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ghostlychief · 6 months

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tomorrow will be kinder

Simon "Ghost" Riley x gn!reader

WC: 1900+

Warnings: brief mention of deaths; hurt/comfort; some fluff

Summary: When overly stressed by the calamity of your job, you find yourself pulling away from your teammates and even sometimes, your closest friends. Luckily for you, they don’t go anywhere, and patiently wait for your return. Although one person in particular, never lets you fester alone.

A/N: Hello!!! Feels like I haven't posted in awhile, so here we are. I hope if you stumble across it, you enjoy <3

-*-*-

You look down at the ground, while smoke billows around you, slightly clouding your vision. All you see are bodies caked in mud, lying motionless on the dirt path and you wonder to yourself how many dead bodies you have seen throughout your career.

How many? You couldn’t even count, there’s no point, not when it’s been this many. Maybe this was the tipping point for you. When the cold bodies that once held lives don’t bother you anymore. You no longer feel sonder creeping through your bones, making sure it covers you completely when you witness death. No, you just carry on like nothing happened. Day after day, your capacity to care and feel anything slowly drained out, and now you’re left empty and dry, wishing for relief from the arid cracks forming within you.

It's like you’re on autopilot, and have been for awhile now. After your last mission, you vaguely remember writing up your section of the report and handing it off to Price. You might have gone back to your quarters and spent the remainder of the day in bed. You cannot recall.

The days since then have gone by slowly, not much action going on. You don’t mind the quiet because sooner or later it’s going to get louder and louder until you’re back where you started: with destruction and death surrounding you, once again tipping you over.

You know you have been acting different. This has happened before, and your teammates understand why. They’re not too pushy about it, even though it seems like they ask you out to drinks or dinner more often than usual. You know they’re just worried and want you to feel included and that you are not on your own for this. You appreciate them, you really do. But they eventually get the hint that you just need some time by yourself, and the invitations stop coming. You don’t mind though, now you can finally rest without any external cacophonous noise. You only have to deal with the noise up in your head.

Going back to your quarters, you shut the blinds and lock your door, finally ready to take a fucking nap. You shut your eyes and sleep overcomes you.

-*-*-

When you finally come to, you realize you’ve woken up due to someone knocking (quite loudly) on your door. You briefly glance at the window, and there is no longer sunshine peeking through, so it must be past dinner time. You look at your watch and see that it’s almost 8p.m. You slept for a few good hours.

You rustle your way out of bed, not really caring what you look like. Unlocking your door, you mentally curse at whoever decided to come wake you, and you swing the door open more aggressively than you meant to.

When you glance up, you notice your teammate, Ghost, standing tall in your door frame, his toned arms crossed over his chest. He, for once, isn’t wearing any kind of mask over his face, which allows your eyes to dance across the scars that cover him. He has one in the hollow of his left cheek, a couple on his temple, and finally, one jagged mark near his upper lip, which has come to be your favorite scar of his. You were with him when he got it, after all.

You don’t miss the skip in your heartbeat as you admire the man in front of you, having to crane your neck in the slightest to do so.

You manage to say, “What are you doing here?” Your voice sounds a bit rough and groggy since you just woke up. You’re also pretty sure your hair is a mess too, and of course your t-shirt and shorts are ruffled in that “after nap” look. So basically, you are the spitting image of beauty.

“C’mon now, Dumpling. We both know why I’m here.” He once again makes your heart skip a beat, and you mentally curse him for it. Who is he to come here and make you feel these things? You were once annoyed by the nickname he gave you, but now, you mentally blush whenever he calls you that.

You still remember the day he designated the name for you. It was one of the first times he came to your room. He was fascinated by all of the small trinkets you had, looking around your desk and the shelves on your wall. When he came across your dumpling light, he started laughing. It’s one of the few times you’ve heard him laugh at all.

He turns towards you, a small smile on his lips, “Does that actually provide any light for your room? It’s so tiny.”

You restrain the urge to scowl at your new found friend from work, and say, “Actually, he does light up my room quite well. It’s for the ambiance.” Your tone quirked up at when you said ‘ambiance,’ which had Simon laughing again, but this time at you.

“Here, look.” You walk over and turn off most of your lights, only leaving on the string of lights and a couple other small lights. Low and behold, the dumpling light stood out amongst his companions, illuminating the shelf he was sitting on, casting a warm glow on you and Simon.

He looks so soft in the luminosity, looks so different than the rigid man you see in the field every day. You refrain the urge to trace his scars with the pads of your fingertips, so desperately wanting to trace his lips. You really need to snap out of it.

Simon acquiesced raising his hands up, “Alright, alright. I misspoke.”

You bump your shoulder against his, arms crossed, “Damn right. Never insult my dumpling light again. He’s good at his job.”

Simon turns his head towards you, “This dumpling means a lot to you, huh?”

You know he’s just teasing and you shrug, “I guess. I mean I’ve had him for years, and look how cute he is!” Your nose scrunches up as you smiled at the stupid light, and you didn’t even notice how Simon was looking at you. But if you did notice, you would have seen his smile drop to a warm grin, eyes sparking in the tender light of your room, looking at you with endearment.

When you finally turn back to him, he ruffles your hair and asks, “So, what shall we do on our night off, Dumpling?”

Your eyebrows shoot up and your voice cracks, “’Dumpling’?”

Simon leaned toward you, dipping his head down to yours so his lips were at your ear, “That’s your new nickname.”

“Oh hell no. Nope, not happening.”

“I don’t know, seems pretty fitting.” You were going to kill him.

Simon starts walking to your door, with you trailing behind him, arguing with him about his new moniker for you. Unfortunately for you, the name sticks.

You bring yourself back to the present and quip back, “To bug me?”

Ghost huffs, and decides to just bulldoze into your room without even asking. Rude. Although, he makes sure not to bump shoulders with you. Also, it’s not like he doesn’t do it often, so you let it slide and close the door behind you. You plop down on the bed beside him, a heavy sigh leaving your lips. Your room on the base isn’t spacious by any means, but it does its job while you’re on call.

You managed to get a full-size bed, which is tucked away in the corner of your room, furthest from the door. Pictures, paintings, and drawings cover the corner, making it into a cozy place for you to hide away in. String lights line your left wall, which gives the room a soft warm glow that shines in Simon’s eyes whenever he’s here. You also have little knickknacks scattered around, each one showing your personality bit by bit, almost like a trail to your soul.

You find solace within the four walls of your room, but you can’t solely give credit to it, you have to save some for the quiet, yet brooding man, sitting beside you. Your best friend.

Your shoulder rests against his sturdy one, and you can feel him breathing. You always seem to gravitate towards him, like planets orbiting a star.

The room is still quiet, and you bring your leg up on the bed and fold it, so you are slightly turned towards Simon. You bring up your other leg so it’s resting over the top of his knee. He’s wearing his favorite black joggers, and there’s a stark contrast between your white socks and his dark pants.

You trace your fingers along his forearm, trailing up and down the length of his arm. Something you don’t even realize you started doing until Simon takes that arm and wraps it around you, pulling you into him.

His voice ruffles your hair as he asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shrug, and mumble, “I don’t know.” You bury your face into his chest. Once again trying to avoid confronting your problems, and instead wanting to hide away.

“Speak up, Dumpling.” There’s a teasing undertone in his request, and it almost makes you crack a grin. Almost.

He tries again, “It’s just me, you know. You can tell me anything.” His hand rests comfortably on your shoulder and his thumb starts rubbing small circles on your arm.

You let out another sigh, “I’m just tired. And overworked, and I think I need a break.” Simon waits a beat to make sure you’re done talking before he offers his opinion on the matter.

“You know, that’s completely normal for the kind of job we have, Y/N. It’s alright to want to get away from all the violence and sadness we see every day. That’s just the human in you.”

“I just feel so disconnected from everything right now, and don’t know how to fix it.” You bring your hand up to Simon’s resting on your shoulder, and intertwine your fingers with his.

Both your hands are calloused and rough, but his hands have always felt perfect in yours, his large fingers encapsulating yours easily.

“We don’t have to do anything right now to fix it. We can just be, okay?”

You manage to murmur out an “Okay.”

Simon pulls you down with him, so now you’re both laying comfortably on your bed. He momentarily sits up to tug the blanket that rests at the foot of your bed, over the you both, then wraps himself around you. You can hear his steady heartbeat in his chest, and it pulls you down like gravity, anchoring you to stay in the orbit of his warm embrace. You can feel his lips on your temple, and he places a delicate kiss there before saying, “Tomorrow will be better, I’m sure of it.” You lay like that for the remainder of the night in the company of Simon.

Simon, who never fails to assuage you, make you feel lighter and like your old self again. Make you feel human. He seemed so sure of himself that you will overcome this, so you finally believe him, that yes, tomorrow will be kinder.

-*-*-

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lunarblazes · 2 years

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i need to talk about this for a second because i dunno it’s absolutely crazy to me. like let me start off by saying none of this is negative in the slightest, the newer fans and popularity of the life series is wonderful, this is NOT at all to gatekeep experiences, but hooooly shit it’s CRAZY, guys.

i remember i was using tumblr a bit when third life started and i would post here occasionally and look around for people’s thoughts on episodes, generally i remember being pretty quiet. i remember being able to reach the end of the third life smp tag, i remember being confused as to which one to tag for a while, i remember coming on here to see session recaps of other povs being rbed by like the handful of ogs i was following. none of my friends were watching the series at the time i did, i think jamie started talking with me about them in session three or four, and then sonder got into it, and i remember coming on here and screaming about the finale. i remember being shocked when those finale posts got 300, 500 notes. i for real did not shut up about this series for weeks, months, the entire time it was going on, the entire time between it and last life. i cannot stress enough to you how much smaller the fandom was during and mostly after third life. you could see the same like five people posting about the series and you knew their mains. hilariously most people i followed and STILL follow were renchanting mains! i don’t know why, seeing as i am very clearly a desertduo main, but shoutout to the third life renchanting mains you guys are amazing. always based.

and like i remember last life trending for the first time when it was released, i remember losing it when it was on the fandoms of the week list. it seemed so surreal that other people were posting about it after the smaller but close knit community vibe of third life era trafficblr. and that’s NOTHING compared to how fucking BONKERS it is to just be scrolling on my dash and casually see double life posts with 2k, 3k, 5k notes. it’s utterly astounding how many people are here now since just last year. last year i had maybe 100 followers and now i’m at 1k, don’t even ASK how that happened because i don’t know. i still consider myself a tiny blog, a little fish just occasionally popping into the tumblr sphere to chime in about his blorbos. it’s crazy how much this fandom’s grown.

#just needed to go insane about this for a second #i keep seeing posts with THOUSANDS of notes and it’s fucking INSANE to me #like what… the fuck where did you all come from #lunar winds

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barnesandco · 4 years

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AYESHA!! Can I request, "their entire body freezing for a second when their love kisses them?" For any character you feel inspired to write for!

The Pay Off

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: brief mention of therapy and allusions to Bucky’s recovery after Hydra.

A/N: This.. got wildly out of hand.... and really, really wordy. I love these prompts and I want to write all of them while my WIPs stare at me feeling betrayed.

Like sunshine honey, the woman who has been sitting two seats down from Bucky at the library for the past four months, with a smile the ambience of New York dawn aimed unguarded at the book in your lap. He’s spoken a grand total of 37 sentences to you in that time, each one laden with the weight of this new existence he is carving out for himself, softly, a breakfast knife through butter. Every interaction with you -- every stolen glimpse up from his own space magazine -- leaves his throat parched but prickling with that sensitive heat that makes him want to thirst more. Like the tingle of salt after ocean water.

Wetting his lips, he tries to refocus on the page in front of him. It details the scientific contributions of the Hubble Space Telescope, with a colorful side-box about the Nancy Grace Roman, who pioneered the notions of sending telescopes into space to unearth its secrets. The magazine is one from a neat stack to his right, a treasure of information he gathered to go through when he arrived today, but he isn’t making the amount of progress to finish reading by closing time.

Every Avenger has made a comment on getting a library card, to no avail. Sam’s information, Steve’s offer to do it in Bucky’s stead, Natasha’s suggestions of giving a fake name, and Wanda’s kind offer to come with him if he doesn’t want to do it alone, along with Tony’s centenarian-themed jokes and Shuri’s gift of a Kindle containing every book she could buy, have all been politely refused and tolerated in turn. Initially, it was because he likes it at the library. It’s the quietest place he has, and is coming to claim as another safe space. An escape. Now, however, there is a new variable he does not want to introduce to the team.

The woman who sits two seats down from him. You come her every afternoon, a book bag in one hand and a gigantic tote full of Lord-knows-what in the other, both dumped on the table before you go to find a book. He’s close enough to smell watermelons and strawberries, pink, sweet-summer things, reminders of a blueberry sky and sugary lemonade, memories he doesn’t remember having but can taste in the heavy air between them. It had taken him two weeks to discover that the scents were coming from the markers that he saw peeking out from the tote, stationary behaving the same way certain books do, enabling him to live a life he has never had.

Your life is a mystery to him, but he guesses at it, reading you. A rainbow of stray marker lines litters your hands almost perpetually, coming alive when they move rapidly as you check books, sometimes chuckling softly at a particular sentence. Once, he caught a Cheese Whiz stain on your cable-knit cuff, and at another occasion, saw you. Bucky is often overcome by the feeling of sonder at the realization that the clues he is gluing together make for a complex life, a marvel of an individual. There is guilt too, for his curiosity. But your eyes, even looking down, are captivating, and he is too far gone to stop.

The idea of asking you out, of engaging in conversation beyond the moments of stranger familiarity, scares him still. Last time you spoke was when you laughed aloud at the set of examples one particular student had given for an assignment on sensory details. Zachary, age 11, had written that cow poop was a smell he did not like, sending his library companion into brilliant, bubbling laughs that you cut off too soon when you remembered where you were. At that point, you had looked around to see if anyone noticed, and spotting him, offered an apology he had rejected, on the condition that you share the joke. And you did.

But initiating the moment takes something more than what he has right now. His hands, mismatched and cold from the table, empty and longing, shut the magazine.

-----

The courage arrives on a Thursday. An ordinary day, by all accounts, only Bucky is on his fourth week of actual therapy, and got to the library through the subway, instead of Steve’s motorbike. Small victories fill his chest.

Only, you aren’t there when he gets in, and he panics. Fear and disappointment wrestle for a spot in his belly, claiming a tie in knots and weights, as he paces through the aisles of shelves in what he hopes is an unsuspicious speed. Giving up hope, he’s returning to his seat, head bowed, dismayed, when something collides against his side.

It’s you. A hurricane of movement with a slushie in one hand, your eyes also on the floor, and you crash against him with a shriek too late to save either of you. The slushie, cold and blue, spills out and lands on both of you, as you tumble, hands on Bucky’s elbows while his are on yours as he pulls you down, and you land in a heap of ice-water and sticky saccharine snow, a warm weight on top of him.

The library goes silent, for a breath, and then, when the shock lifts, two librarians come rushing from around some hidden corners, by which time you and Bucky have composed yourselves enough to stand and start to apologize profusely in cut-off sentences and shaky stutters. The slush is sinking through his clothes but there is a flush in his cheeks, and somehow, looking at your beautiful face, he has never been warmer.

When the slushie has been cleaned up with rags -- his hand is starting to shiver -- he stands with more sorry on his tongue, but you say, with a grin, “I guess you really fell for me, huh?”

The quip is surprising, but he laughs. Looks between your now-blue blouse and his inky t-shirt, and makes the leap. “Maybe I can get you another drink to make up for it.” And the pleased shock on your mouth, lips parted slightly and breath still recovering, is worth every step and fall it took to get to that one line.

-----

It goes well. He won’t call it a date, in spite of everyone else’s juvenile cooing and teasing when he leaves the Compound on a Saturday evening in his car. It’s a 70s Mustang, body the color of his old Commandos coat, and the interior a shiny black lined with golden stitching and accents. Royal and his very own. Turning towards the neighborhood you live in, he recalls the months it took to restore the damn thing, the last weeks of which were spent practically living in the garage, breathing on the anticipation of this monstrous achievement.

Queens is neon lights and family-owned delis, the scent of tacos mingling with that of curries, and there’s a different language in each window front. You said you lived in an apartment a couple of stories above a Vietnamese bar.

You’re exiting just as he gets out of the car, and it takes a moment to catch his breath. In jeans and a silk shirt, you are the sun, and he cannot wait to get to revel in your warmth for at least one evening.

-----

It goes well. With the exception of nerves he can’t rid himself of but rather ignores, everything is perfect. You had enjoyed his handmade picnic in Central Park, and his disgruntled commentary on how things used to be when you got stuck in traffic on the way back. His imitations of Steve and Tony had you in stitches, after which you had fed him Doritos from a packet he did not know was in the glove-box.

Smooth sailing, soft as cream and just as gentle, the night, until you get back. It is late, and the lights are starting to flicker out of shop windows, and you go a little bit quiet, discontinuing the steady stream of chatter you have been maintaining with him.

Something is in the air. Something sparking with promise. It hushes your voices and tightens his throat and has his hand trembling when he opens his door and then yours to let you own. You stand in the pale glow of the corner streetlamp, and his hands are in his pockets like he’s sixteen again, wanting to kiss a girl but unsure how to go about it.

Fortunately for him, you’re not a girl. You’re a woman. Made from electric fire and whatever strength that holds the cotton clouds in the sky, luminous and wondrous.

“I know that was a bit more than a drink, so thank you for agreeing to this,” he says, meeting your eyes.

Your finger is tracing the face of your watch absently as you smile at him. “I had a great time.”

“Really?” Bucky blurts out, and then hurries to suspend the disbelief.

The answer you give him has his heart doing somersaults. “Yeah. I’d actually love to do this again if you feel the same.”

“Of course. Yes, obviously.” He puts a brake on his train of speech, explains as he walks a little closer to you, close enough to count your eyelashes. “I’m sorry, I haven’t been on a date in 80 years, and I’m a little rusty, but--”

Like the event that started it all, your first kiss is a crash. You lean up slowly and he has time to stop you but he doesn’t. He lets you kiss him and freezes, from head to toe, upon the feeling of your soft lips. Stopping within seconds, you lean back, sheepish, ready to back away and run, he’s certain. His head clears, he thinks a little straighter.

“Sorry, will you let me try that again?” He asks, clearing his throat, and you lift your hand to hold his.

The warmth of your hold envelopes the back of his human hand, and twists your grip so your fingers are intertwined, so much more surface area to gain heat and the motivation to seek further touch from. “If you stop saying sorry, sure.”

He closes his eyes before you do, and this time, the meeting of your lips is soft. A kiss, not a crash, an elegant collision of mouths and shared wants. In a few breaths of movement, as your other hand rises to his hair and his holds your waist, you come closer, and Bucky grows breathless. The kiss lasts for what feels like minutes too long and hours too short at the same exact time, as you break away with a gasp for air that has pride blooming under his sternum.

Eyes shining, he hopes he’ll get to do that again. As you kiss his cheek and turn to your door, he looks forward to sitting two seats closer to you on Monday.

#ayesha writes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction #ayesha answers

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radiant-flutterbun · 7 years

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Queen of Time Part 2

Previously: Queen of Time

It had been over a month since Muerto brought Isaac to the clan. And for over a month he tried to get the hatchling to remember his past life.

He had tried everything. He, Niossa, Eumoirous and even Sonder tried to bring back his memories by describing everything they had shared with Sepulchral.

“We were best friends! You liked to sleep over with me when things got too tough for you!” Eumoirous told him.

“You used to fly through the Gateway to visit my Palace!” Niossa had said.

“We fought in the Battle of the Underworld together,” Sonder had said.

But all they had done was scare the hatchling. He was so confused and everyday he asked to go home. He stopped wanting to be around the strange dragons that called him ‘Sepulchral’ unless they bribed him.

Isaac refused to talk to any of them unless they gave him a treat or a toy.

Sonder was starting to really press Muerto to return him to his family, and Muerto was starting to agree.

It wasn’t right of him to keep the poor hatchling miserable.

It was a good thing that Queen Virtuous visited when she did.

***

News traveled quickly in the clan, and soon dragons squeezed themselves into the lobby to see the Goddess of Time.

Nike was a little irritated “It would have been nice for our new guests to have introduced themselves before they stormed off.”

“We’re still here!” Evan had said and he glanced at Mason.

“Yes… I’m sorry. Sagacious is my daughter the goddess of Knowledge and Guerra is my son the God of War,” Virtuous said, ignoring Evan “As long as Saga has access to your library I imagine she’ll stay out of your way, and Guerra will probably just sulk in your prison. I apologize for just dumping them here on you but, I need you to protect them for me.”

“You want to protect your children?”

“Yes, please. I could… pay you back for the favor. I know Muerto and Naperone are already here and I thank you for sheltering both of them too.”

“Well Naperone is locked up because he tried to kill my kid.”

“I heard, I’m sorry for his behavior.”

“But… Sure I’ll allow them to stay in my clan.”

“Thank you. You’re doing my world a great favor for sheltering them here. Don’t let them leave, and shapeshifter… I mean Inkdrop don’t let them come back to our world. It’s too dangerous for them there.”

“Okay!” Inkdrop nodded.

“And before I go, Guerra is ill so please have your healers check up on to see if he’s doing well every now and again.”

“Will do.” Nike said.

Virtuous and Ludicrous turned around to leave, but a voice stopped them.

“What? So you think you can just come here and leave?” It was Sonder “Don’t you care that your other two kids are here? Don’t you care how they are? And what about the other gods here? Don’t you care about us?”

Virtuous twitched her tail “And you are?”

“Sonder.”

“Sonder? Oh, yes. You’re the Guide of the Dead. Yes of course I care about Naperone and Muerto and the others, but Lu just visited and he told me how Nap and Muerto were. I don’t have time to check up on anyone. I’m busy and need to return to our world.”

“You’re the fucking Queen of Time, don’t tell me you don’t have Time! You just don’t care! You’ve never cared.”

Virtuous turned to Sonder “I do care.”

“If you cared you would have listened. If you cared Muerto wouldn’t have to feel like this place is his home instead of his own kingdom. If you cared the Underworld wouldn’t have fallen. And I’m sick and tired of you not caring! Do you have any idea what us minor gods go through? You don’t give a shit about us. Our quality of life is meaningless to the more powerful gods. All we do is do the bidding of the major gods and if anyone dares to argue we could be severely punished. And are you aware of what has even happened? There is so much you could have prevented if you had only cared enough, or listened.”

Virtuous took a deep breath “I should get going.”

“No!” Sonder leaped forward and did what no god had ever dared to do. She slapped Virtuous across the face, her claws leaving marks on Virtuous purple scales.

Virtuous stopped where she was, too shocked to even move. Ludicrous had his mouth wide open and no one spoke a words. A drop of blue blood fell from Virtuous’s face and plopped on the ground.

A growl formed in Virtuous’s throat and she bunched her hind legs as if she was ready to leap. Ludicrous grabbed her and pulled her back before she could attack Sonder.

“Vir! Vir don’t attack her, please! Just walk away, ignore her. She just doesn’t understand.”

Virtuous had an aura of purple surrounding her, but she took a deep breath and slowly the aura disappeared. She sat down and regained her composure

“No… No. She has a point. I haven't been listening. But I think I’m ready to now.”

“You’re really going to listen?” Sonder asked.

“Yes. And I’m sorry for ignoring you before. It wasn’t right of me.”

“It’s just… We minor gods, we just want to be treated right. You don’t give us enough Time to do our work. We’re under a lot of stress. It makes us feel worthless and unappreciated. And there’s too many major gods who abuse their power and it’s us the minor gods who really suffer from it. Gods like Naperone… they think of their minor gods more of slaves than subjects or even just workers. It’s not right.”

“Yes, Naperone having as much power as he did was a mistake, and I should have never made him a major god. And I can see how it can be hard to be a minor god. I’m sorry about that.”

“You’re supposed to be our Queen. You’re supposed to listen to us. All of us. I know you have a lot of responsibilities and that Nefarious is fucking awful to you,” Virtuous flinched when Sonder said the Demon King’s name “But you could have prevented so much. The Underworld shouldn’t have fallen, twice now. Everyone knows Muerto shouldn't be king, he’s just a little kid and that responsibility is obviously way too much for him. But Match shouldn’t be king ethier. He’s too power hungry, and now he’s weak. All I’m saying is… You could have easily prevented the mess we’re currently in. And… and now to top it all off… Sepulchral’s dead. He’s dead, but he didn’t have to be. He came to Sornieth because he felt unappreciated. Do you know how much he’s been through? His parents hated him so much they erased him from all their family records. He deserved better. You could have gave him better.” Sonder was crying. Her eyes were puffed up and ugly fat tears ran down her face.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t know he was dead…”

“It was Match. He killed him. He killed him as Sep was protecting him from Naperone.”

“I’m sorry Sonder. For everything. But even my power has it’s limit. I cannot change the past, but I will try to make the future a better place if I can help it. I will take back the Underworld, and I will try to improve the lives of minor gods everywhere, and work on stripping power from gods who shouldn’t have it. This is a promise.”

Sonder wiped away her tears “T-thank you.”

Virtuous turned to Inkdrop “Portal please. To my palace.”

Inkdrop nodded and flicked her claws and a swirling black vortex appeared. Together Virtuous and Ludicrous entered the portal and it disappeared.

The clan resumed its normal activities soon after that.

***

Seeing his mother again drug up the same mixed feelings Muerto felt every time he thought about his mother. He was glad, and yet also disappointed she didn’t bother to check up on him.

He hated her and wished she hadn’t shown her face in Clan Ton Theon again, (and she showed up to drop off Guerra and Sagacious too, who Muerto also didn’t like) but he also would have liked if she paid a little attention to him.

It was probably because despite everything he still wanted a mother to love him.

But Virtuous had proved time and time again she should not be his mother. She didn’t deserve to be his mother. She ruined any chance she had to be his mother long ago. She shouldn’t be redeemed or forgiven for how she had treated Muerto in the past.

He was so lost in thought about his mother he almost forgot that Inkdrop was back.

He remembered saying some mean things to her and felt bad.

Why was he so mean to his little sister?

He couldn’t even remember why he was so angry. He was probably just taking out his grief for Sepulchral on her. He had never been good with his emotions.

“Inky?” He walked up to her with his head down “Inky I’m sorry for being mean.”

“Yes! You were a meanie to me! But… honestly I don’t even remember most of what you said. I just know you were really mad at me…”

“I’m sorry. I’m not mad anymore. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I’m really sorry.”

Inkdrop smiled “It’s ok!” She gave Muerto a hug “I forgive you! Just try not to be a meanie in the future, ok?”

Muerto laughed “Ok, ok. Deal. I promise not to be a meanie.”

“Good! I’m really glad you’re not mad anymore. I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

“And so much has happened! I met two new siblings! And I even learned a new power! But it’s all kinda long and complicated. I want to know what you’ve been up to first!”

“Well… I found out Sepulchral had been reincarnated into a hatchling, and I found that hatchling and… kidnapped him. I know it was wrong of me, but I was hoping I’d be able to bring back Sep’s memories, but all i’ve ended up doing is scaring a hatchling.”

“So he doesn’t remember you?”

Muerto shook his head.

Inkdrop tapped her claws on the floor “I think I have an idea.”

“You do?”

“Yeah! Wait here! I’ll be back soon!” Inkdrop flicked open a new portal and before Muerto could say anything she was gone.

***

Guerra settled down in a cold dark cell and slammed the door shut behind him.

He shivered and the damp air was bad for his weak lungs, but he figured it was probably best for him to stay here. Here he was away from everyone. He couldn’t hurt anyone else if he hid himself away.

“Who are you?” Guerra wanted to throw up when he heard the voice.

“No. No you can’t be here too.”

“Guerra?” Naperone grinned “Holy shit I’d recognize that voice anywhere! How ya doing brother?”

Guerra began to growl, but it just turned into a cough “You know exactly how I’m doing.”

“Oh no! Are you still sick! Well if it makes you feel any better I’m sick too. Those demons, am I right?”

“Shut up! Just shut up! It’s you’re fault I became a monster. I should go bend those metal bars separating you from me and crush that windpipe of yours.”

“Oh, a little violent now are we?”

“Shut it. Shut that horrible mouth.”

“Better watch your temper or before you know it you’re gonna create another war! How many are gonna die from you this time, Guerra boy?”

“I fucking hate you. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you. Why do you have to be here? Why can’t I just lock myself here to be left in peace? Why?”

“Hey bring it up to the dragons in this clan. I’d love to get out of here. Honestly I’m kinda done messing with them anyway. They’re all no fun!”

“Mortals are not playthings.”

“And neither are gods but it hasn’t stopped me.”

“Just… ugh!” Guerra hid his head under his head and tried to drown out his little brother’s voice.

He had hoped to never hear that voice ever again. Not after he infected him with a demon and turned him into War.

#clan ton theon #tcotg

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silkhuikj · 4 years

Text

silk

Silk

by Hui Kj

****************************

Bailey,

Not the twins or fish rot find faces, and I did not know exactly until after your submarine redirected their mirror lipstick, which is hardly possible to get the subjects more gleeful until your Atlantis: where identity is scanned by [redacted] and your group will be occupying in the sea training, all your ladies from your power shedding but please, for not much longer for such a way is different here now; you can come back to our home planet and your ladies will remember you as I have over such awhile.

For me, motel to motel: lights and backflip, scanning stress, heart rate normal but tried - and what I fear now is your capture and to see locked portals when you teleport into some planet’s virus that shows how you just refuse to be predictable and become hologram trickery, and friendly your way thru in disguise and that is my meaning to advise against your risk taking, besides the mere admiration I have: to avoid but of course promptly applaud on how you adapt across intimidating lines, and what I fear is that you have been brought here and there in your own way of time, yet by my traces shaping, and /Silk/’s gambling habits and you remain invisible one day at a time. Forget old-key monuments; not in this phase of life.

/Silk/ with their gene, file pile separation operation for animal evolution, brain swapping and to sense-evolve: being able to see the scent in the lab: see thru fog - or hear their sigh as crickets choir to a song of freedom outside the bases on acre-vastness maybe noticed. See undo modern garden and me as fuck up then with the modern tree with extraction for our potions that remain classified, and I fuck up edit-copy-send and refuse to supply 100% of my own intel piles - there is a kingdom getting more difficult to fight for.

Sometimes there are branches French kissing or cloud faces turning to see: all too addicting but they remain when I break eye contact and that is why we seek out identity because identity is everywhere if you hunt metaphysics or any bloom or trail. My curtains are closed now - and the powers are wearing off since I removed myself out of fear.

A joke would be fireworks if we do not see each other but the cosmos specks are stories: the static riot and all the Rains, and all the Noahs, and all the Summers; shame for the tongue at the edge of worlds to wait on but deniable recruitment statuses, or a wise one does not have the knack or interest for our history and maybe even any history neither. You bite your tongue. If subject is at truth then it is ice cold when they are older yet you help them from the sea. Game but will title. So, when crazy B?

/Silk/ is very serious about when green is black there is orange. If God knew of what you said that day then…..this is why I am alone and gave my office to our good pal Garcia who you teamed then but you were sent elsewhere because of the so many blueprints. He might of stole information like I did so, but he is an artist - I have not been back for almost a year, and I will not get current-tied; not again because you are already there and anywhere often but away. They remain a vision tilt opus all in all frequently, and that is /Silk/ while we can write these letters but somehow are separated by design tally planets away, mild difference with submarines, airplanes, or again classified means…(teleport), but you do not think that is true and your letters tell me that each person planted should envy each other and collectively better the world - /Silk/ is good but it all separates us. Jolie amour, I need to see you. /Silk/ is sending me someone - Godspeed. . .

- K.Well

***********************************

Bailey,

Did /Silk/ call for a virtual huddle when the scan came thru? I do not know if heaven cheers or if the sky is the first to go dark - I am not in the system anymore. My den is poison-lights straining me with puzzle strings if void is nothing or everything lately. I meant something else about teacher-twins. [Filter]: sonder not bombers; they are not reporting on recruits from planet: Sneurnka: make sure /Silk/ knows different hums are different revivers and then learn it.. all subjects will be tested about planet flexibility and I will send spies on my own if I must.

I love you Bailey. When you turn on Church Street out-under, do you crack from the suicide I have caused? The admirers… I am trying to preserve this for you from me, or just my depictions made some crazy when they were fine and it was misguided when the risk was absolute zero but was taken as contradiction. Garcia told you; so you can know my pain: weary agent uncurling. Me for earth - you at Atlantis - /Silk/ unknown: we want to save Sneurnka. Although, there is a raptured fever held and kept to a butterfly and your data fraction was saved and I have it here with me. (Reference: Garcia: code: Wolfman.) He sent me a letter about green suicide: not too far away from me now. It is someone - possibly an old subject, and I found him and invited him to coffee…. Ah, we need a double against old friends, find my chip; last buffered 492582 and even what did I Mrs. then? - in hiding for this. The subject will collapse in will offer up himself for the Sneurnka attack; the issue is all he knows is snow just pressed diction and fear for coming back - he is 30 minutes away.

I will try spelling it out for him ad submerge lightning in honor of your sector with options for placement. My cup of tea is psychosis even though I remember how brave you were in training, even outlining the teacher’s alien drawings and it was impossible for you to not get promoted and promoted on. You helped me, and /Silk/ gave you that noble internship and when God showed your eyes were shut because one of the Noah’s turtles went blue; /Silk/ was zapped by God, and extraction is what I am trying to get to you but it is tangible unlike our computer army that I refuse to reopen those blueprints and be discovered )))))))))))))))

((((((((((((((( Subject 1 brought his cousin to the cafe. She (2) told me to be sick six times. It made it seem that things were reserved for the last: they had cuts on their arms and around their body and even mentioned they would sometimes slice each other to feel - /Silk/ is interested because of their undeniably unique aesthetic with the moodiness, enigma spy, and they told me the uncommon fight is how glow is glow and I am guessing /Silk/ will offer these two help and if it is incest then many things could be of disturbance to the code and DNA of any of our bases. They just do many drugs; mostly meth for telepathy access. Denial they would throw pennies at me but you would be the cousin’s Queen. It is just their mayday. ))

—

The subjects told me how their vibration is grey but remain investigating. My jaw dropped when they spoke of death wishes, and without hesitation I offered up a planet Sneurnka visitation. Their grey rain in a season and meeting destiny accidentally: subject 2 spoke up, I need /Silk/ to stay away from this kind of plotting: her filter exposes and forfeits progression 00000 doom but they will be away at Sneurnka to learn about spite, and you are the one I trust B - if you go there you could have your position changed: I know asking for more of your help is painful both ways, but new subjects contact me swiftly but urgently throughout my months data scanning. You could help these subjects, and you have dearly planted productivity at Atlantis. Your tracking will be up again once you arise. Thanks for all you do.

K.Well

*******************************

Bailey,

Wolfman dimension Q swayed your findings and concerns for you to report to Sneurnka, even though your 7th sent me a direct postcard from London - thank you for writing my dear: I am jazzed even if everyone else just knows your badge. In your letter, I must say, you misplaced something: ‘cat9’ which the code has changed and now only means, ‘Virginia, Vegas fathers’ - which Wolfman has drafted your report so all in all to /Silk/; you have your clones pretty and handsome: bravery; as you are always and everyone fears you for ethics.

Your dyed your hair black and your profile ‘Xxxx-00000’ is equivalent to the April trinity: tho all scanning winter, summer, spring, and still in progress. You always told me you just wanted to be normal, and I do not know if I can fix that: you bring peace and if you are tired of retire daydream then I will contact /Silk/ and see if they can give you a vacation in Z and electrify a twin to achieve points Sneurnka or not, and if you never see me again: it is because Wolfman said I was crazy and rebellious and evil for deactivating my will to get out - this matrix is a doorbell: but I am afraid the only nerves is that nobody will show. I have merged my clones for a greater cause and /Silk/ is not only guarding you but slowly casting virus walls in my chips thru our line. Yet, you are the invisible one, and maybe you will frenzy to freedom without my help.

Wolfman is dialing…))))))))))))))))))

((((((((((((((((((((( So,…. /Silk/ has found a C in America, Earth. so your 9 was correct: well done! Wolfman wanted me to tell you about this important art: XXXXXXX by XXXXXXX, and that was all. B, my eyes on you will stay to protect but I am no host. Turn around if you feel anxious, but I know that is wave oriented and you are so bold and infinitely inspiring. You said in your letter that Atlantis is in order. I will be scanning in Sneurnka for awhile while you train C - remember, Earth’s eye is violent but Sneurnka is worse - Wolfman will assist with……))))))))))))))))

((((((((((((((((

(

I cannot scan any finds; undetectable information walls - your parents are dialing my phone but my phone is under. Reading about the suicides - oh no B. I can not send anymore blueprints and there is no clearance for you to know about the Wvm-virus that slipped out from my lab…. - unplugging, updates thru my brother only, he is on Mars.

Bailey, if we had matching shoes…. You will be hearing from /Silk/ soon I predict. I am weak and they know about me but not you. I am sorry. I love you. Goodbye for now! ~~~~~~~~~~ <3

- A.Well

*************************************

1 year later —————

It was to attempt to think in front of me and it was awkward now without subjects coming to see me - I never left the motel room and have not seen daylight. There are dreams of crows and the roar of trees of winds that I called peace but the crows from my bad dreams. I kept busy sifting thru war crime data and I have not heard from /Silk/ - would refuse jobs anyway. The thought of getting a bicycle was like heroin, and nobody could make out my face - even tho Sneurnka acutely invaded parts of here maybe two hours out.

My doppelgängers expired - Wolfman in the news but Bailey hail for peace never seen but remarkable invisibility. It is difficult to see forward; never had a track on her, my brother on Mars never alerts me, /Silk/ sends shocks to my chip twice a day but everyone uninvolved from past status and now I am an utter waste….

C might rival with Bailey, and Wolfman may end up like me: depressed and heartbroken without a seeming purpose but to tune into war and unable. He never made a death wish, and neither did I, but my eyes were red then. There is always the surrendering of brain in a /Silk/ lab, but seclusion has made me mad and any action at all seems like suicide - ah, trapped but was a villain. Earth has spun, and Sneurnka the action needed - /Silk/ will conquer the galaxy and imprison me as something official, differing from now in motels.

***************** (mental hospital)

Daniel! I know you! I know you Daniel! Hey! I know you!

**************************

Doctor Frances floated him to sleep thru his veins……

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