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yandere-daydreams · 4 years

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My simple request is one (1) very scared darling trying to handle Uraraka and Kirishima's constant bickering. Plzzzz :3

While I don’t see Kirishima and Uraraka having a very romantic relationship, I do love seeing two friends try to split their Darling’s time without tearing the poor thing down the middle. It’s a nice change of pace.

Title: Irreconcilabilty.

TW: Implied Past Trauma and Mentions of Kidnapping.

You’d never been very good with arguements.

Going quiet was a knee-jerk reaction, crumpling into yourself and submitting to whatever the more aggressive party desired, even if you knew a friendly debate that didn’t need tears and apologies to be resolved. It made your companionship with Uraraka tense, the girl as passionate as she was loud, but she was kind, and you used to tell yourself that whenever her volume spiked. Kirishima, too, even if he made more of an effort to be gentle. They were your friends. You weren’t about to keep them at arm’s length just because they happened to be on the noisier side.

You wondered if it was a warning sign, sometimes. A fight or flight reflex you shouldn’t have tried to hard to ignore. You regretted it, now, but you regretted a lot of things.

All you could do now was try to remember how you handled all that yelling a few months ago.

Uraraka was the first to lose her temper, her frustration showing its face in two balled fists at her sides and a strained, fragile smile, threatening to snap if she tried to pull it any tighter than it already was. She was standing at the foot of your bed… her bed, really, or his. You could never remember who really owned the tiny, secluded cabin you were kept captive in. “I know you’re… nice,” She said, her words drawling out with more than a hint of irritation. “But (Y/n) did something wrong. If we let it slide, they’ll just try again, and again and again and again until it works.”

“I know, I know, I’m just…” He paused, taking a deep breath, running a hand through his hair, further dispelling what was left of the gel usually serving as its main source of support. Most of the stiffening substance had been washed out, both by the rain he’d trekked through to retrieve you and the cold shower you’d been thrown into after your fit of disobedience left you covered in mud and blood and all the terrible things that accompanied an escape attempt. It hadn’t been easy, but your plan seemed too simplistic, now, too simple-minded. You’d gotten out of your restraints and through Uraraka’s security measures, but what did you think you were going to do after that? Run to the nearest city? Get lost and starve, shivering and alone in the middle of a forest? Kirishima already drilled that lesson into you, as he dragged you back home, steadfast in his disappointment until Uraraka arrived. He seemed to be grappling with the guilt of his outburst, now. “I’m thinking, alright? I’m as worried as you are, but they’re not a prisoner. We can’t--”

“We can’t what?” Uraraka interrupted, already fed-up with his deliberation. She took a step towards you, then another, soon standing at your side, daring you to move from your spot on the mattress’ center. You only curled into yourself, bringing your knees up to your chest, trying to melt into the headboard as she continued. “I can’t take care of a disobedient, ungrateful brat? Or, do you just have a problem with the way I want to do it?” She crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes as she scowled. “Do you have a problem with me?”

“No, it’s… It’s not that.” He tried to defend himself, but his tone betrayed him, as did the slight downturn of his lips as he finished. Protectively, he matched Uraraka’s stride, but neither of them were focused on you, anymore. You had a feeling your punishment would have to wait until the end of their spat. “I’m not going to beat my partner. I’m not going to let you do it, either, not unless you want to go through me.”

Uraraka crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes in his direction. “It’s a lesson. We talked about this, and you agreed that it’d be necessary.”

“I said it might be necessary,” He hissed, the declarations spat through grit teeth. “You’re acting like violence is the only way to learn. We could start using the handcuffs, again, or move (Y/n) down to the basement for a few days. No one has to get hurt.”

That, more than anything, set Uraraka off, a snarl forming on her lips as he lashed out, grabbing your forearm and dragging you closer, pulling you against her chest. A whine hitched in your throat, low and just barely audible, but if Uraraka noticed, she didn’t seem concerned. She never was, when she had a point to defend. “You don’t get to tell me how I should treat anyone. I saw how desperate you were, a few months ago. A few hours of pain and a sprained ankle are nothing compared to how much you fucked with their head--”

“Please stop.”

Instantly, Uraraka went quiet, and Kirishima followed in suit, two pairs of eyes soon prying into your body and burning at your skin, making it impossible to do anything but squirm and fruitlessly wipe at the tears starting to gather in the corners of your eyes. The request was quiet, but it got their attention, and soon, their hands were on you, Uraraka’s arms wrapped around your waist and her face buried in the crook of your neck, Kirishima’s hands coming to rest on your thighs, his thumbs drawing soothing circles in your skin as he kneeled in front of you, both captors making an attempt to smother your soft cries in comfort and affection. Slowly, sobs began to rack over your chest, your fear - both learned and instinctual - beginning to take its toll. Still, you bit the inside of your cheek, determined to voice your discontent at least once because their tempers really boiled over. “I shouldn’t have tried to run away, I’m sorry, just please stop fighting. I don’t want to… I can’t listen to it, anymore.”

There was a beat of silence, and you felt Uraraka glance up, meeting Kirishima’s eyes for a moment. He was the first to speak, though, his tone tender, as considerate as always. A stark difference from the way he addressed his companion. “Of course, baby. I can’t believe we forgot. It’ll never happen again, I promise.”

“We weren’t thinking,” Uraraka added, kissing your neck apologetically. “Never again. You know we’d never upset you on purpose, right? Neither of us like seeing you cry.”

You whimpered as Kirishima leaned forward, but all he did was press his lips against your forehead, the gesture lingering until you were heaving in labored breaths, doing your best to retain what was left of your composure. “I’m really sorry…” You mumbled, trailing off quickly. “Does that mean there won’t be a punishment?”

Kirishima laughed, the sound muffled by his closeness, and so did Uraraka, chuckling just loudly enough for you to hear. You could feel your heart sink, a tight, jagged knot forming in your throat, but Uraraka only squeezed you hips playfully, nuzzling against you as she spoke. “No, no, you still misbehaved, angel, you did something bad. Eijirou and I’ll come to a compromise, and we’ll do it like grown, civilized Heroes. Right, Ei’?”

Hope flared in your chest, but it died as soon as Kirishima shifted, moving back just enough for you to see his wide, resolute smile. As proud and as determined as a man set on training his spoiled, misbehaving pet.

“Right.”

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flwrpotts · 5 years

Text

a primer on the small weird loves

what is hell? i maintain that it is the suffering of being unable to love.

- the brothers karamazov, fyodor dostoevsky

fred & f.p

it’s the summer f.p grows out his hair so fred does, too. the summer after sophomore year, sixteen and stupid, speeding down the highway and getting stoned in the woods and laying on the carpet listening to music.it’s the summer f.p’s mouth tastes like blue raspberry slurpees and the vodka they slosh in, looking out over the small blinking lights of riverdale from their spot on the overpass. all of these nothing moments made suddenly severe. even at the very best of times fred knows it can’t really last, not for good, knows that the threads of their lives, tangled together and knotted through, will eventually unspool. f.p burns too bright and too hot for things to last very long, a dwarf star burning white hot. still. fred will love him right now, like this, in the sleepovers that last entire weeks, in the strange intimacy that comes with it, in waking up at two in the afternoon and arguing over breakfast, crawling up onto the roof at night and searching for constellations, going for walks around the neighborhood with bare feet and shared cigarettes.

tom & sierra

she calls him downstairs on the house phone when her parents and siblings are asleep upstairs, the kitchen gone illicit in the quiet dark of night, broken up by jagged patches of moonlight across the tiles. sierra dials as she sinks to the floor, sits cross-legged and wraps the phone cord around her fingers until the skin blanches. “tell me about your day,” tommy says, every night, that same sentence. tell me about your day. she’s so used to having to fight for every scrap of attention she’s given, mentally gritting her teeth to be the brightest and shiniest at the dinner table, clamoring in the mass of limbs and voices that are her brothers and sisters. she never has to try with tommy. she starts off like a bullet leaving its casing and it’ll be hours before she’s exhausted all the words that stack up in her fingers and get stuck in the folds of her vertebrae when no one is listening. he never minds at all, she can hear how closely he’s listening through the broken up waves of the telephone. “i love you,” she says, when the codes are unscrambled and the anagrams unwired, and there’s no beat of hesitation, no other people in the world when he says “i love you, too.”

alice & hal

love is so embarrassing. alice feels it in the rush of blood to her cheeks, this humiliating sort of tenderness that never recedes, just rises up like a tide. “we’re meant to be doing spreads,” hal mumbles into her mouth, and alice rolls her eyes but sprawls onto the grass next to him anyways, pulling her top down. there are two freshman whispering on the other side of the courtyard, giggling as they watch them, making out in the middle of the day. hal holds a hand up to block the sun- long fingers, slim wrist, wide palm, doodle that she drew in fifth period fading on his knuckles. “fuck off!” alice calls cheerily to the freshman still watching, sunlight glinting off the cheap material of her fishnets. hal claps a hand over her mouth. “christ, al,” he says, amused despite himself, and she laughs into his palm, feeling her breath against the thin skin of his hand. he shivers, and alice wants to be locked in a room with him forever, the key lost and whole world outside.

hermione & f.p

it always starts with fred for the two of them, catalyst for their fuck ups and triumphs, moments of strange selflessness and unwieldy egoism. hiram and fred both failed to live up to valentine’s day expectations and fred and f.p are in a fight about fred blowing their plans to go on a roadtrip. this is how it starts; a need to make someone else jealous, to justify their own decision making. f.p isn’t good at love but he is at sex, this thing that makes lonely feel like a lullaby and soothes the fever hot itching under his skin. girls usually want him because they want to take him home and see how deep the illusion runs, whether the bad boy really does have a heart of gold. hermione is different, when she invites him to her house saturday afternoon to study. there’s a strange coldness to her, even as her sticky vanilla lipgloss slides hot over his mouth. she’s so prissy but there’s a weird, hard edge to her, buoyed by the same cruel confidence as the boys that talk shit about her in the locker room. she stretches after, small breasts yawning as her shoulders pop, and f.p thinks that maybe fred doesn’t know her at all.

fred & mary

mary knows the look that fred gets when he wants her. it’s something slightly mocking. chewing gum, slack jawed in a way she shouldn’t find attractive but somehow, terribly does. he flirts with everyone so it shouldn’t flatter her, that he drapes an arm around her shoulder when they’re all going out, declares loudly that she is the best of friends and best of women, trips her when they’re walking through the snow and drops handfuls of ice down her back. he flirts with everyone but mary wants to know more, wants to find the echoing, hollow space inside him, whatever it is responsible for his thrilling highs and deep blue lows. she wants to kiss him and make him cry, wants to find the right variables so that the equation finally balances. maybe that’s why she takes him into the bathroom at nicky mantle’s birthday party, drops to her knees and tries to unstitch the carefully crafted illusion of laid-back stoner, tries to find the real person underneath and it won’t occur to her until she is staring down the divorce papers that she never really succeeded.

hiram & hermione

hiram was named to be a tyrant and it shows- it’s all over his blood like dna evidence. he’s a boy king with a sharp smile and lipstick smudged on his fingers, a princeling crawling bloody-knuckled to a throne he’s never had legitimate claim to but wants anyways. hermione isn’t beautiful, not exactly, but she’s made of the same stuff and he knows it. sometimes her jaw clenches so tightly it pops, the pressure of being alive seizing her, pulling every bone down into a jolt. hiram looks at the diamonds coiled around her throat and sees only a hall of mirrors. both of them have a blood-tipped spear at the center of them, a relentless coil of raw ambition. “you’re like me,” hiram tells her on their first date, and she knows without having to be told that this is the highest compliment he has to offer. the hitch in her breath has nothing to do with the hand up her skirt.

jughead & betty

he knows it’s love when his brain goes quiet around her. jughead’s mind is an anxious, skitttering thing, thinking and thinking and thinking and thinking. it’s the only thing that keeps him alive, sometimes, that frantic ticking, that silverquick merging of nerves and synapses. don’t slow down, don’t turn back, let your hands play an adagio across the cheap laptop keyboard like if you play fast enough it’ll save you. it’s the only way he knows how to survive. but betty looks at him, eyes blue-green like swimming pools, and suddenly everything else falls away, becomes entirely inconsequential. she walks into class, hair pulled up into a swinging ponytail, and he misses her even when she’s right there next to him. he loves her like the patient loves the anaesthetic, like the accused loves the guillotine, like the serpent loves the switchblade.

veronica & reggie

reggie is the only person she can stand to see her in pieces. she isn’t quite sure why it is. maybe it’s because he’s as broken as she is, seams split everywhere and spilling blood onto the expensive tiles of the bonne nuit. he comes into the bathroom as she’s brushing her teeth and she talks around the foam, no makeup on and wearing nothing but a baggy t-shirt that once belonged to archie. veronica knows she’s fucked because she likes his anger and his bitterness and his neediness as much as she does his snarky wit and his marrow deep kindness. to say exactly what you think without analyzing the consequences is a crime when you grow up a lodge, and yet veronica keeps committing it around him, lets her bitchy asides and deep tragedies slip out from her tongue and into the air, where it becomes real. reggie kisses her and he smells like hair gel and vodka and there are so many things that are good and so many that could be good but won’t and for a dizzying, terrible moment veronica feels truly known.

kevin & joaquin

kevin doesn’t often miss joaquin but sometimes he does. he was always a little too in love with the idea of him, with his dark hair and clear eyes and peculiar blend of arrogance and vulnerability. his entire personality was a story kevin never stopped telling himself, and now he is dead and the world is on fire and kevin wants a better story, an ending that doesn’t take place in the desert, a long slide from the kingdom. love is impossible and it goes on despite the impossible. he draws preppy in the condensation on the bus window on the way to school. he buys packs of camel crushes, not to smoke, just to to remind himself of the sensation of sharing a cigarette, joaquin’s hand bony and soft-skinned. he dreams, vividly, of joaquin’s hair- matte black, not glossy or shiny, just soft and dull under kevin’s fingers when he’d run his hands through it. he dreams of the elegant planes of his face, the sharp bark of his laugh, the missing that never really heals, just gets farther away.

betty & veronica

they will always exist in the realm of possibility. veronica knows it will never happen, that the universe is strange and it makes no apologies, but still she will sometimes wonder about who she was really staring at the first time she walked into the diner. whether it really was the boy with red hair, after all. a best friend is a rare thing, a chemical explosion that defies the rules of gravity and social conduct, and sometimes being betty’s friend feels like the biggest responsibility in the world, like she’s holding a single, precious, ill-fitting ring and trying not to lose it swimming in the ocean. they aren’t supposed to be together- none of their wounds line up, they don’t have one another’s history worn into the grooves of their brains, terribly different and equally as wrong. betty is good and she’s also sometimes terrible, betty makes big sweeping promises about justice and refuses to see what’s in front of her, betty is her friend and sometimes veronica wants to knot her fingers through her fine blonde hair. she dreams about that fucking cheerleading tryout, the flickering heat of one mouth against another, and wakes up tasting salt.

reggie & jason

reggie is drunk and high at the same time. crossed, jason called it earlier, so he’s picked up now and is gonna start saying it at school tomorrow. he’s always been one of the cool kids, even if he has to try for it, even as he mirrors and deflects and uses his tall frame to wield aggression like a blade. to be fourteen is to be punished for a crime you didn’t know you even committed. they’re up in his bedroom, and he doesn’t really know how they made it back from the party at ginger lopez’s, what time it is or what time they left. he’s vaguely aware that the skin is scraped clean off his left knee, blood trickling down down his ankle from where he fell on the sidewalk, seeping into his sock. jason is alien looking in the hazy light, red hair and pale, pale skin and even more fucked up than he is. reggie tries to pull his shirt off and pitches forward and then they’re laughing their asses off and then jason’s chapped lip is against his mouth, and reggie feels like a flashlight that’s been knocked on the head to turn it back on, dazed and furiously bright. he’ll wake up the next morning with clothes scattered across jason’s bedroom floor and say dude, i was so fucking crossed, i can’t remember anything past ten.

archie & jughead

they sleep in the same bedroom and sometimes it burns jughead up, the steady rise and fall of archie’s breathing, blue coverlet pulled up to his chin. it feels like breaking and entering, to be awake at hours like this, to listen to the quiet rythyms of the andrews household. jughead can’t quite relax into it, can’t quite help feeling that someone is about to stumble in loudly through the front door, a baby is about to start crying, a woman’s tears are about to bleed through the walls. the way he feels about archie is a loose tooth at the back of his mouth, natural and still wrong, something that he cannot stop prodding at. easy to forget about if you expend enough mental energy. he doesn’t want archie in the way of his mother’s romance novels, the prince in drag and gagged up cliches. it’s more that archie sometimes feels like more of himself than he is, like they’re made up of all the same things, a shared history in one another’s back pocket. sometimes archie smiles at him a certain way and the hope alights in his chest, dangerous and disqueting, and then jughead glimpses at the holes in his jeans and addiction in his blood and knows beyond any reasonable doubt that boys like archie andrews are not for boys like him.

veronica & archie

archie is a dream that veronica never wants to stop having. she traces the planes of his face with her manicured fingers as he sleeps and wonders at his existence, as all-american as apple pie and ticker tape parades and yet something more, too. he’s so earnest that sometimes she’s embarrassed for him, the honesty that shines in his eyes when he says i love you, ronnie. he hums along with bob dylan on the radio but has no idea who stevie nicks is. he talks himself in circles in english class and still somehow has the best points. he is somewhere in between golden boy and flesh and blood teenager and the molecules in him are tearing themselves apart trying to decide between the two. loving him is the cruelest thing she’s ever done- there’s a reason you’re not supposed to touch the art at the museum, a reason that you do not love boys you know you are going to ruin. veronica sees pretty houses and she wants the two of them in them, sitting in the living room until they decay into the carpet.

cheryl & toni

cheryl has the awkward tenderness of someone who’s never been loved and is forced to improvise. she automatically hates the same people toni hates without needing any sort of justification. she buys ridiculous, frivolous things she can’t really afford but wants toni to have, silk bedding and good champagne and watches studded with diamonds. she touches her in an absurdly careful sort of way, like what they could have could break under the touch of an index finger. cheryl is so alive, all the time, like she’s bleeding out at full speed, and toni’s head spins with her dramas and contradictions, her chaotic energy and swimming pools of tragedy. she’s a pendulum constantly swinging, crying in the shower at two in the afternoon one day and then laughing and cleaning out her closet the next. and yet she’s soft in the moments that matter, brings toni coffee in bed and blinks at her with mascara ash around her eyes and tells her she loves her with a chosen sort of reverence. “i don’t really know how to do this,” she admits once, in a rare moment of honesty, and toni thinks of her sixteen years of slammed doors and older men and jughead jones’s blood and tears in her mouth. “me neither,” she admits, and cheryl’s smile cracks the planet open, sunlight streaming out.

#large parts of this are straight up passages I ripped from my diary and it Shows #anyways happy valentines day I worked ABSURDLY hard on this #mine #fred x fp #tom x sierra #alice x hal #hermione x fp #fred x mary #Hiram x hermione #jughead x betty #Veronica x reggie #kevin x joaquin #Betty x veronica #reggie x jason #archie x jughead #Veronica x Archie #cheryl x toni

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jflashandclash · 6 years

Text

Traitors of Olympus IV: Fall of the Sun

Fourteen: Ajax

I Set Up a Play Date in Exchange for a Canadian

As soon as Thanatos vanished with Reyna and Calex in his comforting, Slenderman, trust-me-this-isn’t-the-first-time-I’ve-abducted-children-way, Pax searched around their makeshift racetrack and the Roman’s body-collection tent. Pax had to wonder if Slenderman could shadow travel—what he assumed Thanatos had done. You know that situations are desperate when taking a creepy stranger’s hand and getting into his metaphoric car is the best options.

It was a good thing Pax’s apples worked. Having the damnation of Calex’s soul and his not-death on Pax’s consciousness would have probably been added to Pax’s Daily List of Traumatizing Experiences. He wondered if the death counter on the Silver-Tongued Helm would have gone up if the plan had failed, or if Eris and Phobetor would have popped up with a fireworks display to celebrate the failure.

“An errand, Ajax?” Alabaster asked as soon as Thanatos, Reyna, and Calex melted away. “What are you planning?”

“Planning? I never plan. I just get ideas.” Pax stepped in a sweeping circle, glancing around. His brain chattered in broken sentences, the way he imagined Ares would if Axel ever got his hands on him again. Had to be here. Too good a show not to watch. “Ideas that involve me being in a place of potential ruin, where I’m about to make a likely dumb decision that could result in a lot of mischief.”

“This sounds like a shitty idea,” Alabaster grumbled.

A hand touched his shoulder.

Pax yipped before he realized it was Kally. She gave him a worried smile. “Ajax, what is going on?” she asked, holding one hand out like Pax was the wild, cute baby panda he was.

Why did he always tell his lovers his weakness? That he had a hard time speaking indirectly when they called him by his first name and looked at him like he wasn’t just comic relief? That and bullets, but he figured his weakness to celestial bullets was pretty general knowledge.

“With Jason, Thalia, Leo, Axel, and now Reyna off doing hero things, we’re missing five heavy hitters—Calex doesn’t count. What happens if they don’t make it back in time for the party?” As Pax spoke, he ruffled his hair. He hoped the sweat and grossness of a hero’s shower schedule and constant pain would act as Hair Gel de Natural. “We need as many fighters as we can get, since Percy is—ha ha—benched and Annabeth is spreading the kissing disease to the table with how much she’s napping. Plus… I want leverage if the Romans decide to take vengeance on the Triple A Chimera. It’s always good to have a little blackmail.”

Important father-to-son life lessons.

“Leverage?” Alabaster asked, his glare softening.

Kally took a careful step towards Pax. Amazing to think that the one time she wanted to hold his hand again, he would have to shriek and run from her if she did. “A lot is going on. I—Axel wouldn’t want me to let you do something…”

“Stupid?” Alabaster supplied.

“Rash.”

As if that was the magical summoning word, Pax saw Atë.

He puffed up his cheeks and popped them.

A chill went down his spine as the smoke twisted up off her clothing. She lay, stomach down, on the ground, kicking her legs behind her. A black tarp—an empty body bag?—acted as her picnic blanket. Points for unnerving creativity. Pax just hoped there wasn’t an annoyed ghost in the tent, wondering where its deadtime blankets went.

Her white T-shirt’s sleeves hung off her shoulders. That and the cloth’s looseness let her shirt collar hang away from her skin and rest on the ground. Several chain necklaces encircled her neck and dangled against the ground atop the material, except one cord that clung tightly to her skin, running taunt down her chest, like a divider for her black and red, very noticeable, bra. That chain must have been attached to her belt. Her shorts were black and white checkered. Fishnets ran down to her muddy, bare feet.

As per Atë mode, her skin was smudged with dirt. Her jagged, black hair had streaks of red, magenta, and white. In one hand, she held Frank’s stick, pressing it against her lower, crimson lip, so the lip jutted to one side.

Pax swallowed. Amazing how he could forget that his super hot sister wanted to seduce him.

Like the best cockblocking knights from a heroic tale (or, from what Pax had heard, like teachers at a school dance), Alabaster and Kally stepped between where Pax was standing and Atë lay.

“Ajax…” Atë cooed, leaning to see around where Kally had withdrawn her Argonaut statue.

“Don’t call him that,” Alabaster snarled as he withdrew the deck of cards from his back pocket.

“You’re fraying around every edge,” Atë said.

“You’re not wanted here, Atë,” Kally snapped.

“I don’t want you to unravel,” Atë continued, those lifeless, red eyes giving their most expressive I told you not to come back to camp look that lifeless eyes could manage. Under Lapis’ command, she had warned Pax, not to come back, but there was no way for Pax to know it was to prevent some good ol’ fratricide.

Pax swallowed again. He forgot a pivotal point in his plan: his ability to talk with words and sentences. That, and his ability to speak to her without his cockblocking knights preventing him from a potentially terrible decision.

Hoping Atë could do some cool god thing to fix this, Pax summoned the best devilish smirk that he could, sidestepped more into Atë‘s view, winked, and nodded towards the death tent. Perfect romantic location.

Pax cleared his throat. “I found Calex’s potentially suicidal ultimatum with his godly stalker inspirational.”

Pax liked to think Kally and Alabaster both made sounds of disapproval: Alabaster’s hopefully sounding like a stuffy, old British gentleman. That’s how Pax would write Alabaster if he could write fanfiction.

The sounds came out muffled.

During one breath, smoke twisted in front of him, icy fingers touched his hand, then he was sitting down in a dimmer place. The sun warmed the tent walls like God decided to catch some humans with a Styrofoam cup the way a child might catch an ant or a tiny leprechaun. Pax stayed firm: if centaurs existed, then so did tiny men with golden pots that shot marshmallows. Kouta could never lie to him otherwise: that the marshmallow thing was an ad campaign for a cereal company. That was just what the leprechauns wanted you to think.

The tent flap was shut, cutting off the view of the outside. The sunlight that glowed through the fabric felt smothered. A few real rays shined through the poles of the tent.

Pax couldn’t decide what was worse: that Atë chose an occupied bodybag as a picnic bench or that she’d smoked into existence, sitting close enough for their knees to be touching.

If Atë could just teleport, Pax wondered why she bothered with any of this fighting stuff since she could relocate all of her enemies into far away cruise ships or convenient wood chippers. Pax shouldn’t ask that though, since that might give her idea—

“Why don’t you magic all your enemies into romantic hovels?” he asked.

Atë kicked her feet against the dirt. She stared at the two corpses in front of them. Leave it to a child of Eris to pick the center of the room, so they could be surrounded, from both sides and below, by corpses. Now Pax was waiting for Thanatos to deposit one from the ceiling for good symmetry.

Outside, he could hear the muffled voices of Alabaster and Kally as they panicked.

“I can’t. It’s easier with you, because you wanted to come in here and you’re more god than mortal,” Atë explained.

“Yep, that totally checks out in my book of not-lazy godly physics.”

Atë leaned back, so she could put one hand behind Pax. With the other, she tapped Frank’s stick against her off-sleeve shirt. “You’re asking me to trade Frank’s stick… for a date with you,” she said, those glassy eyes boring into him.

“I’m touched by how easily you read me,” Pax said. He tried to think of how he would treat this if Atë were Kally or Alabaster, but the scenery was a little distracting. “A playdate. Yes.”

“What kind of date?” she asked. Pax couldn’t tell if she was playing coy. He supposed it fit the “mischief” part of her moniker.

Pax puffed up his cheeks and popped them. He had decided this was it: his moment for inspirational character development, where he took control of his life, where he stopped being protected and became a protector. He didn’t have Axel’s strength or courage, but he was skilled. He’d earned the name Silver-Tongued Snake for a reason, and it wasn’t just because of that paint-eating incident in Alabaster’s laboratory.[1]

He just wished it happened somewhere sunnier with… cuter surroundings.

Only one thing had to happen before he acted on his epiphany.

“Off the corpse,” Pax said. He slipped one arm under Atë’s and slipped the other under her knees. Repressing a shudder at the chill of her legs and back, Pax carried her a few feet away from the bodies, sat down on the ground, and kept his arms around her. He whined at the pain in his right hand.

Atë blushed and stared at him with those unblinking eyes. Either that or she’d smudged some blood on her cheeks. Probably the latter, from puppy corgis? As Pax watched, her typically blank face cracked into a small smile. He remembered how much fun he had with her when they searched Rome’s files to discover the identity of Mount Othrys’ spy. She said that he was always nice to her. In her thousands of years, had Atë never been romantically carried by someone before?

“Your dad and our mom used to flirt a lot while seated on corpses,” she giggled.

“Atë, you know that little voice inside your head that tells you stories like that don’t need to be said out loud?” Pax said.

“I don’t have one and you don’t either,” she said, then repeated, “What kind of date?”

Ideas for how he’d treat Kally or Alabaster raced through his mind. “We can start by playing some video games. We’d go get ice cream, of course.”

Atë cocked her head to the side. Chains rattled against her neck.

Right. Child of Strife. Goddess of Mischief and Ruin. He didn’t need to pretend.

“We can dress up as monsters and scare kids walking home from school,” he said.

Atë rocked in his arms with a laugh. “We can recruit the weasels to help us wreak havoc.”

Pax sat up in excitement. “We could ride Hunnie into battle and Baller could—wait—no—I mean, yes to weasel recruitment. But, let’s leave specific weasel anarchy idealization until later.”

“What happens after destroying children on their way home from school?” she asked.

Pax chose to ignore her choice of verb. “Afterwards, we could find some local church picnics and pass out pamphlets on the good word of Discordia.”

“In wizarding robes,” she said.

“Pointed hats and brooms included. And lastly…” Pax wasn’t great at doing that whole think before you speak thing, but this next part needed to be worded carefully. “I’ll take you back to my place and we can watch Deadpool, use the hot tub… get to know each other a little better.”

Atë stopped laughing. Her expression went blank again. “The Paxmobile doesn’t have a hot tub and Axel would never leave us alone.”

The sound of Alabaster and Kally’s voices were getting closer.

“Holy Kronos—we should install a hot tub in the—right, sorry!” Pax struggled to keep focus. The idea of a mobile hot tub complete with trick telekhines was distracting. Percy could do water tap-dancing for Alabaster’s entertainment. “I meant my place my place. Not the Paxmobile.”

Atë didn’t respond. He had hoped she’d dramatically repeat his line in confusion, but Pax guessed he’d have to continue explaining without theatrical prompting.

“The temple/club/house/building that the Pax boys are about to inherit from our Dad’s will. You know… once we get Axel’s name cleared up with the police for that whole ‘kidnapping me’ thing. You and I would have to follow house rules for the date, since that’s what we’d be using, like don’t run by the hot tubs.”

Pax remembered how hard Lapis worked to be able to go out with… would it have been Sapphire? It happened right before he and Axel ran away the second time. Pax felt nauseous about moving back there, to his room with a blank, bare corner, designed so Dad wouldn’t get blood everywhere when he beat and whipped Pax for acting out.

At least his father had been considerate to the cleaning staff.

“But yea, it has a fancy hot tub, lots of private rooms, and a labyrinth of back passages that would leave Axel’s head spinning for hours. We could make it into a game. How many places we can…” Pax tightened his grip on Atë’s legs and dug his nails into her back as best he could with the ruined tendons. He leaned his forehead against hers. The musk of dried blood was—surprise—not a cure for his nausea. “Do stuff without Axel being able to catch us.”

One of Atë’s hands clutched his neck, where she’d bit him. Despite the rapid healing from his extra godly blood, and Kally’s attempts with her Apollo magic, the discoloration remained. Perks or curses of fooling around with a goddess: eternal hickies. Pax wondered what Ares’ neck looked like after a good Aphrodite fondle and vice versa.

It was like a mark of ownership, like how the tattoo on Pax’s hip made him feel like—even in death—his Dad still owned the part of Pax that could have been happy.

Pax felt his eyes watering. Focus, he snarled at himself. He had to make sure Atë felt the sunshine and rainbows, or, in her case, bunnies with chainsaws. He tried to think of how giddy he would be to hold Kally like this—albeit gentler—or be held by Alabaster.[2] The hand on his neck and the cold, red eyes made it hard to imagine Kally’s caring, shy smile and touch or the glint of knowing humor behind Alabaster’s expression and caress. Either one perfecting the balanced look of adoration with simultaneous annoyance in their green eyes.

With Atë’s other hand, she pressed Frank’s stick into his chest. Pax felt compelled to remind her that he wasn’t a vampire and there were, in fact, easier ways to kill him. Maybe his vulnerability to celestial bullets was less well known than he thought.

“Do you swear on the River Styx to all the terms listed above?” Pax asked.

Thinking about the others brought on an icy flash of Flynn. How he held her like this when she was sobbing over Jack’s chopped up corpse, about how she wished she could have seen Jack one more time to say goodbye.

Pax swallowed the memory. His mouth moved without his mind, saying what he knew he should be saying, since his brain was preoccupied with the whole trauma thing. “I’ll even give you a private tour of my room. Only Kally’s gotten that.”

He winked, giving Atë a devilish smile. Tiny Baby-Panda Pax marveled at how his body didn’t feel like his own, the smooth confidence of his exterior belonging to some other, darker, older Ajax.

Atë rubbed her fingers along his neck. “We could always make a tent in there and turn it into an exclusive slumber party.”

“Shake on it, and we’ll make it binding. All that and all you need to do is give me Frank’s stick as a forward payment,” he said, releasing her legs to offer his hand.

Atë pouted, an expression uncomfortably similar to something he’d practiced in the mirror to adorable perfection. “Kiss on it,” she said, biting her lower lip.

Pax puffed up his cheeks and popped them.

He felt cold and numb, watching a movie reel that some other person had already acted. Internally, he wondered exactly what consent Atë thought kissing gave, since she seemed to think a hug consented to making out. Externally, Pax tilted his chin down, pressing his mouth against hers.

Atë went still. For a horrifying moment, he feared she’d poofed away and put one of the corpses in her place as a practical joke. Ha-ha! Made you kiss a dead person! Then she sat up with a soft noise, so she could lean more into him. Atë dropped Frank’s stick.

This was opposite how he expected her to react after how aggressive she’d been the night she tricked him into a romantic prelude to decapitation the night before. Her words fluttered through his head, You’re always nice to me and you’re fun. Most people are really mean when I’m around.

No one had been nice to her. No one had made her feel special. Maybe, she only knew to mimic the way their mom flirted with his dad, like making out near corpses and sending cards that pre-apologized for future abuse.

Sympathizing with a tiny psychopath like Atë was dangerous. But, for a few dizzying seconds, Pax softened his touch to make the kisser proper to what he thought a kiss should be, instead of what he assumed Atë wanted.

When the panic mounted to the point where he wanted to ask Atë if she’d eaten nuts before their kiss, he firmly removed Atë’s mouth from his own.

“Atë,” he said and slipped Frank’s stick into his pocket, “Big Sis. You know how children of Strife always hurt those we love the most, especially the more we’re around them? And you know the definition of ‘cruel irony?’”

Atë’s small smile flattened. “What?”

Pax stood up and gently set his half-sister down. Relief made him add a dance to his step as he backed towards the exit. “I should have warned you, my dad had a lot of rules. Like, no messing around in the house. No one was allowed to touch a Pax kid without Santiago’s direct permission, and he’s dead now, so that’s a little difficult, huh? You’d have to ask the next head of the house, Kouta—oh no.” Pax tilted his head pensively to the side, crossed his arms, and tapped his chin. “He won’t do—oh! I guess that would be Axel. According to the terms of our agreement, we’d have to get direct permission from Axel to do anything physical or too romantic. Shucks.”

Pax snapped his fingers, like he was disappointed.

Atë opened and closed her mouth. “You tricked me.”

“Yes and no.” Pax shrugged. “I’m still really excited to have a play date with my half-sister where I get to wreak havoc and get to know her better and spend time with her as a friend.”

He gave her a gentle smile. Pax knew what it was like to feel like the whole world was a cruel place. If Axel and his other siblings hadn’t been there to show him protection and kindness, Pax would have probably turned out a lot less fluffy. “Just because I’m the first person to be nice to you, doesn’t mean I’ll be the last. And you don’t need to express appreciation of that through possession or forceful cuddles. We’re siblings. And yea, we’re children of Strife so, we’re pretty fucked up, but I think we can work together to have a healthy, fun friendship.”[3]

Atë didn’t seem to know how to react.

Pax nodded at the sentient. “But seriously, you touch me sexually once and the date is over.”

Pax pivoted to push open the tent flap, only to slam into Alabaster. Alabaster’s Stygian staff was drawn, and he was prepping spells under his breath. He grabbed Pax’s arm, like he feared Pax would dematerialize again.

“Pax!” Kally shouted in relief behind him. She fingered her Argonaut statue. “We thought Atë kidnapped you.”

“Aw, it would have been much more dramatic and movie-like had you showed up when Atë and I were making out,” Pax said. All that water that he’d stored in his eyes glistened to the surface. Seeing these two made him want to collapse in a puddle on the ground, Phobetor conscilepsy style. But, Pax reminded himself, he was Strong Pax. In-Control Pax. Pax that Waits Ten Minutes to Start Crying Pax.

Pax snuffled back a few tears.

When Atë stepped out of the tent after him, he almost screamed. Instead, he held Frank’s stick aloft. “We need to go shove this in the face of the others, so we can tell them that we have blackmail on Frank.”

“You mean that the concussed Canadian can fight in the battle tonight?” Kally asked warily. She pulled both boys further from the death collection tent, towards Percy’s fancy light up sign and throne.

“That’s what I said,” Pax said, like Atë had just vanished as she should have in his internal plans.

“Mom was going to use that stick to light the Big House on fire. Something about using the fires of life to start the wave of death?” Atë said, stepping with them towards the ping-pong table.

After Pax had his whole family-time-happy-speech, he didn’t feel right telling Atë to get lost, but she was kind of on the wrong side of their fight. “Very poetic,” he admitted.

“We thought so too. Frank would have probably been the first casualty.”

“Pax,” Kally whispered, taking the hand not holding Frank’s stick. Her touch made Pax feel all gooey inside, encouraging those tears that he kept trying to repress to come to the surface. “What did you do?”

“And why is she still here?” Alabaster growled.

As they got closer to the ping-pong table, Pax could see it was mostly empty. The other campers must have been tending to defenses. Annabeth napped on a pillow beside Percy. He held her hand on the table, glaring at the sand timer. Piper sat a few feet away from him.

“Uh—guys?” Pax could just hear Percy say with some panic in his voice. He held up the sand timer.

“Atë, you can go back to Mom,” Pax said, knowing it would be much simpler if he only had to manage two-sort-of-not-ex-lovers.

Atë put her hands in her black and white checkered pockets, tilting her head back to look at the sky. “Mom never left. Why do you think everyone has been so unproductive and argumentative?”

Alabaster rolled his eyes. He focused on whatever was happening at the ping-pong table. “I thought Eris was best for inspiring people to productivity,” he said sarcastically.

The sarcasm seemed to miss Atë. She removed her fingers and flexed them. A tire iron appeared in one hand and a baseball bat with nails appeared in the other. “Jealousy, spite and strife are excellent motivators. But the productivity doesn’t matter anymore. You’re out of time.”

Pax blinked. His stomach twisted as he felt some sort of shockwave ripple through the air. “Uh, no,” Pax said, “Mom told Percy she’d be back when the sun comes down.”

“And it’s noon now,” Kally said.

Children of Apollo: better than any clock.

A buzzer sounded.

Party poppers popped.

The neon sign above Percy’s head flashed wildly like the ball drop on New Year’s Eve. A digital timer went to zero in the colorful mix.

Hiro’s mirror still floated beside Percy. From what Pax could see, Hiro ran to the edge of the mirror, pressed his face against it, and looked up in excitement.

Clouds darkened the sunlight.

Kally screamed and, in the distance, Pax could hear a chorus of children of Apollo joining in the cacophony.

When Pax glanced up to stare directly at the sun—something Axel had tried to stop him from doing dozens of times—he didn’t find himself blinded. Apollo’s sun chariot was too close, easily observed by the fact that everyone could see his Sun Chariot. The image blurred between a Lamborghini Diablo and a cart drawn by four horses. From what Pax gathered from science books and mythology, Apollo was supposed to have a fairly set path.

He had altered it.

Pax choked.

A wave of darkness descended from the east. The rapid approach gave Pax vertigo as it engulfed the landscape like an apocalyptic cloud.

Despite Apollo’s attempts to either step on the accelerator or spur his horses on, the blackness was gaining.

When Pax squinted, he could see what it was: a woman. A terrifying woman with her own chariot and horses. She was so void of color and substance, Pax would have thought her a churning swirl of ash and smoke. Her chariot seemed to suck the light from around it. Her indigo wings and whirls of black locks trailed madly behind her, twisting into coils of blackness that cast the net of her cloak. That blackness asphyxiating the landscape was her cloak.

Terror shook Pax. A deep sense of wrongness made him want to hide in the Paxmobile and refuse to come out.

Nothing would have changed though. None of their heroes would return in time: Jason, Leo, and Sadie wouldn’t have had time to fight Lapis yet, Calex and Reyna would have just met up with Axel and Thalia in Tartarus, and Merry had likely just gotten to Hiro and Percy’s little sister. That meant Percy also wouldn’t be able to fight. Annabeth could barely lift her head off the table.

It was just them, a concussed Canadian, a recently plague-ridden daughter of Aphrodite, and a daughter of Pluto that was probably frantically trying to keep her unconscious brother out of the shadow realm.

The primordial goddess of night’s chariot intercepted Apollo’s.

The sun fell out of the sky.

They were enveloped in darkness.

As Pax’s eyes adjusted to the sudden blackness in the middle of the day, he panted with panic. He almost laugh-cried when Alabaster set a hand on his shoulder, until he realized it wasn’t Alabaster.

“Oh, my little Terror Muffin,” Eris whispered sweetly into his ear. “It’s beautiful isn’t it? How much a mother will do for one of her favorites when that favorite is threatened with annihilation by execration or Kronos’ staff?”

That joker-like hysterical laughter filled the air.

“Now that Nyx has taken care of the sun…” A light flickered beside Pax. He could see his mother toss a lit Molotov Cocktail up and down, “Let the festivities begin!”

Sorry for the delay, guys! I hope you enjoyed the Pax family madness :D They could probably benefit from some family counseling. May your Fall festivities be as mischievous as Pax’s, but, you know, without the trauma.

Tune in next week to Axel: If you’re tired of being electrocuted, clap your hands! (or: On the Shore of Two Underworlds).

Footnotes:

[1] Alabaster said we had to put a warning label out here: do not eat paint. You are not Pax (unless you are Pax) and you will not survive an acrylic slurpee (and even if you are Pax, stop trying to eat paint. Alabaster is tired of cleaning your throw up).

[2] Though not frequently the other way around. Pax has done everything in his power to pretend he’s physically weaker than Alabaster, including frequently fainting into his arms when they were younger. One problem with this: Alabaster opted out of catching him.

[3]Public service announcement where Pax and I differ: if you have a family member that is acting sexually aggressive to you, tell someone and take action to prevent anything further from happening to you or to others. If the person you tell doesn’t believe you, keep telling people until you find someone who will listen. Whether or not you know the aggressor, even if they’re a family member, you owe them nothing. You definitely don’t owe them silence. But, you DO owe yourself and you DO deserve a safe, healthy environment. And, you owe open communication to others in to the aggressor’s path to assure that the aggressor won’t hurt anyone else.

And, regardless of what anyone else might tell you, including other family members, you don’t need to keep talking to the aggressor, as Pax decides to do. Blood-related doesn’t mean indebted. It doesn’t mean an annulment of wrongs. It means you’re supposed to keep each other safe and healthy, and taking advantage of someone’s trust isn’t safe or healthy.

Now, if you’ll excuse me for this bout of seriousness, I have a baby panda to catch to tell him to talk more openly with his friends. *chases after Pax*

#Heroes of Olympus #Percy Jackson and the Olympians #PJO #HOO #Fanfiction #Traitors of Olympus #Pax #Ate #Kally #Alabaster #Eris #SHIT GET REAL!!!!!#*cries* I have no time to write this week T.T

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fortheloveofeos · 7 years

Text

Change of Plans - Prompto Argentum x Fem! Reader

This little request is for @a-le-lone-wolf I hope this is what you had in mind and that today is a better day for you :)

I love sweet Prompto and it’s been a minute since I’ve written anything for him so this was great!

Word Count: 4726

xxx

With a heavy sigh, you flipped on the pocket flashlight clipped to your shirt. “Lights on, guys,” Prompto called the at the same moment. Four more lights flickered on to illuminate the darkened path ahead. Somewhere at the end of this godsforsaken maze of a tunnel system was a royal tomb – or so the rumor went.

“Noctis, please for the love of the six, build your tomb somewhere a little more accessible.” You shuddered as you caught sight of a large spider descending from its web not too far from your arm.

Noctis snorted but agreed as you trudged along right behind him. This made the fifth tomb you and the others had tracked down and only one of them had been an easy task. Since you had parted ways with Cor at the mouth of Keycatrich Trench, things had definitely not gotten any easier. You were thankful for the years of training and the ability to allow your mind to go blank during the heat of battle. Your body knew what to do and, coupled with the instincts of the four men that always had your back, you were certain the lot of you would see the journey to its completion.

Gladio caught Noctis’ arm and motioned for him to stop. You squatted down, leaning forward to look down over the edge of the narrow path you had been following for some time. Daemons writhed and stalked the darkness beneath you but they hadn’t noticed where your group hugged the wall several yards above them. “Something isn’t right. We haven’t faced any daemons since we entered this part of the cave.” Gladio crossed his broad arms over his chest with a thoughtful expression on his handsome features. The cut over his eye that ran perpendicular to the old one was healing nicely.

“Perhaps we should proceed with a greater deal of caution. We were warned that this area has seen a spike in daemon activity recently,” Ignis looked to his young king waiting for him to give the final say.

Noctis nodded before taking another step forward. “Keep your eyes open and watch each other’s backs,” the raven-haired young man summoned his sword before proceeding.

Gladio and Ignis naturally fell in to step close behind Noctis. You summoned your own weapon, a set of chakrams with wickedly sharp serrated edges that had been endowed with lightening magic, and followed your king. Prompto’s grip on his pistols was firm beside you, the promise of a battle heightening his senses as if he had gone through the years of Crownsguard training you had.

You were impressed with Prompto’s aim and his unfaltering loyalty. You had known the blonde jokester for several years thanks to being one of the Crownsguard members trained and intended to serve directly under Noctis. At first, you were uncertain of his intentions and had warned the prince that he shouldn’t trust anyone that would just walk up and already act as if they were friends. Prompto had denied wanting anything other than to call the prince his friend and you just couldn’t understand that. However, Prompto had grown on you with his bad jokes and adorable awkwardness anytime he released you – or any female, for that matter – had entered the room. You the five of you had departed the citadel in hopes of reaching Alitissa, Prompto had stuck close to your side and he had helped you out of a few jams in battle. He had even shared his sleeping bag with you when Noctis had gotten fish all over yours when he carelessly threw his catch into the trunk of the Regalia. You couldn’t help smiling at the thought.

Luckily, the tomb was tucked into a corner of the open cavern not too far ahead. Noctis claimed the weapon of his ancestor quickly and the five of your rushed forward towards the exit. Prompto yelped and Gladio took a defensive position as darkness rippled and filled the air blocking your escape. The daemon that appeared from the inky mist was absolutely huge with jagged, sharp teeth and a strange misshapen form. “What the hell is that thing?” Prompto asked as he aimed his firearms towards the oozing mass.

“What’s the plan?” Noctis shot a nervous look at the resident strategist as he planted his feet, sword drawn.

Iggy summoned his polearm, not willing to risk getting too close. “Until we know it’s weaknesses, use long range weapons and stay out of reach of those…tentacles?” His brows drew together in uncertainty.

A volley of shots rang out, echoing off the cave walls as Prompto fired several rounds into the mass of slithering goo. The bullets, coated in a white hot flame, appeared to burn the gel-like substance the creature was made of and pieces of its exterior burned away. “Hi there, opening,” Prompto snapped in another magazine before firing another round at the damaged area.

“Let’s see how you like a little electricity,” you grunted as you threw each of your chakrams forward. Your heart soared as the electrified circular blades sliced through the creature before the special magnets in your gloves drew the blades back to you.

The daemon howled in pain. Fury made the creature lash out, its tentacles extending forward in search of a target. Gladio and Noctis managed to fend off the appendages easily but one slithered forward and wrapped itself around Noct’s exposed calf. He gasped in pain before Gladio used his greatsword to sever the tentacle from its master. In its place, an angry red welt bubbled on the surface of the king’s skin as if he had been doused in acid.

Ignis called for everyone to regroup as he finished his scan of the enemy. “The only weakness I’m detecting is one to lightening magic. It doesn’t appear to be weaker against any type of weapons.” Ignis used his polearm to block another tentacle as he searched for purchase.

Glancing over, you noticed the sweat dotting Noct’s forehead and the welt on his leg looked to be getting worse. “Gladio, get Noctis out of here. Iggy, you and Prompto watch their backs on the way out.” You got into position before slinging your weapons at the beast once more. It’s angered screams rattled your bones as you caught of the circular blades before sending it right back at the daemon again. Gladio nodded, understanding that Noctis’ life could be hanging in the balance. He shot you a look, one that you knew was meant to be encouraging and thankful, before helping Noctis to the side. Your attacks had drawn the attentions of the oozing nuisance away from the path and towards you.

“I’m not leaving you,” Prompto took aim and sent another round of fire-charged bullets into the target. He had created a large area where the protective gooey layer had broken away to reveal it’s more sensitive inner layer.

Focusing your attentions on the weakness, you sent your next attack there. “I can handle one extra-large booger with a case of the grab hands by myself. Make sure his majesty is okay and I’ll meet you guys at the haven.” The creature roared as your blades sliced through its exposed skin, a dark purple liquid spilling out of the cut. You dodged it’s counter attack as you caught your returning chakrams with ease.

Prompto started to protest again but Ignis stopped him. You missed whatever he said as a tentacle licked at the exposed skin of your arm and you bit the inside of your lip until you tasted the mettle tang of blood to fight back your scream. Your skin bubbled up at the contact but you continued your attacks. Ignis pushed Prompto towards the door before fending off several attacks of his own. “While I admire your tenacity,” Ignis gracefully vaulted to the side, taking off another tentacle, “you cannot hope to defeat this creature on your own.”

Grunting as you slid across the damp floor of the cave to grab your blade before it spun out of reach, you turned as used your momentum to sling it with the added force as the creature. “I’m not planning on dying in here, Iggy, but I’ve got my own promises to keep. Besides, I’m tougher than I look,” you shot him a trademark smirk before firing another round of attacks.

During his own attacks, Ignis had moved closer to the exit of the cave. The creature had shifted its position so that there was barely any room to escape passed its acidic coating. “I did not mean to imply you were not skilled.”

You caught the nervous look in Ignis’ green eyes as he glanced at his fading escape route. It was now or never and he knew it. “You have an oath to fulfill, Scientia, and dying in this cave is not going to help our king take back his kingdom.” You hissed as welts appeared on your leg, some of the acid-like mucus dripping from your blade onto your exposed skin. “Do me a favor, though?”

“Anything?” Ignis answered immediately. He made his dash towards the exit but turned as he pulled a spell bottle from his pocket and pulling the top.

Another roar ripped through the cavern at your latest attack. “If I don’t make it out of here, tell blondie that…that I wish I could’ve told him I loved him. That I wish things were different.” Tears stung your eyes but you refused to let them fall.

“Of course.” You caught the sad smile of the strategist’s face before he tossed the bottle at the creature. His attack hit its mark and the creature seemed to falter for a moment. Its forward motion blocked the path completely, cutting you off from your only chance of escape.

The others waited for days at the haven a few miles from the entrance to the cave system. Thanks to a couple potions, Noctis had nearly made a full recovery. His leg was still sore and thin pink ring wrapped around his calf but he was able to put his full weight onto his leg and no permanent damage seemed to have been done. It was pure luck that the others had made it out unscathed. However, there had been no sign of you since Ignis left you to deal with the monster.

The fire popped and hissed as Gladio stoked its flames to ensure its continued burning. He fell back into his chair heavily as silence washed over the group. They needed to move on, to see that their quest was fulfilled, but none of them felt good about leaving you. Prompto had wanted to run back into the cave several times but the others wouldn’t allow it saying that the creature could still be lurking and that he didn’t need see what may have been done to you.

Ignis had relayed your message once camp had been set up and Prompto had taken his heavy words with more grace than any of them knew he was capable of. He had been remarkably silent as the days passed, only commenting on going back to search for you. He sat in his chair with one near pulled to his chest, his pale freckled face resting against it. His eyes were red rimmed but no one had actually seen him cry. His bottom lip was raw where he had chewed it incessantly in worry. His blue eyes were nearly grey, awash of their normal bright color, as he stared into the licking flames. “I love her,” he spoke so quietly that Noctis, who was seated directly beside him, nearly missed it.

“What was that?” Gladio looked up from his book in concern. He had read and reread the same page at least a dozen times without their meaning sticking in his mind.

Prompto whimpered, a low sound that akin to a groan but filled with heartbreak, as he pulled his eyes to the starless night above the group. “I love her and I never told her.” He spoke evenly but his voice cracked halfway through the sentence. “…and I left her.” Hot tears spilled from his eyes and he made no move to stop them.

“You did as you were asked, as you had sworn to do in the name of the crown,” Ignis attempted to console the resident sharpshooter as he leaned over to place a gloved hand on his back. Prompto shuttered under the gesture but didn’t try to shove him off. “I believe (y/n) knew of your feelings and felt the same.”

Standing so quickly that the lawn chair he had just been using flipped backwards, Prompto stood and clenched his hands hard enough that his knuckles turned white where they peaked from beneath his gloves. “That doesn’t make it okay! You said it yourself, long range weapons were the way to go and instead of backing her up like I should have, I turned a ran out of there. Her blood is on my hands,” Prompto visibly shook as he squeezed his eyes shut. Turning on his heel, he entered the tent for some semblance of privacy.

Noctis stood to follow his best friend but Gladio stopped him with a tug at his shirt and a shake of his head. “Nothing you can do to make this any better, Noct. Give him some space.”

The young king opened his mouth to respond when he felt his pocket vibrate. Fishing his phone out, he swiped across the screen to answer the call. “Cindy,” he greeted her with mock cheerfulness.

“Hey there, prince. Found something I think you and your friends might be needing. Fixed ‘er up for you and got it all ready for you to pick up.” Shuffling and the sound of metal on metal filtered through the phone as if Cindy was currently waist deep in the hood of a car with the phone sandwiched to her ear. “When do you think y’all will be this way?”

Noctis offered one last look towards the tent before getting the attention of Ignis. “Tomorrow. We’ll be there by noon.”

You sat by Cid, just inside the garage when a flash of light caught your attention. The Regalia pulled off the road and parked by the pumps. Ignis immediately got to work filling the tank as the others climbed out. Noctis seemed fine but each of them looked more tired and worn out than you had ever seen them. Prompto’s hair hung limply, still damp from a recent washing as if he hadn’t bothered to fix it. He was pale his eyes had lost the beautiful sparkle you loved so much. You heart broke at his appearance. Your instinct was to stand but Cid stopped you with a shake of his head.

The old mechanic was in the process of changing the dressing over the wound on your arm. It was the deepest cut and the reason you had lost so much blood. The hunters that had found you had stitched up the worst of your wounds and done their best to keep you alive. Cid had taken over tending to your wounds when the hunters had left your unconscious form with the grease monkeys that knew you. His movements seemed practiced as he finished securing the gauze and wrapping it all in a self-adhesive bandage. “They’ll see you soon enough,” Cid chuckled before checking you over one last time.

If you said you weren’t sore, you would’ve been lying. Your body ached all over but other than the deep gash on your arm, your other injuries resembled small scratches now. A new scar cut its way across your bottom lip, splitting the naturally rosy skin at one side and a few others littered your legs but you would be right as rain in a few days. After you had escaped the cave, you had sent your location to someone you knew was in the area. You were too busted up to make it back to camp where the other waited and you could already feel the blood loss making your beaten body sluggish as the adrenaline wore off. Cor had sent a team of hunters after you as soon as he received the message knowing something was wrong. You were already unconscious when they found you not for from the mouth of the cave, your chakrams still coated in the acidic mucus.

Cindy’s lilting voice drew you from your thoughts as she greeted your friends. Cid helped you to stand on your bad knee – wrapped in a supportive brace after you had taken a particularly nasty fall onto it during the battle – and walked with you towards the entrance of the garage. “Reckon she belongs to y’all,” Cindy drawled as Cid helped you stand just beside her.

Your name left Ignis in a surprised gasp. Gladio moved to support you and carefully wrapped you in a welcomed hug. Noctis was next followed by a stiff Ignis. You assured each of them that you were fine, just a little sore, when you noticed Prompto hadn’t moved. His jaw hung loosely, his mouth open and his cheeks tinted an adorable shade of pink. As you watched him, his eyes began to turn, burning with the icy fire you admired so much before he took a shaky step towards you. He whispered your name before taking another step. “Y-you’re really here?”

Laughing, you did your best to look confident despite allowing Gladio to support some of your weight. “I couldn’t let some daemon do me in before I beat you at King’s Knight,” you smiled as tears stung your eyes.

Prompto took the last several steps separating the two of you and pulled you carefully against his chest. His arms around your waist supported your weight effortlessly as he crushed his lips to yours. Not caring that five of people stood as your audience, you tangled your fingers into his incredibly soft blonde fringe to pull him closer to you.

When the two of you finally parted, your both panted slightly and Gladio whistled. “That’s sure as hell been a long time coming,” he chuckled.

Your group was back on the road the next day after the others had helped Cindy out with a favor as payment for taking you in. Ignis set the course for Galden Quey, happy to agree to the notion that you all deserved a few days’ rest and relaxation. Noct still wasn’t one hundred percent and you knew you still looked pretty rough. Gladio seemed excited at the prospect of getting his early morning workouts in on the beach and Ignis was content to learn a bit more of how to prepare a few more dishes with the fish Noctis liked to catch.

Prompto supported you as you slightly limped up to the front desk. You had fully expected the employee to hand over a key to one room – your typical arrangements put you on the couch to avoid being subjected to unwanted cuddling or groping by a sleeping man – and was surprised when Prompto accepted a second key. “I thought we could use some time…to ourselves,” he blushed a bright red as he helped you towards your room. It was separated from the others’ by a few apparently empty rooms and was tucked into a corner of the building overlooking the sea.

You caught the obscene motion Gladio had tried to shoot Prompto without your noticing and the smirk that Noctis made no move of hiding. Ignis pushed his glasses up and nodded, offering a true smile. “I believe the two of you have more than earned some privacy. If you feel like joining us for dinner, we shall save you both seats at dinner.” The strategist hurried the others into their room. He shot you a wink as Prompto opened your own door.

Two of the four walls that made up the room were entirely glass as they stared out over the calm blue ocean. Light poured into the room and everything was decorated in pale calming colors. “How much did this cost?” you breathed in awe as you stood by the glass wall. It felt as if you were floating over the ocean.

“Iggy arranged it,” Prompto sheepishly pulled you towards the bed to get you off your feet. “He told me what you said.”

Blood rushed to your own cheeks as you studied him carefully. Other than the heated kiss the two of you had shared in hammerhead that morning, you hadn’t spoken about your feelings or made any other advances. Prompto had held your hand the entire drive to the beach having forced Noctis to allow him to sit in the back with you. “I’m glad he did. I wasn’t sure I was going to make it out of there and I didn’t want to die without having told you…that idea seemed worse than dying,” you confessed.

“When I looked back and saw that you weren’t following Ignis out of the cave, they had to force me back to the camp. I tried to go after you a few times but they stopped me.” His arms were careful not to hurt you as he pulled you against him. “I love you,” he whispered into your ear and shuddered at the sensation of his hot breath tickling your skin.

No more words were needed as clothing was shed. Prompto was so careful not to jostle your knee too much or to put pressure on your bandaged arm. His lips ghosted over your new scars and his fingers danced lightly over you sensitive skin. You couldn’t help giggling as you ran your fingers over his freckled chest and sculpted muscles. The evening sun that washed into the room made him glow as if he were truly composed of light. You would have sworn you had fallen into bed with an Astral.

His fingers dipped down to your slit and something close to a growl and a needy moan slipped from his lips as he felt how wet, how ready for him you were without much foreplay. His cock was throbbing and pulsing and you hadn’t even touched him yet. “You’re sure?” His breathy whisper was soft as his eyes stared into yours. They were brighter than you had ever seen them. Like jewels shimmering in the light of the sun.

Breathless, you nodded and worried your bottom lip. Prompto gently pulled at your chin to free it so that he could kiss you properly. The head of his swollen length pressed against your clit before he pushed into your entrance slowly. Your eyes fluttered shut and the soft moan that left you was the most beautiful sound Prompto had ever heard. Though he was thick and larger than you had expected, your body took him effortlessly as if you were made for one another. Once he was fully seated within you, he stilled so that you could both revel in the fullness and the perfection of your union.

Your hips bucked against him and you dug your fingernails into his shoulders before you managed to open your eyes. Prompto was staring at you with such devotion and love in his eyes that it was nearly enough to have you a shaking mess already. “Move,” you whimpered as you ground yourself against him.

Neither of you were hurried and the pace he set was slow and sweet and sensual. Neither of you cared much about teasing the other at that moment. It was all about feeling and conveying emotion. Prompto peppered every inch of the skin he could reach with light, feathery kisses and you traced your fingers over his entire body. You both wanted to commit the other to memory, washed in the light of the evening sun with the blissful ocean and the Astrals themselves as your witnesses.

Prompto changed his angle slightly and you moaned, you back coming off the bed at his ministrations. “Found it,” Prompto chuckled against your neck as he sucked gently at the skin. He wasn’t being rough enough to mark you but it was enough to send and added layer of heat towards your core. He focused his efforts on repeating his motions and moved a hand to cup your breast, toying with the nipple.

Your body naturally moved and rolled in time with his efforts. You had never fit with another person so effortlessly and you couldn’t help gasping as the pleasure built inside your body. “Prom-Prompto,” you panted. Your brain was struggling to string together the proper words but the marksman kissed you sweetly and his hands snaked southward between your bodies as if he knew what you needed. The callouses of his fingers added to the stimulation as he pressed harshly against your swollen clit. You moaned into his mouth and Prompto eagerly released your lips so that he could enjoy your sounds.

Spreading your legs wider, Prompto adjusted himself so that he could move at a much quicker pace inside you. Despite the force behind his thrusts and the need etched into his handsome features, his grip on you was soft and guiding as he was aware of your still weakened state. His finger moved quickly against your clit and you felt the floodwalls inside you beginning to crack. “Let go for me, sweetie. Come all over me,” he begged you in a voice that was deeper and gruffer than you had ever heard from him. Gasping, your body exploded in the most earthshattering orgasm you had ever felt. Your body quaked and you careened beneath Prompto. He carefully held you as stationary as he could so that he could help push you through your orgasm, his fingers still working in time with his cock. Warmth raced through your veins as you searched out his lips, in need of another connection between the two of you.

Prompto nipped at your lip, his teeth knocking against yours in need as his motions became sloppy. You wrapped your uninjured leg, still shaking and weak, around his waist to pull him closer and he grunted as you dug your heel into his ass. “I-I’m gonna –“ he panted in warning and you swallowed his whimpers with your mouth.

“That’s it, Prom. Fill me.” Your words seamed to light a fire in him as his pace picked up. A few more snaps of his hips and Prompto buried himself inside you as he released. You both gasped and panted as the feelings of him doing as you asked, of you both belonging so completely to the other.

Prompto fell beside you, pulling you close so that he could trace invisible patterns over your flushed skin. You ran a shaky hand through your hair before he brought it to his lips, kissing the palm. “Wow,” you breathed as a warm smile painted your lips.

A boyish giggle escaped him. “Wow is right. Way better than talking.”

It was your turn to laugh. “I love you, Prompto Argemtum,” you swore in an airy voice as if you had just accepted another duty from the king himself.

Fingers traced along your inner thigh sending shivers through you. “I love you,” he smiled but his eyes grew wide as he withdrew his hand. His fingers were covered in a mixture of the two of you where it spilled down your legs. His grin was impish as he stared at his fingers. “We, uh, made a mess. Sorry.”

Smirking, you sucked Prompto’s fingers clean, giggling at the shock written all over his face. You weren’t worried about the consequences of your coupling, knowing you could pick up a potion in the morning that would take care of it all. You swirled your tongue around his finger once before releasing it from your mouth with a wet pop. “Don’t be sorry. I asked for it.” You winked and sultrily brushed your hair away from your shoulder. Despite the sweet and vanilla session the two of you had just shared, you actually enjoyed things a little…dirtier usually.

Prompto’s eyes resembled saucers as he watched you with a hungry expression on his face. “Change of plans. We’re not going to make it to dinner if you can go another round,” he spoke in a strangled voice.

Laughing, you moved to straddle the blonde. “I’m no quitter,” you shot him a wink.

#prompto argentum #prompto x reader #prompto fanfic #ignis scientia #ignisapproved #reader insert #gladiolus amicitia #Noctis Lucis Caelum #ffxv #ff15 #fanfiction #ffxv smut #final fantasy fanfiction #final fantasy xv #final fantasy 15 #final fantasy smut

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emberglowfox · 7 years

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hey I did that fighter’s block thing at 1 in the morning here’s what I’ve got

words: 2k prompt: space

KSSSSSSSCH. My scream goes mute as the air is sucked out of the room like a magnet and I'm hurled out of the familiar white walls into the vast empty vacuum of space. No. No, no, no. I force my eyes open, ignoring the dead-cold chill gnawing at my limbs as I flail hopelessly, body shooting through antigravity farther and farther away from the transport ship. My lungs burn like a flame is eating them inside, stealing any oxygen I desperately gasp for. But there is nothing, except me, my imminent death, and the rapidly shrinking blip of white in the distance. I scramble for the emergency oxygen tank on my angle, fingers fumbling with the nylon strap as my vision starts to blur with black spots and my head spins. With a weak yank, I tug it out and stick the plastic end into my mouth, biting hard. Fresh air flows into my mouth and I heave in a long breath, eyes squeezed shut and lungs relishing every tiny bit of sweet oxygen. As quickly as I can, I slow my breathing and put my free hand to my head, knocking on the headset. I can hear nothing but static, which I guess is better than hearing absolutely nothing at all. I am in an endless void, populated by a billion trillion stars, blinking at me as if to say, 'What are you doing here? You don't belong here.' I let out a long, slow breath, limbs shaking from the cold of space and the fear. The fear. It's mind-numbing, blinding my senses to rational thoughts and repeating a mantra of death. 'You're going to die out here', it says, and I honestly believe this time that it's right. No one survives being sucked out of an airlock. Not even with a reserve oxygen tank. With the tank, I have about 30 minutes of breathing if I really gauge myself. And that's if I last that long before the chill freezes me completely and I'm left an icy shell of a human hurtling through the vast abyss of space. I am the only thing for miles. No one can see me. No one can hear me. I close my eyes and picture the warm orange walls of the home where I grew up. I can almost smell the cinnamon sugar and my mom whistling an old tune from the radio as bars of sunlight creep up the far wall. I can almost feel the soft bristles of the rug in the living room, sprawled out staring at the textured ceiling. I can almost see her face, eyes crinkled at the corners and face dotted with faded freckles and flowers as she tells me to help her. But it's just an 'almost'. It's like reaching for the light at the bottom of the ocean, knowing you're doomed to drown as it slowly fades away. I will never see mom again. My breathing starts to pick up, and I hastily slow it down. What should I do now? What can I do? Last words. Final will in testament. I'll die out in the vast abyss of space where no one knows my name. No one will care. ...But still. If they recover my body somehow; to mom I give my helmet. I spent days upon days, years upon years to get it. She knows its worth, not just in money but in my sweat and blood. It is the testament to how far I've come, as one of the first humans riding the frontier of space travel. Let's see.... To my older sister I give my camera. It's a polaroid, and old, old thing, but it still works. She always wanted to use it, anyways. To my younger brother, I give my pen. It has the Archenvaak insignia on it. I know he'd love to study it and the strange glowing ink it contains. To Vanessa I give my book of flowers. It contains pressed petals from across the far reaches of the galaxy, from small to large. I sure bet it beats that run down flower shop. I laugh, wasting valuable air, but I'm beginning to no longer care. Talking about my own death this way, it's... Strangely calming, in a way. Knowing that I'll be able to live on in the memories of my loved ones is a small but gentle comfort in this icy grave. To Alexander I give the old crown from the neighbor's fence that we stole when we were kids. It's still in my closet on the upper shelf, unless someone moved it. It's rusty, but still as shiny and prestigious as it was when we nicked it off of Mr. Mitchel's wooden fence all those years ago. To Gloria, I give my locket. It still has the picture of us at the river, chubby-faced, muddy, and grinning, perfectly enclosed within it. It smelled like metal and earth when I left it, and I hope it still does. And last but not least, to my dad. To my dad, I give the letters. Dozens of letters, never sent from a child who knew better than to expect a response. I don't know how they'll get them to you. Maybe I can show you them myself in a little bit. I open my eyes again, checking the pressure gauge. I have about ten minutes left. Final will and testament is down. Any last words? Last words. Last words. The last words I'll ever say. I really am going to die, aren't I? Then there's the tears. Big wet globs, pulled off of my face by momentum and frozen into shards moments later, leaving a trail of glittering diamonds through the black. I hiccup and sob and sniffle, rubbing my eyes as my oxygen tank begins to blip in a warning. I stop, blinking and hoping my eyes don't freeze over. I can no longer feel my legs or my lower arms. I can merely wobble my arms and head like a broken marionette. Even in death, I am helpless. Where was I. Last words. I have nothing to say. There is no one at my bedside to comfort me. No young children crying as I pass. It's just me, young and bright, in the emptiness of the one thing I always wanted to visit. I made my life goal to visit space, and it responded by stealing my final breath. A strange world, isn't it? Last words. What do you even say? What can be said to make anyone feel better, especially yourself? Words are powerful, they say, but they cannot alter what is. I guess that's true now. The oxygen tank blips again. 3 minutes left. Breathing is becoming harder, and my lungs fight against the increasing pressure for air. I start to feel lightheaded. I can no longer feel my arms. My mind begins to fill with a heavy fog. It's gentle and soft, not at all choking and harsh as I once feared it might be. Thoughts become obscured until they eventually drift away, no longer important. I think of mom for maybe the last time, and her words come to me. Not her words, her song. I came into this world with her song, it's only fitting that I left with it. I take a deep breath that I cannot afford and hum into the echoing canister to no one. "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine." I cannot hear myself, but I can feel the vibration of the metal against my lips. "You make me happy when skies are gray." Beep beep. 1 minute remaining. "You'll never know dear... How much I love you." I struggle desperately to inhale, seeking anything left. I manage one last breath. "Please don't.... Take.... My... Sunshine... A....Way..." The canister beeps loudly before shutting off. I let it go. It has served it's purpose. The fog drifts ever deeper into my mind, obscuring everything. I can only faintly remember the ship, my job there. I can only faintly remember Ad'zheel, the archenvaak who gave me the pen, xher carapace shining like polished gold. I try to reach back in my memories, but they have drifted away like a dandelion in the wind. Strangely enough, I do not fear. I am no longer afraid. The silence of space, once a terror, is now calming. I slip the headset down to my neck, basking in the numb, loose emptiness. I let my heavy eyelids flutter shut, my lungs feeling thick but not aflame. The cold drips away, replaced entirely by numbness. My final word is goodbye. I do not hear the hum as I go still.

. . .

The light is bright. Blindingly so, like someone is shining a flashlight into eyes that have not seen the sun in years. I squint away, biting my tongue. My lips taste like mint, with a faint touch of copper. I try to look around, but all i can see is pure untainted white. Am I in heaven? I don't know what I expected. I never really delved into the religious side of my thoughts. A figure begins to emerge from the light, a strangely molded blurry shadow. It is odd and out of place, and it appears to be speaking. I can hear it, but ever so faintly. It is like listening to someone speak in a pool of molasses, but blurred further. I cannot make out what it is saying. It turns, and something is shoved to my face. Something far outside of my brain clicks, and I inhale. It's like a light switch has been flipped. Pain roars into my limbs, which are now acutely alive and aware. The light fades, replaced with a slick black interior lit by white lines of glowing material. I am inside a ship. Is heaven a ship? I twist with pain, eyes scrunched up in agony. It's indescribable. It's like being on fire, frozen, pulled apart, and squished together at the same time, but a million times worse. The being is clearly panicked, blinking at me and chittering something in a strange language. It hastily darts out of the room, returning moments later with a package of... Something. Heaven is strange. It pulls open the package, which opens like gel being stretched open. It is not a substance I recognize. Inside are similar substances, but smaller and orb-shaped, the color of amber. The being holds some out to me, and I am confused. It lets out a high whistle and opens my mouth with a leathery claw, the other jamming the things into my mouth. They're horrendously sour, but I swallow. Almost immediately, relief floods me. A jagged breath falls out of my mouth, and I'm hunched over. My senses clear, and I'm immediately alert. I'm in a foreign alien ship just on the brink of death. No, beyond that. The being is chittering incessantly, feathery antennae waving hastily. I do not recognize the creature. It is taller than me, with a thin frame and thick, black, leathery hide. Its head is long and reminds me of a viper, but it has antennae. The rest of its body is layered like chitinous armor, with thick wings reminiscent of a bats and a stubby tail. It has four gleaming orange eyes. I realize my error and quickly pull up the headset from around my neck, flipping the translator switch on. The chittering becomes glitchy, computerized words, but they're understandable. "I was so worried, I found you in the middle of no-where, my life scanners indicated nothing, but now you are alive and-" "Who are you?" I blurt. The being stops and blinks at me. "What?" It's more of a low squeak. "Who are you? What species are you?" The translator feeds them through the microphone, and they become a series of fast clicks. The creature cocks its head. "I did not introduce myself. My apologies. I am Vihkoz, of the Verahzzians." I nod, not understanding at all, but not needing to. "Greetings, Vihkoz." My pronunciation is pitiful, but they do not seem to notice. "I am Amelie of the hu- of the terrans." I pause. "Thank you for saving my life."

#this is messy idc #practice is good kids #my writing

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geetaspace · 6 years

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Blurred

Blurred - A piece of speculative fiction(Artifact for Theory)

Unless we wake up to the damage that the gadget-filled, pharmaceutically-enhanced 21st century is doing to our brains, we could be sleepwalking towards a future in which neuro-chip technology blurs the line between living and non-living machines, and between our bodies and the outside world.

Susan Greenburg

2018A.D.

Under the dark waters there is silence. A fish or sometimes a large shadow-like creature drifts by. A few centimetres under the surface of the water, bits of plastic, catch the rays of a fading sun and glows with colour, shades of blue and green. This is the edge of the ‘floating’ island. Towards the centre, the mass heaves as if inhabited by multi-hued living things. A scent of rotten fish emanates from it. Any creature within it is doomed. Small fish even a short distance away turn belly up fast, a last twitch, and they begin the natural progression of flesh decomposing.

Chemicals drift out of the floating mass. Unseen and deadly, they give no warning. Coloured flip-flops, transparent water bottles, pieces of wood, corrugated metal sheets, all the debris of mankind float with the mass. They converge on five masses spread across the oceans.

2150 A.D.

In the distance jagged cliffs run along the seashore. The land is covered with brown rush-like grasses, the tips grey and torn. For miles around, the landscape is the same, dry and sparse. The sky is empty. No clouds. In the distance, small pockets of vegetation line the crevices of mountains. Green tips of trees peer out, sometimes a flash of orange where a fruit catches the light but no one notices. No human beings are around and animals, if present, hide in cool burrows underground.

Two hundred kilometres away a translucent dome sits on a large expanse of earth. It is covered with hexagonal plates of toughened glass. No better material has been found to replace glass. No doors are seen, no escape route. It seems that the inhabitants there or whoever live there, has turned their back on the earth.

Ba 631 stirs. No dream-catchers for her. No permanent chips in her brain. Her sleep patterns were of no use to anyone. Her mind had been wiped and refreshed many times after they took her away. It was fresh as a daisy they had told her, one image they couldn’t erase, and they left it alone, a remnant of the quirky imagination of a young girl. She looks at small screen above her head. 5.30 am. The sleep period has been further reduced in the last month but she doesn’t mind. Recently she had begun to have dreams again after twenty years.

The mattress she is lying on begins a gentle massage. Time to tap into the library of Remembrance. Fifteen minutes of memory, uncensored. Time to travel back in time, visit a world of sound and images. She relaxes but doesn’t take the VR specs. She prefers to watch from the outside as she is not sure how much data it collects. But it is good this way too. It is not difficult. Always waiting. The blue skies, the big fat clouds. She looks lower. The sun scintillating across the blue water. To the left, a pod of dolphins frolicking in the cool waters. She pauses, looking at them for a moment, taking in the curve of their bodies, the glistening skin of their bodies and then scanned the water for what she has been looking for. A short distance away from the group, a mother dolphin is swimming slowly with a baby at her dorsal fin. The mother swoops suddenly up in the air and after a moment the baby tries and makes a perfect arc.

These are the images she is allowed, the collective knowledge that belongs to all humanity, machines and the in-betweens. All pixels washed and cleaned. Pixels that catch the light, show the animals in the best light, the water blue and clean. She waits for a moment and then goes deeper in her mind. A memory pushes forward and she lets out a hiss of air. She tries to see more each time but it seems that she sees through a fixed peephole, only that and no more. A girl with a dog walk along a path on the cliffs until they come to a cove. Dolphins are waiting, swimming lazily in the water. She stops and the dog squats besides her. She reaches into her pocket and breaks off hunks of bread and throws them in the water. The dolphins swoop at the bread and devour them. Then they raise their head and smile at her. So intent she is on the animals, that she doesn’t hear the sound of the helicopters in the distance. Then it’s too late. She looks up and sees a woman on the verandah of the house nearby, gesticulating wildly, her mouth open in a scream. It was the only day of her life she would remember, the moments of the dolphins smiling and a woman screaming, whose face she tries and tries but cannot not remember.

She is careful with this memory. She lets it sink back deep beneath the layers, hidden well from the collectors. She doesn’t know how she does it but it feels natural. She turns her mind to the pod of dolphins in the sea, letting the images flood her mind, wiping any traces, preparing herself for the day ahead, for the time she and her mind belongs to the collective.

A light flashes. She gets up and goes to the bathroom pod. She catches a glimpse of sturdy square buttocks before a towel is wrapped around the pink body.

Hemmel. He is always late. He stumbles past her without seeing her. She doesn’t mind. He probably was reprimanded. The pod is quite disciplined in that way. It hates being behind in its schedule.

She waits a moment until the pod is clean and disinfected but when she gets in, she imagines that she could smell a whiff of Hemmel’s soap. Lemongrass and a synthetic chemical she can’t identify, a musky smell some of her clients had used in the job before this one.

She opens her mouth and a brush appear and delve between her teeth, brushes her gums and tongue and sprays gel. She gargles and spits out.

Here she can think. Sensors check her teeth, gums and even the elasticity of her skin but her mind left untouched. She searches for the image .The mother dolphin is lying and the water and suddenly the baby jumps three times in the air, one after the other. Ripples spreads in all directions, intersect and create new patterns. The baby dolphin swims back to his mother and lies in the water near her back fin.

The brushes have finished their job of brushing rotating, brushing, scraping and squirting gel in her mouth. It finishes off with minty spray and more brushing. She dutifully spits and another liquid is sprayed into her mouth. All in a matter of seconds. Her teeth feel clean and dry. There is a pause before her bath as the pod checks her requirements. Water is too precious to be used for bathing so cleaning rituals have been automated. She doesn’t mind. A few extra minutes when her thoughts are not mined, categorised and recycled.

A cool jet of heavy air strikes her body from all sides. She spreads her arms and legs. More aerosol leaden with cleaning agents, mild disinfectants strike bar body followed by a jet of air, labelled forest fern with wild daisies. It was the only scent that she remembers of that summer day on the cliff long ago. She searches for a particular smell she can’t describe but it is always elusive, always tantalising out of reach. Glitches in the algorithm. Not all thoughts can be read clearly. Most things are standardised. Her hair undergoes the same treatment and then she is wrapped in a fluffy synthetic towel . She steps out the cubicle and goes back in her cubicle.

Her body scanned and measured. She will ovulate in five days. It’s her turn to be harvested. A short procedure for which she gets bonus points. She has a few more years until even this function of hers will stop working but she is stubborn. She wants children. She wonders if there are young children looking like her, never once questioning where they came from. A new breed of trans human without parents, a combination of best fitted features so they exhibit a wide variety of the skill sets needed.

She had this peculiar desire even since she was young. That she needed to have children, even if she would never see them. Never know what they looked like who their fathers were and what they were doing, whether they were happy or not, how human they were. But it was a need pushing her on and on through out the years. Sometimes she wondered if the algorithm made her do that, whether it was that erasing and remaking of her mind that drove her but this felt more primal, as if having eggs, getting them fertilised and creating children was a way of making herself visible, of leaving her mark on the world.

She clears her mind. Make a blank sheet. It was one of the first things she learned. Vague shapes hover over her. The stripping and cleansing of her mind had not fully done and they shadowy figures remained. It was something she never mentioned and the machines looking into her mind dismissed it as a glitch, a result of her being with humans at an early age, not undergoing cleansing mind process until she was twelve. She was an irregularity, saved when her parents were condemned because they believed in free thought. But she was saved mainly because they thought her beauty was rare and could be made use of.

She waits, a blinding flash in her head, Software updates. Glitches fixed. As always the latest news , breakthroughs and progress in all areas. The outer environment is never mentioned but the space mission almost at the end of the milky way in search for a habitable planet is the main topic of the morning. A planet has been detected that might a mirror image of earth. Water is detected. Hydrogen and oxygen that is. Another twenty years to reach it. Nanoparticle delivery of cancer medication became the standard norm. It was only a matter of time that cancer would be eliminated. Life would be cheaper. Batch processing and production entered a new stage with neural networks made from biological materials. Machines will began to think more organically, intuitively.

Yet they haven’t solved the problem of dying. It seems that even most healthy humans once they have past the age of ninety to one hundred and ten, they passed away in their sleep. There are a few of them who are passed one hundred and twenty years but they are mostly relics, living in research centres, their body scanned and examined to reveal hidden secrets.

Everything is recycled. Back to the back elements carbon, hydrogen, …used in nanotechnology to create new products. No one objected. It was a more efficient way of living.

In the early 21st century, 8 million metric tons of plastics enters the oceans from the land each year. There are 8 billion tons of plastics in the world.

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