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helliontherapscallion · 3 years

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Stressful Spectres (Sweet Betrayal Part 3)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: swearing, mentions of abuse/neglect, mentions of death, slight body gore, blood

Word count: 2,873

With hands tightly clasped behind your back, you tensely paced around your office. The Pogtopians were constantly being sighted around the borders of Manberg and it was your job to prevent this. You tried everything; setting up traps, luring mobs around the vicinity, nothing worked. They just kept coming back like pesky cockroaches following pheromones. The only way you’d be able to prevent them from spying into the borders was to rebuild a wall, and Schlatt would turn your idea down the second the word ‘wall’ would leave your mouth. He gave you only two days to completely figure everything out from the last time one of the cowards was spotted running from the borders, and it seems that those two days are nearly up.

“You should take a break, (y/n).” Without looking at him, you kept pacing and ignored him. “Stop ignoring me, you know I don’t like when you do that… Please, take a break. I’m worried about you,” he sounded just like he did from before. You felt your eye twitch.

“...(Y/n), remember what I used to sing to you?” He chuckled, the sound being airy and far off, “‘hey hobo man, hey dapper Dan-’”

“Shut the fuck up!” You grabbed your vase and hurled it blindly in his direction. The glass shattered against the wall and you heard nothing else from the teenager. “I don’t need you anymore.” He had been visiting you for the past week or so, ever since Schlatt found out about you taking your birthday off. You were banned from speaking to the Badlanders and got a few physical punishments that would definitely give you more scars on your arms. It was your fault anyways, you were slacking off during a war when you were one of the leaders of this country.

Your door opened when you were mid pace, making you plaster a strained smile on your face and spin around to narrow your eyes at whomever decided to not knock. You were greeted by a slightly buzzed ram hybrid raising an eyebrow at you. He must’ve just started drinking.

Whenever he was only slightly buzzed or on the very rare chance he was sober, he was the most affectionate with you. It wasn’t much, only small praises and the occasional smile, but by Ender you ate it up like you were a drug addict getting their first hit in months. You craved any type of affection, no matter where it came from or how rarely it came. You were willing to wait for it, even if it was rare.

His amber gaze flicked around the room before it landed on the ceramic shards embedded into the carpet. He jutted his chin towards it, “fuck happen there?”

You ran your hand down your face and massaged your aching cheeks, “nothing. Just thought I saw a rat, but my mind was just playing tricks on me.” His calculating gaze pierced through you like a spear before he narrowed his eyes slightly and nodded. He walked over to the window and looked out at the vast city, hands neatly clasped behind his back. “...Have you come up with a solution to our... problem?”

You sighed angrily and resumed your pacing, “I’ve tried everything. They just dismantle the traps I set up, kill the mobs I lure around it, they even killed the iron golems! The only option here is to put up the walls again.”

“I know you didn’t just say what I thought you fuckin said,” Schlatt hissed out, “there’s no way in hell I’m putting up those walls again.”

“I don’t know what you want me to do then, that’s our only option,” you mumbled under your breath only to freeze when Schlatt stomped up to you. He spun you around and grabbed your shoulders, leaning close to your face. His breath smelled like tobacco and a hint of scotch, “are you questioning my authority?” You shook your head frantically. “Really? Cuz it sure sounds like you’re questioning my authority. You seem to forget that I’m your boss and you will treat me as such. Do you understand me?”

You nodded and he let you go, slightly shoving you off to the side as he walked past you. “I-I’m sorry, Dad.” He paused in your doorway, “don’t call me that. I don’t want to be the father of someone that constantly contradicts me. I’ll be back in an hour, you better have this shit figured out by the time I get back or I swear to Ender I’ll fire your sorry ass. You’re on thin ice, (y/n).” Without a second word he left your office, the sound of his dress shoes clanking against the tile fading down the hallway.

You could feel your heart break inside of your chest and your lungs get deflated by the shards piercing them. He was the last person that actually loved you, and you fucked it up. You always fuck everything up, you supposed that it was an innate part of you. No matter what you did or what you tried, you’re always going to be a fuck up.

No, you can’t just sit here and ponder all of your life’s mistakes; you need to be brainstorming before you lose your connection to the person you loved the most. You paced around your office endlessly murmuring to yourself. You knew he was watching you pace again standing off in the corner, the room felt off like it always did whenever he was there. You ignored him and continued your pacing.

Just as you came up with a solution, your door was opened and Schlatt stepped into your office once more. He was swaying slightly on his feet and his suit jacket was unbuttoned. “You figure something out?”

You put a confident smile on your face, “yes. I think we should send patrols around the border, and I think the Badlanders and Rutabagaville members would fare nicely. We can send them in groups of two and send them once in the morning, afternoon, evening, and night.”

He nodded to himself, satisfied. “That sounds like a decent plan, you’re keeping your job for now. But don’t think I’ll forget about what you said earlier.”

You felt extremely relieved and grinned at him, “yessir. I apologize for that once again, it just-”

“Save it, you’re still on thin fucking ice… Don’t look at me like that, ya smiling freak. Your face is absolutely disgusting.” You dropped your smile and looked at your slightly scarred fingers. Light pink raised scars littered your skin in random amounts along your right arm, leading up your neck, and becoming the most concentrated on the entirety of the right side of your face. You avoided looking in the mirror, mostly out of anger because your appearance was a constant reminder of the stain your ‘brothers’ left on your life. You were still adjusting to having a blind spot in your vision, the eye having lost its sight and now a cloudy white color from the fireworks. Your eyelid on that side was permanently half-lidded, unable to open up fully even if you tried.

You were fully aware that your appearance was… unsightly, to say the least, to everybody that looked at you (yourself included), but Schlatt was one that never cringed away from you. Hell, even Quackity (the mere mention of his name made icy betrayal wash over your entire body) avoided looking at you in the first few weeks of your injury. Schlatt was the one that loved you for who you were, scars and all, and you fucked it up.

He squinted at you, his eyelids blocking everything with the exception of his rectangular pupils. A snort left his lips before he moved to leave you to your own devices. “I’ll inform the others of their new duties, get your paperwork done.”

“Yessir.”

You sat down at your desk chair with a sigh and rubbed at your aching cheeks before you picked up your pen and started on your paperwork. Well, it was yours with the exception of Schlatt’s thrown about occasionally in piles. The room was engulfed into an uncomfortable chill once more, he’s back. You honestly have no idea why he just keeps coming back to you or even if his pale spectre was just a stress induced hallucination. He just showed up in your office one day saying that he’s been looking everywhere for you. He acted and looked exactly like he did before he left, except his attitude was strangely chipper for someone that had an iron pickaxe buried deep within their forehead.

“(Y/n), I’m back!” He sang, floating over to your desk. “Geez, that goat guy is a real jerk isn’t he?” His slightly glowing hand appeared in your vision and tried to pluck the pen out of your grasp. It swiped right through your hand, making you shiver at the uncomfortable feeling. “I’m still not used to that.”

You huffed and focused more on your paperwork. You could feel the chill getting closer, leading up to the point where he was directly behind you. The icy air gusted down your neck with every breath he exhaled. “Whatcha workin on?” He whispered in your ear.

“Nothing that you need to worry about.”

“So they speak! I was worried you went completely mute… Well, you did scream at me before, but I didn’t count that. That’s okay though, I knew I could get you to talk to me sooner or later. I’m irresistible, you remember how I was with the ladies.”

“Fuck off.”

“No need to be so mean to me.” You focused on your paperwork again, furrowing your brows and trying to tune him out. “(Yyyyyyy/nnnnn), you can’t ignore little ole me forever.”

“I can and I will.”

He gasped before laughter streamed from his lips, the sound being muffled since it was on your deaf side. “You just talked to me though! I think that’s a win for me. Do you remember when-”

“I swear to Ender, if another word comes out of your mouth I’ll make sure that the next pickaxe finds its home through your tongue and down your throat.”

He was silent after that, leaving you to your paperwork. At least, that was until someone knocked on your office door. You sighed before plastering a smile on your face, “come in.” Your door opened to reveal the signature white smiley face mask, messy blond hair, and green hoodie.

Dream had been giving you small lessons on your swordsmanship lately, and you were getting better with each passing lesson. You were proficient on defense, so it was time for you to learn how to offensively attack.

You saw that he placed an apple on your desk. You looked up at him in confusion. “What? You haven’t eaten anything all day, I don’t want you passing out or anything during our lesson.”

“Finally! Someone with actual sense around here! It’s so refreshing, isn’t it (y/n)? Well, it’s refreshing for me anyways.”

Dream chuckled, “thank you.”

Wait a damn minute.

Dream could hear him?!

Your pen froze mid sentence and rested on the paper, it’s ink pooling in one place. You slowly looked up at Dream, “you can hear him?” He looked at the teenager behind you before looking back at you, his head tilting. “Of course I can. He’s right there.”

“Yeah (y/n), I’m right here. My name’s Lucius by the way, it’s nice to meet you!” He floated over to Dream and held out his hand, the pickaxe handle almost hitting the taller male in the chest. Dream stepped back slightly and nodded, “Dream. Eat that apple fast, we don’t have all day.” You snapped out of your stupor and grabbed the apple, taking absentminded bites while staring at your dead best friend talking animatedly to the masked man.

So he was real after all. You were worried something might have actually been wrong with you for a moment! It was nice to know that you weren’t completely insane.

“...meet (y/n)?”

“Oh, I’m training them at the moment, would you like to watch?”

“Yes! That sounds exciting, doesn’t it (y/n)?” The two looked at you expectantly, Dream’s head tilting slightly and Lucius smiling widely at you. You swallowed your bite and nodded, throwing the apple core into your trash bin. “...Yeah. Yeah it does. Uh, I’m going to get changed and then we can start our session.”

After you got changed, you met with the two outside your door and walked out of the White House to the training grounds. The entire time you were walking, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from Lucius. Every time he would turn his head, the pickaxe would move with it. The crusted blood that emanated from the wound and splattered down his pale face was perhaps the darkest color on him with the exception of his jet black hair.

In a strange way, it wasn’t the blood or the pickaxe protruding from his head that disturbed you the most; it was his eyes. Of course they still crinkled at the edges when he smiled, but it just wasn’t the same. The black eyes that were once so full of life were a dull gray with milky pupils.

Other than the obvious pickaxe, blood, dead eyes, and constant glowing, he looked exactly like he did before he died. His baggy sweater, albeit mudstained and wrinkled, was still a salmon color with its signature pinstripes. The mop of straight black hair was still pulled into a bun with multiple unruly strands escaping the elastic and framing his face.

Before you knew it, a pale hand was waving in your face. “Earth to (y/n)! Oh good, you’re back to the land of the living! What’s wrong? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost. Well, I mean you were just staring at me, but my point still stands.”

You moved your gaze to the dirt path, “it’s nothing, I’ll tell you later.” He huffed, but didn’t say anything else to you for the rest of the trip. Instead, he was making small comments on your surroundings.

Eventually, you were across from Dream on the training arena holding a wooden sword in front of you defensively. Lucius was sitting in the grass a little ways away from the painted boundaries with one foot over the other and his elbows resting on his knees propping his chin up. He was watching with an intensity he always had whenever you were doing something he deemed ‘dangerous’. To be fair, sparring with the most skilled member on the server was fairly dangerous.

“Let’s see if you remember what I taught you last time.” Without giving you a warning, he charged at you with his own wooden sword raised. Your sword clashed with his and you pushed against him. The mask moved upwards on his face slightly, “good, but always expect the unexpected.”

With a simple sweep of his foot, you were on the ground gasping for air. You could faintly hear Lucius suck in air between his teeth before he shouted “you’re doing great, sweetie, but do better!”

Thanks, Lucius. Very motivating.

You rolled away from Dream’s foot before he could pin you to the floor. Your mind flashed back to when Techno- no. None of that, you need to focus. You got back onto your feet in the blink of an eye and dodged another blow. You used his momentum against him, stepping away at the right moment sending him skidding to a stop.

Before long, he had you on the floor again with the tip of the sword pressing into your chest. He relaxed before helping you up, “you did better than I thought you would, but there were still some obvious flaws in what you did. Using my momentum against me was smart, but with what you did the opponent would recover fast. Here, let me show you how to properly do that.”

You improved on a few things defensively and learned a few things offensively before the sun started to set and cast shadows on the surrounding forest. Dream shook your hand, “nice work today, you’re gonna rival even the best eventually.”

“You were great, (y/n)! I didn’t know you had it in you!” I didn’t have it in me when you were alive, you mentally corrected him. “Thanks, Lucius.” You glanced at him only to be met with his body phasing through yours in an attempted hug. He fell to the ground and rolled over, crossing his arms over his chest, “I’ll never get used to that.”

Dream snorted before he shoved his hands into his pockets and started to nonchalantly walk back towards the White House. You and Lucius looked at each other before you ran to catch up with him. Lucius floated next to you, examining the dirt on your exposed arms and the forming bruises on your calves. He wrinkled his nose, “you really need a shower.”

“Well I can’t exactly strip now and find a shower in the woods, can I Lucius?”

“You just reek.”

“Yeah, you kinda do.”

“Thanks Lucius, Dream. Really feeling the love.”

General taglist (comment if you want to be added):

@crybabyjabby @izzybobizzy13 @goldenstarofthunderclan @bunnyz-pxstel @averytiredfanfictionwriter @dcml04 @sparkling-gayyyy @bbigbbrainn @thaticecreambish @kiinokochii @satansphatass @bxkubitch @bxmentchildxx @roxy3457 @montygator17 @feverish-dove @the-fictionwriters-hairdo @jichuuchaeng @404rynnotfound @luluwinchester @laura--444 @the-cult-classic-bitch @youngstarfishdinosaur @nottheotheruser @ohworm-writes @localwolfanon @realitycanbeajerk @v10dw4lk3r @esylwen

GN reader taglist (comment if you want to be added):

@twitchchatvroom @parkeepingparker

SBI taglist (comment if you want to be added):

@afifaj

Series taglist (comment if you want to be added):

@zefrenchturtle @smolgreenybeany @wouldyoulikesomepollen @savleftus @bonkaloid @prickypearpropaganda @marceline1212 @simp-of-newyork

#sbi x reader #sleepy bois x reader #sleepy bois inc x reader #jschlatt x reader #dream x reader #mcyt x reader #dream smp x reader #tw: swearing #tw: gore #tw: blood #tw: abuse #tw: neglect #tw: death #tw: scars #tw: violence

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kaijurakunsobs · 3 years

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oooh!! ooh!! I have some. Heisenberg’s s/o meeting the parents stuff. Their parents thought they were gone because they “disappeared” while they were at the Village and met Heis but then they show back up with this metal hobo fjdhfjd “this is my boyfriend”

IMMA BE HONEST!

my first thought was "oooooh oh no...what would MY parents think?" and proceeded MacLose it cuz I just know my family and that would be a dumpster fire of "if it can get bad, then it can get worst"

for a moment you lived in a world where you didn't owned your family anything, and you would have continued like this if your cousins hadn't noticed the recurring appearance of the handsome man in some of your photos

they of course told your aunt, who passed the gossip onto your grandparents who called your parents completely furious because "WHY WE WEREN'T INVITED TO Y/N WEDDING?!"

you were happily laying in bed, Karl had his head on the crook on your neck, listening to you bitch about that damn Linda from the 4th floor and how she keeps making comments on your boyfriend and how hes too much man for you

you know he's awake because occasionally he lets out a buff or grunts in agreement

your phone goes off in that instant and you have to really stretch out your body to get it from where you tossed it

you pale a bit when you see your mom's name pop up in the caller ID

Y/N:...Hi ma, how you been?

Mom: Y/N L/N CARE TO EXPLAIN WHAT'S THIS THING ABOUT YOU BEING MARRIED?!

Y/N: What!? no...what? how the...WHAT?! IM NOT?

Mom: then, who's the man in the photos, uhum?

fuck...oh fuck, you forgot you have family added on insta, someone ratted you out, what a snitch!

you take some time to explain to your mom that it's a very long story and you are extremely tired

Y/N: look ma... it's hard to explain on the phone and I don't think we can't go to see you guys, Karl can get a bit overwhelmed at times

Mom: so his name is Karl...

Y/N: can you...you guys can come by, and I'll explain everything, is that ok?

Mom: let me ask you, father...he says it's fine, I'll be seeing you baby!

throughout the whole thing, Karl is been soundly asleep over you

he takes the news rather well...as well as he's taking much of the new information you have been feeding him every day for the last couple of months

you two create a whole story of how you met and why it took you so long to get back in contact with your family

on the day of the visit you are a bit nervous, trying to calm yourself down with anything you can find, stress eating of your excessively petting Durant

when the doorbell rings you hear Heis trip and curse coming to the front of your place, you don't notice that his hair is a mess, he's been working on something and it's wearing that ugly shirt that has oil all over it

but your parents do because he's the first thing they noticed after opening the door

following their line of vision you shoot Karl a dirty look before laughing and letting your parents in

Y/N: HEY GUYS! so glad you could be here today! let me introduce you to each other, Karl, these are my parents M/N and D/N, guys this is Karl Heisenberg my...my boyfriend

your mom is the first one to take his hand and start complimenting his good looks to lighten up the mood

Your dad? he has that "you ain't good enough to be with my child" look on his face

both men share a look and you can notice how tense their handshake is

Dad: so you are my Y/N...

Karl: boyfriend, we been together for 6 months

Dad: 6 months! that's a long time, do you work or what do you do...Karl?

Y/N: he's an engineer pa, he does a lot of work under commission and specializes in doing prosthetics!

Mom: really now? that sounds like an interesting job

Dad: and from which college you graduated from?

Karl: the University of Bucarest, sir

oh no...they hate each other, fuck

the whole afternoon is just one passive-aggressive comment after another, Heis is all charm and smiles towards your mom but seems to change when your dad pokes fun at him

everything changes when you tell them why, you haven't contacted them in so long

you two tell a story of woe, about how you ended up in the village where Karl took you in and how abusive his family was, that this whole time, due to recommendations of his therapist you were waiting for him to make progress in session and see how he felt about meeting new people

your mom places a hand over Karl's shoulder, startling him, a sympathetic smile on her face

dad is now looking at the wall, a bit of shame on his face

from there, everything seems to go smoothly, your parents look impressed after seeing the quality of Durant's prosthesis and the many unfinished ones Heis keep as tests and quality control

when they are about to leave, your mom tells Kark he's always welcomed to come by and how much of a pleasure was to meet him

dad nods along and smiles jokingly berating you both that next time someone calls to say you are getting married it better be for real

you never knew embarrassment and emotional dragging would be this heavy over your shoulders

#karl heisenberg #resident evil village #karl heisenberg x reader #re8 #LMAO save them pls #my stupid ass choked on some water while reading the ask #the misadventures of karl heisenberg

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septicstories · 3 years

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When Will You Realize (UNEDITED)

A/N: @you-said-yes is a bloody freaking genius and came up with this idea for the multiverse twins, and I'm in love. So, I'm gonna write this (Peter-centric, of course) and attempt to do it justice! I just hope I don't goof this masterpiece up too much.

Genre: Angst

Warnings: cursing (duh, it's me), family drama, Charles + Logan + Hank ignore Wanda and Pietro because they need Peter, very brief mentioning of a needle, sad Peter + Wanda + Pietro, Pietro having the nickname "Piet" (pronounced as the first bit of his name, not diet with a "p"), no beta readers or edits (sorry)

Word Count: 3.3k (3,380)

"Peter! The cops are here! ... again."

When Wanda had yelled that down to him, Peter only found himself sighing. What store manager is accusing him of shoplifting this time? Did that punk-ass kid behind the counter at 7/11 rat him out again?

But Peter didn't do anything about it.

Nope.

Well... actually... maybe a quick pick-pocket wouldn't hurt, right? Just see who the hell these cops are, maybe spook them when he says their names. Unless he already knows them, then that'd be weird.

Peter let go of the paddle he was using, calmly walking upstairs as time just slowed around him, nearly to a halt. He was greeted with three new faces, all three of the men. None of them looked like cops.

He went into the pocket of the man with hella sideburns, opening up his wallet, only to see a folded-up piece of paper instead of a badge.

After looking over the paper for a moment, Peter found himself grinning. This was a rental agreement for a car. These guys were from out of town.

Peter folded the paper, replacing it into the man's wallet before slipping it back into his pocket. And with new confidence, he went back to his basement and continued to play his solo game of ping-pong as he waited for the men to come down.

He heard one of the stairs creak, a sure sign that it wasn't one of his siblings. A very particular spot on one of the stairs made the most obnoxious creaking noise, and it was the only way he was able to identify anyone new.

"What do you guys want?"

Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Peter just kept going from one end of the table to another, waiting for his brother to come down so the two could go even faster.

"I didn't do anything!"

Of course, that was what he was waiting for before the cops showed up. But now, he was just waiting for them to all get down here. He was just showing off at this point.

Peter dropped his paddle once again, slowly stretching across his couch. Well, slow for him. To the three men, it probably looked like it happened in the blink of an eye.

"I've been here all day."

A shit-eating grin spread across his face as the three men turned to him, one staring at him as though he were an animal at the zoo. The other two seemed exasperated.

"Just... relax, Peter. We're not cops--"

"'Course you're not cops, if you were cops, you wouldn't be driving a rental car." Peter interrupted.

"You're not cops?"

Peter didn't even hear Pietro come down the stairs.

"How'd you know we got a rental car?" the man with long hair and sunglasses asked.

"I checked your registration while you were walking through the door." Peter shrugged.

"Peter!"

Wanda must've recently come down as well, as she lightly smacked Peter's shoulder, like a scolding mother rather than an older sister.

"I also had some time to kill, so I went through your rental agreements and saw you're from out of town." Peter's shit-eating grin just spread across his face, before it dropped into a look of confusion. "Are you FBI?"

Peter shot up, grabbing the nearest wallet, which came from the guy with sunglasses. Nothing that a cop would carry. But there was a business card.

"Nope, you're not cops," he said in a near-mumble, reading the card.

"Peter!"

"Hey, what's with this Gifted Youngsters place?" Peter asked, ignoring his sister's scolding tone as he dropped the wallet, heading over to one of his many mini-fridges.

Peter grabbed two popsicles out of the fridge, slightly melted but still solid, handing one to his brother before beginning to munch on one.

"When I knew him, he wasn't so... young."

That was all he caught out of the conversation the three men had.

"Young?" Peter asked with his mouth full. "You're just old!"

"Peter, don't be rude," Pietro said, opening his popsicle and beginning to eat it at a monstrous pace.

"Both of you, stop!" Wanda said, her eyes beginning to shimmer a bright red color.

"So you're not afraid to show your powers." one of the men said.

"Powers, what powers?" Wanda squeaked out, her eyes flaring red before returning to their usual color.

"You see something strange here?" Pietro asked, leaning against Wanda with an empty popsicle stick in his hand.

"Nothing anybody would believe if you told them?" Peter asked, a massive smirk on his face.

When he saw the tired look on one of the men's faces, he did a little internal victory dance, patting himself on the back for that.

With the cockiest fucking look on his face, Peter went over to the pong machine in his room, turning it on.

"So who are you, what do you want?"

"We need your help, Peter."

"With what?" Wanda and Pietro asked in unison, glaring daggers into the three men.

"To break into a highly secure facility. And to get someone out."

"A prison break?" Wanda asked, her eyes widening.

Peter just chuckled, smirking. "That's illegal you know."

"Well, only if you get caught."

"Okay, no. Peter's not going." Wanda said, her fists clenched by her sides.

Exactly as she said that, Peter asked "What's in it for me?"

"Peter, no, this is an awful--" "You, you kleptomaniac, get to break into the Pentagon."

Peter's fingers froze on the joystick, pausing. The Pentagon? The fucking Pentagon? Wait, were these guys actually cops? Like, undercover cops who are actually good at their jobs?

"How do I know I can trust you?" Peter asked, arching an eyebrow, slowly turning from the machine.

"Because we're just like you."

Peter stiffened, eyes bouncing between each of the three men. They all look normal, albeit a bit like hobos, but still normal. They didn't have any of the physical bits to a mutation, the lucky sons of bitches.

"Show him."

An absolutely disgusting squelching noise filled the room as the man with sideburns had bone breaking through his clenched fists, into a trio of boney claws, gnarly and super gross.

Peter's breath hitched as he watched, before gulping and nodding. "It's cool but it's disgusting."

"So? Are you coming with us?"

"No, he's not," Wanda spoke up again. "Listen, I don't know who the hell you are and why you're asking for Peter to help you break into the Pentagon, nor do I want to know who you're breaking out of the Pentagon, but my baby brother won't be joining you."

Peter rolled his eyes and scoffed. "Who are you to make decisions for me? I'm fucking 17, Wanda! I'm not gonna be staying in this damn house my whole life!"

Peter stood up, going over to his closet, and grabbing a backpack.

"Look, I know you guys are gonna drive me there and there's probably a plan. Fill me in on our way there. I need to bring food so I don't pass out on you guys."

"Peter, ple--" "We'll meet you outside. Thank you, Peter." the man with the sunglasses said as the three left the basement.

Pietro and Wanda shared a glance before heading up the stairs. "Wait for a second!"

Peter shook his head, grabbing the nearest box of food and stuffing it into his bag.

I'm not a baby. I'm 17. I can't stay here for the rest of my life because of humanity. I can't do that to myself. I'd rather be slaughtered for my mutation than sit the hell still and never leave this fucking house.

Pietro and Wanda couldn't keep him here. He loved them both to death, and he'd absolutely come to visit. But he couldn't stay. Even just a taste of adventure like this would be enough to sate him for the day. Maybe a few.

Besides, it wasn't like he was leaving for good. He was gonna come back. Probably. Y'know, assuming he doesn't get caught and shot to death.

Peter gulped.

That won't happen... right?

"Nah, I'll be fine," Peter mumbled to himself, grabbing another box of snacks and opting to grab a hair tie as well. The clock on his wall was ticking slower and slower the deeper into thought he got.

They wouldn't let him get hurt, right? He'd be a-okay.

"Slow down, you crazy child."

Peter stiffened for a moment.

That creaky stair was a blessing and a curse.

Reluctantly, he looked at Wanda, giving her a glare as time sped up. Pietro was right behind her.

"You're so ambitious for a juvenile."

Peter rolled his eyes again.

With this shit.

"But then, if you're so smart, tell me, why are you still so afraid?" Peter asked sarcastically, a scowl finding its way onto his face.

Wanda and Pietro give each other another look before they come closer to Peter. Peter went over to another side of his room, grabbing another box of food, this one already opened.

"Where's the fire? What's the hurry about?" Pietro asked, letting out a nervous laugh as he joked. The tension in the room was making everybody uncomfortable.

They get a bit closer, and Peter forcefully shoved what was bound to be a squished Twinkie into his backpack.

"You better cool it off before you burn it out. You got so much to do."

Pietro and Peter's eyes met, making Peter's resolve crack. Just a little bit. Not much. But a little bit.

Wanda's hand landing on his shoulder wasn't much help.

"And only so many hours of the day."

Wanda's voice was always soft and soothing. The Sokovian lullabies she'd hum to him when he was a child would sometimes play through his head when he was stressed out, and he'd even find himself mumbling the lyrics.

But not right now. Now wasn't the time for her calming voice. No, he had shit to do.

Peter brushed Wanda's hand off of him, storming away from them before speaking, "But you know when the truth is told, that you can get what you want, or you can just get old."

His tone was sharp, like a blade cutting open old sutures.

Pietro's brow furrowed, with a frown making its way onto his face, his own tone becoming less playful.

"You're gonna kick off before you even get halfway through."

The scowl on Peter's face only deepened as he turned away from his siblings. He didn't need to hear all of this. Not right now.

Wanda, with that voice that made Peter want to cry, spoke up again. "When will you realize..."

Peter stiffened, a lump growing in his throat. They couldn't do this to him. They couldn't persuade him to stay. They couldn't do that.

"Vienna waits for you." Pietro and Wanda spoke together, Pietro's tone had softened a tad.

When the twins saw Peter's face when he turned around, their hearts broke a little.

Their younger brother had tears in his eyes, his mouth twitching as he took in one shaky breath after another. His mouth opened, only to clamp shut, gritting his teeth and shutting his eyes tight.

Peter sped over to his dresser, digging through one of his drawers, in search of his goggles.

"Slow down," Wanda began, her voice making him stop for a single second. "You're doing fine."

Pietro piped up again. "You can't be everything you want to be before your time."

Peter clicked his tongue, fresh tears beginning to roll down his face. They had the motherfucking audacity to pull that shit on him.

"Although it's so romantic on the borderline tonight," Peter said sarcastically, turning around and spreading his arms out as he gave both of his siblings a teary-eyed glare.

To them, it probably looked like the glare of a child. Pathetic. Weak. Fragile.

Did he care?

"Tonight," he mumbled again.

Nope, not one bit.

Wanda took a step forward as Peter turned back around, still looking for those damn goggles.

"Too bad, but it's the life you lead," she said calmly.

She was going to start losing composure soon, Peter was sure of it. She had to crack soon. He wasn't going to let his dam burst anymore until he knows he's not the only one who wants to cry.

"You're so ahead of yourself that you forgot what you need."

Peter winced as though he just got a needle stabbed into his arm. A painful pinch that'd be sore for a bit, but he'd forget about it soon.

Wanda sent Pietro a glare, which made the other speedster back down a bit. But only a bit.

"Though you can see when you're wrong, you know you can't always see when you're right." Wanda and Pietro spoke at the same time, making Peter shiver.

It bugged him the hell out whenever they did that. Creepy as shit.

Wanda made it even creepier by repeating herself. "You're right."

She came closer as Pietro spoke. "You've got your passion."

"You've got your pride," Wanda said softly, taking Peter's shaky hands into her calm grip.

They need to stop. They needed to stop doing all that shit to him. They were trying to get him to stay. They shouldn't be doing that.

Peter yanked his hand out of Wanda's grip, his other hand grabbing his goggles before stuffing them in his pockets.

"But don't you know only fools are satisfied?" Peter said bitterly, staring between the twins.

He gulped as he watched Pietro glare at him, his arm going around Wanda as he did so.

"Dream on," Pietro said dully as Peter turned his back on the twins.

"But don't imagine they'll all come true." Wanda and Pietro did their freaky twin thing again, speaking at the same time.

Peter zipped up his backpack, just trying not to cry. He just needed to get past them, and into that car, and then it would be smooth sailing from there.

"When will you realize?" Wanda asked as Peter slung the backpack over his shoulder.

"Vienna waits for you." Pietro finished with a soft murmur.

Peter didn't even need to turn around for Pietro and Wanda to know what Peter's face looked like.

Hot tears burned down his face as he shoved past his older siblings, Pietro purposefully knocking Peter's shoulder with his own. A little thing they'd do when they knew they had a rough day ahead of them. A sign. A quick "good luck. I love you."

A sob got stuck in Peter's throat as he went up the stairs, hitting that creaky stair on the way up.

Wanda, with a defeated sigh, fell back onto the couch, burying her face in her hands. There wasn't any way to stop Peter. Once his mind was set on something, he was going to do it if it were the last thing he'd do.

She just worried that this would be the last thing he'd do.

Before Wanda could even speak, Pietro's hand rested on her back as he sat beside her.

"He'll be okay, Wanda."

Peter was about to leave, fingers grazing the doorknob before he paused.

He turned to the small stand by their front door, grabbing Wanda's locket from when she and Pietro were children. Carefully, he opened it, revealing pictures of Wanda and Pietro as children.

Peter's fingers clumsily fiddled with the locket before placing it around his neck before taking in a deep breath and wiping the tears from his face.

The front door of the Maximoff household swung open as Peter left the house, his hair falling in front of his face as he left, walking at a pace that seemed a tad bit too fast to be human.

The guy with sideburns was sitting in the driver's seat of the car while the two other men stood outside the car.

"Ready?" the man with the sunglasses asked.

Peter found much more interest in the markings on his shoes, staring down at his mixed shoelaces before giving a weak response.

"Yeah."

Slow down, you crazy child. Take the phone off the hook and disappear for a while.

Peter got into the back seat of the car, slamming the door shut as the other two men piled into the car. He swears he heard Pietro and Wanda in his head.

It's alright, you can afford to lose a day or two

His backpack got tucked by his feet on the floor of the car, buckling his seat belt before releasing a sigh. He wanted their voices out of his head. They needed to get out of his head, or else he may actually get fucking shot because he wasn't focused on the mission.

The Maximoff house was now quiet. The only noises came from the basement.

"When will you realize?" Pietro asked, his voice barely carrying over a whisper.

"Vienna waits for you." Wanda finished softly.

The two were leaning against each other on the couch that Peter called his bed, looking around the messy room.

A picture sat on his desk, the three of them all together and smiling. Peter was only eight when they took that picture. His two front teeth were missing from his massive grin, curly brown hair framing his face. He just looked... happy.

Peter, at that moment, felt far from that young kid he used to be. His arms crossed over his chest, doing his best to seem nonchalant. But he was stressed as hell.

In Sokovian, Peter mumbled to himself "And you know that when the truth is told, that you can get what you want, or you can just get old."

Peter could live with dying young. As morbid as it may be, he's accepted his mortality. He knew people wanted him dead because he didn't share the same species name as others.

His eyes looked out the window while the man in the sunglasses and the man with the sideburns spoke in the front seat. Hopefully not to Peter, because he wasn't paying attention.

Unfortunately, instead of seeing an empty doorstep, Pietro and Wanda were standing on the porch.

Pietro's hand was still on Wanda's back, and Peter could see the tear streaks on Wanda's face from within the car.

"You're gonna kick off before you even get halfway through," the two whispered, Pietro beginning to choke up "Why don't you realize?"

"Hey, kid, you alright?"

Peter turned to look at the guy with glasses who sat with him in the back seat, nodding with pursed lips.

"I'm good, man. What's the plan?"

Wanda and Pietro still stood on the doorstep, watching Peter look away from them. Wanda bit her lip, looking down at the ground as fat tears streamed down her face.

"Vienna waits for you." she and Pietro were so choked up, their speech was barely audible. "When will you realize?"

Peter listened in on the plan, nodding, but once they stopped saying his name, he looked back out the window. His sister was in tears as Pietro wiped at his face, making Peter's eyes well up a bit too.

With all he had in him, Peter mustered up a small, sad smile on his face. Luckily enough for him, his siblings looked up right then.

Peter gave a small wave, getting teary smiles and waves from his siblings.

The car's engine roared to life, and the group began to pull away from the Maximoff house. Peter turned in his seat a tad, watching as his siblings grew smaller and smaller in the window as the car pulled away from the Maximoff house.

At the same time, the twins watched as the car pulled away from their house, Wanda's body shuddering as she kept in unshed tears.

Pietro let out a heavy sigh as Wanda's head hit his shoulder.

"He'll be okay, Wanda. He always comes out of these things okay."

"He's breaking someone out of the pentagon, Piet. I don't want him to... y'know."

"Yeah... I know."

Peter turned back around in his seat, letting out a heavy sigh of his own.

"They'll be okay." the man with glasses murmured beside Peter.

His only response was a nod and a yawn. "I'm gonna rest up real quick, okay? Save up energy, and stuff."

Because I'm absolutely fucking drained.

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fluffykitty1999-blog · 3 years

Text

Dog of the Military- Chapter 28

Chapter 28- Bits and Pieces

"Home sweet couch." Ed strode into the living room, looking relieved to see Roy's tan sofa looking as inviting as it always had after his stint in the hospital. He was planning on sinking into the cushions and reading the latest alchemy books he'd sent Al to the library to get, but he was stopped when Roy placed a hand on his automail shoulder, guiding him towards the stairs.

"You said I could sleep on the couch once we got home." Ed was close to whining. Still, he followed Roy upstairs without too much complaint.

"What- you got a secret couch in your study that's more comfortable or something?"

"No. I just figured after all that time in a hospital and sleeping on couches you might like to have an actual bed." Roy led him down the hall past the open door of his study, with all it's alluring books. He pushed open the heavy oak door to reveal a small, rather sparse room. Flowered wall paper with dark gray spripes behind it, a small twin bed with blue sheets, a bookcase beside it, and a small desk tucked in the corner greeted them.

"Here we are. Your room." Roy said.

Ed was silent, and Roy frowned.

"I know it's a little plain- it was just my guest room for awhile, the only one who really stayed here was Hughes. We can spruce it up if you want, get pictures on the wall or whatever..."

Ed paused, taking a small step into the room.

"It's perfect like it is." he turned, looking behind him at Roy with uncertainty. "It's really mine?"

Roy nodded. "Might as well be. Whenever you're in Central and not out traveling, you're welcome to crash here. There's a spare house key somewhere, I'll have to see if I can find it for you."

Ed nodded, striding across the room to sit on the bed. Roy had already settled the lone suitcase- the only thing Ed really had besides the clothes on his back- containing all the research he'd saved from the dorm fires- beside the desk, and Ed let out a relaxed sigh, flopping on the bed.

He sat up on his automail elbow. "Do you want rent or anything? Room and board? I got money, research allowance and all..."

"I don't want anything from you, Ed. It's easier this way- we don't have to keep playing phone tag with reports, I get to know you're alive when you come home once every few weeks. Besides- you two are hardly in one place long enough to bother with something like that."

"Yeah. Okay, make sense." Ed flopped back on the bed, letting out a contented sigh.

Roy wondered for the first time- how long had it been since Ed had had something he could really call his won? Something besides a standard military issue dormitory or a generic hotel room. He was uncomfortable with the fact it'd probably been years.

"I'll have dinner ready in about an hour if you feel like eating." Roy figured it'd be best to just let the kid relax.

"Yeah, sounds good. Roy?"

Roy paused and turned back towards the room, not sure what the boy was going to say. "Yeah?"

"Thanks. For everything." Ed's golden eyes were soft and unguarded for once, the normal edge and distrust not present.

"No problem, kid."

LINEBREAK LINEBREAK LINEBREAK LINEBREAK LINEBREAK

"So we need to go to Fisk and check out the stone mentioned in this passage here." Ed finished brightly, looking up from the book he'd been reading and smiling at Alphonse.

"But brother- we need to stay in Central for awhile. The Colonel said so. Something about Colonel Banks still being on the loose. You know he's out to get you."

"Don't worry about me, Al. I'll be fine- the Colonel worries too much."

"I'm not going with you then." Al said, turning up his armored face in distaste.

"What!? But Alphonse..."

"The Colonel says we need to stay put until Banks is caught, so I'm not going anywhere but Central until he is. It's for your own good, Ed."

"But the military is taking forever to catch him! He could be in Drachma by now for all we know! He can;t keep us here forever!" Ed exploded.

Al gave a clunking shrug.

"Fine." Ed seethed, standing up. "If you won't help me look for the stone until Banks is caught, then we'll just have to catch him ourselves."

Behind a rather upscale restaurant, an old man with wiry gray hair and a bottle of liquor sat against the brick wall, gaze empty as he waited beside the dumpster for scraps.

The man merely paused and looked over apathetically when a blonde boy in a red cloak strode over to him.

"Hey hobo Joe, hows it going?"

"I'm still alive, I guess." the man said hoarsely.

"I brought you something." Ed smiled, pulling a brown bag from his coat. Inside were warm cinnamon buns- still sticky. The man took them and started to eat, the warm frosting getting caught in his unkempt beard.

"What are you looking for this time?" the man asked between bites of pastry.

"Colonel Robert Banks."

"Ah, yes. I saw a newspaper about him. Then I used it to line my boots." the old man said with a smile. His gaze searched Ed, who still had his arm in a sling. "Is he the one that busted your other arm?"

"Yeah. The whole military's looking for him. But the military is full of a bunch of jack wads, some know-nothings. You really have time to watch things out here, hobo Joe. So I figured if anybody knew something, it'd be you."

Hobo Joe shrugged. "Heard news of a new rat in the sewers. And there's been some strange foreign people around lately. You know, when most people don't want to be found down here, they go underground."

"Right. Thanks for the tip, old man. Do me a favor- drink some water." Ed frowned, looking at teh liqour bottle the man was holding. "You know that crap dehydrates you."

"Let me prune up and die in peace, shrimp."

Ed scoffed. He would've exploded, but he was running on a tight schedule. He was on his lunch break, and he'd told Roy he was going to visit Hughes afterwards, so he had about three hours, tops, before Roy was going to wonder where he was.

"You can't go after him alone, brother!" Al sounded upset at the notion as Ed found an unused manhole in a dark alley.

"Al- you can't fit. I'm sorry."

"But what if something happens to you down there? You only have one good arm!" Al protested.

"I can still clap even with the sling. And my arm doesn't hurt that bad, anyways." Ed said simply.

"I'll tell the Colonel." Al threatened.

"The whole reason I'm looking for this crazy jerk is so that the Colonel will let us look for the stone, Al! I'm doing this for you!"

"Well I don't like it!"

"Give me an hour, alright!? If I don't check back in, you can go and get Mustang."

"One hour. Not a minute more." Al said flatly.

"Alright then. See you in an hour." And Ed descended the ladder at half his usual speed, due to his flesh arm being stuck in a sling. Still, he didn't fret about it too much.

It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the dark. The only sound was running water, running down the main channel, and a few rats scuttling about. Ed was tempted to call out for Banks- he knew the man was looking to settle the score with him- but he paused when the corpse of a drowned rat floated by him on the water.

He might not be alone down here. He was reminded of the man with silver eyes who'd tried to take him at the hospital. Drachmans were probably looking for Banks as well. It was best to just keep his mouth shut and observe.

He walked several blocks underground, watching the dingy brown sewer water float by. He turned down another tunnel- this one was larger, there was more wter flowing. He noticed there was a small empty space, about two feet tall and three feet deep, at the base of the wall. Just big enough for a mini-fridge lying on its side to fit in. though why anyone would have a mini fridge down here, Ed couldn't fathom. It was just the only unit of measure that came to mind.

There was a circular grate at the edge of the tunnel, about fifty feet away. Water flowed between the bars like a waterfall, and the tunnel continued to both the right and left in either direction. Ed was planning on going left. when he reached the T-shaped junction, but he paused when he noticed a figure a mere twenty feet from him.

Whoever it was was dressed in black completely, and there was someone sitting at their feet.

Ed watched the odd, shambling walk as the figure took a few steps towards his tunnel before eh felt the icy fingers of dread gripping his heart. Whoever this was, it wasn't banks, and his palms itched and heart pounded with the need to get far, far away from him.

He turned and ran back down the tunnel towards where he came. He had about thirty seconds before the man turned into the tunnel and saw him. He was grateful for the noise of flowing water covering him as he turned and sprinted back the way he'd came, stumbling and nearly falling, only to notice the small empty compartment right beside him...

He rolled into the small crevice, letting out his breath in slow pants as he tried to calm his hammering heart.

Had he been quick enough? Or had the man already turned into the tunnel and seen him?

He couldn't tell if he was being pursued or not, and he didn't dare peek out and check and risk revealing himself if he hadn't already.

At first, the only thing he could hear was the sound of water pouring down through the grate and into the small channel flowing down the tunnel, and his heartbeat in his own ears. But gradually, as whoever it was approached him, he heard the footsteps increasing in volume. He squeezed his eys shut. He was at a disadvantage- the man could've already seen him, could've been hunting him right now, and he wouldn't have known it. All he could do was wait and pray he hadn't been seen.

He was hunched over on all fours- it was a painfully cramped position, and he scooted himself farther back into the recesses of the small crevice he was in, pressing his automail palm to his flesh hand in the sling. Even if he was caught, he could still manage one good transmutation to defend himself if he needed to.

In the rear corner in front of him, a rat sat, chewing on something it held between its fore paws as it sat on its hind legs. It didn't give him a second glance.

Ed could spend no more time looking at the creature, because the footsteps were right outside, now- he could see the pair of black boots and pants just outside his crevice. The man stopped walking.

Ed's heartbeat was so loud he couldn't hear what the man mumbled to himself, though he heard the familiar flick of a lighter and smelled cigarette smoke, before the man continued on walking. His heart was still racing, even as he listened to the footsteps fading into the distance. He was left alone with the sound of running water from the grate behind him.

Still- he had to wait. He wanted to make sure the man- whoever he was- was long gone before he dared come out.

He counted to 300, willing his purse to stop pounding and his hands to stop shaking.

He tried to focus on whatever was in front of him. The rat in the corner had grown tired of sharing its space with him- it cast whatever it was chewing on at its feet in front of him and scurried out of the small alcove, chattering its teeth as it went.

Ed frowned, something about the object the creature had dropped drawing his attention. It looked like a small stick of some kind, but there was something brightly colored on the end...

He reached forward, picking it up and looking at it.

It was a finger nail. He looked down at the base of what he was holding- a shimmer of ivory bone leered out beneath severed muscle and sinew...

He dropped the finger on instinct, turning his head to the side and vomiting whatever little lunch he'd eaten onto the concrete beside him. He was shaking, choking and retching- he clamped his hand over his mouth, trying to muffle the noise- his heart had begun to pound in his chest again, and he shook both in fear of what he'd found and that he'd be heard, the man would come back.

It was painful to try and hold it back, though- vomit scorched his nostrils and seeped between his fingers, and He stopped trying to muffle it, letting his stomach rebel one last time until he was quietly dry heaving.

When it was over he just laid on the ground, catching his breath and trying to stop his trembling. He needed to move. He needed to get up and get out of here. He was in over his head.

He looked dully forward at the detached human finger, reaching over with his automail hand. He was grateful he couldn't feel the texture of the dead skin on his metal hand, and he picked up the limb and slid it into his pocket. It was evidence, after all.

He took a deep breath, steeling his frayed nerves, and ducked his head out from beneath the alcove, peering around. The man in black was nowhere in sight- he was in the clear. He crawled out like a snake on his belly, hurriedly getting to his feet. He couldn't head back the way he came- that was where the man had been headed. He'd just have to hope that the man didn't go back where he'd already been.

He kept running down the passageway, turning to the left towards where the man had come from. He paused at the mouth of the new tunnel- the person who'd been sitting at the man's feet, back against the wall of the sewer, was still there.

He wasn't sure if they'd seen him, but something about it all seemed off. He approached cautiously- it was a woman, and she was slumped over like she was hurt...

There was blood around her. He'd thought it was water at first, but when he stepped in it and the scent of copper hit him, he knew.

If he hadn't already thrown up, he probably would've by now.

He chin rested on her chest, and he fumbled to pull his flesh arm from the sling, not noticing the pain as he moved his injured arm to place his fingers on her neck, feeling for a pulse. There was none.

She only had nine fingers. And they all sported the same bright purple acrylic nails as the finger in his pocket.

Somehow, he'd sunk to his knees and he was trembling again. He couldn't take her with him- she was dead weight, just a body, logically, he knew that, but her family deserved to see her again, to have a proper burial...

A rat shrieked behind him, and he whirled, startled, scrabbling through the grime on his backside.

What had he come here for again? He didn't know, but his heart thrummed in his throat, and he tried to push himself up with his flesh arm only for a spike of pain to send him crashing back down onto the grimy concrete. He managed to push himself up with his automail arm, though, regained his footing, and he was sprinting, running, running through the tunnels blindly.

He had to get out of here. He had to get out before that man came back or he found another body or something horrible happened.

He nearly ran past the ladder. He came skidding to a stop before the rusted metal loops, frantically climbing them, his boots slipping in the grime he'd acquired while in the sewer.

He wrestled with the manhole cover above, feeling blessed sunlight on his skin. his head and chest free from the underground prison, he breathed the fresh air, trying to calm his dizzying thoughts. He didn't look below him- but a hand grabbed on his flesh leg on the ladder, and he yelped.

He kicked out frantically with his automail leg- there was a crunch, and he scrambled the rest of the way out of the manhole and ran, blindly into the streets. He didn't stop running until he was almost to headquarters.

LINEBREAK LINEBREAK LINEBREAK LINEBREAK LINEBREAK

"Hey Roy- how's it going?"

Roy looked over, baffled, as Hughes plopped his tray down across from his friend in the military mess hall.

"What's with that look? Aren't you glad to see me?" Hughes asked, frowning at Roy's expression.

"You're not in your office."

"No, I'm not. I figured I'd have lunch over here today. IS something wrong?"

"No. But Ed said he was going to visit you after he went out for lunch. That was three hours ago."

"I haven't seen him all day." Hughes frowned, pushing his glasses up on his nose and his tray to the side, standing at the same time Roy did.

"What are you thinking?" Hughes asked as they headed towards the doors.

"I'm thinking he lied to me. He wanted to give me the slip- he's been on a short leash lately with everything going on- he;s probably out investigating by himself." Roy said, tight-lipped. His eyes had gone dark with anger.

"Where do you think he'd go?"

"I'm not sure." Roy palmed the front doors of HQ open, only to be met by the clanging sound of metal armor running up to him.

"Colonel!"

"Alphonse. Where's your brother?" Roy asked, voice cold.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. He heard a rumor Colonel Banks was hiding out in the sewers and went down to try and capture him- I tried to tell him not to go alone, but he wouldn't listen. He said he'd check in with me in an hour, but it's been nearly three, and i can't fit through the manhole to look for him myself..." Alphonse was wringing his gauntlets nervously.

Hughes had gone pale. "Roy, the sewers..."

"I know, Hughes." Roy pinched the bridge of his nose. "go get the team- we're sending all our men in."

"Looks like we don't have to. Here comes our rebel without a cause now." Hughes looked into the distance, as did Roy. A signature red figure was bobbing in the distance- stumbling, actually.

Roy broke into a jog, as did Hughes and Alphonse, to meet the boy half way.

Ed was practically shambling, looking behind him frantically at times.

"Fullmetal."

Ed flinched at his tone, but the relief on his face when he saw the Colonel was visible, and his tense shoulders relaxed.

The boy was, quite frankly, a mess. He was drenched from the knees down in grime and filth, sweat and dirt on his face- his white gloves had been soiled, and his hair was starting to escape his braid.

"Colonel."

"You lied, Fullmetal. You lied to me to go off and do something stupid on your own."

"Yeah, I did."

Roy paused. Ed was actually admitting he did something wrong instead of arguing with him. This was new.

"I know it was stupid, and I shouldn't have done it, and I'm sorry, okay? I didn't realize how dumb I was being until it was almost too late."

"Brother, what do you mean it was almost too late!?" Alphonse asked, going ramrod straight in shock.

Roy raked his eyes over the boy, searching him for any sign of injury- but aside from his braced arm, which hung limp at his side, having been freed from his sling, there was nothing obvious.

"I need to talk to you and Hughes, Colonel." Ed admitted, eyes serious. "Alphonse- go upstairs to the office."

"Whatever you need to tell them, Ed, I can hear it too. I'm your brother." Al protested.

"And I'm the military dog!" Ed snapped. Al stepped back, surprised at the outburst. Ed's expression softened. "Sorry, Al. I didn't mean to snap at you like that. It's just... I need to talk to them about something, and it doesn't have anything to do with the stone or our search. Nothing to do with our goal. It's military business- I promised I'd be the one to deal with that, not you."

"I just wanted to help you, Ed. I always want to help."

"I know." Ed stepped forward, resting his automail hand on his brother's chest plate affectionately. "Trust me, Al, I know. I'm sorry I was such a jerk about going off on my own today. I've been so eager to get back to searching for the stone that I've been a little reckless lately. The most help you could be to my right now is to go upstairs and read over the research summary notes I left on my desk. I'll join you to talk about them soon."

"Okay." BONK! Al brought his closed gauntlet down on the top of Ed's head.

"Ow! What was that for, Al!?" Ed protested.

"I was knocking some sense into you. Maybe next time you'll use it instead of being an idiot." Al said simply, before he was turning and striding back into HQ.

Ed sighed, looking up at Roy and Hughes with a tired expression. "You guys gonna chew me out too?"

"Probably. But I'm going to hear what you have to say first. Start talking." Roy crossed his arms over his chest, scrutinizing Ed carefully.

Ed sighed. "So I've been a little stir crazy because I've been cooped up in Central. I want to keep looking for the stone, but you said I'm supposed to stay close by until Banks is apprehended, and I know the Drachmans have something out for me now too, and I figured I'd be able to get back on the move sooner if I went after Banks myself. I heard he was in the sewers from my informant..."

"You have informants now, do you?" Hughes asked, looking amused. "And just who would they be?"

"My sources are none of your business." Ed replied, brows furrowing together. "Anyways, I was in the sewers looking for him. And I ran into someone... I don;t know who it was, but it wasn't Banks. I got this feeling- I don't know what it was, but I got the same feeling right before I lost my leg, so I knew enough to trust it. I hid- whoever he was, he didn't see me. I managed to get to the exit. But... I found some things. Some bad things."

"Like what?" Hughes asked, though he knew it was a loaded question.

"I found a dead body." Ed had stopped walking, his voice barely above a whisper. "I wanted to bring her body back with me. For her family. But I didn't have time- I didn't know when he was coming back. I barely got away as it was, I was climbing out of the manhole when he grabbed my leg and tried to drag me back down..."

"There's more than just Banks in the sewers, Ed. There's rapists and murders and drug addicts down there too." Hughes said quietly.

"Yeah- no kidding. I'm never going back there."

"No, you're not. Because you're now on house arrest- you're to be with me or a member of the team at all times. You're not going out to lunch anymore- you can eat in the mess hall like the rest of us. You'll either be at HQ or at home. Nowhere else. Understood?"

"Yeah, I guess." Ed looked at the ground kicking a stray pebble.

Hughes and Roy exchanged glances. Ed wasn't fighting tooth an nail. The boy was probably really rattled form what he'd experienced- maybe the boy was growing up and realizing it was for his own good. Or maybe he just wasn't in the mood to fight anymore.

"Hughes. I brought back some evidence- it was the only thing I could carry."

Hughes held out his hand expectantly, and Ed fished around in his pocket for a moment before he was depositing it in Hughes palm.

It was only the fact that Hughes and Mustang had been to war and seen carnage far worse that kept both men from visibly reacting.

"Hit the showers and get back to the office. We'll talk more about this later." Roy ordered curtly.

Ed nodded, ducking into HQ and keeping his head down. He'd had enough adventure for one day.

What do you think of our new seiral killer? Also- if you want to leave an encouraging comment or constructive criticism, here’s the obligatory link ;) https://ko-fi.com/fluffykitty12 .

#fma #fma fanfiction #Fullmetal Alchemist #fullmetal alchimist brotherhood #Roy Mustang #edward elric #Parental Roy #parentalroy #whumph #whump #hurt/comfort #hurt #comfort #dogofthemilitary #injury

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fitzs-trained-monkey · 3 years

Text

Chapter Three: If We Have Each Other.

~When the world's not perfect When the world's not kind If we have each other then we'll both be fine. I will be your brother and I'll hold your hand. You should know I'll be there for you. I will always be there for you~

"Dude, we are in some serious jelly," I proclaimed as I paced around the small perimeter of the tree house.

"And that jam!" Isaac added from where he remained sitting at the table.

"Tight spot."

"Indeed!"

"Up a tree!" I supplied.

"Lost in the grass!" He offered. I swung around, shaking my finger at him.

"I'll tell ya what's grass, our- AAH FRACKLES!" I had stepped on a stray nail in one of the floorboards. Hobbling my way back into my chair, I thunked my head against the table.

"But look at the bright side." Isaac leaned back in his chair. "Seeing as how our grand-theft-hairbrush is going viral and all, there is still a chance that me flipping the camera off could become a meme!" He pointed out. Slowly, I raised my head to stare at him.

"Are you kidding me right now?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

"Consider it, Marty! All it took was five years being dead and now I'm finally fulfilling my life-long dream! If I'd known it was this easy, I would have killed myself a long time ago and spared me all that drama and emotional damage," Isaac smirked. I shook my head, my gaze drifted back to the Vader figure and snow globe sitting side-by-side on the shelf.

"Please don't talk like that Isaac," I sighed. Isaac's face fell.

"Sorry, I-I wasn't thinking," He apologized. I nodded.

"It's okay." It wasn't, but what more could be said when you didn't want to speak?

"Hey," Isaac spoke softly, ducking his head to get me to look at him, "Even if things go sour, I'm gonna be here for you. Just like I promised. Through thick and thin, remember?"

"Through thick and thin."

Smiling weakly, I repeated our life long mantra. I took a deep breath and focused back in on the problem.

"Alright, man. We gotta figure out a game plan. That video is gonna bring every hunter and their mom up here to ice our, or my, gluteus maximus. And if they know about the minimart then they know about the hospital. So, what's our play?"

"Well, I say you use your Sweet-Talkin' thing and talk any o'those alcoholic weirdos out of it," Isaac suggested. I shook my head.

"Isaac, you know how much I hate doing that."

Although it was a tempting idea, that wasn't something I wanted to mess with. If you start playing with the dark things, the dark things start playing with you. That wasn't a concept I liked, but Isaac would never understand that.

"I'm just saying it’s an option! And an easy one at that," Isaac pushed. I glared at him.

"I'm not doing that."

"It might come to it, Marty. I'm just saying as a plan C it-"

"The answer is no! Moving on." My tone killed and buried the subject. Isaac raised his hands in surrender.

"Fine. But misinformation is still our strongest tool. We should use it. Tell anybody who asks that it was all done on a computer," He conceded.

"Alright, that's plan A. What's plan B?" Isaac's face twisted in thought. I let him do any and all planning when it came to telling a lie because he was so much better at making it convincing than I was. Isaac was the king of spouting believable bull crap. In fact, he would have made and excellent demon. That guy could probably get an angel to sell its soul for a box of holy doughnuts. When the idea hit Isaac's brain, I could almost see a light bulb light up above his head. He leaned forward, exited.

"Okay, I got it. We make up some BS story about a gay black dude who got chopped up by the ferry or something and the hospital wouldn't help him because all the doctors were racist homophobes, and it was the 50's." He nodded at me very seriously. Like I said, Isaac was king.

"That's is the worst, most ridiculous and stupid story I have ever heard," I told him. Isaac's nodding grew more excited. "It's perfect. They'll buy every word. Just one thing though, what about the mini-mart?" I pointed out.

Isaac opened his mouth before closing it again. Then he opened it. Then he closed it. Open. Closed. Open. Closed. This happened several more times before he finally came up with something good.

"So, our gay black guy was also a nice hobo dude and after he died he started stealing crap to give to his hobo buddies." Isaac gave me a thumbs up. I nodded.

"Okay, sounds good, sounds good. How do we explain me?" I splayed my hands. Isaac huffed and rolled his eyes, leaning back again and tucking his hands behind his head.

"Well, that’s easy. The camera never even caught a glimpse of your face, so you're his anonymous theft buddy slash item distributer!" He explained. I grinned at my fantastic phantasmal co-conspirator.

"Excellent, and of course nobody knows who the thief is. Especially not, innocent little me!" I chuckled at his brilliance.

"Exactly!" Isaac smirked.

"It's perfect! Except one last thing. We're gonna need some eyes and ears in on this. Someone to alert us when someone fishy comes lurking about," I said. Isaac nodded seriously.

"You're right. But who can we trust around here?" He asked. I could feel the smile split across my face.

"I can think of only one man for this job. A man as trustworthy as he is slimy. A man scrubbed clean by his own filth. A man so wonderful, words do him no justice!" I declared dramatically. Isaac was confused for a moment before realization dawned. His face fell.

"Please tell me you're not thinking what I think you're thinking."

"I think I am." I grinned. Isaac just sighed.

"Marty, no."

"Marty, yes!"

- 45 minutes later-

"Yo! Danny, my man! How's life?" I called out. Dan-the-Dope-Man looked up from...whatever it was he was doing outside Copper Harbor's one and only pharmacy. The pharmacy which he, in fact, owned. Honestly, I didn't want to know exactly what he had been doing behind the pile of cardboard boxes that were stacked up against the moldy brick. I figured it was better if I didn't. Dan smiled a grin that was missing two teeth.

"Marty! My worst customer and only friend! Life's good!" He greeted me, kicking a few of the boxes over to hide whatever suspicious activity it was that he had been up to. He winked and walked over to me, pushing his absolutely disgusting blond hair out of his face. "But, you know, business is betta'," He concluded.

I could never tell how tall Dan was, in this form especially. See, Dan-the-Dope-Man was a shapeshifter, though of course, no one else in the town knew that. That's how he was the owner of the pharmacy as well as a drug dealer. His other form, Jonathan De’ Santos, was the tall, 40-year-old, honest-looking Hawaiian man that ran the pharmacy. In this form, however, Dan was a somewhere-in-the-upper-five-foot-range Caucasian guy from Brooklyn with a thing against bathing. He said that the grungy, sewer-rat look was better for his side business. I wasn't sure how much of that I bought, but then again, who's gonna buy drugs from the guy who's supposed to make sure you don't destroy yourself with them.

"I bet it is!" I said, taking a step back when he reached me because, like I said, the guy had a thing against hygiene.

"This is a terrible, terrible idea," Isaac muttered, leaning on the wall to my left. I couldn't reply to him because although Dan knew what I was he didn't know about Isaac. So all I could do was give him a rude gesture behind my back. He saw it and stuck his tongue out at me.

"What can I do fo' ya, Marty?" Dan always pronounced my name as 'Mawty' at least in this form as it had a Brooklyn accent.

"Well, o' Danny boy, I have some rather bad news to deliver," I continued, "There might be some hunters coming to town soon."

Dan frowned; his eyes narrowed at me as he folded his arms over his chest.

"Well, that ain't good. Whatt'id ya do, Marty?" He asked. Sometimes Dan could be like my older brother, even if he didn't realize it.

"Woah, woah, woah! Who said I did anything?!" I defended. Dan just raised an eyebrow.

"You're always showin' off and ya know it," He said simply.

"He's right, you know," Isaac interjected. I wished I could tell him to shut his eidolic cake hole. It wouldn't have made much of a difference if I could, as he would still have continued talking, but the principle remained the same. Isaac was annoying. He needed to shut his mouth now and again. But I couldn't say that right now because he was a flipping ghost and ghosts are invisible. Mostly.

Ignoring Isaac, I opened my mouth to try to argue with Dan but quickly closed it again when found that I couldn't, because he was absolutely right. Now, I couldn’t admit that to him because Isaac was right here and that would be saying that he was right about something, and that was a thing I would never hear the end of.

"In regards," I started again.

"You'd just say 'regardless'," Isaac chimed in. I had to physically bite my tongue to keep from screaming at him to shut up.

"Regardless," I corrected. Isaac chuckled. I really needed to get myself some iron gauntlets or something so I could give his apparitional arse an involuntary appendectomy. Or just an iron ring so I could punch him in the face.

"Regardless, it wasn't me. This time. It was some attention seeking moron with a computer. That combined with my little hospital trips and you get something fishy looking." I finally managed to finish my sentence without Isaac chiming in.

"Well then ya betta' keep ya head down, Marty. I don' wan' ya gettin hurt." A dark look crossed over Dan's usually upbeat face. "Or worse," He finished.

"I know Danny, which is why I need you to do something for me," I said. Isaac sighed and face palmed but I ignored it.

"What?" Dan asked.

"I need you to watch out for any newcomers asking weird questions. I've got a plan if any hunters get too close to us, I just need to know who and where they are," I told him.

See, the pharmacy, the mini-mart, the bar, and the barber shop all sat across from each other at a four way intersection. Thus, Dan would have an excellent view of any hunter's first two targets. The origin of the supernatural activity, in this case the mini-mart, and the bar. He would be the perfect spy. Dan looked at me strangely.

"Say, Marty, you ain't plannin' on gankin' any a' dose' suckas' now are ya?" He asked, caution evident in his voice. I sighed, shaking my head internally. This was just another downside of being what I was. Everybody thinks you're a murderer. Though I knew I was far from innocent, I had never killed anyone. At least, anyone who didn't deserve it.

"Come on, Danny. In all the time you've known me, have I ever, er, ganked anyone?" I asked him, spreading my hands as if to catch the obvious answer.

"Well, no. But people can change," Dan pointed out. I rolled my eyes.

"Dan, I'm not gonna kill anyone. There, ya happy?" I said, only mildly aggravated. Isaac decided it was time to speak up again.

"You may not. But I will. If it comes to that. I won't let anybody hurt you, Marty. Not again. Not when I can do something about it."

I knew he was saying this now so I wouldn't be able to argue with him. Then I would forget and if he did kill someone Isaac would say he'd said he would. I ground my teeth together and reminded myself that it wasn't going to come to that. I wouldn't let it.

Meanwhile, Dan thought about what I'd spoken aloud.

"Yeah okay, but if anybody comes sniffin' I'm skippin', kay?" He agreed. I nodded.

"Okay, take care of yourself, Danny."

"You too, Marty." I smiled at him and began to walk away. Isaac pushed himself off the wall and trudged behind me, complaining loudly.

"Make sure you take care of yourself too, Issac! I'd hate myself if anything happened to you, Isaac! I wouldn't be able to survive without you, Isaac! Thanks Marty, your friendship means everything to me!" He said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "Ugh! Why do I even bother?"

I smirked giving him the sign for 'I love you' behind my back.

"Aw shut up!"

But I knew he was smiling.

~So, I'm thankful for my sister even though sometimes we fight When high school wasn't easy, she's the reason I survived. I know she'd never leave me and I hate to see her cry. I just wanna tell her that I'm always by her side. I just wanna tell her that...

The worlds not perfect, but it’s not that bad. If we've got each other and that’s all we have I will be your brother and I'll hold your hand You should know I'll be there for you When the world's not perfect When the world's not kind If we have each other then we'll both be fine I will be your brother and I'll hold your hand You should know I'll be there for you.

I will always be there for you.~

Lyrics from: If We Have Each Other by Alec Benjamin

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chiseler · 3 years

Text

Maxwell Bodenheim

In Letters from Bohemia, Ben Hecht declares his friend Maxwell Bodenheim “more disliked, derided, denounced, beaten up, and kicked down more flights of stairs than any poet of whom I have heard or read.” In his lifetime Bodenheim was at least as well known for his drunk and dissolute behavior as for his writing. Today he’s mostly remembered for the tawdry way he died.

He grew up poor and Jewish in smalltown Mississippi. He was bright but viciously boorish, physically handsome yet repulsively slovenly, and argumentative to a fault, with a genius for the insult that could end any discussion, usually with his being punched in the mouth. As young men Bodenheim and Hecht were the pranksters of the Chicago Renaissance. According to Allen Churchill’s The Improper Bohemians, they once filled a hall for a literary debate on the topic “Resolved: That People Who Attend Literary Debates Are Imbeciles.”

Hecht strode center-stage to announce that he would take the affirmative. Then he stated, “The affirmative rests.” Bodenheim shambled forward, scrutinized his confident opponent, and said, “You win.”

Bodenheim – Bogie to his long-suffering friends – was twenty-two when he blew into Greenwich Village with other Chicago émigrés in 1915, and instantly made a name for himself in the neighborhood as a poet of promise. Reading his facile, gaudy verses now, it’s easy to think that it was the brute force of his sociopathic presence, rather than his poetry, that convinced the best poets in the Village at the time that he was one of them, potentially even the greatest of them:

You have a morning-glory face

Whose edges are sensitive to light

And curl in beneath the burden of a smile.

Remembered silence returns to the morning-glory

And lattices its curves

With shades of golden reverberations.

Then the morning-glory’s heart careens to loves

Whose scent beats on the sky-walls of your soul.

Tellingly, those not directly in his orbit seem not to have been fooled by the clever romance-novel sham of such verses – and neither, apparently, was Bodenheim himself, though he would go on roaring about his genius for decades. Hecht records that after entering 223 poetry contests and failing to win a single one, he took to signing his letters to editors “Maxwell Bodenheim, 224th ranking U.S.A. poet.”

He did have a real talent for scandal, easy enough to generate during Greenwich Village’s prolonged drunken orgy in the Prohibition years. His haughty, insulting demeanor, and his habit of trying to steal other men’s women right under their noses, got him regularly socked on the jaw and thrown out of bars, soirees and the fauxhemian revels at Webster Hall.

Turning from poetry to prose, through the 1920s he wrote a string of best-selling, sensational potboilers like Replenishing Jessica, about a free-loving bohemian, Georgie May, about a fallen prostitute, and Naked on Roller Skates, about a middle-aged “onetime hobo, circus-pegger, doughboy, sailor, anarchist, con man, all-time sensationalist and wanderer of the world” who leaves a small town with a much younger woman who “wanted to try everything at least once.” They sound better than they read. Hecht called them “hack work with flashes of tenderness, wit, and truth in them.” When the Society for the Suppression of Vice brought Bodenheim to trial in 1925 on an obscenity charge for Replenishing Jessica, his defense lawyer used a familiar tactic of demanding that the prosecutor read the entire text aloud to prove his case. Judge, jury and the reporters covering the trial dozed as the prosecutor droned on and on, and the unaroused jury voted Bodenheim not guilty. Mayor Jimmy Walker agreed with the verdict. “No girl was ever seduced by a book,” he quipped.

For a bohemian poet, commercial success and celebrity could bring on a full-blown personality crisis (as it would do Jackson Pollock, Jack Kerouac and Kurt Cobain). Bodenheim squandered the money he made from his novels on drink and gambling, as though he couldn’t throw it away fast enough. He preferred to demand loans and cadge drinks from everyone around him, like a true bohemian poet should. Meanwhile, his reputation in these years as a daring, risqué writer attracted a cloud of what we’d call groupies today, many of them the sort of teenagers from the outer boroughs and the hinterlands who flocked to the Village in the 1920s to throw off the shackles of mainstream morality and abandon themselves to the neighborhood’s non-stop pagan revels.

He took his pick. One was Gladys Loeb, 18, from the Bronx. In 1928, he ended a brief fling with her, adding that her poetry was doggerel. Her landlady soon found her with her head in the gas oven, barely clinging to life, and to Bodenheim’s portrait. A few weeks later he did the same thing to twenty-two-year-old Virginia Drew, who threw herself into the Hudson and succeeded where Gladys had failed. When police went to question Bodenheim about Drew’s suicide, he’d slipped off to stay with fellow Villager Harry Kemp in Provincetown. Gladys, having recovered from her own suicide attempt, followed him there – trailing her irate father, cops and reporters. Bodenheim talked his way out of their clutches, but not out of the newspapers all over the country, which had a field day with lurid tales about the Greenwich Village Lothario.

Then came Aimee Cortez, widely feted as “the Mayoress of Greenwich Village.” She earned the title by stripping naked at private parties and Webster Hall shindigs and gyrating a wildly erotic dance. According to Churchill, this display sometimes ended with her going off with some lucky male, but other times she’d stop abruptly, with a look of terror and confusion, and run off. In a later era she’d be prescribed a drug for this clearly disturbed behavior, but in the Village of the late 1920s, where “a hideous lust… pervaded the air” as Bodenheim’s My Life and Loves in Greenwich Village put it, she was merely celebrated as the queen of the modern-day bacchantes. Not long after Gladys and Virginia made the papers, Aimee was found with her head in her own oven, also clutching Bodenheim’s portrait. She was dead at nineteen.

Bodenheim was indirectly implicated in the sad end of another lover, a teenager from the outer boroughs with the improbable name Dorothy Dear. When she wasn’t with him in his MacDougal Street apartment, he wrote her love letters that she carried in her purse. One afternoon she was aboard a rush hour subway train heading from Times Square to the Village when it derailed at a faulty switch, killing sixteen passengers, including Dorothy. Bodenheim’s love letters were found scattered around the wreckage.

By the end of the 1920s Bodenheim was a wreck himself. From the 1930s until his death he was a fixture on the streets and in the bars of the Village, by turns annoying and sad-making, decaying before his old friends’ eyes into a stinking, toothless ghost, “tottering drunkenly to sleep on flophouse floors, shabby and gaunt as any Bowery bum,” as Hecht put it. Still, Hecht gallantly added, “Bogie hugged his undiminished riches – his poet’s vocabulary and his genius for winning arguments. He won nothing else.” He cranked out more cheap novels, drank the money, and stooped to hawking his poems to tourists in Washington Square for a quarter each. Wiseacres in the bars fed him gin and laughed at his drunken mumblings and rants, which sometimes yielded a famous line like “Greenwich Village is the Coney Island of the soul.”

Poets were the main entertainment at Max Gordon’s Village Vanguard in the mid-1930s. Gordon couldn’t afford to pay them; they performed for whatever change the patrons tossed at their feet. Poet Eli Siegel, later founder of the Aesthetic Realism movement, was the emcee in the early years, but the crowd really came to see three ghosts of the Village Past – Joe Gould, Harry Kemp and Maxwell Bodenheim. They hung out there because Gordon tolerated them and his patrons were easy marks for a few free drinks. In his memoir Live at the Village Gate, Gordon describes how Siegel would call Gould out of the crowd with the cry, “Ladies and gentlemen, the Harvard terrier and boulevardier, Joseph Ferdinand Gould!” Gould would shuffle up to the spotlight and do his schtick, while Bodenheim, tall and imperious, would stalk the shadows at the back, “point his finger, and shout, ‘Eli Siegel! I hate you, Eli Siegel. You rat!’” Gordon continues:

Eli would wait for Bodenheim to shape up so he could call on him to recite. But it was no use. Bodenheim, swirling crazily, eyes glazed, arms outstretched, would suddenly stop and point his finger at a frightened girl who had refused him a dance during intermission. “Rat!” he’d shout at her.

Despite the frightening deterioration of his physical and mental hygiene, Bodenheim still attracted a certain type of desperate woman, usually in decline herself. He met the last of them in 1951 when Ruth Fagan bought a poem from him with her last quarter. She was thirty-two, he was a fifty-nine-year-old derelict, and within a couple of weeks they were going around as Mr. and Mrs. Bodenheim, though it’s not clear they ever bothered to make it official. They decayed together for the next couple of years, chronically broke and drunk, descending from cheap rooming houses to flophouses to sleeping in hallways and doorways. She turned tricks when she could, and he beat her when he found out. In 1952 they made a horrific spectacle of themselves at a fancy reunion for surviving members of the original Chicago Renaissance group, where he panhandled the guests while she propositioned them.

If the Bodenheim of the early 1950s was a disgusting or amusing clown to the tourists, and an embarrassment and bother to his old friends, he was something of a martyred saint to the generation of bohemians who came to the Village after World War Two. In his headlong descent into the abyss, his lust for the extremes of degradation, his lust for lust itself, he was like a dark archangel of negative capability for them, representing the ultimate rejection of bourgeois virtue and mainstream values, even to the point of total self-destruction. He comes up several times in the published diaries of Judith Malina, co-founder of the Living Theatre, from this period. One night in 1951 she and her husband Julian Beck were in the San Remo, the dark and smoky bar at Bleecker and MacDougal Streets that Bodenheim often haunted:

A ragged drunk approaches our table. In terrible shape. Ash blond hair askew. He lurches forward, his hands resting on the table. Directly to Julian: “What’s your name?”

“My name is Julian Beck.”

“My name is Maxwell Bodenheim. I’m an idiotic poet.”

And he turns and moves off before we can speak.

The late Roy Metcalf, who was a young newspaper reporter in the early 1950s, also encountered Bodenheim in the San Remo. “Bodenheim had a great face, an alcohol-ravaged face,” he recalled. “Once a guy from uptown wanted to see Greenwich Village, so we went down to the San Remo. There was Bodenheim. He said, 'Bring him over, let’s buy him a drink.’ He expected Bodenheim to say something. Bodenheim by that time was so paralyzed by alcohol that all he could do was bray, 'Aaaaargh.’”

In 1953 Malina went into the Waldorf Cafeteria on Sixth Avenue, where artists hung out. The food was lousy, the lighting made people look so bad they nicknamed it the Waxworks, and the other patrons tended to be bums, drug addicts, tough guys and cops. The staff was not particularly welcoming to arty boho types. So naturally that’s where Bodenheim and Ruth went to celebrate his birthday. Malina writes that a friend stole a pumpkin pie from the counter as a present for Bodenheim. “A cop sees him, but is somehow content with my explanation that Maxwell Bodenheim is a great poet and that his birthday should be celebrated. The counterman is not so generous: 'I ain’t doin’ this for love.’ We all eat. Ruth Bodenheim curses the cafeteria. Some junkies come and tell horrible tales of hospitals and arrests. One taps his eye with a knife to show us that it’s glass. Ruth Bodenheim smiles in an aristocratic manner: 'I’d never have believed it wasn’t real,’ as if she were consoling the owner of false jewels.”

“Do we not idolize Maxwell Bodenheim although we are sometimes loath to talk to him and always ashamed of our condescension to him?” Malina wonders in another entry. “What we admire is Bodenheim’s refusal to resist. We fight all the time, resisting temptation. We admire those who don’t. Even if it’s suicidal.” And later: “Even self-contempt when fierce enough is magnificent. The virtue of the extreme is its extremity. Nature loves extremes as much as she loathes a vacuum.”

In 1953, Ruth took up with a violent, mentally unstable dishwasher named Harold Weinberg. One night in the winter of 1954 the three of them wound up in Weinberg’s room off the Bowery. Bodenheim roused himself from a drunken stupor to see Ruth and Weinberg having sex. He attacked Weinberg, who pulled out a .22 and shot him through the heart. Then Weinberg stabbed Ruth in the chest. The last photos of Bodenheim show him and Ruth lying dead in the squalid room.

“The hideous death of Bodenheim blankets the Village in a funereal spirit,” Malina wrote. “Who dares confess to the wrenching excitement of seeing a companion’s mauled corpse on the front page of every newspaper, and all of us knowing that the worst has again triumphed?”

Cops picked up Weinberg a few days later. At his trial he called his victims Commie rats and shouted that he “did the world a favor” by getting rid of them. He sang “The Star-Spangled Banner” as he was led out of the courtroom and off to Bellevue.

Today, Bodenheim is remembered more for this tabloid end than for any other achievement. Even his memoir was a dispiriting sham. My Life and Loves in Greenwich Village, published posthumously in 1954, was ghostwritten by a hack who, like everyone else in the Village, had bought him drinks to listen to his drunken ramblings. It’s a loose collection of vignettes, anecdotes, and racy gossip that was already antique when the book appeared. His old friend Hecht, who sent a check for $50 to help pay for Bodenheim’s cheapjack funeral, based his 1958 Off-Broadway play Winkelberg on him. (“There was never a man as irritating as Winkelberg.”) It ran for a month at the Renata Theatre on Bleecker Street, then sank into oblivion along with much of Bodenheim’s own writing.

by John Strausbaugh

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secret-engima · 4 years

Note

(Whispers) FFXV ten years younger AU; Noctis is like, 10yrs younger than C!Noct. How do you think that would work out???

HGFDSDHGFDS WAIT WAIT WAIT.

I’M CONFUSED.

Do you mean that Noctis is BORN ten years later and the plot still kicks off? Or that Noctis time-travels and ends up ten years younger. I’m gonna assume you mean the former so here we go. I’m sticking this under read more because I am going to RAMBLE LIKE CRAZY.

-The wedding is not a thing. Because Noctis is TEN.

-It is quite possible that he never got attacked by the Marilith, because by the time he was eight, Tenenbrae might have already been invaded.

-That or the invasion was delayed until Noctis got there, which means Luna would be 22 when she meets Noctis and Ravus is 26 so both are WAY more mature and comfortable in their own skin/morals by the time the invasion happens. Ravus does not beg Regis for help but instead helps with the evacuation, Luna is not dumb enough to stop and let the MTs take her, Sylva may or may not still die, but at least she doesn’t take a flame-thrower to the face (might still get stabbed by Glauca).

-Also Gladio is there because he’s like- 21 at this section of timeline and has taken his Crownsguard oaths. Ignis is there too.

-Imma go with my petty side and say that with two adult oracles, an adult Ravus (who was no doubt trained to be a deadly guardian of his sister), a Very Angry Gladio, and a semi-homicidal and reckless Ignis, Glauca has a Bad Day. Maybe dies, maybe not.

-Luna and Ravus escape with teeny Noct and Regis and take sanctuary in Lucis and denounce the Nifs for what they’ve done (Sylva too if she isn’t dead? Which she might be) and the world goes on something of a mass riot because the reason they didn’t attack the Oracles before was for fear of what the public would do if they found out.

-They’re called consequences you morons. You poisoned your cake now eat it.

-Luna and Nyx are a thing. Because Noctis is way too young to even consider it and Nyx finds this feisty Oracle woman who demands to be trained in the glaive with her brother to be Really Hot.

-Luna becomes the Glaive healer, using the Kingsglaive’s movements to disguise her own from the empire so she can still help people.

-If Glauca is still alive, he Glauca tries something as Titus and is murdered by one very angry Luna and one Super Angry Ravus who now has LC magic on top of whatever brand of magic male Nox Fleuret can use (yes I know oracle magic is a girl only thing but MAGIC, the boy has to get something even if its not healing based) because he joined the Kingsglaive.

-Ravus maybe becomes the new Captain of the Glaive? Either him, Nyx, Libertus, or Luche, who is not a traitor because I’ve grown to like him.

-Noctis loves his Shield and his Oracle Sister and Big Brother Ravus, Luna can feel destiny bearing down on them and often cries in private because Noctis is TEN.

-With the world rioting in fury over the truth of what happened in Tenebrae (which I HC in canon was never leaked because the two royals were being held hostage and the Tenebraen people either didn’t know or where being blackmailed into silence with the lives of their beloved royal children), the Nifs take some serious damage to their power base.

-Nifs offer a ceasefire with Lucis to begin “making reparations” with the Tenebrae line and Lucis two years after the invasion.

-Regis smells a rat.

-The rat looks like Ardyn.

-Still, he DOES have little choice but to accept, BUT with the Oracle’s healing and the world public on his side, Regis has way more leverage in this treaty, demands territories be returned and stuff (Galahd included).

-Nifs agree to the terms and come for the signing, Regis doesn’t send Noctis out of the city because as bad as his feelings are, Noctis is TEN and Ignis and Gladio are just young adults.

-The Nifs still pull their invasion nonsense because- well- NIFLHEIM. The Emperor is pretty power mad at this point and is like “if we crush Lucis the dissenters will shut up out of fear”.

-It’s pretty intense. Fire everywhere, traitors making trouble (NOT in the glaive, the Glaive were lured out of the city with leaked reports of a fleet to get them out of the way, it’s corrupt Nobles and disgruntled citizens that do this).

-Without Glauca there, Regis doesn’t die, but he DOES probably get injured and separated from his son, whom Ignis and Gladio take and flee the Citadel, trying to escape the chaos.

-In the chaos of trying to flee the city, they bump into a rookie Crownsguard who just took his oath like- a WEEK ago and he helps them evacuate the prince with his crack shot aiming skills and his knowledge of the city’s back streets (”I like to take photos of the alley cats okay????”)

-The four end up outside the city, separated from all backup, in a hotwired car that Ignis took (”Since when do YOU know how to hotwire a car?” “Since I thought the skill might come in handy now shut up and watch the road”).

-Insomnia doesn’t fall, but the Empire is freaking stubborn and starts a siege or something, so the bros can’t get back in, and since they encountered some Crownsguard traitors in the chaos so they don’t trust anyone outside their foursome and they’re being actively hunted by the Empire ...

-Who’s up for a road trip?

-Also Regis probably thinks Noctis is dead because Angst and is furious beyond words and Luna smuggles herself out of the city to go wake up the Astrals and ask what to do now only to find out from a really vague Gentiana that the Chosen Lives so she’s off doing that solo adventure playing Hot-Cold with the bros as they run around trying not to get spotted by Nifs and figuring out WHAT TO DO. HELP.

(and this is the point where I could either make this a horrible tragedy about child kings and sacrificial lambs but I hate sad endings so I won’t so have some crack-flavored Fluff instead)

-Cor smuggles himself out to join the search but Ignis is doing his job a little Too Well so nobody can find these bros as they run around and Noctis ends up befriending Titan through the sheer power of his Cute and then Ramuh comes down to see because the Chosen isn’t old enough to take on his destiny except oh look. BBY. and his Granddadly instincts are roused for the first time in Millenia and so now the group has a doting Grandpa showing up at random to give advice and Smite People.

-Noctis continues to befriend just about Anything That Breathes as Big Bro Gladio, Brother Ignis, and his new Brother Prompto cart him around the wilderness of Lucis trying to figure out how to get safely back in Insomnia when there is a siege happening (the Siege is keeping the Glaives busy btw, which is why they aren’t out in force looking for Noctis).

-At one point Noctis gets separated from his bros in like- Lestallum or something and is wandering around freaking out when he bumps into someone. “Sorry,” he sniffles, trying hard to be dignified but also is so close to crying. The figure turns and ... looks at him. He doesn’t like that look.

-Noctis, who has been repeatedly told that he is in danger and needs to keep a low profile, starts to duck away from the man, afraid of being spotted, but then the man is in front of him, blocking his way and there are no other people around and Noctis is shaking and terrified, magic sparking under his skin as the man REACHES for him with a leer- and Noctis sobs and his magic reaches out instinctively in search of help-someone-please-PLEASE-

-A sword goes through the man’s chest, pinning him to the wall and suddenly there is a stranger there. A stranger with crackling, snapping magic that coils around Noctis, old and deadly and wounded but not- not evil. The new stranger turns and looks at Noctis, something cold and confused in his gaze, and maybe Noctis should be terrified of this man with red hair and tacky clothes and what looks like black makeup that’s all runny like he’s gotten it wet or been crying, but all Noctis can think is that someone rescued him, someone is HERE and that man has magic just like Noctis so he must be safe and-

-Ardyn feels like the wind has been knocked out of him less because of a scrawny ten year old cannoning into his waist in a desperate sobbing hug and more because- because-

-He hadn’t expected the Chosen to be a child.

-He had known, conceptually, that Regis’s son was very young but that- that was different from seeing it. From feeling young, immature magic latch onto his in desperation and needy trust and looking down at this tiny child who was already sobbing his heart out into the waistcoat of a MONSTER.

-The Chosen King is a child.

-And Ardyn can already feel two Covenants burning under the boy’s skin.

-The Astrals mean to make a CHILD their sacrifice? They will not even wait until he is grown?

-And Ardyn is not ... sane really, but no matter what he tells himself he still has standards and underneath the screaming of the scourge the old Healer King, the older brother who did more to raise his sibling than their father ever did, rears its head and snarls NO.

-Gladio, Ignis, and Prompto, who are all losing their minds over getting separated from Noctis, find him sniffling but content on the hip of a strange hobo-like man who smiles false smiles and says nothing with a great deal of words and somehow inserts himself into their group and never leaves. Noctis doesn’t WANT him to leave and the three are terribly astonished when Noctis blurts out that this poor man is sick and has magic like Noctis, but his sickness makes him tired and cranky.

-Ardyn is trying not to laugh to the point of tears over such a SIMPLE explanation of the Starscourge.

-Anyway to make an already stupid long ramble shorter, Noctis cutes his way to victory by melting the heart of the Accursed into going “Mine. My Nephew Now.” The Empire overreaches and gets it’s back broken by mass riots and Lucis’s defense and Altissia and Tenebrae both rising up in a bid for freedom, Ardyn gets medical help from a Very Confused Luna and they end up curing the Starscourge through the Power of Cute and the Power of Spite (aka Noctis and Ardyn) and then come back to Insomnia with a defected chancellor in tow who is now fully cured and mostly sane again and utterly devoted to his cute nephew.

-Regis is too grateful at finding his son alive and well despite prophecy to really care about the ex-Chancellor happily passing Noctis candy under Ignis’s exasperated eye every time Noctis looks the slightest bit Cuter than Normal.

#SE asks #oliverslewty asks #And A Child Shall Lead Them verse #Secret Engima Rambles

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imagine-loki · 4 years

Text

Ragnarok

TITLE: Ragnarok CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 6: Is This the Real Life?

AUTHOR: traveling-classicist

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine you take care Odin when he was homeless on Midgard (based on the deleted scene from Ragnarok). You take him in and listen his crazy stories about Asgard and Thor thinking he’s just some crazy hobo who needs help. Then one day, Thor and Loki break into your apartment looking for their father. Hela returns in your living room and insanity ensues. RATING: This chapter is M for triggering content

AO3 Link: Here NOTES/WARNINGS:

MENTIONS OF PAST RAPE, MENTIONS OF PAST DRUG ABUSE, MENTIONS OF PAST PSYCHOTIC EPISODES, PTSD AND PTSD RELATED FLASHBACKS

We are getting into Theo’s backstory a little in this chapter and she has been through it, ya’ll. From a literary standpoint, I’m playing with flashbacks (I’ve never written proper flashbacks before) and I would love some CC if you’re open to giving some.

Also, sorry for the wait between chaps for this and my other fic (Loki’s Daughter). I’m having some medical problems (not COVID-19 related, thank goodness) that I’ve been trying to sort out so, even though I’m not working, I haven’t had a ton of time to dedicate to writing.

Anywho, enough of me. Enjoy.

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Theo staggered through the streets of Asgard, half-naked and covered in blood. She had no idea where she was. She could not see any street signs. She couldn’t find a taxi anywhere nor a subway station, not even a bus. All she could see in front of her were horses and carts. She must be near Central Park, she thought. That’s where all the tourists took those weird horse and carriage rides.

She really hated New York sometimes. There were cars and taxis everywhere until you needed one. The people parted around her as she limped through the street. Her foot hurt but she didn’t know why. She looked down. A little bit of blood squished up from between her toes with each step. She wasn’t sure why she didn’t have shoes on, she was quite sure she put some on this morning.

She looked up at the giant skyscrapers around her but did not recognize any of them. To her surprise, these buildings shown with a golden hue, unlike anything she had ever seen. They brought a new definition to a skyscraper, as they seemed to stretch upwards for miles. She squinted, covering her eyes to block the glare of brilliant light all around her. As she looked harder, she thought, for a split second, she could see flying vehicles darting about above some of the shorter buildings. She shook her head and looked again but they were still there zipping by one another. Thousands of them formed ribbons of traffic that wove in and out of the golden buildings around her.

Her eyes widened as she realized what they were. New York was under attack again. It was the Chitauri. It was Loki. He was back to take over Earth again.

It hadn’t been a dream. She had woken in a frenzy, covered in a cold sweat. Another nightmare, this time about Loki opening a portal to his army in her living room, but when she woke, she was not in her bed in her apartment. Nurses were surrounding her, holding cloths to her nose and mouth, restraining her to the bed. A man with a spear guarded the door. The sight of him sent Theo into a rage, she attacked the evil nurses with their drugs and ran away, not caring about the mess she made.

Now, she watched in terror as Asgardian skiffs flew about high above her head on their daily commutes across the city. She turned and ran, looking for a place to hide, running into an open marketplace. Vendors shouted prices and bids, selling goods and livestock from around the Realms. A man stepped in front of her, eager to sell her a decorative ceramic vase. She stepped one way but he stepped in front of her, blocking her path, speaking to her in a language she did not know.

“What are you doing, you idiot? We’re under attack! Look!” she pointed at the sky, briefly revealing her breasts beneath the tattered, silken robes that draped over her shoulders. The man stared at her bare chest. She gasped, following his gaze, and smacked him, sending him careening through his shop stall. Broken ceramics and pots scattered across the pavement.

Theo looked down at her hand in shock. It was red and reverberated with the sting of the slap. The slap was only meant to remind him where her eyes were. Not to kill him. She trembled as she turned to see the man climbing out of his ruined stall. He pointed and yelled at her. She took off, relieved he was alive, but terrified of what might come next. She made for some crowded streets nearby. She pushed people out of the way as she went. They flew against the walls with her shoves.

“Excuse me! I’m sorry! Make way! I don’t know what’s happening to me! I’m not normally this strong!” she cried as she ran down the street, sending people flying through the air, overturning tables, chairs, and children.

She came out on another square. She doubled over, panting, putting her hands on her knees. She hated running. She thought it was the worst way someone could voluntarily abuse their body. She straightened up and blinked away tears. She tried to cover herself with what was left of the clothes she was wearing. She vaguely remembered trying to tear them off to see what the evil nurses had done to her.

When she felt she was sufficiently covered, she looked around, trying to get her bearings. She stood in a large, open square. People bustled about, laughing and talking. Some stopped to stare at her, pointing at her absurd choice of clothing. She turned around and gasped, nearly wetting herself at the sit in front of her: a gigantic, golden statue of Loki, the Asgardian terrorist that attacked New York, towered over the square. It stood as tall as the Empire State Building. His curved horns cast terrifying shadows on the ground around her. She shrieked.

People turned to look at her, staring at the half-naked girl, screaming in the newly dedicated garden square. Theo fled. A million thoughts and scenarios began rushing through her mind, none of them probable or even plausible. As she turned several corners down different streets and alleys, the best probable solution she could come to was that she had been in a coma for six years after Loki had conquered earth, enslaving humanity, and she had just woken up with superpowers.

Tripping over her own feet, she stumbled and fell. Before she could hit the ground, someone caught her. A massive, green hand gently lifted her back onto her feet. Her vision blurred. Her heart raced, skipping every other beat. She jumped and staggered back, looking up to see the Incredible Hulk standing in front of her. He cocked his head to one side and looked down at her.

“No, no,” she said, stepping back. “No. This can’t be real. It’s a dream. I have to wake up.” She shook her head wildly, trying to force herself to wake up but it only made her dizzy. The pain began to creep into her chest. Her throat felt like it was closing; she couldn’t get air.

“No dream,” the Hulk said, stepping towards her. She screamed and ran from him. “Wait, Naked Girl!” he shouted, chasing after her.

Theo ran back through the alleys and onto the streets, pushing through the crowd, throwing people out of the way. They flew to the sides, hitting the walls of the buildings and the pavement. Pounding footsteps chased after her. The vibrations shook the ground beneath her feet as she ran. She darted down an alleyway and came out on another street.

Suddenly, two crows divebombed her, pecking her head and pulling her hair and tattered clothes. They cawed at her and scratched her bare skin with their claws. Theo put her hands over her head and swatted at them, but they wouldn’t leave her alone.

“No, you rats! Go away! I don’t have anything!” she cried.

The people in the streets watched the poor, half-naked girl struggle as the birds attacked her. She swatted at one bird and caught it with the back of her hand. It flew backwards and hit the wall of a building, flopping pathetically to the ground. She tried to hit the other one, but the green giant rounded the corner and bounded towards her, arms outstretched.

“Naked Girl, come here. Hulk help!” he shouted but it only frightened her more.

He grabbed at her and the crows but missed, tearing away a piece of the silken bandage that covered Theo’s midriff. Stunned, Theo whipped around and backhanded the Hulk across the face. He staggered and fell to his hands and knees, still holding the torn cloth in his hand. He felt the spot on his face where she hit him and looked up at her. Anger boiled up from deep inside him as he slowly rose to his feet.

Theo cowered beneath him, unable to fathom how she had knocked the Incredible Hulk halfway to the ground. Flashes of memory darted before her eyes.

An explosion, rubble flying into the air. A Chitauri vehicle flew overhead, closely chased by Iron Man. Bullets zipping past her head. The Hulk lifting a car and throwing it towards her.

She blinked the memories away. Staggering backwards, reeling from her first flashback in months, she put up her hand in defense, covering herself with her other arm. The Hulk still carried the cloth in his clenched fist. He stomped towards her, ready to smash her into the pavement. A lump caught in Theo’s throat. She was frozen to the spot. A circle of onlookers was beginning to form around them.

“Someone call the guards!” a person shouted.

“Get out of there, girl!” another cried.

“What is that thing?”

“It’s a monster!”

“Stay back!”

Hulk was jolted away from Theo by the cries of the people around them. He snorted at them and let out a roar that shook the buildings nearest them. The people screamed and ran away in terror like scurrying mice from a barn cat. Satisfied that he had taken care of the mean people that called him a monster, he turned back to the mean, naked girl who had hit him but she had vanished.

Theo ran as fast as she could, tearing up through the streets. She had never run faster in her life. Tripping occasionally on her own bare feet or an uneven stone slate, she tried desperately to find a place to hide from her pursuer. Her feet began to hurt. The pain was beginning to seep back through her body, radiating from that spot on her chest.

Despite the pain, she found she was running for much longer than she ever had before; a new strength in her legs and lungs. Her strides were long and quick. Her head was on a constant swivel, looking for a place to hide. She ran across another open square and back into crowded narrow streets. Descending steps and turning corners, she thought the more turns and twists she could take, the faster she could lose the Hulk behind her.

She stopped. The world came to a screeching halt that sent her tumbling face-first into the cobbles. She was breathing hard from all the running. She made a mental note to never do it again. She propped herself up on one hand, covering herself with the other. A quick look around confirmed she was alone in the alleyway between two tall buildings.

There was no sign of the Hulk. She looked up at the small patch of sky above, between the towers. The little flying vehicles she had seen before were nowhere to be seen now. She listened carefully. There were no screams or sounds of explosions. No bullets or blaster sounds. No flying whales or spangled superheroes. All she could see and hear were the sounds of a bustling city. In the distance, she could hear the familiar din of voices speaking languages she did not know, the sound of foot traffic, vendors selling goods, the sounds of machines – though they sounded a bit strange to her.

“You’ve lost your mind,” she told herself. “Loki didn’t take over Manhattan or Earth, you moron. It wasn’t real. None of it was real! This is just a dream. You’re asleep!”

She pinched herself as hard as she could. The pain burned on her arm. Maybe it wasn’t a dream. Maybe it was real. Maybe she was hallucinating again; psychotic again. She made a sharp movement with her neck, turning her head as if she had been slapped by an invisible hand. She wrapped her arms around herself, as she came to the realization she had had another lapse in public.

“You didn’t see the Chitauri. You… You just saw… birds… or drones…? or one of Stark’s stupid demonstrations. Yeah, that’s probably it.” She nodded as she spoke to herself.

“I don’t know what the Hell that statue was. Some art demo maybe? Some sick artist,” she reasoned. She rubbed her arms hard, trying to force the goosebumps that had risen on her skin away.

“And that wasn’t the real Hulk. It was just one of those buskers from Times Square… the ones that dress up like the Avengers and take pictures with the tourists… You… You just freaked out and… and… oh, no… you hit someone…” she said, putting her face in her hands. “No, no, no! You idiot! You hit tons of people!” she suddenly remembered the shopkeeper and all the people in the streets.

“No, no. We gotta go home. You gotta take your meds and call your doctor. No one is gonna believe you. We can’t go back to jail. No, no, not again.” Her voice quivered with fear at the thought of the police and a jail cell.

Her whole body began to tremble. She stood. Her knees knocked together. Afraid to walk towards the sounds of the city, she turned to walk down the steps of the alleyway. She had no idea where she was. Nothing looked familiar. She was not even sure if this was Manhattan anymore. Holding onto the wall for stability, she slowly made her way down the large steps, hoping it would lead out to a quieter area that had not seen her outburst.

The steps ended, flattening out into a street. There were a few doorways on either side of the street, leading to dark shop entrances or bars or restaurants. She could smell food wafting down the street as she walked. She looked up. The buildings soared above her, taller than they ever were before. It made her dizzy. Looking back down at her bloody feet, she limped on, slowly. She could hear voices coming from somewhere further down the street. They were laughing and talking. Theo felt a sense of a calm wash over her. Perhaps she could ask someone for help.

She readjusted, making sure she was well covered and decent. She did not like the fact that her little, pudgy tummy was showing nor that her thighs were visible, save for her pineapple panties and the scraps of whatever silken robes she wore, nonetheless that both breasts were free if she did not keep them covered with her arm. As she fought with herself over what part of her body was most important to cover, her eyes fell heavy on the tattered remains of the garments she wore. Memories began to flash in front of her eyes again.

A dark alley. She lay on the ground in a sobbing heap. Her dealer stood over her, zipping up his pants. Her clothes were ripped and torn. He tossed a dirty needle and a packet on the ground in front of her and laughed.

The laughter rang in her ears. She stumbled backwards, slamming into a wall as if she had been hit. Tears had filled her eyes. She wanted to go home. She needed her medicine. She needed to text her therapist. She needed to meditate. She needed to hug a puppy.

“Hello there, lass, are you alright?”

A large man walked towards her. She jumped and covered her breasts with her hands. She turned and faced him, gasping a little as tears still ran down her cheeks. He was bald with a great black beard and fat face with rosy cheeks. He wore very strange clothing. Brown robes with silver patterning. His accent was unknown to Theo but Manhattan was full of accents.

“Um, I—I don’t know where I am, sir. Can you help me? I’m looking for 81st Street. 81st and—”

“81st Street? Ha! What have you been drinking tonight, lovely?”

Theo took a step to the side, pressing up against the wall. She could smell the alcohol on his breath. “Oh, w—well, if you don’t know, that’s fine. I’ll just ask someone else. Thanks anyways.” She started to walk around him.

“Hold on, hold on,” he said, taking a step in front of her. “Why don’t you come inside and have a drink with me and my friends? You can ask them where this, uh, 81st Street is. See if they know.”

“Oh no, that’s alright. I, um, I really need to get home.” Her heart was racing. The man was looming over her now.

“Your accent’s a bit funny. I don’t know what tiny Realm you’re from, pretty lassie, but it’s rude to refuse an invitation to drink with an Asgardian, especially when you’re naked,” he laughed.

He put his hand on her shoulder and slammed her back against the wall, pushing her up against it with his body. She wanted to scream but her voice caught in her throat. Instead, her hand left flew up from her side and punched the man, full force, under his chin. He flew backwards, hitting the other wall so hard it left a massive hole where his head hit. Theo was gasping for breath, memories of her self defense classes flashing through her mind.

“What’s going on out here?” a man shouted, running out of a doorway beside Theo.

“He—He—He assaulted me!” she stammered. “I—I hit him to get him off of me but I didn’t mean to do that. I—” she trailed off, fearing she was admitting too much guilt over a man that clearly wanted to do her harm.

The second man ran to the first, checking to see if he was alive. More men started to walk out of the door, carrying giant mugs of yellow drink in their hands. A sickening feeling washed over Theo. These were the man’s friends he had mentioned. If they were anything like him, things did not bode well for Theo.

The fat man sat up with help from his friend. Blood ran from his lips into his beard. He spat out several bits of broken teeth onto the pavement and looked up at Theo. She turned to run but his ‘friends’ blocked her way. Five men encircled them. These men were practically giants, there was no way she would be able to fight them off. Her hand was still throbbing with the pain of hitting just one of them.

“You all can have what’s left of her,” the big man huffed as he stood. He rushed at her. Theo screamed, throwing a fist blindly. She stumbled backwards, slipping on a loose cobblestone. The man caught her arm and twisted it painfully behind her back. Her face was suddenly pressed up against the cold stone of the wall. She shoved back with all her might, sending them both careening backwards. Dizzied by the amount of strength she was displaying, she turned to see the other men closing in on her.

There was a sudden flash of green. Three men disappeared in the flash, leaving behind only guttural, blood-curdling screams and a single boot that had fallen off an unsuspecting foot. Silence fell over the fight. Theo took her chance to run but the big man caught her with the back of his hand, splaying her onto the ground. Stars flew before her eyes. The right side of her face went numb. She tasted blood but she was not sure where from. She had never been hit so hard before. She swayed deliriously on the ground for a moment before she heard another shriek from a man, followed by a gust of wind.

“What is this?” the fat man shouted. Now, only two of them remained.

Theo tried to get up but her head still spun from the blow. She lowered herself back down. As her elbow hit the pavement, the ground shook underneath her. She cried out, thinking for a moment something must have exploded or even that she had caused the ground to quake. She covered her head with her hands. Peeking out from beneath them, the Hulk towered over her.

Hulk glared at the two men hurting the naked girl. The took a few cautionary steps backwardss. He looked down at the naked girl, she was crying and bleeding. He gently stepped over her. She shrunk to the ground beneath him, cowering, trying to make herself as small as possible surrounded by the massive men. One man turned and tried to scamper away. Hulk took a single step forward and caught him in his fist. The man wriggled and writhed, squealing with fear. Hulk gave him a squeeze, turning his gaze to the big man. The man in his fist popped, writhing no more. The naked girl let out a yelp and hid her face. Tossing his body aside, Hulk turned his full attention to the big man.

Theo never knew what happened to that man. She didn’t want to. All she heard was a yelp, a rip of fabric, and what she feared was skin and bone, before she slammed her hands against her ears. Pulling herself to her feet, her eyes clamped shut, she ran in the opposite direction of whatever horrors the Hulk was performing to the big man’s corpse. After running some distance, she found the courage to open her eyes.

She came out of the dark alleys onto a sunny, bright street. The light blinded her for a moment, glaring off the golden buildings. She put her hand over her eyes. She heard caws overhead and looked up into the sun. For a brief moment, she saw the silhouettes of the two dive-bombing crows before she doubled over, baring her back to them so they did not peck at her face. They screeched and cawed at her, scratching her just as before. She looked up from the chaos to see three men with spears running towards her, shouting at her. In her panic, she swatted hard at the birds, making contact again with at least one of the feathery demons before fleeing back down the alleyway she had come.

She saw another alley to turn down and took a sharp left, then another, then a right. The network of alleys closes, and stairs were her only escape. She turned down a dark crevice between two buildings that dead-ended. Slumping down against the wall, she panted and cried. She sat there, rocking herself, trying to calm down. She pulled on her hair and dug her nails into her skin, chewing her lips and the insides of her cheeks. Her breath came in shuddering gasps. A sudden pain racked her body. She grabbed at its epicenter: a spot on her chest. She looked down. She could see a gaping wound down the middle of her chest in the dim light of the alley. Another flashback hit her like a brick wall.

A figure in golden armor and curved horns stood at the helm of a fast-approaching Chitauri vehicle. Explosions billowed up on either side of the street. She had nowhere to go. Frozen to the spot in the middle of the street, she saw a flash of blue light and felt a searing pain in her chest.

“No, Naked Girl, no cry.”

Theo screamed. A giant hand covered her face, muffling her, smothering her. She flailed and clawed at the hand but it was no use.

“Shhhh, guards hear you,” Hulk said in his lowest possible voice. He peered around the corner. Heavy metal boots echoed on the pavement above them as the guards searched helplessly for the Midgardian girl in the endless maze of alleyways.

“I…Can’t…Breathe…” Theo squeaked, muffled beneath the Hulk’s giant paw.

“Oh, sorry, Naked Girl,” he said, letting go of her. “No scream.”

She gasped, coughing as fresh air filled her lungs. She took in a deep breath to scream again but Hulk made a move to cover her face. She froze, the scream caught in her windpipe. She quickly covered her mouth with her own hands. Hulk stared at her, sitting still with his hand raised, ready to smother her if she made more noise. Theo swallowed her scream and slowly tried to back away from Hulk.

“Naked Girl hurt,” Hulk said, pointing at Theo. She wasn’t quite sure what part of her he was referring to. She hurt all over: her face, her chest, her feet. “Hulk help.”

Theo glanced around. She shook her head. “Y-You’ve done enough. Th-Thank you,” she stammered, nodding at him.

He shook his head. “No, Hulk know safe place. Hulk take Naked Girl.”

“No! Hulk will not take Naked Gi-, what am I saying? I’m not going with you.”

“Yes.”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“NO! And that’s final,” she said, standing, trying to cover herself again. “I’m done with men telling me what to do.”

Hulk stood, making Theo scrunch up against the wall. “But Hulk want to help.”

“Please, just go away,” Theo cried, hugging the wall.

Hulk looked at the ground. He did not like seeing the Naked Girl cry. She slipped back down to her knees, collapsing onto the ground as she cried. Then, he remembered something. Digging in the pocket of his trousers, he pulled out the ripped piece of fabric he had torn from her bandages earlier. He felt its smoothness in his hands and then offered it to her.

Theo looked up at him and then at the cloth in his hand. She sniffled and gingerly took it from him. A smile spread across his face. She sat there a moment with the cloth in her hand.

“Oh,” Hulk said. “Hulk sorry.” He turned around to face the other way, putting his back to her.

Theo glanced towards the open alleyway; her only escape route now that his back was turned. Pushing herself up onto one knee, she tried to stand again but wobbled uncontrollably, still reeling from the blow she had received. She plopped back down onto her butt and sighed. There was no way she would be able to run anymore. Her legs felt like jelly and her feet were bleeding. She could taste blood in her mouth and her chest throbbed with an intense percussive pain. She gave in and took the cloth, tying it around her chest for some proper coverage at last.

“You—you can turn around now,” she said.

Hulk turned and saw she was decent. He grunted. “Good. Now, we go.”

“Go where? Where’s this safe place?”

“Outside city! Hulk knows way. Come on.” He stood and walked out into the adjacent alley.

Theo leapt up, sending her head spinning like a top. “Wait! Wait! We can’t go out there!” she said, trying to keep her voice down so he wouldn’t smother her again. She wobbled on her spaghetti legs, leaning on Hulk’s massive arm for balance. “Those cops are after me.”

“You? Ha! No cops. Guards,” he said slowly to her so she would understand. “Follow Hulk.”

Theo shook her head in despair. He turned down the alleyway and beckoned her to follow. She looked back towards the sound of the pounding metal boots. This dream kept sucking her back in; she did not know what reality to trust.

“Naked Girl coming?” Hulk asked as he walked.

Theo sighed, looking down at the ground. She didn’t have much of a choice. If she was stuck in this dream and Hulk was going to take her somewhere safe, maybe she would wake up there, she figured. She followed after him, down the alley steps.

“My name is Theo, by the way,” she said, sheepishly.

He grunted at her. She looked around awkwardly, the silence biting into her. As they descended the steps, they descended further into darkness. Despite it being broad daylight above, their position at the base and in between the massive buildings that towered all around them, shadowed the sun and left them in a state of semi-permanent twilight. Theo stayed close to Hulk, keeping her eyes on every dark door they passed, in case some other greasy, greedy men would step out to harass them.

Suddenly, Hulk stopped. Theo bumped into him. She quickly jumped back.

“I—I’m sorry,” she said.

He grunted again and knelt down, inspecting the ground. Theo glanced about, warier of the dark street they were on than whatever he was looking at. She looked up at the blue sky far, far above them. It seemed unfathomably far away. Looking straight up the buildings made her dizzy. She started to sway but Hulk steadied her. She flinched at his touch, taking a step to the side.

“Wh—What are you doing?” she asked, quietly.

He looked down at the ground again and brushed off a dirty manhole cover. It was massive; nearly ten feet in diameter. As Hulk rubbed away some of the grime, Theo could make out intricate knotwork in the metalwork of the cover. She had never seen anything like it. Not that she paid a whole lot of attention to the manhole covers of Manhattan but this one was simply huge. She thought she had seen knotwork like it before. Perhaps it was Celtic? No, she thought, it was more familiar.

A book on her coffee table. Odin sipped his coffee. She sat down beside him and picked it up. Another Norse mythology book. Turning the page, it showed an image of an old manuscript with intricate knotwork. A triquetra, an ornate knotwork border around the page, and an intricately designed world tree made of knots.

Odin! She had forgotten all about Odin. Everything was fuzzy. She tried to remember back further but it was like trying to catch fish with her hands in murky water. She put her hands on her head and closed her eyes but nothing came to her. She groaned. Why couldn’t she have flashbacks to the things she wanted to remember?

Hulk stood, putting his fingers into a few holes on one edge of the cover and lifting it with terrifying ease. He pushed it aside and gestured for Theo to go down the hole beneath. She peered down into the blackness below. She thought it was dark in the alleyway but no light reached the bottom of the sewer drain. She looked up, glaring at the wall, trying to think of what correlations her subconscious was trying to point out about her life by having her literally end up in the gutter in her dreams.

“We’re going down a stinky, dirty sewer? That’s your safe place?” she asked Hulk, folding her arms.

“Not stinky! Little dirty,” he admitted. “But safe! No guards.”

“Ugh, well, I guess it doesn’t matter if this is just a dream,” she said, as she reluctantly climbed down. “I think.”

#Loki #Lover #God of Mischief #Others #Submitted fic #submission #traveling-classicist #chapter 6 #ragnarok

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doctorslippery · 4 years

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Something bad is happening in Kansas. A strange meteor fell from the sky and the government has sent you to sort it out. A yellow brick highway leads between cornfields towards a distant green glow on the horizon.

This is a depth mechanic. Take a step into the zone by rolling d6 on each table and adding 2 for each step you've already taken. Keep going until you destroy the Super-Wizard. Or you could put it on a grid and treat it as a squarecrawl, it's up to you.

LANDMARK

Big white cross on the top of a hill. Crows circling overhead. Grants a blessing to anyone who's willing to kneel before it and commit their soul to Jesus Christ.

Gas station. Wizened old man with shotgun behind the counter. He'll sell you snacks and potions if you can convince him you're not a thief or a jayhawker.

Old-fashioned wooden grain elevator. The inside smells of sweet corn. Mutilated, rat-chewed bodies hang by necks from rafters. SLAVER written on walls in blood.

Row of oil derricks. Guarded by a creaky, rust-riddled mechanical man. The slightest disturbance to the pumps will cause an explosive gusher that spews crude oil everywhere.

Abandoned farmhouse. Haunted by spooky ghosts. In barn, covered by tarpaulin, strange machine of coiled glass that can project people into the Phantom Zone.

Corn maze. Grows new walls to trap sinners. Scarecrow men lurk in the corn. Farm princess trapped in the longhorn minotaur's central lair - only her kiss can slay the beast.

Wagon train. Pilgrims terrified of "Injuns", have circled their wagons to protect against surprise attack. On their way to ask the Super-Wizard to help them get to Oregon.

Cheap motel. Clan of desperate bank robbers hiding out in room one through four. Innocent travelling salesman in room five. Pimpled teen on counter reading comic books.

Revival meeting. Big white tent. Preacher baptising converts in a tin tub and inducting them into the Army of Gilead. Wants you to join and won't take no for an answer.

Baseball field. Overgrown. Mechanical men play ball, their rusty joints squeaking, in front of the empty stands. Score a home run off the batter and he'll spit out a prize.

Railway station. Glum hobos dwell in forgotton freight train, its wheels rusted to the track. Manic mechanical station-master insists on taking your ticket.

Sculpture garden. Grotesque scrap-metal caricatures of celebrities and politicians. Owner has declared himself the Kansas antipope and wears a tinfoil mitre.

Applebee's. In every way a fully-functioning, completely regular Applebee's. No trick whatsoever. Try the shrimp 'n' parmesan sirloin or the double-glazed baby-back ribs.

Bible museum. Sleepy tame dinosaurs inhabit a life-size model of the Temple of Solomon. Friendly pastor explains how God created them to show that evolution is a lie.

Saloon bar. Piano stops as you walk in. Whiskey-sodden desperadoes slump against the bar. Football plays on TV in the corner. High-stakes poker game going on upstairs.

Wal-Mart. Libertarian management policies have led to a civil war raging between the aisles, with every department ruthlessly competing for your business.

Meatpacking plant. Blood-smeared mechanical men herd screaming cows across the factory floor, slaughter them and extract their organs for use in Super-Wizardry.

Clockwork factory. Mechanical men labouring tirelessly to produce more of their own. Interlopers have their brains chopped out and used in grotesque experiments.

The Perfect City of the Super-Wizard. Lobotomised suburbanites with gleaming, drool-slick smiles shuffle between rows of identical green houses, watched by mechanical police.

The Atomic Fortress of the Super-Wizard. Citadel of green crystal, home to a legion of mechanical men. Grew from a seed in a crashed alien spaceship.

ENCOUNTER

Looming grey tornado, slowly rolling towards you. Cows and houses orbiting around it. Psychic baby with giant brain levitating serenely in the eye.

Jayhawkers from the Army of Gilead. Men in red trousers and floppy hats, armed with rifles and broadswords, hunting down pagans and industralists in the name of Free Kansas.

Satanist serial killer with mask made of human skin and swastikas carved down his arms, armed with an iron sickle, preparing to chop you up. Surprisingly stealthy for such a big guy.

Phalanx of mechanical men, armed with axes, out looking for human brains to extract and return to the Atomic Fortress so the Super-Wizard can make more of them.

Cynical teen genius with a laser gun. Perfectly bald. Cannot be restrained from denying the existence of God. Obsessively tinkers with every machine they can find.

Longhorn minotaur. Hideously overmuscled from bovine growth hormone. Twelve-foot hornspan makes doors difficult. Wants to bring you back to the corn maze and eat you.

Pack of masked harlequins with blood-stained teeth and wheels for hands and feet. Act like rabid wolves. Scarily quick on flat ground, but have difficulty turning.

Red-haired boy reporter looking for the story of a lifetime. Excitable. Prone to ludicrous bad luck but is never actually seriously hurt. Constantly needs rescuing though.

Stone-faced war preacher and band of jayhawkers looking for recruits for a military raid on the Atomic Fortress, intending to abolish the Wizard and all his sinful works.

Woman in aviator goggles and diaphanous white robes. Claims to be the rainbow's daughter, fallen out of the sky. Can only eat the purest dewdrops and is therefore slowly starving.

Shaggy-haired sasquatch in a battered top hat, wielding an enchanted magnet that compels people to love him. Depressed. Seeking someone more deserving to give the magnet to.

Robotic flesh-eating worm with the head of Hillary Clinton. Wants to take your guns, raise your taxes, drink the blood of aborted children and convert Kansas to Islamic communism.

Flock of yellow-fanged baboons with vulture wings, in comical blue jackets. Vicious, but crave discipline. Looking for a witch to govern them and keep their mischievous impulses in check.

Giant hungry tiger. Wants to kill and eat some big fat babies, but can't, because she's born again in Jesus Christ and very active in the pro-life movement. Won't stop talking about it.

Barber-surgeon with tuberculosis and a huge bushy moustache, looking for tooth-pulling work. Expert gunfighter but won't admit it, since he keeps getting challenged to duels.

Obese purple leech-mouthed parasite man that drains energy by touch, getting fatter and stronger as it goes. Leaves behind a trail of smouldering skeletons. Scared of eggs.

Four-faced brass helicopter heads kept in air by impractical Da Vinci corkscrews. Loudly announce their intention to devour you. Easily distracted by philosophical riddles.

Reverse-talking bizarro clones of the PCs with chalky white skin and inverted systems of morality. Want to do exactly the opposite of whatever the PCs want to do.

The Green Guardian. Secret weapon of the Super-Wizard. Muscled adonis in acrobat's tights with magnificent emerald beard and moustache. Impossibly strong, naive, refuses to kill.

The Super-Wizard. Toymaker in a checked waistcoat with pockets full of marvels. Pretends to grant wishes with holograms. Planning to conquer the world with mechanical men.

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expedition-one · 4 years

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apocalypse tropes:

The Apocalypse Brings Out the Best in People: The impending end of a society/people/world/etc leads one or more people to become kinder.

Apocalypse How: This trope is for categorizing the scope and severity of the "apocalypse" in question. Continental: an entire continent or even an entire landmass ("Oceania", "North America", "Eurasia", etc).possibly repeated until it becomes “planetary”

Apocalyptic Logistics: The total loss of imported goods and resources (oil, clean water, etc.) is only a minor inconvenience for everyone.

Beast of the Apocalypse: A monster that kick-starts The End of the World as We Know It. (metaphorically)

The Beforetimes: Survivors of the apocalypse refer to the way the world used to be as something along the lines of "The Beforetimes."

Civilization Destroyer: It doesn't necessarily destroy a world, but it does end a civilization.

Conducting the Carnage: The best thing to do when everything is falling apart is to wave your hands conductor-style and treat it like music.

Dancin' in the Ruins: An entire civilization has been destroyed...Hooray!

Depopulation Bomb: It didn't necessarily destroy the planet, but it did wipe out most of its people, probably leaving only a few survivors.

Desolation Shot: A slow, somber shot of a place once populated and kept, now barren and dilapidated.

Disaster Democracy: A band of post-disaster survivors band together and elect some leaders.

Disaster Scavengers: Post-disaster, the only way for characters to good food, water, and other supplies is to scavenge the surrounding areas.

Doomsday Device: A device/object capable of destroying the world.

Earth That Was: Earth has been destroyed or is otherwise uninhabitable, contributing to the plot/setting.

Earth All Along: The desolated planet the story takes place on turns out to be Earth itself, not a fictional planet.

Emergency Broadcast: An official government warning of an impending threat, broadcast to the population.

The End of the World as We Know It: If the heroes don't manage to save the day, this is what will happen.

Giant Wall of Watery Doom: A tsunami capable of quite a bit of destruction.

Horsemen of the Apocalypse: Anthropomorphic Personifications of the The End of the World as We Know It from The Bible.

The Immune: Humanity as a whole is threatened by a disease that has already killed quite a few—but one or more characters have an immunity to it.

Must Not Die a Virgin: When the world is coming to an end, at least one character's goal is to get laid once and for all.

Mutually Assured Destruction: Nuclear warfare between two or more nuke-owning nations has the potential to cause the total destruction of all participants to the conflict — and this may also result in taking down the rest of the world with them.

Natural End of Time: A Class X-4 apocalypse, caused naturally and by time rather than by a sudden cataclysm.

Nuclear Nasty: Radiation results in the creation of monsters, and sometimes villains.

Omnicidal Maniac: A villain who doesn't just want to destroy the hero—they want to destroy everything. (nature)

The Plague: A disease, either lethal or extremely dangerous, poses a threat to society or even the world at large.

Post-Apocalyptic Dog: In the event of an apocalypse, dogs will appear as either ravenous animals or Man's loyal best friend.

Post Apocalyptic Gasmask: Survivors of an apocalypse don gas masks to protect themselves from the poison or radiation that caused said apocalypse.

Post-Apunkalyptic Armor: Survivors don improvised and very punk-style armor.

Ragnarök Proofing: Even after many, many years of desolation, ruins of a former civilization are still holding up pretty well.

Reclaimed by Nature: In the absence of people, nature reclaims lost ground.

Reduced to Ratburgers: Food has become so scarce that characters turn to eating meager animals—rats, bugs, mice, etc.

Ruins of the Modern Age: The ruins of a fallen civilization come from our present-day world.

Scavenged Punk: Technology or other appliances are built from scavenged junk.

Scavenger World: After the end, a society emerges, and everyone in it is a scavenger.

Screw the Rules, It's the Apocalypse!: People take advantage of the fear and chaos the apocalypse brings to do whatever they want.

Set the World on Fire: Small area or big, the world is scoured by flames.

Signs of the End Times: The apocalypse has several boding signs before it comes.

Teenage Wasteland: A world where children somehow gain power over adults. college students with few other contacts but same idea

Urban Ruins: Cities or other urban areas fallen to ruins.

Watch the World Die: Instead of trying to survive, a character chooses to just sit back and watch the world end, probably too despaired to do anything else.

considering:

Apocalypse Wow: The apocalypse is absolutely nightmarish, but man if it isn't cool!

Apocalyptic Montage: Montage of several landmarks leading up to, during, or after the world-ending catastrophe.

The Apunkalypse: Once society falls, everyone becomes a vandalizing punk.

Break Out the Museum Piece: Older machinery in storage may be more easily run or maintained in a post-apocalyptic society.

But What About the Astronauts?: The planet is destroyed, and the astronauts must ask, "Now what?"

Celebrity Survivor: The world is falling around as they speak, but characters still ask someone, "Hey, aren't you from TV?"

The Elites Jump Ship: The leaders, the rich, and the powerful left everyone else to rot during some calamity.

Emergency Presidential Address: An emergency has become so dire that the leader of the nation makes a televised address to the citizens.

The End Is Nigh (AKA Doomsayer): The random guy, preacher, or street hobo declaring over and over that "The End is neeeeaaaar!" Problem is, they're right.

Eternal Recurrence: The Apocalypse repeats at intervals.

Fallout Shelter Fail: The shelter designed to save people from the apocalypse isn't up to the task.

The Famine: Widespread, maybe even planetary, lack of food.

Homeworld Evacuation: Some people—may be even everyone!—manage to get off the planet before it's destroyed.

Inferred Holocaust: Technically, the aftermath of an event should have gotten a good lot of people killed, or ruined an area forever...But it's glossed over in the story.

Last Fertile Region: There's only one place left that still maintains wildlife.

The Last Man Heard a Knock...: Someone believes that they are the last living being or human on the planet, but not only are there others, but they also manage to run into each other.

Lost Common Knowledge: Society has suffered through some kind of disaster, and many years later, basic knowledge of how the world works is lost.

No FEMA Response: Humanitarian aid fails to appear on the scene of a disaster.

Pointless Doomsday Device: Its sole function is to cause mass destruction, so...why was it made, to begin with?

New Eden: The land is utterly decimated after a disaster, but after a few good years, it's revived and inhabitants can return to it.

Restart the World: The world is just too far gone, so the only way to save it is to destroy it and start over.

Slept Through the Apocalypse: Someway, somehow, someone manages to just miss the apocalypse.

Solar Flare Disaster: A planet takes a hard hit from a solar flare. Disaster ensues.

Spreading Disaster Map Graphic: A map showing the source of the disaster slowly spreading across the land.

Sterility Plague: A disease has rendered those infected unable to bear children.

Synthetic Plague: A plague was created by humans, intentionally or not.

Unspecified Apocalypse: The cause or nature of the apocalypse is left unknown.

Wasteland Elder: The older leader of a small survivor group, probably with the knowledge of how the world was before it ended.

The World Is Always Doomed: It doesn't matter how many times the world is saved, because tomorrow, it'll just be threatened again.

maybe:

After the End: The main setting of the story is post-apocalyptic.

And Man Grew Proud: Whatever caused the "apocalyptic" state of the world becomes a simple myth over time.

Animal Is the New Man: Humanity falls, and animals rise up to take their place.

Apocalypse Anarchy: Once everyone knows that the world is about to end, society falls into chaos.

Apocalypse Cult: A cult who strives to cause the apocalypse.

Apocalypse Day Planner ???

Apocalyptic Log: During or leading up to "the End", a character records their thoughts.

Archaeological Arms Race: Everyone is racing to get the technology from a lost civilization.

Cosmic Flaw: There's something fundamentally wrong/out of place in the fabric of reality that will spell certain doom for the world.

Future Primitive: Time passes by, but mankind has somehow managed to become dumber, or less capable of maintaining itself.

Post-Apocalyptic Traffic Jam: A road jammed full of abandoned vehicles (and perhaps the remains of their unfortunate drivers) left in the aftermath of the apocalypse.

Post-Peak Oil: A work takes place after all of the world's oil has been depleted.

Storyboarding the Apocalypse: Showing, in full detail, just what will happen and how if the day isn't saved.

no:

Apocalypse Maiden: An innocent character is destined to bring about The End of the World as We Know It just by existing.

Apocalypse Not: After the supposed "end" of everything, society has somehow managed to sustain itself, either barely or impressively.

Apocalyptic Gag Order: One or more world governments are aware that the apocalypse is coming, and they're trying to stop it—but no one else is allowed to know.

Cockroaches Will Rule the Earth: Cockroaches—or an evolved form of them—take over the world after humanity falls.

Cosy Catastrophe: The world ends, and that's fine. No biggie.

Destroyer Deity: A God, Goddess, or other entity associated, or solely responsible for, mass destruction.

Doomsday Clock: When the literal clock strikes twelve, it's all over.

Dream Apocalypse: Everything and everyone is just someone's dream. So, if that someone were to wake up...

Earth-Shattering Kaboom: An explosion so big the entire planet is destroyed.

Endless Daytime: The sun does not set, ever.

Endless Winter: The world is trapped in a neverending Ice Age.

Hell on Earth: Hell itself manages to invade the world.

Hostile Terraforming: Alien life invades and starts shaping the planet to suit their needs at the cost of the natives'.

Humanity's Wake: Humans are extinct.

Just Before the End: The work takes place just a short bit of time before The End.

Low-Angle Empty World Shot: A scene requires that only the actors are in the shot, even in a real-world busy city. Thus, the actors are shot at low angles to crop out passerby.

Mayan Doomsday: December 21, 2012—the date the Mayans supposedly predicted as the end of the world—is used as such in a story.

Millennium Bug: The arrival of January 1, 2000, was believed to cause computers all over the world to malfunction, leading to disaster—it's used or mentioned in a work.

Mistaken for Apocalypse: Someone believes that the apocalypse is coming or has already happened, but...no. They just misinterpreted some coincidences.

Mystical Plague: A plague is created by mystical powers, not a scientific mishap.

The Night That Never Ends: The villain's main goal is to get rid of sunlight forever.

No Bikes in the Apocalypse: The world has fallen, and the only way to get around is on foot, by horse, or by scavenged cars. Bicycle? Don't know her.

Planet Eater: A character, monster, or entity who eats planets.

Put Them All Out of My Misery: A villain is in such a state of misery that, for some reason, he concludes that killing everyone else will help.

Reality-Breaking Paradox: Someone does something impossible, and reality basically blue-screens.

Regional Redecoration: The Earth itself is reshaped as a result of something huge.

Star Killing: Someone or something destroys a star, even one that has surrounding planets.

The Stars Are Going Out: Stars disappearing from the night sky is a sign of bad, bad things.

Sugar Apocalypse: A place of sunshine and rainbows falls apart.

Villain World: The Bad Guy Wins, and he takes over the world.

Zombie Apocalypse: The world ends via being overrun by the undead.

#long post #REF.

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