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morgana-ren · 3 years

Text

Pale Imitation

The front page of any porn site is always a marriage of humorous and disturbing, but he can honestly say he wasn’t expecting to see his name at the top of any list that had a direct connection to satiating someone’s libido, yet there it was, plain as day on the top ten.

He didn’t think of himself as particularly narcissistic, but this he had to see.

Rating: E

Warnings: Porn, Masturbation, Yandere, Stalker Shigaraki, Shigaraki is a total creep, Rough sex, Noncon Fantasy/Roleplay

Preemptive Note: Before you continue I just want to note: I'm not a sex worker but I have nothing but the highest regard and respect for them. What ensues in this story is pure kink and fantasy and is not meant to reinforce any harmful/mean stereotypes what so ever. My personal fantasy is degradation and I can't really seem to get off without it so it's a majority of what I write, but I swear to you it was not written with the intent to insult or hurt anyone in the profession! I realize the hardships endured by the men/women/NB/GN in the adult sex work profession and this is just intended to be a pure sexual fantasy and is by no means attempting to reinforce or normalize toxic behaviors in the workplace.

Bad wig? Check .

Poor voice imitation? Check .

Shoddy, unsealed makeup that sloughs off onto the unfortunate scene partner’s skin? Check .

All the tell-tale signs of a bad porno but with one distinct peculiarity that drew his interest.

You know, this certainly wasn’t what he was expecting to see when he settled in for his first nightly wank. The front page of any porn site is always a marriage of humorous and disturbing, but he can honestly say he wasn’t expecting to see his name at the top of any list that had a direct connection to satiating someone’s libido, yet there it was, plain as day on the top ten.

He’s no stranger to the villain kink page. Tons of civilians indulged in their darker fantasies through their nighttime excursions below their pantyline, and being a villain himself, naturally he was curious. Most of it is about what he’d expect. Villains, ancient and new, participating in copulation of all sorts. Some of it is that extremely out of character slow and romantic pornography. Other times, strangely enough, it’s the villains themselves getting taken advantage of. Sometimes by heroes, other times by random people, objects, or even tentacles. It’s interesting, to say the least.

Him though? He’d never seen himself in one, let alone being featured on the front page.

Up until recently, the media and all it’s sinful offshoots had opted to ignore him. However, his recent exploits must’ve caught the attention of the general public, and alongside it, the licentious denizens that dwell within. There had been a few forum posts, a little fan art (most of it flattering), and even a few oddly obsessive fangirls he’d come across. But this? Oh, now this was a whole new caliber.

He didn’t think of himself as particularly narcissistic, but this he had to see.

The guy they’d hired to play him was naturally a flat disappointment; Too bulky, and way too short. He could tell there was a classically handsome man underneath all that poorly done makeup that was meant to make him look pallid and dry. A sad, pathetic, and pale imitation of the real thing, missing some of his scars and moles entirely. The ashy gray wig they used to try to mimic his shaggy, unkempt hair had an awkward cowlick and kept flopping down too far on the actor’s forehead and looked far more dead than even his own unwashed mop. The voice he was using to mimic him was strained and scratchy, far too forced to be comfortable or even remotely realistic. If he had to place it, it sounded like the guy already had a terribly sore throat and had continued yelling for several hours to achieve the ‘desired’ effect.

He hadn’t expected much, but it was still disappointing. Though to be fair, they nailed the clothing, minus the brand of shoes he wears and the exact coat he’d chosen as his signature.

A part of him was ready to shut it off. Whatever lies ahead could only be utterly insulting, right? This grotesque pastiche lifelessly parroting his mannerisms was already curbing his sexual appetite toward something more violent, and not in the way he liked. Yet, out of sheer curiosity, he kept watching. What exactly did the average screenwriting porn cinematographer think he was into anyway?

It was a little ambiguous at first. At least until the shaky camera followed the Walmart brand Shigaraki knock-off down a generic hallway and into a borderline barren room, bringing into frame a quaking young woman tied up on a filthy mattress. After that, it became very quickly apparent just what type of smut he’d stumbled onto.

The camera zooms in on her face, tears leaking from her eyes and leaving trails of thick black makeup and mascara trailing down her cheeks, her begging and pleading muffled by a rag hastily stuffed in her mouth and secured with what appeared to be a bandana tied around her head. She’s clad in nothing but a flimsy tank top with the straps yanked down over her shoulders and a small pair of lace panties, covered in what appears to be made up lacerations and fake bruising. A nice touch, he notes.

He’ll admit, he’s intrigued now. It looks like they got one thing about him right, perhaps two now that he inspects the adult actress hired to play his unfortunate victim. She’s flattering, far more flattering than he expected given the low budget circumstances. Her watery eyes and quaking body coupled with the slight rope burn embedding into her chafing skin is enough to get his legs stirring and his pants tightening. She looks so pretty, so vulnerable behind all the waterworks and thick stage makeup. He thinks, just maybe, he might be able to get into this if he hyper focuses on her.

As his imposter approaches, she pushes her bound legs out, squishing herself back against the wall and as far away as she can manage from the threat encroaching on her personal space.

“Heroes can’t save you now.”

The shallow mockery of his voice grates at his ears, but he’ll admit the comment is on brand. The actor harshly yanks the bandana out of the woman’s mouth, her pouty lips trembling as she begins to grovel, blinking more tears down her swollen cheeks.

“I-I’m sorry! Please just let me go! I won’t tell anyone anything!”

All things considered, she’s convincing enough to get his blood pumping. Tomura readjusts himself in his chair, reaching his hands beneath the band of his sweatpants. If he can ignore her counterpart, he thinks watching her squirm and squeal will get him off. After all, it’s supposed to be ‘him’ violating this cute girl. Maybe if he defocuses his eyes enough, he can pretend it really is.

“I’m going to show you how much of a villain I really am!”

Ugh . Whoever wrote this dialogue clearly had never met him, or probably any real villain for that matter. It’s enough to make him want to retch, but the feel of his own hand on his cock and the soft whimpering of the actress as the villain stand-in strips off his coat brings him back and makes him throb. The camera moves in to offer her a close up, face dropping and eyes widening in horror as she comes to the “realization” of what he means.

“No! Please! Anything but that!”

She kicks at him, trying to fend him off with bound limbs as he crawls over her onto the bed. A harsh slap to the side of her cheek is enough to quiet her down and allow the assailant to cage her to the bed with one hand, the other clumsily fumbling with the buttons of his jeans. After he shimmies his ill fitting skinny jeans down his thighs, she looks at him with eyes widened in horror, shaking her head erratically.

“No! Please Mister Shigaraki, it’s too big! It won’t fit!”

A hand far too burly to be his wraps around her neck, pointer finger plucked awkwardly upward. “Quiet! You’re my prisoner and you’ll do as I say!”

Just ignore it.

The free hand goes to grab at her tank top, a brief but noticeable pause in the filming leaves her topless with stage prop ash sprinkled along her torso, the ropes around her wiggling legs conveniently gone now. While the cinematic effect was laughably bad, Tomura can’t bring himself to care. Not when her tits are now on display for him to ogle.

Chest bare and heaving, perfect nipples perked to attention just for him. Smooth, creamy skin goose pimpled and tender, so tempting that he's aching to feel her. A quick swipe of his thumb over his sensitive, spongy tip elicits a rumbled groan from deep in his chest. It’s easier now to ignore the shitty portrayal of himself, especially when he can lose himself to the throes of lust and pretend that it actually is his hands wrapped around her little throat, other fingers drifting lower and lower down her trembling belly.

A quick hook around the seam of her panties and they’re ripped clean from her hips, legs splayed and leaving her pussy center frame, already wet and glistening. He swallows hard, the sight enough to make him salivate. She fumbles around beneath him, desperate to buck him off, but it’s to no avail. Fingers, his fingers, tease the entrance to her tight little hole, slipping one finger, and then two inside, oscillating in and out preparing her to take all of him. Just like she said, he’s so big. He doesn’t want to hurt her, not like that.

After that, it’s all too easy for him to slip into his fantasy. He strokes his cock in tandem with the pumping of the fingers, pausing only briefly as the girl mewls as the fingers slip out and the tip of his cock is aligned with her little entrance. He pistons his own hips as it slams inside, head reeling back on the edge of his chair.

The high pitched whine that escapes her throat as the fake buries himself deep inside has him biting his lip, slowing his hand by force on his shaft. Fuck, even her moans are hot. Her bouncing tits and staggered breathing as his imposter rails into her has him enraptured. The subtle way she leans into the hand on her throat, back arched off the filthy mattress, face expressing clear distress but body betraying her clever act.

It matters little that she’s being paid to partake in the scene with ‘him’. The fact she was open to it says more than he could have hoped to know, and clearly she’s enjoying the treatment. His hazy eyes focus in on her face, working his hand harder with every little nuance she gifts him. The twitch of arms as her nails imbed themselves into her palms, the parting of her moist lips. He’d be willing to bet her tongue could work magic, taking him all the way to the back of her throat. God, she’d look so cute like that. Hands tied behind her back, a sloppy, drooling mess around his dick.

“S-Shigaraki! You’re too rough!��

The hand clamped around her throat tightens, her final word more of a croak.

“You like it, you little slut!”

At least there’s one thing him and this mediocre porn actor can agree on; she certainly does like it. Rolling her hips against him and wailing in a way that has him wonderfully immersed in his fantasy. Hearing his name on those sighs only strengthen his hold, he can practically feel the warmth of her skin, indulge himself in the wet, clenching tightness of her cunt.

It’s fucking insulting that this trash gets to wear his skin, steal his countenance to fuck her. It should be him. If this whelp could get her all hot and bothered, just imagining what the real thing could do sends the remaining blood reserves rushing between his thighs, prick pulsing even harder in his palm. Yeah, he could get this little bitch squealing. She’d fucking like it too, judging by the look on her face as she gets plowed by a man wearing his visage.

Oh, he’d make her scream. Leave real bruising in place of that cheap costume makeup they’d so lazily applied to her naked form. Truth be told, the video itself was rather boring. He’d only kept watching because of how enraptured he was with the little witch being stuffed full of cock by his imitation. He’d never really been taken with an adult actress before but this one? Oh yes, he could really get into her.

He wasn’t sure what it was about her. So pretty to him, so deliciously pliable, so completely worked up about a villain using her as a toy, pumping in and out of her warm little pussy until he fills her with his hot cum and she’s overflowing with every fluid thrust. Sweet, sensitive neck exposed just for him to bite and abuse. Face stained with tears, puffy cheeks just aching to be squeezed and smacked. Probably tastes like rapture, eager to swallow whatever he decides to spill into her mouth.

And she could take it. He just knows it. Bent over for him, any hole he pleases free for him to use, hand-shaped welts raising on the swell of her ass. Fingers fisting her hair and arching that cute face back to look directly at him as he spits between her open and waiting lips. She’d swallow it like a good girl, just like a good girl, he knows she would.

He works himself faster, his own breathy whines joining the cacophony of licentiousness that echoes in his eardrums. His imagination shifts into overdrive, clumsy, irregular strokes of his hand tenting and deflating the crotch of his sweats. Soft, pillowy tits bulging through his fingertips as he kneads them, sucking on those tender nipples until they harden just for him. Fucking her mouth until her lips are swollen and red, face covered in a mixture of drool and cum with lipstick smeared around her cheeks. Legs locked around his narrow waist as he slams into her repeatedly, chanting his name and begging him incoherently not to stop, never to stop.

“P-please don’t cum inside me! Please- I-“

Oh, he’d cum deep inside. He’ll cum anywhere he wants on his little whore until it’s slick and dripping. He’ll tie her up, smudging it across her broken expression and let it dry nice and thick. Slip his cum covered thumb into her mouth and then ignore her until her thighs are grinding together and she’s begging for his thick cock again, any way he wants her.

Fuck- fuck she’d love it too. Ride him until each slap of her ass on his bony hips made his cock punch hard against her cervix, crying in pleasure and pain but never stopping until he allowed her. Dig his nails into her back, his teeth into her flesh and mark her up real good, let everyone who sees her know just what she’s been up to with him-

“Shigaraki! Fuck! Shi-Shigaraki!”

His name spills from her lips in a needy sob, voice cracking and so utterly genuine that it sends him over the edge. His cock throbs and stutters in his hand, shooting jets of sticky white seed all over the inside of his black sweat pants and staining his fingers. His entire body shudders, legs stiffening and balls tightening and clenching as his cum spills in fat ropes across the fabric. Try as he might to focus on her face as she cums for him, he simply can’t, eyes slamming shut and mouth left agape as a strangled cry erupts from his throat.

He gives a few subconscious pumps into his hand as searing pleasure crackles through his body, toes curling in his shoes as his lower body lifts off the chair to chase his high. Millions of images flash across his mind, the foremost of which is her, greedy eyes hungry for pleasure only he can give her, silky cunt milking him eagerly. A jagged tooth bites a little too hard into his blistered lip, enough to crack it open but he’s too submerged in bliss to notice. The only thing he can feel is her.

His thighs tremble as his body falls back down into the worn computer chair, orgasm leaving his entire body feeling weak and drained. His breath comes in heaves, gulping down air as he tries his best to shake off the residual searing pleasure so hot it almost hurts. Overstimulation looms on the horizon and his heavy eyes drift open, feeling so drowsy now he can hardly keep them apart. The orange bar at the bottom of the video is all the way to the right, the video having concluded itself.

He’s never cum so hard in his life.

Her name. He needed to know her name. He needed to know everything .

He doesn’t bother reaching for the tissues. He simply withdraws his hand from his waistband, wiping his mess onto the knee of his pant leg before grabbing his mouse and scouring the page for any crumb of information he can find. The comments, while amusing, are hardly helpful.

So hot xx thanks

Who’s the guy even supposed to be?

This babe is so hot, luv her stuff everytime

Yall r gunna get rekt when he sees this shit lol

any sexy girls wanna reenact this with me? Hmu

I’m a girl and I love this!

Wish he’d do that to me <.<

He’d dwell on all of that later. For now, he settles for a quick search through the uploader’s account. It’s a small studio, only a few films out to date, most of which revolve around taboo relationships between villains and society. Following a hyperlink to their main website leads him to bio, complete with her stage name and picture, and even another link leading to an interview with a small time adult magazine, an article called “Cum to the Dark Side” that he bookmarks for later reading.

Even post-cum, she’s just as beautiful. Enchanting, sultry smile and cheeky little expression in her picture. Maybe it’s fate that he stumbled upon her. Maybe she really was just that good at acting and she didn’t have a thing for him at all. Either way, he wants some time with the talent. For research, of course.

Her personal details, as expected, are hidden. They go the lengths to protect their employees it seems. What isn’t hidden, however, is the studio’s number.

He thinks he can work with that.

#NSFT #shigaraki x reader #tw adult stuff #tw yandere #tw uhh self love #tw stalker behavior #Part 1 #tw noncon roleplay

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nebulablakemurphy · 4 years

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Hi, I hope you're doing well! Btw, thank you very much for writing an amazing Draco imagine! Could I request a Fred Weasley imagine with the prompts "Marry me" and "Just get in the fucking blanket fort !" where the reader is also a griffindor and is best friends with Fred and they build a fort together on the reader's birthday to celebrate? I can't think of an exact scenario, but thank you very much in advance ✨💙✨

Thank you so much for requesting this. I’ve never written for either of the twins before. Which👏🏻 is 👏🏻 a 👏🏻crime. I hope you have a lovely day/night, enjoy! 💕 PS. Be sure to check out my bby @writerdream22

Birthdayed Out

Summary: Fred has one more surprise for Y/N on her birthday.

Warnings: Teeth rotting fluff, one swear word & Fred is a bit cheeky at the end.

Words: 589

Masterlist

“Just one more surprise.” Fred says, dropping his hands from your eyes.

“What’s this?” You huff a laugh, at the pile of blankets and pillows stacked on the floor.

“A pillow fort,” Fred raises his arms, presenting it to you like a game show host. ”Just like when we were kids.”

“Yes, but why?” You cock your head to the side.

“To celebrate your birthday,” he explains.

Oh gods, you love him.

“We’ve been celebrating all day.” You nearly whine. “I’m exhausted.” Between quidditch and swimming and cake; you were all birthdayed out.

“Brilliant,” Fred shuffles inside, his legs hanging out the back of the poorly assembled fort. “We’ll camp out here tonight.”

“No way,” you scoff. “I’m not getting in there, it’s already coming apart.”

“Rubbish,” he taps the blanket over his head, surprised as you are that it doesn’t fall. “See? Very sturdy.”

“Is it supposed to lean like that?” You crouch down to get a better look.

“Just get in the fucking blanket fort!” Fred insists.

So you do. The movement from your entry jostles the foundation. Sending the entire thing toppling down. Leaving you, Fred and a mass of bedding.

You mean to glare, but end up laughing instead. How could you be angry when he’s staring at you like that?

Fred pushes up onto his hands and knees, moving the blankets off you.

“I told you it was going to fall.” You remark, watching him intently.

He moves back to lie on the rug beside you. His eyes, searching your face. “Marry me.”

Your jaw drops, is he joking? He must be. But what a cruel joke, and on your birthday!

Fred’s smiling like mad, which he sometimes does when nervous. Or when he’s just pulled off an elaborate prank. “Come on Y/N, it won’t be so bad. Unless we have kids...they’re sure to be bloody menaces.”

“Well we can’t very well go from friends to engaged!” You point out. “There are certain things we should-“

He cuts you off with a searing kiss. “Where’s your Gryffindor spirit?” Fred mumbles, against your lips.

You cup his face as you break apart. “You’re my best friend. I don’t ever want that to go away.”

“That’s never going away, even if you say no. Which would be a very poor decision on your end.” He adds, for good measure.

“But who will I confide in when my husband’s being a complete arse?” You inquire. “I won’t be able to tell my best friend if he’s also my husband.”

“Since when are you afraid to tell me you’re hacked off?” Fred asks, arching a fiery brow. “Besides, if I’m your husband we can talk about things we couldn’t before.”

“Like what?” You wonder; maybe he has a point.

Fred shrugs, “how good I am in bed, what color your knickers are. There’ll be other things of course, but that’s a start.”

You gnaw at your cheek for a moment, “are you sure?”

“I’m positive, Y/N.” He assures you, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “You’re everything to me.”

You melt, pulling him down for another kiss. Fred can be sincere, when he wants to be. “Yes.” You whisper, a moment later. “I’d love to marry you.”

“Brilliant, now back to your knickers-“

“Fred!” You scold, landing a solid swat to the back of his head.

“What?” He chuckles, rubbing the sore spot, hidden beneath red hair.

“At least give me the ring first.” You roll your eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

Please let me know if you’d like to be added to my taglist!

@bforbroadway @lupins-sweater @summer-writes @chaotic-fae-queen @obsessedwithrandomthings @siriusly-addicted-to-writing

#harry potter #fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x you #gryffindor #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x gryffindor!reader #fred weasley x y/n #harry potter imagine #harry potter request #fred weasley reader insert #fred weasley request #requests open #request #fanfiction #pillow fort #blanket fort

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simpbur · 3 years

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hello! i would like ur 40 song wiblur playlist

anon thank you so much for asking <333 while it would’ve been easier to just drop the link i have so many thoughts about everything so i explained why every single song has its spot on this list which was IMMENSELY fun for me

(also: if anyone does want the link i can provide both apple music and spotify but if u would like the apple music link i’d rather it be through dms or an ask off anon that i can make private!)

another also: i bolded all the songs for ease of perusing if you don’t want the director’s commentary and bolded + italicized the ones that i think fit Very Well

another another also: wrote the second bit of this on my laptop and the keyboard is p funky so if there are any typos or things that do not make sense i will try to fix them asap haha

saint bernard by lincoln: this is one of those like. Dream SMP Songs that i added because it fits into so many different relationships and plot lines and arcs but i think there’s some connection to c!wlbur somewhere out there. idk i asked my friend and he said to add it so this one goes out to him

amnesia was her name by lemon demon: ghostbur song ghostbur song! mostly comes from this lovely animatic

o valencia! by the decemberists: okay this is one of those songs that only really has one lyric that fits but is an absolutely banger so it’s here anyway. you’ll also notice a trend of quasi love songs that i relate to c!wilbur’s perception of l’manburg and i think this song shows this in a really cool way, esp with the chorus (‘and i swear to the stars i’ll burn this whole city down’ is The Line)

achilles come down by gang of youths: another one of those Dream SMP Songs. i think this fits better with c!tommy but i like it too much to remove it. this is a somewhat common trend with the earlier songs on this playlist (i’ve been building this thing since january, for reference)

brave as a noun by ajj: another Dream SMP Song. i think certain verses fit better than others when it comes to wilbur’s character but that ones that work really work

harness your hopes by pavement: a song that is one here for vibes alone. i have no idea what these lyrics mean. all i know is that i heard it, thought of c!wilbur, and put it on the playlist. thank you all for being here

evelyn evelyn by evelyn evelyn: sad-ist made this a tommy and tubbo song (as she should) so it’s validity on this playlist is questionable but folks used to compare it to wilbur and tommy’s relationship during the pogtopia arc and i think some points were made there

the execution of all things by rilo kiley: i’m so excited to get here because this was the first song i put on the playlist that i think really works and i thumb nailed an animatic for the last verse and november 16th so! i think it’s a good l’manburg song and the last verse has some good ghostbur lines (‘and lately you’re all alone with nothing left but sleep/but sleep never comes to you, it’s the guilt and forever wakefulness of the weak’)

i’m just your problem from adventure time: this ones a bit tricky since at is my favorite show of all time and i cannot detach this song from its in-show context very well but there is a very cool animatic with this song that landed it a spot on the playlist

man burning by josh ritter: almost became an animatic but the audio i wanted to use (which i recorded at a josh ritter concert and it’s just him and his guitar and there’s echo and it’s very haunting and pretty) has my stepbrother singing in the background and i could not edit it out so. that will probably not happen. but anyways the only hole i would pick in this song is that it’s mostly about self sabotage which isn’t really applicable but i think the imagery is cool

mamma mia by abba: here me out. here me out. this is another song that fits so well and i have spent so many hours thinking about this and somewhere there is a note on my phone explaining how every single line relates to c!wilbur’s entire arc from founding l’manburg to the resurrection (made when we thought gbur was going to get resurrected in january) and just. the metaphorical ‘you’ is l’manburg does this make any sense (another almost animatic except now that wilbur’s actually back it might become an actual animatic)

the other side of paradise by glass animals: no idea why this is here other than being a Dream SMP Song. it’s good tho

infinitesimal by mother mother: they saaaaay it stared with a big bang but they saaaaaaaay it came out of a small thing latelyyyyy i’ve been feeling like a big bang You Know

curses by the crane wives: had a thing drawn out for this song showing the comparisons between c!wilbur and c!niki because of the chorus and i think the last two lyrics of said chorus are the best thing about this one

lonely eyes by the front bottoms: gotta admit that i have no idea how this song got on here but i’ve come to associate it with ghostbur based on vibes alone. it’s a friendly song he’s a friendly ghost it works. the other tfb song coming up fits a bit better methinks

king of new orleans by better than ezra: not to put better than ezra on my c!wilbur playlist but like. something about the whole ‘tasing something up to let it fall’ motif makes me think

get me away from here, i’m dying by belle and sebastian: another almost animatic song (there’s a trend here). not only does the story told in this song work i like the lines ‘play me a song to set me free/nobody writes them like they used to so it may as well be me’ in relation to my l’manburg

montgomery forever by the front bottoms: certain bits and pieces of this song fit so well, specifically the chorus and those bits in the last two choruses Yeah (’montgomery forever and ever and ever and now they’re blowing it up/(x2)/as you started laughing and crying and trying to explain how all you want to do is leave’)

don’t look back in anger by oasis: out of all my almost animatic songs, this one got the furthest. the animatic, which I got pretty far in thumbnailing, was about wilbur and tommy and kind of drawing comparisons between their characters, also about the revolution in general. maybe i’ll finish that animatic one day idk

snow by ricky montgomery: i wish i had a link for this so bad but!! saw art on twitter!! with the lyric ‘bury me six feet in snow’!! and went ahfsdjfk!!

burning pile by mother mother: a Dream SMP Song. also a jam there’s no real specific connection for this one but i think it could fit in a couple of ways

rounds by the oh hellos: in the same position as snow except it was on tumblr..... @ whoever made this comic i saw these lyrics in your brain is massive and your art is incredible

lovely by mt. eddy: on here for vibes alone. there’s something in the lyrical content too, but my thoughts in that regard are not very fleshed out

adventures in solitude by the new pornographers: ah yes..... the song that prompted this all...... this is a beautiful and incredibly well written song and if you’re going to listen to any song off of this playlist i’d encourage you to listen to this one. it’s place of here is mostly cause of the chorus but the imagery in the verses could all represent a part of c!wilbur and i’d love to explore that more

caught in the middle by paramore: obligatory paramore song. i think it got on here because limbo = ‘middle’ but i’m not quite sure. on the verge of being deleted if i can find a better pmore song

delicate by damien rice: one of the oddest songs on this list and i am well aware that it sticks out like a sore thumb. a song that’s on here pretty much because of one lyric, which is ‘and why’d you sing hallelujah/if it means nothing to you’ which i related to both eret’s betrayal and how my l’manburg is hallelujah yknow

bang! by ajr: almost animatic song. i think we all know what the bang is here

somewhere only we know by lily allen: ik i said don’t look back in anger has the most potential to get made into an animatic but this song might actually take it place. on par with adventures in solitude in terms of how pretty of a song it is, and probably even moreso. it’s kind of turned into a ghostbur song in my head, and makes me cry like an infant child every time i hear it

a pearl by mitski: i cannot defend this song’s place on here past the line ‘it’s just that i fell in love with a war and nobody told me it ended’

eight by sleeping at last: the official c!wilbur song needs a spot on here <3 if i can dig up the clip of cc!wilbur talking about this song in relation to his character i’ll add it but until then yeah <3

always by rilo kiley: no idea why this is on here but it fits well!! could not tell you why!! banger!!

celebration guns by stars: it’s a hauntingly beautiful song about war, and kind of one of those that necessarily isn’t about wilbur but moreso his place in the story? idk how to explain it but yes

passerine by the oh hellos: it’s. it’s from the . the fic. yeah h

oh, you are the roots that sleep beneath my feet and hold the earth in place by bright eyes: added this after the real resurrection and i think it’s because fo the imagery? also the last verse

we are beautiful, we are doomed by los campesinos!: all i have to say is ‘i cannot emphasize enough that my body/is a badly designed, poorly put together vessel/harboring these diminishing, so called vital organs/i hope my heart goes first, i hope my heart goes first!’ has always made me think of pogtopia era wilbur :(

dead weight by jack stauber: no real connection other than eret played this song during a break during the ghostbur’s january ‘resurrection’ and i heard it and went :0

point me at lost lands by tired pony: gives me season on l’manburg vibes..... i love how free and passionate it sounds and that's p much the only reason it’s on this list haha

ghosting by mother mother: added this five seconds ago because i could not BELIEVE it was not on here. ghostbur song. mans sang it on that one stream with the reverb and everything. the lyrics ‘i will be kind and i’ll be sweet/if you stop staring straight through me’ hit particularly hard back when everyone thought that ghostbur was actually wilbur in disguise

#oh man. oh man #this was so fun ty anon #i'll do some spell checking after i write my english paper but for now take this #wooo boy #also if i interpreted canon wrong i do apologize i am here to have fun and think about fictional character #anon #ask

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fearsmagazine · 3 years

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PAINKILLER - Review

DISTRIBUTOR: Cinedigm Entertainment Group

SYNOPSIS: Bill Johnson’s (Oberst Jr.) daughter fell victim to the opioid epidemic. Dr. Alan Rhodes (Pare), has been leading a lavish lifestyle, thanks to the profits he’s been making from his prescription business. Seeing that no one is being held accountable, Bill sets out on a campaign targeting those made rich by the suffering of so many. Teaming up with a rogue cop, they set out to dismantle this network of doctors and pharmaceutical executives that continue to devastate families across the country.

REVIEW: There are so many people who have suffered due to the opioid crisis that if it hasn’t personally affected your life you probably know someone who it has. I’m sure that there are a lot of people out there who think about taking matters into their own hands, especially when we continue to hear stories about the Sackler Family and the companies that grew rich from people’s tragedy. I’m just not sure turning this tragedy into a self-serving piece of entertainment is the proper way to handle it.

I had many other issues with PAINKILLER. There are these scenes where Bill Oberst Jr.’s character does a podcast about the crisis and takes calls from people who have also suffered. The writing for those sequences are fine. However, there are numerous other scenes in the film where the dialogue between the characters is so poorly written that it boggles the mind that anyone gave these people the money to make this movie if they read the script. In light of that the violence seems even more gratuitous. I’ll be the first to admit that after a stressful day I’ve turned to a first person shooter video game to help decompress. However, many of the scenes where he takes down a pill-pusher does not feel like poetic justice. It looks like a guy in a mask that can’t really see trying to aim the prop gun in the proper direction of where the special effects blood bursts are going to go off. There are a couple of times where “the vigilante” has to fight and the choreography looks like something choreographed by the stunt coordinator from the Benny Hill Show.

The performances were clearly inhibited by bad dialogue, but they were additionally impacted by bad acting. I recently saw Bill Oberst Jr. in the horror film “The Parish.” He was great and I enjoyed his performance. Both he and veteran actor Michael Paré seem to be on autopilot in this film. You can feel them going through the motions without any direction or guidance. The only reason why it wasn’t laughable was probably they felt the gravity of the subject matter and were trying to do the best they could being left to their own devices.

Many of the locations felt like spaces that were dressed to fit what was called for in the script. The costumes look like it was wardrobe provided by the talented and not even attended to by the costume person. The vigilante costume is a black hoodie, black slacks, black shoes, and this white mask with an American flag painted over half. The outfit might work at night but it sticks out like a sore thumb in the harsh sunlight of the midday sun. Also, during the day sequences the outfit looks rather baggy on whomever is wearing it and not terrifying at all.

I could go on about several of the other issues I had with this film, but I think you get the point. There are many aspects to the film that seem to play on the Trump era brand of politics that we need to get over and I just do a disservice to all those still suffering from the effects of the opioid crisis. After watching this film I had to go back and watch a couple of similar films, like 74’s “Deathwish” or 76’s “Taxi Driver” to make sure it wasn’t me. It led me to the conclusion that whatever was spent on this film to make it and bring it to screens might have been better spent in other ways to pay tribute to the person the film is dedicated to. PAINKILLER is a film that is just too painful to watch for all the wrong reasons.

CAST: Michael Paré, Bill Oberst Jr., Pacey Liz Walker, Alexander Pennecke, & Tom Parnell. CREW: Director/Screenplay/Producer - Mark Savage; Screenplay - Tom Parnell; Cinematographer - N.A.; Score - Glen Gabriel; Editor - Christopher Roth; Costumes - Jen Burkley; Special Effects & Weapons - Karl Huber; OFFICIAL: N.A. FACEBOOK: N.A. TWITTER: N.A. TRAILER: https://youtu.be/GESCNKno-cY RELEASE DATE: May 4th, 2021, On Demand, Digital & DVD

**Until we can all head back into the theaters our “COVID Reel Value” will be similar to how you rate a film on digital platforms - 👍 (Like), 👌 (It’s just okay), or 👎 (Dislike) Reviewed by Joseph B Mauceri

#film review #movie review #painkiller #painkillermovie #cinedigm entertainment group #mark savage #michael paré #bill oberst jr.#thriller #vigilante #opoid crisis #joseph mauceri #joseph b mauceri

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pcychedelic · 4 years

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Lost Angels

Written for NoHappyEnding’s #NHEIV.

GIF by angel-in-slow-motion.

Relationship(s): Byun Baekhyun/Doh Kyungsoo

Tags: Hollywood AU, Flashbacks; Heavy Angst, Smut

Rating: Explicit (explicit themes, strong language, some violence, explicit sex, depictions of alcohol and drugs)

Content Warning(s): Substance abuse, implied suicide attempt, major character death

Words: 15.3k

Synopsis: A funeral brings Kyungsoo back to LA.

Present Day

Calle Larios is already packed with people at 10 a.m. on a Wednesday morning. Málagueños — or Spaniards, in general — aren’t known for being early risers, but everyone’s up and about this early on a weekday to do some last-minute shopping before the New Year rolls in.

Kyungsoo doesn’t mind the crowd. Living in Málaga for the past five years has desensitized him from hordes of people as the region of Costa del Sol attracts millions of tourists and expats each year. An expat himself, Kyungsoo is no stranger to people flocking to someplace else to get away from wherever they came from, whether it be for good or for a short vacation. As a matter of fact, that’s why he’s here in the first place.

Kyungsoo takes Chanyeol by the hand, weaving themselves through the crowd until they reach the end of the street and into Plaza de la Constitucion where their favorite coffee shop sits. Chanyeol goes on to order their usual: a sombra for him and a nube for Kyungsoo.

This is what a typical day in Málaga is like for them, a day they feel like they’ve lived for the hundredth time.

That is, until the shrill sound of Kyungsoo’s ringtone cuts through the noise of the plaza. The caller ID bears the name of someone Kyungsoo hasn’t heard from for quite some time.

“Hello?” Kyungsoo says as he brings the phone to his ear, gauging whether he should feel happy or worried that an old friend has called after so long. He immediately settles on the latter when he realizes that this phone call wouldn’t be happening if everything was alright. Kyungsoo glances at his wristwatch and makes a quick calculation to account for the time difference between him and the person at the other end of the line. “It’s almost 2 a.m. there. What’s wrong?”

A sigh resonates through the speaker. “You need to come home.”

* * *

The rest of the day passes by in a haze.

Kyungsoo still feels like his heart has been stepped on hours after hearing the news. If he’s going to be completely honest, going back to Los Angeles is something that hasn’t left his mind since he left — it’s like a rancid itch in his subconscious that just wouldn’t go away, but he had never imagined that it would be under these circumstances.

Kyungsoo has spoken very few words since the phone call this morning, but, as always, Chanyeol doesn’t try to force him to talk about it.

Chanyeol doesn’t let go of Kyungsoo’s hand even as he drives, even giving Kyungsoo small, reassuring smiles from time to time. But as much as Kyungsoo loves Chanyeol, the gestures do little to make him feel better.

But it isn’t Chanyeol’s fault. Grief doesn’t have a cure-all.

Soon, the city dissolves behind them and the airport comes into view. But as they inch closer and closer to the departure gates, a nagging thought at the back of Kyungsoo’s mind is telling him to turn around and sit this one out.

“Hey, are you okay?” Chanyeol asks.

Having realized just now that they’re already stopped, Kyungsoo nods weakly. “Yeah. I’m good. I’m just… scared.”

“Of coming back home?”

But that’s the thing: Kyungsoo doesn’t consider Los Angeles as home anymore.

Sure, that’s where he grew up in, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss it, but it’s also possible for one to miss something without wanting to go back to it. Los Angeles has been painful for the most part, and Kyungsoo’s afraid of reliving that pain when he sets foot there again.

But Kyungsoo can’t say any of those things, so he just gives Chanyeol a faint smile before stepping out of the car where he’s greeted by the cold winter air. Chanyeol follows suit and goes on to haul Kyungsoo’s luggage out of the trunk.

“You know, you don’t have to go alone,” Chanyeol says softly as he hands Kyungsoo his bags. “I have my passport with me. I can—”

“No, Yeol. You don’t have to do that.”

“I know,” Chanyeol whispers, taking Kyungsoo’s hands into his. “But you said you were scared. You don’t have to force yourself to go alone if you don’t want to.”

“I haven’t been to LA since I left, so of course I’m scared,” Kyungsoo says. A half-hearted chuckle falls from his lips. “But this is something I have to do on my own. I think I owe him that much, at least.”

Chanyeol purses his lips. Kyungsoo expects him to say something along the lines of how he doesn’t owe anyone anything, but instead, Chanyeol simply nods. “Okay,” Chanyeol says after a while. “Kinda sucks how I won’t have my New Year’s kiss this year, though.”

Kyungsoo laughs, the first genuine one he’s allowed himself all day, and for a brief moment, his chest doesn’t feel like it’s carrying the world. He kisses Chanyeol, letting it linger for a couple of seconds before pulling away, and says, “There. It’s two days early, but you’ll take it, won’t you?”

Chanyeol smiles and touches the tip of his nose to Kyungsoo’s. “When have I ever said no to you?”

* * *

Kyungsoo hates nothing more than long-haul flights.

His body aches in places he didn’t know it could, and when he finally lands on LAX, he feels like he’s going to pass out at any moment. The fact that it’s 7 a.m. and already way too bright in Los Angeles isn’t helping his case because his body’s still running on Spanish time.

He sees Junmyeon outside the arrival gate almost immediately, holding a Starbucks cup in one hand and a poorly-handwritten sign that says ‘MY FAVORITE CLIENT’ in the other.

“I haven’t seen you in five years and the first thing you do is lie to me,” Kyungsoo comments flatly. “I wasn’t your favorite client.”

His former agent rolls his eyes and hands him the coffee. “Nice to see you too,” Junmyeon says. “You look like shit, by the way.”

Kyungsoo eagerly accepts the caffeine. His body sorely needs energy right now after that horrendous eighteen-hour flight. He doesn’t even try to rebut Junmyeon’s statement because he does feel like shit. Physically and mentally.

“Thanks for the coffee,” Kyungsoo says when they get inside Junmyeon’s car.

“I knew you’d be needing it,” Junmyeon shrugs. “I know how much you hate flying. But you’ll probably get sick of coffee by the weekend. That’s all we have at the funeral.”

Kyungsoo’s stomach roils at that last word. A painful reminder of what he’s really here for.

Suddenly the coffee tastes unbearably bitter on his tongue. He puts it back in the cup holder and looks out the window as the city passes by in flashes of relatively low-rise buildings, quaint cafés, and people rushing to where they needed to be.

Los Angeles hasn’t changed much, that’s for sure. But the people living in it have, and there’s one less of them.

“How did it happen?”

Junmyeon heaves a deep breath as he merges onto the 134. “The coroner said his breathing continuously slowed down until it just stopped. Bad way to go, I guess.”

Kyungsoo can’t imagine how terrible that must’ve felt like — feeling like drowning when you’re nowhere near water, with no one to hear you screaming for help because you don’t have enough air in your lungs to blow the words out.

“Heroin?”

Junmyeon shakes his head. “Vicodin. And vodka, I think.” When Kyungsoo doesn’t say anything, he continues, “Jongdae found him. He called me in the middle of the night and told me he had a hunch that something was wrong. When he got there, the poor kid was on his couch and not breathing. Paramedics couldn’t do anything.”

Threats of tears sting Kyungsoo’s eyes, but he holds it together. “I thought… He was clean, wasn’t he? He told me that in his last letter.”

“He sent that four years ago, Soo,” Junmyeon replies quietly, his voice almost a whisper. “But yeah, we thought so too. I don’t blame him, though. He’s human. We’re all human. It’s not easy to stay on the right track all of the time.”

They turn right onto Sunset Strip after a few miles; a cold wave of nostalgia washes over Kyungsoo. He still remembers the nights they hopped from one nightclub to another like it was yesterday, how they walked through this very boulevard while the world was spinning in their minds, how Junmyeon would pick them up when they’re too wasted to even stand.

It reminds him of his youth — of his hopefulness, but also of his carelessness. Los Angeles is the kind of place that chews you up and spits you out, and he’s afraid that coming back here means that he’ll be eaten up again.

Every corner of this city reeks of memories, some more than others. But Kyungsoo can trace all of these memories back to the club on the corner of Sunset and Larrabee, its all-black exterior sticking out like a sore thumb in the multicolored boulevard.

“I heard Viper was sold,” Kyungsoo remarks as they drive by the nightclub.

“Yeah,” Junmyeon confirms. “There’s this rumor that’s been going around for about two years now. They say it’s gonna be demolished to make way for a hotel.”

Kyungsoo doesn’t take his eyes off the club until after they’ve completely passed by it. “Like House of Blues. They closed that one down just a little after I left, right?”

“They did. They demolished it two years after that. People were pissed, naturally. But they got over it since they didn’t have a choice. I’m sure that’ll happen too when Viper closes for good,” Junmyeon says.

It sucks, Kyungsoo thinks, when something that’s been there for the whole time just disappears — like House of Blues, like Viper. It disrupts the comfort of knowing it exists, that it’s there at arm’s length, like deleting a photo from a very special day. There’s nothing else to remember it by, no evidence that it really did happen.

Kyungsoo probably hates cliches the most next to long-haul flights, but that cheesy sentiment of realizing that you took something for granted only when it’s no longer there has never hit closer to home than it did before. People take things for granted because they always thought it wasn’t going anywhere.

“That’s where you first met him, right?” Junmyeon asks. “During one of my birthday parties?”

A warm feeling springs from Kyungsoo’s chest, and he welcomes it with a faint smile. “Yes,” he answers, and the years melt away as he remembers that night.

May 2014

“Scotch on the rocks,” Kyungsoo says to the bartender.

The bartender smiles and nods, whipping out a glass with some ice and then filling it halfway with Chivas 12. “First time here?” he asks.

Kyungsoo shakes his head. He picks up the glass and takes a generous swig from it. “I’ve been here before. I just don’t come often.”

The Viper Room’s secret whiskey bar isn’t exactly a secret anymore, at least for locals. The staircase leading to it is just past the cashier, but it’s easy to miss if you don’t know that it exists. It’s where locals come to take it slow if they aren’t in the mood to party upstairs.

“Ah, figures,” the bartender shrugs. “Haven’t seen you before in Junmyeon’s parties. How do you know him?”

Kyungsoo downs the rest of his drink, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. “He’s my agent. I signed with him just a few weeks ago.” He slides his glass back to the bartender, asking him to pour another one. “How do you know Junmyeon?”

“He always rents the bar on his birthday,” the bartender explains. This time he pours from a different bottle. Kyungsoo catches the familiar logo, but isn’t quite sure which kind it is.

“That looks expensive,” he says. “Should you be giving that to me so generously?”

The bartender chuckles. “It’s a congratulatory drink, for signing with one of the best agents in Hollywood. On the house, of course.”

Kyungsoo shrugs. He takes back the drink wordlessly because it’s difficult to argue with free premium booze. He takes a small sip of the golden liquid, letting out a low whistle as soon as he’s tasted it. “Damn. What is this?”

“Thirty year-old Walker. Master Blender, 1880,” the bartender says, a smirk playing on his lips. He pours one for himself and then brings his glass up to Kyungsoo’s. “A toast. For your career. LA’s a shark tank, but I’m sure Junmyeon will take care of you.”

They both laugh, finishing their drinks in one clean swig.

“Should you be drinking on duty, Minseok?” a voice asks from behind Kyungsoo.

The stranger takes the seat on the bar next to Kyungsoo, and Kyungsoo can’t help but shy away from the sudden encroachment. He looks familiar, Kyungsoo thinks.

The bartender, whose name is Minseok, apparently, lets out an easy laugh. “I tend the bar, Minho. It takes more than half a glass of scotch to get me drunk.”

A lightbulb goes off in Kyungsoo’s mind. Choi Minho. That’s why he looked familiar.

Someone calls Minseok from the far end of the bar, leaving Kyungsoo with the newcomer. But Kyungsoo doesn’t pay him any attention. He takes a newfound interest in his drink, swirling the liquid in the glass until the ice cubes melt.

“Man, Minseok flirts with everyone who asks for a drink from him,” Minho says, breaking the silence.

Kyungsoo takes another sip without sparing him a glance. “He wasn’t flirting. He was making conversation,” he replies indifferently.

“O-oh. Yeah. I was just kidding,” Minho stammers as he lets out a nervous laugh. “I’m Choi Minho, by the way.”

Minho extends his hand out for Kyungsoo to shake, but Kyungsoo just stares at him blankly. “I know who you are. I’m not interested.”

“What?” Minho laughs, but again, it comes out shaky, like he’s embarrassed. “Jeez, I was just introducing myself. No need—”

A chuckle coming from Kyungsoo’s left interrupts whatever pathetic excuse Minho was about to come up with.

Kyungsoo turns his head to the source of laughter, his eyes falling on the man sitting a few stools away from him. Mild amusement dances on the man’s face with his lips curled into a mischievous smile. He’s beautiful, Kyungsoo thinks, but that isn’t the most striking thing about him — it’s his hair, dyed silver-gray, which looks luminescent even in the dim lighting of the bar.

“The kid said he’s not interested, Minho,” the man says. “Better leave him alone before a sexual harassment lawsuit that you can’t bribe yourself out of flies your way.”

Minho leaves without another word, his hands balling into fists on his side.

Kyungsoo looks at the silver-haired man once again. A satisfied smirk is playing on the man’s lips, obviously pleased with himself for saving someone from the likes of Choi Minho.

“Thanks,” Kyungsoo says. His face feels unusually warm, and he isn’t sure whether it’s because of the scotch or because of the man sitting just a few feet away from him.

“Don’t mention it,” he replies, taking a swig out of his beer. “Smart of you to turn him away without giving him your name.”

“It’s a small industry. You hear things one way or another.”

The silver-haired man laughs, putting his perfect teeth on display. Kyungsoo swears his heart skipped a beat, and he hates how he felt it; he should be used to beautiful people by now. He is in Tinseltown, after all.

And yet here he is blushing, all because some actor has thrown him a dazzling smile.

“You’re Junmyeon’s new kid, right?” the man asks.

“If by kid you mean a client and not like a boy toy or something, then yes,” Kyungsoo says. He stands up from his seat and moves closer to his new acquaintance, offering his hand. “Doh Kyungsoo.”

The man chuckles and accepts the handshake. “Ah, so you’re the kid from that play in Bootleg Theater Junmyeon’s been raving about. He must’ve been over the moon when you finally signed onto him.”

“Well, it wasn’t a hard choice to begin with. He has a good track record.” Kyungsoo scratches the back of his neck. He’s never been used to being at the receiving end of compliments, especially when they’re about his acting.

“So, what do you think about the script?”

Kyungsoo freezes, his drink stopping in midair. “What script?”

“Ah, he hasn’t told you yet…” the man smiles knowingly. “I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise, but let’s just say we’re about to see more of each other.” He stands up from his seat, straightening out the blazer over his white shirt. “Byun Baekhyun,” the silver-haired man finally introduces himself.

But Kyungsoo already knows who he is.

Read the rest of the chapters here.

Listen to this fic’s playlist here.

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wittystarkk · 5 years

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The Last Five Years | Part One | Bucky Barnes

author: wittystarkk

word count: 3k+

relationship: James “Bucky” Barnes/Reader

Warnings: None.

Summary: In New York two young lovers work their way through lust, love, work and letdowns. A handsome actor finds himself skyrocketed into fame. An aspiring writer finds herself stuck in a mundane hamster wheel of rejection. Each works to make their lives together successful, each finding it harder and harder. Their tale is shared from different perspectives.

A/N: Hi everyone! So, this is basically my retelling of the movie ‘The Last Five Years’. I wanted to practice writing, and see if I could affectively (from memory) translate what I saw on screen onto the page. So I wrote this. It’s going to be 16 parts, all corresponding to the songs of the movie. As a disclaimer: i do not claim any of the film, and I do not claim the characters. Et cetera. This is purely a self indulgent fic that I thought I would share with all of y’all! I hope you enjoy it. Additional information: this story is told 2 ways - Reader: end to start. Bucky: start to end.

Next Chapter

The subway was hot and stuffy from the bodies of all the passengers crammed in like poorly packaged sardines. Everyone was tired and longing for their exits. (Y/N)’s hair had gone flat and her back was sore from having to curve around a pole to keep herself steady. She’d had to remove her jacket in order to survive heat stroke, and was elated when she was cold enough to put it back on. The subway had smelt like human body odor and an underlying scent of fermented garbage. Had she not been a semi-regular subway passenger, she would have completely given in to the throws of misery. She hated how used to things she could become. How complacent and accepting she tended to be. Ohio had been a small Hell that she had ultimately gotten used to, just as had been the subway. She felt she could overlook anything.

(Y/N)’s anticipation for home had risen every second she’d spent away. She was unhappy. She was tired, and she wanted nothing more than to sleep. Wanted to curl up in bed and put the entirety of Ohio behind her. Put the entirety of everything behind her. Her previous weekend had been one of the worst, and she prayed that coming home would ease that pain. Ease every hurtful word and emotion she’d heard, said and felt some two days ago. Ease the anguish in her chest since he’d left. She had spent the entire time thinking, “soon I’ll be home. I can make it a few more hours.” Trying to reassure herself that things were gonna be fine. That they were gonna be fine. That when things to be at their worst, they always have a knack of swinging around to good again.

The cab from the dingy train station to home wasn’t excruciatingly long, but felt like an absolute eternity. (Y/N) knew she would soon be home and was growing more uplifted with every passing street. She would feel better, hopefully happier. Nothing that happened in Ohio would matter when she walked through the doors of her apartment and saw all of her things, and him . He would make everything good again, with his hugs and his words of support and soliloquies of I missed you and his sorry . His I didn’t mean it . He would heal all wounds, fix the crack that had nearly split the two of them apart. He had been the one to make it, after all.

When the cab parked in front of the three story brownstone a wave of something washed through (Y/N). She couldn’t describe it and was entirely sure that she didn’t like it. “125 West 119th Street,” the cab called to her from the front seat as if she didn’t already know the address of her own apartment. She remembered the day that they had signed the lease on it. How scared she felt, and how he kept telling her that it was gonna be great. That their home was gonna be great. That they were gonna be great.

(Y/N) snapped out of her daze. Handing the cabby her fare signified the end of her trip and the feeling she had intensified. Stepping out of the cab, she gave a glance up to the second floor window of her apartment. The curtains were half drawn and the lights were off denying a proper peek in. It was nearly six in the evening and the sun was completely cloaked behind a jacket of clouds. If he was home, surely he’d need a light on. (Y/N)’s stomach knotted.

The cabby retrieved (Y/N)’s bag from the trunk while she was staring up at the window, hand fisted around the strap of her purse. She wasn’t aware that more than ten seconds had passed, and was startled when the cabby dropped her suitcase at her feet, huffing loudly. (Y/N) dismissed him with a ‘thank you’ called over her shoulder as she bent to pick up her bag, carrying it towards the stairs of the brownstone.

Her keys were clipped to the strap of her purse, her fingers finding them easily. They gave a small hassle while trying to unlock the deadbolt of the main door but didn’t prove to be too big of a challenge. When she closed the main door behind her there were hushed voices from down the hall.

“(Y/N), is that you?” Mrs. Zaldana asked from her front door at the end of the hallway. She was dressed in a tattered purple robe, with slippers that had seen days better than the present. She figured that the voices she had heard were coming from the blaring TV that was stashed somewhere within Mrs. Zaldana’s apartment. The poor old woman was deaf as a doornail and it was made even more apparent by the volume she listened to things at.

“Yes, Mrs. Zaldana, it is.” (Y/N) loudly replied, looking longingly at the staircase to her right. She was in no mood for a conversation, merely one flight of stairs away from / him/. She didn’t want to prolong the wait. “I’m sorry to be rude, but I’m exhausted. I’ll talk to you tomorrow morning. I might bring muffins,” she told her, not waiting for a response as she ascended the stairs. Her footfalls sounded so loud, echoing against the walls. Were they always like this?, she wondered.

As she walked her mind busied itself with quick thoughts of him. They’d fought the last time she’d seen him, they’d argued and she’d cried. He’d yelled, and he’d looked angry. She knew he would surely not be over it. Couldn’t be over it. No, he never did let things go like she did. He held onto everything. Let his anger or resentment fester like an infected wound. Wouldn’t let her clean it and heal it and mend it. He was so stubborn. So hateful sometimes. She loved him madly.

A hiss sounded when she reached the top of the stairs. Mr. Martinez’s cat was perched on the banister of the staircase, it’s legs tucked underneath her orange body. She gave the cat a soft stroke when she reached her, letting the cat affectionately nuzzle into her palm. After a moment her hand left the tabby’s fur, dropping to her side. Her heartbeat sped again as she took the final distance to the apartment, readying her keys to unlock the door. She gripped the handle to pull the door towards herself, the only way the old bolt would disengage, and found it loose. She narrowed her brows at the brass knob, giving it a tentative turn. The door opened with a squeak.

“Bucky?” She called into the apartment, following the door inside. The apartment was dark and empty. She shrugged out of the black leather jacket covering her arms. Kicking off her shoes, she realized the chair to the desk in front of the window was pulled out. Her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach, her hands becoming clammy and shaky. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head. Her mind began pulling forward every awful scenario that could be happening. That could be the reason for a dark apartment and an unlocked front door. She wanted none to be true.

She sat down on the chair in front of the desk, her knees feeling too weak to support herself. The desktop had been cleared of nearly all of the objects that once littered it before she left. In front of her was a stark grey envelope that had her name written on it in a familiar messy scrawl. She cleared her throat, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. She couldn’t open the envelope yet. Couldn’t breathe. Her throat felt dry and scratchy, like she was struggling with a bad cold.

“You can’t do this to me,” she managed to whisper out, seeing the gold band that had been carefully set atop the envelope. Her hand trembled minutely when she picked the ring up, turning it around her finger. The outside was scuffed and dirty, showing the wear and tear of three years on his finger. The inside, however, was smooth and polished. She figured it was from all of the times he’d taken it off. She set it down with a pained look like suddenly the metal had sparked a flame against her skin.

She noticed the keys next, deciding they were the reason her front door had been unlocked when she had returned home. She saw the house key and the mailbox key both attached to a dull metal ring. She plucked them up, sliding the metal ring along her finger until it sat at the base. She held the finger up, looking at the keys while she spun them around. She wanted to be able to throw the keys out of the window and the pain that she was feeling with them.

She dropped the keys to the desktop with a thud, deciding to finally face the letter. He throat felt drier than before and she had a tingling in her nose that indicated she was on the verge of crying. Inside the envelope was a piece of off-white paper folded thrice. Unfolding it revealed that he’d written his final letter to her on a slip of paper that read “ James and (Y/N) Barnes ” at the top. “How fitting,” she said to the empty room. “Writing your goodbye on our stationary.”

She held the paper tightly in between the first finger and thumb of both hands, eyes scanning over the scratchy script. She felt like every letter was being burnt into her cerebellum as tears rolled down her cheeks leaving streaks where the foundation had been washed away.

She let the letter fall from her fingers to the desk, her breath held in her chest as she moved her gaze to focus out the window. The sky outside was still dark, the clouds an angry grey. She felt as if the weather was mocking her. Saying she didn’t deserve to see the sun since hers had just walked out on her. She pushed up from the chair, her knees feeling wobbly as she did. She took a few tentative steps, reaching her hand out to grab onto the arm of the couch. She thought of how much she hated it when he’d picked it out, and couldn’t help but chuckle at the realization that the fight they’d had over it was the most inconsequential thing now, but had held so much weight before.

She sunk to the floor in front of the couch, resting her back against it. She hadn’t stopped crying. The tears felt like they’d started coming faster, pouring down her face like they were on a race to see who could make it down her neck the fastest. She brought her knees up, her arms wrapping around them in a self hug. She didn’t know what she could do, what she could say. She felt numb. Her whole being had frozen like gridlocked traffic. She couldn’t bring her thoughts away from him, couldn’t even begin to worry about what she was going to do now. What she could do now that she wasn’t his, he wasn’t hers, and he wasn’t here.

She looked around the apartment that once had been theirs, where their memories were made and their lives were shared. Where they’d started their lives as two and joined together to become one. A unified being.

“Bucky’s gone,” she heard herself whisper into the apartment. Her voice sounded weak and scratchy from the sobs that had been echoing from her throat since she’d begun reading the letter. She rubbed her cheek against her shoulder, sniffling hard to clear her nose as best she could. “He thinks this is all my fault,” she muttered, shaking her head in disbelief.

Had she not tried? , she wondered. She’d dragged him to therapists, sat on couches uglier than the one he’d picked out for them and aired all of their dirty laundry to a therapist with a judgmentally arched eyebrow and a pen that never moved. She’d lauded over him, poured her heart out in a flood on the floor. Listened while he blamed her for every problem, abhorred her for every instance in their lives when they were unhappy.

“You always thought that I was the problem,” she said, raising her bloodshot eyes to look at the picture of the two of them on the fireplace mantel. “I’m sure you’re doing just fine, knowing you were the one who got to decide this. Got to leave. Chose to cut and run, to what? Find something better?” she hissed. “Find someone better,” she amended. She felt anger bubbling up, quickly tampering that down to stifle it. She needed to feel her pain first. Accept that she was heartbroken, not deny it. Not cover it up with easier emotions.

“You don’t -” her voice broke, her hand rubbing at her nose. “You don’t get the easy way out.” She felt insane, sitting on the floor and talking to a picture. Knew that it wasn’t going to solve anything. She was going to still be hurting, and he was completely oblivious to it all. “God,” she groaned. “What about you? Huh? What about you, Bucky?” She used the sleeve of her shirt to wipe her nose, figuring her hand unfit for the job. “You think I’m the problem?” She asked of the picture which would stay mute. “You had your secrets, Bucky! You knew you had to hide things from me. Keep them locked away in some vault within yourself. Throw them out when they got to be too much. Ignore them like you ignored me. Bring them back, Bucky! Bring back your lies. Hang them on our wall! Hang them with our wedding photos and the photos of you and I where you were already falling out of love with me. Why not?” She stood from the floor, a sob ripping through her chest when she caught a glimpse of his ring again.

She trudged the short distance across the apartment to the small kitchen, grabbing a bottle of wine from the counter. She reached up and removed a wine glass from the shelving unit where it was held, setting it down with a clink to the faux granite countertop. She ripped apart a drawer in order to find the corkscrew, cursing over the fact it was never easy to locate. She uncorked the bottle and threw the screw into the sink where it made a loud metal clang. Pouring the liquid into the glass she became aware, again, of her trembling hands. She wondered how she wasn’t dousing the entire kitchen with the wine.

She walked out of the kitchen armed with a half full glass of wine in one hand and a bottle in the other. If anything were going to help her, it was inebriation. “You know something?” She asked, aware that she would never hear an answer. “Here I am, stuck in this fucking apartment that you wanted. Covered in invisible scars from every fight we had in this place, and you? Where are you? Hiding away? Chasing something that you’ll never find? Fuck you.” She chugged the wine from the glass, refilling it as she sat down on the padded bench in front of their - her - bed. She set the bottle down by her feet, holding the glass firmly between both hands. Memories were racing back and forth as she looked around the apartment.

She was certainly still hurting, she decided. No more anger from before, though her tone could have fooled an outsider. Nothing but pure, unadulterated pain. Pain for everything they were, pain for everything they’d yet to be, pain for everything that they should have been. She finished her second glass, setting it down beside the bottle. “Maybe, maybe if you’d stayed. If you’d have talked to me. Told me your goodbyes in person… Maybe then I could understand how you could leave. Maybe then I’d see that you never thought we had a chance at all.”

She stood from the bench, walking to his dresser which she knew was empty now. She paused for a moment, wanting to open the drawers. Wanting to see his clothes in them. Wanting to see some evidence that he wasn’t really gone. That he hadn’t really left after all. That this was just a fucking act to try and change her. Make her cave and shape herself into the wife he thought he deserved. One that turned a blind eye to everything he did. One that knew how far they’d cracked apart, but would be able to salvage it. To rebuild everything between them.

(Y/N) looked down at her hands, spreading her fingers out. She wiped at her cheeks, sniffling before splaying her hands out again in front of herself. She looked from the old golden ring with the adorning pearls she always wore to the small silver one that she would spin anxiously. She then moved her attention to her wrist, unlatching the watch that was looped around it. She was out of time with the one who had given it to her, she felt no need to keep it on. Sliding it off of her wrist, she had to pull her lips in between her teeth to keep from making any sounds. She set the watch down atop the dresser and moved to take off the golden bracelet that had accompanied it. She set it down next to the watch, taking in a shaky breath.

She looked back down at her hands again, seeing the last thing he’d given her. The diamond band around the ring finger of her left hand. She sobbed, this one sounding more pained than she ever thought she could. More raw and vulnerable than she’d ever been in her life. She twisted the ring off of her finger for the first time in three years, setting it down atop the dresser. She rubbed at the skin of her finger for a moment, feeling the phantom weight of the ring like it were still there. She took a few weak steps back from the dresser, eyes trained on the jewelry that had once held so much value to her. She sank back down onto the bench, hands falling into her lap.

“What now?” (Y/N) wondered of the empty apartment, voice drained and heart heavy. Where could she go now? Where could she turn? She wanted to lay on the bed and have him to curl against, to lay with and be comforted by. How could he be the one she needed the comfort because of? How could he be the one who broke them? Broke her? Let something that was once so wonderful die?

She was still hurting, alright. And God. She wondered when that would change.

#sam writes #sams post #sam posts #my first fanfic posted on this blog!!!#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes fan fic #bucky barnes fan fiction #sebastian stan one shot #sebastian stan fan fic #bucky barnes oneshot #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan fiction

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scribeofmorpheus · 5 years

Text

Mark of the Wolf Part 12

Catch Up Here!

Pairing: Derek Hale x Reader (Lastname: Markolf)

Words: 5k

Warnings: For once... no violence in a MOTW chapter. But... maybe some poorly written rushed angst? I’m sorry... I just wanted to keep this story alive without having to wait a month in between updates... Oops!

A/N: Ayyy... Next chapter things are gonna heat up a bit.... and not just with our killer hunter tree people (Oh gawd, this sentence was stupid.) Enjoy meeting the family!

Leave a like or reblog if you enjoyed this chapter! It helps ☺

The drive to the Homestead was filled with awkward silence, half snores and faint mumbles traded in for regular conversation. You had been resting against Derek's chest the whole drive, teetering between full-on sleep and temporal distortion from constantly zoning in and out -or at least, it felt like you were time travelling whenever you'd close your eyes for a second and then the next thing you knew, a whole hour had flown past.

Your dreams were foggy, hitting you vividly one moment then incomprehensible the next. Several symbols flooded your thoughts when your eyelids closed, so did Alyster’s hoarse voice, but you blocked most of that out. Through all the disorder within your brain, only one image presented itself clearly and repeatedly: the bow and shank of a golden key without a bit. You kept sketching it in your mind. Over and over and over again until you started tracing the outline of the shape on your thigh using your index finger. Derek noticed but didn’t say anything. You were grateful because you wouldn’t know what to say had he asked.

You knew instantly the moment you were close to home. The air smelled of pine and rain. The sound of chirping and crickets filled the night. You felt Derek's muscles uncoil as soon as that fresh forest air hit his nostrils. He took a long, deep whiff and that caused his chest to rise and the beating of his heart to accelerate. The sound was… calming.

A howl woke you from your half-slumber. You were greeted by a tense energy swarming inside the car. Markus chuckled before reassuring everyone it was simply your youngest brother, Jonah, alerting the rest of your family to your arrival.

The driveway was narrow and paved by pebble-sized stones in place of tar or cobble, the sound of tires rolling over stone was familiar yet odd. Out from behind a tall hedge was the old, two-story wood and brick style house and behind that was the cabin and shed. Your mother and father were standing on the porch, tight smiles on their faces diluted by the breezy way they waved their arms. Beside them stood your sister, Esme. She was wearing workout clothes, undoubtedly from spending her day training Jonah -who was nowhere to be seen.

"Home, sweet home," Markus said as he got out of the car and was promptly greeted by Esme's fist punching his side. "Oof! Why do both my sister's insist on punching me? Are hugs and handshakes no longer an acceptable form of etiquette amongst werewolves?"

Esme's brow was furrowed, she looked furious, "Werewolves, yes. Siblings, not so much.” She punched him again, “You had us worried."

You were certain she was ready to rip him a new one right there and then by scolding him with a wordy speech she had undoubtedly practised several times in the mirror, but it never came. In place of a tongue lashing, she completely blindsiding him with a strong hug. A relieved sigh leaving her full lips.

As soon as you stepped out of the car, you were nearly toppled to the ground by Jonah -who had no doubt picked up the same blindsiding habit from Esme- with one of his trademark sprint hugs.

"Y/N! I missed you! How's your new job? Saved any pups lately? Get bitten by any mean cats? What about your new house? Is it spacey? Do you have your own porch swing? I know how much you love porch swings. You probably noticed ours is gone, I kinda, sorta, maybe broke it. Anyway, what about your neighbours? Is it weird moving someplace where your nearest neighbours can hear it when you sneeze? You sneeze really loudly! Are they nosey or rude or--" Jonah rambled at a faster than lightning pace.

You were still winded from his surprise hug, you almost didn't know what was happening. You couldn’t even get a word in between each speed round of questioning he threw your way.

"I missed you too Speedy," You giggled as you patted his lithe back, he was taller and skinnier than when you last saw him. That worried you. "The real question is: 'What have they been feeding you?' You're practically all bone!" You gawked at your parents.

Your dad chuckled, pushing his glasses farther up his nose, "Don't look at us. He eats more than Esme and Markus combined."

"Hey squirt," Esme wrapped you in a hug after she released Markus from her stony embrace. After she peered over your shoulder with an arched brow at all the strangers currently disembarking from the cars. "I see you've brought guests. Good thing you called ahead of time to give us a heads up." She retorted.

"Oh tish, Esme. Don't be rude," your mom walked down the steps and welcomed the strangers at her doorstep. “Please, ignore her boorish manners. Any friends of Y/N are friends of ours. Welcome, welcome.”

Stiles fumbled a bit, wiping his clammy hands on his jeans before offering a handshake. Scott and Liam inched closer to offer their own introductions while Derek and Peter took in the sheer scope of the Homestead, the latter of whom let out a whistle before remarking, “We invested in the wrong kind of real estate...”

“We?” Derek huffed.

“We’re family. Family is always entitled to a ‘we’,” Peter pointed out.

“I think we are the exception to the rule,” Derek strode away from the insulted looking Peter and introduced himself to your parents. Theo had remained silent and guarded during the entire welcome wagon. The overly warm ambience threw him off. He stood out like a sore thumb. An uncomfortably sore thumb.

"How's the fiancé?" you asked Esme with a bright smile as you made your way inside the house. It was probably the first time you'd been able to smile freely ever since you moved to Beacon Hills.

It comforted you that the house still smelt the same: sandalwood and lavender. Sandalwood was your dad’s go-to scent, he used it to try and mask the smell of tobacco from your mother whenever he’d sneak a cigar. He was never successful in that endeavour. Lavender was the go-to scent of all the candles Maggie made from scratch. She was a dabbler in aromatherapy. Everyone else in the house would always complain about strong smells during Summer, that’s when she did most of her brewing and mixing and distilling like some new-age witch without the pointy hat or warty nose. Your wolf nose wasn’t as keen as everyone else’s, so it never bothered you much. Not unless she was working with jasmine, you couldn’t stand the smell of jasmine.

Esme rolled her eyes, "She's driving me up the wall. Who knew planning a wedding could be so… stressful."

You cocked your head to the side, "Wait, I thought Maggie wanted to elope?"

"She did, originally," Esme sighed in your mom’s direction before shooting you a small smile. "Mom talked her into having a traditional wedding instead."

"All I did was show her your grandmother's wedding dress and a few photo albums, Maggie is a grown woman, she is allowed to change her mind," Your mother winked in your direction.

Jonah darted around Derek and Scott, nose high in the air as he far-from-discretely investigated the new werewolves.

"Hey, Speedy, what is the general rule when you meet other werewolves?" Esme asked with a hint of exasperation in her tone.

Jonah huffed a sigh and pulled his lips into a pout, eyes cast down, "Never be too obvious…”

“And?” Esme pressed.

Jonah bit his lip, “And don't sniff the air… it's rude."

"And what were you doing?" Esme's hands were on her hips now.

Jonah kicked at the air, "Being rude."

You elbowed your sister when you saw your brother's pouting face pull lower, "Cut him some slack, E. He's allowed to fib a little. He’s still a kid. You all had a learning curve too." You held out your hands for Jonah and he dashed to your side and cradled under your frame as though you were his security blanket. He shot Esme a shit-eating grin. "Don't worry Speedy, I'll protect you from the big, bad wolf."

Esme snarled, her eyes turning blue for an instant and then she chuckled and ruffled Jonah's sandy curls, "You're lucky Y/N's here. But don't think for a second that you can use her to get out of morning training."

Jonah shone his golden eyes in a puppy dog manner and Esme simply smacked his face playfully, not having any of his younger sibling bullshit tactics. You laughed at the weird sound he made after Esme’s palm left his face.

You had been so caught up in just being back home and slipping back into comfortable habits that you had forgotten to introduce everyone. "Oh, how rude of me. I haven’t done proper introductions yet. Mom, Dad, Esme, Speedy, these are my… friends from Beacon Hills. That's Derek, his uncle Peter, Scott, Liam, I'm not sure who he is because we met two nights ago and we took separate cars and, of course, we all know Deaton. We had a seventh, but we left her in Mexico."

Theo smirked at your quirky way of saying you hadn't been introduced and gave a half-wave as he decided to handle his own introductions, "Theo."

Everyone gave a wave or a nod or an inaudible, 'Hello'.

"Everyone, these are my parents, Christian and Estella Markolf. The sour face over here is my sister Esme, you all met Markus and this little runt over here is Jonah.” You shook Jonah around like he was a ragdoll, prompting a giggle from him. “Our emissary, Maggie is… somewhere, though I'm not sure where."

"She headed into town early this morning, apparently a package arrived for her," Esme filled you in.

Jonah sniffed the air again, though not as subtly as he thought he was being. Then he turned and whispered to Esme, "Does he smell strange to you?" he set his eyes on Theo.

"Yeah, I'm not all werewolf, that's why. I'm surprised you picked up on it," Theo explained to him loudly.

Esme hid her embarrassment behind a scowl, “Speedy, we just went over this…”

Jonah ignored Esme’s protests and started up a conversation with Theo, "I have a condition that makes my wolf senses more excited than normal. It means I’m constantly running about or my nose picks up on strange smells from miles away. One time I smelt a campfire that was lit on the other side of the property line. Oh, and this one time I heard scratching in the house and it nearly drove me up the wall because it was so loud but no one else could hear it… turns out it was a rat in the basement."

"Ah, Chimera," Theo offered in explanation. "What's your…uh, condition?"

"ADHD," Jonah said simply.

Peter looked at your brother like he suddenly transformed into a peacock and you protectively glowered at him. Derek subtly stomped on Peter’s foot and he let out a hiss in pain. You bit back a laugh.

"Well," you father cleared his throat. "Now that we're all… acquainted, let’s see if we can make some room for all of you. And then after, we’ll let Markus explain what exactly he was doing in Mexico and why he and Esme never bothered to tell their parents they were planning on doing something stupid." he glanced between Esme and Markus with an inquisitive brow arched high. Both your siblings looked away like they’d been burned and shuffled awkwardly.

“Before you go on and tear Markus a new one, remember to mind your temper, your blood pressure is a whole thing now and I don’t need to tell you to keep a handle on it,” your mother patted your father’s chest lovingly before turning to her eldest son. “And you. March on upstairs and take a shower and a couple of aspirin. You reek!”

The house was full and bustling with energy. In every room there was a conversation to be had or a chore to be done. The only time the house had been this full was the time when Maggie had invited her extended family over from Ireland to visit over the holidays.

The house was already beginning to bud off into smaller groups. The youngest members gravitated towards each other. Jonah and Theo hit it off quite easily and it didn’t take long until Liam was pulled into their orbit. Before you knew it, they were outside roughhousing like teenagers -though, to be fair, Jonah was barely over eighteen.

Peter and Esme got to talking about her former pack down in Sao Paulo and Deaton, Scott and Stiles were in the study looking over several open books and notes Maggie had compiled about the hunters. Derek and Markus were outside somewhere talking in hushed whispers. Meanwhile, your dad was helping you and your mother set up your old room.

"It's good to have you home," your mother said as she unfolded the duvet cover. "Despite the circumstances."

You shrugged, focusing your energy on putting the duvet cover on the right way round.

"Though it is rather ironic," your dad chipped in as he brought several sleeping bags down from the attic. "You left to get away from all this werewolf business and somehow you come home with more werewolves. Next thing you know you’ll be marrying a werewolf."

"I get it, I'm a walking disaster with a magnet for the supernatural," you half-joked.

"That Derek boy and his uncle seem quite familiar to me," your mom's face scrunched up in thought. "He wouldn't be a Hale by any chance?"

"Y-yeah… how did you--?"

"I knew his mother, way back when, before I left my old pack." She interrupted you as she fluffed several pillows and took down several blankets from the wardrobe. "He looks so much like his mother..." her eyes glanced out the window and then back at you. “And quite handsome."

You tossed a pillow her way, "Very subtle."

She winked, "It's just an observation."

Your dad grumbled as he took the blankets out of her hands and headed out of the room, "I sure do hope that’s all that was."

“Ignore him, he’s only just gotten used to the fact that he isn’t alpha anymore, he’s a little more territorial than usual,” she snickered behind a quilt.

You heard the clinking of Maggie's chunky metal bangles and numerous pendants before you heard her footsteps when she barged in through the front door holding a cardboard box marked with a 'Royal Mail' stamp on it, "Hey, who are those two strange boyos with Jonah outside?"

She stopped with wide eyes when she saw you, arms spreading wide so she could squeeze your frame between her two plump arms. The frilly sleeves of her summer dress rolling up so you could see her tattoo sleeve in all its glory. You noticed she had gotten a new tattoo added to the collection.

"Aww, Y/N, I've missed you! I didn't think we'd be seeing you so soon after you left..." she studied your face and frowned when she noticed the dark circles under your eyes. "You haven't been sleeping at all. You got a bad dose of stress, don’t you? This won't do." Her strong Irish lilt was still very much present on her tongue.

"Hey, Maggie, I hear you aren't eloping anymore?" you asked and she blushed dotingly.

"What can I say, I decided I wanted the fairy tale wedding after all," She tucked her short hair behind her ear as a deep blush set on her freckled face. “I’m guessing those new additions amongst the garden gnomes belong to you?"

"Oh, I brought more," you nodded behind you where Derek, Peter, Scott and Stiles were all gathered.

"Who is that tall drink of water?" she whispered, but you knew they all heard.

You ignored her comment and glanced down at her parcel balanced between her arm and hip, "What's that?”

"Oh, it's a book my brother sent over," she used her shapely nails to rip open the box with little to no finesse. "Aha!" she cheered when she finally got it open. "It's the right volume too! I’ve gotta crack on with this sweets. We’ll hang properly later, yeah?"

You nodded and stood aside to let her through.

She trotted over to the study and immediately started flipping through pages after a short and sweet introduction to the rest of the pack. Maggie and Deaton got to catching up while Stiles, who was face timing with a pretty girl, pulled up a chair to join them with their studies.

Derek glanced your way while Peter rambled to Esme and Markus about something. He flashed a quick smile at you that caused the temperature in the room to grow much hotter. You hovered aimlessly for a second before seeking out something to do. You settled for sticking your head in the fridge to try and cool down.

Those words Alyster had spoken before kept fading in and out of your subconscious all day like a malfunctioning dimmer switch you could never turn off all the way.

That night, you, Esme and Maggie had curled up under your covers with a pint of lemon sorbet and an old boxset of Friends on DVD. Even though you enjoyed your time away from the madness and bloodshed and time being hunted to the ends of the earth, you never quite relaxed into the secure sanctuary of your bedroom walls.

The crappy TV in your room had the worst sound and you had spent most of the night pretending to watch the poor quality video while Esme and Maggie rotated between bridesmaid talk, the new pack of wolves you had brought home and how many muscles Derek was hiding under his shirt -that particular topic seemed to interest Maggie more that Esme, who simply made disinterested noises every time her better half brought up the topic.

"I mean… I bet his muscles have muscles..." Maggie ate her spoon full of ice-cream slowly, mind elsewhere. "He seems like the kind of guy who would work out shirtless."

"Come with us, and all this chaos can end. Come with us and I'll tell you the truth."

Esme sighed, "If you like him so much, marry him." her words weren't mean or unpleasant, simply the ramblings of a bored woman tired of hearing Maggie fawn over Derek's muscles.

"Come with us and you will learn of your importance to the Order... And the fate of the world."

"I mean… with your permission," Maggie said sarcastically before peppering what could only be cold kisses onto Esme’s cheek, smudging her rouge lipstick all over your older sisters face. Esme didn't mind it one bit.

"All we want is you."

"Easy there, future Mrs Quinn-Markolf," Esme wiped the lipstick smudges onto her t-shirt sleeve. "You keep smothering me like this and I may just have to rethink the, 'Till death do us part' clause in our vows."

Maggie snorted, "Yeah, you'll have to rethink it if you think I'm going to be known as Maggie Quinn-Markolf for the rest of my life."

"Your blood is special.”

Esme pulled away from Maggie, “What? Is Quinn-Markolf not euphonic enough for you? I thought our love was stronger than the clashing sounds of our hyphenated last names!” she retorted.

“Your lineage is special.”

Maggie scrunched her nose and gave a blunt, “Nah, you’d be sorely mistaken there, love.” Esme gasped and Maggie peppered her cheek with more kisses before she could escape from beneath the covers, “I am only codding ya!”

“You are special."

Despite the playful atmosphere, you were too distracted to enjoy the moment.

Esme noticed you had been absent from their conversations and she chalked it up to more than just exhaustion or anti-social behaviour, "You okay, squirt?" she nudged you with her shoulder.

You hummed, taken by surprise by the question. "Yeah, why?"

"Because you've been a little… distant tonight," Maggie finished her thought for her.

"I..." you wanted to say everything was fine. You wanted to put up a brave front and soldier on, but something in you cracked and you had to hold back a sob as you finally caved in, revealing everything that had happened to you since you saved Derek in the vet clinic. You even revealed the part about you almost agreeing to be the sacrificial lamb when Alyster was in your head.

Neither your sister nor her fiancé said anything, they just let you talk and talk until you passed out. It felt good to be open and truthful without the fear of sudden judgement.

The next day, when you woke up, you were squished between Esme and Maggie. Their soft snores waking you from the longest sleep you'd had in a long while. It felt good to get that off your chest. But for some reason, the atmosphere in the house changed. It grew a little more tense.

The days following your homecoming blended together. The pack had spent their free time doing research and trying to come up with a viable plan of action. Liam, Jonah and Theo began to form an odd bond over their werewolf otherness -Liam with his IED, Jonah with his ADHD and Theo with his being a Chimera. Together, they were one ingredient short of turning into some form of an incendiary device. Their energy was exhausting, as was their constant rough-housing. You couldn't fathom how Maggie managed to reign them in whenever they got too rowdy.

Things with Derek were different. He was more distant and whenever you did interact, he'd act pricklier than usual. He was giving you the cold shoulder. Most of the time, if he could avoid it, he wouldn't look you in the eye when he talked to you. His jaw would twitch every now and again as he spoke between clenched teeth. Peter delighted himself in watching your painful interaction. He’d always have a snide comment that would cause Derek to sigh or just walk away.

It was like Derek was being accosted by your very presence and that drove you up the wall. That was why you were storming into the woods at dawn in old combat boots and baggy pyjamas. This behaviour couldn’t continue. You wouldn’t allow it.

You found him in the middle of the meadow, he was shirtless and sweating. His biceps were straining as he dipped his body low in a single armed push-up. You were dazed for a moment, the first glimmers of daybreak causing his sweat slickened body to glisten. It seems Maggie was correct in assuming he worked out without a shirt. A flush burned at your cheeks and you bit your tongue in frustration. Damn him and his perfectly chiselled muscles.

"What are you doing out here so early?" he grumbled out without looking at you.

"I have a bone to pick with you. Didn't want to do it in front of the others," You placed your hands on your hips as though that would make you look more imposing. It didn't.

He stood and let out a strained exhale, bare chest heaving up and down as his midriff tensed and relaxed with every breath. He brushed a hand through his dark, sweaty hair and strode over, picking up his water bottle and spritzing himself with water in an effort to cool himself down.

You could have sworn you saw some of the moisture evaporate off his body. It made you gulp.

"Alright," he was panting, eyes dark. "What is it?" his jaw did that thing again and your face grew even redder. You hoped he'd chalk it up to anger.

"You've been acting… strange around me ever since we got here. Most days you don't even look at me. Usually, this wouldn’t bother me, but we’re supposed to be working together here and I can’t help but feel like maybe I did something wrong... Well did I?"

His eyes narrowed, "Did you do something wrong?" he repeated the question with a condescending tone and then laughed darkly. "Oh, I don't know. I'm usually elated whenever the person I'm trying to protect from sudden death flirts with the idea of giving themselves over to the homicidal maniac that's been stalking them across the country!"

You gasped, "You heard me?"

He rolled his eyes at you, "Of course I heard you! The whole house heard you! You live with a family of werewolves that have super hearing!"

You were growing antsy. What gave him the right to be so angry over something that didn't concern him? What gave him the right to eavesdrop on your private conversations with Esme and Maggie?

You were positively fuming now, "Well, since you took it upon yourself to listen in on my private conversation--"

"I wasn't listening in. I have supernatural hearing!"

You held up your hand to hush him, "Let me finish. Since your supernatural hearing picked up on my private conversation, then you obviously heard why I flirted with the idea of giving myself over to that homicidal maniac. He promised to let you live. I thought you were going to die… all of you."

"That doesn't make things better. He could have been lying to you for all you knew!"

"What if he wasn’t?

"He was!"

"What if he wasn't and all this madness would have ended once I gave myself up?"

"I don’t believe that! And neither should you. I can’t believe you were so reckless. Do you have any idea…" He ran a hand over his scruff roughly. “We promised to protect you. How do you think I would have felt if you wound up dead? Or how Scott would have felt? We chose to put our lives on the line. That was our choice.”

"If it comes down to me choosing between myself and everybody else, it’s simple math. It's my life! I never asked you to try and take it upon yourself to save me! I don't need your permission."

"Maybe you don't get a say in the matter!" Derek's eyes turned blue as he took a step closer to you. “Math isn’t all it’s about. It’s not all check and balance. Death isn’t permanent for everyone else who’s left behind. It just becomes an addition to their own equation.”

You were shaking now, voice going hoarse from all the shouting, "What gives you the right to presume to know what is and isn't best for me or what I can and cannot get a say in?" You finger poked at his chest repeatedly.

He wrapped his strong hands around your wrist, but there was no pressure, he simply used his hold over you to pull you closer so you could better hear his whispers, "Absolutely nothing."

Voice feather-light, you whispered back with a searching gaze, "Then why are you so mad with me for trying to do the right thing?"

"Because..." he tried to explain but gave up with a sigh and then dropped his water bottle.

Before you knew it, Derek's arms snaked around your body and his lips crashed onto yours in a heady kiss. His sharp canines grazed over your sensitive tongue and lips in a seductively dangerous manner. The kiss felt dangerous…forbidden. The perfect balance between pain and pleasure.

You gasped in shock when he deepened the kiss, his tongue coaxing yours to become as fervent as his -lapping, suckling and massaging tender flesh in sweet torment. A deep rumble emerged from his chest that caused your locked tongues to vibrate. Instinctively, he pulled you closer until you were pressed flush to his hot body. You moaned on reflex and felt blood rush to your head until your vision started to spin.

When he finally broke away, you stumbled and took a few breaths to try and gather your wits. Derek's wolfishly warm palms were cupping your face, forcing you to stare up into his deep green eyes. "Because you drive me insane." He finally finished.

"Oh..." a frog set itself in your throat and you had to clear it with a few awkward sounds, "I- Uhem! I, uh… didn't know that. I… I-"

You were flustered and in shock, your body burning with a sensual desire you hadn't had a second ago. All you could think about was how good his lips felt on yours. How soft and tender and deep the kiss was. How talented his tongue was.

You had to fan yourself to try and cool your skin. When that wasn't enough, you grabbed Derek's water bottle off the ground and sprayed yourself with the remnants inside.

With a shrill gasp, you turned to Derek, mustering what little dignity and authority you had left and spoke sternly at him, "That still doesn't excuse your behaviour. I'm glad we could resolve this like adults. I'll see you at the house. I have… things to do. Have a good… exercise."

You nodded to yourself and marched away, leaving the sounds of Derek's baffled chuckles behind. Before you reached the house, Jonah had appeared out of some unseen position and stopped you mid-stride. You shrieked from freight and frowned at him when he gave you an apologetic look.

"Jesus, Speedy! Don’t do that… Announce yourself next time or wear a bell," you steadied your breathing. "What is it?"

"Sorry, it's just, Maggie you know, she… uh, sent me with a message and told me to get to you as quickly as possible," Jonah rambled.

You placed a hand on his shoulder to slow him down, "Talk. Slower."

He nodded, a yawn deforming his smile, "She -Ah, good you're here, I don't have to run after you too. And, oh wow, you’re shirtless. I like running around shirtless too. Esme doesn’t like it though. She says I blind her with my pale skin. It’s not my fault that I can’t tan as nicely as the rest of the family," he spoke to someone behind you.

You turned and noticed Derek had run down from the meadow after hearing you scream. The flush from before threatened to return but you chose to focus on Jonah’s message and not Derek's intense stare.

"Right, okay, back to why Maggie sent me out here to look for you guys," Jonah continued. "She thinks she's cracked it."

"Cracked what?" Derek asked as he pulled his shirt over his shoulders.

"You know, the mystery behind the hunters who’ve been killing werewolves all over the place and what it is exactly that they want," Jonah smacked his palm on his forehead. "She thinks she knows what they are too, thanks to that book Caleb sent her –Caleb is her brother in Ireland– Deaton and that clumsy dude… Stiles, they helped her with everything. They spent all night translating this book with a girl called... Lyria? Lyra? I can’t--" he clicked his fingers repeatedly as though that would magically bring the name back to him.

"Lydia," Derek stated.

Jonah clicked his fingers once more before continuing, "Yeah, her! Anyway. Family meeting in five. Chop-chop. Before Maggie sends Esme after me… And I don't want that."

Jonah sprinted for the house and you were left a little winded by everything.

Derek placed his hand on the small of your back to urge you forward and you shuddered beneath his simple touch and he snatched his hand away as if your skin had electrocuted him.

Things just got complicated.

To be continued...

Next Chapter>>

Tags: @melissavercos @divisingstories @theflash-trash @mynamesalreadytaken @island-end @chipster-21 @helloscorpious @marvelismyfantasy @anonymousfanfic @homra-the-red-clan @derangedangel @phonegalhelp @bowtiesandwhiskers @soldierwinterthe @alina-barnes @sumlariss @luckythepizzadog4444 @tlytxia @drunklili @iamabeautifulperson18 @zenawa @squadkyoya @cassandraevans @moli1497 @wanderlust-travler @143amberrose @humbledarkness @rockyrocket15 @4llmywr1tings @smolbeanfive @500daysofbecky

Permatags: @gruffle1 @thechickvic @notawarriorjustyet @savethehoneeybees

#teen wolf #derek hale #derek hale x reader #derek hale imagine #teen wolf imagines #derek x you #derek x reader #I'm juggling too many characters #help #original characters galore #we finally meet the family #and adorable lil Jonah

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ramenkween · 5 years

Text

I’ll Never Love Again

Billy Hargrove x reader

Note from me: I have a terrible habit of writing too many fics at once but then start a new one because I listen to a song that ultimately ends up reminding me of a character - so here I am, back with another Billy x Reader story I wrote in about 2 hours after watching A Star Is Born (if you’ve seen the film then you know how incredibly sad it ends). Also I apologise if this seems so poorly written ☹️

Summary: You couldn’t save Billy from the possession of The Mind Flayer and every day gets a little harder to heal from the pain and guilt. Inspired by the song I’ll Never Love Again from the A Star Is Born soundtrack by Lady Gaga.

Warnings: mentions of death - really sad story overall

Word count (from start of story): 1,452

Listen to:

...

Pink. Blue. Red. Purple. White.

They were colours you saw bursting through the mall when you helped the gang throw heaps of dynamite at that thing - the monster they called The Mind Flayer - that inhabited itself inside the man you love.

Screaming. Loud crying. Inhuman shrieks that made your skin crawl.

They were the mixture of sounds you heard throughout the chaos. Within every strength you had left within yourself, you shouted at the monster until your throat was sore.

“Let him go you ugly son of a bitch! LET. HIM. GO!”

You remember it all too well, even the smell of blood and burning flame. You tell the others to distract the Mind Flayer for as long as they can before running down to get to Billy. There, you see that El has gotten through to him somehow, but not fully. You manage to pull her away to safety and stand in front of Billy, who was looking up at the monster before him. He looked into your eyes, but you could see the emptiness that was staring back. You held his face with both your hands, tears endlessly streaming down your face as you tried to get through to him.

“Baby...” you whimpered. “Baby, come back to me. Please come back to me.”

Billy’s face was scrunching in anger and pain, black veins on his face streaking even more.

“Remember our plan after summer?” You cried. “We’re gonna go to California. We’re gonna leave this shitty place and we’ll be together in what we both call paradise. We’ll be happy, baby” you stroke his cheek gently with your thumb. “You deserve to be happy.” Billy slowly closes his eyes and begins to form a small smile on his face. The shrieking of the Mind Flayer grew louder as Billy opened his eyes again. He leans down to your lips and crashes them against his. As loving as this kiss was, it was the saddest. You could feel his tears soaking your face.

“Forgive me Y/N...” with his strong arms Billy pushes you hard, sending you backwards on the floor. What you witnessed next would unknowingly haunt you forever.

You were deafened by the sounds of your own bloodcurdling screams as that thing - the parasite that took claim over your boyfriend’s soul was tearing him apart in front on your eyes. Billy screamed in the face of death itself before it took a final blow to his chest, mortally wounding him.

Eventually things died down and the Mind Flayer was defeated. You cradled Billy’s limp body and you could feel the life slowly draining from him.

“It’s gonna be okay... it’s gonna be okay” you reassured him through shaky breaths and held both his hands to your lips.

“I love you so much... I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry...” he weakly said. Then his grip loosened. The life in his eyes vanished.

Billy was gone. Everything you loved and knew to be good in the world had died along with him.

If I knew it would be the last time

I would’ve broke my heart in two

Tryin’ to save a part of you

Everyone that was there that night was at the funeral. Susan and Neil were there; Susan cried at the loss of her stepson, who she never saw eye to eye with, but deep down loved anyway because he was there for Max when she couldn’t. You felt nothing from Neil, however. He didn’t shed a tear for the son he was burying. It angered you so, but it didn’t surprise you. He was going to live with the guilt of knowing that he could never make things right with Billy ever again. After the funeral you sat on the floor in Billy’s room. Nothing was touched or rearranged. It smelled like his cologne and cigarettes. You walked up to his closet, pulled out his leather jacket and wore it. You cocooned yourself in it, deeply inhaling the scent of him which made you cry harder. Max entered a few minutes later and joined you on the floor.

“Thank you Y/N...” she trembled.

“What for?”

“For bringing out the best in Billy. Thank you for loving him when no one else would.”

You wrapped an arm around Max’s shoulder as she began to sob.

“I didn’t even get to tell him I loved him. I loved my brother so much, please believe me...”

You knew Max loved her brother regardless of how he was in the past. It pained you to see that she was going to grow up without a protective older brother. Nothing was ever going to be the same; you were never gonna ride the Californian waves with him, nor were you ever going to hear him tell you how much he loved you. You were never going to hear the sound of his Camaro engine in your driveway, coming to pick you up and take you to another date at an underground heavy metal concert. Never again were you going to feel the warmth of his bare skin against yours when you make love, making you feel beautiful throughout.

Don’t wanna feel another touch

Don’t wanna start another fire

Don’t wanna know another kiss

No other name falling off my lips

Don’t wanna give my heart away

To another stranger

Or let another day begin

Won’t even let the sunlight in

No, I’ll never love again

I’ll never love again, oh, oh, oh, oh

Everyone thought the world had gone insane because a simple girl like you had captured the attention of someone like Billy Hargrove. Little did you know that you would fall so hard for the bad boy of Hawkins High School. Little did you know that this bad boy that everyone would sin for would be the best thing that happened to you, because underneath the bad boy exterior was a kind, gentle and misunderstood human being that took care of you every day until your last day together, never once letting your forget how beautiful and amazing you are. Now everywhere you go without him was a constant reminder that you had to face the world alone.

When we first met

I never thought that I would fall

I never thought that I’d find myself

Lying in your arms

And I want to pretend that’s it’s not true

Oh baby, that you’re gone

‘Cause my world keeps turning, and turning, and turning

And I’m not moving on

Don’t wanna feel another touch

Don’t wanna start another fire

Don’t wanna know another kiss

No other name falling off my lips

Don’t wanna give my heart away

To another stranger

Or let another day begin

Won’t even let the sunlight in

No, I’ll never love

When you finally moved into your dorm room at UCLA after the summer, a fresh start was what you felt like was needed. Your new roommate was very chatty and made no hesitation to quickly introduce herself to you.

“Molly Greenfield. What’s your name?”

“Y/N Hargrove.”

“Well, Y/N Hargrove, it’s nice to meet you. Can’t wait to room with you for the year!”

That night as you lay down to sleep, you think back to the day when Billy officially asked you to be his girlfriend; “I’m never usually sure of anything... but I’m sure I know I want to be yours” he removed his earring and secured it on your empty earlobe. “I’ve never felt this strongly about anyone before. So will you be my girlfriend, Y/N?”

And from that day on, you never wanted to know another feeling like how you did with Billy. You brought out the best in each other, and though you know it was going to take a long time to fully heal from the hurt you’ve been feeling, you remember that you loved him the way he always wanted someone to. And he gave that love to you in return. Wherever he was now, you hoped he was at peace. Wherever he was, you hoped he knew how much you still love him and that one day the world will reunite the two of you again.

I don't wanna know this feeling

Unless it's you and me

I don't wanna waste a moment, ooh

And I don't wanna give somebody else the better part of me

I would rather wait for you, ooh

Don't wanna feel another touch

Don't wanna start another fire

Don't wanna know another kiss

Baby, unless they are your lips

Don't wanna give my heart away

To another stranger

Don't let another day begin

Won't let the sunlight in

Oh, I'll never love again

Never love again

Oh, I'll never love again

#billy hargrove #dacre montgomery #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x reader #stranger things #stranger things 3

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that-one-fandom-vore-blog · 4 years

Text

chained and bound (to this hopeless town)

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3

Ao3 Link

Good things happen to bad people. Bad things happen to good people. Which must mean Anna Shephard must be the best fucking person to have ever lived, or, at least, the best person left alive. Lucky her. To be fair, she hasn’t got much competition. As far as she knows, she, Steph, and Nick are the only people still alive. After a year of fighting off the undead, struggling to come to terms with her new reality, Anna is suddenly thrown back into the midst of her past without so much as a warning. Old friends, old faces, and old fears all resurface, along with zombies that seem to be getting smarter with every new day. So much for a warm welcome…

Co-written with the wonderful @thebadhalfofafandom! Warnings up here for: Flashbacks, panic elements, gore, swearing, zombies, and vore.

The repeated, muffled thumping that roused her from sleep was more than enough to cause Anna to let out a groan and curl up in place.

“Fuck off…” She moaned under her breath, wincing at the matching thumping that sounded within her head, keeping her eyes stubbornly screwed shut against it. It was dull enough that she could pretend it wasn’t there, and as she shifted, trying once again to get comfortable, something felt… off.

Her brow furrowed as she struggled to recall where exactly she’d passed out for the night. The surface was soft, slightly damp beneath her skin, and the air was almost stale. Stuffy. Stagnant. It wasn’t cold, which was a small blessing, but as she shifted, she was made acutely aware of the warmth her body had left.

“Where’m I?” She slurred slightly, still half asleep.

Silence greeted her in return. Not so much as a huff of laughter from Steph or Nick.

Another low thud from above— above?— made everything around her seem to pulse.

Is Nick firing off the roof?

It was possible, though, as Anna thought about it further, she couldn’t help but frown.

…the roof of what?

Shit, she was tired.

Attempting to push herself up from the unfamiliar surface, Anna finally opened her eyes, even though it didn’t feel like it. Nothing had changed. Her surroundings were still entirely pitch black, so much so that as she raised a hand to push her bangs out of her face, she couldn’t see it. That certainly woke her up. She could feel her heart beginning to thrum faster in her chest as she looked around in the darkness, feeling around on the soft, damp floor in search of something familiar.

“What… happened?” She muttered under her breath, trying to piece together what had happened. Her groggy, addled mind struggled to recall anything other than faint flashes, vaguely remembering the crash of glass, feeling something wet all over her, then a horrid pain in the space behind her eyes.

Anna jerked upright. The sudden motion made fireworks go off in her skull, the dull pain suddenly worsening to a point where she doubled over. Her hands came up to clutch at her sopping, slick hair, fingers tracing circles over her temples in a desperate attempt to soothe the pain.

The darkness wasn’t helping her panic. Anna had expected her eyes to have adjusted after a few minutes, at least enough to see a window or a door, but… nothing.

“Shit, no,” she hissed under her breath, her throat sore enough to pull a sharp cough from her chest. It didn’t echo. “I can’t be blind from a…”

Her brows pinched together, both in confusion and pain. What had happened? The memories were blurry, coming through in a mess of shapes and colours that didn’t make sense. She remembered being afraid, backing away from a lone zombie with her weapon raised. She remembered bumping the shelf behind her, then the crash…

She swallowed heavily. “A concussion�� right? Oh shit, please tell me I’m just in a— in a dark room!”

That had to be it. Power sources were scarce ever since the apocalypse hit. They were probably in some shed, and Steph had probably opted to let her sleep through her injury, that was all. Though… it didn’t explain the cushy floor…

Breath catching in her throat, Anna began to dig through the— surprise surprise— damp pockets of her coat, trying to find her trusty flashlight.

Is it waterproof?

The second her fingers closed around the cold metal, she drew it into the cold of the stagnant air around her and jammed her thumb down on the button.

Nothing happened.

Shit.

Frustration coursing through her, Anna smacked it against her palm a couple of times, willing the damned thing to turn on.

“Okay, it’s okay, Anna,” she mumbled to herself in an attempt to keep herself calm, “just turn on the light and you’ll see where you are and everything will be all ri—“ Anna was silenced the second the faint light from the flashlight sparked to life and illuminated the area around her.

Her heart stopped.

What…

What the fuck?

Everything around her was a dull, greyish pink. The beam of her light reflected on the surface of the walls, highlighting the fact that they were dripping with some sort of slime. They shifted in place, too, and pulsed along with the slow, uncertain thudding from around her. A low gurgle rolled through the silence, loud enough to make Anna flinch.

Gross.

Brow furrowing, her confusion worsening by the second, Anna scanned the area around her with a critical gaze, trying her best to ignore the panic creeping through her veins. “Where… where in the hell…” Anna’s head pounded slightly as she tried to remember what happened.

Exhaling sharply, she drew her hands up in front of her, wincing at the sight of slick, translucent strands of slime connecting them to the surrounding area. “Think, okay? Just think. I was in a lab with papers on a possible cure? There was… shit, a zombie, and then…”

She couldn’t make the memories come. They’d been in the bunker, her, Steph, and Nick, and then they’d split up…

This doesn’t look like the inside of—

In the limited light, a bit of discoloration caught Anna’s eye. A long, deep looking gash decorated the pinkish wall to her right. Swinging her flashlight to face it, Anna carefully began to scoot herself toward it. The surface beneath her sagged under her weight with a little squelch as she slid on her hands and knees, coming to a stop a few inches from it.

It was then that she noticed something dripping from it. Something deep red. It trickled in a slow, steady stream to puddle near her knees.

Blood?

It looks like it, but… why would a wall bleed—

She suddenly felt weak. Her hands, though already a little cold and slick with slime, felt clammy.

Oh my god.

John.

The vials. The vials had hit her, but before that, the one person she never wanted to see had lurched his unsteady way into the room and then—

Everything had been so big.

Anna’s heartbeat was beginning to race, her body tensing more and more with every detail that surfaced in her woozy mind. It was like she was looking at them through a pool, ripples causing the images to change and shift in a way that made her feel sick to her stomach.

He’d seemed lucid, lucid enough that he’d picked her up— in one hand, one freaking hand— but then—

No.

Oh, hell fucking no.

“No fucking way…” She managed to choke, swinging the light every which way in the darkness, desperately looking for some detail that would make those memories be some weird fever dream. The beam skirted fleshy, pinkish walls on all sides, no doors, no windows, nothing to show that it was just a poorly designed room, which meant—

A grumble shook through the chamber.

Anna’s face paled.

No, fuck, please no.

“Oh. Oh fuck, this can’t be happening—” Her voice bordered on shrill as she tried to rationalize with the stale air around her. Maybe if she spoke aloud, Steph would grab her arm and wake her up from this nightmare, or Nick would kick her in the shins. She’d take being irritated at them over whatever hellish reality this was—

A strand of slime dribbled down her back.

Her breath hitched in the back of her throat.

She’d found John again, after all this time, and he’d eaten her.

Like nothing.

No, this isn’t fucking happening—

Anna wanted so desperately to believe that she wasn’t where she thought she was, wasn’t in a place designed to break down and destroy, but as her breathing grew more frantic and she struggled to keep herself from trembling, she was made aware of a slow combination of noises resonating from above her.

A heartbeat, steadily beating away, and uncertain, shaky breaths.

If it was just the noises, she could’ve feigned ignorance. The dim light she held shook in her hands, and as it began to flicker, Anna knew she couldn’t deny the facts.

She was in the stomach of a zombie.

She was going to die.

The second the little glow fizzled out, Anna didn’t move an inch. She felt numb. How long had she been in his stomach? How long had she been asleep? How long until the digestive acid his body would produce would make her melt?

It probably hadn’t happened yet because he was a zombie, that was it. Their bodies must work slower, which meant that she had…

Her head was starting to throb, the pain knife sharp and piercing every spare spot inside her skull. Tears pricked at her eyes.

Damn it.

Don’t you dare cry.

Stubbornly wiping one away, Anna inadvertently smeared a thick glob of spit across her cheek.

Another bout of tears caused her to drop her flashlight to the ground—

Not the ground, it’s in the bottom of John’s stomach, just like you—

–beside her and clap a hand over her mouth. It was too much. Despair shot through her, and try as she might to convince herself to find her cane— it was in there with her, she knew— she couldn’t force her body to do anything other than tremble weakly.

“Why…” she whimpered, turning her eyes above her as if he’d hear her better— as if he’d even dignify her with a response when she was in such a place as a stomach. His stomach.

Lowering her hands, she dug her nails into her palms. Her gaze didn’t move from the fleshy ceiling above her.

“Why would you do this? I thought— I thought we were— I thought we were friends!” Her voice broke, though she continued forcing the words out. She couldn’t just stop— they poured out of her at an increasing volume. Tears dribbled down her cheeks. “Answer me!” She shouted, slamming a fist into the bottom of his stomach. “I— I know you can speak! Why did you— how could you just… how could you EAT ME?”

Her words exploded like gunfire in the slimy space surrounding her, and when she stopped to breathe, shaking hard from anger and fright, her breath was used for a sob.

It was silent again.

Of course.

A voice in her head pointed out.

Nobody talks to their food.

She shrank back reflexively. Her knees bumped against her chest in the dark, and when her flashlight diligently rolled to the space beside her, she tucked it into her pocket.

Seeing where she was would only make it so much worse.

Scooting so her back was pressed flat against one of the slimy walls, head buried in her knees, Anna wrapped her arms around herself and rocked back and forth.

None of this made any sense. He’d seemed so lucid— he’d seemed like her friend, like someone she cared for when the world was a different, brighter place. Had she meant so little to him this whole time? She was barely even a light snack— she didn’t take up much room at all. She probably didn’t make a dent.

She curled up tighter.

All she could hear was her own breathing, her rapid heartbeat, and John’s ever-steady inner workings surrounding her and making her feel so, so small.

All I can do is wait.

Maybe it’ll be quick.

Maybe I’ll pass out or something,

Or maybe I’ll waste away in here forever and then—

The wall behind her moved.

Anna’s blood turned to ice.

No, please… please don’t…

I don’t wanna… I don’t wanna die…

She couldn’t say it. Instead, she hugged her knees tight and waited for the end. At least the repetitive motion was distracting, trailing from the top of her head down her back.

It would be over soon. Minutes passed in tense, terrified silence, and at each little groan from the organ around her, Anna would brace for the end.

But nothing happened.

Slowly Anna began to recognize the gentle, repetitive motions.

Is he…

Petting me?

It certainly felt like it, and the outward pressure didn’t cease as she carefully lifted her head.

Of course he is, that little voice in her head cut in, why wouldn’t he be glad he found such an easy meal?

Although her heartbeat was still far too loud and her breaths far too quick, Anna gradually became aware of other noises. Sure there was the slow breathing and slow heartbeat, but beyond that, a new sound started.

A deep, throaty rumble.

A growl.

John was growling.

Anna’s mind began to race again. Was it contentment? Was that what it was? Contentment at having doomed her to die?

But…

That’s not what it sounds like…

True, it surrounded her on all sides and was terrifyingly low, but it didn’t sound… pleased. More concerned, than anything.

Why?

If he’s so concerned, why doesn’t he just let me out?

Wanting so badly to believe her friend wouldn’t hurt her, she uncurled slightly and called out again.

“J-John?” She croaked, flinching as the rumbling grew louder until she realized what it was. An acknowledgment. He hadn’t forgotten her.

Swallowing shakily, knowing every word would count for something, Anna wrung her hands together and hopelessly looked upward. “Please John, I-I don’t want to die, please let me go.” Shouting hadn’t gotten her anywhere, and it wasn’t like she had the energy to do so, anyway. Her throat hurt, though, she forced herself to raise her voice and call out to him again. “John, I… I know you’re in there, p-please…”

For a moment, the petting stopped. Her heart began to race, the absence of the motion enough to cause her to stiffen.

Shit, I did something wrong and now—

A sound so familiar that it hurt caught her off guard, silencing her thoughts with a single, broken syllable. A voice. His voice. It was low, sure, and gravelly, but as the gentle pressure returned, she knew she’d heard him right.

“An…” he murmured, stopping and giving a low growl before trying again, “A-Anna… safe…”

What?

She wanted to let out a scream of frustration, though, she kept it trapped behind her lips. What the hell did he mean, safe? Did he have any idea how much danger she was in? She didn’t have much longer, she knew, her oxygen would run out, o-or acid would flood into his stomach and she’d be a goner—

Though…

Zombies had to have slower systems, right? Maybe it would change and she’d be ended so quickly she wouldn’t even be able to scream and—

Stop thinking like that.

She wanted to believe him.

He’d said that before jamming her into his mouth and swallowing her like some inconsequential snack. She’d been terrified, sure, but…

Nothing had happened. Not even a little tingling, though Anna knew without looking that her hands were soaked in spit and slime. It dribbled down her arms as she slowly, slowly moved to push against the outward pressure of his hand on her side, shaking slightly. Her palm sank into the wall, the faint warmth causing a chill to run down her spine. Breath hitching, she curled her fingers in and gave the lining a squeeze.

“A-Are you saying I’m safe in here?” She stammered, inwardly pleading with any god that would hear her that she was right—

A noise like a happy engine starting up shook her to her core. The petting returned, more enthusiastic this time.

Anna’s heart felt like it would burst. Her whole body sagged with relief against the wall, her lanky limbs stretching out to fill up more of the space. She wasn’t going to die. She was safe. Safe, in here, of all places. Inside a zombie, in a creature that, as far as she knew, would have been vicious and tore her to shreds.

But John was different.

Thank fuck John was different.

As Anna’s heart rate slowed and her terror began to fade, her body sliding farther down against the wall. It sagged behind her, almost like a hammock, and as she gathered her thoughts, she carefully brought her hand down in a stroking motion behind her.

“Did you… did you do this to keep me away from the horde?” She asked, quietly, “So that they didn’t know I was here?” When John made the same sound, along with the same petting motion, Anna felt herself untense and lean into the rubbing.

John would never lie to me.

He’d been a terrible liar. Even when he was alive, he’d been so bad at it that she’d seen through him instantly, like when he’d tried to tell Mr. Savage he was sick…

Giving a soft, disbelieving laugh, Anna carefully fished her flashlight out of her pocket and smacked it against her palm a few times, squinting against the sudden light it cast on her surroundings. She wasn’t going to die, somehow, she was still alive, so now…

Now the pinkish walls didn’t seem all that threatening.

Anna’s gaze wandered to the wall she’d hurled her abuse at when she’d first landed in his belly. The wall seemed irritated, puckered a little against the deep slit she’d left with her cane. It was still bleeding, a slow, reddish trickle of blood that made its way down the grooves of the wall to puddle with whatever liquid was in there with her.

Carefully crawling forward, Anna raised a shaking hand up to the gash, pressing slightly on the area around it.

“S-Sorry…” she murmured, softly, beginning to gently trace circles over the flesh there. She did wince at the feeling of the wall shifting under her hand, though, she didn’t stop, trying to get her apology across.

She earned a soft rumble in response that shook everything around her with a gentle sort of vibration.

Is he… purring?

Anna bit her lip, really not wanting to dwell on the implications of such a response. She gently continued to rub at the wall with the damage done to it.

“Are you okay?” She asked him, giving a nervous glance upward at the fleshy ceiling.

A little grumble was given in response, though she couldn’t tell what it meant. If she could see his expression, it’d be easier to understand.

The organ around her gave a growl as she stopped her rubbing, moving to grab her cane up from where it lay. A thick strand of saliva connected it to the bottom of John’s stomach, glimmering when the flashlight’s beam caught it.

Anna grimaced.

“Ugh, this isn’t going to work,” she huffed, “I can’t understand you, not to mention this is… really gross, no offense.”

A soft grumble of agreement managed to make her smile. “I-If…” She trailed off for a moment, taking her hand off the lightly pulsing wall, “If we’re away from the horde, do… do you think you can let me out? We both know I can’t stay here forever and I really want to see you instead of…”

She winced.

Yep, that’s still too weird to think about

“Y-Y’know…”

John let out a small rumble, and almost as soon as he did, the area around her began to shift. Instead of the calm, almost soothing petting she’d grown accustomed to, suddenly, the organ around her began to move. The walls squeezed against her with a sudden lurch of force, enough to pin her in place. When her cane was thrust against her side, she curled her fingers around it. The walls stifled any movements she could’ve made, though, she kicked and squirmed as hard as she could manage until—

A sharp, wracking cough forced her up into his throat. The muscles that had once dragged her down dragged her upward at an achingly slow pace. Her ribcage protested the action. She tried her best to relax, not wanting to make it any harder than it undoubtedly was as another throaty heave sent her further up the way she’d came.

Fuck it’s hard to breathe.

Don’t pass out, don’t pass out Anna.

She repeated it like a mantra as the muscles around her squeezed and slithered in the darkness around her. Shit, it couldn’t be much longer now, could it?

As Anna was trying to reassure herself, the crushing pressure of John’s throat suddenly opened up, allowing her to breathe for a moment. She could feel his tongue beneath her again, and before she could truly catch her breath, the teeth that fenced her in parted, revealing the dim light of night. Suddenly, two large objects came into the space, towards Anna.

Anna froze at the sight of what she believed to be fingers— holy shit he’s huge— terrified that two objects her size were coming straight at her, but didn’t struggle as they gently grabbed her. She was lifted effortlessly, and the cold air of the night met her skin as she was pulled from the darkness of John’s maw and placed on a soft, but sturdy floor. Her eyes stayed stubbornly shut for a few moments longer as slime dripped from her limbs, unable to quite process what had happened until something ghosted over her back, making her shudder.

His faintly warm breath caused her hair to ruffle as she opened her eyes, one trembling hand pushing her hair out of her face.

Anna’s eyes opened. Her breath caught in her throat. Inches from her was the face of her friend, though it dwarfed her. His huge brown eyes were trained on her face, and as she made eye contact, he cocked his head and gave a soft whine. Carefully, moving her up to his eye level, Anna followed his concerned gaze as it tracked up and down her spit-soaked form.

What—

And then she realized what he was looking at. One of her hands were wet with not only spit, but blood.

“I-It’s okay,” she told him, looking down at the surface of his palm beneath her, “it’s your blood, n-not mine.” Her head was hit with another sharp pang of pain, which made her suck in a sharp breath through her teeth.

John’s brow immediately furrowed, another little grunt escaping his lips. Anna braced herself on his hand as she was moved closer to his eyes for inspection, meeting those huge eyes with a sigh.

A sigh pulled from her. “I… I might have a concussion,” she admitted.

John’s concerned rumbling grew louder, which caused Anna to raise her voice and continue: “Which happened when the glass fell on me, not because of you, you giant dork.”

Literally giant dork.

Fucking massive dork.

As he snorted his acknowledgment, Anna managed a wry smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.” That seemed to be enough to calm John’s nerves. With a soft, gentle little grumble, he brought her to his chest in a makeshift hug, purring as he began to pet Anna.

It only took Anna a moment to lean into the gentle, if not clumsy embrace, her cheek resting against the soft fabric of his sweater. Even though it had been a year and the fabric was tattered and torn in spots, the familiarity of the action made Anna’s heart twist. The warmth he emitted was faint, her cold body drinking it in greedily as she nestled closer against him.

“What are we going to do now?” Anna asked, more to herself than the zombie holding her in a gentle grip.

John didn’t respond, though, the petting did stop. Anna held tight to his thumb as she was moved up to his face again, his brown eyes fixed quizzically on hers.

A questioning rumble pulled from his throat, at which Anna crossed her arms. Fuck, it was cold. Cold enough that John’s breath fogged up the space in front of her with every slow, uncertain exhale.

“I mean, I found you,” she explained, “and the test cures must’ve snapped you out of it, but I’m tiny, it’s freezing out and I have a concussion. What are we gonna do?”

John blinked.

His eyes looked blank as he processed, then gave a jerky shrug.

Anna sighed.

He probably doesn’t even remember most of his time as a zombie, and even if he does, he can’t really talk to me…

Rubbing her hands up and down her arms, trying to spark some sort of warmth, she carefully sat down on John’s palm.

Whatever.

I can think about what comes next tomorrow. Thinking hurts.

Head pounding, Anna shuddered, curling in slightly to warm up. She didn’t do a thing in protest as John carefully brought her close to his chest again, his fingers boxing her in and pressing her against the faintly warm material.

She leaned against it, moving to curl her fingers into the knitted pattern.

“Thanks,” she murmured, earning a little, pleased purr of response.

Weirdo.

Eyelids heavy, Anna slumped forward. Despite having slept in John’s stomach, despite the fact that it wasn’t even that late, Anna soon fell into a deep, dreamless sleep with one thought echoing through the space of her mind.

What are we gonna do?

…

“Shit, shit, SHIT! What are we gonna do?” Steph was starting to grow restless. Well. More than starting to. She was restless, pacing back and forth near where the group first split up. The light from a small fire was all she had to go by, though, she had practically worn a groove in the ground with the repetitive motion. “We should go find her— we— we’ve gotta do something!”

Nick, who was sitting by the fire, shook his head and prodded at the flames with a stick. “Nothing for now,” he huffed, darkly, “she’s probably just lost. It’s crazy dark.”

“She has a light with her, asshole.”

Steph watched his jaw tense.

“It was a shitty light, Steph,” he fired back, giving the makeshift fire another sharp jab with his half-burnt stick, “she just probably just took a wrong turn. She’s only been out there for two hours. Let’s be honest, how much trouble could she have gotten in?”

Steph brought her boot down with a thump, stopping her pacing to shoot Nick a glare. “The gate was open, Nick! She could’ve gotten cornered and—”

“Lost? Yeah, she could’ve gotten lost, because that’s what happened, okay? Anna’s just fine.” Despite Nick’s calm voice, he refused to meet Steph’s eyes, instead working on keeping the fire going, throwing loose pieces of fabric and other items into the blaze. The flames greedily devoured the offerings. Sparks shot into the air, highlighting his face with an eerie glow.

Steph tracked his movements with a steely gaze. “You can’t seriously believe that! Since when have you known Anna to take a ‘wrong turn’?” There was acid dripping from her tone. She knew it didn’t make sense to get mad at Nick— but it was so infuriating. How could he just sit there? “If anything,” she continued with a pointed glare, “she’s overly cautious about unknown areas and would be the first one here. Something’s definitely happened. Oh god, the gate was open, who knows how many zombies could be in here?”

She began pacing again. Her hands came up to tug at her short-cropped hair. “I— I can’t lose another one…”

Nick practically slammed a piece of wood into the fire, embers flying everywhere, and all but jumped in front of Steph. “Anna. Is. Fine.” He spat with enough raw anger in his tone to make Steph flinch.

His hands fell to his sides in tightly clenched fists as he continued. “We’re not losing anyone. She got lost, okay? That’s the only option.”

No, it’s not, Steph thought, she could be dead for all we know. The base is big enough that we wouldn’t have heard her scream.

She met Nick’s eye with her shoulders squared and her teeth grit.

“Do you even care?” Steph asked, unable to keep her voice from wavering a tad.

“I—” Nick broke off into a groan, then turned back to the fire. “Yes, but you’re concerned over nothing,” he huffed, laying down as he did. “You’re so concerned over nothing. If it matters that much to you, we can search tomorrow, but she’ll show up soon so just fucking relax, alright? I’m going to sleep.” Nick silenced himself. With a sharp huff, he laid down on a spare blanket near the crackling flames and curled up tight.

Oh, for fuck’s sake—

“What the hell are you talking about?!” Steph snapped, once again, whirling on him. “It’s like, seven-thirty! We could be using that time to try and find her.”

Nick narrowed his eyes, huffed, then rolled over. “Yeah, well,” he grumbled, “it’s cold, and dark, and we barely had anything to eat today. We need to conserve what energy we have before we even think about Anna. But if you want to go out now and get yourself killed or pass out from hunger or cold in the middle of a horde, be my guest.”

Steph was practically seething, but remained where she was. Her pacing grew faster. Her hands twitched at her sides. She was at her limit— past her limit with Nick— and having Anna gone was only making everything so much worse.

Speaking low enough that Nick couldn’t hear, Steph stopped her pacing. “Bastard. Do you even care?” Her instincts screamed at her to go find Anna, wherever she was. It wasn’t all that dark yet, and she had more than enough batteries for her flashlight. It wasn’t even that dark. She could go looking for Anna and be back before Nick’s stupid little fire even went out, but…

Two missing people wouldn’t help anyone.

Rather than trying to go to sleep, Steph walked over to the bag full of supplies and items she had gathered in the base and began digging into it. It only took her few seconds to find a laminated map of the building. Steph looked at Nick on the other side of the fire.

“She couldn’t have gone too far,” she reasoned, “the area is pretty secluded and doesn’t have many ways to get out of there. So there’s a good chance she’s still in her spot. I swear the second the sun comes up, we’re going to find her. Got it?”

Nick rolled over in response. “Yeah, yeah…” he grumbled, flipping a corner of the blanket over his head.

Steph bit back a response. It wasn’t worth it. Knowing she was basically stuck by the fire until dawn, she began to rummage through her findings, sorting things to keep her mind from wandering. Ammo for Nick, a good amount of batteries, a heavyset wrench, a marker, the map…

Her eyes lingered on the floorplan, tracking over the hallway where Anna had disappeared. There weren’t that many rooms on that side of the building.

Got lost my ass.

Uncapping the market with her teeth, Steph got to work mapping out where Anna could’ve gone. So long as things hadn’t gone wrong, she couldn’t have gotten all that far…

After an hour of marking Anna’s side of the map up with the red marker, scribbling in her shorthanded scrawl, Steph felt her eyelids beginning to droop. It had been a long day, and although Anna was missing, maybe Nick was right. Maybe she was completely fine. She was resourceful enough to get through anything, after all. Whatever had happened, she’d show up with a crooked grin and a story that started with: “you’re not gonna believe this shit.”

Comforted, if only a little by the thought, Steph set the marked-up map aside and yawned. As much as Nick had been an asshole, it was late. Gingerly, Steph took one of the tattered blankets Nick had salvaged and wrapped herself up in it, succumbing to the warmth from the fire within minutes.

After about fifteen minutes of silence, Nick carefully sat upright. Steph was asleep– he could tell by the soft snoring coming from her side of the campfire, and the fact that the shrill squealing of marker on laminated paper had come to a halt.

His eyes took a moment to adjust to the low light. The fire had gone down a tad, and as he shed the blankets and made to snatch the discarded map off the ground, he tossed another stack of spare papers onto the blaze. Moving slowly, as not to wake Steph, he took the laminated paper between two fingers and drew it close to his face, giving up instantly on deciphering her chicken scratch.

I’ve lost too many people. My friends, my dad…

His grip tightened on the map.

There’s no way I’m losing you, too.

“I’ll find you,” he murmured, “don’t worry.” Whether that reassurance was directly to Anna or himself, Nick couldn’t be sure as he placed the map back where he’d found it and settled back down, wanting the morning to start up already.

It felt like Nick had his eyes closed for only an instant before sunlight began to shine through the windows. He squinted slightly and covered his eyes with his blanket. Not a moment later he felt someone kick his side, not painfully, but enough to snap him awake. He was about to attack whoever kicked him but just sighed when he saw a ticked-off Steph, glaring at him.

“What?” He grumbled, making an effort to pull the blanket further up over his face, though Steph… didn’t look right.

Shit.

“Anna isn’t back yet. So get up, grab some food on the go, and let’s move.” At those words, Nick’s heart sped up and he sat up, hoping that Steph was just screwing with him. It had happened often enough, it was practically routine, but–

There was no sign of Anna.

Shit, shit, shit.

Pushing the blanket off himself, Nick stood and began to shuffle toward his pack, snatching up a granola bar without a word.

Steph, however, was less than silent. “Wow, you certainly changed your tune fast. Guess you really do care about her.”

Tossing his wrapper at her, Nick swallowed. “Look,” he grumbled as he grabbed his bat, and, after a moment’s thought, his pistol. “I just don’t want her to be one of them, okay?”

Steph’s grin faltered, if only momentarily. It didn’t take her long to be at his side, the wrench she’d pilfered the day before swinging steadily in her grip.

“We should probably leave a note,” Steph reasoned, “in case she shows up while we’re gone.”

Nick looked back at the campsite for a moment. If he squinted, he could pretend Anna had shown up during the night and was sleeping near the burned-out fire, but a small breeze that rustled the spare blankets made him painfully aware of the fact that the site was deserted. No Anna.

“And write it on what? Next thing you’ll be sayin’ is that one of us should stay.”

Steph opened her mouth to interrupt, but Nick didn’t do so much as flinch.

“Anna’s practically cornered in her section, so we’ll run into her eventually,” he muttered as he began to stalk forward.

So long as nothing else has already.

Steph followed a reasonable three steps behind him, tapping her wrench rhythmically against her side, though, she was quick to match, then double his pace. The hallway soon tapered off, and after a moment of silence, the two uneasily turned to follow Anna’s footsteps.

It’s about time we got going

Steph thought, just about racing into the unknown territory alongside Nick. Steph took the lead with the map while Nick made sure nothing was following behind, bat at the ready.

Not a word was spoken for around half an hour. Every room they found was empty, empty enough that it looked almost like the base had been stripped down entirely. Nick’s hackles were raised. Every little sound, every echo of his own feet, was enough to make him raise his bat and glare down the nearest hall.

“Nothing to kill,” Nick muttered coldly, “no one living, and not one useful thing here. So either there’s nothing in this section, or they’re all packed near the back.” He couldn’t keep himself from looking over his shoulder every few moments, and as he looked ahead, he noticed Steph had her attention on the walls, now being able to clearly see the walls with the sunlight

“Yeah, and the fucking map isn’t going to help when a lot of the walls are torn down. With all these gunshots they must’ve been guarding this area more than ours,” Steph held her wrench with one hand and the map in the other, squinting at her notes in vain before opting to stuff the floorplan back in her bag.

Nick took a few steps forward, raising his bat as he did.

Fuck, this place gives me the creeps.

“Must’ve been something they were trying to protect, something they needed to guard with all available soldiers… which could be very bad for us,” Nick whispered, his brow furrowing and his grip tig tightening on his bat.

“Why’s that, other than the new holes in the walls making it harder to find Anna?” Steph whispered back, shooting him a sideways glance with her brows quirked.

Nick stalked forward. “The front gate is open for zombies to get in. The military put a lot of power into this one spot. I barely fought any zombies in my section and I bet it’s the same for you. Who knows how densely packed the zombie population is in here?”

There could be millions of the fuckers.

It made him shudder, just thinking about it.

And the worst part is that nobody would be able to get out.

They’d be boxed in.

Slapping the bat against his palm, Nick turned his eyes to Steph. “Keep a sharp lookout, and everything’s gonna be fine,” he huffed.

Steph nodded, and as the pair paced forward, neither of them noticed a door that hung slightly ajar. They were too focused on the hall before them, the hall with the darkened corners and the very real possibility of the undead.

She’s fine.

Nick repeated it in his head like a mantra, and as they passed locked door after locked door, the tension in the air grew.

“Maybe she left?” Steph tried as they came across a broom closet.

“Why wouldn’t she have gotten us first?”

Steph sighed, quickening her pace. “I– fuck, I dunno– maybe she–”

A door behind them squealed open with a suddenness that made both of them flinch and whip around. Both of them kept their weapons raised, watching with bated breath as the door gave another sharp creak.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Both of them kept their eyes trained on the opening, and not a minute too soon, a zombie lurched through the opening.

“Shit,” Nick hissed, eyes widening as he took in the military armour the thing was wearing. There was no question of it having not seen them. Those glossy eyes were fixated on them, and as the creature shuddered and lurched its way forward, another one followed behind it, then another after that.

Steph’s grip on her wrench tightened. “It’s just three, we’ll be fi-” Steph was silenced by some shuffling from a nearby break on the opposite side of the wall.

Both of them began to back away, though, their backs quickly pressed together.

“It’ll be fine. I’ll take the three, you get the two over there.” Nick hissed towards Steph, raising his bat as high as he could manage.

Steph followed suit, and with a shout, brought her wrench down on the head of the nearest zombie with a sickening clang.

Turning his back, whipping his bat at the nearest creature, Nick watched with grim satisfaction as it stumbled back.

One down.

Nick thought, though–

The zombie was quick to regain its balance and stumble forward, its lips pulled back in a wicked, jagged sort of snarl. Nick swung the bat up, blocking its reaching, trembling fingers from hooking into his skin.

“Why didn’t these bastards have the courtesy to ditch the helmets BEFORE they turned?” He shouted, backing up with the bat held up in front of him. The creature snapped its teeth inches from his face.

Steph noticed the problem as well and took a different approach, “Try to knock the head off the neck!” She yelled at Nick as she swung the wrench, aiming lower. That did something. With a sharp thwack, Steph drove the loosened end of the wrench home. A piece of flesh peeled up like a bandaid, exposing strings of muscle and tendons, along with a spray of blood that splattered across the wall. The creature slumped over, lifeless.

Nick took her advice and slammed his metal bat into the side of one that was right in front of him and not giving the zombie a chance to recuperate, bashed his weapon against it with as much force as he could muster. The head of the creature came clean off its shoulders with one smooth crack, sending the body falling forward in a crumpled heap.

Nick smirked and hefted the bat over his shoulder.

Back in the game.

Steph’s wrench hit up against the zombie’s neck again, adding to the dripping, deep gash. Flesh was peeling up along the foul thing’s neck, though, when she tried to drive the wrench in deeper, its fingers wrapped around her arm, jerking her forward. She dug her heels in, barely managing to yank her arm away from its teeth. The other zombie had taken an interest in her, too, and as she tried to figure out what to do, she stumbled forward.

One hand on her wrench, Steph took the sharp end of the steel tool, jerked her arm forward, and slammed the wrench up through the bottom of its jaw.

The grip on her arm disappeared as the zombie let out a strangled, gurgling sort of squeal, blood trickling from its nose as it struggled in vain, weakly batting at her before collapsing.

“YES!” Steph cried, though, as she went to retrieve her wrench from the bottom of the zombie’s face, the other creature nearly tackled her.

Swinging around, bending over and dragging one hand through a pile of rubble, Steph closed her fingers around a piece of metal and whipped it into the creature’s neck, practically flipping it over herself.

She could hear Nick swinging wildly beside her, and as the zombie that had grappled her spat up another horrid, burbling mouthful of bile, Steph picked up a piece of the wreckage around her and slammed it down between its eyes.

Blood splattered across her face.

Shoulders heaving, Steph turned in time to watch Nick send the last creature to the ground, its face a bloody pulp.

Neither of them spoke a word, no sound in the air except for their own harsh breathing. Steph leaned up against the nearest wall, halfway hunched over, and after a moment, Nick joined her.

“You good?” Nick asked, taking in the blood beginning to dry on Steph’s face.

Steph shrugged. It was all she could get her body to do. “A couple of close calls but I wasn’t bitten, so I’ll take that victory.” She chuckled slightly between sharp, heavy gasps of air.

Both stayed quiet. Neither wanted to say anything, too out of breath to form words, but both thought the same thing.

If we struggled with five…

Just one fight…

How could Anna survive on her own?

#aata #anna and the apocalypse #safe vore #soft vore #fearplay #g/t vore #anna shepherd #john pine #nick saint #steph north #gt vore #zombies #zombie fic

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chuffyfan87 · 5 years

Text

Hiding. Part 17a

Cowritten with @disastrousintention.

-x-

It had been twelve hours since Duffy almost died during the birth of their daughter. Charlie spent his time between both of them, he hadn’t rested. He hadn’t dared to sleep in case he got bad news about either. Suddenly one of the monitors next to Duffy's bed started to sound an alarm. He called out for help.

Two doctors ran in and began checking Duffy over. "There's a problem with her airway."

Charlie’s head began to whirl. He was so exhausted! “A problem? What kind of problem?!”

"It appears to be blocked. I'm going to extubate and then reintubate."

Charlie simply nodded. He didn’t say anything else, just moved out of the way whilst the Doctors were in the room.

The doctor removed the tube from Duffy's throat. He was about to grab a fresh tube from his colleague when she began to choke.

Shit, was she waking up?

"Suction." The doctor instructed. He struggled to use it effectively however as Duffy had begun to thrash against the hold he had on her chin.

That’s when Charlie intervened. He gently stroked her cheek. “Baby, calm down. Please. Just relax, you’re safe.”

Her movements slowed in their ferocity but she still fought against the hold.

The second doctor reached for her canulated hand, a syringe in his other hand.

“Duffy, listen to me? You’re safe. Nobody is going to hurt you. I promise.”

"If she doesn't stop we'll have to sedate her again." The doctor insisted.

Duffy suddenly pulled her hand away from the doctor's grip.

“Sweetheart, please just relax” He gently ran his fingertips against her cheek and stroked her hair.

"Ch... Ch..." She mumbled inbetween incoherent groans.

“I’m here darling, I’m not going anywhere.”

Her eyes briefly fluttered open, her pupils unfocused.

He kissed her forehead. “You should be asleep.” He said quietly.

She started to gag, pulling her head to one side.

“Let it out,” He encouraged gently.

She coughed and then began to vomit.

He managed to get the sick bowl to her in time.

She began to slip backwards, her breathing changing. The doctor grabbed the suction tube and placed it in her mouth, afraid that she was going to aspirate in her semi conscious state.

He threw away the sick bowl and moved aside to let the doctor use the suction on her.

Having cleared her airway the doctor turned to Charlie. "I don't think it would be wise to reintubate incase she vomits again. I think she might have had a reaction to one of the medications." He turned to his colleague. "We're going to need to roll her onto her side to protect her airway."

“Do you think she’ll come out of this again, soon?” Charlie asked anxiously.

"Either that or she'll slip deeper."

“And if she slips deeper, what will happen?”

"Then you should prepare yourself for the fact that she might not come out of it at all."

“She might not ever wake up?”

"You should prepare for that eventuality yes."

He swallowed and nodded. “Thank you for being honest.” He glanced at Duffy.

"We'll leave you alone for a while." The doctors then left the room.

“Thank you.” He said again. As the doctors left, Charlie took Duffy’s hand in his.

His touch seemed to calm her.

He stroked his thumb over the back of her hand. “You should see the baby.” He smiled, “She's so beautiful Duffy, just like her mum is!”

The steady beat of the monitors was all the response he got.

“We need you. Me, the children. We need you to keep us in check.”

A couple of hours later Charlie suddenly jerked awake. He hadn't meant to fall asleep!

“Baby?” He whispered. He was still so tired. It took him a few moments for his eyes to focus but when they did the first thing they saw was green... “Duffy?” He said gently.

She smiled softly.

He closed his eyes and reopened them again.

A soft giggle escaped Duffy's lips.

That sound was so beautiful, how he’d missed it. “You’re awake? You’re alive?”

Her right eyebrow rose as she shot him a look.

“You’re ok?”

She nodded.

“Promise?” He paused. “I’m not dreaming, am I?”

She giggled once more. "You idiot!"

He pinched himself hard.

She shifted her fingers slightly in his hand and stuck a nail firmly into his palm.

Why didn’t he wake up? Why was he still asleep?

"Where am I?" She asked, trying to focus his attention.

“Hospital.”

She shot him a look that mocked the obviousness of his answer.

“Why can’t I wake up?” He asked. “Or is that because I’m already awake? And this is real?”

Quickly becoming frustrated with Charlie's confusion Duffy attempted to sit up.

“What are you doing? You can’t get out of bed.”

"Need... Explain..." She groaned as she fought to move.

“Explain what? What’s going on?”

"What happened?"

“What do you remember?”

"I was elsewhere..."

“You died.” He paused, “Clinically speaking, you were dead for a while.”

"How?" She allowed him to ease her back down onto the bed.

“When you were giving birth to our daughter, your heart stopped.”

Panic filled her eyes. "Is she OK?"

“Small... Really small. But it appears she has the same genes as her mum and has inherited her stubbornness and spirit.”

"I want to see her." Her voice was growing weaker despite her fighting to stay awake, exhaustion beginning to win the battle.

“When you’ve had a sleep, you can.” Charlie reassured before he placed a delicate kiss to her lips. “I love you.” He said quietly.

"Describe her." She whispered as her eyelids began to droop.

“Tiny, cute button nose. Green eyes. Ten fingers, ten toes. A little bit of hair.”

"How tiny?" She mumbled.

“2lbs.”

Her words were becoming incoherent again as she slipped into sleep but a single tear slid from the corner of her eye.

He gently wiped away the tear.

She turned into his touch as she drifted off to sleep.

He smiled sadly. He stayed awake for a while, just watching her sleep before going to see their daughter and then returning.

It was a few hours later when Duffy awoke again. She smiled at the sight of Charlie snoring in the chair, his head lolled back and what looked like a piece of paper in his hand. Curious, she tried to reach out for it but the movement caused her muscles to complain and she couldn't help the groan that escaped her lips.

He was flat out, utterly exhausted. It had been a tough day. On the paper was a list of girl's names.

Looking closer she realised the paper had words written on it so wasn't what she had hoped it was.

Charlie began to stir, sensing she was awake.

Duffy lay back down, everything hurt more now. She guessed that was because the painkillers were beginning to wear off slightly.

“Morning gorgeous.” He mumbled.

She blushed. "I didn't mean to wake you."

He smiled as he opened his eyes, “You didn’t.”

"You look exhausted."

“I am. I haven’t slept great. I couldn’t, you know, in case something happened to you both.”

"Oh Charlie, you need to rest. You'll make yourself ill if you don't." Her hand was rubbing at her ribcage as she spoke.

“Are you okay?” Charlie asked, watching her rub her ribcage.

"I was expecting to be sore but not for my ribs to hurt." She started to remember something he'd told her earlier. "Did they..?"

“They broke your rib when giving you CPR. I heard the crack.”

Duffy gasped, her eyes filling with tears at the thought of what Charlie had gone through in the last 24 hours. "I'm sorry."

He moved from the chair at the side of the bed to the bed, sitting facing her. “It’s ok. I won’t lie, I was terrified. They came so close to giving up on you... You weren’t responding.”

"But you wouldn't let them?" She asked, though she already knew the answer.

“I told them they had to keep going. They couldn’t stop. They had to bring you back to me! To us!”

"Thank you for fighting for me." She whispered.

“I’ll always fight. I’m not doing this alone.” He replied. “I love you too much.”

"I love you too." She smiled before lapsing into a comfortable quiet for a few minutes.

“It would seem our daughter has inherited her mother’s genes.”

"Oh?"

“Stubbornness and resilience.”

"You can't blame those solely on me!" Sadness filled her features once more. "I really want to see her." She sighed, knowing that the doctors wouldn't agree to her moving for some time yet.

He laughed gently, “Why can’t I?” He sighed, “I know honey.”

"She probably thinks I've abandoned her."

“I’ve told her you’ll see her as soon as you can, but that you’re poorly yourself. She relaxed at the sound of your name.”

"I miss her. I feel like I let her down."

“You haven’t let her down.” He reassured as he stroked her cheek and was silent for a moment, “Did you wake up earlier?”

"When?" A lot of the last couple of days was hazy for her, she couldn't be entirely sure what had happened when.

“A couple of hours ago.” He replied. “I could’ve been dreaming though.”

"I was awake, you weren't dreaming." She paused, chewing at her bottom lip. "There was another time though... Its just sounds... Voices..." She sighed, frustrated at the confused jumble in her head.

“You woke up. You choked on the tube that was helping you to breathe. You were fighting. I was trying to talk to you, get you to calm down.” He smiled sadly.

"That explains why my throat hurts."

“You threw up too. They think you had a reaction to the medication.”

"Just my luck." She sighed. She was starting to feel sleepy again.

He placed a delicate kiss to her lips, “I love you.”

She mumbled her reply as she began to slip back to sleep once more.

As she went to sleep, Charlie stayed awake, once again pondering the name of their daughter. He also tried to think of a way for Duffy to see their daughter despite knowing the doctors wouldn't allow either of them to be moved any time soon. Pictures! That was the only way. Leaving Duffy to sleep he went to contact Josh to set the wheels in motion on his plan.

Less than an hour later Josh met up with Charlie outside the neonatal unit, his camera bag over his shoulder.

“Thank you. It was the only thing I could think of.”

"Of course." He handed over the bag. "I'll wait out here til you're finished and then I'll run them into town to be developed."

Charlie took the bag. He went into the neonatal unit and began to take photographs of their daughter. She was doing well, she really did have Duffy’s genes.

A couple of minutes later Josh accepted the camera back from Charlie. "I'll be about 2 hours. I have a friend in the shop on Smith Street and she'll do them as a priority job."

#chuffy #charlie and duffy #charlie fairhead #lisa duffin

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wincestisasincest · 5 years

Text

Murder in the Blue Morgue -- Part 7

Y’know, every three months is still a technically consistent update schedule.

Also, this chapter is super long, and was an absolute doozy to write, so enjoy. Be on the lookout for poorly written character development, that’s kind of my specialty.

Also, it’s summer, so maybe I can actually write more of these now.

Tag: @saturnsocoolioyep

If y’all wanna be tagged(I still think the above is how you do it, so do correct me if I’m wrong) just ask.

Also, here’s the masterlist, for 1-5: https://twincestforthewincest.tumblr.com/post/181757211705/murder-in-the-blue-morgue-masterlist

I’m updating Tumblr first, but shortly after this goes live, the whole thing is also on my Wattpad and Archive. God I hope this happens quickly because I am so tired.

Here she goes.

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Josephine's breath shifted the dust particles around the dank hallway. Well, they couldn't exactly be called dust, but whatever particles had popped into existence due to all of the drama that had happened in the hallway, and had decided to remain there afterwards to haunt the building and the conscience of anyway who had passed through it.

Inviting.

The light blinked ominously. No person in their right mind would've stayed to sleep in this hallway after someone had been murdered in one of the neighboring apartments, which made it perfect for late night revisiting.

The thought had occurred to her that if they noticed that she was missing from the police station this would definitely be the first place that they looked, but the officers on duty seemed to have a "give her space" attitude, which was perfect for scheming. The cameras would catch her, of course, but only as an afterthought. All she needed now was to see the scene. Perhaps for her own closure.

The door was already open, the shadowy interior flooding into the hallway. Of course, it was blocked to hell with police tape, like everything else in this damn building, but the easy part about that is that you can always just bend under it.

Jo shoved her hands in her pockets, entering the apartment as though she had just gotten off of school.

The dead body of her mother was sprawled across the floor, with very obvious stab wounds sprinkled all over her body. Blood had pooled into the cheap carpet, as well as the cheap t-shirt and under the tacky nails of her mother. The light from the hallway crept around the nooks and crannies of the corpse, casting angular shadows that made her look like a character from a comic book.

Jo fished the lighter out of one of her pockets and flipped it open, flicking the light with the calloused tip of her thumb. The last thing she'd need was someone calling the cops because she'd idiotically turned the lights on.

The tiny flame danced about the remains of the apartment, everything either wrapped in some sort of crime-scene plastic, or taken and placed god knows where as if her goddamn used, unwashed fork in the sink was important evidence.

Jo held the light above her in a mock statue of liberty, and observed the ceiling, the only thing that seemed to have remained untouched. Her reflection in the lightbulb was like that of a bathroom mirror, with every one of her grizzled and tired features coming to center stage. The reflection of the light was interrupted by a small, spiraling shadow.

Jo put out the lighter and pulled her jacket sleeves over her hands, navigating by touch and instinct to the bathroom, where she retrieved the footstool and returned to the base of the lamp, reigniting the lighter.

Her fingers reached out and plucked the obtrusion off the lightbulb, returning her complete reflection. It was a spiral of red hair that did flips around her index finger and pinkie.

"Figured you'd be here." A husky voice sliced through as Jo shut off her lighter. A corpse-like silhouette occupied the door frame.

"Figured you wouldn't. They're looking for ya, y'know."

"Love, if you think this is my first time evading the law, you'd be sorely mistaken."

"Thought as much. But your friend might not be as experienced."

"That's what I'm here for."

"Again, though, he was deft enough to kill a person, so maybe I've underestimated him."

"You seem like a smart girl. Smart enough to know what you're saying is bullshit."

"Well call me a Devil's Advocate, but I'd challenge you to look at the evidence."

"Hm. Challenge not accepted. It's not him."

"I'm not the one you need to tell. You'll probably be confronting the judge in a few months."

"Maybe, but that'll be separate from Dents."

"You seem like a smart girl. Smart enough to know what you're saying is bullshit."

"Well, this isn't going anywhere." The figure shifted forward in the door frame before it was consumed in the darkness of the apartment.

"Nope, but I am." Jo shoved the hair into her pocket before darting to the backroom, throwing open the window, and flinging herself onto the fire escape.

Worming her way around the stairs, she dropped to the lower level, before determining herself close enough to the ground to jump off. She crash landed before bending her knees to make her landing somewhat more graceful, just like she was 10 again and wanted to fulfill an in-poor-taste dare. She pulled herself up and began to sprint around the corner, not stopping to look behind her.

The block passed in a blur, and the corner store's neon lights came into full view. The small mom-and-pop shop was not only a keystone of the street, but also her ticket to possibly escaping the madman that had advanced at her a few seconds ago.

She pushed the door open and the bell flipped over itself, its ring sailing through a vacant store. Caleb, the bored college dropout tasked with watching the place in the evenings, took a rather large hit, fresh from his personal stash, before facing her.

"Hey, man. Can I use the back door?"

"Whatever you say, just do it quick before that other customer comes in."

She whipped her head around, still on high alert. The street was bathed in a large shadow overcast by an even larger man across the street. And to think. She'd taken them to the diner earlier.

The man began to approach the stop in a way reminiscent of the Hash Slinging Slasher, though she got the sense that there would be no comedic conclusion to follow. Not pausing to test her theory, she crawled under the counter, ripped open the door to the slightly stalling door to where they kept all of their supplies, and pushed herself through the large, unlocked, double doors that they would use to unload trucks.

The night was crawling on her again, and the alleyway let some bare moonlight flow through the clothes lines coming out of the windows to spill on her face. She continued to sprint under the clotheslines before taking a brief excursion on another alleyway, this time undercut by the steps up to a makeshift rooftop garden.

The world around her had gone quiet. Like it was a point in a movie where she would meet her old nemesis, hiding in the corner, waiting to let go of their blanket of shadows and shoot her down. But instead it was just her.

You can't really see the stars on any given night in New Jersey, even in the South, but occasionally, on a super clear night, some divine force's toothpick pokes through the sky and you can see the stars glaring down at you. Of all nights that this were to happen on, it had to be this one.

She continued her gait, though it had somewhat slowed. She doubted that she had actually successfully eluded them, but perhaps they would find her more out of their persistence and not their own skill in tracking. That gave her time for the moment.

The next stop would, of course, be the police station. Maybe she could even act like she never left, if no one had noticed her or bothered to check the footage. She'd gotten her closure, and perhaps the rest of the night could fall into place like that had.

That being said, the police station would be where she was expected to go. There wouldn't be any harm in waiting everything out in an equally safe place, where perhaps the location and the night could play equal parts in hiding her. No harm at all. This is her city, with her people, and the safest place that she could've been at the moment.

She hadn't stopped to notice that her feet had stopped carrying forward as she had become lost in her thoughts. The city was all hers, and yet there was nowhere that could guarantee her safety.

Noodle darted off the roof of a building and grabbed her. Her hand stifled a scream.

"Look, look, I know this is sudden and everything, but we need your help. I promise we're not gonna hurt you or anything, but you are coming with us."

A white van, like the kind that children disappear into, pulled up from behind the corner. Before Jo could even attempt to bite her attacker's hand, she was flung into the back of the shady van. Just another great way to keep the chase moving forward.

Okay okay okay. Calm calm calm. You're so goddamn fine. Everything is peachy. Don't look worried. Don't look worried. Don't look worried.

Her vision had gone slightly blurry due to the force of the impact, but nothing that a few quick blinks couldn't handle. Slowly, the image of the lanky, blue haired guy that had haunted her thoughts for the last few hours focused into view. Never in her life did she think that he would look menacing.

"Okay, I know this looks bad," Normally, it was easy for her to take his voice seriously, but with all the bitter resent seeping in, it sounded so much more annoying, "But you need to help me find out who killed your mum."

He was smoking a cigarette, which, if Jo wasn't already intensely used to the smell, she wouldn't assumed to be weed instead. But nope, just more classic stuff they tell you not to do in school.

"Um, no, I don't think I will actually."

"Please."

"Nope."

"Noodle, it's not working."

"'D, you gotta try a little harder than that. I'll go find Mudz and Russ."

"Wait, Noodle-"

The van shook slightly as she hopped out the back. Very stable. The smoke lingered longer than the eyes of the pair in the van, both refusing to look directly at each other.

"I'm really sorry about all this, okay? But, I'm innocent, I swear, and I need to find out who it was."

"This ain't a goddamn movie. You're rich. You can hire a lawyer and pay off the jury. You'll get out unscathed, and maybe with a little bit of Chicago and a little less of OJ, it might even work out for ya. AND, I don't need to be involved with any of this."

"You knew your mum better than anyone else."

"Yeah, and I think you did it, so I suggest you find someone else."

"I didn't fucking kill your mum!" Jo didn't think that he had it in him to raise his voice. Though, she also didn't think that he was capable of murder. The scratchiness of his throat was really brought out in the yell, and she could tell that it still wasn't something that he did too often. He could tell too. It was quickly replaced by even more silence, this time with the two making perfect eye contact.

"I thought I told you that I didn't want to be involved in any more shit. I don't know anything. I won't tell anyone. I just wanna fucking go home." Her voice was also a lot smaller than she was used to.

"I- look, sorry I yelled, you're clearly freaked out, I-"

"I'm fine, but I'd be even better if I were out of this van right now."

"I don't," he sighed, "I can't do that."

"You mean you don't want to."

"I just, I didn't do it. I really didn't."

"If it makes you feel any better, that's what I told the police."

"Really?"

"Yeah, before they convinced me otherwise," his face dropped, and she knew she shouldn't be feeling bad for him, but she recoiled, somehow feeling like she had gone too far, "But, what I believe wouldn't have changed what I told them. They, uh, already knew most of it anyway."

She was sitting face up, with her legs stretched apart in a mock half-straddle, her hands resting in the middle. 2D rubbed his eyes with one of his hands in contemplation.

"Well, I guess-"

"STRAP YOURSELVES IN KIDDIES, WE'RE HITTIN' THE ROAD!" Murdoc and Russel swooped into the front of the van while Noodle hopped in through the back slamming the doors shut. Murdoc man-handled the car into starting before either 2D or Jo could sling out a retort or question. The van lurched forward and 2D topped to the ground, joining Jo, while Noodle remained, standing tall.

"Russ, can we have the live feed." Noodle politely looked over the seats in the front.

"Sure thing, catch." Russel flung a clunky, 90s looking TV from the front seat over the heads of the pair on the floor, which Noodle caught gracefully and plugged into one of the outlets that was, for some reason, in the back of the van. The television whizzed to life and filled the car with static.

"Where's the remote?" Noodle announced to the van as she took her place on the floor in front of the TV.

"Oh, I fink I'm sittin on it, hold on..." 2D searched under his ass for the remote, while Jo was still struggling to comprehend the spectacle.

"Okay, it's definitely local news..." Noodle flipped through the channels on the television while both 2D and Jo crawled up next to her.

The camera zoomed in on a shot of the van, the camera courteously going a few blocks up as well to show the cops on their tail.

"-popular band Gorillaz is currently on the run from the police, as their lead singer 2D is suspected of murder. The band currently-" the voice of the newscaster cut swayed in and out, in time with Jo's consciousness, as she dared to not be too light headed.

"-on the lookout for Josephine Powell, daughter of the deceased, snuck out of the police station this morning, and will be charged as an accessory to the murder as new evidence comes to-"

"Wait, what?!" Jo leaned in to the TV, the images of her face that had been taken when she arrived at the station flashing clearly and proudly on the screen.

"You're a part of this, now, kid! Keep up!" Murdoc shouted from the front, his tongue sticking directly out of his mouth and curling upward as he swerved, half focused on the drive and half focused on the escape.

"No, no, oh my god, I'm an accessory?!" Jo pushed herself into the back of the van.

"Yeah, you have to help now!" 2D did a joyous fist-bump to the air, though it didn't match his slightly accusatory tone.

"I still think you did it, asshole."

"Aww, really?"

"Really really."

"Well, you can believe that as long as you like," Russ cut in, "Your name is another that's gotta be cleared though. And that ain't gonna happen if you go back to them cops. So help us in the meantime."

"I don't even know where to start with that. Like, help with what?"

"Help us find out who did it. If we have definitive proof that it was someone else, which it was," 2D added slightly resentfully, "then we can prove that I'm not guilty."

"No, I got that part, but what could I possibly tell you that would help with that. Everyone's either fucked my mom, had it out for her, or both."

"Not a soul you can fink of?" She found herself not being able to look him in the eye again.

"Well, the only people that she liked slightly were the other moms. Like, y'know, with your kids. And I'm pretty tight with their kids as well."

"Really?"

"Yeah, we have a group chat."

"Well-"

"I don't know if it's a good idea to show up with the guy who murdered one of their friends asking for help. They might even be expecting you."

"Nah, they wouldn't think we're that stupid." Murdoc interjected from the front, lingering on the first syllable of the word 'stupid'.

"Yeah, and we're good at getting away with stuff. We'll figure something out." Noodle didn't even look away from the TV.

"Well, okay I guess. The closest one is in Minneapolis. So, we can go there, I guess."

"Don't count on it being too soon. I'll need at least a few hours to loose these cops." Murdoc's tongue had retreated into this mouth.

"Ah, see, everyfin is gonna work out." 2D took another hit and leaned all the way back, forgetting that Jo was there completely.

Jo scooted herself all the way into a corner and went back to focusing on her consciousness. Not only had it been one of the most trying days of her life, but the hour was transitioning into four in the morning, and she had been up since five. She wasn't one to get sick on car rides, but the sway of the van made her very nauseous. Her eyelids seemed heavier with each creak that the van gave.

But she couldn't sleep. Wouldn't sleep. As uncomfortable as her house was, that place was still where she made her bed. And this wasn't.

Murdoc had managed to pull some smokebombs and real bombs out of god knows where, and, with the help of Russel, had a clearly laid out strategy for launching them in the air at their attackers. His gangly fingers had chucked one of them out of the now open left window of the car.

The van swayed a final time before everyone was plunged into complete, smoky, darkness.

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Another fun fact, I’m also thinking about releasing another 2D series, so I can keep myself motivated and work on both at the same time. This one might be actual 2D x reader though. Don’t worry, same style, just different ship, and less road trip murder adventure. But yeah, that’s all for now.

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downtowns-universe · 3 years

Text

A matter of trust

Character: Dai

Words: 5438

The city had grown since he had last been here. Where there once had been barren, ash-covered fields, people were now building houses, made from stone of the same dark colouration as the ground they stood on. The eastern side of Isskhat had always been the least popular, as the open terrain provided little protection from the weather. From time to time strong winds swept across the plains, bringing with it clouds of ash, which crept in through even the smallest nook and cranny before settling down on every available surface. The numerous newcomers that arrived after the city had been annexed to the Empire preferred to take to the western side, where the city was built against the hillside, which offered some protection from the elements.

The land’s natives didn’t care much about the hostile surroundings, as over the ages their bodies had adapted to withstand the high temperatures and polluted air. Having grown up not far from here, Dai himself had no trouble breathing here, although he noticed that being away for a while meant he needed some time to readjust himself. Alderyn, on the other hand, was not in the mood to deal with this nuisance and created a protective bubble around the both of them. Dai thought his boss could better have used a piece of cloth to cover his nose and mouth, as a shield would point them out as outsiders to the locals, and they were specifically entering from this side to avoid being seen, but he kept that opinion to himself.

In the distance, Dai could see the three towers of the palace jutting out above everything else, their white marble gleaming in the light, drawing in the eye. Unlike the last time he’d been here, they were topped with banners in blue and gold, the colours of the Empire’s emblem. Also unlike last time he’d been here, all three of them were intact. It seemed they had been restored after the air strike. Despite Alderyn’s secrecy, he suspected this was their destination, although he still hadn’t been told what exactly they were here for. Or rather, what his boss was here for. Dai, who was used to being sent out for solo missions, figured he must have been asked along because of his familiarity with the region.

He had lived in Isskhat for years, working for its lord, until the Empire had come along and overthrown her, bringing all of Adas Quadir under Empire rule. It was customary – he knew now – to integrate people from the old power structure into the new one, to make the transition of power go as smoothly as possible, so Dai ended up under the command of the general who took the city. He must have made an impression, since by the time the transition of power had been arranged, a new leader had been instated and the general had made preparations to go home, he had taken Dai with him. It was the first time he had been this far away from Adas Quadir, and he hadn’t been back until now.

He had needed some time to adjust. Sure, Isskhat was a city, but it was also remote and its harsh climate deterred many outside visitors. How different things were in Kalerran. Everything seemed to be bigger, louder and faster there. The streets near the centre were crowded, no matter the time of day, and there appeared to be a great diversity of people from all over Kellan. It wasn’t until then that he had realised just how massive the Empire was, and how many different countries and cultures it possessed. There were even a couple of humans! Until then, he had heard of Earth only in stories, and certainly hadn’t expected to ever go there.

It was because of this contrast that Dai hadn’t immediately picked up on the signs surrounding him. Sure, Isskhat wasn’t as ostentatious, and they were still on its outer edges, but as they progressed he could feel this was not the city he remembered. The buildings they passed were new, but poorly built. Some were unfinished, others lacked doors and windows while people had clearly already been living there for a while. People they passed on the street had hollow eyes and gaunt faces, as if the life had been drained from them. They took a wide berth around Dai and Alderyn, averting their gaze.

“Something’s not right,” he pointed out with a hushed voice, leaning in so his boss could hear.

“How far until we reach the inner city?” Alderyn asked, pretending not to hear.

“It’s not far,” Dai answered, slowing his pace a little while continuing to look around.

“…but I have to ask: what exactly is our goal here?”

“It’ll become clear once we get there.”

“Get where?”

“The palace.”

So he had been right about their destination.

Not expecting to get another word out of his boss, Dai continued on. They had by now arrived in a part of the city he remembered from before he’d left. They passed by a run-down building, hammered shut with boards. He recognised it, having been sent here to deal with a disturbance once by his previous boss. It had appeared as dismal as it did now: broken windows, door hanging half off its hinges, “keep out” written on the wall in red paint. Back then, a gang of thieves had made its headquarters there, until Dai made quick work of them. In the years after, a bakery had opened its doors in its place, and other stores soon followed. It had become a lively street with people coming and going.

Right now it looked as if none of that had ever happened. The street was abandoned except for an older woman hurrying along to enter a building on the opposite side. Dai could hear several bolts slide in place after she’d closed the door. Her house was in bad shape, as were most of the others, with walls crumbling and roofs sagging. One building had burned down, a blackened skeleton all that remained. Some were not much more than patchworks of planks and tarps, as if emergency repairs had been done over and over again, without the means to make any lasting improvements. People still lived here. People who were desperate and had no other place to go. People Dai might have known by name once.

Feeling watched, he quickened his pace, causing him to leave Alderyn’s bubble. His boss did not feel the need to catch up and instead let him go ahead. Glancing at the buildings he passed, Dai’s unrest only grew. These damages were of a magical nature, he recognised now. He’d seen enough of it over the years to be certain: they were caused when the city had been taken. But that had been years ago – surely there would have been time to fix things?

He paused at an intersection, waiting for Alderyn to catch up.

“The inner city is just up ahead.”

His boss only nodded as a response, but studied his face closely, as if to gauge for something.

Dai turned and kept walking, knowing that his thoughts on the matter could likely be read on his face. He’s probably wondering whether he should have left me at home, he thought. It was strange: he hadn’t detected doubt on his boss’s face before. Sure, the two of them weren’t always on the same page, and there had been disagreements, but there had always been a sense of implicit trust. I’m sure you’ll work it out, those looks said. Now there was a hint of unease, as if Alderyn questioned his own decisions, unsure of their outcome. In turn, it made Dai feel uncertain about the feasibility of their mission, before he’d even been told what exactly it entailed.

Especially since Alderyn usually never let his face betray what he was thinking. In public he had always acted infallible, seemingly unaffected by whatever news was being told to him. Dai knew this was just a façade, and that his emotions were reserved for behind closed doors. A leader needed to appear stable and reliable, anything hinting at the contrary would only undermine his position.

However, these appearances were only maintained until everyone else had left, and Dai had therefore witnessed his boss’s wrath on several occasions. It was frightening, and he tried his best to never be at its receiving end, something in which he not always succeeded. But violent outbursts he knew how to handle. Whatever this was, was completely new to him. And he wasn’t sure whether it was a good thing.

As they approached the city centre, the buildings gradually started to look better maintained. Here and there he could see elements of lighter stone beginning to appear on the buildings’ facades and door frames. He recognised them as signs of wealth and influence – or, in the sparse amounts as they were visible here, wanting people to believe one had either. Lighter stone had to be imported, and because everything in Isskhat was continually being coated in ash, most people didn’t bother. Having a house constructed out of white stone showed you were wealthy enough to pay someone to keep it clean at all times. Likewise, letting your white building go grimy implicated money troubles. Although they hadn’t quite crossed into that territory yet, Dai already knew the buildings in the centre would shine brightly as usual. Hard times never bothered the rich.

Apart from the lighter stone, something else seemed to increase in frequency the further they moved inward: outsiders. It was to be expected that its annexation to the Empire would bring people from all over towards Isskhat, but that didn’t mean the city would become any more comfortable or accommodating to them. The people Dai saw out on the streets looked terribly out of place, wearing the wrong attire for this climate and hiding themselves in shields and coverings. Others had done a better job at adapting and dressed like the locals, but their foreign physicality still made them stick out like sore thumbs to the locals, most of whom kept their distance.

At the wall which indicated the entrance to the city proper, Dai noticed something odd. A shimmer hung in the air above it, barely noticeable to the eye, but it was its familiar hum of energy he had picked up on. The inner city was shielded from something, spanning all across from wall to wall. Nervously, Dai peered at the gate up ahead, searching for guards or any other sign of restricted access. There didn’t seem to be any, and people walked in and out unhindered. Dai side-eyed his boss, but his face didn’t indicate anything, so he kept walking towards the gate.

Passing through it, Dai immediately felt a drop in temperature. The inner city was being artificially cooled down. Next to that, the air was also cleaner here, and people passing through alongside them removed their masks or dropped their protective shields.

“How long has this been here?” Dai asked Alderyn, who had now also let go of his bubble.

“I’m not sure, but there was talk of realising something like this when we left for Kalerran.”

This was the most straightforward answer he’d gotten all day, Dai realised. And even this was vague.

“It is but one part of a plan to make the city more habitable,” his boss continued.

“It was perfectly habitable before!” Dai protested.

“Even more so if they had spent all that effort on actually rebuilding,” he grumbled to himself.

Alderyn now met his eye, his face not betraying whether he had really not heard or simply pretended to.

“Not everyone would agree with that statement. People have different needs.”

“People also have alternative cities to choose from,” Dai pointed out.

“Is it really that bad to be able to breathe?” his boss smiled.

Dai shrugged.

“…I suppose not. But I’m worried about the rest of this “great plan”. What else have they done?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t as involved anymore by then, as I was preparing to leave. But I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

“Can’t wait…” Dai sighed.

As they moved further into the inner city, the contrast couldn’t be greater. The streets were clean here, with coloured canopies spanning over their heads to offer shade. Street vendors had set up shop along the main road leading from the gate, their wares spread out across their tables, with no need for protective coverings to shield them from the ash. Here and there small displays of magic served to draw attention to certain booths, and groups of people gathered around them to watch. Dai spotted a lot of local wares, but also things he only knew from Kalerran, which seemed to have made their way here. They passed by people of all shapes and sizes, rich and poor alike. He saw a pair of wealthy ladies wearing colourful clothing that was obviously not meant for the city’s outer circles. Dai wondered if they ever did venture there, or whether their entire lives took place within its gates.

Others clearly hailed from outside the gates, their clothing rugged and grey, covered in a fine layer of dust. Most were just frequenting the stalls, or making their way to somewhere deeper into the city, but a little further ahead Dai spotted one of them trying to blend in with the shadows, then moving out to “accidentally” brush against someone. Upon getting closer, he realised they were just a kid. Their skin was thick, with the texture of lava rocks, but despite that they appeared unhealthily thin. Down the street he spotted another, perhaps a little brother, who nodded in the direction of a couple which had just made a purchase, a coin purse hanging off of a belt, ripe for the taking. As they continued walking, the older kid swooped in to claim their prize.

Dai couldn’t help but think back to his own childhood, which had mainly been filled with stealing and scavenging, until someone had taken note of his magical talents and brought him to the city. From experience he knew these kids must have very little, and these coins were probably the biggest thing they’d get their hands on this week. And there was always the risk of being caught. In this richer neighbourhood they were playing a dangerous game, but the rewards were so much bigger that to them it was worth the gamble.

Dai and Alderyn had almost turned the corner when a voice cried out.

“Hey! Get back here!”

As Dai looked back he saw two smaller figures duck back deeper into the crowd, as people made way for a pair of guards who were in pursuit, magic gathering at their fingertips. He doubted whether the kids would be able to get away, and wondered what their punishment would be.

His boss had kept walking, not seeming very eager to run into more guards. As Dai turned the corner and caught up with him, in the distance he could see the canal, with tall bridges spanning across it like reaching arms. Its embankments were crusted with glass, built up as sand had been blown in over the ages and melted by the heat. The smooth, crystalline surface reflected the deep red glow of the lava below, making it appear as if a glass blower was at work in the walls. Roads lay alongside the canal on both sides; all that separated people from the deadly drop was a tall fence decorated with wrought-iron curls and spikes. Nevertheless, accidents had happened, Dai knew.

As they approached, he realised that here too, things weren’t as he remembered. The usually impressive flow of lava had died down to a trickle, barely enough to maintain its fluid state. Even though he knew the intensity of the flow varied, like the tides, he had never seen it be this low. Had something happened to the volcano? To go and see this for himself he would have to follow the canal for a while to its source, which couldn’t be seen from here, but he didn’t think his boss had scheduled any time for personal errands. The source wasn’t a volcano like he had seen them on his travels: with steep slopes and a crater on top. Here, the magma simply bubbled up from below, as it had been for hundreds, perhaps thousands of years. The city had slowly formed around it, as people believed the never-ending stream to have some sort of magical power. Whether it did or not, they had profited off its heat and fertile ground for centuries, and the canal had always been treated with the utmost care. Until now, it seemed. Dai wondered whether the city’s new government would have something to do with that. Was this another part of the “great plan”? Did it have anything to do with the drop in temperature, perhaps? And if it did, which of the two had come first?

When they crossed the bridge, he paused for a moment at the top, leaning against the railing. Usually, sticking your head over the edge felt like a punch to the face, a singing heat that made your eyes water. Now it was more like a pleasant warmth. The top of the lava had coloured black, its surface constantly changing when cracks formed as the flow pushed it along. Dai looked down at the spider web of glowing lines and sighed. His boss, who had already reached the other side, walked back up and stood next to him.

“What happened?” Dai asked, already knowing the answer he was going to get.

“I don’t know,” his boss sighed.

It wasn’t an exasperated sigh this time, Dai noticed. It was almost like there was a hint of regret. Regret at letting it get this far, perhaps? When they had been stationed here, Alderyn had referred to the canal as “an impressive feat of engineering” once. He would never have allowed it to decline in this way.

“Let’s move on,” Alderyn said, his voice a little softer than usual.

As they entered the plaza in front of the palace, Dai’s mind was still lingering on the canal, going through possible explanations for its current state. He figured they must be using the energy from the lava’s heat for something, but he didn’t have enough pieces of the puzzle to figure out what.

He started cutting across the plaza – in his mind the fastest way to the palace – when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Come.”

Alderyn pulled him into a building to the side, which appeared to be some sort of tea room. It was quiet, the few other guests paying them no mind as they found a table in the back.

“What are we doing here?” Dai whispered.

“Getting a drink,” his boss answered plainly.

Their order was taken and they sat in silence until it was brought out. Dai saw that the uncertainty had returned on his boss’ face. He’d been intently studying Dai’s face, but looked away when he was caught. Dai still couldn’t place it, but there was a certain unease, as if a big decision was upcoming.

Dai looked across the table expectantly for him to say something. When it stayed quiet, he decided to repeat his question.

“What are we doing here?”

“You may have noticed things have changed here quite a bit since the Empire’s arrival,” his boss started, after a brief moment of hesitation.

“Things have gone to shit,” Dai mumbled, not caring about knowing his place.

To his surprise, no reprimand followed. His boss only nodded.

“That’s why I brought you here.”

“What, to rub it in?”

“To show you the Empire won’t always be perfect. It is a big and complex structure, with many parts that work together, like an organism. But sometimes, parts of it will start to rot. These parts need to be cut out.”

He gave Dai a moment to think about this. Dai only now realised another bubble had been cast around them. A bubble to keep people from listening in.

“…What are you saying?” he asked, leaning in.

“I was the one in charge of taking this country. It should be my responsibility to take care of it. But I may have let things slip by not staying involved for long enough. This…”

He gestured around them.

“This is on me.”

“And you want to… fix it?”

Dai was genuinely surprised. His boss, while not the most bloodthirsty of the generals, was definitely not known for his compassion and concern for the wellbeing of others.

“An empire can only work when all of its parts contribute to its goal as a whole,” Alderyn continued. “Each country has something to offer, a good leader needs to find a balance between the needs of the Empire and those of their people. Whoever is responsible for the mess in Isskhat did not have their priorities in order. Of course, changes are bound to happen, since nothing ever stays the same. Some of these changes can be explained by adjusting to a different rule, or wanting to make the city more hospitable to people from elsewhere in the Empire. But others cannot, and show either a terrible grasp on the reality of ruling a country, or a complete disregard for the wellbeing of their subjects.”

“So, what do you want to do about it?”

“Like I said: cut out the rotten parts.”

Dai leaned in eagerly, a grin beginning to show on his face.

“So why am I here? Where do I come in in this plan of yours?”

Alderyn raised a hand to interject.

“I was getting to that.”

He sat up a little straighter and cleared his throat.

“Firstly, because this is your home, involving you felt like a logical step. You know this place, which could be to our advantage. But more importantly: please know that it is not my intention to hide things from you. I feel there is a certain level of confidence between us. Recently, you have shown that I can place my trust in you and since trust is a thing that works both ways, this is my way of reciprocating that trust. I want you to know that you can trust me, even when…”

He glanced at the sudden movement of someone getting up from their table.

“…even when my intentions or interests might not always align with the Empire at large.”

He looked at Dai intently as he processed what was being said.

Dai – knowing that things were not always as they seemed and more importantly, Alderyn did not just do things from the goodness of his heart – returned the look.

“Tell me – these “rotten parts” you speak of; does cutting them out benefit the Empire – or you?”

His boss smiled – a very cunning smile that Dai knew all too well.

“Depends on who you ask.”

Dai leaned back in his chair.

“If this were coming from anyone else, I’d say that sounds an awful lot like treason.”

“Treason,” his boss chuckled. “I’d say it’s more like… a nudge in the right direction.”

“Pretty big nudge if it involves murder.”

Alderyn raised an eyebrow.

“Remind me again, how many people have you “nudged” lately?”

“I’m just messing with you,” Dai grinned. “To be honest: I’d take your judgement over the Empire’s any day.”

There was a glint in Alderyn’s eye.

“Some people would say that sounds like treason.”

“But not you, it appears,” Dai shrugged.

“Not me,” Alderyn repeated.

It was silent for a bit, as they both to themselves processed the conversation.

Dai wasn’t quite sure what to make of these developments. Until now, obedience and loyalty to the Empire had been expected of him. He had been taught its history, which mainly focused on its greatness and importance. He was well aware of the one-sidedness of this presented story, and had always remained sceptical despite not showing it too much outwardly. When Alderyn started to teach him about the Empire’s inner workings, the way its different parts interacted, he had no choice but to admit it was built on a solid foundation, which had managed to unify many former enemies. They all had a part to play, his boss had said, and he had sent Dai to procure or deliver items, and later on to deal with any sources of resistance which could potentially threaten the Empire.

On these assignments he’d gotten to experience a different side of the Empire: its fringes, where structure and order clashed with individuality, ambition, or chaos. Sometimes, this friction was caused by a malevolent force, actively trying to undermine the established rule. In other instances, he had been sent somewhere only to realise what he was facing were… people. Regular people who had ended up in a situation not unlike what was happening to his former home right now. Who had not been able to adjust to the new standards expected of them, not always to their own fault.

While carrying out what was expected of him, he had never been able to fully shake that feeling of unrest, that little rebellious voice in the back of his mind telling him he didn’t have to obey anyone. If he was going to follow anyone’s command, it was going to be on his own terms, for his own benefits, or to work towards a goal that he saw fit. Often, though, doing what his boss expected of him would in fact be to his own benefit, to improve his position or the level of trust existing between them. At other times he was painfully aware that to oppose him now would have disastrous consequences. It was the small space between those extremes in which he could act freely and carefully push his boundaries without anyone being the wiser. Unfortunately this approach was painfully slow, and his temper had caused him to slip up multiple times, leaving him with the persistent feeling that a level of full trust had not yet been reached.

Until now, it seemed.

His boss casually speaking of opposing the Empire in favour of working towards his own goals was a completely new development. All of this fixation on the bigger picture, this sense of loyalty he had tried to instil into Dai – what purpose had it served, when his mentor had such disregard for his own methods? Perhaps this is a test, it briefly went through his mind. A test of loyalty, to determine whether he would truly serve the Empire above all else and defy his superior for the greater good. Honestly, Dai wouldn’t have put it past them – but he felt like this was not the case here. There was something in his boss’s behaviour, his secretive tone, the look in his eyes when Dai had sided with him, that made him believe otherwise. And in that moment it hit him.

Alderyn was taking a risk.

He had taken a gamble on Dai: training him, pushing him to the limit just to see if he had what it takes – all of that, to eventually bring him here, pique his interest with a case he was certain to be invested in, and to speak of trust while making clear his intentions, all the while fully aware that he might have miscalculated and overplayed his hand. No wonder he looked nervous.

As Dai let these thoughts pass through his mind the both of them had been watching each other silently, faces not betraying anything – or at least, Dai hoped his hadn’t.

He gave his boss a single nod, an implicit sign of reciprocating his trust.

“Alright. So, what exactly is the plan here?”

Alderyn visibly relaxed.

“Take out the governor. Install someone I trust. The rest should fix itself.”

“What exactly are you planning to fix?” Dai asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Whatever my advisor tells me to.”

“Your advisor?”

“Yes. He’s a local expert, of sorts.”

“Do I know him?”

His boss let out an exasperated sigh, but behind it was a hint of a smile.

“It’s you. Come on now, I thought you were smart. Try to keep up.”

Dai nodded. Is this a promotion? he wondered. He shrugged off the thought.

“Alright, back to the plan. How will you take him out? How do you get in, and how will you find him?”

“I have been told my advisor knows the palace inside and out.”

“As long as the layout hasn’t changed, your information is correct.”

“Good. I’ve arranged some staff uniforms.”

“Oh, I will enjoy seeing you wear those,” Dai grinned.

“Save some of that excitement, I haven’t gotten to the best part yet.”

“And that is…?”

“He’s all yours. I feel like you’ve earned it.”

“This day is getting more interesting by the minute.”

Dai thought for a moment.

“One thing though: if you’re coming with me, won’t people recognise you? And if they do, wouldn’t it be better to stay far away from the palace for a bit? Plausible deniability and all that.”

Alderyn made a hand motion and before Dai could blink a demon with dark skin and fiery eyes sat across from him. Beneath his skin, glowing veins pulsed with a lava-like hue.

“That’ll do,” Dai nodded, trying to act unimpressed.

Illusion was an area in which he had much to learn. He simply lacked the patience for it. Perhaps he could arrange some tutoring, if he played his hand well today.

His boss placed a handful of coins on the table and got up.

“Let’s go.”

The palace’s main corridor was as he remembered it, with the exception of the decorations on the walls. Like the outside, the interior was white. The pillars were painted in a warm ochre, and supported domed ceilings covered in mosaics. At the end of the corridor they ended up in the main hallway, with a big, ornamental staircase leading upwards. A tapestry depicting a map of Adas Quadir hung above it, as Dai remembered. However, it was now flanked by Empire banners on either side. He supposed he should be happy it was still hanging at all.

“He’s likely somewhere on the third floor,” Dai whispered, and gestured towards the stairs.

His boss nodded.

“Lead the way.”

They moved up, passing an official who was on the way down and barely paid them any mind. Servants were invisible, something Dai had made use of during many of his jobs. Also, he had found that surprisingly little people questioned whether you were even supposed to be in here as long as you just walked with purpose and held a serving tray, broom or other item haphazardly grabbed from the room. Of course, this only worked up to a certain level of security.

The council room, which was the closest on Dai’s list of possible locations, was empty. Good, since an ongoing meeting meant it would be difficult to catch him alone. Although, this approach wouldn’t be out of the question, since when Dai had asked why Alderyn even accompanied him when he would be the one finishing the job, he’d shrugged and said: “In case he’s got company.”

Their next option would be the governor’s work room, and his private quarters. If he won’t be in one of these locations, chances were he wasn’t home. They’d either have to wait for him here and risk being discovered, or somehow try to locate him elsewhere. Either way, it would complicate their plan and increase the risk of failure.

The door to the workroom was left slightly ajar, so Dai quietly opened it further and slipped inside. The room was located centrally in the building, with big windows that looked out over the courtyard. In front of those windows a figure sat behind a desk, silhouetted by the light falling in. He sat with his back to the door, bent over his work and hadn’t noticed their arrival yet. After glancing around to ascertain whether he was alone, Alderyn gave Dai a nod and stepped back into the hallway to stand guard.

So this was the guy responsible for ruining his home, Dai thought. With his delicate frame, he sure didn’t look like much. But appearances could be deceiving, he knew. Either way, he was in no hurry to let it be over soon.

The sound of the door closing finally made the governor look up.

“Who is this?” he demanded, pen still in hand.

Dai just grinned as he locked the door behind him.

#story #2021Challenge #dai

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secondsightcinema · 6 years

Text

Shoes, Brows and Gowns: Now, Voyager (1942)

“My mother didn’t think Leslie was suitable for a Vale of Boston. What man is suitable, Doctor, she’s never found one…. What man would ever look at me and say ‘I want you’? I’m fat. My mother doesn’t approve of dieting. Look at my shoes. My mother approves of sensible shoes…. I am my mother’s well-loved daughter. I am her companion. I am my mother’s servant…. My mother says…. My mother, my mother, MY MOTHER!”

On the set with Paul Henreid

When we first meet Charlotte Vale, who is having a nervous breakdown, she is saddled with both bushy black brows and unnecessary eyeglasses—two of Hollywood’s stock ways of telegraphing: unattractive. She’s also supposed to be fat, and she’s dressed as unflatteringly as her monstrous mother can make her, in a hideous print dress and a pair of those ghastly sensible shoes Charlotte so despises.

Which means she’s only a good tweeze and a trip to Bergdorf’s away from being unrecognizably chic. That and a “very clever doctor” Charlotte finds in South America who gets 20 pounds off her.

Mother-approved, sensible shoes.

Post-Cascade, non-Mother-approved pumps.

When the movie starts Charlotte’s kindly sister-in-law is about to stage an intervention, with my all-time favorite movie psychiatrist, Dr. Jacquith (Claude Rains, also one of my favorite imaginary fathers). They have their work cut out for them, gaining Charlotte’s confidence and convincing Mother that “my little girl” is actually dangerously ill, and that not getting her some serious treatment will reflect poorly on the Vale name (she wouldn’t even consider such a thing out of concern for her daughter). They succeed, and Mother allows Charlotte to spend a few months at Jacquith’s sanitarium, Cascade.

Charlotte faces “the fork in the road,” asks Jacquith if he can help her.

And Cascade, rustic and cozy in the Vermont woods, and some psychotherapy with Jacquith, do the trick. Hell, just being away from Mother worked wonders. But of course Charlotte dreads going home, and again the sister-in-law steps in with a plan to let Charlotte try her wings, on a South American cruise.

“Could we try to remember that we are hardly commercial travelers? It’s bad enough to have to associate with these tourists on board.” —Mother

Charlotte had confided to Jacquith during the intervention about her last cruise with Mother, when Charlotte was 20. Her shipboard romance with a handsome young officer (see photo at top), inevitably foiled by Mother, was her last hurrah until now, This post-Cascade cruise is a redo of that previous idyll, and for the second time Charlotte will fall in love with a man she meets onboard. Charlotte has good luck on ships. Maybe it’s the fresh air.

Now, Voyager is one of the great “women’s pictures,” that most derided of genres. It is a bit of an outlier, though, subverting some of the genre’s conventions. The theme of a woman who finds her own voice and authentic self is not common in the 1940s. Much more common were the movies Ginger Rogers seemed fated to star in, where her unhappiness is revealed to be the fruit of her being a successful career woman, who needs to subordinate herself to a man to find true happiness. But in Curtis Bernhardt’s My Reputation (1946) and NV, the protagonists find themselves unable to hew to the conventions of their milieu, forced to defy their families’ and communities’ expectations. Neither Charlotte Vale or Jess (Barbara Stanwyck) in My Reputation are bomb throwers—they’re not out to bring down the patriarchy or challenge inequality or injustice. But in a time of rigid conformity, they’re still pretty damned brave.

Another spectacular Orry-Kelly gown, which bloodless Brahmin Elliott appreciates but finds too hot to handle.

NV depicts Charlotte’s severe depression fairly realistically, and Davis portrays it in all its complexity. The novel’s author wrote from her own experience of a breakdown, and Charlotte’s behavior—eyes cast down or darting like an animal’s, a jumble of emotions rattling just beneath her anxious surface, is agonized and confused. it’s as though she’s functioning by rote, trying to act normal with only the sketchiest sense of what that looks like, aching and exhausted, without a shred of confidence that she can find her way back. She is terrified of herself, of her rage, life, the world. When she asks Jacquith in anguish if he can help her navigate “the fork in the road,” I absolutely believe her desolation, her sense of dislocation and terrifying isolation. Mother has succeeded in keeping Charlotte from becoming a “commercial traveler,” a normal person with normal social relationships, including with men.

In NV‘s third act, when a guilt-ravaged Charlotte returns to Cascade after Mother’s bitter little heart finally gives out, she finds Tina, her lover’s unwanted daughter, in residence, and we see in her what we saw in Charlotte in the opening sequence. Tina is broken by her mother’s rejection, and she is as uncertain, lost, and consumed by feelings of unworthiness and morbid fancies as Charlotte was. Charlotte recognizes herself in the kid, and she finds herself irresistibly drawn into giving Tina the love she herself was denied. It’s a beautiful impulse, the kind of healing that restores things to their proper order. By becoming a good mother to Tina, Charlotte rewrites her own story and saves Tina from the decades of wounds she suffered at Mother’s hands.

Tina (janis Wilson) as Charlotte finds her at Cascade.

But let’s talk about sex, for it is in this realm that Charlotte’s vibrant being finds expression. When Charlotte says to her first boyfriend, “I thought men didn’t like girls who were prudes,” which she admits to Jacquith she had learned from novels, she displays a frankness about her own desire that is surprising in an aristocratic Boston girl. Of course Charlotte learned whatever she knows about love and sex from books—Mother certainly wouldn’t have told her anything. But Charlotte acts throughout NV with a maturity and lack of pretense around sex.

When she is preparing to leave Cascade after her first stay, Jacquith removes and breaks her glasses. “But I feel so undressed without them,” she protests. “It’s good for you to feel that way,” he replies. He has been preparing her to live an adult life, to learn to manage the vulnerability of not just feeling but some day perhaps actually being undressed in front of a man.

“But I feel so undressed without them, says Charlotte. “It’s good for you to feel that way,” says Dr. Jacquith.

Our first glimpse of Camille Beauchamp, Charlotte’s nom de cruise, still feeling fragile but looking stunning.

Upon her return, Charlotte finds the strength to defy Mother partly because of the camellias Jerry has sent.

Charlotte’s vulnerability at first makes her standoffish when she is thrown together with Tina’s father, Jerry, her soul mate. But his gentleness and small gallantries—the way he leans in when he lights her cigarette, the bottle of perfume he gives her as thanks for helping him shop for his wife and daughters—move her deeply. When she confesses that she’s the family spinster aunt and that she’s recovering from a breakdown, he doesn’t recoil. It’s only the second time in her life she has enjoyed the attentions of an attractive man, and she is still as responsive as she was on her first cruise.

One of my favorite gowns in the movie, with its plunging neckline and Jerry’s flowers, offends Mother deeply. But Charlotte has the camellias, she can’t be cowed. She knows she is loved.

And let’s face it, a Boston Vale has to be in foreign lands to fall in love outside her class. The Vales’ Boston is a tight-knit community of old, wealthy families, and Charlotte has zero social mobility when she’s at home. But on the ship, or later in a cabin in the mountains after a car accident strands them overnight, she can be herself with Jerry in a way life as a Vale denies her at home. It’s pretty clear that Charlotte and Jerry make love that night in the mountains. Later on, when Charlotte is trying to get her dull Boston fiancé to show a little sexual interest in her, she suggests they go to some little bistro, have a few drinks, perhaps loosen their inhibitions, and he is shocked. “You must think me very depraved,” she says. Well, yes, he does. But he’s a stiff, and marrying him to prove herself normal would be suicidal.

Charlotte’s single post-Cascade clunker, the dress Mother would approve, which she wears when trying to behave conventionally.

Styling and clothes are used masterfully throughout NV to express Charlotte’s inner state. Davis’s clothes were designed by Orry-Kelly, who enjoyed an excellent working relationship with her. In this scene with Elliott, the fiancé, Charlotte wears the only unbecoming dress we see her in after her recovery—it sticks out like a sore thumb. Why, I wondered, does the dress seem so wrong? Then it struck me: Because she’s betraying herself, marrying a man Mother approves of, that’s why. The dress is a busy floral print with a high neckline—it’s a dress both Elliott and Mother would find most suitable, but it does nothing for Charlotte. It’s not her. All the other clothes she wears, which she has chosen herself, are incredibly flattering. She looks fantastic—the clothes are tailored but not severe, simple and beautifully cut—as long as she is being herself. She has almost fallen into a trap, looking for approval, doing what’s expected of her. When she tells Elliott they’d better call it a day, they are both visibly relieved. I wish Elliott luck finding a wife who won’t make any distasteful sexual demands of him. But the important thing is that Charlotte’s connection to her own erotic imagination is strong enough to steer her away from this dire marriage with a man she does not really love.

One of the things I love most about NV is that it’s a movie about an adult, written for grown-ups. When life brings Charlotte a soul mate in Jerry but traps him in a loveless marriage, they don’t ditch the kids and responsibilities and run away together. No, that’s a noir setup. Charlotte makes her failed attempt to act the part of a Boston matron, but when she realizes it’s no good she doesn’t take to drink and picking up guys at a dive bar. She makes peace with being alone, which is what you do if you don’t end up with a partner and you don’t intend to ruin your life over it. Charlotte finds a way to restore herself, help Tina, and maintain a connection with Jerry. It’s by definition a sexless solution: If Jacquith finds Charlotte and Jerry even flirting, he’ll remove Tina from Charlotte’s house. It’s a huge, improvisational compromise. Jerry characteristically fumes about taking Tina away because he doesn’t want Charlotte to sacrifice herself for his child (rather dense of him). But as Charlotte famously says at the movie’s end, “Don’t ask for the moon; we have the stars.”

Charlotte thanks Jerry for their first day together—”for a few moments when I almost felt alive.”

Jerry and Charlotte don’t ride off into the sunset, but they might live happily ever after. Sort of. Sometimes life is like that, even in the movies. In the film’s final sequence we are once again at the Vale mansion where we began, but the place is transformed. When Charlotte first returned from her cruise, she shocked her brothers by ordering a fire in the drawing room. “Mother never uses that fireplace,” they say. “High time we did, then,” she says, and we see in the final scene how Charlotte’s fire has breathed new life into the old, formerly gloomy house. Now, instead of a house that cannot breathe, presided over by an miserable matriarch who cannot stand for anyone else to be happy, is a house full of life, love, and good works.

Charlotte has also been transformed from a broken person who gets her few kicks smoking, drinking, and reading naughty books in her bedroom to a woman passionately engaged with life. Really, how much happier an ending can you ask for

Charlotte and Jerry say farewell, their time together over. But look—Charlotte is blooming. This is the only floral dress she wears that suits her, reflects her inner glow.

The final scene, back at the Vale house, Tina transformed.

Jerry: Shall we have a cigarette on it? Sure, they’re rather make love, but they’ll have to settle for a Camel….

This post was written for Cinemava’s Free for All Classic Film Blogathon. Go read the other fab posts here:

https://cinemavensessaysfromthecouch.wordpress.com/2018/01/05/the-free-for-all-blogathon/

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