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Latest Posts by coulduseprozac - Page 9
Love me some murder ghouls
oh swiss and the ghoulettes definitely stalk the sisters of sin together that’s become canon in my mind after you reblogged that hunter’s moon video
Now THERE'S a fun idea.
Creepy, evil murder ghouls under the cut!
They choose her together.
She's a young thing, willowy and pale. She never sees them, but she can feel their presence. The pressure of eyes on her, making her heart race and her palms sweat.
The song is the worst part. Lilting words in a language she doesn't have a grasp of yet, too new to have it memorized. It follows her, she swears it. In the halls, on the grounds, even in her room at night. She doesn't sleep anymore. Not since her window started to rattle in the dark.
Still, she never sees them.
Never sees them sitting in the rafters of the chapel, watching her kneel and pray. They, of course, take full advantage of her obliviousness.
Swiss uses his shadows to obscure them all, and to snake down the wall. Uses them to lock the heavy wooden doors to the ornate chamber they're haunting, her one route of escape. If she heard the bolt slide, she doesn't show it.
Cumulus and Cirrus send phantom breezes to rustle her habits, sourceless wind that makes her jolt. Makes her look around with wide, baggy eyes. It's been weeks since she slept through the night.
Sunshine pulls the light from the room then, the warmth pouring through massive stained glass windows fading away. Aurora adds her own icy chill, an uncomfortable stillness settling into the air. The sister shivers, hugs her chest and heads for the door.
Swiss's shadows track her, melting into her retreating silhouette to. He can taste her fear through them, can her her racing heartbeat. Can feel her breath stutter when she pulls the door and finds it immovable.
"No," they hear her whisper, rattling the heavy iron handle, "no, no no -" She pounds the door with a closed fist, shouts for help. A fruitless effort, the ghouls know. No one will answer. No one ever does.
She tires quickly, so exhausted from weeks of torment. Of invisible eyes and shivery voices. Of little gifts left on her pillow at night - rat bones, a dead rose, photos of her in the library and the kitchens. Of the constant feeling of being watched and having no one understand. Having no one believe.
Once she sags against the door, once she looses one last whispered plea, the ghouls grin at one another in the dark.
One by one, they begin to sing.
Aurora is the one to start them off, her voice high and piercing. The first notes have their prey's shoulders going stiff. She spins in place, whipping her head around for the source of that unholy melody. Sunshine sings next, and the sister claps her hands over her ears.
"No," she says again, and oh does she sound fragile. "Please, please no -"
It's Cumulus's turn then, her rich words filling the gaps between Aurora and Sunshine. The sister slides down the door with a sob, shaking her head and tucking her knees to her chest. Rocking in place while she begs for the aural torment to stop.
If only she could be so lucky.
Cirrus rests a hand on Swiss's back, uses her power to amplify his voice, the sister flinches like she's been hit. It forces her eyes open, and just as their demonic chorus reaches its crescendo Swiss finally drops his shadowy veil. Reveals himself and his fellow hunters to their poor, vulnerable little lamb.
They descend together, floating down on an unearthly breeze, and as they reveal shining fangs and razor-sharp claws the sister can't even find it in herself to scream.
She's no more than a red stain and cracked bones once they've had their fill, bones that will be gifted to Mountain for use as fertilizer. No point in letting their leftovers go to waste.
"She was sweet," Cumulus coos, licking a stray streak of blood from her finger. "Too skinny though, I'm gonna have her in my teeth for days." She sucks at her fangs and Swiss huffs out a chuckle.
"I dunno, I kinda like the chew," he lilts, running lazy fingers through Aurora's platinum waves. Cumulus snorts.
"You're hardly a food critic," she teases. "I've seen the things you put in that mouth." Swiss responds with a lewd gesture, licking at the air through a vee of his fingers, and all it does is serve to prove the ghoulette's point.
Cumulus hums to herself as she collects the bones they've left, Swiss shifting his attention to where Sunshine and Cirrus are busy grooming each other. After a moment the little ghoulette in his lap chirps, and Swiss peers over her shoulder. He finds her turning a small bone form the sister's hand between two elegant fingers. He noses behind her ear, inhaling the scent of wintry air and fruity shampoo.
"You wanna pick the next one, Ro?"
The others glance over when he says it, Aurora herself tipping her head back to look up at the ghoul. He gives her tiny waist a squeeze, and the ghoulette smiles.
"Yeah," she trills, leaning up to nip at Swiss's throat. "I think I do."
"Aww, our baby girl is growing up so fast!" Sunshine feigns wiping a tear from her cheek. "All ready to hunt, I'm so proud!" Her words are so very playful, and with a giggle she dodges the bone Aurora chucks at her head.
Tomorrow, their game will begin anew.
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This is all TikTok's fault. Why am I reading space alien romance?
Why do I feel like this needs to be a fic?
He's either scared or really captivated with the magical water ghoul in front of him summoning a storm...
A study evolved into this rendered scene, i felt blue since it stormed today.
Bonus mustache:
Tip jar
write bad fanfic. write mediocre fanfic. write fanfic that a thousand people before you have already written. write niche fanfic. write fanfic that only a few people will read or understand. write fanfic just for you. write fanfic just for a friend. write ocs. write self-inserts. the fact that you’re taking the time and energy to put your ideas into the world is amazing and people who shame you for it need to find better ways to spend their time.
He has no right to be that way.
https://twitter.com/sodomizergirl/status/1682154072860680195
Returning the favor because GODDAMN ILL BE WATCHING THIS ON A LOOP
I just died 😳😵💫😵
Ghost Live @ Strasbourg
Photo: Alva IG: @shameless_ghoul
The Nameless Ghouls Official Ghost Cult.
#TNGofficial #13thAnniversary
(totally copy and pasted that from the book of faces
I'm gonna need some dollar bills.
ghost stripper au when
This is totally me
Be proud of the dumb, little thing you wrote, just because you wanted to write a dumb, little thing. Your writing doesn't need to be serious and award-winning for you to be proud of it.
Prompt #1000
"Then why did you even come along?"
"Because someone has to save your ass if this inevitably goes wrong."
This probably one of the best I've read on here.
Your angsty Dew stuff is killing me I am here to humbly request more <3
Of course, sweetheart! Here's more Dew struggling with quint magic being used.
Also, so sorry for doing Aeth like this but...it just wouldn't leave me alone so here we are. I will make it up to him, I LOVE HIM SO MUCH!
Non-con use of magic! Dew feels dirty about it please read with caution angels!
It's all angst all the time.
Omega is the first to use it against him without his permission. He never uses it maliciously, never takes over and drives Dew to madness even though he could. He could warp Dew into a completely different Ghoul, could throw him head first off a cliff and Dew wouldn't be able to fight.
When he feels Dew retreating in on himself he pulls him out.
Dewdrop can feel it in his brain like little fingers tugging and pulling him where they want him. Sometimes he'll struggle, try to keep his walls firmly in place but he's not strong enough against Omega.
He feels like a rag doll sometimes, like he's a puppet and Omega holds his strings.
The little water ghoul knows he means well, does it to keep him safe and happy but…
When Aether comes and starts training, he's even stronger than Omega is.
He asks Dew if he can use it during sex and at first he likes it, it's like more hands on his body, lips and tongues and Aether can have him seeing whatever he wants. It's fun to play with…
But then sometimes he's just sitting there and he feels it creeping up over his spine and into his hair, nipping at the tips of his ears and he wants to scream. He knows it's part of Aether but it isn't him really.
Sometimes it feels like a violation and it hurts so bad he can't stand it.
He uses it to keep him docile when he starts to panic and lash out, slips into his head and pokes and prods and pulls up things Dew doesn't want anyone else to know about. He's glassy eyed and limp in his arms by the time Aether pulls out of his mind.
Dewdrop understands he means well, trying to keep him from fighting himself but it feels like he wants him to change, to rip out his anger and keep him sweet. Dew likes his anger, it's a shield that keeps his heart protected and when it's stripped away he feels too open, weak to attack.
When he decides to leave and move on to another Abbey he tells Dew he can make it feel like he's never existed, can pull himself out of Dew's memories.
He screams until he can't breathe, until Mountain kicks in the door and punches Aether and scoops Dew up into his arms and cradles him.
He feels shattered, dirty, broken…
Then Phantom comes and Dew can't stand him on principal alone.
Aether had hurt him, deeply wounded him, but still seeing someone replace him felt like a kick to the teeth.
He could tell he was strong. The little ghoul just vibrating with magic.
Dew kept a wide berth and refused to pay too much attention, tries not to do anything that would make him want to use it against him.
He sees him use it on Swiss and Rain when their bodies ache, the way they sag in relief and thank him, how he quickly reigns it back in as soon as he helped them. He's seen the way he gently slips into Mountain's dreams when the big ghoul has a nightmare and twitches and whimpers in his sleep, offers just enough to take the edge of fear away.
Panic hits Dew hard and fast, usually out of no where and violent enough to leave him breathless and on his knees shaking.
He tries to keep it hidden, never wants to bother the pack but Phantom finds him. Dew's distress shining neon and screaming out to his quintessence.
He sits beside him, keeps his hands to himself. "What can I do?"
Dew tells him to leave, pulls his knees up tight under his chin and begs him to just leave.
He doesn't. He lays a steady hand on Dew's shaking shoulder and just sits with him.
Dew can feel his magic around him, feels the way it wants to reach out but Phantom won't let it touch him.
He doesn't understand. Phantom is the strongest quint he's ever felt but he hasn't once tried to pin Dewdrop down and rearrange his mind to make him more palatable. He keeps it locked tight.
He let's Phantom hug him, lets him pull him into his lap and pet his hair. He's warm and soft and Dew wants it so bad he can taste it.
"Don't use it on me…don't ever use it on me." He knows he's begging, knows Phantom will probably ask about it at some point.
"I won't. I promise I won't, Dew."
And he wants to believe that, wants to let those words sit in his brain and close over the wounds left by magic he wanted nothing to do with. But he knew how quickly soft hands could turn to fists and how tempting that power could be.
All he hopes is that when Phantom decides to destroy him, he at least does it quickly.
I have this urge to sit him down and brush out that hair
Cos we don't get enough Per on ghumblr
I'd definitely read the shit out of this
would you ever be open to reader x dew having a ghoul kit?
jbtgbetmberlkbrstkcbdrkgbdjfbcg,dkrbgc,dkrbctkdrhj
I was waiting for someone to ask this because I clearly could not leave the ghoul kits/Dew being good with kids alone in my last fic lol but this is the million-dollar question!!
TL;DR—hard maybe! I personally love the idea of it but my interest kind of ends when the kid is actually born haha I feel it'd be a pretty hard pivot for the series if they had to raise a kid. But maybe a while down the road, if it seems like it makes sense for the story and people would be on board to read about it!
BUT now I've been spending all morning thinking HARD about this, so have some little drabbles/headcanons about what would happen if you got knocked up by Dew:
First off, how would you know it's even Dew's if you're sucking and fucking your way across the abbey? Easy—this can be explained away with my new best friend, GHOUL CREAMPIE LORE. I am unable to elaborate further at this time.
Dew would obviously be on board with doing whatever you want to do, but would also be unable to hide the fact that there's nothing in the world he wants more than having this baby. He'd have absolutely no chill.
Like, as soon as the doctor confirms that you're pregnant this mf would be decorating the nursery in his head. Everyone's already caught onto the fact that he secretly loves kids but this would just blow the hatch off him pretending like he doesn't.
This absolutely terrifies all of the ghouls and Copia.
Speaking of which—the ghouls would crack a few jokes about how nobody needs another Dew but they would all also be thrilled!! Who doesn't love a ghoul kit?! They all especially love that you'll be raising it somewhere that isn't the ghoul den, though! Aether and Cumulus have already offered to babysit as much as needed.
Dew's clinginess and possessiveness is now ramped up to eleven. Eleven million. You literally can't go anywhere without him hovering an inch away from you. Always has a hand or tail on you, glaring at anybody who looks at you, constantly rubbing your stomach even when you don't have anything to show for it yet. It's annoying af honestly. He follows you to the bathroom and sits on the floor to stare at you like a cat.
Copia is somehow worse! This man is losing his mind! Mostly with happiness, but everyone's favorite anxious little man of the cloth does not do well with change! He's constantly checking in on you, asking intrusive questions, asking if he can touch your stomach, giving you random little gifts for the baby. He and Dew will definitely butt heads over this and have a few little spats.
You know how cats can sense when you're not feeling well and will drape themselves over your body and purr? Yeah. You're just constantly in a big purring ghoul pile now, this is your life.
Turns out quintessence magic is great for morning sickness. Aether and Phantom are your new best friends. But don't worry, nothing weird is going on—Dew makes sure of that, as he sits with his face practically pressing against theirs, scowling, as they work their magic on you.
To that end, sexy times with the other ghouls came to an abrupt halt as soon as that pregnancy test came back, for both you and Dew. He's only got eyes for you and god help them if anyone else tries to have eyes for you too.
Mountain is extremely enthusiastic about giving you foot rubs. You love it. Dew regards him with extreme suspicion. You don't tell Dew that you can definitely feel his boner when your foot's in his lap, because getting good foot rubs is more important to you than not titillating Mountain's fetishes.
The kid would just be a carbon copy of Dew, except with more human eyes/features/skintone. Everyone will be visibly apprehensive when they see that you literally brought another Dew into the world.
Dew is gonna shock the shit out of everyone by being dad of the year. He won't get everything right and his approach will still be very Dew-like, but he clearly loves it. He's thriving. He's never seemed more in his element than when he's stalking around the abbey with the kit strapped to his chest. He LOVES the attention it gets him from the siblings.
When the kit gets a bit older Dew will become partial to walking them around on a leash. The kit will definitely be taller than Dew by like age 10. It will become unclear who exactly is walking who on the leash.
When you have a AO3 notification from earlier today that you didn't read because, you know, work (boo) and now you can't read the next installment of one of your favorite fics on AO3.
Pressing Matters
Marge the Cleaning Lady tells the others what she saw.
(Part of the Light a Candle 'verse)
It was too crowded, too noisy, and too smoky for his taste. He couldn’t even remember why he agreed to this in the first place, especially since there were more pressing matters on his mind at the moment. Oh, right, band obligations and all that. The ever-present fans. Granted, it is not nearly as crazy as it was back in the heyday, but still, the ever-pressing crush of the devoted was enough to wear thin on the patience of even the most unflappable. Sometimes he would like to just be able to walk into a bar and order a pint and be able to enjoy it in peace. ‘Yeah right,’ he thought to himself, ‘those days are long gone.’
Scanning the room as he raised the glass to his lips, he only half listened to the conversation droning on around him. There. There she was. She pushed a long strand of chestnut hair behind her ear as she leaned in to better hear the conversation of the person with her. Whatever they were talking about must have been amusing for a smile lit up her features. Taking another drink, he continued to watch the woman.
Emma had the distinct feeling of being watched, even in the crowded room. She finished up her conversation with the keyboard player and moved off. She could still feel his eyes on her as she made her way to the bar. She leaned back against the bar, sipping on the glass of wine she had ordered. He was still watching her. His dark brown eyes never left her face even as he raised his glass to his lips. The ring on his finger caught her attention and a wicked smile broke across her face.
Roger had just raised his glass to his lips when the woman across the room said something to him.
“I’m not wearing any underclothes,” silently she mouthed to him from across the room.
Emma knew actually what she was doing. She knew that years behind the drum kit had allowed him to read her lips and to ‘hear’ her as if she was standing next to him. She raised an eyebrow and waited for his response.
Roger choked on the drink he just took.
“Hey, man! You alright?” John asked as he pounded Roger on the back in an attempt to help his friend.
“I’d be better if you would stop beating on me,” he replied. “Excuse me. I have something to attend to.”
“Yeah, sure man. Whatever.” The words were said to Roger’s retreating back. John just shook his head and turned back to the conversation at hand.
He met her halfway across the room.
“You are a very naughty girl.”
“Do you really care?” She asked as she leaned in, her lips against his ear. “How long do you think it would be before they noticed we were missing?” She whispered before he felt the pointed tip of her tongue delicately tracing the outline of his ear.
Roger pulled back and searched her face. He was surprised at this turn of events for Emma was not one really big on public displays.
“Well, how long?” She asked again.
He looked at her, a smile crossing his face.
“Long enough,” he replied, taking her hand and leading her from the bar. He didn’t even acknowledge Simon when the other man tried to gain their attention.
“Wonder where they are in a rush to.”
“Simon leave them be. They are still newlywed. You remember what that was like, don’t you?”
“Oh, yeah baby,” Simon answered his wife, his eyes glazing over at the thought.
**~~**
The taxi ride back to the hotel was the longest one in Roger’s life. It was all he could do to keep from throwing her down on the seat and having his way with her. ‘Be a hell of a show for the cab driver,’ he thought as his hand slowly inched its way up her leg. He was determined to see if what she had said at the bar was true or not. He leaned in and she felt his feathery kisses along her collarbone.
“Stop,” she moaned as his calloused fingers blazed a trail toward her center. “Roger, stop.” She gasped as she felt his warm tongue on her neck.
“Why?”
“We do have an audience,” she said breathlessly, motioning towards the cab driver.
“What?”
“Cab driver.”
Roger’s head popped up from where he had been tracing his initials on the soft skin of her neck. “Damn, forgot about him for a moment.”
Roger caught the gaze of the cabbie in the rearview mirror. It was clear by the smirk on the driver’s face that he had not missed much of what had been going on in the back seat of his ride.
The couple was saved from any further embarrassment as they finally reached their destination. Roger thrust a handful of bills at the cabbie, not caring that he had just paid the man what equaled to several fares. The driver counted the money as the couple raced up the steps to the hotel and shook his head as they disappeared through the revolving doors.
“Ah, to be in love,” he said as he put the yellow car into drive and merged back into the oncoming traffic.
**~~**
Marge had worked for the hotel for well over forty years and had thought she had seen it all. That was until she rounded the corner on the sixteenth floor. There, against the doorway to one of the rooms was a couple so tightly pressed together that one could not tell who was who. The man looked old enough to know better and the woman looked young enough not to care. As she cleared her throat, the man dropped the woman’s leg he had been holding against him. The woman only squeaked out “Roger!” as she hid her flaming face against the lapel of the man’s jacket, and he had the audacity to grin at Marge as he reached around his companion and unlocked the door. The door shut with a quiet click, blocking the two lovers from further prying eyes.
“Why, I’ve never seen such,” the housekeeper recounted to her friends around the break room table. “And to top it off…as I passed that room, there was a thump against the door and I could hear giggles coming from the other side of that door. Shameless, I tell you.”
Marge’s co-workers could only gossip over their coffee and cigarettes. At least this job was never boring…
Light a Candle or Curse the Darkness
Is a series of Duran Duran fics I started like 500 years ago. It starts with the end of the story and the rest fill in bits and pieces of what came before.
Light a Candle or Curse the Darkness
In the end, what would be your choice? The summer tour of 2005 does not go as planned.
Hey, it's the end of the as we know it and I feel fine.
Part Two
When does a dream become reality?
Or, when does reality become a dream?
Could you decide what would be that one defining moment in time?
I know I cannot.
There were just too many of them.
I still, to this day, cannot decide when this all became ‘real’. Was it when we first caught sight of the invaders? Those that had claimed to have been abducted had it all wrong for what had stepped out into the clearing on that warm summer night was nothing that one would think a space alien to be. Nowhere to be seen was the classic space creature, with its large eyes, short, gray-skinned bodies, and three-fingered hands. These creatures were something different altogether. Tall, human in appearance with eyes the color of a storm-tossed sea; their orangish-green skin shimmered faintly in the pale moonlight, casting an iridescent glow about them.
Beautiful.
Ethereal.
Dangerous.
Deadly.
Murderous.
Conquerors.
Destroyers.
I could continue like this forever, but they are just details that everyone should be familiar with by now. If not, lucky you.
Still, that was not the ‘real’ moment for me. Nor was the moment when our small group was sent arse over elbow trying to get out of the way of their idea of crowd control. There had been thirteen of us that had set off from that highway looking for help. Five Durans and Shelly, a young nursing student from the Midwest, were all that entered their ship. Watching the person next to you be vaporized, as in nothing left, not even the clothes they were wearing vaporized, is enough to make one think about how much they want to live. I know I still did at that point. Odd how time changes all things, is it not?
I won’t waste time telling of the journey to our new “home”. It was uneventful, and we spent the better part of it huddled in holding cells with several hundred other miserable souls. Voices in the dark whispered…wondering…questioning...praying.
“Airplanes falling out of the damn sky…”
“The Lord is my Shepard…”
“Have you seen Saul, my husband?”
“Where are they taking us?”
“…he leadeth me beside the still waters…”
“Did you hear what happened to the cities?”
“Who are they? Where did they come from?”
“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…”
“…the Armies have been destroyed.”
“…no one left…”
“I will fear no evil: for thou art with me…”
“No food or water for two days. For two days!”
“I want my mommy!”
“…space aliens!”
“…I will dwell in the house of the…”
“Wiped clean off the damn map…”
“Fuck, I need a smoke.”
From time to time, I have wondered what had happened to Shelly. She was separated from us not long after our arrival to the place that we would acrimoniously learn to call home and hearth.
Where were we? By the best guess of persons far smarter than I, it was decided that we had been relocated somewhere along the Pacific coast, probably close to the Canadian border. There were thousands of people in this camp. The invaders must have cleared out every small town and city they came across. Lord only knows how many more of these camps there are, or rather were. I fear that what has been happening here is only a reflection of what is happening elsewhere. Even as I sit here, writing, I can hear the screams and heavy rifle fire echo throughout the camp. And the whispered pleas for a savior. Strange, is it not, how people put their beliefs in a higher power? Stranger still, is the fact that these people go to their deaths, believing their prayers do not fall upon deaf ears. God did not help us when they came and I sure in the Hell don’t think he’ll help us now. This is one path I refuse, even now, to go down. I lost whatever faith I had a long time ago.
I figure by either tomorrow or later this evening they will be at my part of the camp, and that will be that. So sorry if this is a little rushed but Death is riding on the wind, and I think he is coming for me. Before I stick my spoon in the wall and roll over, I must tell what happened to my brothers. Brothers of my heart, even if not by blood. They lived, they had a life, and they deserve to have their deaths told, however poorly I might recount it.
~~
Nick. Nick was the first of us to go and we lost him almost right from the beginning. Of all things, he died from an allergic reaction to whatever they used to ink the barcodes. The process itself was not that bad. You held your arm out, they ran a scanner over it, a slight tingling feeling, and before you can say ‘Bob’s your uncle’, you are the proud owner of a new tattoo. In less than 24 hours after receiving his, Nick was dead. It started with an irresistible urge to scratch. We nearly went crazy trying to prevent him from digging his arm off. Soon, two large red streaks had snaked up his arm and across his chest and neck. John spent all night by his side, mopping Nick’s feverish brow. When the seizures started, we knew that the end must be near. In the early pre-dawn hours, Nick drew his last ragged breath and without a word, was gone. He was not the only one. There were hundreds upon hundreds who died in this camp from the allergic reaction. I don’t think our captors really gave a flyin’ fuck about it either.
Out of all of us, Nick’s death hit John the hardest. Beautiful, fragile John. During the early years it was still easy to procure things of, let’s say, of a questionable nature. Almost six months to a day after Nick’s death we found John overdosed on whatever it was he took. I guess Rehab didn’t cover a hostile invasion by space aliens, did it Johnny? The bastard. He took the easy way out. I never have gotten around to forgiving him for that.
It was not too long after that, that Andy found a small girl wandering through our part of the camp; she couldn’t have been more than three, if not younger. All Andy was able to get out of her was her name and that she couldn’t find her parents. Andy searched and searched for the girl’s parents, but they were nowhere to be found and no one would step up to care for her. He took little Laura as his and decided that he would care for her. When pressed for an answer as to why, all he would say was, “I can only hope that someone would look to my children if the need be. You have children of your own. Wouldn’t you want someone to look after them?”
I never would answer that question. I only hope my children did not have to live through this.
Time passed, seasons changed and each year the winters were getting harder and harder to survive. Lack of food, proper clothing, and poor living conditions was getting to everyone. Each winter, little Laura would come down sick, and each year it became harder and harder for her to shake it. And she was not the only one.
Andy and several other parents formed a committee and took it upon themselves to visit the camp Commander to request aid for the children. Surprisingly enough, they were thanked for their trouble and told that the Commander would investigate it and were sent on their way. By noon the next day, there was not any child under the age of fourteen left in the camp. The younger children were killed outright, while the older ones were transported from the camp. I don’t know where they were taken. Some say they were sent to other camps and still, others think they were taken off the planet altogether. Laura was only seven when they killed her. Perhaps it was for the best.
The committee members lived long enough to see the havoc they wreaked. Their heads, along with Andy’s, adorned pikes, lined the road to the Commander’s office for a very long time. I think that day was the day that the fight to continue living fled this place. So many families were destroyed on that dark day. So many hopes for the future were crushed.
That was four years ago, scary how time flies when you are being repressed.
Simon? I don’t know where he has gone off to. Despite the dangers of the camp purge, he went for a walk yesterday and has yet to return. I fear he may have been caught in the cleansing. Or he may be holed up somewhere, safe for the time being. Who knows?
~~
There. That is their story. Not much, is it? But it is all I have for you.
Why do I write this? I don’t really know. I have a sinking feeling there will not be anyone left to read this after I am gone. Maybe I write these words to prove that I was. That I existed. That I was here. My only regret, well two regrets, is the fact that I could not see my children and family one last time. And Emma, my beautiful dark-eyed girl, that I had taken for my wife only a few months before it all went to Hell. I really should stop rambling. Damn. Old age must be sitting in early. I have things to do before my time is up.
One last thing before I go:
I had once read that you can either light a candle or curse the darkness.
My candle burned out a long time ago.
I am not going without a fight.
I have made my decision.
I will curse the darkness with my last breath.
I am meeting with others from this block, and we are going to fight.
I don’t know what good it will do… But I am willing to find out.
Notes:
I wrote this like 500 years ago.
Light a Candle or Curse the Darkness
Part One
In the end, what would be your choice? The summer tour of 2005 does not go as planned.
Warnings: This is not Porn. It is probably not Crack. Hell, it is not even close to an over-the-counter, off brand Ibuprofen. And it ain’t all sunshine and kittens. Oh, yeah, language.
Disclaimer: This is so far out in the AU field that you can’t see it with a telescope. I have never met any member of Duran Duran and I don’t speak English. Well, that would be English English. So, if it seems a little Americanized that is why.
~~*~~
June 21st.
A Day that will never be forgotten.
In less than twenty-four hours life on Earth, as it was known, forever was changed. They had come, without warning, from the far reaches of space. I know, it sounds like a cheesy opening line from a bad Sci-Fi novel or something from Star Trek or one of those movies that the kids had liked to watch. Oh, how I wish it had been a Star Trek episode. Or even one of those Hollywood movies where the hero always saves the day before the total annihilation of the planet. Maybe then Captain Kirk and his merry band could have saved the day. Hell, I would have even settled for Will Smith. But, tragically, no one came to our rescue. The sheer power and technology of these creatures ended whatever defensive measures the nations might have used before there was even a chance. In an instant, every single major city in the world was wiped from the map. Rome. New York. Los Angles. Paris. Moscow. Washington. Beijing. Tokyo. London. All of them. There were no negotiations, no chance of surrender. Millions of souls gone in seconds.
Sometimes I think they were the lucky ones.
Don’t get me wrong, it took several weeks for them to completely dominate the planet, and there was a resistance movement. But in the end, nothing that was done to repel the invaders worked.
June 21st.
The day I and, others ceased to be. Ceased to be individuals. Ceased to be free. That day was the day that whoever had survived their initial attack would forever be known by only a barcode and a number. Me? My number was 7609. Ironic, is it not?
You want to run but there’s no space at all… La la la late bar…
Not some of the most brilliant of our lyrics but still…
Ah, my mind wanders. If I am going to tell this tale, then let me attempt to start somewhere near the beginning…
~~**~~
The first day of summer was spent like so many others, touring. You see, we were in a band, musicians, and we were on a crazy schedule of two months on and two months off. This just happened to be our time on the road and for once we were all traveling together. Everyone’s families and significant others had returned several days before to wherever it was, they had called home, and the feeling of nostalgia had hit us hard. And hard hit was we: someone had the brilliant idea of traveling to the next city, like in the old days, by bus. A tour bus, for God’s sake. A damn tour bus. I don’t know if I should feel thankful about that or not. If we had traveled by airplane, as was the norm, we…I…would most likely not be here now.
Maybe if we had been in an airplane when they had come, we would have escaped the Hell that was to follow. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. That is all there seems to be now days. That, and ‘what if’?
I don’t even really remember where we were when it happened. I think Andy had called it, ‘Somewhere in the Middle of Bloody Fuckin’ Nowhere.’ Andy. He always had a mouth on him. I can’t even begin to remember how many times when we were younger that mouth of his almost got us into trouble or almost cost us a gig. Right now, I would give anything to hear one of the many flamboyant curses that had always seemed to slip so effortlessly from between his lips.
Almost everyone had been sleeping when the bus suddenly stopped. I am pretty sure that several people hit the floor at the sudden stop. Bumps and bruises all around. Later we had learned that they had used what was basically a short-termed EMP pulse in the opening salvo of the attack. Not too terribly high tech for them, but still effective.
I won’t bore you with the details that followed. Won’t bore you with how we saw to any injuries we might have had after we picked ourselves up from the floor of that damned bus. I won’t tell you of the confusion that was present on so many of the faces of the other stranded travelers. I won’t tell you how we decided to leave the interstate. The details of how we wandered the countryside with some of the others from the road, lost, looking for help, are not so important now. I will not tell of how we wandered for a few days before being picked up by them. Okay, so we got lost. We were a pop group not a bunch of bloody Boy Scouts.
Why do you ask that I bore you with such details? Time. Plain and simple, time. I seem to have run out of it; something is happening. They have been moving troops and equipment off the planet; all the while, methodically clearing the barracks, block by block. Guess whose is next.
There are other things that need to be told in this telling.
Jesus.
Where do I start?
I would tell you their name if I could spell it, hell, I can’t even pronounce it. Even after all this time.
Like a nightmare come true, they came from the sky. Imagine our surprise. No one thought to run, so dumbstruck we were. There really was nowhere to run to. We stood there with our mouths open, as we caught the first sight of proof that we were not alone in the universe.
swiss' big fat crush on aurora. discuss. who makes the first move. how does it go.
OOOOOH
not hcs, not a ficlet- just me talking. If this is wack, it’s cuz I wrote it in Tumblr Mobile and I’m also Intoxicated !
Swiss was there when she was summoned. He watched her crawl out of the Pit. Watched how she fought her way topside, snarling as she entered the world, and he was smitten.
He doesn’t see her for a while after that. Recovering from literally clawing your way out of the depths of hell is no easy process. In that time, Swiss develops a bit of a… fixation. Can’t stop thinking about how powerful she looked in the summoning room, how alluring. For the next little while, Swiss has a one track mind.
When will I see Aurora again?
After a couple weeks, she moves into the ghoul den, and Swiss can’t help but follow her around like a lovesick puppy. The others tease him for it, but he doesn’t care. Can’t find it in himself to stay away.
For once in his life, Swiss’s signature charm fails him. He’s dead terrified to talk to her. She’s just so pretty. He tries to approach her and just comes off as super creepy, gawking at her and tripping over his words.
She secretly thinks it’s adorable. Loves to watch him flounder. She plays hard to get just to watch him squirm, acting like she isn’t just as flustered.
He FINALLY decides to make an actual move, after much encouragement from Dew and Mountain. They even offer to help. Mountain pretties up the greenhouse, Dew cooks a fancy dinner for two, and Swiss approaches Aurora.
He barely gets the words out, shaking in his damn boots where he stands. He’s real awkward about it, blushing and stuttering, but he manages to invite her for dinner in the abbey’s greenhouse just before sunset.
She LOVES that he’s nervous. Gives her a sense of superiority in a way, knowing she’s got Swiss wrapped around her finger. He’d be so easy for her, and she’s worked up by that- more than she’d admit until later.
So that night, she walks into the greenhouse and Swiss FREEZES. Everything he wants to say absolutely gone from his mind.
She looks hell-sent in the best way possible, her hair sleek and shimmering, her horns polished to a near-reflective gleam.
She flashes him a coy smile as she approaches him. “Swiss- you look lovely. Thank you for inviting me.”
“Hwahh?”
He’s never been so damn dumbstruck in his LIFE. Can’t even greet her. It takes all of his effort to even close his mouth.
She giggles, strides right past him, and sits at the cute little table that Mountain decorated.
Swiss realizes something in that moment.
He’s fucked. In way over his head with this one. He’d let her ruin his life, no hesitation. There’s no hope for him.
And he’s going to love every second of it.
have you considered: Mountain/Aether strength kink
Oh, I am considering.
Considering Aether, hauling Mountain up over his shoulder and carrying him down the hall. One big arm wrapped around his thighs.
Thinking about the little sound Mountain makes whenever Aether lifts him, drags him around, or otherwise manhandles him.
Mountain loses his mind when he realizes Aether can throw him. No one can pick Mountain up, no one can really bully him around without him allowing them to. But Aether? Mountain doesn't stand a chance against Aether's strength.
He feels small in Aether's arms. Feels delicate. Breakable. Aether maneuvers him with no trouble. Knows exactly what leverage to use to put and keep Mountain where he wants him.
Mountain can't get enough of it.
And then, of course, there's the reverse.
No one ever manhandles Aether either. He's big. Sturdy. He doesn't expect anyone to be able to really pin him down. Hold him in place. He, like Mountain, has to allow himself to be pressed into the dirt and fucked. Has to pretend that he can't really get away.
Until, of course. Mountain pins him in the greenhouse one day. Presses his cheek right into the soft dirt on the greenhouse floor and Aether pushes up against him and realizes he's actually stuck.
That he can't get away from Mountain if Mountain doesn't want him to. The thrill that runs up his spine at that makes him shudder and rut his hips into the dirt.
He whines, pathetic, and Mountain laughs at him.
They seek each other out for it, a lot. Whenever Mountain wants to feel small, or Aether wants to feel weak, they know where to go.