#(the implication is that Dot is something other than human that shifted to look like one instead of the other way round. tehe) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ddarker-dreams · 4 years

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Aspiration Part 2. Yan Chrollo x Reader [COMM]

click here for part one!

“You’ll hurt your neck if you keep craning your head down like that.”

What good it does to chastise you on an insignificant action like this is beyond you. There isn’t much else to do until you land in this “unknown” destination that he’s spoken of earlier, yet the thought of entertaining conversation with him doesn’t feel appealing either. Being kidnapped will have that effect on you, he shouldn’t expect otherwise but seems to.

“Nothing a few painkillers won’t solve.” you respond with forced disinterest, flipping to the next page of the magazine Chrollo gave you earlier. It feels like a minor loss to entertain him with a response, your cold shoulder treatment temporarily lifting.

You’ve read this magazine at least three times by now, hoping that giving your mind something to focus on will steady you in reality. The lackluster stories about summer sales, latest keto recipes, and what celebrities have been up to lately offer none to little substance. Yet your eyes continue scanning them dutifully as if it’s a sacred text recovered by a forgotten civilization.

Letting out a small yawn, you continue to read until you get to the familiar final page once again. Fully intending on completing the cycle of rereading it, Chrollo interrupts this by plucking it from your grasp before you get the chance. All you can offer in return is a halfhearted glare and grimace.

“Hey! I was reading that.” you protest with a frown, feeling vulnerable without anything to hold onto.

He ignores your agitated exclamation, placing the magazine out of your reach by his side. “I don’t believe you’re missing out on anything of importance, seeing as you’ve read it multiple times already.”

Huffing but not humoring him with a response, you cross your arms and stare out the window. The clouds below you are an enticing sight, still not enough to maintain your attention for the remaining thirty or so minutes of this flight. When traveling, it’s always the last amount of time before reaching your destination that feels like the longest.

Chrollo lets out a disapproving sigh at your actions, then pulls back his sleeve to check the time. “It won’t be much longer. I’ll attribute your current behavior to being hungry.”

“Well, yeah, there’s that,” you finally look over at him, lips pursing indignantly. “And there’s the fact that I’ve been kidnapped by an A bounty criminal and am currently heading to god knows where at four in the morning.”

“You’re by all means welcome to rest.”

How he can calmly rebuke all your thinly veiled sarcasm is a special talent, like water off a duck’s back. You don’t want to admit it, however, you’re grateful he isn’t hotheaded and offended by your boorish remarks. Watching your tongue would be how any sane person would deal with a threat like this… then there’s you. Making poor decisions and winging it. A life motto, really.

An invitation to rest your weary eyes isn’t easily declined, an alluring proposal. His presence makes it a challenge to feel comfortable enough to fall asleep, that state leaving you entirely vulnerable. When you’re awake you have some tandem of control, even if it isn’t much.

“Where exactly would I do that? I don’t see any beds in here.” You emphasize your rebuttal by glancing around the room you two occupy, as if one would materialize at your words. Now that would be a useful nen ability, if he happened to have it.

Chrollo smiles, in a way that doesn’t sit well with you. “Why not rest on my shoulder?”

“W-whatever happened to your previous care over the well being of my neck? That’ll just hurt it after five or so minutes.” you stutter back, face flushing as his lips quirk further upwards. Amusement is dancing within his dark eyes, drawing out further discomfort from you. He seems to like exchanges like this, flustering you with the same ease as breathing.

“Painkillers. You said it yourself,” Chrollo throws your previous statement before you, challenging you with a raised eyebrow. “I’d be happy to get them, if that’s the only reservation you have about sleeping on me.”

Inhaling sharply at his teasing assault, you close your eyes to prevent yourself from doing anything foolish. Gritting your teeth and balling your fists by your side, you remember why you were giving him the cold shoulder earlier. Talking to Chrollo is exasperating, all of his composed words like needles in your skin. Not wanting to swat at the wasp nest any further, your mind starts drifting, in a last ditch effort to distract yourself.

It’s been an eventful night. The most memorable night of your life, if you’re being honest. You had always acknowledged and accepted the risks of looking into the Phantom Troupe. The stories of their unabashed cruelty served as an appropriate warning. Playing it close to the chest usually entailed fear of death, so never in your wildest dreams were you expecting… whatever this is.

At least it beats dying? So you’ve got that going for you.

There isn’t anything you can do now, is what you’ve been telling yourself. Playing along with his whims is all you can think to do. It isn’t the ideal situation, but your only option now is to wait for an opening for escape. Even though Chrollo has more strength than you, he is still human. The thought offers a glimmer of encouragement, knowing that people aren’t infallible. You’ll take advantage of any weaknesses you can find.

Getting more information out of him is a path worth pursuing for the time being.

“I hope we’re not camping,” you murmur, shuddering at the horrific thought. “Bugs eat me like I’m the last supper.”

“We won’t be camping. And despite the name, the last supper isn’t actually the last time the disciples ate.” There’s something extremely ironic about a murderer correcting you on this.

“Please forgive me for not being up to date on biblical theology. I’ll be sure to correct that before the next test,” you deadpan before a realization hits you. “Wait, so what exactly are we doing? How am I even allowed to be on this blimp without my passport? God, none of this makes any sense…”

“I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever ask. To answer your questions, we’ll be staying at a hotel for a few weeks. I know some people in the area who are interested in purchasing what was stolen earlier.” Chrollo explains with a casual air, smoothing out a wrinkle in his shirt.

It all hits you again. This is really happening to you. An inescapable reality where you’re at the complete mercy of this man, who despite showing no interest in harming you, is fully capable of doing so. Your contempt style of speaking until now has been a pitiful defense mechanism to help you cope with the extremity of this situation, not doing anything aside from momentarily distracting you. Running a hand through your hair, you feel your heart pounding within once more.

Chrollo takes note of how you shift in your seat, and tilts his head. “I understand this has been quite a lot to process. I meant what I said earlier -- about having no intention to harm you -- unless you do something that forces my hand.”

He smiles, the warm action not matching up to the dark implications of his words. It makes your blood run cold, how a monster can wear the skin of a human. There isn’t any benefit of getting yourself further worked up, so you continue rambling on. Life is all about testing the boundaries of what you can and can’t get away with.

“I still… don’t really get it. I know I was looking into information about you guys, but in that case, why not just,” you gulp, fearful that saying it will solidify the possibility. “Kill me? Even more so now that I know more.”

For the first time all night, Chrollo doesn’t offer an immediate quip in response. He carefully considers your words, in a way that leads you to believe he doesn’t entirely know the answer himself. It’s not that you have a death wish, yet your curiosity is overwhelming. Whenever he does decide to grace you with an answer, maybe you’ll find out something that’ll prove useful to escaping in the future.

“There’s no simple reason that’ll satisfy you. You piqued my interest, and that’s a dangerous thing to do with a thief,” he leans over, clearly assessing you as you back away in response. “I confirmed my suspicions when we spoke earlier in the car. So for the time being… I want to observe you.”

He was right when he said the answer won’t be satisfactory. His response leaves more questions than answers, some of which you don’t want to delve into. Backing down from this befuddling conversation, you focus on something else.

The soothing night sky outside elicits butterflies in your stomach. Darkness allows for the city lights beneath to stand out, little twinkling dots of light growing closer as the blimp descends. You can’t help but feel a sense of relief knowing that you’ll be on the ground soon, a sense of claustrophobia constricting you in this room with no escape. His suffocating presence doesn’t help on that front.

Chrollo is finally considerate enough to leave you to your thoughts. Within a few more minutes you’ve made your landing, leaving through a private terminal with what has to be forged ID. A black car rental car is waiting for you outside the airport, Chrollo opening the door to the passenger seat for you. The gentleman-like act almost causes you to roll your eyes, but you’re far too exhausted to do anything other than sitting down obediently. You’ll save the cheek for a later time.

He shuts some luggage into the trunk, then starts the car with a low hum, driving off to where you presume the hotel he mentioned earlier is. Looking out the window, you squint as the sun begins to rise into the sky. Your eyelids grow heavier by the second, in spite of how desperately you cling to consciousness. Eventually, the world around you grows distant, and you’re lulled into a deep slumber.

Dreamless rest is stolen from you, Chrollo gingerly shaking your shoulders and bringing you back to cruel reality. Letting out a low groan at the unwelcome interruption, you feel like swatting his hands away. “What… oh, it’s you.”

“Good morning to you too,” If he’s bothered by your unenthusiastic greeting, he doesn’t show it. Taking out the keys from the car, the vehicle ceases making noise. “We’re here now. You did mention wanting to sleep on a bed earlier, didn’t you?”

Craning your neck to look out the window, you see only about half an hour has passed since you first fell asleep. Outside is a grandiose looking building that must be your hotel. As much as you hate to admit it, you find yourself staring at what has to be the very expensive venue. Much more than anything you could ever hope to afford. While you’re appreciating the sight before you, Chrollo gets out to get his luggage.

That’s right. What are you supposed to do for clothes anyways? All of it’s stuck back at your apartment, and you don’t think Chrollo was generous enough to pack for you. At least a hotel will have toiletries, so that won’t be a concern.

‘Oh well. I guess we’ll cross that bridge once we get to it.’

“Do you need me to carry you?” Chrollo calls over from the curb, two large suitcases in hand. You realize only one of them has a lock on it.

Not even humoring him with a response, you get out of the car, keeping your distance from him. To your understanding, attempting to flee or signal down anyone will earn “unwanted consequences”, or at least that’s how he put it. It’s one thing to endanger yourself in a daring escape, but you can’t justify putting other’s lives on the line.

Morning chill prompts you to wrap your arms around yourself, warding off the cold. Following Chrollo’s lead, you head through revolving doors into a breathtaking lobby. Warm, yellow light from a glass chandelier basks the room in an ethereal glow, accenting the white marble flooring. He walks up to one of the employees behind a desk, checking in and getting a key to the room.

In the liberating few minutes away from Chrollo, your eyes sweep the surroundings for any openings. Is it possible to make a run for it for one of the cars outside? He’s fast -- you’ve seen it for yourself -- undoubtedly more than you. Such an obvious attempt at escape will only be met with failure. The lobby is wide open, no possibilities for hiding evident.

‘There goes that idea.’

Your insistent glancing around the area must’ve given you away, Chrollo placing a warning hand on your shoulder, and giving a firm squeeze. “Let’s head to our room. You must be exhausted by now.”

Once again offering no signs of protest, you head to an elevator together. Chrollo hits the button with the highest number on it. Ascending upwards, you watch the lights around the rims of the buttons with interest until it reaches level thirty. The elevator adds to your dizziness, a fuzzy feeling budding in your head.

With a ding, the door opens to reveal a long hallway. Chrollo checks the number on his key once more, before navigating to a room.

Finally, after what feels like forever, he opens the door to your shared suite. The lobby clued you in earlier that this is no cheap hotel, the suite confirming that. Since it’s at the top of the building, the entire city is visible to you. It’s a breathtaking sight, one that keeps you entranced as Chrollo shuts the door behind you. Looking out the window, you see more signs of life as the morning progresses.

The glass opens up to a balcony, the handle locked and cold to the touch. It’s probably not a good idea to walk out without permission, not sure of the act could be interpreted in a negative way.

Chrollo takes a place by your side, a little too close for your liking. Amidst the beauty before him, he’s more interested in looking at you. “I take it you like the view?”

“I’ve never been in a place like this,” you tell him, eyes wide and mouth agape at the breathtaking scenery. “If I had known we’d be staying here, I would’ve let you kidnap me sooner.”

“That’s a joke, by the way.”

He chuckles lowly at your rushed cover up, thinking little of it. “Are you hungry?”

Now that gets your attention. You can only imagine how wonderful the food here is, and you haven’t had anything to eat since your dinner last night. Having gone so long without food you’re surprised you aren’t ravenous, the kidnapping likely stunting your appetite. Still, you won’t be turning down the offer.

You nod your head to confirm his words. Chrollo walks over to a phone in the room to place an order for room service, quietly listing off a variety of breakfast foods. While he’s occupied doing this, you look around what will be your residence for the next few weeks. He must not take any issue in your wondering about, seeing as he’s covering the only possible exit. How considerate of him.

While he’s busy placing an order, you wonder off to take in your surroundings. From the door that leads to the hallway is a small closet on the left, and an expansive kitchen in the middle of the room. To the right of which is a living room, all surrounded by glass windows. That leaves your sleeping arrangement.

Saving the bedroom for last, your fears are confirmed. You realize that even in such an expansive suite, there’s only a single bedroom, with a king sized bed. Luck doesn’t seem to be on your side. Well, it’s not like you can’t sleep on the floor or couch if the opportunity presents itself. A nagging voice in the back of your mind tells you Chrollo won’t allow for that, unfortunately.

Plopping yourself down on the right side of the bed, you could almost melt into the comfortable mattress. Tempting as it is to fall asleep, you don’t trust Chrollo enough to give that a shot. Frowning at your fancy evening wear from the previous night, your previous concern about not having any clothes to change into returns. The bathroom did have a fluffy, white robe in it.

‘That feels too vulnerable... I’ll take my chances with the dress.’

Getting up before you fall asleep, you look around for anything that might be useful. The phone in the living room might be an idea, if you could somehow call and alert the staff of your predicament. Something tells you Chrollo has already taken that into account, and you write off the idea as soon as it appears.

Speaking of Chrollo, he enters the bedroom with an inviting cart of food in front of him. Everything from hashed browns, scrambled eggs, pastries, pancakes, bacon and waffles sit atop silver plates.

“I wasn’t sure what you like, so I got everything. Help yourself.”

Not needing to be told twice, you grab a plate and go to town. Chrollo grabs a steaming cup of tea, taking a sip and sitting down next to you. The bed creaks underneath his added weight, you too occupied with eating to care about the implications of his action.

He raises the glass to his lips. “Is there anything else you want to ask me, [First]?”

Swallowing your previous bite, you give his question some thought. There is plenty on your mind that you’d love to know. A better, more conclusive answer for why he kidnapped you at the top of that list. You recall how he looked detached from reality when you asked him about it on the blimp, leading you to believe that asking again will earn a similar result.

‘It’d be best to play it safe for now.’

“Yes, actually,” you take a bite of a blueberry muffin, wiping your mouth before continuing. “Am I supposed to wear this damned dress for the remainder of this... arrangement?”

"As lovely as you look in it, no. One of the suitcases has clothes for you, among other things.”

Blinking at this new information, you wonder if he ever intended on telling you this. In your short time of being acquainted with Chrollo, you’ve picked up on how he rewards you for conversation. Humiliating as it is to play along with his tune, you’ll have to do just that.

“Other things...?” you repeat back in a faint murmur, showcasing your confusion by tilting your head. Chrollo nods his head in affirmation to this, setting his now empty tea cup on a nightstand with a faint click.

“You strike me as the type to want something to do, so I went through the trouble of procuring a few of your belongings. A few books, and the like.”

‘Ah. How terribly considerate of him.’

It’s not much, but knowing you have some of your personal possessions is comforting. Anything is better than being stuck alone with him, or your thoughts. The worst possible case scenarios.

Your meal now finished, you get up and place your dirty plates back onto the tray. Chrollo continues relaxing, eyes still following your every moment. How is he not exhausted? The only thing keeping you awake is your fear of what could happen when you’re asleep, and even that is beginning to wane. Maybe some caffeine will help with that.

“I’m gonna get my stuff.” you call over, holding your breath in anticipation of a response.

At his lack of protest, you assume this action is approved of. Helping yourself to the suitcase without a lock on it, you unzip it to find it’s just as he said. Some of your clothes from home, your switch, books, a few offline games, your favorite perfume, shampoo and body wash.

It’s creepy to know someone went into your residence and took your stuff, but that’s the least of your problems right now. While grabbing a change of clothes, a thought hits you. Looking up towards the phone Chrollo used to call room service earlier, your hand twitches by your side. It’s a temptation, taunting you over the possibility of freedom.

‘He’s in the other room relaxing. Maybe, just maybe I have enough time...’

Cautiously, as not to alert him of your scheme, you begin to silently tiptoe over to the phone. Time feels like it goes slower, not even trusting yourself to breathe in fear of him hearing it. Hand hovering over your possible saving grace, your fingers grow closer to pressing 9.

That’s when he appears in the corner of your eye, leading you to hurriedly bring back your hand and straighten your back.

“I already cut the wires. It was a good idea though.” he calls over from the doorway, leaning against it and smiling in a way that makes your stomach curl. Not a single detail has gone overlooked, but what were you expecting from a mastermind criminal who has managed to go this long without being caught?

Checking to see if his words hold any merit, you find it’s just as he said. Wires cut in a single clean motion, biting your lip as your hopes evaporate in front of you.

It reminds you of Tantalus. Who was cursed to be hungry and thirsty forever, in the taunting reach of food and water that’d recede whenever he went to partake in it. An eternal punishment you’re now being subjected to.

‘I should’ve known it wouldn’t have been so easy. Still, how could he have not made a single sound? I didn’t even hear the bed creak.’

Laughing nervously at being caught, you step back as to avoid further consequence, cheeks flushing at being caught in your measly attempt. “Just... checking to make sure all is in order, aha...”

Walking away from it, you look to change the subject. Chrollo doesn’t seem bothered by your defiant actions, having clearly already anticipated your idea. He rolls out the cart from before, leading you to stiffen when he walks past you. Heart pounding away in your chest, you silently observe him opening the door to place it outside.

He looks back at your anxious form after shutting the door. “I’d rather not have to constantly monitor you. Whether or not I do will be determined by how you act.”

There’s a thick pressure in the room from his words, one that pushes down on you like a heavy weight. Unable to maintain eye contact with him any longer, you look to the side, clutching your clothes to your person. Chrollo doesn’t have to resort to infuriated threats or physical violence, his presence commanding enough on its own.

To ease the tension in the air, Chrollo speaks up. “If I happened to leave out anything you need, let me know.”

Grateful for the change in subject, you nod your head in a daze. From now on you’ll have to be more discreet. Mentally slapping yourself for not giving your earlier actions more consideration, you move on at Chrollo’s lack of reprimanding.

“Is it alright if I get changed?” you speak up, voice meek enough to remind you of a mouse. Chrollo considers you before nodding his head. You jump at the opportunity to be alone, borderline running to the master bathroom and shutting the door behind you.

Looking in the mirror, you see your frowning reflection staring back. Placing a hand to your face, you inspect the bags forming underneath your eyes. Peeling off the dress feels heavenly, using a wet rag on the sink to quickly clean your body. Showering with a murderer in the other room isn’t a tempting proposition.

Putting on your clothes, you feel like a new person. Straightening up your hair and splashing your face with cold water, you place your hands onto the cool marble counter top.

‘I’m going to get out of this. It’ll be okay, [First]. Stay calm.’

Finishing your mini pep talk, you fold your previous outfit and place it on the floor. Will Chrollo even allow someone into your room to clean it? Not that it matters, seeing as you spotted a washer and dryer earlier.

He’s sitting up in bed when you open the door, a book now in hand. At your presence, he looks up to acknowledge you. Chrollo’s dark hair frames his face, and you flush at his admittedly handsome appearance. How are you supposed to remain composed in his company?

“I can close the blinds if you intend to sleep.” he offers before turning to the next page of his book.

Oh, that’s right. Now that you’re wearing pajamas he must assume you want to sleep. The next hurdle of this headache inducing dilemma, Chrollo having the expectation of you resting next to him. Eyelids feeling heavier by the second, you wonder how much coffee would be necessary to keep you awake.

That’d still be delaying the inevitable. Coffee or not you won’t be able to stay conscious forever. Earlier, when you fell asleep in the car, he didn’t do anything weird... right? Nothing that you can account for.

He looks up at you, noting your lack of response. Unfreezing from your prior stiff position, you make the decision to sit down next to the bed. Chrollo most likely wants you where he can see you after your previous stunt, and sleeping on the floor isn’t the worst thing in the world.

Aside from the back pains.

Making yourself comfortable, you fully intend to fall asleep on the floor. Chrollo closes his book at your antics, coming over to your side of the bed and frowning. “What are you doing?”

“I’m about to sleep.”

“... On the floor?”

“Yeah, that’s the plan.”

Unreadable grey eyes pierce through your being, sending chills down your spine. From your previous interactions with him, you thought a measly sign of resistance such as this one wouldn’t matter. Your initial assessment must be incorrect, as he sends you a disapproving look.

“There’s no reed for that.” he reasons with you, leaving little room for argument. Not wanting to give in, you remain planted in your spot. Without wasting anymore time, he gets up and crouches next to you. You wonder if he’s going to chastise you further for your childish actions.

He instead lifts you up in a single, fluid motion. A small noise of shock leaves your lips at the sensation of being hoisted up, scrambling to clutch onto him in fear of falling. It doesn’t last long, as he places you down onto the bed with gentleness that you didn’t expect him to have.

Arms receding back to his side, Chrollo returns to his previous position as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred. You feel your face burning, a bright red glow coupled with it. The scent of his cologne lingers, memory of his touch flustering you further.

Clearing your throat to play off the events, you still can’t manage to look at him. “I was planning on sleeping here, actually. Was just testing the floor out.”

He opens his book back up to its previous page, lips quirking into an amused smile. “I’m sure you were.”

Having no other options, you lay on your side facing the wall. Muscles taut and incapable of relaxing in his presence, you squeeze your eyes shut to no avail. All you hear is the gentle hum of the air conditioner on the wall, and the occasional page flip from him.

More time passes, at a snails pace. An hour ago you would’ve entered slumber easily, now it taunts and eludes you. Huffing at your inability to rest, you adjust yourself against the soft mattress.

Sighing quietly in defeat, you attempt to make conversation to pass the time. “Do you not ever need to sleep?”

“I’ll be fine for a while longer. Are you concerned for my well being?” You can imagine the smug visage on his face, clear as day. It’s tempting to want to bite back with no, you’re not very worried about his health. You bite your tongue and instead ignore the teasing.

Sitting up and hugging your knees to your chest, you look over at him. His guard is still on high alert even while he’s reading. There’s an immeasurably gap in strength between you two, accented by his casual demeanor.

“That makes two of us. I don’t feel tired now,” you narrow your eyes in his direction, wanting desperately to know what it is he’s thinking. “Something tells me we’re not going to be sitting here all day.”

“For a majority of it. I’ll consider taking you out for dinner if you continue acting agreeable.”

Tempting you with food, huh? It’s a most valiant effort, one that almost threatens to win you over. Especially since cities always have a variety of nice restaurants to choose from. Giving his proposition some thought, you realize there might be a catch. There always is with these kinds of ordeals.

“What is your definition of... agreeable?”

Disliking the way the word feels on your tongue, you purse your lips. Dehumanizing is how you’d describe it, knowing that your actions are being analyzed and studied. If Chrollo notices the bitterness in your voice, he doesn’t feel a need to mention it.

“I don’t care much for labels, but I’d equate it to wanting to date you. I told you earlier that I had taken an interest in you, that’s what I meant.” Chrollo explains to you with ease that tells you how much thought he’s given it.

When he had told you he was interested in you earlier, you thought he meant it in an entirely different way. Like how you find a certain movie interesting or entertaining. Now you’re unsure what to think. Mind swarming with thoughts ranging from maybe it’s a good thing, to what do you do now?

Finally, you deliver your eloquent and delicately woven response, having put every level of care into it.

“Oh.”

Glancing over at your dumbfounded expression, he can’t help but laugh airily at your mortified look.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

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niqhtlord01 · 4 years

Text

Humans are weird: Political Maneuvering

The human placed a small paper bound package on to the table and slid it over to which the Vojocal grabbed it with ease and ripped it open. As the contents fell across the table the Vojocal’s eyes darted between the falling Federation credits and frowned.

“This is not enough.”

They threw the paper wrappings back at the human and smacked the table with their hand. The action made them unstable and they wobbled before their three legs could regain their footing but they had wagered it would be sufficient to unnerve the human. The Vojocal people were civilized just like any other space fairing species of the cosmos, but their appearance made them somewhat difficult to interact with.

Standing at roughly two meters tall on three legs they resembled what humans would call “ant eaters” with their long mouths and tongues. What made them difficult to interact with was their skin pattern. Rather than a single bath of fur or skin tone they had a selection of scales that would change pattern as they moved. The pattern shifted randomly but each pattern it took on it would be disorienting to the eye to look at, like an optical illusion that just didn’t make sense.

The two humans standing behind the one sitting made to reach for something at their sides but were stalled with a wave of the sitting humans hand.

“That was the agreed upon amount.” said the sitting human. They tried to stare down the Vojocal but they were having trouble holding it without having to break away and rub their eyes. “You’re not getting cold feet now are you Foldif?”

Foldif spread his arms wide in a motion that once again made the humans avert their eyes. “That was before I ran into complications.”

“How are complications my problem?”

“Because complications for me mean I needed to do more work; and more work means more effort; and more effort” Foldif smirked, “means more payment.”

The human sighed loudly and motioned with one of them to come forward and they brought up a large suitcase and placed it on the table. Popping several latches it opened to reveal several dozen more stacks of credits.

Foldif pulled the case over and examined the credits as his eyes widened over the amount of wealth now before him. He was transfixed for but a moment before looking back at the human.

“You think you can buy me off wi-”.

“I would consider your next words carefully.” the human cut in before Foldif could finish. “I am being generous. It would be wise for you to not become greedy.”

Understanding the threat Foldif backed down as he saw he had pressed his luck as far as it would go with the human buyers. They wanted what he had, but they had also come with a limit they were willing to pay for rather than just killing him and taking it for themselves.

Closing the case Foldif pulled out a small storage device and slid it across to the human.

“Everything you need to know about the coming offensive is on it. Dates, locations, army groups, supply depots, fleet movements.” Foldif rambled off everything he had collected as the human pulled out a scanner and plugged the storage device in and began going over the contents. “With this you will soundly win the war.”

The human pulled the storage device out and placed it into their pocket. “Once we’ve verified the information we’ll be in touch.” They stood and made for the turned to the door as the two behind him opened the door and exited.

The human Foldif had been dealing with stopped at the door and turned back to look at him. “In the future, it would be wise to plan ahead so there would be no more “complications”. You’re an investment worth keeping, but not going broke on. Remember that.” With that they tipped their hat and left leaving Foldif alone in the room.

After the human left Foldif pulled over the case again and began counting the credits he had just earned. He had gotten through a single stack when he heard a commotion outside that brought his attention up.

Without warning bright lights lit up from outside and filled the room in a blinding glow. Foldif made to cover his eyes and only then could hear the shouting of voices outside. One of them was the human he had been just dealing with though he couldn’t be sure. He had just began recovering his eyesight when a loud crack of auto fire rippled from the street below and Foldif dove for cover.

A short brutal exchange of gunfire came from below with a few stray rounds firing upwards and shattering several of the windows.

Foldif was still hiding under his cover when the provosts kicked in his door and leveled their weapons at him.

“Foldif Makthren,” the lead provost shouted as they pulled out a pair of restraints, “you are under arrest for high treason.”

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“Our operatives were discovered shortly after the transaction was complete and killed on sight while attempting to flee.” The sub commander looked frustrated bu twas keeping a level head as they read the report of the latest failed mission to the head director of the Intelligence Subterfuge Agency, or more commonly known as the ISA. “Our informant was likewise discovered and is being held now awaiting trial.”

The director was reading along with the report as it was read out loud; casually flipping back and forth between the pages as if confirming things in their mind.

“We have lost not only a vital team of field agents but our highest placed source within the Vojocal Federation.” The sub commander took on a more defeated demeanor. “I will accept full responsibility and tender my resignation by the end of the day.”

Finally looking up the director looked somewhat surprised. “Failure?” The director inquired, “What failure?”

It was the sub commanders turn to look confused. “For failing to obtain the recent enemy campaign plans.”

Waving it away the director motioned for the sub commander to take a seat opposite him. They were all smiles as they pulled out a small glass container and poured two glasses of liquor.

“The operation was never about getting the plans, it was about framing the informant.”

“Sire, i don’t understand.”

The director keyed in something into his desk and the holographic image of the informant appeared. “Foldif Makthren; age 79, single, no family, no love interests, no outside work friends or other relations; one might even go so far as to describe our friend here as a complete loser in his society.” The director chuckled at their own seeming reverent wit and continued.

“Normally he would be a complete waste of time were it not for who he works for as an executive aide.” The director keyed a few more keys in and the image changed to another alien. “Supreme leader Volgrim.”

“I’m afraid I still don’t follow sir.” the sub commander chipped in.

“The mission was to frame Foldif and implicate him in an act of treason. Being the highest level aide to the supreme leader thus in turn implicates Volgrim into the affair as well.”

The director took a pause to sip their drink. “What would you say if my aide was caught sleeping with my wife without me knowing?”

Not knowing how to respond the sub commander remained silent.

“Come on, give me an answer.”

“I would say, that you are not that observant.” the sub commander ventured.

The director smiled. “Exactly. People would be talking behind my back questioning everything I did after that. Which is exactly why we did it to Volgrim.”

The dots started to connect one at a time as the director continued.

“Foldif’s trial will besmirch Volgrim’s image in the eyes of his people now regardless if he’s found guilty or not. Now his opponents have been given ammunition to question him and hound his every action as subversive. He will be spending much more time trying to protect his political career rather than preparing the next invasion of human space.”

Something wasn’t adding up even as the director spoke and the sub commander could not wait any longer for its answer.

“That’s all well in good and all, but that still doesn’t answer how they knew we would be meeting them.”

Finishing their drink the director set it down and crossed their fingers. “They found out because I fed them the tip.

“You what!?!”

The sub commander rose up in shock but the director calmly waved them down again.

“I tipped them off to ensure the team would be caught only moments after leaving the aide’s apartment, thus insuring a direct line of evidence leading back to him.”

“But why would you sell out your own team?”

The director shrugged. “They had failed me on several jobs before and I had told them this was their chance to regain my favor. Granted I failed to mention the job was destined to fail but in the end it all worked out rather nicely.”

#HUMANS ARE WEIRD #humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #scifi #story

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one-boring-person · 4 years

Note

Could you do a poly with all the boys being secret admirers(?) leaving lil hints and gifts at the SO house because they don’t know how to flirt without scaring ppl and don’t want to scare her and Paul gets caught placing a gift at her door cause he’s a dummy (sorry this is so odd!)

It's not odd, don't worry! I had fun writing this!💛💛💛 I hope you like it!!

You?

The Lost Boys x reader

Warnings: none

Masterlist

At first, I wasn't sure what to think. A small box of chocolates turned up one day outside my door, no note attached, no real hints as to the gifter's identity, a single rose appearing the next day in a similar state. I ignored them both, thinking nothing of it until more and more gifts started appearing, around two or three a week, each of them different to the last. Mentioning it to my friends, I decided I needed to tell someone, worried as to what might be happening, and whether or not I should trust the trinkets appearing on my doorstep, only feeling a little reassured when one or two bring up the thought of me having a stalker, the others all laughing it off, telling me it's probably some boy from the Boardwalk trying to subtly give away his feelings for me. None of this made me feel any better.

That same night, the first note appeared.

Written in sprawling, yet neat, cursive, the note read a little like a poem, or riddle, remaining completely ambiguous as I tried to use all the previously useless analytical skills I learned in high school English lessons to figure out what it meant, only to be left completely in the dark. Even the signature was a mystery: four little dots, alternating between filled in and left empty, giving no real implication of the writer's true identity. Surprisingly, the paper itself is expensive and more akin to vellum than the usual printer paper that I'd expect, implying that the writer must be a particularly well off person, especially since the handwriting is done in smooth, red ink. The colour surprised me at first, but I soon chalked it down to some ridiculous romantic idea.

More and more notes turned up, all of them written in what appears to be four different hands, one scrawling, one neat, one looping and the last more childlike in style, as if different people wrote them. Thinking this to be another strange tactic of sorts, I continue to gather the slips of paper, piling them in a small box under my bed, finding their messages of admiration and longing endearing and strangely comforting, happy to know someone out there feels strongly enough about me to write to me, though there is always a nagging feeling that it's little creepy.

As time wore on, i received many more gifts, ranging from earrings to chocolates to books. At times, I feel entirely sure of the person being a stalker, especially when specific things I've been meaning to buy turn up, like the beautiful necklace I spotted on the Boardwalk, which was conveniently slipped into my postbox the next day, accompanied by a note in neat cursive stating that they thought it would "look much better on [me] than on the stall table top".

To say I'm curious is an understatement. I've been trying for months to catch them out, coming home earlier from work, or dropping into the house between visits to the Boardwalk, constantly keeping an eye open for people on the streets, though I never see anything, which just perplexes me further. I ask around the neighbours, but they only tell me what I know: gifts materialize on my porch, apparently on their own without any human aid. Later that night, another note accompanying an earring is slipped through the door explaining to me that they'd reveal themselves when they were ready, though it spoke in a plural sense, as if talking about multiple people, which can't be the case, even though it would explain the different handwriting. One night in the following days, the note comes littered with little droplets of crimson liquid which smelt like iron, reminding me grimly of blood - the gift with this one is a band patch, which I hesitantly sew onto my coat the same day, hoping that it comes from a decent person.

Tonight, I come home expecting there to be nothing (a box of sweets was left for me the night before), trekking slowly down the road in an exhausted silence, having worked a long day with rather irritating colleagues, not really paying much attention to the surroundings until I reach my house. At this point, I reach into my pocket and pull out my keys, jangling them slightly as I look up again, freezing in place at what I'm seeing.

A tall man is bent over my doorstep, his body tensing as he hears me reach the drive, his face snapping round fearfully as he does so, figure straightening in seconds when he spots me. Vaguely, I can see a dark shape at his feet, instantly revealing his identity to me, a burst of curiosity and interest sparking to life within me, drawing me to observe his face in the pale cast of the streetlights, marvelling at the bright blue eyes that stare at me from under a mop of blonde hair, lips parted slightly in surprise as he looks me over, his identity finally falling in place - one of Santa Carla's mischievous biker gang.

"You?" Is all I manage, eyes widening as he takes a step forwards, eyes remaining locked with mine as he starts edging around me, his countenance betraying his sudden discomfort. Frozen in confusion and curiosity, it's all I can do to watch him make his way around me and to the main road, where he starts running away, long legs carrying him away from me with ease, leaving me feeling utterly bewildered.

After a few more minutes, I move over to the door, grabbing the gift as I step inside, still reeling a little from what just happened. Opening the small box, I look inside to see a small silver pin badge in the shape of a tiny bat, it's eyes made up of miniscule rubies that flicker slightly in the dim light of my hallway, the detail on it precise and accurate. A note is attached to the pin, which I pull away to open up and read, taking note of the handwriting - the more childlike style. Reading through it, I smile before pinning the badge onto my coat, replaying the written words in my head as I do so:

Wear this and we'll know you're ready to talk with us. If we see it on your jacket, we'll come over to you,

•°•°

I shift slightly on my feet as I lean back against the wall of parting the beach from the Boardwalk, biting at my nails as I do so, my coat pulled tightly around my shoulders, not really doing much except for expressing my intentions and wishes to my secret admirer. The bat sits well amongst my other pin badges and brooches, the blood-red eyes glittering in the lights coming from some lit fire barrels a little way away, giving the metal creature a more life-like appearance, despite its size. In addition to this, I also wear some of the other gifts: an earring with a loop of leather pushed through it, a bracelet of twisted strands and beads and a chain necklace from a few weeks back. In my haste to impress my admirer, I forgot to sort out some form of back up plan in case something goes wrong, though I highly doubt it will.

A low chuckle interrupts my thoughts, my eyes instantly drawn to the platinum figure before me, scrutinizing his incredibly handsome features briefly before realising exactly who it is. A quick flick behind him shows me that the other three are there, too, including the one I believe to be my secret admirer. Wary of them, I shuffle uncomfortably as I wait for them to make some sort of comment.

"C-can I help you?" I question them, cursing the involuntary stutter in my words.

"You wanted to meet us, didn't you?" The leader returns, lifting an eyebrow as he speaks, his smooth voice resonating pleasantly in my ears.

"I don't remember telling you guys that." I say, not quite grasping what's going on.

"You're wearing the bat, which means you want to meet with us." The shorter blonde butts in, gesturing to the pin on my coat.

I look down at it briefly, my eyes widening as I suddenly understand what is being implied.

"Hold on, all four of you are my secret admirers?!"

"Yep." The taller blonde confirms, reaching over to shake my hand with a smile, "I'm Paul."

The shorter blonde offers me his hand next, smiling happily at me with large doe eyes.

"I'm Marko."

The tall, dark haired one steps forwards, lifting my hand to press his lips against it in greeting.

"Dwayne." He supplies quietly, eyes betraying his excitement and joy.

"And you can call me David." The leader adds, slinging an arm around my shoulders with a confidence I've never seen from someone shy enough to send letters instead of directly asking me out.

"Right, well, I'm (Y/n)." I murmur, feeling a little overwhelmed.

"We know." The blonde smirks, leading me away.

#the lost boys #joel schumacher #vampire #david(thelostboys)#kiefer sutherland #paul(the lost boys)#dwayne(the lost boys)#santa carla #marko(the lost boys)#star(the lost boys)

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faerytale-au · 4 years

Text

A Darkness Lingers Pt.1

Word Count: 8,805 Fourth Prompt Place: During and After “Promises and Tokens” Rating: M TW: Mentions of Past Abuse Part 1 - Part 2 Cross posted to Ao3 here!

(During Prom&Tok)

“So your brother’s getting hitched, talk about a shocker.” Papyrus casually gave Undyne the side eye as they walked. Why everyone kept repeating that he didn’t fully understand. Sans could be devoted if he wanted to be, after all he had helped raise him since he was young, even back when their father was still around.

“I SUPPOSE TO THE UNOBSERVANT EYE IT WOULD BE QUITE THE SHOCK YES.” Undyne could always tell when Papyrus was being sarcastic.

“Hey, I’m not the only one who thinks that, you have to admit Sans doesn’t really do much unless he absolutely has to. I wouldn’t call this a necessity either.” Papyrus stopped in place to stare at her.

“IS THERE A REASON YOU’RE BRINGING THIS UP RIGHT NOW?” When she’d all but demanded him to walk with her to work with the excuse that they were heading the same direction he’d been expecting some friendly chatter.

Not a cross examination.

Undyne stopped beside him and folded her arms, her expression turning serious as she seemed to contemplate something. “Is the wedding even going to be legal?”

Papyrus was offended. “WHY OF COURSE IT WILL BE! WHY ARE YOU EVEN ASKING THAT?”

“It’s just well...Frisk is a mage.” Undyne stated plainly as she placed both her hands on her hips. Papyrus didn’t see what her point was, and so narrowed his sockets at her suspiciously. He knew she was uneasy with the thought of mages walking around, but last he was aware Undyne liked Frisk.

“THE ROYAL FAMILY AS I RECALL HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH MARRIAGES BETWEEN CLANS. THOSE ARE VERY MUCH STILL PERSONAL MATTERS AND DECISIONS LEFT TO THOSE ENGAGING IN THE BINDING CEREMONY.” Papyrus casually dismissed. But Undyne only seemed more reluctant about dropping the conversation as she frowned.

“That’s another thing, does she know what a binding ceremony even means Paps?” Ah, there was the crux of the matter, he could tell by the way her gaze skirted around him, but he was confused.

“I’D ASSUME SHE DOES, THE HUMANS MIMIC THE WHOLE PROCESS RATHER EFFICIENTLY IN THEIR OWN CEREMONIES.”

What was there to even know he wondered?

A binding ceremony meant exactly what it was called, the two participating became tied to each other usually until one or both parties fell down shortly before dusting. In the meantime their tokens they exchanged, powered through the upholding of their promises, would act like soft mood detectors and tracking beacons. They would be able to tell when one was in danger or had gone somewhere far away from the other.

But then again that was for Seelie.

Papyrus had no clue what rules would apply to his brother and Frisk, he didn’t even know if it would work the same for them.

He did know however so long as she stayed in the realm and remained a mage her lifespan was sure to endure as long as any other Seelie. However Mages and regular humans didn’t go through the falling down process when reaching the end.

For the briefest moment Papyrus felt a flicker of doubt and worry for his sibling.

What would it mean if Frisk was somehow killed or died before him? Most Seelie didn’t survive when their partner passed away, and there had been stories of the effects tokens could have on those that still lived.

He didn’t want to think about the implications a token from a powerful human soul could have.

So he didn’t.

But Undyne did have very good reasons to worry.

“AND IF SHE DOESN’T I’M SURE IT WILL BE EXPLAINED TO HER. ARE THERE ANY OTHER CONCERNS THAT ONLY INCREASE THE JOVIAL MOOD I AM IN?” Undyne didn’t want to voice it seeing how his expression went neutral, his sockets habitually going wide with an empty grin to match, just as Sans’s so often did when he was talking about a subject he was uncomfortable with.

Still it was a legitimate question that needed asking. “Yeah, last one Paps. Who’s going to bind them? Last I checked the job belonged to the clan elder, or to the oldest member and your dad is…” She couldn’t bring herself to finish.

Papyrus’s smile finally dropped completely. “AH, I WAS THINKING ABOUT THAT MYSELF. I AM AWARE I AM TECHNICALLY BY TRADITION TOO YOUNG TO KNOW ABOUT THE CLAN RITES, AND THAT SANS IS THE ELDEST BUT GIVEN THE CIRCUMSTANCES I AM HOPING HER MAJESTY AND GERSON WILL BE KIND ENOUGH TO LET ME LEARN AT LEAST THIS ONE.”

“Is that why you’re heading to the castle with me?”

Papyrus forced his smile back on but it was so easy to tell for the other Seelie how fake it was. “ONE REASON YES.”

Undyne shifted in place awkwardly. She was never good with emotions when it came to someone other than Alphys but she was insightful enough to know when an invisible line had been crossed.

“Look, I’m sorry I brought up Ga--”

“IT’S FINE!” She jolted at how quickly he cut her off and Papyrus was quick to rub the back of his vertebra as he offered an apologetic smile. “IT’S NOT EXACTLY A GOOD THING TO MENTION HIS NAME, YOU KNOW THE POWER BEHIND SUCH THINGS.”

“...You mean the power for him behind such things.” She glowered.

Papyrus didn’t respond, simply stared at her, with all the patience many would have thought him incapable of. It was clear he wasn’t willing to continue the conversation. Her sigh of defeat was enough to make him silently grateful even as it irritated her.

“Sorry for the questioning. C’mon we’re going to be late.”

He smiled and went to follow, only to pause as a thick foreboding chill ran the length of his spine. Papyrus peered over his shoulder as the air around him became saturated with malevolent energy and the taste of sulfur.

If he focused long enough he swore he could see the minimalist movement out of his peripheral, the area usually reserved for wisps or other mischievous Fae that sought to cause havoc.

He was usually never bothered by such things.

But a clan member could always tell when their eldest was nearby, Seelie or Unseelie alike.

“PAPYRUS! ARE YOU COMING!?”

Gaster watched from behind the veil as Papyrus turned back around and sauntered off after Undyne. He could tell his magic was riled but the lanky skeleton kept it cleverly concealed as he chased after the blue fish Seelie.

It was almost impressive how his youngest’s magic control had developed he thought absently.

But then he lingered on what he’d heard.

So his oldest son was getting married? The possibility of such a thing never once crossed his mind, seeing how cold and distant Sans had become in the years following his departure, it was quite the surprise.

Someone made Sans happy, enough to break through his guarded detachment and a human no less. Oh what irony that was.

Gaster’s corrupted soul gave a sickening twist as a foul wave of contempt overcame him.

He supposed he wasn’t due an invite.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t by all rights allowed to meet the bride. He always knew his eldest had a soft spot for the other race that was simply his nature as it was all Seelie’s, but to go so far as to bind them to their family name?

What made this one so special?

Frisk wasn’t experienced when it came to cooking.

In her youth when she had to fend for herself she usually had a kind neighbor to help her, or if she was really lucky the town’s crops would already be just beginning to ripen and she’d pluck one or two fruits for a meal when she was hungry.

None of that required fire or pots.

So why it had been a good idea to Papyrus and her...fiancé...to let her make dinner she had no idea. She was even a bit worried she’d potentially end up burning the house down; how was she supposed to know when the meat was fully cooked, let alone magic meat too.

Her narrowed eyes flickered over to the cookbook Papyrus had set up for her.

It said to simmer the meat until browned...how did one simmer meat?

Magic maybe? Wasn’t that always the answer?

Frisk was so busy worrying and glaring at the food to notice as a thin shadow slipped from the kitchen doorway behind her, it’s shapeless form gliding across the floor to rest just behind her own feet.

It lingered still as could be while Frisk hummed and begun to look over seasonings.

Slowly the shadow darkened and grew upwards like a pillar of smoke, it’s ascent silent as the grave as it twisted and enlonged. It continued to grow until it was just tall enough it threatened to touch the ceiling and all the while Frisk was ignorant to its presence..

The sharp popping of the meat and a loud gasp from her was enough to cover a nauseous sound of rolling curd and dolloping phlegm, the crackle of raw magic, and the food’s smell of char as it burned was enough to mask a scent of coal and wood.

A face, white and round, cracked from the left corner of its mouth with a matching lightning bolt jagged like cut curving up from it’s right eye rolled out from the churning darkness to grin wide and maliciously at the human woman’s back.

So this was her?

Gaster tilted his head as he took in her appearance with an apathetic look. About average height, dressed simply in Seelie garb, but to his keen eye all together plain looking. He couldn’t see anything that would have coaxed his son’s attentions.

Nothing truly remarkable stood out about her that he could see. There were even faint scars dotting her arms if he looked close enough, a feature that normally would’ve been off putting among her kind he was sure, he could even see one or two trying to show from under the collar of her shirt.

Yet.

There had to be something he was missing.

A flare of brilliant magic circled his right socket as a monocle formed and his frown curved up into a smile both fascinated and intrigued. Right in the center of her being he could see a heart floating and radiating the aura of magic around her.

Her soul was the most vivid and bewitching shade of Red he’d ever seen, determination practically poured from her being in rivets. It made his hands spawn and itch. Even enclosed within her body as it was it gave off a sense of bewitching ambition and drive.

Was it truly a wonder his eldest had fallen for her then?

All Gaster could see...was fathomless potential.

Frisk mumbled to herself as she rushed over to the sink, her hands fumbling as she filled a cup and rushed back over before stilling as an icy shiver raced up her spine. She frowned. It felt as if she had eyes on her, someone watching her as she attempted to pour water over the smoking remains of her ruined dinner.

Gaster smirked.

Trying to keep calm she drew a shaky breath and tensed. Swallowing down her nerves she turned and froze, her body preparing for a sudden assault or unexpected visitor.

She blinked at the empty kitchen.

Frisk had been living in the Seelie realm for a while now, unexplained sensations or fluctuations of magic weren’t unusual or uncommon. But this felt off...as if whatever that was she had felt didn’t belong to the rest of reality around her.

Furrowing her brows one of her hands came up slowly to brush the air in front of her as if to feel something she couldn’t see before snapping it away to her chest. She started to breath heavy and glanced down at her palm.

A feeling, something magnetic had rebuffed her.

“Paps? Sans?” She waited, a clamminess overcoming her skin, but no one answered her. Mentally she started to count backwards from ten as she cast a wary glance around her, her eyes lingering in corners and doorways before finally she started to calm down.

Feeling reassured there wasn’t really anyone around she let out a sigh and nearly whimpered as she reluctantly turned back to the stove and saw the meat had turned solid as a brick and black.

She couldn’t even tell it had been meat anymore.

Looked like it was going to be takeout for dinner again, Papyrus wasn’t going to be too thrilled.

“WE’RE BACK!” Frisk flinched, talk about convenient timing.

Frisk smiled in relief as she called back, her eyes locked on the smoldering pan, and shivered as she swore silently to herself that she felt eyes on her again. Her hand clenched the cup she still held nervously as her heart verged on picking back up.

The feeling of familiar and warm arms encircling her waist relaxed her.

“wow, my favorite, charcoal.”

Her cheeks stung and the stiffness in her shoulders changed meaning at Sans’s teasing and the chaste kiss he pressed to her cheek. Her worry was instantly forgotten as she smiled at him in amusement. Her fiance had a habit of liking things just a bit overcooked.

A lot overcooked.

“Well, at least one of us will have a lunch for tomorrow.” She pouted.

Sans merely chuckled and slyly glanced over to the corner of the kitchen at the same moment as his brother walked in. Papyrus’s loud exclamation and Frisk’s apologetic stammering faded to the back of his mind as his eyelight flared.

Gaster and Sans stared at each other.

His hold on Frisk tightened.

“Sans?” He blinked and his father was gone.

Belatedly he took in the way he was standing, like a wall separating where Gaster had been from the rest of the room. His suddenly blurry gaze lingered on the empty corner with a hostile intent roaring through his bones.

When had he let go of Frisk?

...Why was Gaster showing up again?

Feeling unnerved he forced a grin and made sure to carefully control his tone as he turned with a shrug. “sup?”

“You okay?” Frisk drawled slowly, her eyes flickering from where he’d been facing and back to him. If he didn’t know better Sans would swear Frisk knew Gaster had been there too. Coming into her powers he knew she would start to be able to feel distortions just as they could, but he worried; Frisk wasn’t officially tied to the family yet.

Was Gaster so strong now that his human fiance, a simple mage, could sense him?

“fine, just wondering if we have enough ketchup to go with dinner.” Papyrus frowned.

“YOU NEED TO SEE A HEALER FOR THAT ATROCIOUS SENSE OF TASTE.” Sans inwardly sighed as Frisk giggled. He couldn’t help but to be thankful that his brother helped with the subject change. This wasn’t something that needed to be talked about right now, hopefully ever.

He watched as Papyrus stole a spoon and a new mixing bowl. He looked really determined to teach Frisk some skills in the kitchen and Sans wasn’t complaining, he always enjoyed a show.

Even if he was incapable of relaxing now.

(Post Prom&Tok)

Frisk blinked sleepily and let out a yawn, her heavy lids fluttering as she slowly sat up. She frowned as she looked down at herself to see her everyday clothing and cloak adorning her instead of the pajamas she’d worn to bed.

What?

She blinked, and then she was on her feet, Sans standing in front of her with his cloak billowing ominously in the wind whipping around the both of them. His sockets were void of light, and his posture was hunched, almost broken looking.

An echoing and child-like sob had her looking around to see no one in sight.

Was she dreaming?

Frisk didn’t know what to think as a low growl caught her attention. Confused, she looked behind her and froze.

A being of blackest night stood tall and imposing, their face horrifyingly cracked and grin maliciously wide. Eight hands floated around the creature, circling and moving with purpose.

She didn’t know how to explain it, but she could feel them staring at her, and it felt terrifyingly familiar. It didn’t take much for her to realize it was the same feeling she’d felt that one lazy afternoon in the kitchen.

Her blood began to race.

There was no doubt what she was looking at was an Unseelie.

“G U I L T Y.”

A stab of ice and terror raced through her at the word, Sans’s voice echoing around her and plunging her under a shroud of fear.

Guilty?

The next thing she knew it was an out of body experience. Sans and the Unseelie stared each other down and the scene darkened, turned to hues of grays and blues as a chuckle, low and fervent came from her husband.

It sounded nothing like him.

The Unseelie spoke, and his voice grated Frisk’s hearing like nails on a chalkboard.

“SuCh A dIsApPoInTmEnT...TRAITOR!”

She just barely caught the way Sans flinched but there was no missing how the air turned cold, how his smile impossibly grew but at the same time lost all hints of emotion.

It was like Sans became a shell, nothing but an empty vessel.

His voice was unusually quiet and subdued, “traitor...thought you hated jokes old man.”

Her heart skipped painfully in shock.

Old man? Was this...Sans’s father?

Her silent question was answered for her.

“YoU aRe No SoN oF MiNe…” With that something seemed to break, and the atmosphere instantly ran thick and suffocating.

Her husband’s smile dipped but quickly recovered and then--

Frisk watched as Sans charged, a blast of ice coating the ground as he propelled himself forward. His expression was haunting, a grin so wide with sockets to match. Her heart hammered as he brought a hand up, thick white phalanges coated in contrastingly beautiful frost and blue magic.

An animistic roaring filled her ears as she spun to see Sans’s father curling and shooting forward like smoke to meet him, the eight levitating hands bloating to gigantic proportions and surrounding him like a cruel halo.

Sans’s hand jabbed out in silent command and bones, both blue and white, formed to shoot forward; thick tails of ice and snow rending the air in their wake as they rushed passed her suddenly spawned body.

Frisk cried out as one came close to scraping her cheek but dodged out of the way in the nick of time and narrowly avoided being swept away with the attacks by a wide sweep of one colossal hand as it batted them away.

“What’s happening!?” She shouted in fear, her skin breaking into a cold sweat.

Frisk went ignored as the hand that had so easily dismissed her husband’s assault met Sans, his smile lifting in one corner before he vanished and reappeared above it, hand raised and then brought down in a furious snap that spawned two demonic looking heads.

Her eyes widened as their jaws unhinged and two jets of freezing azure light erupted, shooting out with deafening noise like thunder as they connected and shattered the levitating limb in a fashion like glass.

The Unseelie, let out a pain filled shriek.

Sans landed on one of the floating skulls, a light Frisk couldn’t make out from the distance between them flaring briefly in one socket as his cloak and clothing whipped violently around him. “heh, looks like you’re out of practice gaster, but what do i know? i never practice.”

Gaster looked up scornfully, something Frisk hadn’t noticed before around his wide socket blurring and glowing with an ominous aura as he grew in size and hissed nastily through his own demented smile.

“bUt Of CoUrSe, YoUr BrOtHeR wAs AlWaYs ThE PrOmIsInG oNe!”

Another sob, louder than the first drew Frisk’s gaze and it landed on a huddled child; a smaller skeleton bent over and tucked into himself with his hands covering his face. But there could be no mistake, not with the sharply red colored cloak around his shoulders, smaller but still as eye catching and attention seeking as it’s longer counterpart.

It was Papyrus, and Frisk’s heart ached.

Sans’s grin finally dropped.

Gaster whipped up and twirled into the sky like an arching bolt of smoke, his hands moving in front of his face in a circular formation as they begun to spin rapidly. A low whine turning sharp and high pitched snapped Frisk’s attention from where it rested on Papyrus to both of the combating fae.

“Stop it…” She didn’t know why but the words were leaving her mouth without her consent as a burning in her chest grew intense.

“Stop it!” She cried out just as Sans raised a hand and summoned another skull; this one bigger than the others with immense blue power rolling off of it in thick waves, causing thick icicles to form and instantly break into countless shards around it..

Dark and tainted cold light, pitched and subtly hued purple on it’s edges, burst forth from Gaster’s hands just as Sans pointed towards him, the gigantic skull unhinging it’s massive jaw and firing--

“STOP IT!” Frisk shouted till her voice cracked--

The world was engulfed in blinding light.

And then she was falling.

“Seems you did not like that little glimpse into my son’s past.”

She jolted as everything snapped into darkness, leaving her dazed and with a thick feeling of cotton in her mouth. Blinking, the area began to brighten as her eyes adjusted to reveal she was now looking at a stone wall.

From what she could tell she was in a cavern.

Swallowing nervously she took a step forward, yelping as a shape came from seemingly nowhere in front of her and forced her shockingly weakened legs to waver as she hurried to take a step back.

Frisk stared with her hands clutched to her chest, waiting for her heart to stop racing.

Was she still dreaming? It was difficult for her to focus on the thought, the issue slipping just out of reach every time she attempted to answer it. Why was it so hard to concentrate?

“Frightened? Not surprising for a human in the Unseelie realm.” She flinched at how close the voice sounded.

Twisting her head this way and that she couldn’t make out anything other than the abnormally dark spot in front of her. That feeling was back again, and it was just as present and unnerving as the first time she’d ever felt it.

“U-unseelie...realm?” Her voice came out shy and breathy, the air around her feeling chilly and cold. Now she understood what she felt; it was a feeling of being unsafe, so vulnerable. She was hyper aware of just how powerless she instantly was.

The voice, observant but yet somehow soothing in it’s tone spoke up, “Yes, you need not worry however. No one dares to enter my dwelling here.”

Frisk found no comfort in the mystery man’s words, instead she only hunched into herself as she tried to fight off the unending chill and frost threatening her skin. A moment of silence fell between them and it was if the entity knew she didn’t have the strength to respond.

“I forget how fragile your race is, allow me to adjust the space for you.”

There was no warning. The darkness just suddenly brightened and illuminated the space around her almost blindingly like someone had casually thrown a candle in her face, and warmth instantly replaced the abnormal glacial air that had had her teeth nearly rattling.

She didn’t even get the chance to adjust to the sudden flux in her surroundings and assault on her senses before the voice was back. “It’s bothersome how hard it is to read you. Usually I have no trouble in knowing what one needs or feels, but in this case it’s exceedingly difficult. Although I am enjoying it.”

Sucking in air through her nose she rubbed her hands over her eyes and focused on how clear the cavern was now, noticing with a start that the blacker than black spot still stood in front of her, the edges of it curling and coiling like thin tendrils.

Gradually it shifted and Frisk fisted her hands to try and fight off the wave of bizarre wrongness she felt as the top morphed into what she could see as shoulders before a face emerged, transforming into a taller and darkly elegant looking fae. The bizarre placement of a monocle over a wide socket disturbed her in just how menacing it made him look, but not as much as the cracks her eyes traced.

Right away she recognized him. “Are you...Gaster?”

He appeared satisfied as he smiled at her. “An accurate assumption.”

His gaze panned her form for a brief moment before looking back up at her confused expression. His monocle sparked with light ominously. “I would say it’s a pleasure to meet my daughter in law finally, but given the situation that would be a lie.”

A cold sting raced down her spine as he moved closer to her, his form so imposing and tall in comparison to her withdrawn statue it made her mouth go dry. He easily dwarfed her. “I always knew Sans had unusual tastes but a human bride no less. I see he still maintains his passive aggressive attitude.”

Frisk didn’t know how to take that but her heart gradually stopped racing as Gaster shifted a bit further from her, the oppressive feeling he radiated dulling with the small distance. It was enough to allow Frisk to gain her bearings, and one fact came slamming back down.

“You said we’re in the Unseelie realm!?”

The place Sans had vanished to for three years!? What was only three days to him!?

Frisk felt a wave of panic start to sink in.

How long had she been here!? Would anyone look for her? Did Seelie willingly send out search parties for vanishing mages? Did Sans and Papyrus know? What would Pap do--

Oh no.

Sans

What if he thought something had happened to her? Had thought she’d abandoned him?

“I-I need to get home!” Gaster raised a brow.

“Do you believe that a real possibility for you currently?” He sounded amused.

Frisk found sudden strength as she stood tall and faced Gaster down. No one was going to use her to hurt the ones she loved, especially the only one that had ever loved her when she’d needed it most, and Gaster wasn’t going to keep her here if she could help it.

He was surprised as Frisk attempted to look intimidating, her aura of magic spiking around her as small iridescent flames sparked in a bewitching halo to frame her body. Her emotional response wasn’t what he’d been expecting, in fact, he hadn’t even seen it coming.

Gaster was definitely enjoying this.

“What are you planning to do? In a one on one fight your chances of winning are low, I have centuries of experience next to you.” His words seemed to have the impact he desired as he watched her slowly wilt, her flames turning dim as the courage she found turned sour.

But then she perked up again, her flames blooming into raging infernos that wrapped along her arms to ball within her hands. It wasn’t hard for the scientist to imagine the flaring of her soul, to picture it brimming with her determination as she spoke with a tone commanding attention and confidence.

“It doesn’t mean I still shouldn’t try!”

Gaster shot her a disinterested look but all the same willed his hands into existence and watched her eyes go wide as they enlarged large enough that she could have easily fit through a hole in the center of one palm three times over.

Still she didn’t back down.

She was either a brave fool, or a desperate mouse wanting an out.

After a moment of Gaster trying and not so surprisingly failing to calculate the ramifications of the possible fallout if they fought he dismissed his hands with a blink. She looked confused as her flames vanished but he simply spoke as if the standoff hadn’t just happened between them.

“I have no desire to fight a battle I would easily win. Instead, tell me human, do you know what an End of an Era is?” Frisk frowned. She didn’t like how that question sounded, she didn’t like how much hearing ‘End of an Era’ made her skin crawl, and could only shake her head as he pressed the tips of his many fingers on his numerous hands together.

His one good socket narrowed as he spoke.

“Its when the Rulers lose their lives, the end of the current millennia, unlike normal Seelie and their dark counterparts their lifespans are shorter. An unfortunate drawback to being the anchor that holds the Realms very existences in place, to keep magic itself alive and flowing.” She tensed as he moved around her, his embodied darkness bending and flickering like excited vapor as he continued.

“At the Age’s end the realms temporarily vanish, and those fae, mages, all magical beings still alive are suspended in the Either until the previous ruler’s heir or another is selected to become the new anchor. In the meantime the Veil is what keeps your human world safe from the endless flow of magic until the reformation year is up.”

“Reformation year?” Gaster let his hand drop behind his back as he smiled. If he didn’t make her feel so uncomfortable Frisk could have seen the smile almost friendly, like a teacher to a student in a way. Why he was even speaking to her about this she didn’t know, but curiosity had her focusing on his words.

The derisive chuckle he let out quickly banished all temporary illusion of friendliness.

“You have a very interesting soul, Frisk.” Her hand instantly went to cover her chest.

“You have an interesting eye piece.” His sockets widened and she bit her lip. It felt so similar to when she’d first met Sans, she’d responded just as absent and truthfully when he’d commented on her eyes.

Was she...at ease...somehow?

Gaster stared silently at her. “...My monocle interests you…”

She looked hesitantly at him. “Is it how you were able to see me in the Seelie Realm?” He went quiet again and Frisk wondered what he was thinking as an emotion seemed to cross his face so quickly she would’ve thought she imagined it.

“...I see, so you knew I was watching did you?”

“I guessed…” She whispered.

Gaster was impressed.

Her heart began to race as he suddenly glided closer to her, close enough that she could see the tiny iridescent gems of rolling colors embedded in the monocle over his one working eyelight as it pulsed brightly.

“It takes a year of human time for the realms to reform and for the Either’s magical influence to settle in it’s new host, that’s why it’s called a reformation year.” He paused and seemed to contemplate Frisk’s befuddled expression before pulling back and cupping his bony chin.

He hadn’t expected Sans’s wife to be this intelligent. Gaster had been right to assume the amount of potential she had, and the soul she carried...Maybe there was something special about her after all.

“Are you sure you still want to know why I have this? Why I am able to see through the veil?” The way he tapped the eye piece, languid and slow made Frisk’s nerves shoot up. But she had asked, and despite everything she had always been too curious for her own good.

“Yes.”

Gaster’s smirk dropped and his sockets darkened.

“When fae and magical beings alike are suspended in the Either the Veil not only protects you humans but us as well. It puts us to sleep as many call it, though that’s far too simple a term and not as close to what it means, what actually happens to us.” His words faded out, went weak until silence swallowed them as he stared unseeing passed Frisk.

He looked haunted and beguiled.

She didn’t know what to make of that complicated expression but for some reason it hurt her to witness it. Gaster looked as if he’d seen things no other being ever had before. Frisk just didn’t know if that was necessarily a good thing.

He blinked and refocused on her.

“The Veil coats us similar to a shield and blinds us as well. That’s what it’s supposed to do at least. The last occurrence, however, failed to protect me the way it should have.” Gaster watched as Frisk bit her lip and could easily tell how she automatically wanted to comfort him.

But he ignored it as flashbacks threatened to overcome his vision. Memories he didn’t have all but begging to drown him in their morose nonexistence. It always fascinated him how he could talk about them, but never truly live them, only feel their presence and the old ghostly burning of his torment as if he’d experienced it only seconds ago.

He took a carefully hidden breath and looked at her dully.

“I was awake, and the Either burned into my sockets and mind endlessly.”

Frisk felt an icy shiver run up her back as the unfathomable horror of his words struck her speechless.

He...had been tortured for a year…

Something about that statement resonated with her. It wasn’t the same thing that she’d gone through growing up, in fact it was worse but, she knew what it was like to feel hopeless. To feel as if the torment would never end and to sometimes silently beg to give just about anything to be free of it.

When she didn’t react Gaster simply shrugged. “A year of screaming with no one to hear would have broken a person, but I survived.”

That didn’t make what he’d gone through okay.

He didn’t give Frisk the chance to say it out loud though as he turned his back to her, the tenseness in his shoulders going lax as he stood straighter and let out a bored sigh.

“And when we woke up the first thing I did was shortcut to my lab where I took the Either, still filling and pouring from my sockets, and collected it in a flask. Astonishingly once it no longer clung to me but only to the cold and unfeeling glass in my hands it solidified, almost crystallized I would say, instantaneously.”

He turned to face Frisk again and this time there was a light in his sockets, something warm and full of curiosity that it shocked her to see in an Unseelie gaze.

“Of course I went completely blind in one eye and partially in the other. Though I began to notice how different the realm around me was. Where a pond or tree would rest all I’d have to do is blink and it would instead be nothing but cracked and brittle ground with an obsidian lantern in the tree’s stead. It was gradual at first but then became constant.”

He paused to give an annoyed roll of his eyelight. “And each time it would leave me with the worst of migraines! Even worse than my son’s ridiculous puns!”

How frustrated he sounded and the way a floating hand waved dismissively had Frisk struggling to not let out a giggle. Gaster looked so enthused it was hard for her to keep telling herself to be weary of him. His tone had gone fond and so eager with every sentence he spoke.

He suddenly seemed so normal talking about this.

“But then I had an idea, maybe I was glancing through the Veil, each vision was startlingly similar to what the Unseelie realm was described as in the texts, and this ability only manifested after the Either had affected me.” Gaster grinned sharply, his hands wringing together as he looked at Frisk with a sobering conviction that bordered madness.

She sobered.

“If the Either could take away my sight, why couldn’t it help grant me another?” She had a feeling she knew where he was going with this and she felt her stomach drop.

“The gems in your monocle, it’s the solidified Either?” He looked so proud at her answer that it did weird things to her chest. A sense of accomplishment, a feeling of satisfaction. Frisk had only felt that particular way once before, and it had been the only time her father had ever smiled at her.

Gaster...found himself wanting to be honest with her.

“...You’re more intelligent than I’ve given you credit for.” The feeling increased in Frisk’s chest.

“Excellent for a human, my son wasn’t completely clueless choosing a partner after all it seems.” And the feeling quickly changed to a mild offence as she frowned. Apparently Gaster was where Sans and Papyrus both got their mood ruining habits from.

“But yes, it turns out the gems when placed in a particular fashion can infuse objects. This eye piece not only allows me to peer easily through the Veil without repercussions but to choose when it happens. It offers me control.”

Frisk did not like the way his eyelight flared, the sheer malice and mania inside of it. But it didn’t scare her, if anything it made pity form a knot inside of her. She hesitated but found the strength to say what had been on her mind as he’d ranted and raved.

“It must be awful, being here alone?”

Gaster’s face for the briefest moment went lax. His built up excitement and sense of triumph shattered as if Frisk had taken a hammer to it and replaced the feeling with a cold sensation of apathy.

“I...can’t fully imagine what it’s like for you. You seem so…” Her words failed her but still she struggled to get her meaning across as Gaster leveled a detached stare so piercing it felt as if her very soul had been laid out in the open. “...like you’re meant to be around people, to create and discover and then share that with others.”

He slowly looked down at nothing and he didn’t know why he said what he did but found he didn’t regret it. For some reason it was bizarrely easy to confide in this particular human. “...It’s a similar feeling to being in the Either, only there’s no hope of it ending.”

Frisk’s response was instant.

“There’s always hope. Even if it feels impossible.”

Gaster looked sharply up at her.

“Such confidence when the evidence says otherwise. There has never been an Unseelie returning to their previous nature once banished and I stand firm on my belief even now. You humans are nothing but trouble, the very reason our monarchy and the magic in the world goes ignored and depleted.” Frisk flinched but stood resolute before him, squared her shoulders even as she clutched her hand to her chest.

“Beliefs can change…” Her mind flashed back to her parents, doubt and confusion trying to turn her voice hollow, but she pushed the vision down and said “People can change. If they are just willing too.”

Gaster turned to fully face her and his many hands vanished as his grin turned into a firm and curt line. He had never seen such fire in a being before, her determination shone so strongly it nearly emanated from the golden tone of her eyes turning them brighter.

He had never seen golden irises before in his many years of life, how was he just noticing them?

“Where does such hope come from? The conviction in your eyes?”

A smile, warmer than summer and brighter than the darkness he’d long become accustomed to slowly curved her lips as her thoughts instantly went to horrible jokes and a grin so expressive even in its perpetual existence. And her eyes softened as she thought on political rants and the smell of tomato sauce within loving arms.

“Your sons gave me that.”

His face crumbled and Frisk saw the way his already hollowed sockets emptied even further. Watched as his hands flickered in and out of reality as if he couldn’t concentrate enough to decide on summoning them or not.

Gaster looked pained and so remorseful that it felt as if it saturated the air itself.

She...wanted to help him.

“How did you end up here?”

Gaster didn’t speak and the air around them grew heavy and suffocating as his stature steadily grew dauntingly taller. Like a switch had been flipped his whole demeanor changed into hostile and violent, his monocle glaring white as he begun to approach her with corrupted intent.

Caught off guard Frisk took a step back and stumbled, her rear and hands stinging as she fell to the ground and continued to move backwards. Her mind raced to figure out what she’d done to cause Gaster to slowly corner her. Her blood was rushing loudly in her ears like a deafening roar and it took all her will not to cry out, only to continue in her retreat in a bid to keep distance between them.

Her heart was threatening to rupture in her chest.

Gaster’s voice was low but it was loud enough in the stillness engulfing them as he bent over her. “That is a story I don’t feel like telling.” it was laced with utter rancor and spite.

“Why don’t you ask that husband of yours?”

Frisk felt her lungs lock up as her back hit wall and tried to curl in on herself as he so cruelly leaned down and closer to her that the darkness of his form devoured the area and space around her. Like a vortex that consumed everything in it’s path.

Sans? Was it to do with what she’d seen earlier?

Her father in law gave an amused and mordacious leer.

“After all, you’re not even here.”

Her cry was cut short as the world went black and tilted, smoky darkness and the scent of something bitter flooding her senses and suffocating her. She tried to push back, tried to get away but there was no escaping.

It was the closet again--

Mom was home--

Shouting--

“frisk!”

She jolted upright, the piercing sob she let out loud and bloodcurdling right before she felt a pair of bony arms wrap around her.

For only the briefest second she struggled, the thought of Gaster’s enraged sockets and the sound of her mother’s voice sending her into a frenzy to escape, but quickly she relaxed as the smell of ketchup and the clothed ribs she was tucked against registered through the panicked haze.

She...she was in bed?

Blinking she tried to get her breathing under control as Sans rocked her.

“hey, it’s okay. shh was just a nightmare. i gotcha.” His words were so reassuring just as they always were when she had night terrors, but the feeling of asphyxiating darkness still clung to her skin like static.

It wasn’t just a nightmare.

But she couldn’t bring herself to say it, not with how she clung to him and felt the sins and fears of her past rolling down the slope of her sweat soaked back. For now she was selfish, she only wanted Sans’s comfort.

She shut her eyes and tucked further into him as she relished the feeling of his phalanges running through her tangled hair and brushing away tears that had run down her cheeks. She grounded herself with how he began to hum a calming tune as he nuzzled her.

Gaster’s words echoed…ask your husband.

For the life of her she couldn’t figure out what that meant.

What was there she didn’t know about Sans? He never kept secrets...at least she didn’t think he had any to keep, he’d always been so open with her, said what was on his mind.

But then again she hadn’t known about Gaster.

G U I L T Y

She hadn’t known he could sound like that or look so...dangerous.

“Sorry.” Anxiety and curiosity made her hoarse reply come out a near whimper but her loving husband only chuckled lightly.

“nothing to apologize for, wasn’t really out. sleeping desserted me tonight.” Frisk weakly glanced over to his end table and snorted as she saw a half melted sundae sitting abandoned.

“Papyrus is going to get onto you for midnight snacking again.” She commented.

Sans gave a wink. “only if he finds out. going to turn me in?”

Frisk smiled and felt the last of her tension melt away. “Never.”

Tomorrow was another day and she’d ask him then, maybe with sleep she would have a clearer head for the upcoming conversation. There was not an ounce of doubt in her mind that it wasn’t going to be a sensitive subject for him.

And she was too haunted by her own demons tonight to try confronting his.

“Sans--we need to talk.” The words felt rough in her throat but she didn’t waver as Sans pulled up short of the door to turn and face her.

The look he gave her was one of mild confusion, he hadn’t heard her sound so uncertain since she was a child, and he let his hand drop from where it had risen halfway to the handle. He gave her his full attention as he widened his smile at her and forced his concern behind a wall of habitual patience as he responded. “sure, what’s up?”

“...Right now?” Frisk was a little taken aback at how quickly he relented. He was about to head off to work but instead he was delaying to make sure she was okay. Frisk forgot sometimes just how attentive and caring he was, how often he put her first before everything besides Paps.

It almost made her change her mind bringing the topic up in the first place. She really didn’t want to upset him. Not when he looked so ready to placate or fix whatever was bothering her.

He always did so much for her.

Sans was silent as he noticed her shuffle in place, his eyelights taking in how she shyly looked at the floor with hesitancy. Something was definitely wrong, maybe to do with her night terrors from last night?

He tried his best to give a lazy chuckle and added a shrug for good measure. “i have time. undyne isn’t going to say much.”

Frisk swallowed.

“It’s about Gaster.”

That was the last thing Sans expected to hear from her. His eyelights immediately went out and a chill permeated the air as all the light around them seemed to dim and fade out with how his aura flared and spiked.

Frisk tensed, her eyes going wide as she recalled Gaster and his suffocating darkness. Suddenly she was also recalling how Sans had looked in her dream and she wasn’t even thinking as she took several steps back.

Sans was quick to notice the retreat.

She never ran from him, Frisk never looked as if she might be at risk around him.

It hurt, it was a harsh slap from sanity.

Immediately he blinked his eyelights back into existence and the mood shifted, the light turning once more to its previous brightness as a drop of sweat ran the curve of his skull. His mind was racing and he found it hard to concentrate on anything other than his wife and how she cowed.

“i’m sorry frisk i--i didn’t mean to.” She quivered as he reached for her but she didn’t fight him as he embraced her. He swallowed down the magical saliva building in his nonexistent throat. “just...how do you know that name?”

Frisk’s tensed posture loosened at the remorse she heard in his voice, the fear. Sans appeared terrified, but rather from her knowing or from just who exactly Gaster was she couldn’t be sure.

“I met him.” Before she knew it Sans was holding her at arms length with his hands gripping her shoulders, not enough to hurt or bruise but firmly, as if she could slip through his grip and be lost within seconds.

His tone was hushed but stern, hard as iron and cold. “what do you mean you met him?”

She had to remind herself that this was her husband, he’d never hurt her and would be the last person who’d ever wish any ill will on her, that he loved her in order not to shrink under his aggravated gaze.

She’d never seen this side to him before. He was so...uncontrolled. “My nightmare…last night.”

Sans shook and gritted his teeth as he forced his hands under his cloak so that she couldn’t see the way his hands balled into tightly clenched fists. His sockets lidded in thought.

It had been years since Sans had even heard that name last and it angered him how now that he did it was from his own wife of all people. It was bad enough he’d seen him before they’d gotten married. He should’ve known that wouldn’t be the last time he saw him.

What was his old man up to?

“i don’t want you looking into this.” Frisk looked at him.

It sounded like he had just given her an order, not a request or even a soft plea, a command. And it made something harden in her chest, burn in rebellion. Out of the whole time she’d known him Sans had never made demands of her.

“What?” Sans leveled a look so empty and void of all his familiar softness it felt as if a stranger was standing in front of her.

“i’m serious. gaster is dangerous. stay away from him.”

She bit back the initial response that built up on the tip of her tongue. Why she had the sudden urge to fight him so fervently on the subject puzzled her, it was just a feeling; a boiling and simmering feeling of wrongness for her to listen and cut off all contact with the Unseelie.

Something was telling her there was another path she could take, a better one.

It couldn’t be wrong if her very soul cried for her to obey could it?

Unknowingly what she said struck her husband like a blow. “I want to help him.”

Sans...was outraged, frozen in shock.

Frisk didn’t know the implication behind her statement, how insulting it was to his role as Judge. In a way it sounded as if she thought there was a flaw behind what he’d done, as if there was hope for someone he’d deemed beyond any sort of salvation.

She wasn’t aware just how damning it sounded to throw her support behind a being who represented everything wrong and unnatural with the world and how it should be. By saying what she did Frisk might as well have just crushed a flower beneath her heel and called life itself disgusting.

But this was Frisk.

There were times he forgot just how pure she was. How determined and strong the woman he loved could be if she tried hard enough, of course she’d want to help someone if she could, that’s all she’d ever wanted as a child. Why wouldn’t she give that back tenfold as an adult?

He loved her, so much.

It was that fact alone that cooled him and made his voice come out weak instead of bitter. “you can’t.”

If his own dust and blood wasn’t enough what hope did she have? She was only going to end up hurt if she tried and Sans did not want that. He could already see the cogs turning in her head and he hated it.

He couldn’t think of a way to convince her.

Frisk didn’t believe him, she desperately wanted to after all as a fae he knew more about how his world worked, but she just couldn’t. Something in the way his shoulders slumped told her she couldn’t ignore this.

She let out a gasp of shock as he abruptly turned away and opened the door. He was going to leave? Just like that? They hadn’t even finished talking.

What was happening? “Sans--”

“frisk.”

He paused long enough to speak but didn’t even turn to look at her. “i have to go.”

Her heart felt like it broke as the door shut behind him. But she knew the pain was nothing compared to his, he’d sounded as if he’d been about to cry with how his voice had broken, she’d seen the way his shoulders had shook.

Frisk wondered if he even knew he’d reacted that way.

#frans #adult frans #prompt 4

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tonyglowheart · 3 years

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*tacks this this and this together on the string board*

absolutely drives me FERAL just how crazy the metatext is and how they probably just!! created the whole “it doesn’t have to be a formal prayer I could pick up on a longing, or...” thing bc of how awk the concept of formal prayer is to someone who isn’t Christian or whatever, and it makes sense but it also!! creates Implications!!! Obviously they didn’t come up with it all at once or take a look at it together bc it’s a TV show and they’re lowkey making it up as they go, but the totality of it!!!!

Also driving me nuts right now is the implication this as on the confluence of Cas acting a little odder than the other angels, and the other angels kind of either implying or saying outright that Cas is kind of odd for angels anyway - which could be a ND-coding thing and I lowkey see it - but also like.. if he IS so tuned into LONGINGS as half-prayers, maybe that also! explains some of it too!! this is absolutely nuts in conjunction with the longing/prayer thing

like just using Dean as an example, if we are indeed taking a “longing, or...” as something Cas could pick up on, and like with the strength of Dean’s longing, and

Like I said in the tags on that third post, it’s interesting bc the other angels are like “Cas has this problem, he loves humanity” except he doesn’t have this same thing with Bobby, he doesn’t have this same thing with Sam, he’s actually kinda mean to Sam early on lol. And like I said, with Sam if anything it’s probably a bit more, like, dismissive if not outright antagonistic.

But!! if you think about Dean as being this crazy lightning rod of longing that is both crackling in energy and also like magnetic with it, the pieces line up/fall into place? Think of a force so strong that it literally warps Cas’ subjective perception around it and draws Cas magnetically in and overwhelms his senses and he doesn’t even realize maybe just how close he’s standing and-

And here’s my other “I’ve connected the two dots” bc maybe this also explains Sam, like in the face of this crackling nexus of longing maybe it’s hard to see or pay mind to anything else, especially in close proximity, because it gets drowned out and also in comparison the priorities are just so much smaller in contrast.

Plus! also! pt two of “I’ve connected the two dots” - I’m also kinda obsessed with the idea that maybe the slight antagonism to Sam early on actually might come from Dean too, lmao. Like imagine Dean feeling guilty/conflicted when he looks at/thinks about Sam after Cas enters his life because of how much his paradigm has shifted, because Sam used to be his center & his main priority you know? Like he’s his big brother & also his like pseudo-parent-figure and protector and for the longest time, Sam was his main priority, and he still feels that obligation and loyalty. And yet after meeting this angel, of all things, when he hardly even believes in God, let alone angels, his center - against his will - has shifted so dramatically and now Sam is no longer his main, sole, primary priority to whom is dedicated his whole heart and mind and soul, but instead this angel he just met, but who pulled him out of hell - gripped him tight and raised him from perdition - and literally left an indelible mark on him. His heart is no longer only turned towards Sam, as maybe his mind thinks it should be, and just imagine the potential conflicted tangle of emotions and guilt and avoidance when he looks at Sam now lmao, and like... that spilling over to Cas bc the *points up* aforementioned strength of his longing.

I’m literally also haunted bc I don’t think they ever thought about this or thought this might be a piece that works with the other stuff from before since I think they were only thinking of the “now,” and yet - to me at least - it works so well and also is just so raw and drives me absolutely feral and just shows how I will never be free of this eternal torment

#supernatural #castiel #dean winchester

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zinniarhee · 4 years

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Say Your Prey-ers || Zinnia & Alcher

TIMING: Pre-Full Moon, 2 days before. LOCATION: A simple farm / Zinnia’s vet clinic. PARTIES: @zinniarhee @zahneundklauen SUMMARY: Zinnia and Alcher run into one another with like minds. Things get a little messy, but Alcher ends up with a new dog. CONTENT WARNINGS: Torture, animal abuse, death, gore, blood.

Zinnia wasn’t new to the lies that so often spilled from a human’s lips. The quick witted excuses, the way they couldn’t maintain eye contact. It was laughable, really. Still, she listened, she nodded. It was for show, of course. She had no intention on ever letting this dog go back to its owner. The signs were there. The abuse that this poor creature had endured. It was disgusting. Zinnia wanted nothing more than to reach out, to sink her nails into the man’s throat, but she held back. Cleaning up a murder would be easier on their own property, to make it look as if he had been bludgeoned to death by the horses he spoke so highly of.

It wasn’t until the stars hung in the sky did Zinnia make her move. The lights in the house flickered off, and she had full intentions to go in with ease. There had been no mention of a spouse, no mention of children. She had little to worry about. Zinnia crossed the distance with ease, her car parked still, at her office. Beads of sweat dotted the back of her neck as she moved forward, but the sound of somebody behind her had her spinning. She couldn’t see anybody, but she had heard the distinct crack of wood beneath the weight of somebody’s foot. She quickly took refuge behind a large piece of plywood propped up against the side of the house and listened. It’d be easier to shift, but she couldn’t risk somebody seeing her do it.

Anger was the only emotion Alcher registered as she’d watched the man raise a hand to the cowering hound. She’d wished for nothing more, then and there, to pull out her claws and rip him apart with them. So much so, they’d grown against her will and she’d had to duck into an alleyway to calm herself down. It was too early in the day, there were too many people around-- killing him now would draw too much attention. But if she went at night, it would be so easy to make it look like an animal attack. To free her cousin and make sure no one ever hurt him again. In fact, she would take him herself if she had to. The poor thing smelled so afraid, she could hear it in his whimpers, even as she’d slunk away, bristling with her anger.

When Alcher returned, her ears were focused and ready. She was holding in her anger until the right moment-- shifting completely would not work yet, she needed to be inside first, and so she’d remained in her human form, slipping into his yard and dropping from the fence. Wood cracked under her feet but she did not care. At least, not until she smelled another. Freezing in place, covered in shadow, she listened intently-- but nothing stood out. So, instead, she followed the smell. It was familiar yet so very unfamiliar, she didn’t quite know what to make of it. It smelled almost like a cousin, but there was something distinctly...not about it. Slipping from her spot, she followed her nose, over towards a piece of plywood. She stopped a few feet away. “I know you’re there,” she said under her breath, “I can smell you.”

Zinnia could hear the footsteps, despite the fact that they were dull thuds. Quick enough to warrant her worry, but slow enough for her to know that they weren’t coming for her. At least, she hadn’t thought so. The footsteps stopped just a few feet away, and then a voice. She could barely hear it over the sudden rustle of leaves. If she were shifted, she would have no issues in hearing, smelling, seeing. Though, the individual’s words caught her off guard. Smell? Zinnia narrowed her eyes, and though she knew she’d have no trouble in defending herself if it came to that, she slipped from behind the plywood. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness, the moon illuminating the woman before her. She hadn’t seen her before, and Zinnia immediately felt wary.

“That’s strange.” Zinnia commented back. She didn’t particularly feel like outing herself to a stranger tonight, not when she had come with the intent to kill. She gave a quick furtive glance towards the house. The lights were still out. At least they hadn’t stirred the man. She cut her glance back to the woman with an arched eyebrow, “may I ask why you’re out here?” She looked over the blonde-- she didn’t necessarily seem as though she were there to rob the place, not dressed for such an event. Then again, she wasn’t dressed for much at all. Was she somehow related to the man? ZInnia’s blood ran cold. Would she have to kill two tonight? “He left something at the clinic, I’m here to return it to him.” She lied, though it was seamless-- she had plenty of practice.

“Strange how?” Alcher asked, unmoving. She stayed planted in her spot, even as the other woman’s eyes examined her. That smell...what was it? So strange yet so familiar. It was animal but not. Her eyes glanced back towards the house, then to the woman. “I did not ask you why you are here,” she answered truthfully, “I do not care.” Perhaps it was dangerous to speak such a truth to a woman she had found hiding in a man’s yard, but that was exactly why there was an ease to the admission. They both had secrets here. “I have business with him,” she finally answered, turning to look back at the woman. “It’s best if you leave.”

Zinnia raised a brow as she looked at the woman opposite her. She seemed very curt. Much of her attitude was lost on Zinnia, however, as she never felt the need to look too far into other people’s words. It was their actions that mattered. “Do you not?” Zinnia asked as she looked to the house, curiosity lighting up her features. I have business with him. The woman’s words caught Zinnia off guard. “Why should I leave?” She asked as she ran her fingers through her hair, closest to the back of her neck. She tilted her head to the side, her eyes flickering to the house, then back to the blonde. “Did he dent your car?”

Alcher tilted her head in turn. She recognized that look-- curiosity, intrigue. Whatever this man had done to her, she was not afraid of him. Perhaps she’d even come here for a similar task, though Alcher had begun to doubt that there were many others of her own mindset here. She’d only met one other so far, and he smelled of death. “I don’t wish to implicate you in what’s about to happen,” she said simply, rolling her head and turning towards the house. “No. Something much worse,” she answered, hand clenching subconsciously, “he hurt one of my cousins.”

Zinnia was smart. She caught on quickly. As soon as the woman mentioned implicating her, the light went off. She looked towards the house. Cousin? She watched for movement from within the house, then after a moment, she finally looked back to her company. “I think I can help you here.” She motioned for the woman to follow her, “it seems we’re here for a common task,” Zinnia explained quietly as she crept up to the door. She tried the door knob. It opened easily. “Doesn’t look like he thinks he’s got many enemies.” She looked over her shoulder at the woman. “I don’t doubt that you’ll kill me if I double cross you, and I, you.” She pushed the door open slightly. “So let’s try to take only one victim tonight.”

Though wary, Alcher followed. Intent was clear in the other woman’s eyes and she did not feel her instincts telling her not to. They made it to the door, which was unlocked. Much easier than breaking a window. She crouched low behind her, flicking her gaze to her. “What’s there to double cross,” she asked quietly, “if we’re here for the same thing?” She could smell the animal. And she could smell his blood. Her rage boiled. “He needs to suffer,” she said, her voice suddenly ragged, eyes sharp, “like he made him suffer.” Skin bristling, she urged the other woman forward. “Death is too easy.” Looked her directly in the eyes. “You can still leave.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Zinnia growled as she pushed the door the rest of the way open. It creaked, but only slightly. Not loud enough to alert anybody. Before she made her way into the house, she shook her head, “I’m not new to this.” She didn’t want to give too much away. Already, she was trusting this woman a little too much. If push came to shove, she would do what she needed to do to take care of the second problem, but for now, the dog’s abuser needed to be taken care of. She moved into the house, light as a feather. She stepped towards the hallway, careful not to make any noise before she reached the door from which she heard loud snoring. She looked over at the woman and nodded to tell her that he was in there, but something told her that she already knew.

Where was the poor dog? Alcher was quieting, listening, smelling the stale air inside this house. The dog was in a back room, locked away. She could hear his labored breaths, and the whine on the end of them. She could hear the man snoring behind the closed door. Her eyes met the other woman’s and she nodded back. Alcher was tired of wasting time, though, and she reached for the knob, throwing it open. No one else was in the house, anyway. The man sprung up, alerted, but Alcher was faster, and her hand was on his throat, squeezing his esophagus, pinning him to the bed. She didn’t wait for the other woman before brandishing a knife and holding it over him. “Do you think it’s fun?” she growled, teeth gritting, “Do you enjoy hurting those who can not fight back?”

Typically, Zinnia moved quietly. She could afford to. This woman, however, it seemed as though she was ready to lunge. There weren’t many other houses in the area, so if they made noise, it wouldn’t come back to bite them in the ass. Zinnia followed after the woman as the door opened. She watched the man scramble from his sheets, terror written across his features. She watched as the blonde moved with inhuman speed towards the man. Ah, Zinnia thought. Maybe that was why she was not threatened. Zinnia took her time in rounding the corner to the window, pulling the curtains. Just in case. She looked over her shoulder at the man who was now whimpering. He started to plead, but all Zinnia could do was laugh. “You think that will work? You’re wrong.” Zinnia began to look through his bedside drawers before she found a baseball bat. “Humans…” Zinnia looked from the bat, to the man, “they think strands of wood will protect them.” She dragged the bat along the ground as she repositioned herself so that she was near his legs. She had remembered that the dog had come in with a broken leg. Excellent. She drew the bat up into the air and brought it down onto the man’s kneecap. The sound of the crunch, mixed with his screams-- it was music to Zinnia’s ears.

Torture was not something Alcher usually enjoyed. Even when killing hunters, a swift death always seemed the most practical. But as her hand held the man down on the bed, his own nails clawing at her arm, trying to remove her vice grip, she felt as if he deserved a slow, torturous death. The wood that scraped along the floor was music to her ears. The cracking of his knee caps a songbird. His screams a babbling river. She found herself smiling down at him, looking over at the other woman. Her darkness reflected Alcher’s own and she had to stop for a moment to appreciate the fact that she’d somehow found another kin. The grin stayed plastered to her face as she said, “Do it again,” with a growl in her throat, “hit the other one.” Tears plastered the man’s face and he begged and squealed like the lowly filth he was for them to stop. Alcher’s eyes turned sharp on him and they reflected the moonlight that was shimmering outside, gold and bright and angry. “Did you give him mercy?” she asked, leaning down so he had nowhere to look but at her. “Did you stop when he cried?” Her grip tightened, she could feel his bones crunching under her grip. Any harder and she’d crush his windpipe, so she let up, ever so slightly. He shook his head. “Then why should we give you any?” Stood up again and looked over to the woman with the bat. “Do it.” The man screamed before the bat even swung again.

His screams wouldn’t be heard, no matter how loudly he let them splinter from his chest. There was nobody for miles. She had made sure of that. She could hear the dog whining from the other room, his nails digging at the floorboards. Of course he’d be worried. He loved unconditionally. Zinnia lifted the bat up again, bringing it down swiftly onto the other kneecap. It made the same sickening crack that the first had, and the man started to howl with pain. The woman began to speak, and Zinnia realized that they had more in common now than just torturing this man. She watched silently as the woman spoke to him, her fingers digging into the flesh of his neck. She dragged the bat against his knees, pressing it into his swollen flesh. He whimpered helplessly, and as the woman turned her attention back, Zinnia grinned at her words. “My pleasure.” She moved around her company before lifting the bat into the air, bringing it down with a sickening crack into the man’s skull. Blood spattered across her face, across the wall. She looked down at the man as he writhed. She glanced over at the blonde. Usually Zinnia worked alone, so this was… new. She wiped her face with her sleeve. He was still alive. They could make this look like a home invasion, easily. “Do you want a go?” She asked as she lifted the splintered and blood matted bat into the woman’s view.

Human weapons were so...strange to Alcher. As she reached out and wrapped her hand around the wooden bat, she could feel its weight so fully. It hung in her human-like hands, and she longed for claws and teeth instead. But she was practical, if nothing else, and she understood that changing right now would not benefit their situation. And while she could crush his windpipe with her very hands and watch him writhe and suffocate, this, perhaps, would be more satisfying. She raised the bat up above her head, awkward and unsure, before swinging it straight down into his ribs. More cracking, more screaming. She’d been right, though-- this felt much better. She did it again. And again. Listening to him sputter, watching blood bubble up his throat and out his mouth, staining his pillow case, the sheets, their clothes. Did he understand, now, how he made her cousin feel? Did he understand, now, what it meant to be weak under another’s fury? Did he understand now what it meant to be destroyed? After a few more seconds, she paused, and held the bat back out to the other woman. “Finish him,” she said in a tone that was all too calm and all too cold for the actions they’d just committed. “I need to find my cousin.”

The sound of wood against the man’s ribs sent guttural sounds throughout the room. The sound of him struggling to breathe was what Zinnia had noticed first. He was covered in blood now, and she bet that a rib had punctured one of his lungs. She knew that this was what had to be done. There was no forgiveness, not with a creature who succumbed to brutality against a being that had no protection. The addition of somebody new, however, was what made Zinnia uneasy. It seemed as though that she had the same intentions-- to protect the dog, to avenge it. Zinnia would have to trust her, and if anything ill came out of it, she would take care of it then. She looked down at the splintered bat as it was extended back towards her. Zinnia gave the woman a curt nod before she shoved the tip of the bat into the man’s windpipe, just where the blonde’s hands had been. “Rot,” Zinnia spat before she swung the bat down once more unto his head. The screams quieted, then taken over with the sound of gurgling. Zinnia’s hold on the bat had her knuckles white. She turned around to follow the woman out to where she had found the dog. “We should leave soon,” she said as she watched the dog. She held the bat above her head, the smell of blood filled her nose. It no longer made her queasy. She was used to being painted rouge. “I’ll be back,” she said again as she pulled gloves-- forgotten due to the appearance of her company.

Zinnia first worked in identifying all paperwork pertaining to the dog. Bought from the pound a two or year back in a city over. That was good. She shoved it into the inner pocket of her jacket. She moved throughout the rooms and began to tip over items that she thought somebody would search through in order to find their prize. She had done this enough times now, it wasn’t new, but the addition of the blonde-- that was what had caught her off guard. It might be easier, she thought to herself as she shoved a wad of 100$ bills into the same inner pocket of her jacket. Once she was done, she returned to the blonde and the dog. “We’ll take him to my clinic,” She said as she looked down. “I’ll find out if he’s chipped. If he is, we’ll remove it. If there are any issues, it’s safe to assume he wandered out the front door that was left open.” She looked towards the room where their victim lay.

Alcher didn’t wait to see how the dark-haired woman finished the man off. She simply revelled in the gurgling sound of his death as she made her way through the house and to the back room the dog was locked in. In a dark room and a cage much too small for him sat the mutt. Alcher could not entirely discern his breed, there were too many cousins to count-- but the look on his face, the whine in his throat-- that was familiar. She unlocked the cage quickly, watching his ears go back. “Shhhh,” she cooed, holding out her hand, bending down to his level. She planted herself on all fours, and let him sniff her hand. Her smell was familiar to him. He could smell the wolf on her. As he went to move forward, Alcher watched his hobble. The leg was broken. Her anger returned, but she pushed it away, remembering that his abuser was dead and gone now. Now, he would be her responsibility.

Finally, the other woman returned. She looked cleaner than before, she had collected something, but Alcher did not care. She kneeled and scooped the dog into her arms, standing with him. His whole body shook. “Clinic?” she asked, tilting her head. It was best to not question her companion right now, but if this was some trick, Alcher wasn’t sure she could escape while also helping this poor creature. So, she would have to trust, and hope. If it came down to it, she would have to leave her cousin and come for him another day. She would not abandon him. Grip tightening, she nodded. “Lead the way,” she nodded, licking the blood that trickled onto her lips. She only half wished she could’ve stayed to enjoy this man as a meal, but his blood would’ve been foul, like dirt or tar. When the other woman moved, Alcher followed after her. Sometimes there were more important things than a meal.

“I’m a veterinarian,” Zinnia said as she looked over the dog, a careful touch to the dog’s obviously broken leg. It was worse than she had seen it earlier. Anger surged in her once more, but there was little to be done now, the man was already dead. She drew back her hand and looked up to meet the woman’s eyes before nodding. She turned on her heel, careful as she walked out of the house. She approached where they had both come from. Luckily, it didn’t seem as though there was mud, just grass. She swiped the side of her foot against what dirt there was and smeared their footprints. Somehow, it didn’t seem as though either of them had gotten blood on their shoes. Lucky. There were a lot more things to worry about with the addition of company, she thought. It made her nervous.

“Be right back,” Zinnia said as she disappeared into the house once more, careful to take account of any footprints that might’ve been left behind. Just in case, she thought. She wouldn’t let tonight ruin her life. If she did get caught, she’d leave, it’d be easy. She had started over plenty of times. It was nothing new to her. Once she confirmed that they were in the clear, she returned to the blonde. “We’re covered in blood. We need to clean off before we try to go into town. I parked my car on the other side of the woods, through there.” She pointed past the field. “There’s a stream on the way. We can clean off there.” she said as she moved towards the area in which she had motioned towards. “Once we get to the clinic, we’ll discuss what needs to be done from there.”

Of all the human professions, a veterinarian was one of the more noble ones. Using human hands, human techniques to heal animals. Alcher was mildly pleased with this development. Back in Poland, her pack knew a veterinarian who would help them in times of need and healing. He was human, but his smile was always warm and he always treated them with kindness. Sometimes, humans had purpose outside of being prey. She wondered what her father would have thought of it, though, as she waited for her companion to return from inside the house once more. Alcher was used to making scenes look like animal attacks. Leaving things behind like tracks and blood, then, didn’t matter. Police could test it all they wanted, she wasn’t in any system, and her blood would turn up more animal than human.

When she returned, Alcher still held onto the dog as if she were its only lifeline. It had stopped shaking, its head resting on her shoulder, and she looked across at the other woman. “You are thorough,” she said as she followed in the direction she’d pointed. “You have done this before, then?” But even if she didn’t answer the question, Alcher remained quiet as they made their way through the trees, careful not to leave a trail-- that much, Alcher was good at. Leave no trace. They cleaned themselves in the river and Alcher let her companion clean the dog as she held him in place, and then they set off back to her car, and ultimately, her clinic. It smelled stale inside, so sterile. The other woman’s scent was easier to parse out here, though, and Alcher watched her carefully. “You are not human,” she finally relented, “usually I can figure it out, but your smell...I can’t place it.”

“I’ve done it, yes.” Zinnia held onto the bat tightly. She would dispose of it later, throw it into her fireplace. She recalled the bags in her trunk. The woman was correct. She was thorough. The dog seemed to have calmed down considerably, but Zinnia was still worried for its leg. They ventured through the woods, the stream easily washed away the traces of blood that had been left on them from the man. It was quiet, and Zinnia was thankful. She enjoyed silence, and it was reassuring to her that there hadn’t been many questions. At least, there hadn’t been until they were in her clinic.

Zinnia looked over the dog’s leg. There was certainly a break, but Zinnia could tell it would heal in place. She would need to cast it, of course. Unless she were to heal it. She worked quietly until she decided to answer the woman’s comment, “you’re right.” She looked up to meet her gaze. “You aren’t either, then,” she confirmed. She resorted to scratching the dog behind his ears as he laid on the table. Zinnia knew about other creatures-- some like her, some unlike her. She wasn’t stupid. She had been around long enough to tell the difference between humans and not humans. “What would you guess?” Zinnia asked as she looked back down to the dog. Silently, she decided she would heal the dog’s broken leg after the blonde left.

“I am not,” Alcher confirmed easily. For whatever reason, she felt the confession was okay for this woman. She was not human, and that always made it infinitely better. Not hunter, either. Gods, not even close. But, then, what? Alcher was not wise to the many different creatures of the supernatural world, they were unimportant to her father and her pack. But she had been taught of other shapeshifters. Perhaps this woman was one of those? She did not smell of sweat and musk like the fae Alcher had met here, but whatever she was, Alcher could not quite place it. “I can not give much of a guess,” she said finally, her eyes glued to the dog on the table, “only that you are not human and perhaps part animal, like me.” She bent down so that she was eye level with the dog now, knees pressed against cold, linoleum flooring. Reached out a soft hand to brush through his thick, matted hair. A softness that was not present at the house took over her. “Your smell is wholly unfamiliar and yet so...familiar,” she murmured, resting her chin on the table as she continued to pet the dog. “If you do not wish to say, that is your prerogative. I trust you’ll keep my secret, however.” Finally looked away and up at her dark haired companion. “But I would at least like your name.”

“You wouldn’t be wrong,” Zinnia said with a polite smile. Unless where were in her fox form, she wouldn’t be able to discern exactly what this woman was. She decided early on it was none of her business. They had worked together to put a man who did not deserve life down, and that was enough for her. She had always respected others like her far more than anything else, and she was showing her respect by not asking questions. Though, it didn’t seem as though this woman was at all content with not knowing. Zinnia looked down at the splint she had set the dog’s leg in and tilted her head to the side. “We think of ourselves as more than that, I think.” Truthfully, she couldn’t remember much of her past, or what she had been taught to think of herself as. She knew that she was something close to the sun and sky, the moon and stars-- she was holy, yet she was not. “But… when it comes down to it, you would be correct.” Zinnia shifted her gaze back to the woman. “I wouldn’t divulge your existence to anyone, you don’t need to worry.” She gripped the edges of the table as she looked at the blonde. “My name?” She let out a laugh, “of course.” She didn’t bother to extend her hand in greeting-- it was a human formality. Neither of them were of such lineage. “Zinnia. Zinnia Rhee. You are?” She asked with a tilt of her head.

“We would have similar thoughts, then,” Alcher said, finally standing back up, but staying close to the tired pup on the table. His eyes were beginning to droop, and his breathing was steady, though a few low whines did still escape his throat. Alcher looked the other woman in the eyes-- a sign of respect, her father had taught her-- and gave a nod. “Not human, not animal. Something...more. Better.” She traced her fingers along the cool surface of the table before bringing it up to her hip to rest. “Thank you,” she said when she came to a stop in front of the other woman. Her laugh bounced off the walls like a windchime. Her dismissal of human rituals made Alcher smile. “Zinnia,” she repeated, “I am Alcher. Alcher Krieg.” Kept her steady gaze on Zinnia for a moment, before relenting it and looking back at the dog. “I have not met many others in this town who are so...similar to myself,” she said finally, running her hand softly over the dog’s back. “I wish to stay with him,” she instructed, and it wasn’t a question, “I want him to know he’s not alone anymore.”

Zinnia knew that there was no reason to withhold her name. If the woman looked anywhere, she’d see it. There was a common ground that the two of them now tread upon, and Zinnia felt respect seep into her smile as she looked at the blonde. “Alcher,” she sounded the name out. “It’s nice to meet you.” It might have been odd to anyone that they hadn’t spoken their names until after their combined efforts to murder a man (rightfully so). Though, would anybody else see what they did as just? She didn’t think so. Zinnia matched Alcher’s gaze as she looked back down at the dog. “I have to say that I haven’t either.” The majority of whom Zinnia had come across, they were different than her-- they were… grander, more frightening. She liked to steer clear of them. She would make her messes and clean them up quietly, not interfere, continuing her work as she had done for the past 120 years. “I’ll stay here with him,” she replied slowly, “I know that you want to stay with him, but--” She smoothed her hand over the dog’s side. His tail picked up and began to wag ever so slightly. She had done enough revealing for tonight. She didn’t want to heal in front of Alcher, too. “I have a cot that I sleep on when animals come in badly injured, just to monitor them. If you really do not want to leave, I can offer that to you, but I think it’s best if you leave and come back tomorrow.” She eyed the woman. “Do you want to take him home with you? After?” The process in which she typically put those looking to adopt any of her rescues under was a rigorous one, and Alcher underwent the questions. However, Zinnia knew that she could trust her to take care of this dog-- she looked at it as if it mattered more than herself.

“I want to stay,” Alcher repeated firmly, but not demandingly. Not angrily. Just firm. Steady in her words. If she went home, she would just spend the night worrying about the dog. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust her newfound companion, but Alcher was hardwired to care for those who could not protect themselves. She was supposed to be the head of the family, leader of the pack, back when she still had a family to call her own. Now, this was all she had. Gathering up strays and holding them together for as long as she could before they figured out how to do it themselves and she could move on. This one, however, needed her more than the others. Alcher had never had a dog before, though many had followed her around from place to place. In Canada, they ran free with the farm dogs sometimes, or the loose strays on the streets. She would bring them food and offer them safety, but she’d never had one by her side. Something, however, about this one, told her it would be different. With a real home to live in and a roof over her head, keeping him as her own was much more doable. “I think I would like that,” she said to Zinnia finally, looking at her with gentle eyes again. “Thank you.” Whatever morally obtrusive act they’d just done didn’t matter to her. This dog was safe now, and it was because of her companion that he was. “For what it might be worth, I am glad I ran into you tonight.”

Zinnia observed Alcher silently for a moment. She had seen that look. She had given that exact same look, and to plenty of people. All of which were a part of her past, long gone, and most nights, forgotten about. “Very well then,” she said after a moment. She couldn’t argue against the woman, she had proven that she was more than capable of being trusted. Still, Zinnia knew what she was doing was slightly out of character, but there was something about this woman that struck a familiar cord with her. “Don’t mention it,” Zinnia said with a smile before she removed herself from Alcher’s and the dog’s space. She moved towards the door before stopping at Alcher’s words. “Me too.” She wasn’t sure how glad she was, but there was a part of her that was. It might’ve been miniscule, but Zinnia did find it cohesive, the way that they had moved together, the way that they knew what the other wanted without so much as a word. Zinnia had been on her own for so long, bringing justice to somebody who deserved to rot, that she had forgotten what that could look like on somebody else. “I’ll get your cot ready. Then we can move him into there.” There was a bed set up as well for the dog-- any dog, really, that needed overnight care. She would hopefully gain a moment alone with the dog to heal the hardest part of the break, that way it could have a peaceful sleep without the pain. After she returned to the two of them from placing a fresh pillow and blanket onto the makeshift bed, she motioned for the woman to follow her. “The bathroom is just inside of there, if you wanted to clean up more.” Zinnia motioned down the hallway as she helped situate the dog onto the bed.

Alcher watched her go, before kneeling next to the pup again. His fur was so soft. It reminded her of her youngest brother’s fur. Sometimes, they would take turns being wolf and being human, resting on each other, telling each other what colors they thought they were-- a downside to being color blind-- and how soft their fur was. She shifted enough to lay her head just barely against the dog’s chest and listen to his breaths. She hadn’t cried in years, perhaps even a decade, but a tear wet her eye at the soft, soothing sound of his even breaths. No rattle, no shake. Just like when she’d lay on her brother and hear his heart and his lungs and know he was so alive. She made sure her eyes were dry before Zinnia returned, nodding gratefully to her as she followed, helping carry the dog along. “You really care for these animals, don’t you?” she asked as she looked at the small bed beside the cot. “I wish more of us were like you,” she murmured, before looking to the bathroom. Gave her once last look before heading in, stripping her dirty clothes off to clean them and wash the skin underneath. The pack, she’d always been taught, came first. The pack was only wolves. But over the years, perhaps Alcher had come to know another truth-- the pack was who you could find loyalty in. The pack was who you could put trust in. Perhaps she’d found more than one candidate tonight. When she came back out, she was fresh and bathed. “Will you be staying as well?”

“I do,” Zinnia confirmed. She cared more for them than herself at certain points, she thought. She could consider this to be one of those times. Risking it to save an animal in need. Who else would do it? Though, she supposed there were more than just her, as one of those individuals were standing in front of her now. The comment brought a small smile to Zinnia’s lips. She didn’t do what she did for praise. She did what she did was because it wasn’t only what she thought was right, it was because it was right. It had to be. If it weren’t, then she wouldn’t have years behind her, creatures of all sorts saved from paths that would’ve led to their demise. She hated the idea of standing idly by and letting something suffer, especially when she was capable of putting an end to said suffering. Zinnia watched as Alcher left for the bathroom. She moved quickly and took the dog’s leg into her hand gingerly. It only took a moment to heal it to the point of being nothing more than a sprain, something that would heal within a week. The dog’s tail wagged and she reached out to pat the top of his head, giving him a scratch behind the ears once again. Hopefully Alcher wasn’t familiar with bone breaks. If she was, well, then Zinnia would deal with that then. Zinnia busied herself with ensuring that the bedding was comfortable enough for the dog before taking the paperwork out of her blood stained jacket. It was a wonder that a man who treated a creature like that would hold onto such important details. After confirming that the dog had no known allergies from a vet visit in a few towns over, she dished out some of the finest kibble they had on hand and looked up at Alcher as she reappeared in the room. “I don’t need to if you don’t feel comfortable with it. I have a separate couch in my office.” She smoothed her hand over the top of the dog’s head as he ate up his kibble from the dish.

It was an instant relief to see the dog up and eating, even if Alcher was sure moments ago that his leg was injured gravely. She came over to the other two and sat on the cot, reaching out to pat his head once again, as he scarfed up the food. “Bit skinny, isn’t he?” she said, running a hand along his back. “You’ll never go hungry again, cousin,” she murmured to him, letting her hand stay on his back momentarily. When she looked back up at Zinnia, she smiled, softly, perhaps a bit tired. In human years, she was young. In those who lived centuries, she was nothing but a child. But in the hard years she spent breaking and bending her bones, stretching sinew and muscle to change, she was old beyond her years. All the wiser for it. “It is your clinic,” she answered after a moment, “you can stay.” The dog gave a small, happy whine and licked Alcher’s hand. “I think he might prefer it if you did, too, anyway.”

“He looks like he’s getting better already,” Zinnia commented. She was a great liar-- had perfected it over the years. “With the right care, he’ll be back up to his rightful self.” Zinnia smiled down at the dog as she looked to Alcher. So she had been right, Alcher was a wolf. There was no unease, no animosity. They were close enough, at least when it came down to things. “Thank you for your permission,” Zinnia laughed as she moved towards the door. “My office is just around the corner. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to come in.” She made sure to take the dog’s paperwork with her. She’d get rid of it, claim him as a stray, and once Alcher adopted him, all would be right for him. “Sleep well.” She left through the door and into her office, curious at what this new person in her life would turn out to be.

#para: say your prey-ers #para: alcher #chatzy #death tw #animal abuse tw #gore tw #torture tw

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fvaleraye · 4 years

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WyldWood

ayyyyyyyyy, would you look at that, another chapter. heck yeah

i was in the mood to write smth for Velda, so i thought this might be a good chance to give y’all a little bit of world background at the same time. Velda’s been to some neat places, y’all this takes place before Unexpected Reunions btw, just in case that’s not obvious-

i hope y’all enjoy reading ‘^^

The Great Forest was a deep, winding, intimidating expanse of trees. It was so expansive that efforts to make roads to every village in and past the edges of it were still ongoing. It was filled with more foliage than you could imagine, as well as monsters, bandits, and a myriad of other dissidents, looking to escape the ever expanding clutches of civilization and law, or simply trying to live as far from man as they could. There are some things, however, that man avoids in these woods. In the deepest parts of the woods, the center of that immense expanse of forest, is a place unlike any other. A place where the great Council dare not tread, where magic has soaked into the boughs of the greatest trees, and magic seeps into the earth through the roots, and, in time, returns to the roots. A place not meant for little fleshlings. Only for the branch and the root.

The WyldWood.

Few dared to tread in the WyldWood, so few that there were no roads leading to it, in fact all roads gave it a unreasonably wide berth. But it lied there, in the center of the forest. Through the dense and ever-shaded forest was a place that could only be described as... magical. The bark and the leaves of the trees, the grass, even the sky and the clouds, it was all so much brighter, more vibrant, almost as if they were a painting you could walk right into. Wisps of magic trailed through the air, like embers from a fire, handily demonstrating the sheer amount of magic contained in this place. Vines both great and small, thorned and smooth, grew everywhere, at times covering the ground below them entirely, making travel through it a bit troublesome. What could make a home in such a place, you may ask? Well, it wasn't the animals, it wasn't the elves, it wasn't fairies either, it certainly wasn't humans. No. The only things here were the trees, the plants. The WyldBorn.

The WyldBorn were a strange race of living plants, bark and vine given Sparks. Such a thing was unheard of, but here it was. There was no other place on Magna Terra where plant life could gain a Spark. The WyldWood was just that special. The WyldBorn could be an... obtuse race to interact with. Their ways were strange. Their speech was strange. Their mannerisms were difficult to understand for anyone but themselves. And they found "Fleshlings", as they called the other races, to be just as obtuse. Sentience among the WyldBorn varied, from little Wyldling drones that existed only to do simple tasks, to the "nobility", for lack of a better term, among them that possessed some sort of higher consciousness. At the very center of the WyldWood was the great, immortal progenitor of the race as a whole. The Great RootMother. The center of the great Wyld consciousness, shaper of the WyldWood, and the origin and greatest user of Wyld Magic. The great being was the oldest living thing on the entirety of Magna Terra, or, at least, the oldest living thing that has been confirmed to actually exist. Many sought her out for her knowledge, knowledge of the world, of Wyld Magic, or simply to see if she truly did exist. While the RootMother did not know all, she did still know many things. More than any other living being. Many considered the RootMother to be a sort of nature goddess, though the Holy Church was quick to dismiss any of that sort of implication. It was a trek, but few people made the trip and came out saying that it wasn't worth it. They knew what they were getting into.

The one person making the journey right now, though, only really had an idea of what she was getting herself into.

Velda had been walking through the woods for days now, with nothing but a little bag of rations, a bedroll, her old bow and arrows, and the dirty brown clothes on her back. She had seen the Silver City magi and historians, but nobody knew anything about what she wanted to know. It was disheartening. But a few people did point her in the direction of the RootMother, and said that if anyone on this earth knew the answers she sought, it would be her. Thankfully the WyldWood wasn't too hard to find, nearly every map you could find had a big "DON'T GO HERE" area in the middle of the Great Forest. She had never met a WyldBorn. She wondered what they were like. Were they really all plants...? It was pretty exciting. Of course, the slog through the woods to get there wasn't. It was miserable. The bedroll was better than sleeping on the dirt, but her back still really didn't appreciate it. She couldn't wait until she could go home and sleep in a real bed. With a mattress. And pillows. And Blankets. But, she couldn't leave, not yet, not until she had found the RootMother and spoke to her. Gods, please let her be real, I don't want to have walked all this way for literally nothing... Eventually, as she walked, miserable, but still keeping a steady pace, the dirt and faded grass gave way to much more luscious greenery. Seemed like she was going the right way.

As she kept her pace, she started to feel an... odd feeling in her chest. A. Lightness. Like she was floating. A moment later, she started to see little wisps of magic trailing around lazily. There were a few, but as she kept going there were many. Yeah, she was definitely in the right place. She took a deep breath, trying to shake off the weird floaty feeling she was getting. It was probably from the sheer saturation of magic in the area. As she continued for a few minutes longer, the ground started to rumble, and she froze. She looked around. But there was nothing. Nothing except the vines, and the trees. After a moment, some of those vines started to move.

The tangled mess of vines and roots in front of her started to snake and coil, tangling and untangling, shifting and contorting, until its form resembled something like a hulking beast. Vines coalesced at its "shoulders", and a wooden face-like mask formed at its face, eyeholes glowing as brightly as the runes on its body. The two shared a long, silent stare.

"... uh.... u-uh... h... hiiii...?" The girl greeted, hesitantly, trying to surpress her panic. "I.... u-uh... I-I'm looking f-for th-the... the RootMother...?"

The WyldGiant just stared, as unmoving as the trees surrounding them. Then, after a few moments, it looked up at the sky thoughtfully, as if it had just processed her words. "... Rrrrroooooooot.... Mmmmmoooootheerrrrrrrrr......." It parroted, its voice deep, rumbling like an earthquake. It looked back down at Velda, and slowly brought its creaking extremities around her, picking her up gently, like one would a baby bird. She tried her best to not move to much, though she was ready to have a panic attack. It set her ever-so-gently onto its shoulder, giving her a long glance. Then, it looked to the ground for a moment, unmoving. after a minute or so, it looked up again, and started to trod through the forest. The girl just anxiously held on for dear life.

The walk was slow, or, at least, it felt like it. It was a big creature that was carrying her around. It was trying its best not to throw her off, but it was still rocking quite a bit as it moved. The two moved in relative silence, though it couldn't really be considered silence, what with how much noise the giant was making as it moved along. Eventually, she decided to speak up. "... s-so... i-if I may ask..." She started, quietly, fidgeting as she spoke. "... wh-where are g-going...?"

The answer didn't come immediately, the WyldGiant seemed to need a few moments in advance before it did anything, but an answer did indeed come eventually. "... to.... Rooot... Mmmmoootherrr..." It replied, its own voice shaking its entire being.

"... y-you're just... gonna t-take me there? N-no questions asked??"

"... Mmmmotherrrrr... lllliiiikes... visiiitoorrrrrs..."

"... o-okay..."

The trip took a while, the sun had started to set by the time the giant stopped. The sprites of magic were that much brighter in the evening dusk, and the runes dotting the landscape were that much more obvious. It laid down low to the ground, and let its passenger off. It gave a long, thoughtful gaze forward, prompting her to look in the same direction. She could see an absolutely enormous tree. She was guessing that was the RootMother. Then, the giant turned around, and slowly plodded back off into the forest.

"... th-thank you." She called over her shoulder, meekly. There wasn't answer, but it did hear her. It just continued to walk off. Velda started what seemed to be the last leg of her trip.

It was much easier, thankfully. There weren't nearly as many vines, the ground was fairly even, if a bit bumpy in places. She decided to take the time to actually consider what she was going to say to the RootMother. How does one speak to a plant being older than your entire family line? Should she talk normally, or should she try to be respectful? Does she talk quietly or a loudly? Does she even need to talk at all?? What if the RootMother can hear her thoughts??? Oh gods how would she even be able to handle that-

Calm down. I’m overthinking again... ... but how can I not overthink when I’m about to meet a giant tree god???

It wasn't long before she was at the foot of the great tree. She was able to get a good look at it now. Bark and boughs twisted gracefully, fluidly, into one surprisingly cohesive form. Runes were etched all along the surface. The tree was shaped vaguely like a woman, though it was still clearly a tree. One could make a lovely, graceful form, though, in place of arms, there were branches holding up the lush, vibrant, enormous greenery that was her leaves, her Spark shining brightly within her chest. A face-like mask, very similar to the WyldGiants, slowly came down from the treetop, the near deafening creaking echoing throughout the entire forest as the enormous entity bent down to get a good look at her guest. She bared no expression, but the visitor could feel a sort of motherly gentleness on her blank features. The silence between the two was awkwardly long. At least, it was for Velda.

"... h... h-hello." She said, figuring that a simple hello would probably be a good start. "Are... are y-you the... th-the R-RootMother...?"

"Yes." She replied, her voice soft, echoing gently off the forest around them. The answer came much quicker than the other was expecting, to be quite honest.

"O-oh, g-good, good..." Her voice trailed off as she fidgeted. How does one speak to a millennia-old forest god? Was there any sort of etiquette? She had no clue. This wasn't exactly an every-day thing.

"Have you something to ask me, child...?" She asked, her tone coming off as a mother trying to gentle comfort her nervous child.

She continued to fidget, and let out a small nervous chuckle. "H-how'd you know...?"

"Most come to me with questions. Especially in these times. However, if you have come to ask me about the dragons, I cannot help you. They were before even my time, I’m afraid."

"O-oh! N-no! I-I'm not h-here to ask about d-dragons! I-I'm not much of a historian..."

"I see... then what, pray tell, are you here to ask then...?"

The girls eyes fell to the ground, her hands still wringing nervously. She considered how to put this question. It was one thing to ask a person, it was another thing entirely to ask a... tree god. After a moment, though, she did finally speak up. "... I... th... this might b-be a... weird question... but... do you kn-know... what I... am...?"

The RootMother took a long, hard look at her visitor. She tilted her head, and the other could feel her squinting, even if she couldn't really physically squint. "Hmmm... I am... unsure..." She answered, thoughtfully. Velda's arms fell to her sides as she gave a look of incredulous confusion.

"W-what do you mean you're "unsure"???" She said, her voice betraying her utter disbelief. "I-I thought y-you were supposed to know e-everything when it c-came to m-magic a-a-and sparks!"

"I know much. Not all." She replied, her tone still as gentle and even as ever. "I am truly sorry. But your... spark, is not something I am knowledgeable in."

The girl just stood there for a while, in shock. She. She came all this way. All this way. Just to get an "I don't know". Gods. Fucking damnit. Slowly, she sat on the ground, head in her hands, and let out a long sigh. She wanted to cry.

"... I will say, however..." She added, her tone starting to sound even gentler than before. "I do feel a sort of... kindred spirit, in your spark."

"... kindred spirit...?" She parroted, raising her head slowly. "What's that s-supposed to mean...?"

"There is a... familiarity. I cannot place it. But it is there."

She considered the beings words for a moment. Hmm. She. Wasn't really sure what she meant by that. But it was the closest thing to an answer she's gotten in a long, long time. It was progress. "... wh-where do I even g-go from here..."

"If I may... have you considered seeing the elflings...? You seem to bare a sort of resemblance to their kin."

"... yeah I g-get that a l-lot..." She mumbled, letting out another sigh. "I-I haven't seen the elves. I f-figured I'd try after this, if you... didn't have answers..."

"I am truly sorry I could not give you the answers you sought, child. I can tell it troubles you so."

"... you have no idea..."

"I may not have the answers you desire, but, as I said, I do feel a sort of kinship with you... so, I shall grant you something. A gift."

"A... a g-gift?"

"Yes. Hand me your bow."

She tilted her head at the RootMother. She... wasn't sure where she was going with this, but okay. She stood up, slowly, and hesitantly took the bow from her back, nervously handing it out to her. A few wisps of magic started to circle around as vines took the bow from her hand, wrapping around the old cracked wood like a snake coiling around its prey. The little motes of magic continued to circle it, until they all disappeared in small flash. Then, the vines started to sink back into the ground, revealing the bow once more. It was different now. It seemed to be as good as new, and glowing blue runes now covered it in nearly its entirety. She hesitantly took the bow back, looking up at the others face.

"I dub thee, Moonsong. Your bow is now kissed by the purest of Wyld Magic."

"W-wyld Magic...?" She gripped the bow, testing its weight a bit, glancing at the other as she did. "... isn't that, like, the m-most random and chaotic magic ever...?"

"It is only as disordered and "random" as nature is." She replied, sagely. "Do not fret, it will not cause you harm. It will give each arrow you fire special properties, and, under the moonlight, you will not even need arrows at all, for the Wyld shall provide you with arrows of moonlight."

"... neat..." She whispered, putting the bow back over her shoulder.

She gave a little snicker at the girls phrase. "Yes. "Neat" indeed."

"... th-thank you, really. E-even if you c-couldn't tell me what I w-wanted to know, I... I-I think you helped me g-get a little c-closer."

"You're welcome, child. I'm sorry I could not help more... safe travels."

#Valerie Writes #Scintillam #Velda #i had fun with this one asdflkjn-#and i'm p happy with how it turned out...#just a chill little adventure #well. i mean #depends on ur definition of chill i guess aslkdfjn #i hope y'all enjoy readin' '^^#*softly* n' reblogs would be appreciated if u did-

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aliciameade · 5 years

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Baby - Ch. 15

Title: Baby Author: aliciameade Rating: *** M *** Pairing: Stephanie Smothers/Emily Nelson Summary: That tearful kiss shared between Stephanie and Emily wasn't their first—and it certainly wasn't their last.

(Chapter 1)

Also on AO3

(You can buy me a ko-fi if you want to!)

When Stephanie’s cell phone rings with Sean’s name on the screen, she sends the boys to the backyard to play.

“Hello?”

She’s met with the gasping sobs of a broken man. “She’s gone.”

“Sean? Is that you? What’s wrong?”

His voice is strained, choked with tears. “Emily. She’s—someone—”

“Just take a breath. Tell me what happened.”

He does and in that second of silence, Stephanie can hear the chatter of many other people in the background. “She’s gone, Stephanie. I came home and found her…” He breaks into tears again and she works on drumming up her own as she allows a believable amount of time to pass to come to the conclusion he can’t put into words.

It’s not as difficult as she thought it might be to start crying; imagining Emily being murdered is an easy catalyst for tears. “Oh, my God. No!”

“Can you please look after Nicky tonight? I can’t have him here. The police say the house is a crime scene. I can’t let him see this.” He sounds destroyed.

“Yes, of course,” she says, working up plenty of tears. “Anything. Anything for Emily.” Her voice cracks over her name. “Let me know how I can help.”

“You’re a saint. Thank you. I need to go. I’ll call when you can bring Nicky home.”

Stephanie cries in earnest when she sets her phone down. Everything was so easy with Emily by her side but she’s gone and she has to see the last leg of this journey through alone.

Emily will be on a plane now somewhere over the Atlantic. They won’t communicate again for some time; they can’t risk it once the investigation begins. They won’t communicate at all until Stephanie, Miles, and Nicky show up at Emily’s new front door.

Their new front door.

She cries because she misses the woman she loves.

~ ~

Three days pass before Sean asks her to bring Nicky home.

The first night had been easy; he was excited to spend the night with Miles. The second, he asked if he could go home and she had to explain that she was watching him for a little while. The third, he cried that he missed his mom and dad.

That had been a difficult night for everyone. Lying to a little boy that he’ll see his parents soon, knowing he’s going to be told his mother is dead when she is very much alive…

If murder wasn’t already an egregious sin, setting it up so a little boy would mourn his mother unnecessarily…

She doesn’t let herself think about it.

When she arrives at Sean’s house, it’s in a far worse state than she and Emily had left it. It’s as though the police upturned every single thing, or maybe Sean had lost his mind when he found his wife strangled in their living room.

There are dark smudges on the walls and counters, fingerprint powder that has been left for someone else to clean up. The white couch is gone, leaving a noticeable void in the heart of the home.

Stephanie keeps an excessive distance between herself and Sean once they’ve hugged in grief. It’s a habit she needs to establish quickly, though it’s not a difficult one. Frankly, she’d like to have nothing to do with the man ever again, let alone be in the same room with him, but to accomplish one she’ll have to tolerate the other.

Nicky’s not ill-placed dramatics of the night previous are absent now and while he’s happy to be home, he doesn’t question why he had to stay at Stephanie’s house. He does ask where his mother is.

Stephanie grits her teeth while Sean tells him to wait in his room and he’ll talk to him soon.

“What did the detective say?” she asks once he’s upstairs. She refuses to ask how Sean’s holding up. It’s clear the answer is, “not well,” but she doesn’t need to be a source of sympathy for him.

“They’re investigating it as a burglary gone wrong. They think whoever did this didn’t expect someone to be home in the middle of the day and panicked.”

“That’s terrible,” she says with fake shock. “She was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Sean doesn’t seem convinced by that but he doesn’t explicitly disagree. “The police are interviewing everyone she has—had contact with. Don’t be surprised if they reach out to you.”

“No, of course. I’ll do everything I can to help.”

~ ~

The funeral is a stark reminder of Emily’s aversion to casual human connection. Stephanie recognizes Emily’s boss, Dennis Nylon, from his advertisements attending with a smattering of similar high-fashion types she assumes to be Emily’s coworkers. To equal levels of astonishment and irritation, Darren, Sona, and Stacy are there with their children as though they gave two shits about Emily beyond either wanting to be her friend so they could tap into her A-list resources or to criticize her lack of helicopter parenting.

No one resembles someone who could be Emily’s mother and that makes Stephanie’s heart hurt. It’s a useful thought to get some tears flowing when she catches Stacy watching her with something akin to suspicion. She doesn’t want to be stoic but to be an emotional wreck would be just as question-inducing.

A thought, a tiny hint of guilt flits through her mind that someone’s daughter is being buried right now and the girl’s mother has no idea.

She blinks it away and holds Miles a little closer.

~ ~

She single-handedly organizes the wake; Sean is useless and his mother wasn’t able to come, still recovering from hip replacement surgery, so Stephanie has to do it.

It seems the town’s gossip committee is feeling their own type of guilt for the way they treated Emily and even Stephanie, and she’s forced to grin and bear the brunt of their attempts to rid themselves of such regrets.

“You’re a real saint to help her family out like this,” Darren says sheepishly after having the gall to use one of her own recipes and compliment her vlog after teasing her for so long.

She tries not to flinch; it’s the second time she’s been referred to as such since she took someone’s life and it doesn’t sit well with her. “I’m not a saint. I—Emily’s my friend. She’d do the same for me.”

~ ~

Nicky refuses to speak to her when she puts him to bed once everyone’s gone home. She doesn’t blame him; death is confusing and upsetting and she can’t imagine having to deal with it at such a young age. She wishes she could tell him it was all a trick, that his mom is waiting for him and he’ll see her again soon.

She contemplates it briefly but it will only stir more confusion in him and it should be Emily who discusses with him why this happened, not her.

She also can’t trust such a little boy to keep that type of thing a secret from his father.

Instead, she simply says, “I know your mother loves you very much.”

~ ~

Another week passes before a detective knocks on her door.

He’s loud and cocky and borderline condescending when he asks her, “Just how close are you to Sean Townsend?”

The question is out of left field and she blinks in surprise. “Excuse me?”

“Some of the folks around here mentioned you’ve been spending quite a bit of time at his house.”

“Detective Summerville,” she says as her back straightens and she regrets her nicety of offering him tea, “what are you implying?”

He laughs loudly and holds up his hands as if surrendering. Or in defense. “I’m not implying anything. I was repeating an observation made by others.”

Stephanie finds it convenient that neighbors would only now take notice of her spending time at the house. She’s there far less often than she ever was when “Emily” was alive but now that she’s dead, they begin to gossip that Stephanie’s already swooped in on her grieving widower?

She’s offended, not for that but for the lack of gossip that she spent countless afternoons with Emily while Sean wasn’t home. Why? Because it was two women spending time together?

“I don’t appreciate their implications,” she says defiantly. “If I’m at Sean’s house it’s because I’m helping with his son, who is best friends with my own son. We’re not engaged in some torrid love affair. If that’s what you’re after, you should be taking a closer look at who Sean spends his time with.”

At least the offensive question set up her first breadcrumb perfectly.

It gets his attention and his cockiness shifts to genuine interest. “Is there something in Sean’s life we should be looking at?”

“Try someone.” She says it and then feigns regret as though she shouldn’t have said anything.

The detective pulls a tiny notebook from the breast pocket of his jacket and flips it open while clicking a pen. “Do you have a name?”

She shakes her head and wraps her arms around herself. “I only know what Emily told me.”

“And what is that?”

“I shouldn’t. It’s probably nothing.” She knows he won’t let it go.

“Miss Smothers, we have reason to believe Emily’s homicide wasn’t a burglary gone awry.”

“Why? What did you find?” She knows they found nothing; nothing, that is, but a poorly staged crime scene.

“I can’t tell you that, but I can tell you that any information you have may be helpful.”

She takes a breath and nods. “Emily told me a few weeks ago that she was going to ask Sean for a divorce.”

That information is definitely new to the detective and he almost quivers with excitement in its revelation. “Did she say why she wanted a divorce?”

“He was—or is, I don’t know—having an affair with his T.A. at the university where he teaches. She was scared, and I’d never seen her scared a day in my life. But she was scared when she told me that. Like she was scared of what he might do if she tried to leave him.”

“And you didn’t think to alert the authorities?”

She sets her jaw firm at the return of his condescension. “I didn’t think he would actually…” She trails off to let Mr. Man-in-Charge reach the conclusion on his own; she’s planted the seed for what might have happened and unless he connects the dots himself, he won’t place enough importance on the theory.

“And are you aware he took out a four million dollar life insurance policy on Emily less than a year ago?”

She hesitates for dramatic effect, then nods. She has to be partially honest now.

“What’s interesting to me, though, is that last month, Emily made you the sole beneficiary. I guess you really were her best friend.”

She nods again. “I told you: she was scared. She was afraid of Sean, of what he might do. She didn’t want her son to suffer if something happened to her.”

“You talked about the possibility of Sean killing her?”

“Not in so many words, no.” She rubs the back of her neck. Her nerves are real now; she can’t misstep. One chink in the armor is all it will take. “She said she wanted a safety net. Just in case. It’s why we started guardianship paperwork, too.”

“Emily was going to make you the guardian of their child?”

“Like I said: it was all a safety net. A back-up plan in case...well...in case.” She shrugs at the obvious.

“I see. Well, I guess this means you’re getting four million dollars once we finish our investigation into Ms. Nelson’s death. Assuming you had nothing to do with it, of course,” he adds with an unnerving smile.

She ignores his bait. “Does Sean know about me being the beneficiary?”

“Not as far as I know; he hasn’t tried to file a claim or contacted them at all according to the agent. With a payout of this size and with the circumstances, you can expect them to open their own investigation.”

“No, of course,” she says, nodding in understanding. “Do you think I should wait to file for any reason? I don’t want to interfere with your investigation.”

He scribbles in his notebook as he shakes his head, then clicks his pen and puts them both back into his pocket. “That won’t be necessary. Thank you for your time, Miss Smothers. We’ll be in touch. If you think of anything else that might be of interest, give me a call.” He hands her a business card and shows himself out of her home.

When the door closes she breathes a sigh of relief and sinks onto the couch to hug a throw pillow to her chest wishing it was Emily.

~ ~

Sean finds out about the life insurance policy when Stephanie has to ask for a copy of Emily’s death certificate. She’d tried to avoid going through him but no one would provide her the required documentation because she wasn’t Emily’s next of kin.

“Why would she do that?” He looks almost as broken as he did after Emily’s death. It was clear he had yet to even think about collecting on her death which was, Stephanie supposed, admirable. “That was so I could support Nicky if anything ever happened.”

And that’s exactly what it will be used for. “I don’t know, Sean.” She can’t tell him the reason she told the detective; it’s not yet time for him to know. “But I promise, I’ll help with Nicky in any way I can.”

He agrees to put in the request for the needed paperwork regardless of his confusion and Stephanie offers to make dinner for him.

It’s the least she can do, given the circumstances. It’s the least she can do as she slowly takes everything that ever mattered to this poor man.

~ ~

He learns a week later that Emily’s put into her will that should anything happen to Sean, custody of Nicky is to be granted to one Stephanie Smothers.

He shows up on Stephanie’s doorstep irate, pounding on her front door demanding to know what he did to deserve this.

She calms him down with chamomile tea and reassurances that Emily’s decision was only in Nicky’s best interest and Sean has nothing to worry about. That the guardianship will only be enacted should something happen to him as well and surely, nothing will change.

~ ~

Sean is arrested three weeks later.

According to the news, he is a possessive husband who was engaging in a torrid affair with a college student. He snapped when his successful wife found out and tried to divorce him. He’d strangled her with a rope (the police had found a rope just like it in his gardening shed) in a fit of rage, then staged the house to make it look like someone had broken in to burglarize the home. Much of her jewelry appeared to be missing and the police uncovered one piece, a diamond and ruby necklace, at a pawn shop just a few miles from Warfield.

The shop’s security cameras weren’t recording at the time and no one remembers who sold them the necklace. It’s the only piece of missing jewelry that will ever be found. The rest, Stephanie knows, will be disassembled and sold separately as gemstones and precious metals over time to shops outside the United States.

She rushes to the police station as soon as the breaking news report about his arrest ends. No one has contacted her, but then again, no one would know to do so.

She arrives prepared, a certified copy of Emily’s Last Will and Testament and partially signed guardianship papers in hand should they be necessary.

There’s press everywhere, local news trucks and reporters from New York City are parked outside the station. They pay her no mind and she speaks to the officer at the front desk about the situation and her concern for Nicky Townsend’s well-being, and do they know where he is and if he’s okay?

Her concern is genuine; she doesn’t know how long Sean’s been in jail. She doesn’t know where Nicky is or if he understands what’s happening. He’s surely scared and upset; his life has been in turmoil for weeks since his mother died and now this.

She’s given the name and phone number of a Child Protective Services counselor and several more phone calls are required once she arrives at their office. Calls to lawyers, to law enforcement, to agency directors until she’s signing paperwork stating who she is and where she lives to allow Nicky to be released into her temporary custody.

It’s clear he’s upset: he won’t even speak to Miles on the car ride to her house. She knows he knows what’s happened; the counselor took care of educating him on where his father is, but (of course) not the specifics of why he is there.

She lets the boys have whatever they want for dinner and stay up as late as they want. They build a fort in the living room and the three of them fall asleep there together.

~ ~

The trial is arduous. Stephanie watches much of it play out in the news headlines. The jury selection. The recap of the arguments that were made each day. The evidence that was presented. She lives with constant, haunting worry that something will go wrong. That she and Emily made an error along the way. That one day the police will knock on her door with an arrest warrant for the murder of Faith McLanden.

More weeks pass.

She’s called to testify by the state’s prosecution.

“Can you describe your relationship to the victim?”

“Emily Nelson and I were best friends. Our sons are in the same class at Warfield Elementary.”

“Can you please share with the court what you told Detective Summerville on April 26, 2018 with regard to Sean Townsend’s personal relationships?”

Stephanie recounts what she’d told the detective about Emily confiding in her about Sean’s affair, her desire for a divorce, and her fear of the consequences. She’s asked to share the details of becoming the beneficiary of Emily’s life insurance, the guardianship paperwork they’d started, and the temporary custody of Nicky she’s been granted.

Sean’s defense attorney grills her about the details of her relationship with Emily. Why she trusted her so much as to give her millions of dollars. To trust her with her son. He stops short of saying the words, but she knows the implication he’s making. He wants the jury to think there’s more to the story. That Sean wasn’t the only unfaithful spouse.

All he needs to do is put enough doubt in the jurors’ minds to get them to return that Not Guilty verdict.

He doesn’t.

Stephanie watches the sentencing coverage on the news, heart in her throat and tears on her cheeks while she packs.

Sean Townsend will spend forty years in Bridgeport Correctional Center for the murder of Emily Nelson.

Stephanie Smothers is granted sole custody of Nicky Townsend in accordance with Emily’s will.

Stephanie and Miles Smothers and Nicky Townsend are reported missing by a concerned citizen on July 19, 2018.

~ ~

(Chapter 16)

#a simple favor #stephanie smothers #emily nelson #asf fic #murder moms #fanfic #HAPPY MOTHERS DAY!!

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asymetra · 5 years

Text

Proselytize

Artemisia is a wallflower at university and a burgeoning humanist. She has dyslexia and chooses to go by her middle name, Rose.

An excerpt from Truth and Roses

Sunny California wasn’t always sunny along the coast. Often, low clouds from the ocean rolled in, hit the hills, and sat there; except this afternoon. Like many students, Rose, with liberally applied sun cream, laid on the grass enjoying the sun’s warmth. The bright sunlight made it near impossible to see tablet screens, unless one was lucky enough to get some space under a shady tree - of which, Rose was not one. Her broad hat provided shade, but reflected off the screen making it impossible to see so she was charging her tablet with a portable solar panel. She actually spent time reading a school book - well, trying, the words were a jumble - and angling it in the shade of her broad hat so the bright sunlight didn’t reflect off the page into her face.

She hadn’t spoken to any other students in the three weeks she’d been at University. No one commented on her first name or her age. She wasn’t the tallest person for her age, but there were plenty of older students shorter than her. She felt she had more free time here, but the workload was high. She didn’t see how some people took up to six or even seven classes, always looking frazzled and rushing from class to class, then throwing a demanding social life into the mix. She couldn’t do it. She had the luxury of time.

She put the book away and just leaned back onto her backpack and closed her eyes. She adjusted her hat to cover her face. She was in a near doze when, “Eh hem.” Betsy from her art class was looming over her. Doesn’t she know about personal space?

“Hi. Mind if I join you.” She sat down facing Rose.

You just did. “Uh… Sure. I guess.” Rose sat up, curled her legs underneath her, and arranged her skirt to radiate around her, placing her backpack between them as she put her book, phone, tablet and solar panel away. She left the bag there.

“I’m Betsy. We’re in art class together.”

I know.

Betsy extended her hand to shake, holding it palm down.

Rose righted it as she took it and gave it the expected shake.

“Artemshya, right?”

She can’t even say my name properly. Rose resisted the urge to correct her. “I prefer Rose.”

“Oh yes. Houdini’s girl. I know about him. He was famous for breaking out of things and fooling people with magic.”

“He was a famous escape artist,” Rose said. “And knowing magic tricks gave him an edge when looking for deceptive practices by spiritualists.” She cringed inwardly. Betsy was the religious girl. It was being reflected in her art. Why did I just give her an inroad to talk about religion?

“Spiritualism, with fake pictures of spirits and funny seances lifting tables. Like any of that was real. I want to talk to you about our Lord Jesus?”

Why me? “Sorry, I already know all about Christianity.”

“Oh!” She smiled. “Then you can join us at Christian Campus.” She pulled out a pamphlet and offered it to Rose. Rose took it politely. “We have organizations at schools all across the nation and welcome members of all faiths.”

“Even Jewish?”

“Jews for Jesus. Certainly. Are you Jewish? You don’t look Jewish. I don’t mean to offend.”

Of course not.

“I have a tract here for you.” Betsy began rooting through her bag. “We are all believers of The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.”

“I’m not Jewish.”

“Oh, phew. Are you Mormon?”

“And do you have a tract in there for me?”

“Certainly.” She began rooting again.

“Except I’m not Mormon.” She thought of fooling with Betsy, but then decided not to. She recalled the words of James Randi, Be kind. “Look, to be honest, I don’t believe in the Christian god any more than you or I believe in the gods of the ancient Greeks, Romans, Norse, or Egyptians.”

“None of those gods were ever real. They were just mirrors of their culture, what with making war and adultery, they were just made up tales of human endeavors. But God doesn’t possess those human traits.”

“God gets angry and jealous,” Rose countered. “Those are very human traits.”

“They are divine traits bestowed upon mankind when he breathed life into Adam.”

“What about when Hera gets mad at Zeus for cheating on her? Is that jealousy and anger not divine?”

“It might seem like it, but it’s not. We inherited divine traits from god. They get filtered through the human soul into our minds – which are not capable of handling such divine emotions – and we passed them on as human traits to false gods and idols. We don’t even experience the full capacity of god’s divine emotions.”

“Couldn’t god have just made us capable of handling such divine emotions? He is all-powerful.”

Betsy said, “Our souls can, but the limits of the flesh prevent us from experiencing it.”

“I see,” said Rose. “I think it would be nice to have a god that was more human than not.”

Betsy god excited, “Oh! But He is!”

Rose already knew the answer, but asked anyway, “How so?”

“Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior. He came down from Heaven and lived as a human. He died on the cross for our sins so that we can be saved.”

Rose had heard it all before. How had this not sounded so foolish then as it does now? “How can god be human and not human?”

“Through the trinity. God the Father is separate from his Son, Jesus Christ.

“But aren’t they the same? ‘I and the Father are one.’”

“John 10:30. Yes, you understand.”

“How can something be the same and different?”

“The trinity is like a tub of ice cream.”

What? “You mean like pistachio ice cream?”

“Yes. The ice cream is god and the pistachios are the father, the son and the holy ghost.”

So, Jesus is nuts? Betsy really didn’t see the implications. “And together all the nuts and the ice cream itself make up the flavor that is the Trinity.”

“Yes.” Betsy nodded.

She’s really not seeing it.

“Through Jesus Christ our Lord and Savior, God gathers all believers to his abiding love in Heaven where eternal happiness awaits us all. All you have to do is believe.”

To forestall the coming invitation to accept Jesus, Rose asked, “And what happens to those who don’t.”

“They go to Hell where they burn in a lake of Sulphur and demons torture them for eternity.”

You forgot to mention the pitchforks. “But aren’t the demons supposed to be tortured for disobeying god as well?”

“Their separation from God is torture in itself. They know God exists, whereas we can only believe. Belief and knowledge are not the same thing. And the knowledge of their eternal separation from God is the torture itself. God only requires faith from us.”

You’re treating faith like knowledge. “So, the demons and Satan can never enter heaven?”

“No.”

“But didn’t Satan enter heaven to make a bet on whether Job would curse god?”

Betsy hesitated.

Got you.

“God is everywhere, so Satan wouldn’t have to go to Heaven to see God.”

Damn those weird rationalizations. She had rationalized things to fool herself and justify her beliefs and excuse peoples’ actions. She smiled inwardly. “Then isn’t god in Hell where the demons reside? If he’s everywhere, then he’s in Hell.”

Betsy paused. So did Rose. “He’s everywhere except in the hearts of those who are disobedient and don’t believe in him.”

And the dodge. “Demons have hearts?” This was a new one to her.

“Not in a physical sense, but in a spiritual sense.”

Rose shifted, moving away just a little. She finally knew just how stupid she sounded during her deconversion. She was going to thank Connie when she got home.

“God is important to us all, whether we accept it or not. He is coming and we need to prepare ourselves and remain blameless before him. We need to prepare the world for His arrival, so He can establish His Kingdom on earth.”

If her brains were ink, she couldn’t dot an ‘i’. Rose just asked, “When will that be?”

“No one knows,” she shook her head gravely, then perked up, “But it will be soon.” It’s always soon. “What will god’s kingdom be like?”

“After the Time of Tribulation, when God returns and overthrows the Antichrist, he will establish a heavenly city upon earth and make earth his new throne.”

“City?”

“Heavens, yes!” Betsy nodded vigorously. “It will be fifteen hundred miles on all sides.”

“All sides? Even up?”

“Yes! It will have streets of gold. Buildings made from platinum with diamond windows. Ruby lampposts and silver sidewalks. Everything will be made with emeralds and sapphires, and every precious gemstone imaginable and even more that we can’t imagine. You can move in all directions, even up. You won’t need elevators or airplanes. Just will it and you will just rise into the air. Kings and princes will serve God’s favored people.”

“The Jewish?”

“Heavens no,” she looked incredulous. “They killed God’s son and will burn in hell for their transgression.”

Rose adjusted her legs, not quite finding comfort on the soft grass. There was more wrong with that statement, and this whole conversation, than Rose could – or was willing to – address in the short time she was willing to put up with this moron. Hey, she thought, an m short of Mormon. Betsy’s racism and bigotry were appalling, but Betsy was completely unaware of it. She felt worse for having believed much of the same tripe herself.

She pulled out her water bottle and swilled it around her mouth before spitting it to the side. “Sorry, I just got sick in my mouth.” She put the water bottle away. “Look, Betsy, you’re a very fine person.” F’d up, insecure, neurotic emotional. “But I’ve already been down that road. It messed me up. I’m still recovering from what I suffered and I never want to be subjugated to it again. I cherish knowledge, but was never allowed to ask real questions. That never seemed right even when I believed in what you believe in.” Her gaze wandered to anywhere Betsy wasn’t.

“Don’t hate god for what agents of Satan have done to you.”

This is a FINE – F*** It Never Ends – situation she was in. “I can’t hate something that doesn’t exist. And those agents? They were well-intended Christians who lied to me about who they were and who I was. I was abused and violated.”

“It’s all part of God’s plan for us,” Betsy appealed.

Rose cocked her head in disbelief, her eyes firmly planted on Betsy. She was bowed up now! “Rape?”

Betsy nodded. “We cannot know the mind of God. He sees the big picture where we cannot.”

Betsy had blown her chance to back off. Rose stood up and swung her backpack onto her shoulder. “Thanks a lot. That makes is all okay now. He was only fulfilling god’s plan by planting god’s seed inside me. O cum all ye faithful, in righteous enjoyment. I’m sure glad he never suffered for it. Wouldn’t want to punish someone for doing god’s righteous work. Thanks. I can see now that it was Righteous Rape.”

“Just look in your heart,” Betsy pleaded, “and you will find God waiting there.”

“God doesn’t exist in the hearts of non-believers. Remember?”

“You once believed. He’s still there waiting for you.”

“Not any more. I gave up believing in myths. Excuse me, I have a class to attend,” she lied. What she really wanted was a shower. Just talking with this box of rocks made her feel soiled. Rose turned her back on the dimwit and walked away without so much as a glance back. She crumpled the pamphlet and threw it in a trash can as she passed.

There were greater dangers to redheads sitting out in the sun than skin cancer.

#truth and roses

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5-crofters-jams · 6 years

Text

Better Safe Than Sorry

Word count: 2,675

Warnings: Mention of homophobia

Pairings: One-sided pining Logicality

Summary: Human AU. Logan contemplates his friendship with Patton. Would he ever want something more? Was that even a possibility?

“Logan, what do you think about soulmates?”

Patton’s question had come suddenly, unexpectedly out of the silence the two were sharing as they laid together under the covers of Logan’s bed. Logan shifted his position, lying on his back.

“It’s an interesting concept to be sure,” he responded. He looked up at the painted glow-in-the-dark constellations that dotted his ceiling.

“I don’t believe in them in a literal sense of course, but it functions very well as a literary device.”

“Like in fanfics?” Patton offered.

Logan pretended he wasn’t embarrassed by the implication that he frequently read fanfiction. After all, there was nothing particularly wrong about doing so, but it was a somewhat self-indulgent (and less than scholarly) pastime.

“Yes, like in fanfics.”

Patton let out a small laugh before going silent again. A few moments later, he said,

“I guess those kinds of stories kinda give me hope, you know? Like somewhere out there, there’s someone waiting, even for a gay, ace, demiromantic guy like me.”

He shrugged.

“Well, at least I think I’m gay. I’ve only ever been attracted to guys, so I’m preeeetty sure. More solid on those other two I guess.”

“Well if it’s in any way conciliation, I don’t understand sexual attraction either,” Logan confessed.

“I know, right?” Patton exclaimed. “Like, I get that people are attractive, but why would you want to build a relationship on that alone?”

“Right, exactly. I can’t imagine looking at someone and my first thought being ‘wow, I want to have sex with them.’”

“Yeah! Do people really build relationships off just that?” Patton scooted closer to Logan. “Hey, you think you could move closer to the wall? I feel like I’m gonna fall off the bed.”

“Oh, yes, no problem. Sorry.” Logan shifted back to his side, moving closer to the wall so Patton had enough room.

All at once, a whirl of motion took place on the little bed. Logan honestly wasn’t quite sure how it had happened, but somehow he was now practically on top of Patton in what seemed to be a full body, or at least full torso, hug.

Normally, Logan would be extremely uncomfortable with any prolonged form of touch.

Normally he’d be remiss to give certain people even a high-five.

Normally, hugging, hand-holding, and snuggling were completely, absolutely, one hundred percent off the table actions.

So why didn’t he mind all three from Patton?

No, not only did he not mind it…

He almost seemed to crave it.

He figured he was likely experiencing touch starvation, defined colloquially as a strong desire for generally non-sexual positive physical interaction with another person.

And if this was helping fix such an issue… why not let it commence?

Thusly, he did.

“I’m not really sure about dating in general, to be honest,” Patton continued right where they had left off. “I mean, I like the concept! It sounds really nice, actually… But I don’t know, I just don’t think I could do it right now…”

Logan nodded. “I think I understand where you’re coming from. I agree that having a romantic partner does sound… pleasant, but we’re in such a formative and unstable period of our lives right now… People leave. They go off their own ways, and thusly, relationships of all kinds change…”

Logan’s hand gripped Patton’s more tightly.

When had they started holding hands in the first place?

“If I date someone, I want something lasting. Something that I know won’t just end in a year or two once we go off in different directions in our lives…”

A small “Yeah.” was Patton’s only response.

“But… Maybe that’s a good thing,” Logan said, breaking the silence that had temporarily befallen them. “If you don’t date, you can’t get your heart broken.”

Logan’s head was still facing the wall, so he couldn’t see Patton’s face as he softly let go of his hand.

“My heart gets broken every day, Logan.”

His tone was suddenly hushed, choked.

“And every day, I have to put it back together again.”

Oh no.

Ohhhhhhh no.

Patton was crying.

This was getting very emotionally charged, what was he supposed to do? Was he supposed to comfort him? Offer advice?

“You know how I said I was going to cut that bad friend off?” Patton asked. Tears were no doubt streaming down his cheeks, but Logan still wasn’t able to see. “That I was going to be strong? Well, I’m trying, I’m trying my hardest but… But I don’t know how much longer I can do this… I have to shut myself down, shut myself off. I put up a wall with them but they keep breaking it down… You know when you’re touch starved?”

“Um, yes,” was Logan’s astute reply.

“Well, I was like that, but the opposite. My friend would pressure me into physical contact when I wasn’t comfortable with it, I actually had to quarantine myself from any physical contact for a while, do you know how hard that is for me?” Patton’s voice was watery, and he sniffed before saying,

“I know it’s dumb, that I should let it go, but I…” He took a shaky breath.

“All I wanted to do since I was little was to save the world. That’s why me and Roman have been such good friends since elementary school, we both wanted to do that… the impossible, I guess.”

Logan could hear Patton’s hand shift beneath the covers. He guessed that he was using it to wipe his eyes.

“I grew up on stories of heros… I thought that there’s good in everyone and everything. And you know what? Even now, I still believe that. Even when people take and take and take from me for three straight years…”

He sighed, sniffling again.

“I-…After all that, I’m still orange.”

Patton had synesthesia, and orange was the color of people who wanted to make a difference in the world. He had told Logan this before, said it shone most vibrantly from Roman and Patton himself, but that he’d sometimes see hints of it in Logan. Logan couldn’t fathom why.

He felt a pit in his stomach. What exactly was he feeling? Sorrow? Remorse? Pity? “Bad” wasn’t going to cut it. He tried to push it to the side. Patton was feeling sad, maybe even angry at himself.

Come on Logan, think…

“I… I-”

The words got caught in his throat.

“I, uh…”

Logan exhaled in frustration.

“I’m… not very good at comforting words. In fact, I wish we were having this conversation over text and not in person, because then I’d have extra time to think to think of something smart and reasonable to say… “

He paused again, words yet again escaping him. What was he supposed to say? Patton was such an emotional person, sometimes Logan wondered why he had chosen him, an emotionally-stunted bookworm, as one of his best friends and confidants. He took a deep breath, deciding to say what he might want someone to say to him in such a situation.

“I guess… I’m here, Patton. I always have been here, I’m here now, and I’ll continue to be here. No matter what else happens.”

Logan prayed that was sufficient. He waited for a response from Patton, but heard only sniffles. Had he said something wrong? Was that too clingy of a response? What did he want? Perhaps Logan could provide better emotional support and/or comfort if he asked Patton directectly. Yes, open communication was an important part of any relationship, romantic or otherwise, and he figured there was no harm in asking.

“What do you need? Emotionally.”

Silence. Perhaps he’d taken it the wrong way?

“That wasn’t a rhetorical question, by the way, I really am curious.”

“I’m sorry, I was just thinking…” Patton responded.

“I think… what I really need right now is to work on me. I’ve been doing better lately, don’t get me wrong! I’m not crying every day any more, that’s good! It’s progress, I just… I’m still working on getting over the whole “saving the world” thing. I need to realize that I can’t save everyone, and it’s okay if I can only save myself.”

Logan nodded, then realized Patton probably couldn’t see him all that well either, as it was dark and neither of them were wearing their glasses.

“Yes, that does sound like an admirable goal,” he vocalized.

And it did, and it was, Logan couldn’t disagree with wanting to better oneself. However, a small part of him was somewhat disappointed. There was nothing he could really do. Perhaps he should have asked what Patton needed from him, but it was too late for that now.

“Are you crying?” Patton asked out of the blue.

“No,” Logan stated simply.

“I was.”

“I know.”

Patton let out a muffled laugh at Logan’s dry response.

The pair of them laid in silence for a while after that, Patton presumably collecting himself, Logan trying desperately to ignore his pounding heartbeat and hoping to high heaven Patton couldn’t feel it.

“Hey Lo… You’re comfortable with this, right?”

Patton finally asked.

“Comfortable with what?” Logan inquired, somewhat confused.

“With all this physical contact. I know you’re usually not a huge fan of it, and I don’t want to pressure you into anything you’re not comfortable with-”

Logan scoffed at the comment.

“Of course I am! Do you really think I’d be quite literally laying across you if I wasn’t? I won’t even engage in as little as a high-five with someone I don’t like, yet you ask if I’m uncomfortable. Unbelievable.”

Patton laughed, a real, genuine, un-tearful laugh.

“You sound so offended!”

“Perhaps I am.” He intended this as a joke, but, like all of his humor, it came out extremely dry.

Luckily, Patton was used to this.

“Well, I’m sorry. I was just making sure!”

Logan shifted his position in the bed again, this time laying on his side so he could face Patton.

“Insinuating that I dislike your particular contact,” He muttered while doing so.

Logan still couldn’t see very well, but he thought he could make out a blurry smile on Patton’s face.

Suddenly, Patton pulled Logan’s body close to his own.

Logan’s heartbeat, which had just regulated itself back to a normal resting pace, sped right back up.

They were gripping each other tightly and Patton was rapidly getting closer to him and Logan didn’t know what he was doing, it was like his body had mind of its own as he leaned in and planted a kiss on Patton’s neck, of all places.

Logan pulled back a little, absolutely mortified.

Had he really just done that? Why did he just do that? It was some sort of weird, instinctual thing, he hadn’t meant to…

Had Patton noticed?

He wasn’t saying anything, wasn’t making any sort of indication that he was even aware of what had just transpired between them…

Good.

That was a fluke, and if Patton had noticed, they’d have to open up a whole other can of worms, one that Logan was not about to deal with at one in the morning.

He took a deep breath, working to regulate both his shallow breathing and erratic heart rate.

Patton still laid contentedly, unaware as far as Logan could tell. He was looking up towards the ceiling, probably still smiling. All of a sudden, he gasped.

“Weren’t you going to tell me those neat space facts you were reading about earlier?” He asked. He sounded eager, but tired, as if he was fighting off a yawn.

“Oh? Yes, I can do that now, if you’d like. Where to start… Well, NASA recently launched a mission to learn more about the geological makeup of Mars, specifically in regards to what causes near microscopic tremors on its surface. Unlike Earth, Mars doesn’t have a fragmented outer shell…”

Patton was asleep before Logan could finish elaborating on his own theory about how Mars was formed.

He didn’t mind, however. Patton likely wasn’t going to remember this conversation, meaning he’d ask about it again tomorrow, when Logan could provide a more in-depth analysis anyway.

Carefully, making sure he wouldn’t disturb the sleeping Patton, Logan flipped himself over so he was once again facing the wall.

With Patton asleep, he was now alone with his thoughts.

First and foremost being: was he romantically attracted to Patton?

Thinking about the possibility of them as romantic partners elicited a few responses from Logan. A warmth in his gut when he thought about them being more intimate, emotionally and physically. Not in a sexual manner however, as they both had made it clear that wasn’t something they desired. Logan had never been that intimate with anyone before, heck, he’d never been as intimate with anyone as he was with Patton right now. Sharing beds? Snuggling? Those were things he’d only ever done with his little brother Virgil when they were kids and he had a nightmare. He’d never done this with a friend before.

He bet Patton had.

Patton was vulnerable, open. He loved physical contact, Logan was sure he snuggled with all of his friends at some point. Spilled private emotions like it was no big deal. Logan likely wasn’t anything special to him. Just another friend.

Logan didn’t have a problem with that, he was more than happy for Patton’s friendship. Besides, he’d never even been in a relationship before… That lead him to another response he had at the thought of them pairing up romantically.

Fear.

What if he screwed it up completely? He was terrible with feelings, and oh boy did Patton have a lot of them… What if he ended up saying or doing something wrong? What if he somehow made Patton despise him?

What if he broke his heart?

He wouldn’t be able to live with himself…

Of course, the fear didn’t only stem from internal sources. There was, of course, the looming and ever-present issue of his family’s homophobia.

“I don’t have a problem with gay people, of course, we should love everyone,” they’d say. “However,” and there was always a however, “I believe that marriage is strictly between a man and a woman, and I can’t support that kind of lifestyle.”

How thrilled they’d be to learn their Logan, the straight-A wonder boy of the family, was a gay asexual.

Currently, his plan for his sexuality was to not mention it even once until he got married or was on his deathbed, but Patton…

Patton was open, very open, about his sexuality, something Logan greatly admired.

But how would that translate if they were to start dating? Patton would no doubt want to go public with it, and if Logan’s parents found out…

Well, the outcome likely wouldn’t be favorable for either party involved.

But he was getting ahead of himself. These problems would only arise if Patton wanted to date him at all, which was highly unlikely. As he had stated before, Patton was demiromantic, and deeply valued platonic relationships. Logan certainly didn’t have a problem with their relationship remaining platonic, it wasn’t as if he had some insatiable, burning desire to be Patton’s boyfriend or anything.

Even if it might possibly be somewhat nice.

At long last, and after a night full of deliberation, he ultimately decided to do what he normally did when he had emotional trouble.

He would bottle whatever he was feeling up, and stow it on a proverbial shelf in the back of his mind.

He would continue being Patton’s friend, because that’s what they both needed, and never tell him about his complex and somewhat messy feelings about him in a romantic regard.

Because as inviting as the positive aspects may have sounded, he couldn’t lie to himself. No matter how sound or unsound it was, his fear was a lot larger. Fear of changing their dynamic, fear of rejection, fear of harming and being harmed, fear from inside and out.

In the end, it was better to stay safe than be sorry.

Wasn’t it?

#Sanders Sides #Sanders Sides fic #Sanders Sides fanfiction #Logicality #Logan Sanders #Patton Sanders #Rolo writes

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sciencespies · 3 years

Text

The pupil in your eye can perceive numerical information, not just light

https://sciencespies.com/humans/the-pupil-in-your-eye-can-perceive-numerical-information-not-just-light/

The pupil in your eye can perceive numerical information, not just light

You might know that the size of the pupils in our eyes changes depending on how well lit our environment is, but there’s more to the story: Scientists have now discovered that the pupil also shifts in size depending on how many objects we’re observing.

The more objects in a scene, the bigger the pupil grows, as if to better accommodate everything that it has to look at. This “perceived numerosity” is a simple and automatic reflex, the new research shows.

In a new study, researchers observed the pupil sizes of 16 participants while they looked at pictures of dots. In some of the pictures, the dots were linked together in dumbbell shapes – creating the illusion that there were fewer objects – and pupil size then shrank.

How the pupil reacts to different objects and patterns. (Castaldi et al., Nature Communications, 2021)

“This result shows that numerical information is intrinsically related to perception,” says psychologist and neuroscientist Elisa Castaldi from the University of Florence in Italy.

“This could have important, practical implications. For example, this ability is compromised in dyscalculia which is a dysfunction in mathematical learning, so our experiment may be useful in early identification of this condition in very young children.”

Even though the numbers of black or white dots in the pictures being viewed didn’t change, the perceived number of objects did, because of the joining lines. The participants were asked to look at these images passively, without paying special attention to the overall number of items and without a specific task to complete.

As for where this reaction comes from, it’s likely to be linked to the need for survival – most species are thought to have a dedicated ‘number sense’ that enables them to spot enemies in the wild, find food, get back home, and more besides.

When it comes to humans, being able to weigh up numbers is something that seems to appear as soon as a few hours after birth – even if you’re terrible at math, you have a built-in aptitude for judging numerosity, and it appears the dilation of our pupils is part of a response to that.

“When we look around, we spontaneously perceive the form, size, movement and color of a scene,” says psychologist David Burr from the University of Sydney in Australia, and also affiliated with the University of Florence.

“Equally spontaneously, we perceive the number of items before us. This ability, shared with most other animals, is an evolutionary fundamental: it reveals immediately important quantities, such as how many apples there are on the tree, or how many enemies are attacking.”

Previous research had indicated that pupil size wasn’t just affected by light: visual illusions involving brightness, size, and context have an effect too, backing up the idea that this dilation in our eyes is at least partly controlled by signals higher up in the brain.

The researchers are keen to dig further into why this is happening, and what else could be having an impact on pupil size – such as the movement required by the eye to take in everything that appears in a scene.

And there’s lots more to explore here as well. Our eyes seem to be more sensitive to the number of items we’re looking at rather than how they’re spaced or arranged, which is another reaction that can be analyzed in future studies.

“Recent research from our laboratory shows that pupil size is also regulated by cognitive and perceptual factors,” says physiologist Paola Binda from the University of Pisa in Italy.

The research has been published in Nature Communications.

#Humans

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fanfic-collection · 6 years

Text

Demon!Loki x Reader - Pt 2

Part 1

So I started this forever ago and just finished it today but didn’t reread it for the end soooo, sorry for the discrepancy if there is, I don’t know, I’m too lazy to reread it. Trying to get past general writer’s block again :’(

Your legs trembled with each step as you once again continued your trek through the forest, the clearing feeling like an unreal memory now. Every bit of your muscles ached fire through you, pain in places you had never encountered before. You smiled weakly, thinking of the pleasure you had also felt.

Glancing down at your phone, you noted that it had taken you far longer to cross through the forest, impeded by your little interlude in the clearing. By the time you came through the other side of the clearing, nearly three hours had passed. Your thighs burned and ached and you sank to your knees to rest, looking around for your friends.

There was no sign of them.

The signal returned to your phone and you glanced down as it vibrated for a solid minute, a flood of terror filled messages coming through. It seemed that they came to the conclusion that whatever lived in the forest had gotten you and they bailed. The closest of your old friends vowed to send a search party in the morning, knowing the rangers wouldn’t enter at night, but most seemed to be fearful that the authorities might implicate themselves somehow.

You sighed deeply, looking towards the sky, moon visible clear as day. The shift Loki had given you had held up surprisingly well, and though it was more suggestive than something you would ever buy, it was comfortable and smelled vaguely of him. It felt strange to have left your bra and panties behind, your tattered shirt wrapped loosely around your shoulders, yet you found yourself not minding.

Slowly you picked yourself up and made your way back to the town’s solitary motel, crawled up the stairs to your room and collapsed into bed.

You awoke, aching all over, bruises dotting your hips where Loki’s strong hands had gripped you. Attempting to shower proved futile and you opted to merely crawl back into bed and sleep the day away.

When evening came, you woke to your stomach growling, an empty loneliness in the pit of your stomach. Did you miss Loki? Things felt so different after those fevered moments with him. He had threatened to kill you if you returned initially, but as you left, he had hoped to see you again.

You frowned, grateful for the minibar to microwave an instant meal. After scarfing it down, you found a new set of clothes, forced yourself to shower and rushed back to the forest.

At the side you had initially entered, there were signs of a search party from the day. However, with the moon once more in full view, not a soul was in sight. You ignored the eeriness of the forest, pressing onto the path and half jogging to the center.

You stumbled a number of times on outstretched roots, still exposed and twisting over the path, yet this time you felt none of the fear of the night before: only anticipation. Were you a fool to return? Probably, yet like a lamb to the slaughter, you dutifully pressed on.

It took you half the time to make it to the clearing, something about the forest seemed to be welcoming your presence tonight. And though there was still no signs of wildlife, the trees didn’t groan and creak at you. It was as though the guardian of the forest eagerly awaited you just as much.

Bursting into the clearing and looking around, you called, “Loki?” You spun around, searching for him. It was quiet for a time, nothing stirring and you slowly sank to your knees, exhausted and spent after so many emotions roiling through you. “My friends, they didn’t wait, I think they gave me up for dead.” You mumbled to no one, sadly staring at the ground. “More worried about getting in trouble for sending me to my death, I guess, I don’t know.” Sighing, you ran your fingers through your hair and looked around. “Loki, you have to be here, it’s your forest after all. You said if I came back you would have to kill me, but you said you wanted to see me again, and I just…” You trailed off, growing uncertain, “I don’t know. Everything feels different after last night.”

“You laid with a demon, little lamb.” Loki’s soft voice floated across the clearing.

You looked up eagerly, scrambling to your feet. “Loki!”

The demon smiled sadly at you, “You returned.”

Rushing forward, you wrapped your arms around his bare waist, pressing your face into his chest and hugged him fiercely. “I had to, I had to see you again.”

Slowly, Loki wrapped his arms back around you, his wings coming together to engulf the pair of you.

Your eyes slowly rose to search his face, “Is something bad going to happen to me because of that?”

“Of what?” Loki asked.

“Err, well sleeping with you.”

Loki chuckled, “Not technically.”

“Like no horns or wings for me, right?”

He raised his eyebrows, “What gave you such a preposterous idea?”

“I dreamt about you today, I just didn’t know.” Once more, you buried your face in his chest, inhaling deeply as you stroked his back.

Loki frowned, untangling himself from you and pulled away, “You dreamt about me? Terrors, I assume, yes?”

You frowned, slowly letting go as he stepped back from you. “No, mostly pleasant. Last night was, well scary, but I enjoyed it.”

Loki turned and walked away, slowly leaning against a tree far from you and sinking to the forest floor, legs bent against him as he searched your face. His eyes flashed all black as he tilted his head, “Pleasant?”

“Well yea,” You approached him slowly, “I mean, you did give me a choice. Not much of one, granted, but it was consensual.”

Frowning thoughtfully, Loki stared at his claws. “I’m a monster, lamb, it has been so long since a tribute entered into my forest.” He looked back up at you, “none more beautiful than yourself have ever been forced to enter.” Chuckling, he glanced down at his claws again, “I suppose those in charge of picking the tributes would keep the beautiful ones for themselves, but that has been many years.”

You walked over and sank down to the floor, sitting cross legged opposite him. “What do you mean?”

“I’m the guardian of this forest. Years and years ago they would send tributes to me to keep it safe, now it’s mostly deer. Granted I eat the deer, not the humans, I can find satisfaction from multiple sources. I feed off the energy really.”

“Like an incubus or something?”

Loki blinked at you, “A what?”

“Male demons that feed off energy…” You trailed off and shook your head, “nevermind, sorry, continue.”

“Perhaps, I am older than your language, than spoken communication. I had to adapt to interact with humanity, learn their ways.” He looked at the sky once more, arms wrapped around his knees. You couldn’t get over the thought of how small he looked, even with his massive wings stretched out beside him. “I’m not sure why I’m telling you this.” He said at long last, looking back at you.

You shrugged, “I don’t mind, I don’t really know what I expected by coming back. I guess I’m just clingy.”

Loki chuckled, “It has been quite long since I felt the flesh of another,” he tilted his head, “it was pleasant.”

“Strange wording aside, I really enjoyed that too.”

“You don’t know the years that have passed in this forest.”

“I’ll imagine you have quite the stories to tell.” You slowly stood up, crossing over to him. Hesitantly, you pressed on his knees, urging him to straighten his legs.

Loki looked up at you warily, “What are you doing?”

“Well, I was planning on cuddling while you told me some stories, is that a problem?”

“With a demon?”

“I mean other than the tributes thing, which isn’t necessarily your fault, and slaughtering deer which you need to live, it’s kinda only a looks thing. I’ve known humans to be far worse than that.” Loki allowed you to straighten his legs before you crawled in his lap and leaned against his chest.

The demon watched you curiously, finally wrapping his arms around your waist and holding you in place. After a few moments of sitting in silence, he gently reached his hand up and began to stroke his fingers through your hair. You sighed into his touch, leaning back to search his face. Loki looked at you uncertainly, clearly not expecting that reaction.

“Sorry, guess I’m clingy. I never was a fan of the ‘hit it and quit it’ guys I’d heard about.”

Loki chuckled, his other hand moving to rest on your stomach, gently feeling the soft fabric of your shirt. “Perhaps that’s not so bad.” He inhaled deeply, his face burying into your shoulder. “I can feel your energy here, it’s soothing.” He mumbled softly.

“Well that’s a good thing, right? Maybe you don’t have to kill so many deer.”

Loki shrugged, “Virginal tributes offer a great deal of energy, but they were a rare gift to me. Mortals are curious in their bribery.”

“I could believe it.”

Loki chuckled, his tongue darting out briefly as he pressed a soft kiss to your neck. “And yet, the familiar hunger arises in me.”

You tilted your head to the side, allowing him reach to your throat. “I’m still sore from last night.” You trailed off, “I mean I want to.”

“No, no, of course. You are mine though, your energy is familiar and comforting.”

You squeezed his thighs, rubbing your hands gently up and down the leathery material. “Not sure how this whole demon thing works there.”

“Yes, coupling with a demon has curious side effects, I’ve never seen long term versions of it.”

“Well, what about one sided?” You asked hesitantly, not sure where this lascivious personality was coming from.

Loki leaned around to look at your face, “One sided? Deals with the devil do not work one sided.”

“I’m sure you’ll make it up to me sometime.” You winked, “just not tonight.” Carefully, you shifted around where you were sitting so you were facing him, your knees pushing his legs further apart. Loki watched you warily, clearly unused to where this was going. You reached down to his trousers, hand pressing down over his bulge and pressed the heel of your hand into it, massaging him gently.

Loki groaned, eyes rolling back in his head, back arching and wings straightening out. “What are you doing, pet?”

“I’m going to give you a taste of human pleasure. Well, me a taste, but we call it a blow job.”

“A what?”

You raised your eyebrow, “I guess none of the tributes ever wanted to pleasure you, did they?” You pressed your hand down again.

Loki groaned, “No, it was very much one sided.”

“Allow me to adjust the scales for a couple millennia of unrighteousness then.” Loki’s cock was hard and wanting as you took it in your mouth, swirling your tongue over the tip as you hollowed out your cheeks and began to suck. Hot, thick precum leaked from the tip as you bobbed your head and sucked.

Loki moaned loudly, chest rising and falling rapidly as his hips bucked up into your mouth. Suddenly he grasped your shoulders, wrenching your mouth from his cock and flipping you over so he was straddling your face. Your mouth opened in shock and he took the opportunity to slam himself deep in your mouth. You had gasped, barely catching a breath as his cock rubbed against the back of your throat, a slight gag as you struggled to take him. Loki began to fuck your face, thrusting his hips, forcing his cock deeper into your throat. You lay on your back, gripping his thighs and did all you could to stay relaxed and take him. Gripping his thighs, tears welled in your eyes as you struggled around him. Then suddenly his cock twitched and his seed came pouring out, coating your throat as you sucked and swallowed, trying your best to lick his cock as his seed continued to flow into you.

Loki slowly pulled away from you, collapsing onto his back, stretching his wings out as he lay there spent. Shakily you sat up, wiping your mouth off and rubbing at your throat to ease the light burning from his vigorous actions. Hesitantly, you propped your head up on your hand, elbow pressed in the dirt as you looked at him from your side.

“Sorry, pet,” Loki muttered, “I got carried away. That was...” His eyes drifted shut as his nostrils flared with a heavy breath.

“Glad you liked it, didn’t expect you to take full control like that, I was trying to pleasure you, silly.”

Loki chuckled. “I look forward to you doing that again.”

You rubbed your throat, “Give a girl some warning next time though.”

“Sorry,” Loki muttered sheepishly, grabbing you and pulling you onto his chest as he stroked your hair gently. You closed your eyes, listening to his deep breathing and just relished in the comfort of his body.

#Loki x reader #multi chapter

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app-thoughts · 4 years

Text

A New Time for a New Era

NewDay is an alternative to Google calendar for the creators economy.

Current calendars are optimized for the manager schedule. A maker’s schedule is different; it requires consistent long blocks of focused time to generate output. Having the right schedule/structure to support this workflow is increasingly important for the new economy.

Problem with current calendars:

For makers working on creative projects, the amount of time it takes is unknown or hard to define.

When inspiration strikes, I don’t know how long my creative flow will last. When running into bugs, I don’t know how long it’ll take me to fix. Time is undefined. I don’t have a defined time to slot into Google calendar. I also don’t know how creative blocks will affect my cadence.

I’ve tried blocking chunks of time into Google calendar and they get stale or inaccurate; it’s not adjustable according to how my day or energy is going and the variances that come up.

Creators don’t really work on standard schedule. Creators at some point all find different schedules that work for themselves. Times they work throughout the day and peak energy varies. What’s consistent is the long chunks of hours needed.

Opportunity

We are evolving into a creators economy, a passion economy. We now have a convergence of nomadic ways of working, self-learning, self-doing, self-governance to create output. This is the future of work.

With this comes new philosophies on living life, changing values and governance. A new way of working needs a new time.

Time is the most pervasive form of governance and standardized system. It dictates our lives and outputs in the world. The output we produce over time chains us and promotes us. But is this output even healthy for the world? Manufacturing more units in less time. The variables that construct our existence, governance, and output no longer work. If people are suffering and not producing healthy outputs for society, change a variable, time, to change the output. How can we reconstruct time for healthier outputs and lifestyles?

Challenges and Assumptions

Redesigning time through a calendar has significant consequences for how we govern ourselves as a society. The revolutionary potential of a new time system is still nascent in NewDay, and needs to be teased out, sculpted with careful execution.

It’s a big undertaking to move people out of the current boundaries of time; it’s so engrained in the fabric of society. Here are a few ideas to start doing this.

User adoption concerns: Standardized time. High switching cost. Low incentive to switch.

Can adapt it more to scientifically proven ways of how our brain focuses and does its best work, so there’s more of a convincing argument for changing time and increasing user adoption. Eg X # of minutes of intense focus followed by Y # of minutes of relaxation increases productivity/learning retention/problem solving. The slicing of time was invented before we had an understanding of how the brain works most productively. The interesting insight NewDay taps into is designing time to be more conducive to how our brain works. For example, it can take up to 30 minutes of undivided attention focusing on a task to hit flow state, so giving more wiggle room than 60 minutes for a chunk of work makes sense. But, currently it is a calendar based on an individual’s experimentation and subjective experience. It would be interesting to look into more studies of time to achieve flow state, how long average flow sessions last, optimal times to get into flow state, so this model can be adapted to how a human brain works at its highest potential rather than based on one person’s schedule.

Questions: Is 100 min proven to work for many more makers? Does time stretch? Would they want flexibility to stretch or reduce the boundaries of time to pieces that work for them, based on their own peak energy and flow states?

Solution

What’s working so far:

Love the flexibility of adjusting start time, so the intentions and schedule stays relevant if you run behind your day.

I like the word choice of intention.

What’s not working so far:

I dropped off due to repeated copying and pasting of intentions over chunks of time.

I would appreciate an intention word bank (word cloud of intentions) where I can dump in all my intentions first, then map out intentions by hour or day. Ability to autocomplete, clone intention, or set as daily habit.

Perhaps there’s a way to extend intentions onto next chunks for longer periods of focus and so user does not feel the need to fill out every single hour with the same thing.

Current time exists to manage a process that has a beginning and end, this app introduces more fluid time:

I’m calling NewDay (or hoping for it to be) a deep flow management tracker. On a personal utility level, the pivotal concept here is mapping out large chunks of time that’s more conducive to how our brain works for problem solving and creative endeavors where the timeframe and endpoint can be unknown or uncertain.

An interesting long-term value is in finding peak energy productive times so a user can find the rhythm that works for themselves and maintain that cadence. Potential for each user to find and maximize their flow state.

Here’s how we can flow through time:

A vision board for users to connect their intentions to the creation of value. Help them get to where they want to go, or become who they want to be.

On the hourly basis, give option to close the feedback loop on intentions: enable users to check off if intention was completed.

Ability to assign intention to a category from the vision board (can extend the templated categories for customization).

Colored labels/categories connect intentions across time to vision.

Connect the dots over time to see how intentions manifested into visions.

If not manifested, this realization informs the user to change something or explore another path, and set new intentions for further alignment.

Just a thought: I find using if conditionals in todo lists offers focus. If complete: do this; else: do that. Not sure how this fits in or if needed.

Current time exists to coordinate concurrent communication:

Shared calendars where friends can see each other’s free time to chat enables a better way to ping/keep in touch without interrupting flow.

Fun idea: Live voice chat drop-ins can reduce the need for scheduling time. Public, close friends, or specific person settings.

The concept of time starts to melt away as we flow through time.

The Possibilities

Redesigning time with code is so subtly brilliant and overlooked it’s like a ticking time bomb.

The revolutionary potential of NewDay is so subtle, it’s easy to write off since we assume everyone is so engrained in existing timezone and calendars. Time needs to evolve with the way we work. There are fundamental shifts in society that lead to a need for fluid time. By targeting early adopters who are already on fluid time, offer enough value and results to retain them, the ripple effect has profound implications for the future of society. A society, I hope, with more naturally productive people guided by passion to create value, in constant flow states that lead to more happiness and bigger problems solved.

Just like the analog clock popularized a time system which guided the way we’ve worked for centuries, NewDay can be the time system for the new era. I look forward to what Evan does with NewDay.

#product #ux #future of work

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artificialqueens · 7 years

Text

little light (4/8) (Trixya) - Elissa

A/N: Part four of that one where Katya is Trixie’s brother’s best friend.

Chapter warning for sexual harassment.

(full fic is on ao3 at yekaterinunhhhh) (come visit me on tumblr at tempfixeliza)

Trixie pulls her legs out from under the bars, looking over the rail at the ground far below them. The waves are beating at the rocks below the lighthouse, and Trixie thinks of a time when the lighthouse had been operational. The lighthouse used to call boats into the port, guide them toward something safe and warm.

“You coming?” Katya’s hand is warm in Trixie’s and Trixie smiles, follows Katya back down the stairs.

She thinks it’s a bit ironic, how the lighthouse used to call boats to shore and now it calls misfits to each other.

Trixie only lets go of Katya’s hand to close the door, making sure to put the chain back on when they leave the lighthouse.

When Trixie turns the car around to head down the dirt road, Katya rolls her window down all the way and sticks a hand out into the tall weeds. They curl and brush against her slender fingers as Trixie eases her way back toward reality.

“Where was your school?” Trixie questions around a mouthful of whipped cream when they’ve settled at an empty picnic table outside of Sully’s.

Katya sets her spoon down on a napkin, finishing the bite of ice cream in her mouth before answering. “It was in Upstate New York - Lake Placid, if you know where that is.”

Trixie shakes her head. “I know where New York City is, but the rest of the state just kind of… blends together for me.”

“It does for most people,” Katya snorts. “It drove my teachers crazy that hardly anyone knows about any part of New York besides the City. Lake Placid is in the Adirondacks up near Vermont, though. Like - do you know the shape of New York?”

“Yes I know the shape of New York,” Trixie scoffs. She lifts a cold water bottle from the table to take a sip, droplets of condensation falling into her lap.

“Well it’s like,” Katya traces a vague shape across the surface of the table, gathering condensation from the bottle to temporarily stain the wood with the state of New York. “The city is here,” she makes a dot in the bottom right portion of the map before moving her finger up toward the top. “And Lake Placid is here.”

Trixie nods, though she doesn’t really care where in the state Katya’s school was. She could listen to Katya talk about anything and be perfectly content. She stops speaking, though, and eats a bite from the sundae they’re sharing, handing the conversation back to Trixie.

“That shape is pretty accurate,” she gestures to the map. “You could be a cartographer or something. Maybe a geography teacher.”

“A teacher,” Katya wheezes a laugh, head shaking emphatically. “Oh, Jesus, a fucking teacher. I can’t even teach myself, how would I teach someone else?”

“You taught me something,” Trixie defends her statement, raising an arched brow at the girl.

“I guess I did, didn’t I? Does that make me your teacher?” Katya tilts her head, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Because I feel like that could complicate things.”

Trixie’s heart thumps unevenly in her chest, her palms beginning to sweat at the implications of Katya’s words. Trixie’s mouth is unbelievably dry and she has no idea how to respond to her.

“I -um-”

“Trixie Mattel?”

Trixie spins around to face the voice, momentarily grateful for the interruption - until she sees who it is.

“Jackson,” she acknowledges, trying not to visibly wrinkle her nose.

His long hair is parted in the middle, tucked behind both of his ears and Trixie can’t be sure if it’s wet or just loaded down with product, but she’d place her bets on the latter. He shuffles closer to her, giving her a once over that makes her skin crawl.

“Damn, you’ve grown up since I graduated,” he gives an appreciative nod.

“Well, that was three years ago, and I was a freshman at the time.” Trixie inches closer to Katya instinctively, Katya watching on in confusion and disdain.

Jackson shrugs, “Whatever. You were still hot back then, but… damn,” he repeats, eyes glued to Trixie’s breasts.

She shifts closer to Katya again, reaching one arm across her chest to scratch the side of her neck. She wishes she could dissolve into the wooden bench beneath her.

“Right, um… great to see you, but we actually have to go,” Trixie stands abruptly, shooting a frantic look to Katya and grabbing the half-eaten sundae from the table. She moves toward the garbage can quickly, Katya trailing behind her but being cut off by Jackson.

“Come on, baby, don’t be like that,” he reaches a hand out to grab Trixie by her elbow. “I just want to talk.”

Trixie takes a deep breath through her nose, desperate to remain calm and avoid offending the man holding onto her.

“I’m not being like anything,” she murmurs, dropping the sundae into the garbage can. “We really just need to leave, Daniel is waiting for me to pick him up.” She brings up her brother, hoping the reminder of his existence is enough to get Jackson to let go of her.

It isn’t. Instead he wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her against him, a look on his face that Trixie can tell is his attempt at smoldering but only looks menacing.

“Don’t lie, baby,” he hisses into her ear. “Good girls don’t lie. I saw your brother with Chuck at the boardwalk not even fifteen minutes ago. Why are you lying to me?”

“I’m not,” she’s really trying to stay calm, but her anxiety is bubbling up in her chest and it’s getting harder for her to breathe. “I’m not lying, I really have to go pick him up.”

Jackson’s hand creeps down to grab at her ass, a low growl in his chest and Trixie’s eyes slam shut as she swallows her protest. Her only goal at this point is to escape this situation as unscathed as possible.

Then suddenly Jackson’s body is no longer against hers, and when Trixie opens her eyes she sees him kneeling on the ground where he once stood.

Towering over him is a snarling Katya, twisting one of his arms behind his back at such a severe angle that Trixie thinks it might pop off if she lifts it any higher.

“Don’t fucking touch her,” Katya barks down at him. “She didn’t want you to touch her, and she made that very clear, and your sorry ass,” she ends the word with a firm yank on his arm, “did it anyway. That’s not fucking okay.” Trixie’s eyes are locked on the muscles in Katya’s arms and she knows she should be focused on the situation, not her arms, but she can’t help herself.

“Let go of me you bitch,” Jackson grunts, struggling against Katya’s hold.

Trixie hops back as Katya pushes Jackson forward, letting go of his arm and leaving him facedown in the sand.

“Gladly,” Katya huffs and wraps a protective arm around Trixie’s shoulder, steering her in the direction of the car. “And don’t ever fucking touch her again.”

There’s a warmth spreading through Trixie’s stomach on the way back to the car, the anxiety melting out of her and being replaced with a lightness only Katya can bring.

“Thank you,” she murmurs once they’ve made it into the safety of the vehicle. Her eyes are locked onto the steering wheel, still shaken from the incident.

“What the fuck is his problem? He’s what, twenty? Old enough that he should fucking know better. Fuck, he’s so-” Katya is fuming, and when Trixie glances over she can see that her hands are balled into fists. Her knuckles are white, and Trixie’s certain that if she unfurled her fingers there would be crescent-shaped marks along the base of her palms.

“It’s over now,” Trixie puts a hesitant hand on Katya’s knee. “He won’t do it again.”

“He better fucking not, if he knows what’s good for him.”

She knows she shouldn’t find the anger attractive, but she does. The fact that Katya would threaten someone twice her size to protect her - the fact that she brought him to his knees because he touched her - it makes Trixie feel safer, despite the events that led up to Katya’s actions.

Beside her, Katya is still angry. She’s so mad that Trixie can almost see anger rolling off of her in waves. Trixie turns the key in the ignition, bringing the car to life and clicking on her seatbelt.

“I really mean it, though. Thank you for what you did - protecting me.” She leans over and wraps her fingers around Katya’s fist, easing her fingers open to grab hold of them. “It means a lot. Not everyone would do that.”

Katya takes a deep breath, looking down at Trixie’s hand holding hers. Her other fist falls open. “They should,” she says matter-of-factly. “You’re good. You deserve to be protected.”

They sit there like that, fingers tangled together and Trixie’s mix CD playing softly in the background until Katya’s breathing has returned to normal and the crease between her brows is gone.

The drive to Katya’s house is silent except for the faint music. The sun is slipping behind the trees again as they pull into her driveway, the world around them plunged into golden light.

Trixie parks the car and turns to look at Katya. She doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of the sight of Katya in the sunset. She could see it a thousand times and she’d find something new to look at during each one of them.

This time it’s the way her fly-aways catch the light, transforming into a halo hanging around her head. Trixie knows she’s human, but she thinks that Katya is the closest a human can get to being an angel.

“I should go,” Katya whispers, not wanting to break the silence. She doesn’t move.

“Yeah,” Trixie breathes into the space between them. “Your parents are probably wondering where you are.”

Katya nods slightly, but then the motion changes and she’s leaning closer to Trixie. She glances down to Trixie’s lips, and Trixie feels her breath catch in her throat.

There’s too much distance between them, too much dead air hanging there, and Trixie wants it to go away. She wants to kiss Katya - more than that, really. She wants to devour her, wants to breathe her in; she knows that Katya doesn’t have all the answers, but she thinks that her kiss just might.

So she closes the gap, kissing her gingerly, tenderly, an air of hesitation that’s cleared when Katya reacts and her hand brushes against the back of Trixie’s neck. Her fingers thread into the baby hairs that have fallen from the messy bun and Trixie reaches up to let her own fingers brush Katya’s defined jawline.

The kiss is sweet and slow, neither girl wanting to rush the experience. They finally pull apart, breathing heavily, and rest their foreheads together. Katya lets out a small laugh.

“I promised myself I wasn’t going to do that yet.”

Trixie pulls back a little, confusion spreading across her face. “Why?”

“I just - I don’t know. You deserve to be wooed,” Katya’s cheeks are flushing and it’s Trixie’s turn to laugh.

“You’ve definitely wooed me enough for a goodnight kiss.”

Katya smiles the smile that Trixie loves so much, the one that makes her eyes twinkle and shows off her perfect teeth, before she leans forward to press a quick kiss to Trixie’s lips. “Goodnight, angel.”

Trixie’s stomach does a flip and she whispers a quick “goodbye” before Katya is out of the car, disappearing through her front door.

When Trixie gets home, Daniel is waiting in the living room to start grilling her about her whereabouts. He doesn’t care when she tells him she was with Katya - he’s only upset that she had the car all day. He’s still whining about how unfair it is as Trixie makes her way to her bedroom, changing out of her clothes with a stupid grin plastered on her face.

She flops down in bed, pulls the covers up to her chin, and falls asleep thinking about the sun and blooming flowers.

#trixie mattel #katya zamolodchikova #trixya #cisgirl au #lesbian au #elissa #rpdr fanfiction #little light #high school au

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