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rays-animorphs · 2 years

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Book 9 Part 2: For The Trees Have No Tongues

Hmm. I think Spider-Man might be able to surprise Batman with something creative and unexpected. I don't actually know Batman that well though, so I'm not willing to stand by that.

As far as I can tell, Jake only gets called good-looking when Cassie's describing him. Which, that works.

("Good looking inside and out") I don't know why she thinks he has good looking intestines or whatever, though. Maybe she means his tonsils?

“Don’t worry. I don’t look down on you for being short, Marco. I look down on you just for being you.”

Rachel's humor is scathing, but she doesn't mean it.

“trying not to make the fake, shrill sound I always make when I’m lying.” Oh, Cassie. Why am I not surprised she's a terrible liar?

Tobias: literal dehumanization -- losing his human form -- leading to figurative dehumanization -- Applegate not treating him as a full character. "even less human than Tobias" is one way to put that, I guess.

They keep calling Tobais formerly "sweet" and "gentle" but I don't know that we ever actually saw that. I don't mean to go all "show, don't tell" on a published author, but, uh.

I mean, "sweet and gentle" and "was targeted by bullies" aren't entirely the same thing.

The Yeerks are logging the forest! Oh no! The Yeerks are logging the forest! *dying*.

Hey, did you know that, depending on where you live, there can be laws prohibiting logging next to roads or in parks, basically anywhere people might reasonably enjoy the scenery. Which means that a lot of people get the impression that way less logging happens than actually does, or that the logging must be selective rather than clearcutting, since it's out of their sight.

If you look out the window of a plane, though, you can see patchwork areas of forest and ... former forest.

I used to do phone canvassing for a forest protection advocacy group.

Sweet! turns out there's a downside to Visser Three believing that the Animorphs are all Andalites.

Actually, National Forest land, unlike the National Park system, allows some for some resource extraction, cattle grazing, that sort of thing. Not enough to demolish habitats though.

I had an SCA internship with the National Forest system one time.

Even espionage could be risky. A few books back the Yeerks were vaporizing random wildlife.

Knees...reversed...direction...ow ow ow ow ow ow.

Current soundtrack: Holiday by Green Day (unrelated reasons), Evergreen Everblue album by Raffi.

Very open to suggestions for other conservation-themed music that can function as background music for reading.

<Hork-Bajir?>

<Could be,> Marco said.

These kids have got to learn what Hork-Bajir smell like.

Oh shit.

“The net above me fell. I was racing the falling edge, racing, racing…”

Wow, gravity really is slow in the Animorphs world.

I’m not that big a fan of the trope of “never leave anybody behind, no matter how likely it is that staying will get both/all people killed” but I’m generally willing to suspend disbelief on it.

In the real world, where people do not have plot armor and million-to-one odds aren’t a virtual guarantee of success: scene safety, people.

Ax to the rescue!

Stormtrooper aim.

If gravity is super slow in the Animorpsh world, maybe bullets and vaporizing death rays are also unusually slow.

These kids get almost killed almost every mission they go on.

Well. I guess that’s just the genre. But sometimes it’s a little odd to have realism come up in some ways but not others. “(Gunfire) is much louder in reality than it is in the movies. And it’s much scarier to have it aimed at you than it is to see it in a movie. Basically, getting shot at is absolutely nothing like a movie.” Except for the part where you didn’t get shot and you’re not dying, even though the enemy have vaporizing death rays and you were staying still while trying to rescue Marco, and even when you’re running away you’ve got to be pretty close range and they have automatic rifles. Like, I’m not against the kids being freaked out at the danger and having it wear them down and affect their personalities and so on. It’s interesting. But the idea that the series is somehow more realistic for that when it’s also got scenes like this, it’s…it’s not realistic. It’s still extremely goofy sci fi. It’s just extremely goofy sci fi with a dark and effed up atmosphere, rather than extremely goofy sci fi with a bright, optimistic atmosphere.

There isn’t anything intrinsically more realistic about protagonists with plot armor who almost die several times per book but never actually do and who react as though they almost died, compared to protagonists with plot armor who almost die several times per book but never actually do and who react as though they were never actually in real danger.

It is an aesthetic choice, a choice of mood or tone, not a choice about realism.

I’m sure the eye stalks are in fact great for not being snuck up on, but they’re probably very vulnerable in battle. Or, just, if you bump your head against something.

I wonder if the eye stalks suggest that Andalites tend to be mostly solitary rather than a herd/social species. If there’s a lot of you, you can have different members of the herd facing in different directions. If you’re on your own, you need to be able to see around you.

Of course eye stalks also counter the main downside to having eyes in front rather than to the side. (Why do Andalites have front eyes plus eye stalks rather than side eyes? They eat grass, through their hooves. It’s not like they need front eyes to catch prey.)

I associate eye stalks with squishy things like slugs, things with short lifespans which don’t have the protection of a hard skeleton anywhere anyways.

I guess the tail could be explained as defense. It’s a little odd though. It’s a very lethal form of defense.

Maybe it’s not a natural selection thing. Maybe Andalites decided to genetically engineer it in at some point. Like, maybe they always had defensive tails, but they use some form of body modification to make them sharp.

From a good writing perspective, Marco being cynical about the environmental stuff makes sense. Applegate knows a lot of her readership aren’t going to be treehuggers, so if all of her characters take it as a terminal value that environmental destruction is bad and worrying about other species is good, it’s going to turn away some of her readership. So, you have a voice for those “does it really matter though?” reservations. It’s basic persuasive writing.

Within the story itself though, I suddenly like Marco a lot less.

(The problem of writing books about fighting some mythical Big Evil when you also want to talk about mundane everyday evils that just aren’t as interesting in comparison.)

OMG finally someone suggested a way of solving problems that 1. does not necessarily carry a risk of imminent death and 2. is a way you can solve problems in the real world when you can’t morph into a tiger yes yes yes.

Oh, never mind, it’s another “let’s go on a spy mission” thing. Silly me, I thought they might actually make some phone calls or something.

I mean, if they have permission from somewhere, presumably the government department they got permission from also has those records.

They need to get some human adult morphs, that would open up so many more possibilities for them. They could probably do their parents while they’re sleeping or something. If it doesn’t seem safe enough to let a few adults in on the big secret.

What? Presumably there’s no reason they can’t morph into other humans. Ax can morph into them.

OK, first, it’s hilarious that Cassie’s dad is afraid of skunks. Secondly, Cassie is going to get a skunk morph now, awesome.

“Marco had been driving, and Marco cannot drive.” Not how he’d describe it. Heh.

“Don’t forget your gloves. You know skunks are a major vector for rabies.”

“Dad, I have had the shot.”

“No vaccine is a hundred percent,” he said.

I like Cassie’s dad. Also, nice little safety PSA there.

My dad is also obnoxiously safety-conscious. Dads.

Aww, “how to tell if you’re about to get sprayed by a skunk” PSA combined with “skunks are actually really nice”, yeah, love it.

I could just read "skunks are misunderstood but actually really cool" propaganda all day.

The amazing thing about skunks is they’re mustelidae. Weasel family. Most weasels are, y’know, the berserkers of the animal world. They’ll fight anything, for any reason, with absolute viciousness and unending enthusiasm. (Edit: OK, I checked to make sure, and apparently they’re not considered mustelidae any more, they used to be but they’re now their own family. Huh.)

Incidentally, if you like to geek out about taxonomy (how living beings are classified) as much as I do, I strongly recommend the tree of life website.

I wonder what the adults are going to make of the skunk's Dracon beam injury.

#skunks have tongues but they can't speak to humans on their own behalf #animorphs read-through #animorphs book 9 #cassie books are best books #I combined two notes #is this too long?

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80sbrainmatter · 4 years

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Alright, I went out on a whim and wrote this, cause fuck it. Lowkey cringe to me. Features my oc: The Red Plague. Lol, what fuckin cringe.

A Troubling Smell

Riiiiip.

These goddamn, pieces of fucking paper.

Korra growled to herself as she crumbled up yet another fake-out, "Slenderman Page" that plagued her woods. The woods she promised the said faceless, bastard man that she'd look after after he gave her a home. A small cabin, surrounded by out of place snow that was only a mile away from the mansion the 'King' resided in. It wasn't enough for the woods to be called: "the Slender Forest" to ward off the humans that lived outside them, no; there was still many, too many, of them still trying to tread into these cursed woods. That's why she was given a cabin, a cabin in the woods. To help further protect the safety of their home and the woods the faceless man was so fond of...

And it would be a lot fuckin' easier if these damn kids would fucking knock it off with this fuckin' "Slender Challenge!" Korra growled deeply as she ripped another page off, leaving scratch marks in the bark as she did so.

"Stop fucking littering! First it was the shitty, "Save The Animals" propaganda that PETA kept leaving. Now, as soon as it turns fall, it's this damn challenge again! This town ain't gonna have much of a population if they keep on doin' this shit!" She ranted outloud, scaring nearby birds off, probably a bear too. She shoved the crumpled up pieces into her hooded-jacket pockets and stalked off further down the trail, towards the tiny, old construction sight that was left abandoned. For once, not caused by Slenderman or his kin. The city, maybe.

"Who's gonna notice a few missing rabbits anyways?" She grumbled.

The dusk breeze swayed strains of her deep red hair as she walked (more or so stomped,) kicking up sticks and leaves as she went. Her hostile mood was definitely radiating, sending whatever waited for her ahead, scampering off, not ready to face the demonic entity. As she spotted yet another, crudely made up page, laughter echoed throughout the trees. It made one of her elfish ears twitch.

Were they responsible for this? She questioned to herself bitterly. She didn't care if they were or if they weren't; they showed up at an unfortunate time and will deal with the repercussions made for who drew these.

Korra marched towards the group, their smells over taking her senses. It was too much for her, so much so that she had to stop and fan the air around her, coughing while doing so.

"If they weren't going to pay for the," a series of coughs cut her off, "drawings, they definently are paying for that smell. Holy fuck! What Smile dug up in my backyard smelled better than this."

Feeling a headache starting a form, Korra decided to teleport to them, wanting to get this over with already before her nose melted off.

Dramatic as always.

Appearing only a few feet from the group, the smell became stronger. She wasn't sure if she wanted to kill them. That smell could stick with her for a month! Her coughing got the groups attention. Through her watery eyes, she could make out three males and two females. The smell was coming from the guys.

Human boys and their fuckin' Axe Body Spray. She coughed to herself.

"You– you fucks! Are you responsible for these?" She asked, wiping one of her eyes as she pulled out one of the paper balls.

"Uh, that's just paper? Weirdo." One of the guys laughed, the others joining in. Korra groaned and blinked away oncoming tears.

"No, you fucking idiots! God, that smell! All of you! You smell like a NFL Football party!" She doubled over and coughed. "God, what did you do? Dump the cans on each other and fuck the night away? I've smelled corpses better than you. Oh God, it's in my lungs."

She stood up, her eyes looking like they've been through a terrible cry. The men seemed offended while the two girls laughed. Korra waved her hand in a dismissive way.

"God, I don't care. You're killing the trees with your odor. Just take these and beat it!" She threw the three balls at them, two of them hitting the middle guys chest.

"Who are you to tell us what to do... freakshow! You look like you shop at Hottopic." One of the girls sneered, clearly upset for whatever reason. Korra gave them a blank stare, as best as she could with burning eyes and the sniffles.

"What the fuck is a Hottopic?" She asked. She shook her head. "Never mind. Leave or die." She crossed her arms, trying to focus her vision.

"No, freak. What, are you one of "Slender's Proxies?" Are you here to protect the woods?" The same male from before asked in a very, whiny tone. Korra felt deeply offended, and this really was her job. Though, she wasn't a proxy. More like a human guard dog; she could admit that.

"Christ, I don't have time for this!" She yelled. "Your smells are overwhelming. Goodbye and let's never meet again!" It all happened to fast for the group to process it. A strange, dried up, red substance covered the ground below them and swallowed them whole. Korra has no idea where they go when she performs this move, nor does she care. The smell was gone.

...

"Fuck, I didn't find out if they were responsible."

#fanfiction #creepypasta #creepypasta x oc #oc #creepypasta oc #slenderverse #slenderman #pastaverse #creepypasta story #lowkey had fun writing it #edge lord Korra #my oc #Korra the Red Plague

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bowieandqueen11 · 5 years

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Glad I Met You / Richie Tozier Imagine

Request: That imagine with Richie at the Chinese restaurant was really cute! I'd like to see a follow-up imagine after the Paul Bunyan statue chased Richie and he's freaking out over it. Y/N smirks and says 'that damn clown will have to do more than that to stop us'. Richie finds that hot and pins Y/N to the wall, making out with her. All of a sudden, they're interrupted by a laughing Beverly.

Oh. My. God this is incredible thank you so so much for this XD

Also, someone else requested a part 2 to this imagine, so there will be another different version coming out soon with the roles flipped!

Richie rubs at his eyes, his large hands fumbling to take his glasses as he feels as if someone is jamming hot pins right into his eyeballs, pain flaring in his skull as he sits down at the park bench, not daring to believe the grass around his feet has been turfed up, the dirt sprayed over the field as worms wriggle free like tiny maggots. Daring to look up again, his eyes bloodshot and his face flushed from the effort of trying to take in straggling breaths, Richie warbles out a soft sigh of relief to see the Bunyan statue firmly in place, its red chequered shirt glowing like splattered blood in the unforgiving Derry rays, and its piercing, unmoving eyes and dead smile gazing down at Richie, making him shiver. However, the axe stuck to his shoulder doesn’t move, and Richie dares to relax a little against the park bench, shrugging off his jacket with white, trembling hands, not feeling the splinter snag against his fingertips until the fat red droplets plop freely onto the ground.

Gazing around, he wishes he had been clever enough not to come back to this place, wishing he wasn’t so anxious and so scared that he felt he had to prove himself to the Loser’s Club, his eyes catch a red brick alley opposite him, the little slit at the side of Mr Keen’s Pharmacy. The same pharmacy he had met you that fateful day, the day you had stumbled upon him standing next to a bloody and bruised Ben as Eddie, Bill and Stan scrambled inside the shop looking for supplies. The only day he had been truly at a loss for words, his eyes growing wide and making you laugh, only magnified by his thick glasses that made him look like Eggbert from Looney Tunes, his mouth unhinging into a small o-shape as he stared at you, his cheeks burning and his fingers clenching at his side as his throat constricted as if butterflies were flapping against his neck. It was the first, and last time he had truly experienced what love was.

He reaches up to itch against his stubble, the humidity and memory making him feel uncomfortable as the Derry heat makes his mustard shirt stick to his back, wishing he had been brave enough all those years ago to whisk you away from this dirt hole. To live the life he had always wanted. He’s broken out of his daydream by a whisper in the wind that seems to surround him, a cruel, sharp noise that seems to fill the clear air of Derry like a chant, like a curse as he glances up in confusion, placing his glasses back on the tip of his nose and covering some of the wrinkles of his forehead. He gasps, bumping his back against the wood with a sick thud as his foot slides across the drying, yellow grass that looked as if it had been poisoned years ago, his mouth opening in shock as he watches a multitude of balloons, hundreds, perhaps even thousands float down from the sky, carried by the cruel wind, uncomfortably vibrant against the blue skies. He squeezes his eyes shut, making as if to move but finding his legs won’t listen to him, fear overcoming his body and making his muscles tremble as he frowns, his breaths shallow and rough as he swallows roughly.

A loud pop makes him open his eyes, the fear subsiding from his swirling eyes as he sees you standing in front of him, the tattered remains of a balloon reading ‘I love Derry’ splattered over your shoes as you gaze down at him, apprehension and something unmistakably akin to pain lining your face as you reach a hand out, calling Richie forward with your fingers as he manages to lift a pale hand towards you, gripping your skin tightly like a lifeline. Pulling him up, he surprises you by collapsing into you, nearly knocking the two of you onto your bottoms as his giant weight looms over you, his arms heavy as they wrap tightly around your shoulders, his fingers digging desperately into your muscles. He walks the two of you backwards quickly, away from the statue as he nestles his head into your neck, whispering light ‘oh god, y/n, it was horrible, it was just like before’ into your neck like a mantra. You reach up to lightly brush the stray chocolate curls that fall into his pained, lost eyes away from his face, your touch hesitant and tender so as not to scare him. You smirk as he looks down at you like a lost child, reminding you of that scared little boy who constantly used to crack jokes and gush terrible voices all those years ago. The scared little boy who only wanted to be loved, and so showed affection the only way he knew how. You smirk lightly, your fingers dancing over his skin, tracing the curve of his cheek to land on his chin, swirling nonsense patterns and revelling in the soft sigh that escapes his lips as you whisper,�� 'that damn clown will have to do more than that to stop us.’

Richie’s heart hitches up a notch, his breath catching familiarly in his throat as his hands clench against the coarse fabric of your silky shirt. ‘God, y/n, why did I ever let you leave.’

Before you can answer, Richie has jumped forward, one knee raised up in between your thighs, his hands rushing off your shoulders to grab your wrists, pinning them against the harsh brick that scrapes against your knuckles. He watches you for a second, nearly surprised by his own actions, his brown eyes glistening as they dilate slowly, his breathing shallowing out as the butterflies return to flutter and fizz in the pit of the stomach as his gaze finally lands on your plump lips, subconsciously wetting his own. The next thing you knew, he had slammed his lips to yours and nearly knocked all the air out of your lungs. You understand why his leg was pressed against you now, collapsing down onto it as stars fill your vision, dancing their glittering golden dance as he presses his tongue to the seam of your lips and, as you grant your access, delved inside your mouth. He’s surprised by his own audacity, his own directness as he pushes you further against the wall, his thumb tenderly stroking your wrist as his hips bang against yours, pushing you further and further against his broad chest until there was no breathing room left, your back arching up towards the heat that radiates from him, revelling in the slight moans that roll off his tongue. Unexpectedly, his hand drifts to your hip, settling itself there and pulling you closer. He began nuzzling your neck with delicate kisses, so faint, you swore they were like whispers, little sweet nothings that he had been bottling up inside him as he smiled against your skin, the smell of your perfume intoxicating as your body nearly fell limp into his comfortable grasp.

The sound of laughter breaks you two apart, and Richie nearly stumbles backwards as his head whips round violently, biting his lip as a frown twitches on his face, his glasses slipping down the brow of his nose as Beverly stands behind the two of you, her arms crossed and her hair glowing as her head lies hung back in laughter, her chest shaking as she manages to stutter out, ‘of all the sights I expected to see today in Derry, this was not one of them. Took you two long enough, and you picked such a romantic time, Richie. Nothing like a killer clown to set the heart on fire.’

@disneyfan567, @howelloutforharambe, @humanroombas, @bisexuaivalkyrie, @riisten, @super-who-dat , @teddy-the-platypus

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

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Olly Olly Oxenfree (part seven, finale)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

———————

so, how goes the good fight?

The climb down the ladder into the bomb shelter was like descending into hell. Looking down at the black abyss at the top was terrifying, but actually going down it was so much worse. The darkness embrace Joan and Cathy with cold, open arms, wrapping them up in its inky tendrils and welcoming them to the nightmarish world that lurked beneath the light.

The bunker was small and smelled stale. There were a few beds, shelves full of food and supplies, a tape player, some lamps, and a blast door at the end of the room. Joan and Cathy made a beeline straight for the door- when Joan had turned on her phone flick on the flashlight app, she had noticed that the time was six in the morning.

One hour left.

On station 95.1 the Radio Wave Lock is activated. However, before the door can be opened, Cathy steps in front of Joan.

“Look-” She said. “Whatever happens on the other side of this door- don’t be stupid. Cut and run, okay? If I turn unto dead weight or start freaking out...”

“No.” Joan said firmly. “No way. I’m not leaving you. I’m wearing you hat, buddy! While I wear the hat, you have to come back! To get it. From me. Because I will keep it and I’ll show everyone how good I look in it and then you’ll never be able to wear it again!”

Cathy laughed softly. “Alright. Alright. Fine.”

She turned to the door-

-and then the tape player nearby sparks to life and began to play a song on the ukulele.

“Okay okay- that is, like, the tenth time I’ve heard that song all night!” Cathy marched over to the tape player. “I’m sorry, but I’m gotta figure this out.”

Joan sighed and trudged over to her just as the tape player sputters to a halt.

“Can you fix it?” Cathy asked. Her eyes were pleading.

Joan sighed again and began to wind it up.

“It-” Cathy’s eyes were now very wide. “It sounds like- it’s her. My mum. In the static. Do you hear her?”

“Kinda...”

“This is- oh my god.” Cathy crouches down on her knees in front of the tape player. Her hands are over her mouth. Tears are gathering in her eyes. “Mama?” She whispered. Then, she looked up at Joan. “C-can you try to tune into it? Maybe it’ll make her clearer.”

Joan really didn’t want to waste anymore time, but she couldn’t turn down Cathy, so she takes out her radio and tunes in.

150

An axe comes down on Joan’s skull. Over and over and over again. And with each swing, each break to her skull, each spew of her blood, Cathy’s figure shifts places all over the room until she’s gone.

Cathy is gone.

And Joan is all alone.

“No! No, Cathy, come back! I need you!” Joan begged.

Nothing.

No answer.

Joan has no choice but to go through the door alone.

She steps out in the cave where it all began. Not-Catalina is sitting on the lake’s shore, cross-legged, smoke whirling around her.

“You know,” She said as Joan staggers out from between two crystals. “We could have left. Whenever she wanted. We weren’t prisoners to the cave.”

“Then why stay?” Joan asked as she approached slowly. “Why not leave? Move on?”

“Because it’s scary, that’s why!!”

The crystals overhead tremble with loud clinking noises, like the treacherous shudder of glass.

“Have you ever stared into nothing, and moved with it, and felt apart with it!” Not-Catalina growled. “It’s worse than when we were wilting away into atoms!” Her voice quieted, shakes slightly. “It’s worse than...dying...the first time.”

“No, of course not,” Joan said. “But you have to!”

“No, we don’t ‘have’ to. We don’t have to do anything. Not anymore.”

The entire cave began to shake. Large cracks split across the ceiling and shards of iridescent crystals come raining down. Joan staggers, feeling sharp streaks of pain all over her body from where the crystal daggers manage to cut into her. Five lodge themselves in her shoulders. Several more get in her back. Dozens of smaller, but still sharp flecks sprinkle her scalp and wash her hair a bright shade of red.

“Whatever you think you can do,” Not-Catalina said. “You can’t.”

The quaking of the cavern gets more intense.

“We can’t go back. We won’t.”

The image of Not-Catalina flickers and disappears.

“Child. Wait your turn.”

Once again, Joan is alone.

She’s bleeding. She’s bleeding a lot and it hurt so badly.

She manages to pull two shards out of her shoulder, but the other three are deep and she doesn’t want to risk damaging herself further.

Above her, the tear that started it all was floating ominously in the air. Within it, a smaller triangle spun slowly in a circle.

With a blood-soaked hand, Joan takes out her radio and tunes in.

120

Several lines stretch from the very top.

123

Those lines get longer and form dozens of other triangles.

128

They form one giant tear.

A flash of light.

Joan is underwater.

And in front of her is a giant submarine.

A submarine that explodes before her very eyes.

The flash renders Joan blind for a moment, but when she can see again she’s in a part of the forest she doesn’t know. It’s raining. Not-Catalina is a few yards away from her, suspended in the air, eyes alight with crimson fury. Behind her, the black figure lurks.

“You’ve come to close the hole, right, girl?”

“That’s right.” Joan growled. “I’ve come to do what Maggie Lee couldn’t do.”

“Well, it didn’t work then, so why would it work now?” Not-Catalina said. “God. You’re so spoiled.”

The entire world blurs. They’re underwater again and the tear can be seen in the distance.

“You don’t even know the cost of things. Closing the hole with your stupid toy will spare your— your friends from our bloom, sure, but it will seal you up in here with it.” Not-Catalina smirked. “You’ll die with us. Again and again.”

Joan is back in the arctic waters, back in the icy abyss, but she has some grounding. Her mind is set.

“If they’re safe, then that’s all that matters.”

“Öñê lå§† ¢håñ¢ê. ¥ðµ Ððñ’† håvê †ð Ðïê.”

A large tear appears a few feet away, glowing an ominous red. Joan walked over to it.

“You can leave, you know.” Not-Catalina said. “Through the gate you opened.”

“ÄñÐ wê kêêþ †hê gïrl. Çå. †å. Lï. ñå.”

Joan looked deep into the gateway- she swore she could see the docks and the ferry approaching and Anne and Kitty and Cathy waiting there. For her.

“So, I’m free to go?” She asked.

“Of course.” Not-Catalina.

“§hê’ll ßê håþþïêr wï†h µ§.”

Joan’s hand slowly raised and she wiped the trail of blood trickling down her face.

“No.”

She turned and walked back up to Not-Catalina and the figure of The Sunken.

“Who do you think I am?”

“Who— who do you think we are?! Do you think we wanted to be thrown away?!”

Joan falters. Her eyebrows furrowed slightly.

“Why...why would they do that? If— if you were...”

“They didn’t care, child.” Not-Catalina cut her off. “Sometimes it’s that simple.”

The silence that is left between them all is tense. Thick. Horrifying. It was only then that Joan was noticing the hunched bodies of her friends appearing in her peripheral vision.

“We can feel us...binding.” Not-Catalina said. “You have maybe just a few moments left.”

Joan can feel it, too. Her head is being crushed- actually crushed, she could almost hear the chips of her bone as cracks zigzag across her skull. The blood flowing from her scalp and shoulders and back continue to spew- she feels so dizzy.

She feels so tired.

“We feel terrible, we do, but you have to know why that everyone chose to forget about us.” Not-Catalina said. “Everyone just...shuttered us away...”

“Wait- wait wait!” Raising her voice made Joan’s ears feel like they were about to burst. In fact, she could feel hot blood drizzling down from either opening. “Think about what your relatives would think- what your family would think. Some of them are still alive!”

It seems The Sunken have already thought about that, as they make Not-Catalina said, “They would think us survivors, if they think about us at all.”

Everything was shaking again.

“It won’t hurt...we don’t think...the change.” Not-Catalina said. She laughed. “But we hope the trip was worth it! Seeing the...deprived tourist trap they’ve built upon our carcass. Did you see the gift shop?”

“This whole little community if for you,” Joan said. She can’t hide the desperation in her voice. “They’ve built it all up for you and the soldiers that died!”

“It’s not for us!” Not-Catalina snarled. “We’ve twisted our bodies, screeching two inches from your faces for you to see us!” She settles back slightly. “And you never do.” Her mouth forms into a scowl. “Enjoy the scenery.”

The shaking gets more intense. The vibrations go straight up through her body and she can feel her ribs fracturing inside of her chest. Desperation rises higher and higher as she wracks her melting brain and shoveled up a name she remembered hearing about.

“To the crewman on the UKS Kanaloa named Calvin— don’t do this. Please.” She said. “I know you’re in there, I know you’re a person, I know you’re all people, come on, just— please help me, help my friends. Stop this.”

Everything stops.

“Calvin...” Not-Catalina muttered. “Was our name ever...”

“Çålvïñ?”

In a blink of an eye, in a painless transition, Joan and Not-Catalina are in front of a shack. The loop doesn’t hurt, but the effect is enough to finally burst the blood vessels in Joan’s nose and blood comes gushing out down her face.

“I...almost remember...”

“M¥. ñåmê.”

“You were-” It’s difficult to speak with all her wounds, with her body in a half-broken down state. Her voice sounds nasally with her nose stuffed with blood, but she makes do. “You were people once. All of you. Don’t lose that.”

“It’s- It’s-”

“M¥ ñåmê.”

“Calvin Gilbert.” Not-Catalina murmurs. “It’s- hard to remember certain things. Our faces went awhile ago...and then our names.”

“ñåmê§. Öµr ñåmê§. ßµ† ðµr åñgêr.”

“Our anger is, I’m afraid...all we have left.”

Joan thought for a moment. Then, she looks up into Not-Catalina’s eyes, The Sunken’s eyes, and said, “Then take it with you.”

They stare at each other for a long time. A clot it beginning to form in one of Joan’s nostrils.

“§¢råþ ï†.”

“Keep your nature.” Not-Catalina said. “We’ll keep ours.”

Joan closed her eyes. She clenched her fingers, feeling more and more disconnected from her body as time goes on.

“Maggie had— has— will have— this friend, and you sort of remind us of her.”

“§†råñgê gïrl... ðÐÐ †êmþêrêÐ...”

“Take care,” Not-Catalina said. “With the time you have left, child. And take notice of what you choose to—”

Joan takes out her radio and began to tune in. The tear is nowhere in sight, but she knows it’s still there. She can feel its energy. Not-Catalina falters.

“What are you doing?” Not-Catalina demands.

“I’m sorry for what happened to you,” Joan said. “But I’m not letting you hurt my friends.”

101.1

The edges of the tear flickered into view.

“Oh! You wanna play chicken with the void? Fine.” Not-Catalina growled. “Let’s see how long you can last in the throttle.”

Joan grits her teeth. Her entire body is quaking. Spiderwebs of cracks spread throughout her bones.

“I don’t care what happens to me.” She grunts. Her hands are wracked with tremors and she can barely see the station numbers, but she continues to twist the dial.

111

The tear shrinks, the edges folding in on themselves. The storm rages powerfully.

“Johanne, wake up!” Not-Catalina yelled. “This course of action will only save those morons, not you! Don’t you understand?”

“I know that.” Joan said calmly.

“You don’t even comprehend why this is happening, do you?” Not-Catalina growled. “They sent warships after us! Like we were prey! It’s—” She falters again. “It wasn’t supposed to be like that. And neither is this.”

Joan looked up at Not-Catalina again and narrowed her reddening eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

106.2

The tear began to mend itself shut.

“WAIT!!”

Lights, flashing, static, roaring.

“Jðåñ. Jðåñ.”

Joan is an endless void of black.

“†ïmê. Öµ†. Älðñê. Wê årê åll ðñ †hê §åmê. §ïÐê.”

Tears spill down Joan’s cheeks. She leans back, floating weightlessly in the abyss. She smiled sadly.

“þððr. Gïrl.”

“I did it for my friends and Cathy,” She whispered. She tilts her head back, inhaling shaking and sobbing softly. “All for them. If they’re safe, that’s all that matters.”

“Ì† ï§ †hê. RðåÐ. Ö£ †hê mïÐÐlêÐ.”

Joan pulls her knees to her chest, spinning in a slowly circle. Her tears splash down onto the radio she’s holding.

“Wê åll þlå¥. ß¥. †hê §åmê. Ðê§ïgñ.”

She can feel herself bugging out. She looks up in shock.

“What are you...?”

“GððÐ. Lµ¢k. Måkê ï†. Lå§†.”

————

“‘But soon, I shall be so that I cannot remember any...but the things that never happened.’”

“Yeah, I— I don’t know.”

Joan stirred and groaned softly. She struggles to open her eyes because of the light that immediately stabs into her retinas.

“Ugh...”

“Hey, she’s walking up!”

Cathy is kneeling in front of her. Behind her, the other three stand on the deck of the ferry they’re all on.

“Are...are we in ghost heaven?” Joan slurred out.

“I think that’s just regular heaven, sweetheart.” Catalina said.

Her voice is what really made Joan’s mind register. It was normal.

She blinked hard and the fuzzy black blotches spotting her vision clear up slowly. She sits up on the bench she had been laying on and looks at everyone. No one has glowing red eyes.

“Did we...did we win? Are we okay?” She asked.

“Yeah.” Cathy answered. There’s a small smile on her lips. “Whatever you did in that cave, it worked. We’re going home.”

Joan’s breath caught in her throat. She glanced all around the boat again- Anne’s smile isn’t strained, Kitty’s face isn’t the color of a corpse, Cathy was there with her, Catalina was herself.

They were alive.

“Oh my god...” Joan whispered. “Are we- are we okay? Is it really over?”

“Yeah,” Cathy nodded. “It’s okay. It’s over. We’re safe now.”

They’re safe now.

Tears filled Joan’s eyes and she launched herself into Cathy’s arms. Anne and Kitty join the group hug and Catalina gets pulled in in the process. They all embrace each other tightly, crying. Crying in relief, exhaustion, joy, bliss.

They were free.

“That was- wow.” Anne said after they all pulled away. She laughed and wiped her eyes.

“Are you crying, Reginald?” Catalina teased.

“So are you!”

“I am, and it’s completely ruining my mascara and persona.” Catalina said, wiping away the black-tinged streak rolling down her cheek. “That was insane.”

“We gotta tell people!” Kitty said. “Right? I mean, it’s not like anyone will believe us, but, like...we could go on a freakin’ book tour or something!”

“We encountered real ghosts!” Joan added. “I mean, we don’t have proof, but still!”

“It’ll definitely be quite the story.” Catalina chuckled.

Joan finally stood up and, when she did so, she felt no pounding against her temples. The agonizing migraine that had been infecting her head that entire night was gone. There was no dull static buzzing in the back of her mind.

They really were safe, now.

She was out of that void.

“What happened back there?” Joan asked. “Does anyone know?”

She was no longer bloody, she could breathe properly, and none of her bones felt like they were about to shatter into tiny pieces, so did whatever went down in that storm really happen? Or was it all a hallucination after she tuned into that giant tear in the cave.

“Cathy carried you here.” Kitty said.

“Well, of course I did.” Cathy crosses her arms. “You were unconscious on the beach, so I ran down to get you.”

“What about Catalina?” Joan asked, looking at the older girl.

“I carried her,” Anna said. “But she woke up along the way.”

“What time is it?”

“Seven in the morning.” Cathy answered.

Joan breathes a small, impressed breath.

“Did...” Catalina speaks up. Everyone else turns to her. “Did anyone else experience, like, dreams when they were ‘taken’ during the night?”

“Yeah, a few.” Anne answered.

“Me too.” Kitty nodded.

“Just the one of my mum in the bunker.” Cathy added.

“I had...I had some of Maria.” Joan said. “We were on an accidental trip to the beach.”

“I had my older sister.” Catalina said. “We were fighting over...I don’t even remember. Something Stupid. But I don’t know why that memory would visit”

“Maybe it’s something that’s close to us?” Joan guessed aloud. “I don’t know. It’s over now. That’s all that matters.”

They all nodded.

“Hey, Anne, didn’t you say you lost a book?”

The others looked over at Kitty, who is holding up a book. Anne perks up and snatches it from her excitedly.

“You found it!” She said. “I thought one of the ship guys would have thrown it overboard!”

“Oh, also,” Kitty piped up again. “What were we talking about before Joan woke up?”

“Prom?” Anne said, and the others groaned.

“I think I’m gonna defer my crown this year.” Catalina said.

“Joan, are you gonna go?” Kitty asked.

The girl shrugged. “I don’t know. I might.”

“Yeah, you should come with us!” Catalina turned around to face Joan. The old light she used to have in her eyes, the loving, caring, friendly one, is returning slowly. It bathed Joan in its tender glow. “We can go dress shopping. It’ll be fun!”

Joan blinked, genuinely shocked by the offer, but then she smiled.

“I’d- I’d love to! It sounds great!”

Catalina smiled back. A real smile.

“You can even bring your step sis.” She said, nodding at Cathy, who laughed.

“I’m glad I got your permission to go.” Cathy said.

“Alright, everyone! It’s picture time!” Kitty suddenly exclaimed. She scampered out onto the deck, into the warm morning light bleeding out from the soft grey clouds above. “Come on! Tonight has been noteworthy- we gotta take a picture to commemorate it!”

The others gave in to her pleas and all grouped together.

“Hey, Anne, what is that book, anyway?” Cathy asked as they got into position.

“I actually don’t know,” Anne admitted. “I can hardly make heads or tails of it! Like, look- I’ll open to some random ass page and...’When I was younger, I could remember anything, whether it happened or not. But soon, I shall be so that I cannot remember any...but the things that never happened.’”

“Yeah, I— I don’t know.” Cathy said.

“Wait-” Joan blinked. “Didn’t you-”

“Cheese!!”

—————

“Dear Diary.....yes I have one now......

Before we left, I told my mum I was spending the night at a friend’s house. When we got back, I didn’t see a reason to change that story. And you know what...I still don’t.

Anne began studying theatre arts in a city nearby after high school. I was worried for awhile- I thought our friendship had been ruined on that island, but she came around pretty quickly. We’re still best friends to this day.

Catalina left to study English literature...she was thinking about dropping out, but she’s sticking with it for now. We talk a lot, actually. It’s nice. She’s scared of the ocean, now. Also she got a dog. If you care.

Cathy was the first to introduce me as her ‘sister’. You know, without the ‘step’ part. It was nice. We’re still really close- she goes to school in town and we see each other all the time.

It’s funny. What happened on the island used to pop into my head every single day. And then every other day. And then a week went by and I realized I hadn’t thought about it at all. I guess...that’s a good thing, I think.

I decided to stay in town and go to college here. I’m studying music and fine arts. It’s practically up the road! And it’s something familiar.

But anyways... What time is it? Oh, yeah- sorry, I gotta run or I’ll miss the ferry! Anne’s dragging me out to Edward’s Island for the yearly beach party thing. And I have to pick up what’s-her-name, Cathy, too. Ugh. I hope she’s not weird or mean or something.

Whatever. I’m sure it’ll be fun. It’s something to do. Right?”

.-- . .-.. -.-. --- -- . / .... --- -- .

#olly olly oxenfree #six the musical fanfic #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical au #six the musical #catherine of aragon #joan on the keys #catherine parr #anne boleyn #katherine howard

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mydarlinclementine · 4 years

Text

u n s e e i n g e y e s f o l l o w a p p r o a c h i n g f o o t s t e p s . . .

“ hope you’re not try’na be a sneak. it’s unbecoming. ”

a warning laced with poison. she stands by the window. no cane. no fear.

friend or foe, they’ve got one thing she’s after.

“ got a light ? ”

( jodie comer, gorgon, she/her & cisfemale ) is that ( bad reputation ) by joan jett & the blackhearts ) playing? (clementine cornelia carmichael ) must be nearby! heard folks say the ( one hundred fifty ) year old ( ex-mercenary ) was at the thanksgiving fair, ( lightin’ a cigarette by the kiddie play pen ) when chaos ensued. during the glitch, ( she dropped her cane while jumped by some no-good, possessed werecreatures, ‘til a mystery someone swooped her off to safety ).

b a c k g r o u n d .

clementine cornelia carmichael was the second of two daughters born to the carmichael family in georgia... and the disappointment starts there. her parents had been vying for a son, but alas –– with one x chromosome too many, they had no choice but to amend their planned wills. their family fortune, derived from plantation money, would go to the first daughter to marry, and her husband.

the catch. clementine didn’t know about this policy. only her older sister ( wanted connection ) was aware. so when clementine married her first husband, jeb, at 16, her older sister began brainstorming ways to sabotage their marriage to get the inheritance back in her name. it began with petty things. flubbing house parties. planting rumors. attempting to seduce jeb. eventually, it became clear this love was strong and she wouldn’t break it alone.

and then her lucky break struck. jeb and clementine’s efforts to have a child grew more desperate in the third year of their marriage. by 19, clementine had two miscarriages and narrowly escaped with her life. little did she know, getting so close to death activated a dormant gene in her...

all carmichael women are gorgons. her older sister knew about the family lore but clementine had never bothered to listen to her mother’s old tales of men turned to stone. it was only folk tales, old wive’s tales designed to scare both daughters into staying prim, proper, and well-behaved.

imagine her shock when, while they were making love, jeb turned to stone. talk about yikes. clementine flipped. her older sister came to the rescue –– with a pick axe and a sledgehammer. the two women pulverized the stone and buried it in an urn in the back yard of the young couple’s yard. widowed, clementine was reduced to nothing. no joys in life presented to her. the kicker? gorgons can reverse their own stone-turnings. and her sister? the bitch bloody lied to get her hands back on the inheritance.

a year and a half later, gorgon hunters stormed the house and mistook clementine for her sister. they kidnapped her and planned to kill her, until the quick-witted lady pitched an offer they couldn’t pass up: she’d provide them with mercenary services in exchange for her life. all of a sudden, their hunting jobs got ten times easier.

clem before jeb’s death was gentle. docile. calm waters, soothing breezes, dog-eared pages come morning. now? she whipped at the world with a vengeance. why deny what she was? why fight her essence?

clem later turned her captors to stone and privatized her mercenary jobs. her body count rose and rose, with no evidence left over for incrimination. but... by the late 1960′s, she grew tired of running. tired of hunting. with fresh dust on her hands, she finished her last kill, collected her hefty bill, and used the money to relocate to tiny letum falls, oklahoma.

there, she began to help out at the garden emporium, adding to its statue collection from pure boredom. she’d go to the bars, sleep around, repeat.

in the 70′s, she met manny otero, and the two have danced around one another ever since –– fuck buddies. she’ll never admit she actually might have feelings for the man.

in september, descendants of the hunters clem worked with and killed arrived in letum falls, searching for a blonde gorgon –– they found what they were lookin’ for, but not exactly who. again, mistaken for her sister, clem was attacked and left for dead in an abandoned house by the woods. dumb asses. didn’t know a gorgon can’t die unless you behead her.

clem awoke from the incident bloodied and blind. she can make out light and some loose peripheral shadows, but the blows to her head damaged her optical nerves enough to render her legally blind. she begrudgingly carries a cane when absolutely necessary, but she’ll more often than not defy using it by just... struggling her way through things. it’s messy. inelegant. but she’d rather stumble and trip than admit she needs assistance.

unlike other people, who might view tragedy as a way to make amends and realign with the world, clem’s attack just fueled her fire. she’s agitated. bristly. ready to snap at anyone who gets too close. it’s a miracle she hasn’t done a number on manny yet, or xander. ( she’s got a bit of a soft spot for the guy. )

t h e f a i r .

she went ‘cause everyone expected her not to. idiots. of course she was going to prove assholes wrong. of course she was going to light up a few cigs near the kiddie play pen. who do you think she is ? a changed woman ?

like clockwork, the first screams rang out when clem finally heard her lighter catch. so she took her time. lit the cigarette, took a looooooong drag. then came the footsteps. the snarls. the corner of her lips turned up in the teeniest of smirks.

she smelled it before she felt it. the blood. but just as soon as the pain blossomed ‘round her right forearm and shoulder, she was being pulled in the opposite direction. practically carried.

yeah. someone saved her ass. and she’s pissed about it.

c u r r e n t l y .

spends her time drinking, smoking, ‘n adding to brooks baker’s gray clouds over at the bakery. when she’s not there, you can find her sitting in her favorite diner booth sipping her umpteenth black coffee or tearin’ into a big fat slice of key lime pie.

aw. you scared ? you think some big bad glitch is gonna come back to take you, too ? cry her a river, hun. this ain’t nothing.

the local bartenders already know to pour her a double whiskey, straight as soon as she walks in the door. clem’s got this presence about her –– she turns heads and makes ‘em want to turn away all in one go.

c u r r e n t c o n n e c t i o n s .

fuck buddy / savior – manny otero. she’s got him right where she wants him... in bed. these two ooze libido and become a show almost anywhere they go. sometimes she’ll let him buy her a drink. other times, it’s just easier to cut to the chase. since becoming blind, things with manny haven’t changed much, and clem’s thankful for that. little does she know, he’s the asshole who saved her life at the fair.

unlikely ally – xander chapell. these two share late night cigs after clem gets some and, xander, well... does not, due to a variety of freak and unfortunate incidents. often clem barging in pre-bang. they have a special trust between them. xander opened up to clem about losing bez the night after the glitch. and she opened up to him, a little, about her past. it’s uncanny. but their bond works.

w a n t e d c o n n e c t i o n s .

enemies. give me people who really rub clem the wrong way. it ain’t hard to do.

her older sister. their relationship is dysfunctional. deceptive. manipulative. you’d think they were the heads of opposing armies, not borne from the same flesh and blood. surprise surprise, clem has since uncovered a gorgon’s ability to reverse their changes. needless to say, she’s wanting to seek some kind of comeuppance. the issue? her older sister has been the only person to succeed in forcing help on her after losing her sight. and killing her own caretaker? that’d look pretty gnarly, from the outside lookin’ in.

drinking crew. they’re not close, but they share a dark sense of humor and a penchant for dullin’ the senses.

garden emporium customers. i would love to have a connection whose relative / dog / etc. were turned to stone and showed up at the emporium the very same week they decided to snag some kind of lawn ornament to complement their new landscaping... let’s make it crunchy, and awkward, and terrible.

hookups / past flings. she’s been here a while. been around the world for a while. so i reckon while her body count for kills is high, her body count for beddin’ gives it a run for its money.

mentor / mentee type of thing. someone’s looking to learn from her. why ? who knows. but she’ll offer ill-founded advice and bitter philosophies. doesn’t have a good reason not to.

#othqintro #intro.#death tw #blood tw #miscarriage tw #this sucks but yeet

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smolfangirl · 5 years

Text

Cómo te pido

Based on the song and mv for “Cristina” by Sebastián Yatra, and some of my own experiences. I hope you enjoy this ♥

Word count: 5.8k

///

Entre tanta gente yo te vi llegar

Algo en el destino me hizo saludar

///

One day off. One single day of getting lost in the city, not found by anyone except himself. That’s all he wants, craves, after weeks and weeks of being praised as someone who exists solely in the minds of the media and his fans.

One day, and he couldn’t even get that.

It starts with some teenagers chilling on the staircase to the metro, asking for pics, and soon they’ll be all over Instagram and a group of paparazzi and reporters will follow him – Matteo knows the deal. The business.

And frankly, he’s tired of it.

///

The moment he steps into the bar, he wonders if this was the right decision. The air feels hot in his lungs, the smell of cigarettes and cheap beer burns in his nose, while his eyes struggle to find the barkeeper in the crowd blocking the counter. He pulls the hood of his sweatshirt deeper into his face before he slowly makes his way to the bar.

No one looks at him for more than just a second.

///

She’s looking at him.

The stage light creates the illusion of a halo around her, and she’s looking at him with a smile so bright and honest, he can’t tear his gaze away from her. At first, he feared she recognized him, saw through his terrible disguise, but the longer he watches her, the more he relaxes. During his career, he’s seen hundred versions of people spotting him and freaking out. That girl is not one of them.

So, he winks back at her.

///

Her voice sounds as sweet and golden as on the stage, like honey that’s sticking to his soul instead of his fingers. She appears next to him out of nowhere, asking if the seat is taken as she already casually jumps on it. With a chuckle, he replies that he won’t ask her to leave, and the moment she directs another smile at him, the burden of being a superstar whirls off his shoulders.

“Do you usually arrive only to see the last performance of the night?” she asks, head tilted. Her hair falls freely over her shoulder, a tangled mess that somehow frames her face perfectly.

Grimacing, he reaches for his drink. The wine still tastes like a grape took a piss in his glass, although that detail is forgotten the instant he figures out what to answer. “No, but usually, the last performance isn’t worth paying attention to.”

“You’ve never been here before.”

“And you’ve never had a drink with someone as cool as me.”

That makes her laugh. He feels pride rushing through his veins, like when his music makes someone happy or when his mom looks at him with tears in her eyes after watching a performance from him.

She leans closer. “Technically, I’m not having a drink right now.”

The smile on his face never leaves, only deepens. “Then it’s about time we change that.”

///

At some point after midnight, long after his phone ran out of battery, the barkeeper releases a heavy sigh and asks them to leave. They’re the only ones left in the entire room.

At the exit, he stops. Glances over his shoulder, at this place he’d never expect to find (or look for). For a few hours, he had a safe haven, away from fans, flashing cameras and obnoxious voices chanting his name. It was worth the stifling air, the hint of vomit out of the toilets, the headache the cheap wine will give him in the morning. Whatever happened tonight will end too soon, even when he’s not ready to give it up just yet.

“You okay?” Luna’s hand lingers on his arm, gently guides him back to reality, where her last laugh still echoes through the bar.

Upon facing her, he discovers a frown on her face. “Yeah, sure. Just wanted to make sure I left nothing behind.”

“Okay.”

The air leaking inside from the entrance hits him with all its coldness, reminding him of what kind of world he’s returning to.

Silencing the sigh rooted in his chest, Matteo hides in his hoodie again. “Okay, let’s go.”

She holds him back. Lets her hand hush over his cheeks, carefully tugging the fabric until the hood falls on his back. “You shouldn’t hide such a beautiful face.”

His breath hitches. Eventually, he whispers back, “You can never be too careful in a city like this.”

“I keep wondering if you’re new around here, you know?”

That’s the curse of being a star, he thinks. He’s not new to this city – or any other – yet knows nothing that exists outside of his hotel and the venue. And with Luna, everything feels new altogether.

“I am.”

She smiles, again, and if every camera in the world had only one picture left, that’s what he’d photograph. “I can show you around then, if you’d like.”

///

Y empecé mis planes para vernos otra vez

///

“You want me to put skates on my feet?” Half protesting, half questioning her, his mind already paints vivid pictures of him in an emergency room, sitting in a wheelchair with one leg and two arms broken, as his manager yells at him.

“What did you think the helmets were for?”

“I don’t know, something less dangerous? Cycling, maybe?”

“Are you trying to tell me you never skated before?”

Matteo sighs, rubbing his arm. “I used to. As a kid.” In the street where his grandparents used to live, back in Italy. Some part of his body always carried a scratch or a bruise during those summer days, he remembers ending up on the ground a lot, and the band-aids his mom used to ease the pain. (With funny little fruits on them.)

Luna dangles her boots in front of him with a smile that sends his heart into overdrive. “Then this will be even more fun.”

“Luna…” His heartbeat picks up at the mere idea of falling. When he was younger, he felt invincible enough to risk it, but looking at her, at the skates, he feels like his whole body is made of glass.

“I’ll hold your hand the entire time.”

Maybe he won’t fall.

///

He can’t remember the last time it’s been so dark around him. On the street, cameras blind him even through his sunglasses. At home, his phone never gives him a rest, blinking for every message, every notification that comes in. Even in the bar they met in light leaked behind closed doors, from the stage or as a broken reflection from a cocktail glass. His whole world is bright and open and cruel – there’s no shadow to make one wrong move in.

Here, everything is dark and soft and honest. When he glimpses behind the curtain, he can see the stars sprinkled over the sky. Next to him, Luna is dozing off, the silver moon light dancing on her cheekbone. He can hear the beat of his own heart, calm and steady in a rhythm it hasn’t found in years.

Just as he closes his eyes, Luna shifts on the mattress until he feels her gaze settle on him. “I can’t believe I’m doing this”, she whispers.

“What, camping?”

“Going on a road trip with someone I barely know. You could be an axe murderer.”

Or worse, a popstar who could get you on the front cover of every gossip magazine you ever heard of. Out loud, he chuckles. “Damn, you caught me. How will you fall asleep now that you discovered my darkest secret?”

She tries to slap him on his arm only to hit his blanket, and he keeps her fingers locked and secure in his own hands. “You know what, Luna, you put up too much of a fight. I’m gonna have mercy on you.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“And you’re freezing.”

Her voice grows softer, shy almost. “The blanket’s not very warm.”

For a moment, they fall quiet. The wind creates a melody in the tree tops, plays with the leaves like a five-year old chasing a ball, and Matteo thinks about the bottom drawer in his mom’s kitchen, the one that doesn’t close completely, because of this one pot that’s a millimeter too big. He thinks about the empty jars his mom keeps in there for her strawberry marmalade, and how he wants to store this feeling in them, forever. This moment, this peace, won’t last, but perhaps he could lock it away, remember it, completely: the wind outside, the muffled rustling from his blanket as he robs closer to her. How her body curves against his like she’s a matching puzzle piece.

How he falls asleep, wondering if all these coincidences that lead him here are just his destiny in disguise.

///

He’s been to many beaches. Beaches in Italy during his childhood, where he mostly cared about how good the sand would build up to castles. Beaches on vacations, where he was surrounded with people who didn’t wish to be bothered by anyone, just like him. Once or twice he performed at a beach festival. He got his skin burned, got tanned. Went swimming and snorkeling and hired jet skis to cruise on the ocean.

He never just stood and watched.

“What a view, huh?”

Next to him, Luna stands in the breeze, eyes half closed as she wears this smile again that could replace the sun. Her dress softly flaps around her legs, and the wind plays with her hair. Yeah, what a view.

“I wonder if there’s a way to get down there,” he says out loud.

Grimacing, she glances down the cliff separating them from the ocean. “Unless you wanna jump down there, I don’t think so.”

“That’s a shame.”

“There’ll be other beaches, you know. That we can actually go to.” Her fingers dance over his arms, the silent encouragement only contradicted by the soft laugh that follows. Goosebumps run over his skin, his stomach ties itself into a knot, but Matteo can’t quite fathom a smile. As long as they’re alone, his mind is too full of her and the rush of emotions she brings along like a fresh breath of air after sitting in the studio all day. But she’ll say something like this, reminding him that there’s more out there, people and social media and another life for him, and his chest tenses until he’s almost suffocating.

Luna has no clue, of course. She doesn’t know better, so she lets him discover her, lets him read through her past and thoughts and feelings like it’s nothing more than a sweet novel to get lost in during vacations. And he knows better, so he turns page after page, trying to memorize the lines, the ticking clock a constant noise in the back of his mind.

The more he gets to know her, the more he dreads going back to the spotlight. (The more he falls for her, too.)

“Let me take a picture of you. With this beach, okay?” he begs her. The dimple on her cheek deepens as she carefully places her camera in his hand. Her touch still lingers on his palm when he snaps the first picture, and he can’t hurry enough to capture the softness in her gaze, or the brightness in her smile. He hasn’t grown tired of admiring her, and with the camera in his hands, he finally allows himself to keep more than just a fond memory. If a few pictures are going to be the only thing left when reality catches him in its iron fist again, he’ll hold onto every tiny snippet of them.

///

Luna takes pictures of him, too. On that cliff, in front of the crystal-clear sky which is only outdone by the shimmering blue of the ocean. In a small town when they wander through the streets and follow graffities bursting with color. When they stumble upon the kid bringing the grey walls to life with his spray cans, and he poses with him as if they were best friends. When she invites him for ice cream and a hungry seagull steals his cone directly out of his hand.

Every night after dawn, she cuddles up to him in the campervan to show him her favorite pictures.

Once, she’s fast asleep next to him, he scrolls through his phone to the file with the pictures from photoshoots and magazine covers. The Matteo in there smiles too, but it isn’t real. Luna brings out the smile in his eyes, and in the picture he’s staring at, the curve on his lips is plastered on like the make-up on his forehead. For his work, he acts like a mannequin, nothing more than a prop to polish someone’s Instagram page and give his fans the illusion of knowing him.

In Luna’s pictures, he’s happy. Silly even, if he wants to. When she focuses her camera on him, there’s no expectation in the little click of the lens, so he lets go and smiles because one look from her pulls the corners of his mouth up. Sometimes she pulls a grimace at him that he copies, and sometimes, he leans down to kiss her cheek right before she takes a selfie.

He hopes that when this is over, she’ll look at these little moments, knowing she unlocked a side of him no one else saw before.

///

Recuerdo todo lo que te gustaba

Y tu camisa que llega a los pies

Esa carita cuando te cantaba por primera vez

///

Her phone died. In the middle of the song, two seconds away from her favorite part, and he expects the pout on her face before he tears his gaze away from the street. Before he met her, he never even heard of the band, too busy with his own music. Now, his fingers tap the melody on the steering wheel with ease, and he finishes the song so naturally like the words were tattooed into his veins. It’s not until he falls silent again that he glimpses over to her.

Tears glisten in her eyes.

“You have a beautiful voice,” she whispers.

“Thanks,” he replies, smiling to himself. (After signing his first contract, he never thought these words could mean so much again.)

“I mean it. I can totally see you becoming a singer or something. Hey, maybe I could ask Simón if he’d be up for a collaboration, or…” Her enthusiasm intensifies with every word she rambles, but it’s not contagious this time, not when his mind already paints a new picture of the worst case. She probably knows her best friend’s phone number by heart, and she’ll sneak his phone out of his pocket to call him, and he’ll know more about a certain Matteo Balsano than she imagines, so she’ll find out who he is (or who everyone else knows him as) and hate him and he’ll have to let her go, and he’s not ready for that.

“Matteo?” Her voice snaps him back to reality. “Are you okay?”

Is he? His knuckles turned white as he’s driving, and he clenches his teeth so hard that his jaw hurts. “Um, sure, yeah. I’m fine. I just don’t think I’m the type for a boy band.”

The frown on her forehead tells him he seriously needs to work on his white lies. But before she gets to needle him with more questions, Matteo gives her his most charming smile and asks, “Are you in for a duet though? Like, right now?”

A few minutes later he thinks that no professionally recorded and produced duet could ever live up to the harmony that is her voice melting into his.

///

Y si pudiera mostrarte

Que estando juntos ya no hay nada que falte

///

She asked him to pull over, again. The coastal view tempted her too much, and she’s sorry and hiding behind her open hair, even when he’s coming to a stop without as much as raising an eyebrow. Leaning against the van, Matteo watches her standing in the breeze, arms wide open, a huge smile on her face. One glance over her shoulder, and he’s by her side. She raises an eyebrow at him, more a challenge than a question, so he smirks and twirls her around until a laugh pearls over her lips. Bumping into his chest, Luna is still giggling, still making his heart feel like a race car that’s cruising his ribcage. With her arms around his neck, she pulls him into a dance along to the rhythm of their heartbeats. (A scene just like a music video, he thinks, except that it’s real.)

She takes the lead. Whirls him around just like he did, fuels him with every look out of her dazzling green eyes. There’s the thought of kissing her, again. A part of him already suspects that he’ll never stop writing songs about her once his lips get to know hers, but this urge never burned him so fast from the inside.

This time, he won’t fight it.

Matteo allows himself to give in, every move is now aimed to get him closer to her, every breath he takes hopes to be shared with her, and he’s falling, falling, falling.

They’re slow dancing now. Her face is hidden in his chest, both arms wrapped around him as if he’s her favorite stuffed animal. The sun creates the illusion of diamonds on her hair, and he feels endlessly torn between soaking up this pure moment, and finally pressing his mouth on hers. Her fingers sneak over his shirt, caress him light as a feather. Matteo is done, defeated, desperate, as her name slips out in nothing more than a whisper.

Their eyes meet.

He leans in.

Thunder growls above them.

Her, ducking away. Pulling him along, towards the van. The moment he blinks up at the sky to the dark clouds sneaking in, she hastily explains, “I think we need to leave now.” He stumbles behind her, speechless. (Because all he feels is her hand intertwined with his fingers.)

///

They don’t talk while Matteo is driving. He’s focused on the road, and the rain clatters on the windscreen too loudly anyway, killing any hope for a conversation. Luna tried to ask him if driving in this weather was a good idea, but the noise swallowed her voice, so she gave up. Now she’s staring into the angry sky outside, pretending she’s not tempted to sneak another glimpse at him, and then another.

Her mind is overflowing with things left unsaid, with confessions and too many questions. He wanted to kiss her, she’s pretty sure about that. And he might still want to kiss her.

Everything else, though, remains a mystery.

How can she be sure she knows him at all, anyway? A book in a foreign language wouldn’t be as hard to decipher as he is. He never mentions his everyday life, or his job. The one time she asked, he said he worked in the entertainment industry, and then he changed the topic. He talks about his childhood, but never his presence. She still doesn’t know why he refused to leave the back of the van three days ago, when she refueled the van and got some snacks in a small city by the coast. Maybe he’s just weird, maybe he’s hiding something, an ex who he’s not keen on running into, or something worse. Maybe she doesn’t want to know.

But these doubts never linger in her mind long enough. Because their eyes meet or he gets her without a single look, or they laugh for ten minutes straight about the same dumb joke, or he smiles at her so gently it takes her breath away. Like right now, as he catches her glare and in an instant, her mouth runs dry.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing.” A bold lie. She’s thinking about a lot of things, like how soft his lips look, or how her stomach feels like it might burst and how she wants to be close to him for the rest of her life.

And how he better kiss her soon, because otherwise she definitely will.

///

They end up stranded in the middle of nowhere.

The storm rages on, too harsh for them to keep going, and now they’re in bed, listening to the wind howling. Lightning crushes down somewhere close to the van, for a moment, everything is silver and bright and scary. Then, darkness returns. With a shaky breath, Luna pulls her blanket closer.

“Are you okay?” Matteo whispers. The mattress gives in to his weight as he shifts around, before his hand finds her clenched fist underneath the thin fabric. “You’re cold.”

“You’re hot.”

“May I?”

Her reply, “Sure”, already dies on her tongue. He must have heard it anyway, because he robs closer until she’s in his arms, surrounded by his warmth and his scent and the daydream of his lips on hers. “Thank you,” she says, turning to what she hopes is the outline of his face in the dark.

Lightning, again.

He’s close, closer than she expected. His breath hovers over her face. The memory of this afternoon flickers through her mind, the anticipation that built up ever since they sat in that little bar, the tension in the air when they glimpse at each other at the same time and –

Finally, Matteo kisses her.

///

Solo tienes que saber

Que yo quisiera quedarme

///

Sunlight caresses her cheek. Matteo is feeding her grapes, piece after piece, as he snuggles up to her left side until her blanket becomes kind of redundant. The morning is nothing like last night, quiet and soft, the early sky a canvas of pastels.

“Do you think we can go to the beach today?”

“If we find one, sure.” He nips on his coffee cup, the grapes now out of her reach, then pats over the blanket, probably in search for his phone.

“How come you keep looking for the same things every morning?”

“I don’t know, I swear it was just right here… ah, got it!” A frown finds its way on his forehead while he begins to type. Then, a soft groan, followed by more typing.

She nudges him with her shoulder. “Let me guess, you’re still trying to find a beach where it’s just us?”

“There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“There’s nothing wrong with any beach either.”

“Why don’t you just…” He falls silent, gaze suddenly stuck on the screen. The wrinkle above his eyes deepens. His thumb lingers in the air, frozen.

“Why don’t I just what?” Luna asks, her hand finally getting a hold on the grapes, so she at least has something to do.

The sigh he replies with doesn’t exactly promise good news. “I got a text message from work and… seems like they need me back soon.”

Her eyes flutter shut. She thinks of last night, of the dawn, when the first thing she felt upon waking up was his arm loosely wrapped around her, and the second thing his lips greeting her. She thinks of sitting on the beach, a golden sunset in front of them as she steals a kiss from him, safe in his arms. She thinks of the deadlines and unwritten reports and papers waiting for her at home. “How soon?”

“A few days. A week, if I really push it.”

“We’d have to drop off the van early.”

“I don’t want to. I’d rather stay here. With you.” With one hand, Matteo pushes a strand that escaped her ponytail overnight behind her ear. His words hit her straight in her chest, from where a thousand butterflies escape into her bloodstream. “And why can’t you?” she whispers.

“I can’t just… quit. I’m too important there.”

Chuckling, Luna hides her face in his shoulder. When he asks her what’s wrong, she glances up at him, grinning only harder. “You are such a chico fresa, Matteo,” she explains, and the confusion sticks on his face even after she tucks a grape behind his sweet lips.

///

The ocean underneath her feet. The smell of sunscreen lingering in her nose. His smile around her, more constant than the sun in the sky. Her, trailing after him like she’s indeed a silver rocket in the universe and he’s her earth.

For an instant, Luna ponders about this moment, certain she’ll miss it at some point later. But then, he makes her laugh again and all that matters is now.

///

No sé cómo te pido que te enamores

Cuando al final no voy a estar cuando tu llores

(Cuando de ti me enamoré)

///

“Oh my god, guys, that’s Matteo Balsano!” Half a scream, half a whisper. It’s too soon for him to be pulled back into his superstar life, but too late to escape it – that life, his fans, and the realization dawning upon Luna.

“Matteo! Can we take a picture?” Louder. Flashlights. A forced smile on his lips.

“Can you sign this? For Kaylee?”

“Can I have a photo too?” Three phones all up in his face. Four. “I can’t believe we’re running into the Matteo Balsano, just like that!”

Hands, trying to touch whatever is closest to them, trying to nudge him away from where he wants to be. “Why did you disappear for two weeks?”

Luna, gone from his side.

///

Time moves too slowly. She needs answers, explanations. Now. He’s still standing at the other side of the street, those girls stuck to him like fruit flies trapped in honey. She wants them gone, and she wants to be home already, in the silent comfort of her room.

Time moves too quickly. She needs space, something familiar. Her brain is still catching up on what happened, and she’s only halfway through his Wikipedia page. She wants to wake up in bed so this can just be a dream, and she wants yesterday back, with the soft embrace of his arms.

Time moves on. He’s walking towards the van. His face disappears under the hood of his sweater, and she feels like a paparazzi watching him, his every move.

All at once, he’s a stranger to her.

///

“Why?”

“I’m so sorry, Luna.”

She huffs. The sun hits her directly through the windscreen, yet her cheeks heat up for a whole other reason.

“This wasn’t how I wanted you to find out.”

Her gaze fixates on the view outside, the house fronts and parked cars. It’s motionless, not even a breeze softly ruffling through the palm trees. Inside her, everything seems to be moving and stirring. “And how was I supposed to find out? Never?”

If making him speechless is an accomplishment, it doesn’t feel like one. After seconds or minutes or whatever excruciating amount of silence it equals on the clock, he sighs. “Do you know how hard it is to find someone who doesn’t treat you like some kind of god? You made me feel… when I’m with you, I’m different. Someone…”

“Normal?” Bitterness leaks out of her tone, and it poisons her heart. “That sounds terrible, Matteo. And I’m not going to pity you.”

“Happy,” he replies. “I wanted to say that you made me feel like someone happy.”

You made me feel happy too. Those words don’t cross her lips, though. Instead, she turns on the engine and starts driving. (Away from the place where her heart broke, but not away from him.) Taking a shaky breath, he opens his mouth but before he says anything else, Luna drowns his voice with the first radio station she finds. After two minutes, the host announces one of his songs.

She almost smashes the radio with her fist.

///

All day, she waits for dawn to come, for the darkness to match her mood. An hour into driving, Matteo quietly asks her to stop by one of the beaches to their left. She follows him in a safe distance as he watches the ocean. There’s no smile on his face, just a wrinkle on his forehead. Her phone weighs heavy in her pocket, tempting her to snap a picture of him like all the days before. But she no longer feels like she has the right to take a photo of him, which shouldn’t add to her misery this much.

So, now she’s aching for the night to hide him from her eyes.

///

His eyes flutter open in the darkness. The blanket is tangled between his legs, and he feels some part of Luna bumping into him. His heart clenches at the memory of her silence today, or the looks she sent him. He doesn’t know what he expected, only that he hoped, with a little luck, that she’d stay in his life.

There’s no such faith anymore.

Her touch startles him. Slowly, her fingertips draw patterns on his arm, and Matteo isn’t sure if he’s dreaming. “Luna?” he whispers into the silence.

Her hand stops moving, but it stays frozen where it was, which is everything he needs to hope again. “What are we gonna do?” she finally says.

His heart skips a beat, only to riot harder than ever before in his chest. “I don’t know,” he admits, unsure. “I can’t escape this, you know? People will recognize me wherever I go, whether I like it or not. That’s just a part of my life.”

“So, after this, I’ll never see you again?”

He closes his eyes. Sighs. “Would that be a good thing for you?”

Luna hesitates, he can feel it in her fingertips leaving his skin, in the breath she’s holding. Every second in which she keeps him hanging on to the last thread of hope hurts. All he wants is to pull her back into his arms, back to a time where it was just him and her, and reality got no hold on them. And he feels stupid for believing any of this could have lasted.

“No. It wouldn’t.”

Luna buries her head in his shoulder. A sob pearls over her lips, and out of words, he presses a kiss on her hair. “But I can’t do this,” she adds before she rolls over to her side of the bed and shatters his heart into pieces, just like he must’ve earlier.

When he finds his words again, he whispers “I’m sorry I can’t stay”, but she seems to already be asleep.

///

Este amor ya no es mío

///

He’s watching the van being driven away by one of the employees. The sun is setting behind the rental office, sealing the end of his little run from real life. Turning around, his eyes land on Luna, wo’s holding on to her bags as if her life depended on it.

“So, this is it,” he concludes.

She returns his gaze, and the tears shimmering in them feel like a knife to his chest. “I guess.”

“Maybe we could…”

“Matteo, no.” It sounds as if he’s torturing her, as if nothing brought her more pain than the mere chance to see him again. (If only he knew how to make her smile again…) “We can’t. You know this wouldn’t work.”

With that, she leaves him.

///

Sé que la vida se pasa pero no pasa contigo

///

The next months bring her a lot of opportunities to cry. His new single that her roommate plays on repeat for hours, unaware that the Luna in his song is the same one yelling at her to use headphones. The music video for said single, where he replaces her with a girl who looks nothing like her. His new album, titled Chico Fresa out of all things, and every song that speaks to her. Every single time her thumb hovers over his contact in her phone, until she remembers why she refuses to see him again.

But she learns to stop asking herself “What if”, to stop torturing herself with daydream after daydream. She learns to ignore his voice on the radio and the gossip on the internet. She learns to sleep alone again and get mad enough at him for his lies and songs and calls to move on with her life.

And then she walks into the skating rink on her birthday to a package with her name scribbled on it, inside brand-new skates in the colors of a sunset, along with a card signed by him.

After that, she can’t pretend anymore that she hates him.

///

No tengo la certeza de volverte a ver

Recuérdame

///

The beach in Cancún hasn’t changed. The palm trees along the way, offering some shadow in the merciless midday sun, the scent of salt and sunscreen in the air. The pathway along the ocean she led him to, with her hand in his, which often enough was the only reason his ass didn’t kiss the ground.

Matteo, however, has changed. He has grown, as a person, as a songwriter. Even as a skater – he doesn’t need anyone’s hand anymore in order to keep his balance.

Still, he keeps thinking about her.

Especially here in Mexico, where a year ago, he kissed her, and she claimed his heart only to walk away with it. He wonders what she’s up to, which skating competition she’s training for right now, and if her studies are going well. If there’s someone else, someone new in her life. Someone who isn’t followed by ecstatic fans and paparazzi.

His mind always stumbles over this idea, sooner or later. Not that it’s any of his business. He just wants her to be happy, that’s all. (Is it wrong if he wants her to be happy with him?) And who can blame him when sometimes, missing her overwhelms him, and he can’t stop thinking about what ifs – what if he gave up his career? What if he insisted on seeing her again just a little bit more?

It’s a dangerous path to walk on, and never a gleeful one. So, every time it gets too much to bear, he goes skating.

It’s a routine by now. Matteo puts on his helmet and sunglasses, then his boots. He never goes fast, simply cruising up and down the beach while painting pictures in his head, of her by his side. He imagines her whirling around in pirouettes, jumping and showing off all the tricks he doesn’t dare to try. He imagines the sun adding a soft shimmer to her hair, and her laugh ringing in his ears as he recites the lyrics of the last song he wrote for her. About her. He imagines that he’ll never has to write another song about the moon, because he gets to tell her everything in person.

Her laugh, again.

First, he wonders how clear his memory makes it sound in his ears. Then, he realizes it’s not just an imagination anymore, because Luna is here, for real, a mere hundred meters away. Wearing his skates.

In that moment he knows he’ll have to write another song for her.

#soy luna #lutteo #my sl fanfiction #cómo te pido #if anyone feels just half as emotional after this than from the mv then my work here is done #it feels like an eternity since this song came out #this wasn't supposed to turn out this long but is anyone really surprised

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themutantunderground · 6 years

Text

Linger Ch. 1

It's been a few months since the world ended. Now it's a zombie-filled wasteland, one where people still in possession of a brain are desperate to stay that way. Clarice finds herself reluctantly joining up with a small, ragtag group of survivors led by John, who's just trying to keep everyone he cares about alive. Maybe they'll make it somewhere safe. Eventually.

Ao3 | FF.net

That damn gash on her head was still sluggishly bleeding. Clarice could feel the warm, steady trickle starting to drip out from under the rag she had used to bind the wound. Reaching up, she gingerly tried to tug the rag down farther to sit fully on the cut, hissing at her own efforts. It stung, and behind the sting was a steady ache, like tiny fists wearing brass knuckles beating against the inside of her skull. It wasn't a pleasant experience.

She leaned back toward the bookshelves of the workroom, settling against the soft pillows and stuffed animals she had dragged there from the children's section. The musty smell of old pages was almost comforting, or it would have been if there wasn't a hint of mold.

The library was a decent, nearly secure location, but she hadn't been able to lock the broken front doors. A simple barricade had been easy enough to construct, just something to keep the normal zombies at bay, but if any of stronger types came by or if living survivors decided to visit for some light reading and looting, she was shit out of luck.

Still, this was way better than limping through town, vulnerable to any zombie that might have been lumbering around looking for a meal. Especially the fast ones. Regular zombies were bad enough, but those quick ones were hellish and impossible to get away from if you were limping even a little bit. With her scraped up side, twisted ankle, and head wound, she wasn't going anywhere fast.

Clarice hoped nothing was broken. It was a miracle she had walked away from the crash at all, and even more of one that she had made it all the way to the library without running across anything worse than the regular kind of zombie, what she referred to as ramblers. Her gun still had three bullets in it, if she had counted right, and there was her knife and the fire axe laying in the ground near her.

Maybe she wouldn't die immediately. Maybe she would hang on a couple days before something broke in to finish her off.

You never knew.

She should've paid more attention while she was driving her dirt bike. That stray tire in the road had come out of nowhere, it seemed, and she had been thrown from the bike. Luckily she had been slowing down. It could've been so much worse. Her jeans and leather jacket had taken a beating...new clothes were necessary now too.

Only a few months ago, she would've gone straight to the hospital after a crash like that. There would've been pain meds and an IV and X-rays, but she was lucky to have found some ibuprofen in one of the drawers in the workroom. Back then, she wouldn't be thinking about where to find new clothes because she could easily go to a store without worrying about what was lurking behind the doors. It wasn't like shoppers of the undead variety had been an issue.

It seemed like a century ago instead of just months.

Clarice reached for the water bottle at her side and then let her hand drop away. She had to conserve water. Before she had made a nest in the back room, she had looked in the staff lounge but the only water had been in a cooler and it had gone bad. Tomorrow she would try to get up and find a pharmacy...that way she could get water and meds. Something to patch herself up with. The library had been the safest location that she had stumbled across right after the crash. She should've gotten eaten by all rights, but somehow she had managed to wake up from getting knocked unconscious before a zombie found her.

She fiddled with the lid of the water bottle, wanting at least a sip. She refrained. Tomorrow she would find a whole pallet of water bottles. Sure. And then she would find a feather bed and a sexy butler and an entire stash of donuts.

Closing her eyes, she rested, one hand on the revolver in her lap. A nap would've been great… A few weeks ago, she had been with a group outside of Atlanta. Then they had turned nasty and started making rules she didn't like too much, so she had left. Being on her own wasn't terrible, but having someone to keep watch while she slept would've been nice right about then.

Her eyelids felt heavy and her head bobbed down toward her chest, exhaustion catching up to her. Maybe it wouldn't be too bad to sleep for just a few minutes. She needed the rest, and there hadn't seemed to be many zombies in town anymore.

Most likely they had been attracted somewhere people still lived. This place was a ghost town, and there were rumors of safe zones not too far from where she was. She had been trying to decide if she wanted to head for one, just for somewhere that had running water and a somewhat steady food supply.

She drifted off to thoughts of what she would eat if the world hadn't gone to hell. Apple fritters, chocolate chip cookies, key lime pie, donuts… Sweets took up most of her list. Eventually she fell asleep, her head dropping back against the shelves.

Rustling woke Clarice up, and she instinctively lifted her gun, aiming it toward the door.

She wasn't alone.

The shadowy figure in the doorway lurched backward, and she took a quick shot, blowing part of the frame off, bits of wood flying everywhere. A high-pitched shriek ripped through the air, followed by loud whispers and more scuffling.

"Don't scream!"

"Are you bleeding? You're bleeding!"

"Shh, it's not that bad. John's gonna kill us. Shit."

The voices sounded so young they had to be kids. One girl, one boy. Clarice mentally cursed at herself just as much as she cursed at them as her heart pounded against her ribcage. She couldn't believe she had taken a shot at a kid. They were probably a part of a pack of half-feral kids. Those were starting to pop up in places where the kids had somehow survived while all the adults were dead. But most of the nation's kids were dead. Children were easier prey than adults.

"I thought she was dead," the girl's voice said. They couldn't have been more than a foot or two away from the doorway.

"She looked freaking dead," said the boy. That was the one she had taken a shot at, judging by the conversation.

"I can hear you," Clarice mumbled, "And I'm obviously not dead."

Both of the kids went silent. There was a bit of rustling, like shoes moving over carpet.

Finally the boy spoke. "Are you going to shoot at us again?"

Clarice snorted. "Are you going to go all mini-cannibals on me?"

"We're not zombies," was the sharp reply from the boy, "But you just tried to kill us."

"No, I didn't. You woke me up, and you were all eerie in the door," she said. Shifting, she muffled a groan as her leg protested the movement. "Can't blame me for thinking you were zombies."

"So you didn't mean to shoot at us?" the girl asked.

"Well…if I knew you were alive, I wouldn't have. Are you hurt bad?"

"Yeah, I'm bleeding out. Probably be dead in a few minutes, and it's all your fault," the boy grumbled, "Be guilty."

"He is not," the girl said, "His arm just got scraped."

"It's called a graze," the boy growled, "See, I got grazed by a bullet."

Clarice made a face. She really wouldn't have taken a shot at them if she had been fully awake.

For a few moments, they were all quiet. Clarice rested the back of her head against the bookshelves. What the hell were two kids doing out here? They didn't seem to be the wild kind of kid, and it seemed like it was only the two of them. "Are you guys alone?"

"What about you?" the boy demanded. "Or did you get bit and left behind?"

Well, wasn't he just a bundle of joy. Before she could answer that, there was some kind of commotion at the front of the library, like someone was trying to quietly break down her hasty barricade. She tensed, her hand tightening around the grip of her gun again. Just because the kids didn't seem like they wanted to hurt her didn't mean whoever they were with would feel the same way.

"You think they're in here?" a man's voice asked, distant.

"Idiots…" A woman hissed. "How hard was it to stay in the truck for fifteen minutes?"

"The gunshot came from this direction," another man said, softer than the other two but somehow more intense. "James?"

"We're back here," the boy replied, "Some crazy lady shot me."

Clarice winced as she shifted again, getting ready for a fight. She had not meant to shoot at them. Or she wouldn't have if she had known they weren't the living dead.

"What?" the last voice demanded, getting louder. There was more noise, probably her barricade being hastily disassembled, which was frustrating. It had taken her a long time to set that up… "How bad? Where'd she go?"

"John, no, don't go in front of that door," the girl said, "She might shoot you, too."

"Only if you try something funny," Clarice grumbled. Her vision swam as she grabbed the bookshelf and forced herself to her feet, watching the door. She didn't like the idea of more people showing up, especially guys. Not that she couldn't handle them, but she didn't have that many bullets left if they tried to attack her. It was so hard to know whether you should trust someone or not, she usually went for not trusting anyone at all. It was easier that way.

"Stay there," the second guy said, apparently speaking to the two kids. There was silence and then quiet whispering that she couldn't make out except that everyone sounded angry and concerned or defensive. Her chest tightened. Were they going to attack her? She leveled her gun at the doorway again, determined that she wasn't going to die there. Her ankle was protesting the strain, so she tried to stay off it, resting most of her weight on the bookshelves. Every part of her ached.

"Hey," she called, "I didn't mean to shoot him. But don't come back here."

"We're not going to, psycho," the woman's voice snapped, "Do you normally just take random shots at kids?"

Clarice rolled her eyes. "Everyone needs a hobby," she growled and then sighed. "No, they startled me."

"She's hurt," the girl said, "She might be bit."

"Are you?" It was the second guy again, the one with the sort of deeper voice. It sounded like he was right by the doorway, near where they kids were hiding. He had probably snuck around using the dark shadows in the library. It was dusk, and everything was haze and shadow out there.

"If I was, I'd be trying to eat you already instead of going through all this small talk," Clarice said, "Look, I'm sorry about the kid but just...get out, this is my creepy abandoned library. Get your own."

"Sounds like too much of a smartass to be bitten," the woman said.

While it wasn't instantaneous, people quickly became incoherent and then completely bonkers soon after being bitten. The longest Clarice had seen someone hold out was fifteen minutes. Then he had started screaming uncontrollably until his jaw had come unhinged and flopped around. It wasn't pretty.

There was more whispering and a very distinct 'no' while Clarice tried to find a better position against the bookshelves. If they tried to come rob her, she would fire a warning shot and hope they left. Not that there was much for them to steal, unless they just loved fancy green water bottles and blood-stained jackets.

Could they leave already? It was taking them forever to head out. They had their kids so it was time to go.

"Hey." It was the deeper voice, and he was definitely standing right beside the door. Clarice trained her gun in that general direction. "Do you need some help? The kids say you're not doing well."

"Really?" Clarice let out a humorless laugh. "Don't play that game. If you come through that door, I'll shoot."

"Let's just leave, John," the woman said, "She doesn't want our help, and it's getting dark."

"And she tried to kill me," the boy added. James, right? Wait, who cared…she didn't need to know their names, she just needed them to leave ASAP.

"For the love of—I didn't mean to shoot you, kid!" Clarice swayed and reached back to cling to shelves behind her. The gun felt so much heavier than it normally did, and it was worse when she tried to hold it with one hand. Everything ached, and now that she was standing again, she felt terribly dizzy.

"She might die if we leave her here…" It was the girl's voice, soft and worried. "Would that make us murderers?"

"No, it makes us smart, because when she dies she'll go all zombie and try eat us, remember?" the woman's voice said sharply. "Do you want her to come gnaw on your skull? 'cause I don't."

"Lorna."

"Just because you don't like it doesn't mean it's not true."

That didn't bother her. She ignored the ice that burrowed through her veins, a sudden fear that came out of nowhere. Clarice took a deep breath. She wasn't going to die here.

"Do you at least have some water and medical supplies?" It was that same guy, John. He seemed to be hovering near the doorway, like she was suddenly going to change her mind and invite him in for a nice chat. He must not have realized that this was the apocalypse and helping a stranger could get you in more trouble than you originally thought.

"What part of get out did you not understand?" Clarice mumbled. She shook her head and then regretted it. "There is 'get' and then 'out'. Put them together and leave."

"Can I bring you an extra water bottle?"

Clarice blinked. "Oh, my god." What in the world. She stared at the doorway, wondering exactly what they planned to do with her after they lured her in with this act of kindness. They had kids, which made her think they weren't completely terrible, but then again, the kids might've been little monsters. The boy seemed like one.

"You can't just give all our supplies away!" the woman said, "John, seriously. She said for us to go, so we should maybe respect her wishes and get the hell out of here."

"What she said," Clarice chimed in. It was getting hard to stay standing, so she hoped they made up their minds soon. Her headache was growing into a migraine, and her scraped up side felt like the cold autumn air was actually setting it on fire.

"It's one water bottle," John retorted, "That's hardly all of our supplies."

"Yeah, but we can't spare you if she shoots you dead," the other guy said.

"Throw it at her if you have to, but don't go in there," the boy, James, said, "Okay?"

The voices dropped into fierce whispers again, and she couldn't hear most of it. It seemed to be a furious discussion about morals and how they shouldn't act like animals or how they had to look out for each over versus we need to survive and we can't save everybody and…ugh, they talked a lot.

Her mind drifted, her vision going hazy. How long ago had it been since she had wiped out on the road? She needed to get her bike back. Transportation was stupidly important. She hadn't totaled it, had she? God, her head felt heavy.

She felt distant from the room, her hands going numb, everything pitching to the side. Her fingers scrambled to put down her gun, and her hand slammed into a nearby desk, taking off some skin. The desk came up to meet her and she leaned to the side, instead crashing into a chair and taking it to the floor like a drunk football player making a bad tackle. She heard the voices get louder as her vision tunneled, and she saw a pair of muddy combat boots step into her line of sight before she fell fully into the darkness.

#thunderblink #clarice fong #john proudstar #eclaris

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reidimagines · 7 years

Text

Drabble requests!

Hello! So, to celebrate that I almost have 500 followers, I am doing a drabble thingy. I won’t stop taking other requests, and I am currently writing some of them, but they may get a little bet slower.

These will be dialogue prompts, you can choose one or multiple, most is seven. Then, I’ll write a drabble or short imagine. So I hope I get some requests;)

I will write for any character. However, not for the ones after season 10, because I am still catching up on that!

So, feel free to ask away! I love writing for you guys, and these will be done quickly, so you won’t have to wait that long! ;)

Important note: I am thinking of making this blog for Supernatural too???? I don’t know what you guys think of it, so please let me know! This means, as a taste of my writing for Supernatural, you can ask for those characters too! ALL of them! So, if you’d like that, please ask, I don’t bite!

Dialogue prompts:

“You didn’t just say that.”

“Whoa- dude, look at that!”

“Just because I drove into that river, doesn’t mean I’m a bad driver.”

“You locked me outside!”

“Do you trust me?” - “Not even a little bit.”

“Don’t yell at me like I’m a child!” - “Don’t throw the scissors!”

“Come over here and make me.”

“The salad here is really good.” - “Do I look like a fucking rabbit to you?”

“We’re going downtown.” - “There’s a strip club downtown.”

“Come inside, I’m sorry.” - “Not until an apology.” - “I just said i’m freaking sorry!”

“Seven fucking years and that’s all you have to say?”

“S/he tripped and won’t stop laughing!”

“Nice dancing you did there. How about you dance your way to my bed?”

“This really didn’t go as planned.” - “Is it the fact that everything is on fire that made you realize that?”

“I can’t believe that worked!” - “It was part of your plan.” - “I know! My plans never work!”

“You need to go! I’ll distract them!” - “Do you think you can outrun them?” - “If by outrun them you mean not getting caught... Probably not.”

“Don’t come near me or I swear, I’ll kill you.”

“Who did this to you?”

“If you kill them, you better kill me too. Because if you don’t, I’m going to kill you.”

“You stole what?!”

“I thought you were dead!”

“I know you love me and all, but could you stop threatening the doctor?”

“I didn’t realize I needed your permission.”

“You don’t need to protect me.”

If I knew he was going to die, do you think I would’ve done it?”

“Tell me what they did to you, please.”

“I’m trying! Can’t you see I’m trying? Isn’t that enough for you?”

“This was a terrible idea.” - “What are you talking about? There’s free nacho’s!”

“Did you seriously run head into a light pole because you saw a pretty girl?” - “I’m gay.”

“That’s-that’s your blood? Why the hell didn’t you say anything?!”

“You didn’t feel that? This is bad! You should’ve felt that!”

“S/he has internal damage. S/he is throwing up blood.”

“Could you hold my hand?”

“If you want to leave, then-” - “I don’t want to leave! I want you, you idiot.”

“Oh my God! Go to sleep! it’s three in the morning!” - “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”

“The first time I met her, she was hiding behind the sofa.”

“Why are you so cold? Get off me, you icicle!”

“Are you... Crying? You? Miss/ mister ‘I don’t cry, I’m though as hell’?” - “Shut up, everyone had their weaknesses.”

“you did this for me?” - “No, I did this for Jeffery from across the street. Yes I did this for you!”

“Well, this is a nice change of scenery.” - “Y/n, we are in a prison cell.” - “I was being sarcastic.”

“No thanks. I don’t want to get arrested for the second time today.”

“I got to admit, you’re pretty sexy with that gun. Terrifying, but sexy.”

“I don’t want you to leave.” - “I don’t want to stay.”

“When did you stop?” - “Stop with what, darling?” - “Loving me.”

“Don’t hurt me, please.”

“Nobody can tell me what to do.” - “Well, actually they can.” - “Doesn’t mean I have to listen to them.”

“Knock knock, I’m here. What’s for dinner, fucker?”

“Is violence always your answer?”

“Fight like hell.”

“Do you realize how late it is?”

“Can you please come and get me?”

Is there a reason why you’re naked in my bed?”

“If we die, I’m going to kill you.”

“I love her.” - “Her? As in a woman?” - “No, her as in a robot. Of course as in a woman, you ding-bat!”

“Are you drunk?” - “No, you’re just blurry.”

“You didn’t do the dishes, so I’m not doing you.”

“Don’t give me that look.”

“The way you flirt is just shameful.”

“I love you, you asshole.”

“What the hell kind of noise was that?” - “I sneezed.” - “That was NOT a sneeze.”

“How is she?” - “She’s fine. She’s eating an ice cream. I wish I had some ice cream.”

“This is an apology pizza. Please take it or I’ll start crying right here.”

“You’re stronger than you look.”

“Wait, you’re gay?” - “What gave it away? Constant flirting?”

“Take off your shirt.”

“you’re sweet.”

“I know I’m allergic to peanuts, but I couldn’t say no when you walked into my office with freshly baked cookies and that damned smile o your face.”

“I like it when you smile.”

“This isn’t what I had in mind, but it’s better.”

“Nothing is wrong. I just really like the smell of your lotion.”

“How long has it been since you’ve slept?”

“You make a good pillow.”

“When you think of me-If you think of me- remember how much I loved you.

“Please, just please make the pain stop.”

“Stop telling me you’re okay.”

“Don’t you dare die on me.”

“You’re beautiful/handsome and I’m not the only one to think that.”

“Bring your pretty little but over here.”

“There’s a leaf in your hair.”

“This bath is too damn hot.” - “This is why we can’t o cute stuff together. You complain too damn much.”

“That’s disgusting. You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“If you don’t rest, you won’t heal.”

“Why don’t they just kiss already?”

“Is that a challenge?”

“Here, let me see.”

“How could anyone love me?” - “Don’t look at me, I only married you for your cooking.”

“So, err. I noticed you are naked. Is that intentional, or...”

“You forgot me.” - “it was an accident.”

“Don’t say you love me because I might do something crazy like believe it.”

“Don’t you ever do that again.”

“I was wrong. I thought I wanted him to look at me twice.... But I don’t need that or him. Not when you never stopped looking at me.”

“I’m fine.” - “You don’t look fine.” - “Then stop looking.”

“The axe is a bit unsetting, but honestly, you look great.”

“You asked me if I had any ideas, not it I had any ideas that were good.”

“Remove your hand or I’ll rip your arm off and beat you to death with it.”

“So, I just realized... That I’ve been shot.”

“Don’t make me smack you in front of all these people.”

“Don’t you have to be stupid somewhere else?” - “Not until four.”

“We have like five people trying to kill us at this moment.” - “Actually, it’s more like eight.” - “Well, sorry I wasn’t specific enough.”

“When I’m not around, do you braid each others hair and discus who is the best Jonas Brother?” *B & C glance at each other.* “B: No... But it’s totally Nick.” “C: Totally Nick. But Kevin is the talented one.” “B: Yes, but Nick is the cute one.” “C: What about Joe, though?”

So, these are the prompts! If you’d like to have one gender-neutral, please let me know!

I hope you send me a request ;)

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