#its insane how one woman terrorizes my whole family but no cause i remember my mom would tear me a new one. Metaphorically

[todayisafridaynight]

Prior to sending the ask I was just guessing what matrophobia meant based on the root words but I looked it up after and went ohhhh and then you confirmed that extra dimension to it and I went OHHHHH

I think that gets to the heart of what I've been thinking about, that bittersweetness, because despite his best efforts... of course he could never end up anything like Yoko, but he still ended up with an abusive "household." Because in addition to Masato ending up how he did, he has to see those same situations play out, feel that same tension in the air between Jo and Ichi, over and over for almost a decade straight.

Like, in a way, he's forced to put himself in Toshio's shoes when that happens. He can't really get through to Jo, in the same way Toshio can't get through to Yoko, but he can try to step in before lasting damage is done, and he can try to make it bearable for his son. You know. Have a nice talk. Treat him to Peking duck. I'm SO normal about the (drawn-out) parallels of those scenes

So then with Jo... he kind of does become his father, even if he never wanted to (no one wants to), both through his ruinous neglect of Masato at birth and through how he comes to look at discipline and corporal punishment. I'm sure it's not lost on him in Masato's case (owww), but with Ichi, it's not like he has any reason to see him as his son... But How Far Can That Take You.

Because it's like, at the start, he was openly beating Ichi in front of Arakawa and not letting up much when Arakawa intervened. But then you have The Yubitsume Scene and Arakawa walking in on All That and... he looks sorry. Sorry for being caught, probably, but sorry nonetheless. Like... what changed between then and now... have you two had a Heartfelt Conversation... do you know where Arakawa got that scar... are you unable to change your "nature" even then...

Side note bro your SHOE is the size of his TORSO I promise you do not need to kick him with all the strength you've got like what the hell is this 😭😭😭

BUT ALL THAT ASIDE thank you so much for delving into the symbolism! Wonderful read. I don't really have an eye for symbolism, so that makes it all the more enjoyable to revisit the comic and everything with what you've gone into. I think a lot of your experiences resonate with mine, so conversely I'm not sure what others would take away from it, BUT I think there's enough there that's so insightful and evocative that it's effective without personal experience. I don't think there's anything I could add, so. Yeah. For once I am happy to sit back and take it all in... On that note, definitely looking forward to your next comic!

AUUUGH YEAAAH YEAHEYA HYEAH THAT EXACTLY OUUUGH OWIEE OWW.....

that's literally it though. like no extra notes. except The Obligatory Few i dont think it was an accident that arakawa is set up as the beginning of the game's 'protagonist' and planting that 'troubled family' taste first thing in our mind. i remember how i felt when i first saw arakawa walk in on jo and ichi and then arakawa taking ichi out for dinner i was just like🧍‍♂️Girl No The Cycle.... It's Continuing...... //screams// LIKE UGH IT WAS SO GOOD BUT ALSO OWWW STOPPP and then on the REPLAY it just hurts more cause with the added context to jo's character its like Oh No...... You're Your Father's Son....

and youre right: jo doesn't have an implicit reason to see how he treats ichi is wrong, hence he similarly doesnt have any reason to stop- not unless arakawa intervenes of course (and i will stand outside my window thinking of the possibility arakawa ever did try to have A Conversation with jo... arms folded behind my back and all like Man™️....)

oh but yeah, absolutely no problem ! im lowkey of an egotist so i do like to talk bout the stuff i make. More In Depth (though thats obvious considering the fuckin essays in the tags i always leave ☠️☠️) gerjlgaELKjg. so i was happy to explain ♪(´▽｀) !! what i like about symbolism is that it can be intentional or not, and the fun is always finding it just by chance. i cant explain it properly, but i just think its a neat 'seasoning' of sorts to drawings (❁´◡`❁)

#long post #snap chats #everyone in rgg got flipper shoes i stg tho like evey time i look at everyones renders i gotta point it out to myself 😭 #speaking of. The Cycle. and Personal Experiences. arakawa walkin in on jo and ichi esp hits cause thats def a thing thats happened to mysel #its insane how one woman terrorizes my whole family but no cause i remember my mom would tear me a new one. Metaphorically #or she'd be pissed at my sis and i and my sis would just take us out for lunch and we'd talk bout it #Unsurprisingly my dad would do that for me growin up and he was there #i used to visit him on weekends when he lived nearby and those were my Peking Duck dinners in a sense #he'd just do his best to make sure i felt at home and making sure. i was cared for for once LMAO #so yeah to see that repeat in my family with my sister taking the role of my dad its like ow... #OH YEAH NO ITS BEEN A HOT YEAR SINCE I SAID HOW HARD IT WAS FOR ME TO GET THROUGH THE BEGINNING OF Y7 HUH #it hurts a lot to watch masumi's backstory since it's EXTREMELY personal and hits too close to home but i watch it anyway 🥴 #probably the first and only time a piece of media can actually 'trigger' me that badly i guess. how lame #i think ive updated my villain origin story enough tho. im sorry you also had a shit mom If Im Assuming Right #i wish it was easy to deal with bad parents but. well. if it was we wouldnt have them amiright #the best i can do is vent how i feel and at least try to have people in similar situations as me feel. understood. as corny as that sounds #its a little heinous to say Im Glad Our Experiences Are Similar cause id never wish my experiences on anyone else #but i guess i mean to say im glad we can understand each other in that regard #on a semi-better note. please dont hope for the comic anytime soon i only just finished sketching set pieces ( ´◡` ;;;) #I GOT DISTRACTED AGAAAINNNNN also its very cold and i dont work well in the cold. s'cause my fingers get all stiff EW #but i WILL have this one done i have too many abandoned projects i aint abandoning another one #with that in mind its funny you mention arakawas scar cause i did have a tiny baby thing in mind with it #nothing sad or serious this time just somethin cute even. if THAT ever happens we'll see it but yeah. just another funny case of Timing #alright bye bye for now i should work on this. after i answer your second ask HANG ON ILL SEE YOU THERE--

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, KAT! You’ve been accepted for the role of OTHELLO. Admin Rosey: So, one thing that’s really difficult to highlight without overemphasizing is Othello’s dichotomy and his constant conflict. Sometimes you can focus so wholly on one aspect of a character that it’s overwhelming. But Kat, you write Odin so effortlessly, so FREAKING effortlessly that you capture it throughout the application as an integral part of his character -- interweaving it into the plot, the sample, even the “what drew you to this character” section. I am completely blown away and utterly terrified of what havoc you’re going to wreak on the dash. I am screaming over this application and I always will, time and time again. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Kat Age | 25 Preferred Pronouns | She/her Activity Level | OK so my classes went online and my job has cut staff in half so I have so much free time and so much muse. Listen…. LISTEN I know I’m not always reliable but it’s game time lemme say like at least twice a week, I’m here for the haul let’s write baby!!!!!!!!!!! Timezone | EST How did you find the rp? | I originally came across it in the lsrpg tag, also my girl Taryn recommended it and also I miss y’all :( Current/Past RP Accounts | These are links to inactive past accounts:

https://neosy.tumblr.com/ https://grchcmisms.tumblr.com/ https://99gael.tumblr.com/ https://halogenq.tumblr.com/ https://odinbellc.tumblr.com/ ;) https://pavellam.tumblr.com/

IN CHARACTER

Character | Othello, Odin Bello – requesting faceclaim change to Trevante Rhodes :^) What drew you to this character? |

Through my first experience writing Odin I learned a lot about both him and myself as a writer. He was initially a challenge for me because at my roots I was never someone successful in writing characters with good intent, the easier side of him being the one of violence and chaos, something that was difficult considering more often than not… that isn’t who Odin is, or more fittingly, who he wants to be. I struggled with his daily life, the man he tries so hard to be and who he’s used to becoming over the years and I realized that was the key in; the struggle. I’ve teetered around writing for a while recently, the desire and the muse not being there for me when I remembered my dear, dear, Odin and for a split second I wondered about him. Such an interesting thing, to wonder about a character, to dive deep into your mind’s eye and ask, “How is he doing, I wonder? The man of gold and copper, the being of olympus and hades? How is my boy?” And realizing the responsibility of creating and finding that out is all mine. It felt like seeing a past lover in the check out line, wide eyes as you remember the missed calls and blocked number, and realize how fuckin’ good they look today and, damn, were stupid for leaving them.

Dearest Odin, please take me back. I miss you so dearly. I’ll try hard not to leave you so suddenly this time, that was my bad.

Who am I to fool myself? My heart always brings me back to him. Feed me an optimist with nothing but a history of failure, rocks beating down on a pristine marble surface til the cracks spell misery. It’s all his fault, the pain, suffering, and failure… but he tries so hard. It’s as if he’s doomed from the beginning, the first cries from his mouth as a child, a bad omen, the first steps he takes, the small tottering of a baby, were faced in the wrong direction. Some people are born bad, some people are cultivated as such, and Odin, at his root, is a demon in disguise even despite his most valiant efforts; it’s a nature he fights everyday and, oh, the battle grows bloodier and bloodier.

The rest may look familiar to you:

I’ve always been a sucker for a good heart and bruised knuckles.

Such beauty and chaos, such destruction and uncertainty, an aching heart that slips through your fingers as you struggle to grasp it, begging it to hold still. He shakes and struggles with nature and nurture, who he should be and who he wants to be, and more importantly, what he’s become. He feels the remorse and pain of it everyday when he wakes and each night he goes to sleep – for a time he managed to be the person he worked so hard to be. It crumbled under his feet and his developing insanity, the rumble of his father’s ways breaking the ground under his skin and causing something of a snap, a moment of true obscurity. He hates himself for it, but he cannot yet again break his mold, he cannot become someone else. His will is cracking, his heart breaking.

Give me his nuance, give me his pain, give me his turmoil, and oh, please, give me his struggle; the desperate gasp of collapsed lungs and a tattered chest. I cannot stress how beautiful I find him, the feeling in my ribcage so solemn at his childhood and forthcoming, his painful attributes and breaking spirit. A man who shows his kindness through terror and bloodshed, so intent on being a good person that he’d tear the throat of a thief with his teeth.

Yes, I’ve found love.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? | Where do you see this character developing, and what kind of actions would you have them take to get there? 3 future plot ideas would be preferable.

(I have new ideas but lord, do I struggle with formulating plot ideas in this format so I’m just gunna keep the same ones because of such and because I DO in fact still want to play them out.)

MEN SHOULD BE WHAT THEY SEEM //

Oh, can the flash of his teeth brighten a room. His smile is bright but, these days, so rarely genuine. He no longer knows who he is truly fighting for, what side of the coin he lays on with his copper spinning on its side in a never ending spiral. He does not know where he belongs, nor, who he truly is and it plagues him in a way that’s all too familiar, a way that feels like his mother’s comfort and his father’s recklessness, the smell of alcohol on someone’s tongue when they speak and the feeling of a caress on skin. He needs to make a choice, a permanent decision for once in his life, pick his path and follow it to the end instead of cutting through the woods once more. Who are you, Odin? His own face in the mirror becoming more unfamiliar in each passing day, a building anxiety and insanity, a hurricane creating a disaster inside him. Who are you?

His reflection tired, tainting his handsome face and false expressions, a hunger growing just under the surface, a desperation so hot; who will you be?

FOR SHE HAD EYES AND CHOSE ME //

Delilah, oh, how she filled something inside of him, and oh, how he tore into the filled space as if rabid, as if being whole was too much to bear, the filled space too heavy, and the paranoia of losing it all creasing his forehead and melting in his palms.

So he did what he does best, and he ripped through the plaster and insulation like a hammer, shattered the glass and caused the empty space to bleed. It hasn’t stopped aching, despite his insistence that it has healed, sometimes he still wakes with his shirt soaked in blood, drenched in suffering. How can he learn to forgive? He learned his lessons but the morals cannot seem to stick, the weakness he caused in his own self and the horror he caused for the woman he loved – loves, still finding its way through his mind and heart. He seeks self forgiveness just as much if not more than he seeks hers. He cannot move on without finding solace or closure but those are two things so hard to capture and accept. Sometimes, he feels so much like his father with his past misgivings it stirs disgust.

It’s time to repent.

THE GREEN EYED MONSTER //

Ivan is a scab, an infection that Odin refuses to treat. He’s become cautious, wearily aware of betrayal in the past and more on the horizon. He has a feeling, a ponderance that keeps him up at night, the sends shocks through his veins. He hates to think of his friend, his family, as a traitor, as a monster in disguise seeking to antagonize the worst parts of Odin himself, but it’s becoming harder and harder to ignore. It scrapes the back of his mind, creates an itch that he cannot scratch no matter how deep he digs, no matter if the skin starts bleeding, it won’t go away. How does he cut out another piece of his life, another piece of himself so vital? It feels like he is losing those most important to him, that they’re all turning on him and it creates nothing but fear, more paranoia and uncertainty.

He wants so desperately to be wrong, but knows what will happen if he is not.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | If anyone deserves to die at some point in this rp I feel like Odin’s a good contender to get fuckin’ GANKED

IN DEPTH

Please choose between the interview or the para sample (or both, if you like!)

In-Character Para Sample:

Act I

The sun beats down on darkened skin, wind blowing through open cruiser windows, sunglasses adorned on his face and a holder keeps track of coffees. In the daylight he glistens – not in a literal sense of glowing skin and eyes, he does not hover over the earth as if ethereal, not a streak against the sky that blinds any human eyes that dare linger, but instead in the sense that no one could ever find the man to be anything but happy. His teeth, those straight, white, teeth that come alive in a smile and clear rooms with a sneer peek from behind pulled lips in a grin. He walks with a swagger, bearing gifts in coffee for other officers and sharp humor and barked laughs for poor moods. He so easily falls into the facade of being created from nothing but light and the body of Christ, a saint in all regards except moral, light jests greeting all who perceive him and all who engage.

Well groomed, upkept and clean, there was no reason to suspect anything was amiss in the crook of his grins, the sharp of his wit, the movements of his muscles under skin. He even makes arrests like a holy man, like someone with something to lose to violence. His hands rest on the steering wheel, music plays from the stereo and he nods his head, every other line finding its way out of his lips even in no one’s presence but his own. He isn’t playing a character in the moment, enjoying the everydayness of the outside world, the warmth of the air touching his limbs and being sucked into his lungs. He feels joy, he embodies it, he hovers with it. His foot eases off the gas at the turn of a light and one hand finds itself resting outside the drivers window, head cocked to the side, heart beating steadily in his chest – firm and ever present in the strength of his pulse.

A human being in all forms; a person, a person, a person, and his phone rings.

Pulling in the parking lot he answers the call, the perspective outside leaves the voice on the other end muffled as it’s pressed to his ear, his face falling ever so slightly, car pushed into park. He nods even though the speaker cannot see him, he makes a sound of understanding as they continue and suddenly something is more solid inside of him. The fluidity, the liquid that flowed between sunlight and good music steels itself against the reality of his life, of who he is and what he is to do, the lake jostled and good-feelings distorted. It’s not for the faint of heart, not created for those with poor constitution, and he is a police officer until ten tonight; that’s what he says to the voice on the other end so they tell him to have it done by eleven. He does not hesitate until he hangs up, a sigh of the last good breath leaving his lungs. A moment of silence for what he lost.

He grabs the coffees and heads inside.

Act II

The headlights send streaks through the night, the yellow color sending shadows running rampant across the near empty field – long and sickly. The air is not still but choked, a vice grip stealing the oxygen away from those who dared attempt breathing. There stood a figure in the darkness, large shoulders over a larger frame, muscles tightened as he digs and digs, the shovel breaking the earth harshly with each bend of his arms. His breathing is rough, like a rubber band pulled to full capacity trying to bend and break to fit the expansion of his lungs. The shovel carries on.

The silence that hung heavy around the lone sound of crumbling dirt could kill in its own regard; ringing in his ears as he ignores the shower curtain wrapped in duct tape buried in the back corners of his trunk. Odin’s mind is empty to everything but the task, split skin and dried blood from his face and knuckles, the bruises adorning his ribcage. Perhaps it was self defense for the sake of defense, he threw the first punch but it was returned just as well and by then, truly, the control was lost. It was what they had wanted to happen, and he was nothing if not complicit. He supposed that was what they liked about him, another body, a bloodhound. Caving for the sake of therapy, sober by daylight and drenched in sweat and blood by nighttime –  if only to keep his sanity. He was nothing if not built of power and control in both physical and mental regards over everyone but himself.

Try to carve a better god out of wood, put him on a pedestal and pray all you’d like, the real sacrifice will come in blood much later – but this flesh and bone, that which has created the man who finds himself up to his chest in dirt standing at over six feet, he is paid now and up front. He is solid, and real.

He straightens up, dirt caked to his jeans and soiled t-shirt, sweat broken across his skin making him shine under the glare of the headlight, the sheen making him appear as if glowing under the half exposed moon. He plants his hands on the outside on the deepened earth and pulls himself out, breathing hard through his nose, a noise like a grunt, face twisted, teeth appearing behind pulled lips. He stares at the dip of the trunk, chest moving, knuckles tightening, shovel thrown to the side. He isn’t even halfway done yet; he gathers himself, and pulls the latch free.

Act III

(TW: self harm kind of)

The neighborhood is still and quiet, blackness behind every window and curtain at such an ungodly hour, the only sounds being the low rumble of the occasional car passing on the main road nearby. In the stillness there begins a movement, the shape of a tall man shaking open the gate leading to the back of a house, his clothes defiled and leaving trails. He strips in the backyard of the home; shoes, socks, shirt, and jeans forming a pile of mud and dirt by the sliding glass doors until he stands in his boxers, fingers unlocking the back door, the cold of the night wetting trails down his back and sides, whispering to his skin. He walks slowly to avoid making any noise, the sound of keys hitting the granite of a kitchen countertop. Even despite how delicately he walks, the mass of his body makes the stairs protest lowly when his feet find them.

The man first goes to the bathroom, the light flicked on as he tries to avoid his face in the mirror. He is not the same creature that caused the blood to pool in his wounds, not the same monster with dirt caked under his nails – not here, he can’t be; not in front of her. He turns on the shower, body directed towards a corner of the bathroom while he waits for the water to heat, staring blankly at the space where the two walls meet, hands twitching, brain fighting not to think, the sound of static until smoke fills the room. The adrenaline still pumps through his veins, the wild-eyed insanity created by anger and a lack of self control, the rush of the final blow still stinging in the shaking of his muscles. The water turns first brown from the dirt adorning his limbs, then becoming a far more sinister red when he submerges his face and hands, he washes himself slowly, rubbing at his back and shoulders, the sweat off of his skin, the searing pain of smoking water near boiling scalding the back of his neck. He doesn’t allow himself to think, not now, not yet. He doesn’t hum or sing, doesn’t talk to himself, but instead thinks only of his actions as they happen or nothing at all.

He doesn’t know how long he stands under the water, so hot it scalds, burns off the sin and the disgust, scrubbing and scrubbing until he could feel himself beginning to cause harm, wounding, convincing himself he’s becoming clean until he forces his hand, stopping the running water. He stands even longer still, his wet skin freezing over in the silence of the steamed room. Finally when he finds himself ready, he dries off until he feels pristine, the wash of the shower head like a baptism into the form of a different man, a new mold built into his model. Only then does he look in the mirror, eyes meeting the reflection of a handsome man, a cursed man, a martyr only in the sense of self respect and fear. His eyes are tired, his face adorning new cuts and scratches, bruises blooming his sides under skin and over muscle. He aches all over. He bares his teeth at the reflection and it does it right back, a snarl of bright white, the bones straight and sharp, and his eyes so quickly become frightening. He turns away.

Odin’s face peers around the door of a new room, hands finding covers and the soft sound of a woman waking. She turns to him, her face telling of sleep and her lips turned slightly down in a frown, her hands finding his chest, wrapping around his torso, her face in his neck, breath fanning over that damn skin of his and she says, “Long night?”

His fingers trail down the back of her shirt, fingertips pressing to the small of her exposed back stretched between her clothes and he hums quietly, face buried in her hair, body melting and moving to fit hers more comfortably, grip tight to squeeze her form, to hold onto something solid, to find his anchor. “Always, baby. Go back to sleep.” He says in a low voice, something comfortable, something familiar there, as if he’s smiling. She makes a noise of acceptance, curling even further towards him, as if a safety, sinking even further as his fingers trail up and down her back, soothing, as to not allow her to be distraught. Delilah was always the one he worried about, not concerning himself with the rotting inside his own chest, the ache of something breaking within him. He fights with the inability to sleep while the rush of the night still feeds inside of him. He does not concern himself with what little is left of him because while he is with her he is safe from the part of himself that only consumes, he is not concerned with the fragility of his own being, not while he breathes in the heat radiating off of l'amore della sua vita.

Meanwhile, miles and miles away, something begins to rot under the cover of freshly turned Earth.

Extras: I made a tag for him a long time ago and haven’t touched it much since tbh but like I'ma probably add stuff the next few days so this 4 u: https://hypnosreigns.tumblr.com/tagged/character:%20odin%20bello

#accepted #accepted: othello

[etherealblasphemy]

Light At The End Of The Tunnel

hmmm, real talk: I hate this chapter with a burning passion because it was so difficult to write, I scrapped what I wrote a camp ‘cause that was trash, and the only reason I bear with this chapter is because it has so many callbacks to past chapters  (one exact line is used in a different chapter, too, hint hint).

anywho, onto the story!

TW: Mild language, imprisonment, hallucinations, questioning of sanity (yeah, this one gets kind of dark)

    Dark. Cold. Dirty. Sore. Afraid. They didn’t know where they were. They didn’t know how they got there. They didn’t know how to get out. All they knew was pure, unadulterated terror.

   They rolled over on their side, clutching their head in pain as a dull pounding suddenly exploded into searing fire overtaking all senses. Whimpering, they gripped their wrists hard enough to leave bruises in an attempt to fight off the swelling nausea rising through their throat. Their breathing was erratic, audible inhales and exhales disrupting the eerie silence. It felt like their lungs were collapsing, like the walls were closing in around them, like they were drowning in their own panic, like they were going to die.

   Their vision was slowly clearing, forming walls out of death-mongering shadowmen and cell bars out of spears pointed at their throat. The panic didn’t- couldn’t- subside as they realized they were in a dungeon. Trapped. They ran through a list of enemies who would imprison them upon capture, and felt their heart sink into the deepest pits of Chaos, knowing that no matter who captured them, they all lead back to one person- Draven.

   Hard footsteps echoed down the hallway, cold and heartless. They held their breath, willing the slowing steps to hasten their pace and move on. Luck wasn’t on their side; the doom-filled echoes fell silent as a figure cloaked in darkness and deceit emerged in front of them.

   “It’s been a while, Pirate.” The deep, smug voice confirmed their fate.

   Through the panic, they spat out, “I have a name, Draven. It’s Calrex Going-To-Kick-Your-Ass Bennova.” The sharp, incredulous laugh that followed forced their sharp tongue to fall flat.

   “Oh, darling Calrex. I know who you are. For me not to know the being that is you, why, that is unacceptable!” They shivered as a breeze of unknown origin swept through the dingy cell, never breaking the gaze of the lying king. “I’ve waited a long time to be able to speak with you without having a knife at my throat.”

   They scoffed. “And why would that be?”

   Draven crouched down to be eye level with them, a small smirk on his lips as though he saw them as a child who didn’t fully comprehend what was happening. “You’re so naïve, aren’t you? You know nothing, yet you think you understand every single secret of the universe simply because it sings your praises. You, darling, are exactly what I need. You hold the secret. I know you do. And you’re going to give it to me, darling, because there’s no way out of here, and there never will be unless you give up what I most desire.”

   They could hear the fringes of paranoia and obsession borderlining on insanity in his voice. The false ruler had changed since their last encounter in the alley behind Sleeping Stars, even more so since he had first walked into their life. The Draven they knew, the one they could predict like the path of the stars across the heavens, was poised, calculated, and cold. This one was different. This one seemed in control, but was in reality feeling their grip come loose. This one seemed all but a puppet.

   And that hardly explained what he meant by “what he most desired.”

   Their silence was something Draven apparently didn’t want as a response. He grabbed their ankle by the cell bars and jerked them towards him as they yelped in pain, hot tears springing to their eyes. “Answer me, Blood of Calypso!”

   “What the fuck are you talking about?” they replied, their voice missing its usual edge. “What secret? And, the fuck you mean ‘the universe sings my praises’? Thanks to you, I can’t stay more than a week on a planet without someone recognizing me.” Once more, a bitter laugh sliced through the chilly dungeon air like a razor.

   “Stupid girl,” he hissed, digging his nails deeper into their skin as they cried out. “I’ll get the secret out of you one way or another.” With that, he turned on his heel, his cape swishing behind him, and stalked away, the tread of his feet nothing more than echoes of a bad dream. They drew their legs close to them, cradling the one Draven’s nails had sunk into as though he was a predator on the verge of making them their prey.

   At last, they were left alone in the cold, dark cell. Their eyes shot wide as their breath hitched. “Patton?” they called. “Anxiety? Logan? Roman?” The silence was their only constant. “Guys? Can anybody hear me?” Still no response. “Oh, Calypso, what has Draven done to you all?”

   Their eyes opened slowly, as if they didn’t want to confirm they were still here. More of their limbs were sore and covered in bruises from a night of unrest. They let their lids close for half a second, drinking in the peace of sleep before a cough from outside interrupted the slow pace of their heartbeat.

   “Unwanted One. I’d never expect to see you here, with all your talk of grandeur and bravery.” They froze, the shivers creeping down their spine not from the cold. Oh, Calypso above, they were screwed. They swallowed the bile rising in their throat.

   “And I’d never expect to see you anywhere, with all your stupidity,” they retorted, eyes gaining the jagged edge they were known for. Cato growled, slamming his open palms against the cell bars, sending vibrations through their new housing.

   “I wonder if Draven will let me cut out that ever-talking tongue of yours. I’m sure he would,” Cato laughed. They stilled, never to admit to anyone just how truly scared they were. “But that’s not why I’m here, of course. If I can figure out whatever you’re hiding, Draven says you can be my plaything when he’s through with you.”

   They felt their heart stop, breath quickening as they fought back the panic setting in. They had come so close to a year without any breakdowns. Old glimpses of an old life flashed through them, each one more nauseating than the last. An old friend whispered hellos, stroking at their mind with long, gnarled fingers that felt like moth balls and oblivion.

   “What’s wrong, Unwanted One? You seemed all too willing to talk earlier,” he mocked, reveling in their contorted face as they steadily lost the battle against their demons. They snarled at him as they hyperventilated, soft breaths audible in the unfriendly silence. “Will your friends make you talk?”

   Their head snapped up. “W-what are you talking about?” Cato’s cackle reverberated in the lonesome dungeon, foreshadowing the doom that was to come.

   He held up his hand, a grainy image appearing out of thin air like the holograms they had seen in Mericon. Their jaw dropped, their body convulsing as if they had been punched as they took in the image of their only friends, clutching each other as if whoever had taken the photo terrified them. Tears spilled down Patton’s face as Anxiety clutched a swelling bruise blooming across his left cheek. Logan’s eyes were blank, devoid of their usual mirth and good-natured sarcasm. Roman stared right into their eyes, wordlessly begging for help.

   “What have you done to them?!” they roared, launching themself at the cocky man behind the bars. “Don’t hurt them!” Cato merely chuckled, drawing away into the shadows.

   “We haven’t done anything just yet,” he told them. “And we won’t do anything, so long as you tell us exactly everything you know.” They stared at the man, bewildered.

   “Knowing you and Draven, you’ll turn your back on your promise and hurt them anyways. My mouth stays shut until you prove you aren’t hurting them and won’t hurt them if I tell you anything,” they snapped. Cato’s head tilted, the low torchlight giving his shadow the appearance of curved horns.

   “Too bad. We thought you would cooperate when the livelihoods of your friends are at stake.”

   Pain erupted at the base of their head and once more they slumped forward, eyes closing, unsure if they would ever open to see family and happiness again.

   They were suspended in the dark, groaning as they gained consciousness. The world around them was black as the void, no light to illuminate the shadows that could very well be nightmares. They forced themself to take deep breaths, easy and steady. They blinked, proving their dull eyes were open and not sewn shut like a doll cursed by the beast.

   Their eyes focused on a faraway patch of grey as it grew bigger and lighter, forming a little flickering flame approaching them. Against their will, their lungs took in a rush of air, disrupting the calm of their breathing, running it staccato.

   Fire spread through the darkness, an inferno of Chaos racing towards them as they flinched as sparks of white touched their skin. The fire, however, kept its distance from them, encircling them as though they were a noble at the stake. The flames came together, reaching up towards heaven, becoming a figure dancing in the dark like a ballerina.

   The figure turned its fiery head towards them, opening its mouth to swallow their misery whole.

   “Calrex…” it moaned. “Why did you leave us? Did your own parents not love you enough to make you stay?” The flames calmed, revealing a black-eyed woman underneath. They struggled against the lead in their limbs.

   “Mama?” The woman grinned, showing off bloodied teeth. “I didn’t leave you, I promise. I don’t- I don’t know what happened! I only remember the orphanage, I swear. Have you been alive this whole time?” They could feel tears pricking at the back of their eyes, even though they knew the woman they were talking with was not their mother.

   “Do you really believe that, you stupid child?” it mocked. “She hasn’t seen the sky in eons. I made sure of that.” They felt a scream of terror rip from their throat as the woman grew taller, distorting into a beast made of lunacy and pain. It seemed to rush at them; they flinched, shutting their eyes as they whimpered.

   “Oh, darling, darling, darling,” the beast said, its citrine eyes wide and always watching. “How can you expect to save anybody when you can’t even save yourself?” it asked.

   They opened their mouth to answer and found they didn’t know how to.

   “Just give up, and everything will be alright,” it promised. A tear slipped down their cheek and they fell limp. The fear was so overwhelming. “Go to sleep, and everything will be fine without you.” They sighed, blinking away tears as they let their eyes slip close. “They don’t need you.”

   They were back in the dark void as soon as they fell asleep the next night. Luckily, no-one had come to start discourse, though they felt the loneliness clawing at their back. They’d have to face it sometime.

   This time, they could move. They were on their knees, craning their neck to see if they could find anything to tell them where in Chaos they were. They heard footsteps and shut their eyes. They didn’t want to know what disillusion they would see this time.

   “Calrex.” They couldn’t help the sharp gasp that left them as they whipped their body around, tears springing to their eyes almost immediately as they saw the crew of the Sanders Yersinia. Their friends.

   “Guys,” they breathed in relief. “I thought Draven had done something awful to you. I’m- I’m so glad you’re okay.”

   “We know,” Logan snapped briskly. They furrowed their eyebrows, unsure if they had heard him correctly.

   “What do you mean, ‘we know?’”

   “You’re such a pathetic, spineless wimp it’s not hard to predict whose loyal bitch you’ll become next,” Anxiety spat, scoffing as he smirked, a hand on his hip. They nearly choked as they drew a breath, taken aback by his words.

   “Don’t worry, though,” Patton comforted in a voice that sounded sweet yet poisonous all the same, “we’re fine without you.” The image of them flickered for a fraction of a second, something eldritch replacing them for that moment.

   “What are you talking about?” they asked, the tears in their eyes no longer of relief.

   “You know what we’re talking about, Calrex,” Patton told them, his eyes cold and emotionless.

   “We’re simply projections of your mind,” Logan explained sullenly. “That said, we can only speak what you already know yourself.”

   “And when we say we’re fine without you,” Anxiety added.

   “It means you know you have no place our ranks,” Roman finished. “We’ve been travelling together for years now and we’ve been fine. So why should anything change when you decide to walk in our lives like it’s no big deal?” They clapped a hand over their mouth, muffling a whine.

   “You mean nothing to us, Cal.” They stared at Logan, refusing to believe his words. “So give up.”

   “Besides,” Roman interjected, “you’ll be doing us a favor.”

   “...what?”

   “You told us yourself, you’re the one Draven’s hunting down with, oh, what was it? Ah, yes. ‘Every resource he has.’ You’re a threat to us. Now that he has you, he’ll leave us alone. Isn’t that what you want? For us to be safe?”

   “Well- well, of course I want you guys to be safe, but…” They swallowed thickly. “...I don’t want to lose the only family I have…”

   Patton burst out laughing, shaking his head. He doubled over, clutching his stomach as he cackled. He stilled, standing suddenly, his eyes now golden. “Stupid child. You have no family. We’re certainly not it.” They choked back another sob.

   “If you really do love us, Calrex, you’ll stay far, far away, and give up. We don’t need you,” Anxiety assured them. A third sob wrangled its way out of their throat.

   The tears in their eyes overflowed, streaming down their face, leaving heartbreak and a headache as their friends faded away. They were all alone. Sob after sob bubbled up as they wallowed in despondency and despair. All they could do was whisper the myth of Calypso, and hope they would fall asleep soon.

   “Dear little Pirate, whatever has you so troubled?” They cringed at the sound of Draven’s voice, wiping away the dried tears on their face. “Could it be a nightmare?” They kept their mouth shut, clinging to the ratty blanket they had been given as if it was all they had left in their miserable life.

   “I wonder what your friends will think of you when they see you looking so glum?” A painful pang shot through their heart as they bit down on the blanket, determined to not cry.

    Still, they could help but voice the worry growing deep inside them. “What if they don’t come back?” they asked, quiet and meek and not at all what Draven had been expecting. As he recovered from shock, a grin full of nothing but wickedness spread across his face. “They’ve survived- fuck, they’ve thrived for years without me. I’m not important to them. I’m just a charity case, and a dangerous one at that. If they know what’s best for them, they’ll be clear across the universe while they still have the chance.”

   “Now, Calrex, do you really believe that?” Draven prodded, his voice full of glee and trickery. The Janus-faced king watched them carefully, analyzing what his next move should be.

   “What if they don’t come back?” they repeated, lying limp on the dirty stone floor of the Vasryian dungeon. “What if they don’t come back?”

   Draven’s smirk grew wider. They were ready.

   He led them through a torrent of passageways decked with long windows, the sunlight blinding them from days without any hope at all. “Just follow me, and everything will be alright,” he swore. They let him lead them like some stable horse, dazed and eyes unseeing.

   “Blood of Calypso, don’t His whispers conquer you. Stay strong, and prosper.” They inhaled audibly, turning around, expecting to see someone right behind them, whispering in their ear. There was nobody. They felt their mind break just a little more, unsure what was reality and what was a well-dressed lie. “Believe in your Generals. They’ll come.”

   They shook their head as Draven hurried them along. They reached a pair of grand, elaborately carved door; two guards standing sentry- they recognized them from the Treasury- opened the door to reveal a massive throne room, a rich red carpet leading to the ebony seat of power. As they passed by one of the guards, he took their hand, shaking it firmly.

   “It is an honor to meet you, Blood of Calypso.” They felt something in their hand as they pulled away. Draven took the lead once more as they blindly tailed after, discreetly unfolding the crumpled piece of paper.

   “Don’t let Draven’s lies get to you. Me, Dominic, and Jamahl can get you out of here,” it read. They froze, covering their tracks with a stumble as they shoved the scrap into their mouth, swallowing. Draven grumbled as he yanked them to the center of the room, where a circle had been drawn in chalk. Inside, a diamond had been traced, a perfectly straight line cutting it horizontally in half. At each point of the diamond, a golden candle had been placed and lit. Around the circumference of the chalk circle were meaningless squiggles they assumed translated into the Vasryian language.

   They slowed their pace as Draven began speaking. “Oh, you’ll be a most exquisite test subject. Terrence!” The guard who had shook their hand ran in, saluting as he stopped dead. “Go get the ragar,” he ordered. Their heart skipped a beat. Oh, Calypso, they were going to battle a monster to the death! Draven, meanwhile, hummed happily as his eyes met theirs “Stand in the center of the circle, darling.” They had no choice but to comply.

   They waited for the guard named Terrence to return. He came back, not dragging a beast with him, but holding a vial. Inside, clouds of yellow and green mixed together in some toxic fashion. They gulped.

   Terrence delivered the vial to the noble, backing away as quickly as was polite, shutting the doors behind him. Draven studied the gases inside for a long time, examining each and every inch of the glass bottle. His eyes glanced up at them, still as a statue in the circle. “Would you like to test it out, my little Pirate?” They sighed, thinking back to the nightmare reality that had confronted them the night before.

   “...If it means the safety of my friends… yes.” Draven smirked wickedly.

   “This ought to be interesting.” He turned the vial over in his palm, scrutinizing for one final moment before throwing it up in the air. They watched as it fell in slow motion, arching up from Draven’s outstretched hand, falling down towards them. They threw their hands above them as time sped up again, the bottle crashing on the floor.

   Nothing seemed to happen immediately. The gases leaked out of the broken vial, seeping into the air. It smelled like smoke. Still nothing happened.

   They relaxed their arms, staring down Draven as they sneezed twice. Their arms fell limp. Draven’s eyes bored into their soul, surveying them and the gases that seemed to disappear as soon as they reached the border of the circle. “Shall we test it out?” he asked, lowering himself onto the throne, crossing his legs nonchalantly. They tilted their head, their mind filling with haze.

   “What are you-” They sneezed again, relaxing further, as though they were a marionette controlled by strings.

   “Tell me what happened when you and my bastard nephew, and those… inferior creatures broke into the Treasury,” the disingenuous king demanded. Their mouth opened against their will. It was like they were seeing through someone else’s eyes, all but a spectator. They couldn’t control their body.

   “We broke in through the kitchen, and used the passageways behind the walls to get to the Treasury. We split up; I was alone, Patton and Logan went off; and Roman and Anxiety were together,” they said monotonously. Trapped inside their mind, they cursed, thinking ahead in the story. If they didn’t stop now, they would reveal the identities of the guards who had helped them. Who knew what Draven would do to them?

   “What happened next?”

   “I found strange stone that intrigued me. I ended up spending more time than necessary looking at it. Roman and Anxiety stole the Halo Sword, and we-” They were cut off by Draven’s furious roar.

   They were breathing heavily, trying their best to keep their mouth shut. They had to protect those guards. “They have the Halo Sword?” he muttered to himself, running a hand through his perfect hair. “What else happened?”

   Their mouth opened, ready to give away the true identity of the three guards. I won’t let them get hurt. I won’t talk. I won’t talk. I won’t talk.

   “Answer me,” Draven ordered, his eyes full of rage. A bead of sweat made its way down their temple as they struggled to keep silent. “I said answer me!”

   I will not talk. I will not talk. I will not talk. They let out a cry as they fell to their knees, eyes glowing as silver as Calypo’s. “The beast does not control me!” they screamed, throwing their head towards the heavens as the walls shook.

   A blue beam of energy shot through one of the walls, ripping through a tapestry of the mendacious king and his citrine eyes. They lay on the floor, their lungs convulsing as spasms tore through their body. Stones began to fall, creating a gaping hole in the wall. Draven howled obscenities as he commanded the guards outside to help. They came in, running for them.

   “Run. Flee to Legion, on Honua. Find the one called Wonderling. You shall be safe,” they whispered to the guards in their daze, only half-aware of what was going on. The guard Terrence nodded, grabbing his friend and racing for the damaged wall, using the friendly fire to protect themselves from Draven.

   “I should have killed you in that putrid alley when I had the chance! At least then you’d rot with your kind!” he raged, stalking towards them, his cape fluttering wildly about. He hissed as his form slowly changed to that of a serpent looming over them. They blinked, and suddenly they were back in the orphanage all those years ago, terrified by their tormentors and Cato’s serpent form sliding towards them. Their eyes opened and they were back in the throne room.

   They curled in on themself, ready for all this to be over.

   Someone was shaking them, telling them everything was going to be okay, they just had to get on their feet and they’d be back on the ship in no time. They drowsily pushed themself off the ground as the person jerked them to them, pulling them out of reach of Draven’s lunge as he spat venom at them. “Let’s go, Cal.”

   They mindlessly followed the voice. “Mama?” they murmured. The person didn’t hear them.

   They were led onto the ramp of a ship as someone kept firing into the throne room. “Just follow my voice, Cal. That’s it. You’re going to be okay. Kiddos, let’s get this thing airborne!” Patton.

   Oh, Calypso, Patton. The thought of last night crowded their mind and they stopped, staring blankly at the floor. “Cal?” Patton was asking. “It’s alright, just keep walking. One foot in front of the other. Good. You’re doing great, kiddo,” he instructed as they followed his directions. They were free of the fog and fear in their mind long enough to realize they were headed for the med bay.

   Patton unhesitantly unlocked the doors and ushered them to a nearby cot, where they all but collapsed on it, letting their eyes shut. They jacked their knees up against them, wincing as their sore muscles cried out in pain. Patton soothed them, sitting on the floor and holding their hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “It’s going to be okay, Cal. It’s going to be okay.”

   They felt the ship rock as it rose into the air. Patton gave them a small smile, reassuring them that everything was going to be okay. They let him believe it.

   As soon as they felt the ship level out, Roman’s voice came over the intercom, telling them he and the others would be there in a minute. True to his word, the doors opened half a minute later, Anxiety being the first one to rush through and go to Cal’s bedside and they curled in further on themself.

   “Cal. You’re- you’re okay, right?” he wheezed, panting. Roman appeared behind him, squeezing his shoulder comfortingly. “Draven didn’t hurt you?”

   They didn’t know how to explain what had happened. On one hand, they knew it had been nothing but an illusion, a hallucination, but on the other hand, it had been too real to be just a vision. There was truth in it, they believed. Logan took notice of their silence.

   “Calrex, are we behaving too overbearingly?” Their eyes widened, fearful, and they rapidly shook their head. “If you have any concerns, please, voice them.” Their eyes fluttered about like an ave, searching for the strength to tell them they had to leave or risk putting them in danger yet again. They were scared of the aftermath that would follow.

   “...I’m sorry,” they whispered, the back of their throat burning as bitter tears leaked from their multicolored eyes. The others pulled back in shock. “I saw the truth in the dungeon. You guys are fine without me.”

   The silence that followed was unbearable. “Calrex, what are you talking about?” Logan inquired incredulously. They shut their eyes, tiny tears escaping from underneath their lashes.

   They wanted to not say anything and just disappear, or perhaps sleep forever. But they at least owed their friends an answer. “I’m so sorry. I never should have stayed. I’ve only put you all in danger. I know you all hate me, so you don’t have to hide it. I’ll leave whenever you want me to, just like you told me to.” They focused on the floor, knowing their faces beheld unwanted pity.

   “Cal… do you really believe that?” Roman gently asked in disbelief.

   “...yes.”

   “Cal, you’re wrong. We love you very much; you’re like a sibling to me!” he said. “We rescued you because we care about you.”

   “I don’t know what Draven did to you,” Anxiety cut in, “but we’re going to fix it. We’re going to help you get better.”

   “Indeed. Though my word may not amount to much, being a robot that cannot replicate emotions and such, I do care for you, Calrex. These past few weeks have been extraordinary, thanks to you,” Logan added sincerely. All eyes turned to Patton, who was fighting back tears.

   “You’re like a child to me, Cal,” he began. “I love you so much, don’t ever forget that. I would do anything if it meant your safety.”

   “You’re lying,” they said weakly.

   “No, we’re not, and we’ll prove it to you. Every day, we’ll prove it until you believe that you, truly, are our best friend,” he finished.

   They wanted to believe him, they did, but this was something they had harbored since the beginning, only fully manifested by the loneliness of the dungeon. Patton, Anxiety, Logan, and Roman had nothing to prove to them, nothing to convince them of.

   “I promise you, Cal, we’re not leaving you,” Patton swore as they let out a sob.

   “That’s what Cassie said, and look where she is now!” they yelled as they threw the cot’s blanket over them, hoping to drown out the world that never stop kicking them into the mud, even when they had just regained their bearings. “Everyone always leaves me. Just go now. I’ll be doing you all a favor.”

   They felt the tears begin crawling down their face, silent and miserable. They heard footsteps leaving the room. There. They were leaving, just like they should. Their heart cracked just a little further.

   “It’s just you and me Cal. You can talk all you want.” A rush of air filled their lungs. Patton hadn’t left. There was still hope for them. “I’m not leaving you until you’re better, got that, kiddo?” He squeezed their hand once more, still cupped in his own. “It’s going to be okay. No matter how long it takes, me and the others will stick by your side. We’ll get through this, we just have to take it one step at a time.”

   They turned their head, able to see his sad smile from under the blanket. They dared to pull the blanket back from their head, offering Patton a ghost of a smile. He returned the smile, feeling his heart swell with hope. It was a start.

   “Remember, Cal, there’s always light at the end of the tunnel.”

yeeet

Thank you guys so much for taking the time out of your day to read Starbound! It means so much to me that people, if only a few, actually enjoy the trash I call my writing, haha.

This one was kind of dark, so the next one will be a bit of a breather (there’s still some plot, don’t worry). Luckily, this one’s already been written, as it’s been planned out for a while now. It might be up soon as Wednesday, but knowing me I’m going to forget to upload it. You won’t have to wait two weeks, though :)

Tag List woot woOT:

@asofterfan

@alix-the-skeleton

@hufflepuffsscrewdriver

@v-blue-writer

@sanderssidesstuff

thank you guys for reading!

#Sanders Sides #Sanders Sides AU #Sci-fi AU #My AU #sci-fi #Calrex the Pirate #Roman Sanders #Virgil Sanders #Patton Sanders #Logan Sanders #Deceit Sanders #Starbound #we got some action now #tw: sanity questioning #tw: language #haha I love metaphors

[cocoarosalia]

Rocking The Cradle Chapter 16: A proposition

2 days.

It had been 2 whole days since Elly had last seen her mama and papa. She was sure that they hadn’t forgotten her. Her mama was probably tearing apart the city looking for her and her papa was probably trying his best to keep her from doing anything illegal. If Eloise knew nothing else it was that they loved her.

But when her mother berates her with nasty comments…

“It must be pretty fucking sad to be dumped on the street again”

And

“Their pain is on your hands. Now maybe you’ll reconsider before leaving me behind”

...it made her worry sometimes

Nighttime had fell on her second day of being trapped there. Her mother was doing her usual hourly routine of terrorizing and verbally abusing her, when her phone pinged with a notification.

“The fuck?” she cursed. She walked over to pick it up as she read the headline that crossed over the screen

Ladybug Issues a Statement to Local Terrorist

“Oh this has to be good for a chuckle” She scrolled down and sent the video to play on the large screen TV

Eloise peeked from behind her dirty blonde hair, hoping that it might be a sign. She got her wish as her mama appeared on screen.

She scrambled to the edge of the cage for the best possible view

Just then, the sound of heavy footsteps resonated throughout the room as Hawkmoth walked in.

Elly watched curiously as he approached her mother. She was never entirely sure how to act around him. She always aired on the side of caution but despite his icy cold stare she could feel a bit of warmth behind them. He was the only one that consistently remembered to feed her and from time to time he’d even slip in a pastry for her. They spoke no words to one another but she was sure that if they did, she might be able to become friends with the man.

“Oh mothy! Just in time!” Noémie said cheerily “I found this really neat video and figured we’d have a movie night. You in?”

Hawkmoth saw the thumbnail for the video and let a smug smile slip onto his lips “Very well.”

He sat himself on his luxurious couch and crossed his long legs.

The video was shot in a dark room. A studio that she may have snuck into. She stood before the camera, her eyes red and bleary from crying and her voice seeped out nervous and shaking

“My name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I am 18 years old and I am Ladybug”

Noémie ‘ooo’-ed at her reveal

“I have been assuming the role of hero for the past 3 years. In that time I’ve gone through many traumatic things but recently I’ve taken a hit that I can no longer let stand”

She took a deep breath

two pictures of Elly and Noémie were brought on screen “2 days ago my adopted daughter, Eloise, was kidnapped by her biological mother, Noémie Etienne or as some of you might know her Mère de la mort”

Eloise’s heart swelled with relief. She knew her mama didn’t forget her.

“I am not looking for revenge. I don’t want a fight or anymore carnage. I just want my daughter back. And I am willing to do whatever it takes to be reunited with her again”

Noémie made sour face “Yeck, what a snooze fest! And here I thought it’d be interesting. Yawn!”

“Noémie” Marinette said “You are an awful, cruel, abhorrent BITCH of a human being”

“Aww I think she’s warming up to me”

“But, even you aren’t without your price”

Noémie raised an eyebrow in intrigue

Marinette took in a deep breath “Let’s play a game. A game of hide and seek”

Her lips curled into a malicious smile “She’s caught my attention”

7 images came up on the feed “These people you see here are all important to Eloise. They are her grandparents, aunts and uncles and even her best friends. They have agreed to be apart of our game and have been given colored bandanas as markers”

Noémie fully leaned in to study all of their features “If you can find them, her father and I, and collect all of their bandanas...you win. The only way for us to win is to gain back our miraculous and defeat you”

Before Noémie could even make another comment Marinette addressed the elephant in the room “I know I don’t have anything you want. You have my daughter, you got what you came here for, but this may convince you to agree”

The lights cut out entirely on the video and one second later a single overhead light flickered on.

Noémie clambered up to the tv screen. He was something out of her fantasy.

Adrien Agreste was chained up to the floor. Water flew from his golden features as he struggled against his bonds. His shirt was ripped open and she could barely contain her drooling stares

                                                     *Flashback*

“Uh, Mari. Are you sure this will work?” Adrien questioned as Marinette nudged him toward their set

“What about the plan won’t work? She goes looking for the bandanas and in the meantime we gradually lure her to the rendezvous point. Sounds solid to me”

Adrien scratched the back of his neck “Yea, see. That’s not the part of the plan I’m nervous about. It’s really the whole...let’s use me as some sexy bait to get her to come out...part...thing”

It wasn’t at all that he didn’t trust her. Hell, he just recently found out that she’s been his lady, the girl that, 9 times out of 10, was the brains of the outfit. So his faith in her was resolute. But, he only just recently started using his “sex appeal” in photoshoots so he wasn’t confident in that department yet.

“You said it yourself chaton, the crazy skank has a thing for you so I can’t imagine a better lure! Just try to channel your inner chat.” She stood on her tiptoes and whispered flirtatiously in his ear “It’s always worked on me”

His mind flashed back to their texts and that stressful (but oh so nice) game of fetch. His ears burned red and he turned to face her exasperatedly.

“But princess, that was cause I wanted your affections! I want nothing to do with that nut job. Do you honestly think I can win over some middle aged woman who I want nothing more than to cataclysm her face off!?”

Marinette took Adrien’s face in her hands. She smiled warmly as she placed a soft kiss on his forehead. She stared deep into his green eyes and spoke gently but confidently.

“Yes, I do. And you will because you love Eloise as much as I do, maybe even more. You would go to the ends of the earth for that girl, so I KNOW you can pull this off”

Adrien had a bashful smile across his face. She was right, if anyone could seduce a wicked witch like her it would be him and him alone!

*RIIIIIIIIIIIIP*

“And with this you’ll definitely win her over!” Adrien rushed to cover his now exposed tanned torso, but Marinette gave him no time to recover as she dumped a bucket of water all over him. He was now wet, torn and utterly speechless.

She spun him around and shoved him straight toward his spot on the ground.

“Knock ‘em dead Kitty!”

                                                   *Flashback End*

Marinette brought the camera over to his position and got in close to his face.

“Papa!” Elly cried. She refused to let herself cry but seeing her papa in so much pain hurt her more than anything.

Marinette brought the camera back up to her face “Noémie, if you agree to my terms and you win, Chat Noir, Adrien Agreste, is yours.”

Eloise couldn’t fathom it! Why? Why was her mama doing all this? If she had known that this would happen she’d tell them to forget about her all together. Her poor papa. She silently begged for forgiveness.

But sadly it felt like her words would fall on deaf ears

“Marinette, this is insanity!” Adrien cried out “Our daughter is already dead! Let me go and be done with this!”

Her eyes widened in shock and her breathing was growing shallow again from the anxiety

“Papa” she rubbed her eyes to bite back the tears “you...don’t really think that do you?”

“This is the only way to get her back,” Marinette yelled “don’t you miss her?”

Adrien let out a curt laugh “Why should I? It’s not like we can’t just make one ourselves”

Her heart shattered. The ground below her could swallow her whole right now and she’d welcome its silence.

The voices screamed relentlessly in her head. And the part that hurt her most was that they were right. She could never be loved. She was a worthless burden that others would do anything to get rid of, even if it meant hurting themselves to do it.

Eloise doubled over in pain and screamed as loud as she could anything to silence the voices in her head, telling her over and over that she’d be better off dead.

She screamed until her voice became hoarse. With no energy left she laid silently on the floor. Never once did she shed a tear. Not because her papa told her to do so, but because she merely had no tears to shed.

Noémie paused the video and walked up to her cage. She knelt down so that only Eloise could hear her.

“This pain is unbearable isn’t it? That empty, black feeling of being left in this world with nothing truly keeping you here. No friends, no family, no one who will ever say that they love you. But don’t worry El, when I win, and I bring your papa back here, you can tell him, and your future brother and sisters all about that pain.”

Noémie pressed play on the video and Marinette shared her last words

“Go to where we had our last battle at 21:00, there you will find the rest of the instructions.I am just a mother longing for her daughter back, but I am also a lady of my word. I just hope and pray that you are a woman of yours”

The video cut off and the room was left in silence.

Noémie checked her watch “Oh my! Only 45 minutes to get there! That’s hardly enough time to get ready”

Hawkmoth found no interest in her petty disputes and started for the door to leave

“Hawkmoth,” she called before he went too far “before you go, I have a question i’ve been itching to ask you”

He turned to face her but she didn’t even shift in her seat

“Where do you go when you leave me?”

Hawkmoth glared “Any reason you’d like to know?”

She shrugged “None at all it’s just, seeing as how we have this relationship-”

“Agreement.”

“Semantics. But, these things take trust and loyalty. So i wanna know, are you working with them?”

A calm and knowingly smirk graced his aging features “Always so wicked and confident, but yet, she has insecurities. Who would hardly think it?”

Noémie rose up from her seat. She sauntered her way over and wrapped her arms around his waist, her chin resting comfortably on his chest as she looked up into his eyes.

They were glazed over in a sense of danger. She was watching his every move.

He was hardly deterred

“You would never betray me? Would you?”

His smirk grew wider “And what would I gain from doing that? You have what I want. Why add on the unneeded risk?”

That seemed to satiate her curiosity as she untangled herself from his waist. She placed her hands on her hips and put on a cheery smile

“Great! Then you’ll have no problem playing the game with me will you?”

He looked at her questioningly “And why would I ever even consider that?”

She giggled “Because if you do” she held out the miraculous for him to see “these will be yours and I’ll be on my merry way”

He scanned her face for any deceit but for the time being she seemed to be telling the truth.

He turned his back on her and strided out the door “20 minutes or I’m leaving you”

Noémie stuck out her tongue “Booo, no fair!”

She collected her things and before leaving she left Eloise with what would be her last words

“Be patient Eloise, you’ll soon be free from this pain”

#miraculous ladybug #MLB #love square #chat noir #ladybug #LadyNoir #Marinette #marinette cheng #adrien x marinette #marichat #adrienette #ladrien #adrien agreste #gabriel agreste #hawkmoth #alya cesaire #Nino lahiffe #djwifi #mere de la mort #Eloise agreste #negotiations #fanfiction #fanfic #MLFanfic #ml fandom #mlfamily

[holisticpanda]

she kills with her guitar

Title: she kills with her guitar 

Summary: She plays the guitar as though she was born with it in her hands—like it was a part of her own body.

Kurlish Week Day 2: AU

Notes: The first time I saw Bart I thought ‘huh, she vaguely reminds of Tash Sultana.’ So if you want to look up some of her vids to get an idea of Bart’s appearance and musical style, That’s sort of who I’m challenging here.

A surprising amount of people have absolutely no idea how hacking works. Most just picture a guy sitting in the dark in front of multiple screens, typing furiously for hours at a loud, mechanical keyboard while techno music blasts in the background.

And they’re not completely wrong. He is currently listening to disco, techno’s long dead ancestor, but that’s where the similarities end. What usually happens is that he types a few commands into the command line to run a program that either he or one of his fellow hacker buddies wrote and spends the next few hours fucking off while the application does its work. If it weren’t for the movies making hacking look like something only a genius could do, he’d for sure be out of a job.

A job he doesn’t particularly like if he’s being honest. Besides the moral greyness of what he does, jobs that pay well don’t come along all that often. He can usually scrape together just enough in a month to eat, pay the rent on his shoebox of an apartment, and also indulge in his more extravagant hobbies—if visiting the local strip clubs can be considered a hobby, anyway. He doesn’t lead a particularly happy or exciting life, but at least it’s a relatively free one.

He’s currently running a brute force hack into some rich girl named Lydia Spring’s Facebook account—her dad was convinced she was dating older men—when the doors to the Waffle House he’s relaxing in slam open, loud enough to scare the shit out of him even through his earpods. A woman who looks to be a little older than him, somewhere in her mid to late twenties if he had to guess, stomps into the diner.

She’s wearing a large black t-shirt that looks two sizes too big for her and a pair of rippled, baggy black pants stuffed into scuffed, oversized boots. Her wild brown hair is tamed only by a backwards blue cap while her wrists are adorned with a few beaded and woven bracelets. A variety of tattoos litter the rest of her arms that he can see, creeping up from her forearms to her biceps, and he spots the glint of a stud in her nose in the bright lighting. In short, combined with the wild expression in her piercing blue eyes, she looks like a completely deranged hippie.

Her gaze flickers about the restaurant before eventually settling on him, her face morphing from annoyance into furious rage, and she stomps her way over to his table to grab him by the front of his shirt.

“Dirk Gently, you are a dead man!”

It takes him a minute to find his voice because it isn’t everyday that a random hippie chick mistakes him for someone else and tries to kick his ass, but he manages to squeak out a reply. “Who’s...who’s Dirk Gently?”

She pauses, blinks, and looks around the restaurant again in confusion. Besides an older couple sitting at the bar and the wait staff, he’s currently the only one in the diner. Her eyes shift back to his, eyebrows furrowing. “...You’re not Dirk Gently?”

“No!” He wrenches himself from her surprisingly strong grip to put as much distance between them as possible—which isn’t much since she’s blocking his way out of the diner and his booth only goes back so far.

“What, are you kidding me right now? Why didn’t you just say ‘I’m not Dirk Gently’?!”

He can only stare back at her, incredulous. “Because I don’t know who that is!”

Frowning, she huffs and plops down in the booth across from him, looking less like a crazy, murderous flower child and more like a little girl who’d just been told she couldn’t ever eat ice cream again. Judging by the way she’s slumped down in her seat, whatever’s bothering her has her pretty bummed.

Once he’s (reasonably) sure that she’s probably not going to kill him, he considers hearing her out to see if there’s something he can do to help. Plus there’s also the fact that the faster he can fix her problem the faster he can get her to go away. He has a rich girl’s account to sift through for evidence of possible child abuse, after all. “So...why are you looking for this Dirk Gently guy? You know, beyond wanting to kill him.”

The woman scoffs but grudgingly leans forward to rest her forearms on the table, swiping a few of his fries to stuff down her throat in the process. “My last drummer quit on me so I went to that Craigslist place to find a new one. This Dirk Gently guy on there said he’d help me out, but every time we’re supposed to meet up and practice, he bails on me!”

He nods gravely, doing his best to appear interested. “I’m guessing he was supposed to meet you here?”

“Yeah, and of course the dickhead didn’t show. Again. It was the last chance we had to practice, but now I’m gonna have to cancel my gig tonight. This all fucking blows.”

After hearing her reasons for accosting him he finds that he actually feels a little bad for her. He knows firsthand what it’s like to be constantly let down when you needed help the most, and it’s no wonder she was steaming mad when she came in. Maybe she’s not so crazy after all.

He taps his fingers on his keyboard, trying to figure out a possible solution to her problem (maybe she should try Reddit?) when she snaps her head up to stare wide eyed at him. “Can you make songs on that thing?” she asks, pointing to his laptop.

He glances down at it, confused. “I mean, I guess in theory? I do have a program on here that you can make music on. It simulates the sound of nearly every musical instrument ever invented, and—”

“Blah, blah, blah, whatever. Can you make that thing sound like drums ?”

“Um, yeah?”

A sudden grin breaks out on her face. Before he can react she jumps up and drags him to his feet with a strength belying her small stature. “You’re my new drummer. C’mon, let’s go.”

She ignores his protests and pulls him from the restaurant to a yellow, beat up old car that looks like it used to be a taxi cab in another life. All he can do is hug his laptop to his chest as she books it down the street until they get to a run down storage unit in the middle of nowhere. She then unlocks and pulls up one of the garage-like doors to reveal her studio space. It looks like she also lives there if the futon, empty pizza boxes, and cases of water are anything to go by.

“Sit there, where I can see you,” she says, pointing at the futon covered in snack wrappers while she goes back to her car to get something. He clears a space on it to sit, and when she comes back, she has a guitar case slung over her shoulder. She then plops down on the empty seat next to him.

After spending half an hour turning his computer keyboard into an improvised beat machine under her impatient gaze, they spend the next two and a half going over some of her songs. Their practice session mostly consists of her terrorizing him for missing cues or having a complete lack of rhythm, and by the end, it feels like they haven’t gotten anywhere. He doesn’t even have the slightest idea what type of music she plays let alone how any of her songs go.

Yeah, they’re for sure going to bomb.

He tries to say as much but the woman rushes him back into her car so that they’re headed to where he assumes her gig is. She turns to look at him, taking her eyes off the road in front of her for an alarmingly long time.

“It’s really good you decided to help me.”

“I didn’t decide anything . You said you’d smash my laptop if I didn’t help you.”

“Well, you decided it was better to help me than lose your laptop. It was nice.”

He can only gape back at her incredulously. He takes it back. She’s insane. She’s literally insane.

It doesn’t take much longer for them to pull into a surprisingly full lot next to a derelict looking dive bar. “We’re here,” she says, shutting off the dangerously rattling car. She suddenly reaches across his body—causing him to reflexively flinch—and opens his door for him. ”Get out.”

He scrambles out of the passenger side while she takes her time pulling her gear out of the trunk, and it’s at that moment that he strongly considers making a run for it. She can’t see him with the trunk open, and he could be a full block away before she even notices that he’s gone.

But then he remembers the dozens of times he’d been let down in life; by friends, by family—hell, by the fucking world. He can’t do that to her, even if she hadbasically kidnapped him and forced him to join her band. It was only a few more hours, and it wasn’t like he had anything better to do that night.

They walk through the front doors of the rundown venue and it’s pretty much exactly what he expects. It’s dark, the air is thick with cigarette smoke, and most of the clientele already looks half drunk. He’s not exactly uncomfortable in the bar since he’d spent more than his fair share of time in places just like these ever since he’d moved out of his parent’s house at seventeen, but it’s not a place that he particularly likes to hang out in if he can help it.

She leads them over to the back corner of the building where a small stage has been built. An older woman is busy setting up the equipment and she looks up as they approach. “You two the Holistic Assassins?”

The hippie chick pulls her guitar off of her shoulder and sets it down on one of the stools resting against the wall. “That’s us.”

The older woman nods and stands, stretching out her back as she finishes setting up the last amp. “I’m Barb, the owner here. You go on in five.”

“What’s a...holistic assassin?” he asks as the owner disappears into the darkness of the bar.

After plugging her guitar into one of the amps, she turns to look at him with a pleased grin. "’Holistic’ is the fundamental interconnectedness of all things. I don't do your whole deal with structure, or finding inspiration, or writing drafts. I just...I play whatever I feel like playing all day, and if it works, then it becomes a new song.

Her eyes are nearly shining as she explains it to him, though for his part all he can do is stare dumbfounded back at her. “The connection between cause and effect is much more, you know, subtle than you would otherwise think. I mean...you wouldn't believe it. Things, they double up. They parallel . Everything is chaos, but it’s, like, synchronized? It's like, there's always something ready to mirror itself. Life endlessly turning inward.”

Yup. Crazy. “Don’t get me wrong, but it seemed like you were just playing a bunch of random notes when we were practicing.”

“I never played a bad song,” she says, somewhat defensively. She picks up her guitar and slings the strap over her shoulder. “Come on, time to play.”

He follows her onto the stage and plugs his laptop into the other amp—then tries to find the darkest shadow to hide in. They were going to bomb spectacularly, and the less people who saw him, the better.

“I’m Bart Curlish, and we’re the Holistic Assassins,” she grumbles into her mic, sounding like she’d rather be anywhere else. Which was odd since this was her gig.

He then belatedly realizes that it’s the first time he’s heard her name. What the hell kind of a name is Bart for a girl? She looks back at him and nods, giving him his cue to start, so taking a deep breath, he begins to tap out the first rhythm she’d shown him a couple of hours before on his keyboard. She bobs her head with the beat for a few seconds, eyes closed, and then begins to play. He feels his jaw drop when the smoothest sound he’d ever heard comes from the amp next to him, and then he feels his jaw scrape the ground when she begins to sing.

She’s a completely different person. Her voice is husky and gravely, just like her speaking voice, and it’s surprisingly more pleasant than he expected it to be. And it’s still only secondary to how well she plays the guitar. She plays as though she was born with it in her hands—like it was a part of her own body.

Thankfully it’s easy enough for him to keep up with her. Her music is slower than he expects, and more mellow. If he had to compare it to anything it sounds sort of like a mix of folk and reggae, but even that’s inaccurate—it’s completely and totally hers.

He makes a couple of mistakes during her short forty-five minute set, but overall, he thinks he did a pretty good job for his first time. Sure, he’s absolutely exhausted and is sweating buckets from being under the hot lights of the stage, but he’d survived.

“We’ve been the Holistic Assassins. Thanks,” she all but spits at the audience. Unsurprisingly she’d reverted back into her old grumpy self once her fingers left her guitar.

The crowd isn’t that big—only around fifty or so people—but everyone’s on their feet and clapping, even the tough looking bikers who seemed more likely to eat them than cheer her on. A few people are even bold enough to approach her as she leaves the stage but she only gives them the barest amount of attention, nodding courteously as they compliment her and shrugging off any questions they have. Eventually they all give up on getting anything more than a couple of words out of her and the owner of the bar approaches them with an excited smile.

“I had my doubts about you when you first asked if you could play here, but you know what? You put on a hell of a show.” She hands Bart a stack of dirty bills. “I know it ain’t much, but come back soon and I’ll double it.”

Bart takes the money with a grunt, gives him half, and grabs him by his arm, pulling him towards the door leading to the parking lot. It’s not until they make it back outside to her car that she relaxes and gives him a small, meek smile. “You did good.”

A little surprised by the praise—she didn’t seem the type to dish it out all that often—he shakes his head. “It was a lot more fun than I thought it would be, and you’re really good. Amazing, actually.”

They lean silently against the hood of her car together for a few minutes, both still coming down from the high of performing live. He’s just about to make his exit when Bart suddenly stands and turns to look at him.

“So...you did the thing up there on stage, And now that you did it maybe you’re gonna leave, and...You can do whatever you want, you know, because I forced you to help me, and...and like, it must’ve been really bad for you, you know I didn’t think about your feelings and all that, and…

She takes a deep breath and lets it out again, looking distinctly uncomfortable with everything she was saying to him. It was obvious this wasn’t something she was used to. “I don’t want you to go. I think.” Her eyes are misty as she speaks, surprising him since they’ve only known each other for at most six hours and yet she already seems to care so much for him. It pains him to admit it, but he can’t remember the last time anyone had been so sad to see him go.

He considers her request, and after a little thought, realizes that he was truly, genuinely happy up there making music on stage with her. He had been doing nothing everyday of his life and thinking it was just that—nothing. It was nothing. Even if he’s just providing a backing beat for her amazing songs, he’s found some semblance of a purpose and hell, maybe a little happiness too.

“Hey,” he says, nudging her to get her attention. “I’m not going anywhere.”

A wide grin breaks out on her face, and laughing with unconcealed relief, she throws her arms around his neck. She’s still sweaty from their show but so is he, so rather than try to squirm away from her touch like he usually would with any other person, he awkwardly returns it. She smells like musk, dirt, and sweat, and though the smell isn’t exactly pleasant, it isn’t altogether unpleasant either.

Still smiling, Bart pops the trunk to put her guitar inside. “Our next gig’s tomorrow night. Come on, we gotta practice.”

He slides into the passenger seat with his laptop and leans his head out of the window to talk to her. “You ever think about selling some merch? Maybe putting out a CD or at least uploading your music to BandCamp for people to download? I’m pretty good with a camera, so I could help you get your face out there a little more.” He’s vaguely aware that he’s being a little overeager, but he’s inspired by her. He believes in her. She has something special, and with his help, maybe she could become one of the biggest indie artists of all time. “I’ll bet I can sync my computer up to the stage lights. You know, add a little pizzazz to the show.”

She slams the trunk closed and laughs as she slides into the driver’s seat. “Pizzazz? Ken, you’re a riot.”

He rolls his eyes and shrugs. Well, whatever. He’d get her to see the appeal of his ideas eventually. He’s about to suggest they get a bite to eat before they spend the next who knows how long practicing when something she’d said stops him cold.

“...Wait, how do you know my name?”

#dirk gently #fanfiction #kurlish #barken #maybe? #AU #dghda #Bart Curlish #Ken #tash sultana #dirk gently's holistic detective agency

[whoahitspoptart-blog]

Insanity - L.R.H- On Wattpad- Pt. 1

K so, here’s a story I made on wattpad if yall like it y’know tell me and I will put part 2 here when its done on wattpad

Warning: This chapter contains depictions and descriptions of Torture, and abuse to patients. If you are easily triggered, or are uncomfortable with that, don't read this story.    

Hayden sat in her room, alone. She was on her bumpy and old metal bed. The room was small, it almost resembled a jail cell. Hayden was put in the young adult wing, which was, pretty much in the basement. It was dimly lit, and all concrete. Any sane person would think it was creepy, but not Hayden or anyone else in this place for that matter.

Throughout time, Hayden has a strong hatred for the Warden. Her name is Regina, and she had mutual feelings towards Hayden. The only nurse that she truly could talk to, was Rose. Rose was Hayden's assigned nurse. She delivered Hayden's medications to her, and spoke to Hayden about life outside the asylum. Hayden learned a lot about this woman, and vice versa.

Soon enough as Hayden waited, Rose came to her room with her medication, as well as something different. "Hello, love" the grey haired woman spoke. Rose was about, 65 years old. She has grandkids and a whole family  outside the place, while Hayden did not. "Hiya Rose" Hayden smiled at her nurse. This was about the only time Hayden ever truly smiled. "Time for your medication sweetie" Rose handed Hayden her two pills, one was pale pink and the other was cream colored. After Hayden took her pills, Rose held something out to her. It was a drawing. "This was made by one of the kids in the children's wing, I thought you might want it." Rose smiled. It was a drawing of a home, and a family. "Don't give up hope, there will be someone out there for waiting for you when you get out." Rose added, lightly holding onto Hayden's hand like a wise grandmother.

After Rose left, Hayden went out to the community area. Much like Hayden's room, it was also dim-lit and rather 'creepy'. Yet most of the patients didn't really notice, except for Hayden. Once Hayden got there, she sat in a far corner of the room. Hayden didn't really talk with any other patients, because of her disorder she had. Hayden hears voices in her head, which tell her to do things, whether its good or bad. Most of the time it's bad, and Hayden will most likely listen. That's why she won't interact, she is afraid of hurting people.

As Hayden watched the other patients talking to themselves or with others, she notices a boy. Hayden pretty much knew most of the faces in her wing, being as she sees them all the time in when they eat, but not this one. The boy seemed to have noticed Hayden as well, seeing as he started walking over towards her. Hayden started to get a little nervous, because of her disorder she had. After the boy sat down next to her, he smiled. "Hiya" the blonde boy spoke. "Hi..." Hayden replied without really any emotion, because that's how this place left her, like a zombie. "Not very cheery are ya?" the boy asked, looking at Hayden, almost trying to read her expression, and obviously failing. Hayden just shrugged a bit. 'Thank God I took my meds' Hayden thought to herself. "Hm, well I'm new here so I don't know how this place y'know.. works" God he is so happy, Hayden hated it. If only he knew what actually went on in here. "If you behave, won't have to end up like a fuckin' zombie." Hayden flatly stated, looking at the boy. Hayden read him easily, he showed nervousness. "Is that what happened to you?" the blonde questioned. "What do you think?" Hayden looked forward. "I'm Luke by the way." the boy now known as Luke spoke with a smile. "Hayden" Hayden said in her zombie like tone.

Soon enough the two were having small talk, occasionally telling a story, but that was rare between the two. Not to long after they started talking, Hayden's medicine wore off, causing the voices she hears to come back. Hayden tried her best to ignore them, knowing what would happen if she gave in. But pretty soon, she did give in. Hayden lunged at Luke, jumping onto his lap, attempting to strangle him. Luke tried pulling her off but she succeeded at wrapping both of her small hands around Luke's neck, and squeezing, leaving almost breathless before a few nurses came and pried Hayden off Luke, taking her away.

Out of curiosity, Luke went with the guards as they took Hayden to the warden's office.Regina's office. Regina looked at the group that came into her office, seeing Hayden, and smirking. "What'd she do this time?" Regina asked with a smug look on her face. Once they explained what happened with her and Luke, Regina walked over to Luke and examined his neck seeing small bruises from Hayden's fingers. Pretty soon, Hayden calmed, and looked at her surroundings. She gasped and saw Luke. "No no no no don't let him see!" Hayden pleaded. "You hurt him Hayden, I think he should see what you deserve for it" Regina smirked. "No no no no Luke don't look...Remember what I told you!" Hayden was now almost in sobs. Regina then, walked out of her office, having the guards and Luke follow to a room with a chair. "No! No please no!" Hayden begged through sobs. "I'll be good!" Hayden continued. Hayden's pleas and cries made Luke worry. He didn't know what was coming, but he for sure didn't want it to happen.

Soon they had Hayden strapped to the chair with a band around her head, and two probes by her neck. Hayden also had a piece of leather in her mouth, so she wouldn't break her teeth from what was about to come. Once everyone was ready, Luke stood by Regina as the operator pushed a button, making the chair buzz, all while making Hayden's body jerk up and tighten, hearing her screams of pain and terror. Luke's eyes were widened, as if his whole innocence was ruined.. It half was ruined from what he saw.

A few minutes, which seemed like a few hours to Hayden, later they stopped the Machine. Luke looked at Hayden, who looked weak. Once they unstrapped her and brought her out of the room, she noticed Luke there. "I"m sorry you had to see that" Hayden said weakly, before they brought her back to her room, for the rest of the day, where she fell asleep from the pain.

#luke hemmings #luke 5sos #luke #hemmings #fanfic #horror #story #5sos #5 seconds of summer