#something something “change religion and circles” something something “spirals are like circles that refuse to conform”
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justanotheryellowsoul · 8 months ago
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Spiraling
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Time continues forward, whether you want it to or not. But it does not go in a straight line like it should.
It circles. It loops.
Back to the start. Begin again and again.
Things repeat.
You. Repeat.
It's suffocating. Stagnating. There is no change in this. Everything is the same- everyone is the same.
Except for you.
If you change, then so do they. New words, new paths. Different, all different and new.
Time marches forward. Then it drags you back.
No, not- not back. Because you remember. You are not the same. The things that you have done, that you have witnessed, they would be erased if time were truly circling.
It's not a circle at all, not really. Not when you keep adding new dialog. Keep mixing things up and pushing for new ways out.
Time moves forward and then drags the hand of every clock back, but not you. Never you.
You cannot change who you are. What you are. But you can keep changing the story. Keep altering the narrative.
Change is in your nature, rooted in your being. If you cannot change yourself, but you are also all that can change... You must find a way to keep diverging these characters. To keep time moving.
Afterall, what is a spiral if not a circle that refuses to connect?
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good-beanswrites · 1 year ago
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sorryf im being mentally ill about hallucination event right now SO in the LCSyS au, would there be something like it :o? Like after all of it's over or something, how crazy would it be if Jackalope tried to get them all together just to do one last concert?
Never apologize for being mentally ill about Milgram content 😌👍 We are all in it together 😔👍I'm combining this answer with a reply to @kikithedeceiver (and spiraling out of control from both)
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I've had a lot of ideas about the project being public in LCSyS, but was holding off including it for few reasons – the audience’s voices would conflict with Es as their own character. Knowing the public was watching would change the way the prisoners acted (even if they thought they were acting natural). It’s a long time that the families would have to deal with the public knowing about their loved one’s almost-crime. I also like the idea of this au ending with the prisoners returning to very normal lives. 
Buuuuut it is such a fun idea, and popularity seems an essential part of an actors au. So, I’m not naming this as canon, but here’s a pitch if you liked that idea and wanted to run with it :3
The team doesn’t tell the participants that they’ve been recording/collecting certain material to release. If a translation is left out by accident, the prisoners just assume it’s for a foreign team member – they have no idea how close/far Milgram reaches. 
The third trial begins. The prisoners are inside the prison, and on the final stretch of the trials. On the outside, Jackalope contacts families for signatures to release the material publicly. The team thought about censoring names and things, but seeing current fans’ investigation skills, they knew it was a matter of time before they put pieces together anyway. This may be super illegal but for the sake of the story I’ll say that family consent is enough lmao.
Some of them are easy to convince to sign off on everything, since it can raise awareness for their loved one’s struggles. Muu’s family takes the longest, as it would risk ruining their reputation. (They’re only swayed because it truly is a great opportunity to show off Muu’s talents for those modeling scouts, and she didn’t actually kill anyone in the end.) Kazui’s family refuses to release his info, but Hinako uses sway with her marital status to sign off instead (I pictured things happening fast enough where she hasn’t gotten an official divorce yet). Hinako still struggles with what he did, but she thinks he’s doing something incredibly brave now. I’m not 100% sure what’s going through Amane’s father’s mind, but if the murder really was in line with the cult’s beliefs, maybe he believes that Amane will be be a shining representation of their religion. He wants to show her off as their little golden child.
The experiment is published in its current form: music videos, voice dramas, timeline conversations, interrogation questions, etc. It’s brought to more than just science/psychology circles, though. Jackalope has no shame in marketing it as entertainment, hence the stockholders mentioned. He assures the sociologists that this will be a major breakthrough for them. He tells music labels he's got the new hit thing for them. He leans into the excitement of releases and merchandise in the hopes of gaining attention for the experiment. Needless to say, it works. Even though the audience has no sway over Es’ decisions, they are encouraged to make decisions for themselves on what they would judge each prisoner. There’s the same types of theory/analysis/discourse posts passed around. 
When the trials end, the prisoners are released into the world to find they’re famous. Instead of trudging back to their lives feeling that society hates them, they find tons of adoring fans telling them how much they understand and forgive them. Even if their final verdict was guilty, they have hundreds of voices assuring them that they are loved. That they are not alone. This attention really helps Haruka, Amane, (and maybe Es) who don’t have a good home to go back to. Not only can they reenter society, they are welcomed with open arms. They are looked after and showered in love. Some of the adults realize they want to use this popularity to lead the charge of social change. They create/support projects meant to help people who are facing their struggles.
And of course, there’s the other type of fame as well. Yuno loves answering fanmail and turning her karaoke hobby into a music career. Kazui goes from a life of feeling rejected and disgusting to scrolling through comments upon comments of men oogling him. Mahiru gets offers from fashion magazines and blogs to write up sections about self-love. Amane gets to live out her dream of being a performer, hinted at in her first two mvs. Fuuta is flustered by all the positive attention his appearance/voice is getting. Mikoto… well, I just wish him luck when he opens tiktok…
Which brings us to the live event! The prisoners have tried to keep in touch while adjusting to their new lives as almost-murderers-turned-idols. They’re amazed at how well-recieved the trial songs were. Those were some of their most personal, shameful secrets, and people relate to them? People love singing them?? People want a concert featuring them??? Jackalope encourages them to get together for one last encore. Some are thrilled with the opportunity, others are still nervous about the whole thing. Some think it’s in poor taste, that Jackalope is milking them for entertainment. But with a bit of conversing amongst themselves, they realize they all want a chance to sing like that again, and see each other in one place again. (It’s ironic because in my head Mahiru is the one to convince everyone to come ;--;) 
It’s strange putting on the uniforms again. Es is unsure about putting on their guard’s cloak. But the minute they stop onstage, they’re met with wild applause. They can sing their fears and dreams to a huge crowd and see in real time how it’s reaching others. They hear the cheers after each song. They hear that it’s streamed all over the world. All of them have an absolute blast, and pour their heart and soul into their performances.
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its-warm-in-here · 4 years ago
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Playing Pretend
I’m sorry I didn't get this up sooner. I gutted the end but here’s the first part of the first chapter of a Heisenberg x reader fic that will probably go on too long. This is more of a prolog. No smut yet! Written with a female reader in mind, but I may have versions for both m and f when the final product goes up. Gonna start out kinda fluffy before we get darker. Comments and constructive criticism are always appreciated!
Summary: This summer trip to Romania was supposed to be momentous, life changing, and the bases for your master’s thesis. Too bad the villagers want you gone and this ‘Mother Miranda’ won't even see you. Luckily, you run into a greasy engineer who says he can help.
Or
Karl tries to take a day off from being ‘Lord Heisenberg’ with the cute stranger who wandered into the village. Things only spiral from there.
~2080 words
Miranda loved the yearly festivals. She always made a big show of the village, flowers and banners everywhere. The townsfolk would bring out their best clothing, even if their best was still black and brown. The dreary village would come alive with drinking, dancing and merry making. Even some of the neighboring villages would join in the festivities. The town would be near bustling, the local tavern would be full, laughter and song would echo from the church to the castle.
He hated it. All of it. Heisenberg avoided the celebrations, instead opting to stay holed up in his factory as much as possible. And it wasn't just because of the excess of people, while that didn't help. No, it was an insidious purpose for these gatherings. He exhaled a ring of cigar smoke.
First, boost morale through the village and reaffirm the people's faith in Mother Miranda. Second, and far more insidious, was to widen the flock, to expand her influence and bring in new blood for her experiments. The surrounding towns were just as small and removed from the rest of the world as Miranda's village. Made it easy to bring new blood under her wing. Youth would meet and marry, a drunk or four would go missing, and some of the visitors would become new members of Miranda's community. More meat for her Cadou grinder.
Heisenberg flicked the ash from his cigar and watched it float down before the wind caught it. The early morning view from the top of his factory wasn't bad. It was his own part of the world: no view of the village, the stench of the reservoir was nonexistent, and the most he could see of Castle Dimitrescu was a massive wall keeping their territory separated. Just him and his machines. He took another puff. As much as he planned to avoid today, Heisenberg knew that he would have to make at least some appearance. All the Lords did, even if it was just for a moment. Just another way to show her power; having all of her ‘children’ before the townsfolk. He grimaced at the thought. Târgul de Fete was set to start soon. At least that gave him the morning to get shit done. Heisenberg kicked a bit of metal scrap off the roof and it bounced off the scrap heap below with a ping! before landing in the dirt. He rolled his shoulder. Time to get to work.
---
"Well fuck you too!" You slammed the door behind you.  Why even bother going through the proper channels? No matter what, they turn you down, tell you to leave and treat you like an outcast. You spoke to towns folk, to village leaders, hell, you even wanted an audience with their 'Mother Miranda,' but she refused to even see you! You stormed along the path and the few people that had not made their way to the Târgul de Fete celebration steered clear of you, opting to give you a side eye and shuffle to their destination. All you wanted was to observe their festival, and maybe take a few pictures, but even that was negotiable. You had even offered to leave your camera behind with them for the day. Why hadn't you gone to Sweden with the rest of your class? No, instead you went to some culty, backwater town in Romania!
You kicked a rock, hard, sending it flying into the tall grass. "God Damnit!" This was supposed to have been your thesis! Supposed to be life changing! No, now you were just stuck, miles from any true civilization and being kicked out of some stupid, ramshackle heap, whose plants can't even grow right in a Romanian summer. Some of the plants were barely green, most appeared dry or yellowing. The flowers were either wilted and falling apart or hadn't even bloomed. You were no botanist, but you were certain that wasn't healthy.
You kicked another rock, it soared through the grass, but it struck something metal this time before landing with a thud. They didn't want you here, didn't want you at Târgul de Fete? Fine, but they didn't take your camera. Without thinking, you dug the old DSLR out of your bag and snapped a picture of the church.
And immediately deleted it.
You signed. Even if the villagers were a bunch of jackasses, this was their culture and they made it very clear that you were not welcome. Even if they had agreed to all this three months ago. And even if they had called you a bad omen, a poison and a danger to the whole village.  You weren't about to infringe. Crestfallen, you huffed your bag over your shoulder and began the trek back out of town. It was at least a four hour walk to your rental car and a good chunk of that walk was more of a hike. Not like there was much you could do other than leave after cussing out the town speakers and nearly slamming the door off its hinges.
The village had felt abandoned when you walked in, and now that everyone had headed off to a celebration, the village was positively desolate. No traditional brightly-colored dresses or intricate belts to be seen. And no wary or hostile glares from the inhabitants either. It was... quiet. Aside from the occasional crow, you might as well have been in a ghost town. It took you a bit to find the correct path out of the grave yard, but after spinning in circles for a good moment, you pushed past a red door and were back on your way. The village wasn't large, most of the paths were poorly maintained and the whole place was enveloped in a strange fish smell.
You bit the inside of your cheek. This was a good thing, really. Who would've wanted to stay in the ramshackle place for more than a few hours, let alone a few days? You groaned and kicked at the ground again. While not lacking in repellent attributes, the pagan worship of the place fascinated you.  They had their own religion but had incorporated traditional Romania holidays into their culture. Where else in Europe could you see that happen in real time? Of course, you could think of a couple of places, but you had picked here in the Carpathian mountains in particular! While you did have a second choice, you couldn't stop the self pity from setting in.
Ugh.
The village was relatively small and was quickly fading to forest, the castle that overlooked the town vanished behind you as you shuffled down a particularly steep part of the path. The trees here looked more normal, less sickly. While it was only marginally, you felt a bit better, a bit less mad. Stepping away from that place was a breath of fresh air.
Your boots skid a bit as you reach a flat spot. With a huff, you grip both backpack straps to center yourself.  If this couldn't be your thesis, that didn't mean you had to hate the walk. This was Romania afterall, when was the next time you were going to be here? The sky may be overcast, but it sort of added to the eerie charm of this place. You sidestepped your way down another steep incline, using one hand to grip overgrown branches for balance. The last step is a bit further, but you find your footing easily.
And the rock gave way under you, tilting forward with an abrupt grinding sound. A burst of panicked adrenaline rushed through as you struggled to stop. You pitch forward, stumbling over branches and underbrush, your eyes forcibly losing focus.
"The fuck?"
That wasn't your voice. You slammed full force into something, another body? And it gives under you. The other person takes the brunt of the fall, landing on their back with a distinct, "oof."
For a moment, you don't speak, too focused on catching the breath. Finally, your vision swims back and you find your voice, "Damnit... are you ok?"
The man under you goans, sitting half way up to look you over. His hair is grey, and a bit too long, but he couldn't be any older than forty, possibly younger. "Get off." Your eyes go wide and that panicked beat fills your chest. "Ya deaf? Off."
"Er, right," you scramble to your feet and, without thinking, extend a hand to the stranger, "Sorry about... that." You gestured vaguely to the path. "Lost my balance."
He lets out an exasperated huff, and knocks your hand away. For a moment, he doesn't acknowledge you, instead retrieving something from the grass behind him. He's wearing a loose linen shirt, sleeves rolled halfway up with black leather gloves. You force yourself to look somewhere, anywhere else, nervously bouncing from foot to foot. When he turns back to you, he has a tattered, wide brim hat in place and is looking over a pair of broken sunglasses. One of the lenses was clearly shattered, but he hooked them over his shirt collar, his attention finally turning to you. "You're not from around here, huh?”
You couldn't help but snort, "What gave it away, the wind breaker? Don't worry, I'm leaving."
"Leaving?" He repeats.
You start moving back to the path. "Yup, your village speaker has made that very clear."
"They were clear? Not all back and forth on it?" He chuckles, "That's impressive, they must really not like you."
You stare at him, was this a friendly face? It was certainly a handsome face, even with scarring and stubble. But a trustworthy one? "You sure you're ok? Didn't scramble that brain when I ran into you? The rest of the town was pretty dead set on driving me out."
" 'Cause they're a bunch of morons, sweetheart," he insisted, "All part of Mother Miranda's big, idiot mob."
"Huh," you are walking ahead on the path, and he's not but a footfall behind you.
"But they don't matter."
"No?"
"What matters is, why didn't they want you here?"
You stop, turning to face this stranger. He was gruff, and more than a little rude, but in comparison to the townsfolk, he was downright friendly. Hell, you were surprised he was so forward with you.  "Masters thesis," you put plainly, hoping he'll leave it at that.
"On what?"
"Anthropology."
He leaned in close. He wasn't that much taller than you, but you couldn't help but move away from his imposing figure. From this distance, you could smell motor oil and some kind of smoke on his clothes. "That's it?" You scoff, the sooner you are back in your car the better. "I just mean, it's surprising they'd want you gone. You sure there's nothing else? Didn't kick over any goat statues?"
"Not that I noticed," you started back down the path. You'd wasted too much time talking to this weirdo anyway. Just based on his demeanor and dislike of the rest of the village, you wonder if you'd maybe tripped over the town pariah. He certainly wasn't dressed like anyone else from the village.
"I could get you back in."
You stopped, not fifteen feet from him. "You're assuming I want to go back in." And didn’t you? You just risk getting yelled at again. But if there was a chance to write your thesis...
“Well, if you're not interested,” he turned to leave. You grit your teeth, your nails digging deep into your backpack straps.
“Hold up!" It doesn't take much to catch up to him. "How exactly are we going to do this?"
"My word carries a certain amount of weight," he carried on, "Though,  the village doesn't meet on these matters till next week."
"But what good does that-"
He isn't listening, "For today, I know a place you can watch the town. Besides, you're an Archeologist, you probably want an interview, right?" Of course he gestures to himself with a sort of half bow.
You roll your eyes, but still follow, "Anthropologist." He gives you a blank look. "I'm studying Anthropology, not Archeology."
He doesn't seem to care, instead pulling a cigar and lighter from his pants pocket. "Got a name?"
"Oh, (y/n). You?"
The stranger is part way up on the path you had tripped down. "Karl," he had extended you a gloved hand. You look from him to his hand, before brushing past him, pulling yourself up next to him without the offered aid.
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elefics · 5 years ago
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torment / chapter 5
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A/N: I’ve barely proofread this, sorry if it’s a little wack (also the ending is a bit rushed, I ran out of motivation lmao). Thank you for the love on this fic!!! I appreciate it sm :’))
word count: 2.8k
The café was practically empty. Streetlights shone in from the sidewalk outside. There was one bald man guy behind the counter, who took orders and cooked all at the same time. When the cook called me sweetheart with a leering grin, Michael’s hand snaked around my waist protectively. I liked the feeling.
A few yawning men stumbled in occasionally for coffee, but other than them, we were alone in our booth by the window. The light inside was warm, casting Michael’s features in gold. I couldn’t take my gaze away for a second.
Michael ordered the French toast. I went with pancakes. We sipped coffee in contented silence for a while, before he finally spoke.
“I know you feel weird around me. Why didn’t you say anything to them?” Michael asked, tilting his head slightly. I thought of Cordelia and the way she crumpled to the ground earlier.  
“To cover for you. Take some heat off.” I replied instinctively.
“Cover what? What do you think is going on?” His eyes darkened.
I shrugged. “I know something’s going on. I know there’s more to you. I just haven’t figured it out yet.” I waited for him to explain; I was tired of guessing.
He hesitated, tearing at the corner of his napkin and biting the corner of his lip.
“I need you to tell me, Michael. If I know what’s happening, I can protect you.” I said, meaning every word of it.
He smiled softly, grateful. “There’s just too much to explain,” He sighed. “I don’t know how to.”
“Michael Langdon, prince of debonair, doesn’t have the right words?” I teased.
He rolled his eyes. I spotted a tiny tremble in his fingers as they interlocked with mine across the table.
“How about we start with questions. How goddamn old are you?” I asked, smiling. I was getting sick of my own voice asking the same question, over and over.
“It’s complicated. I don’t age like...you.” Spotting my confused look, he continued. “I don’t age in human years. I guess I’m something like twenty, but I feel…ancient.” He sighed with the weight of a thousand years on his breath.
Maybe it was the nerves, but I burst out laughing. Michael’s brow furrowed, and I saw his walls going up right in front of me.
“No, no, Michael I’m sorry. Human years?” I asked.
“This is stupid. I can’t.” His jaw clenched as he stared out the window. I watched a nerve in his temple jump as he avoided looking at me.
I said, leaning my head closer to force him to look at me. “Hey, I have all night. I’m here.”
“I think it’ll be easier if I show you. Can I?” He asked, taking my hand in his warm ones.
I nodded slowly, my pulse racing. His skin seared against mine, but I refused to pull away. Michael closed his eyes and exhaled slowly through his nose. In seconds, I sunk through the ground into darkness.
Through the murky blackness, I saw a small child, covered in blood.
I heard a deep voice whisper, snake-like, behind his ear: kill, kill, kill. I saw dead animals across the child’s bedroom floor, and how he used their insides like finger-paint. I felt his ears burning, then pure rage. I felt the sticky warmth of the priest’s blood on his hands.
I felt the stares of other kids his age prickling the back of his neck, the feeling of being watched like a tiger in a cage. I felt his bones crack and stretch, aging a decade overnight. I felt the ache in his chest when his grandmother feared him. I felt his fathers abandon him, his birth mother ignore him. I felt the terror, the longing for guidance. I felt the darkness creeping in when he was lost, when he felt he had nowhere else to turn. I felt a void.
Then, I felt the searing heat of the dark room, and heard the circling crows outside, as the hooded people came. I felt sleep in his eyes as he stumbled down the stairs. I felt how their admiration made his heart soar. I felt how he finally, almost, maybe…belonged.
When Michael let go of my hand, I snapped back into reality. My breaths came panicked and hard, and I felt tears sliding down my nose. “What was that?” I asked shakily.
“I’m not normal. Not human. My father – he’s bigger than all of that.” Michael’s expression was blank, assessing my every movement.
“Michael, who is your father?” I asked, staring at the table.
“You won’t like it.” He whispered, staring at his cutlery. He didn’t look up.
“What is he?” I asked again, tears beginning to blur my vision.
“Satan.”
Dread filled my insides. Before I could cry or scream or recoil, I summoned that blue light inside me again, filling myself with calm. I tried to keep a level head, for Michael’s sake. I could see his bottom lip trembling and his eyes darting across my face frantically. He needed me right now.
“Are you afraid?” He asked quietly.
“No.” I replied slowly. It was a lie, but I didn’t want it to be.
“I know you are. This is stupid. I shouldn’t have told you that. I really shouldn’t-” Michael was spiralling.
“Miriam,” I said softly, pieces falling into place in my memory. “She’s who you lived with, after your family left?” I asked.
He paused, then smiled and nodded. “She’s the best.”
Talking about Miriam seemed to put him at ease. I was suddenly very aware that he likely had tenfold the power I had and could snap my spine clean in half, if he felt so inclined. Maybe it was a good idea to keep our conversations light. But I couldn’t help myself – I was standing on the edge of the cliff, and I wanted to jump. I had to know what Michael was and break him down to pieces, make sense of every part.  
“And she’s a…Satanist?” I asked, trying to keep my tone level and respectful.
“They just have a bad reputation. It’s about freedom, and choice. It’s about not setting limits and constraints on yourself. Everything is within your reach.” He murmured, lining my fingertips up with his.
An image problem. That’s what the issue was, according to Michael. I knew a little about religion – enough to know what this boy was and what he was designed to bring about. I swallowed fear with every gulp of oxygen.
“I need you to say it, Michael. I need to hear it.” I whispered, staring at the ground.
“I’m the Antichrist.” He said flatly. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. I guess to him, it was. He’d lived with that label, that target, on his back.
I remembered how uneasy Cordelia was around Michael, how she looked at him like he was a freak, an anomaly. If only she knew what I knew. If only she knew I was here now. Deep inside myself, wound tightly between my ribs, I felt like I was committing treason, some crime against humanity. Maybe I was, and just didn’t know it yet. My Supreme – it wasn’t Michael, at least it didn’t feel like it yet – didn’t trust this boy in front of me. But being here, talking and listening, learning about each other, I knew it couldn’t be all true. I’d felt his anguish, viscerally. I’d felt how lost he was. I knew him.
“What does that mean for you?” I asked.
“I don’t know yet. I’m supposed to bring about the end times, but I haven’t gotten my instruction manual in the mail yet.” He said bitterly.
“Is that what you want?” I asked.
His eyes met mine and I saw a flicker of panic in them. Nobody had ever asked him that before, I thought. In that moment, I saw a boy who was so deeply lost, he didn’t even know himself. I saw a boy who wanted to be good, desperately. I saw a boy with a future and destiny imposed on him, but one which he was never really sold on.
“I – I don’t know.” He replied softly. My brain buzzed with questions but was swiftly interrupted.
“Order up,” The bald cook smiled, sliding our plates in front of us. “Beautiful couple, by the way. Enjoy.”
“We’re not-” Michael and I spoke at the same time, then smiled.
Michael didn’t hesitate to dig in – all this talk of fate and apocalypse certainly hadn’t ruined his appetite.
“What about you? What shit did your parents put in your head about your future?” He changed the subject thickly through a mouthful of syrup.
“They thought I’d be a doctor or a lawyer when I was younger,” I laughed. I remembered my toy stethoscopes and the shelves of books I’d often escape into growing up. “Guess that went out the window a few years back.”
“You’re not a disappointment.” He said suddenly, eyes serious. My stomach flipped.
“Never said I was.” I smiled teasingly, but my insides warmed at his reassurance. I had a feeling it was something we both needed to hear, as much as each other.
“Where are they now?” Michael asked.
“My Dad left a long time ago. I barely know him. Mom – Mom doesn’t really talk to me anymore.” I faltered.
Michael nodded, his knee brushing mine under the table.
“Can you see into my dreams?” I asked suddenly, remembering I’d never asked. There were so many other, more important things we should have been talking about, but I had no idea where to start. It was like staring into the sun. All I could do was squint.
Michael smirked, “And change them.”
My mouth fell open. “What else?” I asked.
“I can do lots of things,” He smiled like a proud child. “There’s a lot I haven’t figured out yet, but I can feel it growing, inside me. Like a current.”
“Must be quite a feeling.” I said quietly, scraping my fork across my plate. Silence spread across the table like fog. It was a weird thing to say, and I knew it immediately. It made me look jealous and insecure. Maybe I was. But he didn’t need to hear that.
“You’re a force of nature. I like being around you.” He said simply. I didn’t know how to reply other than to smile.
Michael shifted in his seat. “What are you thinking about?”
“Can’t you hear it anyway?” I asked, rolling my eyes.
“Only when I really want to. It’s like radio static, I have to tune into it to hear clearly.”
“What else do you hear?” I asked softly.
“My father, sometimes. When he talks, it’s like I have no choice but to listen. It fills up my whole skull until I feel like it’ll burst.” He explained.
“Does he talk to you…often?” I asked nervously.
“Not really. There isn’t exactly a bring your son to work day in Hell. We don’t play baseball on Saturdays,” He said wryly, before his expression changed to something more serious. “We’re not that close.” Michael confessed.
I could tell this hurt him. After allowing me into his memories, Michael felt so much more familiar to me. I understood him, at least more than I did yesterday.
“Have you met him? Like in person?” I asked. I thought of my own father and how I’d forgotten if his eyes were brown like mine, or a deep hazel, like Mom’s.
Michael smiled, the way you would at a small child asking you to play with them. “He’s not human, Lyla. He doesn’t have a body. If I did meet him in person, I’d just feel bad for the vessel.”
That sent a prickle of cold anxiety up my spine. Vessel. Hearing him talk about people, flesh and blood human beings, as merely a means to get from point A to point B, was unsettling.
“What are you? Human? Or a vessel, too?” I pressed.
Michael smirked. His hand under the table brushed higher up my knee. I felt goose bumps spring up along the hem of my skirt. “If I was a vessel, could I do that?” His other hand reached for mine, bringing it up to his warm lips to kiss my knuckles softly. “Or this?”
“Yes, you probably could.” I sighed.
“Smart girl. Too smart for me, maybe. Only trouble comes from that.” He murmured. It seemed like a reflection to himself, like field notes on an animal he was studying in the wild.  
I wriggled in my seat, uncomfortably hot under his stare.
“You’re scared. I can hear your blood rushing.” He observed, leaning back against his booth seat. His arms hung loosely – one along the back of the seat and one by his side. God, he was pretty. But the more I looked, the more I noticed: the way his skin sunk back under his eyes, faint greyish circles of fatigue. A tiny freckle on his chin. The sharp curve of his cheekbones. Before long, I was staring back, meeting his gaze without batting an eye. We sat there for a long time in silence, drinking each other in. We weren’t even touching and somehow it was one of the most intimate things I’d ever experienced. I felt like he knew me, inside out and backwards. I felt like I was starting to know him the same way.
“Hey, lovebirds. We close in twenty. Finish your coffee before it gets cold and get out of here.” The bald man called from the kitchen, breaking the spell between us.
Michael blinked a few times, like he was seeing sunlight for the first time in days. I idly wondered what he looked like first thing in the morning, right after he woke up. He smirked like he knew.
Producing a slim black wallet from his pocket, Michael threw a fistful of bills on the table. It was way more than the cost of what we’d ordered, but before I could say anything, let alone try to pay for myself, his hand was around mine as he pulled me into the night.
We walked in silence for four blocks. I counted our steps and tried to keep my heartbeat under control. It was embarrassing that he could hear it sometimes, and that when I tried to read him, all I got was flustered.
“Thank you for paying.” I squeezed his hand after a while.
Michael frowned and shrugged, like he’d forgotten already. He pulled me closer against him, wrapping his arm around my waist. He laughed softly.
“What’s funny?” I asked.
“Nothing.” He shook his head, grinning at the pavement.
“What is it?” I whined, hoping it wasn’t me he found so comical. Like he’d finally realised I wasn’t worth it, an ‘aha’ moment, after which he’d shortly disappear into thin air like a daydream.
Michael stopped abruptly, grabbed my hands and tugged me into an alley. In one fluid movement he had me pinned against a brick wall, his body hot against my skin.
“Lyla, Lyla, Lyla.” He whispered my name like he liked how it felt on his tongue. “What am I going to do with you?” He murmured, his face so close to mine I ached to kiss him.
I stared up at him, only one thought stuck in my mind: I could stay like this forever.
“You know what I am. Why aren’t you running for the hills?” He asked tenderly.
“I don’t buy it. I don’t think you’re as bad as you say you are, as everyone thinks you are.” I said defiantly, jutting my chin up at him.
Michael smiled. “Maybe you’re not as smart as I thought, then.” He hooked his forefinger under my chin, holding my face still with his thumb.
“If you were me, what would you do?” I asked, looking directly into his icy eyes.
“I would go somewhere very, very far away, and never speak to me again.” He whispered.
“Is that what you want me to do?” I asked. His eyes grazed down my neck, then back up to my lips.
“Not at all.” He said. Then he pressed against me, kissing me hard. I thought it was impossible to get any closer, but he proved me wrong every few moments, pushing my back against the cold brick behind me. His lips were soft against mine but his tongue had total control; I was completely dizzy in his arms. His hands trailed to my waist, fingertips tracing and tugging at the stitching of my skirt. My head reclined in pleasure and he took the opportunity to pepper my neck with sloppy kisses and bites. In the shadows of the alley, I wanted all of him, and I knew in my heart he felt the same.
I knew things just got complicated. I knew they were only doomed to get worse. We were different, Michael and I, on molecular levels. I knew this was wrong and that his lips against my neck were some kind of betrayal. But in this moment, I couldn’t care about anything else if I’d tried.
 taglist (i can’t remember who asked to be on here so if you want to be added or removed let me know!): @theneverendinghunger @outpostmichael @leatherduncan @langdons-butterfly-deactivated2​ @angelicmichael @drasangel 
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ejm513 · 4 years ago
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ONCE UPON A TIME IN AMESTRIS: CHAPTER TWO: WHISPERINGS OF HOPE
Chapter One
AN: HELLO MY LOVELIES! SORRY THIS HAS TAKEN SO LONG. I’VE HAD A LOT HAPPEN IN THE PAST THREE MONTHS THAT I REALLY DON’T WANT TO GET INTO BUT IT’S TAKEN A LOT OUT OF ME. BUT I FINALLY REALLY READY TO PUSH ON SO HERE WE GO!
I ALSO NEVER DO THIS BUT JUST TO BE SAFE AND BECAUSE I HAVE A FEELING I’M GONNA HAVE TO DO THIS MORE THAN ONCE... 
TW: FOR TALK OF ABORTION. IF THIS TOPIC MAKES YOU SENSITIVE... DON’T READ I GUESS. 
DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING LADIES AND GENTS SO THANK YOU MUCH!!
CHAPTER TWO: WHISPERINGS OF HOPE
Well Ms. Hawkeye it looks like congratulations are in order. You’re pregnant.”
It was funny, Riza decided, how one sentence could throw the entire course of your life in ruin.
There had been many thoughts spiraling through Riza’s head and emotions charging through her heart after she heard those two simple words.
You’re pregnant ….
First there was utter shock.
Then there was debilitating confusion.
After that came a wave of bitter rage that threatened to overtake her very being.
A bitter shock of cold terror quelled that rage before it had a chance to become all consuming.
And the guilt weighed so heavily she feared it would send her crashing below the surface and steal her breath.
It was only when she was alone in the confines of the four walls she called home something resembling happiness began to bloom. It lingered quietly, hiding in some deep place as if it was an unwelcomed guess no matter how hard she tried to shove it away.
Above all else, there was one singular thought that reigned supreme.
Roy.
Once the news had begun to settle in her bones, the picture of his pale face, ebony hair and dark eyes refused to leave her. She was all too aware of the weight this news held… how dangerous it was. Riza had mulled and puzzled over how to break such monumental news-though it had seemed despite her best efforts, her behavior and simple note had spoken more eloquently than she ever could.
Four hours upon hours she had tried to ignore the fear eating at her. It only worsened the ever-present rumbling and stewing in her stomach. At first, she had walked and walked, praying the thin, clean air would clear her senses. Yet when that same comforting breeze started luring her to a place of cold darkness Riza retreated to her four walls. She dove into books and the quiet companionship of Black Hyate to distract herself from the one worry she couldn’t escape;
________________________________________________________________
How would he react?
“You’re…. you’re….”
“Pregnant?” Riza chimed in, her voice quiet and thin. “Yes. Yes I am.”
For a man who claimed to have known what she needed to say, Roy began to spiral.
Riza watched as his eyes grew dangerously wide. They appeared on the verge of flying out of his skull. His tall, broad frame was visibly shaking. She watched calmly as he ran his fingers through is hair. Somehow, and Riza wasn’t sure how, his midnight mane became even more tousled. It only added to the frazzled, frantic expression on his face. His face paled to bone, his jaw falling into a large circle. If she listened closely, she could have heard his lungs stop and his heart speeding into oblivion.
The man looked on the verge of collapsing. One sudden movement or a gentle gust of wind threatened to break him into pieces. Riza sat up straighter and squared her shoulders once more, prepared to put the pieces back together as she always did. Miraculously, whatever force was holding him together was far stronger than she knew. He stood planted to the ground, even though his quaking frame resulted in weak, wobbling knees. His large, stunned eyes staid fixated on Riza’s anxiously guarded features.
A soft, strangled noise spilled from Roy’s gaping mouth as he gawked at the sight before him.
There was no sign of the changes occurring in Riza. The thin, baby pink cotton covering her made it clear there was still a firm body beneath the baggy clothing. Everything about her appearance was completely and utterly normal. It was so normal that the whole notion seemed to be one horrible, twisted joke. His thoughts rebelled against the notion that any form of life-let alone a life he was partially responsible for-was forming in that flat stomach. He was about to open his mouth to question if she was playing some kind of evil prank to watch him squirm.
Before he had a chance to even speak, Riza did something. It was seemingly harmless and innocent, yet her actions were enough to silence Roy’s childish notion.
Riza retained her infamous stoic gaze and still demeanor. The longer Roy gawked her, the tighter her muscles became and the more strained her face grew. As if her body had a mind of its own, Riza’s hands gravitated to her middle once more. Roy’s eyes slowly trailed her movements, his heart racing faster and faster. She held her arms across her stomach. In that instant her stoic demeanor gave way to a quiet, burning protectiveness reserved for very few souls. She seemed oblivious to the change in the way she held herself. She seemed to act on a deep, strange instinct she was not yet fully aware of.
That simple motion and change in her aura was that final gust to finally break the venerated Major General. It was enough to shatter any illusion this was some foolish notion this was all a twisted joke.
Against all rhyme and logic Roy’s eyes grew even bigger as any color that remained on his strong features vanished. The shaking became so violent it forced his knees to buckle, sending him falling to the floor. His adapt hands gripped on to the top of the couch before he had a chance to completely loose his balance. His chest heaved as he took long, ragged breaths. No matter how deep or how long he inhaled his lungs never seemed to have their fill. They screamed for more air that his nerves rejected at any turn. Naturally, this made his already revolving head even lighter and his thoughts even faster.
One simple sentence in one single moment threw the entire course of life into complete and utter wreckage.
His plans for the country…
His plans to reach for the highest prize of them all…
It would never matter that the late Fuhrer Grumman would have plucked Roy and hoisted him to that throne had it not been for a pesky heart attack. It wouldn’t have mattered that his ambitions were laid bare for the world to see. It didn’t matter that the whispers and gossip had been louder than thunder before the man was covered with dirt. As Roy had made his way through the numb days following Grumman’s sudden passing all eyes had been own him, watching and waiting. Throughout the preceding year he had sat patiently and quietly, waiting for the moment that grew further and further away. After years and years of one single man at the helm, there was a thirst among certain groups in parliament to avoid putting another warm body in that cold throne. A charming if naive notion. He had watched as the parliament and its embarrassingly green prime minister stumbled and fumbled, desperately attempting to uphold the vast changes the late Fuhrer had enacted;
Freedom of the press,
Freedom of Speech,
Freedom of Religion
A policy of Peace and Rebuilding
More and more power trickling down from the military into the hands of the people.
There were always those who clung to the days of old, when one man held the destiny of his land and people in the palm of his hand. They continued to fight tooth and nail against change, and against all odds they never won.
There was only one law all seemed unwillingly to budge on; fraternization.
Roy has seen it many times before; an officer charms his young subordinate. It’s innocent at first, nothing more than little jokes and lightning glances. The looks turn into touching and then the touching turns into lips against lips and then….
The circumstances never mattered. That little look would lead the officer and subordinate to be swept away with all the remains of a shattered career, relationship and life at their feet.
Roy and Riza had been different. Their souls became intertwined in the safety of the shadows, hidden under the minutest of gestures and simplest of words. It was cloaked under code and under far away spots. It was concealed in dark apartments, drowned in laughter and wine.
There was a rush of thrill as they indulged in the electricity that had been humming between their souls for years. It was enthralling to hide under everyone noses as their bonds busted out of the hearts and into something physical and beautiful. They had-so Roy thought-proceeded with the upmost discretion and cautiousness
In spite of themselves and their broken souls, they had managed to create something akin to happiness.
He should have known the laws of the universe would never let a pair with so much blood on their hands and death in their eyes be truly happy.
It only seemed comically natural that their whole lives were about to implode.
“Roy?” Riza said, dropping any pretense of rank and titles of past or present. Her voice was strained and distant, becoming lost within his chaotic thoughts. It did little to break through the armor of shock covering every part of his frame. At first all she received was a bone chilling silence and wild eyes. Then, as if the man had become so tightly wound that standing still was a chore Roy pushed himself up right. The small, barren apartment became filled with boots trampling as he frantically paced back and forth.
“I don’t… I… how did this happen?” He sputtered.
Riza raised her eyebrows, her arms crossing over her chest.
“Roy you are a grown man surely you don’t need me to”
“No no of course I know HOW it happened! But HOW and WHEN?” His hands gripped his hair as his pacing refused to slow or cease. His face was completely manic while he dived deep into his memories and dashed off a few rough calculations.
“It couldn’t have been… no no no but what about?”
Riza could only sigh, her chest filling with tight fear as the man she loved continued to fall apart by the second.
“The doctor said I’m two, maybe three weeks along at the most and due at the beginning or middle of November.” She claimed. As Roy continued to effectively tread the entirety of Riza’s home he gained enough self-control to nod.
“I see. So it was Breda’s birthday party wasn’t it.” He concurred, taking to running his fingers through his hair once again instead of holding on to it for dear life.
“Most likely…. That or the night not long after when we were stuck inside during that freak snowstorm.” Riza conceded, sending out a silent prayer that receiving a piece of concrete information would give his logical, methodical mind something to latch on to. She hoped in turn that simple act would give his soul even an ounce of peace.
He nodded, bringing his fingers to his chin as he always did when deep in thought. His pacing refused to end; his feet as loud as drums. They pounded in her ears, only worsening her already throbbing head. She could see his broad back tensing into one giant knot. Those same shoulders refused to quit their shaking despite the heavy jacket.
The sight sent a sharp, frigid shiver creep up her veins.
There had been one other time, four years before she had seen him fall. In a maze of dimly lit tunnels Riza had watched as Roy had begun to lose himself to flaming anger and scorching revenge. It was only with the barrel of a gun and a vow to end her life once the day was done that wrenched him back from the brink.
Once again, the Major General was in danger of losing himself in her box of an apartment under the rays of a setting sun. Instead of being blinded by red all he could see was the horror of what lied a head, and a life that would never be the same.
Riza felt her heart begin to crack. She automatically shoved the blanket on the floor and rose to her feet, darting to Roy. Her hands reached for his shoulders, to finally force his restless energy to still. Yet just as her fingertips brushed the thick, black coat her stomach flipped. The sudden and quick motions had awoken the storm in her gut, causing it to rage once more. It caused her to freeze as her fingers gently touched the familiar material as her cheeks flushed a sickly green once more. She felt herself began to sway, her fingers gripping tighter to the thick coat as a last attempt to keep her steady.
That weak, stiff touch was enough to freeze Roy’s frantic pacing. He whipped his head over his shoulder. His features were rigid and bone white. His dark eyes were wide with frantic panic and hopeless despair. Riza could feel his shoulder quaking under her fingertips. She felt her heart twist at the sight, her blood beginning to run cold a shiver climb up her spine. Her oldest and most familiar companion, guilt reared its head once again. It bloomed deep in her stomach, growing into an ever larger and heavier force until…
“I’m sorry.” Riza muttered, bringing one of her hands to her mouth. Before her words seemed to reach Roy she was dashing towards the bathroom. She had accidently pulled Roy’s coat with her, letting it collapse to the floor in a heap.
For a moment the Major General could only gawk at the pile of black on the floor as he listened to the sound of his pounding heart. He couldn’t escape the sensation that he had fallen into a dream. The simple furniture he knew so well, the ebony coat he wore day in and day out, even the setting sun seemed otherworldly. His eyes slowly moved to his hands. Even they seemed foreign and bizarre.
Had they been shaking this whole time?
Roy’s eyes twisted shut as they balled into fist once again.
“This has to be a dream. Wake up Mustang. Wake up Mustang. Wake-“
A chorus of shrill barking broke through the white noise blaring in his head. Roy’s head shot up, his eyes facing out to the setting sun. A cold, wet nose against his fist shocked his fingers open once more. Desperate wines and a paw pressing against his leg sent him crashing back to reality. He glanced down and saw Riza’s black and white dog beside him. Black Hyate stared into Mustang’s eyes as he continued to whine. His cold, damp nose pushed against Roy’s hand once more. When that only resulted in a series of stunned blinking, Black Hyate clamped his mouth on to Roy’s ample pants and began to tug.
It was only then that Roy became aware of the horrible retching hanging in the air. His glanced towards the sound and the direction he was being pulled. He laid eyes on the closed bathroom door, all but oblivious to Black Hyate’s valiant efforts to help his master. When another wretch hit Roy’s ears it flipped a switch in his head.
What was he doing?
Why was he standing there falling into pieces when the person he loved needed him?
With that new resolve Roy rushed to the bathroom, leaving Black Hyate in the dust as the dog trotted beside him.
He pushed the door open just as Riza gallantly attempted to push herself to her feet. He could see her arms shaking with the effort as they braced against the cold porcelain seat. Her long blonde strands spilled in front of her face. Her breaths were short and labored, making her back tremble. He didn’t need to see her face to know it had been drained of it’s soft, ivory coloring.
The sight made Roy’s heart begin to splinter and his stomach twist. It was difficult beyond words to watch his strong, iron willed Riza be reduced to such a fragile state. Yet whatever terror and fear that had held him in their claws had been shaken off, if only momentarily. Roy only stood in the door frame for a fraction of a second before he was on his knees, right by her side.
“Don’t stand just yet Lieutenant.” Roy whispered, gently grabbing hold of her shoulders. He moved her slowly and carefully, inch by inch, as if he was moving a slumbering bomb. She felt like a ragdoll under his touch. It was all to easily to move her to his side. He slipped the royal blue coat covering his shoulders on to Riza’s shoulders  before slipping his arm around her and pulling her close.
“Colonel…” She breathed, her fingers wrapping around his white shirt. “I…” Roy slowly ran his hand up and down her arm.
“I know Lieutenant…” He sighed, hiding his lips in her soft hair. Silence fell over the pair as they sat on the cool bathroom floor, wrapped in the warmth of each other’s embrace. Riza fluttered her eyes closed as her breath grew slower and ever more steady. A little trace of pink began to flush her cheeks. She seemed to melt into his side, as if the weight on her shoulders was lifted for one blissful moment. Her lips even twisted into a the faintest of smiles when Black Hyate rested his head on her lap. Life was returning to her features once more.
Yet, as Roy gazed from the top of Riza’s mane, all he could see was her arm resting protectively over her middle. He could not help but allow himself the smallest of smiles into her hair.
“You know something Lieutenant?” He chuckled. Riza hummed, burying herself deeper into his hold.
“You’ve been holding your stomach a lot.” Riza’s eyes lazily blinked open, her face twisting ever so slightly in confusion. Her eyes trailed to her stomach, widening when she noticed her arm resting over her stomach.
“I have?” She mumbled, her eyes glued to her middle. Roy pressed his head against her hair. He nodded and sighed, attempting to hide the growing fear in his features. His hand froze against her arm and gave it a hard squeeze.
“What are we going to do?” Roy’s voice was gentle, weak and tinged with quiet panic.
Nevertheless, the question hung like a heavy cloud over the pair. It had been whirling around Riza throughout the hours, tormenting her and poising to blacken her thoughts. It whispered to Roy in the midst of his initial, debilitating panic, sending shivers up his limbs. It was even more deafening than the silence as all they could do was stare dumbfoundedly. Above all else, as the seconds ticked onward and onward it made them feel smaller and more helpless than the smallest ant.
What are we going to do?
Roy felt Riza stiffen against his side. The weariness that had plagued her pale features became hard and stoic. It was a face he knew so well; it was the face she showed the world. As always Roy could see straight through what would otherwise be deemed an emotionless face. He could see the tightness of her lips and her fingernails gripping to her pajama’s. He could see heavy guilt crashing on her shoulders. Her chocolate orbs became clouded with cold darkness and despair.
It was a look he had thought she left long behind her in the blood-soaked sands of Ishval. It was the same look he saw time and time again during the calm after battle.
Riza pulled her knees towards her and brought her gently laced hands to her forehead.
“After you sent me home, I walked around the city for a while.” She began, her voice low and steady. “I was trying to clear my head or distract myself. At a certain point I remembered the doctor explaining to me there were… options.”
Roy’s lungs paused for a beat as Riza attempted to gather her words.
“I see…”
Riza nodded.
“She also said I’m not too far a long to consider this option. After seeing how… how I reacted to the news… she gave me an address to a place that would do the procedure safely and discretely.”
A beat of silence fell over them as Roy’s frame became tenser and tenser, his heart beginning to feel cold. Riza eyes fluttered shut, taking a moment to sort through the jumble of emotions racing in her.
“I walked to the clinic. I don’t know why… I hadn’t considered going until that moment.  When I found myself at the door it seemed like the only option. But…” her voice trailed off once more, disappearing into the thin air. She lapsed into muteness once more as memories of that moment flashed. Her face took on an of expression pure, unadulterated shame.
“You couldn’t do it.” Roy stated. Riza remained voiceless as her heavy shame slipped into her stomach, weighting her to the ground. The only reply she could give was a sharp nod. Her eyes remained close and her face colored with ashen remorse as her voice began to return to her.
“I…. I walked in and stood there for God knows how long. I… I don’t really know why I left. It would solve everything. I could have gotten it over and done with, take maybe a week to recover and no one would know. It would be easy enough to pretend I just had a really bad case of food poising or a stomach bug. This could have just been some mistake we would never have to think about again. But….” Riza paused, opening her eyes as she gave Roy a moment to say something. She was greeted with nothing but steady, patient silence and an unusually blank expression. When all she heard was silence, Riza gripped the thin, soft material of her pajamas as if it was the only thing holding her together. She only dared to keep her eyes a head at the open door as she continued to speak.
“Well firstly there’s the fact that what I was about to do is illegal and if I had gotten caught the results would have been the same. You would have been unceremoniously discharged at worst, and I could have ended up in jail. But there was more than that. All I could think was ‘How can I take another life when I’ve taken so many?’. My hands and conscious are forever stained with blood, and I couldn’t bring myself to stain them even more. However…” her voice suddenly became heavy and cracked, as if she was trying with all her might to suppress unforgiving tears.
“This is your child…. My child…  Our child… I… I don’t know why… I’m not happy… I can never allow myself to be happy about this… but this is our child and I… I… I don’t know why but… I… I love it. I… just… I couldn’t..” Riza’s voice took on a harsh, quivering edge. Stray tears began to spill down her cheeks as she held her knees even tighter against herself. She remained eerily still as Roy’s thumb gently stroked her cheek, wiping a tear or two from her face. He pressed his forehead against the side of her head, placing a kiss to her cheek bone. It was a blessing Riza only kept her gaze forward. It was all the easier for Roy to hide his own tears that threatened to fall. He wrapped his other arm around her and very slowly began to sway.
“Sush. It’s okay Lieutenant it’s okay.” He murmured.
Roy had no idea who he was trying to comfort, himself or Riza. In the end it didn’t matter who he was trying to sooth, his attempts were wasted. His own heart refused to stop racing and his stomach continued to twist and coil. Riza’s limbs were tense under his hold, her own fear and dread radiating back to him. For a while, they never knew how long, the pair sat in complete and utter silence. Their eyes stared at nothing but the plain apartment spilling out of the open door. Only the sound of Hayate’s steady breathing filled the tense air. The world itself seemed to melt around them. All that remained was the warmth of their bodies, cold tiles and soft fur at their feet.
“This is your child…. My child…. Our Child…”
Riza’s words had sent his heart flying to his throat and all his senses screaming. He found himself blinking rapidly to keep puckering tears at bay. The very idea seemed holy foreign… maybe even unnatural. As he sat on that cold floor with Riza leaning against him, Roy couldn’t escape the feeling he was floating out of his body. The world around him morphed into a strange blur where there was nothing but the snug weight of Riza against him and the sound of the white noise in his head. It roared and blared, causing his head to ache. His limbs were strangely numb and heavy, like dead weights bolting him to the ground. Somehow his hand continued to slowly and gently rub Riza’s arm as if his appendages had a life of their own. Every little action seemed to be controlled by an invisible master pulling a string.
Even his own eyes slipped out of his grasp.
For better or worse his eyes seemed to have a will of their own. Before he had a chance to react Roy’s eyes trailed from the open door to Riza’s stomach.
His mind wanted to recoil at the sight of her perfectly flat stomach. It seemed impossible that anything was amiss with his Lieutenant, let alone that there was a life blooming underneath that flat stomach. He truly wanted to give into the notion he had fallen into some strange and horrible dream. Any moment he would blink open into a world where he wasn’t sitting on a bathroom floor with terror swimming throughout him. He would wake up in a world where everything he had toiled so hard for wasn’t slipping through his fingers.
A dream was the only thing that made sense. After all, in his own brutal reality he would never have a prayer of ascending to Fuhrer if the wrong ears heard whispers of a love child with his subordinate. All of his dreams and honor would be stripped bare. He would find himself back in the shadows once more with nothing but a prayer of one day climbing out or escaping. And Riza… heaven knows what would happen to her. For whatever reason women always seemed to baren the burden and scrutiny of an illicit relationship.
Yet Roy knew it was no dream. The fear and uncertainty clawing at his gut was far too real. The sheer guilt and pain pouring from Riza’s soul was far too unbearable. The hard, frigid tile below him was enough to shatter any illusion of having fallen into a dream. Riza was truly carrying his child… their child. They were truly huddled in an impossibly small bathroom, clinging to each other for dear life. Their carefully crafted lives and tightly held secrets were on the verge of being engulfed and destroyed. She would be forced to do away with the offensive creature one way or another in the cover of tightly sewn lips. Once the evidence was discarded then her life would be finished. If Roy only had a prayer of rebuilding his life, then Riza barely had a hope of coming out the other side. No matter what she did or how hard he would try to help, she would be left to drown in the shadows.
And all because of something that shouldn’t even exist… something that was no bigger than a spec of sand.
It boggled the Major General’s mind how one night of pure pleasure could throw everything into chaos. The longer he stared at that flat stomach the wilder his gut twisted and the louder his mind raced. He wanted to hate the life threatening to disrupt their world. He wanted to do the rational thing and quietly erase their little mistake. He knew he should lift Riza off her feet and guide her too that clinic. He knew he should comfort her and care for her as she healed, and then return to life as if nothing had happened.
More to the point what right did Roy Mustang have to feel any sort of joy or any sort of love? He had destroyed so many lives, leaving countless parents without children and countless children without parents. His hands had taken away the chance for many innocent Ishvalans to experience the thrill of falling in love and the bliss of holding their child.
What right did he have to have a child of his own?
Yes. He wanted to loath their mistake. He truly did.
Yet… as the seconds kept ticking something began to shift. Riza’s words slowly began to take a far stranger and different meaning, morphing into something softer and brighter. The twisting in his stomach turned into flutters. The terror freezing his blood began to warm and melt away. That warmth flowed to his heart, filling every inch of it and slowing it to a soothing rhythm. The white noise screeching in his head began to dim until there was nothing but the sound of gentle breathing. Every part of him suddenly felt lighter and freer.
He suddenly couldn’t escape the notion that, just as Riza had said, that was his child slowly growing inside of her. Even if it was unintentional, it was a life that he had helped create. Moreover, it was created out of a moment of pure exultation and love.
Roy swallowed, his gentle stroking stopping. He let his free hand lumbered towards Riza’s. He watched as it moved to rest on the hand that was still on her stomach, only to freeze and hover above it.
Riza’s brown orbs looked down at that still hand and then back up at Roy. She was greeted with a face as equally strained as it was full of longing. She felt a flutter of hope in her heart at the sight. His tense silence had been deafening and sharp like a knife. Even in her own despair Riza had been waiting to hear him say something- anything. It was clear the news had not been met with delight-that much she had expected. She still had no way to know what was running through his thoughts or what was filling his heart.
Was there some ounce of joy whispering through the darkness?
Was there something resembling love somewhere in his spiraling soul?
Was he scared?
Was he angry?
More importantly was he going to beg her to march back to that brightly lit clinic and take care of their little mistake?
The very thought made her heart run cold.
Riza knew it would be, in theory, the easiest option. She had never imagined slipping into the role of mother, nor she did she feel particularly worthy. Like Roy she too had ruined countless lives from the safety of roofs and her trusty rifle. She had robbed innocent people of the chance to embrace their loved ones and create a life of their own.
How could hands so stained cradle such an innocent creature?
How could a soul so violated be able to love the way a mother should love?
How could a monster be trusted to raise a child not to be the same?
How could a monster be allowed to raise a child at all?
Yet despite all her self-loathing and fear, Riza could not bring herself to march into that clinic. She could not bring herself to rid of her little mistake. The very thought made her turn cold and her heart climb to her throat. Her arm wrapped tighter around her middle, as if to protect the life in there from what may come out of Roy’s mouth. She hoped with all her soul he wouldn’t ask her to do what had become impossible.
No matter how hard reason screamed otherwise, Riza could not rid herself of the child she already loved dearly.
The sight of Roy’s hand hovering over hers sparked a light of hope. Riza couldn’t help but to grab hold of that spark.
“It’s okay. “She whispered, wrapping her fingers around his wrist. “There’s nothing there yet but you can feel if you want to.” Riza pulled his hand down and slipped it underneath her thin pajama top. The moment she rested it on top of her bare skin she felt a shock of thrill run through her. His hand was rough and warm against her smooth skin. At first Roy’s touch was stiff and still, resting on top of her like a small dead weight. His pale face matched his touch; rigid and unsure. Riza held her breath as she watched him, waiting to see any shift in the stunned and inflexible being.
It only took a mere moment for that shift to occur.
Riza felt his hand melt into her stomach. His touch became unspeakably tender and careful as his thumb ran across her soft skin. She watched his unbendingly shocked expression vanish into one of childlike wonderment and glowing adoration. It was an expression she rarely saw, only meant for her eyes only in the safety of the world they created. Riza felt her heart beginning to soar as the wonderment and love overtook his features.
Maybe it was an evil trick of the light or her eyes playing games, but Riza could have sworn she noticed tears puckering in the corners of his eyes.
“Our child…” Roy swallowed, his voice oddly dry and hoarse. Riza nodded, allowing her lips to turn into the smallest of smiles as she rested her hand on top of his.
“Yes. Our child.” Tears threatened to spill down the normally stoic soldier’s features as his lips quivered ever so slightly. It was odd seeing the normally controlled man in such a state-going from complete and utter terrified shock to what she could only assume were tears of joy. The man may have a thunderous spirit and she had seen him slip into despair and loose himself in his anger more than once, however, Riza had only seem him rocked to tears once. It was as he stood at the grave of a friend cut down in his prime. She could still see how they caught the sunlight as they trickled down his face. Sitting in that cramped bathroom Riza could see one tear escaping, catching the light above and sparkling. A moment later another tear slipped through and fell the other side of his face.
Riza couldn’t help but hold her small smile as she reached for his cheeks.
“I see it’s raining Colonel.” She said, brushing away the tears sliding down his face. “I hope it’s raining from happiness.” A low chuckle rumbled from Roy’s chest, his lips curling into a crooked grin. He circled his arms around her torso and pulled her as close to him as possible. He pressed his forehead against hers, letting their noses touch. Riza felt herself begin to melt as he brushed his nose against hers and felt his lips press gingerly on hers.
“I don’t know if I’m happy Riza.” Roy began, keeping his eyes closed as he spoke. “Hughes once told me that it’s a universal right for a man to raise a family with the woman he loves… but I don’t know if I can bring myself to believe that. If I’m being honest, I don’t think I deserve to be happy after everything I’ve done. I certainly don’t think I’ve done anything to deserve something…. something like this. To be even more honest I am terrified of what this is going to do to us.” His words momentarily vanished as his soul was laid bare. Riza nodded before placing her lips on his nose.
“I know…” Riza sighed. “I can’t allow myself to be happy either. I’m terrified of what’s going to happen to us as well. But…” Her voice trailed off, unable to scavenge for the words to give life to her intense emotions.
Roy however…
Roy always appeared to know what was buried deep within her without her needing to utter a word.  Moreover, he always knew how to ease her soul without even trying.
Roy’s grin widened ever so slightly as his arms wrapped tighter around her middle.
“All I know…” He began, stopping and softly kissing the bridge of her small nose. “All I know is that I love you and that I have loved you for a long time. This child may be a mistake but it’s our mistake that happened because we love each other and… God help me I want to hate it Riza I really do. I wish I could say let’s just go and take care of it but I can’t. I may be crazy but…. I… I… I think I already love it.”
Riza’s tiny smile busted wide open as a laugh tickled her lips. She continued to rub his high cheek bones as she felt his chest rumble with laughter.
“It’s not that crazy Roy.” Her smile dimmed as she carefully chose her next words. “I know we would be crazy not to fix this or at the very least give them to a family who can actually give them a normal, happy life. We would be putting everything we have worked so hard for at risk. I don’t know if I can ever be happy either or even deserve something as wonderful as this. But I know that despite everything I love this baby… and the idea of getting rid of it in any sort of way is unbearable, Roy.”
Roy immediately felt his heart gradually crack as she spoke. Once her words had ceased, he peppered every inch of her face and neck with kisses. Riza’s hands slid away from his face and down his back until her hands were pressed against its strong muscles. She held him tightly as Roy continued to kiss her face until he found his away back to her lips. They hovered over hers, taking in their softness and warmth. She could feel him smiling against her face and his eye lashes flutter against her.
“I don’t want you to get rid of it either.” Roy claimed softly.
“I could just retire.” Riza cautiously suggested. “You could still continue on with your goal and”
“No.” Roy shook his head. “That would still look suspicious and even if we lied through out teeth it would still be clear that you were pregnant before you retired. We would still be breaking the fraternization laws.” Riza frowned, her fingers digging into Roy’s stiff white shirt and burying her face in his chest.
“It’s not fair.” She muttered as tears began to fall.
Roy felt himself begin to boil.
She was right.
She was ALWAYS right.
It was brutally unfair.
Even if one of them stepped away from their positions it would not release them from the walls that had kept them apart. They would not be safe from the eyes of the law no matter what they did.
Roy kissed Riza’s temple before he pulled her to his lap. The hotly independent woman didn’t protest. Riza nuzzled her head against his chest, dissolving into his warm strength. Roy’s chest puffed with a animalistic determination and will to protect. His gentle hold abruptly grew fierce and defensive as he pressed his lips on her temple once more.
“I love you and I love our child Riza.” Roy stated, digging his fingers into her thick sun kissed mane. “I promise will do whatever I can to protect you both.” He vowed
Riza blinked open her eyes and stared up at his alabaster face. There was something eerily similar about the way they were situated on her bathroom floor. The way Roy cradled her, the way she nuzzled her head against his chest as she smiled weakly. Even his soft expression and tender eyes brought her back to a dark room, and the relief she had survived a cold blade slashing her neck wide open.
In that quiet moment as he smiled lovingly at her and held her close to his chest, Riza felt that same rush of relief.
No mattered what happened, they would find a way to come out on the other side just as they always had.
No matter what happened, they would have each other and hopefully their baby… and that was enough.
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lonestarbabe · 5 years ago
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Help Me Escape My Head
(AO3)
After T.K. fails to save a little girl, he begins to spiral. Tempted to abuse substances and not knowing who else to call, T.K. calls Carlos just to feel less alone because he feels like he's losing his mind. All he needs is something to help him escape his mind if only for a night.
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Sometimes, the person you set out to save didn’t make it. T.K. knew that, of course, he did, but it didn’t make it any less heart wrenching to feel the life go out of the little girl you’re trying to get away from her burning house. She’d been in her room, shouting to the lavender walls and trying to find the glow in the dark stars on her ceiling through the smoke. She was trapped by the inferno, clutching a raggedy teddy bear that her parents tried and failed to keep clean as the child dragged it with her everywhere. Jenna had been her name. Ducky had been the teddy, T.K. remembered as the thought of Jenna telling Ducky it would be okay looped through his mind. The firefighters will save us, she’d said sounding sure in the way only a six-year-old could. T.K. had swooped her up, trying to keep her calm as he took her from the house. She clutched her teddy bear, promising to save him. I’m here, Ducky, she said, I’m here. Her face was streaked with tears, but she kept herself as calm as she could for the sake of Ducky.
It was terrifying how quickly she had gone from reassuring her teddy bear to being unbearably quiet. Her body became limp against T.K.’s, and the teddy bear dropped from her hands, and T.K. couldn’t resist snatching it before it hit the floor because he knew how sad the child would be without it.
In the end, there was nothing anyone could do to revive her. A little girl was dead, and T.K. couldn’t help but think that it was his fault. He was supposed to save her, and he’d failed. His inability to save her would tear apart that family in ways he couldn’t imagine. The loss left the whole team sullen, but T.K. was crushed. The memory of her dying in his arms was relentless. The rush of saving someone was a high like none other, but losing a child was a crippling low, a low that T.K. didn’t want to face. He wasn’t going to deal with it until later, though. He had a shift to finish.
For the rest of T.K.’s shift, he ignored the feeling of dread building in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t let himself think about what had happened, even though his dad had suggested he head home and take some time for himself. He stubbornly refused and silently did whatever work he could find around the station even if it didn’t need to be done.
He worked out, pushing himself harder than his body could handle. He kept piling on more weight and doing more reps until Judd came rushing in, asking if he was crazy to lift so much without a spotter. T.K. didn’t say anything, and he moved onto the next workout apparatus. He needed to keep busy or he’d lose the semblance of being okay that he’d been clutching onto using denial. As T.K. worked out, Judd wouldn’t budge, hovering with a concerned look in his eyes. When T.K. nearly collapsed from exhaustion, Judd grabbed him by the arm and told him that he’d done enough for the day. T.K. shot him an annoyed look but remained quiet because if he opened his mouth, he’d be an asshole, and he didn’t want to fuck anything else up today.
T.K. pushed past Judd and sat in the quietest corner in the station. He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to be talked to. He just wanted to forget. He wanted to sleep and never have to wake up, not in a dying way but in a not having to think kind of way. He was managing to block the memories of the day from his mind, but they lingered like dirt in the shower after having fallen in mud. They twirled and twisted in his head, repeating in maddening versions of the same heartbreaking thoughts.
When T.K. finally went home, Owen had stayed at work to finish up some work because sad or not, he had shit to do. He’d asked if T.K. needed him. Owen would always put his son first, and T.K. knew his dad would drop everything if T.K. asked, but T.K. didn’t want to ask. He wanted to be alone, and he wanted for his brain to stop. With a forced grin, T.K. told his dad that he was fine and went home to spend an evening with his own misery.
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So now, T.K. is home alone, feeling an itchy helplessness that makes the urges to get drunk or high go from a dull ache in the back of his mind to a fiery obsession burning through his whole body. He can’t think of anything else, not even the little girl, as thoughts of getting away consume him. It’d be so easy to get drunk and not much harder to get high. A substance would break through the restlessness surging through his body. It would give him something to do when he is so bored and so anxious. But he can’t break his sobriety. His dad already has enough to deal with and T.K. doesn’t want to put himself through that again. He doesn’t want to start from square one. He doesn’t want to disappoint the people who care about him by messing things up as he always does.
He tries distracting himself. He browses Netflix, Hulu, and even Amazon Prime Video for something to keep his mind distant from his troubles, but in the thousands of shows and movies, he can’t seem to find anything that sparks any enthusiasm in him. All the content is gray. Even the colored films seem so black and white.
When television falls through, he tries listening to music, but even then, he changes the song every thirty seconds trying to find one that does something for him. Nothing works and that thought makes him the most hopeless he’s been all evening because he can think of something that always works, something that’s bad for him but something so tantalizing.
He needs to escape his head for a while and shut down, so while T.K.’s brain is still trying to run destructive circles around the memories of the little girl, he forces himself into his bed. He clenches his eyes, hoping that the exhaustion creeping up on his body will allow him to sleep. As visions of smoke, purple walls, and teddy bears creep through his head, his eyes snap open, and he follows the swirls of the ceiling, which is enough to drive him crazy as his hazy mind struggles to keep thoughts compartmentalized. The temptation and the haunting thoughts muddle together in a cloying mix.
T.K. doesn’t think he can take it anymore. He needs a substance, a distraction, an escape. He needs to get out of his head and to stop feeling things so deeply. He doesn’t want to break his sobriety, he reminds himself. In fact, the thought makes him nauseous, but as minutes tick as slowly as hours, he needs to do something because if he doesn’t, he’ll start ruminating to fill the time, and when he starts ruminating, he’ll think of the little girl. He won’t just think of the shadow she left, but he’ll think of the full imprint. Thinking of that, well, it’s not something he can bear, not while he’s in this room alone with a thousand stupid thoughts liable to pop into his head. If he isn’t careful, he won’t survive the night. He’ll do something stupid just because he can’t stand being alert anymore.
He begins to talk to himself, barely letting his voice go above a whisper because he hasn’t heard his own voice in hours. He mutters abstract thoughts until he feels dizzy from looping around what really bothers him. He’s starting to feel detached from his body. It’s not an out of body experience, exactly. He doesn’t feel like he’s looking down on himself, but it’s more like, he’s a tiny person sitting inside his skull in a little control room. He can see everything T.K. sees, but when he looks at his hands or his legs, he doesn’t feel a sense of belonging. He’s just controlling this distant body of someone he’s supposed to know. The darkness looms over him, and the room looks grainy like an old show in 240p.
He flips on the light because the dark makes his heart race and his mind fuzzy. T.K. stands up and looks into the mirror. His eyes are dead. He doesn’t see a human behind them. He certainly doesn’t see a person he recognizes. The features are familiar. He knows them to be his, but they look like a grayscale photocopy. He looks down at his yellow hoodie, and it’s probably the brightest piece of clothing he owns, but even that looks desaturated.
He wonders if he is dead and this is purgatory, and then, the idea won’t leave him alone. He fell out of favor with his religion long ago, but he still wonders if there’s something afterlife. Maybe this is it. You keep living but you’re alone and wandering aimlessly. If this is it, he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like the way coldness fills his body or the hollowness in his chest. He doesn’t think he’s dead, but what if he is?
Maybe getting high could make him feel like himself again, but maybe himself is exactly the person he didn’t want to be.    
Something is very wrong with him, he knows. This odd feeling has happened before, but it’s always just as scary. One moment, it is 9:36 and the next it is 9:58. Time is moving erratically languid in one moment and non-existent in the next. He needs to go to sleep. Reset his mind and wake up refreshed tomorrow. Sleep always makes things feel a little better, but T.K. can’t get his mind calm enough for slumber. Sleep requires focus and lasts about ten minutes at most, and T.K. can’t even will himself to turn off the light. He’s terrified of the shadows that the dark will bring.
T.K. hates how vacant he feels. It’s better than thinking about his day, anything is, but it still makes him want to do something. Maybe go out for a run, but he can’t do that because he already worked out so much that he could barely get from his bed to his couch, but he makes the long journey anyway because he needs a change of scenery, even if it isn’t much of a change at all. The walls were still too pale, and the furniture was still too hard and scratchy against his skin, even through his clothes.
He wishes there was someone here that he could talk to or someone who would talk to him. He needs something to tether him to reality and remind him that he still exists. He can’t handle being alone anymore. He needs to see another human, needs to be told he’s still alive. He wants to know that he’s still T.K. He hates himself for needing so much reassurance and for being so needy, but he’ll go crazy without it. He’s a social butterfly. Being alone is crushing.
He should call his dad, but he punches in the number of the one other person in Texas who he’s told about his substance issues. He isn’t sure why he does it. He can’t think of a better way to scare away the guy you’re interested in, but unless he wants to worry his dad, who has enough on his plate, there’s no one else. No one else who he could call without giving his whole stupid backstory, and he doesn’t want to explain about that. He’ll have some explaining to do with Carlos, but at least, he won’t have to start from scratch.
T.K. listens as his phone dials. By the second ring, he is contemplating hanging up, worried about bothering Carlos, but by the time the fifth ring comes, a deep voice hits his ears. “T.K. what’s up?” Carlos’ voice is distant, muffled by a sound that T.K. can’t make out. A T.V. maybe.
“I just thought we could hang out a bit.” T.K. could hear the shakiness in his own voice, and the almost robotic quality to it fit his state of mind.
“Are you at home?” T.K. nodded, not thinking to verbally give an answer. “T.K.?” Carlos asked after a long silence.
“Yeah, I’m here.” He was somewhere, that was for sure, but he didn’t feel like he was where he was supposed to be.
“Are you okay?” Carlos asked, voice startlingly gentle.
“I’m fine,” T.K. insists even though he’s terrified about whatever is happening in his head. He wants to know how to fix it, but he can’t put that on Carlos.
Carlos doesn’t seem to believe him, “Do you need me to call someone? Your dad? I can—”
“No, no. Don’t do that,” T.K. cuts in. “Never mind. Forget I called.”
“It’s okay. I’m glad you called. I’ll be over there as soon as I can, okay?”
“You don’t have to,” T.K. insists.
“I know, but I want to.” T.K. wants to see him too despite the part of him that thought letting someone he liked into his crazy world was stupid.
“Don’t do anything… just stay safe.”
“I’m not going to do anything stupid.”
“I know. I have to hang up now, but I’ll be there soon. I’ll see you in a bit.”
“Okay. See you then,” T.K. says before hanging up. He puts his phone beside him and jiggles his foot to release the nervous energy building inside him.  
It only took twenty minutes for Carlos to get there, and as he waited, T.K. lost track of time while sitting quietly on the couch, trying to get his mind back to normal. As hear hears a knock at the door, he’s still spaced out, but manages to get up and swing open the door.
“How did you get here so fast?” Carlos’ house is more than twenty minutes away, so he either was speeding a lot or not at home.
“I was out already. With Michelle,” Carlos explained, slightly out of breath.
“You could’ve told me you were busy,” T.K. replies, feeling a flash of anger that is quickly muted.
“I told Michelle it was important. She understands.”
“It wasn’t urgent or anything. I would have understood if you said no.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m not in danger or anything.”
“You don’t sound like yourself. Your voice is flat.”
“It feels like I’m not real, and I want to feel something again.”
“This like when you were at the police station.”
T.K. shakes his head. That had been similar but not the same. “I feel dead, but I’m not, am I?”
Carlos looks up at T.K., brown eyes soft. He puts his hand over T.K.’s, “You’re not.” Carlos swallows. “What do you mean when you say you feel dead?”
Pulling his hand from Carlos’, T.K. wiggled his fingers and flipped his hands over to inspect his palms. “I keep looking at my hands, but they don’t feel like they belong to me. I feel like I’m a ghost.”
Carlos goes silent a moment, searching for the right thing to say. Carlos’ voice is tight and so quiet T.K. isn’t even sure he actually heard it. “Did you take something? We can handle it if you did.”
T.K. shoots up from the couch, “What? No.” He clenches his fists, feeling a defensive pang through the numbness. He’d never hurt Carlos, but as he digs his fingernails into his palms, he feels some release. He can’t feel pain, but he can distantly feel the contact against his skin, which grounds him even when his head is so floaty. “I wouldn’t do that,” he says, pushing his fingernails in further.
Reaching out, Carlos pries each hand open and rubs his callused fingers over the crescent moons indented in T.K.’s hands, and T.K. knows the touch should send a surge of electricity through him. He wishes it could zap him back to life, but it doesn’t. He still feels chilled to the bone. “Okay, I believe you. Please sit down.” Carlos eases T.K. to the couch and wraps a blanket from the back of the couch around T.K.’s shoulders. “You’re shivering.”
T.K. didn’t have the energy to fight. “I wanted to take something. I want to, but I didn’t. I won’t.”
“Is there something I can do to help?” Carlos asks, a helpless expression filling his face.
“Maybe it’s best if I’m alone.” T.K. feels embarrassment redden his cheeks as he thinks about the situation that he’s put himself in. He hates Carlos seeing him like this. He wonders if this is insanity. He’s losing his grip on reality, and he’s letting a hot, sweet, perfect guy watch. No one in their right mind would do that. He must be crazier than he thought.
“Ty, why don’t I just sit here awhile? We don’t have to talk, but I want to make sure you’re okay.”
“You think if you leave, I’ll do something crazy.”
“No, that’s not what I think.  I think it sucks to go through a hard time alone.”
“You’re too nice.” T.K. doesn’t feel how stiff his body goes when he realizes that Carlos cares. It doesn’t make sense that anyone unrelated to him could worry about what happens to him.
“T.K., stop.” Carlos’ voice breaks through T.K.’s thoughts.
He feels panicked for a moment. “Stop what?” He can’t think of anything he’s doing wrong. Other than being a general wreck.
“Digging your nails into your palms. You’re doing it again.”
T.K. unclenches his hands. “I didn’t notice.” He looks at his palms and the marks are deeper than they were before.
“You’re bleeding.”
“Barely,” T.K. says and Carlos gets up and grabs a wet washcloth from the bathroom. As Carlos wipes off his hands, T.K. says, “You don’t have to do that. They’re not that bad,” but the water feels good against his skin as it stings and leaves a cool trail of dampness.
“With all the dirt on your fingernails they could get infected.”
T.K. shrugs. “Whatever. I don’t really care either way.” Because he really doesn’t. It doesn’t much matter what happens to him or how he feels. It’s all just a shitty whirlpool of junk that makes him feel like the worst person alive. He could act like a cocky asshole sometimes, but other times, T.K. really hated himself.
“Do you want to talk about what’s wrong?”
T.K. couldn’t help the bitter laugh that came out of him. “I’ve been trying not to think at all.”
“Maybe it’s time to try something new.” Carlos was rubbing circles in his back and running his fingers up and down T.K.’s arm. “You don’t have to say anything, but it might help.”
T.K. sighed. “I just want to sleep and never wake up.”
“T.K….” Carlos’ voice trails off. “That’s worrying to hear.”
“Not like that. I don’t want to… I wouldn’t do that to my dad. I’m not that selfish. I’m just tired. Really tired, too tired to kill myself.” He wasn’t going to do anything drastic, but if he were to be hit by a bus, he wasn’t sure he’d care much.
“Okay, but if you weren’t tired? What would you do then?”
“Nothing. I’m always tired.” And it wasn’t the kind of tired that you could sleep way. It was hardwired in the chemistry of your brain and took a lot of time to change. He’s trying to do better, and he’s going to therapy, but sometimes, he’s still so low. He’s numb and sad and angry and scared. Now, he doesn’t even feel human. He’s just a shadow, trailing behind this empty person he hardly knows, and it sucks. It’s not fair that he’s faded. He’s not a perfect person, he sure isn’t, but he doesn’t know what he did to deserve a brain that doesn’t function as it should. It feels like he’s being punished. He wonders if maybe he’s a shitty person who deserves all the bad and none of the good. He couldn’t save the little girl and maybe it was only just that he was tortured for his failure.
“T.K., do you want to hurt yourself?”
“I’m in therapy.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“I’m having a bad night. I’m not like this all the time. Sometimes, I have a personality, but other times, I’m a waste of space.”
“You’re never a waste of space.”
“I let a little girl die today.”
“What happened?”
“I didn’t get to her soon enough. The smoke inhalation killed her.” T.K.’s voice is clipped. He doesn’t want to talk about it, but he couldn’t stop the words from rolling off his tongue.
“It wasn’t your fault. We do the best we can to save lives, but we’re not gods. We can’t control who lives and dies. We can only do as much as we can to push for life.”
“She died in my arms.”
“That’s awful. I’m sorry that happened.”
“It’s not fair that she died, and I lived.” She was just a child. Young and precocious, clutching her teddy bear with such tenderness. T.K. can’t remember ever being that innocent. Maybe there had always been darkness inside him.
“I’m not sure—”
“I’ve been given too many chances while people who deserve them more don’t get them. I’m an addict and a basket case. I can’t handle the shit life throws my way. Yet, I’m still here. I’m a shell of a person, but I’m here. I feel dead, but I’m here. I can’t even do my job properly, but I’m here.”
“You deserve a life, Tyler.”
“So, did she!” T.K. would trade his own life in a heartbeat just to ensure that little girl could live one day more.
“I know. No kid should die. It’s awful when we can’t keep kids safe. But I need you to know that you deserve to be alive.”
T.K. looked down at his hands. “You don’t know me that well.”
“I know enough. I know you’d do anything for the people you love. I know you go out of your way to brighten other people’s days even when yours is shitty. I know you want everyone to feel okay being themselves. You don’t have to dig very far to see that you’re a guy who loves love. You’re the kind of person that people want to be around. You’d be so missed if you weren’t here.”
“Shut up.”
“What can’t take a compliment?” Carlos teases, cracking a smile.
T.K. can’t help the grin that comes upon his face or the tears that brim in his eyes. “I don’t know why you’re so nice to me.”
“Did you not hear my speech? I don’t remember verbatim what I said, so if you didn’t hear it, I guess I’ll just have to think up some more reasons I think you’re great. The list could get pretty long.”
T.K. laughs, “Please don’t. I can’t take more compliments. My head will grow too big.”
“Fine. I’ll save them for later,” Carlos replied.
T.K. dropped his head on Carlos’ shoulder and the smell of cologne broke through his clogged senses. The world was still bleary, but hints of color were beginning to poke their heads through the gray. Carlos couldn’t make T.K. better. He couldn’t fix the miswiring of T.K.’s mind. He couldn’t save T.K. from himself, but Carlos is here. He’s present, and T.K.’s mind feels less heavy as he lets the weight of it fall on Carlos’ shoulder. It’s a relief to heat the soft breathing of Carlos and to feel the softness of his blue t-shirt. Mostly, it’s nice to be grounded.
“Thanks for being here,” T.K. says and his voice is quiet but doesn’t quiver.
Carlos presses his lips to T.K.’s forehead. “I’ll be here whenever you need me.”
“Let’s hope I don’t need you too much,” T.K. says, “but I think I might want you around a lot more.” He’s not ready for commitment. His life is still too chaotic for that, but he wants Carlos near him. He wants to someday feel ready to open his whole heart. Maybe that day isn’t today, but there’s a chance that tomorrow will be less blurry, less sad, less hopeless. Tomorrow might be better, and for now, that’ll have to be enough. Someday, a tomorrow will be good.  
103 notes · View notes
zygzags · 7 years ago
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Magic Stuff (basics?)
This post was inspired by my best friend, who wants to get into the Craft, but doesn’t quite know where to start, or what’s what quite yet. So, with no further ado, here’s how to get into witchcraft, even if you only have a barebones basics idea of what witchcraft even is.
EDIT: I originally posted this when I was @everywitchway, but since I deleted everything from that blog and started fresh, I’m re-releasing stuff off of my old digital grimoire I wrote for tumblr. Please don’t repost. Only I can repost me. XD
Can I be a witch?You may be thinking that witches are old white ladies with black cats and pointy hats, but really, anyone can be a witch. As long as you want to be a witch, and you incorporate some level of magic into your life, congrats, you’re a witch! You officially have permission from someone (though of course I’m no authority, I’m just some random on the internet). Some may say you have to be initiated by another witch or by a coven to call yourself a witch, but those folks are going off of the ideas and rules of their own specific practice. They can’t say you can’t be a witch by their rules, because you don’t have to follow their rules. If they refuse to see you as a witch, then that sucks, but they aren’t the boss of you, and you can identify as a witch if you dang well please.
You don’t have to be any specific race, religion, gender, sexuality, or other label to practice witchcraft. Some say you have to be a woman, but witches of all genders are present in the community! Some say you have to be straight, but witches of all sexualities are everywhere! Some say you have to be a specific race, but witches have existed in every corner of the world and every shade of skin for as long as humanity has known how to think about how things work. Some say you have to be Wiccan or Satanic, and both of those religions are valid, but not required! Christian, Jewish, Buddhist, and other witches are totally a thing!
This also means that jerks can be witches, though. Racists, sexists, and more can and do exist in witchcraft communities. This sucks, but all you can do is vow to do your best to be the best version of yourself. They are, unfortunately, allowed to be witches too.
How does MAGIC even work?
There are so, so many theories on how magic works, and you can subscribe to any one of them, multiple, or none! You can totally make your own theories and ideas. The most popular ones include...
PLACEBO THEORY: The idea that magic works only because we’ve tricked our brains and bodies into thinking it does. Magic, in this case, is the “sugar pill”. If you’re confused, do a quick google, and learn about the placebo theory in medicine.
ENERGY THEORY: The idea that energy flows and exists everywhere, and can be manipulated by a practitioner to create a change in perceived reality.
DEITY THEORY: The idea that a practitioner can get in good standing with a deity, and use that gained favor for help when they need it. Deities aren’t spell ingredients, and shouldn’t just be USED, but some practitioners believe that their magic works because a deity sees fit to MAKE it work.
QUANTUM THEORY: The idea that a practitioner can manipulate the tiniest bits of matter through magic, to create a change in perceived reality.
UNIVERSE THEORY: The idea that a practitioner is part of the universe, and that if they push hard enough with their will, they may be able to have an effect on the universe as a whole. Think... an ant in a bubble. If that ant tries hard, the bubble may move the way it’s trying to steer it.
PERSONAL THEORY: The idea that a practitioner can use their actual personal soul/energy to manipulate perceived reality.
ECLECTIC THEORY: Multiple of the above, or other theories!
Okay, cool. What do witches even do?
Witches do so, so many things. The only things that seem truly universal are spells. All witches, generally, do SOME sort of spellwork. This can be as small as making a wish when you blow out your birthday candles, or as big as a fancy ritual on the blue moon. You can still identify as a witch, even if you haven’t done a “proper” spell yet, because magic is everywhere, and you’ve already likely done some degree of magic without even realizing.
Where do I start?
GET A GRIMOIRE. A grimoire, book of shadows, or magical journal is the first and most important step in your journey. I’d recommend sticking to a plain old spiral notebook, or filler paper in a binder at first. If you’re like me, you’ll likely jump notebooks and get new journals, and if you have a really nice, fancy notebook, or are going for an aesthetic, it can be really hard to actually DO anything in it. Don’t be like me and immediately buy a hundred dollar Italian leather embossed grimoire on day one. Your grimoire should be usable without fear of messing up. Digital Grimoires are also totally valid, and a word/google document or an evernote/OneNote notebook are perfectly useable. I personally have like... a bajillion physical grimoires AND digital ones going. Don’t worry too much about it, just have a way to keep track of what you’re learning.
RESEARCH: Research the moon, research the stars, research the sun, research herbs, research crystals, research anything you can. Don’t use tumblr as your only source, and take EVERYTHING you read with a piece of salt. Even what you find in published books by big names can be riddled with misinformation and cultural appropriation. Try to find reputable sources (Google scholar is A+), and compare what everyone says. If only one person says it, maybe it’s what that one person thinks. If a BUNCH of reputable people say it, it’s more likely to be true. The first thing you should do beyond (and maybe during) your research phase is.....
PROTECT YO SELF. Some magic can be dangerous, especially if you’re working with spirits or entities you can’t see from the get-go. Learn at least one or two methods of banishing, one or two methods of cleansing, one or two ways of warding, and maybe what sorts of things repel bad energy and malicious entities. If you’re not working with entities at all yet, don’t worry overmuch, but it can be nice to have ways to keep bad vibes away, or protect yourself from other witches. Jerks do exist in the community, and witches have been known to curse one another. It’s fairly rare, if I’m being real, but it’s still some good stuff to know.
HOW DO SPELLS WORK? Look into the parts of a spell, the structure of it. Maybe learn about how to cast circles, if that sounds like your kind of thing. If you want to work with elements, learn to call the elements. Look into what you feel you’ll actually want to use in a spell, and write it down! All in all, most spells involve some sort of hyping-up of energy, building and directing it towards an intent, and releasing the energy to do what you want it to do. This is, of course, just one way a spell works, and there are plenty of other ways.
CORRESPONDENCES? Oh yeah. They tend to be made out to be a major big huge deal in the community. “What’s ___ good for?” Is a common question. However, a better place to start may be “What’s good for ___?” Make a list of things you may want to do with magic, and then see if anything you have on hand has a correspondence that fits. If you can find something that works, great, write it down, and use it in that spell. I personally used incense, salt, a candle, and a water bottle in my first spell, and it went perfectly fine.
OTHER STUFF is cool too. Once you get past the things above, you can start getting deeper in. Sigils are cool, and so is divination. You can get further into spells, or focus in on herbal and crystal healing, or check out astrology. You can learn to meditate and then to astral travel, or you can try your hand at enchanting objects. All in all, your path is yours, and you can do so, so much with it.
Things to watch out for:
CULTURAL APPROPRIATION: No, you’re not “smudging” when you wave around burning sage to cleanse. You’re smoke cleansing. Smudging has more to it than just smoke, and is a Native American thing. If you’ve not learned how to properly smudge from someone in a native religion, you shouldn’t be using the term. This is just one example of culural appropriation, but honestly, the problem exists in every single culture. Some other things you shouldn’t be using without checking in with an existing member of that culture/religion include: voodoo/hoodoo, Kabbalah/Qaballah, chakras, dreamcathers, karma, the third eye, spirit animals, etc. All in all, if you’re not sure, ASK. And if you’re asked by a member of another culture/religion to stop doing something because it’s offensive or appropriative, do your best to listen and understand.
GURU’S AND WITCH IDOLS: No one is the witch pope, king/queen, boss, or master. No one knows everything. I’ve been practicing for years, but if a beginner who just started today knew something I didn’t, I wouldn’t be surprised. We’re all still learning. We’re all wrong sometimes. Don’t look up to any witch too much, don’t put any other human on too much of a pedestal. You have power, and you have value, and you are magic. No one saying otherwise has the authority to do so.
BUYING ALL THE THINGS: Again, don’t be like me. It’s incredibly tempting when you first start out to run out and try to buy all the tools, all of them. You’ll want a wand, and an athame, and a fancy chalice, and a deck of cards, and and and.... But you need exactly ZERO of these things to be a witch and do magic. You, on your very own, with nothing else, are magic, and can do magic, and can be a witch. Don’t break the bank on your first day. Take your time, and when you’re financially able and something calls to you, you’ll know you’re ready to make that tool yours.
D-D-D-DISCOURSE: On social media especially, someone’s always bickering with someone about something. Witchblr is a wonderful resource, but take EVERYTHING you read, even this, with a grain (or large chunk) of salt. No one is the witch authority. No one is always right. No one knows everything. Everyone’s wrong sometimes. Be careful who you trust, and even more careful who you decide to make an enemy. It’s easy to be angry, take the challenge and try to keep the peace.
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gumnut-logic · 6 years ago
Text
Gentle Rain (Part Six)
Title: Gentle Rain
Warm Rain Series
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Author: Gumnut
24 - 26 Jan 2019
Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS
Rating: Teen
Summary: Sometimes it is so gentle, you don’t realise it is happening.
Word count: 2937
Spoilers & warnings: Virgil/Kayo, Scott/OC, spoilers for Warm Rain up to this point in the timeline.
Timeline: Six months after ‘The Proposal’, almost a sequel.
Author’s note: For @scribbles97  I had so much fun with this one sitting on my back porch on a gorgeous sunny day. Many thanks to both Scribbs and @the-lady-razorsharp for help on this bit. Also for @vegetacide for some plotwork we did for further into the story. Next chapter is half written and I’m still having fun :D I hope you enjoy this fic that has a mind of its own.
Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.
-o-o-o-
It was like some kind of daydream caught in a whirlwind.
The week had passed with medical consultations and chats with Scott over the network. His eyes lit up when he smartly inquired about Kayo asking her to Tracy Island.
“So you coming?” Was that expression hopeful?
“I’m considering it.” She bit back a grin. Why should she make it easy?
His eyes narrowed at her. “What could I offer to entice you?”
“Oh, you’d like to entice me, would you, flyboy?”
He really did have a beautiful smile. “I think I could.”
“Then entice away.”
He posed thoughtfully. “Now what would a gorgeous looking young woman like yourself find attractive on a tropical island. Let me think.” He tapped his lips with a finger.
She choked on a laugh. “Really?”
He held up a finger as if struck by a thought. “Marshmallows. We have the biggest, fluffiest marshmallows in the Southern Hemisphere. Absolutely delicious roasted over a slow fire.” He licked his lips.
Her eyes almost fell out of her head. “Scott Tracy, you are a flirt.”
“Yes. Yes, I am.”
“And brazen about it.”
“Do you mind?”
That brought her up short, but she didn’t hesitate. “I think I can handle it.” And she was grinning.
His voice dropped an octave. “Good.”
She shivered.
Wow.
She still got one over him. He never did find out if she was coming to visit or not. She held him at arms length the entire week, taunting him.
He seemed to enjoy it.
Kayo picked up the game and swore Virgil to secrecy. Virgil threw up his hands and refused to be drawn in to any of it. The fact he was called out to a rescue two minutes later aided and abetted her little conspiracy.
Scott left the hospital two days before she did. Now it was her turn and she found herself aboard the Tracys’ private jet, all leather and luxury. Virgil was flying while Kayo attended to her, and it was just the three of them flying over the stark red brown landscape of the Australian Outback.
She had luggage, a new hoverscoot, and a belly full of butterflies. There were popular rumours about where exactly Tracy Island was and what you would find if you ever managed to actually get there. Mansions, a secret city…heh, one website claimed Tracy Island was on the other side of a wormhole somewhere in the Bermuda Triangle. Another claimed it was easy to find by tracking birdlife.
Em didn’t really know what to think. The concept of a tropical island was steeped in stereotypes in any case. Perhaps palm trees would be present. The rest was likely up for grabs.
Kayo sat opposite her, occasionally looking at her with just a touch of concern. Em hadn’t said much since they had left Perth airport and she probably looked terrified.
For crying out loud, you’re a fully qualified professional, you’ve faced down much more in your life than a family of billionaires. Hell, she once stared down a patient holding a knife in her face. She was Em Bloody Harris, stop being such a wimp.
A little focus and a little spine.
She straightened and Kayo looked up. “Are you comfortable?”
“Yes, thank you.” Conversation. “Are you all pilots?” A frown. “Do you fly?”
A small smile crept across Kayo’s face. “Yes, and I most certainly do. Though I’m not surprised you haven’t heard of my Thunderbird.”
Em’s eyes widened. “You pilot a Thunderbird? Which one?”
“Thunderbird Shadow.”
The Thunderbirds were well known across the world as angels of mercy. They appeared at the most desperate moments, often long before any other rescue organisation could possibly have made it. There was the grey, blue and red rocket plane, the green behemoth that nursed all the equipment, a red rocket, a yellow submarine and the Voice Who Answered. There was also rumour of another plane, but sightings were rare and little was known about it. Em’s eyes widened. “You’re the ghost Thunderbird.”
The smile widened just a touch. “You could say that. We take our security very seriously.”
“Yet you’ve invited me.”
Kayo raised an eyebrow. “You checked out.”
It was hard to work out how to feel about that.
“Em, I don’t invite on whim. I thought you would like to visit and I know I will enjoy your company. The background check was just procedure.”
Em dropped her voice to a harsh whisper. “Please don’t tell them. They don’t need to know.”
She could tell by the security specialist’s reaction that she knew exactly what she was talking about. Equally quiet. “They won’t hear it from me.”
“I don’t blame International Rescue. It wasn’t your fault. The only one deserving blame was the bastard who caused it all. I hope he rots in hell.”
“He is.”
Em stared at her. “He’s dead?”
Kayo’s expression was horribly cold. “Yes.”
“How?”
“Classified.”
Blink. “Okay.” She swallowed. “I hope he suffered.”
The other woman didn’t answer, but something sad flickered briefly over her face.
“It is awfully quiet in here. Should I be worried? You two aren’t plotting a mutiny or anything, I hope.”
It was like a switch had been flicked. Kayo’s expression changed completely, smiling up at Virgil as he entered the cabin. “No need for a mutiny, love. I have plenty of other ways to get what I want.”
Virgil didn’t quite roll his eyes, walking past to grab a drink from the fridge. “Can I get you anything?” He waved a bottle of water in their general direction.
“No, thank you.” They chorused together.
Virgil looked back over his shoulder. “Do you have any idea how creepy that sounds?”
Em bit her lip, but couldn’t help parroting the sweet innocent smile Kayo sent her fiancé’s way.
His gaze darted back and forth between them, more alarmed by the moment. “Okay, I’ll just be upfront piloting the plane. Don’t summon the devil by accident.” And he stepped smartly back into the cockpit.
Em turned to Kayo to find the woman fighting back a grin. Em’s lips twisted as their eyes locked. A heartbeat and they both burst out laughing.
-o-o-o-
“Skies are clear, winds 20kph and from the south. You are cleared to land, Tracy Two.”
Through the open patio doors, John could hear the distant engagement of T2’s VTOL. Nowhere near as loud as her Thunderbird sisters, but strong enough to lower her safely onto Thunderbird Two’s runway.
He estimated no more than fifteen minutes before Kayo and their visitor would arrive in the lounge.
Sooner the better before Scott burnt out Thunderbird imPatient’s hover jets with his irrational ‘pacing’.
The slickly repainted hover chair now sported a pale blue-grey chassis with a slash of cherry red and sky blue down each side. The number one had been neatly inscribed in Thunderbird font on both sides. How Virgil had fit it in the last three weeks, John had no idea.
They had been horribly busy. Alan had been forced to take on Thunderbird One much to Scott’s annoyance. They simply could not function without her. As it was, Virgil had been burning most days at both ends, between rescues, hospital visits, and Tracy Industries on top of his regular duties.
They had only just gotten back to rhythm after Virgil’s accident. Now they were a man down yet again for at least another two months, probably more.
At Christmas.
Christmas never failed to increase the need for International Rescue. It was called the silly season for a reason. The collective IQ of the planet appeared to drop around this time of year, regardless of religion. If John could believe in astrology, he might have been inclined to blame the cosmos, but in reality it was often just stupidity.
At the moment he was seriously considering leaving the missing fishing boat caught in a cyclone off Broome, in the north of Western Australia, to the local authorities. They should never have been out, they had received clear warning, and yet had gone out anyway.
But IR’s sensory systems were far more advanced than any other. He had already interfaced with TB5 in an attempt to short cut a location, but the electrical activity in the cyclone denied him a lock at that distance. Thunderbird Two should be able to get a fix on the fishing boat’s transponder within a few hundred kilometres and with TB4 on board she should be able to render any assistance required.
He watched Virgil bring the light jet into land smoothly knowing that in a moment he would have to ask his brother to fly out again.
Gordon was already on his way to the hangar.
And Scott was spinning around in circles.
“You’re going to make yourself sick.”
“I can take eight Gs in a spiral dive. This is nothing.”
“Fine, but can you stop anyway?”
His big brother sighed and slowed to a standstill, staring at the toes of his left foot, stuck out awkwardly in front of him.
Over the last hour John had become acutely aware that something was bothering his brother above and beyond his injuries and resultant incapacitation. He had become fidgety, restless and agitated. It was out of character. Scott was a ball of energy at most times, but it was controlled energy, channelled and targeted at need.
Apparently, he had sprung a leak and, like a dropped garden hose, was bouncing around the room, out of control.
“Is there something wrong, Scott?”
“No.” Sharp and abrupt and so obviously a lie, John was almost insulted his brother thought it would work at all.
“Could have fooled me.”
“What?” He was poking distractedly at TB imPatient’s controls. The hoverchair did a sudden donut and backed ungracefully down the steps into the sunken lounge.
“Can you please not kill yourself on my watch. Virgil would be pissed.” That usually meant a pissed Kayo, never a good thing.
It was so much more peaceful in space. In space there was a comms off switch.
-o-o-o-
One minute there was a massive expanse of Pacific Ocean, next an island appeared out of nowhere.
Em stared out of the window at the dual spiked volcanic rock in the middle of blue water. As they drew nearer, she could make out the remains of the volcanic caldera, the hints of coral beneath the lagoon and the house amongst the rocks.
As the jet angled into land, her side of the plane dipped towards the ocean giving her a stunning view of the little island paradise. Knowing the pilot, probably on purpose.
Yes, there were definitely palm trees.
“Wow.”
Kayo smiled at her. “It’s home.”
The runway came into view, lined by palm trees. Em frowned. That didn’t quite look long enough...or wide enough. “K-“
The underside of the plane echoed mechanical movement, and a sudden roar above that of the jet engines started up. Their speed dropped off abruptly and Em felt her stomach shift inside her. The nose of the plane lifted and they descended vertically.
Kayo was watching for her reaction.
Em arched an eyebrow. “So not your average personal jet?”
The other woman smirked a little. “I’m sorry, but you’ll find that the Tracys don’t do ‘average’.” Was that pride? Perhaps just a little?
Em couldn’t help but grin.
Several butterflies were firmly stomped on.
Their speed slowed to almost a standstill as the ground approached, the jet hovering before gently touching down on the tarmac. Then, to her surprise, the jet’s wings folded back on themselves and they taxied between two lines of palm trees towards a cliff face.
She couldn’t quite see from her angle, but it appeared the cliff opened because moments later they were trundling through an entrance.
And past the massive bulk of Thunderbird Two.
She couldn’t help but stare.
“Damn.”
It was whispered, but Em heard it anyway. Kayo was up and out of her seat in the next breath and disappeared into the cockpit without another word.
Em was left to frown a little and stare at the giant green plane as the jet slowed to a stop in its hanger off to one side.
Thunderbird Two was high up on its landing struts, but as their jet came to a halt, there was a rumble of machinery and a chain of green cargo crates trundled past. One labelled with the number four settled beneath the giant green plane and the craft lowered, swallowing the crate whole.
Thunderbird Two was even larger that touch closer.
Kayo entered the cabin once again, her expression annoyed. “Virgil needs to fly out.” It was very clear the woman was not happy. “Some idiot went fishing in a cyclone.”
Virgil Tracy flew Thunderbird Two. It was well known. But now she had met the pilot she had trouble reconciling the kindly man with the gentle baritone, the soft smile and so much expression in his eyes every time he looked at Kayo, with the image of the superhero rescue operative of popular myth. He wasn’t what she expected.
But then a mental image of the saviour wrapped in metal, tossing brickwork with giant claws, as he busted into that hole beneath the collapsed hotel in Perth, flashed up.
Well, Superman did have his Clark Kent.
There was a hiss as Kayo enabled the cabin exit, an apparently automated set of stairs rolling into place. Virgil hurried from the cockpit, flashing her a quick smile before pausing in front of Kayo, his hands landing on her shoulders. Em looked away to give them privacy as he leant down to kiss her.
A whispered ‘fly safe’ and his boots hit the metal stairwell.
Moments later, the hanger was filled with the stirring roar of Thunderbird Two’s engines and she watched as the behemoth taxied out into the daylight. She couldn’t see the runway from where she sat and she had no idea how the huge plane managed on such a narrow tarmac, but seconds later, that roar swelled into a crescendo and the plane around her vibrated with the power being expended as the craft no doubt launched.
As the roar disappeared off into the distance, she looked up to see Kayo still standing at the exit, her back to Em.
“Kayo, are you okay?”
“Fine.” And the woman turned around a smile forced onto her face.
“Yes, Virgil.”
That earned her a glare. “Let’s get off this plane.”
That shut down the conversation. Em tried her best not to take it personally. It was obvious that Kayo wasn’t used to sharing her problems and honestly, it wasn’t any of her business.
Not much was said as Kayo helped her into her hoverscoot. The device was a smaller version of the hoverchair, less bulky now she had no legs to support. It had variable height so she could look a person in the eye if necessary. The harness supported her back, keeping her upright, while the remains of her legs were cushioned with anti-pressure in the small seat. She had chosen to wear what would have been a knee length summer dress today, the convenience of covering up her injury taken to full advantage, her stumps wrapped in soft socks beneath. The sleeveless dress hugged her overall slim figure, and was appropriate for the tropical clime
This was made abundantly apparent the moment she descended the stairs into the hanger. The hanger doors had since closed, the metal structure towering above her. In fact, the entire hanger was massive. But where she would have thought the air should be cool, it was gently warm, perhaps a remnant of the recent exposure to the outside.
Saltwater lingered in the air.
The cavern echoed with smoothly operating machinery. Some kind of automaton was interfacing with the cargo section of their jet and offloading their luggage and in the distance there was more movement of an unknown purpose. Kayo secured the plane before joining her and leading her over to an elevator.
“Gordon left with Virgil, but Scott, John and Alan are upstairs.” Kayo shot her a smile and Em managed to corral the butterflies just a little. “Did Scott ever work out whether you were coming today or not?”
“Heh.” Okay, so she was grinning now. “I strung him along quite nicely. He offered me all kinds of things to get me out here.”
Kayo actually let out a laugh. “Really?”
“I think the last offer was a Lamborghini.” Not that she would ever accept such a thing, it was hilarious to play the man.
“He offered you a Lambo?” A frown. “What colour?”
“Oh, I had a choice. Green or yellow.”
“Hah. Don’t trust him. He’s offering you Virgil or Gordon’s.”
Em’s eyes widened. “Really? You have Lamborghinis?”
Kayo snorted. “They’re boys. Did you expect anything less?”
She thought a moment as the elevator rose. “I don’t know. I never considered luxury in relation to International Rescue.”
The elevator slowed a moment before changing trajectory and travelling up at an angle. The movement was so smooth, her ‘scoot hardly reacted.
“Oh, they work for it, but the boys do have their toys.” Kayo’s smile was infectious.
“I told him I would only consider a blue one.” It had been teasing and off the cuff, but those eyes of his prompted everything.
“Points to you, Em. You picked his colour.”
And the elevator slowed to a smooth stop. She barely had chance to think before the doors opened and Kayo led her into a large lounge area.
Just in time to see Scott Tracy collide with a wall.
-o-o-o-
End Part Six.
Part Seven
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