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pascalpanic · 4 years ago

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ok can i request a din djarin x reader where the reader is a badass but usually seduces her bounties to capture them, and din is both jealous and confused (bc she could kick anyone’s ass) and she whips out the line “don’t work for misogyny, make misogyny work for you” thank you so so much

Atin’la (Din Djarin x f!Reader)

Summary: Being a female bounty hunter is a pain in the ass. When you meet a Mandalorian man and begin traveling with him, you meet seemingly the only man in the bounty hunting trade that respects women. Too bad he’s a hopeless romantic too.

W/C: 4k

Warnings: language, alcohol, misogyny, threats of violence, mentions of weapons, Din doesn’t know how to emotion. rude terms to address a female (whore, bitch, etc.)

A/N: I had so much fun working on this request you guys! Fic requests are definitely open if inspiration strikes any of y’all. The bounty they capture in the later part is a Zabrak! I did some research into different humanoid species, and for reference, Zabraks are the species with a ring of horns on their head; the most notable one is Darth Maul. I linked the wookiepedia page here so you can get a feel for what they look like if you aren’t familiar with the species.

atin’la- tough

Being a bounty hunter and a woman is much harder than being one or the other.

Sexism runs rampant in circles dominated by men, and bounty hunting was certainly one of those circles. Finding a man impartial to women was the best you could get in hopes of employment, a man who actually gave a shit about the women was a dream.

Luckily, you’d happened across a man who seemed to see directly past gender. A man who you weren’t even sure was a human, covered in beskar and refusing to even tell you his name. He asked you to call him Mando, and that was that.

You’d happened upon the man during a bounty hunt. You were an independent contractor, working for yourself. You’d pick up pucks from slain hunters, more often than not, or you’d run a spare job for Karga or his rivals. Money was the number one concern for you, over loyalty to a certain guild or a certain code.

The hunt was going somewhat easily. It all changed when you looked down and found a tiny green being sipping soup. It smiled cutely at you with tiny white teeth and you abandoned your mission for a moment to give the little thing a scratch on its head. He seemed to appreciate that, leaning into your touch and slipping his wide brown eyes closed.

The being’s father didn’t like that. You looked up to find a beskar-clad, broad-shouldered man pointing a pulse rifle at you. “Step away from the child.”

“Relax,” you said quickly, putting your hands in the air. “I’m not here for him.”

“How do I know that?” The modulated voice growled at you.

“I’m an independent bounty hunter. Let me show you.” You grabbed a puck and tossed it to the man, who skillfully caught it while balancing his pulse rifle, aiming it directly at your heart. The man- well, you assumed it was a man- pressed the button, illuminating the dark alley with a holographic image of a mythrol. “See? It was registered to Jido Korden. He’s dead now. I stole the puck from his body.”

The black slit in the helmet looked from the puck back up at you. “You’re not Guild?”

“No,” you laughed. “Why bother working for one side when you can keep your opportunities open?” You asked, a smirk on your face.

He shook his head. “I was assigned to this mythrol too.”

“That’s too damn bad, Mandalorian,” you shrugged and walked closer, snatching the puck back from his palm. “Unless you want to work together,” you snorted as you pocketed the little round piece, turning off the hologram. You looked down at the kid again. “Nice meeting you, squirt,” you hummed to the kid and scratched its head before turning to walk away.

“Independent, huh?” The Mandalorian asked, lowering his pulse rifle.

You stopped in your tracks. “Yeah. What about it?”

“You have skills. I’ve seen your image before.”

“Better not have been on a bounty puck.” You crossed your arms and turned around. “Where is this going?”

“I… am in need of crewmates. This kid is a kriffing handful, and I can’t keep watching him and running bounties. It’s just not working out.”

“That sucks,” you shrugged. “Is this an offer?” He stared at you for a second, unreadable. His visor stared directly into your face. “Yes. Come work with me. We’ll take turns running bounties and staying on my ship with the kid.”

“Oh, you have a ship,” you raised an eyebrow as you looked up and down his body. “I’m not a working girl, you do know that?”

“Of course I know that,” the man said, annoyance evident in his modulated tone. “This is not a… partnership of that kind.”

You bit your lip and tilted your head as you looked at the man, the child, and back to the man. “50/50 split of payment.”

“60/40.”

“Don’t make me negotiate a higher rate,” you chuckled. “50/50.”

“Fine.”

You smiled. “Looks like you’ve got a partner, Mandalorian,” you said, hands on your waist. You walked closer and offered him a hand. He took it and you shook on the deal. You introduced yourself and he nodded. “What’s your name?” You asked.

“You can call me Mando.”

That was how your partnership with Mando began. Now, you’ve worked together for a few weeks. His missions tend to run longer than yours, taking upwards of a week. That leaves you on the ship with the child more, but it’s nice. It’s almost fun to pretend domesticity when the Mandalorian man is gone, playing with the child.

Green bean, baby boy, cutie, kiddo, nugget. The kid had many names under your care. You wonder if Mando ever calls him sweet names when you’re the one gone. You hum to the child and put him in his little knit hammock, hanging above the technically-shared bunk. It’s not really yours or Mando’s. One of you sleeps in it when the other is on the mission. One side has a small shelf with some of your belongings- your glasses, wax for chapped lips, a durasteel flask for water. The other is bare. That’s Mando’s side.

The child is asleep, and you’re curled up against the back wall of the bunk, reading something on a holopad. Your home planet has a newsfeed you can stream, and you smile softly as you scroll through it. You take a sip of water from the metal flask and hear the child stirring. He wants to be near you, you can tell, as he reaches out a tiny three-fingered hand toward you.

Shaking your head, you chuckle. “Alright, bud. Come here,” you allow, and the child jumps from his hammock onto your stomach, causing you to make a soft oof as he lands on you. The child giggles and crawls up your body, cuddling in against your chest. You set down the holopad and stroke the child’s big ears. He makes a little coo of happiness, snuggling in and closing his eyes. As much as you’d tried to get the child to sleep in his hammock, every night was like this. He wanted to be held and sung to and kissed between his big eyes. He was a baby, you suppose. You wonder if Mando indulges the child by doing this when it’s just him and the child.

As you close your eyes, you find yourself thinking about the Mandalorian. You liked him, you had to admit, making you smile placidly at the backs of your eyelids. He had a dry sense of humor. He was good to you. He’d indulge in conversation with you between the times one of you would go out on a hunt. He’d listen to you talk and comment along on your stories. He was good at domestics, you’d notice when you came back from your turn hunting. He’d wash and fold the child’s brown robes and his own capes, would polish his weapons and sometimes you could even smell remnants of cooking in the hull of the ship.

Yes, you have to admit, you like Mando. He’s a good man. He treats you and his little green son well. In response to his kindness, you do what you can for him. You get treats at the marketplace with the child and leave them on his pilot’s seat for him to find. You polish his beskar for him at night when he sleeps, in just a helmet and his flight suit, up in the cockpit whenever the two of you are both aboard the ship. You write him notes of thanks and tuck them around the ship for him to find.

You fall asleep thinking about the man, the enigma shrouded in beskar and dark clothing, while you held the child close to your chest.

Mando likes you too. He smiles when he finds a note from you tucked in his pack he carries on missions. He snacks on the candies that you get for him, and even shares them with the child. He falls asleep in the same bunk, thinking about you, the child nestled alongside him.

When he’s on a hunt, he thinks about you and the child constantly. He wonders if you ever think about him the way he thinks about you. He wonders if you consider him a friend. He views you as one. He pictures the way your eyes twinkle when you and the child get into mischief. He thinks about the way you laugh at his dry humor, the way you send a snarky comment right back at him. The way you’re good to him. The way he secretly yearns for you, for your touch, for your lips and your arms around him.

Now, as he’s dragging a knocked-out twi’lek back to the ship, he hopes you’re asleep. He hopes he can catch a glimpse of how relaxed you look when you sleep, the way your nose twitches when you’re dreaming and you press kisses to the child’s head in moments of half-consciousness. He hopes he doesn’t wake you as he lowers the Crest’s ramp and walks up, quietly as he possibly can. The carbonite freezer is loud, and it wakes you. “Mando?” You call as you hear it, sitting up.

“Just me, cyar’ika.”

You don’t know what the word means, but Mando loves to address you by the title. It probably means bitch or snarky one or sassy, you sometimes think. “How did it go?” You ask as you hear the heavy footsteps of the man come to the end of bunk.

“Easily. He was hard to find but easy to take down.”

“The best kind. More time away from me,” you tease, rubbing your eyes and looking at the hulking man, the red and blue lights from various appliances just barely illuminating his shape.

“You like it that way, I’m sure,” he teases back, sitting on the end of the bed and stripping off the beskar, setting it on the floor with a clunk.

“Actually…” you trail off, smiling a little. “I was thinking we could do the next hunt together. I’d like to see your style. My next one is on Tatooine, we could leave the child with Peli. She adores him.”

He turns to look at you. It’s unbearably domestic, your hair messy and your shoulders bare in your sleeping camisole and soft legs visible with the shorts you wear, your glasses slipping down your nose. It’s hard to believe you’re a bounty hunter in this moment, he thinks to himself. You look so delicate and warm and soft. The opposite of him, rough and rude and harsh. “Who’s Peli?” he asks after a moment.

“Mando!” You laugh and smack his bare arm. “The lady with the wild hair. She runs the hangar?”

“That’s her name?”

“Yes, you bantha,” you grin and shake your head. “Her name is Peli. I cannot believe you.”

The child awakens at the noise and makes a noise of excitement as he sees Mando. “Hey, kid,” the Mandalorian chuckles and picks up the child, setting him on his lap. The child hugs him and Mando gives a soft laugh as he hugs him back, lightly.

“Go back to sleep, cyare. I’ll pilot us to Tatooine and you can finally show me how terrible you are at bounty hunting.” He pats your calf softly, with an ungloved hand, and you do your best not to shiver at the touch of his strong hands on your bare skin.

“You get some rest too,” you tell him with a soft smile, placing your hand on top of his. Your fingers are so much smaller than his, so much more delicate, and you trace the tips along the back of his hand. He nods and stands, setting the child back down next to your side. You lie back down and cuddle the child into your chest, trying not to think about how strong and warm his hand felt on your skin.

Once you arrive on Tatooine, you suit up. Your hair is slicked back to the best of your abilities, and your glasses are replaced with contacts. You pull on your skin-tight black tank top and black cargo pants, strapping your holster belt around your waist, slinging your ammunition belt over your shoulder, where it rests between your breasts. You strap one blade to your thigh and another to your upper arm, and pull on your trusted combat boots. You’re ready. “You can come down,” you shout up to Mando, who’s been patiently waiting in the cockpit for you to get changed.

The man climbs down the ladder in his full beskar. Tatooine is a hot planet, so he’s omitted the cape for this mission. You can see a peek of skin when he moves his head, showing a little bit of tanned skin, and it makes you bite your lip and turn away. “You ready?” You ask him as you sling his backup pulse rifle- which you’ve claimed as yours now- over your shoulder.

He nods. “Looks like you are too.” The child has already been left with Peli, so everything is set. He walks closer to you and removes one of his metal vambraces, strapping it to your arm. It looks odd against your bare skin, only ever having seen it against the dark material of Mando’s flight suits or duraweave shirts. “This button,” he says and points to a triangular button, “is the comm in case we get separated.”

“You’re gonna be the one needing it,” you tease, pressing the button on his other vambrace. It makes a screeching feedback sound from being so close to the other receiver and you wince before pressing it again to turn it off.

“Sure I will,” he chuckles.

“Show me the puck one more time?” You ask, looking up into the black T of his helmet. He nods and pulls it out, pressing the hologram. It’s a male Zabrak with a name listed beneath: Gar Thalcyon. Crimes: Bail Jumping, Resisting Arrest, Grand Theft X-Wing. “Shouldn’t be too hard. Men are easy,” you chuckle and take the puck, putting it in a pocket of your cargo pants. “Let’s go.” You walk out of the ship, leading Mando along.

You walk through the crowded marketplace of Tatooine, the Mandalorian man trailing behind you. Your head is held high. You don’t necessarily fit in; many Tatooinians wear robes and hoods to hide from the sun, but you obviously didn’t bother. The Mandalorian behind you most definitely doesn’t belong, attracting stares, but he doesn’t mind either. He’s used to it.

Mos Eisley is, unfortunately, a dead end, you two discover after a day of searching. The bounty puck never indicates that you’re in the right location. Both you and Mando decide to get dinner at a cantina in town before you move on tomorrow. That’s what led the two of you to where you are: sitting in a more secluded booth, watching the cantina’s patrons get drunker by the minute.

You’re sipping a bright pink cocktail, and Mando watches the world around the two of you, sneaking glances through his visor at you. “Isn’t this a little irresponsible for a mission?” You chuckle, swirling the skewer of fresh berries sitting in the glass in front of you.

“He’s not around here. We’re not on mission time now,” he shrugs.

“Oh, so is this like a date?” You tease with a smile.

Mando freezes for a second. You hope you haven’t offended him somehow, but he tilts his head as he watches you. “Do you want it to be one?”

You bite your lip and swirl your drink faster. “I don’t know. It’s a little impractical for coworkers, for co-bounty hunters, is it not?” You chuckle, but there’s no humor in your voice as your throat goes dry.

“It would be,” he nods in agreement. “But our job is only a contract between us. One that can be amended.”

You have a shy smile as you look up at him. “Do you want it to be one, Mando?” You ask.

He’s silent for a moment. You mentally curse the beskar for hiding his expressions from you.

“I do,” he finally acknowledges.

The smile on your face breaks into a grin. “Then I guess we’re on our first date,” you laugh, sipping your neon-colored drink with a smile you can’t get off your face. “I suppose if we’re dating, I should know your name,” you ask him.

It’s the first time you’ve pushed. You’ve never asked him to take off his helmet, never asked why he didn’t. You’ve been kind and caring and patient and damn, he wants to tell you so bad, but his eyes drift to the side and he sees a Zabrak walk in, and he immediately recognizes him as your target.

Mando nods to the side. “Take him down and I’ll tell you.”

You look where he nodded and frown. “So much for a date,” you pout and look back at Mando. Sighing, you pick up your drink and stand. “Just know that I only have feelings for you, okay?” You ask, a hand on his shoulder as you walk to his side.

“...Okay,” he nods, and you walk off, an extra sway in your hips. You may be wearing cargo pants, but your tight top and cinched belt accentuate your body. You’re gorgeous, Mando has to admit.

The man sits at the bar and you pull up a stool next to him, smiling a little and sipping at your brightly colored drink. “Hey there.”

The man’s eyes look you up and down, and he licks his lips with an odd colored tongue. “Hey yourself. What’s your name, pretty thing?” He asks with hungry eyes.

You need a cover name and you need it quick. “Manda,” you blurt with a smile, trying to hold back a laugh at the fact that you literally picked your date’s name- well, the one you know him by- but slightly augmented.

You rest your hand on the bar and the man picks up your hand, kissing your knuckles. “You can call me Gar.”

“Hello, Gar,” you giggle and bat your eyes at him. “What’s a man like yourself doing on Tatooine, hm?” You ask him, swirling your drink and sipping it as you look at him with doe eyes.

He shrugs and looks forward, signaling the bartender for a drink. “I’m a wanted man, my dear,” he says with a salacious smile.

He sure fucking is, you think to yourself, and you can’t help but snort. Maker, men are ridiculously easy targets. Your plays into your theme, at least. “Oh, and for what?” You ask, leaning in closer. You sneak a sedative dart from a pocket of your pants, holding it in the hand beneath the bar.

“Stole an x-wing right off a Resistance base,” he chuckles, raising an eyebrow.

“Is that so?” You giggle, eyes wide. “How did you do that?”

He’s about to launch into a spiel when you stab the tranquilizer dart into the back of his hand. “Actually, don’t bother. I already know,” you chuckle, face close to his. He makes a noise of agony and surprise at the needle in his hand, and his body starts slumping. “Never lead by saying you’re a criminal,” you murmur next to his ear and stand, wrapping one of his arms around you and forcing him to walk along with you.

“You’re a wanted man alright,” you chuckle as you walk out of the bar. You press the button on your comm. “Headed to the Crest. Cover our tab?” You ask into the vambrace.

There’s a beat of silence. “Already on it, cyare,” the Mandalorian’s voice speaks through the beskar plate on your forearm. “How did you-

“Don’t work with misogyny, make misogyny work for you,” you grunt into the metal and drop your arm.

The man groans as you drag him along. He looks drunk to anyone else, just barely coherent. “Fuckin’ bitch. Mandalorian’s little whore, huh?” he slurs at you, weakly trying to wrestle free of your grip but failing.

You push him into a nearby wall, twisting his arm at an impossible angle. “Try it again and I rip the horns from your head one by one,” you hiss into his ear.

“Okay, okay, sorry,” he whimpers and you let him go, pulling him into the earlier position.

Peli’s hangar is only a short distance away. As you enter, the green toddler squeals in excitement and runs over to you. “Hey cutie,” you laugh as you see him. Peli isn’t far behind. “Go sit with Peli a little longer, let me get this guy in the ship, okay baby?” You tell him, and he obeys, waddling back to Peli, who gives you a little wave.

“Goddamn,” the Zabrak man groans. “That mando is green under there, then? How could you fuck something like that-”

“I can and will slit your throat right now and let you bleed out. You want your life?” You murmur, grabbing the blade from your thigh and holding it to his neck. He nods frantically. “Then shut the fuck up,” you grunt to him and haul him up the ramp, into the carbonite freezer. He begs and pleads until the hiss of the freezer begins and the man is sealed. “Thank the fucking Maker,” you groan as the words stop.

You climb back down the ramp to find Mando already holding the child and paying Peli. He thanks her one last time and you take the baby from Mando’s arms. “Were you flirting with him?” He asks, wasting no time. His tone is deadpan.

“Clearly.”

“Why the hell-”

“I wasn’t doing it for fun,” you grimace at him. “This is my fucking method. It’s much fucking easier, and if I have the advantage I might a well take it.”

“Well, I don’t like it.”

“That’s too fucking bad, Mando,” you practically spit, whipping around and walking deeper into the ship with the baby in your arms. “It’s my-”

“Din.”

You turn around and look at him. “I’m sorry, what?” you ask, clearly annoyed.

“My name is Din. Din Djarin.”

The anger fades from your body quickly. “Din,” you say back to him, slowly.

He nods. “I… just got jealous, I suppose. I’m sorry.”

You finally offer a small smile, albeit a tired one. “Thank you. I don’t like doing it either but… it’s my way,” you shrug.

He walks closer, putting a hand on each of your arms. “I get it.”

You smile softly and put one hand over his beskar-clad chest. “I told you, I only have feelings for you,” you tell him.

He nods softly. “I’m glad. I like it that way.”

Chuckling, you shake your head. “Well, Din. I suppose we could finish our date in here. I could cook something.” You look down at the little green child in your arms. “With him, maybe it’ll be more of a family night.”

Din cups your face in a leather-gloved hand. “Thank you, cyare,” he murmurs, thumb tracing over your cheek.

“What does that mean?” You ask him, looking into where you think his eyes sit beneath the helmet.

He presses your forehead to his, the beskar cool against your warm skin from the Tatooine air. “Beloved,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing your cheekbones.

A small gasp escapes your lips before they form a smile. “Beloved,” you hum back as he wraps an arm around you. “I like being called that.”

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @softly-sad @blo0dangel @luxurybeskar @binarydanvvers

#din djarin x reader #din djarin #din and grogu #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fic #mando x reader #mando #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction

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everything-laito · 4 years ago

Text

damn the brain be out here going BRRRRRR here’s the Laito and Cordelia Analysis (with a little bit of Karl sprinkled in) Part III

wow my fingers are freezing but my brain sure isn't!

aaaanyways, iiiiiit’s trauma time!!! Am I a productive member of society by writing these analyses? No. Do I gain anything by writing them? Kinda, my brain gets exercised and they’re fun to research for. But if you haven’t read the first part or the second part for some reason (I recommend reading them in order), there they are.

Once again, trigger warnings still apply; mainly about trauma, isolation, etc

I’m gonna talk about the trauma and effects it had on Laito and to attempt to extrapolate why he is the way he is. I have a lot of examples I want to go over and stuff to talk about, so I think the trauma part is going to be split between two (or maybe three) parts. I also have a little bit to say about Karlheinz.

As always, big ass rant under the cut!

Section 6: Neuroplasticity and Trauma

Oh???? More science vernacular??? You BET! Ok, neuroplasticity. I know I’ve talked about it on this blog. But, I seriously doubt that there is a madlad who has read all of my analyses (speaking of which, I should update the master list lmao) and I don’t expect anyone to do that LOL! Anyways, this neurological concept is the ability of neurons to adapt to certain circumstances or stimuli by creating new neurological pathways (through synapses). This basically relates to memory and learning. It’s why we don’t stay the same person as we grow and develop. It’s responsible from mindset changes to response to traumatic events. It plays a huge part in trauma, which is why “repressed memories” occur as well.

Trauma, taken from Psychology Today, is defined as:

...the experience of severe psychological distress following any terrible or life-threatening event. Sufferers may develop emotional disturbances such as extreme anxiety, anger, sadness, survivor’s guilt, or PTSD.

It’s a basic definition. And although I’d assume people would know what trauma is already, but knowing the lexical definition of something can be good to know before going into it.

Obviously, Laito has trauma, there’s literally no refuting that. But, the point I’m getting at, is the reason why he is the way he is today is because of neuroplasticity. As previously stated, we are going to assume the DL vampire brain works similarly or the same as a human brain. So, because of the stress put upon the brain (Cordelia’s actions and Laito’s general upbringing in a stress filled household), Laito’s brain was rewired (neuroplasticity). This section doesn’t really have much new information, but I wanted to give a baseline since there’s many people who don’t know what neuroplasticity is.

Laito’s definitely different than what he was as a kid. He still kind of had his smarts, and might have been but as we’ve deducted from the first part of this series, he might have been groomed. On top of that, the brain is easily moldable when you’re a child (which is why grooming makes sense for Laito’s case), and continues to snip brain cells off and form new connections.

Section 7: Little intermission about Karlheinz

I know I haven’t really talked about Karlheinz yet. So this will be the section that I do it in. I know this part is about Laito’s trauma, but it’s so hard to not just weave other characters into it. Nothing is stand-alone, which is why it was so hard for me to plan this out. I was debating about saving this for another analysis, but I feel like it fits.

I referenced this in Part II, Section 5 of this analysis series. Basically, Karlheinz throws Laito into the dungeon and locks him up. Not Karlheinz personally, but he ordered someone to do it. We don’t explicitly know why, but there’s several implications. A huge one is that it was part of Karlheinz’ experiment. Before Dark Fate, I was like “wait, so did Karl find out about Laito/Cordelia? And got like jealous or was like ‘nah this shit fucked up no thanks’?” I was really scratching my head on that. But in Dark Fate, you find that Karlheinz knew about Cordelia and Laito, and even really wanted it to happen. Which is all sorts of fucked up. This really put Laito in for a loop. Here’s a scene from Dark Fate:

Laito: That woman always, always believed in Karlheinz. Laito: She believed he married her because he loved her, wanted her. That’s why she was sure that one day... he will give his love only to her. Laito: But she was tricked. She wasn’t loved from the start... Laito: -And I’m a victim of this unbelievable mistake... That’s how it is. Laito: I was treated as a vent for her feelings. Yui: ...Laito-kun... Laito: I’m sure he knew that something like this will happen... He is a god after all... Laito: I was hoping that... He just overlooked it up until now... Laito: But... I was naive. Laito: I was only planned a scapegoat.

God, when I played this, that just freaking struck me to my core. That’s so awful. Ironically... Karlheinz probably has some high level of emotional intelligence. I don’t believe he could be labeled as a sociopath, considering he has this high level understanding of pathos. He’s not god in a sense that he controls everyone individually himself. He’s so good at manipulation that he basically creates fate itself (whether you believe in it or not). He’s generally intelligent and cunning, and it also just helps with the fact that he’s immortal and can time travel. He knows cause and effect by now, and I believe Lost Eden said something about how he’s done so many different “timelines.”

The definition of a god in a philosophical sense can be broken down into three words: omniscient, omnipresent, and omnipotent. More wicked cool jargon! Yay! Here’s what they mean for extra clarification:

Omniscient: All knowing Omnipresent: All seeing Omnipotent: All doing

Sure Karlheinz doesn’t absolutely know everything, nor can see everything, and he definitely has limits to his power, but he has gained knowledge through living for so many years and time traveling; he has familiars which add to the whole “all seeing” part; and he has a lot of power. So basically, in the most semi-”realistic” sense, it would definitely be the closest being to any kind of god.

Karlheinz is probably the reason why Laito himself has such contempt towards religion, and the existence of a god in general. Sure, the boys are like “that shit’s made up by humans” in general, but it would make sense for Laito himself to have that specific hatred. It makes sense that these vampires would be like “oh that’s made up by humans” when they’ve been around forever and have seen multiple religions come and go. (I’m mainly talking about in DL’s lore case, not starting a religious argument; please don’t take it as such––just to clarify)

Section 8: Isolation

Originally, the previous part was going to be about Laito’s isolation being locked up. However, I went off the rails and it turned into that little intermission. This is going to be a shorter section, but I still wanted to talk about, and it will weave into the next section.

There is no implications about how long Laito was locked up (and tortured) in the dungeon. There’s also no implications about why he was tortured. But torture and isolation puts such stress on the brain that there’s definitely going to be some kind of outcome if persisting for a good period of time. So let’s take a look at what that does to a person.

Once again, taking this with a grain of salt. I imagine vampires don’t need to rely on social interaction as much as humans do, considering they live forever. But we don’t know. However, throwing Laito into a state of isolation implies that it would be some type of torture or harsh punishment for a vampire, which therefore implies that social interaction is a necessity for emotional function. It’s just sound, inductive logic.

So now, as for isolation, I’m using this article as reference. It’s a pretty interesting one to read. Here’s another extensive article as well. Basically isolation can cause:

Depression/anxiety

Immune system deficiencies (basically more likely to get physically ill)

Sleep cycle changes (if put underground or with limited natural light)

Hallucinations

Paranoia

Issues with processing information and more susceptible to persuasion/manipulation

We have no clue if Laito’s experience fits all of these. Also, the second one can be crossed out because vampires in DL can’t get physically sick in the way we can. Also, unsure about the sleep cycle stuff considering they are used to being in the dark. Hallucinations and paranoia can’t be crossed off nor proven.

Being isolated physically and mentally exhausts the mind, which is why it’s also a way of torture. Laito implies that he was tortured with physical devices, but regardless, it’s still stress on the mind. This type of stress definitely goes along with what was mentioned with neuroplasticity and trauma, which also supports the last bullet point: issues processing information and being more susceptible to persuasion/manipulation. Take this flashback from Maniac Prologue in HDB that I used in Part II section 5 (but here’s even more context):

Laito: ーー Let me go!! Let me out of here! Butler: I can’t, young lord. We’ve received strict orders from your father. I am deeply sorry, but please stay put for a while. Laito: What’s the point in having me chained up in here!? Butler: ーーI am very sorry. Laito: Hahahaha…You stupid old man! Do you think that this will make repent!? How foolish! That demon! Has his brain finally rotten from spending too much time with humans!? ー Cordelia appears Cordelia: ー Oh? Laito: …!? Have you come to save me? Cordelia: Oh dear. Ufufu…I’m sorry Laito, that isn’t it. Laito: Eh? Richter: ー Why are you here? Laito: …That’s my line. Cordelia: Okay, okay. No fighting! More importantly, Richter…Come here. Laito: …!? Cordelia: Nnn…Hey, Laito. You are a good boy. Laito: …!! Cordelia: Right, Laito? Laito: Yeah, that’s right. I’m…I’m a good boy after all. ーー Besides, I’m the type of person who only get more aroused from this kind of thing.

Although I also use this to support the whole Stockholm syndrome point, this could also be supported with the trauma isolation also holds. His mind is being re-molded into the facade he holds. Also, note the whole “do you think this will make me repent?!” part. Just a very interesting thing. The word “repent” implies that there’s something to feel guilty about or the person knows that what they’ve done is bad. It just goes to show that Laito has some part of guilt or moral compass still in tact.

You can also argue that this scene was when Laito just got locked up, or he’s been here for a while. Either way, he could have also been socially isolated before this too, just hanging around Cordelia like it’s implied when he was a child. Remember the whole not being in bed 9/10 times when he was a child? Yeah, controlled social isolation. We also rarely see Laito with other characters in his flashbacks. I don’t believe we see him with his brothers in any of his flashbacks from what I can recall; he’s usually with Cordelia. Just implies (to me) that he’s around her a lot. And being locked up is also a more extreme case of that, which would mold the brain even more.

I know that was a LOT to process and read. I sure hope this still is cohesive for you all. I’m pretty bad at organizing this kind of stuff; it’s a bit difficult since it all just goes together. Which, kudos on the writers of DL, because that’s just good writing. I was going to put something about gaslighting in this part, but that might be too long, so I’m going to make that a separate part or include it in the next part.

If you have any questions, feel free to just put it in the inbox. I’m planning on making the last part of this series answering all the Laito/Cordelia questions I’ve received, or just general questions pertaining to this analysis in general, whether it be tangential questions or clarifying questions.

Hope you all are still enjoying this ride as much as I am! -Corn

#analysis #diabolik lovers analysis #diabolik lovers #dialovers #dialover #laito sakamaki #sakamaki laito #raito sakamaki #sakamaki raito

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nite-shay · 4 years ago

Text

Surprise! (Kirishima Eijirou x Reader)

Funny little idea I had. Reader finds out she is prego and wants to surprise her hubby with the news :)

A/N: Nothing really. Charters are aged up. Female pronouns used.

Hope you enjoy it and sorry for typos, grammar and spelling errors! :)

************

You were practically floating through your local market store's aisles, humming has you picked up items on your list.

Today was a beautiful day. The birds were singing, the sun was shining, and nothing could ruin your mood.

Not even the grumpy old lady blocking our path, complaining to a stock boy about ketchup prices could bring you down!

Any why might you ask?

Because today you got the best news in the world.

A few days ago, you went to your local clinic. You'd been feeling rather tired here lately and even a bit nauseous. You honestly thought nothing of it and just figured you had a stomach bug that'd been going around.

Image your surprise when the nurse on the other end of the phone informed you that you were not sick, just pregnant.

It took a few seconds for the information to process, but the moment it does. Oh boy! You screamed and cried in pure joy to the poor, probably now partially deaf nurse on the other end.

After many thank yous and a few apologies, you practically hung up on the women wanting to call your husband imminently.

You tried him on his cell and on his desk, but he must have been out on patrol. Meaning you wouldn't hear from him until much much later in the day

Damn.

That burst your bubble, but that just gave a chance to be... well, creative in your news delivery method. You'd spent the last few hours researching and watching videos in the theme of 'Surprising the father baby announcements.'

And boy, oh boy, did you get some ideas! Too many ideas! But you settled on one method in particular.

You smiled as you made your way over to the produce section.

Ah-ha! There's an item on your shopping list.

You reached out and grabbed two bags of baby carrots before tossing them into your cart.

It would be a night your husband would never forget!

Later that night...

Let me start off by saying this. You love your husband. Very very much.

Your husband, Kirishima Eijirou, is the most wonderful man on the planet. He is an amazing and loving husband. He is also an amazing hero. Ranked one of the best in Japan and one of the friendliest. The man is a literal saint who against all odds befriended Bakugou for goodness sake! You love him more than life itself.

Your husband is a lot of things but currently, you can only think of one way to describe your husband. In the words of the blonde explosive best friend, 'he has rocks for brains'.

Bless your husband's heart some days, he can be denser than his skin in his unbreakable form.

You expected him to overlook some of the food you made, BUT NOT EVERY FUCKING THING!

You made a spread of baby-related foods that could give a buffet restaurant a run for their money. You had it all, baby carrots, baby spinach, baby artichokes, baby corn, baby back ribs, fingerling potatoes, a cornish hen, deviled eggs, popcorn shrimp, you had it all! Hell, you even dropped a 'bun in the oven reference'. Twice!

But did he see the pattern?

Nope!

His only response was to stare/drool at the food and said, 'wow hun, if I'd known you be making this much food, I'd have invited Amajiki and Togata over'. Later on, he commented on how Fatgum would be jealous of the amazing food he's going to have for lunch tomorrow'.

While you appreciate the comments on your cooking. You could have strangled at that moment.

Dense. Very dense.

You chanted in your head while he pigged out, 'I love the father of my child, and I will not beat him over the head with chicken' over and over for most of dinner.

As the night continued, you realized after watching both 'Boss Baby' and 'Storks' that you would have to take drastic measures to get it through his thick skull.

Tomorrow, you'd bring out the big guns!

Maybe you should get Mina involved…

The next day…

"Hey, Red! Wow, what's with all the food?" Fatgum shouted as he watched the redhead placed another container on the table.

"(Y/N) went overboard last night and made a feast! We had a lot of leftovers, so I brought some of them in. Want some?"

"You bet I do! I love her cooking! You really lucked out!"

"Yeah, I did! I have no idea why she made so much food, but I'm ain't complaining!" He flagged over Amajiki, who just walked into the breakroom. "Hey, Amajiki! Join us!"

"T-thanks…." He shuffled over and eyed the spread of food on the table. "Um… Kirishima… was yesterday a special day or something for the two of you?"

"No, I don't th-WAIT" Kirishima had a moment of panic before checking his phone. "Nope. Our anniversary isn't for another few months, and her birthday was last month." He sighed in relief. "Man, Jiki, you can't do that to me. You bout gave me a heart attack." He took a bite of food. "Why'd ya ask anyways?"

"Well… it's just… this is a lot of food... And very...v-very… specific food that doesn't seem to go together, in a traditional sense…" The quiet man commented.

"What do ya mean?"

Fatgum took a second look at the food before his eyes went wide. "I-I think I see where you're going with this Sun.." He put down his bowl while his redhead appearance just looked cluelessly between the two. "So Red, what happened last night?"

"Nothing really. I came home, and she made this awesome food, we ate, watched a few movies and then went to bed." He shrugged his shoulders.

"Did she say anything about her day, or did she seem like she wanted to talk to you about something?"

"No. I mean, she said she had an awesome day but didn't really say what was so awesome about it. She looked great! Like… I don't know, she just… had this.. glow? Yeah, that's the word. She just seemed to be glowing! I mean, I'm not saying she wasn't attractive before! She's drop-dead gorgeous, but I don't know, here recently she's just been…. Wow…" Kirishima's features softened as he thought of his wife while Fat and Amajiki looked at each other. The older man's eyes lit up while the younger dark hair man gave a half-smile.

"H-has she been feeling ok?" Amajiki pressed.

"Yea-" He paused for a moment. "Well, she did say she wasn't feeling too good the other day and that she went to the doctor... She didn't say what they said, though.." He crossed his arms while he thought back. "Now that I think about it, she really didn't eat much last night, and I could have sworn I heard her throwing up this morning... But she just brushed it off when I asked about it…"

"Did she say what she thought was w-wrong?"

"No, she didn't. I even asked her if she wanted me to stay home with her today, but she said she'd be fine. She did promise me she'd take it easy." He almost jumped up. "You guys don't think she's getting sick, do you? I know there's been a stomach bug going around…"

"Oh, it sounds like she got bitten by a bug, alright!" Fat couldn't keep it in any longer as he gave the redhead a wide smile.

"Seriously? What do we do? Wouldn't the doctors have found out if she did? Do you think it was poisonous?!?!" Kirishima jumped up like he was ready to take off back home to tend to his 'sick' wife.

"Easy Red." Fat roared with laughter. "She'll be fine, but she's going to be feeling the effects of this for the next…. I'd say nine-ish months…."

"Huh?"

"Kirishima, I think you r-really need to go home and talk to your wife…" Amajiki interjected while Fat wiped the tears from his eyes, trying to control his laughter. Which he was failing at btw.

"Come on, guys! I'm freaking out here! Is (Y/N) ok?" The hero pleased with them trying to get a straight answer.

"Eijirou?" Every head in the room twisted in your direction as you stood in the doorway.

"(Y/N)! You're here! Are you ok? You haven't seen any weird spiders or anything around, right?" Kirishima rushed over to you as you made your way into the breakroom. You'd heard Fatgum laughing from down the hall and figured your husband was too far away.

"Spiders? Wait, what?"

"Fatgum thinks you might have been bitten by a bug! How are you feeling? Do you need a doctor?"

"Honey. Sweetie. I'm fine, I've already talked to the doctor." You chuckled as you tried to soothe your frazzled husband.

"You have? That's great! What did they say?"

"Well…" You trailed off. This wasn't going as planned. Your plan was to visit him in his office and surprise him with the little gift bag in your hand; from there, you hopped, he'd get the picture. The top item was a cute little 'I'm a riot' Red Riot baby onesie you in the merch store down the street. The next was a mini-set of red baby crocs. If he didn't get it at that point across, your last resort was the medical report from the doctor's office, showing that you were, in fact, pregnant. You made sure to highlight it, just to be safe.

"I'm afraid you're just going to have to be blunt about it (Y/N). He's really not getting it. Congratulations btw the way!" Fatgum was chuckling slightly still as he scratched the back of his head sheepishly.

"S-sorry if we mess anything up…" Amajiki mumbled apologetically.

"Thanks! And don't worry about Amajiki, it's fine! This works out better anyway!" You smiled over at the two before turning your attention back to the love of your life.

"Congratulations? Wait, what don't I get? Babe, please tell me what's going on". The worry in his eyes nearly broke your heart.

"Honey" You grabbed his face with both hands and made him look you right in the eyes. "I'm pregnant."

His body stilled, and his eyes were wide. He just stood there staring at you for the longest time; you swear you could almost see the little hamster in his head go flying off its wheel and pinball around his skull.

"Eiji? Did you hear me?" No response. He didn't even seem to be breathing. "I think I might have broken him." You glanced over to the older man in yellow before returning to those crimson orbs.

You were honestly starting to get worried at this point. Was he just shocked? Was he happy... or... did he not want it? Finally, though, he seems to come back to his senses.

Blink. Blink Blink. Deep breath in. Blink. Blink. Deep breath out.

"Y-Your…..preg...p-pregnant….."

"Yes. I'm pregnant." You choked a little up as it finally seemed to sink into that thick lovable skull of his. However, his expression didn't waver, and you still couldn't tell whether he was happy or not.

"I'm… going to be a dad?" You could feel him start to tremble beneath your hands.

On no.. he doesn't...

Your eyes started to water, but you try to keep your smile in place. "Y-yes. You are..".

"I'm going to be a… dad?" It was taking everything you had not to break down then and there

But then.. it happened.

You watched as his face lit up with the biggest grin you had ever seen. His eyes glistened with tears until they streamed down his cheeks. "I'M GOING TO BE A DAD!!!!" Your pretty everyone on the whole floor heard his declaration, and before you knew it, you were being dragged into a tight hug and swung around the room.

For the next hour, the two of you laughed, cried, and went around the ENTIRE building so your husband could tell everyone the news. Afterward, you showed him your little gifts, and that caused another trip around the building so he could show off the baby items and, much to your embarrassment, the test results.

Fatgum quickly realized that nothing else on the planet would get the red headed hero to focus on work right now, so he let him have the day off to celebrate.

After a round of visiting and phone calls to friends and family, the two of you were finally home. The moment the two of you were in your home, he pulled you to your bedroom for the most intense cuddle section you had ever had.

"I'm... going to be a dad…" He whispered while gently rubbing your belly where.

"Yes. Yes, you are." You couldn't help but grin and give him a slow sweet kiss, which he gladly returned.

"God, I love you so much…"

"I love you too. "

"Promise me one thing…" Suddenly his gaze narrowed as he looked you in the eyes with a serious expression.

"Anything…" You shifted, a little nervous in his abrupt mood change.

"If... If.." He swallowed hard.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" Now you were worried.

"If I'm ever that stupidly dense again, please, PLEASE, knock some sense into me!" You burst into a fit of laughter while he just pokes his lip out in a pout. "I'm serious! Get someone, anyone to knock me into next week! Tetsu, Bakugou, Hell call Midoriya! After everything I missed, I deserve a Detroit smash upside the head!"

Thanks for the read! If you want see the other stuff I’ve done, click the link bellow!

MasterList

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha reader insert #mha reader insert #kirishima x reader #kirishima eijiro x reader #eijirou x reader #bnha x you #mha x you #BNHA Headcanons #bnha imagines #mha headcanons #mha imagines #kirishima eijiro imagine #Kirishima Eijirou x reader #kirishima eijirou imagine #kirishima eijirou headcanons #bnha kirishima x reader

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2seokfan · 4 years ago

Text

Scarlet & Hazel | Ch. 4

pairings: hoseok x reader x yoongi

genre: fluff, very light angst, smut (future)

warnings: mentions of physical abuse

word count: 5.3k

chapters: ch.1, ch.2, ch.3, ch.4

summary:

Just cause you’re living paycheck to paycheck in a tiny apartment even after graduating college doesn’t mean you’re not happy. So what if your best friend is working her dream job making close to six figures every year? So what if she’s in a loving, committed relationship with her perfect boyfriend that you’re 99% sure is going to propose to her sometime next year? It doesn’t matter that your idea of a perfect relationship is a $9.99 bottle of wine on Friday nights while you binge watch Netflix specials.

Ok so maybe you’re a teensy bit miserable. Maybe you have no idea what you’re doing with your life. Maybe all you need to do is accidentally cross paths with two hybrids who will drastically change that.

Meet “Scarlet” and “Hazel”, two of the most gorgeous hybrid men you have ever laid eyes on. With their help, you learn that life is an adventure, a roller-coaster with ups and downs, and you were too preoccupied with yourself to climb out of your own predicament. And hey, you’re not much of a romantic, but with these two, you just might change your mind.

a/n: Y/N gets the surprise of her lifetime today! Also to clarify, The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly is an old cowboy movie with a very famous theme song (just in case some people don’t get the reference). Thank you for being patient! Please let me know if you have any questions or concerns!

tag list: @wilhelminalucinda @ghostkat23 @ayoo-bangtan @sadgurllayha

How come whenever you’re excited for something, time purposely slows down?? It’s like the weekend can’t come fast enough. Each day feels like a whole week and each hour stretches like two. You swear the clock hanging on the wall of your clinic has some sort of personal grudge against you, the second hand moving at the pace of a snail.

You’re currently on the last two hours of your shift. The hustle and bustle of morning appointments have died down but that doesn’t stop the constant train of incoming calls. You wonder if there’s an award out there for maintaining a professional voice after getting asked stupid questions, because you deserve that award, exhibit A being the person you’re dealing with right now. You pick at your nails while you balance the work phone on your shoulder.

“Sorry ma'am we’re actually a hybrid clinic so no, I can’t put your son down for a checkup. Mhm. Mhm. Uh huh.” You peel off a hangnail and flick it into the trash can under your counter. “I understand you're frustrated but none of our doctors specialize in human treatment. May I suggest the hospital? Ok have a good day now. Bye.”

You hang up as a string of expletives are leaving the receiving end of your phone. What part of ‘hybrid clinic’ did she not understand?

You lean back into your office chair, vowing for the 100th time to invest in one of those lumbar support pillows for your poor, aching body. Checking today’s schedule, you see that a first-time client should be coming in any minute now. Her voice had sounded eerily familiar when she called all those days ago, but you didn’t bother to think twice.

Right on cue, you hear the clinic door open. A very familiar arctic fox hybrid is ushered in by her impatient owner.

“Hurry up won’t you! We don’t have all day!”

Yep. That’s blondie alright.

Sylvia has already recognized you, giving you a small smile when her owner isn’t looking. You’re shocked by her appearance, small cuts and bruises adorning her face and a noticeable bandage around her left wrist. You smile back, trying to make her feel as comfortable as possible.

Blondie hasn’t noticed your presence yet, currently rummaging through her gigantic purse for a pen. She freezes when she finally looks up, making eye contact with you.

You both narrow your eyes like it’s some sort of cowboy showdown in the old west, theme song from The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly playing in the background. If it weren’t for the counter in front of you you’d probably be slowly circling each other, hands ready to draw your pistols from your holsters.

Except it’s the 21st century and all you can do is clench your jaw and offer her a steely glare.

“What are you doing here?” Blondie is the first to break the silence.

“I work here,” you say matter of factly.

“Don’t you own hybrids?” Her voice is menacing, but it doesn’t mask her confusion. “How can a receptionist afford two hybrids?”

“I’m here on my off time cause I have nothing else to do.” You find it so much easier to lie to her now that you’ve successfully done it before. No harm in stretching your little fable.

Blondie huffs, having no rebuttal ready.

“Anyways, I need you to fill this out here.” You decide not to push her temper further since you’re at work and need to act civilly. You hand her the basic information form and contact the doctor about their arrival.

While blondie is busy filling out the paperwork, you make quick eye contact with Sylvia, mouthing a silent ‘are you ok?’ to her. She gives you a tense nod but nibbles on her bottom lip and shifts her pupils in blondie’s direction. You can’t forget that look on Sylvia’s face, one of desperation and misery, and you want so badly to pull her out of this situation.

Blondie finishes and hands the papers back to you. You glance down and find her name on the forms. “And Karen,” of course her name is ‘Karen’, “how did Sylvia get these injuries?”

A flicker of panic flashes across her features but it instantly disappears into a frown.

“She fell down the stairs.” Karen snaps, then proceeds to tap her foot impatiently. “Well? I’ve got an appointment??”

You sigh and swallow down the urge to talk back. “Dr. Lao is ready for you. Just head down the hall and into the office on your left.”

Karen puts her pen back in her purse, then grabs her fox by the elbow and pulls her down the hallway, out of sight. When they disappear, you sit back and take the time to process what just happened.

You don’t believe for one minute that Sylvia fell down the stairs. Her injuries seem obviously inflicted by another person, most likely Karen, but you don’t want to jump to conclusions. Since you have no proof, you can’t really report the issue. Also you’re well aware of how corrupted Hybrid Services are and you don’t want to leave Sylvia in their hands.

The phone rings, bringing you back to your senses. Oh yeah, I’m still at work. You remind yourself to google some safe hybrid help centers when you get home. There’s nothing you can do now but you’ll be damned if you won’t try.

The two emerge from the checkup after an hour or so. Karen turns to your counter, face still in her signature scowl as she approaches you.

“I need to schedule a second appointment.” Her tone sounds a little stiff, as if she didn’t want this outcome. “Sylvia will need another checkup for her wrist.” Her entire demeanor is suspicious to you at this point. When you met her for the first time, you were only focused on getting her to stop bothering your two hybrid friends. You regret not noticing her obvious physical aggressiveness.

As the two head out, Sylvia turns back and gives you a small ‘bye’. You melt at how cute she is despite all her injuries. You give her one last wave, determination welling up inside.

You head home and immediately dive to your laptop. Sylvia’s next checkup isn’t till two weeks later so you want to use that time to become as productive as you can in finding the numbers of various hybrid centers. Even though your work revolves around hybrids, you have no personal experience helping any of them out of trouble so you need the advice of professionals. You have no idea what any of these centers can do and you’re aware that your lack of information means you’re starting from scratch but you refuse to sit by and do nothing. Not when something fishy is obviously going on.

You’re surprised to find no decent hybrid centers, even though you live in a pretty big city. Most seem like shady adoption centers that put in the bare minimum amount of effort in taking care of and re-homing their hybrids. One center was so repulsive you’re surprised they’re legally allowed to operate. You click on their ‘About’ page for shits and giggles and the description makes you want to gag. ‘Having problems with your hybrid? Don’t worry! Call this number and we’ll take them off your hands!’ What the actual fuck!? It’s like one of those junk collecting commercials where they take away your old furniture except they’re talking about living, breathing hybrids, not an old refrigerator. This goes to show how little the government actually cares about hybrids and you find yourself involuntarily clenching your fists.

After a few websites that lead nowhere, you stumble across one for a Hope Hybrid Center that seems promising. The description indicates how they’re dedicated to the ‘safety and comfort of all hybrids without discrimination’. The only catch is that the particular center in your city has just been built and will not open till later this week. Nevertheless, you decide to trust this location since there are several other branches under the same name littered across the country that all have raving reviews. You bookmark the page and remind yourself to contact their main call center tomorrow.

You don’t know what’s come over you. It’s true you’ve always had a soft spot for hybrids, and you’ve always been in full support of every new law that passes, bringing them closer to citizenship. But you’ve never been this passionate about personally helping them. It’s a good feeling, being actively involved in something you care about. Saving your two hybrid friends two months ago has really opened your eyes to what human bystanders can do. Every action, big or small, can have an impact and you mentally scold yourself for not being aware of your surroundings previously. Oh how ignorant you were.

The rest of your research is futile, and you end up closing your laptop with a sigh of defeat. This is all you can do right now. Who do you think you are? Some sort of vigilante? What power do you have to make any change?? You’re just one silly receptionist against the big bad world.

Before you start mentally beating yourself up even more, you close your eyes and remember the image of Sylvia’s face. She looked so hopeless, so resigned to her fate, that all your self pity dissipates. Whatever miserable situation you’re in, you know she’s probably experiencing something ten times worse.

You think about bringing this run-in up with Scarlet and Hazel but you chicken out last minute. They’ve been pretty busy on the days leading up to your dinner doing god knows what. They’ve been polite enough to reply to you but you can tell from the short, quipped answers they supply that they have other things going on right now. You know that they’re not doing this on purpose so it doesn’t bother you too much, but you do miss the comic relief they provide in your hectic life. Guess you’ll tell them all about it when you see them on Saturday.

The last thought in your head before you shut your eyes is to call the Hope Hybrid Center as soon as you go on break tomorrow.

“Hi! Thank you for calling the Hope Hybrid Center! This is Jodie speaking, how can I help you?”

“Uh, hi yes!” Jeez why are your palms so clammy? It’s just a phone call, you do these everyday! “My name is Y/N and I was wondering if you can help me with a couple questions about hybrids, if that’s ok?”

“Of course!” Jodie sounds all peppy and excited. You wish you still had her energy when you do your customer service calls. You were like her for only a brief period all those years ago when you began at the clinic. Boy did that die down fast.

“Um,” You’re not really sure where to start. Do you just straight out say someone is hurting their hybrid? That might sound a little too accusatory. “What do I do if I think someone is abusing their hybrid? Like I have no proof but I still feel like it’s happening?” You’re not used to doing things behind other peoples’ backs, even for someone as awful as Karen, and it’s got your entire body erupting in cold sweat. You mentally reprimand yourself. I’m trying to help. This is for a good cause.

“That’s a good question.” Jodie’s voice is reassuring, like she can hear the nervousness of your tone through the call. “There are several things you can do actually! The first thing we recommend you do is observe their behavior as much as you can and try to record or take note of any signs of aggression displayed by the supposed abuser. This can be used in case any legal action is taken.”

“Uh huh.” You reach into your purse and grab your handy dandy little notebook, pull out the pen stuck in the spiral, and quickly flip to a random blank page to jot down everything she says.

“Now if you want to take direct action, that can be a little riskier but it is possible. The best option is to take one of our unique business cards and pass that along to the hybrid in need.”

“Unique business cards…?” She lost you there.

“Yes. You can find them at each of our shelters or we can mail them to you.” She answers fast, and you have a feeling she’s used to this question. “Each of our business cards contain an emergency phone number, a security code, and are coated with a unique scent that is virtually undetectable by humans. When the number is called, our first question is to ask for the security code, then confirm the matching scent of their business card. These cards work best with the majority of hybrids that contain a heightened sense of smell, such as the mammalian hybrids. We may need to adjust for certain bird or aquatic species that rely on other senses.”

Your writing arm is sore from taking all this down but you pause to answer Jodie. “She’s a fox hybrid, so that should be ok I think?”

You hear a large sigh of relief over the receiver. “Ok that makes things a lot easier.” Her tone switches to serious once again. “But remember this can only be done if the hybrid is willing to contact us in the first place. Beyond that, someone will have to catch them in the act of abuse and that can be very hard to do.”

You nod your head in agreement, forgetting that she can’t see you. “I understand. There’s a small chance this may just be nothing but I want to try and help at least.”

“That’s awesome! It takes a lot of guts to report these issues and you’d be surprised how many people let them slide under their noses.” She’s so encouraging that for a short, sweet moment, you envision the whole plan falling into place. You can see it now, a happy Sylvia free from her oppressive captors. Wow they really do a good job. Jodie deserves a raise.

“Thanks Jodie that means a lot!” You shake your sore arm, trying to relieve the pain. “I might need you to mail me a business card since the Hope Hybrid Center in my city isn’t open yet.”

“No problem! I’ll just need your full name, an email and phone number, and your address.”

You relay all your information over. By the time the call is finished, you have a whole 2 minutes left on your lunch break. You look down at your untouched PB&J sandwich and cry internally. It’s for a worthy cause you repeat again and again in your head like a mantra.

Friday. Finally. This week has been the longest you’ve experienced since midterm week of college. You received a package from Hope Hybrid Services this morning and it’s currently sitting on your bedside table. You won’t need to open that up till Sylvia’s next appointment.

You power through another hectic day at work, motivated by the prospect of seeing your two friends in person tomorrow. Both boys are now well aware of your work schedule and take extra care not to text you until you’re off.

5pm rolls around and your phone vibrates just as you enter your car and buckle your seat belt. You check and see that it’s from ‘Hazel’s Nuts’, your favorite groupchat. You gun it towards your apartment, wanting to reply to them in the comfort of your own home. You must have made it in record time and you’re surprised you didn’t get a speeding ticket. Listen, you aren’t the best driver out there but no one’s died on your watch so you count that as a win. When you arrive home you immediately jump onto the couch and unlock your phone.

Hazel: Hi Y/N. Sorry we’ve been so busy this week but we’re excited to see you tomorrow

You: that’s ok! I figured you were occupied

Hazel: Yep. Had to take care of some stuff but we’re all set now

Scarlet: Y/N!!!!!!! I CAN’T WAIT TO SEE YOOUUUU

Scarlet: (excited emojis)

You: Same!!!

Hazel: Oh yeah

Hazel: We’re meeting at La Cucina Classica tomorrow btw

You let out a small gasp of surprise. No fucking way?! La Cucina Classica is one of THE most expensive restaurants in your city. You’ve never stepped foot inside their doors because they’re usually booked months in advance. Karli’s lucky ass managed to eat there once before and she described the food as, and you quote, ‘orgasmic’. How on earth did they manage to nab a spot there?

You: No way! Really?

Scarlet: Yes way!!

You: how the hell did you manage to get a table???

Hazel: We pulled some strings

You: omg u mysterious boys

Scarlet: We promise to tell you everything tomorrow!! <3

You: ok! but don’t feel obligated or anything

You: i trust u guys

Hazel: Good

Hazel: So tomorrow. 7pm

Scarlet: Oh yeah! Also dress nice

You: you bet! It’s a fancy place so i can’t let them know i’m secretly poor

Hazel: Lol

Hazel: I have to make a call for work so bye for now Y/N

You: bye kitty

Scarlet: See you tomorrow! I can’t wait!!!

You: me too!!

You: bye!

You set your phone down and whisper to yourself. “What does he mean by ‘work’? They have jobs??”

And they got a table at La Cucina Classica by ‘pulling some strings’, like it was no big deal to them?! Oh my god do you need answers!

You wake up promptly at 9am.

Why? Because it’s #SelfcareSaturday. And this has nothing to do with seeing the boys in person tonight at 7pm. Nothing at all.

You usually have a lot of shit to say about how crappy your little apartment is but today you’re feeling thankful because your dingy bathroom comes equipped with a little tub. You have a bath bomb that was a birthday gift from one of your college friends and you pray these things don’t expire (they do lol) because you’re about to crack this baby open for the first time.

You’ve still got 9 hours, 23 minutes, and 16 seconds till dinner tonight but who’s counting? Not me, you think as you slowly sink into the rainbow-colored tub water. The atmosphere is perfect. You’ve lit up two of your scented candles and have a lofi hip hop playlist on shuffle. You should really do this more often except, you know, water bills.

Right after bath time you decide to do one of your more elaborate skincare routines, hoping to remove the stress and fatigue from your face after a week of work. You facetime Karli so you’re not alone during the whole process.

“Hi Y/N!!” Karli’s face pops up onto the screen. It’s a little more blurry than usual and the sunlight is harsh behind her so she must be outdoors. “Why is your face all glittery?”

“Oh this?” You point to your cheeks. “Remember that fancy Japanese face mask I bought when I got my holiday bonus?”

“Oh yeah! But you said you’d only open it for a special occasion. Unless,” then she comes to a conclusion. “is it for the boys??”

“No!” You correct her too fast. “I mean yes, but also no.” There’s a blush creeping onto your cheeks. “Sometimes a girl just wants to treat herself…”

“Sweetie, your idea of treating yourself is ordering takeout and drinking wine on the weekends, but I’m not gonna pressure you.” Karli sure loves to tease.

“Shut up you don’t know me,” you pout. You’re furiously red at this point.

“Au contraire, I know you too well. You’re like that mole I have on my left ass cheek, I’ll never get rid of you.”

Classy.

“True.” She’s not wrong. You two have been through thick and thin and everything in between. It’ll take divine power to separate you now.

“Oh yeah good thing you called! I’ve got some news!” She’s raising her voice since the background noise of traffic behind her is a little deafening.

You tilt your head, a question forming on your lips. Is it about the wedding?

“Remember that Bryce guy?”

You do now, since she brought him up. But it does bring back a few embarrassing memories. “Yeah?”

“Well he told me he has a football game coming up so he’s probably gonna text you soon to ask if you can go.”

“I forgot I said yes to that,” you wince as you suddenly remember that night.

“I mean, you can always let him down gently,” Karli suggests.

“No, I shouldn’t. That would be mean. I did agree to go.” Just admit it. You don’t like disappointing people.

“Ok girl, if you say so.” She doesn’t push you, probably cause it looks like she’s hurrying somewhere. “Ugh I promised to meet my coworkers for lunch but why did I wear heels downtown!”

“I don’t know girl, sounds like a ‘you’ problem.” You snicker at her.

“Hey don’t be fucking rude!” She quotes that famous Kim Kardashian meme perfectly.

“Stop! Don’t make me laugh too hard!! It’s gonna mess up my face mask!” You’re trying to keep your face still but it’s damn near impossible at this point.

The rest of the day you spend pampering yourself, the whole nine yards. You even booked an appointment with the nearby nail salon after one glance at your unkempt cuticles. God you’re a mess. All you had today was a salad you picked up after your nail appointment because you want your stomach to prepare itself for the gorging you’re about to do tonight.

As the evening approaches, you hunt in your closet once again for appropriate dining attire. The words ‘dress nice’ echo in your head. This time you do open your ho drawer, because you remember having some sort of shimmery dress that isn’t too bad and can probably pass for being presentable in such a fine dining environment. You reach into the furthest corner and finally feel the soft, silky fabric, pulling it out and hoping against all odds that it isn’t full of wrinkles. Lucky for you, the dress is still in good condition. It’s a spaghetti strap and flows all the way down past your ankles. You’ve never found the occasion to wear it, only buying it cause it was on sale and you thought it was so pretty at the time.

You put it on and glance in the mirror. Usually you have a lot to critique about your physical appearance but today you admit you don’t look so bad. The dress shows a little bit of tasteful cleavage and there’s a slit that rides up your right leg but it isn’t too revealing. Attach some chunky, strappy black heels and you’re good to go. Except makeup, you’ve gotta do that first.

As the clock ticks closer to 6:30, you finish up on your smokey eye and swipe on a little lip tint. You’re definitely taking an uber tonight because you don’t want to miss out on the restaurant's excellent drink selection. Also parking on a Saturday night? Absolute nightmare.

The place is downtown and a good 20 minutes away so once you get in the car you tell the driver to step on it, promising to tip him extra when you get off.

You can’t stop the constant drumming of your heart as the car nears the location. You feel like a kid who’s been told they’re going to Disneyland and you’re giddy with excitement. Maybe it’s better not to see them in person because you might faint on the spot.

As the car pulls up you take a deep breath. Calm down Y/N, you think to yourself, I’m just meeting two good friends for dinner.

The restaurant is located at the rooftop of one of the taller buildings downtown. You enter the elevator, smoothing your dress and your nerves at the same time.

When the doors slide open, you’re greeted by an immaculately dressed hostess. You glimpse at the restaurant behind her. Expensive is definitely the right word to describe this place. There’s dimly lit, warm lighting above each of the tables, and a live band is playing soft tunes in the corner. Waiters and waitresses are carrying loads of food on only one hand, serving each table with grace and poise.

“Name?” The hostess asks you, breaking you out of your observation.

“Um,” You’re unsure what to say. Did they put the table down under Scarlet or Hazel? That can’t be right since those are fake names.

“Y/N?” You try with your name first to see if that’ll lead anywhere.

“Right this way Miss Y/L/N.” Holy shit, ok. Guess that worked.

You’re led past the many tables, ladened with various couples, and back into a private room. They even managed to book a private room?!?! You really feel out of place with your drugstore makeup and cheap dress.

The hostess graciously opens a door for you and-

“Y/N!!”

“Ooof!” You’re enveloped by the familiar scent of honey and cinnamon. “Hi Scar.” You try to compose yourself since he smells too good to be true. Hazel is right behind him, signature sleepy smile on his face. You back away from them, taking in their appearance

Oh. My. God.

Your jaw drops. Beautiful isn’t enough to describe what’s standing in front of you. Scarlet is in a perfectly fitted, baby blue suit that shows off his lean physique. One of his top buttons is undone, revealing his caramel colored skin and collarbones. You pry your eyes away from such sin and opt to look in Hazel’s direction but that does nothing to help you since he’s also dressed to the nines, wearing all black, silver jewelry sparkling on his neck and fingers, a stark contrast to his milky white skin. You look in between them instead, fearing you’ll drool if you stare at them any longer.

Hazel steps forward and also gives you a small hug. His scent is floral, with a spicy undertone, and you want nothing more than to drown in it.

“Hi Hazel,” God you must be blushing like crazy right now. You can’t help it since they look so delicious. Stop that! They’re your friends and they’re not interested!! You want to slap yourself for thinking such impure thoughts.

Well you say that but the way they’re taking in your outfit sends a shiver down your spine. Is it just you or did their eyes darken? The atmosphere quickly returns to normal and you start to wonder if that moment was all in your imagination.

“Look! We already have the champagne ready!” Scarlet’s tail is wagging a mile a minute as he returns to his seat. Hazel slides next to him right after, trying to swat away the offending appendage that’s taking up his spot.

“How ‘bout you control that tail of yours, hm puppy?” Hazel huffs, finally managing to sit down once he successfully shoves the tail back into Scarlet’s lap.

“Hey!” Scarlet looks downright offended. “I’m a fox, not a dog! We’re a much more sophisticated creature.” He crosses his arms and states pointedly, “just like you can’t control your purrs, we can’t control our wagging.”

Hazel only sighs. “Sometimes I wonder why I’m mated to you.”

“Because you love me. Now shut up or poor Y/N’s gonna feel like she’s being third-wheeled.”

Now this is the Scarlet and Hazel you’re used to. You sit across from them, nursing the sparkling flute of champagne that’s calling your name and trying not to snort out loud at their antics. It’s still extremely hard to maintain eye contact with either of the boys but you put in effort all the same.

“I hope you don’t mind, but we already ordered.” Hazel shifts in his seat, one hand ruffling the back of his hair.

“Actually that’s perfect!” You chuckle. “I have no idea what to get in places like these.”

“Ok, good.” His voice is now sounding a little bit shaky, which is very puzzling. Is he nervous?

You take a better look at them, temporarily ignoring their attractiveness (which is a very hard thing to do), and you notice their body language is off. Both their tails are now twitching anxiously and their ears are a little droopy. What’s going on?

“Hey guys.” You keep your voice gentle. “Is everything ok?”

“Yeah! There’s just, um…” Scarlet is twisting the napkin in his lap. “We have some very important things to ask you and-”

“Wait!” You interrupt him, putting one hand up. You need to get this across before the boys tell you anything. “Before you continue, I just want you both to know that under NO circumstances do you ever have to tell me anything you’re uncomfortable with. I understand that you have a lot of secrets to keep, being two hybrids who probably don’t have owners. I want to respect our friendship and your privacy, and if that means not knowing a lot of your secrets, then fine by me.” You’re almost out of breath from letting all this out but it’s worth it because you truly value your friendship with them. You always joke to yourself about wanting to know what they’re hiding but deep down you cherish being their friend more than anything.

Both boys glance at each other for a second, nerves having vanished, then they suddenly throw their heads back and erupt into giggles. Scarlet is full on shaking, slapping his knee while he roars with laughter. Even Hazel is cackling, gummy teeth on full display.

This throws you off and your eyebrows furrow together. What’s so funny? You were being sincere and trying to protect them from revealing secrets they don’t want to tell you.

By this time the waiter has come by with a tray of small appetizers so you grab an olive and chew on it in confusion, waiting for their laughter to die down.

“See? What did I tell you about her?” Hazel is wiping a stray tear off his face.

“You’re right, you’re right!” Scarlet nods back in agreement.

Their laughter has finally fizzled away and they both turn to face you once again.

“Um,” You’re completely lost for words so you take another sip of champagne for courage. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No not at all!” Scarlet is quick to reassure you. “In fact, we were nervous at first but you’re making this so much easier for us.”

“Easier?” If you had a penny for all the times these boys have confused you, you’d probably be a millionaire by now.

“Right.” Hazel leans into the table a little bit, a small smirk on his face. “You see, there’s something very important we want to ask you tonight.”

“But first,” Scarlet juts in, also leaning in next to Hazel, “just to clarify. You trust us right, Y/N?”

“Of course.” You say without hesitation. These boys literally have no reason to harm you. Except they’re a little too close to you now and you resist the urge to fan yourself because oooh boy do they have the prettiest eyes you’ve ever seen. And their ears! Why are their ears so fluffy looking?! You bet their super soft to touch but you dare not reach out.

“Even though you don’t know our real names?” Hazel urges you on.

“Well, I always figured you’ll tell me when you’re comfortable...” Your voice is getting smaller now, and you feel yourself getting red from head to toe. They’re too close to you and you try not to let your obvious attraction show so you look down and twiddle with your silverware.

“Excellent.” Both boys snap back into their seats, startling you.

“Y/N.” Scarlet clears his throat and tries to make his voice sound serious but he can’t hold back his smile. “We would like to officially ask you to adopt us.”

The fork you’re playing with clatters onto the table.

#bts fic #bts hybrid au #hoseok fanfic #yoongi fanfic #bts smut #bts fluff #bts fanfction #hybrid hoseok #hybrid yoongi #bts hybrid fic

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angelsswirl · 4 years ago

Text

Whatever Makes You Happy

Chapter 1: "i saw you in a dream"

Summary: Lisa Manoban, owner of LLE (one of the biggest entertainment companies in South Korea) just hired you as the nanny of her kids. You hadn't gone into the job wanting to seduce your boss. But, as you spend more time with her, it seemed you simply didn't have a choice.

Pairing: Lisa x Reader

Rating: Mature; language, eventual sexual content

Warnings: None

Requested: No

Notes: Alright, here's that new bp fic I've been alluding to. Been Through will be updated within the week. Check out the Whatever Makes You Happy playlist!

I saw you in a dream

Then it came to an end

I wonder if you'll come and visit me again

Were you qualified for this job? No. Not particularly. You had went to University for dance, not for babysitting or "nannying" if one will.

But you were running out of options. Your parents gave you an ultimatum. It was either find a job with stable benefits in Seoul or move back in with them and help your dad with his restaurant.

So, it was really like you only had one choice, because working with your dad definitely wasn't one of them.

And trying to get a decent, beneficial job with a dance specialization was like trying to catch a fly with chopsticks. You're sure someone somewhere could do it, but that person simply wasn't you.

Again, so, here you were. Resumé on your lap. Hands folded on top of it. And legs crossed beneath. Waiting for your interview to commence.

Being a live-in nanny for the children of one of Korea's most powerful women certainly couldn't be that hard. And people had definitely lived less glamorous lives.

Besides, you were still going to be able to do what you had dreamed about, what you had been born to do. At night. After you tucked the kids into bed. And in a near empty livingroom. Ok. Maybe you wouldn't be able to do what you wanted to.

"Miss Y/LN? You can go on in." The nice receptionist nodded in the direction of the office.

You took a deep breath and stalked into the room.

The LLE building was pretty much your typical glass windowed office building. The only things that weren't bordered by windows were the dance and music studios.

You hadn't been particularly astonished by the building. You assumed Lalisa Manoban liked to keep things simple. You hadn't been particularly astonished by the building until you entered Lalisa Manoban's office.

You hesitate to call anything nowadays modern or high-tech. But that's exactly what was happening here. The room was static and sleek and there in the middle of it all was the most beautiful woman you had ever seen in your entire life.

"Miss Y/LN. You're late." That voice. Never had you heard something so effortlessly...sexy.

It took you a moment to actually understand what she had said in the first place.

Once you did, you frowned and looked down at your watch.

"Ma'am, I have to respectfully disagree. I'm actually early."

You looked up as she stalked around her large oak desk. A small smirk played at her lips. She leaned on the desk and crossed her arms.

"Oh. You're messing with me."

"Yes. I was. I appreciate the punctuality and you having the balls to correct me. Normally people just agree whether they're late or not."

You blushed at the praise but otherwise stayed silent.

"So, Y/N, tell me about yourself."

"Well, I-"

"You're hired."

"Huh?"

"You're hired."

"But shouldn't I like plead my case to you? Tell you why I would be a good fit?" You stared wide-eyed at the taller woman. She only adjusted the cuffs of her blazer before looking back up at you with a curious expression.

"No? I already read your resumé and references. You sound desperate enough to make this work no matter what and I do not have the patience to interview anyone else."

"But-"

"Do you want the job or not, Y/N? The quicker you say yes, the quicker we can discuss your salary, and then the quicker you can start earning it."

"Yes! I want the job." You almost dropped your papers in your haste to affirm.

"Thank God. I thought you were going to make me sit through more boring interviews."

You blushed heavily at her resulting smile. In your process of applying and researching the ever allusive Lalisa Manoban, (and by researching, you do mean watching and reading every single interview you could possibly find. You may or may not have even delved back into her idol days) no one had ever told you she'd be so damn charming.

"Okay, well now that that's handle. Next order of business, how much do you think would be a good amount to get paid?"

"Well the application said-"

"I know what the application said. I wrote it. I want to know how much you think you're worth." Lalisa crossed her arms over her chest and waited patiently for you to answer. She seemed more than content with just talking to you as a human being, and you had never found anything sexier.

....Clearly, you need to take a good evaluation of your standards if simply being treated like a human being turned you on.

"I think I'm worth quite a bit, Ms. Manoban."

"You can call me Lisa. You're taking care of my kids, I imagine we're going to be spending a lot of time together."

You gulped.

"Okay...I think I'm worth quite a bit, Lisa. I'm pretty fucking amazing if I do say so myself."

"You're avoiding the question. I admire the confidence that you, hopefully, rightfully exude. But, I want a number, Y/N."

You do not like the way Lalisa Manoban says your name. No name should ever carry that much sensuality or meaning or...or...truth when it leaves lips as perfect as Lalisa Manoban's.

On second thought, maybe you shouldn't take this job.

"2,000?" You just blurted out the first number you thought of. She was staring at you and you did not know what to do. Hopefully 2000 dollars wasn't too much of a stretch. After all, the life of her children is hanging in the balance.

"Oh, only $2000 a month? I thought for sure you were going to extort me or something. $2000? Seems much like highway robbery. How about $3500? That makes me feel better as your boss."

That was more than enough for you!

"Deal."

"Great. Next order of business? You meet the boys tomorrow. Hope you're not freaked out by seven year old twins. I know I certainly am sometimes."

"That shouldn't be a problem." You smiled softly at your new boss. Lisa seemed to avoid eye contact for a second before turning her gaze back to you. It was the most serious she had been all day.

"I-um they're still grieving over the lost of their other mother. Tho, I don't think they remember her much. We got divorced when they were three. I think they've been taking it out on their nannies. And it definitely doesn't help that I haven't been able to see them as much as I would like to lately. I guess what I'm asking is, just be patient with them. They're seven, sometimes they don't realize they're being little pains in the ass." Lisa rubbed at her eyes before looking at you.

You nodded profusely, "I understand. For what it's worth, I can tell you love them probably more than you love yourself. And I'm sure they know that. You seem like a pretty fantastic mother."

Lisa chuckled lightly, though, you weren't sure you heard too much humor in it, "Thank you, Y/N. I'll see you bright and early Monday morning."

#blackpink fanfic #jesssica's fanfic #lisa x reader #lisa fanfic #blackpink #Whatever Makes You Happy

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allthefilmsiveseenforfree · 4 years ago

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First Reformed

Now that awards season has officially kicked off, it seems like a good time to revisit some critically-acclaimed fare from past years. This is my first review for my mother-in-law, who requested First Reformed, a taut, chilling thriller (according to Amazon Prime), because she wanted to know what I would make of it. It is A24, so I’m expecting something moody and atmospheric that veers off into disturbing pretty damn quick. I remember how many top 10 lists this one was on in 2017, so I was looking forward to watching Ethan Hawke act his damn heart out as a Reverend Toller, a priest who begins to question his faith and his place in the world. So did this reform (ahem) my view of Hawke and his talent? Well...

I honestly haven’t seen that much of his work, regretfully, and what I have hasn’t wowed me (I will never understand how Winona Ryder could choose him over Ben Stiller in Reality Bites). But this was a total game changer - the phrasing is overused, so forgive me, but Hawke is a genuine revelation in this film. We watch him grapple with a shift in ideology that causes his faith to waver, then topple in a horrifying slow-motion slide until we reach an explosive climax unlike any other I can think of.

Some thoughts:

One of the guiding pieces of the narrative is that Toller is keeping a journal for 12 months and then he’s going to shred and burn it. This is mysterious already. He refers to keeping the journal as a form of prayer but also says he is unable to pray.

Amanda Seyfried is stunning as always in her role as Mary, a young widow who comes to Toller for help. She’s got this gorgeous innocence shining through, and her chemistry with Hawke is palpable.

It must be so scary to be a priest or pastor and go into people’s homes, people you don’t know, looking to help and not knowing what you will find. Just like social workers, home health aids, repair technicians - how do you just go into people’s houses and not be freaked out about it all the time? This may be the pandemic brain talking, but I don’t think so.

This conversation between Toller and Michael (Phillip Ettinger) is a powerhouse of acting. Michael is twitchy and despairing, Toller is solemn and there’s a simmering strength and anger as he answers Michael’s questions. I’m so tense.

One of the marks of excellent craftsmanship that’s all over this movie - everything is so quiet and contained, but at no point does it feel boring. Writer/director Paul Schrader is making brilliant choices here - no music or score, the cinematography framing Toller and his parishioners. There are so many shots through doorways, through keyholes; it feels voyeuristic to see these acts of faith, these exercises in belief. Every choice made ratchets up the tension and dread as we slide toward something - we’re not sure what, but it feels like it will be terrible for all involved. In every scene, I feel more and more like Toller is a pot about to boil over.

That quiet sure does lead to an even more potent shock when it arrives.

Will God forgive us for what we’re doing to his creation? <- If I knew more Christians who grappled with the ramifications of their actions on Earth as they affect this life, rather than the afterlife, I would probably still not be BFFs with them or anything (I mean, idk, what else are they interested in? Do we share similar interests or hobbies? How do they feel about dogs and Animal Crossing and gay shit? I have standards.) but I would sure as hell respect them more.

Cedric the Entertainer is surprisingly fantastic as this big megachurch pastor - his charisma and gravitas fill auditoriums easily, and he’s got the pitch perfect vibe of a flashy showman who you can trust. He’s perfect for this role.

All of the sequences of Toller alone in his rectory drinking, doing research about climate change, sitting in the dark - it feels like a horror movie, the tension and dread ramping up with this heavy, atonal soundtrack. It’s very effective.

Ok. Pet peeve time. I recognize that this interlude with the breathing and the flying through space is a visual representation of an emotional experience and a connection between two people but honestly I hate everything about it. Its tone is so wildly different from the rest of the film - maybe it’s a pacing issue? It just ground everything to a halt for me. I was SO WITH this movie, I was really feeling the mood and the despair and this whole sequence took me right out of it.

And that ending - the ending is going to be the thing that people will use to to determine whether they did or didn’t like it. It feels immediately divisive in the same way that something like Black Swan does. For some, the ending is perfect, and for others, it’s a major letdown or just a total head scratcher. I think I’m in the former camp, but it took a lot of reflection for me to get there.

Did I Cry? No - I was trying too hard to figure out how I was feeling most of the time.

The film is critically lauded for a reason, and it’s definitely one that I think bears repeat viewing. As most of us deal with the existential crises (plural!) the pandemic has thrust upon us, First Reformed is a movie that reflects so many of the difficult, confusing, terrifying feelings we have to confront surrounding mortality, the type of society we want to be a part of, and ultimately our place in a world that so often feels like it’s spinning into chaos.

If you liked this review, please consider reblogging or subscribing to my Patreon! (Link in bio). For as low as $1, you can access bonus content and movie reviews, or even request that I review any movie of your choice.

#120in2020 #first reformed #first reformed review #Ethan Hawke #Amanda Seyfried #cedric the entertainer #phillip ettinger #paul schrader #movie reviews #film reviews #patreon review

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thetorturerwrites · 5 years ago

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Puer Deus: Strings

This amazing artwork was gifted to me by @faestae-writes. Please do not re-use or re-post it without permission from them and/or myself. Don’t be a dickbag.

***

Captured / Hurricane / Sustenance / Liar / Scars / Proof

Summary: When he wants more

A/N: OK YOU GUYS -- Look, if you're here this far in, you know this is some dark shit. So, please heed this warning: This is a DARK, heavy kink chapter. SO, some things... 1. The content herein has been dramatized for effect, but this is real shit that happens in the real world. Please feel free to ask me any questions. 2. If you feel the need to explore anything here further, do your research and be risk aware. 3. Strap in. This is some shit. 4. 50 points to your house if you spot the FYA reference. :)

Word Count: 9.3k (I AM NOT SORRY)

Day Seven

It was a flicker of a moment, a subtle jolt of injected power, when the night cycle ended and day officially began.

What day is it?

Today was the first time you wouldn’t stumble to consciousness or fight through a fog. You were still embroiled in questions, though. Ren told you that you’d been here four days, but how many days ago was that?

You decided it was simply too surreal for you to actually be here, to be in your body, in Ren’s room, on board his ship. Each time you thought up a level, you felt smaller and more insignificant. Maybe you really had died. Maybe you’d bled out on his floor, and this was your afterlife.

No, not that lucky…

Your eyes were dry and red from so much crying. Your body was beyond battered, a landscape of harm and wound, mania and furor. You wore the hue of bruise like a new catsuit, covered by Ren’s painful passion from throat to toes.

The idea that some part of you would hurt, sting, throb, or ache every day you were with Ren had been hard to swallow; but a week into this persecution, you knew it to be fact.

How long until he breaks bones?

Sitting in the center of his great, wide bed, you ran your fingers over the still-bloody sheets and contemplated the last however many hours. Ren made it clear that he still meant to keep you, and the idea was solidifying more and more in your brain. You pondered whether or not you would be allowed to leave this fucking room as his personal pet.

Having spent a lifetime under open skies, being caged inside four walls for days, weeks, maybe months sent your anxiety into overdrive. The notion that you would only ever see light cycles and never again sunlight strangled you, chased away all your air. At some point, you knew you would try to flee again just for a damn change of scenery.

After he’d left, you complied with Ren’s instructions insomuch as you did eat and did not try to escape. Sleep, on the other hand, was put to the back burner because you were still in his chambers. Even if he didn’t spend all of his time here, these were his things, and they could tell you a great deal. With the guard outside this time, you simply could not pass up the opportunity to explore.

The room was eloquent in its simplicity and deliberate in its function. You ran fingers and palms over all of the flat surfaces, seeking out hidden drawers or levers in the walls and along the sides of the bed. Everything was dark gloss, industrial in its execution and easily maintained.

Of note, there was a threshold of polish right at the door, a long stretch just on the inside where the shine was high. However, that luster faded two or three steps inside. Ren did not allow people in his room often, even a cleaning crew.

Defeated, you slunk back to the bed. You’d checked all of the hiding places you would use, but you found nothing. Ren either didn’t have anything to hide or he was exceptionally good at it.

Sometime in the night cycle, you’d awoken alone in an empty bed, struggling with this swirling sense of loneliness. Captors didn’t usually sleep with prisoners, but weren’t you more than a prisoner now? With a scowl, you shook the stupid thought from your head.

You were an object to him, easily discarded and forgotten.

You hadn’t slept much after that. You curled onto your side, facing the vacant side of the bed and overrun with disquiet, anticipation. You were faced with warring options. Relent and become the devil’s plaything or escape and be hunted. The bitter truth was you wanted both, and this was not the sort of universe to grant such possibilities.

Morning came, food was delivered, and you were still alone.

Now, you were trying to forget the familiarity you thought you’d seen in Ren’s eyes yesterday, trying to wash it down the damnable drain. He was no more capable of gentleness than you were of speech. Trying to smother the ache, you turned the shower up as hot as you could handle and drifted into distraction, turning inward in a forlorn bid to comfort yourself.

The darkness that had always been there for you, though, was an empty consolation. Ren had blown apart every part of you and stomped on the ashes; he’d even taken your blessed darkness, the one place you could hide. Because when you closed your eyes to sink into that blissful nothingness, you saw him, his bloody face, his burning eyes.

Kylo Ren had infected every part of you, right down to the subconscious.

When you could pity yourself no more, you turned off the shower, scraped the water from your body as best you could, and purposefully avoided your reflection. The woman in the mirror wanted you to make choices you weren’t sure you could live with.

Exiting the bathroom, you were stopped dead in your tracks by the sight of Ren sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed. He had a smallish black case to his left and was resting with one arm on a bent knee, his long body relaxed and waiting for you.

You were irked by how beautiful and calm and unhurried he looked. Must he always look so put together when you only ever felt on the verge of shattering into dirty, unrecognizable pieces of yourself?

Hi...

“You haven’t eaten today.”

He gestured over his shoulder to the tray that still had food on it. You were flushed from the hot water and stark fucking naked, but you burned redder at the idea that you were going to be punished like a child for not eating. Again.

Canting your head a bit, you gestured towards the shower. You’d wanted to wash away the feel of dry, endlessly recycled air, dirt, and shame before you did anything else. Conquering the day wasn’t on your agenda, but surviving it was.

“Good,” he looked you over speculatively, and your eyebrows shot to your hairline.

He’d shoved food directly into your throat to make sure you were decently-nourished; and now, he didn’t care if you ate? The speed with which this man changed course made your head swim, and you just stared at him, complete irritation plastered all over your face.

Fucking pick one, would you please?

The withering look he leveled at you set your blood to boiling. You’d forgotten that he could hear you now; but by the darkness in his eyes, you knew he’d be sure you didn’t forget again.

“Come here.”

You tensed, arms crossing over your chest as though you could armor yourself against him. For a second, you couldn’t make yourself move. He wanted you to willingly deliver yourself to his torment.

A shiver worked its way up your spine, blossoming into sparks at the back of your brain, but you couldn’t tell if it was from fear or pining. If you refused, he would simply put his angry hands on your body and bend you to his whim. You didn’t know what would happen if you complied without a fight.

Taking in a steadying breath, you closed the distance on tender steps, the soles of your feet still bothered at bearing weight so soon. Stopping when you were within arms reach, you looked past him to study the kit he’d brought, uncertainty wrinkling your forehead.

It was a med kit, a field kit. You’d carried one yourself for years, but your wounds had already been tended. You were littered with surgical tape and Bacta patches.

What could he possibly need a field kit for?

Are you hurt?

Ren’s rough hand slid up along the curve of your body, settling at your waist and sending fissures of desire playing along the swell of your belly. Your knees and thighs pressed together, and you shifted under his appraisal. He’d seen you naked before. Multiple times, in fact. But this felt different, affectionate. He had stripped you completely bare, laid out your mind and soul for him to reanimate at will.

Feeling naked in front of this man was about more than just your flesh.

Digging his fingers in, he maneuvered you to sit on the edge of the bed in front of him. All of the tension you’d washed away in the shower came barreling back. Every muscle was tight, and every synapse was screaming that you needed to get away.

Sat like this, unrestrained before him, you fidgeted, frightened. Your heart drummed so loud you thought he could certainly hear it. When he was silent and calm like this, you were lost to apprehension, images of lightsabers inside your body where they shouldn’t be flooding your mind. You could likely conjure up more ways for him to murder you than he could.

Just as worrisome, you couldn’t look away. He captivated you each time he was in the room. His dark irises gleamed as he held your stare, his full lips curving up on a smirk. He was daring you to look away first.

He won.

You wilted from the intensity of his gaze, turning your inflamed face away and averting your eyes. In your stupor, you didn’t realize that he was talking to you. The only thing you could hear was the metronome of your heart, its pace quickening moment by moment.

Displeased that he had to draw back your attention, Ren’s hand was around your calf, fingers pushing in between the muscles and rubbing demandingly. You glared and hissed, twisting your legs together, knees tight.

What!

Slowly, deliberately, he reached up and swept his thumb along your mouth, smoothing away the bothered sneer. When your lips relaxed, he pushed in and hooked his thumb into your teeth the way you hated, the way you loved.

Your core clenched as he tugged you forward. He brought you nose to nose, so close you could feel his warm breath. He cleaved apart your desire to fight, soothing you into compliance with weaponized stillness.

“Open,” his voice was melodic, low, and rousing.

Your forehead crinkled in confusion. Lifting a hand to settle at his wrist, needing the contact to go on, you shook your head ever so slightly because his thumb was already in your mouth. It already was open.

You felt his fingers tapping on your knee, then, and you burned red from ears to toes. Whining, you tugged against his grip in a bid to keep him from seeing the way your thighs rubbed together at the very idea.

“I will not be repeating myself today, puppet.”

Blanching, you stiffened, building up any courage you could muster. Finally, as though your maidenhead was actually still intact and valuable, you hesitantly parted your knees.

Other than his eyes trailing downward to watch your legs barely obey, Ren didn’t move or speak. When his fingers dug harshly into your cheeks, cutting the weak skin inside against your teeth, you lurched and struggled. This only tightened his hold, and you thought he might break your jaw. Clutching his forearm, you fought to settle back onto the bed and opened your knees wider and then wider still.

He didn’t release his rough grip on your face until your thighs were splayed far enough apart that your pussy opened for him, too, and your face ignited with humiliation. You rubbed at your abused jaw and cheek, wondering how long it would take the finger-sized discolorations to develop.

Are you hurt, though?

You surprised even yourself with the repeat question, circling back oddly and still not certain why you should be bothered. He turned his beautiful, dusky eyes to you, and your breath caught. Was he pleased with your concern? Did it satisfy him to think he’d brainwashed you into caring?

He trapped you there, pinned by his mesmerizing eyes, while his fingers slid up your calf, thigh, hip. You were nearly lulled into thinking his light touch would extend to your aching cunt, but he gripped your outer labia into such a tight pinch that you felt punched in the stomach.

You yelped and surged forward, folding in as much as you could, hips from screwing side to side trying to lessen the pressure. He squeezed and tugged upon the tender flesh until it puffed up, swelling under his ministrations.

A satisfied sound bubbled up from his throat, and you slowly brought your focus back to him.

Kylo..please...

In a hot second, he switched and snatched up your left labia, digging his fingers in so deep you could feel the nails. You shouted out, the wheeze of it tapering off as your breath heaved. Mirroring his grip, you dug your fingers into his arm but didn't try to push him away.

Screwing your eyes shut, you shuddered and tried to roll through the pain.

The whole middle of your body throbbed in time to your heartbeat, and you groaned when the endorphins finally kicked in to flood you with acceptance, the sound of it indecent even to you. The sting and pulse abated slightly, and your head fell back, lips parting on a relieved sigh.

“There we go,” he murmured, voice smooth like honey. “Open your eyes.”

You very nearly refused and vaulted from your perch, but it was inevitable. You wanted to obey nearly as much as you wanted to fight, and it was this internal war he wanted to witness every time. Willing your breathing to steady, you relaxed your fingers at his sleeve and opened glassy eyes.

The look of him, the utter craving displayed on his godlike features, was arresting, intoxicating. His eyes shone a shade of twilight you’d never get used to, and his lips trembled, barely keeping his hunger contained. The way he was looking up at you was erotic and evoked a terrible longing.

Kylo!

Your face twisted into a pained frown as he switched back and forth between the two bloated lips. He clucked in condescension when warm juice tracked down onto his fingers, and you buried your face in your hands. When he finally stopped crushing you in his vice grip, the gratitude rushed out unchecked.

THANK you…

Absent his touch, you pressed a hand at your abdomen and forced yourself to breathe deeply. You were wholly disgusted with your response to such vulgar treatment. Would you blossom under every madness he put upon you?

Your eyes lit upon his hands and the case he was holding, and you forgot to feel repulsed.

Dread filled your chest, squeezing your lungs back into panic. You had no fucking idea what he was about to do, and you were too terrified to look away. You didn’t think you could curtail his plan, but maybe you could persuade him that you would be good.

If you’ll just let me, I’ll go do it right now...

Ignoring you completely, he produced and threaded a slender surgical needle. Your torso hunched of its own volition, trying in vain to put more distance between you and that curved metal. You mewled and whined, begging him to look and not do whatever this was, but he brushed your hands away, reaching out to tug and pinch at your labia again, inching nearer to his goal.

Fuck, Kylo..I’ll eat dammit! Please stop...

He looked at you, smug and cruel, and you finally understood that he was swelling your labia on purpose and with clear intent, and it had absolutely nothing to do with whether or not you'd eaten.

You shook your head wildly, leaning forward and pushing at his arm in a different spot every time he would wave you off. Desperate, pleading tears sprang to your eyes, and you clung to him.

No no please no not that please no…

Finished with your begging, Ren anchored you in place with the Force, preventing you from even twitching from the waist down. He hummed at the sight of you, flushed and heaving, thighs spread wide.

You were in the middle of the next pitiful appeal when you felt the needle pierce your most-sensitive skin.

You were too shocked to move, to shout, to implore him to spare you this torture. The thin suture line dragged through the perforation, and your eyes slammed so tightly shut you thought they might bleed.

It wasn’t until the second stab of his suture needle that you fully understood what was happening. You’d thought he simply meant to pierce the bulging, inflamed lips in order to decorate them; but when he tugged the line taut, pulling the swollen folds together, you sputtered and choked on your own spit. You pawed at his shoulder imploringly, foolishly hoping he would surrender this plan if you appeased him with your touch.

Kylo..please don’t do this...please don’t do this...

He crooned and cupped your face, the supple tone of his voice belying the very atrocity he was committing upon you. He straightened up to nudge your jaw with his nose, dragging the tip through your tears. Your fingers curled so tight into his sleeve that you popped stitches in the black fabric, but he offered you no more solace than this.

He wasn’t indifferent to your suffering; he reveled in it, enjoying seeing it up close.

“You need strings, puppet.”

You whimpered helplessly, thinking you’d likely launch yourself into a dying star if he told you to with that almost-adoring voice.

He released your face, and you dissolved into wretched sobs. There was no escaping his iron will, his demented punishment. Pressing the heels of your shaking hands into your eyes, you openly wept, not bothering to try to be strong for this, for him. Expecting you to endure this easily was too much.

Ren had treated you like property from the moment he saw you. He’d proven to you that you were little more than an object to be toyed with, and his words from that day in the shower resounded in your ears. But in this, he was taking away your humanity entirely. Any pretense that you might have been afforded some pleasure for your endurance bled away.

Stitch by stitch, Ren sewed your labia together, rendering you an androgynous receptacle, suitable for nothing more than receiving pain.

When he was finished, your clit was hidden snug behind a fleshy hem, but your vagina was open, accessible. That was the part he needed, you thought morbidly.

The Force pressure dissipated, your legs instinctively pressed together, and you curled into yourself. Digging ruddy fingertips into the mattress, you tried to flee, to crawl across the bed and away from him.

You’re a monster...

He captured you around the hips and hauled you onto your feet. He didn't care that you were awash in pain; it didn't factor into his plans and was, thus, negligible. He gathered you into his arms, and you wished, for the hundredth time, that he had just let you die.

The sutures were neat and tidy, but every movement tugged at them, reminding you of your place in Kylo Ren’s world. You erupted into a new bout of tears and pushed at his chest, angry and gutted.

“Walk,” he pressed his lips to your temple, murmuring the order into your hair, “or crawl.”

On an offended snort, you jerked your head away from his kiss. Battling yourself into some semblance of calm, you sniffled and nodded. He absolutely would make you crawl down the halls of this ship wearing nothing but those fucking sutures, and you’d rather not be so debased as that.

Suffering for Ren was one thing; suffering for an audience was too much.

He had stepped away to shake out clothes for you to wear when the epinephrine crested and dropped you over a black cliff. Thunder roared in your ears, and your eyes rolled into white. Chased by a wounded gasp, your legs lost all ability to hold you and buckled, but Ren was at your side in an instant, snatching you up before you hit the floor.

Righting you, he held your weight until your breathing regulated and you pushed back onto your feet. Not wanting to meet his eyes, you nodded against his shoulder, a silent report that you were here with him. He helped you dress in the gauzy black shirt and pants and tipped your face up.

You had no idea what he was looking for, and you were too tired to fake whatever it was.

Wrapping his great hand around your upper arm, he steered you from the room and down a dark corridor. He wouldn’t go through all the trouble to maim you if he was going to kill you, and you wondered what fresh hell you were being delivered to now. Your steps were slow, hesitant, but he didn’t rush you.

Probably enjoying watching you hobbled in a fantastic new way...

He stopped on a chuckle, turned you to face him, and looked down at you with sardonic amusement. You met his stare, fresh out of any damn to give over whether or not he heard you. You knew you were in no way threatening to this brute, but you leveled him with a searing gaze anyways.

“Supreme Leader Snoke is pleased with my progress.” Ren offered, pulling you flush against his body. “He thinks I have no further need for you…” He reached out to brush his thumb across your glowering mouth. “...but I find that I want more.”

Overwhelmed and nervous at the admission, your mouth dropped open and you stared, dumbfounded. While your mind tumbled over what else you could possibly offer him, he brushed past, leaving you to follow.

More? What else was there? Hadn’t you already given him everything? He’d broken through your safety wall. He’d all but bathed in your blood. He’d sewn your fucking cunt shut so you couldn’t even use it like a human being.

What the fuck else could you possibly want from me…

You were so angry that you stupidly followed him into a blindingly white room. You slammed to a stop and blinked, forcing the room into focus. In the center, there was a surgical table, a tray of neatly-arranged instruments, and a man, dressed in gray scrubs and donning a clear splash guard at his face. On the opposite side sat Ren’s black helmet, dented and busted apart.

Hand at your elbow, Ren led you further in and stroked your face with his wide palm, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the table. He nudged the shell of your ear with his nose, and you quivered to feel so near to him, almost like a lover. You clutched at his shirt, molding your body to his and trying to hide from the coming onslaught.

You shook your head, already disbelieving, not wanting to hear what he was going to say next.

“I want to hear you scream,” his voice was hushed, as though this was a romantic secret.

All the blood drained from your face, and your mouth went bone dry. You looked from Ren, who was gazing down at you in a way that seared your insides, to the man waiting to enact his orders. He stood there silently, waiting for his Commander’s direction, and you wondered if he’d been threatened into this room, too.

Ren turned you into the very middle of this insanity and hunched down to bury his face into the crook of your neck, crowding you back into the table. Dancing on your toes, you laid petrified and quaking fingertips at his neck, needing to impress upon him how crazy this was.

Kylo...you can hear me...I’ve already given you everything..please don’t do whatever this is...

Paying no attention to your pleas, Ren slid his hands into the roomy waistband of your pants and nudged them down your body, kicking the paltry fabric away before you could get them. He lifted you onto the table and situated you at its very end, legs dangling in an eerily familiar way.

He stepped into the space between your legs, scooting your hips out to meet his. You felt blistered every time you came into contact with his body, fingers, nose. He tipped your head back to lick at the scars crossing your larynx and rocked his body against yours. He was thick against you, his body hardening at the pitiable display you were putting on, and you whimpered in shameless response.

“Be good, puppet,” he hummed against your ear, enjoying the way your body reacted to his vicious dominance.

He stepped back, tugging out the table's stirrups, and you didn’t know who to be more afraid of. The doctor positioned his tray nearer to your head, stepping in so close you could smell the antiseptic soap.

You pushed at Ren’s hands when he guided your heels into the braces.

Kylo..please...You can’t… I can’t…

It was fluid now, automatic. Your mouth opened when his fingers drew near, and he yanked you forward by that wicked hook. He slid his thumb slowly against your tongue and looked directly up into your eyes. Your knees knocked together, and you cried out in pain, having forgotten in your terror that your pussy was sewn up tight.

“You will.”

He did something to you when he said those things, and you stopped squirming. You would never win this war. You would only tire yourself out with the fighting. Beyond that, some delirious part of you wanted to prove him right, to show him that yes, you could do this.

Clenching your hands into tight fists, you closed your eyes to quell anxious tears. He finished arranging your legs into the stirrups and scooted your ass down to the end of the table.

Shame flooded you, barely contained by the bruised membrane that was your skin, because anyone who walked into the room would be treated to a view of your mistreated cunt.

Over you, the two men discussed what was about to happen as though you weren’t even there, and you felt more infinitesimal than ever before. The doctor agreed that this was, indeed, a minorly invasive surgery, but it was what came next that launched you forward, panic-induced frenzy telling you to get the fuck out now regardless of whether you died in the process.

“There’s no need for a sedative. She will be fine. Topical if you need it, but nothing stronger.”

You were a rabid animal up against an unstoppable force, but you howled and thrashed anyways. You clawed at his arms and tried to kick him in the stomach and groin. You screamed and sobbed because even Santcha, who had done nothing but beat, stab, and take from you, had never been so cruel.

Each day you were here, Kylo Ren was disassembling you and rearranging your parts. He was building himself a better puppet, piece by bloody fucking piece.

You cannot do this! You cannot do this...Kylo..you fucking cannot...

The doctor hunched over, holding his groin and floundering. Ren smirked, punching you into place with his trunk of an arm at your stomach. Looking down at you, he stroked the inside of your knee with lazy circles, no doubt in a patronizing attempt to settle your fraying nerves.

“Calm down, puppet. You’re hurting the good doctor here.”

In your hysteria, you were pushing your feelings, your pain, out into the world around you. If you still hadn’t believed Ren about your Force-sensitivity, you’d just manifested all the proof he would ever need.

Exhausted from your outburst and ashamed for assaulting someone who hadn’t harmed you, you swallowed down air and fixed your stare upon the ceiling. You counted heartbeats until the muscle didn’t feel like it was about to explode from your chest.

Angrily, you pushed Ren’s hand away. You needn’t be pitied by the very man who was causing all of this.

With a chuckle, he pulled a rolling stool over to sit like it was just another fucking day of endless meetings. Lifting your head up to glare at him, your chest seized, breath hitching, because you could see his shoulders, neck, and face between your spread thighs.

Kylo please...

Maybe it's what he thought you were begging for because the Force slid over you like a weighted blanket, pinning you to the table, and you were never so grateful for being relieved of your autonomy.

The doctor turned your head into place and secured a metal brace on your throat, prohibiting any movement. He applied a foul-smelling ointment to your skin, and you shattered, horrified to your very marrow.

You no longer had eyes, only faucets spewing forth an endless stream of angry, mournful tears. You tried closing them to staunch the flow because the doctor said you were moving too much, but you couldn't stop your body now. You weren't in control of it anymore.

The stress response to this terror was unforgiving, and you thought it might never end. He was going to have to cut you open from ear to ear because stopping the chatter of your teeth and the rattling of your shoulders and chest was simply not within your power.

Your fingers uncurled, reaching for Ren even though you knew he would never offer you this comfort.

Instead, warmth pooled around your breasts, licking up your sternum, and you drew in a tremulous breath. The Force that held you in place lavished attention upon your torso, cupping, massaging, and squeezing your breasts together. Warm and wet nipped at the hard peaks, and your calves flexed in response.

“Quiet now.”

Ren's voice was even, demanding. He had indulged your fear long enough, and it was now time to obey. You concentrated on the invisible hand tugging your breasts into an aching throb and reminded yourself to wiggle your toes and fingers. Your lips quivered on every exhale, but you were trying so hard to keep yourself together.

You knew how to process pain, but this affliction could hardly be classified as pain.

As the doctor set to his task, you felt pressure at your neck but not the sting of the scalpel. Ren seemed to want that sensation only for himself, and you conjured the image of him painted with your blood, preferring the memory of beautiful torture to this reality of sanitized mistreatment.

The doctor, asking Ren something you didn't catch, stuck his fucking fingers into your throat, and your panic kicked back up. You jerked against the stirrups, and your lips curled into a snarl, readying to shout curses at this man, consequences be damned.

Shushing you, Ren dipped his face between your thighs, and you nearly vaulted off the table when you felt his lips connect with the supple, bruised skin. His kiss was soft, his lips smooth, and you bristled with ire that he would deny you the sight of him between your legs.

Alongside the doctor, you cursed him and tightened your hands into angry fists.

He chuckled against you, clearly entertained by your fit. The sensation at your breasts increased, the rippling heat licking, sucking, and biting at your nipples. The throb bubbled over and spread down your sides, slithering across your stomach. It was rousing and teasing and distracting, exactly as it was meant to be.

Ren’s mouth traveled from one thigh to the other, and your whole face pinched with the effort to be as silent as possible. It was clear that any noise you made, any vibration in your throat, would do more damage and prolong this bastardized treatment.

He didn’t want you to damage his property with your foolishness, you realized.

He murmured an agreement to the thought and kissed up the insides of both legs, sucked on his bruises, and nipped at the highest point of your thighs. Your insides pooled, and he dipped his thumb into the wetness building for him, tugging ever so gently upon the weeping slit.

The doctor reached across your body to the tray that held the destroyed helmet, but you were too wrapped up in Ren’s wicked scheme to notice him plundering the debris for a specific part. The tension in your legs and hips had lessened under his mouth, and your vulnerable thighs had dropped further apart.

Abruptly, the pressure of the Force increased upon your entire body, and you were unnerved all over again because what was coming next surely was worse than what you’d already endured if he needed to hold you down more.

You sniffled through your fear but poured every ounce of brute determination into remaining calm, to keep yourself still and under some measure of composure. You weren’t sure if he was speaking aloud or in your head, but you heard Ren praising you for how well you were doing, how beautiful and strong you were to endure this for him.

As though you had any choice in the matter.

When his lips connected with your cunt, you thought you would certainly swallow whatever the doctor was lodging into your neck. You could feel the pressure more insistently now as he crammed or screwed or stitched whatever the fuck it was he was doing.

Ren kissed and sucked upon your stretched labia; the sounds lewd and consuming. He plucked each stitch with his tongue, and you thought you were going to lose your mind. You could feel every tight tug followed by the warm flat of his tongue gliding up the length of the vicious seam.

You marveled at how easily this man could conjure new tortures, how simple it was for him to corrupt something so mundane and turn it into exquisite torment.

Master of the Knights of Ren, indeed...

You cursed him again for taking away any hint of pleasure you might eke out from this whole experience. It was barbarous and merciless to lay his mouth upon you like this and prevent you from actually feeling it, enjoying it. It was the pinnacle of painful foreplay, and you hated him for it.

You hated the doctor for being a party to this whole fucking thing. You hated everyone on this ship for bowing to the tantrums of a Child God, and you promised yourself you’d murder Supreme Fucking Leader Snoke himself for creating such a beast.

Ren bit into your thigh harshly at that last thought, directly into the center of the deep bruise, and your toes curled tight. That mark certainly went down to the bone and would likely scar, little indentations from his teeth puckering more each time he revictimized the area.

Kylo...

Sweat broke across your brow, and a feverish tremble began as your body tried to deal with the absurd number of sensations warring inside.

The doctor pushed his tray away and told you both that he would need to test the calibration before he could close the window. You blinked up at his masked face in confusion. Test the calibration of what? How were you meant to do that, exactly?

Ren stood and you jerked at the brush of his body. You could feel him rustling, but it was driving you mad that you couldn’t see what he was doing. He hooked his thumbs into the very tops of your thighs and tugged the opening of your vagina just slightly wider. The stitches strained, and you whimpered, unable to contain it any longer.

Your eyes flew wide open because the sound was strange, louder, reverberating.

The swollen head of Ren’s cock nudged at your entrance, and you knew your heart was going to explode from your chest. He’d been working you, tinkering with those fucking puppet strings, to flood your pussy and make it ready for him; and like a damn fool, you’d given him exactly what you wanted.

You burned with humiliation and ragged desire as he pushed in, breaking the seal and stretching your cunt into something pliable for his sizable dick. It was endless, the sting and scorch of each inch, and you wanted to beg that he please just let you reach for him. It was all becoming too much, and you were disjointed, disconnected from everything.

Ren pushed and leaned into you until he was fully seated, pulsing at the very center of your body. You could feel every throb, every carnal twitch. Ren was fucking you from both ends, his dick stuffed far into your pussy and his depraved will stuffed down deep into your neck. The very idea of it sent you into a spiral.

“Fuck, that’s tight,” he groaned, voice gravelly. “Relax, puppet. Open for me.”

Kylo, not like this...

You were truly his object, denied any relief from his harassment or any pleasure at his hand. Digging his fingers into your hips, he began a slow, thorough stroke, pulling nearly all the way out only to plunge back down to the hilt.

“Out loud, girl.”

Your head ticked, a screaming internal alarm preventing you from shaking it outright, because you couldn’t do it; you could not obey this order. You couldn’t even remember the sound of your own voice, and you didn’t want to mourn something you couldn’t recall. You also didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

Fuck you...

Ren’s hips thrust harder into you, though, and you yelped. The high-pitched fabricated sound shocked you, and you trailed it with a hiccup, breath catching on the implications of this new reality.

“Lower,” Ren nodded to the doctor, who adjusted the implant in your throat.

You seethed. He was tailoring the sound of your voice to his fucking preference, and you thought you surely would rip the damned thing out of your neck if you had your hands free.

Dissatisfied with your reaction to his steady pace, Ren rutted into you stubbornly, fucking you with more force. Your ire fizzled, the anger dribbling out of your cunt on a steady trickle of hot slick. He stretched you, and you moaned at the fullness of it. You desperately wanted to arch and rock your hips against him, but you were completely paralyzed, not even given room to wiggle.

“Kylo. Fuck. Please.”

He all but purred at the modulated sound of your voice, the one he’d given you, and rewarded you with a long series of strokes so deep you saw stars.

“Lower,” he ordered, and the doctor moved to his bidding.

“Now, puppet, what’s that mantra of yours?”

Ren’s cunning was staggering. He was demanding the only thing that had allowed you to survive him. Your throat burned, tingling around the foreign implant, and you swallowed, trying to moisten the metal. Sniffling, you cleared your throat, focusing on the task you’d been given and not the ruthless invasion of your pussy.

Taking as deep of a breath as you could, you concentrated on making the sound as even as possible.

“In...suffering...there...is...beauty.”

“That’s right,” he praised you and then nodded to the surgeon. “That’s it.”

Having gotten what he wanted, Ren bent over you and nipped at your stomach before tucking himself back into his pants. In moments, the doctor had your throat stitched up, a Bacta patch applied, and was giving instructions to Ren about no solid food for 24 hours, watch for infection, and apply Bacta as needed.

He also advised that you should be silent for the next 24 hours due to inflammation but that he understood if something happened to prevent that.

You narrowed your eyes at the ceiling when he said it because of fucking course something was going to prevent that. Curling your hands into fists again, you renewed your vow to slaughter every soul on this ship.

With the doctor gone, the Force hold you’d been kept under released, and you shot upwards to confront Ren. This wasn’t fear or flight; this was anger and malice.

You slammed both fists into his chest and shoved. Pressing your lips into a hard line, you jammed your knee in between your body and his, intent upon sprinting past him and away from here, from him.

Jerking your legs back apart, he stepped in and wrapped his massive hand around your throat, burning you with his gaze and squeezing you back into muted compliance. Satisfied you would be still, he wrapped you tight into his chest, fingers still stroking your throat.

Shock and absolute fury coiled into the pit of your stomach, and you just sat, boiling in your hatred that he could so easily disfigure you and, then, so easily divest you of your rage.

The severity of what he’d done registered, and panicked spikes drove into your heart. You quaked anew, tears spilling, and you dug your fingers into the shirt at the small of his back.

What did you do…

“Out loud,” he pressed, voice endearing as he brushed your tears away.

Licking your lips, you stared at him for a long moment, eyes glossy. Ren waited patiently as you gathered the fortitude to obey. Even he seemed to understand this was a lot to take in.

“What did you do?” You whispered it, the haunted voice faltering, betraying the depth of your despair.

He hummed hungry delight against your jaw. Using the leverage he always seemed to have at your neck, Ren turned your head for you to take in the broken bits of his helmet on the tray. In the vortex of fear and lust and terror, you’d completely forgotten it had been there at all.

“This voice,” he breathed the words out, stroking the bandage, “is mine.”

You gaped at him, eyes swiveling from the tray to his face and back. It broke over you like lightning. He had taken the modulator from his helmet and had it implanted in your throat.

Ren dropped his head into your neck again and sucked a mark into the skin. You were too frozen to respond, your back rigid but your arms and legs hanging limp and useless.

“This body,” he said into your neck, “is mine.”

Slithering his hands between your bodies, he pushed your thighs apart wide and ran his fingers up the plump seam. You shuddered, feeling the pulse of your sequestered clit battering against the wall that should not be there.

“This pussy,” he bit at your jaw, “is mine.”

He had succeeded in reducing you to a nameless doll, a puppet tailored exactly to his liking for his entertainment and use. You were dazed, thunderstruck, and empty. He had put you through absolute hell today, and you weren’t capable of filtering your thoughts, now words, anymore.

You were past the point where you could even care if he punished you for insolence.

“Why did you stay with me?”

The question startled you more than the alien sound of your new voice. You managed to look at him and concentrated on his alluring freckles. You searched his starry eyes for something to latch onto, something that would tie you here.

You had no childish thoughts of love or support. But right now, having borne the brunt of so much of his persecution, you needed something.

One question, though, led to more, and they began to spill from your lips on this new capability.

“Why didn’t you kill me? I was ready, and I would have gladly given you that. Why did you need to do this to me? You were already in my head, listening.”

Your ire and emotion were rising, the mechanical undertone in your voice lifting in pitch. You blinked, really truly trying to understand the whims of a mad man.

“What difference is there between me screaming in my head and screaming out loud? Why couldn’t you just leave me the way I was? I was surviving your punishment just fine without this unnatural, bastard tongue!”

You fisted both hands into his shirt and pounded against the chest beneath. Your lips wobbled, and you tipped your head back, furious at the tears that wouldn’t fucking stop.

You had learned to survive without a voice. The silence you offered the universe became your salvation, your solace. People expected nothing of you when they knew you couldn't speak, and you’d used it to strengthen yourself, to fortify your will to endure and withstand all manner of ego and abuse.

Frantic, you settled on the most important question, the one that you needed answered.

“Why did you do this to me?”

Ren captured your face in both hands and smothered your tirade with a kiss. His beautiful pink lips slanted over yours, and you melted against his mouth. He sucked at your lower lip, licked the roof of your mouth, and slid his tongue against yours until you were breathless and squirming.

He curled your limbs around his shoulders and waist and carried you around the side of the table. Setting you down, he plucked the scalpel from the tray, his hands disappearing between your legs. You whimpered and scooted backwards, but he hooked a hand beneath your knee and pulled you back into place.

“I did this,” he cut one of the sutures, “to focus your attention away from the procedure."

“Is that not…” he nipped at your pulse, “...merciful?”

He made quick work of the remaining sutures, slicing through them and pulling the remnants away. You whined, head lolling, as your freed labia parted, blood beginning to redistribute to the abused skin and shooting pins and needles into your cunt. He followed the sharp stings with his thumb, rubbing between the swollen folds until you gasped and tipped your pelvis into his touch.

Tugging you against his body, Ren ground his erection between your tender lips. You moaned low, the sound warbled, wanton, and needy, and he captured it with a deep kiss, swallowing on a growl.

He tore at his own clothes, freed his swollen cock, and pushed inside of you, not bothering to be gentle. Your eyebrows drew together tight at the invasion, the time between the first fucking and this one having been enough for your body to re-acclimate to his absence.

Sinking your teeth into your lip, you lifted your hips to his assault because the utter completion you felt was too good to resist.

“And I did..fuck…,” he faltered, bottoming out into your tight heat; “...I did this,” he dipped his face down and licked the bandage, the only truly new scar he’d ever given you; “...so that you would remember,” his breath was broken now, his voice ragged with lust; “...that every sound you make belongs to me.”

You held tightly to his back, hugging his sides with your legs, and trying your damnedest to stay here in this moment. The second adrenaline crash of the day threatened to consume you, but you fought against it because the man who’d teased you for a week had his dick so far inside you that you thought you could taste it.

You were desperate for this bliss, whining in raw need, and you shuddered when he rocked your body against his in the manner and tempo he liked, large fingers splayed across your ass and moving you to his pleasure. Your tortured cunt clenched and all but sucked his dick in deep.

You cried out, feeling the lines between you as a person and you as Ren’s personal fucktoy bleed together. Your whole body contracted, squeezing him hard and coming absolutely alive under his thumb. You clung to his back like he was your own personal savior.

Stretching long fingers around your neck, Ren lifted your face and forced you to look, always wanting to watch you agonize for him. The now-familiar warm sensation blossomed at your clit, and your eyes fluttered shut on a loud moan. He shook you until your eyes opened again, demanding your stare.

“You’re no victim," he sneered.

He punched himself so far into your cunt that you felt the nudge at your cervix and erupted into an echoing shriek. The Force engulfed your clit, every single one of the thousands of nerves swarmed by the hot vibration and spreading a delicious jolt up through your abdomen.

“You’re a depraved, filthy thing,” he dug his nails into your jaw, “and your body was made for me.”

You couldn’t look away, couldn’t shake your head or disagree. Accepting that hard truth on your behalf, your pussy flooded him with a new surge of molten slip, and he growled possessively. He licked at your mouth and squeezed your neck tighter. The pressure arched you into his chest and set your cunt to clutching feverishly.

“See? Not happy unless you’re being hurt.”

Pressing into the veins below your jaw, he stunted the flow of blood to your brain, sending you into floating oblivion. You convulsed against him, the jerk of your body trying to fight off unconsciousness drawing a hungry moan from your captor. The suction at your clit intensified, and you begged, lips working on impotent words, breath choppy, and fingers clamoring and raking against his biceps.

You were nothing but a vibrating mess, well-fucked and wholly obliterated by his embrace as he choked and ravaged your body. The stab of his dick was relentless, and you were very nearly gone, your eyes glazing over, eyelids heavy.

“Cum for me, puppet. Show me how much you like it."

He dipped his mouth to your ear, voice commanding, dripping with derision and desire. Shifting his fingers, he allowed blood to rush back into your dizzy head, and you gasped hard. Married with the hot pressure at your clit and the pistoning of his cock, you seized in deference to his order.

Your entire body shrunk into a tight ball against him, knees drawing up high, ankles hugging at his back. Your fingers and toes curled, your legs and arms shook, and your abdomen and ass clenched hard and tight.

The orgasm blew through you like a comet, and everything loosened on a series of soul-shattering quakes.

You shouted and wailed, the altered, digital howl sounding almost like it truly belonged to you. Your cunt spasmed, alternating between trying to push Ren’s invading cock out and trying to draw it further and further in.

You were drowning in euphoria, endorphins, and emotions, and you had no protection, no wall with which to keep everything at bay. Every single thing Ren had done, was doing, roiled through you and radiated off of your body dangerously, and he was caught in the blast zone.

“Fuck..fuck..FUCK!”

His hands dug caverns into the meat of your ass, fingernails leaving crescent trenches. He bit into the side of your neck, buried himself as far into you as he could, and emptied his cock into the flood you were offering him.

Three more thrusts pushed his seed in deep, and he moaned, low and liquid, into your skin while bucking through his orgasm. You were barely clinging to consciousness, weak and overwhelmed by the events of the afternoon, the day, the week.

For the third time today, Ren held you, stroking your back until your mind came back to your body. When you lifted your head, he leaned back, taking in your mottled cheeks, swollen mouth, and glassy eyes.

“Open.”

He lifted his hand to your mouth and purred when it opened for him naturally. He hooked his thumb into your teeth, just the way you liked, and you shifted against him, leaking all manner of bodily fluids onto the table.

You hadn't hesitated at all, too sated to bristle that it was beneath you or too eager for whatever demeaning paradise he was willing to offer.

He held your jaw right there, thumb playing with the inside of your teeth. He was looking at you as though he was ready to bathe in your blood again, and you weren’t sure that you wouldn’t let him. His eyes were dark and nefarious and hypnotic.

What he did next was so unexpectedly obscene that you choked. He tilted your head back and spat into your mouth, watching his saliva pool on your tongue.

Your body’s reaction was immediate, suffused with want and something you might later identify as pride. Your fingers tightened into his shirt, and your chest arched up into him. You let loose a low sound that even you didn’t even recognize, and your hips rocked beseechingly against him.

“You belong to me,” he said, watching the bubbles slide down your throat. “This is the last time I'll explain myself to you."

He allowed you to close your mouth, and you stared at him, awed and searching. Before you could second guess yourself, you curled his trembling fingers around your throat, swallowing beneath the grip.

If this was the closest you would ever get to an intimate gesture, you needed it now more than you needed oxygen.

Satisfied for the moment, Ren squeezed your neck and rubbed his nose against yours.

Too soon, the moment ended, and Ren grasped your hips and lifted you off of his dick with a low groan. You watched openly as he tucked himself away and righted his clothing. You flushed, pleased at the idea that he was going to spend the rest of today with your cunt lingering on his dick.

You blinked at the thought, troubled at the ease with which you joined him in such vulgarity.

Your reverie was interrupted by a slender man in all black walking into the room uninvited and unannounced. Ren’s head shot up on a snarl, and he reached out to wind that unfortunate soul into the Force and lift him off of his feet.

You tiredly glanced over at Ren’s newest victim, surprised by his bright red hair. Knowing better than to interfere, you simply looked from Ren to this intruder, wondering how long it would be before one of them spoke.

“The...Supreme...Leader...demands...your………………...presence!”

Ren released his hold, and the uniformed man hit the ground with a crash, scrambling back out into the hallway. Bending down, he scooped up your black pants and handed them to you.

Ren's gaze hardened considerably, and you were amazed at how dark became void in his eyes. Reaching back to the tray, he grabbed the scalpel, broke off the blade, and lifted it to your mouth.

“If he tries to hurt you or move you,” his voice was dangerously low, and your eyes flitted around his arm to the door, “get away. Find the Knights of Ren.”

The questions played across your face, and your brow knit. Were you in danger? Why were you in danger? You leaned forward, meaning to ask, but he shook his head, instructing you back to silence. You sat up straighter, concerned and more alert.

“That voice is for me, only.”

Understanding, you parted your lips and accepted the weapon, moving it with your tongue and tucking it into the roof of your mouth. Ren's battle face changed for just a second, his beautiful lips turning up into a smirk, knowing full well this wasn’t the first time you’d had to hide a blade.

You accepted that he would push you until you broke for him, over and over, but it satisfied you to no end that he wasn’t prepared to allow anyone else to harm you. That pleasure was afforded to him alone in the Galaxy.

“Hux!” He barked it out, and the man, who was still rubbing his tender throat, turned into the room to look.

“You will personally deliver her back to my chambers.”

Ren didn’t waste time asking if the man understood his instructions. He would be obeyed, or someone would die. In seconds, he had collected the remnants of his helmet and was gone from the room.

You sagged, feeling like the universe was somehow less bright without the scorch of his presence. Stuffing your aching, wobbly legs into the black linen, you cautiously descended from the surgical table and righted the material over your hips.

Turning, you faced your new escort, whose name was apparently Hux, and gestured for him to lead on.

#kylo ren smut #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren #puer deus

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afaithy · 5 years ago

Note

81 for Takari like their brothers are fighting again and one of them just goes "I'll take care of it"

I hope you enjoy it!

It was really fun to write lol

Just in case! This is sequel to I liked them blonde

SEND MORE ASKS: HERE

_____________________________________________________________

I’ll take care of it

“Dramatic is a classy word for being stupid.”

― Vivek Thangaswamy

Yamato was used to dealing with Taichi's strange occurrences. His friend was a good person, but his impulsiveness sometimes led him to make silly mistakes that he eventually regretted. A clear example of this was the sometimes ridiculous fights that the boy used to have with Sora at least once a month.

So when Taichi entered his room unannounced and without even asking for permission, Yamato was not surprised. Taichi looked irritated, that at least was clear to the naked eye. The question was ... why?

"You know, there’s something that normal people do...called knocking.” the blonde replied while he played a chord in his guitar.

“Forget about knocking.” Taichi replied, waving his hand in front of his face “We need to talk.”

“Wow...that almost sounds serious. Who let you in?”

“Takeru…” Taichi replied without giving it importance and this is serious.”

“Oh…” Yamato said, putting away the guitar and leaning back in his chair “Ok...so what did you do to annoy Sora?”

“It has nothing to do with Sora?” Taichi said with a frown” Everyone always ask me that.”

“Well, 60% of the times you comer angry or panicked is because you were stupid enough to say something to make her get angry.” Yamato shrugged “the other 40% splits into 30% due to something related to your sister and 10% some miscellaneous thing. So, what did you do? Did you tell her hat made her head look swollen again?”

“THat was when we were 12 years old and, in my defense, the hat did make her head look big.”

“Taichi...you just don’t tell those kinds of things to any girl.”

“Like I said I was 12, and this is irrelevant.” Taichi said, crossing his arms “No, it’s not about Sora.”

Yamato snorted. He leaned against his desk and looked at his friend with curiosity.

“So...what is it?”

“LIsten to me carefully, Yamato.” Taichi said, grabbing his friend’s shoulders “very carefully…”

Yamato was surprised by this gesture and he looked at Taichi dumbfounded.

“Yeah?”

“I think….damn...I can’t even say it.” Taichi said, turning away dramatically.

“Taichi, just spit it out.”

“Ahg...fine. I think Hikari has a crush on you!”

There was a brief moment of silence as both boys stared at each other, and then Yamato broke into a fit of laughter that made Taichi look at him confused. The boy couldn’t see what was so amusing about what he’d just say.

“Sorry...I think I heard you wrong. What?” Yamato said, when his laughter finally died away.

“You heard me right, ok?” Taichi replied, annoyed, “Hikari has a crush on you…”

“Yeah, right…” Yamato said skeptically “ That’s impossible. She thinks of me as another brother, so no way…”

“Well...believe it because she definitely hinted at it.”

“Are you sure you are not misreading things?” Yamato said, frowning, “It wouldn’t be the first time you misunderstand something.”

“No, I am sure I didn’t.” Taichi said firmly “That is why I decided to talk about it with you.”

“With me? What are you expecting me to do?”

“Well, yeah. Get yourself a girlfriend...or do something to make her lose interest!”

“Ok...hold on a second…” Yamato said “Why do you even think this is possible?”

“I did my research and there is a very high chance of girls her age to fall in love with older brotherly figures!”

“Ok...right, but if that is your reasoning,Jou and Koushiro could be an option, too. It doesn’t have to be me!”

Taichi let out a sigh.

“I hate to admit this, but. You are probably the one who fits the good looking brotherly figure, the protagonist falls in love with…”

“That makes...wait. Did you say protagonist? Where the hell did you research on?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I paid a visit to the shoujo manga section.” Taichi replied, as if the matter was the most obvious thing to do.

“Ok...I don’t know if I should be annoyed or if I should laugh my ass off.” Yamato said , resting his hand on his forehead “Taichi, what in heaven’s name made you think that shoujo manga is actually good reference material?”

“Why not?”

“Those are always so dramatic, exaggerated and unrealistic.”

“Have you read them?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know?”

“It’s called common reasoning.” Yamato replied, rolling his eyes “Does Hikari even read shoujo manga?”

“I don’t know...maybe? The point is...you are the cool bro. I mean...I am the coolest, but obviously I am not an option.”

Yamato let out a skeptical snort.

“I have a lot of things to say about that remark, but...for the time being, I’ll let it slip.” Yamato replied, frowning, “ Look...Hikari is a sweet girl and we get along, but she definitely has no crush on me.”

“But it HAS to be you. I mean you’re the one who fills up the profile.” Taichi groaned “i’ve been thinking about it for days! And it definitely has to be you!”

Yamato took a deep breath and pinched his temple. Taichi could be his best buddy, but sometimes, the guy could be a real fool.

“Ok...enlighten me.” Yamato said, crossing his arms.

The blonde was pretty sure that nothing that Taichi could say would convince him that Hikari had -remotely- a crush on him. He was no expert with middle schoolers with crushes, but he had his own fan base, and he’d seen girls crushing on him before. Even if they tried to make it less obvious, you could tell easily: the way they couldn’t look straight at your face or how they wouldn’t speak freely with you.

Hikari was not like that. In fact, she was as natural with him as she always was or even worse. The girl even began teasing him about his fan base and he blamed that on Takeru.

“Ok.” Taichi began “It took me a lot of skillful talking to get this out of her but…”

Yamato snorted once more. Skillful talking, coming from Taichi, translated to popping his head in her room and randomly asking her things.

“For starters, she has a boy she likes.” Taichi said dramatically. “I know this would happen someday, but gosh...I was hoping it would be when she was 25 or something…”

“Taichi…”

“Yeah, sorry. Naturally, after hearing about that...I had to inquire. So it seems the guy is close to her. She said he’s always worrying about her and helps her whenever she needs it or not. She said it sort of made her feel safe, almost as safe as when she is with me. You notice? With me!”

Yamato rolled his eyes.

“But no matter how much I asked she wouldn’t tell who it is.” Taichi said, annoyed “Tell you? So that you can go and pester him around when he doesn’t even understand why? Forget it.” he added in a very poor impression of his sister “so...I had to take the clues I had and be smart and put the points together.Hikari has few boy friends, so it has to be so it has to be one of us...”

“So...you concluded it was me.” Yamato said, raising his eyebrow “You know that description is pretty generic. Everyone in our group acts like that with her. It could be anyone…”

“Ah...but there’s the thing. There IS one thing that totally points at you…”

“And that is…”

“She likes blondes.”

There was a short pause. Yamato stared at his friend in shock and disbelief. That little detail had automatically turned his friend’s attention to him when there was a second and -most likely the right one- person that fulfilled all those qualifications even better than himself.

Yamato was about to voice his thoughts when a soft knock at the door made both boys turn to the opening door. Takeru with his usual green hoodie and his fisherman’s hat poked his head into the room with an innocent grin.

Talk about the hen. Yamato thought with a smirk.

“Hey!” Takeru said “Just letting you know, Hikari -chan texted me saying that she wanted to go grab ice cream in that new ice cream parlor in the park. Told her I would go with her, but I’ll probably be back by dinner. Do you want me to buy something on the way back?”

“Sure, why not?” Yamato replied. Taichi was staring at Takeru and Yamato couldn’t help but wonder if his neurons had finally pieced it together.

“Oh, ok. Then see you in a bit. Bye Taichi-san!”

Takeru waved at them and left the room, closing the door. The two older boys stared at each other in his silence for a minute or two, until Taichi growled.

“Holy numemons….” Taichi said “Takeru is blonde!”

“How come you realized this until now?”

“Hey, don’t blame me! How do you expect me to remember such a thing when he’s always wearing those silly hats.”

“That’s no excuse…”

“Damn it...I never considered Takeru! I was dead sure it was you….”

“Taichi...let it be. If Hikari has a crush on my brother let it be. You know he’s a good kid.”

“But...Hikari...what if he breaks her heart. He’s her best friend! Ah...this is even worse than you!”

“I’m sure it will be fine, Taichi.”

“How do you know?”

“Because...I know.”

“That’s not convincing at all.”

“Seriously. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”

And take care of it, he would. Yamato hadn’t pressed the matter with Takeru, since the boy was still in denial and he had thought the feelings were one sided. Taichi had just confirmed him otherwise, so there was no way he would let his little brother be an idiot any longer if he could help it.

My Yamato turned out looking like a baby version of Cloud LoL

#digimon #digimon 2020 #digimon 2020 psi #fanfiction #yamato ishida #yagami taichi #takari #takeru takaishi #hikari yagami #my drabbles

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ladyreapermc · 5 years ago

Text

Fic: Meet Cute (John Wick x OFC)

Summary: Lilah finally gets to meet the tall, dark and handsome man she had been lowkey crushing on for the last four months when his dog gets loose and comes to play with her. Based on the prompt 58: “You smell like a wet dog”

Author’s notes: 1) Canon divergent AU, because I’m adding a bigger time gap between John finding his car in the beginnings of JW: Chapter 2 and Santino coming around with a marker to give John a chance to go back to retirement and properly grieve over Helen. This piece would be set in that time period. 2) Also I’m a big sucker for soft!John, ok? It’s one of my favorite things. I have this headcanon that he doesn’t really know how to flirt or show someone he’s interested in them. I highkey think Helen might have been the one to make the first move between them.

Warnings: none, I think. Unless dogs playfully jumping on people freaking you out.

As often as Lilah could, she went to the park on her lunch breaks. It was a bit of a walk from the office at the Psychology department, but it was definitely worth it for the opportunity of not feeling the pressure of hurrying up with her meal to go back to work; to actually feel the sun and breathe air that hadn’t been artificially renewed and carried the faint traces of sanitizer.

There was this old oak she liked to sit beneath. It provided enough shade to avoid overheating and gave her a great view of the rest of the park, allowing her to people-watch and imagine stories for their lives, one of her favorite hobbies.

Lilah took a bite of her tuna sandwich and checked her watch. It was 12:30 already and her favorite subject of observation was apparently late. He was always there on Tuesdays, along with his blueish grey pitbull. He would sit by the fountain and watch the park with an almost wistful look. He kept one hand resting on the dog’s while he ate a sandwich, sneaking a few pieces of meat to his pet,. Once he was done, he would stand up again and leave, always walking past where she was sitting.

She didn’t know what it was about him that caught her eye. It was more than just his handsome features, that she was sure. Maybe it was the fact that when Lilah first noticed him four months ago he had this air of sorrow and grief. But as the weeks passed that seemed to ease some. She even caught him laughing once when the pitbull got a little greedy and stole the last bite of his sandwich while he was distracted.

And at some point along those weeks, he started looking over and giving Lilah a quick nod of greeting as he walked past her. He apparently also noticed that she was a frequent presence in the park. Lilah would reply with a smile and a quick rub on the dog’s head when it started approaching her for curious sniffles. Probably catching the scent of her cat on her clothes.

This had been Lilah’s Tuesday’s ritual for a while, and she was a little disappointed that they weren’t there today. Their presence always helped to brighten up her day and make her forget that her research wasn’t yielding the data she needed or that Lilah’s advisor had asked her to review their paper for the hundredth time just because the woman didn’t like one of the authors Lilah used as reference.

Resigned that she probably weren’t going to see them today, Lilah finished her sandwich and put on her headphones. She still had another ten minutes before she had to go back, and she was adamant on enjoying every second of it.

Lilah laid back on her elbows humming along the music in her ears, once again counting the days until she would finally defend her dissertation and all of this underlying stress and constant worry would finally be over and replaced with stress and constant worry from an actual teaching position.

Lilah was startled back to reality when something grey, furry and very wet collided with her chest. Her squeak of surprise turned into laughter as the familiar pitbull yapped happily, trying to lick her face.

“Hey buddy!” she greeted, scratching it head and neck, noticing a piece of his leash still attached to the collar by the clasp, the tip torn.

“Where did you came from, huh? Where’s your tutor?” Lilah asked managing to sit up as the dog settled heavily on her lap and she couldn’t help but grin.

“Dog, Off!” A gruffy voice called seconds later and the pitbull moved off and laid down next to her.

“I’m so sorry, he knows better than to jump on people,” the man said, narrowing his eyes at the pitbull.

The dog seemed aware that he did something wrong, because he covered its face with its paws. It was the cutest thing in the world.

“It’s fine, really,” she replied, scratching the dog’s head. “He knew I was a friend.”

“He still shouldn’t have,” he said with a sigh, crouching down and examining the torn leash on his hand. “Most people are scared of him.”

And she didn’t know why, but something told her there was some kind of underlying meaning to those words.

“I’m not,” Lilah declared, watching him as she petted the dog.

“I’ve noticed,” he replied, meeting her gaze. He had the most beautiful eyes.

“What’s his name?” Lilah asked, looking back at the dog, a little unnerved by the intensity of those brown eyes.

“Dog,” he informed, looking down and rubbing his nape, seemingly embarrassed and Lilah giggled. “I’m really not good with names.”

“If it works it works,” she assured with a shrug, sneaking a glance at him. He was watching her again.

Lilah was at loss of what to do or say. It was one thing to watch him from afar and wonder about him, who he was, what he did. It was totally different to have him here, this close, watching her back. She decided it might be safer to keep her focus on Dog.

“Hi Dog!” she called.

The pitbull recognized his name and turned his head towards her. He almost looked like he was smiling, and Lilah chuckled. He was wiggling his tail but didn’t move towards her. She realized that despite running off, Dog was very well trained.

“How about you? Do you have a name?” Lilah mustered the courage to ask, looking back at the man.

“John,” he replied looking almost startled that she had asked.

“But not Doe, right?” Lilah joked.

It was a lame one, but John still chuckled, so she counted as a win.

“No, not Doe,” he answered, eyes darting to somewhere behind Lilah, before he patted his leg once.

Dog got up from where he was lying next to Lilah and moved to his side. John wrapped his fingers around the collar, holding onto it with a firm grip. From what she have seen so far, it didn’t seem like Dog needed to be held down, so she glanced behind herself, noticing a guy glaring at John and the unleashed pitbull. Lilah realized John did it more as a reassurance for other people than actual necessity.

Lilah glared back at the guy watching John and Dog, almost as if to challenge him to say or do something. She knew how to put on a mean scowl if she needed to. She was a Latina woman raised in Hell’s Kitchen after all.

Finally, the guy hurried away and she looked back at the pair in front of her, finding John smiling. It was a small, barely there quirk of lips; almost as if he wasn’t sure how to do it, but it was there. Lilah smiled back and ducked her head a little embarrassed.

That was when she finally noticed the mess of muddy paw prints and grass stains in her clothes and laughed. She had felt her shirt uncomfortable wet as soon as it happened but got distracted by John’s arrival and completely forgot it until now.

Her laughter must have attracted John’s attention to it as well, because he winced as he stood up and offered her a hand to help her up as well. Lilah did a quick double take because, Damn! He was big guy. It wasn’t just height either. He had broad shoulders and chest that filled up his white shirt quite nicely. It was very attractive, and Lilah flushed.

“Please let me take care of dry-cleaning? He ruined your clothes,” John asked, taking a card from his pockets and offering her.

“You don’t have to,” she assured, pushing the card back. “Trust me, making friends with Dog’s probably gonna be the highlight of my day.”

And maybe it was her wishful thinking, but Lilah thought John looked almost disappointed as he pushed the card back into his pocket.

“If you’re sure…” he trailed off and Lilah nodded, gathering the rest of her stuff. It was time to go back to work. “It was nice to meet you, John. You too Dog.”

“I didn’t catch your name,” John asked before she could step away.

“Lilah,” she answered grinning, glad he had asked. “Bye John.”

She petted the pitbull one last time, before she waved at them and started to walk away. Before she stepped on the sidewalk to cross the street, she looked over her shoulder. Her entire life she hated the feeling of being watched and today the feeling of eyes on her was overwhelming.

But it was just John still standing there, holding onto Dog and watching her go. That made her pulse speed up and she smiled. John smiled back and waved.

The stop light opened before she could wave back so she hurried to cross the street with the other pedestrians. When Lilah looked again, John and Dog were gone.

As Lilah made her way back to the lab, she barely noticed or cared that people were giving weird looks and a wide berth. John was still in her head and she knew he would be for the rest of the day.

“You smell like a wet dog,” Was the first thing Sid, Lilah’s friend and fellow PhD candidate, said when she walked back into the office they shared at the Psychology department. “What the hell happened?”

He had finally turned around to look at her, eyes widening in shock at her state. Lilah just laughed, still too giddy to really share what happened. Instead, she dropped her bag at her desk and picked up the backpack she kept under it and headed for the bathroom.

It wasn’t until she finished changing clothes that it hit Lilah: John might had looked disappointed when she refused his card because that might have been his way to try and give her his number, but she completely blew that.

Next Tuesday, as Lilah took her place under the oak to have lunch, Dog appeared by her side tail wiggling, but he remained still, sitting on his hind legs. She noticed the leash still attached to his collar and when she looked up John was also there.

“Hi,” Lilah greeted, breathing and heart speeding up at the sight of him

So, she looked back at Dog offering him a hand for him to sniff. He took it as an invitation and plopped next to her, resting his head in her lap. He looked up with begging eyes, waiting to be petted. Lilah chuckled and scratched behind his ears.

“No wonder he dragged me here,” John commented with that small smile and Lilah noticed he was carrying a brown paper bag with him. Probably his own lunch.

“Wanna join me?” She invited after a second of deliberation. Her heart felt like it was trying to bust out of her chest.

“He didn’t leave me much of a choice,” John replied with a snort, nodding at Dog.

Lilah’s stomach dropped in disappointment as she looked away and pulled her hand away from Dog. Maybe she was wrong last week. Maybe he was just trying to be polite when he offered his card and to pay for her dry-cleaning.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, trying to ignore how Dog kept shoving his head under her hand again with a small whine.

“Shit! That came out wrong,” John sputtered, combing his hair away from his eyes and sigh in frustration. “Sorry. I’m not very good at this.”

“Me either,” Lilah confessed finally relaxing. It was reassuring to see that John seemed as nervous as she was.

For a moment, the two of them just stayed there, watching one another with matching hesitant smiles.

“It’s lunch. I think we can make it work,” she said at last and John’s smile widened.

He sat down, back resting against the oak as well, Dog sandwiched between them.

“Yes. I think we can,” he declared, glancing sideways at her and it almost felt like a promise to Lilah’s ears.

xxx

#john wick #fanfic #john wick fic #john wick fanfic #john wick chapter 2 #john wick parabellum #john wick x ofc #john wick x original female character #fic drabbles #drabble challenge #standalone #woc ofc #soft!john wick #john wick fluff #keanu reeves #canon divergent au

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afewmarvelousthoughts · 6 years ago

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Stay Ch. 3

[Master List] [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2]

Pairing: Natasha X Reader (Female)

Summary: You have a gift, the ability to see other people’s innermost secrets. For years you used it to gather intel for the highest bidder when you take on The Widow. After she becomes more than a mark the two of you spend years stealing moments. Post snap you wait in your designated meeting place, look back on the sordid past you share with the woman you love and hope against everything that she’s still alive.

Warnings: References to murder I guess?

A/N: Ah, my poor OC/Reader. So infatuated. So stressed. So about to be in over her head.

(Also, to my knowledge we don’t know exactly when MCU Natasha graduated from The Red Room so I picked an age that worked for my story.)

Tags are open!

@mywinterwolf @disagreetoagree @breezy1415 @peachthatdrinkslemonade @5aftermidnight @jeromethepsycho @germansarechill

Natasha didn’t seem to notice the clear signals she projected nor that your unique brain absorbed each and every one. Or if she did she hid it. She sits back on the bed crossing her legs and gathering the rest of the little vodka bottles to her.

“So,” she asks opening another, “just what kind of freak are you?” Your brows raise in a silent question. “Born freak or made freak.”

“Never met a made freak…” Something to dig into, “Though in all fairness never met a born one either. Never met anyone like me.”

“Born, then?”

“Yeah.”

“Alabama?”

You’re genuinely surprised, “Damn, spot on there.”

“I’m a made freak,” she downs the bottle.

“Oh?” You steel yourself, “What exactly…”

“I’m a weapon.” She forms a gun with her fingers and aims it at you, “A damn good one.”

The tension in you releases, you thought she was going to reveal some power, an ability like your own. “Is that so bad?” She just shrugs.

Silence hangs thick for a few minutes. “Alright,” your voice feels like a gunshot, “let’s get to work.” She just stares at you, “I’m good but like any hunting dog I need to be pointed in a direction. You’ve got to have some ideas about who’s put this bounty on you.”

“That’s a long list.”

“I don’t sleep much,” you shrug and flash her a smile. “Come on,” you pull the notepad by the phone to you and the hotel pen, “start listing potentials.”

Over an hour later your head is spinning. “How fucking long have you been at this?” You were both born in ’84… only 20… but you’d lived so many lifetimes by then and there was no question she had too.

“Graduated at 14,” she says nonchalantly.

“Graduated?”

“From The Red Room. Been working since.”

You ran a hand over your face, letting out a long sigh. “So in six years-“

“That’s from the last two.”

“Fuck me,” you groan, she laughs and you can’t help but smile. “Ok, you’re obviously not done, so keep going.”

Natasha takes a deep breath before listing more names of people and syndicates. It becomes like static as your brain searches for pertinent information, “The Yugo Brotherhood, then there’s-“

“Stop,” you hold up your hand to pause. Eidetic memory, was the best word for it, though it didn’t quite cover it. Anything you absorb you can, for better or worse, recall with pinpoint accuracy. Great for your job. Terrible for being a functional human. “You took out the fucking Cobra didn’t you?!” Just a shrug.

“Need another drink?” Natasha asks, a small smile playing on her lips.

You hold out your glass, “Make it a double.” Your fingers brush over her’s as she hands the glass back to you and a shiver climbs up your spine, “Thank you.” After a sip you take a deep breath and close your eyes, pulling up everything you have on the Yugoslavian Brotherhood.

Names and dates begin pouring out, your hand racing across the pages in your short form, scrawling out the information. Tearing off the page and going on to the next, you’re like a machine. Then your hand starts sketching the outline of a face, a man, automatic. You stop yourself as it’s not necessary.

Natasha was hovering over watching, fascinated. You hadn’t noticed her. Three pages in her hands.

“Sorry, I kinda zone out once this,” you tap your forehead, “get’s going.”

“You just… remembered all of this?” She looks at the pages, trying to decipher them.

“Mhm, part of the package.” You reach for the pages, “You won’t be able to decode those.”

She flashes you a side glance, “This is short for, underworld,” she points to the mix of symbols letters. “Don’t assume,” she hands them to you and sits on the opposite side of the table.

“Impressive.”

“Well made,” she says dryly.

- Post Snap -

You stare at the dark screen of your phone. Willing it to light up. Any number, any country, you’d answer. Because maybe…

The sun was setting. A few stragglers had wandered into the hotel, all looking dazed, lost. Did you look like that? Did it matter?

You let your mind wander back.

It didn’t take you long to narrow in on what mercs would have picked up the Brotherhood’s hit the fastest…

- Nov. 2004 -

“That doesn’t sound like a suicide mission at all,” your stare is incredulous.

“I can handle myself.”

“Yeah, no one is disputing that. But you don’t have-“

“Enough,” she pushes past you and it takes every ounce of self-control for you to not grab her.

It turned out that the hit on Natasha had indeed been put on her by the Brotherhood. The day before you had pulled corroborating information from two different men that Europe’s top two mercs had picked up that the Widow was in Vienna. Rather than risk going after her solo they were apparently teaming up, willing to split the sizable bounty for the glory of taking her out. She didn’t want to wait, was instead determined to crash their makeshift HQ.

You had spent the better part of the last three hours pointing out to her the obvious issues. They would have home-field advantage, there were at least two of them, they were both skilled killers. She of course scoffed, she was better than them and would be sending their head’s to the Brotherhood as a clear message.

Leaning against the door you watch her gear up, teeth grinding, brain whirring trying to find any way to get her to stop. Natasha was unquestionably exceptional at what she did, but in this instance, she was being arrogant.

Done covering her body in a small arsenal she stares you down. You don’t move. “Please,” she sighs, “don’t make me move you, Y/N.”

“If you die that’s on me,” she won’t meet your eyes.

“If you feel guilt over the consequences of a job well done you need to find a new line of work.” When she finally looks back it’s as though she’s donned a mask, “Now, get out of my fucking way.” You do, even though you feel like you’re moving through wet concrete.

Natasha opens the door with more force than necessary and steps out before pausing. She looks back at you, “Thank you… for the information. I won’t forget what I owe you.” Then she’s gone.

You collapse into a chair, head in your hands. For three days you had worked to dig up as much information as you possibly could to find just what kind of trouble she had gotten herself into. Unsurprisingly, it was all a tangled mess. But you had also spent much of that time with her.

At first, you thought she would be vapid, boring, just a gun in a pretty dress. Now you weren’t sure if you were happy or livid that she was anything but.

In lulls between research and tracking down sources you both hardly slept, instead, you just ate junk, guzzled caffeine, and talked about your favorite books, artists, music. Turned out she had a soft spot for classic rock and Anais Nin, both of which utterly surprised you.

One of the definite upsides to your ability was being able to tell if someone was lying to you, or fronting, she had done neither. Your exchange was candid, and you felt somehow honored that she chose to be real with you. In return you had been open with her, laying out what your original plan had been, telling her what information you needed to satisfy your S.H.I.E.L.D contact. Rather than having to pluck it from her she willingly gave you the intel.

It turned your stomach. The way The Red Room broke these girls to make them into weapons. Your own childhood hadn’t been a cake walk. Sold off to the highest bidder the moment your dad realized what useful skills you had and that plenty of underworld lowlives would be happy to have a handy little psychic on their side. But none of the brutality you had witnessed was calculated, none of it specifically formulated to break you, which somehow made it all less sinister in your mind.

All that she had been through and yet… deep under it all, there was something there, some spark, of humanity they couldn’t strip away. You felt it there every time she spoke about her own likes, every time you caught her glancing at you, every time you brushed against her (accidentally on purpose if you were being real).

You wanted to know her, really know her, you wanted- fuck. You get up and pace around the room. Anxiety growing with every circuit you make. Maybe an hour since she had left… enough time to get to their hideout… enough time for her to be…

“Goddammit!” You yell to nothing as you begin to gear up. Every sensible part of your brain is screaming at you. Lining up the reasons not to go after her, blasting them at full volume. But your brain wasn’t in control right now. Neither was your heart. This was your gut telling you something was going to go wrong, something you couldn’t live with.

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x reader #black widow #queer fic #marvel fic

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lfthinkerwrites · 7 years ago

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Endgame

Title: Endgame

Fandom: Batman

Rating: PG for some mentioned, but not explicit nastiness courtesy of one Joker.

Pairing: Scriddler, Harley/Ivy and BatCat mentioned.

Summary: Nothing lasts forever. That’s not necessarily a bad thing.

Notes: I have two main ‘verses’ I write. One is PI verse and the other is my Oneshot verse, where most of my Scriddler stuff is set. This won’t be the last Scriddler oneshot I do by a long shot, but it is how I see their story ending. You can also consider this a happier antidote to what’s coming in PI verse...

On some level, Edward always knew he and the rest of the Rogues gallery were operating on borrowed time.

Life in Gotham, as a civilian, crime fighter or rogue, was a delicate balancing act. There was an unspoken understanding that there was only so far the game could go, only so many lines the players could cross before game over.

One day, everything finally fell apart. One day, the Joker went too far.

Edward always knew the clown would ruin it, somehow.

Joker had, in his infinite ‘wisdom’, decided to make Gotham over in his own vision. To that effect, he had poisoned Gotham’s water supply with his venom. Hundreds of people had been hospitalized, including Commissioner Gordon. Edward wasn’t sure how many had died. In the ensuing scuffle with Batman and his foes, the youngest Robin had fallen ill as well.

Even after seeing his own son in the grips of Joker venom, Batman still would not kill the clown. Batman would never take a life, not even Joker’s.

Batman wouldn’t. The boy’s mother was another story entirely.

A week after the Joker had been taken into custody, he’d been taken from the Asylum by the League of Assassins. What exactly happened after that would remain unknown, but Joker’s mutilated body had been found hanging in front of City Hall the following morning. A clear message to the rest of the Rogues.

In his own way, Joker had been a stabilizing force in Gotham City. As long as he lived, the mob bosses would only go so far to antagonize the Rogues, while the Rogues’ ability to team up together was tempered by the desire to keep Joker out of their schemes. Now that the clown was irrevocably gone, chaos ensued.

Joker would have enjoyed that too, the bastard.

Falcone, Maroni and the few other mob heads still active in Gotham City saw an opportunity to reclaim what they’d lost when the age of the Rogues had begun. They’d entered into an alliance to forcibly take over Joker’s old territory. A group of Rogues, headed up by Dent, were mobilizing to fight back. Factor in the dozens of jumped up thugs who were left unemployed by Joker’s demise and the city was spiraling into anarchy. Some of his fellow criminals saw an opportunity. Edward, always three steps ahead of everyone else, saw the writing on the wall.

As tempting as the thought of clawing his way to the top of heap in Gotham’s Underworld was, Edward was rational. He was forty now. He wasn’t getting any younger. While he wasn’t a shrinking violet, the amount of violence he was witnessing was making the prospect of getting involved in this war very unappealing. And truth be told, he’d been active for nearly twenty years. He’d had a good run. Perhaps it was time to consider a graceful retirement.

“You’re absolutely certain about this Edward?”

Edward nodded and took another sip of his drink. “I’ve considered every possible scenario Oswald. This is the only option I have that leaves my freedom and wealth intact.”

Oswald didn’t look convinced. “Surely, people have made you offers.”

“Of course,” Edward snorted. “Falcone offered me a permanent position in his organization if I helped them. Dent was more honest at least. He said, I could join with them, or I had the choice between being shot or being run over by a truck. I never did care for taking orders from anyone.”

“No you certainly haven’t.” Oswald agreed, puffing at his cigarette. “You know, there is another option. As you know, I’m staying out of this petty squabble.”

Edward knew. Oswald was a smart man. He knew that no matter which side ‘won’, it would be a Pyrrhic victory at best. Losses would be sustained on both sides, and Batman and his cronies could be counted on to deal with the winners. And when both sides were taken care of, it would be Oswald Cobblepot ruling over the remains. “I could easily offer you a position Edward.”

Edward shook his head. “Thank you, but no. To tell the truth Oswald, I’m not enjoying the game much anymore. I haven’t since before the Joker got what he so richly deserved, but now...”he sighed. “I’m tired. I’m ready to move on.”

“And what does Crane intend to do?”

Edward fiddled with his ring finger. The gold band he wore under his glove had never felt heavier than it did now. “I...we haven’t discussed it yet.”

Oswald mercifully said nothing about that. “Well. I don’t agree with your decision, but I respect it.” Oswald held out his hand. “My door is always open to you my friend.”

Edward shook his hand. “Until the next lifetime Oswald.”

“So it’s true? You’re leaving Gotham?”

“Are you going to try to talk me out of it Selina?”

Selina shook her head. “No. Honestly Eddie, I’m relieved. This city...sometimes I wonder why I’m still here.”

Edward thought a certain masked vigilante had something to do with that, but didn’t say anything. “Harley’s not still in town, is she?” Harley had left Joker for good years ago, but Edward didn’t think Talia al Ghul would ignore her past association with him.

“No,” Selina answered. “She and Ivy left last night. Said they were going to South America for a bit. So, where are you and Jonathan going to go?”

Edward fiddled with his ring finger. “I don’t know. I...I don’t know that Jonathan’s coming with me.”

Selina looked shocked. “Jonathan’s not seriously going to join in this mess, is he?”

“I..we haven’t talked about it.”

Selina slapped her palm against her forehead. “Eddie! He’s your husband! How have you not talked about this?”

“He’s been shut up in his basement since we heard about what happened to Joker!” Edward snapped. “He hasn’t talked to me!” Edward could and should insist. But there was a part of him that felt that if he did, then Jonathan would want to stay. The longer he out it off, the longer they could stay together.

Selina sighed. “Ok. This might be the last time I see you for awhile. I don’t want to spend it fighting. But you will talk to him.”

Edward rolled his eyes. “Yes Selina.”

Selina nodded. “Good boy.” She paused. “You’ll need to go soon,” she said seriously. “Batman thinks that things are going to start getting bad in the next few days. He’ll be so busy trying to help contain it that if you and Jon take off and lay low, he won’t come looking for you.”

Edward nodded. “Right. Just promise me you won’t do anything stupid like trying to be a hero.”

Selina laughed. “Who me? Please.” Selina got up out of her chair and hugged Edward then. “Don’t completely disappear. I’d like to stay in touch with you.”

Edward returned her hug and pretended his eyes weren’t welling up a bit. “I won’t. Stay safe Lina.”

Two days later and all of the necessary arrangements were made. Edward had moved his money into an offshore account, barring a few thousand in cash, he’d sent Nina and Deirdre the last of his old equipment and he’d let go his last few remaining henchmen. All that was left was to decide where to go.

And to talk to Jonathan.

Jonathan was sitting on their sofa, reading an old textbook of his. His eyes looked up at Edward as he entered their home. “You’re home late,” he drawled. “What have you been up to?”

Edward fiddled with his ring finger. Now or never. “Jonathan,” he said. “We need to talk.”

Jonathan put his book down and looked Edward straight in the eyes. “Oh?”

Edward wet his lip. “It’s about what’s happening in Gotham.”

“You’re referring to the upcoming war I assume.”

“Yes, yes I am.” Edward took a breath. “I can’t stay here Jon. I’m leaving.”

For a long moment, Jonathan said nothing. His expression was as cold and impassive as ever. “Did you hear me Jonathan?” Edward asked. “I’m leaving!” Surely, Jonathan cared about that. Why wasn’t he reacting?

“I see,” Jonathan answered. “That’s a relief.”

Edward blinked. “It...is?”

Jonathan got up off of the sofa. “Edward,” he said. “Follow me.”

Edward did as he said and followed him down into the basement. What he saw made him audibly gasp. Jonathan’s basement was almost completely bare. All of Jonathan’s papers were packed into boxes on the floor, his chemicals were stored away and his desk was cleared off. Nightmare sat in his cage, observing the two men.

“This is what you were doing?” Edward asked.

“Yes,” Jonathan answered. “I’m fifty years old Edward. I’m getting too old for this nonsense.”

“But-what about your research?”

“I’ve spent over twenty years collecting data. That should be more than sufficient. If more is required, I don’t need to be in Gotham to do it.”

“And just when were you going to tell me about this!?”

“Tonight. I wasn’t sure what you were intending to do. If you had said you wanted to stay and get involved in this nonsense, I was prepared to sedate you and take off with you.”

Edward’s mouth opened, then shut again. Jonathan took advantage of his silence and grasped his hands. “I married you Edward,” he said softly. “There was no scenario in which I would have ever left you.”

Now tears were freely streaming down Edward’s face. “Jon...” he wrapped his arms around him and Jonathan held him tightly.

“So we’ve ruled out Metropolis, Keystone City, Central City and Star City for obvious reasons. You don’t want to go back down South, which I’m in full agreement on. What about San Diego? The weather’s nice, it’s close to the Mexican border if we need to flee-”

“Too many damn Californians,” Jonathan interrupted. “What about Maine?”

Edward pulled a face. “Maine? Jonathan, the winters there are godawful. You’d freeze to death! What about the Southwest?”

Jonathan raised an eyebrow. “You want to live in a desert?”

“Alright, fair point. What about Boston?”

Jonathan considered this. “I think that would work.”

“Boston it is.”

The next evening, the car was packed. Edward had sent most of their things off to their new address in a Uhaul, leaving only their personal effects and Nightmare, who was cooped up in his carrier. “Nightmare hates that thing,” Jonathan groused.

“Well he’s not flying loose in my car. I spent over $300 getting the seats cleaned the last time.” Edward took one last look at the house. They’d had some good times in that place. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

Edward started the car and began driving along the main road. In no time at all it seemed, they were on the main bridge out of Gotham City. Edward took one last look at the Gotham skyline reflected in the rear view mirror. He’d spent his entire adult life there. Were they doing the right thing? What would they do with themselves?

Edward felt Jonathan’s hand grip his shoulder gently. “We’ll be alright Edward,” he said. “As long as we’re together, we’ll be alright.”

Edward took his eyes off of the rear view mirror and looked at the open road ahead of them. “Of course we will be,” he said. “I am a genius after all.”

Jonathan rolled his eyes. “Of course you are.”

Five years later

“Darlin’ I’m home!” Jonathan called out as he entered their apartment. Thanks to the fake credentials Edward had managed to secure and his own powers of persuasion, Jonathan had managed to get a job teaching psychology at a community college. It might not be as prestigious as Gotham University had been, but it was still satisfying. Jonathan had almost forgotten how much he had genuinely enjoyed teaching. “Edward? You here?”

“I’m in the bedroom!” Edward’s irritated voice called out. Jonathan walked in to find him scowling in front of their mirror. “Look at this!” he complained. “I found another gray hair!”

“It’s a natural part of aging Edward,” Jonathan said, placing his briefcase on their bed. “You should take it gracefully.”

“You’re one to talk,” Edward groused. “You’ve been going gray for the better part of ten years!”

“Beats dying Edward.”

Edward’s face softened a bit. As they had both predicted, the gang war that had erupted in Gotham had more than a few casualties. Sionis, Falcone, Elliott, Walker and Lynns had died outright, Freeze had disappeared and most of the others had been transferred to an out of state facility after the fighting had destroyed Arkham. Still, it wasn’t all bad news. Oswald Cobblepot was the undisputed king of the Gotham Underworld now, defanged as it was. Harvey Dent had apparently finally reformed. Harley and Ivy had visited them in between their travels. Selina kept in contact too, constantly sending them pictures of her daughter, who was now three years old. And of course, Jonathan and Edward were still together. “I suppose we did get a happier ending than we probably deserved, didn’t we Jon?”

Jonathan leaned down and kissed the top of Edward’s head. “I’m not complaining.”

Edward smiled and pulled Jonathan down for a proper kiss. Life was a bit boring at times, but life was good.

What neither man knew was that someone had been watching them. Bruce Wayne had arrived in Boston after receiving a tip that Jonathan was teaching there. He’d been observing them for almost a week now and the worst thing he’d seen them do was bicker over the copy of a Boston Globe. Bruce walked away from where he’d been watching their apartment building and back towards his car. He’d been away from Gotham and his family long enough. He’d keep an ear out for any potential trouble, but as far as he was concerned, there was no need to bring in Edward Nigma and Jonathan Crane.

#scriddler #my take on 'ed and jon' retire from villainy and become grumpy old men together

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joanofsnarrrk · 7 years ago

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Fic: Bad Girls Do It Well (Uncharted) - 10,000 words

SUMMARY: Chloe has never considered herself a particularly sentimental person (perish the thought!), but certain memories, certain snapshots in time have an inconvenient way of sticking with a person. After all, only two things have remained constant in her life, amidst the chaos, the adventure, and the danger: music and photography. And...perhaps adopted family along the way? Nope, no, absolutely not. Her sentimentality must have *some* limits, surely

So after actual MONTHS, I’m thrilled to have finally finished this! Awhile ago, Sony put out playlists on Spotify for the characters of Uncharted: the Lost Legacy (they were awesome!). Chloe's was particularly inspiring, and after finishing the game, I found myself really attached to the idea that using a camera to document her adventures was something she's done since the beginning. Please enjoy Bad Girls Do It Well (title from M.I.A.’s “Bad Girls”)!

Can also be found on AO3 - Fanfiction

Oklahoma, 2002 - Nate

I said to the man, “Are you trying to tempt me Because I come from the land of plenty?” And he said, “Do you come from a land down under?”

—Men at Work “Down Under”

“Would you put that away, and give me a hand?” Nate grits out, clearly not amused by this as much as she is.

“And miss out on this view?” Chloe bites her lower lip as she watches his boxerbrief-clad backside through the lens of her camera. He audibly groans at the sound of the lens shutter, and she’s powerless against her smirk turning into a full on grin. “Unlikely.”

She imagines he would throw her an exasperated look right about now, but as it is, he’s crouched on top of a radiator, toes gripping around the edges, while his unclothed torso—along with the rest of his upper body—is dangling outside the window of their fourth story hotel room.

She watches as he contorts himself unnaturally in an attempt to retrieve one of his Para 9’s that was accidently thrown onto the fire escape during what Chloe is referring to as a particularly enthusiastic bit of foreplay. Not wanting to further encourage the suspicions of the front desk manager with patron complaints of an unregistered firearm, Nate lunged after the gun almost immediately, nary a second thought to his own livelihood.

Initially, she had protested, but after watching him writhe about, his muscles extending and contracting every time he moved, she had to admit it was far more entertaining than whatever she could pull up on the telly.

She lets him struggle a moment more before snapping a particularly gratifying shot and adds, “If you consider me your moral support—and you very well should—then I am absolutely lending a hand.”

He ignores her, focusing all of his attention on retrieving the blasted weapon, fingers splayed in the hopes of extending just a few more centimeters. “Almost…got it.”

He flashes her a huge grin once he’s back inside, twirling the Para 9 in his right hand like he’s Steve McQueen, rather than the bloke who was just hanging out of the window in his underpants. It would be absolutely embarrassing if it weren’t so endearing.

“Are you impressed, or what?” he wants to know.

Chloe considers commemorating the moment on film, but suddenly, she really likes the idea of keeping it to herself. Something she can chide herself for being overly sentimental about later. She sets the camera on the table next to her armchair, careful not to knock over the radio, which is providing ambience in the form of 104.5’s eighties at eleven.

(“Is this your guys’ national anthem?” Nate had asked last night once they had collapsed onto the bed. “Down Under” was playing then, too.

“Mmm, yes,” Chloe hums with laughter, her hand tracing aimlessly on his stomach, her head resting comfortably on his chest. “We praise the Queen and country and the musical genius of Colin Hay.”)

In response to Nate, she makes a show of fanning herself dramatically. “Whew! You certainly had me—and the residents of Tulsa who bared witness to your little show—hot and bothered.”

Much to her delight, he rolls his eyes before turning his attention to the desk next to the radiator, the same one he had just vacated. His shoulder holsters (as well as his shirt) are draped haphazardly over the accompanying chair, and he carefully places the firearm back into its holder, snapping it closed.

“You’re a piece of work, y’know that?” he says with his back to her. She can hear the amusement in his voice, but she’s more interested in the patchwork of scars stretched across the broad expanse of his back.

“I distinctly recall there being less complaints where my behavior’s concerned prior to your acrobatic performance,” she replies offhandedly. As if sensing her staring, he turns around and leans against the desk, arms crossed over his chest. “Back when we were…”

Nate grins. “…Preoccupied?”

“Is that what we’re calling it?”

“Among other things.”

“Really?” asks Chloe with a raised eyebrow. “Because I was going to refer to it as ‘being-interrupted-by-a-roving-firearm-before-I-could-even-get-my-top-off.’”

His eyes darken in distraction as he takes in her appearance, and for the first time in…well, ever, she feels herself flush. It’s nothing scandalous—more coverage than a bikini, certainly, in her tank top and knickers. But it’s the harsh light of day and her hair is down, and for the life of her, she can’t recall ever sticking around long enough the morning after for firearm antics and flirtatious banter.

It’s bordering dangerously close to domestic, which should raise all sorts of red flags, but...well, she isn’t exactly running away, is she?

All red flags are blissfully swept away, however, when he closes the distance from the desk to where she’s seated and grips the arms on either side of the chair, effectively caging her in place.

“There’s at least one good thing to come out of all this,” Nate insists, not even trying to be subtle as he rakes his gaze over her from head to toe.

“Which is?” It takes every ounce of restraint she possesses to not break into an absurdly delighted smile. Instead, she brushes her fingers, feather light, over one of his lower arms, lingering far longer than necessary.

“That at least you know it wasn’t a gun in my pocket,” he clarifies, barely holding it together. “I really was happy to see you.”

Now it’s her turn to roll her eyes, which she absolutely does, with only a hint, mind you, of amusement. Nate’s arms shake along with his laughter, but his antics are effectively cut short when she sits up and pulls him into a kiss.

Nate’s jokes only get worse from there, but it doesn’t change the fact that they don’t leave the room for at least two more days.

London, 2009 - Harry

We’re hell raising And we don’t need saving ‘Cause there’s no salvation for a bad girl We’re rock bottom But there ain’t no stopping ‘Cause it’s you and me against the world

—Natalia Kills “Problem"

She comes back from Nepal with insomnia and a spare key for a flat in London that belongs to a dead man. There’s nothing particularly fanciful or noteworthy about the place, except that she spent a lot of time (a lot of nights) there researching and planning their steps from Istanbul to Borneo for Marco Polo’s fleet back when Harry…

…back when Harry was alive.

She can’t bring herself to sleep in his bed, so she sets herself up on the couch, but after two hours of listening to rain pelt against the front window and staring wide-eyed at the ceiling, she can’t take it anymore. She throws on a pair of runners and an ancient gray hoodie before heading out into the night.

It doesn’t take her long to find what she’s looking for. She spots the tattoo shop just up the road and turns into the adjoining alley, bypassing a couple of bins before walking down a small set of worn concrete stairs to the building’s side entrance. She walks inside.

Dim, flickering overhead lights expose a seedy gym underneath. There’s a roped off boxing ring in the middle, a few punching bags near the back, and wooden benches with free weights and barbells off to the side. No treadmills or ellipticals to speak of, but there is faint music coming in through tinny speakers around the room.

She heads toward the back, ignoring the unsettling leers coming from some of the male patrons as she walks by. It’s a little more difficult to block out the bald guy in the ring, his swear-laden diatribe directed at the bloke being pummeled, but Chloe manages.

There’s no one else by the bags, which suits her plenty. She wraps her hands, but before she can start, she feels her burner phone vibrate. It’s two messages—one from Nate and one from Sully. R u ok? Nate wants to know. Damn it Frazer pick up, is Sully’s less subtle text of choice. Chloe doesn’t have the closure or emotional maturity to deal with either of them at the moment. Not until she hits something, anyway.

She thinks about Nate’s stupid face, how he traded in death and bloodshed for picket fences and HOAs, while she was left to deal with the fallout of a dead partner, a-a turncoat. She cracks her neck, left to right, before slamming her fist into the bag. A jolt reverberates back through her arm, and it’s enough to light an unseen spark, to set her off.

Sure, Chloe thinks as she unleashes a series of jabs and hooks, Harry could be an absolute tosser, but she’s not entirely sure he deserved the way he went out. Hell, she’s not entirely sure anyone deserves to go out like that. Except maybe Lazaravec. He brought his demise on himself.

But, a small, resolute voice suggests, so did Harry.

She sinks a roundhouse kick, grunting when it lands. The arsehole didn’t even think—just pursued his own ambition, not caring what or, in her case, who became collateral damage.

She blinks as a drop of sweat lands in her eye, swiping at it before landing another uppercut. It wasn’t like she was in love with him (perish the thought!), but he could be charming and sarcastic when it was just the two of them. Admittedly, being with him didn’t require much acting on her part.

She punctuates her next flurry of hits with a muttered swear, and tries to gulp down air. It’s only then that she notices how her chest feels like it’s going to burst open. With an anguished cry, she lands an axe kick that somehow manages to break the punching bag from its chains and send it flying back a few feet. It takes her a moment to calm down, for her shoulders to stop heaving and her heart to stop racing, before she realizes just what has transpired.

“Oi, watch it!” The bald guy from the boxing ring vaults over the ropes and approaches, taking in the broken heavy bag and her disheveled appearance, soaked through hoodie and all. Up close, she notices the cleft in his chin and the scars across his nose and eyebrow.

She brushes the sweat-plastered hair out of her eyes. “Sorry, I—”

“Got swept up in the moment? Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard that one before.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “I dunno if you’ve taken the time to assess what type of establishment this is, but it certainly doesn’t have enough funds to cover property damage every time some lady’s off her nut.”

Chloe bristles at that and reaches into her pocket, too exhausted to call him out on his overt sexism. “Here.” She hands him 50 quid. “Apologies to the establishment from the knackered lady.”

He pockets the money, mouth lifting into a slight smirk, but he doesn’t apologize. “Y’know,” he says instead, “we run an amateur boxing match every week. If your affinity for property destruction can be equally applied to people, you should consider signing up.”

He hands her his card (his name is Charlie, apparently) before he hops back into the ring, presumably to continue his coaching efforts. The tension in her shoulders dissipates, and she shoves his card into her front pocket. Breathing steady once again, she wipes a hand over her brow and snaps a picture of the downed punching bag. She sends it to Nate and Sully.

I’m processing, she writes back.

Sydney, 2010 - Sully

The time has come To say fair’s fair To pay the rent, now To pay our share

—Midnight Oil “Beds are Burning”

“This easily could have been discussed over the telephone, Victor.”

Sully swivels in his bar stool and looks at her over his glass of scotch. His smile is visible beneath his mustache. “Would you believe me if I said I missed the hell out of ya?”

“No,” she responds emphatically, but her laughter betrays the hardened exterior she has worked so hard to uphold over the years. She absentmindedly stirs her own drink. “I don’t buy it. What I would believe more is if you said you were here on behalf of one Nathan Drake.”

She knows she’s spot on when his cheeks go slightly pink.

“Can’t it be both?” he asks sheepishly, which says a lot about their relationship and his sincerity because Victor’s not sheepish about anything.

She laughs. “I knew it! So what is it this time, hmm? The latest treasure hunt’s gone belly up, and Nate needs a couple hundred quid to bounce back? Or perhaps his latest adventure brings him down under, and he and Fisher need a place to crash? Is that it?”

Sully remains silent and pointedly avoids her gaze. It’s so uncharacteristic, Chloe becomes concerned that Nate and Elena may be in serious danger. “Victor,” she presses, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Just tell me what’s going on. Are they—?”

“Nate and Elena are getting married.”

Chloe nearly chokes on her spritzer. “Married?”

“Don’t act all surprised, Frazer. This was bound to happen sooner or later.”

“Or perhaps,” she offers, “not at all?”

Sully clicks his tongue at that in an annoyingly condescending way. He pauses, shifting in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. “Don’t tell me you’re still sweet on him after all this time?”

‘Him’ meaning Nate. She doesn’t even have to convince herself anymore. She scoffs. “Hardly.”

“Good. Because for a second there…” He lets out a nervous breath, and slams back the rest of his scotch.

“Wait just a minute, I’m not supposed to be comforting you in all this,” Chloe insists. She motions for the bartender to come over. Before she proceeds any further, she’s going to need a much stiffer drink. “You’re supposed to be offering me false platitudes like, ‘she can’t possibly compare to you, Chloe.’”

“Oh.” Sully takes that information in. He scratches the back of his neck, and then lifts his gaze to hers. “…Do you need me to?”

“Of course not!” Chloe blurts. Mercifully, the bartender returns with her whiskey sour. She pouts, then: “But the gesture would have been appreciated.”

Sully smirks at that. “Forgive an old man his impertinence then, will you?”

They sit in companionable silence for a moment as Chloe nurses her drink. Sully’s turned around, his elbows resting on the bar top as he takes in the view of the beach behind them. When the bartender returns to settle their tab, Sully brushes her off and says he’ll take care of it. Unable to muster any energy to protest, she closes her eyes and relishes the feel of the sun on the bare skin of her back.

“Well, mazel tov to the happy couple, but why would this warrant an in-person rendezvous?” she finally asks when her curiosity becomes nearly insufferable. “Not that I’m complaining about the exceptional company by any means,” she amends.

Sully doesn’t answer right away, but when he finally does, it sounds like he’s tiptoeing across a minefield. “They need another witness, and when I suggested you as a potential candidate...well, Nate and Elena thought it was a great idea.”

Chloe lets that marinate a moment before she asks, “Who, if I may ask, is the other witness?”

Sully beams. “You’re lookin’ at him, sweetheart.”

“Should have guessed.” She sighs dramatically, letting her head loll back. I’m going to regret this, she thinks before she squeezes her eyes shut and blurts, “Fine. But I’m bringing a plus one. This bloke, Charlie, we’re working a job together."

Sully raises an eyebrow at that, but mercifully doesn’t say anything. He claps a hand on her shoulder and pulls his phone out. “I’ll let them know.”

“Wait.” She grabs the phone out of his hands, flips it open, and holds the phone out. “Here, move in closer.”

Sully puts his arm around her shoulder while she gives a thumbs-up with one hand and snaps their picture with the other. They’re both in frame when she looks at the phone screen (of course they are—what is she, an amateur?), so she hands it back to Sully.

“There. Send that over to Nate with the message that I’m in, but he owes me one.”

“From you?” Sully hits send and flashes her a smile of solidarity. “I would expect nothing less.”

London, 2011 - Charlie

So slide over here And give me a moment I’ve got to let you know You’re one of my kind

—INXS “Need You Tonight”

“Do you need any help?” Chloe hollers again, hoping her voice is loud enough to carry to the loft on the second floor. Selfishly, she hopes the answer is ‘no,’ as she has finally settled into the end of his worn, leather couch with a hot mug of tea.

“You’re incorrigible,” Charlie calls back, his voice muffled. She thinks he may have rolled his eyes, which, rude. “I’m fine. I broke my leg, not my executive function.”

She shrugs, causing her oversized jumper to slip off her shoulder. “Have it your way, then. Just don’t come crying to me when you fall and break your neck.”

The warmth from her mug radiates past her fingertips all the way down to her sock-covered feet. She closes her eyes, sinks further into the couch, and pulls her jumper back over her shoulder.

It’s good to be back on solid ground again, she thinks.

They were lucky to be alive after what happened in Syria. Once they were certain none of Marlowe’s agents had successfully tailed them, all three of them (excluding Charlie, of course, who kept groaning and swearing under his breath each time they hit a particularly rough patch of road) took turns driving until they were able to reach a small airstrip some distance from the main road and far away from the ruins they vacated.

(“An old work acquaintance. He owes me one,” was all Sully would say once they parked the tour bus, and he began leading them toward a dilapidated hangar.

“Which leads me to believe,” Charlie chimes in, hobbling and leaning on both Nate and Chloe to remain upright, “that no one we’re about to meet is licensed to operate a bloody tin opener, let alone an aircraft.”)

It was there that they parted ways. Nate and Sully boarded a relatively stable looking plane headed for Yemen, while both she and Charlie were stowed in the back of a run down cargo plane headed for southwest England, surrounded by caged chickens and other small livestock.

As it turns out, Charlie is exceedingly allergic to feathers.

It’s suspiciously silent before Chloe hears the labored sounds of someone trying to hobble down a spiral staircase. When she finally does open her eyes, she’s greeted by Charlie—red faced and wearing a cowboy hat and a pair of white boxer shorts with hearts on them. She has to stifle a disbelieving snort when he proceeds to sling his Danelectro guitar over his shoulders, allowing it to hang low on his hips.

“What are you—?”

Charlie turns his back to her and flips on his stereo, effectively drowning out the rest of her question. When he turns around—nearly losing his balance with his broken leg in the process—he pulls his hat down low and moves his hips in time to the music.

It’s a lot to taken in, but Chloe doesn’t fully dissolve into actual giggles until he lifts his gaze back to her, his brow raised and a wink at the ready. So slide over here, he mouths, hopping across the space in front of the couch with his only good foot, and give me a moment. Things enter into truly mental territory when he mimes playing his guitar.

“Are you insane?” Chloe demands. “The doctor said not to put any direct weight on it for at least a few more days.”

She tries to sound stern, but the smile that keeps breaking out on her face betrays her true feelings. She grabs one of the throw pillows to cover her face when some of his dance moves become slightly more…inappropriate. However, it does nothing to hide her laughter or the flush she feels up around her ears.

He pries the pillow from her grasp and tosses it to the side. “What can I say?” He gives her a come hither gesture. “There’s just something about you, girl, that makes me sweat.”

“Absolutely not,” Chloe says, shaking her head emphatically. She sets her mug on the nearest end table, right next to her mobile phone. Seeing it gives her an idea, so she grabs it, easily switching it to camera mode.

“Sorry, love.” She grins wickedly, not sounding even the least bit apologetic.

Before Charlie knows what’s happening, she snaps the picture. It’s a perfect still of him mid-hop, mid-lip sync, and mid-guitar solo. It takes Chloe breaking into fresh peals of laughter before Charlie realizes what has happened.

“Oi,” he cries, pulling his guitar up and over his head. He props it against the stereo. “This was meant to be a private showing.”

“And it will be,” Chloe assures him. A beat, then, “Right after I send this to Nate, Elena, and Victor.”

Charlie does his best impression of crossing the small distance between them in an intimidating manner. “Chloe,” he says warningly.

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, alright, fine.” She sets the phone aside and crosses her arms, pouting. “You’re no fun.”

“Oh, I’m plenty fun, darling,” he retorts, slowly lowering himself down onto the couch. He nearly loses his balance again, but Chloe crawls over to help, holding his arm to guide him. Once Charlie’s settled (“Bloody hell,” he grumbles under his breath.), Chloe reminds herself that she’s still holding on to his arm.

She makes an effort to pull her hands back, but Charlie snatches her right one, his grip sure. He turns to her, and one glance at his face tells her he has sobered, all mirth quickly gone. She swallows and tries to steady her heart, which begins beating absurdly fast.

Run, her mind tells her, but before she can obey or even protest, Charlie brushes a stray piece of hair behind her ear. His hand lingers, thumb brushing over her cheek.

“Sully would have killed me, back in Syria, if you hadn’t been there to stop me,” he finally says, voice barely above a choked whisper. She can hear the rawness, the slight waver in his voice, and it, frankly, terrifies her.

“Charlie, that’s not—”

He cuts her off. “No, it is. I was a downright mad man, and if it weren’t for you, Nate—“

“—is alive,” she finishes. With her free hand, she scratches her thumb against his stubble. He closes his eyes, pain evident on his face. “There’s no use in dwelling on what could have been. I was there, you weren’t yourself, and that’s that.” She pauses before adding, “In any event, I would have easily bested Victor. He’s incredibly old.”

Charlie lets out an abrupt bark of laughter before he forces himself to look at her again. It’s a new sensation for Chloe, being looked at with such adoration, that is. She’s not sure how she feels about it, only to say that the desperate commands to flee have simmered.

“Thank you,” he says. He searches her eyes for permission, and she nods imperceptibly before he captures her lips with his.

Run, her mind tells her once again, but she throws her arm around his neck, disobeying the command entirely.

One week later, during his follow up appointment, Charlie’s doctor gives both he and Chloe a long lecture about the need to avoid any direct weight on his broken leg. Chloe doesn’t even wait until the doctor is out of earshot.

“I told you so,” she tells Charlie proudly. His eye roll is nearly audible.

Glasgow, 2013 - Sam

I don’t want to go to school I just want to break the rules

—Charli XCX “Break the Rules”

There’s no reason Chloe should even be contemplating this. No reason she should even be here in the first place. It’s like salt and vinegar crisps: absolutely no nutritional value whatsoever, and yet...

…there’s no use in denying the insufferable do-gooder she has become.

A sea of writhing people, colorful, epileptic seizure-inducing lights, and pulsating bass: immediately, Chloe’s senses are assaulted as soon as she enters the club.

This has to be some kind of fire code violation, she thinks to herself sourly as she pushes her way toward the bar, serpentining through throngs of gyrating bodies and one particularly grotesque snogging couple. (“Excuse me!” she practically bellows at them, but they either can’t hear her or simply outright refuse to move out of the way.)

Finally, she reaches the bar. The bartender gestures to the glass in his hands, then back at her, but she waves him off. She wants to have clear reflexes and a sound mind for this particular meet up. Although she had insisted on a public meeting space, there’s still every chance for danger, never mind that she has no idea what her mark looks like. She imagines something like his brother, but that’s certainly not much to go on, is it?

“Now there’s a lovely lass,” she hears over her shoulder. “Curious that she’s all alone though, innit?”

Chloe turns just in time to see the stranger at the bar drag his gaze over the entirety of her person. He’s stocky with a bristly black beard and a terribly unfortunate complexion. She crosses her arms over her chest, doing her best not to shudder, and challenges him with a surly glare of her own.

“Perhaps,” she grits out, her restraint nearly in tatters, “it’s because she prefers solitude over the company that a man, such as yourself, is able to offer.”

In a magnificent feat, the stranger’s face grows even redder. When he makes an attempt to lunge after her, she can feel her heart pound in tune with whatever eurotrash music—noise, really—the DJ keeps churning out. Before the man can embarrass himself or do any lasting damage, another man enters the fray—his back to her—and keeps the other man from moving any closer by placing an outstretched hand square in the middle of his chest.

“Beat it,” the new guy says. He nods in her direction. “She’s with me.”

Chloe doesn’t even have time to enjoy the first guy’s harried retreat (she thinks he may have mumbled an apology, but it’s difficult to be certain with the heavy bass of the music bludgeoning her eardrums) before she rounds in on the new guy.

“I beg your pardon,” she blanches, her hand on her hip. “I am with no…one…”

Her speech falters once the new guy turns around, and she’s suddenly staring into a pair of hazel eyes (though, admittedly, it’s difficult to tell precisely with the uneven lighting). Everything, from the small bump on the bridge of his nose to the slight slope of his shoulders, overwhelms her with a sense of familiarity. She narrows her gaze at him suspiciously.

“Are you trying to tempt me because I come from the land of plenty?” Her tone is airy, but she chooses her words carefully, testing the waters.

“Do you come from a land down under?” he shoots back hopefully, eyebrow raised. In response to her visible relief, the tension in his own shoulders gives way, and he smirks, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Men at Work, huh? Do you do this for all your meet ups, or…?”

Apparently, all the good looks skipped right on down to Nate, she thinks idly. Not that Sam is horribly disfigured, by any means, of course. It’s just with his slightly receding hairline and his two-decades-too-old-to-be-fashionable jeans jacket, he’s not traditionally handsome like his brother.

“No,” she answers, hating herself slightly for her train of thought. “Only for known affiliates of Nate’s. Hazard insurance and all that, you know?”

He continues smirking. “Oh, I know.” A scantily clad woman stumbles past them both, brushing his shoulder as she steadies herself by grabbing onto the bar top. For what it’s worth, Sam’s eyes stay trained on her. He shoots his hand out. “Sam,” he says.

“Chloe.”

As they shake hands, she notices a couple of brutes dressed in oversized parkas just behind Sam. This isn’t her scene by any means, but even she knows that’s too much clothing for this kind of environment. They’re ideal for expertly concealing firearms, though. “Not that it isn’t a pleasure putting a face to a name after all these years, but why am I here, precisely?”

He starts to answer, but she’s barely listening, eyes still trained on the two overdressed men behind him. She watches as they push past the sea of people separating she and Sam from the two of them. It’s likely that they’re tailing them, but Chloe doesn’t want to stick around long enough to be certain.

She promptly grabs hold of Sam’s hand. “Let’s walk and talk, shall we?”

It’s less of a suggestion when she begins pulling him forward. “I—yeah, okay,” he relents.

It grows brighter and louder the closer they get to the center of the dance floor. She can feel a bead of sweat roll down her neck as they continue fighting through people, who are essentially packed in like sardines. Thankfully, the two thugs seem to be unable to bypass a particularly rowdy group of dancers when she glances behind her. It will give them enough time to regroup, at least.

“We’re being tailed!” she yells to Sam once they come to a halt. She has to avoid being hit by the elbow of a nearby dancer jumping up and down.

“What?”

“Followed,” she tries again, this time accompanying it by walking her fingers over the palm of her other hand meaningfully.

He follows her line of sight, and she can see the understanding hit him almost immediately when he turns back around. “That’s what I was saying earlier,” he yells back. “I’m in a lot of trouble.”

“Well, yes, I was able to deduce that on my own, but whatever for?”

A nearby group of girls nearly knocks Sam over, but he steadies himself by holding on to her hips. Almost immediately, he recognizes his error (it doesn’t actually require a reproachful look from her, but she tosses one in anyway) and lets go, holding his hands up for good measure. Sorry, he mouths, looking fully repentant.

“It’s a long story,” he hollers, narrowly dodging a wayward arm, “but I got roped into working for Rafe Adler—”

“Who?”

“Rafe,” he repeats, holding his head in a haughty manner and running his thumb over his index and middle fingers.

Money, she immediately thinks before making the connection between obscene wealth and heightened levels of tossery.

Ah.

“Adler,” she spits out distastefully.

Sam nods. “Exactly, and he’s got us searching for Avery’s—” He covers one of his eyes with his hands, curves the other hand into a hook shape, and mouths arghhh. “—treasure, which is why we’re in Scotland. The trail led us here.”

“Here, as in this horrible den of iniquity in Glasgow?” Chloe yells. They both have been forced into moving along to the music to avoid being hit by any number of the people dancing near them.

“No,” he yells back, barely holding back an eye roll. “St. Dismas Cathedral. We’re not supposed to leave the site, but I had to let someone know in case—” He swallows, the thin sheen of sweat on his Adam’s apple glistening. “—in case something happens. Which is why we’re here, here.” He gestures to the ground meaningfully. “Far away from Rafe’s goons.”

“Have you at least told Nate?” she hollers.

His whole expression falls. “I can’t,” he insists. “He—He already thinks I’m dead—”

Chloe lets out a frustrated groan, her head lolling back. “Of course he does.”

“—which is why I came to you,” he finishes.

“Well, you’ve done some abysmal covert work,” she yells back, her eyes focused just over Sam’s shoulders. He goes to check for himself, but she holds his face in place with both hands. “Our friends are heading toward us. We need to blend, pretend like we’re not dead as soon as they reach us. Follow my lead?”

Sam nods, rather than answering verbally. He follows her as she pushes forward, a little closer to the DJ’s table. When they come to a stop, she drapes her arm over his shoulders, and pulls her phone out of her jacket pocket.

“Hey! Everybody!” she shouts, switching her phone to camera mode. A few of the nearby patrons stop to stare at them. “This lad—” She gestures wildly at Sam. He sheepishly waves. “—just found out he’s going to be a father!”

Sam makes a choking sound just before everyone around them erupts into cheers and excitement. She has to pound on his back a few times for him to stop. When he can breathe again, she holds out her phone until the two of them are in frame, as well as a number of strangers wanting to wish the new dad well.

“’Baby’ on three, everyone!” she instructs. “One…two…three—baby!”

A chorus of ‘baby’ can be heard when she takes the picture. The cheers transform into an overwhelming roar as the patrons around them begin dancing wildly, slapping Sam on the back, and splashing drinks everywhere. It’s the precise level of pandemonium needed to make the brutes lose them. At least, for now, anyway.

Sam flinches as a particularly muscular guy claps him on the back in congratulations. When he moves away, Sam fixes her with an aggravated look. “Thanks for that,” he yells, his dour expression particularly hilarious in light of the glitter and champagne raining down on the two of them.

Chloe sighs dramatically, an infectious grin breaking out on her face.

“I live to serve. C’mon, mate,” she adds, brushing some of the glitter off of his face.

Just as she finishes, another bottle of…something douses both of them, and at its conclusion, Sam—hair soaked through over his eyes, mouth in a hardened line—spits out a mouthful like a tiny fountain. Chloe absolutely loses it as she grabs his hand and starts navigating both of them through the crowd.

“Let’s get out of here before your tail notices,” she barely gets out in between laughter.

Brussels, 2015 - Elena

We bury it, bury it, bury it And rise above

—CHVRCHES “Bury It”

It’s incredibly late—or really early, more accurately—when she gets the call.

The initial ring doesn’t even rouse her. Rather, she groans and turns over, pulling the covers over her head to block out the sound of snoring. But when it grows louder and more persistent, she grudgingly cracks an eye open, only to be blinded by the blue light filtering out from under her mobile as the vibrations cause it to skitter across the end table.

She takes a moment to reorient herself with her surroundings before carefully extracting herself from Charlie’s arm, which is draped across her waist, and wrapping a nearby blanket around her. Sufficiently cocooned, she grabs her phone and pads across the carpet over to the balcony off their hotel room, careful to close the sliding glass door behind her quietly.

She doesn’t recognize the number on the screen, but this is a new phone (the last one not only ran out of minutes, but also plummeted to the bottom of the Thames), and there’s every chance this could be a known affiliate.

She swipes up. “Hello?”

There’s silence on the other end, then, “…Chloe? It’s me, Elena.”

Well…shit, Chloe thinks rather unceremoniously, sinking on to the cheap plastic chaise lounge, pulling her blanket more tightly around her.

“Elena.” She hopes her voice doesn’t betray the sudden onset of fear sparked by this unexpected phone call. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

It’s not that the two of them don’t communicate—quite the contrary, actually. There’s the occasional e-mail and a handful of texts containing memes about their circle of acquaintances (the last one Elena sent was Chrissy Teigan’s cry face with the text: when he scales the building to enter through the 8th floor window but you could have picked the lock on the front door). They even follow each other on Instagram (in fact, she had just given a like to Elena’s last uploaded photo, the one of her new camera). However, they rarely speak over the phone. The last time had been—

…Well, the last time had been the night she and Nate separated.

There’s some shuffling on the other end before Elena responds. “Nate mentioned you were traveling, so I tried to time it correctly. Did I wake you up?”

“No,” Chloe insists, clearly stifling a yawn, “nothing less than bright-eyed and bushy-tailed on this end.” She hesitates before quickly adding, “Charlie, on the other hand, is still asleep.”

Chloe can practically hear Elena’s knowing smile on the other end. “How isCharlie anyway?”

They’re not even in the same time zone, yet she can still feel her ears grow hot. “He’s fine, if you must know,” Chloe relents, unable to stop the small smile that stretches across her face. “But now you’re clearly trying to distract me. Is…?” She hesitates, uncertain whether she will be able to stomach whatever Elena throws at her. “…Is everything all right?”

She hears Elena sigh. “Eventually, you’re going to have to give me some more details, you know that, right?”

Chloe rolls her eyes. “Obviously. But out with it, Sunshine: is everything okay? Are you and Nate—?”

“We’re fine,” Elena cuts her off, more hurriedly than defensively, which seems to bode well, in Chloe’s opinion, “or at least, we will be. We’ve decided to…leave the life.”

“Leave the life?” Chloe repeats, her voice hollow. She’s heard this one before.

“More like continue the life, but do it in a strictly legal sense,” Elena clarifies, “including permits, dig crews, no firearms, et cetera.”

Chloe snorts. “So…all things I’ve no patience for?”

Elena laughs at that. “More or less.”

“But this is something you want?”

Elena nods, or at least, Chloe assumes she does. “I suggested it, including funds for a really expensive camera and a small crew, so I can reboot Uncharted, my old show."

“And Nate’s on board with all this…gentrification of sorts?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Fascinating. I wonder what’s got him so generous all of a sudden.” Realizing how that comes across, she hastens to add, “Other than him being irrevocably in love with you, I mean.”

It sounds as though Elena has a retort for that, but instead she simply blurts, “Nate has a brother.”

The silence that falls between them is deafening. “Oh,” is all Chloe can manage—guilt slowly coiling in the pit of her stomach—before Elena launches into the story of what has occurred over the last couple months.

On the street below, there’s some kind of festival still carrying on from earlier in the evening. Colorful string lights dot the perimeter, while the sound of excited chatter and electronic music, as well as the smell of deep-fried smoutebollen, waft up to where she is on the fourth floor. Her stomach growls in response, but she ignores it, focusing only on Elena’s retelling of the events at King’s Bay, how she met Sam, and later, how they barely escaped from New Devon with their lives in tact.

“That’s actually why I’m calling,” Elena says, after she recalls the circumstances that led to she and Nate buying Jameson’s business for their new Stepford—rather than crime—inspired lives. “The last time we talked, you mentioned going back to India to…follow your father’s trail and track down the Tusk. Have you—is that still your plan?”

Chloe makes a choking sound, the question catching her completely off guard. “I—“ she sputters, shocked that Elena remembers any of that conversation at all. “Yes.”

“Since I’m basically retired, and since there’s no chance you would ask Charlie to come along…?”

Chloe glances through the window behind her, the outline of Charlie’s sleeping form visible. “Absolutely not,” she says emphatically.

Elena snorts. “I thought as much,” she admits, “but I think I have another option. The way Nate tells it, Rafe’s right hand man—Nadine Ross—abandoned them right as Avery’s ship caught fire. Questionable alliance aside, Nadine seems like a competent partner to have in the field.”

Chloe pulls her blanket closer around her, eyes narrowing, as a sharp breeze passes by. “And you know this because…?”

Elena lets out an unexpected bark of laughter. “Chloe, she kicked Nate’s ass. Not once, but twice over the course of our trip.” She pauses and then quietly admits, “There’s something especially cathartic about it happening on two completely different continents.”

Chloe wipes the tears from her eyes—a combination of laughter and the relentless wind. “Say no more,” she insists breathlessly. As soon as her teeth begin chattering, she decides it’s time to head back inside. “Do you have a way to get in touch?” she asks quietly, gently closing the sliding door behind her. She makes a beeline to the bed, sighing when the covers come up and over her frozen feet.

There’s a slight hesitation on Elena’s end before she suggests, “Call Sam. He probably knows how.”

It takes a moment for the unspoken meaning in her words to settle in, but once it does, Chloe’s face falls and her stomach plummets to the ground.

She knows.

“Elena,” Chloe breathes, her knuckles white and hands frozen in place as they clutch onto the covers. “I’m so—”

“I know,” Elena interrupts. Her tone isn’t angry, but it’s not exactly warm either.

“I wanted to tell you about him, truly,” she confesses, flinching at how desperate her voice sounds, “but I didn’t feel it was my place. I thought it should come from Nate, and—”

“I know,” Elena says again. “Listen—” she continues, trying to stifle a yawn in the process, “—I don’t want to interrupt your beauty sleep any longer than I already have, so…just keep me posted on your plans for India, okay? Oh, and tell Charlie I said hi.”

That makes Chloe chuckle. “Of course. And, Elena?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you,” she tells her, hoping her emphasis is enough to cover all multitude of her own sins.

“Of course,” Elena echoes.

The line goes dead, and Chloe is nowhere near satisfied with the residual guilt and accompanying broken record playing over in her mind, especially because she can’t seem to fall back to sleep. So she snaps a quick photo of Charlie (he’s sprawled out on his stomach, boxers riding low on his hips, and a small stream of drool seeping from his lax, open mouth onto his pillow), and texts it to Elena with the caption six minutes into Jet Lag & Chill.

She wakens the next morning to a three-crying laughing emoji response from Elena.

It’s a start.

Maharashtra, 2017 - Nadine

And I don’t really care if nobody else believes ‘Cause I’ve still got a lot of fight left in me

—Rachel Platten “Fight Song”

It figures that her hero’s journey doesn’t play by the rules in the least bit. Sure, she stopped the villain, survived all sorts of danger, and even walked away with the treasure. But rather than riding off into the sunset while the credits roll, as is tradition, she finds herself...pushing her ride off into sunset.

Because it bloody well figures that the battery would go dead here, three-quarters of the way up a hill, at the end of their journey.

“Do I have to do all the work over here?” Chloe huffs out. She sets her feet into the dry dirt and throws her whole body into her next push, powered by a second wind. “Or do you plan on stepping up in front of the wicket?”

Sam tears his gaze away Nadine (…which, Chloe doesn’t even begin to have enough emotional, physical, mental—etc.— wherewithal to address any part of whatever that whole situation may be), and shoots her a bewildered look. “Wicket?”

Americans, she thinks irritably before making it her top priority to reach the top of this God forsaken hill, if only to sink a fist into Sam’s incredibly punchable face. Up front, she can hear Nadine—who, in addition to pushing, is also gripping the steering wheel to guide the jeep forward—snicker.

“You mean, like, baseball?” Sam wants to know. “As in ‘step up to the plate?’ Because that—” He grunts, pushing into the vehicle, trying not to loose his footing. “—I understand. That I can—shit—that I can work with.”

His stumbling and flailing cause Nadine to burst into outright laughter. She tosses a rare grin behind her in Chloe’s direction. “I follow you, Frazer.”

“Thank you!” she cries. “At least someone is sensible in this group.”

“Yeah, okay, have your fun,” he mumbles petulantly, “but who do you know that collects cricket cards, huh? I’m feelin’ pretty confident that number’s a big ol’ zero.”

Chloe doesn’t trust herself to say anything further, so she sinks all of her physical and mental efforts into pushing the jeep to the top. Her back and legs are killing her, but the thought of a bath and dry clothes in Mumbai once they get this monstrosity up and running is enough to motivate her to keep going, keep pushing.

“Easy, easy!” Nadine calls back. “Just a little more, and we’re over the precipice.”

By some small miracle, they’re on flat land again, and instead of dirt and rubble in her line of sight, Chloe can see the cerulean sky above and a sea of lush green and brown vegetation below. With few clouds for cover, the sun beats down on them relentlessly, doing absolutely nothing whatsoever for the pool of sweat collecting at the small of her back and her chest. At this point, the dark sweat stains on her shirt resemble some kind of beginner’s abstract expressionist painting.

The vehicle settles into place absent the momentum, creaking to a halt. Exhausted, Chloe and Nadine lean against the jeep, trying to catch their breath. For his part, Sam circles around to the front and pops the bonnet. He coughs and wheezes as a plume of smoke unfurls from the engine compartment. Thankfully, it’s white, not black, which—according to Chloe’s very limited motor vehicle knowledge—is the better of the two kinds of smoke.

“I’ll take a look at this battery, see if I can’t get this thing up and running again,” Sam says. He disappears behind the bonnet, and it’s all very gallant until he adds, “You girls just stay there and look pretty.”

Nadine and Chloe exchange looks before they both break into disbelieving smiles. Pretty is certainly the last word Chloe would use to describe her current appearance. Perhaps artfully disheveled instead? Nadine gestures for her to follow her into the front of the jeep, which she does, and the two of them collapse into the driver and passenger seats.

“Are we certain we can entrust this vehicle and our livelihoods to this uncultured American?” Chloe directs to Nadine, but says loud enough for Sam to hear.

“You’ve already said ‘American,’” Nadine adds as an aside, “the ‘uncultured’ bit is understood.”

Sure enough, Sam chimes in with a protest. “Hey! I’ll have you know that I used to have a completely cherried out, 1962 Indian motorcycle back when I was in Boston, so I know a little something about cars. Just…let me have this one area of expertise, huh?”

“Okay, okay,” Chloe sighs as if it’s taking a lot out of her to grant him this request, “let’s allow this strapping man’s man to fix our ride home.”

She can’t tell for certain, but she thinks Sam might be frowning. “Thank you,” he deadpans from behind the canopy of the engine compartment, which only serves to make both Nadine and Chloe snicker quietly.

Silence falls over them (with the exception of the clink clank of whatever Sam’s doing to the jeep) as Chloe leans back against the headrest and closes her eyes to the overhead sun. It’s short lived, however, when Nadine speaks up.

“Sam—” He pops his head out to look at her. “—what on earth possessed you to get this ridiculous thing?” she asks, gesturing to the side of her neck that mirrors his, the one with the bird tattoos.

Chloe pops an eye open to witness his response. He ignores Nadine’s insult and instead clears his throat. “If you’re good, maybe I’ll show you my other tattoo.”

Chloe shouldn’t find his concluding wink so…visceral. And yet… “More than one?” she interjects, while Nadine mimes heaving up the contents of her stomach, accompanied by some over the top retching sounds.

He shrugs. “My cellmate was doing a buy one, get one sort of thing.”

Against her better judgment, Chloe laughs at that. His returning smile does absolutely nothing to her. “I can appreciate a man who recognizes a good bargain when he sees it.”

Sam returns to his work, but Nadine clearly has more thoughts on the matter. She turns to Chloe and jabs a thumb in his direction. “If that’s the case,” she says, referring to Chloe’s earlier comment, “I wonder what kind of bargain resulted in that floral shirt.”

The sound of the engine sputtering to life cuts off any protests Sam may have (and Chloe is quite confident he has more than a few). It doesn’t stop the sound of raucous laughter from she and Nadine, but it certainly drowns out a lot of it.

“See?” he says smugly, slamming the bonnet shut and approaching the passenger seat. “Told you I could do it.”

He goes to grab the door handle, but Nadine holds it resolutely shut. “Back,” is all she says, jabbing her thumb behind her.

Dejected, Sam hoists himself up and over the backside of the jeep and settles onto one of the wheel hubs with one arm draped over his knee. “What a show of appreciation,” he mumbles, somewhat bitterly.

“Now, now,” Chloe begins, shifting into first gear, but her knuckles hit a button on the dash, and she’s interrupted by the sound of the radio. And not just any radio, either: pop radio.

In English.

Sam’s the first to recover. “What the hell is this?” he demands, a look of pure disgust hilariously present on his face.

Chloe turns the dial tuner to other stations, but only finds static in response. “I have no idea,” she admits, perplexed. “Surely, out this far, you would expect something in Marathi, not this. It’s—”

“—it’s noise,” Nadine interjects sourly.

She goes to turn it off completely, but Chloe bats her hand away as soon as she recognizes the song. “No, listen,” she admonishes, the smile spreading on her face almost painful. “This is actually the perfect song to close out our adventure.”

“How? Is this—is this an American torture device?” Nadine tries again.

“No, this is a ballad of empowerment,” Chloe explains between laughter. Sam leans forward and reaches across to turn the radio off, but Nadine elbows him for his efforts. He falls back, coughing and wheezing. “I’m listening,” she says skeptically, a questioning brow lifted.

“Ow,” Sam hisses, rubbing the spot on his chest Nadine hit.

Chloe ignores him as she transfers the weight from the clutch to the gas pedal to begin their ride home. The resulting breeze, though warm, is wonderful. “Our journey has been one of growth and realizing untapped potential,” she explains. “Between Rafe for you, and Nate for me—”

“—eww, what?” Sam blanches, suddenly no longer interested in his chest pain.

“—we haven’t let anything come between us and our success,” Chloe continues as if he didn’t speak. “So this isn’t just our fight song, it’s our ‘prove we’re alright song.’”

“Our…‘take back our lives’ song?” Nadine asks tentatively.

Chloe beams. “Exactly! Elbows,” she says as she goes in for the high five, and their hands collide with a resounding smack. They both smile as Chloe digs her phone out from her back pocket. Using voice command, she switches it camera mode.

“Alright, everyone. Say ‘Tusk of Ganesh!’” she implores.

Sam sinks back onto his seat, arms crossed over his chest. “I hate both of you,” he’s sure to add.

The picture takes, and they don’t stop singing American pop songs until they cross over into Mumbai.

Florida, 2033 - Cassie

You ask yourself When will my time come? Has it all been said and done?

—Missing Persons “Destination Unknown”

“Is it here yet?”

Elena looks up from the stack of mail she’s leafing through on the kitchen table to see Cassie bounding into the living room, bouncing on the balls of her feet when she comes to a stop. She gives a small smile as she looks at one of the return addresses through her reading glasses. “I don’t know yet,” she tells her daughter. She offers the stack to her. “Do you want to look through?”

Cassie takes the proffered stack with a quick thanks and begins her own search.

“Is what here yet?” Nate asks, heading for the refrigerator with the intention of grabbing a beer. When he doesn’t see any, he grunts and grabs a vitamin water instead.

Cassie rolls her eyes at her dad (a behavior that has become increasingly common, Elena notes with a mild level of concern) before she explains, without tearing her gaze from the mail, “Aunt Chloe. She promised she would send something for my birthday.”

Elena frowns, placing her reading glasses on the table. “Cass, that’s not for another week.”

“Yeah, I know,” she agrees, “but Aunt Chloe always plans ahead—”

Elena and Nate share a knowing glance (his raised eyebrow makes her chuckle).

“—plus you have to account for international shipping rates and time differences, and—here it is!” she exclaims, holding up an abnormally shaped package wrapped in brown packing paper. Rather than tape, it’s held together with strategically tied twine.

“Hey!” Nate calls as she practically runs toward the stairs that lead up to her room. “I thought we were supposed to go fishing out on the boat today?”

“We are, Dad. Let me just look at this a second,” she calls back, her voice muffled by the floor of house between them.

Once she’s in the privacy of her own room, Cassie closes the door and flops down onto her bed. She examines the package a minute (her name and mailing address are written in Chloe’s scrawl, the purple ink a nice little addition) before pulling apart the twine ties. The contents of the package spill out once she finishes unfolding the packing paper. She reaches for the folded letter first before the enclosed CD case catches her eye. The cover is bright—there’s a blonde woman on the cover with wild hair, bright pink lips, and a swipe of blue over her eyes—and she flips it over to the track list.

“Cool,” she exhales quietly before placing it aside and picking up the letter again.

When she unfolds it, something falls on her comforter, but she ignores it temporarily as she reads the contents of the letter:

Cassie—

I hope this finds you in time for your birthday. I’ve been in Argentina with Sully and your Uncle Sam for the last few weeks. We’re supposed to meet up with Nadine and Charlie your Uncle Charlie Charlie in Morocco for a job, so apologies in advance if I time this incorrectly.

I pride myself in being the ‘cool’ aunt; however, I’d be remiss if I didn’t express some disbelief over the fact that you will be 16 this year. How time flies! I could launch into stories of you still in nappies, but I do not wish to embarrass you further (we’ll leave that to your father, surely?).

I don’t dawdle in sentimentality. In fact, I loathe it for the most part. However, a sixteenth birthday certainly calls for some level of sentimentality, even if we simply dip our feet in for a short while.

Cassie, you have grown into a remarkable young woman, and I very much look forward to whatever accomplishments you pursue in your future. You are incredibly fortunate to have the parents you do, even though I am sure their own accomplishments may lord over you, somewhat intimidatingly.

Here’s the shared wisdom bit: I’ve been the bad guy, I’ve been the hero, and I’m here to inform you that regardless which direction your path turns, there is always a chance for second chances. Always a chance for growth into something different, something better. If you don’t follow your parents already tread path exactly, there is still hope for you yet. You command your own way forward, and in the event that you make a wrong decision here or there, you are fortunate to have parents who truly love you and will help you get back on track. And for the truly bad decisions, you can always come to your Aunt Chloe. She knows a guy.

Or gal, in the case of Nadine.

Annnd…sentimentality over. Whew. Have the happiest of birthdays, love. Your Uncle Charlie and I plan to be back stateside close to the Christmas holiday next month. Until that time, when you must update me on that cute boy in science lab situation (the one with the neck tattoo, I believe? Which, please don’t take cues from your Uncle Sam), don’t do anything I wouldn’t do ;)

With love, Chloe

P.S.: I’ve enclosed a CD, which is an ancient form of technology that was used to play music in the late 20th, early 21st centuries. Do young people listen to CDs anymore? (Bloody hell, do young people even have to ask, “Do young people, etc.?” Please don’t actually answer that.) Regardless, this is a fantastic album by the Missing Persons (track 4 is a personal favorite), and I thought you might enjoy it as well.

Cassie sets the letter down and directs her attention to whatever fell out of the letter earlier. It’s a photograph of both she and Chloe from nearly a decade ago, Cassie thinks. Chloe’s crouched beside Cassie with her arm around Cassie’s shoulders. They’re both decked out in fedoras and bull whips—Cassie’s even wearing a tiny leather jacket. Cassie remembers the night pretty clearly, including when Sully secretly dumped some extra candy into her trick or treat bag. And then Charlie tried to kiss Chloe on the cheek, but she thought he was a stranger and ended up having to drive him to the ER later for a broken nose.

The memory is enough to make her smile. She flips the photo over and reads the caption:

Keeping up with the Joneses —2023

Her dad interrupts her thoughts as he calls out her name (pretty impatiently, actually). She quickly tacks the newly acquired photo next to some other family pictures—there’s one of her on Sully’s shoulder after a soccer victory in elementary school; one of she and Sam in sunglasses, trying to look effortlessly cool; one of she and Vicky in life preserver vests on the boat; one of Charlie teaching her how to play the Martin guitar he bought her in middle school; one of Nadine showing her how to properly land a punch; and one of she and her parents at Disney World (her dad looks so dorky in mouse ears and a Hawaiian print shirt).

“Coming!” she calls back, grabbing her fishing rod, and racing down the stairs to meet him.

#uncharted #uncharted fic #fanfic #chloe frazer #the lost legacy spoilers #my fic #My writing #nathan drake #charlie cutter 2kalways #sam drake #victor sullivan #elena fisher #nadine ross #cassie drake #(because that is the person I've become: the one who reflects A LOT on vidya games)#vidya games

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surveysonfleek · 7 years ago

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907.

Is popularity a social disease? if it matters that much to you, then yes, it’s a social disease. Would you want to be a hippie? not really. i respect the lifestyle and culture, i’m just not into it. In college, were you ever given exams with extremely broad and deep questions such as, ‘Why?’ or 'What is truth?’ it wasn’t a ‘what is the truth?’ type situation, it was more about what our opinion on the topic was. Have you knowingly destroyed an endangered plant or animal? nope. Did your parents bronze your first pair of baby shoes? i don’t think so... i’d know if it still existed if they did.

Do you check for a train when crossing tracks in your car even though the arms aren’t down? there aren’t many train crossings in my city tbh. i’ve never actually crossed one after all these years of driving. Is there gossip going around about you right now? i don’t think so. i live a pretty drama free life these days. How many comic strips do you read daily: none. If you were hiding from a burglar, would you hide in the closet or under the bed? under the bed i think. What do you most commonly use milk for: drinking or cooking? cooking. Who should provide the condoms in a relationship: the man or the woman? both should be responsible but the man should definitely always have some. imagine being the woman and always having to provide that? Are you ever afraid that people hate you and they’re just acting like they don’t? haha it’s definitely happened before. When you’re crossing the street with other people, do you ever feel a need to get to the other side first? nope. i just walk in the clearest path possible. Should people be able to go to college without a high school diploma if they score high enough on entrance tests? i mean, i think so. everyone has a right to an education. i don’t think entrance tests would be that easy either. Would you be embarrassed if people could hear you talking to your pets? haha no. If elephants were bred to a smaller size and sold as house pets, would you want one? it’d be a cool idea but probably not. Do you refer to people as 'dude’? no. Do you remember the last time you wrote a 'snail mail’ letter? haha nope. i’m assuming it would’ve been a greeting card though. Do you think beards/mustaches make men look older than they actually are? not particularly. Are you usually the one to initiate sex with your significant other? my boyfriend and i are pretty equal in this situation. When you’re having trouble burping when you feel like you need to, does patting yourself on the chest seem to help? haha no. i just do it. Do you have your wallet with you right now? yes. If it ever came down to a final battle between good and evil and you knew that evil was going to win, who would you fight for? i’d stay away as far from this battle as possible. i hate getting involved in conflict. Do you feel guilty when you borrow money from your parents? haha yes. Do you constantly have times where you have no money and then earn a lot of money and you don’t know what to do with it? no. my money always goes to bills etc. Do you always see yourself as the protagonist in the story of your life? of course. it’s my life. Can you drive by a car accident without staring? yes. i’ll have a quick glance but this shit causes soooo much traffic, even on the lanes going the opposite way. it drives me nuts. Do you find it a challenge to congratulate your opponent who just beat you in a game or competition? haha yes. Do you think that no matter how cold or heartless someone seems there is always at least one thing in the world that they love? yes, definitely. im sure 99.9% of people have a soft spot for something/someone. Who is worse: Someone who doesn’t repay a loan or someone that steals your CDs? someone who doesn’t repay a loan because i don’t own any cds haha. Why do you think so many homosexual men still go without condoms: because they don’t know of the dangers, or because they don’t care? both tbh. When you think about morality, do you think more in terms of good/bad people, or good/bad actions? actions. Which of these female comedians is funnier: Ellen Degeneres or Margaret Cho? i haven’t seen much of magaret cho’s stuff so i’ll just say ellen. Are you scared of dying alone? yes. dying in general. Are you most comfortable being treated by a doctor of the same sex as you? of course. Do you take daily walks? nope. i mean i walk everyday but i not like for exercise. Are there some slang terms you refuse to use? i hate the slang ‘litty’ lol. so cringy. Do you have a favorite pen that you use all the time? haha no. i have ones that i prefer writing with but i don’t have one fave. Have you ever changed an adult’s diaper? no. Do you think it’s dangerous or a good thing when two very depressed people start to date each other? dangerous. it’ll either go one of two ways. down a spiral of negativity if they’re feeding off each other’s problems or positive if they find true happiness within each other.

Do you know a game that is very stupid, yet very addicting? most iphone games haha. i’m totally guilty on this. Do you plan on having your children Christened/Baptised? probably. Would regularly seeing videos of you interacting with people significantly improve your overall human effectiveness? that’d be cool. i think it’d work lol. Have you ever misspelled 'misspell’? i haven’t ever had to use it much. Have you ever stayed up for more than 24 hours to study for an exam? nope. Have you ever been in the back of a moving truck? yes haha. When you were young, did you know some pop stars were gay? probably. Do you have control over how much peace there is in your mind? sure. If you got a backstage pass at a concert, would you feel better than everyone else? um, yes duh. Is your microwave any other color besides white? it’s black. Would you prefer a bagel or an entire breakfast in the morning? i’d prefer the bagel as long as there’s cream cheese. Do you think that couples that elope have a better chance of staying together? every couple is different. i’m not one to make a call on this. Do you know of a frozen dinner that tastes good? ugh, not at all. i hate them. Will public restrooms no longer be separated by gender in the near future? probably. If you do not eat red meat but eat fish are you a vegetarian? isn’t that a pescatarian? When you discard a piece of paper, which of the following are you more likely to do: rip it apart in pieces or crumple it? i’ve done both. if it’s a confidential document i’ll rip it up. Do you wear your pants and shorts above or below your waist line? above usually. Have you ever wondered what it would be like to have a sex change operation? yes. i’m assuming it’d be a mentally and physically draining experience. as long as they’re happy though. Do you call margarine 'butter,’ even though you know the difference? haha nope, i’ll call it margarine. Do you bathe less when you are depressed? yes. Should the ASPCA and RSPCA ban the practice of kidney transplants in cats, since cats can’t give consent for the surgery? i have no knowledge on this. Would you ever drink from a bowl or cup made out of human bones? probably not. just a creepy feeling. Does your car normally smell good? i guess so. i’m obsessed with air fresheners. Do you think 9/11 will be the worst thing you will see in your life? i mean it’s up there as one of the most memorable news stories of my childhood. but since i wasn’t there in person, i’m sure there could be worse things i experience personally throughout my life. Do you tend to do more research for school or papers at the library or on the internet? internet. Do you have an outfit you wear that makes you feel like a star? haha no. i’m yet to find the perfect outfit. You are working at McDonald’s frying meat. Your manager is being a jerk and you are ticked. A customer comes in and orders a 20-piece box of nuggets. Out of anger towards your manager, would you pack 20 or more, or 19 or less in that box? 20 or more. the customer didn’t do anything, why should they suffer? Once you’ve made up your mind about the kind of person someone is, can anything they say or do change it? yeah, it’s possible. Is there a single person whose whole existence you might be interested in studying? not seriously. a quick google search will do lol. Do you think that cuddling with a member of the opposite sex, with no intention of sexual relations, is cheating? i think it’s odd. why would you be cuddling someone that wasn’t your significant other in the first place? Which would you be willing to give up the internet for: world peace or immortality? world peace. i cbf being immortal if it means i can never go on the internet anymore. Are you a redneck? no. Do you think by 2050 there will be flying cars? i wouldn’t be surprised. Should politicians be allowed to have a private life? sure. Do you avoid going over to other people’s houses because it makes you feel uncomfortable or out of place? omg yes. i don’t mind it but i always feel so awkward. i’m just so comfortable in my own home, i’d prefer my friends coming over instead. If someone you don’t know too well puts you in the buddy list of his or her profile, would you be suspicious, or would it be OK that he or she did that? depends who it is. Do you have a trash can in every room of your home? most rooms. Who said “I love you” first: you, or your partner? me lol. Do you ever lay down and watch a movie, only to fall asleep in the very beginning and wake up when the movie is over? all the damn time. Do you say 'thank you’ before leaving a store, even though you may not have purchased anything? if someone’s helped me out, then yes definitely. Would you approve if your significant other wanted to have a nude painting done? sure. lol. If there were nine guilty people and one innocent, and they all had to be together, would you put them all in jail or set them all free? depends on the crime. Is your pet also your best friend? of course :) When the toilet backs up, do you call someone to fix it or do you do it yourself? i try to fix it myself. then i pass it on to my parents and then plumber if need be. Have you ever recited a love poem to your significant other? nope. Would you rather be 'all head and no heart’ or 'all heart and no head’? i’d rather be all heart and no head even though i’m probably the opposite. Are your teeth discolored? slightly. When you were a child, did you make or buy your Halloween costumes? mostly make thanks to my mum. Have you ever seen a movie and liked it but upon further viewing come to like it a lot less? nope. If your father was a minister, would you want him to preside over your wedding ceremony? nope. i’d want him to be my father on my special day, not as a minister. Would you prefer to watch porn or a really good comedy? comedy. How long did your longest phone conversation ever last? over 24 hours but technically it was on skype. Do you put your initials on everything you own? no. Do you like or dislike people based on who else likes or dislikes them? no. even with a bad rep, i’d figure them out on my own. Do you have a friend who you hang out with only when there is nothing else to do? haha no, that’s mean. Which is harder: calculus or trigonometry? i hate them both. Do you often find yourself correcting your parents? when it comes to technology...always. If you could stop aging at a certain age, do you know what that age would be? 25ish. Do you more often eat off of real plates or paper plates? real plates. Have you ever had tape over your mouth? i tried it out myself as a kid. haha. If you encountered someone you totally didn’t know and he or she seemed to tell you the solutions to your uniquely specific problems without having been told what they were, would you be more thankful or freaked out? i’d freak out. i’m skeptical about everything. Would you rather eat a raw egg or a scoop of raw hamburger? omg neither. Do shy kids tend to grow up to be freaks? whaaat? not at all. When you put on a shirt, do you button up or down? i button down. Do you scent your letters when you write to a special someone? haha yes, i did it years ago. Is punk influenced more by music or attitude? music. actually idk. Did you ever start a thread that got at least 40 posts? yes. Can you recall the ending of the last story you read? nope. Have you ever had your head stuck in an unusual place? no. Do you have any weird or funny local slang? haha yes. chat, ceebs etc. When you come online, is there always one person you look for? back in the msn days, yes. not anymore. Do lava lamps make you sick looking at them? i never had one, so no. i find them fascinating still. Will Hollywood ever run out of ideas for movies? they’ve already run out. i feel like everything is a remake of something these days. Does P. Diddy telling everyone that he is the new Frank Sinatra make you want to roll your eyes? haha he could not be serious. Do you think the state of the global environment will be better or worse in 50 years? wors. Do you eat dinner in the dining room or in the living room? both. Which Mike Judge cartoon do you prefer: Beavis and Butthead or King of the Hill? neither. never watched them. Have you ever fallen off your chair in public? no. When sleeping, do you face the doorway or have your back to it? face it. Do you find poetry that expresses pain and suffering to be more intriguing than other types? i hate poetry. Do you only pretend looks don’t matter because you’re ugly yourself? haha i don’t pretend. looks matter to an extent. Do you find limericks to be funny and clever or annoying? funny when i was a kid. Do you think you’d be capable of representing yourself in court rather than hiring an attorney to do it for you? no. When you flirt with someone, is it obvious or more subtle? awkward if anything. Which character do you think weighs more: Jabba the Hutt or Fat Bastard? idk lol. Do you think couples break up mainly because of differences they can’t resolve or because they have found someone new? it’s possible to simply fall out of love without having someone else in the picture. Do you reread things that are written well? yes. What hurts more: getting poked in the eye or biting your tongue? poked in the eye. Do you prefer merry-go-rounds or ferris wheels? ferris wheels. better views. Which do you prefer: original or flavored Tootsie Rolls? original. If you had three children, would you rather have two boys and a girl, or two girls and a boy? two girls and a boy. Is having a threesome basically approved cheating? if it’s approved, it’s not cheating. Is it a turn off to you if the woman has a deep, manly voice or if the man has a high, pre-pubescent voice? no. Have you copied (or “ripped”) your entire CD collection onto your computer? yep lol. Do you have buns of steel? i wish! Did you use floaties on your arms when you were learning to swim? yep. Did your first ever snog involve French kissing? no. there was a lot of pecking involved first. Do you know a person who is physically unattractive and yet a flirt? haha yes. Are there a lot of programs on your computer that you don’t know how to use? yep. like half of the adobe cs. Do you live in an uncomfortable environment, such as where you feel you cannot be yourself? nope. If you had discovered a body on the side of the road would you see if it was still alive? i’d be scared shitless but i would and call emergency. Does punishing everyone for the actions of the few get us closer to utopia? hell no. Can you finish an entire 2-liter bottle of soda by yourself in a single sitting? no way. i’d feel like shit. Have your parents ever forbidden you to play a certain type of music in their house? nope. Since you reached dating age, have you been single for more than three years? nope haha. i’ve been taken for most of my dating life. When buying shampoo or soap, do you choose one because of what they put in it, or because you like the smell? i buy based on what they’re supposed to do to my hair. Have you ever had writer’s block? never really had to write since uni, so no.

#survey #surveys #quiz #bored #questions

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remember-wim-faros · 7 years ago

Text

Episode 7 – An Automatic Spark

When a tree falls in a forest and no one’s around to hear it

- It makes a sound!

Rod: [plays flute]

Deirdre: Wim Faros reaches out his hand from the past and invites us to let the world hear his sound again. Hello. I’m Deirdre Gardner in Rosemary Hills, and this is a very special episode of “It Makes a Sound”. Today… Rod? Rod? Hey Rod, Rod! Can you stop that?

Rod: Oh I’m so sorry, I just..

Deirdre: It’s, it’s distracting.

Rod: I found it over, I-I shouldn’t have picked it up.

Deirdre: That’s OK, that’s OK. Wim Faros reaches out like sinewy roots of a tree climbing up, bursting forth, gasping towards the surface. We break the earth to receive him. His spirit cannot be contained, it stretches out beyond the decades! We stretch too. Our fingers pulse towards him, anticipating his gifts. He hands us – a box full of treasures. Among them, a laminated sleeve containing a cardboard coaster marked with the date 6 21 92, scribbled upon it like hieroglyphs. The music of the Attic Tape!

Mom: She’s sort of funny.

Deirdre: And Mom, my Mom, remembers the songs. Somewhere they are perfectly archived in her brain. She’s our North Star. And it’s up to us to jog her memory. Right Mom?

[maraca, flute]

Deirdre: Welcome to today’s episode. Delicately placed on the table before us is that coaster, bearing the insignia of Rosemary Hills clubhouse: sprigs of rosemary hovering over hill on a golf course. Now it is covered with notations. His cheat sheet for the songs he played at Tricia Elwood’s 8th grade graduation party. Are they straightforward? For the non-genius, no.

Mom: Oh o!

Deirdre: Sometimes there are, are strings of lyrics knotted up around each other. Sometimes the letters are backwards or whole words are swapped. At times the chords seem to be sprinkled haphazardly next to the lyrics and tiny tiny letters. Luckily, listeners, I have created a system of organization, which will make it easier to see and untangle the information on the coaster. And cross-referenced it with other lyrics we have verified from the purple velveteen diary. Or the memory of Mom. Or the memory of of Deirdre Gardner. Borrowing techniques of historians before me I have here, on a large chalkboard on wheels, all the information we have so far charted onto a graph. And I have also been using my piano to test out some of these chords. Now now I admit that’s a somewhat limited test but I-I’ve been trying to figure them out by sound.

Rod: You did a lot of work!

Deirdre: Yes. Thankfully with me today to aide us in our quest is another special guest: Rod Reeder. Mom’s part-time nurse and an actual amateur musician.

Rod: It’s very detailed, it’s like a hospital chart, but different. You have good handwriting.

Deirdre: Oh thank you. Listeners, as Rod can see, I have attempted to separate out lyrics one line at a time. And these arrows see Rod? In a separate colored chalk point to the chords that most likely go with each lyrical line.

Rod: And what’s this square mean down here with the big question mark?

Deirdre: Ooh that’s, well that’s for the big unknowns. For instance um, track number 6, “Star 69”. We don’t seem to have lyrics to that at all. Also um, you know, things like the Deirdre Gardner connection, the the DGC as I’ve written here. Um, why was a newspaper clipping containing my picture in the time capsule? How does this affect the music? Things like that, big unknowns.

Mom: Who knows!

Deirdre: So today, our goal is to take the information, decipher it from the coaster, to restore the songs on the cassette tape recording of Wim Faros’ first concert, played here on the golf course in 1992. The cassette tape lost, found and, well currently inaccessible due to an unforeseen technical malfunction. Rod and I are ready. We are caffeinated, right? Right Rod, are we?

Rod: Yes, yes.

Deirdre: We have our coffee.

Rod: Mm hm.

Deirdre: Grab your coffee, listeners. Let’s go.

Rod: OK, you cozy, Mrs G?

Mom: Yes, thank you.

Deirdre: So Rod, looking at the chalk board..

Rod: You want a pillow?

Mom: Maybe just a pillow.

Rod: Yeah, sure.

Deirdre: Rod, oh sorry, when you’re done over there.

Rod: No we’re, were fine.

Deirdre: Rod, looking up here. Now is there anything that jumps out to you as an easily identifiable melodic sequence?

Rod: You sure you’re cozy? OK. Oh uh uh, well maybe, no I mean we have the chords and that’s super but it’s hard to know what, you know, the rhythm and the style of the line is.

Deirdre: Well that’s OK. Um, as someone once said, “begin anywhere”.

Rod: OK. Um, how about right here? [plays chord]

Deirdre: Mmm uh actually, let’s begin here. See on the coaster, these notes that run along the top edge? Here they are written out on the board. Do you see? So now, let’s cross-reference that with what is, is written here on the left hand edge. I think they might match, I’ve been working on it. Am I right that the first chord is kind of like uh uuh this? [plays chord]

Rod: Yeah, sure.

Deirdre: Yeah.

Rod: Uh huh.

Deirdre: So it’s like, [plays and reads] “Round in a cul-de-sac, one way out turn back. Either way my life is stun..ted by this one-way dead end track. Track.” This lyric is from his song titled “Cul-de-Sac”, now that’s track number 7 on the Attic Tape.

Rod: Yeah. Um here let me just, look at that..

Deirdre: Oh, OK.

Rod: Excuse me.

Deirdre: Yeah.

Rod: [plays chords fast]

Deirdre: Wow, Rod OK. Um, that’s very good, how do I do that? Well wait slower slower slower, it’s slower than that.

Rod: Oh sorry. [plays chords slower]

Deirdre: Oh, oh yes! That’s right, that’s right! Now wait, show me how to do that.

Rod: Yeah just here, um..

Deirdre: [plays chords] OK.. and, I’m doing! OK, so it was like… [sings] “Round in a cul-de-sac, one way out”, is that the tune?

Rod: Yeah, sure sounds great.

Deirdre: Yeah?

Rod: Yeah. Um, it sounds like the, there’s a, you have to go back to this chord here.

Deirdre: [plays chord] OK.

Rod: Yeah. But..

Deirdre: OK, so I do this?

Rod: Uh huh. So you’re singing that…

Mom: Ooh yes!

Rod: [sings] “Round in a cul-de-sac”…

Deirdre: [plays and sings] “Round in a cul-de-sac, one way out turn back. Either way, my life is stunted by this one-way dead end track.”

Mom: Ooh yes, yes! So that is the best (--) [0: 09:29].

Rod: You like it, Mrs G?

Deirdre: Listeners, listeners! Mom lights up as we play this part of the song. Mom, can you help me sing? What comes after that part?

Rod: OK, let’s start again.

Deirdre: OK. [chuckles]

Rod and Deirdre: [sing the same bit again]

Mom: [sings in different rhythm] That is (nicey icy man), he has a fork.

Deirdre: She remembered all of his other songs, she had it exactly. It was like she was present with Wim Faros in 1992.

Rod: Yeah well, sure music is amazing. For a patient like Mrs G singing and rhythm playing, these things don’t need a lot of mental processing but the rhythmic cues she hears get the brain’s motor going anyway. So tunes and rhythms and rhymes she knew a long time ago can remain intact in the brain, no matter what. An automatic spark.

Mom: Spark!

Deirdre: Listener, an automatic spark! Well that’s why she can recite some poems and speeches from her acting days, huh? OK so, so we have to accurately find, like the exact rhythm and tune to trigger her memory. We just need to get it right and then she’ll be with us.

Rod: Well, you know sometimes, no matter what music is like, it’s good. Helps her with her mood, can stimulate or sedate. It’s great for agitation management.

Deirdre: Well Mom knew that music though. She was there at the clubhouse. Plus that cassette was like all I played for a year. Let’s try it again, I think we could…

Rod and Deirdre: [play and sing]

Mom: [sings in a different rhythm]

[thumping on the roof]

Mom: The damn birds are after us, from inside the house. There, squawwwk!

Cody: Hi, what’s up?

Deirdre: Oh Cody, how did you..?

Cody: Well I rang the doorbell but nobody came and then I-I tried the door and the door was open so I just came in. I was supposed to go Tommy (Niehart’s) house after school, but I told Tommy that we should come here and, and Tommy said that he would never come here after what you did to his property, and I said that and he he said that I should be careful too, and that I I should watch out in case you got mad and I told him to shut up. I said actually I wanna play here instead of with him, so that’s why I came here and I texted my Mom that I am coming here and um that that you will watch me, and she said fine and thanks because she has to work for a few more hours and she always says that, I’m not stimulated enough and I told her that, I told her that you guys are really super s-stimulating and I wanna help find Wim Faros and I don’t care what you did to Tommy (Niehart).

Deirdre: Oh. Well I appreciate that Cody, um… You know, I’m glad you came over. We’re working on the songs.

Cody: [gasps] Mom: What did you do?

Rod: Yeah Deirdre, what did you do to Tommy (Niehart)?

Deirdre: Oh I uh, it’s nothing, I-I broke his iPhone.

Cody: She threw it out the window she was, she was our substitute teacher and Tommy was playing with his iPhone during class and she tossed it out the window, we heard it go cra-a-ack!

Deirdre: Yeah but it’s, it’s all fine. I mean it’s all been taken care of. Um Cody, you know it’s good that you’re here, it’s good that you’re here we’ll we’ll need someone to document our work today.

Cody: I could do that, yeah!

Deirdre: Um yes, and what lyrics and chords go together for each song. What worked and what didn’t.

Cody: OK.

Deirdre: Ladies and gentlemen, another special guest, a surprise special guest on today’s show: Cody Elwood!

Cody: …-Nowakowsky.

Deirdre: Research assistant. He will take notes.

Cody: Uh, on my iPhone?

Deirdre: No. We’re noting all of our findings on the blackboard, with the colored chalk. Here you go.

Cody: I never used chalk.

Rod: Well that’s sad.

Mom: You love chocolate pancakes.

Deirdre: That’s right Mom. Listeners, we will come back to track number 7, “Cul-de-Sac”, but for now, let’s move on to a different song to see if Mom has a more specific response. She’s kind of like a Ouija board.

Cody: I wanna look! Ahem. Oh listeners, I’m researching. I like this one with the exclamation points. It says “Help! I’ve fallen and I can’t get uuuuup!”

Mom: (-) [0:14:30] the (clapper).

Rod: Classic. [chuckles]

Deirdre: Yes Mom that’s right [chuckles], that was the commercial. But then there was Wim Faros’ song, which was a piercing critique of capitalism.

Cody: What’s capitalism?

Rod: Uh, take your iPhone for example.

Deirdre: Uh we’ll explain later Cody, OK?

Cody: [whispers] OK.

Rod: Here are the chords that you’ve written next to it. Is this (-) [0: 14:54]?

Deirdre: Let’s hear.

Rod: [plays fast country style music]

Deirdre: Um no, no no no. That sounds so folksy, it’s way edgier, it’s more intense. Um, I wonder could you maybe try it on the keyboard?

Rod: Sure.

Deirdre: I mean it was a controversial song, you see. Um, it was really powerful. It was a stunning choice to play at Tricia’s 8th grade graduation party, really. It sent a message. I can almost feel the social tension of that moment. So it was more dissonant, it was more like [hums] rah nah, bah nah, raah, na na any, rawr…

Rod: [plays the chords differently]

Deirdre: Yeah. Are those the same chords? That sounds so different, good! Yes, it was like [hums], yeah. Like “Help! I can’t get up, I’ve fallen!” and then like “frozen dinners, Grim Reaper… beepers” and help. “Help!”

Mom: (--) [0:16:03]..

Deirdre: “Help I can’t get up! I’ve fallen!”

Mom: (I fall)…

Deirdre: “Grim Reaper, beepers… peepers”.

Mom: [sings indistinctly]

Deirdre: Help! I can’t get up, I’ve fallen, help! Call the Reaper with your beeper.

Mom, Cody, Rod: [singing backing vocals]

Deirdre: (Creepy) he-e-elp, (and then it’s like) frozen dinners..

Mom, Cody: The clapper! Clap on, clap on!

Rod: Clap on, clap on! (--)!

Cody: Clap on…

Deirdre: Reaper, beepers…

Cody: Capitalism!

Mom, Rod, Cody: Clap on, clap on..

Mom: Clap on, the clapper!

Deirdre: Yes Mom, that was the commercial, that’s the commercial guys. Mom, what about Wim Faros’ protest song? Do you remember? You used to like thump your mop on the floor when I’d sing it?

Cody: Thump!

Deirdre: Remember, in rhythm, it was like… Help, boom boom! Frozen dinners…

Rod: Yeah!

Deirdre: Grim Reaper, beepers, beepers…

Cody: Oh, oops! Sorry!

Mom: (--) [0:17:09 overlapping speech]

Deirdre: Oh, oh no, save the coaster!

Cody: Sorry! Sorry! [whispers] Sorry.

Deirdre: Is the coaster OK?

Cody: I’m sorry.

Deirdre: It’s OK, it’s OK look it’s fine.

Rod: I got it, I got it. Hmm. I’ll grab some paper towels.

Deirdre: OK.

Mom: Oh no, (-)!

Deirdre: It’s OK Mom, it’s just a little coffee. Easy.

Mom: What a mess!

Cody: I can clean it, it was an accident.

Deirdre: The coaster’s fine, Cody, so it’s OK. Uh, right Mom? Just a litte spil, an accident.

Mom: I’m on it!

Deirdre: Hold on Mom, we’ll clean it up in a second, OK? Yeah don’t, don’t worry yourself. I OK, I think this is all too confusing though. Um Mom, look up look up here with me. Let’s pick another song to work on.

Rod: Yeah, here we go.

Mom: Windex!

Rod: I brought Pinesol.

Deirdre: Oh, we don’t need that, it’s just coffee.

Rod: I know but you know, she’s a pro. She likes to spray. Here Mrs. G, I’ll get the floor, you get the table, what do you say?

Mom: Aye aye, put a cap on it, my captain. [spraying noises]

Deirdre: Thank you everybody. OK, that’s very good. [spraying noises] OK, that’s very clean now Mom, thank you. You wanna keep wiping the table? That’s OK.

Mom: [hums]

Deirdre: OK, yeah but sit down here, get comfy while you wipe, there you go. OK Rod and Cody, let’s go back to the chalkboard. Rosemary Hills, I’d like to draw your attention to what was number 9 on the cassette tape, “Youth Grows Old”. Cody, see those lyrics in pink up there?

Cody: Yes.

Deirdre: “You-you-youth”?

Cody: Yes, here. “You”… ha, there’s a lot of You’s. “You you you you you you you-th grows old in Rosemary Hills. Green grass will grow and grow with chemicals”.

Deirdre: Good, that’s right. OK. Now Rod, look to those chords in pink there OK, could you play them for us?

Rod: [plays chord]

Deirdre: Fabulous. And I will add piano now, if you can just show me where to put my fingers.

Rod: (That’s right).

Deirdre: Is that right? OK that’s right, so.. [plays chords] And then (-) [0:19:02] again. Ok so it goes like this. [plays and sings] You-you-you-you-you-you-you-youth grows old in Rosemary Hills.

Rod: [joins in]

Cody: [joins in]

Deirdre: Oh yes, that sounds great! Yeah that’s how it went, it was like a cascade, repetitive, experimental. Moody. You-you-you-you-you-you-youth grows old in Rosemary Hills. That’s right Mom, that’s right!

Mom: You-you-you-you-you-you-youth grows old in Rosemary Hills.

Rod: Yes, see that sounds good.

Mom: You’re so aloooooone, so alone in Rosemary Hills.

Deirdre: Good Mom, but different lyrics, OK? So, now it goes like this: Green grass will grow and grow and grow and grow. [others join in] Green grass will grow and grow and grow and grow.

Mom: You-you-you-you-you-you-you-you, yeah. You’re se alooooone, [Cody joins in] so alone in Rosemary Hills.

Rod: Green grass will grow and grow and grow and grow…

Cody: Rosemary Hills..

Mom: You-you-you-you-you-you-you in Rosemary Hills. I’m so alooooone…

Rod: Green will grow and grow and grow and grow…

Mom: So alone in Rosemary Hills.

Rod: Green will grow and grow and grow and grow.

Mom: The party is over! We have to go home. Don’t cry Deirdre! All clean.

Deirdre: That was so pretty, Mom.

Rod: Beautiful, Mrs. Gardner.

Deirdre: It was sad. Cody: I like your voice.

Deirdre: That isn’t the way the song went, Mom. But is that the way you feel right now?

Mom: I feel pretty and sad.

Deirdre: You’re so pretty, Mom. I’m sorry you’re sad. I understand.

Rod: The music, it-it sometimes brings out the emotion from its earliest associations.

Cody: Was your Mom at my Mom’s party too?

Deirdre: Yeah she was there, but not as a guest. Mom was the cleaning lady at the clubhouse, she was working that night.

Cody: I don’t like cleaning.

Mom: Amen, honeybunny!

Deirdre: Mom. Tricia Elwood’s party. Wim Faros in concert. What was it like that night?

Mom: Fahrenheit…

Deirdre: Wim Faros.

Cody: Wim Faaros, ahh!

Mom: You like to go to the pie in the sky with, with Fahrenheit.

Deirdre: That’s a good way of putting actually. It was the first time I felt like that.

Mom: [sings gleefully] Loving that’s awful, it’s awful. You are awful. How awful, oh no!

Deirdre: I think she means unrequited admiration can be difficult.

Mom: Deirdre and Wim sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G! Deirdre and Wim sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G M-I-S-S-I-S-S-I-P-P-1.

Rod: It’s OK, Mrs. G.

Deirdre: Wait, she’s remembering the end of the party. I-I was alone in the conference room, listening to Wim Faros. And everybody else had gone outside, but Wim played on, and I was sitting in the back of the room with my cassette recorder. Kaylene Becker came in to get a sl bracelet that she left on the chair. She started yelling that, over the music. Deirdre and Wim sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!

Mom and Cody: Deirdre and Wim sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G! [repeated several times]

Deirdre: Oh god, I was mortified! And then Wim stopped playing suddenly, like a spell was broken. Kaylene’s voice was the only one in the room. Wim Faros looked at me, and and the look on his face was, was so vulnerable like, like he had just emerged from a cocoon. He held my gaze for what seemed to be like an hour and then, and then he, he turned away. And walked to the table behind him and opened up a Crystal Pepsi. And I ran out of the room to find my Mom.

Mom: Pepsi-daisy.

Deirdre: You could hear all of that on the tape. I never erased that part. I could never erase any of it.

Mom: Kaylene Becker is a spoiled fucker duck!

Deirdre: Truer words were never spoken, listeners.

Cody: She said the F word!

Rod: She does sometimes. She’s allowed.

Cody: Cool!

Deirdre: Rod, don’t you think that [scoffs] this is sense memory? The Pinesol, the cleaning, the melody, that made her remember Kaylene Becker, and then I remembered Kaylene Becker, and she almost remembered the song. But she felt the emotion, it brought her back in some ways to that time. But if, if she was there, in that familiar place. Mom, we have to go back to the clubhouse! People of Rosemary Hills, I know how we can get all of the songs back. If we go to the location, if we do this, where it happened, we can recreate the environment of Tricia’s party! We’ll set the stage. Um, the place, the air, the smells, and then we’ll get the sounds. We’ll summon them, so that Mom and I can remember.

Rod: But the clubhouse, how can you get in, isn’t it private property?

Deirdre: Well I mean we could literally just walk in. Nobody’s paying any attention to Rosemary Hills golf course community, if you haven’t noticed. I assure you guys, nobody in a million years would notice us.

Cody: But it’s haunted.

Deirdre: Oh Cody, no! It’s just old and abandoned, and places like that can always seem scary, but it’s not scary. It’s just, well old and abandoned.

Cody: But when Ralphie ran away, I had to go over there and find him and I heard things.

Deirdre: I’m sure, I’m sure. The wind on those shattered windows is probably really loud. There’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s really, it’s just a big old fancy house, Cody. You’ll see.

Mom: Fancy birds!

Cody: But they’re gonna tear it down.

Deirdre: What do you mean?

Cody: They’re tearing it down, they’re gonna build a cemetery and then it’s gonna be even scarier.

Deirdre: Who’s they?

Cody: I dunno, my Mom said.

Rod: The local government, I guess?

Deirdre: They can’t tear it down, it’s a historical landmark!

Rod: Really?

Deirdre: Well, it should be.

Mom: Uh oh!

Rod: Where are you going, Mrs. G?

Mom: Uh oh, toast!

Rod: You hungry?

Mom: You are toast!

Rod: [chuckles] Wait for me, I’m coming. You know I like making toast. I’ll just, I’ll just go with her.

Deirdre: Ladies and gentlemen, we have a call to action. And I have a plan. Together, we have been getting closer and closer to fully restoring the music of Wim Faros. I mean, from the outset of our journey, we have been working so hard on remembering how to remember, haven’t we?

Cody: Yes.

Deirdre: Yes. Yes! And figuring out how to unpack the Attic…

Cody: Yes. Yes.

Deirdre: Yes. Wim Faros, through his time capsule, gave us a bridge from the past to the present.

Cody: Bridge!

Deirdre: He is telling us to walk that bridge, he is showing us how. Don’t you see? He is telling us, he is telling us to go to the clubhouse! I know that will work. I am certain that if we enter into the hallowed grounds where the concert was on June 21, 1992, into that convertible conference room where Wim Faros himself took the stage for the Elwood commencement. We will be able to complete the songs. I feel it.

Cody: I feel it too.

Deirdre: I feel it!

Cody: I feel it too, Deirdre!

Deirdre: OK! So on the next episode of “It Makes a Sound”, join us and these hills will come alive with the sound of music once more!

Cody: It’s aliiiiiive! Huh! Can I do the chime?

Deirdre: Yes you can!

Cody: [plays chime]

“It Makes a Sound” is created and written by Jacquelyn Landgraf. Co-directed by Jacquelyn Landgraf and Anya Saffir. Original music composed by Nate Weida, with lyrics by Nate Weida and Jacquelyn Landgraf. Sound designed and mixed by me, Vincent Cacchione. With Jacquelyn Landgraf as Deirdre Gardner, Annie Golden as Deirdre’s Mom, Nate Weida as Rod Reeder and Melissa Mahoney as Cody Elwood.

“It Makes a Sound” is a Night Vale presents production. For more information on this show, to buy merch and to learn about our other Night Vale podcasts, go to nightvalepresents.com. You can follow “It Makes a Sound” on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, and Tumblr. And you can support the show by writing a review on iTunes. We’d really appreciate it.

Thank you for listening. Right now, a bottle of Crystal Pepsi is listed at 1,000 dollars on eBay, but slap bracelets are around 5 bucks. We’ll meet again in January. All of us at “It Makes a Sound” wish you a memorable end to 2017. And we hope you’ll remember to give a little toast to Wim Faros.

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