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solalunar-eclipse · 3 years

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Scars You Can’t See - Chapter 10

Chapter title: Short Fuses

Word count: about 3400 words

Author’s Note: Hopefully this chapter is up to the usual standards, especially considering I completed it in about a week. I really want to try and stay on schedule as much as I can especially considering that I have about six other ideas all begging to be written the second this fic is finished.

Warning for descriptions of violence, just in case.

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The loud slam of a car door made the two Mobians still inside it jump.

Shadow and Rouge stared out the window, horrified, as Omega drew himself up to his full height of four feet and eleven inches and stared down the troops. When he’d seen his friends so scared, so certain that this was the end, something inside him had snapped.

He wasn’t ordinarily the type to process much in the way of emotion. His circuits hadn’t been built for it in the first place, but so much rewiring and extra work had been done by now that he’d almost become more than his processors and coding. And...meeting two people who understood him in a way he’d never thought possible had done a lot for his personality as well. By now, Omega had grown to care for these two organics more than he had ever thought possible since the day they had first met.

And now he was furious.

“I HAVE HAD ENOUGH.” he thundered, his voice blasting out of his speakers at top volume. “YOU HAVE CHASED US ALL OVER THIS CHAOSDAMNED COUNTRY. YOU HAVE TRAUMATIZED BOTH OF MY FRIENDS. AND YOU HAVE RUINED OUR LIVES.

“I WILL GIVE YOU ONE CHANCE TO GET OUT OF HERE. ONE. CHANCE. THEN I START FIRING. AND I WILL NOT STOP.”

He immediately began to power on all of the weapons that he could possibly use at once. Everything from machine guns to missiles to lasers started to warm up and make clicking noises as his ammunition slid into place. Omega made sure to load a few extra explosive charges into his weaponry- his targeting systems had been significantly improved after some time in Tails’s workshop, but they still weren’t perfect. Especially not with this level of opponents.

He found that he didn’t really care.

(His only real worry was that the firing noises would stress out Shadow.)

The G.U.N. soldiers refused to back down, and oh how Omega wished that he could properly express the blend of frustration, rage, and just the tiniest bit of satisfaction that burned and sparked through his wires. As it was, he simply had to settle for speaking.

“YOU’RE NOT GOING?” he asked.

One of the apparent leaders pulled out a megaphone, and the robot’s head spun ninety degrees directly to the right to face him. “I DIDN’T SAY YOU COULD TALK.”

A single shot ripped the megaphone from the man’s hand.

“NOW LEAVE US ALONE.”

The actual fighting forces were almost entirely made up of G.U.N. drones, so Omega began tearing into those with ease. Explosions of flame appeared across the field as his shots scattered all around the first wave.

The E-series robot was at least a little pleased that it seemed like he wouldn’t have to physically fight any humans today, though. He’d spent enough time around Rouge and Shadow to know that they’d both be horrified if he did- and he wasn’t going to upset them. Not now.

As it was, he was holding his ground impressively, considering that G.U.N.’s mechanical soldiers were top-of-the-line creations, built specifically with fighting software according to the organization’s highest standards. They were loaded with the latest weapons, and made with light material so that they could move quickly across the battlefield.

But they had never before faced down a nearly three thousand pound robot built by a mad genius with a destructive streak a mile wide….so they were basically being mowed into the ground.

Before long, though, their orders suddenly appeared to change, and a squad started heading directly for the car which still held his two closest friends.

A laser blast incinerated the first few with the full power of Omega’s protective fury behind it, but having two targets to manage- himself and the car- was a lot for anyone to handle. If he turned his attention to the drones swarming the vehicle, then they would get too close to him and start trying to tear him apart. But if he focused for too long on those tearing at his chassis, they could easily break into the car.

Once, when he was busy dealing with an irritating detachment of flying robots, one of the ground fighters broke through a window and started reaching for Shadow and Rouge. The hybrid managed to stab it through the face with a Chaos Spear, but almost immediately went limp against the seat afterwards, clearly struggling to maintain consciousness.

With a scream of static, Omega sent the next few assailants who dared attack his friends flying, but there were just too many for him to handle alone.

As the robots began to climb atop the car, Omega stopped paying attention to the ones trying to tear him apart and focused his aim on the others, but one managed to grab his arm and sent the shots flying wildly around their brethren, skittering across the top of the vehicle.

Omega felt his ammunition starting to run low and wished he had a chance to grab some extras, but even the slightest pause could mean failure now. The drones were clawing at his body, at the car, and they just kept on coming.

He couldn’t last much longer...

And that was when a truck to his right exploded in a giant ball of fire.

The robot was startled for a moment- he hadn’t been aiming for the trucks at all! A moment later, though, a roaring noise sounded directly overhead, and Omega looked up to see what was perhaps the best sight to grace his optics in months.

A red biplane wheeled around overhead before taking another shot directly at the drones surrounding him, leaving him perfectly free to blast the rest off of the car. The E-series robot was also certain he heard a faint “Heck yeah!” from above, and indeed, when his vision focused properly, he spotted a small blue shape standing atop the wings of the plane.

Omega could see Rouge smiling- actually smiling- from inside the car, as she shook Shadow back into awareness. The moment Omega saw her say the name ‘Sonic’, Shadow jolted upright and scrambled to the window despite his shaking limbs, staring up at the Tornado in shock.

He said something to Rouge then, who responded with a light smack on his shoulder, looking more relieved than anything else.

After a few more moments, the tide had begun to turn, and Omega soon heard someone patching directly into his auditory processors. A familiar high-pitched voice asked, “Omega! Do you read me?”

“Affirmative.” he replied, blasting another few drones into oblivion. “It is good to see you, Tails.”

“You too.” the fox replied happily, clearly pleased to have arrived in time.

“Okay,” Tails continued, his voice becoming more serious, “can you get Shadow and Rouge to fly up to the plane? I can’t land, but I need to get them out of here if they can’t fight.”

“I will inform them at once.”

Omega stalked over to the car, physically shoving several more drones off it and allowing them to land with a loud clatter on more of their kind. Rouge wound down the window, still looking optimistic.

“Alright, what’s the plan now?” she asked him, a sparkle in her eyes.

He blew up a couple of flying bots to his left in big blasts of fire before responding. “Unfortunately, you will have to fly Shadow directly upwards to the plane. This is the best way to get out.”

Rouge groaned. “Chaos...I don’t have to lift you too, right?”

“No.” Omega said. “I will stay here and keep them busy until your return.”

“Won’t you be alright?” she asked him worriedly, placing a hand on his arm.

“We’re not leaving you.”, Shadow insisted. His eyes were narrowed, but the determined effect was undermined by the way his body slumped against the seat, as though it were the only thing keeping him upright.

Suddenly, another voice spoke up. “Come on, you think I can’t watch this big guy’s back?”

Sonic walked up next to Omega and leaned forward on the car’s window. At first, he wore his trademark smile (tinged with a little extra relief), but it quickly turned to shock after he did a double take. “Uh...that is you guys, right? Cause last I checked, Rouge isn’t edgy and you don’t dress like a nerd.” he said, pointing at Shadow.

“I don’t look like a nerd.” Shadow mumbled irritably, glowering at him.

“You actually kinda do, hon.” Rouge said, her smile growing wider.

The hybrid’s eyes widened. “But you picked this outfit out...Rouge!”

Omega played an audio file of a person clearing their throat while causing another explosion. “While I am certain this conversation is pleasant for all involved, please consider continuing it when we are not surrounded by mechanical troops trying to tear our limbs off.”

All three Mobians looked sheepish. “Alright then, let’s go.” Rouge said, refocusing and flexing her wings in preparation for takeoff.

“We will cover you. Do not worry.” Omega assured them both.

Shadow still frowned at him, before clasping his small gloved hand around the robot’s large metal finger. “Don’t go doing anything too crazy, alright?”

Rouge grinned again, though a little less brightly, before stepping out of the vehicle for the first time that day. “He’ll be okay. Us, on the other hand...you know what, let’s just do it.”

Then she grabbed onto Shadow’s hand and immediately blasted fifteen feet directly upwards in the air. Tails soared as low as he could possibly dare to go in the meantime, even tilting the plane to the side slightly so that Shadow could climb into the seat.

Some flying G.U.N. robots began to close in on Rouge as her wings beat frantically, struggling to gain more height. Omega couldn’t fire now- there was too much risk of him hitting her- but then he realized that Sonic was already handling it. The hero bounced off of the car, then a robot, before launching himself up high into the air and spindashing all of the drones, bouncing from one to the next like a wild blue pinball.

Meanwhile, the E-series robot busied himself with spraying explosives and laser fire across the entire field, finally feeling free to properly tear into the opposing forces. At one point, he actually lifted the car above his head, set it on fire, and threw it with all of his strength directly at an advancing wave of drones, taking out an entire platoon.

(The car rental company would just have to deal with it.)

Omega heard a small chuckle to his right, and looked over to see the blue hero himself standing there and smirking up at him. “You’re pretty ticked off, huh?” he asked.

“YES.” Omega replied, putting as much loathing and distaste behind that one word as he possibly could whilst throwing a drone several yards into the nearest tree.

Sonic’s grin tightened in response, and something shifted deep within his eyes, transforming them into a blazing green flame. His entire expression practically screamed ‘you messed with the wrong people this time, idiots’.

“Hey, pal?” he asked, his words deceptively light and loose. “I heard you can blast curled-up ‘hogs like me outta those arm cannons of yours. Mind if I give it a whirl?” The blue-and-gold robot could practically feel the growl that lay hidden beneath his voice...and decided that he definitely approved.

In response, Omega’s hand simply retracted into his arm, leaving a perfectly Mobian-sized barrel behind. Sonic immediately curled up on the ground, and the robot scooped him into the cannon with ease, before aiming it at the mechanical soldiers marching towards them yet again. “Ready?” he asked.

“Always.” the hero hissed from within his quills, curling up tighter.

One second later, he was fired out of Omega’s arm at high speed, before ricocheting off about a dozen robots hard enough to shear most of them in half. Sonic uncurled after that, bouncing to his feet with an expression barely qualifying as a smile as drones fell beneath his feet and fists.

Not long after that, Omega heard the whir of a G.U.N. troop carrier above them and saw an entire new wave of reinforcements dropping in- the organization clearly wasn’t willing to risk their human soldiers on two such dangerous foes. While the blue blur was certainly helpful, he knew that they couldn’t hold off endless amounts of these machines, and would unfortunately tire or run out of ammo eventually.

Which was why he was incredibly grateful to see Tails’s biplane soaring into the fray just moments later, prepared to sweep them both to safety. (While he enjoyed giving G.U.N. its long-withheld punishment, he also wanted to survive long enough to see his friends healthy and happy again, of course.)

“Omega! I need you to get on top of that truck!” Tails ordered through his audial processors. “I can try and pick you and Sonic up from there!”

The robot acted immediately, barreling through the lines of drones with incredible strength. To his left, he saw Sonic doing the same- jumping over the bots’ heads and up onto the trailer. The hero fought to hold off some physical soldiers with punches and kicks carefully calculated to bruise, but not kill.

Omega clawed his way up to the top of the truck, leaving deep gouges in the side as he heaved himself over the edge. They both scanned the sky, watching as Tails waited for the right opening…

Suddenly, the Tornado dove sharply downwards, carving through lines of machinery as it soared towards them. Its wings nearly skimmed the trees as it closed in on them. Sonic tensed, preparing to leap, as Tails yelled, “Jump on...now!”

Omega’s reflexes were not exactly what one might call good, unfortunately, having been built with strength in mind over speed. Thankfully, Sonic grabbed hold of his arm, and that combined with his rocket boosters was enough to sling him face-first over the seat as Tails pulled upwards.

Turning his head to the side as he struggled into the plane, the E-series robot caught a glimpse of Sonic braced on the main wing of the Tornado as they put more and more distance between themselves and the ambush site with every second. However, he also quickly spied several flying drones headed their way.

Clearly, Tails had too. “Omega! Can you take care of those for me? And strap in, ‘cause I’m about to try and shake these people for good!”

He began to empty his cartridges as quickly as possible at those infernal machines, nothing more than hollow shells of metal twisted to serve an evil master. Omega had never been more grateful that he was made with free will. Most of the drones fell quickly, but were easily replaced by more of their brethren.

The blue and gold robot was disgusted at the very thought of being expendable.

“Hang on tight!” the fox yelled.

A jolt shook the entire Tornado as its turbo engines fired, causing the plane to blast forward at such speeds that the ground blurred beneath them. G.U.N. just didn’t have the technology available to catch up with them, especially not while they were this high up.

Soon enough, Angel Island came into view, but it almost looked like it was...moving away from them?

Sonic saw Omega’s ‘frown’ and explained quickly. “Angel Island doesn’t move too fast, and the Tornado gets some crazy mileage with these new engines! We figured Knux oughta get a head start on those creeps.”

At least Knuckles wasn’t avoiding the action out of cowardice, then. If he had been, Omega would have punched his Master Emerald straight off the island, ‘duties’ be damned.

As they came in for a landing, the robot practically felt his chassis grow heavier the more he looked around. Shadow was slumped against a tree near the edge of the clearing, while Rouge was leaning on the steps of the altar, exhausted. Knuckles was sitting cross-legged atop the Master Emerald, his eyes closed as he focused on directing the island where he needed it to go.

“Shadow!” Sonic shouted, jumping off the plane. His face was twisted with concern as he rushed over to his friend. “Dude, why aren’t ya up with the Emerald? Chaos knows you need that energy!”

The hybrid groaned faintly, turning his head to face them. “Knuckles...is busy with it. Don’t want to...interrupt now- we need to get away.”

Omega glowered at him. “Enough of this nonsense. If you insist upon behaving in such a manner, then I will have to make you take care of yourself. Again.” The robot scooped Shadow up in his arms and began to physically carry him to the altar, despite the latter’s protests and squirming.

Sonic and Rouge giggled practically in tandem, and Shadow glared at them both. “Shut it.”

“What, hon?” Rouge smirked. “This is the second time Omega’s picked you up in like a week, can’t I enjoy it?”

The robot ignored them both and placed Shadow on the altar carefully, the hybrid’s body too weak to do anything more than just lie there. Quickly, though, the Chaos energy began to seep into him, restoring some true life to his eyes.

He didn’t have much more than twenty minutes to rest, unfortunately, before G.U.N.’s best planes began to catch up with the island’s sluggish movement. The four battle-ready inhabitants of Angel Island readied themselves the moment they heard the first aircraft roar in the distance.

Rouge spoke up first, though. “Shadow, honey, I absolutely hate asking this of you, and if there was any other way to get out of here that I could think of then I would take it. But I can tell that there’s at least three Chaos Emeralds on this island, and with how good you’ve gotten at teleporting...if Sonic and Knuckles helped, could you zap us out of here?”

Shadow dragged himself to his feet with the help of the Master Emerald, sighing. “Yes. I’ll need Knuckles to channel as much energy into us as he possibly can, and at least one of the Emeralds. Sonic can use another.”

Sonic and Knuckles both looked startled. “No way, man!” the hero exclaimed. “You could really hurt yourself that way!”

“So help me then.” Shadow replied flatly, looking at him over his glasses.

The blue hedgehog sighed reluctantly and stood on the other side of the Master Emerald from him, holding out his hand. “You got your Emerald, lil’ bro?”

Tails placed it in his hand as Knuckles handed Shadow one of the two he’d been holding onto. Then, the echidna placed both of his hands on the great gemstone, breathed in, and sent as much power as he could flowing into both of the hedgehogs.

Their eyes locked, and Shadow inclined his head almost imperceptibly.

“Chaos….Control!!”

The entire island vanished.

It reappeared moments later, above the ocean. Sonic would have plenty of time to be concerned about all the water, but for now, he was more preoccupied with Shadow. He hovered nearby as the hybrid’s eyes unfocused slowly and he swayed from side to side.

The hero caught him a moment later as he crumpled, unconscious. Feeling for a heartbeat, he sighed with relief the moment he found a steady pulse in Shadow’s wrist.

“He simply needs rest.” Omega said, watching as Sonic laid him back down at the altar (before lying down right next to him, having exhausted his own Chaos stores as well). “As do you,” he added, spinning his head to the right to stare at Rouge.

The robot continued to stare at her, unflinching despite her glower, until she lay down on the grass with an irritated sigh. “I’m supposed to be the one taking care of this team, you know.”

Omega folded his arms. “And you may do so soon. After you get some rest.”

Rouge closed her eyes and seemed to relax soon enough. Omega stood exactly in between his two friends, watching over them with a careful eye.

After a minute or two, he heard Knuckles whisper to his friends, “How do you guys think she figured out that we had those emeralds?”

Without opening her eyes or moving at all, Rouge replied, “I’m just that talented, babe.”

The resulting startled shriek from her boyfriend made birds a hundred feet away flee their trees in fear.

#shadow the hedgehog #rouge the bat #e 123 omega #team dark #scars you can't see #sycs #hopefully that chaos control isn't too big of a plothole!#i figured since shadow can teleport the black comet all by himself with seven chaos emeralds #then three emeralds + the master + sonic and knuckles should be enough...right?#i just really hope the quality hasn't gone down on this one- it was fun to write but it went so quickly i'm almost suspicious #really though omega's speech at the beginning in particular was awesome #i've been waiting for this chapter for months. literally. so i just want it to come across right #next chapter should hopefully be even more chill #i'm glad i was able to raise the tension but now i just want to bring it back down #hope you enjoyed! thanks for reading!#sol’s fanfiction

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aellynera · 4 years

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Mors Non Est (Nathan Bateman x Reader)

MORS NON EST (Nathan Bateman x Reader)

(so. um. this was inspired by a dream i had? because my brain does weird things at night and then sometimes i write them.)

Word Count: almost 4k oops

Summary: “Of course, you don’t die. Nobody dies. Death doesn’t exist. You only reach a new level of vision, a new realm of consciousness, a new unknown world.” — Henry Miller, author

Or, what my brain offers as alternate theory on why Nathan made AIs.

Warnings: Leaving this mortal coil (sort of), angsty musings, maybe a swear or two. Okay there’s definitely a swear or...several. (also a disclaimer that I finished this at like 3am and there was a bunch of stuff out of order but I think I got it all worked out now and proofread and all that, but apologies if anything is still wonky)

The rain fell steadily against the wall of glass that faced towards the forest. Sometimes it was soft, like the tickle of a feather, the softest caress of a kiss on your hair, the skim of fingertips against the velvet red petals of a flower. Other times it was harsh, a violently crashing wave on the rocky shore, electricity ripping the sky asunder, an unbridled fierceness like a wild animal frightened and possessed.

It changed without warning.

Soft, hard. Quiet, loud. Calm, violent. Back and forth and back again.

How long had it been raining?

He turned as he heard your footsteps fall on the wooden patio planks behind him. You watched in slight fascination as he unwrapped his hands, used the cloth to dry them, and stuck a hand out to you, your attention half on him and half on the pure beauty of the surrounding scenery.

“You must be the new assistant,” he said, sounding friendly enough although his smile stayed a bit reserved.

He wasn’t expecting you to just show up on his deck. Yes, he was expecting you to be dropped off by the helicopter, that had all been arranged, but for some reason he had...he realized he wasn’t even sure what he was expecting. But you had clearly followed the pilot’s (and soon after, the house’s - that the house told you what to do amused him in the strangest way) instructions and here you were.

He knew his new assistant was more than capable (he had seen your resume, reviewed your coding and debugging history, had meticulously poured over every single little detail of work you had done for his company for the past three years not that he was obsessive about it or anything) but he wasn’t prepared for the person that now stood before him, an intriguing combination of impressed, unsure, interested, and underwhelmed.

You were fucking beautiful.

You nodded. “That’s what they tell me,” you replied, shaking his hand and supplying your name, even though you knew he already knew it. You knew enough about Nathan Bateman to know he knew everything about you before you even heard the head of HR back in the corporate office announce that you got the job.

You later admitted you didn’t know what to think about him either, and you hadn’t really expected anything, since you didn’t know much about him. He was a genius, everyone knew that, and he lived all the way out here by himself. And...that was about it. That’s what you knew.

And you thought he was...kinda hot.

And also an asshole, you liked to point out as the days went on. Nathan didn’t really mind.

It was an odd feeling, this feeling of dissonance and uncertainty.

There was so much that needed to be done. There was so much that he didn’t feel like doing.

He came to the door and paused. He spent most of his waking hours in this room - and to be honest, most of his hours were waking at this point, he rarely slept anyway and for as long as he could remember now he had barely slept, except when all that whiskey and vodka kicked in - and yet there was always a moment, the briefest flash of time, where forward momentum paused and he wondered if non-linear time was reality and he would find something different when he opened the door.

It wasn’t, and he never did.

He wandered into the lab and over to the table at the farthest end. Components were spread out before him and he idly reached over to the single chip laying in the center of the mess. It was the last piece of this particular puzzle, the last bit that had to be installed and configured and then…

Then suddenly it became too quiet and too loud all at once. Thoughts were screaming through his brain and he just wanted it to be quiet for a moment.

Quiet so he could go over his calculations in his head. Quiet so he could double check his math. Quiet so he could concentrate on his theories and his expected outcomes. Quiet so he could revel, just for a moment, in his monumental achievement.

There was a sweater hanging on the back of the door. He’d forgotten it was there, even though he had just seen it mere hours before. No, not forgotten, he realized. Blocked. He didn’t forget, he just purposely didn’t remember.

The silent noise became a full-blown cacophony.

Was it still raining?

“So how exactly are you going to solve it?” you asked one afternoon, idly twirling your pen in your hand.

“How would you do it?” he bounced back.

You sighed. His behavior was so typical. The man was a certifiable genius but that was usually the problem and not the solution. It was never straightforward. “The AI. How are you going to solve the issue of making it able to have an actual conversation with you?”

“How would you do it?” he asked again.

Shrugging your shoulders, you kept twirling the pen. “I dunno. I guess you’d have to have some way to...maybe cross-reference a database of expressions and emotions and an actual dictionary.”

Nathan paused and considered you, deep in his own forest of thought. He wheeled his chair over to his computer desk and started rapidly tapping keys. “How do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” you huffed. “Like...like some kind of mass well of every available, possible interaction. Honestly I would try to figure out the mechanics of everything else first, like motion and movement, You know, walking and running and sitting and standing.”

“Hmmm.”

“But since there are literally infinite combinations, I don’t even know how you would go about even attempting that kind of data pool.”

“I did actually have an idea about that,” he muttered. Nathan didn’t even turn from his multiple computer monitors and his fingers never stopped clacking away at his keyboard. “But you’re not going to like it.”

This time you groaned instead of sighing. He knew you could feel it coming before he asked - he always told you that you weren’t going to like it before he asked you to do something incredibly stupid that in any other circumstance would get you arrested and you’d never see daylight again.

But this was Nathan Bateman, and of course he was going to ask anyway. And of course you would say yes. You always said yes, it was one of the things he enjoyed most about your company, and even when you did say no, it gave way to a lively debate and a genuine argument over facts and merits, downsides and advantages, and it was fucking amazing.

It had been that way from the start, grown steadily over the weeks and months, and neither of you could really complain. Nathan quickly found that you could keep up with his train of thought even when the track switched abruptly and it was so engaging. Captivating. Enticing.

But this man. This amazingly intelligent (if almost insufferably arrogant) man was going to be the death of you. You told him that at least once a day. He took it as a personal challenge to give you a reason to keep living.

“What did you have in mind?” You doubted you wanted to know.

“What if…” he replied, clicking away, not looking up from the screen as he spoke, “we used the video and audio coding in Bluebook, and patched it through all the cell phone carriers, and rerouted all the satellite signals back here into the lab.”

Before you knew what was happening, your pen flew across the room and connected with his shoulder with a small *thwap*.

“What?” he finally looked up, mock annoyance in his voice.

“Are you absolutely fucking insane, or is this just an extra special occasion?”

He left the lab with no real idea of where he was going.

Okay, that was a lie. It was his house. He knew his way around and he knew where he needed to be next. There was an actual agenda but his focus was off.

He walked past the living room and noticed the chess set was still set out on the coffee table. The pieces were still fairly evenly matched, his green dragons maybe just slightly at a disadvantage to your purple ones (because, as you had mentioned at one point, why have a standard chess set when you could have a fun one? And Nathan knew you were anything but standard.)

He knew it was his turn and contemplated the board for a few minutes. No matter how he strategized it, how he worked it out, how he tried to plan it, you had forced him into a checkmate. Again. For at least the sixth time in a row, and probably at least the eight-seventh time out of the last hundredth you had played. He chuckled, softly, briefly. He could do anything with technology and science, but he rarely could beat you at a centuries-old board game.

He made his final move for this round, sacrificing his king to your queen.

He grabbed the notepad setting next to the chess board, and your pen that lay nearby on the table. He scrawled a quick note to you - checkmate - and placed it on your side of the board, next to your fairly gained draconian horde, even though he was certain you were never going to read it.

He went to the kitchen and poured himself a drink.

He stared out the window wall, out past the deck, to the running river and the dense groves of trees, off into the distance towards the waterfall.

He should be heading to the room. He should be taking care of the final chip install and making sure everything was online. Instead he simply stood in the kitchen and stared out into the rain.

It occurred to him that the agenda was more of a guideline and his knowledge of his surroundings was merely functional.

Nathan briefly considered that standing at the doorway to your bedroom was the last place he should be, but then decided he didn’t care. But that wasn’t true either.

He could just walk in, it wouldn’t be the first time - once you had been wearing only a towel, having just gotten out of the shower and that hadn’t been awkward at all - but that small bit of his conscience that he usually tried to ignore, told him to be polite.

He knocked.

“What do you want, Nathan?” You sounded muffled, like you had your face partly covered by a pillow. You were probably in bed. He shouldn’t be bothering you.

He had to bother you, just this once. “Can I come in?”

He could picture your face on the other side, eyes rolling and the sigh as it left your lips, and even though he heard the door hiss quietly as the latch released, his feet suddenly stuck to floor outside your door and his body made no further move.

“I did open the door, so if you’re going to, do it before I change my mind,” you called after a few minutes.

Nathan got his feet to cooperate and entered your room. You were in bed, face half-behind a pillow, your visible eye glaring at him. He stopped at the edge of your bed. His brain started calculating risk factors for the current situation, gains, deficits, advantages - anything it could think of, there were always factors involved, no matter what the situation was, it was just that some factors were more complicated than others. Some required more delicate, cautious manipulation to solve the equation and…

“Are you just going to stand there all night and look at me? Because I swear I really will kick you out, and then change all your passcodes.”

Of course, you teased him later about how much fun it would have been to watch him try to get back in. You swore you were going to do it one day, just for the hell of it. He didn’t mind.

“Do you regret what happened after dinner?” he finally asked.

Your glare softened and you moved the pillow away from your face. Dinner was fine. The company was pleasant as usual, the wine was frequent and flowing. The two of you had started a very animated debate about gender and sexuality as it pertained to artificial intelligence and if any of it were a necessary component or if it was just something you would prefer (he would later tell you how wonderful the expression on your face was when he told you he would be ready to start building a prototype in the next few weeks) and then.

“I don’t regret it at all. Do you?” you arched an eyebrow at him.

Nathan blew a long breath out from his nose. Did he regret kissing you? Nope. Not in the slightest. Did he regret that you might regret it (he was slightly relieved that you said you didn’t) and that nothing would come of it? Yes. And he couldn’t calculate the actual result, just potential outcomes with no concrete denouement, and that made him extremely uncomfortable. He didn’t want this to be an experiment. He wanted an absolute, not a thicket of random. Not in this case.

“No.” He still didn’t move.

“Frankly we should have done it months ago.”

He shook his head and turned just the slightest bit before your reply registered and he processed it. “Wait. You...what?”

You exhaled and sighed as you rolled over, facing away from him and trying to get comfortable in the bed again. “You know, Nathan Bateman, for being the smartest man in the universe, sometimes you are a complete idiot.”

“I’m not going to argue that. This time, anyway.”

“Thank you, because it’s nearly three in morning,” you replied. He could hear the smile in your voice. “Can we talk about this in the morning? Like, later in the morning. I’ll see you for breakfast.”

He nodded and really did turn to leave this time. He was still trying to process. “Okay. Yeah, sure. I, uh...I’ll see you then.”

“Good night, Nathan.”

The rain had finally stopped.

He looked out over the landscape, now reflecting and refracting tiny bursts of sunlight in the lingering blanket of droplets.

Trees crowded both sides of the rushing river, leading towards the top of the waterfall. There was a small clearing there, one that almost wouldn’t be found if someone wasn’t looking for it. It was one of your favorite spots.

Nathan found you there fairly often, after he had shown you where it was. If the weather was cooperating, and you weren’t in the house, then nine times out of ten, that’s where Nathan would find you. Sometimes you were reading a book, sometimes you were just stretched out in the grass, looking up at the tips of the timbers as they reached to the sky.

Sometimes he would join you. Those were times that deep conversations would happen, about the projects back at the house and technology and your odd fascination with disco music, which Nathan truly did not understand but tried to humor.

Sometimes he would just smile and let you have your peace. Those were times he would go back to the house and quietly await your return.

He knew that’s where he would find you now.

“I’m back from Anchorage,” you called as you came in the front door.

Nathan was in the kitchen and poked his head around the doorway. “Hey. Perfect timing,” he said, brushing his hands off on his pants and flipping a dish towel over his shoulder. “Dinner is almost ready.”

A tired sign escaped your lips as you flopped down on the couch, taking one of the throw pillows and covering your chest and half your face with it. “Thanks. Not hungry.”

“How was the trip?”

You snorted softly. “Wet. Raining. Absolutely miserable.”

It wasn’t what you said that made Nathan stop. It was the way you said it. Your voice sounded so tired, so empty. It didn’t really sound like you, not the voice he’d come to expect to hear every day. It was not the voice that engaged him in conversation, that drew him into theories and concepts and philosophies. It was not the voice that argued about codes and programs and why that would not work no matter how much he insisted it would (to be fair, you were usually right, but he wasn’t going down without a good fight, and neither of you would have it any other way.) The voice that was leaving your body through your mouth wasn’t you.

It sounded hollow.

He leaned against the doorway. The air in the room suddenly felt heavier and he couldn’t quite get his feet to move forward to the couch where you sat. “What did they say?”

Nathan noted that you didn’t look at him. You looked everywhere but him. Like you were trying to keep everything from falling to pieces, maybe? You were definitely not acting yourself either. Suddenly he wanted to take himself outside and kick his own ass. He should have gone with you. You’d been talking about it, for weeks now, he realized.

How tired you were. How you were never really hungry. How things felt like they were getting harder when they shouldn’t have been. How you couldn’t go quite as far on the hikes you loved taking so much, together.

He should have gone with you.

Your face did not move from its half-protected shield behind that tasteful throw pillow.

He doesn’t register most of what you said. He remembers the words “bad” and “already done everything” and “months, maybe”. Maybe. No definite conclusion.

He finally managed to take a few steps towards you.

His brain was kicking into overdrive but not a single one of that rush of thoughts would make an appearance on his tongue. There had to be another answer. Another answer that wasn’t the one he could already see in your eyes.

Your eyes. His favorite feature (at least from the neck up), the ones that showed how much life you had, your spark, your fire.

And he realized the hollowness of your voice had traveled up into those beautiful eyes.

Words stopped making sense in an instant. Everything around him got fuzzy, jagged at the edges, but also intensely focused at the same time.

He finally crossed the room and sat down carefully, warily, on the couch.

Neither of you said another word. His arms slipped around you and you curled into his chest, pulling your knees up to your own. No tears from either of you. No sounds. No words.

He didn’t know how long you stayed on that couch.

The next thing you knew you were in bed, Nathan’s arms still wrapped around you. He must have carried you to the bedroom at some point. You felt the coolness of the sheets contrast with the warmth of his body; you mustn’t have been out for long. You were about to drift off again when Nathan finally broke the silence.

“We’ll figure out a way.”

A sigh escaped your lips, half drenched in sleep.

It was the last place he wanted to be. It was the only place he wanted to go.

He slipped into a hoodie and pulled on a pair of shoes and stepped out onto the deck. The air was still somewhat saturated, humid, but the rain was holding off for now. It was warm but he wasn’t, so the hoodie stayed on.

His feet took him down the deck stairs and onto the path paralleling the river. He followed it slowly, breathing in the summer air but not really seeing his surroundings. Like in his house, he knew where he was heading, and this was just the agenda.

At some point (minutes, hours, he really didn’t know how much time had passed) he came to that small clearing of trees.

And there you were.

Nathan took a jagged breath and sat down next to you. His pants were soaked in an instant, but he didn’t care. He was more annoyed that you were cold and wet (he briefly considered how funny you would find the double entendre, and probably tell him that you were definitely wet but he never made you feel cold) and chuckled again when he could hear your scoffing insistence that you were fine here in your special spot.

You weren’t fine. He knew this and wished desperately that you could tell him, tell him anything, say something.

He wasn’t fine. And he definitely did mind.

Nathan didn’t know what else to do, so he just started talking.

“So, uh...I know it’s been a while. I’ve just been really busy, trying to get the AI just right, and...I’m sorry I’ve been away. That’s not what I meant to happen. I’ve been working pretty much non-stop, I know you would be nagging me to get some sleep and eat better and all that shit. And...I wish you would. I would listen to you, for once.”

Silence and the far-off chirp of a bird were his only reply, so he continued.

“I know I shouldn’t be working so much, but I kinda have to. It’s the only way I feel close enough to…”

His throat was acutely, suddenly dry. He did his best to clear it. He was only marginally successful.

“So anyway, that idea I told you about, with all the cell phone data rerouting it here? It worked. Please don’t be mad at me, I know it wasn’t your favorite idea, but I’m pretty sure that’s what finally broke this open. Well, that and all the ideas we worked out together. I can’t thank you enough for what you did for me, and I know I never really did, and I probably never will…”

He had remembered to grab one thing before he left the house, stashing it in the pocket of the hoodie. He pulled it out now, a single red rose. Cliche, maybe, but they were your favorite flower.

Nathan placed it gently against the stone on the edge of the clearing. The stone with your name. It only had your first name, no dates. He could never bear to put any indicator of time on it; it was too final. Conclusive. Terminal.

He stood and started walking back. He never could stay here very long. It was absolutely ridiculous, but he usually had the feeling you would pop out from behind a tree and tease him about how impressive your joke was and he would never top it.

It wasn’t a joke, it wasn’t funny, and he wished he could prove you wrong.

But there was still something he might be able to prove. To make a few things right.

He stopped at the edge of the clearing.

“I have someone else coming to the house this week. He works for the company, he’s a coder...he looks like a good kid. I’m gonna use him to test this model. This really could be the breakthrough we’ve...I’ve...been looking for.”

Nathan turned his head back briefly, to say one last thing before he headed back to the house, before he had to get back to his work.

“I promise I’ll come back soon and tell you all about it.”

The rain started softly coming down again.

~end~

tag list: @anetteaneta @darksideofclarke @girlwiththemostcake @rosemarysbaby13 @spider-starry @writefightandflightclub (tags are always open if you want in just give me a holler and say so)

#oscar isaac #oscar isaac character #nathan bateman #nathan bateman x reader #ex machina fic #ex machina #angst train #thanks subconscious #writing

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hypnoticwinter · 4 years

Text

Down the Rabbit Hole part 10

The door opens and the bell rings and Peter and I both look up; the lady I’d ran into earlier on my first day in Gumption walks in and nods to Peter. Through the course of the story we’d finished breakfast and then I’d walked with Peter down to the 7-11 and he’d clocked in and started his shift while I sat on a stack of beer cases and listened, turning the voice recorder to its highest sensitivity to capture everything he was saying. I could always go back and take a transcript later if I had to, if the audio was too loud or too distorted.

Her eyes stray over me but whatever she thinks she doesn’t betray anything with her expression. I’ve reached out automatically and covered the voice recorder with my hand as soon as I heard the door open; it was an automatic action, quick as a whip, no conscious thought required, and I slide my thumb down its ridged side, click it off.

“Hey, Michelle,” Peter says.

“Hey, Peter,” she says.

He glances at his watch and whistles. “I didn’t realize it was four already.”

“Time flies when you’re having fun,” she says, a slight layer of sarcasm flavoring her words. I can feel my hackles rising but I ease myself down. Peter’s eyes flick over to me.

“Well,” he says, and I feel my mouth drop open.

“No way. You can’t be serious.”

“What?”

“You aren’t going to finish the story?”

Peter grins at me. “I have to go get ready,” he says in a soft voice. “I’ll finish telling you later.”

“Oh my god.”

“What?” he repeats.

“What the hell happens to Makado?”

“She…” he starts, and then stops. I can see a flicker of pain cross his face like the dappled back of a fish beneath a sunstruck river. My heart falls within my chest and I realize that I’m becoming far too invested to be objective, I need to take a step back. “She made it out fine,” he tells me. I don’t believe him.

Despite all of my efforts to cajole him he won’t tell me any more. He assures me that we’ll have enough time tonight, that it’s going to be a lot of sitting around and waiting while I film far-off dots moving around under the cover of darkness and that he’ll tell me then. It smells like a cop-out to me, like he just doesn’t want to get into what happened to Makado.

It’s unbelievable enough already, though, isn’t it? Amalgams and copepods and all of that stuff. I hear it and I think, oh, this is the plot to a movie. This isn’t real, it can’t be. Even though I’m only a few miles from it, even though I’m going to be going there tonight, it doesn’t feel like the Pit is a place that actually exists. It feels like somebody is pulling my leg.

Or it would, if it weren’t for the look on Peter’s face when he talks about Makado. That at least is real. Whether everything else around it is fake, I guess there’s a little kernel of doubt still sprouting in my head somewhere, the tiny eternal skeptic inside of me that isn’t willing to believe anything it can’t touch or feel or see itself.

We walk out of the 7-11 together and look at each other. Peter nods. “Same place as where you followed before. You know how to get there?”

I nod as well. “Line up the two rocks and the cactus with the setting sun and walk straight until I hit the three boulders in the dip of the hill.”

“Good memory. If you mess up you’ll be able to see us probably anyway, I’ll have my flashlight.”

“How many people are coming?”

“Besides you there’s three others, one guy from the cult for his initiation and two others who…well, you know.”

“Yeah. Was that what Erica was talking to you about the other day?”

“When she pulled up at midnight or whenever? Yeah, she was just telling me who to look out for. Because those guys want to be able to get back out again I have to give them different instructions, that kind of thing.”

I shudder in spite of myself. “Well, see you tonight.”

“See you,” he says. He turns and walks quickly away and then past the corner of the building and I am alone. I stand there for a moment and then lean up against the side of the building. The sun is hot but not terribly so and here in the shade it’s really quite a nice afternoon.

A car pulls up and turns into one of the pumps. It’s the second customer I’ve seen all day. The guy looks over at me but it isn’t anyone I know or have seen before, and after a moment he puts his card in and fills up the tank, then drives off.

I look round and, after a moment, let myself slide down the faux-brick façade of the 7-11 and stretch my legs out in front of me. My knee cracks like a gunshot as I do and I wince. I take my phone out of my pocket and dial a number and listen as the harsh buzzing tone drills one, two, three, four, five times into my ear, and then there’s a click and the answering machine picks up.

“Hi, you’ve reached Mark Dzilenski. I’m not able to take your call right now but if you leave me your name and number, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks, bye.”

“Hi, dad,” I say, and I feel a wave of emotion pressing at me that I refuse to confront. I swallow. “I’m sorry our call got disconnected the other night, I think there’s something wrong with my phone. It was good hearing your voice, I’m glad you and mom are doing okay.”

I lick my lips. Alright, Roan, you’ve been very glib so far. Spit it out.

“I, uh,” I start. Come on. “I got some news the other day that I wanted to tell you, I…”

“If you are satisfied with your call, you can hang up, or press 1 for delivery options. To re-record –“

I hang up the call, and then I stand up. I rummage in my bag for a cigarette and light it, and then walk slowly back to the hotel, taking my time. I’m meeting Peter at one in the morning but my nerves are already balling around themselves in a panic. I feel like I’m going to be sick.

“So what?” I ask out loud. I look over and see my distorted reflection looking back at me in the thick glass window of a closed barbershop. I look tired. “So what?” I mutter again. I look at the me in the window a little longer but I don’t like the way she looks at me so I toss my cigarette on the ground and crush it out and hurry a little more. It feels like there is a cloud looming behind me but it’s just in the sky, promising rain.

When I get back to the hotel room I unfold my laptop, dump the audio files from the voice recorder back onto it, and then I connect to the extremely rickety wi-fi network the motel offers and I look up what exactly the penalty is for trespassing on federal property. It’s not that bad, actually; a misdemeanor in all cases, at least under federal law. I don’t know if the site around the Pit is solely administered federally or if state law would also apply, though. Or would it count as trespassing on a military base? Apparently that can be a felony, if it’s important enough or if you’re being malicious about it. I do more googling around but the information I turn up is cryptic and limited. I wonder, not for the first time, if I’m putting myself on some kind of list doing this sort of research, then shake my head. Whatever.

The evening passes slowly and my nervousness doesn’t fade no matter how many cigarettes I smoke, leaned over on the wiry metal bannister, staring off into the flat, unexciting horizon. I watch television just to pass time, let Baggage and The Price is Right and Family Feud wash over me like an ocean, like waves, like I’m drowning. Am I drowning? If I were sane I think I’d feel like I were drowning.

When the time comes I put some pants on, long ones this time, shrug into my jacket, make sure I have my voice recorder and my camcorder and my slim little folding knife, more of a letter opener than anything else. I laugh at myself when I tuck it into my pocket but I still do it.

“Alright Roan,” I say to myself, staring in the mirror, sounding braver than I really feel, tucking my hair back in a ponytail. “Let’s go commit a felony.”

* * *

Peter raises his hand in greeting as I crest the hill and I wave back at him, click the light on my phone off and move down, join the little circle. He’d said there would be three others; two are here so far. One is a small Asian girl, so skinny it looks like she’d burst into flame if she crossed her legs too fast, and the other is a tall, heavy guy, looking like he’s in his late forties, balding hard. He has bags under his eyes and he keeps reflexively running his hands together. “Hi Lily,” Peter says to me and I blink and almost look behind myself to see if there’s someone back there, but he winks at me and I realize I’m supposed to be Lily. I wonder if there’s anything else important he’s left out.

“Hey,” I say. The Asian girl glances at me and then looks away again. Her eyes are very dark and it looks as though she’s chewing lightly on the inside of her cheek, sucking it inwards and holding it between her teeth and then letting it go again.

“This is Bao and Rey,” he tells me, indicating each of them. I nod at them.

“Hey,” I say again. “You guys, uh…excited?”

Peter shakes his head minutely and I feel faintly embarrassed, like I’ve said something I clearly shouldn’t have without realizing the taboo.

To their credit, they definitely do not look excited; nervous is more accurate. Perhaps haunted would be appropriate as well. Rey keeps glancing out into the darkness as though he can see something moving around out there; I can see his eyes focus on something and track it for a while before slipping off like a thrown egg slipping slowly down a window. I look out into the darkness as well but even though my eyes aren’t as adapted now thanks to Peter’s big utility flashlight throwing enough light to make me squint, it is very clear that there is nothing out there, nothing large enough that he’d be able to see it and track it like that.

I want to talk to him, I want to take out my recorder, I want to pry my way into his head, but I restrain myself. This is clearly not the time. The camcorder is still in my jacket pocket, the bulky night-vision attachment screwed onto its snouty muzzle already, fully charged and ready to go, but clearly I am supposed to be pretending to be one of these people. While we lapse into another uneasy silence and Peter checks his watch, I consider my new existence as Lily.

These two people are clearly so far gone that they barely recognize me as a person, let alone the deeper distinction between Roan and Lily. The way Rey keeps seeing ghosts and watching them like he’s ready to bolt or to fight, the way Bao keeps jumping at sounds none of the rest of us can hear, clearly they’re the two who are – what even is the right word? Afflicted? Who are, at least in Peter’s estimation, beyond retrieval?

I look at Bao. She’s young, maybe about my age, maybe a little younger. Twenty-two or twenty-three? Very possibly. Bao…the name sounds more Chinese than Japanese or Korean but I don’t know enough about Eastern culture to positively identify her, plus obviously there are more Asian countries than just China, Japan, and Korea. And if I’m supposed to be one of these people then should I care? Should I be getting into character?

I look again at Peter and feel a faint spark of anger at the fact that he didn’t let me know, didn’t warn me, but then I realize he didn’t really have a way to – he doesn’t have my number, and maybe this was something that resolved itself later in the afternoon after we’d parted, this need for secrecy.

I’ll draw the line at aping those nervous tics. Just watching these two is making me sad, giving me a feeling like someone’s taking hold of my heart and squeezing. It feels cruel, knowing I can do nothing.

Clearly the reason I’m Lily is because the third person, the guy from the cult, will know I’m coming, or at least will recognize my name. I think back and wonder if anybody had had a chance to take a photo of me while I was out walking around the town, but I’d have given people so many opportunities to take one without me noticing that it’s pointless to dwell on.

Surely if there was some sort of danger, if the cult knew for sure I would be here and they were perhaps willing to prevent me from coming somehow, Peter would have contacted me. He knows the motel I’m at, he might not know the room but if Erica Walken could get the phone number to it, surely Peter could have as well…right?

I toss my head, work my jaw sideways. It feels like it wants to crack but it doesn’t; I can feel the tension in the bulgy little knot of muscles down the side of my cheek. It doesn’t matter. I’m here, and I’m going in with them, cult or no cult.

There’s a crunching of feet on the dry hard earth behind us and Rey and I both turn to watch the third guy, tall and dark, making his way down the hill to us. He’s young, with a trimmed beard, and close-cropped hair. His eyes are very small; they linger on me for a moment and then flick to Rey and Bao.

“Alright,” Peter says, “everybody’s here. We’re going to be going under the fence through a hidden tunnel. It’s going to be tight so you guys are going to have to drop to your stomachs and crawl. It was going to be a waste-drainage pipe but they didn’t give the contractors they hired to do it the right plans and so it turned out that they were digging right on top of one of the power lines for the electric fence. They just left the pipe in there and put a fake rock over the entrance.”

I almost laugh when I hear that. It’s too easy. There must be a catch, mustn’t there?

“The pipe is going to let you out on the side of the patrol road inside the fence,” Peter says, looking between us. He weights his words carefully. “There should not be a patrol moving at the time that we go through,” he says, “but on the off chance that there is, whoever is in front needs to just freeze and wait, you understand?”

He looks around at us until we each nod. It takes Bao the longest but she does acknowledge, at least, that he’s speaking. “You,” he says, pointing to the guy from the cult, “your name is Marcus, right?”

“That’s right,” he says. He has a slow, deep, purposeful voice.

“You’re going to be in front. I don’t normally come in but I will be this time, I have some business to take care of inside. Me and Lily here,” he says, pointing to me, “will be in the rear. You two will be in the middle,” he says, and Rey and Bao nod, a little quicker this time.

“Once we’re inside, you’re going to be going in through a disused emergency exit that they haven’t sealed up because the Pit uses it to breathe. I’m not going to lie to you, it won’t be pleasant. It’s going to be tight, hot, smell horrendous, and it’ll be pitch-black, but it’s a one-way trip without any side branches, so just push through it and you will get through and out into the old Bronchial section. It’s been a long time since I’ve been there but all of my information says that any damage is fairly minimal and you should still be able to get through. Once you’re in, you’re on your own. If you want to come back out, take the same drainage pipe that we go in through and be careful not to cross the road right in front of a patrol. This area that we’re in, there aren’t any cameras, there’s no other detection, so as long as you look out for patrols, you’re fine. If you get caught, I don’t know you and you don’t know me. If you don’t tell them anything, the worst they can do is felony trespassing and a $500 fine. It isn’t great but it also isn’t the worst thing in the world. Understood so far?”

We all nod. My heart is beating quickly; I can hear it in my ears, a little thump reminding me that I’m really doing this, I’m really going to do it.

“Great,” Peter says. “Once you’re inside, the deeper you go the less likely it is that someone will catch you. Flip side is, the deeper you go, the more likely it is something will catch you. Anything with a sign that says ‘LVC’ or ‘Main Gullet,’ don’t go that way, you will get caught. I don’t know what you want to do down there or how long you want to do it for, doesn’t matter to me, but try not to get caught. And one more thing,” he says, looking very seriously at all of us. “Do not, under any circumstances, try to go in or out any other way than the one we’re going to take. That means do not go down to the main orifice. That is the most watched area in the entire facility and it is completely open. I know that this way isn’t great but it’s safe, easy, and it is unobserved. Everybody good?”

Once again we all nod, but I wonder whether or not Rey and Bao have really absorbed the information. Rey keeps watching things moving around in the shadows and Bao’s eyes are unfocused and glassy, and her head rocks lightly to the beat of something none of the rest of us can hear.

Peter gives instructions on how to get to the entrance, which I can now identify as being the same way as he and Makado got out during the disaster, the same breathing orifice that they’d pushed their way through four years ago.

Something about the…the enormity of it, of the thing beneath us and ahead of us and surrounding us, is getting to me. I can feel my skin prickling and a flash of heat passes over me suddenly and I nearly gasp but I contain myself. It wouldn’t do to have a panic attack right now, I tell myself, and I slowly, gradually, get myself back under control. I can feel my hands shaking at my sides and I shove them deep into my pockets. I want a cigarette.

There is finally, it seems, nothing left to talk about, no more instructions or warnings Peter can give us. He nods to himself, going over some kind of mental checklist, and then shrugs. “Alright,” he says. “Let’s go.”

* * *

Fifteen minutes later I’m already laughing at myself for getting so worked up over something so banal. Yeah, the other day when I followed Peter it had seemed like very serious business but here, actually making the trip myself, I can’t help but feel like it’s very small potatoes. It’s just a fence, I say to myself as we walk up to it, and then that turns into it’s just a waste drainage pipe, one that I have to shimmy through on my belly, grimacing as dust and grime gets on my nice coat, but it can’t be helped.

Peter’s behind me and Bao is ahead of me; Peter is staring at my ass, I’m sure, but then I realize that it’s pitch black in here so maybe I can give my ego a break and not assume it’s all about me. I keep having to prop myself up on my hands and knees to readjust the camcorder and make sure I’m not smashing it to bits on the hard floor of the pipe, but eventually we make it through and then we’re standing on an identical bit of hard, scrubby earth, except now we’re on the other side of the fence. As I watch, Bao, Rey, and Marcus all take off along the path, crossing it quickly and dropping down into the ditch below, and then they are just dark silhouettes making their way beneath the sharp half-moon. I get out my camcorder and flip it on and start filming them; the night-vision is really not that effective but it’s way better than just filming in the dark.

Peter clambers to his feet next to me and dusts himself off. “Well,” he says after a moment, “there they go.”

“They really don’t get caught?”

“Not usually. The ones who’re there to, you know, die to it, they go as deep as they can as quick as they can, far as I understand it, and the people with the cult tend to stay in the upper areas. There’s not very many personnel in the Pit right now so the odds of running into somebody is slim.”

I point ahead of us. “Can we go sit on that ridge? I want to get some shots of the Pit itself.”

“Sure. If a patrol comes we’ll have to duck down but it should be alright.”

We make our way across the road and down onto the ridge. I find a little flat section for us to sit on and then I pick out the three dark blobs making their way carefully up the hill. I whistle softly. “That’s the easiest way up there?”

“It is,” he says. “It doesn’t look like it but there’s a clear path, you just have to be careful of your footing.”

The figure in front stops for a moment. I can’t tell from this distance but I think it might be Bao. She stops and turns and looks across the great downward sloping crater of the Pit, and I pan the camcorder around and take a shot of it as well. I frown at the image. “That isn’t flesh down there, is it?”

“No,” Peter says. “They filled it all in with concrete. Do you see that little dark spot over there?”

I look where he’s pointing. “Yes.”

“That’s the orifice. They don’t keep it dilated as wide as they did during the park days, and the elevator is way smaller, too. There’s a little command center down in the gullet but it’s like, maybe a quarter of the size of the LVC. They’re all about minimizing impact now.”

Bao seems to be rocking unsteadily back and forth there on the trail and I turn the camera to record her. “So what happened to Makado?” I ask.

“I told you, she got out fine.”

“You know I don’t believe that.”

“It doesn’t matter if you believe it, it’s the truth.”

“Alright, can you introduce me to her, then? I’d like to meet her, or at least have a phone call.”

Peter laughs. “I really don’t think you’d want that.”

“Why not?”

He makes a little grunting noise. “I think you’d find that she –“

“Holy shit!” I blurt. Peter jumps next to me, looks around wildly.

“What is it?”

I’ve already gotten to my feet. “Bao just fucking ran back down the trail and someone else lost their balance and fell off,” I tell him, pointing at the dark object bouncing down the cliff face towards the white concrete below. Whoever it is they’re flopping like a rag doll, and I wince with each impact. “Jesus Christ,” I say, pointlessly. Next to me, Peter curses.

“Stay here,” he tells me before hustling off into the darkness. It looks as though he’s heading for Bao; I can barely see her but it looks as though she’s collapsed against a large boulder maybe a hundred yards away at the base of the hill, her shoulders shaking.

Well, Bao’s fine. I guess. She must have lost her nerve. I turn around, peer through the screen of the camcorder. Whoever she pushed, either Marcus or Rey, he’s reached the bottom by now and slumped into a huddled pile at the bottom of the crater. I can see one limb extended out limply like an exclamation point. I look back at Bao; Peter’s reached her and is hunched down next to her, trying to get her to move. She’s hugging her legs to her chest and I can see her shaking her head frantically. Did she do it on purpose? I didn’t see the whole thing but it looked like she just panicked.

When I turn back to Rey I can see him moving, trying to get up. “Oh fuck,” I say. He pushes himself up on his hands and then his arm gives out and he falls and lays there. I can just barely see, through the camcorder, his chest rising and falling. “Goddam it,” I say to myself, and then I fold up the camcorder and stuff it back into my jacket pocket, and then I get up and start to carefully pick my way down the heavy rocky incline of the crater lip.

* * *

I’m scared. I’m not ashamed to admit it, I’m terrified. I’m scared that someone is going to see me, is going to see whoever it is at the bottom, Rey or Marcus, and roll up with the black helicopters and take me wherever the Men in Black take you. It’s an insane, worthless fear but I still feel it. About half of me wants to bolt and run, scurry my way back into that drainage pipe and out and never look back, but I look at the lump ahead of me, hardly even seeming to be a person, no matter how beat up, and I see him again trying to rise and again falling and then I’m down there with him, my ankle aching from where I stepped wrong and very slightly rolled it, and I get down on my knees next to him. “Hey,” I say, “I’m here, it’s okay.”

He’s muttering in anguished Spanish to himself and I have to repeat myself a few times before he cracks his eyes open, his face dirty, blood from a cut above his eyebrow seeping down and stinging at his eye. He says something to me in Spanish and I trot out the little I know. “No entiendo,” I say, “Uh. Habla ingles?”

“Yeah,” he coughs. “You’re – Lily?”

“My name is Roan actually. Are you okay? Can you stand?”

“Rowan?”

“Roan. Like the horse. My parents were hippies.”

He looks at me like I’m speaking Greek and I might as well be. I put my hand out. “Can you stand?” I ask again, and he takes it. I help him pull himself up but his leg buckles beneath him and he lets out a cry of pain that echoes in the deserted Pit, bouncing off the soft white concrete expanse.

“I think I broke it,” he says. “Oh god.”

He’s staring around again, wilder than before. I look around in spite of myself but as I knew there would be there’s nothing there. I reach into my pocket and click the voice recorder on.

“What do you see?” I ask him.

“You don’t see them?”

“No, I can’t,” I shake my head. “What are they?”

That gets his attention and he tears his eyes from whatever vision he can see cavorting around us. He looks at me closely. “You don’t…you don’t see them?”

“No.”

“Oh,” he says, sounding disappointed. He tries to rise again but I put my hand on his shoulder.

“Wait,” I tell him. “Your leg must be broken, we can’t –“

“I’m so close,” he says. His eyes are wild now, and fixed on me. Before I can take a step back he’s thrown his weight towards me awkwardly and grabbed my arm. His hands are sweaty. “You have to help me.”

“Put your arm around me,” I tell him, crouching down. He’s heavy enough that I don’t know whether I’ll really be able to help much, but if I get on the same side as his hurt leg I can at least make sure he doesn’t have to put weight on it. The hard part will be getting up again –

Rey cries out again and I wince. “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “This is going to be rough but we have to get you up.”

“No,” he says, leaning on me. His face is pale now, his mouth tight and drawn with the effort.

“No?” I ask. “Come on, we need to leave like right now –“

“No,” he repeats, one shaking finger extended out ahead of us. He’s pointing to the tall gantry of the elevator down into the Pit. “We have to go there,” he says. “I have to –“

“Absolutely not,” I tell him. “We have to go –“

But he is starting forward towards the gantry and I curse and walk with him, because if I don’t he’ll fall, he’ll cry out again, he’ll fucking crawl on his hands and knees over to the goddam gantry, I can see it in his eyes, I know he will without even wondering how I know, and even though the lurching pace we set is clearly causing him pain, he urges me forward without any regard for his leg, hanging uselessly at his side, the foot jostling along the concrete every now and then and making him groan, a low deep animal noise that makes me feel as though I’m going to be sick.

We make it about halfway before a deep, rumbling alarm starts somewhere and ratchets up to a screech and all the lights click on and turn the night to day. All the strength seems to leave my body; I almost collapse. “Oh fuck,” I say.

“Come on,” he says. I glare at him; I’m sweating, the tight grip he has around my shoulders is starting to hurt, and he isn’t exactly slim. It’s taking all of my effort to keep him upright and walking and I am so close to just dropping him. I give him a dirty look and try to summon up my willpower, every single ounce of meanness and cruelty in my body and just twist out of his grasp and let him fall, but I can’t do it.

“Goddam it, Rey,” I tell him. “It’s a fucking elevator, they won’t let you on, there aren’t going to be stairs you can go down.”

“Come on,” he says again. The closer we get to the orifice the deader his voice gets. He keeps looking over his shoulder but there isn’t anything there, at least not yet; a pair of headlights are cresting the ridge and I can see people piling out of what looks like a Humvee but they aren’t anywhere close to us yet.

I reflect, briefly, on how useless this venture is; we probably could have gotten away if Rey hadn’t insisted on coming down here to peer down an empty elevator shaft. And if I hadn’t had such a damn big heart I could have gotten away, at least. Felony trespassing; well, I have the money for the fine, at least, but that’s got to be at least a year in federal prison, nothing to sneeze at. Maybe they have special accommodations for sick people? At the very least once I tell all of the prison lesbians what’s wrong with me they’ll –

“YOU TWO DOWN ON THE EXCLUSION PLATE!” a tremendous voice yells down at us through a megaphone. I nearly jump out of my skin but somehow manage to keep ahold of Rey. “STOP WHERE YOU ARE OR WE WILL SHOOT!”

I stop but Rey keeps going. “Rey, stop,” I tell him, but he doesn’t pay any attention to me. We’ve gotten far enough now that the end is in sight, the gantry is maybe twenty or thirty feet ahead of us and the yawning hole in the concrete is visible, but I can’t see inside it, not from this angle. “Rey!” I yell, but he pushes me back and I stumble to my knees. Rey breaks into a shambling run, or tries to anyway, but his leg simply is too hurt for him to put any weight on it. He nearly falls but he catches himself and bounces back up.

The first gunshot is unbelievably loud, even though it seems to come from a mile away. I hear it crack and I scream and fall down to my knees, my shoulders cringing together without any conscious effort on my part. I can see a spray of concrete splinters rising at Rey’s feet like shrapnel, and I realize the shot missed. He’s nearly there. I don’t know what he wants to achieve. I throw my jacket off and wrestle with the pocket, pull out the camcorder as quickly as I can force my shaking hands to operate, and snap it open so quickly I nearly break it. I start filming just in time to see the third, fourth, and fifth bullets bury themselves in him, two in his shoulder and one in his thigh. I cry out again but Rey is utterly silent. He’s down on his hands and knees but he tries to rise, and then another bullet catches him, this time in the back of the head, and he is down for good, and I realize that I’m crying, even while I’m trying very hard to keep the camcorder steady to get the shot of Rey’s supine body, one hand extending forward, reaching for the edge of the orifice, just ten feet away from him, a shocking red spray of arterial blood staining the concrete ahead of him like a punctuation.

Then two pairs of hands catch me under the shoulders and haul me to my feet and someone takes away my camcorder and they shove my head into a hood and then I can’t see. They force my hands together behind my back and handcuff me and I want to say something witty, quip something vaguely salacious like ‘easy boys, get to know me first before you get out the handcuffs’ but I can’t make my voice work the way it ought to and I’m still crying and shaking and I realize as they half carry half drag me to some kind of vehicle and fold me into it that I’ve wet myself, and any sort of bravery I might have been able to muster disintegrates into a painful, sharp-edged mass of shame and fear and embarrassment and a feeling not unlike I’m falling, like what I thought was just a rabbit hole has turned into a bottomless pit.

Continue with Part 11

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#writing #mystery flesh pit #mystery #michael crichton #disaster #thriller #spilled ink #original writing #series

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canyouhearthelight · 4 years

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The Miys, Ch. 84

Somehow I managed to get this chapter written, despite a pinched nerve that left me, essentially, on bed rest for two days. I keep telling myself I need to make a buffer of chapters, but my life has decided not to cooperate...

I hope everyone out there is staying safe and healthy. Where I live, we are currently under a stay-at-home order, and my company (essential) finally got us up and running to work from home this past week. So I at least have that, and I’m aware how fortunate I am for that.

As always, my inbox and ask box are wide open, so feel free to drop me a line. I love interacting with people on a normal basis.

Somewhat more disturbed than usual, I left Xiomara’s office with Charly in tow. I was about to let her know she was okay to head home when I realized I didn’t really have a choice - Xio made it very clear that I needed an escort with me at all times. Conor was still at work, Tyche stayed behind with my fellow Councillor, and Maverick was likely off work but at home. Charly, however, was right here and one look at her face let me know she was taking her new duties seriously.

“I can call GK,” I tried in vain.

“Nope.” She popped the ‘p’ emphatically. “I have a job to do, and ulterior motives. Ninja grandma isn’t taking my spot.” I arched a brow in inquiry, and wasn’t left disappointed. “Ma’am. Suspected cult leader? Attempted viking overlord? And this person clearly has it in for you? Do the guys know? Does Derek know? Hell, does Arthur know?”

“Why do I feel like Arthur outranks my actual partners in that list?”

“He was a warlord, and apparently your bestie in a past life? Stop stalling and talk. Start at freaking cult leader?”

“Alleged.”

“Sophia Michelle, I swear to - “

“That’s not my middle name.”

“And that’s not the point!”

Well, I tried. With a sigh, I surrendered to the inevitable. “A bunch of people have been acting suspiciously lately, all over the Ark. Anti-social, darting eyes, hushed whispers, all that stuff. Tyche and I thought it was just us, until Noah and I were walking one day and a group of them just plowed into us.” I stopped and ran a hand through my hair anxiously. “If it had happened even a week earlier, I would have just shrugged it off and been done. The issue was this.” I tapped my temple emphatically. “Tyche insisted that I get the proximity update to my implant, to avoid being triggered by people walking into me.”

“Well, yeah, that makes sense,” she shrugged brightly. “Not like I didn’t notice… I can’t exactly sneak up and hug you anymore.” She scowled comically.

I let a small smile creep onto my face before continuing. “Right. Well, this was a group of about eight people. They either all ignored the alert, or somehow turned it off. We - well, Derek and Zach - are still trying to figure out which it was. Either way, it was a cause for concern, so a bunch of us brought it to Xiomara. We suspected it might be a cult, so Grey was also consulted. They agreed there was a possibility, but pointed out we need inside information. Jokull Bjornson, recipient of your feral tendencies, is our best guess for the leader if it is a cult. So, Xio said she would look into it, but essentially told me that anyone associated with me would be out of the loop.”

“So why is Tyche…?”

“I don’t knowwww!” I whined in frustration. “And it’s not like she can tell me, so I can’t exactly ask, because I don’t want her to feel bad, right?”

“Ugh, that sucks,” she agreed. “And you have no idea why this guy hates your kidneys?”

“Eyeah, as far as that goes? You know as much as I do, and I know that isn’t much right now.”

She shrugged before bouncing on her toes. “Don’t worry. I’ll talk to Coffee, he’ll probably agree to shadow you some of the time. And it would be from a distance, so you wouldn’t feel like a kid being walked to kindergarten.” When I looked at her, skeptical, she shrugged again. “He likes you.”

“He’s spoken maybe four words to me,” I pointed out.

“And yet, you understand him. That means he likes you.”

My mind reeling, we made the rest of the way to my quarters with small talk. However, when we arrived, Charly refused to head home until she saw Maverick and the door closed behind me. I swear, I get confronted once…

“Why did Charly look like an attack marten?”

Nuggets. “There was an incident today,” I groaned before peeking up at the ceiling. “Miys? Were you recording in Xiomara Kalloe’s office between 1800 and 1900 subjective ship time?”

“I was not, Wisdom.”

Figures. Special ops of whatever flavor Xio had been did not lend well to being surveilled. “Okay, thank you.” I looked back at Maverick. “I don’t want to explain this again, so give me a second. I was recording, because I knew this would happen.” After some fidgeting to isolate the conversation in Xio’s office, I flicked the file over to Maverick. “It’s audio only, but it at least saves me some time.” I left him to watch it while I wandered into the food prep area for a drink.

I managed to swallow my second sip of wine before an angry shout came from the living room. “What the hell!?” was followed by Maverick striding into the kitchen and checking me over. “Were you hit? Did he fucking touch you?”

My arm was tangled in my shirt before I was able to stop him. “Mav… Maverick.. Babe! Stop! I swear, I’m fine. Even Charly is fine - “

“Charly being fine is Coffee’s concern - “

“But we are both okay,” I finished. “I swear, he didn’t even touch me. Charly shoved me out of the way before he could.”

“I’m gonna - I need to get Conor, we’re gonna kill - “

“Listen to the rest of the recording,” I begged. “He didn’t just walk away, I promise.”

After a couple of deep breaths and another glance to make sure I was okay, Maverick nodded. “I’m going to play this entire thing when Conor is home, probably after securing him to something that is bolted to the deck.”

“Well, that’s one way to keep him from flying off the handle,” I mused.

“Uh huh,” he replied sardonically, not even a bit fooled by what I was implying. “I don’t think even that is going to distract him.”

“It was worth a shot.”

“I think French toast has a better chance.”

“Gotcha. French toast and lots of restraints.”

That got a laugh out of Maverick, and he finally let go of my shoulders. While he shot a message to our third to skip the overtime, I started getting ingredients together for a hearty breakfast-for-dinner meal. We managed to time it just right, so the main dish came out of the oven just as Conor was finishing his shower.

Any hope that we even partially fooled him was dashed right after he sat down and saw the spread. First he grinned, then got serious, and one glance at the broiled tomatoes gave it away. “Neither of you like those,” Conor pointed to the offending dish with a whine. “Something bad happened, didn’t it?” He glanced at our expressions before sighing and filling his plate. “Alright, what gives? Another plague? Ship stalled in space? Lost forever in subspace or whatever?”

“Something happened today,” I ventured carefully. “I sent Maverick a recording, and he can play it if you want…”

To his credit, Conor held up one hand while he shoveled a piece of French toast into his mouth as fast as he could chew, quickly followed by one fried egg and two pieces of sausage. Finally, he nodded. “Okay. Got enough to make sure I’m not reacting on an empty stomach.”

“I just ask that you listen to the entire recording, no matter how bad it is at the beginning?”

He sighed again, held up his hand, chugged a glass of milk. “Okay. I will do everything in my power to sit right here and not touch anything fragile or talk until I hear the whole thing.”

I really couldn’t ask for more than that, so I nodded to Maverick. Once he pulled up the audio recording, we sat tensely until it finished. The only sounds outside of the record were Conor grinding his teeth and both men clenching their hands tightly enough to pop the joints. Their expressions were a kaleidoscope of emotions, finally settling on determination when they heard Xiomara insist that I have an escort until further notice.

Snagging seconds of everything, Conor nodded to Maverick. “Us, Tyche, apparently Charly.. You think that Farro bloke?”

“He would,” Maverick agreed, digging into his own now-cold plate of food. “Don’t forget Grandma Kim.” Conor pointed emphatically with his fork at the suggestion.

“Wait, what are you two doing?” I sputtered. “Putting together a hit squad?”

“Ach, no,” Conor dismissed my suggestion. “Escort detail. If we wanted to take the fucker out, we’d leave it to Tyche and Farro and be done.”

“Not you?” I was so confused.

Maverick shook his head, gesturing with one finger between the two men. “We would feel guilty and regret it, probably the rest of our lives. Those two, especially with someone who is endangering you again? Probably would sleep better the night they did it.”

Conor nodded enthusiastically. “But I’m rather fond of your sister, and the Farro fella is alright I guess, so I’d hate to see them sedated and popped out an airlock at FTL speeds.”

“Oh,” I replied dumbly. I expected to have to calm them down, not to see them make such merciless decisions so quickly. “Um. In that case. Charly said she’d talk to Coffee about shadowing me some of the time?”

I jumped when Conor hit the table with one hand. “See, that’s what I’m talkin’ about! We’ll keep you safe, Sophie… Aw, shit…” He jumped up and knocked the chair over as I dissolved into tears.

My eyes were closed so tightly that I actually lashed out as arms circled around me. It was only when a smooth cheek pressed against my own that my body recognized it was Maverick and surrendered to protection. Vaguely, I could hear Conor speaking, but just enough to register that it wasn’t directed at me, so the words just didn’t register as important.

When I finally calmed down, I was curled tightly in a ball on a soft surface, black hair obstructing my vision. Maverick’s voice was speaking, an almost-chant that was soothing me. “I’m right here. I won’t let anyone hurt you. You’re safe. I’m right here…” I realized he was rubbing me briskly, alternating between my arms and my legs.

With a sniff, I lifted my head. “I’m sorry,” I started.

He shushed me. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he assured me. “It was a tense situation, and you expected one of us to get angry, so when Conor hit the table, your body didn’t realize it was a cheer and not anger. You just heard someone you expected to be angry hitting something. It’s okay.”

“Conor…?” I started to ask, not able to make the words go.

“Not mad,” a voice from the door assured me. When I wormed my way to see his face, Conor was sitting on the floor, back against the door frame. “As soon as I saw your face collapse, I realized what I did. I’m sorry, Sophie. But I swear I’m not mad. Or upset, or disappointed, or any of those things that your mind is trying to over-pick at. I just feel like an idiot, that’s all.”

“You’re not a idiot,” I insisted.

He grinned. “And you’ll defend me to your dying day, I think. But I should have been more mindful, and I will be. I swear. No loud noises when Sophie’s nervous - it isn’t a huge request. I can leave the room, just like when I’m mad, right?” That grin never lost its sunny nature, and I knew he meant it.

He stood to come over, and I felt Maverick’s arms tighten around me. “You upset her again, I’m going to knock your lights out,” a voice warned over my shoulder.

“I’d let you do it, mate,” Conor replied sincerely, holding out his hand. I reached for it, but he merely squeezed my fingers before reaching further.

He wanted Maverick’s permission, I realized. Not just mine. Tension flooded what I now realized was our bedroom before Maverick finally took Conor’s hand. “I mean it,” he insisted with a warning tone. “Do better, or I’m going to knock you out every time you, personally, upset her.”

“Someone should,” Conor agreed sincerely.

“Violence is not the way to handle this,” I sniffed. “There’s a learning curve, but it’s pretty steep with all the anxiety on the ship right now.” Wriggling so I could see them both, I tried to muster a stern look. “Episodes like this are going to happen. We’re just going to have to learn, together, how to navigate them.”

“Still, no loud noises when Sophie’s nervous.”

Maverick nodded. “That definitely seems like a good starting point.”

I couldn’t exactly argue with that.

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#the miys #humans are weird #aliens #found family #original fiction #science fiction #tw panic attack #tw ptsd #relationships #apocalypse #humans are strange #humans are space orcs #earth is space australia #my writing #original scifi #original writing

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first-and-last-neocount · 4 years

Text

Death, the Shadow, Spreads Its Wings Around Me - Chapter 1

Yooooo, I finally finished the first chapter of my first fic! And it’s a multi-chapter Resident Evil/Supernatural crossover, so it’s not like I’m diving straight into the deep end at all! *sweats*

All thanks to the wonderful @fonulyn, who nudged me into actually finishing and posting this damn thing by luring me into squealing about my ideas over Tumblr and then drowning me in supportive comments until I gave in. You’re an absolute darling, Fon, and I hope you enjoy my contribution to our cozy little Nivannedy rowboat.

Most of it’s under a cut, since it got awfully long for a first chapter, lol. Or you can read it on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26437897/chapters/64411741

Chapter 1:

The ocean looked as black as ink.

Wreckage from the underwater base was strewn through the rolling waves, pieces as small as sheets of paper up to entire sections of insulated wall nearly ten feet across; all the truly heavy material had plunged to the bottom of the bay, but the rest now bobbed and swirled on the surface. Stormclouds had rolled in, the winds whipping the bay to a frenzy and darkening the water until it was impenetrably dark. A sea of shadows, from which nothing good could emerge.

Leon should have been resting in a medical tent, but instead he was on a boat cutting its slow but steady way across the churning waves, helping the rescue teams as they searched against all the odds for survivors. The winds had grown too unpredictable for a helicopter, so they were doing it the old fashioned way – a half-dozen coastal patrol boats, spread out into as even a grid as they could manage on the open water, combing through the debris field. Leon didn't hold out much hope for survivors, but he needed to be here anyway.

Even if he only managed to find the body, it was the least he could do.

When Leon had made it to the emergency command centre that the BSAA had set up just outside of Lanshiang's city limits, it had been in too much chaos for him to get a meaningful report from anyone. The explosion of Neo-Umbrella's underwater base had thrown everything into a frenzy, as rescue and salvage teams scrambled to deal with the fallout and contain any potential escaping bioweapons. When Leon had found the hasty medical centre and walked into the first tent, he'd been relieved to see Chris Redfield sitting on one of the folding cots, one arm in a sling and cut and bruised to hell but otherwise seemingly unharmed. Ignoring the chaos of medical personnel rushing around them, Leon made his way over to the BSAA Captain, and even managed to dredge up a wry smile from somewhere under his exhaustion.

“Well, we did it again, I guess. You'd think someone else would take a turn at saving the world one of these days...”

Chris had looked up at him, and Leon stopped in his tracks. There was something far worse than the usual exhaustion in Chris's dark brown eyes. His face was mostly expressionless, too tired to convey what was clearly churning inside him, but his eyes – his eyes were almost black with despair, filled with the kind of pain that Leon knew all too well. He offered only a single sentence.

“Piers didn't make it out.”

The ground didn't crack open beneath Leon's feet. The sky didn't fall. There were no explosions or dramatics or apocalyptic signs; instead, the world just... stopped. The noise of the chaos around them cut off as if the audio track had simply been muted, leaving ringing silence in Leon's ears. In that moment, a grenade could have gone off three feet away and he wouldn't have heard it. His vision seemed to dim around the edges, narrowing in until he couldn't see anything beyond Chris Redfield's hunched, defeated shoulders and despairing eyes. He couldn't feel the weight of his tac vest or the aching of his own muscles, couldn't smell the lingering smoke in the air – everything was gone, leaving him unmoored and adrift, his brain no longer processing the wealth of information that his body was trying to convey.

Low and echoing, as if from down a long tunnel, Leon heard himself rasp out, “What... happened?”

“He saved my life.” Chris's expression twisted as he said it, some of the raw agony in his voice finally breaking through onto his face. “We... that thing down there... if it got out, so many people would have died. We had to stop it.” His head bowed forward, his gaze falling to the ground – yet his haunted stare was clearly seeing something else, flashes of the horror he had just lived through.

“Piers got caught under debris. Crushed his arm. We were going to lose, we didn't have a chance... then he. Injected himself, with something.” A shudder ran through the Captain's frame. “He started to mutate. Whole arm swelled, muscles, spines, the whole nine yards. Fought the creature off with some kind of electrical blast. Got me into an escape pod, even though I was barely conscious.” Another shudder, stronger than the last. “Then he... when the base blew...” He looked back up at Leon, and the mask of exhaustion was gone, fiercely held-back tears shimmering in his eyes and his handsome features warped with helpless rage. “He stayed behind.”

This time it was Leon who couldn't hold the gaze. He turned away, his gaze drifting over the walls of the tent before fixing, still not really seeing, on the view from the open flaps of the tent – on the grim orange light reflecting against the gathering clouds, the rising plumes of black smoke reaching up like grasping hands. Lanshiang was burning, whole tracts of the city turned to rubble by the wanton destruction of the J'avo mutants, and it felt like the perfect mirror to the devastation unfolding inside Leon's heart.

Piers Nivans. Leon had only crossed paths with the young sniper a few times, and always in the context of a mission, where the BSAA and DSO's interests had overlapped; they had probably only spoken directly to each other on a handful of occasions, yet that had been enough for the younger man to make a powerful impression on Leon.

Admittedly, it had been his looks that had caught Leon's eye the first time. Leon had never tried to make much of a secret of his preference for tough, muscular men who looked like they could probably bench press him if they tried; Piers hadn't only had that going for him, but also stunning hazel-green eyes, a jawline to die for, and a fierce self-confidence that he wore like the proverbial shining armor of a noble knight. After only a few brief exchanges, though, Leon had realized there was so much more beneath the surface; Piers might have acted like just another military muscle-head sometimes, but he was also kind, quick-witted, and compassionate. While other agents often shied away from Leon, intimidated by his reputation, Piers had looked at Leon with something embarrassingly close to awe in his eyes sometimes... but he'd still had the nerve to ask if Leon was okay after an intense fight, offer him a hand into an escape chopper, even once argue with him when he thought the plan to breach a building full of infected was too risky. Chris had once commented to Leon that Piers usually stayed in the background and left the detail-wrangling to others, but that when Leon was present, he seemed compelled to step into the conversation; Leon had been unexpectedly warmed by that little revelation. He'd even wondered, sometimes, if the spark of attraction he felt for the sniper might be mutual. Their line of work didn't allow much time for their private lives, and Leon had mostly given up on the idea of romance after how spectacularly his relationships with Ada and Jack had crashed and burned, but something about Piers had made him want to reconsider. Maybe someday, he'd thought. A beer after work, just the two of them, without the rest of Chris's boisterous team around – get to know each other better, see if their compatibility only existed on the battlefield or if that chemistry extended to personal interactions as well. Always, though, those ideas had come with those inherent caveats; possibly, maybe, someday.

Now, someday would never come.

The numbness was starting to wear off a little, the duller throbs and sharper aches of his body making themselves known again, but Leon couldn't fathom the thought of resting. More pressing than all the physical pains was the sudden, burning knowledge that he'd forgotten the other crucial truth of their work. That all of them spent their lives standing on the very threshold of annihilation; that all too often, someday never arrived. Planning for tomorrow was a fool's dream, because none of them ever knew if they'd even have a tomorrow – if Leon wanted something with Piers, he should have grabbed for it with both hands, when he had the chance. And the slow, collapsing hole of despair in his chest told him that whether or not he'd admitted it before, he really, really had wanted it. He'd let his own fear hold him back, though, and now the chance was gone.

“They're putting together a recovery team, to see if they can find any survivors – or remains.” The sound of his own voice was startlingly normal, but Leon didn't turn to face Chris; he didn't want to find out if his face was holding up the facade as well. “I'm going with them. I'll bring his body back if I can.”

“What?” He heard Chris shift behind him, the sudden concern in his voice. “Leon, you're exhausted, you -”

“Get some rest. I'll let you know when I get back.” Forcing himself into motion, Leon strode out of the tent, ignoring Chris calling after him. The edges of the gaping void in his chest were growing, the chasm spreading wider and wider as the reality of the situation sank in, threading tingling lines of pain through his whole body. It felt as though, if he stopped moving now, he might just fold in on himself like a dying star and crumble into nothingness.

That could come later. First, he had to do what he could for Piers – even if it was far, far too late for it to matter. Even if all he could manage was to bring his body home.

The icy spray coming off the waves as the boat cut through them barely even registered on Leon's skin; he felt just as cold inside, that black hole of pain swallowing his organs and filling his veins like tar. He wasn't alone in his focused silence – no one in the boat was talking, all of them standing rigidly at the rails and staring intently out at the waters around them, searching for signs of life... or, failing that, of human remains. So far, they had only recovered two bodies, both of Neo-Umbrella scientists who must have been working inside the facility when it was destroyed. Those bodies had been placed at the very back of the boat, tucked against the rear rail under a tarp, and were being studiously ignored; Leon wouldn't have even bothered to fish them from the water, if it were up to him. They had known what they were choosing when they signed on with Neo-Umbrella. The people who kept this interminable war going, who made it necessary for good men like Piers Nivans to give up their lives to keep their world safe... they didn't deserve burying, if you asked Leon.

Suddenly, his gaze caught something other than the smooth surfaces of the laboratory wreckage. He called it out before he even fully knew what he'd seen. “I see something! Twenty degrees left!”

The boat slowed and turned, heading toward the object he'd seen. As a wave crested and sank, Leon got a better glimpse, and his heart leapt into his throat. It was a body, alright; floating face up, half-draped across a piece of wreckage, and wearing not the white of a lab coat but camouflage military gear. They were still some distance away, and the body's face was turned away - but Leon could just make out the drape of a piece of grey-green fabric around the body's neck, sodden wet and plastered down against the tac vest but still distinguishable as a scarf, and he knew. He knew with a certainty that turned his blood to ice.

Piers.

As the boat pulled closer, murmurs swept through the boat crew; they might not have known Piers by name, but they all recognized that the man whose body they were approaching had been a BSAA Lieutenant by the insignia on his left shoulder. Leon didn't make a sound, his gaze trained on Piers, his pain-numbed brain finally starting to recognize that there was something strange about the corpse. They had almost reached their target when Leon's sluggish mind finally connected the pieces, and he inhaled sharply.

Chris had said that Piers injected himself with one of Neo-Umbrella's viral cocktails, that he'd mutated heavily enough to have spines and some kind of electrical discharge. Hell, prior to that, his arm had apparently been crushed by falling debris. And yet...

The right side of Piers's shirt was torn away, exposing not only his arm but the side of his chest as well. Even his tactical gear there had taken a beating, the vest ripped and sagging as though the swelling of the mutation had burst it. Yet – there was no mutation. All Leon could see was smooth, tanned skin. Piers's arm looked whole and undamaged, as human as it had ever been where it lay limply at his side, not even cut or bloodied as Chris had been; other than the deathly pallor under his tan, and the horrible stillness of his chest, he looked entirely uninjured.

As the boat pulled alongside the wreckage, the two men closest reached out with hooked poles and snagged the back of Piers's tac vest. With a few muted grunts, they dragged the BSAA agent's limp form closer, until they could reach down enough to grab him and haul him up onto the boat. As they lowered him gently onto the slick wood of the deck, Leon couldn't help but kneel down and reach out to touch him, mind spinning and chest aching fit to burst. He was distantly aware of a few of his companions watching him with pitying eyes, but no one tried to stop him; it was obvious that Piers was gone, but it must have been equally obvious that Leon was breaking down, and that he wouldn't fully accept it until he'd felt the sniper's cold skin and absent pulse for himself.

His shaking fingers landed first on Piers's shoulder, touching that undamaged flesh and wondering with a sick shudder what fresh hell Neo-Umbrella had cooked up, that the horrific mutation Chris had described had simply vanished as though it had never been – but the moment he made contact the muscles under his hand tensed, Piers's brilliant hazel eyes flew open, and his chest heaved as he gasped for breath and started to cough.

“Piers!” Heart suddenly pounding double-time, Leon grabbed for the sniper's wrist; even as he sought for a pulse, his other hand was smoothing the sniper's soaked hair back from his face, assessing the look of wild panic in Piers's eyes. “Get me blankets and a first aid kit, now! Piers, can you hear me? You're safe, I promise, you're going to be fine -”

“Agent Kennedy?” Piers's voice was a weak rasp, barely audible over the sudden flurry of movement around them, but his eyes had refocused and were fixed steadily on Leon. The recognition and awareness there made Leon's heart flutter, and he managed a shaky smile, smoothing Piers's hair back again needlessly. He could feel the BSAA agent's pulse with his other hand, stunningly strong and steady, and it made him smile wider despite the absolute deluge of adrenaline running wild through his veins.

“Yeah, it's me. Just stay with me, Piers, you're gonna be okay.”

Leon knew that the odds of that were not actually in their favour – hell, it was bordering on an impossibility that Piers was even alive at all, and a downright miracle that he wasn't mutated beyond recognition – but he said with all the conviction he could muster, and it was almost enough to convince himself. Piers smiled weakly back at him, then the medic was there, wrapping warm blankets around Piers and asking rapid-fire questions about where he was hurt and how much he could feel as the man began to cut away his waterlogged tactical gear. Leon moved back a little to give the medic room to work, but when he would have let go of Piers's wrist, the sniper grabbed his hand and held on; heart swelling with too many emotions to even begin to process them now, Leon mirrored that fierce grasp and stayed close, unwilling to move an inch further away than he had to as long as Piers clearly wanted him there.

As the medic did a thorough inventory of Piers's injuries, checking vital signs and testing responses while looking for any major wounds, a strange look of consternation came across the man's face. Before Leon could ask, the medic said slowly, “Lieutenant, are you in any pain right now?”

Piers blinked, then frowned. “Um, not really?” he said, looking rather surprised by that fact himself. “I figure I'm in shock, though, because I don't even feel cold and I'm pretty sure you guys just fished me out of the ocean.”

“We did, yes.” The medic was frowning too. “Yet your core body temperature is already returning to something near normal. Your heart rate is steady, your blood pressure is only slightly elevated, you have no major visible wounds, and you don't seem to be suffering any loss of sensation.”

Piers froze, and his grip on Leon's hand tightened. “Wait.” he breathed out, eyes wide, and looked down at his own arm in bewilderment. “My arm... I was...”

“Chris said you got hurt pretty badly down there.” Leon murmured, cutting Piers off – he didn't know how the medic would react if Piers admitting to having been infected, but he knew it wouldn't be in any way good and he wasn't anxious to find out specifics. There were absolutely no signs of mutation or mental alteration in evidence, and unless and until Piers started showing worrying symptoms, Leon wasn't going to let them lock him up in quarantine when he'd somehow managed to survive what should certainly have killed him. “You look fine though. Maybe... Chris just got it wrong, yeah? Heat of the moment and all that.”

Piers looked up, met Leon's gaze – and whatever he saw there, it made his eyes go wide, and Leon could have sworn he saw the sniper's cheeks flush, ever so slightly. “Right.” Piers said, voice still slightly hoarse. “Yeah. I... it was pretty chaotic there, for a while. I got thrown against the wall, and I just assumed my arm was broken and I was powering through on adrenaline. Can't stop to assess injuries mid-fight, you know? But maybe I – maybe it was just a little bruised after all.”

“It appears so.” The medic still looked perplexed, but he shrugged. “You're damn lucky, then, Lieutenant – we thought we were out here on a recovery mission only, and I'm damn glad we were wrong.” He stood up then, and cast a pointed glance at Leon. “He needs to stay wrapped up in those blankets until we get back to shore, and one of us needs to get back to helping with the search. You wanna stay and keep an eye on him, make sure he stays awake and responsive?”

Leon usually put a lot of work into maintaining his aloof persona, but right now he'd just been handed a miracle of a second chance and his facade of cool indifference was the last thing on his mind. He nodded gratefully, and the medic nodded back before striding off to rejoin the rest of the crew at the rails.

“Agent Kennedy...”

The soft words brought his gaze back to Piers, and Leon smiled down at him, squeezing his hand gently. “Call me Leon, please.” He said quietly, and got to watch a little smile tug at the corners of Piers's mouth. “Are you really okay?”

“I think so.” Piers held his gaze steadily, hazel eyes open and honest. “The Captain told you what I did, didn't he? You know that I was...”

“He did, and I do.” Leon replied, still keeping his voice low – the recovery crew didn't need to hear this exchange. “Don't particularly feel the need to spread it around, though. You look completely fine, and I don't know how that's possible but I'm not inclined to look a gift horse in the mouth. I'm just incredibly glad you're alive.”

Piers was definitely blushing now, but he was also looking at Leon with dawning confusion. “Wait a second, weren't you in the city when everything went sideways? What are you doing out here with the recovery crew? And where's the Captain?”

“Chris is at the medical tent back at command. He's a bit battered, but he's going to be fine.” Leon said soothingly. “As for why I'm here, I was looking for you.”

Piers just stared at him as if he didn't understand what he was hearing. Leon bit the inside of his cheek a bit, trying to force back the nerves; it had been a long time since he'd opened up to anyone, to any degree, who wasn't Claire or Chris. Even with them, he usually just put a bit less effort into making himself appear 'fine' and let them draw their own conclusions about how he felt. He'd just been given a very sharp and painful confirmation, though, that what he felt for Piers was more than a passing fancy – and even he wasn't stubborn or emotionally constipated enough to ignore that kind of a warning, so he took a deep breath and made himself continue.

“Look, I know we haven't really spent all that much time together, but – I like you, Piers. A lot. And when Chris told me you were dead, I realized what an idiot I was for not saying anything. I let my own fears and hang-ups get in the way, and if you weren't somehow here and alive and safe, I'd have regretted that for the rest of my life.” Piers's eyes had gotten rounder and rounder as Leon spoke, and he was looking at the DSO agent like he had hung the damn moon, and they were still holding hands, so Leon smiled weakly and said, “I guess, what I'm saying is – once the trauma team back at command clears you for real... do you wanna go grab a drink together?”

For a second, Piers looked like he'd frozen in place – then he started nodding vigorously, and a broad smile broke across his face like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. “Yes.” he said fervently. “Hell yes, I – honestly, it's kind of a running joke with the guys on the team at this point, but I really, really like you too, Agent Kennedy.” If anything, his grin only got wider then. “Leon.”

Leon grinned back at him, a light, giddy feeling bubbling up in his chest; it had been far too long at this point, so long that Leon had almost forgotten, and it took him a moment to identify that feeling as joy. For once not tempered by loss, or anger, or bitterness. The city was still burning and the war against bioterrorism might feel like an unwinnable uphill fight, but Piers was alive and safe and they were going to get a drink after debriefing and maybe this once, just this once, Leon could actually get to keep something good in his life.

Their boat finished its section of the grid and turned back toward shore a few minutes later, one survivor and two dead bodies retrieved from the wreckage. It took about a half hour to get from the debris field back to port, and then another ten minutes to make the trek back to the emergency command centre.

Piers didn't let go of Leon's hand until the medical team came to whisk him away for a proper examination, and neither one of them had stopped smiling.

#resident evil #leon s. kennedy #piers nivans #chris redfield #nivannedy #i'm only going to tag characters as they appear #because holy shit my tags on AO3 got long fast #supernatural #eventually anyways #the bits of it that are spn right now aren't really obvious #the neocount writes #holy shit look at that #i used my writing tag again already!#thanks fon :P #and thanks to everyone else #in this nivannedy rowboat with us #it might not be a spacious ship #but we're all having fun paddling like hell XD

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spectralscathath · 4 years

Text

Without Regret, I'd Offer Up My Life

In the end, both James and Fria would place their duty to the world above all else. No matter the personal cost.

or: Ironwood is the one to charge headfirst into Fria's storm.

Ao3 Link

James kept his pace as he left his office behind, leaving his Ace Operatives to keep team RWBY under control while he set off to oversee his plan. He pressed the button on the elevator doors, stepping inside as he ran through his options, trying to see clearly through the aftershocks of terror that still gripped him.

He had a job to do. Lift Atlas into the sky, and protect every citizen that stood upon the city, from the Atlesian-born to the Mantle refugees. What were those children thinking, asking people who they’d just pulled from death’s jaws to dive back in to save a city that had already fallen?

He shoved it out of his mind. There wasn’t time to ponder the morality of actions, or the reasoning behind them. An excellent philosophical discussion to be had, he was sure, but right now was a time for action.

The plan was almost damning in its simplicity. Winter would take the power of the Maiden, open the Vault, and they would create an Atlas that could survive far above Remnant, where not even the Grimm would reach them. They could create an Atlas with sustainable supplies, air, and temperature, and with the magic of the staff, it would be child’s play.

All it would take was Fria’s life, and the lives of those who his army could not evacuate in time. He would keep them running the lines between Atlas and Mantle for as long as he could, but when the time came, they’d be recalled.

There was no time, not with Salem on her way. He didn’t know how long they had.

What mattered was keeping the relics from Salem’s grasp. No matter the cost. He’d bear the burden himself, and every bit of hatred lashed at him for it would be something he could accept. He’d die for Atlas. Living as a heartless monster would be easy in comparison.

“Schnee, what’s the status of the Maiden?” Fria. It was harder to think about what was about to happen to her. He’d hoped she’d go peacefully, and Winter would be there so she didn’t go alone.

Now they’d have to use the machine, and Fria would have to die with the feeling of her soul being ripped away from her and grafted onto Winter. The amount of pain they’d both be in, all on his command.

Atlas could hate him for every order he gave. He’d join them.

He scowled when nothing came through his coms, touching them to try and clear up the signal. “Winter?”

All he heard was feedback, and dread filled his veins. In Beacon, Cinder had followed Ozpin to Amber, and taken Fall for herself.

The building shook, perfectly timed with the panic that punched him in the gut.

Danger.

He went to help, because he couldn’t fathom doing anything else. He was missing a gun and an arm and his aura had only just begun to recharge itself, but he had passed his orders on. With or without him, Atlas could live.

They just needed to keep the Winter mantle safe.

The elevator was too slow as he took the stairs to the medical floor Fria was kept safe on, the entire building shaking a second time as he reached the flight just above. His coms crackled in his ear and Winter’s voice came through, tinny and frazzled, the connection damaged.

“Sir, Fria’s activated her power!” The pain threading Winter’s words was audible even through the faulty earpiece. “I can’t get to her!”

Was this it? Was this Atlas’s fall? “Cinder?” He had to know if Fria’s life was on the line.

“Escaped. Penny went after-” the audio screeched so loud it hurt, Ironwood’s combat-honed instincts going haywire in that one moment as he ripped the earpiece out, accidentally crushing it between metal fingers.

He ran through the wreckage of a medical floor, all the lights shorted out. He could see bodies and scorch marks everywhere, damaged pieces of robots sparking with electricity. His breath began to fog as he arrived at the end of a corridor, the hall lighting up with icy blue from whatever magic Fria had unleashed.

He slowed his steps, one arm in a sling and the cold nipping at his bandages, his right hand drawing a gun that was almost emptied of bullets. The door to Fria’s room had been blown apart, replaced with a wall of solid ice. Inside Ironwood could see lights shifting back and forth, the storm inside raging with Fria at its heart.

He backed up until his heel nearly touched the far wall, placing a shot in the ice as he charged it with his right shoulder, smashing his way into Fria’s vortex.

The cold nearly stopped him right then and there, ripping the air from his lungs as he felt the chill burrow in under his uniform and gnaw at his prosthetics, the metal carrying ice right into his body with ease. He gritted his teeth, stowing his gun in its holster as he tried to shield his face with his right arm, putting all his focus into each step.

The winds alone threatened to blow him off his feet, ice nipping threateningly at his heels as his aura strained to keep him alive against winter’s might. Frost began to form on his metal wrist, his right leg beginning to creak ominously.

He could barely see, his neural implant throbbing in his forehead from the chillit transmitted into his skull. Another step, the winds growing impossibly stronger for a moment before he entered the eye of the storm. Snow crunched under his boots as he looked up at Fria, blue flame burning from her eyes as she floated gently above the ground, staring into nothing.

His heart caught in his throat as he feared that she wasn’t even in there, her power winning out against his soul as his aura burst off him into periwinkle lights, immediately stolen away by the wind. The cold was suddenly a living thing, driving daggers of white hot daggers into every part of him it could touch. The metal hewn to his body felt like death, carrying the chill straight into his core.

Ah. So he did have a heart after all. He just felt it freeze over.

It was only because his right knee joint had locked into place that he didn’t fall, ice creeping up around his boot as he buckled in place, every breath like knives dragging down his throat. He tried to reach for her, desperation all he had left now that willpower had failed him. “FRIA!”

The storm halted, every tiny snowflake caught in midair and crystallised there as the wind died, the air still as his breath came out in ragged pants of mist. Fria stared down at him, her eyes paled to ice by Maiden’s fire instead of a dark blue that matched the night sky.

He stared back, a broken man, half-bandages and frozen metal, crushed by the weight of the world. He wondered if she remembered who he was, terrified of the probability that she didn’t. “Mom.”

Fria gasped quietly, a soft intake of breath as the fire in her eyes fizzled out, clarity taking their place. “James.”

She recognised him. He let out a huff, only the remnants of his tattered composure keeping it from being a sob. She knew him. “Are you okay?”

“I… had a job to do,” she murmured, her voice far away. He hoped she wasn’t slipping again. He could withstand everything the world could throw at him, but the thought of his own mother not knowing his face shattered him in a way he couldn’t bear. “I had a duty.”

Duty. That was something she’d instilled in him. “You did.”

“I was meant to protect the power of the maiden, until I was ready.” She began to float down to the ground, all the snowflakes suspended in the air falling in one heap that covered his shoulders and hair. The air warmed enough for him to move his bionic joints, the metal parts whirring stiffly. Her sandals touched the ground and it was like all the strength her magic gave her was pulled away, leaving a frail waif behind.

“You did great,” He tried to reassure her, catching her before she could fall and gently supporting her weight as he helped her sit down. He sat beside her, knowing he’d failed his own duties as a huntsman, and hoping that just this once he could try to be a good son. “You did. Really.”

The last time he’d visited her, she hadn’t known his face.

That was the day he gave the order that Winter was the only one allowed to see Fria. He would have been a distraction, in the end. There couldn’t be a risk of her thinking of someone like him, or else the power would be lost.

It would have been better for her to forget him entirely, perhaps. No matter how much it hurt.

Fria leaned against his right side, and he was shocked at how light she was. For all his life she had been an uncompromising solidness and a gentle warmth, the two bound together like binary stars.

“I’ve been waiting for so long.” She sounded so tired and he wanted to fix it, fix everything, make a world where no one would have to feel tired or hurt or scared ever again. “I think that I’m ready now.”

He felt like he had been ripped from whatever anchored him to the world and sent spiralling into the void of space, like a piece of the shattered moon drifting off into the galaxy. His throat was tight, an uncomfortable scratching behind his eyes as he felt his stomach drop. “I’m not.”

He didn't want to say goodbye. He wasn’t ready to let go yet.

Fria blinked at him, exhaustion lining her features as some of the adamantine steel from his memories filled her eyes. “James. I know what will happen. I’ll be gone. I remember that much, at least.”

He clenched his jaw, taking short sharp breaths as his chest began to heave. “I know. It’s your duty.”

He was willing to do anything for the good of humanity, make whatever sacrifice of himself that was needed, but by the gods, not this. Please. Why did it have to be his mother?

It wasn’t fair, even though that was a child’s thought.

She smiled at him, comforting him even in her last moments of existence, and he’d never forgive himself for it. “You’re going to be okay.”

“I-” The edges of his vision blurred as his throat closed up, knowing how selfish he was with being here, when it should have been Winter. His own plan, a fragile thing built on trust, shattered by his own clumsy hand.

“Winter. Please. She has to be the next Maiden. It has to be her. I can’t save you,” gods he fucking wished, “but I can save others. I just- it has to be Winter.”

“Winter.” Fria sighed with a contented smile and the tiniest of nods, her breathing beginning to slow down to tiny wisps. “She’s such a nice girl.”

“Yes. She is.” James chuckled as warmth beaded in the corners of his eyes, his voice threatening to crack.

Fria’s eyes slid shut as her head fell against his metal shoulder, hard and unyielding, her last breath rattling out of her like a final dagger sliding in under James’s ribs. White-blue light rippled over her like waves as her aura collected over her heart, the ball of light shooting off like a comet.

He could only hope that the magic reached Winter. All he could do was sit there as the barricades of sheet metal and stubbornness he’d built around his emotions broke open, leaving him to weep brokenly in the cold, Fria Ironwood sheltered in his arms.

What if it’s true as they say, that I don’t have a heart, that I'm more a machine than a man? What would that change? Would it matter at all?

Anyway Hero's the best fucking song ever. We stan. Also this plot goblin wouldn't stop beating me over the head until I wrote it out and now I'm attached to this headcanon, whoops.

#RWBY #James Ironwood #Fria RWBY #Winter Schnee #rwby fics #my writings #because clearly what James needs in his life is MORE pain and suffering #here's my idea for how James and Fria know each other

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blindtaleteller · 4 years

Text

GROUNDED - Chapter 9 (Say My Name) Teaser

The after-calm had Parker worried, he knew. Had Vision just, looking at him with that twitch to one side his chin did when he was trying to figure something out or was processing something difficult. Had Rhodes brows at near constant knit and T’Challa leaned back watching him like he expected Stark to fully crack and just start shooting pretty much everything. They didn’t get it, because they couldn’t see him in it the way Tony did. Not just Ormr, no.

He saw that smile.

Slow and curling, when the needle wasn’t thrust or dropped.

Widening as the point slid in; those dimples, the shine in his eyes.

Almost laughing, when the surface broke, not with that, but when he just as delicately pulled back the needle: and turned the cup of his hand to let it’s flow go where he wanted.

So that feeling was there; the “ Hey girl. Lookin’ for a brunette and a blond. ‘Bout two hundred years between them. “ had that smile in it when he picked up the comms as she’d implied with the point. “ Maybe you know ‘em? Scraggly emo with some extensive love of metallic accessories and a preppy power-lifter with an annoyingly unbending moral compass? I kinda owe ‘em an apology. “

The reference and tone seemed to throw her a little, but Natasha was quick enough to respond. “ They’re inside, yeah. Along with our former J-SOC ‘ friend.’ Vision and Parker need to come with me though- “

“ Plan, right? “ had her squinting at him a moment even as he was pushing the snagged Peter towards Natasha. “ Mm, yep. Plan. Go on kid. You too, Vis. No one under seventeen years of actual sentient existence on this particular ride. Infinity stones not included in that math either, young man. “

“ But Mister Stark, what if-- “ got a metal glove over his mouth along with the “ Nuh-uh, and don’t lick the glove. I make no guarantees you’ll leave with your lips at this temperature if you choose to sass me from behind it anyways, Underoos. Vis? “ and a nod Natasha’s way. “ Take Mister Parker with Miss Romanov. I have a feeling you’ll find Wanda and the rest of the guys that way too. “

T’Challa had only paused til then; passing Tony on his left almost as a signal to get going; while the others retreated into the silent bluster of the sundown snowstorm. They were almost to the door when Nat cut into the Comms again. “ Tony… be careful. “ and had him looking back. Catching how Natasha had turned back facing their way, just to look at them while she said it. “ This guy is gonna try to mess with you. He’s trying to pick us apart. He’ll push buttons you know are there, and haven’t touched. “ she had started after them again when they got a few yards ahead into the white that was picking up the early colors of the coming night. Oranges and reds and violets dancing through the falling, flying snowflakes. “ Please, don’t let him win by giving him what he wants. “

He had that feeling though; well before he’d stepped off the jet. That this was the real test. They weren’t really needed there, otherwise: and Nat, hadn’t asked for T’Challa ...meaning it was only the two of them affected by this. The last two splotches of canvas the bubble’s splash hadn’t fixed, yet.

He saw other things Lolo had told him about. Made him aware of, just by saying these things to him; over chess, over work, over a lake of lava between worlds when he’d needed something to distract him from his mother’s death. Feeling the press and push of it; the air before the rush hit. The weight of it making the snow seem light by comparison with every step.

He didn’t want to run from it though; like he’d said most did. He felt that though; saw it in how quickly T’Challa tensed up once they were in the door and the silence of it closed in around them. Passed the tense cat-man with an unfocused clarity and need to find the center of it all from where it called; well before he saw Bucky Barnes just appear in sight at the bottom of those long stairs: look directly at him and disappear ahead and into it.

He was tempted to run, the magnetism was so strong. The pulling need to see the heart of it with his own eyes. As it was he almost left the Panther behind by an entire flight with the surreal excitement to the quick near jog down the steps that followed.

Tony heard the sound of it knocking off the walls and partially up the stairs as they got to the second to last level. Tick-tap. A little song with an unset rhythm. TickticktackTAPtishtick and ...tap. Metal on glass and more metal. TicktickTICKtickity - tick. It stopped T’Challa when the first tapping note of that irregular not-heartbeat tickled it’s way to their ears up the staircase from the broad, bent-open doors. There was dark in there. And the flicker of electricity, light further back; too. Blues and golden yellows and the slight singy white of further off filtered fluorescents.

Reflecting off the old cement floors when he turned the corner around that last piece of banister and the sound became so much clearer.

Tick,ticktap, tap-taptackity-ticktick TACK!

And, that laugh; rumbling, from the one of them he could see clearly. Bubbling with absolute joy so completely opposite of everything he had known about snakeface that it was in itself a strange and hair-raising kind of pretty watching him tap a much meaner, visceral cruel set of black bladed claws across and around a lit glass porthole in the massive steel walls. He felt there was something on the other side....

------===========

Read all of GROUNDED: Say My Name, on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26158483/chapters/65398159

Honestly my favorite scene to write was this one. I think cinematically when writing, and having a stupidly detailed audio-visual memory helps but can be scary sometimes. Confronting Zemo in Siberia was already an unforgettable and pivotal, cringey portion of the canon scene in CA: Civil War.

The first thought was that, not just the cringe, but the creepy tension would definitely have been amped and played up by Ormr once he had him in sight. Not sure if it comes across to others that way but; I can see the snake playing his fangs against the jar the mouse is hiding in very clearly still ..

#loki #loki mcu #loki marvel #god of mischief #trickster #trickster god #tony stark #iron man #frostiron #Lokiverse #frostiron fic #frostiron fanfiction #GROUNDED #Mixology #Say My Name #inspired by music

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loser-62 · 5 years

Text

first dph trip

trip report.

I've been looking into dph for a while now and finally decided to give it a shot last night. Keep in mind that I am just under 100lbs (approx 96lbs) and do not have any prior experience with any other hallucinogen/deliriant. Spoiler alert: I fucking loved the trip and will definitely try it again soon at a higher dose. This trip is a memory that I will cherish and hold onto for the rest of my life and I am so glad I did it. I want to go back to that world.

Ok, now for the actual trip:

26/9/19

3:30pm - Initial dose: 150mg

I decided to start off with a low dose because of my weight and then increase as the day went on. I didn't feel different until after about an hour and a half, which is when I started to feel kind of drunk and dizzy (pretty sure it took that long because I had just eaten a lot of food). It took some effort to walk completely straight and I was getting really drowsy. I started seeing little movements in the corners of my eyes and faint shadows that weren't there.

When I would stare at the wall it started shifting and moving around; it looked almost like it was breathing. After a few seconds of staring, I started seeing little creatures in the wall (they kind of blended into the wall but were definitely discernable). At first, I saw a tiny dancing skeleton (it was dancing very aggressivly, like flailing its arms quickly), and then I saw a bull trying to ram itself into the wall repeatedly; it looked angry and like it wanted to attack me. I came to the conclusion that I was looking into an alternate dimension (the wall dimension) and that the creatures I was seeing were trying to escape it and get through the wall.

After this I decided to take a walk to try and get less tired. It was pretty uneventful. All I saw were little shadows on the ground and I kept seeing a fluorescent blue dot (like an orb) flying around in front of me. At some point during the walk I started seeing floaters VERY visibly everywhere I looked, and I could control where they moved with my eyes. I moved a floater next to me and pretended that it was my ghost friend and that we were taking a walk together.

(Floaters):

After this I went back home and just chilled out. I saw a few rainbows which was pretty cool but I was just really drowsy and I was starting to get a little bored/disappointed at my trip.

Forgot to mention that throughout this whole thing I felt butterflies in my stomach and very nervous, but I'm really used to paranoia and just ignored it.

7:00pm - Added 100mg (total dose - 250mg)

I took an extra 100mg and waited for about an hour and a half. While I was waiting for this dose to kick in I took my dog on a walk. At some point during the walk I looked at the sky and saw a bat flying around and then disappearing. I saw this around 3 times and everytime I would try to follow it but it would just disappear into the mist. I'm not sure if this was a hallucination or not but I could see the "bat" outline very clearly and proportionately if it was real it would have been a huge bat, so I'm pretty certain it wasn't real. Otherwise, the walk was pretty boring.

When I got home I decided to try and eat dinner. My parents had bought sushi. I tried eating it but my appetite was completely gone and I had to go outside to spit it out. Swallowing felt very weird since it felt like my mouth was completely numb.

10:00pm(ish??) (at this point I really wasn't paying attention to the time)

Now I just felt really drowsy and like the force of gravity was ten times stronger, very similar to being on xanax. I didn't really feel anything kicking in so I decided to go outside and listen to music. While I was outside I took two hits off a wax pen and got very high (felt like being cross-faded, I usually dont get that faded off two hits). I felt like it had gone away in a few minutes however and I started to feel very clearheaded/lightheaded. This is when the visual and audio hallucinations REALLY started kicking in. The first thing I saw was a lamp shift into a little person, but it turned back into a lamp when I blinked (I was still outside at this point). Then, on a wall, I saw hatman. I had been reading about hatman earlier so I think my mind was predisposed to the idea of seeing him. His face was completely black, as was his hat, and I wasn't really scared (moreso interested) because I kept telling myself in my head that it was just a hallucination.

I started walking around my backyard and slowly things began appearing. It got to a point where I just saw random people laying down/sitting on the ground just chilling. The first actual entity I saw was a skeleton. It was sticking out of the ground and only its upper body was visible. It was moving its arms around really fast like it was trying to dance. It kind of spooked me but I thought it was cool. After this I approached a plant and saw a plant creature. This actually terrified me. I walked toward it and it slowly turned its head to look at me, to which I responded by turning around and noping the fuck out. After that I just kept telling myself "It's just a hallucination it's just a hallucination" over and over again in my head which really calmed me down. Even if I was kind of scared (and the paranoia started up again) I was honestly having a good time because I thought the hallucinations were really cool.

I saw a little girl and I got a strange feeling that she might be a demon. It reminded me of the little demon boy from The Conjuring that was just happily running around the house. She was sitting down and I tried talking to her. She turned her head toward me then disappeared.

After this I kept walking around and in between two plants I saw hatman again. I only saw his head, which was now a skull, and his hat was still all black. The more I stared at him the more real he looked. At first I just saw his head floating but after a few minutes his whole body had manifested in front of me and it looked so real, like an actual being was just standing in front of me. He was wearing a really big jacket and black pants. He was very tall. I asked him questions like "Why are you here" and we began having a conversation. When I turned around and looked back at him his head was now that of a human boy (not a skeleton), so I just said "Oh, so you're a shapeshifter then," and he began explaining that he was from another dimension and had many forms. I said "so this is your human form," to which he just shook his head no. We talked for a little longer and he actually turned out to be a really nice guy. I hope I see him again the next time I trip.

I went over to the plant creature I saw earlier (I'll just call her plant girl) and decided to try and talk to her. She didn't really respond but looked really sad, so I asked her if she was being held captive (I don't know why). I don't remember her response but I remember seeing a tiny pitch black wolf with glowy red eyes right behind her and looking very angry with me, so I assumed she was being kept by him. I walked off.

Throughout this whole time I had been seeing a large fluffy duck walking around my backyard, but when I tried getting close to it it disappeared, and eventually it turned into a young boy laying in the grass (who eerily looked like me). I went back to see hatman and he was still there, so I had another short conversation with him but I don't recall what we said.

Then I saw a pitch black figure with a black hat (it wasn't hatman though) and this is the only hallucination I actually got scared of and thought was evil. It was just standing there looking at me and was very unsettling, even if I knew it was just a hallucination.

I saw a few more things, like when I looked over the fence into my neighbor's backyard, I saw a white man in a white suit and white hat (and white hair) looking at me and then slowly walk into their house. I just remember flipping him off. I knew it wasn't anyone that lived there because the people living in that house are an Indian couple. At some point I was near the back door to my house, and when I looked at it I saw 3 fingers reaching in from the other side of the door, but they suddenly pulled away and I didn't see them again.

Oh yeah, I also saw a bunch of insects. Mostly what looked like mosquitos or flies or just little dots flying around, but no spiders.

12:00am(ish)

After a while the visions kind of subsided, so I decided to go back inside. When I got to my room I got into bed and watched The Office for a little while before trying to sleep. I heard a few voices calling out and my mom saying my name but nothing too extreme. I'm pretty sure I fell asleep at around 1am.

#dph #tripping #benadryl #first trip #trip report #drugs #diphenhydramine #delirium #hallucinations

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skruttet · 5 years

Text

I wanna do some season 2 speculation (aka ramblings that don’t actually reach a set-in-stone conclusion lmao)!! I’m gonna assume that all the sneak peak visuals and audio from this video are from season 2 episode 2 and are all gonna be in the final cut (even though really we don’t actually know that), just to make theorising a bit easier for myself!

Please feel free to add your own thoughts if anything I say makes the cogs in your head turn! :D

Alright, so the first thing we see is four animatic frames of Snufkin holding a red, flame-like object. In the first frame, it is partially hidden by what looks like a cloud (or mist? fog? a wave? but I’m personally going with cloud), and through the cloud there is still a faint spray of the red colour, therefore we can assume that the object glows, the red colour being its light. Snufkin seems to be happily talking in this first frame, then has stopped in the second but is still slightly smiling as he lifts his head to look at Moomintroll, who we next see look at the object in shock, then up to Snufkin. As I have said in the past, my only theory as to what this object could be other than a normal flame is the King’s Ruby - here is a description of it from Finn Family Moomintroll: “At first it was quite pale, and then suddenly a pink glow would flow over it like the sunrise on a snow-capped mountain - and then again crimson flames shot out of its heart and it seemed like a great black tulip with stamens of fire.” If this is truly what Snufkin is holding, then we know that the King’s Ruby is a symbol of Thingumy and Bob’s queer love - beautiful, precious, something that is all theirs and that they only show to those they trust. So is this tableaux the creators sneaking in more Snufmin subtext? Or am I being too hopeful?

We know that we will be seeing Thingumy and Bob in episode 8, The Trial - so why would Snufkin be holding the King’s Ruby this early on, and in what appears to be a dream or vision that Moomintroll is experiencing? In Finn Family Moomintroll, Moomintroll actually hears about the King’s Ruby before Thingumy and Bob are on the scene - from Snufkin (who in turn heard it from the Magpie), who tells the gang about the Hobgoblin, ending with how unhappy the Hobgoblin is until he finds the King’s Ruby (”It’s almost as big as the black panther’s head, and to look into it is like looking at leaping flames.”). Therefore, it’s possible that Moominvalley Snufkin has also told this Moomintroll about the King’s Ruby, although episode 2 is still super early on and it seems like Snufkin isn’t actually in the valley yet in this episode (based off of the lines in this video where Moomintroll is clearly pining for him). Perhaps this vision doesn’t explain what the King’s Ruby is yet, only shows it, and we find out in a later episode what it is and start putting the pieces of the puzzle together then? Who knows.

Onto the audio that plays on top of this storyboard; assuming that it is in fact what should be playing during these frames, it seems to support the theory that this scenario is playing in Moomintroll’s head, and at sunset (which is super romantic imo). Unfortunately for us, we don’t get to hear the end of the sentence as he gets cut off by Little My presumably kicking him, telling him that she is trying to sleep. Moomintroll appears to not have even realised that he was thinking out loud, making this situation seem even more gay, as if he was thinking something very private (like, say, imagining a romantic date with your best friend?). The fact that Little My is sleeping is interesting - is this daytime, and she’s just napping somewhere near him, or is it nighttime? In which case, she never slept in the same room as him in the first season (to our knowledge - I wouldn’t put it past her to have crawled into a nook or cranny without him knowing lol), so where could they be? We know that 3 episodes of season 2 take place on the lighthouse island; are they there already? It seems a little too early in my opinion, though I can’t imagine where else they’d be.

Moving on, we hear the end of a Moomintroll(?) line: “...amazing adventures”. There isn’t really much we can go off here - he could be referring to anyone’s adventures (his own, his father’s, or Snufkin’s seem to be the most likely), and at any time, past or present or future. We also hear Pappa say something but I cannot for the life of me figure out what it is, it may even be the end of a line again (sounds like “killjoy” or “old boy” but I’m probably completely off). Then there’s laughter that at first I thought was one of the creators watching but I think it might be one of the characters, probably Little My.

Then, we get a male character saying “well, at least there’s some use in that old volcano.” I assume it’s Moominpappa saying this, as in Moominsummer Madness it seems to be only he and Moominmamma who know about the volcano. I’m not sure what this “use” is they’re referring to - in the book, he wishes he could have a paperweight made of real lava from it, though the volcano itself is mainly referred to as a “nuisance”. The volcano is located on a “black little island [off the coast] where nothing grows”, so theoretically they could be mashing it up with the lighthouse island but I doubt it. In Moominsummer Madness, the volcano and the ash it spews are the early warning signs for a storm and flood - will there be a flood in Moominvalley season 2? Obviously it can’t be the same as the one in season 1, but there are at least 3 floods in the Moomin books & comics (The Moomins and the Great Flood, Moominsummer Madness, and Moomin Falls in Love). It wouldn’t be the flood from the Great Flood so that would leave Moomin Falls in Love, though nothing else we see here seems to come from that story, and neither does it seem that another natural disaster happens, so I’m crossing “flood” off the potential plotlines list. But then, there must still be a reason as to why the volcano is mentioned, mustn’t there? I still haven’t quite figured that out, though.

Whilst these “volcano” lines play in the video, a few more frames of animatic are shown - depicting Moomintroll in the foreground, and Snorkmaiden slightly behind him with her hand on his shoulder. He looks back at her before she walks away. I’m not sure whether these frames are actually the ones that play during the volcano lines, since I just find it strange for Snorkmaiden to be all “volcano!?” but then immediately walk away from the conversation. Though I guess I don’t know the full story of what’s happening in the scene (ofc my shipper mind tells me that maybe Moomintroll gives her a “please don’t touch me” look and is the start of them realising they’re not cut out to be a couple but there’s nothing standoffish about their behaviour at all so that’s clearly not what’s going on lol).

Finally, we get the last pining line from Moomintroll: “we’ll soon be cutting the long winter grass by the stream where he pitches his tent”. This seems to be referencing, yet again, a line from the beginning of Moominsummer Madness: “And then summer came, and long grass grew all over Snufkin’s camping place by the river, as if no one had ever lived there.” This is another indication that Snufkin is late to the valley for at least the first two episodes of season 2, which I find a little strange for him to do considering the soul-searching and self-realisation he did in the season 1 episode The Spring Tune. Maybe the volcano mentioned earlier has something to do with his delay?

Before Moomintroll says this, you can hear a female voice sighing; it sounds like one of Little My’s rolling-her-eyes huffs to me, and during his line it sounds like someone is sniffling and/or sneezing?? Again, it’s hard to tell which noises are from the characters and which are the people in the room watching, but if it’s the former, then that’s quite interesting. Is it cold wherever they are? Is the person crying? Or are they huffing still at Moomintroll’s pathetic longing for his best friend?

As a summary, it seems that this episode will definitely be at least partly based on Moominsummer Madness, with perhaps a sprinkling of Finn Family Moomintroll, and Moominpappa at Sea if any of it ties into those episodes. I haven’t caught anything I recognised from any of the comics, though.

Whatever happens in this episode, clearly at this point, Sophia Jansson was NOT happy with it, and judging by the phone call she has with Marika, it seems that she felt as though the characters’ motivations/emotions/problems were not clear enough or there hasn’t been enough development for those things to make sense yet. I guess we’ll have to wait and see how different the final result is compared to these snippets!

#moominvalley #moominvalley season 2 #moominvalley speculation

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queenofcats17 · 5 years

Text

A Different Loop

So...I got this idea...And...I’m doing it. So enjoy Sammy being Alice’s loyal lapdog.

-----------------------------------------------------

Henry knew as soon as he set foot back into the studio that this loop was going to be different.

“Alright, I’m here, Joey. Let’s see what you wanted to show me.” He said his line, looking around the entryway. Something didn’t feel right. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, as though something had changed. The air was different somehow.

But it wasn’t like Henry had a choice in this, so he just went about his usual actions. He collected the items, turned on the machine, got chased by Bendy into the lower levels. Everything went the same way it usually did, which did assuage Henry’s fears a little bit. He was probably just paranoid, he told himself. Everything was fine. Or, as fine as it could be when he was trapped in a neverending loop of events in this hellhole. Then he got to the Music Department.

It started out as it usually did. He fainted in the room with the coffins, woke up, then hacked his way into the stairwell. The message at the bottom of the stairs had changed, but only by one letter. “She Will Set Us Free”.

“No more Bendy?” Henry let out a weary laugh. “Guess you’re worshipping Alice this time around.” He moved to the right and pressed the play button the tape recorder he knew would hold Sammy’s voice. But the message he heard wasn’t the one he was used to.

“She appears from the shadows to rain her sweet blessings upon me. The figure of ink that shines in the darkness. I see you, my savior. I pray you hear me. Those old songs, I still sing them. For I know you are the one who will save us. I must show my devotion, and then I will be swept into your final loving embrace. But love requires sacrifice. Can I get an amen?”

“I said, can I get an amen?”

Henry had gone through this enough times that he wasn’t startled by Sammy’s sudden voice behind him. He wasn’t even really startled by the change in the recorded message. He’d been joking about Sammy worshipping Alice, but it did sound like that was what was happening this time. So that was probably the change he’d been feeling. Henry took out the seeing tool to see if the message was still the same. “Deceived” was still written above the tape.

“Some things never change.” Henry put the seeing tool away, sighing to himself. He hoped that was the only change to the story. Sometimes Joey liked to mess with him and throw him a curveball. Those were always the worst loops. But it wasn’t like he was getting out, whether or not he liked the story. So he continued on. He started to wade through the inky hallway, watching for Sammy’s inky figure. Sure enough, it crossed the doorway. Henry only really glimpsed him for a moment, but he was sure Sammy looked different somehow. He looked more...human. Was that a ponytail? Unfortunately, Henry didn’t get to study him properly as the prophet was soon gone.

“What on Earth?” Henry frowned slightly. Maybe Sammy’d gotten some kind of upgrade? Ugh. He was too old for this shit. Might as well keep going.

He flipped the switches and headed into the department, waiting for any other differences. Sammy’s tape right next to the sign for the department was the same. It was still him complaining about Joey. Norman’s and Wally’s were unchanged as well, and he got into Sammy’s sanctuary the same way he usually did. The message in Sammy’s sanctuary was mostly the same, aside from the change in pronouns.

When Henry left the sanctuary, after defeating the Searchers, he looked up to see if Sammy was watching him from the balcony. Sure enough, the prophet was standing there, leaning on the railing. Henry frowned. He’d been right, Sammy did look more human. Patches of yellow skin were visible amongst the ink and Sammy very clearly had long shaggy hair tied up in a ponytail. His mask was part of an Alice cutout rather than a Bendy cutout as well.

“You’re looking better than usual,” Henry called up to him. “I like the ponytail.” Sammy said nothing, continuing to watch him. Henry shrugged and left. Next was down to Jack’s area. Maybe he wouldn’t need to crush him this time. Henry never really liked crushing Jack with the crate. He knew it didn’t actually hurt the Searcher, but it still didn’t feel right. Especially since Jack had never been at all hostile toward him in any of his loops.

“Here we go.” Henry groaned as he lowered himself into the flooded tunnel. He hated having to wade through the ink. It always seeped into his shoes and then he’d have to walk around with wet shoes until they dried out. It always dried rather sticky and uncomfortable as well. But he had to get the valve so he could get into Sammy’s office and drain the stairwell.

“Jack? You down here?” He called out as he waded. He didn’t expect any answer other than a groan. Instead, someone spoke.

“Yeah?”

Henry stopped. That...That had been Jack’s voice. In front of him, behind the boards that always blocked his way, a shape rose from the ink. It had a bowler hat and held the valve to its chest, but it didn’t resemble the swollen Searcher Henry was used to seeing. It looked like a human being. Just...made out of ink. There was the outline of clothes, of hair. This was Jack Fain, Henry was sure of it. But why did he look so different?

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before,” Jack said, tilting his head to the side. “How do you know my name?”

“I, uh, I used to work here.” It took Henry a moment to respond. “I got a letter asking me to come back.”

“Mm.” Jack nodded. “Joey send you that letter?”

“He did.”

“You must be Henry.” Jack snapped his fingers, a smile spreading across his face. His teeth were black, just like the rest of him. They probably weren’t even teeth.

“That’s, uh, that’s me.” Henry smiled back shakily. “How’d you guess?”

“Can’t think of anyone else Joey would try to get back. Everyone else is already here.” He laughed briefly before sighing. “Uh, anyway, I’ve heard about you from the others.”

“Sounds like I’m famous around here.” Henry had expected to be recognized. Alice recognized him every time, after all. But he hadn’t thought Jack of all people would recognize him, especially since they’d never met.

“That’s one word for it,” Jack said under his breath before quickly moving on. “So, why are you looking for me?”

“I was looking for that valve.” Henry pointed to the valve held against Jack’s chest.

“Oh, this thing?” Jack held it up. “I found it floating in the ink just a little while ago. You want it?”

“Yeah. I need it to stop the ink flow to Sammy’s office so I can get in and drain the stairwell to the exit.” Henry said, starting to reach for the valve.

“Ah.” Jack grimaced. “You trying to get out through that exit?”

“I...might be?” Henry paused. “Why?”

“That’s not gonna work. You getting out through that exit door.”

“Why not?” Henry frowned, making a grab for the valve again. He knew perfectly well he wasn’t getting out through that exit door, but he had a feeling Jack’s reason would be different than the actual reason.

“We’ve tried that.” Jack let him take the valve, a look of pity on his face. “The door won’t open.”

“What does that mean?” Henry’s frown deepened.

“It means it won’t open.” Jack shrugged. “You tug on it and it doesn’t do anything. But, uh, good luck. I’m sure Sammy’d be happy to get into his office again.” Before Henry could ask him anything else, he melted back into the ink. Henry let out an exasperated sigh. Well, at least he hadn’t been forced to crush Jack this time.

“Let’s get out of here.” He turned around and headed back to the infirmary. There weren’t any hiccups in fitting the valve and getting into Sammy’s office. He got in and turned the pump switch.

“And now to go get knocked out by Sammy.” He sighed heavily as he exited the office. He knew he’d be fine. It wasn’t like he was a real person. Getting hit in the head with a metal dustpan still hurt like Hell, though. Despite his dread, he proceeded down the hallway to where he’d inevitably get knocked out. Sure enough, once he reached the area beside Sammy’s second audio log, he felt the familiar pain of a dustpan to the back of the head.

“Sheep sheep sheep it’s time for sleep.” He heard Sammy whisper as his vision faded to black.

When Henry regained consciousness, he found himself on his back, being dragged by the legs. His view was currently of the ceiling as he was being dragged along. Huh. Well, this was new. Presumably, he was being dragged by Sammy, since he could hear Sammy’s voice, along with Jack’s.

“I’m so sorry, Sammy. If I’d known the Lady wanted to see him, I wouldn’t have given him the valve,” Jack was saying.

“You have no reason to apologize, Jack,” Sammy replied. “It’s not as though he would have succeeded in his escape. You did nothing wrong.”

“Well, okay.”

“So, uh, where’re you taking me?” Henry asked.

“We are taking you to see our Lady, my sheep,” Sammy said. “She has taken notice of your presence and wishes to speak with you.”

“Your lady, huh? Is that Alice?”

“Hey! Don’t use her name so casually!” Jack snapped, falling back so that his face entered Henry’s field of vision. He looked irritated, but not righteously angry, so he probably wasn’t nearly as fervent in his belief as Sammy.

“What happened to Bendy?” Henry lifted his head a bit, completely ignoring Jack. “Not worshipping him anymore?”

“Why would I worship that blasphemous demon when I could worship an angel?” Sammy’s voice was cool. Henry thought he glimpsed a glowing yellow eye looking back at him from behind the Alice mask.

“I’m guessing she’s responsible for you two looking so good.”

“Our Lady blessed us with her gifts,” Sammy said. “We are truly lucky to be among her followers.” His voice subtly changed when he spoke of Alice. It was still cool and calm, but he almost sounded a bit awestruck. It was different than the way he’d talked about Bendy. He sounded rather like a lovesick teenage boy. Which, if this “Alice” was still Susie, would make sense.

“It helps that you’re her favorite.” Jack slapped Sammy’s back.

“I-I’m not worthy of that title.” Sammy fumbled with Henry’s leg as he began to stammer. “I am simply her loyal servant. Noth-Nothing more.” Henry snorted. Well, at least it seemed like Alice was treating Sammy better than Bendy ever had.

“Would you mind telling me what you find so funny, sheep?” Sammy demanded, directing a pointed glare back at Henry. Well, he was pretty sure it was a glare. It felt like a glare.

“Nothing, it’s just cute,” Henry said. “You’re cute.”

“I am most certainly not cute!” Sammy sputtered, yanking on Henry’s leg and eliciting a yelp from the animator.

"Sorry, sorry.” Henry put his hands up.

“You know, now that he’s awake he can probably walk,” Jack said. “You don’t need to keep dragging him.”

“Ah, yes.” Sammy stopped, dropping Henry. “Get up, sheep.” Henry got up, groaning as he did so.

“I’m getting too old for this.” He muttered.

They continued the rest of the way in silence. They’d almost been at the Heavenly Toys area when Henry had woken up. It looked about the same as it usually did. But Shawn’s workshop was where things changed. As they approached the workshop, they found it filled with Lost Ones and Searchers. They were in various stages of looking human and many were talking quietly amongst each other.

“My prophet! You’re back!” One of the Lost Ones said, immediately brightening.

“I found the intruder our Lady wanted to speak with.” Sammy jerked his thumb back at Henry.

“That’s him?” Another Lost One peered past Sammy. “He looks so...old. Why would our Lady want to see him?”

“We shall see.” Sammy began to push past them, dragging Henry by the hand.

“My prophet, you might not want to go in there just yet.” A Lost One tried to pull him back. “Lady Allison and Tom are a bit...busy.”

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” Sammy continued to push past.

“I’m gonna head back to the department.” Jack took a few steps back. “I, uh, kinda want to check on Johnny.” It was hard to miss how his tone had changed at the mention of Tom and Allison being “busy”.

“Very well. Watch out for the demon.” Sammy nodded back to Jack before opening the door to the Alice meet and greet room.

Henry stifled a gasp as they entered. The room didn’t that different, at least in terms of structure and decoration. What was different were the numerous Butcher Gang corpses littered around the room. They were everywhere. Pipers, Fishers, Strikers, all of them mangled and battered. They had to be fresh, given they hadn’t reverted to ink yet. All of their chests were ripped open, ribs sticking out at odd angles.

His gaze then fell to the three people in the middle of the room. He recognized one as Allison, looking about the same as she usually did. She was wearing what appeared to be a salvaged pair of overalls but had her trademark sword at her hip. The man beside her was probably Tom, judging by the mechanical arm, although he too looked much more human than he had in previous loops. He still had dog ears and tail, though. In between them was a bloodied Piper, its chest ripped open. It was still alive, though, judging by its ragged breaths and panicked groans.

“Lady Allison.” Sammy bowed before her. “I do hope I’m not interrupting.”

“We’re almost done,” Allison replied, not turning. “Get the heart, Tom.” Tom nodded, shoving his hand into the Piper’s chest cavity to withdraw the inky heart. Allison held out a bag and he deposited it inside.

“That should be enough.” She said, letting the bag fall back at her side. Tom nodded, glancing back at Sammy. Immediately he noticed Henry and narrowed his eyes. He tapped Allison on the shoulder, pointing at Henry. Allison turned to face him.

“Is he the one Ali wanted to see?” She asked. She regarded him warily, one hand on her hip.

“This is the interloper, yes.” Sammy nodded.

“Hi.” Henry waved awkwardly. He was used to the distrust from Tom, but Allison was usually on his side. It was strange to see her look at him with such disdain. She seemed much more in control than in past loops.

“I’m Henry.” He continued. “Henry Stein.”

“Henry Stein?” Allison’s eyes widened and she went for her sword. Tom got in front of her, signing something to her. Henry suddenly wished he knew sign language.

“I...I guess you’re right.” She sighed, letting her hands fall at her sides. “Ali would be mad if I just killed him.”

“Is our Lady still in her sanctuary?” Sammy asked.

“Yeah." Allison started walking away, Tom following close behind. “You know how she gets when she’s working on fixing someone up.”

“She’s...fixing someone?” Henry asked, stumbling forward after being kicked by Sammy.

“Our Lady is most merciful,” Sammy said. “She takes care of those who have been harmed by the Demon.” Henry frowned. He couldn’t imagine the Alice he’d known taking care of anyone.

They proceeded in silence, going through the Angel path (the Demon path was firmly shut) and down the hallway that led to the room with all the plushes. As soon as they got into the area with the plushes, Allison seemed to decide that it had been silent long enough. She gestured to Tom, who fell back to take Sammy’s place behind Henry, and dragged Sammy to the front.

“So, why do you think Ali wants to see this guy?” She asked, hooking her arm with Sammy’s.

“I-It would be most presumptuous of me to make such assumptions,” Sammy replied, fiddling with his mask with his free hand.

“Come on.” Allison gave him a mischevious smile. “I know you’ve got some kind of theory cooking in your brain.”

“I do not dare to guess at what goes on in my Lady’s mind,” Sammy said.

“You’re adorable.” Allison ruffled his hair.

“Thank you, my lady,” Sammy mumbled, sounding rather like an embarrassed teenager who’d been complimented by their crush.

“Why are you referred to as Lady Allison?” Henry asked as they entered the room with the elevator.

“She is our Lady’s second in command.” Sammy stood up a bit straighter as if he’d regained his confidence. “She is blessed with the form of the Angel and must be treated with proper respect.”

“And why does she get to call your Lady by a nickname?”

“I’m her girlfriend,” Allison answered, pressing the button to call the elevator. Henry blinked. Huh. That was new. There was a beat of silence as the elevator arrived on their floor.

“You could call her by a nickname too if you wanted, Sammy.” Allison leaned over, poking him gently in the ribs.

“It would be incredibly inappropriate!” Sammy sputtered, storming into the elevator as soon as the grate opened. “I am not worthy to address her by name!”

“Alright, alright.” Allison couldn’t help but laugh, following him inside. Tom rolled his eyes and dragged Henry in.

“What? It’s cute.” Allison slapped his shoulder. “You don’t see me rolling my eyes when you get all snuggly with Jack or Grant.” Tom blushed, or did the closest thing he could to a blush, making an indignant sound. Sammy jabbed the button for floor 9 and the doors closed.

There wasn’t much in the way of conversation on the way down, mostly because it wasn’t a very long ride. Allison informed Sammy of the ink hearts she and Tom had evidently collected while Tom kept a grip on Henry. As if he’d have anywhere to run to. When the elevator reached Level 9, Henry was surprised by the number of Lost Ones and Searchers that were present. It seemed Alice had gained quite a following.

“Is Alice done with Lacie yet?” Allison asked as she stepped off the elevator.

“Almost, my lady.” A Lost One replied.

“You should be able to go in, though.” Another added.

“Right. Thank you.” Allison gestured to Tom as she headed for the doors under the “She’s Quite A Gal” sign. Sammy followed behind, speaking to a few of the Lost Ones and Searchers before joining them. The room that was normally filled with Butcher Gang and Boris corpses had no such things now. It was still flooded with ink, a path of boards the only means of crossing, but there were no corpses.

“Careful with him,” Allison called back to Tom, already halfway across the boards. “We don’t know what’ll happen to him if he falls in the ink.”

“I’m sure he won’t be harmed,” Sammy said. “He traversed Jack’s sewers, so I imagine the ink has no effect on him.” Tom grunted in acknowledgment, pointing to the boards and then to Henry.

“Alright. I’ve got it.” Henry nodded, beginning to gingerly make his way across. He knew he’d be fine, that the ink couldn’t hurt him, but his heart still pounded. He remembered what happened when he “died”. That feeling of being surrounded by ink, almost as though he was drowning. He didn’t ever want to find out what it felt like to drown in ink.

He made it across without incident, joining Sammy and Allison at the entrance to the area where Henry had seen Alice torturing a Piper in many loops. She wasn’t torturing anything when he entered the room this time. The table he’d seen the Piper tortured on was still there, but it now contained something resembling a Fisher. It was more human in appearance, but still recognizable as a Fisher. Its was groaning in pain, its voice sounding strangely familiar. Alice stood over the Fisher, wearing an ink-stained apron. Her face was still disfigured, but much less so.

“I know, Lacie.” Her voice was soft as she pressed down on the Fisher’s head. “We’re almost done, I promise.” She drew a syringe of ink from her apron, injecting it into the Fisher’s arm.

“Give her a minute,” Allison said when it looked like Henry was going to say something. Henry closed his mouth again, watching Alice finish up with the Fisher.

“I’ll have to find more hearts to help you further, but you should at least be able to talk to Bertram more properly now.” Alice helped the Fisher sit up. Henry had never met Lacie Benton before, but he was pretty sure the Fisher before him looked something like her.

“Thanks.” Lacie nodded respectfully toward Alice. Her voice sounded more gravelly than it had on the recording, but not enough for it to be too immediately noticeable. The only reason Henry knew was that he’d listened to that tape half a million times.

“Alice.” Allison walked up and knocked on the glass. Alice looked over, her face lighting up.

“You’re back!” She walked over, putting her hand on the glass. “Did you get the hearts?”

“I did.” Allison put her hand where Alice’s was. “And Sammy found the man you wanted to see.” Alice looked past Allison to where Henry stood between Sammy and Tom. Her eyes narrowed, not in suspicion but in interest.

“He was in the Music Department.” Sammy removed his mask and bowed his head. His face was still mostly covered in ink, but it did appear more human.

“I’m gonna...get goin’.” Lacie hopped off the table behind Alice. “I’ll talk to you later.” She disappeared out a door Henry couldn’t see. Tom stayed by the door.

“Hello, Henry.” Alice’s voice was a low purr as she watched him. Henry felt his stomach beginning to sink. Most interactions he had with Alice in the loops were not positive, and that was when she didn’t have a legion of followers.

“Hello.” Henry tried to keep himself from stammering. “I heard you wanted to see me?”

“I did.” Alice nodded, folding her arms. “You’re the one who created Bendy, yes?”

“I...Yes?” Henry frowned, a bit taken aback by the question.

“Why does it matter if he made Bendy?” Allison asked, equally perplexed by her girlfriend’s line of inquiry.

“He made Bendy. That means there’s a possibility he can defeat the Ink Demon.” Alice said. “Joey couldn’t control that creature. But its true creator might be able to.”

The room went silent as the others considered this possibility. Slowly, all eyes fell on Henry. Henry didn’t move, didn’t speak. He just stood there.

“I mean...I...I might be able to?” He finally said, when the scrutiny became too much. “I’m not entirely sure. But I guess it’s worth a try?”

Alice smiled wide, the expression surprisingly kind and genuine. “Well then, it appears we have quite a lot to discuss.”

#bendy and the ink machine #fanfiction #batim au #henry stein #sammy lawrence #alice angel #susie campbell #malice angel #allison pendle #allison angel #susie campbell x allison pendle #jack fain #tom boris #thomas connor #sammy x susie #violence tw #gore tw #lacie benton

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inspirevamp · 6 years

Text

How you met Connor, RK900, and Markus HC’s

Request? Could you do an HC with RK800, RK900, and Markus to how how they met and reading literature together with fluff?

Note: Didn’t end up adding a NSFW section, but totally willing if people want it. ;)

Connor - How you met

You’d meet Connor while visiting the DPD to check up on a friend of yours. You’d be patiently waiting at their desk, lemon muffin in a crumpled paper bag, when Hank would wave you over. Your friend was nowhere in sight, and with an ample number of visits to the DPD under your belt, you’d gotten to know Lieutenant Anderson quite well. So, of course, you’d amble over to his desk as he swiveled his chair around to face you, wheels squeaking sharply. They never did get those fixed.

From the corner of your eye, you’d notice the tall android with a fringe striding over to the Lieutenant, a flimsy box of donuts in one hand.

“Oh.., hey, Connor, thanks,” Hank would twist his head to peer over at the lanky android, taking the box from his loose grasp. In your peripheral vision, you could tell that the android’s eyes were scanning you unashamedly. It would make you feel a bit self conscious. Maybe you should fix your poor posture, push your glasses higher up onto the bridge of your nose, they’d slipped down a noticeable amount, or maybe you should fix the way your shirt was creeping up.

“Have you, uh, met Connor?” The detective would grumble, looking back over at you, getting cakey crumbs into his beard.

“I can’t say that I have,” you’d shake the thoughts, finally extending your hand out to Connor, “my name’s Y/N.”

“Connor,” he’d gently shake your hand before withdrawing, letting his arms hang at his side. It would be clear that he was deep in thought by the swirling of his LED.

“You good, Connor?” Hank would speak with a mouth full of donut.

“Oh, yes, I’m fine, Lieutenant,” it appeared like he snapped out of whatever fog was clogging his processors.

When you’d inevitably leave with your friend, Hank would laugh and turn to Connor, “What do you think of Y/N?”

Connor would smile to himself,“I think Y/N is a very nice person.”

“I’m sure that's not all,” Hank would laugh hardily, and in turn, choke on a piece of donut.

Connor - Reading with s/o

When you eventually got Connor to admit the confusing mess of feelings clogging his processors, you started spending more time together, and that included reading with each other.

But he couldn’t help but get distracted, peering up from behind the pages to watch you entranced by your own book. He’d be enraptured by the way you’d lay out in ways that should be uncomfortable but weren’t. You’d smile when you found something funny; maybe a character made a snarky remark that made you snicker a tad, or maybe a character just made a romantic advance towards another. Either way, you made it nearly impossible to focus on the words in his book. His processors couldn’t stop thinking about you, not that he’d want it any other way.

Because Connor was so easily distracted, he’d constantly ask you questions about your reading. Did you like it? How was it? What was it about? Who was your favorite character? Is there another book in the series? What do you think about the plot? Will you explain the story to me, Y/N?

You’d indulge him, answering all his questions. Connor just wanted to talk to you, to see you smile, to see you passionate about something, and you couldn’t blame him.

RK900 - How you met

“This is Nines.”

The android would stand stiffly, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as he peered down at you with intimidating greys.

“Nines is Gavin’s new partner,” Connor finished.

It’d take only a second before you wrapped your mind around the words and nearly spewed the coffee you’d been drinking in Connor’s direction. Gavin flushed with anger had you choking on your drink with laughter. You could almost picture the outrage on Gavin’s face when he realized he had been assigned an android for a partner. Oh, yes, you could definitely visualize Gavin barging into Fowler’s office with a deep scowl before being vehemently tossed out.

Nines would cock his head, unsure of what was wrong with you, but eventually he’d ask if you were alright, more out of curiosity than anything else.

You’d nod, one of your hands going to your chest as you regulated your labored breathing.

“I-I’m Y/N,” It would take you a few seconds to collect yourself.

“So, uh, Nines, what’s it like working with Gavin?” You’d attempt small talk, setting the drink down on Connor’s desk to avoid choking to death with another poorly timed bout of rambunctious laughter.

“He’s a prick.”

Thank god you weren’t sipping from your drink this time because you were sure coffee would have went down the wrong pipe.

“What’s so funny, Y/N?” Nines would ask coyly, clearly aware of what he’d done to cause a double take. He wouldn’t admit it, but the sound of your laughter did something to his processors. He wasn’t quite sure what though. Did he like it? Or did he find it annoying?

When Nines heard you break out into another fit of laughter, he knew his audio processors liked the sound. But he really liked the way you tried to stifle your laughs with your hand, the way your cheeks turned bright red, and the way your eyes crinkled at the corners.

After that, he’d do everything he could to make you laugh. Whether it was a snarky comment, him mocking Gavin, or flirting with you feverishly, it never failed to make you smile and laugh, and he adored that.

RK900 - Reading with s/o

Nines found it interesting that you liked spending hours stuck in a book, so much so that he’d ask you what you enjoyed most about it. When you read, Nines was quite aware of your shifting mood; sometimes you were trying to hold back a laugh, and other times, a few silent tears were crawling down your cheeks, so he couldn’t help but be intrigued by the effect that reading had on you. Humans did get emotional over everything.

“It allows me to escape to another reality,” You’d chime, your head back in the book before he could say anything else.

He’d sit quietly with you the first time, watching the way your eyes sparkled when you read, eyes swiveling up and down the pages.

The next time Nines saw you zoned out, eyes taped to your favorite book, he’d sit next to you on the sofa to peer at the printed words.

“May I?” Nines would motion for you to hand him the book. You’d comply, only taking a moment to find a stopping place, a mental bookmark if you dare say.

“Would you mind if I read this passage aloud to you?”

You’d be shocked at his request - Nines wanted to read to you? But what you failed to realize was that Nines picked up reading because of you, and he thought you might care to have him read to you. As much as you enjoyed having a physical copy of a book in your hands, you were a sucker for a good ol’ audio book.

So, you’d pull your legs up onto the couch, turning to face Nines, crossing your legs, and resting your hands in your lap.

He wouldn’t forget words, skip lines, or lose his place.

And when he finished the chapter, he’d note the way your eyes remained closed and the way your lips formed a soft smile. You’d be picturing the imaginary world, and you almost didn’t notice his silence or his gaze.

Markus - How you met

You’d be casually scanning the weathered shelves of your local bookstore, completely unaware of the person who walked in a few moments after you. The rusty, silver bell above the door would have rung as they stepped in, but you were far too focused to notice it at the time.

You’d be pulling books from their place on the shelf, flipping them over carefully in your hands to read the summary etched on the back of the cover.

“Read ‘Ender’s Game’?”

You’d look up from the book clasped in your hands to peer up at a man with different colored eyes, noting how one was a baby blue and the other a shamrock green.

“Not yet. I was thinking about it,” you’d smile lightly, placing the book back onto the shelf, “any recommendations?”

He’d run his fingers along the spines of the books, searching for a story you might like. He went off the book you had been grasping -- you must like science-fiction.

“Hmm- how about ‘Ready Player One’?” He’d carefully pull the book from the shelf, displaying it to you. He’d allow you to take the book from his hands, watching patiently as you read the summary on the back.

“You know what? I think this is the book I’ve been looking for,” you’d grin, “thank you, oh, and uh, I’m Y/N.”

“Markus,” he’d smile softly, “I’m glad I could help.”

Markus - Reading with s/o

The two of you would be sitting across from each other in one of the aisles of the local book store. You’d hear the occasional ring signaling a new customer, but you rarely had to move out of the way. Besides a customer or two, the store was calm and quiet.

Markus would occasionally look up at you before shifting his gaze back to his own reading. You’d grow accustomed to the sound of him turning the pages of his book, but you faltered, looking up when he’d become quiet.

Markus’ book would be set down beside him, face up. You weren’t sure how long Markus had been watching you enthralled in a story hidden between pages.

“Everything all right, Markus?” You’d ask, slowly closing your book.

“Distracted.” He’d smile, his arms resting lightly on his knees.

“By?” You were sure you knew the answer, but you couldn’t help but need to hear him say it.

“You.”

And at that, your heart would flutter, and blush would creep up onto your cheeks.

@justcallmecinammon

#dbh markus #dbh connor #rk900 #dbh connor x reader #rk900 x reader #dbh markus x reader #dbh #detroit become human #dbh hc #dbh hcs #hc #hc's #fluff #cute

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upontheshelfreviews · 5 years

Text

And now we come to the final piece of Walt Disney’s original animation trifecta, Fantasia, and it’s one I’m both anticipating and dreading. Fantasia isn’t just one of the crowning jewels in Disney’s canon, a landmark in motion picture animation, and second only to Snow White in terms of influential music and storytelling in the whole medium, it’s one of my top three favorite movies of all time. Discussing it without sounding like an old history professor, a pretentious internet snob, or a hyper Disney fangirl is one hell of a daunting task.

“Did someone say hyper Disney fangirl?! I LOVE Disney!!”

“I thought you only liked Frozen.”

“Well, DUH, Frozen is my favorite, which makes it, like, the best Disney movie ever! But Disney’s awesome! There’s a bunch of other movies I like that are almost as good!”

“And Fantasia’s one of them?”

“Yeah!!…Which one is that again?”

“The one with Sorcerer Mickey?”

“Ohhhh, you’re talking about the fireworks show where he fights the dragon!”

“No, that’s Fantasmic. I’m referring to Fantasia. Came out the same year as Pinocchio? All done in hand-drawn animation…has the big devil guy at the end?”

“THAT’S where he’s from?! Geez, that’s some old movie. Why haven’t I heard about ’til now?”

“Probably because you spend twelve hours a day searching for more Frozen GIFs to reblog on your Tumblr.”

“Ooh, that reminds me! I need to go post my next batch of theories about the upcoming sequel! Toodles!!”

“Thanks. Another second with her and I would’ve bust a gasket.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Anyway, it’s no surprise Sorcerer Mickey is what people remember the most from Fantasia, and not just because he’s the company mascot. “The Sorcerer’s Apprentice” was the reason we have the movie in the first place. It began as a pet project between Walt Disney and renowned conductor Leopold Stokowski.

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“Yep. THAT Leopold.”

However, between the upscale in animation and the use of the Philadelphia Orchestra, the cost grew too high to justify the creation of only one short. Over time more sequences featuring animation set to various pieces of classical music were added in what was initially dubbed “The Concert Feature”. Later it was wisely changed to the more memorable “Fantasia”. It works not only because it’s derived from the word “fantasy”, but because “fantasia” is a term for a musical composition that doesn’t follow any strict form and leans towards improvisation. Combine the two meanings and you get the whole movie in a nutshell.

And this leads us to –

Things Fantasia Fans Are Sick of Hearing #1: “It’s SOOOOOO boring! Nobody’s talking and nothing ever happens!”

You know, few recall that decades before Warner Brothers was known as that studio that made rushed prequels to beloved fantasy franchises and a hastily cobbled together superhero universe, it had humble origins in the music business; their Merrie Melodies and Looney Tunes shorts began as music videos made to sell their records. Disney’s Silly Symphonies followed in the same vein, though they focused more on pushing the envelope in animation technique and character resonance than selling music, as did the lesser known Harman-Ising Happy Harmonies.

And if that’s the case, then Fantasia is the Thriller of animated music videos. It’s the result of years of technological advancement and trial and error, all culminating in the flawless weaving together of visuals and some of the greatest music mankind has created to tell seven stories and elicit an emotional response for each one.

Let me repeat that: FANTASIA. PREDATES. THRILLER.

“And unlike Thriller, Fantasia has the advantage of NOT being directed by a man who literally got away with murder or involving an artist whose pedophilia accusations are still discussed a decade after his passing…at least as far as we know.”

By the way, if you’re watching the current version of Fantasia that’s available, do me a favor and pause the movie to watch the original Deems Taylor intros; while they’re shorter than the ones on the blu-ray, they have Deem’s original voice. All later releases have him dubbed over by Corey Burton because the audio for these parts hasn’t held up as well over time. Now Corey Burton is a phenomenal voice actor who’s done countless work for Disney before, but there’s a problem I have with him taking over these segments: One, he and Deems sound nothing alike, and Two, he makes him sound so dry and dull. Not to mention the longer intros practically spoil everything you’re about to see whereas the cut versions give you just enough to build some intrigue for what’s to follow.

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Regardless of whichever one you’re watching, Deems gives us the rundown on what Fantasia is all about and lists the three categories that the sequences fall under.

A concrete story

Clearly defined images with something of a narrative

Music and visuals that exist for its own sake

And the very first of these parts falls directly into the last one.

Toccata and Fugue in D Minor – Johann Sebastian Bach

Some hear this tune and attribute it as stock horror music, but for me it’s the start of a grand, dark, fantastical journey through realms of the imagination. While it is intended as an organ piece, this full orchestration blows me away. Capturing the orchestra in bold hues and shadows with colors specific to certain highlighted instruments was a brilliant move, setting the stage for what’s to come.

And if the previously referenced Bugs Bunny cartoon was any indication, the real Leopold Stokowski is one of the main draws to this segment. Stokowski’s claim to fame was that he ditched the traditional conductor’s baton and used his hands to guide the orchestra. His passion and restraint is plain for all to see, even in silhouette.

Ultimately Stokowski and the orchestra fade away into the animated ether. The idea behind Toccota and Fugue was to show a gradual transformation from the conscious world to the subconscious, providing a literal and figurative representation of what you see and hear with the music. That’s why the first animated images resemble violin bows sweeping over strings. Over time those distinct objects evolve into abstract geometric shapes.

Honestly, no amount of stills can capture what it’s like to watch this sequence play out. It’s a radically unique experience, almost like a dream.

Things Fantasia Fans Are Sick of Hearing #2: “It’s the world’s first screensaver/musicalizer!”

This is something I hear often from people (ie. the people making the complaints I’ve chosen to highlight). First, read the previous Thing. Second, Toccata is not so much about recreating a story as it is capturing a feeling. And yet a story isn’t out of the question. I always saw at as glimpses of a battle of light versus dark, heaven versus hell, albeit not as overt as the opening of Fantasia 2000. That’s the beauty of this segment. It’s all up for interpretation. You can let the images and sounds wash over you as if you were dreaming it, or attach whatever meaning you find.

And on that note (ha) –

Things Fantasia Fans Are Sick of Hearing #3: “God, all these animators must have been so fucking high to come up with this shit.”

I tell ya what, if you’re one of those people who think that, take whatever drug is handy, grab some crayons or whatever you feel comfortable doodling with, and when you’re comfortably high, draw one full second of animation. That’s 24 consecutive drawings that need to flow, squash and stretch into each other realistically. It doesn’t have complicated; it can be a ball bouncing, a flower blowing in the wind, an eye blinking, but it has to work.

Not so easy, huh?

Classic Disney animators who lectured at art schools received comments like this all the time. While there were some like Fred Moore who would go for the occasional beer run on breaks, there’s no record of narcotic or alcoholic influence on the animators’ turnout. I’m pretty sure Walt would’ve fired anyone who turned in work produced while high because it’d be awful. Animation was still a fairly new medium at the time, and Disney was constantly experimenting with what it could do, which is why we got things like this, the Pink Elephants, and other delightfully trippy moments throughout the 40’s, not because of drugs. Isn’t that right, classic Disney animator Bill Tytla?

“Of course! I’ve never done drugs, and I never drink…wine.”

The Nutcracker Suite – Pyotr Illich Tchaichovsky

Things Fantasia Fans Are Sick of Hearing #4: “Yawn. Nutcracker is SO overplayed. Of course Disney had to jump on the bandwagon with their version!”

Ironically, the extended Deems Taylor intro has him mention how nobody performs Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker; in light of its modern seasonal popularity, the sentiment is rendered archaic. True, the ballet wasn’t an initial critical hit and Tchaikovsky himself virtually disowned it, but much of its ubiquity is largely due in part to Disney adapting it for Fantasia. It eschews the title character in favor of a nature ballet portraying the cycle of seasons. Initial planning included the overture and the famous march featuring woodland critters, though they were eventually cut. Walt considered pumping scents into the theater during this part, but was unable to figure out how to do it naturally. If they had Smell-O-Vision that might work, but what scents would you have to scratch off for the other Fantasia segments? Wood resin? Wine? Wet hippo? Brimstone?

The sequence begins with The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy. In the night a group of fairies dance like fireflies, gracing spring flowers and spiderwebs with delicately timed dewdrops.

“Any of you girls seen Tinkerbell?” “She ditched us to hang out with that obnoxious flyboy.” “Again?! That’s the third time this month!”

The scene is atmospheric with beautifully rendered pastel backgrounds. After the fairies comes The Chinese Dance performed by a group of little mushrooms. It’s a cute number, and just another that was parodied more than a few times in other cartoons – wait do those mushrooms have slant eyes? And they’re prancing around nodding like extras in The Mikado…

You fungi are lucky you’re so darn adorable otherwise I’d sic the self-righteous side of Twitter on you.

Dance of the Reed Flutes follows. Lilies gently float on to the surface of a pond before inverting themselves to resemble twirling dancers with long, flowing skirts. And since I’m not always one to take the easy route, enjoy this niche reference instead of “You Spin Me Right Round”.

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A gust of wind blows the spinning lilies over a waterfall into some moody underwater caverns, where a school of unusually sultry goldfish perform the Arabian Dance.

Cleo, does Gepetto know about this?

A novel idea, using the basic swimming motions of a goldfish and their naturally diaphanous tails and fins as veils to resemble exotic dancers, though like other animated characters in a similar vein, this has led to some…”interesting” reactions from certain people.

Right, well, bubbles transition us into the penultimate movement, the Russian Dance. Thistles and orchids resembling dancers clad in traditional Russian peasant clothing spring to life in this brightly colored energetic minute. You’ll be chanting “hey!” along with it.

And finally, the Waltz of the Flowers. As a little girl I would often hold my own “ballets” to this scene, which mainly comprised of me in a ballet costume or fancy nightgown spinning around in circles for family members with this playing in the background. Top that, Baryshnikov.

Fairies similar to the ones from the beginning transform the leaves from fresh summer green to autumn orange, brown and gold. Milkweed seeds blossom forth and float through the air like waltzing ladies. This piece above all else is what really shows the beauty of nature. I feel more emotion watching the leaves pirouette in the wind than any plain live-action drama.

Fall turns into winter, and the fairies, now snow sprites, skate across a pond creating ice swirls while even more spiral down from the sky as snowflakes. The secret of animating these snowflakes was nearly lost to time. Several years ago a notebook by technician Herman Schultheis was rediscovered, revealing how many of the special effects in Disney’s early films – Fantasia in particular – were brought to life. The snowflakes were cels on spools attached to small rails from a train set that were filmed falling in stop motion and black and white, then superimposed on the final picture.

In conclusion, The Nutcracker Suite is a lovely piece of animation and music, and I’ll pop in Fantasia at Christmastime just to watch it. This was my introduction to The Nutcracker, and it’s an excellent and unique one.

The Sorcerer’s Apprentice – Paul Dukas

The symphonic poem of the same name now gets a proper name with Mickey Mouse stepping in the title role. It’s impossible to imagine any other character in his shoes, but for a time there were other considerations.

“Nope. Too wooden.”

“Too angry.”

“I’m sorry, but you’re just too darn loud.”

As we all know, Mickey was given the part since his popularity needed a boost. He doesn’t talk here, and I know those who find his voice grating wholeheartedly embrace that fact, but what we’re given is proof that Mickey works just as well silently as he does speaking. Very few cartoon characters can pull off that kind of versatility.

And while we’re on the topic of sound, Walt was so determined for the sound quality to match what was happening on screen that he devised a system he dubbed “FantaSound”, where it would seem as though the music would move around the the theater instead of just blare out from one speaker.

You read that right. Fantasia is the movie that invented SURROUND SOUND.

But that’s not the only technological leap Fantasia is responsible for – this is the first time we see Mickey with sclera.

That’s the white of the eyes for those who don’t speak science.

Before Fantasia, Mickey had what we refer to today as “pie eyes”, a relic of the era he was created in. As the art of animation progressed, animators found it increasingly difficult to create believable expressions with two little dots. Fred Moore is responsible for the mouse’s welcome redesign. Mickey as the apprentice serves the sorcerer Yen Sid, named after his real world counterpart.

“Hey! I didn’t teach him that!”

Mickey’s craving a taste of his master’s power, so he borrows his magical cap after he goes to bed and enchants a broom to finish his work of gathering water. It’s fun and bouncy, though the part where Mickey dreams he can control the cosmos, seas and sky is something to behold.

“The power! The absolute POWER!! The universe is mine to command! To CONTROOOOOOL!!!”

But Mickey is jolted from his dream of ultimate conquest when the broom begins flooding the place. Unfortunately the sorcerer’s hat doesn’t come with a manual so Mickey doesn’t know how to turn it off. He resorts to violently chopping the broom to pieces with an axe. The animation originally called for the massacre to happen on screen, but was altered to showing it through shadows instead. I think it’s much more effective this way. The implied violence is more dramatic than what we could have gotten.

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One of my favorite stylistic choices in Fantasia is what follows. The color is sucked out, drained if you will, mirroring Mickey’s exhausted emotional and physical state after committing broomslaughter. But it slowly returns as the broom’s splinters rise up and form an army of bucket-wielding drones. They overpower Mickey and catch him in a whirlpool until Yen Sid returns and parts the waters like a pissed off Moses.

“You! Shall not! SWIM!!!”

Mickey sheepishly returns the hat, and I have to give credit to the animators for the subtle touches on Yen Sid. He appears stern at first glance, but the raised eyebrow borrowed from Walt? The slight smirk at the corner of his mouth? Deep down, he’s amused by his apprentice’s shenanigans. Even the backside slap with the broom, while rendered harshly due to the sudden swell of music, is done less out of malice and more out of playfulness.

The piece ends with Mickey breaking the barriers of reality to congratulate Stokowski on a job well done.

“Hey! I didn’t teach him that!”

If you haven’t already guessed, The Sorcerer’s Apprentice is easily one of my preferred sequences. It’s energetic, perfectly matches the music, and features my favorite mouse in one of his most iconic roles. I joke about the scene where Mickey controls the waves and the sky due to Disney’s far-reaching acquisitions in the past decade, but within the context of the film it’s one of the most magical moments. Some theorize that The Sorcerer’s Apprentice is an allegory of Walt’s journey to create Fantasia itself, and there’s some merit to it – Mickey’s always been Walt’s avatar after all, and here he dreams big only to wind up way in over his head. But you don’t need to look for coincidental parallels to enjoy this part.

Rite of Spring – Igor Stravinsky

Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring is admittedly my least favorite part of Fantasia, though I don’t hate it by all means. Thematically it’s the furthest from the original work’s intent: instead of a pagan ritual involving a virgin sacrifice, we witness the earth’s infancy. I was never really into dinosaurs as a kid (I didn’t even see Jurassic Park until I was in fourth or fifth grade), and the thundering, threatening music put me off. I found it too long (twenty-two minutes is an eternity in child time), uninteresting, and dour compared to the other sequences, with the exception of one moment. I can appreciate it now that I’m older, though.

A solitary oboe echoes through the vast darkness of space. We soar past comets, galaxies, suns, and down into our lonely little planet still in the early stages of formation. Volcanoes cover the earth. They spew toxic gas, but their magma bubbles burst in precision with the music. Once again this is due to Herman Schultheis. He filmed a mixture of oatmeal, coffee grounds, and mud with air pushed up through a vent, and let the animators go to town on it.

The volcanoes erupt simultaneously. Lava flows and the ensuing millennia of cooling form the continents. But deep in the sea, the first protozoan life wriggles, divides, and evolves into multi-cellular organisms. One of them crawls up on to land, and finally we’re back in the time where dinosaurs weren’t just confined to zoos.

Things Fantasia Fans Are Sick of Hearing #4: “Dinosaur inaccuracies…brain melting…”

True, most of the dinosaur and plant species here never shared the same period of existence, but try telling that to the animation studio or John Hammond. They mostly went for whatever looked cool and prehistoric regardless of scientific accuracy. Some of the designs themselves are a bit off, but the animators did their best considering how much we knew about the creatures in the 30’s and 40’s. Heck, we’ve only recently discovered that most dinosaurs were covered with feathers or fur, and I don’t see anyone harping on Jurassic Park for omitting that detail. Thank God Steven Spielberg doesn’t harbor George Lucas’ affinity for reworking his past movies with extra CGI.

Believe it or not, this scene was once considered the height of accurate dinosaur depictions on film, because nobody else had done it before with this level of research and care in animation. Without Rite Of Spring, we wouldn’t have The Land Before Time or Jurassic Park in the first place. Look at Land Before Time’s bleak, orangey atmosphere and the Sharptooth fights and tell me this didn’t influence it in any way.

The dinosaurs themselves have little character and, while fascinating to see how they might have lived, are not particularly engaging. Until…

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Yes, when the king of all dinosaurs makes his entrance, bringing a thunderstorm along with him no less, all the others are wise to run and hide from him. I would hide under a quilt but still peek through the holes in awe. He snaps about throwing his weight around, but when it goes toe to toe with a stegosaurus? That’s when things get real.

This battle, by the way, is animated by Woolie Reitherman, who had a knack for bringing gargantuan characters to life. He was responsible for animating Monstro in Pinocchio, and was behind Maleficent’s dragon form in Sleeping Beauty.

Though what follows is far from triumphant. The earth has become a hot, barren wasteland. The dinosaurs trudge through deserts and tar pits, their fruitless search for water turning into a slow death march. Not even the mighty T-Rex can survive this.

California: present day.

Some time later, the dinosaurs are all gone. Only their bones bleaching in the sun remain. Without warning, a massive earthquake hits and the seas flood through, washing away the remains of the old prehistoric world. The sequence comes full circle as the lonely oboe plays over a solar eclipse, which sets on an earth ready to step into the next stage of life.

If Walt had his way, the segment would have continued with the evolution of man and ended on a triumphant note with the discovery of fire, but he was worried about the possible backlash from zealous creationists. And I don’t blame him for wanting to avoid a confrontation with that crowd.

“It’s bad enough he makes a mouse act like a people with his dadgum pencil sorcery, but propagandizin’ evil-loution in mah Saturday mornin’ toon box? That’s just plum un-okkily-dokkily!”

“…You wouldn’t happen to have a dictionary on hand, would you?”

“DICTIONARIES ARE THE DEVIL’S BOOSTER SEAT!!”

Subsequently, those edits made to Stravinsky’s score pissed off the composer so much that he considered suing Disney for tampering with his work. He opted not to, yet the experience turned him off animation for good. A crying shame; Stravinsky, apart from being the only classical composer alive to see his work made part of a Fantasia feature, was excited to work with Walt. The two deeply respected and recognized each other as artists ahead of their time. Who knows what else could have come from their collaboration if things ended better?

With that knowledge, it makes sense that one of Stravinsky’s most famous pieces, the Firebird Suite, was included in Fantasia 2000: perhaps on some level Disney wanted to apologize for how the finale of Rite of Spring was mishandled by making Firebird the grand finale (though knowing Stravinsky he would have hated the little changes made to his music there as well).

Following the intermission, the orchestra reconvenes and has a fun little jam session. Deems Taylor takes a moment to introduce us to the most important – but rarely seen – figure that makes Fantasia and most music in movies possible, The Soundtrack.

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Once again, Disney does what it does best and anthropomorphizes what no one thought was possible. Think about it: giving personalities to animals is one thing, but they’ve successfully done the same for plants, planes, houses, hats, and here, sound itself. It may seem silly and out of place, but I think it’s brilliant and charming. The visuals it creates to represent different instruments are perfectly matched; some of them harken back to Toccata and Fugue. This, combined with the improv from the orchestra, is a good way to ease us back into comfort after the harshness of Rite of Spring.

Pastoral Symphony – Ludwig Van Beethoven

There’s a famous story about Walt Disney while he was pitching this segment. When met with complaints that it wasn’t working, he cried out This’ll MAKE Beethoven!” In a way, he was right. This was the very first piece of Beethoven I ever heard, even before the famous “da da da DUUUUUN” of Symphony #5. And as far as I know, it was for a good many Disney fans too. We still get a romantic depiction of the countryside as was the composer’s intent, but instead of an rural utopia, we see the Fields of Elysium at the foot of Mount Olympus. It’s home to a variety of mythical creatures from the golden age of Greece: fauns, unicorns, cherubs, centaurs and Pegasi.

If there was ever a Disney world I wanted to spend a day in, this would be it. It’s so innocent, laidback and colorful; it takes me right back to my childhood. A great portion of this sequence was used in my favorite music video in the Simply Mad About the Mouse anthology album, “Zip A Dee Doo Dah” sung by Ric Ocasek from The Cars. Whether that was my favorite because it featured Pastoral Symphony or Pastoral Symphony was my favorite because it was featured in the video I don’t know. There’s nothing that could ever destroy it for –

Oh son of a…

Things Fantasia Fans Are Sick of Hearing #5: “RACIST. FUCKING. CENTAUR. EQUALS. RACIST. DISNEY… RACIST!!!”

Yes ladies and gents, that image is real. Meet Sunflower (or Otika, I’m not sure which one she is) one of the the censored centaurettes (for very obvious reasons). I’m of two minds when it comes to their inclusion. First off, yes, they’re crude and demeaning blackface caricatures that have no place in a Disney movie, let alone one of the best ones and in one of my favorite sequences. But my inner art/film historian that despises censorship feels that erasing these depictions is the same as pretending they and other prejudices of the time never existed.

Thank you, Warner Bros.

As time and the civil rights movement marched on, all traces of the Sunflower squad were removed from later releases of Fantasia. The downside to that was editing techniques at the time weren’t as high-tech as they are today; I was lucky to see a film print of Fantasia at the Museum of Modern Art in 2015 that must have dated as far back as the ’60s because she wasn’t there, but the cuts were very noticeable. Sad to say the amazing remastered tracks done by Irwin Kostal in the 80’s used a similar print because the shift in the music is very jarring at points in this segment. It wasn’t until Fantasia’s 50th anniversary that they were able to zoom in and crop the scenes that had Sunflower in them while recycling other pieces of animation over parts where they couldn’t get rid of her, eventually managing to digitally erase her from some of the film entirely (look carefully at the part where the red carpet is being rolled out for Bacchus on the blu-ray. Unless he got it from the Cave of Wonders, carpets normally don’t roll themselves…)

I completely understand the reasoning behind Sunflower’s removal, but can also see why animation aficionados would try to pressure Disney into bringing her back with each new re-release for Fantasia, possibly with one of those great Leonard Maltin intros putting everything into context like in the tragically out-of-print Disney Treasures dvds – though the chances of that happening are as likely as Song of the South being made public again (the Disney+ promo should have made that clearer when they claimed Disney’s entire back catalogue would be available for streaming, but I doubt the tag line “We have everything except Song of the South” would hook people). It’s an issue I’m very torn on. So if there was ever a chance that a version of Fantasia with a restored Sunflower was possible, either through Disney themselves or fan edits, my thoughts on it would be a very resounding…

The first movement of the symphony is “Awakening of Pleasant Feelings upon Arriving in the Country”, and this part does just that. As the sun rises and we get our first glimpse of the technicolor fantasyland. Pan flute-playing fauns and unicorns frolic with each other while a herd of Pegasi take to the sky. Again, going back to other notable movies taking cues from Fantasia, Ray Harryhausen carefully studied the movement of the Pegasi here when creating his stop-motion Pegasus for Clash of the Titans. They canter through the air as they would on land, but in the water they move with the grace of a swan.

And look at the little baby ones, they’re just too cute!

The second movement, “Scene by the Brook”, takes place exactly where you think it does. A group of female centaurs, named “centaurettes” by the animators, doll themselves up with the help of some cupids (and the aforementioned Sunflower) in preparation for mating season.

“”I used to like the centaurettes not just because they were pretty but because each of them having different colors could be interpreted as women of all colors hanging out together and finding love. But no, having Sunflower there confirms that they’re all supposed to be lighter-skinned ladies. Racism given context makes it no less of a pain in the ass.”

The male centaurs arrive and hook up with their conveniently color-matching counterparts. The cherubs help set the mood for their flirting interludes until they discover two shy, lonely centaurs (Brudus and Melinda, because I’m that big of a Disney nerd that I know their actual names) who haven’t found each other yet. They lure them to a grove with some flute music a la The Pied Piper and it’s love at first sight.

One of my favorite details throughout the Pastoral Symphony is that we keep coming back to Brudus and Melinda. They’re a cute couple, one of the closest things we have to main characters in this sequence, and it’s nice to follow them.

Our third movement is “Peasants’ Merrymaking”. The centaur brigade prepare an overflowing vat of wine for Bacchus, god of booze and merrymaking. Bacchus, forever tipsy, arrives backed up by some black zebra centaurettes serving him. Maybe they were considered attractive enough to avoid being censored.

The bacchanalia is in full swing with everyone dancing and getting loaded. But Zeus, who appears more sinister than Laurence Olivier or his future Disney counterpart, crashes the party with a big thunderstorm. I used to think he was a jerk for endangering his subjects just for kicks, but in light of recent revelations maybe he had ulterior motives.

“Feel the wrath of the thunder god, you fucking racists!”

“Come on, dad, you used to be fun! Where’s the Zeus turns into a cow to pick up chicks?!”

“He grew up. Maybe you should too, son. Now EAT LIGHNING!”

“The Storm”, our fourth movement, provides some stunning imagery against the torrential backdrop, from the centaurs being called to shelter to the pegasus mother braving the gale to rescue her baby.

Ultimately Zeus grows tired and turns in for the night, ending the storm. Iris, goddess of the rainbow, emerges and leaves her technicolor trail across the sky. The creatures revel in the effects it has on their surroundings, then gather on a hill to watch the sunset, driven by Apollo and his chariot. Everyone settles in to sleep, and Artemis, hunting goddess of the moon, shoots an comet across the sky like an arrow that fills the sky with twinkling stars.

Pastoral Symphony was the one part of Fantasia that always received the most derision from critics, but racist characters aside I simply don’t get the hate for it. It may be longer than Rite of Spring but feels nowhere near as drawn out. I love the colors, characters, and the calm, bucolic fantasy world it creates. This was my first exposure to Beethoven and the world of Greek mythology and I still hold plenty of nostalgia for it. I admit it’s not perfect, and not just for the reason you think. Out of all the Fantasia pieces, this is the one whose quality is closest to an original Disney short than a theatrical feature. It’s a bit more cartoony and there’s some notable errors, particularly when the baby Pegasi dive into the water and emerge different colors. Also, Deems and the animators flip between using the gods’ Greek and Roman names, and the stickler in me wants them to pick a mythos and stick with it. But for all it’s flaws it’s still among my very favorite Fantasia pieces and nothing can change that.

The Dance of the Hours from the Opera “La Giaconda” – Amilcare Ponichelli

Like I said before, Disney was a master of the art of anthropomorphism. And nowhere is this more true than Dance of the Hours. Animals portray dancers symbolizing morning, noon, dusk and evening – only they’re the most unlikely ones for the job. The characters of our penultimate act are as cartoony as any you’d see in a Disney short from the era, but what puts the animation above it is the right balance of elasticity and realism. The exaggeration is on point, but there’s enough heft and weight to the animals that I can buy them being grounded in (some semblance of) reality. The animators studied professional dancers and incorporated their moves and elegance flawlessly. Half of the comedy derives from this.

The other half comes from how seriously the mock ballet is treated. We’re never informed who the dancers will be, leading anyone who hasn’t seen this before to assume they’re people. The ballet itself is a parody of the traditional pageant, but the performers carry on with the utmost sincerity. It doubles the laughs when it comes to moments such as Ben Ali Gator trying to catch Hyacinth Hippo in a dramatic pas de deux or an elephant getting a foot stuck in one of her own bubbles as she prances around. The familiar lighthearted refrain of the dance provides wonderful contrast to the caricatures on screen, particularly if you recall its other most famous iteration beyond Fantasia.

No one ever told me Camp Grenada was this Arcadian or zoological.

Morning begins with a troupe of uppity ostriches in ballet gear waking up, exercising and helping themselves to a cornucopia of fruit for breakfast. They fight over some grapes only to lose them in a pool. Something bubbles up from beneath and the ostriches run away in terror, but it’s only the prima ballerina of the piece, Hyacinth Hippo. She prepares for the day with help from her handmaidens and dances around a bit. Then she lies down for a nap, but no sooner do her ladies in waiting leave than some playful elephants come out of hiding and dance around Hyacinth unawares.

Elephants blowing bubbles in a Disney feature…nah, it’ll never catch on.

The elephants are blown away by a gust of wind (must be a really strong breeze), and with the coming of night a sinister band of crocodiles sneak up on Hyacinth. They scatter at the sudden arrival of their leader, Prince Ben Ali Gator, who immediately falls in love with Hyacinth. Surprisingly, the feeling is mutual.

I’m calling it – first body positivity romance in a Disney flick.

The climax of the piece has the crocodiles returning to wreak havoc on the palace and pulling the ostriches, elephants, and hippos back into a frenzied dance which brings down the house.

No bones about it, Dance of the Hours is a comic masterpiece and one of Fantasia’s crowning jewels. And the moment it ended was always the signal for younger me to stop the tape and rewind it to the beginning, due to what follows making a complete and terrifying 180…

Night on Bald Mountain – Modest Mussorgsky / Ave Maria – Franz Schubert

At last we come to our final part, two radically different classical works that blend perfectly into each other. And brother, what a note to end on.

Composer Modest Mussorgsky passed away before completing his masterwork “Night on the Bare Mountain”, a tonal poem depicting a witches’ sabbath from Slavic mythology. His friend, the great Rimsky-Korsakov, finished it for him while adding his own personal touch. The result is some of the most iconic and terrifying music ever created, and the accompanying animation, with the exception of The Sorcerer’s Apprentice, is the most faithful to its source material.

The scene takes place on Walpurgis Night, which is the closest thing Europe has to a real-life Summerween (those lucky so-and-so’s), on the titular mountain. The mountain’s peak opens up revealing Chernabog, the Slavic deity of darkness.

Chernabog is a masterclass in design and form. It’s easy to mistake him for Satan himself – Walt Disney and Deems Taylor both refer to him as such – though considering he’s technically Slavic Satan, there’s not too big a distinction. Chernabog radiates power, terror and pure darkness from his intro alone. You can imagine him influencing all other Disney villains to do his will, essentially filling in the horned one’s hooves. Chernabog was skillfully handled by Bill Tylta, an early Disney animator with enough talent to create characters as diverse as Stromboli and Dumbo. Bela Lugosi, the original Dracula, posed for reference pictures in the early design stages, though Tylta ultimately discarded them in favor of some different inspiration – sequence director Wilfred Jackson as model, and Tytla’s own Czech heritage. He grew up with folktales of Chernabog, which served him well during the production.

“Soon, master. The one known as Jackson shall take up your mantle and we shall feast upon humanity yet again.”

Chernabog unleashes his might on to the sleeping village below and raises the dead from the cemetery. A cabal of witches, wraiths and demons gallop on the wind and take part in his infernal revelry. Yet they are but playthings to the evil being. He transforms the creatures into alluring sirens and wretched beasts, sics harpies on them, condemns them to the flames, and lustfully embraces the hellish blaze. It’s an in your face pageantry of pure malevolence that you can’t look away from

Things Fantasia Fans Are Sick of Hearing #6: “This is too scary for kids!! What the hell were they thinking?!”

I think it’s time we made one thing clear: Fantasia was NOT made for children – or to be more accurate, not EXCLUSIVELY for children. While Disney movies are made to be enjoyed by both kids and adults, Fantasia is the only one who dared to appeal to a more mature audience, and Night on Bald Mountain is proof of that. It had the audacity to explore some of the most darkest, ancient depictions of evil in a way that no Disney feature has before or since. Most importantly, it’s not done for shock value like any random horror movie you could name. It’s meant to show the juxtaposition between the darkest depravity and purest good; combined with Ave Maria it makes for the perfect symbolic climax to Fantasia. Light versus darkness, chaos versus order, life versus death, profane versus sacred, and the quest to master them all are the themes that unify the seemingly disparate sequences, and this finale is the apotheosis of that.

I stated in my Mickey’s Christmas Carol review that Bald Mountain was one of my first introductions to the concept of eternal damnation at the tender age of…I wanna say four, five? It was easily one of the most petrifying things from my childhood, but at least I could avoid some exposure to it thanks to its position at the very end. Though now I adore Night on Bald Mountain for how bold and striking it is. Tytla’s animation, Kay Nielsen’s stunning demon designs, and Schultheis’ effects culminate in harmonious diabolical artwork that’s impossible to extricate from the music. It’s a shame Schultheis left the studio after Fantasia. He met a mysterious, tragic end in Guatemala, right around the time Bill Tytla left too as a matter of fact…

“He knew too much…about the secrets of animation, I mean. Nothing at all about das vampyr walking the earth. No sir.”

Yet at the height of his power, one thing stops Chernabog cold – the sound of church bells. Disney historian John Culhane saw Fantasia during its original theatrical run (lucky so and so…) and he recalled how much having FantaSound affected his screening: when the bells rang, he could hear them coming from the back of the theater and slowly course their way up front as their power grew. It was an awe-inspiring moment that took the Bald Mountain experience one step further into reality.

The bells and the rising sun drive Chernabog and his minions back into the mountain and the restless spirits return to their graves. In the misty morning a procession of pilgrims glides through the woods like a parade of tiny lights, and thus the Ave Maria begins. It’s one of the rare times Disney has gone overtly Christian. Maybe Walt wanted to get back into the God-fearing American public’s good graces after the sorcery, paganism, devil worship and evolution theory we’ve witnessed in the past hour and fifty minutes. It does relieve the tension from the previous turn of events.

The first pitch had the march enter a cathedral, but Walt didn’t believe recreating something people can already see in Europe. So instead they move through a forest with trees and natural rock formations resembling the Gothic architecture of a cathedral. It’s the stronger choice in my opinion. The implication speaks greater volumes than a specific location, subtly connecting nature to the divine. It’s difficult to make out most of the hymn’s words, but regardless it sounds beautiful, especially those final triumphant notes as the sky lights up over a view of the verdant hilltops.

“When the sun hits that ridge just right, these hills sing.”

And with that, Fantasia comes to a close.

Really, what else can I say about it at this point. I keep forgetting this movie came out in 1940. It’s virtually timeless, and a must-see for anyone who loves animation and classic film and wants to jump into either one.

Fantasia was a critical and box office success…sort of. Despite the praise and high box office returns for the time, it sadly wasn’t enough to make up for the cost of putting it all together. Like Pinocchio before it, the war cut off any foreign revenue. And not every theater was willing or able to shell out for that nifty surround sound so the effects were lost on most people. Then there’s the audience response, which is the most depressing of all. The casual moviegoers still viewed Walt as the guy behind those wacky mouse cartoons and called him out for being a pretentious snob, while the highbrow intellectuals accused Walt of debasing classical music by shackling it to animation. The poor guy just couldn’t win.

Fantasia marked the end of an era. Never again would Walt attempt a feature so ambitious. His plans of making Fantasia a recurring series, with old segments regularly swapped out for new ones, would not be seen in his lifetime. There’s been the occasional copycat (Allegra non troppo), a handful of spiritual successors (Make Mine Music, Yellow Submarine), and of course the sequel which I’m sure I’ll get to eventually, but through it all, there is only one Fantasia. And no amount of my ramblings can hope to measure up to it. Fantasia is one of those movies you simply have to experience for yourself, preferably on the biggest screen available with a top of the line sound system. I know it’s a cliche for Internet critics to name this as their favorite animated Disney movie, but…yes, it’s mine too. It opened a door to a world of culture and art at a young age. The power of animation is on full display, and it’s affected the way I look at the medium forever. Fantasia was, and still is, a film ahead of its time.

Thank you for reading. I hope you can understand why this review took me nearly three months! If you enjoyed this, please consider supporting me on Patreon. Patreon supporters get perks such as extra votes and adding movies of their choice to the Shelf. If I can get to $100, I can go back to making weekly tv show reviews. Right now I’m halfway there! Special thanks to Amelia Jones and Gordhan Ranaj for their contributions.

You can vote for whatever movie you want me to look at next by leaving it in the comments or emailing me at [email protected]. Remember, unless you’re a Patreon supporter, you can only vote once a month. The list of movies available to vote for are under “What’s On the Shelf”.

Artwork by Charles Moss. Certain screencaps courtesy of animationscreencaps.com.

To learn more about Fantasia, I highly recommend both John Culhane’s perennial book on the film and The Lost Notebook by John Canemaker, which reveals the long-lost special effects secrets which made Fantasia look so magical.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to be spending the rest of the month with my handy dandy garlic, stake and crucifix and pray Bill Tytla doesn’t visit me this Walpurgis Night. I suggest you do the same.

March Review: Fantasia (1940) And now we come to the final piece of Walt Disney's original animation trifecta, Fantasia, and it's one I'm both anticipating and dreading.

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thelastloop · 5 years

Text

Chapter 4: ‘Memories’

The beginning

As Henry travels further into the studio he used to call home, old and new collide.

The silence and the dim light of the candles reassured Henry, and he lay where he landed until the spinning sensation and the darkness swallowing the corners of his vision subsided. He winced as he pushed himself to his feet, pushing through the stabbing pain from his bleeding hand. Now he could take a proper look at what stood before him. Coffins. Inwardly he panicked. What happened here? The creature’s offerings lay at the base of the coffins, next to a fire axe: an audio log and what looked like a small windowpane attached to a lever. His brow furrowed as he tried to puzzle out what their purpose was. |Leave that monster’s worthless possessions. Take the axe and go. | Before he could think he’d already half-turned away, good hand outstretched towards the weapon. Then he reconsidered. No, that thing had left these for a reason! He wanted to know why! But he’d already turned in spite of himself, pulling the axe towards him. |LEAVE.| The thought persisted, louder this time. He grimaced. Despite every fiber of his being protesting, he slowly set the axe back down, and crouched down in front of the items. The audio log emitted a loud, grinding static tone as it was played. |See? Worthless. Leave it.| He ignored the passing thought and reached for the device next. Now this… he had no idea what to do with this. He couldn’t even tell WHAT this was. Peering through the glass in the middle revealed nothing. For all intents and purposes, it seemed just as worthless as he continued to insist. Then he noticed the switch on top. He flicked it on, and the lights dotting the inside sparked to life. Names. He could see names now. Norman and Grant, glowing yellow as labels for each coffin. To his left, the wall read Say Hello to Sammy. His old coworkers… He raised a hand to his mouth, tears pricking at his eyes as he looked on in horror. The studio had made Joey far worse, this he knew… but there were some lines he thought even Joey wouldn’t cross… clearly, he was wrong. The fall gave him two options: try to find the way back up or keep moving forward. He decided on the latter. Someone had to confront Mr. Drew; who better than his ‘best pal’? Henry grabbed the axe, shoving the seeing tool deep within his pocket just as he heard something click on the other side of the door. While it was hard to discern the exact words, it was the familiar tone and lilt of the voice that began to speak that sent a wave of recognition through him. The music director. The thorn in everyone’s side. His friend. Samuel Lawrence. He threw open the door. As the voice grew clearer, he realized that it wasn’t the man whose voice he heard, but another godforsaken audio log. He mumbled the words ‘Can I get an amen?’ bitterly as the tape ended, unsure why he knew them but hating them all the same. “I said, ‘Can I get an amen’?” A shiver ran down his spine. Now THAT… that voice was no recording. He sounded so close. Henry raced towards the source and axed through the boards blocking his path, barely giving the veritable river of ink a second glance before beginning to wade through. He had to get through to the other side before he missed him. “Sheep, sheep, sheep, it’s time for sleep…” Henry froze. The… creature, that came into view of the doorway was no man at all. He was man-shaped, perhaps, but covered in—perhaps even made of—ink. He was mannequin-esque: no hair or discernable facial features. A mask whose visage he couldn’t quite place covered the rest of his head. It left a chilling mockery of the stern but kind man he remembered. What had been done to him? What did Joey do to him? “In the morning, you make wake-” The ink man moved past the doorway now. Henry scrambled to catch up as the voice disappeared. “Hey! Wait, please!” “-Or in the morning, you’ll be dead.” Sammy had vanished. To Henry’s left, a Bendy cutout and a sigil on the wall gave no answers. To his right, yet another hallway, with a similar dead end. Where in the world could he have gone? The cutout grinned in silence, as if mocking him with answers he couldn’t yet understand. Watching. Judging. He let out a groan of frustration and cut the damn thing down. He hurried to the end of the hall, hoping that maybe there’d be some clue of where the ink man had vanished to. No such luck. The wall to his left stood shuttered closed, powered by 3 switched that apparently weren’t turned on. He gritted his teeth. Another puzzle… A sense of sinking dread overwhelmed him, telling him this was just the start of all the tedious ways Joey would extend his stay in this personal Hell. It irritated him, but his only option was to play along… unless maybe the symbols in the sigil had something to offer. How he intended to interpret them, he didn’t know, but at least it’d be a straw to grasp at. The cutout stood grinning in the way. His eyes widened. “How in the world did—but I swear I just…” he mumbled, placing a shaky hand on the cardboard figure. All it did was stare. He grimaced. Maybe… he would think twice about cutting down any more standees. Finding the switches didn’t take long. As the shutter blocking off the next room lifted, Henry couldn’t help but smile. Now he knew where he fell to: The music department. If he wasn’t sitting cramped at his desk, he’d always bring his work to either the band room or the organ room. Music soothed his aches and pains, and the two men most responsible for said music soothed his nerves. Of course Sammy, dedicated head of the department, still hung around the area… a sobering thought, yet strangely comforting. Maybe he still remembered. He stepped inside. Lights flickered on with a distinct fluorescent hum, and music crackled to life. The cheerful tune eerily echoed through the main entrance, empty aside from the ink that seemed to permeate everything. Another step forward triggered something else—a chorus of choking growls and gurgles drowned out the music, and Henry watched in horror as the puddles of ink violently burst. From the blackness rose creatures much like Sammy, but… half-formed, melting into themselves and reforming as they dripped ink. They dragged themselves towards him. Instinct took over, fear swallowed by cool determination as he advanced on them. |They’re weak! | One vanished into nothingness at a slice from his axe. He bit back a groan as the impact dug deep into his wounded palm. |They’re monsters! I have to kill them! | He lunged again, and another dissolved back into its puddle. A strange haze took over him, almost beside himself as his body just… moved. -- His head pounded. The lack of sleep was starting to affect his work, shaky hands ruining several perfectly good sketches. He couldn’t leave the studio, though. Not with the deadlines running so close together. He rubbed his temples hard, hoping for a bit of relief as he closed his eyes. Nothing. Nothing but the gentle tones of a violin. The band must be practicing. He slowly heaved himself out of his chair, gathering pencils and papers together. Maybe a change of scenery would help his creative juices flow. The music stopped partway through his trip down. As he approached, ignoring the glowing ‘recording’ sign above the door, he could hear they weren’t really ‘practicing’ anymore. Sammy was too busy giving a lecture. “You’re off-tempo and too loud! What are you trying to do, blow out our equipment? We can’t afford to replace it! Why don’t you show a little consideration and play competently, instead of—” The music director paused, turning to face the door as it opened. Henry stared back, clutching his armful of supplies a little tighter. “…Stein.” Sammy pinched the bridge of his nose, “Did we interrupt something? Or do you have more work for me.” He slowly shook his head, “I was hoping to sit in, actually.” The irritated look melted off his face, and his brows knit together in confusion. “…Really?” “I know you’re never satisfied with it, but I still think you all make very good music, Sammy. I’ll be quiet, I pormise. I just need something more stimulating than staring at a wall.” Sammy offered a wry smile, but quickly shook it off as he turned back to the group. “Hear that? You’re more stimulating than staring at a wall. Now that’s what I call progress. And… Henry. As long as you’re silent, I suppose you can stick around.” Henry quickly slipped in, closing the door behind him. The band room certainly had a lot more to offer than his one-desk ‘animation department’. Posters, instruments, the hustle and bustle of people… it was nice. He settled himself by the piano, since it seemed they weren’t using it just yet. Sammy watched him flit around, and once he seemed situated, the man nodded, grabbing at his sheet music. “Well… maybe with an audience, you’ll play at a more human volume.” After a while, Sammy completely forgot about the intruder in his work space. At least, Henry hoped he did. Work quickly slipped by the wayside, and before he knew it, he drifted in and out of slumber, only waking if one of the players let out an especially loud note. The silence, ironically, is what fully pulled him away from sleep. Hushed murmurs he couldn’t quite discern, followed by one particularly harsh whisper: “If any of you wake him, I’ll kill you.” Quiet footsteps quickly retreated in multiples of two. Just a single set of footsteps remained, slowly drawing close until they sounded right next to where he’d curled up. Instead of a rough hand waking him, he felt something soft drape over him: a blanket. Sammy just laid a blanket over him. The music director tsked disapprovingly. “Idiot. Don’t work yourself to death here. It’s not worth it.” A pause. “Ah, but who am I to say?” The footsteps started to leave, and just as Henry settled down to hopefully get some more sleep, the door slammed open. “WHERE IS HENRY!” --- Henry jumped, clutching his chest as his heart threatened to leap out of his ribcage. Instruments, chairs, recording equipment… when did he end up in the band room? And why did he feel like he was being watched? It seemed empty on the floor, but his eyes trailed upward, and… There. Up in the projector room. He gaped at the sight of the cardboard figures, ever-smiling from their perch. They moved back and forth wherever he wasn’t, from projection room to band floor, avoiding him but still monitoring his progress… The shadows of the music director followed him, in audio logs and physical presence. It made every inch of hair stand on end. But all he could do was keep pushing. Any moment of rest could be his last, he reminded himself. His white-knuckled grip on the axe never faltered, even as he went through Sammy’s puzzles and entered the sanctuary. The ink struck him first. Sing a happy song Whistle a Happy tune Wait for his arrival He’s coming very soon The whispers followed, louder and more insistent as he grew close to the ink valve. Something inside him hesitated. Sammy… listened to this, day in and day out. It scared him. But all he could do was turn off the flow and try to move as quickly as possible. Upon glancing up at the projection room to count how many watched now, he realized a new presence waited for him. Henry stared up at the prophet, silently surrounded by cutouts and watching him in return. He tried to speak. His mouth felt glued shut, the only sound escaping him a quiet, sad noise he was sure the music director couldn’t hear. With considerable effort, he shakily reached a hand out towards him. Sammy tilted his head slightly to one side. “…Soon, my little sheep. You’ll return to the flock. You understand?” He slowly nodded, and the prophet hummed, a happy noise. “Very good.” The ink man turned and started to walk away. Henry tried to call out for him to wait, but once more words escaped him… and so did Sammy. The room erupted in ink. He started to swing, letting his body do the talking. -- Henry rubbed at his eyes. The lines on his cells all seemed to blur together, and no amount of coffee seemed to help. Really, it just made it worse, combining exhaustion with caffeine jitters. He gave up. He set the pencil aside, gripping the sides of his head instead with a groan. Tap. He froze. Joey? No, the man didn’t dare be that subtle. Sneaking a glance revealed a far more welcome face. A small man with prematurely gray hair, pale blue eyes, and a gentle smile stood there, offering a little wave. Johnny, the resident organist. He lowered his hands. “Do you need something, Johnny?” The man shook his head. Johnny didn’t talk much. In fact, Henry wasn’t sure he’d ever heard him speak. He spent most of his time cooped up in the organ room, making music whenever Sammy demanded and little else, communicating in a rough pantomime or through written notes if he had them on him. Today, he chose the former, making a ‘come here’ gesture to the animator. Henry sighed a bit, but stood to follow nonetheless. He wasn’t getting anything done where he was sitting. Johnny gently guided him down to the organ room—Henry always found the place claustrophobic, but for whatever reason the small man seemed right at home here. He sat down at the bench, then turned and started to pantomime at Henry. “You… play. I listen…” Henry mouthed, watching his hands. “You want me to listen to your new composition?” Johnny nodded, smiling. “Wouldn’t Sammy be a better critic?” The organist shook his head, gently patting the place beside him on the bench. “I really should be working, Johnny…” Another expectant pat. Did he really want to fight this? No, he decided. The animator smiled a bit as he joined him. The room filled with the rich tones of the organ, up and down in its own melodic chorus. As he sat there, eyes closed in appreciative rapture, the room felt so much larger than the confines of its walls. “Alice Angel piece?” he asked. Johnny just smiled. He did too, listening in contented silence to the cheerful, yet reverent melody on their tiny pew. -- He returned to himself just before passing the room in question. While his feet kept moving, he grabbed the doorframe and stopped himself, pulling back to step inside. There stood the organ. Johnny’s organ. “At least you still seem normal,” he murmured, small smile back on his face. He approached the instrument, running a hand across the bench, feeling the well-worn wood grain with silent joy. Slowly, he brought it to the keys. It should still play… He pressed down. A jumble of discordant notes rattled out of the instrument. His heart dropped. Before he could wonder why, a new sound burst forth: something agonized. Something hurt. Surprise shifted to horror as his blood ran cold. “Johnny…?” Without thinking, he pressed again. Who else would it be? This was his room, his instrument! He pressed again, more forcefully. “Johnny! Can you hear me?!” Nothing. 2 more presses, 2 more demands, and 5 total refusals to do more than groan. Johnny was in that instrument somehow. He had to be, and Henry needed to free him. The axe wouldn’t cut it, but it would cut him if he tried. He hurried out to find something else. He heard footsteps behind him, he swore he did. Knowing that didn’t help him move, and he locked up in panic, unable to turn around and stop the blow to the back of his head. The last thing he heard as the world went dark was soft laughter, chilling and cold.

#BATIM #Bendy and the Ink Machine #The Last Loop

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