“Are there any campers left?” Linda asked and cocked her hip.

“I’m not sure,” Lily rubbed her forehead. “I mean. Mr. Moorland could be replacing them as fast as they go.”

Alex chuckled. “Maybe.”

Lily’s phone kept buzzing and presidents checked in with saying they’d bring chairs or snacks or drinks.

“There isn’t room for almost two hundred horse at Firgrove,” Lily muttered as she texted exactly that.

The Timber Wolves were already on it setting up a temporary paddock out near the Fire Trail past the mine. They had rolls and rolls of fencing and poles.

“Usually we only convene the Presidents,” Lily explained. “And Vice Presidents.”

“We want to clear the air all at once.”

“Then if you want to get there first, we better go now.” Lily tucked her phone away.

They took a transport over to Firgrove and got their horses settled with Felicity at the stables. She looked baffled. “Are we having a convention?”

“Yep,” Lily said.

“Huh. Well, I’ll have Ma Anna send pastries and a bunch of hot drinks.” Felicity smiled at them.

“Thanks,” Alex said. “You think anyone will bring Cheetos.”

Linda rolled her eyes. “You and your Cheetos.”

The Firgrove Flea Market was a huge log building among all the different cottages. Ingrid waved them inside. “The others are walking up. We’ve got more chairs coming and we put up some tables for refreshments.”

It took a bit for everyone to arrive and actually get settled. Most of them goodnaturedly help set out chairs and made sure there were enough cups for beverages.

Ginny apologized to Lily that Elise Kemball couldn’t make it. She hadn’t yet moved to New Hillcrest to join the Club.

“You can fill her in later if you need to,” Lily said. “I’m not sure what Linda wants to talk about anyways.”

Alex did get a bag of Cheetos. Maya had sent them with Tan.

Linda clutched her clipboard looking slightly nervous.

“Okay ladies,” Lily spoke up. “Welcome to Firgrove. Thank you Ingrid and the Timber Wolves for hosting all of us. And there are a lot of us. Horse girl power!” Lily shook her fist.

The girls cheered at that and laughed.

“Now, I understand that there are going to be more of us soon as the road to Firfall has opened up and more girls from Moorland Summer Camp want to form a club near its pristine lake and quaint medieval style town complete with it’s own medieval fair and tourney! Which all sounds very exciting to me.”

The girls clapped and cheered more.

“More girls to join our horse army!” Lily gestured. “But, we all know that were stable girls, completely, perfectly, prettily, eh, mostly harmless. We’re a sisterhood that while we compete with each other, when push comes to shove, we ride together. Now, this isn’t my meeting. May I introduce to you, the lovely Silverglade Equestrian Center Manager, Linda Chanda and her friend Alex,” Lily paused.

“Cloudmill,” Alex supplied in a low voice.

“Alex Cloudmill, whose little brother James is part owner of Fort Pinta stables. But she’s the better sibling.”

More laughter.

“Linda, Alex,” Lily gestured and stepped to the side.

Linda cleared her throat again and shuffled her clipboard and book holding them to her stomach. “When Lily said almost 150 of you, I didn’t expect it to look like so many.” She shifted up her glasses. “Um, I should have prepared notecards. I guess we need to start at the beginning and there are a lot of different groups you’ve noticed on Jorvik. You’ve no doubt run into G.E.D. or Dark Core or the Keepers of Aideen as you’ve been working or riding about. They aren’t hard to miss.”

The girls settled in and nodded.

“So, um, you might not know that G.E.D. stands for Global Energy Domination. Not very subtle, pretty much what they say on the tin. They’re trying to take over Jorvik and the rest of the world’s energy resources. So, they’ve been mining and searching for things around the county and probably all around the island.” Linda fiddled with her clipboard.

“Like in Hillcrest,” Ginny spoke up. “They’ve got the entire town barricaded off.”

“They’re searching for things around Jarlaheim too, crystals,” Josefina said.

“And we chased them out of Moorland and the Silver Fields,” Lily nodded.

“They have dump sites all over too,” Ingrid added.

“They’re currently digging west into a mountain by North Link,” Lily said. She crossed her arms. “They barricaded of the West Jorvik Highway northwards. The Baroness has ordered them to keep one lane free going forward to restore traffic to the North Golden Hills Valley area.”

Loretta spoke up. “So, I’m going to have more girls fighting over making clubs up there next?”

“Probably,” Lily said dryly.

“G.E.D. are easy to spot. They’re as unsubtle as their name. The other group that has been causing trouble is Dark Core. Especially on the Moorland South Beach and South Hoof Peninsula North Beach, and in Valedale. Their motives are murkier than G.E.D.,” Linda said and shifted again. “Before I explain more about Dark Core, I need to explain the Keepers of Aideen.”

“The druids,” Melissa said sourly.

“The Keepers of Aideen aren’t druids in the way that other cultures understand druids. They don’t worship nature in that fashion though they are supposed to be fiercely protective of it and the horses of Jorvik.” Linda bit her lip.

Alex snorted. “Supposed to be.”

“What the Keepers are, are the protectors of the knowledge of Aideen, the Goddess of Jorvik. I’m sure you’ve seen her statue in Aideen’s Plaza if you’ve gone to Jorvik City. The Keepers of Aideen believe that Aideen gave life to Jorvik and that she bestowed magical powers upon her chosen ones and they are her Soul Riders.”

FOR THE ACCOMPANYING IMAGES PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE MY WATERMARK AND CONTACT INFORMATION. THANK YOU. I get it. Some of you might get excited and want to see this stuff in the game, especially the clothes, tack, and pets. However, the only way I want to see this in the game is if I get paid for it. If I see it in the game and I’m not paid for it, there will be hell to pay. You think I’m salty. I’d be angry. Personally, I’m not going to send this info to SSO. If you do, leave my contact information there! Don’t give them any excuses to steal.

Now, I’ll know you haven’t read this note if you leave me comments about how ‘salty’ I am about the game and if I hate it so much I should do something else. I am doing something else. It’s called Mystic Riders MMORPG Project. Mystic Riders however is a very baby phase game. You can check out our plans on the game dev blog. (Skills, Factions, Professions, Crafting, Mini-Games, 25+ horse breeds!) If you know anyone who would be interested and has money or contacts about game making, direct them to the blog.

#star stable #star stable online #sso #fan fic #jorvik reimagined #star stable salt #completely harmless #silverglade reimagined #many nods to ruth westside #i hope I remembered everything they've said in game about firfall #it'd help if they stop changing their minds

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skruffie · 4 years

Text

in which I’m getting to know my brain better

I can’t really pinpoint a time when I started reading about ADHD and believed that maybe it was something that I had. I think it’s kind of been in the back of my head from when ADD was still a commonly-used term but then I would go “naaaah can’t be me, I’m just a lazy person!” I remember ages ago in high school I was at a friend’s house and watching their brothers and I thought “This is what actual ADHD looks like” so I guess that kind of pins it for me thinking about it as long ago as 15 years ago but I never gave it serious consideration until more recently.

(This is very, very long so I don’t blame you if you want to just skip it entirely)

Just last night I was talking to Zack and I was giggling and going “I still can’t believe I really didn’t see this before” and they were going “Really?”

Let’s think about this. As a kid I was always pretty sensitive and had weird... I used to call them compulsions but now I wonder if it was more impulsive behavior where I would hoard things like rocks and leaves or do dangerous shit without thinking about it (one memory comes to mind immediately when I noticed there was broken glass on the playground and I started meticulously picking it up as carefully as I could, and my teacher freaked out when she saw what I was doing. It unsettled my mom too, but me explaining that I didn’t want anyone to get hurt didn’t help put them at ease). I would be deeply sucked into my imagination at times, like...

When I was a kid I always kind of pictured myself like everything that was happening was a movie. I don’t really mean this in a dissociative derealization kind of thing, but just imagining every second was a movie or a video game. Sometimes I still do this. I can’t really pinpoint if there were a lot of hyperactive symptoms other than countless times my mom told me to stop fiddling with my hands or string or whatever was within my grasp. I would always come home from school dirty with grass stains on my jeans and holes in my knees and rocks in my pockets, earning the title “skruffy ragamuffin” from my sister, but I just kind of figured that was part of being a kid. Looking at it NOW through this viewpoint gives me second thought though.

I picked up on physical activities rather quickly from a young age like dancing and karate--probably the physical movement was what I needed to help me focus--and I do things like pick at the skin around my thumbs, bite the inside of my cheeks (Didn’t realize this was a thing until I watched Hannah Hart describe it as part of her fidgeting and went “OH.”)

As I got older and after my sister died, see... I always viewed this time period in my life as I couldn’t do school or focus because of my grief and my home life falling apart, and I think part of that is still true. However, I would continue this with “And because of that I didn’t form good study habits and that continued into highschool when I stopped giving a shit”. Which was better than thinking I was just a stupid failure, and I really don’t think I am stupid... I can think quickly on my feet, I notice things that other people don’t, I’ve been an advanced reader from a VERY early age and I can infer correct answers from context clues and analyze things in that way.

There is one memory from high school that, in the past, I thought maybe was tied to an emotional flashback but I realize now that it might’ve been Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria. There was a weird disagreement that I was having with a friend of mine over something (truly can’t remember what it was about now), and somehow this rejection of him not listening to me spiraled me into this state of Why Should I Fucking Bother and the first target for this heavy, painful feeling was “okay, well I should just stop drawing because Why Should I Fucking Bother”. My English teacher found me sitting in the hallway crying and sat down with me to ask what was happening and I tried to explain, and then he had me show him my artwork and he goes “You are an incredible artist, you shouldn’t give this up.” One of few teachers in my life who I will always respect because he was always stern in a kind way, understanding, and an overall wonderful man.

I’m kind of getting off track here but I think that’s really just self-demonstrating at this point.

When I worked at Target there wasn’t really an opportunity for the ADHD type symptoms to manifest because I was pretty much always moving. In school I could zone out very easily but at work I was able to have more bouts of focus, but traded off my inattention for anxiety instead. This was also just a few years after the big PTSD causing event, but retail in general can give pretty much anyone some anxiety issues. Nonetheless, the things that I enjoyed about working there is that I was able to master my work zone completely (to a point of annotating the training guide with new information and keeping it updated), became the go-to person for several things, and I enjoyed being able to have a bit of freedom of movement around my work space. I enjoyed being able to have physical, tangible ways to see progress being made on something and there was a surprising amount of nuance and problem-solving when it came to resolving customer complaints.

Moving to a desk job in 2018 was a weird departure from all of that. I had started off kind of as a clerical worker and would compile the concrete goods vouchers that we send out to our clients, receive them back, prepare them for scanning, scan+upload to case files, etc. It was dreadfully boring a lot of the time but I didn’t mind the long stretches where I could sit and prepare documents for scanning because I was able to listen to music while I got them ready. After a while I was encouraged to become a fiduciary, and that is really when the Maybe I Have ADHD started to rear it’s head.

My job doesn’t have the tangible way to see that I’ve made progress. I update placements to generate foster care payments, I generate the vouchers for concrete goods, I put in ongoing foster care case management payments or daycare payments, I will sometimes resolve some payment issues but only to a certain point--I’m able to see information but being able to solve the problem is actually not my area unless I can correct it within the case management system. There is an extreme need to be detail oriented because we work with specific service dates, with some services ongoing but some needing to be renewed every six months, gobs of emails with paperwork and trying to get the right signatures on everything because we’re dealing in state money...

on top of this, in order to move into the permanent position, I’ve been taking the accounting classes online outside of work and (until the pandemic started) having a long commute-work-commute day that totaled about 12 hours out of my waking life. My diet changed radically because Zack and I didn’t see each other often and getting home at 6:30 at night didn’t leave a lot of room to cook and then eat before having downtime to sleep... only to wake up at 5:30 AM again... my insomnia started kicking in to a point now where I take a benadryl through the work week to keep my sleep schedule on track. I started having anxiety attacks at work because trying to keep up with remembering all the little details I need to at work was getting to me.

As I was training, I would write a post-it reminder whenever I repeated a mistake and stick it to my monitor. I got up to about 14 post-its before it became distracting and I instead compiled them onto a list and tacked it to my cubicle wall.

A few months into this I had a crying jag talking to Zack because it felt like something was really wrong and I couldn’t pinpoint what exactly. Depression? Anxiety? Trauma? School trauma? I think it’s just been untreated ADHD this whole time. I keep thinking back to this post I’ve seen on Tumblr a long time ago where someone said “disability exists in the context of the environment” and I think that’s what’s happening to me. I previously have bee in environments that weren’t butting up against The ADHD as much, but this job has been extremely challenging for the past 11 months.

Thankfully, my boss and I have one-on-one discussions regularly (used to be every other week but since the pandemic started it’s been weekly phone calls) and she has no issues with my work performance... likely because I exert a lot of mental and emotional energy to keep up with everything I need to do. I’m also in charge of the busiest field office in our region--there’s a high turnover rate, lots of child welfare cases, etc--and the social workers that I talk to on the regular enjoy having me as their fiduciary. There have been many times however, despite the fact I seem to be doing pretty good, where it feels like I am hanging on by a fucking thread. Here’s something personal that I don’t think I’ve shared yet on the blog: last year, within the first month and a half of adjusting to this new pace of work and school and the long commutes, the schedule was so stressful for me that it made my period late. Worrying I was pregnant just stressed me out more. Not being able to treat this Probably ADHD has been detrimental to my mental health.

On the 22nd, I’m going to have a telehealth meeting with a doctor to see if I can get a referral for a screening. I kind of worried that if I do get diagnosed with ADHD it would send me into this mourning state of what-could-have-been but honestly... I’m tired. I’m tired of beating myself up for exhausting myself into keeping up with other people. I think I owe it to myself to get the help that I need. Looking at my life with the lens of I Probably Have ADHD has actually given me a renewed sense of self-worth and confidence because it’s something that I can learn how to take control of. It’s worth it. I’m worth it.

#actuallyADHD #?#examining my entire life in a tumblr post #adhd

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kriscme · 5 years

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One Life To Live

Hi Readers, here’s the latest chapter. As usual, thanks to Ronja for allowing me to write fanfic of her Hunger Games fanfic “The Chance You Didn’t Take” which you can read on FanFiction and AO3. Chapter 25 Soon after we arrive, I set to work sweeping the floor clear of dust with the twig broom my father made for me. Then I take a few logs from the woodpile in the corner and transfer them to the fireplace for use later on. That done, cooking and eating utensils are placed by the hearth. Sleeping mats are unrolled, sleeping bags are shaken out and then arranged on top. It’s like playing house again. Just as I did when my father brought me here as a child. I survey my work, satisfied that I’ve made our accommodation as comfortable as I can make it. I’ve put about three feet between the sleeping mats. Not so close as to be an invitation, but not so far apart that it looks like I’m keeping him at a distance either. Because I’m not yet sure how I should proceed. This is all so new to me, and I’m hopelessly out of my depth. Gale, Peeta even, belong to my teenage years and kissing was as far as it went. An adult relationship comes with a different set of expectations. I have to be careful that I don’t start something that could quickly escalate into something I’m not ready for. But something has started already, a little voice reminds me. It started when you returned his kisses. I put my hand to my lips at the memory. Yes, I returned them. And with such enthusiasm that it took Marcus by surprise. But he recovered quickly, and matched passion with passion. We stumbled over to the couch, displacing a furious Buttercup as we collapsed onto it, barely breaking the kiss. I welcomed his hand on my breast, and the hand on my behind pulling me against his hardness. Even the hand between my legs, stroking through the thick fabric of my khaki trousers. But when he whispered “bedroom” in my ear, I froze. I was like Haymitch, jolted to rude consciousness by a jug of cold water poured over my head. Shocked, disorientated, confused. What was I doing? I’m in love with Peeta. I muttered something about moving too fast and Marcus accepted it, perhaps putting it down to District conservativeness when it comes to sex. He’s been very solicitous of me these past few days but there’s been no more kisses. It’s like he’s giving me my space. The only thing is that I’m not sure I want it.

Since I see no clear solution to the problem, I push it aside for the time being and set to my next task which is to cast out fishing lines to catch my dinner. Marcus has brought cans of beans and dehydrated meals you add water to. While I don’t dislike beans, they’re no substitute for freshly caught fish. I brought along my bow but it’s for protection from predators and it won’t be used to bring down waterfowl on this trip. Marcus hasn’t said anything about my hunting, but I suspect anyone who is both conservationist and a vegetarian probably wouldn’t approve. When the woods are turned into national park, there will be restrictions on hunting. Maybe even a ban. I have mixed feelings. I never hunted for sport, only for food. But it was a hard-earned skill, and one I’ve been very proud of. I can see why it has to be done. I’d much rather a forest teaming with life than a free-for-all for trigger-happy hunters to practice their target shooting. But it will be a sad day, none-the-less. And that’s another thing that won’t stay the same.

But what is still the same, for now anyway, are the lake and the concrete house. To my relief, they were exactly as I left them. Neither showed any sign of recent human activity. But it’s only a matter of time before others discover it too. At little more than a half day walk from the meadow, it’s a wonder it hasn’t happened already. Once the lines are out, there’s nothing to do but wait. I flop down onto a grassy spot near the bank to enjoy the sunshine and the scenery. It’s a lovely day. The sun is warm, but not hot. The breeze is gentle and just cool enough to be refreshing. Nature is bountiful here. Ducks and geese float serenely on the lake. Birds chatter in the trees. Frogs croak and the scent of pine fills the air. In the distance, I see Marcus exploring the area, making notes and taking measurements. Perhaps he’s planning a viewing platform or something. He said he wants to keep the lake as untouched as possible. No hunting or fishing huts like they had in the past. My mind wanders to other times spent here. With my father, who taught me how to swim in this very lake, and where to dig for katniss roots. With Gale when I tried to persuade him to escape with me into the woods. He told me he loved me that day. But I couldn’t say it back and it changed things between us, far more than the kiss ever did. At least I could pretend the kiss never happened, since Gale said nothing about it when we next met. But once a friend has declared love, and it’s not returned, the friendship is over. Maybe not straight away, but its demise is inevitable. There’s no going back. Peeta would have thought of this. Especially since he’s to be married soon. Too awkward and painful for all concerned. Better to put it out of its misery than have it die a lingering death. I haven’t seen him since that strange conversation on my porch when he told me he’d see me around. The next morning, when I left for work, I didn’t wait for him but marched briskly towards the town. But I couldn’t help looking back every few minutes, hoping that I had somehow misinterpreted his meaning, and he was behind me trying to catch me up. He wasn’t. And then I think of my very last visit to the lake almost a year ago. It was a stifling hot day. I had ventured outside with the intention of checking on Haymitch but instead caught Peeta as he was about to go into town. He was to meet Lace at the swimming pool where they were having swimming lessons together. He asked me along, but the prospect of spending an afternoon in their company as some kind of hanger-on was the last thing I wanted. Suddenly at a loss, I abandoned my earlier plan to visit Haymitch and headed for the woods. All I could think about was Peeta and how suited Lace was for him, and how I wasn’t. My self-esteem was at its lowest ebb. I couldn’t think of one admirable quality I possessed. I couldn’t imagine why anyone would love me.

Instinct more than anything must have propelled my feet towards the lake. Maybe because this place reminds me of my father and a time when I felt loved. I ended up staying overnight, unwilling to face the long walk back in the heat. There was a Victor’s dinner that night but it didn’t occur to me that I’d be missed. But I was. They phoned me several times until Haymitch was dispatched to my house to look for me. I met Peeta the next day as he was headed into town. He said he had been worried about me, that anything could have happened. He did look as if hadn’t slept, so maybe he had worried, but he didn’t try to find me. I didn’t ask why at the time. It didn’t even occur to me. I was too resentful at the presumption that I couldn’t look after myself. But still, I could have been stranded in the woods with a broken leg for all he knew. And here he was, on his way to see Lace. I followed him into town, as he asked. He had something to tell me that apparently couldn’t wait. I wasn’t to come over at night anymore to sleep in his guestroom because it made him a bad boyfriend. I recall he had a visitor that night, probably Lace. I guess that’s why it was so urgent. Can’t have the ex-fiance turning up in the middle of the night when the new girlfriend is staying over. Looking back, that’s when I should have seen the signs and ended it. None of this insistence that he get his memories back. All it led to was a year of futility and frustration. I should have known that my Peeta was dead when his first instinct was to protect Lace rather than me. I can’t be mad at him. This is what the hijacking was meant to achieve. That it didn’t succeed in its full objective to make him completely hate me, is of little comfort. It took what I cherished most and killed it. The steadfast devotion was gone. So too was the undying love. Perhaps, since he couldn’t love me the way he used to, I should be thankful that Peeta put a stop to the guestroom sleep-overs. At least it gave me the impetus to make a stand, and get off my backside and do something with my life. I have friends and a job I love now. And there’s a man who seems to like me a lot. He’s over by the concrete house right now, getting a campfire started. He’s not my boyfriend, but would he be, if I opened that door? All I know is that it’s far too soon for me to love anyone. Anyway, there can’t be much future in it. He won’t be staying in 12 for ever and I can’t go anywhere. When I check the fishing lines, I find one has caught a nice trout. It’s not very big, but plenty enough for one person. I remove the hook from its mouth and take a folding knife from my pocket to clean and scale it. Then I walk over to where Marcus is. He’s got the fire burning nicely and is in the process of emptying a can of beans into a saucepan. “I’ve got my dinner,” I announce brightly, holding my fish aloft. He glances my way just long enough to take in the fish before he turns his attention back to the beans. He says nothing. “What?” I exclaim. His back is turned to me, but I see disapproval in every line. “Nothing,” he says, barely deigning to look at me. “But I don’t see why you had to kill another living creature when we have plenty of food. Which, by the way, is undersized. It should have been thrown back.” I stand there gaping at him, completely taken aback. I’m not used to receiving criticism from Marcus and it takes a few seconds to find my voice.

“It is not undersized. Well, maybe a little, but not by much. I don’t get this. You know I hunt. Why shouldn’t I eat fish if that’s what I want. Not everyone wants to eat rabbit food all the time. Like you.” “Rabbits don’t eat beans,” he says. He calmly places the saucepan of beans on the metal grate before standing and turning his attention to me. “I just don’t see the need to eat meat, that’s all, when we can live very well on a vegetarian diet. “You eat milk and eggs,” I say accusingly. “They come from animals.” “Yes, but we don’t kill the animal to get them. When this place becomes a national park, they’ll be no fishing. But it’s done now, so you might as well eat it. It will have lost its life for nothing if you don’t.” I’m so annoyed, I want to take my fish and slap him across the face with it. It’s almost as if my very reason for existence has been challenged. My hunting skills are what kept me alive in the Games. Hunting is what kept myself and my family fed. He’s never had to worry about where his next meal comes from. It must be so nice to have choices. “I don’t see that I’ve done anything wrong. Big fish eat little fish. Big animals eat smaller animals. It’s how nature works. So get over it.” I look around for something to put my fish in but I don’t see a frying pan. But then I remember I put some cooking things by the hearth in the concrete house. That suits me just fine. I could use some distance from Marcus right now. Besides I don’t want to use his fire. I want my own. I wouldn’t want to contaminate his by using it to cook meat. Maybe tomorrow I’ll roast a duck. That’ll show him. The trouble is that it’s hard to start a fire with just logs. You need some kind of kindling, and there’s nothing in the house that will do. I did too good a job sweeping it clean of leaves and other debris. “Katniss”, I hear him call out. “What are you doing?”

“I’m cooking my fish like you said I should.” Footsteps approach and I know by the shadow that falls across the room that he’s standing at the entrance. “Look, this is ridiculous. Come and cook the fish out here. I’ve finished heating the beans. The fire’s all yours. I’m sorry if it came across as judgmental. It’s just something I feel strongly about but I don’t expect you to feel the same. You should enjoy your fish.” Somewhat mollified, I rise from my crouched position by the hearth to follow him outside. But then he ruins it. “And, anyway, there shouldn’t be two fires when one will suffice.” “You shouldn’t have made a new fire in the first place,” I return hotly. “Doesn’t it say somewhere in your camping books that you should always use an existing site rather than make a new one? And I’d already stacked it with wood.” “I didn’t want to smoke out . . . Katniss, just get out here before I come in and carry you out. You’re being childish.” “I’m being childish?” I screech indignantly. He’s blocking my way, but I go to push past him. “What about – “

My words are suddenly cut off by his lips on mine. One arm encircles my body to pin my arms to my sides while the other cradles the back of my head. I struggle briefly but it��s a token attempt and he knows it. The kiss goes on for a long time. “Go cook your fish,” he whispers against my lips. And then he pushes me gently outside. My fish is delicious. I stuff the inside with wild herbs and pan fry it gently so that the skin crisps but doesn’t burn. It would go well with roasted katniss roots and I decide to search for some tomorrow. Marcus shouldn’t have a problem with katniss roots since they are plants. That is, unless plants are protected in a national park too. Perhaps I shouldn’t risk it. But then I think of the kiss, so maybe I will. My appetite has been whetted for something else besides food.

I wonder if I’m a bad person for having lustful thoughts about Marcus. Only days before I was having them about Peeta. I would have given anything to have him sweep me into his arms, tell me that it was really me he had loved me all along and that Lace was a terrible mistake he’ll regret for the rest of his life, and then make passionate love to me. And to be honest, I still would. But that’s impossible and there’s no sense in thinking like that anymore. I’m twenty years old, a virgin, and the most I’ve ever done is kissing, and there’s been very little of that in recent years. It dawns on me that I’m starved for physical affection. And not just affection either. I want sex. Hot, unbridled, to-hell-with-the consequences sex. Like the sex Celia had in that silly show “One Life to Live.” Not the sandwich thing though. Oh, who am I kidding, I almost feel reckless enough to try that too. I’ve nothing to lose. Certainly not Peeta. And I know Marcus wants it, only he’s too much of a gentleman to push me any further than where I put a halt to it the other night. I’m the one who’s going to have to make a move, then. Only I don’t have the first clue how to go about it. While Marcus is occupied cleaning cooking utensils, I sneak inside the concrete house and push the sleeping mats together. I hope he gets the hint. I hold my hand to my mouth to check my breath. I should brush my teeth. The rest of me could do with freshening up too. I take from my pack a toiletry bag and a large wash cloth that doubles as a towel and pad out to the lake. Marcus has disappeared somewhere, maybe to find a tree a suitable distance away. He doesn’t like to pee too close to a water source. Dusk has fallen, but there’s still enough light to make out my surroundings. I set my things by the lake’s edge and remove my shoes and socks. I dip a toe in to test the water. It’s freezing. A sponge bath then. I brush my teeth and then remove my shirt to wash under my arms. But it’s hopelessly inadequate. I want to be clean all over. Hurriedly, I take off all my clothes, grab the bar of soap (eco-friendly, of course), and wade out far enough until the water is past my thighs. It’s the fastest bath I’ve ever had. Soap, rinse, get out. It’s not the cold so much that makes me rush, it’s the thought of Marcus coming across me naked. Which is really stupid, because I hope we both are by night’s end. But since there’s still no sight of him, I relax a little and take my time toweling myself dry. I forgot to bring something to change into and since I don’t want to put my dirty clothes back on, I bundle everything together and dash towards the house. I’ll put something on when I get inside. “Enjoy your dip?” asks Marcus. The logs in the fireplace have been lit and the small room flickers with light. He raises his eyebrows as he takes in my appearance. I’ve stopped dead at the entrance, clutching my bundle of boots, clothing and toiletry bag close to my body. I raise it higher to cover my breasts and then hastily lower it again when I realise I’ve exposed my crotch. What a disaster! “It was cold,” I stammer out. “Come by the fire and warm up then.”

He moves aside to make room for me. It does look inviting. He and the fire both, actually. I hesitate as to what I should do about my unclothed state. There’s nowhere to hide in this small, single-roomed house: no shadowy corner, no curtain or door. And it’s not like I can move without flashing my backside too. I hesitate for a few seconds, undecided, but then somewhat incongruously, a naked Johanna in an elevator comes to mind. What would Johanna do? She’d likely go stand naked by the fire as if it’s the most ordinary thing in the world. I recall that Marcus paid her no mind when she stripped in front of him. Female nakedness apparently doesn’t faze him. It’s no big deal then. He’s already seen everything anyway. And I do want to have sex with him. What message does it send if I can’t wait to cover up? So I decide to do something completely not myself. I drop my things in a corner and go to stand beside him in front of the fire. If it’s possible to blush all over, then I accomplish it. To ease the tension, I blurt out the first thing I think of. “I thought you said a fire in here would smoke us out.” That’s great, Katniss. Start an argument, why don’t you? You want to seduce him, not fight with him. “I was wrong,” he says mildly. “You know this place far better than I do. I should have taken my cue from you.” “Yes, you should. I mean should’ve. About the fire . . . and other things.” My eyes go to the sleeping mats, as close together as you can get them. Suddenly I have the jitters. It’s part excitement, part panic. What if he doesn’t want to have sex with me after all? I’m going to feel like the biggest fool. “I won’t make that mistake again.” He lays a hand against my back and trails it slowly downwards until it comes to rest on my hip. “Your skin feels hot. You shouldn’t stand so close.” I let out a nervous giggle. “I’m the girl on fire, remember? I love some heat.” Shit, I can’t believe I said that. It was so bad. “Where else you do like to feel hot?” The hand on my hip moves upwards, skimming my waist, and then over my ribs to cup my breast and lightly stroke the nipple. “Here?”

“Yeah,” I say weakly.

Desire puddles between my legs and I forget about being nervous. I just want him to keep doing what he’s doing.

He turns me towards him and both arms go around me. He dips his head to trail open kisses along the side of my neck. “Here?”

“Mm.” I clutch at his back to help me stay upright. My legs seem to have trouble supporting me.

“And here?” He takes each nipple in his mouth by turn, nibbling gently. And then he kisses me, slowly and sensuously like we all the time in the world.

“Bedroom,” I whisper into his ear. But before we take the half-dozen steps to our sleeping mats, there’s something I have to tell him.

“I haven’t done this before,” I confess. I don’t want him to think I do this kind of thing every day.

“I know.”

“How?” I pull back, prepared to be affronted. Was my seduction technique so bad? As far as he knows, Peeta and I had been lovers. We were going to have a baby!

He stops my mouth with another kiss. “I just do.”

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dememarquette · 4 years

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Stockholm

It has been a rough year. Complete Hell, actually, but we made it. We're home. Home. 2018, where the leaves are turning red, cable can be paused, and our old record shop exhausted itself into extinction.

That's all I needed. After death, my standards dropped through the concrete. I found gratification in the mundane. I appreciated the small things. I enjoyed the understated conversations, the intimate ones, the quiet. Just- Any time absent of violence. Pain. When I didn't have to worry about the orders being screamed at us, or the anxiety living under the heel of someone much bigger and nastier. Was it a lot to ask? Generally, no. Following a thwarted attempt at societal collapse? Maybe. We made it back half a year ago. That was six months on the run. We were fugitives. 'War criminals.' We avoided trouble by bouncing back and forth from Hell, running missions, training, and staying on the move while ensuring Buné's new order- Point is, I've been exhausted. I leaned against our apartment. I lost track of what city we're in but when you're anarchists of the divine, it stopped mattering. I didn't want to think about it. I didn’t want to think at all. I let my world fall into serenity and I took peace in as cars passed. I felt the breeze on my skin, the procession of life outside the damned. There was normalcy in the city. I offered smiles to the pedestrians that walked by. I reminded them of a preacher, the charismatic one they used to watch every Thursday night. I obviously wasn't the same guy. I was a disheveled, sadder version, but some smiled back- Before a loud crash sent them running. "Son of a BITCH." Metal clanged against stone. One girl dropped her umbrella. She ran. Her rubber boots beat the pavement until she turned a corner, a block away. "Mother. Fucker. LIED." Adria kneed a recycling bin. "I should have known this would happen. It was too fucking easy." "Too easy...?" "No one gets promoted that quick! Doesn't MATTER if you do all his dirty work," The bin split. "Start an apocalypse," Glass shattered. Garbage blasted down the asphalt. "Beat the new guys in!" I had no idea what part of the last few months had been anything short of excruciating. I just knew better to argue. I picked up the discarded umbrella, shaking off the puddle. "Is it off the table, then?" I asked, spinning it. "Obviously not! I'm up here aren't I?" "Why, then?" She violently bucked her leg. A tenacious grocery bag that clung to her boot. "He wants another job! Another fucking errand before I can prove myself, get OFF! Stupid-!!" She dislodged it, but not without throwing out her calf. The cops would be here in fifteen minutes. In twenty, she would be destroying our wall instead. We weren’t getting that security deposit back. "I thought that's what Glenshollow was." I shuttered the umbrella's canopy closed. Peace was over. "Proving yourself." "Yeah well, it wasn't enough!" "'course it wasn't." It never would be. There was always more hoops, more grunt work. She punched a trash can into the street. It launched past me, aluminum warped. When her fist whipped back around, it specked the wall, corrosively leaving hissing black holes in the brick like the spray of a Tommy. "One more." She huffed. "Just- one more. He says I'm close." "When you're immortal everything is close. What if he never promotes you? What if he is a liar, like he's always been?" "Shut up." My brows furrowed. "Adria. What's the point in trusting him if-" "Shut up. This was the limit. I knew it. There was no reasoning with her. She glared, shoulders heaving with a finality saying I was a much more satisfying target than a garbage bin. I let it drop. I receded to the street in silence. Back against the wall, I stood at my post: Protecting the outside world from Adria. - - - The attack on Delgado yielded over 200 casualties. Months of preparation amounted to a twelve hour skirmish. Powers above squashed the epidemic in no time. It was an incursion controlled by dinner yet the effects rippled through the decades. History was made. It was covered up, then made again, but Buné never cared about petty tragedies and coverage above the surface. He cared about what happened after. It was a victory, not a failure. Overnight, his army doubled. They arrived onto his doorstep in droves. Marked. Branded by their wrath, the shambling husks were primed soldiers. Their consciousness’ were forever crippled into malleable potential Buné can use. Due to her stellar efforts, Adria earned respect, boons, and prestige. Just not the title. Her notoriety made her optimal for missions back in the present. He turned a blind eye to her angelic compatriot, and gave her a team. None of whom she cared for, but she thought maybe her parade of volatile dumbasses was a start to prime her for the big leagues. It wasn't. 'Lieutenant' was a bar being raised higher, and Adria's patience was burning out. Having a team didn't mean jackshit if she was still at the bottom. There was no repose to be had under someone else. While I also yearned for a delusionally quiet life- It just wasn't feasible. Details arrived the following morning. "What is this?" I wandered into the kitchen to find Adria pouring over blueprints. They were three feet by one thin drafts of paper, and full of intricate blocks with barely legible text. I'm by no means an architect or mechanic, but ‘boat’ was a safe bet. She was sitting there, nails knotted in her bangs, reviewing them like she had any idea of what they meant. "His assignment." "And this is what will supposedly get you promoted?" I said, skeptically. "It better." 'Or else what?' I wanted to ask. "And this is supposed to be harder than zombies?" "It's not supposed to be harder. It's finishing what we started." "How does that make sense?" I said, picking at another sheet. I didn't trust our 'team' to go get milk without fucking up, much less a heist? "I do what I'm told so I can get out of this shithole." While I intended to correct her on the ‘we’ situation, of that we could agree on. No matter how far this rabbit hole goes, I was sure there was something to be found at the end of it. Call me an opportunist. I hopped onto the counter. Tilting my head, I realized if you removed the claws, fangs, subterfuge, this felt familiar. I imagined a kitchen. Countertops crowded claustrophobically with congratulations and community love. A bare room that felt like bustling potential and a new lease on life rather than a pit stop. I scooched closer, crossing my legs to wedge between an imaginary dinette set and unpacked vacuum- She knew me by now. Too well. I could see it when her shoulders tense, her eyes snap to meet mine. ’Don’t-’ All that mattered was that her subconscious beat her to it. “So if you're promoted soon…” I rehearsed. “How are we going to celebrate?" Finding no room there, he crossed his legs instead. She was unpacking a mess. An obstacle course of bins, stacked impossibly high. There was no space except the marble. Adria had a hard time throwing anything vaguely sentimental out, and the collective town of Ashwater sent her off with enough supplies to stock a bunker. In lieu of helping (as he had invited himself over to do) he read over her acceptance letter to the Modena Police Academy three times over. He had the message memorized, and its creases too. The edges were folded from her happy dance, and the text smeared from her tears. How many Shakespearean ways could he recite it to her? How many ways could he decree her new title? The answer was a lot. But when that stopped being fun, he asked. "Soooo with this new promotion.” He slid closer. “How are we celebrating?" This came after a mandatory lunch. 5 box milestone. 15 minute break, then a ten. Finally dinner, and now a catch-all celebration. She looked up at him grinning, arms full of silverware. She was hopelessly behind, and would’ve had the place done at noon on her own, but what could she say? "How about we celebrate by...unpacking the kitchen?" "C'mon dep- oops." "Detective." “Detective Kyriakoulopoulos.” He waggled his brows. “It’s time to party! One does not become the most esteemed detective of the wild, formidable city of Modena every day.” "Not yet!" She swiped the letter. Before he could protest- talking with his hands, like he always did- she grabbed them, effectively silencing him. He was pulled to the floor, where his strategy switched. He hooked both arms around her waist, pulling her in. She’d weakly protest. "Come on,” She said, not fighting it. “I need to make it look like I got something done. My family is coming over tomorrow." "And they're going to be real disappointed if they don't have anything to unpack.” He grinned. “Think of Basil and Elyse, all bored. They want to help." “And you don’t?” "...Champagne?" When she came to I was off the counter. It'd been days since her last episode. Weeks. So few and far between, on days where she was kicking some guy’s teeth in, I worried they were gone for good. But she blinked. I held my breath for the fallout. Only she saw these memories, but I felt them. I lived in them every time her eyes went dark, when her lips twitched, and I knew she was following the subtitles. In those quiet moments where the pit of venom in her heart receded, Adria crawled back from her grave. Always in painfully brief snapshots, but she was there. These were the tick on her EKG, the surge in hope telling me she was still alive, under all the cruelty and malice. She didn’t receive them as well. She never did. They hit like a jackhammer. No matter how light, they weren’t her life, they were fake, and she didn’t give a shit about them. Getting as worked up as I did was a small betrayal but one I couldn’t resist. She hated me for it- But still. She was quick to tell me how useless I was when she didn’t oblige. How I would mope for weeks if she couldn’t recite this ‘stupid fantasy’ back. It was the only thing I had, despite promises I’d made to the contrary. We never said it, but we both knew. "What did you see?" I asked, breathless. She dug the heel of her palm into her eye socket, burrowing into it like she’d scrape it off her retinas. “No.” She growled, low. "Adria..." I begged. “NO, Demetrius.” She snatched the blueprints. “I don't have any time for this shit today! I have work to do." “Please.” "Mission. First. Are you going to come with me or not?" The answer was a given. - - - Under the cover of night, we hit the docks. I wasn't given the specifics. That wasn't to imply they did, because they didn't. Wrath demons maximized their shadiness. We never had any idea what we were walking into because Buné expected us to handle it- especially his aspiring lieutenants. There was no hand holding. We had a location, a number, and a time limit. Be a good soldier, and that's all there was to it. Adria corralled us to a neighboring container ship. The ship Buné marked- The Sandfly, an antiquated naval cruiser- bobbed beside us. We were to board, grab our shit, and leave. Casualties didn’t matter. Fifth didn’t care about getting dirty if you had something to show for it. Even so, sneaking past enemy lines didn’t mean a thing when there was friendly fire. She and her ‘team’ had been trading blows the whole way here. One lost a tooth, another revived an ancient blood feud, and a third tried for Adria’s head in a manner that was custom. He was promptly put down. "ENOUGH," Adria slammed him into a metal wall. Spines chipped on impact, and the wall buckled. It wasn’t the first time she cracked a bone on her own soldiers, and she never laid hands on them without leaving something to remember. His wound audibly sizzled and but it was so routine no one revelled in the example. "ALL of you are idiots, but if you want to live, get your shit together NOW. Buné does not care about you stupid peons, and I don’t even remember your names! Do you understand? You're fucking expendable." Three grumbled reluctant acceptance. The forth hissed from the ground. Her patience was thinner than mine. I stood idly by, impassive to the petty demon squabbles. They tended not to mess with me. Not seriously, anyways. They didn't care for me being here. I couldn’t escape errant comments but I never cared about hecklers. Adria abraded anyone who tried harder, and operating under her coriaceous wing meant I learned how to defend myself. Procedural power-grabs out of the way, we moved as a group to board. Those with the spare limbs to do so glided to the bridge with no problem. I needed the extra help- not without snide remarks but Adria shut them up with a heel through their feet. We convened on the other side, up to five injuries before mission start. "I go in first.” She debriefed after egos were bruised, and rebellious spirits squashed. “On my command you will join, one at a time! Any sooner I'll kick your ass back down to Hell. I want us in and out, no showboating. Understood?!" "Yes." They said. No one was ignorant of how important this mission was to her career. She told me on the way here she’d bury anyone who stood in the way. But I was the one interrupting this time. "No-" I said. "Wait." I held a hand to the wall. Nonsensically I felt comfort since boarding- and not because Adria held me by the waist to fly me over. I felt warmth. A metaphysical type. One that replaced the ever-present rotting in my chest I've come to associate with Adria (it’s an acquired taste, psychologists would claim). Whatever this ship was emitting- this cloying homesickness- couldn't be good. My disruption was met with the usual scorn. Special privileges meant I could speak out when others got a boot to the face. She took any input from me during these missions seriously. For reasons that were obvious- I didn't talk much otherwise. "What?" I moved my palm with the wave of energy. The feeling persisted down the entry hatch, and upward, as if part of the ventilation. “Let me go in first. I think it's a trap.” "Of course it's a trap. What else would it be?" The other demoness on our team spat. "Since when is your pet calling the shots?!" "He's going to get us killed." It wasn't unusual for members of her meathead party to be disgusted when I said anything. Perks of sleeping with the boss; I had seniority, even if it didn't align with their thug rules. One bland look and she threw out their objections. "Back off!” She snarled, slapping them behind her.“He's going first." "But-" "No arguing!!" I dipped inside. Their fragile hierarchy devolved into fighting. Stealth was never part of their operation but Adria had been in the game long enough to hold off all four. I padded down the corridor, unconcerned, and tracing the path. The ship was a relic of the past. The whole thing was corroded ceiling to floor, suffering a carmine splattering of rust. Stairs were welded grates, and the doors were embedded with port holes too scratched to see through. It was an asbestos goldmine but I wasn't looking for the ways it'd kill a person. Where the heat ended, the nauseating rot of corruption was back, even if I knew our team was far behind outside. Demons. "-Two of them are in." A radio transponder scratched. Sound feed bounced off the metallic halls. Luckily, I'd been quiet. "She's not." "What's she doing?" Said the room's inhabitant. "Standing guard?" I slid around the door frame. His back was to me. He flicked a lighter in his hand, reclined all the way back in a dubious office chair. On, and off went the flame, prompting me to look above. What I was feeling above was the sprinkler system- conveniently blocked in this room. As tempted as I was to trip a holy water shower, knowing she'd be safe, I knew better. "Yeah." Said the radio. "Seems like it." “She's not one to be a pussy.” "Well she is tonight!" "Maybe she needs encouragement.” He hunched over the command station. It wasn’t modern enough to be outfitted with anything more than ham radio and inscrutable dials. I approached from the behind. I wasn't armed. I never carried anything on me because I never came on these missions to do anything but protect Adria. Anything that could truly hurt her was beyond a pistol or rusty shank. “Shake down one of her lackies, make it real loud. She'll come running." "While you're in there and I'm out here?" The conspirator barked a laugh that crossed the feed like a spike in static. "Hell no. She isn’t known for her patience. Give her time." I wasn't going to. I gripped the back of his chair. Using all 150 pounds to my name, I tipped it. It's wheels spun out from under him. He crashed into the floor, the collision ringing out like gun fire. I took advantage of his momentary disorientation to stomp on his wrist. "What was that?" The disarmed radio chirped, fuzzy. "Was that them? Are they in?" It earned a good kick under the desk. Volume whirred as it spun, revolving on the tile, but safely dispatched. By the time I turned to him, he'd gotten to his feet and was bracing for me. Rigorous training meant I knew how- in theory- to respond to hand-to-hand combat. I was no natural. I didn't have the years of combat these guys did. I didn't have to fight my way out of a sewage pit to survive. I had the eye for one move at a time, not chains. I thoroughly leaned on what she taught me. Eye which foot was forward, recognize where he was putting his weight, while minding my own. So while I was able to lean away from the first hook he threw my way, that's where my advantage expired. The second his fist whirred through the air past me, his leg compensated for the dodge and lobbed the office chair into my knees. No matter the power behind it, in our cramped space with plush seating, that move was good for nothing except bruised knees. She taught me to be skeptical- so as I stumbled awkwardly back, my hands flew up to my face. He hopped the chair. Feinting for another hook, his opposite hand drove heavy punch to my gut. The small, obstacle-ridden area did not give him much of a charging period for momentum but he wasn’t exactly lanky or baby-soft. It hurt- God, it hurt- but pain meant a lot less when you could habitually heal faster than the damned. My block fell to latch onto his forearms. I grabbed him before I could go down. I was winded but he was wailing. I fired them up- I pumped wave after wave of bright energy into his forearms, clinging for dear life. Contrary to the way I set this fight up, I have nothing flashy. Months under her tutelage taught me none of her instinctual killer moves, technique, or style. Maybe for a lack of trying but this was it. My God-given and only finisher- it never failed me before. Why would I stop now? My ribs just stopped aching when he bucked. He took three solid jerks to try to rip my arms out my sockets. All failed when I kicked at knees, and hung off his arms like my next kick was going for his gut. It didn't- he'd drop me, and Adria swore that loss of balance is deadly. Instead I bowed and jumped, headbutting for his jaw. He tucked his head to protect his throat. I got his nose instead, but noted from pitch of the swear, I was doing a whole lot more damage from the arms. I seeked to remedy that. Before I could go for another, he dissolved the height difference and dropped. He twisted- twirling under my arms like a grade school dance. Just when my arms were at the apex (having never let go- his arms were gruesomely soggy in my grip) he jutted up. I arched across his back, then over his shoulder, into the air, and then on the floor. I crashed into the ground dazed, lifting my head just in time for his spined tail to pull a filing cabinet drawer into my temple. It was a miracle I stayed conscious. The collision whited out my vision. Pain lanced through my brain like an electric volt, my head humming. But I didn't need to see him when I could feel him. Those senses worked on another level. I blindly reached out. I found his leg, one hand after the other. Forgoing healing, I devoted every spare bit of Holy power into a lateral pull-up that caved his calf between my fingers. The splitting headache motivated me beyond precedent. His flesh squished, bowing with the pressure fingers exerted like memory foam that didn't bounce back. He collapsed. The muscle was rendered useless, and his cry was ear-shattering through the cellar, and the only thing that pierced the intense ringing in my skull. The lighter fell out of his opposite hand. I swatted that under the desk, too, to join the radio paging frantically for updates. They were right; she would come running when she heard us. I felt her now. "You were going to kill her." I pulled myself to a slouch, hand slipping on the rustle of papers and demon grease of my palms. “You were going to kill her.” He was emerging blearily through the spots in my vision. His hands hovered over his disabled calf, unable to tend to it after I shaped it into an apple core. "What do you care?” He half-cried. “For fuck's sakes, you're the fucking laughing stock of the whole circle. The bitch calls you her pet-" She did that in front of me. "She thinks you're wrapped around her finger!" And she does. Glow from my hands reached my elbows, reflecting in his inverted eyes like cataracts. "Remind me why you care about our relationship?” "Relationship? Is that what you call it?" His leg wobbled. While one arm reached for leverage, the other was after something in his back-pocket. "She's using you. She doesn't love you." She says that to keep up appearances. I followed him to his feet, unconcerned that my vision hadn't fully returned. This fight wouldn’t last much longer. "You were going to kill her." I repeated. "What happens when you fall, huh? What happens when this catches up to you and you aren't worth shit to her anymore? When she has no use for y-" My eyes flicked upward one second before her hand plunged through his neck. Knowing just the way to circumvent his spine, four fingers wiggled through the opposite end of his windpipe. Venom bubbled out his mouth before blood did. Poison seared canals through his lips. Chips of his eroded teeth landed in his lap. His body tipped. "What's with you and talking to them?" She snarled, irritated. She flicked excess onto his back. His final syllables gurgled into the tile, and my power guttered with it. "You were wasting time. You should have taken care of that!" "Sorry," I said, still. I got around to healing my temple, clearing up the humming. Just in case she had anything to refute about what she heard. She didn’t. "What's I say? No time for playing around. Let's go." - - - Shortly after taking care of the riffraff, we had the cargo. It was delivered back to Buné at once. Theoretically this was supposed to prove Adria was competent at not just societal overthrow, but leading too. I didn’t care enough to join that meeting back. I went straight home to cook dinner and mentally prepare for disappointment. When she returned, she slammed the door as per usual. I had dinner on the way, and was wrestling a can opener for dessert. She wasn’t immediately razing the town so it must’ve been good news, despite the firm set of her brow implying the contrary. “What’s the word?” I asked, confused. "My coronation is tomorrow." “...For lieutenant?”

Her promotions thus far have been unceremonious. ‘Now you don’t have to live in the mire,’ ‘Now we won’t beat the shit out of you,’ ‘Now you don’t have to work minimum wage to support a zombie apocalypse.’

"I didn't picture Buné to be one for fanfare." "Yup." "That's- that's great! Isn’t it?" "All that's left now is to get rid of everything holding me back." I frowned. She said it so cold. So sterile, and she hadn’t made eye-contact with me since she walked in. She just threw down her brass knuckles and kicked off her boots under the table.. "-Me?" She snorted. "No, not you." For the barest of seconds I felt relief. With the way fifth worked, that probably meant axing some a big cat, or turf-war over a street above ‘sea level.’ It concerned me as much as any of her new hobbies. But that relief turned to restlessness, and that restlessness to desperation now that we were both here, back in our quiet kitchen, absent of screaming and bloodshed. It was 2 AM and this time was traditionally ours. “What did you see?” I asked. “Earlier I mean.” She glared, snapping out of whatever she was daydreaming about. “You think you deserve that?” I didn’t respond. “You didn’t even take care of the scraps today. You acted like that guy was going to make you cry.” I looked back at her. Looking at her like this used to make her face fall. Back when she felt things like remorse or concern. This Adria held her ground, yielding only when dinner was going to burn. “Whatever. You can make it up to me tomorrow.” “For your coronation…?” “Yes.” She knew how I hated going to demon things. “It’s not going to be in Hell.” She elaborated, when it must’ve been apparent on my face. “Where then?” "Ashwater." I stopped, pot boiling behind me. "...What? How is that what’s holding you back? You want nothing to do with it." "Buné's orders. He wants to make sure. You coming or not?" "Of course.” I said, my conscious late to catch up. Funny how it deteriorates with disuse. “It’s not going to be a team thing, is it? “Nope. You and me. Just how you like it.” “Good.” - - - That night when she showered, I stole her phone. This was double suicide. She'd kill me if she found out, and she'd kill who I was talking to for good measure. If that happened she'd rot in Hell forever, and they would never have a chance. She'd never have a chance. I ducked outside, and shut the sliding glass door behind me. I cowered behind the curtains. Finding the number required an incognito tab. I punched the number through the cracked glass, and prayed for an answer. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon-" I beat against the balcony rail. It was several painful seconds of ringing, but at the third note, I had an answer. "Hello!" She answered, drowsy. "Ashwater Cottage, Margie speaking!" "Margie!" I cradled the phone with both hands. "I need you to pass on a message. Now." "Huh-?" Her sleepy customer service persona dropped. In the background, a Gilmore Girls rerun muted. "Who is this? I don't understand-" "Get the Kyriakoulopoulos' out of town. I don't care how you do it. I don't care where they go. But get them out of Ashwater. All of them." "What-?" "They are in danger," I swore, wishing she could see my face. I couldn't intone the right amount of peril. Not with Adria listening one thin motel wall away. "But they're in danger if you tell. Trust me on that." "Who is this-?" "It doesn't matter." "Deme...?" She faltered, in disbelief. "Deme? Is that you?" I squeezed my eyes shut. "Just do it. Please. It's their only chance. I don't care if Theo has a gun. It won't help, not against this. It will only make things harder. This is your only warning, for the love of God listen. You're the only one who can help. I trust you." "But, this is- I?" I hung up and blocked the number. - - - The following day we made the drive out to Ashwater. I rode backseat, arms wrapped around her waist. If I had to pick any aspect of our new life to love most, it was this. The very concept of a motorcycle was terror before immortality was in the equation, but this was a way to be close. I learned to love it: it was a way to hang onto her that felt organic. Nothing at all like the way she touched me now. It was a two-hour journey that breaked thirty minutes outside Ashwater. She'd nearly toppled the bike when she jumped off. I held it in place, as she hit up a gas station. She pulled two cans from the saddlebags, and kicked the machine until it caved. It spilled gasoline over her fingers in exchange for a crumpled twenty. "What's this?" "Preparation." I lifted the glass of my helmet. "Preparation?" "Buné says I can't commit without burning some bridges." "Literally, huh." Not necessarily a novel concept in our lives. "Sort of like the hideout?" Her head whipped to me- indignant, before letting it go. Cyrus was never on the discussion table. Any proximity to the subject was too close, but whatever was on her mind disarmed the usual backlash. It gave me a little hope that this is what he meant. Lord knows I'd be more than happy to burn down an elementary school if it meant I was wrong. “Help.” “On it.” Together we straddled four full tanks on the bike. But instead of the compound, our first stop was her old police building. Their town never needed more than two people. It was no surprise when there were no cruisers out front. Cameras were new but our faces were shielded by a thick plate of black plexiglass of our helmets. They wouldn't know how to explain what they saw if they saw it. Demetri and Adria were gunned down at the corner of Lancaster and Franklin. They had a monument in their honor, maybe some ghost stories, but they have been dead for years. Dave, too. She doused the front. She sprayed their unfunded equipment with gasoline.. We watched it burn from the tool shop across the street. Kitschy knick-knacks aside, tourism didn't change the town integrally. Ashwater was asleep by ten. The fire alarm blared, but no one was around for miles. Assistance in arson was no small sacrifice but it’d been gutted of Adria from the inside out. I wondered if she realized the irony of this- burning away a past she supposedly didn't remember. “Why does Buné care about the police station?” I asked, as the front buckled. Electrical equipment I helped fund popped, shooting sparks into the flames. She crossed her arms, staring into the flames. Her expession, unreadable. Adria was never a mystery when it came to her face- I was reading too much into it. There was just nothing there. “It’s not why he cares. It’s why I care.” “You care?” “Not anymore. Come on,” She said, kicking back into gear. “Next stop.” When we moved out to Modena, we didn't leave anything behind. I wondered if she remembered her house on the edge of the property. In her false timeline, it was never hers. She hit the road as a delinquent. In reality it was probably repurposed since her move. Perhaps sold, or given to Celia when she graduated. I wasn't volunteering its existence, and she seemed to ride past it without incident. My gut rolled as we pulled up to her parent's place, though. I was right- even though I was hoping we'd detour. I'd love to burn Cyrus' shit a second time, spit on his memory. I would be just as ecstatic as she was- But she stopped out front, kicking the stand, and parked. No cars lingered in the driveway. There was the daunting possibility Melina's van was in the garage but I needed, needed, to believe Margie worked her magic. "Stop, no." I followed at her heels. My charade broke after she marched up to it in grim determination. "This isn't necessary." "'Isn't necessary'?" She jerked the gas can at the house. Three years ago we enjoyed pie and coffee on the stairs. We listened to Celia's poetry where the gasoline splattered the wood. She was spitefully through, going as far as to break a window for further access. "Those people never cared." "Then why does it matter?" I arced around her as a bodyguard of the front door. "Fuck them. Fuck them all, let's just go. You think he’ll double check a small town in the middle of nowhere? " Tension was heightening. Something snapped. She pitched the empty gas can at the porch, breaking the glass inches from my face. I flinched "SEE? This is what I'm talking about!" She stabbed a finger into my ribs, knocking me back. "This bullshit is why I couldn't get promoted! It's you! It's fucking you! You haven't learned since Mark!" "Me? You said it wasn't-" "Yes, you! You and your stupid, insane sentimentality! This fake life you’re holding onto!" "How is it- NO" She struck a match. I snatched the end in my palm, snuffing it. "Don't." She slapped my hand, grabbed my arm. Bending it in a way it didn’t belong, she slammed me against the door. "What's your hold up, huh?! Spill it.” She threatened. “Give it up. I don’t give a shit about any of this- why do you!" I squirmed. How do I explain? It’s the one thing that’ll bring her back. It’s the last enduring piece of her life that’ll exorcise this monster she’s become. "They cared.” I kept my hands up, placating. "I know you don't want to hear it but they did. J-just go inside. Once. I can see it from the mantle-" I'd burn my whole arm if I had to, I'd throw myself into the fire to spare it. "You'll see the pictures- you don't even go that far ! The halls are covered, Adria. Covered. They have a shrine for you. Remember the school play-? Tree number four? That's how I knew about it." "I DON’T CARE what you think you know! That isn't a thing! It's not a fucking thing, Demetrius!" God, just look to to your left. In the window, where she was smiling. She was missing teeth in a family portrait from the 90's. “LOOK-” "No." Her grip loosened. She lit another, holding it outside of my range. Her nails narrowly clipping it together. "Y-you don't even have to!" My voice cracked. In a spark of courage, I pried her claws and jumped past her. I grabbed the knob. It was locked but that barely can be considered an obstacle compared to the Hell we'd been through. I'd break a window. I'd throw my shoulder out, I'd bust the door in. I'd rob their house, dragging every knickknack onto the lawn like a fucking yard sale to get one memory out of her. Her unhappy childhood wasn't real if there was photos of her playing the recorder at six. She wasn't dead if I could prove she tripped across the stage at her high school graduation, and she wasn't a thug if Melina had clippings framed every time she made the paper thereafter, a hero in their smalltown. "I'll find them for y-" "Don't even think it," she said, icy. "You don't have to come! I'll show you. Buné doesn't have to know-" "NO," She wrenched me inches from her face. "Walking through that door means you're attached to a fucking lie. Are you?" She shook me when I didn't respond. "Are you?! Are you wasting my time?" "No!" "She's dead. You said you understood that so prove it. Prove it, Demetrius." But why are you ignoring the truth? Aren’t you even curious? Don’t you want to see? The look in her eyes said it didn’t even matter. My fingers twitched on the handle. I knew I didn't care if she lit the building with me inside if it meant I had proof. A piece of our past. Hers was a family of love, encouragement, and support that created the most perfect being I knew, but this Adria didn't understand that. Her eyes were heartless and black through the tinted glass. She didn't care if anyone was inside. She didn't check. She’d be just as quick to dismiss cold hard proof as planted evidence of my delusions. Either that, or that Adria was never something she wanted to go back to. I swallowed and let go. My arm dropped to my side. "So." I said, numb. “What's the plan?" She knocked me aside. I stumbled to the other side of the porch. "We get rid of it. Just like the police station." "Great." I said, hollow. "Not so fast." She jammed a tank in my chest. I looked down at it. The acrid scent burned my eyes, even through the helmet. "What?" "This is a test for you." "I don't understand-" "You care a lot more than I do. Clearly." She started at me, cold and hard. I was one wrong answer from failing. “...Fine.” Without taking the time to acknowledge what I was doing, I shook the gasoline over the house. Thinking about it meant I’d see my Adria smiling back. In her uniform, at attention from the living room. My heart twisted. I dropped the light. It went up in minutes. Heat buffeted my face when I lifted my helmet. I hoped physics of some sort would spare the pictures in the frames, maybe a magnet on the fridge but in truth I wasn't looking at them right now. I staggered back to where she was sitting in the dirt. Legs crossed, she watched it burn. We answered everything with fire. It wasn't a stretch to want something out of this. The optimist, opportunist in me says it can't be a waste. I needed something. Anything. Anything that reassured me I didn't sever my own past in the process. I needed to know I wasn't throwing away all physical evidence. Everything that could bring her back. Her memories took shape in the stupidest things. Like a touch at the theater or stupid joke in the car. I pleaded for her to see something . But she watched on with no emotion. No bitterness, no remorse- Nothing. Perfectly blank. Perfectly alien. Her head tilted as we smelled the rubber dripping of Damon and Elyse's bikes, leaning against the side. I breathed in the ash of her destroyed home. I buried my head in my arms. shutting my eyes tight. There was numerous moves I could make here. So many callbacks to the formative flames that made us who we were- 'Fancy meeting you here.' 'Just like that?' Just any time we won. How we reacted with humor, conquest, and of course. Fire. But this wasn't the same. We stayed. We sat there until the roof crashed into the lawn. "Did you wanna know what I saw?" she said, after I'd gone quiet for too long. The smoke in the air was turning to a different scent. Chemical. I imagined this meant the kitchen was up in flames. with it, all of the kid's art, and Melina's recipes. "Yes," I answered, muted. She had removed her helmet. Her green eyes reflected the fire monstrously, until they adopted a brownish tint. Her braid- dark, but not black, fell across her back. Messy, but in the way I remembered it. My heart skipped- the first real thing i felt in a solid hour. "It was a small one." She said. "The first time you held my hand." I picked my head up from the grass, confused. That was not the set-up I used. I brought up her promotion. Usually prying was hopeless. She didn't delve deep into these things, as they were never her life, but I had to try. "Tell me about it." I said, quiet She watched the burning building, hugging her knees. For not remembering her old life, she sure was mimicking it. She looked softer as she tried to recall. But too soft- it was forced. "It was easy.” She said. “I just remember how easy it felt. Carefree." The first time I held her hand I was on a lot of morphine. We both survived a grievous monster attack. Carefree was a funny way to put it. I stayed quiet, before I noticed she wasn’t going to go on. "At...the hospital?" "Yes," she said, too keen. "At the hospital. And what happened after. What she said to you then." My eyes slid to hers, suspicion clawing. She must've known how hard it was to look at her. How much this felt like a continuum of her sick trial. "...The first time she accepted a date, to Jo's? Once we were both patched up?" "Yes." My breath hollowed within my chest. "Yeah." I said, dead. "We always were saying how she had the best coffee in town, didn't we?" "Yup." I buried my face in my hands and laid on the ground, wishing I could sink into the dirt. It took salt in the wound to realize this isn't who I was. I wasn't a man who lived in the past. There was always something new and exciting ahead. I thrived in the moment, and I planned five paces ahead, but this is where I've been months. Disjointed. A fraction of my former self, whittled down into core needs brought out of my by Adria. I am not who I should be and this wasn't who she should be. I needed to go. I needed to cut the dead weight and leave. Today was the last straw- that sick joke was it- She's not there anymore. She was gone. My Adria, the one who always knew what to do, my loving, compassionate, spitfire Adria- would be as disgusted by this monster as I am. And the monster I've become, chasing it. This house was a pyre. A testament to the last chance l had. Adria died in Mark’s basement but I was the one who took every last trace and cremated it. But if there was nothing left for me down here, why was I here? I was doing more harm than good. I could have left her memory in peace. I could have treasured that golden smile, those fond memories, and the way she got high of danger- not sadistically drunk off it. I could have mourned, at left her be in her prime. Instead, those memories were being replaced. They were overwrit by violence. How many times could I watch this Adria cave in a head, before I forget how she'd kiss mine? How many times can I watch her lose her temper, felling the world into destruction behind her before I forgot how she'd cry at pound commercials? How many times can I watch her callously disregard the innocent, before I started to forget how she'd stop at nothing to save them all? At what point is there nothing left of Adria, and I am just as complacent in her murder? The answer should have been never but it was already starting. I aided in the apocalypse. I accepted her deal. I torched her parent's house. I didn't know if she knew what I was thinking or if it was some twisted reward for playing by her rules but she leaned into my shoulder. Her lips were parted, enough to feel the heat of the threat without the intention. I looked to her mouth. Fangs she forgot to hide pressed against the bottom, the pitch black shine reflecting the flame before she licked away the venom. I wasn't looking at my Adria's face. I was staring at a choice: what felt nice versus what was right. But what felt right and what felt right didn't co-exist outside of us. It was learned- and she taught me that yet this year of living off scraps took it back. Without Adria I regressed to where I started: selfish man driven by whims. If I held onto nothing but the way she make me felt, I could have saved her. If I remembered how her embrace was rough, but tender I'd know this Adria was an imposter. If I had held onto nothing except the way she felt against me, I'd reject this monster that gripped me obsessively like a vice. But I didn't. In these long months I forgot it all. I couldn't bring myself to do without, because even a cheap imitation was something. And eventually- everything. I collapsed on the grass, dragged by her hold. She held me against her, rolling until her wings blocked out the firelight. Until the smell of Hell replaced the Melina's singed garden. Until the possessive traction of her lips made me forget I was kissing this demon on Adria's grave I was never going to leave.

#i was going to hate myself if i didnt do anything during qurantine #bitch!adria #bad end #took long enough ):#story

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