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the-general-hux · 5 years

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@temptedbythelight

Hux tried to stop his legs from trembling as he stood in line at the auction house. He'd never had to stand for so long at once before, having been brought here directly from an OmegaPrime breeding house. They specialised in pairing pedigree alphas and omegas to produce prime stock for their eager beta customers. Before today Hux hadn't seen the outside of his pen where he had been born with his siblings. Alpha pups were taken from their mothers almost as soon as their eyes opened, ready to be trained to become builders, farmers and other heavy laborers. The best specimens were reserved for studs or pets for daring betas. In contrast omegas stayed with their mothers until they were fully mature and entered their virgin heat. They were then put on suppressants and sold at various markets depending on their quality. The highest quality breeding stock like Hux ended up here, to be sold to rich elite betas as luxury pets. Their demure and submissive nature making them easily trainable and well behaved.

The line jostled as an omega at the front of the queue was lead on stage. Hux looked at the floor, trying once again to calm his trembling body. His knees felt like jelly and the cold was making his feet turn numb. It seemed like no time at all before the omega in front of him was lead on stage leaving Hux next in line. His shivering increased and he nervously clutched his hands together. He was next, soon he would be sold to his first beta owner. He hoped they were kind and patient, but then omegas weren't meant to hope so perhaps he was already being disobedient.

The beta auctioneer pushed his way backstage through the curtains and took Hux's dangling lead hanging from the simple leather collar around his neck.

"Come on sweetie, don't be afraid" he cooed as he gently led Hux past the velvet curtains and onto the wooden stage, placing him on a chalk x marked on the wood. Hux squinted against the bright lights even as he focused his eyes desperately on his toes, maintaining his submissive posture.

"As you can see ladies and gentlemen we have yet more high-quality breeding stock for you. Arrived here just this morning from OmegaPrime itself" the auctioneer announced to his avid audience. There was a scattered muttering at the mention of OmegaPrime. They were well known for producing award-winning pedigree omegas, and also for being exclusive with their stock.

He flipped the page on his clipboard and started reading Hux's fact sheet.

"So specification: red hair; green eyes; petite frame and tall; his fertility rates very highly at 82.6%, if you're considering breeding from him; bloodwork suggests no genetic disorders, but as always OmegaPrime offers a lifetime guarantee with that; and finally a family line which includes 3 award-winning pedigree omegas. I’m sure we can all agree that this is a rather special individual. With all of this taken into account I think we'll start the bidding at 1 million."

Hux remained focused on his feet ignoring the bids as they climbed higher and higher, the better behaved he was the more he would be trusted by his owner. And that meant more freedom and less punishment.

"Sold! To buyer 24 for 60 million, that's our highest bid yet today day so that's the amount to beat!" The beta joked as he gently led Hux to the other side of the stage where a beta woman took his lead.

She led him out of the backstage area and into what looked like a waiting room, before coaxing him to climb into a carry kennel. Only a few minutes passed before the door swung open and Hux peeked through the cage at his new owner. The beta was tall and thin with dark hair and a pointed face, he was smiling though as he moved into the room, setting Hux at ease. That was a good sign.

"Good afternoon sir, congratulations on securing your bid." The woman bowed politely as she took the signed cheque from Hux's new owner.

"Thank you Ms, and please call me Harold" he said as he made his way towards Hux's cage. "Hello little one, you're very pretty aren't you", he murmured as he held out his hand for Hux to sniff.

"Of course Harold. Now may I enquire as to if you've brought from us before?" The woman asked pulling out some pamphlets from her bag.

"No, I'm afraid not", Harold turned to face her, "I'm a first-time omega owner actually, but I have an alpha slave at home".

"Well I wouldn't worry sir, training omegas is far simpler than training alphas! They’re naturally obedient you see. I'll give you these leaflets on basic care but with your purchase we've included a bed and some feed to get you started, we’d like to make this process as seamless as possible. Now we can have the crate taken to your vehicle or if you'd rather we can have him delivered tomorrow morning." She motioned to the cage Hux sat in whilst handing over the leaflets.

"Oh no, I'd definitely rather get him home today. I imagine it's been a stressful and tiring day for him so I'd like to get him settled." Hux watched as his owner spoke to the beta woman. His voice was kind sounding and calm and Hux wondered if his hopes had come true with this man.

His cage was suddenly hoisted up into the air by beta workmen as they followed his new owner out of the room. The auction house was a maze of corridors, and his cage jolted from side to side with each sharp turn before they stopped at an automatic door. It slid open and Hux was greeted by the cool outside breeze as he was carried out into the car park. The air smelled fresh and clean, and the chill gave Hux goosebumps as he sniffed eagerly at the new smells that surrounded him.

"It's probably the first time he's been outdoors. OmegaPrime have very strict quarantine rules so their omegas are often fascinated by the outside world. Things that are ordinary to us are extraordinary to them." The beta lady spoke as Hux was loaded into the trunk of his owner’s car.

Harold nodded, "So I've heard, I plan to let him out in the garden as much as possible so he can explore the outside world more fully." The trunk slammed and Hux only heard muffled voices as his owner moved around the car. The front door opened as he clambered in, slamming the door and starting the engine. "Don't worry little one, we'll be home soon.

Hux's owner’s house, or Master Harold as he'd been instructed to call him, was large and intimidating. The front door itself loomed over Hux as he was led inside and the stark hallway beyond reminded Hux immediately of the auction house. He was ushered through the house and into the kitchen. It was all grey with straight lines with a huge polished granite worktop stretching from one side of the room to the other. There was no clutter or personal touches in the room and Hux wondered if his master had ever used it. Thankfully Master had placed his bed in the utility room next-door, in a large cupboard with the door taken off.

“I was told that omegas like boxes and enclosed spaces to make them feel safe so I think this will be suitable. The boiler is just above it so it should be nice and cosy too.” Master rubbed the back of his neck bashfully before pointing to a generous bowl of food and a clean bowl of water.

"Those are for you so please eat and drink your fill. Now the leaflets all say you'll want to settle into your surroundings so I'm going to leave you to it for a while, you’re allowed anywhere with an open door. If you need anything don't hesitate to get my attention, I won't be angry or upset if you need something." Master smiled gently, "I'm going to call my friend Callum, he's an expert at slave keeping and he’s helped me a lot with my alpha Ben. He'll come over and give you a good look over for me. I'm afraid I'm at bit of a novice at this." He patted Hux's head. He walked out of the room.

Hux looked around briefly before crawling over to the food bowl. It was standard OmegaKibble which is what he’d eaten since he had been weaned from his mother. The familiarity of it was comforting as he happily tucked in. After licking himself clean Hux snuggled down in his new bed. His master had tucked a clock between the many blankets that made up his nest. The soft ticking reminded him of his mother's heart-beat, when Hux would lie next to her in their pen, and it lulled him gently into sleep.

He woke only a short time later when there was a knock on the back door. He looked up as his master walked past to open it, before ushering a huge alpha into the room.

“Just wait there Ben I'll bring you dinner in a moment." Master moved back into the kitchen.

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chainofbeing · 4 years

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Adam is forced to re-evaluate his intentions Epicurosa: Laura Rodgers Harpy: Maxwell James Ginn ([email protected]) Surveyor: Lance Chapman, Nerys Howell, Mary-anne Stanek and Jesus r Carbo Ovig Nadal: Glyn Pritchard Score: Bethany Porter Lewis Sound design, Writing, and Adam Delta 5: Cai Gwilym Pritchard An Extra Special thanks to our patrons Theresa Shiban Anthony Hyde Zachary Fortais-Gomm email us at [email protected] follow the podcast on twitter @chainofbeing Subscribe to the patreon for exclusive content and rewards! 170119_hydrophone_river_3.wav by Leonsptvx

We stand on a great and sweeping mountain, a strange fog covers the landscape and movements of large obscured creatures and just about be made out. The wind shrieks in my ears, as if ordering me to leave this place, no oxygen, no protection from the harsh radiation of the sun, If I weren’t in the shadow of the tall eight armed god, Epicruosa, I imagine I would be having a much harder time standing here. Epicurosa puts on the onyx skull of a crow of some kind, decorated in banded white silver. They place a large hand on my back and push me toward the large circular chasm that lays open in front of us. It drops down, I lean over and see no bottom. They gesture toward it. “You want me to jump in?” I ask

[with each new mask epicurosas voice changes, the crow has a similar but more exaggerated quality to adams, and there is a hypnotic tone underneath that winds and and down as she speaks]

“What’s the issue? You’ll survive,”

“Yea but will I be intact?”

“I did not funnel myself into a physical form and bring you all the way out here just to watch you splatter at the bottom of a vast abyss. If I wished to do that I would have just thrown you from the top of that mesa where I rescued you from that... infected woman,”

“Oh fuck, I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I shuffle toward the edge and turn before jumping off “What’s down there?” I’ve never seen Epicurosa’s face without a mask, I see her gray textured skin, glowing yellow eyes and black teeth. Completely unobscured I imagine the sight of her bare face would destroy some part of me. Despite the skull mask I can see her frustration. “Think of the universe as a body, mortals live their entire life on the skin, maybe they’ll cut through the epidermis every so often but that,” she gestures to the open maw of the mountain “Is a place where the skin has been pierced and reaches the flesh and bone,”

“Oh,” I turn back to the chasm “And why do you want me to-”

Epicurosa sighs angrily and shoves me over the edge and I get the sense that something watches me fall, the stone sides of the huge hole that start as rough, natural looking stone soon gives way an impossibly smooth and flawless texture, too smooth even to seem mortal made, something approaches and I hit a layer of water, I sink through for a second, carried by my momentum, before I pass and continue falling, strangely though, it seems as if I am falling up, a circle or orange light approaches and I sail up into the air and back down again, landing on my feet on a wide square, white stone platform. The space is incredibly vast, there is a roof and sides to it, made of the same white stone of the pyramid, the sides go straight up for miles and then begin to slope inwards until they reach the wide flat ceiling which so far away that I can only just make it out through the atmosphere that sits, trapped in this impossible place. Huge pillars are carved into the walls that stretch high above me. Multiple balconies protrude out from the sides on which stand colossal figures, obscured by robe and fire, they look down upon me, vigilant guards holding flaming golden spears. The roof leads to an open octagonal hole through which a warm light shines through, thin trails of sand cascade down and land in a large garden whose borders are entirely defined by where the light falls. Four huge walls stretch the whole height of this space evenly around the octagon, partially barring my full vision of the garden, and even the whole space as the walls prevent me from seeing the side directly opposite. This place I’m stood in is so incredibly huge that the minimal light just barely illuminates the vast cavern. The floor at the bottom of the pyramid is covered in a variety of landscapes: rocky heaths, tors, promontories, and various other rock formations that jut into the air, forming long bridges, platforms and canyons, far off in the distance I see pools of some molten substance of various sizes dotted sporadically here and there, with long thin rivulets trailing around the landscape. At the bottom of the long staircase that trails along the side of the pyramid I see that the rock is actually something akin to glass, unrefined and opaque but still clearly glass. I look up at the angels in their flaming shrouds, their gaze still fixed on me. From Behind a pillar of glass a creature of some kind swiftly rushes up into the air, rising into the air far, far above me. I watch it sail out of sight toward the ceiling, and begin to walk, heading for the garden at the center. I take a step and hear something rushing toward me from above, I look up and see the creature headed straight for me, I draw my sword and ready myself, it moves so quickly that I can just barely discern its form. It descends in a blur of glistening black feather, and pale skeletal claw. It deftly avoids my blade and tears a gash in my arm. The thing lands on the sloping wall of the inverse pyramid behind my and skitters around. A thick oily substance drips from its feathers which stand in a show of active hostility, it turns it’s head toward me and I get a look at it’s face. For that is what it possesses. I can call it nothing but human in nature. A genderless and sickly face the black sludge oozes from it’s pale eyes and seeps from its snarling teeth. It’s features are sharp and cruel.

[the harpy’s voice is harsh and gravelly]

“This is a place of knowledge and discovery, you sully the ground on which you walk, what say you, intruder?”

“Epicurosa, she sent me here,” The beast shivers as I say their name, as it speaks globules of the black liquid splatter and drip from its thin sickly lips

“If you were indeed placed here, and you didn’t intrude where you should not, as you are known to do, then you have been placed here to die!” the creature pushes away from the pyramid wall and spins as it goes for another attack. I hold my sword up in a defensive stance, it grabs the sword with its bone-like claws and shatters the metal. I go to grab it but the oil that soaks it’s feathers causes it to slip from my grasp. “All you know is to destroy! Even in your non-violent pursuits, you hurt those around you,”

“You think I don't know?” I say, gesturing toward the bird which hovers in the air with my shattered sword “do you not think the thought crosses my mind everyday?”

“And what have you done to atone? Promises to ‘be better’? The damage has been done, the collapse of Eden is your burden, the death of the others is on you, your plan to simply not repeat your crimes is meaningless,” I gesture around me, my clothes soaked in black sludge and my arm bleeding freely “what do you think this is? My immortality, letting myself get dragged around by gods and bureaucrats and fucking fascists. Being thrown into bottomless pits, pursuing incomprehensible extra universal entities. Why do you think I do this?”

“You pursue Ovig Nadal in the hopes that you will understand the information that was forced into your mind, do not posture about duty and morals, your pursuits were as selfish as they ever were. Understanding what it is you have in your mind will not bring Eve back, it will not uncorrupt your realm in Eden,”

“Do not presume to know me, why can it not be both? Why can I not stop Ovig Nadal for the benefit of the universe and its inhabitants and for my own ‘selfish’ justification? Why must I ignore my own needs? I am all I have in this world, I am the only one who is there to help me,” I ready my firearm and raise it to the creature, whose face is almost entirely covered in the black oily sheen

“And that is why you shall fail” it says as it explodes in a fountain of black oil. I look down at my now shattered sword, the shards lay scattered around me, some submerged in the black sludge, “What the fuck?” The sludge reeks of spent electrics and leaking batteries. I check the clip in my Sub-machine gun. 18 rounds. Thank the stars for high capacity magazines. I affix it to my hip and start to navigate the maze of glass pillars and strange formations. My arm starts to sting, I didn’t have enough time to restock on bandages, my last two got used up patching the wound created by the Rolder. I go through a small thin trench constantly adjusting my way to try and head in the direction of the garden at the centre of this strange vast place. I look at my reflection in the sheen of the dark glass wall, covered in blood and filth, “something has turned it’s benevolent gaze upon you,” I usually don’t think too hard into what the gods say, their words often hold more meaning than I could ever hope to know. That, combined with the fact that language and communication are based on experience, and the experience of a god is so infinitely different to any non-divine that they have to, essentially, dumb it down and feed it through the filter of what they know to be the non-divine experience means I tend let the general malaise of meaning and intent wash over me, but those words stuck out, they feel so out of place coming from the mouth of a god, usually so impassive and calculating. The trench begins to widen and the ground beneath my feet gradually changes from hard opaque glass to a coarse grey sand which stretches ahead of me shifting to a deep rich brown earth. The trench widens out further and I realise I have reached the centre. I turn and look behind me, the landscape now entirely different. The trench has been replaced with a short sloping escarpment, the pyramid on which I arrived now absent, however the resplendent golden glow of the ever observant angels, now mere spots illuminating the balconies on which they stand, remains consistent. I have no doubt that they watch me now through their shrouds aflame, I begin to march over the rough sand, headed towards the illuminated garden, before I hear a muffled voice. “Hey!” I stop in my tracks and my hand goes to my gun, “Woah” the voice responds to my initial act of hostility “Do you always pull a gun to calls for help?”

“Sorry,” I say to the general area, unsure of who I am addressing, “Recently everything I’ve come across has tried to kill me, or absorb me,”

“Yeah but every star emits light, you don’t see planets orbiting a lightbulb do you?”

“Huh?”

“A sun emits light, a lightbulb also emits light, but a lightbulb is not a star. In the same way, there are things here that will try to kill you, I am a thing that is here, but I do not want to kill you. You gotta take each interaction case by case man. I get it, you’re human, you like to see patterns, it’s in your nature,”

“Who am I speaking to?”

“Aw man, this is gonna take forever,” a second voice chimes in

“Bah, ça fait aussi une éternité qu'on attend, hein” a third voice says in an old human tongue

“No we haven’t! we’ve only been here a few weeks,”

“the clock says 9567 years 3 months and 5 days,”

a fourth voice points out

“Oh yeah because time totally acts like normal down here doesn’t it?”

“Hey!” I say, “at least let me know what direction to look in when I’m talking to you,”

“Turn left, bit more, bit more. Right, now forward a bit, look down,”

I look down and see what I had subconsciously registered as a rock buried in the sand surrounded by many others, the worn metal holds a remarkably similar colour to the glass rocks that peek out of the coarse sand,

“You might need to do a bit of digging to get to us,” I begin to scrape and dig around and reveal a glowing blue eye of some kind

“Oh mon dieu, il a une sale tronche!”

“Tell me about it- what's up with the horns?”

I sigh, “It’s a long story,”

“Looks kinda like the landscape of this place,”

“It’s not lost on me,” I say as I excavate the side of what becomes increasingly clear to be a space probe of human design. And an old one. After a few minutes I finally manage to get a good portion of the body of this thing exposed. I lean against the side of the small crater I’ve dug out, foot resting against the probe itself.

“Better?” I ask

“Much, so what brings you to this angel infested hellhole?,”

“I was going to ask you the same thing actually, I was brought here by a god, got pushed down a big hole in a mountain and then I ended up here. She said this was a place where she could ‘find out some things about me’,”

“How deliciously vague,”

“My name is Adam, by the way. As in, like the Adam. The first human. Just feel like I should let you know,”

The eye stares at me in what I assume to be disbelieving silence

“I mean is it as crazy as anything else you’ve seen here? You obviously have accepted the existence of the angels,”

“You make a good point, how much have we missed?”

“Aw man, I’m guessing you were sent from earth?”

“Yeah,”

“Right so, that’s gone,”

“Was it what I think it was?,”

“I don’t know what you think it was but probably, they put up a good fight if it’s any consolation, launched a bunch of conservation stations, made some good preparations. Wasn’t quite enough in the end but you know, at least they tried,”

[an awkward silence]

“so uh… what’s your deal?”

“We are Surveyor 14,”

“How did you get here?” I ask

“On faisait partie d'une mission pour découvrir à quoi ressemble/ressemblait l'intérieur d'un trou noir. On est équipés d'une technologie très puissante qui nous permet d'échapper à l'attraction gravitationnelle, avec les données toujours intactes, et rentrer au bercail, (bah...)dans un chassis détruit, c'est vrai, mais bon. Bon, le fait est qu'on a été envoyés en mission, puis qu'on a été absorbés et qu'on s'est retrouvés... ici. Pour une raison qui m'échappe, on s'est divisés en quatre personnalités différentes... et voilà où on en est,”

[adam pauses] “ah… I see”

“We’ve had a lot of time to think here, or maybe we haven’t, it’s kind of hard to tell,”

“Hey, I’m not really sure what I’m doing here so if you need someone to bounce ideas off of,”

The AI turns it’s one glowing eye toward me and focuses. “Are we alone in the universe adam?”

“You mean are there aliens? I probably should have mentioned this, so there’s this council-”

“Not aliens, we mean, do you stand alone? An Island surrounded by multitudes of other Islands, or are we all intrinsically one collective? A continent that lessens with each death and grows with each birth,”

“I don’t know,”

“In the hundreds of thousands of years you’ve had to be alive, you’re telling me you haven’t thought of it once?”

“I feel empathy, if that’s what you’re asking, I feel the need to help others. If that drive comes from a place of real altruism (if such a thing truly exists) or some kind of need to atone for all the wrong I’ve done I cannot say,”

“(Bah) ça, c'est pas ce qu'on a demandé”

“My actions have an effect, as much as I wish they didn’t, I still am a part of the collective, I still am a cog in the great cosmic machine. At the most minute level I displace the air around me, my feet shake the ground ever so slightly with each step. Butterfly wings and typhoons. At the same time, it’s hard for me to feel a part of a population whose experience is so totally different to mine,"

“You think you’ve got a monopoly on isolation? On guilt?”

“Hé! Redescends un peu!”

“You’re not the only one who feels guilt for what they’ve done, it’s an age-old feeling, and yes, there are certain circumstances of your life that are specific to you, but your experience is not as unique as you may think. You yourself admit you are part of the ‘comic machine’ as you put it. You are not the mouse to the man, You are the elder that tries to relate to their grandchild, the child speaks as a child, the elder speaks as an elder, and yet there is no sense of lost community within the tribe. So why not you? Even if you cannot find common experience in your past life, can you not find commonality in being in a harsh and uncaring universe? Are you so detached, that you relate more to gods than mortals? There are threats beyond even divine comprehension at play, and yet you still manage to separate yourself from the rest,”

“Wait, how do you know about-”

“Deep down I believe you truly care for others, but until you believe that you are a part of the continent, you cannot truly enact a beneficial change in any meaningful way.”

I lean back against the side of the crater and look up the ceiling obscured by distance and darkness,

“So, uh, you know how to get out of here?”

“I was hoping you’d know actually, you’ve been here longer than me, have you seen anyone or anything else enter and leave this place?”

“Occasionally the angels will blink out and then return, but other than that it’s been pretty quiet here,”

“I’m thinking we should at least head into the light, now I don’t think I’ll be able to carry you, is there a data core or something I could remove?”

“Data core?”

“Wouh, regardez s'il est chic celui-là avec ses data cores!,”

“We’ve got a hard drive, just pop open the chassis and then have a root around,”

I pry open a door on the outside of the probe and start searching for a harddrive amongst the instruments and circuits, I feel something with a handle on it

“Is this it?” I ask

“How the fuck am I supposed to know? If I squeezed your liver would you be able to tell me if I’d got the right organ?”

“It’s not quite the same but I see your point,” I grab a hold of the handle “See you on the other side,” I unlock the hard drive and pull it out from the machine. The glowing eye goes dim and I hold up the hard drive to the light coming from the octagonal opening in the ceiling to this place. I scramble out of the hole and dust myself off with one hand, the hard drive is heavy but I still manage to carry it in one hand toward the edge of the light, the gap between the two huge walls on either side of me is wide and sits perfectly at the barrier between the golden light and the dark. I stand at the edge and peer into the garden, twisting old trees bearing fruit, both alien and yet painfully familiar, thin leafed bushes and pale grass, the sand that tumbles down doesn’t seem to drown the garden and instead pushes outwards to the rest of this place. At this distance I’m finally able to clearly see what's on the inside of the walls. All along an intricate diagram is embossed in gold, strange shapes and symbols stretch the entire length of each wall. No words, not in any language a non-divine could comprehend, each wall is different. Perhaps they display, perhaps they praise. Maybe a bit of both. They display a scale of some kind, from what I can discern it represents a gradation, all flowing from a single source, each wall represents a different aspect or group of aspects and how they relate to said source. I pass the barrier between the dim cold of the glass fields and enter the warm garden. The light soaks through my skin. Ragged and bleeding I stand for a moment in the resplendent light.

[he simply breathes for a few seconds]

“Alright let’s get the fuck of here,” The garden rises ever so slightly, a shrine sits atop this small hill, smooth white stone, it encircles a hexagonal basin, golden light plays off of the surfaces like sunlight off of water. It’s perfectly geometric, angles and simple shapes fused with each other in 3 dimensional symmetry, spiralling and tumbling down, too complex to be aesthetically pleasing but it’s not there for me. I approach the wide basin, at least my height in width, I kneel at it’s edge and peer into the golden liquid, it’s thin and only carries a slight luster and it’s deep, the edges on the outside curve inward down maybe half a metre, but looking into the deep liquid it seems to go outwards and much further down, some bright light dances around down there.

“Now what?” I say to the silent hard drive that leans against the side of the basin. I stand and brush myself off.

Suddenly, as if they had been stood there this entire time behind some curtain which now, upon my being here is dropped to reveal their presence, I see several angels, one hovers above the shrine it’s wings of golden shards extended outward, I take a step back, with the hard drive of surveyor-14 still in hand, it floats to the ground It has in its hand a long spear of gold, at the tip of the blade a small fire blazes white hot. It lowers the spear to my chest, and slowly pushes it into my heart, not with any malice or intent to damage, but with a conviction akin to a sculptor using a chisel or a carpenter using a plane. The world, or at least my perception of it, begins to wobble and convulse as if seen through weeping eyes. This effect recedes and I see the world through the eyes of something else, through a veil of golden fire and white robe I watch a battle between two forces, one I recognise, the form of Ovig Nadal, who causes such an entropic effect on the universe and one I do not, the common form of a god, for sure, but not one that has deigned to make its presence known to me. Beyond this physical interpretation I get the sense something much grander takes place between vast formless things and that this display is simply the tip of the iceberg poking out from the great depths of the cosmic ocean, my perception of these events begins to wobble again as Ovig Nadal grabs the angel whose vision I borrow and brings it close to his face. He peers into its eyes, his multitudes of teeth thick with the molten glass that fills the angels and his pale eyeless head bleeding that polychrome matter, damaged and cut all over. I can only assume this is a form he manifested or grew from some pre-existing entity he possessed. He holds the angel close to him and says “You watch one step toward a better universe Adam, a step forward in the progression of this universe to a state in which it never will have been as it is now,” and as his opponent readies another attack, Ovig Nadal crushes the angel and the vision finally begins to falter too much for me to see anything clearly.

I arise and pull back from the golden spear that intersects with my heart, I look up to see it now being wielded by Epicurosa wearing a wolf skull on her hooded head.

“We have deemed you ready, I will send you to the aftermath of that battle and-,”

“I still don’t understand, why me? Not why me. Why not you? You are the most powerful thing I have ever seen, you formed humanity and the Veatorians from nothing. You Shift cosmic forces with no effort or exertion. Why are you, or any of your peers unable to do this? I want to, I really do, it used to be that I wanted to understand what it is I learned, to make what I did worth it, but I have realised that it is not about making it worth it but is instead atoning, the intent has changed but my action remains the same. But I must know, why?”

She exchanges her wolf skull for that of some kind of large fish, not an animal I have ever seen.

“I could force your understanding, I could initiate a vision. It would torment you, as it does Might-Upon-Serenity, unable to convey or sufficiently re-create in your memory. Instead I will try to explain, in language. Gods are not physical beings, I believe a Veatorian philosopher once referred to us as “concepts with will” and while ‘concept’ carries certain connotations she had the right idea. Ovig Nadal is unlike anything this universe has ever seen, I do not know his origins, I simply know he is other and that we cannot affect him, you saw through that angel's eyes, there was nothing that Aratheau could do to destroy him. Our common forms can cause harm to each other: matter touches matter, but celestially, we cannot influence him, but he can us. I believe that you will be able to do affect him in a significant way, and the fact that there is something beyond even divinity that surrounds you and guides us to help you, proves that I am right,”

[with relief]

“Thank you,”

“I am going to send you to that place within the vision, follow him. And whatever he intends to do, stop him,”

“I know his intentions, Might upon serenity, in a moment of clarity as we shared a vision corrupted by Ovig Nadal, she told me he seeks Eden,”

Epicurosas whole demeanour shifts, if I were to assign emotions to a divine being of pure though I would have called it… fear

“If that is indeed the case, then our situation is far more dire than previously anticipated. Let us hope you will be able to stop him before this happens”

A portal manifests behind me. “Could I ask something of you?”

“You may ask,” I hold up the hard drive

“Would you construct a body for them? Make them whole please, they’ve helped me on my journey, I think they deserve it,”

“That I can do,” she takes it from me and I walk through the portal, leaving behind the divine setting of glass landscapes and perfect stone, I step through into my new setting, a collapsed city aflame...

#audio drama #audiodrama #podcast #transcript #podcast transcript #scifi #sci-fi

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chaptersinprogress · 4 years

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demolition lovers | 7

“Need a ride?”

Ting smirked as she stood, "Sorry darling, where I'm going, you need an exclusive invite. Big girls only."

Sliding off the stool, Prae walked up to Ting and tucked a loose curl of hair behind her ear, then murmured lowly, "Good thing you have me then."

Rating: T

Warnings: detailed descriptions of violence and a spot of murder

Pairings: Prae/Ting

Prae pulled up in the middle of the empty street, the roar of the bike's engine cutting off. In the dead of night within the industrial area, the silence pressed in around them almost oppressively. Unfazed, Ting unclasped her helmet and dismounted from the bike, shoving the protective gear at Prae.

"Thanks for the ride darling, I'll take it from here."

Prae cocked her head, idly running her fingers over the smooth plastic of the helmet she'd been handed. "Oh? How were you planning to get back then?"

"I'll probably call someone to pick me up," Ting said, shrugging.

"And leave you wandering these streets alone in the middle of the night? That's just asking for trouble."

As if summoned by the very thought, a group of teens stepped out of the shadows ahead. Bandannas and masks concealing their identities, they slowly advanced, carrying an assortment of weapons - glittering machetes, baseball bats, poles. Prae would bet her inheritance on a few switchblades being concealed on their persons.

"Well I'm trouble with a capital T, darling. This is my playground," Ting tossed over her shoulder with a smirk as she began walking towards the group. "You better leave while you still can."

Prae's lips curled into an amused smile. As if she could be swayed with a "warning" like that. Resting the helmet on the bike engine, she sat back and took the time to admire the vision that was Ting. The street lights glinted off her ebony hair, a braided scorpion tail with its swaying tip highlighting the provocative open back of her white blouse.

Eyes trailing downwards, Prae took in the toned legs in a forest green pleated skirt paired with black high-top Converse. Ting looked every inch of a college girl ready for a night out with friends, not like someone who went around getting into fights. But the self-assurance with which she went to face off her opponents spoke greatly of her intimacy with violence.

Definitely not your average girl-next-door.

Though it looked like Prae herself would be getting her hands dirty tonight. Ting would have greatly under-estimated her if she thought that Prae hadn't noticed the bikes following them as they'd made their way to their current location. And from the way their riders remained hidden as they crept forward to where she was seated, they certainly weren't planning on making friends.

Prae dismounted with a sigh. She liked a good challenge every now and then, but this was proving to be more of an annoyance. There were far more interesting things she could be doing instead - like watching Ting wipe the floor with her opponents, and convincing her that they should get to know each other more intimately.

"Alright, boys," Prae called out, pulling out her favourite garrote from where it had been concealed in her jacket. "Come out, come out wherever you are!"

Her challengers slunk out of the shadows. Three male teens, still baby-faced and soft around the edges. Two of them had sneers decorating their faces, a self-absorbed swagger in their steps as they twirled their baseball bats in an attempt to look intimidating. The last kid looked a couple of years younger, and had probably never been in a fight before if the way he desperately clutched the pipe in his hand was an indicator.

Prae scoffed, leaning against her bike. "Really? You're my opponents? You're not even worth my time."

Their leader sneered, a nasty curl to his lips. "Just wait till we start breaking your bones, bitch. You'll wish you'd kept your mouth shut."

Prae laughed. She slipped on her knuckle dusters and let the garrote hang in loose coils around her wrist instead. "Bring it, fucker" she taunted.

"Fuck you," the teen's companion spat and lunged, swinging his bat at her ribs.

Prae ducked under the swing and stepped forward, smashing her metal covered fingers into his jaw. The teen's head snapped back, teeth audibly clacking together. Then he crumpled to the floor, clutching his jaw and shrieking loudly through tightly-pressed lips, down for the count.

The other two stared at their friend's curled-up body for a second in disbelief, before turning back to Prae. Anger and astonishment painted the leader's face. He couldn't seem to believe that she had broken his friend's jaw so casually. His younger companion shrunk into himself, his pipe held in front of him like a warding talisman.

Prae gave them a feral smile. "Not so tough are you?"

"You fucking bitch!"

Leaping back, Prae dodged the bat by a hair's breadth, the force of the swing ruffling her hair. She slipped her garrote into her jacket pocket. The weapon was unnecessary. No need to risk accidentally severing her own hand by leaving it around her wrist.

The teen rushed at her again with a yell, the metal bat aiming for her abdomen, arms and ribs. Prae danced out of the reach of every swing, a wide grin almost splitting her face. Her body tingled with the adrenaline rush of just barely avoiding each hit.

The other's face twisted in an enraged snarl as he failed over and over again to win their high-stakes game of whack a mole, getting sloppier with each miss. He finally came to a halt - the realisation that he wouldn't be able to come close to landing a blow on her sinking in.

"For fuck's sake!" he panted, staring at her incredulously while clutching his bat so hard his knuckles were white. "Stay still and let me hit you dammit!"

Prae almost choked laughing at the ridiculous demand. What nerve! She hoped he wasn't actually expecting her to comply. She sighed.

"Alright kiddo, playtime's over."

And lunged. The teen's eyes widened as he raised the bat. But Prae had already slipped past his guard. One hand wrapped itself around his neck, the other was braced on his shoulder. Her knee drove into his stomach. His ribs. His side.

Pinned in place, the other could only take the hits, breath rushing out of him as each connected. The bat fell from his hand with a clatter, forgotten. Gasping, the teen twisted and turned in Prae's hold, desperately trying to escape.

She slammed an elbow into his face. As his head snapped to the side, she released him and lashed out with her foot. Her boot connected heavily with his chest.

The blow sent him stumbling backwards, arms windmilling. The male barely caught himself in time to avoid a broken nose as he collapsed face-first onto the asphalt. Body trembling, he pushed himself up on his hands and knees.

Prae picked up the bat and spun it, getting a feel of its weight and motion. Then sauntered over to the leader's side.

As her shadow fell over him, he looked up at her, wheezing. She smiled down at him. And slammed the bat viciously across his shoulder blades. The teen crumpled with a groan, and made no further attempts to get up.

Prae turned to face her youngest opponent. Resting the bat casually on her shoulder, she took a step in his direction. The metal pipe he'd held clattered loudly as it fell to the floor as he immediately raised his arms in surrender. Not that he had to worry. Prae didn't particularly care for beating up people weaker than her.

Unless they came at her first of course. Then she was very happy to put them back in their place, where they belonged.

Under her feet.

She gestured dramatically to the side with her free hand, very clearly giving the boy an out. The kid gave her a weak, terrified grin in thanks and began scooting away sideways. Then his gaze, which till then had been very firmly kept on her face, flickered to a spot just behind her.

Prae spun, bat swinging. It crashed against the crowbar that had been about to come down on her head, redirecting it past her shoulder. The force sent vibrations down her forearms, deep into her bones. Gritting her teeth against the pain, Prae retreated, keeping a few feet between her and the wielder.

The man, in his late 20s perhaps, cocked his head just the slightest. A slow, cruel smirk grew on his face.

On the other hand, any and all amusement had left Prae. If that blow had connected, there was a good chance her skull would've been split open like a watermelon. This wasn't a street brawl any longer.

She surreptitiously searched for Ting. Prae had assumed that this was some school gang conflict, especially given the age and inexperience of those she'd thought were involved. Worry crept into her as she failed to catch any sign of the other girl.

Either something had gone wrong, or her assumption was fatally flawed.

Prae turned her attention back to the more immediate problem. "Who are you?" she asked coolly.

"Doesn't matter," replied the man. "You'll still be dead."

Prae gave the man a considering look and nodded once. Puzzled, the man raised an eyebrow at her apparent agreement. She beamed at him, dropped the bat, and took off.

The unexpected action gave her a few seconds of a head-start. But her pursuer caught on quickly and soon started to gain on her.

Prae tore down the maze of streets, ears straining to hear the sound she was searching for until… there! Skidding into the narrow alley between two warehouses, she leapt. Her right foot slammed into the wall, muscles coiling like a spring.

Pivoting, she launched herself off the side, fingers grasping for the top of the lower AC unit on the opposite wall. The blast of hot air from the massive machine sent her hair flying into her face as she hung mid-air. Spitting out the strands, she pulled herself up, ignoring the searing pain in her fingers from clinging to the heated metal.

Her gaze fell onto the fire escape just a few inches above and to the right of her head. Reaching for the lowest rung, she smothered a scream as her burns came into contact with the cool metal. Scaling the ladder, she clambered onto the upper AC unit, a good three and a half meters off the ground.

Sitting slumped against the wall it was attached to and breathing harshly, Prae took stock of the situation. The shadows and the din from the machines provided her adequate cover. And while the noise, heat and vibrations from the units made her choice of seat highly uncomfortable, it suited her purposes.

Her fingers however…

She studied the digits in what little light there was. Judging the burns to be inconsequential, Prae pushed the pain from her fingers to the back of her mind. Retrieving her garrote from her pocket, she let the weapon hang loosely in her hands. And then she waited.

Not that she had to wait long.

Pounding footsteps which could barely be heard over the noise of the AC units heralded the man’s arrival. Thrown by his target's sudden disappearance, he came to a halt, just outside the alley. He spun on the spot slowly - searching for any hint of movement.

Nothing.

He stared down the narrow street for a moment in consideration. And then took cautious steps inside, methodically scanning the area as he ventured deeper.

Exactly as Prae intended.

Keeping sharp movements to a minimum, she scooted closer to the edge of her perch, silently swinging her legs over the side and bracing her feet against the grill. Muscles coiled in anticipation, she watched the man approach the AC units unsuspectingly.

And as he passed below her, she pushed herself off.

The man let out a startled yell as Prae crashed into his back, her elbows hooking onto his shoulders and legs wrapping around his waist. He stumbled forward under their combined weight, arms thrown out for balance.

Lightning-quick, Prae slipped her garrote around his throat and pulled. Jerking her torso backwards, she let her body weight draw the wire taunt. A choked off gurgle escaped the man and he frantically scrabbled at the wire. Staggering upright, he threw himself back, slamming the both of them into the wall.

Prae grunted loudly as the impact sending pain radiating though her body. Gritting her teeth, she inhaled sharply and twisted the garrote tighter, refusing to loosen her grip even a millimetre.

Panicking as his oxygen supply dwindled rapidly, the man kept ramming them against the concrete, desperately trying to dislodge Prae. She took the blows unflinchingly, even as her back grew numb and her burns flared with agony. His attempts grew more and more sluggish.

Then his body finally gave out.

Prae barely managed to disentangle herself in time as he slumped in a heap, catching herself above him. When she was certain that he wouldn't be getting up anytime soon, she unwrapped her garrote from his throat and straightened up.

And let out a groan as the aches and pains from the scuffle made itself known. Shaking her muscles out, she pulled her knuckle-dusters off and shoved her weapons back into her pockets carelessly.

"Well don't you look peachy," came the wry voice from behind her.

Prae nearly jumped out of her skin. "Fucking hell!" she yelped as she spun.

Ting raised an eyebrow at her from where she was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, at the entrance of the alley. Pushing herself off, she walked over to Prae and looked her over once, before dropping to one knee to study the man at her feet.

"Turn on your phone's flashlight, will you?"

Prae obliged, illuminating the duo. Grabbing a fistful of hair, Ting yanked the man's head up. And immediately let out a noise of displeasure. Prae watched as Ting took in the vivid bruising and indentations encircling the man's neck.

Ting sighed, annoyance marring her features. Flicking out a switchblade, she slit the man's throat, angling herself away from the arterial spray. Wiping the blade clean on the man's shirt, she looked up at Prae, expression carefully blank as she anticipated her reaction.

"Did you have to?" asked Prae curiously.

Surprise flashed across Ting's face before she stood up.

"It's practically an act of mercy after what you did," she said coolly. "His windpipe was crushed; he'd have asphyxiated eventually. You didn't have to be so particularly cruel."

Prae shrugged carelessly. "I supposed that's the difference between us. You're interested in a clean kill. My only aim is to incapacitate anyone after me. Whether it leaves them alive, disabled or dead, I couldn't care less."

Ting observed her for a moment. "Interesting," she finally said. "I hadn't expected you to be so caviler about it. Do you usually find yourself in such situations?"

"It happens every once in a while, yes."

Ting hummed before casually walking past Prae. "Ok. Let's go."

Prae glanced down at the body lying in a pool of blood before jogging after the other girl. "What about the clean-up?" she asked, catching up to Ting.

"Ram's handling it," she replied. "He should be on his way already."

Prae grabbed Ting's wrist, bring them both to a standstill even as she bit down on the instinctive flinch from putting pressure on her burns. "So what was that all about?"

Ting turned to face her. "Take a guess."

"Chao Pho," stated Prae. "I'd originally assumed rival school gangs but things didn't add up. It would explain why you and Ram are always around Duen, and the way his father behaved at the fundraiser as well. They're high up in the group, aren't they?"

Ting’s lips quirked up. "That's right. The question is, what are you gonna do with that info?"

Prae blinked before huffing a laugh. "Why would I do something? It doesn't really change anything." Her gaze sharpened. "But if Bohn or King get hurt, there'll be hell to pay, I assure you, mafia or not."

"You can try," said Ting, amused.

She tilted her head and stepped closer, her free hand trailing over the front of Prae's jacket before resting at her waist. "You know," she said, voice dropping to a breathy whisper. "Confidence is a good look on you. You look fucking hot when you threaten people."

Prae’s eyes darkened and she let her gaze drop to Ting’s mouth.

"Mmm, is that so?" she asked, her voice matching Ting's. She moved forward, forcing them back until Ting gently bumped into one of the buildings' walls. Releasing her wrist, Prae wrapped an arm around Ting while her other palm hovered above her hip.

Ducking her head, she murmured into the other girl's ear, "What do you plan to do about it?"

Ting smiled coyly and tangled her fingers in Prae's hair. "First,” she breathed out. “I'm going to take a look at those burns you're not mentioning."

Prae jerked back. "How did you…"

"I felt them when you grabbed my wrist, darling. It wasn't particularly difficult to tell."

"Right, you're a medical student," remembered Prae. "Well then. Are you going to kiss them better, doctor?"

Ting draped her arms around Prae's shoulders. "If you're good, we can do more than that," she teased.

Prae stared at her for a moment then laughed, the bright sound ringing through the air. "I'm going to hold you to it then," she whispered.

And dragged Ting close to kiss the satisfied smirk off her face.

#chaptersinprogress #my engineer #my engineer the series #prae #ting #prae x ting #fanfic #fanfiction #demolition lovers #super duper long update #please comment #or leave an ask #tell me your thoughts #feedback is appreciated

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yurtletheturtlehenderson · 5 years

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ASoUE REWRITE - Season 1; The Miserable Mill - Part i.i

⇢ Klaus x Reader⇠

*not my gif*

"Get a job, hitchhikers!" The man called, pulling his truck away.

The Baudelaire children had managed to escape the clutches of Count Olaf once again. While Mr. Poe, the man responsible for putting them in dangerous situations on multiple occasions was distracted with Count Olaf, the children noticed a pickup truck that bore the name LUCKY SMELLS LUMBERMILL. The three Baudelaires were able to slip away and climb into the truck bed unnoticed and were carried off into the woods as stowaways. But of course, eventually, the driver had spotted Violet and proceeded to kick the children out, leaving them to wander the woods.

After what felt like hours, the children found themselves at the edge of a familiar-looking scene. It was the grey and ashy remains of what was once a thriving town.

"It looks like there was a fire. Everything's gone." Klaus said somberly as him and his sisters trudged through the ashy remains of the town.

Ahead of them, a long stretching fence with the words LUCKY SMELLS was printed in large letters across. Behind it stood the towering structure of an old factory building.

"Not everything." Violet countered, looking at the approaching lumber mill

"Lucky Smells Lumbermill," Klaus said.

"Maybe this is where all the clues lead us. The secret safe and the strange photographs at Aunt Josephine's." Suggested Violet.

"The secret message and the statue lady at Uncle Monty's" Said Klaus, referring to the mysterious woman who was disguised in the middle of Montgomery Montgomery's maze who had helped them in their desperate time of need.

"Eebee," Sunny said, which meant something like "Count Olaf. He's just strange."

Violet looked at her sister and gave a look saying she agreed. Her lips pressed into a firm line.

"The only thing standing between us and all our parents' secrets..." Violet trailed off, as the three came to a stop in front of the enormous wooden wall.

"is an enormous wooden wall." Klaus finished. "What if we don't like what we find? Knowing can be a terrible thing."

"But not knowing, isn't that worse?" His older sister countered.

Klaus sighed, looking back at the enormous wall, knowing his sister was right. Meanwhile, Violet, who had been carrying the youngest Baudelaire sibling, turned to rest her baby sister on a nearby wheelbarrow where she could rest comfortably as she tied her hair up in a ribbon.

Anyone who truly knew Violet Baudelaire knew that whenever she tied her hair back in her ribbon, it meant her brain was hard at work thinking of an invention. Violet was one of the greatest inventors of her time and she is well known for her ability to create a high functioning device out of nothing but the scraps around her. A skill that has proved more than helpful when it came to escaping Count Olaf and has gotten her and her siblings out of his clutches on more than one occasion. The ribbon was to keep the hair out of her eyes, and it never failed to help her think.

She tied back her hair as she stared at the wall before her, all ready planning her next possible invention.

"I bet I could invent a catapult to get us over."

Meanwhile, Klaus was recalling all his acquired knowledge on walls and their infrastructure from his love of reading and his years of research. Another skill that has proved helpful to the children when surviving in a life on the run from Count Olaf.

"I read about walls. The Wall of Jericho, the Great Wall of China." Klaus recalled.

"All I need is a lever, a counterweight, and a very large spoon." Violet finished, as she tied the knot on her ribbon.

"Pink Floyd's The Wall. Although mother wouldn't let me watch that one," Klaus chuckled weakly at the memory of his dearly departed mother.

The siblings were taken aback to hear the creaking of the doors to the wooden wall and turned to find their clever baby sister at the gate.

"Sunny," Violet said in surprise.

The babbling toddler had managed to push open the gate with no trouble and sat on the ground gazing up at her older siblings.

Violet gave a half-smirk and walked forward, picking her baby sister up from the dirty ground and piles of wood chips and wood dust. She walked back to stand next to her brother once more.

Klaus frowned, and gestured to a sign in big red letters that read,

"WARNING: Trespassers Will Be Put To Work"

"Does this make us trespassers?" Klaus wondered.

"We're children," Violet said.

"Those aren't mutually exclusive." Klaus frowned.

"If we get caught, we'll just say we were on a school trip. Come on." Violet eased, walking forward, although she wasn't feeling as confident as she appeared.

Klaus followed in his sister's footsteps reluctantly, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach.

They walked forward towards the front doors of the lumbermill and Klaus asked the obvious question that was on all of their minds.

"What exactly are we looking for?"

"It's like father said about fine art. We'll know it when we see it." She suggested. "I think we're in the right place."

However, the three siblings stopped dead in their tracks, fear creeping in fast as they all saw the same terrifying building that stood tall in the lumber yard.

You see, ever since the Baudelaire's were sent to live with the wretched villain Count Olaf, there was a symbol that haunted the children almost as much as the man himself. A symbol that followed Count Olaf and the children everywhere they went. This symbol was of an eye.

A symbol that took form in a building.

There before them stood a menacing building shaped like a giant eye. And not just any eye, but the exact same eye that was tattooed on a very villainous man.

"I think we're in the right place," Violet said, stopping at the sight of the odd building.

"Or the very, very wrong place," Klaus said in despair.

"It could just be a coincidence," Violet offered, trying to ease her siblings' mind as well as her own.

The woman in white who was pacing in front of the window in the eye-shaped building did not go unnoticed by the Baudelaires.

"Maybe we should leave," Klaus said.

Klaus had not realized how on edge he had been until he yelped in fright when he felt a hand tap on his shoulder, startling his sisters in the process.

The three children whipped around to face an equally startled man who was not expecting the whole ordeal.

The man sighed. "Forgive me. I thought you might be trespassers. But now I see you're just children."

Klaus frowned once more. "They're not mutually-"

Violet jumped in before her brother could accidentally give them away. "We're on a school trip."

Klaus nodded. "Right, because we're schoolchildren." Klaus agreed less than convincingly.

"Well, this lumbermill is hardly a safe place for children, yet I suppose that hasn't proved a problem yet. Nevertheless, I should know, I run it."

The two oldest Baudelaire's shared an equally confused look before looking back at the man.

"Pardon?" Violet asked.

The man seemed to distract to noticed because he continued. "I'm Charles."

The two Baudelaire's seemed to remember the photograph at the same time and they both eagerly scrambled to pull it out, and Violet handed it to Charles.

"Do you recognize any of these people?"

Charles took the photograph and gave it a look. The children noticed his eyes widened in shock but he quickly tried to cover it up. All he did was force a smile, and handed the children the photograph.

"I think you better come see my partner," Charles said and began leading the children across the lumber yard, hiding his uneasy frown.

Violet did not skip the opportunity to ask questions. "Do you know what happened to the town over there?"

"Well, it's a sad story. Paltryville used to be booming," Charles explained as he led the three children to the office building. "We had a world food market, two hot yoga studios, and there was even talk of a water park. The name Paltryville was a misnomer. And then one day, the whole town burned down in a terrible fire."

The three children shared uneasy looks at the mention of yet another devastating fire, like the symbol of the eye, fire was another thing that seemed to haunt to the children and was a key factor in their seemingly endless misfortune.

"Luckily," Charles continued. "the lumbermill survived... and the eye-shaped building, which actually belongs to... oh, look, here we are."

The children were disappointed to be cut short of answers yet again and sighed.

Charles stepped forward and opened the door for the three children and the Baudelaire's stepped inside, hearts racing.

Charles led them down the long hallway and when he reached two double doors.

"Uh, children, I'd like you to meet..." he pulled back the sliding doors revealing a man surrounded in a cloud of cigar smoke.

The man turned around, exhaling a large amount of smoke. "Call me Sir, everybody does 'cause I tell 'em to. I'm the boss. They have to do what I say, even my partner here."

Charles coughed at the overwhelming amount of smoke.

"Doesn't 'partner' mean 'equal'?" Klaus asked, confused by the situation.

The two men shared a look and finally, Sir spoke for the two of them. "I do all the work. He irons my clothes." He said gruffly, taking another puff of the cigar.

Charles lightly scoffed. "I also cook your omelets." He then gestured to the children. "I found them wandering unsupervised, poor dears."

"Well, you know what we do with trespassers, don't you, Charles?" Said Sir.

"But they're only children." Charles plead. "I thought we could take them in. Give them a loving, normative home."

"Nonsense. I believe you treat children like grown-ups. Put 'em to work in the mill. It'll teach them responsibility. It'll teach them the value of hard work. And it'll teach 'em how to make flat wooden boards out of trees."

"But, Sir-" Argued Charles, not before he was soon cut short by his partner once more.

"Don't argue with me. We're partners. We've done it already, and there hasn't been a problem."

Once again, Klaus seemed taken aback by the indication that another child was working here was continuing to be slipped into the conversation without any explanation. He was a bit upset that his sisters hadn't seemed to have noticed.

"If we work in the mill, do we get to stay here?"

"'Get to?'" Klaus didn't know what was more upsetting about this whole ordeal; the obvious breach of child labor laws or his sister's eagerness to stay and participate.

"Bleyb" Sunny cooed, which meant "Stay here?"

Sir smirked and gestured to Violet. "This one gets it. In this economy, children are lucky to have a job at all. What's your name, young lady?"

"Violet... Baudelaire."

Sir seemed shocked at the news.

"A Baudelaire." He murmured in disbelief.

"Wait, do you... do you know that name?" Klaus asked eagerly.

Sir's voice lowered and his tone grew grim and serious.

"Of course I do. Every man, woman, and child in Paltryville knows the name Baudelaire."

"Why? Did you know our parents?" Violet asked.

Klaus immediately stepped forward and showed the man the photograph. "Who are the other people in this photograph?"

"Ack" Sunny said, which roughly translated to "What's with the eye-shaped building?"

"I don't understand what 'ack' means, but if you want to know about your parents, they-" before he could finish, Sir erupted into a coughing fit caused him to gag.

Charles started to pat his back. "Sir."

"Every time we are about to get some answers. Seriously?" He turned to his sisters and quickly vented.

Sir cleared his throat. "It's these cigars. I hate the things, but I can't quit smoking 'em. I'm the boss. Now, where was I? Oh, yeah. There's a reason this town will never forget your parents. They're the ones that burned it down."

The three children gasped in disbelief.

"Our parents did what?" Klaus asked, not wanting to believe what he just heard.

"I'm an important man. Don't make me repeat myself. They burned down the town! They're, um... not anywhere nearby, are they?"

And just like that, it felt like another punch to the gut for the children.

"They died... in a fire," Violet answered, in a monotone voiced, knowing if she showed any sliver of emotion she would collapse into tears.

"Good." Sir said, nodding. "What goes around comes around. It's a terrible thing, startin' a fire."

Sir had walked over to his fireplace and threw another log onto the dwindling flames as he spoke, the Baudelaire children were listening, unable to believe such harsh and vile words spoken about their late parents.

"Why are you still standing there? You got work to do in the morning." Sir barked.

The children felt as if their feet were glued to the floor, their limbs were frozen. They felt numb and were still processing the terrible information they had just received. How could they possibly find the courage to get to work now?

•••

That night in the lumbermill workers' dorm, the Baudelaires pondered what they'd heard, and the weight of it felt like it had aged them a hundred years. Though, of course, it hadn't.

"Did you hear about the new recruits?" The woman at the nearby table asked as she tinkered with a small device.

If you are gossiping about someone and you don't have anything nice to say that that can be considered a very rude thing to do, but to do so when the person in question is well within earshot makes it a truly awful thing to do. Much like Norma Rae, Ceasar and Jimmy were doing, as they spoke illy of the Baudelaire's when they were only a few feet away.

"They're Baudelaires." Sneered Norma Rae.

"I hear their folks were arsonists." Mumbled Jimmy, his eyes never leaving his book.

"I hear they checked out library books and never returned them." Grumbled Ceasar, in between bites of food.

"I hear they drank blood from the skulls of chupacabras." Said Norma Rae.

"You mean they drank from baby's skulls like chupacabras."

"I know what I heard."

"Now, that's enough you three! You're just making stuff up at this point." Came a young voice, much to the Baudelaire's surprise.

The three children looked up in shock to see a young girl, who looked to be about a year or two younger than Violet, come walking up to the table, a small dinner tray in hand. She was dressed in a uniform identical to other lumber workers and was sprinkled with sawdust.

The three were at a loss for words as the stern look directed at the other three lumber workers softened when she turned to look at the Baudelaires. She smiled warmly.

"I apologize for the unwelcoming environment. I know how hard it is to lose your family in such a terrible manner. Is this seat taken?" She asked hopefully.

The three Baudelaires looked at one another and then back to the friendly stranger and the eldest sibling smiled politely, gesturing to the open seat across the table. "Not at all."

"Thank you," the girl smiled and took a seat.

"Thank you. For saying those things, I mean." Klaus stuttered.

The girl smiled at him and he smiled back. She sat up straight and looked at the three.

"Where are my manners? I'm Y/N, Y/N L/N." Y/N held out her hand and shook each hand. First Klaus, then Violet then little baby Sunny.

"It's nice to meet you. I'm Violet Baudelaire, this is my sister Sunny and my brother Klaus."

"It's nice to meet you three, as well. I'm just sorry we couldn't meet under better circumstances. Tell me, if you don't mind me asking, what brings you three to Lucky Smells?" She asked, taking a bite of her food.

"Yebo," Sunny said.

Y/N tilted her head to politely show her confusion.

"What my sister means is, it's kind of a long story." Klaus smiled weakly.

Y/N straighten up and looked at sunny and smiled, "Well, if you're willing, I'm all ears, Sunny."

Sunny smiled at the girl, much like her siblings, she was already beginning to feel at home from the girl's welcoming presence.

So the three siblings shared their terrible tale. Everything from the gloomy day at Briny Beach, to the current day and how Charles put them to work after telling them their parents had caused the fire. Once they had finished, the Baudelaires grew worried that their new companion grew quiet.

"I'm- I'm so sorry Baudelaires, that sounds... unspeakably terrible."

The Baudelaires sighed.

"It was. It... is." Violet said glumly.

"Wait, so, you don't believe our parents started the Paltryville fire?" Klaus asked hopefully.

Y/N smiled sadly. "No, Baudelaires, I don't. I never have. This probably doesn't help, but I'm afraid I'm the only one who thinks so."

"It does help," Violet said, much to Y/N's confusion. "At least someone believes us, I mean. It's better than no one."

Y/N smiled sadly at the kind nature of three children. Despite all their hardships, they were still truly good and kind people.

"Now, if you don't mind us asking, you know why we're here but, we don't know why you're here. You're so young, how did you find yourself working at a dangerous place like this?"

Y/N grew somber and folded her hands in her lap and looked at the Baudelaires. "My parents and I lived in Paltryville all my life. But when the town burnt down, my family perished as well. I had nowhere to go, and no one came to get me like this Mr. Poe you told me about. So I had to fend for myself."

The Baudelaires nodded in understanding as their new friend told her story.

"I knew that Lucky Smells provided housing for their workers so I applied and I was rather shocked at how little they needed convincing. Quite concerning actually," The Baudelaires all nodded their head eagerly in agreement. "Anyways, I've worked here ever since."

It was quiet for a moment and then Y/N continued. "My parents spoke of yours often Baudelaires. It seems they were friends. Colleagues even. I would always ask in what but they'd refuse to tell me. Anyways, they always spoke highly of your parents. My mom even said that your parents saved their lives once. That's why I refuse to believe your parents ever could have done something so wicked. I trust my parents and they say yours were good people and I stick by that."

"Thank you, Y/N," Klaus said, smiling at the girl who smiled back.

"Geebo" Sunny said, which meant "Get a room!" It caused Violet to fight a smirk and Klaus shook his head to clear his thoughts and partly to hide the creeping blush.

Suddenly, the high pitched ring of the speakers pierced the silence and a booming static muffled voice rang out. "Lights out. Two seconds."

Then, all the lights in the cabin, save for the lit candles, shut off simultaneously.

"But it's only six 'o clock," Klaus said.

Suddenly, a large, happy man walked by towards his bunk bed. "Oh, boy, more time for dreaming." He said cheerily.

"That's Phil. As you can see he's a bit of an optimist."

"Did someone say my name?"

"Hi, Phil! I was just helping the Baudelaire's get acquainted. They're the new recruits everyone has been talking about."

"Oh boy! New friends!" He wheezed in delight. "I'm Phil, and I'm excited to work with you kids."

Violet smiled weakly and gestured to her siblings.

"Thank you. I'm Violet. These are my siblings, Klaus and Sunny."

"Listen, I... I know things seem dark. But you have to look on the bright side. So your parents burned down towns. You don't have to be like your parents. My parents were Olympic athletes and look at me." He smiled a toothy grin. "I work in a lumbermill."

Y/N sighed at Phil's comment and about the Baudelaire parents, feeling bad for the poor orphans and embarrassed knowing her friend didn't realize what he had done. She quickly tried to change the subject.

"Phil, did you have you have something there?" She asked, gesturing to his bag in the table.

The optimist's smile grew and he reached for the bag pulling out some pamphlets and a set of uniforms for the children.

"Who wants a welcome packet?"

The Baudelaires felt unsettling feeling growing in the pit of their stomachs as they thought of what might lay ahead of them in the morning. But nevertheless, it seemed a bit of the man's optimism had rubbed off on the children, especially a certain speckled Baudelaire, in particular, knowing they had made a new friend their age.

For the first time in what felt like months, the children felt as if they weren't so alone. Having someone who understands exactly what you are going through during a particularly traumatic time can be a very fortunate, very rare thing. Someone to share you're experiences and hardships with, someone to complain to who'll say "My entire family perished in a terrible fire and an evil and treacherous man is following me and conspiring to get my family fortune as well!", rather than the less than comforting "Look on the bright side, at least you survived. And there is no way that man could ever find you in disguise a fourth time!" can sometimes be the most therapeutic experience. And that is exactly what the Baudelaires and Y/N L/N found when they found each other.

•••

"I do hope I'm not intruding," Y/N said as she returned to the table, having washed her dishes.

The three smiled at Y/N. "Not at all," Klaus said.

"I would be more than happy to offer my services to you three. I like you Baudelaires, and I'll help in any way I can to help clear your parents' names and I'll keep an eye out for this vile man Count Olaf, you've told me so much about."

The three shared a look. Violet looked to the girl and leaned in concerned.

"That is a very kind offer Y/N, but I'd hate to put you in danger. I dread to think what would happen if he ever caught up to us and knew you were helping us. He isn't afraid of hurting innocent people, and certainly not children,"

"And I appreciate the concern, Violet. But I want to help." Y/N looked around before leaning in and whispering. "I don't know much, but my parents were apart of something big and I think we are after the same answers. If we work together, I think we can find out what's really been going on. I hadn't mentioned this before, I hardly speak of them, but I too have siblings as well"

The faces of the Baudelaires fell, even baby sunny let out a sympathetic coo, and Y/N leaned back.

"It's true. They died in the fire. B/n and S/n. They were twins." She trailed off at the mention of her siblings. "I loved them and I miss them every day. Maybe, just maybe I can find some answers and find out why all these fires are being started."

It was quiet for a moment. Then Klaus spoke up.

"I'm, so sorry for your loss."

She smiled sadly. "Thank you, Klaus. And I'm sorry for yours. But, you must know, I can hold my own. And I am not afraid of facing Count Olaf if it means looking out for you three. And I'd be more than willing to help in any way I can if you'll let me."

"Thank you, Y/N. We really appreciate it!"

"So, what can I do to help."

"Unfortunately, we're not even sure what we're going to do yet. We were going to come up with a plan tonight."

"Okay! Well, here's a map of the mill. Maybe this will help." Y/N said, unfolding the large map that had been on the table, while Klaus began reading through the welcome manual.

"Oh, look Klaus. The mill has a library. Maybe you can research what happened here and clear our parents' names."

"Oh, yeah. I've never actually been there before. I forgot it was there. Break times are so short but I bet you could go during lunchtime," Y/N offered.

Klaus chuckled and gestured to the Manual. "Look. The mill has machines. Maybe you could invent a way of making planks out trees faster."

"Yeeb" cooed sunny, as she pointed to a coupon. "Look. It's that eye building."

"Y/N, what can you tell us about this building?" Violet asked as she leaned forward, examining the picture.

"Oh, you mean Dr. Orwell's office? She's an optometrist who works just across the mill. I hardly ever see her. She's a bit of a recluse."

"Hmm," recalled Klaus. "Father always said he didn't trust them. Or optimists now that I recall."

"But what does an optometrist's office have to do with Count Olaf?" Violet wondered. "Maybe Phil was right. We should look on the bright side. This mill may be miserable, but since we got here, we haven't seen Count Olaf. And we met you, Y/N." The new set of friends smiled at each other. "What if that eye really was a coincidence? What I'd we finally found a place where Count Olaf won't find us?"

"Hopefully, you're right Violet. Here, let's see what we can do," she reached for the manual and map and the four children began planning for tomorrow.

•••

Later that night, the children lay in bed. Y/N was already fast asleep in her usual spot on the bottom bunk. Klaus was next to her in the adjacent bunk. Violet and Sunny shared the top bunk above Klaus.

"Is Sunny asleep?" Whispered Klaus in the dead of night.

Violet turned over to get a peek at her sister, who was sleeping soundly and smiling, as she occasionally nipped at the air. Violet smiled fondly.

"She's dreaming about biting something. Why?" Replied Violet.

"What Sir said about our parents. You don't think it could be true." Klaus asked.

Violet frowned. "Of course not."

"Then you agree what we have to do."

"Of course," Violet said. The two siblings then spoke at the same time. "Clear their names."

"Get out of here. Wait, what?" Klaus asked bewildered.

"If we clear their names, maybe we can finally get some answers. Besides, what about Y/N?" Violet asked.

At the mention of their new friend, Klaus turned his head and looked over at the sleeping girl. Unlike Sunny, she looked troubled as she slept. She hugged her pillow tightly and a frown was etched onto her face.

Klaus bit his lip and turned, focusing his gaze on the top bunk above him, not wanting to think about leaving the girl he just met.

"She's wonderful, and it's very gracious of her to offer to help, which is all the more reason to get out of here while we can. If Count Olaf catches up to us, we'd be putting her in danger. And I'm sorry, but I can't help but think, maybe our parents wouldn't want us here anyway."

"Then they shouldn't have left us alone." Violet snapped.

Klaus was shocked at his sister.

"You know that's not what they did."

Violet took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I know it's not their fault. And I know you're just trying to be cautious."

Klaus sighed. "I guess we're not seeing eye to eye."

It was quiet for a moment, and then Klaus spoke once more. "I wish they were here. Our parents."

"I know." Replied Violet, in a sad tone. "I don't like this place either. But staying is the best way to find out what our parents were hiding."

"The best way to find out would be to ask them. But we never can."

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ayanna-wild · 5 years

Text

No One Said Love Was Easy

Word Count: 1602

Pairings: Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

Warnings: angst, possible trigger, mentions of abuse

A/N: Request from someone on Wattpad, so normally I don't post the stories I make on Wattpad here, but a friend, I'm looking at you @adira-secrets lol, asked me to so I did. On Wattpad are all Lucifer imagines I've done on here plus some Wattpad exclusive ones.

Masterlist

Wattpad

Summary: You wanted to move on, to get over him, he would never love you back. So you found someone else. But the man you were with gave you nothing but heartbreak and bruises, and you still loved the devil you could never have.

............................................................

You downed your shot as you sat in between Maze and Lucifer. You hadn't seen them in a while and you had missed them. Your boyfriend didn't like you spending very much time at Lux and so slowly, over time you went to see your friends less and less. You never argued about it because it was just the excuse you were looking for to further your attempts at getting over Lucifer.

You watched him laugh at something Maze had said and you smiled staring down at your glass. You had to remind yourself that Lucifer would never feel the same way about you. That you were wasting your time, waiting for someone that would never want you back. You tried to convince yourself the man you were with was the one you wanted to be with, but an uneasy feeling settled in your stomach. Maybe you shouldn't even be here right now.

"Where are you going?" Maze asked as you stood up.

You smiled as you slipped your jacket on, putting your phone in your pocket.

"I've got to get home, Sebastian doesn't like me being out to late."

You didn't miss the disgusted look Lucifer had, and your smile fell.

"What?"

He looked up at you, sighing slightly.

"It's just well... that boyfriend of yours isn't exactly a very good catch if I'm being blunt."

Your eyes narrowed, and you crossed your arms.

"Yeah? Well I like him, so I'd rather you didn't be blunt." You said coldly.

Maze's eyes drifted between you and Lucifer, sensing the impending argument.

"I don't see how. He's a bigger douche than Daniel is, honestly love I thought you had better taste than that." Lucifer scoffed.

You laughed in disbelief and turned around, storming out of Lux. Lucifer watched you, looking confused as to why you were so angry.

"What's got her in a fit?"

Maze raised an eyebrow.

"You're joking right?"

Lucifer looked at her expectantly and she shook her head.

"You're not joking, you seriously have no idea why you hate the guy so much?"

Lucifer shrugged.

"He's a little too much like a brother of mine, and we both know how much of a prick Seraphiel is." Lucifer said dryly.

Maze simply smirked and brought her drink to her lips.

"Really? I thought it was because he had a pretty close resemblance to you."

Lucifer looked mortified and offended by that.

You kicked your shoes off by the door as you finally arrived at your apartment.

"Where the hell have you been?"

You glanced up at your boyfriend for a second before looking back down at your jacket.

"I was at Lux. I haven't seen Maze and Lucifer in a while." You hung your jacket up.

Sebastian glared at you, crossing his arms.

"Lucifer? That insane club owner? I thought I told you, I didn't want you around him anymore."

You rolled your eyes and walked past him, going to the kitchen.

"Yeah well he's my friend, I'm allowed to hang out with whoever I want Sebastian." You mumbled.

You hissed in pain whenever he suddenly grabbed your wrist in a bone crushing hold.

"Not him! Excuse me for not wanting my girlfriend around the guy she's so pathetically in love with."

You glared at him, trying to pull your wrist free.

"You don't own me, you dick. You're not going to dictate my life." You snapped.

You suddenly found yourself staring at the wall. It took you a minute to process what happened, and for a moment you didn't feel the sting of your cheek. Your loving boyfriend, had just back handed you. The sole reason you were still standing was because of the painful grip he had on your wrist.

"Yes I do." He spat.

He let go of your wrist, shoving you back as he walked past you and towards the bedroom. For a moment you stood there, trying to sort through the various emotions you were feeling. You were so disoriented that you hadn't noticed your phone ringing, not until the person called back. Your hands shook as you answered it, not bothering to check the caller ID.

"Hello?"

Why did your voice sound raw? Where you crying?

"Y/N! Hello darling!"

You forced a smile and stepped out onto the balcony so Sebastian couldn't hear.

"Hey Lucifer."

You wiped away a tear and cleared your throat.

"Are you crying love? Did that reptile you call a boyfriend upset you?"

At that moment you wanted to tell Lucifer everything, wanted him there to protect you. You knew he would come in a heartbeat, but instead you lied.

"No, I'm just tired is all. I'm actually about to go to bed, so I'll call you tomorrow ok?"

Lucifer was quiet for a moment and you held your breath, praying he didn't hear the lie in your voice.

"Are you sure you're alright?" He sounded worried.

"Yeah, really I'm just tired. I'll see you later Luci."

You hung up, leaning back against the sliding glass door as you stared at the street below. You took a moment to collect yourself before going back inside. You didn't bother changing your clothes as you crawled into bed. You stared at Sebastian a moment, before laying down and staring at the ceiling. You lay there, unable to sleep, for what fell like hours. The longer you laid there the more your blood boiled. You raised your hand staring at the skin on your wrist as clear signs of a bruise began to show.

'Did he break your legs?' The voice in the back of your mind seemed just as angry as you were.

"No." You muttered.

'Then run.'

You stood from the bed, and began shoving anything of yours you could into a several suitcases. You were as quiet as possible, and moved around the room without making a sound. Once you had gathered whatever you could, you headed for the door, giving Sebastian one last venomous look before leaving as quickly as you could. You threw your cases in the trunk of his car and slammed it close. You speed down street after street until you arrived at your destination.

Lux.

As you walked down the stairs you silently hoped that Lucifer was not there tonight. That he was out in a case with Chloe, you couldn't face him yet, you felt ashamed, like it was all your fault. Your heart dropped when you saw that Lucifer was here, and so was Ella, Chloe, Linda, and Maze. You were tempted to turn around and leave, but when Ella spotted you waving you over, you realized you had missed your chance.

"Y/N! I'm so happy that you made it!" Ella smiled pulling you into a hug.

You smiled as you pulled your sleeve down over the growing bruise on your wrist. You pushed aside any thoughts you had of telling them and you drank. You drank until your anger was replaced by laughter. You drank until the sting on your cheek, and the ache in your wrist disappeared. After a while of drinking you began to feel unsteady on your feet so you sat down in the booth beside Lucifer.

"I'm surprised the reptile let you come out tonight. He's seems a tad controlling."

You only shrugged, watching Ella almost trip over her own feet.

"Oh I left him."

Lucifer head turned to look at you so fast you were surprised his neck didn't break.

"What?"

You nodded and downed another shot.

"Yep, he hit me, so I packed my bags and took his car." You giggled.

You couldn't stop the words from tumbling out of your mouth, but you were too drunk to care. Lucifer grabbed your hand when he noticed you pull your sleeve down again. He was careful as he rolled your shirt sleeve up. He stared at the bruise on your wrist for a moment before grabbing your chin. He turned your head to the side, where the thin layer of make up you had applied was failing to cover the bruise that was getting darker on your cheek.

"Time to crush the little pest." He hissed, eyes flashing red.

Your senses seemed to return a little and you grabbed his arm, pulling him back down to sit beside you.

"Lucifer don't."

"But he hurt you darling, he deserves to be punished."

Your hold on him tightened when he tried to stand again. You didn't see Maze standing behind the two of you, listening.

"Please Lucifer, just leave it."

Lucifer's eyes studied you, taken in your tired expression, the sorrow in your eyes. His expression softened, and he lifted you into his arms. He made up and excuse to the others about you being too drunk and carried you to the penthouse. Before he got in the elevator, he shared a look with Maze, who nodded.

You had fallen asleep a while ago, curled up against Lucifer as he sat beside you on the couch in the penthouse. He hadn't left your side ever since you had told him what happened. He looked over his shoulder as Maze walked in.

"How was our dear friend?"

Maze smirked as she grabbed a drink from the shelf.

"Crawling like the snake he is. He won't be walking anytime soon." She laughed.

Lucifer smiled, before turning his attention back to you. Maze watched him hold you protectively.

"You know, you'll have to tell her how you feel eventually."

Lucifer sighed.

"Yes, but not tonight, she has enough on her plate right now."

Maze nodded and turned to leave.

"Just so you know Lucifer, she feels the same."

.................................................................................

Tag List: @we-are-all-alittle-strange-here @adira-secrets @beththedemonhunter @shywriting @emiwrites3reads @gingernarwal @cuddly-cat-in-a-trench-coat @im-just-along-for-the-ride @lifeshortbro @sallyp-53 @officialfangirl @cptgryps @mizzezm

#lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer x reader #luciferonfox #lucifer morningstar #lucifer morningstar x you #lucifer morningstar one shot #lucifer morningstar imagine #lucifernetflix #luciferonnetflix

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mfackenthal · 5 years

Text

MFackenthal Interviews Liam (from Cordonian’s Gone Wild)

Hello all!

I have been given the biggest honor from @cordoniansgonewild! As they promote their newest AU, they thought to ask me to help by interviewing a few key Cordonian men. Each of the men has been interviewed by yours truly and Duke Magazine is printing each of those interviews in separate magazines.

You’ve all seen the cover of the first magazine by now - but in case not, here it is:

And now, without further ado, with a lot of help from @ao719 for this particular interview - here is the article:

King Liam strolls through the rose garden, a member of his security team trailing yards behind him. He’s just come from his photo shoot with Duke Magazine. He smiles cordially when he sees me. “Megs, as always, it is great to see you. Y’know, I wouldn’t do this interview with anyone else.”

“It’s always good to see you too, King Liam. You flatter me, but I think the magazine might have known that. I’m so sorry to hear about your father,” I say with a curtsey.

“Megs, we’ve known each other long enough - the curtsey is not necessary,” Liam responds. “Thanks for your condolences. Constantine...tried his best, I suppose. I’ll admit to you and your many viewers - I’m not worried about the shoes I have to fill, however. Those shoes are...rather tight. I plan to be the King that my country and my people need me to be.”

“And you plan to do that through some changes to the social season? I ask.

“I wanted to change the face of tradition. The other nobles attend the social season events and balls. I figured why not allow them to participate if they so choose to.”

“The more the merrier, huh?” I ask, giving him a light elbow in the ribs. We start walking the maze. “I have to tell you, King Liam, rumor is these changes were made official while most of those involved were drunk. Are you willing to comment on this rumor?”

Liam rubs back of neck nervously. I’ve never seen Liam so nervous, honestly. “Seriously, just call me Liam, Megs. And…uh…may I ask when is this getting printed? Before or after the start of the social season?”

“Oh Liam, y’know, you’re cute when you’re nervous. Just relax. Tell me, how do you envision this is going to work? Will you get first dibs on the eligible women who enter the season?”

Liam gives me a funny look at the term “dibs.” Then he begins, “I guess it will be up to everyone as a whole. Whether or not they find a match and how they feel. There’s no rule saying they have to find someone at the end. My circumstances may be a little different than the others, but again, there’s no rule.”

“Will you have a rose ceremony each week?” I ask with a wink.

Liam laughs. “No. No rose ceremony. But they may receive roses just because…” He shrugs.

“Awh, you really are a romantic at heart, Liam. Okay, well, let’s give my readers a heads up. What are you looking for in a spouse?”

“I’ve always been raised to think of Cordonia first, that romance isn’t important...so I’ve never really thought much about what kind of woman I would want to actually marry for myself.”

Liam pauses here and smiles. I almost start my next question but then he continues.

“I guess...obviously someone who is going to be the Queen that Cordonia needs. But maybe...I’m looking for more than just your typical political match marriage. Someone who is...challenging. Who keeps me on my toes. Who I enjoy and look forward to being with. Who makes me...happy.”

“Liam, I know I speak for many when I say that you deserve that happiness,” I say.

“Thanks, Megs,” Liam beams. “That means a lot to me.”

“Okay, we’re getting too sentimental here. Let’s talk logistics. How will the ladies be selected to enter the social season?”

“Well I think the intent is that all the men hopefully find a match. So, each duchy can sponsor however many women they deem eligible.”

“Will the ladies be allowed to say who they are most interested in?” I ask.

“I hope they will so we know,” Liam laughs. “It would be a shame to attempt to court someone who’s not interested in you.”

“True, true. What if two or more of you fall for the same person?”

“Ugh, that would put us in rather an awkward spot, wouldn’t it?” Liam looked pensive for a moment before saying, “I guess it will be up to her to decide,” with a very confident smile on his face.

“Okay, Casanova,” I said rolling my eyes at him. “Tell me, what are you looking forward to in this social season?”

“Getting to know the suitors and being able to enjoy this new social season as a whole with the others. It gives me a chance as King to see things from a different perspective, I guess you can say. Also...making it through without my friends plotting my demise.”

“Good luck with that, Your Highness,” I said with a laugh. “I’ll be the first to tell you how your friends are handling the pressures of this upcoming season. Is there anything you’re hoping to avoid in this social season?”

“Too much competition?” He says. “Oh Megs, I brought this competition on myself and I’m already not looking forward to hearing that I brought it on myself from people like Drake.”

I pat Liam on the shoulder as he hangs his head. “Speaking of other people, has anyone or any organization tried to influence how you will choose a spouse?”

“You mean has anyone given their opinion of who should be queen? Yes, I’ve already had my fair share of phone calls and conversations trying to...push my choice in a certain direction. But I know I need to be fair to everyone and I’m not allowing anyone to sway me. I’ll wait until the season starts and go from there.”

I nod my head at just how even and fair King Liam is being. “I have two more questions and then one final, most important question.”

“Hit me with them, Megs.”

Ticking them off with my fingers, I ask, “will the social season end with multiple weddings?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Liam says as he shakes his head no. “Even with a typical social season there is time after, but since this is not your typical social season, I have even more reason to say no. Not unless the matches choose to do so between themselves. There’s no pressure to get married.”

“Two, soOoo can the MFackenthal Show have exclusive rights to publicize the social season? I believe I can give the people what they want and allow each of the suitors involved some privacy.”

Liam gently laughs. “You have me sold, Megs. As long as my council agrees, I don’t see why not.”

“Okay, here is the final and most important question…Do you happen to know if Bastien is single?” I ask.

“Y’know, Megs, he’s right behind us, you can ask him yourself,” Liam says as he laughs and looks back at Bas.

I have to tell you, dear readers, in all the time I have known Bas, I have never known him to blush. However, unless Bas was just really sunburnt, I believe I saw him blush just then. I may have been blushing a little myself. He happens to be single, I learned. But this article isn’t really about me.

You’ve read it here first. King Liam’s social season will be more than just about King Liam finding a Queen. The season will be about King Liam and other eligible men using the social season to find…well, at least a date, I guess. With any luck - I’ll be there to help show you all how things pan out. I wish Liam and all the men involved the best of luck!

~~~~~

And now for the tags. I’m going to tag those of you who have asked to be tagged in my interviews and a few who specifically asked to be tagged for THESE interviews. @cordoniansgonewild will reblog this with the tags for their fans. As always - just let me know if you want on or off this list.

@eileendannie, @hopefulmoonobject @queen-among-writers, @hopelessromantic1352, @lilyofchoices,

#MFackenthal tackles the print medium #wink #MFackenthal interviews Liam #MFackenthal has a thing for Bastien #The basis of all of Liams answers came from ao719 #Cordoniansgonewild are so much fun to work with #Mfackenthal is so honored to be asked to do this #I had such a blast!#I cannot wait to bring you all of these #One a day #Bastien blushed!

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typinggently · 5 years

Note

6 for Hannigram! :)

6) marvel sculptures, old books, a burning building

thank you so much for this! :) I had great fun with it! The idea is based on something I mentioned on twitter once some time ago and it never truly left me:

Art Historian/Collector Hannibal and Journalist Will

Dr-Count-Prof Hannibal Lecter is a celebrated art historian and collector with a collection that could very well be called legendary. In his mansion, he keeps and presents a selection of exquisite and quite exotic art, arranged in fascinating and fantastical displays.

This year, Lecter invites a very exclusive group of people to admire this treasure chest of a house, have some snacks and celebrate his extraordinary taste. Now how does Will Graham end up at said party? Easy. He’s an editor for Film et Beaux Arts Illustré (in short: FBI), a French-American art magazine for which Alana Bloom writes, who happens to be a friend of Lecter’s.

She also happens to break her leg shortly before the party, so Will is dragged out of his secluded house in the middle of nowhere (working for an online magazine is great when you dislike people and have a bunch of dogs) and shoved towards the nearest tailor.

Freshly suited up and very miserable, he attends the party, armed with a frown and a notepad. He doesn’t do fieldwork anymore, but he still knows enough to write a decent article, so that’s the least of his worries. But if you’ve ever been in contact with art historians, you know that they all know each other and that’s just the. worst when you know absolutely no one. So Will decides to go explore the place on his own.

Now we have to say a few things about the mansion itself, just to get a glimpse into the palace Hannibal has curated for himself. Ignoring the people having polite conversation and eating dubious looking finger food, Will wanders through the different rooms, losing himself a little – which is, as he notices at some point, very easy, since the place is constructed like a maze. He passes through a hallway overlooking the garden that reminds him oddly of the hall of mirrors. Illuminated by flickering, multiplied candles, the mirrors and windows both are rows of black pools in which Will catches glimpses of his own reflection. On the ceiling, fragments of ornaments have been arranged into a strange collage, what looks like Pompeiian frescoes next to pieces of rococo plasterwork next to pieces of gothic faults. Like looking into the splintered mirror of time.

In the dining room, the living wall of herbs mirrors the table overbearing with a bacchanalian arrangement of fruits and flowers, the scent of lilies, wine, orange blossoms and quinces almost too much to bear. On the wall, an etching after Michelangelo’s Leda. Will thinks of the fairy realms that entrap you with their fantastical buffets and selects a pomegranate, licking juice off his fingertips.

There’s a winter garden, too, right in the middle of the house, a green spine throughout the building. Will can make out marble amidst shadowed green, but instead of following those schemes and the distant whisper of a fountain, he turns to another hallway. Maroon walls, more etchings, drawings, some small portraits, and he finds himself in front of another door over which a marble sign has been installed, weathered with age. Arrète! C’est ici l’empire de la mort.

“Are you lost?”

Will turns, faces the man stepping out of the shadows. “I assumed that was the idea.” It takes some dedication, he thinks dimly, to match your tie with your wine and your wallpaper.

There’s a faint twitch in his lips, then Lecter offers his hand for a shake. Warm, a nice grip. Will wonders if his fingers are still pomegranate-sticky, if Hannibal can feel it.

“I’d love to invite you in, but I’m afraid I can’t let my other guests wait for the amount of time I’d be obliged to spend with you once the door closes behind us. But please, give me your card.” The hand is just as warm on the small of Will’s back, gently leading him from the door.

“I don’t have a card.”

“Your number, then. You’re here for the FBI, aren’t you? I’d be honoured to give you a more in-depth tour of the place.”

“Are you suggesting an interview?”

Yes he is. Which Will doesn’t think too much about, other than the fact that he feels vaguely hit on. But come Monday, when he explains the whole thing to Jack and Alana, both completely flip their collective shits. Hannibal Lecter has never offered anyone an interview before. Not even Alana.

The decision is quickly made: Whore out Will Graham for an exclusive interview with THE Dr-Count-Prof Hannibal Lecter and an exclusive house tour. Will isn’t exactly thrilled at how quickly his friends pimp him out, but he remembers the taste of pomegranate and honey, the scent of wine dripping from the stained petals of a lily, flickering candle light on black pools and sweet-soft, marble-smooth bodies.

The interview goes well, to put it that way. You know some of the rooms, you can imagine the art Hannibal shows him. Busts and sketches, paint and pastels, wood and canvas and paper and marble. The honey-darkness of Caravaggio, the peach-soft eroticism of Boucher, the cruel desire of von Stuck. Martyrs and nymphs.

In the library, Hannibal offers him the illustrations of Beardsley, first editions. Will stands at a table of soft-warm cherrywood, taking in the faint scent of leather, old books. Hannibal, standing behind him, almost close enough for his. breath to brush the back of Will’s neck.

Now whose house is burning? Who knows what the family is called but the mess causes a terrible traffic jam. “Oh, that’s too unfortunate”, Hannibal says, smile glinting in the soft light, “If you’d like to stay the night, I’ll show you my guest rooms.”

Will looks up from Beardsley’s The Examination of the Herald. “We have time, don’t we? Show me the catacombs.”

Hannibal’s smile sharpens.

This was fun fun fun. The chemistry suffered a little because I was a tad focused on the art part but I also have to say, once again, that I feel like at some point, this would be a great skeleton for an actual fic. I can just imagine how n a s t y this Hannibal is. Absolute decadence. Wrapping Will up in silk and not letting him go before he’s drunk on pleasure.

The idea that they both seduce each other with art knowledge is. Appealing. And of COURSE Hannibal would put a sign from the Catacombs in Paris over his bedroom door.

Also please check out “The Examination of the Herald” because that’s the type of shit poor Will had to go “ah aha I see” at for three plus hours. They’re both into art, but there’s art and. Then there’s. Well. Subtle flirtation? Anyhow, I’d love to show it here but tumblr would kick me off the platform in 0.3 secs I feel.

Again – thank you SO much for your ask, I hope you enjoyed this mess!! It certainly cheered me up :’)

#hannigram #drabble #I sucked it up and did some writing after all!#this was VERY self-indulgent :')#also there is NO reason for the magazine to be french-american other than the fact that I wanted it to be called FBI and couldn't think #of a good B word.#yeh

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pi-cat000 · 6 years

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MSA time travel idea (part 21)

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, Vivi POV, 8, 9, 10, Lewis POV, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, Lance POV 18, 19, Lewis POV.2

Part 22: here

“We’ll be fine,” Vivi reassures Arthur for a third time, spinning to face him, backing up past the assortment of haphazardly constructed ‘keep out’ and ‘danger!’ signage. Behind her looms the cave’s gaping entrance.

“We’ve been through a ton of caves. The worst thing that could happen? We, maybe, get swarmed by some bats,” She continues upon seeing Arthur’s continued hesitation.

“Ah, how about a cave in?” He points out leerily, eyeing jagged stone formations framing the entryway.

“No seismic activity in the area, I checked,” Vivi declares, whirling to march forward, glancing back to call, “You boys coming or what.”

Mystery bounds off after Vivi, leaving him to shoot an apprehensive glance at Lewis. The larger man shrugs, putting a comforting hand across Arthur's shoulder blades, “If this has you really worried we can always wait out here while Vivi takes her supernatural readings.”

Arthur sighs, tempted to take him up on offer, “No. It’s fine. Probably best not to let Vivi go spelunking with only Mystery as back up.”

“Probably,” Lewis laughs, patting his shoulder once then stepping forward, “Just stick behind me. I’m sure this will be just as boring as all the other caves we’ve walked through.”

“Yeah. ‘Boring’…Sure. That’s not the word I’d use but, whatever, let’s go with boring,” Arthur grumbles, shadowing Lewis up to the entrance. The ground underfoot transitions sharply from spotted green to dead twigs and dusty rock.

“Creepy,” Arthur eyes the unnaturally straight line, cutting the cave off from its surroundings. Lewis snorts, amused by his muttering-at least someone is having a good time-walking into the dark like this isn’t the most unnerving place they’ve been to so far.

Just inside the dimly lit opening, he spots Vivi, who’s wrestling with a wrought iron canister holding what appeared to be old-style wooden torches.

“Hey guys, check these out! Mood lighting! ” She calls with apparent gusto. Better make that two people having a good time.

“Lewis. You still have those matches on you, right? I think there’s still oil on these.”

Lewis trades his box of matches for the wooden torch, holding it out while Vivi grapples around attempting to light it. Arthur is surprised the old torch has lasted this long. They can’t have been the only ones dumb enough to explore a ‘haunted’ cave at night. Surely, some other idiot would have used them up before now.

“Can’t we just use the flashlights?” Arthur comments in conjunction with Vivi’s resounding "YES" of triumph. The stone walls around them come to life with a flickering orange glow. High, arched ceilings, almost two stories tall, provide an abundance of space. Arthur can now see several meters down a long tunnel before darkness overtakes it again. He shivers, peering at the many cracks and holes dotting the roof and walls. Everything is coated in a thin layer of green moss which catches the torchlight, giving a green tint. In other words, it looks freaky and unnatural.

“Well, this just went up several points on the Creepy-O-Meter,” He laments, resigning himself to an evening of jumping at pebbles coming loose from the ceiling, gusts of wind, and his own shadow.

“I know! It’s great isn’t it?” Vivi twists, grinning ridiculously, now holding a torch in each hand.

“Watch where you wave those Viv,” Lewis dodges back and avoids a face full of fire, reaching out and plucking the nearest torch from Vivi, “You almost got my hair with that one.”

“Whoops sorry,” A sheepish Vivi shoots Lewis an apologetic glance before carefully lifting her remaining torch to get a better look at the cavernous structures around them. A few seconds of fascinated gawking pass, while both his friends take in their strange new environment.

“You have to admit, this is a lot cooler than a graveyard or an old house,” Vivi voices in awe, moving deeper into the tunnel. She’s got an energetic spring to her step mirrored by Mystery trotting at her heels. No attention is afforded to the spooky shadows, shrinking away from the torchlight, rushing to close in behind them. It’s admirable.

“Maybe there’ll be an actual ghost this time and not a dude playing dress up?” Lewis adds, glancing about, holding his torch higher, “Definitely has the ambience for it.”

Arthur shuffles closer to Vivi, so he’s sandwiched between the two of them. This way he’ll have plenty of warning when the freaky cave monster leaps out to get them.

“One can only hope,” Vivi laments loudly. Her voice echoes, bouncing along the slimy green walls until it’s swallowed up by the dark. Arthur shudders. Is it just him or does it feel like the cave is listening?

“Ah. Objection,” He interjects, lowering his voice, so it doesn’t jump around like Vivi’s, “A dude in a sheet is plenty scary, thanks. No need for anything esle.”

Lewis laughs from behind, also lowering his voice to a whisper, “Like weird-scary or scary-scary?”

Arthur throws a half-serious glare over his shoulder, retorting, “Both.”

Further conversation is put on pause when they hit a fork in the otherwise straightforward tunnel. The two passageways are significantly smaller, a foot higher than Lewis, and narrower, twisting away from the central shaft. Both are equally uninviting, ghostly, glowing a poisonous green in the torchlight. His shadowed silhouette, elongated in the firelight, appears to shift unnaturally, skittering away into the gloom. Arthur blinks, focusing attention on the spot. There’s nothing there but ordinary rock.

“Let’s split up,” Vivi’s announcement draws Arthur’s concentration away from studying the walls for shadow creatures.

“What?”

Lewis is nodding along, considering both passageways seriously.

“No way,” Arthur waves his arms to catch their attention, wincing at his own volume, then whispering, “Splitting up is a terrible idea. When has splitting up ever worked well for anyone.”

“If we split up we’ll cover more ground and get through the cave system faster,” Vivi points out, already searching through her small rucksack.

“Just remember to take lots of photos. Here have my spare EMF meter,” She shoves the ‘totally legit’ ghost detection devise, an audio recorder, and notepad into Lewis’s free hand, “Don’t forget to actually press record this time when stuff happens, and write a note, so we know to cross check it later.”

"Sure," Lewis pockets the equipment with a laugh,

Arthur slaps a hand over his eyes, groaning. Why are his friends a pair of walking clichés?

“Lewis. You go with Arthur. He’ll need the moral support more than I will.”

“Hey,” His protest is half-hearted.

“I’ll take Mystery down that tunnel. Let’s meet up in, say, an hour and report our findings.”

Vivi walks purposefully forward before pausing to add, “Oh and if it gets too maze-like come back here, so you don’t get lost,” Another step, “And don’t fall down any holes.”

“We’ll be fine,” Lewis reassures, amused, slinging an arm out and catching Arthur before he can duck away, “Arthur’s got my back.”

Arthur suffers the semi-headlock with crossed arms and a stony expression. It’s not that he really believes they’ll run into trouble it’s more a matter of principle at this point. All it does is make Vivi snort in good humour then hide a grin behind her hand.

“See you boys in an hour,” A cheery wave and Vivi marches away, looking for all the world like a person having the time of their life.

“You okay there Arthur,” Lewis loosens his arm, glancing down. There is genuine concern in his tone now, eyes scanning Arthur for signs of discomfort. Arthur forcibly shelves his exasperation. No need to bring down the mood. Not when this is the first time in weeks he’s been exclusively in either Lewis or Vivi’s company.

A long exhale, and he ducks to disentangle himself from the larger man’s arm, “Yeah. Come on. Let’s go poke around a dark, damp, tunnel some more.” He injects as much enthusiasm as he can muster, but it ends up more sarcastic.

Lewis hits him with a knowing smile, offering, “Here I’ll go first.”

His friend takes a confident step forward, holding the torch high to provide them with maximum visibility. Arthur follows close behind, trying not to get too freaked out at the way the cave walls seem to shift unnaturally in the uneven light. It’s just his overactive mind seeing familiar patterns where there were none. That was all.

Down the gloomy stone tunnel, they go, flickering fire illuminating Lewis’s silhouette and the narrow walls enclosing them. Nervously, Arthur picks up his pace, tailing as close to Lewis’s back as he can get. Occasionally, he bumps into the other man when Lewis stops abruptly to examine part to the scenery. Lewis doesn’t appear to mind, being more interested in sporadic wooden support beams which arise from time to time. Everything is pretty much identical until the narrow tunnel opens suddenly to reveal a spacious cavern.

It’s huge. Dotted with wicked sharp stalagmites and stalactites which both hang from the ceiling and raise up from the ground like clawed fingers, it dwarfs them both.

Lewis immediately steps out of the tunnel onto a narrow ledge extending into empty space, transfixed by the stunning view. Arthur makes to follow. Distracted, he stumbles, hand brushing against the cave walls for support. Pain shoots through the limb, and Arthur stops, staring at the appendage, confused. Had he cut himself? He doesn’t appear to be injured.

“Hey, Arthur! Come check out this view!”

Lewis is now standing near the end of the wedge-shaped platform, peering down at the steep drop. Cautiously, Arthur inches out after him, eyeing the pointed rock formations far below. The way they catch and reflect the torchlight is almost menacing.

Would be such a shame if someone were to fall.

His left leg twitches, and he almost stumbles right into Lewis. Arthur finds himself unfocussed, and he hesitates behind the larger man. What is he doing again? Why is Lewis so close all of a sudden?

His arm is completely numb. It’s tuned an unnatural sickly green colour. The same colour as the walls. That's not normal. A twitch. Arthur watches, confused when his limb jerks up. A second too late he realises that he’s not the one moving it. In an action almost too quick to follow the arm lashes out.

“Lew…” The words of warning are choked off. Lewis turns, too slow to prevent the shove but quick enough that Arthur sees his shocked, betrayed expression. Lewis tumbles backward, face frozen in confusion.

A surprised yell.

Gravity rips Lewis from where he seems to hover mid-air, dragging him down.

He drops.

His friend’s panicked horror is the last of him Arthur sees. A wet thump. The yell is cut abruptly.

Silence.

“Ouch. Right through the chest. That’s never fun,” The foreign words vibrate in Arthur's chest, accompanied by an unpleasant laugh.

Down, far below on the cavern floor, is Lewis. Unmoving. Arthur wants to scream. He needs to scream, but his jaw is locked shut. Part of his vision goes dark. With his remaining good eye, he can see his arm moving, squirming about like it’s got a mind of its own.

No. No. No. This isn’t him. IT’S NOT HIM!!!

A jaw filled with rows of shiny white teeth clamps down on the writhing appendage. A flash of bright red. His arm is twisting, being ripped away. The force of the impact spins him around, putting him face-to-face with a giant canine creature. Red. There’s lots of red. His vision is failing. A warm haze gathers over his thoughts, mercifully pulling him from reality.

“Ah Shit,” He hears himself swear over the oppressive throbbing in his head and the growls of the monster above.

“...And STOP...”

The world freezes. Arthur freezes. It’s like someone’s hit the pause button on reality. Suspended, frozen halfway between falling to his knees and standing, Arthur hangs in place. Vaguely, he recognises Mystery looming over him, also frozen, green-hued arm between his teeth. Arthur’s disembodied arm.

“Sloppy. Very sloppy.”

The voice doesn’t echo like sound should in this stone, cavernous environment. It’s detached. Footsteps dull and artificial, mismatched on the rock floor, draw closer. A shadowed figure walks around from behind. Arthur, still immobile, tracks the progress of a lanky man, sporting spiked yellow hair, a familiar orange vest and flat running shoes. Aside from the sickly, off green, skin tone, it looks like him. Another him.

The doppelganger moves up to examine Mystery and the arm dangling from his jaws, shaking its head in disappointment, “Should have known there was something weird about the dog. It’s always the pets.”

Arthur doesn’t care for whatever this creature is saying because, down below, just behind him, is Lewis body. He’d just pushed Lewis off the cliff.

“To think, that could have been me, stuck in some rotting limb. Ugh. Gross.”

He killed Lewis.

NOTE: It’s the obligatory flashback episode. It only took 30 000 + words, but Arthur finally remembers. Hope I did The Cave scene justice.

Part 22: here

#MSA #mystery skulls animated #fanfiction #fanfic #arthur kingsmen #the demon #graphic descriptions of violence #possible disturbing imagery #mind control #posession #dark #coarse language #flashback #canon character death #angst #yeah arthur's definitely in trouble

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nevergiveupneverrun · 5 years

Text

Bodyguard - Chapter Thirsty “The misty eyes...”

Hello, I hope you’re all doing great. Here is chapter thirsty of my story Bodyguard. I’m sorry for not posting recently, I had my finals but now I’m free. I’m sorry by advance for the mistakes… English isn’t my first language and I do my best. Here is the link of the previous chapter: Click Here.

I hope you will enjoy this chapter :) 💛

The hubbub of the airport hall invades my ears. We are posted in the Sea-Tac baggage delivery section, waiting for our suitcases to arrive on the conveyor belt. Amelia sits on a plastic chair, iPod glued to her ears and eyes focuses on her phone. No eye contact. No word in my direction. An indifference she sent me back from our departure from Campeche and this lively discussion that marked the end of our stay. I had the entire flight time to think and I tried to take the situation rationally. I was clearly destabilized by this new attitude. That was probably what I needed to carry out my mission and put an end to this evolution of our relationships that I no longer controlled. Amelia was still under the blow of disappointment and anger: I persuaded myself that after a few hours or days, her behavior would soften a little. But I knew that things were inevitably broken between us: I had disappointed her almost hurt and she would not be ready soon to trust me blindly as before. I did not have to regret my actions: the context was perhaps an opportunity for me. The chance that I had to seize to concentrate exclusively on my mission… to stop as quickly as possible this crazy one and to give again to Amelia her freedom… on all the aspects of her life.

The conveyor belt starts suddenly and I approach to distinguish the suitcases pass. After a few minutes, I notice our two suitcases and I seize them successively. I take each of the handles of our suitcases by hand. Amelia is already standing away from me. Too far from me. I speed up, come back to her and stop in front of her. I waved her to her headphones, asking her to remove them. - Please remove them and stay close to me. There are a lot of people in airports… - Okay… She smiles me slightly. A tiny smile that relieves me almost. The first for many hours… We resume our walk in the congested alleyways of the airport. I guide Amelia to a nearby exit to get away from the crows as soon as possible, one of my biggest fears in my job. My cell phone vibrates in my pants pocket: I motion for Amelia to pick up one of the two suitcases handles to release one of my hands. I am acquainted with a text from Jackson telling me the exit of parking where he was waiting for us. We are still walking for a few minutes in the maze of the building before finally reaching the destination, at the parking indicated by Jackson. I quickly spot our car and my faithful teammate against the vehicle. He smiles at us instantly as he saw us approaching and comes to meet us, seizing the suitcase pull by Amelia. - Hello, have you had a good trip? - Yes, very good, thank you, Jackson, Amelia responds without any particular emotion, but in a tone that makes it clear that she doesn’t wish to exchange more. My long-time accomplice is loading the suitcases into the trunk with an inquisitive glance. Amelia sits in the back of the car as usual and I sit in the passenger seat. - I suppose you are tired? Jackson asks with a brief look in my direction, then more insistent in the rearview mirror towards Amelia. - Yes, effectively… - Well, in this case, I will take you directly to your home. Nathan called me because he wanted you to go but I’ll take care of it. - Nathan wanted to see us? - I think you have some things to give back to him… Jackson answers with a look towards my left hand. - Yes, of course… - I’m going to hand him over, just give it to me. - Hold Jackson… I remove the ring on my finger while watching Amelia tender her two rings to Jackson who takes them in the palm of his hand. She puts back herself in her seat at the back and immediately equips herself with her iPod, taking refuge again in her bubble. I imitate Amelia’s gesture while noting that Jackson kept his eyes down on the palm of his hand, looking at the three rings… or rather one of them. - We can go, Jackson, I think Amelia wants to get back as soon as possible… He finds my eyes after my request, stares at me a few moments then places the rings in the inside pocket of his jacket, before turning the key.

We leave the parking environment. We are moving away at a brisk pace from the airport to Seattle, in silence. A silence that lasts long minutes. A look in the mirror reveals Amelia, with an expressionless face, in the vague landscape around us. - What is happening O’? Jackson’s voice rises suddenly in the middle of the cockpit. - Nothing particular. - Stop, I can see that something is different. Amelia is different. - It’s the tiredness, Jackson… I didn’t want to tell him what happened in Mexico. My clumsy attempt to reframe things. And the discovery of this letter by Amelia which Jackson didn’t even know existed. - I don’t believe you… but I don’t insist. I let Jackson’s implicit hover without replicating. - Can you at least explain to me the ring? - You know… we had to travel under the cover we were married… - Yes, I know that. What I did not know, however, was that she wore this ring. You told me in Baghdad… - I didn’t know too, Jackson. For me, this ring was no longer. I didn’t know she had been recovered, that’s not what I asked for. - It’s probably Nathan’s attention. And he did well, I think… - I don’t think so… I don’t need it… and she reminds me of too much. Things I want to forget. What I forgot. - O’… I’m not talking about this episode… I’m talking about the fact that it’s a memory of your family, you should keep it for that... - Make it to Nathan… - O’… - Jackson, I beg you, I don’t want to talk about it… - As you want… These three words will mark the last words spoken during the journey. The twenty minutes that follow will take place in the most complete silence, even though I felt Jackson’s heavy and questioning look at me or at Amelia through the rearview mirror.

I soon recognize the surroundings of our neighborhood and the vehicle parks at the entrance of the house. Jackson and I come out of the car. I open the door to Amelia while Jackson unloads the trunk of our suitcases. - Do you want me to give you a hand? - No, thanks, Jackson. I take both… and you still have to go to see Nathan. - Ok, good evening to you both. Rest yourself, Amelia. Amelia, motionless next to the car, just smiles at Jackson. I grabbed the two suitcases that I lifted to commit myself to the steps, Amelia preceding me. I can hear the roar of an engine rise behind us as Jackson moves away already. We arrive at the top of the steps in a few strides. I put the suitcases on the ground and slide my key into the lock. But one thing instantly surprises me: I don’t need to turn the key to open the door. - Do you know if Richard was to pass in our absence? - I don’t know. He was very busy on his side. He told me he would spend this afternoon though. I’m not telling Amelia the real reason for my question… this door that strangely is not locked when I always close it double-turn. I lightly open the door and advance cautiously while putting the suitcases inside. Amelia doesn’t take the trouble to wait for the green light: she returns immediately and takes the stairs. I discern her movement but it’s something else that disturbs me. When I came back, a very specific sound attracted my attention. Like a click that was triggered after we entered the house. And what disturbs me, even more, is that an unusual smell is present in the entrance. Instead of the coconut notes so specific to the house of Amelia, I perceive a different smell… stronger, more masculine… like the mark of the passage of an individual who is unknown to me. I mobilize all my senses, immediately alerted by the sound and smell that call me. I look at the entrance and the living room but everything seems in order. All in order… until my ears detect a new sound. A very weak sound that I have trouble identifying. I let myself be guided by my hearing and thus directs me to the storage room below the stairs, at the bottom of the entrance. As my step get closer to the source, the sound gets stronger. And my fears come to fruition. Because what I hear sounds strangely like a timer. I arrive feverishly in front of the door of the storage room and I open it carefully. What I discover there ice my blood instantly. A timer is well in front of my eyes showing 3:50. It is connected by brightly colored threads to sticks of dynamite… ten sticks of dynamite. Far enough to blow the house… The count flashes a red light in front of me, having already moved to 3:49… I had too little time to defuse this bomb… and it was too risky with Amelia in the house. So I only had one thing left to do. I leave this dangerous discovery of the eyes just when a scream rises from the floor. I go up the stairs hastily, in four to four. - Amelia? I asked worriedly. - Owen… Her voice is panicked, trembling. I go in her direction, towards the room whose door is ajar.

I sigh internally to find Amelia as I had left her a few moments earlier. But my gaze turns away quickly as I discover the scene in front of me. A room upside down. A broken mirror and those shards of glass that litter the floor of the room. A set of bed linen stained with red ink, reminiscent of blood. But the most striking are words present all along the wall. Words tagged in red… « You made fun of me. Pay now for that ». Amelia turns to me, just as I sweep the message from the eyes. I notice her terrified face, her eyes shining with tears, her trembling hands in front of me. - Amelia, we have to leave… I hold out my hand, but she remains motionless, her eyes again focused on the message. - He came here… Her weak, almost flickering voice reveals this fear that wins her. I don’t know how much time has passed, but time is running out. The countdown was still slipping below us. I immediately approach Amelia and gently take one of her hands. I knew that in those moments, with people already shocked, it was necessary to proceed gently without rushing them. But I had to explain to her the situation… and I speak again in the calmest voice possible. - Amelia, listen to me. We are not safe here. And time is running out: there is a bomb on the ground floor… Her eyes widen as a result of this information, I seize her second hand to prevent her from panicking and addresses me again to her gently. - It will go off in less than four minutes. We will leave the house now. Everything is going to be ok and we’ll go outside. You just follow my instructions, okay? She nods but I realize she doesn’t listen to what I tell her anymore.

I keep one of her hands firmly in mine and drag her down the stairs with a quick step. I guide her to the kitchen. I did not want to go out the front door… I had the impression that a mechanism connected to the bomb… and maybe this access was observed. I open the window and take a look outside. The house was slightly elevated so that even being on the ground floor there was a significant heigh with the floor. I decided to jump first: I received without much harm in the grass, finding the small land adjacent to the house. I get up without losing a second and turn to the window towards Amelia. - Ok, Amelia, sit on the window sill. She stares at me and I read precisely the terror that assails her at this moment. - It’s high… I’m dizzy… - I’m catching up with you… go sit down… I see her hesitate and I cannot help but think of the seconds that pass by. - I am here Amelia, trust me… I extend my arms towards her as if to support my words. I note with relief that she actually sits on the windowsill after exchanging an intense look with me. I approach the wall of the house and extend my arms as mus as I can to her, barely touching her feet. - Let yourself slip… I don’t have time to finish my sentence that I can see her body gradually falling towards me. I find her waist immediately while her arms grip my neck firmly. I hold her for a few moments, relieved to have her with me, outside this house, then detach me to find her hand. I take her quickly to the park near her home. We had to go as far as we could… After a minute and after walking a few hundred meters, I put an end to our escape. We observe ourselves for a few seconds until a sound comes to disturb the silence that surrounds us. The vibration of a phone. Amelia takes her iPhone out of her jacket and takes the call looking at me. - Richard, I am so… I watch with concern Amelia’s face decay. - What, you��re in the house? I immediately found Amelia’s eyes and grabbed her phone. - … I see your suitcases, but where are you? - Richard, you must leave the house as soon as possible. - What’s happening? - Get out of the house! There is a bomb! I hear a rub on the other side of the line as I guess he’s moving. But a shrill sound suddenly rises in front of us as we look at the house. A dull bang sounds, accompanied by a warm breath that reaches us. Like a blow in my heart. I hear a cry on my left. Amelia’s silhouette passes in my field of vision, but I hold her by grabbing her waist as she runs towards the house. She struggles a few moments then her hands cling to my arms… as if she clung to me. And a new cry mingled with sobs escapes her and almost vibrates inside me, while I hold her in my arms. A call of despair that vanishes before the vision of horror that is being built before our eyes.

Flames that dance and dominate the landscape quickly. Then a thick smoke that covers the silhouette of the house, hiding its contours… and depriving us of any color. To leave only one that reigns and mist our eyes.

Like a night falling on us in broad daylight…

Thank you for reading 💛

#greysanatomy #omelia #omelia fanfiction #omeliafics #amelia shepherd #owen x amelia #amelia x owen #Owen Hunt #jackson avery #richard webber #fanfic #bodyguard

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lake-lyn · 6 years

Text

ET’s exclusive excerpt of The Tyrant’s Tomb by Rick Riordan (1/2)

Chapter 1

There is no food here

Meg ate all the Swedish fish

Please get off my hearse

I believe in returning dead bodies.

It seems like a simple courtesy, doesn’t it? A warrior dies, you should do what you can to get their body back to their people for funerary rites. Maybe I’m old-fashioned. I am over four thousand years old. But I find it rude not to properly dispose of corpses.

Achilles during the Trojan War, for instance. Total pig. He chariot-dragged the body of the Trojan champion Hector around the walls of the city for days. Finally I convinced Zeus to pressure the big bully into returning Hector’s body to his parents so he could have a decent burial. I mean, come on. Have a little respect for the people you slaughter.

Then there was Oliver Cromwell’s corpse. I wasn’t a fan of the man, but please. First, the English bury him with honors. Then they decide they hate him, so they dig him up and “execute” his body. Then his head falls off the pike where it’s been impaled for decades and gets passed around from collector to collector for almost three centuries like a disgusting souvenir snow globe. Finally, in 1960, I whispered in the ears of some influential people, Enough, already. I am the god Apollo, and I order you to bury that thing. You’re grossing me out.

When it came to Jason Grace, my fallen friend and half bropppther, I wasn’t going to leave anything to chance. I would personally escort his coffin to Camp Jupiter and see him off with full honors.

That turned out to be a good call. What with the ghouls attacking us and everything.

Sunset turned San Francisco Bay into a cauldron of molten copper as our private plane landed at Oakland Airport. I say our private plane. The chartered trip was actually a parting gift from our friend Piper McLean and her movie star father. (Everyone should have at least one friend with a movie star parent.)

Waiting for us beside the runway was another surprise the McLeans must have arranged: a gleaming black hearse. Meg McCaffrey and I stretched our legs on the tarmac while the ground crew somberly removed Jason’s coffin from the Cessna’s storage bay. The polished mahogany box seemed to glow in the evening light. Its brass fixtures glinted red. I hated how beautiful it was. Death shouldn’t be beautiful.

The crew loaded it into the hearse, then transferred our luggage to the backseat. We didn’t have much: Meg’s back- pack and mine (courtesy of Marco’s Military Madness), my bow and quiver and ukulele, and a couple of sketchbooks and a poster-board diorama we’d inherited from Jason.

I signed some paperwork, accepted the flight crew’s condolences, then shook hands with a nice undertaker who handed me the keys to the hearse and walked away.

I stared at the keys, then at Meg McCaffrey, who was chewing the head off a Swedish fish. The plane had been stocked with half a dozen tins of the squishy red candy. Not anymore. Meg had single-handedly brought the Swedish sh ecosystem to the brink of collapse.

“I’m supposed to drive?” I wondered. “Is this a rental hearse?”

Meg shrugged. During our flight, she’d insisted on sprawling on the Cessna’s sofa, so her dark pageboy haircut was flattened against the side of her head. One rhinestone-studded point of her cat-eye glasses poked through her hair like a disco shark n.

The rest of her out t was equally disreputable: floppy red high-tops, threadbare yellow leggings, and the well-loved knee-length green frock she’d gotten from Percy Jackson’s mother. By well-loved, I mean the frock had been through so many battles, washed and mended so many times, it looked less like a piece of clothing and more like a deflated hot-air balloon. Around Meg’s waist was the pièce de résistance: her multi-pocketed gardening belt, because children of Demeter never leave home without one.

“I don’t have a driver’s license,” she said, as if I needed a reminder that my life was presently being controlled by a twelve-year-old. “I call shotgun.”

“Calling shotgun” didn’t seem appropriate for a hearse. Nevertheless, Meg skipped to the passenger’s side and climbed in. I got behind the wheel. Soon we were out of the airport and cruising north on I-880 in our rented black grief-mobile.

Ah, the Bay Area . . . I’d spent some happy times here. The vast misshapen geographic bowl was jam-packed with interesting people and places. I loved the green-and-golden hills, the fog-swept coastline, the glowing lacework of bridges and the crazy zigzag of neighborhoods shouldered up against one another like subway passengers at rush hour.

Back in the 1950s, I played with Dizzy Gillespie at Bop City in the Fillmore. During the Summer of Love, I hosted an impromptu jam session in Golden Gate Park with the Grateful Dead. (Lovely bunch of guys, but did they really need those fteen-minute-long solos?) In the 1980s, I hung out in Oakland with Stan Burrell—otherwise known as MC Hammer—as he pioneered pop rap. I can’t claim credit for Stan’s music, but I did advise him on his fashion choices. Those gold lamé parachute pants? My idea. You’re welcome, fashionistas.

Most of the Bay Area brought back good memories. But as I drove, I couldn’t help glancing to the northwest—toward Marin County and the dark peak of Mount Tamalpais. We gods knew the place as Mount Othrys, seat of the Titans. Even though our ancient enemies had been cast down, their palace destroyed, I could still feel the evil pull of the place—like a magnet trying to extract the iron from my now-mortal blood.

I did my best to shake the feeling. We had other problems to deal with. Besides, we were going to Camp Jupiter—friendly territory on this side of the bay. I had Meg for backup. I was driving a hearse. What could possibly go wrong?

The Nimitz Freeway snaked through the East Bay flatlands, past warehouses and docklands, strip malls and rows of dilapidated bungalows. To our right rose downtown Oakland, its small cluster of high-rises facing off against its cooler neighbor San Francisco across the Bay as if to proclaim We are Oakland! We exist, too!

Meg reclined in her seat, propped her red high-tops up on the dashboard, and cracked open her window.

“I like this place,” she decided.

“We just got here,” I said. “What is it you like? The abandoned warehouses? That sign for Bo’s Chicken ’N’ Waffles?”

“Nature.”

“Concrete counts as nature?”

“There’s trees, too. Plants flowering. Moisture in the air. The eucalyptus smells good. It’s not like . . .”

She didn’t need to finish her sentence. Our time in Southern California had been marked by scorching temperatures, extreme drought, and raging wild res—all thanks to the magical Burning Maze controlled by Caligula and his hate-crazed sorceress bestie, Medea. The Bay Area wasn’t experiencing any of those problems. Not at the moment, anyway.

We’d killed Medea. We’d extinguished the Burning Maze. We’d freed the Erythraean Sibyl and brought relief to the mortals and withering nature spirits of Southern California.

But Caligula was still very much alive. He and his co- emperors in the Triumvirate were still intent on controlling all means of prophecy, taking over the world, and writing the future in their own sadistic image. Right now, Caligula’s fleet of evil luxury yachts was making its way toward San Francisco to attack Camp Jupiter. I could only imagine what sort of hellish destruction the emperor would rain down on Oakland and Bo’s Chicken ’N’ Waffles.

Even if we somehow managed to defeat the Triumvirate, there was still that greatest Oracle, Delphi, under the control of my old nemesis Python. How I could defeat him in my present form as a sixteen-year-old weakling, I had no idea.

But, hey. Except for that, everything was fine. The eucalyptus smelled nice.

Traf c slowed at the I-580 interchange. Apparently, California drivers didn’t follow that custom of yielding to hearses out of respect. Perhaps they gured at least one of our passengers was already dead, so we weren’t in a hurry.

Meg toyed with her window controls, raising and lower- ing the glass. Reeee. Reeee. Reeee.

“You know how to get to Camp Jupiter?” she asked.

“Of course.”

“ ’Cause you said that about Camp Half-Blood.”

“We got there! Eventually.”

“Frozen and half-dead.”

“Look, the entrance to camp is right over there.” I waved vaguely at the Oakland Hills. “There’s a secret passage in the Caldecott Tunnel or something.”

“Or something?”

“Well, I haven’t actually ever driven to Camp Jupiter,” I admitted. “Usually I descend from the heavens in my glorious sun chariot. But I know the Caldecott Tunnel is the main entrance. There’s probably a sign. Perhaps a Demigods Only lane.”

Meg peered at me over the top of her glasses. “You’re the dumbest god ever.” She raised her window with a final Reeee. SHLOOMP!—a sound that reminded me uncomfortably of a guillotine blade.

We turned west onto Highway 24. The congestion eased as the hills loomed closer. The elevated lanes soared past neighborhoods of winding streets and tall conifers, white stucco houses clinging to the sides of grassy ravines.

A road sign promised CALDECOTT TUNNEL ENTRANCE, 2 MI. That should have comforted me. Soon, we’d pass through the borders of Camp Jupiter into a heavily guarded, magically camouflaged valley where an entire Roman legion could shield me from my worries, at least for a while.

Why, then, were the hairs on the back of my neck quivering like sea worms?

Something was wrong. It dawned on me that the uneas- iness I’d felt since we landed might not be the distant threat of Caligula, or the old Titan base on Mount Tamalpais, but something more immediate . . . something malevolent, and getting closer.

I glanced in the rearview mirror. Through the back window’s gauzy curtains, I saw nothing but traffic. But then, in the polished surface of Jason’s coffin lid, I caught the reflection of movement from a dark shape outside—as if a human-size object had just own past the side of the hearse.

“Oh. Meg?” I tried to keep my voice even. “Do you see anything unusual behind us?”

“Unusual like what?”

THUMP.

The hearse lurched as if we’d been hitched to a trailer full of scrap metal. Above my head, two foot-shaped impressions appeared in the upholstered ceiling.

“Something just landed on the roof,” Meg deduced.

“Thank you, Sherlock McCaffrey! Can you get it off?”

“Me? How?”

That was an annoyingly fair question. Meg could turn the rings on her middle fingers into wicked gold swords, but if she summoned them in close quarters, like the interior of the hearse, she a) wouldn’t have room to wield them, and b) might end up impaling me and/or herself.

CREAK. CREAK. The footprint impressions deepened as the thing adjusted its weight like a surfer on a board. It must have been immensely heavy to sink into the metal roof.

A whimper bubbled in my throat. My hands trembled on the steering wheel. I yearned for my bow and quiver in the backseat, but I couldn’t have used them. DWSPW, driving while shooting projectile weapons, is a big no-no, kids.

“Maybe you can open the window,” I said to Meg. “Lean out and tell it to go away.”

“Um, no.” (Gods, she was stubborn.) “What if you try to shake it off?”

Before I could explain that this was a terrible idea while traveling fifty miles an hour on a highway, I heard a sound like a pop-top aluminum can opening—the crisp pneumatic hiss of air through metal. A claw punctured the ceiling—a grimy white talon the size of a drill bit. Then another. And another. And another, until the upholstery was studded with ten pointy white spikes—just the right number for two very large hands.

“Meg?” I yelped. “Could you—?”

I don’t know how I might have finished that sentence. Protect me? Kill that thing? Check in the back to see if I have any spare undies?

I was rudely interrupted by the creature ripping open our roof like we were a birthday present.

Staring down at me through the ragged hole was a withered, ghoulish humanoid, its blue-black hide glistening like the skin of a house y, its eyes filmy white orbs, its bared teeth dripping saliva. Around its torso uttered a loincloth of greasy black feathers. The smell coming off it was more putrid than any dumpster—and believe me, I’d fallen into a few.

“FOOD!” it howled.

“Kill it!” I yelled at Meg.

“Swerve!” she countered.

One of the many annoying things about being incarcerated in my puny mortal body: I was Meg McCaffrey’s servant. I was bound to obey her direct commands. So when she yelled “swerve,” I yanked the steering wheel hard to the right. The hearse handled beautifully. It careened across three lanes of traffic, barreled straight through the guardrail, and plummeted into the canyon below.

#ttt #the tyrants tomb #the tyrant’s tomb #rick riordan #meg mccaffrey

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supernaturallymarvellous · 6 years

Text

Zombies.....Everywhere!!

Summary: When Bucky agrees to take part in a zombie walk with his fellow Avengers, he never thought it would turn out this way!

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 890

A/N: This is my entry to Kari’s Marvelous Halloween Challenge. @until-theend-oftheline - sorry that this is so close to the deadline.....it’s been written for ages, I just forgot to post it....!!!

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“Remind me again whose idea this was?!”

Y/N’s voice, although hushed to barely above a whisper, rang out through the dark forest. She waited for her companion’s answer, only to be greeted with a low sigh and a handful of words.

“The kid. It was all the kid’s idea”.

The answer had been provided by Y/N’s husband and, more often than not, her partner in heroics and hi-jinks, Bucky. He wasn’t enamoured with the idea that had been foisted upon them in that morning’s briefing but since the majority of the team had voted with a resounding yes when it had first been suggested, he had went along with it. He was regretting that decision now as he found himself giving his wife a piggy-back through the trees. He could scarcely believe what was happening; the terrifying shadowy figure formally known as the Winter Soldier, taking part in a zombie walk to raise money for some high school back in Brooklyn, all the while carrying a grown woman on his back! He was dragged away from his thoughts as Y/N piped up again.

“You know, the kid has a name.”

Bucky huffed. “It was Peter’s idea. Stupid kid and his stupid alliterative name….who the hell has two names that begin with the same letter?!”

“You! You’re called Bucky Barnes!”

“My name is James.”

“Fine then, James. Can we just get out of here now? I don’t like it.”

Barely able to contain the laughter that threatened to bubble over, Bucky loosened his grip on Y/N’s thighs, lowering her gently to the ground before turning to face her. “Awww, is Y/N Barnes, world famous assassin, scared of the dark?”

The look that Y/N shot at her husband was more vicious than the words she managed to hiss in his direction. “No, you jackass. I’m scared of the people dressed as zombies that are chasing us through a forest. A forest that I haven’t been able to scope out previously. A forest full of densely packed trees thatzombies could hide behind…..and I want to win.”

“I’m sorry, say that again.”

“I said I want to win. I overheard Tony and Rhodey talking. They’re waiting at the finish line and they’re running a book on who’ll get through with the least amount of zombie bites. Prize is exclusive use of the house on Maui for a whole week, uninterrupted and free from missions. I want that.”

The wolfish smile that Y/N loved so much, the one that only came out when he was in a mischievous mood, spread across Bucky’s face. “Guess we better make a plan then, doll.”

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A few minutes later and Y/N and Bucky were hidden behind a small copse of trees, watching as a horde of high school students dressed in tattered rags and overly elaborate make-up made their way past, moaning and imitating the zombies they had obviously seen in the movies.

As soon as the group were out of sight, the pair made their move. Now more grateful than ever for the years of training that had honed their skills to perfection, they crept almost silently through the forest, dropping to their knees occasionally to avoid being spotted. There were close calls; more than once they had found themselves in peril and almost surrounded, but thanks to their combative and defensive skills, they had managed to make their way through the maze of trees without being caught once and, more importantly, free from any of the fake bites that had been inflicted on other participants.

The same could not be said for the majority of their friends. Almost every one of them had, at some stage during their race through the woodland, been ambushed. Steve and Wanda had come out the worst; not wanting to ruin any of the fun that the high school zombies were having, they had willing let themselves be covered in fake wounds. Clint and Natasha had fared slightly better, Nat distinctly more so than Clint who, thanks to not watching where he was going, had walked straight into a branch and was sporting a rather large gash down one side of his face.

Making a beeline through the crowds that were gathered, only briefly pausing to grab a hot chocolate from one of the stalls that had been set up, Y/N dragged Bucky behind her to seek out Tony. They found him, in his element, surrounded as he was by students eager to gain his opinion on whatever technological projects they were working on.

Dismissing them all with promises to review everything if they emailed it to him, Tony pushed his way out of the mass of people and threw his arm over Y/N’s shoulder. “Well if it isn’t the Terminator and his bride! I see that you made it unscathed through this hoard of terrifying children.”

Rolling her eyes, Y/N steered both Tony and Bucky to a slightly quieter area. “Come on Tony, I know about the bet you and Rhodey have going. Now can we have our Maui vacation or do I have to tell Pepper about your little game?”

Tossing a set of keys in the air towards her, Tony grinned at Y/N as he walked away, leaving the couple to revel in their glory. “Just keep the place tidy – no coffee grinds down the waste disposal……please!”

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Tagging: @helvonasche @zepppie @redlipstickandplaid @iamskyefox @jayankles

@chainez-8 @everything-but-the-not-natural

#kari's marvelous halloween challenge #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #marvel reader insert

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wordbistro-blog · 6 years

Text

Timothy Peppers and The Great October King

Part One: Humiliating Day

“Hurry up and die!”

Eccentric. I know he is, but I wouldn’t want to spend a Friday stumped under the roofline either, looking at a slowly decaying garden. Fair skin, hot suns…father, that sort of thing. Weathermen are liars anyhow. Almost a perfect day, but he can’t get a win out of it which is why he’s telling plant life to choke itself.

Oh, I suppose I should explain that.

It's almost September equinox. Summer is supposed to be over, yet it lingers like a hangnail that won't fall off. You can almost see the scratch marks of fall trying to force itself in, but life is holding on in this garden. The tall kempt trees shimmered with its leaves in the sun, not one falling, and the maze garden hadn't turned a different shade yet either. All that lay on the cobblestone porch were bits of grass. And little Timothy Peppers loved fall the most, hence why he wants it to hurry up and die.

His squeaky little voice rustling across the garden can make him seem a little odd, and sometimes annoying, but you have to work with me. Give me a chance to defend him, because the kid really isn’t all that bad, he’s just a little bumpy in the brain, you know? I’ll spare you the details, but his father is in the foyer speaking with his teacher on the phone.

“He’s…” He sighs so exasperatedly that you can almost see smoke come out of him. “We discussed this, he’s dyslexic. OF COURSE HE CAN’T READ IN CLASS YOU IGNORANT FOOL!” Elias Peppers had anger issues that made volcanic eruptions look like an ant’s temper tantrum. With losing an election and switching Timothy to homeschool, this guy was severely overstressed.

Timothy poured his attention back to the garden. He missed the days when he and his parents would run through the crunchy leaves, carve pumpkins, and harvest all the unique flowers that his mother would order from all over the world. Her favorite was the Chollyleman, which she had to travel to Greenland to acquire. Not all their flowers produce seeds if they can’t bloom, so they’re on the brink of extinction, but his mother was able to score one flower before they became truly exclusive. I’ve never seen one bloom myself, so I apologize for the lack of detail.

I would strongly advise you to avoid this garden at all costs. I would love to say more, but Timothy is getting bored, which is where our story truly begins.

He stood up from the porch and turned around to his father, who had just finished vocally wrestling with his phone. “Father, when can I play in the garden again?”

His father turned at him, as red as a dodgeball, and said under frustrated breaths, “I’m sorry but not right now. I’m waiting for our…” He paused, took a deep breath and continued, “I’m waiting for our gardener to come clean it up. There are vines growing, one of the trees is uprooting, the grass is too thick. I have to see if any of the vegetables are even salvageable. It’s just not safe, okay?” He pointed at him with a hand straight as a blade.

Timothy brought his gaze down to the floor, disappointed and muttered, “Yes sir.”

Elias turned back towards the front of the house and his old leather jacket crunched as he ran his hands through his thick black hair. The slender giant was slowly beginning to cool down. This altercation with the teacher may cost him a dip in the pockets, but he can’t let his son go without an education.

And with a small plea, Timothy stated, “But I can be extra careful…?”

“Timothy, not right now.” He retorted, his heart rate increasing.

“But I don’t want to be in the house all the time! If I could just have one day where we can play like we used to-”

Elias turned quicker than a badger prancing on an earthworm, “I SAID NOT RIGHT NOW!” he boomed across the foyer, so loud that his mustache almost flew off.

The shock made poor Timothy’s eyes flood with tears and he ran up the spiral staircase to his bedroom. His father has never been this angry before, and lately, Timothy was believing he may be the cause. He felt embarrassed, ashamed, and sadly I wish I never had to say, unwanted. He threw his shoes into his closet and he thrust himself onto the bed and he cried his tiny little heart out.

I suppose I can fill you in now while he’s wailing. Don’t worry, I can tune it out. Timothy was always a bright kid. He primarily watched wildlife documentaries and studied herbology with his mom and had dreams of becoming a “Life Preservist.”. He was taken out of school for almost a month, though, when his mother passed. She was always sick, and I guess the beast finally brought her under. Timothy couldn’t read as well anymore and became despondent. He sometimes mixed up his letters, and when he was looking at a book, they all jumbled together and had some sort of word-like fog over it.

Today was his first day back…as you can see, it didn’t go very well. Elias had warned the teacher but she paid no mind to it, thus resulting in Timothy’s embarrassment. Today was also supposed to be his family’s festival tour of the garden maze since it was the first day of fall…thus resulting in Timothy’s sadness. His room was already decorated for it. He had a string of pumpkin and bat lights all along the top of the walls, plastic and ceramic skulls on his bookshelf and desk, and a thick comforter on his bed with an autumn leaf pattern.

On the corner of his bed sat a small handsome pumpkin doll. He had buttons for eyes and his head was a stripe pattern of creamy white and swamp green, with a long curvy stem. He wore blue denim overalls and a maroon sweater underneath, with one green hand and one white. And finally, two brown boots tucked into the overalls.

It stared at him as Timothy cried. After a time, he felt it’s lifeless eyes boring into his skull, and he looked back at the doll with contempt. “This is the worst season ever.” He said, tears still welling in his eyes. “I’m broken, my family’s broken, and I can’t stop…” He stopped himself. Looking out the window, he saw the moon hovering above the garden “And now it’s too late to play ANYTHING!”

He looked back to the doll. “I never wanted you anyway…” He grabbed the pumpkin farmer, opened the window, and aimed at the moon. It flew across the courtyard and into the maze. Then he tore down his lights, his decorations, and shoved them all in a box far back in his closet. Hopefully, he thought, I’ll never see it again.

After a humiliating day, he removed his school day clothes and put on his light blue checkered pajamas and went to sleep.

That night, he dreamed of his mother taking him into the maze. She still had hair then, orange like his, but hers was long and curly and resembled the color of autumn leaves. It was dyed, but she made it look so natural. Her freckled cheeks were almost flying off her face as she gave him a big warm smile. She blipped his bottom lip, which made a cute little popping sound and said something to him but he couldn’t hear the words. Then the scene changed. Her hair was gone, her face was pale, and she was in a wheelchair. “Come push me…” she asked, but her voice sounded reserved, almost like a megaphone with a pillow stuffed in it. Timothy shook his head. He didn’t want to, he didn’t want to push her. Then her eyes rolled back and she began to float out of her chair.

He woke up screaming, sweating, panting. It was like his face was covered in slime, but he saw that he left his window open, which let in the hot and stupid summer air. He closed the window, stripped down to his underwear, and sat in front of his box fan on the floor to cool off.

It was daylight already, but he felt like he didn’t get a single bite of sleep.

Elias ran in with a concerned look, “You okay son?” he asked.

Timothy wiped the fear from his face and said, “Yes, I’m okay. I just had a bad dream.”

“Yeah me too.” His father relaxed and leaned against the doorway. “So I noticed you fell asleep pretty early. I’m sorry I scared you, I didn’t mean…” he faltered.

“It’s okay dad. I understand.” Timothy stood and gave his father a hug.

“Cheese and crackers.” He swore like a man. “Did you sweat all night?”

“I accidentally left my window open,” Timothy admitted.

“Oh, I’m sorry bub.” He rubbed his son’s cheek with his palm and thumb. It smelled of his peppermint soap. It was nice and cool. “By the way, the Principal called me last night. He said you could enter a special needs class to help adapt to your condition.”

“Oh…” The embarrassment still stung from the previous day. “That’s good. I can’t wait!” He said as excited as he could.

His father smiled warmly. “Thanks for being so understanding. We should go get some ice cream later!”

“Yeah!” Timothy cheered.

His father began to leave the room. “I know this is still a sore subject because it’s hard for me too, but I have to ask,” Father’s face was hidden from the doorway, and his voice was low, “Have you seen your mother’s wheelchair?”

The thought of the wheelchair immediately brought him back to the dream. He shook it out of his mind, and replied, “No, I haven’t seen it.”

There was silence for a moment. “No worries, son. I’m sure it’s somewhere.” He came back into the room, planted a kiss on top of Timothy’s head, and left.

I am not going back, Timothy thought. The embarrassment was too much for him, and he didn’t want to be a burden any longer.

He redressed himself in an orange tee with black horizontal stripes, a pair of tan cargo shorts, and grey tennis shoes with a green stripe.

I know, he didn’t even shower before. Gross, right?

He emptied his backpack of books and stuffed in some spare shirts, pants, a few pairs of socks, a handful of granola bars he had tucked away in his closet, and an extra pair of shoes. Before sneaking out of his room, he grabbed a bamboo walking stick and a picture from his wall of him and his parents, smiling playfully in the garden.

The door sounded like a hungry cat as it creaked open. He peeked down the hall to his father’s room, whose door was slightly open. Elias was on the phone with someone. Probably his secretary. Then he tip-toed to the top of the staircase and slowly walked down, trying to be as light as he could without also leaning against the wobbly rail.

When he reached the foyer, he could hear that his father already had his favorite cartoon on the television “The Great Adventures of Snerly James.” He could smell bacon, blueberry bagels, and warmed maple syrup waiting for him in the living room, and it made his stomach grumble like a mouse pining after some chocolate.

He paused for a moment and thought Where am I going? When it came to family, this was it. He turned around to the French double doors to his father’s extravagant garden. Lush and full of life, and far out past the maze was a humongous field of green hills and tall trees. I know I don’t want to be here.

He truly wasn’t thinking logically and sometimes I wish I could have turned him around. He opened the doors and slipped into the garden. His father wanted diversity in his backyard, so part of the garden had vegetables, like corn and pumpkins and carrots, and part of it was flowers, like daisies, roses, and tulips. In between the two was a circular fountain that had four otters across from each other, spouting water between their teeth to the top level of the fountain, which then trickled down to the bottom. Just a few steps away encompassed the rectangular maze that stretched over fifty yards and was twenty-five wide.

Timothy knew the path to the gate, but as a surprise to him, some of the decorations from last year were still up. There were cow skulls embedded into the grassy walls, terrifying portraits of regular people with ghastly faces. No, I don’t just mean ugly people. And spiders, real and fake, were everywhere.

It tugged at his heart because this was what they did every Halloween. He didn’t want to look at it, so he hefted his walking stick, kept his head down, and ran through the maze. This was his home, I could do this with my eyes closed. Confident, right?

TRIP.

He opened his eyes and saw gravity pulling him in for a hug, but first, it politely kissed his forehead. You know those cartoons where when someone gets hit in the head, rubber ducks start to float around their noggin? That’s kind of what Timothy was seeing at this point.

Crunch crunch.. “I think you rather deserved that.” He heard someone say.

Timothy slowly opened his eyes. He expected to his father, or even the gardener, but when he turned skyward, he saw no one.

“You’re thinking too tall.” He turned to the right, and there he saw his pumpkin doll leaning against the wall, pulling a scorpion with a chewed up tail out of a crab apple. “Is this why they call them crab apples?”

#short story #Timothy Peppers #writing #wordbistro #october #fall #autumn #halloween #spooky #funny #pumpkin #poetry #writer #writers #story #fiction #amwriting #read #blog #mustread #wattpad

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adventures-in-mangaland · 6 years

Text

Regency AU

Hey, it’s not too late, right? ML Regency AU, channelling Georgette Heyer, kind of Ladynoir, with a hint of one-sided Nino/Adrien. I started writing this literally years ago, so yay, thank you @auyeahaugust finally motivating me to finish. AO3 link to follow.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a Masquerade Ball is far too disreputable an event for a Young Man of Character and Breeding to attend.

Such was the Conviction of Mr. Agreste, a gentleman of considerable Fortune and the Father of one such Young Man. It was an Opinion formed and firmly held in complete disregard to those of his son.

A Son he might have been proud to boast of, had he the inclination or the interest. His Child was Obedient and Dutiful in all things. Under his father’s quelling influence, he had resisted all the calls of Frivolity and Fashion made upon the Younger Set. Rather, he upheld at all times the Seemly Fashion and Decorous Appearance and Behaviour of a True Gentleman.

Such was the confirmed opinion and belief of Mr. Gabriel Agreste.

Therefore, the Reader may imagine, his surprise would have been considerable had he beheld the sight of Adrien Agreste, Paragon of Filiality, escaping from his bedroom in the Dead of Night. With agility betraying much practice, his Only Child swung himself from his window into the waiting boughs of a nearby tree, and from there to the ground.

Given his son’s carefully controlled athletic pursuits, limited to fencing and horsemanship, this in itself might have shaken Mr. Agreste’s confidence in his former assertions.

Had he been privileged to know his son’s intentions, he would have repudiated them completely.

For, Liberated from Parental Tyranny by the Cloak of Evening and Paternal Ignorance, Young Mr. Agreste was Bound and Determined to experience the reportedly licentious and certainly unsupervised delights of a Masquerade Ball.

In tribute to his own Spirit of Adventure and Mystery, he had elected to dress almost exclusively in black, save for a white shirt and cravat, from the breeches his Father would have considered deplorably form fitting, to the Opera Cloak and Mask he wore in Honour of the Occasion.

He believed he cut a very fine figure, as he scaled the wall dividing the street from his family property. And he continued unchallenged in that belief as he swung his silver handled cane and sauntered to the corner of the street to hail a cab.

He was not to be disappointed, and in short order – though to him it seemed an eternity – he was deposited before the entrance of the Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens, which hosted the event.

Given the lateness of the hour, the festivities had sufficiently advanced to impress the late arrival with the fulfilment of all his wildest dreams.

Music spilled and soaked the air, accompanied by laughter and conversation. The night was balmy, and lamps lit the way down a wending path towards an impromptu ballroom, glowing, it seemed, with good cheer as much as torchlight.

By comparison, the rest of the park seemed dark, and, indeed, as he made his approach Adrien could not fail to hear telltale rustles of clothing and snatches of whispered conversations that caused his face to burn.

A disreputable place, indeed.

However, such considerations were thrust from his mind when he finally reached the edge of the improvised dance floor.

Everywhere he looked were costumes and masks from every era and culture he could imagine. Animals. Monsters. Opera. Domino. All were present in a spectacular array of ever shifting finery.

The young Agreste had chosen for himself a simple domino mask, black, like the rest of his attire, with pointed tips, like the ears of a cat. He had been very pleased with it at home, but here, amidst such a riot of colour, he felt himself sadly drab. What had been elegant simplicity now seemed plain and the striking, nay, romantic darkness of his apparel was nothing more than the cloud of his Father’s Disapproval.

As he hesitated, a sudden movement drew his attention. How it endeavoured to do so was impossible to say, amidst the constant motion before him; had he the leisure to reflect he would have surely named it Destiny. As it was, a flash of red caught his eye, no more than an impression of the colour, dotted with large black spots.

He stepped forward unwittingly and was instantly drawn into the current of the crowd. The Lady was lost to view, but the Agreste Family were nothing if not determined. They had escaped The Terror and rebuilt their Fortune in England, after all.

So Adrien sidestepped a portly gentleman in unfortunate mustard pinstripes and neatly (if not politely) imposed himself between a pair of women wearing peacock masks and was rewarded for his efforts. This time, he was honoured with a glimpse of a face, turned in his direction; dark hair, framing a heart-shaped face and the bluest eyes he had ever been privileged to see, not quite obscured by the red and black dotted domino mask she wore.

And they appeared to be addressing him silently, piercing his very Soul.

Adrien could not blink. He felt a peculiar sensation, like his heart had been squeezed and his stomach thrown at the same moment. His breath shuddered out of him and he opened his mouth to speak.

And then a young man staggered forward, impelled by hands or alcohol Adrien could not say, and stumbled into his shoulder.

“I beg your pardon,” he said breathlessly, once he had recovered himself. Agreste disclaimed any need for apologies unthinkingly.

“I insist, I really must apologise. A fine greeting I have given you! Are you quite well, Mr. - ?”

“Chat,” Adrien supplied distractedly, having already decided on a pseudonym. He attempted to lean surreptitiously, but the Mysterious Lady had already vanished. Resigned, he redirected his attention to the Thwarter of his Hopes. “I am M. Chat this evening.”

The young man’s eyes lit with a warm smile. He was himself wearing a light blue opera mask outlined in black around the eyes that complimented his blue coat and red waistcoat.

“So I see,” he agreed amiably. “And you are a Frenchman! It’s good to see a fellow countryman, M. Chat! My grandmother hails from Paris, you know.”

“As does my Father,” Agreste admitted, surprised and pleased by the chance encounter, rancour forgotten. “How fortunate we met!”

The young man concurred heartily and introduced himself as Nino with a thrilling disregard for social niceties, as if they were already old friends.

“Have you ever been to a masquerade ball before, M. Chat?” he eventually inquired.

Adrien confessed that he hadn’t, prompting Nino to declare: “Then I shall be your guide!” Before seizing his arm and dragging him ever deeper into what seemed to be a veritable maelstrom of movement.

For his part, Adrien was too surprised to resist. Never in his life had anyone, besides his mother, touched him in so familiar a manner. He should, perhaps, have protested the familiarity, but under cover of darkness, at a forbidden masquerade ball, it barely occurred to him to question the presumption.

Nino introduced him to his friends, a group his father would have termed racy, and of whom Adrien was silently in awe. The Red Spotted Lady was not among them, but they were lively and certainly did not hesitate to sample all the illicit delights of a ball, merrily leading the young Agreste down the Path of Moral Ruin.

“I have never tried champagne before,” he confessed, after this third glass. “My Father does not believe it is a - a fitting beverage for a young Gentleman.”

Beer was a workman’s drink, champagne a lady’s. Port was the tipple of a Gentleman, M. Gabriel Agreste believed.

Adrien explained this pearl of wisdom to his patient Confidant. It was a laborious process.

“Well then, you may give it to me,” she suggested, when he eventually concluded.

Adrien blinked and endeavoured to focus on his companion.

“You are a woman!” he exclaimed.

She was.

Shockingly dressed in pantaloons and a cloak, just like a man, with hair cut very short. Her eyes seemed to flash in the lamp light and Adrien was entranced.

“I am,” she agreed, somewhat pugnaciously. “My name is Alix. How do you do?”

She held out her hand to shake his, as if in challenge, as though she were a man, and M. Chat grinned and accepted it.

“All the better for meeting you, Alix.”

He bowed suavely and brushed his lips daringly over her knuckles, in the French Manner. Or he would have done, had his aim proven true. As it was, Nino wisely chose that moment to intercede.

“You are a little foxed, my friend,” he remarked with a faintly bemused smile, taking care to steer him in another direction.

“No!” Adrien replied, outraged. “I am a cat. I should have thought that was - that was obvious.”

“Indeed it is,” Nino allowed, peaceably.

Adrien permitted himself to be settled, leaning against Nino on a stone bench by a small hedge maze.

“It is a very fine thing, to be a cat,” he confided abruptly. Nino only hummed encouragingly, so he continued. “Just so. I can - I can go anywhere now that I am a cat. And I can do as I like. Father wouldn’t know. I am - I am disguised.”

“That you are,” Nino agreed, rather dryly, and it took Adrien a few moments to grasp his meaning, his thoughts dripping slowly, like pouring treacle.

“I am not drunk,” he complained.

“Are you not?”

“Of course not. A gentleman never drinks to - to excess, my father says. I could not be drunk. He would never allow it.”

“Your father is not here.”

“No!” A blinding smile broke across his face. “You are right! I can be drunk. Can I not?”

His face fell again with such tragic and sudden despondency that Nino rushed to assure him.

“Certainly, you can!”

“Good. I am Chat. I can do as I please. And I am drunk. And you are - you are Nino!”

“That is actually my given name.”

Adrien wasn’t listening. Instead he mused aloud.

“Yours is a very fast set… My father was right. Masquerade balls are terribly improper. I am so glad.”

Nino made a sound unbefitting a gentleman and Adrien grinned, craning his neck to peer up at his faithful sentinel.

“I like you very much,” he confessed.

It was surely a trick of the lamplight, but his new friend seemed a little flushed.

They lapsed into silence for a time, their conversation resting comfortably, rather than stifled by Paternal Disapproval or Youthful Awkwardness.

They could hear music, but Adrien noted that, away from the main body of dancers, it was quieter and a little darker here.

He recalled the Whispers in the Dark, and thought quite suddenly of the Red Spotted Lady. What a fine thing it would be to steal away from all the others and converse privately! He was certain she had a very beautiful voice which, he was convinced, must accompany a very fine mind. There had been intelligence in that keen gaze, he knew.

“I saw a Ladybird,” he confessed.

Nino jerked, apparently not expecting further conversation.

“I beg your pardon?”

“A Ladybird. That is to say, I believe I did. Her dress and mask were red and spotted black, like a ladybird.”

“Oh, I see,” Nino replied. “La Coccinelle. We call her the Ladybug here. It is the American phrase. ‘pon rep, M. Chat, you can’t call a Woman of Character a lady-bird.” He lowered his voice, and appeared most uncomfortable. “Didn’t you know? That is what they call a Woman of - ah - Easy Virtue.”

Adrien was aghast.

“I did not know that,” he admitted. “I would never say such a thing about anyone.”

Nino patted his hand understandingly and Adrien considered himself forgiven. Confidence restored, he pressed on hopefully.

“Do you know who she is, by any chance?”

Nino rolled his eyes, for his own inscrutable reasons, but nodded and obliged Adrien’s curiosity, though rather unsatisfactorily.

“No one knows who she is. Upon my soul, she is a Lady of Mystery. But she must be very fond of masquerade balls, as she never fails to attend one, and always, as I said, as La Coccinelle. And all the ladies of my acquaintance agree that her modiste must be all the crack, because her turnout is unerringly exquisite.”

Adrien, who had noticed nothing about her clothes, other than that they were red, made a noise of agreement. Nino smiled knowingly and tapped his knee.

“You will have to attend the next Masquerade, will you not, mon ami? If you hope to set your cap at her.”

Adrien agreed with alacrity and Nino laughed, seeming gratified.

For his part, Adrien treasured hope and the promise of another Masquerade Ball in his heart.

Blissfully forgetting that his Father, had he known of it, would have had a Conniption.

#auyeahaugust #miraculous ladybug #regency au #ladynoir #adrien agreste #ml nino #marinette dupain-cheng #I will add a regency slang dictionary if need be #au august

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