#absolutely clawing my organs out and chewing on glass

[ennuijpg]

[231220] Things I Can't Say LOve 2024. 01. 10. 6PM

[inveryistired]

Before going into this, this work is heavily inspired by the videogame "Anatomy" made by Kitty Horrorshow (Really love our mother crow, she's such an inspiration to me), and one can really tell by the style of this thing. Also, I read "House of Leaves", so... I don't have much else to say, it's pretty telling. And now that I'm publishing this on Tumblr..., well, I can finally put some color in this thing.

Anyways, this is a headcanon/my own version of the well known "Slender mansion"/Creepyhouse, just a nice place where all our favorite characters live. Because I had to subject the house itself to absolute horror. Now that I read it again after some months, it's pretty gross, I'm not sure if I like it all that much.

Somewhat of a creepy house.

It was born in the same way a child does, clawing its way until the head was touched by the sunlight. Cursed from birth and haunted for the fact of being born in the first place, watching a world in which its windows could barely gaze around, with the horizon behind all the neighboring houses.

It was born like a permanent tooth in the mouth of a teenager, from an open wound in which there had been something before. Pushing through gum, blood and bone until it rose along rows of similar things, but it was still bleeding, swelling the earth on which it settled. Somehow, never understanding it itself, The House kept growing, even if the sidewalk stayed the same and it never “touched” the other teeth in that maw of a cul-de-sac. It grew so much and with every new room it remained that feel of emptiness, even if it could fill those with furniture and fancy decorations. A house can’t be filled with material things, only with people.

Somehow it never stopped bleeding, every day feeling the loss of important things, yet never being able to end the sensation that it would die if it couldn’t find a solution. Just started existing and nothing made sense, nothing was going as it should’ve been. Alone and without even having been able to see a single occupant. The House asked itself:

“¿What am I doing wrong?”

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, like that until it couldn’t even tell if it should be celebrating its birthday.

With time the architecture became strange. In the walls there was movement from guts trying to fit between pipes and wires, resting on top of wood and metal, bleeding until everything it touched rusted. It could even feel it in its windows, as veins went into the glass, blurring what little vision it had of the outside world. The basement was filled with churning acid like an empty stomach, as mouths kept chewing on the beds of every room, salivating at the thought of people living in it. Its lungs cough out smoke by the chimneys, choking in the miasma emanating from all the fluids using the space meant for humanity.

Sick, The House spoke to nothing at all:

"¿Why is this happening to me?”

And there wasn’t an answer at all.

Sick, The House choke for so long in the metallic smell of its bleeding walls, the same ones that squeezed everytime it gagged at the wretched odor of pus leaking from its open wounds. Growing, growing more than a house could do, feeling its joints breaking while trying to obey that desire to expand.

“Maybe I will be able to reach someone.”

Said in doubt, trying to understand what was happening. But the fever came with the infection, while the bile rose from the basement stairs, seeping into the carpets and holding inside that toxic world. Urging to puke, but unable to open its doors. A house can’t move, it can’t defend itself and it can’t be alive.

Eyes and mouths opened everywhere, but not one could let out that filth that was festering inside. The same way a rat king is born, its tongues began to tie up, the viscera twisting between as if it was a net of flesh. Every morning it would taste those organs that felt so alien to a building.

You may be familiar with a similar feeling, the urge to scream at the world, but unable to make the littlest of sounds. It stays in your throat, sometimes your mouth, and you know what insults and complains you have for everyone. So many times you go around those until exhaustion, but never able to speak out loud. It stays inside and you feel how those thoughts are rotting, catching so many things within until you’re unable to enjoy what you already have.

You want to scream, but everything would come out if you do. So many hours trying to be something, faking being someone you are not just to keep this convoluted life into a known normalcy. It’s easier to confuse the familiar option with the easy option. If you have reached a certain age you may remember the feeling of your bones growing faster than your flesh, how your mind grew older and everyone seemed like an idiot.

¿Have you ever felt as if your thoughts threaten to corrode your skull to pour into your mouth?

¿Do you fear the idea of that coming to light?

¿What would you do if glass grew between your teeth until it melded in a single solid wall that held your jaw shut?

You want to scream, but you don’t have a mouth to do it. We all want to scream, we all have so much inside that we keep hidden in the dark corners of our brain. So much that happens and no one will ever see all of it, and, maybe, those things would turn around all we’ve built.

The House kept waiting and growing. With the walls full of gashes, with the flesh necrotic and consumed by the infection. Its wooden bones split, taken over by teeth that meld together into a single bony case. The stairs twisted until it was paralyzed. And even then, the curtains were open, while it waited to just see someone.

“Everything will be better if I’m a good house.”

It said through clenched teeth, fighting to endure the torture of being alive and awake.

Every morning was the same torture, never sleeping, and yet almost forgetting that the night had passed. There never was people nearby; not on the streets; nor at the front door. No matter how long it waited, no one seemed to know it even existed.

No one, until a man without a face stopped by the front door. There he was for three days without moving, until the fourth one in which he rang the doorbell and waited for an answer. The House didn’t know what to do, so its answer was a deathly silence that lasted until night. And even then, that man didn’t move from his place.

It tried to smile for the first time, but every muscle was misplaced, with splinters and shards in between its fibers. It tried until it was able to, but teeth broke from how rotten the time had left those. Not a house, it could never be a house.

However, that man smiled back, it could tell by the wrinkles moving on that face without features.

The first words The House ever heard in its life were:

“You’re just what I was looking for.”

[dismuch47]

ADVANCED SETTINGS (Part 2)

Winner of Scarlet Vision Drabbles votting. Because SV/WV fans are thirsty af. 

So I lied. This “drabble” is mutating and I’m long-winded. There will be a part 3.

Advanced Settings: Wanda and Vision find there is more to iron out in making their relationship “work”. This section is rated Explicit.

Vision’s head reared up when he heard the bathroom door finally creak open. He turned towards Wanda, to see her large eyes downcast. Her flame-like hair was free of it’s bun, draped behind her shoulders. She had one of the hotel robes on, which concealed her slim figure in white plushness. She chanced to look up at him, like a sorry child.

The synthezoid strode over to her, wine-glass ready for her, gentle and assuring smile upon his lips.

“Vision I’m sorry-“

“Absolutely nothing to atone for-“

“-But I was being so-“

“-Honest, which I so admire in you.”

Wanda huffed, accepting the wine. Her unease appeared to be waning. “Can’t you just be upset with me? I would understand…”

“Never.” He punctuated the word, pointedly. Then smiled broadly. Wanda finally caved with a grin, looking away.  Vision gently captured her chin with his thumb and index finger, directing her back to his sincere face. “My greatest satisfaction is in seeking yours. And that you somehow are able to accept me. Odd quirks and all.”

“Vis…”

Her eyes were glittering. She was experiencing strong emotion. Unclear if it was extreme sentimentality or misplaced guilt, it seemed logical to stoop down and kiss her full lips to make it better. His index finger stroked down her chin and ventured down her soft throat. Wanda’s breathing shifted as warm and featherlight touch lingered on creamy collarbone. He had become expert at these areas of sensitivity, eliciting honest breathy responses from his love of flesh and blood. Cause and reaction. Scripted and executed

But perhaps there were some modifications he could accommodate to his side of the performance. Inwardly, he did not enjoy contemplating that notion. Their relationship had, thus far, been founded on honesty and acceptance. It seemed dishonest to her and a reminder to him of his limitations by… pretending. Sex was proving to be more emotional than he had anticipated, which was an extremely murky concept for him to grasp…though, slowly, he was learning. Through Wanda, he was learning.

Wanda’s hungry stomach gurgled loudly in protest, causing the two to open their eyes at eachother mid-kiss, before breaking away in laughter.

Vision took his place on the loveseat first, angling himself so that Wanda could easily nestle her back into his side when she came over with her plate of late-night indulgences and wine. She gave a sigh of contentment once she was situated.

“Anything good on?” she asked, already working on one shrimp. Rather ungracefully. It was endearing.

“3rd Rock from the Sun, Batman, or Green Acres?” Vision turned on the hotel flatscreen.

“Which would you like?”

“Whichever you prefer.”

“Right, but if YOU had to pick one-“

“I would pick what you would pick.”

A moment lapsed. Wanda’s chewing even ceased. Clearly Vision had miscalculated and his response had been received as an irritant rather than as affectionate. He was about to modify his meaning when Wanda spoke up.

“Well, I’m too tired for spazzy Dick Solomon, no to cheesy super heroes… so I guess Green Acres it is.” Her tone was not as cheerful as it had been.

Vision turned it to the right station, feeling uneasy. He wanted to correct their interaction, but he eased back into the loveseat when Wanda leaned her head against his chest. She still wanted contact.

It was interesting, hearing the lines dubbed in Russian. They turned on English subtitles for Wanda’s sake, but even she said that she didn’t know how long her eyes would last, straining to read and comprehend the words in her second language. Vision asked a couple of times if she was ready for bed. She would lazily protest, trying to “convince” him she was wide awake by how well she could mumble the catchy theme song. But it was clear that she was fading fast. She just wanted to stay in his embrace.

And that would have been suffice for Vision, if he didn’t feel she would significantly benefit from a good night’s sleep. When he was sure she was unconscious enough, he slowly and gradually phased through the couch to let the cushions take his place. He set about turning off most of the lights, save for one lamp to provide a soft glow to guide Wanda to the bed. He then went about covering the left-over food with a napkin and stacking her dishes in a neat presentation for the food service team.

After placing the tray outside the door, Vision returned to coax Wanda to proper slumber, only to see her now splayed out on the couch. Turning about upon the upholstered texture had worked her thick robe open. Her smooth skin exposed in a thin sliver between her breasts, down her navel, with a bent leg peeking out from under the cloth as the only provision of modesty.

She was... a vision.

He came closer, peering down at her in contemplative wonder, to see her eyes sleepily open. She then extended a graceful arm  to him, slender hand beckoning. Her unspoken request transparently clear to him.

Vision’s clothes collapsed into a shapeless pile on the floor as his physical form faded in a golden shimmer for an instant. The very sight of his body stimulated her, he knew that well. He lightly wedged one knee between her legs, to steady himself as he leisurely untied the fastening of her askew robe. Wanda’s breathing deepened, her hands reaching above herself, tangling in an auburn pool of silky hair as soft terry peeled away from taunt flesh…

The synthezoid had always told Wanda that human bodies were not completely unlike an advanced, organic computer. She would scrunch her nose, sure that he was innocently patronizing her on some level. But it was true. And being globally aware of any and all signals and energies, seeing them in her now was not so different. Perhaps he didn’t know what they meant exactly, or what they felt like, but trace currents of electricity and signals from the brain to the billions and billions of neurons throughout the human body made sense to Vision. It was quite the light show, when he truly connected to the body’s activities as he was now. It mapped out what efforts were effective, and what areas needed his rapt attention next. Where to experiment with a squeeze, lick, or bite. When a rapid rhythm was paramount or a restrained thrust would guarantee instant and powerful release.

It was confusing, marrying the biological science which made complete sense to the synthezoid, to the complete language of erotica which was more abundantly used in literature and pop culture… and completely conceptional. And yet here Vision was, observing the messaging of Wanda’s body, comparing it to a brilliant and unbridled sea storm of scarlet, scattering billions of ruby fractals across her glittering coral shores. Complete nonsense, yet complete truth.

“Vis!” Wanda cried. Her thighs twitched in his strong grasp as the first scarlet wave hit. Vision raised his head from between her legs, laving his slick tongue over her apex one last time, like a signature. She gasped, well past the brink, her fist clutching at her hair to hold on to something.

He leaned over her, parting her legs wider, but massaged them after keeping them so restricted over his broad shoulders for a time. He then skimmed his maroon hands up her pelvis, and around to cradle the curve of her rear, then scooted her down close to himself. Wanda propped herself up on her elbows, but immediately her head fell back in helpless passion as she felt him sheath himself deeply in her and start a powerful rhythm.

Verbal coaxing always elicited positive response. “Wanda.” Vision murmured, deeply. More rubies and stardust, just at his voice. Wanda was too overcome to form words, but her hand traveled down below her navel, to where they joined and moved as one, then up his front. She squeezed, rubbed, then clawed… but to no avail. He could feel her touch… but it didn’t create storms and shooting sparks within him as it would her.

She dimmed in sadness. Suddenly those ethereal shores were darkening. Vision wavered. He was failing her.

He swallowed hard, reeling at this complete disappointment in himself, so he made a flawed calculation. He slowed, simulated heavy panting, eyes shut tight as if with desire. There was a shimmer in Wanda, of hopeful excitement. He recalled love-scenes in movies, trying to remember how the male human interacts, even though the camera was always fixed on the female in the thralls of ecstasy. He moaned softly, and then more loudly and with urgency. It was an act. It felt wrong and stupid to him. Humiliating even…

“STOP IT.” Wanda commanded. Vision abruptly stopped, gladly, yet mortified at being found out.

“I… I was just-“

“I know what you were doing, Vis.” Wanda slid herself out from under him. She was upset. “For a moment I thought…” Her voice broke off.

Vision sat back on his haunches, realizing the gravity of what he had done. “I thought it would help.”

Wanda stood up, sniffling back her frustration. She picked up the robe and put it back on, avoiding his pleading eyes. “I know you did. I know.” She put her face in her hands for a moment. The synthezoid stood up in concern, wanting to hold her. He moved forward to do so, but she put a hand up. “I just need you to let me hurt about this for a little, Vis. Okay? And not to try and fix it.”

Vis looked down at his feet, dejected. He slowly gathered his pants and slid them over his compact form. He felt Wanda’s arms slide under his and around his torso. He bowed his head.

“I’m sorry. So sorry, dear heart.” Vision’s voice had never hitched in such a manner before.

“Me too.” She held on to him for a few more beats. “I’m going to bed.”

“I am…  going read for a bit.”

“…Alright.” The departure of her embrace left him standing alone in the dark.

[starbuck09256]

Paperwork and coffee

Fictober day 13

After detour before chinga

tagging @today-in-fic

I look over the mountain of paperwork in front of me. For months I thought about how that was the one thing I wouldn’t miss when I was gone. Needless forms poor trees whose sacrifice was wasted on blue and black ink littering pages of information already on pages 6 and again on page 10 and one more time on page 15. I wonder how Mulder does it, somehow some way that man always has all the paperwork done and on time. Mulder is a lot of things but he isn’t careless about the x-files. He makes sure every single thing is properly filed in his mess of an office. Organized chaos, I sigh heavily wishing I had just let Mulder fill these out too. I bit my lip looking at the clock, it’s still early only 9 the fact that he isn’t here yet makes me wavier about going to get a coffee. Will this be any less painful with a soul full of foam and creamy espresso. My appetite has returned in more ways than one. I chide myself again for making a pass at Mulder. I need a vacation, a real one. I’ve always wanted to go to Maine in the fall, see the leaves scattering in the wind swirling around the colors of sunset. I could use a giant Lobster with melted butter in every crevasse. A convertible so I can breathe the sea into my body. I push the paperwork aside, boot up Mulders computer and start to look for a small bed and breakfast where you can see the shore through those craftsman style windows. I turn the radio on low as I click through each page. Check the obscene large vacation time I have. I think of Mulder having to be forced to take 5 days off, I remember the giant Elvis sunglasses he bought me and think of taking a picture with them on the trip. Maybe I even buy him one of those giant Lobster claws. I chuckle to myself and the door clicks. Mulder is smiling at me. 

“What’s funny?” he asks as he is balancing a coffee and donut bag in his hands.

 I get up to help him. It's the good coffee from the coffee shop 3 blocks over. I take a sip and Mulder places his cup on the desk with the bag he’s standing close and chewing his lip. We didn’t talk about the wine or the cheese, or singing a song in the middle of the night, or what it really means for us that I’m still here, waiting. I gesture with my hand, sigh and smile up at him. 

“I was thinking about those Elvis glasses you bought, and umm maybe going on vacation. After everything that I..well we went through I could use some sea air. I was thinking maybe Maine.” 

I look up at him and he stares at me and touches my hand on the desk. 

“I love Maine,” he whispers. He traces my fingers and then his hand is up brushing against my cheek. 

“You do?” my voice is breathy like it’s lost in the fog. 

He nods and his face is leaning down to mine. I’m transfixed in my spot with one hand on the desk as he closes the gap between us, and then his lips are on mine and his fingers slide back into my hair and his tongue sweeps into my mouth. I can’t help but whimper against him as my own hand goes up to pull him closer. He pushes against me his body is warm and while normally I would be relatively alarmed at being trapped between a man and the desk right now I’m desperate to be closer. My body aches for more and oxygen as he explores my mouth. He pulls away caresses my hair with his other hand. I bite my lip in confusion. What just happened? What does that mean? Why after all this time of all the chances was it here in the office with a coffee. 

“I’m sorry.” he says and I am trying to think of a thing he did wrong. 

“What? Why? Do you..” the lump in my throat is so large and I want to run. 

“I should have done that earlier, so much earlier. You came into my room with wine and cheese and this morning when I was brushing my teeth, I just haven’t been able to stop thinking about how much I wanted that...this. Uh…..us.” his voice waivers at the end. 

“I’m an idiot, Scully. I have no idea why you are still here with me or how you don’t know how much more you deserve but I’ll try to make it worth your while for as long as I can.. And I can start with taking you on vacation to Maine or wherever you want to go.” 

I can’t help grinning at him. I loop my arms around his neck, try to tilt up to his impossible height and kiss him deeply. His hands press into my back and I try to remember if kissing was always this good, and why I’ve gone so damn long without it. I realize of course that it’s because I waited so long for the one man I swore I wouldn’t kiss, swore I would not let him be a repeat of past transgressions. But now as my tongue lovingly strokes his and his hands roam up and down my back spreading warmth all over my body. I realize I was the bigger idiot for thinking that I could ever not fall for the one person who is my equal. When we pull apart this time both grinning and a little shy. I let my fingers travel up his shirt to the soft blue tie that I got him 2 christmases ago.

 “So umm..” he’s nervous and chuckles as I slide my hand up and down his chest. 

“When are you thinking we could go?” I look past him to the pile of paperwork that is figuratively looming over my ability to leave with Mulder in tow right now. 

I could leave now to pull Mulder into my apartment and not leave for a week. I tap my hand lightly on his chest and sigh. I want to leave now, I want to explore every single inch of him with my fingertips and I want his lips everywhere and the last thing I want is to smell his cologne and feel his eyes as I sit awkwardly in that chair dodging papercuts like the plague. I look at him with a still sadness that I can’t just tell him to lock the door. 

“I have so much paperwork…” 

I want to cry because he is stroking my wrist and chewing on his lip that has a slight smudge of my lipstick on it.  He looks over the pile, the pile that waits on my normal clean in box that surely would never have more than 20 papers at one time. He laughs and I want to hit him. That he would wait until the one time I would absolutely have to stay in the office before turning me into a reckless employee who would leave at 9:45 just because she desperately needs a tryst with her otherwise platonic partner. I want to slap him in the arm for laughing. But he has pulled my fingers to his mouth and is kissing them and sucking on them a bit and watching his tongue has me slightly transfixed. 

“Scully…” my name spilling off his lips as he leans down once more and offers me a quick peck which is the last thing I need before the daunting task in front of me. 

“Honey, I just have to file those, I already finished all the paperwork.” He laughs again and picks me up spinning me around in our much too small office. We wouldn’t be able to do this if we had another desk down here. But he starts to kiss me again and his lips travel down my neck finding all my sensitive spots far too quickly. 

“What?” I can barely mutter as my body hums in deep pleasure. His hands find the top of my shoulder and he gives them a squeeze. 

“I did all of that already, even your parts. You’ve been sick for months, working when you could barely stand, I figured the least I could do was your half of the paperwork, you  are so very stubborn so I took over almost all of your stuff months ago. You already finished your version of the reports right?” I nod I had at least kept up on our case reports and my 3-4 page megar reports that certainly didn’t contain the dramatic prowess they once endured. Mulder picks up the phone and is already talking to Skinner. 

“Hi  I think Scully and I should take some vacation time after everything with Blevins and that seminar.  We have no new cases worth following up on so I would like to put in an immediate request for myself.” he looks at me holding up a 1 or a two. 

My lips fall apart, oh my god. Two full weeks with just him and I and his mouth and I can’t even control my own fingers as they hold up two. The grin I get from him could light up space. He passes me the phone. 

“Hi sir, yea just with my recent recovery I think it might be a good idea for me to take advantage of some time as well as things to settle here.” 

I can’t believe I’m doing this, that we are doing this. Mulder is already locking filing cabinets and eagerly shuffling the paperwork that I thought would be my nemesis. He is leaning over and clicking on some website I had up and pulling out his wallet. I forget sometimes how he can be when he has a mission, uncompromising, unyielding oh god. I will most likely be his mission later. I feel the flush in my chest as he takes another sip of coffee and hands me mine. I sip and it’s perfect, subtly sweet but clearly he has heard me say that I’m still cutting back on the sugar, but it’s creamy with a nick of cinnamon at the end. The sip calms me down and allows me to focus on finishing the rest of the conversation which is just that Skinner has no problem approving what we need since Belvins is dead and he has better shit to do than babysitting Mulder over the next two weeks anyway. I nod and find Mulder tapping his foot at our printer looking anxiously. He grabs the papers off the printer and drapes his jacket over his arm grabbing the bag of pastries and putting in his mouth.  

“Thanks sir,” he mutters into the phone and grabs my hand eagerly with the one free one he has left. I grab my coffee as he throws my coat at me pulling our office door and ushering me out. 

“We can slow down you know.” 

But god we have been going at glacier speed for years and truthfully if I had more coffee in me I probably would have bound up the stairs faster and already be tapping my foot while he fumbles for the keys. 

“Do you want me to go slow at first Scully?” He says he is already halfway up the stairway leaning down towards me. 

“How slow?” and his voice has dropped an octave I’m now on the step above him. 

He cups my cheek and kisses me so painfully slow I realize now I should have just locked the door downstairs so that the anticipation wouldn’t kill me. I shallow hard as his lips leave mine. “I’m driving.” I mutter taking the last three steps quickly and grinning at him from the parking garage door.

 “We gonna get a convertible Scully?” I already am halfway to my car with the keys ready to bring us and the car to life. 

[btssunnyboy]

Becoming Mine - Jeon Jungkook Part 1/?

In which the fairly new employee has an admirer

Word Count - 4,048

Warning - This is yandere and the whole series will have many yandere related events! Profanity and the mentions of looking down a shirt and seeing cleavage.

If anyone has any ideas they’d like to contribute, please feel free to send them my way!

Masterlist

———————————————————————

Mr. Jeon pinched the bridge of his nose in aggravation, while letting out a small huff of air as he stared at the trembling man before him. The man fiddled with the stacks of paper at his fingertips, and scanned each and every line hoping to find a solution, but every single one seemed to have a flaw within its codes. The numbers were far too low considering the amount of business ideas the company had sold this year. The man gave a short and almost panicked like cough when he noticed how violently Mr. Jeon’s leg was shaking underneath the table. The back of his heels that were repeatedly tapping away at the tiles were driving the man insane, the sound echoing in his brain like it was telling him to watch out for a dangerous situation is headed your way.

Patience for the problem at hand was growing thin in Jeon, too thin for anyone's liking.

If someone doesn't get these numbers corrected there will be hell to pay. Jeon loved to dish out servings of his sadistic like plans to those who were unfortunate enough to cross those boundaries. He'll make sure they receive what’s coming to them no matter what. Sweat was beginning to form in beads upon his employee’s forehead. The sight alone almost made him laugh, since Mr. Jeon knew if he only paid attention a bit more than the problem like this wouldn't have occurred at all.

The mess could have simply been avoid if only he was fucking paying attention for once in his pathetic life. Mr.Jeon's harsh eyes glared burning holes into the poor man temple.

"Rufus, I'm trying to remain professional because I know mistakes happen, but this is utterly ridiculous." He seethed through his teeth. His hands were now clenched before him, his whole demeanor was absolutely furious. You could practically see the smoke shooting out of his ears.

"I'm so sorry! I watched them go over these sets a million times I'm truly, and deeply sorry." Rufus sputtered out, as he frantically shoved his glasses back onto the bridge of nose. The sweat was pooling on his palms, and his pants were almost soaked with how much he's wiped his clammy hands on them. He didn't even give himself a chance to breath when he tried recalculating the numbers by hand.

"Your department better be lucky that these numbers aren't due until tomorrow night." Mr. Jeon spoke calmly. Even though, everything at this moment was completely opposite. He tapped away at the wooden surface of his desk, while Rufus gave a great nod of understanding. "What are you still doing here? Go fix these fucking numbers."

"O-Oh! Right Sir!" Rufus said, gripping tightly at the messed up papers. Not giving a care at this moment as he clenched them all beneath his fist and threw the wrinkled papers into the brown file organizer. A hastily escape was made as he fumbled on his feet to get out of the office completely. His sweaty palms once more giving him trouble as they refused to stay solid against the cold, metal doorknob. Giving it one last tug he yanked the door open swiftly and made his departure, making sure not to look back even as he closed the door.

Rufus could feel the fury clawing around inside of his chest at the thought of that embarrassing moment. The big big boss almost chewed his head off and that's never a good sign. Mr. Jeon will probably now view the department as a failure thus forcing everyone to quit, or he'll simply fire them. Either way the business will find a new management team who could actually keep up with their required task. If he loses his job then he's royal screwed.

"How in the hell did these numbers turn out lower than expected!" Rufus bellowed as he swung open the main door to enter his domain. The frame smacking its self on the nearby wall, gaining everyone’s attention. His sharp eyes stared down each and every employee in that room. Their eyes were cast downwards refusing to meet the eyes of a main who held nothing, but fire in his being. Rufus's demeanor changed within a snap of his fingers ever since he left the main boss' office. He was made out like a fool, and he was gonna make them feel the exact same way. "I don't have all day."

No one said a single word as he waved around the brown file organizer. Everyone shared confused looks between them all. They were for sure those numbers were calculated correctly. All those numbers were the profits the company has made and the numbers were sky rocketing. What happened? That the question that plagued everyone's mind, but no one had any clue as to what the answer might be.

Rufus's eyes finally landed on you. You pondered on the solutions to this problem. It had to happen fast or a lot of people were gonna be in deep trouble. You eyed the brown organizer that was hanging loosely from his grip. It was like a cartoon lightbulb dinged brightly above you head.

That's it, the brown file organizer is not the right one at all! The folder for this year was in a soft blue color. The wheels on your office chair slung you a bit to the right as you raced towards the drawers that held all the recorded numbers. Skimming through each one as briskly as you could. That organizer was here somewhere, it has to be here. No one, including you, could afford to lose this job.

You let out a sigh of relief as your fingers made contact with the plastic material of the organizer. There in all of its blue glory was your ticket to keeping your job, as well as the others. The drawer made a harsh clank as it was abruptly shut. Your heels clicked rapidly against the tiles as you raced against the clock to deliver the precious organizer.

"What is that?" Rufus sighed, motioning towards the blue plastic that was clutched in your painted fingertips.

"These are the correct numbers, you grabbed last years by mistake." You smiled as you tried to gingerly hand it over. Seeing as he would have to take it back up to Mr. Jeon and get them approved. His face quickly flashed from relief to the sinister. "Rufus what's the matter? Are you okay?"

"I was specifically told all the right papers were in this brown organizer! Why the hell do you have a blue one."

The profanity that left his lips without hesitation didn't affect you as it happened so often. Although he's making it seem like it's your fault that he grabbed the wrong one. You never told him to grab the brown one at all, you didn't even tell him which one it was period. This was his mistake, and he's not taking credit for it. It's absolutely pitiful.

"I remember you asking what color was last years and we responded with brown, and then we proceeded to say that this years color was blue." You corrected as you held it out once more. A dry scoff past through his lips as he harshly shoved the organizer into your stomach. "What?"

"Take it up there and explain to him why this mix up even happened. Let's see if you can handle the main boss and his wrath." After he spoke his final words he trudged to his office in the back.

Turning around you noticed everyone's eyes on you. Their sympathetic smiles only hurt you feelings more. You wish you could tell them it was fine, that mistakes happen. Even in a company like this, but with Rufus' new outburst you're afraid to even open you mouth at all.

"L/n! Get going!"

With that command you rushed off in the opposite direction. You tried not to draw that much attention as you walked right up the familiar glass door. When your eyes landed on his laser focused figure your legs grew weak almost giving in, and letting your body fall towards the floor. The thought of him yelling at you, saying you're disturbing him only made you want to race back to your original post and let someone else handle this. This should be Rufus after all not you.

You banged on the glass as lightly as you could and waited for his eyes to at least glance at the door. When it didn't happen you almost took that as your chance to bolt back downstairs. You’d just have to make up a lame excuse and say he was busy or not in his office at the moment.

"Rufus where - " Mr. Jeon stopped dead in his words when he noticed a more feminine looking figure in the other side of the glass. No gray hair, but a full colored one, no nasty black dress pants, but smooth legs connected to a very fitted pencil skirt. He could honestly say he was really enjoyed the view.

You tried to calm your breathing as you pushed open the door to let it swing open fully. The moment your entire body was in full view Mr. Jeon physically felt the breath leave his body. He was astonished at the person who was standing before him, he's never seen someone so breathtakingly beautiful. For the first time in his whole laugh he couldn’t muster up the rights words to say.

"Mr. Jeon I'm so sorry if I’m interrupting, but Rufus sent me with the correct numbers this time. Would you like to go over them?"

The way his name fell from your lips was sending the poor man in a full on spiral. His world felt like it was beginning to take a new form. A new form that was making him feel something he's never felt before, and he was now determined to keep this feeling alive and blooming. This was the one thing he was going to nurture like no tomorrow and make sure you're always by his side. All he needed was for you to agree and it was gonna be a piece of cake, hopefully.

All he needed was your name, and then he could get his hands on anything he needed to make you his.

"Oh you're not interrupting at all, but who are you?" His voice was filled with curiosity and you could actually understand it. The two of you have never formally met considering it was Rufus who hired you to work underneath him.

"Oh! I'm Y/n L/n, I work in the marketing department." You smiled as you extended a hand. What surprised you the most was how gently he took your hand into his. Like it was make of tender glass and if anything touched it, it would shatter into a million pieces. You've heard so many stories about how this man was as ruthless and conniving as they come. Yet here he is treating a stranger like they’re a delicate rose that needed strong protection and a gentle hand to do the protecting.

"I'm sorry we haven't formally met, but better late then never right, but let's see those numbers." He smiled as he gestured to the seat in front of him. That smile grew a bit wider when he noticed you pull the chair a bit closer. While doing this your body was leaned forward and when his eyes noticed your cleavage that was peeking out through the small dip in your shirt, his breath hitched. Purple suits her, oh god I bet that color would suit my floor even better.

"Are you okay, Mr. Jeon?" You questioned when the legs of the chair were finally sturdy against the tiles. Your caring eyes were full of concern as you stared at him. No sick motive behind you words, just genuine and honest concern.

"Of course don't worry about me, now back to these numbers."

Your fingers skimmed the lines of number that were printed onto the page. Making sure to note which numbers corresponded with which sales for that period. This company truly was a force to be reckoned with. Since it easily became one of the richest and most powerful companies within a few years. All that progress was made possible by the CEO Jeon Jungkook.

"Miss. l/n can I have a little bit more of your time before you go, I have an important question I need to ask you." He asked while you began to stand up and gather the correct numbered papers and neatly placed them into the empty folds of the organizer.

"Of course, Mr. Jeon. What is it?"

"How does Rufus treat his workers, is he as good of a boss as he claims to be?" He asked while intertwining his hands and leaning forwards on his desk. His eyebrows raised and his head tilted just slightly. The hesitation in your answer made his hands tighten ever so slightly. "How does he treat everyone? I need an answer."

"I mean he treats us good, but usually tries to rush things."

"Miss L/n, I don't appreciate when I'm being lied to straight to myself face. Now I'm gonna ask you one more time. What is his attitude back in that department like?" Mr. Jeon snapped. Just as before he was losing his patience, he needed this answer desperately. He finally wanted a reason to cut Rufus off at the knees and watch him crumble at the thought of losing the one thing that is keeping him afloat.

"He used to be really understanding and such, but now he rushes us and then proceeds to pile work-load upon work-load on us. He's agitated all the time and never sees anything as his fault it's always someone else's." You confessed as you fiddled with the hem of your blouse. Acting like the small, black button on the bottom was the most important thing in the world.

"Thank you for your cooperation and if you’re interested in a new swag from Rufus I’m almost positive I have a few new openings.” He added before you started walking out the door. His eyes lingering a bit longer on parts of your body that those eyes shouldn’t be looking at.

"I'll see if I can come by later, thank you Mr. Jeon."

"You're welcomed and you can call me Jungkook from now on."

You gave a small nod and quickly made your way out the door. Jungkook smiled like he has just seen the gates of heaven, but just the mere thought of you was more endearing than heaven itself. A dazzling smile had graced his face. He could feel a warm sensation taking over his body as he watched you walk down the end of the hallway and disappear into the crowds of people that flooded the office halls. When he was for certain that no one was going to bother him he quickly rolled around to his computer.

His sharp fingers typing at rapid speed against the white keyboard. Dozens of searches popping up, but none matching the description of the one person he needed. A groan of disapproval was lodged in his throat as nothing was coming up. Your file was somehow hidden from his view. His nails dug indents into the palms of his hands since his grip was iron tight. He needed to keep his temper under control he couldn’t afford to cause a scene on his office and have people rushing in.

He couldn’t afford to let people see his darling on his computer when you were supposed to he for his eyes only.

A small ding alerted him of a new notification. A new file had finally been added to the company database. By the grace of god that file was none other then yours. That beautiful face adoring his computer made his heart swell with endless amounts of joy. He had what he wanted at his fingertips.

He was gonna learn everything about you and all he needed to do was a click a few tabs. It may seem strange with his sudden infatuation with someone he just met, but he couldn’t help it. It was like a breath of fresh air watching you take timid steps through that door. Your honey like voice sounding like music to his ears and he wanted to keep that tune on repeat forever.

He wanted you forever.

When he fully closed out the tabs he raked his mind for possible positions he could place you in. The front desk was too far away and your intelligence would simply be wasted. When the thought of you being right by side crossed his mind there was no going back. The decision was already set in stone with or without your say so.

"I'll see you tomorrow my darling." He spoke in a gravelly voice. A sinister smile grazing his face at thought of you finally being his. This time his plans won’t fail, you’re not gonna end up like the last one. You are far superior then all of the others combined.

This time you were not gonna get away.

                                   —————

You didn’t like the unpleasant feeling that was flowing through your veins. The way his eyes went from kind and caring to stone hard within a snap of a finger gave you chills. He was determined to get the truth out of you and you gave into the pressure and completely caved. The air in that room felt suffocating and when you finally reached the step out of that office the air had finally came back into your lifeless like body. You scurried down the hall as fast as your heel clad feet could carry you.

You rushed to your cubicle as you placed yourself within its confinements. Genuine worrying filling you up once more as you thought back the encounters. His longing stares that stayed on you a bit too long to his hands that somehow kept brushing up against yours. The feeling felt foreign, strange and unwanted. The way his mood would swing from left to right left you drowning in concern.

The right thing was to just stay in your department and keep you distance. Somehow you still doubt he'll let you off that easy, but god you wish he would. You should never have said you’d come by to talk about the other job opportunities.

"Hey it's time to lock up." Lori shook your shoulders lightly pulling you away from your terror like thoughts. Her soft smile providing a little reassurance as to what just happened. No matter what you still can't shake that feeling that something is gonna go wrong. Usually your gut feelings are right, but this time you wish it was just an upset stomach. 

"Oh yeah I'll meet you at the car I just gotta use the bathroom."

"Okay don't be too slow I want to stop and get something to eat." She yelled as she got further down the hallway. Until all that was seen was the shadow she casted on the dimly lit hallway.

The familiar ding of your phone flashed the notification that your file was added to the database. They let everyone know when they were added due to the fact that employees had a right to know when their information was uploaded on any sort of database. This also came with the perks that everyone was update when their profile was being viewed.

Oh god, that same feeling of dread overtook your body like a tsunami.

He had viewed it. Probably from top to bottom, taking in as much information as his eyes would allow. He has accessed your phone number, you education and your fucking address. Everything was now at his grimy fingertips. Maybe this was gonna be a lot more dangerous then you thought. You tried to play if off as fluke, as him seeing you for the first time and was just wondering around it. The whole air of the situation felt sinister and you just couldn't stop it.

Your eyes darted left to right in a panic making sure he wasn't lurking behind the curve of the halls. Your heart was beating too loud for you to hear properly. Those cool, metal keys were clutched between your fingers as you took shaky steps down too the parking garage. Without falling you didn't waste time to yank open Lori's car door.

"Wow honey, looks like you've seen a ghost.you must’ve peed quickly." Lori snickered as she held out her hands for the keys and then she began to pull the car out of park. Her eyes trained on the numerous vehicles behind her car.

"Oh me? Yeah I'm...fine. Turns out I didn’t have to.” You said, taking a shaky breath. Your fingers quickly pressed the lock located on the right side of the door. The paranoia jumping out in your obvious actions. “Would if he weird to the main boss to view your profile?”

You saw her eyebrows go up as she pondered on the thought. Her acrylics tapping away at the wheel. “Well it all depends. If you’re talking about today then it’s probably fine, because keep in mind you just joined a few weeks ago. So don’t worry about it.”

You felt you shoulders lose the tension inside them. The shaky breaths that you were making you light headed finally were under control. A small smile grazed your face as you rubbed you temples. A gracious thank you passed through you lips when you got out of Lori’s car. An overwhelming feeling of security lingered on your body when the latch on the door was finally hooked.

You’re finally away from that place, you’re finally away from him. No need to watch over you shoulder to hide from his presence, no need to wonder if he’s lurking behind a corner.

The clothes that were restricted against you body felt like heaven coming off. Your bare skin was loving the feeling of cool breeze against it. You couldn’t wait for the scorching hot water to bless you skin once more.

“Hello?” You questioned, uncertainty laced throughout the word. Your eyebrows rose in confusion when the caller gave a heavy cough on the other line. You gave a shaky breathe as you tried to recollected yourself. “Mr.Jeon?”

“Oh! Yeah I’m sorry, but I was just calling to see when you wanted to schedule that meeting of sorts?” He questioned, his voice seemed like it was caught in his throat. Like he was all chocked up. “Are you busy right now?”

“Sorta, maybe it would be best if we called back later and try to arrange something?” You spoke. You were desperately trying to get out of this call as quickly as humanly possible.

“Yeah, I hope you have a good night, y/n.”

You didn’t even bother with a response as you quickly clicked the red button on the bottom of the screen. The damn phone number section had to be required on that stupid form. Right now you’re wishing you could just drop the job all together. Bills don’t pay themselves though.

You wish the hot water would wash all your worries away. That when you stepped foot outside the tub that everything would go back to normal, but that stuff seems to only happen in the movies. You hair was standing up on the back of you neck, and you just wanted these foolish feelings to evaporate with the steam that was clouding your body.

When you finally stepped out the shower you were quick to wrap the green towel around you vulnerable body. When you back was turned towards small window you couldn’t held the feelings that overtook your body.

“Stop acting like a fucking coward.” You grumbled to yourself as you slid a shirt over you sticky, wet shoulders. “Everything is gonna be fine.”

No matter how many times you repeated that phrase to yourself that night, your mind still raced with endless amount of possibilities.

Maybe this wasn’t gonna fine, maybe this was the start of something more sinister and dangerous then anyone could have imagined.

And maybe your mind was right.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Piggy’s Had Too Much Wine

This fic is highkey a vent because my younger brother is an asshole who never stops calling me fat

DISCLAIMER: By writing this fic I am not saying that Katy Richardson is fat. She is not. And even if she was, she would still be drop dead gorgeous. This is a fictional story about the character she plays, not her.

Word count: 3159

TW: Body shaming, body image issues, self harm

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

  “Damn, girl, you got enough in your face?”

Joan looked up from the forkful of food she had just put in her mouth and blinked at Anne smirking across the table at her. She chewed slowly, like a sheep deep in thought, then said after swallowing, “Huh?”

Anne nodded at her meal. “You got a lot to eat there.”

  “I know,” Joan said, shifting in her seat. “I’m hungry.”

  “That’s new,” Cathy observed. “Usually you don’t like eating during lunch breaks at work.”

  “Well, we’re not at work,” Joan said. “This is a restaurant.”

  “We know that,” Cleves said. 

  “And the food is good here.” Joan went on hastily. “I like it.”

  “Maybe a little too much,” Kitty said from behind her glass, earning her a sharp, but wounded look from Joan, which she countered with a petty sip of her drink.

  “I’m paying, anyway,” Joan continued. “Why does it matter what I get?”   “It doesn’t, honey,” Aragon settled her. “Don’t worry about it.”

Joan nodded and then took another bite of her meal. She couldn’t help but feel a little awkward as she did so, as if she were eating like a pig out of a slop trough, but tried to ignore it. It was fine. Everybody had to eat. There was nothing embarrassing about it.

  “So…” Anne started again. Aragon gave her a warning look, but she either ignored it or didn’t see it. “What made you want to come out with us? Usually you never go out.”

Joan shrugged. “I got lonely. And there isn’t anything good to eat at my apartment, so…” She shrugged again.

  “Ah, so that explains why you’re stuffing your face like there’s no tomorrow,” Kitty nodded wisely.

Joan ruffled, face inflaming with red. “I said I was hungry!” She yelped, her voice pitching slightly.

  “Don’t get mad,” Kitty held her hand sup. “I thought you were just trying to starve yourself or something.”

  “You do never eat,” Jane put in her two cents.

  “Well, I am now,” Joan grumbled.

  “Do you have a date?” Cleves asked. “Maybe you’re looking for someplace good to take them?”

Anne snorted. “If Joan had a date, then I hope they have a belly kink because she’s going to be packing after this.” She took a sip of her drink, then breezily added, “More so than she usually is.”

A few giggles swept through the tables, while others snapped their heads around to gauge Joan’s reaction. And she did not look happy about what had been said.

Joan’s fork was raised up for her to take another bite, but frozen in midair. Bright red consumed her face like the blooming of a rose in spring. She unconsciously wrapped her free arm around her stomach while slowly setting her fork down with the other. She sat hunched against the table for a moment, then was grabbing her purse and dumping money out on the table.

  “You can pay with this,” She mumbled.

  “Come on, Joan,” Anne said, rolling her eyes. “Don’t be such a baby. It was just a joke.”

But Joan doesn’t listen to her. She stood up and shoved her chair in roughly. Tears of humiliation could be seen shining in her eyes.

  “Oh my god,” Anne groaned. “Are you going to cry? Are you serious? You’re literally thinner than half of us here! What do you have to cry about? Or even be embarrassed about?”

Still, Joan doesn’t listen. She slung her purse of her shoulder and stormed out of the building, her arms wrapped firmly around her stomach the entire time.

------

When Joan got home, she shoved her fingers down her throat and cried. So much for a good meal. At least she got to pay for it.

------

That night, Joan stood in the shower with a box cutter poised over her exposed belly. She wondered what it would be like to find clarity in its blade. Cutting off pieces of herself would make her feel more whole. A heavy decision with a light outcome. It would just be like how they cut meat at slaughterhouses.

Make yourself an animal. Make yourself less human. It’ll make the process easier.

But the pain was bright and sharp and unbearable, even with the smallest of slices, and she threw the box cutter at the wall.

Joan sunk to the floor, sobbing, thin trails of blood running from her stomach. The water dissolved the red into unfolding petals of flowers across her pale skin before sliding into the drain.

What did she have to be embarrassed about?

She looked at herself in the mirror after getting out of the shower and asked herself this. What does she have that makes her so embarrassing? What does she have to hate?

She wasn’t overweight. She wasn’t obese. In most people’s terms, she was the normal example of thin. It was just her stomach, it wasn’t that bad, or that’s what they say.

  “You’re not even that big,” That’s because you haven’t seen her with her shirt off.

  “It’s just your stomach, it’s not even that bad,” But that’s what people see the most.

  “You aren’t fat so stop saying you are,” And she wished she could, but tell that to the insecurities rebounding inside of her head.

When she wears jeans, she has to pull the waistband up over her stomach or else she would be doing an impression of an English muffin for the entire day.

When she wears certain shirts, she has to suck in her stomach or else everyone will see the not-actual baby bump she’s sporting.

When people jokingly (or sometimes seriously) ask if she’s pregnant, she has to force herself to laugh along because if she shows that she’s offended they’ll pull out the “you’re not fat, you don’t know what it’s like, you have no right to be so whiny.”

When someone says they wished she had her body type, she has to act like it’s some worshiping compliment when really it just makes her feel guilty.

And she gets it, she does, she knows how hard it must be for actual overweight people, but goddamnit, when she heard someone point her body out so rudely, it was enough to destroy any confidence she had in herself.

She wanted to cut it all off. All of it. Until there’s nothing left but a gaping hole left in her abdomen from where her ugliness used to be.

If only.

------

Joan hadn’t expected not eating to be so goddamn hard. She only ate a few things a day, but having nothing at all was absolute torture. The fact that she couldn’t go twenty-four hours without food did not help her confidence in her weight or body, but it was also too much for her to handle. She /had/ to eat. She could find a different way to lose weight.

------

Exercise was a bust. Turns out she has really bad stamina. She threw up when she attempted to jog an entire trail. She walked the same trail the second time and still felt excruciating stitches in her side during the entire hike. And then she waterlogged herself and felt even sicker. AND THEN her legs were sore for days. She hated it.

------

When starving herself and jogging failed, Joan turned to the local gym. She bought herself a membership and went in with the most confidence she could muster. The first day, her foot slipped and she got her leg caught in the turning pedals of the bike machine. In her attempt to escape, she sprawled right out of the seat, screaming. She hasn’t gone back since.

------

Two weeks have passed since the incident at the restaurant. Joan was still thinking about it, no matter how hard she tried to distract herself. Anne’s words and the laughter that followed just kept rebounding through her skull.

Hunching over her work desk, Joan carefully felt her stomach. She hated how soft and pudgy it was, as if she were actually pregnant like how people liked to joke, but with a deflated baby. She poked the roll of fat and wrinkled her nose in disgust. Her nails curled into the skin as her anger mounted.

Why did she have to look like this? 

She had rewatched the recordings of the Sunday Sessions and noticed how much her stomach stuck out. Had she always looked that fat? Why didn’t anyone say something? Were they laughing at her while the Live went on? Were they looking? God, she even looks awful in her overalls. If she can’t wear her overalls anymore, then what’s the point of anything?

Joan whimpered. She scratched harder at her belly.

Cut it off. Cut it all off. Make herself good, whole, pretty. People will like her more. She’ll finally have friends. Yes. Yes. Good.

Tears streamed down her cheeks. Stinging pain streaked all across her poor tummy. Her fingernails were claws and she was marring herself.

Give them a reason to like her. Just don’t let them see what lies underneath. Just smile and be pretty and stay thin. Cut it off.

Joan wondered what would happen if she scratched too deep. What if her skin split open? She’s heard of evisceration that has happened like that, granted it usually wasn’t caused by excessive clawing because of body hatred. Would pulling out some of her organs make her thinner? Surely she didn’t need her large intestines /that/ much. It had it in its name- “large.” It’s too big. It takes up too much space in her. It’s definitely making her look so swollen and gross.

Pull it out

  “Joan?”

Joan’s hands froze. Her entire body froze. She swallowed thickly, shutting her eyes and cursing herself in her mind. Then, she’s wiping the tears from her face and turning to the queen in her doorway.

  “Yeah?” 

Jane peered at Joan curiously. Strangely, the usual annoyance in her gaze was missing. She even looked a little worried.

No, no-- Jane doesn’t care about her. Jane thought she was fat, just like everyone else.

  “Are you alright?” Jane asked.

  “What? Oh, yeah. I’m okay.” Joan said. She forced a light laugh. “I was watching some animal videos. You know The Dodo? God, those always make me cry! Don’t tell the director, please? I don’t want him to think I’m slacking.”

Jane looked at her computer screen, which definitely did not have an animal video on it, then nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

  “So, what did you need?” 

  “Oh, uh. Tim needs you. Something about lighting malfunction.” Jane said.

  “A music director’s work is never done,” Joan chuckled dryly. She got up and walked out into the hallway, Jane stepping back with her. When she closed the door, faint bloody smears were left on the knob.

She and Jane both noticed it, along with the blood on her fingertips, but neither said anything.

------

You lose weight when you’re stressed. You also gain weight when you’re stressed. The fact that Joan was worried that her costume was tighter than usual does not help the latter.

------

The costume was definitely tighter. Or maybe it was always this tight? NO, there’s no way… Well, whatever it is, it’s making the waistband cut uncomfortably into her belly when she sits down. But maybe it rupturing her organs from the tightness may not be so bad. The loss of mass inside of herself could help her lose weight.

------

Joan tried to not eat again. It’s working a little. She’s restraining herself well enough. But it’s awful, so awful. The hunger pains are the worst.

------

  “Joan?”

Joan turned to the doorway of her dressing room to see Aragon standing there. 

  “Yes?”

  “Are you almost done?” Aragon asked.

Joan furrowed her eyebrows at her paperwork. “No.”

  “Wonderful,” Aragon said. “Come on.”

Joan blinked. “What?”

  “Come on,” Aragon said again. “We’re going to my house for dinner.”

  “Wha-- But I said I had work?”

  “It doesn’t matter right now. Let’s go.”

Joan hesitated, then gathered her belongings and walked out with Aragon. If it weren’t for her undying loyalty to the queens and that she was kinda afraid of Aragon, she might have refused. Too late now, though.

  “What are we having?” Joan asked meekly on the drive to the queen’s house.

  “Lasagna,” Aragon answered. “And, no, before you ask, I’m not going to add every single existing spice into it.” She rolled her eyes. “Can you believe that Anne really thought that?”

That got a tiny giggle out of Joan. Aragon flashed her a quick smile, then focused on the road ahead of her.

  “I hope you’re hungry.”

  “I am a little,” Joan said, and that’s the moment her stomach decided to growl obviously loud. Her face flushed bright red and she wrapped her arms around her midsection as Aragon laughed.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” Aragon chuckled.

Joan remained flustered for the rest of the short car ride. And then she was just embarrassed when they pulled up to the queen’s house and realized she was going to have to eat in front of them again. She was already preparing herself for the humiliation.

Weirdly, though, the house was empty when they walked in.

  “Everyone is out eating,” Aragon said, catching Joan’s confused expression. “So it’ll just be us.”

  “Oh… I’m sorry you had to miss that.”

Aragon waved a dismissive hand. “Nonsense. It’s quite alright. Now come help me reheat this lasagna.”

Half an hour later, they were eating. Except Joan just stared at her plate, wringing her hands anxiously in her shirt. Her stomach was dying for the freshly made lasagna, but she really didn’t want to add the calories to her already thick body.

  “Joan? Aren’t you going to eat?” Aragon asked.

  “Oh, uhh-- I’m not that hungry, actually.” Joan said.

  “But I thought you were earlier?”

  “That was earlier.” 

And then Joan’s stomach growled. Redness enveloped her face as she hunched her shoulders in and looked at the floor. Aragon gave her a sympathetic smile.

  “Eat, honey. Please.”

So Joan does eat. She eats more than she actually wanted and after four plates she feels stuffed and sick- both physically and mentally.

  “You really were hungry, huh?” Aragon mused, picking up Joan’s plate. Joan whimpered below her. Instantly, her maternal instincts flared to life. “Joan?” She knelt beside the chair and set a hand on Joan’s back. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

Joan sobbed. She looked up at Aragon and tears were rapidly streaming down her cheeks.

  “Oh, sweetheart… Come here.” Aragon pulled Joan into her arms and the girl slid off the chair to be enveloped in them. She noted that Joan didn’t hug back, rather kept her hands firmly gripping her stomach. Things were starting to fall into place. “Shh, shh… It’s alright, baby. It’s alright.”

  “No, no,” Joan shook her head. “No, it’s not. It’s not, Catalina, I--” She practically screamed. “I hate myself so much.”

  “Joan…” Aragon helped Joan up so she could sit on the couch. The girl instantly curled into her upon sitting down. “Joan, honey, why? What’s wrong?”

  “I-I--” Joan cut herself off with a tight whine.

  “Is this about what Anne said?” Aragon asked.

Joan nodded with a feeble whimper.

Aragon looked absolutely enraged. “Goddamnit, that bitch--” She hissed. She pulled Joan against her firmly. “I’m so sorry, baby girl. This has been eating you up, hasn’t it?”

Joan nodded again. “It’s--it’s all I’ve been thinking about. It’s been killing me, Catalina, it’s been killing me…” She sobbed into Aragon’s chest. “A-and I know it’s stupid because I’m not overweight, not really, so I don’t have the right to complain, b-but--”

  “Oh no. Don’t you dare.” Aragon pushed Joan back and cupped her tear-stained face, making the girl look her in the eye. “Don’t you dare say that, Joan. You have every right to feel the way you do. You can be upset if you want to, regardless of your body type. You can be tall or short, black or white, skinny or fat- it isn’t just overweight people who have body image issues. So don’t be guilty over that, honey.” She brushed some hair out of Joan’s face. “But just know that the things you are thinking are not true.”

Joan pulled away and shook her head. “They are.” She wrapped her arms around her stomach again.

  “They are not.” Aragon said. “Joan, you are not fat.”

  “Yes I am!” Joan cried. “Have you SEEN my stomach? I’m fat, Catalina! I’m fat and gross and--” She dissolved into tears again.

  “I have seen your stomach, Joan.” Aragon said gently. “Am I supposed to be disgusted by it?”

Joan nodded, not looking at Aragon.

  “Why?”

  “B-because,” Joan stammered. “It’s ugly…”

  “Honey, you are not ugly.” Aragon said. “You are anything but ugly. You are very, very beautiful.”

Joan answered with only a tiny, “mmmm.”

Aragon pulled Joan back into her arms. Joan curled into them, her head finding its spot on her chest.

  “I don’t care about what you look like, baby. You’ll always be beautiful in my eyes. Not ugly or fat.” Aragon said.

  “P-please don’t say I’m not fat,” Joan begged quietly. “I-I can’t-- I can’t believe you. Not right now. It’s too-- I--”

  “Shh,” Aragon pressed her head underneath her chin. “I understand, honey. But just know my opinion will never change about you. You will always be my perfect girl.”

Joan sniffled. “R-really?”

  “Really.” Aragon confirmed.

Joan was quiet for a moment, then nodded. She finally hugged Aragon back, practically burying herself against the queen.

  “I-I don’t know how long it’ll take,” Joan whispered. “For me to not see myself the way I do…”

  “That’s alright,” Aragon said. “I’ll be here helping you every step of the way.”

  “Thank you.” Joan nuzzled into Aragon’s warmth. She winced when her stomach cramped. “I think I ate too much…”

  “Oh, my poor baby,” Aragon cooed. She lowered one hand and rubbed comforting circles against Joan’s belly. “I used to do this with Elizabeth, you know. She was such a fussy girl.” She chuckled. “Don’t tell her I told you that.”

Joan giggled. “Your secret is safe with me.” She leaned her head against Aragon’s chest and relaxed into the feeling gliding across her full stomach. “I can see why she liked this, though.”

  “Oh yeah?” Aragon smiled at her. “I’ll have to see if she still does, then. Ha, she would be so red!”

Another giggle. “She’d kill you.”

  “I’d like to see her try.”

Joan smiled slightly. Her hatred for her own body was still clouding her mind, and she knew she was going to continue to have problems over it in the near future, but it suddenly felt like they would be easier to deal with. She had someone who loved her, who thought she was perfect and beautiful, regardless of what she or her stomach looked like. 

Well. At least there was one good thing about having a soft, chubby tummy. More room to get belly rubs.

[twitchesandstitches]

tiashar development notions p2: appearance stuff

the original concept for my big monster mama OC was that she was in constant flux, to account for her body transforming; thus far, her design tends to remain the same broadly, so it may be better to suggest she’s got a number of different configurations she tends to slide between based on her environment, though she definitely prefers things cool, wet and with somewhere for her to soak in. here are a few traits that have either popped up in my writing, or look good enough that they feature prominently:

general body type: she is a MILF monster; she is broad, she is tall, and she is thicc as heck. broad shoulders. big body, huge hips, massive thighs and a sizable soft tummy. her boobs and butt are VERY big, and tend to be balanced in overall respective volume. she can have a trimmer torso for a curvier body, but in general she is big all around; she’s a huge, soft, huggable cuddlemonster. She almost always has a long neck that can be fairly flexible when required.

Black skin. Her skin is invariably black, or varying shades thereof; she might have patterns of other colors, but her skin is always a deep black. she tends to have amphibian traits, so its very soft and squishy. her body is slippery, slick and nice to touch, her hugs are extremely pleasant! Her body is also fairly cool to the touch; not cold, but comfortably cooler than normal human body temperature. skin texture is usually something between a frog or a whale’s.

Color scheme: Consider the idea that Tiashar’s hair, visible internals and the patterns on her body glow with three distinctive neon colors: pinks/magentas, blues, and greens. while my art style depicts them as differently colored, the intent is that her body is all black, but glows with these colors on those areas, pulsing from within in a slow and steady glow. These colors may indicate something about her mood? In any case, they are most seen in her insides; from her throat to more intimate organs, her insides are just as black as her outer body, flashing from within with a pulse of these various colors. its hypnotic and very pretty. 

animal traits: Tiashar’s chimeric design takes the most influence from the following animals: frogs, slugs, whales, anemones, and jellyfish. other animals may crop up from time to time, but these are the main influences, and the actual degree to which they influence her look varies. For example, like a frog or slug, her skin is moist, though whether she actually produces a slime-like substance or not changes. Her feet are usually froglike or resemble flippers (though her legs are often digitgrade) and often sport high heel-like struts growing out. Round and soft is her theme; no spikes or real armor, just soft dangly bigs, rounded crests growing out of her back like kaiju spines, or swimming membranes from her tail and limbs.

her hands and arms should be big and round; not muscular, but soft and squashy. her hands may look like fins with crude claws forming out of them. fluttering membranes or veils may extend out from her arms, connecting to her sides and glowing as a contrast.

mouth? huge lips; normally dominate her face, and shine in her dominant color scheme. she has ever-changing teeth, but while they are big and many-rowed, they might actually be soft and incapable of causing harm without her willingly transforming them into real fangs; she can chew on you but it doesn’t hurt, its like a cool pressure on your body. consider that she actually has baleen like a whale much of the time?

gigantic squishy tongue, strong enough to grab things, soft enough for them to sink into. in art will probably be one of her off-colors, but is actually intended to be black, but glowing with her alternate colors from within!

ears: she probably doesn’t have ears, exactly. however, I’m really in love with the idea of her having multiple floppy and very long fin-like things that serve the same purpose. They might be feathery and drape, like an axlotl’s gills, or be thick sheets draping down like squishy fins. in general, though, they are big and they drape. these are actually sensory organs; in the water, they give her absolute awareness like a form of sonar. above water, though, they are rather sensitive to the touch; both in the sense that touching them can irritate her, or be very soothing and soporific to her.

eyes: she actually does have eyes... sometimes. When she has the jellyfish cap form, for example, she often just has photosensitive grooves that serve the same purposes. When she does have eyes, they tend to be multiplied; she usually has at least four, and they tend to be solid pools of color with a thin slit due to her being used to low light conditions. for the same reason, she requires very big and thick glasses to see. otherwise she’s extremely near sighted and legally blind.

hair: depending on her form, but its usually a mass of tendrils of varying size. Sometimes closely clustered like an anemone. sometimes longer tentacles that reach the floor, and sometimes it merges into a big jelly-like sheet. Tends to be very soft to the touch, and usually colored in whatever her current secondary color is, but its not unusual for her to have a mix of multiple colors. these are functional tentacles and she can weaponize them; extend them out, grab stuff, turn them into actual limbs and make them super muscular and flex a bunch, swing and divide into incredibly fast projectiles; things like that!

tail. great big fat and long tail! It can be like a slug’s (heavy and tapering to a very thing top), a prawn’s (tipped with a little fan) or even have suckers on the bottom like a octopi’s tentacle. she might even grow multiple ones, or develop flukes like a whale; as a rule, her tails are always chunky. she generally has a like membrane or mantle growing along the side of it, glowing in her alternate colors and extending out pretty far, like a lacey fabric built into her body.

[the-uptake]

Abdications of Flesh

The Uptake, With Symbiotic Self-Indulgence. Book III, Chapter 1. Chapter 2 MIA; go to next available chapter.

TW: Drug culture, police brutality, dysmorphia

Disconnection became the peristaltic pulse of Tri-City in the wake of the permanent quarantine. The ghosts of the Stalkers’ Quarter reached out and up from the imposing hundred-yard walls which confined it, a glaring neon Wolfram concrete warning to anyone who might wonder what might lay within an entryless barrier. In mere months, the supersaturation of public guilt left citizens complacent to a shared commiseration that it had to be done, that there was no other way; and in the wake of dispassionate transgressions, came a vast and opportunistic multitude of nepenthe. City laws evolved rapidly to meet the needs–and demands–of the masses. Everyone nursed their own personal set of vices. 24-hour liquor stores and bars bloomed up overnight, and over time other more creative maladaptive indulgences became equally commonplace.

Suddenly, more than any other point in the history of their lives, everyone wanted to be anyone but themselves. Industry could adapt. Industry could provide.

‘Choly and Cecil walked down a Level 12 street in the commercial district, the smooth and simplistic concrete facades along the entire strip swathed in advertisements projected upon their every surface. Romantic strands of Valentine’s Day decor still lingered in places. ‘Choly wore a salmon dress shirt under an oversize mint green sweater with black pants and mint green creepers, with large green gauge tunnels and his bangtails loose to either side of his bespectacled face. Cecil seemed to have tried to coordinate this, with a pale pink button-up shirt and dark grey pants both with cuffs rolled, thin black suspenders, and two-tone oxford boots.

“It’s not too dissimilar to our great city’s thriving cannabinoid market.” ‘Choly’s cane gait punctuated his wry lyric. “There’s fewer and fewer plants every day, but I guess agriculture knows the ones that’re most important to hold onto.”

“It’s not really a plant, though.” Cecil was the first to catch sight of where they were headed, and went ahead a bit to get to the neon pink door first. “It’s more of a fungus, I think. Made from fungus, anyway?”

“From what I hear…” ‘Choly came along far more slowly, and only continued once he’d closed the distance between him and his boyfriend. “…From what I hear, it’s made from a lot of things. Augen tells me this might just be what breaks the ban on Vekarix, that nobody will admit that’s what made Confec possible. The designer drug market is havin’ a hey day over genetically engineering hybrid magic mushrooms an’ shit. Swear, next thing we’ll hear, they’ll have put every known psychoactive living thing together in one organism, an’ we’ll be begging to take turns licking it.”

“Maybe they’ll finally come around to letting people continue splicing legally.” Cecil shot him a sarcastic grin as he held the door to a shop open for him. “If he’s right about the Vekarix, we might eventually see more and more diverse hybrids.”

‘Choly sniffed and side-eyed him as he stepped inside the small shop.

“People are… bound to do a lot of things in this desperate climate, whether or not it’s legal. Legality dilutes innovation, but definitely makes it easier access.”

Three other customers browsed as the pair entered. Glass display counters ran the entire track of the long narrow space, filled with racks of colorful shapes in a presentation not unlike a pastry shop. The wolf hybrid shopkeeper had her long electric blue hair pulled back over the crown of her head and braided tight. Her claws matched, and she wore a wide-strapped and very low-cut tailored white jumpsuit. ‘Choly barely kept himself from making comment on the coincidence.

“They make me think of chocolates.” ‘Choly stooped a bit just to admire the molded things. Many of the ones in that particular case had been marbled with several colors in one. He caught sight of the price tags and his face drooped.

“It’s more like soap, if you want to be honest.” The shopkeeper approached them and ran a paw over her hair. The door buzzed shut again, and suddenly it was just the three of them. “I take it you gentlemen are gloss virgins? You’ve made a great choice to pop in here for your first time. We grow and refine our product ourselves. Everything on display is hand crafted.”

Stiffly, Cecil put his hands in his pockets and tried not to make eye contact.

“With neither of us really having experience with it, can you… recommend anything?”

“Well, if you’re just looking for glossy, the best place to start is one of our truffles. They’re not too bitter, and the high is pretty mellow and smooth-transitioning.” She gestured to the case with trays of milky white spheres, then next to it at the case ‘Choly had been eyeing, filled with little rainbow colored cube shapes. “And bonbons have a sharper flavor, but they take faster.”

‘Choly hemmed a bit.

“…An’ what about the hardest thing you’ve got?”

She held a breath against the roof of her mouth and let it out of her snout with a grin. She motioned for them to follow her to the back counter, where she rounded it to lean her elbows on it.

“Of course, we have more potent preps, too. You’re in luck to come in now, really. We just got in some new stuff, if you want to be cutting edge with your first time.” She pointed down to the finger-size amber screw-top ampules lined up to one side of the display. “Distilled Confec. The confectioner calls it resin, and I can say from personal experience you won’t regret it. It’s a composite-gloss, a cultivar custom-crafted by him.” She winked at Cecil, who swallowed hard and stood straighter. “My ears piqued when you mentioned Vek on your way in. Confec is great and all, but resin? It’s absolutely a food of the gods. The hardest entheogen I’ve ever had, and believe me when I call myself a connoisseur from personal experience.”

‘Choly eyed the counter, then looked up to the shopkeep.

“How much?”

“One vial’s forty-five. About twenty hits. It’s potent stuff. Only takes a drop or two, really.” She sneer-flinched and laughed. “Recommend the trope take for it, soaking it into a sugar cube. It’s real bitter.”

“You sure you need it?” Quietly, Cecil chewed at his spider bites. “As opposed to the Confec, I mean? We came here to get a handle on your anxiety, not go crazy.”

When Cecil continued to skirt the shopkeeper’s attempts at eye contact, she crossed her arms at him.

“Resin’s totally safe, if that’s your worry. But anxiety, though? If that’s what you’re here for, you’re more likely gonna want burfee. It’s got a veneer more than a gloss.” She pointed to the counter to their right, full of chalky pastel balls. “Cultivar’s got borrowed cannabis sequences. Takes the edge off everything, without inducing a full trip.”

“We can start with Confec,” ‘Choly resigned, gaze tracing the items in that case. “I was expecting a high price tag, but the resin’s a bit rich for my ah,” he leaned in nearer, “my Level Zero upbringing, if you get my meaning.”

After a moment she also leaned in even closer, and barked a laugh.

“I understand now why you need a little escapism, dreg. You got moxie keepin’ the ‘do. I know just looking at him that he’s not, though, so what’s his story? He weird around all hybrids? I’ve been tagged and documented, as if it matters.”

“You’ve got extraction scars.” Cecil tried his best not to fluster as he pointed tersely at his own ear for emphasis, keeping to a near-whisper. “Tagged, past tense. Talk about moxie.”

Her shoulders froze up when he called her out on it.

“Hum, I didn’t notice,” ‘Choly commented in a thoughtful detachment. His head tilted askew as he inspected the wolf girl’s right ear. Near the lower base, it crumpled in on itself a bit. “No wonder he’s crushing on you.”

“Tch!” Cecil removed his glasses and rubbed at his face.

“He likes hybrids,” ‘Choly continued, enjoying embarrassing him. “We both think you’re pretty cute, any rate.”

“Oh really now?” Her ears piqued and her eyelids drooped.

“…Very,” Cecil admitted. He put his glasses back on and fished out his wallet, stuffing down his social misery. “How much is the, uh, the burfee?”

“It’s twenty-five for half a dozen of one cultivar, but we’ve got a special this month, for a variety half-dozen for nineteen. Since you’re having trouble making up your minds, perhaps a sampler would help you feel out what’s up your alley. And…” She held a lyric to her tone when the pair of them looked in agreement finally. “I suppose I could toss in an amp of Resin if you give me a kiss on the cheek.”

The flush that washed across Cecil’s face lit up every faint freckle in a constellation of awkwardness, and he smirked before leaning across the counter and complying. He sneaked a brief rub of her cauliflower ear while he was at it, then pulled back to admire her, still holding out a cred. She blepped pleasantly at him as she took the cred to run it on the register screen.

“I totally didn’t think he’d do it,” ‘Choly mumbled, trying not to laugh.

“Me either.” She handed the cred back and lolled her pierced tongue in full at Cecil. “You’re not, like, a hybrid chaser or something, are you? Most normies can’t tell that my ear’s not just, like, a piercing deformity.” Her muzzle slacked. “Sorry, that was in poor taste of me. I forget some people went through with the therapy.”

Cecil’s only response, after a pause, was to wink at her. She shuffled over to unlock the display case and prepare the small cardstock box with what they’d purchased.

“Name’s Dee, by the way.” She popped the earned trinket in the corner of the box and twined it up, then handed the parcel to Cecil. “Maybe you’ll come see me again sometime.”

“Cecil. Dee, it’s been a pleasure.”

“Seconded,” ‘Choly chirped. His awkward flashing of a rigid, short hand wave and interjection of his own name got a chuckle from Dee.

“Hope it’s the escape you came in for.”

Once the two had exited the confectionery shop, Cecil continued carrying the purchase.

“Why’d you technically lie to Dee, anyway?” ‘Choly smiled at his boyfriend. “You never had any work done to have reversed.”

“Chalk it up to the stress of being ribbed over thinking she had spunk.”

The dreg choke-laughed at this, and ran a few free fingers over Cecil’s hand, eliciting a sly withdrawn smile.

They stopped briefly at a corner store for cheap premade coffee, and ‘Choly held the box while Cecil filled up two cups and paid for them. The dreg plopped down the Confec on the counter of the cramped coffee area of the establishment and took the weight off his legs for a spell against the wall, then pulled out his reader to burn a couple of minutes. He decided to snap a nondescript, contextualized pic of his acquisition and send it to Augen; even though the vampire’s availability was dimmed, he’d see the message later.

ketherphorbia sent a file SDC43011_100-5102.JPG.

ketherphorbia: mission successful

9augen is typing…

ketherphorbia: oh, hi

ketherphorbia: i’ve got good timing. didn’t think you’d be on

9augen has stopped typing.

9augen: please tell me youll be home soon. no one else is responding

ketherphorbia: need to talk?

9augen: its. sensitive. youll be home soon right

ketherphorbia: yeah, the confectioner’s we went to’s only one level up. is five minutes ok?

9augen: Yeah.

“Telling him about our adventure?”

Cecil returned and offered one of the syrofoam cups, and ‘Choly traded him the box for it, so that Cecil carried the Confec and one coffee, and ‘Choly carried the other with his free hand.

“I was about to. He’s being vague. In an urgent way. It bugs me.”

“I’m sure he just wants to trade juicies. Come on, let’s get going.”

The two each waved their public transit passes as they entered the toll lift, and cuddled against the back wall on the way one level down. Although this one cost a third-cred per level to ride one way, the nearest free lift was five blocks further away, and this toll lift let out on the same block as their housing complex. They exited and rounded the corner right into the lobby of the complex, and took the building elevator three floors to their apartment. While Cecil got the door, ‘Choly’s reader began to vibrate from receiving a vid chat, and he nearly dropped his coffee fumbling to double check that it was coming from the expected caller.

“You’re so slaggin’ impatient,” ‘Choly whined as he accepted with hesitation.

The screen was black, but he could hear labored breathing. Once inside their apartment, ‘Choly squinted at the display of his reader to see it indicated ‘no video’ and he sighed with an eye roll, suspecting that his friend had something ridiculous to reveal.

“Sorry,” the other end mustered, strangled and adenoidal. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared right now, ‘Choly.”

The foreign quality of the voice got the dreg’s attention immediately, and with a knitted brow, he quickly toed out of his creepers at the door and took his coffee to the daybed-couch in the back end of the apartment. The confec went to the side table beside the coffee on its coaster. Cecil watched ‘Choly trying to get comfortable, and offered a bold, blocky quilt and a knee-pat, but he wasn’t sure if he was invited to the call, so he took to the front end of the apartment to the confines of his book-nook, assuming he’d be fetched to join in if they so desired it. Either way, he’d hear about it later.

“You certainly don’t sound like yourself.” ‘Choly cleared his throat, hair on end. “What’d you get into, anyway?”

A long, labored pause lingered when the caller couldn’t form the words.

“…Augen…?”

“My coven got hit. They’re doing therapy raids now. Fucking Open Carry Manifesto! Fuck, it hurts so bad to talk. Can’t hardly see straight.” It took ‘Choly a while to understand what Augen had described, and a hand went to the dreg’s mouth as he stared at the blank screen. “You heard about the OCM, right. I’m not just a rambling lunatic right now?”

“I heard it was just civilian access to tranq, ‘cause Levelers are scared of the hybrids that kept their grafting. But fuck, Augen! Are you suggesting there’s a paramilitary force using it to force therapy serum? Since when did the government have the right!” He whipped off his glasses, nearly crying as everything set in. “–Oh fuck. Fuck. Are you all right? Of course you’re not all right. Fuck. –Where are you? Do we need to come get–”

“Shhhhhh. Take it down about fifteen notches. My head’s a thunderstorm right now. …One question at a time, maybe. Ugh. …First, no, the government doesn’t have the right. Best I can understand, this is a splinter of police, or army nuts, overstepping laws for sake of upholding moral code. They screamed out something like cleaning out a murderer’s den before they just unloaded on us.”

‘Choly was unaccustomed to hearing his friend talk this much at once, and the context as to why a fish had the breath to do so had his head reeling.

“But you got away, right? You’re not still at the, the coven?”

“I got away, yeah. Christ, this fucking sucks. They overdosed us on that shit, I guarantee you. Therapy’s supposed to be incremental–sessions–not abrupt like… THIS! Where’d they get that much serum? Must have a therapy physician in on their group. Sheisse. I’m the only one who’s got a possibility of springing back from this… Good chance the shock just killed a few of us outright. Grafting’s so goddamn expensive, even just solo-sequence jobs. Getting the procedure that gave people their real identities, for a lot of them it was their life savings. …Or someone else’s.”

‘Choly set down his glasses and his cataracted eyes zoned out into the blackness of the vid screen. He’d never seen his friend’s face before the grafting, and his curiosity went haywire. Briefly, he barely kept himself from asking aloud for Augen to show him what he looked like. 'Choly wondered if Augen would ever be comfortable enough to meet in person ever again. But, he trusted ‘Choly enough to voice call him like this, and he’d never done that before his grafting, either. The dreg laid down on the couch on his side, and pulled the quilt over himself.

“What I want to know is how they found where you guys were lying low. It’s not like you were being tasteless about it and lurking a geek bar or some shit. Vampires, your kind’s not stupid. …Wait, what do you mean, or someone else’s?”

“I fell off the grid after my grafting for a lot of reasons. Linnaeus’s circle works a lot like a cult. They scout for vulnerable people. People already ideologically charged and unlikely to have a change of faith even when tested. And those who either have lots of money, or have access to lots of money. Most of my coven fit that bill three-for-three, to be realistic. They were… most supportive of getting the money through whatever means possible. I sold my car. Sold pretty much everything. But it wasn’t enough. I knew how to get into my parents’ retirement savings, and I knew that money would only go to waste perpetuating their uninspired, horridly humanesque lives. And I knew they’d have nothing to do with me, the real me, so there was only one real resolution to that moral conflict. …If I got caught like this, where I’m recognizable for what I was before I was myself… I don’t think I’d do well in jail. And that’s just for the theft, what can be accounted to my birth name…”

“You… you said it was an overdose of serum,” ‘Choly reached, desperate to find something that might lift his friend’s spirits. “And you said there’s a chance you’ll spring back? You’re talking about your marine graft, right?”

A pleasant breath was all he heard for a while.

“I’d say it feels like reckless optimism to grapple onto what it is at its core, but Vek is a metagen by definition. Therapy serum is basically a human-DNA graft job, an attempt to flush out the animal grafts. They told me during my follow-up sessions that subsequent grafting jobs would never stick, thanks to the tunicate graft, and not to waste my cred. I was just rambling when I said it, but maybe you’re right. Maybe the tunicate will recognize the… virus, and kick it for me. I’d get to experience becoming myself all over again. …Thanks. Sometimes, you know just what to say. At the very least, if gives me something pleasant to focus on while this shit wears off.”

“Can I… Can I ask a bad question?” ‘Choly’s words strangled himself.

“Yes, my reader is working fine. Yes, I have vid off on purpose. No, I haven’t had the nerve to do front-facing camera yet, and there’s not a mirror here. If the answer wasn’t one of these, then what were you going to ask me? Otherwise, you know the answer.”

‘Choly swallowed and gave him an exhausted smile.

“Where are you?”

Augen wasn’t sure he’d heard him right and laughed like broken silver.

“I’m not even wholly sure how to tell you where it is. It used to be an automotive repair, going off what’s left in here, and off what it smells like. I think… it specialized in cars from back when it was all by tread. If th– When things go back to normal, I’m inclined to feel out how secure it is. It strikes me as a good place to make more… permanent than just hiding in.”

“It’ll more than go back to normal,” ‘Choly grinned. “I guarantee it.”

“I just remembered, you sent me a pic of your prize earlier. My moment of weakness has kept you from indulging. You’ve got the right idea, honestly. I’m lucky. I picked up an amp of Resin last night, and I was five minutes from taking a hit before… everything happened. It’s, like, hyper-Confec. I’ll have to let you try some next time we get together. But for now, this amp’s all for me. I… I think I can end call finally. I just can’t be… this right now.”

“You’ve earned it.”

“Enjoy your evening, bug dick.”

“You, too, stinkface. I’ll have my phone near me if you need me, all right?”

The screen flickered a moment before Augen’s face came into focus in a strange fluorescent amber lighting that didn’t match the ambient glow of Wolfram concrete interiors. ‘Choly wasn’t sure what he expected of his friend’s human features, but the juxtaposition of how his long, dark, stringy mess of hair framed his angular, slim pierced features only magnified the haunted sense of atrophy about him, crestfallen yet still forcing a tired smile. Ostensibly, a massive part of his identity had wasted away that day. Augen could tell ‘Choly had tried to take a screencap and ended the call.

9augen: may this vid call be the last you ever see of this pathetic asshole

‘Choly sent him a mushroom emoticon and set down his reader on the arm of the couch with a dopey, self-conscious smile. Augen had been gorgeous even before undergoing the grafting procedure that transfigured him, though the dreg knew better than to ever share such a sentiment. He sat up and glanced over to the box on the side table, seeking vicariousness even in his friend’s vulnerability, and pulled it into his lap. He’d be fine. And Augen would be fine.

But first, some time needed to pass, and the last thing he wanted was to be present for it.

Go to Next Available Chapter »»»

[crown-eater]

Abdications of Flesh

[ With Symbiotic Self-Indulgence, 1. ] [ The Uptake (table of contents) ]

Man, “Maze” and “Vital Ones” need a hard overhaul after this, I swear. Establish ALL the foreshadowing Sorry in advance for how heavy this is, uh

Disconnection became the peristaltic pulse of Tri-City in the wake of the permanent quarantine. The ghosts of the Stalkers’ Quarter reached out and up from the imposing hundred-yard walls which confined it, a glaring neon Wolfram concrete warning to anyone who might wonder what might lay within an entryless barrier. In mere months, the supersaturation of public guilt left citizens complacent to a shared commiseration that it had to be done, that there was no other way; and in the wake of dispassionate transgressions, came a vast and opportunistic multitude of nepenthe. City laws evolved rapidly to meet the needs--and demands--of the masses. Everyone nursed their own personal set of vices. 24-hour liquor stores and bars bloomed up overnight, and over time other more creative maladaptive indulgences became equally commonplace.

Suddenly, more than any other point in the history of their lives, everyone wanted to be anyone but themselves. Industry could adapt. Industry could provide.

'Choly and Cecil walked down a Level 12 street in the commercial district, the smooth and simplistic concrete facades along the entire strip swathed in advertisements projected upon their every surface. Romantic strands of Valentine’s Day decor still lingered in places. ‘Choly wore a salmon dress shirt under an oversize mint green sweater with black pants and mint green creepers, with large green gauge tunnels and his bangtails loose to either side of his bespectacled face. Cecil seemed to have tried to coordinate this, with a pale pink button-up shirt and dark grey pants both with cuffs rolled, thin black suspenders, and two-tone oxford boots.

“It’s not too dissimilar to our great city’s thriving cannabinoid market.” ‘Choly’s cane gait punctuated his wry lyric. “There’s fewer and fewer plants every day, but I guess agriculture knows the ones that’re most important to hold onto.”

“It’s not really a plant, though.” Cecil was the first to catch sight of where they were headed, and went ahead a bit to get to the neon pink door first. “It’s more of a fungus, I think. Made from fungus, anyway?”

“From what I hear...” ‘Choly came along far more slowly, and only continued once he’d closed the distance between him and his boyfriend. “...From what I hear, it’s made from a lot of things. Augen tells me this might just be what breaks the ban on Vekarix, that nobody will admit that’s what made Confec possible. The designer drug market is havin’ a hey day over genetically engineering hybrid magic mushrooms an’ shit. Swear, next thing we’ll hear, they’ll have put every known psychoactive living thing together in one organism, an’ we’ll be begging to take turns licking it.”

“Maybe they’ll finally come around to letting people continue splicing legally.” Cecil shot him a sarcastic grin as he held the door to a shop open for him. “If he’s right about the Vekarix, we might eventually see more and more diverse hybrids.”

‘Choly sniffed and side-eyed him as he stepped inside the small shop.

“People are... bound to do a lot of things in this desperate climate, whether or not it’s legal. Legality dilutes innovation, but definitely makes it easier access.”

Three other customers browsed as the pair entered. Glass display counters ran the entire track of the long narrow space, filled with racks of colorful shapes in a presentation not unlike a pastry shop. The wolf hybrid shopkeeper had her long electric blue hair pulled back over the crown of her head and braided tight. Her claws matched, and she wore a wide-strapped and very low-cut tailored white jumpsuit. ‘Choly barely kept himself from making comment on the coincidence.

“They make me think of chocolates.” ‘Choly stooped a bit just to admire the molded things. Many of the ones in that particular case had been marbled with several colors in one. He caught sight of the price tags and his face drooped.

“It’s more like soap, if you want to be honest.” The shopkeeper approached them and ran a paw over her hair. The door buzzed shut again, and suddenly it was just the three of them. “I take it you gentlemen are gloss virgins? You’ve made a great choice to pop in here for your first time. We grow and refine our product ourselves. Everything on display is hand crafted.”

Stiffly, Cecil put his hands in his pockets and tried not to make eye contact.

“With neither of us really having experience with it, can you... recommend anything?”

“Well, if you’re just looking for glossy, the best place to start is one of our truffles. They’re not too bitter, and the high is pretty mellow and smooth-transitioning.” She gestured to the case with trays of milky white spheres, then next to it at the case ‘Choly had been eyeing, filled with little rainbow colored cube shapes. “And bonbons have a sharper flavor, but they take faster.”

‘Choly hemmed a bit.

“...An’ what about the hardest thing you’ve got?”

She held a breath against the roof of her mouth and let it out of her snout with a grin. She motioned for them to follow her to the back counter, where she rounded it to lean her elbows on it.

“Of course, we have more potent preps, too. You’re in luck to come in now, really. We just got in some new stuff, if you want to be cutting edge with your first time.” She pointed down to the finger-size amber screw-top ampules lined up to one side of the display. “Distilled Confec. The confectioner calls it resin, and I can say from personal experience you won’t regret it. It’s a composite-gloss, a cultivar custom-crafted by him.” She winked at Cecil, who swallowed hard and stood straighter. “My ears piqued when you mentioned Vek on your way in. Confec is great and all, but resin? It’s absolutely a food of the gods. The hardest entheogen I’ve ever had, and believe me when I call myself a connoisseur from personal experience.”

‘Choly eyed the counter, then looked up to the shopkeep.

“How much?”

“One vial’s forty-five. About twenty hits. It’s potent stuff. Only takes a drop or two, really.” She sneer-flinched and laughed. “Recommend the trope take for it, soaking it into a sugar cube. It’s real bitter.”

“You sure you need it?” Quietly, Cecil chewed at his spider bites. “As opposed to the Confec, I mean? We came here to get a handle on your anxiety, not go crazy.”

When Cecil continued to skirt the shopkeeper’s attempts at eye contact, she crossed her arms at him.

“Resin’s totally safe, if that’s your worry. But anxiety, though? If that’s what you’re here for, you’re more likely gonna want burfee. It’s got a veneer more than a gloss.” She pointed to the counter to their right, full of chalky pastel balls. “Cultivar’s got borrowed cannabis sequences. Takes the edge off everything, without inducing a full trip.”

“We can start with Confec,” ‘Choly resigned, gaze tracing the items in that case. “I was expecting a high price tag, but the resin’s a bit rich for my ah,” he leaned in nearer, “my Level Zero upbringing, if you get my meaning.”

After a moment she also leaned in even closer, and barked a laugh.

“I understand now why you need a little escapism, dreg. You got moxie keepin’ the ‘do. I know just looking at him that he’s not, though, so what’s his story? He weird around all hybrids? I’ve been tagged and documented, as if it matters.”

“You’ve got extraction scars.” Cecil tried his best not to fluster as he pointed tersely at his own ear for emphasis, keeping to a near-whisper. “Tagged, past tense. Talk about moxie.”

Her shoulders froze up when he called her out on it.

“Hum, I didn’t notice,” ‘Choly commented in a thoughtful detachment. His head tilted askew as he inspected the wolf girl’s right ear. Near the lower base, it crumpled in on itself a bit. “No wonder he’s crushing on you.”

“Tch!” Cecil removed his glasses and rubbed at his face.

“He likes hybrids,” ‘Choly continued, enjoying embarrassing him. “We both think you’re pretty cute, any rate.”

“Oh really now?” Her ears piqued and her eyelids drooped.

“...Very,” Cecil admitted. He put his glasses back on and fished out his wallet, stuffing down his social misery. “How much is the, uh, the burfee?”

“It’s twenty-five for half a dozen of one cultivar, but we’ve got a special this month, for a variety half-dozen for nineteen. Since you’re having trouble making up your minds, perhaps a sampler would help you feel out what’s up your alley. And...” She held a lyric to her tone when the pair of them looked in agreement finally. “I suppose I could toss in an amp of Resin if you give me a kiss on the cheek.”

The flush that washed across Cecil’s face lit up every faint freckle in a constellation of awkwardness, and he smirked before leaning across the counter and complying. He sneaked a brief rub of her cauliflower ear while he was at it, then pulled back to admire her, still holding out a cred. She blepped pleasantly at him as she took the cred to run it on the register screen.

“I totally didn’t think he’d do it,” ‘Choly mumbled, trying not to laugh.

“Me either.” She handed the cred back and lolled her pierced tongue in full at Cecil. “You’re not, like, a hybrid chaser or something, are you? Most normies can’t tell that my ear’s not just, like, a piercing deformity.” Her muzzle slacked. “Sorry, that was in poor taste of me. I forget some people went through with the therapy.”

Cecil’s only response, after a pause, was to wink at her. She shuffled over to unlock the display case and prepare the small cardstock box with what they’d purchased.

“Name’s Dee, by the way.” She popped the earned trinket in the corner of the box and twined it up, then handed the parcel to Cecil. “Maybe you’ll come see me again sometime.”

“Cecil. Dee, it’s been a pleasure.”

“Seconded,” ‘Choly chirped. His awkward flashing of a rigid, short hand wave and interjection of his own name got a chuckle from Dee.

“Hope it’s the escape you came in for.”

Once the two had exited the confectionery shop, Cecil continued carrying the purchase.

“Why’d you technically lie to Dee, anyway?” ‘Choly smiled at his boyfriend. “You never had any work done to have reversed.”

“Chalk it up to the stress of being ribbed over thinking she had spunk.”

The dreg choke-laughed at this, and ran a few free fingers over Cecil’s hand, eliciting a sly withdrawn smile.

They stopped briefly at a corner store for cheap premade coffee, and ‘Choly held the box while Cecil filled up two cups and paid for them. The dreg plopped down the Confec on the counter of the cramped coffee area of the establishment and took the weight off his legs for a spell against the wall, then pulled out his reader to burn a couple of minutes. He decided to snap a nondescript, contextualized pic of his acquisition and send it to Augen; even though the vampire’s availability was dimmed, he’d see the message later.

ketherphorbia sent a file SDC43011_100-5102.JPG.

ketherphorbia: mission successful

9augen is typing...

ketherphorbia: oh, hi

ketherphorbia: i’ve got good timing. didn’t think you’d be on

9augen has stopped typing.

9augen: please tell me youll be home soon. no one else is responding

ketherphorbia: need to talk?

9augen: its. sensitive. youll be home soon right

ketherphorbia: yeah, the confectioner’s we went to’s only one level up. is five minutes ok?

9augen: Yeah.

“Telling him about our adventure?”

Cecil returned and offered one of the syrofoam cups, and ‘Choly traded him the box for it, so that Cecil carried the Confec and one coffee, and ‘Choly carried the other with his free hand.

“I was about to. He’s being vague. In an urgent way. It bugs me.”

“I’m sure he just wants to trade juicies. Come on, let’s get going.”

The two each waved their public transit passes as they entered the toll lift, and cuddled against the back wall on the way one level down. Although this one cost a third-cred per level to ride one way, the nearest free lift was five blocks further away, and this toll lift let out on the same block as their housing complex. They exited and rounded the corner right into the lobby of the complex, and took the building elevator three floors to their apartment. While Cecil got the door, ‘Choly’s reader began to vibrate from receiving a vid chat, and he nearly dropped his coffee fumbling to double check that it was coming from the expected caller.

“You’re so slaggin’ impatient,” ‘Choly whined as he accepted with hesitation.

The screen was black, but he could hear labored breathing. Once inside their apartment, ‘Choly squinted at the display of his reader to see it indicated ‘no video’ and he sighed with an eye roll, suspecting that his friend had something ridiculous to reveal.

“Sorry,” the other end mustered, strangled and adenoidal. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared right now, ‘Choly.”

The foreign quality of the voice got the dreg’s attention immediately, and with a knitted brow, he quickly toed out of his creepers at the door and took his coffee to the daybed-couch in the back end of the apartment. The confec went to the side table beside the coffee on its coaster. Cecil watched ‘Choly trying to get comfortable, and offered a bold, blocky quilt and a knee-pat, but he wasn’t sure if he was invited to the call, so he took to the front end of the apartment to the confines of his book-nook, assuming he’d be fetched to join in if they so desired it. Either way, he’d hear about it later.

“You certainly don’t sound like yourself.” ‘Choly cleared his throat, hair on end. “What’d you get into, anyway?”

A long, labored pause lingered when the caller couldn’t form the words.

“...Augen...?”

“My coven got hit. They’re doing therapy raids now. Fucking Open Carry Manifesto! Fuck, it hurts so bad to talk. Can’t hardly see straight.” It took ‘Choly a while to understand what Augen had described, and a hand went to the dreg’s mouth as he stared at the blank screen. “You heard about the OCM, right. I’m not just a rambling lunatic right now?”

“I heard it was just civilian access to tranq, ‘cause Levelers are scared of the hybrids that kept their grafting. But fuck, Augen! Are you suggesting there’s a paramilitary force using it to force therapy serum? Since when did the government have the right!” He whipped off his glasses, nearly crying as everything set in. “--Oh fuck. Fuck. Are you all right? Of course you’re not all right. Fuck. --Where are you? Do we need to come get--”

“Shhhhhh. Take it down about fifteen notches. My head’s a thunderstorm right now. ...One question at a time, maybe. Ugh. ...First, no, the government doesn’t have the right. Best I can understand, this is a splinter of police, or army nuts, overstepping laws for sake of upholding moral code. They screamed out something like cleaning out a murderer’s den before they just unloaded on us.”

‘Choly was unaccustomed to hearing his friend talk this much at once, and the context as to why a fish had the breath to do so had his head reeling.

“But you got away, right? You’re not still at the, the coven?”

“I got away, yeah. Christ, this fucking sucks. They overdosed us on that shit, I guarantee you. Therapy’s supposed to be incremental--sessions--not abrupt like... THIS! Where’d they get that much serum? Must have a therapy physician in on their group. Sheisse. I’m the only one who’s got a possibility of springing back from this... Good chance the shock just killed a few of us outright. Grafting’s so goddamn expensive, even just solo-sequence jobs. Getting the procedure that gave people their real identities, for a lot of them it was their life savings. ...Or someone else’s.”

‘Choly set down his glasses and his cataracted eyes zoned out into the blackness of the vid screen. He’d never seen his friend’s face before the grafting, and his curiosity went haywire. Briefly, he barely kept himself from asking aloud for Augen to show him what he looked like. 'Choly wondered if Augen would ever be comfortable enough to meet in person ever again. But, he trusted ‘Choly enough to voice call him like this, and he’d never done that before his grafting, either. The dreg laid down on the couch on his side, and pulled the quilt over himself.

“What I want to know is how they found where you guys were lying low. It’s not like you were being tasteless about it and lurking a geek bar or some shit. Vampires, your kind’s not stupid. ...Wait, what do you mean, or someone else’s?”

“I fell off the grid after my grafting for a lot of reasons. Linnaeus’s circle works a lot like a cult. They scout for vulnerable people. People already ideologically charged and unlikely to have a change of faith even when tested. And those who either have lots of money, or have access to lots of money. Most of my coven fit that bill three-for-three, to be realistic. They were... most supportive of getting the money through whatever means possible. I sold my car. Sold pretty much everything. But it wasn’t enough. I knew how to get into my parents’ retirement savings, and I knew that money would only go to waste perpetuating their uninspired, horridly humanesque lives. And I knew they’d have nothing to do with me, the real me, so there was only one real resolution to that moral conflict. ...If I got caught like this, where I’m recognizable for what I was before I was myself... I don’t think I’d do well in jail. And that’s just for the theft, what can be accounted to my birth name...”

“You... you said it was an overdose of serum,” ‘Choly reached, desperate to find something that might lift his friend’s spirits. “And you said there’s a chance you’ll spring back? You’re talking about your marine graft, right?”

A pleasant breath was all he heard for a while.

“I’d say it feels like reckless optimism to grapple onto what it is at its core, but Vek is a metagen by definition. Therapy serum is basically a human-DNA graft job, an attempt to flush out the animal grafts. They told me during my follow-up sessions that subsequent grafting jobs would never stick, thanks to the tunicate graft, and not to waste my cred. I was just rambling when I said it, but maybe you’re right. Maybe the tunicate will recognize the... virus, and kick it for me. I’d get to experience becoming myself all over again. ...Thanks. Sometimes, you know just what to say. At the very least, if gives me something pleasant to focus on while this shit wears off.”

“Can I... Can I ask a bad question?” ‘Choly’s words strangled himself.

“Yes, my reader is working fine. Yes, I have vid off on purpose. No, I haven’t had the nerve to do front-facing camera yet, and there’s not a mirror here. If the answer wasn’t one of these, then what were you going to ask me? Otherwise, you know the answer.”

‘Choly swallowed and gave him an exhausted smile.

“Where are you?”

Augen wasn’t sure he’d heard him right and laughed like broken silver.

“I’m not even wholly sure how to tell you where it is. It used to be an automotive repair, going off what’s left in here, and off what it smells like. I think... it specialized in cars from back when it was all by tread. If th-- When things go back to normal, I’m inclined to feel out how secure it is. It strikes me as a good place to make more... permanent than just hiding in.”

“It’ll more than go back to normal,” ‘Choly grinned. “I guarantee it.”

“I just remembered, you sent me a pic of your prize earlier. My moment of weakness has kept you from indulging. You’ve got the right idea, honestly. I’m lucky. I picked up an amp of Resin last night, and I was five minutes from taking a hit before... everything happened. It’s, like, hyper-Confec. I’ll have to let you try some next time we get together. But for now, this amp’s all for me. I... I think I can end call finally. I just can’t be... this right now.”

“You’ve earned it.”

“Enjoy your evening, bug dick.”

“You, too, stinkface. I’ll have my phone near me if you need me, all right?”

The screen flickered a moment before Augen’s face came into focus in a strange fluorescent amber lighting that didn’t match the ambient glow of Wolfram concrete interiors. ‘Choly wasn’t sure what he expected of his friend’s human features, but the juxtaposition of how his long, dark, stringy mess of hair framed his angular, slim pierced features only magnified the haunted sense of atrophy about him, crestfallen yet still forcing a tired smile. Ostensibly, a massive part of his identity had wasted away that day. Augen could tell ‘Choly had tried to take a screencap and ended the call.

9augen: may this vid call be the last you ever see of this pathetic asshole

‘Choly sent him a mushroom emoticon and set down his reader on the arm of the couch with a dopey, self-conscious smile. Augen had been gorgeous even before undergoing the grafting procedure that transfigured him, though the dreg knew better than to ever share such a sentiment. He sat up and glanced over to the box on the side table, seeking vicariousness even in his friend’s vulnerability, and pulled it into his lap. He’d be fine. And Augen would be fine.

But first, some time needed to pass, and the last thing he wanted was to be present for it.

[the-ink-that-writes]

Lies and Lobster Bisque (Flash Fiction Challenge Story #1)

Genre: Comedy Location: Laboratory Object: Polygraph 

Lies and Lobster Bisque

Gerry and Darlene have been married for ten years and agree to an ad for an experimental couple’s therapy session. They learn what they already knew but maybe forgot.

He had seen it in an ad posted in the Sunday Times in a small box on the corner of the third page.

Wanted: Couples of five or more years for a study in couple’s therapy. Compensation: One night of ALL YOU CAN EAT at Georgina’s Kitchen.  

Jokingly, he had mentioned it to his wife Darlene as they sat at the small breakfast table sipping their morning coffee and nibbling at the toast, he cringed internally—she had burnt the edges again. Darlene paused mid chew before nodding her head and reaching for her napkin.  

“Let’s do it,” she said.

Gerry had promptly choked on his coffee, “I’m sorry—do what exactly?” Darlene made a motion with her hands waving them heedlessly in the space between,

“Let’s do this couple’s therapy experiment.”

“No, absolutely not,” Gerry said.

“Why not? You’re the one who brought it up,” Darlene argued.

“As a joke! I didn’t think you’d take me seriously.”

Darlene huffed leaning forward to press both elbows on top of the table.

“Gerry we’ve been married for ten years, don’t you think it would take more than an experimental couple’s therapy session to make us question the validity of our relationship?”

He grimaced as he chewed the burnt corners of his piece of toast before offering her his most deadpanned stare, “You just want an excuse to crack claws and eat lobster bisque all night.”

Darlene leaned back, slumping into the chair and crossing her arms over her chest before settling him with her own look of disbelief, “You’re telling me you’d rather stay home and eat the left over lasagna your mother cooked three days ago instead?” Her brow raised and Gerry clicked his tongue—touché.

“Can you be ready in fifteen minutes?”

Within the hour they had found themselves standing in front of the receptionist’s desk filling out the waiver forms and consent to offer all rights of results to the relationship therapy experiment spearheaded by Dr. Kimmel, who had spent the last thirty years of his career discussing the it component that determined the longevity and authenticity of a relationship. When all was said and done they were lead down multiple winding hallways, passing all the front offices and disappearing into the labyrinth of the building.  At one point Gerry leaned over to whisper to Darlene while walking behind the receptionist leading them to the Laboratory,

“The prospect of our organs getting removed, stolen and sold on the black market is becoming more probable with each creepy door we pass.”

“All you can eat Gerry, that’s all I’m going to say.”

“Yeah till you don’t have a gallbladder,” he scoffed.

Laboratory Room 637 was at the end of the hall and appropriately named with a silver plaque with Dr. Kimmel’s name embossed just beneath the number. The receptionist smiled as she opened the door and waved them in, “Dr. Kimmel will be waiting inside to explain to you the details of the experiment. Happy therapy session,” she said as her heels retreated down the hall, clicking against the white tile.

Inside a man dressed in pair of navy blue slacks and a white button down shirt with a daisy yellow tie stood waiting. He was tall and gangly looking, his clothes seemed a size too big and his spectacles slid down his face with every gesture his countenance made.

“Welcome to Lab 637, won’t you please come have a seat?” Dr. Kimmel motioned to the simple metal table with three chairs. On the table sat unmistakably a machine with wires hooked up to graphing paper. Darlene’s lips pursed.

“A lie detector?”

Dr. Kimmel smiled as if he could already determine their disbelief, “Ahh well not exactly. You see, the polygraph doesn’t necessarily detect lies; it detects nervousness. As therapists we take that nervousness and try to determine what about these questions make the individual nervous, and use the polygraph to then ask more prodding questions. Which as you might be able to guess can lead to some interesting and enlightening conversations.”

As he spoke he placed electrodes on Gerry and Darlene’s first and third finger of their right hand. He wrapped tubing around their chest and stomach, and then also placed a blood pressure reader on their left arm accordingly. Dr. Kimmel sat back and watched as the red light blinked and smiled as he pushed his glasses back up his face, readying a clipboard with a list of questions and his pen poised just above the paper.

“Now then shall we begin?”

Gerry and Darlene pushed past the revolving glass door, breathing in the fresh air as it rushed against their faces. The sun had just begun to dip below the tree line and the streets weren’t nearly as busy as when they had arrived. They walked in silence as they both got into their car and buckled their seats. They sat for a long moment before Darlene cleared her throat, “Well, that was…interesting.”

Gerry’s head whipped to the right and stared at Darlene with incredulity, “Interesting? That’s a bit of a stretch don’t you think? I mean I’ve never in my life ever heard of there being a correlation between the color of my underwear and my emotional capacity in the same sentence before!”

“I said interesting Gerry, not accurate,” Darlene said exasperatedly as she combed her fingers through her curls.

“And just where does he get off telling me that I’m not supportive? I’m supportive!”

“Very supportive Dear,” Darlene soothed.

“I mean, I eat your burnt toast every morning! Is that not the definition of support?”

Darlene sighed, “I never claimed to be a cook.”

“And I never claimed that I married one, but a man’s gotta eat more than just burnt toast Darlene!”

“Agreed. So, let’s go crack claws and eat lobster bisque till we’re sick with it,” her smile ever playful despite the aging of ten years.

“Till we’re sick with it,” he said, turning the key and revving the engine to life.

[sending-the-message]

I've been to Valhalla. If you're smart you'll heed my warning and lay down your weapons now. by Vexxad

If I'd known then what I know now I would have put my 9mm against my chin and blown my fucking brains out before I ever enlisted in the first place. Don't get me wrong, I've had a great career. Scored so high that I got accepted into a deep covert special operations group very very early, was a top shot and an even better hand to hand fighter. As was everyone else in my squad, which is why it was hard for me to swallow that after 7 years of being "spooks" we were getting picked off in the middle of the desert.

We weren't a large squad, but like I said, we were highly trained. That's why it was strange when Stikes warm blood splattered all over my shemagh and the front of my uniform, the back of his head now a gaping hole. "GET DOWN, GET DOWN!! YOU DUMB MOTHERFUCKERS IM NOT TRAINING A BUNCH OF NE-." That had been Brooks shouting, for a moment at least before muzzle flash and more rounds than I've ever seen fill one man entered his body. I was rough. I was grizzled, but something about seeing two of your most experienced squad-mates unexpectedly explode in front of you tends to rip that training away. Apparently the other two left alive, Jackson and Gyllian felt the same.

"Northeast." It was the only word in my mind as sand exploded around me, assisted by my boots while I hit full sprint and the impact of rounds as the sprayed around me. I tried to follow their tracers, moving accordingly but keeping my eyes fixed on that shitty hut to my northeast. I heard a scream from behind me, nearly feeling the thud vibrate across the ground as Jacksons bloody legs gave out under him, Gyllian turning around just in time to eat one of the tracers, his body falling limp ontop of Jackson as Jackson screamed, switching between shouts of agony and anger, screaming at them to "Fucking end him, pussies!" I jumped into the door of the shack with my shoulder and felt it give way immediately as I fell on the shitty sand floor. I knew they'd granted his wish when the distant screams ceased, multiple loud pops singing to the tune before overtaking it.

"What the fuck is happening? What the FUCK is happening?!?" I shook the thought off quickly, only one thought in my mind now that I'd reached safety. Revenge. I was going to make sure these cunts didn't leave with zero casualties after wiping out our squad. I threw the pack I'd been carrying onto the floor, plastic explosives spilling out of the top and onto the ground.

They waited longer than I expected...a lot longer. Hell, they almost got the drop on me. Probably would have if it hadn't been for the broken glass outside of the window above my head in the bathroom I was in. My breath caught as the window exploded into splinters, rounds peppering the wall behind it as I flung myself onto my back, bracing my feet under the window and firing a round perfectly into the face of the masked cunt. Turns out, this was like kicking a beehive as the whole house suddenly exploded with noise outside of the closed bathroom door, insurgents breaching every window in the house. Just what I'd wanted, I didn't even need to see their faces, they'd know what was happening just from the noise.

I squeezed the detonator, feeling the cheap Chinese made plastic under my fingers, the quickening beeps letting me know my plan had worked as I squeezed my eyes, waiting for the intense heat of the plastic explosives to claw and chew at my skin. It hit my legs first, climbing quickly up my body, pain like I'd never known before chewing away at my skin as I screamed.

I don't remember when the pain stopped, or even whether or not I'd fallen unconscious. It felt like hours later when I finally pried my eyes open slowly. There was no fire around me or even the glowing embers of where one had existed. I could tell I was still in the shack, the only difference now being that the roof had been all but absolutely destroyed, opening a gaping hole to show the grey sky above. Something was circling above slowly at first, but as I blinked to clear my eyes I noticed that the creature was folding its wings, plummeting towards the earth or, more specifically, me. I tensed up as I felt a great mass land somewhere near me and heard the flutter of massive wings folding in on themselves and, as I opened my eyes my mouth fell open in surprise. A tall, tattooed and dark haired woman stood tall above me holding a great sword to my chest.

I was frozen there, starring up at her scarred and sharp face. I was stunned when she finally opened her mouth, speaking in heavily accented English as she jammed the sword into the hard dirt floor beside me. "You, strong warrior. This your weapon." She nodded slightly to the sword, a smirk playing on her lips. "Welcome Valhalla." She said coyly, and with that she spread her great, dark wings and with a thrust of her legs and wings in sync she flew off towards the sky.

I lay there for a while, trying to process what this winged woman had said. "Welcome Valhalla? What the fuck? I mean, I hadn't expected to survive that blast but I hadn't taken any time to consider the consequences ei-" footsteps, outside again. I rolled onto my stomach, pushing myself up on my knees before standing on my feet which, hours earlier I was almost certain had been blown right off. "This your weapon." I heard that voice echo in my head as my eyes caught the blade lying under the window. I realized I had much less time for thinking than I thought as I heard something heavy slam into something outside of the door.

I kicked the door open, coming almost instantly face to face with what I can only describe as what must have been some kind of gladiator type. This person was massive and built like a Fucking bodybuilder, only parts of his body sparsely covered in armor and the rest of him covered in deep scars. He had a massive axe in his hands, I couldn't help but notice that his first swing seemed effortless. I barely had time to move the sword to my side, blocking the better force of the hit, the rest catching my Kevlar and slicing through the outermost fabric easily. The thing was razor Fucking sharp. I saw an opening and took it, sending a kick towards his knee with my combat boot and noticing that it had little to no effect on what, at this point I couldn't help but notice couldn't possibly be entirely human.

He saw an opening and took it quickly, running the entire mass of his shoulder and body into my chest as he threw me onto the ground with an astounding roar and, as I hit the ground with such force my ears began ringing. I tried to force my eyes to stay open and move as he raised his axe above his head, but realized quickly that I had very little strength left, it was all I could do to ram the sword up as his axe came down.

Warm red blood dripped down cold steel and onto the floor as I coughed roughly, feeling the axe embedded deeply into my thick Kevlar vest. I let go of the handle of the sword as I watched the massive beast of a man topple onto his side, the steel jutting from his bleeding chest and pooling on the ground around him as I coughed deeply, sure that my ribs or internal organs had been crushed but glad to feel that it hadn't made it through the armor itself. I sighed in relief, but my relief was quickly dashed as I realized this armor was now unusable. I was lost in a strange place, armed with nothing more than a sword delivered by what, at this point I could only assume had been a Valkyrie. Only one thought was on my mind. I felt alive and I needed to get back to....wherever home was.

[diannaphantomfiction]

Cerulean Wing

Chapter 2 of ?

Fandom(s): Miraculous Ladybug

Rating: K+

Summary: AU: Marinette might not have been chosen to be Ladybug, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have the potential to be a great holder. Gabriel Agreste sees this potential and decides that perhaps it is time to pass the Peacock Miraculous onto a new Holder. With Ladybug and Chat Noir behind her, Marinette becomes Paris’s newest superhero, Cerulean Wing.

Date Uploaded: April 21st, 2017

On Ao3: Here

On FanFiction: Here

Previous

Next (Coming Soon)

Notes: I got the idea of making Marinette the Peacock from imthepunchlord’s series “Always a Hero, No Matter the Miraculous.” This Chapter is more set up! Be ready for the good stuff next chapter!

Today was not Marinette’s day. Today was absolutely, positively not her day. Any day that started by being paired up with Chloe and Sabrina for a physics project was destined to be bad, but it just kept getting worse. First, Marinette, in what must have been a bout of insanity inspired by Ladybug and Alya, had decided to stand up to Chloe on Sabrina’s behalf. That had convinced Sabrina that they were best friends, and while Marinette was all for making new friends this was taking it a little too far. 

Then, an Akuma had attacked Chloe. Nothing bad had happened; Ladybug and Chat Noir had showed up insanely quickly and chased the Akuma off. Almost immediately after the attack, Sabrina’s parents (both of them being in law enforcement) had heard about the attack and called her home before the two girls had even been able to start their project and Marinette hadn’t had anything to else to do so she went home as well.

And finally, the cream of the crop, the Akuma, who turned out to be Nathaniel calling himself Evillustrator, had erased her window and asked her to spend his birthday with him. Like a date. Marinette had agreed out of what was mostly fear of what he would do if she said no. She had said yes to going on a date with someone who was essentially being psychically controlled because she was scared of him. Everything about this made her insides feel slimy. Like tar had coated her internal organs. 

“Ladybug and Chat Noir are going to lecture me, aren’t they?” she asked her empty room, moving to touch to edge of her erased window curiously. Huh, it wasn’t sharp, just no glass than suddenly glass. That was a little scary, actually. That was not how the laws of physics were supposed to work. 

Fumbling with her phone, Marinette opted to ignore the sixteen missed calls from Sabrina and hit the speed dial app to call Alya. 

Alya picked up after the second ring, “Mari! I heard you were there when the Akuma attacked Chloe! You have to tell me everything!” 

“Maybe later. Alya this is really important; do you think Ladybug and Chat Noir pay attention to your blog?” 

“I mean, I think so,” Alya said, “But there’s no way to really know for sure. Why?” 

“I…I need to get a message to them. This was the only way I could think of.” 

“Marinette.” Worry practically dripped off her voice as she spoke. “What happened?” 

Marinette took a deep breath, “I was just visited by Nathaniel, who’s been akumatized.” 

Alya was quiet for a couple seconds before letting out a short string of curses. “Did he hurt you?” 

Marinette shook her head before she remembered Alya couldn’t see her. “No. He…asked me on a date?” 

“Please tell me you said yes.” 

Marinette froze, her hand gripping the phone so hard she heard it creak a little. She seriously hoped that Alya wasn’t asking so she could get Marinette to record her date for the Ladyblog. “…I did.” 

Alya sighed, “Good. No telling what he would have done if you said no.” 

Marinette’s heart skipped a beat. What would Nathaniel have done? He’d promised not to hurt her, but what if she had refused? What if Hawkmoth ordered him to take her to draw out Paris’s heroes? Marinette shivered at the thought. 

“Don’t worry girl. I’ll get the word out right away. I’m sure it’ll get to Ladybug and Chat Noir before long.” 

“Thanks Alya.” Marinette chewed on her lip nervously. Maybe she should take her pocket knife/belt buckle with her, just in case.

There were very few things about being Ladybug that Rose Lavillant didn’t like. Her newly acquired lack a sleep, the distrust her parents and siblings now associated with her, and having to use Juleka as a regular excuse/alibi were pretty much the extent of the short list. Yet, Chloe Bourgeois was quickly making her way onto that list. She just spent the last ten minutes taking selfies with Ladybug, despite her hero’s obvious discomfort. And now, only a minute after claiming that everyone loved her, Chloe was trying to force Chat to do her Physics project. 

Rose knew her partner loved Physics; after all she’d gotten more than a few frustrated lecture about how their powers shouldn’t work and how much it bugged him. Like anyone who loved something, he had a slight hatred for anyone who trivialized or insulted the thing he loved. So, she wasn’t surprised to see Chat’s tail-belt-thing flicking back and forth in irritation as he offered to tutor her, repeating that he wasn’t going to just do her homework. Chloe had chosen to once again ignore the offer and scoff at the idea of doing her own homework. 

As she grew more and more agitated at Chloe’s blatant disrespect of her partner, Rose was honestly glad when her earrings vibrated softly. Tikki was alerting her of a mention of Evillustrator online before she lost what little control she had not to yell at Chloe. Rose pulled out her yoyo and flipping it open, read the new post on the Ladyblog. Rose covered her mouth and gasped. Marinette! Of course! Nathaniel had a crush on Marinette! 

“Chat! I just got a lead I think we should check out.” 

Chat peaked around Chloe, one side of his mask moving upward with his eyebrow. “You sure, Buggie?” 

Ladybug nodded, “Positive. This is far better than just waiting and hoping he’s going to want revenge on Miss Chloe.”  

Chat nodded happily, side stepping around Chloe and hooking his arm around Ladybug’s playfully. “Where are we heading, Little Lady?” 

“You know Tom & Sabine Boulangerie Patisserie?” 

Chat nodded and plucked his staff off his belt with a mischievous grin on his face. “Race you there, Buggie!” 

Chat ran across the large balcony and launched himself over the side with help from his staff. 

Ladybug giggled, her wings buzzing softly as she ran after him, “No fair Chat! You got a head start!” Ladybug jumped over the railing herself and threw out her yoyo to the nearest place it could grapple, her wings flaring out to slow her fall a little. Ahead of her, Chat was doing far more flips and maneuvers than was necessary, his slim form (far to thin in Ladybug’s opinion) moving in ways no human should be able to. Ladybug’s wings beat quickly, allowing her to hover in the air for just a second longer than gravity would naturally allow so she could throw out her yoyo to a new spot. Her short defiance of gravity wasn’t visible to the civilians on the ground or even to Chat. Those short helpful hovers and a short, speedy flight for ramming or a desperate get away was all she could do with her wings. Tikki had assured her that was normal, referring to Rose as a larva affectionately and promising that once she built up her stamina she would be able to fly for up to 2 hours straight, traveling up to 74 miles at top speed if need be. Using the yoyo was currently easier on her physically, even if it was bit of a mental workout. 

Chat landed on the roof nearest to the bakery a few seconds before Ladybug, sticking a perfect Olympic level landing as easy as he breathed. Ladybug smirked and took the unspoken challenge, landing gracefully beside her partner as though she’d just completed a difficult jump in ballet class. Chat stuck his tongue out at her, his tail happily curling upward a little. Ladybug just smiled and clipped her yoyo to her skirt, turning her attention to Marinette, who was standing in her doorway, appearing to be arguing with Sabrina.

“Me-ouch!” Chat exclaimed, “That girl’s got some claws!” 

And the puns were back… Ladybug gave Chat an exasperated look, but choose not to comment. Commenting would just make it worse. The two partners waited until Sabrina had walked just far enough away to not see them to drop down. Marinette jumped a little, he eyes wide and a small yelp escaping her throat. Ladybug relaxed her stance, ensuring that her body language was open, but professional. Rose was friends with Marinette, but Ladybug wasn’t.

“Hello, are you Marinette Dupain-Cheng?” Rose let a friendly smile tug on her lips, purposely ignoring the fact that Chat thought “Sassy” was the correct way to greet a civilian. 

Marinette smiled, a little too wide, her eyes darting back and forth between the two heroes. “Yes! Uh, Hello!” 

“I’m Ladybug and this is Chat Noir.” 

Then, much to both the girls’ surprise, Chat bowed low at the waist to Marinette, “A pleasure to meet you, Princess!” 

Ladybug’s eyes danced with wonder. Oh. My. God. He was flirting with her! Chat was flirting with Marinette! Ladybug found herself barely able to contain herself, but she was able to stop herself from jumping up and down in excitement. Why hadn’t she thought of this sooner?! Chat and Marinette would be perfect for each other! It was just like in one of those teenage rom-coms! The big brother and the sister’s good friend! 

Ladybug stifled an excited squeal and pocked Chat in the side a little too hard. Chat pouted at her, his cat ears drooping a little. 

Marinette giggled and tugged on one of her pigtails, “Yeah, I know. You guys only save Paris all the time.”

Chat beamed with pride as Ladybug smiled gently, “We do our best. You said on the Ladyblog that you were visited by the Evillustrator?” 

Marinette nodded and pulled a little card out of her jacket and handed it to Chat. “He didn’t hurt me, he just wanted me to go on a date with him tonight.” 

Chat examined the card carefully as Ladybug stared at her friend in shock. No way sweet, but generally nervous Marinette had said yes, right? “And you agreed?” 

Marinette nodded slowly, “I… didn’t know what else to do?” 

“You shouldn’t have agreed. You’re a civilian.” 

“Come on, Buggie,” Chat said, pocketing the card, “What was she supposed to do? Akuma are unpredictable. If she had said no, he might have just kidnapped her.”

Marinette squared her shoulders and set her jaw, a confidence Rose was used to seeing in filling her eyes, “Maybe I could help.” 

“No!” Chat and Ladybug found themselves snapping in unison. 

Marinette crossed her arms. Ladybug pouted angrily in response. Chat looked between the two girls wondering who was going to blink first. 

“You’re a civilian,” Ladybug insisted, “I will gladly lock you in a closet if it keeps you safe.” 

“She’s not lying. She locked me in a closet once,” Chat offered, knowing full and well that the girls weren’t listening to him. 

“The butterfly is in his pen. How exactly do you plan to get close enough to take it from him?” 

“That is an excellent question,” Chat said, pointing at Marinette. 

“Not by putting a civilian directly in danger!” 

The two girls glared at each other for what had to be a good minute before Ladybug finally gave in. She couldn’t believe she was agreeing to this… “Fine. But we’re going to watch the entire time and the second you get a chance to take the pen you do. You take the pen, give it to us, and then you run. No arguments.” 

Marinette nodded, “Deal.” 

Chat cleared her throat and both of the girls looked over at his so fast they could have gotten whiplash. “So, when are you meeting Evillustrator?”

“At sunset, on the left bank by Notre Dame.” 

Chat scooped up Marinette’s hand and planted a light kiss on it before Marinette could react. Marinette’s face shifted into a look of shock, obviously taken aback by the blatant show of affection. 

“We’ll see you then, Princess!” With a smile, Chat used his staff to propel himself up to the rooftops above him. 

Ladybug couldn’t help but beam at Marinette. Marinette and Chat were so cute! Rose was going to get them together if it was the last thing she did! Assuming Marinette didn’t get herself killed tonight.

Marinette fingered her belt buckle, quickly pulling the little knife out of the buckle and flicking it open. She knew she couldn’t wait her much longer, the sun was getting increasingly low in the sky and Evillustrator would be waiting for her. Still, focusing on this made her feel a little braver. She wasn’t 100% sure why she had insisted on doing this, Marinette was no hero. She didn’t have any special powers; she couldn’t leap from rooftop to rooftop or destroy things with a simple touch or restore millions of Euros of damage with mystical glowing Ladybugs. 

But, Chat had called her princess and not in the insulting way guys always seemed to mean. He had meant it. Her stomach had flipped when he said it, kissing her hand, as a knight would have in a King Arthur story. During her childhood, Marinette’s parents had taken turns telling her stories. Her father would tell her all the traditional European stories; Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, Beauty and the Beast, but her mother had always told her Chinese stories. Her favorite was the story of Princess Pingyang, the daughter of a Chinese Emperor and a great warrior. She led an army and helped her father rise to power, winning the hearts of her people. That was what Marinette had always thought a Princess should be like rather than the damsels from the European stories and she didn’t fit that at all. If Chat Noir wanted to call her princess, than she was going to earn that title.

Marinette put her knife back in place and shook out her arms, trying to look relaxed and glanced upward. If Ladybug hadn’t told her where to look, Marinette wouldn’t have seen the bug themed heroine. One would think all the bright red on her suit (cheerleader uniform?) would work against her in terms of stealth, but she somehow managed to sink into the shadows just right and hide fairly well. Of course, she had no idea where to even start look for Chat Noir, who moved almost silently and wore all black, but she trusted he was nearby. Marinette walked over to where she was supposed to meet Evillustrator. He was drawing on his tablet, having created a long boat with a mini recreation of one of the most famous pictures of the Eiffel Tower. Marinette had to hold back a gasp. He’d taken everything into account; size, tree and light placement, even the light of the moon. It made the most beautiful little scene. He’d done all this for her? 

There was a small flash of purple as a moth shaped image hovered above Evillustrator’s eyes and he started to speak. Was he… talking to Hawk Moth? Suddenly, his hand spasmed and he gripped it tightly, his face contorting in pain and horror. This time, Marinette did gasp. Was Hawk Moth hurting him? Nathanael didn’t deserve that. 

Marinette smiled softly. She could make this a good night for him, he wouldn’t have to hurt anyone if she got the pen fast enough and gave it to Ladybug. The Akuma would be cleansed and Nathanael would be home in time for bed. Marinette walk forward, smiling brightly at her classmate, “Happy birthday!”  

Nathanael jumped up, seeming to regain control of his hand, “Marinette!” 

Nathanael jumped over to her a bright smile on his face, gently placing a hand on the small of her back and gesturing toward the boat with the other one, “Thank you for coming.” 

“It’s so beautiful,” Marinette said, taking the scene in up close, “Did you make all this?” 

His eyes shone with pride, “I did and all for you! Do you like it?” 

Marinette smiled. This was honestly so sweet. Even as an Akuma, Nathanael didn’t seem to want to hurt anything, so long as he was happy. “I love it. It’s really amazing.” 

Nathanael’s smile brightened. “I’m really glad.” 

Nathanael drew a bench out for the two of them sitting down gently once it appeared. Marinette followed his lead, sitting down on the bench and taking a relaxed, friendly posture. A soft buzz that could be easily mistaken for city noise reached her ears. A quick flash of red streaked past in the corner of her eye. She was glad that Nathanael was too focused on her to have seen Ladybug dart to a safer distance. As Marinette looked around she saw that Ladybug was much further away than she thought even a superhero could get to in a couple seconds. 

Hm. Maybe Ladybug could fly, at least a little. 

“I can get the boat started, if you’d like?” 

Marinette nodded at Nathanael, blushing at his smile. What in the world had she done to get that look of adoration?

…Was that how she looked at Adrian? 

Nathanael placed his pen on the tablet just as a thick cluster of dark cloud rolled in front of the moon. Nathanael growled loudly, glaring up at the clouds as if they had personally insulted him. He looked… violent. A chill ran down Marinette’s spine as she reminded herself that this was an Akuma, an unpredictable villain controlled by Hawk Moth, not just sweet and shy Nathanael. 

He muttered to himself as he leaned down towards one of the lamps and drew a glowing moon over the little Eiffel Tower. Of course, he was an artist and all artists needed to be able to see what they were doing to make anything. All right, that was a weakness she could pass on the Ladybug and Chat Noir if she needed to. 

Nathanael turned back to her, his smile back again. “Sorry about that,” He said as he tapped his tablet twice. 

The boat started moving at a leisurely pace. There were a few seconds of awkward silence before Nathanael’s eyes lit up and he placed his pen to his tablet again. Music lofted softly out of it in time with the musical notes that he drew. It was beautiful. The river, the lights, the music; it was a nearly perfect date and if she wasn’t on it with an Akuma, Marinette would have been having a good time. 

Chat Noir jumped across a couple rooftops, making himself fully visible to Marinette on purpose. Was that supposed to be a signal? Marinette was going to take that as a signal. 

Marinette turned to distract Nathaniel, smiling friendlily and scooting just a little bit closer. “You’re so talented! I just don’t understand why you would want to use your power to hurt people.” 

“Not all people, just Chloe,” Nathaniel answered, his voice soft and reassuring, “And I’ll never do that again. After all, you kept your promise, so I’ll keep mine.”  

Marinette leaned closer, “I actually draw a little too. I’m not as good as you are, of course…” 

“I’m sure you’re a wonderful artist.” 

Marinette draped her arm over the back of the bench, glancing back quickly at where Chat Noir and Ladybug had landed. Both heroes had their weapons at the ready, crouched low and shoulders tensed in anticipation of their attack. Marinette waved them off. She was all right; she just needed a couple more seconds…. 

“Well, can I draw you something special for your birthday?” Marinette reached forward and softly gripped the top of his pencil with two fingers. For a second, the shock on his face makes it look as if he was insulted that she’d stopped his in the middle of a pen stroke. Marinette has to be careful not to let her nerves show, making an effort to keep her face calm and pleasant and her shoulders from tensing. 

The shock quickly melts off Nathaniel’s face, once again replaced with wonder and adoration, “That would be amazing…” 

The moment was broken suddenly by a single sharp tap echoing behind them. Marinette had to physically stop herself from wincing. Ladybug’s heel. The entire plan was going to be ruined by Ladybug’s impossible (probably magical) Wonder Woman heels. What kind of superhero battled crime in 4-inch block heels anyways? 

“Marinette. Give me my pencil back. I need to draw something. Now.” 

‘”No, I’m… keeping it!” Marinette snatched the pencil and darted away from Nathaniel, “Chat Noir! Ladybug!” 

A zipping sound and the whirr of Chat’s extending staff reached her ears as soon as she was off the bench. Turning she saw Chat’s staff had pinned Nathaniel to the bench and Ladybug had wrapped her yoyo string around the arm with his tablet on it. 

“Marinette!” Nathaniel growled, his mouth pulled into an angry snarl and his eyes hard, “You’re working with them?! I'm so stupid... I actually thought you liked me! But you're really just like Chloé. Teasing me, mocking me, leading me on!” 

Marinette made a frustrated noise and stomped her foot. “Come on! Seriously?! Why is everyone comparing me to Chloe today?!”

Chat Noir’s grip seemed to loosen a bit as he looked at Marinette. 

“Marinette! Break the pen!” Ladybug shouted, pulling Nathaniel’s arm back so quickly the tablet cracked. 

Nathaniel let out a loud, angry scream and moved to try to attack Ladybug, but the bug themed hero was too fast. Her wings buzzing so fast Marinette couldn’t see them as she jumped over Nathaniel and landed next to Marinette, her yoyo extended just enough so that it could be thrown out easily. 

Marinette dropped the pen and stomped hard, breaking it under her foot. Marinette let out a small gasp as a surprisingly pretty purple and white butterfly fluttered out. Ladybug’s yoyo shot out opening and then closing around the Akuma as Chat and Nathaniel wrestled around on the floor of the boat. Chat had the advantage of supernatural strength, but Nathaniel seemed perfectly willing to use his elbows, knees, and teeth to try to get Chat off him. 

Ladybug somehow balanced up on one toe, the other leg tucked up like a ballerina, and spun, throwing her yoyo up as she did, releasing a slightly glowing pure white butterfly into the air. The tiny superhero came to a stop, toes pointed just right. She had to be a ballerina Marinette realized; there was no way anyone who wasn’t trained in ballet would choose to move like that. She pulled her yoyo back to her hand for just a second before throwing it back into the air. 

“Miraculous Ladybug!” 

Hundreds of glowing pink Ladybugs shot out of her yoyo, spreading out over the city to fix any damage Nathaniel may have done. Marinette found herself hoping they got rid of the pigeons that had taken up residence in her room. Marinette sighed softly as the ladybugs flew over them, disappearing Nathaniel’s work before they disappeared themselves. Chat jumped up as black-purple goo spread over Nathaniel, turning him back into his true form. 

Ladybug held out her a closed fist to Marinette, beaming. “You did a good job.” 

“Oh!” Marinette smiled sheepishly, bumping her fist against the super heroine’s. “Thanks.” 

“But you’re never doing this again, got it?” 

Marinette chuckled, “I’ll try.” 

“M-Marinette?” Marinette turned to see Chat Noir helping Nathaniel up. 

“Nathaniel, are you alright?” 

Nathaniel looked between Chat Noir and Ladybug nervously, “Was I an Akuma?” 

Ladybug nodded, “You were. How are you doing?” 

“Uh, confused?” 

“That’s normal.” Ladybug smiled lightly, “It might help you to know that you didn’t hurt anyone. You were by far the least destructive Akuma Chat and I have ever fought.” 

Nathaniel looked down nervously, “T-thanks? Marinette, what are you doing here? I didn’t…?”  

Marinette squeezed Nathaniel’s shoulder, “No, of course not. You were a gentleman. You asked me on a date, which I agreed to of my own free will-“ 

“Which will never happen again!” 

Marinette sighed, letting her face fall into her hands. “…She’s been saying that all day.” 

Nathaniel smiled, a light blush dusting his cheeks. “I’m sure she means well.” 

“Ladybug’s just protective is all,” Chat said, walking over to them, “She doesn’t like seeing people in danger. Why don’t we get you two home? I’m sure your families are worried about you.” 

Ladybug and Chat Noir grabbed Nathaniel and Marinette, jumping off the boat and carrying them to the riverbank. Chat Noir held her lightly, but securely against his side. Marinette couldn’t help but blush. Chat Noir had the body proportions of a model and absolutely no fat on his waist and hips. Marinette may have been worried about that if she also didn’t feel his defined abs and thick biceps. 

“Hold on, Princess,” he said, extending his staff to the ground. Marinette wrapped her arms around his neck. Chat pushed off the boat, using his staff to safely propel his jump to the riverbed. 

He touched down lightly as Ladybug’s earrings beeped. She winced and turned to her partner, who simply nodded and gestured for her to leave. 

“Do either of you need help getting home? I have plenty of time left to help you out.” 

Nathaniel shook his head, “We’re only a few minutes from my apartment, I can make it back without a problem.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah. I need to do some thinking anyways.” 

“Alright. What about you, Princess?” 

Marinette looked around and shook her head, “I’m not sure how to get home from here.” 

Chat visibly perked up, his tail straightening out and his ears rotating forward as his eyes lit up. Marinette had to stop herself from laughing at the superhero. He was literally the human embodiment of an actual cat. 

Chat flourished into a low bow, positively glowing, “It would be my honor to escort you home, Princess!” 

Marinette yelped as Chat pulled her close, jumping into the air before she could respond to his offer or say goodbye to Nathaniel. Chat Noir form of travel was fairly rough. He mostly used his staff to propel himself over buildings, but sometimes he had to use the buildings themselves. Even with Marinette in his arms, he moved with grace, purpose, and balance that no human had business being capable of. 

It only took them a little over five minutes to get to Marinette’s house. Chat Noir landed on her balcony, setting her down as he did. 

“Thank you, Chat Noir.” 

Chat Noir crouched on the railing naturally. “It’s my pleasure, Princess.” 

Marinette rolled her eyes, but smiled. He meant well and it wasn’t doing anything wrong after all. 

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, “Nothing happened.” 

“Alright, if you’re sure. Just try not to get involved like that again, okay?” 

Marinette couldn’t help but smirk, “So Ladybug isn’t the only protective one?” 

Chat laughed. “No, I guess not. She just usually shows it by yelling at you or shoving you in ‘safe places.’”

“And you?” 

Chat shrugged in response, “I don’t like to take people's choices away. But, it would make me feel better if you didn’t throw yourself into possible danger regularly.” 

Marinette nodded, an easy smile plastered on her face. “I’ll do my best. “ 

“That’s all I ask.” Chat stood up and rolled his shoulders before plucking her staff from the small of his back. “I need to get going. Have a good night, Princess!” 

With that, Chat jumped off her balcony, using his staff to propel himself across the street before disappearing into the night. Marinette watched the direction he had disappeared for about thirty seconds longer than she needed to. Chat Noir was pleasantly surprising. Marinette climbed back into her room, quietly. Her parents were likely already asleep so they could be up for work in the early morning. Equally as quietly, she got ready for bed. Now that she had stopped moving and the adrenaline had drained away, she found that the night had been extremely tiring. Her limbs felt heavy and her eyes kept slipping closed. 

Her mind muddled with drowsiness and still full of the night’s events, Marinette failed to notice the black hexagon shaped box waiting to be opened on her vanity.