#there's something cool behind this gate with the big metal pig!

[saltypiss]

I think the reason combat in DS2 just feels off as hell is because they originally were going to make it easier, or were incapable of hard design, but kept being pressured despite not being equipped to handle such. Like, they really, do not know how to design "hard".

It's genuinely not comparable between a one on one's difficulty and design, and throwing as many enemies as possible at you with random hit timings.

Like, "horde battles" aren't inherently bad, but they were seldom used in DS1 because they knew how to make a hard game legitimately, and spamming enemies and hiding them every other corner is not hard, it's trial and error a flash game does. Even when DS1 did this, you actually had time to react, not in DS2, never in DS2.

The inherent flaw of tying Dodge Rolls actually Functioning to skill points also points to this idea, that this team or whoever was in charge, did not know how to make a Souls-Like, but just another generic RPG desperate to be Skyrim. You cannot, have something that's equivalent to Missed Inputs, in your fuckin' Dark Souls game.

Like, I really, REALLY, REALLY, tried to give DS2 a chance, it was my first Souls game and made me completely write the series off as faux difficulty, because there is no "gittin' gudden" at DS2, just how much you're willing to grind. For levels, and at your own patience.

Alot of the interviews and marketing of the time also just...does not paint a good image, like the music choices, and choice of trailer visuals, it's...nothing. It's so damn forgettable. The music is generic rock in some sections like how does-

I really could elaborate more, but the main point is that DS2's difficulty is faux as hell and I'm near certain it's because the devs/dudes in charge plain and simple don't know how to make a legitimately hard, but Fun, Worthwhile experience. It's nothing but trial and error, if ya like Kingsfield that might rub your back right, but if I wanted to play a Kaizo Romhack, I would, but I don't find fun in landing on the wrong block and dying because of it. They seem to just throw ideas at the wall, map designs, enemy designs, placements, the whole of DS2 feels like a fever dream of design where you're constantly asking "Wh- why would you do that though?"

My last memory is backstabbing an enemy near a cliff, because clearly it was set up as a cool moment for the player, and it kills you when you backstab them by throwing you off the edge. If that's intentional, that's Faux Difficulty and it's riddled across the game, if it wasn't, it's such poor design that no wonder I think the difficulty wasn't coherent or designed well, it's just frustrating to be punished for playing the game without textbook word for word knowledge of every element I could only have by forcing myself to play for hundreds of hours.

It's like...in Counter Strike, it's fun to get good at the recoil patterns and grenade throws, but in DS2, it's demanding you essentially play it's cutscene beat by beat, and if you go offscript even slightly, despite not having a fucking script, that's a massive punishment, loads of time lost for nothing, patience pushed for nothing. I learned Nothing. That's the worst fuckin' part. I learned NOTHING from DS2. Nothing about it translates to other games, like I'm better at Smash now because of Dark Souls, how that works, comes down to being taught patience, not Dwindling it to the fucking apple's core.

But most importantly: I don't feel compelled in the slightest to explore any element of DS2. Not it's combat, not it's intricacies, not it's story, not it's characters god definitely not the characters, not the minute details, not the world, exploration DEFINITELY not the exploration, I don't care about the stats, combos, I don't give a shit because at no point did DS2 interest me nor ever even slightly try, because itself, is not interesting. It's a boring, boring experience.

From beginning to halfway, I was bored out of my god damned mind. It's a PAINFULLY sluggish experience, everything feels under water, dodging sucks, timing anything sucks, every enemy encounter bores or annoys me. Literally everytime I rant about the game, I go play it to see if I'm wrong this time, maybe I missed something, maybe I should try something different! But everyone's gonna play the fucking game the same god damned way that first time, it's always going to be going to the old ladies, getting to that big ass tree with the dude sitting underneath it, then going to the scaffolding section, there's some shit with a fire lizard in the pit that is horridly designed, and...fuck, I'm bored, I'm bored thinking about it. I gotta get through the first like, 4 hours of garbo content just to reach a point where I can give it another chance and by then, I'd already be on my way to Quelaag in DS1, because that game rewards you for getting good. Not just Being good, for GETTING, GOOD. For learning it's mechanics, for having the patience to take time and sit with it and feel it's experience play out.

DS2 NEVER rewards you for SHIT. The "Overcoming the greater challenge brings a greater reward" is such fucking idiotic philosophy. It's not rewarding to get past something that's got faux difficulty, it's rewarding to have planned everything beforehand, executing it, learning from failure, not trial and error, trying again, until, Click! Oh, that worked! I'm a fucking genius! Or hell, if it's a real challenge, then the difficulty should be in that you aren't as prepared.

DS2 doesn't let you prepare, for anything, ever. You HAVE to know X does Y so you can do Z. You HAVE to know X is behind Y so you should ONLY do Z. You HAVE to do X so Y isn't blocking Z. You HAVE to know this, you HAVE to know that, there is no getting around any of it any other way! How do you know this? You just SHOULD! and if you don't, youuuuu're punished! So you better walk into death just to learn that, yep, there was No Fucking Way I'd have known that without Dying first. We have instant kills/stunlocks in every fuckin' section because it's cute! It's real cute! Tee Hee! Fuck..

Don't get me started on the game being grey as shit because they thought the grey visuals of Skyrim weren't because it was FUCKING SNOWY but because they thought that at any point, anyone at Bethesda had a creative and purposeful mind that wasn't extending Horse Armor to absurd degrees. I can't fucking stand the "artistry" of DS2, hey, you like fucking ORANGE!? I do too! But when the fucking other half of the game that ISN'T ORANGE is fucking GREY or GREEN I lose my FUCKING MIND and start being existential at the very concept that the REAL FUCKING WORLD has NEVER been this fucking grey, and yet my Monitor capable of more colors than I can fucking make out is dedicated to lowering the contrast so everything's god damned grey, like I'm talkin' 1950 cartoons had more fuckin' color variety CHRIST.

I get why people can like it though, you know, the parts that were competently made, most of the time, accidentally, but everyone pretty loudly knows a fat lot of the game is genuinely busted from every design perspective, even Kaizo him fuckin' self would be embarrassed at some of this shit like dude this is a real fucking product not a rom, why are you putting JOKES in your FUCKING REAL GAME. And calling it design is a worse joke, quit, it wasn't funny then, it ain't now.

I have 6 fuckin' saves where I finally could not take anymore, and would try to come back a week later and MY GOD where, where anything, where. Fuckin' hell the exploration of this game is so bad, like I can find my way anywhere in DS1, if I can't, I can find a video, for DS2, where the fuck am I, I've never been this way and it's worse than the other 3 somehow. Where? Who? What do I do? What's the goal? Help? Help????

DS2 is harder to play than DS1, not because of difficulty, but because of poor work all around from basically every conceivable angle. It Desperately wants to just be one long hallway, levels designed to be warped to, not explored and found, and even then, there's no purpose to exploration so why would you not just make the hallway design more succinct. People talk about how it's supposed to feel like a dream, or dying, or purgatory, honestly man, that's way too much credit for the game, the guys in charge literally said, on multitudes of occasions, that the story would be Direct, Concise, and Easy to Follow to some degree, I can't imagine them being capable to make that genuinely cool theory, especially not for...this, it'd be a waste.

Nothing. In the game. Deserves such cool speculation.

And look, maybe I'm wrong, but the "right" ways to play DS2 that I imagine I'd be suggested, would make me go "OH so it's not that it was made by people incapable of such design, it's just that it's top to bottom bad! I gotcha."

To end it, DS1 throws an annoying obstacle that you can smartly bypass through your own intuition and wit, it rewards you to having learned knowledge previously and applying it to new situations.

DS2 annoys you by throwing obstacles you have no choice but to handle exactly the way intended or risk a far worse experience than the intended way. You're not rewarded for anything, the reward is simply beating the "thing". You learn nothing, you grow none, the game did nothing to deserve this time and effort, and you feel more empty than ever before. And no that's not purposeful, stop pretending it is, it's just bad work all around, the empty feeling is what poor design gives you.

#the greater the challenge #the greater the reward #Dark Souls 2 #For how often they say #they sure never put much fucking thought into that huh #like none #What an idiotic take of the series too #Like #you're telling me the only fucking thing these idiots got from DS1 was that the combat was hard? #my man combat was it's weakest element #exploration #preparation #learning #evolving and growing #challenging YOURSELF #not the game challenging YOU #was Dark Souls #It gave you reasons to push forth #there's something cool behind this gate with the big metal pig! #there's other areas to explore than the graveyard but eventually you'll come back! #Oh you're stuck at this part? #Remember the elevator had an opening with a landable location? #That you learned by playing the FUCKING GAME not by just HAVING that fucking knowledge? #the same people that like DS2 probably like the original Zelda #and tbf it's not a bad game #it's just not #you know #good #or inuitive #it's pretty randomly made despite what some claim

[grim-faux]

3 - Haunted Basement

  The patient was still mewling even when I entered the small room, I slammed the door behind me and took the time to slide one of the small rolling chairs over in front of the door, despite it opening from the other side. It was stupid but I wasn’t really thinking about it at the time.  Despite the skeletal physique of the patient I felt that somehow he would manage to get up and chase me down, if I didn’t deter his efforts in some miniscule way.  Once I had the door ‘secured’ I stood and watched the handle, expecting it to turn slowly like in some horror movie or something.

Eventually I pulled myself away and jogged all the way from the grunts mill back to the other side of the lobby.  It seemed almost too good to be true, and I had a bit of a scare when I reached the security door and couldn’t find the magnet key in my pocket.  The shock was short lived, I simply had to turn my coat pocket out more to pull it out of a wrinkle it had wedged into.  Never did a computerized confirmation sound so beautiful.

I shut the door after me and glanced over the room.  “They Lie” was scrawled on the wall in dried blood beside a window, right above a large pool of blood.  Footprints led away from the message towards the door.

It seemed my chance finding the magnet card wasn’t so chance after all.  The ‘Priest’ had been in here recently, and he did leave the key card for me to find, presumably while I was out cold for that short time.  This system seemed too elaborate to concoct by one man, but it was apparent from the file I found he was a patient of Mount Massive Asylum.  Not a comforting thought given my situation.

No matter, I would soon put this place far behind me, and deep in the back of my mind.  I shook my head and turned to the main computer.  Overhead screens displayed various rooms, some I recognized, others I hoped to never stumble upon.  No one knew I was here, no one significant anyway.  I pulled the chair over and slid the keyboard under my hands, the screen had the basic menu for systems access.  I might be able to stumble my way through this, as long as their network didn’t lock me out after a few password attempts.

Security

The white page and loading screen appeared and I watched intently as the little gray bar filled with white, inch by inch.  I looked over my shoulder making sure no one was in the room with me, I hadn’t searched it thoroughly in my haste, but everything appeared normal.  Or should I say safe and none threatening?

Aside from my friend slumped against the wall.  Sigh, I turned back to the screen and blinked.  The feed on my right was transmitting from somewhere dark and I could barely make out the familiar black shape with bald head strolling along towards…was that a lever?  My blood ran cold and I stood up from my seat when the ‘Priest’ turned and looked directly at the camera.

The lights went out.

I stumbled in the sudden dark, for some reason moving before I had any idea what was going on.  That switch he pulled, it was a breaker somewhere.

Thank the creators of backup generators, the emergency lights flashed on bright and blazing, I covered my face as my eyes readjusted to the bombardment of light.  Had to find the generators, need to turn the power back on.  The plaque near this corridor read Electric Room and indicated steps down, along with an overturned wheelchair and a crimson trail. 

As my mind wandered to undertaking this new task, a muffled voice came through the door.  “We have to contain it.”

I needed a way out, I needed to be somewhere else, anywhere but here.  I tried the door, but losing the main power activated a locking mechanism.  Damn!  Did he know I was here?  There was no place visible that could conceal me, only two lockers.  Was that all?  I turned and saw a large shadow streak across the wall, my options were drying up.

The locker gave a loud creak as its hinges ground together, I pulled down a coat that had been hung up and tossed it aside before replacing the vacant space with myself.  Right when I had shut the door, the big fucker stalked past the window. I held my breath and hoped, I prayed he would keep going.  This door was always locked before, it’s still locked now.  He’d lose interest and keep going, somewhere out there was some poor idiot that hadn’t been tossed out a window yet.

I wanted to slip down as he threw his body against the steel door.  Maybe it would hold, it was built to withstand a riot.  But I think at this point I was just kidding myself, nothing was going the way I had anticipated it would.  This place needed to go to hell.

After three slams of his massive body, the door crashed inward and Chris stood on the bent metal.  He gave the room a casual look over, everything looked just as it was the former evening.

I tried to control my breathing, everything seemed amplified in the acoustics of the hollow locker.  Out of reflex I pulled up my camera, catching an image of the big fucker as he turned to the computer terminals.  With him out of sight I felt infinitely better, but he was still there searching for me.  He made audible snuffling sounds, muttering to himself,

“You were here, weren’t you?  Little pig.  I’ll find all you whores.”

I hadn’t realized I’d closed my eyes until they snapped open, the sound of a creaky locker bulldozing my thoughts.  I could barely make out his shoulder, and a blood stained hand as he stood poised, but in the same instant relaxed when he found no one huddled in the cramped space.  He shut it gently and pivoted, marching to the doorway where he stopped.  He glanced back but looked away.

My lungs craved air, but every shallow breath I took ached.  Did he plan to turn around and check the other locker?

The latch clicked as I lifted it and pushed the door open, I stiffly swung around it as I shut the door and pulled the next locker open.  No sooner had it settled, Chris stormed back to the lockers and snapped the door open.  I was trying to push away, put myself as far from him as I could despite the tiny space.

He shut the door and turned away, this time exiting the room.  “Parameters will hold up….”

Ten minutes later and I was still hiding.  I heard no sound and saw no sign of Chris’ return, but remained leery.  If I couldn’t see him, he could be anywhere.

Anywhere but here?

I struggled with the latch, almost panicking with the thought I had accidentally locked myself in.  My fingers were a little numb, my whole mind felt numb.  I took a few steps toward the computer terminal and collapsed in the chair.  What had I been doing up to this point?

“The big fucker is stalking me. Found a patient file for a CHRIS WALKER, ex-military police, several tours in Afghanistan. A lot of the blood in this place is on his hands. But not all of it.”

My writing was sloppy, but that was the best I could do for now.  My camera was still on record so I shut it off for a bit and saved its charge.  I set it on the terminal and propped my head up on my hand.  The Generators would be down the steps in the Electric Room but restoring the power would be another matter.  Did they need gasoline?  What sort of grid did they run on?  I was unsure if Murkoff staff had them locked up to prevent people like the ‘Priest’ guy from getting ahold of them.  Obviously they must be accessible, unless he was the only one with access to them.

I sighed through my fingers.  What was I doing with my life?

Pages had been left on the terminal, a small note to Shawn about the camera operations.  Beneath it was a notice for restarting the generators, the Asylum had it’s own power off the grid after Murkoff took over.  Well, of course they would!

But it had directions for restarting the generators, reactivate the pumps and throw the breaker.  Seems pretty basic.  I tossed down the page and ran out the room, but returned shortly to snatch the camera.  My thoughts were a bit off kilter, I was hearing shrieking on the other side of the gate, from where I thought Chris had stalked off to.  I was going the opposite way, later I would worry where he had gone.

A pipe had broken from the wall, water gushed from it just missing the stairs I took to the basement.  Chances are it was a delivery pipe, but it was no more cleaner than sewage.  The air was humid yet chilly, small drafts moved through the open doorway waiting in the subterranean level.  I sucked in a sharp breath as the water engulfed my shoes, I stepped back and pondered.  There was no way to get around this, I liked my shoes but I’d have to buy a new pair after this regardless.  A new style, I didn’t want to remind myself how many bodies I trudged over.

The actuality was, I was scared.  No lie.  There was no telling who was down here, if there was something worse than that big fucker.  But if I wanted a chance to get out of here, I had to get through this.

My feet sloshed through the water, shoes turned soggy and heavy.  I pulled up my camera and flicked on the night vision.  Even with the enhanced lens I couldn’t see what was under the water, I just had to tread carefully.  There was quite a bit of ruble on the surface, some of the ceiling had weathered and fallen.  Large items lined the walls, some barrels a pallet.  They might have used the lower floor for storage as well, it was spacious from what I could see.

I was met with a despairing sight, the gate that lead into the basement rooms was locked with a thick chain.  No way could I smash it.  Just to mock me, the wall beyond the gate had a plaque labeling the primary rooms.  The middle name was Electric rooms.  There had to be another way into there. 

As I turned to backtrack, a flash of light blinded me from the next room.  The wall had rotted and crumbled to some degree, and with some extra effort I was able to remove enough brick that I could squeeze through.

The water was deeper on this side, and a bit more ruble was hidden beneath the surface.  I caught my footing before I could fall and drop the camera.  That’s the last thing I needed.

A cool draft met me in this grimy place, but the scent it carried was far from fresh.  I clutched my coat tighter around me and stepped carefully, there were boards bobbing just under the surface, sodden but uncertain about their watery demise.  A few laundry baskets had been abandoned and another shelf melted in the flood.  I turned a corner and continued, at least in this section I didn’t need my camera, this corridor was well lit.

Wooden crates were stacked along the walls making a slow precession into the water as their predecessors decayed, and gave under the weight.  I wondered what was kept in the barrels along the walls, gasoline maybe.  They had vehicles and other machinery that needed fuel, a tanker probably came out to deliver the barrels.  The noxious stench of bad oil was constant, cheap grade bought in bulk for old machines.  Engines.  The generators couldn’t be far.

Someone had stacked boxes in the middle of the corridor, I tested their stability before hopping over.  The emergency lights didn’t reach this area, or had burned out.  I moved my feet carefully under the water tensing when I felt something soft and undeniably slimy.  It could be a cardboard box filled with liquefied files, that’s all it was.  But the smell intensified, a soggy vapor of rot and soured water. 

Before me was what appeared to be a high archway, but the opening was boarded up tight.  I put my hand up testing, feeling the draft creeping between the cracks.  Maybe there was a small window down here, something I could squeeze through if I could find it.

“W-who’s there?”

The voice sounded meek, worried.  I shuffled away as banging ensued.

“Who’s?  WHO’S THERE?”  I held still as the noises softened and the speaker began mumbling.  “I’ll hurt you.  I’m not afraid of dying.  I’m not afraid of anything.  Not anymore.”

I waited listening to the sounds of the water, only the drips and tranquil sloshing penetrated the black.  Slowly my feet moved, reducing as much noise as I could through the froth.  The night vision revealed nothing but a large corridor, at the end a dull haze of light.  It was on the other side of a waist high platform, evidence on my side revealed there had been steps some short time ago but the timber ruptured and was torn away.  The waterlogged planks I had seen along the way might’ve been the remains.

From what I could make out there was no one in this room.  The walls were thick brick and solid looking, a few pallets and boxes had been left to rot.  The furthest wall had two doors, the one on my direct left had one, all shut and to my limited knowledge locked tight.

Another body hung from the ceiling, headless and bloated. Another reminder of what would become of me if I didn’t hustle and get the fuck out of here.

I pulled myself onto the platform and stepped softly down the steps.  I wondered if this place was first built as an Asylum, or had it been constructed by some eccentric billionaire that appreciated his privacy.  The building was ancient, but the ideal of looking into its private history had not come to mind while I was struggling to locate information on Murkoff’s activities.  A map would have been very useful right now.

The control board beneath the brilliance of light labeled out my next course of action.  The generators couldn’t work without gasoline (I knew that).  The main breaker needed to be flipped before I could restart the power.

This didn’t seem too complicated, where?-  I turned around recalling the sealed rooms, one of them must hold the breaker.

My shoes bubbled as they filled with water once again, I didn’t want to think about what might’ve been floating beneath the surface.  I focused ahead trusting my NV, even with it I was still bumping into boxes and things my eyes had missed as I set my narrow sight for one of the two doors.  When I put my weight on the first step it gave, dissolving into the water.  I came down hard on my knee but brushed off the sharp pain, at this point it was nothing but a mild nuisance.

The door knob stuck but with a hard twist the handle creaked and I crept inside.  The soft glow of the emergency light illuminated the generator, poised on a metal pole was the button.  All was going well, I punched the dial and turned around as the machine whirled to life.

On a metal barrel beside the door something glittered, I walked over and discovered it to be another battery.  Odd place to find one, but maybe someone had been down here last with a penlight.  I pocketed it before I stepped out the door and stopped, my blood running cold.  The sound of crashing and banging came from not far away, not far enough away from me.  Timber splintered and gave as someone broke through what could only be a door.  Or a barricade. 

I checked through my camera scanning - where had it come from?  The acoustics of this room made locating sounds tricky, there were four doors in this room?  No, three, I came from a step–

A pair of eyes flashed, I stepped back as I moved my camera searching for the face.  There, a man looking right at me from the doorway he had forced open.  I retreated back into the room shutting the door before examining the confined area.  Had he seen me?  He was insane no doubt, could he trust his eyes after what had happened here?  It might not have mattered to him.

The room was solid, except for a bed a few feet from the generator.  I slid under it as the thuds came from the doorway, the wood snapping and the jam cracking before the door clattered against the cement.  My instinct warned me to crawl further under the bed, I was just beneath the edge, but if I made a sound he would find me.  The dull drone of the pump could nullify the tiniest gasp, but somehow he would pick up the rough fiber of my coat against the moist cement.  I held my breath as he walked by, his gaze roaming the walls and shadows.  In his hand he carried some sort of weapon, what looked like the leg of a table with screws still sticking out of it.

It was splattered with black.

I swallowed and let out a shallow breath. Please leave.  Please don’t check under the bed.

He slapped the clean side of the club against his palm a few times, turning to check the room once more before he spun around.  “The gospel.  Tells us to follow.” 

Once he cleared the doorframe I took in a long, deep breath.  God, my ribs.  I didn’t need to get anymore beat up than I already was.

For good measure I waited, he had vacated the room but was he debating on returning?  I had no idea if he had seen me or what he might’ve thought, if he thought he saw me.  There was time, take it slow.  But if I waited, would he eventually return and notice the bed?  I shifted under it a little more, almost immediately the man materialized in the open doorway.

I bit my lip.  He didn’t hear me!  He couldn’t have!  He was here on a hunch and once he had satisfied his suspicions he would leave.  I tucked my face against my shoulder and watched him with my eyes.  He gave the room another glance over as he passed, and checked behind the generator when near it.

Against my better judgment, I slipped out on the other side of the bed beside the wall.  I kept low and crawled towards the gaping doorway as I heard his feet grit against the moist silt of the floor.  My breath hitched as I looked over my shoulder, he had just dropped down to check under the bed.  I didn’t wait for him to rise, I carefully stepped on the door and slipped out of the room.

The steps groaned under my weight, the sound amplified in my mind.  Cursed all, I forgot the last step was ruined and stumbled in the water as I fought to keep my footing, and reduce the noise I was making.

“What’s that?”

I couldn’t see at all without my camera, but hadn’t the presence of mind to raise it for my eyes. Instead, I felt around in the dark for the rail and made a painfully slow shuffle around to the backside of the steps.  They groaned as my pursuer stepped down into the water.

He made a more graceful recovery than I had when he missed the last step, or he recalled that it was ruined.  Or, a more frightening thought, he was more accustomed to the inky veil that occupied many of the rooms.

It was fortunate I had my hand wedged in the cameras strap, I had let go of it as I pressed my fingers against the wet wood.  With it on my mind I raised the visor and watched the figure scan his immediate area.  After a tense second he continued forward, his legs churning dull froth with each step.  I backed away slowly, always keeping him in my sight.  I bumped against a crate before I turned around, checking for what other obstacles might be in my path.

The second door, same as the first.  I hopped onto a crate moldering against the steps and made light footfalls towards the handle. It gave with an easy twist and I entered, shutting my thin paper of protection.

This room had more to offer.  Lockers lined the wall, shelves had been assembled in the corners littered with few items, some bottles of oil and boxes, tattered sheets.  In the furthest corner was the pump.

When I activated it, the noise would alert the prowler.  There would be no doubt in his mind, with the door shut, that someone was still in here.  Or, this was the trail of thought I entertained.  I had to keep reminding myself he was a patient in an asylum, there was no telling what his rationale skills entitled.

I punched the button and turned to the lockers along the wall.  Maybe I could lock it from the inside….

The latch was different from the ones on the top floor, I fumbled with it trying to discern if it was corroded with rust or if I was doing this wrong, but the sounds at the door thumped with each beat of my heart.  Wait!  Wait!  I needed to hide now!

I sprint over behind the pump and ducked down.  A final crash announced my visitor as the door caved in.  He kicked away bits of the timber as he stepped through, they clattered across the floor loud enough to be heard over the pump.

“—revealed himself to the shattered minds.” He muttered, somewhere amid a quote.  I curled up into a tighter ball and pressed up against the pump, if he glanced over it I might fall just under his peripheral sight.

A locker opened then slammed shut.  He patrolled the area, his club thudding along the metal doors before he stopped.  For a moment there was near total silence.

I trembled though I couldn’t decide if it was from the cold or if I was terrified.  Must have been both, my coat was good but my pants were soaked. I flinched when he began beating the lockers and screaming.  When would this nightmare end?

With a final hoot he raced out, his shoes thudding over the broken planks and fading down the steps outside.

Several minutes passed, but of the man there was no sound.  The generator caused too much of a ruckus, it was impossible to pick up echoes or voice in the next room.  Was he still out there?  From here I had no way of knowing.

I uncoiled myself and peered over the pump.  It might’ve helped if I had my camera up, but the emergency light impeded the NVs range.  There were no sounds that worried me, but that could mean he was standing just outside the door waiting.  I moved around the large machine and crouched, shuffling towards the broken door.  At this range I could see through my visor, but halfway there I couldn’t see much beyond the portal but dark shapes huddled.

The right side was the stair side, I huddled on the left straining to see.

“Can’t see me.  Won’t get me.”

I slinked back, but realized I was still safe.  He was trudging by the stairs muttering to himself, I don’t think he could see me.  Or maybe I underestimated his instincts, he climbed onto the crates and began up towards me.

In a wild dash I reached the pump and ducked down behind it.  I hadn’t seen if he cleared the door before I hid, did he even see me in the first place?  I had no way of knowing, but I was out of sight and therefore, out of mind.  He was just checking the room.  He must’ve visited the other side first, and then came back to see if I was here.  But this was all speculation, I had no idea what was—

A locker swung open, pause.  He slammed it shut and jerked another one open.  He knew I was here, he was looking for me.  I listened carefully as his steps moved across the room, then pivoted.  Where was he now?  I slid to the edge of the machine and leaned over.

He was at the opposite corner just standing there, but I could still hear him walking.  When my eyes adjusted to the odd contrast of light and shadow, I saw a sheet hanging on the shelf.

“There you are!”

I twisted around where I was huddled, he grabbed my shoulder and raised the club above his head.  My leg kicked out blindly smashed into the brick wall, I tore out of his grip and slid out under a metal pipe attached to the pump.  A sharp crack filled the air when he brought his weapon down, it took a moment to register my opportunity before I was clawing to my feet running for the door.  “Wait!  Come back!”

Even with my night vision up, I still ran into the rail that surrounded the steps.  I heaved over it splashing into the water below, footsteps were right at my neck and I felt something slice through the air near my head.  I bent forward and ran, though I heard him storming down the steps a few feet behind me.  The camera was jiggling too much, I had a god awful time trying to hold it steady while I tore through the room.  All the time the guy was still after me, screaming.  I was unsure where exactly I was headed.

Ahead of me I saw steps and light, I vaulted up them stumbling over the fallen door.  I hadn’t stepped over a door to get into this place.

A wall appeared in my path, I barely put on the breaks but still managed to smash my good shoulder against it.  Panicked and shaken I forgot the camera but rather, slapped my palm and fingers against the solid surface and followed it.  I staggered through an open door as the footfalls of my pursuer neared, I found the edge of the door and flung it shut.  The doorknob rattled as he worked to get it open, I think my appreciation for broken door handles grew somewhat in that instant.

I stumbled over a pipe and fell hard on my chest.  As I lay groaning and fighting to recover from the stun, I noticed a few broken beds just ahead.  The door was about to give, I crawled under the beds and lay flat as the wood crumpled and the variant charged through.

It was impossible to see without my camera, but I heard his wet footfalls as he paced around the room.  A few of the items were shifted, I tried to identify what each was as he poked around.  Finally his steps came towards my space, I took a sharp breath and held it as he smashed the club against a metal bar then waited.  In the distance I could pick up the echoing clatter of the pumps.  I needed to focus on that.

“There was no putty tat there.”  After a few more minutes, either he became bored or forgot what he was looking for.  I heard his weight rock the broken door as he thudded over it.

I didn’t want to move.  No telling where he was now, or where I was.  But I reasoned with myself, if I stay here he would eventually find me.  I was blocked in but this area had served its purpose for the time.  I wasn’t ready to move on, but I forced my hands to pull at the cold floor and drag my body out.

I wasn’t shaking I was quaking unrestrained.  That had been too close.  What was it I needed to do?  Flip the breaker.  I bumped my face with the camera as I tried to lift the visor and view exactly where I had stumbled into.

Another storage room.  Spare beds and sheets for the patients, lockers, and some filthy laundry bins.  I tried to stand but my legs wouldn’t hold my weight, so I shuffled along to a door at the other side of the room.  At this point I felt my masculinity melting.  Get it together Miles.

With some help from the shelf and the doorknob I was able to haul myself up.  I stood a moment taking deep breathes and renewing my resolve.  I was okay as long as I could outrun him.  Flip the breaker, restart the power, get the fuck out.  This would be easy.

The door was locked.

I could’ve held up the camera and seen exactly where I was going, but I wanted to feel the walls, the frigid damp brick and the shelves as I staggered around them.  I was not too solid on my feet just yet but once I stepped out into the corridor, I had my camera out like a bad habit.

No sign of the man.  No sound of him either.  I took it slow, glancing out through the light in the doorway before returning my eyes to the path ahead.  On the wall was a plaque with an arrow.

Generator

I followed the corridor, hopping over more debris that had been shoveled into the hall.  When I reached the end I picked up the soft footfalls, the moment before he turned the corner.  There was a doorway to my right I slipped into, but wish I hadn’t.

Bodies tethered to the ceiling like butchered cattle, organs spilling off the shelf, the translucent skin glimmered in the NV of the camera.  I didn’t have time for revulsion, he was right behind me.  I slid under the bed and pressed my face into my shoulder, the smell, I will NEVER get used to that smell. 

He strolled in from the doorway and glanced over the room, I had my camera held beside my face at an awkward angle to prevent the gleam of the visor from reflecting too much.  Despite the discomfort I wouldn’t repositioning it to document his habits.  Leave the room, just please leave the room.

Then he did something very madman like.  He folded to his knees and smashed at the floor with his club, the strikes hard enough to shatter his weapon, I’m amazed it didn’t.  Then, he leaned over and pressed his…ear down.  He was facing me at that point, but I was too flabbergasted to register the potential threat.  It was probably best I didn’t, otherwise I might’ve squirmed and drawn his attention.

After that he rose to his feet and walked out muttering about shadows.

Once it seemed he left for good I wasted no time in crawling out from under the bed, the stew of rotten organs among the metal legs was too much for my tattered sanity.  I sat in the dark absorbed in what little light was put off by the visor.  Which way had he gone?

My question was soon answered when he passed from the right, the way I was headed initially.  I didn’t move though I was in plain view, he was out of sight by the time the thought registered.  The dark had concealed me fully.

I was taking my camera for granted, if I wasn’t looking through the visor everything was a black slate with no texture, no form.  Empty.  It could drive a man insane, or more so, give him some company.

When his footfalls faded, I shuffled to the door and looked around the edge.  He had found the door that was locked and made himself busy trying to tear it down.  I was fine with this, it wouldn’t keep him occupied for long.  I shut the door as I left the room.

Was I becoming desensitized by what I saw?  It was easy to forget in this hall what I had previously been subjected to, but if I dwelled on it for too long I could feel my heart flutter.  I need not think on that, keep focused on my objective - to get out of here I needed to flip the breaker and open the main doors.  That was the only way out.  Try not to think of what lay in the rooms, or what else could possibly be waiting for me.  I would escape, I would be fine.  My thoughts felt natural, but this worried me as well.  A crazy man thought he was normal because the only thoughts he knew, were those of his own, he had forgotten the way a sane man thought. 

When I escaped, would I go mad too?

Of course I wouldn’t, what was I thinking?  Keep it together Miles, this place was getting to me and I would acknowledge that before it began to eat away at me.  I wasn’t going mad, my brain was just filtering so I wouldn’t go mad.  Once I was out, I would call up my therapist and get this water under the bridge settled.

Having a therapist was kind of awkward, people got the wrong impression.  I was advised long ago when I received my license, that I would come to appreciate a good therapist.  No lie, I have seen some of the worst that the world could offer, and even if I didn’t think it phased me it was still a good idea to have someone that I could talk to.  Help me cope.

The corridor came to a T, I decided to check my right first, only because I could see the shimmer of water the other way.  It felt like the hall was never ending, aside from a mishap of ruined desks that broke up the repetition.  At the end was a crushed pallet, along with the door I sought. 

The knob gave with one twist, it cracked and fell apart in my hands.  I frowned down at it, before I tossed the pieces aside and inspected the door.  I could still push it shut but it wouldn’t slow anyone down.  I turned my camera to the rooms interior and scanned over the shelves dotted with chemicals and some tool, a trolley, more lockers (why did a facility need so many lockers?)  Fuse boxes hugged the furthest walls, the soft glimmer of the backup light blotted out the NVs range.  This had to be it.

Directly ahead was a familiar looking handle.  The breaker the ‘Priest’ had pulled that cut the power in the first place.

I crossed over to it and forced the lever up.  Just had to reactivate the power and find my way back to the ground floor.

As I was heading down the hall I was somewhat distracted, but I quickly caught the soft steps and retreated backwards in a noisy shuffle. 

“Hey!  What the hell is that?”

He saw me!  He saw me!  I pivoted and ran back to the room, I didn’t even bother to shut the door behind me I needed to hide.

But damn these lockers, what was I doing wrong?  There was no lock on it, it couldn’t be jammed.

The latch popped and I climbed inside, the last worry on my mind was whether I could get this model open from the inside.  He didn’t seem to have a problem getting them open.

I slowed my breath when he entered, the door creaked as he shoved it against the wall and the muffled snaps of the wood chair leg striking his palm came closer and closer.  I shifted, it felt like the locker jarred on its foundation.  Oh god, just hold still and be quiet.  He won’t find me. I’m not here.

“Who is that?”

He didn’t see me.  He did not see me.  I fixed my grip on the camera and leaned back from the cutout vents.  The door beside me opened, then slammed shut.  I put my hand on the latch and held it.  There were three lockers, weren’t there?  Or two?  I let out a soft sigh as the tension climaxed, where was he?

 “Up to heaven, went away!”  He wandered out of sight tapping the shelves, and once he had satisfied his fancy he departed.

I waited in the silence just breathing as everything settled, my heart, my haggard breathes.  I was in a dead end, I couldn’t afford to get pinned her again.  I worked up my nerve and opened the locker, grateful that it hadn’t stuck.  Before I went on I made sure I understood how the latch on these worked, then moved to the open doorway and looked out.  The corridor was silent but this didn’t set me to ease, he was still here.

At the intersection I paused to zoom the camera and check the far hall, what might be there.  I could make out boards and an archway, but I couldn’t decide if this was the other side of the archway passed before entering this area.

I was nearly out anyway, what did it matter?

All the more reason to use caution, from this point on.  I stepped lightly along the hall watching my cameras feed, so far no sound.  I expected at any moment he would charge out at me, or I’d feel his hand slap me on the shoulder right before my skull splint in two.  Shuddering, I swallowed and tried not the think about the foul odor burned into my mind. 

Just needed to reactivate the power.  The power, so I could open the front doors and get the fuck out of here.  My resentment for this place was natural, I didn’t fight it, nor the repetitive state my mind had elapsed into.  It was easy to keep repeating my current goal through my thoughts, keep focused on that rather what I had seen.  It felt clean.  I wanted to feel clean.

I passed the shut door, not bothering to pause, not giving it another thought.  Breaker, security, then out.  As I neared the light from the entrance I heard his voice.  At least I knew where he was.

Thankfully he had torn the second door down, I stepped inside and moved along the shelves, making sure I didn’t knock over anything this time.  The battery in the NV was getting low and the visual was dimming.  After I removed the battery I thought about tossing it down the hall, distract the variant that way.  In the end I decided this was a bad idea, best not draw attention to any area I was near or in.  If he wasn’t certain of my whereabouts, it might clue him in with sudden noises.  I also did not need to stir him up, he was insane and that was apparently enough to get my face smashed in.

Down to two batteries.

I moved to the other doorway and peeked out, just as he faded from the nightvisions range somewhere down the corridor.  I couldn’t see him, but if I ventured into the light I would be vulnerable for a splint second.  He would see me.  Unless he wasn’t facing me.

One, two, three, and four steps into the entrance corridor.  I paused for a beat to listen if he made note of me, but I heard nothing aside from the echoing steps growing distant.  It was unnerving.

I continued into the cold water and crossed to the access panel.  Before I hit the switch I took a deep breath and prepared myself, this was it.  With a firm punch the generator kicked to life, the lamps overhead flickered and blazed white clarity.  I shut my camera off and glanced around, which door had I entered from?

All I could see were broken doors, where was…?

I spun about and saw my entrance, the stairs and the arch I originally entered from.  I sprang up the steps, despite the protest of my ribs and ran the full length of the hall with the water frothing around my legs.  When I reached the small crevice I slipped through, I spied just beyond it a cracked desk a folder forgotten atop.  Enough light made the last part of Confidential evident.  I picked it up before squeezing through the gap.

Once I felt safe and heard no steps, no screaming man chasing me, I paused to calm my breath.  That had been too close, if I hadn’t of gotten out from under the bed when I did….  My close call ration was dwindling down.  I could only feel closure with this event, knowing that I had gotten out of there without getting myself killed, and with my camera still in functional order.

I paused a moment to look it over while I had some light.  After the fall I hadn’t noticed, but a hairline crack had formed along its case.  Another battle scar, it had many.  The corners were rubbed clean from constantly shuffling it between the pack and my hands, and the symbols on the buttons were worn away from years of use.  To operate my camera I had to work it from memory.  Like me, it had been through hell before we reached this place, and it’d receive more abuse before I retired it.  That wouldn’t be for a long time, I promise.

#miles upshure #outlast #outlast novelized #outlast fanfiction

[pilot-boi]

Five Injuries Hidden: Chapter Five

Reunited

He could hide from his teammates one on one. All he could hope for was that if they were all together, he could still shrug them all off

AO3 LINK

It had been three hours, stumbling through to their assigned mission points, and there was still no sign of their wayward friends. Jaune didn't know whether to be relieved or scared out of his mind.

He settled on a happy medium.

Another growing concern was if he'd be any help at all soon, as his leg had not stopped bleeding and his lightheadedness had gotten progressively worse. At least Ren wouldn't have to worry about him too, with his concussion making it difficult to summon up the concentration necessary to check Jaune for injuries.

Thank the gods for severe head trauma.

They had finished their own missions as quickly as two Huntsmen in a fortress swarming with guards could, and then started checking the places where the others had been sent.

But no such luck. There was no sign that they had even made it there in the first place.

Roughly running a hand through his hair, anxiety through the roof, he watched Ren peer through the small vent down into yet another room. This time it was a small storage room. Looking up, Ren shook his head, silently conveying that their friends weren't there either. 

Letting his hand fall limply to his side, Jaune scowled darkly at the far wall of the steadily narrowing vent they had been making their way through.

Closing his eyes and resting the back of his throbbing skull on the chilled wall, Jaune suppressed a teeth-chattering shiver that rushed through his bones. That wasn’t a good sign.

The knight stiffened at the sudden cool hand on his shoulder, his eyes snapping open and his hand jerking to the hilt of his sword before he made himself relax. It was only Ren. "-d you hear anything I said? Jaune?" 

Shaking his head -gently, mind you, no need to make things worse- to hopefully clear some of the fuzziness that was slowly growing in size. "Y-yeah, um, yeah, sorry could you repeat that for me?" 

If anything, this made his teammate look even more concerned. "I was asking if you were okay, as I cannot properly check myself. Are you okay to continue looking for the others?"

Shaking Ren’s hand off his shoulder, Jaune marched onwards to the next vent without answering, forcing himself to not wince every time he put his weight onto his injured leg. There was no way he was going to stop because of a stupid iron bolt through his leg..

Fate must have decided that this had gone on long enough after the umpteenth room or hallway they peered down into, because the shrill sound of an alarm screamed through the air and echoed twice as loudly through the vents, causing both teens to cover their now deafened ears.

No longer concerned with being loud, they hurried down the vents, following the stream of guards from above. Jaune's limp became more and more predominant the faster he went, but he forced himself to walk perfectly normal every time he saw Ren even twitch in his direction, which probably messed his leg up even more.

Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw though, through the vent right above all the commotion.

Lined up in a row on their knees were their friends glaring defiantly up into their captor's and the guard's eyes, prisoners to be executed and looking more than a little roughed up.

The rage was instant and fierce, roaring through his system and clearing away the exhaustion, pain, and fuzziness with all the power of a howling wild-fire. He didn’t notice that he was tearing through the grate with his bare hands. Not until he was suddenly tipping forwards and Ren yelped as he tried to catch him, but to no avail.

The world slowed. His mind, at this very moment, was as clear as it had been in hours, but he knew it wouldn't last long. But it would last long enough to at least get his siblings out of here, and complete their mission.

He could work with that time limit.

He was currently falling from a rather high place, so no matter how he landed, it was going to hurt. A lot.

But, if you really looked, his current position was also the greatest place to do the most damage. Yes. He could work with that. He could definitely work with that

Jaune happened to have surprise on his side, though not for very long. This would have to be done quickly.

Luckily, Ren and he had happened to have the common sense to place the extra bombs that they had brought, which would serve to both complete their original mission and serve as a distraction. Perfect.

Plan formulated, the world resumed its previous speed. And then Jaune released nearly every ounce of his pent up aggression down upon the gathered soldiers and machinery in one blinding flash of Aura. 

If they survived this, and he ever saw him again, Jaune might have to thank Cardin for being the unwitting guinea pig to that particular move.

The yelps of shock and pain was music to his ears.

Oh, there's the ground. Hello ground. It was nice to see you again. He’d need his face back, thanks.

The wind was painfully knocked out of him as he landed awkwardly onto the metal flooring, but other than more serious bruising, he would be fine. Luckily for him, he landed on his good side. The one without the horribly inconvenient bolt of steel still brokenly sticking out of it.

Forcing himself up, with the help of a wayward crate, Jaune gasped for air as he hobbled along the sidelines of the chaos that he had created and back behind where his friends were being forced to kneel, noticing Ren doing the same.

Quickly ridding them of their shackles and waving off their concern, they all used the growing pandemonium to make their escape.

As soon as they were in the clear and the base was evacuated, Yang pushed the button.

The fortress blew and it made a beautiful picture.

Then Jaune turned around and punched Oscar in the arm. Hard. Before he could even open his mouth to question what his problem was, the exhausted knight threateningly pointed a figure into his brother's face. "You are to never. EVER. say 'What could possibly go wrong' before a mission ever again. Clear?"

Properly abashed, Oscar sheepishly nodded while still rubbing his arm. "Clear."

Jaune sighed and briefly rested his hand on the boy’s shoulder before nodding deeper into the forest that surrounded the mountain where the factory fortress had previously been located. "Let's go find a good place to set up camp for the night." No one argued.

Blake helped Ren onto Nora’s back so that the valkyrie could carry her injured partner, and then allowed Weiss to use her as a crutch. Sharing a meaningful glance with her sister, Ruby zoomed ahead to look out for Grimm as Yang led the way into the darkness. 

All of which Jaune was silently thankful for as it distracted any of them from examining him closer and making a big deal out of his injuries.

Which they weren't. A big deal, that is.

Nope.

Definitely not.

He was quite sure that it was actually getting colder because the sun was setting and not because he was going into shock. He was perfectly fine.

...He was in serious trouble, wasn't he?

A soft whine made everyone freeze and whip around to the maker of the sound. It was Ren, looking miserable and in pain. Through pained, squinted eyes, he weakly waved them off. "Apologies. Please do not mind me."

Frowning, but only out of worry and not true anger, Jaune shook his head. "Nuh uh. No way, man.”

“This is as good a place as any to set up camp,” Ruby interjected, zipping back into view in a flurry of petals. “Weiss, could you make some sort of hut thing? It doesn’t have to look nice,” she said, passing the heiress the few Earth Dust rounds she had remaining. 

Weiss nodded and winced, having twisted her ankle during their capture. "Don’t worry, I’ll have a shelter up in no time," she groaned, leaving her weight resting against Blake so she could focus on her work.

Ruby nodded to Weiss to start setting up the stone shelters as Nora settled the groaning Ren against the trunk of a tree. She waved Oscar over, and, grabbing him, the two of them zipped further into the dark forest to hunt for firewood.

Jaune thanked the growing shadows that hid his leg when Nora gave him a searching look before focusing on tending to Ren. 

He knew that he wouldn't be able to avoid her forever, and giving her tasks that kept her away from him was sure to make her suspicious sooner rather than later. But they had so much more to worry about than something that might not even be that bad.

It was, and he knew it. 

Jaune might be stupid, but he wasn’t dumb. He couldn’t pull the rest of the bolt out in the middle of the forest, and healing his leg would just encase the damn bolt inside. The pain had settled into a low pulsing ache that sent waves of nausea and dizziness crashing over him every time he shifted his weight. 

So yeah. He was not having a good time.

Gingerly leaning against the same tree Ren was and resting his eyes for a moment, he could feel the last of his adrenaline trickle out of his system, leaving him beyond exhausted, disoriented, and pained. And this time it was ten times worse. Feeling sick, a few full bodied shivers sneaking past his self control. 

Jaune shoved it all away, locked into a tiny box at the back of his mind to deal with later. Or preferably, never. Never dealing with it was infinitely preferable.

Paying no heed to his shaking hands, Jaune fumbled with his battered Scroll and flicked it on. "Jaune to the Qrow. Jaune to Qrow Branwen. Can you hear me?" Signal was patchy at best, but they couldn’t afford to wait for the established rendezvous tomorrow afternoon.

"I hear ya, kid. Where are you guys?" came the gruff reply, voice turned tinny by the speakers.

Relief swept through his bones, taking more strength than Jaune could spare. Grunting as he sat down, he knew he wouldn't be moving for a while, whether he wanted to or not. "South, down a ways from the main gates I think. We'll keep a fire burning until you can get an airship or some kind of transport here. The quicker, the better.” 

Jaune glanced at the pale face of his teammate, and then over at Weiss, whose teeth were gritted in pain from putting weight on her injured ankle. “Weiss and Ren aren’t looking so hot, and we'd feel a lot better if we had some actual medical supplies to help them."

"Sure thing, I'll be there as quick as I can. And I’d hope that Ice Queen Jr. doesn't look hot. Wouldn't fit with her whole thing." 

Jaune huffed a laugh at the attempt of humor, and tried to not let his voice betray how much even that hurt. "Heh, that's true. I'm going to let you go now, I'm not sure how much longer the signal will hold."

"Gotcha. Stay safe you guys." With that, the transmission cut out.

Sighing and resting the back of his head on the tree, Jaune once again closed his eyes. It would be so easy to fall asleep... 

"Jaune?" Biting back a long suffering groan, the knight blinked open his eyes, having to briefly rub at them to clear the blurriness. Ruby settled onto the forest floor beside him, but not where she could see his leg, thank goodness.

She rested her head on his shoulder, and without looking at him, simply staring off into the forest in front of them, she quietly questioned. "You alright?"

Jaune blinked down at the top of her head. "Yeah, why do you ask?"

He felt her shrug. "You look really pale. Sick, even. Pained,” Ren groaned, as Nora flopped down on Jaune’s other side. Ruby shifted so that she could look him in the eyes, silver on blue.

"Did something happen on the mission?"

He stayed quiet, every fiber of his being screaming at him to avert his eyes, but then she’d know he was hiding something. To tell her, or not to tell her?

In the end, Ruby looked away first, her shoulders slumping. "It did, didn't it." She said it as a statement. A fact.

He didn't deny it. "Wasn't your fault."

She shoved him away, suddenly glaring. "No, it was my fault! I was the one to come up with the plan. I was the one who made the mistake! Don't you dare try to tell me otherwise Jaune Ar-mpth!" 

Ruby suddenly found her voice muffled as Jaune pulled her into a hug, drawing his most effective de-escalation tactic from many years of living with sisters. She fought it for a minute, before leaning into his embrace and quietly crying.

"I th-thought I had lost you guys... There were so many signs of a fight, a- and then Weiss got hurt, and then we got caught, and t-then..."She hiccuped, and he just pulled her closer, humming some tune Saphron used to when he’d have a nightmare.

After she had calmed down and wiped away any remaining evidence of tears, Jaune brought his Semblance up to heal the few srapes Ruby’s Aura hadn’t managed to. “Thanks,” Ruby muttered, leaning away.

“Eh, what are friends for,” Jaune said, biting back a groan of pain.

A bang and a whoop of triumph from Yang indicated that the fire had been started, if by rather less than conventional means. And some fish had been fried up and eaten, courtesy of Blake.

The Faunus had gone and caught them as soon as Weiss was finished setting up camp and no longer needed to stand. Jaune barely touched his food, but made sure that it seemed like he did. Then everyone headed into the shelters Weiss had cobbled together, unaware of just how much drama was about to unfold the coming morning.

#rwby #jaune arc #ruby rose #nora valkyrie #lie ren #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #weiss schnee #oscar pine #qrow branwen #mine #mistral au #my writing #five injuries hidden #chapter 5

[madammuffins]

Fairy Summers

Fairy Summers is a short story request by @vhum for my 300 follower celebration.

It is a World of Make Believe AU featuring Chelsea x Puck told over a series of summers as they age together and maneuver through life’s struggles, fantastical and mortal.

I will be uploading in parts just for easier reading. Also, playlist.

CW: Contains coming-of-age themes, familial abuse situations.

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Part 1 ♣ Part 2

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Part 3 is a Montana Summer, Chelsea is now 9 and we see her family situation evolving as well as her relationship with Puck

~*~*~*~*

"I don't hate you, Mom." Brown eyes dropped to muck covered mud boots. "I know it's not your fault we're out here, and I know the family will understand." She rolled her shoulders to try and ease the ache, shuddered when the rake knocked against her leg leaving a wet brown mark against her pale skin.

"Oh good. Good, Chellers." Susan pushed a strand of dark hair that had fallen from Chelsea's ponytail back behind her ear. "I had worried you'd be mad about not being able to... you know, see everyone this year. I am just so glad you've learned from your earlier tantrums that those kind of outrageous-"

"I was just upset, Mom." Chelsea's eyes dropped to the hand that was still clenched around her arm. She wondered, briefly, if she'd have bruises.

It didn't matter out here on the farm though. The farm she couldn't ever leave now. The farm she was trapped in. The farm she was indentured to. The farm she'd be held prisoner in. Between the pigs and horses and cows and fence mending and irrigation repair no one would notice a few more fingerprint bruises on her arms or welts on her legs. No one could hear her crying to the chickens when she collected eggs out here either. Or the tadpoles in the river out on the East side.

A hell and a haven.

"I can understand that." Susan released her grip. "Perhaps we had spoiled you taking you to the island so much. Every year, every summer? Such an expensive trip for such a small child."

Chelsea kicked at the gravel beneath her, leaning on the rake now. The sun beat on the back of her head and neck uncomfortably. "When I finish the chicken coop can I walk down to the c-"

"You are too young to go to the store by yourself."

"Mom-" Chelsea stopped at the glare.

A quick snap of Susan's head, the chill radiating off her body. The frigid square of her posture; shoulders up, eyes widened, fists clenched, jaw set, legs spread.

"I. Said. No."

Chelsea nodded, eyes down, shoulders hunched. "Okay. Right, sorry. I shouldn’t have-"

"Why would you push me like that when your grandfather has just passed away? Why would you even try to-" Susan's body withered, hands tangling in her bun. "Why would you do this to me? You're supposed to be a good girl. I took you in because your parents died, nobody else wanted you and this is how you repay me?" The sorrow burned away with every word, anger fueling the older woman. "You know what, you can go one ahead and muck the horse stalls now."

"What?" Chelsea dropped the rake. "But that's Max's-"

"You wanna talk back, ungrateful child?" Susan smiled, cool and collected now, “you can polish the tack too while you're at it." She paused, hand on a cocked hip, the other cupped her ear as she tilted towards her ward. "Oh, what's this? No more smack talk? Nothing to say keiki? That's what I thought." Susan turned away. "Get it done before dinner." She crooned over her shoulder, "Or you don't get to eat tonight."

“Yes, Mom.” Chelsea bit the inside of her cheek clean through, tooth meeting tooth through the flesh.

She turned on a swift heel, spitting blood into the dirt as she spread new hay out on the coop floor, billowing her shirt off her back as she crouched down and backed out of the small wood enclosure. The hens screamed at her, pecking her bare legs. The two roosters paraded, watching with careful disdain. She eyed them but they didn’t hold her worry. The fuzzy legged brown and black zebra striped hen did. A vicious laying feather duster to-be who’d taken to crowing and eating any of the unfertilized eggs.

Easily the most vicious of the bunch. Chelsea had a few scars on her calves and hands to show it.

Latching the door she stored the plastic rake, grabbing the wheelbarrow, shovel, and metal forked rake instead. Horse stalls required heavier equipment. She paused at the cows watering trough midway, taking a handful of water and splashing the top of her head, dunking her hat, letting the water douse her shirt and shoulders. Dribbles fell soothingly under the fabric and trickled to her jean shorts, soaking into the denim, offering some form of relief she knew would become muggy and stuffy.

Soft nickering greeted her as she positioned her wheelbarrow, carefully setting it aside as she grabbed the hanging lead ropes and twisted them into makeshift halters. The horses were easy enough to grab with the right kind of manipulations. With a smile she leapt up onto the tack trunk and stretched back behind the grain shelf to where she hid the sugar cubes. A sharp smack at her backside made her yelp, lose her balance, fall hard on the ground, elbow hitting the metal body of the wheelbarrow.

"Max." She ground between clenched teeth, peering up at her brother.

The jerk laughed with his pubescent cronies. "Mom told me you got in trouble today. Don't know how something so small has such a big, smart mouth."

"Whatever." Chelsea wiped off her butt, wincing as her elbow popped.

"What were you reaching for back there anyway, idiot?"

"Mind your own business, stupid." She hissed. "Just let me muck the stalls alone." Her eyes drifted back to her secret stash.

Later. She promised the roan gelding as his muzzle roamed over her t-shirt and shorts snuffling for his treat. When Max isn't around, when I'm done. She looped the halter over his ears and nose, letting the big beast follow her past the boys, using the giant red flecked animal as a barrier.

"This is boring." One of the boys yawned. "Let's go to the store."

"Yeah." Another piped up. "She's just a baby, no fun to pick on and no fun to watch."

"Alright." Max shrugged, picking up his bike from where he dropped it. "Let's go."

Chelsea watched the boys speed off as she latched the gate, something ugly that had been bubbling in her stomach calming as the distance grew. A big head shoved against her.

"Alright, Tory." She laughed, pushing him through the cry of her aching elbow. "Lemme get the others."

"No need for that, Country Girl."

Chelsea didn't bother hiding her joy, flinging herself into the noticeably taller fae, tangling her arms around Puck; knocking them back into warm, dusty fur.

"You came!" She pushed at the Chestnut mare holding the both of them up, rubbing her withers in apology. "I didn't know if you would and-"

"I promised." His voice was sincere, the laugh that danced in the words still present. He pushed her away, "Why are you crying?"

"It's been awful." Chelsea admitted, following him out to the corral where he let the mare loose. "Ever since Grandpa died Mom's been just... so much worse. And..." She swallowed hard. "Max too?" She blinked, "Dad's the only one who is nice to me anymore. Sometimes it feel like we're trapped here together. He's not healthy anymore either. It's his heart and cholesemal. He's gotten a lot bigger." She held her hands out at her sides to demonstrate.

Puck frowned, "What do you mean Max? What's he doing?" He watched as Chelsea looped the halter over the last horses head, stifling a hiss at the swayback and hobbling gait.

"Oh, don't mind ol' Gremlin." Chelsea pat the greying face fondly. "He used to be a race horse till he went lame. Rode him too hard Grandpa said. He was up for the butchers block to be dog food but Grandpa had a soft spot. Mom doesn't like the dead weight but he's in good shape considering."

"That's cool." Puck jumped down to follow her out into the sun, "Max?"

Chelsea tsked. "He's just... touching me a lot more? Like today he..." She blushed, "He spanked me in front of his friends." She growled. "I really don't want to talk about-"

"Put this under his mattress." Puck shoved a thorn into her hand, glaring into her eyes. "If he does anything like that again this will poke him throughout the night until he repents. If he continues it will get worse until it draws blood and spreads across his body like a rash."

"Puck!" Chelsea gasped, "I can't do that!"

"You aren't." He snapped his fingers, "I am. Now, let's go play. The chores are done, I wanna show you some stuff. Montana is great! There are things here that I haven't seen in a while!"

~*~*~*~*~

"So that's an Alven!" Puck leaned in close, pants rolled up above his knees.

"Where?" Chelsea leaned back on her knees, eyes scanning the running stream frantically. "I don't-"

Puck's hand landed roughly on the top of her head, "Do you see that bubble floating on the surface?" He guided her vision. "Right there, inside of it, the barely there thing? You can just see it when the light hits just like- That! Yeah!"

"I see it!" Chelsea gasped, "It's so pretty!"

"Eh, you're prettier." Puck grinned toothy and sharp at her blush. "Sometimes they wear Otter skins to stay hidden. Maybe beaver skins here in the North like this, I don't know if you guys have otters."

"Oh, I don't know either." Chelsea frowned as she climbed the rivers bank back to their sandwiches and snacks.

"Anyway, if you're really nice to them they'll help you with protection and healing. They like to dance at night." Puck took a bite of his fruit. "Fish eat them though."

"That's not cool." Chelsea managed between swallows. "Why do they live in the water if they'll be eaten?"

"They'd dry up on land. You saw it. Just a wispy invisible thing." Puck waved his hand. "Not a thing of substance. They need the night and the moon and the water like you need your soda and oxygen." He swallowed rough, "Anyway. I'll see you tomorrow. It's about time for your mom to start hollering for dinner."

Chelsea nodded, gathering her food and handing it to the fae. "See you tomorrow, same time?"

"Same time." He winked, then blinked out of sight.

~*~*~*~

"No." Chelsea crouched further down, ignoring the creeping coolness of water over the butt of her shorts, "You gotta get further down. You can't tell me you've never caught frogs?"

"Not like this!" Puck grumbled. "I just have to ask back where I'm from. It's different. The things out here are so much less... compliant."

"Compliant." Chelsea snorted. "Now that's a word."

"Just because I'm smart-"

"Yeah, a smart-ass."

"You can't say grown up words!" Puck toppled into the stream, sending the frogs scattering.

"Oh man." Chelsea groaned, falling back with her friend, laying down in the water. "There goes the lesson. Now what?"

"Well, we could have a new lesson." Puck sat up, dripping to look over the pasture to the horses. "Teach me to ride them like you do."

"My mom will see you if I do that." Chelsea's eyes widened.

"I can make it so she doesn't." He promised. "I can make a lot of things happen that she doesn't have to notice."

Chelsea frowned for a moment, pulling a rock out from the bottom of the riverbed and cleaning it before putting it back. "Like you do with my chores?"

"Like I do with your chores. Hey, by the way, did you do what I said with that thorn?"

She blinked, fingers busying themselves with the hem of her shorts, "Alright, I'll teach you to ride the horse."

Chelsea laughed as the fae leapt up with a shout, "The curved back one?"

"Gremlin isn't fit to ride." Chelsea pointed out. "But Tory is. He's big, but he's a nice boy."

"Ahh, the black brown one was my second choice." Puck stuck his lips out in  a pout but followed as Chelsea approached the red roan.

"Free's too stubborn for a new rider. Especially bareback."

"You're the expert I guess." The fae shrugged, then grinned as he rubbed his hands over the roans dusty coat. "Man he smells so good."

"I'm glad you think so." Chelsea ran her fingers over Tory's neck to his face. "Now, blow into his nose really slow."

"Uh... What?"

~*~*~*~

Chelsea let out a shuddering breath. "I really shouldn't be here, Puck." Her grip tightened around his fingers.

"I mean, it's just a corner store." Puck snorted, pushing the door open, gaze darting to the bell that chimed their entrance.

"Mom said-"

"She won't know, and what she doesn't know won't hurt her." He pulled the human down the candy isle. "Let's grab stuff, my mortal. I've got cash- real cash." He cut Chelsea's protest off.

Chelsea frowned, watching her dark haired companion load his arms with goodies. Convincing herself. Because Mom didn't know, did she? She didn't know Chelsea wasn't working on the irrigation. She didn't know Chelsea wasn't on the farm.

She didn't know.

Puck turned a corner, returning with large sodas and a wry grin. Chelsea smiled, fingers snaking around a Whatchamacallit. She could do this. She could be a kid, she could enjoy this wild abandon at least once.

~*~*~*~

The cemetery maybe was a weird place to meet. Puck had suggested it and Chelsea didn't have any second thoughts about flying there on her bike as fast as she could. But wandering the tombstones, the air holding a chill that promised Fall was approaching, it whispered of scarier things.

In the back of her mind she couldn't shake Puck's warning; the creatures out here are wilder. Chelsea rubbed her arms against the chicken skin that washed over her.

"Oi, Chelsea." The fae waved as he created the incline. "Why are you wandering way-"

"Are there ghosts?" Chelsea sat on the edge of a burial plot. "Do human spirits linger?"

Puck blanched, his grip on their snacks tightened. "Y- you know. I don't know." He sat beside her, at a distance. "I don't deal with that, it's not what our family does."

"Do you think..." Her voice dropped deep, "do you think my parents-? Back on the Island there are stories about-" She sucked in a breath. “It was a car accident. Mom says no one wanted me, but I know they did. She took me to court. She sued the family, the whole family, to have me. My real mom and dad had a living will, it just wasn’t legally recognized. It didn’t have the right signatures.” Chelsea wiped at a stray tear. “They died in a car accident that I was in. Why did I-”

Watery eyes turned to the horizon, ignoring the way her young friend watched her, scrutinizing. He breathed deep, setting the food down. Chelsea leaned into him as he pressed his body against her, his arm looping around her shoulder, her head falling to the crook of his neck. Slender fingers rubbed against sun warmed skin as her shoulders shook in quiet cries; a trick learned from harsh scoldings and long, lonely nights.

"I don't know about your parents. I don't know about ghosts." He whispered under the protective tree, old and exuding a peaceful kind of magic. "I know your parents must have been great people and I'm sorry you lost them."

Chelsea sniffled, "Why are you even here?"

The words were cold and curt, cutting Puck quick. "Because you're my friend."

"I'm just a stupid mortal." He winced physically at his own word being used against him. "I'll die just like they did one day."

"I love you." Pucks grip tightened, the words rushing out of him with vehemence. "I'm never leaving you. One day I’m going to marry you."

"You can't."

"And why?" He leapt up, defiant to the tips of his hair. “Fae do it all the time, stealing away people and keeping them.”

"I'm too young." She leaned back to watch him, wary and guarded.

"When you're older then." Green eyes rolled.

"What if I have a boyfriend?" A smile touched the corners of her mouth.

"I'll beat him up." The fae crouched, looking into Chelsea's face all youthful earnest and baby innocence. "I'll marry you. I love you. I'll punch anyone who tries to take you from me. I’ll take you away from this one day, and keep you and we can dance every night like my parents do and I’ll take you flying when I’m stronger and introduce you to all kinds of different fairy creatures. If you want to?"

Chelsea tilted her head, staring long into those emerald depths until she nodded.

The wind carried away her whispered "Okay."

~*~*~*~*

Tag List: @vhum @thelastoftheflyinggraysons @nemothesurvivor 

#womb1 au #puck x chelsea #300 follower celebration #fairy summers #modern fantasy #urban fantasy #wip #short story #modern fairy tale #violetvineyard #world of make believe au #writeblr #my writing #amwriting

[unorthodoxx-page]

One of my favorite excerpts from my Invader Zim x Young Justice/JL story

Tarantula

Fucking Batman.  What a way to end a great week.  He looks around the holding cell and scowls.  Nothing but whores and junkies, a waste of his fucking time.  He has no idea where they took his boys, probably the hospital, the Bat was not kind tonight.

“HEY!” he screams, kicking at the bars.  “Am I sleeping here or what! When’s my fucking ride to Blackgate?”

The pigs don’t even look his way, too busy fucking around with paperwork.

“I know you hear me, you little bitch.  Where’s my ride?!  I don’t got all night!”

“You’re not going to Blackgate.” Another cop answers, “You’re headed to Arkham.”

He blinks at that, Arkham?  Why the fuck is he going to Arkham?  There’s no way he even qualifies to share a soda with the sickos that end up there.  “Why the hell am I going to Arkham?”

The cop comes a little closer.  “You’re Tarantula right? New gangbanger in town?  Well, we’d like to give you a little welcome party.  Give you taste of the real Gotham.”

The guy leans in, hands clenched on the bars, a sneer pulling hard at his face, his tag says Officer Novak.  “One of your little drug runs involved the daughter of a buddy of ours.  A real close friend, so this is our way of showing you Gotham.  A real up close and personal look at the big guns here.”

The cop backs up, sucks in a large, gurgled breath, and spits at his feet, then walks away.  Tarantula grits his teeth and pounds on the bars before going back to his seat.  Fucking bitches, all of them.

“Be careful,” a bum mumbles to his left, “Something wrong with Arkham.”

He huffs in frustration and puts his head in his hands.  He can do this.  He’s not a pussy like the rest of these losers, he’ll survive.  In fact, this might be an opportunity.  He’ll go in there, float in the middle and make connections.  Get in good with some of the mid runners of the Gotham underground and see if he can use their resources once he’s out.  He just needs to meet with the right people and avoid the wrong ones.

“Tarantula! Your transports here!”

Two overly bulky nurses come in, armed to the teeth with tasers and what he can only assume is some sort of sedative.  He puts on his most charming smile.

“Hey, guys.  No need for all that.” He stands with his hands up, “See? I’m cooperating.  We don't have to ruin everyone’s night.”

The nurses don’t say a word, they come forward, handcuff him and start pulling him out of the cell.  He goes willing.

“Hey, Novak!” He calls out, searching before his eyes lock on the one from earlier, “I’ll see you soon!”

__________________________________________________

Tarantula can’t help but feel a little nervous when they finally pull through the gates.  It’s fucking Arkham.  Only the real crazies end up here, and who knows what goes on behind these walls.  He pulls in a shaky breath.  Get it together.  He can’t appear weak on his first night, they’ll eat him alive if he so much as stumbles.  He’s just gotta keep his head down, play it cool and make connections.  No need to draw any unwanted attention.

The back door opens, and he faces the nurses with a grin.  “Here already?”

They don’t say anything back, they haven’t said a single word the whole trip.  He steps out of the truck and he gets his first real look at Arkham.  He’s not going to lie, it’s intimidating.  All straight lines and unforgiving concrete.  A perpetual sense of doom and defeat chokes the vegetation like smog.  Not a single living plant adorns the front.  The inside isn’t any better, the processing room all grey walls and sterile white floors, a disturbing purple hue floating above the tile.  He tries not to let his unease show.

“New patient!” An overly cheery voice calls.  Two new nurses walk in and they’re…. He doesn’t know how to explain it, but they make his hair stand on end.  The women are wearing the standard nursing outfit, but with huge ridiculous hats and even bigger grins.  They don’t blink.

“Thank you, Bradford, Donald! We’ll take it from it here!” They move in almost perfect unison.  Each grabbing an arm and turning him to face the ones who brought him in.  The twin looks of pity and fear they give him destroy any level of calm he has left.

“What the hell is going on!!” He shouts, something’s not right.

“Let’s get you to your cell.” One woman says, their grip like steel as they drag him through the doors.  He rages, bucking, and pulling like some type of animal, but these bitches are strong.  He stops after a moment, gasping.  He needs to get a fucking grip before he makes it to the main holding area.  He starts walking with them and that feeling that somethings off only grows.  It’s quiet, he realizes.  Like really fucking quiet.  Aren’t there supposed to be crazies screaming and raving?  You could hear a fucking pin drop.

They finally get to the main holding area, and his anxiety shoots up.  The whole place is bathed in a chilling red light.  He can see some other inmates in their cells but they’re hiding.  Some literally cowering under their fucking beds.  The other cells are empty, doors open and streaks of red painting the walls.

He doesn’t know what to think.  He frantically looks around and he freezes, there’s something crazy looking off in the corner.  Some sort of dome? There are sparks of lights coming from it and the faint sound of power tools.

“What the fuck is that!?!” Forget keeping his cool, this shit is terrifying.  Did one of the big guys get out?

The nurses don’t say a word, they just keep grinning, eyes wide and unmoving, they roughly push him into an open cell.

“Hey!” He shouts, running to the door just as they shut it.  “Don’t ignore me! What the fuck is going on?!”

They turn their backs on him and he falls, scrambling trying to get away from them.  Their heads.  There’s something sticking out of the back of their fucking heads.  Metal tubes peeking out from under their hats and running into the base of their skulls.  He sits there, gasping for breath, fear slowly taking hold of his very being.  He tries to get a hold of himself.

“Hey!” Tarantula runs to the wall separating him from his neighbor.  He can make out the shape of a woman.  Her eyes are dark, blown wide in terror, and cowering behind her bed.

“What the hell is going on?! What’s wrong with the nurses?”

The woman doesn’t say anything, just looks at him, posture resigned.  The panic starts to swell.

“FUCKING ANSWER ME!” He roars, fist slamming on the wall.

“Don’t make it laugh.” She whispers, startling him.  Laugh? Wha-is it the fucking Joker? Is he behind this?  Fuck.  He’s got to get out of here.

A sudden thump nearly sends him a foot in the air.  He turns to see a-a kid?  It has to be a kid? Pressing up against the front of his cell.  He’s wearing some weird dog suit.  The costume a sickly green color and the eyes too far apart, an overtly big zipper sits on his chest.  It gives him the fucking creeps.

He doesn’t know what to do.  What the fuck is a kid doing in here?  Does he belong to one of the nurses?  He pauses, and a slow smirk grows on his face.  This is perfect.  If he can get this kid to open the door, he can sneak out of this hellhole.  If Joker is running the place, he wants nothing to do with it.  Maybe he’ll take the kid with him.  Use him as a shield if one of the nurses try to stop him.

“How’d you get in here?” the child sings, a weird note to his voice.

He turns his full attention to the kid, crouching to get on his level.  “I’ve had a bit of hard night.  I’m not supposed to be here.”

“Aww, that’s sad,” the kid says, shoulders slumping.  Tarantula grins.

“I know! The Bat got the wrong guy.  Hey, I’ve got an idea!” Tarantula exclaims, “Why don’t you open the door and let me out?  You’d be a big help.”

The boy looks up, the uneven eyes looking dead at him.  He shifts, trying not to feel uneasy.

“I don’t know,” the boy hums, “I don’t think I’m supposed to.”

Tarantula grits his teeth.  “Look kid, no one has to know.  You can just open the door and I’ll leave through the back.  I promise you won’t get in any trouble.”

“I can’t.  I already let some of my other friends out and Master wasn’t happy.” The boy wines, kicking his feet a little.

Master? What the fuck? He clenches his fist.  The fear and anger starting to get to him.  “Listen here, kid.  If you let me out I won’t hurt you.”

“Hurt me?”

Tarantula explodes, why are kids so fucking stupid?  “LET ME THE FUCK OUT! LET ME OUT RIGHT NOW! OR I’LL SKIN THIS FUCKING MASTER OF YOURS!”  He bangs his fists on the door, hoping to scare the boy into complying.  Kids do dumb shit out of fear.

The boy stands there, not moving before he lifts his hands to cover his face, presumably crying.  Good, hopefully he’s scared him enough to open the door.  He’s been in here less than ten fucking minutes and he’s itching to get out.  He’ll get that pig Novak back for this, starting with his family.

The boys shoulders are shaking.  “Ahah aha AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AHHHHAHHAHAHHAHH!”

Tarantula crawls back in fear, the laugh setting off every single alarm in him.  This kid is dangerous.  He notices it then, the almost mechanical sound to his voice, the sickening stretch to the boy's jaw as he laughs.  It’s not human.  He turns a panicked look to his neighbor, she’s under the bed now.  Hands covering her ears and he remembers.

Don’t make it laugh.

He cracks his head back when he hears the door open.  The ki- no this thing now standing in the open cell.  Horror-inducing red light shadowing it, the uneven eyes staring down at him.

“You’re funny!” it shrieks, giggling maniacally as it steps further in.  “I’m going to eat yours next!”

Then, inexplicably, it pulls out a chainsaw, revving it up.  Tarantula scrambles away until he hits the back of the cell.  Eyes wide in terror.  Eat?! Eat what?!  The thing laughs again, lifting the chainsaw above his head.

He screams.

____________________________________________________________

There it is! this comes from Chapter 2 of my story Drone on AO3.  I’m not the best writer, but I’ve had this idea for some time now and thought, what the hell.  So here it is.  Hope you enjoy and I welcome any and all comments!

#invader zim #Young Justice #justice league #fanfiction #fanfic #crossover #crossover fanfiction #ao3 #ao3fic

[rfsak2]

Cactus, Part XI

I actually really enjoyed writing this chapter. Hope you enjoy this too!! Drop me a line and hit that little heart on the bottom. I need your love and affection...

Cactus, Part XI Summary: Support. Harry/Jamie Warnings: A jerk who says jerk things.

She sighed and rubbed her eyes. She’d had a migraine all day.

She appreciated rock. She loved it in all it’s many forms: soft, glam, indie, grunge, she even veered into the land of 80s hard rock every once and awhile. She loved music.

But as with everything in life, she was allowed to have a preference and screamo just wasn’t hers. Especially when the bloody band’s guitarist didn’t know the first thing about writing melodies or playing them for them for that matter.

Hence why she was brought in.

Not that the guitarist appreciated it.

He didn’t. Loudly and obviously.

“I don’t need help from some upgraded groupie.”

The producer grit his teeth and frowned. “You do if you want to make a debut album that does anything, if you want to make music that someone will listen to. You need a melody. Right now all you have is a mush of noise that doesn’t make any s-”

“That’s what it’s supposed to sound like.”

“Well right now, it doesn’t sound like anything. Even your average screamo fan isn’t going to be into this.”

“Good!” He threw his hands in the air. “It’s not for public consumption. It’s art.”

The producer rolled his eyes. “You dumbass, welcome to being signed to a major label. There is no such thing as ‘not for public consumption’. If you’d wanted that you should’ve stayed with your indie label.”

She sighed. “Look, I’m not here to do your job or change-”

“No you’re just here to steal my place in the band.”

She rolled her eyes. “I have two bands, I don’t need another one, promise. I just-”

“Want to find another man to-”

The lead singer stepped forward. “Hey, man that’s not necessary.”

“Don’t need another one of those either.”

“Look, bitch, just because you suck some fam-

The producer shoved to his feet. “That is out of line! The-”

She held her hand up and stood, setting her guitar in its stand. “Look, dude. I don’t give a fuck about your opinion my relationship. Couldn’t really careless and it’s none of your bloody business. Also has absolutely nothing to do with this. I’m a guitarist and a fuckin’ good one. I can help you, but I won’t if you don’t want it. It’s fine. No skin off my nose. I get paid either way.”

The lead singer nodded. “I want her help.”

She looked at the guitarist, who shrugged. “Don’t want any watered down fake-psychedelics on this record. Don’t want none of that pop shit.”

“C’mon, man, even you were busting a nut over some of the solos she wrote for Styles.”

“Co-wrote, with our friend Mitch, by the way.” She shrugged. “It’s up to you though. I can help. Write ya a couple melodies and get right back out of your hair. But it’s up to you.”

The guitarist made a noise in his throat. “Fine. I don’t like whammy though. And I play exclusively on heavy strings. Like the sound better.”

She turned away to grab her guitar and rolled her eyes, who did this fucker think he was? The next Slash? She shot a look at the producer who gave her an apologetic shrug.  “Duly noted. Let’s do this shit.”

Later, migraine still sitting heavily behind her eyes, she stopped at the Whole Foods. Harry was due back today after a week in New York for a photo shoot. The only food they had in the house currently was junk food and the poor boy would be exhausted, she should get some real food in him.

She was was trying to decide if the broccoli looked fresher than the zucchini when her phone rang. FaceTime audio, meant he was still on the plane’s wifi.

“‘ello, beautiful monster.”

She smiled. Two years and she still couldn’t get enough of him. His voice still made the center of her chest warm, still made her want to bury her face in his shoulder, let him wrap himself completely around her. The way she was currently feeling, mutual bathtime was on the list tonight. “Hey gorgeous boyfriend of mine.”

He chuckled. “God I miss yeh, woman. Need yeh… badly. Gonna bury myself so deep in yeh when I get home…”

“I missed ya too.” She felt her cheeks heat and she turned her phone down. “But you need to be careful with all that, baby. Don’t need PhoneSex-gate part two.”

She could practically hear the one-hundred watt stunner on his face. “No one around te hear, love. Promise.”

“You’re in a flying metal tube. Not really anywhere to not hear ya.” She smiled. “So cool your jets and we’ll follow up on that suggestion when ya get home.”

“They are never cool when it comes to you, y’know that. But, I’m gonna hold yeh to that… and to me.”

She snorted. “Was that a pun? Not your best work, Hazza.”

He sighed. “I’m tired and horny for yeh, love, give me a break. Still in studio?”

She shook her head forgetting that he couldn’t see her. “No. I’m at Whole Foods. Any requests for welcome home dinner?”

“You.”

She flushed again. “Haz… I’m serious.”

He chuckled again, the sound deeper and a little more stimulating. “So am I, love. Just wantcha. Don’t much care about what else happens tonight.”

She smiled. “Should I just get take-out then? I’ll grab some breakfast stuff and I can make breakfast in the morning.”

“What time d’yeh have to be in studio tomorrow?”

“Don’t. The guitarist is an asshole and the producer’s givin’ him a day to cool off.” She sucked her tongue. “Not gonna help much. Can’t cure bein’ a prick.”

He was quiet for a minute and she knew her very astute boy was putting two and two together from past conversations. “What did he do?”

“Don’t worry about it, baby. It’s handled. What do you want for breakfast?”

“What did he do, Jamie?”

She sighed. “Hazza-”

“Don’t Hazza me. What did he do and how long has he been doin’ it?”

She fought against the migraine and the exhaustion that tempted her with snapping something rude at him. She knew he was just trying to help. “He’s just… just bein’ a twat, y’know? Doesn’t want help obviously and his only response to that is to-”

“Harass you?”

“Not physically.”

“What did he say?”

“Just bitchy comments about our relationship, Hazza. I swear, it’s not a big deal.”

He huffed. “Because if it was, you’d tell me, right, pretty girl? You’d tell me.”

“Of course. If I didn’t feel like it was under cont-”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s under control or not, love. I want te know.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t like it when you give in so easily, monster. Don’t trust it. Just means you’re not planning on doin’ it.”

She laughed. “It’s just not a-”

“Don’t say it again, love. It is a big deal. It’s a big deal that yer being harassed in yer workplace because of yer relationship with me. It’s a very big deal. To me, at least.”

“It’s just…” She sighed.

“Just what, love?”

“There’s not much that can be done. If someone wants to be a pig-headed jackass and comment on somethin’ that isn’t his business, he’s gonna do it. All I can do is defend myself.” She shrugged.

“I can defend you, love. And if they’re not willing to listen to you, they will definitely listen to me. Why else was I blessed with height and a deep, scary voice, if not to knock some sense into chauvinists?

“That is a valid point and you know that I appreciate your chauvinist-knocking skills. But I can’t have my rich, famous boyfriend steppin’ in to fight all my battles, baby. Ruins my street cred.”

He laughed and she felt like the conversation was back on track. “Fine. Okay. I want waffles and bananas and bacon, British bacon, none of that crunchy American shite.”

She chuckled. “Okay. That I can do. When do you land?”

“Within the hour at this point.”

“Okay, we left your Rover in its normal spot. What do you want for dinner, gorgeous?”

“Thank you, love. Chinese?” He yawned. “From that one really good place in Chinatown?”

She smiled. “Yeah, I can do that-”

“Excuse me…?”

She jumped, almost dropping her phone, and turned toward the girl. “Yeah?”

“Who’s tha’, love?”

“You’re Jamie Schwartz, right? Harry Styles’ girlfriend?”

She nodded sort of dumbly. She didn’t think she’d ever get used to the fact that people, people who were not related to the music industry at all, knew her name.

“Jamie?”

“Are you on the phone with him?” The girl edged closer and Jamie took a step back, almost tripping over the low shelf of the vegetable aisle.

“Jaime? Are yeh okay?”

She nodded and then remembered, he couldn’t see her. “Yeah… I’m fine, baby. Just a fan. Just a second.” She smiled at the girl. “Yeah. I’m Jamie. What’s your name?”

“Candace.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” She shook the girl’s hand. “Sorry about that. I’ve a bit of a migraine. Makes me a little slow on the uptake.”

The girl shrugged. “I just wanted to say that the BTS of the tour is fantastic and you all looked like you had a blast.”

“BTS?”

“Behind the Scenes.”

The video of all the random shit they did to keep busy on the tour. She smiled. Harry had sent it out via youtube and twitter not long ago. Twitter fuckin’ imploded.

He hadn’t even really intended to ever release something like that, in fact most of it was shot on someone or another’s iPhone, not by his professional photography team, but so much of it had been legitimate comedic gold and it just seemed unfair to keep it to themselves.

It had everything from dance numbers (chiefly from The Best Song Ever music video complete with everyone wearing one of Harry’s big cheesy grins) and compilations of her and Mitch’s Riff-Offs, band members falling asleep in random places (shot mostly by Harry) and of her saying ‘Let’s do this shit’ over and over again… set to a sick drum beat laid down by Sarah.

It really was great.

Jaime smiled. “Oh. Yeah, we did have a blast. Fun group to tour with.”

“I think Harry may be the most extra person alive.”

“He has his moments.” Jamie smiled. “He can be dramatic but it keeps life interesting.”

“I am not dramatic!”

She grinned at the girl who probably couldn’t hear Harry and spoke into the phone. “Yes, you are, baby. But I do love you anyways.”

Candace smiled. “I also wanted to tell you that… I know you’ve gotten some hate from the fand- from his fans, that some people have said some really horrible things about you, but most of us love you and think you’re great and we want you two to be happy.” She took a deep breath. “We all, the normal fans, we all think he seems like he’s the happiest we’ve ever seen him. I want to thank you for that.”

Jamie smiled and set the broccoli that she’d been holding this whole time down. She held her arms out and wrapped Candace up in a hug. “Thank you, Candace. That is very much appreciated.”

She nodded and waved before quietly excusing herself.

“What did she say, love?”

Jamie smiled. “She said that they think you’re the happiest you’ve ever been. And then she thanked me for it. Sweet girl.”

She placed the take-out order as soon as Harry had to hang up to land. She made it home maybe ten minutes before he did, popping the cork on a bottle of wine and letting it breathe almost as soon as the grocery bags hit the counter.

She had just put the groceries away when she heard the door open. She smiled and made for the foyer, pausing in the archway to watch him toe off a boot. He was holding their take-out, plastic bag containing those distinctive cartons and he smiled at her.

“Come ‘ere, gorgeous woman.” He set the bag down and opened his arms. He caught her as she all but threw herself at him. Wrapping her legs around him, she sighed into his neck.

“I missed you, baby.”

He grinned and squeezed her tighter. “Ah… my pretty, little monster. I missed yeh too.”

“Even though it’s only been a week?” She leaned back and cupped his face in her hands.

Pursing his lips for a kiss, he nodded. “After the first five minutes, darling.”

She smiled and leaned in for the kiss. “I love you.”

“Love yeh too.” He carried her into the kitchen and set her on the counter, almost knocking over to open wine bottle and the glasses she’d set out.

She just managed to catch one of the glasses before it rolled away and cackled. “You are a menace. I swear, I just want to wrap you up in bubble wrap.”

He grinned. “I didn’t see them, love. Didn’t expect them to be there. Too busy suckin’ on yer neck.”

Leaning forward, she cupped his jaw and leaned in to slip her tongue into his mouth. He groaned, pulling her forward on the counter so she had to lean against him to stay upright.

She drew back and he followed her tongue, drawing her bottom lip between his as he started tugging rather incessantly at her flannel button-up. He tugged it down her shoulders until it got stuck in her elbows and pulled away from her lips to rasp, “Need yeh naked, love. Please.”

He reached down to unbutton her jeans and paused. “Wait, monster. Is your head still hurting?”

“Huh?”

He grinned. “You told the girl that you had a migraine. Are you okay now?”

“I love you.” She smiled up at him and kissed him. “Yes I’m fine. Please don’t ever stop being you, Haz.”

He blushed and kissed her again, his hands unbuttoning her jeans.

Shrugging the shirt off, and started at his buttons, not that there were many to undo, God bless him. She was working a hickey into his jaw, when she remembered. “Dinner, baby.”

His shirt dropped behind him and she ran her hands over his chest. He shook his head. “Need yeh naked. Now. Been hard for yeh since I called yeh. Love, I need yeh.”

She groaned and leaned forward to suck harshly on his collarbone, hands smoothing up his chest to bury in his hair. “Okay… We’ll eat later, we’ll eat... “ She moaned against his skin as he shimmied one large hand into her jeans, cupping her intimately.

Later, laying on the couch after a long, hot bath and reheated Chinese food, they settled in to Netflix binge, each sporting a nourishing layer of her Oatifix face mask and a glass of wine. He laid back against her, head against her breasts, his weight pleasant and comforting against her.

She ran her hands through his fringe, keeping the unruly hair from drifting into the sticky paste.

“Still no studio tomorrow?”

“Nope.” She shrugged. “It won’t do anything. You just can’t fix fucktard.”

He smiled softly. “What did he say, love? Tell me the truth.”

She sighed and ran her fingers through his fringe. “I knew you wouldn’t let this go.”

“Monster, I could tell yeh were still angry when I talked to yeh on the phone. Yeh never hold onto to things like that. So how bad was it?”

Jamie smiled. “Well, apparently I make ‘pop shit’ and I’m after his job.”

He looked rather amused. “In a screamo band? Yeh want his job in a screamo band?”

“Evidently. I also have a nefarious plan to contaminate his ‘art’ with my fake-psychedelics.”

“Oh?”

She chuckled and carded through his hair again. “Also, I think I have a right to do this… because I suck your dick. I mean he didn’t really get to finish that thought, Benny shut him down pretty quickly, but that is where it was going.”

Harry glowered at her over his shoulder, the expression a bit softened by the paste on his face. “Oh really?”

She shrugged. “It pissed me off for sure but I was going to let it go. I know the truth, this asshole clearly doesn’t. Also I suck your dick and I enjoy it, so why shouldn’t I?” Harry laid back against her chest and chuckled. “But then he finally ‘agreed’ to let me help and told me that he hated whammy and only liked heavy guitar strings. Like who the fuck are you? You don’t pay me, the studio pays me to help you sound your best. I don’t care what you like. If what you liked was good, they wouldn’t have brought me in.”

He snorted but arched to watch her face. She smiled and kissed his hair.

“That’s why all their shit sounds so muddy, they need at least one person not just strumming to some indiscernible beat.” She rolled her eyes. “So I tried to introduce a subtle melody, nothing crazy, just something to break up the constant wha-wha-wha. I ruined it by mentioning that he’d be able to play it on heavy strings if he wanted but that it’d be easier and more comfortable to play them on mediums.”

Harry turned to face her fully, pulling her legs into his lap. “And then wha’?”

She ran a hand over her face and sipped at her forgotten wine. “I shouldn’t have said anything. In the back of my mind, I knew I was poking at him-”

“You were offering your professional opinion which is part of your job. You’d be remiss not to mention it.” Harry shrugged. “He’s the fuckwit that let it hurt his feelings.”

She went to kiss his cheek but remembered that his face, like hers was covered in an oat-y, gritty mask. “We need to get this stuff off our faces.”

He nodded and let her up, throwing an arm over her shoulder. “And then what happened?”

She sighed. “He just lost it, ranted about me trying to change his style, the whole style of the band, called me some names, made some insinuations. His bandmates tried to check him but then he hollered at them for a bit and stormed off.” Jamie huffed.

He frowned and motioned her into the en suite before him. They took up position at their respective sinks and he sighed, washing his face. “I like the way this stuff smells.”

She nodded. “It makes me think of how warm and sweet your mom’s house always smells.”

“Yes! That’s what it is!” Harry grinned. “I couldn’t place it.”

She threw a towel at him. “You’re drippin’.”

He grinned. “So were yeh… not three hours ago.”

She let him pull her into his arms and kissed at his jaw. “You and your dirty puns…”

“Nothing dirty here, love. I am so fresh… so clean, clean. Took a bath, washed my face.”

She laughed, throwing her head back. “Very true.”

He kissed her head. “What’re yeh planning te do then, love?”

“About that guitarist?” He nodded and she shrugged. “I’ve already written the melodies for the songs that needed it most. I’ll deliver them to Benny. I get paid anyways. He’ll just have to figure it out for himself.”

He nodded. “Sounds good.”

She kissed his chest, right next to the little monster charm she gave him almost a year ago. “Thank you for listening. I appreciate it.”

“Thank you for telling me.” Harry buried his face in her hair. “I just want te support yeh the way yeh support me.”

She smiled against his skin. “How do you mean?”

“Love, whenever I’m with you, I’m allowed to just be me. I can be goofy and stupid. I can be sensitive and intelligent. I can like football and candles and take baths in rose-scented water and do face masks with you. You don’t judge. You won’t judge. I don’t feel like I’m being edited at all. None of that will turn you off…”

She made a face. “I don’t know, baby… the Packers though…”

He put his hand over her mouth. “Shh… woman, don’t ruin the moment.”

She smiled under his palm and kissed it. “I love you. For you. That includes but is not limited to those suits I’m not as fond of as your other suits, your candles, your god-awful taste in NFL teams and everything else. I love you.”

“Which suits?”

She mimed zipping her lips.

“But no, love. Really. Which suits?”

Part X Up Next: Part XII

#harry styles #harry styles/reader #harry styles/oc #harry styles fanfiction