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tangledstarlight · 3 years

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...i said i was going to make it and well, here we are i guess. im so sorry for this.

Carlos Molina’s to Guide to Ghost Hood (title subject to change)

welcome to the 1st edition, maybe i’ll make a 2nd if i get inspired enough but also, this is such a mess already i don’t think the world needs a part 2 dfghg

Link to the power point is in the first reblog. (i’d highly recommend watching it for the full experience dfgh)

Link to ao3 also in the first reblog.

below the cut is the accompanying fic and description of the rules/guide.

The tape recorder lets out a low buzzing sound as Carlos presses a button on the side and stands it up between them on the dining room table. Julie shoots an amused glance at Reggie who’s taken up residence in the chair next to him, the two of them flipping open notebooks and clutching pencils.

“Where did you even find a tape recorder?” She wonders, stretching out a finger to touch the silver rectangle only for her hand to be swatted away by Reggie.

“Found it in a box of moms stuff and dad said we could order some tapes from amazon,” Carlos replies matter of factly, straightening up in his chair once he seems to have found the page he was looking for. “Right. Let's start off easy, shall we?”

He looks at her expectantly and Julie rolls her eyes, waving a hand at the two of them, “Lets.”

“Question one,” Carlos taps his pencil at the top of his page before squinting at her, “Did you conduct any séance related activities before the ghosts showed up?”

Julie blinks at him, wondering if he’s joking but the pair of them just look back at her, heads both slightly tilted and it’s at that moment that she realises how serious they’re going to be about this. It was going to be a long afternoon of questioning apparently.

“No, I didn’t conduct any séance related activities. I just put on their CD and they y’know, fell out of the sky.”

“Interesting, interesting,” Carlos mutters as he looks at Reggie’s notebook as the older boy writes her answer down, underlines something and taps it with his pencil that makes Carlos let out a small hm. “So you don’t know anything about the dark room? Didn’t make any wishes?”

“No,” Julie shakes her head, watches Reggie write something else down and tilt his notebook to Carlos. It’s weird, watching them communicate like that, like they’ve created a shorthand between them and don’t even require her presence to have a conversation. Which is obviously true because they’ve clearly discussed all this beforehand.

“You walked through Luke right? What did that feel like to you?” Reggie’s question catches her off guard and she looks between them, but Carlos is already looking at her, waiting for her answer.

“It was um cold? But also not. I--” she frowns, trying to think back to that first night in the kitchen when she’d turned around and walked through him. Back when she’s barely known any of them and was more annoyed by their presence then comforted. “It was weird. The first few seconds after I walked through him I just felt cold but then it was like a rush of warmth? You know when you get one of those random shivers that runs through your whole body? It feels all weird and tingly but also kinda nice? Like that.”

“Did it feel like you got a feel of Luke?” Carlos asks and Julie shrugs, a slight blush on her cheeks and somehow, despite the fact they can’t see each other, the two of them share a look.

“What’s the next question,” anything to move off the topic of walking through Luke and how it felt.

“Oh Julie is gonna be so pissed at you guys,” Alex mutters but makes no move to step in and stop the ‘experiment’ currently going on. He watches as Reggie tries to put a hand on Carlos’ shoulder, fingers phasing through the younger boy's jacket with a frown.

“She won't be pissed if it works,” is all Reggie says, face morphing into one of concentration as he slowly lowers his hand on to Carlos’ shoulder again.

For his part, Carlos bounces slightly on his toes, eyes fixed on the notebook in Alex’s hand in case they need to tell him something. And okay, Alex might not fully agree with the way the two of them are going about this whole thing, but he can’t say he’s not on board with it. Their whole stint as ghosts has been nothing but confusion after confusion that not even Willie has answers for. Does he think Reggie and Carlos are going to uncover some fundamental thing that makes them the way they are? Probably not. Will they maybe get him some kind of answer? God he hopes so.

Especially since there’s been small moments in the last few weeks where Ray and Carlos have been able to hear them even without them playing music or Julie nearby. Which had scared all of them. Thought it was nothing compared to Ray’s reaction when he’d apparently walked into the kitchen to find Julie and Luke hugging, only for him to vanish when they suddenly let go. It was a hell of a way to find out they could be seen if they were touching her.

“Oh!” Carlos suddenly exclaims, head whipping to look at his shoulder where Reggie’s hand is resting solidly on the fabric of the jacket. Alex feels his eyes widen a fraction and watches Reggie’s smile widen as he squeezes slightly on Carlos’ shoulder. “Oh my god! I can feel that!”

“Holy shit,” Alex whispers, grip on the pencil in his fingers growing.

“Hey! I heard that too! Quick! Write it down! 30 minutes and- and however many attempts it took!” Carlos grins, face turning towards him and Alex doesn’t even have time to feel guilty about swearing before he’s scribbling in Reggie’s notebook.

“Thanks again for taking me,” Carlos says as he pulls his seat belt across his chest and clicks it in, eyes drifting from his tia in the front seat to the little notebook resting on the back seat and the pencil that’s hovering just a few inches off the paper. Subtly he sees it tap on the page, once, twice, and he bites down on his grin, tucking his hands under his thighs to stop from bouncing in his seat. They’re ready.

“Of course mijo,” Victoria smiles over at him as she turns on the engine, fingers already messing with the buttons on the radio to find her favourite station. “I have to say I’m impressed. Planning ahead for your dad's birthday.”

“Mhm,” he agrees, his eyes on the notebook that he can just see in the rearview mirror. The pencils resting between the creases in the pages and he holds his breath as the radio jumps to a different station.

Victoria frowns slightly, her eyes darting from the road to the radio and back, hand reaching out to change it back. When it jumps to another station. And another. Carlos feels his eyes widen a little, legs bouncing on top of his hands as he watches the radio cycle through station after station, only lingers for a few seconds on each before moving on.

Finally it stops, the words of Despacito ringing through the car and it’s lucky they’re at a red light he thinks, because when Victoria tries to change it it jumps right back.

“What the f-” she starts, the furrow between her brows growing deeper and the knuckles on her hand that’s still gripping the wheel turning white.

“Can we leave it? I like this song,” he looks over at her with a smile, blinking in what he hopes is a completely innocent way. He’s pretty sure she’s too distracted by the radio to question it.

“Sure, sure,” she mutters, not even looking at him, eyes going from the road to the radio.

The song ends and from the corner of his eye he can see the pencil in the back moving, Reggie or Willie writing something down and he has to stop himself from turning around to see what it is. Instead he watches as tia starts changing the radio station again, her fingers never leaving the touch screen as if that was the problem. But the second she lands on her favourite 80’s classics station and is moving her fingers away it changes. Skipping through stations again until Despacito is once again filling the car.

It’s probably lucky that they’re at another red light and that there’s no one behind them because her eyes widen and she’s suddenly saying words in Spanish that he knows he shouldn’t know and is pulling over to the side of the road.

“We have to get out! The car is being possessed! Out, out Carlos! Come on!” Her seat belt is off and her door is open before Carlos even has a chance to process what’s happening. The notebook from the back is pushed in front of his face and he tilts his head a little to side to read Reggie’s familiar handwriting,

Too far?

“Maybe,” he whispers back, taking the notebook out of the ghost's hand as he starts to get out of the car, plucking the pencil out of the metal spirals and making a note about not pushing tia in a moving vehicle and to wait until after they’ve gone shopping first.

She’s got her phone pressed to ear when he joins her on the sidewalk, pacing up and down. Carlos is pretty sure there’s going to be a family dinner story time in their near future.

Luke watches as Carlos sets his tape recorder up, idly plucking out a half finished tune on his guitar in order to be seen and heard. He doesn’t really get the other boys interest in figuring out their ghostly state of being. The same way he doesn’t really care about finding answers to all of Alex’s questions.

They ate some bad street dogs. They died. Julie brought them back and then she saved them a second time. They can play music and sometimes be seen. He already has all the answers he needs and it’s two words: Julie Molina.

Would it be nice to know what the black room was? Sure. Did he sometimes wonder why they could be seen but other ghosts couldn't? Sometimes. Did he want answers? Only if someone was going to give them to him without having to do the work. Was he going to sit here and answer all of Carlos’ questions because it was important to him and to the others? Fuck yeah he was.

“Does that think pick up our voices even if we’re not playing and not near Julie?” He nods at the recorder on the table after Carlos hits a button.

“Yeah! It’s so cool too. You sound like, all static-y and I have to listen really hard sometimes because your voices fade in and out but they’re there!”

Okay, Luke can admit that is pretty cool, “That’s wicked. Maybe we should start using that to communicate instead of writing.” He was really sick of people commenting on his handwriting.

“Dude that’s genius! It would be like leaving each other voice notes!” He gestures in the air with his pencil the same way Julie does when she’s realised the issue with a verse and Luke smiles softly. He doesn’t know what voice notes are, but he’s glad he could contribute to the communication issue.

“What questions have you got for me then little dude?” He raises an eyebrow at Carlos as he flips through his notebook.

When he’d first knocked Alex down Willie never thought it would lead to him sitting in the Molina’s family living room, a whiteboard resting on his knees as a twelve year old shows him bar graphs and pie charts of information on ghosts.

There was probably some kind of domino-butterfly effect going on that had led him here. But he’s too busy trying to fit all his know ghost knowledge onto a whiteboard so Carlos can fill in the gaps in his knowledge.

Over the years Willie has met a lot of lifers, has interacted with a handful at the HGC but he’s never met a family like the Molina’s. Who found out ghosts were real and instead of running, or trying to profit off of them, had just...welcomed them into the family. Arms wide and hearts open.

And more than that, here was Carlos trying to get answers to questions that none of them really had an answer too.

“Black room, yes or no?” Carlos asks, holding up a flash card and a clothes peg, ready to add it to the line of string stretching across the room. It was already littered with other cards in an order that Willie really didn’t understand but seemed to make perfect sense to the younger boy and Reggie.

Not for me, or anyone I asked at the club, he scribbles down, turning to the board around.

“Just like we thought,” he nods to himself, taking two steps to the left and reaching up to attach the card, “An anomaly.” he whispers it to himself and Willie has to bite his lip to stop from smiling before remembering that Carlos can’t actually see him.

“Hey,” Alex’s voice from the doorway drags his gaze away from the lifer and the smile he’d been trying to stop spreads across his face, “How’s it going?”

“I don’t think we’re even half way through,” he chuckles, gesturing with one hand at the stack of flashcards and the charts he hasn’t even seen yet. “Do you understand this system?”

The exasperated laugh that leaves Alex’s lips is answer enough before he’s even shaking his head, strands of blonde hair dipping into his eyes and Willie wants to reach to move away, “Not a clue. They’ve tried to explain it to us but it makes zero sense to anyone but them.”

“Hey, Alex, stop distracting him, we’re working here!” Carlos’ voice makes him jump, head turning back to where he’s standing with his arms crossed and shaking his head in disappointment in the vague direction of where Alex is standing.

“Wait, can he see you?” Willie frowns, mind trying to remember if he knew this or not.

“No, he’s just really good at sensing us these days,” Alex sighs, but there’s a fond look in his eyes as he looks at Carlos, “He says it’s his ghost powers kicking in from how often he hangs out with Reggie and from all the failed teleportation experiments.”

“The failed what now?”

“Oh, you’ll find out. I think it’s section 7?” Alex grins, pushing off from where he’d been leaning against the doorway and waving.

Willie turns back to Carlos feeling a little more confused than he had minutes ago but also much more intrigued about teleportation experiments. And if he could help get some answers for any of the many questions Alex had, that was cool too.

Carlos Molina’s Guide to Ghosting. So you became a ghost, huh?

(working title, subject to change)

By Carlos Molina, with special thanks to Reggie Peters and Willie Skateboard.

1st Edition.

Dedicated to Alex Mercer, so he can stop asking so many questions. We’re working on it buddy.

1. Tangibility

They can walk through anything (except my sister now, reasons still unclear).

Works especially well with walls, doors and locked vaults (see exhibit a)

When they walk through people it “allows them to get a feel for the person” – Reggie Peters. “It’s weird” – Alex Mercer. No comment from Luke Patterson as he was too busy staring at Julie.

2. Souls

Objects can be attached to their souls.

Still unclear if it has to be an object that they were close to in life, or if they can attach their souls to any object once a ghost.

Experiments with Reggie Peters are still ongoing. Updates will follow.

3. Being Seen

Can be seen by “lifers*” when they play music with Julie.

This is the first rule which only applies to our ghosts.

They can be heard when they play music without Julie. This is also unclear as to why, working theory is “Our music is just so awesome it transcends deaths!” – Luke Patterson.

Mr Willie Skateboard was quick to point out it’s “weird” and “ghosts aren’t supposed to be seen by lifers.”

4. Touching

Our ghosts can now touch Julie. The biggest change in their afterlife.

Still no explanation for it. Experiments are ongoing (see exhibit b)

Have witnessed Julie hugging the air many times only for Alex or Willie to appear. Same with hand holding. (see exhibit c for dads reaction)

5. Magic

Some ghosts have powers and abilities.

Willie* can control different types of technology. Appears to work best with cars. This we believe correlates with who a ghost dies.

In our expedition to test his skills he skipped through 15 different radio stations of Tia’s car until he found one playing despacito. Test was a success. Tia does think her car is haunted now however.

6. ???

There was a dark room.

All other ghosts interviewed had never heard of it before.

All our ghosts agreed it was weird and creepy.

We are choosing to pretend it didn’t happen.

Working theory: a hole in time that they fell through. Must find a way to test.

7. Teleporting

part 1)

Ghosts can teleport wherever they want in the world.

Only the most powerful can teleport a lifer with them (will keep attempting)

part b)

Our ghosts can pinpoint Julie’s exact location wherever she may be in the world.

Will be helpful if she is ever kidnapped, Julie however wishes they would stop using said power to find her in gym class.

“I already have find my friend activated” – Flynn had to say on the matter.

part c)

Julie can summon the boys to her if she concentrates hard enough. Came in handy when an evil magician tried to kidnap them.

Also possibly how they escaped the dark room, no way to prove or deny this as dad won’t let me eat a bad hotdog to become a ghost.

Working theory: magic of music and family

See Exhibit d

See Exhibit e

#julie and the phantoms #julie molina #luke patterson #alex mercer #reggie peters #carlos molina #willie jatp #willie #ray molina #jatp #this is...this is really something that i made huh #why did i do this #i just. okay #you gotta read the power point as if carlos and reggie are presenting it btw #and reggie is wearing a sheet for the aesthetic

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pinnithin · 3 years

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invited home

This started as a “haha funnie gman eat a pizza” fic and turned into a soft little story about family. 3406 words.

Remembering etiquette was, perhaps, the hardest part of this.

The “hardest part of this” changed pretty frequently — often associated with whatever he was dealing with at the time. The week that took Gordon’s hand and very nearly his life was several months behind him, but he still heard the echoes of the Resonance Cascade in little things as the days passed. He heard it in the low hum of the air conditioner in his window and the backfire of a tailpipe outside. He kept the lights on at night and heard the echoes in his sleep.

It would never really go away, he guessed.

The best he could do, dealing with the hardest part of whatever his day brought him, was to simply keep living. A clockwork routine grounded him. He did normal things like buy groceries and hike in the county foothills - sometimes alone, sometimes with Tommy. Black Mesa and all the horrors it held may have broken the two of them, but they were slowly putting the pieces of each other back together.

So it shouldn’t have surprised him when he invited him to dinner with his father, right?

They were... well, they were something. Gordon found it difficult to call Tommy his boyfriend when they’d crash landed straight from acquaintances to partners in Black Mesa. The guy was the only reason Gordon was still alive, and he felt that he’d be repaying that act of kindness for the rest of his days. That sort of unwarranted devotion wasn’t exactly grounds for a normal courtship.

But this is what people did. They bought groceries and went for walks and had dinner with family. Tommy was offering this ritual to Gordon in an attempt to ground him, just like he helped him establish his other routines. It was in his best interest to take it.

The one story adobe in Sandia Heights was far more nondescript than Gordon was expecting, fitted cozily into the neighborhood on a street named Desert Finch Lane. It was evening, and the setting sun washed the walls a soft pink. The front lawn was xeriscaped with a bed of gravel and some strategic placements of yucca and saguaro, and a straight stone path marched right up to the front door. Gordon checked his phone one more time before he exited his vehicle - this house seemed far too normal to belong to someone like Tommy’s father.

No, the address Tommy sent him matched the numbers on the mailbox. Briefly, he glanced over the rest of the conversation as he reached with a free hand to kill the ignition.

T: Only if you want to! I know the last time you spoke was kind of weird... G: its fine it was a weird day haha G: no yeah id love to though G: do i need to bring anything? T: :D T: I guess you can if you want? It’s not going to be fancy or anything - we’ll probably order takeout. T: We just like to get together every month or so to catch up and I wanted to bring you along this time! No pressure. G: oh is this like G: a family thing? T: Well, yeah. Is that okay? G: its great! just checking G: see you then

T: :) T: See you.

A smile touched his mouth. Tommy rarely asked Gordon for anything, so he knew this was important to him even if he downplayed it. Gordon wouldn’t say he was a fan of Tommy’s father, but if Tommy wanted him to smooth things over after the Black Mesa incident, well, he’d try. For him, he’d try.

He didn’t know if Tommy’s father drank, so he passed on the wine, deciding instead that one can never go wrong with garlic bread. His eyes fell to the loaf he’d picked up from Albertson’s on his way over, still warm and wrapped in a foil package in the passenger seat. He’d done the meet-the-parents dance a few times before - a lifetime ago, it felt - but none of his partners had ever mattered this much to him, and none of their fathers had ever been gods.

Remembering etiquette, he reflected, was the hardest part of this.

He slid out of the car, taking the bread with him, and marched up to the front door. It was painted a bright turquoise with the word Bienvenidos scripted across the middle in white decal letters. This struck him as odd, because Tommy’s father didn’t seem the type to care about suburban design motifs, but he only hesitated a moment before raising a fist to rap his knuckles on the door.

Only a few seconds passed before the door swung open, and relief rolled over Gordon when he saw it was Tommy in the doorway. He was dressed in his usual button up, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he smiled like a sunrise. Gordon grinned back. He didn’t think the rush of affection that overtook him every time he laid eyes on the man would ever really fade.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” Tommy answered, still smiling. “Come on in.”

He stepped back to allow Gordon entry, and his presence somewhat quelled Gordon’s trepidation as he crossed the threshold into Mr. Coolatta’s house.

“I hope garlic bread is okay,” he said as Tommy shut the door behind him. His eyes caught the neat line of shoes in the entryway, and he began jimmying his sneakers off. “I wasn’t sure what we were having.”

“It’s perfect,” Tommy answered, turning from the door. He watched Gordon attempting to remove his shoes without the help of his hands with a hint of amusement. “Um, do you want me to take that?” he asked, indicating the bread.

“I’ve got it,” Gordon muttered distractedly, finally kicking off one shoe and then the other. “You didn’t grow up here, did you?”

Tommy watched the sneakers go flying down the hall, a laugh in his eyes, but he didn’t comment. “God, no,” he answered. “Dad downsized a couple years ago.” He paused, flicking a brief look around the room, before adding, “He decorated the place himself.”

Gordon followed Tommy’s gaze. It looked like a house, at a glance. There were throw pillows on the leather couch and an artificial plant rested tastefully on the coffee table. Picture frames and various ornaments adorned the mantle, functionally useless objects stuffed between photos of the Coolatta family through the years. His eyes caught a decorative globe, some pillar candles, and a geometric silver figurine before landing on a sunny portrait of a smiling child - Tommy, he guessed. A wall hanging of colorful overlapping rectangles covered the space next to the south window.

All at once, Gordon felt he was in a place that was trying very hard to be a house, without quite knowing what a house’s qualifying factors were. Aside from the photos, the only clue to the owner’s tastes was the record player against the far wall, crackling out music from a time period Gordon didn’t recognize. Something with a strange time signature and a dreamlike melody. It was possible the song was from an era that had not yet happened.

He looked back to Tommy and found him studying his face. “It’s nice,” he offered summarily.

Tommy laughed quietly through his nose. “I think he just went to the home decor section of Target and picked out some stuff he liked,” he said.

“Oh,” Gordon replied. “Y’know, now that you say it - yeah. Yeah, I can see that.”

Tommy didn’t exactly look uncomfortable with Gordon’s presence in his father’s house, but he didn’t seem wholly relaxed either. The set of his shoulders betrayed him, as did his hands, which fidgeted at the seams of his pockets before extending to take the bread from him.

“Here, let me - we can put this in the kitchen,” he said, gesturing behind him.

It was possible that etiquette slipped his mind as frequently as it did Gordon’s, and that made him feel a little better about the whole thing. He should have assumed as much - he and Tommy both used the skeleton of routine to prop themselves up, despite the fact that they found social rules tiresome at best. A necessary framework for people like them. Gordon allowed Tommy to take the package from his arms and followed him down the hall.

The kitchen was a little more homey, if only for the healthy clutter of appliances on the counter. Two boxes from Dion’s Pizza sat on the island, and seeing them pulled an audible sigh of relief from Gordon.

Tommy noticed. “Yeah, we’re not - we don’t cook a lot around here,” he admitted, sliding the package of garlic bread next to the pizza.

“That makes me feel better about bringing over store bought bread,” Gordon chuckled. “Where’s uh,” he darted a glance around the room, as if the man in question would materialize if he mentioned him aloud. “Where’s your dad at, anyway?”

“Oh, he’s...” Tommy finished his sentence with a vague wave of his hand. “He’ll show up sooner or later.”

He didn’t seem concerned, as if his father disappearing to another time and place arbitrarily was something that happened a lot. It made sense - Tommy was self-sufficient to the point of being an outright loner - and Gordon guessed that Mr. Coolatta’s inhuman qualities probably didn’t lend to a very warm upbringing.

Tommy was watching him, observant as always. “He’s not really a bad person,” he said at length. “He just… he sees things differently.”

“Shit, man,” Gordon laughed and shook his head. “Sometimes I think you can read my mind.”

“Oh, I never told you?” Tommy responded, raising his eyebrows impishly.

He didn’t seem to want to discuss his father any further, so Gordon laughed at Tommy’s joke and didn’t press it. They fell into a comfortable discussion, standing together in the kitchen and waiting on the third member of their little party. This part Gordon knew how to do - speaking with Tommy always felt like coming home, and while they were still learning things about each other, he never felt any pressure to behave in a way that wasn’t his whole, genuine self. He saw the slope of Tommy’s shoulders slowly relaxing while they talked, and felt himself mirroring him as the minutes ticked by.

Tommy’s father materialized in the time it took for Gordon to blink, one moment absent and the next present. Spooked, Gordon jumped slightly at his appearance, while Tommy uttered an unaffected and congenial, “hey, Dad.”

Mister Coolatta stood under the kitchen lights exactly how Gordon remembered him. His suit was as smooth and clean as his hair, and he wondered if the man even thought about wearing anything else, much less owned a varied wardrobe. Tommy’s father was, in many ways, like Tommy himself. Tall and neat and watchful. Seeing them side by side, it was easier to envision them as family, and Gordon no longer wondered where Tommy picked up his carefully neutral expression from.

The man in the suit fixed his cool gaze on Gordon. “Mister Freeman,” he said. “It is, hm, good to see you again.”

Gordon extended a hand before he could lose his nerve. This was what people did. And while Tommy’s father may not necessarily be a person, that was no reason for Gordon to deny him the courtesy of a handshake.

“You too, sir,” he answered. “Happy to be here.”

Tommy’s father paused for a moment, studying Gordon’s outstretched hand with interest. “I trust the hand hasn’t been giving you trouble since your little incident?”

“Uh,” Gordon faltered only for a moment. “No. It’s been just fine.”

“Dad,” Tommy intoned quietly, passing a glance between his father and Gordon.

This spurred the man in the suit to recall etiquette, himself, and then Gordon was shaking hands with a god.

It was surprisingly normal, all things considered. His grip wasn’t quite as solid as Gordon expected, though that was less a testament to his grip strength than it was to his short-of-corporeal nature. His skin felt like something that was pretending to be skin, and it was the same temperature as the air around them. But he nodded and looked Gordon in the eye like any other man, so he guessed he’d had worse handshakes before in his life.

Mr. Coolatta released him and angled his head to his son. “Forgive me for my lateness, I… had to take care of some things on the ah, ‘out-side,’ as it were.”

“It’s fine, Dad,” Tommy answered, then added, “I picked up the pizza.”

His father’s eyes lit on the boxes, seemingly for the first time. “Dion’s,” he observed. “Excellent choice.”

After a short, awkward silence, Gordon blurted, “should we eat?” and Tommy sighed a grateful “yes,” before nudging his father toward the dining room.

As Gordon took a step to gather the pizzas into his arms, he felt Tommy skate his fingers delicately across the inside of his palm.

“Thank you,” he murmured in his ear, quiet and just for him.

Gordon wasn’t sure what exactly Tommy was thanking him for, but he caught his hand before he could withdraw and gave a reassuring squeeze. He was warm and solid and alive, and it anchored him.

“We got this,” he told Tommy, smiling.

The dining room was another testament to Mr. Coolatta’s decorating tastes. Gordon was not quite successful in withholding a chuckle when he noticed a Live, Laugh, Love sign on the wall, and this earned him a gentle elbow in the ribs from his partner. Tommy was carrying a set of plates and silverware in one hand and some napkins in another.

When Gordon offered to help set the table, Tommy only shook his head mischievously, and the cutlery leapt from his hands on their own.

Right. He was dating a demigod. This was a detail Gordon often forgot about, if only for the fact that Tommy displayed his power in subtle, quiet ways that went unnoticed. Here, however, he had no such reservations.

This was a Tommy Gordon hadn’t gotten to see yet, and he caught himself staring as he set the table without even touching a plate. He handled himself with an ease he didn’t show out in public, manipulating space with a well-practiced comfort that indicated years of doing it this way. A Coolatta ritual, for Coolattas only. Gordon, an outsider, felt his nervousness slowly melt into gratitude at being invited to the table. He understood now - Tommy didn’t want Gordon here just to smooth things over with his father. He wanted to share his life with him, every jigsawed piece of it.

Conversation was easier than anticipated. Tommy led the discussion at first, updating his father on his new job at the VLA in Socorro. Working with radios in the quiet desert, listening to the stars, seemed to suit him, and the fondness with which he recalled his nighttime shifts alone was genuine. Gordon tucked into his slice of 505 (pepperoni and green chile) and watched Mr. Coolatta’s facial expression as he absorbed the information.

The man sat perfectly still except to give acknowledging nods here and there, and his pizza remained untouched on his plate. At least, that was Gordon’s first assumption, until he realized the slice was gradually disappearing bite by bite every time he looked away. Mr. Coolatta’s face was impassive as always when Gordon gave him a questioning look, and when Tommy didn’t acknowledge the mystical pizza disappearance, he chose not to say anything about it.

“Mister Freeman,” the man in the suit said after a time, turning his swirling gaze on his guest. “It is my under-standing that you… have a new profession, as well?”

Gordon, figuring he’d picked up the “Mister Freeman” thing from Tommy, didn’t bother to correct him. “Yeah, I’m teaching physics at NMT,” he answered.

He didn’t think he’d enjoy an academic environment all that much, choosing to teach as a backup while he pursued streaming in the meantime, but he was developing a fondness for it. His students were bright individuals, and some of them were just as weird as he was, which kept his days interesting.

Gordon wasn’t one to discuss his new job at length with anyone. It felt strange, after everything he lived through, to complain about something as trivial as grading papers or writing coursework. But Mr. Coolatta was among a handful of individuals who knew exactly what happened to him during his employment at Black Mesa, so he felt what he said next was entirely understood by everyone at the table.

“It’s a nice change of pace,” he added. “Things are better.”

“Yes,” Tommy’s father answered. “I have… heard the same from Tommy. It is, good to know that the two of you are, hm, recovering well.”

His tone was one step away from apologetic, and Gordon was sure he imagined it, but he was touched by the sentiment nonetheless. Tommy smiled softly down at his plate and didn’t say anything. They were recovering well, weren’t they? Finding a place for themselves. Learning how to be human again.

Gordon wasn’t sure, at first, if it would ever be possible. The Resonance Cascade was the worst thing that ever happened to him, but… Tommy was the best thing that ever happened to him. And even with all the complicated emotions that surrounded the Coolatta family, he was happy to be here. He was happy to see that small, private smile cross Tommy’s face.

The evening concluded with Gordon and Mr. Coolatta getting into a discussion about whether a hotdog was actually a sandwich, with Tommy joining in as moderator and rewarding imaginary points as they each went over their arguments. They wiped out the pizzas handily between the three of them. When Gordon had to excuse himself to begin the drive back to Socorro, Mr. Coolatta initiated another handshake with him. It was only a little less weird the second time.

“I’ll walk you out to your car,” Tommy offered.

The setting sun bled a soft orange onto the neighborhood as the two of them left the house. Tommy kept his hands in his pockets, just barely brushing shoulders with Gordon as they went.

“Thank you,” he said again.

“Yeah, thanks for inviting me,” Gordon responded. “It was nice.”

They pulled to a stop next to the station wagon. “Sorry Dad’s so…” Tommy trailed off and shrugged. “Like that,” he finished.

His eyes were down, studying the sidewalk as he scuffed the sole of his shoe on the concrete. His expression was drawn, but Gordon could see from the crinkle of his eyes that he was happy with how the night turned out.

“Hey,” Gordon said.

Tommy’s eyes flicked up to meet his. His gaze was sharp and watchful, cutting Gordon in a way he found he liked.

“Don’t feel like you need to apologize for your dad,” Gordon said. “He’s cool. And I’m… Like, I’m glad you wanted me there. I had a good time,” he rambled further, “and it’s - I haven’t been to dinner with someone in a long time, and it was just - like it was really nice to just talk about stuff with family like that.”

Tommy’s mouth split into a smile, face flushing slightly as Gordon said the word ‘family.’ “Yeah,” he agreed. “It was nice. This is - we should do this again.”

The fact that there would be a next time sent a rush of emotion into Gordon’s chest. He loved Tommy, loved how trusting he was to invite him to such a private part of his life. Certainly this was difficult for him to do, but he allowed Gordon Freeman, of all people, to cross the threshold and see inside. He was close enough to be considered family. Sheer affection made him dizzy.

Tommy’s smile was infectious, causing Gordon to grin outright. “I’ll see you back home later?” he asked.

“Mm hm,” Tommy nodded. He leaned in, but stopped short when Gordon held up a hand in protest.

“Uh,” he intoned, pointing. “Your dad is totally watching us from the window.”

Tommy glanced over his shoulder and caught the dark visage of his father beyond the glass. He rolled his eyes, still smiling, and gestured with a hand. The curtains snapped shut at his command. “No, he isn’t,” he said.

They kissed on the curb, Gordon laughing softly into Tommy’s mouth. He was home already.

#hlvrai #freelatta #tommy coolatta #gordon freeman hlvrai #fanfiction #writing #pin talks #listen i think about tommys relationship with his father a lot....#but this was not the fic for that #anyway please enjoy this was very sweet for me to write i smiled a lot #i love them....#gman hlvrai

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singledarkshade · 3 years

Text

Not The Clone You Were Expecting

Summary: Waking confused, Phil Gasmer soon finds he has a rescue mission with no idea how to do it. Author’s Notes: This was written for the RipChat Holiday Gift Exchange and is my gift to @kalinara. My prompt was: I would like a story involving Phil Gasmer, either physically present or the parts of him that still exist in Rip. Thanks to @incendiaglacies for reading through this for me and making sure it made sense.

Enjoy He felt strange as he woke, like his mind was filled with cotton wool.

His last memory was being held down by two of the three men who had abducted and tortured him while the third moved closer carrying a metal band that he knew would kill him.

And he was sure he had died.

Somehow there was consciousness again, and he could hear voices. Although they sounded far away there was something familiar about them, recognition tickling at the back of his mind.

The voice suddenly became clearer, as though his ears popped.

“He looks identical. Even the scars are the same,” a woman near him mused.

“They have to be,” a man replied, filling him with a vague feeling of anger, “We have to ensure Gideon believes him to be Hunter. If he is missing any scar or freckle, she will know immediately that something is wrong.”

Confusion filled him, everyone had claimed he was Rip Hunter. Why was it different now?

Forcing his eyes open, the bright light stabbed into him, but he managed to focus finally. Bemusement filled him as he saw himself lying on the table across from him, strapped to a table.

“Phil,” the other version of himself called urgently, “Elude protocol.”

The man and woman frowned turning to Phil’s doppelganger strapped to the bed while Phil’s hand moved without thought and he pressed his left thumb into his right wrist. The world around him dissolved and suddenly he was in a completely different room.

“What the hell is going on?”

All Phil Gasmer wanted to do with his life was make movies with his friend George, and maybe get high on occasion. Then his life went insane from the moment the people who called themselves Legends appeared in it. He discovered the people in his movie were real, and that he apparently wasn’t who he thought he was but one of the characters he’d created, Rip Hunter.

Which was without a doubt depressing as hell considering all Phil knew about the man’s backstory.

And that was before he was abducted and tortured by three men who spent most of their time arguing amongst themselves.

Looking around the new surroundings, Phil found he was in a room, lit by a strip of lighting above his head. There was a desk and chair in one corner with a chest of drawers in another. Realising he was only dressed in a hospital robe, Phil opened the top drawer relieved to find several lots of clothes, all in his size.

Dressing quickly in dark denims, a grey t-shirt and a dark blue shirt, Phil then pulled on a pair of boots he found before he began to look around properly. There was a mirror on the wall and Phil moved to check if it gave a clue to where he was.

Looking at himself Phil frowned to see his hair was shorter and lighter than he remembered, his beard was gone, which annoyed him because he’d liked it, but there was a light scruff across his jaw.

Phil jumped when a beam of light covered his face, and he realised he was being scanned.

“Mr Gasmer…Phil,” his own face appeared before him, “I know this is strange but if you’re here then I am in trouble and you’re the only person who can help me.”

Phil stared at himself before sighing, “Rip Hunter.”

“One thing I can promise you is that you’re not actually me this time,” Rip continued, “If you’re seeing this then someone has managed to capture me and used cloning technology,” he paused for a moment before explaining, “I made a few arrangements just in case something like this happened, which is a longer story than I can tell you right now. I implanted a few additional pieces of knowledge in your mind, and I’m sorry but you’re the only one I can trust.”

Phil frowned confused but waited in silence.

“If you haven’t found them already,” Rip continued, “There are clothes in the top drawer, and in the drawer beneath that are a few weapons as well as some other kit you will need. Check the computer, all you require is to place your palm on the scanner, and it will know who you are. All the information you need can be found there.”

With that the recording ended and Phil was alone again.

Phil frowned as he realised there was no way out of the room that he was in. He couldn’t find a door, there was no window and no hidden levers. All he wanted to do was leave and hide and be free from all the insanity.

But…

Rip Hunter had been the man trapped across from him when he’d woken, he’d done something to ensure Phil would escape their captors, and the least Phil could do was try to help the other man.

Opening the second drawer, Phil winced when he found several knives along with a gun and what looked like a watch of some kind. Closing the drawer without taking anything out, Phil moved to the desk and took a seat.

A rectangle on the desk lit up and nervously Phil placed his hand upon it. The computer sprang to life, and a blue head appeared on the screen.

“Greetings, Mr Gasmer,” the male voice came with an accent that reminded him of Rip, “My name is Graham, and I am an AI.”

“Like Gideon?” Phil asked.

“Precisely,” Graham replied, “Captain Hunter has charged me with providing you with assistance.”

“Okay,” Phil said before asking, “Help with what?”

“Your existence here shows that a concern he held has come to pass,” Graham continued, “In order to rescue Captain Hunter, you will require assistance. Unfortunately, the Waverider is not an option as, whoever has managed to abduct Captain Hunter, has done so in order to capture the ship.”

“Then who can help me?” Phil sighed.

Graham paused for a moment before replying, “Currently I am unable to answer that question as I do not know the state of the world outside these walls. Once you leave the building then I will have access to the required information.”

“How do I leave?” Phil demanded annoyed.

“In the second drawer you will find what looks to be a watch,” Graham explained, “This is called a Time Courier, it has been designed specifically by Captain Hunter to ensure that only you and he are able to use it. Once you activate the Time Courier, I shall be downloaded to it allowing me to guide you.”

Phil grimaced, moving over to the drawers again he pulled out the Time Courier and attached it to his wrist, this time taking the weapons as well.

“If you open the bottom drawer,” Graham spoke up before he could ask, “There is a bag along with currency for you to use, as well as other technology for this time period.”

Following the instructions, Phil found a rucksack. He was surprised by how much money was in it and frowned in confusion at the shiny black rectangle that was also inside it.

“This is a mobile phone,” Graham explained to him, “It will be connected to your Time Courier so all you are required to do is switch it on,” at Phil’s frown of confusion, he added, “Press the button at the side and when the number pad appears enter the code 2059. Once that is done it will connect automatically to the Time Courier and all you need to do is leave it on whilst in the bag.”

Phil followed the instructions, sliding the phone into a pocket inside the bag which looked like it would be safe. Reluctantly he added the knives and gun to the bag.

“Okay,” Phil whispered, “I’ve got everything. What now?”

“There is an earbud in the front pocket of the bag,” Graham said, “Put it in your ear and press once to activate it.”

Following the instructions once more, Phil winced when something jabbed his ear when he activated the earbud.

“That will ensure it does not fall out,” Graham said, this time in his ear as opposed to surrounding him, “And now it is time to leave.”

A scraping noise made him turn to see a door opening behind him, and a cold breeze filled the room making Phil shiver.

“There is a coat in the cupboard,” Graham told him, as another door opened where a long dark blue coat hung.

Phil slid it on before pulling the rucksack over one shoulder and stepping out into the unknown.

Noise was coming from the end of the corridor that Phil was walking along. Reaching the end, he found two doors and frowned.

“Which way?” Phil asked softly.

“The door to your left leads into the bar of the public house we currently reside,” Graham told him, “While the door to your right leads to the street.”

Phil grimaced, “I could do with a drink.”

“Alcohol will not be conducive to rescuing Captain Hunter,” Graham noted disapprovingly.

Sighing Phil said, “I still need something to eat and drink.”

“There is a shop close by which will provide you with sustenance,” Graham assured him.

Grimacing Phil took the door to his right and stepped out into the street. He blinked in the bright light and jumped when a large lorry flew past him.

“Turn to your right and walk one hundred feet,” Graham told him, “There is a convenience store where you can obtain provisions.”

Phil walked in the direction the AI sent him, finding the shop easily. Walking in he located bottles of water, sandwiches and cookies.

“In order to pay,” Graham said in his ear, “Simply present your Courier to the small box at the till. It will pay for your food.”

“It will?” Phil asked before musing, “Cool.”

When he reached the front of the queue, the bored looking kid behind the till scanned his items then looked up waiting. Nervously Phil placed the Time Courier at the box, surprised when the kid handed him a receipt.

Taking his shopping, Phil put some of it in his bag before leaving the shop.

“Where to now?” Phil asked as he ate several cookies and drank the water while walking away from the shop.

“Head towards the park at the end of this street,” Graham told him, “Once there I shall open a portal to your next destination. This shall lead to the individual who will be able to assist you in your mission.”

A little worried that Graham hadn’t given him any actual information on where he was going, Phil continued to walk. He had no idea where he was but didn’t want to ask in case someone took notice of him. Once more he was in a world completely different to the one that he knew, the cars, clothes, hairstyles, and technology screamed this at him, but Phil decided until he knew he was safe from whoever had Rip then he wasn’t talking to anyone.

Reaching the park, he continued to walk and stalled when day suddenly became night, as the park became a street with houses surrounding him.

“Graham?” Phil called, “Where am I?”

“The house at the end of the street is your destination,” Graham told him, making Phil sigh that there was no further information provided.

But demanding answers would waste time and it was just easier to follow instructions for the moment. Heading to the detached house Phil saw a neat lawn at the front and two lights on inside. One upstairs and one downstairs.

Hitting the bell, Phil held his breath hoping that whoever answered was friendly. Listening to the sounds of the owner coming to answer, Phil sighed in relief seeing the man who opened the door was someone he recognised and knew would be able to help him.

“Rip?” Jax demanded.

Phil winced and shrugged, “Not exactly.”

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

Jax smiled as his little girl toddled towards him, catching her in a tight embrace when she reached him and pressing kisses to her cheeks while she giggled away.

“Alright,” Sadie laughed, “Come on Miss Martina, it’s bath time. Say goodnight to daddy and we’ll go play in the bubbles.”

Martina giggled, “Nyny, Dada.”

“Night night,” Jax hugged her, before passing the two-year-old to her mother.

Sadie smiled, starting to sing to their daughter as she took Martina upstairs leaving Jax to his work. He was taking several engineering courses so he could put his knowledge of the things he’d learned on the Waverider to good use and had two assignments to finish for the end of the week.

About an hour into his studying the doorbell rang, sighing in annoyance Jax put his pen down and opened the door to the last person he expected.

“Rip?”

The man standing there shrugged, “Not exactly.”

The American accent and hesitant demeanour made Jax stare in astonishment and he finally asked, “Phil?”

Relief filled the man’s face, “Yes. I’m sorry for just turning up and I know this is strange, but I need your help.”

“Come on in,” Jax told him, stunned that once again the film student was in front of him.

Phil stepped inside and headed into the lounge when Jax motioned him through. Looking up the stairs to see Sadie watching concerned, he said, “It’s something from my time with the Legends.”

She nodded, “Okay.”

He smiled relieved she understood before heading to where Phil was standing looking nervous and worried.

“Just letting my wife know there’s not a problem,” Jax assured the other man, “Grab a seat and tell me what’s going on.”

Sliding his bag off, Phil sat awkwardly on the edge of the couch and began to explain what had happened to bring him to Jax’s doorstep.

Jax rubbed his hand across his eyes, “Okay, let me see if I’ve got this right. You’re not Rip but a clone with all of Phil’s memories, completely separate from Rip who is in trouble?”

Phil nodded, “That’s the basics.”

“So, this AI you have?” Jax asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Phil pulled his right sleeve up and said, “Graham?”

“Yes, Mr Gasmer,” a male voice with an English accent stated as a blue head hologram appeared from what looked to be a Time Courier.

Phil smiled slightly, “Can you answer all of Jax’s questions?”

“Of course,” Graham replied, “Mr Jackson, what can I assist you with?”

Jax mused for a moment, “Explain how Phil isn’t Rip this time.”

“In case something like this happened,” Graham stated, “Captain Hunter made arrangements so that Mr Gasmer’s consciousness alone would be transferred into any cloned body amongst a few other additional pieces of information.”

Jax and Phil swapped confused glances before Jax asked, “What pieces of information?”

“As it is likely Captain Hunter has been taken in order to take control of the Waverider,” Graham continued, “Then he has transferred certain proprietary information to Mr Gasmer.”

Jax frowned, “What exactly does that mean?”

Phil shrugged confused.

“It means that the information the people who are currently holding Captain Hunter are after is no longer in his mind,” Graham explained, “But in Mr Gasmer’s.”

Phil rubbed at his fingers worriedly as he listened to Graham, suddenly jumping at the AI’s pronouncement.

“Hold on,” Phil spoke up, “What information is in my head?”

Jax nodded, “That’s a really good question and,” he added, “You keep saying Captain Hunter, not Director. When did Rip set all this up?”

“Captain Hunter activated me three weeks after he left the Waverider following the destruction of the Spear of Destiny,” Graham explained, “Gideon streamlined the plan, and the last update was three days after the Waverider was stolen from the Time Bureau.”

Phil noted Jax looking guilty but didn’t want to ask because right now he didn’t want to lose focus.

“What information do I have?” Phil asked the AI again.

“I do not hold those specific details,” Graham replied, making the two men groan in annoyance.

“Well, that’s helpful,” Jax sighed, “Okay, why did you come here?”

Phil frowned, “This is where Graham brought me. I thought you’d be able to help me rescue Rip.”

Jax stared at him making Phil squirm slightly, “You’re looking for my help on a rescue mission?”

Phil nodded, “I have to.”

“Why you?” Jax demanded, “Why not just call Sara and the Legends?”

“Because Rip said I can’t,” Phil replied, “The people who have him want the ship and Gideon so we can’t give them a chance to take it. Although I am surprised, they’re not already looking for him this time.”

Jax frowned, he began to pace before sighing, “I thought Rip was dead. They all do.”

“Why?” Phil asked softly.

“He overloaded the time core trying to stop a time demon,” Jax explained, “Sara told me that it vapourised him.”

Phil took a soft breath, “I didn’t know anything about that. All I know is I can’t leave him there.”

Sighing Jax nodded, “Okay. Graham, do you know how to find Rip?”

“As per Captain Hunter’s instructions,” Graham spoke up, “Now that I have guided Mr Gasmer to a safe haven, I will shut down.”

Phil stared at the watch, “What? Why did you get me to bring the weapons, and the money?”

“This was to ensure you came here. The money is yours to build a new life,” Graham told him, “Although you and Captain Hunter are two different people there are specific traits you share.”

“The need to save people,” Jax noted with a knowing roll of his eyes.

“Precisely, Mr Jackson,” Graham replied, “However, Captain Hunter did not want you to risk your life, Mr Gasmer. Therefore, I wish you well.”

Phil gasped, “Wait.”

Horror filled him as the only chance he had to save Rip shut down.

Jax watched Phil desperately try to reactivate the AI with no success. Leaving the room, he found the communicator Sara had provided him with when leaving the ship.

Just in case.

Jax stared at it for several minutes, the Legends were the best bet for rescuing Rip. He had a wife and a daughter to take care of. Running around time and space was not part of his life anymore. Putting it back with a sigh, Jax returned to the lounge where Phil was looking defeated.

“I don’t know how to fix it,” he sighed to Jax, “He didn’t leave that information in my head.”

Jax grimaced, “Give me the Courier.”

“What?”

“Give me it,” Jax told him again, “I should be able to get some information off it.”

Hope touched Phil’s face and he quickly undid the watch strap, “Are you sure?”

Jax shrugged, “It’s possible. Rip taught me how to fix Gideon, so I should be able to get some information.”

Pulling out his tools, Jax grabbed his tablet and connected the Courier. He paused and turned to Phil who was hovering anxiously.

“How about you have something to eat,” Jax suggested, “While I do this?”

Hesitantly Phil nodded, “Thanks. I am kinda hungry.”

Jax quickly heated up some of the casserole his mother had dropped off earlier and gave the man a plate. Once Phil was eating, Jax got back to work. The fact that Rip had trained him meant that Jax knew the programming quirks Rip had that were not in the manual he’d been given to read. Therefore, he recognised the little things Rip had put in that would probably have confused someone else. And it took only about an hour for him to get into the main program.

“Got it,” Jax said, seeing Phil jerk awake who’d closed his eyes after finishing his meal and fallen asleep.

“You have?”

Jax nodded, “Okay, bypassing Graham so he can’t just shut us down again and…” he tapped in a few more instructions, “Got it.”

Phil moved to look at the screen, “Does it help?”

Jax mused as he scanned the screen, “Typically Rip didn’t leave any real information but,” he smiled, “I think I can locate him.”

“How?”

“If I’m reading this right,” Jax told the other man, “Then, using the beacon in your arm that activated the transporter to get you out of there, I can backtrack to where Rip is being held and transport us there.”

“Are you sure about this?” Sadie asked softly after Jax explained everything.

Jax nodded, “Rip is my friend and I have a feeling if I don’t then Phil will try to go after him alone. The last time he fought that I know of, he attacked me with a rolled-up script and that didn’t do any damage.”

Sadie chuckled and wrapped her arms around him, “You’ll be safe though, right?”

“Believe it or not,” Jax smiled, “I know what I’m doing. We also have the element of surprise.”

Sadie sighed, “Okay. Just be careful.”

Jax kissed his wife quickly, “I will be but if we’re not back here in an hour I need you to contact Barry and his team to come after us with the information I’ve left them.”

Nodding Sadie sighed, “I will. But I trust in you.”

Hugging her tightly Jax hoped his confidence wasn’t misplaced and he’d be back here soon. Tiptoeing into the nursery, Jax took a peek at his baby girl who was fast asleep cuddling her favourite teddy. Her tiny bow mouth was moving as though she was drinking from her bottle.

Kissing her forehead, Jax smiled, “Love you, Munchkin.”

Martina sighed happily in her sleep and he shook his head wondering how he got to be so lucky. Taking a quick breath, he headed down to where Phil was waiting for him. He looked nervous but determination covered his face.

“Are you ready?” Jax asked, picking up Rip’s pistol and setting it.

Phil frowned, “Shouldn’t I have that?”

“Do you know how to use it?” Jax asked, when Phil shook his head he said, “Then I’ll take the pistol.”

Grabbing his tablet, still connected to the Courier, Jax reconnected the strap to Phil’s arm so it worked again.

“This won’t accidentally land us inside a cell,” Phil asked, “Will it?”

Jax grimaced, “Hopefully not.”

“Well, that makes me feel safe,” Phil rolled his eyes.

“Do you want to do this?” Jax demanded.

“Sorry,” Phil winced, “I’m ready when you are.”

Jax took a quick breath and murmured a small prayer to whoever was listening before activating the Courier. He was surprised when the world around them dissolved, unlike his previous experiences with the Time Courier.

And suddenly they were no longer in his house.

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

Rip watched his captors argue as they tried to work out another plan to capture the Waverider. Eston Hayes, the leader was someone Rip knew well from his early days as Time Master. Ironically enough he’d been captured by Rip breaking into a cloning factory.

Thankfully, the partitioning of his mind so that any attempt to transfer it to a clone meant they got Phil had worked. Now Rip hoped Phil had found Graham and was safe well away from Hayes.

“Having problems?” Rip asked amused when Hayes walked over to the cell they were currently holding him in.

“You think you’re smart, Hunter,” Hayes snarled at him, “That little trick of yours won’t stop me for long.”

Rip shrugged, “I don’t want to tell you your business but the equipment you’re using means that it won’t be able to remap my mind. Shame you wasted your one chance.”

At the confusion that covered the other man’s face that he quickly tried to hide Rip chuckled again, “You might want to check with your tech person how your equipment works. Or a ten-year-old child since they might have more information.”

“You think you’ve won something,” Hayes snapped, “But all you’ve done is ensure we will take the Waverider by force and the AI will be damaged.”

Rip stared at him before replying, “You’ll get nowhere near Gideon. Trust me on that one.”

“With you as my prisoner,” Hayes chuckled, “Trust me I know that Time Master AI’s are programmed to protect their Captain.”

Rip shrugged, “You don’t know Gideon.” He took a seat on the cot in his cell and smiled, “I’ll wait while you work out your next step.”

Hayes glared at him before stomping over to his crew once more. Grabbing the young guy who was supposed to be his technical expert and throwing him through the door towards the other room that held the machine. Hayes then moved the others out, yelling at them all to fix things for him or face the consequences.

Rip let out a long breath hoping he could work out a way to escape before Hayes managed to devise a feasible plan. Out the corner of his eye Rip spotted a shift in the light. Confused he stood and moved so he could see the other corner of the room, stunned that Jax and Phil were standing there.

Jax let out a sigh of relief when they materialised outside the cell but hidden from the people who held Rip. He winced slightly when Rip spotted them and swore.

“What the hell are you two doing here?” Rip whispered harshly as Jax moved to the keypad.

“It’s a rescue,” Jax replied, “You remember what that is right?”

Rip glared at him, “I left explicit instructions with Graham to get Phil to safety then shut down.”

“Phil and I decided you don’t get to do that,” Jax replied, he managed to unlock the door and frowned at Rip, “Are you coming?”

Rip walked out the cell and, to Jax’s amazement, rested his hand on Phil’s shoulder concerned, “Are you okay?”

Phil nodded.

“Okay,” Rip smiled, taking the pistol Jax offered him, “We need to destroy all the equipment, stop Hayes and his team then make sure they can’t make any further trouble.”

“I’m guessing he’s an old friend of yours,” Jax noted as he followed Rip.

Rip sighed, “Time Pirate. It was one of my first missions to apprehend him and his crew who were, believe it or not, robbing a cloning factory.”

“What’s your plan?” Phil asked.

Rip frowned in thought, “There is a main panel just at the back of the control console. Phil, I need you to basically pull out every wire you can find. Jax, overload the system. I’ll deal with Hayes and his people.”

“There’s four of them and one of you,” Phil noted.

Rip gave a slight shrug, “I’ll be fine. Destroying the machine is the priority.”

Concern still covered Phil’s face, “Are you sure?”

As they stood face to face the only way Jax could tell the two men apart was their clothes. And the fact Rip had his pistol.

Rip nodded, “Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

“Come on,” Jax caught Phil’s arm, “Let’s do this.”

Rip took a slow deep breath to focus himself, he still felt a little off after the mind scan. Ensuring the partition worked so Phil’s consciousness had been transferred only had taken concentration and it had been exhausting but Gideon was in danger and he wasn’t going to let Hayes, or anyone else, harm her.

“I want the codes,” Hayes was yelling, “I don’t care if you have to tear it from his mind.”

Smiling slightly to himself, Rip pushed everything to one side and slid into attack mode as Miranda once called it. Easing into the room, he ensured his pistol was set at the highest stun setting and fired three shots hitting each of Hayes’ team before they could defend themselves.

Hayes turned stunned, “How?”

Rip gave him a smug smile, “That would be telling.”

Firing at Hayes, Rip swore when the other man threw himself to one side out of the way. Hayes grabbed random items from the shelves and flung them forcing Rip to take cover, when he tried to fire at the other man Hayes charged at him. Hayes slammed into Rip throwing him to the ground, and Rip felt the air forced out his lungs.

“You smug bastard,” Hayes snarled, wrapping his hands around Rip’s neck and squeezing, “I’ll find a way onto the ship using your corpse.”

Rip struggled to throw the other man off him, but Hayes was bigger and as he choked Rip it became harder to fight. Suddenly Hayes stopped, his eyes rolled back, and he fell to the side revealing Phil above him holding the panel door.

“Are you okay?” his clone asked, offering Rip his hand.

Rip nodded, as he took several deep breaths.

“We’ve pulled out everything we could,” Jax reported when he reappeared to join them.

“Good,” Rip turned to Phil again, “Time Courier.”

Phil looked a little surprised but undid the strap passing it to Rip.

“Graham,” Rip called, “Reactivation code, Alpha, Hat, Joke.”

The watch turned on again and the holographic head appeared, “Yes, Captain Hunter.”

“Contact Agent Simons in the Time Bureau,” Rip ordered, “Get her to sort this out, asking her to ensure my involvement is not revealed at all.”

“Of course, Captain Hunter,” Graham replied.

Rip sighed, “Jax, can we go back to your house or will I open a portal to somewhere else?”

“The house is fine,” Jax said flatly before demanding, “Who is Agent Simons? Why not Ava Sharpe or Sara to clear this up?”

“Agent Simons is a former Time Master who joined the Bureau,” Rip replied as he programmed the Courier, “She knows how to deal with this type of situation, not to mention she knows who and what Hayes is. And,” he stopped Jax from speaking again, “Right now it’s easier not to let them know.”

With that said, Rip opened the portal leading them back to Jax’s house.

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

Phil sat in the back garden of Jax’s house with a mug of coffee in his hand the next morning. Jax had two spare rooms in his house so he and Rip had taken one each to sleep after their rescue mission.

“So,” Rip said letting Phil know he was there, “How are you?”

“Confused.”

Rip chuckled and took a seat at the table across from him, “I can understand that.”

“What happens now?” Phil asked.

“You live your life,” Rip told him, “Which is what I expected you to do originally. You weren’t supposed to come after me.”

Phil shrugged, “I couldn’t leave you there.”

“That reckless streak Gideon keeps telling me off for having is apparently something we share,” Rip noted.

“What are you going to do now?” Phil asked.

Rip shrugged, “I’m not sure. Gideon has advised that the Legends are currently in the middle of a quest which I don’t feel I should interfere in. The Time Bureau is not an option anymore. But I have some bases I can use to continue my own mission of protecting time.”

“You don’t have to do it alone,” Phil told him.

Rip sighed, “My experience of working with others is not exactly positive. I have Graham to help me while Gideon keeps the Legends on track. Time Masters always worked alone, I feel that’s the best idea for me at this moment.”

Phil shrugged, “I could help.”

“No,” Rip whispered, “You deserve to have a real life. You wanted to make films. Do that. One of us should get to live our dream.”

Phil smiled before reminding him, “But if you need help at any time.”

Rip nodded, “I’ll call on my brother.”

#fic #legends of tomorrow #rip hunter #phil gasmer #jefferson 'jax' jackson

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ravens-rambling · 5 years

Text

The Demon and Angel (Pt 8)

Masterpost

Summary: It happened during one rainy day the two met. One half-demon who was hiding from the world, who just wanted to survive, and one kind human who lend him a hand. Despite their differences, they want to learn from each other and maybe fall in love in the process.

WC: 1,327

ships: Romantic Moxiety, Romantic Logince, Platonic LAMP, Family Logicality

warnings: Nervousness, Food mention, Drugs, Held against will, Mentions of experimentation, Crying

Tag List: @punsterterry @stormcrawler75 @frostedlover @mycatshuman @mutechild @panicattheeverywhere15 @overlord-winter @analogical-mess @saddestlittlebabe

@sevencrashing @lwilddiamonddogl @thatgaydemigodnerd @darkhumourandfandoms @whymustibedraggedintofandomhell @romanslunchbox @wewuzraw @callboxkat @randomsandersides @lefaystrent @aroundofapplesauce @ryuity @cricks-loves-you @impunkrock-baby @just-another-rainbowblog @nerd-in-space @amazinglissawho @bubbliee0 @llamaly

(Let me know if you want to be tagged in future parts!)

Only a few more bites were eaten before the plate was set aside and he yawned loudly. Quickly he drank a bit of his juice then got up and placed it where the others did theirs. Sighing he glanced around rubbing his arms to get rid of that tingling sensation. Well, now what? Most of this stuff he’s never seen before so he had no idea how to work it. They didn’t like it when he left without them knowing so he was stuck here…

He could just sleep until they come back, that sounds like a decent idea…

But, something he’s noticed in this place, was that it was deadly quiet. He’s gotten so used to the busy streets noises that now having it this quiet was almost…daunting. Scary almost.

Well, …he could try to start up the weird square thing on the wall that played the singing woman. That would surely help, right?

It shouldn’t be too difficult.

Shouldn’t… Yeah, shouldn’t be…

It’s been 20 minutes since then and he’s seen fiddling with it. Pressing the screen seeing if maybe it’s some touch screen thing like the phone that the others used. To poking at the buttons on the side and back but still nothing. Growling he glanced around the sitting square thinking maybe there was some on switch that worked for it. That’s when he spotted a small black rectangle thing on the table that had buttons on it. Huh… Maybe that’ll work…

He pressed a smallish red button on the very top of it only for a screen to suddenly turn on and people’s voices could be heard. Yelping he jumped backward hitting his back against the wall while the tail to be fluffed up. Breathing heavily wide eyes stared at the screen as it played. Welp,… That worked…

Coming closer to the screen he poked at it with a sharp finger ready for something to attack him. When nothing did and the people moved and continued talking he leaned forward and sniffed it. It didn’t smell any differently, at least he didn’t smell people.

Tilting his head up at it he watched the people move about quietly. Slowly he went back to sitting on the square and sat down inquisitive by this strange box.

“We’ll be seeing a cold storm be hitting the city for the next week or so, be sure everyone to wear a jacket out there-”

Despite the fact that he had no idea how the people behind the box could do it, they seemed to be able to predict the weather. And from a week ahead too! Oh, maybe they are wizards that he remembers from the stories he was told as a kid. Though he thought they didn’t exist but, well, he’s not supposed to exist so who knows.

While he was thinking on that the people went away suddenly to new people and he tilted his head curiously at that. They were talking about something while mentioning what looked like the prices for the rectangular thing he’s sitting on. They mentioned the word ‘couch’ and he blinked.

Looking down he smiled poking at a corner with his sharp claw, “So your a couch. Huh…”

Then the people changed again as quickly as the others did and he blinked. This time he was quiet as the person talked about prices for where they store food in. He called it a refrigerator.

“Re… Refri… Refrigerator…” It was a weird word to say and he winkled his mouth a bit afterward. But he went quiet again as new people came on.

After a few more of these, the original people came on announcing that he’s watching something called the ‘2 News’ whatever that could mean. Again he went silent as these people talked for a bit not completely understanding everything they were saying but he was intrigued nonetheless.

About a half hour went by and he was dozing a bit when he snapped to attention at the screen. Blood drained from his face at seeing his own face on the screen. But it was without his horns or his wing.

“This man is still on the loose, he’s reported to be dangerous when provoked. Be cautious if you see him. His name is Virgil, though no records have been released on his last name. Also,” It cut to a picture of another man and Virgil’s breath sucked in, “a man named Thomas Sanders helped him escape from the asylum. We still don’t know why he did such a thing but records show he’s not a dangerous individual.”

Thomas… That face… He remembers that face…

“You’re getting out of here, alright? Just hang tight. I’m sorry for giving you so many drugs. I wasn’t sure how you’ll react towards this, I didn’t want to take my chances. But don’t worry it’s going to be okay. Keep breathing for me alright?”

Through his foggy brain, he could barely register that voice as he was pulled down white hallways. Distantly he could tell his hands and feet were strapped on the gully. And despite the fact that he was terrified he couldn’t seem to care. Or move his muscles. Yep, drugged again indeed.

His eyes blinked up towards the man who seemed to be frantic. Why was he so worried? Was there something wrong with him?

All he could manage was a groan, trying to voice his questions but Thomas only looked down at him worryingly but smiled a bit. “I promise I’ll get you out. I promise.” Virgil could feel gentle fingers brush up against his hair then a door opened and he couldn’t remember what happened after that.

Taking a shaky breath he opened his eyes to see the people were now talking about something else. His hands went to his chest as he took another deep breath.

Thomas… That’s who saved him… But…if that’s the case why did he wake up in an alleyway alone? Did he just dumped him somewhere and called it a day? But if he went through all that trouble why just dump him off? Why not take him to his place to experiment with him personally?

Gulping he ran his cold hand down his face. Why did he forget about that? It must’ve been the drugs…

What’s most important is the fact that his face was on the news. Other people must’ve seen his face, and true it was without his horns but he was still recognizable. Is that why Patton and Logan took him in? Cause they recognized him and wanted him for themselves? Were they waiting till those scientists come and take him away?

Releasing a painful breath in, the edge of his eyes got blurry and he realized that he was about to cry. Of course, these two don’t really care about him. Course they were just looking for money or to look good for catching him. Of course… How foolish of him…

Quickly, he got up and went to the closest window seeing if he could escape that way but it was tight shut. And when he banged the window he felt that it was harder than the previous one and his breath sucked in harsher.

Running down the hallway the sound of feathers beating against the fabric and his back he went to Patton’s room. A tear came down his cheek when he saw a weird fabric covering up the window. Scared to even touch it he darted around looking for somewhere to hide. Luckily he could open a door that led to a smaller room, a much smaller room filled with clothes, but it’ll have to do. Ducking inside he buried himself in it finding the heavy scents of Patton to be strangely comforting in a way and shut his eyes. He sat there crying silently into the fabric for god knows how long.

“We’re home, kiddo!”

“There is no need to shout, Patton. I’m sure he can hear you plenty.”

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allyvampirelass29 · 4 years

Text

Chapter 7: Game Changer

A HEROES Fanfiction Angel Before the Fall Series By: Allyssa J. Watkins

”PLEASE!!!! DON'T!!!! Oh GOD, DON'T hurt him!! I'll show you how it works, take it, I'll do it, just....... NOOOOOOO!!!!"

Ally screamed out into the surrounding darkness, her panic shaking her awake, and she hugged herself, frightened and trembling. Where-? Her head felt heavy, like her prolonged slumber had been unnatural, like- like she'd been drugged..... WAIT!!! The tranquilizer!!! NOAH BENNET!!!!

"SYLAR!!!! SY, are you here!?!?"

Even her voice sounded heavy, it wouldn't carry, and she rested her forehead in her hand, disoriented. Where was here? Her breathing slowly leveled out as she realized the paralyzing horror she'd just witnessed, was only a hallucination, drug-induced, not real.

You wouldn't have to ask if I was here, Beautiful. Believe me, you'd know........

Her heart started to race, even though she knew it was the drugs talking. Sylar's voice drifted unaccompanied by its dark, gorgeous form through her mind. She could almost feel him, encircling her from the shadows behind, hands on her shoulders, lips against her ear, hearts eclipsing, beating like clocks ticking, in perfect time.

She exhaled deeply, brushing the long dark hair from her eyes, feeling groggy, not quite all there, caught between the pulling threads of nightmare and dream, trying to make sense of her strange surroundings. It was all a void. Darkness. Silence. Nothingness. But...... no, hold on, there was a light, a flickering rectangle of light cast in the corner from an apparent hallway, vague shadowy forms dancing on the opposite wall.

It was then that she noticed the numbness in her right arm. Had she slept on it wrong? How long had she been asleep? No, wait..... that couldn't be it. She could only feel it in one spot. Her fingers flew to her forearm and she was shocked to find a bandage there. From the tranquilizer? No, that dart had landed on her- She quickly turned, crossing her arm over her body, feeling beneath the silky strap of her tank top, to find yet another bandage on her shoulder blade. WHAT did they do to me!?!? She thought frantic, suddenly scratching at her wrists. They began to itch terribly, both of them. It was relentless! She went to scratch again, horrified and confused. Oh NO!!! Two more bandages encircled each of her wrists, and a sickening revelation came to light. Experimentation. Noah, NO!!! She bit her lip, feeling worried. If Noah found out her secret, knew how to use her blood, he wouldn't need her anymore........ and he'd dispose of her without a second thought. Especially considering who she was now romantically entangled with.

"Hell yes, I want to get tangled up with you." She felt a wonderful shiver run down the length her spine, and sighed, happy. Sy's voice was the only thing keeping her from completely losing it, after Noah and Company had done GOD knows what to her. Why did it itch SO much!? She scratched furiously, too nervous to peek under the bandage, and her fingernail caught on something else. A bracelet? No, that can't be right, she wasn't wearing one. She felt along her wrist above the bandage. A strap, a thick woven strap, but why? Had she been tied to something? She struggled to lift herself off what appeared to be a cot, scurrying to the only corner of the room, (if it was a room) that had any visible light. Her eyes had begun to adjust to the darkness, but still nothing looked quite real. Was she dreaming again? She had to sit on the cold concrete, with her legs tucked under her, angling her wrist just right. Suddenly, the shadows on the wall raced away, dispelled at once, the glow in the hallway finally bright and stilled. Light glinted, reflecting off her wrist. She leaned closer, curls spilling over her shoulder. It was a watch. More chills. A broken watch. Her breath caught in her chest as she recognized each crack in the crystal, the all black face, the gleaming white numbers, the black nylon band, and a single name appearing ghost-like beneath the 12 and the hovering second hand........ SYLAR.

**********

"Man, it's like waiting for Christmas. If Christmas really sucked." Peter yawned, straightening his bullet proof vest, as he stood in the small foyer, of the PRIMATECH outpost.

"I hear that. I want it to happen already, and at the same time, not at all. Are we sure he's coming? What if we're way overestimating his affection for this girl?"

"Na, you should have seen the look on his face when I pulled her away from him. I only saw him for like a second, but he was foaming at the mouth livid, and something else...... something off. Something I'd never seen from him before. If it was anybody else, I'd say he looked heartbroken."

"Ha yeah, if that guy had a heart to break. Wow, he's got it bad for this one huh? He did totally freak when I put her screams in his head full blast."

"How many times are you gonna clean that thing?"

Parkman smiled, checking the chamber on his Glock. "Sorry, old habit. It used to keep me calm on overnight stake outs."

"Bet you never had one like this before."

Parkman chuckled, "Oh yeah, tons! Telekinetic magic man killers trying to burn the whole world to the ground, his index, the murder weapon. Just another Tuesday."

Peter smiled, but it faded just as quickly as it had come. He suddenly felt really strange, like every inch of his skin was prickly. He'd only felt like this once before....... Something wasn't right, and it was making him anxious, and extremely jittery. Sylar should have been here by now.

"Hey Matt. Did you check the perimeter in the last hour?"

"Yeah, all clear. Why?"

"I don't know...... I don't feel right, I feel off, like something's wrong, and I can't- I can't stay still."

"Whoah, relax, Peter. Something IS wrong. We're waiting for Killer Finger like it's his surprise party. Ha I guess in some ways it is. God, he's going to be so pissed, in for one HELL of a surprise. You really should have a gun in your hand Peter. Believe me, it helps."

Peter started to pace back and forth, raking both of his hands through his messy jet black hair. "No, no, we gotta go. We've got to check it again, where's Noah? How do we know Sylar's not already here, waiting.......?"

"C'mon Peter, there's like five snipers on the roof, surveillance cameras freaking everywhere, motion detectors, armed guards at every entrance, hell, a rigged up tear gas bomb out back. No WAY is he getting in without us knowing. Noah went to the lab, he's with Mohinder. Chill out, okay? You need another drink."

"I'm gonna sweep the perimeter again, stay here. I gotta move, my skin's like crawling."

Parkman handed Peter the radio, and he pressed the side button, raising it to his lips. "Hey Noah, it's me, I'm going to give the outside another once over. I-"

Peter flinched as he heard the sound of glass shattering, quickly followed by the poised click of a gun, over the radio, and something huge being knocked over with an awful CRASH, Mohinder yelling in the background.

"NOAH!!! MOHINDER!!!! What the HELL was that!?!?" Peter yelled, his hand clenched on the radio his knuckles turning white.

Peter and Parkman were both startled by the sharp, screaming sound of the emergency siren, piercing through the silence, red lights flashing frantic across both of their faces, and before either of them could make a move, the steel storm door in front of them retracted, sealing itself shut.

**********

"It's really quite extraordinary. At first every solitary test I ran, came back negative for abnormalities in the blood. Cell count, normal. Bone marrow, normal. Not even one trace to suggest Miss Watkins has abilities of any kind. And then...... sure enough, in a blink of an eye the sample beneath my microscope would vanish as if it had never existed at all. Like a magic trick, and a most ingenious one, at that.

"Something tells me you didn't call me all the way down here for another dead end." Noah said with a crooked smile.

"Indeed no. You see, cells respond to different light in different ways. Sunlight, infrared light, florescent light, even firelight, and were Allyssa to have her ability in a microbiological capacity, the right light could be just the agent to unveil such deception. I dabbled, played around a bit, took more and more blood, and made quite the astounding discovery."

Noah followed a gleeful Mohinder to the table, and Mohinder put a slide with Ally's blood under the microscope. "If you wouldn't mind, Noah, could you switch off the lights? For this demonstration, I will need complete darkness."

Noah nodded, "Yeah, sure thing, but make it quick. We have an unwelcome guest on his way, and remember I'm not a genius, so keep it junior college level at least, and save the impressive Harvard words for later?"

Mohinder chuckled, "Fair enough. For the record, my vocabulary was already advanced, far before I attended Harvard Medical School."

"I don't doubt that. They probably didn't even deserve you," Noah smiled, walked over, flipped the switch, and the entire PRIMATECH laboratory went instantly dark. Mohinder clicked on a glowing black light wand, holding it over the sample, and Noah leaned in, curious, anxious, eyes focused. So much was riding on this. One girl's secret could save the world.

"Nothing's happening, Mohinder. Except, of course, your shirt glowing. Is that part of the presentation?"

Mohinder looked down at his iridescent white dress shirt and smiled. "No, merely an entertaining side effect. Patience, Noah. Nothing is happening........ yet. Fascinating isn't it? The black light or UVA light on its own isn't strong enough to coax the clandestine cells to the surface. To stop the refraction and thus end the illusion, we must create a disturbance."

Mohinder began clicking the black light repeatedly on and off, until it flashed, frenzied like a strobe.

"Don't give me a seizure, I mean it."

Noah leaned a little closer and in the beats between flashes, to his unsuspecting amazement, Ally's cells began to move, the blood shimmering, looking purple in the black light.

"Well I'll be damned. You- You did it, Suresh!" Noah looked at the both literally and figuratively glowing doctor over the top of his glasses, his own smile widening.

As the blood shimmered with the smooth movement beneath the surface, there somehow appeared to be double sets of cells, vibrating at the same time, and then, in the next flash. The first set, the mirage set vanished, and only the second set, the real set remained.

"May I present, Miss Watkins' actual cells."

"My God. That's remarkable! I don't know how you figured out this one, but it's the game changer we've been hoping for. Do you realize the possibilities, the things we could do with this blood!? The applications are......."

"Infinite." Suresh finished with gleaming brown eyes, and an enthused grin. "Were we to present these findings to the world, you'd be looking at the next Nobel Prize Winner."

Noah arched an eyebrow, in a reprimanding, paternal way. "You do know we can't do that, right?"

Mohinder chuckled with a nod. "Of course, I am well aware of the detrimental ramifications. The world isn't ready for her, for us, for any of it. But the revelation itself is enough to rejuvenate my long stagnant mind, and make me feel like a great scientist again. Knowing all of the Specials we're going to save, slip right under Nathan's nose, in the guise of complete normality. That, My Friend, is worth more to me than all of the Nobel prizes, medical journal publishings, and magazine covers in the WORLD."

Noah clapped Mohinder on the back, grinning again like a proud father, and for the first time in a long time he felt real, tangible hope. Ally's blood, and Sylar's death were going to give them an advantage they never dreamed. "You ARE a Great Scientist, Mohinder. A prize winner if there ever was one. You'll get your magazine cover one day, I promise."

Mohinder and Noah's excited smiles instantly vanished, along with the dark blood on the glass slide.

"Damn. Now if I can only neutralize this unfortunate disappearing act long enough to use it, we can begin trials."

"You'll get there. I've known this girl for eight years, and you've accomplished more with her blood in one day than I ever could. Her secrets aren't safe anymore."

"She is a woman of mystery. Even science itself fails to rationalize the inclinations of the heart. Perhaps her cellular structure will enlighten us as to her peculiar attraction to Serial Killers. Oh! Which reminds me about your other request....... I took x-rays, scraped skin samples from her palms and tested them to excess."

"And-?"

"And...... unfortunately, you are mistaken, Noah. She doesn't have any tactile manipulation susceptibility present in her skin, not a trace. Besides the conducting tissue, and influx of electrical current in her blood stream needed to use her forcefield ability, her hands are entirely normal. My Diagnosis? Contrary to previous theories, Sylar Gray does in fact, have a heart, vulnerable to the violent affection of love.

"Damn it. That's what I was afraid of."

""Hey Noah, it's me, I'm going to give the outside another once over I-"

Peter's voice crackled over the radio, interrupted by glass shattering as it hit the concrete floor, and Noah pulled his gun, expertly cocking the hammer, training it on the far corner of the lab, in one swift motion. There was a loud groan, Mohinder's panicked voice yelling, and Noah took off running full speed at him, as he saw the shadow of the giant refrigerator start to fall forward towards him. "MOHINDERRRR!!!!!" NOAH yelled as he slammed into him hard, knocking him out of the way just in time, as the refrigerator landed with a horrible thud.

"NOAH!!! MOHINDER!!!! What the HELL was that!?!?"

Horrified, Mohinder raced toward the felled refrigerator, like a mother after her injured child, completely devastated. "NO, NO, DAMN IT NO!!!! MONTHS of critical research, revelational discoveries, rare bloodwork, destroyed!!!!"

"You're ALIVE, Mohinder! That's what matters!! Keep moving!!!"

"Noah, PLEASE! Help me!" Mohinder frantically rushed to flip the giant refrigerator over. "We MUST salvage what we can!!!"

"Damn it, Mohinder, THAT was SYLAR!!!! We've got to go after him!!!!" Noah yelled, exasperated.

"Noah, you don't understand!!! We NEED this research." Mohinder looked at him desperately, and Noah sighed, holstering his gun, rushing over, leaning down, and curling his fingers under the refrigerator. Just as the two of them flipped it over, the emergency siren flooded the room with its awful screaming sound, red lights flashing violently.

"This - This isn't right. No, it can't be."

"It's empty. You sure this was the right fridge?"

"Positive. He took it all, Noah..... every vial...... including........ Mohinder looked at Noah horrified, not wanting to say it out loud.

"Including what!? What the HELL was in here!?!?"

"A highly aggressive anti-regenerative serum."

"Meaning?"

"A solution that metabolizes in the blood, and slows any enhanced rapid healing process. Noah....... I don't think he intends to use it on himself."

Suddenly the sirens went dead, and a girl's terrorized screams blasted through the intercoms. Noah ran like hell through the darkness, out into the hall, his heart shattering like all the glass scattered on the floor, tears in his eyes, raising his pistol. It was the one sound that he'd fought, prayed, so hard he'd never have to hear. The reason he did what he did, so he'd never have to know this abject nightmare...... his little girl screaming for her life.

"Hello Boys. Now it's a party, huh? So nice of you to wait up for me. Claire, shhh, Daddy can't understand you when you're screaming hysterically. You took something of mine, Noah. Now, I'm going to take something of yours........"

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

#sylar x oc #gabriel gray #heroes #noah bennet #peter petrelli #matt parkman #mohinder suresh #sylar #primatech #angel before the fall

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inkribbon796 · 4 years

Text

Old Town Mysteries

EGOTOBER 2019: DAY 24

Prompt: Tombstone

Word Count: 1308

Chase hated calls like these. He was on his way to help with a non-villain problem and it was only once he stood outside a pair of wrought iron gates he realized the problem was inside a private cemetery.

He was half-tempted to call someone else but he was certain he’d run into Anti again, and Chase would rather take on a cemetery where someone could be raising the dead over Anti any day. Making sure his mask and costume was on, Chase climbed the lowest part of the wall, almost taking off the big sign that read: Barnum Private Cemetery; with his foot. Chase flinched but when he saw there was no harm done, he scrambled up the fence.

“Hey, SAM,” Chase called out. “Where was this trespasser? ‘Cause I wanna get outta here, fast.”

“Last reports said an individual was spotted on the hill in the center of the cemetery.”

“Thanks SAM,” Chase answered, “if I get haunted, tell J.J I told him so. An’ that I’m comin’ fer him next.”

“Understood.”

Chase kept walking for what he hoped was the center. For a private place, this cemetery was pretty big but when he rounded a couple of trees he saw someone in a hoodie at the top of a good-sized hill. A camera in hand.

“Oh please don’t be a necromancer,” Chase prayed. Then he marched over, trying to be serious. “Hey, you part of the Barnum family?”

The person jumped. The person looked at him. “Interesting, they sent a hero.”

“Yah got a name, an’ a reason, before I drag yah down to the station?” Chase demanded.

“Bro Average, right?” the reporter still had the flash on so when the camera’s shutters went down, Chase screamed out in pain, blinded.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” the camera was taken out of Chase’s face.

“Are ye kidding me!” Chase rubbed at his eyes through the mask, not daring to take it off.

“Name’s Maggie,” the reporter told him.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s go,” Chase blinked the last of the big spots out of his eyes.

“No, wait,” Maggie pleaded, “I’m on the verge of a break through.”

“Is it just you here?” Chase asked, a bit harsher than he needed to.

“Yeah, but, come on, this grave here is the key to everything,” Maggie begged.

“If I let you rant, can we go?” Chase groaned. “I hate cemeteries.”

“So, this cemetery is one of the oldest still in use today,” Maggie began. “So I figured I’d start here.”

“Still in use?” Chase honed in on that part of her statement first.

“Yeah, there was an older one by the Old Church Yard, but that place got torn down and so they relocated the bodies to Fitzgard because it was a “better fit”. But Dark controls the area around Church Yard now.”

“Oh joy,” Chase paled, somehow it didn’t surprise nearly as much as he should have that Dark was using reclaimed, former burial soil for his base of operations. It just made his skin crawl thinking about all the fights they’d gotten into at that place.

“Right,” Maggie continued. “I think Dark was paying the Mayor, at the time, off to take the land.”

“Big whoop,” Chase dismissed. “Dark bribes greedy politicians, he also kills them too. We don’t need anymore reason to lock him up.”

“Yeah, but here’s the thing,” Maggie concluded. “I think he’s also paying our current mayor off.”

“Look, Dark’s not paying Damien off, his assets are regularly checked an’ he’s not given Dark anything he wants. Damien’s not being paid off.” Chase wanted to be angry, but being in a cemetery was usually really draining for him.

“Yeah, but that’s just for show, because he’s absolutely friends with Warfstache,” Maggie debated.

“Ye got a source fer that?” Chase demanded. “Cause I want it.”

Maggie proudly took a picture out of her bag and gave it to him. Chase’s eyes bugged out of his skull when he saw what was on the rectangle of picture paper. It was definitely the Mayor and Warfstache, nothing that wouldn’t get her story taken off the nightly news. Just Warfstache leaned over Damien’s desk, blocking much of the Mayor from view, Warfstache’s back to the camera but his pink suspenders visible, a slight spattering of blood on the small of his back. Chase could see Damien’s face and he didn’t look too put out by whatever the blurred image was. Probably Wilford waving it around. In fact, he was smiling at the mad reporter. Which was an expression Chase had rarely seen anyone give the unstable man.

“Like it?” Maggie boasted. “I was supposed to do an interview with the Mayor, it was a fluff piece, and I heard the two of them talking so I opened the door a bit and took the picture. When I closed the door and knocked Warfstache was gone of course.”

“So, why haven’t ye come forward with this already?” Chase asked, suspicious. “What do you get out of it?”

Maggie shrugged, reaching for her picture but Chase kept it just out of her gasp. “I want the single greatest story of my life, and besides, one picture anyone can dispute, I need more than that. So I’ve been trying to figure out exactly what’s going on and what projects Mood’s been a part of.”

She leaned in closer to him, “Did you know he fired and jailed a records worker a day after it was found she’d stolen evidence from a bust on Warfstache’s radio station? Because I didn’t. That never made it to print. Or the fact that Damien Mood was interviewed on Warfstache Tonight but is one of twenty-five survivors to make it through the interview and leave alive? So I started looking into Damien and I figured out that his family’s old, like really old. They’ve lived here since it was a town, but I’ve never heard of him being around other family and so I came here to see how far back the family really goes. And now you’re here to stop me.”

“Okay, you had me up until the last part,” Chase admitted. “Some old lady across the seat saw yah lookin’ all shifty an’ crawl o’er the fence, Damien an’ Warfstache have nuthin’ ta do with that.”

“Oh,” Maggie stalled, thinking about that. “But what are you doing here?”

“Cool yer jets, I’m not part ‘a some grand conspiracy, I just deal with normal domestic stuff like you, instead ‘a the villains,” Chase told her. “Now, me and you are goin’ to have a talk with the officers an’ after they hear yer story they’ll run a check and probably just give yah a slap on the wrist unless the owners ‘a this place wanna press charges.”

“Oh, the owner’s right there,” Maggie told him, pointing to the grave.

“Very funny,” Chase glared at her.

“No really,” Maggie said, “original owner’s there.”

Maggie turned her flashlight on, and Chase read:

WILLIAM J. BARNUM

COLONEL OF THE US ARMY

Loving friend, brother, and lover.

B. Oct 10, 1891 - D. Nov 9, 1980

“Life needs a little bit of madness.”

“Course, Warfstache owns the place now, which I find is really weird and creepy that he owns a cemetery, and makes sense why the place is so rundown,” Maggie added.

“Okay,” Chase decided, pocketting the picture. “Enough ‘a this, we’re goin’ ta the police station, we can talk ta them an’ I can get outta this place.”

“Hey, I want my picture back,” Maggie shouted at him, following Chase down the hill and back towards the entrance, the two of them arguing along the way. Abe was already waiting at the gates to take both Maggie and Chase back to the station. All parties unaware of the pair of eyes watching them from the shadows.

#Egotober 2019 #Superhero AU #Jacksepticeye #Chase Brody #Bro Average #Maggie the Intern #cemtery at night #trespassing #Chase deserves a nice fic #fear of ghosts #use of an OC because no one else fit

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constantine-x-blog · 7 years

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Realm of the Seven Isles :: Many Millennia Ago

There is a place within the Realm of the Seven Isles broken apart by four towering mountain ranges. The streams running from each set flow with molten metals not discovered on Earth, others are familiar with sight; golds rich in yellows and silvers melted to a shimmering light. In the center of these crisscrossing rivers and streams is a valley surrounded by the hot metals. Over the years, its more island than field as a forest, thick in midnight black-barked trees with a canopy dense in long hanging leaves to block out the stars has taken over every inch of the land.

There in the shadows, just a few steps in are monsters. Eyes of all hues and sizes, stare at those who pass too close. Sharp teeth gleam white against the darkness; the ground rumbles in their movements to seek whoever dares to enter. Lean fingers with tiny hairs trapping any moisture always attempt to reach out into the light, but the air burns them quickly if exposed. The molten rivers and depressions of the mountains cause heat to permeate everything but the forest. It is a prison, within a prison-- within a prison.

They are the hoard of twenty thousand monsters who guard The Guilty One.

There is one who learned the pathways and adapted to the environment surrounding his brother's hold.

His name is Amirani, and he better knew The Guilty One as Constantine; The Maker of Stars.

It took an unknown amount of years within their realm to observe how the monsters migrated around the trees. Where they chose to occupy and why at any given time. Amirani recorded when the rivers overflowed and how to use his magic to influence the movement of guards without their knowing. There would eventually be an opening, a way to get to the tomb and when it presented-- he would take it.

Deep within this forest laid a marble encased structure. The forest had nearly swallowed it up. Vines dug into the weather-worn stone cracking pieces. There was silence unlike no other in this voided space; even darkness seemed to seep away from it to seek shelter in the trees. Eventually, Amirani believed there would be nothing here like a black hole would swallow everything in this prison.

"I made it," "Who are you?"

Amirani's natural form was in the shape of what Earthlings called an Elk. He had twisted horns of silver white hues and brown fur with circled patterns of green that illuminated his magic. Amirani frowned, pressing his cheek to the rectangle tomb no longer than a small box for holding clothes. It would be cramped, Constantine likely unable to transform into anything less he conserved his magic to maintain his orb shape.

"It's Amirani--" "Who is that?" "Your reckless brother--" "What is a brother?"

The connection to Constantine telepathically was torment enough; the other wasn't forcing his way into his mind at all-- weakness penetrated the link like a physical weight. Where was the Fae who painted the stars? Who paired with their brethren to watch new worlds form from their light? There had been so much wonder and amazement and now it was cold, empty like a white dwarf.

"I don't have much time; the guards will realize the disturbance wasn't anything and will come back. Listen to me, remember. Please, don't forget who you are-- because I will get you out of here and you will have to know everything so you can survive."

Amirani pressed his forehead to the tomb and shared his magic through the link, giving Constantine many memories. Mostly of Earth.

"Stop showing me things-- I don't believe you. This is a trick, I don't know who you are, and I won't be fooled by the Circle of Light again."

Amirani's hooves dug into the marble with a rapid clack in irritation.

"Again?" "Yes, again." "Have others been here?" "All the time," "What do they say?" "You know-- you are one of them," "I am not apart of the Circle of Light brother, but our family is."

Constantine's conscious was silent like he mentally walked off into the darkness of space. Amirani prodded more, but he could hear the movements of the monsters coming to check on the tomb knowing he needed to get away soon.

"Constantine, why do they visit you?"

There was a weak ward that went up blocking their connection for a few precious seconds.

"Because I know--" "Know what? Tell me please, so I can figure out how to get you out." "I know, what they don't want anyone to know." "That is vague even for the Fae,"

A laugh, though more a vibration in the air made Amirani's soul sing in happiness to hear it.

“I’ll keep coming back until I can save you,”

The monsters started running, feet scurried in a dizzying speed, and Amirani sighed through his nose before transforming into a bright pale green light. Within a blink, he was gone, back through the steps he took to get to the center of the forest and to safety as the hoard of monsters settled back into their position.

Constantine remained once more in the darkness and quiet, but this time was different. There were new images to think about, the planet that saved their kind freshly imprinted. Earth was beautiful; he couldn't wait to see it again.

#x: selfie

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sempervirens · 7 years

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This not-so-short-anymore story is dedicated to @charminglyantiquated and her magnificent @elsewhereuniversity comic which has exploded all over my brain.

Read chapter two here!

Nobody ever parks in Lot C after dark.

It’s not because of the Beast. It’s because Lot C is in the very back of campus, way too far from Everything of Importance. You’d have to walk a quarter mile before you reached anywhere that sells coffee, almost a mile to the library. The nearest structure is a low sprawl of administrative buildings, but even they don’t park in Lot C after dark. They come to work early, and leave before sunset.

It was a bitch to get my meal card replaced when I’d lost it. They kept shutting down that stretch of slumped old admin offices before I’d finished with my afternoon Physics Lab. My lab partner would laugh at me.

“You’ll have to eat out of the trash again. Poor Moonie. Soon enough you’ll turn into a raccoon,” she would coo at me, an unattractive smirk wrinkling her nose.

I didn’t like the way she said it. I didn’t like a lot of things she said. Sometimes I felt like she wished bad things to happen to me, just so she could snicker at my misfortune. I think it was her smile that did it. Whenever she smiled, I got the feeling she knew something that I didn’t. She liked it that way.

I didn’t mind it too much. The one thing she didn’t know was Physics.

To be honest, I’d never even thought about Lot C until I had to go replace my meal card. I lived in the dorms on the other side of campus. My classes were mostly in the central part of campus, in the big glass-and-metal science building that looks like something out of Star Trek crash landed on a concrete slab. I heard that the architecture department had designed it themselves. Those artists have no sense of practicality.

Every once in a while, I would hike all the way to the top of the hill to visit Dr. Forsythe and use his telescope. I use the term “hill” for lack of a better word. I’m not familiar with any words in the English language for “looks flat from the bottom, but at the top your legs hurt and you can see all the way to Jurassic Park”.

In comparison, Parking Lot C is out there somewhere between Skull Island and Gilligan’s Island, just above Atlantis.

Everybody Knows about the Beast of Lot C. Well, everyone has heard about the Beast. Nobody has seen it, and how much can you really Know if you’ve never seen the damn thing?

I used to Know it didn’t exist, but now I’m not so sure.

My friend, Jenny, has been missing for four days. It took me three to track down her car to Lot C. At first, I thought it was an abandoned wreck from a previous year. One headlight was smashed in. The roof was dented, and rusting from the weather. A thick cake of fallen leaves had plastered across the windshield, making the interior look dark and dusty. It was hers, though. I would have recognized the dopey little Goomba plush in the back window anywhere. Her boyfriend had sent it to her for her birthday last month. The front passenger seat was buried in thick Engineering Textbooks, notebooks covered in doodled patterns, and a stack of Beyoncé albums.

I felt sick to my stomach. Something very bad had happened to Jenny. How long had this car been sitting here? The rusted roof crumbled under my fingertips. All four tires were flat. Just last week we had driven this exact Honda Civic out to the river in Sumwere. No rust, four tires, no dust or cracked windshield. Is it possible for one person to wreck a car this much in one week? And where had Jenny run off to?

We had planned to drive into town this weekend. We were going to go to the record store and I was going to pick out my favorite old school rap albums.

“They’ll be really hipster, right?” She had asked with a twinkle of laughter in her eyes.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, they might be a little esoteric…”

“Ha!” She blurted, ignoring my roommates hissed demands for quiet. “You’re such a geek!” She laughed, fully aware of the irony as she packed up her Bowser-shell backpack. And then she was gone.

Yesterday, I called her parents. The two of them had somehow turned Utterly Useless into an art form. They talked around my questions for a whole hour before I realized that they didn’t even know which daughter I was asking about. I deleted their phone number.

I called the police after that. The desk clerk had me on hold for forty-seven minutes. When she finally returned to my call, she told me that no one had filed a missing-persons report, so there was no investigation in progress. I would have to come down to the station to fill out the necessary paperwork, but, being as the station is six miles away and my only ride had vanished off the face of the earth, I politely hung up on her.

When she didn’t show up to Calculus this morning, I knew she had to be dead or something. Nobody skipped Calculus. Anyone who skipped Calculus found themselves trapped in that circle of Hell where you worked yourself to near-death, all-nighters galore, and yet never caught up. Jenny would have rather had all her teeth pulled out than miss that class. Which is why I started walking at night, and how I found her car under the spasmodic flickering of the broken streetlamp in Lot C.

I couldn’t seem to catch my breath. The last threads of hope I had, frayed and worn as they were, had finally snapped. Jenny hadn’t had a bad week of school. She had flipped out over her project deadlines, hopped in her car, and bailed out without a word. She hadn’t gone anywhere, which was somehow so much worse.

I pressed myself against the back seat window. The plastic frame of my glasses clattered against the smooth glass as I strained to read any of the haphazard scraps of paper I could find, desperate for a single clue of where to search next. Her tiny handwriting was impossible to decipher.

“Come on!” I beat my hand against the glass. “Give me something! Where the hell are you?!” The only reply was a cruel aching in my hand and the whispered laughter of wind in the trees.

Scowling, I slipped my phone from my pocket to check the time. If I wanted to make it to the Astronomy Club discussion on solar systems, I would need to grab dinner and drag myself up that unbelievable hill as fast as possible.

“Damn,” I grumbled as I blinked the glowing rectangles of my phone screen from my vision. “I try her one more time.” If I couldn’t see Jenny’s phone in the car, then maybe she still had it with her. I took a slow breath, then touched her name on the screen.

Ring. Ring.

Then, farther away, the Star Wars Imperial March tooted in return, my personal ringtone on her phone. I heard it, but did not see it. The car was wrapped in gloom, now that the sun had coasted below the trees. I whirled around in a panic. My heartbeat pounded in my ears almost as loud as the horns of the Imperial March. The light was fleeing in a hurry, turning the shrubbery and decorative trees into wild, spindly things of shadow. My own shadow split three ways as the last beams of solar radiation broke through the dense trees at the edge of the lot. Above me, that broken streetlamp sent messages in morse code--Short flicker, long flicker, short flicker, short flicker, short flicker, long flicker--over and over again. The phone kept ringing.

Angry and impatient, I looked up at the annoying streetlamp to give it a good hateful glare. Looking back at me was Jenny’s pink phone, perched so delicately at the top of the lamp.

“What the-”

I tried to wrap my brain around how it got up there, but the strain was far too much. It had to be a joke, someone was pulling an elaborate prank on me. Was Jenny in cahoots with my Physics Lab partner? “Poor Moonie,” she always sneered.

I turned away. Whatever was going on would wait until after Astronomy Club. I checked my phone, was already late.

In the blurry edge of my vision, something moved in the shadows under the trees. I glanced up. This whole ordeal had made me unnerved, even paranoid. But it was only another student standing there in the darkness of the decorative evergreens. His hair was one big knot, like someone had placed a birds nest on top of his head. He was probably an art major. They can get away with that kind of weirdness. He stared at me.

I waved, praying to God-something-whatever that he would take the hint and fuck off. He didn’t. Instead, his lips cracked open into a jagged grin that seemed to break his face in half.

I ran.

#elsewhere university #spilled ink #short story #charminglyantiquated #fairies

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sabrina-vs-misty · 7 years

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The Swamp

The Swamp Maria Sledmere

It all started with the mirror in my friend’s flat, this two-bed dive in Candleriggs. He’d ripped it off the bathroom wall and all that was left in that space was a white rectangle hovering over the toilet, white enough to make the rest of the wall look dirty. The mirror was placed ceremoniously on top of the coffee table and it was six o’clock in the evening and the sunlight was pouring through the blinds in these really intense orange bars. Ice lollies of light. I had to squint as I watched them cutting the lines up on the mirror glass. It seemed a bit early.

“How much are we doing?”

“Man, I’m happy to go all out,” Ben says, generously tipping the last of his money bag out onto the mirror. I watch the white powder slip out soft as flour; only staying solid, each little crystal a smushed-up snowflake.

“You sure?” I ask. Ben I can trust, but this other guy, Michael, who knows what’ll happen to him—hell, to all of us—if he takes this much K. Last time I got high near Michael, we all shared a bed in this flat out in Anderston where some eejit set the smoke alarm off and one of us ended up shitting the sheets. It was nasty. Afterwards, I couldn’t eat a thing for three days.

“Aye, fuck it, after the week we’ve had.” Ben’s already leaning down to get his first line, thirsty as a cat lapping milk. This bit always weirds me out - the beginning. Only a couple months ago, I was the clean kid, not even a toke of weed to blot my record of physical purity.

“Wonder what Stink-head’s thinking?” Michael says, throwing out a typically random conversation experiment. I should mention, Michael’s Ben’s flatmate. Not the flatmate from hell exactly, but the kind of guy who will clog the shower with his pubes and god knows what else, who will never replace the milk, who will come home on a Tuesday night at 4am with an entourage of strangers acquired at one of his favourite haunts: Kushion, Kokomo or, god forbid, Bamboo.

“He’s not doing anything,” Ben says, sniffing sharply, “he’ll be playing the fucking piano.”

“What? He does not play piano. He’s just a fucking ninety-year-old stoner.”

“Listen.” Ben snorts up another long line then slumps to the floor, pressing his ear to the carpet. Intrigued, Michael and I follow suit. I don’t think anyone’s hoovered this carpet since the boys moved in. There are clumps of dust bunnies clinging to carpet fibres and this is all I can see as I squint my eyes. I’ve done one line and there’s this weird rushing roaring sound in my ear, like I’m stuck deep underwater. I can’t hear any piano.

“There’s no piano. I can’t hear any piano,” Michael protests.

“Do another line you prick,” Ben is already greedily huffing his third. His face has drained of all colour and he looks like another person, without the ruddy farmer cheeks. At school they called me Beetroot, he used to joke. I imagine him as this clean kinda guy who moved to the city and went native. Proper wild. Slowly he lays back and again starts humming this tune, so softly and out of pitch that it’s more or less just a warble. He could be a sailor, rocking at sea, staring up at the stars. Really he’s just obsessively gazing at the lightbulb, which I’ve noticed is starting to flicker.

I do another line and the flickering is getting really intense. I’m trying to breathe, to focus on my breathing, but I can feel all the space around me start to implode. The light flickers even more erratically, till it’s practically a strobe. I can hear myself groaning, but it doesn’t seem to come out of my own throat, it sounds so distant; I can’t feel the muscles moving…

“He was giving me jip about my bike the other day,” Michael is blethering, “told me I was an arrogant young man and that I—”

“No-one cares pal, just shut up and enjoy it.” It’s unusual for Ben to be this blunt. He seems so out of it that it’s as if he isn’t really speaking, just letting the words blurt like bullets from his mouth. Michael sort of grunts and leans down to snort up the last line.

“I’m feeling nothing,” he complains, a moment later. I lay down beside Ben. I can feel him, his bulk and his body; the same time I have the very strong impression that it isn’t really him, but a sort of hologram. I know that if I reach out to touch what’s beside me, my fingers would slice thin air. I lay very still and feel the lightbulb flickering and blinking.

All the dust bunnies were coming to life around me. I see them rise up into the air and catch fire in the flickering light and they burn through the room like flies, ablaze with swollen flames. I see them about to land on my skin, where they would leave black scorch marks, strange symbols carved from their dying cinders.

It’s a very beautiful light show. The world of the room is so close, so intense, that I can hardly breathe. I don’t care about breathing anymore; I don’t need to count the inhales and exhales the way I often do with psychedelics. I give myself up to this feeling of having my brain stolen from my body, dispersed across all these floating particles. The particles pulsate, swell, compress, deflate. Some of them extinguish and drift away in ashy flakes. Others catch a stronger flame. My mind is spread across the millioning particles. All the thoughts pulled and stretched, viscous and thinning like combing honey. Each particle is imprinted with tiny holes, honeycomb-textured, and I know my thoughts are melting deep into these holes, sinking and congealing. The other people in the room are nothing but masses of particles and all I know are the ones on fire and the ones which aren’t. The graves and visceral flames. Particles and thoughts dissolving through holes which led into more holes. Parts of me are falling.

I have this idea to move, but suddenly I can’t. There’s just no muscle, no nerves connecting my brain to my body.

I somehow manage to latch my focus onto a single particle. It burns with a strange blue fire and I can see it heading for the window and it’s that light, that steady glow of orange amongst the erratic flickers, that I need. It will take me someplace else. We fly above the pool of mirror. Everything effervesces above the mirror and I know that soon these things will die. They will drop like flies. I manage to push through the light coming through the window, slip through the blinds…

There’s the sound of Michael laughing, terrible and hollow.

I’m in a swamp. I guess that’s how I’d describe it. It’s sunset and the water is a greyish turquoise, aflame in certain places from the sun. Its ripples and rivulets seem two-dimensional, like someone’s painted the white waves in acrylic paint—just hundreds of sketched hexagons. Luminous edges. Gnarled trees lean over the water. I hop over giant lily pads to get to them, since I’m sort of floating, suspended over the water; I can’t move except to hop over lily pads. I try to reach out to see the tree trunks better but their texture is blurred, like a low-res computer graphic stretched to the limits of its pixels.

I’m stuck in the swamp. I can hear the piano notes float from nowhere. They spin round and round and i know that if I could somehow latch myself onto their melody, I could get back, back to Ben and Michael’s flat. The problem is that I can’t make sense of the notes. They’re dissonant and strange, like atonal music we’d listened to in our college composition class. There’s this weird heavy keyboard sound that keeps breaking through the purer notes; always on the brink of being in tune, but always too sharp, a little flat. Breaking apart the semitones. I know what was happening: the particles had morphed into notes. They’re returning to haunt me.

Old Stink-head has me caught and I’ve never even met him.

The water feels like jelly. I plunge my hand over the edge of a lily pad and I can hardly move it through the stuff. In fact, it gets stuck. I feel the rest of my body seize up with my hand just stuck in the sticky water. I have my body but it wasn’t mine anymore. Once again, the sensation of my thoughts slipping away from me, dripping deep into honey-coated hexagon holes. I can feel my body being gradually sucked down, down off the safety of the lily pad and through into the inscrutable depths of greyish-blue.

I’m drowning. I’m paralysed; I’ve fallen in. Fallen doesn’t really describe it though; it’s such a slow, dragging process. Like having my lungs steadily emptied, my brain drained of all thought. I can only submit to the feeling like a passive, pointless invertebrate.

I see the surface of the water above me, glaring with the opaqueness of a mirror. I can see only darkness, the swallowing whole of my life. Then something grabs me and I’m thrown out again, gasping for air; the swamp atoms rearranging themselves like icons dragged across a disordered screen.

I’m drifting along one droning note. It pulls me over the swamp, soaring above the lily pads, the grey-blue death water, the evil blurry trees, the blinking eyes of fireflies. I can smell the note, its stinking dissonance. It burrows deep in my bones, this filthy stench. I think of maggots and the remains of mammals, bloodied and raw on a forest floor. Blackened remains of honeycombs, the dead black bodies of bees. Crisp to touch. Pink strips of flesh, the soiled spots where you can’t tell between plain old earth and a mammal’s organ. The swamp would swallow us all.

I don’t know when I wake up exactly, but I find myself on Ben and Michael’s carpet, gasping for breath. Hands on my shoulders, fingers on my skin. Ben is pinching me, shouting my name, calling me a bastard.

“Woah,” is all I can manage. I want to see a clock. I feel like aeons of space-time have passed in ten minutes. A violent sneeze snatches my senses.

“He’s stopped playing,” Ben says, “Stink-head’s packed it in.”

“You mean there was no music at all?” I ask, bewildered.

“I heard he sold his fucking piano. Dirty money too eh?”

I can’t hear anything else, because all that fills my ears is the jarring sound of piano notes, the eerie hush and sway of those old trees. I blink and rub my eyes and I can still feel the jelly of that swamp water clinging to me, sucking me under…

From somewhere above, Michael’s voice blurts out, all distorted.

“I’m never touching your ket again…”

#ketamine #short story #fiction #writing #CRAZY SPACE #drugs #supplement #pharmakon #swamp #dirt aesthetic #gilded dirt #motes #gold #dust #snorting lines #mirror #surrealism

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