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sweetestlamb · 3 years

Text

Temptation

Summary: Vincenzo is feeling parched.

Author's note: These two have been living in my mind rent free lately, I'm just shallow and they look so damn good together and when you add the chemistry, well I'm a goner. Just a little drabble based on today's episode, I'm taking a break from BMTL this weekend because it's going to be another 10k probably and it's the first weekend I'm off with my bf so I promised not to ignore him to write all day lol. Update soon though!

Bon appetit!

Wispy dark lashes flutter just above her high cheekbones as she awaits the blow, her pretty face scrunched up in anticipation as a minor twitch in her lip distracts him.

That's been happening far too often lately, more than he'd care to admit. It was easier when she was blindly following Babel and refused to see the insidious truth about the morally bankrupt company, it was easier to pacify his attraction when she was the bad guy. Not that he was the right candidate to judge, he'd done notifiable heinous things in his life. Her father had been the first person to look at him like he was worth something, like the evil that lurked under his skin could be used for something good.

But her eyes had been opened, in the end she had chosen her father. If only he'd been here to see it.

That decision unhinges the small grapple he has on his control, he finds himself looking at her all the time cataloging the many emotions that distort that expressive face. She's like a living caricature and instead of finding that off-putting he's intrigued and mesmerized. Constantly battling with his lips that won't stop rising in her presence, he's not someone who smiles lightly. Has never had much of a reason to.

Until now.

"What are you waiting for? Just do it." She whines impatiently, squirming side to side and pursing her full lips.

That small move captures all his attention, eyes locked on the rosy pink skin. Instinctively he steps forward until he can feel her body heat, her face is even more captivating up close. She was beautiful, that wasn't hard to admit he was a man after all and his eyes were functional. It was.... everything else that he couldn't admit, not even to himself.

Just do it.

If only she knew what those words did to him, he felt as if he was lit in flames by his own lighter; burning up just from his prolonged vicinity to the loud lawyer. She was being her usual brazen self but she had no idea, not the slightest inkling of what exactly he wanted to do to her. It usually ended in passionate screams in his dreams. Her wild abandon was a thing of beauty, he didn't even mind the mess on his silk sheets because his mind supplied such vivid imaginings.

Staring down at her he wonders how she would taste, perhaps like the spicy noodles she was so fond of or maybe something sweeter and forbidden, once you peeled back the many layers you would discover something so delicious it was addicting. She would be his ambrosia.

"Come on, you're killing me! What's taking so long?" She grumbles now pouting, plush bottom lip jutting out enticingly and his finger hovers in front of her forehead but he can't move, can't bring himself to hurt her no matter how insignificant the hit. Somehow this woman has weaved a web around him, he feels like a fly caught in a spider's deadly but beautiful trap.

What's wrong with me?

There must be indeed something wrong with him because he feels his hand unfurling and lowering until he's nearly cupping her jaw, the delicate point barely above his hand. He's so tempted. Taking another step forward he lifts his second hand, curling around the dip of her lower back. She's so petite despite her loud bark, her entire body could fit easily in his hand.

He wants to lower his hand, grab her face and her waist and.... And what? What is he thinking? This is not why he came to Korea. He wasn't supposed to get involved more than he needed to and he knows no good can come of this, there's only one outcome for men who are lured by seductive sirens. He has to ignore her song no matter how much his body aches when he's with her. Woman have never been elusive in his line of work, gorgeous Italian women who opened up for him easily, surrendering under his capable hands. They were nothing but a good time, a perfunctory scratching of an itch. But, Cha-young he wants to wreck her, take her apart piece by piece until she's putty in his hands.

"What are you doing?" She says sounding amused and he lifts his eyes to find her twinkling ones already on his face. She looks at the twin hands hovering above her body with a raised brow, face now turned into the hand adjacent to her cheek.

"Do you want to change the specifics of our deal?" She teases darkly and he gulps, finally lowering his hands but twisting them around his back to prevent himself from making a huge mistake.

"No." He lies, trying to douse the fire that is blazing in his blood.

"Aishhh. You're such a bad liar." She huffs, nose crinkled up in disbelief and he hates the way his heart smarts his lips twitching to form a smile. He feels so warm and he doesn't know what any of it means.

"Come here." She doesn't give him an opportunity to disobey before reaching out to grab his tie, her hands wrapped around the luxurious material and with a sharp tug he's pulled into her, their bodies colliding and everything feels right.

"Stop." He whispers throat feeling raw, his voice comes out rougher than he intended. His eyes widen at the red flush that it yields, he's not the only one affected it seems.

"You don't want to flick me," she states with certainty, eyes searching his face as she tightens her hold on his tie his neck strains under the slight pressure, leaning down to lessen the tension. Too late he releases how much closer that brings their faces, she's barely an inch away from him now her soft puffs of breath landing directly on his face. "What do you want to do to me instead, Mr. Cassano?" She boldly finishes her statement, dark eyes ping ponging between his lips and his eyes.

Mentally berating himself for his weakness he suddenly grabs her waist, his arm circumvents the entire circumference with room to spare. She gasps in surprise but doesn't look scared, rather she looks curious, biting her bottom lip as she earnestly watches him.

"Do you really want to know?" He bites out, bringing his hand to her jaw and then sliding lower curling it around her neck, fingers tickling the soft nape of head.

She smirks, unflinching in the eye of his storm. She stands on the tips of her toes, bringing them that much closer, "Oh you don't know how much I want to know, Vincenzo." His name is exotic on her tongue, the letters not quite settling correctly but it sounds delectable to his ears, he wants to hear her scream it loudly too.

"I'll show you then." He's done with words, it's clear that they're both cognizant of what's happening between them, the air is so charged it's nearly crackling. She isn't backing down and despite his better judgement he doesn't want to lose, he can't be the way to pull away now. Simultaneously they yank each other closer, him by her neck and her by his tie. He sees the passion in her eyes, finally bursting to the surface and that's all the consent he needs, if she wants him too then she can have him.

Twisting his head he surges forward, eager to capture her lips and devour her moans of pleasure, his hand is now curled possessively around the small swell of her tight posterior, her suit pants always putting it beautifully on display. He had been hungry to touch it, grab it and feel the plumpness in his hands. It's every bit as amazing as he's imagined, her lips fall open as he squeezes at the flesh and he leans forward prepared to eat her alive.

She wraps her free arm around his neck, dragging him down to meet her and he easily lifts her off the ground, grinning boyishly when she squeaks releasing his tie to wrap both arms around his neck, their faces are now level. His hand remains on her ass.

Silently they move towards each other, intent crystal clear.

He can feel the heat from her lip, just as he grazes the smooth skin he hears a loud crash from behind them and they both jump, foreheads knocking accidentally as they react to the sudden sound.

He unceremoniously drops her, but her arms still latched around his shoulder force him forward making his forehead now collide with her chin. She lets out a loud scream of pain, shoving him away and shouting obscenities. He rubs at the pained skin, wincing in discomfort before turning towards the loud interruption with a murderous glare.

Who the fuck was it?

Nam Joo-Sung stands quivering in apparent fear looking like he's seconds away from urinating himself, his knees knocking together viciously.

A deer in the headlights, his eyes are as huge and terrified as one.

"I--um well you see.... I forgot to water the plants....you both look angry. Scary. You don't want an explanation. I'm going. Gone. I'll just. Go." He stutters out nonsensical, suddenly grabbing the plants and he watches as the frightened man awkwardly lifts the pots, cursing when the soil falls out dirting his clothes and the wooden floors, then he falls to his knees scooping it back into the pots, crawling backwards until he's out the door.

They both stare at the door.

Awkward silence remaining even with the man's departure.

And then a vibration fills the air, she jumps as if broken from her stupor reaching into her tiny bag and retrieving her phone. He can barely hear her over the beating of his own heart but he catches the disappointed look she sends his way, they can't continue this.

"Yes. I understand, we'll be right there."

Grabbing his briefcase he takes a moment with his back turned to her to catch his breath, collect himself. He's Vincenzo Cassano, not some prepubescent teenager. He can control himself, control is his middle name.

Then he turns back around and loses all his hard worked composure.

She's right in his space, rubbing absently at her neck as she looks at him.

"We'll finish this later. Don't think I'm going to let you off easy, I always finish what I start." She promises, pointedly looking his lips before grinning then boldly she lightly smacks him twice on his cheeks, "Pick your jaw off the ground, we have to go."

Her long hair bounces over her shoulder as she skips away, his eyes locked on the hypnotic sway of her hips. Her hands are cutely by her side, her signature walk that he had found ridiculous before. He doesn't view it the same way now.

Next time, there will be no interruptions he will make sure of it. Even if he has to kill someone.

#vincenzo #vincenzo cassano #hong cha young #I live for their tension #that flick scene undid me #when they kiss I might lose my shit #they'll hear me scream in Korea #and Italy #I love teasing #Chazenzo #that's what I've been calling them #joo sung is their deer #🥴🥴

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rocorambles · 4 years

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Redemption

Pairing: Ushijima x Reader

Genre: NSFW, Fluff and Smut

Warnings: Slight Size Kink

Summary: When you find out Ushijima is a virgin, you offer to be his first and help him out. But in reality, you might be the one who needs some help.

Requested by Anon

There’s a comfortable quiet atmosphere between the two of you as Ushijima hands you a clean towel while you pant for breath. Technically speaking, there’s no reason why the two of you need to be together today on one of the few days the Schweiden Adlers had off, but you had a soft spot for the pro-athlete, so when he had asked if you wanted to go workout together at the team training gym, you agreed. You couldn’t deny you needed some exercise. Being a team manager didn’t mean you worked out much yourself, so you looked forward to sweating some extra calories. But you really should have known better than to expect just a normal workout with Ushijima sternly overseeing your routine.

“Ushijima, you do realize I’m not a pro-athlete like you, right? You can’t expect me to keep up with you.”

“Anyone can do anything if they set their minds on it and work hard enough.”

You roll your eyes before fondly looking at the tall man beside you. Was he a little dense and a little too blunt? Sure. But you saw the heart of gold and genuineness within him. You’d always wondered why the man was still single. You know he’s sometimes an idiot when it comes to social cues and can’t hold small talk to save his life, but you’d seen far worse and less deserving men end up tricking some poor damsel into their spider webs. Surely you’re not the only one who sees the diamond in the rough that Ushijima really is?

You don’t realize you’re intensely staring at him until he uncomfortably shifts. “It’s rude to stare.” You blush and quickly turn away from him, opting to chug your water as a distraction. Checking your phone, you gasp when you realize how late it is. “Shit, sorry, I really need to run…” You trail off and Ushijima narrows his eyes at you as a mischievous grin spreads across your face. He’s all too aware that the look doesn’t mean anything good for him.

“What are you doing tonight?”

There’s a long pause before he grunts out “nothing” and you suddenly seem more intimidating than any opponent he’s faced across the net when your eyes light up and your head moves until it’s only inches away from his own.

“Cool! So you’re going to a party with me then.”

He blinks once at you before completely shutting you down with a resounding no. But really, after knowing you and working in such close proximity with you almost every day, he should realize how relentless you are once your mind is made up.

“When’s the last time you talked to anyone outside of the team, coaches, trainers, and managers? And Tendou doesn’t count since he’s still technically volleyball related.”

Ok, so maybe you had a point there.

“We don’t even have practice for the next few days! So you’ll have time to rest up and recover and be totally back to 100% for the next practice.”

You smile when you see his determined look slip a bit, but your jaw drops at his next words. “I’m not going to a party where you’re just going to ditch me to have sex with someone and then either complain or brag about it to me the next day.”

You frantically cover his mouth with your hands as you nervously look around to make sure no one around had heard him. “USHIJIMA! I tell you these things because I expect you to keep quiet about them. Not just blabber it out for everyone to hear.”

He impassively stares at you and you sigh as you remove your hands from his face before determinedly looking at him again. “But actually since you’ve already brought it up, I noticed you never have any spicy stories to tell me! It’s not fair if I’m the one who’s always sharing. When’s the last time you even had sex? It has to be stressful to not let off some steam in a more enjoyable way than volleyball.” (Although you secretly wonder if Ushijima finds volleyball more pleasurable than sex. You wouldn’t doubt it.) But you squint as he suddenly seems less stoic than usual and...are his cheeks pink?

“Ushijima, are you embarrassed? I literally tell you about all my sex exploits and you’re embarrassed by me just asking you when the last time you did it was?” Your voice trails off when a suspicion begins to form and your eyes soften as you more gently nudge him. “It’s okay if it’s been a long time. I know how busy you are. It’s not a reflection of you, I promise. But isn’t that more reason to come out with me tonight?” He mumbles something and you lean in, unable to make out the words, but when he repeats them, you freeze.

A virgin? Ushijima was a virgin?

You know you should say something instead of just staring at him like an idiot, but shock numbs you and only when he makes a move to get up and leave do you hastily grab his arm. Your mouth flounders as you try to come up with a response, but when you observe how vulnerable and sensitive the topic seems to be for him, your heart goes out to your friend and you shake the lingering surprise from you.

“Hey, it’s not a big deal. I think it’s kind of sweet actually. Your first time should be special, with someone you really care about. You shouldn’t ever feel ashamed about the fact that you haven’t done it. Hell, I wish I hadn’t been so quick to lose my virginity to some asshole in college.”

You smile when you see his shoulders straighten and maybe it’s the slight upturned twitch of his lips or maybe it’s the way dark olive eyes glow when they look at you, but you don’t even register the words that come tumbling from your lips until they hang heavy in the air.

“I could be your first if you wanted.”

You are a fucking idiot. You scramble to figure out a way to take back those words, already preparing for Ushijima to angrily end any friendship the two of you had, already dreading how you’re going to manage a team when one of the starters hates you. Your mind is reeling so hard from the dark future you’ve painted for yourself in your head that you almost miss what Ushijima says.

“Okay.”

Suffice to say, all plans to go to your party fly out the window and you send an apologetic text to your friend. Ushijima and you go to your respective locker rooms to wash up and freshen up before trekking back to your apartment. The walk isn’t uncomfortable per se, but there’s an electric energy radiating between the two of you as you walk silently next to each other. And shit, you’re not the virgin, but why is your heart beating so hard and so fast that you think it might literally explode from your chest? You scowl at yourself as your hands tremble when you unlock and open your front door and when Ushijima’s back is turned to you as he removes his shoes, you mentally slap yourself to get it together.

With renewed confidence, you firmly grasp his larger wrist and tug him along to your bedroom where you gently push him onto the bed. You take a moment to revel in the power you feel from being in charge of the stronger, larger man underneath you and arousal stirs within you from Ushijima’s submission and willingness to let you have your way with him. It’s the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen him and your heart warms as you lean down to softly kiss him, smiling against his lips when you feel him tentatively reciprocate. Kissing Ushijima feels like what you imagine completing a satisfying day's work on the farm feels like. You can almost taste the sturdiness, the comforting warmth of a fireplace burning as you return from the fields, and the authentic, humble roots on his lips. There’s no frills, no pretenses. It’s purely Ushijima and you love it.

You think you could spend all night just kissing him if you wanted to, but you remind yourself of tonight’s mission. You trail your fingers down his chest until you reach the hem of his shirt which you begin to roll up until it reaches the top of his torso and he helps you fully remove it. Sitting upright on his thighs, you can feel yourself salivate as you take in the broad expanse of his upper body on display for you. You’ve seen it before, but in the dim light of your bedroom and splayed across your bedsheets, it’s mesmerizing and you can’t help the way you unconsciously run your hands across every inch of taut muscle and kiss random lines across chiseled lines. You smirk when you feel Ushijima’s groin thrust up when you coyly flick a nipple with your tongue and you stare at him as you begin to suck on the hardening bud, drinking in the sight of the usually reserved man letting out breathy moans as you continue your ministrations.

You want to tease him more, coax more sounds out of him, but the feeling of something hard prodding your stomach keeps you moving on and you pointedly tug on the waistband of his pants until he gets the memo and raises his hips to allow you to remove everything until he’s completely bare before you. And any confidence you had built up shatters.

If you’re entirely honest, you’d had your fair share of wet dreams imagining what Ushijima was hiding underneath his shorts, but when faced with reality that’s somehow even larger than anything you had even dreamt of, you bite your bottom nervously as your pussy clenches at the thought of trying to fit him inside of you. You’re not sure if it’s lust or nerves that has your stomach twisting as you wrap a hand around his impressive girth. Probably both, you think, as your throat goes dry and your thighs squeeze together when you see how your entire fist barely covers less than half of him.

Your attention is brought back to the man underneath you when you hear a low groan as you stroke your fist up and down his shaft, giving some extra attention to the leaking slit at the tip. Your other hand reaches underneath your panties and circles your clit. You’ll need to be absolutely drenched before you can even think of trying to take him. But it’s not hard for your cunt to become a sopping mess when you stare in awe at the way Ushijima writhes underneath you, releasing low breathy pants and grunts that you can feel rumbling throughout his body. Already feeling a wet spot seeping through your clothes, you affectionately kiss him once more before briefly getting up to quickly strip down. His eyes hungrily devour the sight of your naked figure as you crawl back above him and adjust your position until you feel his tip nudging at your entrance.

You close your eyes and moan as you slowly lower yourself onto him, but even as wet as you are, you can barely take half of him inside you as he stretches you far beyond any person or any toy has. Yet, despite the discomfort and borderline pain of the stretch, you feel even more of your arousal dripping down your thigh as you continuously lift and lower yourself, always pushing slightly harder, slightly further than where you’d been before. Your eyes roll back from the feeling of being so full and your nails dig into Ushijima’s shoulders as you desperately continue to work his entire length into you. But you reach your limit and you swear you can feel him inside of your womb even though there’s still about a quarter more of his cock waiting to penetrate you. You take a deep breath and exhale as you try to sink further down, but you let out a broken moan when fingers twist and tug your nipples.

Ushijima intensely observes you as he kneads your fleshy mounds, playing with your hardened nubs until he sees the tiny furrow on your forehead smooth out. He sits up and bends his neck to soothingly kiss you. A primal instinct in him had been entranced at the sight of your much smaller figure struggling to take just a part of him and he had to use every bit of will power he had to not instantly cum at the feeling of your warm and wet walls squeezing around him. But when he saw the hints of pain you tried to push past written all over your face, a desire to make you feel only pleasure had overtaken him.

He continues running his fingers across your chest as your tongues twist and turn against each other and you moan into his mouth as you reach a hand down to furiously rub against your clit until you feel another surge of arousal and more fluids run down your inner thigh. You guide his hands to your waist before continuing to rub your clit and you urge him to help you as you clash your lips against his once more. But you tear away from his mouth in a silent scream as he grabs you and forcefully pushes you down and down until your lower bodies press tightly against each other, any space between them removed. Ushijima’s eyes are glued to your face and he takes in the way your eyes widen and your jaw drops open as you claw at his arms, leaving angry red trails as your body tries to adjust to literally being stuffed full. He patiently waits until your nails stop their frantic clawing and he drops his forehead to your shoulder with a groan as you begin to rock your hips up and down.

He can feel the sloppy mess you’re making as you continue to flood the sheets underneath with your seemingly never ending arousal, but he can’t bring himself to care as your pace speeds up until you’re practically bouncing in his lap as you desperately chase your end. You scream when he tightens his grip on your waist and assists you, slamming you down and easily picking you up before slamming you down again, perfectly matching your rhythm until everything blends together and you don’t even know who’s doing what anymore. All you know is the feeling of Ushijima’s cock sliding and pressing against every inch and every crevice of your pussy, filling you so well you wonder if you’ll ever be satisfied with anything else inside of you after this.

You can’t even bring yourself to feel ashamed by the wanton wail you let out as you reach a higher peak than you’ve ever reached before and your entire body shakes with pleasure as Ushijima continues to lift and lower your body even without any support from you until he harshly pushes you down one last time and holds you still as he releases thick spurts deep inside of you, so deep that even in the haze of your orgasm you’re grateful you’re on birth control because you’re sure he’s coating your actual womb with how far inside he seems to reach. You slump into his chest and let yourself be maneuvered by him until the two of you are lying side by side, facing each other, your lower bodies still intimately connected.

The two of you lay there for a while and you instinctively nuzzle your face into his chest as his arms tenderly wrap around you, pulling you even closer to him and you both take quiet comfort in the sounds of your heavy breaths filling the air. But when your heart beats slow and your breathing evens out, you cringe in embarrassment.

“Ushijima, I’m so sorry. This was your first time. I should have been the one taking care of you, but you ended up needing to step in and take charge.” There’s a stretch of silence before you feel one of his arms move and a hand lightly nudges your head up to look at him. Your heart flutters when you see the most gentle smile you’ve ever seen on his face.

“Wakatoshi. Call me Wakatoshi.”

You see a flash of uncertainty in his usually confident eyes as he hesitantly inches his face closer to yours, but you grin as you meet him halfway and your lips slot against each other like two puzzle pieces perfectly connecting. You close your eyes and relish the peaceful moment for a bit before using the element of surprise and pushing against him until he’s on his back underneath you once more. You playfully clench your pussy walls and smirk at the way he throws his head back and hisses at the feeling. You can feel him begin to harden once more inside of you and when he looks back at you, you shoot a wink his way.

“Let me redeem myself, Wakatoshi.”

#haikyuu smut #ushijima x reader #ushijima #haikyuu fic #haikyuu #haikyuu writing #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios

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blaiddlleuad · 3 years

Text

Just never learnt ok? - wolfstar

The common room was deserted. Every student enjoying the last of the summer rays that shone brightly through the grounds of Hogwarts before having to board the train home for the holidays.

All except one of course.

Remus Lupin sat tucked away in the tightest most cosiest corner of the common room, eyes squinting in the dim light trying to read the last pages of his book. He didn't hear when a pair of footsteps came stumbling in and jumped at hearing his name. Cursing when he hit his head against the wall behind him.

"What you doing in there? Been looking for you. " Sirius Black stood proudly, beautiful black locks falling perfectly on his shoulders, stormy grey eyes with a sharp jawline to compliment the natural beauty that came with him.

Sirius was also tanned and Remus wondered if the boy had ever had an imperfection, it looked like the answer was no due to the fact that Sirius Black always looked devilishly handsome, even when he'd been up all night setting up a prank with James.

"Just reading, you knew that. I told you." Remus replied.

"Well come out of there, I wanna show you something."

"What?"

"It's a surprise, come on Lupin. Can't waste any more time!" Sirius was practically jumping with joy and excitement, he pulled Remus out of the tight spot and hauled him up on his feet.

Remus staggered a great 4 inches taller then Sirius's 5ft 6 but he somehow made it seem like he was the shorter one, hunching his back and slouching was much more comfortable than a straight back and a posture like a plank of wood. Sirius on the other hand made sure to rise above others in the sense of being bigger. Broad shoulders and muscles, chin up and fitted clothes to accentuate his even more perfect figure.

Remus could just die at one look at him.

"Oh alright. Lead me the way." Remus said, letting Sirius take his hand and guiding him out to the massive doors that opened up to reveal the large assembly of students situated along the lawn. Sitting down and laughing with friends. Taking in the summer sun, some students had even taken to having a dip in the lake.

Sirius continued to walk with Remus behind him until they got to the forbidden forests clearing. Out of site of the others.

"Uh pads, what we doing here?"

"It's in there."

"What is?"

"You'll just have to wait and see, come along now moony. Got no time to waste!" Sirius grinned and Remus melted more.

His and Sirius relationship was a secret between him, the other marauders, Lily and Marlene. They'd gotten together at the start of 6th year when a prank had backfired and Sirius was not able to lie for a good proportion of the day, ending up in him confessing his secrets to Remus when the two ended up alone.

Remus, thank god, recipicated these feelings and both decided to work out how to be together. Obviously this had done a excilant job and now were still wrapped around each others fingers after 7 months.

The forest was different in the day time then it was when the full moon was out and the night sky drew shadows under trees and bushes, hiding the other creatures the roamed.

The sun filtered down through the branches, birds flew up above and sang songs of sweet harmony's, rabbits hopped away and spiders span webs as the boys made a their way steadily.

"How long?"

"Not yet but soon."

A few minutes later a clearing opened and the sound of water made its way to Remus's ears. Frogs croaked and fish swam as ripples formed on the layer of blue that sparkled. A water fall in the far end covered a cave on the far side of the bank and Remus stood mesmerized by the site. With years of running around this place he's never seen this before.

"Just stumbled across it couple of day ago."

"It's, wow."

Sirius finally and reluctantly let go of Remus's hand and began to take his shoes and socks off before taking his shirt off too.

"W-what you doing?" Remus asked

"Going for a swim. You are too, now take your clothes off, just keep your pants on." Sirius smirked.

"I- what? No, Im ok."

"Oh come on, it's lovely in the water. Not cold and not too warm."

"It's not that, I just um, I er, don't like it."

"Don't like what? The water?" Sirius had now turned to watch Remus stand awkwardly off to the side, ringing his hands and gulping deeply. He looked back to the small lake and it suddenly clicked in his brain.

"Did you ever learn to swim?" He asked walking forward and taking on of Remus's hands in his.

"I, er, um, I guess not." Remus whispered looking everywhere but Sirius's eyes.

"Ok, I'm going to teach you then."

"What? Sirius no. It's ok, really I'm fine. I'll just sit on the bank."

"Don't be silly, it'll be fun. You'll love it."

Sirius waited sitting on the bank with his legs dangling in the water, splashing the fish that dared to come close to him. Remus carefully took of his clothes. Sirius has seen him a many times before; scarred and bruised, a widening pattern of lost memories and tortured turnings. He hated how he looked, opting to hide under large jumpers that were strayed at the cuffs.

But Sirius didn't hate them. He didn't like them as such because of how they happened but that didn't stop him from staring lovingly at the boy with freckles painting his face, soft blonde curls bouncing with every laugh, a hue of amber eyes escaping in the never ending land of dreams from the books that have stayed by his side.

Sirius loved the toothy grin he got, loved the hugs that held the warmth in and the terror out, love the subtle glances of adoration, loved how he could listen to an endless rant of nothing and everything. To put in short Sirius really did love Remus.

"Ok, so how you doing this?"

Sirius floated next to the bank, arms either side of Remus's legs.

"Just hold on, ok?"

"Mmm"

"It'll be ok, trust me."

"Mmm"

Sirius held firmly onto Remus's sides and lowered him into the water. Remus took a sharp breath in and closed his eyes but he trusted Sirius with everything he had left in him and let him continue to lead the way.

Has Sirius did say, the water was just right. Even with that Remus was shaking.

It wasn't like he's never gone swimming before. He'd been down the river has a child but after he was bitten his mother and father forbade him from doing anything that could harm him more than a werewolf could once a month. Since then he's not been exactly scared of water he just doesn't know what to expect. The feat of his parents had transpired to Remus and it's harder than previously thought to shake away that fear.

Remus had somehow been convinced to lay starfish on his back, staring up at the blue patched sky. Sirius was to one side, arms under his back holding him up.

"Nice isn't it?" Sirius asked

"Mmm."

"All you can say?"

"Mmm."

"Alright then, wanna try this one your own"

Remus blinked and shook his head as much a she could without swallowing some of the water.

"No, no I'm good. Stay like this."

"Aw don't be like that, just like having a bath."

"Might be useful if I had one."

Sirius was taken back. He tried to remember all the the times Remus had had a bath but none came to mind. Had he really never had one?

"You're kidding?"

"No, mum was scared I'd drown or something."

"Well nows a better time then ever to try."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Before Remus could get an answer, Sirius had begun to slowly drop his hands from supporting his back. Remus layed still and stiff, he didn't like the feeling of being alone in the water. He closed his eyes and wished it all away, pretending he was elsewhere. Reading a book on dry land, cozied up by the fireplace with a hot chocolate floating near by ready for when he needed to take a sip.

That moment didn't last long as a wave of panic rushed through him. What if his mother's fears came true? What if he drowned? What if Sirius had just left him? What if this was some cruel prank to torment with his fears to get a good laugh?

"P-pads? Y-you still there?"

"Yes, yes I'm still here. You doing great moony." Sirius brought his hand our the water and begun to sooth Remus, stroking his head and pushing his wet locks out the way.

"I don't like it anymore." He whispered

"Ok, let's go to the bank." Sirius had let Remus lach onto him. He was still on his back but his hands were gripping Sirius's arms like never before.

Remus didn't realize how far they had gone out until he opened his eyes and saw that they weren't close enough to the bank that he could get out.

"Sirius, whyd you let us get so far out?" Remus whispered again, he didn't trust himself to go any louder.

"Sorry, just did. Not that big anyways."

Sirius pried of Remus's hands off and Remus clung to the bank for dear life.

"See? Wasn't that bad?"

"Could've have been better. You didn't have to let go!"

"Sorry didn't think that you'd be so frightened by it. Look if it makes you feel any better, we'll go get ice-creams after this, yeah?"

"Ok."

Remus pressed his back against the bank, finding a ledge to put his feet on so he could stand. Sirius brought his hands to hold Remus's face, cupping his cheeks. Remus wrapped his arms around Sirius's waist and brought him close so there bodies were touching. Gently they met lips, slow and passionate.

The two had managed to climb out and layed on their backs, side by side. Hands intwined together and heads touching. Watching the trees above them and the birds flying past. They stayed in silence and they listened to the nature around them. Ice creams forgetton about.

#wolfstar #moony #remus x sirius #padfoot #oneshot #marauders fanfiction #remus lupin #sirius black

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lisinfleur · 4 years

Text

T&T - Chapter 09: Eagles, snakes, and rats

Author’s Notes | I’m really proud of some of my characters. Others? Not that much… Words | 2763 ⁑ Warnings: Mentions of death, blood, and treason.

"You're telling me to send my men to death."

Brynjar couldn't say he was satisfied. He wasn't. Despite being a good counter plan, Ivar's words were still sounding as full of dishonor as Udir's. The king was feeling lost and Ivar didn't miss this feeling in his eyes.

"No," Ivar sentenced in a firm voice. "I'm telling you to clean your armies and send your enemies to death in this trap, my friend. Cause any man who fights in your lines without being loyal to your crown is not your man. Any man who fights in your lines and plans against you behind your back is not your man. These men, they're your enemies. The worst kind of enemy a king can have: the ones who eat from your hands, share your mead, and smile at your face to stab your back as soon as you trust them enough to let them come closer."

Ivar's fist clenched and Brynjar noticed there was something more than just the desire to help a friend inside that boy's eyes. Trying to feel safer, the older man decided to try and know that boy in front of him a little more.

"What is it that glows in your eyes when you speak about treason, boy? You claim yourself a fallen king... Tell me, how did you lose your crown?"

Ivar sighed.

The memory of dear Freydis and how stupid he was for falling in love with a woman that never really existed bubbling the shame and anger inside his blue orbs.

"I was bitten by a snake I cradled against my chest," he answered, looking at Brynjar's eyes, allowing the old king to see his heart being poured through his words. "I was so blindly in love with my queen that I couldn't see she wasn't really the woman she showed me to be. While I was sharing my sheets with her, trusting her enough to sleep by her side, she was confabulating against me and even held the child of another inside her belly, claiming it was my child to keep me mesmerized by the childish dream she broke into pieces along with my heart."

Brynjar listened attentively as the boy in front of him was showing himself a man. A shattered one, beaten by life, wounded deeply in his pride but pretty more in his heart.

"You see, my friend, I'm a crippled man. It is not like I could expect any woman to fall on my feet as they were used to doing for my brothers. Despite my noble lineage, I was always self-aware I wouldn't be the most blessed of the men when it comes to relationships. So, when she came to me with gentle touches and sweet words, I fell quickly into her theatre like a fly into the spider's web," Ivar said, playing with his fingers as if they were a fly, flying around; closing his hand as if it was the spider settling its fate. "Since the beginning, she was playing a game. She made me a fool. And in the end, she and her consort - the true love of her heart and the man for who she was doing all she did to me - threw me out of my lands, humiliated; to learn from my mistakes that anyone inside your court may become your enemy and that a king might have the heavy hands to expel the untruthful ones before they can rip its chest apart."

Brynjar could see the truth in Ivar's words; the real suffering inside that boy's eyes. There was a boy standing in front of him, but he could see the man he had been lapidated into and the scars of the hard hits that turned him into that man.

The old king sighed, resigned. Despite how terrible that decision was showing itself to be, Ivar was right and it was the best way to turn around that situation.

"Believe in the gods, my friend," Ivar completed. "As much as I do."

"The gods allowed you to be fooled, Ivar," Brynjar said, looking at him, frowning as Ivar smiled.

"They did, Brynjar. Because I deserved everything that happened since Freydis entered my life. I paid for my crimes with the humiliation she exposed me to and I learned from my mistakes to become a better man from what she did to me. The gods allowed me to pass through it to make me stronger, better than I was before, such as they allowed me to be born like this for these legs are the source of my strength and all that I became came from this," Ivar said, touching his leg guards. "From my will to survive, to show the world I'm pretty much more than they think I am. So, believe in these gods, king Brynjar: If they think this is not a fair action, then, these men will come back alive with the heads of your enemy earls in their hands, Udir's plan will be real and these things I saw would be only his fail in noticing the hills could be dangerous to his king," he explained, touching Brynjar's shoulder. "However, if I'm right, then let the gods strike your enemies dead, and may these men who will fall with Udir serve as a sacrifice for your long life and as an example so others won't think about planning against their king."

The old king's heart filled with his faith: those were wise words and it was always wise to deliver his fate in the hands of the gods. Maybe Ivar's arrival was a sign they were with him and Brynjar was being saved from that terrible trap he alone wouldn't have noticed being settled for him.

"You have a strong mind, my friend. I could make good use of someone like you by my side," Brynjar said, causing Ivar to smile bigger.

"We can talk about this after this situation is solved. It would be a pleasure to be by your side and I'll be idle once I'm recovered, so I see it can be a good way to keep the dust away from my brain," Ivar answered, touching his fingers on his temple with a smile in his face.

"Better not to let these good gears get all rusty, uh?" Brynjar joked, giggling with Ivar, trying to take a little of that tension away from his head.

The two of them took their time, speaking, drinking, and settling the plan. With Ivar's help, Brynjar organized his mind and at the end of that evening, everything was ready to be executed the next morning. However, the mind of the king was still unsettled. After Ivar left to his room, called by a tired Iliana who came after a whole day of work to take her husband to bed with her, Brynjar left the castle, walking through the forest towards a river nearby, raising a small bunch of stones as a praying monument near what he sat down, sighing.

"Is this the right thing?" he asked, talking to the gods, listening to the sound of the water flowing beside him. "Do as he said, I ask. Show me by the end of this situation if I took the right way. If I'm wrong, then may Udir come back with my enemies' heads, so I can honor him and speak his name through your halls. If I'm right, then may the gods be honored for bringing this man, this Ivar, into my lands, for he will have saved my life and any debit he could have with me for Brimir's murder will be paid."

A sound crossed the sky, breaking the silence and filling Brynjar's chest with the presence of his gods. Over his head, a pair of crows, cawing, flying around as if they were dancing with the wind of the night.

"Hail Lord Odin! With his Munnin and Huginn who came to hear my prayers. Hail!" Brynjar saluted, placing his cup of mead he brought with him over the little mount of stones as an offer and leaving the place certain the gods had accepted his asks.

Tomorrow would be a great day - one way or another.

A house of strong stone and shining silver. Treasure enough to live a good life, with lands and slaves under his feet.

They needed a strong and new king. He wanted to end that war and grab the fate he wanted from the gods by its tail. What were two or three earldoms for someone who could be the king of all those lands?

Brynjar was a good man, however. But stupid and old. And his greed and bonds with the past union of those lands were putting everyone into that useless conflict because he didn’t want to admit he had lost the lands of those Earls.

No. Not Earls. Kings. As he would be himself.

Udir would never be proud of the way he settled for Brynjar’s death. That blood would always be in his hands. But even Odin had to stab himself with Gungnir and hang himself to have a glimpse of the runes from Yggdrasil. “Nothing comes without a price,” the warrior thought as his heavy steps came into Brynjar's hall. The hall that was promised to himself by the self-proclaimed kings for his help with the end of that war.

Udir's hand touched the throne, sliding his fingers through the wooden carved surface. He thought he wouldn't order its change. It was a beautiful chair, carved by good carpenters as a gift to Brynjar. He always liked this chair and now, it was his.

"In my lands, it would be considered a full act of disrespect," Ivar's voice echoed through the hall as Udir was sitting the throne and the warrior prepared to answer the one he considered an intruder since the first moment he stepped into Brynjar's castle. But Udir's eyes became wide with surprise and fear.

Standing beside the cripple, with pure fury filling his eyes, was the old Brynjar, alive and well, not dirty, untouched by the battle that should have killed him.

Udir's mouth lied agape, no word escaping his lips. The gods had proved him wrong: that throne wasn't his fate as he thought it could ever be. Instead, in front of him, that foreigner man was standing beside his king in a position he abandoned in goodwill when it would have been more honored and more intelligent to stick to it as if his life depended on it.

"I know... It seems impossible," Ivar said, on top of his conquered arrogance, looking at the warrior in front of him as the beginner he was in a world Ivar knew very well, like the palm of his own hand. "But it is not that hard to figure out your plans when they were already used before... The Repton hills, uh? Quite a good plan, I admit. Built entirely over the ignorance of a Christian king about its own terrains or the heathen's way to battle." Ivar said, moving forward with his crutch, causing Udir's eyes to become even larger at the sight of those imposing blues looking at him with victory and pride shining into them. "But Brynjar is no ignorant Christian king..."

"He wasn't at that battle..." Udir mumbled, trying to justify the use of that plan.

"No... When the death of Ragnar Lothbrok, he sent a small portion of his army just to be there with his name among the ones who would avenge the legend's death beside its sons. It was too far from his lands for him to really move more than a group of men under his flag and the command of his man of trust. But I have to admit we were accepting any men sent to us. Even the dishonored ones..."

Those accusatory blues, undressing Udir from his pride, from his assurance... That man he thought was a nobody was pretty more than he was expecting to see.

"Ivar, the Boneless..." he mumbled the name that placed a smile in Ivar's face as he gently bent himself in an ironic reverence.

"It wasn't pretty smart to use my plan against my allies..."

"I did it for my people!" Udir finally lost himself, getting up from the throne to face Ivar, trying to show no fear despite Brynjar's guard men coming into the hall, surrounding him. "Brynjar's greed is putting us into an endless conflict! Lives are being lost for a piece of useless land! Just give them what they want!"

"And show them how weak their king is," Ivar answered.

His calm and cold tone causing Udir's entrails to contract in a mixture of anger and a bit of despair.

"Give them what they want once and they'll come with new demands. Give them what they want twice and they'll come for your head. Earls must know their place under a king and if they want to be kings themselves then, they shouldn't be Earls." Ivar continued, looking straight into Udir's eyes, right at his trembling soul. "Why do you think they promised you his crown? You're weak, Udir. You gave him what they wanted once so, they understood they would always have what they wanted from you... Put a crown over a fool's head and you can rule the town and see the fool being burned by your mistakes. And I think the fire came for you pretty sooner than they were expecting."

"Kill him," Brynjar ordered, watching as Udir stepped back, unsheathing his sword, threatening the warriors that closed a circle around the three men inside that hall.

"Don't come any closer!" Udir yelled.

But Ivar giggled, supporting his body carelessly against the crutch with a taunting smile in his face.

"I wish I could say I’ll see you again in Valhalla, my friend. But Odin does not settle chairs in his hall for traitors and cowards like you," Ivar completed, turning his back to the furious warrior as Brynjar's men ignored his threat, advancing against him in order to fulfill their king's order.

Udir fought as much as he could. His eyes lost over those men's shoulders, seeing as Brynjar was watching the fight with a cold glare in his eyes.

As his sword was hitting against the axes and swords of men that so many times were under his own command, Udir watched as Ivar walked towards the king with his slow pace, placing his hand over the old man's shoulder.

He didn't hear what Ivar said, but he saw the coldness in Brynjar's eyes becoming disappointment and the king turned his back on the battle, walking towards the hall's door.

That strike was enough to get Udir's strength bent over. As the first sword crossed his unprotected chest, Udir remembered the words of his father so long ago in time, when he was a boy and the old man was teaching him about what he lost that day...

"A man without honor is nothing, my son. If you cannot stand beside your king, then want his eyes on your death with despair. Want your king to mourn your departure and avenge your blood on the ground if you cannot keep yourself alive. At the doors of Valhalla are drawn the back of a king: if not even your king mourns the loss of your life, why should Odin open his hall for you to feast?"

Udir's knees hit the ground and the men stopped attacking as his voice echoed through the halls with a scream of despair.

"BRYNJAR!"

The king looked back, so as Ivar by his side. The bent warrior was looking straight to them.

"I would have sent you to the halls! I didn't deny you the chance of your good fight!" he cried. "Look at me!" Udir demanded. "Don't turn your back on my blood!"

"You wouldn't be there to see the crows eating my flesh," Brynjar said, disappointed. "You would be here, feasting in my halls, sitting on my chair, wearing my crown. Then share the fate you settled for me, old friend. I'll give myself the fate you wanted for yourself. There is still a war to be fought. I have no time to mourn my enemy's death."

More swords crossed his chest as Udir tried to get up, yelling in fury.

But as the screams were engulfed by the blood in his throat, he saw the doors of Brynjar's hall closing behind his king's back. Beautiful wooden carved doors.

Beautiful golden closed doors...

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#history vikings #imagine vikings #ivar #ivar the boneless #ivar imagine #ivar x OC #ivar ragnarsson #ivar lothbrok #ivar's heathen army #sister wives #T&T

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userdokja · 5 years

Text

Our Date. | Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: To find your soulmate you can hear their thoughts inside your head, Until they die.

Warnings: Anggggsgsgsgsgsgt. FLAFF, It's pretty short. My Writing and Grammar.

A/N: I. Can't. stop. writing. soulmate. fics. send help.

----

Peter Parker was always mesmerized by the way you think, he knew you were curious about everything and sometimes very sarcastic. He tried not to think much and annoy you, But one day you both finally decided to meet up.

He was waiting for you at the library, It was nighttime. Suddenly he heard you.

"I'm here where are you?"

"I'm the guy wearing a blue shirt." he replied and started tapping his foot nervously, Finally a beautiful girl approached him with e/c eyes and h/c hair, "H-hi."

"Hey, My name is Y/n." You smiled and took the seat in front of him.

"Peter Parker." He replied, Peter swallowed the lump in his throat. "I'm really sorry if I'm awkward It's just...I've never done this before." He chuckled and so did you.

The whole time you spent learning about each other, although you already knew some of it because of your thoughts. You both had a lot in common but It was a lot Better in person.

----

It's been years since that and, You and Peter started dating after a few weeks. You found out he was spiderman because you heard it in his thoughts, He was so nervous and started cursing inside his head while you asked him questions. Anyways, he was glad you thought it was cool.

"Peter?" You called inside your head.

"Yes?"

"I'm going to y/f/n's apartment today, I promise I'll arrive for our date. She's just going to help me get dressed."

"Alright, see you soon love."

You sighed as the conversation ended, You were near the apartment but something hit your head and everything went black.

----

"Are you sure he's going here to get her?" An unfamiliar voice asked.

"Of course he is." Your were starting to wake up, You didn't know where you were. "She's awake."

"She's going to call him for help!"

"Let her. and when he comes we'll finally end that spider-boy's life." You looked around and saw that you were In a room, The smell was bad and The place looked like it wasn't taken care of properly in years.

"Come on, Call for your boyfriend to come and save you." The man crouched In front of you, You can clearly see his face now, He was maybe in his 40's, He had dark brown hair with his green eyes. "You can't help your thoughts."

he was right, After a few minutes you finally gave in. Peter was asking where you were and he was clearly panicking.

"Now, We need to make him angrier." The man said with a smirk, he told someone to untie you after that, He dragged you by your hair and walked up to the highed floor.

"Shit, Let me go!" You screamed at his and tried to pull your hair away from his grasp.

"The Lady said let go." a familiar playful voice was heard, You sighed in relief as you spotted his suit. "Hey, Darling."

You gave him a small smile, before he fought the man behind you. You just dropped to the ground and closed your eyes, the man holding you earlier talking about revenge, Men screaming, then it all ended.

Suddenly, Someone forced you to get on your feet and pressed a gun to your head. Your eyes shot open.

"Come any closer and I'll drop her. Trust me you won't like it. " The man made you look down, There's broken glasses underneath some pointed up.

"You don't need to do that."

"If we can't kill you. Then we'll take a part of you away." He pulled the trigger and let go of you, Letting you fall.

Peter was too distracted on dodging the bullet he barely noticed that you fell. He webbed the man's face and knocked him out, Jumping after you. Your eyes closed.

He shot his web, It wrapped around your upper body. He heard your thoughts, right before you were impaled by the sharp object below. You gasped as your head slightly hit the ground. Then it all went black.

He dropped beside you and took off his mask.

"Hey." He let out a shaky breath. He didn't know what to do, didn't know if he should pull it out or let it be. "I- I got you. We're going to get some help okay? Karen please call an ambulance."

"I've also contacted Mr. Stark." He didn't care who was coming. All he cared about was you.

Peter decided to pull out the piece of glass. He cradled you in his arms, Waiting for the sirens or the man in the iron suit. deep Inside he knew that before they come you'll be long gone.

"Y/n, Just stay with me a little bit more okay? We still got our date. and we'll get your favorite dish a-and.." Peter finally broke down, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Karen announced that you were gone, But he already knew that. Your mind was blank. It was empty, and so was his heart.

----

Peter didn't get out of his room for weeks, No one could get him out. He missed hearing the songs stuck in your head. He missed your presence, and knowing that you were there, Alive.

Someone knocked on his door, He didn't answer.

"Peter, It's Y/f/n. I think I need to show you some stuff." She said and quickly added. "It's Y/n's."

Y/f/n waited for a while until he finally opened the door. She handed him the box she was holding.

"I think you should read it alone." She smiled at Peter before leaving. Peter placed the box down on his bed and sat beside it. He opened it and saw a bunch of diaries.

He picked up the notebook on top, It was your last diary, He flipped through the pages and stopped on your last entry.

Y/f/n asked me about marriage today, She asked if I would say yes if Peter Proposed and honestly, I would say yes.

But I'm worried about Peter, He's a superhero. He fights bad guys but what if one day I stop hearing his thoughts? That's my greatest fear.

If only you knew that was his greatest fear too

Peter felt like he could hear you again, He hears your voice as he reads. He reads more of your notes, occasionally tracing your writing with his trembling fingers. He went into older notebooks and found one from when you were little.

Dear Diary,

I'm excited about meeting my soulmate. I hope he's kind and smart and funny too! But mama said I won't meet him until I'm a teenager, I don't really understand. Why can't I meet him now?

He chuckled, You were one of the most impatient person he's ever met. His small laugh became a sob, His tears fell on his lap. You weren't coming back.

He was about to put it back in the box until he saw an envelope, It was for him. He opened the note gently.

Peter,

It's crazy that I'm writing this but you know I'm always prepared for almost everything! I've made a couple of these, there's one I made if ever there was a zombie apocalypse-- Which I threw away because..It's crazy.

If you're reading this then I must be dead or dying. So... Remember to drink a lot of water I guess? swinging around the city is very tiring, Be home more often because May is worried for you. I'm sorry I'm not there anymore, But hey! I might still hear your thoughts even if I'm dead! so don't go all sad for me Peter.

I'd want you to move on, with your life...And maybe you'll find a girl.

To be honest I don't know what I'm supposed to write here, But I just want you to be safe, healthy and don't think about me too much.

Love you!

- your paranoid soulmate.

He was still crying, but the weight on his heart lessened. He decided to get out of his room. May was so happy and understood that he needed to take a walk.

He ended up at your grave, Your name was carved on the stone. Peter sat in front of it and lit the candles up.

"Just wait for me Love, okay? and we'll get our date." he smiled.

A/N: Okay, I’m sorry it sucks, I’m really tired and I’m still waiting for my exam results! Thanks for reading Love you 3000!

Permanent Tags: @aintnouseofpretending @just4muggles @heartbeats-wildly

Marvel tags: @hollymac79

#peter parker angst #peter parker #peter parker x reader #spiderman #spiderman angst #spiderman x reader #tom holland x reader #tom holland #soulmate #peter parker soulmate au #angst

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sunshine-n-sage · 4 years

Text

The Spider

July 16, 3:08 AM

Hi there,

I’m Mal. I am 33 going on 34, and it's a shit show of a year in 2020. But I won't get into that.

This is about me.

I am deathly afraid of spiders. Since the first time I ever laid eyes on one, I knew we would be enemies. In fact, according to my mother, I once ate one directly off of a wall when I was little. As an adult, I chalk that up to an alpha stance - that was my room and that daddy long legs did not belong there.

However, I digress from the point

Tonight I am sitting here after a very tumultuous few... years to be honest. In pure fashion of my own coping mechanisms, I sit - alone - on my balcony at night listening to music or the wind. And while doing this, for the last three nights there has been a spider - and I am quite, if not absolutely sure the same one each time.

The first night I encountered her, (for my purposes here, our spider will be female) She dropped down from the roof at about sunset. I noticed, but she had disappeared, so I thought nothing of it. However, later that night, when I returned, she had spun a large web spanning from the chair on the balcony to the roof and on further to the trees in front of it all where I had experienced so many amazing little surprises through these few years.

Because she wasn't in my way, or any sort of inconvenience to me, I decided to live and let live... for now. As I sat there, she didn't budge. All night. At one point I saw that she had caught a pretty large moth in her web. We've all seen Silence of the Lambs, so you will all understand the mental fist bump I gave her. But alas, my first friendly connection to the arachnid world was gone in the morning. I asked my boyfriend then, and my neighbor if either of them had gotten rid of her and the web and both hadn't even seen her. I assumed at this point that she had become the unfortunate breakfast of one of the wild Parrots that frequent my front trees to bicker like old ladies at a tea every morning.

Night two- Long day, but in a good way. The day was functional, but the lingering feeling of everything attacking my psyche all at once brought me back to my quiet place on the porch. Headphones in, sun down, porch lights on and summer in San Diego- who could be annoyed with this, right? And then there she was.

She reminded me of a cat that doesn't quite trust anyone, but if you sit still enough, they will come and investigate. Her descent from - now the tree, was slow and cautious. There was no wind so she figured to start her work. I watched as she spun her web. I had never seen this except on television because otherwise I would run- but for some reason she fascinated me. The way that she entwined her silk reminded me of the careful way someone would knit or crochet a blanket for someone they love. It was mesmerizing.

Again, I watched her sit for the night. It was a quiet windless evening again and she seemed content. Her take (by the time I left) was about 2 or three small items. I tip my hat to you dear-those are also now bugs not in my house.

So, in the morning, I try to catch either my boyfriend or my neighbor to see her, the sun is barely up, as sleep to me at this point is a mere memory.

She is gone.

Like she had never been there at all and I can't understand it, or if I am going crazy due to lack of sleep. Where does she go? Was I hallucinating due to lack of sleep? Are we just infested and there are a ton of her?

Fast forward now to the final evening- last night.. Again- back to the tumultuous situations in my life at hand. While I understand this is a quite an alluring subject, it is not the focus nor the true bases of this piece, so later on- when the time is right, or this writing takes any progress, we will get there. But yes, once again, I chose to take refuge on my balcony to enjoy my solitude. I won't deny that, like most of us, I am glued to my phone as per usual- seeing who liked the post, wondering what song fits the current mood. But luckily, I was able to remove myself from my electronic reverie for just enough time to look up and see our subject begin her search for invadable space one more time.

But then, as she began to spin her web I saw something completely different than I had any other night. The wind off the water about a mile away was strong - and to the point that I even had to wrap up in a blanket after the sun went down (despite the Summer in San Diego factor). But she kept going. The determination and patience I watched in her building something so fragile, yet so essential to survival overcame my fear of her and showed me how to empathize with her and learn from her. But I still didn't understand how she had made it, if it really was her, and how she hadn't been destroyed with her webs.

In my natural curiosity at this point, I just watched her. For something to do, or to see - if for once I could see real magic - and I did. After a couple of hours, I came back out to check, and I saw her sitting still, just waiting as usual, but this time-still finding nothing in the wind, she moved.

She had started clearing her own web. I got to witness a spider remove her own web - which I didn't know was a possibility until today, and followed by a lot of Google.

I watched her all night tonight, and she hasnt come home.

And now we finally reach the anecdotal region of my story. The spider found a place she felt comfortable and had the ability to make her life work - she was fruitful and safe. She stayed there as long as she thought it would be feasible to her, putting in work every day to not only build her place, but maintain and protect it. Unlike a lot of us though, as soon as she saw a problem that was potentially detrimental- she packed and left. We often find ourselves staying in situations for all the wrong reasons. For people, for place, for normality. It is so hard to adventure to find your place. The place that you know in your soul is yours and will always be your happiness and protection.

Change is one of the most difficult things we as humans can be faced with. No matter what kind of change it is, we are hardwired at birth to accept what is placed in front of us and taught to follow the norm. I hope from this story we take some lessons in the observation of my very unlikely friend.

Love you, do what you need. Being selfish for your quality of life and health is always ok. Change and forward motion is the true meaning of life and survival. Find your home. Find where you can truly breathe.

#stories #writing #life and love #growthandchange #myart

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somekindofseizure · 6 years

Text

When the Ink Dries Part VIII

Chapter 19

Scully waited in the parlor room armchair wearing borrowed clothes, winding a chunk of overgrown split ends around her finger like late autumn weeds, the fur hem of Stella’s wool pencil skirt prickling her thighs. She picked at her nails until one cuticle bed split open and bled. Stella was still getting ready - had spent almost the entire day getting ready - for the fallen officers’ memorial event, but Scully’s impatience was levelled squarely at herself.

First thing this morning, Scully had promised herself she would get it over with. In retrospect, she could see that her plans were doomed the moment she sunk against the bathroom door jamb and set her eyes on Stella. Stella had been studying herself in the mirror, squinting, shoulder blades knitted together under her t-shirt, weight back on her heels. Holding herself as she held everyone - at a distance. Scully crossed her arms over her chest and cleared her throat in an effort to be acknowledged. Her secret was an accidental one, born as a simple piece of information, an unshaped piece of wet clay. Using nothing but time and cowardice, Scully had shaped that harmless blob into a weapon with a shortening fuse. She had never considered herself an artist, except in the field of avoidance.

“My first work event since I’ve been out of commission,” Stella said with a self-mocking smile. She looked down at a jar of cream and she swiped a glob across her forehead. Scully hesitated - she’d get to the secret in just a minute - and reached for Stella’s hand, caught two of her fingers. Stella’s shoulders swiveled and her hand swung with Scully’s like a trapeze act without a net, eyes flickering and then meeting her partner’s in the mirror. Traveling forty feet in an instant of eye contact.

“Will they find me… as I was before?” Stella asked, a forced comedic lilt to her voice that reminded Scully of when she had to resort to asking Mulder how some skirt made her butt look. She was embarrassed that she cared.

“A couple months older, maybe,” Scully teased, then re-capitulated. “Yes, they will. Better, even.”

The secret began to smolder the minute Scully decided to put it off until later, foolishly leaving it to eat the silence like a fire eats oxygen. Now it was hours-stronger, solid as cement, an extra story of the flat inserted between the two existing levels that they occupied.

Scully looked up from the armchair and felt her chin drop when she heard the typewriter click of Stella’s shoes on the staircase. Stella descended slowly, dangling pauses like pronouncements, each patent leather heel hovering over its next step like she expected it to rise up and meet her rather than the other way around. Blouse nipped at the sides pinned by seams to her body like a cloud to the sky. Blacks so deep the gold seemed to swim in it, whites so new they shaded her face pink. On her, a police uniform was a fantasy of authority and sex so pure that it seemed more like a costume than a mandate.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Scully said, forgetting both her secret and sucking of her bleeding nail a moment.

“Bring that finger over here and let me do that for you.”

If they’d had more time, it would have been a good idea, actually, a way of getting through it... Run her fingers over Stella’s body between sentences, feel her out like a bit of Braille on smooth, sure stone, fingers placed here and there along her pulse, her spine, her hips, and yes one in her mouth. Stella had an aptitude for nuance in physical contact that she lacked in conversation. Would it have been exploitative to talk to her that way? Or an act of kindness?

“That’s your real uniform?”

“I can’t tell if you’re judging or leering,” Stella said. “If it’s the latter, please make that clear and let’s skip the party.”

“You keep calling it that. Party.”

“Because it is a party, darling. We’re having alcohol and we put on high heels.”

“You partake of both those things every day.”

“You don’t.”

Scully smiled despite herself. Stella was square-shouldered in the foyer mirror now, one lazy eye on Scully in the reflection as she fastened the little black tie around her neck and tossed her hair. As she did so, the blonde picked up the shine of the embroidery on her collar, a crystal casting the sun for a rainbow.

“Are they all going to look like this? Your colleagues? Underlings?”

“Why?” Stella teased. “Looking for a replacement?”

“No, of course not.”

Had that come off as overly serious? Defensive? Later, in a childish game of what-if, woulda-coulda-shoulda, Scully would wonder how much sooner Stella would have read her, caught her out, had she not been in an unusual state of self-surveillance, so vigilant of her own vulnerability with the “party” that she could miss something to obvious.

“I have them tailored,” Stella said with a sheepish so-what of a smile.

She slow-stalked the kitchen like a jungle cat, stroked the cylinder of a water glass and placed long, inexplicable glances on various inanimate objects in the room, as though deciding whether to consume or spare each thing. Then she sipped her water, made tiger stripes on the rim with her lipstick. There was silence to fill here, but Scully’s mouth had gone dry.

Finally, Stella reached for her jacket and slipped into it as though she’d been recently painted and was trying not to smudge herself.

“How should I introduce you?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“People are likely to assume we’re fucking no matter what I say.”

“Only you assume that about everyone.”

Stella grinned into her last gulp of water and murmured, letting it echo and bubble as she slurped, pausing to swallow in the middle of her phrase.

“This is for your benefit. I’m making sure you’re prepared. People will whisper.”

“I’ve been whispered about that way at work my whole life.”

“There are worse things to have whispered by colleagues.”

“I know. I’ve had those whispered too.”

Stella was unsatisfied. She didn’t want jokes, she wanted confirmation that this evening would come off without a hitch. It was not for Scully’s benefit, not really, and that was okay. Scully spoke as though by rote, repeating her lessons.

“I am prepared for them to assume we’re a couple.”

Stella circled her and collected a small clutch purse she’d left open on the barstool, nudged Scully’s jeweled earlobe with her nose. She tucked her phone into the bag, a bed of tissues and lip gloss, and then held it under her armpit as she put both arms around Scully’s waist. Her face now rested on Scully’s shoulder, the carefully-applied layer of cosmetics wafting like spring flowers sealed in wax, a semi-edible decoration atop a birthday cake. For a moment it seemed unlikely that anything else scheduled for this evening could hold as much weight as that shoulder did.

“I didn’t say couple. I said fucking.” Her jaw had dug itself a permanent residence in the posterior delta of Scully’s clavicle. Scully worried for a moment that the makeup would come off on the sweater, but it was Stella’s sweater after all. “Be a lamb and say it for me.”

“Fucking,” Scully murmured.

“Mm.”

Scully turned to face her. Her neck spasmed where Stella’s chin had left a dent.

“You look nice in my things,” Stella said.

Scully nodded, the guilt traveling like a heart attack up her arm from where Stella held her wrist. She’d always been shit at accepting compliments, so Stella didn’t notice.

“You look perfect,” she countered.

“Thank you,” Stella said with the quiet, simple grace Scully could never seem to muster.

Scully braced herself. She had Stella’s attention, the intimacy of a couple’s last moment alone before a party. She battled the sickening rush of temptation as she considered what to do with it, whether to speak or keep Stella close, to stay here on the safe side of things a little bit longer.

“Come, darling.”

She took Stella’s arm and followed her out.

It had been a long time since Scully had observed Stella in a professional setting and she was mesmerized during the ceremony by her focus. Hands and limbs kept to herself throughout the ceremony, occasionally lifting her chin, a sort of reverse nod of approval at something a speaker said or did. Scully wondered if Stella’s mind was wandering, if she let herself think of the fact that she could have been one of these names, if she felt guilty or lucky or strange for having narrowly escaped a place among these unfortunate honorees.

At the end, everyone was directed to the back of the room where tea lights sprouted on pale blue cloths tossed over coin-sized tables. The room let out a collective sigh of relief, moving en masse toward the promise of small talk and wine. Cocktail waiters emerged from swinging doors like crumple-vested spiders, drawing invisible webs around arbitrary clusters of people. The mourners took part at once, moving easily between grief and relief. Everyone knew their ghosts would be holding their coats for them at the door. It was a party, like Stella said.

And for Stella, it was turning out to be a pretty good one. Her posture was already soft with victory. She’d appeared here in one piece, as herself, had reclaimed her reputation as reliable and invincible. Scully’s ankles wobbled in her shoes as she thought of the car ride home, the living room where they’d step out of their shoes and wiggle sore toes, of how she’d begin to spoil a perfect night. She wondered how many drinks Stella would have in her by the time Scully finally said what she needed to say. One or two and it wouldn’t make a difference, three-plus meant a sloppier tongue and quicker wrists, the sum-total effect of which was generally more auspicious at the end of a night together.

Stella took two glasses of white from one of the passing trays and handed one to her date.

“Chardonnay,” she grumbled with the pout of an adult equally well-versed in self-abuse and self-care. “I spoke to them about this last year.”

Scully laughed.

“People are grieving for Christ’s sake,” Stella went on.

Scully sucked her stomach in on a deep breath and Stella noticed, misread it as self-consciousness. Scully let her, sins of omission multiplying like the empty plastic cups on the tables. Stella leaned in, put her lips against Scully’s ear and Scully wondered if there would be marks on her skin like the water glass, little bands of metallic pink across the cartilage.

“Do you want to go? We can go,” Stella prompted. She fiddled with the knot of the bow on Scully’s wrap sweater and freshened it in a shorter amount of time than it had taken Scully to do in the first place.

“No, no. I just… think I should have worn my own clothes,” Scully said because she needed something true to complain about. “Or borrowed a uniform.”

“No one would have known the difference, two thirds of these people are idiots.”

“They seem nice.”

“That’s the third I’m willing to talk to. You could have had mine. Uniform, I mean. I hate wearing it,” Stella said, righting herself beside Scully.

“You do? Even after all that nipping and tucking?”

Stella’s face darkened as it often did when her memory retraced certain steps. Scully felt obtuse for needing time to understand the tailoring – it was an act of control, not vanity.

“It reminds me of school.”

This was always how getting to know Stella had been, like picking up items on a scavenger hunt: school names here, siblings there. There had been times she was tempted to sit Stella down and ask questions for three hours, take notes and turn on a journalist’s tape recorder to get it all down. It had never much bothered her much; she’d told herself she knew all she needed to know. How to read Stella’s temperature from across the room, hear the switch flip from silent-at-peace to silent-in-turmoil with music blaring and a bar full of people. That Stella likes to be touched, but only by people she trusts, that she likes innocent-faced men and women with purpose, that she brushes her teeth in the shower and leaves cabinet doors slightly ajar, that she likes to dance but only when she asks, that she washes her face wearing a red polka dotted headband sometimes. She knew she could call her for any reason, at any time, and not be judged or turned away, and that when Stella didn’t answer a question, it meant Scully would find it out eventually, out of nowhere, in some other empty space between two moments, when Stella was finally ready to share it, and then Scully might wish she’d never asked it at all. But she didn’t know how Stella was going to react to what she had to tell her tonight, and that made her feel like all that knowledge was for nought.

They were moving now, Stella in front and Scully in tow, sailing the crowd shoulder to shoulder, Stella billowing in and out of conversations with impressive ease. Her fingers trailed behind when she walked, or at her side when she stopped, left an infrared wake for Scully to follow. Scully felt freer than she was used to feeling as someone’s date. And feeling good while she deceived Stella was unsettling. Stella’s trust was a limited fund, one she was using up with every moment she held her tongue.

Stella had stopped now, but the crowd continued to move, and Scully had the sensation of standing still on a boat. She felt her temperature rise and pushed up the sleeves of the sweater. Her forearms turned pink from the friction. She couldn’t do it anymore.

“Stella, I have to-”

Stella turned, pinched a crepey pastry off on hors d’oeuvre tray and supported it with a cocktail napkin on its way to Scully’s mouth. Scully lowered her eyes but obediently nibbled, licked the flakes off her lips.

“Stella-”

But she needed time to swallow and in that time...

“Oh. You remember Ferrington?”

Of course. The girl who had “door-stepped” Stella with the soup. She’d had to twist Stella’s arm into a thank-you phone call, but Dani hadn’t picked up anyway and the voicemail got it. Dani had a date tonight, presumably a girlfriend and Scully wondered whether Dani had assumed the same about her - presumably girlfriend.

“Hello again,” Dani said with a gracious first nod to Scully. “Dana, right?”

“Hi there. How are you?” Scully said, trying not to sound angry. None of her worries was Dani’s fault. “I don’t know if Stella told you but I loved your soup.”

Dani beamed and the conversation split, Stella taking on small-talk with the girlfriend and Scully entertaining Dani.

“Still here in town?” Dani asked.

“Yes, still here,” Scully said and tucked her hair behind her ear.

A warm hand on her lower back, one of Stella’s fingers segregating two lines of cashmere ribbon around her waist, a gesture of concern, of care, of – Scully put her hands to her cheeks to cool them - possession.

“Warm in here, is it?” Dani said to Scully, head cocked in empathy. Her face must be the color of an apple. “So, how long before you go back?”

“May only be a few more days,” Scully said under her breath, wiping her brow. She didn’t think Stella would hear and she didn’t want to lie - had not actively lied yet about it.

But of course, the room went silent the minute she mumbled it and her voice seemed so loud it was as though someone had inadvertently passed a microphone under her lips. Stella dropped her hand from Scully’s back, turned with such eerie cool that for a second Scully wondered if Stella had known all along, had eavesdropped on the phone call last week. She searched Stella’s face for some emotion - forgiveness or fury, anything other than the punishing granite wall of indifference suddenly being erected inches from her nose, limiting her view of all else.

Scully glanced at Dani, swallowed, squeezed her lips together before she spoke.

“I - I got a call from my work and I can’t extend the leave any longer so--”

“Always… hard to see a... friend go after a long visit,” Dani said, turning to Stella, unsure what exactly was going on but perceptive enough to know she should take Stella’s side.

“Mm. Excuse me, this wine is abominable,” Stella said. “I’m going to talk them into coughing up some liquor. Anyone?”

And Scully had no choice but to let her go.

Scully found Stella ten minutes later in a screen-porch-faded bathroom with chipping yellow paint. Familiar in the manner of a fever dream, more unwanted and disorienting for each recognizable reference point - a pallid iteration of the psych ward restroom in which Stella’s consolation had begun their friendship. Stella leaned on the sink with fighters’ fists, blister red with white spots at the bones, staring with chilling remove into the ceramic basin. Scully’s instinctive relief at not finding Stella in hysterics quickly transformed into the panic of finding this instead. She glanced uneasily at the walls, as though to make sure they wouldn’t close in on her.

“Stella -”

How many times had she said her name like that tonight, trying to get to more? So many it was starting to seem detached from Stella the person. A word became meaningless and foreign if you said it enough.

Stella held a hand up and caught her eye in the mirror a moment and then a toilet flushed. A waitress emerged from one of the stalls and embarrassed, fumbled through the hand-washing process. Stella’s stare was unforgiving and lasted the duration, and Scully waited, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, trying to absorb the awkwardness with micro movements.

“Lock the door,” Stella said when they were finally alone.

“What if someone has to --”

“I said lock it.”

“I’m sorry,” Scully said as she flipped the bolt. It was heavy and hard to push, left a line in the middle of the pad of her finger. The irritation she was beginning to feel in reaction to Stella’s behavior was something of a relief. Anything to avoid the self-reproach she’d been bearing up under all day. “It’s not like I want to leave you. But I have to unless I’m going to, I don’t know, move here.”

Stella’s glare set into her like a machete, cleaved her right between the eyes.

“You think I care if you go? I care that you just made me look like an idiot.”

“You don’t care if I go?”

“Don’t be a cliché.”

“What does that mean?”

“You don’t want to stay but you don’t want me to let you go either.”

“I just… I didn’t know where this was going… and my life…”

“It’s not going anywhere,” Stella snapped.

Scully licked her lower lip and swallowed, trying not to cry.

“Well, that’s what I assumed.”

“I sound angry but I don’t mean to. I don’t like surprises.”

Observing Stella’s process of calming herself was one of the more disconcerting experiences Scully could summon to mind, on par with the mid-ride plateau of a rollercoaster, helpless between two loops, listening to the engine click and collect the momentum it needed to throw you off the next drop.

“I don’t want anything to go anywhere,” Stella said, gaze softening but not warming, falling like sleet into the sink. Scully followed it, gripped the drain with her eyes before it could swallow her.

“You haven’t been happy having me here?”

“That’s the present. You’re talking about the future.”

“You know, this is a version of the same conversation we had fifteen years ago after the first night we spent alone together,” Scully said.

“Maybe we’re fools for needing to have it again.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t have had it in the first place.”

Stella scoffed.

“Come on, Dana. What? And just been together?” She looked at Scully. “You wouldn’t have had any of your life with Mulder, your child.”

“I lost them anyway.”

One of Stella’s eyes flinched and she licked her bottom lip, swallowed whatever bit of gloss she’d picked up there. She turned back to the sink.

“Well, I guess I make for a decent consolation prize.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Scully said, “and you know it.” She hated the way her voice sounded, wounded and will-less.

“You speak to Mulder recently?” Stella asked and ran her tongue in front of her teeth.

“Yes. Why?”

Stella tossed off a look that landed like a punch in the chest.

“Don’t you dare,” Stella said and her voice rattled like a stick.

“Dare what?” Scully finally asked. But Stella didn’t answer because she knew Scully knew. Don’t you dare pretend he’s beside the point.

Cold air suddenly puffed from the vent overhead. Scully crossed her arms and shivered with the recognition that she was taking part in an overreaction. She had made many fights in her life worse this way, by trying to manufacture the end before it had lived its natural course, diminishing a drama before it had played out its denouement.

“Listen. I don’t know what you want from me,” she said. “What was my alternative here?”

“Bring it up sooner.”

“And then what? You would’ve said stay, quit your job, move to England, and we’ll go to a party next week? You’ve had this thing on your mind for days. It would’ve ruined it.”

“I don’t want anything from you.”

Scully took a step closer and Stella stepped back.

“Let’s talk about this later when we’re calm,” Scully said, reaching for her. Stella swatted her arms back out of reach.

“Let me be,” she said.

Scully looked at her feet as Stella edged past her, avoiding her like the pit of a natural disaster. The thought of staying in this bathroom one second longer than necessary was unbearable. The thought of not following Stella out made her feel lost and scared and alone in a foreign country in a way she had not felt switching trains on complicated tube lines, not felt getting lost on runs around ungridded alleyways of gory murderers.

She spent the hour rationalizing and emerged hungry and thirsty and calm, her tailbone sore from the plastic toilet bowl cover seat. This would blow over quickly. She and Stella had been through too much. There were advantages to spending most of your life arguing every day with someone you loved. You knew what to do with an hour alone in the bathroom. (Not that Mulder had ever given her an hour alone in her life.)

The lights had gone darker, the crowd had grown louder and there was music she didn’t recall noticing before. She searched the room for Stella’s golden head, eager to make things right. The bar came into view as the crowd parted and Scully stopped short, felt a few bodies stiffen and pile behind her. A couple drops of something cold splashed her calves. People doled apologies or sought them but she didn’t care.

There was Stella on a high stool with an arched back and a strategically crossed leg, talking to, or rather, listening to, or rather, pretending to listen to a male officer in his thirties. Bored and sloping as the moon, leaning on one elbow over the bar, forearm waving its half empty glass of Scotch like a loose clock hand. The shoe on her crossed foot clucked on and off her heel and she was absent behind the eyes, already living in an event to come within hours, the furthest future she was capable of embracing.

Scully threw a sharp glance down at the floor, then moved forward, thinking of the courage of crime scenes past. She tried to imagine the comfort of a flashlight in hand, a gun in its holster, a walkie promising backup.

Stella looked at her as though she were one of the cocktail waitresses carrying substandard table wine and she might as well have murdered her.

“Hi there,” the idiot man said, chipper, swingy, a lucky guy having a lucky night, and Scully allowed herself to hate him deeply and irrationally as she waited for Stella to introduce her. Nothing.

“I’m going to head back to the flat,” Scully said at last.

“I’ll be there eventually. Few more things I want to do here.”

He beamed with pride, the man did, in the periphery of Scully’s view; he was that thing she meant to do! But Stella ignored him for the time being, fixed Scully with a hunter’s stare, eyes empty as the viewfinder of a rifle, Scully filling in the space between the crosshairs, fur up on the back of her neck under a string of pearls. She felt Stella’s focus sharpen, watched her trigger finger wiggle around her glass. And Scully turned while she could still get out alive, bolted through the human foliage of widows and revelers toward the exit.

There was comfort in the predictability of it: Stella going home with some random man to escape reality. Scully managed mostly to put the details of it out of her mind and wondered instead what her role here was, what Stella would be expecting of her. This, she thought, was as apt a description of love as any – wanting to give another person exactly what they expected of you, even when they weren’t looking, even when you were furious with them.

She’d left her shoes in two different spots on the staircase, clothes in three distinct heaps. She’d hidden her phone from herself, hoped she’d had enough to drink on an empty stomach to fall for it, then cried and taken a shower and sipped wine from an open bottle. Not knowing what else to do, she’d resorted to tackling the contents of two junk drawers and a spice rack on the kitchen floor. She’d done this with Mulder sometimes too, reorganized his (overbearing, overwhelming) spaces in their home and office. It made her feel closer to him then, and to Stella now, trying to safe-crack her logic from the inside out, determine why one thing was on the same shelf as the next, or why condoms were in the kitchen at all (though not wonder too hard). It took a great deal of energy she would have otherwise used on self-pity to frame things the way Stella would, distinguish complex system from misplaced item; everything with Stella fell into one or the other of those categories.

It wasn’t until she heard the thick poplin-gabardine swish of uniform sleeves in the foyer that she realized that Stella might view the innards of cabinets splayed across the hard grey floor as a provocation. But it was too late to undo what she’d already undone, so she kept her eyes on the bottle of cardamom, weeded out a yellow potato chip clip, thought of Stella wiping her hands on a pair of overpriced sweatpants while closing a bag of kettle chips she’d stash in a corner behind the red wine.

She slumped a little deeper, expecting any minute to hear strident stilettos making their way to the fridge, to feel Stella’s triumphant glare on the back of her head. She braced herself for the smells, the sights, the evidence of spite-sex. It was Stella’s right to go home with whomever she wanted, with or without the impetus of a fight. Scully had never asked her for any sort of exclusivity. She was good at not asking people for what they couldn’t give, but bad at accepting the fact that they didn’t offer it up.

But there was something other than gloating triumph going on. Stella stood still under the arc that separated the kitchen from the rest of the house. A truce had arrived, or at least, it was within Scully’s power to provide one. Scully picked up a plastic container of rainbow nonpareils and shook them weakly.

“What are these for?”

“Ice cream. Fairy bread.”

A smile ached across Scully’s teeth.

“Fairy bread? How am I supposed to keep arguing with you when you say stuff like that?”

“I’m sorry. It was rude to send you off that way,” Stella said. What she didn’t say was for fucking somebody else.

Scully put one hand on the floor and pressed herself up to stand. The eye makeup hadn’t budged, of course, and the lips were red from rubbing rather than taupe from painting, but the cheeks were splotchy, and the bottom rims of her eyes sagged until the red part showed, as though they’d been stretched beyond repair. She wondered where Stella could have cried. Surely not in the presence of that strange man. In his bathroom? The cab ride home? On some street corner between here and there, hiding in a shadow with her palms pressed into a row of brick? Her heart sizzled like an antacid dropped into a glass - sadness competing with jealousy and anger. Mulder had never tried or tested her in this particular way. The first time they’d had sex, or maybe sooner, she got his undying faithfulness in return. She’d only ever lost him to ideas, thoughts, to himself, never to another person.

The uniform skirt was wrinkled at the hips and the blouse sagged so that it was almost unrecognizable from this afternoon. Scully felt a twinge of sadness remembering how the day had started; stiff fabric and affectionate glances, innuendo in a foyer mirror.

“I didn’t expect you to be sorry,” Scully said.

“That’s two of us then.”

Scully rolled a row of unsharpened pencils that were waiting to be organized on the counter. They seemed so clean and useful absent the frustrated chewing marks she was accustomed to finding in her and Mulder’s office. Stella found other things to sink her teeth into.

“It’s your prerogative,” Scully said.

“I know that. But you’re standing there looking at me like that and it makes me want to die.”

Something in the phrase or in Stella’s voice resembled a distant generic concept of couplehood. This was how most people behaved. They belonged somewhere at a certain time of night, they were sorry when they weren’t in that place, other people who expected them in that place got jealous, everyone felt guilty. That was what a relationship was… wasn’t it? How could she have gotten to this point in her life and not known?

“Maybe we could go to therapy,” she said and almost laughed at herself. Somewhere she’d heard people talk like this. “You know, figure it out.”

Stella looked at her with something like gentle reproach. Or sympathy. Or pity. Or apology. Whatever it was, it was not cruelty.

“But you’ve come so far,” Scully said, turning her face away, giving in, letting it fold like a pile of shirts on her shoulder.

“Please don’t ask me to come any further.”

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

#wtid #myfic #stella and scully #stella and mulder #MSR fic

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vorthosjay · 6 years

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Let’s Talk About Chronicle of Bolas: A Familiar Stranger

Chronicle of Bolas: A Familiar Stranger is out. The Hunting Party has finally reached Ugin’s grave, but more secrets await!

Crucible of the Spirit Dragon by Jung Park

"No, he was the greatest of the dragons, as of course he must be, since he is the progenitor of all of Tarkir," broke in Baishya. She stood on Tae Jin's other side, shading her eyes with a hand as she studied the hedrons with a slight, mysterious smile.

You literally just heard the story about when Ugin came to Tarkir, Baishya. Get it together.

A thought stabbed in Naiva's head: how annoying that Baishya must show off her knowledge when it was Naiva who had shown interest in the young ghostfire warrior first. Her twin already commanded more of Grandmother's attention. Couldn't she leave Naiva with anything?

Naiva is consistently the worst. I wonder if it’s Bolas’s influence, unknowing?

Amid the graceful paintings were carved the claw of Temur as well as other sigils—spirals and flames, spider webs and icy mountain peaks riven by crevasses—that Naiva had never seen before. Under other circumstances someone like her would never have seen this secret place. But she was twin to a shaman, and Grandmother never did anything for no reason.

Silence filled the air like heat radiating off a fire. The shape took a step out of the darkness of the back of the cave, resolving into an exceedingly pregnant woman holding an axe. A fur hat was tugged down over her hair. It was hard to distinguish her features due to the way the shadows dappled her face.

If this isn’t Nicol Bolas, I’d be surprised. It’s the exact form Chromium used. That’s called foreshadowing.

"Nai?"

"What?" Startled, Naiva turned to see Baishya watching her through narrowed eyes.

"There was just something funny about your eyes but it's gone. Look here what I've found."

Naiva is definitely being manipulated by Bolas.

The landscape is a silvery sheet of water as flat and reflective as a mirror extending to the horizon on all sides. Here and there rocky islands like spires rise from the endless sea, each creating a perfect resting place on which to meditate.

"What is this place?" the dragon says and, hearing his own voice, lashes his tail in surprise. But the lashing tail stirs no wind. The waters do not ripple. Only the reflection moves as the dragon answers itself.

"This must be one of the planes of which Te Ju Ki speaks. I have walked between worlds . . ."

In a wash of invisible, rippling flame, he shifts through a blind, disorienting darkness and, after a moment of stomach-churning unpleasantness, finds himself again floating above the still waters and their mysterious aura of meditative peace.

With a howl of frustration, of rage, of grief, he vanishes in a ripple of invisible fire. After a gut-twisting passage through the blind darkness, he emerges again above the dreaming mirror.

Definitely the Meditation Realm. If you remember back to when Ugin sparked, he landed in a place like this. Going back to it like this seems to guarantee it was the Meditation Realm. Although maybe we’re seeing how Ugin percieves the Blind Eternities?

The dragon falls in confusion, opening its wings at the last moment to settle atop a jagged peak. But this is not its smooth-sloped birth mountain presiding over a magnificent, rich landscape. This is a wild, stormy, rugged world only half born, called Tarkir. Ferocious winds greet the dragon in savage gusts. The mountains sing, spilling arias of fiery lava, and the rivers gush in a rushing chatter of delight. The hearts of the dragon feel touched as by home. This wilderness can be tended, not to create the garden of his desires but to become itself, to fulfill the promise of its nascent soul.

So, he burrows into the soil and digs out the creatures of earth. He swims in the churning rivers and restless seas and heavy mires, and each foamy ripple boils a myriad of creatures into the waters. The beat of his wings cracks thunder and lightning through the sky, and this tempest births dragons. Even fire begets living things, splendid in their heat and beauty.

Or at least, this is a story the humanoids often tell as they weave tales about the most ancient of days, for those who witness the dragon's majesty and power cannot help but wish to be associated with its grandeur.

So... what role did Ugin have in developing Tarkir?

He is not confined to the birth mountain or even to Tarkir, his soul's home.

Getting around the whole ‘Home Plane’ thing here with this. Honestly I was fine with it just being a minor retcon.

He walks the planes, wonders and dangers unfolding as he crosses from plane to plane. Tumultuous Zendikar. Moon-haunted Innistrad. Sun-drenched Lorwyn. Sturdy Alara with its mana in perfect balance. Shandalar's verdant flow of magic. And so many more, some vast and saturated with mana, some attenuated shards leached of life and magic both.

Moon-haunted Innistrad is an interesting phrase, and plays into what I think is up with Innistrad a bit. Also love the mention of pre-sundering Alara.

Banners rippling in the wind, Armies march across the plains of Jamuraa. In their wake spreads the wreckage of a great war: broken bodies, ruined cities, and lands poisoned by battles waged through merciless sorcery and the shattering might of dragons. Here and there, flags marked with the crown of Arcades Sabboth lie crushed in the dirt and mud where cohorts have fallen to a pursuing army. Standards bearing the curved horns advance until the proud survivors of the fleeing army gather and brace for one final engagement.

More Elder Dragon War! I wonder how long ago the war itself launched? This is certainly a vastly different landscape than when it started.

"Did you ever suspect the world is so vast a place, Ugin? I have traveled everywhere, no place too small or too grand that I have not set claw upon it. Half of it I now rule, as I have risen from least to greatest. All of Dominaria will soon kneel before me. No one dares call me "least" now. And you are returned to share this triumph with me."

Oh, Bolas. Completely misreading the room like Ugin once did.

They are linked by a shadowy space, a web of darkness to which everything attaches.

Reminds me of this line, from The Hand That Moves:

Nissa saw a world, then tens of worlds, hundreds of worlds. Thousands. She saw this world, the world of Amonkhet, and wrapped around it was a dark sinewy line. That line stretched back through all the worlds, all the thousands of worlds, and she saw an unbroken line of darkness from Amonkhet all the way back to the beginning of the line.

Probably not a lot to it, other than both are referencing the Blind Eternities.

Since that day. The day you tried to manipulate my thoughts."

"That day happened four or five thousand years ago as humanoids measure time. And you never thought to return until now? Never said to yourself, I must share this momentous revelation of planeswalking with my brother, my twin?"

Timeline information! If the art book is accurate and -20,000 AR is roughly the birth of the Elder Dragons, that places the Elder Dragon War as occurring at (or continuing to occur) between -16,000 AR and -15,000 AR. What’s neat is that around 15,000 AR is when Nicol Bolas fought the Demonic Leviathan, and he was a planeswalker for that duel (or so we were told), so he probably sparks not long after this confrontation with Ugin.

What is also interesting is how this interacts with the Primeval Dragons and the Numena, since the Numena would have captured or killed the Primevals around -17,000 AR, and ruled through -16,000 AR. We’ve always wondered how the Primevals ruled and what the Elder Dragons were up to. Maybe this side drama happened while the Elder Dragons were at war, distracting them from these relatively minor beings.

Grandmother grabbed her chin and forced her to look at her, staring into her eyes as she searchingly examined her face. "Your pupils look normal. Do you hear a whispering in your head?"

Yasova is worried about Bolas’s influence, as she should be.

A gleaming, egg-shaped gem floated between the horns, turning slowly, mesmerizing.

You know, we’ve all be wondering what the purpose of the ‘Gem of Becoming’ is for a long time.

What if it’s just a magical focus. The slow turning as mesmerizing aspect has been mentioned a lot in regards to Bolas’s mind control.

By the way, this whole section? Tremendously terrifying as Bolas approaches in the pregnant woman guise.

"I want Ugin."

"Ugin is dead."

"That's what I thought the first time I killed him, but he wasn't dead after all. This time I've returned to make sure of it. You are the indomitable hunter, soon to be renowned as the mightiest of all dragon killers, who is going to help me destroy him for all eternity.”

So... Bolas does know Ugin is alive. What Bolas does or does not know about Ugin is so freaking confusing. We’ve heard so many different versions of this that I genuinely hate Tarkir’s time travel elements.

#vorthos #mtgm19 #archive trap blog #let's talk about

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saligiare · 7 years

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a prayer for a life time (Pt. 2)

» Evergreen

There would come a time in the life of every king when he could feel the last of his days leaving his body; like stone breaking out of an old castle until but ruins were left. When he knew, with an almost frightening certainty, in his bones and in his flesh and in the slowly dwindling light of his eye, that the his last battle was about to begin. The roaring sea that had been washing up the shores of his realm for much to long would soon send a wave too great to escape, and it was going to take him away from everything he was and everything he knew.

I had always rested assured that this moment would arrive for me as well, one day. Then I would turn around and overlook the kingdom that I had built, spread my arms and close my eyes to bask in the light of all that I had created, and all that was mine. My life - and every last second within it - would spread out one last time for me to gaze upon it, knowing that there could have been nothing greater, nothing more wonderful. I would leave it behind to face the wave and do so with a sad smile; for it had all been worth it, and I did not wish to part from it just yet.

Never had I thought that I would welcome the end With open arms Like I thought I would embrace the world That was about to disappear.

Big city lights. Neon signs. Music blaring from a teenager’s phone. The scent of rain on hot concrete in the summer. The desperate shout of a man missing his train to work. Steam rising from the hot dogs sold by an old man by the corner. Laughter coming from a group of girls at a cafe. Car engines. A swarm of pigeons landing on a town square. Taxis picking up new customers from the side of the road. The half faded painting of a street artist. Kids dashing down the road on skateboards. Vehicles honking at them for a warning. An old couple sharing a park bench. Garbage men pushing big containers over to their cars. A young man riding a bike. Women selling cut fruit and strips of meat on the sidewalk. Two dogs barking at each other as their owners cross paths. Overflowing trash cans. A child clutching the hand of its father as they cross a traffic light. An abandoned scarf that somebody lost in front of the mall. School kids with colourful backpacks making their way home. Somebody yelling at them out of a car window to get off the road. Police sirens. The sad melody of a street musician playing the violin. Two happy looking people holding hands.

But also..

The scent of a wild rose. Raging seas. Sunlight breaking through green leaves. Dry earth cracking open. Jagged mountain tops. A bird singing. The gush of a streaming river. Drops of water falling off trees. Icy wind blowing across empty landscapes. Lightning and thunder. Dusk. Roaring waterfalls. Spider webs. Howling wolves. Air flimmering over hot sand. The dazzling aroma of a wild flower field. Insects buzzing. Stars glittering in the night. A sleeping mammal covered in freshly fallen snow. Sandy shores. Steam rising after the fall of rain. Frogs croaking in the swamp. A thirsty tongue drinking from a puddle. Scorched trees hit by lightning. Fish jumping from the waves. Blood dripping from the maws of a successful hunter. Liquid stone bubbling inside a vulcano. Flies on a corpse. The aurora. Storms shaking entire forests. Tiny plants growing from crevices high up, stretching towards the sun. Wandering dunes. A lost cub crying for its mother. Dawn. Baby elephants learning how to walk. Seaweed swaying with the currents. A sensitive nose digging through fallen leaves. The moon. Colourful feathers. Reflections on the frozen surface of water.

On and on. A list of every little thing on Earth that was there to be descovered. There was no end in sight, no way of ever summing up all the tiny details, all the mesmerizing sights and sounds and scents and tastes that this world had to offer. And if you had all the time in the universe to spend, you still couldn’t possibly experience all of them. You couldn’t possibly ever reach the bottom of that list. It was like asking where the sky ended when you stood below a dark starry night and tried to count all the stars.

Well.

But I did.

I’ve reached the end of the list. I’ve reached it over and over and over again.

I’ve seen it all, I’ve done it all before. After that was over I went to see it a second time, and a third, and a fourth, and a fifth - just in case I had missed something, could find something new. Again and again and again.

You could say, being stuck for a month with only one single song playing on repeat every day drives you mad. Two songs would unnerve you after just a little longer. Three or five might even last you three months without conjuring up a deep hatred for themselves. Ten might suffice for a year, if you are strong willed. But eventually the mere mention of them is going to drive you crazy. Our minds always hunger for new stimulation. It is not within our nature to be satisfied with the very same thing for the span of a long life.

A very long life, in my case. A very, very, very long life. Far longer than I had ever expected it to last. Nobody had ever given us a date for the big bang to end all bangs to occur, and yet I will admit that I had somehow thought it would be sooner. That I was running out of time, that there would still be so much more to do. That Amduscias still would have so many more songs to compose that would never see the light of day. That Beelzebub could have created endlessly more lethally delicious dishes still, that nobody was ever going to eat now. That there would have been countless new colours for my eyes to gaze upon if not for this inevitable cut.

I had thought that there would never come a time when I could grow tired of the world.

But here I was. Bored. Unimpressed. Burnt out.

I had heard the songs of too many birds way too many times, I had watched the sun rise and fall until I had grown sick of seeing the same thousand arrangements of colour over and over again. And I had tasted the same sweat of the same billion people so often I could distinguish its flavour by hair colour. There was nothing, not a single thing out there, that was still new to me. Nothing I had left to explore. Nothing that could have sparked my excitement. Nothing worth investigating. Just the same thing, over and over like a record caught on loop.

Some of them dealt with it alright. They had been caught in ther miserable little lives still repeating the same actions when I had already been out there to be fascinated by whatever came my way. They didn’t notice that the world around them repeated itself as well, so they did not care. But I noticed, and I cared. As did others. I am never going to forget the look on Amduscias’ face when he realised it, too.

That it was over.

Over before the actual end.

It has burned itself into my head and I cannot seem to get rid of it. I suppose it might have been the very last thing that had still left any sort of impression on me, for I had never seen it before. But after that, the entire list had been ticked off. No matter where I looked, all I saw were the same patterns, the same repetitive schemes and motions, ideas, personalities, thoughts, arrangements and fragrances. Maybe there were differences in details, a few combinations that did not occur quite as often as others. Yet I could not help but identify the underlying model beneath all of them and yawn at such a lack of creativity. A life time after a life time after another lifetime, and none of them any more stimulating than the other. It was slowly but surely driving me crazy.

So yes. As I am standing on the edge of my existence now, I do not dread that this is going to be the end. I welcome it. No matter what happens, anything was better than this. Better than a prince of Lust who had lost all his lust for living. Better than the sad parody of the great Asmodeus that did not find it in himself to raise his voice for a single song. The world was still beautiful, that I could see. And yet I was touched by absolutely none of it.

Now, the only thing still left to escape this monotony... was death.

#.:drabble #prayer for a lifetime arc #.:Asmodeus speaks

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adriennefrank · 7 years

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Creation’s Song

I remember the first night we saw her eyes peering in our front window. I had noticed the stranger lurking outside the evening before, but hadn’t thought much of it. It sounds silly now. How could I ignore this odd visitor, hanging around outside our window during the middle of the Minnesota summer heat?

When she returned the second night, I called out to you, “Hey bud, look outside this window!”

“What? What is it?” You ran over, your five year-old curiosity getting the best of you.

“Look!” I exclaimed, and pointed at the tiny being, peering inside our home.

It was the midst of summer in Minneapolis. The sun would warm the air until it became hot and sticky. Then the sky, pregnant with humidity and things I don’t understand, would rip wide open and birth torrential rains, screaming winds, and deep growling thunder. Hours later, the cool breeze would gently lull all of nature back to peace. And repeat.

We should have changed our mailing address to the pool because that is where we spent most of our days. Except the ones when I was at the hospital. Or the doctor. Or dealing with cancer for the sixth time. This diagnosis felt devastating. The lowest of all my days was when my surgeon determined it was too risky to remove the cancer and that I should use chemotherapy to slow down my breath-sucking fall off the cliff.

Had I listened to his advice, I’m not sure that I would be alive right now. The chemotherapy that I infused directly into my heart, the very part that was keeping me alive, damn near killed me. I can’t recall how many weeks I had to skip because my blood counts were too low. The poison was toxic to all my cells: healthy and malignant. It was my fourth chemotherapy experience in nine years, and my body wasn’t strong enough to withstand the venom that flowed down from the bag hung over my head each week.

It was terrifying. Time after time I just prayed that I would make it to your kindergarten graduation.

Through a series of providential events, I met a new surgeon. Perhaps even more skilled with his scalpel. At least quite a bit more confident. He offered the surgery, and even used the word, “cure.” How could I not take him up on his offer? An offer that might lead to more time with you? An offer that might give me more days to write our stories. An offer that might allow me to live.

It was a mere month after that dangerous surgery when our squatter set up residency outside the front window. Her eight legs and eight eyes intrigued me on the second night as I saw her dangle from a single thread that must have been tethered the the brick above. I watched as she moved back and forth, across the stone framing the sides of the window. She formed her anchors, diagonals like numbers on the face of a clock. Perhaps like the one that told her exactly what time to begin her creation each night.

I was stunned. How did she learn these mesmerizing motions? She began to dance, creating a circle, attaching her thread to each point of her foundation. Around and around and around. I could have watched that little hypnotic architect for hours. Except it took only minutes. She knew exactly what she was made to do.

I watched for her at twilight on night three. Slowly I saw her lower her body down. I couldn’t contain my excitement.

“The spider is back!” I called to you again.

You ran over and we watched the beautiful silk art she created. I wasn’t sure if I had ever seen anything more amazing.

My child, you were born to a city girl drawn to the tall, lit buildings, dense and diverse population, and four-lane highways that lead right into the fast-paced urban heart. And yet, that metropolitan girl who couldn’t turn away from the bright lights and city sidewalks named you after one of the most natural objects of all creation: a tree. The way my heart skips a beat when I see a skyline’s silhouette is woven with the way my breath is taken when I drink in a majestic mountain. Is it possible to love them equally? And somehow, I believe I do.

Once her web was complete, she would creep down into the center and wait. Head facing the ground, abdomen facing the darkening sky.

“Let’s call her ‘Meredith,’” I suggested. “And let’s see if we can figure out what kind of spider this is.”

I had to know more. I had never in my thirty-three years seen such a thing. Or had I and never paid attention? I immediately opened my laptop and googled, “spider mn rebuild web night.” Through I series of clicks, I learned that Meredith was an orb weaver. Well, that makes sense, fully recognizing my ignorance. We learned that she was similar to Charlotte of E.B. White fame. Would she start writing words in that web of hers? Words like “hope” and “perseverance” and “healing”?

It had been just hours before that we had built our own sign of hope. A paper chain, symbolizing each day that I would travel three hours in the car for radiation treatment. Six weeks. Thirty treatments. Hope. Perseverance. Healing.

You lost interest a few minutes in to slicing up the pages of a Paper Source catalog, but I continued on. I needed the immense path stretched out before me, like a runner knowing where mile 26.2 would land. And yet I needed to take each mile as it came. One day. One treatment. One link tenderly removed from the serpentine timeline.

Each mid-August summer evening, we would attend to the chain and then wait for Meredith to appear. Google told us that she ate her web each morning, consuming the dew and whatever prey she caught throughout the night. Again, this astounded me. Her instincts compelled her to build an elaborate web each night and destroy it each morning, fueling her body with the nutrition it needed to build a new web the very next night. Wow, I breathed.

I don’t remember exactly how many nights we saw her. I think it was around a week. And then one night she didn’t begin her descent down in front of the window.

“I don’t see Meredith! Do you think she is late tonight?” I asked you. Had she forgotten to wind her clock? Was she not aware that it was 8PM and she needed to start construction?

It was then I remembered the rest of Charlotte’s story. The part where she lays her eggs, her final gift to the world. And then dies.

You were terrified of the movie, “Charlotte’s Web” when you were three and four years-old. You didn’t like the beginning where Fern's father threatens to butcher the pig. This tender heart of yours will serve you well as you make your way through this world. And yet, I worry that your beautiful heart will bear hurt upon hurt.

I felt this was all some sort of foreshadowing of my life. Charlotte. Meredith. Me. Would you lose you mother much too soon from this relentless beast of cancer? All the signs pointed to “yes.”

I grieved that loss of Meredith in a unique way. She had become a friend, even though we never spoke to each other. She was someone I could count on each night when my world felt like it was spinning much too fast.

And now it is summer again. Almost one year later. The early heat of June has brought out the fans, pool passes, sunburn, and summer school. We never found an egg sac outside our window. I’m hopeful that Meredith simply moved on to better hunting grounds, continuing on her daily routine of eating and building. Rebuilding.

And isn’t that what we have done? I completed my thirty trips to the hospital, threw the last chain link away. As we are completing another trip around the sun, we can’t find cancer in this ravaged body of mine. Miracle of all miracles.

This summer is different. I volunteered to take care of the flower beds in front of our building. Each night, around 7:30, when the sun seems to be moving west, we walk down the steps outside and I pick up the watering can. It’s weight causes me to stumble as I fill it with two gallons of water though it grows lighter and lighter as we pour into our blossoming shoots.

We started by pruning back all the dead stalks that had withered up over the fall and winter. There is something quite satisfying in that loud snap when the clippers cut into a dead branch. We filled bag after bag with death, removing all traces from the yard.

I offered you a penny for each pine cone you picked up and put in the garbage bag. You counted up to 500. I didn’t correct you when I heard you skip numbers, whether accidentally or greedily.

My favorite flower in our yard (and the yards of most Minnesotans) is the peony. Especially the double blooms with their soft, silky, perfect pink petals so thick you can’t see to the bottom. Our next priority was getting cages around the large plants. Each year it breaks my heart when I see them with their heads on the ground from the weight, too heavy for their stems to bear. The flowers live such short lives, just a few weeks at the end of May and beginning at June, so to see them spend even a day of that time with their blossoms in the mud fills me with sorrow.

You grasped the new strong stalks together while I gingerly installed their support system.

“There are ants everywhere!” you noticed.

Yes, my boy. These plants are my favorites and I’m quite certain that they are the ants’ favorite too. They swarm over the bursting buds, doing their supremely important job as pollinators.

We bought planters, and I chose bright pink tuberose begonias, deep pink and royal purple fushia, and a periwinkle flower whose name I can’t remember. You received two deep-toned marigolds as gifts and decided to grow lavender for the summer. Your choice makes me immensely proud. What six year-old chooses to grow lavender? My boy with the green thumb.

They are all healthy and growing. I wasn’t sure what to expect. And yet, here they are, blooming. Fragrant. And aren’t we as well?

We pick off the dead heads each night and toss them into our own version of a compost pile, consisting of only dried up flowers and leaves. The neighbors compliment our hard work as they pass by. I feel proud and protective.

Once we have watered, I sit on the steps and inhale the cooling night air. You begin your search, looking for bugs, worms, centipedes, caterpillars and any other critter you can glimpse. This time feels magical. Like a dream. And really, it is. I didn’t expect to be here this summer. I expected cancer to win the war over my immune system. Over surgery. Over chemotherapy. Over radiation.

And yet, here we are. Growing new life. Making memories. Paying attention. Learning.

It was a little over a week ago that I commented on the birds that squawk at approximately 9:15 each night. The sound first caught me off guard because I don’t often hear birds at night. And then the second night. And then I started watching the clock. Same time each night.

“Do you hear that, bud?” I asked you. "Those birds do the same thing each night.“

What a gift creation has been to us. To recognize the rhythms, the ebbs and flows, the death and life. What a joy to pay attention with you. To learn with you. And to continue growing with you.

#nature #creation #spider #art #web #cancer #motherhood

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artificialqueens · 7 years

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what does it feel like to be "alive" and other questions to ask when falling in love (Sashea) - Panic

AN: Wow, me? Posting again? I couldn’t believe it either babes, but here I am with a pretty bad, pretty cliche Sashea fic, because it came to mind at like, 2 am, and I wrote it lol. Hopefully I’ll be able to write more (good quality) stuff over the summer, but finals have me swamped rn.

Summary: Shea understands a lot of things, but what she doesn’t understand is the way Sasha Velour makes her heart do that flippy-floppy things. *inspired by a couple of Rupi Kaur poems, all poems used are either a) italics or b) marked with * at the start, Tumblr done fucked up my formatting*

*She was a rose

Shea Coulee could not breathe. The breath she had was shallow and caught in her throat as she glanced across the gallery and caught the eyes of Sasha Velour, and in that

Brooklyn gallery, it felt as though it was only the two of them, blood pounding in her ears, the ferociously bright colors of the portraits around her seemed to dim, she cannot avert her eyes away from the artist, all toothy smiles and bright eyes, she looks as delicate as the roses Shea used to admire in her Mother’s garden, f-r-a-g-i-l-e until you touch them, then they are all sharp edges and pricked fingers. Sasha Velour was all paint stained body and idea stained mind, Shea’s heart felt as though it was bursting, and all she could do was think “Is this what it feels like to be alive?”

In the hands of those

Another hand is already

Around her waist- does that make her off limits? Does the heart care about the warmth of the body she is already embracing? Shea can only picture herself in that other girl’s place, when Sasha makes eye contact, Shea blushes but cannot bring herself to turn away, the strength in her gaze holds to much to break this time. This time, Shea pretends not to noticed when Sasha’s girlfriend tightens her hold on Sasha’s waist and leads her away. This time, Shea does not notice the momentary loose of *c*o*n*s*t*e*l*l*a*t*i*o*n*s* in Sasha’s eyes. This time, Shea hears Sasha gush about the next piece of art hanging on the walls, it feels like she is speaking directly to Shea, whispering in her ear like it’s their own secret. This time, Shea pretends not to notice that Sasha is speaking to an entire room engulfed in her warmth. This time, Shea pretends that she is not thinking “how can I be so fucking mesmerized by her?”

*Who had no intention of keeping her

The breakup is quiet. Or; at least, that’s how Shea imagines it, full of sad glances and mumbled “I’m sorry’s” Sasha has always told her that life is too short to be tepid, but her reaction is surprisingly lukewarm. They are in a coffee shop with Sasha tells her, the morning resembling a water-color painting that Shea has seen in Sasha’ studio, Shea tells her that it looks like her, all bright and confusing and ((different)), Sasha lightly stabs her with the paintbrush in her hand, “shut up.” She’s blushing. When Shea blinks, she’s back in that coffee shop, Sasha is quiet across from her, eyes glittering with stories she hasn’t shared, ideas she hasn’t painted, and tears she hasn’t shed. Shea is mesmerized by her face, her ability to let go and feel so deeply, she picks up one hand and her heart skips a beat “I know you made the right decision, sure, it hurts like hell now, but you’re so strong- you’re going to be just fine, I know it.” She tries to ignore how Sasha’s smile brings back that fire in her belly, how her mind is whispering for her to take the older one into her arms and hold her until everything feels alright again. Shea lets her mind wander and she can’t help but think, “Why does she make me feel this way?”

*You are the faint line

Shea loves Sasha’s studio. It smelt like fresh coffee and burnt pancakes, filled to the brim with bright artwork and Shea can’t help but to think how much this room is uni

que

Sasha. She also can’t help but think how much she wishes she could walk up to the painting girl, not focussing, just making wide strokes across a once stark white canvas, and wrap her arms around her waist, staying close to her, watching her create. The scene can’t help but to make Shea remember the day that Sasha Velour entered her life.

~*~ Shea trudged off stage as the curtain closed, she sighed heavily as the applause from the other side s l o w e d and then stopped. Pushing sweaty hair off her face, Shea eventually exits the venue. She is shocked to see one girl still sitting into audience. Shea approaches her, and finds the girl with a sketchbook open. “Excuse me?” She said. The girl in front of her jumped, almost throwing her sketchbook in the air. The blonde glances around frantically, bushy blonde hair flying everywhere. “Oh god!” She jumped to her feet, “I’m so sorry, I totally lost track of time.” As she began to pack up her stuff, Shea felt her mouth say words she never planned, “It’s totally alright,” She spoke, voice small, “it’s way too easy to get carried away in art.” They laugh. It feels right. “I’m Sasha,” the artist speaks, “Shea.” She replies. Sasha leaves in a hurry, but Shea can’t help but stop herself from thinking about the girl she ran into one night after a show, she can’t help but ask herself, “How can somebody I’ve never met feel so familiar?” ~*~

*Between faith

Snapping back to reality. Shea takes another moment to admire Sasha from the entrance. Watching her work was so entrancing, it was impossible for Shea to look away. “Sasha?” She whispered. She knew the other girl would hear her. Sasha turned around, no longer spooked by the familiarity that came with Shea and her voice. “Have I spent too long?” Sasha asked, concerned. Shea shook her head, “No, but I figured if I didn’t check up on you ten minutes early, we’d never make it to lunch before the lunch rush.” Sasha laughed, and g od, Shea could hear that sound all day. Listening the Sasha laugh felt like coming home after a long day and unclasping your bra, it felt like ice skating in the winter and falling over because you don’t really know how to ice skate, but you love the way the snow feels on your face. Sasha felt like safety and risks all at the same time, she felt like everything Shea had ever wanted the world to be, Sasha felt like all the make believe stories about falling in love were real and true. And if this what being in love felt like, then Shea finally understood what it meant to be so fucking in love with another human being. As Sasha grabbed her coat, Shea’s mind questioned, “Then why don’t you say something?”

*And blindly waiting

The cafe they choose is pretty loud. Usually the noise of the city is perfect for Shea, she loves the way the world seems to shout around her, so full of life and constantly growing. But this time, the world is too l//o//u//d for Shea to speak, the words she so desperately wants to make her mouth say are caught and she cannot speak at all, she is choking on the confession it has taken her too long to make, years of little white lies are stretching themselves across her throat like spider webs, she has to many things to say and the world is too loud, to impersonal, to pointed for her to say them, what she wishes for his the quiet of her mother’s garden again, she yearns to be surrounded by roses again.

“What’s wrong?” Sasha echos through her ears. And for a moment, Shea forgets to speak, she doesn’t know what to say and the moment is all too wrong and this isn’t the time nor the place but the words are bubbling out of Shea before she can stop them.

“ I think I might be in love with you?”

…

Shea doesn’t know what else to say

…

Sasha is quiet

…

“Oh.”

…

It feels like Shea’s heart is breaking

…

Her feet are carrying her out the door

…

Sasha might be yelling for her to come back

But

She can’t tell what’s real anymore

*“What am I to you?”She asks

Shea doesn’t know what time it is, or how many drinks she’s had, or why there’s a very teary eyed Sasha Velour at her doorstep. But she lets the girl in without out question. They are sitting on the sofa facing each other when Sasha asks again “What am I too you?”

*She put her hands in her lap

Shea is staring directly at Sasha, and for the first time since they met, is at a complete loss of words, all she can do is stare directly ahead and hope that her heart takes over her voice again, like it has before, and whispers exactly what she wants //needs// to say

And whispers

Shea reminds herself to speak, to not fuck up the one chance she has to keep Sasha Velour in her life, regardless of what the consequences may actually be.

*You are every hope

I’ve ever had

In human form.

Shea could not tell you who kissed who first. But she could tell you all about the the fireworks she felt when their lips were connected. She wrapped her arms around Sasha’s waist, determined to hold on as long as she possible could.

…

If this is what it feels like to be alive

Then Shea never wants to die.

…

#panic #sashea #sasha velour #shea coulee #hurt/comfort #fluff #angst #rpdr fanfiction #lesbian au #s9

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roraewrites · 7 years

Text

seven

SS Fic - Sasuke Uchiha & Sakura Haruno. A race against time for the one he loves most. Rating: M //transitioning chapter ~

Chapter Seven 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

The ink ran across the scroll, filling the room with its scent. Sasuke pushed back from the table for a moment, reading through his written words before pondering on what more he could add. When he felt it looked complete, he reached to his neck, caressing the scabbed skin in his palm.

It had been two days since him and Sakura returned home from their mission, and the thought of finishing the report and turning it into Kakashi kept haunting his mind, weighing his shoulders down with responsibility. Once he was finally complete, he threw his pen down, exited the room, slid his sandals on and made way for the Hokage’s office.

Dawn had just arrived, and along with it storm clouds filled with rain. The air smelled of the liquid, wild and alive. When he had first stepped outside, he noticed the small puddles lining the streets, the small drops of water clinging to blades of grass and the leaves on the trees.

He hadn’t seen Konoha look so peaceful. Beautiful in all its glory, quiet due to the hour of the day, and straight up peaceful.

He walked in full strides, taking in the sight before him. The wide, shimming sun peering through gray dappled clouds. The small rays bathed his face in golden light, warming the skin of his cheeks. The small drops of rain that began to fall from the sky dampened his face, leaving trails in their wake. When he stopped to glance up at the sky, he felt his heart drop.

He had forgotten that he needed to find Sakura’s second attacker still.

The memory pulled at his heart, curling his stomach in disgust that men would hurt a woman that bad. When he finally tore his gaze from the darkening clouds, he pushed off from the mud from under his feet and made his way towards the Hokage’s tower. The rain continued to fall, bathing his ink hair in a shower of cool drops.

When he finally arrived, Kakashi already had his doors open, the Hokage himself peering out the window and onto his village. The beautiful view from earlier was now a mix of grays, the town being showered in tears from the heavens.

“Hello, Sasuke.”

The sudden greeting pulled the Uchiha from his wandering thoughts, bringing his mismatched orbs to meet dark eyes. Kakashi’s face looked exhausted, dark bags pulling at the skin from under his eyes, the whites of his eyes spider webbed with red.

Sasuke pulled the report from his pocket, handing the pages over to Kakashi and nodding his greetings. He stood in silence while Kakashi quickly scanned the pages, not saying a word until he looked to meet Sasuke’s expressionless face once more.

“You found one of Sakura’s attackers?”

Kakashi’s voice was calm like it always was, but the question raised more suspicion than one would like. He couldn’t keep his emotions at bay when it came to this matter. He needed to find the second remaining person and get the rest of the answers. The time skip from the water user’s memories baffled the Uchiha’s brain too much, frustrating him beyond belief.

“I actually needed to talk to you about that,” his voice carries across the space, bouncing off the windows and walls and coming back to his ears. His tone came out icy, but none of it had been directed towards Kakashi. The silver haired man raised an eyebrow in question.

He pushed past Sasuke and closed the doors before moving back to his desk and leaning the back of his leg on the wooden corner, resting his weight on the surface. He nodded his head for Sasuke to continue.

“There’s another person that I need to find.”

He wasn’t asking to leave the village, he was telling his former sensei what needed to be done. Whether he sent Sasuke alone, or not, the Uchiha would leave regardless of Kakashi’s decision.

“I can bring back the body of the water user while I go and find this other man. He can’t be left to wander by himself. He needs to pay for what he did to Sakura,” he needed to squeeze his fists tight, his voice narrowing in while his emotions boiled over the lid that he put tightly over them. His throat felt tighten, almost as if he had been put under a jutsu and couldn’t quite speak right.

Kakashi’s dark eyes stayed on Sasuke while he thought, taking in each word that Sasuke spoke. When he finally closed his eyelids down over onyx eyes, Sasuke felt his stomach do backflips, the hope that he had welled up vanished.

“I’m not sure if that’s a great idea since we don’t have much intel on the situation,” a hand came to rest on his chin, his eyes showing that he was still thinking. Sasuke only grunted internally, his anger flaring.

A low hum came from Kakashi, vibrating through the quiet air.

“How much time do you need?”

Sasuke felt his eyes widen at the newly found hope, the chance to get revenge on Sakura’s remaining attacker. At the thought, he felt his stomach churn and his heart squeeze under the pressure. His whole life, he had been after revenge, and now it seemed like it was something he wanted once more.

But this time it was for her.

“Two weeks. I’m not sure where he’s at, but I’m going to find him,” Sasuke’s mind is already calculating the time, the amount of travel and how he would extract intel and finish this guy’s miserable life.

Kakashi nodded his head before pacing to the backside of his desk and writing a note. He folded it up and placed it to the side before looking back up to Sasuke.

“I have one more request.” “And that is?”

“I’m taking Sakura with me.”

Kakashi’s onyx eyes widened at Sasuke’s last statement before he nodded slightly. He knew that this was a mission they needed to solve together, by each other’s sides through it all. He never would’ve figured that Sasuke would want her there when he killed again, though.

“I’ll get the paperwork ready then.”

“Send word to Sakura as well, we leave at the first sight of dark skies,” Sasuke already pushed away from his spot in the office, opening the wooden doors and pressing through them. He needed to prepare, clear his mind and accept the hand that he’d been dealt in this cruel world.

“One more thing. Don’t tell Naruto.”

His words made Kakashi chuckle slightly, but the Hokage nodded slightly. This mission would be long and emotional, but Sasuke was already preparing his mind for the outcome, the possible news of knowing that her broken memory would never be cured.

He found it ironic that Sakura was a medical-nin, capable of fixing all sorts of broken bodies, but when it came to a shattered memory, she had no power over this. She’s beautiful, loving, strong, smart, everything that Sasuke could’ve ever wanted, everything he’s ever needed.

The cool drops coat his face before he glances up and sees the shadow that crosses over him. The hawk is already off, heading in the direction of the hospital, and Sasuke is already smiling softly. He knows his plan will work. He’s trained his entire life, endured what pain has felt like.

He’ll protect Sakura at all costs, even if his life is taken in the process.

He loves her after all.

“You ready?”

Her sudden appearance makes his heart flutter in his chest, his obsidian eyes light up with admiration. Sasuke is already dressed in his Anbu garb, mask in place, sword strapped to his back, and his vest straps tightened.

Sakura’s small body leans against the doorway to his home, her head cocked to the side and her mask painted with a soft expression. He can see the low hint of green from behind the eye holes and knows she smiling from the curve in her eyelid.

“Let’s go,” he whispers before flipping the last light off and brushing past her. She grasps his hand gently in hers and pulls his body towards her, their eyes meeting from behind porcelain masks.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” She’s whispering much like he did, her head still cocked to the side.

Sasuke feels his heart swell, his skin heating up from her sudden grab at his hand.

She looks beautiful under the faint light of the stars; her hair glowing from the twinkling lights above, porcelain shining in such a different manner that Sasuke is mesmerized. Her tattoo glows in the faint of the night, reminding Sasuke that she’s an Anbu much like himself, capable of extraordinary strength and spectacular fighting skills. She’s always thinking ahead, analyzing every move and processing each thought with immense speed within her own head.

She’s his woman, the woman that possesses an incredible amount of love for someone as broken as him, and he’s caught in a downward spiral of misery and guilt, knowing that he should’ve been there when she was attacked.

He brings his hand up to Sakura’s cheek, caressing the side of her face with the tips of his fingers. He can’t feel the silk feeling of her hair through his gloves, but he remembers it distinctly from all the different times he’s ran his finger through rose quartz locks.

Sakura gently leans her head into his palm and Sasuke feels the weight of her, a smile appearing under his own mask. “It’ll be over soon,” he promises, the clarity in his own voice raising his own spirits.

Sakura simply nods before taking Sasuke’s hand in her own once more and brushes her thumb against the top of his hand lightly. He can feel the emotions deep within him begin to awaken at her touch, the gentleness of her hands, the caring demeanor in each movement.

“Come,” he says quietly before jumping from his porch, to the roof and sprinting along the tiles. She follows him quietly in the night, their profiles low as they evade Konoha during the darkest hours.

Sakura stays not a step behind him but at his heel, moving gracefully; once they’re far enough away from Konoha, Sasuke can already feel the anxiety pooling up inside him.

He’s doing this all for her.

“We were going to get married.”

Her sudden words startle him, nearly knocking him from his seat among the branches. Sasuke had never told her that, let alone try to bring up their past relationship with her since she left him alone at their house. He let Sakura go at her own pace, patiently awaiting for her to come to her senses.

When she asks him questions or wants to know more, he willingly tells her the truth, coating it in details as he recalls their memories.

He glances as the pale moon in the sky, crescent shaped and glowing lightly into the depth of the night sky. Sasuke’s eyes follow the curve of the outline, traces the indents of craters until he sighs lightly.

“Yes.”

Their last mission had brought tension and discomfort, moving silently through the days at a quick pace, and their nights were nothing more than a simple nod of the head before going to sleep. Now, they shared a branch in the darkness, making small talk while the other dozed off.

The pair had made it to the border. Sasuke started their mission with attempting to go to the Village Hidden in the Mist once more, back tracking and recalling much of what he’d seen from the water user’s memories.

The water user, the thought distracted him, pulled his mind into a state of panic. How could he be so stupid? He promised Kakashi that he’d bring the body back with him, and the thought had already slipped his mind.

“We need to go back to that cave,” Sasuke broke Sakura from the shallow depth of sleep. When she perched up, she nodded slightly before catching his elbow.

“We’re still days away from the cave, Sasuke,” she moaned silently. Her voice was coated with a groggy tone. Sasuke relaxed his body and inhaled deeply. His nerves had been on edge as of lately and the thought that entered his mind panicked him.

“Sasuke?”

“Hn.”

“You’ve been taking care of my garden, haven’t you?”

He felt his cheeks heat up, knowing all too well that she would’ve caught onto that small hint. He scoffed lightly and when Sakura turned her head in his direction, she laughed lightly.

His heart hitched at her heavenly laugh. Sakura was beautiful from head to toe, even her imperfections had been beautiful. The smell of her vanilla scented shampoo invaded his nostrils when she came to rest her head against his shoulder. The silky strands surrounding his tricep and sending goosebumps throughout his entire body.

The Uchiha wanted to rid her of her mask, peel the arm protectors and gloves from her arms, strip the vest and her clothing. He craved to kiss her gently, starting at her neck and working his way to the curve of each breast.

“Sakura?”

She didn’t reply, only rested her head against his arm.

“Whenever-” he started before inhaling sharply. “Whenever we talked about having kids, you always said you wanted a little boy. I would disagree, and say I wanted a daughter. I know for a fact that she would be as beautiful as you. Strong, smart, skilled… You’d make such a great mother, Sakura.”

While he was sure she was asleep, he felt the small teardrop make contact with his skin. Sasuke began to swallow his guilt, the lump rising in his throat made it difficult to breathe.

“I never wanted this,” she spoke softly, “I want to remember everything.”

Sasuke wrapped his arm around her, pulling her into his embrace. She curled up in a ball, snuggling into his chest and sobbed softly. When he reached up, he removed both of their masks so he could peer into her gorgeous emerald eyes. He remembered every detail about them; deep jade, yellow and silver flecks, an iris outlined in the deepest of evergreens, her pupil as black as the darkest night of the year while the stars twinkled in the depths.

He softly stroked her messy hair behind her ear and ran his thumb gently under eyes, ridding the tears from her skin. Sakura looked miserable, lost in her own mind, surrendering to her lost memories. Her next move took Sasuke’s mind for a ride.

Her soft lips pressed to his own, her small hand pushing through onyx locks of hair. She muffled his moan with her own mouth, pushing harder against his lips until he closed his eyes and allowed her to work her lips against his own.

Sasuke repositioned his body on the branch, his back now pressing against the trunk. Sakura’s lips remained against his own, her hands working through his hair until they came to rest on either sides of his face.

He basked in all her glory, the lovely scent that loomed off of her, the feeling of tender lips against his own, her hands gripping onto him like she would vanish if she let go. When she moved to sit on his lap, both legs straddling him and hanging off on both sides, he felt his hands drop to her waist, holding her in place.

“I want to remember,” she spoke softly as she broke their kiss. Her thin lips pressed to the side of his mouth, trailing to his jawline and finally against his neck. Sasuke tried to compose his body, keeping his hands to himself.

When she began to move her hands down his arms and they came to rest on his chest, he felt the composure that he’d built up begin to slip. Sakura was magical, even at times like this. He couldn’t keep from exploring her body with his hands, his mouth or his own body.

She had starved him of this emotional and physical connection and now he craved it, wanted it more than anything.

When the pinkette brought her lips back up and pressed them against his once more, the feeling to compel vanished. He wanted her, but in the gentlest of ways. When her tongue brushed against his bottom lip, he obliged to her movements. Their tongues touched lightly at first, hers running down his, then back up, an awkward dance, yet they both desired it.

Sasuke felt her begin to reposition herself on top of him, rubbing his groin with the inside of her legs had made his stomach coil, his heart thump against his chest. He was sure that Sakura could probably hear the beating of his heart, much like he could hear hers.

When she began to slide her hands under his vest, his undershirt and slowly brush the skin of his abdomen, another soft moan escaped from his lips but her mouth muffled the soft exhale.

His mind began to slip, his concentration fading. He moved one hand to the small of her back and the other to the back of her head, pulling her head closer to his and deepening their kiss. Small groans filled the forest, making the small animals stir in their wake.

It was at the smallest sound from below that made Sasuke tense up.

He removed his hand from her back, pulling his lips from hers and pressed his palm over her mouth, muffling the groans and moans that came from her. Sakura’s emerald eyes flashed with fire, much like Sasuke’s did, but they knew they were in over their heads.

“Not here,” he whispered softly, trying to hone in on the presence below them. It was nothing but a wandering citizen, probably running from home. Sakura nodded from under his hand and Sasuke could feel the outline of her lips press into a grin. He smiled softly at her before lifting her from his lap and placing her on the branch next to him.

“Get some rest,” he places a soft kiss to the side of her head and hands her her mask. She nods gently while leaning into his kiss.

Sasuke feels the fluttering of his heart once more, his insides turning to mush at her touch and his mind filled with nothing but hope and love. His heart beats for her, the hope that they both ride out takes the time away and turns night to day. They continue their journey towards the land once dawn breaks.

Sakura’s kisses flood his mind, refresh his soul and lift his mood. He’s happy again, but how long will it be before that happiness is once against ripped from his hands and he’s suffering?

“Sasuke!” She calls out and when his eyes meet her figure, she’s pointing towards the small village off to their left. “Let’s check it out.”

#ronan rae #sasusaku #ss fanfiction #sasusaku fanfiction #sasuke uchiha #sakura haruno #writing #lost in time

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aliciagaliano · 5 years

Text

Tales of Spider-Jack Noir

Notes are at the foot of the page

...

Someday you might find your hero, Some say, you might lose your mind...

AKA... What a Life! - Noel Gallagher's High Flying Birds

...

Ah, the city of San Franjosé. It's been a while since the gang's been there – well, everyone minus Flint... according to intelligence he's gathering, the disappeared inventor had to be somewhere in the city, most likely in what's now the old headquarters of the Live Corp. It wasn't just a mere assumption of his part, he knew that his vanished friend was in there kidnapped and he desperately needed to get him out because his life was in great danger. Nobody else knew anything about it more than himself, he was just vanished for four days and it was stressing as hell to not know where he could be, they weren't looking for money, no one contacted his father to ask for a ransom, "vendetta" was written all over the place...

Right now he was on the lane that belonged to his former apartment, it wasn't that late at night, but there was nobody on the streets either, he didn't care about it, he didn't need anyone to see him. He was using a hooded sweater as his hands were on the pockets, observing towards the lone isle with the giant light bulb which was off, as if there was not even a single soul inside... he had a tingle saying that was wrong, it wasn't empty, they were somewhere inside undercover, trying to not raise any sort of attention.

"There you have the Live Corp. headquarters, my dear friend!" He said out loud – even if he was alone, biting his lower lip, "I know Flint must be there."

"I have to put a question here, Seán." A voice said from his wristbands, "How are you so sure that Mr. Lockwood is here? I'm sorry if I sound rude with it–"

"It's fine!" He interrupted raising both hands, "You ain't being rude at all pal, it's just curiosity, isn't it?" There was a little pause, he sighed deeply trying to mentalize the possible dangers ahead. "Alright. Connor, scan the building, please."

The sides of both wristbands illuminated as what looked like light particles (that were actually nanobots) detached from them, forming a person: it was a tall young man appearing to be in his late twenties to mid thirties, with brown eyes and dark brown hair wearing a uniform of a semi-formal grey jacket, white shirt, dark tie, and dark jeans, a blue armband on the right arm, on the front a blue triangle on the left chest and what looked like the model and serial numbers on the right chest. The back of his jacket has across the shoulders the word ANDROID, a larger blue triangle, and his model number RK800, half a head taller than the Irishman. He looked towards the island as his eyes got this blue glow, Seán raised up his left arm to see what was Connor seeing in his scanners through a holographic screen.

"The highest point of the building is empty." He said, the Irishman was seeing how a map of the place was being built up too, "The lower floors from the office to the main floor are empty," He kept scanning, "Huh, Seán?" He said, "There is a huge concentration of people in the isle, underneath the building, I detect Mr. Lockwood in there too, but according to my scanners, his physical condition is deplorable. My diagnosis is physical burnout."

"Physical bu–" He hoped that what he thought was wrong, "Are they fucking beating him?!" The situation escalated, "We have to save him now!" The android nodded as he went back up to the wristbands, the Irishman cracked his knuckles, "Connor, suit me up!" The same nanobots got out from the wristbands going all over his body: it became a neoprene jumpsuit covering his entire body, of dark green around the zone of his front torso, the upper sides of his arms, his back to the height of the shoulder blade plus his waist to make it look like a belt and his shoes; dark blue tones under his arms, ending at the height of his elbow, the back side was the same color plus his trousers. It had designs in black of what looked like a spiderweb, logo of one was right in the middle of his chest as another similar logo, but bigger and quite sillier was on his back in the same dark green. "Woah, the fuck is this suit?!"

"It was an update sent before we ended up here," The AI explained, "it's called the Water Spider. It will let you dive."

"Why would I want to dive right now?"

"There is an underwater entrance where we can break in without being detected."

"Ohhh! I get it." A mask covered his head, following the same pattern of his clothes, "Spider-Jack is here bitches!" He quickly jumped to the water and started to dive, from his spider-insignia a bright light that crossed the dark waters towards the bottom popped, illuminating his way. He didn't feel like going any faster. "Connor, what can this suit else do?" He asked, he got indicated to stick his fingers together, when he separated them again, web-like fabrics knitted on the sides as webbed hands, "Ha! Cool!" He looked at his feet too, seeing frog legs, he was completely flipping the hell out of excitement, "But I don't entirely need them, do I?" There was no response, "Anyway, let's go!"

His feet got against the concrete surface of the safety wall of the lane, separating his legs and bending them, he took impulse. Water started to swirl around his legs, going up to his waist, then he took the leap: the water swirling became a whirlpool that gave him impulse like a torpedo, diving fast through the sea towards the isle. It was maybe an amazing sensation that made him feel free, the closest thing from flying – even if it wasn't flying at all... sometimes he wished he wasn't too fucking afraid of heights, he would be able to enjoy more his gifts in that way...

He was diving nearby the bottom, raising sand, avoiding rocks, seeing some awesome fish swimming around mindlessly of the world outside; he got upside down seeing the distant surface and the lights from stars reflected on the moon, it was mesmerizing to see the wavy surface of the water refracting the light and "eating" the rays a couple of meters after. Maybe, sometimes the sea was wide translucent at days, that wasn't the case at night, yet from the deep to the surface, so many people were missing a pretty view like that... then maybe, what he was seeing was what those people who died in open seas saw before they closed their eyes forever – he should stop thinking about it or he'd end up developing thalassophobia (1) like Mark. Maybe not, it was just a fun wonder to observe.

Oh yeah, it didn't take long (around three or four minutes) before they arrived to the feet of the isle, looking to his sides he started to swim in the search of an entrance using the light from his chest, Connor pointed out that there was a bigger facility underneath, the secret labs that Barb talked once upon a time and the reason of why the government didn't destroy the headquarters just yet.

"Seán, I detect an entrance under you." The AI said, he started to dive down, finding a hatch, "There is no one on the other side; if I am right, this is an exit for divers, we can make a plan when we're in."

He nodded in response as he started to go dive again, down below he found a hatch, his hands quickly drove there as he twisted it open... how fun, it was easier than he thought, maybe because it wasn't an old hatch from a sunk ship but anyway, he first looked to his sides as if it was a window where he was getting into, then sled his body in and closed the hatch.

There was no other way he could feel in that moment, and that was pure excitement.

His first solo mission.

When they reached the other side of the large pipeline, it seemed to end on a cubit, reaching a room a couple of meters up where some white-and-orange diving suits were hanging; his spider-themed suit vanished as he stretched out a bit trying to contain his excitement, what a nice way to prove himself a bit with a saving mission, right?

Right?

"Your neurotransmissors as showing a lot of activity, Seán. In the scale of 1 to 10, how excited are you?"

"20!" He exclaimed, "This is the first time I'm going like this and it's fucking alone, and I'm so excited that this is happening! It's perfect to prove myself that I'm actually good!" It's something his AI detected clearly even if he didn't sound really clear, the last sentence was carried with a little hint of anxiety and distress, "And Flint is my friend, he needs our help."

"Actually, Seán, you don't–" He was interrupted.

"Alright Connor, suit me up!"

Well, he didn't say a thing as he followed the command. This time his suit was pure black from heads to feet: black boots, black skin-tight trousers, a tool belt with a gun in its holster at his right side, a large black coat, underneath it he was wearing a turtleneck and what looked like a vest; then his hands were gloved, his head was covered in a mask with the spider web design, aviator-like google eyes and a large cowboy-looking hat with a sharp blade on its edges, which also had a green ribbon around it. On his back there was the spider logo too in a more stylized way. Underneath the mask he seemed genuinly impressed, looking to his hands and his general outfit, taking off the hat and looking at it.

"This is the stealth suit, Jack." Connor said, "The Spider-man Noir."

"With Kung Lao's hat?! Really?! This is fucking awesome! And I even have a gun – even if I actually have no fucking clue how to use it... Anyway! Can this be the default suit?" He got a positive answer that made him happier than before, putting his hat back up he got ready. Inside the mask he could see on his right eye the map of the entire underground lab and where his friend was, from the large paths of hallways that leads to a same giant underwater dome, the ventilation system. Of course he would – no, he had to take the hard way.

Slowly he got out from there throughout the vents (incredibly his hat did fit), unlike the quite dim room from before, looking out through the ventilation grill he could see that the hallways were as bright as the rest of the building with that titanium white, What the fuck with all the white– or light blue– whatever color I'm seeing anyway? He thought, At this point is obnoxious...

"Oh, I'm sorry Jack, I forgot to activate the colorblind lenses (2)."

"Wait a minute, what the– woah..." It took only a few seconds to notice how different (and brighter) the colors looked with the lenses on, adjusted perfectly to his visual graduation, "But I thought they take a while on getting adjusted!" The lack of answer actually made him realize what he just said, "Enchroma (3) didn't make them, right?" His mask retracted for a moment, leaving his hat on as he massaged his eyeballs, blinking twice and getting his mask back on, the lack of response answered his question, "Of course."

Going back to the fucking thing, he started to move through the ducts as careful as he could, kind of feeling inside a Metal Gear game because of all the secrecy he had to have to move around without being detected... it was time to put in march what video games taught him, and one of these was how to be Solid Snake. He let out a little "fuck yeah" with the thoughts.

Even behind the vents, his mask was showing him where the people were, and there were actually guards walking around the halls, he heard some of them complaining for needing to patrol a highly secured (ha! Surely secured) facility where not even a single soul from outside could enter – of course little they knew there was an intruder even if they seemed to have a thermal camera as an extra gadget to detect whatever that could move beneath the walls.

Surely that was (not) the case.

Connor explained him some of the advantages of the Noir suit: invisibility under the shadows like a ninja, designed to be undetectable on radars including those types of cameras because one never knows, silk steps if he wasn't running, bulletproof, a few hundreds of combinations of spider-webs that would make his mind blow away, and a guide's user in case he wanted to check later. The last feature brought a question: "Why didn't you tell me that before?" To then get the obvious realization that there wasn't actually a lot of time in hands, even less when he got an update of the condition of the distressed inventor, so he kept moving.

It could be the fact of being just crawling the reason of why he was having the feeling of going so slow, realizing how it was also easy to lose track of time in a secured facility where the only lights available to be seen was the annoying white lights (fuck, it was even worse with the lenses on), some of the guards he passed by were completely oblivious to his presence, passing undetected; at some point, tired of sneaking in the ventilation he decided to find an empty room and check on the user's guide to see if he could get to move forward faster outside, checking about the invisibility mode. It was a lot of a fun thing actually, when Connor mentioned the invisibility under the shadows he meant it literally, it was, according to the guide, to hide from cameras and other people at plain sight, mostly planned for dim places like underground facilities (of course, no one would've count in something like Live Corp ever).

On the other hand that little break gave him a point where he could take a look to the underground map with more calm to take shortcuts, still keeping track with the help of his AI of the people roaming around the area, it was possible to reach Flint's location safely, probably without getting into fights or anything. They could get out by the same way where he entered, he only needed get his friend dressed with the swimsuit, the oxygen tank and mask and they'd be able to swim away and eventually get back to the island; ten minutes later he was ready again to leave, stretching his arms and body, tapping his hat a bit...

Unexpectedly when he was right about to leave, one of the guards entered. Shit!

Before the guard could even have the time to react, the Irishman quickly extended his right arm upside down as a spider thread was shot from his wrist, sticking on the person's chest, then he quickly dragged him to his direction and with the other hand Jack got him stuck against the wall, just for in case he had to web up his mouth with a little bullet, "Sorry..." He whispered as he awkwardly left. He already used the shooters before, but he never reacted in that way... he blamed it to the panic. Even Connor was surprised for it; was it worth hiding again?

"Jack, my scanner indicates that Mr. Lockwood is moving."

"What? Where is he going?"

Instead of making it pop again on an eye, he made it pop again on his right hand and saw several dots moving towards the dome, he wondered what was that actual point, quickly he started to move again as fast as he could.

On the other hand, Flint Lockwood wondered what was going to happen now. He wondered how long he's been trapped down there, he did lose track of time since he arrived; his face showed several bruises, a swollen eye, the right side of his lower lip was cut, hands tied behind his back while his right arm seemed to be twisted in an uncomfortable position; he didn't seem to have had a real shower in days as his lab coat and blue shirt were dirty and stained with his own blood. They've been "playing" with him for days and all he hoped was just leave; his friends were sick worried for him...

And he missed to have Sam with him...

This was a random moment of introspection as he thought about the many times he fucked it up with her, yet they were still together. She knew that his stupidity wasn't intentional but because of his naivety leading his reasoning everywhere... he's been wanting everything to be a stupid, realistic nightmare, but it wasn't for his biggest dismay; was it the hell he had to be through for all his past mistakes? The food storm, the affair with the foodimals, Chester... he squinted feeling anger towards himself, again his current situation was his bad for not having been careful at the time of leaving the laboratory towards the woods.

And that's when he realized how he needed Seán by his other side, the man with the big dick energy (as Brent referred once) who often manages to flip the coin to a positive side and showed all the support of the world since their very first meeting. He could even consider him as his best friend... always there to help him out with his problems, whiling to listen and help out if it was necessary. No one actually ever cared for him that much, and if he was going to die there then, it was a real pleasure having met them. So, am I actually resigning myself? He thought, Meatballs... Whatever was going to happen, he should get ready.

The dome was different from the rest of the hallways: dimmer in dark tones (which was a relief for a lot of people from the obnoxious white), a lot of dangerous turned off inventions all around the place on different stands with their respective names plus some failed attempts of replicating his FLDSMDFR. The first day (?) some of them forced him to build one for them, he completely refused, he got a blow on his face in response; next they tried to force him to make some more weapons similar to the refreeze-a-fan, something better than that, again he refused, again they hit him harder than before to make him cooperate. He hated having done it; after that they wanted new armors in base of the Sentinels of Safety, something better, more dynamic, five fingers, stronger and faster, safer for them so nobody else but them would be able to use it (one of them was in the crazy food battle of the factory in Swallow Falls and remembers how Barry was able to use it without problems). Again he refused, but ended breaking when the hits became stronger and worse than before, actually, after he felt his arm snapping, swearing it was broken... for now, two out of three things were still blueprints, hopefully everything would explode in their faces like his usual stuff does.

Indeed, the most loyal people without Chester were nothing but idiots, and they clearly needed someone like him to help them get out from the shadows.

Then they tossed him to a chair, making him tumble backwards and roll once as he whimpered in pain, hissing in pain as he tried to at least sit down without his two hands as they laughed, putting the chair back on its place and grabbing him from under his armpit he sat looking down; if the room was silent, a soft wheeze would be heard from him.

"What the heck do you want now...?" He asked huskily, "Just leave me alone..."

They tied his arms around the chair and his ankles against the legs of the same. He realized how the sneaky assholes were aware of his crescent fear and how they were even enjoying it.

"Well, after everything you've done for us, there is someone who's been eager to see you again!"

Again?

He heard footsteps from behind, he tried to turn around but he was unavailable to do so. He was really scared now, trying to untie himself somehow and just run away as fast as his legs could, hide, find the exit, then who knows what'd happen? All he wanted was see his bed and cuddle his girlfriend, have long hours of sleep and pretend nothing ever happened.

"Goodnight, young Lockwood. We meet again."

No, nope, nope, nopity nope, NO! There was no way in the entire universe that voice belonged to who he thought, he saw how that Cheespider ate him before he could run away... the back of his head got smacked hard, making him hiss in pain once again, then there was a sharp pain on his left cheek that spread to the rest of his face, another at the right side of his face as the person was downloading its rage on his humanity, to then feel how there were two hands grabbing his shirt, and a horrible pain on his forehead that even created a bleeding wound. The strength used was such at the point he tumbled backwards again, his seat turned to a side as he could feel the blood slowly dripping from his forehead as he hissed in pain more than before; he was feeling dizzy now, feeling difficult to breath as probably his nose was now either dislocated or broken (all he knew was that it was burning).

"Chester..." He heavily said, "How...?"

He felt the older inventor kicking his stomach, taking away the air from his lungs.

"Yes, Lockwood, I'm still alive!" He kicked him again angrily, making him cough and gasp for air, "And not thanks to you!"

"Stop it!" He barely managed to say it, there was too little air in his lungs to say it louder, coughing heavily, to then feel him kicking his chest. "Please...!"

"You took away everything from me, little piece of shit!" He angrily replied, "My company!" He kicked his chest again, "My money!" The poor inventor wheezed harder than before as the pain intensified to an extent he couldn't handle, "And my reputation!"

It was a lie to say that no one in the underground heard the loud scream of pain of Flint plus the popping sound of a broken bone, and that was the case. That last kick was hard enough to break a couple of his ribs, making him wheeze and cough hard, already feeling the metallic flavor of blood escalating his throat; the former scientist placed him upon his back without straightening up the chair, having this psychotic smile on his face as a crazy bitch enjoying the moment so badly...

The screams that were heard all over the underground were painfully clear: it echoed in every single corner of the entire place, Chester was squashing his chest against the floor, crushing his hands and his injured arm at the same time, he felt how he was starting to choke in his own blood, his left lung was aching badly, swearing it was getting punched – or at least going in that way horribly. "Stop! Please! Please!" He begged with tears down his face, "Please!"

"You think I'll be merciful after all you've done to me, Flint?" He asked in the coldest way he could, squashing his chest more, "I know that Christian and Chelsea are by your side as well... you put them against me!"

"I didn't do anything!" He squealed, "They aren't kids neither stupid! Of course they know what you've– AHHHH!" Putting asides the pain, he actually couldn't believe how sadistic this man actually was, and he never realized either, he was enjoying with every single fiber of his being on torturing him, breaking every single bone he could under the weight of his foot. He's been waiting so long to put his hands on him, to beat him and break him down as much as he could. Why he waited to do it? He needed to see how actually far he could be got pushed to make everything he wanted, if under pressure he would do anything they wanted as long they stopped torturing him... sadly he was decided to not cooperate about making a new food machine, he didn't care, once he had everything settled up, he'd have his coveted revenge. He wanted to kill him right there, but he'd wait til all his friends were under his mercy and his island destroyed...

Retiring his feet from his chest, he saw him wheezing and coughing that crimson liquid he's been wanting to see so badly from him. Since he first got out from that damned cheespider he just pictured a thousands of ways of killing the stupid little shit of Flint Lockwood, he's been seeing it again and again for weeks the blood spilt from the goddamn piece of shit of the blue-eyed inventor, see him suffering one way or another... now it was physical damage, in some time his revenge would fall upon his precious home, and he couldn't wait for the day to come. The underground lab was the best place to hide because it was impossible for anyone to get in, even for the government. They'd never know he was alive until it was too late! At that point, world domination didn't seem as a bad idea... after all, everything he loved and had was gone, he would definitely look forward to kill Flint... for now... he had to keep him alive, then, bye bye!

"Take him back to his cell." He said, "And give him some medical attention, I don't want him to die yet."

Flint got untied, he didn't fight back, wheezing with every breath he took, the ones around him were checking him with portable X-ray scanners, retired the chair leaving him laying on the floor as Chester gave his back to him ready to leave.

"You haven't seen it... right...?" His former idol turned around to look at him, seeming curious, "You... you'll just add... another reason... for Chelsea and Christian to... to hate you..." He was having serious issues to breath, wheezing harder than before, "If I die... they won't ever... forgive you... even Barb won't forgive you..." His blue eyes were staring straight to his green eyes behind those green-tinted glasses, "Unless you stop this madness..."

He knew how angry Chester got by his words, he didn't care, actually he gave a little smile knowing that he dug his grave earlier than expected. In his opinion, even if he was about to join his mother in the other world, he said just the plain truth from his point of view in base of the opinion of his three friends: at a beginning he didn't entirely trust his offspring fearing that they'd do something to him, but showed him in many ways that they weren't spiteful but the opposite, being angry at their father for all he did to him and his friends; on the other hand Barb actually had hopes of him being alive and having realized all his mistakes, wishing for him to be the man he was before he turned into that greedy jerk... at least, he was alive, yet crazier than ever.

There was still time to change, but he wasn't going to take it...

"Say goodbye, Lockwood!"

The people who were around them looked to each other, with one glance they all stepped back in fear, Chester was being totally serious.

"Goodbye..." He closed his eyes and fell instantly unconscious, perfect enough to not feel pain ready to leave.

The old inventor raised his foot ready to squash him for once at all, ready to end with his goddamn life and make him pay for everything he took away, hating to see that fucking smile on Lockwood's face as if he was mocking him...

Suddenly something stuck at his side, and at the same time he lowered his leg to stomp on his chest, Flint's body was dragged to the darkness making him stomp the hard floor, by how hard he hit it, he felt a loud cramp escalating from the bottom of his bones to his skin, making him grab it from his knee and hiss in pain while trying to keep his balance. "What the fuck just happened?!"

"Me bitch!" A distorted voice said from behind, when he turned around he got punched right in the face, but it felt like a boulder hitting him, and it was that hard at the point he was sent flying backwards, rolling on his back leaving him dazed off for a moment, feeling the warm blood starting to get out of his nose. He couldn't see what the heck was that, but he saw his henchmen pointing everywhere trying to find who did it.

"Release the goddamn sentinel drones!"

Hidden somewhere around the dome, Jack was scanning Flint with the help of Connor next to him, having needed to take off his mask when the rage started to take over and he needed air: dislocated nose, arm fractured in four parts, his face was too bruised and stained in crimson at the point he couldn't take it, his rib cage was severely damaged with some bones broken in several parts causing him a type-3 pulmonar laceration that needed an urgent surgery, so at the time of carrying him he needed to be careful enough.

"Seán," Connor called out while he was closing some of the injures with a spray from his index finger, "Why don't you try to use the instant transmission? Even with my aid, Mr. Lockwood will need specialized care. Any sudden movement can worsen the condition of his inner injuries, our only way to get out and fast is with the instant transmission."

He looked to his sides checking that nobody was coming.

"Connor, you realize I haven't got the handle of a lot of aspects of my powers, right?" He stared at him serious, "Even if I already have like three years with it, I still haven't got the proper handle of being an energy sensor and even less about Chris' version of the instant transmission! The island is too far from here to feel their energy, and I don't know if I'll have enough time to concentrate and expand my ratio."

"Well, you'll have to try. There is no other way without risking his life more."

The Irishman sighed as he got his mask back up. Underneath he closed his eyes and placed his index and middle finger on his forehead trying to concentrate. In the darkness of his mind everything started to flicker: the presences of every single living being in a ratio of three miles, from the biggest whale swimming deep in the sea to the smallest bug, he could feel and see them... he tried to expand his ratio, go beyond and find the location of the island, try to feel the earth as part of him, its energy flowing inside him as one... then there was a thing he developed with his ability to sense energy, something called the "spider-sense" (or as a friend of his uses to say, the "Jack-a-boy tingle"), without hesitation one of his hands went to the gun and took it out, shooting a drone behind him about to shoot at him; it didn't just affect the bot, but it was that powerful that made its way out.

With a lot of ability he sheathed his gun again, carefully grabbed the inventor and placed him on his back, Connor strapped the inventor against the back of the Irishman by making an extension of the Noir suit, there he started to run faster than the drones that started to swarm could realize (and that maybe was the biggest dismay for Chester as he was seeing every single little thing with their cameras now). Jumping up and down and using the drones at platforms he was making his way to the big vault-like door at the same time they kept shooting and destroying each other in the attempt of getting Jack, who was smiling widely under the mask. Hell yeah! This is fucking awesome! he thought proudly, It's time showtime! Shooting a spider string towards a drone, he quickly twisted on his axis and tossed it towards another group making them explode, from behind the smoke wall more came, he jumped and started to stick as many as he could, to then use an electrified web that extended to a large and important group.

He had a feeling of more coming from up, that'd mean that the door was going to open. He got really ready for it, from back and front he was surrounded, but no one counted with his cowboy hat: he tossed it, it sliced one, two, five, six, ten, thirty before ricocheting back to him as he repeated, attacking as many as he could while they were trying to either deflect, evade or destroy the dangerous weapon disguised as something innocent as a hat... but he was everywhere! It was insane! There were shootings from his powerful gun, the sharp blade of the cowboy hat and the spider-man himself destroying them with pure brute force, it was like a carnage of metal and loads and loads of precious technology being put down by an army of fucking one! He couldn't let escape a potential specimen for research now...

On the other hand, with every leap, body twist and stunt he made, Seán was trying hard to be careful with his movements and not worsen the situation of his best friend, it was an entertaining activity in his honest opinion, but there was a life in danger so he had to go. He had all the fun his friends experiences sometimes, now it was time to go to the serious shit and flee; it wouldn't matter what'd happen later, the priority was Flint's life and nothing else. Quickly he trespassed the open vault-like door as more were coming, seeing a large spiral stairway that would be translated to at least three dozens of floors, Eugh, I'm not gonna run all the way up! Flexing his knees and going as down as he could, he gave a powerful jump that even broke the metallic floor leaving a mark of something taking off, reaching a quarter of the staircase he made a backflip before he could fall, landing on the handle and took another jump, breaking again whatever was down there (basically cutting an important part of the path) and finally used a drone that popped too close and exploded mid-air as he got to the door. He charged his fist as the air seemed to even compress there, breaking it and part of the wall with something he referred as the "Kilkenny Smash (4)".

The main floor was back to that obnoxious white, but with all the lights turned off which was better, he quickly started to run again towards an exit in the direction that Connor was indicating him. He was ready to smash the wall when a horde of drones popped again, How many fucking robots does this madman got? Gosh, how fucking annoying! He kept going to the wall of the entrance, then made a backflip and quickly started to jump upon them again. He only had one exit: go all the way up by using the outside of the hydraulic elevator. While he was avoiding, counterattacking and repeating he was looking up; at least no one would be telling that he was looking scared, because he fucking was.

"Uh... do I really have to go all the way up, Connor...?"

"There is no other way out, Seán. As an AI who carries their past experiences, trainings and personalities, you have to overcome your vertigo in order to be better."

He looked up again, it seemed so fucking high like a skyscrapper, it looked fucking scary (as if fighting killing drones wasn't), then there was resignation knowing that his AI was right about it... With a great power comes a great responsibility, he had power, he had a life walking and swinging violently on the tight rope on his back... three miles didn't sound too far away even if it meant not knowing where he teleported, he couldn't be going like that for too long, it was dangerous in some ways, so... taking a deep breath he separated his legs and charged towards the elevator, when he ran, the surface under him broke again leaving the mark of his foot and raising part of the hexagonal floor; he crossed his arms as a defense, clashing fully against the drones with something called "Brighton Smash" making them explode as well. When he reached the feet of the elevator he made a backflip, took impulse on a drone and jumped up...

"Oh boy, here we go... Naruto sprint, don't fail me now..."

One of his foot got the surface, then the other and he started to run the rest of the way with a ninja sprint, it was quite tiring defy the laws of gravity, Flint wasn't a problem as he felt like a feather. Up, and up, and up he got, reaching the top in no time; he did another super jump as he extended his arm in high with his fist closed, underneath the mask he closed his eyes, hearing the loud crack from the ceiling made of glass...

Everything went in slow motion...

He felt freedom.

When he dared to open up his eyes again he felt alive, almost feeling like his hands could graze the sky, the night sky was shinier than ever, full of stars salutating, it was even beautiful than looking from the bottom of the ocean... the world shut down in its entirety being overwhelmed by not just the view, but his actual position, as if he was floating in space drifting away letting it take him somewhere else. Amazing how those thoughts crossed his mind for only a couple of seconds before his body bent backwards landing on the translucent ceiling at the same time more drones popped from the hole he made and other many places; he ran a few metters before taking a leap from there, freefalling.

"You've gotten over your fear pretty fast, Seán." Connor said.

"It's the adrenaline doing everything, don't mention it again or I'll chicken out!"

Turning around to face the sky he shot a string against the translucent wall of the gigantic building, when it tensed he swung with body forward with the intention of turning towards the entrance, flying away when it got cut by a laser from one of the drones, so flipping to the front, he extended his legs with the intention of landing on the bridge that connected him to mainland. When his feet touched the ground he started to run away. Boss ass bitch isn't going to let me have another option if he keeps on like this... He thought.

A game of lasers then got all around him with the intentions of killing him and Flint in the process and destroy the bridge so they wouldn't get to a safer place, at that point he wasn't seeing the drones, just the lasers coming endlessly from everywhere as a cage from just one point on the other side looking at him: he saw her staring with a defying grin as energy beams were coming out from all her fingertips, moving them and making a full set of many ones going to him. He smiled back.

He took a leap reaching a falling piece of the bridge, running all the way up and keep going, making a side flip that made three longshots pass by almost grazing him, on a stable ground he kept running, leaping through an almost closed hole as if it was a ring... in a nutshell he was completely overcoming the biggest offensive Chester has ever made against anyone for his major dismay... it was impossible, right? It just had to be impossible and a stupid, crazy dream.

"You know what? Imma fuckin' do it," The Irishman said, "He's gonna fucking regret what he's done!"

"You mean..."

"Hell yeah! Connor, water spider suit!"

He ran behind a falling piece of falling debris as his suit was quickly switched back to the Water Spider, then took a powerful impulse towards the ocean as he flipped to the front and, for another major surprise of the oldest inventor, he actually landed on fucking water! "Beep beep motherfucker!" he heard him yell with the distorted voice again as the Irishman started to go away by actually skating. On. WATER! (Un)knowingly for Jack, he had the crazy feeling that maybe dear Chester was screaming and sending everything he got in a crazy attempt of either capturing or killing him – whatever the fuck happens first. With every mad laugh he was making he was losing a chunk of sanity, but it didn't matter as long as the nuisances were fucking gone, right? He wanted to stomp onto that fucking spider, kill it with fire or ice, it didn't matter! He wanted him to fucking vanish! He saw him leap and fall into the water, vanishing to the deep – why even?

One of the cameras turned off. "What the–?!" Then other and another, the water itself was raising into water stalagmites getting all of the drones in a shot, branching out in water arms creating a large set of technological fireworks... this was out of this world, the dude even had fucking hydrokinesis, he got into his element and had all the advantage of the fucking world... with one of the many cameras he saw the Irishman resurfacing, with his body surrounded by a green halo, he started to fly away as his hands touched the water, to then start to ascend...

"Oh shit..."

He couldn't believe it anymore, it was completely insane... he wondered how far his hydrokinesis could go because he just raised a gigantic wall of water that was of the size of a tsunami directly towards the isle, then the top started to get the shape of a water-y fist that raised up the middle finger as a clear "fuck you" from the Irishman, who still had his arm in high as a way to keep it up. Nothing from his arsenal would be able to stop the incoming destruction it'd cause when the fall comes. Of course there were a lot of people witnessing the frightening yet amazing event going on, while the police was trying to evacuate as much as they could before they could die...

"Behold my ultimate attack: United Kingdom of Smash! (5)" He swung his arm down, the middle finger started to fall right towards the headquarters. Many of the people inside were running in circles as the tsunami siren was flickering on and off, others were hiding under desks or even praying to God for mercy as the entrance of the place, destroyed by the Irishman in his way out was one of the hermetic doors in case of floods and it was unsure if the vault would handle the pressure, maybe yes, maybe not, but it was going to come with everything. "Fuck you dude!"

When the wave fell, it destroyed the building taking away everything in its wave, the water made its way towards the underground where (un)fortunately the secured door managed to keep them safe, trapped for some time as there wasn't a real way to get out asides of that little room with a limited stock of diving suits, the specialized machinery that builds anything they need was upstairs and destroyed as well, so... they wouldn't be a problem for some time (hopefully, forever), it'd mean peace for an undefined amount of time (months, or just mere weeks as there was no actual way to tell what was left) and it'd give time Flint to heal properly enough. Leftovers of technology were coming afloat as other parts sunk, parts of the drones scattered in the water mixed with the debris of the bridge and the building...

The Irishman landed on the wet lane happy that there wasn't a severe damage for the coast city than just water; his body was trembling now that all the shit was over, letting all the adrenaline flow and get a proper break... Flint was still on his back, breathing slow, steady and stable.

"You've done an amazing job, Jack." Connor said, popping next to him, "I'm sure he would be proud..."

His mask wore off as he looked at his friend with a glint in his blue eyes as if he was a child.

"You think so...?" His friend nodded in response with a smile, "I'll definitely gonna tell them when we're back, then!" There was a soft chuckle by the side of the android, "Alright, it's time to go I guess..." Again he placed his two fingers on his forehead and closed his eyes, popping his mask back on, facing to the east trying to focus. Come on... He thought, You can do it, just focus, try to do what he told you: visualize the place as much as you can...

"Uh, Seán...?" His friend ignored him as he was giving him his back, looking to catch the energy of the island and perform the instant transmission, "Jack, this is important." He got ignored again, he had to shake his shoulder to make him turn annoyed and point to a side above the ocean showing a damaged drone that was still working, aiming with pretty much every single weapon remaining.

"Fucking dumbass..."

Trapped down there in his underground, Chester was laughing like a madman ready to try to kill them once again by using the manual mode, losing chunks of sanity with every laugh, pretty much everyone behind him were just staring at their boss thinking that it'd been better to stay at home that night. A few holographic buttons were glowing on and off as a signal of be ready to be used: missiles, laser guns, needles, chainsaws, normal guns, tear gas, laughing gas, feathers (what the fuck?)... all of them pointing to his face. By one side there was the Irishman just staring, still with the fingers on his forehead as he amazingly didn't lose the entire focus, on the other side there was the mad scientist getting a microphone ready.

"Are you ready to die spider-bitch?!" He asked out of his mind, contrasting his usual chillness.

"Uh, yeah, maybe?"

"Then say goodbye you fucker!"

"Well, goodbye fucker!"

That's when all his arsenal was shot over and over again until he ran out of ammo, giving hysterical laughs and smashing mostly the missiles, creating a big explosion, a wall of dust and clearly bringing on the attention of the police force which sirens could be heard in the distance. Even with all the crazy amount of shit he shot, there still had to be a dismembered and barely recognizable body – three bodies counting the taller friend next to him, when the dust faded away there was nothing but a large crater and nothing else... did he actually disintegrate them?!

The camera bounced a bit, for a brief second his eyes could see a shadow onto the drone and he went bananas, sadly it was too late when he realized as the transmission cut short. It was game over for him.

At the same time the Irishman, with his hand trespassed the hard metal of the robot like paper and ripped off the core making it instantly fall at the same time he safely landed back, "Jackass." Now, where was he? Oh, right. He focused again, managing to get more of the handle of sensing the energy, going far to the east coast, crossing the ocean, until he finally reached the shore of the island, the town and finally Sparkswood... it was like in his mind he could see the shapes of all his friends in the darkness, pretty much everyone were awake minus Brent and Barb... he wondered if they realized he was gone, maybe not... he swiped his mind outside Sparkswood Labs, he would leave Flint at the entrance, they had medical support and he didn't trust in the security of the hospital so, it was for the best and to protect his best friend, right?

He didn't flinch at the sounds of sirens coming closer to his location, completely trying to keep his focus and his mind clear from external influences; for a moment his body seemed to flicker, then became blurry, and finally at the same time the patrols arrived he was gone...

When he appeared he was in front of the laboratories, jumping inside in joy as he managed to do it; carefully his suit released the straps that were holding the inventor on his back making his body fall, being held by the Irishman who carefully placed him down, happy that the madness was over for now, happy to know that his friend was going to get treated and could recover from all the damage... he stared to his friend for a while, then made the bell of the front door ring as he extended his arm up to a tree and stood there for a moment switching back to stealth mode. Sam was the one who came out curious to know who the hell was coming at fucking 2 A.M., when she saw her boyfriend lying on the ground motionless she drove her hands over her mouth with a muffled gasp and called out for help, it didn't take any long before all their friends arrived to check, with Earl quickly pulling Flint up and rushing inside yelling to Manny to get ready to do his job, before she rushed back inside she looked everywhere trying to see if there was anybody else around, as if someone was watching from the shadows. Even if their eyes connected, she didn't see him, as that happened, she rushed back inside, letting Jack take a deep sigh in response.

Without saying anything he swung his way back to his room in the second floor, feeling glad that he left the large awning window open as he slid under the glass; once his feet touched solid floor, without commands Connor unsuited him, showing a tired Seán that seemed to still being processing all that happened in the last thirty (yes) minutes of his life. He sat at the verge of his bed looking outside, his heart racing against his chest and his skin going paler than it already was. Even if he already did let all the adrenaline flow before, there were things that he still didn't process like having jumped from the roof of what'd be considered as a skyscrapper (as there wasn't a real definition of such in terms of height, it could be considered as one for standing out the rest of the buildings around the coast, and most of them were on hills so many buildings didn't count). The memories of that event were quite fuzzy, everything happened so fast, he reacted mostly by instinct, but the thing he remembered so clearly was that moment when he broke free.

In that moment everything went away, he was floating looking to the sky full of stars as they seemed to be flickering back at him as a salute, it felt like floating in outer space, it just felt crazily amazing, and he would like to repeat that feeling again...

"For a brief time you inhibited your vertigo and did awesome things, Jack." Connor said, snapping him back to reality, he looked at him, the AI started to walk around the room, "You'll have to work more to get over them for good, that's the only way you will be able to enjoy it to full." He took a coin that was on the computer desk, starting to pass it from hand to hand separated in a considerable distance really fast, "Is not just letting the thrill do all the job for you, but taming them as well, keep your head cool and improve your abilities." Then the AI caught the coin between his index and middle finger by its sides, showing the tail of the coin, "You might need a training plan." He pushed the coin out of between his fingers making it land on his knuckle, then started to flip it across the knuckles of his right hand.

"Heh, you really sounded like him this time..."

The soft clink of the coin was audible as he used his thumb to throw it in the air, then caught it back, flipping it a few more times.

"You know who programmed me. They didn't just make me the android sent by CyberLife, but also a bit of them. A bit of him..."

Knock, knock, knock!

"Seán! Wake up!" It was Sam, "Someone brought Flint back! Come soon!"

"Alright, I'm going in a while!" He replied, when he heard her going away he looked at Connor, "Well, get back into the wristbands. We gotta go."

Standing up he stretched up his body ready to leave, his AI followed the command as he returned to the wristbands and headed to the medical bay.

It didn't matter a lot what Chester V could be planning underwater right now, how he would come back with a sweeter revenge upon the island and everyone who turned their back to him; all that mattered was stick to the momentary peace that was peeking for an undefined amount of time. If he had to fool his plans back again he would do it gladly, but for now, now that everything was back to its place he just wanted to take a nap and sleep for hours, later they would see how to raise and improve the security around the area and around the island itself.

Dangers maybe were ahead, and he was going to be ready for it.

...

(1) Thalassophobia: Fear of the ocean.

(2): If someone doesn't about this, Jack said several times he's slightly colorblind. Even if I tried to figure out which kind of colorblindness he got (there are three, then a fourth, really odd one where you see in achromatic colors), I'm still not sure what is it actually so I found myself improvising some points. I'm sorry it is just silly me nitpicking with details (probably a lot) and stuff, that's why I'm pointing it out.

Seán if you ever see this, I really tried.

(3): Enchroma is a brand that sells glasses for colorblind people.

(4): Sorry for my laziness but I'll assume that the reference is quite obvious.

(5): I suddenly thought about this when I was going off to sleep and thought it was hilariously stupid and I feel it as something Jack would actually do (maybe not but it’s fair to dream). Maybe this isn't the ultimate attack and he said it to scare them, but who knows, maybe there is actually more... ... Author's Note: Some of you might be wondering "what the fuck is this shit here?!" Well this is maybe one of the randomnest ideas I've had in a very long while from a story I was writing, but as I had no idea how to tie-in everything to this point and two or three other parts that's been stuck in my head I decided to post it here because they needed to get OUT of my brain. That's why there are many losen points here. My actual intention was publish it this last week, but I found myself in troubles near the end because I was having issues in putting all of the ideas right which ended up leading me to laziness plus college sucks my creativity away plus I'm tired all the time <s>plus I've been slacking off by playing minecraft</s>, and it's a very common problem I face when I'm ending a chapter or story or whatever (and it's horrible). This weird-ass thing will have two or three more parts but I don't know if they're coming out anytime soon... if I don't die first maybe m8. There are things that probably didn't come as good as I expected them to be, but I get often confused when I try to change them as the ideas either swap, gets lost or just completely messes up so... sorry if there aren't good parts lmao. If there are typos I'm sorry, English is not my first language. ... Disclaimers: Cloudy With A Chance of Meatballs 2 (c) Sony Pictures Animation Spiderman (c) Marvel Detroit: Become Human (c) Quantic Dream/Sony Interactive Entertainment JackSepticEye/Seán McLoughlin belongs to himself The only things I actually own is this weird-ass piece of fanfic and the Water Spider suit.

#jacksepticeye #fanfic #spiderman #spiderman noir #my imagination and i #cwacom #cloudy #cloudy with a chance of meatballs #detroit become human #connor #au #i can't think of anymore tags #im tired #fuck

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