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h-styles-babes · 5 years

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ONE

It had been a year since Anastasia had even been in the same room as him.

A year since he’d sat her down and told her that maybe them not being together anymore was for the best. His life was too crazy for him to even really handle, and he felt it was unfair to her to have such a strain on their relationship. Never mind that they’d been in said relationship for nearly two years already and had been friends for nearly a decade more. And at the time, she’d understood his want to not ruin their friendship with heartbreak and fights and nasty words that might come down the road. That didn’t mean her heart hadn’t broken when they’d said their final goodbyes to each other, sharing a last kiss before Harry left her flat. But it was the sort of heartbreak that she could live with because they’d agreed to still be there for each other when they needed it.

Of course, that hadn’t happened. She’d not heard a peep out of him since he walked out of her little home in the center of London.

She figured it wouldn’t have hurt so bad if she hadn’t seen the tabloids with his face splashed across them, his arms wrapped around a certain American model/reality TV star just a few months later. He’d not even told her of the hiatus the band was slated for, though there was no way he hadn’t known about it himself at that point. So, yeah, she was absolutely livid to see him having the time of his life on a yacht in St. Bart’s with the reality princess who thought she stood a chance in the modeling business because her family was famous for absolutely nothing and infamous for just about everything else.

If Harry had tried to get into contact with her after that, she wouldn’t have known, because she changed her number, and blocked him from her social media sites, and sent his emails straight to junk if he ever tried to reach her that way. She’d heard from her mum once around his birthday that he had been back to Holmes Chapel and was asking after her, but her mum knew how she felt about him. She’d been polite in saying that Sia was doing well, working in London and slated for a promotion. When he’d asked for her new number, her mother, bless her, had declined, citing that it wasn’t a good idea. She’d said he understood, but Sia wasn’t quite sure if that was the whole story. It didn’t matter, really.

Anastasia did end up with that promotion, which sent her to LA for at least a year. She’d panicked at first, knowing that Harry had a semi-permanent residence there, but she realized that the likelihood of them running into each other was just about as good as her meeting Elvis. LA was big and she was low man on the totem pole in her line of work—which just so happened to be pretty close to Harry’s—and she was sure she wouldn’t be trusted on projects with someone as big as Harry Styles, so there was no reason for their paths to ever cross.

Except they did, around late August. She’d had a blissful five months of living in LA without seeing hide nor hair of her ex-boyfriend/ex-best friend, and she had counted her lucky stars each day that she got by unscathed. But, when it finally came to the time where she saw him in a pub on a random Saturday night—the only respectable pub in a twenty mile radius of her home—she knew her luck had run out.

She froze as she entered the bar, seeing his recently shorn locks—which were a bit of a shock to her, since she’d avoided anything involving Harry Styles since she’d seen that God forsaken article about him on the yacht—tucked into a booth in the corner, surrounded by a few other lads who’s faces looked vaguely familiar. She had a feeling she knew one of them from a telly program she used to watch back in the UK, but she couldn’t be quite sure in the dim lighting of the room. She quickly contemplated walking right back out of the building and not looking back, but she’d be damned if she let him scare her from the one place she found solace on her weekends. She’d been coming here since she moved to America, and she’d drop dead before she let the likes of him run her off.

She shook herself out of it quickly, and made her way to the bar, slinking herself down into an empty stool, as far away from Harry as possible, not facing him, so on the off chance that he’d glance up, he’d not see her face. She ordered two shots of tequila right off the bat, the bartender, who she’d gotten to know pretty well over the last few months, raised an eyebrow at her request, but fulfilled it anyway. Sia was typically a pint sort of girl, from years of being around Harry’s bandmates and her own parents enjoying a pint on the weekends, but she needed something stronger to ease her nerves. Pints were for when she was ready to wind down from a long work week. Liquor was for trying to calm her nerves after seeing her ex for the first time in a year in a random pub in LA.

She threw back the two shots quickly, wiping the corners of her mouth where a little dribbled out. She pushed the two glasses back from her and the bartender shook a pint glass at her, asking silently if she’d like her regular now.

Suddenly hearing Harry’s boisterous laugh in the corner set her on edge all over again, her shoulders raising up protectively around her ears. She bore down on her teeth as she glanced over, seeing his head tossed back, mouth open in laughter.

God, he’s still so fucking beautiful, she thought bitterly.

Turning back to the bartender, she shook her head. “Martini, please. Strong.”

“One of those nights, huh?” he asked, a sad little smile on her face as he poured the liquor in a tumbler.

“It wasn’t until about ten minutes ago,” she grumbled, throwing a pointed glare toward Harry’s table. They had quieted down again, but Harry was still grinning, that grin that used to set Anastasia’s heart into a tizzy and make her grin back at him, stupidly in love.

“You got a problem with those lads?” he asked, pouring Sia’s drink into a martini glass, spearing two olives into it. The bartender—Eric—was a Scotland native relocated to LA when his wife’s job called for it. He was the only person in LA who Sia had met that she could relate to when talking about home. Sure they weren’t from the same place, exactly, but he still held his roots, like Anastasia, as opposed to other people from the UK she’d met that would rather act like home no longer meant anything to them.

“Not all of ‘em, no,” she shook her head, offering him a wry smile as she accepted her drink. “Just the one at the end facin’ this way.”

“Old one night stand?” he guessed while pouring a beer for the customer next to her.

She shook her head with a scoff. “I wish. Best friend turned boyfriend, turned ex-boyfriend turned ex-best friend.”

“Ouch,” he hissed, making a wounded look with his face.

Anastasia gave a humorless chuckle as she sipped at the strong drink. “I know. Haven’t even seen his face in a year.”

“He’s that Styles lad, right? From that boyband?”

“The one and only,” she confirmed, nodding solemnly. “Told me it was better we weren’t together ‘cause him bein’ away wasn’t fair to me or our relationship. Few months later, I see his mug pasted all over mags lovin’ on that model girl. Proper kicked him out of my life after that.”

“Jesus, darlin’,” Eric whistled. “Surprised yeh stuck around after seein’ him when yeh walked in here.”

She sighed, pulling the speared olives out of her drink. “Me too, but this is my spot. He can’t have it.” She pulled one off and popped it in her mouth, chewing and swallowing before continuing. “Twat gets everything else he wants. This is mine, though. Long as he doesn’t see me, we’re good.”

Eric began nodding as Anastasia popped the second olive in her mouth. His eyes trailed over to the table her ex was sat at, only to see that the lad’s eyes were trained on her, brows furrowed and mouth popped open in some expression he couldn’t decipher. He didn’t want to burst her bubble, but he felt he owed it to her to warn her that there was a very real possibility that he’d be disrupting her peace.

“Hate to break it to yeh, love, but he’s looking right at yeh with this dumb expression on his face.” He watched from the corner of his eyes, pouring another mug of draught, as Harry craned his neck trying to get a better look at the woman sitting at the bar. “Think he’s tryin’ t’ decide if it’s actually you.”

Anastasia, against her better judgement, peeked over her shoulder, looking right into Harry’s searching eyes. She whipped her head back forward, hunching her shoulders again. “Fuck,” she spit, quickly picking up her glass and downing the rest of the drink. “Shouldn’t’ve done that.”

“He’s comin’ over here,” Eric warned, keeping his eyes on the glass he was drying in his hand.

“Bloody perfect,” she huffed under her breath. She fixed her gaze on the bar top, hoping that if she kept her head down, Harry’d get the hint and walk away without talking to her. She’d cut him out of her life for a reason, and he had to realise that. He was daft sometimes, but he wasn’t a fucking imbecile.

Anastasia felt when Harry dropped into the empty barstool next to her, the energy that he carried around with him washing over her and making the hairs on her arms stand on end. She could smell him, too, the same scent that always lingered on his skin—the same body wash he’d been using for years, the same laundry softener that she knew Anne had been washing his clothes with since they were kids, and the Tom Ford cologne he’d taken to around his nineteenth birthday. She hated that she knew so much about someone who felt like a perfect stranger to her now, but she couldn’t help all the innate knowledge she held about him. They’d known each other since primary, for crying out loud. She was bound to know all these things about him. It didn’t help the ache in her chest at being so close to him, though.

“Sia,” he breathed out, his deep voice startling her. She hadn’t heard his voice since this time last year, when he’d whispered one last goodbye against her mouth before walking out the front door of her flat.

“Styles,” she acknowledged with a single nod of her head, not looking up at him. She couldn’t. She wasn’t ready for that. She used his last name in greeting to keep things impersonal. She’d called him H or Haz for most of their lives. He didn’t deserve the nickname. She was sort of upset that he’d even used her nickname, the one he’d given her long before Sia the musician had become known. The first time they’d met, he’d said that Anastasia was a mouthful, and when she’d expressed her disdain of the nickname Ana, he’d started calling her Sia. Now everyone called her Sia, even her parents.

“What are yeh doin’ here?” Harry asked, confusion clear in his voice.

Sia snorted at his question. She nodded her head in thanks when Eric placed a full pint in front of her, obviously sensing that she needed more alcohol. “I’m having a few drinks. What are you doing here?”

“Didn’t mean the bar,” he quickly amended. “I meant America. LA.”

“I live here,” she shrugged, taking a sip of her beer, swiping her tongue across her top lip where some of the head had stuck to her skin.

“Since when? Last time I saw your mum, she didn’t say anythin’ about it.”

Sia finally peeked a look at him from the corner of her eyes, watching as he dragged his hand through his hair. It was a habit he’d had for as long as she could remember, but it was strange seeing him do it when his hair was so short. For the last four years of their friendship, he’d been growing it out, and now it was the shortest she’d seen it since their early years of secondary.

“When’d yeh last see my mum?” she asked, curious since her mother hadn’t mentioned anything about Harry the last time they’d spoken just a few days ago.

“About a month ago. Was filming near home and stopped in for the weekend. She was round my parents’ house when I showed up.”

Sia was slightly affronted that her mother hadn’t mentioned anything, but then, she thought it was maybe for the best that she hadn’t. Even the mention of Harry’s name out of anyone’s mouths made her a little uneasy, and she was sure her mother knew that.

“Been living here since March,” she supplied. She took another sip of her beer. “Working with a producer that’s based here. Choice was easy.”

She saw Harry’s eyebrows shoot up, his eyes sparkling with an excitement. He knew how much that opportunity meant to her, to be able to work with a music producer, doing what she loved and what she’d gone to school for. Her mum hadn’t said anything to him about Sia getting a job in the industry, so this was amazing news for him.

“Yeah? That’s great! Who’s the producer?”

She rolled her eyes at his enthusiasm. As far as she was concerned, he didn’t get to be excited for her anymore. When she’d heard from Anne about him landing the role on the new Nolan film, she’d rolled her eyes in her head and sipped at her tea, offering his mum a hum that she hoped didn’t seem too rude. She loved Anne, but she knew her son had broken something inside of the girl, so she wasn’t too surprised by her lackluster reaction.

“Does it matter?” she asked.

Harry’s face dropped instantly, brows furrowing, lips frowning. “I mean…”

“Just stop,” she urged, pushing back her barely touched pint. She grabbed her purse from her lap and dug around for some bills to cover her tab. “This is weird. Stop acting like everythin’ is normal.” She stood and tossed the money on the bar top, sending a nod at Eric, who was at the other end of the bar, tending to someone else but keeping his eyes on Sia. He nodded back, acknowledging her thanks and goodbye.

“I’m so—”

“Don’t apologize, Styles,” she warned, slinging her purse over her shoulder. “Little too late for that, don’t yeh think?” Sia turned to walk away from him, hating the way her heart squeezed in her chest. She clenched her teeth against the tears that were threatening to collect in her eyes. She’d been in his presence for two minutes, and a year’s worth of built defenses and hardened exteriors was crumbling. She hated him for making her feel like this.

“Wait, Sia,” he called, hopping up from his seat to follow after her. “Lemme walk yeh home. It’s dark out.”

“Don’t fuckin’ bother. Been gettin’ by fine on my own. Yeh don’t need to pretend to care now, Harry.”

The door to the bar slammed behind her before Harry could even open his mouth to form a rebuttal.

#Harry Styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles angst #harry styles fic #harry styles writing #the long road home #TLRH

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andermuunoz · 4 years

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I'm having one of those days again where I'm angry and frustated and sad, all at the same time. This weekend was fine, but I did have a mental breakdown last thursday. Like really bad, I haven't had that in a while. It happened after my therapy session. All just came crushing in. When I came home my mom tried talking to me, and I just bolted into the woods. I was in a flight or fight mode. I couldn't stop crying and I was set on maybe ending it, I didn't know how, but I just wanted everything to stop. When I came to the woods, I saw a squirrel, and this sounds really stupid, but everything just stopped for a few seconds. I was so facinated by it, and I haven't seen one in such a long time. And they are sooo cute. I'm not saying then suddenly everything was okay, far from it. But it distracted me from those thoughts for a second, so my comon sense came through. After I saw the squirrel, I just laid down on the ground, and it felt good to feel the cold, to feel something else than the pain. After I have calmed down, I sent my mom text, and she picked me up. I even got myself to go to work that day.

Okay, this got long. I didn't mean to write all this, it just came out. And it all sounds very dumb. Things has gotten a little worse after I started talking to a therapist. She has brought up a lot feelings I have hid away for a long time.

I wanted to put this in keep reading, but I'm on my phone, and it looks like you can't do it on the phone -. -

#helene rambling #depression #anxiety #suicide tw #suicide mention #trigger warning #If you want me to tag it with anything else #please let me know #I don't want to cause anyone triggers

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brokenmusicboxwolfe · 4 years

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Day 6 without sculpting...

In a way it’s weird I miss sculpting so much. This near daily sculpting is actually a relatively recent thing for me.

Actually, for about the first 20 years of my life I can count every time I sculpted on my fingers.

My father inspired my first sculpting. Before I was born he’d dug some clay out of the river bank and sculpted a little baseball sized head with marbles for eyes. It facinated me, so at about four I dug some clay out of a ditch and tried to sculpt two full figures. I let them dry on a plank in the summer sun....and they crumbled. Amazingly, one of the heads survives to this day.

In kindergarten we had a cool teacher with his own kiln. Technically he had us making little pots. I used the scrap and made a little alien head with big almost Mickey Mouse ears that he glazed for me and a little alien with loops for arms that I colored with crayons. He left at the end of the year, takng his kiln with him.

In second grade the new teacher had us make dough art angels. This was an “everyone copy the teacher” deal, so no real self expression. Let me tell you, dough art does not last in this climate. That angel no longer existed within a year.

My parents gave me some plasticine type clay for my 10th birthday. Unfortunately that sort of clay never can be made hard, and I really wanted something that would “stay”. I barely used it.

When I was in 9th grade the art class had a paper mache project. Or at least they called it that. Really it was a structure out of wire, newspaper and masking tape covered with plaster bandages. I made a dragon, Lockheed from the X-Men in fact, but that was that. No way could I get the plaster bandages myself, and I didn’t care for the rough surfaces.

And that was that for growing up.

The weird thing is, I actually was always drawn to sculpting, but it never occured to me I should sculpt. I loved physical objects that depicted living things and always noticed when stories included sculpting. Heck, I even started writing a fantasy story involving a sculptor and magical sculptures. But actual sculpting wasn’t even a daydream.

And then one day my hands got bored. It was an unusual day, a day off while Pop was away. Free time meant I could do what I wanted. In this case it was to watch a movie (The Brothers Karamazov), read a book (don’t remember what), read a magazine (dunno) and listen to music (forget what)....all at the same time...

Yeah, I’m like that. Always wanting to do several things at once.

There I was, sitting on the floor, all these things around me, and I noticed my hands were bored. Because hands do get bored. Mine do anyway. Just ask them! Pop had some boxes of clay he’d bought for a project but ended up with some left over. On a whim I decided to try sculpting with this “proper” clay.

I made a little bust, a woman with a flower in her hair and a beastie lying round her shoulders. If you look up pics of it (all my sculpting that exists is on my blog) you will see how crude it is, but at the time I was pleased. I’d expected sculpting to be hard, but this was easy!

But we didn’t have a kiln. Well, Pop had one somewhere out in the shop, but he didn’t know where, didn’t have time to look, and wasn’t keen on me pawing around when it was probably behind some unmovable things.

So that was that all over again, the old problem of wanting to sculpt something that would stay.

And then I discovered sculpey!

Now you would think this would kick off constant sculpting, but it was more fitful at first. The trouble was, I did not want to be watched sculpting. I just wanted to goof around with it, stress free. So what I did was sculpt every time I was guaranteed a solid hour to myself. I’d usually go stand on the ramp outside, sculpey in one hand and an old dull pairing knife in the other and sculpt.

This is probably why I sculpt so quickly even now. Back then I just wanted to do it unseen, baking as soon as there was anything at all I liked about it. Now fast sculpting is just secnd nature.

After a bit I branched out, making ornaments and getting roped into making a dollhouse doll for a cousin. I also made several dolls that scale for fun and gifts for my family. I also pleased the four year old me by making a Sleestak from memory. I experimented with gluing a face on one of the boxes I’d painted. (Painting boxes was a thing for me for years) I started running out if space for the busts so I started making magnets and lining all the metal bookcases in my bedroom with faces.

But during all that I could go weeks, even months, without sculpting. I’d paint boxes. I’d write. But all these things shared a little space of free time.

We were busy. The fiberglassing business took a heck of a lot of work. There were all sorts of organizations, causes, meetings I tagged along to, obligations to my family. Making takes time, even if it’s just an hour, and back then I never had insomnia so working after everyone went to bed wasn’t an option.

Still, I made things right along until the weirdness happened. For a several years I had a creative block.

Totally.

Completely.

I didn’t sculpt. Didn’t paint boxes. Didn’t write stories. I didn’t even dream at night.

It was hellish.

I can’t tell you why it happened. I can’t even tell you why it ended. All I can tell you is was if my imagination started to reawaken in 2012, a year that at that time I thought was one of the worst in my life. It started with a painted box here and there. Slowly.

Then 2013 happened, the terrible year of Pop’s illness that made the bad things of 2012 seem pale in comparison. Suddenly I was dreaming, dreaming in overdrive in fact. The dreams I was churning out boxes as fast as I could paint them to “exorcise” those dreams. The dreams occupied my mind constantly. At night they were like serialized stories night after night, during the day I was like an obsessed fangirl disecting and rerunning her favorite show that just happened to be created by my subconscious.

This frantic box painting lasted until the last stages of Pop’s illness, when it stopped. I haven’t painted a box since.

In mid to late 2014, the year Pop died, the cousin I made the Beast doll for sent me a letter. Actually, now that I think about it, it was the last time I heard from her. She said she’s shown the doll to someone she knew that had a dollhouse collector store and they said I had talent, that in fact it was as good as many professional dolls. The cousin suggested, now that our fiberglassing business was gone I should take up doll making.

It sounded reasonable, though I completely doubted that “talent” part. But there were problems with this plan. I hadn’t sculpted in several years and didn’t know if I still could. I wanted to make fully jointed dolls, but making them by hand out of sculpey would be tricky to master. Everything I made (and make) is one of a kind and feels like a part of me, so parting with them would be painful. I needed to figure out how make it easier on myself.

I mean, there is a reason I jokingly call my sculpting “making friends”.

And so I got to work. I decided to use my werewolf box as inspiration, figuring that with these wolf people I could make them enough alike it would be easier to part with them, but enough different I wouldn’t get bored. I could learn to make mold from them, and then selling wouldn’t hurt.

This is when I think my sculpting addiction really began. Instead of sculpting occasionally I was sculpting most nights, and would stay up late when making the bodies.

This period of experimentation lasted for a few months, long enough for me to suffer the disapointment of being an outsider exhibiting at an art show with my odd fantasy dolls. I actually WAS making progress. I liked a few of the dolls snd thought in a few more months I’d be ready to go to the next stage, I even bought molding and casting materials to learn to use...

And the floor collapse happened. This started an ever increasing cascade of disasters that continues to this day.

At first I thought the interuption was temporary. By the end of 2015 I’d be back at learning to make dolls...

Obviously this didn’t happen. For months I kept making heads for future doll experiments, complete with metal loops for stringing them on. I even built a storage box to keep them all in. Eventually the room with the box started to go, so I “temporarily” moved it to the other house. It’s there still.

By then I had a sculpting habit. I needed to sculpt. My fingers would twitch around sculpey. Mom would laugh at how on nights where I didn’t sculpt my eyes would dart to the sculpey every few seconds. She would tease me about it calling to me, but it’s sort of right. In 2015 sculpting had become something that I constantly felt I should be doing.

To be honest, the addiction aspect has only gotten worse with time.

When Mom was here there were more nights I didn’t sculpt, and if I started sculpting as she went to bed she’d remind me not to stay up late. Since her stroke and her going to stay with my brother I’ve been alone. Alone to watch movies and sculpt, with no socializing to distract me and no one to tell me to stop.

Now the nights I don’t sculpt are rare (see last November when I sculpted more faces than there even were days in that month because I sculpted more than one a couple nights). The faces stick with me less though, to the point that when I post pics a month later I have actually forgotten many of them already.

I don’t do anything with these faces. I sculpt them quickly, photograph them, wrap them in tissues and throw them into one of the storage boxes I have for them. Those boxes have literally hundreds of faces by this point.

I shouldn’t NEED to sculpt.

I have spent more days of my life not sculpting than sculpting. I have sculpted more faces in the last year than most people do in a life time. Ignoring the fluke of the one face I sold, I don’t profit by it in any way.

The sculpting is a compulsion, an impulse I can’t resist. I feel a weird guilt and unease when I don’t sculpt. It hasn’t even been a full week without sculpting and it’s driving me nuts. Believe me, I know it’s ridiculous!

#sculpting #artists on tumblr #art

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thetriggeredhappy · 5 years

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Number 30 napoleon complex?

yea dude!! these two are great! (established relationship, blood because… it’s part of the request)

30.) “Is that blood?”

There were quite a few things that you learned to get used to when living with eight other mercenaries of varying degrees of mental stability and proficiency in English and sobriety. The presence of firearms around every corner, the near-constant possibility that someone would get in an argument (or altercation) with someone else, a lingering and implacable odd smell that went beyond what buildings primarily housing men usually had.

And of course, there was often blood or property destruction present.

But there was one individual who preferred not to partake in the general mayhem the others tended to get into (outside of the arguments, on the basis of him being a complete bastard). So that did make the Engineer take pause.

Admittedly, Spy was playing it very cool. He was walking perfectly normally, at a regular speed, and Engie was preoccupied with making sure he didn’t spill any of the tools he was lugging to his workshop, fresh off of an attempt to talk to Medic about a potential dispenser redesign.

But he did catch it, out of the corner of his eye. It took a moment to process, but then he was stopping, turning, eyebrows furrowed.

“Uh, hey, Spy?” he called hesitantly.

Spy stopped, but didn’t turn. “Yes?” he asked evenly.

“Is that blood?”

He couldn’t be sure, because the blood he thought he’d seen was mostly on Spy’s face, and Spy still wasn’t turning. A beat of pause. “No, it’s not,” Spy said. His voice was still very even and controlled.

“I was just askin’ because it looked an awful lot like blood,” Engie said, shifting his gear a bit lower, starting to frown now. “And if it’s blood, I don’t think you’d try and hide it unless it was yours and you were embarrassed.”

“You are mistaken,” Spy replied easily. “I am fine, there’s no blood to speak of.”

“Awful rude to have a conversation with your back facin’ someone.”

There was a beat of pause.

Then Spy sighed. “This really isn’t worth starting something over, is it?” he asked, largely rhetorically. He turned around with a second, more dramatic sigh, and Engie got a chance to actually see his face, and his eyebrows shot up.

“Sheesh, what in Sam Hill happened to you?” he asked, taken aback by the wounds visible despite Spy’s mask covering much of his face. He already had an amount of swelling going on just above his eye, and his nose had apparently been bleeding at some point, as well as his lip being split, or maybe having been cut on his teeth.

“I’d rather not say,” he replied bitterly. “So if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go to the medical bay so I can continue with the rest of my day.”

“No good,” Engie said, shaking his head, hefting his tools again to readjust them. “I was just there. The Doc’s not in.”

Spy’s expression soured. “Of course. Wonderful. Perfect. Merveilleux. Just what I needed.”

Engie sighed, adjusting the load he was carrying once more before starting to walk again. “Alright, c’mon then,” he said simply.

There was a pause before he heard the sound of pristinely polished shoes clicking to follow him. “Might I ask why?”

“I’ll just set you up with a dispenser an’ get you cleaned up,” Engie replied. “I’m no doctor—not medically, at least—but I should at least be able to patch you up until the good doctor comes back around and can take a look at you, provided it’s that serious.”

“It is not. Nothing terrible. A small dose of healing vapor should be sufficient,” Spy answered.

In no time at all Engie was at the door of his workshop, inputting the code and stepping inside, Spy following close at his heels. Given their… arrangement, could they call it? Spy had long since gotten used to loitering in Engie’s workshop for spans of time. There wasn’t a particular pattern to Spy showing up, or how long he generally stayed (partially due, Engie suspected, to the man’s lingering paranoia that he earned from his profession), but he did show up relatively often.

Engie put down the dispenser and let it start setting itself up while he went to fetch one of the folding stools he had leaned up against a mostly-clear section of the wall. He brought it over to where the build was making some progress on itself and set it up, and Spy only looked a little exasperated at the thought of sitting on it before he complied, not without brushing it off first.

Engie sped along the process of building the dispenser, and it was only another moment before it was humming to life, releasing a steady stream of healing vapor into the air around it.

“Alright, now let’s get you cleaned up,” Engie said, moving to his workshop’s sink and getting some clean towels, starting to wet one. “Might as well, while I’ve still got you here.”

“I cannot help but feel you are enjoying this,” Spy hummed, the slightest tint of amusement in his tone.

“Maybe a bit,” Engie conceded, returning and looking over Spy’s face. “I reckon this might be a bit difficult with all that fabric in the way, y’know.”

Spy paused for a second, looking him over critically, before rolling his eyes and moving to pull his mask off. “Fine. I suppose the damage of you seeing my face has already been done,” he murmured.

There were a few more bruises on Spy’s face that had been hidden, but they were fading with every slow breath Spy took. He tilted the Frenchman’s chin up and set to work wiping away the blood that had started to dry over the lower half of his face, mostly from the nosebleed, with the wet cloth.

“Not too much blood, lucky for you,” Engie said quietly after a few moments of silence between them. He looked Spy in the eye long enough to flash him a smile. “I imagine you’d hate to get blood on the collar of your shirt.”

“I know how to get blood from my clothes, who exactly do you think I am?” Spy replied, the usual bite of his voice softened by the way an answering smile tried to pull at his face.

“Hold still, now,” Engie chided, finishing cleaning his lip, starting work on gently wiping at a smear that had gotten caught just above Spy’s eyebrow as he’d removed his mask. “Ought to be another minute or so before the swelling goes down. The vapor don’t do much for that.”

“I’m aware,” Spy said, scoffing but nevertheless staying still.

Engie put aside the wet cloth, moving to finish up with a dry one, and then he was done. “There. All cleaned up,” he declared, still holding Spy’s chin in his hand.

Spy hummed. They looked at each other for a moment. It was only then that Engie realized they were very close together.

He was just a man. He couldn’t resist the impulse. He leaned in and gave Spy a brief kiss.

Spy returned it without drama or fanfare. It only lasted a moment before they pulled back away again.

“Ow,” Spy mumbled, raising a hand to feel at his still-swollen lip.

“Oh. Sorry,” Engie apologized.

“Hm. Kiss me again and I’ll consider forgiving you,” Spy said, and Engie breathed a laugh, leaning back in to comply.

When he pulled back again, Spy looked rather pleased with himself.

“So. Care to tell me what happened to get you all mussed up in the first place?” Engie asked.

Spy’s expression promptly fell. He stewed for a moment. “One more, and maybe I’ll tell you,” Spy decided.

Admittedly, that did get Engie to laugh. The third kiss took a bit longer, with Spy tugging on one of the straps of his overalls to keep him in close when he tried to pull away.

They did need to breathe at some point, though, and Engie raises an eyebrow. “Why do I get the feeling you’re just tryin’ to get me to forget I asked you a question?” he mused.

Spy grinned, a sheepishness lying just under it. “Guilty as charged,” he acquiesced.

“So? What happened?” Engie prompted.

Spy groaned, burying his face in his hand. “I fell down the stairs,” he mumbled.

A pause. “You what, now?”

“The stairs. I fell down them. It was quite a tumble. I thought, well, how very lucky I was that nobody was around to see it. But it also hurt considerably, and I didn’t want to walk around with such bruising for the rest of the day until battle tomorrow, so that is why I meant to go see Medic.” Spy dropped his hand, looking up at Engie, trying for a smile again. “That’s it. You caught me.”

Engie felt almost like he wanted to laugh, but also Spy had been kind enough to be honest, so he pushed down the urge. Instead he gave into a different one, tsk’ing and giving him a sympathetic peck on the cheek. “Aww. Poor thing,” he hummed.

Spy rolled his eyes. “Regardless. Thank you for being kind enough to help me. And thank you in advance for never telling anyone that this ever happened.”

“Yeah, ‘course I won’t,” Engie said. “I promise.”

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #engiespy #napoleon complex #Shut up Me #my fanfiction #my writing #they're dorks

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coldace24 · 5 years

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Dynamax Chronicles (Pokémon Sword & Shield Fanfic)

"Shhhh, they're comin'." In a sort of panic to shut me up, she grabbed my head and stuffed my face on her chest. Of course, the only thing I could do was to keep quiet and not make obvious movements, otherwise I'd end up escalating my already precarious situation. A few minutes pass by and the sound of footsteps disappeared into the distance. Fortunately, the guards hadn't noticed us hunched down beside the crates and continued on with their patrol.

"Tha' was close, wuzinit?" She seemed to relax; I could tell from the way her chest eased up as she breathed out a long sigh. Yet instead of replying to her, all I could think of were the soft, ample mounds that were squished against my face, and her alluring scent that kept invading my nostrils.

"I knew this wou'n't be easy, but I di'n't think the security would be this tight. Now wha' are we supposed to do?" I wanted to answer, I really did, but the things in front of me wouldn't allow it; how awkward would it be to open my mouth in such a dangerous place, so yet again I had to keep quiet.

"...Ray..?" This time she called my name. Still, I couldn't respond.

"...you a'right?" Her words came with a bit of worry now. "Why are you so...quiet?"

Finally, she loosened her pull on my head, and I slowly lifted my face away from her chest; perhaps it was out of guilt or maybe just embarassment, but by then, I couldn't manage to look at her eye to eye, which seemed to only confuse her.

"Is sumthin' the matter..?"

"Well..." I managed to open my mouth and answer this time. "I just didn't think it would be proper to talk when I was in such a...provocative place."

"Provocative...?" She seemed confused at first, then finally realized as she looked down at her chest. "...ahh."

"Well le's jus' call tha' a free sample, shall we?" She gave me a wink. "Do well, and you might ge' the whole package next time."

I could hear her chuckle as she stood up, and patted off the dust on her backside. Of course she'd throw a dirty joke at it, because why not.

"So, now wha'?" She finally turns to me.

"Guess we'll just have to push forward. But I don't think we'll be able to just ghost our way over. We'll probably have to deal with the thugs sooner or later."

"So it seems." She looked disgruntled, but that soon changed to a look of determination. "Well a'right. I trust you to take care o' things if it comes down to tha'."

I smile. Although I was glad that she would put so much faith in me, it would still have been too dangerous to initiate every guard we pass by; I had to get us moving without being seen as much as I could. Thankfully, I found our magic ticket.

"What do you think about getting on top?" I pointed up towards the hatch on the ceiling. "They don't have patrols on the roofs for sure, but it might be a tad dangerous."

"Well it can't be more dangerous than facin' the dimwits head-on, can it?"

"True." I started climbing up the crates, opening the hatch just above the stack I was standing on. "Come on then, this way, missy."

"Missy?" She crossed her arms. "Tha's Miss Sonia to you, lad."

I rolled my eyes as I extended my hand, offering to pull her up. "Yes yes, Madamoiselle Sonia. Now may I have your hand, please."

"Well aren't you gettin' ahead of yourself? Askin' for my hand should come after the dates, Monseiur Ray." She couldn't hold back her laugh as she joined me above the crates. Soon after, we had made our way up to the hatch and outside.

Phwoooot ksssh!

The loud hissing of the steam engine blasted throughout the air; the carriages behind it rumbled and rattled as the whole train moved forward at amazing speeds. As soon as we stood outside, the force of the winds almost pushed us off our balance. Luckily, we somehow managed to stumble into a low crouch, slowly making our way forward on all fours.

Unfortunately, the roofed carriages soon ran out, and what was left in front of us was a wide, open wagon filled with covered crates. On each side was a guard on the look out for nosy trespassers like us.

"That's a problem." I motion to Sonia. "Guess we'll have to get rough. Hopefully we don't blow the whistle and alarm everyone

"Oh you can do it. Jus' hafta hit 'em fast n' hard."

"You make it sound so easy." I reached for my bag, pulling out a small round ball the size of a marble; its surface colored half red and half white. I press the button on its center, making it expand to the size of my hand.

"A pokéball?" Her brow raised in doubt. "I thought we were tryin' not to draw attention."

"Trust me." I smiled at her as I held the pokéball close and softly whispered commands to the pokémon inside.

Moving as softly as I could, I descended down towards the platform and snuck by until I was a few feet away from both of the guards. As agile as I could, I threw the pokéball to the right while I dashed towards the one on the left. Once the pokéball reached the guard, it popped open, releasing a large Corviknight; without a delay, it used its steel wings to knock out the guard in one sweeping motion. Meanwhile, I managed to hit the other guard at the back of his head, catching him as he crumpled down into unconsciousness. Slowly, I dragged his body underneath the covers of the crates, then doing the same to the other.

"Nice work, Corvus." The black bird softly cawed as it landed on my arm, happy with my immediate praise.

"Okay, I hafta admit, tha' was pretty brilliant." Sonia had gotten down as well, making her way towards us and looking rather impressed at our display.

"So, do I get the whole package now?" I throw back her previous joke.

"Perhaps." She smirked. Stopping just in front of me, her gaze fell upon the crates, eyeing them with suspicion. "Do you think...these could be it?"

She pulled out her GPS device, and turned on the holo-display. It showed our current location, marked with a dot at the center. Just beside it, where the crates were at, was a red blip, the symbol for the other end of the tracking device.

"Bingo." She started pulling off the sheets that covered them, then stopped midway and turned to me. "Well don't jus' stand there. Help me."

"Oh right."

. . .

The train was now passing through the canyon, and below the rails was a huge drop towards the bottom of the valley; a rather deadly drop if we ever fell off. A few minutes later and we'd managed to remove most of the covers, revealing crates with the initials D.M.B. printed on their surface; it seems we had found the right cargo.

Unfortunately, before we could pry open the lid and search the contents, a loud screeching noise drew our attention forward. At the edge of the platform, where our open car was connected with the main locomotive, was a Weavile grinding its claws against the iron floor as it slowly moved towards us. Behind the pokémon was a man dressed raggedly in black leather clothes; his loud bellow threatening to overpower even the train's noise.

"Well well well, if it ain't Magnolia's lil' twerp!" The grin below his thick mustache seemed sinister. "Now what brings ye on our old, rickety train, eh?"

"Oh shut it, thief! I'm takin' back wha' you stole from Gran!" Her tone was sharp and serious, very different from how she normally talks with me.

"And what makes ye think I'll be letting ye, huh?" As if on cue, the Weavile up front charged at us, its sharp claws aimed at Sonia. Fortunately, I managed to get my Corviknight to intercept its attack; steel against steel clashed, sending out sparks with every strike and parry, until they both pulled back.

"Corvus, Aerial Ace!" I shouted to my Corviknight. Before the Weavile could even react, my Corviknight dove at an incredible speed, hitting the poor pokémon square on its chest and knocking it out in the process.

"Hah! Well ain't ye quite the trainer, ei lad?" Another loud laugh came from him as he returned Weavile into its pokéball. "But this is the end of the line. I don't plan on losing my loot today."

His lips contorted into a wide, ugly grin. In that moment, an ominous feeling surfaced inside me, like I knew something bad was gonna happen unless I did something. The man pulled out a different pokéball, then from beneath his sleeve, he revealed a white metallic bracelet.

"Looks familiar, ei twerp?"

"You wou'n't dare." Sonia stared him down.

"Oh but I would..."

The pokéball on the man's hand started to glow red, enlarging to the size of a sports ball. Before he could do anything with it however, Corvus dove in for a quick attack at my command, hitting him on the chest and sending him flying towards the next car, unconscious. Unfortunately, the enlarged pokéball flew out of his hand, rolling off the platform and into the deep valley.

"Oh dear..." Sonia frowned. "Tha' can't be good."

Before I could ask her what she meant, the whole train started to shudder and rattle. Then I realized it wasn't just the train, but the whole canyon seemed to be shaking. I grab hold of Sonia, pulling her close as I leaned against the crates for balance. All of a sudden, a gigantic Gyarados appeared just a few meters away beside the rails. The pokémon was a terrifying sight to behold, measuring almost around fifty meters in size; much much bigger than what they should be. Its eyes turned towards us, releasing a loud, deafening roar that turned my legs into jelly.

"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT!?" I screamed.

"It's a Dynamaxed Gyarados!" Sonia replied. "We might be in a bit of a pickle!"

"Oh sure, a bit.... DOES THAT THING LOOK LIKE A BIT FOR YOU???"

"Don't worry, it doesn't last long! We jus' hafta survive 'til it runs out o' juice!"

"And how do you expect us to do that!?" I asked.

"Well, since it's come to this..." She pulled out a pokéball from her bag. "I guess I'll hafta use it as well."

"...what?"

Sonia pulled back her sleeve, revealing a metal bracelet similar to the one the man in black used, although hers was black in color. The pokéball in her hand started to glow red, which soon grew larger in size. Then, with both hands, she threw it off the rails, towards the direction of the giant Gyarados. The large pokéball popped open and out came an equally gigantic Raichu; all of a sudden, it became a battle of titans.

The Gyarados roared in rage, charging at the Raichu with incredible speed. Raichu managed to dodge its charge, side-stepping with a quick turn, but Gyarados circled around and started wrapping itself around the pokémon. Its coil around Raichu's body started getting tighter and tighter, until it constricted its poor prey, crushing it in slow, painful agony.

"Raichu, time for Max Lightnin'!" Sonia shouted. On cue, Raichu's eyes started glowing, electric sparks lashed out everywhere, and a loud rumble came from the heavens. Next thing I knew, a large column of lightning blinded us, its force so immense, it sent out a huge shockwave that completely covered the place with smoke and dust.

When it cleared, I took notice of two important things: first, Sonia managed to defeat the gigantic Gyarados; second, the shockwave threw it towards the rails, destroying the train's path in the process.

"...crap."

Before we could even do anything, the main locomotive nosedived as it ran out of tracks; our car soon followed suit, and we plummeted into the depths of the canyon. I pulled Sonia into my arms, making sure I embraced her tightly as I shouted to Corvus. The black bird flew in fast, grabbing ahold of my backpack as he tried to pull us up. Of course, even as Corviknights were strong enough to carry a person and fly, lifting up two was too much, so we ended up gliding down instead until we reached the bottom of the canyon. Our landing wasn't very good though, as the exhaustion of having to carry two people in a slow descent caught up to Corvus, the bird had to let go of us a few feet higher than intended. We stumbled and rolled on hard ground until we finally stopped; a bit dirty, but still alive at least.

"Well aren't you jus' dashin'?" Sonia smiled at me. "And for tha', I give you permission to le' go of me now."

"What if I don't want to?" I smirk.

"Well, tha' would be quite the problem, wou'n't it?"

"Alright, alright. Just...give me a few a seconds." I breath out a sigh. "I think my body's still in shock."

She laughed, and god was it a beautiful laugh. Now that we were so close, literally a breath away, I couldn't help but stare; her eyes, her lips, her features, there was just something about her that was so captivating that I couldn't help but be...attracted to her.

"Are you quite done starin' at me now?" Her voice pulled me back from my daze. She was staring at me, her brow raised in question, perhaps still wondering when I would decide to let go of her.

But I couldn't. At least, not yet. Not until I've made the moment count. It was the perfect chance, and I was damn sure I wouldn't ever be able to get another one. So I mustered up my courage, held her by the cheek, and gave her a soft, gentle kiss on the forehead.

"I'm glad you're safe, Sonia."

Her body tensed at my sudden action, and the only response she could mutter was an awkward "oh". For a moment, she was quiet; her gaze, initially aimed at me, shifted towards the ground to her left. In those few seconds of silence, my heart was pounding like crazy, worried that my action was something unwanted and unnecessary. Then, she finally spoke.

"Can I... take tha' at face value?" She asked in a low voice.

"Y-yeah. Sure." I replied, trying to sound nonchalant about it.

"Wonderful." Her smile returned, looking beautiful and somewhat rather mischievous. "But darling, if you're gonna kiss someone, you might as well do it right."

With that, she moved closer and pressed her lips against mine. The soft feeling and the taste of peaches held my mind hostage, not letting me think about anything else but the boldness of the moment. It lasted for a good few seconds, until she finally pulled away with a shy but contented smile.

"Tha's how you're supposed to kiss me."

"Wai-.... you.....but....I-.. huh..?" She could only laugh at my inability to form coherent sentences.

"Now come on, we've got a train wreck to check." She stood up and brushed off the dust from her clothes while constantly having to hold back giggles and chuckles.

A few jogs forward and we soon reached the wreckage; a massive pile of train carriages and cargo, all spread out across the width of the canyon.

"We screwed up spectacularly, di'n't we?" Sonia's face was now sullen, her bubbly smile gone without a trace. We started to search around the area, but surprisingly found nobody at all, not even that man we fought; perhaps the thugs had a contingency escape plan in case things went awry like it did. That gave us some relief.

"What about those crates?" I asked as we met up at the train's main locomotive.

"I found them but... they were empty." She could only shake her head in disbelief. "We hafta report this to Gran, and I don't think she'll be happy when she hears it."

. . .

"Have you two completely lost the plot!?" Professor Magnolia, Sonia's grandmother, could only shout in anger. "What were you two thinking, doing something so dangerous!?"

"But Gran, we-"

"Not another word from you, young lady!" Sonia could only purse her lips as Professor Magnolia cut her off.

It was a few hours after the train incident at the canyon. Rescuers had arrived at our location, analyzing the wreckage and giving us a lift back to the professor's lab. Of course, we told her about our encounters with the thugs, and how they seemed to have disappeared after the crash along with the cargo. The professor was understandably upset, but mostly because we decided to interfere with the thugs and got into a dangerous situation; she was probably more worried about Sonia than the cargo.

After a flurry of lectures, the professor finally cooled down a bit. Although still visibly mad, she pulled Sonia into a hug, giving her a head pat. Sonia seemed to get teary eyed, but managed to hold it in as she returned the professor's hug. With a low voice, Professor Magnolia asked her to go to her room and rest, hinting that she had some things to discuss with me.

Free from the professors arms, Sonia turned to me, lightly tugging my sleeve as she motioned to her room upstairs. I nod in silence, understanding her intentions and motioning for her to go. Soon after, it was just me and Professor Magnolia left in the room.

"Now then, I have a few questions for you, Ray." She took a seat down at her desk. "And I'm sure you have some for me too, so shall we begin?"

"Of course, Professor."

"So tell me, did something happen between you and Sonia?" Her question caught me off guard.

"W-why would you think that, Professor?"

"Well, putting aside how she was all giggly and fidgety when you two arrived, she seems to look at you differently now..."

"R-really? I didn't notice." I answered, in hopes of ending the topic.

"Bah, stop denying it, you skirtchaser." She laughed, presumably at the new nickname she gave me. "You two have been chatting up, haven't you?

"Uhh..."

"Well truth be told, I'm actually gobsmacked that it took you this long to get together." She shrugged, then pointed her cane at me. "But now that you have, I need you to promise me that you'll take good care of my Sonia. Otherwise..."

"O-okay, okay, Professor. I get what you mean." I raise my hand up in surrender. "So...does that mean I have your blessing?"

"That's for marriage, you bloody idiot! You want me to end you!?"

"It was a joke!!! It was a joke, Professor!!!"

"Bah. Kids these days." She shook her head in dismay. "Anyway, that aside, I believe you have some questions for me, am I right?"

"Just one." I reply. "What in the world is Dynamax exactly?"

"Heh, of course it would be that." She turned to her desk, opening up the drawer and pulling out what seemed to be a metal bracelet, the same kind of bracelet that Sonia and that man had. "This here is called a Dynamax Band. It's a special bracelet that I created which allows the wearer's pokémon to adapt the phenomenon known as Dynamaxing."

"As you've already seen before, Dynamaxing makes the pokémon gigantic in size, which not only enhances their strength, but also gives them special attacks known as Max Moves."

She puts the Dynamax Band away, then breathes out a sigh. "But of course, even sich tremendous power has its weaknesses. The transformation only lasts about the time it takes for the pokémon to do around three attacks, plus the D.M.B.'s have a very long cooldown period before it can be used again. It wouldn't be a stretch to say that you can only use it once per battle, on a single pokemon."

"But still, Professor, being able to use something like that, even if it's just for a bit, is insane! Just look at what happened at the canyon. That's thing's just too dangerous!"

"I know, lad. I know. But we need it if we're ever gonna survive an onslaught of a naturally Dynamaxed pokémon." She turns to the papers on her desk. "Those things are different...once Dynamaxed, they'll forever stay Dynamaxed, rampaging throughout the lands unless we deal with them."

"Naturally Dynamaxed? I thought you created this?"

"I only created the device to harness the phenomenon. The phenomenon itself is what we've been trying to understand for the past years. What it means...and why it exists."

"...I see." I breath a heavy sigh. "But it's still a dangerous power, and I'm afraid, because of my failure, some of it fell into the wrong hands."

"Indeed." She stood up and planted her hand on my shoulder. "Worry not though, lad. You'll be able to get them back. After all, your skills are the reason why I chose you."

"Yes, Professor."

"What I didn't count on was how you'd be hitting on my granddaughter."

"I- well..."

"I kid, lad. I kid." She laughed as she patted me on the back. "Now go. I believe Sonia is waiting for you."

. . .

knock knock knock!

"Is tha' you, Ray?" Sonia's voice came from the other side of the door.

"Yeah, it's me." The door opened as soon as I answered. Inside, she sat on her bed, motioning for me to sit beside her. It was my first time being inside her room, and the first thing I noticed was the scent in the air; a sweet, flowery aroma, very much like the scent of Sonia herself. As I settled down beside her, she immediately rested her head on my shoulder, giving out a long, relaxed sigh.

"Did she need anythin' from you?" She asked, turning her head up a little so our eyes would meet.

"Well...not really. She just asked some questions." Then I realized that it probably wasn't such a good idea to say that. Too late.

"Really? Like what?"

"Uhh... she asked if uhh... something happened between us."

"Oh?" She had that beautiful, mischievous grin on her face again. "You know, I don't exactly remember either. Was there something tha' happened to us, huh, Ray? Was there?"

"Uhh..."

Before I could answer, she took hold of my hand, intertwining her fingers with mine. It surprised me for a bit, but the warmth of her hand made me feel so relaxed and comfortable, as if all my worries and troubles were being melted away.

She looked at me, waiting, and I knew that this time it had to come from me. So with my free hand, I held her by the cheek, slowly pulling her close until our lips touched, then the same feeling and taste burst into full bloom as we kissed, embraced in each others arms like true lovers.

. . .

"So...I guess it's official now?" I ask Sonia who was snuggled up against my arm.

"Did you think it was a one off?" She questioned back teasingly.

"Well, I hoped it wasn't."

"Oh come on. Do you need another kiss jus' to be sure we're official?" She pouted.

"No, but I certainly wouldn't mind another one."

"You sly fox." She laughed. "Well a'right, maybe jus' one more."

[ END ]

. . .

Glossary (Slang):

Tad = a bit Lost the plot = gone crazy Chatting up = flirting Gobsmacked = amazed One off = one time only

#pokemon #pokemon sword and shield #sonia #pokemon sonia #dynamax #sword and shield #adventure #romance #corviknight #weavile #gyarados #raichu #professor magnolia

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qwertythepopstarian08 · 5 years

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JSAB Steampunk AU Fanfic- That’s Not Your Brother

A gift fic for @just-steams-and-shapes .

Both of the muns of that blog pretty much shattered my heart with angst, so I decided to return the favor.

Also, Happy Fresh Friday!

((Once again, I must say that Feeling Blue is on temporary hiatus. I know how I want the story to end, and I WILL FINISH EVENTUALLY, but at the moment, I have no motivation to continue the story... sorry for the wait.))

Description: Belle comes home to find a Deceora in place of her brother. However, it doesn’t want to hurt her, and it seems oddly familiar...

Warnings for SLIGHT BODY HORROR and canon-typical violence.

Luce’s arm hurt.

It’d been aching all day, from his elbow to his wrist, ever since that accursed Deceora sunk its fangs into him the night before. It’d managed to get in through the window, out for blood and indiscriminately raiding houses. Judging by the amount of carnage done to the foliage outside, it’d run amok for awhile, although no other shapes had been harmed, at least not as much as him.

It’d managed to tear into his arm with its fangs before he managed to subdue it. A few swipes and a devastating bite to the wrist left him reeling, and even now, hours later and running on painkillers, he was feeling the effects.

He’d tried bandaging it, but eventually, the adhesives had just caused more irritation, and the wound needed to breathe, lest it get infected. So the most damaged areas were in full view, looking like shattered glass sticking out of his arm, an obvious allure for a nosy older sister.

He hissed under his breath as Belle prodded at his forearm, looking up to see her sticking her tongue out. She had her lucky wrench in hand, and her outfit was stained with motor oil. She’d dragged herself away from her work to mess with him. How sweet.

“That’s gonna leave a gnarly scar, bro.” She blew a strand of hair out of her face, her purple eyes narrowing. “Next time, just call me for help… facin’ a Deceora’s no walk in the park…”

Luce recoiled, drawing his arm back as his sister reached to poke at it again. His horns lowered, the heart rate monitor in place of his eye starting to quicken in pace, showing his annoyance.

“I shattered it, didn’t I?” He reached for a pen, hoping that he could at least distract himself by drawing up some blueprints; he was thinking of weapons, feeling quite destructive at the moment. “Having an arm cannon comes in handy…” He scowled when he heard Belle chuckle, adding as an afterthought, “No pun intended.”

Belle shot back, “Whatever you say, dork.”

All she got in response was a flustered grumble. Luce’s voice sounded a bit shriller than usual, but Belle amounted that to his irritation, not to mention the pain he was in.

The purple cyclops rolled her eye, one of her cybernetic arms reaching up to brush her hair out of her face again. It was quite messy, and a plain ponytail wasn’t cutting it anymore… she didn’t care much about fashion, but as an inventor who worked around gears and moving parts, she couldn’t afford to risk getting her hair caught.

“Y’know what… I think I’ll go out to town… buy some hair products.” She ran a hand through the purple locks, huffing. “Something’s gotta tame the beast.”

She stood, folding her main pair of arms. Luce didn’t look up at her, his heart monitor slowing to a steady, calm beat as he fell back into focus with his work. A twinge of annoyance hit Belle’s core, but it was quickly encompassed as she watched her brother sketch, a small part of herself marvelling at his intuitive ability.

He was only twelve, nearing thirteen in the coming months. It was a wonder that a kid his age knew how to competently work some of the machinery he lived around, let alone create blueprints for it.

He had to learn quickly, though… without parents to properly teach him, the two of them had picked up quite a few skills just to survive...

Shaking her head to rid herself of the thought, Belle started towards the door, momentarily pausing to run through her list of errands. She glanced over her shoulder, looking over Luce, who was too absorbed in his sketching to pay her much mind.

For once, her schedule was clear, aside from her personal quest. She’d be home soon, and she doubted Luce could get himself into any trouble like this… the likelihood of a second Deceora attack was slim, anyway.

“I’ll be back in a minute, Luce,” she called. She added with a chuckle, “Don’t get yourself shattered.”

He waved halfheartedly, one of his horns flicking up in acknowledgement. He really seemed to be absorbed in his work. Rolling her eye once more, Belle departed, trusting that her brother would be safe…

~~~

As the minutes passed, Luce found it progressively harder to focus. The once minor stinging in his arm had developed into shooting, burning pain, which pulsed with his heartbeat, as if his veins were pumping acid instead of blood.

He forced himself to ignore it, at least for a while. He was being productive this way, having churned out five whole blueprints in the hour. They were a bit messy, given the pain in his arm, but he was proud of himself, having finally found a way to effectively distract himself.

However, as the time ticked past, the minutes rolling into hours… the pain had become pure agony, and he finally tore his eyes away from the paper to glance at his arm.

He was willing to bet that it’d started bleeding again, given how high his blood pressure was. His nerves were shot, and as his gaze darted from the blueprints to his forearm, he jolted in shock, catching a flash of greenish blue among the pink flesh.

“What… in Paradise?” He turned his arm around slowly, trying to see if the blighted color was a trick of the light. However, instead of going away, the hue only seemed to spread, forming in rough patches around the wounds. “What.”

Luce’s eyes glistened with a confused light, his horns drooping slightly as he stood, dropping his pencil.

“Where’s the mirror?” He paced almost aimlessly, beginning to feel a deep, paranoid fear. “Where’s the Treeangle-blighted mirror?!”

The lagoon tint had begun to infect more of his arm, spreading like a rash up to his shoulder. It burned, and Luce found himself scratching at the afflicted areas, becoming increasingly irritated as his mind buzzed with frantic thoughts.

His claws felt sharper than normal. He was unsteady on his feet… These seemingly minor realizations drilled themselves into his head, and he was unsure when he started to hyperventilate, his balance becoming skewed.

Luce staggered around the house, his mind reeling, each step sending a shockwave of pain through his form. He was terrified to look, but he had to see what was happening to him. He nearly tripped, locating a sizable mirror as he limped into the bathroom, looking himself over in the reflective glass.

His eyes widened, his heart rate nearly flatlining as he forced himself to stifle a shriek.

“Shards…” He hissed under his breath. His eye was flickering between a sickly lagoon and a frenetic pink. Luce choked, laughing nervously, “This is bad… this is real bad…”

He wanted to scream, but he was afraid of his own voice, unsure where his imagination ended and the real change began.

Luce backed away, trying to steady his breathing. He smiled, although an anxious ache made itself known in his core as he realized… how sharp his teeth looked.

“A’right… You’re fine,” he assured himself. “We’re good… everything’s okay…”

He winced, hearing a loud, resounding crack sound from within himself, nearly forcing him to his knees. His legs really, really hurt… It was clear that he wouldn’t be standing upright for long…

Growling, he shook his head, returning his gaze to his reflection. In just a few minutes… he looked less like a shape and more like… a Deceora…

“You’re okay,” he repeated, snarling. His horns flicked backwards, a growl spilling from his maw as he shook his head, finding it progressively harder to focus. His heart rate quickened, the monitor over his bad eye starting to beep loudly as his core lurched. He ground out his mantra, forcing himself to stay awake, “Nothing. Is. Wrong.”

A sudden, acidic agony roared from the young shape’s core, and he heard himself shriek, his eyes going wide as he instinctively clutched at his chest. His cybernetic hand flew up to cover his mouth, and he shuddered, terrified.

He coughed violently, flinching as lagoon corruption came away on his hand. There was no denying it. That Deceora had cursed him as soon as it sunk its fangs into his arm. Belle was right; he never should have tried to handle things himself… he was just a little kid.

“E-e-everything…. Everything is… is f-fine…” He hugged himself, trying not to focus on what was happening. His voice was a whisper. Anything above a quiet rasp, and he’d be able to hear the growl in his tone. He wanted to tear the corruption out, but it’d already reached his core… all he could do was hope he could fight it off. “It’s…. O-o-o-okay… i-it’s okay…”

It was getting harder to speak… oh honey butter biscuits, his face was a Tree-forsaken muzzle.

“You… you’rrreeee….” He trailed off with a whimpering croon, shaking his head. “Hhh.. you’rreee… o-okayyy… Yo….Rrrr...o-kayyyyyy…”

Tears rolled down his face, and Luce gave one last, defeated scream, hoping dearly that someone, anyone would hear him. For all he knew, he’d lose his mind and hurt someone… if no one came to shatter him now…

But with his current luck… what were the odds of that?

~~~

Three hours later, the door creaked open. Belle peered inside, looking around in hopes of seeing her little brother waiting for her, as he normally did. A small part of her expected to see him still sitting at that desk, scribbling away at blueprints. Maybe he actually tried to build something for once and set the house on fire.

As she pictured the possible outcomes, she couldn’t help but grin, wondering what amusing predicament her baby brother could’ve gotten himself mixed up in today.

However, when she entered the house, she was greeted with complete, eerie silence. The lights were all out… the curtains were closed. Her smile dropped as soon as she saw the darkness, her greeting dying on her tongue as her eye darted around, trying to find a reason for the seemingly abandoned state of the house.

She hoped that Luce was merely asleep on the couch or something, that he’d decided to be responsible for once and turn out the lights when he left the room. The chances of that were slim to none, and Belle’s anxiety whispered in the back of her mind, sending her into an instant panic.

“Luce?” she called cautiously. She heard her own voice echo through the building, and when there was no answer, she found herself worrying even more. She walked towards the kitchen, concern riddling her features. “Luce? Where are ya, you little demon child?”

Not even his nickname stirred a response. Belle growled to herself, picking up her lucky wrench. If Luce was just tricking her, she’d clock him in the horns for it… and if he wasn’t, she had a feeling she’d have to fight someone.

He’d just been injured, and it was obvious that he was still in pain. If any rogue or feral shapes had broken in, he wouldn’t stand a chance... Belle started off towards the workshop, hissing under her breath.

“This better not be a prank…” As she inched towards the entrance, she heard a sudden crash, her eye lighting up in tentative hope. “I’m warning you…”

She weighed the odds. On one hand, that sound could’ve been Luce trying to hide, what with the little trouble-maker he was. She had poked fun at him earlier, and he was known for getting petty revenge. It wasn’t much of a stretch to say that he was planning to scare her, just to send her flying into a tizzy over nothing. He wasn’t evil by a longshot, despite Belle’s constant prodding, but he lived up to his nickname as the “demon child.”

Belle felt her smile threaten to return, but she shook her head.

Nonetheless, the other possibility send fear rushing through her, quickly eclipsing all humor. It was rare to see a Deceora this far away from the Corrosive Valley or the Badlands… the odds of it coming with a pack were slim, but it was still possible.

Shattering the first creature would just summon the pack, if they were in the area. And in his current state… Luce would’ve been instantly incapacitated… shattered. Belle steeled herself for what she might see, be it shards or her brother. She’d dealt with loss before, and while she never wanted to lose another loved one, she prepared herself for the worst.

“A’right… I’m givin’ ya five seconds to show yourself…” she yelled.

She heard the scrabbling of claws against tile, and she twitched, trying to restrain herself from charging. It was a Deceora alright.

“One… two… aw, blight it… FIVE!”

Belle let out a battle cry, rushing through the entrance in an attempt to startle the monster. Her eye was blurred from the tears that she’d been holding back, but she kept swinging, suddenly glad to have extra arms. If that thing tried to come at her from behind, she’d knock it silly.

She heard a gutteral shriek ring out as one of her fists met scales, and she reeled, her eye snapping open. The Deceora was quite small for its kind, looking pathetic compared to the monster that had attacked the night before. Perhaps the first creature had been its mother. Chances were, this small, unassuming monster had wandered to their home, searching for its fallen parent. It was too young to fight properly, but a single good swipe from those wicked claws could knock out any shape, even if the intent wasn’t to kill.

In any other occasion, Belle might’ve spared it, knowing what it was like to lose a parent, but now that it entered her home, now that it had possibly killed her brother, all mercy flew out the window.

She narrowed her eye, rage filling her heart. It was hard to focus on the thing, her gaze darting around in search of any sign of her brother. The Deceoras were merciless hunters. It was likely that, if he was in shards, they’d either been devoured or trambled, leaving no traces behind.

Even if this one was unwilling to fight, its instincts would have driven it to feed as soon as the blood was spilled. Luce was as good as dead.

“I know ya can’t understand me…” Belle snarled. She lowered her wrench towards the monster’s snout, her tone venomous. “So I’m giving you five seconds to clear out before I shatter you. Limb. By. Limb.”

It suddenly squeaked and reeled back, nearly tripping over its own legs. It was definitely young and probably hadn’t ventured into civilization before, unable to properly maneuver on a smooth, tiled surface.

It stumbled, the spikes around its head drooping as it stared up at her, almost sad. Belle knew better than to falter, her voice ringing out as a threatening yell as she grew more frantic.

“I don’t care that you’re a baby, I’ll shatter you like you did to my brother!”

At that, the Deceora seemed to understand, if only through the aggression in Belle’s tone. It backed away, drawing in on itself, a small, rumbling whimper echoing from its core. Belle had never seen a Deceora whimper, even when injured. They were natural killers, and they never showed weakness. However, this creature didn’t seem like it wanted to fight at all...even to defend itself… It was truly at her mercy.

She grinned, despite herself. A malicious, vindictive urge welled up in her heart, and she advanced, a wicked sneer spreading across her face. She raised the wrench again. While she was sure she had other, quicker means to dispose of this thing, she wanted to cause it just as much pain as it’d caused her brother. Slowly.

“You probably won’t even fight back, eh?” She chuckled as the monster suddenly squeaked, frantic. “Good. That makes it easier for me.”

She swung. Metal met bone as the wrench made contact with the Deceora’s plated back. It was sent flying, shards bursting from the impact as it hit a wall. It scrambled to stand, a constant, pitiful whimper pouring from its jaws. It refused to run, however, staring up at Belle with those melancholy, distressed eyes.

Belle approached it again, laughing almost madly.

“Not so tough now, huh?” She reveled in the fear that blossomed in the monster’s gaze as she held her makeshift weapon high, preparing to strike. “That’s what you get for SHATTERING MY BROTHER!”

This time, the wrench came down upon the monster’s back, near the base of its neck. It crumpled, a hissing screech ripping from its throat as it covered its head, panicking. Dusty shards sprayed from the bludgeon wound, and parts of its shell were dented and cracked.

Still, it refused to attack… it almost seemed to be pleading her to stop.

“Hhhh….” Its breaths were ragged with pain. It tried to make itself seem small, terrified. “Nnnooooo. Noooo… mrrrrrr….”

Belle relented. She could let it go with a warning, but it’d likely just return when it was old enough to fight. She raised her hand again, scowling.

The helpless Deceora cowered, shaking its head as if in disbelief. Startlingly, tears flowed from its eyes, and as it looked up at Belle, she thought she saw a flicker of pink in its foggy, soulless gaze.

She faltered, glancing at its arms. One of its forelegs was cracked rather severely, from the elbow to the wrist. Belle was sure she hadn’t hit it there. She’d only gotten two good swings, and both had cracked against its shell. That wound was strikingly familiar, looking quite recent...

Shaking her head, she prepared to land a final blow, tiring of toying with the monster. If it kept screaming, it’d alert the rest of the pack… and she’d learn just how threatening a group of protective monsters could be.

“Enough playin’ around…” She squeezed her eye shut. Something felt very wrong. “T-time to die…”

However, as she readied herself, she heard a frantic, hissing squeak that made her stop in her tracks.

The Deceora suddenly shrieked, shaking its head in a frenetic attempt to stop her. Its stubby tail was tucked between its legs in its fear, and its entire form was quivering.

“Nooo… mrrr….. No morrreee!”

Belle backed away, watching it. That was the most sentient display of fear she’d ever seen from a feral. She expected it to go down fighting, but in seconds, any fight that it may have put up dissolved into pathetic whimpers.

Its flailing, panicked state reminded her of a child’s tantrum, and the more it screamed, the less guttural its cries sounded.

“Mowww!” it cried. It let out a sharp exhale, shuddering. “Hhhhh…. hhhhuuurrrrt.”

“What?” she deadpanned. She glared down at the creature, waiting for some sort of response. It probably couldn’t comprehend speech, but she supposed that this particular Deceora had more than a few surprises up its sleeve, and perhaps sentience was one of them.

Its teary eyes glimmered with tentative hope as its attacker faltered. Squealing, it sat up on its haunches, wincing a few times as its cracked shell protested. It looked up at Belle, its eyes continuing to flicker with that too-familiar pink hue, which was slowly encompassing the lagoon shade.

It squeaked, trying to form words, “... E-Eeellllee….” It shook its head, trying again. Its maw clicked and rattled with the effort, the gaps between its fangs producing an odd, whistling sound. Its lack of intelligibility frustrated it, and it hissed, “Eeellee…….it meeee...”

Belle tilted her head, backing away. She cautiously placed her wrench down, folding her arms. Something about the sound the thing was making was unsettling, and she felt a paranoid, upsetting fear beginning to settle in her core. It was almost… dare she say...familiar.

“What… what are you trying to say?” she questioned softly. The gruff, threatening tone had dropped from her voice completely. She was filled with a curious, almost fearful collection of thoughts, her mind buzzing. “Are you trying to speak to me?”

The Deceora whimpered, pointing at her with a shaky claw. Belle instinctively flinched, grabbing for her wrench. The thing just cowered, squealing. It drew back, shuddering as it attempted to speak again.

“E-e-elle…” It perked up as it pronounced something coherent, hesitantly pointing at the purple shape. “Elle… Elle!”

Belle’s eye went wide, and she faltered. “Me?”

The Deceora nodded wildly, trotting towards her. Before she could react, it slumped its entire weight against her leg, wrapping its lanky arms around her in a haphazard embrace. Belle nearly kicked it in reflexive action, only stopping herself when she heard the affectionate purr that rumbled from the thing’s core.

This wasn’t an attack… it was a hug. This creature trusted her, even after she attacked it. Not only was it unwilling to harm her; it was fully willing to risk its life to show her… something...

“M… meeee… Luuucccceee…” Its words were slurred, laced with hisses. “Luucceee...Elle… brr-rrooww… brrrrooootheeer….” It trailed off with a mournful croon, its spikes curving downwards.

Belle looked down at it in trepidation. Its eyes had started to glow a solid pink, its voice slowly losing the gravelly tone.

“Are you… are you trying to say… my name?”

It nodded, then tried again. “Luce… me…” It covered its face, wiping away its tears. “Ssscared…. Hurrrrtsss…”

Those few words made Belle choke on her breath. Without further warning, she reached down and picked up the strange Deceora, placing it… him… on the work table.

Voice breaking, she addressed it. “What… what are you?” She forced herself not to cry, her mind coming to a terrifying conclusion. “Why can you understand me?”

He pawed at some blueprints, trying to make the connection between Belle’s brother and himself. As he looked over the papers, his eyes welled up with tears again, and a whimper spilled from his maw. He looked up at the purple shape, holding a blueprint in his jaws as he frantically pointed at himself. Belle shook her head, her mind reeling as she tried to process everything.

Somehow, this was her brother. The realization hit her like a ton of bricks, and she felt tears welling up again, her expression set in a tight frown. She’d heard tales of shapes mutating into Deceora-like beasts, but in all cases, they lost their minds and became part of the pack. Luce was still conscious, still trying to speak to her, to convince her not to harm him. He didn’t even lash out… and yet, she nearly killed him in a fit of vengeful rage.

As she failed to respond, the Deceora grew frantic, tears falling from his eyes. His jaws clattered as he gave a rattling hiss, pawing at where his name had been scrawled upon the blueprints, until his claws tore through.

“It… me! Yrrr… brro...brroothheerrr…” He whimpered, eyes shining. “Luuuccee…”

Belle snapped out of her trance, backing away a bit as she looked over the beast. He was unrecognizable, save for the pink hue in his gaze. While his form was monstrous, his body language was frustratingly familiar, obviously that of a sentient child… not a predatory beast. He was so frantic, trying to communicate his identity, but the words scrambled, leaving only a guttural hiss, which only aggravated and distressed him further.

No matter how much Belle tried to convince herself otherwise, there was no denying it; the Deceora sitting before her was her brother.

“No. You don’t need to convince me anymore… I know it’s you, Luce.” Her voice shook as she looked him over, feeling quite guilty for attacking him. He hadn’t even put up a fight to defend himself. He was willing to die instead of harm his sister. “How… how did this happen?”

The creature whined, its horns drooping. It held up its injured arm, showing off the bite marks that lined its flesh. The wounds looked fresh, and if Belle looked close, there was still pink blood among the green ooze that dripped from the cracks.

“I… don’t… know…it jussst… hh-hurts...”

Belle shook her head, growling. “That’s not an answer, Luce! Why are you... Why is my baby brother a Deceora?!”

Luce squeaked, then looked down at his arm. The corruption seemed to be centered around the wound. There was no doubt in his mind that the bite had changed him… somehow.

“A-afterrrr...Yoouu… leave. A-arm h-hurt. Change… into this.” He seemed to be getting used to his new mouth, although his words were still labored. He looked down, ashamed of himself. “M-m-monster…”

Tears finally spilled from Belle’s eyes, and she pulled Luce into a hug, hearing his shaky, rasping breaths. A deep, instinctive fear welled up as she heard the Deceora hiss, although her sisterly love overtook that, her embrace only tightening as she realized that… no matter what form he took, this was her brother, and he’d never hurt her.

She pulled away, finding it hard to look him in the eye, not wanting to see his sentient, deep sadness within those predatory orbs. She didn’t want to see her brother staring through her, unable to communicate. It hurt to see him like this...

“Are you okay?” She instantly winced. Of course he wasn’t okay. He turned into a Tree-blighted Deceora. She sheepishly added, “Sorry… standard question.”

Luce huffed, his tail tapping against the desk as he allowed himself to laugh, his chuckles sounding like staccato growls. As soon as he laughed, however, his eyes went wide. He instantly covered his mouth with a paw, whimpering.

“Not… scare… you…” He whimpered. “I… sound scary… monster...”

Belle sighed, rubbing her temples as her horns drooped.

“You’re not a monster, Luce. Stop saying that.”

He looked away, his voice airy. “You said… it…” He growled slightly as a twinge of pain raced through is back. “Said… I hurt…. Someone.”

Belle followed the Deceora’s gaze to the bloodied wrench on the counter, feeling a swell of guilt settling in her core. Robotically, she reached for the tool, turning it around in her hand. Luce winced, that pitiful whimper beginning to spill from his jaws again. The purple shape faltered, her eye narrowing. Her gaze softened, and she tossed the wrench in the nearest trash bin.

“There.” She folded her arms. Luce tilted his head, perplexed as to why she’d throw away her favorite tool. She scoffed, a tiny grin starting to quirk at the edges of her mouth. “Anything used to hurt my baby bro is trash, as far as I’m concerned.”

Hearing this, the Deceora’s tail started to wag, rapping against the metal table in a series of rhythmic thumps. Frustrated, Luce turned and hissed, trying to stop the newfound appendage. Nothing worked, and he pouted, looking quite silly. Belle watched, stifling a chuckle; this was her brother, alright.

She suddenly reached for Luce, picking him up before he could protest. He was the same weight, perhaps a tiny bit lighter from the energy burned in his change, as well as the shards he was missing. He whimpered, afraid of being dropped, but Belle just chuckled, shaking her head.

“I’m not lettin’ you go again, ya dork.” Her second pair of arms reached to better hold Luce, and he grumbled, his lanky arms dangling. “I see what happens when I leave ya alone… ya go and turn into a Hue-forsaken Deceora, of all the things.”

Luce huffed, and Belle grinned, glad to see him returning to his normal, snarky self. She carried him to the kitchen, dropping him rather unceremoniously onto the tiled floor. The drop wasn’t high enough to hurt him, but he squealed, scrambling to his feet as he was deposited.

“What… that for?” He hissed, arching up. “Rrrr…”

His Deceora instincts seemed to be shining through a bit, yet Belle found herself uncaring of the threat, her back turned to him as she started to search through the cabinets for anything suitable for a predatory animal. Luce would normally eat a bagel or something. In his current state, Belle wouldn’t be surprised if he requested the souls of the innocent, just to mess with her.

“I’m getting you something to eat, ya demon child.” She chuckled, looking over the refrigerator door to see the Deceora snarling at her, his maw agape. “You don’t scare me. I fought off far larger threats before, and you couldn’t even raise a claw to me.”

He halfheartedly swiped at the air, grumbling. He was, admittedly, quite famished. He wasn’t sure if that was to be attributed to the energy lost in his transformation or just the fact that he hadn’t eaten all day. Judging by how empty his stomach was, it was probably both.

He perked up at the smell of steak, tilting his head as Belle grabbed a plate of the rarest meat she could find, undoubtedly the unwanted leftovers from one of her attempts at cooking. While she was a wizard in the engineering field, the same couldn’t be said for her culinary skills.

She set the plate down in front of Luce, who growled softly, pawing at it.

“You need a fork, or…?”

He shook his head, grinning with rows of deadly fangs. Belle raised her hands in surrender, before turning back to grab a half-eaten muffin. Of course, the little snack was pushed all the way back, and so she had to take a minute to dig through old cartons of juice and milk, not caring as she heard tearing sounds around her.

When she looked back, the steak was already in shreds, the Deceora just looking hungrier from the appetizer. He hissed, his eyes flaring a predatory lagoon as he announced his dissatisfaction, arching up a bit.

Belle winced, her eye going wide as she whispered, “Luce?”

The action reminded her of normal Deceora behavior, and for a moment, she thought that he’d finally lost control of himself. Deceoras were prone to tearing their prey into shreds, decimating them like land-borne piranhas. A twinge of worry hit Belle, and she backed up slightly.

However, just as soon as he’d snapped, Luce seemed to regain his senses.

He seemed to notice what he’d done, whimpering slightly and turning away.

Belle’s expression softened, and she kneeled, looking into his eyes. His magenta gaze was fearful, even now, and he drew in on himself a bit, whimpering.

“Not… okay… can’t think…” He held his head, his eyes flickering between lagoon and pink. He couldn’t decide what urge to act on; the will to flee or to lash out.“Don’t want… to be… monster…”

“You’re not a monster-”

Luce cut her off with a sudden, guttural hiss. Belle reflexively flinched, her eye glimmering with fear as she momentarily forgot who she was looking at. The fear in his sister’s gaze only made Luce cover his face, his form shaking with raspy sobs.

“Don’t want… to hurt you…” He whimpered, his breaths labored. “Can’t control… it...wantsss to hurt you…”

Belle pulled him into another hug, and he squealed, flailing. He rested his head on her shoulder, shuddering violently.

“I… scared…” His voice faltered, dissolving into wordless whimpers and sad purrs. “Rrrr….”

Belle sighed. “I know… I’m scared, too…” She looked away. “Don’t worry… I’ll find a way to fix this… we’ll find a way, together.”

Luce crooned dejectedly. “No… I monster… forever.”

“You… you say that as if you haven’t always been… my little monster…” Belle hugged him tightly, her breaths shaky. “I promise I’ll reverse this… somehow. As long as you have your memories, I won’t give up on you.”

Luce let out a low trill, huffing in disbelief. In all the cases he’d heard of shapes becoming feral, none of them had reverted to normal, even after their ultimate deaths. Then again, none of them had retained their minds, either…

“I’m not giving up on you, Luce… just because you’re a Deceora on the outside doesn’t mean you are on the inside. No measly bite is gonna change that, got it?”

Luce pulled away, averting his gaze. Belle huffed indignantly, narrowing her eye.

“You fought off Deceoras before like nobody’s business. Are you really going to let the least threatening one of them all take you down?”

That got her a laugh. The creature’s horns flicked up, and he glanced at her, tilting his head incredulously.

“Me..?”

Belle grinned shakily.

“Who else, ya dork?” She crossed her arms. “Now, what are ya, a cowardly Deceora… or the best baby bro in the universe?”

Luce finally faltered, turning around. His horns folded back, and he gave a non-threatening growl, pouncing into Belle’s embrace. He shook, although he didn’t seem as distressed as before, having been convinced.

Belle stood, holding Luce for what felt like an eternity. She could hear his heartbeat, and from where she stood, she spotted a few broken pieces of metal under the table. Realizing what the metal was, she put the Deceora down, sighing.

“Well, if you’re gonna be like that for awhile, I’ve gotta make ya some new cybernetic enhancements… your old ones don’t fit anymore, eh?”

Luce perked up, his stubby tail wagging. He trilled in excitement, following Belle to the workshop.

While this was in no way the best situation, they had each other, just like always. And as long as they held on, kept trusting each other and clinging to hope, they’d get through anything… they always did.

#jsab #just shapes and beats #jsab au #steampunk au #luce #belle #Other people's OCs #Oh Look a Story Thing #gift #au #deceora #fresh friday #blixer #new game

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just-jordie-things · 7 years

Text

Off To The Races - Archie Andrews

listen to the song here

My old man is a bad man,

but I can't deny the way he holds my hand

And he grabs me, he has me by my heart

“Fuck Arch you’re getting so much better at this” You panted, and the boy fell of from you as he came down from his climax.

“Are you trying to tell me I wasn’t good before?” You managed a slight chuckle, and swatted lazily at him, the back of your hand coming into contact with his bare chest. “Because you scream just as much” You rolled on your side, giving him a look.

“You really wanna bring down everything we’ve built up Archiekins? Because I think you’d really missed me if I broke off this special friends deal we have going” He panicked, and it was clear in his face as you threatened him. But in seconds his expression changed to a smirk, and you sighed internally. He was about to get all cocky. The red head rolled onto his side, before straddling himself over top of you, just as he had been moments ago.

“You wouldn’t cut it off if you tried” He said, hands clasping over your wrists.

“Wouldn’t I? I mean.. I don’t want to sound arrogant, but, I think Reggie would be just as thrilled to be friends with benefits” You said, smirking back at him. Archie grimaced, and leaned over you, pressing his lips hard against yours and catching you by surprise. A small sound came from the back of your throat at the sudden movement. When he pulled back, you opened your round eyes and stared at him in shock.

“First of all, you did sound arrogant, and second of all, if you even think about leaving me- this- for a piece of shit jockstrap like Reggie, I will make sure Pop’s never serves you another burger”

You stared at each other intensely for a long period of time, before you broke down into giggles.

The best part about hooking up with your best friend, no strings attached, was the moments like these.

But for Archie… there was maybe one string in particular that could possibly ruin what he had with you. Because you weren’t supposed to fall in love with your fuck buddy. Well, fuck best buddy.

Swimming pool glimmering darling

White bikini off with my red nail polish

Watch me in the swimming pool

“Come on! Come join us!” Veronica said from the pool in her backyard. She beckoned Archie over, as did Betty. Who was sitting on Veronica’s shoulders. But the ginger boy just shook his head, still sitting in the chair in just his swimming trunks, and writing down words to a new song he was working on.

“y/n!” Betty called, and you looked up from where you were talking to Kevin outside of the swimming pool, and about en feet away from Archie.

“Yeah?” You hollered back, and walked closer to the pool so you could talk to her better. Giving Archie the clearest view on how well your white bikini fit your curves.

“You wanna tell your lame ass friend that if he doesn’t get said lame ass in the pool, that I’m going to rip of is testicles and feed them to him on one of Pop’s burgers?” You laughed, covering your mouth with both red painted nailed hands.

“Yeah yeah” You said between stifled giggles. “Hey Arch!” You called, and walked closer to the boy, and out of earshot of the girls. He have you a bored look, but his eyes said otherwise as they shamelessly scanned up and down your dry body.

“Yes?” You smirked, having seen him obviously checking you out. You stooped over close by his ear.

“If you get in the pool now so they shut up..” You whispered. “Then I’ll let you fuck me in it later” You said. “Well… then after I’m gonna need a shower so the chlorine gets out.. Maybe if you’re extra good-”

He’d already shot up from the chair and ran over to the pool to cannonball into it.

Light of my life, fire of my loins

Be a good baby, do what I want

Light of my life, fire of my loins

Give me them gold coins, give me them coins

You were in the Andrews’ kitchen one morning, Mr Andrews having already left for work, and not knowing you’d spent the night. Which… well it never happened before.

Usually when you were at his house, you’d hang out with Archie after school, study, watch a movie maybe, or just talk. All the best friend stuff. Then later on, once the man went to bed you ‘went home’ and then snuck back up into Archie’s room through the window, and your fun would begin. A quick round or two, maybe even three if it was a special occasion. Or other stuff. You two were pretty open minded

But last night was after a big football game, and the both of you were exhausted. Him from all the ‘sporty action’ as you called it, and you from all the cheering and screaming in the stands with Kevin. Seriously, it was the laziest sex ever.

But you weren’t expecting to wake up in his bed the next morning, wearing his green sweater that he must’ve put on you last night, and wrapped up in his arms. You’d looked up at the boy, an expression of confusion written on your face because you’d never slept slept together. Like… actually fell asleep together. Maybe at the drive in he’d wrap an arm around you and you’d sit closer than usual, but this was waaayyy different. He was holding you, cradling you like a lover rather a… fuck buddy. Archie was sleeping peacefully, maybe even happily. He had the slightest hint of a smile on his face, and you felt yourself blush. You? Blushing? You’d never!

You hadn’t when he’d seen your boobs for the first time. So what the hell was this?

And I'm off to the races, cases of Bacardi chasers

Chasin' me all over town 'cause he knows I'm wasted,

Facin' time again on Rikers Island and I won't get out

Because I'm crazy baby, I need you to come here and save me

I'm your little scarlet, starlet, singin' in the garden

Kiss me on my open mouth

Ready for you

Your hips were swinging around as you hummed a song you didn’t remember the name of. The bowl of batter in your hand being whisked around cheerfully as you got to the hook and actually sang the words around. Your bare feet dancing with the music as well. (you’d decided Archie’s sweater hadn’t looked half bad on you)

And speak of the devil he’d chuckled, walking right into the kitchen and sitting at the breakfast bar. “Are you making breakfast?” He asked, and you spun around, not embarrassed to have been caught, but shocked to see him awake so early.

“I am, pancakes as a matter of fact” You said with a smile, before turning your back to him, and pouring a circle of batter onto the pan. “And what are you doing up so early Andrews? It’s eight and you usually sleep till eleven on the weekends” You looked at him over your shoulder (and not catching him admiring you in his clothes).

“I dunno bed got cold” He replied with a shrug, and you turned back to the food, pretending to be invested in the pancake. Were you the reason the bed got cold? Again, your cheeks heated up in a scarlet blush. Were fuck buddies supposed to make you feel this way?

My old man is a tough man but

He's got a soul as sweet as blood red jam

And he shows me, he knows me

Every inch of my tar black soul

He doesn't mind I have a flat broke down life

In fact he says he thinks it's why he might like about me

Admires me, the way I roll like a Rolling Stone

A few days later, you were sitting in the student lounge next to Kevin and across from Jughead. Kevin and Jughead were in a discussion about Jason Blossom, one which you did not feel the need to join. So you sat on your phone playing games and snap chatting until Jughead said something that brought your attention back to the boys.

“That sweater is a little big for you, isn’t it y/n?” Your face flushed as you looked down to your outfit, seeing that you were indeed wearing an oversized, green, pine smelling, men’s, sweater.

“Uh-uh yeah Archie let me borrow it the other day I spilled my milkshake on myself at Pop’s and I guess I forgot to give it back” You said sheepishly, tucking your hair behind your ear. Jughead nodded, unamused. Kevin’s mind was already clicking with a million other, and quite frankly juicier possibilities with how you could’ve gotten that shirt.

“And you just accidentally wore it today. To school. Your outfit was completely unplanned” Jughead deadpanned, shutting his laptop. You swallowed at the action. He was onto you.

“Yeah I was in a rush this morning” Which was true, you’d spent the night at the Andrew household for the third time this week. Jughead pursed his lips and nodded. “I’m uh.. I’m gonna go and see If V wants to go get a burger or something” You said, and picked up your bag, walking quickly out of the student lounge. You looked back for a short second entering the empty hallway. Well almost empty. You crashed into the only person there, making their things fall to the ground. “Sorry-!” You looked up to see Archie, and sighed in relief.

“Why’re you in such a rush?” He asked, and you shrugged.

“Juggie being weird, I needed a breather” You said, kneeling down to help him pick up his books and folders.

“Thanks” He said, and you both stood again. “What was Jughead doing?” You bit your lip, pulling on the shirt you wore. Archie smiled slightly, before chuckling.

“It’s not funny, what if he knew?” You hissed, and Archie shrugged.

“So what? Jughead’s my best friend. Besides, I don’t think he’d care, and he probably already does” You thought about that possibility, and licked your lips. You and Archie were pretty bad at being discrete, and the more you thought about it, the more you realized it. “Look if it bothers you-”

“It doesn’t” You told him, shaking your head. “It doesn’t bother me” Another sile broke onto his face.

“Great”

“Cool”

“Fuck you”

“You can later” You had to laugh, shaking your head as you collected yourself.

“I’ll see you later Andrews” You said, adjusting the strap of your bag before walking off down the hall. Archie turned and watched you leave, a slight sigh blowing through his nose.

“Ask her out” The redhead jumped, spinning around to see Jughead standing behind him.

“It’s not that easy-”

“You’re already screwing her how hard could it be” Archie looked back to where you’d just left the school, the door swinging shut.

“Really fucking hard”

Likes to watch me in the glass room, bathroom, Chateau Marmont

Slippin' on my red dress, puttin' on my makeup

Glass film, perfume, cognac, lilac

Fumes, says it feels like heaven to him

“And why is the school ball important?” Archie asked from your bedroom while you were doing your makeup in the bathroom. Your wet hair from a previous shower, a super steamy one because Archie thought it’d be easier on the environment to share water and hey. One second you’re shampooing and the next you’re screaming his name and thanking God your parents went grocery shopping.

“Because I can go and look nice”

“You always look nice” He said back, and you rolled your eyes but blushed in the mirror.

“Thanks, but I mean boyfriend nice”

Archie choked.

“Boyfriend? Why boyfriend? You don’t need one you’re an independent person”

“Thanks Arch but I’m also an incredibly single ass person”

“Well I happen to like your single ass how it is” You looked out at him through the doorway, tugging on the green sweater that you wore casually. By itself.

“What’s wrong with me wanting to date?” You asked, shaking your head and furrowing your brow.

“Nothing it’s just you’ve never mentioned wanting to before”

“Well between saying ‘fuck me’ and ‘shit i have to study more’ I haven’t exactly had the time to bring it up” You said with a slight giggle, and Archie smiled to himself, pretty frickin’ proud he took up your time. But if you started dating someone else, then goodbye fuck buddies. And probably a hell of lot of time you spend together as just regular friends. Studying, going to the movies, hanging out at Pop’s, all things you’d do with your new… boyfriend…

“Yeah I just you don’t seem like that kind of person” You looked at him funny again. “Like I didn’t think… I don’t know I thought you were happy” You winked, and walked back into the bathroom to finish up your eyeliner.

“Well tonight will be an extra happy night if all this girly stuff works” You said.

Archie sighed quietly, playing with the blankets on your bed to distract himself. WHy weren’t you happy? Why couldn’t you just be happy with him? You didn’t need the makeup and fancy dress to impress him, you blew him away in just his sweater and a towel on your head.

I'm off to the races, laces

Leather on my waist is tight and I am fallin' down

I can see your face is shameless, Cipriani's basement

Love you but I'm going down

God I'm so crazy, baby, I'm sorry that I'm misbehaving

I'm your little harlot, starlet, Queen of Coney Island

Raising hell all over town

Sorry 'bout it

“Thanks for driving me” You said as you and Archie got out of his car. He nodded, walking next to you towards the school. You smield over at him, before hooking your hand under his bicep, and staying a little closer to him as you went up the steps of the school.

“Look, uhm, y/n” Archie said uneasily, and you looked over at him. “I just uh… if your evil little plan works tonight and you start like.. Goin’ out with somebody I can’t…” You waited patiently as he found the right words to say. “I can’t keep up the fuck buddy thing if you have a boyfriend” You chuckled a little at his bluntness, but he saw the sad look in your eyes.

“Yeah… yeah I know” You whispered, and you stopped walking in the hallway, just in front of the doors of the dance.

“So.. so it’s not happening anymore” You smiled sadly, looking down at your feet as you nodded.

“Yeah I guess it is” You said quietly again, and Archie stepped forward, cupping your face in his hands. “It was fun while it lasted?” You offered, and he nodded.

“Yeah.. it was” He breathed, and you pecked his lips lightly. More of a comfort kiss really.

But somehow, as you both walked into the gym and went your separate ways, it felt painfully like a breakup.

My old man is a thief and I'm gonna stay and pray with him till the end

But I trust in the decision of the Lord to watch over us

Who else is gonna put up with me this way?

I need you, I breathe you, I'd never leave you

They would rue the day I was alone without you

I said "Hun' you never looked so beautiful as you do now, my man."

You were trying not to cry, you really weren’t though the water works behind your eyes were strong. You sat alone at a table, trying to ignore the sharp pain of rejection in your chest. Rejection and guilt. Guilt for leaving Archie. It’d been an hour, and this dance was just making you miserable. V had come over to you about ten minutes ago, asking for you to have fun and dance but you’d turned her down. Now there was a mix of slow songs playing, all the couples enjoying each other’s company on the dance floor.

That was when a familiar figure stood in front of you, smiling slightly.

“You look sad” Archie said, and you nodded.

“Feelin’ sad” You replied, and he held out his hands, palms up to you.

“Come dance with me” He said softly, and you nodded, slipping your hands into his and letting him pull you up to stand. He walked backwards, bringing you closer as you found your own secluded but not cornered spot to dance. You laid your hands on Archie’s shoulders, and his on your waist. “What’s got you so down y/n?” He asked, and you licked your lips, careful not to ruin your lipstick.

“I asked out Johnny”

“From the football team?” Archie looked over to where Johnny was smoking in the corner. Of all people she wanted to date that cancer breathing jackass?

“Yeah” You whispered weakly. “He told me to fuck off and that uh..” You licked your lips again. “Well he called me a slut-” Archie jerked, looking towards Johnny’s direction but you tugged him back. “Stop” You murmured, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Stop don’t fight… please” He huffed out a breath, and you pushed yourself closer to him, nose pressing against his shoulder. “I just wanna dance with you right now” You mumbled into his suit jacket, and Archie nodded faintly, wrapping his arms around your waist now.

“I’m sorry”

“It’s okay, it was one rejection I can get over it-”

“No I’m sorry I even let any of this happen” His hands rubbed your sides slightly, and you shook your head.

“What do you-”

“y/n I have to tell you something right now” Your brows raised and you nodded.

“Okay” You whispered, and he could hear your nervousness.

“y/n I-” He paused, staring you in your wide, beautiful y/e/c eyes. He raised his hands to cup your face, like he’d done earlier that night. “I broke the only rule we had” You bit your lip, not even caring about the lipstick anymore, because you knew the rule he was talking about.

“I did too” You whispered, eyes flicking between his honey brown ones.

“You did?” You nodded, giving a small ‘mhm’. “Well then fuck the speech” He muttered and pulled you closer, ducking his head down to crash your lips together in a passionate kiss. Yeah you’d kissed before, but this was a whole new kind of kiss, it wasn’t hungry and needy, it was sweet, and loving. When you pulled back, Archie’s thumbs were caressing your skin softly, still holding your face. “I love you” He whispered, and you blinked, a soft smile spreading on your lips.

“I love you too”

And we're off to the races, places

Ready, set, the gate is down and now we're goin' in

To Las Vegas chaos, Casino Oasis, honey it is time to spin

Boy you're so crazy, baby, I love you forever not maybe

You are my one true love, you are my one true love

You were curled up in Archie’s side bare skin pressed together. He was humming a new tune he was working on, and playing with your hair while you drew patterns with your finger on his chest.

Hell yes you went back to your empty house and had sex. Hell no it wasn’t just fucking this time. You’d giggled when you finished, and Archie told you that now it was ‘making love’ and you’d swatted at him calling him lover boy. A nickname you could easily get used to.

“y/n”

“Hm?”

“It wasn’t recent” You tilted your head up slightly, enough to look at him properly.

“Mm what wasn’t recent lover boy”

“Well I didn’t recently fall in love with you” You raised a brow, prompting him to continue.

“Alright, well remember the summer we used to play in my backyard all the time, and we’d always be up in the treehouse?”

“Arch we were seven then”

“Yeah well that’s when it happened” He said, and you smiled, rolling onto your stomach, the top of your chest pressed against his.

“How?” You folded your arms over his collarbone and rested your chin on top of them.

“I don’t really know, I don’t have anything romantic about it” He chuckled, and you laughed softly too. “I just… I just looked at you and you were giggling and those loose strands of your hair was falling out from your ponytail and I just… I just knew” You leaned up, stopping for a short moment as your eyes glanced from his eyes to his mouth, before pressing your lips against his. Archie hummed, a hand coming up to cradle the back of your head as your mouths moved softly together.

“Sounds pretty damn romantic to me” You whispered.

You fell asleep in his arms that night, wearing your favorite green sweater as he held you protectively, your head tucked into the crook of his neck. Your legs were tangled together under the covers, and it was impossible to be closer. Well, impossible while sleeping.

You are my one true love

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