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writerproblem193Title: this is how the world ends (bang bang)
Fandom: Original
Relationship: Cora x Star
Prompt: Wild Card (4.17 The world ends in the first paragraph)
Rating: T
Warnings: Apocalyptic setting, death / ghosts
Summary: Cora feels stifled in the filtered air of the indoors. Outside, Star waits.
The world ended with a bang, dust listing high in something that almost looked like a cloud. The whimpers came later, when everything was settled and done.
Water caught on Cora’s cheeks, the half-hearted wind tossing the sprinkler’s spray. The dirt was clumped and dark from the previous hour’s rotation, but still the sprinklers rattled on. Anything to keep the dust out of the air. Out of their lungs. Out of their blood.
Cora knew she was close enough to death that it didn’t matter anymore. They all were. Some were just better at lying to themselves.
Eyes on the scarlet horizon, she slipped the hooks of her mask off the backs of her ears and gave a good, decisive cough. Something loosened in her chest. A second set of hacking sent it flying. Cora wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. If it was blood, it was indecipherable from the sticky coating of dust and dirt and anti-rad treatments plastered to her skin.
Without a mask, the air tasted like ozone and synthetic sweetness. The moisture from the earth melted up to coat her tongue.
“Star,” Cora said to the air and the trees and the poisoned planet. It was half a reprimand, half a plea, half a tired knowing.
Star sighed from behind her. Warm air curved around Star’s body, electrified. Cora could feel the near-miss of their hands. “Cora. Your mask.”
Cora shrugged, vaguely, and gestured at the fast-forming puddles. “No dust gets kicked up when they’re on.”
“No dust /here/,” Star agreed, in a backhanded sort of way. Cora smiled, Star still at her back. “You shouldn’t be out here so often, you know.”
Cora knew a lot of things. The trouble was caring. “I miss… this. Everything.” The sky beckoned her, no matter how far she was inside. Indoors, the air was easier on her lungs. The cotton cleared and deep breaths were possible, but it wasn’t worth the same as this. “Inside isn't. I don’t. It isn’t /enough/.”
“You’ll like being dead even less,” Star said. It was sensible of her to say that. Cora didn’t like it. “You can’t taste the same. See the same. Talk the same."
The sprinklers sputtered off, the sun burning it to mist. Cora breathed it in, her eyes fluttering shut for a half-second. Oh, to be alive. “Even the dead feel.”
Star’s voice slid down, a velvet husk. “Not like you.”
“Enough,” Cora said, an echo.
When Cora opened her eyes, Star had moved to face her. Cora drank her in, her long-lashed eyes and the delicate set of her collarbones. Her edges were embers in the end of the world’s ruby light. “Cora. It doesn’t need to be now."
Instead of responding, Cora knelt, her bare knees sinking into mud. The sky reflected, bloody, in the puddles. Star knelt across from her, skirts spread in a cloud. Cora swiped her thumb across the dryest part of the ground between them and came up coated in ghost dust. Cora pressed her thumb to her lips, a fingerprint against her tacky lipstick.
Star touched her, clammy from the water, her breath a soundless rattle on Cora’s lips. Star licked the ghost dust away, so close to solid Cora could taste death as something more than iron.
Fandom: Original
Relationship: Cora x Star
Prompt: Wild Card (4.17 The world ends in the first paragraph)
Rating: T
Warnings: Apocalyptic setting, death / ghosts
Summary: Cora feels stifled in the filtered air of the indoors. Outside, Star waits.
The world ended with a bang, dust listing high in something that almost looked like a cloud. The whimpers came later, when everything was settled and done.
Water caught on Cora’s cheeks, the half-hearted wind tossing the sprinkler’s spray. The dirt was clumped and dark from the previous hour’s rotation, but still the sprinklers rattled on. Anything to keep the dust out of the air. Out of their lungs. Out of their blood.
Cora knew she was close enough to death that it didn’t matter anymore. They all were. Some were just better at lying to themselves.
Eyes on the scarlet horizon, she slipped the hooks of her mask off the backs of her ears and gave a good, decisive cough. Something loosened in her chest. A second set of hacking sent it flying. Cora wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. If it was blood, it was indecipherable from the sticky coating of dust and dirt and anti-rad treatments plastered to her skin.
Without a mask, the air tasted like ozone and synthetic sweetness. The moisture from the earth melted up to coat her tongue.
“Star,” Cora said to the air and the trees and the poisoned planet. It was half a reprimand, half a plea, half a tired knowing.
Star sighed from behind her. Warm air curved around Star’s body, electrified. Cora could feel the near-miss of their hands. “Cora. Your mask.”
Cora shrugged, vaguely, and gestured at the fast-forming puddles. “No dust gets kicked up when they’re on.”
“No dust /here/,” Star agreed, in a backhanded sort of way. Cora smiled, Star still at her back. “You shouldn’t be out here so often, you know.”
Cora knew a lot of things. The trouble was caring. “I miss… this. Everything.” The sky beckoned her, no matter how far she was inside. Indoors, the air was easier on her lungs. The cotton cleared and deep breaths were possible, but it wasn’t worth the same as this. “Inside isn't. I don’t. It isn’t /enough/.”
“You’ll like being dead even less,” Star said. It was sensible of her to say that. Cora didn’t like it. “You can’t taste the same. See the same. Talk the same."
The sprinklers sputtered off, the sun burning it to mist. Cora breathed it in, her eyes fluttering shut for a half-second. Oh, to be alive. “Even the dead feel.”
Star’s voice slid down, a velvet husk. “Not like you.”
“Enough,” Cora said, an echo.
When Cora opened her eyes, Star had moved to face her. Cora drank her in, her long-lashed eyes and the delicate set of her collarbones. Her edges were embers in the end of the world’s ruby light. “Cora. It doesn’t need to be now."
Instead of responding, Cora knelt, her bare knees sinking into mud. The sky reflected, bloody, in the puddles. Star knelt across from her, skirts spread in a cloud. Cora swiped her thumb across the dryest part of the ground between them and came up coated in ghost dust. Cora pressed her thumb to her lips, a fingerprint against her tacky lipstick.
Star touched her, clammy from the water, her breath a soundless rattle on Cora’s lips. Star licked the ghost dust away, so close to solid Cora could taste death as something more than iron.
