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knightthunderis · 3 years

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Ch 11 Reimeiko’s History

“Wait, Thunderis, I am sorry.” Derrick said. “I did not mean to bump you in with all the other ladies around this country. I know that you are nothing like them. You actually care about other people whereas the nobles and royals here care only for themselves. I truly did not mean to make you angry. In anycase, if you want to last around here, you had better be ready for tomorrow with all the bowing and curtseying. There are rules for everything around here you know.”

“Believe me, I know the royal rules of protocol.” Reimeiko said. “I am not about to let a bunch of stuck up nobles come between me and my future with my soulmate. I have seen the future and the queen by Karyson’s side is me and no one else.”

“You know the other ladies vying for Garyson have been training for it all their lives.” Derrick replied. “They will do whatever it takes to make sure they take the lead in all things.”

“Well I can let you in on all the advantages I have that none of them do.” Reimeiko said. “I was not only raised and trained in royal protocol and how to be a wife and mother by my mother, but I was also trained in the art of warfare by my dad and his team of fighters. I can harness the powers and elements of my home, and Karyson and I were connected together years ago so none of the others have a chance with him because we are bound to each other eternally.”

“Oh wow seriously?” he asked. “I did not think that you were that Reimeiko Thunderis. She and Karyson were married centuries ago. They cannot be alive today. There is no way unless-” Reimeiko lit up with her brows raised.

“My full name by royal standards is Reimeiko Christyne Amaryllis Thunderis Wolfe.” Reimeiko said. “I am the eldest daughter of Thor and Kyiandra Kinsworthy Thunderis, the king and queen of Thunderia and the Universal Alliance.”

“Oh wow, you look pretty darn good for someone who is over three thousand years old.” Derrick replied. “No, it is impossible for you two to be the Reimeiko and Karyson of the past. They lived centuries ago.”

“We are immortal, Derrick.” Reimeiko explained. “We may move from one timeline to another but we are all eternal. I am Knight Thunder of Thunderia able to harness the powers and the elements of my kingdom and Karyson is able to do the same thing as Knight Wolf. Watch, I will prove to you who I am.” She drew her swords that were hidden behind her and crossed them above her head. “By the power of Galaxia! Thunderian Thorstar Universal Ultimate Galactic Knight Power!” The lightning swirled around her body followed by the gold light of change. Reimeiko Thunderis was transformed into Knight Thunder, much to Derrick’s wide surprise. “Usually, because my fellow Knights and I have reached our ultimate level, we do not have to use our weapons to transform into our Knight forms. All we have to do is think and the hero form appears on us.”

“Wow, I am seeing it but I am still not completely believing it.” Derrick announced. “It is just so unreal. If Karyson is one of you, how come he has never displayed this kind of power.”

“All we know is that somewhere between our last battle and the meeting at Russo’s Karyson was separated from his human and hero personalities Tristan Michael Llewellyn and Knight Wolf.” Reimeiko explained.

“But if Karyson has a human form that is different from him as well as Knight Wolf, that also means you have a different human form as well.” Derrick interjected.

“I am known as Jamison Logan McKagan Llewellyn by human standards.” Reimeiko explained. “Tristan, Karyson’s human form is my husband as Karyson is Reimeiko’s. Besides my siblings, Aaron and Keilyn and our fellow Knights as well as Karyson’s siblings you are the only one who knows about this.”

“I see. Now we had better go.” Derrick insisted. “I do not want to get you into trouble being out after curfew.”

“Trouble? Why would you get me into trouble?” she asked. “I can handle trouble. I am Knight Thunder after all.”

“Maybe you can,” he said. “But you are still new here. I do not want to get you into any kind of mess on my account. It is not like it is in normal life where you can just be yourself and do what you want. Here there is always going to be someone waiting for some gossip to spread about you and use against you. I know what this place looks like but do not let it fool you. Most people do not get happily ever after around here. Come on.”

Reimeiko followed Derrick from the roof after reverting back to herself, while still holding the Knight Thunder persona, back to the tree, and down. As they got closer to the ground, the branches became more sparse. Derrick dropped out of the tree to the ground, then held out his hand to Reimeiko. He pulled her down and for a brief moment, held her in his arms before he set her on the ground.

“Hey Derrick, I just wanted to say, you are extremely cute when you are flustered.” she smirked. “I remember that was a way to perk you up when you gained the interest of that special someone.”

Derrick laughed and looked away blushing, looking like he was about to say something, but then he thought better of it. “You are real trouble, I think Thunderis.”

“I guess it depends on how you look at it Derrick.” she giggled. “Good night Mr. Werner.”

She left behind a speechless Derrick and headed back to her room hopeful that she would fall asleep fairly quickly. Samson, one of her guardians, was there waiting for her perched on the desk near the bed in owl form. When he was sure it was only his mistress, he reverted to cat form jumping over onto the bed.

“Jaira and I completed our circuit of the country, Your Highness.” Samson said. “And nothing is as any of us remember it. Something is seriously not right.”

“This is not the Thaddea the rest of the Guardians and Knights remember.” Jaira added. “The present king and queen is named Cecil and Alyssa Walters. Word around the palace is that they are ruling Taboria and Karyson and Samuel Walters are brothers.”

“Samuel’s only siblings are his twin sister Francine, uh I mean Ceres.” Reimeiko replied. “And his half brother Garyson Walters. We have to get to the bottom of this before Cecil gets Karyson tied up in bigamy and casts him from everything that matters.”

Samson and Jaira left the room so that Reimeiko could change clothes and go to bed, hopeful she would fall asleep quickly. The next morning Byron and Malachi arrived going through the outfits that Reimeiko had brought with her.

“No, not this one.” Byron said. “Not this one, too casual, too American, too stretchy. What we are looking for is the perfect look for your debut for the Masquerade tonight. The first event of the Social Season is tonight, the masquerade.”

“It is the ball where all of the suitors will be presented formally to Prince Garyson as well as the king.” Malachi added. “While not everyone everyone wears a costume or a mask, you can be sure the ladies competing for Garyson’s attention will be pulling out all of the stops to make sure they are all he sees.”

“I suppose it is too much to ask if you even packed a costume appropriate for a black tie affair?” Byron asked, looking disdainfully at the rest of the clothes in her suitcase. He let out a long suffering sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Well we were not sure so we made you an appointment at the palace boutique.” Malachi said. “Maybe you will find something there that you like better. And remember tonight is very important. You could end up getting to dance with Garyson and it is your chance to make a first impression on all of the influential people and to stand apart from everyone else there.”

“Do not worry fellows, I have got this.” Reimeiko announced. She grabbed her adventure bag and left her room to go to the palace boutique. Just to be on the safe side, she had Knight Thunder in full power. This was not the Thaddea she knew or remembered. She stepped into the boutique and saw one of the suitors in her underwear looking through the various costumes. “Oh I am sorry, I did not realize that someone was already in here.”

“It is no problem.” she said. “To be honest, I did not have an appointment. I am Elenia Zhang. I suppose you are also here to prepare for the Masquerade tonight as well?”

“I am Reimeiko Thunderis; and yes, I am here to prepare for this hide and seek parade too.” Reimeiko said giggling. “This is quite the flash and flare event just to try and win the hand of one of the Walters boys.”

“She is the multi-talented suitor from Thaddea.” Tristan said through the earpiece Reimeiko wore. “Elenia is the one you should try and make friends with the most. The other suitors are serious backbiters including Melinda Edwards so watch yourself.”

“Since you are here and not already dressed,” Elenia said. “I must assume that you are like me and searching for something to wear. The seamstress seems to be running late, but I can show you around. This boutique has the most exquisite gowns. Let me just slip my dress on.” She pulled on the dress she was holding but struggled to get the zipper up. Reimeiko helped her with no hesitation. Elenia donned a matching mask and settled it on her face before turning back around to face Reimeiko grinning at her. “Thank you, not many people here are nice like you.” She twirled around her full skirts twirling out. “Now what about you? One must have a mask for the masquerade. Have you seen the angel costume? You would look amazing in white.”

“I will take a look.” Reimeiko said. She slipped into the changing room with the dress, Silver Sensation and with a snap of her fingers was wearing her version of it and her glasses transformed into a matching mask. The outfit for Princess Reimeiko was just what she needed to help trigger Karyson’s true memory of his connection with Reimeiko and reunite them. “So how do I look?”

“Oh wow, you look absolutely amazing.” Elenia gushed. The two of them left the boutique then Reimeiko met Malachi at the bottom of the grand staircase just outside the ballroom.

“You look sensational, Reimeiko.” Malachi said. “One thing I should mention, as soon as you enter the ballroom, tell the herald your name and title so that you can be announced. Since you are working undercover, you do not have a title, but since my family is “Sponsoring” you, then you could technically be considered a lady.”

#thunderstaruniversalenterprises #texaskitten30 #@kingliam2019 @texaskitten30 knightthunder universalgalacticknights #knightthunderis85 #gliamtruelovealways #trr liam

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searchforthescars · 6 years

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You Too

This is one massive trope-slash-cliche and I wish I was sorry

Enjoy the Memori coffee shop AU we really didn’t need.

There is implied/reference self-harm in section V, but it’s minor. I’m not taking any chances though <3

You really only choose the coffee shop because it's warm and quiet and those are two things your apartment is not at the moment, not since the heater broke and the December snow started piling on the windows and the music and noise from the second and first floors started drifting up to your third-floor walk-up.

It’s a small place, wood paneling on the walls in an artsy, slightly-disorganized contrast to the smooth floors and the mismatched couches, armchairs and tables. Their coffee is strong; you take it black and curl into the massive armchair near the window, sipping out of a chipped mug and reading over your assignments for winter term.

You’re there for two or three hours when someone flops into the chair across from you, letting out a sigh meant only for his ears. When you look up - and you didn’t mean to look up so sharply, but he doesn’t know that - he gives you a polite smile, then looks down at the cup of coffee in his hands.

He takes it black, too, you notice with interest. [Read on Ao3]

Once he opens his laptop, you study him. He’s maybe a little younger than you, with high cheekbones and blue eyes. He’s pretty, you think involuntarily, then ball your right hand into a tight fist until the pain from your nails on your skin jerks you back to the moment.

When he stretches and stands some time later, you look up and see the sky is pitch-black, the street lights right outside the shop’s window beginning to flicker on. He shoulders his backpack while staring out the window, then turns his body toward you slightly, just enough for you to know he’s talking to you.

“It’s snowing again.”

You look up at him. He has a nice, sharp jawline. “Yeah.”

He looks at you. His eyes aren’t exactly soft, but you don’t feel the need to run from him either. “You taking the bus?”

“No, I walked here.”

He pulls the hood of his jacket up. “Get home safe,” he says awkwardly, like an afterthought.

You don’t know what else to say but, “You too.” It sounds too polite leaving your mouth.

He walks away. You see him board the bus outside. When it pulls away, you swear his eyes meet yours from the window.

You look at the take-out coffee cup he left on the windowsill. When you pick it up, it’s empty. John is written on it in a barista's messy scrawl.

Something in you smiles.

ii.

You see John again the next day. It’s even colder, so you’re wearing your brother’s sweater over two thermal shirts, only one of which is long enough to hide your bad hand. You usually wrap a strip of cloth to hide it, but it froze overnight after getting wet from the leak in the roof.

Damn, your apartment is a mess.

Anyway, he’s there when you arrive and normally you would find somewhere else to sit, but that chair is right near a vent that blows warm air, which sounds pretty damn good right about now, so you sit.

He gives you another nod-smile and you grin back - not a real grin, but a flash of teeth that masquerades as one - and when you sit down, he takes a sip of his coffee and that’s that.

You're so deep into the eight-page paper you're working on - who the fuck told you it was a good idea to take classes during winter break and why did you listen? - that you don't notice him standing over you until he clears his throat and you flinch and blink upwards.

“You were shivering,” he says, a bit gruffly, and hands you a mug that may as well be a bowl with a handle.

“Was I?” you murmur so as not to disturb this moment, this strange moment when someone is standing over you offering you something warm and nice, looking at you with a furrow between his brow as if he’s confused or maybe worried.

It’s entirely unsettling.

He gives you a jerky nod and sits down across from you. The furrow between his eyes gets deeper when you start digging for your wallet.

“For the coffee,” you explain, holding out some crumpled bills.

He shakes his head. You outstretch your right hand, your good hand a little farther, and he shakes his head again.

I don’t want to owe anyone, you want to say, but it comes out as a “thank you” whispered into your backpack.

When you lift your head, a smile is fading from his lips.

iii.

“Shit,” he’s muttering when you sit down in your chair. “Fuck.”

You take in his angry expression and the way he’s slamming the keys of his laptop, and lean forward so he looks at you. “Computer trouble?”

He rakes a hand through his hair. “It just froze and I can’t fucking get it back and I have a project due in an hour and-“

“Gimme,” you say, reaching for the device. He hands it over and you look at it, tapping at the keys smoothly with your right hand and clumsily with your left. The screen fades to black, then whirs to life after a moment, and you pass it back with a proud smile.

“Thanks,” he says, clearing the remnants of anger from his voice. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Then, “are you taking winter classes too?”

Are you seriously talking to him? Your blood runs cold for a small moment, then thaws when he, looking just as startled as you feel, nods.

Your left hand is on display, you realize. It's resting awkwardly atop your knee, the faded bandana ugly in the dim light from the window. His eyes flick to it, then up to your face.

“Are you hurt or something?”

He says it with a tone of concern masquerading as indifferent curiousity. You look at his eyes and find the smallest hint of emotion and it’s enough to trust him.

“It’s not a bandage.” You unwrap the bandana, slowly but surely revealing the rough patches, fused fingers and that scar you never ever talk about.

“Woah,” he breathes, but it’s an admiring woah, the kind that meant “that’s so cool” in middle school. He reaches for it, traces a finger over the tiny stub near your pinky. “That’s really badass.”

You huff out a laugh that’s more relief than anything else. “Liar.” His acceptance of the worst part of you makes your throat constrict and you reach out as a thank-you and apology all at once. “I’m Emori, by the way.”

“Murphy,” he says, but you already know to call him John. “Nice to…formally meet you, I guess.”

You smile, a real one this time. Your stomach clenches. You feel like your skin is on fire, but the nice kind, the kind when you want something so badly and you know you’re so close to obtaining it. It’s the anticipation of the con, only you don’t have to con him into liking you because he already does.

“You too.”

It’s like the first day you met, only he doesn’t give you an awkward look, but grins, all flashing teeth and clever eyes, and eventually he moves his chair a little closer to yours, saying that the vent was warm and he was freezing, but he explains just a little too long, and do you dare hope he’s interested in your company?

(You shouldn’t dare, but you do.)

(When he leaves you his phone number, hidden under your coffee mug, you smile and text him right away.)

(You never stop texting after that.)

iv.

Thank God the coffee shop is open late on Fridays.

Otan is having a party and you need to work on your midterm, so you trudge the four blocks in the snow and single-digit temperature to get there, the thought of the chair by the vent and warm black coffee and John’s nice smile and pretty eyes buoying you.

You had texted him before leaving the house and he said he was in his usual spot, so that’s where your eyes go as soon as you arrive. He’s standing near the window when you burst in, shaking snow from your hair, but you nearly freeze when you see him with another girl. His back is to you, but you can see her, all dark-haired, pale, fierce-eyed and-

And he’s angry with her, hissing between gritted teeth, and she’s got a vice grip on his arm and before you can reconsider, you’re marching over there, tapping him on the shoulder until he turns around.

“Emori.” He sounds relieved? Scared? Both of the above? You take one look at the other girl and do what you do best: act.

“Hey, babe,” you say nonchalantly, wrapping your left arm around his shoulders and looking at the other girl with what you hope is a vaguely possessive expression. “Who’s this?”

“Ontari,” she says sharply, releasing John’s arm and jamming her hand in her pocket. “You’re his girlfriend?”

“Last time I checked.” You keep your tone light, but wary. John’s body relaxes with every moment Ontari’s hands are off him, but you’re sure that if you checked, the place where her grip was strongest would be bruising his pale skin. “Is there a problem here, John?”

“She was just leaving,” John says, wrapping his arm around your waist, bunching the fabric of your still-wet jacket in his hand.

Ontari looks murderous, but takes her leave with a snide “it was nice seeing you” that implies it really wasn’t.

You wait until she walks past the window to release him, but his arm still keeps you close. “You didn’t have to do that,” he says softly.

“Yeah,” you say, swiveling to face him. His hand is warm, burning you through all your layers, and you feel like your heart is about to come out of your throat when you look at his face, now so close to yours. “I did.”

He releases you after a moment, stammering out an apology that you wave off, and insists on buying you a coffee.

“As a thanks for being my knight in shining armor,” he says, a smirk on his face, and you let him bring you a steaming mug and wrap his huge scarf around your shoulders like a blanket when the warmth doesn’t seep in fast enough.

“Thanks,” you say, holding the mug as close to your face as you dare.

He sits down in his usual seat, then looks at her. “So, wait. ‘Babe’?”

You laugh. “Well, I had to assert dominance somehow! I’m sorry, do you prefer sweetheart?” When he starts laughing, you continue. “Honey? Kitten?”

“Oh, fuck off,” he says, but he’s still laughing, probably more in relief than anything else. You laugh with him, and the peace that settles into your bones drives away the cold more than even the coffee could.

He sits beside you one day.

You’ve been texting for weeks and flirting for longer, the incident with Ontari sparking something that feels suspiciously like a crush. Sometimes you wonder if you’re imagining things, but then he’ll say things nearly complementary about your eyes or hair, and you’ll retaliate with teasing, and sometimes you drive one another away, but you always come back together in fits and starts.

You think you want him. And it fucking terrifies you, and you know it scares him because you met his best friend Raven one day when she showed up at the shop to give him his car keys and she whispered “give him time” in your ear when he went to the bathroom.

Now, he’s sitting beside you, his arm so close to yours and you feel like you’re on edge, but also like you’re more at peace than you’ve been in a long time.

So when he taps you on the shoulder and asks if a sentence he’s writing makes sense, you lean over to look. Your head is almost level with his chest and suddenly it’s very hard to keep your mind on the paper and not on how gentle his hand is as it rests on your shoulder.

“It’s good,” you nearly whisper, your heart in your throat. “It’s a good sentence, I mean.”

You know this feeling - not in practice, but in theory - and you like it, you like it way more than you should, you like it enough to want to burrow into it and live here until the weather outside is warm again.

You look up and your faces are inches away. He parts his lips and before you can say something, his eyes flick down to your mouth, then up to your eyes-

And then he leans back, blowing out a harsh breath and apologizing.

“Why do you apologize so damn much?” you ask before you can help it.

“I thought-”

“I would have said no,” you say.

He nods. “Okay.”

Nothing happens after that. You sit side by side and it’s awkward for a while, but soon he’s leaning over the arm of your chair to show you Vines his friends text him, and then you start talking. He tells you about these meme-loving friends, and you talk about the cities you’ve lived in and how college would be so much better if there were less tests and more essays and he asks, innocently, how you can type with your left fingers fused the way they are, so you get to show him your neat trick of reaching halfway across the keyboard with the longer fingers.

He reaches for your bad hand, touching the scar that rests like a rope right above the bone of your wrist. “What happened?”

You shake your head. “Nothing.” Your insides start to quiver. That feeling is back, that feeling that burns you up from the inside out whenever you think of him. It’s almost midnight and you’re tired, but you also feel so alive.

Something dawns in his eyes. He lets your wrist go and rolls up his sleeve to reveal the thin white scars marking his skin in even intervals like a white picket fence. “Like this?”

You want to cry just looking at them. Your only consolation is that they’re old scars and there’s no sign of fresh marks.

“Yes,” you say, and it’s barely a whisper, but he hears you nonetheless.

He pulls his sleeve down and touches your wrist again, lifting your hand so the scar is eye level. “Badass,” he says again and then he keeps his eyes on yours as he presses a kiss to the ruined skin, his lips trembling against your greatest flaw.

“John-” you start to say and he jerks back like he’s expecting you to hit him or run away but you surge forward to kiss him and as his hand cups the back of your head, you find yourself not caring about the cold or the shame or anything else except the warm skin under your hands and the gentleness in his lips.

“You have a tattoo,” he says, and your right hand flies to your cheek because yes, you do, but you wear such heavy foundation that you forget it’s there half the time, and he’s never commented on it before anyway. “That’s-”

“Badass?” you suggest with a quirk of your brow, and he laughs.

“Why do you cover up all the good stuff?” he asks with a pout. You watch in fascination as his pupils slowly shrink, revealing more and more blue. “Your hand, the tattoo. Why?”

You shrug. “The tattoo is so people don’t stare. I hate staring. And I hate this-” you hold up your hand - “more than anything.”

“I think it’s the best thing about you,” he says softly. After a breath, he speaks again. "You're the best thing that's happened to me in a long time."

You smile. "You too."

#memori #memorifanfic #dailymemori #maskingtapepoetree #bombshellsandbluebells #lindseysfandoms #katswatermelon #murphystartedthefire #thecarstairsheir

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funfanstuff · 7 years

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Carmilla Movie Teaser Trailer Theory Updates

Based off the clothes, I’m guessing the Carmilla movie is set in the 1870s, putting it at the same time the original novel was written. But it would also be at least 15 years after the Bronte sisters died. (Maybe affirming other’s theories that they could be vampires??) That would however mean we are in perfect time to meet L! The only thing which makes me question this is that the background characters at the masquerade ball appear to be wearing clothes that vary from the 1860s into the 1880s. The mansion itself was built in 188(2-3) according to the historian in the behind the scenes video). So I dunno. Somewhere near there.

Although, of course, part of the movie is set in our time period... Which everyone’s been freaking out about for quite a while now. And yes, I am also freaking out. There’s a theory a little later (kinda) on how that happens.

(Note: I’m probably gonna call Natasha/Carmilla and Elise/Laura interchangeably... I have a bad habit of doing that. I do know they aren’t the same person.)

Domestic Hollstein

First shot we get is a very odd angle, leading me to believe it’s meant to be disorienting. Maybe it’s after a dream sequence? Carm is still laying down after Laura sits up. It appears to be a normal human morning. Also, that headboard is BEAUTIFUL.

The next shot in their home is on their couch with the reddish pillow. Laura wakes up on Carm’s lap wearing the same royal green tank top as the first scene (and same color as the headboard. God that thing is pretty.) It appears she’s waking up from a dream again... So I wonder if that’s part of what leads them to the house? She also doesn’t seem concerned though, leaning happily back into Carmilla as Natasha plays with her fingers, looking like she may also be ready to doze off. So part of me wonders if this is the first shot of the movie. Maybe there are some short opening credits of places to come but not in too scary of a manner, and this is the first scene we really get to see? That would be cool. And make us all cry and squeal :)

The Living Room Scene

At :25 Natasha is shown with what appears to be medical tape on her face beside her eye and on her neck below her chin, both on her right side. She is sitting fairly relaxed but clearly a bit annoyed. The gingers are grilling her looking interested, and Elise is deep in thought.

Is this when they begin to realize Carmilla is “re-vamping”? Or maybe she was attacked by something which will lead them to the old mansion? The scene does take place at Laura and Carm’s apartment (assumed, because Elise woke up on Carm’s lap on that couch next to that reddish-maroonish cushion).

WAIT THOSE AREN’T BANDAGES! I think those are electrodes! And Laf is looking at the results live on their tablet. Perry is probably asking survey questions as part of the experiment. It’s probably to discover what is going on which might be causing the revamping!

OR MAYBE Natasha starts having the dreams of L, and Laura’s all like “UH NO THAT’S NOT OKAY” and Carm doesn’t want to get rid of them and that’s why she’s annoyed but they agree to let Laf test them, and then this happens and YES.

Carm appears to answer a question near the end of the shot showing me that it’s not just a b-roll shot to introduce a scene but an actual camera angle. Because of the panning, I wonder if it’s part of a montage of them trying to figure out what’s going on. It could possibly just be one of multiple cameras rolling at once though.

The Lightning Scenes

When they first get to the house, they are in modern clothes and bring what looks like enough stuff to stay for a few days. The house is quiet and empty. Everything is worn and dimn. They use flashlights. Then there are shots of lightning, mirrored by shots of a similar sort in the past.

The only person not holding a flashlight is Perry who is holding a dark gray-black box which looks like some sort of detector. My first thought was a geiger counter, for measuring radiation, something which Laf would certainly have and Perry would likely prefer over an EMF detector for ghost hunting. Especially since she’s wearing thick gloves which theoretically could make a character feel more safe in a place with radiation (although wouldn’t actually do much good). That said, an emf would make more sense in the setting.

Note also, the painting and hallway behind Laferry. Painting was seen in behind the scenes photos and apparently has goats. (Relevant info? Or were they just not allowed to take it down...). The hallway is featured later in a scene with with more lightning.

Speaking of, the lightning flashes to transition to Dominique looking in a mirror with her hand up, looking amazed. L amazed to be alive again? L ecstatic to feel beautiful? She also looks scared. Is she scared of going to the ball? Scared to see Carmilla? Scared, because she doesn’t know why she’s alive again?

The next time lightning is shown is right after we see Dominique’s face looking annoyed but confident. She is of course dressed for the 19th century. Our usual cast, however, is dressed for modern day. I wonder if this is how they are brought into the past? The lightning? Carmilla does look really suspicious. Laura looks shocked. Perry looks like she’s about to pass out. Laf looks like they’re about to take some major samples.

The next lightning occurs with someone running down a hallway. Due to the lighting and my vision, I can’t tell who it is. Can anyone else tell? They look back then speed up to go down the stairs as if they are being chased by a monster. It reminds me of older depictions of Carmilla as such.

Does the lightning have something to do with Carm’s revamping? And how does it cause them to go back in time?

The Ballroom Scene

So it’s a masquerade ball, but it also appears to be in a small room for such an event. There is maybe 20 people. I wonder if this has to do with budget and space or if it’s significant in the plot? The main characters who wear dresses appear to be dressed for the 1870s. The background characters for the 1860s and 70s, maybe a few for the 80s. I wonder if this is intentional or not? Or maybe my googling just doesn’t give me enough information?

We also see Kirsch dancing with a woman. I can’t actually tell who it is though... I don’t know if it’s due to my vision problems or if it’s supposed to be hard to tell though. From there, we see Dominique with her mask on smirking like she’s about to blow up the place or something.

Laura Clearly realizes whatever is going on first in the following scene and goes to stop it before Laf and Carm have even caught on, leaving them like wtf laura again?

And then? OOOOHHHHH AND THEN I believe after the drama of the ballroom scene, they retire into their room... Their gowns may be ruined by now, or maybe they just want to get out of all that lace. (I mean, Carm must be ready to shred that thing by now. Seriously.) Except they get distracted... by each other... in corsets... CALL BACK SEASON ONE

VIRGIN SACRIFICE NO EFFING MORE

(Also, I think that earlier shot of Carm running her fingertips gently over Elise’s lips comes from this scene. Natasha is wearing the same ring here, and you can see that Elise is wearing white.

Other

The second bit we see, the bit which fascinates me to no end, is hollstein, together in the dark in theatrical moonlight. I can’t quite put my finger on what’s going on with Elise... It’s as if the moment we see is a moment of transition. Maybe Laura was fighting back at this figure but stopped when she realized who it was. But, me slightly having a ginormous crush, I was more focused on Natasha... Who, in this scene, appears to be wearing the costume of “the woman in black”. Dominique’s outfit on Carmilla? So is this a disguise for Carmilla? Or is there some sort of magic that makes Dominique appear to look like Natasha? Or is Carmilla the descendent of the woman in black? I thought, for a moment, maybe that Dominque could be playing past Carm as their expressions and movements appear to be quite similar as far as what we’ve seen, but they could have easily (well, not easily) had Natasha play both if that was the case. So i don’t believe that’s it. But something fishy is going on for sure.

(Also, Natasha’s hair in that shot is absolutely breathtaking and I want to touch it??)

And then there is the dining room scene where everyone appears to be sitting around an extravagant meal. The Bronte sisters are present and appear to be taking a majority of the attention. Whatever they’re talking about worries the rest of the cast.

Also, they are wearing modern day clothes, and the Bronte sisters don’t seem to care. Did they have something to do with aforementioned lightning??

And the last thing I’m going to mention is 1:10 to 1:12 where two characters appear to be facing one another in a very ominous situation, one dressed in Dominique’s signature outfit (although we have seen Natasha wearing it as well as I already talked about.) So is this a reveal? It’s certainly something...

Ah I’m so excited!!! What do you guys think?! Did I miss anything??

#carmilla movie #carmilla #Carmilla Karnstein #laura hollis #hollstein #carmilla theory #carmilla movie theories #carmilla teaser trailer #teaser trailer #excitement #gay #yes #theories #theory

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kamilisid-blog · 7 years

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A Beautiful Betrayal - Chapter 3

A/N: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Fanfiction.net

I can’t recall any other time where I was as distracted as I am today. My notes are a lot of half written sentences, and tidbits I managed to pay attention to and jot down before losing focus. The only thing on my mind is confronting the fluffy haired boy from the other day. I haven’t seen him at the rooftop in the last few days. I even tried to look around the second and first year floors, but with no avail. Is he okay? Did the blonde boy do something to him? The delinquent was well known around the school for being the track star who took out his frustration on Coach Kamoshida. Whether he’s mixed up with the wrong crowd, or he’s in trouble, I don’t want him to be afraid to ask for help.

The final bell rings, and chair pulling out, and bags being lifted fill the air. I emerge out of my thoughts, finally able to head up to the rooftop. Hopefully he's there today. My hands are both careful and quick to place things back into my bag. I stand up, my bag hanging to my side, and walk out of the third floor classroom. As I walk towards the staircase, I see a very recognizable student, the student council President Niijima, heading up to the rooftop. Has the rooftop become a popular spot suddenly? I am quiet as I follow the short haired brunette girl up the staircase.

At the rooftop, I hear a sigh of discontent as she looks around. “Not here either?” I hear her mutter.

“Excuse me,” I speak up. Niijima jumps a bit hearing my voice. “May I ask what you're doing here?”

She turns to me, having completely regained composure. Her eyes are a piercing red and her posture makes her appear taller than she actually is. “I could ask you the same,” she states in an authoritative way. “The student body isn't allowed on the rooftop without permission.”

“I am part of the gardening club, I came to check on the garden beds,” I say without hesitation. This response leaves her with a confused look.

“Garden beds?” I nod and point behind her, where the garden beds lie.

“Yes, the Gardening Club received special permission to have beds placed up here,” I state.

She looks over and gives an approving nod. “I see, well if you see any suspicious students, please report them to me.”

As she walks toward the stairwell, I ask almost instinctively, “May I ask who are the suspicious students you’re looking for?”

She looks over at me, a frown on her face “That is not of your concern, just report any student who doesn't have permission up here.” And with that she leaves without letting me get another word in. Suspicious students? Fluffy hair boy and delinquent were the only ones I’ve seen come up here. Were either of them causing enough trouble to warrant the student council President’s attention?

Attempting to shake off my mind off that situation, I look back at the garden bed. I guess no one came up to water the beds today. I look over at the watering can to the side of the left side bed, and pick it up. It’s still hefty, which means there is plenty of water to quench the thirst of the seedlings. I crouch down making sure to keep my balance on my feet, and water the left side garden bed. The dry, tan soil softens up and turns into a darker color. A smile creeps on my face, hearing the wind blow gently over the rooftop. The beautiful soil is at the right color, and I switch over to the next garden bed. I may have not found the boy today either, but watering the garden beds, and seeing the little seedlings sparkle with the evening sun warms my heart and eases my mind.

“Gardening today?” I heard a voice say. Steps accompany it, approaching towards me. The suddenness of the voice does startle me a little, and I fall backwards, landing with a bit of a thud. The steps quicken and hands hold my arms carefully. “I’m so sorry,” the familiar voice says. I look up, the fluffy hair boy’s black eyes meeting mine. His eyes are wide open, and his expression is a bit worried. I only fell on my bum, but his facial expression reads as if I’ve done worse.

A slight giggle escapes me, his concern being quite sweet, and I respond, “I’m okay, just a small fall.” I give him a polite smile. His expression returns my smile, his face softening and the edges of his lips curling up. He’s cute. “You’re the boy from the other day, correct?” I ask. I take this moment to stand back up and pat down my skirt.

He nods, “Yes I am. Sorry for bothering you.”

I shake my head, “No, no need to apologize. If anything, I wanted to meet with you again.”

This seemed to confuse him, with his left eyebrow raised a bit, “Oh? What for?”

I take a deep breath, trying to say this as well as I can. I look at him, straight in the eyes. In the corner of my eyes I see redness creeping on his cheeks. Is he okay? “I know I met you only once before, but I want you to know I-”

Before I can finish, I hear almost what sounds like a cat meowing.

Mroww. Mroowww.

I look around the rooftop, trying to find the source of meowing. It seems as if it’s coming from the boy’s bag. “Is there a cat some-,” I cut myself off as I see the boy hold his bag tight, but the bag moves independent of the boy's action. He seems to try to play it off smoothly, even having a smile that is suppose to paint itself as reassuring on his face.

“Um, is there a cat in your bag?” I ask.

He looks at his bag, and directly back at me. His eyes shows defeat, but his actions don't. The bag stops moving and he regains his composure. “There is no cat.”

I frown, a blatant lie. I look at his bag and look back at him. “Then why is your bag moving?”

He looks at the bag, as it still shuffles a bit. He sighs and places the bag down. He unzips the bag and carefully places his two hands inside. Out from his bag came out a small black cat with a yellow collar. His eyes are a striking blue color. My hands instinctively cover my mouth. He actually did have a cat in his bag!

He places the cat on the ground. The cat stretches it's legs before sitting down, looking up at us. The fluffy hair boy is looking away and is rubbing the back of his neck. The shock of it all finally passes and I crouch down, scratching the cat’s chin gently. The cat purrs and her eyes closed in contentment. “What a cute cat!” I say with a smile. I look back up at the boy. “What's her name?”

The boy's face tries to relax, as he puts on a polite, nervous smile, “He, and his name is Morgana.”

“Morgana.” I mutter to myself as I look back at the cat. What a cute name for such a cute cat. As I scratch his chin, I realize I know the boy's cat’s name before I know his. My eyes widen and I look up at him again. “Um, sorry to not have asked this earlier, but what is your name.”

“I'm Kurusu Akira,” He states with a smile as he extends his hand. I take his hand and he helps me back up. “I’m a second year.”

I return the smile, “It's a pleasure to meet you Kurusu-san.”

Kurusu let’s out a small laugh, “You’re welcome to call me Akira.”

Somehow him telling me this makes me feel relaxed. Almost as if there were a door that separated us has opened up a little. “Well, then it is a pleasure to meet you Akira-san. I am a third year. My name is Okumura Haru, but please, call me Haru.”

“Haru-senpai,” He says with a hint of happiness in his voice. “Well, what is it you wanted to talk about?”

Oh right! I did have something I wanted to tell the boy. I clear my throat and try my best to regain a bit of seriousness. This change seems to make him a bit uneasy, as his smile fades and his posture seems more tense. Morgana seems unfazed by the change in mood and saunters over towards Akira, trying to climb up the boy’s body. Akira helps him up, resting Morgana on his shoulder, where it seems Morgana has found comfort on. “Akira-san, please hear me out, I am more than grateful for you having helped me the other day, and I would like to show similar kindness. Please, if anything is wrong do not hesitate seeking help from me.”

His face, while honest as it can be, seems to be shrouded in mystery now. It’s almost as if the kind face from before is now covered by a masquerade mask. He closes his eyes and nods. “I will keep that in mind Haru-senpai. But, why are you worried about me?”

“Student Council President Niijima-san warned me about suspicious students coming up here, and the other day I did see the blonde boy from the second year classes up here. He is well known for having a temper and acting out. Please, if he is bothering you, don’t be afraid to ask for help.” Having said this, Akira seems to be in thought, as if processing what I had just told him.

“Thank you Haru-senpai, I appreciate it,” he says. His voice lost the friendliness it once had, and is replaced with a more stoic, and cold tone. The door that had opened, felt as if it is closing shut once more. “However, Ryuji is a friend of mine.”

“Oh.”

I am met with no response. He looks away from me.

The atmosphere has become an iron ball, and is crushing me. The tension between us grew stronger, and made my body shake a little in uncomfort. I can’t stay here any longer. I messed up. I grab my bag, looking down to avoid eye contact with Akira. I walk passed the boy and head for the exit. As I am at the threshold of the door leading to the stairwell, I speak up. “I won’t tell Niijima you spend time up here. I don’t know who she is looking for, but don’t cross her.”

Before I leave, I hear him say, “Thank you.” The voice isn’t cold, it’s the same as the one I heard from when I first met him. I nod, even if he can’t see me and walk down the staircase.

It doesn’t take me long to leave the school building, and in moments I am in the station, waiting for my train to arrive. Why did it bother me so much that he became so cold? I barely know Akira. He was just fluffy hair boy an hour ago. Yet, his mystery, but willingness to be open, it all made me feel safe. As if someone was finally being who they are. He seemed like he was true with himself. If only I could like that.

I dig through my bag, looking for my phone. There is an unfamiliar card in here. I take it out, it’s a business. Leblanc Cafe in Yongen-Jaya. When did this get in here? Before I can toss it away, the train pulls up, and the doors open. I toss the card back in, closing my bag and walk inside. I’ll deal with it later.

#persona 5 #Fanfiction #haru okumura #akira kurusu #persona 5 protagonist #Morgana #Kami Li Sid #FanFic #A Beautiful Betrayal #Chapter 3 #Romance #Drama

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ozymandiascezn · 3 years

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schrei es in die winde ||3||

chapter three

fandom original

pairing original oc x original oc

“You failed to mention that this job was a masquerade ball,” Andrej murmurs, casting Victoria a sideways glance, “please tell me your plan extends past getting me to participate?”

“It’s like you don’t know me at all anymore.” She stares at him beneath her feathered mask. “You’re the distraction, get in, dance, keep the people’s eyes on you. No one can keep their eyes off a handsome rich man in a nicely tailored suit.”

Andrej elects to ignore a majority of that. “Is there anyone specific you’d like me to dance with, or shall I choose my own demise?”

“Don’t be so pessimistic,” she warns, “pick whoever you like, preferably the rich lady in the blue dress over there. It’s her party. Serenade her or something. Just keep her from noticing too much.”

“If I had normal skin, you’d want me to seduce her, wouldn’t you?” He raises an amused eyebrow, but there's an emptiness to his words. If he had normal skin. “I’ll handle the distraction. You just do whatever it is you are supposed to be doing.”

She pats his arm, disappearing into the crowd not long after. Even in a brilliant purple dress and vitiligo, she managed to disappear amidst the crowd.

Andrej isn’t particularly fond of dancing, or masquerade balls. Though, he supposes it’s his own fault for not asking for more details when he ought to have. His mind had been on Jordie, it still is. She’s a clever mutant — that’s her thing. Though, many could argue she’s not a mutant at all, just advanced in her learning. But as far as Andrej knows, she’s been on the street too long to have that level of understanding of the world. She knew things even he didn’t, offered support on things he didn’t, appeared whenever he needed her most. Or maybe it was all a coincidence, he isn’t sure.

He decides not to serenade the woman. He can make other ways to distract them — shadows dancing along the walls, an accident of sorts. It’s a party. There’s endless ways to distract the rich.

“You don’t seem to like crowds, huh?” The voice startles him, but once he realizes it’s just Elizabeth, he calms to a slight bristle. “You don’t seem to like me much, huh?”

He eyes her through his own mask, and though he cares not for the masks, he’s grateful for them now. “No, I don’t.”

Her face falls, eyes glimmering as if she knows something he doesn’t. “Well, why not? You hardly even know me!”

“People dislike other people for less.” He remarks, frown set deep on his face. “I don’t like people, especially strangers. Victoria did you a favor by letting you stay, but do not think it was my idea.”

“You’re mean. I wonder what your missus would have to say about that attitude.” She clamps her mouth shut soon after, as if she hadn’t intended on saying it to begin with.

Andrej stares at her, and if looks could kill, the room would be coated in her blood. “There is no missus. Not anymore. If you want to keep your tongue, ratte, you best know when to speak.”

“Dance with me,” she steps in front of him, “clearly letting you brood isn’t working, so let’s try dancing.”

“I don’t dance. I observe. You, Victoria, and everyone else, dance. I do not.” He watches her closely, despising the feeling of familiarity that came from her unwavering gaze. “Dancing can make you vulnerable. I’m not looking for that.”

She pouts then says, “but it’s fun! And Victoria said you used to dance, so come on. We can’t let that talent go to waste!”

“Why are you so concerned with getting me to dance? It won’t end the world if I don’t, though, the idea that it would is very entertaining.” He watches her, eyeing the dress she wears. It’s red. He doesn’t like red. “Red suits you.”

Pursing her lips, she moves to stand idly beside him. “If you won’t dance with me, I’ll just sit here and bother you endlessly.”

“You are easy to ignore.” He remarks, although it strikes something in him to say it. Something vastly unpleasant, it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. “I just haven’t done so to be kind. Test my patience and you’ll be spending the evening alone.”

She remains quiet, standing near him as people pass by, hands going on the small of her back as if to ‘pardon’ themselves. “You’re wearing a ring…. Who’s the lucky lady?”

“Luck doesn’t exist,” he takes pity, moving so that she was more sheltered from the crowd, “but there isn’t one, not anymore. You meddle too much and luck won’t be there to save you.”

“Will you? Save me, I mean.” She looks up at him, glancing momentarily at his left hand. “I’m sure she loved you very much.”

“Perhaps, if you stop asking so many personal questions.” He muses, more so to himself than anything. Her last words spark a question in his mind, one that he voices, “what makes you so sure that she loved me?”

“For one, you still wear the ring and men don’t do that much unless the love was really there,” she chimes thoughtfully, “and secondly, Victoria told me about her, at least a little bit. I can tell she loved you a lot from that. Or it might be just how Victoria tells stories, but I’m not sure.”

He can’t help but chuckle. “Are men not allowed to wear rings on their ring finger even after marriage?”

“No, no they are not.” She agrees, smiling softly. “Though, I suppose, they could if they didn’t mind assumptions being made about them. I’m also beginning to understand why you don’t like crowds. It’s beginning to feel rather claustrophobic in here.”

Andrej looks at her for a moment before he grabs her hand, tugging her towards the balcony. It’s quieter there, and cooler. The air is fresh and he can tell she enjoys the change of scenery just as much as he does.

“Thank you,” she smiles softly, “so you don’t dance, but you are a gentleman? Your hostility towards me begs to differ with that.”

“My hostility towards anyone begs to differ with a lot of things. I know when to pick my battles and fight my wars.” He pulls something out of his pocket, a cigarette, and lights it. “There’s nothing to thank me for.”

“There’s much to thank you for. Where would I even begin with it all?” She leans up against the balcony railing, hand tucked beneath her chin. “Were you always so hostile?”

“The world changes people, Elizabeth,” he takes a long drag from his cigarette, “not all of us have a pretty face like you.”

She raises an eyebrow, grinning. “You think I have a pretty face?”

“Perhaps,” he nods, “or I may have had a bit too much whiskey earlier when I drank to stomach this event.”

“You really don’t like social events, huh? It’s fair, though, a lot of gossip can ruin a reputation, especially one like yours.” She looks at him, watching as the smoke flows between his lips as if he were a dragon. “Smoking’s bad for you.”

“I live a vast majority of my existence in severe pain, I think I’m entitled to some sort of guilty pleasure.” He retorts, taking another drag of his cigarette. “If it kills me, we’ll see how long I stay dead.”

“You’re depressing, morbid, really. How’d your lady ever deal with you?” Elizabeth chuckles lightly, craning her neck to stare up at the night sky.

“She didn’t have to. With her, I am the highest I’ve ever been. Without her, I cease to exist.” He watches her face, watches how she goes from being surprised to sad — inexplicably sad, like she knew exactly what he was feeling. “You should stay out here, I have a distraction to attend to.”

When he moves, she grabs his arm. It’s not hard, but it makes him wince, like a sharp pain shoots up straight through his arm into his mind and heart.

“Dance with me,” she pleads, “it’s a safe alternative and I can help repay all that you’ve done for me.”

He pauses now, this time seriously entertaining the idea. “Very well, but don’t hold onto me that tight. Despite my best attempts, I can be quite delicate on the best of days.”

“And on the worst?” She queries, brows raised.

“Do you want to dance or not, Elizabeth? I’d be more than delighted to leave you here, alone, if not.” He purses his lips, evading the question like many would a cop. He puts out his cigarette, tossing it aside when it was out. He extends a hand to her, careful, hesitant.

“How does anyone put up with you?” She snickers playfully, taking his hand. “Victoria is the real hero here, putting up with your nonsense as often as she does.”

“My nonsense keeps us all alive,” he pulls her to the dancefloor, into a waltz, “hopefully my dashingly good dance skills keep Victoria out of trouble. If not, this’ll be a very fun party that will turn very violent very quick.”

“That’s a lot of very.” She awkwardly positions her hands to dance, the hand on his shoulder barely reaching where it usually might rest.

He cocks his head to the side, amused. “You’re very small, Elizabeth. Don’t worry about where you put your hands so much as how comfortable you are. But I might suggest getting taller.”

“I’ll kick you in the shins for that, maybe it’ll make you shorter.” She huffs lightly, narrowing her eyes at him. “You can see everyone from here… I’ve never danced before… Is it always like this?”

“I haven’t danced in a while, I wouldn’t be able to tell you if it is or not.” He admits, although, it comes as easily to him as breathing. “I like the music, it’s peaceful enough, calming. Easy to get lost in.”

Elizabeth eyes him curiously, a small smile on her lips. “How come the mutants are hunted like they are?”

“Such a serious topic to discuss while dancing,” he murmurs, “a topic for another time, I’m afraid.”

They dance in silence for a moment, a beautiful, wandering silence. It’s not too long after when a sudden noise erupts from upstairs and the hostess makes a move to investigate when Andrej breaks free from the dance.

The sound rumbles again, more like an explosion this time, and people begin running, left and right. Screams of terror, some of confusion. Elizabeth clings on to his arm, watching him to see what he might do next.

“Get upstairs, find Victoria.” He pushes her to the stairs, turning his back on her once he had seen her out of harm's way.

His hands are shaking — a black water-like substance flows down from his hands, his face, like a waterfall falling from the rocks. It spills from him, devours him whole, and the tendrils of it take on the room. It covers everything, the people, in darkness. It silences them and slowly puts them to sleep, erasing what monstrous event this had become from their minds. The black seeps from him, it’s in every exhale, every inhale, every movement.

It’s cold. The darkness is cold. It’s not suffocating, or else he would have been dead years ago, but it sends a chill through his body and settles deep into his bones. For a moment longer, the smoke comes, it drowns the room, and then it’s gone — receding back the way it had come.

“Andrej,” Victoria’s voice rings in his ears, barely audible amongst the steady thrum of his heartbeat. It takes him a moment longer to get his bearings.

“They won’t be asleep for much longer, we will talk about this mishap immediately.” He clears his throat, ignoring the stares he receives.

Roscoe clears his throat. “Boss, your, uh, your skin.”

Andrej pauses to look down at his hand, finding it to be smooth, like everyone else’s, like the skin he’s dreamed of having since he was seventeen. It lasts only for a moment longer, but when his skin comes back, he doesn’t hide how it hurts him to see it again.

“Let’s go home,” he mutters, “we’ve stayed here too long.”

—

Andrej sits at his desk, staring into the crackling fire that lights his study. His mind is absent, ever present on the night’s events. He danced, and then he did what he thought he’d never do again. It’s all a mess. It’s a complete and utter mess.

“It wasn’t her fault, Andrej,” Elizabeth murmurs, sitting off to the side on the couch. Her feet are hung over the back of the couch, feet dangling and swaying from side to side. “Accidents happen all the time!”

“It shouldn’t have happened at all, Elizabeth, whether she meant for it to be so or not, it happened.” He returns, eyes narrowed. He looks away from the fire, returning his eyes to the papers on his desk.

She sits upright, watching him. “What was that whole black smoke thing? You looked pretty spooky, you know. Smoke coming out of your eyes and all that.”

“I look ‘spooky’ even without smoke coming from my eyes.” He responds, frowning at her words and even his own. “Earlier, you asked me why mutants are hunted. Would you like to know now?”

“Well, yeah, but you can’t go around hopping back to questions and avoiding other ones!” She huffs, frustrated with him no doubt.

“People fear that which they do not know. If they do not know us, know how we are the way we are, how we have powers and they don’t, they fear us. It is human nature to fear the unknown, but not like this.” He says it easily, as if it’s something he’s told himself every day like a mantra. “They rule that all of us are monsters, though, I can only say some of us are. Others are often unsung sants.”

“Do you consider yourself a monster, Andrej?” Her voice is soft, too soft for someone like him. He meets her gaze and for once, he really sees her. Her eyes are full of worry, concern, and she rights herself on the couch with her legs presumably tucked beneath her as she leans up against the back. He expected malice, some sort of anger to be found in her tone, but her tone was entirely soft, entirely kind.

It takes him longer than it should’ve to answer her, but he thinks on it, he thinks long and hard on the answer to her question. The answer to many of his own questions. “I do. The mirror tells the tale of a monster, not a man. We’re all monsters one way or another, it just depends on perspective. The Gods know I have brought fear into the hearts of many.”

“Even monsters were men once,” she whispers, so quiet that he almost missed it, “do you believe in the Gods?”

“You have so many questions, Elizabeth. I only wish I had half as many for you, but unfortunately I haven’t got an inch of curiosity left in me.” He chuckles lightly, head tilting ever so slightly. “I don’t believe in the Gods. If they were, I might have to kill them myselfs for all the pain I’ve endured.”

She inhales sharply, suppressing a giggle. “You’re very, uh, cocky? I think that might be the word I want to use for you. I look forward to seeing you defeat the Gods if you ever find that they exist.”

“I think we all deserve to punch the Gods if we ever meet them. They’ve been awfully unfair.” He snickers, smiling lightly. “Any more questions? I might just retire early tonight. My head hurts after all that trouble.”

“I do have one more: what’s on the schedule tomorrow?” Elizabeth watches him, more alert to hear what more exciting things are in store for them.

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself. We won’t be doing too much tomorrow other than resting, especially after tonight. Might have a game night or something, I don’t know.” He shrugs loosely, not really caring for what a more relaxed day could hold. Business never ends.

#schrei es in die winde #original work #original characters #my writing #cezn's writing #cezn's stuff #kinda slowburn #dystopian #futuristic #mutant #mutant ocs

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