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whatifxwereyou · 3 years

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Ashes Chapter 11: Coffee

Fandom: Mortal Kombat 2021

Pairing: Liu Kang x Reader

A/N: This story will now update on Wednesdays from here on in! Hope that you're all doing well. It's wednesday, you made it halfway! You got this!

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You didn’t sleep much that night. You were afraid to sleep. Between the vision on the roof and your night with Liu Kang? Sleep just wasn’t part of the equation. You hated that you wanted to be held through the night, but you felt too guilty to imagine Kung Lao doing it. You tossed wildly between feeling horribly guilty that you’d slept with Liu Kang like a human wrecking ball and angry that he’d lied to you all those years ago. You would have given anything to get your brain to shut up for the night.

The next morning, you tagged along with the other champions to meet with Johnny Cage. Liu had told you that you could stay behind if you needed rest, but you wanted to be anywhere but alone with your thoughts. Besides, you were curious about Johnny. Raiden had sent all of you to talk to him. Either he was impressive, or Raiden had ulterior motives. You were guessing the latter.

From what you’d heard, Johnny was as stubborn as they came but you hoped that deep down, he had a somewhat decent moral compass. It was difficult to tell just from watching a movie and meeting him would help. You were usually a good judge of character.

You were to meet with him at a coffee shop in Hollywood and he was impossible to miss. White blazer, bright blue half-buttoned shirt beneath it, gold chain around his neck, and the top letters of a tattoo of his own name exposed on his chest.

“When I agreed to meet with you, I figured it’d be just you and me not your whole crew of misfits.” Johnny gestured behind Sonya who had her arms folded so tight under her chest, you could see her veins bulging. She looked like she wanted to immediately break his nose. He must have made quite the impression on her the day before. Johnny made a big deal out of buying coffee even though most of you declined. You ended up getting a tea since Johnny seemed a little bummed that no one was taking him up on his ‘generosity’.

“Can you believe this guy?” Sonya whispered to you. You sipped your tea and shrugged. They had gotten to talking about the dragon mark. Cole had shown his off since it was the easiest to get to. “I’ve never seen anyone love the sound of their own voice this much.”

“I think he’s a little funny.” You shrugged. You’d decided he was harmless. Yes, he had a huge ego and cocky attitude, but he was also… well, harmless. He played it tough and made a lot of jokes, but you had met plenty of terrible men in your life and Johnny didn’t seem like one of them. Sonya huffed next to you.

“So, you’re telling me that you all have the same mark as me?” Johnny led them outside the café and took a seat, kicking his feet onto one of the tables. He held his latte close and looked at you over the top of his sunglasses.

“Yes. The mark means that you have been chosen.” Liu’s English was adorable. He had such a careful way of speaking and his accent made it even sweeter. You had to make a conscious effort not to smile. Liu explained Mortal Kombat, and it was nice to hear him sounding like himself for once. Maybe your night had done some good even if it had felt like a mess.

“Hold up, hold up. You all have the mark? I was just joking before.” Johnny kicked his feet off the table and leaned his elbows on his knees.

“Yes. We are the chosen warriors.”

“…that’s messed up.” Johnny sipped his coffee and set it down on the table. Then he pointed to you. “How’s the tea? Good?”

“It’s fine. Thank you.”

“Focus.” Sonya’s every word to Johnny was accompanied with a cringe or a sigh. You, again, had to actively try not to smile. He waved off your gratitude with a motion that said it was no big deal but looked pretty pleased with himself.

“Is this a joke? Are you guys pranking me? It’s… pretty creepy that you all have my mark.”

“It’s not your mark and it is not a joke, I assure you. Like we said, it means that you are chosen to fight.” You bowed your head politely.

“Wait, I think I’ve got it.”

You stepped behind the others to allow them to handle it. It was too hard for you not to laugh. Jax and Sonya exchanged annoyed glances in front of you. No laughing, you reminded yourself.

“Have you?” Cole seemed skeptical.

“This must be an elaborate pitch for a movie. Am I right?” Johnny’s grin was infectious. You could see how he had wound up semi-famous. Arrogant, good looking, funny. He was a little annoying, but you understood the appeal. The movie you’d watched the night before had been terrible but also fun to watch. Sometimes that was all a movie needed to be. Cole was trying not to laugh and had taken a step back so it wouldn’t be so obvious. Sonya and Liu continued to try and get the conversation back on the rails, but Johnny was excellent at derailing it.

Jax’s arms were literally made of metal and Johnny was still convinced that it was some Hollywood practical effects nonsense.

“What do you make of him?” Jax asked you quietly. He’d taken a step back with you, eyes still narrowed as he watched the conversation unfold.

“I think… that he’s harmless and we should just maybe… corner him in an alley, knock him unconscious, and drag him back to China.” You shrugged. If you couldn’t convince him with words, then you could show him the truth. Jax laughed and then his smile faded as he realized you weren’t joking.

“…are we allowed to do that?”

“I mean, legally no but… who’s going to stop us?”

Jax laughed again but you were serious. You could knock him out and bring him back to China. He seemed like a good guy with good intentions, but he wanted proof and you weren’t sure that he’d believe anything you did without making a wild excuse for it. Some people were so stuck in their head about what they thought reality was that they refused to believe the truth when it stared them in the face. Lord Raiden was the ultimate proof. Then again, Johnny Cage would probably be missed if you took off with him without a word. And you supposed that Jax and Sonya were military and might object to you breaking the law. Maybe you could talk to Liu and Cole about it later and figure something out.

Sonya was easily exasperated which was funny to watch. She’d dealt with Kano with far more grace. Something about Johnny seemed to get under her skin. You were just happy that it wasn’t you for once who was obviously frustrated. All things considered, today you were doing fine. “No offense, but I only agreed to this because I thought I could buy you a coffee and charm you into having dinner with me.” Johnny clearly had a thing for blonds. You continued to try not to laugh.

“We can prove it.” Cole interrupted. “Prove that it’s all true.” He was playing mediator on Sonya’s behalf. It was kind of sweet. You also kind of wanted to see Sonya break Johnny’s nose. That would also be fun. “A fight.”

“With you?” Johnny looked him over skeptically and Cole’s affronted expression was delightful.

“No. With him.” Cole nodded toward Liu who bowed his head.

“…really?” Johnny looked skeptical but then got to his feet. “I’m not sure what kind of movie you’re trying to pitch to me, but a challenge is way more up my alley than shoving a script in my face.” You had turn away to keep from laughing, not at Johnny, but at how hard Jax had rolled his eyes. “There’s a gym down the road and I’m sure they’ll let us fight.”

“Privately.” Cole added before Liu could agree to the terms. It wouldn’t exactly be good for Liu to set the world on fire in a public place.

“Weird request, but okay.” Johnny led them down the block and walked backwards, turning to face them as he adjusted his jacket with a grin. “But if I win then you leave me alone about all this and blondie lets me take her to dinner.”

“Not part of the deal. If we win, you listen to us and come with us to China.” Sonya went to continue on what you were certain to be a hilarious tangent, but you elbowed her and urged her to agree. “Ugh, fine. Deal.”

“I’ve gotta warn you little man, I am a force to be reckoned with. You’re about to step into the cage.”

“If Liu loses, I’m skipping town.” Sonya muttered to you.

“Liu won’t lose. Trust me.”

Sonya continued to grumble. You were confident in Liu’s skill. You had the utmost faith in him. Johnny led them along the longest and shortest walk to a gym in your life. He could talk. Again, he was harmless, but a little annoying.

Johnny brought you to the most pretentious gym you had ever seen. It was huge. He’d been able to talk his way into getting you access to an indoor tennis court so you could have some privacy. You pulled Liu aside and reminded him not to set the whole place on fire which he seemed to think was funny. You weren’t sure you could explain that away so easily. You’d tried so if the worst happened then it wasn’t you fault.

There were backless benches on the sidelines of the court, so you took a seat in the center to watch Liu and Johnny fight. You weren’t sure why all the champions had to be here for this. It seemed excessive. Maybe you would reach out to Raiden and explain that your talents were being wasted. It would be better to just show Johnny the truth than try to talk it to him because that boy could talk his way out of anything, it seemed.

Johnny was a talented fighter, but he also showboated a lot. You watched as Liu easily stepped out of the way of Johnny’s every strike. Johnny droned on and on while they fought. You wondered how long it would take before Liu put him in his place. It was almost embarrassing to watch the fight with Johnny not taking anything seriously.

You tuned out the noise of the fight and the others trying to convince Johnny from the sidelines. Instead, you chose to admire Liu doing one of the things that he did best. It was easy to forget how impressive he was when you spent most of your time arguing and being neck deep in your grief and drama. These were some of the things that had attracted you to him in the first place.

Maybe you should tell him how highly you thought of him. It had been a long time since you’d had anything nice to say to each other. Cole came to sit next to you, and you paid him no mind at first.

“This is silly.”

“Very.” You tore your eyes away from the fight for a second. Hm, interesting. Sonya had disappeared at some point. You couldn’t blame her. Johnny was making her uncomfortable. It was a shame though. You had been looking forward to seeing Sonya snap and put Johnny in his place. “How’s the family today?” You hated small talk, but it seemed appropriate.

“Good. Doing some more sightseeing. They liked you, by the way. I’m glad you got to spend time with them.”

“It was nice.” You wanted to say that it had been good to be out of your head, but you weren’t very close to Cole and were still cautious around him. You had a feeling that he understood what you meant. “So, what do you make of this guy?”

“I’m starting to feel like this is a waste of time. Every champion of Earthrealm is here catering to his ego rather than doing… honestly, anything other than this seems more important.”

“I agree. I’m not sure why Raiden sent all of us. You three could have handled it. Raiden has his reasons. He always does. He’s funny like that.” You took to watching the fight again. Johnny had finally started to take it seriously. Liu should have just set his fists on fire and ended it, but he seemed to be enjoying it. Silence followed momentarily. Cole nudged you with his shoulder, and you wobbled purposely as if it had been more than a nudge.

“Are you and Liu…?” He nodded toward Liu knowingly and you snapped your gaze away from the fight.

“No,” you said probably far too haughtily. This was feeling inappropriately personal again. Then again, you had just been kind of ogling Liu Kang. You thought you’d been discreet.

“Sorry to assume.” Cole laughed and leaned back on the bench. “Are you sure though?”

“I feel like if anyone’s sure then it’s me.”

“It’s just… I couldn’t sleep last night so I came down to the lobby to ask for more pillows. It was around closing time at the bar. I’d been thinking about getting a drink to put me to sleep and…” Ah, damn. “I spotted you and Liu in the bar. Tried to wave but you were pretty focused on each other.”

“Yeah.” There was a chance he hadn’t seen too much, and you weren’t going to admit to anything without needing to. “We’ve been arguing so we were trying to bury the hatchet and grieve.”

“That would do it.” Cole was bad at trying to hide his amusement. It was kind of charming. “It didn’t look like arguing. Or grieving.” Oh, good. Of course he’d seen them. Why wouldn’t he have? You sighed heavily. “Is there something we should know?”

“It’s personal. It doesn’t have anything to do with anyone else.”

“If we end up in trouble then it might not be so personal anymore. You’d be surprised what people do when things are complicated like that in a panicked situation.”

“No offense, Cole, but Liu and I are good at panicked situation. Also, it’s none of your business.” You were embarrassed and it was showing, and you hated it. Cole laughed. Sometimes you were just as bad as Liu was at hiding your frustration.

“I’m not judging you, Y/N.”

“It’s nothing, Cole.” God, it was so not nothing, but you didn’t want to talk about it with Liu nonetheless with Cole or anyone else for that matter. It was awkward.

“I’m choosing not to believe you.”

“Fine. But it’s nothing.”

“What’s nothing?” Jax sat on the other side of Cole. Cole pointed to you, and you spoke with wide eyes.

“It’s really nothing. Where did Sonya go? I didn’t see her leave.” You couldn’t change the subject fast enough and Cole made no attempt to hide his laughter.

“Oh, she’s avoiding this creep but she’s still around.” Jax gestured to Johnny Cage who was dusting himself off after being knocked to the floor by Liu.

“Creep is a harsh word.” You chuckled then considered it. “I suppose he is hitting on her a lot, but… I think he’s kind of funny.” Cole and Jax didn’t seem to agree. “He’s harmless. Like… a poodle.” Cole stifled a laugh. “Has the ability to be tough but look at him.”

“He’s an entitled ass.”

“You’re right, Jax. He is.” Your intentions were sometimes lost in English. “I didn’t mean to suggest he wasn’t.” Cole and Jax continued the conversation, but you turned back to the fight. Just in time too, it seemed. You smacked Cole’s arm and diverted his attention back to the fight.

Liu took a step back and the fiery energy swelled around him. He clasped his hands together then drew them apart with controlled strength. He was finally going to do more than give Johnny a run for his money. Fire burst between his palms and he stretched it before him before turning and tossing the fireballs. Johnny rolled out of the way with a girlish shriek.

“Whoa! Whoa, hey!” Johnny crouched to look at the scorch marks that the fire had left behind on the court. “Was that real? That was real fire! How’d you do that?” With some excitement, Johnny approached Liu who summoned the fire again in his palms and then stepped back in a threatening stance that made Johnny stop short. “What kind of special effects thing is that? Special gloves? Looks like your real hands… what movie were you guys pitching again?”

“We are not pitching a film.” Liu wasn’t even short of breath. He hadn’t even broken a sweat and he allowed the fire to blaze in his palms. “Those of us with the marking are gifted arcana to help us fight to protect our home. This is mine.”

“Oh, come on, just tell me how you’re doing it without burning your hands.” Johnny smirked. Then he yelped as Liu threatened to throw the fire at him again. “I really won’t tell anyone! I’ll sign an NDA and everything. Just tell me how you do it.”

“This is absurd.” You shook out your hands and then cracked your knuckles. Enough was enough. You were going to help convince Johnny Cage. Cole perked up.

“I was hoping you would.”

You rubbed your hands together and then with a swift gesture of your wrist, you drew Johnny Cage so that he was standing before Liu who took a step back in surprise and threw you a glance. You were shocked by the effort it took. Keeping these drawings up was definitely one of your more complex skills but it didn’t usually make you feel the way it was making you feel now. You hadn’t been this exhausted by your arcana since you’d first learned how to use it. It was probably the lack of sleep. You were grateful that it hadn’t slowed you down, but you’d lost your posture. Cole offered you an arm and you took it.

Liu stepped back to allow your drawing to take his place, releasing his fire without so much as a puff of smoke. His hands and forearms were covered in soot. You mimicked the stance that you’d seen Johnny use in that terrible movie from the night before. The actor was taken so off guard that he was quiet and focused on the copy of him that you willed toward him.

He ducked and dodged and with surprising speed and accuracy, he knocked the ink back and it fell to pieces. You shuddered and hunched forward but Cole helped keep you upright. Jax sat on the other side of you to do the same. This was embarrassing. You could usually keep up a drawing while you fought. Today you could barely sit upright. You redrew the ink copy behind him, and it knocked him swiftly to the ground. You had to use moves you knew better than Johnny. A mixture of Kung Lao and you.

Johnny blocked and stepped back nervously and was trying to reason with the ink copy, but your ears were ringing, so you didn’t hear what he was saying. Judging by the joy on Cole’s face, it had to have been funny. You knocked him to the ground with a sweeping kick and when he rolled onto his back, you manipulated the ink into Sonya and allowed it to pin him to the ground and press a shadowy blade to his throat. Johnny threw up his hands on either side of him in surrender.

“Okay! Okay. Just…” He drifted off, at a loss for words. You shook off Cole and Jax then stood but both men stood with you. You had to have been pale or look unsteady, but you were okay. “What the fuck?” Johnny poked at the ink form of Sonya’s shoulder, and it stained his hand.

“I assure you that no special or practical effects could mimic my arcana in the moment.” You stepped closer and bowed your head politely with a smile. “Now, will you listen to us Mr. Cage? Or should I kick your ass with a copy of you again?”

“What is it?” Johnny tried to wipe the ink off with his other hand.

“The lady’s right. Are you ready to listen? Or are we going to have to pound you to the ground and drag you kicking and screaming?” Jax threatened. Cole stood next to you, hand behind you just in case you fell. You threw him a look and he shrugged. Johnny was looking like you’d stolen his cookies and then eaten them right in front of him.

“Or we can abandon you and wait for someone to kill you and take the mark.” Liu stood next to you.

“Wait, what? Take my mark?” Johnny lifted his shirt as if to search for his mark and then sighed with relief. You released the drawing and were grateful that Cole held you upright again. Jax offered Johnny a hand and began to explain, at length, how he’d gotten his mark. Johnny was looking far more apprehensive and doe-eyed now that he’d realized this could be real and not just a movie pitch.

“You good?”

“I’m fine. Thank you.” You smiled graciously at Cole then gestured to the benches. You patted his shoulder and then took a seat back on the bench. You’d done your part. Liu Kang took the seat next to you when it appeared he was no longer needed.

“Someone can just take it? Just like that?” Johnny was back on his feet and sounding horrified. You tuned him out while Jax continued to work.

“You’re gray again.” Liu didn’t usually speak to you in English. It was charming.

“Am I? It doesn’t usually drain me like that. I’m tired is all. That’s probably it.”

“I’m worried, Y/N. You should…”

“If you’re going to say that I need to take it easy then I’m going to smack you right on the mouth, Liu. I know my limits.”

Cole chuckled from ahead of you and then cleared his throat and muttered an apology. Liu turned his gaze from yours, but you could see the slightest smile on his lips. Charming again. Dammit.

“Fine!” Johnny Cage adjusted his jacket, shouting loud enough to get your attention. “I’m… I have to go. This has been very interesting but… I’ve got meetings and people to see and…”

“Don’t you make excuses, you little shit.” Jax threatened.

“No, really. I’m already way past my time with you guys. This was supposed to be coffee with a pretty lady. I have a meeting with my agent. I told Sonya that I was squeezing her in, and I meant it.”

“No way, you lost. We had a deal.” Cole argued.

“This is a lot to absorb. Give me a day to think about it!”

“Why should we trust you?”

“Give him a day.” Liu approached them with his hands folded together neatly behind his back. You couldn’t help but smile. He was much more himself today than he’d been in a long time. You could have cried. “Like he said. This is a great deal to understand. But I won. You will meet with us again tomorrow when you have had your day.”

“Technically? She won.” Johnny gestured to you and you offered a friendly wave.

“I did. So, please, do what Liu asks or I will haunt you with replicas of yourself.” You threatened with a smile. Cole was trying not to laugh again. Johnny approached you with his shoulders slumped and sighed. You offered him your phone. “Put in your number. You can tell us where to meet you tomorrow when you’re ready. If you put in a fake number, you will be sorry.”

“I bought you tea.” He pouted. You laughed. He really was harmless. Johnny beamed as if happy to have made you laugh. He fiddled with your phone and handed it back to you. You sent a message to the number, and he responded from his phone seconds later. “I’ll text you where to meet me tomorrow.”

“If you’re dicking us around, I swear…” Jax threatened.

“I have faith that he’s going to do as he said he would.” You decided to offer him patience. Besides, if he did blow them off then you were going with Plan B which was kidnapping.

“I will. Thank you. I’ve… got to run.” Johnny was talking on his phone before he’d even left the room. He was a movie star, after all.

“I guess we go then?” Cole looked like he had much more to say about what had happened but also like he was trying not to burst into laughter. You thought the situation was comical too.

“Where’s Sonya? I don’t want to abandon her here.” You stood and searched the room.

“Outside. I told her what’s up. She’ll meet us out there.” Jax patted you on the shoulder. “Give me that motherfucker’s number before we leave. Just in case.”

“Happy to.” You offered Jax your phone. You made your way out of the gym, and you watched the others walk outside. You stopped in the hall to catch your breath. Damn. That had left you winded. Why? You needed a nap, at the very least. Once outside you met up with Sonya then walked down the block out of sight of the gym.

“Why are we catering to this guy?” Sonya snapped in a haughty whisper once you’d filled her in on what had happened.

“I still think we should just knock him out and drag him to China. He needs proof and he’ll get it there whether he likes it or not.” You shrugged, stepping a bit away from the others so you could lean against the brick wall of the storefront behind you.

“That’s kidnapping.” Sonya dismissed your idea.

“…so was what you did to Kano.” Cole argued.

“This is different. He’s a celebrity. Kano was a murderer and a criminal.” Jax defended Sonya. Their friendship was adorable. They always backed each other up.

“I’m not worried about committing a crime.” You shrugged. Cole laughed again but then cleared his throat when no one else did.

“Sorry. She’s funny.”

“I have a feeling he’s going to come with us. He’s just stuck up his own ass.”

“And this really is a lot to comprehend.” Liu was trying to diffuse the situation rather than stoke the fire which was nice. “He’s frustrating, but we’ve dealt with much worse than him. Give him his day. If he doesn’t pull through, then we’ll figure it out from there. No crimes necessary.” He looked to you as if to warn you.

“You’re no fun.”

“I guess you’re right. Give him his day. I hate it but what else can we do?” Sonya looked to you disapprovingly and then smiled. “Besides kidnapping.”

“That’s still my backup plan.” You folded your arms under your chest. “This has given me a headache. Are we done?”

“Just about, I guess.” Jax adjusted his footing uncomfortably. Liu came to lean next to you against the wall. The others were making plans on where to meet up if Johnny contacted you. They were also talking about dinner which you were not thinking about yet.

“You’re still gray.” Liu was back to Chinese. He probably didn’t want to be overheard.

“I’m tired, that’s all. I promise.” You made a sound of disgust as he picked up your wrist to check your pulse. Cole was giving you a look, a look as if to throw your words of it being ‘nothing’ with Liu back in your face. You stuck your tongue out at him and he laughed. Then you swatted Liu’s hand away. “I’m fine. Stop.”

“Alright. That’s it then. Y/N, if you hear from him let me know. I put my number in your phone.” Jax pointed at you.

“Happy to.” You nodded down the street. “What do we do until then?”

“No matter what happens we meet up at nine in the lobby. If he hasn’t contacted us, we figure it out from there. I’ve got a few ideas.” Jax smirked.

“I guess for now we can just keep enjoying Hollywood.” Cole chuckled. It sounded like they wanted to go sightseeing again and you would pass. They could do whatever they wanted but you were going to get some rest.

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pluto-art · 3 years

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Softly - PatB Fan Fiction

Type: Hurt/Comfort Rating: PG Summary: Baby Brain has known little but pain and misery in an unloving world, but when he gets paired up with a new lab student things change in a way he didn’t expect.

This started out as a mini story in a Discord server and got... a little out of hand. What you see here is how much I typed out in the server.

He hadn't been there long. Two... maybe three weeks? The cold metal had finally become familiar beneath his feet, and the strange blocks, though generally tasteless, kept him alive. There wasn't much that made his new living quarters interesting; there was only so much one could do in a pile of aspen shavings day after day. Occasionally, they would hook up to his cage some sort of liquid that wasn't his usual watery fair. He could never decipher or make heads or tails of the words on the sides of the bottles, saying things like D-D-T or S-N-I-P-P-L-E. The only distinguishing feature to him was that sometimes they tasted terrible, sometimes quite flavorful, and sometimes they tasted like nothing at all. Almost all of them turned his stomach. Driven to thirst, however, he'd play their cruel game. Choice was not something that existed in this crisp, sterile world; at least, not from a personal standpoint. When it did exist it meant the difference between a shock and a treat; a yellow light or a red light; a warm room or a cold one. Choice was manufactured.

He still cried almost every night. He tried to quiet the tears, but they didn't always listen. The others heard him. One or two laughed cynically. Most said nothing; they'd shed their own fair share and would again sooner than later. A single kind soul, a mother rat some doors down from him, occasionally whispered to him a lullaby or two when everyone else but them were asleep. They were songs she sang to her own children to quiet their tears, and she had no less compassion for this unfortunate soul, who was even worse off than her own brood -- he didn't even have any parents to nuzzle up to. Had she her way, she would have mutilated every last living human being in the facility. It was bad enough that they were tested on mercilessly as adults. To do so to children was simply insidious. Alas, she was simply a rat, and so could only dream of days when she wasn't.

Not that BR-41N (that's what they called him; no one had real names here) hadn't tried to be friendly with his captures. Aside from a particularly nasty poke from some long, thin, prickly object inserted into his thigh the first day (it had stung; oh, it had stung...) the proceeding couple of days had consisted of simple maze runs and treadmill exercises. Nothing too elaborate. As a child, he'd been used to running around a lot in the field, and sifting through the labyrinths reminded him of the long grass he'd play hide-and-seek in back home, except at the end of them was a tasty prize: a piece of cheese. He liked cheese. In the wild, it was hard to come by, but here they gave it to him generously, provided he finished the courses, which he always did. The fourth day followed in much the same way, but the fifth day brought something different: a sudden shock and a broken tail. That had changed his view of things. Perhaps the harsh awakening wouldn't have been so terrible had it not been followed by other unspeakable things -- poisoned food; friends made that, the next day, would never be seen again; more shocks given as punishment for choosing an incorrect panel; injections that made him see things he'd never seen, monsters and strange colors and other scary things that kept him awake at night; loud noises that came out of nowhere; and often, quite often, the terrifying echo of squeaks, barks, and meows that made up the daily music of Acme Laboratories. He hated it. He hated all of it. More than anything, he wanted to go home. He missed the warmth; the love; the soft whisper of the wind that traveled through his ivory fur. He wanted all of it back. But life? She was a harsh mistress. And no amount of crying, screaming, or pleading, seemed to ever make her turn an ear.

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks... months, more than just a tail was broken. Trust was broken. Hope was broken. Spirit... was broken. If there was any love, if there was any future, it wasn't here. Kindness had proved unfruitful, and patience had run its course. He didn't find reason to be willing, nor show charity, towards those who made his life a living hell. What reason was there? What profit was in it? Time had told him, quite bluntly, there wasn't. It had taken him a full month to admit defeat, but admit it he did, and cynical he became, 'til every hand that reached in to grab him was ripe to be bitten, every shot that punctured his stomach was the unwelcome norm, and every newcomer that tried to strike up a friendship was easily ignored. The latter-most was simply wasting their time. He could read the colors on the cages now. He knew that a red mark meant "death". He only wondered why he, as of yet, had never been given one himself. It was as if life itself was laughing at him -- keeping him as witness to the horrors that went on inside the dragon's cave, yet never giving him the satisfaction of death.

And so the third month dawned, chilly and barren, or so the scientists said. Autumn had come. Not that any of the residents within the thick, cemented walls could see it. But the laboratory personnel spoke of it -- gold and crimson leaves, hot chocolate, dried wheat fields. He could almost smell the corn; could almost feel the breeze.... Days passed. For the first time, they gave him a cage mate. E8-WN, they called him. He was kind, but BR-41N had little love left to give. Besides, he had the red tag. It seemed they had only placed him here temporarily due to a lack of space. The next day he was taken to the back. The tiniest shred of pity nipped at BR-41N as he watched the little peach-furred mouse be carried into the surgical room, a curious look on his face. Another emotion was also present within him: jealousy. On the 17th day of September, a new thing happened -- a thing that, for the first time in a while, made the little mouse turn his head.

The school year had started, and, as such, fresh meat was welcomed into the laboratory in the form of fourteen college students looking to continue pursuits in medical science. They were all very quiet during the tour, one or two of them occasionally lifting a hand to ask a question about course materials or contact information. They were each, it seemed, to be given a subject: an animal from the laboratory to study, train, and conduct experiments on. Rats, mice, and hamsters had already been picked out for them, and each was given a black-coated subject or a brown-furred captive to take charge of. Each student's rodent was to be kept in the lab at all times, and specific instructions were given them as to the proper handling of the creatures. At least two experiments were to be conducted on them daily, three if possible. They could spend as much time with their charge as they wished, so long as they got their homework done. Fourteen students. Fourteen rodents. Four months to finish their work. Simple.

As it stood, however, there had been a miscalculation. Fourteen students. Fourteen rodents.... No. Not fourteen. Only thirteen. There'd been an error. They'd forgotten to set aside an extra subject. The unfortunate student without a charge was a college girl named Rachel. All other rodents were going through tests conducted by various personnel in the lab, set aside specifically for said conductions that couldn't currently be tampered with. All except one....

"So, um, Rachel," their teacher said, checking his student list. "You may have to share with... Peterson.... You know what? We might... actually have an extra for you. Hold on. Let me ask...."

And he departed into another room, calling for a "Jackson".

"Jackson! Can she use BR-41N? I don't think he's going through any rigorous testing.... Yeah? Okay. Yeah, that would work out perfectly. Thanks."

He turned back to his brood, many of whom looked quite eager to jump in to these intriguing studies, others looking downright bored.

"Okay. We have one for you. His code name is BR-41N. He's not going through any major testing, and he's generally given the usual works -- labyrinths, shock treatment, all that. But, um... he bites. Really bad. So... you'll have to watch it, all right?"

"Okay," Rachel nodded, looking a little nervous.

"All right. Umm.... Good. Yes. So, let's head back to the main campus, and... we'll start your work tomorrow."

And they left.

BR-41N had only heard part of all this, and had understood none of it. He shivered in his cage, taking a moment to drink some water out of the bottle that hung there. While the arrival of such a large group intrigued him, especially since it consisted of a much younger set than normal, it also made him nervous. Was it a sign of good things to come... or bad? Or just more of the usual fair? One could only wonder. For now, he was simply grateful that the cheese they'd given him today was, for once, not laced with drugs.

She came by on a Tuesday.

It was an hour after a cosmetics test that he heard a knock on the table. His skin still burned. He was cowering in a far corner, and looked back over his shoulder hesitantly.

Rachel stood there, smiling at him.

"Hello, little one." He stared at her, nonplussed. "I guess you're my charge. You gonna say hello?"

And she opened up the door of his cage.

He shuffled back further. He knew all too well by this point that the opening of a door meant one of two things: food or torture. Considering the fact that she didn't smell of food, he had to assume it was the latter.

"It's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you. Well, hopefully not...."

Although he didn't understand a word of what she said, her tone was calm; soothing. No one in the lab ever talked to him like this. He couldn't help but stare curiously.

She held her hand up to the entrance and made a soft, squeak-like sound with her mouth. He frowned at her. As if that was going to convince him. He turned away.

"No? I don't blame you," she replied, taking a look at his clipboard. "BR-41N. What kind of a freak name is that? Mind if I call you Brain? Or Brian?"

No response.

"We'll go with Brian. Brain sounds kinda weird."

Brian it was.

She kept the door open, and he braced himself. Any moment now, gloved hands would be protruding into his enclosure to wrap themselves firmly about him, not tight enough to choke him, but secure enough that he couldn't escape. But the hand didn't come. If anything, she pulled up a chair, sat down, and rested her arms upon the table on which his cage sat. She was... giving him a choice? He stared at her, unsure how to react.

"Come on, sweet heart," she cooed, rubbing her fingers together encouragingly.

But he wouldn't budge. If this was some new trick, it wasn't going to work. He wished she'd just grab him and get it over with. Sooner or later, she'd have to. It was only a matter of time. And so he waited....

She sat there for a full twenty minutes, trying her best to get him to come over, but he refused to budge, and so she gave up. As expected, she still ran him through a maze, but instead of reaching in to grab him, she found a clear tube and scooped him up in it, covering both ends before depositing him into the run as such. It was... odd, but less invasive than what he was used to. He rather wished the others would do it that way.

Via the same method she returned him to his cage at the end of the test. As usual, he took to the corner, assuming his usual cowardly pose, but he turned to look at her as she spoke.

"Sorry about that. Nice job, though. See you tomorrow."

And so went the next day... and the next, always with the same introduction: She'd open his door, pull up a chair, and offer her hand to him. After twenty minutes of nothing, she'd scoop him up in the tube, deposit him in the maze or whatever other test he was to perform that day, and return him in the same manner. This went on for four whole weeks, always with a kind word, never coupled with a harsh prod or poking of his skin. He came to somewhat look forward to her almost daily visits, not because he trusted her (the one time she had tried touching him [with gloves on, of course], he'd given her a fair warning in the form of a bite), but because it was the only two hours during the day in which he knew he wouldn't be fed poison, given a shot, or made to inhale cigarette smoke. The other students joked with her. By far, she had the unfriendliest mouse out of all of them, and they found her kind advances a waste of time.

"Just pick him up!" a tall boy said.

Most of them had no problem with handling their subjects by the tail; at least, the boys generally didn't. The girls were kinder, but even they didn't take the time to get to know their animals intimately. They also were given the harder tests to conduct on their critters and so tried not to get attached.

Whereas most of the rats, mice, and hamsters given to the students would eventually be killed in some way or other at the end of the semester, via through vivisection, gassing, cancer, or some other method, BR-41N, or... Brian, as Rachel now called him, was not scheduled to be offed anytime soon and so could not undergo such rigorous experiments. As such, she got both the easy job of conducting very simple tests on him, and also the hard job of trying to work with the most hostile mouse in the entire facility.

"He's never gonna warm up to you," one of the other students said.

Rachel took it as a challenge.

"Watch me," she said.

But Brian was proving to be a much tougher can than expected. By the sixth week, he still hadn't even bothered to venture near the cage entrance when she sat near it, even with tasty treats in hand. He simply didn't trust anyone. Not anymore....

October came and went, to be replaced with a frosty November. Whenever Brian saw Rachel now she had a cup of tea in hand, the better to ward off the coming winter chill. Still she tried; still he refused to relent. Until the 9th....

It was late. She hadn't been able to get to the lab until 8:00 PM due to unfortunate series of events that involved a fender bender, two appointments, and a last minute essay. When she got to the lab she was tired... and not at all in the mood to deal with Brian's B.S., and he knew it.

"'Sup?" she asked him wearily, setting down her things in a huff. Only a handful of other people were still in the facility at this hour, none of them students. Fine by her. She preferred the quiet anyway. "We're gonna do something a little different today, bud."

Indeed.... He perked his ears up at her exhausted tone and the fact that, for once, she didn't open the cage door. But she did still slide the chair up to his table.

On the opposite side of the room was a television on a rolling stand. Normally, this was used for surgeries and other experiments. Once in a blue moon, however, someone would use it for recreational purposes -- to watch the local news when there was time to kill. Most fortunately for Rachel, it also came with a VHS player. Into it she popped a tape, before sitting down in the chair and grabbing her hot cup of peppermint tea. Despite himself, Brian took a whiff of the tea, whose scent had wafted into his cage and tickled his nose. It smelled good.

The film began to play. Brian didn't know the name of it, but whatever it was it was made up of very pretty pictures and featured a lot of dogs... and snow (at least at the beginning). It was rather soothing. Still, he didn't move from his spot, save to grab a lab block at one point to munch on, more to pass the time than anything. His stomach was still a little unsettled from earlier. Privately, he was a bit ticked off at the girl. Had she been a bit earlier he might have avoided the shock treatments. Not that they would have withheld them regardless.

It wasn't until the second song that his attention was at last caught.

"La la lu, La la lu, Oh my little star sweeper, I'll sweep the star dust for you...."

Sweetly did the animated woman sing her little song, and Brian, captivated, perked his ears. He looked up at the television. She was still singing. He stepped forward, bit by bit, until he was right up to the closed door, two little paws coming up to grasp at the bars of his cage as he stared, entranced, at the screen.

"La la lu, La la lu, And may love be your keeper, La la lu, La la lu, La la luuuuu."

And so it ended, all within the span of a minute, if that, but something had stirred with him -- a remembrance of home, and warmth, and what it was like to be loved.

He was still clutching at the bars when he noticed that Rachel was smiling at him, and he promptly sped back to his corner, embarrassed.

"Atta boy," she whispered, still grinning softly at him.

He refused to look at her. He wasn't touched by it or anything. He wasn't....

"It's okay. Don't be embarrassed," said the girl. "I like that song, too."

Brian stayed in his corner the rest of the movie, but the song never left his mind.

---

The next day proceeded as normal. Once again, Rachel sat by his cage. Once again, she had brought a treat, albeit one he'd never seen before, nor smelled, for that matter. It was small... and white... and fluffy, and it smelled sugary and sweet. He wanted it. Oh, he wanted it so very badly. But nothing that ever came from the fingers of a scientist, even a soft-spoken one, was innocent. And so he refused, his back turned to her.

"Stubborn butt," said Rachel, and by her tone alone Brian could tell that it was a snide comment. He ignored her.

"Here."

As had occurred many times before, she left the treat in his cage near the entrance, closed the door, and sat to watch him. His eyes shifted towards the treat. It sat there, staring at him, mocking him. Eat me, it said. No, he thought. Oh, but it smelled so good....

Rachel sighed. So did Brian. She rested her head in her arms, exasperated. Maybe it really wasn't worth it....

Brian licked his lips. Perhaps....

He took a step forward. Rachel remained where she was, head in her arms, not looking at him. He moved another step. She was still as a stone. Patter patter patter patter patter... GRAB. He swooped back to his corner as fast as possible, marshmallow in his mouth. Rachel looked up... and chuckled. Brian dug into the treat, enjoying every second of it as teeth sunk into the savory delight. He'd never tasted anything this good before. It was better than mother's milk; much better than lab pellets; better than cheese....

"Silly little thing," Rachel giggled, smiling as he filled his cheeks with pleasantness. "Wait 'til you see what I bring you tomorrow."

Tomorrow, he was to find out, brought a piece of a doughnut, and the day after that a waffle. He'd never been this darn spoiled before. On the fourth occasion, he was, for once, already at the door, waiting to see what she'd bring. Lady and the Tramp and sugar, it turned out, were the keys to his heart, although he still wouldn't let her touch him. If her hand so much as brushed his fur he was back to his corner in a rush, although, this time, he didn't try to bite her first.

Rachel laughed when she saw the two little paws clutching at the gated entrance.

"You like 'em that much, huh? Here ya' go."

He stepped back to allow her access to the gate, and watched carefully as she placed something savory and smelling of salt inside. He sniffed, investigating as she closed the door. He took a tentative bite. Mmmmm. Yes, this was acceptable. Grabbing it, he rushed back to his usual corner and chowed down.

"Good. A fellow bacon appreciator," Rachel nodded, satisfied.

He ate the entire piece, licking his lips and proceeding to clean himself afterwards. That had been a bit messy. Good, but messy. If there was something he still valued, it was cleanliness. He could at least retain some form of dignity. The state of his fur was one of the few things he still had control over. Unlike some of the other unfortunate chaps, he'd never had to endure surgery or a shaved stomach.

Two little pink ears perked up as his cage door was opened yet again. More treats? No. Just Rachel, hand offered to him once more. Brian sighed. She just wouldn't give up, would she?

A second glance made him aware that she did, in fact, have something in her hand -- another marshmallow. Hmph. Sneaky. And yet, he'd be lying if he said he didn't want it....

"It's okay, little one," Rachel cooed, hand still outstretched, that plump marshmallow beckoning ever so tantalizingly. "I'm not gonna hurt you. I promise."

Brian sighed. He looked down at the floor, then over at her hand.

Rachel's eyes widened a touch, but she otherwise didn't reveal her surprise as Brian moved forward, inch by inch, step by step, towards her hand....

He stopped at the entrance, debating. Dare he...? It was a risk. He'd never willing done this, not since he'd been captured. It was a stupid decision. Stupid. And yet....

Her hand shifted a touch, and Brian shifted nervously with it. Rachel waited with bated breath.

He stepped forward....

In a flash, he'd grabbed the 'mallow from her hand and retreated to the back of his cage, not daring to even think about what he'd just done. It was foolish. It was dangerous. And yet, she hadn't tried to grab him, or even pet him. She'd just... given him a choice. And he'd taken it. Somehow, for some reason, he'd taken it.

Rachel smiled.

"Atta boy."

---

Perhaps it was the mere fact, the tantalizing realization, that he had a choice in the first place, that drew him back, but over the course of the next few weeks, things changed.

It had started slow at first. A light brush of the whiskers here; a sniff of the hand there. But, eventually, Brian, of his own accord, stepped into her hand. And she didn't close her fingers about him harshly, or strangle him, or pick him up by the tail. She simply... let him be. It was kind. It was unobtrusive. It was respectful. And he appreciated it.

No longer did the other students make fun, or joke that she'd never gain his trust. If anything, they questioned her.

"How the heck did you do it?" they'd ask, curious.

Even more confused were the scientists themselves. Not that anyone had tried very hard to gain the little mouse's trust. He was, in their opinion, not worth the time.

But he was to Rachel.

December came, and with it a complete turn-around in Brian's behavior, albeit towards one particular individual.

He eagerly rushed into her hand now. No need for the transportation tube. She could carry him on her shoulder to the maze area and pick him up with her bare hands as she placed him in the labyrinth, although she still made sure to let him take the first step and would, more often than not, simply offer a hand instead of plucking him from her shoulder. He still appreciated this.

Every weekday was now a day to look forward to. Sure, he was still tormented by the main personnel, but for two or three hours, two or three sweet hours, he didn't have to worry about anything. On the days he suffered from a stomach-ache, she'd hold him close to her chest and do her best to rub the pain away, offering him tea to ease his suffering, and if he fell asleep on her shoulder and woke up, shaking, from a bad dream, she'd rock him back and forth, singing "La La Lu" to him until the nightmares went away. On those rare nights, when she could only work late and no one was around, she'd bottle feed him. He'd been hesitant (and a little embarrassed) at first, but any reminder of home was difficult to ignore, and so he ended up embracing each form of love and affection with open paws, clutching tightly to her chest some days, as if this hug would be his last. For all he knew, it could be. He'd gotten used to her visits, but what if she left and never came back? He didn't want that love to leave....

December 14th.

The end of the semester was approaching. Rachel had told him, time and again, that she was leaving soon; that she would miss him; that she'd try to come back for the next semester. Brian understood none of this. He was a mouse, after all. Human language was foreign to him. The most he could understand was the occasional word -- his name, Brian, and various names of foods and tests -- and basic inflections that he knew signified concern, happiness, or contentment. But he didn't understand "leave", or "semester", or "miss". He could tell something was wrong, that she was sad, but as to why, he did not know.

A week from the last day of the semester, she brought a surprise: a movie. It had something to do with a rat, and food. He liked it for those things. He wished he could understand the words. It seemed interesting. He sat on Rachel's shoulder the entire time, at least until the end of the film, during which Rachel offered her hand to him. He accepted. She brought him up to her chest, nuzzling him close.

"I'm going away for a while, but... I'll try to be back next semester."

She petted him gently. He stared up at her, curious and concerned. Why was she so sad?

"I'm going to miss you...," she whispered. And, for the first time, she kissed him on his fuzzy white head. "I love you...."

He didn't understand the words, but he understood what they meant; how they felt.

Slowly, gently, he nuzzled close to her... and licked her fingers. It was the first time he'd shown genuine affection outside of nuzzling since he'd been captured. I love you, too....

He didn't understand it, but... there was something in the air that told him something big was coming. Something new. Something was going to be different....

December 18th came just like any other day. The semester was coming to a close. Many students had already finished their courses and gone home for the holidays. The occasional class still lingered on, including the medical science class. Most all had completed training and experimentation on their subjects for the season and were simply spending the next few days filing reports and filling out last minute essays. Some of the rodents wouldn't live to see the new year. Others had already been subjected to vivisection by their handlers and were far from the lab by this point. Subject BR-41N was one of the few who'd been given the same sheet on their clipboard day after day, week after week: a run of the mill of the usual, simple, non-invasive tests, along with an injection or two. But today was different.

As Rachel stepped up to Brian's cage, sipping at a hot cup of tea and smiling as her charge ran up to the bars to greet her, she frowned as she pulled up the clip board. His tag was yellow. Not the usual blue, but... yellow. She set down her cup, ignoring Brian's squeaky pleas to be let out as she looked over the sheet carefully.

Subject Reserved for Project B.R.A.I.N. // Invasive Study -- Cognitive Psychology, Neuroscience Psychology // 4:00 PM - Dec. 20

There was a pause, in which the dip in Rachel's brow furrowed ever deeper, her eyes roaming about the page scrutinizingly, before she slipped the paper out of its holder and headed back out the way she'd came, Brian looking curiously after her.

She marched all the way to a back office, in which sat one of the laboratory heads: Jackson. He looked up over his square-rimmed glasses as she knocked upon the exposed inner door frame.

"Yes?" he asked, sounding bored.

"Hey. Um.... I think you gave my subject the wrong paper."

"BR-41N?"

"Yeah. He got a yellow."

She stretched out her arm, offering the paper as proof, but he didn't take it. Instead, he looked up at her, fingers meeting at their tips, and said:

"No, I gave you the right paper. That's for BR-41N. His procedure is in two days."

His tone was flat and laced with a thin layer of poison, as if her daring to question him was a challenge.

"But... I thought he was just doing mainly labyrinth tests."

"Ms. Field, I thought you were told...?"

"Told what...?"

"He's been scheduled for this procedure for months. We wanted him fresh and so have eschewed more invasive tests until now. Frankly, you've been spending a little too much time with that mouse. He's gotten too friendly. We're not in the business of developing attachment here."

He said all this with a straight face, completely emotionless. Rachel swallowed thickly.

"Sir, I've... been going over this test. It's... very dangerous."

"Yes."

"It could kill him...."

"Yes?"

Rachel simply stared at him, uncertain of what to say next. He wasn't working with her here....

"Look.... What did you expect? You're studying medical science, correct?"

She nodded.

"Okay, well," he continued, a small chuckle of sarcasm escaping his lips as he said it. "Y-You have to realize that... this is a laboratory. We can't keep every subject. And these tests come with a lot of risks."

"Could you possibly do the test on another subject...?" Rachel asked, choosing her words carefully. "Brian is still kind of young, and..."

"Brian?"

Shoot.

"Sorry, I mean... BR-41N."

"You can't start... naming them, Miss Field. That's when you start getting attached. Understand?"

"I know...," Rachel mumbled, cheeks reddening as she looked down at her shoes.

"And the whole point of using him at this age is because his mind is younger. He's fresh."

"But he's just a baby..."

"Yes? And? A lot of the other students are working with infants."

"This one is...," Rachel began, than stopped. Already she'd said too much.

"Miss Field, if you don't prepare him for the procedure, someone else will. Now, you can either do your assignment or lose your credits. It's your choice."

Rachel sighed. Still holding the paper, she let her arm fall dramatically to her side.

"Fine...."

And she turned to walk off. But...

"Miss Field?"

She looked at him.

"Don't do anything stupid."

"Yes, Sir," Rachel replied, after a hefty pause, and headed back to her charge.

---

Brian didn't understand why Rachel was so quiet that day, nor why she cuddled him so much. She whispered to him something about "breaking out" and "night", but he didn't understand what those things meant, although he heard the urgency in her voice. As a result, he was a little more uptight the rest of the afternoon.

Before leaving, Rachel kissed the top of his head again, before setting him back down in the cage and hooking the door. Her good-byes were all but gibberish to him, although he recognized the word "tomorrow". So he'd be seeing her tomorrow. That was good. At least he had a time frame. He was naive to the rest....

---

December 19th 9:15 PM

BR-41N cleaned his whiskers, pondering.

She hadn't shown up today. Strange. "Tomorrow". She's said "tomorrow". Today was tomorrow. Why hadn't she come?

To his left, in a far corner of the room, someone sneezed in their cage. Brian frowned sadly. It was that hamster again. Whatever they'd given him had put him into a sneezing fit for an hour. Now and then he relapsed.

He yawned, stretched, and made for the food dispenser, when he suddenly heard a sharp click of a door being opened and abruptly snapped shut. He turned in the direction of the door. A light flicked on. Brian smiled.

Rachel's feet slid across the floor in haste. Instead of her usual student lab coat, she was decked out in her normal clothes, complete with backpack. Her hoodie was up, obscuring her hair, save for a few strands that stuck out here and there, as well as part of her face. She moved with purpose, albeit a little covertly, looking over her shoulder every now and then, as if expecting someone to grab her at any minute.

Set in a wall above the entrance to the room, a camera followed her. Rachel's eyes shifted at the sound as she moved towards Brian's cage. She knew she only had five, maybe ten, minutes at best.

Opening the cage door, she held her hand out for Brian to step onto. He hesitated. Something didn't smell right....

"Come on. We're busting you out of here, dude," Rachel whispered.

Brian cocked his head at her questioningly.

"Listen, they're going to put your through that splicer if we don't get you out of here, so come on."

There was an urgency in her voice that, despite his misgivings, compelled him to move forward. He trusted her too much by this point.

"Atta boy," she praised him, tucking him in her shirt pocket.

He peeked out, paws clutching at the edges of the pocket interestedly.

"Let's go," Rachel whispered, turning back to the door and stopping as she realized that someone was already standing there....

Framed in the metal doorway was a woman, thirty-five... maybe forty-something in age. Her arms were crossed, and the expression on her face seemed as taught and firm as the scrunchie tightening her poofy auburn hair. Her long lab coat was still settling; she must have only just gotten there. Rachel recognized this woman. Lana, her name was -- she was one of the head managers at the facility. Jackson had obviously tipped her off.

"Fancied a night stroll?" she asked, tone dripping with sarcasm.

Rachel remained frozen in place, a hand subconsciously cupping her shirt pocket. The gesture didn't go unnoticed.

"You know you're risking a lot for this. That's all your credits down the drain."

"He's worth it," Rachel answered, resolute.

"He's not. You take him and they'll just get another subject."

"At least I'll have saved this one."

"We'd still rather you not take an asset that's been reserved for months for this procedure," Lana nipped, taking a step forward.

Rachel took a step back. Her eyes shifted to a door to her left. It led to several other testing rooms and then back out into the main hallway. Some of the doors had security locks. It was the long way around, but if she was fast enough....

"Rachel...," Lana spoke, tone threatening as she advanced. "Put him down."

With each step Lana took towards her, Rachel moved two back. She could feel herself starting to perspire. Gosh, this was a stupid idea....

"Rachel...."

With a hand cupped over her shirt pocket, Rachel darted in the direction of the door, opening it up in a flash and slamming it shut behind her. Already she was racing for the opposite end of the room, where another door stood.

Brian jumped as an alarm went off, followed by red lights that flashed all throughout the facility. Rachel was already in the next room, her heart racing. She could hear the panicked footsteps behind her, mimicking her own, and hoped upon hope that she was faster than her pursuer.

Rachel picked up her pace as she entered the next room. This one, she knew, required an employee badge to open. All of the students had been given security badges, of course, primarily for general access to the entrance and main rooms. They worked on some doors in the facility. Some, but not all. She'd never been in these rooms. Privately, she prayed that they'd open for her.

Slamming her badge up against a wall panel, she bounced up and down on the balls of her feet nervously.

"Come on. Come oooon! Take it!!"

It did. The door unlocked, and she swung it open in haste to make for the next locked door, which also granted her entrance.

She was faster than Lana, but it didn't mean the woman wasn't hot on her heels. Brian shut his eyes tightly, huddling against Rachel's chest on the inside of her pocket as she darted about, her hand still cupping him securely. He knew, somehow, that this was about him. His ears rotated this way and that at the duo of clicking feet racing down the linoleum flooring. Who would win? Who was he most valuable to?

It wasn't until the fourth room that Rachel started to panic. Yet again, she'd reached a door asking for proof of access, except this time... her badge was not accepted. She shook the door handle feebly, knowing it wouldn't open; knowing this was the end of the line. Despite himself, Brian peeked out of the shirt pocket, just in time to see Lana as Rachel swiftly turned around to face the woman, who stood at the opposite end of the room, hair askew and chest heaving as she glared at Rachel and her tiny charge.

"You're persistent, I'll give you that," Lana huffed.

"Why do you need him?! Just let me take him and get another subject!" Rachel bit.

"We let you get away with it and you'll set a precedent! You know that!" Lana snapped right back. "And we don't want to waste any more time. We've spent too much money on this project."

"He's just a baby!"

"All of them are meant to be expendable! Hand him over!"

"No!"

Brian's ears flicked. Rachel held her breath. Was it just them, or did they hear... more footsteps?

"You won't have a choice," Lana said flatly, expressionless as she was joined by not one, not two, but five other lab hands, one of the them Jackson, all of them full-time personnel.

"Rachel.... Hand him over," Jackson said, holding out his hand expectantly.

Rachel glared daggers at him, even though she was fully aware of the impossibility of the situation. Like the mouse she was trying so hard to protect, she was trapped, her back against the wall, literally. They were going to take him. They were going to take him and there was nothing she could do about it....

"I told you not to do anything stupid," Jackson continued.

"Please...," Rachel pleaded, breathing heavily. "Please, let me take care of him. I'll train another in his place as compensation, I swear. Just... don't hurt him."

"And then you'll grow attached to that one and try and kidnap it. We've seen it before. You're not the first," Jackson reprimanded.

"Good," said Rachel. "I'm glad I'm not."

Privately, she wondered why she'd ever signed up for this in the first place. She wanted the degree. She wanted it badly. She also loved animals, and knew that following her passion came with sacrifices. What she hadn't counted on was how difficult it would be to accept that. It wasn't feasible, she realized. In fact, it was darn near impossible.

She looked down at the infant trembling in her pocket -- at this little creature that had captured her heart and locked it away, far away from any hopes and dreams of graduating in the medical field of her choosing. "He's not worth it," Lana had said. Was he not? Brian looked up at her, those glossy little eyes staring at her expectantly, trustingly. She smiled sadly at him and, for the last time, cuddled him close, before looking up at the troop across from her.

"If you want him, come and get him," she challenged. They weren't getting him without a fight.

And they rushed at her.

She tried to escape. Oh, she tried... and failed. They grabbed her by the arms as she wrestled against them, cheering Brian on as he somehow managed to escape from her pocket and slip underneath one of the shelving units in the room. But Lana caught him, Brian squeaking as his tail snagged between the beaker and the small metal panel she'd captured him with. He stared at Rachel, his desperate, panicked expression the last thing she saw before being knocked out.

-------

- Two Years Later -

The plan had failed. Rather spectacularly, he might add....

It was the first time in Brain's memory he could ever recall being caught red-handed by any of the personnel at Acme Labs. It was a miracle he and Pinky had managed to escape, but, despite his best attempts, they'd been separated in the process.

He made for a facility some yards away from the main laboratory, sweating as he squeezed under its front door and immediately hid under a cabinet to his right. Lights flashed now and again beyond the windows, desperate voices accompanying them as the scientists searched here and their for the escapees. Brain silently prayed that Pinky had somehow found a suitable hiding spot.

In his position under the cabinet, he backed up against the wall and slid down it, a paw clutching at his chest as he struggled to catch his breath. After a few seconds, he gulped, sniffed, and buried his face in his knees. Stupid. Stupid.... He'd jeopardized their whole mission. What if they'd captured Pinky? What would they do to him? And even if they did escape, where would they go? He'd ruined everything. Everything....

In his haste to remain undetected, he'd neglected to realize that this room... was not entirely devoid of life. It was a small area -- a security office, to be exact. Numerous monitors took up space on a desk, at which someone sat. They slid out of their chair and stepped over to Brain's hiding place. He noticed... and shivered.

Whatever, whomever, it was got down on their knees to peer at him from just outside the dresser.

"Hello...," they said.

It was a woman. Her voice was soft, and kind, but Brain turned his head away from her prying eyes. Typical. In an effort to not get caught he'd inevitably been ratted out. He immediately considered making a run for it, but, for some reason he couldn't explain, he didn't.

"Hey.... Shh. Shh. It's okay, little one. It's okay," cooed the woman. "You wanna come on out...?"

And she held out a hand to him. She didn't try to grab him, or scare him out. She simply... gave him a choice.

But it had been too long. He didn't recognize her, neither she him... until she noticed the tail. Then she knew.

"Brian...?" she breathed, eyes growing wide.

He stared at her, nonplussed, still shivering.

"Brian, it's me. Rachel," she beckoned, her hand still in place. But he didn't move. If anything, he frowned at her. "Brian"?

And she tried everything -- talking to him soothingly; offering him a treat from her pocket. Nothing worked. Brain simply hid his face once more, willing her to go away; to leave him be; to, hopefully, not report him to the authorities if they came to call.

Rachel sighed. She sat up for a moment, thinking, and blinked. Struck with a sudden idea, she rested her hands on her lap... and began to sing....

“La la lu, La la lu, Oh my little star sweeper, I'll sweep the star dust for you...“

Brain blinked... and lifted his head, ever so slowly....

“La la lu, La la lu, Little soft fluffy sleeper, Here comes a pink cloud for you...“

He stood up... and walked forward, right to the edge of the cabinet. She was still singing.

“La la lu, La la lu, Little wandering angel, Fold up your wings, Close your eyes...”

His mouth was fully open now, his round eyes glossy and getting ever shinier. He couldn't pull his gaze away from her face.

“La la lu, La la lu, And may love be your keeper...

La la lu, La la lu, La la lu....”

Rachel stared at him, smiling. He had completely stepped out from under the cabinet by now, his little body trembling slightly.

"Hello, little star sweeper," Rachel whispered to him.

Breath hitching, Brain ran onto her lap, up her shirt, and clutched tightly to her chest, only a second or two going by before he felt those familiar hands hold him gently, securely.

"Oh, Brian...," she choked, kissing his head. He didn't even flinch.

"Why didn't you come back?" he asked, unable to hold back his tears.

"I couldn't," she answered honestly. "But I was able to keep an eye on you from here."

He sniffed and pulled back a little to look around the room. It was, indeed, a security office, and a fairly high end one at that, decked out with all the works.

"I'm an artist now, but in my part time I take the night shift. They at least let me come back for that, probably 'cause Jackson and Lana are gone now," she chuckled softly. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you this time...."

Brain looked up at her, suddenly understanding. All that time they'd never been caught; never been reported. All those months and years that the camera had simply turned a blind eye to their antics. He thought it was simply negligence. Now he knew why.

"Thank you...," Brain whispered. "And it's... Brain now."

"I know," she smiled. “I still watch tv, ya' know. I just still remember you as my 'Brian'. I'm sorry, Brain."

He couldn't help but smile. All this time....

"Come with me?" Rachel asked him.

"Where?"

"Back to my place. I'll hide you. You can have the guest room, if you'd like."

A sharp knock at the door startled them both, and she quickly ran to her desk, Brain in her hands. She lifted him up and under the desk.

"There's a hidden panel in the roof! Get in it!" she whispered to him urgently.

He found it, albeit with a little difficulty. He pushed at a little area that looked as if it had been cut into... and down shifted a small cubby in which she kept an assortment of odd bits and bobs that were probably not supposed to be in her possession -- special looking keys and badges, among other things. He slipped into it, and Rachel pushed it closed before walking over to answer the door....

Another barrage of bangs thundered at the entrance as Rachel opened it, a hand on her hip as she held the door ajar, doing her best to look as ticked off as possible.

"Sheesh! Gimme a minute to finish pouring my tea! Gosh...."

Outside stood two gentlemen, both in lab coats, looking frantic.

"Have you seen a mouse?" one of them said. He was taller and appeared to be the leader. "White. Large cranium. He was with a companion."

Rachel shrugged.

"Is that what you guys have been looking for?"

"You haven't seen them on your cameras?" the second man asked, panting a little.

Rachel shook her head.

"No, I haven't seen anything."

The men exchanged glances.

"We'd better search the place, just to make sure," the leader said, and without further ado they barged in and began searching every nook, cranny, drawer, and trash can they could. They failed to find the hidden cubby, however. "Can we ask you to roll back the footage?"

"Sure, but you're not gonna find anything," Rachel shrugged again.

They did as permitted, scrutinizing every bit of film captured within the last ten minutes. Although they managed to catch one or two glimpses of the mice leaving the lab, as expected, they couldn't find hair no hide of them on any other roll. Behind their backs, Rachel smirked. Smart little guy. Even on the run, he'd purposely made sure not to walk in the path of the cameras.

After several more minutes of scrutiny, they finally gave up, heading for the door in a huff.

"Sorry for your time. Report to us if you find anything," said the leader.

"No problem," Rachel said, shutting the door with a snap behind them and sighing deeply. Yeah, right..., she thought.

Going back to her desk, she pushed open the hidden cubby. It lowered down and Brain immediately jumped into her hand, breathing rather heavily.

"Sorry, little one," Rachel apologized. I can imagine it's pretty stuffy in there...."

He gave her a look, albeit not a very harsh one. He had no reason to complain.

She raised her hand, allowing him to jump up onto her shoulder.

"They'll be back later to go over more footage," Rachel warned, sitting down at her desk and leaning back in her chair.

"I know," Brain said, licking at his paws and smoothing out his frazzled fur.

Rachel jumped a little and stared at him.

"Heh. I forgot you guys talk now...."

"Is that a problem...?" Brain asked, a little nervously.

Rachel smiled.

"Not at all."

She reached out a hand to scratch at a spot behind his ears.

"What are you...? Ohhhh-ho-ho-ho...," Brain melted, reeling a little at first before giving way to a goofy smile and a thumping foot as he pressed into the touch.

"Still got that little sensitive spot, huh?" Rachel chuckled, her scratches evolving into a head massage.

Brain practically fell off her shoulder, Rachel catching him in her hands and raising him up to eye level, the better to get a good look at him. He cleared his throat, embarrassed. How demoralizing.... But Rachel simply beamed at him.

"You know... I really missed you."

"I... wish I could say the same...," Brain confessed, shuffling a foot. He imagined he had thought of her often, as an infant, but over time the memories simply... faded.

Rachel didn't look upset, though.

"I understand. It's okay. I still love you."

"I...," Brain began, then stopped. No. He couldn't bring himself to say it. Even with Pinky he couldn't ever admit such a thing, and he loved Pinky most of all.

"You don't have to say it. I know you do in your heart," Rachel said, and she kissed him tenderly on the top of his head.

His ears flattened as she did it, and he almost immediately smoothed out the area where she'd kissed him, but he couldn't hide the blush tickling his cheeks and ears. Her behavior was cheesy as all get out, but privately he knew she was right. He did care, even if he'd never admit it.

Just then, something, or... someone, slipped underneath the door. A white-furred, lanky somebody.

"Pinky!!" Brain yelped.

Brain leapt off of Rachel in a flash, landing hard on the floor and limping a little as he ran into Pinky's outstretched arms.

"Brain!!" Pinky shouted right back. "Oh, I thought I'd never see you again!!"

He twirled him around in a circle or two before Brain became aware of what he was doing and promptly pushed himself out of Pinky's grasp, clearing his throat, once again embarrassed.

"Y-Yes, well.... I'm... glad you're safe, Pinky," Brain replied awkwardly, patting his companion on the head.

"Ohhh! Who's this, Brain?" Pinky asked, pointing up at Rachel, who still sat in her computer chair, smiling down at them both.

"Umm.... Pinky, this is Rachel. She's... an old friend."

"Nice to meet you, Pinky! I've heard a lot about you. Well, maybe not heard, but... I've seen you guys on the tv a lot!" Rachel said, beaming.

"You have?!" Pinky gasped, clasping two paws to his face in surprise. "Did you hear that, Brain? We're famous!!"

"Pinky, we've been famous many times, all of them never lasting as long as I'd like...," Brain recollected.

"Well, yes, Brain, but never to a friend!"

Rachel smiled and leaned forward a little.

"I have a proposition for you guys."

"For both of us? Is that legal, Brain?" Pinky whispered to his cage mate, looking concerned, to which Brain facepalmed.

"Proposition, Pinky, not proposal."

"Ohhhhhhhhh. Well, that's different then, isn't it?" Pinky said, nodding eagerly to Rachel.

"How would you guys like to come room at my place? Just for as long as you need until you can get off your feet."

Once again, Pinky gasped excitedly.

"Can we, Brain?!"

"Well...," Brain pondered, hesitating. The offer, though generous, made him feel rather... helpless and awkward, as if he was intruding.

"You're welcome to any of the food and stuff. I've got havarti," she smirked.

Pinky gasped again.

"Oh, please, please, please, please, pleeeeaaaaase, Brain?!?" Pinky pleaded again.

"You're... sure you wouldn't mind?" Brain asked. "I'd hate to intrude...."

"My house is yours," Rachel said genuinely. "And it comes with a pool table," she added, winking at Pinky.

Pinky was doing his utmost to contain a squeal, biting his lip and practically bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. Brain rolled his eyes.

"Oh, all right...," he relented.

"YAAAAAY!!" exclaimed Pinky, jumping into Rachel's outstretched hand, followed by Brain, as she lifted them up onto her shoulder.

"You'll have to hide in my backpack on the way to the car," she said. "The next guy is about to swap out with me."

And she pulled her backpack up from off the floor and plopped it onto the desk, opening it up. Pinky sprung off her shoulder as if it was a diving board, plunging into the depths of the backpack, which, by all accounts, wasn't very deep. Pinky didn't seem to mind, though. He had fun "swimming" around amongst the snacks, car keys, pencils, wallet, and little sketchpad all the same. Brain simply shook his head, unable to keep a smile off his face. What an idiot.

Rachel was as good as her word. They were given the guest bedroom, along with access to the rest of the house, food included. Provided they didn't draw too much attention to themselves, they were allowed to tinker and plan all they liked within the safety of the back room, and lie low they did, for Acme Labs was on the hunt for a good number of weeks before they gave up on finding them entirely.

Pinky was quite fond of the seemingly unlimited amount of cheese available in the fridge, along with the plethora of movies Rachel had at her disposal. He was often to be found in front of the television, and if he wasn't there he was by Brain's side almost constantly. Brain was most grateful for the space in which to concoct experiments and conjure up plans for world domination, although he had to improvise more often than not, seeing as he didn't have all of the lab's equipment at his beck and call anymore. It was something he sorely missed, but he couldn't say he minded the warm bed and good food that came with their new living quarters either. It was... nice.

Once in a blue moon (which ended up being once a month), Pinky would request Lady and the Tramp for movie night, not just because he liked it, but because of Brain's unusual reaction to it. He liked to watch him subconsciously lean up against Rachel as they sat next to her, eventually breaking down into a fit of silent tears as "La La Lu" danced around the room. Sometimes Rachel would pick him up, holding him close and massaging his head as he calmed against her chest. Oftentimes, Pinky would join them, cuddling up next to Brain as they nuzzled together in Rachel's warm hands.

"I love you, Brain," Pinky would mumble sweetly, giving him an extra squeeze.

"I love you, little one," whispered Rachel, petting him softly.

I love you, too, said Brain in his own little way, holding them both just a tiny bit tighter, a smile creeping its way up onto his face. It was nice, being loved....

~ I love you, too. ~

The End

-------------

The ending of this is meant to be sort of an alternate to Pinky, Elmyra, and the Brain. What if they'd ended up there after running away from Acme instead of at Elmyra's?

I didn’t realize until after writing this that it makes no sense for Rachel to be cool with Brain talking one minute, only to be surprised by it the next. It’s a glaring error on my part, but I left it in as a reminder to myself that I need to be more careful. Lol.

Technically, this whole thing is a self-insert, although the name of the girl is not my real name. It’s actually the cognomen of my very first rat. Ha-ha. But the personality of the character is me -- how I talk; act around animals; and most likely what I’d do if put into this situation. The exception is the chase scene. I don’t think I’d act that... panicked? Who knows, though....

This is kind of a way I show compassion for Brain, seeing as I cannot, of course, give him an actual hug. I love Brain more than any other fictional character I’ve ever had the pleasure of watching on screen. It’s not a romantic love or anything. Certainly not. It’s more... maternal. The desire to love and protect is strong. That combination of: individual with a tragic backstory + laboratory setting + main character who happens to be a mouse = the perfect concoction to turn my heart to mush. I owned rats for many years and have a great love for animals, and tend to get attached to certain fictional characters, so here you have the result. He’d be as averse as ever to physical affection, but if I could hold Brain in my hands, plant a kiss on his head, and tell him he’s loved. I would. Thank God for Pinky.

#fan fiction #pinky and the brain

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capricornus-rex · 3 years

Text

A Shadow of What You Used to Be (11)

Chapter 11: Set in Motion | Cal Kestis x Irele Skywalker

Requested by Anon

Summary: There is another! Years after young Anakin Skywalker departed Tatooine, his mother Shmi delivers a second child—this time, a daughter. Whilst the circumstance of the girl’s birth remains unexplained, Irele Skywalker has yet to choose the true path between those laid out for her.

Tags: Fem! OC, Irele Skywalker, Force-sensitive! OC, Anakin’s Younger Sister, Skywalker! OC, Darth Vader’s Secret Apprentice, Long-lost Sibling

A/N: Hi guys, I’m slowly getting back on my feet mentally. I hope I didn’t disinterest you guys with how long I’ve taken to write stories. If you still stayed to tune in to the story despite the dramatic change in my posting schedule, A BIG THANK YOU TO YOU GUYS!! I’ll keep writing to make this story interesting.

Requesting to be tagged: @heavenly1927

Also in AO3

Chapters: Prelude – 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 – 8 – 9 | Previous: Part 10 | Next: Part 12 | Masterlist

12 of ?

17 BBY

A day after her full medical examination, the Anathema charted a course to the western arm of the Mustafar system.

For the first time in a near-month, Irele officially can wander around the ship. The first thing she did with the privilege was to find her way to the bridge, with HY-L33 by her side. Despite her plain-looking clothes, she stuck out like a sore thumb.

She approaches the viewing pane of the bridge, a spot that most officers were accustomed to seeing Vader instead, and watches the bluish-gray moon come into size as they pass through the Imperial blockade. She didn’t listen to the standard exchange between officers from each end, her gaze remained on the moon. She allowed herself to close her eyes to get a feel of the planet—she felt it cold and brooding, and yet it was brimming with life. She started to guess what kind of terrain it had too, probably volcanic rock, she thought; but the closer the ship got, she realizes that it was mostly water.

Unaware that she’s connecting with the planet’s essence through the Force, to her, it felt like frolicking around someplace new and unexplored; for this particular moon, she could feel the cold water seawater freeze the nerves under her skin, she could the faint light of the bioluminescent creatures thriving in the depth as if like starlight, and the strong current that nearly swept her off of her feet. Her eyelids shot up.

“What is this place?” she asked no one in particular.

“We are approaching the moon, Nur, Lady Irele.”

Irele turned her head to the side to see who answered: a young uniformed officer with black hair neatly cropped at the sides. He donned the exact same garbs as his colleagues, the only thing that differed was the badges pinned on his left chest—which was relatively fewer than the seasoned admiral.

The same officer didn’t go far from her; as the Anathema got into the moon’s exosphere, he escorted her—along with HY-L33, whom she insisted to be allowed to follow her—to the hangar where the shuttle Zenith awaits its passenger. Irele made herself comfortable in the main cabin, furnished with only a small round table surrounded by a booth, across it is a slab meant as a bench for other passengers.

The girl’s curiosity grew at the same time the moon scaled in size as they descended into the atmosphere. At first glance, she’d think the gray and black surface would be high cliffs; the Zenith cut through the clouds, revealing much of the land mass, she leaned in by the window to find that there was none. All of it was water. The only other terrain that existed there was the fortress that sat in the middle of the ocean, it was practically an artificial island in its own right.

“What is that?”

“That is Fortress Inquisitorius, Lady Irele.”

“What’s in there?”

“This is the standard lodge and training grounds for Inquisitors.”

It’s the first time she’s heard the word, though she’s absolutely sure that she is none of that.

“Why am I being brought here?”

A pause came upon the droid, HY-L33’s neck whirred as to bow her head.

“My apologies, neither captain nor crew have uploaded their ship manifest into my database.”

Irele made a mental note to request for HY-L33 to have special privileges if it involved her. That is, if she can even make one.

The fortress’s peak pierced through the sky like a spear, standing tall and as deep as the ocean floor. The pilot gently curbed around, allowing Irele a closer look and all of a sudden she felt weary.

–

Irele exited the Zenith and was then passed over to another officer, though much older and appearing to be perpetually vexed by this fool’s errand. Nevertheless, the escort officer walked Irele and HY-L33 through the fortress. It was a metal maze underwater.

The vibrant blue of the underwater life reflected a sheen over Irele’s widened eyes. Mouth agape, she had forgotten that she was in such a foreboding, ominous place. Never has she ever dreamed in her entire life that she’d see a place this blue, after living of seeing nothing but golden-brown sand that stretched up to the ridges where the twin suns hid.

The escort officer kept on blathering about where was what, schedules—her schedules, specifically—of her routines and training sessions. Irele was having none of it, she walked by the glass wall staring at the shoals that swam past her. Her distracted giggling caught the attention of the officer and he snapped.

“Lady Irele, did you hear what I just said?!”

The poor, startled girl’s shoulders jumped and her heels sprang. She froze in place.

“S-Sorry, I was looking at the water…”

The officer sighed and switched his tone, “Would you want me to arrange a tour in your own personal pod, young lady?”

It didn’t take a genius to see that the officer’s words were drawling with a harsh breed of sarcasm. Irele’s fists balled so tightly that her fingernails dug curves on the skin of her palms. She glowers at him, refusing to speak. The escort rolled his eyes and sighed, further irritated by this mundane task given to him.

“Puh! Children!” he scoffed under his breath as soon as he turned away from Irele and continued.

Eventually, they arrive to a viewing room with a wide window that spanned from left to right. Irele was reluctant to stand beside the escort, the latter thought likewise so he stepped back himself. Below the viewing deck, Irele witnessed something intense, brutal, and oddly fascinating.

Two individuals, armored head to foot in sleek black, both wielding weapons but each a different kind. One held a pair of rods, and the other a weapon in the same fashion as a hammer. Violet electricity crackling along the ends of the weapons sparked at every collision and strike each fighter made.

Irele pressed herself against the glass when the fight was getting good. She didn’t place her bet on anyone, she had never seen a graceful, calculated fight such as this—even though this is a normal sparring session, to keep these fighters’ wits and skills sharp. The dual wielder eventually wins after staggering his opponent with a flurry of attacks.

“Come now, young lady, it’s time I bring you to your quarters.”

She looks away from the viewing pane and then to the escort, her expression served enough as a question asking for elaboration, though he didn’t humor her with an answer—even if she actually asked.

Her room in Fortress Inquisitor was a bigger version of the one she had in the command ship; and so she had to adjust all over again, but seeing that it was no different either way, getting used to the room was somehow easy.

“Well, HY-L33, I guess we’ll be staying here for a while.”

“Indeed, Lady Irele. I will be here to assess you medically if you are fit for your regular training sessions assigned in your schedule.”

“Why am I going to be trained? Are they gonna make me an Inquisitor?”

“In a way, Lady Irele, yes. But you will not be named an Inquisitor.”

“Then what’s the point of training me? I get that I will need to learn how to fight but for what?”

HY-L33 stood silent and incapable of answering her master’s questions. Irele apologized for barraging the droid with questions that may not have been—as she now mockingly calls it—“not uploaded into her database.”

Irele took rest for the day, not knowing what’s in store for her in the coming days.

The pawn now moves.

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boycottyashahime · 3 years

Note

Not sure if it's wise to stan Lindsay Ellis or emulate her in any way, because she's pretty accepting of ships like Beetlejuice (an adult) x Lydia (a child). It seems likely that she'd be cool with Sessrin too and would chastise anyone criticizing that ship.

She also defended Stephanie Meyer's Twilight by omitting most core criticisms of the franchise like its glorification of child grooming, racism, and misogyny. Lindsay Ellis has some good takes, but she'd definitely be on friendly terms with Sessrin shippers and others of their ilk.

I don't really feel like what she's talking about in the screenshots and this situation are all that comparable, though. First of all, in the Inuyasha series, Sesshoumaru and Rin aren't coded as a couple, especially not in classic RT style. There's not really a concrete definition to the relationship at all, which enables a lot of different interpretations, as opposed to the coding leading one to a certain conclusion.

Second of all, the Beetlejuice cartoon and the Beetlejuice movie resemble each other little more than name and character design - in the screenshots, LE talks about how she was initially a little taken aback by how different the characters' relationship was in the movie vs. the cartoon, and how the cartoon fans would ship them in the context of the show because that's how it was presented to them within the context. There's a discrepancy there not because the relationship is coded ambiguously in canon, but because fans are dealing with two totally separate and distinct codings that have little to do with one another. The movie and cartoon are so incompatible in tone and context that it's impossible to reconcile the two into a cohesive canon, so the shippers and anti shippers may as well be talking about two entirely separate things (which they are). In Inuyasha/Yashahime's case, however, the latter follows from the former, they're supposed to represent one long contiguous timeline, and so the dynamic between Sesshoumaru and Rin in Yashahime would have to be based upon that of what it was in Inuyasha, which is where antis in THIS sphere have a problem. It's one thing to have two different fandoms of two different stories entirely where one is very loosely based on the other warring with each other over details that were wholly different from one another (Beetlejuice). It's another to have a direct continuation of a series that may or may not imply some pretty iffy dynamics based on a grown man getting with a girl he has authority over when she's older (Inuyasha/Yashahime).

Third, LE characterizes the shippers of the Beetlejuice fandom as largely peaceful, mostly keeping to themselves until an anti wanders into their midst. In my experience, it's been the opposite in this fandom. I keep on the anti tag, have only posted once in the ship tag (to boost a post that had both ship and anti arguments on it), and don't go looking for fights. I've been getting quite a few shippers demanding in various ways that I shut up and refrain from stating my opinion on my own blog multiple times now. I may be wrong, but given the circumstances, I think that LE might have a less-than-favorable view of the shippers in this fandom for having a similarly militant pattern of behavior to the antis in the Beetlejuice fandom. It's not necessarily the opinion that I see her criticizing in the screenshots (she even says she understands how the content can be upsetting), but the way one invades spaces that are not theirs to insist that someone isn't allowed to have the opposite opinion.

And, at the risk of repeating myself yet again, I actually DO NOT have a problem with the existence of the SessRin ship. I have ignored it for years, and will continue to ignore it for years to come, no matter what Sunrise wants to validate in their sequel. I just have my blog to express my opinion, help commiserate with other antis, and assert that it isn't unreasonable for anyone to read Sesshoumaru and Rin's relationship as platonic. So, actually, I mostly agree with LE in her dismissal of people "supporting" abuse by liking a ship. My issue is with Sunrise if they decide to put positive depictions of grooming in a show for children, but as far as the shippers in the fandom go, I really have no problem with them shipping. Theirs isn't an invalid interpretation either, given all of the surrounding material in the world promoting it. We can coexist, disagree, and still be fine. At the moment. Shippers don't seem to WANT a peaceful coexistence with me, but I think eventually they'll get bored of fighting over nothing.

As for LE's defense of Stephanie Meyer, it was specifically a defense against all the unfair, misogynistic attacks on her for writing something popular with girls and women. She didn't say there's weren't VALID criticisms of Twilight; she just said she was sorry for buying into the intense unwarranted hatred of Twilight and Stephanie Meyer for nothing more than our culture's general disdain for anything that girls like. I'd like to think she really didn't need to make the video where she listed and elaborated upon all the problematic aspects of the Twilight series, because quite frankly, that video already existed in multiple iterations long before she made her own.

Finally, I think it's important to note that I'm 32 years old and not really interested in "stanning" or "emulating" anyone at this point. A couple of anon messages stated they thought there were similarities between myself and LE, and while I am flattered because I think she has some valuable and insightful opinions on fiction, I'm far past the point of trying to be like her or thinking she's flawless. I do have some disagreements with some things she's said before; I don't have much interest in listing them out here, but suffice it to say you should have no worries whatsoever that I would blindly follow her example on every little point. Nor would I suggest anyone else do so. I just like watching her videos, think she has a cool perspective, and am flattered to be compared to someone who it looks like has been pretty successful in writing and publishing a novel, as that's kind of a goal of mine.

#asks and answers #anti sessrin #i guess i was a little too gushing #at being compared to lindsay ellis #i gave the impression i was a super fan or something?#my bad lol

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bastillewolf · 4 years

Text

The Grand Tranquility Hotel (II)

Pairing: Alex Turner/Reader

Summary: An eccentric hotel owner and an inquisitive writer find solace in each other when they both seemed to be at the edge of rock bottom.

Notes: Most chapter titles are indeed going to be the song titles from TBHC. Hope you enjoy!

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list.

Chapter II - She Looks Like Fun

She’d picked out a darker dress with a wavy skirt. Something comfortable, yet still classy. She could almost imagine her mother squealing with joy, because up until a few months ago she would’ve never worn anything like this.

Her mother used to reprimand her for it, because she’d always said that her legs were far too nice to be covered up by trousers or any of the sort. And if she was being honest, her legs did look rather nice. She’d actually shaved, while it was still the cold season. A season where shaving legs was not necessary. She felt a sense of pride. It quickly simmered down.

She hated the fact she couldn’t tell her mother these things anymore. She supposed that wearing skirts and dresses was her own way of dealing with things. Trying to rid of the guilt of having been gone for so long to find work in all sorts of places. Not calling enough. Skipping holidays and family meetings. She was grieving, and though there was probably some psychological explanation for everything she was doing, she really didn’t care enough to find out.

She was still adorned with her grandmother’s watch, possibly the most valuable family heirloom in her possession. Perhaps not so much in price, because the gold needed a good polish and there were enough scratches and dents to tell a tale of a lifetime or two, but it sure meant a lot to her emotionally. It was the only thing she had left of her mother. And any time she felt a wave of anxiety or couldn’t catch a night’s sleep, she listened to the soft ticking of the seconds hand. It reminded her of where she was, what she was doing, and that everything would be fine. As she now didn’t feel the anxiety anymore of dining all by herself. Because in a way, her mother was with her.

While exiting the room, she didn’t stop to think about the sinister half-opened door at the end of the hallway and quickly made her way downstairs. It was a bit before seven o’clock.

The dining room was really something else. It was a grand open space adorned with golden chandeliers and tables with pristine white napkins on shining plates. It was a symmetrically satisfying sight to behold, and she felt out of place to take a seat on any of the luxurious furniture. She wondered if they were actually expecting a grand feast soon or simply out of their minds. She presumed it was the latter.

When Nick thought enough time had passed for her to take in the spectacular view, he cleared his throat. It made her jump and though it amused him greatly, he quickly apologized. “I’m very sorry ma’am, but I’m afraid all the tables are reserved for our other guests.”

She grinned at him. “Ah, I see. That’s very unfortunate. I suppose I’ll just sit on the floor, then.” When she moved to swat some imaginary dirt away from the varnished wooden surface and was about to sink through her knees, Nick hurriedly stopped her. “Actually, I just got a message through that a reservation has been cancelled. No need to sit on the floor. Now, if you’ll follow me, miss,” he politely sputtered. She could see the relief washing over him when she stood again, and she only now figured it probably would have been a sight to see a guest sitting on the floor because a waiter had jokingly told them all the tables were reserved.

“What a shame they had to cancel their reservation, this table has such a good view,” she told Nick, as he held a chair out for her. He’d seated her beside the central window, overlooking the great view of the well-kept gardens. She spotted Matthew in front of a big fountain, who was struggling to control a rearing horse and she swore she heard Nick sigh and mutter “idiot” under his breath. She decided not to comment on it.

A figure appearing beside Nick made her turn back. “I think I’ll take it from here,” he said, offering a smile to Nick and then to her. Nick nodded, his eyes not leaving the unruly horse. “If you need me, I’ll be right outside,” he muttered, before taking off.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, miss. My name is Jamie, and I’ll be your chef for the time you’ll be staying with us,” he told her. He was adorned in a black kitchen uniform, not a crease or spot to be seen, with a leather apron tied around his waist. His hair was slicked back, in a similar fashion to Matt’s, styled to the sides and back from where his hair parted. He had a kind twinkle in his eyes yet seemed a bit on the awkward side judging from the way he fumbled his hands a bit much. “It’s nice to meet you too, Jamie,” she replied kindly, “I was wondering what the menu is like for today? I fully understand if it’s a limited one, seeing as I’m presumably the only one staying for dinner tonight.”

Jamie’s eyes widened, almost as if he remembered what he was supposed to be doing. He quickly sprinted off and was back in almost the blink of an eye, in his hands a neat menu card. “My apologies. I’m not used to serving people,” he explained, “I used to only be at work in the kitchens and send my own servers out with plates, but since we had to make quite a few cuts…”

She had been intently and quietly listening as to not snap him out of his ramble out of her own pure curiosity to know more about the hotel, but unfortunately, he caught wind of what he was saying out loud and paused mid-sentence. “Anyways,” he cleared his throat, “I can make you anything you’d like. Even if it’s not on the menu.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to bother you with that,” she told him, “I’ll see what the menu has to offer.” “Miss, you could never be a bother,” he replied, a slight blush dusting his cheeks. Her lips quirked up.

“Alright, how outrageous would it be if I asked you to make me a cheeseburger?” He laughed, “That would probably be the least outrageous request I’ve ever gotten from a guest, miss. I’d be happy to.”

As he was about to turn, she continued, “Have you had dinner yet, Jamie?” He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “No, miss. I usually eat after all the guests are done along with the other staff.”

“Will you and the rest of the staff join me, then?” She wondered. “I don’t think that’d be very appropriate, miss,” he replied shyly. “I insist. I feel like an idiot eating dinner all by myself in this huge room. Please?” She added and tried her best to look as miserable as possible. Jamie looked inflicted, his eyes darting to the entrance of the dining room for a moment as if he was checking to see if no one had heard him when he agreed.

It didn’t take that long for Matt and Nick to show up and take a seat at the table, and though they looked as if the horse had given them more trouble, their frowns quickly turned upside down when they heard Jamie was making cheeseburgers. “I’m starting to like you more and more by the minute,” Matt told the smiling woman. “Thank god, I wouldn’t want you to spend dinner while thinking of me as bad company,” she replied. “Like I already told you, miss,” Jamie said as he set plates of cheeseburgers and chips on the table, “You could never be a bother.”

Conversation was made considerably easy given the fact that she was talking to staff she had only just met, but she was glad they felt comfortable enough to let their guard down around her. “So, what do you do, if I may ask, miss?” Jamie asked. “Enough with the ‘miss’, Jamie. You can call me by my name,” she answered, “and I’m a writer. At least, I try to be.” Nick, who was chowing down a burger, looked up in interest. “Really? Written anything I know?” Matt smacked him across the head. “Speak with your mouth empty, you’re talking to a lady here.”

She laughed, “That’s quite alright. I really haven’t published anything yet except for the article here and there, but I think I’ve recently stumbled across an idea for a book.” “That’s great!” Matt commented, “What’s it gunna be about?”

She hesitated a moment before answering. “I was hoping to write about the hotel, actually.”

They all froze in the spot. She’d expected this response when she’d formed the plan to invite them to dinner and was about to elaborate when she realized it wasn’t just what she’d said that was the cause for their sudden discomfort.

“What’s going on in here? Having a tea party, I see?” A deep voice grumbled from behind her.

Turning around, she was faced with the sharp features of none other than Alexander Turner.

When she had read about him in the papers, she’d always imagined a much older man who was going to retire soon now that his hotel was bankrupt, trying to save his last bit of pocket money. The person in front of her, was the complete opposite of what she’d expected. A young, lean man dressed in an expensive-looking blue three-piece suit was staring at her with striking chocolate brown eyes. His hair was slicked back and his face clean shaven, defining his jawline and cheekbones in an impeccable way. He was an intimidating figure to say the least, and it seemed as though everyone at the table, save for Matt, had shrunken into themselves a bit.

“Miss asked us to join her for dinner,” Matt responded coldly, his hard gaze unwavering. She had to admit that she admired his boldness in this moment. This was not the same Matt who had given her a ride and had been dining with her just now.

“Ah, of course,” mister Turner replied smoothly, “allow me to introduce myself, my name is Alex Turner. I’m the owner of this establishment.” His hand took hers. “It’s nice to finally meet you, miss.” And he kissed it courteously, making her skin tingle. “And you can call me Alexander.” His eyes shot up to lock with hers and she was completely entranced.

“Nice to meet you as well, Alexander,” she managed to reply, as he slowly dropped her hand. “I was just asking your staff more about the hotel. I’m rather interested in writing a piece about it.”

“Ah, a writer then,” he said as his sharp gaze flickered over said staff. “I hope they haven’t told you too much about the hotel. Wouldn’t want to share our best kept secrets, now would we?” The underline of his tone was threatening, and she was almost worried she’d gotten the guys into trouble, when Matt spoke up, “Oh, I wouldn’t worry too much about that, mister Turner. I’m sure those secrets will unravel themselves when the time comes.”

The silence that followed could’ve been cut with a knife as Alex’ eyes turned cold. “I’d like to have a word with you when you’re done, Matthew.” It was all he said before storming out.

Matt sighed. “I’ll best be going, then.” And quickly followed after him.

“What was that about?” she questioned. Nick shook his head, “They’re always this dramatic.”

In the small office behind the entrance desk, Matt leaned against the doorpost as Alex filed through some paperwork. “I don’t tolerate backtalk in front of our guests, Matthew. You know this,” he said, not bothering to look up from the unorganized mess of files.

“She’s our only guest, Alex. You should take it easy for a little while. You know, come and stay with us.”

Alex rolled his eyes at the remark.

“But really though, what did you think of her?” Matt continued.

Alex looked at him and Matt saw a familiar twinkle in his eyes, one he hadn’t seen for a long time. “She looks like fun,” he simply responded.

#Arctic Monkeys #Alex Turner #Nick O'Malley #Matt Helders #Jamie Cook #Miles Kane #TBHC #Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino #AM #Alex Turner x Reader #Fanfiction #Romance #Mystery

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years

Text

Best Part of Me -Chapter 6

Warnings: none

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @thunderintheshadows

He’s been sober for six months, two weeks, and four days.

Completely cutting out all alcohol had been difficult. Far more than he’d thought it would be, the withdrawal both brutal and eye opening. He’d never considered himself an alcoholic, or even acknowledged that he had even the slightest bit of an addiction to booze. But the side effects of quitting had told him otherwise. Seventy-two hours of a near crippling headache, heart palpitations, extreme nausea and vomiting. Even excessive sweating and tremors in his hands. It had been a huge wakeup call. The realization that his drinking had been taking over his life and he hadn’t even been aware of it. That had he not stopped and continue down that path towards complete and utter dependency, he would have lost everything that mattered to him.

Most days and weeks he handles it well, too busy to even think about drinking, let alone indulge in it. They keep no alcohol in the house to avoid any chance of temptation, and Esme had quit right after she’d found out that they were expecting Addie and had vowed to never touch the stuff again. It was something they could do together; serving as one another’s support systems.

Yet there’s times where he does crave it. Not necessarily a need, but a want. And it’s not overwhelming; he’s not desperate enough to drop everything and run out to the store and stock up on booze. Just a lingering taste for it while spending time out in the sun or after a long and tiring day of working outside. Or when something or someone is irritating him to the point of needing an escape...even a mental one...from them.

Tonight is the latter. He’s agitated; with Ovi’s sudden interest in the job, with Chloe’s romanticizing of the life and putting it in his head that there’s something he needs to prove and that getting into it would somehow make him ‘more of a man’. As if somehow insinuating that Tyler himself is less of one because he’d walked away. It’s bad enough that there’s times he views himself that way; that he’s broken and damaged and not even half of the person that he used to be. And he tries to ignore those thoughts; to remind himself that it’s just his fucked up brain talking and that the one person in the world whose opinion matters to him, doesn’t see him that way. In her eyes, he’s even stronger for being able to recognize his issues and walk away. That he’s more of a man for choosing his own wellbeing and his family over the job.

For the most part he’s been able to ignore his growing resentment for Chloe. Everything suddenly seems to annoy him; from the way she dresses to the way she laughs, even the sound of her voice. Electing to avoid her company in favor of spending time with the kids; in and out of the water with them, helping them dig in the sand, taking them for walks to look for shells and beach glass. Listening to them chattering on about their respective days at school, offering up the appropriate comments, laughing at the right times, and asking the questions that gets them talking even more. He loves hearing those little voices; the Aussie accents that are already beginning to creep in, the sounds of their laughter, the way they tease and bicker with one another. They each have their own very distinct personalities but are so alike in other ways; appearance, mannerisms, facial expressions. And he cherishes his time with them; teaching them to surf, taking them fishing and camping, those midafternoon naps when they’re all curled up next to him on the couch, lying on the beach once the sun sets and watching the stars with them, even reading the same damn bedtime stories over and over again. Because those moments are fleeting; they’ll grow up fast and become independent and then spending time with mom and dad won’t be exciting or fun anymore.

He’d stayed silent through dinner –cooked over open flame on the beach- and tried not to snap at every little stupid thing Chloe said or her annoying, high pitched laugh, or the way Ovi waited on her hand and foot and looked at her as if she was the most incredible woman on the planet. Irrational of course, seeing as that's how he’s been looking at his own wife every day for the past six years. But since the job conversation with Ovi, everything Chloe related just bugs the ever-loving shit out of him. Prompting him to jump at the chance to be the one to put the kids to bed. Dragging his feet through the entire nighttime routine; baths, teeth brushing, reading stories, tucking them in. Hoping that if he stalls long enough, Chloe and Ovi will be long gone and he won’t have to worry about playing nice anymore. And he’s disappointed –and even more irritated- when he still finds them there, sitting on the back patio, Chloe on her second bottle of wine.

“Everyone asleep?” Esme asks, as Tyler drops into the chair beside her, then leans in to press a kiss to her temple.

He knows she can sense just how on edge he actually is; years ago, words had stopped being necessary and they’d become able to read one another’s facial expressions and body language. And she gives him a soft, reassuring smile and leans sideways in her seat, resting her head against him, his arm wrapping around her shoulders.

“Everyone except this one,” he says, and nods down at Addie as she lays along her mother’s arm; so tiny and so perfect. A mixture of everything that’s good about him and everything that’s amazing about his wife. He feels blessed. That he’s been given this opportunity five times; to help create another human being. And he brings his hand to the side of his wife’s head as it lays against him and kisses her temple once again.

“She’s probably waiting for you. She always falls asleep better for daddy. These kids are traitors. All of them. Can’t I be someone’s favorite?”

She’s smiling as she says it, and he takes the baby from her, settling Addie against his chest; a forearm along her back, palm supporting her head. And his free hand takes a hold of his wife’s, lacing their fingers together and placing their joined hands on his thigh. It will keep him grounded. Calm. If he can feel her.

“This was really nice,” Chloe gushes, as Ovi curls an around her shoulders and she leans into him. “Being able to spend time together like this. We should do it more often.”

Tyler wants to tell her that there’s no fucking way he wants to make it a regular occurrence. But he doesn’t. Instead he just nods and places a kiss to the side of Addie’s head and tightens his hold on Esme’s hand.

“Well things get busy,” his wife says, and then winces and directs a light kick to the side of his calf when he grips her hand a little too hard. “With the kids and their things and stuff we need to do around here. There’s not a lot of time to spare.”

“I could help out more,” Chloe offers. “With the kids.”

“It’s okay,” Tyler speaks up. A little too quickly and harshly. Earning a glare from Ovi and a clearing of the throat from Esme. “We’ve got it under control,” he adds, and then attempts a smile.

“Well I’m not far,” Chloe gives that laugh that grates on his nerves. “You know where to find me.”

“She’ll be fine.,” he says. “We’ll be fine. But thanks.”

Chloe gives a tight-lipped smile; she knows she’s being dismissed.

Silence descends on the table, uncomfortable and tense. The only sounds the rustling of the trees surrounding the property and the waves rolling onto the shore. Esme shifts uncomfortably in her seat, reaching for a now lukewarm cup of tea that sits in front of her, and Tyler loosens his grip on her hand and repeatedly his fingertips along the smooth, cool metal of her wedding band. There’d never been the need or desire for anything more; his proposal had been nothing more than a simple ‘marry me’. It simply isn’t their style; grand, elaborate gestures and expensive pieces of jewelry.

“So did Ovi tell you about his business proposition?” Chloe asks, and Tyler feels his entire body tense. This is not how he wanted Esme to find out; he’d planned on bringing it up to her when all their guests had left and the kids were asleep and he’d already given her two or three orgasms in a way to relax her and ‘lighten the mood’.

“Chloe...sweetie...” Ovi is clearly uncomfortable with the subject now at hand. “This is not the time to talk about this.”

“What do you mean? This is the perfect time! We're all here. Together. There couldn’t possibly be a better time.”

“What business proposition?” Esme asks, glancing between her husband and Ovi. “What’s going on?”

“Ovi had an amazing idea,” Chloe gushes. “About him and Tyler going into business together.”

“Okay...” Esme sounds suspicious. “...but what kind of business?”

“The job,” the other woman says it so cheerfully, as if that kind of career is so normal. That accepting money and putting your ass on the line for strangers -and even killing people- is the most natural thing in the world.

“The job?” Esme frowns. “As in what Tyler used to do? That’s what you’re talking about, right? Being a mercenary? Because that’s what I think of when someone says ‘the job’.”

“This is really isn’t a good time,” Ovi mumbles. “This could have waited. Until a different night.”

Tyler shakes his head and forces himself to look away from both of him, dragging his top teeth over his bottom lip; feeling the rage that begins to simmer inside of him. Concentrating on that little body that’s pressed tightly against him; those tiny fists that tightly grip his t-shirt, the smell that clings to her sleeper, the softness of her hair against his palm.

“What the hell is going on?” Esme asks. “Why are you two even talking about the job? Never mind that, why are you...” she stares pointedly at Tyler. “...talking about the job?”

“I wasn’t talking about it,” he replies. “I mean, I was. But I wasn’t.”

“That doesn’t even make sense. You either were or you weren’t.”

“I brought it up,” Ovi comes to his defense. “It’s not like it was his idea to talk about it. He never talks about it.”

“So why were you talking about it?” Esme inquires. “There shouldn’t be a reason to talk about the job. We came here to get away from it. We gave up that life. Why is it getting brought back up? And there better be a good goddamn reason for it, too.”

“There’s no reason to freak out,” Chloe grumbles, and Esme glares at her.

“Listen little girl, you don’t come to my house and talk to me like that. You come here...under my roof, where my children are...and you bring up the job? After everything it put us through. And you expect me not to freak out? It doesn’t work that way. This is between Ovi and I now. You can leave or you can sit there and listen.”

“Is that an option for me too?” Tyler asks. “Or...”

“You’re involved whether you want to be or not,” she replies. “So no. That’s not an option for you.”

“It was just an idea I had,” Ovi attempts to explains.

“An amazing idea,” Chloe jumps in.

“I’m not talking to you,” Esme snaps. “I don’t want to hear from you. So just sit there and be quiet and let me speak to Ovi. To my son.”

“He’s not your...”

“Don’t...” Tyler warns. “...even finish that sentence.”

Chloe throws her hands up in surrender, then leans back in her chair and crosses her arms over her chest, angrily tapping her foot against the ground.

“Ovi...” Esme’s voice is low, calm. Almost too calm. Tyler knows that tone all too well; he’s been on the receiving end of it and knows what follows if you don’t tread lightly. He’s made the mistake –more than once- of not watching where he steps and having to face the consequences. “...what the hell is going on? Why are you talking about the job? You know we left that behind. We all agreed on that. That once we left Colorado, that was it. That once Tyler decided he had enough, we’d never mention it again. So what is going on?”

“I had this idea,” he nervously begins. “That Tyler and I could do something together. Start a business. Outside of the one we already have.”

Chloe opens her mouth to speak and Esme holds her hand up to both silence her and warn her to keep quiet.

“And this has to do with the job how?”

“Because...” he chews on his bottom lip. “...it is the job.”

“So you’re brilliant idea is to get my husband back into the job? Is that honestly what you’re trying to tell me? Despite everything he went through in Dhaka, despite nearly dying there, despite everything you saw him go through and everything you went through yourself. You thought it was a good idea to get him back into it?”

Tyler clears his throat noisily and stands up; too anxious to sit still yet needing to remain calm for his daughter’s sake. Adjusting his hold on her and laying her along his forearm, her head resting securely in the crook of his elbow, feet not even reaching his palm. Running his free hand over her hair, fingers fidgeting with the snap closures on her sleeper, then moving down to her feet; gently rubbing the soles and each of the tiny toes. Body swaying side to side, more an attempt to soothe himself than her.

“I thought it was something that we could do together,” Ovi says. “We could run things. Take on clients. Maybe even hire more people once we got things off the ground. I thought if we were together, it would be better. Easier.”

“So even knowing that he willingly walked away from things and has sworn up and down to never...ever...go back, you still tried to bring him into this? Why? Knowing everything it’s done to him. Everything it has done to us. You were there. You’ve been with us for more than five years now. You’ve seen what it’s done. How it almost ended us. More than once. And you still thought it was a good idea?”

“I thought if we both got involved that it would be okay. That he wouldn’t be going alone and...”

“No, Ovi. It’s not okay. It’s not okay in the slightest. What would make you think it was okay? He almost died once. That’s not enough for you? Because it was enough for me. More than enough. And that was back before we didn’t have any of this. This life. When we didn’t have kids to take care of. Five kids that need their father. How is it okay that you bring him back into this bullshit and leave my kids without their dad? Maybe that’s okay for the two of you. You don’t have anything to lose. But we do. We have so much to lose and I can’t believe you didn’t even care about any of that.”

“I wasn’t thinking that much into it,” he admits. “I was just thinking it would be fun to get into. Running a business like that ourselves.”

“Yeah, because it’s so much fun watching the person you love getting shot in the throat and having them bleed out all over you. Does that sound like fun to you? Or you?” she directs the last question to Chloe. “Does that sound like it was fun? Because it was fucking hell on earth for me. Twenty minutes felt like twenty hours on that bridge. And as pissed off as I am right now...no, as disgusted as I am right now...I wouldn't wish that on you. Seeing that happen. Holding someone while they’re choking on their own blood. Shoving your fingers in their throat to try to keep them alive. Does that sound like fucking fun to you?”

Both Ovi and Chloe shake their head.

“I’m done,” Esme shoves her chair away from the table and stands up, using the backs of her hands to clear away the tears that flow freely down her face. It’s been over six years and it sometimes still feels as if it were yesterday; the memory still so fresh and haunting that it is physically painful. Yet she always keeps it tightly bottled up inside, for the sake of her husband, the sake of her children. Even for the sake of her own sanity. Because dealing with it is just too damn difficult. “I’m done with you two. With this whole goddamn conversation.”

“I’m sorry,” Ovi offers a feeble apology. “I never...”

“I have to get out of there,” she says to Tyler. “I’ll take her and give her last feeding and put her to bed.”

“Esme...”

“I’m fine,” she assures him, and attempts a smile. “I’ll be fine.”

He lays the baby in her arms, then uses the bottom of his t-shirt to clear away the last of her tears.

“Can you handle all of this?” she jerks her head in the direction of the cluttered table. “I can’t deal with this right now.”

“I got it,” he assures her. “It’s fine. You gonna be okay?

She nods, and he lays a hand on the side of her face and presses a kiss to her forehead. “I just need to go.”

“It’s okay,” he pushes her hair away from her face, tucks it behind her ears. “I understand. I’ll be up in a little while. Once I handle things.”

She gives another weak smile, then rests her forehead briefly against his chest before heading into the house.

*****

“What the fuck have you two done?” Tyler keeps his voice low, but malice and contempt drip from every word.

“I’m sorry,” Ovi is quick to apologize. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. I didn’t mean for it to come out at all.”

“She needed to know,” Chloe says, giving a flippant shrug. As if she didn’t just play a huge role in creating an epic shit show.

Dhaka is a sore spot. An extremely sore spot. One they didn’t like to visit often but always felt like pure and utter hell when they did. His memories aren’t that vivid or fresh; not one of those moments on the bridge after Fahrad had shot him. He only knows what he’s been told, or the little snippets that his brain has managed to piece together. For Esme it’s much worse, she can remember every second of those final twenty minutes on the bridge. Every word, every noise, every smell. Even what the blood had felt like as it streamed through her fingers. Yet she very rarely talks about it. She prefers to keep it inside and deal with it on her own. Not wanting to burden him with her issues when he’s so busy struggling with his own.

“No she didn’t,” Tyler snarls. “There was no fucking reason for her to know because I already told him I wasn’t interested. That I wasn’t going to talk about it, and he was going to forget all about it.”

“You can’t deal him what to do,” she bites back. “You’re not his father.”

“I’m the closest thing he has to one. I guess he didn’t tell you, huh? That I told he was an idiot for even considering the job and you’re an even bigger idiot for trying to talk him into it.”

Chloe leaps to her feet and clamps her hands on her hips. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but...”

“I’m the guy that nearly died saving his ass!” Tyler gestures towards Ovi. “I’m the one that gave him a home and a family because his real father is an evil prick who put his son in danger in the first place. You think he has what it takes to be a mercenary? Did he tell you how I had to give him a pair of pants because he pissed his own? I bet he didn’t tell you that part did he.”

“I know that he killed someone. To save your ass.”

“And what? It takes killing someone to make him a man in your eyes? You’re actually proud of that? That he’s done that? You’re fucked up. You have issues. You’re putting all this bullshit in his head. That he needs to prove something to you. That somehow the job is the only way for him to do that. You have no goddamn clue what that life is like. You’re just a delusional little girl. Get the fuck out of here with your bullshit.”

“Tyler...” Ovi attempts to diffuse the situation. “...if we just sit down and talk about this calmly...”

“We’re not talking about this. I said what I needed to say. I’m not getting involved in this. I left that life behind me. I’m not that guy anymore. He’s gone. I have a wife and kids. That’s my life now.”

“Pretty pathetic life,” Chloe mutters.

“You need to go. You need to get out of my face before I really say something I’ll regret. This is me being polite. If you’d rather I be a total asshole...”

“Are you just going to sit there and let him talk to me like this?!” Chloe turns her ire on Ovi, who just sighs in exasperation and puts his face in his hands. “You’re just going to sit back and let him act like this?!”

“This is my fucking house,” Tyler reminds her. “And if it wasn’t for me and my wife, you’d be stuck back in Colorado all by yourself. I’m the one who puts a roof over your head and food on your table. Yet you think you can come here and cause all this shit? You have no idea what any of us have been through. What things were like before you came along. So you need to need to know your place and just step off.”

“He’s right you know,” Ovi says. “You don’t know everything that happened before you came along. Especially what happened in Dhaka.”

“I know he fucked up,” Chloe nods in Tyler’s direction.

“That is not what happened,” Ovi argues. “He did not mess up. My father did. Tyler did what he had to do to keep me alive and get me out of there. Even when he knew there was no money. He could have just let me in the street, but he didn’t. I’m only here because he didn’t give up on me. Or himself.”

“And you’re going to pay for that for the rest of your life? Because he wants to be martyr? He gets to hold saving you over your head for the rest of your life? Expecting you to be constantly on your hands and knees, kissing his ass?”

“Jesus fuck,” Tyler gives a dry laugh and shakes his head, then begins gathering the dirty dishes and silverware from the table. “You’re really a piece of work, you know that? He should have left you behind in Colorado. I should have paid him to leave you there. And this is what you want to get yourself into?” he directs the question towards Ovi. “You want to spend the rest of your life with her? It couldn’t have just been a fuck and duck? Good like with that one, mate. You’re going to need it.”

Chloe opens her mouth to respond but stops when the sliding glass door opens and Tanner wanders out; clad in just a pair of Captain America pajama pants that are too short in the legs, his hair mussed from sleep, pressing the heels of his palms into his tired eyes.

“What are you doing up, mate?” Tyler asks. “It’s late and there’s school tomorrow.”

“I know.” he yawns loudly and wraps both arms around one of his dad’s thigh. “But I’m thirsty and mommy said to tell you.”

“She did, did she?”

Tanner nods.

“Alright, let’s go,” he sets the items in his hands down on the table, then uses one arm to effortlessly scoop his son up onto his hip. He’s long and lanky, but remarkably light. Fifteen pounds smaller than his mere minutes older brother. And he presses a kiss to the side of Tanner’s head, who in turns curls both arms around his neck and nestles his face into his shoulder. Of the twins, he’s the sensitive and affectionate one. Not as much of a momma’s boy anymore, his relationship and bond with his father much stronger since Tyler returned from Ireland. “What do you want?” he asks, as steps into the house, leaving Chloe and Ovi behind without even a farewell or ‘fuck off’. “Wine? Beer? Tequila?”

“No,” Tanner giggles into his neck. “Warm milk.”

“Warm milk? What if I don’t know how to use the stove?”

Another giggle. “Use the microwave.”

“What if I don’t know how to use that?”

“You know how to use the microwave, silly daddy. I seen you do it.”

“Well don’t tell your mum that, okay? Or she’ll expect me to do more around here.”

“I won’t tell. My lips are sealed.” Tanner mimics locking up his mouth and throwing away the key.

Tyler grins. “How are you going to drink your milk if you can’t open your mouth?”

“I can open my mouth, daddy. I was just playin’. Come on now. Get it together.”

He chuckles at that. “You’re starting to sound like your mum.”

“She’s the smart one,” Tanner concludes.

“I don’t know how smart she can be when she hangs around the likes of me.”

“She probably thinks you’re cute!”

“Yeah, that’s probably it. You want down or....”

Tanner shakes his head, expertly wriggles his way around to father’s back, once again wrapping his arms around Tyler’s neck and clamping those long, skinny legs against his torso.

“Your sister asleep?” he asks, as he fetches the milk from the fridge and a mug from the cupboard above the sink.

“Which one?”

“The nice one.”

“Yeah, Addie’s asleep. Millie too. But she’s not nice. At all.”

“Not even sometimes?” he pours some milk into the mug and holds it up for Tanner go give his approval on whether or not it’s enough.

“Maybe sometimes. Like when she beats up the bullies at school.”

“She does that a lot? Beats people up?”

“Once in a while. When they deserve it. Like when they call Teej stupid. I don’t like when they say mean things about him. He’s my brother. We were in mommy’s tummy at the same time, right daddy?”

“At the exact same time,” Tyler confirms, then lets his son push the buttons on the microwave to heat the milk.

“How’d we get in there, tho’?”

“That’s something I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

“How much older?”

“A lot older.”

“How much is a lot?” Tanner presses.

“I dunno. Ten or twenty years.”

“That’s a fucking lot.”

“Hey!” Tyler scolds. “Language.”

“You say it all the time!”

“I’m allowed. I’m older than you.”

“By how much?”

“Thirty-six years.”

“Holy shit! You’re old, daddy! Sorry,” he giggles when his dad scowls at him. “Potty mouth.”

“Yeah, you have a potty mouth, alright. Just make sure when people ask where you learned it from, you say mommy.”

“That’s a lie though. You said never to lie.”

“I’ll give you ten bucks for each time you say it.”

“Okay,” Tanner happily agrees, and then once more wriggles his body around to its original position on his dad’s hip so Tyler can sink down into one of the chairs at the kitchen table; settling his son on his lap, a palm running over his the five year old’s hair, then pressing a kiss to the back to the back of his head.

“School was good today?”

Tanner shrugs and sips at his milk.

“What did you learn about?”

“Dinosaurs.”

“They were teaching you about dinosaurs?”

“I was reading about them. I dunno what everyone else was doing.”

“Look, I’m relying on you to be the smart one, mate. I need you to become a doctor or a lawyer so you that can be really rich when you’re my age and you can take care of me.”

“I don’t want to be a doctor or a lawyer, though.”

“What do you want to be?”

“I dunno. A vet. I like animals.”

“Be a big game vet. They make more money. I’m counting you. You need to be the one that steps it up at school. Because I think I’m going to be saving on college education for your brother. What was his day like? He have any problems?”

“Nope. He was good all day. No one picked on him today.”

“Is that what causes his issues?” Tyler combs his fingers through his son’s hair; Tanner had insisted on his old haircut. The one that Esme had loved so much. It has made the resemblance between them even more startling; all the kids look like him, but there’s something about Tanner that sets him apart from the others. Something stronger in those genes; the same mannerisms and facial expressions. Even the same way of saying certain words. “Someone picks on him?”

“Mostly ‘cause people pick on the other kids and he gets mad about it and wants to protect them.”

It doesn’t surprise Tyler; TJ is the one that will take on his sister if he feels Millie is being mean to Tanner or picking on Declan. And he doesn’t care if he gets the beating of a lifetime. He’s more than willing to put himself on the line if it means sticking up for the underdog.

“Millie has a boyfriend,” Tanner abruptly announces.

Tyler frowns. “Your sister what now?”

“She has a boyfriend,” he casually responds.

“What do you mean she has a boyfriend? She’s not even six yet.”

“Not like boyfriend and girlfriend like you and mommy.”

“Your mom and I are married. We haven’t been boyfriend and girlfriend in a long time.” Where they ever really? They’d never actually put a label on things. Did they just skip that stage? Just going from fucking one another to finding out about Millie to getting married? It had just seemed normal to them. Things had started out unconventionally and the trend just continued. “Who’s the boyfriend?”

“I dunno. Some kid in her class.”

“What’s his name?”

Tanner shrugs.

“What’s he look like?”

“What is this? Twenty questions?”

Tyler chuckles and kisses his son’s cheek. “You are your mother’s son.”

“He’s just some kid. I dunno his name.”

“Is he nice? To your sister?”

“He must be. She hasn’t punched him in the face yet.”

Fair point.

“I’ll give you another ten bucks if you find out what his name is,” Tyler offers.

Tanner shakes his head. “Twenty.”

“For twenty I want pictures of him and his address.”

Tanner throws a hand up in exasperation. “How am I supposed to do that? I’m five.”

“Fifteen and you get me his first and last name.”

Tanner considers it, a pensive frown on his face as he stares down at the now empty mug in his hands. “I can do that,” he eventually agrees. “But I want the money before school tomorrow. Or no deal.”

“You get half tomorrow and the other half when you get the job done and give me the information. That’s how it works. I get proof, you get the rest of the money. You can’t extort me, mate. Nice try though.”

“What’s extort?”

“We got a deal or not?”

“Fine,” Tanner sighs. “Half tomorrow and half later. You’re tough.”

“I’ve got more experience in this stuff than you do. Ready? All done?”

The five-year-old yawns loudly and nods. “I gotta pee though.”

“Go,” he tousles Tanner’s hair. “Hurry up. It’s late. And stay on the deck. Don’t pee on it. Do that in the sand. But do not go any farther than the end of the deck. Got it?”

“Got it,” he agrees, and then jumps off his father’s lap and hurries through the kitchen and out the sliding door.

Tyler stands; grimacing at the tightness in his shoulder and the pain that shoots through his knee and travels all the way down the calf. And he grabs one of the prescription bottles from the highest shelf above the sink and shakes out three of the pain pills and swallows them dry, then adds Tanner’s dirty mug to the dishwasher and turns it on.

“Done!” Tanner announces, and runs towards him, laughing hysterically when his father effortlessly catches him and turns him upside down, his legs wrapping around Tyler’s neck. “Don’t drop me daddy!” he pleads. “You got me?”

“I got you, mate,” he promises, an arm securely pressed against his son’s stomach, free hand turning off the lights to the kitchen go. “Always.”

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fic #tyler rake fan fiction #best part of me #chris hemsworth character #extraction

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albapuella · 4 years

Text

How to Lose a Lover in 10 Days or Less: A Comprehensive Guide to Becoming a Future Romantic Failure (Chapter Three)

AO3

Fandom: Homestuck

Summary: How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days AU Dave needs to win a bet; Karkat needs to write an article. Shenanigans ensue.

Tags: Humanstuck, alternate universe - no sburb session, POV switches galore, implied/referenced child abuse Author’s note: This story is the result of a jam session I did with aceAdoxography on the davekat thirst federation discord server. This one's a little out of my usual wheelhouse, but I hope you will enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. New chapters every Saturday/Sunday. Didn’t bother with the formatting this time: You want the fancy formatting, go to AO3 :D

Day 3:

Since Karkat had not managed to scare Dave off with the... outburst yesterday, he figured he’d hooked the idiot as well as he was ever going to. Which meant it was time to start fucking it up. He did his best to ignore the sense of loss already forming in his chest at the thought. Whatever frustrations he’d felt during that hang out/date thing Dave had put him through yesterday, he couldn’t deny that he’d enjoyed the experience, too.

Dave was a dork who talked too much, but he was also witty and charming in a maladroit sort of way. And it had been nice to have someone appreciate Karkat’s sense of humor in return. For once. A part of him wished he had longer to enjoy their time together, but he knew better.

Since he knew better, he also knew it wasn’t the time to mope. It was time to go on the full offensive. “Offensive” being the operative word. In this case, it meant acting like himself. Karkat had been on his best behavior up to this point, and now he’d show Dave who the “real him” really was. If he played his cards right, he probably wouldn’t even have to go on another date to seal the deal.

Karkat felt his eyes ache, and he hated himself for being such an idiot. He’d known this wasn’t going to last—even without his article, it never would have lasted. He’d already proven a countless number of times that, while a fairly good friend, he was simply terrible as a romantic partner. Dave was just one more guy he’d never really had a chance with. Just one more tally mark to add to his failures.

---

When Dave woke up the next day, he saw that he had quite a few messages waiting for him. A handful from Rose about wedding plans (with a reminder of the dress code, because of course her wedding would have a fully defined dress code). A bunch from his far-flung friend Jade (mostly telling a story which did not require more than a quick “cool” on his part). A couple from John (who was excited that he’d be seeing Dave at the wedding). There were also several from Karkat. Which was kind of a relief: Dave hadn’t liked that he’d been the first one to message him all the time: it made him feel like he was bugging the guy. Especially after waking him up yesterday.

CG: OKAY ASSHOLE, HERE’S THE DEAL:

CG: YOU WANT TO DATE THE REAL ME. FINE.

CG: I AM DONE BEING ON MY BEST BEHAVIOR.

CG: BE PREPARED FOR ME TO COMMENT ON EVERY INANITY THAT DRIBBLES FROM YOUR MOUTH LIKE THE LEAVINGS OF AN INCONTINENT PIGEON.

CG: YOU ARE NOT HALF AS FUNNY AS YOU THINK YOU ARE. ALSO YOUR “RAPS” ARE AN AFFRONT TO THE GENRE AS WELL AS TO THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE.

CG: IF YOU THINK I AM JOKING OR BEING “CUTE”, YOU ARE WRONG. A STATE YOU SHOULD BE EXTREMELY FAMILIAR WITH BECAUSE YOU ARE OBVIOUSLY SUFFERING FROM AT LEAST MODERATE BRAIN DAMAGE.

CG: I AM NOT NOR HAVE I EVER BEEN “A SNACK”. I ALSO DO NOT HAVE A “SEXY PROFESSOR THING GOING”. IN THE ENTIRE SPAN OF MY MISERABLE EXISTENCE, I HAVE NEVER BEEN ANYTHING WHICH COULD BE CONSIDERED TO BE IN EVEN THE MEAGEREST OF WAYS “SEXY”.

CG: MAYBE YOU WOULD BE ABLE TO SEE THAT FOR YOURSELF IF YOU EVER TOOK OFF THOSE DOUCHE SHADES YOU ARE ALWAYS WEARING.

CG: I HOPE YOU HAVE ENJOYED THIS SMALL TASTE OF WHAT IS TO COME IN YOUR FUTURE SHOULD YOU DECIDE TO KEEP DATING ME.

Dave read the messages a few times, frowning. Mostly, he felt confused, too confused to feel either amused or insulted. Sudden. This was sudden. Also, the more he read the messages, the more he thought Karkat was being more mean to himself than to Dave. His inner Rose (the voice which sounded like Rose but was not nearly as smart as the real thing) said that Karkat was lashing out, hoping to hurt Dave before Dave could hurt him.

And wasn’t that sad?

TG: first of all

TG: you are a total snack

TG: this is not negotiable

TG: do not pass go do not collect 200 dollars

TG: not to be all objectifying or whatever

TG: but that was literally the first thing i thought when i saw you

TG: that guy is a total snack

TG: and fuck you you are sexy

TG: i bet you look even better without the sweater

TG: you are the bank and im the debtor

TG: payin compliments is my cheddar

TG: need proof read the letter

TG: dear mr vantas you are hella sexy signed me

CG: OH MY GOD.

CG: THAT WAS THE PART YOU CHOSE TO FOCUS ON. I DO NOT UNDERSTAND YOU AT ALL. MOST PEOPLE DON’T LIKE BEING INSULTED. IS THIS A KINK FOR YOU? IS THAT WHAT THIS IS? ARE YOU A FUCKING MASOCHIST?

Dave was grinning so much his cheeks hurt. Nailed it.

TG: im not a masochist

TG: but i think i might be getting a thing for grumpy assholes

TG: it needs more testing

TG: how about we hang out for a few hours today

TG: and see

“CG is typing” appeared and disappeared several times.

CG: REALLY. YOU REALLY WANT TO KEEP DATING ME.

TG: yea unless you dont want to keep dating me

TG: i hope you do

TG: want to keep dating me

TG: i want to know you better

TG: and kiss you sometime

This time the “CG is typing” message went on for quite a while. Dave wondered if maybe he shouldn’t have sent that last message. Then again, he’d already called the guy sexy several times; saying he wanted to kiss him wasn’t weird.

CG: IF YOU’RE SURE YOU WANT TO KEEP DOING THIS, THEN FINE. OKAY. I THINK I WANT TO GET TO KNOW YOU BETTER TOO. JUST REMEMBER I GAVE YOU AMPLE WARNING OF WHAT THE REAL ME IS LIKE. WHEN I INEVITABLY END UP HURTING YOUR FEELINGS, YOU WILL HAVE NO ONE TO BLAME BUT YOURSELF.

TG: score

---

After, unwisely, agreeing to meet Dave at the park again before going to some secret secondary date destination he had in mind, Karkat slipped his phone into his pocket in a daze. He was still reeling. Where had he misjudged this situation? He’d been certain he’d done enough to scare Dave away, and yet, here he was with another date to prepare for. Masochism or brain damage—those were the only options. Considering how much Dave had insisted on Karkat’s attractiveness, he was leaning towards the latter.

Of course, the words alone were only half of the total package. Even Dave would find difficulty deriving whatever enjoyment he got out of Karkat’s insults when they were being delivered at an ear-ringing volume. Karkat heaved a deep sigh. All he had to do was be himself on this date. That had always been enough for every other person he’d dated to leave him. Dave would be no different: he was just dumber, so it was taking him longer to get with the program.

* Thinks I’m “sexy”. Definite brain damage. Probable masochist. Raps have not increased in quality but I’m starting to get used to them.

---

The problem was Dave knew what he liked to do, what he found fun, but he didn’t know Karkat well enough yet to have much of an idea of what Karkat liked to do. Usually, Dave would have just asked, but seeing as Karkat had just been prepared to be dumped, he didn’t think the question would go over well.

When Dave approached the YO this time, Karkat was already sitting on the bench. His head was bowed over his notepad, and he was furiously writing. Although tempted to look over his shoulder and see what he was doing, Dave decided not to. If it turned out to be something deeply personal, he’d feel like a creep.

Whatever it was held Karkat’s full attention. Dave could be very stealthy, but he wasn’t even trying to be quiet as he got closer. Finally, he was standing right beside where Karkat was sitting. Still nothing. Remembering the reaction he’d gotten the other day, he flopped down close to Karkat, making the other man jump. “Hey.”

Karkat brought his notepad up to his chest, hiding it, and glared. Despite his clear irritation and the roominess of the bench, he didn’t move away. “What the fuck, Dave? Are you incapable of conducting yourself like a normal person? Or am I just special?”

Dave grinned. Looked like Karkat had meant what he’d said about acting more like himself. “I don’t know, you are pretty special. Not in the Special Olympics way,” he hastened to add as he realized his compliment might not come across complimentary. “I mean, nothing against them, they’re great,” he continued, now realizing the actual insult he was now offering them and not wanting to be that guy, “but that’s not what I’m talking about.”

A sort of disbelieving half-smile. “Should I stop you now, or let you keep going?”

“Oh, definitely stop me,” Dave said, relieved. He gestured to the notepad Karkat was no longer holding so tightly against himself. “What are you working on?”

“Nothing important,” Karkat said brusquely, shoving the notepad into his bag as though it had personally offended him. “Something for my work.”

It occurred to Dave that he actually had no idea what Karkat did for a living. “What do you do?”

For a moment, Karkat only regarded him with deep suspicion. Then he sighed. “I write for Dubiously Cultured.” Apparently, Dave’s confusion showed on his face, for he elaborated, “It’s basically a gay Cosmo.” Then he frowned. “You know, a magazine with fashion tips? Make-up? Relationship advice?”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Dave said quickly. The last thing he wanted was for his eyes to glaze over on his date like they did when Rose started talking about her magazine (whose title he could not recall at this moment if he’d been being held at gunpoint). “Are you writing an article? Laying down the keep your man tips for the masses?”

Even Karkat seemed surprised by the laughter abruptly bursting from him. “Something like that,” he said once he’d recovered. “You work as a DJ at the Glass, right?”

Honestly, Dave was shocked. He’d been sure Karkat had been just tuning him out! Then again, he had remembered he was from Texas, too. Maybe he just always looked bored and pissed off. “Yeah. It’s not super steady, but it pays the bills.” It actually didn’t pay the bills; Rose’s mom (his mom, she was also his mom) sent him money every month to pay for the apartment and various other expenses. However, his sad family history wasn’t exactly third date material. “You ever been?”

Karkat leveled Dave with a skeptical look which seemed to indicate his estimation of Dave’s intelligence had started low and was only getting lower. “Do I look like the kind of person that would get past a bouncer? Are you actually visually impaired, or are you making fun of me?” He shook his head. “I can see myself in the mirror, jackass; I know what I look like. Stop pretending I’m,” he held up his hands to make the finger quotes, ‘hot’.”

“I’m insulted you would think I’d lie about your hotness. You’re a fucking rooftop in the middle of a Texas summer. I should know; I’ve been there.” The metaphor stirred up memories Dave didn’t want to think about, and he wrapped an arm around Karkat’s shoulder. He immediately wished he’d done it sooner. “Anyway, I’ve already told you, you are a snack. You might as well accept it. It’s obvious. Everyone with eyes can see it. Not you, for some reason, but everyone else.”

“That’s just not true, Dave.” Before he could contest this, Karkat continued, “Most blind people still have eyes, idiot, and they can’t see anything, let alone support your dubious assertion that I’m attractive.” The words practically dripped with sarcasm even as he settled into Dave’s half-embrace. “You’re being so fucking insensitive right now.”

“Oh, shit, you’re right.” The part of Dave not worrying about the words flowing out of his mouth registered how nice and warm Karkat felt under his arm and pressed against his side. “Well, if they got to feel you up, they’d agree you were a snack, too. So, checkmate, Karkat. Check fucking mate. You’re just going to have to accept it. Majority vote. You’re a snack.”

Karkat looked up. “If you tell me you want to eat me, I’m leaving now and blocking your chumhandle.” Then his gaze shifted away. “This is nice,” he said, his voice softer than Dave had thought he was capable of. Maybe it was Dave’s burgeoning hearing loss, but he sounded… sad.

While Dave wanted to ask why he sounded so sad, he figured Karkat would tell him if he wanted him to know. After all, they still hadn’t known each other for very long yet. What was needed was a distraction, and Dave had just the thing to cheer both of them up. “If you think this is nice, you should be super excited for our date.”

---

Karkat had been feeling guilty again. It really had been nice, sitting on that bench in front of that giant art installation, to pretend that there was actually some sort of future for them. For him and Dave. Together. So, he’d been feeling guilty—even if he was an idiot who talked too much, Dave wasn’t a bad guy, and he didn’t deserve what Karkat planned on putting him through.

At least, that’s what Karkat had been thinking until they’d arrived at their final destination.

“A karaoke bar?” Karkat felt a scowl furrow his brow, and he turned it onto Dave, who had the audacity to be grinning at him. “It might interest you to know that I can’t fucking sing.”

Dave shrugged. “No one can at these places, Karkat. That’s why it’s fun.” He pushed his glasses down his nose, allowing Karkat the briefest glimpse of his eyes before he pushed them up again. “You’ve had fun before right? Or do we have to go slow and ease you into it, because fun is a hotel pool with a broken heater, and you haven’t raided the mini-bar yet.”

“Of course I know what fun is, you festering anal wart.” He saw himself ranting reflected in the lenses of Dave’s stupid glasses and looked away. “Fun is a walk in the park, or watching a movie, or going on a picnic, or playing a game. Fun is not embarrassing yourself in front of dozens of strangers by subjecting them to what can only laughingly be called your singing voice!” He started at the unexpected hand on his shoulder but made no move to shrug it off.

“Hey,” Dave said quietly, “if you really don’t want to be here, we can do something else. I don’t really know what you like yet outside of chick flicks. And writing for a magazine. And coming up with creative insults for me.” His grip on Karkat’s shoulder tightened slightly. “Help me out here, Karkat; I’m drowning with only seconds left to live. You’re the hot lifeguard, and I’m gonna need your sweet lips on mine fairly soon, or else I’m leaving the beach in a body bag. And no one wants that.”

Karkat turned back to face Dave. There were so many things to unpack in this latest offering of word vomit that he wasn’t even going to make the attempt. “Do you ever actually listen to the things you say?”

“I try not to,” Dave said blithely. “Messes with my flow.” Then the smile faded. “I mean it, though. If you want to go somewhere else, we totally can. I don’t have my heart set on this place; I just thought it’d be fun. Maybe you’d loosen up a little.”

“I am exactly as loose as I want to be,” Karkat sniped back, tacitly admitting that now he was the one saying stupid things. As much as he wanted to make things difficult for Dave for the sake of his article, he really couldn’t deny being touched that Dave was willing to change his plans because Karkat had complained about them.

Besides, while Karkat could be (and often was) loudly unpleasant and vulgar, it wasn’t the kind of thing he could force. He had to feel it. And he wasn’t feeling it. “No, we can stay. Just are there private rooms?”

Dave was frowning, perhaps in displeasure, perhaps in thought. “We can check.”

---

It turned out that there were private rooms, but they were prohibitively expensive. If this had been something Karkat had really wanted to do, Dave would have shelled out the cash, but he’d known he’d made the right call to spend the date elsewhere when he’d given Karkat the verdict and his shoulders had immediately relaxed.

Although Karkat had also protested that he wasn’t much better at bowling than he was at singing, he’d seemed less agitated about the prospect. He’d actually smiled a little when Dave had confided that he, too, wasn’t much of a bowler. Dave also wasn’t much of a drinker, but when Karkat offered to buy him a beer, he’d accepted it.

Dave was currently sipping his apple? flavored ale from the chair in their section of the alley and watching Karkat lob yet another ball down the gutter. This made, what? the tenth in a row? Dave had managed via blind luck to hit a strike with his first shot—a feat he had not been able to repeat—and that had pissed Karkat off like nothing else. Each additional failure to even get his ball any closer to hitting any of the pins only made Karkat’s face redder.

The only question was when he was going to pop.

“FUCK!” Karkat stomped back to the ball return. “FUCK ME, FUCK BOWLING, AND FUCK YOU, DAVE. YOU THINK YOU’RE BETTER THAN ME? NEWSFLASH, FUCK FACE, YOU ARE JUST AS OBJECTIVELY TERRIBLE AT THIS AS I AM—AT LEAST *I* HAVE THE FUCKING DECENCY TO BE ASHAMED OF MYSELF!”

Dave made absolutely no attempt to hold back his laughter.

“Hey, do you mind watching your language?” An older man in the next lane was giving Karkat quite an impressive glare. “There are kids present.”

Karkat’s face went purple.

---

“Well, Karkat,” Dave said as they walked down the street to no stated destination, his tone infuriatingly casual, “I can honestly say I’ve never been kicked out of a bowling alley before. I can scratch that off the old bucket list. It wasn’t on there because I hadn’t thought of it, but now I see I was blind to the possibilities. Thanks for opening my third eye or some shit like that.”

Karkat had let Dave put his stupid arm around his shoulders about a block back, and he hated the fact it felt so comforting. Bad enough he’d made an ass out of himself over nothing in public (again!), but it hadn’t even worked. He’d wanted to piss Dave off by showcasing his abhorrent personality, and he’d failed miserably. It wasn’t even his fault he’d failed either. For some inscrutible fucking reason, the idiot found temper tantrums hilarious to watch rather than embarrassing to be associated with. “Fuck you, Dave,” he said quietly, his energy quite spent.

Dave chuckled. Case in fucking point. “Aw come on, don’t be like that. It’s not like we’re banned from the place.” He paused. “I’m probably not going to get you to go there again anyway, am I?”

“I am never stepping foot back into that establishment, no.”

“Are you still pissed at me for that strike?” Dave’s voice sounded disbelieving. Maybe a little hurt. “I told you, man, it was a fluke. I wasn’t trying to hustle you. If I’d wanted to hustle you, there’d be money involved. That’s how that shit works. It’s like the definition of a hustle.”

Karkat sighed. “No, I’m not mad about that.” He hadn’t really been that mad about it in the bowling alley either. He’d just been frustrated. Loudly. Which was how he usually expressed his frustration. In the moment, it made him feel better… afterwards, he just felt tired. “I’m just really fucking embarrassed, okay? I know embarrassment is probably a foreign concept for you, but—”

Then he was being hugged. He tensed for a moment, then relaxed into it. He knew he shouldn’t be accepting Dave’s comfort, that this was only going to make things harder in the long run, but he couldn’t help himself. He really was such a selfish asshole. His head fell naturally against Dave’s shoulder, and he felt a distressingly familiar ache in his eyes. “Why are you hugging me?”

A soft guff of laughter blew past his ear. “Dude, you looked like you needed a hug. I’m not a hug expert or anything, but sometimes you look at a guy and think, that guy, he needs a hug.” The arms around him held him just a little tighter. “I hope you leave me a good review on yelp.”

Karkat choked on his unexpected laughter. “Dave. You are so fucking ridiculous.” As much as a part of him wanted to remain in his arms, he knew if he stayed any longer, he really would start crying. “Let go of me, asshole.”

Dave did so with only a moment’s hesitation. He put his hands on his hips. “So, what do you think?”

“About what?” Karkat successfully resisted the urge to wipe his eyes. With any luck, Dave wouldn’t notice how tear bright they probably were. Why was he getting so emotional anyway? None of this would matter soon enough.

“My review,” Dave said as though Karkat should have any idea what he was talking about. “Five out of five stars, right? Don’t crash my yelp score, dude—I have a reputation to maintain as hug master supreme; it’s all I have.”

And Karkat was laughing again. It really felt good.

---

* Gives nice hugs. Doesn’t respect personal space. Karaoke bar? Shitty bowler. Why isn’t this working?

---

{{ The third step is the ego. For Dr. Freud (famous psychology hack), the ego was a moderator. For our purposes, we return to the original Latin: I. Make it all about you and your comfort. If you have had enough of your short-term partner’s incessant prattle, say so. When you want to scream, do it at the top of your lungs. Use whatever language feels best to you at all times regardless of the situation. Make your short-term partner embarrassed to be associated with you. If you can get you and your short-term partner kicked out of an establishment due to your behavior, so much the better. However, if you find that such antics only serve to amuse your short-term partner, cease them immediately. The point of this exercise is to humiliate your short-term partner, not further endear you to them. Also, in the event that you are more embarrassed by your conduct than your short-term partner is, under no circumstances allow them to comfort you. It will only distract you from your objective. }}

#Homestuck #humanstuck #davekat #fan fic #my fic #wip

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puckrmn · 4 years

Text

Drunk On You || Peychuck

DATE & TIME: Nov 24. 3ish AM.

TAGGING: @peytonhudson and @thepuckrmn

LOCATION: Puck’s apartment

SUMMARY: Post-night out shenanigans.

WARNINGS: I’d say it’s like PG-13ish stuff.

PEYTON

“You are... *so* hot.” Peyton smirks, crawling onto Puck’s lap and kissing at his cheek playfully. She doesn’t remember what she’s had to drink, or how much exactly, but she knows her body feels like it’s borderline flying and the man she’s on top of is literally the only person she remembers seeing tonight. Which is fine, because really, he’s the only person she wants to see. “I like your apartment.” She tells him grinning, and running her hand absentmindedly down his arm. “Thank you for not making me crawl through the window like I make you do... Broken bones are kind of the *worst*. We had a dog come into the clinic the other day with a broken leg and even though he got the world’s cutest cast, I really just wanted to swap with him... His name was Pablo. Did you know that dogs can smell your feelings?” Useless animal information tended to fly out of her mouth apparently when she was both nervous and drunk. Both of which she was right now - Though the latter helped the former. “Do you think they’d be able to smell how into you I am?”

PUCK

Puck chuckled as he leaned back to allow her to get onto his lap. After a night of a lot of drinking and practically having sex on the dance floor, the two found themselves back at Puck’s bachelor pad surrounded by drunk food they picked up on their way home. Draping his arm over her leg, he sat there staring at her with a slight smirk on his face as she rambled at him for what felt like the millionth time in their relationship. “I’d be impressed as fuck if you somehow managed to climb into the window of my third story apartment.” He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and smirked. “I’m not sure. I bet your new dog is definitely going to notice you smelling like sex all the time,” he joked. “I mean Sugar knows you’re hella into some mystery guy. So it’s possible.” Puck leaned up and pressed his lips to hers for a moment. “Can you smell how into you I am?” he muttered as he nipped her lower lip.

PEYTON

“So climbing up walls is all it takes to impress you? I’ll have to remember that.” Peyton grins, lifting her eyes in mock thought . She still couldn’t work out why Puck was seeing her, she wasn’t dangerous, or (through no lack of trying) badass, she was just... her. Puck could have anyone in this town, she knew that. Her nose crinkles, and her cheeks flush pink for a second, “Sugar told you?... She didn’t tell you who this mystery man was though did she? Because that could make our not-not-a-date date a little awkward.” She joked, and before she could continue rambling, the breath against her lips, takes her away. She nods slowly, leaning in to kiss him again. “I... umm.. I like the way you smell.” She whispers, pulling away and resting her forehead softly against his. “Is that weird?”

PUCK

Puck shook his head at her question. “She didn’t say who it was. We were just talking about how our dream threesome with you could never happen now that you’re with your mystery man,” he explained. His eyes closed as she rested her forehead against his. “It’s not weird at all.” His hands ran slowly over her back as he just held her close to his body and enjoyed the moment. This situation was completely new to him and took him way out of his comfort zone. He was used to doing what he wanted and not caring about who he hurt in his path. This was different. She was someone he never wanted to hurt. Sighing, he opened his hazel eyes and stared into her brown ones. “You drive me fucking nuts, Hudson. You’re fucking intoxicating. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to explain what the hell you do to me,” he said softly, the alcohol coursing through his veins allowing him to be more honest than usual.

PEYTON

Peyton’s grin lights up her face when he talks, more so than it usually does when she’s in Puck’s presence. “You don’t have any idea how great you are, do you? You can’t say things like that to me and not expect me to fall for you.” She half jokes, knowing that the more time she spent with him, the more time she wants to. “You know I only want to be with you, Puck Puckerman, right? You’re not my distraction — though to be fair, you are very distracting. I mean, I was doing a presentation the other day on a case study and I accidentally called the dog Puck... thankfully I don’t think anyone noticed? but it was still... something. Anyway, my inability to not think about you is not the point i’m trying to make.” Blushing, she pulls back, and lets her hands rest on his chest softly. “I need you to stop thinking I’m going to end up with Ben... or anyone else. Let me be with you until you get bored of me.” She chuckles, the circling alcohol helping her not stumble over her words for once. “Ben doesn’t make me feel the way you do. Not even Devon makes me feel the way you do and I’m looking at him with cheese fries goggles.”

PUCK

“Puck would be a great name for a dog. Puck the pug? I mean come on,” he joked. “I think about you a lot too,” he added simply. Puck listened to her try to convince him once more that he was the one she wanted to be with. Taking her left hand in his, he carefully played with fingers as he tried to process what she was saying. He could tell she was being sincere, but that didn’t help silence the voice in the back of his head. The voice that said he would never beat the connection that Peyton and Ben had. The voice that kept saying she deserved someone better. The voice that he was going to ignore for now. Puck raised their connected hands to his face and placed a small kiss on her ring finger. Sighing, he looked back up at the girl seated in his lap. “Are you sure you don’t wanna go get married?”

PEYTON

At least he wasn’t arguing that she belonged with Ben this time. That was an improvement she would take, if only because she knew one day he’d believe her. She was persistent, and even though Puck did the opposite of helping her think straight, she knew she wanted him. Peyton smiles softly at the kiss, and nods adamantly. “Lets do it,” She jokes, folding her fingers into his. “I don’t know where you can get married at this time of night... but I don’t see how it could be a bad idea at all. We don’t need rings, I’ll tattoo a puppy on your ring finger and you’ll know you’re mine.” She says with a small laugh and traces an outline of a puppy on his shirt to show her skills. “I could be a great tattoo artist, y’know? Not the most insanely attractive one in town, but... I can take second to you.”

PUCK

“Vegas, baby,” he replied before pecking her lips. “Just kidding. That’s basic as fuck.” He smirked and looked down at her finger as it moved over his chest. “That…I could actually make happen. Rings are overrated. Tattoos are more badass. Although I kinda don’t know if I want a puppy on my finger. What about a P. P for Peyton. And you’re so much fucking hotter than me. You’d be the hottest tattoo artist in town.,” he added. Puck nodded down at his shirt for a moment. “You can take that off whenever you want, by the way.” He shifted her in his lap so that she was straddling him. “So…Sugar’s nude…you’re into that?” he asked as his hands snuck under her shirt, caressing the skin on her back. “Because the idea of you enjoying that…is pretty fucking hot.”

PEYTON

Peyton rolls her eyes playfully, “There is no one in this town that is hotter than you, Puck. I’m not even sure you’re real half the time.” It still made no sense that someone like him would want to be with someone like her, it was like one massive dream. But she wasn’t going to question it. Not tonight, probably not ever. If it was a dream she didn’t want to wake up. “P works too.” She tells him with a slight smirk, taking his hint and pulling the shirt off over his head, tossing it to the ground without much thought. Shirtless Puck was a whole new level of distracting, and despite having seen him shirtless time after time now -- almost every night since they’d first slept together, it still flusters her for a moment. “And I’ll-i’ll get a P...” She says stumbling over her words before looking up at him, with flushed cheeks. “For Puck... Or puppy. Because you’re sort of the same thing. Sounds like the perfect first tattoo to me.” She knows he’s joking... At least she assumes, but somehow the idea doesn’t bother her at all. Maybe she was putting her heart into something that was never going to work, but she was in with Puck. All in.

“I thought it was a very nicely taken photo.” She laughs, and wraps her arms around his shoulders, playing with the strands of hair at the back of his head absentmindedly. “But Sugar is beautiful... And clearly very attractive. It was a nice surprise. Really nice.” She kisses at the tip of his nose gently. “You can admit you liked it, babe. It was hot."

PUCK

He chuckled and kissed her forehead. “If I’m not real…then you’ve been having the longest and most elaborate wet dream ever,” he joked. Puck leaned forward and lifted his arms to help her with her task. “Matching P tattoos instead of rings. Boom done. Hawaii here we come. But first…” he drifted off before grabbing the bottom of her shirt and slowly pulling it up and over her head. “…there. Now we match.” Puck pulled her closer to his body, enjoying the feeling of her body heat against his. Puck knew the whole secret relationship was taking a toll on the both of them, more so on Peyton than him, but he really did enjoy the little bubble they created for themselves. Things just would be messy once other people starting throwing in their opinion about the situation. Smirking at the kiss to his nose, he shrugged at her comment. “It was hot. I did enjoy it. But I’m enjoying the fact that you enjoyed it so much more.” Puck leaned forward and kissed her for a moment before a thought crossed his mind. “She said my dick was ‘not bad’. I think she meant to say it was the greatest thing she’s ever seen.”

PEYTON

“Hawaii here we come.” She repeats, holding her arms up for a brief moment to make it easier for her shirt to come off. Still feeling alcohol in her veins, every touch on her skin from Puck felt like a small burst of electricity was shooting through her body, and honestly? it was hard to be close to him and not want to very quickly take off the rest of his clothing. She was drunk, and he was the hot... So hot. Peyton had never had a problem questioning her sexuality, she knew from a young age she found both men and women attractive, and she was fortunate growing up in a house where no one asked her to define who she was with a label. She was free to be herself. She’d never hesitated when someone was hot... And sugar is hot -- maybe if her heart wasn’t entirely invested in Puck she would think about dating her. “Yeah? Is this where you tell me you want to have a threesome with Sugar? Is that the dream here?” She jokes, leaning in to deepen the kiss and in turn shutting her up for a minute. A trick which only Puck seemed to have mastered. “So... Sugar was the person you sent the dick pick to?” Peyton swallows thickly, chewing on the inside of her lip and suddenly feeling weirdly insecure. It was easier knowing he sent a pic than knowing who he sent it to. But she was going to be cool... She could totally be cool. “I think it’s the greatest thing I’ve ever seen... If umm... that counts?”

PUCK

Puck smirked at Peyton’s question. “I mean…I won’t say no if the opportunity presented itself. But it’s not like I’m going door to door campaigning for it to happen.” Sure a threesome with Peyton and Sugar would be any dude’s dream come true, but it wasn’t on the top of his to do list. He was having a great time with the girl in his arms and wasn’t trying to rock the boat anytime soon. His fingers easily unclasped her bra as she deepened their kiss. He stopped his motion as he felt her pull away from him. Puck furrowed his brow as he watched Peyton process the dick pic information. He was an emotional idiot, but even he could tell that this was bothering her. He hooked a finger under her chin to force her to look him in the eyes. “Hey. It wasn’t me hitting on her. She just didn’t believe that I’m packing heat. Your opinion counts. Your opinion always counts, baby.” Puck ran his thumb across her cheek and smiled. “Plus I’m tryna hook your brother up with her….so that she can stop trying to date you if I’m being honest…I mean I even gave her shitty intel about you…because I kinda wanna keep you to myself. Only if that’s ok with you…”

PEYTON

Peyton lets her gaze meet his, and it’s easy to believe him when he looks at her like that. He could tell her dinosaurs were roaming outside and she would believe him... every single word. She trusts him. Wholeheartedly. Smiling softly, she nods and bites down on her bottom lip gently, trying to remember words as she sat on top of him without half her clothing and his thumb strokes her cheek. “You can keep me. I’m happy to be all yours, Puck Puckerman.” She says simply. “You’re so cute... Like an otter I just want to hold hands with all the time. But not actually hold hands because that’s not our thing, but sea otter’s they hold hands when they’re swimming so they never drift apart? It’s very cute. They’re also just as loving, if not more loving than humans, they just don’t like to show it all the time. So yeeeah... you’re an otter.” That might be the least sexy thing Peyton has ever said while not fully clothed, but once the words started coming it was hard for her to stop. She closes her eyes for a second, chuckling shortly at how lame she just sounded, before taking a deep breath. “I’m going to try that again. Does umm... This not-not-a-date date end up in your bed? Because as great as your couch is, I wouldn’t hate for you to be on top of me.” She continues with a faint smirk. “Was that better?”

PUCK

Puck raised an eyebrow as she started rambling about otters. He had been around her long enough to know that when she started babbling about animals it means the nerves were getting to her. “...aren’t otters what they call hairy skinny gay guys?” He glanced down at his chest and then back up at Peyton. “I mean I am kinda hairy,” he joked. A smirk played on his lips as she shifted gears away from animals and back to the fact that they were both half-naked. He pretended to think over her question for a moment. “Ya know...I think I could make that happen.” Grabbing her thighs, he easily stood up with her in his arms and navigated his small apartment to his bedroom. Puck carefully laid her on his bed and crawled over her. “Your bed is like a million times more comfortable than this is.” He brushed a strand away from her face and smiled. “But I am really happy that you’re here right now,” he added before leaning down to hungrily connect their lips.

PEYTON

The way Puck smirks as she rambles makes her heart jump every time, but she is admittedly thankful when the topic is switched and his arms are instead taking her to the bedroom. Looking up at his smiling hazel eyes, she grins, “I don’t know, this feels pretty comfortable to me.” Kissing him is something Peyton could do all day — and if she wasn’t already drunk, she would be after feeling his lips and his body weight against her for more than a minute. Puck did something to her, something she wasn’t prepared to give up anytime soon. Somewhere between their lips crashing and her legs hooking around his waist, her hands fumbled at the top at his jeans, struggling to focus on both *him* and his buttons at the same time. “I think your pants are broken.” She laughs defeatedly against him, giving up and wrapping her arms around his shoulders, sliding her fingers into his hair. “Maybe we’ll just have to... cuddle? I hear sex is very overrated... Save it for the wedding night?” She teases, her eyes closing as she moves her lips down to his neck.

PUCK

His hands gripped her waist tightly as the kiss grew with passion. He dropped his head against the bed as her lips moved to his neck, his weak spot. “You know...I’m usually really against cuddling...but you’re just so fucking good at it...and we should probably save ourselves until marriage...but...”he drifted off as his hands moved from her waist to the front of her body. In an easy motion, Puck had her jeans unbuttoned in a second. Kneeling up on the bed, he worked on tugging her pants down her legs and tossing them aside. “...I’m so much better at taking off clothes.” Puck stared down at her as he easily undid his own jeans. “You’re beautiful,” he said simply as pushed his pants down his legs and kicked them away. Grabbing her waist, he playfully threw her further up the bed before leaning down to eagerly reconnect their lips.

PEYTON

“Yes, yes you are.” She says with a playful smile on her lips. As much fun as it was being so tightly against him tonight as they danced, having him alone and watching as he pushed the clothing off his seemingly photoshopped body was a thousand times better. “And you’re perfect.” Peyton breathes in response, her laughter filling the room as she’s thrown further up before her lips are fused with his. Arms wrapping around his shoulders she pulls him down closer, moulding their bodies together and twisting her legs into to his to deepen their kiss as much as she could. Almost reluctantly, her lips pull apart from his, though close enough to still feel the warmth of his breath. “I need you, Puck.” She tells him in a whisper, keeping her eyes closed so he doesn’t realize that even in her tipsy state, she’s not just talking about his body.

PUCK

His hands eagerly roamed her body as the kiss grew more desperate between the two. It was always effortless with Peyton. His body responded to her touch instantly. Being with her just felt right to him. A groan fell from his lips as she pulled away, immediately missing the contact. Her whispered voice caused a smirk to appear on his face, clueless about any deeper meaning behind the words. “I’m right here, baby,” he muttered as he pressed a kiss to her cheek. Pulling away slightly, Puck reached across the bed to dig through his night stand. Grabbing the desired item, he held it up so she could see. “Boy Scout motto. Always be prepared,” he joked, dropping the condom onto the bed next to them before leaning down to recapture her lips with his and get lost in each other’s bodies once more.

PEYTON

Peyton’s lips mimic the smirk playing on his, and she really doesn’t care that her drunken declaration is washed aside. It didn’t even matter, when it was just the two of them the world disappeared anyway. She pinches at his side jokingly as he pulls away to search through his draws. “I just wanted to make sure this wasn’t an elaborate drunk wet dream... but I think you’re real.” She comments teasingly, distracted quickly (and more than happily) by his return and the feeling of his body against hers. There was a mental note made to ask him about his time in Boy Scouts, but it could wait. That was kind of the great thing about being with Puck, it all felt like it could wait.

#para: drunk on you #para: peyton #peyton #para

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blueyesandleatherjacket · 5 years

Text

The summertime of our lives, 2/?

Volume: 1.

Number of parts: 2/?.

Pairings: Ninetoo x Rose.

A/N: Written for @doctorroseprompts summer bingo. Five summer-themed words: Beach, flower, heat, kiss, travel (BINGO!). Tagging @thebookster on her demand.

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” - William Shakespeare.

CHAPTER 2:

“So, you’ve requisitioned your dad’s yacht for me?” They were back in the small house and she had wrapped him in a warm blanket. It was summer but it wasn’t exceedingly hot outside, especially this close to the sea. Plus, in small towns like this, there were always curious getting up early to wander around for gossips. A half-naked new man with a respected heiress was perfect, particularly since they weren’t married. He never cared for gossips before. He didn’t have any time to give to those. But now he was human and it was really annoying to be the centre of those talks. He had heard too many of them in London. He hoped not to live the same thing here. “Don’t call him dad, please.” Rose put two cups of hot tea and a box of sugar on the table and sat down on the opposite side of his. It was a small table, barely enough room for two, but this proximity would bring them closer. London was too large, too big and it kept digging a distance between them in a universe where they didn’t belong. Jackie was the only one to fit in nicely. “Why not? You were born from a father named Pete Tyler. Different universe but same man.” “We don’t get along that well.” The Doctor put a sugar cube in his cup and stirred the drink. Rose looked away. The view she had from the window was more interesting than that talk about Peter Tyler, a father she had lost in her original universe. She would have given anything to spend more time with him… but that time was given to her with an alternate version of him. A version that was very different from the one she met in 1987. “For mum, it was easy. He got used to her very quickly. He was already married to her. No matter the version, mum is… mum.” The Doctor snorted. He had no difficulty in picturing that. “But me… I never existed in this universe. Never had any room. He saved me because I was mum’s most precious thing in life. He adopted me, helped me to success in what I wanted. We try to keep up appearances but we’ve never been close. We are cold, awkward.” There was a silence and she realised he had moved from his chair when he wrapped her into one of his comforting embraces. She didn’t resist, she hid her face in his naked shoulder. She sniffled, wiped away the tears from her face, from his bare skin. He never said a word, waited for her to be done. “And then, Tony came.” She didn’t hate on her little brother. It was all the contrary. When she was younger, she had wished for all of this. She had wanted a father and siblings. She had been raised as an only child, been used to have all of her mother’s attention. The, the Doctor came and it had had no importance anymore. Until she was stranded here. And sometimes, she felt very alone, very abandoned. She couldn’t go to her mother for she feared to be considered as selfish for needing attention, to be told to be happy because she had everything she had ever dreamt of. The Doctor highly doubted that Jackie would ever think so badly of her daughter. The woman was terrible and ready to anything to protect her Rose. He had seen it immediately when he came into their lives. This universe might have put some distance between them but their bond could never be broken. They just needed a proper and serious talk. As now wasn’t the time, the Doctor did the only thing he could. Something she had done for him before. “Now you’ve got me and I’m never gonna leave you. You’re stuck with me.” He didn’t have to look down at her to know it had brought a smile to her lips. He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. Her hair still had that salty smell from their night bath in the sea. She hadn’t showered yet. Neither did he. They had just dried themselves off and gone to bed. They hadn’t been there for a full day and it already had considerably pulled them closer to each other and pushed them to open up more easily. A more exotic destination probably wouldn’t have had this effect. “So, that yacht?” “My captain needed a ship.” “Not quite the type of ship I’m used to pilot.” “They’re announcing a peak of heat wave in the next few days. We should enjoy the time we have to go on that yacht, don’t you think?” The Doctor grinned. Yes, that indeed was the kind of plans he could like. They drank their tea and rushed to the bathroom where they fought about the little room they had to move in. The Doctor mumbled something about humans and their inability to create bigger on the inside rooms to which Rose retorted that he was also human before throwing a sponge bath at him, sponge bath he avoided just in time. He responded with a toothbrush and the fight continued until the bathroom was flooded and the Doctor had to retreat in their bedroom. He opened his suitcase and pulled on his usual jeans with a T-shirt branded with one stupid quote. The only proper shirt shirts you could find in this universe apparently. “I have something better for you.” She grabbed her suitcase and threw it on the bed. She opened it and looked through her clothes and underwear. The Doctor felt his ear turn red. Rose and him never went intimate. There had been kisses and small touches but they hadn’t gone that far. His confusion, adaptation and questions had prevented them from getting this close. So seeing laced panties and other elaborate underwear in her suitcase was making him rather uncomfortable. He turned his head away and slightly cleared his throat, causing Rose to have a quiet laugh. All impressive that he pretended to be, he could still be embarrassed by the smallest things. “Here.” “You can’t be serious.” She was holding out to him the most hideous outfit he had ever seen – and he had seen a lot of them in his life – and he wouldn’t accept to wear this one in this life. In the sixth incarnation, he maybe would have accepted. The criminal outfit consisted in a bright red shirt with big white flowers in the Hawaiian style. The sorts were in the same style. There was no way he would put that on. “You can’t go around in jeans with the upcoming heatwave. It’s not suitable for the weather.” “I can cope.” “When you were a Time Lord, you could,” she corrected him softly. “What do you mean?” “Human biology, Doctor.” She placed her hand over his only heart. He still had troubles admitting it to himself and she always had to remind him of this unusual condition. Of course it wasn’t pleasing him at all and he would be sulking for a while but he would eventually enjoy this. He refused to wear the outfit and they didn’t talk about it, not even when they walked along the beach as the sun was rising higher in the sky. Just a walk before they went to the boat that would take them to the yacht. They had to buy food on their way to the port bt the Doctor was too busy burying his toes in the sand. He hadn’t really cared about this the previous day but now, after taking off his boot to be sure, he could tell that the sand was different from their original universe and that it reminded him of a planet he couldn’t remember the name of. Rose could only watch him, half amused, half annoyed. 900 years old kiddo. “Doctor?” She was trying to get his attention back on her but he was too focused on analysing the sand and looking for the name of the planet this ground was reminding him of. She sighed and decided to do the same thing as usual when he was like this: she wandered off. He would have to look for her. Just like in the old times. She went to the local shop and bought everything they needed for their picnic. She was coming out of the shop when she saw Alec’s car passing by. She waved at him, not knowing if he had seen her, and continued her route. She was loading the bags of food in the small motorised boat that would take them – if the Doctor found her – to the yacht when they would be ready. She threw her backpack close to the commands. She was gonna jump on board when she heard footsteps behind her. Formal shoes and boots. One of them was her Doctor. “I found something that’s yours.” “I’m no something.” Rose turned around to face two familiar grumpy faces. One of them was a beardy Scottish in suit, the other was a Northerner in jeans. The latter had his hands handcuffed in his back and really wasn’t pleased with it – though it wasn’t the first time it happened. The situation was pretty funny to her and she had a hard time not laughing. It would have infuriated the Doctor even more. “You’ve brought me back, now can you take these off?” “I’ve never seen someone so annoying before him. How can you handle this guy?” “It takes time, but he can be lovely.” “Never in a million years.” That was typical from the Doctor to react like this. Especially this version of him. He had always been a grumpy guy. The fault of a past tormenting him. A past that was now as heavy as ever as he was definitely cut from his roots, as he was part of a species that never existed in any world before him. He was going through an identity crisis. Just like she did years before. He was looking for himself, for who he was and it could take more time than they all thought due to this special condition. “What has he done?” There was an again in her voice that made the Doctor snort and Alec raise an eyebrow. The man was a troublemaker who needed a close watch. The detective trusted Rose but he had a hard time trusting her fiancé or whatever he was to her. He wasn’t clear and he couldn’t let such a danger around Rose. Not after what she had been through. He pulled a silver tube out of his pocket and showed it to Rose. “Isn’t he too old to annoy people with a laser thing?” “This is not a toy!” protested the Doctor. Alec pointed the device on him and pressed the button to prove his point with the blue light. The Doctor pretended he wasn’t affected. His precious sonic screwdriver in the hands of a clod. This guy had no idea what this blue tip could do. On human, or not human beings. He was only scanning the area with the sonic but this stupid detective had changed the settings with his dumb fingers. “If that’s not a laser, I don’t know what it is.” The Doctor was relieved when the sonic was taken away from him. He caught Rose’s worried look on him. So did Alec. It raised more questions to the detective’s mind. He told Rose that he had wanted to be nice and let her know about her boyfriend’s behaviour but his insolence and disrespect had made him change his mind. He would take him to the police station instead. The Doctor refused but Rose shushed him with one glance. He better shut up if he didn’t want any more troubles. The blonde tried to convince her friend that he shouldn’t do that. It was useless now. The decision was taken and she could only steal the sonic discreetly from his pocket. Another habit she had gotten from the Doctor.

Rose hadn’t lied when she said that a heatwave was gonna hit the country soon. Before, he wouldn’t have minded but before, he was a Time Lord. Now, he was human and he had no control over his body reactions. This white cell wasn’t helping him either. There was no window. Just four walls and a door with a hatch. Suffocating. It was very badly ventilated and the heat mixed with the smells of the previous occupiers of the room was unbearable. His shirt was totally soaked with how much he was sweating. His jeans were sticking to his skin but he refused to admit that Rose was right, that he should have put on that horrible outfit. He was pacing around. It wasn’t the first time he was locked in a cell and he could always find a way out of there. And he had a TARDIS to get away from the troubles he had gotten into. “Oi! Anybody there?” He wouldn’t beg that detective to open the door, to release him. He wouldn’t give him that pleasure. He already had had too much of it when he had locked him in there. At least, the Doctor had had the satisfaction of seeing the confusion on his face when he found no sonic in his pockets, when he couldn’t find the device on the Doctor either. Clever Rose. She had gotten it back and the grumpy detective was angry. The Doctor wiped away the sweat on his forehead. When had this cell become such an oven? He had a damn headache. He glanced at his watch, remembered that it had taken from him. He thought. His mind wasn’t very clear. How could it be possible? Now his eyes were staring at the ceiling and he heard the far echo of a door being opened. And the face of the detective coming into his field of vision. “Shitface,” he croaked. The joke made him laugh but he was the only one. He had heard Alec Hardy’s colleague calling him that and he couldn’t disagree. But he was the only one to laugh at joke. The detective didn’t seem to find it funny though he obviously knew that it was the nickname he was given around here. He shouted something to someone outside the cell. The Doctor laughed. This guy was so ridiculous. He closed his eyes a couple seconds. This light was increasing his headache. How he ended up sitting on that bench, his shoulder leant against the closest corner, with the detective sitting not far, he couldn’t tell. There was a whole moment of blackness between the moment the detective came in and now. The room was silent, the door was still open and there was a fresh breeze stroking his skin. It was delightful, unhoped for. The Doctor sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose. There was a bottle of water beside him. He drank from it greedily. “The station apologises for the disagreement. There was a malfunction in the ventilation. They should have taken you out of here when it started.” Except no one had moved to obey a direct order from him. Even if he had been here for years, they still liked to annoy him. They voluntarily forgot that there was a man locked down in this cell until Alec stepped back in the station and went to see him. The responsible would be punished severely. This could have had serious consequences. But thankfully, the man known as Maxence Spitz was okay. Just dehydrated. “You’re a troublemaker,” continued the detective. The Doctor snorted, “I’d be one if I was looking for troubles, but troubles find me wherever I am.” “You gotta understand that Rose…” “Rose what?” interrupted the part-Time Lord, swiftly turning his head to glare at his rival. “What do you have to say about my Rose?” “You weren’t there when she needed you the most.” The tone was sarcastic, abrupt. A tone he himself used. “I was.” That was a stab straight in the Doctor’s heart. If they hadn’t been in a police station, if it hadn’t been an obvious proof that he was looking for troubles, he would have knocked that damn man out for speaking like this. As if it had been any of his fault. The blame was on the pretty boy. Him had come in the picture long after to pick up the pieces left. “That was complicated.” Because the man Alec Hardy was talking to didn’t exist when Rose had been trapped in this world. He was born years later. If it had only been for him, he would have fractured the whole thing to have his Rose back, but the pretty boy seemed to have a consciousness that was working for once. “She first came here around two years ago. She was with her mother,” the Doctor grimaced, “and her little brother. She pretexted they were here for holidays but it wasn’t the season. It was for something else. Jackie and Tony went back to London and she stayed. For months. Here, in that small house you’ve rented.” “How have you met?” “I had a call one night. I was the only one left at the station so I went there. She was standing on the edge of the cliff overlooking the beach. I stood beside her. There was so much sadness in her at that moment.” The detective marked a pause there, remembering that night. It was his first meeting with the woman and her sadness reached him. He was always telling Miller to not get too involved and he had broken that rule that night. “I don’t know if she really wanted to jump. She was suffering from a severe depression and no one knew how to relieve her from her pain. I brought her back to the house, made tea and stayed with her. I made sure she never was alone.” “And you’ve done that job with pleasure,” bitterly completed the Doctor. “I called her family, ordered officers to watch over her. And yes, I did invite her a couple times.” “How did that go?” Alec ignored the sarcasm, “It’s easy to fall in love with Rose Tyler and nearly impossible to win her favours. She was too busy looking for something else, for someone else.” “Who could that be?” “You. She was looking for you.” Alec continued his tale, telling him how he helped her to get better, how she often travelled back to Broadchurch when London was too hard for her, when her researches were leading nowhere. He was her only friend in this world and he had taken great care of her while she was alone. The Doctor was ungrateful with his behaviour. “Thank you.” This was awful for him to thank that guy. “For making sure she was okay when I couldn’t.” The detective grumbled something and finally announced that he was free to go now. The Doctor didn’t need to be told twice. He emptied the bottle of water and followed Alec out of the cell. His belongings were given back to him and he met with Rose in the entrance hall. His first reflex was to wrap her in a tight embrace and drop a tender kiss on her lips. He wished he had known sooner. They left the station together, hand in hand. They were barely in the car that he spoke finally. “We shouldn’t go back to London.” “Why that?” “We’re not happy there. We should travel more, discover this world together.” “Yeah? Where does that idea come from?” “You know, pacing around a tiny cell. I hate closed spaces.” “But transports are confined spaces with lots of people.” “Yeah, always forget that, me.” He fell silent again and contemplated the landscape through the window of the car. It had been a stupid idea. He regretted even saying it out loud. He didn’t have the TARDIS anymore. He needed to use the public transports, had to pay with money he didn’t have. They were condemned to stay in London forever. What a dull life. “Funny you mentioned this need of traveling.” The Doctor turned his head toward her, waiting for what was coming next. “There’s something I had to show you.” She didn’t add more and he was forced to wait until they were back to their small house. Even then, she kept her mysterious smile on and left him to wonder what she had in store for him. Must be something really big for her to keep this secret from him, for her to leave him pondering…

A suivre

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AO3 ||TS.

#doctor who #doctorroseprompts #ninth doctor #rose tyler #doctor x rose #dwfic #dwau #prompt fulfilment #the summertime of our lives

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wykart · 5 years

Text

Fix Her

Can be read as a standalone thing about Five in the apocalypse

Chapter 3 of a fic about Five and Vanya and all the tragedy surrounding them (chapter 1) (chapter 2) (chapter 3)

Chapter Summary: Five traverses the ruins of the world, and comes upon Vanya’s autobiography. To him, it’s only been a few days – to her, she’s been waiting sixteen years.

read here on ao3 or continue chapter 3 under the cut

2 days after (5989)

At first, he’d thought that his powers just needed to recharge, that if he could just calm himself down, he would be able to concentrate hard enough to go backwards through time to when he left off. He got tired from spacial jumping all the time - too many in quick succession set the mind reeling, ears ringing, body wracked and quivering over aching muscles. He didn’t feel like that now. If jumping through time really was such a step up from what he was used to, maybe those three, quick, restless bursts had drained him completely. He tried by the hour, on the hour as best as he could tell. Every time, he felt the pull begin, twisted his grip under the fabric of reality and grasped for it as it slipped away from him again, and again. The energy was there, it still existed within him, but no matter how hard he concentrated he couldn’t bring it forth. It was if here was some invisible force holding him back, like the whole world had been drained of that blue light that threaded in between every moment. It was desolate, in more ways than one. Though the buildings burned and the bodies charred, there was something greater missing, it had been hollowed out and scraped away, leaving nothing. In short, his powers didn’t work here. Even the simplest spatial jumps were impossible for him now. He was powerless - and perhaps worst of all - he was alone.

He kept on with the idea that this was some elaborate lesson from his father to show him the consequences of disobedience. It wouldn’t be the cruelest thing he’d ever done. It was a delusion, but it kept him wondering for those first hours, first days.

If this really was the future, then getting back wouldn’t be the end of it. He’d have sixteen years to change the course of time, if such things really were set in flux. Their father had always told them that they were destined to save the world, but five had always assumed that the notion was just an incentive to keep them loyal and invested in their training, willing to throw everything unique about themselves away in the name of the world and their duty to it. The fact that he may have been right, perhaps that the reason they’d failed was that five wasn’t with them, it cast all his earlier actions like those of a spoilt, stupid child. He couldn’t bare it.

It had been sixteen years for the rest of the world since he disappeared, going by the newspaper he found. It couldn’t have been much longer than that - the bodies that hadn’t been burnt were still fresh and yet to rot, and the fires were still raging like they’d only recently been lit. The thought that he’d arrived only moments later than whatever cataclysmic it had been had torn through the population - it was almost absurdly lucky, if the situation at hand could be called such.

Even though the Vanya of the present was likely dead, in his mind Five imagined her back at the academy, thirteen years old, waiting for him to come home. He had to get back to her. None of the others understood her, nor did they understand him - they needed each other. He couldn’t just leave her alone in that place. He had to keep trying.

14 days after (6001)

He found them, and the sight of every one of them lying there brought a unique strain of grief and uncanny misery that cut itself into his heart like a tally mark. He kept preparing himself for how it would feel to see her lying there - Vanya - all grown up and lifeless beneath the rubble. She wasn’t with the others, but that was no surprise, she was never included by the rest of them, even when the world was ending, it seemed. She could be anywhere. She could be any one of the blackened, unrecognisable husks that littered the streets, or buried completely in some unreachable place, or perhaps she was lying dead in another city, another country even. She’d always wanted to escape and live far away from the academy, only thing was, they were meant to have escaped together.

He remembered the time they’d spent pent up in the attic or the library, running through the streets at night or sitting at the diner - he’d assured her that he’d escape to the future, somewhere he’d so naively assumed would be better than the times in which he’d been raised. He’d conjured up images of towering skyscrapers and cosmos-conquering spaceships - thousands of robots just like mom, a world that had progressed to heal the suffering that existed in the early 21st century. Here he was, sixteen years on in the ruins. He’d gotten his wish.

He saw her face in a smashed shop window, a discount price tag slapped across her cheek - Vanya. He ran over to the ruins of the bookshop, reaching for the cover instinctively, pushing his hands through the jagged shards of glass that pulled his skin ragged. She was there on the back as well, he could recognise those dark, sullen eyes, the nervous smile. She’d gotten rid of her bangs - something that had been an intrinsic part of her identity since as long as Five could remember. Growing it out must have been somewhat therapeutic - cutting away the pain of the past, finally escaping her father’s machinations - but alone. Everything would be there - in that book - all the secret worries she’d confided in him when they were young - and all the secrets she had to keep locked away after he wasn’t there to listen. His heart skipped a beat when he skimmed the table of contents and came upon a chapter titled - ‘the disappearance of Number Five.” It was there, in print, as if it was set in stone. Perhaps it was.

Out of everyone at the academy - Number Five was the only one that I would call a friend. Sure, some of them were more tolerant of me than the others - maybe even exchanged a laugh or a kind word - but by the time we were nine, Five and I were inseparable - that was, until, he disappeared. We’d often fantasised about running away together, somewhere far away where our father couldn’t find us. Although Sir Reginald took a particular liking to Five’s insatiable curiosity to pursue knowledge and power, he could not abide his more impulsive, self-righteous tendencies. In short, he couldn’t keep Five under control, couldn’t reel in his need to grow and test his limits beyond our fathers ideal pace. Five realised, far earlier than the rest of them, that our father wasn’t concerned with our true potential as people, but with how he could use our power to meet his own ends. One day, I guess he just couldn’t take it. I tried to dissuade him, but not hard enough. He was out the door before I could say a word - and he never came back. To this day I wonder if he really got lost in time, or if he simply ran away without me - the way we always planned. I kept up hope longer than you might expect - I didn’t have much else to be hopeful for - but over the years that hope dwindled away to nothing. Sometimes I still think about him - whether he’s dead or lost or living the dream. I hope it’s the latter - despite my sorrow at the thought of him leaving me behind. There was already so much tragedy in our young lives, it would be a small mercy to learn that he had escaped all that - but I fear that I, and the rest of the world, will die not knowing. For me, back at the academy, I was alone again - and Five’s disappearance was only the first in a line of tragedies, that set the fabric of the umbrella academy unravelling.

The passage brought tears to his eyes. Even after all the time they spent together, Vanya had still been unable to shake the idea that Five would grow tired of her, find her boring, ordinary, and leave her alone again. He wished he could tell her the truth.

There was more, in the book, more horrible revelations. Ben, dead, at seventeen. The book didn’t go into detail - it didn’t need to - just the idea of it happening was too much to bare. Of all of them – it was Ben, Five’s self-confessed second-favourite of the bunch – that had to die so young. He was smart – smarter than the others, and the two of them would often read together or listen to Vanya play. Ben was kind, but he was quiet too, and he liked to put on a brave face in front of the favourite three. He and Klaus, however, got along best of all. Both of them had a power that did them far more harm than good, something the others didn’t understand, and the raw, chaotic energy of Klaus was complimented by Ben’s more intelligent and reserved demeanour. He had been a voice of reason, to tell Klaus when to stop running up and down the stairs, drawing on the walls, and setting things on fire. It seemed to have been Klaus that suffered the most after Ben was gone, and he had been the first to leave.

Five read as Vanya recounted how she had watched as every single one of their siblings torn up and discarded by their father, and by the very powers that made them special. Luther - ever loyal, still taking orders from his father. Diego - desperate to relive his time at the academy, now as number one, the hero. Allison - manipulating her way into the public spotlight and living a life of lies. Klaus - driven to addiction and squalor just to keep the terrors at bay. And Ben... well, their father had always pushed them too hard. He’d forced Five to teleport in quick succession, over increasing distances - until he could barely breathe, until his face was pale and cold with sweat and he passed out on the carpet. He’d lock Klaus in the mausoleum for hours on end - where the most twisted and terrifying spirits lurked, desperate to use him, until the boy was screaming and clawing at his eyes and ears. He always had Luther and Diego at each others throats, whispering praise or criticism into the ears of one or the other - never good enough, never strong enough. And Allison, he told her that her power was a gift - an advantage over the world to be used in self service - and look at what she’d become. And, of course, Vanya. Without Five there to remind her of the truth, she’d spent her teenage years locked away in that house, a shameful secret, the greatest disappointment of them all. Their power - or lack thereof - may have been what destroyed them in essence, but it was their father that was the catalyst. He was the one who always insisted that they were special, that their power was who they were, it was everything, and straying from their destiny, wanting more, was simply a failure to be strong.

And thats why, when he found a newspaper dated just over a week before the end of the world, he was delighted. Their father had died, and his siblings had enjoyed eight glorious days with that horrible burden lifted.

He stowed the book and the magazine into the wagon he’d been trailing behind him these past few days – stocked up with whatever supplies he could scrounge up from the ruins. That, and a mannequin he’d found that hadn’t been melted or crushed into dust. It gave him a strange sort of relief to see a human face – even a painted one – that wasn’t lifeless and covered in blood. While the rest of them rotted to bones or charred to ash – this face would remain, smiling forever. So he’d take her with him, a reminder of all the company he’d lost.

By this time, the initial shock and misery of the situation had all but worn off – and he was formulating a plan. He would search the world for survivors, for some clue as to what killed the human race, and, as he went, learn as much as he could about his powers and how to manipulate them. His father’s journal would be a good place to start – but he had been unable to find it among the ruins. He remembered his father mentioning a more theoretical approach to manipulating his powers. When he was young, Reginald would give him sets of coordinates as a marker when traversing long distances – only trouble was – they had been three-dimensional directions – now he was working with four. He wished he had his old maths and physics textbooks from the academy – but the ruins of the world’s libraries would have to do. He’d always fancied himself a bit of a genius – much to his sibling’s annoyance. This was to be his greatest challenge yet.

Wagon in hand, brushing the dust and ash from his blazer – he set down the cracked, rubble-littered road, off towards whatever future he could make for himself, and, if all went well, back to Vanya.

#fanfic #tua #the umbrella academy #fanfiction #vanya hargreeves #five hargreeves #number five #fix her #my writing #ao3

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peachywise · 6 years

Text

little games

richie tozier x reader

– Part V || ⋆ Introduction ⋆ Part I ⋆ Part II ⋆ Part III ⋆ Part IV ⋆ Part V (more to be released)

– Synopsis: After the most recent prank Richie pulled, the last thing you expected was to be hanging out with him. It wasn’t by choice, but still. This trip to the quarry is going to be a long one.

– Notes: so sorry it took me this long to update guys! i took a bit of a break but i’m back into the swing of things with fanfiction. as always, let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!! (also, i realized im really poor at updating the tag list, so if you’ve asked me to tag you and i haven’t just give me a lil reminder and i’ll try to be better with it) (also, abuse tw in the first little bit, and abuse mentions later on)

The pain was unbearable.

You had felt pain before, but never to this extent. Your head was screaming, splitting, sickening. You wondered if the force in which you had hit the wall had cracked your skull. Possibly cracked other parts of your body, and the drywall itself. And was that blood? It was hard to tell; your vision was cutting out.

You could hear her yelling, though the ringing in your ears was too loud to decipher the actual words. It was probably the same as always, however. Even through the blinding pain, such sayings had been ingrained into your memory for years.

Something touched your arm and you instinctively coiled back, weakly, from fear and the sudden pain that shot through it. Did that get injured too? A new face invaded the blurry scene in front of you, as hands gripped your face gently, a deeper, more reassuring voice cutting past the yelling woman. You swore you heard more voices enter the house before everything went black.

Rising with a cold, frigid scream, you were unsure if it was residual fear from your reoccurring nightmare or the cold ass fucking water that had just been doused all over you.

You were going to go with the latter.

A hand quickly clapped over your mouth, stifling your scream, as the face of Richie goddamn Tozier got way to close for comfort. His too big glasses that framed his alarmed, yet oh-so-amused eyes, began to slip slightly down his nose as he had the gall to shush you. Not to be cliché or anything, but the fucking nerve of that kid!

“I’m going to remove my hand, but you gotta be quiet or your aunt’s gunna come up here,” he harshly whispered, as your eyes drilled into his. You hoped he understood just how annoyed you were. This was almost as bad as your nightmare. Almost. Letting out a huff of air, you gave a brief nod of your head, and Richie tentatively pulled his hand away, not moving back an inch from his close position. Still aggravated, and entirely drenched, you lifted your arm up and put your whole hand over his face, pushing him away as you simultaneously sat up. He smacked it away.

“What the hell do you think you're doing, and was the water really necessary?” you bit out, throwing the covers off of you as you climbed out of bed, shivering as you made your way over to grab a hoodie that had been thrown over your desk’s chair. “How the hell did you even get in here? Why are you here?” you questioned, slipping it over your head and still giving him a death glare, no matter how weak it was in your tired state.

“Well I was bound to make you wet eventually, the water just sped the process up a bit,” the boy snickered. Feeling heat rise to your cheeks at the comment, you quickly reached over to grab a notebook and throw it full force at his stupid head. Bound to eventually. Ha! You knew he was an idiot, but now he was delusional as well.

Catching it before it could hit him, he fumbled with it for a second before it dropped to the ground. “I got in through your window. Come on, we’re playing hookie from school.”

Yep. Totally delusional.

“No,” you stated definitely, crossing your arms in front of your chest as the two of you had an intense stare down. “No way.” What the hell was going on? The last time you had even talked to Richie was last Friday when he had been over to your house, confronting your cousin. You had played it fairly cool then, but as soon as the trashmouth had left, you reamed Bill out. Yeah, what Richie said was decent of him, but did that make you friends? Nuh-uh.

“Well, I already called you in, so it’s either you come with me, or I spend all day here. I always was Bill’s Moms favourite, I wonder how she’s doing—“ he spoke, moving lazily towards your door. You heart leaped out of your chest as you reached out to grip his upper arm. Aunt Sharon could not find out he was up here. Oh God, what would she think?

“Don’t even think about it,” you hissed, jerking him back towards you, before dropping your hand as if touching him would corrode your fingers off. “How could you call me in? Full offense, but you don’t sound anything like Sharon or Zack,” you stated, crossing your arms once again and pulling your hands into the sleeves of your hoodie to warm them up. Richie quirked an eyebrow. “Wanna bet?” he smiled, before straightening his back and pulling a face you assumed was meant to read ‘aged dad’ but came across more like a poor man’s Robert De Niro. “Yes, Hello? I’m Y/N L/N’s guardian. Yes, Zack Denbrough. They seemed to have—” putting up your hand in order to cut him off, you had heard enough. It wasn’t the most spot-on impression, but damn, over a scratchy phone, even you would have been fooled.

“Alright, alright, I get it you asshole,” you grumbled out, while he simply continued to smirk. “But seriously. Crawl back out of the window where you came from. I’m going to go to school, I’ll just tell the front office I feel better or something,” you shrugged, moving over to your drawers to pull out some clothes to change into. Not that you would while Richie was still there.

“If this is about your math test, this sick day will at least give you one more day to study for it,” Richie commented. Math test? What math test, you didn’t remember there being a math test— oh shit. Oh fuck. With everything that had happened last Friday and the stress of getting over it on the weekend, you had totally forgotten. Your face must have displayed the clear panic you had felt, as Richie stepped up to you with a wide, toothy, Cheshire grin as he stated, “you forgot, didn’t you? Well, now you have no choice but to skip with me.”

“I hate you.”

“That’s the spirit!” Richie declared, “now get dressed. Something hot. You are hanging out with me, after all,” he commented, as he moved over to your drawers, utterly disregarding the clothes you had already pulled out. You grabbed him by the back of his t-shirt and tugged him back, shoving him towards your open window. “Why would I dress nicely when you didn’t provide me the same courtesy?” you deadpanned, pointing out the window. “Now get out while I change. I’ll meet you down there.”

“As you wish,” Richie commented, giving a rather shit elaborate bow before hopping right out the way he came. Why were you doing this? Why did you agree? Why the hell did he offer? You two could barely stand to be in the same room with each other, and he wanted to spend the day recreating Ferris Bueller’s Day Off? You didn’t trust it. The smart idea would be to lock your window and brace going to school and taking the (probable) fail on your math test. But damn, if your curiosity wasn’t getting the best of you. Whatever prank Richie inevitably had planned, you were going to win. You half expected that by not going with him, that was admitting defeat.

You wouldn’t dare do that.

Quickly stripping off your wet clothes, you threw on a simple t-shirt and jeans, before grabbing the towel off the back of your door and rubbing your still damp hair with it. You had no time to fully dry or tame the locks, so the sun outside would have to do.

Sighing as you made your way over to your window, you quietly squirmed your way out, dropping down the short way from the ledge to the ground. “Ready?” Richie questioned, slinging his arm over your shoulder. “Let’s get this day over with,” you mumbled, shrugging his arm right off as you waited for him to lead the way.

“What is this place?” You questioned, as you gazed over the cliff to the calm water below. It had only just turned into fall, so the air was crisper than usual. You regretted not wearing a sweater. “I know we don’t get along, but I didn’t expect you to murder me,” you added, twisting the look over your shoulder. Richie rolled his eyes as he stepped next to you. “It’s the Quarry. All of us used to hang out here a bunch when we were kids. Not so much anymore, but in the summers sometimes it’s nice to come back here.”

Making a small “ah,” noise, you nodded before looking back to the water below again. It was… nice. You could see why it could be a better hang out spot than anywhere in town. Imagining all seven of them here wasn’t that hard. Made you kind of wish you had grown up here instead. With them. As much as you had become friends with the rest of the Losers’ Club, you still felt a bit like an outsider. You hadn’t fully let them in yet, and until you did, you’d always just be skimming on the edge, peering in, wishing and hoping.

The thought of that made your heart ache just the slightest bit.

After about three minutes of just silence, you felt an overwhelming urge to say something. So, out came the first thing that your mind thought was appropriate to bring up. “Thanks for saying that to Bill,” you mumbled, wrapping your arms around yourself and tucking your hands under your arms. “The other night,” you quickly added, as if it really needed clarification.

Shrugging his shoulders, the boy in the vibrant floral shirt sat down on the dirt covered ground, letting his legs hang off the cliff’s edge. Hesitantly, you joined him. “Well it’s true,” he quipped, putting his weight on his arms as he leaned slightly back. “But seriously. If I ever step too far, just tell me. I understand that some shit just can’t be touched." A little more quietly, he added, "trust me.”

Turning to look at him, you studied his face. You were shocked to see the small look of sincerity etched on his features. Maybe he did understand. No one should, but maybe he did. And maybe that made you two more alike than you ever cared to admit.

Not thinking it the time or the place to ask him what he meant by that, you decided on a question with less emotional implication.“Why are we here, Richie?” Your voice was just barely loud enough to hear over the wind as it picked up.

“I don’t know," he stated, "honestly. It felt weird knowing you hadn’t seen this place yet.” Odd reasoning. Turning your gaze towards him, you gave him a questioning look, prompting him to elaborate further. He returned it with a glance of minor exasperation.

“You’ve been here for a month and already you’ve squirmed your way into the group. This place just seems like part of the group, I guess.” He huffed out, a small crease appearing on his forehead. Apart of the group? How could you be apart of the group if not everyone had accepted you yet?

“But you hate me.”

Whipping his head in your direction, that statement seemed to have caught him off guard. Giving your own look of disbelief, you let out a small laugh as you stated, “what? I mean, it’s no secret that we kind of like giving each other shit every day.” Richie snorted, shaking his head like you were the idiot. You took offense to that more than anything he had done thus far.

“Baby cakes, if I hated you, do you really think we’d be here right now?”

Trying to force yourself not to kick him in the shin over the nickname, you bit your retort back and thought about it for a second. He was right, you guessed. But then again, you were here, and didn’t you hate him? Now, you weren’t so sure.

“It’s just fun pranking you. I was the only interesting thing is this boring town before you came along. Still am, but you’re moving up in the ranks.” Smacking his arm lightly, you couldn't stop the half smirk that quirked up your lips. “Ha ha,” you sounded out sarcastically, turning to look back over the cliff. “You keep running your mouth Tozier, and I’ll find a way to shut you up for good.”

“Is that a promise?”

Turning back to glance at him, your mouth slightly gaped open. Taking in his impish look as he simply smiled your way, you instinctively leaned in closer to him, lowering your voice slightly as you stated, “I never break a promise.”

And it was true.

With that, you gave him the slightest little shove forward, making him tumble down to the inevitably freezing cold water below. Standing up, you dusted the dirt off your pants and smiled down at Richie as his moppy haired head sprang up from underneath the water, gasping for breath. Payback was a real bitch.

“I’ll see you tomorrow at school, Rich,” you called down to him.

Even though he flipped you off in return, the wide, laughing grin he shot your way was hard to miss.

-- tag list: @breaking-biles @ubertrashmouth @strangerthing-havehappend @wolfhard-tozier @sin3at3r @eighties-hoe @multi-parker @nicht-so-schnell @stan-the-losers-club-man @bailey-the-wise @firebreathingslytherinqueen @fearless2tobeme @winnsmills @of-outerspace @st353days @this-cute-shit-xo @hummingstan @babylovereddie @derrysdenbrough @socially-awkward-nerd @emmaamalie @catching-fire-in-the-wind @humblehanlon @noodleboyuris @beepbeeprichtozier @fightmebub @firefistnoct @kaspbrakthings @whygz @geez-richie @los-angelass @trashmouthwheelr @paranormaltozier

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ratherhavetheblues · 4 years

Text

INGMAR BERGMAN’S ‘ FROM THE LIFE OF THE MARIONETTES’ “Weak people choose strange paths…”

The films of Ingmar Bergman have elicited from his loyalists a bemusing history. At the point where a consensus about the remarkableness of his skills and heart was at full tide, there also began to occur some battle fatigue in face of waves of other demanding presences of his. A pantheon readily arose, by way of influential critics who jumped to the idea that the mother lode had been reached and that the latter flood was secondary and not worth the strain. That Bergman began to produce films by way of television, also seemed a sign of losing it. (Also a sign of the viewers’ easily losing it, was the myopia about films predating 1957, regarded, if at all, as quirkily overreaching.)

For what it might have meant, the television series of Scenes from a Marriage (1973) became a last hiccup before finding other entertainments to go with popcorn. The soap opera (with a difference), in question, displays a couple of patricians and their on-again, off-again liaison, ad nauseam. But Bergman-being-Bergman, he inserts another couple, very different from the silver spoons. The protagonists host a dinner party for their friends, Peter and Katarina, who proceed to humiliate each other. After the hosts are rid of them, they stage a rededication to their superiority. “Peter and Katarina don’t speak the same language. We speak the same language…” Peter and Katarina, played by different actors, in German rather than Swedish, resurface in the 1980 film, From the Life of the Marionettes, in order to elaborate what heterogeneity can look like and feel like. Peter, another silver spoon, manages to remain another Peter Pan. His malaise with a Katarina drawn from one of his staffers, drives him to butcher a prostitute, perform necrophilia upon her and end up in a mental hospital holding his teddy bear. His wife is left to be an adult. Few of the original loyalists would have seen this film. Too bad, because it’s easily as brilliant as Scenes from a Marriage and any of the other films thought to be great.

The immediate shock, so unlike Bergman’s usual sophisticated procedure, signals, I think, a new form of traction bidding to surmount the dilemmas of a perverse planet. Doing something that new, the project would suggest, might occasion a rich departure.

Therefore the film today begins with the savagery meted to an anonymous (but eventually named) young girl becoming, in a coward’s eyes, an enemy army. The first we see of her is a close-up of her lips having been heavily covered with scarlet lipstick, along with a necklace of cheap tags, resembling a dog collar. (This imagery will pay dividends, later.) Then the attacker whispers, “I’m tired…” Long after the presentation of the hooker’s demise, we’re given a second look at the preamble to the horror. She tells him, “I don’t smell anything anymore… When I was a kid, my mother would take me to see her parents in Denmark. I remember how the seasons smelled. Winter… winter smelled like snow, coal stoves and wet gloves. And summer smelled like seaweed and ant hills. Spring smelled like melting ice and snow in ditches… budding Easter catkins and rain. But the autumn was the most beautiful of all…” She notices that Peter’s fallen asleep (that being a familiar “glitch,” when a heart was vividly at its best). She comes over and kisses his cheek. “I wasn’t asleep,” the Lost Boy lies.

The violence at the shabby brothel speaks to a hatred of nature, in someone letting fear overtake a brave and confused hope. But, as with the victim’s word-choice of “catkins” (a blossom resembling a spike), much thrilling dare and joy anoints her last moments. In his fatigue, she covers his face in a sort of benediction—her grace engaging his errancy. On the other hand, her swatch of black hair cascading over his head discloses a monstrous figure. During the explosion of his attack, small features speak to the ways of primordial action whereby intensities entail a gentle gift. As she struggles to avoid being crushed, a wash cloth appears on a clothes line. Its contours describe a bear cub. She manages to run to the concern’s stage, a vision of blood red, where two paper palm trees on the wall fail to bring a cogent dance. With each tree, however, as so often maintained, a subterranean force is called upon. Here the crazed figures crash between the trees, describing, instead of a harmony, a horror. At this moment, the coloration subsides to black and white, where many thoughts and many feelings bid for truth.

Though not over the hill like Peter, Katarina has a tiger by the tail which she manages quite badly. Firing up his indiscretion, the body of the work consists of several vignettes regarding his policy of refusal to grow up, and particularly refusing to touch the phenomenon of death. Two weeks before decimating a large percentage of the poetry of Munich, Peter Pan sees fit to pay a visit to a family friend by the name of Mogens Jensen, a professor of psychiatry. (At another instalment, twenty hours after the murder, that academic was quick to insist, to some kind of tribunal, that, “To be honest, I am deeply shocked. I’ve known Peter Egermann for twenty years. He is an amiable, talented, conscientious man whom everyone likes, as far as I know. He’s happily married to a hardworking career woman. He has a large circle of friends and leads a comfortable, rather modest life. A charming mother, Cordelia Egermann, the actress. His father died a while ago. His family is wealthy. His brother is a consul [in Bergman's film, Dreams [1955], a wealthy man seeking a miracle is also a consul]. His sister is married to a businessman.”/ “No hereditary depression in his family?”/ “Not that I know of… ” [all speaking the same language, until Katarina crashed the party]. “Peter and Katarina never consulted you?”/ “It was never serious. Nothing Valium couldn’t cure…” [This interplay includes the doctor’s large collection of African sculptures, seemingly the antithesis of classical rational logic.]) Peter admits, “There have been many long nights and too much drinking, recently. Besides, I am very aware of the fact that time is passing.”/ “Fear of death?” the specialist asks. Peter very ill at ease, without mentioning his fear, claims that what precisely bothers him is that he wants to kill his wife. “I’ve been carrying that idea around with me for two years.” The Valium expert, expert at circumventing death, listens to Peter’s assurances that, though both have been unfaithful, “We’re great in bed” [sounding like Johan and Marianne, in Scenes from a Marriage]. Then he reproves the conscientious man for asking, “I want you to tell me my hormones are responsible for my urge to kill her…”/ “Why did you come to me? You don’t believe in your own agony. You don’t believe in the existence of the soul…” [serious matters, but bemusingly pursued]. Peter, far gone in a relapse of bourgeois snottiness, can’t imagine what the family friend could be fussing about. Jensen continues, “Of course I’m angry. Because you have so little respect for your fear” [a paramount fear which the scientist won’t touch]. Concluding their conversation with Peter’s, “Maybe you should prescribe something for me,” the delinquent only pretends to leave the office, and, “letting himself out,” lurks in the darkened foyer, his advantageous cleverness leading him to expect the doctor to speak to Katarina. He’s wearing a woolen scarf, woolens being a flash point of the Anna of the film, The Passion of Anna (1969), who can only tolerate a mundane life and will attack at any chance to butcher carnal unruliness. On one occasion, she expresses her dislike by butchering a herd of sheep. Just before the exit, a Peter, who could feel he’d made an ass of himself, trots out a little homage to Katarina. “I’ve always loved to watch my wife, even when we hated each other. Or when she was revoltingly drunk… I’ve always loved the way she moves.” (Cut to her in their bathroom.) “She watches me in the mirror. She is lost in her own thoughts and she breathes heavily. I’m standing behind her, and I’m holding the razor in my right hand. She watches me the whole time. And now she really sees me. An imperceptible smile hovers around her lips. Now the knife slowly moves toward her throat. I can feel her slight agitation, a slight pulse at the throat…” (She smiles in seeing the now-constant clash this way.)

While standing in the dark, Peter lines up within a lamp alight on the wall and a pronounced part of that wall. Nothing happens. Katarina, rushing to what Jensen might enlighten her, stages an opening gambit far from impressive, to wit, “Have you got anything drinkable around here?” Completing the triad, the doctor proposes her coming to Tunisia with him, on business, for six weeks. She tries for the high road with, “Why hasn’t a clever man like you realized that I love Peter?” Cut to Peter, superimposed upon three windows, the depths of which might as well be in Tunisia. Giving us a sense of the priorities of that haute couture business she runs as a sidebar for Peter, Katarina exudes studious bourgeois unflappableness. The healer perseveres, “I think it’d be a lot of fun to have an affair with you…” Showing more urgency than the first responder, she snipes, “I didn’t come here to sleep with you, but to talk about Peter… Besides, I have my period…” Neither coitus in the office nor the possibility of someone getting hurt attains to seriousness. But the surroundings themselves lift this misadventure. There are two identical table lamps and one of the pedant’s wild creatures in between. Far, unfortunately, an impressive array. The lady with unstable cares pronounces, “If Peter’s really sick, he needs me.” In that frame of melting solicitude, the caregiver declares, “I don’t know, Kat… My intuition won’t let go of this…”/ “I also have an intuition,” she chides. Asking her what her intuition reveals, he receives a feeble strain of one-upmanship: [My intuition discloses] “that consciously or unconsciously you’re trying to figure out Peter’s and my relationship.” Despite this self-aggrandizement, she also reveals that the “relationship” is veering out of control. It veers promptly in her “relationship” of the world of classical reasoning, being so cavalierly wielded. “I’ve always been afraid of you…” This window of her intuition” curdles to the cartoonish. “Peter’s a part of me. Don’t you understand that? I carry him inside of me, no matter where I go. He’s inside me [that intuition of kinship being a vastly complex system, not amenable to whimsy]. I’ve never felt that with anyone else… If we had kids, it’d be different. He’s my child, I’m his…” (In the film, Dreams, a fashion careerist hears from a married lover of her’s that he has reached a state of affairs where he is as weak as a toy, “a worn-out teddy bear.” The connections between these two films will blossom throughout.) “No, that’s not true. We didn’t want to be clever or mature. That’s why we fight and hit each other and cry. We don’t want to grow up. But we share the same blood circulation. Our nerves have grown together in some strange, uncanny way. Can you understand that?” Her so seemingly passionate about their closeness of sensibility is far more hope than substance. In fact, her bidding, in painful truth, to be not of the same language as Peter, carries a danger she underestimates. Her final words with Jensen here, therefore, measure her cowardly incompetence. “Whenever Peter’s not feeling well, the same happens to me. I want to run home to Peter and hold him and say, ‘Now, from now on, I’ll understand everything you say or think… everything you feel…’ I want to hold him fast until he finds me. Why the hell don’t we see each other, although we live together?”

The next step involves her mother-in-law, a week after the murder, receiving a police investigator at her estate. “Peter was the child I’d always wanted. We were so happy. He had a wonderful childhood. Maybe it was too sheltered… He was a fearful child. He was afraid of the dark. He always wanted the light in the hall to be left on. He was afraid of all sorts of things: dogs, horses, large birds. He was like me. I was also sensitive and somewhat sickly. He was very close to his sister… They’d play with dolls and put on puppet shows. He was a quick learner at school [not, you can bet, a quick learner at what they don’t teach in school]. He always got the highest grades. When he was twenty, he met a nice girl [you can bet a patrician, like him]. They got engaged and planned to get married after finishing college. And then he met Katarina and fell madly in love with her. Katarina had a lot of control over him. She had the say. What Peter’s parents said or thought wasn’t important anymore… I don’t understand anything… I’ve had a good and happy life. Peter came to see me a few days ago. He had a list of things that needed to be dealt with, pertaining to his fixing up an old house for them.” (A rare lingering bit of rebellion. She noted that the roof is badly insulated. In The Passion of Anna [1969], a weak-willed man addresses his rotting roof. Disaster follows. But here, not a complete massacre occurs; therefore, we’re enmeshed into a very complex dynasty, a life of marionettes that, rarely, beats the odds.) Onscreen, many candles surround the old lady. A surfeit of candles. Three lamp lights—two, rigidly, side-by-side: another, way off beam. He stands behind her, being eclipsed by his mother, with only his arms and hands seen at her head (a configuration resembling his threatening knife upon Katarina; and also resembling the precious fashion designer, in Dreams).

The episode, “Five Days before the Catastrophe,” tests the catastrophic errancy of a woman struggling to navigate a true magic which her vision fails her. The odd couple find themselves at variance, unable to sleep, and they come to the dining room table to table their agendas. He begins a cognac, while raggedly choosing to cover up with a bedsheet. Then he opines that the meal they had that night at another couple’s place was “horrible.” She chooses whiskey. “That relaxes me. And it’s healthy.” He argues, “Don’t drink so much…”/ “I’ll drink as much as I want, my darling. I never go overboard…” That goads him to remark, “You were pretty insufferable last night.” Her rebound is, “Don’t I know it… I was like that on purpose. That’s the way it is. On purpose[making sure she was at an advantage; that being the bane of any hope for that disinterestedness she needs to practice on the way to creativity]. I enjoy embarrassing Martin… He always tries to fondle me in secret. So I get tipsy and fondle him. Openly. That’s a subtle way of getting back at someone, Little Peter.” Subtle! The pressure requires real subtlety. And the pressure for us is to realize that Katarina has embarrassed herself. We won’t get much subtlety from her. But this film has challenged the viewer to provide the vast subtlety she lusts for and fumbles. He, from his sterile decorum, complains, “You’re starting to get loud and nonsensical.” Her, “That’s your opinion… Everyone else thinks I’m terribly nice,” would be a prelude to hating herself when alone and sober. More empty loudness from her, pertains to an argument about his mother, cropping up the following day. When he reminds her that she promised to be present for a discussion of the quirky house, she sneers, “I don’t have the time. Your business friends consider it an honor to eat that grub your awful old mother prepares… She’s a rotten old monument to your [deceased] father’s imperium of oppression…” (Though Peter laughs at that, that we know now he’s been contemplating her murder for two years, there has to be some quiet rancor.) The tenor of their conflict reaches an unexpected turn for Katarina. “Now I’ll tell you what I actually didn’t intend to tell you. No, it’s nothing special, just a feeling… It happened early yesterday morning. I was in the bathroom drying myself with a freshly washed, rough towel that smelled good. Suddenly, I had an insight, or what it’s called… I saw all these familiar things around me and knew that they soon wouldn’t belong to me anymore. That everything would be taken away from me. None of these things around me would belong to me anymore… That feeling was gone after a minute or two, but last night it came back…”

Peter ignores this (as he ignored, by sleeping through the prostitute’s insight, she being light years more significant than he). What he doesn’t ignore, however, is the mention, by Katarina, that his friend, Harry, had set up a tennis workout early in the morning. On hearing the reminder, Peter informs her that his friend’s tennis elbow was acting up and that therefore the game was off. This brought to mind (despite her having so recently come close to cogency) a recurrent annoyance about Harry’s smoking habits, which reach 70 cigarettes a day. Her gambit of attending to some form of vitality (which does not touch her alcohol habit) becomes a case of her (ragged) concern for a peculiar sensual force. There is another Harry, the protagonist of the film, Summer with Monika, who, after disastrously attaching himself to a poisonous girl, runs her out of his life. This figure makes plenty of sense here, inasmuch that Katarina is on the hook to ditch a dead-end sensibility. That other Harry becomes adept in work and wider responsibility. But Katarina’s wider responsibility is as hard as it gets. Next morning the rush-hour traffic powers past their flat. Two streams of vehicles, headed in opposite directions, presenting much statement but no links. There are contrasting lights in the German darkness, depending on the direction. At work Peter dictates to a secretary, “We have two alternatives.” Not three. Later he notes, “The problem is that a completely new point was raised…” In an ironic conclusion to this very long instance of pedantry, rounding off a punishing display of mutual disarray, we have Katarina rehearsing the models for her imminent fashion show. The effete impact being a paragon of how not to deliver well.

Our major protagonist makes good on her threat to be missing in action at Mama’s soiree. At a bar (where she drinks heavily and shoos Peter along to thrill to something she too should care about), one of her colleagues, the major designer of her concern, spirits her away to his art deco gem of a flat (showing two diamond-shaped lamps vertically positioned in the dazzling darkness along with one rounded lamp too far-off be a player), for the sake of lifting her spirits, and becoming, as far as his lights allow, a genuine friend. Tim, the first responder, had mooted, “I have a wonderful idea. Come to my place for a few hours. You can take a nice long bath. I’ll make us a salad.” In face of this handsome proposal, she corrosively claims, “I’m fine where I am.” In standing up she collapses upon his chest. “I feel so bad.”/ “I suddenly had the feeling that you were terribly unhappy,” he perseveres. (She covers one eye with her hand.) Once to Tim’s tidy home, he shifts the subject to that Martin she felt she had to outsmart with “subtlety.” “We were very attached to each other. But as you know, fidelity doesn’t exist. Not true fidelity.” (Tim is shown by a full-length mirror. A twosome.) “When you’re gay, you can’t be faithful.” Pulling himself back to the subject of conviviality, Tim states, “You have to cry if you feel like it.” Then back to political advantage: “Most gay men like women. Not because we’re particularly feminine, but because we’re more in touch with our feelings. I didn’t come up with that. Martin said that. But it could be true.” (One light is on behind her.)

Tim emotes, “Splits! It’s immeasurable grief… Maybe it isn’t grief at all, but some sort of madness.” (She in the way of a lamp with two lights.) She contributes, not entirely candid, “People like me have never given the soul much thought. Then the soul starts acting up, and you’re helpless. You know?” Tim says, “I understand.” She continues, “Perhaps a few tears are shed at first. A strange kind of crying which then turns into a terrible howl of grief and hopelessness. Then it turns into a blind roar… a roar… a roar…” (Cut to Tim, nonplussed. Is Katarina caught up in Tim’s sentimental menu?) The designer avers, “Everybody breaks down once in a while… I’m pathologically addicted to intimacy!” (Two diamond lights between them.) Then Tim speaks at length about about the horror of getting old.“Two incompatible people… Sometimes I think they all stem from one and the same origin.” He concludes this rampage of intimacy by asking Katarina to lay her hand against his cheek. She does. But when he asks—“Can you feel that my hand is me? That it’s me?”—she shakes her head. (Katarina joining a host of dullards ignoring what’s up. Can she rally? That’s the heart of the saga.)

Three days after the murder, Tim, the apostle of intimacy, is summoned by the police due to his being instrumental in Peter’s meeting the victim. After a lot of flim-flam at the expense of a one-track-minded functionary, he declares—what happened to intimacy and more in touch with our feelings?— “I liked the idea that Peter was cheating on her with a prostitute. But that’s only part of the truth. Weak people choose strange paths. I gradually focused on taking Peter from his wife and making him mine. I saw the coldness in his marriage… I knew I could save him… People like me have a feeling for such things.”

A somewhat less predatory scene pertains to a letter from Peter to Mogens, which never becomes sent. It functions as a glimpse of the influence of Katarina. And it confirms that that toss away platitude, “Weak people choose strange paths,” is studded with deadly practices. Peter premises is cri de coeur, by declaring (Tim-like), “What I’m going to describe isn’t a dream in the usual sense.” (It’s, in fact, more a dream like the fervid dreams of the film, Dreams.) “Although I experienced this under the influence of pills and alcohol, the experience seemed more real and horrible than the reality of everyday life.” Cloaked in a calming fog, there were him and Katarina seen in bed from the vantage point of the ceiling. The documentor struggles to describe the fabric of this action: more than “sensual;” not only “erotic;” “a direct link between my lower body and the intense, sweet-smelling moisture of a woman.” (Katarina’s hair tumbling as she sleeps.) Then a moment showing them nude from a long distance, with over-exposed visuality, insinuating a snowscape. In the vein of “more in touch with our feelings,” Peter gushes, “I moved over a glittering, spacious surface with my eyes closed. And all was very quiet. My contentment was complete. I had a strange urge to tell a funny story.” (Can Katarina’s heights get past the funny story stage?) “There was a little eye on every finger.” (In Dreams, one eye upon a raincoat suffices; here the push to be “big” collapses the traces of remarkable initiative.) He moves to touch one of her nipples. Then he rattles off a formula, where only the deftness of motion can prevail: “If you are death, then I welcome you, dear death. If you are life, then I welcome you, dear life.” Amidst such sophomoric efforts, he does break from tradition to realize, “that it was dangerous to become afraid.” Back to his cruising speed, he imagines consistently to be unable to penetrate her. “I fell into a rage. I withdrew to stop myself from killing her.” Her vigorous countering of his aggressiveness, leaving him holding his head, produces a long glare of intransigence between them. This is followed by her gently soothing his wounds. “It is difficult to describe that particular moment. The very air I was in was transformed… We entered a sudden spirituality without reservations.” That her range puts his to shame culminates in his fantasy of having killed her “in some cruel way.” The missal describing a weakling. No wonder it was never sent.

The episode, “Two Days before the Catastrophe,” brings the letter to solid action. It begins with Katarina frantically trying to reach Professor Jensen, because Peter is up on their roof contemplating jumping to his death. True to form, the psychiatric flop is not available. Her backup choice is one of his cronies, namely, Arthur, a name (in the form of King Arthur) redolent of maintaining good breeding. (In The Passion of Anna, a weak-willed artisan on a broken roof ends up like a figure in the works of Samuel Beckett. From here on in, it’s about whether Katarina can fare better than that.) Arthur tries to rally the on-again but largely off-again rebel with, “It’s respectable to want to jump, but inhuman to torment one’s fellow man.” He adds, “Someone will see you and alert the police… Can’t I at least get your fur coat?”/ “That would be nice of you,” the not quite desperate enough malcontent replies. (Weak people choose strange paths.) He’s back before Arthur can carry the furs. Katarina attempts to calm the country club regular, but at this stage he shows no interest in their constellation. She drops that hot potato and hopes to find more success with the paragon of easy chivalry. “Poor Martha (Arthur’s wife), we’ve disturbed her.”/ “Not at all,” he tells her. “She had an early operation at the children’s clinic.” In the Swedish Bergman film, Dreams, a woman, named Marta, uses a trump card of children to fend off the protagonist fashion entrepreneur, Susanne, intent on a weak paramour. Marta is a pretty smart cookie, but not as bright and brave as she thinks. On the subject of hard knocks, Peter, attempting to look somewhat less weak, kicks Katarina backwards from her position of sitting on the carpet by the chair he occupied after doing without his furs. Arthur does nothing noble here. “Come sit with me,” is his policy of law and order. An embarrassed lady of the house chirps, “I’m fine on the floor…” Then both of them begin to glare at each other. She plunges on with, “We had a drink with Johan and Marianne. Then we all went out to that new Italian restaurant near the theatre.” (She drinks. Arthur smokes. Far less overt is her uphill climb to bring her seldom uncanniness to a full fruition and a hope for beating back a horde of cowards, along lines of surpassing those who kick, while keeping in play those who meant something, being held in reserve.) Arthur asks her, “What’s that on your neck?” This brings instant communication from Peter, “Her necklace broke… I got caught in it, and then it broke.” (Peter got caught in Katarina’s audacity. And then it broke.) Arthur remarks, “Make sure it doesn’t get infected.” Peter the Weak blurts out, “Oh, Katarina says she wants to leave me. I say great. What a godsend. Then she says she can’t live without me. I say I can live better without her. She says I’m important…” (Katarina lies back on the floor.) As the transaction spins crazily, Katarina loses her temper, as she has done may times. But, while she has an end-game, he has nothing.

During the rest of the humiliation from out of that overt consideration of suicide, the conflict and its results do nothing but confirm that their life together is no more. She snipes, “Shut up, Peter, you’ve had your performance.” But now Peter—terrified in face of his wife’s reckless and valid cares (and occupying the model of that Anna, the little pedant and coward, emerging from the film, The Passion of Anna)—opts for an eleventh hour return to full bourgeois appetites, including a final “performance” to recompense his treason against his clan. How far apart are they? One indicator says a lot, though no one notices. As Katarina lies back on the carpet, pondering her future as a solo act, we see her from upside down and particularly the collar of her shirt. Two button holes and a button: the two of them no longer in business, but, for her, filling little needs could go far. That she is far from steady enough to see her way through this snake pit may be transparent in the following communication later in the conversation. “Poor Peter, I feel so damn sorry for you.” (That is precisely what the protagonist, Susanne, in Dreams, has to endure, from a prim, nihilist Marta, who believes that no couples ever become magic. That, in the cyclone going on at this point, Katarina becomes a stiff, is food for thought. She set this doomed, underground adventure by way of a degree in charisma. We’d like to discover if she can reinvent (and then some) a new and wider fruition. Out of the pointlessness of tons of clashing verbiage, there is one kernel of might from her: “We accepted the rules [of skepticism] but had no knack for the game [the play and its good-naturedness].”

In the episode, “Three Weeks after the Catastrophe,” we find some signs that Katarina is beginning to find a knack. Paying a visit to her grieving mother-in-law, our protagonist counsels lightening up, going on a visit to Paris where the grieving one has a sister. As to being possibly needed by the butcher now ensconced in an institution for the hopeless, the daughter-in-law relates, “I went to see him yesterday. He didn’t seem to be all there… He’s getting injections to stave off distress.” So prostrated is the mother with the shock, Katarina (surely feeling some irony, which now, though, for her, might have an impact for some good, for some people) suggests Professor Jensen to lighten her load. The offer is accepted. Despite Katarina’s history of hating that lady, she now declares, “I can come to see you every day…” This gambit is promptly shot down by the host’s digging into their troubled relationship. “You think it’s all my fault…” (But Katarina has begun to leave such sterile warfare, while needing to stand up to a history of panzer violence.) The mistress of the mansion argues, “You’ve always been very critical of Peter’s and my relationship.” Having to retort, “You were critical of our marriage,” would simply not be what was on her mind. A better manoeuver, though, would—in face of the woman with no future (like her son), dictating, “I gave birth to him and raised him. He’s a part of my life. You don’t have any children. You don’t understand a mother’s feelings…”—“You’re right. I don’t understand.” Pleased to feel on top, the maternal one speaks through a dynasty. “I didn’t want to hurt you.” The guest in the leopard-skin coat, assures the old lady, “You didn’t hurt me.” Pouring on that favorite insult by those smelling a kill, “I feel so sorry for you,” is met by Katarina’s, “I don’t believe that… I’ve been here for half an hour. All you’ve talk about is your feelings…”Perhaps her parting words forever (but not necessarily), the solo pours out her heart to someone who wouldn’t give a shit. “Full of astonishment, I look back on our lives… on our former reality, and think, ‘Was it all a dream?’ It was a game. Lord knows what the hell we were doing. This is true reality, and its unbearable.”(It could be that being in the presence of Peter’s mother has somewhat rattled the soloist.) True reality is not unbearable to the strong, and Katarina knows it. She also knows that being a soloist is madness. Her being felt on the spot to match the matron’s emotions swings her into a line she’d find ludicrous when composed. “A strange, hard surface. But under the surface I’m crying. I’m crying for myself because I can no longer be the way I was… I cry for Peter. I’ve never been able to put myself in other people’s shoes… But suddenly I think I know what Peter is feeling and thinking….” And even in such a maudlin funk, her better self returns. “But the [exponentially] worst part of it is… that poor woman. I tell myself she was only frightened for a moment… That doesn’t help.” Just before Peter presumes to make his piddling statement for the sake of the “betters,” he learns that the woman knowing catkins is also a Katarina. The guest that day to the mother-in-law was very significantly on a track to touch those worth touching. To more fully disclose Katarina’s distinction in leaving that fortress of enmity, we look back to Peter’s doggerel where his wife (the only thinker that long family tree had ever enclosed) had had her creative heartiness cribbed and twisted into a cheap stunt. “There was a little eye on every finger.” What had the unsteady thinker wasted, on a worthless associate, was her hard won realization that her gentle and powerful proof against inertia not only opens and drives the fireworks of the cosmos itself, but being gifted by a vast menu of carnal initiatives, by way of which to be truly blessed, truly loved. (The outset of the film, Dreams, with its producing a large set of red lips, like those of Katarina’s, also traces a word for the wise: “One has to say no at some point.”)

An Epilogue showing Peter’s cell returns coloration. It has nothing to do with him (the exponent of, “no way out” and solitary chess, recalling the cowardly patrician in The Seventh Seal), but that Katarina is in the building, perhaps for the last time.

As this saga has unfolded, we’ve come to a unique need to add to Katarina’s struggle. Bergman’s exceptional skill about problematic drama eschews attending to further steps along this endeavor. The hundreds of montages accompanying the narratives were not only about the “mood” of the stories, but the actions of the viewers. The placements about the mundane, the ecstatic and their harmonics are not precious museum-pieces; but a way of life hugely dissimilar from the dynasties which have commanded fealty for, in one case 4000 years, and, in another, 2500 years. That they are massively wanting is one thing. That their homicidal proclivities exude a pall upon the land may be well seen by the former’s incompetence and arrogance to the point of a world-wide collapse, without so much as an apology. That is the reality which Katarina and we must deal with at a level of difficulty so extreme as to seem, “no way out.” But along with the Byzantine history, there is a stunningly underused resource to foster a “knack” in return. The likes of Katarina, who finds snippets of magical dynamics setting her apart, can, if alert enough, become buoyed by an agency recommending action for the sake of interplays that have no end of joys, but very much end of sentient life. This planet of toxic dynasties, so effective in paralyzing the full range of creativity (delivering a world of marionettes), is far from the only place graced with a creative knack.

#ingmar bergman

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zoltanberrigomo · 4 years

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The Incompetent Witcher, Chapter 7

The contessa had offered him two thousand orens, an astronomical sum, and he was sorely tempted to accept; yet he was certain that if he tried to impersonate her dead husband, he would be quickly found out. How would he know what to say? What did he know about decorations, balls, the lot of it?

Such were Thyssen’s thoughts as he stabled his horse on the outskirts of Oxenfurt, having just returned from the contessa’s estate, and began making his way back to his room along the city’s cobblestone streets. It had grown dark in the meanwhile and the spring evening seemed particularly beautiful, the bright shopwindows casting what seemed like magical lights onto the dusky streets.

He stopped next to a store that had maps of the northern kingdoms in its windows, all beautifully handcrafted. He paused to admire them, but, looking at the price tag, it turned out they were quite far out of his price range. Still, he opened the door and stepped inside.

It was a bookshop he had stepped into and its inside felt like a different world. The sweet scent of incense pervaded the air; luxurious Zerrikanean rugs covered the walls; books were stacked all over each other, occasionally spilling over to the floor. Thyssen picked up a book at random. A Treatise on the Magical Resonances of Nightshades. He picked up another one, but it had a title in the elven language he could not read. The next one was entitled, A History of the Northern Kingdoms between the Ninth and Twelth Centuries, and he opened it somewhere at random and began to read.

History does not record, reader, which part of Count Montpessier’s acclaimed History of the Northern Kingdoms caught Thyssen’s eye just then, but is it too much for me to think it might have been an account of the First Battle of the Pontar Delta? I am, of course, well aware that the indolent youth of our age throw orens around as if they were confetti but would not recognize a book if it hit them on the head; and thus I cannot take for granted that you, reader, are aware of what transpired at that battle. It was the time when the forces of Vestibor the Proud, the tragic and ruler of a state that long later became our great Redanian commonwealth, were betrayed by his Temerian allies to gain advantage in the ever-continuing tussle for supremacy amongst our kingdoms. I’d like to think that, just then, Thyssen burned with outrage at the Temerian capacity for treachery and betrayal as he read.

In any case, whatever it was that he read impressed him enough that he decided to spare a few orens and purchase the book; and so he made his way to the counter where, it turned out, a heated argument was in progress.

“Third edition, I’ve said, third edition! T-h-i-r-d! This is worse than useless to me.”

“My good sir, there is no third edition.”

“There is no…,” the speaker, n lanky awkaward looking youth in the robe of a mage, took a sharp intake of breath. “Of course, there is a third edition of Mancini! De Lancy refers to it in his beast catalogue, as does Clermont in his history.”

“I know nothing of that,” said the shopkeeper, “I assure you I have made the most thorough of inquiries. The second edition is the very latest.”

The mage uttered a sigh of exasperation. “It is not, I tell you. The third edition of Mancini has a map of all the monster lairs in Redania; De Lancy praises it at great length. Damn it….” The mage waved his hands in the air in apparent frustration. “If you haven’t got what I asked for, then give me my money back.”

The shopkeeper smiled. “But my good sir, I have already spent your deposit acquiring this volume. I haven’t the money back to give you. Come, take the volume which you have paid for, and let us part amicably.”

“Part amicably? Why you scoundrel, I ought to…”

“Need I remind you,” the shopkeeper said, his tone turning instantly from obsequious to cold, “of the penalties meted out by our great lord, Radovid to Stern, to mages who do not behave as they ought? I believe we’ve had a demonstration in the town square not a week ago.”

The mage bit his lip. Thyssen thought back to the event the shopkeeper was describing, a giant pyre in the middle of town that caused him some delay as he made his way home that evening. He had overheard that a mage was being burned, presumably for some crime, but had not spent any time learning more about it.

“I would think carefully what you say, my good sir.” The shopkeeper’s tone now dripped with sarcasm. “I could report you to the city guard if you dare make any threats against me. So, I tell you again: take the volume for which you have paid and let us part amicably.”

The mage looked coldly at the shopkeeper, but said nothing. Without replying, he pushed the volume off the counter onto the floor, and left, slamming the door. This outcome seemed to serve the shopkeeper just as well: looking perfectly pleased, he picked up the discarded book, and, shelving it, looked solicitously towards Thyssen.

Reader, there are times in life in which the most insignificant decisions can, in retrospect, turn out to have been the most consequential. A wrong turn may cause a man to bump into the woman who will become his wife. A chemical left bubbling in a cauldron by mistake behaves in a surprising way, and the resulting inquiries spark a scientific revolution. Thyssen had made just such a decision when he put down the history book in his hands, and quickly made his way of the store, and catching up with the mage.

“You know,” he said conversationally, as he matched the mage’s pace-- which, in truth, was not easy, as the latter had rather long legs and was taking great big strides in his anger -- “that map in the third edition of Mancini is rather useless. Mancini had compiled it based on second-hand accounts. Peasant’s tales.”

The mage glanced at him with interest. “And who might you be?”

Thyssen took an over-elaborate bow. “Thyssen, lately of Oxenfurt, previously of Kaer Morhen. Now I’ve never attempted to verify Mancini’s maps for myself, but I’ve talked with people who had. They were invariably disappointed.”

This was, in fact, completely true, for if there was one thing that Thyssen knew as well as any other witcher, it was the sort of knowledge that could be obtained at Kaer Morhen through conversation.

The mage stopped short. “You’re a witcher.”

“Indeed I am. Now if you wish to tell me what you needed that map for, I may be able to point you in the right direction.”

The mage rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Why don’t I buy you a beer,” he said finally and beckoned Thyssen to follow him.

“A dragon egg,” Thyssen said in disbelief.

Natan nodded. “I have six weeks. I’ve already one and a half on research with little to show for it.” He shook his head. “Here we are, supposedly in one of the great centres of learning in the world; and yet, procuring books with reliable information is not easy. All the sources I’ve consulted flatly contradict each other.”

As it turned out, neither of them was drinking a beer. Thyssen ordered some kind of bluish concoction with a minty smell, while Natan ordered a bright tea that smelled of spices. I make a note of this, reader, as this is a feature of the male psyche that persists to the present day; whenever a group of men go out, the invitation is invariably to have a beer in each other’s company, regardless of the drinks consumed. Centuries have passed and still, no man will invite another to have a herbal tea together.

“A dragon egg,” Thyssen repeated.

“Yes.”

“Is this sort of thing normal in your school?”

“Not really.”

“I’ve never heard of a mage looking for dragon eggs. It seems downright sadistic.”

“They have no practical use, at least as far as I know.” Natan said. “I believe I’m the first to be asked to procure one.”

Natan sipped his tea in silence for a few moments.

“The worst thing,” he said, looking out the window -- the two of them were seated together at the corner of a tavern close to the shore -- “is that I think they want me to steal it.”

“Steal it!?”

Natan nodded. “Be creative, they told me when I graduated. I swear I saw a wink in the eye of one of the examiners.”

“You could get in some serious trouble.”

“There are, in fact, several collectors in Novigrad with fossilized dragon eggs. I’ve made inquiries. But have you seen what’s happening lately?”

Thyssen looked at him blankly.

“The pyres in the middle of the city square. These are not good times to be a mage. If I’m even suspected…” Natan pursed his lips. “I do not plan to throw my life away.”

For the second time that day, Thyssen reflected how little he knew about Oxenfurt. He had been there for some months now but between his booming ghost business and the vain efforts he had put into courting the fairer sex, he had done little mingling with the local residents. He had always heard some vague patter about the mages being up to no good but paid little attention to it, thinking it nothing more than jealosy towards those whom nature had blessed with talent.

“There’s an ominous feeling in the air,” Natan continued. “It is hard to describe. I can feel it even though I don’t go out very much. You’ve heard how that shopkeeper talked to me. Even five years ago that would have been unthinkable. ”

They sat in an uncomfortable silence.

“You know,” Thyssen said slowly, “stealing a dragon egg may not be all that difficult.”

Natan looked at him askance.

“Do you know how to teleport?”

“Of course. Who do you take me for?”

“In principle, then, the task should be simple. Go somewhere where there’s a dragon. Wait for the dragon to fly away to hunt and teleport up to its nest. Take an egg, and teleport out. Unfortunately….”

“Wait a second,” Natan interjected. “How exactly would I find a ploughing dragon?”

“There are twelve mountain peaks within the Northern Kingdoms where lairs are known to reside. I can draw you a diagram. They are all quite far apart, but you could teleport there. No need to search very much for the dragon -- just stand around under some cover until you see a dragon flying about. They’re difficult to miss and they do have to venture out to hunt at least every few days. “

Natan looked at him carefully.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” he said, “but I am about to risk my life here. I can’t help noticing you are...on the young side, shall we say. Do you really know what you are doing?”

Thyssen was about to take offense when he paused. In the months he spent in the city, he had formed no strong connections here. Perhaps that was due to his own somewhat awkward age -- most boys born the same year as him were either educated by private tutors if they were nobles or working the fields if they were peasants. But perhaps part of it was because he was a witcher, and as such seemed to inspire either revulsion or admiration. The man in front of him seemed to face the same. Thyssen found himself wanting very much to help him.

All-in-all, it was a reasonable question.

“I do know what I’m doing,” he said slowly, “but my knowledge is, shall we say, theoretical.”

“Hmmph? What in the blazes does that mean?”

“It is based on books and the conversation of other witchers. It would not surprise you to learn that I’ve never seen a dragon.”

“I’ll put it to you this way,” Thyssen continued. “Do you know the Duke of Bann Glean? The tavern?”

“Yeah,” Natan said, “the one with the big red banner.”

“That banner advertises my services, for which you’ll have to pay top coin. Now put yourself in my place: imagine yourself a witcher. Would you rather live in comfortable rooms in Oxenfurt,and service the whims of the nobility -- or would you rather sleep in bogs and fields as you hunt kikimoras and rotfiends?”

It was, of course, a half-truth; Thyssen could not fight kikimoras or rotfiends if he wanted to; but he was not about to reveal the secret of his success, and the half-truth sufficed perfectly for the moment.

“I take your point,” Natan said. “So, then, you do not hunt any dangerous monsters? If you make top coin then it is a very comfortable niche you’ve found.”

“It is,” Thyssen agreed. “Much better, frankly, than any other witcher I know, who are, without exception, on the poorer side. But I did spend years at Kaer Morhen. As far as monsters go, I’ve read every book there is, and then some. I’ve heard witchers talk endlessly, so I know which books are reliable and which aren’t.”

Natan looked at him carefully. “All right,” he said, after a pause. “Let’s say I trust you. So it’s as easy as teleporting in and grabbing an egg?”

“Almost.”

“Almost?”

“Yes.”

“How so?”

“You see, the dragon will find you and kill you,” Thyssen helpfully explained.

“That is a pretty big almost.”

“It is.”

“What if I teleport far away?”

“The dragon will fly all over the continent looking for you. Dragons can keep vendetta’s that last centuries. De Persi’s Collected Remarks on the Southern Draconids tells the story of a dragon…”

“So is the whole idea useless?”

“Not quite.”

“Oh?”

“The thing is,” Thyssen said, “you’ve got to time things right. Most of the time, the dragons in a clutch will kill each other upon birth. That’s why dragons have so few children. You want to steal an egg just before they hatch. The mother will probably not look for you then.”

“Probably?”

“Yes.”

“ Probably?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t find myself entirely reassured.”

“Nor should you be,” said Thyssen. “Let me put it this way. How many people have tried to steal an egg from a dragon?”

“I haven’t the foggiest idea.”

“Neither do I. But would zero be a plausible answer?” “It would.”

“Some amount of guesswork is inevitable, then. But imagine it. Suppose you are a dragon.”

“All right,” Natan said. “I’m supposing.”

“You fly away one day and bring back a nice sheep to feast on. Meanwhile, your clutch has hatched, and they are all either dead, or perhaps one survives. Are you going to examine the broken egg shells and consider just how many eggs those shells are consistent with?”

“I suppose not,” Natan said. “But then I am a dragon. Who knows what I would do?”

“Who knows indeed.”

“All right,” Natan said. “It sounds like a better plan that any I’ve come up with. But the timing is tricky. I’ve got to find the dragon just as the clutch is about to hatch. Besides, the dragon has to be away during the hatching itself, which is quite a coincidence.”

“It’s the right season for this,” Thyssen said. “All sources are unanimous: the eggs hatch in late spring. Besides, as I said there are over a dozen sites where you should be able to find dragons, if you can teleport all over the nothern kingdoms. You have decent odds of getting lucky.”

“Hmmm,” said Natan. “I’m not terribly convinced. But that might be as good of a plan as I’m likely to find. But there’s a slight problem you’ve overlooked.”

“And what is that?”

“The teleport. Fourteen sites...an experienced mage, someone a tad below a hundred years old, could pull that off. My mana reserves are not nearly high enough to teleport that many times in a span of weeks.”

“Oh,” said Thyssen. “But is there…”

“Of course, I could use mana stones,” Natan went on, ignoring the interruption. “But I’ll need at least five. And at 400 orens per stone, I’m nowhere close to being able to afford them. Even if someone will give me a bulk discount -- and even if I can get a part of the purchase on credit…”

“As it happens,” Thyssen said, making sure his voice cut across Natan’s monologue, “I know of a good opportunity to make a large amount of money fairly quickly.”

“And the drapes?” The contessa gestured towards her windows. “I’ve been having second thoughts about them. Are they too pink, perhaps?”

The count’s shadow fluttered unsteadily in the candelight. Looking at it felt a bit like having the man back in her presence: the aristocratic nose, the whiskers of hair on the otherwise bald head, his way of slightly stooping forward as he considered. Unfortunately, the shadow kept moving. The witcher and his assistant explained to her that communicating with ghosts was tricky business. She was not able to make out the finer features of his face, which she would have liked very much.

“I believe he likes them,” the witcher said. “I’m not sure if I’m getting it correctly, but I think he suggests it is more neutral than pink.”

The contessa clasped her hands in delight. “Exactly so! It is a very soft hue. Exactly what I thought you might say, Frasie.”

She pointed towards the onyx table in the middle of the room. “And what of this? Is it too ostentatious?”

The witcher paused as if deep in thought. “Not at all,” he said. “I believe your husband says it has a mid-century feel to it.”

A mid-century feel? Indeed, as she looked at it now, she did detect some similarities to the royal tables in the court of Vizima some decades ago. It was a shame that Frasie’s words were filtered through the witcher. It had been explained to her that Frasie’s emotions and thoughts would be felt by the witcher who would have to turn them into words on his own -- for she was sure that, if Frasie was here, he would explain exactly what he meant. Did he have the Viziman court aesthetic in mind, or something else?

No matter; this was something to think about later. For now, she needed to use this opportunity to go through the house room by room.

And so it went. For an hour they went through the walls of his castle; and for an hour, Thyssen repeated the responses that Natan projected as whispers into his mind. On his own, he would have been utterly helpless, not knowing what to say. Fortunately, Natan was able to help.

It was common for the city’s nobility to mingle with mages at some of their grand events. Even though Natan had never liked to attend these events, h was often forced to, along with some of the other older students at the academy. Invariably, the events were boring, spent by the nobles gossiping about people he had never heard of. Occasionally, he would be asked a question about magic, always a very naive one, the sort of question one could find the answer to in innumerable books. But it was at these events that he developed some familiarity with the way the nobility spoke.

“Besides,” he explained to Thyssen, “if she tries to test us somehow, I should be able to detect it. I’m not strong enough to read minds, unlike some of the older mages; but if I expend a good amount of mana, I should at the very least be able to detect when she’s not being entirely fortright.”

Once or twice, he thought he did detect a bit of trickery on the part of the contessa, an opinion asked for without the uncertainty that usually accompanies a question. On those times, he demurred, having Thyssen reply that the count had strong opinions on the object in question, very strong indeed, and those strong opinions interefered with the transmission of thoughts.

“Strong positive or strong negative opinions?” The contessa glared at him.

“Impossible to say, your ladyship,” Thyssen answered. “I apologize but this is all an art rather than an exact science.”

The first time she answered this way, she looked a little skeptical; but, by the third such answer, she seemed entirely satisfied. It seems that, even if they did not have the right answers, at least they wereat least able to pin-point the objects on which the count could be expected to have definite opinions, which was good enough to smolder the spark of doubt that remained within her.

“There is nothing so easy,” explained Thyssen to him earlier, “as fooling someone who wants to be fooled.”

“He likes the tobacco feel of the leather,” Thyssen said. “He thinks it has character.”

It was as she expected: Frasie approved of most of her choices, with only a few small exceptions. She would fix the errors and would throw the best ball that had been thrown in Novigrad this season. She would do it in his honor, for he deserved nothing less.

She gave the witcher his payment and dismissed him. He had done well. She had always suspected that Frasie was not gone; that he was looking over her in some way, that he cared deeply about what she was doing. She was, after all, continuing his legacy, his enduring conviction that beauty in one form will produce beauty in another; that a beautiful ball will inspire love, kindedness, and everything else that was good in mankind.

Now she knew : he was not gone, he was right there besides her; and saying this was not hope, was not religion, it was fact. That night she slept better than she had in years.

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balorclubbabe · 7 years

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Good Girl

Chris Jericho/OC (smut): It seems that whenever he gets the chance, Chris is always teasing you about pretty much anything. Sometimes it’s flirty, other times it’s just plain annoying. You decide to give him a taste of his own medicine when you’re out at a party, and he doesn’t appreciate it one bit. (Includes some spanking, and a lil’ bit of sweetness at the end!).

Tagging: @1dluver13xx and @gamer705 !

Thank you all for being so patient with me! I hope you enjoy!

A few days from now officially marked my one-year anniversary of working in the makeup department for Smackdown Live. I absolutely adored my job, and getting to see the looks on the faces of both the male and female superstars when I was done made it all worth it. Plus as a part of the makeup department, this meant no public spotlight, no nerve-wracking interviews on live television, just getting to do what I loved the most. Though I was closer with some more than others, pretty much all of the superstars that I worked on were nothing but nice.

But of course like any workplace, sometimes you don’t get along with everyone. It can be for a number of reasons; conflicting personalities, different ideas, or just simply that someone just likes to do everything within their power to get under your skin whenever they got the chance.

For me, this person was none other than Chris Jericho.

I don’t know what I had said or done to become the target of the tall Canadian, because it all started fairly politely. He’d swing by and make small talk with whoever was in my chair, sometimes including me in the conversation. Then gradually it became constant teasing, sometimes flirtatious, and almost always obnoxious.

Despite all of this, I always tried my hardest to not let him see that he could really get on my nerves. Besides, just because he could be annoying didn’t mean he’s a bad guy, right? And it certainly didn’t mean that I wasn’t allowed to secretly be attracted to him. How could you not be? I knew not to take his words as actual flirting though; it was pretty clear to me that he had no interest in me in that kind of way. Besides, I’m pretty sure I wasn’t the only one that he bothered constantly. Even though it did sometimes feel that way.

“You just have to ignore him, girl. If you show that it bothers you, he’ll just keep doing it.” Charlotte quipped from her spot in my chair.

I huffed, “I know. He’s just so obnoxious sometimes I can’t help it.” I lightly swept some glitter over her eyelids, light blue to match her peacock-feathered robe.

“Or because ya secretly enjoy havin’ him around to bother ya.” Becky added slyly, stifling a laugh.

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes, “Just because he’s handsome doesn’t give him an excuse to be such a pain in the ass all the time, Becks.”

Before Charlotte could presumably giggle like a schoolgirl, I began to apply the baby pink gloss to her lips, effectively shutting her up for the time being. “And I’m allowed to think someone’s good-looking, even if they’re insufferable sometimes.”

When I first started this job, I found myself clicking almost immediately with both Becky and Charlotte. The three of us spent countless nights in each other’s hotel rooms after long days, staying up late, watching shitty movies and eating junk food. You know, typical girly sleepover nonsense.

Both women had their own matches tonight; Charlotte’s being against Naomi and Becky squaring up against Natalya. I had finished Becky’s make-up already, bright reds and oranges for her whole steampunk “straight fire” look.

After a few more small touches here and there, I held up the hand mirror in front of Charlotte’s face, showing her the look. “All set.”

She grinned, “I seriously don’t know how you do it. You’re like a magician or something.” And turned her head side-to-side, admiring my finished work.

“I could say the same about the two of you. You guys are gonna kick some serious ass tonight.” Some of the moves I’d watch them-hell, any of the superstars do always left me awestruck no matter how many times I witnessed them. Charlotte’s moonsault, for example? I’d surely end up in a full body cast if I even attempted anything close to a stunt like that.

“Yer comin’ with us to Dolph’s party later, right?” Becky questioned, a hint of playfulness in her accented words.

Usually if a show or event was happening where someone lived, they’d show everyone else the best restaurants or bars in their town. Dolph Ziggler, of course always having to outdo everyone, instead opted to throw a huge party and invite the entire roster and then some.

She probably figured I’d try to come up with some sort of excuse to escape having to go, but unfortunately Charlotte was my last job of the night and I knew that she knew that I had no other plans. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Charlotte let out a laugh, “Somehow I doubt that. Seriously though, it’ll be fun. We both know you could use a drink. Then after we can come back to the hotel, watch some crappy T.V. and raid the minibar.”

The pair turned to leave and as I finished cleaning off the last of my makeup brushes, Becky leaning over and whispered in my ear, “I think ya have a visitor.”

It was then that I noticed Chris had been lingering outside the door, scribbling on his list, probably writing some poor stupid idiot’s name on it because they bumped into him or some other petty offense. I let out a small groan; I’d literally never hear the end of it if he knew that I thought he was handsome, so I could only hope that he either hadn’t heard it or had just gotten there. He was usually the type to make his presence known in a room, so I was hoping for the latter.

Charlotte gave me a knowing smile before disappearing down the hallway, following Becky, leaving me alone with my favorite pain in the ass.

I gave myself a brief mental pep talk before opening my mouth. “Can I help you?”

His eyes flitted up and met mine, a smirk painted on his face. “Just seeing how you’re doing. Or am I not allowed to swing by and say hello?”

I shrugged, turning back around so I could begin cleaning my workstation and packing my things away. Thankfully all I had was my purse and my rolling trunk with my makeup supplies instead of the copious amounts of gear that some of the superstars had to lug around city to city. I was relieved that I had the foresight to drop my luggage off at the hotel earlier. “You are. Just figured you wanted something.”

He entered the room behind me, idly watching my movements. “So you’re really going to Ziggler’s tonight huh?”

I couldn’t help but laugh, “Don’t sound so surprised, Chris.”

Chris now had his list tucked underneath his arm, “Sorry. You just don’t really strike me as the partying type, princess. No offense.”

“Oh no of course, how could I be offended by that?” I continued, zipping away my make-up brushes, the sarcasm evident in my tone. There was his stupid nickname for me again. I had asked him about it the first time he had called me that and he responded with a shrug, and an, “It suits you”. Protesting would just egg him on, so I usually just let him get away with it. And I’d never admit to anyone that I secretly thought it was kind of cute.

Chris chuckled, “Well I’ve never seen you at any gatherings outside of work-related ones. I just assumed they weren’t really your thing.”

With my trunk packed away, I turned towards him. He was blocking my only exit out of the room, meaning he likely wasn’t just going to let me walk away without pushing my buttons a little more.

I brushed some hair out of my face, “They usually aren’t. But Dolph was rather persistent so I’d at least like to make an appearance. Besides, just because I don’t love parties, doesn’t mean I’m some antisocial hermit.” With a huff, I managed to squeeze past the scarf-wearing, list-making jerk, making my way down the hall and towards the parking lot.

I thought he’d leave me alone after that but I heard his voice and footsteps following close behind me. “Didn’t say you were antisocial. Just having a hard time picturing you drunk, dancing in a short, tight, little dress. You know, considering what a good girl you are.”

I had to stop myself from physically freezing and my face from heating up at his singsong tone. “And what makes you think I’m such a ‘good girl’, Chris? If I’m being honest, I don’t think you know all that much about me.” I decided not to touch on the idea that he had perhaps pictured me in the short, tight little dress he spoke of.

I wasn’t looking at him, but I could practically hear the shit-eating grin that must have been plastered on his stupid, handsome face. “I’ve been in the business a long time, princess. I don’t have to know you; I have a sense for these kinds of things. And I know a good girl like you when I see one.”

I knew any insults or comebacks would just add fuel to the fire so I continued walking, thankful my car was just a few short strides away. He continued to go on, clearly unbothered by the fact that I wasn’t acknowledging him as I began to load my belongings into my vehicle.

“Or maybe I have you pegged all wrong. Maybe you’re a cute, modest make-up artist by day, and a sexy, dancing on tables, wild party girl by night.” I think he realized how ridiculous he sounded, but just couldn’t help but continue on with his elaborate scenario.

I rolled my eyes, shutting my trunk, “You think I’m cute? Or sexy, was it? I’m flattered. And sorry to disappoint, but I don’t have a crazy, partying alter-ego.”

“Well I guess I should be flattered too, princess. Considering how good-looking you seem to think I am. Or did I hear that wrong, was it handsome?” he said slyly, causing my heart to sink a little. Fuck, he had heard me.

I spun around to face him, mainly to give him a firm goodbye, while trying not to let him see how much he had rattled me. I certainly didn’t expect him to be directly in front of me, so that all I saw when I turned to face him was his broad, muscular chest. (Because of course he wasn’t wearing a stupid shirt underneath that stupid light up jacket).

He had a smug look on his face, and I thought he’d sneak one last comment in, always having to have the last word. But all I got was a, “See you tonight,” before he turned around and strolled back into the venue.

I let out a frustrated groan, climbing into my car and slamming the door shut, making my way to the hotel for the night. Normally I’d stay around to talk to Becky and Charlotte after their respective matches, but that ran me the risk of encountering Chris again, which required patience I did not have in the slightest.

After almost an hour had passed, I received a text from Charlotte informing me that she and Becky were heading back to the hotel soon. I decided to call her, giving her the rundown of my encounter with Chris, mainly just so I could vent to someone.

“God he is just so fucking insufferable! I have no idea how one man manages to be that aggravating!” I angrily paced at the end of my bed, still fuming slightly. I wish I had been able to say something, anything to him. Admittedly, him standing so close to me had rendered me speechless, making me want to kick myself.

“Calm down, honey. You know what you have to do now, right?” I couldn’t help but detect the faintest hint of mischief in her voice.

“I know, Char. I just have to ignore him.” I huffed, plopping down onto the bed.

She giggled, “At first, yes.”

“At first? And then…?” I trailed off. Where the hell could she be going with this? Unless her next words were something along the lines of “burn all of his scarves” or “rip up his stupid list” I wasn’t too sure what she was going to say.

“You ignoring him will drive him crazy after he sees how good you’re gonna look tonight.” She sang.

Tonight? Oh yeah. I had gotten so annoyed with Chris that I had completely forgotten about Dolph’s shindig tonight. Charlotte promised to be at my room as soon as she could, having just pulled into the hotel parking lot. After hanging up the phone I learned that “as soon as she could” was less than 10 minutes, with Becky in tow for assistance. Turns out, they happened to be right down the hall.

Charlotte did most of the scheming if I’m being honest, but I’d be lying if I said Becky didn’t seem like she was fully enjoying herself as well.

After much debate and trying one dress on after the other, the pair managed to decide on a dress that they (and, admittedly I) thought was perfect for tonight.

Dolph enjoyed throwing overly lavish gatherings and would usually (unless it was a pool party) instruct his guests to dress up for the occasion. That’s how I wound up in a sleeveless maroon cocktail dress with a neckline that dipped low enough to generously show off my cleavage and a simple pair of black stiletto heels.

The three of us called a cab after getting ready and made the short ride over to Dolph’s home. My nerves were all over the place, but thankfully Charlotte and Becky were with me to ease my worries and made sure I didn’t get cold feet at the last second.

“Don’t sweat it, yeah? He ain’t gonna know what hit ‘em.” Becky grinned at me with a wink.

I wasn’t used to dressing up so formally around my co-workers, which was evident by several pairs of eyes that found me as we walked into the party. I was grateful again for not being alone, because normally I’d be considering running in the other direction back out to the cab.

Charlotte whispered, “You look fantastic, I promise. Now remember, act like he’s not even here. If he comes up to you, pretend you didn’t even notice him. Like you’re surprised he’s here.”

Dolph approached the three of us, donned in his finest attire as well. “Ladies, glad you could make it! Food and drinks are in the kitchen.”

Charlotte gave my arm a small squeeze before going to mingle, while Becky assured me she’d be back with drinks for the both of us. Dolph and I hadn’t really talked much aside from casual conversation, so I was hoping this wouldn’t be too awkward.

Dolph ran a hand through his dirty blonde hair, grinning at me, “You look great.”

I smiled, “Thanks. You’re lookin’ pretty good yourself.”

Initially, I wanted to make it pretty clear to Dolph, considering that he had a reputation as being a huge flirt, that I wasn’t really interested. Nothing against the guy, I just wanted to make sure he didn’t get the wrong idea. That was until I spotted Chris from the corner of my eye, staring directly at us while engaged in conversation with AJ Styles and Sami Zayn.

Surely this is what Charlotte meant when she said to drive him crazy, right? Chris Jericho had done nothing but get under my skin since I’d known him and now it was time for me to return the favor. Not only would I be ignoring him, I’d be diverting my attention to someone else; more specifically, another man. And again, I had no intentions of doing anything with Dolph, but Chris didn’t have to know that right now.

“You really do have a beautiful home, Dolph. Feel like giving me the grand tour?” I nudged his arm playfully.

Dolph smirked, placing his hand on my lower back and lead me down the hallway that was to our left. “But of course. Right this way.”

To my surprise, Dolph was pretty into the whole “home décor” thing, droning on about cabinets that were made of cherry wood and tiles that he had imported from who knows where. I wasn’t really paying too much attention if I’m being honest, because every time Dolph and I would move through the main foyer, I felt a certain pair of blue eyes on me.

By the time my tour had come to an end, I’m not sure how much I had smiled and nodded, but Dolph didn’t seem to pay any mind. He was probably just happy that someone was able to listen to his whole spiel without dying of boredom.

“I have to go and greet some more guests. I’ll see you later though.” Dolph, ever the gentleman, kissed the back of my hand, shooting me a wink before disappearing to go play host some more.

Considering I hadn’t seen Becky with my drink since before the tour, I made my way into the kitchen to fetch my own. Dolph had an array of expensive looking liquor bottles lined up on the counter along with pristine crystal glasses.

“Enjoy your tour?” I had to stop myself grinning like a mad woman as the voice behind me spoke. Of course he’d come and find me the second I was alone. Maybe because every time Dolph said something that was supposed to be remotely funny, I’d burst into over-the-top laughter, making sure others could hear. Or how my hand would linger on his arm for a few seconds while I spoke to him.

“I did. I didn’t realize Dolph was such a connoisseur of interior design.” I didn’t turn around as my eyes danced over the various bottles. So many choices, and half of these brands were pretty much foreign to me.

To keep it simple I just grabbed the first open bottle of white wine I saw and poured myself a glass. As I turned to make my leave, Chris was, much like earlier, blocking my exit, his own drink in hand. Probably bourbon or whiskey, I guessed, judging by the amber-colored liquid.

I hated to admit it, but he looked especially handsome tonight. He wore a crisp white button down shirt underneath the open black suit jacket, matching his pants. Even in my heels, he still towered over me. Instead of the grin that I was accustomed to, his facial expression was hard to read; not anger, but definitely a hint of annoyance.

He smirked slightly however, when he noticed me looking at him for maybe a little longer than I should have been. “See something you like, princess? Something good-looking and handsome, maybe?”

I took a sip of my drink, moving past him nonchalantly, making sure to deliberately brush against him as I did so. “Just surprised you’re not wearing a scarf.” And made my way over to the corner where I had been able to spot Becky, (Let’s face it; her hair is pretty hard to miss in a crowd) who was chatting away with Tyler Breeze and Fandango.

The night went on as I spent the rest of it in the company of Charlotte and Becky for the most part. Chris hadn’t attempted to speak to me again after our brief conversation, and a small part of me was a little disappointed. On the other hand though, it was rather satisfying to finally give him a taste of his own medicine.

Over the course of the few hours that I was there, I only had two glasses of wine yet I still felt exhausted. I had to admit though, it wasn’t as awful of a night as I thought it would be. Going to a party as large as this one with two of my closest friends definitely helped ease the usual nervousness I’d be experiencing.

The three of us took a cab back to our hotel after bidding goodbye to Dolph and the other guests that remained. I didn’t see Chris as we made our rounds to say goodbye, and I assumed he had already left. Even if he hadn’t, I certainly wasn’t going to go hunt him down.

I was too exhausted for the usual late night sleepover, so I bid Charlotte and Becky a ‘goodnight’ before making my way to my own room for the night. I couldn’t wait to kick off my heels, get into something comfortable and pass out as soon as my head hit the pillow.

That was until I saw him, leaning against the wall right across from my room. His jacket was gone, probably in his own room, his white sleeves rolled up to his elbows with a few buttons of his shirt undone.

I felt his eyes practically burning a hole into the back of my head as I swiped the key to unlock my door and pushed it open, allowing it to close behind me. I turned around when the door didn’t click shut, and I saw the blue-eyed blonde standing in the doorway, holding it open. “You need something, Chris?” I asked innocently.

He brows knitted together in anger, “What the hell was all that?”

I didn’t answer, instead tossing my heels off in the corner, flopping down onto the queen-sized bed with a sigh. I lucked out this time around and somehow ended up with my own room instead of having to share.

“Well?” he demanded, arms crossed over his chest. Clearly he wasn’t planning on leaving without an answer.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I finally made eye contact with him, and he did not look happy.

“Bullshit, you know exactly what you were doing tonight.” He walked into the room further, allowing the door to swing shut behind him. “Ignoring me when you walked in, hanging all over fucking Ziggler of all people,” he scoffed. “And, when you finally do talk to me, it’s barely even five fucking words.”

I laughed, “Ohhh I see how it is. You tease me all the fucking time and it’s fine, but when I do it back it’s suddenly not. What’s that old saying again? Don’t dish it if you can’t take it?”

His eyes narrowed, voice dangerously low as he moved further into the room, now only a few feet away from me. “Is that what all this was really about? To purposefully annoy me? To make me jealous?”

I shrugged, a coy smile on my face. “Didn’t realize I made you jealous.”

He suddenly chuckled, “Well congratulations,” he paused, gently taking me by the arm and pulling me so that I was standing up. “I was jealous.”

The only sound I could make was a small squeak of surprise as Chris slammed his lips onto mine, one of his hands entangling itself in my hair. He took my being caught off-guard as an opportunity to slip his tongue into my mouth.

I eagerly reciprocated his actions, pulling him closer to me as I wrapped my arms around his neck, his free hand settling on my lower back right above the curve of my ass.

“Do you have any fucking idea how hard it was for me to not bend you over his kitchen counter and fuck you?” he murmured against my lips. “To make you scream for me so that he knew-so that everyone knew that you’re mine?”

All I could do was whine in response as I feverishly returned his kisses, squeezing my thighs together to provide myself some relief.

“I thought you were a good girl, huh?” he whispered huskily as his mouth came against my neck, lavishing it with kisses. “Good girls don’t dress like this for everyone to see.”

“It wasn’t for everyone, it was for you.“ I was feeling suddenly brave, my head spinning from the sensation of his lips on me.

“Yeah? Just for me huh?” his hot breath washed over my neck as he spoke. “No one else? You sure, princess?” His hand that wasn’t in my hair crept down to squeeze my ass through the fabric of my dress.

I nodded, “Yes. Fuck, Chris, yes. Only you, I promise.” I managed to whimper the words out as his teeth scraped against my collarbone.

“You gonna show me what a good girl you are, baby?” his stubble grazed against my cheek as he came up to kiss me again.

Again I nodded, my arousal and want for him was almost palpable at this point, my hair messed and my lips kiss-swollen.

“Get on your knees for me then, princess.” He sure as hell didn’t have to tell me twice. I hurriedly dropped down to my knees, undoing his belt without taking my eyes off of him.

His hardened cock sprung free before me after I undid the zipper, and I immediately gripped it with one hand, running my tongue over the entire length, eliciting a groan out of him.

I took him into my mouth, almost gagging as he lightly pushed the back of my head to take more of him. I kept my rhythm slow, teasing his head with my tongue after taking him almost all the way out of my mouth. I repeated this a few times, tailoring my movements based on how loud his moans were.

Just when I thought I’d have to make him stop pushing the back of my head, he pulled me off of him, allowing the air to flow back into my lungs.

He yanked me back up to his level, while his free hand crept up my thigh, coming into contact with my soaked panties. “Don’t want the fun to end yet. My turn to take care of you, princess.”

He pulled the flimsy fabric of my thong to the side, easily sliding a finger into my wetness. “Fuck baby, how long have you wanted this?”

I could feel his smirk against my neck as his fingers continued to work. “Have you thought about this before? Letting me fuck you?”

His words were barely registering in my mind through the haze of pleasure that was slowly creeping over me. I let out a satisfied sigh as his thumb began to gently rub my clit. Just as he had built up a steady pace, he stopped, causing me to cry out in frustration.

“Answer me, princess.”

At that, I found the strength to speak, “Y-yes! I have. More than once.” The idea of him stopping what he was doing was too much right now.

“You gonna cum for me already?” he sounded almost impressed as he picked up where he left off.

Before allowing me to answer, Chris shoved me onto the bed, climbing in between my spread legs and dipping his head down.

I almost leapt off the mattress the second his tongue touched my slit, his fingers working their way inside me again. “C-chris fuck, please!” I whined, gripping his blonde locks for dear life.

He pumped his fingers in and out of me at a steady pace as his tongue traced zigzagging patterns over my clit. The sensation of his mouth and fingers, combined with the sandpaper-like roughness of his beard rubbing against my thighs sent me over the edge. I let out a cry as my orgasm rolled through my body, my hips grinding against his face, desperate for friction.

He rose back up to where I laid panting and sloppily pressed his lips to mine. I felt his hand traveling under my dress again only to rip my soaked panties down my legs, causing them to tear slightly on the way.

I groaned in protest, but his lips continued to devour mine. “I’ll buy you new ones,” He promised as he helped rid me of my dress and bra as well.

I felt my cheeks redden as his eyes lingered over my naked form, “You’re so beautiful,” His hands were now on either side of my cheeks, punctuating each of his next words with a kiss, “I’m so fucking lucky.”

My mouth opened slightly in surprise, unsure of what to say, because I swore in that moment I’d see a flock of pigs flying outside my hotel window. Chris Jericho had sincerely complimented me in the most intimate of ways. Not the usual, “Nice dress baby, but it’d look better on my hotel room floor” type lines he’d always be running by me.

Pushing my thoughts to the back of my mind, I hastily unbuttoned his shirt the rest of the way, desperate to feel more of him, considering he was still almost completely dressed. As I pushed the fabric off his shoulders, I ran my fingers over his muscled chest, his skin warm to the touch. “I don’t know, I think I’m pretty lucky here too.” I mumbled, pressing a kiss to torso.

He didn’t answer but let out a low chuckle, assisting me in pulling his pants the rest of the way down and off of him. I heard the two soft thuds of his shoes being kicked off and hitting the carpet.

He turned and adjusted so that he was seated against the wooden headboard, bringing me up with him.

I felt a blush stain my cheeks again as I climbed to settle myself over him, planting small kisses all over his face and neck as I lowered myself onto his cock. Instantly, my eyes squeezed shut as he filled me inch by inch until I sunk down completely.

“Shit you’re so damn tight, princess.” He exhaled a deep breath, not moving for a few seconds and instead just kept still inside of me, allowing me to adjust. “You alright?”

I slowly rolled my hips against his, giggling when I heard him grunt. “Does that answer your question?”

He growled as I continued to ride him at a pace so agonizingly slow that even I felt like it was torture. “Fucking shit, you’re still teasing me, aren’t you?”

I didn’t answer, instead I rose up, circling my hips excruciatingly slowly, biting my bottom lip.

Suddenly his hands were at my waist as he picked me up and slammed me back down onto his cock, smirking when I cried out his name. “It takes two to tango, princess. You didn’t think I’d let you get away with teasing me like that, did you?”

My brief period of control had ended as Chris thrust into me at brutally a harsh pace, coming forward to shower my neck in more kisses and the occasional bite. “Chris, please, please more,” I tried to keep up with his motions as he would lift me almost all the way up off of his length, just to slam me back down again.

“Such a good girl,” he hummed in approval. “You look so beautiful riding my cock like that,”

I let out a sharp gasp when I felt his right hand remove itself from my waist, only to draw back before coming down hard on my ass.

Chris’ eyes widened slightly, “Oh fuck princess you alright? Sorry, sorry I got a little carried away there.”

Before he could slow his motions, I moved against him, whining desperately. “Again. Please, do it again,”

The look that came over his face was something I had never seen as he spanked me again, causing me to cry out. He did this a few more times, alternating each cheek until I was practically sobbing out his name. “Guess you’re not such a good girl after all.”

The slight sting against my skin as Chris fucked me was a feeling that I had never experienced before. I only had a handful of sexual partners, and none of them had ever even attempted to spank me. Then again, I had never asked for it.

“I think next time you tease me, I’ll just have to drag you into my dressing room and spank you to teach you a lesson,” he seemed thrilled at the idea, his hands now lightly squeezing my ass. “Fuck princess, don’t stop riding me like that. You feel so fucking good,” His thrusts became more shallow and desperate, indicating that he was also nearing his climax.

His words only helped draw my orgasm closer as I felt myself begin to tighten around him. “Please Chris, I’m so fucking close! I want to cum so badly. Baby, please let me cum,”

“I want you to cum for me, princess.” He commanded. “I want you to fucking soak my cock. Want to see the look on that beautiful face when you come undone because of me,” I could see the light sheen of sweat that had formed on his forehead as he grunted with each pump into me.

With one more powerful thrust, I felt myself tip over the edge as I began to spasm and writhe against him, my fingers gripping his shoulders so hard that for a split second I thought I’d bruise him as I chanted his name over and over again.

I felt his hips stutter slightly as he gave one last hard thrust, his eyes squeezing shut as he spilled himself inside of me, his grip on my waist finally loosening. “Jesus Christ, princess…” he sighed.

Reluctantly, he scooted downward so that he was lying on his back, with me still draped over him. Our bodies sticking to one another, I laid my head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat gradually slowing down back to a normal rate. I smiled when I felt his hand lightly playing with my hair, smoothing it down and running his fingers through it.

I finally broke the silence, “I should tease you more often if this is what I get out of it.”

“You should,” he paused, running his hand down to my ass and giving it a light tap. “If this is what I get to do every time.” He frowned when I yelped in surprise at the small sting of pain. “Still sore?”

I nodded, “Still sore.”

He pressed a kiss to my forehead, “Sorry princess.”

“Don’t apologize. In case you couldn’t tell, I kinda liked it.” I nuzzled his neck.

He chuckled, “Not just for that. Sorry if I get on your nerves sometimes,” he shot me a joking glare when I did an exaggerated clearing of the throat. “Alright a lot of times, not just sometimes. Guess I’m not great at making it clear when I’m…interested in someone.”

“Chris Jericho, are you saying you like me?” I gasped playfully, leaning my chin in my hands. “Because if so, not for nothing, that’s sort of like telling a little girl a boy is mean to her because he likes her.”

I saw him frown, “I’m kidding, relax,” Before he could open his mouth, I brushed my lips against his, a laugh bubbling up in my throat. “And I’m interested in you too. Why do you think I let you mess with me so much? I just always assumed you were like this with everyone.”

The faint sound of my phone buzzing in my purse reached my ears, and I shook my head, burying my face into his chest with a yawn. “Leave it. Probably someone from the party drunk-dialing me or something,”

Chris glanced at the source of the noise, then shrugged, wrapping his arms around me and stifling his own yawn, “Sleep well, princess.

Meanwhile a couple of rooms down, Becky peered over at Charlotte from her bed, “Did she answer ya?”

Charlotte frowned and shook her head, hitting the red ‘End’ button on her touchscreen. “No. I sent her like 4 texts too. So unless they’re still going at it, I think they’re both asleep.” Charlotte penned one last message, simply reading, ‘Details tomorrow over breakfast! Becks and I want to know EVERYTHING ;).’.

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