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books-and-catears · 3 years

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Hi! I was wondering if you could write some headcanons on how the brothers would react to the alternate timeline MC (the one killed by belphie, rip) haunting the house of lamentation? I just think some angst would be neato. Keep up the good work! I love your writing <3

Oh how much I love this concept. With all the ghost MCs I've been writing this fits in perfectly. How I love writing angst hehehe thank you for this wonderful ask

Thank you so much for your kindness. I hope I can do this justice :')

It has been months since you've been gone. Your body buried in the human world, and yet your soul still felt like it was lingering.

They could see you - a glimpse here, a whisper there and your presence everywhere. Almost as if you just walked past them into your room, and lay curled up in bed with Satan's new books or Levi's new manga. Only you weren't.

The bumps in your bed were just pillows and blankets. The extra chair stood out like a sore thumb. They would so often call you and then feel stupid for expecting a response. Except you had started answering back now.

Lucifer could often hear paper rustling in his sleep. And when he woke up he found the paper work was done more than he remembered doing.

He found his favourite tea brewing whenever he was too tired. And it tasted exactly how you used to make it.

At first he thought it was some sort of sickening joke from his brothers so he threatened to punish them if they didn't come clean. But it was none of them.

Then...MC? Did you come back somehow?

He went into a secret frenzy, looking for you everywhere. Sometimes when the house was empty, he screamed out your name, he could hear your voice softly calling back from your room.

Soon those soft vague sounds became his only comfort - he became super strict about silence in the house. He refused to have any other tea than the one he found magically brewing. He'd always kiss the cups before drinking from them, and his eyes would sting with unshed tears.

___________________________________________

Mammon might be scared of ghosts. But not you. Never you. Especially when he could feel your weight in his arms whenever he missed you too much.

Maybe the sensation was more vivid, since he was the last one to hold you alive. He could also see you. A faint shadow that walked beside and waved to him whenever he was in your room.

And though the shadow had no face, he could tell it was smiling. He felt calm around it. Like you never left. He denied your death the most and now there was reason to.

He barely left the house and most of the time he just stayed in your room. That's where he had most memories with you. Sometimes he found coins and Grimm strewn around your bed, as if you'd left it there for him. He took them and stored them away, never to spend them.

He was overjoyed when he saw your shadow in his room. He started talking to it like it was you, pressing his lips against the walls where you appeared and watching your shadow reaching up to touch his shadow, holding it tight. In those moments he swore he could feel your arms around him again. And on those nights, his pillows would be drenched with his agony.

___________________________________________

Leviathan first noticed it when he saw that Player 2 was always logged in, in all of his games. Even the ones that came months after you were longer there.

And while player two didn't actively play, he found boost items in his game inventory that he didn't achieve himself. You used to hunt down boost items to help with his battles and he protected you during the fights.

He starts getting even more into gaming, to the point where he forgets to go out for meals. Mammon and Satan have to drag him out to eat. He often just sits there talking to himself as if you're still there.

Then one day, in the group texts of the game, he sees you text. Player 2: 'Go get him Levi! I got your back; we have a lot of ammo!" He forgot the game altogether desperately typing back a message.

You don't text as often as he would like, but he's always waiting for whatever you say. It's easily the best part of his day. If he fell asleep in front of the screen, he would wake up covered with a blanket and good morning message on screen. His brothers claim to never have gone inside so he knows it's you. He cries into the blanket you covered him with cause he misses you.

___________________________________________

Satan came to feel your presence in the strangest way. There was a particular cat that you were attached to. That cat started finding ways to sneak inside the house, in the library or Satan's room, holding small books in its mouth.

When Satan opened them up, he found petals of your favourite flowers tucked away in some particular pages. It resembled the way you marked your favorite chapters using colored bits of paper or bookmarks.

He figured out a way to talk to you. He made something that resembled an Ouija board and left a little cat shaped button on it. He tried it out in your room, and it worked. You were talking back. Not whole sentences but broken phrases and words. So he used yes and no questions from then onwards.

He often found new books in his room, a hint that you wanted him to read them. While reading, he could swear he felt your head rest on his shoulder as if trying to read with him. He also left books in your room to read. Though he missed your touch and your voice, the fact that you still talk to him gave him so much joy. He often kisses the books he gives you, hoping they reach your fingers and litters the pages with tear stains in hopes you'd see them and come back.

___________________________________________

Asmodeus screamed the first time he saw you behind him in the mirror. You were transculent, barely visible. But it was you and your distinct smile and wave of the hand, leaning against his bathroom wall, long streaks of dried blood near your neck. He could even smell you - your scent like flowers, firewood and old books.

He tries to talk to you, even tries to hold you but you're just an image. A reflection that reflects nothing but empty space. You don't seem to talk but you nod or shake your head in reply. He presses himself into the mirror as if trying to hug you tight.

But lately he hears whispers, very faint and barely there but he hears them. Always calling him somewhere where there is a mirror. Cause that's the only place he can see you. If you thought he was obsessed with mirrors then, you should see him now.

He almost covered his whole room up with mirrors so he could see you from all angles, making you feel as alive as he possibly could. He screams your name into his pillows. Maybe you would respond if he was louder?

___________________________________________

Beelzebub often passed by you room, all covered now, just like Lilith's. The door was always kept open but he didn't dare enter. But one day, a strong gust of wind blew it wide open as if urging him to enter. So he did.

On the bed he found some fresh treats placed right in the middle of your bed. It was the treats he loved to eat together with you. How did they even get here?

He sat on the bed and absent mindedly started eating. When he ate, he could hear your laughter and you talking - a surge of memories flooding his senses. And when he was done, he could swear he felt your fingers wiping his mouth.

Eversince then he refused to eat anywhere except your room and his brothers had to drag him to the table during breakfast and dinner. But whenever a new bakery or restaurant opened, he would bring all the food back only to eat it in your room. And he would smile, listening to saying how delicious the food is. He would often clutch at his chest and cry, missing the way you used to hold him whenever he was sad. Won't you come hold him now, MC?

___________________________________________

Belphegor couldn't feel a thing. The only way he knew you were still here was when he brothers acted strangely. He'd ask them of course, but they'd never reply to him. He was the reason MC was gone. Why would MC show themself to him?

So he observed his brothers, always cautious for every little thing that was out of place. He'd caught all his brothers crying at some point or the other. Especially in your room. So he'd curl up in your room to spend the night in there hoping to feel you like his brothers. Only he never did, and Mammon and Satan would scream and drag him out the next morning.

None of the brothers would let him inside of their own rooms either. They couldn't save you when it mattered. So now it was their way of protecting whatever essence was left of you.

Feeling dejected and guilty he went and locked himself inside his old attic. He rested his against the bars that locked him in. Isn't this where he first met you, MC? Sigh. You'd been nothing but kind to him so why did he-

"Belphie.." Then he heard it. For the first time in forever, he heard your voice again. Soft and kind - just like before. He looked up and through the bars, he saw the most familiar sight. You smiling at him through the bars, your fingers wrapped around yours. And just like that he broke down. He started howling in pain, as he tried to reach you, but his fingers slipped right through you. "I'm sorry I'm sorry come back please come back!" He cried as you disappeared into thin air again.

My Masterlist .

#obey me angst #obey me headcannons #obey me angst headcanon #obey me lucifer #obey me satan #obey me levi #obey me beel #obey me belphie #obey me asmo #obey me mammon #obey me fluff #obey me imagine #obey me game

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thadelightfulone · 3 years

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All I Want... 25 Days of Christmas Challenge, Day 3

November 20th

Two days later and DeeDee kept thinking about Erik and his note. She buried herself in work, taking over other shifts just to stay busy. Whenever her mind was not focused on a physical task, it shifted back to thoughts of Erik. It was bothering her how much the whole thing was occupying her every thought. Her girls hit her up for an impromptu night out and she jumped at the opportunity.

The ladies got ready at DeeDee’s place. Phyllis danced around the bathroom to whatever song played. Beverly was in DeeDee’s closet in search of an outfit. DeeDee sat on her bed, with balled up hands on her lap.

Beverly pulled out a cute purple blouse and some dark denim boot cut jeans. “What do you think?”

Phyllis slid out of the bathroom, “Doesn’t she have a dress?”

Ignoring her, Bev turned to DeeDee, “Do you like it?”

“Yeah, it’s cute.” DeeDee replied.

“You gotta do better than that?” Phyllis walked into DeeDee’s closet. She pulled out a red dress. “Now, that is what I am talking about. Here.”

She shoved the dress into Beverly’s hands. DeeDee reached up to grab the other items that were falling.

“We want her to get a man.”

“Phyll, I just want to have a good time. I am not looking for anything.”

“And that is your problem.” Phyllis grabbed DeeDee and walked her to the bathroom mirror. “You are a gorgeous woman who needs to get her head out of the books and onto something more substantial, if you know what I mean.”

DeeDee rolled her eyes and walked away, “No, I don’t.”

While DeeDee and Phyllis bickered over the benefits of having a personal life, Beverly hung the dress and blouse up on the back of DeeDee’s closet door. As she put the jeans on the lounge chair nearby, she saw the notebook from the other day.

“Hey, did you ever find out anything about the guy who wrote the note?”

“What?” DeeDee and Phyllis asked together.

“Ya know, the note DeeDee found in the book.” Beverly lifts the notebook up to them.

“Oh.”

“Hmmph.”

“Well?”

“I did get his name and email address.” DeeDee offered.

“Ok, so did you email him yet? You know, present yourself as the woman he is looking for?” Phyllis cackled.

Beverly hit her, “Shut up!”

“I don’t know why I even told you about it?” DeeDee muttered. She grabbed the book from Beverly and tossed it onto the top of her vanity.

“Well, did you?” Phyllis fixed her eyelashes before she waved her tweezers at DeeDee.

“No, I have not.” She huffed out.

Beverly sat on the bed, “Why not?”

“I don’t know.” DeeDee started pacing the floor in front of her dresser, “I guess, I didn’t think I would get this far.”

“So, what are you gonna do?” Beverly asked.

“She’s gonna send that email. That’s what!” Phyllis said before she walked out of DeeDee’s room. “Come on.”

They all walk out of her room and to her home office in the corner of the living room. Phyllis pulled out the chair and DeeDee sat down in front of her laptop.

“Go on, and power this thing up. We got work to do.”

DeeDee logged in and opened up her email application. Under Beverly and Phyllis’ guidance, she was able to write something interesting. Phyllis bumped her from the seat, and while pretending to read it again for any errors, she hit ‘Send’ before DeeDee figured out what was going on. Beverly led a stunned DeeDee back to her room.

They got dressed for the night -- DeeDee in the blouse and jeans fit. Phyllis did her makeup and Beverly did her hair. Ready to go, they all headed back out to the living room. DeeDee stared at her computer, shook her head and walked over to shut it down. There is no time to worry about that tonight.

---

Erik was sitting in his home office, going through his emails when he received a video call from Marquis. He accepted it and smiled as his best friend and his youngest daughter, Jasmine, greeted him.

“Hey Jazzie! How are you?”

“Hi Uncle E. I’m good. So, when are you coming to visit?” Jasmine asked.

“Jasmine.”

“What daddy? You told me to ask him.” She looked back at her father, who grimaced as she spoke.

Erik laughed at her candidness, “It’s ok babygirl. I plan to be out there soon. I promise.”

“Okie dokie.” She smiled at him, her toothless grin visible.

“Ok, Jazzie bear. Time for the adults to talk.” Marquis lifted her off his lap. “Say goodbye to Uncle E.”

“Bye Uncle E.” She waved to him and bounced away.

“She’s getting so big.” Erik said.

“Who you telling?” Marquis laughed. “She’s been here before. I know that much.”

Erik laughed along with him.

“And you are just the person I wanted to talk to.” Erik nodded to him.

“Oh. What’s up?”

“Do you know what happened to the student that wanted my information? I haven’t heard anything yet.”

“Well, I gave it to her. I’m surprised that she hasn’t reached out, but I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Yeah, you right.” Erik masked his face at Marquis’ mention that it was a woman who was looking for him.

“Yeah, so anyway. I was calling because I found out that Dr. Bell is retiring at the end of the semester.”

“What? She’s finally ready to travel the world?”

“Yup, said her first trip is set for January.”

“Well damn.” Erik chuckled. “Good for her. So, when is the party?”

“During the annual Chemistry Department Holiday party. We have a few surprises for her retirement.”

“So, am I one of those surprises?”

“Yeah, I am sure she would love to hear from her second favorite student.”

“Second? Nigga, I am her favorite. Go on with that.”

They both laughed and told stories of who is really Dr. Bell’s favorite.

“Yo, just send me the details, I’ll be there.”

“You sure, it’s right before Christmas? I just planned to have you give her a video call or something.”

“Nah, that woman did so much for me while I was in school. There is no way, I am missing this.”

“If you say so. I’ll send you --”

“Quis?” Erik interrupted him, “Do you know a Deidre Chabert?”

“Deidre? Oh yeah, that’s the student who was looking for you.”

“Hmmm, ok.” Erik’s cursor hovered over the email that just popped up.

“I take it, she finally emailed you.”

“She did.” He opened the email, “Quis, how do you know her?”

“She’s one of my doctoral students.”

“And you said, she found one of my articles?”

“That is what I was told.” Marquis shrugged, “She is still studying, I figured she found the one about how chemistry works for us in everyday life.”

“Huh.” His mouth dropped as he read the message.

“E, you good man?” Marquis asked.

Erik looked back up at him, and shook his head. “Yeah, yeah. I’m good.”

“Ha, I know that look.” Marquis smirks at him, “Sounds like she asked some good questions. I’ll let you go. Look out for my email with the details for Dr. Bell’s retirement.”

“Sounds good. I’ll talk to you later man.” Erik ended the call and went back to the open email on his screen.

SUBJECT: ‘MgYHeArTaNdSOULa’

Hello Dr. Erik Stevens,

I apologize for the false pretense in which you are receiving this email.

My name is DeeDee Chabert. I am a student at Southern University.

I found a very personal note that you left in a textbook while you were here. I don’t know if you remember it or not. But I do hope that you were able to find what you were looking for. It sounds like your parents are definitely relationship goals.

Best Regards,

DeeDee

Erik inhaled deeply. His eyes kept going back to the subject line. My Heart and Soul. He never thought he would see that phrase written like that again. Erik only wrote it once. He remembered the day that he wrote it and left it behind.

He was taking a break from studying one day when his parents crossed his mind. He recalled how his father showered his mother with affection whenever possible. Little things like flowers delivered with her breakfast or a sweet voice message to wake up to. It would have his mother on cloud nine for the entire day. And she always gave as good as she got. A short hand-written note in his lunch or singing voicemail on his work line, wishing him a wonderful day at work.

Erik smiled at the memories of his parents and the perfect example of a loving relationship that they showcased for him. He knew from a young age that that is exactly what he wanted for himself. And that day, he finally put it to words on that piece of paper. And someone found it.

Not only found it, but she deciphered the note. She thought that the love that his parents had was aspirational. Relationship goals as she put it. He laughed at the sentiment that described it perfectly.

Erik stared at the screen. Should he respond? What would he say? Thanks for sharing, I never thought someone would find the note. Or does he address the comment about finding it for himself.

He got up from his desk and went to the bar across the room. Erik poured himself a tumbler of whiskey and looked out over downtown Oakland. The view of the night sky allowed him to take a few moments to think.

Erik knew that he wanted to respond to her email. It meant something that she went out of her way to track him down with just his initials to go on. But also, he was curious about her. What kind of woman found that kind of note, thought to find the owner and reach out? She could have just kept it for herself to cherish and no one would be any wiser.

Finished with his whiskey, Erik went back to his desk and set down the glass. He clicked on the reply button and started typing.

SUBJECT: RE: ‘MgYHeArTaNdSOULa’

Hello DeeDee,

Your email caught me off guard as I never expected anyone to find that note. But I do know what you are talking about.

Thank you for your kind words. I appreciate them. My parents definitely had a once-in-a-lifetime kind of love. I do hope that you find it for yourself.

I do have a question for you -- what made you search for me? Anyone else who read that note would probably think I was some nerdy virgin who needed to get laid. I am curious to know why it resonated with you.

Have a wonderful weekend.

E.S.

Taglist: @teakturn @ghostfacekill-monger @shaekingshitup @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @woahitslucyylu @ladymac82 @bugngiz @eyeknowmywrites @ajspencer1892 @arafatih @issimplyaamazinggg @tchallasbabymama

#25 days of christmas challenge #erik killmonger x oc #black panther fanfiction #bp christmas #all i want #thadelightfulone

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mx08z7kz6gqrs · 3 years

Text

好想爱这个世界啊 - Translation Notes

For my translation of this song, see this post. Listen to the live version of the song here. Below are some translation notes on the song.

This was one of my earlier translations, and one that I’ve felt like I should revisit but never had time to. It’s a particularly beautiful song, and the lyrics aren’t complicated, but they are written in a deliberately vague way that isn’t easily conveyed in English. It also has a lot of short phrases that work as individual sentences in Chinese, but that I’ve chosen to link together so that it flows better in English.

As usual, these notes are formatted with the original lyrics, followed by the most literal possible translation, and then an explanation for how I decided to translated it in the final version, including my interpretations and any nuances that I maybe have decided to drop.

Note that anything in brackets [like so] means that this word did not exist in the line, but I had to insert it for grammatical reasons. Usually it’s a subject pronoun that wasn’t specified.

---

Line by Line Translation Notes

抱着沙发睡眼昏花凌乱头发 // Hugging the sofa, sleepy eyes blurry, messy hair 却渴望像电影主角一样潇洒 // Yet long to be confident and free like the lead role in a movie

These two lines were fairly literal, and I’ve kept them as is while appending the first person pronoun so that it was grammatically consistent in English.

The most interesting notes here are “渴望”, “to long for.” In Chinese, this phrase is actually a combination of the character “渴” for thirst, and “望” for hope [for the future]. There is a desperation to this particular word choice that is somewhat capture in the English “longing.”

I’ve also chosen to translate “主角”, literally “main role” (ie, protagonist/leading role) to “hero” just for it to flow a little more naturally.

屋檐角下排着乌鸦密密麻麻 // Under the corners of the roof, crows line up, packed close together 被压抑的情绪不知如何表达 // The repressed feelings, [I] don’t know how to express

I took a lot of liberty in my translation of these lines, because they evoke a very specific sense of confusion and entrapment that I don’t think the literal translation captures well.

Crows in modern Chinese culture, like the west, can be seen as bad omens (ex when someone says something unlucky they are called “乌鸦嘴”, literally a crow’s beak). “密密麻麻” is an expression referring to things being very densely packed together- “密” refers to being “close together” while “麻” is the character for a hemp/sesame. The image it evokes is numerous things being packed so close together that they are like tiny dots against one another.

In this way, you can interpret the crows as a reflection for those feelings that the singer cannot express, trapping them without any gaps for escape.

无论我在这里在那里 // No matter if I’m here or there 仿佛失魂的虫鸣 // As if [I’m] a panicking bug cries 却明白此刻应该做些努力 // But understanding that right now, should make some effort to try harder

Not too many notes for this section. One thing that I’ve seen a lot of different translations around is the second line though, “失魂的虫鸣.” The word “失魂” literally translates to “lost soul.” But generally speaking, this term isn’t referring to the desolate feeling that the literal English translation evokes. Rather, it’s more like “lost wits” or “at wit’s end”, referring to a sort of indecisive and panicked state of mind.

In this case, it’s describing “虫鸣”, literally “cries of bugs.” The sound in my head is something like cicada chirps, or the eclectic noises of bugs in the evening on a hot day. In English, we’d more commonly describing the noises that bugs make as “buzzing”, and for the sort of restless feeling, a specific reference to “flies” made more sense and felt more natural that the more vague “bugs/insects” in the original lyric.

There’s a sense of aimlessness, confusion, and helplessness to this line that I wanted to capture.

无论我在这里在那里 // No matter if I’m here or there 不能弥补的过去 // The past that can’t be mended 每当想起 // Every time [I] think of it...

Simple lines- the one word of note here is “弥补”, a term that can mean to mend or to make up for any deficiencies. It’s formed with the character “弥”, “to fill in” or “complete” and the character “补” for “fix/mend.” In my translation, I’ve chosen to use “irreparable”, but what it really conveys is the speaker’s understanding and sense of regret that they cannot make up for the past, whether it’s the things they’ve done or the things they’ve missed.

想过离开 // Thought of leaving 以这种方式存在 // Existing in this way 是因为那些旁白 // It was because of those narratives/asides 那些姿态那些伤害 // Those attitudes/postures, those hurts

The chorus is definitely where I took the biggest liberty in my translation. The most important point here is that I have removed the likely intentional ambiguity in the subject. Before I dive into that though, I’ll cover the two terms here that have no clear English equivalent.

“旁白” is a word that roughly refers to “an aside”- it combines the character “旁“ for “to the side” and “白”, in this context referring to a use of language, or expression. It is the term used to describe things like a voice-over narration in movies, dramas, etc (for example, think of times when the character is thinking something and we, the audience, hears it as a voice on top of a montage on-screen).

“姿态” can be most literally translated as “attitude” or “posture”, and it refers to a combination of physical appearance and expression. It’s close to the English use of “air” and it’s what you are changing when you are “posturing” to someone.

Note that “those narratives”/”those attitudes”/”those hurts” do not actually have a subject associated with who is the one “dealing” them. It can be interpreted as the singer’s own thoughts and self-loathing, others judgement of them, or both. I think this ambiguity is intentional- the themes of the song revolve around the struggles of depression, and often these mix together.

In this way, “那些旁白” can refer to a narrative that the singer is telling themselves, or a narrative that is forced upon them from the words that others have spoken about them. “那些姿态” can refer to the type of posture or stance that the singer feels forced into, or the attitudes of the people around them. “那些伤害” can refer to pain that is inflicted upon the singer either by themselves or by the others.

For readability sake, I chose to go with the interpretation that slightly more folks on the Chinese net seemed to favor. Hua Chenyu, the original artist, has also emphasized the fear that those with depression face when they meet other people who may not understand them, so it seemed like a good compromise.

不想离开 // Don’t want to leave 当你说还有你在 // When you said you were still here 忽然我开始莫名期待 // Suddenly I began inexplicably hope

This half of the chorus translates much more straightforwardly. The only real word of note here is the final one, “期待.” It can be translated as “hope”, but it’s really a type of hope that leans towards anticipation, or “to look forward to/expect something.”

Unfortunately, both of those translations require some type of object (unlike the Chinese term), and while I could insert one (”the future”, “life”, etc) that would be pure conjecture on my part and I’d prefer to keep it as ambiguous as possible while still making sense.

夕阳西下翻着电话无人拨打 // The sun sets to the west, flipping the phone, no one calls 是习惯孤独的我该得到的吧 // This is what I, who am used to being alone, deserve to get right?

These lines were neat to translate. One subtlety that’s lost in English is the first phrase, “夕阳西下”, an idiom literally meaning “evening sun sets west” and usually used to describe a scene of sunset. However, it can also be used more figuratively to describe things going downhill as years go by and they age, so there’s a little bit of melancholy inherent in the idiom.

独木桥呀把谁推下才算赢家 // A single log bridge, pushing someone over, counts as a winner 我无声的反抗何时能战胜它 // When will my soundless rebellion prevail over it

This part of the song actually confused me a little when I first heard it. The “独木桥”, literally “single log/plank bridge” is a phrase that figuratively describes a very difficult path (ie, like trying to cross a single log bridge).

Overall, there’s a resentment of the perceived competition in life- often, it feels that for one person to succeed, they have to take down someone else. The singer thus is trying to stage their own resistance against this.

无论我在这里在那里 // No matter if I’m here or there 不能弥补的过去 // The past that can’t be mended 每当想起 // Every time [I] think of it...

This section is an exact repeat from the end of the first verse.

This is a repeat of the first section in the first chorus.

不想离开 // Don’t want to leave 也许尝试过被爱 // Maybe after [I’ve] tried [the feeling of] being loved 会开始仰望未来 // [I’ll] start to look up hopefully towards the future

The subtlety of this part is in the second line. “尝试” literally means “to try” or “to attempt”, and it is modifying “被爱”, “to be loved.” The correct way to understand this line in English is “After I’ve tasted the feeling of being loved by another.” Overall that sounds awkward though, which is why I didn’t use that particular phrasing in my translation.

The third line here uses a particularly yearning word to express hope- “仰望” or “to look up hopefully” combines the character “仰” for “looking up towards” or “admiring” and “望” for hope. Compare this to “期待” from the end of the last chorus, which was more of a tentative feeling of anticipation.

伤疤就丢给回忆吧 // Scars, just throw them to the memories 放下才得到更好啊 // Let go, to get something better

别怕别怕 // Don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid

These lines forming the bridge are fairly straightforward. For my translation, I just linked the ideas to make it flow better in English (ie, “getting something better” reads quite awkwardly even though in Chinese it’s a perfectly natural way to express the idea).

想过离开 // Thought of leaving 当阳光败给阴霾 // When the sunlight is defeated by dark haze 没想到你会拼命为我拨开 // Didn’t think you would be trying your hardest to clear it for me

In the second line here, I dropped the “defeat” from my translation in favor of “faded” to make it flow better/sound a little more poetic. However, it's worth noting that in the original, the verb “败” is to be defeated/lose, with the implication of some type of struggle.

In the third line, “拼命” can be literally understood as “using one’s life” and translates to doing something “at all costs” or “as if your life depends on it.” It’s a very desperate term.

Overall the feeling here is one where the singer has already given up, the “sunlight defeated”, but unexpectedly, someone else continues to fight on for them, desperately so.

曾想过离开 // Once thought of leaving 却又坚持到现在 // But held on until now 熬过了那些旁白 // Endured past those narratives/asides 那些姿态那些伤害 // Those attitudes/postures, those hurts

This part of the last chorus echoes the previous ones, with some significant changes. The addition of “曾” for “once”, places the first line explicitly in the past tense. “熬过了” in the third line is also an explicit reference to the past, conveying that the singer has “already endured past” the things mentioned in previous choruses.

不想离开 // Don’t want to leave 当你的笑容绽开 // When your smile breaks outs 这世界突然填满色彩喔~ // The world is suddenly filled to the brim with color, woah~

In the second line here, the verb describing the smile is “绽开”, or to “burst forth”, basically suddenly appearing and with a very large presence. My choice of words here was “bloom” in English since that is a way we describe smiles.

In the third line, “填满” literally means “to fill/cram in” and is formed with the characters “填”, for “to fill [in a missing/empty space]” and “满” for “full.” In this case, there’s also a sense of something that was previously missing being returned in full.

抱着沙发睡眼昏花凌乱头发 // Hugging the sofa, sleepy eyes blurry, messy hair 夕阳西下接通电话是你呀 // The sun sets to the west, connected through the phone, it’s you

These last lines echo the first line from each verse. In the second one, “接通” means “to connect” but specifically in the context of a call connected, or a call picked up.

---

And that concludes my notes for this song. It’s a really beautiful song, and I saw more folks reading this translation than I first expected so I wanted to break it down and clarify all the liberties that I took while translating it. The language here is simple, but contains a lot of subtlety and intentional ambiguity.

#好想爱这个世界啊 #华晨宇 #hua chenyu #notes #chinese music #somehow took me 7 months to revisit this one #also took the chance to reword a few minor things in the original translation

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stereksecretsanta · 3 years

Text

Merry Christmas, leninille!

For @leninille. These are the first three chapters and a complete story within a new storyline I've got several chapter outlines for. All of this came up during development of this Secret Santa Exchange gift, and as more familiar faces are revealed, the tags will be updated accordingly.

Read On AO3

*****

Health Tonics and Love Gardens

Chapter 1 - The Stiles In The Garden

Stiles has been working on this garden for months. It is colorful now, with tiny bushes he'd groomed into shape and the better airflow they get without the other plants strangling the light and air from the garden. He's been restoring this garden to what it might have once been, and tried to keep remembering what his mom told him about the garden back home.

"These flowers may look nice, but they can also cause healing or harm." He thought in his mother's voice.

This specific phrase stuck with him, and usually when he's daydreaming and not paying attention to what he's saying, he'll speak the words and try to recall the exact details of the garden as it was when his mom was caring for it.

"Why?" he again remembers asking, and he says the same thing aloud every time this happens.

The details of the answer vary, probably because his child mind wasn't really any better at staying on target for even half the time his adult brain can do now. That means that his mom's voice answers the questing with different words, and the theme generally was: "Sometimes a little of a plant can help a person heal from an injury. Give them too much, and they will suffer, may come to harm, and could die."

It's the stinging nettle that his mother is indicating to him today. He looks at the plant in the present and gives it side-eye.

"A good cook can turn this nettle into a healthful tea."

Little Stiles can feel himself interrupt her. "I've made tea, mom. It's easy!" He used to be so excited about stuff. He was what... maybe eight years old when this happened?

He favors his mother's memory by having her always say something that humors the younger him.

"Yes! You can make very good tea. And thank you for doing it! But some teas we can make require very good care. A good cook like me knows how to prepare the stems, or the flowers, or pieces of the root all cut up into tiny pieces of any of these plants." She makes tickling fingers at him and he smiles at the recollection.

"What if the cook uses the wrong pieces?"

"Then instead of healing, maybe nothing will happen. But with some plants, you can make someone worse. They can be hurt forever, and might even die."

Little Stiles did not want to make that kind of tea, and he considered not ever being near tea again.

"Promise me, Stiles, that you will not try to make tea from anything that comes from this garden."

That was an easy promise to keep. The Stiles in his 20s, having these memories, appreciates how well his mother understood how he thought. Under her brief guidance, Stiles cultivated a voracious curiosity and analytical mind. He got over the worries about tea, eventually, but it wasn't until after this gardening thing started that he want and tried to learn more about exactly what were these plants in the plot and what kinds of tea could be made with them.

As he found out later, after many hours and days of looking through cookbooks and materials online, he started to feel like this was a medicinal garden instead of an herb garden for actual cooking.

"And never make tea with anything outside the garden without talking to me first, okay?"

Little Stiles nods again. At that age he loved strawberries, and he thought he might not worry so much about tea if he had some of the best tea with his mom right now. "I want to make the strawberry tea!"

"Oh! That sounds good."

Little Stiles helped Claudia put the tools away and gather the strawberries and lemon and sugar from their places in the kitchen. They talked about his day at school, and the memory always fades from there.

It is well more than ten years since that day and it's one of his favorite memories of his mother. Many memories stick because they sucked, or because he thinks about them so much he can't tell if they're real or if he made them up.

He does think it's odd that every week, at least once a week, Stiles is at this old burned house in the Beacon Hills Preserve, working on this garden, talking to himself to review what he's learned about these different plants, and making threats at the plants who he still can't identify or which are giving him troubles that day. He's still just as wary of the nettle, but they've got a grudging agreement not to bother each other. For the rest? He'll unlock their secrets soon enough.

It's fair to say that he lets his guard down at this point. Nobody's ever been around here. He expected there would be graffiti on the house or whatever, but no, it's just been the house and this garden, and Stiles taking care of the latter.

He clips a sprig of lavender and adds it to his bag with the rosemary, adds some heather blossoms, and mutters "Calluna" as he snaps them. It's their genus, and they're in the same family as rhododendrons. There are two of those in the yard, not close to the house.

His thought withers as he turns to the house and takes it in with a slow breath. It always seems like the house is watching him, but not seeing him. It's never felt threatening, just... omnipresent, he thinks.

This house was full of the potential of these many lives. The family suffered, and in his investigation into public records and police records ("Heya, daddio... Can I ask you a question?" being only the most direct route to the files, and not the only one he took), he had learned that the family's absence left some big holes in the town at the time.

Curiously, it was hard to find photos of any of the family members. Even social media didn't have much. The kids weren't in school yearbooks he could get hold of, and he's gone through everything he could find in the school archive, even the old student newsletters.

He had found a photo of Talia Hale. She was the mother and as far as he could tell, the kind of person everyone in town seemed to know and most respected. He had no idea that Talia's spouse looked like, having seen only the name "Blake Hale" and having no idea who that was.

The dusty family obituary Stiles found in the paper printed after the fire listed several dead. But the count doesn't match what the police logged, and that doesn't match the fire inspector's. The insurance company itself gave a third number in a quote taken by a reporter.

The situation didn't make sense to him, and it bothered him that nobody seemed to know what really happened here. How many Hales were impacted by the fire? Did any escape? The body counts ranged from fewer than ten to the low 20s. Nobody knew if there was a party that night because despite all the fresh vehicle tracks at the scene, there were very few vehicles in the driveway. So where did those other visitors go? The firefighters' work destroyed the scene and they couldn't find any tire tracks that might lead them in a useful direction.

And weirdest of all: He's still not found anything that even hints that his mother and the Hales were affiliated. So this garden and the exact matching one at home, which Stiles and his dad have somewhat neglected after many years of close attention, Stiles still doesn't know why he cares so much about this plot at the Hale house.

He'd explored the ruins many times in his months of gardening. The house sits still and aging, creaking wearily in the winds as it always does. The only trespassers seem to be him and the squirrels.

He tugs a threatening vine away from the garden and trims it back. It's probably a volunteer left by some bird.

On his first day here he didn't go in the house, but walked slowly around it, walking his blue bike as he walked the perimeter. It was coming around the back of the house when he caught the scent of a familiar combination of herbs and he discovered his garden out here in the woods.

It is exactly the same layout as at the Stilinski house, but these plants were overgrown and struggling, and the vines were getting close. As he got on his knees and started his first concerted effort at gardening the plot, he started trying to find answers to these two questions: "Why does this garden layout look identical to ours at home?" and, given that the garden does exist in both places, "How did the Hales know his mother?"

Derek doesn't know how to respond. He had never been an alpha, and would never be, so he'd mostly ignored those lessons when his mom and Laura talked about them. His alpha and sister in one being swore to him years ago that no matter how much they'd already lost, they'll always be near each other.

"Are you alright? Did you hear me?" she glances at him and pokes him. She feels the sensation of being mentally stunned, then gives him an annoyed look. "Why is this weird for you?"

He blinked at her. "You don't think it's weird that for years we've not even talked once about Beacon Hills and now you say that you've spent weeks fighting an unidentified and suspicious pull to return home for a few weeks?"

"No, I said a few months. Three or four, maybe. Who cares? It's still a calling."

Derek looked at her and asked the obvious. "Couldn't this be hunters?"

She shook her head. This wasn't aggressive magic, and she wasn't sure how she knew that. It was more than intuition, though... it was certainty. Werewolves are often sensitive to many kinds of magical activities that may happen around them or to them, and her enhanced abilities told her that this just wasn't like any of that. She considered an odd possibility.

"Maybe it's my wolf?"

Derek rolls his eyes. "We are werewolves, Laura. It's a gift of a greater life, not a spiritual possession."

"Hey, I know that there's no separate little spooky spirit inside any of us beyond what most people seem to think they have. But this is like..." She searches the room until her eyes land in the opposite corner. She points at the TV and clarifies, "It's like I'm getting a new channel, and it's focused on the wolfish instincts, not the human side. Can't you feel it, too?"

He shakes his head. There has been zero sensation of compulsion in Derek to return to Beacon Hills. He would be happy to never return. It was once a beautiful place, but that's lost with everything else and he doesn't want to find any of it again.

"Can you check the pack bond and tell me what you see?"

He glares at her, already tired of this conversation. The alpha sees different things in pack bonds than each member sees. Laura likes to learn what Derek sees, and tells herself that it'll come in handy when she's got a bigger pack. They haven't even tried to connect with any werewolves despite there being many free-roaming supernatural family hanging around. The Hales are a duo that nobody can mess with.

She's persistent, so he focuses and listens with his inner senses and finds the same pack bond with her that he's seen for years. It's identical to how it was before. Nothing new, nothing seeming magical beyond the usual. It's hard to believe her about this when he's got no evidence it's happening.

"Damn. I hate this. I wish I had an emissary to ask."

Derek doesn't know what to think about emissaries, and leans toward not-in-favor since theirs failed to protect them from the hunter assault that lead to his family's near-annihilation. This emissary was newer, replacing their former emissary who had died of a normal, terrible cause like brain cancer. Derek met the new guy once and hated how he smelled of animals and cleaning supplies. The man's day job was as head veterinarian at the Beacon Hills Animal Clinic.

Last time they talked about him, Laura recalled that he was mostly a quiet man, didn't like giving full answers, and Talia mostly found him annoying, though useful at times.

Derek stewed on the fresh thoughts of the vet being partly responsible for what happened. Now he's feeling some kind of pull to return, to demand answers, at the very least.

Magic, as far as Derek was concerned, has been far more bother than it's worth.

"I never liked Deaton, but he's all I know." Laura suggested.

"Oh, then all of this was your fault," Derek said in an attempt to lighten the mood. It took a second to realize that he just accused the emissary of letting the family come to harm because he and Laura didn't get along.

"No emissary and no wolf was responsible for what happened, Derek." That left only the implication of the hunter woman he'd let get too close.

With regard to that person, Derek only ever harbors stabbingly angry thoughts about what should happen to her. She'd lied, she'd taken advantage of his life inexperience, and in the end of it all, she failed to murder him with everyone else, and he simmered deep inside from a wound that hadn't healed. His eyes flash.

Laura doesn't look away. He's upset, and he's not great with expressing himself on the best of day. She doesn't flash her eyes back at him. She's not angry, she's sad that he keeps blaming himself.

Derek reads this on her face and understands. "Fuck!" he mumbles a disappointed apology. "It wasn't your fault." He punctuates the air more softly with a mumbled repeat of the exclamation.

"Derek." She has come to a conclusion and in that tone she's warning him to prepare himself for something he is going to dislike. "I think we need to go back. We'll be careful," she says as he gives her an irritated and skeptical. "We'll stay in another town, sneak in as wolves and investigate the Preserve and the house. Maybe check out Beacon Hills and," she said, conspiratorially, "get some donuts before we leave."

"Leave?"

"We don't have to stay. I just need answers."

He considers this. It's not a demand or a request, it's just what she's going to do and she knows he's coming with her. But the confectionary he'd not thought about in years comes back to him. "I forgot about the donuts! And because of you," he glares at her, "now I have to have one."

"Perfect!" she says. He makes a good show at faking indignation, but he's heading into his room and looking around. They weren't likely to come back, so he shoots a message to his boss about a family emergency and he starts packing.

She's looking from the main room at his back as he starts sorting things out. He's always the scaredywolf, and she starts to pull snacks together that they'll want for the long drive.

Chapter 2 - These Wolves Are Here To Play

"Iiiiiiiiiiiiiii've been working on the raaaaaaaaaaailroad!" the man shouts. "All the live-long daaaaaaaaayGAACK!" Choking sputters and spitting follows the interruption. The approaching wolves still and listen.

"What the crap?! I'm working on your stupid habitat here!" A triple spitting sound. "Leave me alone you big dumb m-moth!"

The wolves glance at each other and share a look that says, "This guy's got worse problems than his big, stupid voice."

Laura steps ahead, leading them closer, keeping the shrubs and other undergrowth between them and the person in the distance. This guy doesn't scream "Threat!" to anyone but himself, but even well-meaning people can lead to tragedy. It would be best, of course, if the guy happened to take off before they got near him.

But if he did, she warns herself, that could mean he knows they're coming. That would make him either a super or a magic user. If he stays for too long, they'll need to scare him out of there so they can take a look around.

Derek made a subvocal growl. He's always preferred the hostile approach to any conflict and she nudges him with a low-pitched growl of denial.

Derek huffs. He actually huffs at her.

What a whiny puppy.

"Rodzina," Stiles says to the wolf the second he realizes he's not alone.

And then he slaps his hand over his mouth, uncertain why he's speaking Polish. The wolf regards him, unflinching. "It's Polish for family." This creature is huge! Larger than any dog he's ever met, and it's broad and got a defined mane around its neck. It's a really beautiful and terrifying wolf. Oh, oh god. It's a freaking wolf.

The wolf glances at his chest and tilts its head at him. She seemed to know that word, somehow. How could that even happen? Well, he's happy she hasn't been all growly and dipping her head down and being mean.

"I'm sorry, but there's no food here, and I can't take you home and get you any." With real sorrow, since having a wolf pet would be totally awesome, but a really bad idea, he adds, "You're beautiful, but I can't can't have a pet."

The wolf chuffs at him.

What? A chuff! That's practically falling over with laughter in wolf terms, as far as Stiles is concerned.

"Hey! Don't chuff at me!" He's wiggling a finger at her. It's 10% aggression and 90% cowardice. He focuses on forgetting everything except that 10%. He nervously walks through his thoughts aloud because he can't help his mouth moving of its own accord at this moment.

"Okay, so fine, let's see... I'm gardening here, that's legitimately all I'm doing. No looking for secret treasure at the house or anything. You're coming here passing through or whatever, even though there haven't been wolves in this part of California in decades. I know you understand me, and you're pretending not to. But why don't you talk back?"

He is looking directly into her eyes before consciously realizing he's taking her measure. This is a specific thing he definitely remembers promising himself he'd never do if he were being challenged by a large predator in the wilderness. And yet, he's challenging this alpha wolf—

"You're an alpha wolf? How can there be alpha wolves when the whole scientific hypothesis was proven to be wrong?" He wants to ramble the name of the research article on the subject, and about the way the article was written, but manages to catch hold of his thought trains and redirect. "That's not important right now. It's crazy enough that I somehow know you can understand me clearly."

She's a smart wolf. Human-equivalent intelligence, for sure. She tries not to tilt her head in an approximation of doggy confusion, but it's a projection. Odd how that he's here gardening and along comes this alph—

"WEREWOLF?! You're a werewolf?!"

Stiles describes this later to his father as, "when all hell breaks loose."

The alpha wolf lifts her lips and growls at Stiles, who is immediately cowed. She's joined half a second later by another large wolf, slightly smaller than her as he is a beta, but he's also got very long and sharp and they're massive and this is a very bad place for him to be right now!

"Shit! I'm not delicious! Don't eat me!"

The alpha stops growling again, and seems to be shaking. The other wolf snarls at her. She snarls back.

Of fucking course! "You're siblings?" Okay, that's it, you need to tell me who you are. Between cautiouswolf and hyperprotective wolf," indicating the alpha and the beta in order, "who the hell are you?"

The beta keeps growling but defers reluctantly to the alpha. She studies Stiles, looking at him and not laughing wolfishly anymore. There's no hint of threatening demise, just curiosity.

It would be too far to say it's quite trust, but it's the recognition that the confusion is mutual and that there is no threat.

Stiles also looks at this as another opportunity to try to talk himself out of the situation. He gives explaining himself another try.

"I was here by accident the first time, and then I found the garden," he waves over to it, easily seen from where all three wolves stood. The beta wolf didn't take his eyes off Stiles, but the alpha regarded his handiwork without apparent comment and resumed studying Stiles.

"Keep talking," was the obvious implication. Order. It was definitely an order, and Stiles agreed that he should continue.

"My mom planted a garden exactly like this one at home. So finding such a unique one out here, at the site of," he looks at the house and murmurs, "really bad stuff is just weird." He feels his cheeks tighten and get heavy and a tear slips down his cheeks. "She died before she told me what all the plants are for. As far as I know she didn't even know the family." He turns around, letting embarrassment at his own emotions put his unguarded back at risk of wolfish sneak-attack.

There's a shuffling noise behind him that tugs his attention back and he wipes his face. It's blotchy, and gross, he's sure, but he's looking at the wolves.

Something quiet happened here while he was turned around. The male wolf is looking almost... ashamed in some way, and the alpha turns back to Stiles after a staredown with the beta and seats herself a step closer to Stiles.

He decides not to mention that moving closer is just as terrifying than all of the other scary things they've done because the seated pose is probably just a ruse to get him when he's vulnerable, but...

Thump.

That was a tail. He looks around her sitting form as if trying to find her tail. Her expression reads as, most likely, "You seriously need to chill." Off to the side, the beta just looks mean as ever and ready to chew on his soft and fleshy neck.

He pulls his phone out and texts his dad. He holds up a finger to the wolf who'd risen to her feet again.

"No, just a minute. My dad's expecting me and I need to let him know that I'll be a little late. I'm not telling him about our little one-sided conversation, which you really should join, by the way." The wolves seemed mollified, if not satisfied with the answer. Neither rises to the bait and starts speaking, so the beta keeps his ears rotating around, listening for danger, and the alpha's ears are firmly oriented in his direction.

"Do you know this place?" The ear flick of the alpha and the glance at the house let him connect some dots. "The Hale family lived here and you knew them."

For the next several minutes, Stiles explains what he has learned of the Hales from his look into the school archives, the police and fire reports, the insurance report he'd acquired through a friend of a friend who shall all remain nameless. He tells of the obituary and the news stories and the details that don't make sense.

He's speculating and journeying down educational, if difficult to follow sidetracks, and mentions one detail that catches the wolves' complete attentions. It was about the catatonic John Doe found a few days later a short walk from the highway.

"Oh? Uhh, I just think maybe there's a connection between that John Doe and the Hale fire. There's too many weird details, things that haven't happened at any other time in this town or probably any town. It's tidy and messy at the same time. I don't trust that."

He's been looking at things on his phone that are pictures or notes or scans of things he's found and looks for the rest of what he discovered about that John Doe.

"Look," he says as he flips the phone toward them. "I found evidence that— Oh, I don't know if you even see in color, or if you can read this in your current shape. Hopefully you're better than other canines about that but you're not answering questions right now, so we'll park that for later.

He reviews the notes and continues.

"I snuck into the hospital and I think this guy really could have been a family member or friend of the Hales. He was scarred badly, as if from a fire, and though he wasn't near the Hale house, the paramedics estimated he'd already suffered two days in the cool air in probably this very state."

The sad whine of them both went unnoticed through the racing thoughts of the human.

"I still think he looks like an age-progressed version of the Beacon Hills basketball team player I found in this picture."

He makes the face as large as he can. It's just a face, and it's blurry.

The first wolf shifts back to human. She says, "Who is this?"

Stiles gasps and then tries to pretend a wolf didn't just shift in front of him to human form and start asking him questions.

"This is a picture of Peter Hale."

She turns to the other wolf. "Derek!" and she motions at him to stand up, but the wolf Derek declines. It wasn't an order, but a move of cautious excitement. Derek's keeping a wary eye in the human's direction even as his sister looms closer to the phone and examines the picture.

"I'm sorry, madam alpha, or whatever is the right title, but you appear to have no clothes on and I am not prepared to um... talk with you in this manner at this time. And stuff."

She looks at him, and then herself, and shakes her head. "When it comes to werewolves, clothing is as optional as it gets."

"Oh, your kind can't transform your clothing when you shift?" Something subconscious snags his attention. "Are you sure about that?"

She looks at him. Her hair is a little wild, and she's strong even in this form. "I know more about werewolves than you do."

He tucks his phone in his pocket.

"Okay, look, fine, you want to talk in the nude. You do you, but I really am just going to need to leave right now and clear my head and then I can... I can come back tomorrow, yeah?" He's not sure why he's excited to return. They did nearly eat him several times in this conversation, based on the number of flashes of teeth he caught in the last several minutes.

"Fine, come back tomorrow, but do not tell anyone we were here."

Stiles nods, distracted, and takes a few tries before he gets all his gardening things stuffed back into his bag and gets himself situated for the ride out of the preserve.

"I'll be here just after five tomorrow, alright? I've got work, but I'll be here, and I'll bring some stuff you can look at. Please try to get some clothes or this is going to be awkward and I am really out of awkward for the day.

"You're really not," the alpha says. Stiles sputters.

"Hey!"

"Hey, family man," she says, referring to his Polish of earlier. "I'm Laura. Who are you?"

"I'm Stiles Stilinski."

The other wolf looks at him and hruffs, almost laughing.

Cripes, these siblings are already annoying him.

"Hey, asshole, it's my name. You'd break yourself trying to pronounce my first name, so be thankful for my gracious manner."

Stiles leaves slowly, trying to go faster, but it takes a while to get his body to let go of the anxiety enough to punish his legs on the pedals and fly as fast as he can without crashing.

Kind of a tall order, some days.

"I cannot believe I just promised I'd come back to chat with those man-eaters!" He gripes at himself. "Do they eat people? How do you even ask someone if they eat people? Especially if they can change shapes and have fangs and sharp pointy parts?" He listens to his intuition. Of course they're not cannibals. Or maybe they are if they're not considered humans. "UGH! They are gonna answer so many questions tomorrow or else!"

Derek has followed him silently for maybe half a mile, listening to the bewildering blitz of self-talk ranging from werewolves to garlic naan bread and Derek just gives up and heads toward the house, where Laura is waiting for him.

Chapter 3 - The Interposing

The sun is low now, shining bright fingers through the shattered window frames and vacant doorways of the shell of this old house. By coincidence of timing and place, Laura stands in a sunny shape on the decrepit porch. Derek listens to her adjusting her stance and watches as her fingers push through a beam of sunlight and trace the crackled texture of the carbonized door frame.

"You didn't stop him and make him tell us where Peter is."

She catches his meaning immediately. "Yeah, there's something at work here keeping me from chasing him away."

"You failed," he says, gesturing broadly at her exposed form. "He can't handle this much woman."

"Well, Derek, I've got the supernatural hookup. We all do. He's going to have to get used to all this." She looks at the smudges on her fingers. "But why didn't you stop him?"

"I don't know. And I only just realized it when I said it." Now Derek looks as confused as she had been. He wasn't even feeling hostile toward the Stiles, and that is the most irritating thing about this.

She shifts her hand through beta shift and to full wolf, then back again. It's a difficult transition, but since she could just focus and do it, Derek just observed as she shifted from human form through partial beta and partial full forms, and then back to full human.

Derek was curious what she was doing, and noticed her smile as he held her fingers up.

Every finger still had dirt.

"I've never thought about how we take dirt and things with us through the shift, but not our clothes."

"Are you suggesting that he can teach us to take clothing or tools into our shift?"

She shrugged her shoulders and grinned. The pack bond resonated with satisfaction, and he rolled his eyes.

"We don't know anything about him."

"I know, but if you could feel it, you'd know that this place needs us, Derek." She looks into the house from across the threshold. "And gardener Stiles is part of whatever is going on here." They were all called here. It's magic that bound them, brought them together, and seems to be managing their introduction.

"Is he the magic user?"

"There is ample potential. Surely you could feel that by the time he left."

"I hate magic," Derek grumbles as he thinks about it. Yes, he could tell Stiles was ignorant of his own potential and that worried Derek more than the fact that this stranger happened to suddenly be part of their lives in a way that captivates his alpha.

Laura snaps her fingers. "Yo, how could you not have heard me?"

Derek raises an eyebrow in defiance. Not his best move, but now it's her turn to roll her eyes and she repeats herself.

"Let's go find Deaton. If he's around, maybe he can help us figure out who this is and what kind of magic is being worked here."

"Can we pass the hospital, too? I'd like to see if we might find uncle Peter."

She nods. That matters a lot to both of them, too. She resolves that before 5pm tomorrow, they'll have gotten at least one answer to the question of what's going on. She leans into a full shift and Derek follows, chasing her as they race into the forest for the long route to the vet's office.

"My dad is going to kill me when he finds out I was talking with werewolves at the Hale house." He nearly skids to a stop and releases his clenched brake. He isn't a Hollywood stunts expert and he would not have recovered well from a solo crash on the pavement. His ego would be only one of his many bruised parts.

He considers 14 different stories that seem plausible enough, dismissed half of them outright as abominations, and spend the next minutes thinking up some 40 more before settling on the best candidate.

He parked his bike along the side of the house and walked quickly to the front, nearly crashing into his patient and curious father on the porch.

"Hello Stiles. You didn't say why you'd be late, but—"

"I was watching the sunset!" he interjected. Dad glances toward the sun now, indicating that the sunset isn't done yet.

"Nope, you weren't. Do you want to tell me what really happened?"

"Yes!" he squeaks, and then rushes his dad inside with a glance over his shoulder that lacks any essence of subtlety. He's checking the few houses in view to see if anyone in a homes or yard or car or suspicious van might be spying on them. He closes the door quietly and pointedly locks it.

"Are you sure this is necessary, Stiles?"

"Dad, my world has been supernaturally rocked tonight, and what I'm about to tell you will do the same for you."

#leninille #stereksanta20 #*fic20 #*gifts20

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

Text

“Stop!”: Kauri/Owen

Anonymous asked for Prompt 14 “with literally any OC” - so have 14. “Please! Stop it! Stop!” with Box Boy Kauri and Owen! (After this I get to go through the Danny crew’s prompts wheeee)

CW: Severely dubcon touching, noncon touching and kissing, implied noncon towards end of piece. Some violence/drunken abuse.

Tagging: @maybeawhumpblog, @pepperonyscience, @haro-whumps, @18-toe-beans, @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings

Kauri wakes up in the bed alone.

He never wakes up alone - not since he was given the phrase that helped him to sleep in the box, knowing he was being shipped to his new owner, that he’d been delivered from the facility.

For those few minutes as he came back awake - when Owen tipped the glass water bottle from the kitchen to his lips, when all he had to do to wake him up was brush a thumb across his face - it had felt like delivery from hell, that he had gone somewhere better.

And it was, it was somewhere better. Anything was better than the facility.

It was so much better, here.

Kauri always woke up with the warmth of another person nearby, the thing he sought out and was terrified to be without. Sleeping alone made him think of sleeping on the cold stone floor, the square of the tiles all he had to look at, counting them over and over and over until his mind finally let him escape into increasingly fractured, fragmented dreams - until he stopped dreaming of anything but the facility, of more training, of an endless loop of the black sticks in their hands and the circles on his skin and the metal around his neck and the colorless liquid in the glass at meals.

So when his eyes flutter open, still smudged with what some dim memory calls sleepy sand in a tiny, high-pitched little girl’s voice, he expects to see Owen in the bed, too. Owen always slept turned on his side towards Kauri, usually with one hand out towards him. Kauri had to slide himself out of the bed to go watch the stars, but Owen slept like the dead and it was usually easy to sneak away.

But tonight, Owen isn’t there.

“Mr. Owen?” Kauri whispers, shifting around, pushing the heavy soft blankets and sheets down, sitting up slowly and looking around in the dark, shivering as cool night air ghosted over bare skin. His black curls are a riot of messiness around his head, and he rakes a hand back through them to try and get them under control.

No one is in the bedroom.

His eyes dance around, and there is a part of him - only a tiny part - that tells him to just go back to sleep. To take the moments he is alone and stretch them out to include even this, these times he is never, ever alone.

But the deeper push is to find his owner - the compulsion inside of him will not let up, it pulses alongside his heartbeat. Owner is safe. Owner is safe. Owen is safe. Owen, find Owen and be safe.

Kauri slips out from under the sheets, bare feet soundless on the hardwood floors, and moves over to the folded clothes on the chair nearby. Tomorrow’s clothes, meant for meeting Owen’s mother and for Karen Renford to visit-

NUMBERS. Stand at your doors. At attention, you have a guest!

645898, back straight.

S-Sorry, ow, sorry, got it, sir, got it.

Ms. Renford, they’re ready for inspection.

Lovely. This won’t take long. What is this one’s number, exactly?

645898. Custom order for-

I know who it’s for. Give this one your special attention. Can’t upset the Senator, now, can we?

Yes ma’am. And the one at the end of the hall?

Oh, he’ll regret what he does soon enough. Let me see the numbers.

NUMBERS. Respect. Position Two.

Kauri froze with his hands on the soft cashmere bundled in his fingers, fighting the urge to drop to his knees on pure instinct, in perfect fear of the woman who holds what happens to him next in the palm of a long-fingered hand with very sharp nails. Nails he’s felt digging in to the soft skin under his chin, lifting his head to look her in the eyes.

Cold eyes, and Owen’s eyes are warm when he’s happy, and Kauri pulls the sweater on over his head hurriedly, then pulls on the soft black pants, hopping on one leg to get them on faster as he moves to the door. He moves with instinctive soundlessness - every time I hear a step, you’ll get a fucking shock, won’t you? The prospective wants you quiet - as he checks the extra bedroom - empty except for the discipline tools and his box, and he closes the door as fast as he can against the image of his punishments, of what happens when he does the wrong thing.

He tries so hard not to, but sometimes… sometimes something else breaks through.

Not in the kitchen, not in the living room where Keira beeps in her docking station. Kauri has never been alone in the whole condo at night before. He stands in the center of the living room, on a soft rug, his heart beating fast in terror.

Owen never leaves him alone at night.

Ever.

Kauri takes a deep breath, and then another, breathes and breathes and breathes until he’s dizzy with too much oxygen or not enough. If he is alone at night, it is because Owen left, and without Owen, the night looms too large. The stars aren’t a comfort, they’re a menace, because he isn’t safe. He’s just small.

Then he hears a soft cough from the balcony and his heart leaps, a mix of joy and worry and fear together, and he nearly runs for the door, turning the long curved knob that opens inside, to find Owen sitting in his balcony chair, with a bottle next to him and a glass up to his lips.

The glass drops back down and Owen turns to look at him, surprised. His eyes are clouded and hazy, and Kauri has never seen Owen drunk before. “Kauri? What are you doing up?”

“I-I don’t know,” Kauri says softly, stepping out. The breeze is perfect here, warm even in winter, a mockery of the season. Kauri thinks he used to live somewhere with snow and ice on the roads, has a vague understanding that once he rode a school bus painted yellow with a driver who careened along ice-covered country roads with grim determination, but here the winds are warm even in winter, until the rains come. “I woke up and you weren’t there. I got… I got scared.”

“You did?” Owen looks at him differently this time, then slowly sets down the glass. His words don’t quite work - they’re slurred like his tongue is too heavy for the inside of his mouth, working too hard to speak. “I guess I paid for that.”

Kauri doesn’t say anything - his feelings are bought and paid for, too, just like his body. That’s not a surprise. It doesn’t hurt to hear it. It doesn’t hurt to know.

It doesn’t hurt at all to not know where he came from or who he was or if he used to worry, then, too. He signed the contract and they took everything - that was his decision, his choice, whatever the name of the person had been who wore his skin, back then.

Sleep like a log, baby.

Do logs even sleep, Mommy?

Oh, honey. God, I love having kids. Sleep tight, baby birds.

Cheep cheep, Mommy.

Right, Keira. Cheep cheep.

“Cheep cheep,” Kauri whispers. Her face is so close, it’s on the other side of a wall of tiny circles stuck to his temples, the wires, the screaming.

“What?”

Kauri jumps, and is thankful to see that Owen is too drunk to notice or maybe just to care. Drunk and sad, and Kauri’s heart twists, guilty at how selfishly he was trying to find memories that don’t belong to him any longer while the only safe place in the world was here so sad. “Nothing, Mr. Owen. Are you okay? Can I… Can I help?”

Owen sighs, looking down at the dark parking lot, the rustling of the trees in the warm winter winds the only sound for a long time beyond Keira’s faint beeping from underneath the couch. “I don’t know, Kauri. I just… I just don’t know. You were supposed to, but… but I don’t know if you can.”

“Let me try.” Kauri shifts around, between Owen and his view of the parking lot, the trees, the stars, the night. Owen’s hazy eyes move to his, and Kauri tries on a smile. To his relief, Owen smiles back. “Let me try to help you. Do you want a position?”

Owen snorts, takes another drink, sets the glass down again. “No, Kauri. Not right now. You know what I want? I want to hear you say something, and you have to say it like you mean it. Real emotions, not just repeating my words. Can you do that?”

Kauri nods quickly, his hands worrying a little at each other in front of him, trying not to worry at the cashmere sweater, because it cost so much and Owen was so nice to buy him such nice things.

Other owners hurt their pets, more than this.

“Okay. Kauri, I want you to say, ‘Owen, I’m sorry I hurt you.’”

“N-Not Mr. Owen…?”

“No. He never called me that. Just say, ‘I’m sorry I hurt you, Owen. I shouldn’t have.’”

Kauri swallows hard and nods. He tries to call on feelings that aren’t entirely safe to have, the sense of the blue eye and longer black hair that sometimes tries to find him in his dreams now. The guilt that he had hesitated a moment too long, and he doesn’t know what happened but his hesitation-

“I-I’m sorry I hurt you, Owen. I shouldn’t h-have.” His voice sounds real, and even Kauri is surprised at the way every word is laced with tears.

Owen’s eyes light up. He sits up in his chair, looking up at Kauri, and he takes another drink. “That was perfect, Kor-bore. Do it again. Say you’re sorry again.”

“I, um. I’m so sorry, Owen, for hurting you. I shouldn’t have hurt you.”

“Good. Now say, ‘Everything was my fault.’”

“Eh-everything was m-my fault.”

He is standing in for someone, and he doesn’t know who, or why. He is standing in, he thinks, for the reason that Owen hides in his house, goes out to the gym or sometimes to lunch but doesn’t really go anywhere else any longer. He is standing in for the reason that Owen is sharp on some days and cold on others. He is standing in for someone who is not him, but who might as well be.

“‘I’d do anything to make it up to you, Owen.’” There are tears in Owen’s eyes, now, standing up and glittering in the darkness and then rolling down his face, and Kauri’s lip trembles. He cannot stand this, he is not made to watch his owner hurt. Owen is safe, and if Owen is sad, then Kauri is not safe at all.

Owen is safe, even when it hurts.

“I’d do anything to make it up to you, Owen.”

It’s not an act, or a lie, when he says it. Kauri speaks the words with pure sincerity, and if there is someone else who screams someone get me out of here in the back of his mind, that person is long gone now. Instead, Kauri moves closer, slow step by slow step, to where Owen sits.

“I wish you would,” Owen says, and his voice breaks, and Kauri’s whole being twists with the need to help. “I wish you would do anything, Vince.”

Kauri freezes, and Owen does, too.

“M-Mr. Owen…?”

“Sssshhh. Come here.” Owen holds out his hands, and Kauri moves to him quickly, sliding knees up onto the balcony chair on either side of the other man, settling his weight on Owen’s thighs, feeling Owen’s rougher fingers on one hand slip up under the cashmere sweater. He watches Owen close his eyes, his shoulders shaking, as he drops his forehead against Kauri’s shoulder. “Say, say ‘please. Stop it. Stop.’ Say it.”

Owen’s nails dig into his back, and Kauri cries out at a sudden flash of pain, only to have Owen’s other hand muffle the sound, the smell of whiskey - how does he know what whiskey smells like? - from his breath, from Owen’s skin.

“St-stop,” Kauri says shakily when the hand pulls back and away, biting down hard on his lower lip as the nails dig and dig and dig, stripes down the side of his back, like the cane but slow and slow and slow. “Please, please stop.”

“Again,” Owen whispers into his shoulder, and bites hard into his neck.

Kauri tastes blood from his lip, copper salt-sweet taste, as Owen’s hand on his back pushes them together, chest to chest, and this isn’t a position or what he was trained for exactly. This is something else, and Kauri tips his head back to stare at the stars.

“Please stop,” He says, louder this time. No one will care. What owners do with their pets is no one’s business. At worst, Owen will pay a fine. No one cares. He’s not a person. “Stop, please stop.”

“One more time,” Owen growls, fists a hand in his hair, yanks hard enough to nearly pull Kauri right back off the chair, bites again until Kauri can feel his skin tear, tears running down his face helplessly. There are tears on Owen’s face, too, in the starlight, but all Kauri can see now is the sky.

“Please!” Fingernails down his back, teeth in his neck, the trickle of blood down his collarbone soaking into the cashmere that cost so much, and Owen moves suddenly, knocking the bottle of whiskey to the ground where it pours out onto the solid floor, the liquor-smell in the air all around them. “Stop it! Mr. Owen! Stop!”

“Too fucking bad,” Owen growls, and then shoves Kauri away from him so he falls with a hard smack to the ground, and he curls himself up, trying to think, to scramble away, accidentally dragging his pant leg through the whiskey puddled there. “Too fucking bad. You had your goddamn chance and it’s too late, Vince.”

“Pl-please, Mr. Owen, I’m not him, I’m not him-”

What if he hurts you, 645898?

Whatever the owner does with their pet is the owner’s prerogative once the three-month return period is up.

Perfect. See, once you get the hang of it…

“No.” Owen snorts, picks up the glass, and throws it at him. Kauri flinches as it bounces against his shoulder and then hits the ground, cracking along one side on impact. “No, you’re not, are you? You won’t be, you won’t ever be. But that doesn’t matter. Get inside.”

“Y-Yes, Mr. Owen, yes, I will-” Kauri scrambles to his feet, his shoulder and neck and scalp aching. He crosses his arms in front of himself, hunches over to try and look small. Then Owen’s hand is against his face, and Kauri shivers, looking up at him.

Owen stands so strong, and tall, even when he’s angry. Even when he’s drunk. Kauri breathes out as the hand caresses him, rubs a thumb across his cheekbone, just like when he woke him up the first time. Owen leans down to kiss him, and if his lips are a little redder with the blood from Kauri’s bit lip when he pulls back, it’s too hard to see in the dark. Kauri kisses back with desperate sincerity, trying to get around the violence that he has never experienced before.

Not like this.

Not marks that will take days to heal, a week. Owen never hurts him, not like this, not like the other owners hurt their pets.

“I-I love you, Mr. Owen,” Kauri whispers, and it’s true. “I love you. I’m sorry you were hurt, and I’ll, I’ll do anything for you. I love you.”

Owen tilts his head, smiles a little - but the smile is still all wrong. “I know you do. I paid extra for that.” He slides his hand briefly up into Kauri’s black curls again, then drops it, and where his hand is gone Kauri feels cold. “I’m sorry for making you bruise up, Kauri. I’ll get you fixed up tomorrow. For now... get in the bedroom.”

“M-Mr. Owen?” Kauri looks up, but this at least is something he can do to help. He knows this, he is trained for this. Company. Companionship. A hallway full of numbers learning things that, deep down, Kauri knows you’re not supposed to learn like this.

“You can love me all you want - all I want. But you’re not the one who was supposed to love me, are you?” With that confusing statement - at the furrow between Kauri’s eyebrows, the uncertainty and fear in his eyes, Owen only shakes his head. “You’re never going to be him. Not really. But you will do anything for me. So get in there.”

“I’m, um… I’m bleeding.” The hand on his face again, and Kauri leans into it, closes his eyes.

“That doesn’t matter. We’ll get those sheets sent out for cleaning tomorrow anyway. Go on, Kauri.”

“Yes, Mr. Owen.” He moves inside, and for a second Owen just stands there, watching him walk, with that look again - the distant sadness, the look of a grieving man speaking with a ghost. Then the expression shifts away, it slides, and in its place is a low humorless smile.

“Get in the bed.”

Kauri closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, then nods quickly, and he moves to the bedroom like he used to walk down the hallways, with the black stick at his back ready to force him to go faster if he tried to stop. His hands worry at each other, but this is something he knows, that he understands.

And he won’t have to look at Owen’s eyes.

He can still smell whiskey on his clothes as he pulls the sweater back over his head, the links of his collar clinking together, and Owen is behind him, breathing down his neck.

“Position Twenty-Three,” Owen says from the doorway, and Kauri moves back onto the bed without hesitation. There is a pulse in his mind now that beats with the word survive, again and again.

Box Boys survive by doing what they’re told, again and again and again and again.

My life must have been so terrible, for me to choose to turn into this. I’m trapped and I chose to be trapped and this is all there is. Why did I sign the contract?

What was so bad that this seemed better?

Kauri thinks, with a sudden burst of someone inside his mind, that he’s like a fairytale, trapped in the tower with a monster that breathes fire and pain.

No prince is coming to save me.

#whump #box boy universe #box boy #box boy multiverse #erase to control #dialogue prompts from anons #kauri #pet whump #dehumanization #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon #tw: noncon kissing #tw: noncon touching #tw: dubcon touching #tw: dubcon kissing #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #fair warning: this is fucking dark #and also for the people who want more info on owen and Vincent's falling out

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laur-rants · 4 years

Text

Transfiguration -- Ch 1: Awake

Fandom: Doom Rating: Mature, because violence against demons Pairing: Sam/Slayer [eventually] Summary: The Slayer has beaten the Icon of Sin, but the work is far from over. There is still much, MUCH to be done. Notes: Yeah. I said I’d write Doom fanfic. Why? Because it’s gay to travel between dimensions and realms just to meet back up with the demigod you helped create, and are determined to save humanity because of him. Anyway enjoy I don’t know what I’m even doing with this. *throws it into the void* AO3 Link Next Chapter

---------- "There is a common saying among the peoples of humanity; 'history is written by the victors.' It is one of their species's constants, a phrase found across the divides. Thus, it can be gleaned that regardless of realms, of region, that history is full of lies. Only those who lost their respective battles yet still managed to survive those considered to be the holders of the more accurate accounts of events. But how many survivors never tell the truth? How many live in fear, unable to share the knowledge they have born witness to?

"I refute being a fearful survivor. Though the 'victors' may say otherwise, I was advised to disappear by the Father himself, to run from my own species in order to save it. The words of prophecy have been set into motion; there are coming events even he cannot stop. I have seen the future, infallible now. The battle is lost, but not the war.

I am Samur. I am the holder of the witnessed truth. I will profess it to you as long as I am alive, and as long as I am able.

Father, if you are listening, please have mercy on my consciousness."

-- Book of the Maykr Samur, pt 1

When he wakes up, it is not in the bed he fell asleep in. He stares up at the bright white of a too-clean ceiling, hears the steady beep of machinery and -- voices, there were voices nearby. Too many for him to still be in the lonely fortress he calls home, a fact that is enough to clear any fog clouding his mind. In one swift movement he's sitting up, his body aching and protesting this sudden change in verticality but he ignores the pain entirely, legs swinging over the side of the bed in an effort to move.

One of the earlier voices shouts, clearer and sharper now-- definitely real and not like the fabrications he's used to. He ignores them for now nonetheless; more urgent is the machinery yelling at him from the bedside. He frowns, pulling off cords and sensors, highly disapproving of the medical gown he's found himself in. Damnit, where the fuck is my suit, he thinks, even as a doctor with black hair and green eyes behind jeweled glasses rushes over to put a hand on his chest and try and push him back down to a prone position.

"Ah, sorry, mister Slayer, sir," the doctor fumbles, trying and failing to even budge the man, the wall of muscle staying stubbornly in place. The aforementioned Slayer watches her take a step back, purse her lips, then push against him, a little more insistently. "I really need you to lay back down. You're already starting to bleed through your bandages."

He blinks and looks down through the smock; most if not all of his upper body was bandaged and wrapped. A particular wrapping on his left arm was indeed bleeding, the pain barely registering even as the splotch of red grows, spreading fast through the fabric. He lets out a small noncommittal noise (causing the doctor to jerk back suddenly in surprise) as he starts to unwrap the bandages himself. A group of nurses and medical staff immediately crowd into the room, urging the Slayer to please stop, to let them handle such work.

Sure enough, as the medical staff peel away the sticky fabric, a nasty gash is revealed, running from the top of his bicep to the underside of his arm all the way to the armpit. It had been sutured shut but as the Slayer had stood up it had easily popped open and was now bleeding freely. He looks to the rolls of soaked bandages, looks to his seeping arm, and appears... apologetic, of all things. The doctor sighs, gives the man known only as the Doom Slayer a quick look over, then fetches new bandages and sutures.

"You're probably wondering why you're here, and have a lot of questions." She looks over to him, expecting some sort of response-- but when he says nothing or doesn't refute her words, she clears her throat, pushing a lock of hair behind an ear. "Or perhaps not. Either way, we received a distress signal, and found your ship. You were in a rough state, possibly connected to the recent fight with the Icon of... Sin…"

She trails off as she sees the Slayer's face harden like stone. She coughs lightly a second time, the color rising to her cheeks. "Apologies. The original transmission was sent by Dr. Hayden himself, so ARC forces immediately responded -- but we did not expect to find you in an alien ship bleeding out on the floor, nor did we expect to see it powered by the Crucible, or to hear Hayden communicating from--" The doctor continued on, but the Slayer was far past the point of listening. Instead, his brow furrows, trying to recall what had happened post attack.

The fight itself had been a blur. The demons had fallen before his wrath and Dr. Samuel Hayden had been in his ear, egging him on until the end, when finally the Icon was there, the only obstacle still standing. It was only so long before the huge titan of Hell itself was falling to his might. He had stood tall, victorious, fueled by rage and adrenaline. And then Hayden had portaled him back... but from there, his memory begins to blur. How had he been injured, exactly? Surely he had at least made it back to his room before--

"Slayer? Sir?"

His eyes flick to the doctor and again his gaze is enough to make her flinch. His fist clenches before relaxing again. He sighs. He closes his eyes, steadying himself, before tilting his head at her in question.

Her throat clears. "You zoned out, my apologies. I wanted to let you know that your stitches are fixed and you're rebandaged. We recommend a few days bed rest -- you may not feel the pain and you will not die from the wounds but--" her eyebrows go up, shaking her head in mild disbelief, "--regardless of your perceived immortality... you are human and you need rest. Now. Do you have any questions?"

The Slayer scowls at her, and the longer she waits for an answer the deeper the scowl grows. Eventually he rolls his eyes, then gestures to his body. She seems to get the hint.

"Oh, your suit?" He nods. "It is in the other room, currently being cleaned. We can bring it in here if you'd like?" The Slayer nods, then crosses his arms --carefully, so the doctor didn't have to re-stitch his arm a third time. "I can also assure you that your ship is secure; Hayden made sure of that, and he is also currently working with ARC scientists to repair the parts of his body that were broken."

As the woman talked, her face grew more flushed, and she continued to avert her eyes. It was at this point that the Slayer realized her voice was familiar. He scrutinizes her, unblinking, head tilted, arms still crossed, before he finally clears his throat, prompting her to stop any rambling she was currently involved in. She squeaks and her cheeks go a bright red, but it is enough to stop her momentarily.

"Oh! Do you need water? Can you speak?"

Not to you, lady, is what he would've said, but instead he simply thinks it to himself while managing to shake his head in response to both. He sighs, sitting back. When even was the last time he was in a hospital? It was more than a lifetime ago, on a different Earth, in a different realm, with different doctors with similar agendas looking him over, wondering his secrets when he argued that he had none to give.

Now he had too many secrets and a vow of silence keeping him from spilling any of them. Not that he'd want to, anyway. And definitely not to this doctor in over her head.

"Of course, of course. Well, ah, if you need anything, my name is Dr. Elena Richardson. Feel free to call if anything, anything at all, is needed." She pats his arm awkwardly and it clicks in his memory; the audio logs. Good Lord, it was her. He gives her a brief nod and smile before looking away and she backs off, blessedly leaving him alone.

He sits there.

Then, less than a minute later, Slayer decides he's been sitting long enough.

Lost in thought, he swings his legs over the side of the bed, taking in the surroundings more fully. His room was isolated, a few monitors tracking not only his vitals, but a few other things, such as blood type, foreign bodies, a chart detailing his wounds. The room smells too clean, like when someone needs to disinfect every inch of every surface, but at least it wasn't tainted with the smell of blood and corruption. At least, not yet.

Or perhaps, not anymore.

Perhaps there was a reason for the burning scent of bleach in his nose, after all.

His fingers tap against the mattress, keeping time with an unheard beat, but then the tempo quickens to impatience. This was not going to be a place he wanted to stay, and certainly not for a few more days, let alone a few more hours. He looks around, glances at the ceiling and windows, checks his condition, and plans.

------

In a different room, in a different part of the complex, in a very different condition...the body of Dr. Samuel Hayden awakens.

Well. Perhaps awaken is not the right word. Waking up implies the lack of a consciousness, whereas Hayden has always been quite aware of his surroundings. For the past seven years or so he's been vaguely aware of scientists watching his body, was even roughly aware of the Doom Slayer as he pulled the remnants of his body away from ARC tech, tossing him unceremoniously through a portal onto the fortress ship the Slayer called home. Things became much clearer and sharper after connecting with the ship and drawing power from it; however, there was a difference between living within the confines of a ship's mainframe for the better part of a month, and being within a body that now fully functioned, with joints that bent when he willed them to. Having a robot chassis did make life complicated sometimes… but being able to return to functional legs years after they'd been ripped off, was definitely a bonus.

With the return of his fully-functioning cyborg body, the sleek black-and-white frame towering 3 feet over the next tallest person, he did feel conscious again for the first time in years-- so if that counted towards "awake", then the word was fitting for his current mental state after all.

"Thank you, Simon," Hayden says, refitting his right arm with his left, his blue LED blinking bright inside his skull. The bald doctor, overseeing the reattachment of the arm, just nods, fixing his glasses. "I think for now, that'll be all. Keep studying the ship while you can; if it can help rebuild me, it can help rebuild others."

His voice was deep, warbled, slightly digital; like it was still getting used to speaking from the chassis, and not from the ship's internal comm system. Nevertheless the scientist didn't seem to mind. He just responds with "of course, sir," and heads off in the direction of the door, passing many other scientists deep in their work as he does so. Hayden rubs a wrist and, --as a few ARC scientists flit around him, removing cables and wires full of man-made Argent-- he takes his first steps with his new pair of legs.

"We have much to do," Hayden states, with an air of authority and urgency. "With the Icon of Sin dead, we need to move towards eradicating any remaining demonic forces before those in space can return to Earth." He turns to the nearest scientist, a woman with bushy red hair and freckles. "How is our guest holding up?"

"Richardson has reported that he is awake and responsive, but we do not know how long he will tolerate being subject to more tests. He's already popped sutures simply by trying to get up."

Hayden tilts his head. "How long ago was this report?"

"An hour ago now." She checks her notes and then looks up at the towering cyborg. "Why?"

As if on cue, an alarm goes off. Hayden looks over, checking a nearby monitor: as suspected, it's from Medical Bay H. The redhead looks incredibly concerned, her eyes going wide.

"O-oh," she says, as a hulking form of muscle and sinew, dressed only in a medical gown, struts past a security camera. The subject looks around then walks up to a nearby doctor, tapping them on the shoulder before "borrowing" their key card lanyard. He uses it on a nearby door, tossing the lanyard back to doctor before entering the room and surveying the object of his desire: a powerful space-faring suit of alien make and design.

Hayden sighs. Of course. He turns away and walks towards the door.

"Sir?" Says the scientist manning the security camera. "Should we… can we… stop him?" There was a futility to his tone; everyone here had a right to be concerned. Even if the humans in ARC weren't corrupt or demonic, the collateral damage the Doom Slayer could cause was well-documented. The hole Mars now sported was evidence enough of what he was capable of.

"Invite him to see me in Complex Wing B, room 235. Don't try and stop him; I can guarantee you won't be able to." There's a dark chuckle there, a dry amusement, but Hayden shakes his head anyway. He continues his trajectory, leaving the room where had been reassembled, opening up a comm line with the Slayer directly.

"Long time no see, so to speak. How about we meet, face to face, one more time? There's much we need to discuss."

#doom #doom eternal #doom eternal spoilers #sam/slayer #fic #my fic #fanfic #my fanfic #anyway #jazzhands into infinity #is there a writing community for doom yet?#well THERE IS NOW #makes it so #long post #read more

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writing-alright · 3 years

Note

Hey! 🤖🤖 Could you answer 1994, 2013, and/or 2021? Thanks so much for making this list! It's great to talk some of these things out. 😊

Howdy! I can, and thank you too friend! I tried to put a lot of thought into these questions in order to enable maximum venting/coping/memory lane tripping so I’m glad to hear it. That said, I sure went on and on here!

1994: What do you find most striking about the band?

In the very best way, they don’t care about what others expect, think, or want. They turned an insult into a name recognized worldwide. I think of the time somebody got them a limo and they took the subway instead. I think of how they never did something they didn’t want to do, because it went against their artistic ideals or passions, or because they just DIDN’T FEEL LIKE IT in their hearts. I think about their gratitude to other artists and how they tried to repay it. I think about two guys just entering their twenties deciding they wanted to be a band and sticking with it for twenty eight years.

I think of them deciding to end it all with exactly these things and no more: the word “Epilogue”, the date “2:22:21”, an old movie clip, a new title card with the years “1993-2021”, a special choral mix of Touch, and a sudden cut to black. It’s what they chose to do. There’s a part of me that will take a long time to heal after the sudden starkness of Epilogue, but there’s a deeper part of me feeling utmost respect and awe.

(... If I feel like this as a fan, I can’t imagine what they’re feeling right now. Literally cannot: there’s simply no comparison between being an observer and being the one to activate self-destruct, so to speak. I’m mourning my favorite band that I listened to, but they laid their entire musical career to rest. I sincerely wish them the best in all things as they move forward from such a big moment. I won’t do them the injustice of assuming how they’re feeling.)

It is incredibly difficult to go against any sort of status quo, especially when fame and money are part of the equation. Twenty eight years is a long time—filled with plenty of opportunities to compromise on their standards, I’m sure. But they never did, to the very end. That’s dedication.

2013: What do you think about the Random Access Memories album?

Ah, Random Access Memories my beloved. The first Daft Punk album I bought with my own money. The true sound of my summer as a seventeen year-old. I think this album breathed life into an industry desperately in need of a reconnect with its soul. (It was album of the year for many, many, many reasons.) Listening to it always breathes life into me, at least.

Now it’s their final album. I think that’s fitting. It’s got a conceptual nature like Discovery (concept-album-wise) and Human After All (concept-philosophy-wise). It’s even got the minimalist beats of Homework in Doin’ it Right, which kind of reminds me a lot of Teachers. It’s the culmination of everything they learned, put forward in an effort to make something new. They did an amazing job: the album’s got a lot going on and it all works.

The biggest difference I see between Random Access Memories and their other work is the sheer amount of direct collaboration and inspiration. One track is a biography of an EDM history-maker, for goodness’ sake! They worked with their heroes: Paul Williams and Nile Rodgers. There’s an entire series on the people they worked with talking about the album. I’m glad the last album wasn’t a lonely one.

2021: How are you “holding on” after the split?

(I’m regretting phrasing this question like I knew what was going on with Daft Punk. Are they “splitting” from each other? Are they just retiring the band? All anybody knows is what they told us in the video. We may never know. I’m just a person on the internet who’s really invested in their band and they don’t owe me or anyone an explanation. I’m going to try my best not to assume anything else, but the cat’s out of the bag already for question 2021. Maybe I’m a little too worried about a word choice that’s not that deep.)

*Cough*

I’M COPING!! But I’m going to write a “where were you for the Daft Punk Epilogue” timeline for posterity. I don’t want to ever forget these days.

2/22/2021, 12:20 pm: Scroll Tumblr during lunch break, read this post.

[Image ID: The guy with the “one fear” t-shirt from the “no fear, one fear” meme comic. End ID]

12:25 pm: Search “Daft Punk” online.

12:26 pm: World ends. Lunch break ends next.

12:30 pm: Log back into work and try not to cry. Listen to Daft Punk albums while trying to work. Kill Youtube autoplay when it starts playing the Epilogue video while I can’t give it my full attention.

2:06 pm: Have one of my oldest best friends ask me if I heard the news. Begin sobbing uncontrollably, with just enough time before a check-in meeting with my boss to seem like I wasn’t crying.

5:00 pm: Log out of work. Open laptop, post this, pour self a large glass of wine. Search “Daft Punk Epilogue”.

5:05 pm: World ends, but for real. Sob for probably fifteen minutes. Post this. See that my old Ask Punk meme is going around. Immediately begin making one last Ask Punk.

6:30 pm: Post Ask Punk: Epilogue Edition. Send asks to every single person who reblogs it. Reach out to my Daft Punk friends and fellow fans. Continue, stopping for sleep and work, right until posting this on 2/26/2021, just after midnight.

Smiles started taking the place of my tears maybe a day ago. I’m holding on to the sense of community and musical love that were integral to being a Daft Punk fan. I’m hoping that every answer to every ask is “love” in one way or another. The least I can do is keep helping other people cope. I might put “Emotional Support Blogger” on my resume. I’m holding on by making a new home together with everyone post-Epilogue.

I just... cannot stop myself talking about Daft Punk these days. Wowie.

#Bloggle #Replies #Epilogue!#Daft Punk!#surrealspacecadet #Long Post

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jeanstoppable · 4 years

Text

20th & 21st OF OCTOBER

~change the channel~ (substitute)

~island in the sun~

(A/N: I cannot, for the life of me, make these prompts shorter. But anyways, here’s some more of my Cyberpunk oc and a bit of world building)

WARNING: Mentions of Drug Use/Dark themes

The door shut with a soft click, the metal barrier cancelling out the harsh and turbulent noise of the downpour outside, as a clear ping pierced the silence of the room, signalling the automatic lock being completed.

I tossed the drenched sling bag somewhere on the floor, hearing it land but not bothering to check where, and started peeling the equally wet jacket off my torso, leaving me in a sleeveless black top.

I should take a shower first. I thought. But my legs didn’t move towards the bathroom to my far right, instead my eyes were fixated on the desk beside my bed, and then gradually brought them up on the old painting displayed right above it.

Later. This can’t wait. Heart and mind decided, I shuffled over to the desk in a sense of urgency, grabbed the painting by its sides and then plucked it from the hook. Flipping the frame around, a black plate covered the back of the canvas. With familiar ease, I slid my fingers across the upper corner edges and found the latch, successfully unfastening the plate to unveil a couple of worn-out journals hidden inside. Untouched.

A breath of relief escaped me, my fear of the notebooks being discovered momentarily disappearing.

I picked out the one I’ve been using as of late—the tenth one if I recall correctly, since I’ve already used up every bit of space from the others—and opened the journal where it had a bookmark.

The yellowed blank pages were a frequent sight as I ran a hand across the smooth surface while my other hand pulled a pen from a cup that was also holding a heap of markers and then started writing my thoughts—

It was a common enough phrase.

“CHANGE THE CHANNEL”

It doesn’t pique interest, at least to...someone like me, so it shouldn’t raise any suspicions, right?

I hovered the nib of the pen slightly above the paper, thinking if I should continue to write about the news we’ve received today. It was shocking enough that I even had to pinch myself a couple of times to see if I was dreaming or not because the news wasn’t just good nor great---it was the best fucking thing I’ve heard in years and it also just happens to be the one we’ve all been waiting for.

Setting down the pen, I reached for the hidden compartment again, took the very first journal I owned and then absently flipped through the filled pages, the crisp, crinkling sounds tenderly jogging my memory.

I stopped at the beginning of the notebook, a reminiscing smile graced my lips as I traced the old ink with the tip of a finger.

Don’t let anyone steal this.

I snorted, of course, this was written on the day I got my ass beat and left without so much of a coin in my pocket—thus, I was forced to resort to stealing. Strangely enough, this journal was the first thing I stole and to this day, I can’t seem to remember the reason why but I do remember how awful the act made me feel, the feeling lasted for days.

Nonetheless, those feelings subsided after getting accustomed to this lifestyle. Crime practically lived and breathed under my skin, these hands and feet of mine becoming my very own accomplices.

I closed my eyes as the usual barrage of emotions washed over me: disappointment, disgust, anger, hate—so much hate and all of it was directed at the only person I can blame at the moment.

Well to be fair, not once did I deny the indisputable fact that I hated how my life turned out, how everything turned out considering that there’s no one even left to impress, no one to see me pretend as if I wasn’t so horribly broken-down on the inside.

I hated how I was still here, anchored by some self-righteous bullshit I’d placed like a burden on my shoulders that one miserable night, a burden that still stubbornly carries the promise of changing the lives of so many other people.

My gaze landed on the scribbled date at the top of the page.

It’s been 6 years since the incident.

I breathed out my nose unevenly and closed the book with a snap, pushing it aside as I returned to the previous journal and picked up the pen to finish today’s log.

It’s happening.. It’s finally happening.

Today marks the fucking day of something revolutionary as we received reports, genuine physical reports, of a planned coup in all of five districts. And I know there had been a lot of them in the past and those who participated lost their lives after being executed on the spot… However, this time around, my gut tells me otherwise.

I think I mentioned this in my previous logs; it’s about the power balance shifting. It began to tip since last year and it hasn’t stopped till now. I fiercely believe that the power will eventually find its way back to us, as it rightfully should.

This was a long time coming after all. Years and years of effort had been put in just to dethrone those who forcefully robbed us of our lives and not just that---Our identities.. Our Family and friends. The voice itself of the public.

Letting out a tortured laugh, I wrote the end of the log:

CHANGE THE CHANNEL

Simple, dismissive and yet it holds the power of treason. It speaks the word of rebellion. I’m not afraid anymore because this phrase will take us one step closer to freedom.

. . .

“...Are you sure this is the right place?”

“Positive.”

I cast my partner a skeptical glance.

“...I’m 80% sure.” He nervously admitted, purposely avoiding my prodding eyes.

A huff of disbelief slipped past my lips as I demanded from him, “What did the message say anyway?”

“It was a recorded message programmed inside a toy, it only said the time and the address before self-destructing. But like I said, I don’t think I got any of the information wrong.”

“Maybe you misheard or missed something because this—”

I swallowed the sentence and did another scan of the building in front of us, our position from an empty terrace across the street granting us to overlook the supposed meeting place, the rendezvous as it turns out was a grand and luxurious night club.

It seemed that access was only given to those in the upper class but since it was fairly new and as far as rumors go, I heard it has an eccentricity to it, so the club wasn’t bustling like the other similar establishments scattered in the district. Still, entry to the venue remains as a privilege only to those who can afford to waste money, in this economy.

I eyed the flashy neon sign just above the main doors with slight distaste and a growing curiosity.

Island in the Sun

The name certainly snatches attention.

After seeing a bunch of people dressed in stylish clothes walk out, I run a hand through my hair, suddenly feeling a tiny bit insecure about what I’m wearing.

Hell, nothing about my attire was fancy by any means so I shot my partner another worried glance, “Do we really have no further means of communication with them? Do we really have to enter through the front? Can’t we just, you know, sneak inside a window? I mean, we don’t—we’re not—”

I gestured to his clothes and then mine, “We’ll stick out like sore fucking thumbs.”

“You do make a sound point.” He murmured and then lowered his goggles to finally address me, his grey orbs illuminated by the numerous bright neon signs, “I never expected our sponsor to be this...shameless? They’re practically waving their wealth in our faces, makes me wanna take a swipe at them.”

“Arman,” I quietly sighed, “What are we getting ourselves into?”

Is this what having cold feet feels like?

My partner surveyed me for a instant before having the nerve to roll his eyes, “Just treat this as one of our regular heists, Sonya. Aren’t you the least excited to experience what it’s like partying with the upper class?”

I stayed silent, not bothering to tell him that I did have prior experience, and just rubbed my temples, a headache forming at the prospect of how tonight will go.

“Time for a channel change.” My partner winked, his wise words partnered with the small gesture cracked my lips into a smile.

He then put a hand under his chin, thinking carefully as he relayed more of his thoughts, “And maybe get laid by the end of the night.” This time, I was the one to roll my eyes and got a glower from him in exchange.

“You could use it as well… When’s the last time you—”

“Shut the fuck up, Arman.” I tried snapping back but it turned into a laugh instead.

He only grinned toothily, looking guilty but proud, “Less nervous?”

“Let’s just get this over with.”

“Wait.” He said all of a sudden.

I raised a brow in question, my hands already gripping onto the rails, poised to scale down at any moment.

“Clothes.” Arman waved a hand and I grimaced.

“Ah yeah, right.”

A terse silence passed before we both launched smirks at each other, the same heinous idea forming in our minds as he pointed towards a closed clothing shop a few blocks away.

“What say you for one more heist this evening? It won’t be as grandiose as the previous ones, I’m afraid.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

. . .

Your ass looks nice in that.

Yeah? I’m taking this one then.

...Well?

Your ass always looks great, Arman.

So you’re saying mine looks better? Thanks.

Wear a skirt and then we’ll talk.

Oh, Sonya, just watch and learn.

. . .

I leaned against a street light, scrutinising our target club while waiting for my partner to finish finding the ‘perfect outfit’ as he called it, his words not mine. In the end, I settled for a wine coloured fitted dress with a criss-cross pattern exposing my back, a black corset on top, a semi transparent blazer for my shoulders, and then I picked out simple knee length combat boots—in case the deal goes awry and we had to flee.

Hearing footsteps behind me, I peeked over and my jaw dropped as soon as I laid eyes on Arman.

He was wearing a skin tight turtleneck black dress, showing off his lean but toned figure, a beautiful velvet burgundy blazer that looked amazing on his broad shoulders and then his shoes were thick polished combat boots, almost same as mine, the only difference was his heels were an inch higher, making him look taller than he normally is.

I whistled in pure awe, “Damn, Island in the Sun is about to get a whole lot hotter.”

A smug expression graced his handsome features when he walked past me, swaying his ass deliberately, “Told you so,”

I huffed at his haughty but rightfully placed attitude and caught up to him, looping an arm around his, “Well, won’t you tell me—am I your designated arm candy or are you mine?”

“Why can’t we just be both?”

We toned down the volume of our conversation when we neared the establishment, Arman breaking off as he walked up to the main entrance. It was as we expected, one of the large bouncers blocked him immediately and then pointed to the side towards the long line of people waiting for their own turn.

Arman straightened his shoulders and crossed his arms, “We have an appointment with your employer.”

The bouncer examined my partner from head to toe, not looking the least convinced although the second after, he pressed a button on his collar, “Can you direct me to the boss’ line?”

“Hey!” A voice shouted off to the side where the line was, “Wait in line like the rest of—”

I whirled on whoever was speaking and gave them my most vicious glare, that person stopped in the middle of their sentence and then promptly averted their eyes. I scoffed at them.

“Boss, there’s two individuals here that say they have an appointment with you.” The bouncer said, nodding while listening to his receiver and then finally turned back to Arman, “I apologise but the boss doesn’t have any more appointments for tonight.”

Arman took this information calmly and then leaned in, a hand covering his lips as he whispered something to the bouncer, keeping his voice as quiet as possible.

The bouncer’s eyes widened, stared at Arnan and me before ultimately stepping aside, handing us two glowing yellow bracelets, “I’m sorry for the delay, the boss is expecting you.”

My partner brightened and accepted the bracelets, holding me by my wrist as he ushered us past the main entrance. Still confused about the whole ordeal, I reluctantly put on the accessory without saying a word, the bracelet giving a weird sting when it made contact with my skin, and then followed Arman inside.

“What was that?” I asked the moment we’re left alone.

“Did you forget why we’re here?” He quipped back cheerfully and the realisation struck me later than I would have liked.

“...What do you think this is for?” I changed the subject to both our glowing bracelets, raising mine to my eye level just to get a good look at it.

“I don’t know. Gimmicks?” Arman absently rubbed his, faintly knotting his eyebrows and then started inspecting the empty hallway we were walking through, “For a club named Island in the Sun, it doesn’t seem very hot.”

We reached the end of the hallway and the doors opened upon sensing us, revealing another set of corridors, three to be exact that split into different directions: There was muffled music coming from our right, while there’s really faint sounds of people chattering to the left, and then nothing from the one ahead of us.

I took a step towards the middle corridor, figuring it was where we needed to go but Arman blocked an arm in my way, “Don’t you want to check out the other rooms? We might as well explore before we get kicked out after our appointment.”

My expression definitely disapproved of the idea and he could see that, although I think I might’ve surprised him when I agreed to his request, “No more than five minutes.”

His grey orbs gleamed with excitement, “I’ll go this way,” he pointed to the right, “Take the left.” With that said, Arman pivoted and headed for the direction with the music, and I walked towards the left corridor.

The doors were glass so I’d seen what was inside while waiting for them to open.

I scrunched my brows in bewilderment at what awaited me. The room was massive so to say and furthermore, it has a second floor filled with—What were those? There were these weird opaque bubbles that had a hatch on the front with a keypad beside it and almost all of them were lit, vague silhouettes of people moving to and fro inside but nothing more than that.

My eyes landed on the pit with a glass dome in the centre, a couple of people were lounging on long circular couches whilst socialising with each other. I was so focused on the bizarre scene that I didn’t notice the doors sliding open and the cyborg standing off to the side, making me almost jump when it had announced itself.

WELCOME. WOULD YOU LIKE TO PROCURE AN ISLAND?

“I---uh, what...does that mean exactly?” I awkwardly rubbed my nape, feeling the need to occupy my shaking hands as I peered up at the cyborg.

WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO DEMONSTRATE HOW OUR ISLANDS WORK?

I simply nodded and the cyborg’s eyes immediately flashed bright, projecting a hologram into the empty space between us, leaving me to watch in wonder as a 3D model of one of the bubbles appeared.

ESSENTIALLY, OUR SPHERICAL ISLANDS ARE DESIGNED TO SERVE AS ADVANCED PRIVATE SUITS FOR SPECIAL CUSTOMERS. ITS CURVED WALLS ARE BUILT-IN WITH HIGH POWERED LED SCREENS THAT LETS YOU PROJECT ANY KIND OF SCENERY YOU’D PREFER AND IT’S ALSO COMPLETE WITH FURNITURE THAT CAN SATISFY TO EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOUR NEEDS.

The holograms changed and now it showed one of those glowing bracelets.

WHILE YOU’RE INSIDE THE CLUB, WE WILL ALSO EXCLUSIVELY PROVIDE YOU WITH OUR CLUB’S HOTTEST PRODUCT TO MAKE YOUR NIGHT BETTER AND MORE ENJOYABLE.

I frowned, asking warily, “Product?”

I’M PROHIBITED TO EXPLAIN ANY FURTHER DETAILS OF THE PRODUCT. HOWEVER, YOU CAN FIND OUT FOR YOURSELF THROUGH ONE OF OUR ISLANDS, THE PIT, OR IN THE PARTY ROOM.

Something cold settled in my stomach, “The party room...it’s the room opposite this one , right?”

CORRECT. NOW, THAT YOU ARE AWARE OF OUR CLUB’S COMMODITIES, WOULD YOU LIKE TO PROCURE AN ISLAND?

I shook my head, about to refuse the offer when a question crossed my mind, “...How much is one island?”

The cyborg turned off the projection and turned its gaze downwards, scanning my bracelet through its lens.

NO PAYMENT NEEDED FOR VIP CUSTOMERS.

“VIP...?” My throat dried up as I covered the bracelet on my wrist with a hand, “I...won’t be taking an island, thank you.” The cyborg merely bowed and then went back to its corner, waiting for someone new to serve.

“Shit, I have a bad feeling about this.” I said to myself, returning to the intersection from before and making my way towards the party room.

The moment the doors slid open, the music hit me and my eardrums in full blast. I winced at the intensity of it and more so at the large crowd dancing and grooving to the loud beat. It was difficult to even hear my own voice. I internally groaned, how am I supposed to find him at this rate?

Keeping my eyes sharp despite it being extremely dark and the occasional blinding strobe lights, I moved through the mob of people pressed against one another, awkwardly bumping into some people dancing and then sometimes getting pushed back. I bit my lip, refraining from picking a fight as I held on to my rapidly waning patience.

All of a sudden, someone slapped a hand to my ass and the leash briefly snapped—I quickly rounded on that person, a fist almost flying out when I saw that the hand belonged to a man a couple of inches shorter than me with a greasy sneer on his face.

“Do that again...” I fisted his shirt and followed with a violent promise, “And you’ll go home left-handed.” I threatened, my voice brimming with spite.

Once I saw the frightened understanding in his eyes, I released him and turned away. “Arman, you better show yourself right now.” I growled.

Finally, I spotted a familiar burgundy jacket behind a pillar and I set my sights on it, carelessly pushing my way through, ignoring the curses and rude remarks of the people I shoved because I have had enough of this.

I shouldn’t have to search for him.

As I got closer to the pillar, I only noticed then that he was making out with someone. Oh you’re dead. My fingers shot out to grab the shoulder of the man I’ve been searching for, ready to cuss at him till his ears fall off.

“Oi! What the fuck happened to five minutes?!”

I halted as I met face to face with a stranger, and not at all my partner, “A-ah, I’m sorry I thought you were—“ My eyes flicked towards the person standing beside them.

“Arman!” I shouted, obviously relieved to see him alright but then remembered I was still pissed off, “What the hell? I was looking all over for you!”

His eyebrows creased for a moment before a loopy smile graced his lips, “Sonya! I’m sorry, I got a bit distracted…” Arman’s gaze trailed off to the side but at the same time, he gripped the waist of the man he kissed earlier closer to his body.

I gawked at him. Honestly speechless. But then I lashed out a hand to circle around his wrist, the one with that damned bracelet, and discovered that the yellow glow was at half now.

This was their exclusive product.

I fumed as I took out a spare light from the pocket of my blazer and yanked his head down to my level, “Let me see your fucking eyes.”

I shined the light on them and noticed how bloodshot they were, his pupils were unusually blown wide. I cursed again, letting out my frustrations, “Arman, you’re blazed!”

“What?! No, no, no. I-I haven’t taken any.” He stumbled over his words, making me doubt him even more.

“Excuse me.” A new voice piped in.

I flipped my attention to Arman’s...date? Lover? Who the hell cares, I completely forgot he was even there, “Aren’t you being a bit rude? Who are you anyways?” The man asked snobbishly while squinting at me.

I glared back, a dangerous smile framing my painted lips, “I’m his girlfriend. Who are you?”

“Sonya!” Arman yelled in disbelief.

The man mouth hung open and then tried explaining himself, “I-I’m—“

I held up a finger, “You know what, I don’t give a rat’s ass.” Locking an arm around Arman’s, I pulled him away from the man and roughly dragged him across the dance floor and towards the exit.

Once we got back to the main hallway, I let him go and stared him down with my arms placed on my hips, “What was that, Arman?” I gritted out, trying to be as calm as I can without blowing a fuse.

“Give me a minute.” He panted, “It’s so damn hot, ugh.”

“What are you saying, you’ve only been in there for less than twenty minutes.” I looked at him confused but then clearly saw the heavy perspiration forming on his skin, “Hey...you’re sweating really bad.”

“I’m sorry, Sonya.” He apologised, breathing large gulps of air while leaning on the wall, “I’m sorry you had to cover for me back there.”

My gaze softened as I stood beside him, “It’s nothing…”

“I know I really screwed up for not being careful, but I swear—Sonya, I swear I didn’t take any drugs.” Arman gripped my arms, looking me wildly in the eyes.

“Don’t worry..I believe you.” I assured him, wiping the sweat off his forehead, “It might’ve been that stuck-up date of yours, did you notice him touch your bracelet while you were together?”

He opened his mouth and then clamped it shut, a deeply disturbed expression slowly contorted his features, “Yeah...Yeah, he did.”

I let out a rough exhale, controlling the rage that sweeped me off, now twice as strong, “If I ever see that fucker—“

A hand on my shoulder pulled my attention back as I faced Arman, letting him see the murderous expression on my features.

“The appointment.” He reminded me softly.

“...Right…right. Are you sure you’re okay now?”

He pushed off the wall and gave me a tiny smile that broke my heart.

“...You know, you’re giving Tilly a run for her money—I mean, showing up to a sponsor’s meeting high? Not even she has the balls to do that.”

Arman chuckled, a dark look passing his expression as he bitterly said, “I bet that they’re expecting us to attend already intoxicated.”

I hummed in agreement, “So, our first sponsor’s a drug enthusiast, huh?”

“Ready?”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

TBC

(A/N: I WAS SUPPOSED TO INCLUDE MEETING THE BOSS BUT ITS TOO LONG wowowow, these prompts are now integrated into my story, I swear I didn’t mean for it to turn out like this—but ANYWAYS. I’m kinda living for this unhinged oc of mine, and this duo?? I had so much fun writing about theit dynamic. However sad to say, this will be the last of them for now... as it goes, i must move on to other ignored ocs PEACEEE)

#alkinktober #inktober prompt #myoc #mywriting #cyberpunk oc #cyberpunk #cyberpunk fic #THIS WAS #SO MUCH FUN??#I am also loving this duo

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mintchocolateleaves · 5 years

Text

Match-Made (1/4)

Summary: Whilst spying on David one day, trying to come up with new ways to break him, Max, Nikki and Neil come to realise that the man is... married? But - of course not. There's no way that could be true. It's - it's David. Who would marry him? It seems like they're going to have to figure it out.

A/N: Y’all know I started to watch camp-camp, and this is the product of that. Hope you all enjoy. If formatting decides to fuck itself up, then here’s the AO3 link.

It had been just another one of those boring days at camp trying to keep themselves entertained. Skipping out on awful camp activities with poor, crappy resources, and trying to come up with an adventure of their own was nothing short from normal for them.

Nikki had wanted something more fun, Neil had wanted something a little less mind-numbing, and quite honestly, Max just wanted out.

Any time away from David and that overbearing intensity would be a godsend, and so leaving behind the god-awful cross-stitching camp hadn’t been a difficult decision to make.

Sure, they’d have to deal with David’s poor attempts at scolding them later, but they were going to have to hear it whether they disappeared for the day or not. The counsellor had a habit of calling them out on every ‘inappropriate’ thing. For swearing, for being mean, or cruel, or whatever else fell outside of overbearingly happy children.

Newsflash David, you’re telling kids to stop being fucking kids.

Either way, they just needed to get away from him for a while. To be in a David-free zone for just a little longer than the eight hours they slept.

“I miss Saturdays,” Nikki said, finally, as if the day had been cancelled. As if it wasn’t Monday, and they hadn’t only just had the weekend to themselves. “We always get to go into the forest on Saturdays.”

Well, technically they were in the forest now – all the fucking time, really, since they were stuck at this shitty camp – but they were allowed to roam a little further during the weekends.

“We go into the forest all the week,” Neil said, tone bordering on a whine, “I want it to be Saturday so I can go on a computer without someone telling me I’m being antisocial.”

Max shrugs his head, jumps over a log in the pathway and says, “You know why you guys miss Saturdays so much?”

He phrases it by a question, but really, he doesn’t want them to offer any answers. He just wants his friends to wait for the answer, to anticipate the scheme that might be forming in his head.

“I just said why I missed Saturdays,” Nikki says.

“Because the adults don’t have to spend all their time with us,” Max says. “Because we’re not stuck doing shitty activities, and the counsellors leave us the fuck alone as long as we’re not murdering each other.”

Nikki nods emphatically, and for a moment, it’s almost possible to see the memories of last weekend swimming through her eyes. Possible to see how they’d been left alone for a full day until she tried to throw Space-kid across the lake in the mechanised sling-shot she’d had Neil help her make.

“There’s no way we can stop that though,” Neil says after a while, and from the way his nose scrunches, it’s clear that the boy has spent time trying to figure out ways to achieve more computer time, but so far, has come up short. “We’re lucky we only have to do five days a week of activities.”

That’s alright, Max is more of the diabolical genius of the three of them anyway.

“I didn’t sign up for any of these shitty activities,” Max says, “and I’m sick to shit of being forced to do them.”

“…Revolution time?”

A sigh. “No Nikki, we tried that last week, it didn’t work.”

“Part two could be better though.”

Max appreciates the thought, honestly, he does. But the last time they revolted, he’s ended up shirtless, fighting back against the man and his other camp mates, because they’d all thought Erid a better leader than him.

Fuck that noise.

“What we need,” he continues, “is to find a way to make the counsellors agree to leave us alone.”

Nikki’s eyes shine, and she jumps forward as she realises what he means. She shakes his shoulders back and forth, ignoring the scowl she receives as Max tries to push her back. “We change the calendar so that every day is Saturday!”

Well – uh, not exactly what he meant, but the sentiment kind of stands. Sure, why the fuck not.

“Make every day Saturday.”

Neil, always the one who questions the plans, says, “I doubt we can just convince people that every day is Saturday.”

Fuck, honestly, Max thinks that they probably could if they came up with a crazy enough story about inter-dimensional time travel, and Groundhog Day. David would probably buy it, because the man’s a fucking idiot.

Convincing Gwen that the day was just repeating itself wouldn’t be so easy though. What with how often she read those werewolf fanfictions on her phone all the time, she’d go onto her email searching for any updates and immediately know the truth.

Maybe if they found a way to commandeer her phone so she wouldn’t be able to search things all day…?

He needs to stop.

“That’s a mindfuck that can wait,” Max says, “but we so could. No, we get them to leave us alone through blackmail.”

If it were anyone else but the kids at camp, talk of blackmail would be met with horror, or confusion. But here, at Camp freaking Campbell, he receives two looks of equal contemplation, considering how easy such a task would be.

It all comes down to blackmailing three people, essentially.

Quartermaster, who they kind of… don’t really need to? He tends to stick to himself, which is always good because Max is pretty sure that the man is a fucking sociopath.

Gwen, who – well, she doesn’t really care enough about the camp, so it’ll be really easy to blackmail her. They can find something easily enough – it’s always simple to narrow down what she cares about, since she doesn’t feign caring about other things.

The person who’ll be the hardest, will be David.

“Does David even have anything that we could blackmail him with though?” Nikki asks, “he’s like, so shiny and bright.”

Max scowls. “Someone like him, is bound to have some things he’s keeping secret from us.”

He still doesn’t believe that someone like that, someone so bright and happy, doesn’t keep things hidden beneath a layer of faux optimism. He’s probably got some fucked up secret that they just need to figure out.

“Maybe,” Neil says, “but it’s David.”

Max crosses his arms as if to say, he doesn’t care. Their new task of the day, is to spy on David and find a way to blackmail and ruin his life. And oh yeah, get the whole Saturday being every day thing put in place.

Honestly, just messing with David seems like it could have been the initial plan, but the others are more likely to help out if there’s a clear reason behind it.

…Well.

Actually, fuck that, he probably could have just said it. Nikki loves anything chaotic, and Max is pretty sure that Neil is still outraged over the lack of a proper lab at the camp.

“We’re going to find a way to fucking blackmail David guys,” Max says, crossing his arms. “And when we do, every day, will be fucking Saturday.”

Which leads them to now, using the other campers as a distraction, some early set disaster as a distraction, so that they can clearly search the counsellors cabin. The place has fucking air con in here.

Max resists the urge to cut the wires of the air con and puts it in mind for later instead. Why the fuck do the counsellors get to be chilled during the evenings when the rest of them are stuck in fucking tents?

Yeah, there’s a bit of a imbalance in the way they’re being treated, and Max isn’t blind to it. This is exactly why he rebels against the man.

“I ask to watch TV and I get told I’m not taking advantage of nature and my surroundings,” Neil says, as he pushes the button, the screen flicking on, greeting them with grey static.

The sound of static is like a bursting explosion, and Max leans forward, past Neil to shut the TV off before anyone hears, before the sound can give them away.

“We’re meant to be being stealthy Neil,” Nikki says, and from her, it seems almost hypocritical. Although – well, she is okay at being stealthy sometimes, he supposes.

“I don’t understand why the sound was turned up so high though,” Neil says. He pauses, “I mean, your hearing doesn’t go that bad by twenty.”

Who knows, Max thinks. His twenties are an entire lifetime away and he’s not really thinking about the quality of his hearing.

“Right,” Max says. “But we’re here for blackmail material, not a hearing test Neil, jeez.”

Neil just gives him a look, and says nothing.

But nah, loud TV isn’t a blackmail opportunity. Max reckons that Gwen turns it up so high so she can block out the sound of the camp when she’s not got to deal with them – or even to just block out David.

“Who cares,” Nikki says, and points towards the drawers by each bedside. It’s easy to tell whose side of the room is which based by which side has more sentimental crap in it.

David’s side has a photograph of the camp that’d been taken at the beginning of the summer, everyone lined up and pretending that they were happy to be in the photograph. It’s such a fake photo, but still the man has it framed, on the drawer, beside his alarm clock.

Gwen’s side doesn’t have an alarm clock, but maybe that’s because she’s sane and not a horrible morning person like David is. Always waking them up at ungodly times when quite frankly, he’d much rather they all get to sleep in.

“Nothing blackmail-y yet though,” Nikki says. With little regard for personal space, she pulls open the drawers, rifling through in a way not unlike a raccoon going through the trash.

“We’ll find something,” Max promises, standing beside her to peer into the drawers. Sometimes Nikki overlooks things that aren’t cool, or dangerous, and Max wants to make sure they don’t overlook anything.

“You keep saying that,” Neil says, “but what if we don’t find any blackmail material?”

Max pauses. Considers it. Then:

“We’ll make blackmail material then.”

Neil nods his head, as if this is perfectly logical, and not simply a dick move. Whatever, they want their Saturdays and there’s nothing else to do in this fucked up excuse for a camp anyway.

Max goes to open his mouth, pauses. Then, with the urgency of a thief knowing there’s a cop nearby, he grabs the sleeves of both Nikki and Neil, shoving his friends down and under David’s bed.

Hitting his head as he shuffles under, Neil lets out a small groan. Max resists the urge to tell him to shut the fuck up, since he also, should be shutting the fuck up.

Footsteps echo as the cabin doors swing open. Except, it doesn’t really swing open, but rather, is thrust open with far more energy than necessarily. David then, because Gwen would never open the door with such energy.

David’s voice follows suit.

For some reason, there is a hint of stress – not unhappiness, but an urgency that he shows sometimes, whenever there’s a task he wants to start but they’ve hit time delays. Which is strange, because Max hasn’t ever thought of David as someone who knows what urgency means.

“Of course, I didn’t forget,” David calls, and then, after the door closes, his voice quieter: “Oh dang, I can’t believe I forgot to pick up the flowers.”

Flowers?

Max shares a look between his friends. David doesn’t usually pick up flowers, but rather, heads into the meadows to pick his own. He’d done it when they’d heard one of the women in town were ill, and another time when he’d –

Oh god, he’s totally got a date, right?

David’s a fucking romantic like that, of course he’d want to give someone flowers. God, even if they don’t have any

Their camp counsellor grabs his phone from his pockets, dials a number and holds it up to his ears. It’s impossible to hear the dial tone from under the bed, so Max reckons he’s going to have to find a way to infer everything from just David’s side of the conversation.

Not that it’s very difficult to do. David doesn’t really hide conversations.

“Oh hi Mr. Foster, it’s David, from Camp Campbell.” There’s a pause, and then, sheepishly, as he rubs the back of his neck, “yeah, I completely forgot the pick up for the bouquet was yesterday, I was caught up with activities–”

Another pause.

“You didn’t hold the bouquet back even the extra da–” David runs a hand through wispy red hair, “yeah, I know you don’t hold them back for customers who don’t pick them up but this is me – you did my wedd-”

Max has to slap a hand over Nikki’s mouth to stop the noise that builds against her tongue. Beside him, Neil leans up to pinch himself. David having had a wedding implies marriage – and who the fuck would marry that asshole?

“No, I know. I know. Can I get a bouquet made quickly then?” Another pause. “I understand it’s extra, but it’ll be our anniversary, and I–”

For a moment, there is silence. Then, a long, relieved silence is breathed into the air, almost like a dying gasp, almost like a gulp of someone who’s forgotten how to inhale.

“You’re the best sir,” David says, “-yeah, if you still have those lilac peonies that we had at the wedding, I just know she’ll love them. Yeah, thanks sir. I’ll pick them up tomorrow morning. No delays this time.”

The phone call must end, because David slips it back into his pocket, takes a moment to smooth out the wrinkles in his shirt.

“That’s all dealt with then,” he says, “now back to today’s activities!”

Max can hardly keep himself quiet for the time it takes David to leave the cabin. He doesn’t know how the others manage it. They wait until the door is closed again, until they hear footsteps fade away into nothingness.

Then, slowly, the three campers slide out from under the bed.

“What the fuck was that?” Max says.

“David never mentioned being married before,” Nikki says, “I wonder if his wife knows how to fight a bear! I’d only marry someone who could fight a bear.”

Neil doesn’t say anything. When Max looks at him, the boy shrugs his shoulders, as if there are no words to decipher how the knowledge has thrown him.

“No, but seriously,” Max continues, crossing his arms. “Who the fuck would marry David?”

It looks like they’re going to have to find out.

#camp camp #cc david #cc max #cc neil #cc nikki #cc gwen #gwenvid #mywriting #fic: match-made #this fuckin thing exists now I guess - hope y'all enjoy it? but who knows #I just found the concept fun

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erikismybitch · 5 years

Text

Waiting in Vain: Chapter 1

This One Guy.

Marleys room was her safe space . It smelled like her, it looked like her , even the soft sheets felt like her . They were expensive enough. “Quality over quantity“ her mother would say when she was little . That was something she carried on , even after her life .

“Alexa, turn on my fucking light” Marley groaned , she had been hearing voices in the living room for the past hour . She didn’t even have Alexa, Marley just wanted to humor herself. She was trying to take a nap before she had to be logged on to her computer for work .

Marley controlled the social media content for a food delivery app. When people messaged and tweeted the company , Marley was the person who had to respond and help . She had to take a total of six hours a day , all dedicated to the complaints of unhappy customers . She just wanted a few hours of sleep, she had a busy day and needed to pull an all nighter .

But no, Tiana had to invite people over tonight. They were cousins and shared a living space . Well, Marley was living with her cousin. She fell on hard times and needed a place to stay while she got on her feet . Marley had given herself a year , it was month six so she was half way there. Ready to go wasn’t even the phrase that could explain how she felt . Paying half the rent wasn’t bad, but she wanted her own space.

There was a knock at her door, one of the many over the past hour . It was the same thing , somebody asking when she was “gonna’ come out” . From the sound of it , a football game was on . Marley wasn’t interested in any sport that didn’t involve Serena Williams . And plus , to her, football was fueled by racism, it’s workings were slavery-like. Marley also thought it was too many confusing rules , what’s a first down anyway .

She left her nest , spotted a few familiar faces and this one guy .

The one guy who approached Marley a few weeks ago . But once he laid eyes on Tiana, Marley was a distant memory .

His name was Erik.

And there were many before him , ever since they were little girls Tiana always prevailed . Marley rested the side of her body on the living room wall , every seat was taken so she had no choice . Also she was able to see everyone , but couldn’t keep her focus away from Tiana and Erik. His hand rested on her thigh , Marley could see the imprint from him squeezing it ever so often . They kept stealing seductive glances at each other. Marley rolled her eyes .

This is why I stay in my room, Marley preached to herself. All the while grabbing an unopened lime-a-rita and taking a huge swig . It was time for her to start work anyway . Without so much as a goodbye , she went back into her room . Uninterested on being around people . Marley felt a particular way , she didn’t know if it was loneliness. Everyone could lie and pretend that they were okay with rejection and being single . But nobody really enjoys being alone . Marley wanted to be wanted , even if it was for a moment. So she did what a lot of impulsive girls do . She sent a text to her ex boyfriend.

Trey, wyd?

She sent the text . And after letting thirty minutes pass he didn’t respond . Marley figured he wasn’t horny enough to respond back . “Why did I do that !” She slapped her for heads as self punishment. She felt that instant regret .

Marley logged into all social media accounts for work . Twitter was her first @Gunna671 was really upset about something missing from his order . She started off with the blue print .

We are sorry for the mistake , please tell me the item(s) that are missing from the order. And please provide the order number .

She managed to stay up for four hours , right before crashing again . The small fifteen minute cat nap lasted a little too long . Thank god, but not thank god for the loud noise that woke her up. It was now 2am.

Tiana was so damn loud , screaming Eriks name over and over . The sounds were muffled through the walls but Marley could hear everything . Even Erik’s recent remark about how “her shit was so wet” and how “her mouth felt just like her pussy when he was in it “

“Damn” Marley spoke out loud .

Her computer screen was still active with hundreds of unanswered direct messages and tweets. Before she got back to it, her phone screen lit up .

My bad , I didn’t see your text

Treys bullshit lie made her stomach growl with hunger . So she got up , those customers could wait another ten minutes. Through the hall she could hear them mumbling to eachother , it seemed as if they had finished . Thank god now. Nevertheless, Marley was on a food mission .

In the kitchen , she grabbed a box of hearty cereal from the cabinet . Poured it in a bowl and then added milk . Just as she retrieved her spoon, Tianas door opened. Erik walked out of the room . Nothing on but his briefs and a smile , he exuberated confidence as if he lived there . This was Eriks house. He displayed the same arrogance that attracted Marley to him in the first place , he didn’t even have to say a word .

They were at a club , he approached Marley but he couldn’t keep his wondering eyes off her cousin . “Her name is Tiana, go ahead “

Marley had grew tired of his act quickly , she knew where he really wanted to be . Routinely, if he would have just saw Tiana first . Usually, Tiana would reject them . But not Erik , not a man who was built to perfection like him . From his brown skin , bulging biceps and dimpled smile . He probably didn’t even know what rejection felt like .

He smelled like cologne and latex. That latex smell always carried on its own . Erik mumbled something about juice . Marley heard him loud and clear but she was still upset at him for his choice . She ignored him . It got awkward because he repeated himself , so he knew for a fact she heard him . He didn’t like that , he could get rude too .

“You didn’t hear what I said?” he raised his tone , in a father-like manner , like one that was fed up with a teen .

“Nope” Marley was dry with him . Erik kissed his teeth and brushed past her . He moved so quickly that it startled her . He opened the fridge and grabbed a carton of orange juice . It just so happened to belong to Marley. “Aye, that’s mine!” She warned him .

“So I can’t have none?” He smirked, trying to use his charm to dissolve the situation .

“No, you should have asked” Marley went towards him to reach for the carton of juice , he snatched it back just as the tips of her fingers touched his. Erik looked down at her , his smirk was gone . He had tried his best to be cordial , but he took big offense to people who snatched things from him . Plus, he had already asked her twice .

“I don’t give a fuck if this is your house or not , don’t you ever try to take something from me “ He was loud and clear . Marley stood back in fear . Something about him made her freeze . If it was any other person , she would have returned the same energy . He looked directly at her but she couldn’t fathom looking him back in the eye. He slammed the carton on the counter , so hard that the bottom began to leak.

“You shouldn’t be drinking all this sugar anyway , you’ll just keep getting bigger”

The gasp that seeped through her lips came out strong. Erik had made Marley feel so small , thank god he walked away . He didn’t get a chance to see her eyes water . Marley had completely lost her appetite.

Is he saying I’m fat ? That was a fat joke right ? I know he isn’t concerned about my health , he fucking called me fat .

She continued to cloud her thoughts with disaproving opinions about herself . Marley cleaned up the leaking juice and threw the carton in the garbage can . Her cereal bowl went into the trash too.

I’m not even that big , I wear a size twelve , sometimes a ten . It’s because I’m not cute . Does he think I’m fat ? Tiana and I are the same size . Maybe I should cut out the sugar . I am fat .

She washed the stickiness off of her hands , dried them and walked back into her room . Down the hall where the return of their sex sounds was ever so prevalent. “Fuck him” she whispered loudly.

Like everyone, Marley had experienced a few insults in her lifetime. Self confidence and reassurance can only go so far . Only liars say things can’t hurt their feelings . Words hurt everybody . She crumbled into her safe bed and thought of the things she should have said back . But who was she kidding , there was no comeback that could have broke Erik down . She wished she had something on him , like “Thats why you failed high school” or “That’s why your father left your mom” but she didn’t know his history . She just knew his name and from the sounds of Tianas screams , she knew he could fuck .

She opened her phone again .

My bad , I didn’t see your text

She read Trey’s text and responded. Again , Marley knew he was lying , after four years she could read him like a book . Even through his text messages . She just wanted the feeling of touch from someone, even if that person endowed the most pain on her.

It’s fine , you sleep?

Nah , come thru

He knew what the 2am text meant . She needed him to make her feel good . Pulling pride to the side, Marley got dressed . Leggings, hoodie , and uggs. Whatever she wore would be snatched off as soon as she walked through his door . Well, depending on who was all there. Treys house was a never ending revolving door. Full of drugs , fights , a mother who let the streets raise her kids and everlasting drama. The stories Marley could tell about the time spent there were unbelievable.

I’ll be there in 15

She left , without telling Tiana. She was sure to have a few angry text messages from her cousin in the morning . Living with Tiana came with a dirty kitchen and attachment issues . Marley got into her car , when it heated to completion she left . Six more months , the lease that held both of their names would be over . Where Marley could move on with her life , new friends , new experiences, a new state . She hoped . But for now , Trey would do.

Hope you guys like the intro :)

#erik killmonger fanfiction #erik killmonger fanfic #erik killmonger imagine #black panther fanfic

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rosegardentwilight · 5 years

Text

Steal My Heart Chapter 4

A03

Summary: Prince Plagg had waited for the day that he could meet his betrothed, but when he does, he is met with a different reaction than he expected. He becomes determined that despite her mistaken assumptions, he will woo and win the Princess's heart. Meanwhile, Prince Adrien finds himself thrust into an adventure after a brief encounter with a thief named Ladybug.

Pairings: Cheesecake and Adrienette.

A.n.- And the next chapter is up! I want to thank those who are supporting this story, it means the world to me.

Thanks to Blue and Adam for tearing this chapter to pieces and making me put it back together. They push me to write the best story I can for you all.

Alya clutched the potion close to her chest as she neared her house. He said this would cure her sisters of any illness, but until she gave it to them, it was just an empty promise. By the looks of it, things were worsening. The twins tossed and turned, and Alya didn't doubt that they had both had a fever. "Alya?" They chimed in unison. She rushed to their side instantly placing her hand on their forehead. Just as she suspected: fever. Hopefully, she got there just in time.

"Shhh," she hushed. "Save your strength. Drink this." The medicine went down smoothly enough. Now it was time to wait. Alya wandered over the window and glanced down. She was worried. In the time it took Alya to get the money, potion, and come back, she hadn’t heard a word from Mari. If Marinette got caught, surely there would be rumors spread around of the execution. Ladybug’s reputation had scattered throughout Luominen. In this case, no news was good news. No. She couldn't think like that. Marinette couldn't be gone. Alya had to have hope that she was alright.

"Come on Marinette," Alya whispered. "Please be safe." As the night stretched into the early morning, Alya's eyes started to droop close. Fear, worry and anxiousness had wrung her dry as she constantly checked on the twin’s condition to see if the plague deteriorated overnight. They seemed to be better, but until more time passed, it would be impossible to tell. Alya knew that this burden was never meant to be placed on her, but her parents worked day in and day out to cover feeding everyone. Her older sister hadn't been seen in years, so it was up to her to step up and take care of the family. "Alya!" The pair of voices jerk Alya from her sleep. Next thing she knew she was engulfed in hugs from either side. "You're here!" Alya smiled to herself before the three of them burst into giggles. Alya hugged them tighter. She didn't want to think of how close to death they were, but that was a thing of the past. They were alive; that's all that mattered. "You're home!" "Of course, I am! There's no way that I would leave you two behind." Unless it was completely necessary, like in the case of gathering medicine. "You promise?" She gave another squeeze and kissed the top of their heads.

"I promise."

“What will you do?” Adrien’s voice was the first to cut through the silence. “When all this is over,” he added to clarify. His words caught her completely off-guard as they had been walking quietly for a solid twenty minutes. The memory of the water filling her lungs wouldn’t be one she’d be likely to forget soon. Marinette had tried to scream, but it’d only caused her to swallow more water. Despite thrashing to stay above water, there was little hope that anyone would save her. When all was lost and her vision had started to blacken, the one thing she could remember is hearing Adrien’s voice as she drowned in the darkness. I need you. Surely, he couldn’t have meant it outside of the necessity of getting his stuff back. He couldn’t propose to his sure-to-be-stunning Princess back home without it. But then again, if that were the case, why was the air flooded with tension? Why couldn’t they speak more than a few phrases at a time to each other? Why did her stomach start to flutter every time she caught him sneaking a glance her way? And even more so, why did she turn away bashfully and allow the heat to reside in her cheeks? “I—“ The word tipped off her tongue before her brain had a chance to catch up. “I’ve been saving for a while. I want to find my own little plot of land.” “By yourself? Won’t that be lonely?” His questioning tripped her up once more, but she quickly shook off any doubt in her plan. If she was alone, she couldn’t get hurt.

“No more than your arranged marriage.” Marinette was sure that her statement stung, but he was digging into her personal life, and for her sake, she couldn’t let him. After a few more days he would back to his kingdom, forgetting all about this little adventure - and especially her. Being out here in the forest for days on end had made it easy to imagine the possibility of someone like Adrien developing feelings for the likes of — “Now, wait just one minute.” Marinette stopped in her tracks, his sharp tone suddenly skyrocketing her heart. She refused to fall for him. So instead, she pushed any thought that said otherwise down and turned back towards him. Her hand rested on her hip, daring him to continue. To her surprise, he obliged. “I’ll have you know that the marriage to Chloe is my father’s plan for my life, not mine.”

Not she believed a word of it, Adrien was bound to have some say in his marriage. But the man that stood in front of her had rage burning in his eyes and rigid jaw.

“You can’t know the pressure that I’m under to do what’s best for my Kingdom.” “So, your Kingdom would thrive on a loveless marriage?” Marinette rolled her eyes before taking a seat on a nearby rock. Adrien followed suit on a fallen log across from her, face scrunched and lips in a tight line.

“I can’t expect someone like you to understand.” “Someone like me,” Marinette scoffed. It was only a matter of time before his real thoughts of her showed through. Enough distance couldn’t be placed between them at that moment. She stood up and started to march away. However, she stopped in her tracks when Adrien grabbed her wrist. “No- I didn’t mean it like that.” The contact caused a hitch in her stomach, but it was overtaken by anger. She snatched her hand back. “I think that’s exactly what you meant. At least have the decency to admit it.” “Sometimes I wish I didn’t have my title. Is that what you want to hear? I would give anything to have one day where everything wasn’t planned out for me. I could do what I want without thinking about the consequences for the Kingdom.” He sighed to himself. “I could have a say in who my Queen is without my father’s input.” “You want to be like everyone else?” What a silly request for a crowned Prince. He didn’t have any idea what it would be like to be on the other side of the castle walls. He wouldn’t last a day. “You have a chance to make a difference for your people, and you want to squander it so you can what—fall in love? Relinquish your title? You don’t need it to get your heart broken.” “Is that what happened to you?” He struck a nerve, and she couldn’t hide it. Eyes widening, mouth dropping open against her will, she dashed her eyes away. She could tell she knew he’d misspoken.

“Marinette”-

“His name was Luka. We were in love...once.” He sat back, obviously not expecting her to answer. She was surprised at herself.

“What happened?”

“It doesn’t matter; one day I thought we were going to be together forever, then next he was gone.” “Marinette..” Adrien’s voice trailed off. “I don’t need your pity.” She hadn’t gotten where she was with people pitying her. “Look, it’s getting late, we only have a couple of hours of daylight left. There’s no use in standing around.” With each step she allowed her annoyance to fester. Right, when it seemed that they were taking two steps forward, then something like this happened. She couldn’t get distracted with thoughts of what happened to Luka or what the Prince thought of her. Marinette’s stomach jerked as she dared to look back to see Adrien running his hand through his hair. Why was she so harsh on him, it wasn’t like he knew her past.

She couldn’t turn a blind eye to the fact that the Prince risked his life to save hers not even a couple of hours ago. Once she came to, the only memory burned in her mind was how he’d hugged her so tight. “Right, it’s getting late,” Adrien muttered.

When had he caught up to her, but more importantly why hadn’t she heard him coming? Heat traveled from ear to ear, and Marinette wished that Adrien wouldn’t catch her. She turned her head to the side and bit her lip to prevent any explanation she wouldn’t be able to expound upon. Despite their spat, she couldn’t help but hope she wouldn’t deal with the grueling silence.

The Queen had spent the duration of the morning meeting with the cook preparing for the arrival of their company as well as finalizing the details of her daughter’s wedding. Tikki had been clear that she wanted the whole kingdom to be invited. Her mother hadn’t argued with her; it would have been what the King wanted as well. A swell of pride resided in her chest wishing he could have seen this. There would have been numerous conversations around the table with the royalty of Tuho as they watched their kids fall into love. Speaking of her daughter, she needed to discuss the food choices and have Tikki decide what she wanted for the feast. The Queen looked around the courtyard which was the third place she had checked. She sighed; why was her daughter never around when she needed her?

Tikki wandered through the castle in an attempt to find her mother. She had to find her mother to discuss the wedding; after all, three days would fly by faster than she could imagine. She wandered into the throne room only to find it empty- well almost empty. "Looking for someone?" The sound of agonized screaming would be preferred to Duusu's voice. Why couldn't she leave the Kingdom already? It was apparent that she was making no headway in stealing Plagg. The respectable thing would be to know when the battle was lost and concede gracefully. It wasn't like she was here to support the union between them. Tikki had it in mind to have the guards keep her as far away on the day as possible. Her wedding day wouldn't be the best time to let the witch run around and wreak havoc. "Not you," she retorted, folding her arms against her chest. "I don't even know why you're here." "I take offense to that." Duusu placed her hand against her chest in feigned hurt. "I'm here to offer my sincerest wishes." "You can drop the act, Duusu. You're not fooling anyone. Your plan has failed. Plagg has no interest in you." "You seem smug for someone who had no choice in this arrangement. Your parents did all the work when you were a little girl." "What do you mean?" Tikki cocked an eyebrow. Part of her hated falling for the bait that Duusu dangled in front of her. "Oh, didn't they trust you enough to tell you? This whole marriage?" She motioned between Tikki and the door. "It had been planned since you were three." "You're lying." Her parents would have told her—her father would have told her. There were so many opportunities with so many conversations. "You can ask your mother if you don't believe me, but it's widespread knowledge." That made it worse. She was the last one to know if Duusu was speaking the truth. It wouldn't make sense for her to lie about something she could easily ask her mother. "I will." Tikki knew that she shouldn’t run, it meant that she was allowing Duusu to win, but wasn’t one thing her father taught her was to pick her battles? Right now, she couldn’t care less about what he taught her through the years. They knew about this the whole time, and they decided to keep it from her? What was the point? Didn’t they trust her? The distrust upset her more than the arranged marriage, but part of that might have been due to falling head over heels in love with Plagg.

Tears streamed down her face as she ran through the halls wondering where to escape. The outside wall would be nice, although her tears were sure to dim the view. Her room was another option: she could lock herself away not seeing anyone until her anger died down. A pair of arms caught her, stopping her in her tracks. “Tikki, what’s wrong?” If it weren’t for his soothing voice, she wouldn’t have realized her beloved was the one who held her. She clung to him, too upset to reply.

Plagg didn’t question his Princess needing his strength as she held him, clearly upset. What bothered him was if he didn’t know what was wrong? He was unsure if he was in the position to try and fix whatever it was. She would tell him eventually, but for now, he would comfort her the best he could.

A light prodding wouldn’t hurt; at least he had the knowledge that whatever was upsetting her probably didn’t involve him; otherwise, she wouldn’t be in his embrace. “Tikki?” He gently purred outside her ear. “Is there something I can do?”

“Just hold me,” she whispered against his clothes. Plagg obliged, but shortly noticed that her crying was drawing unwanted attention. “My love, how about you go to your room and grab a blanket. We will meet up at the wall in ten minutes and continue this away from prying eyes.” It wasn’t that the servants hadn’t seen them embrace before, but he feared more for any servant that tried to interrupt them. Tikki peeled back just enough for Plagg to see her puffy eyes and evidence of tears. He wished he could kiss all of that away. His fingers threaded through the loose strands of her hair as the other hand cupped her face, his thumb stroking her cheek.

“Alright,” she agreed. “I won’t be long.” “I’ll count the heartbeats until you arrive,” he promised, placing a feather kiss on her forehead.

Tikki didn’t want to let go of her Prince completely, especially after her fight with Duusu. It was for the better until they were alone and she could tell him everything. Although Plagg’s touch calmed her for the time being, Tikki still found herself flustered by the time she got back to her room. Tikki couldn’t understand why her parents had kept this from her in the first place. If nothing else, they could have arranged visits while Plagg was growing up instead of thrusting her into this world now. Despite everything, her feelings towards the Prince hasn’t changed. If he were to know of their betrothal since he was that young, it would explain why he was all too comfortable to spout her praises. Their meeting was a manifestation of what he’d waited for. But why had his parents told him and yet hers didn’t give the same courtesy? Tikki’s gaze snapped up the moment she felt another presence in the door. “Charles? What are you doing here?” She eyed him. “My mother is not here.” “I am here to talk to you.” The request seemed odd; Charles had never come to her about any matter of importance; that’s why he was the royal advisor to the Queen.

"What do you have to tell me?" Her hands grazed over the blanket on her bed before bundling it in her arms. "You must feel the pressure mounting: meeting your beloved Prince’s parents and the wedding around the corner." He poured some water into a goblet and handed it to her with a kind smile. Tikki set down the blanket and took the goblet. Taking a sip, she realized she hadn't even thought about the pleasing Plagg's parents, but it added to the butterflies in her stomach, what if they didn't like her? The alliance was resting on the marriage, and if they called the wedding off- she couldn't think about a life without him. "I hadn't thought about that," she admitted. Not that she needed more things to make her toss and turn at night.

"What if you could make your problems and worries about the Prince go away?" Tikki paused. As lovely as that sounded, it meant she would lose him, and that wasn't an option. She loved him, and that wouldn't change, no matter what obstacle faced them. There were bound to be things that they would face when they were ruling their kingdoms. Tikki knew that they could conquer anything if they encountered it side by side. "But I"— Her voice cut out as her vision began to spin and her knees started to wobble.

“Princess, is everything alright? Are you feeling ill?”

“Oh—oh, it’s nothing; I probably just need some air.” She attempted control over her feet to cross to get the room, but they barely lifted off the floor as if they were lead. Why was the window so far away?

"What- what is happening?"

Her hand flew up to her head to try and stabilize the pounding. Tikki's body hit the floor hard, her voice wanting to scream for help, only for the words to die in her throat. She fought her heavy eyelids. "No hard feelings, your highness." Charles stepped forward to loom over her. "This plan has been in place for years now, and I can't allow you to step in at the last minute to ruin it." The hope of anyone hearing her hoarse cry for help was dying with every second. Thoughts of Plagg flashed in her mind, how she wished that he would come in and save her, but he was on the outside wall waiting.

And she would leave him waiting. Who knows what was in store for her once she passed out: if she woke up at all. Her eyes fluttered closed, and the last thing she could see was her hand reaching for the door. He found that he could only stare at the princess as reality sunk in. What had he done? If the poison didn’t kill her, she would be able to identify him as her attacker. Leaving her out in the open like this was just as dangerous. Charles took Tikki by the arms and dragged her behind the folding partition screen. At least this way she would be out of sight, and it would take longer to find her. Panic and paranoia began to set in. He couldn’t stay here if the Queen found out what he had done; it would be the gallows for him and war across the nations. An idea suddenly hit him: he would ask the Queen for her pardon to leave before Tikki could be discovered. He would flee - and by the time they figured out he was the culprit, he would be long gone. For this plan to work, he would have to act quickly. Without another thought, he bolted out the door.

Pollen walked through the halls unable to keep her lips from tucking back into a smile. Since Prince Plagg came to visit, Tikki's change of mood was quite palpable. She was happier than Pollen had seen in a while. Certainly, it was no doubt who was the source of the Princess's new spirit. Despite being ordered to watch the pair, Pollen had given them their space and only reported back the most important details to the Queen. It was essential to provide the two space to allow love to bloom. Not that they noticed her presence when she did accompany them anyway. Pollen had even caught the exchange of kisses on foreheads, cheeks, and hands. Nothing made her buzz with excitement more than the knowledge that Tikki had found love. With the wedding around the corner, it seemed to only add to her list of responsibilities during the day. She didn't mind, not when it would be worth it to witness such an event. The marriage would even bring about the opportunity to travel if her Lady wished to continue to be served by her. She could see her friends in the neighboring kingdoms and provide Tikki the comfort of home. There was no doubt in her mind that she would follow her Princess no matter where the path took them. Pollen neared the door to Tikki's chambers and noticed it was unlocked and slightly ajar. That was unusual. She was sure she locked it when she left this morning. Her Lady wouldn't leave the door open if she came back early. "Hello? Princess, are you there?"

There was no immediate reply - but Pollen wasn’t worried. There were times in emotional distress that Tikki remained quiet even if Pollen was right next to her. A shiver shot up her spine as she ventured further into the room.

"Princess?" The odds of Tikki leaving her room open and unattended were low. The reality that someone broke in to steal something seemed more believable, but nothing in the room appeared to be touched. Pollen couldn't shake the nervous twist in her stomach, working its way into knots. She rounded the corner with the divider and stopped dead in her tracks.

No. "Tikki?" Pollen dared to venture closer. What was her Lady doing on the floor? The maid’s hand reached out to try and stir her awake, but it was useless. Why wouldn't she wake up? The panic inside her rose to her throat and was released in the form of a scream. Tikki's body didn't move an inch. Shaking the Princess didn't wake her from her slumber. Chills began to crawl over Pollen’s skin.

“Tikki!” The Princess had never been such a heavy sleeper, but as she continued to shake her, there was no response. She needed to get Plagg - he’d know what to do.

Pollen jumped to her feet and raced through the halls.

"Help!"

She raced down the hall, breathless with panic. Pollen rounded the corner, Pollen ran straight into something— or rather someone. "Pollen, what's wrong?" Plagg’s green eyes narrowed in concern. Her breath caught in her chest, keeping her from answering; her mind and thoughts were swirling.

"Ti—” No, she needed to calm down. Tikki depended on her. "Prince Plagg, Something is wrong with Tikki." Plagg’s eyes widened as his tan skin blanched. "What?" "She's not waking up." "Show me."

#miraculous ladybug #miraculousladybug #miraculousfanfic #miraculousladybugfanfiction #Steal My Heart #rosegardentwilight #plagg x tikki #adrienette #cheesecake #adrien x marinette

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explosionsstimsandtech · 5 years

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Octavio Is Live: And Drunk ||Octane On Loss||

||Welcome, Octavio Silva, you are now streaming. Say hello!||

The cheery words had Octane seething as he fixed his camera, dropping back into his super plush beanbag chair, grinning up at the camera and giving his signature rock sign.

“What’s uuup. Another drunken stream! Whoo!” he threw his hands up, yelping as some beer got on him with the motion, whining as he wiped it off.

Prior to the stream, he had three shots of tequila, this being his sort of way of tracking his thoughts. He could do holo logs or a diary, but he liked to be transparent, even if it hurt like a bitch.

He knew his experiences helped people, so why not give them this chance to see him with all his guards down, mask and goggles at his neck, looking like he just touched down from his recent solo win.

And he looked like hell.

“So! First question is the hot topic for this stream, choose wisely, amigos!” he grinned, because that was all he knew to do, to hide and protect himself.

The computer registered the first line of text with a little question mark beside it, and his heart sank instantly as he bit his lip, taking a long swig of his beer then sighed.

“Way to hit home, amigo, I’m sorry.” he sounded pained as he shifted, smile wavering.

“Miroctaneluver101 says; Hey, good game. I’m sorry, I hope this doesn’t get the top, but I’m honestly kinda feeling down in the dumps. I just lost my grandfather and I’m honestly feeling like life isn’t worth it. He was everything, the one thing to hold me up, to make me proud. The only person in my family to understand me. Have you dealt with loss, and if so, what do you do to cope?” his voice was shattering as he read the message, cursing as he rubbed at his face, ridding himself of the tears as he stood, walking off camera with a tiny sound of pain.

He kicked something, watched it burst across the stream and into the other side, off screen, to clatter against the wall. He returned with a tall glass of scotch this time, dropping into his seat with a sigh. He could see a billion messages of support to the person and worried comments to him, to which he took a swig and licked his lips.

“Where to get started, huh? First of all, please don’t kill yourself. You have so much to live for! Your life has just begun!” he set the drink down, leaning forward into his ‘Serious Papi Octavio’ mode, twin coloured eyes hard as they looked right into the camera.

“You are amazing as you are. I am sure your abuelo would be so proud of you.” he felt the tears and blinked them away, firm and sharp in his resolve. “If anyone says otherwise, tries to tell you to change, that you’re not worth it, fuck ‘em! They aren’t worth your time, your breath, your attention nor your life. Get rid of them, right away.” he flopped back, fetching his drink on the way down, with a huff, sinking into the plush embrace.

“As for loss? Not talking games here for a lightening effect, but... My great grandfather, Fuego Silva.... The only Silva I cared for... He was... Everything to me.” he looked to his glass, turning it over as he swallowed hard.

“Growing up... Well, you’ve seen what I could show you, the first camera, the first vlog? Was because of Fuego.” he smiled now, taking a swig of the amber liquid. “He loved it. Loved getting to see me as much as he could, even when he was away... He used to fight, god, it feels like an eternity now.” he laughed as he remembered back to the past.

“I told him I wanted to be a star, and he gave me this rinky dinky little thing, shit focus, terrible memory and even worse pixelage. Like we are talking using a potato for a camera would be better!” he chuckled, grinning into the glass. “But Fuego always loved it, would send it to him on the fringes of space in his vessel, so he’d have something to wake up to, something to pump him up.” he ran a hand through his hair as he laid back, splayed out for his fans to see.

“Mr and Mrs Silva were always... They weren’t great. It’s why I was taken into the Diablo Del Alma’s so early on in life. I remember the day I broke the camera. I was doing a dumb stunt, jumping off a roof, something small. I landed on it, and it broke rather than my arm. Fuego was grateful I wasn’t hurt, but my heart was broken. That was my camera, and a gift from him.” he felt the tears itch at his eyes, so he just closed them, lifting his head to take a long swig before returning to his slumped position.

“I remember the whole crew pitched in to get me a top of the line model, fit with different lens options and even slow motion at the flick of your eyes. It even had a high quality stabiliser built in that could be turned off. They almost didn’t make it, but Fuego pitched in the last hundred and said ‘to my rising star’, even engraved it on a panel on it himself.” he jolted, snapping up and scrambling around, finding the camera and returned, holding the piece up to show his fans, the intricate designs around the words written in both English and Spanish.

He then dropped into the chair with his camera in hand, tracing the words.

“He was there from day one... Even when he was out fighting... Everytime he came home, we livestreamed, made videos, we did everything together. He was practically my padre.” he smiled and sighed, hugging the camera as he laid back. “He would always say, ‘Octavio Silva. Siempre debes recordar esta frase. Nunca te rindas y nunca te rindas.‘ Always remember this phrase, never give up and never give in.” he closed his eyes again, living in the memories, even as they brought tears to his eyes.

“He used to tell me if I dreamed it I could do it. Pushed me beyond my limits. Even gave me my first tattoo!” he flapped his arm, a bright grin on his face. “I was so scared, but he said the words as he started, and it’s been my mantra. It’s why I never give up, no matter how helpless it is.” he sat up suddenly, looking to the camera in his lap.

“Fuego... He.... He got sick. Like real sick. The last few years, he was in the hospital. I would stream, you guys know this, with him still. He pushed for me to break the record. I knew his time was short, so... I improvised.” he laughed, something hollow this time. “I’m told he died with a proud smile on his face.” the tears were falling now, the pain lancing through him, but he shook his head firmly, wiping them away.

“My last talk, I told him of the Apex Games, of how I longed to be in them, of how it was my dream to have a banner of me! I told him there was no way I’d be able to, and he turned me to him. He told me those words again. I laughed and said ‘maybe after I break this record’. I woke with no legs, and no Fuego. I thought my life was ruined.” he slumped down, then slapped his leg with a huff, running fingers over the intricate metal.

“Ajay Che, she and I go way back. Beautiful woman, but not my type. Too.... Well, you all know I’m a trans gay guy, so... Yeah.” he smiled shyly and idly brushed the engravings. “She heard about everything, asking my Diablo Del Alma Padre what happened recently. When she found me, I was in a wheelchair craddling the helmet he wore, staring at a gravestone in the rain.” his throat threatened to close and he swallowed, taking a shaky breath.

“I still say I guilted her. I just started talking and talking, about the dreams, about my promise to Fuego that nothing would stop me, and now here I was, completely in lockdown.” he wiped his face again with a growl of frustration.

“But the second I got those legs, I was off, even if I fell over at first. I wasn’t going to give up. I had been harassing the nurses with zooming around in the wheelchair.” he laughed at the memory, remembering the laughter in their voices. “So, do I know loss? Yeah, I do. I experience it every time I go into the ring and watch my friends die. I know they are safe, some wicked tech they have in the background, allowing us a second chance... As long as we have something for them to fix.” he laughed and shrugged.

“As for coping? Reach out. You have a whole community here who will hear you out. Go out, and do something for yourself. Write, draw, paint, sing, dance, run, swim, anything, the world is your playground, so play. Hell, I know someone who was tricked into eating a whole cake in one sitting by a personality in their head. They were vomiting for hours, but they chose to live if only to ensure he never got cake again.” he laughed and shook his head.

“It’s hard. Trust me, the first few months are the worst. Then it’s the first couple anniversaries. I take a drink for Fuego on the day he moved up to better things. His favourite. Doing something like that to honour them is never bad. Take pride in your joys, and do them. I know a writer, the same one about the cake thing actually. He suffers from... A lot. Suicide is almost always on his mind, constantly itching at him, making him want to just say ‘fuck it’ and be done. But he finds a keyboard or a pen and paper, and writes instead. It’s messy and all over the place, but he is proud, because he’s survived the wave.” he shifted to look at the camera, tears clear, now done with hiding it.

“And that’s what it is, its waves. And sometimes you need everyone to hold you up over it all, and it’s terrifying to do that. Fuck, I don’t even do it. I usually drink and drown in all the things I shouldn’t do, stand on cliffs, half kicking my landing gear off before I even know what I’m doing. And it fucking sucks because all I want is a fucking hug, to be craddled close, to have my hair smoothed and to be told it’ll be alright.” he tugged at his hair before sighing, smoothing it back.

“But I’m scared to trust, because trust means people can stab you in the back, trust means investing yourself in someone, which means their life is my world. I don’t think I could survive another Fuego.” he took a shaky breath and smiled, something so worn out and tired as he pulled up a holoscreen, swiping through things.

“Believe me. It does get better. Not by much, but it becomes bearable. You find ways to live each day in honour of those we’ve lost, who can’t witness the day. dont beat yourself into the ground and ruin yourself like I have in the past. Remember, you are worth it. And if no one else is gonna say it, then listen to me right now.” he looked to the camera, eyes alight with a fire as he stood up, leaning close so they could see him in the whole monitor.

“I am proud of you. You are amazing and perfect as you are. Non terre plus ultra, and never give up, never give in. You have got this!” he fist pumped the air before sticking his tongue out and giving his signature hand sign.

Then, he dropped back into his seat.

“Go check out the song I’m about to share to the stream. It’s a big pick me up that I use. That and Ska, but that’s a little out there for this moment.” he laughed as he threw up the songs. “It’ll play in a sec. After it, we are doing never have I ever!” he grinned and threw back a swig of the amber liquid, bouncing up to get more booze.

||Octavio Silva Has Shared A Song.... Playing now....|| ||The Stream Will Return Shortly....||

#the mun #he writes #Octavio's Now Streaming - Stream Logs #Octavio Headcannons #Octane Headcannons

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opulopful · 5 years

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I’m posting my Paranatural fanfic here because Reddit won’t allow comments over 10,000 characters for some reason. Warning: I went full fanfic mode on this thing; OC protagonist and everything. It’s also less joke-heavy than usual. Also I have done exactly zero editing. Anyway, hope you enjoy.

Suzy’s grand scheme

The third grudge was being uncooperative. Not that the other two had gone particularly smoothly either, but there’s a certain point you reach after a day of running back and forth through the woods, up and down hills, and through Mayview’s small-town streets that you begin to take every scraping stick and uneven curb as a personal offense. Marcella had passed that point an hour ago. It’s not easy to track a spirit, even a rampaging one like the insectoid monstrosities of today. Apparently somebody had disturbed a nest and although most of the swarm had been contained, a few had become grudges and escaped. That’s when they’d called Marcella. “Lazy Consortium… smidges!” She hissed between her teeth as she hurdled another log in pursuit. Marcella tended to make up new insults whenever she was feeling particularly upset. “‘Oops, messed up a basic containment procedure, who should we send to do cleanup? Oh, I know, let’s send Marcella. She loves cleanup runs. I bet she doesn’t even need any help; she’s just so good at them!’” She caught a glimpse of a shiny insect leg through the leaves ahead and tried to put on a small burst of speed. It didn’t work. Her foot caught a tree root and she only just stopped herself from falling. She stopped, hands on her knees, gasping for breath. Something was buzzing in her ears and it was getting louder. It took her a moment to realize it was coming from outside her head. A bluish green streak flew towards her, cleanly clipping several leaves from the branches above as it passed. The giant bug spirit had turned around and come back the way it came. “It’s taunting me.” Marcella panted. It was coming directly towards her at quite an alarming rate. “Maybe not taunting exactly…” The bug spirit screamed through the air toward her trailing fresh-cut leafy debris. Marcella was forced to dive to the side to avoid its assault. The grudge traced a shallow curve as it zipped through the trees, looping back around for another pass at Marcella. The shrill buzz of wings grew louder as it approached, yet since it was a spirit, the birds gave it no notice. Sounds produced by spirits are very strange to those used to sounds in the corporeal world. Since spirit sounds don’t interact with the physical world, they often don’t echo off of surfaces or reverberate through objects. A ghost duck’s quack has no echo. However, there is still a ghost Doppler effect for some reason and this is what Marcella was hearing as the bloatfly-lookin’ grudge hurtled toward her although it is unlikely this technical audio-spectral phenomenon was on her mind at the time. Instead, she was probably thinking something along the lines of: “If it hits me at that speed, this dumb bug is going to cut me in half.” The dumb bug was going all out, it had extended sharp-looking spectral energy protrusions to either side of its body to maximize its slicing efficiency. Leaves and branches alike were falling to the ground as it traced a long line through the trees. It dropped altitude as it made a- “Bee line haha get it?” Marcella grimaced at her own joke. -a bee line towards her with clear lethal intent. “No dodging to the side of the bugger this time.” She thought. “Bring it on, bug! I’m not afraid! Unlike some people, I can face my doom with decency.” It complied with remarkable enthusiasm. The persistent human was dead in its sights. No way to dodge now. She’d smushed her last larvae! It had almost reached her when Marcella jumped. The second to last thing that went through the grudge fly’s mind was “humans aren’t supposed to be able to do that!” The last thing that went through the grudge fly’s mind was the opposite end of the grudge fly. Marcella dropped the ten or so feet back to the ground, landing with an unnaturally soft thump. She smirked at the gooey blue blob behind her. “The thing spirits always forget is that there are, in fact, some downsides to poltergeisting.” The fly may have been fast, but even it was no match for a large sturdy elm. As Marcella slipped a marble back into her pocket, its color faded from a dull grey to bright blue streaked with white.

“Did you hear that, Collin? Sounded like crime to me!” Marcella looked around, the voice was coming from a nearby clearing: past the line where the trees stopped and the edge of a field began. A soccer field. “Oh man, I didn’t realize I had come this far.” Mayview Middle School held few positive memories for her and she tended to avoid it as much as possible. “All we could hear was you yelling, Suzy.” “Shudup, Dmitri, Collin can speak for himself. You heard that crash right, Collin?” “Actually I-“ “Told you he heard something. C’mon let’s investigate! Everybody spread out!” Marcella decided she didn’t want to be spotted snooping around in the woods behind the middle school on the opposite end of town from her own school. She hid in a nearby thicket. She could hear the small group drawing closer. “What do you think we’ll even find out here anyway? Suspicious squirrels?” “Well, Dmitri, I’m glad you asked. As a matter of fact, I just so happened to overhear a member of the Activity Club -“ (The tone of voice Suzy used to say ‘Activity Club’ was the kind of tone people usually reserve for such things as ‘cockroaches’ or ‘infidels’ or perhaps the name of the bandit gang who burned my small rural village and murdered my family and who I’ve dedicated my life to training in order to defeat) mention that they would be meeting out here after school today. I thought it might be worth investigating.” “Suzy, you stuffed yourself into the locker next to Max’s and waited for two hours until he finally showed up.” “Your point, Collin? A good investigative journalist must be prepared to do what it takes to get the scoop.” They were quite close now. Almost to the bush Marcella was hiding in. Suddenly they stopped. “Ok, Collin, you go left, Dmitri, straight. I’ll go right. Make sure to stay in contact via radio.” “You call this a radio?” “You know it’s the best we can do with our club’s funds, Dmitri.” “I was referring more to the glitter glue.” “Hey, Suzy, I thought you said you knew where the Activity Club was meeting. Wouldn’t left be the opposite direction?” “It’s important to be thorough in your investigations.” “Right, but-“ “Move out, team!” Marcella heard a deep sigh and a resigned plodding away through the underbrush. Another, lighter set of footsteps went the other way at a much faster pace. Almost as though someone had somewhere specific to be as soon as possible. Then Marcella noticed a pair of white sneakers standing next to her thicket. They weren’t walking anywhere. The other footsteps faded away. Marcella looked up. “Hi Dmitri.” “Hey Marcy.” “You know I hate it when people call me that.” “Yep.” Marcella stood up and dusted herself off. “Sounds like you have somewhere to be.” “Nah, Suzy can handle herself without my help.” “That’s what I mean.” “Oh, ha. Well, I’m not too worried about it.” “I thought you were part of the Activity club.” “I was.” “Oh.” There was an awkward pause. Well, awkward for Marcella. Dmitri never seemed to be awkward. Like a middle schooler talking with a high schooler in terse phrases about a ghost club in the woods behind the school was the most normal thing ever. “Weellp, I’ve gotta go. Always nice chatting with you, kid.” She gave Dmitri a pat on the shoulder. The look in his eyes could melt glass but his expression remained unperturbed. His hands never left his pockets. “See ya later, Marcy.” They turned and began to walk in different directions. “Hey Dmitri” Collin’s voice came through the trees. Marcella dove into another bush. “I heard voices, were you talking to somebody?” “Nope. Just coming up with some new lyrics.” “Oh, cool. Should we go after Suzy yet or…” “Eh, give it a minute or so.” The sound of something crashing through the trees came from the direction Suzy had gone. “On second thought, maybe we should check it out.” Marcella stood as they dashed off and removed a small rope with a loop on it from her wrist. The other end hung over a tree branch nearby. It smelled of orange juice. “Who put this thing here?” She muttered to herself. Then she heard a familiar buzzing overhead. “Not again.” Another large fly passed overhead. It wasn’t attacking but it was flying with purpose. “Aw man, I thought I got the last of them.” She rushed after the fly and toward the distant crashing.

“Do you hear it, Collin?” “Yeah I mean it’s pretty loud.” “That’s the sound of a scoop.” “Sounds like a moose.” “Don’t be ridiculous, Dmitri. A moose sounds more like- wait, I won’t fall for that again. We can’t afford to blow our cover this time.” “Wow, you got me Suzy. Foiled again.” The three were huddled behind an overgrown shed. Nearby, a few rocky outcroppings poked out of the hillside above the forrest of pine trees that stretched for miles around this side of the town. A few of the pine trees below seemed to be moving. This was where the crashing was coming from. “You’re sure you saw the Activity club?” whispered Collin. “Sure I’m sure.” Said Suzy “Just before you got here I saw them go behind that rock.” “That one?” “Didn’t I tell you to go the other way? We coulda flanked ‘em.” “But if I had gone the other way I would-“ “Shhh. Look!” Mr. Spender ascended one of the rock outcroppings and posed dramatically. “Now kids, I want you to pay close attention. This can be a great learning opportunity for all of you. Especially you Isaac.” Suddenly, he flew backward off the rock and landed in the grass below. After a moment, a driving-gloved hand emerged with one finger held upward. “Lesson one: Never let your guard down.” “Thank you for the demonstration, sir.”

“What are they doing?” Whispered Suzy. “Perhaps some kind of elaborate role-playing game.” “Shut up, no one asked you Collin.” “Maybe we should go ask them.” said Dmitri amicably. “Don’t you dare! So help me if you blow our cover I’ll… I’ll… cut your salary for a week!” “Oh no… my salary.” “Well, you’ll be sorry, ok.” “I’m shaking just thinking about it.” “Shh, stop distracting me. I have an idea.”

Marcella was not getting paid enough for this. True, the Consortium never actually paid anybody at all. There had been that thing with the ecto tokens for a while until people began to realize that the tokens got up and walked away every time you stopped watching them and they always seemed to end up in BL’s treasure hoard in the end. Regardless, she wasn’t getting paid enough for this just on general principle. The fly wasn’t moving at full speed which meant she could just barely keep up with it. “Land, you dumb bug.” she said between gritted teeth. Her side hurt from all the running she had been doing and she was feeling quite dehydrated. Suddenly the ground dropped away in front of her and she skidded to a halt. Ahead were a few rocks, a shed, and the flailing tendrils of a horrifying monstrosity. This was where the fly was headed. “Oh no,” She gasped “It’s a Putrimoid.”

Suzy had a plan. Whatever the Activity club was doing, it was definitely illegal. If not now, it could be illegal later she was sure. It all depended on how she spun the story. And she would get the story whatever it took. “Collin, you’re with me. I need somebody to carry the camera case. We’re going to get some shots from down there, right next to the action. Dmitri, you stay up here and get some establishing shots, B-rolls, rolling shutters, stuff like that.” Dmitri thought quickly. “Thanks for trusting me with the more important job, Suzy. I’ll be able to get way better shots from up here without any trees or anything in the way.” “Hmm, on second thought, maybe you should go down and try your luck in the trees. As the head journalist, it is my responsibility to make sure we get the best photographs possible for our audience. Therefore I shall take pictures from up here.” “Sure thing, Suzy.” Said Dmitri. He breathed a sigh of relief to himself as he crept down the hill. No need to add Suzy and Collin getting squashed to the mix of today’s problems.

Marcella considered her options. A Putrimoid was the result of a dying animal, usually a deer caught by a wolf or something, which ends up as a ghost at the same time as a related spirit is created from something nearby. If these two come together in just the wrong way, they can get stuck together. Potentially things can get worse from there and the spirits can mutate and grow and feed off of the purification of the dead animal which is where they draw their name. Really gross, really dangerous. Highly likely to poltergeist. This one had flailing tendrils almost as long as the surrounding trees were tall. Some other spirits and ghosts including the bloatfly hovered around it at relatively safe distance. Sadness on this scale tends to attract them. Occasionally a stray tendril would slice through one that got too close and it would poof out of existence. The trees crashed and waved where it struck them. Clearly a full-blown poltergeist. “Ooh, boy. How do I handle this?” A bolt of electricity arced from behind a rock and struck the end of a tentacle. It recoiled momentarily and then lashed out with a violent smack that shook the ground. “No, no, no, no! The journalists will see you!” After a moment’s hesitation Marcella’s brows set in a determined frown. She clenched her fist and leapt from the cliff.

“Did you see that!” “You’re kneeling on my neck.” moaned Collin, his voice slightly muffled. “A good stepladder wouldn’t complain so much. There was some kind of flash and the whole ground shook!” “I think they’re just setting off some fireworks or something. I doubt we’re going to see anything interesting today.” “Dmitri! Why are you back already?” Dmitri shrugged. “Eh, I couldn’t find any good places to take pictures. Besides, there’s nothing interesting to see anyway.” The ground shook with a boom that shook rocks loose from the hillside. A blond spike of hair and a paintbrush emerged from behind a rock with a terrible war cry. The yell descended down the hill out of sight with a flapping of sandals, getting fainter. There was a sharp crack and then the yell got louder again as it came back up the hill. Apparently the charge had met some resistance. “Dmitri!” “Ok, fine, I’ll go back down.”

Time froze as Marcella fell through the air. The sky turned black and filled with an endless starscape. Standing on the forest floor yet towering high above it stood a blocky, roughly humanoid figure holding a massive beam across its shoulders. It’s face was lost in shadow. “WHY DO YOU HESITATE, CHILD?” “I’m not… hesitating. I’m planning my next move.” “THERE IS NO NEED TO PLAN, YOU HAVE MY POWER ON YOUR SIDE.” Marcella glanced at the marble in her hand. At first glance, it appeared to be a flat, dull grey, but if you looked closer you would see intricate details: tiny divots and cracks almost like… craters. “I don’t want to compromise my deal with the consortium. I can’t let the people down there see me.” “I AM THE FULCRUM ON WHICH THE WORLD HANGS. I AM THE SCALES ON WHICH ARE WEIGHED THE SANDS OF TIME. IF I HAD BUT ANOTHER EARTH TO STAND UPON I COULD MOVE THE WORLD. THERE IS NO NEED TO OBSERVE THE PETTY RULES AND REGULATIONS SO NEEDLESSLY PRESSED UPON YOU.” “I’m the same as everybody else, Fulcrum. And you’re not as great as you think.” Color returned to the world as Marcella’s feet touched lightly down to the rocky hillside. The marble turned blue and white again and she slid more heavily down some gravel and stopped behind a tree. She peaked briefly around it to make sure everyone’s attention was still on the shaking trees ahead and then ducked her head and darted between the pines.

Max lounged against a moss-covered rock, bat hanging loosely at his side. “Nice going, Isaac. Almost got it that time.” “Maybe if you would help a little we could actually make some progress here.” Spender was giving some inspirational instruction from the sidelines which was difficult to hear over the din from the trees below. Isabel was busy elsewhere on another mission which she had called ‘more important than some weak old rot ghost’. Ed was making another attempt at a charge. This time he managed to cut almost a whole inch off the tip of a tendril with an ink slash before making a hasty retreat. “Nah, it looks like you guys have got it under control. Anyway, what am I supposed to do? I’ve got magnet powers. Do you see anything magnetic?” “Well, you could try doing something.” seethed Isaac. “What if you ran up to there and then I could push you up over the thing with a wind blast. You could aim your bat down at a weak spot and I could shoot a lightning bolt through the bat and deal some devastating damage!” “Wow, what a great plan. I like it… except maybe for the part where I get tossed through the air over an angry tentacle monster and then you shoot a lightning bolt at me.” “Well, you come up with something then!” “I have.” “What is it?” “You’re looking at it.” Max started a game of snake on his phone.

Suzy was beside herself with frustration. “I can’t see anything, they won’t come out from behind that rock but if I get closer, they’ll see me!” “Don’t worry Suzy. I’m sure they’ll have to come out in the open at some point to eat or sleep.” Collin said helpfully. He was sitting in the shade massaging his neck. “No, I’m going to have to take matters into my own hands. I’m just going to have to go down there, no matter the risk.” “Ok, well have fun.” “Oh, I will. I certainly will. Muahahaha” “You know your evil laugh would be more convincing if you actually were laughing not just saying muahaha like a normal word.” “Let me have this Collin.”

The beast loomed through the trees ahead. A pulsating shapeless mass with dozens of protruding tentacles flailing in every direction. Some passed through the things they struck without a mark, others thrashed through the trees with a horrible cacophony of destruction. The overall effect was very disconcerting. “Ok, here we go.” said Marcella, but her feet didn’t move. Heroics are more easily said than done. “I just need to find an opening.” Suddenly there was a calm. The tendrils calmed for a moment and a sudden hush fell over the valley. “What is…?” Then the Putrimoid shivered and a large eye opened on its side. It was red-rimmed, twitchy, and opened sideways but it was definitely a functioning eyeball because it looked directly at Marcella. “Oh no. It mutated again.” Marcella barely had time to dodge as a tendril came smashing down on the place she had been standing moments earlier. She stumbled into a tree. “This is not good.”

Ed had an idea. It was a good idea because he had seen it in the movies multiple times and it almost always worked. “I’m going in!” He proclaimed. Max looked at him skeptically but Isaac, who was more in tune with common story tropes, began to look panicked. “N-No! Ed, that is not going to work! Do NOT-“ “That’s what they always say.” Said Ed grimly “But sometimes a man’s just gotta do what he’s gotta do.” “Ed!” Ed began to charge down the hill once more, but something was different this time. Maybe it was the set of his shoulders, maybe it was the hard, steely look in his eyes, or maybe it was the fact that his battle cry was so high pitched it could have shattered plate glass.

Marcella was nearly exhausted. There were only so many tentacles you could dodge before your luck ran out. She took cover behind one of the sturdier-looking trees as another attack flew by. “I can’t even get close to it.” The massive eye swiveled away from Marcella and towards the open hillside. A small boy with a paintbrush was flailing his way down the hill screaming wildly. “What does he think he’s… oh no.” There was a blur as a tentacle shot forward, almost faster than the eye could follow. It wrapped itself around the boy and hoisted him into the air. Marcella watched helplessly as the tentacle was retracted, pulling the boy in towards its awful bulk. He struggled valiantly but was pulled inexorably inward. Marcella dashed towards him desperately but a tendril caught her before she had gone 5 steps, knocking her to the ground. She watched helplessly as the tentacle finally dragged the boy the last few feet and then with an awful ’schlorp’ he disappeared into the grisly mass. “You fetid freak! You pustule of incontinence!” Marcella yelled. “I will be your end if it kills me!” The putrimoid paid her no attention. Her vision narrowed, she felt her heart rate spike. This was it. She had to act. She only saw one path forward and it was looking very bumpy. The sky went black. Her marble was in her fist. “Do you have my back Fulcrum?” “ARE YOU HESITATING AGAIN?” “No, just figuring out the timing.” The sky snapped back to blue. Marcella sprinted forward. A tentacle lay limply on the ground, apparently forgotten for the moment as the putrimoid flailed its others. She ducked as another went by her head and then jumped heavily onto the grounded tendril. It snapped upwards reflexively flinging Marcella high into the air. Much higher than she should have flown. For a moment, the earth fell away and she seemed to be suspended in mid air. In the distance was the lake between the two hills of Mayview. The setting sun sparkled off the still water. Pine trees carpeted the landscape below. Marcella looked down. She saw the shed and the cliff with the three journalists one of which was snapping pictures wildly. She saw the Activity club further below, quietly freaking out about their lost comrade. Directly below, the eye of the monster stared up at her looking about as surprised as a horrid tentacled blob is capable of looking. Or maybe she just imagined that part. “Taste the wrath of Jupiter you skrunge!” She shouted. The marble in her fist turned from a dull grey to a pattern of creamy bands adorned with a small red spot. You see, mass may be consistent, but weight is relative and a fulcrum can tilt both ways. A pound of lead may weigh the same as a pound of feathers, but if you move the lead to, say, Neptune, it would weigh much more. If you move the mass on a lever further from the hinge, it tends to have more of an effect. And if you put an angry teenage girl 60 feet in the air and give her the same weight she would have at the core of Jupiter, well… Marcella surrounded herself with a prism of purple spectral energy, point downwards and plummeted at a stomach churning rate. There was a squelch that would scar the memories of everyone present for years and a sudden, deathly silence.

“That was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever done!” exclaimed Ed proudly. Ed stood in the middle of a clearing of destruction and pale orange goop and looked around dazed. He was covered with slime from head to toe. “Wow Ed!” Said Max. “I didn’t think you had it in you, but in the end, it was the Blob that had you in it.” “I knew you could do it.” Said Isaac, trying to sound nonchalant. “Never doubted it for a second.”

“Yes! Victory! I finally have definitive proof that the Activity Club is up to no good! My scheme has finally succeeded!” Suzy held up her camera in victory. Collin sat against the shed rubbing his neck. “At least call it a plan or something. You don’t have to flat out say you’re evil.” he muttered. “Hovering around weirdly has got to be against some kind of rule somewhere!” Ed’s antics today had looked very strange from a non-spectral perspective. “Oh, hey, Suzy. By the way.” Dmitri walked over to the shed where they were hiding again. “Did you remember to replace the memory card after I took it out to use in my camera?” “Memory card!?” Suzy frantically checked the card slot on her camera. “I told you to do that before we left!” “Oh, whoops.” “Dmitriiiiiiiiiiiiiii!!!!!”

#Paranatural

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