#the halo round his wrists are broken cuffs

[rhapsoddity]

bestie @galaxygermdraws wanted my rendition of Skizz and I did have time soooooo~

[violetswritingg]

Only in Darkness

Jason Todd X OFC!

Description:

"Only in Darkness can you see the stars."

Or

Marlowe Knight stumbling upon a girl prophesied to end the world and going on the adventure of a life time.

Rating: M (Blood, cannon typical violence, sibling rivalry, scars, torture, trauma, angsttttt)

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5

Detroit, Michigan

2018

Marlowe's sight was blurry as she came to, her head throbbing. Memory foggy as her mind muddled through a painful haze. Any sound she could have made muffled by the gag in her mouth. Her side aching to the rhythm of her heart beat.

Only when she pulled at the cuffs around her wrists, forced behind her back, did she become any more aware. Panic filled her every sense as the dark room around her. Uncomfortable floor, and newspaper covered windows-

Her eyes blew wide, pupils dilatating. Her chest picking up as her breathing turned ragged. No, no, no. Screwing her eyes shut, Marlowe tried to reign her panic in but, if anything, the action only made everything worse.

Sirens wailed, flashing red and blue lights filtering in harshly through the newspaper covered windows.

"You're okay. You're okay. Dad's got you. You're okay."

Sudden pain in her scalp and finger tugging at her hair ripped her from the flashback, her thoughts still moving as if through molasses. But she could recognize a police uniform anywhere.

"Shut up would you-" Her captor spat; face screwed up in a sneer. No clue of what was about to happen to him. All because he was a subpar kidnapper and had left her legs unbound.

She nailed him in the crotch, the man falling back with a groan and giving her room to get her hands out from behind her. The man pulled his gun and Marlowe acted.

In an instant she was on him. Thin fingers wrapped around his hand holding the gun and pushed it up. Her kneeing him in the stomach and using his own weight shift against him as he let out a pained grunt and keeled forward. Yanking his arm in her grasp down and twisting, pulling him over her back. Slamming him onto the ground. Dislocating his shoulder in the process and straddling his back. His gun clattering out of his broken grip.

The chain of her cuffs found its way around his neck. Gurgling sounds escaping from the man as she dug her knees into his sides, her boots pinning his legs painfully to the rough wooden floor.

"No! Kyle Please!"

"This is gonna hurt."

A thick crack sounded, like that of a tree being blown over in a tropical storm. She let go of her grip on the tree, letting it to the forest floor with a mighty thud. Scrambling off of him and falling over herself as she ripped the cloth from her mouth.

Finding herself on the floor, pupils shaking. Hair splayed out around her like a golden halo, her chest heaving, adrenaline racing through her fast pumping blood. Rolling to the side, facing away from the lifeless body, she felt a chill rake up her spine like the claws of the three furies trying to drag her down to Hades.

Not for the first time in her life she was left fighting the pull and the chill filling her fingers with icy pricks. "Get up." She didn't recognize her voice.

"No! Kyle Please!"

"Stop it. Stop. Stop. Stop." She begged, curling in on herself and trying to cover her ears but the cuffs kept her from doing so. The metal biting into the skin burning red from friction and pushing her farther into her memory.

"This is gonna hurt."

"Leave me alone." Marlowe pleaded one last time, voice breaking. Knocking the cold metal against her forehead, harder and harder with each contact. As if trying to beat the memories out of her head.

It was only the sound of foreign footsteps that dragged her out of her own personal hell. Back on high alert, her eyes drifted to the gun two feet away.

~~*~~

Dick slowly walked through the abandoned building, his grip on his gun just a little tighter as he came to a blind corner. Quickly rounding the corner, Dick came across the body of the uniform he saw drive off with Rachel and Marlowe, face down on the ground. His neck turned at an unnatural angle, fresh bruising in a chain pattern across his skin.

The sound of a gun cocking behind him made him tense, automatically raising his hands in surrender.

"Drop it."

"It's detective Grayson. Dick." Dick slowly laid his gun down, turning partially keeping his back to the wall, stuck between the dead man and the bleeding girl. A wound near her hair line dripping crimson down her temple and a bruise forming  near her eyebrow, eyes glinting with something wild – like a cornered animal, "You know me Marlowe."

Her breathing was erratic, the gleam of metal around her wrists caught his attention and his eyes darted to the body on the ground then back to her.

"I can get those off, they must be uncomfortable." He quietly offered, his hands never leaving their raised position. Marlowe shifted, hesitating, "It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you. How about you put the gun down and I get those off yeah?"

After another moment of hesitation on Marlowe's part the signature click of the safety shattered the tense silence. Dropping the gun with a clang, she shoved her hands at him, the chain jingling.

Dick held in his wince at the red marks around her wrists. Doing as he said he would and releasing her, watching how she cradled her wrists to her chest and rubbed at the tender skin. Her breathing becoming practiced and measured.

He picked up his gun, keeping it aimed at the ground, looking around as Marlowe started to come back to herself, "Any others?"

"He's the only one I've seen."

"Where's Rachel?" Marlowe looked at him confused. "Rachel, Marlowe. Where is she?" Dick was losing patience. They didn't have any time to lose.

"Who's Rachel?"

"The girl you were brought in with, the one who got taken just like you. Who else would I be talking about?" Dick questioned in exasperation.

"I don't know!" Marlowe snapped, her lips lifting in a sneer, eyebrows crashing together, "There's a lot of Rachel's in the world. Rachel Ray, Rachel McAdams, Rachel Greene, Rachel-"

"Where is she?" Dick rushed out; his nerves fried. They didn't have time for this.

"I don't know, okay?! I woke up here with this asshole, then you showed up," Her arm wildly gestured to the passed out body of the uniform, then moved viciously to Dick before flying up and falling down. The sound of skin meeting jean covered skin made them both wince, "and now this is happening." Marlowe finished with a huff.

Dick took a second to breath before motioning for her to follow him. She just rolled her eyes but did as silently directed, staying a step behind him.

Asshole.

The detective kicked down a door and called out Rachel's name. High pitched screams for help made Marlowe's hair stand on end, panic prickling up her spine and straight into her burning side.

Dick, so focused on saving Rachel, didn't even notice Marlowe go ghostly pale - or how her eyes started to drift, or how she had to stop herself from reaching for her side. Hands shaking worse than before, only being calmed by the engraved switch blade she pulled out of her boot.

They both quietly crept up the stairs, Dick's gun drawn, Marlowe ready to jab. Both quickly making their way through the floor and coming across an open door, hearing movement from the other side.

Once Dick got close, it was thrown shut with enough force to knock him off his feet and right into Marlowe. Both ending up on the floor, a quiet 'oof' followed by a wheeze escaping Marlowe as Dick's full weight landed on top of her.

Getting up quickly, Marlowe coughing and clutching her ribs, "What do you eat?" Her pained question went ignored as Dick attempted to open the door. Marlowe joining him after rolling her eyes at the detective but it was like the door had been magically sealed.

There were muffled yells on the other side that only spurred on Dick and Marlowe's attempts, to the same level of success as before.

It all of a sudden got deathly quiet. The piercing thud of a body hitting the ground being the only sound beside Rachel's coughing in the air. The door swung open slowly.

"That's not creepy at all." Marlowe muttered as Dick rushed in. The detective quick to release Rachel from her restraints while Marlowe paused at the Olympic pool amount of blood surrounding the body of a bald man. The way his body had fallen made a lump form in her throat as his form started to flicker.

A younger body in a green and black body suit, smoking fabric across his back from where-

"Please," Rachel sobbed into Dick's shoulder once she was free, her arms around his shoulders, her eyes looking to Marlowe, "Help me."

The older girl met Rachel's tear filled eyes. A million questions running through her head, the scene all too familiar for the nineteen year old.

"You're okay, you're okay. Dad's got you, you're okay."

"Fuck."

~~*~~

               "Hey! Hey! Hands off!" Marlowe yelled, all but leaping out of Dick's moving car. The man screeching to a halt in the middle of the road behind the tow truck.

               "Marlowe!" Dick called after her, wincing at the yellow light glaring at him through his windshield. Turning over his shoulder he sent a look over his shoulder, "Stay in the car." Rachel just rolled her eyes but complied. Sinking as far as she could into the microscopic back seats.

               Getting out Dick jogged over to a pissed off Marlowe arguing with a tow truck driver who looked as if he could care less.

               "It wasn't even parked that long!"

               "There's no parking here, I don't know how many times I gotta say it kid." To further back his point he motioned to the sign ten or twenty feet down the road that read no parking at any time.

               "Fuck." Marlowe cursed, and Dick took over before things got violent. Placing a hand on her shoulder he pulled Marlowe away and motioned her to get her stuff.

               "Sorry about her. She's..."

               "Cos?" Marlowe whispered, spotting the faint glow through the carrier seems and letting out a sigh of relief. Quickly grabbing the Staff, and her case and duffle bag before spotting the energy drinks and jerky still in the front passenger seat. Quickly grabbing the plastic bag and shoving it into her duffle.

               "Ready?" Dick asked as she made her way back to him and the driver. Her glare at the man in the brightly colored vest as nasty as they come.

               "Yeah."

               "Okay," Dick let out a breath, turning back to the driver with a smile, "So sorry, again. Have a good night." 

               Marlowe looked over her shoulder at the car she had been using get pulled onto the truck and driven away. Sorry Bruce, she internally winced as she put her stuff into Dick's strange hood trunk. Hesitating at putting Cosmo in. Dick watching her closely as she did.

               The time she had spent away from Cosmo tonight had been the longest she had been more than a few feet away from the Staff in months, and she didn't want to separate from them so soon. Feeling like someone was sitting on her chest at the prospect of not being able to physically see them.

               "How does it work?" Dick, fourteen, asked in awe. Wide eyes as he took in the Cosmic Staff and it's shifts of light. Jack simply laughed at the teenager, whirling the Staff to tease the boy.

               "For one, it's not an it."

               "What do you mean?" Dick's head tilted as he narrowed his eyes. Jack stopping his teasing and holding the Staff horizontally in his hands in front of Dick.

               "The Staff is conscience. And their consciousness bonds to their wielder's, and draws their energy from that and the cosmic energy around them to work and produce the blasts and light that they do." Jack explained with a grin, amusement dancing in his eyes as he looked down at the teenager who still didn't get it.

               "How about this. You know how you and Donna are best friends? And how excited you get when you see her, how happy?" Jack tried, getting a confused nod, "Well, the Staff and I are the same way. We are best friends and feed off each other's happiness at getting to see each other."

               Dick still didn't really get it, but nodded anyway, "Right."

               "The Staff will be safe," Dick spoke gently, "You can check on them when we stop." That seemed to do the trick as Marlowe gently set the Staff down in between her case and her duffle.

               "Thanks." Marlowe dodged eye contact, getting back in the car as Rachel popped open the door and asked if they were leaving any time soon or not. Dick just shook his head to himself and got back into the drivers seat. Pulling away from his illegal parking situation and leaving the city.

               "Where are we going?" Rachel piped up from the back seat after almost an hour of silence, pulling her knees into her chest. A question Marlowe would like the answer to as well.

               "Somewhere safe."

               "How descriptive." Marlowe poked sarcastically, shifting slightly in her seat.

               "My mom, says there's no such thing as monsters," Rachel continued, making both Dick and Marlowe look back at her. Dick looking quickly back to the road, eyebrows pinched, while Marlowe continued to watch Rachel as the girl turned to look out the window, "I think she was wrong."

~~*~~

Marlowe didn't know how long it had been, but Rachel had long since fallen asleep. Silence had once again overtaken the car and Marlowe kept herself entertained by watching the scenery pass by. The adrenaline that had been keeping her going tonight was quickly draining and leaving her whole being sore and aching.

It didn't help that the seats in Dick's car were some of the most uncomfortable she had ever sat in. Her shifting agitating the already pulsing wound, so much so that a sharp pain zapped through her side when she tried to change her sitting position, to bring feeling back to her tailbone. Causing her to let out a quiet hiss and automatically bring a hand up her stomach.

               "You okay?" Dick asked quietly in concern, eyeing Rachel in the back.

"I got shot, what do you think?" Marlowe quipped back, settling back as best she could. Dick's mouth opening as he took a breath was the only sign that she needed to tell she had opened the floor to a conversation she didn't want to have. "Everything I did was in self-defense."

"Right, cracking open someone's skull is self-defense." Dick scoffed. Marlowe glanced at him with a raised eyebrow, flames dancing in her eyes.

"That cop shot me."

"And you killed his partner."

Silence.

Marlowe chewed viciously on the inside of her cheek, flames being doused by harsh reality, "I didn't mean to." She says quietly, turning her eyes to the windshield, feeling her nose tingle and bringing up a hand to wipe at it. As if that would stop her impending doom.

Dick looked at her out of the corner of his eye and... all he could see is a lost, scared kid. Running from something.

"Did you tell him?" The question surprised Dick, but also confused him.

"Who?"

"My dad. Did you tell him?" Marlowe clarified, her voice – and body it seemed – getting smaller by the second.

"Tell him what?"

"About... that."

Silence. Marlowe could feel her heart stop, wanting nothing but to scream at Dick to just say something. To tell her if she could go home ever again. To tell her if her parents would want her back. To tell her if her dad knew just how much of a disappointment - of a monster she was, how unworthy of the Staff she was.

"... No."

Dick didn't question the stiff breathe that Marlowe let out, or the way she almost crumpled. Ignoring how she would glance at him every couple of seconds as he stayed quiet.

"...Thanks."

"I didn't do it for you." His almost immediate response stung strangely. But Marlowe brushed it off, just nodding slowly to herself and cementing her eyes on the scenery once again. Her teeth tearing into her bottom lip. Another couple of moments passed in tense quiet.

"You know, growing up, he would never shut up about you," Marlowe tried to break the atmosphere, her voice barely audible but Dick still heard her, "My dad, I mean. Kyle and I used to joke that you were his and Bruce's long lost love child or something. Like he needed a third child surprise." She chuckles self-depreciatingly, "Whenever I'd think about maybe getting to meet you... this is not how I pictured it going."

Dick's mouth opened, but not knowing how to respond his jaw snapped shut. Quiet for a couple of seconds until, "Sit tight, we'll stop soon and you can get cleaned up."

~~*~~

[tazzytypes]

Apocalypse: Sanctuary - Chapter 4

Find more chapters here  OR Read on AO3

The air was thick and smelled of must. People crowded into the streets like they were in the center of New York City, but when she looked up she saw the towering remnants of an ancient metropolis. Like a tide, they pulled at her this way and that. Green eyes staring up at the sky quickly were once more pulled to the cobblestone street beneath her feet as she tripped and fell to the ground.

She had to move. That was the only thing she was sure of. She had to find him.

“He’s here!” the people murmured, the phrase coming towards her like ripples in a pond, followed by gushing. Their words were a roar in her ear, fan-girls and fan-boys all vying to be seen and heard over all the others.

Something possessive curled around her heart, a jealous python that would squeeze until the organ burst in her chest and rendered her lifeless on the street. Then she would be left to be trampled by the stampede, head caved in and bones broken by a million feet — the second rendition of the Who concert of the 19070s.

She had to move.

The snake in her chest provoked something in her. Her hands were like claws as they dug into the shoulders of those in front of her, pulling them back so she could surge forwards. Like rag-dolls they allowed her to tear into them or perhaps she simply didn’t care if they were hurt. All that mattered was finding him.

Finally, she could see the edge of their ranks. They were like a funeral procession, swaying back and forth silently. No cries of praise or screaming of star-struck fans close to their equivalent of a god. He wasn't a god… not to her. Or maybe he was? She couldn’t recall.

All she knew is that when she looked at him her heart soared and she felt happier than she had ever felt before. When she finally saw his golden hair between the silhouettes of those before her she felt giddy, a smile pulling at her lips as she reached out to him. Blue eyes met hers and she could see the universe within them, a sea she could explore a million times over without growing tired. She smiled so much it hurt, her lips forming his name like a prayer.

The smile faded as quickly as it had formed. His back turned to her as he ascended the stairs, up to one of the ancient monoliths that surrounded them. Her heart fell to her stomach and all she could do was stand there, hot and salty tears pouring down her cheeks.

He was hers, wasn’t he? Or was she simply of the masses, looking upon him and wishing to be looked upon in return… to be something more than what they were.

Em awoke with a gasp, heart hammering in her ears as she stared down at the floor of the empty hallway, the wall she leaned on cool to the touch.

Wait… hallway?

Panicked, she righted herself, turning around in circles as she tried to figure out where she was. How did she end up in the hallway? The last thing she remembered was Venable sending them to their rooms as wardens rushed in to deal with the snakes. Emily, as usual, had pulled Em to her senses… literally tugging her from the chair with the help of The Fist. The Three Musketeers had gathered in the library, Timothy convinced they had actually summoned a demon while the two girls sought a more logical explanation

Then she had gone to bed, seeking refuge from the continuous hunger that clawed at her belly… sleepwalking maybe? But she had never sleepwalked before…

Em looked down at her legs. She had gotten dressed, entirely in purple with a bow around her neck and puffed sleeves that reminded her of the 80s. Her now shoulder-length hair was even pulled back into a bun.

A hand went to her wrist, something stiff behind the cuffs of her sleeves. She had even readied the pocket knife she had smuggled in, hidden in a secret pocket she had sown in during their first few weeks in the outpost.

She had always been meticulous when getting ready for the day — the curse of Victorian clothes and an inability to trust the presiding authority. So how could she not remember? Dissociating wasn’t new to her — it was common to get into a routine and go on autopilot, but this was just… black. Like she had drunk too much or had her wisdom teeth removed.

“Em!” A voice called, the woman in question turning at the sound of footsteps running in her direction. Emily bounded towards her, lifting her skirt so she could move as quickly as possible. “There you are! We’ve been looking all over for you!”

The brunette didn’t even note the buzzing feeling until it retreated from her, leaving her head, then her shoulders, and onward until it left her toes and seemed to seep into the floor, her spine-shivering at the sensation. How could she not have felt it jitter her bones?

Emily noted her friend's distant gaze and pinched brows, hand going to cover Em’s freezing ones. “Are you alright?”

Em shook her head, trying to clear away the fog.

“Sorry,” She apologized, offering an unconvincing and certainly not reassuring smile despite her intentions, “lost my head for a moment there. Did you need something?”

Emily frowned for a moment but didn’t push.

“Venable called for a meeting. Maybe we’ll finally figure out something.”

She took a few steps forward, hand reaching back for Em to take. A small relieved smile flickered to Emily’s face as Em took her hand, allowing the ebony-haired girl to tug her along to the salon.

“Who do you think was in Venable’s office?” Emily asked. Her hand was tight around Em’s as if she were afraid the brunette would float away.

“I don’t know.”

“Has to be someone important. I’ve never seen her so ruffled.”

“She deserves to be ruffled,” Em notes, earning a laugh from her companion.

“Amen to that.”

                                       ------------------------------------

Em would probably never stop complaining about the arrangement of furniture in the salon. Having her back to open air was unnerving and knowing a wall of Greys were behind her didn’t help smooth out the hairs that stood up on the back of her neck.

She shifted this way and that as the others chatted around her, trying to find a position that eased her tension. The brunette would slouch, but corsets made that physically impossible. Emily noted her friend's discomfort and offered her a reassuring smile.

God, she wished she could join the Greys, standing in the background against the walls or above them on the small balcony. She glanced over to Venable who stood front and center. It reminded Em of an annoying governess, looking down at her charges with her nose in the air. No, if Em moved that would break the woman's precious rules. Heavens knew they couldn’t break quid pro quo of their tiny society.

While Venable’s presence was enough to seep any joy from the room, there was an added weight to the usual tension. This moment was going to be a defining one. A visitor knocking on one's door during a nuclear winter was haunting and they had all been warned about the cannibals… the wild, tumor infested ones at the very least.

The clicking of heels against wood was a drum-roll suitable for a battlefield, growing closer and closer at an agonizingly slow pace. They all turned their attention to the door which stood wide open by a Grey. From the shadows, a man came forth.

His clothes were much more modern than her own, making Em feel more than a bit ridiculous. She kept her hands in her lap and forced herself not to fidget as he rounded the room. The light of the fire he was approaching made his features more prominent, but her attention was focused on his hair. The way the firelight hit him made it seem like there was a golden halo around his head, catching and setting ablaze every stray strand. It was enough to awe at, the poet in her quick to make a comparison to angels. Then again, even God’s most beautiful angel had locks of golden hair… and they all know what happened to him.

He came to a stop uncomfortably close to Venable. It was enough to unnerve the woman, a triumphant smile quickly pressed into a thin line. His actions were primal, a lion trying to take over the pride. When Em glanced at Emily and the others she found that they had already removed their gaze as if they were watching a dance that was not meant to be seen. Coco scratched at the back of her neck and even Dinah preoccupied herself with straightening a wrinkle in her dress.

Whatever Venable saw in the man’s eyes was enough to make her falter and step back, the second-long interaction feeling much longer.

Smug, he pulled his gaze away from the queen of Outpost 3 and glanced over them with his hands behind his back. He oozed and burned with something Em had been yearning for — power. Letting the silence sit for a moment, he finally addressed them.

“My name is Langdon and I represent The Cooperative,” He started, “I won't sugarcoat the situation.”

They all sat a little straighter, eager to hear him speak. His eyes linger on her and she does not look away, makes sure of it. It was a primal interaction she knew all too well.

“Humanity is on the brink of failure,” Langdon went on, eyes not leaving hers, waiting for her to turn away.

While the existence of “alphas” was debatable and even debunked by the man who coined it, dogs and even cats avert their eyes from their more powerful counterparts. Em would not bow her head to anyone.

“My arrival here,” He continued, finally pulling away, “was crucial to the survival of civilized life on earth. The three other compounds — in Syracuse, New York, Beckley, West Virginia, and San Angelo, Texas — have been overrun and destroyed.”

West Virginia — that’s where Em had been initially placed before some rich benefactor decided their dog was more deserving of her position there. She was lucky The Cooperative even bothered to place her somewhere else. While Texas would have been the next closer outpost to where she was on the east coast, she was honestly quite glad to be where she was. Enough of her life had been spent surrounded by bigoted rednecks.

Langdon went on, “We’ve had no contact from the six international outposts, but we are assuming that they, too, have been eliminated.”

Em bit her lip to keep down the retort that threatened to burst out. A giant fucking ocean and radiation interfering with whatever electrical-waves that could be used for communication ensured little to no communication. She doubted a radioactive pigeon could even survive long enough to make a voyage.

“What happened to the people inside?” Timothy asked across from her. He was the only one that seemed relaxed, leaning against the arm of the chair as he had during every cocktail hour for the past 18 months.

Langdon spared him a fleeting glance, tone light despite the gravity, “Massacred.”

“By who?” Em prompted.

The quick side-eye from the man was enough to tell her that he had heard her, but was choosing not to address her.

He was not shy to deliver the news which he had come here to give them, “The same fate that will befall almost all of you.”

“Almost all?” A Grey questioned from behind her. Em glanced in the direction of the voice to find the girl that had delivered Em her clothes a few days before. Coco’s friend… though "friend" would be a very loose word.

Once again, Langdon pretended not to hear. Looking at the girl, but not dignifying her with a response.

“In the knowledge that this very moment might occur,” he said, “We built a failsafe — The Sanctuary.”

“The Sanctuary?” Coco echoed.

“The Sanctuary,” He went on, quickly growing tired of the interruptions, “is unique. It has certain security measures that will prevent overrun.”

Mead made a face at that, clearly bothered by this bit of information, “Excuse me, sir, what measures? Why weren’t we given them?”

“And why weren’t they applied to all outposts?” Em couldn’t help but add, meeting Mead’s gaze which shared a similar glimmer of realization.

When she turned back to the blond, his eyes were boring into her own, raising a hand to silence Mead, “That’s classified.”

He sighed, unable to hide his annoyance, “All that matters is that The Sanctuary will… survive, so the people inside it will survive, so that humanity will survive.”

Andre had looked at the man with contempt from the moment Langdon had entered the room. His eyes flared with anger the other residents were all too familiar with. “Who are the people who are populating it?”

Langdon shook his head, eyes shimmering with something akin to amusement, “…also classified. However, I have been sent to determine if any of you are worthy and fit to join us.”

Chattering filled the room, Coco’s face breaking into a smile as she turned to Gallant and Dinah beaming as she squeezed her son’s hand. Timothy, Em, and Emily could only spare one another silent and concerned looks. They all knew the questions in the minds of the other two. Did wealth factor into their chances? Either was, Em was reluctant to get her hopes up… she had learned that lesson long before the apocalypse.

“The Cooperative has developed a particular and rigorous questioning technique we like to call… ‘Cooperating’.” Langdon explained, glancing over to them with a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth, threatening to grow into something more. “I will then use the information gained to determine if you belong.”

This time, Em could not hold back the quiet scoff that left her. He had to know what he sounded like. His sarcastic tone implied that much… like a CEO on his high horse telling minimum wage workers that if they worked hard enough then they wouldn’t have to worry about rent.

Naturally, Coco was quick to throw a fit and complain. The other residents could practically sense it coming like it was The Force from Star Wars.

“What is this? The Hunger Games?” she spat, “This is bullshit. I paid my way in here and that is the only cooperating I plan on doing.”

Em sighed and leaned towards Emily, being careful to keep her voice to a whisper, “I think I’d prefer The Hunger games.”

Emily gave her a look, biting her lip to hide the amusement that had begun to show itself on her face.

Langdon waited out the tirade like a parent watching their child throw a tantrum in a Target. Certain it would come to an end, but not quite sure when. Part of him even looked shocked at the outburst altogether.

“You don’t have to sit for questioning,” he informed her. Whatever first impression Em would make on this man, she could at the very least assure herself that is wasn’t as bad as Coco’s.

“What happens if we chose not to?” Andre asked.

“Then you stay here and die.” Langdon snapped. He had hoped for his message to be implied through his speech, but these people seemed to need their hand held, either too stupid or too lazy to put 2 and 2 together.

“I volunteer to go first!” Gallant proclaimed abruptly, raising his hand into the air.

“And so you shall,” Langdon said with a smirk. Em’s eyes lingered on the hairstylist, making a note to keep her ears to the pavement. The man couldn’t keep a secret to save his life… then again it wouldn’t be past him to tell her the wrong information just to ensure his own salvation.

“The process should only take me a week or so,” Langdon said, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket, “so you won’t be kept in suspense forever. For those of you who don’t make the cut, all is not lost.”

His eyes scanned over them once more as he held up a vial, “If the worst should happen and feral cannibals come knocking, down one of these.”

There were only a few pills left and they all had to wonder if the vial was once full to the brim, “one minute later, you fall asleep and never wake up.”

Emily’s hand gripped on to Em’s skirt, but Em did not share her concern. She was quite surprised at her relief, tension leaving her shoulders. What was it that Hamlet said — “To sleep perchance to dream?” She was so tired of fighting, but the thought of death was a sobering chill in her bones, an existential fear she could not escape. She was like Jekyll and Hyde, flickering between wanting to live and wanting to fall into an endless slumber.

“I look forward to meeting each and every one of you.”

Langdon left as quick as he had entered, in silence with nothing but the clicking of heels down a hallway to give any sign he was even there at all.

They all sat there, staring at nothing… some of them turning their gaze inward. Em could only wonder what the price of survival was. Right now they were living one day only to make it to the next. It was hell, plain and simple. This ultimatum was simply choosing the lesser of two evils.

All she wanted was to see the sky — the real thing, not a worn photograph frozen in time. But there wasn’t a sky anymore, was there? Just a green haze. The brunette was nothing more than a walking corpse, the dance of day to day life, of cocktail hour and dinners and library sessions, was just a distraction. Who was to say they weren’t leaving one prison to be locked in another?

Sometimes she just wanted to scream until her vocal cords snapped.

                                                ------------------------

It didn’t take long for the purples to be at each other’s throats. She found it almost morbidly amusing — in the plight to survive they would end up killing one another until no one was left. That was irony, right? Em had become hazy on the exact definition and was too lazy at the moment to search for the answer.

“Well, smooth move asking to go first,” Coco scoffed, turning and glaring at the man beside her as soon as Venable had left the room.

“There’s an old actor’s adage,” Evie sighed, “Either go first or go last.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Coco snipped.

“Are you suggesting that he is going to pass me up?”

“You’re ancient! He’s looking for people to repopulate the earth, not fill a bingo hall.”

“You know, for someone with the mental capacity of a 3-year-old, I suppose 52 might seem ancient.”

Coco laughed, mocking and without mercy, “You were 52 when Elvis took his last shit!”

“That’s enough,” Gallant groaned.

“Oh, no.” Evie said, “let her spout. I remember a wonderful lunch that I had with Dan Tana’s with Natalie Wood.”

Coco groaned and pressed her face into a hand she had propped up on the arm of the chair.

“Natalie turned to me and she said,” Evie continued, changing to mock an accent Em couldn’t quite place, “’ Evie, you are a survivor. You’re gonna outlive us all.’”

With a flourish of her hand, the old woman procured a fan from somewhere on her person and used it to emphasize her point, “and dear Natalie — she turned out to be right.”

Em’s restraint and sanity were at an end. Whatever thread it had been dangling by snapping as she listened to Gallant and Coco go at the other’s throat, the other residents hardly doing anything to help the situation.

Emily jumped as the brunette next to her suddenly jumped to her feet. Coco opening her mouth to retort to the old woman’s story, but finding herself cut off.

“Shut up!” She cried, “For the love of god, shut up!”

The group went quiet, shocked and looking to another for some explanation. Em wasn’t one to hide her aggravation, but it was mostly aimed at Venable. For the past 18 months, she had been relatively quiet save for her interactions with Emily and Timothy.

“Realistically,” She posed, “What is going to happen to us?”

Coco frowned, “I don’t know about you, but I’m going to be in that sanctuary.”

Evie scoffed, “darling, you have as much of a chance getting into that sanctuary as Stu does.”

Coco narrowed her eyes, “Stu’s dead.”

“That’s her point.” Gallant sighed.

“You have no right to speak his name!” Andre snapped before turning and glaring at the old woman, “especially you!”

“We didn’t eat your boyfriend!” Coco and Gallant snapped back in unison.

Dinah stood and took a spot next to Em who could only roll her eyes at the former star’s antics, “The only way to survive is to work together.”

“Oh, shut up,” Coco groaned, leaning her head back on the couch, “that garbage may have worked in TV land, but this is real life.”

“And real life has need of influencers?” Em scoffed. She was beyond done with this batch of spoiled socialites and tired of holding her tongue in the hopes that one day they may prove useful. “Spare me.”

Coco gaped at her, turning to her and beginning to bop her head again like an angry chicken, “there are 2 types of people in the world: the influenced and the influencers.”

Em shook her head, hands coming to her chin as if she was praying, “The old world, you mean.”

“Old world, new world.” Coco said, “it’s all the same.”

“Is that what you tell yourself?” Em asked, holding back a laugh.

“Oh, and you have all the answers?”

“No,” Em admitted, coming to stand in front of the fireplace, “but I have facts: most of the people in this room have no applicable skills.”

Coco raised a finger and opened her mouth.

Em held out a hand, pointing at her with the rage of god, “I swear if the word influencer leaves you mouth one more time—”

Whatever Coco saw in the brunette’s eyes was enough to shut her up, eyes going to the ground before her before she glanced at the others. Even Emily was frightened by her friend’s current rampage, looking to Timothy who only shrugged… Em had a point.

“Scientists theorized after World War Three,” Em explained, pacing back and forth, “that 80 percent of people would die in the blast and the other 20 percent would die in the aftermath.”

“But the Sanctuary—”

Em cut off Gallant, “The only sanctuary we have is in death and this place— ”

She motioned to the room around here, “— this place only prolongs our suffering.”

“Well if you’re so right and whatever why don’t you just off yourself and save us the headache!” Coco snapped.

“Out fingers have the consistency of a carrot,” Em sighed, speaking more to herself than the others, “we could bite it off just as easily… but we don’t.”

“Yeah! Because we’re not psychos!”

“Because our brains stop us,” Em said, “When standing at the edge of a tall building some of us feel the urge to jump… not because we’re depressed, not because we want to, but because it is simply there.”

“Are you going to get to the point?” Gallant sighed, pinching his nose and making a motion with his hands to hurry the girl up.

“Humans don’t want to off themselves. Those who do are fighting against every instinct that says otherwise, but—”

Em mimed a gun with two of her fingers and aimed it at Coco, closing one eye as if to get a better shot, “— to kill another is so much easier.”

“You think The Cooperative is just trying to off the 20 percent?” Timothy asked, leaning forward and glancing at Emily.

“Then why leave the others outside in the radiation,” Emily asked, brows pinched together in thought as she glanced between her boyfriend and Em, “Why not let us all die?”

“Because we are human,” Em said, “and humans don’t want to die. They will find whatever reason they can to worm their way to self-preservation.”

Gallant opened his mouth to comment, but the signature sound of a cane hitting hardwood made everyone fall silent. Venable appearing in the doorway, looking less than pleased as she stared at Em, raising her head to look at the woman down her nose.

“To question those who keep us alive is a flagrant show of disrespect,” she said.

“If we do not challenge our perception how are we to survive?” Em posed.

The residents glanced between the two like watching a tennis match where there were knives instead of balls.

Venable straightened ever slightly, “through strong will and respect for the chain of command.”

Em scoffed, “Putting a corset on chaos and hoping it will stay in its confines.”

“You doubt The Cooperative?” Venable asked, taking a step forward.

“I’m entertaining philosophical debate.”

“AKA going bat-shit crazy,” Coco laughed, sparing a look at Gallant who smiled at some unspoken joke.

“Well you got one thing right,” Venable said, banging her cane on the floor to gather the attention of the entire room and looking over each of them one by one, “You’re all expendable.”

Her eyes landed on Em, “something everyone would do well to remember.”

Venable turned around and began to walk away, but Em’s voice made her halt. As always it was smug and mocking. She couldn’t wait for this particular fly to finally be squashed.

“What about you?”

Her voice was firm and resolute, “I am the only thing standing between you and a quick death.”

She didn’t turn to look at Em, but she could practically sense the mocking bow taking place behind her.

“Then I yield to my executioner.”

Venable’s lips twitched into a scowl that she did not pretend to hide, unseen by the crowd behind her.

“Dinner is in an hour,” She spat, “Tardiness will not be accepted for any reason.”

                                        ---------------------------------

Timothy and Emily had gathered in the latter’s room, sighing against the other's lips. Emily groaned as he pulled away trying to pull him closer only to be stopped by a hand on her shoulder.

“This one kiss a week is bullshit.” She sighed, eyes flickering open as she looked at Timothy through her lashes.

Timothy’s eyes pressed into a line as he looked everywhere but at her, trying to hold on to whatever restraint he had left. “I know.”

There was a moment of silence before Emily spoke again, “I want to get out of here.”

Timothy could only stare at her, praying she wasn’t implying what he thought she was, “What are you talking about?”

Emily stood, the lack of her warmth beside him quickly sobering Timothy to the conversation at hand, “I’m not gonna wait around to find out if Langdon chooses us and I don’t exactly trust him, anyway.”

She was practically beaming as she proposed her plan to him, “I say we steal two rad-suits and some food and take our chances on the road… find the sanctuary ourselves.”

He didn’t even know how to respond to that, leaning back on the bed as he gaped like a fish and gestured out to her in hopes that would spur some epiphany of words. Part of him was annoyed with Em. Put those two together and they’d overtake the outpost if they could.

“That is crazy,” was all he could say, quickly searching for something to add after as Emily began to give him that scathing glower, “We don’t… Have you forgotten what it’s like out there?”

“Em would be down in a heartbeat,” Emily tried to persuade.

“Em is less impulsive than you think. She’s seen what cancer does to people… it’s not pretty.”

“I’m not saying we have to rush it,” Emily reassured, walking back to him a kneeling down to grab his hand, “but Langdon made it here okay and he was all alone. He doesn’t exactly look like Mad Max.”

“We don’t even know where The Sanctuary is.”

“Maybe there’s something in his room that’ll tell us,” Emily said, “Em knows how to use information… she’s a fucking encyclopedia sometimes.”

Timothy was shaking his head but laughed despite himself.

“Fine,” he relented, “but only if Em agrees. We’re in this together or not at all.”

Emily was beaming, springing up and hugging him. Timothy gasped as the air was nearly knocked out of him.

“You won’t regret it,” She whispered in his ear.

                                               --------------------------

With the pressure of impending doom, most of the residents were keeping their heads low. While she felt somewhat embarrassed about her previous rampage, there was some therapeutic relief in it. While she had voiced her complaints before, it had never been so… explosive.

Coco had called her psycho and part of Em couldn’t completely deny it. She had lost time not even an hour before. If things kept going as they were, a much more violent and permanent break would be in her future. The black void in her memory frightened her to no end. It was like being in the blast all over again, alone and surrounded by nothingness as the bombs shook her bones. Em imagined it was what death felt like, but she didn’t like to imagine it for long.

Gallant had his interview which gave them all an hour or so free of drama. Things almost felt peaceful… as peaceful as looming death would allow.

Foolishly, she had begun her free-time looking for the occult book the Three Musketeers had used to terrify Timothy. Now, she sat at a table with medical books strewn around her as she scribbled in her notebook. Medical professionals said not to self-diagnose, but the brunette had a lack of a better option.

Her symptoms included buzzing and loss of time. While it was easy to chalk it up to starvation, something about that prognosis didn’t sit right with her. Unfortunately, with those symptoms alone she might as well have searched on WebMD and chosen the worse possible answer. Cancer, tumors, and all other sorts of daunting diagnoses the first things she came across.

Sighing, Em leaned on her hand and allowed it to pull at her cheeks before running it through her hair. A dead-end stood in front of her, mocking her. She had done everything — read every book she could get her hands on and created detailed notes of every possible diagnosis. Balled up paper surrounded her, each one of them another dead end.

So, eyes tired from reading small print in dim lighting, Em changed course. With a sigh, she pushed aside the medical books and medical notes and pulled towards her the books on agriculture and self-sustainability.

Despite her feelings towards the current states of life and death, the humanity in her urged her to plow forward — to prepare for the worst-case scenario.

She knew what happened in Chernobyl. Every class since pre-k seemed to go over the subject, but Chernobyl was a harmless puppy compared to what they now faced. What happened when the radiation had nowhere to go? Was it even able to dissipate?

Then there was the issue of food. What could they eat when the entire food supply was contaminated? It was possible, she knew that much, but without the Cooperative —

Em was pulled out of her thoughts by the feeling of being watched, hand going to her neck where hairs stood on end. Looking up, she found Langdon standing there, watching her from the end of an aisle. It was unnerving, his stare, like looking into the eyes of a hungry wolf. How long had he been there?

“You’ve wandered away from the heard,” He noted, hands behind his back as he sauntered towards her.

She turned her attention back to her collection of books, sighing at the sudden interruption and heart halting fear Langdon’s sudden presence evoked, “A heard implies we are a collective group.”

He came to a stop by her side cocking his head as he looked at the books piled up around her like a make-shift fort. He made no move to sit. Another power play.

“Aren’t you?” he asked, picking a book from the top of the pile — a medical dictionary. His eyes flickered over some of the pages as he flipped through it. Why would she be looking at medical dictionaries?

Em was quick to organize her notes, scattered here and there. She placed them under the books if only to spare herself from whatever line of questioning they would evoke. Langdon noticed but did not comment.

“Push comes to shove, most of us will turn on the others to survive.” She told him, finally looking at him.

He smirked, catching her subtle slip-up as he placed the dictionary back on its respective pile, “us?”

Her hazel-green eyes flickered back towards her books.

“I don’t particularly care for many of them,” Em sighed, pulling a tome from a pile and opening it to read its index, “and I know they would sacrifice me in a heartbeat.”

“An eye for an eye,” Langdon noted, rounding the table until he stood on her right, taking a seat on the table instead of a chair, “some may call that barbaric.”

“I call it balance,” Em noted, looking up from the book and into his blue eyes. The sight of them made her pause, but only for an instant. “Is this my interview?”

“Do you want it to be?”

“I think it doesn’t matter what I want.”

His eyes narrowed as if trying to find something in her eyes, his head quirking to the side yet again, “then why do you ask?”

Em motioned to the books in front of her, “curiosity.”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” He noted, waving his hand and looking away from her as he continued, “or so they say.”

“But satisfaction brought it back,” she finished.

A smirk crawled onto his lips and once more he turned his attention to the piles of books before her. His hands went to one of the medical books, opening it and skimming through the pages.

“How many books have you read?” he asked, the simplicity of the question taking her off-guard. Em eyed the book in her hand, small with yellowed pages. She closed it with a snap before turning it this way and that, calculating something in her head.

“Depends on the size,” she admits, “one a day, larger ones maybe a week. Some I’ve re-read. Would you count those as well?”

Michael smiled and shook his head, placing his book back on the pile, “Do you intend to read them all?”

“Personal goal,” she admits, fiddling with her bracelet, “we all need something to get us through the day.”

Michael’s eyes focused on her hands which religiously turned and twisted at the string and beads around her wrist.

“Such a simple thing,” he noted, “I assume it has sentimental value?”

“More like superstition,” she admits, “I was wearing it when I was brought here. It’s a Nazar, meant to ward off the evil eye.”

Michael hummed, eyes not leaving the object, “I’m familiar. When logic cannot prevail humans rely upon— ”

Em went to add something, but they were cut off by the shrieking of the library door. Em turned towards the sound but she could feel Michael’s eye on her.

“Oh!” Coco exclaimed from across the room, laughing with her hand on her heart like she was surprised as she started towards them. A hand went to pat her hair to keep it in place. “I didn’t expect you to be in here!”

Em sighed and rolled her eyes, Michael’s finally leaving her and dragging to Coco as he rose to his feet. Whatever smirk he wore was gone, his expression a stone-like mask. Was he annoyed or was that simply his resting face?

“Having a little party here?” Coco asked, her voice almost painfully nice as a hand motioned to the door behind her to the door, “or is this an intimate affair? Should I go and — “

“No need,” Langdon told her, raising a hand to silence her as he moved towards the door. As he approached Coco he stopped for a moment, eying her up and down, “I have other business to attend to.”

Coco simply stood there, trapped in his gaze until he finally turned back to Em, hands going behind his back. They were always behind his back… as if he were hiding something from them.

“You have enlightened me to some fascinating bits of information. I can’t wait to see what else my interview will extract.”

The room fell eerily silent as he left. Em watched his back, his hands. There was something off about this man… The Cooperative in general. Of all the times not to have internet—

“So what were you two talking about?” Coco asked, Em jumping as the woman seemed to suddenly appear before her. The sickly-sweet voice was back again, flooding Em’s mind with memories from high-school.

“Books,” Em sighed, reorganizing the books. She needed to put away the medical ones and get a few more for her other research… “and what living here is like.”

“Did he say anything about the interview?”

“No.”

Coco scoffed, rolling her eyes, “then my time is wasted.”

In a flurry of huffing and stomping, the woman left the room. Silence took over the library once more as the door slammed shut.

“No,” Em sang in a hushed tone, collecting books into her arms and returning them to their proper place, “don’t go.”

Desperation in a den of hungry wolves was dangerous enough, dangle a piece of meat and they would most certainly tear one another to pieces.

[arysafics]

Don’t Call Me Angel

Summary:  Bellamy punishes Clarke for her slutty Halloween costume.

Prompts: bells in charge and theres like ‘punishment’ + punishment kink

Rated E, ~2.9k 

Bellamy couldn’t make it to the party tonight. Clarke had been disappointed at first, when he told her he would have to work, because she had been desperate to do a couples costume this year, for the first time in her life. Plus, parties are just not as fun when he’s not there.

The upside of not having Bellamy at the party is it means she can dress as slutty as she wants. He hates it when she shows off her body to other people. He’ll begrudgingly let her wear a bikini to the beach, as long as he’s with her, and it’s obvious to everyone that they’re together. But even then, she notices him glowering at anyone who dares to glance in her direction. Her body belongs to him, and she likes it that way. She finds the possessiveness and jealousy hot. Loves the way he fucks her hard to remind her she’s his.

Still, she also likes to show off a little bit. And she also likes to see what she can get away with.

She waits until he’s gone before she gets dressed—or, rather, undressed. Bellamy knows her Halloween costume is an angel. He’s seen the wings and halo she’s got sitting on the bed. What he doesn’t know, is that the rest of the costume is just a white negligee, the cups holding in her breasts the only part of it that isn’t sheer. Underneath, just a pair of white lacy panties.

Bellamy would die if he saw her in this. And if he caught her going out in it, there’s no telling what he might do. Clarke half hopes to find out.

She puts on the wings and the halo and studies her reflection in the mirror. She’s dressed as an angel, but she doesn’t look anything like one. She wishes Bellamy didn’t have to work. She wants him to come home right now, pull off her panties, then fuck her from behind.

Alas, the next person to show up at her door is not Bellamy, but Josephine, come to pick her up for the party. Josie is dressed as the devil, in a crop top that almost shows her nipples, and a pair of tight red shorts. The only way to actually tell she’s the devil are the flashing plastic horns on her head, and the plastic pitchfork in her hand.

“Damn,” Josie says, looking Clarke up and down. “Does Bellamy know you’re going out like that?”

“Nope, and you aren’t going to tell him.”

“Maybe you and I should go home together tonight,” Josie grins. “I’m sure Gabriel won’t mind. I think he has a thing for Bellamy anyway, maybe we can do a swapsies.”

“No offence, Jose, but you really aren’t my type.”

“Rude.”

“Get over it.”

Josie rolls her eyes. “Come on, Gabriel’s waiting in the car.”

Gabriel, dressed as a priest, barely spares a second glance at Clarke’s outfit as she gets into the car. Evidently, boobs are not his thing.  Plus, he’s probably just thinking about how the devil is going to coax him to break his vows later, in whatever kinky roleplay he and Josie have planned. It does no harm to Clarke’s ego either way, since she knows she’ll have plenty of attention on her once they get to the party.

She’s not wrong. There’s not a single straight man in the room whose eyes don’t drop to her cleavage as she walks by, host of the party, Roan, included. His eyes trail further down, then flit across to Josie. He makes eye contact with Gabriel and smirks.

“Don’t you three look cute?” he says. He’s dressed as Tarzan. Anything to get shirtless. “Did you and Bellamy break up?” he asks Clarke. He knows as well as anyone how possessive Bellamy is of his girl, having looked at Clarke the wrong way once, and ended up with a broken nose, courtesy of Bellamy.

Clarke shakes her head. “He had to work.”

“That’s a shame,” Roan smiles lecherously. “For him.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “You talk a big game, but I know you’re too terrified of him to ever touch me.”

Roan shrugs. “I might risk it if I thought you’d be into it. Too bad you’re too in love with him to see how good I could make you feel.”

“Okay, can you two stop flirting and tell me where the alcohol is?” Josie interrupts.

“Pool room,” Roan grunts, pointing to the left.

Josie grabs Gabriel’s hand, and Clarke follows them towards the pool room, looking back to see Roan watching her ass as she walks away.

“Enjoy the view!” she calls back. That’s all he’s ever going to get.

Clarke enjoys herself at the party. She gets hit on more than a few times, and ogled by anyone with eyes. She gets a little tipsy, grinds herself against Josie on the dancefloor, and takes way too many bad selfies. But’s only a couple of hours before she starts to miss Bellamy, wishing he were here to sneak off to one of Roan’s many bedrooms with her.

Then, as she’s dancing by herself, she feels a large body press up against her back, flattening her wings, and a strong forearm slide around her waist, gripping her tightly. She knows instantly it’s him, and she wonders for a moment if she somehow conjured him up with her mind.

She grinds back against him, smiling, hoping he’ll dance with her.

“I thought you had to work,” she says, and then, when he doesn’t give in to her attempts to get him to dance, she spins around.

“Got off early,” Bellamy says. He’s even got a costume on. A sexy cop outfit. Clarke recognises the handcuffs dangling from his belt as one of the many toys from their collection at home.

He eyes her up and down, and Clarke flushes under his appraisal. His jaw ticks as he meets her eye, and she knows she’s in trouble. Her cunt throbs.

“Lucky I did,” he growls. “Seems I can’t leave you alone for a few hours without you showing yourself off to anyone who’ll look at you.”

“I’m sorry,” Clarke says, blinking up at him innocently.

Bellamy raises an eyebrow. He knows she’s far from innocent. “You will be,” he promises. He grabs her wrist then, his huge fingers gripping her tightly. He turns her around forcefully, and a moment later, Clarke feels him replace his hand with a cuff. He grabs her other wrist and the circles the other cuff around it, clicking it into place so her hands are restrained behind her back. Clarke can feel her pulse start to race.

People around them have started to notice now, and Clarke feels her face turn crimson as Bellamy grabs her arm and drags her from the room. He ignores the onlookers, keeping his grip firm on her bicep and pushing her outside and towards his car. He opens the back door and bundles her inside roughly, then rounds the car and slides into the driver’s seat. He glances over his shoulder at her.

“What’s going to happen to me, Officer?” Clarke asks sweetly. He doesn’t answer, just turns back to face the front and turns the key in the ignition. Okay, so it’s not that kind of game.

He’s silent on the drive back to their house, and Clarke hates it. He doesn’t look at her, doesn’t tell her what a naughty girl she’s been. Her mind whirls with the possibilities that await when they get home, her cunt throbbing, and she leaks into her panties, soaking them right through.

He pulls the car into the driveway, then pulls her out of the backseat, still treating her a little roughly. Clarke doesn’t dare speak until he does, but she’s bursting to know what he’s thinking. How mad is he? What’s he going to do to her?

He takes her to their bedroom, still silent, then lets her go. She turns to him, biting her lip, pleading with him with her eyes to forgive her.

“Don’t give me that look,” he growls. “You know exactly what you’ve done, and you’re going to be punished for it.”

“Please, sir,” Clarke begs him. “I didn’t mean it.”

“You didn’t mean to dress up like a slut and parade yourself around for the entertainment of others? Or you didn’t mean to get caught?”

Clarke’s lower lips trembles. He gives her a triumphant look. He knows she can’t pretend like she didn’t know he wouldn’t approve of her outfit. He steps towards her.

“How many times do I have to tell you? Your body belongs to me. Nobody else gets to look at you.” He pulls the cups of her negligee down easily, revealing her nipples, hard and straining for him. He takes a nipple between his right finger and thumb, rolling it gently, then twisting, harder and harder, until Clarke whimpers.

“Your tits could have easily slipped out of this poor excuse for clothing. I don’t want other men eyeing off my property, got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

He edges her backwards until her thighs hit the foot of the bed, then he spins her around and pushes her down, hand on the back of her neck. Their bed is high off the ground for exactly this purpose—him bending her over the end of it. He yanks her panties down and pushes her flimsy negligee up, exposing her ass and pussy. He kicks her legs open. She looks even less like an angel how. Her pussy clenches in anticipation. He’s going to fuck her, she’s sure of it.

His finger trails along her slit, gathering her arousal on his fingertip.

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re all wet,” Bellamy says. “You think you’re going to get fucked, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“No, baby,” he says. “I told you, you’re getting punished.” She hears him walking away, and she turns her head over her shoulder, watching him head to the closet, reach into their box of toys, then walk back with a flogger. A fresh surge leaks out of Clarke’s pussy.

He trails the end of the flogger over her ass, tickling her. “Now,” Bellamy says. “What’s it going to take to get you to stop dressing like a slut?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Ten lashings? Fifteen? Twenty? More?”

Clarke shivers. “Surely no more than ten, sir.”

“Fifteen it is. Be a good girl and don’t complain too much, or I’ll make it twenty.”

“Yes, sir.”

The first lash takes her by surprise, and she gasps as it comes down across her ass. He strokes the inflamed area with the flogger, before landing another strike in the same spot. She doesn’t make another sound until the sixth stroke, when she lets out a tiny whimper. Her ass stings like hell, and he’s not even halfway done. Her arousal drips down her thighs.

“You’re not complaining, are you?” Bellamy demands.

“No, sir,” Clarke squeaks. “I deserve it, sir.”

“That’s right.” He strikes her again. “Why do you deserve it?”

“I dressed like a slut in public, sir,” Clarke says. The flogger comes down on her ass again, and another whimper escapes her mouth. She’s forgotten what number they’re up to now. “I let other men see my panties.”

“What do you think they were thinking when they looked at you? They probably thought you were offering yourself up. An easy fuck. A little whore, desperate for cock.” Two more whips of the flogger, and tears start to roll down her cheeks.

“Only for you,” Clarke manages to choke out through her tears. She wants the punishment to be over so he’ll fuck her already, give her the orgasm she’s so desperately craving.

“Are you crying, baby?” Bellamy coos. Even when he’s mad at her, punishing her, he can’t resist being sweet to her. “We’re almost done, I promise. Five more to go.”

The last five come in quick succession, and tears stream down her face freely now. Each whip makes her ass erupt in flames, and she knows she won’t be able to sit down properly for days.

He counts the last whip of the flogger, and Clarke instantly relaxes against the bed. She hadn’t even realised she was holding herself so taut. The soft caress of Bellamy’s hand on her ass makes her whimper.

“Look at that nice red bottom,” Bellamy says. “Have you learned your lesson?”

“Yes, sir,” Clarke whispers. She feels him grab her wrists, and then he’s unlocking one of the cuffs, then the other. He pulls off her wings, and her halo, then stands her up and turns her around. He brushes the tears from her face with his thumbs, and kisses her cheeks.

“Are you going to be a good girl from now on?” he asks her. Clarke nods. “Good.” He gives her another kiss, on the lips this time, then drags her negligee down, letting it pool on the floor at her feet. “Now lie down on the bed.”

Clarke obeys eagerly. She took her punishment well, and now he’s going to reward her. She lies down, head on the pillows, legs spread. She ignores the throbbing of her ass and tries to focus on the throbbing of her cunt. Bellamy eyes her as he sets down the flogger and handcuffs. He raises an eyebrow, seemingly amused.

“Did I tell you to spread your legs?”

“No, sir,” Clarke admits, flushing. Is she being too obvious about how much she wants it?

“Why do you think I asked you to lie down?”

“You—you’re going to fuck me, sir? Let me come?”

Bellamy laughs. “No. Have you done anything to deserve it?”

Clarke glances down, ashamed. “No, sir.”

Bellamy unbuttons his shirt and tosses it aside. “Your cunt isn’t getting touched tonight. I’m going to fuck your face. Close your legs, you silly slut.”

“Yes, sir,” Clarke whimpers meekly, bringing her thighs together. Tears prick in her eyes again at the revelation that she won’t get to come tonight. He’s not even going to touch her there, where she so desperately needs to be touched.

Bellamy removes the rest of his clothing and kneels on the bed, his cock big and menacing. He kneels over her, nudging her mouth open with his cock. She opens wide, and he shoves his cock inside. He’s rough with her, uncaring, and Clarke knows this is part of her punishment.

She chokes as his cock hits the back of her throat, and he grabs her hair, pulling it sharply. Clarke moans. He uses her mouth, his thrusts fast and brutal, his balls hitting her chin. Clarke can barely breathe with his huge cock driving into her airway, but all she can think about is how empty her pussy is, how much she wishes he was fucking her cunt instead of her mouth.

It doesn’t take him long to reach his climax, and he doesn’t warn her as he pulls his cock out of her mouth and comes all over her face. She closes her eyes at the last moment, saving her from an eyeful, but it mats in her eyelashes, her hair, drips into her mouth.

She opens her eyes as he gets off her. He says nothing as he leaves the room, and Clarke is left feeling empty, her ass stinging, her face covered in come.

She doesn’t know how long she lies there, waiting for him to come back. He hadn’t said so, but she knows she’s not supposed to move to clean herself up or get dressed. He’ll decide when she’s allowed to do that.

When he finally comes back, he’s dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants, and he’s obviously showered. He’s got a bottle of lotion and a wet towel with him. She breathes a sigh of relief at his return, and the anxiety that had built in her stomach dissipates. He pads over to the bed and sits down beside her, putting the lotion down on the side table.

“You okay, baby?” he asks her, helping her sit up.

Clarke nods. Bellamy takes the towel and wipes it across her face, cleaning up his come as best he can.

“We’ll get the rest in the shower later, okay?” he promises.

“Okay,” Clarke agrees. Bellamy reaches for her and pull her into his lap, rubbing his hand across her ass. Clarke winces. “It hurts,” she whispers.

“I know, baby,” Bellamy says. He reaches for the lotion and squirts some into his hand, then rubs it into her ass gently. Clarke tucks her head into Bellamy’s shoulder as he caresses her ass. He slips his fingers between her legs then, and finds her clit. He’d said she wouldn’t touch her there tonight, but it seems he can’t resist.

“You took your punishment so well,” he coos, fingering her clit. “Such a good girl. Most of the time.” Clarke smiles against his shoulder.

His fingers are slow and gentle with her, building her towards orgasm until she’s squirming in his lap, trying to hold off, in case he’s just playing with her, in case it’s a test.

“Can I come, sir?” Clarke asks.

“Yes, baby, you can come.”

She lets herself go, and her orgasm rolls through her, and she tremors in his arms, panting softly.

“Thank you, sir,” Clarke whispers.

“You want to shower now?” he asks.

Clarke shakes her head. “Just hold me for a while.”

[purkinje-effect]

The Anatomy of Melancholy, 11

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Updated 2019.01.29. (Minor name tweaks.) PTSD episode tw

Melancholy set down his coffee cup, and swallowed while he continued fidgeting with his Pipboy. Thus far nothing had spurred him to really acquaint himself with the nuances of its dials and buttons, and he sat there in the pharmacy break room skimming the lead-yellow, wrist-bound instrument’s menus in half-boredom, half-interest. The calibration of its global positioning system seemed reliable, as he presumed of its itemized annotation of the user’s vital statistics. The wrist-cuff padding contained sensitive diagnostic features which monitored the user’s vitals. Neither of these preliminary tabs of the menu seemed pertinent before. He knew his way to Concord and Lexington from Sanctuary, even on foot, and he felt more and more like the Pipboy would never correctly diagnose his critical condition from what limited scope of statistics it could scan.

There is no medical precedent for what is happening to you, Mister Carey, he told himself with a wry disinterest. I simply know you’re falling apart.

The third story bathrooms still had one in-tact mirror, the only left in the place he’d found yet. One page in the health section listed diagnostic returns of features he’d already learned of in this way: the device could not pinpoint what had oddly cataracted his hazel eyes, a shock of white now streaked his greying hair, and vitiligo mottled his jawline and various parts of his right and back sides where cryogenesis had, in its own way, frostbitten him. Another sub-menu in the health tab piqued his brow a moment: in the few weeks he’d worn the device, it had already inferred a rather detailed itinerary of his core proficiency and skills. On yet another sub-menu, the Pipboy let him know it knew of all the addictions he’d racked up in the same few weeks. He flipped tabs with a grunt, and bit his lower lip.

Since it seemed at first glance they required access to a terminal port for keyboard entry in order to be most useful, he skipped over tabs which looked useful for maintaining inventory invoices and for organizing correspondences. The last tab on the menu list queued up a series of local radio signals the Pipboy could pick up, and 'Choly’s hollowed eyes glazed. He set down his glasses on the table to look it over. Surely, these couldn’t be sophisticated radio stations. How could such things be maintained with the landscape as it had become? Dubious, he flicked the dial down to one whose frequency had been clearly labeled, and selected it: “Diamond City Radio.”

♫ ...and I wonder why everything's the same as it was. I can't understand. No, I can't understand how life goes on the way it does... ♫

“What kind of--” The chemist hushed himself and glared at his Pipboy as he recognized the song in disbelief. “Don’t they know... it’s the end... of the world...”

“Ah! You found some music to fill the place!” Angel stopped its skimming the cabinets to brainstorm meal plans, and came over when it heard its owner whispering along. “The tune’s a bit drab, though, don’t you think?”

The deejay came on, broken and awkward.

“Coming to you from. Ah. The jeweled green... I mean the green, the, ah, Great Green Jewel of the Commonwealth. It's... Diamond City Radio. That was Skeeter Davis. A name I still find confusing. Was I. Ah. The only one surprised that Skeeter Davis is, you know... a woman? Just. Aah. Didn't really sound like a woman's name. Ah-- anyway! Here's a real classic from good old Nat King Cole... ‘Orange Colored Sky.’ It's. It's a good one!”

“Great Green Jewel,” 'Choly repeated as the next song aired. “I wonder if this is just a recorded radio personality, or.”

“Only one way to find out, hm? Where is this Diamond City he mentioned?”

“Someplace in Boston, I’d imagine. I don’t know anyplace that was named that before the bombs fell.” 'Choly took another sip of his coffee and gave his Handy-bot earnest eye contact with its triplicate visual sensors. “Guessing we’ll have to work on becoming road ready sooner than later. It’s just dawned on me--General Atomics was working on cross-compatibility with RobCo in the years leading up to the nuclear exchange. I know the old model struggled with it, but this newer one I nicked in the vault seems capable. Let’s head into the stock room and see if we can’t interface you with my Pipboy. Update your hydraulics calibration, too. You’re far beyond overdue for maintenance, my friend.”

“Stars and garters, yes.” Angel caught up in itself. “Pardon the animation. I’ve simply... been unable to tend to my own upkeep all this time, and--”

“Hey, now,” the chemist grinned, putting his glasses back on. “You remember, don’t you, how much better I felt once I got to bathe after being frozen two hundred years? It’s your turn.”

“I-- Thank you, Sir.”

The tune of Mercer and the Pied Pipers' ‘Personality’ followed them to the next room over.

♫ ...Certain things, like sable coats and wedding rings...? ♫

+ + + + + + + + + +

♫ --The world’s gone mad today, and good’s bad today-- ♫

Like the consequence of a defibrillator, the building drew its first rasps in centuries. While the chemist had spent most of the last two weeks in an unreal soup of chems, the Handy-bot had spent the same time disinterring the back room in the first story, motivated by its recent repairs and recalibrations. Too, the second elevator’s doors on the first story appeared from behind the rubble, though like the other elevator, damage from the neighboring building’s collapse trapped it from access. Angel had shepherded its owner to do the honors, in the optimism that the effort could reinstate full electrical current to the structure. Though many lights and electronics no longer functioned from the combination of nuclear damage and centuries of disrepair, many others previously unaffected by the other floors’ breaker boxes still sprang up and brightened.

A coughing fit overtook him as the air ducts billowed bicentennial dust. The lower half of his face shied into the collar of his dress shirt.

♫ --Just think of those shocks you've got, ♫ ♫ and those knocks you've got-- ♫

“–Maybe this was a bad idea.”

♫ --and those blues you've got, ♫ ♫ from those news you've got-- ♫

“Oh, Sir! Coming right away.” Porting the tangle of bed straps its owner had tied all over it the week before, Angel rounded up behind the awkward cane-synecdoche which ascended the stairwell. “Wouldn’t you rather make use of the harness you outfitted on me? Be careful!”

♫ --and those pains you've got, ♫ ♫ if any brains you've got ♫ ♫ from those little radios-- ♫

The Russian-American had had enough of the Pipboy’s peanut gallery in the moment, and nearly punched it to turn it off. Evacuation to the second story yielded no better ventilation, and ‘Choly reclaimed the wheelchair as he took the elevator to the third story. Anxiety crawled up his body as he recognized the sounds of things inside the walls also stirring afresh. Reality had an unpleasant, rippling echo that late afternoon. Where could he find respite until the air system had evened out? Would the ancient filters yield results? He couldn’t open windows on a building with none. A flurry of draughty haloes refracted his path.

Among these dust-borne glories, he saw the operating light on the other elevator. Testing its soundness would take too long, and he didn’t know how far he could climb the stairs, either by their failing form or his failing function--he had outfitted Angel with the harness so he could ride it, but he hadn’t really practiced balancing on its back in this way, and the thought of urgency necessitating test runs only made his blood heave through his veins harder. He bit his upper lip and squirmed, throat and eyes burning, while he awaited the call button to retrieve the car.

“We left everything out in the kitchen. Dinner is ruined, though I’m sure you might have guessed that.”

“–Least of my worries right now–”

Another coughing fit silenced ‘Choly from voicing his irritation, from having tried to talk. He ground his teeth from inside his shirt and rushed inside, Angel following while he depressed the 'close doors’ button with a rapid desperation. Once shut in, he noticed cleaner air, albeit stale. He wheezed and inspected the operating panel. The elevator could no longer arrive at the first floor, but it could in theory go to the fourth through eighth. It seemed both elevators evaded the dust onslaught. Yet. Maybe…

“Are we to remain in the carriage, Sir? We can have a slumber party! Ha-ha!”

“No. We can’t just stay in here indefinitely.” As he caught his breath, he steeled himself with a sublingual Mentat from his pocket. “What all is still in your storage compartment?”

“Well!” the pale Handy replied in thought, rooting around behind inside itself, “I have your pistols and munitions. Seventy-three 10mm rounds, and twenty-six .38 rounds. A box of deviled eggs and a can of water. Your jumpsuit from the vault. Oh, and that odd cowl you took from that lass in Concord. We can stay in here a little longer, though, right Miss Sir?”

'Choly’s jaw tightened as he stared past the elevator’s wainscoting. He loathed the very notion of donning the vault suit again, even with what few foundations he now had. Paired with Angel’s verbiage glitch, he flinched at the notion, but he loathed even more the idea of staying longer than necessary inside an elevator, especially one of untested reliability.

The chemist leaned forward, and sweated pressing the button for the fourth floor. The elevator’s winch mechanisms groaned but hoisted smoothly otherwise.

“Give me the water. …And the hood.”

Angel complied, and the indicator panel announced their fourth floor arrival with a holographic voice and a bell-ding. ‘Choly panicked when the doors opened, and, frantic, he lunged at the ‘close doors’ button again. He sat, breathing heavy, with the items in his lap. The panic of having to evacuate was blooming into a recurrent theme. To the vault, as the sky threatened to fall. From the vault, as its artificial intelligence warned of impending loss of life-sustaining operations. And now, from the new home he’d begun to fashion for himself. He chastised himself for likening kicking up all this dust to the former situations which had genuinely threatened his life. Still, his head and heart throbbed, shooting pain down his left arm, and he was convinced the only way to quiet himself would be to step foot outside.

“Is… everything all right, Sir?”

The chemist motioned for his Handy-bot to can-open the water for him, and with it he doused the canvas sack hood. Moisture served to enhance its ability to block airborne particulates. He slipped it on and tucked the open can in the back corner of his wheelchair seat, under the cane beside him. The Mentats told him he had bounded upward rather than outward, and his face flushed at the mistake made in his state of alarm, but he did his best to reassure himself that entering the streets of Lexington at night stood to endanger him far worse than some musty air.

“We’re going to be fine,” he lied. “I need the 10mm. And the bullets for it.” It complied, though hesitant. “I’m just grateful there’s no apparent gas leak, Angel. Your thruster would have blown us up.”

“Silver linings, I suppose.” It failed to conceal worry in its intonation.

Melancholy opened the elevator and wheeled out to find a hall to either side rather than a lobby. Damaged fluorescent lighting flickered, and he could see several doors to either side of the elevator, as well as two across from it. Office floors, as he had predicted weeks ago. Having soaked the hood made breathing a heavier ordeal, but the barrier of moisture did as intended. Only one elevator accessed these floors, he noted, as he rolled to each end of the hall. The lone door to the left of the elevator provided access to the roof, it boasted. A breath choked him as he struggled to open the interior door, then the exterior. Angel helped once it grasped the desired effect.

Upon rolling out onto the rough paved roof and into the night air, Melancholy’s jaw slackened. Though the building tucked itself beneath the shadow of a multi-level overpass, across the way lay the Corvega assembly plant. The automotive facility’s iconic saturnesque globe and multitude of smokestacks still boasted to illuminate Lexington’s ruined cityscape. He squinted upward to see that he’d connected enough circuits within the wiring of the Walden Drugs’ pharmacy to light up the billboard sign at the top of it, as well as the sign at the front corner of its lower stories.

He sat back in his chair and caught his breath. Removing the hood, he allowed himself a dry, broken chuckle, and he quaffed at the can of water from beside him. Thoughts lost him as the stress slowly melted, but the sound of quiet commotion garnered his attention. When he looked up, he found humanoid silhouettes on the rooftop of the plant. Adjusting his glasses, he returned their gawking.

“Might we… return inside, Sir? Seems our refurbishment efforts have garnered some unwanted attention.”

“Hey, now. I don’t know if it’s unwanted yet. They might be different from those asses in Concord.”

“BRILLIANT,” one of them yelled sarcastically.

“–I,” he set his water between his knees and cupped his hands to his mouth, “THANKS.”

The group that had gathered gave him an unanimous chuckle, and he smirked to himself a bit.

“I think we’ll have dinner on the roof tonight,” he told Angel, as he turned the radio back on at low volume. The mellow, jazzy brass of Val Bennett’s ‘Soul Survivor’ greeted him, and he melted into his chair a bit with a smile. “Pass over those Yum Yums.”

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