This is from this post I made talking about how easily Amber could take over the hive. Anyway motivation struck, this is an older Amber right after she does it. The Hive was starting to treat people like objects and got that bias where because something’s working you don’t need it anymore and took away optimization (and made a lot of other Bad choices) and Amber went “oh god that’s horrible” she might be a little bit angst rn because she had to betray her hive. If I was to write more I think Amber would go to canon!Amber’s dimension but think she time traveled. Anyway on with the show.
Her dark cloak was hastily thrown over her shoulders as she marched along the corridor towards one of her meeting rooms, the black fabric billowing out behind her. She adjusted the cloak so it fell low over her eyes as she reached out toward the sharp-edged mind that was waiting in the meeting room before her.
First time meeting her since the whole debacle. I wonder how much she’s changed. Not the girl I met on teen level anymore…
… Never imagined! Everyone always said she was so dutiful and I-
… believed it like everybody else, stupid. Should’ve remembered, should’ve known…
… glad she did it. It feels wrong but I’m glad. We almost lost everything…
… She’s still Amber, even after everything. Just got to remember that.
She retreated from his mind. A single tear rolled down her cheek, mourning for the girl that he once knew. Head General Amber, leader of Hive England, knocked, and entered the room to meet with General Surgeon Atticus, and the ghost of a girl long dead.
Frisk glanced up, a shiver that felt like a spider crawling slowly up her spine creeping up through her skin, the static in her feet climbed with it. She sucked in another breath of musty air.
“Ibrahim?” she called again, forcing away the waver in her voice.
Her legs moved awkwardly through the maze-like halls of her house. The photo stabbed like thick plastic in the palm of her hand as she searched for their bedroom. The HVAC sighed, and the house seemed to creek with it.
Her breathing was uncomfortable in her throat. Almost painful. Her feet staggered as if urging her to pick up the pace. At the end of the hall was a large window. Heavy chevron curtains fluttered in the stale A/C. Her eyes were drawn to it. Her heart beat heavy in her chest.
The hallway felt stretched. Her feet swayed with the new sensation of vertigo, as if she’d go falling downwards.
There was a long buzz in her ear. Like parking lot fluorescents. Flickering against the far away window. Just past the dark reflection of the musty, chevron hallway… just past the visage of her form staring back at her in that glass…
She swore she saw the faint outline of bulbous figure, a man, watching her. A grisly beard itched around a giddy grin. His fleshy, wrinkled face was hollowed out by the light and almost made him look like a living corpse.
The faint glint of his wild sclera flashed at her. His fleshy hand, greened by the hallway light pressed against the window as if to wave to her.
Her breath hitched.
Those fleshy fingers began to tap, slowly against the glass.
The conversation lulled. The silence became oppressive, and in an act of mercy for the both of us I told her, "I have to go."
"I love you,” She blurts out before I can do anymore then stand. “Did you-?" She didn’t need to finish the thought.
"I did," I said, "but... You look great,” I laughed. She did not.
“What happened?"
✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: Word of The Day :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧
Amphibology (n. Middle English, 14th century): A phrase or sentence that is grammatically ambiguous, such as “She sees more of her children than her husband.”
Flood Reaction in a Nutshell [without the screaming]
Your character is a bio-mechanical super-soldier known to decimate hundreds of aliens known collectively as the Covenant. You, who has so far been sent to missions where you witness the struggle of humanity against these aliens, know it is only you who evens the odds. So far, these aliens are the biggest threat out there.
It’s not until you are sent to a dark, foggy swamp that you realize that there is something more dangerous than them.
Your arrival is greeted by fleeing enemies –and they are not running from you. They are easy to gun down, and fail to distract you from the sight of a Pelican [a human dropship] and the sound of a looping, distorted distress call. From what you can make out, there are hostile units in this area and they are ‘not Covenant’.
You press forward and find the entrance to an ancient underground facility. That entrance leads you to an elevating platform, which takes you down into the building’s depths. Deeper in, you find evidence of fighting: bullet holes, plasma bursts, and blood from both sides. All of it is splattered on walls and floors and ceilings, yet not all of it is accompanied by dead bodies.
Even as you later find a single, clearly-traumatized Marine soldier, cringing against a wall and shooting wildly, there is nothing that indicates a lingering enemy. In fact, from the screaming soldier’s rant, it sounds like he either completely cracked from the fighting, or that there might have been some hallucinogens involved. Still, the tension rises as you find more and more dead bodies, some of which are oddly placed and –startlingly– look to be evidence of cooperation rather than opposition.
You carry on until you find a locked room. A cutscene takes place, and you watch your character be startled by a slithering sound. Even as he relaxes, turns around, and opens the door, he recoils when a dead Marine slumps into his arms. Visibly tense, he drags the body with him and inside the unexplored room. It is where he finds a helmet labeled ‘JENKINS’.
From the helmet, you find found-footage of the soldier’s journey inside the facility.
You watch as they inspect an elite with its chest burst open, unsure if it is from friendly fire. You watch as they eventually find the door you have just opened, noting how the Covenant previously locked it down tightly. You watch and hear as the squad themselves receive a panicked call warning them of the ‘not Covenant’, before an ominous hissing sound surrounds them. You watch as a metal side-door bursts open and small, crawling creatures swarm the squad.
You watch these creatures quickly take the soldiers down, one-by-one, before the footage cuts out.
The low, echoing ambiance that had been present so far runs silent, and you are given precious seconds to process it all before a door bursts open and you face waves of those same creatures. What’s worse, it happens again and again until the door you entered bursts open and you turn to see bigger, familiar, and more grotesque creatures leaping towards you. Even after you kill them, the horror only rises as you really look at them.
With grim understanding, you realize that these creatures are actually mutated corpses.
The town of Westray was small, although it was small it was peaceful. It surrounded the kingdom of Omen along with many other small towns. The town was positioned on the west side of the city around thirty-five miles away from the main entrance of the kingdom. The small mountain ranges to the west cast shadows in the evening when the sun set in the evening. It cast shadows on the town and on the field separating the town from the kingdom. The town of Westray mainly lived off the trade of sun, moon and void crystals. The settlement was something to marvel at, but yet it was still nothing compared to Omen. The houses all looked similar with slate tiled rooftops, and ashwood walls. A staircase of cascading waterfalls, spilling out from the mountain range and pooling at the bottom in a large pond, the water so clear it looked as though it was a mirror. Westray had a ever-growing economy, which was supported by the demand of crystals. The crystals grew at the bottom of the river and were harvested by the friendly water sprites who resided in the pond.
I looked out toward the western front the mountains casting dark shadows over the town. The Oakview summit was a sight to see. Many of the town residents gathered at the pond for celebrations like Feast of the Rising and the Lanterns Festival. The Lantern festival was my particular favourite. The townsfolk, Fae and Sprites alike gathered at the pond on the twenty-first of Alakdan to celebrate the lantern festival. It was a symbolic festival of death and rebirth. Each of the towns members launched a lantern into the sky, the light from the lanterns filled the sky and bathed the town in light freeing it and us from darkness. The towns elders believed it freed us from harmful spirits and bad omens whilst also cleansing the town of darkness.
I turned away from my window snapping out of my distant gaze.
“I was hoping to distract you with sweet words, so you didn’t notice what was going on,” Noel cooes, gently brushing her finger under my chin.
“I’m not sure I understand,” I question her as I reach my hand up to hers.
She chuckles darkly, “You love me, don’t you?” I swallow hard and try to keep my emotions hidden. “Oh, don’t be shy, Jett. I know how you feel,” she says as an illusion of her wraps its arms around my chest.
“I care about you a lot,” I say softly, trying to ignore her attempts to distract me. “What’s this about?”
“Clearly you have no idea even still,” she rolls her eyes. “The illusions of you are growing weak… I need more of your blood, Jett.”
“I gave you some like a week ago,” I cross my arms as another illusion begins to run its hand along my arm. “All of these things touching me aren’t going to change my mind, Noel. I’m not your blood supply. Go find a human to drain.”
“But I’m being serious! It’s not my fault that your illusions get so weak this quickly,” she pouts. I stare at the thing as it stands next to her; its eyes are fixated on me and I feel the weak pull of my blood. “See? He’s pathetic!”
“Fine, but you’re taking from my wrist,” I give in. I wouldn’t mind her taking my blood so much if she were my partner. At the moment, I feel like she’s just using me to get stronger and I don’t like that.
She saunters over to me and wraps her arms around my neck, nuzzling her face against my skin. Her lips brush against my neck, “But I prefer taking it here.”
Reluctantly, I pull her away, “You’re lucky I’m even letting you have any at all. Do you think you’re in a position to bicker about where you take it from? It’s my wrist or nothing.”
“Fine,” she draws out, taking hold of my wrist. She softly kisses it before wrapping her lips around it and sinking her teeth into my flesh. My heart races as she draws my blood from me. I bite my lip to try and keep my composure, but Noel already knows what she does to me. Maybe I do love her. Or maybe I love the idea of her.
Regardless of what the answer is, there was something there that I can’t deny.
Heat hits my cheeks and makes them turn a scarlet red as her hand grips my hip. Slowly, she withdraws and licks my wounds. She cups my face and giggles softly; her breath hits my lips and I loop my arm around her waist. Why do you do this to me?
She leans closer to my face, “Are you sure you don’t love me?”
“You won’t let me kiss you,” I murmur.
“Do you feel I owe you a kiss?” She frowns slightly and it makes my heart sink.
My gaze meets her sapphire eyes, “You owe me nothing. I just want to get closer to you. Is that wrong?”
“Then why would I kiss you?” Her words sting like poison spreading through my veins. Why do you do this to me?
“Don’t you feel something for me?” I ask, instantly regretting it.
She pats my cheek and steps away from me, “Of course I feel something for you! You’re my best friend.”
“Right… friends,” I sigh.
“I’ve got to go talk to Kearney, so I’ll see you later,” Noel smiles. His name burns my ears. “Hey, don’t look at me like that! This whole ‘capture an angel’ thing was your idea, after all. I have you to thank for us meeting.”
“Just go, Noel,” I growl.
“Chin up, Jett. You’re still number one in my eyes. No one can replace you,” she says with a wink before kissing my cheek.
No one can replace you.
She is a poison that I come back to with open arms. Forever and always.
I walk around the house, the only sound is soft footfalls as I move slowly over the wooden floor. My upper body is bare besides the thin steel collar ready to send shocks through my body if I get too close to the front door, it feels oddly cold against my neck despite being essentially attached to my neck constantly. Every hour, every minute, every second it stays there. A constant source of anxiety. If I even once step over that invisible wall in order to leave the shocks run through my body rendering me seemingly paralysed. My lower half thankfully covered by sweatpants, socks and my only pair of shoes. These are my only possessions. The only ones he lets me have. I must never wear a shirt, he likes to see me. I must wear this pair of trousers at all times unless he wants to have his way with me. Hence why the pants must be loose at all times. I itch my chest, feeling the bumps of my ribcage as if my finger were running down a xylophone. I mustn’t eat much, he needs me to look good. The house itself is quite bright. The colours always light and cheerful as if mocking me constantly for the situation I’m in. One room, the living room to be more precise is large, larger than the house I used to live in even. It is painted sky blue yet small specks of dark crimson stain small areas of it. This crimson is of course not paint, it’s my blood. Some from my back, covered with deep scars, some from my arms, the jagged lines running down them a constant reminder of his terrible claws. They inflict such pain yet all of it is my fault. I can be bad sometimes, sometimes I don’t fit his needs, sometimes he’s simply in the mood to hurt me. But it’s always my fault, he makes sure I remember this. My body is his, I must treat it how he wants me to. In the living room sits three sofas. Each one black though one is considerably larger than the others and shaped like an l, this one is in the corner. The others are placed accordingly. On one wall is a large flat screen television, almost as large as the wall itself, the only traces being small slivers of white blue being visible at all sides of the television. It’s almost comically large. The curtains, like the small spots on the wall, are crimson, though this is not a result of my blood. Rather it was a design choice made by him. An unfortunate one mind you. Of course I would never tell him of my feelings, a leisure for him doesn’t need feelings after all. Despite my constant feeling of fear that I for some reason make apparent enough for him to hurt me sometimes. I want to leave this house. Want to get away from him. It’s actually the reason I’m walking around the house, looking for a way to get out, to get this collar off. The windows aren’t an option, they’re controlled by a remote he holds with him at all times. It would be almost comical, if it wasn’t keeping me from leaving. Despite being so desperate to leave however I can’t help but feel like I need to be here, like I need to be with him. He is after all the only one that truly cares for me. The rest of the living room is rather boring, just a small table, the legs keeping it close to the floor along with a big black rug that covers most of the floor. Under it the floor is wooden. He does need to decorate in here more. Though again, I would never voice these feelings. Not anymore at least. Nothing in here.
HI EVERYONE! Please note this is only part of my first draft and is unedited but thoughts? I’d like to know if it looks like I’m going the right way with this. I’m going to tag a couple people because I’d like them to see it. @glorious74 @im-busy-writing and @maxgraybooks (it’s been a while since I spoke with Max and Glo so hi guys!!!!!!!!!)
She let out a sigh as her feet finally touched solid ground once more. After months of inhaling the scents of the sea, she was thankful that she could smell the heat of the grass.
“Ava…” She heard herself whisper. She remembered the elf’s smile, so rarely shown, remembered that faint scent of Dragon’s Root as she was always in the lab, she remembered her. She couldn’t remember anything else.
Vilirei heard the stomping of the Vigil’s boots smack the evened-out dirt of the docks. Swooping under a fallen bean with a chunk of a wall barely hanging on, Vilirei watched as the soldiers passed her. No doubt they were looking for her. Although… The shouting proved otherwise, calling for a “he” instead of a “she”. It didn’t hide the fact that she still hid from them. One look and they’d arrest her too.
Being a mage-hunter on the run came with absolutely no benefits aside from allowing hidden mages to live. Two years ago, she was appalling, killing every hidden mage in Aluris that refused to go to any Salarium near them. She didn’t know what changed. And at this point, nor did she care.
Once she was certain that the Vigil had left, she left the hole, dusting herself off. Vilirei’s grey eyes searched the area for the nearest tavern. Once she got there, Vilirei noticed just how full to bursting it was, even this early in the afternoon. The sun’s heat wasn’t doing anyone many favours either; mixing the stench of sweat and vomit together was enough to make Vilirei’s stomach lurch. Braggarts, peasants, nobles and harlots wearing short petticoats alike crowded nearly the whole place, save for a small corner.
In it, a man sat on a rickety old chair, leaning back slightly, covered in a thin, worn black cloak. About him was a malign aura, like being around him would all but guarantee your death. The man’s eyes, a sharp dark grey, spotted Vilirei’s own brighter grey eyes looking him over. Absently, the man licked his lips before standing, walking over to the bar. Something about him pulled her to him.
