#and curse you yellow rabbit for being hard to draw | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mythgirlimagines · 3 years

Photo

Monitoring your every move, ready to strike when least expected, is this week’s talent swap! Introducing Myth, the Former Ultimate Chess Player!

———————————————–

BACKSTORY AND TALENT

Having an overly analytical mindset ever since she was a child, Myth solved the puzzles she was given quickly and burned through mental stimulation toys like it was nothing. It really put a dent in her parents’ wallet, and they needed to find some way to entertain her daughter before they become flat broke. One day, when Myth and her parents visited the toy store to find a new toy for her, Myth became enticed by the board games section, particularly a chessboard, which her parents managed to buy. Myth picked up on the rules of chess very quickly, and dominated both her parents and older sisters in the game. Eventually Myth signed up for chess clubs and defeated each and everyone of the other participants, and in turn, managed to reach grandmaster rank. One tournament, Myth decided to wear a chess themed dress to throw opponents off and make them underestimate her, before completely decimating them. She is still wearing the dress to this day.

————————————-——————

RELATIONSHIPS

Wyre Anon, Former Ultimate Freelance Artist

Having garnered fame on the internet for her realistic drawings of animal corpses and dinosaur bones, Wyre has been Myth’s friend ever since childhood. In fact, Wyre was the one who came up with the original design for Myth’s dress. Wyre regularly attends Myth’s chess tournaments as a bodyguard of sorts, with Wyre’s intimidating glare and feral personality scaring anyone who decides to toy with their little friend. While Wyre is a great friend and everything, Myth is heavily concerned with her friend’s work schedule and the toll it has on their mental health and fortitude.

Outfit: A black ski cap with a skull pin on the front, a black leather vest with a white dragon design on the back over a brown hoodie with bone designs on the sleeves, black fingerless gloves with skull designs, black shorts, socks, shoes, glasses and piercings from original designs.

Anon Scar, Ultimate Grave Digger

Being the daughter of a mortician and a funeral planner, Scar has been interacting with the dead ever since she was a little girl, and is currently working in the funeral home as a grave digger. Being ostracized for both her interest in the dead and her middle school persona, (aka. Death’s Messenger) Scar tried her best to shake the facade, but she can’t help but fall back on that facade. Scar seems to be fully convinced that Myth is some sort of esper, for she managed to uncover her true personality within the first couple minutes of meeting her. ”The Pawn’s Empress” is one of Death’s Messenger’s biggest foes yet.

Outfit: Original outfit but with dirt stained boots and gloves and her funeral home’s logo on the back of her jacket.

Fusion Anon, Ultimate Boy Scout

Having collected all of his scout troupe’s merit badges in record time, Fusion currently works on educating younger scouts in getting merit badges and even teaches his fellow con-mates the art of the boy scout. Ever since coming to the Kibo-Con, Fusion has established leadership amongst the younger Ultimates, a bit like a father to the group, and gives them seminars on scouting skills. Myth’s natural genius made her ace Fusion’s seminars with ease. Fusion’s happiness at showing off his knowledge and scouting skills seems to imply a less-than-stellar self-confidence/an inferiority complex.

Outfit: A green visor, a tanned cargo jacket with badges sewn in, bandages wrapped around his hands, a green sash with badges crowded on it, glasses, pants and shoes from original design.

Fusion Anon II, Ultimate Private Investigator

Despite her lackadaisical and sarcastic attitude off of the job, you would be hard-pressed to find a more capable private investigator. Fusion II claims that she went for a private investigator as her job as opposed to a detective, because she can turn down cases she deems too easy or not worth her time. But Myth eventually realized that underneath Fusion II’s memey, rebellious, and sarcastic demeanor, Fusion II is secretly very insecure about her detective skills, especially after getting an innocent man convicted once. Fusion II is currently working to uncover the mystery that is Myth.

Outfit: A light blue fedora with a black band and a red rose, a light blue trench coat over a white shirt and a red necktie, a long blue skirt, black and white laced boots, sunglasses from original design.

Just Anon, Ultimate Toymaker

Famous for his expertly-crafted stuffed rabbits, Janon usually spends all of his time either sleeping or insulting people. Within the first few minutes of meeting Janon, Myth has already uncovered a fear of failure, a perfectionist attitude when it comes to making toys and a soft spot for children, particularly the two Jr. Ultimates that are attending the Kibo-Con with him. Janon is sick and even more tired of Myth constantly exposing him like this. Janon is currently trying to make a voodoo doll of Myth to make her suffer, as revenge for constantly exposing him and making him seem like less of a jerk.

Outfit: A lazily buttoned up shirt, an untied red tie, a tool belt, a face mask with a “w” mouth and blushy cheeks, pants, boots and hoodie from original design.

Sparkle Anon, Former Ultimate Seamstress

Famous for being the scion of the ”Spectacular Threads” company, Sparkle is famous for her glittery and elaborate hand-crafted formal wear. While Wyre designed the original design of Myth’s dress, Sparkle was the girl Wyre sent the design to, to get it created, which means Myth and Sparkle go further back than one would expect. Myth knew Sparkle before they both reinvented themselves with new flamboyant personalities, and when Sparkle was just a shy magical girl and theater fanatic. Even as an adult, Myth can still see Sparkle is still the same nerd she was when Myth first met her, deep down.

Outfit: Same outfit from her original design, but with sewing supplies attached to her clothes.

Egg Anon, Former Ultimate Ghost Hunter, and Wet Sock Anon, Former Ultimate Police Officer

Despite their two different talents, Egg and Wet Sock have many things in common, with the biggest similarity between the two being their appearance, their uniforms, and above all, their penchant for cursed comments. Even Myth‘s analytical attitude is no match for the nonsensical and violently cursed comments of the freak duo. It’s very clear that years of dealing with violent criminals and supernatural horrors would take a toll on anybody’s psyche. Even Myth doesn’t want to think about what horrors the two have witnessed within their careers that twisted their minds to such cursed degrees.

Outfits: Gakurans, police caps, white gloves and a golden badge. Egg has a purple uniform, and Wet Sock has a black uniform, glasses from original design.

Curious Anon, Jr. Ultimate Tutor

Despite their age, Curious has college-level academic prowess and uses that knowledge to help tutor students of all ages, and can turn underachievers into overachievers with their infinite patience and flawless study strategies. It didn‘t take much time for Myth to realize one of the main flaws of Curious: their passiveness and willingness to let people walk all over and take advantage them. Myth would often organize tea parties disguised as study sessions to talk to Curious more, for they are basically an open book, despite what their vocal and facial range would suggest.

Outfit: Hair pulled into a small ponytail, fake glasses, a green vest over a white button up shirt, tie, pants and shoes from original design.

Anon Nerd, Former Ultimate Lifeguard

Originally getting the job purely for some extra pocket money, Nerd quickly rose through the ranks and quickly became an emergency technician for beaches. Nerd’s good looks were seen as both a blessing and a curse by him, for many admirers purposefully drowned themselves, just so Nerd can give them mouth-to-mouth. This, along with poor pay in the early parts of his career, lead to his hostile attitude towards everybody, particularly people with a crush on him or people he has a crush on. Myth told Nerd the truth, and got thrown into the nearest body of water by him, and he didn’t save her.

Outfit: A tight grey muscle shirt, red swim trunks with black stripes on each side, red flip-flops.

Eldritch Anon, Ultimate Competitive Eater

Despite Eldritch’s small size, Eldritch has an appetite rivaled only by Fusion’s. Eldritch originally entered the competition as a poison tester, in order to prevent the participants from being sabotaged and perhaps murdered, but Eldritch managed to dominate the competitions. Eldritch has now participated in 255 eating competitions all across the country, and even outside of the country. Eldritch seems to be the first person to look past Myth’s little cutesy facade, and seems to want to avoid Myth at all costs, which makes it difficult for Myth to get a read on him.

Outfit: A purple jersey with “Poison Tester” on the front in yellow letters, dark grey cargo shorts, white socks, black and yellow sneakers.

Dream Anon, Ultimate Street Artist

Dream is famous for her paintings of rainbow clouds on random buildings and roads. Despite Dream’s rough life on the street, somehow she remains as bright and cheerful as her infamous murals. After being busted by the police for her vandalism, Dream got accepted by the Hope’s Peak scouts, and got to get out of jail, in exchange for food and shelter at her Hope’s Peak dorm room. You will bet that Dream would accept the offer full-heartedly. Myth totally didn’t expect someone as cheerful as Dream to have one of the roughest pre-con lives, but Myth now wants to adopt Dream.

Outfit: Wild hair, a denim jacket stained with paint over a pink shirt, black paint-stained boots, skirt and shorts from original design.

Iris Anon, Jr. Ultimate Child Prodigy

Having one of the highest IQs for a child her age, Iris already graduated college with several degrees, mostly in science. Iris’s determined attitude and love for learning made many universities consider her for their adorable mascot. While everyone else views Iris as a clumsy and dorky optimist who never gives up when it comes to her work, Myth knows the truth behind Iris. Because of her status as a child prodigy, lots of pressure was put upon her, which only served to arouse her already existing anxiety. From that point onwards, Iris and Myth gather for weekly chess games.

Outfit: A dark blue sweater over a white sailor uniform with a red tie and skirt, grey stockings, blue Mary Janes, glasses from original design.

Purple Anon, Ultimate Couples Dancer

Growing up in a high-class family that is known for their equally high-class masquerade balls, Purple’s skills on the ballroom dancing floor are unparalleled. Unfortunately off of the dance floor and deprived of her masquerade costume, Purple is superbly timid, regularly staying in her room, until Hope’s Peak accepted her. Purple’s vocabulary is about as elaborate and old-fashioned as her family’s masquerade balls. Luckily Myth is smart enough to understand her vocabulary. Myth is currently working on giving Purple confidence lessons, knowing that it could help her find her chosen one.

Outfit; Mid-back length hair, a mask that is black on the left and white on the right, a black sunhat, a matching black dress, black gloves, purple heels.

This series revolves around this enigmatic chess champion exposing people for their emotional problems, while some people (read: Scar and Fusion II) try to find out the secret behind her.

—————————————-—————

PERSONALITY

The best way to describe Chess!Myth would be a more benign version of Celestia, right down to the fashion. She is very intelligent and analytical, which is how she discovered chess in the first place. Myth gets easily bored and needs constant mental stimulation, usually by competing with chess champions or buy simply kicking back and watching people interact. People are unpredictable creatures, after all. But perhaps the most prominent trait about her would probably be her ability to read people like a book. It’s very hard to lie to her face, for she will expose your lies to YOUR face. This helps a lot in chess, but this also makes her a very empathetic and kind-hearted individual.

——————————————————-

APPEARANCE

Myth wears her purple-dyed hair into twintails with a black and white scrunchie in each, and wears a black crown with red gems embedded into and on it. Myth wears an entirely black and white dress with asymmetrically-colored sleeves and dress tails. On her nails is black polish on her left hand and white polish on her right hand.

——————————————————-

I hope you like this version of you, Myth! Let me know what you think! See you soon, kiddos!

-Fusion Anon

---

Two things! One, love this!!! Two, when you said “Celestia” I automatically thought of the MLP:FIM character XD I’m so used to calling Celestia Celeste, lol

3 notes · View notes

xxforsaken-angelxx · 5 years

Text

=> A Friendly Secret Visit.

chimericarchitect Howdy! I wanted to ask about the rods and how that was coming along.

xxforsaken-angelxx aww shit yeah i got them i just slipped on messagin you

chimericarchitect Neat! So, let me know whenever it is clear for me to come and get them and I'll do that.

xxforsaken-angelxx gotcha > You'll send her a time for later today, after your shift is over.

chimericarchitect > Presumably he will send updated coordinates since it's a ship in space and you will, at the time allotted, go there to pick up the rods. It'll be great.

xxforsaken-angelxx > He will, and she'll be teleported straight to his block.

> Or at least part of his block. It visibly looks like a study, with floor to ceiling shelves on the two walls without doors that are loaded with jars of herbs, crystals, bones, and basically any other magical trinket that gets used in his kind of trade. That and what's probably a fairly narrow curation of books, most of them looking old or otherwise well loved.

> You're at your desk nestled in there, in front of an oddly old looking computer. You're dressed in full goffik attire, with the boots and the long coat and the whole nine yards.

chimericarchitect > Saness might like what she knows of Grinmaww, she might think he seems a pretty decent troll, but that doesn't change the fact that he is an unknown. She is dressed accordingly, in what she used to consider 'cool adventurer attire,' something good to tussle in or go for an impromptu roam. It consists of a sturdy white vest over long dark sleeves, equally white boots over flexible black pants, an overly vibrant neckerchief, and a wallet chain on her hip that definitely doesn't connect to a wallet. With her sunglasses up in her stark-white dandelion puff of curling hair, useless but available, Saness looks like a starry-eyed kid dressed up as a cosplay biker.

> She arrives in a blossoming yellow-green light, accompanied by the sound of something stretching sharp, the hollow bell-tone echo of a rubber band snapping, an unnaturally compressed static twang. It's only a fall of a few inches to the floor of the ship, boots tmp-ing with the weight of her existence as the glow recedes as rapidly and efficiently as it had appeared. With her face fully exposed, it can be noted on a glance that her hair grows in this shade. That, or she spends way too much time dying her eyebrows and lashes.

> Immediately Saness looks to Grinmaww, the full attention of 5' 10" of dimension-hopping globetrotter drawn right to him by some force unknown. There is a sort of reckless energy to the way she carries herself, careless of her color, focused intently and intensely on the only other troll in the room. It lingers for a heavy second, gears turning behind her eyes, before scattering nearly as immediately under the force of her own curiosity and whimsy, the dopey little 'o' of her mouth and the perplexed pinch of her brow turning to a wowed smile while the slightly flighty hands-out posture of her arms falls to her sides as she straightens. Her eyes gleam when they catch light, a reflective plate of lime snapping here and there over all of the fascinating and colorful doodads filling the walls of this space.

> "My dude, you are absolutely killing this aesthetic."

> She defaults to common Alternian, for all purposes friendly and easygoing in tone, if a little bright with excitement.

xxforsaken-angelxx > That cracks him up immediately, after those few seconds of regarding each other in silence. His face is...oddly stretchy, the skin pulls a little farther than most people when he smiles.

> Which is why he doesn't, when he rises out of his office chair to full 6'5" stature. It's not exactly an Ampora Resting Bitch Face, his eyes stay friendly, but there's all the signs of someone who keeps their expressions trained.

"Well shit, mission fuckin' accomplished then. I'm diggin' your whole look too, though. Y'look cute."

> And how dare she, frankly? Meeting someone from a whole other universe was supposed to be a big deal, both from a mental and security standpoint, but here she was waltzing up with the aura of a box of novelty rubber ducks. It's hard to be all serious at that, bah.

chimericarchitect > Cute, huh? Saness grins a little wider, something easy and lopsided. She's being very loose with her expressions, leaning heavily into what charisma she possesses over her own stranger-danger default; there has not been one single Eridan in the history of fish-or-otherwise bastards that she has ever gotten along with, but in counter she has a great and hopeful fondness for Makaras and clowns in general. All she has to do is be her charming self and *surely* things will work out. Surely. So far so good, right?

"Well shit, mission fuckin' accomplished!" she intones in quick mimicry, momentarily affecting his cant and general tone of bearing. That too falls away, dripping from one instant to the next with the pulse of a rabbit. A flourish places her splayed fingertips over her chest, the goofish mockery of a stuffy tilt to her chin. "Saness Casper Psuede, The Mischief, at your service and pleased to finally meet you, Grinmaww!"

> She is, perhaps, a bit much at full-tilt, hyped to be here and make a solid first impression. Ideally, Grinmaww will like her as much as she hopes to like him. That's the plan. The scheme. The big cannoli. *Maybe* this critically informal introduction will entice him into relaxing as well. A girl can dream.

xxforsaken-angelxx > Hearing his drawl coming out of her makes him laugh again, and he instinctively tries to go for a handshake. Just a casual one. Business casual.

"Man, you're somethin', arentcha? And somethin' that should use Mischief more often, that's a good one."

> Truth be told, he was already fond of her. Being in the position he was, he tended to like people who had a different view of the world, and Saness kept fitting that to a T. Even discounting her inherent otherworldly-ness, she was people smart in a way he couldn't manage, and just...had a certain way of things. Maybe a way that clashed with his way sometimes. But it was an interesting way, and an interesting clash.

> Sure being the leader of a big ass ship also put him in that same zone of inner stranger wariness, but y'know. So far so good!

"Nice to finally meet you too."

chimericarchitect > The Dreaded Handshake, As The Prophecy Foretold. With how sharp she keeps her claws these nights the best she can do to cover up is to wear fingerless gloves, but that is inconducive to the possibility of reacting to danger, and she anticipated that the ever-present threat of engaging in polite society might rear itself anyway. Thus, a counter arrangement has been prepared in advance: completely naturally, despite her lack of hand cover, as if this was the response expected of her, Saness reaches past Grinmaww's outstretched palm and clasps his covered forearm. A bracing, friendly gesture!

> It's loose enough an action that she doesn't have time to react to new information, or to accommodate the unexpected. From this close, she can feel her hair standing on end, a fresh tingle across the nape of her neck. This isn't Chill Boss Aura, the weight of his presence more intense with proximity, but rather something else entirely. Something otherworldly. The trouble with keeping her features emotionally available and reactive is that, they are, in fact, emotionally available and reactive. Her eye scrunches slightly and her smile ticks one degree toward uncomfortable on the matching side.

> Braced like this, she gives his arm the single handshake pump of proper business, albeit a fraction of a second delayed.

> Quick, say something.

"Ah, yeah, you think so? I thought it was kinda, heh, on the nose. If somebody were to roll up and introduce themself with the title of 'Mischief' you'd have certain expectations, I'd think."

xxforsaken-angelxx > Eridan isn't oblivious enough to miss her sudden awkwardness, but it's also not like he knows his own aura, or any other reason Saness might avoid handshakes. In his mind he just went too formal, like a dumbass. He goes a touch sheepish when she goes a touch awkward, and flicks his hair and plays it cool when she lets go.

> The third eye he draws in his paint wasn't peeking through his bangs until now.

"I mean, sure. But that kind of expectation would probably get you some friends around somewhere like here. Mischief and clowns go together, right?"

> Hopefully, at least?

chimericarchitect > Once released she gives him a conspiratorial smile, waggles a finger, and says, "Those mischievous clowns," in that fake-cursing sort of tone, meant to confirm his assertion.

> Now that she's aware of an otherworldly presence, she is Aware of it. It's kind of just all over the place, isn't it? And her new friend appears to be the epicenter...

> From this point out, her attention is going to be partially split. Whatever it is, it doesn't *feel* directly threatening, but it's definitely unlike the clown deities she's met. It's... not quite familiar. Grinmaww's angels? But it doesn't feel like the angels she's known either, not... quite... Perhaps they aren't angels at all. That's the unsettling part. People and things that identify as other things can have a lot of reasons for doing so. Half the angels she's met weren't so nice anyhow...

> Most of the time she keeps her attention politely fixed on Grinmaww, but it slips through him or past him here and there, occasionally flitting elsewhere in the room. Saness cannot help but be wary in the back of her mind.

> Uncultured, she points right at his face.

"In every timeline I've visited or heard of, face paint holds a lot of personal significance to the clowns who wear it." Her arm drops to her side and she rocks on her toes in a gentle and harmless fidget. "Is it too personal to tell me about? I'm curious."

xxforsaken-angelxx > There's those in the church that don't believe that *any* of the entities are who they say they are. Some believe they're all more of a subconscious figment than anything else- not nonexistant, per se, but a form to let the troll mind comprehend something uncomprehendable. Eridan does believe in his angels, but he's not... unfamiliar, with the idea that they might not be so straightforward.

> He doesn't know that's what's on her mind, but *they* do. They can sense her attention. They know she can feel them. And they...want to play nice, actually. Yes they're everywhere, yes they have him in their grasp, but does that have to feel so bad? They can at least try to be a bit more friend shaped.

> Meanwhile, their host gets thrown by that question. Not in a defensive way, just in a purely off-guard one.

"Uh, no, it's not, it's-" He gestures, aimlessly. "It's not actually *that* big of a thing? For us? Like it's real fuckin' important, don't get me wrong, but it's not like- it's not *sacred.* It's fashion."

> He shoved his hands in his pocket, and gave his jacket a bit of a flounce.

"I uh...picked mine when I was pretty young. The whole painted on smile and the tears and the secret eye. It's all kinda obvious. But I still like the vibe. Still me and such."

chimericarchitect > Saness can... kind of feel them, the attention of Grinmaww's angels in response to her awareness. She can detect the things they broadcast most blatantly, the more gentle way they coil, the intentional friendliness. Perhaps an act like that would put a more paranoid troll on higher alert, but where most people have a healthy level of mistrust for the unknown, developed or instinctual, Saness has stubbornly hoarded olive branches to clumsily brandish at anything that exists. If they want to be friendly, then by the stars, Saness is going to give them her reckless trust and put her faith where her mouth is.

> Understanding that the angels are at least *similarly* aware of her the way she is aware of them, Saness begins working through the process of lowering her mental hackles, just as intentionally relaxing as they intentionally displayed peace. She loves being cool and playing nice, well and truly.

> It helps that Grinmaww is so cute. Look at him, fumbling and fluffing his feather. Normally she would giggle at him, laughter comes so easily to her, but with her focus split, all she does is smile fondly. It feels safe enough to relax around him, and they all vibe together as a unit, so... Yeah. Everything is cool and she is pleased to make more than one acquaintance. Yep. That's what she's rolling with.

"So, dedication to fashion is really important, but being a clown is not an organized religion beyond being purple and... being goth..." The last part is said almost like a question. "Would you be in trouble if you didn't wear paint, if it isn't sacred? What about like, partial coverage? In public and stuff. Oh, and, um, the whole... distinction thing. Goth is more elegant? Than punk? Or like, grunge, or emo. Are you supposed to dedicate yourself to YOUR aesthetic or is there a dress code? Is 'goth' an important word? Does equating it to other aesthetics come across as rude?"

> Special Move: One Thousand Needling Questions no Jutso.

xxforsaken-angelxx "You don't get in *trouble* for not wearing the paint, no. Like, most people around here wouldn't want to be out an' about without it or nothin', but just in the way anybody else who wears a lotta makeup wouldn't. Partial coverage's fine, too. I know this one chick who does a pattern with half her face, 's'cool as hell. And there is absolutely not a dress code beyond legal modesty and safety regulations, I almost can't believe you gotta ask that."

> He says it with fondness, as he leans up against his desk. He could talk about this stuff forever, he just had to settle into the rhythm of it. His gods seemed to enjoy it too, maybe, almost curling up beside him once he got on a roll.

"Self expression is important to us. It's an inherent part of our magic. We're all brought together around a school of thought with magic that's about experimentation and what you feel, so, like. If you're callin' up the damned with scryin' bones, why the fuck *shouldn't* you wear a full black velvet cloak, y'know? Why not wear it out to get a sandwich every night, if that's what makes you happy?"

"So comparin' us to punk or whatever else is rude just 'cause it's not us. We have an ideology, and punk has a totally different ideology, an' none of us really want to be lumped together when it doesn't stand for the same thing."

chimericarchitect "Then... what is the goth clown ideology? Under that umbrella of self-expression and exploration... are there pretty pastel clowns, peppy and chipper, or clowns that... essentially aren't goth? That sounds really kind of cool though, being encouraged to pursue happiness in the empire. Are there purplebloods that aren't clowns, or is it kind of mandatory?"

> Saness is slowing down a touch, pretty sincerely fascinated by this topic. Culture in general is wildly engrossing, but she has a particular passion for the heavy familial nature of mirthful society.

> She follows his lead, to a degree, crossing her arms and resting her weight unbalanced on one leg, hip cocked out just slightly to accommodate. Very laid-back. One foot taps, keeping time with the pace of her thoughts.

"And, I mean, I *assume* it's just purplebloods and not other colors that join the faith in your society, but it doesn't hurt to ask. Doctrines and ideologies tend to conceptually elude me, but I do so love to hear about them."

xxforsaken-angelxx "Just purplebloods, but it's not mandatory, no. Most of us end up here anyways, but there's plenty that don't. And..."

> There's a pause as he chews on his words a bit. He's had to explain something to this effect several times before, and every time it's a little different. A little closer to what someone who's Grand Highblood might say.

"We think that belief is the most important part of magic. The rituals you do and the entities you work with are just...methods. What makes it *work* is what you feel. And if you *know* that, then you can take your belief and apply it on purpose to somethin' workin' to your advantage. So we just... believe in doin' what personally works for you. Celebratin' what personally works for you. There's no reason you can't be cheery and also goth, or be some pastel fuck and also goth. We're only gonna question you if *you* don't think you're doin' it right. You have to believe you are. Genuinely."

chimericarchitect > Saness inclines her head, an inquisitive pinch to her brow. It's not fully intentional, but she keeps mentally checking in on the spectral presence surrounding Grinmaww, akin to curious little 'are you still there' pokes while he talks.

"That's what goth is? Celebrating the self?"

> Her expression smooths away and she straightens with a soft laugh.

"I mean, heh, wow." She waves a hand, gesturing over his whole him.

xxforsaken-angelxx "I have no idea what you're talking about," he says, playfully shaking his head.

> The angels are also very there. They're Always there. Or at least, some of them are. Sometimes there's more, sometimes there's less, but there's always *something*.

> They tend to poke back, too. It's fun having friends.

chimericarchitect > She shakes her head, still smiling.

"Alright, so, next question. I think I saw the answer before on tumblr maybe, but I don't remember it at the moment. Can you always sense your angels?"

> Yeah she came here with a purpose, but Saness has never been very business-oriented. She hasn't been here long enough for the recycled air to bother her, she's barely been here long enough to appreciate the fact that she's in space. Vacuums and stable pressurized ships aren't as easy to replicate, she's kind of lucky not to be experiencing some kind of reaction to the environment. The thought is starting to creep into her head, the idea that there could be so much more to see.

> Somewhere in the bowels of this contraption, Hydromatic dangles in some kind of torture stasis.

xxforsaken-angelxx > Somewhere, Hydromatic is at their station, filing through dozens of simultaneous requests and trying to scrape up the spare seconds to fantasize about their matesprit. Piers is somewhere as well, possibly finishing his shift.

> And the ship is just generally bustling with life. It was a massive place, filled with a town's worth of purplebloods. Each one had their own magic, their own loud style, their own gods...

"Pretty much always, yeah. Sometimes I get distracted, but they're always there."

chimericarchitect "Does it still get lonely sometimes, even if you're never alone? How old were you when you like, met them? And, um..."

> Saness glances toward the door and lets her continuation hang in the air for a moment, not quite stilling so much as slowing her idle animation. There's a lot to consider, all the mystery and intrigue just beyond, but she knows full well she'd never be allowed to pass through. Not in a thousand sweeps. What would she even do? Act like a lost tourist and get Grinmaww into trouble?

> She slides her focus back into the room, back onto her host and off of stray thoughts of the fantastical. Her hands go into her pockets and she gestures toward him with a shrug of her shoulder.

"Are the subjects of everyone else's devotion so present as yours? Can you sense or otherwise detect them yourself?"

xxforsaken-angelxx "I'm not the lonely type. But I met 'em when I was like...five-ish? Which is young, for us. I had more resources than most wrigs would've, an' I just...had a strong pull, I guess."

> A strong pull and a florid imagination. His eyes follow hers before he can get too wrapped up in thinking about his old hive life, though. If it were anybody else, he'd be glad to show her around the ship. There were constant visitors on the Hydromatic, so one more wouldn't be terribly out of place.

> As long as they were like, actual Imperial citizens with travel paperwork. And not of a blood color that didn't exist here. So unfortunately that wasn't happening, even if they both wished it would.

"...I don't think everybody's are. Kinda depends. But magic just has a vibe, I can feel that usually."

chimericarchitect > ...Huh. What if he's picking up magic vibes off of her? Wicked undid those... locks or whatever, and she did attend a single quarter of lessons at the magic college, even if she was pretty much fully incompetent with her abilities. She would think, 'nah, they're totally different things probably,' but here she is and she can sense his angels, so... maybe not? But maybe it's like, a warlock thing, rather than strictly a magic thing. She doesn't have a magic sugardaddy hovering around her twenty-four seven for him to detect. Or even like. Sugardaddy La Croix. Residual sugardaddy. Hint of having been near a sugardaddy that might have side-eyed her once.

"Well, the angels seem really pleasant and friendly, and if that says anything about you then, heh." Even with all of her training Saness's face is soft, tender cheeks squishing firm when she smiles. It doesn't stretch like Grinmaww's or Ringleader's. "How old do clowns normally take on a patron?"

xxforsaken-angelxx > The magic here *was* different from magic elsewhere, but mostly in how certain the clowns were of its mechanics. Magic was considered an action, a movement of energy. It wasn't something just sitting around in people willy nilly, in their minds. Without something actively magical lying around, there was nothing he was attuned to sense.

> His face softened a little at her compliment, and a small "Aww" slipped out before he could think it through.

"It uh, depends though. Six is when most people really start socializin' online, and that's a big factor for decidin' to participate in the faith. So seven-ish is the most common for gettin' serious with contactin' things, as far as I know."

chimericarchitect > A little 'o,' either of interest or surprise, anoints her.

"Did you meet them before you met any other clowns or joined the faith then?"

xxforsaken-angelxx > His eyebrows raise a little.

"Before I met any other clowns, yeah. But I was pretty set on being involved since I could read what I had about it."

chimericarchitect "Did I ask something strange? Sorry."

> Saness tries to play it cool, another pretty flash of a somewhat sheepish smile, but she is a weenie and the lift of Grinmaww's eyebrows causes her to fret a secret amount.

xxforsaken-angelxx > He tries to look reassuring. Or as reassuring as a much taller goth clown can.

"Nah. Just haven't had anybody ask that. Nobody really asks an heir how they started, y'know?"

chimericarchitect > It works, she's as easily reassured as she is unsettled. Intent is always WAY more important than appearances to little ol' Saness. She tilts her head, birdlike. Why *wouldn't* anyone ask?

"Well... How *did* you start?"

xxforsaken-angelxx > Eridan stews on that for a second, digging through his memories of his old swamp hive for the answer he was looking for. Then, when he found it, he very seriously said:

"Clown grubby books."

chimericarchitect > Her mouth opens, and then it closes. She considers this. Raises a finger. Opens her mouth again with the sound of an H turning to a W, then closes it again. A hum. The finger lowers.

xxforsaken-angelxx > He watches her flounder, and provides nothing. There's a smile in his eyes. Specifically a :o)

chimericarchitect > It ends with her giggling, one arm crossing her front to rub at the other. Her general demeanor has an air of vulnerability at the shift, gentle and earnest in both the way she speaks and the way she looks at him, smiling soft as a peach. Saness's eyes still gleam to an unnatural degree, the ever-present predator, but she's about as scary as a snail covered in dew drops.

"Sorry, that sounds really cute Grinmaww... Were they pop-up books? I hope you had a pop-up book, I have a little collection of those, I think they're very charming..."

xxforsaken-angelxx > He ends up laughing back at her, crossing his arms and actually smiling a little. She's so cute? She's so cute. Why does everything happen so much.

"Of course they were pop-up books. Like just one of 'em but what kinda church would we be if the grubby book wasn't a pop-up one. That'd be bullshit."

chimericarchitect > Her smile widens eagerly, the rubbing arm stopping in more the fashion of a half-formed self-hug.

"I wish I could read them. Obviously it inspired little you? You're here and all, and you seem happy to."

xxforsaken-angelxx "I sure am. Love this place, always have."

> He glances at one of his bookshelves in particular, scanning for a particular spot and then stammering.

"I uh- I still have the pop-up one. Like just a newer copy, lying around. You could, uh...I'd let you borrow it, for as long as you have the tubes, if you want. It's not like it has anything too secret."

chimericarchitect > Saness covers her mouth when she starts laughing this time, both hands. It lasts a good moment, eyes scrunched up with a fond sort of mirth once more. She's been charmed, how dare he. Like really, how dare he. This isn't the troll she made this trip to make friends with!

> And yet, she can't say she minds the direction this is going. Not one bit. What a good place this must be with leadership like this.

> She lowers her hands to rib-height, curled into loose and amicable fists.

"Really?" She pauses to nibble her lower lip, literally biting back another short string of giggles. "If you don't mind, I'd very much like that. Really."

xxforsaken-angelxx > Phththhghbhbhb, goes the clown. There's indignant hand waving and everything. He's trying to be NICE and she has the AUDACITY to like. Handle it in a playful friendly way. Rude.

"I don't mind at all, just lemme fuckin-"

> He strides over to the bookshelf in question, pulling out the thick little book from the spot it's been tucked away in, among serious magical tomes.

> The cover has a generic looking purpleblood wriggler, notably un-goth. They're curled up against a sheeplike lusus in a cool-toned forest scene, watching a glittery butterfly float overhead. A gold whimsical font proclaims that "Magic is Everywhere!"

> He shows her this for a second, then places it next to the other things she came here for.

chimericarchitect > Look at this guy. What a guy! A guy who keeps a copy of his wrigglerhood pop-up book in his block! A guy that would lend it to a near-stranger with a smile! A guy that bends and breaks the rules to do whatever is best or most interesting! A guy that doesn't get annoyed when he makes other people laugh! A guy with a really impressive propeller hand dance!

"What, you aren't going to flip through it with me? Don't you want to take a trip down memory lane with your new friend~?"

> Saness flounces along in Grinmaww's wake, leaning around him to rappa-tap a dance of her claws on the cover before he can fully rid himself of the book. She no longer minds the increased density of his aura by proximity, having decided that yes, they are friends now. It's a mostly-sincere question carried on a teasing tone that leaves him room to turn her down without anything getting awkward; he can brush her off as playing or he can take her seriously and crack open the book, and neither answer would be wrong.

xxforsaken-angelxx > Her hands get lightly swatted away. Bap, bap bap. It's kind of fortunate that he has a boyfriend now and everything, otherwise he'd still be terribly unused to people just...approaching him.

"Look, if I'm gonna give this thing to my 'new friend~'," he says, mimicking her badly, "Then I want you to enjoy this the proper way, which is all curled up at hive or whatever. It's the cozy kind of wriggler book. Don't at me."

chimericarchitect > Saness accepts her defeat with wiggly fingers, politely stepping back out of the range of his personal space. She is a self-satisfied creature.

"Cozy wriggler book, you've got it."

> She stuffs her mitts back into her pockets (all better, no touchy) and resumes rocking from heel to toe, watching Grinmaww with interest.

"I have so many more questions for you, but like, I realize this wasn't supposed to be a social visit and you are a very busy troll." Gotta check in. Gotta give him an out.

xxforsaken-angelxx > He settles back into leaning up against his desk, all casual like. But clearly with his feathers playfully ruffled. If it weren't for the paint there'd probably be a bit of a blush...which Saness might can guess anyways, with how much time she spends with clowns.

"Nah, I don't mind. Once I'm off work it's not like there's anything I'm supposed to be doin'."

> That and he's really enjoying her company. But he can't just like, say those words out loud, right?

chimericarchitect > That's enough of an invitation for her! Beaming, Saness makes an invisible 'desk' out of her psi and leans back against it, copying him like the silliest roly-poly.

"Great! You're even cooler than I'd hoped, I like talking to you."

> Apparently she can just say whatever the fuck she wants, unabashed while in her element. A single clap!

"Tell me about your lusus!"

xxforsaken-angelxx > There's clear amusement in her parroting, but also...a lack of questioning how the fuck she's doing that. Miming is a pretty common skill around here, after all.

"A goat? But like, a fish goat. An angler fish goat. Real big fucker that'd go around the swamp eating basically anything."

> There was a bit of disdain in his voice. It's fairly obvious that he didn't have a *great* opinion of his goat figure.

"Think I gotta pass that one back at you, though. What was your lusus like?"

chimericarchitect "Uh, well..."

> She would be more phased by having bonked so clumsily into the Makara-standard experience of bad wriggler-lusus relations, but Grinmaww just asked a bit of a tricky question. It's obvious that Saness has to really consider how to answer this; for a moment she even looks off to the side, brow pinched.

"I don't really remember my lusus. I had a guardian, and she was a troll."

> The "sort of" that follows is said lower. How does one smoothly segway into 'I have amnesia and also the troll that looked after me when I came-to was actually some kind of life-force golem'? The answer is, you don't. You just don't.

xxforsaken-angelxx > Obviously there's curiosity that arises from that 'sort of.' Like, sort of a troll or sort of a guardian? It's an easy follow-up, and one he doesn't take. Instead, he gives her a somewhat sympathetic look.

"You don't gotta talk about it if you don't want to."

> It's said both sincerely and flatly. He's not effected by whatever emotions she has around the subject, but is okay with them. No judgement, but lots of instinctual professionalism.

chimericarchitect "R-right..."

> The flat tone doesn't feel like it fits with the sympathetic look. Saness does not thrive in professional or formal environments, and even the gentle stiffness is enough for her to trip and flounder over. What is she *supposed* to say? Is this one of those secret codeword things people do when they like someone and want to be polite, but don't actually want to hear what they have to say?

> And besides... *Does* she want to talk about it? It's reflex to say 'no she doesn't,' and that coupled with the above is enough to sway her decision.

"I don't believe I ever got around to asking. Are limebloods extinct in this timeline?"

xxforsaken-angelxx > He *would* be interested, but he's not... supposed to be. Being a boss has it's tolls, one of them happening to be that he has a firm habit of not prying too hard. Any piece of extra information is something that can trip up the works of Imperial bureaucracy.

> So she takes her out and he lets it be, moving on to answering her next question as if nothing happened.

"Yeah, they are. Though the real dock against you is the fact that you don't have paperwork for existin' here. Like, you could go all hemo-anon or whatever an not stand out, but not havin' a travel record would get you in trouble real quick."

chimericarchitect > She's quick to focus on this new topic, grasping at it a bit like a life raft. It was one little hiccup, everything is fiiiiine.

"Really? Travel record? ...I implanted an identity to assume on an Earth once so that I could open a bank account and a few other things, but like, I imagine something like that might be a bit more difficult in this timeline. Earth is just... Not very savvy. Then again, on a standard Alternia, there are LOTS of available identities to assume, trolls die super constantly on the ground..."

> Grim thoughts are grim, and Saness makes a face. This line of thought isn't pleasant, and she isn't neutral about it, no matter how plainly she likes to talk about it.

"Who even checks for those? Everyone I pass in the hall? Do you have to confirm your I.D. at every doorway?"

xxforsaken-angelxx > Eridan points up towards the ceiling and gestures around.

"Cameras. There aren't any in here, but they're pretty much everywhere else. Anyone out of place would get spotted immediately, an' then you'd get flagged down for some questions."

> There's an attempt to not make the word "questions" in that sound ominous. An attempt. But the eyes of the Hydromatic were in fact everywhere.

chimericarchitect "Oh, so the 'travel records' are digital, and Hydromatic can identify people and locate aforementioned records on the spot, and if something doesn't line up, then yadda yadda? Or do you mean, Hydromatic would send security after me or whoever else walked mysteriously out of a closet because they're just *that aware* of every single familiar face and *that aware* of who has gone where? Because, I've got-"

> Saness grabs for her wallet chain, pulling the end of it out of her back pocket. It's definitely still not attached to a wallet; it's attached to a retro sylladex!

"I've got..."

> Operating this thing is not efficient. She's still flipping through it... There's a reason technology moved on without this little pocket-lunk.

"I've got this amulet, it was a gift. A disguise amulet..."

> Fwip fwip fwip... She just wants to show him a neat trick, man... Why does this have to be so har-AHA!!

> With a declaration of triumph, she retrieves a very simple locket on a very simple chain, proudly holding it aloft and grinning mischief at Grinmaww.

xxforsaken-angelxx > He just...lets her. He's the one with an even more old-fashioned looking computer sitting behind him. But he has no idea what exactly a 'disguise amulet' implies. Like, it *feels* magic, but there's a lot of extents that thing could go to. Instead, he just answers her questions.

"It's like a facial recognition system, just with an actual pair of eyes as a step in the process. If you're authorized to be on board here, and also to be in whatever rooms you're goin' in, then everything's fine, mostly."

chimericarchitect > Saness nods along, but she only half-cares about the answer to her question. It's not like she's going to be skulking about on the ship.

"Okay, so, check this out. Do you have any printed photos? Small ones, or ones you don't mind being folded? Magazine cutouts count, it'd just be cooler if it's someone that you recognize from this timeline rather than whoever I have in my pocket."

xxforsaken-angelxx "Uh-"

> Now it's his turn to awkwardly fumble around for something. He turns to start going through his desk drawer, pushing around this and that. There was a lot in the damn things. A few pipes, art supplies, spare papers, weed...

> Eventually he found a photo tucked away amongst it all, and handed it over.

> It's a picture that was only able to print halfway for some reason or another, leaving only one person in the image. Said person is Nymede, the Hydromatic's lead IT specialist. She was in an open shoulder top and hot pants and fishnets, with big fuzzy legwarmers. Her face was half obscured by a gas mask, and she had bright purple and fuchsia hair extensions.

> She was...probably in the helmsblock, or near it, there was biowire visible behind her, but there was no sign of Hydromatic themselves.

chimericarchitect > Is it void nonsense? A lack of ink? Some sort of printer malfunction? A certain helm being fussy about their picture being taken and purposely botching the job? The world may never know, and further, the world is unconcerned. Saness accepts the photo and gleefully pops open the locket. There was already a photo inside - one of Saness that has been color-edited to have black hair and ordinary teal eyes - that she hastily replaces with the photo of this very Fashion(tm) clown person. She gives it a playful jostle once it's closed away.

"Now, hang on, this is the cool part-"

> The moment she slips the locket over her head, Saness is no longer standing in the room. Instead, in every physically perceivable way, Nymede has replaced her. Eeach visible detail is accurate to the picture, and Saness-as-Nymede gives a little twirl.

"Tadaaa...!"

> It doesn't alter her voice, unfortunately, and Saness still sounds like herself. She moves like herself too, despite whatever change in height there may be, fluffy legwarmers flouncing realistically to match.

xxforsaken-angelxx "Wow what the fuck."

> That was. Perhaps less enthused sounding than he intended, and he cracks up the second after that leaves his mouth.

"Man, what the *fuck*-"

> It is perhaps somewhat alarming to see a perfect clone of your friend, even if you think it's fucking hilarious. Boy is it realistic, though. He saw Nymede just tonight, and he wouldn't have thought twice if she'd been able to mimic her voice. Scary, but incredibly impressive!

chimericarchitect "Isn't it neat? It's basically a hologram. The projection is magic and it has the most basic of shells to give an amount of resistance when touched, but if you pressed against it you would sink through until you touched me. When used to mimic smaller things, the parts that hang out turn completely invisible, but can still knock into things if you aren't careful."

> While she talks Saness is wafting Nymede's arm back and forth, looking it over herself. She has back some of the same energy she came in with, the excitable quickness to the way she carries her borrowed form bleeding into how quickly she talks.

> She pauses only a moment, snapping her attention from Nymede's arm to Grinmaww's face. There's more she wants to say and show him, but she's not the type to sprint on ahead without someone.

xxforsaken-angelxx > He's following along, mostly, the way someone tends to when they're fascinated by something they don't *really* understand. Holograms were a thing in common use here, hard light was something he understood in theory, using magic to create tech-like results was...imaginable, at least?

> Which amounted as far as it being conceivable, and him having no idea how the fuck something like that would actually be made. Miracles, man.

"Neat is a real fuckin' understatement for that."

chimericarchitect > She chuckles and goes to remove the locket, zooping back to her regular appearance with a sideways flicker as soon as the chain is off her neck.

"You can even disguise things as people, or people as things, or things as other things..."

> Saness looks around the room for an easy target that doesn't look like something personal or sensitive, something she could feasibly loop the chain around.

"...and you can keep the chain on the object you want to disguise while keeping the locket somewhere else, it will continue to function so long as neither are destroyed..."

xxforsaken-angelxx > There are, frankly, a lot of Things in this room, so there's a lot of potential targets. There's several large quartz samples of different colors that could easily have the locket wrapped around, or some of his jars of common herbs like rosemary and thyme. Or for something even safer looking, she could nab a big black candle.

> That last part is what really surprised him, though. The parts could work separately? The locket didn't have to be on the chain? It wasn't just the locket that did the thing? How the FUCK did this thing WORK?

chimericarchitect > Badda-boom, she slips the locket off of the chain and wraps the pretty metal in a loose cascade over an unsuspecting candle. Nymede appears where it was, but nearly completely physically static. If the candle was lit, she'll be wobbling her head around in a way that could be considered eerie, mimicking the flames with the limitations of hair and a neck.

> What's more, a candle is much smaller than a person, and... the projection seems to shiver and warp a lot like it is strained, glitching in a way that Nymede *definitely should not be moving* in. Saness seems to find these wild distortions and unnatural behaviors to be entirely hilarious, pointing up at her and giving the whole thing a very good laugh.

xxforsaken-angelxx > It was not lit, just sitting around waiting for use. But that only mitigated the weirdness of this somewhat. Like, here was one of his best friends, in lifelike form, magically superimposed over a candle when she really shouldn't be. The whole thing wibbled around with the uncanniness of a wax figure and the function of spaghetti code.

> He also thought it was fucking hilarious, and laughed with her.

chimericarchitect > They'll likely spend a moment in shared laughter before Saness reaches into the illusion to fumble around and remove the chain. As before, Nymede stretches sideways and zlorps out of existence.

> Saness is still a bit breathy with laughter when she speaks.

"See, that's... I can be anyone, or anything, except maybe - pppbb - a candle, or a spoon, haha!"

xxforsaken-angelxx "That's fuckin' mindbogglin' to me. But impressive as long as you're not tryin' to dodge the guards with bobblehead candle clowns."

> He shakes his head, still giggling a bit. What a time to be alive and in charge of this joint.

"I've been doin' magic for a long ass time an' I've never gotten to see shit like that.

chimericarchitect > A bit more laughter and apparently show-and-tell is over, because Saness is putting her magic tool back into her sylladex - but she courteously remembers to take out the picture and offer it back toward Grinmaww on an open palm.

"The multiverse is a vast place and... I guess I've seen a lot of things!"

> Actually, it was talking to Pierce before that really put it into perspective. She's a veteran of mystery...

xxforsaken-angelxx > The picture gets placed back roughly where it was before, in one of his desk drawers. Possibly not even the same desk drawer? There are only so many things that can be in his goth mind at one time.

"Guess so," he says. "And guess I haven't seen much at all."

> Which was solely exciting to him, really. There was nothing he loved more than learning about the way everything flowed along in the universe. All a vast *multi*verse meant was he never had to stop.

chimericarchitect > Prrp! Saness proceeds to brush herself down for reasons unknown, satisfied with his response. There is a threshold here that needs to be respected, and unlike some of her friends, she's going to try and reel it in before crossing it.

"There are a lot of things I could show you, but I think maybe that's enough for a first meeting. I may not be the most vibrant or interesting tour guide, but I am a willing and attentive one!"

xxforsaken-angelxx > There's a small scoff at that second part, immediately.

"You're plenty vibrant. I do think we're good on the touring for now though, yeah."

> His hand creeps a little towards the collection of things he's supposed to be passing along to her. It's that business instinct again.

chimericarchitect > That was? A compliment? Yeah, no, it's cool. It's COOL. She sure hopes it's a compliment and not some sign that she overwhelmed him though, but if it is then man, it sure does sound like Grinmaww is completely clueless, he should meet her friends, *they're* the vibrant ones... And probably also very literally insane.

> She doesn't fuss when he moves them toward the end of their visit, quirky in her lopsided-smile sort of way. Saness rocks on her toes with her hands jammed deep into her pockets. She'll wait politely for him to gather himself up and bring this meeting to a close; it is his place, after all. Grinmaww is the floor master.

xxforsaken-angelxx > The look he gives her seems to support the compliment theory... But a moment later he's distracted. No objection, time to give her the things. The picture book first, and then the two psychic tube-y things. They're neatly labeled with label machine stickers, one from Pierce and one from Grinmaww.

> They actually came out pretty distinct looking. Both of the glow bits are lit a similar shade of purple, but Grinmaww's is...actually a good bit fainter. He's never really had any other chances to compare himself, though, so it doesn't even strike him as odd. Pierce is just good at shit like this, obviously.

chimericarchitect > Her hands are freed from her pockets! In order! To accept a darling pop-up book! And the actual tools she came for!

"Thanks so much for being such a good sport. I'll get the bracers and your cozy grubby book back to you as soon as I've finished!"

> They disappear from her palms, slorped up by her sylladex like so much loose spaghetti.

"It will take me a little longer than normal to complete these though, as I'm uh, a little bit preoccupied back at hive."

xxforsaken-angelxx > He shrugs, and...smiles just a little. Why must she be so goddamn pleasant all the time always.

"That's fine. Ain't like there's any rush anyways. Just get 'em back when you can."

> There's a moment of realization on his face when he remembers that she's just going to like...zap out of herself out of here. And not use a door. Which means that normal farewell dialogue cues weren't going to happen.

"It was uh, real nice seein' you an' all man."

chimericarchitect > Saness wouldn't know a normal dialogue cue if it bit her full on the bulge, farewell or otherwise.

"Somenight we'll have to figure out how to swap tours for realsies!"

> Rather than saying goodbye or returning the compliment like a civilized or well-adjusted troll, she gives her new friend a big smile and an even bigger dwarpy salute, turning on her heel for dramatic effect as the crackly light consumes her once more.

> Just like that, she is gone.

#ooc #logs.txt #(( featuring 20 questions with saness and silliness #(( with a small side of plot #(( no warnings needed

5 notes · View notes

shockwrites · 6 years

Text

Hard Liquor

Author’s Note: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Series: Original

Pairing: Faye/Theo

Length: 1733 words

Rating: Safe (although there’s like a hint of a lewd undertone at the end)

There was enough tension in the air that one could almost cut it with a knife.

Faye mentally cursed herself. She hadn’t given herself enough time to prepare for this moment. That much she came to terms with as she quietly sat at the dining table, watching helplessly as her current boyfriend of hardly a few weeks was faced with the height of apex predators. A beast in virtually every sense of the word, glaring down at the poor rabbit with the subtle ferocity of a predator stalking its prey:

Her mother, Hortense Dulciana.

To this very moment, Faye hadn’t the slightest idea how the news of her and Theo’s newly founded relationship had traveled so fast. Those cursed words were etched into her brain: “Perhaps you could introduce me to this Theo character”. It was said with no sort of figurative tone whatsoever. Hortense wanted to see him and now. Her heart skipped enough beats that she wasn’t entirely sure it was still beating.

Theo had been all too eager to meet the woman. Oh, how naïve he was. Faye watched in horror as her mother’s greeting came in the form of a piercing gaze that all but shattered the remnants of the bunny’s eager curiosity into anxiety fueled terror.

Hortense was much larger than her daughter in terms of height. She was much more slender and serpentine than her daughter and her horns were much larger and…demonic looking. Her onyx scales held a darker shade, imposing her presence among the lighter yellow and bronze shades of the restaurant. Even her scarlet dress was striking amid the vibrant gold colors.

Her stone cold expression bore through Theo like a firehose through a sheet of paper. Faye was almost certain that the waiters were avoiding their table on purpose. Not like she could really blame them. All Hortense was doing for the past ten minutes was scrutinizing the poor rabbit, as though he was about to be the main course should he do so much as blink.

“So…” The dragon’s voice was sharp and to the point. “Chasing after mammals this time, Faye?”

“M-Mother!” Faye tried to sound chastising but it merely came out as a feeble whine.

Not once did she take her eyes off of Theo, meagerly and just barely managing a skittish smile. Hortense did not look impressed. “Well? Aren’t you going to introduce yourself?”

Theo finally managed to feel his heart pounding in his chest. “O-oh! Right! Right!” He cleared his throat, hoping to keep his voice from cracking any more than it just did. His suit felt stuffy and strangling. “My name is Thaddeus-ThEodORE! It’s-it’s Theodore Miss-ah Ma’am!” His ears flopped as he was overwhelmed by just how tiny he felt.

Oh boy.

Faye winced. She felt that one more than he did.

The alpha predator furrowed her brow, resting her muzzle on her intertwined fingers, still sizing up her prey. “Well then, Thaddeus.” Another wince, this time from the both of them. Neither party was going to forget that little slip. “Might I ask how you met my daughter?” Hortense’s gaze shifted to Faye who shrank from her foreboding glare. “I would have guessed that Faye would be withered and decrepit before leaving her precious books.”

“We uhh…met at a party, actually!”

“A party?” She asked with a somewhat surprised tone. “I didn’t think a rabbit could be someone of the upper class.”

“W-Well ahh…I was actually…” Theo was starting to lose his nerve as he ran through the possible responses to his next sentence in his mind. All of them ended in tragedy. “I was…one of the waiters…”

Hortense scoffed, leaning back in her seat with an unnerving smirk. “I see. So did the deed happen, hm? Did you consequently recite a line from one of her little romance novels?”

“Well n-no, you see,” Theo stammered.

“Did you miraculously bump into her as she was trying to leave?”

Faye internally groaned. Was she planning on embarrassing her for the entire night?

“Or perhaps,” Her reptilian eyes gave a side glance over at Faye who was just short from banging her head on the table, “Were you stuck with her after she drank herself stupid?”

Faye’s eyes widened. Suddenly she had trouble swallowing the lump in her throat. She made a quick glance at Theo who had just as much difficulty responding as she did. Their struggle suggested the obvious answer, yet Hortense patiently awaited the confession, as though she would gain some sick satisfaction out of it. With the chips down, Faye prepared to fold, not wanting her boyfriend to take this heat on his own.

Fortune smiled on her that night.

“Are you prepared to order?”

The table glanced over the clearly nervous fox who had appeared to draw the short straw among the rest of the waiters. Faye had never been so happy to see a waiter since the day she met Theo.

“Yes!” Faye called out a bit too loudly. “The Caesar salad, please!”

“T-Tomato basil tortellini broth, please.” Theo recited perfectly after running the words through his head more times than he could count.

The mammal waiter did his best not to make eye contact with the remaining patron. “Gin. Please.” Hortense hardly bothered shooting a glance at the meek fox.

“R-Right away!”

Faye could tell he couldn’t wait to walk away. Not that she’d blame him.

The guy doesn’t know how lucky he is.

Not even the sounds of utensils tapping porcelain could quell the uncomfortable silence at the table.

It was like the most stressful game of chess. All responses had to be considered with the utmost care and preparation. With every misspeak or slip of the tongue, Hortense’s judgments grew.

“You say you are a waiter, hm?” The dragon’s sharp tongue once again spewed its venom.

Theo swallowed a spoonful of soup, ensuring that there were no chances of him choking. “Not just waiting actually! I do a lot of odd jobs on the side!” He was all too excited to bring that up.

“Odd jobs…” She replied in a disinterested tone, as though now was her first time hearing the term and she couldn’t bring herself to care for it.

“Yes! Catering, bartending, you name it!” Theo tried to chuckle jovially but ended up awkwardly clearing his throat for the umpteenth time instead.

“…Interesting.” Hortense took a sip of her wine. Her focus alternated between the couple. She set aside her now empty glass of wine. “Well, I suppose that’s all I needed to hear for tonight.”

Faye blinked stupidly. “Err…Mother?”

“My eldest daughter, inheritor of her father’s fortune, gotten herself drunk and latched on to a working-class prey mammal in her splendor.” She called for their waiter to refill her glass. The fox quickly responded, only to have the bottle snatched from his palms without a second thought. He attempted an interjection but Hortense’s man-eating glare immediately reassured him how much he would’ve regretted it. “That’s quite enough that I have the ability to care about regarding this matter.”

Faye and Theo exchanged looks. She was just as speechless as he was.

“Mother, I…I don’t understand.”

Hortense sighed in impatience. “For someone so bookish, you have a surprisingly hard time grasping the simplest of answers, Faye.” The larger dragon took another swig of her wine. “Your personal life and what you do with your time is of little concern to me. If you wish to spend your time encouraging whatever fetish those novels have you hooked on, then so be it. I was merely curious to see what manner of romance novel cliché could capture your eye of all things.”

Faye didn’t take too kindly to her relationship being dubbed as a “fetish” but she didn’t quite have the willpower to talk back to her mother, especially now that the longest dinner she’d ever suffered through was now seemingly drawing to a close. Theo remained quiet and awkward, unable to tell if he was supposed to say something right about now.

“I must admit, however, you’ve surprised me, Theodore.”

Theo’s ears perked up in response, surprised to hear his name being called properly after that slip-up moments prior. Not once did he think he’d be able to receive an approval from her throughout this entire night. Lord, was he ecstatic to be proven wrong. “I have?”

Hortense nodded, cooly leaning back in her chair and looking towards Faye. “I’m so used to whatever weak-kneed fling or floozy that your sister brings home. This is the first one that actually managed to keep in their seat before the main course.” She gave a congratulatory clap that unsurprisingly felt disingenuine. “Impressive work. Especially for you, Faye.”

She was far from convinced that was a compliment but at this point, she’d take anything she could get.

The slog through Faye’s apartment was more exhausting this time around.

Faye plopped face first atop her couch, flicking off her high heels with a drained groan. Theo followed suite on the spot next to her. For the next few minutes, the world was in peaceful silence, free of the stresses and anxieties that plagued the couple moments prior.

“…I still feel her judging me.” Said Faye’s muffled voice.

Theo lifted his head and turned to his girlfriend. “Is she…always like that?” He spoke before his brain could filter himself. He didn’t want to seem rude, talking about someone’s mother. Even after that.

“Mhmm.” She finally felt the need to raise her head. “On a good day if you can believe it.”

Theo chuckled. “Oh man. Well hey, we got through it didn’t we?”

“Mmm.”

“And with some semblance of approval right?”

“Define approval.”

The rabbit smiled warmly before entwining his fingers with her’s. “Well…she knows that this – we’re a thing that’s happening. That was the whole point wasn’t it?”

Faye paused for a moment before answering. She had to admit that she wasn’t exactly expecting her mother to be over the top ecstatic about her love life. In truth, this possibly did turn out to be the best case scenario. “Yes…I suppose it was.” A slight grin reached Faye’s muzzle as well.

“That’s the spirit.” Content, he lied on his back. “So what’s next?”

“Oh,” Theo had barely enough time to react before Faye was suddenly hovering over him, her dress already falling past her shoulders, “I have a few ideas.”

#faye #theo #furry #scalie #original #safe

3 notes · View notes

not-so-secret-nerd · 7 years

Text

The Weirdo Club

Basically wrote this off my own prompt (Give me stories where the girls come across a gang of kids viciously picking on a wee Holtz and chasing the aggressors off). Just a fast and loose little snippet of our favorite Ghostbusting ladies as kids. Have fun!

“Yeah, you better run, you sons-of-bitches!” eleven-year-old Abby Yates shouted at the retreating backs of three older bullies, one of them pinching the bridge of his broken nose, blood staining his fingers red. She contemplated chucking a rock at them when they mounted their bikes to further drive home her point but figured the good smacking she’d schooled them with had been poignant enough.

Behind their fuming, centurion friend, Erin Gilbert and Patty Tolan ditched their backpacks and rushed over to the motionless form on the ground. From a distance, it looked like a discarded pile of brightly colored clothing accented with a poof of blonde hair that appeared more wig than natural locks. Then the huddled mass jerked sharply against a hard, wet cough, revealing the skinny, spindly body beneath like a turtle coming out of its shell.

“Oh my gosh, are you okay?” Erin squeaked when she knelt to get a good look at the small blonde girl starting to uncurl from her self-preserving tuck against the chain-link fence. The wee thing must have just regained her bearings because the second her eyes focused on Erin she skittered back with a whimper, eyes huge behind her funny-looking yellow glasses.

“Hey shorty, it’s okay. We’re not gonna hurt yah,” Patty soothed, crouching next to Erin. She showed the little thing her hands so she’d know neither of them were a threat. “They got you pretty good, didn’t they? Anything broken?”

The girl didn’t answer, dragging the sleeve of her obnoxious orange shirt across her face to clear away the tears, mud and blood marring her puffy features. A hard sniff worked a wince free that made Erin’s heart clench. The girl looked no older than maybe nine or ten, but it was hard to accurately gauge around her baggy, ill-fitting clothing and yellow glasses that made her look like an alien, eyes wide and green behind the lenses.

“Christ, those guys were pricks. I hope they—“ Abby pulled up short when she saw the sad state the bullies left their latest victim in, her anger draining away like a Millar balloon left out in the cold. “Oh damn.”

“Can you please stop cursing?” Erin soured, already tense from the altercation. “You’re scaring her more.”

“Sorry,” Abby shrugged, peering over Patty’s shoulder.

“That’s a nasty scrape you go on your forehead,” Patty tisked, trying to draw the girl’s attention away from Abby’s sudden and brusque appearance. Understandably, she was as skittish as an outfoxed rabbit and looked poised to bolt. “Erin, don’t you have a first-aid kit in your backpack?”

Brightening, Erin nodded enthusiastically and jumped up with renewed purpose, but a gravely, “I’m fine,” from the girl stopped her short.

“But—“

“I’m fine,” she reiterated a little more firmly, standing on wobbly legs. Clutching the fence, she stooped with a barely hidden wince for her silver duffel lying next to her, trying and failing to hide the reddening embarrassment crawling into her cheeks. Without looking at the staring trio, she began her slow limp away—hand pressed against a particularly tender bruise— tail proverbially tucked between her legs.

Glancing desperately between Patty and Abby, Erin tried to decide what to do, but Abby beat her to the punch.

“Hi Fine, I’m Abby,” the shortest of the three friends suddenly said, jogging up beside the limping blonde and sticking out her hand as both a greeting and a way to keep her from leaving.

The girl looked down at the offered hand and back up at Abby, brows wrinkling. “Did you just dad-joke me?”

“Uh, yup. Yup, I did. Names Abby Yates, and these are my best friends. Erin Gilbert,” Abby gestured to a shy-looking Erin who offered a little wave, “and Patty Tolan.�� Patty nodded with a friendly half-smile, standing to her full height next to Erin. “What’s your name?”

“Why are you being nice to me?” the girl cautioned, not taking the bait but at least lingering long enough to talk.

Abby threw up her shoulders in a sharp shrug. “I don’t know. Seems the thing to do when you meet someone new.”

“No one’s nice to me,” the blonde said off-handedly, casting her gaze down at her threadbare shoes. She’d fixed them this morning, getting the noxious green Duct Tape just right over the holes. Now they were scuffed and dirty. All that work had been for not. It made her heart sink further into her stomach. Couldn't she go two days without the Decker brothers giving her trouble?

“Seems you been hanging out with the wrong type of people,” Patty declared, planting her hands on her hips, giving the girl her best ‘mom look’.

The blonde offered up a wan smile that lacked the ability to reach her eyes. “I only hang out with ghosts. Dead people like me more than the living do.”

She thought the off-color comment would be the final blow and drive these strange vigilantes off, but she was shockingly mistaken. She watched with confused fascination as Abby whipped around to look back at a distinctly startled Erin, the two sharing an unreadable look.

“No shit?” Abby breathed excitedly, turning back to the newcomer. “You really see ghosts? Like distinct spectral entities?”

“If you count the weird old guy that stands under my streetlight every night, then yeah,” the girl shrugged, the motion sending an unforeseen lance of pain through her shoulder. Hunching against the white-hot sensation, she dropped her duffle, hissing through clenched teeth.

“You might have dislocated it,” Erin suggested timidly, craning her neck like she’d be able to see for herself. “I’d see a doctor if I were you.”

“Mom and dad can’t afford one,” the girl husked a reply, doing her best to rub the sore spot. “But like I said, I’m fine.”

“That’s such a weird name, but okay,” Abby teased lightly, stooping to pick up the silver bag between them. The girl must have caught the motion in her periphery because she spun and snatched it back with a shout, clutching it to her chest like it was her only life-preserver. The outburst made everyone freeze.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I wasn’t going to take it, I swear,” Abby reassured, raising her hands once again and stepping back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

The blonde remained locked in semi-petrification—eyes a little wild—weighing Abby’s sincerity. Eventually, she loosened with a ragged sigh and a single word pushed past her swollen lips. “Holtzmann.”

“What?” all three asked in unison.

“My name. It’s Holtzmann. Holtz for short.”

“Wicked,” Abby grinned. “Well, Holtz, my gran was a nurse for a couple of years. She could look at your shoulder for you.”

“No,” Holtz shook her head sharply, blonde curls swinging. “I need to get home.”

“We’ll walk you then,” Erin suggested, retrieving her backpack from the ground.

“Why would you do something like that?” Holtz asked, wrinkling her nose as if prolonged exposure to her presence was something unsavory. Then again, ask anyone at her school and they’d tell you you’d catch something from the weird street urchin if you strayed too close. Apparently, they thought poverty was contagious.

“That’s what friends do, baby,” Patty grinned, getting her backpack too.

“I don’t have any friends.” It wasn’t said in a combative or aggressive tone: instead closer to mystified. Holtz looked between the three girls, one of which had successfully chased off three of her worst bullies singlehandedly, unsure what she should do.

“Well, you do now! Us weirdos need to stick together!” Abby declared, clapping the smaller girl on the back only to belatedly remember she’d just recently been kicked into a self-preserving ball. “Sorry.”

“Ow…” Holtz winced, fighting to uncoil her shoulder blades.

“Here,” Erin offered shyly, finally stepping next to Holtzmann and digging something out of her pocket. It was a bright pink band-aid with hearts on it, the only one she’d found in her first-aid kit. “Can I put it on your forehead? The cut looks nasty.”

Blinking in obvious surprise, Holtz removed her yellow glasses—squinting at the blue harshness rushing into her exposed sockets—and allowed Erin to sweep aside her curls and lightly place the band-aid across the abrasion.

“There,” the brunette beamed with pride when the errand was done, admiring her work. “Not really good as new, but it’s something.”

“Thanks,” Holtz mumbled, reaching up to touch the band-aid’s slick surface, aware her ears were starting to burn with a flush that would soon make it into her cheeks if she didn’t look away.

“I like your yellow glasses,” Erin prompted bravely, falling into step when the four of them started walking out of the alley. “Do they help with your headaches?”

At that, Holtz stuttered to a standstill, mouth agape. “How did you know?”

“Girl, Erin’s our little Miss Medical Dictionary. She knows all kinds of weird things on account she a hypochondriac,” Patty laughed good-naturedly.

“I am not!” Erin protested. “I just have a delicate disposition.”

“You have allergies. That’s literally it,” Abby added over her shoulder from the front of the procession. “And the only reason your armpits itch is because you don’t shave them.”

“Mama said I wasn’t allowed until I was thirteen,” Erin muttered, face literally on fire and eyes glued on her shiny black dress shoes. Holtz couldn’t help but laugh, the sound drawing looks from the other girls on account it was more snorts and giggles than an actual laugh.

“My mom said the same thing, so I burned my hair off.”

“No way,” Abby gasped, spinning so she was walking backward. “You so did not.”

“Totally did,” Holtz countered. “I used my dad’s blowtorch and a can of hairspray. Caught the curtains on fire, but that’s beside the point. See?”

Setting down her silver pack, Holtz hurriedly shed her funny gray jacket that looked more like an oversized lab coat, hiked down her overall straps and pulled off her orange top with the nonchalance of someone who didn’t give a flip about public nudity. Then again, in the right light, Holtz could be mistaken for a boy with how flat she was…so it might have not mattered.

Sure enough, her armpits were devoid of hair but the trio wasn't looking at the smooth skin under Holtz’s arms but rather the literal skin and bones the girl seemed to be. They could count ribs just below the bud of her nipples and were sure if she turned around there would be vertebra visible.

“Ppft, you won’t get me out of my top that fast. At least not for free,” Abby jested stiffly, breaking the ice forming around them with a joke, but they were all sharing concerned looks Holtzmann thankfully didn’t catch.

“I’ll remember that,” Holtz grinned and winked, pulling her clothes back on.

“Man, you all are weird,” Patty huffed.

“But you love us,” Abby sleazily smiled, bumping her shoulder against the taller girl.

“Unfortunately. Hey…” she hedged, glancing back at the newest member of their group. “I’ve still got food left over from lunch, and Mama will whoop me if I come home with leftovers. Any of you want them?”

Erin and Abby caught on immediately and both shook their head.

“No, I’m still full from lunch.”

“Nah, I’m fat anyway,” Abby laughed, poking her stomach. “Plus dinner will be ready when I get home. Holtz?”

The smaller girl thought about it for less than a New York minute before nodding, trying and failing to hide the hunger just below the surface. “Sure. If it’ll help you out.”

“Man, you a lifesaver, girl. Thanks a bunch.” Patty handed over the contents of her lunchbox, the three pretending to miss how eagerly Holtz dug into the food, wolfing it down in hurried gulps.

“Hey Holtz,” Abby called from the front. “Tomorrow we’re gonna get together at my house and watch the new X-Files episode. You wanna come? I’ve got plenty of room.”

Holtzmann’s eyes lit up, Abby apparently striking a very wide nerdy vein in the smaller child. “Hell yeah, I would!”

“Awesome! We’ll meet after school, okay? I’ll give you my number so your mom can call my mom. That cool?”

“Definitely.”

“Awesome. Welcome to the weirdo club then!”

#Jillian Holtzmann #Erin Gilbert #Abby Yates #Patty Tolan #Ghostbusters #Kid busters #Kid AU

47 notes · View notes

pjbehindthesun · 7 years

Text

chapter 5: yellow daisies and white rabbits

Sunday, June 24th, 1990

I shuffle my high tops in front of her door uncertainly while I wait for her to answer my knock. Has it been long enough that I should knock again? Would that seem needy or demanding? Maybe she just didn’t hear me the first time, right? Or maybe I’m being creepy enough just by showing up on her doorstep unannounced and I’d better not push my luck. I’m just about to lose my nerve and turn around when Lucy answers the door, wiping her hands on a turquoise dish rag.

“Hi, Jeff!” She says, looking pleasantly surprised, and her smile blows away all my anxiety like a warm breeze. Until she furrows her brow. “Wait, how did you know which apartment was mine?”

Busted. “I, uh…” I’m mumbling to the dingy carpet in the hall, “I remembered your last name and I checked the mailboxes in the lobby.”

But instead of slamming the door in my face for being a desperate stalker, that smile dawns over her face again. “What for?”

“I, uh,” I try to fight some words out past the grin on my face, “I think I just felt bad that my drunk idiot friends just took over your car last night and we didn’t get to, like, say goodnight, it was just sort of rushed.”

I had been trying so hard to get fuckin’ wasted Stone and Mike quietly up to my apartment to sleep it off that I barely got to wave goodbye to her as we continued up the stairs, and all I’ve wanted to do since then is run back down here, find her apartment, and keep asking her all about her life story, getting to know every little thing about her. The hour that I got to spend talking to her at the Off-Ramp last night (after we found a spot outside where our various asshole friends couldn’t interrupt us anymore) was the most exhilarating hour I’ve spent in I don’t know how long. My slightly hungover friends shuffled off this morning, and I’ve basically just been pathetically wasting time ever since, watching the clock and trying to figure out when’s an appropriate time to show up at her door.

“Well, you’re either really late or really early, it’s like 12:30,” she giggles, leaning against the door frame.

“So I guess we just have to keep talking, then. Kill time until the next goodnight.”

“Seems like our only option.”

“Well, uh, and only if I’m not interrupting anything, that is… since we’re powerless against the force of time and all, do you… wanna go get some lunch while we wait?” Please say yes. Please say yes. I have no idea where I’m finding all this courage, except from the smile that she’s giving me that feels like a sunrise in my chest.

She nods with a little flush of her cheeks, and I have to fight to keep myself from jumping in the air from the adrenaline. “Let me just grab my bag… wanna come in for a second?”

I edge inside her apartment while she ducks down the hallway and into her bedroom. It’s the same layout as mine, just flipped around on the opposite side of the hall. The same boring curdled cream-cheese colored walls, the same scratched up wood floors, the same cheap dingy kitchen. That’s where the similarities end, and I’m disoriented and fascinated by everything else.

Everything in here is a different, vivid color. In the kitchen, she’s hand-painted a trail of daisies on the wall over the tops of the cabinets, and the dishes in her drying rack are bright yellow to match. On the wall leading out of the kitchen, there are some bizarre old botanical drawings in beat-up wooden frames, and the windows are flanked with glittering patterned purple curtains. In the window seat, she’s got a bunch of orchids and cactii in brightly colored pots under an array of neon paper lanterns. The living room… the living room is something else. There’s a beat-up but ornate blue velvet couch, a giant golden tassled floor pillow, and a screaming orange floral recliner resting on an ancient Persian rug. I’m just craning my neck down the hallway to get a load of the mosaic of mismatched, loudly patterned Moroccan tiles covering the wall when Lucy bounces back out of her room, slinging a little light blue backpack over her shoulder.

She gives me a smile that’s almost a wince or a squint, the way it wrinkles her nose. “….what?”

“This… this is your place?”

“Uhm, if it’s not then my life’s about to get a lot more surreal… why? You hate it, right?”

“No! No. It’s insane. I love it. It’s like you live in a fucking Basquiat or something.” I’m grinning like a fool but I don’t care. Something about this place just makes me so deeply happy. It’s all so bright, and chaotic, and loud, and off-beat, and mysterious, and confusing, but somehow so coherent.

She nods. “Somewhat less thought-provoking social commentary. And less heroin.”

“Let me go on the record saying that both of those modifications are fine. Where the hell did you find all of this stuff??”

“Uhm, well, a lot of it I found at garage sales and random thrift shops. Some of it I made, like that” – she waves at the cornea-searing orange chair – “well, I upholstered it anyway, and those” – the curtains – “but the rest of it I’ve just picked up all over the place.”

“Wow. I mean, I’ve picked stuff up off curbs and yard sales for my place too, but it’s all beige and brown and boring.”

Lucy giggles. “And yet you’re the artiste, hmm?”

“Hey be nice, I never said I knew shit about interior design,” I chuckle.

“It’s a lot in here, I know,” she hedges, toying with her hands as we make our way to her front door.

“It’s pretty perfect, is what it is,” I mumble, and I’m not sure if I’m even still talking about her apartment. “So, where should we go?”

***

“Cora? Hey, CORA! WAIT UP!”

The bell at the top of the door to the Cyclops is still ringing in my ear as I step out onto 1st Street and try to figure out who’s yelling at me. I spot Stone about a half a block south of me, waving his arms and breaking into a jog with Mike trailing behind him, toting two guitars over his shoulder.

“Hey, stalkers,” I grin as they catch up to me. “Stone, I thought you weren’t speaking to me after last night.”

“I really shouldn’t, what with the restraining order and all.”

Mike’s watching us with a completely lost expression on his face. Oh, poor thing was so drunk he doesn’t even remember the ride home. “Sorry Mikey, Stone here got his feelings hurt over some crap on the radio.” Mike mouths a knowing “ahh” with a nod.

“Crap on the radio?? See, this is why the court ordered you to stay 500 feet from me. I can’t have someone brutally assaulting my taste in music all the time.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t recognize the ruling, on the grounds that loving Steely Dan that much cannot lawfully be described as ‘taste.’”

Stone gapes at me in horror. “You’re a monster, Red.”

“Takes one to know one. How long have you been following me, creep?”

“Ha ha,” Stone drawls. “We were actually just heading to your building.”

“That makes it so much less creepy, obviously.”

“To see Jeff,” Mike injects. “Stone’s piece of shit car won’t start so we left it back on 3rd. We’re trying to get up to a guitar place in Fremont to get these things looked at, so we were gonna try to bum a ride from Jeff.”

Mike checks his watch with an anxious look, so I start taking baby steps north towards home, and the guys follow along.

“What were you doing up on 3rd? Do you guys live around here too?”

“No, I actually live up by Fremont and Stone here lives with his parents, which is an extremely rock and roll thing for a 23 year old to do.” Mike cracks me up with an exaggerated serious look.

“Whatever, assholes,” Stone grumbles. “Anyway we were just checking out this new practice space back that way. I think it’s gonna work out, so we might be your neighbors soon after all… please, not on the street,” he says as I mime puking in my mouth.

When we get back to my building, Jeff’s not answering the buzzer, even though the guys spotted his car in the parking lot. Stone’s brainstorming out loud about jogging back to a payphone to call a cab and Mike’s fidgeting and cursing Jeff’s name when I decide to speak up. After all, Alex is gone for the afternoon with his buddies, I’ve got nowhere to be.

“Listen, I can drive you guys. You said Fremont, right? That’s not far.”

“Yeah?” Stone asks with a skeptical expression, but Mike’s already making a beeline toward the line of cars I waved towards as I spoke.

“Excellent. Which one’s yours?”

“The white Rabbit,” I say, grabbing my keys from my pocket and pointing at it. Stone’s shoulders drop as he issues the eye roll to end all eye rolls.

“Okay, Grace Slick. You sure you don’t mind?”

“Not at all. I’d give you a jump but the cables are in Alex’s trunk, I think.”

“Of course. Thanks Alex,” Stone says in an acerbic tone, his face darkening into a frown. “Really, you don’t mind? It might take a while, Mike’s a freak about letting anyone work on his guitar.”

“Dude, she said it was fine, let’s go! Shotgun!” says Mike, who’s already hanging on my passenger side door handle like a child, and I let them both into the car.

“So, what are we listening to?” Mike’s rummaging through my tapes as Stone belts himself into the back seat.

“Please, dear sweet god, no hillbilly tunes.”

“STONE GOSSARD IF YOU CALL ME A HILLBILLY ONE MORE TIME –”

“Ooh! Rust Never Sleeps.” Mike pops the tape in with a contented grin.

The sniff that comes from Stone as I fire up the engine indicates that even he can’t think of an objection to Neil, and I quickly stifle a smile so he won’t catch it.

“So this practice space? Does that mean you guys are getting more serious about getting a new band going?” I ask as we turn onto 1st, with Mike occasionally reminding me of directions.

“Oh yeah. Born serious, baby,” Stone says, leaning forward and sticking his face between the front seats.

“Yeah, well if you’re so serious, you’d work harder to get Jeff on board,” Mike shoots him a pointed look.

“Not that crap again, Mike.”

“I mean it! We’ve gotta get Jeff Ament in here.”

“Fuck Jeff Ament.” Stone sits back in a huff, and Mike and I exchange significant looks.

“I thought he was your guy?” Mike asks. “You’ve been playing together forever!”

“That doesn’t mean shit. He’s my friend and all, but I can’t be in a band with him again. I can’t handle his fucking attitude anymore.”

I was going to stay out of it since I obviously don’t know the whole story, but come on. “His attitude? Really? That’s what you’re going with?”

Laughter explodes out of Mike as Stone punches the back of my seat.

“She’s got a point, dude,” Mike notes. “I’m pretty sure it took two of you to fuck things up this badly.”

Stone mutters something about a fucking ambush under his breath before grudgingly saying something to the effect of, “I guess I can give it a shot,” making Mike pump his fist and grin.

We unload in front of this dingy little music shop that Mike directed us to, and he gingerly picks up the guitars and practically sprints for the door. Stone and I share a shrug before following him inside.

A blast of freezing air hits us as soon as we walk inside, and I shiver involuntarily.

Stone casts a lazy glance over at me before looking over at a wall of guitars. “Cold, Red? Some Arctic explorer you must be.”

“Shut up, Stoner, you forget I’m a Southerner. It’s fucking frigid in here. Come here.” I rest my hands against the little bit of skinny upper arm sticking out from under his shirt sleeve, alternating pressing my fingers front and back to warm them up. He slowly looks over and down at me with his mouth slightly open and massive eyes that remind me of an owl’s.

“Haha okay okay fine, personal space,” I joke, pulling my hands back and stepping away. Stone’s still gazing at me with the same hallucinatory look as the shop clerk heads to the back of the store carrying the guys’ two guitars, with Mike on his heels and peppering him with a million nervous questions.

Stone’s stare is starting to freak me out, so I move away from him to the wall of guitars and brush the strings of an acoustic with my thumb a couple of times. Unable to help myself, I pull it down from the wall and strum a couple of sloppy chords.

“Do you play?” Stone says from just behind me. I might have jumped, except that his voice is so quiet.

“What? No, no. I’m awful.”

“Which is it?”

“Huh?”

“You don’t play, or you’re awful?” he asks, still in that same hushed tone, peering down over my shoulder.

“Two things can be true.”

“You’re, uh, you’re muting that string. Here, like this…” he takes my hand in his, very carefully adjusting the angle of my fingers on the strings. I want more than anything to sneer at him, but as I play around among the small handful of chords I know, I have to admit that tiny adjustment made things a lot easier. He drops his hand back to his side and listens.

“Thanks,” I glance up at him, and he quickly looks away at another guitar up on the wall.

“Uh, sure,” he coughs. “So did you teach yourself, or what? Because you were right, you’re pretty fucking terrible.”

“You’re a peach. Uhm, I learned a few things a long time ago, but yeah, I guess I mostly taught myself.” Dad taught me to play when I was 8, but I’m not about to tell this guy I barely know about that.

“Well, it shows.” Just like last night, there’s that snide tone accompanied with an encouraging smile, just pleading for me to see through his bullshit and play along.

“And I suppose you’re Hendrix, huh?”

“Nah, that’s Mike. I prefer Page, myself.”

“And so modest, too.” He bats his eyelashes at me. “So you think you’ll really talk to Jeff, or –?”

“Oh Jesus, not you too. Yeah, I’ll talk to him.” There’s a snap in his voice that wasn’t there before, so it’s clearly off-limits and I let the subject drop. I hang the guitar back up, and he seems to sense that he’s been a little spiky.

“So what’s life like for you this summer? I mean, you’re a student, obviously you don’t have class, but you’re still working?” He’s fumbling his words a little, trying to recover.

“Yeah, when you’re a grad student, your work is never done. And if it is, you’re doing it wrong.”

“Sounds fulfilling as a flesh-eating parasite.”

“You’re not wrong. Anyway, I’m actually going to Alaska next Friday for three weeks. Soil sampling trip.”

“No way? Wait, when do you get back?”

I scrunch up my face while I hunt for the date in my mind. “The 20th, I think. Why?” I ask, suspicious of the huge grin dawning on his face.

“That’s my birthday. And Chris’s. He’ll be back from their European tour by then and we’re having a party, you should try and make it. And bring this fabled boyfriend of yours. If you don’t freeze to death up north, that is…”

I’m trying to decide whether to punch him in the shoulder for being a dick or thank him sincerely for the invitation when Mike appears out of nowhere, looking a little brokenhearted.

“Gonna need a few days for repairs,” he mumbles. “You guys ready to get out of here or what?”

***

“You did not.”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“No, no, you just didn’t strike me as the type to…”

“…castrate something? You underestimated me, clearly.”

“Clearly,” Jeff says with a wide-eyed smile that’s somewhere between amused and terrified. “How did you… how?”

“One of my best friends back home lived on a cattle ranch, and I used to help her family with the calves all the time. Castration’s not a big deal –”

“That depends on which end of the knife you’re on, Lucy!” he shrieks.

“Okay, so I didn’t actually wield the knife…”

“I knew it! Thank fuck.”

“Haha can I finish? It’s really not a big deal, you just need someone who can help hold the calf down on one end and someone who can sprinkle cauterizing powder on when it’s done. It’s over really fast and they heal super quickly. I usually did the powder part but when they were small enough I could help hold them too.”

“Jesus, Lucy. Remind me never to piss you off.”

“Oh come on, you never encountered shit like this in Montana? You said you lived in cow country too, right?”

“Yeah, but the difference is that I got out of there as fast as humanly possible. I didn’t hang around the ranches, I hung around my hippie uncle with the record collection.”

His expression darkens a little bit when he’s talking about where he grew up, so it’s probably best to change the subject. “You said you got out of there fast? Did you come straight to Seattle, then?”

Nothing makes him light up more than talking about music or art, and I’m completely mesmerized by his face and the excitement in his voice as he tells me about the time he went to California when he was 12, how that trip connected him to skating, to punk music, and to everything outside of Big Sandy that he wished he could have. How he couldn’t wait to go to college just to find some like-minded people, but even then, he could only find a handful of other guys in Missoula who were into punk rock. How even that tenuous little tribe wasn’t enough of a home to keep him there when the college decided to close down his graphic design program, and how he came to Seattle looking for more. As we’re walking back home from lunch and he’s telling me all of this, and I think about everything he told me last night at the Off Ramp about Mother Love Bone and Andy, I marvel at how intensely protective I feel of him already. I’m the typical clichéd small town kid who left home looking to belong, too, so I understand where he’s coming from, but I don’t know if I’ve ever met someone who feels that drive quite as fundamentally as Jeff still does, even all these years later. Except maybe Cora. Sort of funny that they have that intensity in common.

We round the corner and wander into the parking lot of our building, in no real hurry to get home or anywhere else in particular, still talking about what brought each of us to Seattle, when I notice Cor’s rusty little white Rabbit pulling off the main road. I take Jeff’s hand and give it a quick squeeze. “Let’s go say hi!”

He trails behind me but allows himself to be led over to the car, and he looks as surprised as I feel when Stone and Mike climb out along with Cora.

“The fuck are you doing hanging out with these two losers?” he laughs at her.

“Bite me, Jeff,” Stone grumbles. “Hey, can you do me a favor?”

“Can you even hear yourself when you talk?” Jeff asks, shaking his head, but Stone continues undeterred.

“My car needs a jump back on 3rd, and I wanted to show you something over there anyway. Can you give us a lift back?”

Jeff glances back at me and it’s immediately clear he’s thinking the same thing – shit, not again, why do the same people have to keep interrupting us?

“Uhm, yeah, man, sure. Just, uh, give me a minute.”

“Lucy!” Cora calls. “Are we hanging out tonight?”

“Yeah, of course. Let me call you later though? I had a huge lunch, I need a nap.” She’s smirking at me and I know for sure that she isn’t buying it, but at least she has enough sense to nod along and keep Stone busy outside for a few minutes. She strikes up a conversation with him about something, but I don’t care enough to eavesdrop as I shoot a grin at Jeff.

I follow him upstairs to the third floor, and once I key into my apartment, I turn around to face him.

“Hey, I’m really glad you tracked me down,” I say, picking his hand up in mine and giving it a squeeze.

“Stalked you, is more like it.”

“Well, I’m glad you stalked me,” I giggle. “You should do it again sometime.”

“Promise,” Jeff says in a low voice that makes my heart thud. He leans against my door frame. “Maybe tomorrow night? Second date?”

“Wait, was this our first?”

“Shit, that’s how smooth I am, you didn’t even know it was happening,” he laughs, and I could swear he’s blushing just a little.

“I think you’re smoother than you think,” I grin, biting my lip as he leans in a little closer.

“I think you’re trying to spare my feelings.”

“I think… I think you should go help your friends, they’re waiting.” But I lean in anyway, savoring the way time has slowed down.

“I think they can wait a little longer.” And as his lips find mine, I’d have to agree.

***

Monday, June 25th, 1990

I’m still daydreaming about our kiss, way up on Cloud Nine, as I make my way through the mostly deserted hallway to my desk. Not even Greta’s customary bitching when I asked her how her weekend went could kill this high. I drop my lunch in the break room, wondering whether I’ll get to see him again tonight, and the only thing that breaks my reverie is an unfamiliar package sitting on my desk. What the hell?

It’s wrapped in beautiful blue paper with a silver ribbon. Cautiously, I check the card to confirm that it’s actually addressed to me, which it is, and I look around for answers but of course no one else is here yet. No one’s ever sent me a present at work before – there’s no way Jeff did this after only one date, right? …right?

I slide the paper off the box, which is a glitzy golden color, and when I open the lid, a folded piece of paper falls on top of the ornately decorated chocolate covered strawberries inside. I crack it open with a shaky hand and eventually decipher the loopy scrawl:

“In defense against the strawberry-free life. Yours, Jake.”

What?

After racking my brain for several minutes, I remember our conversation at the end of last week about his patient, the one with the allergy. He seriously thought about that all weekend? And bought me strawberries because of it?

Wait… “yours”?

…oh, shit.

#i swear the story's going somewhere soon #behind the sun #chapter 5 #fanfiction #fanfic #stone gossard #jeff ament #mike mccready #pearl jam

20 notes · View notes

lolainblue · 7 years

Text

Presque Vu Chapter 23

Jared quickly returned from the bathroom and laid down next to Raina, winding his fingers into her long hair and pulling her lips to his. “You are so fucking beautiful, Raina,” he told her breathlessly when he finally broke away. He cradled her softly against him as his deft fingers traced over her still flushed skin, picking away bits of wax. Raina should have felt relaxed and happy, but instead, she could feel herself growing more and more on edge, overwhelmed by the emotions Jared had set loose with one intense look. Mentally she cursed herself, she thought she had gotten past this. It certainly wasn't how she wanted to feel. But no matter how hard she tried she couldn't return to the peace she had been feeling earlier that day. Her increasing agitation didn't go unnoticed by Jared.

“Hey,” he said, drawing her face close to his, “don't wander back into that overactive brain of yours. Stay with me.”

“I'm trying,” Raina told him, closing her eyes to avoid his. Jared moved his hand to her back, rubbing in gentle circles, trying to soothe her. But the more he tried, the more tense she became. “I don't mean to be like this,” she said by way of apology, her voice starting to waver.

Jared quickly tried to reassure her. “Shhh, princess. It's okay. You're coming out of subspace. Sometimes it's a little shaky. I've got you.”

“It's not that,” Raina protested. But was it? She remembered again she had no idea what she was really doing here. She had been so lost in Jared in that moment, all her senses heightened and focused on him. The emotions had flooded in on her along with her orgasm, making her head spin and her chest tighten. How was she supposed to sort of what her real feelings were when he brain was still full of crazy levels of endorphins?

“Talk to me," Jared prompted. "You promised to let me know what was going on in that head of yours, remember?”

Why did I make that promise? “I don't even know what's going on in here,” she confessed. “How am I supposed to tell you?”

Jared pulled her hand up to his mouth, kissing her palm. “Try.”

Raina took a deep breath and tried to get her thoughts together. She noticed some of the wax had broken loose and stuck to Jared's chest, and she started picking it away. It was oddly soothing and gave her something to look at other than his beautiful eyes that were just pushing her further down this particular rabbit hole. “I just got a little panicky,” she told him. “Looking into your eyes like that, in that moment, it was just so intense.”

He placed his hand over hers, holding it still against his chest. When he responded his voice was soft. “It was supposed to be Raina. I thought you understood I am wanting more than sex from you.”

Raina could feel that ragged swell of emotion again, rising in her chest and making her brain fuzzy. She was trying to let him captain this ship but these waters terrified her and she didn't know how to get herself back under control. “I just don't know what to do with it.”

Jared sighed. “I don't know what you mean by that.”

Raina wasn't sure she knew what she meant by that either, not until the edges of her vision began to swim wetly and the words fell from her mouth. “I don't want to fall in love with you. I know I'm not ready for that and neither are you. But I'm afraid to fall for you at all.” The voice of experience screamed the next part like a warning claxon. “I know I can't keep you. You're just on loan.”

Jared was quiet as he finished removing the remaining wax and Raina was certain she had overstepped. She had been playing an emotional game of chess with herself ever since she had given him her phone number that first night. She was rapidly running out of good moves. What had her grandfather, huddled over the yellowing chessboard in their humid kitchen, told her it was called when all the remaining moves were bad ones? Zugzwang.

“Baby girl, I can't make you any promises,” Jared began.

“I'm not asking you to,” Raina hastily pointed out. “I don't even like promises so I don't know what the hell is going on with me.”

“I know. I just mean I don't know where all this going in the end. There's no way to tell, it's still early. And I can understand why it's scary for you. It is for me too. But if you are going to spend our whole relationship rationing out your emotions in tiny little controlled bits, I can almost guarantee it will end badly.” He sat up and waited for Raina to do the same. “I know this isn't going the way either of us planned. And we both tend to be very careful with our feelings. But you need to understand, a dominant/submissive relationship tends to be very intense. It's not going to be like any relationship you've had before. The level of trust required builds a strong sense of intimacy very quickly. If you try to keep too tight a rein on your emotions you're going to make yourself crazy. And you would be missing the point of all of this.”

Raina remembered standing in Cassie's kitchen earlier that day, laughing with her – that moment when she realized just how much she had been cheating herself out of in life by trying to control every interaction, trying to keep herself cut off from anything that could hurt her. She had known then she needed to start taking chances again. It was just harder to make that transition than she thought. Of course, that was probably due to trying to balance running headlong into a relationship with her own natural tendency to avoid them. “I don't want to be like this...”

Jared took her hands, his thumbs circling her palms. “I know. I see you struggling with it, but you're doing so good baby. Do you even realize how much more you've started opening up to me? Give yourself some time.” He pulled her hands to his face, giving them another quick kiss. “I've got something else I want to talk to you about but for now let's get showered and get this wax cleaned up so we can relax together. I'll bet you'll feel better when we're done.”

Jared went and started the shower and got the bathroom ready and Raina straightened up in the bedroom, putting away the blindfold and remaining candles, tucking the pillow back in the closet and carefully folding up the towel they had laid out. She had things mostly returned to normal by the time Jared was ready for her.

He was as tender with her as he had been in the bathtub, smoothing his hands over her soap-bubble covered skin and washing the last bits of wax away. This time, however, she was able to enjoy him too, letting her own soapy hands explore the smooth planes of his chest and massage his shoulders. To her delight, he let her wash his hair as well, and she enjoyed running her fingers through that glorious mane that had so completely caught her eye right from the beginning. When they had finished, and he was gently wrapping her in another of those giant fluffy towels, she realized he had been right again. She was feeling much calmer.

Once they were dressed and settled back into bed, Jared pulled Raina up against his chest and rested his chin on top of her head. She was engulfed in the clean scents of him, and it made her feel warm and safe. She hoped she was bringing him the same comfort.

“You said there was something else you wanted to talk to me about?” she finally asked him, moving back so they were facing each other.

“Are you feeling better now?” Jared asked her. When Raina smiled and nodded he continued. “I wanted to ask how you think things are going so far. Is it too much? Not enough? Not what you were expecting?”

Raina thought of the way he had asked her back to the bedroom, inviting her to come help him 'work off some tension'. “Well, tonight went a little differently than I was expecting.”

“How so?” Jared asked, but from the expression on his face and the tone in his voice, Raina thought he knew exactly what she meant, that that was why he had asked her. She was beginning to notice he liked to do that, ask questions he already knew the answer to just to see if their perceptions differed.

“I thought you would be.. well... rougher. More extreme.”

“Why?”

“You were in a bad mood, you were tense, you asked me to help you work of some of that tension. And then you were practically tender.”

Jared placed his hands on Raina's shoulders. “Raina it is extremely important to me that you understand something. I will never hurt you. If I am angry or frustrated I will never take that anger or frustration out on you. That's abuse. That's not what BDSM is about and you should never let anyone treat you that way.”

“I didn't mean...” Raina's face flushed with embarrassment. “I never meant to imply you would hurt me. I know you wouldn't do that.”

“Okay.” Jared pulled his fingers through her hair, stretching one dark curl out as he softly pulled at it. “It's hard enough for me to not lose control with you sometimes. And after the bruises...”

“Those weren't your fault. If anything they were mine,” Raina reminded him.

Jared continued. “It is just as satisfying when you submit for a night like tonight as it was for a night like last night. It is just as meaningful. It brings me back to center in the same way.”

He did seem much more relaxed than he had at dinner, in spite of Raina's natural hysteria trying to creep in. She had to admit that part of the reason she was worried was that she was afraid he had put her needs so far ahead of his own, that he was so concerned about shepherding her through this new experience, that he hadn't gotten what he needed out of the evening. She could see now that he had. “This is so much more complex than I thought it would be,” she confessed. “You're being so amazing and I don't really feel like I'm giving back. Are you enjoying this too? Am I doing okay?”

“You're perfect. Really.” Jared slipped two fingers under her chin to tilt it up to him so she was looking directly into his eyes. The blue seemed to burn right through her. “I have been so amazed. I am so proud of you baby girl.” Her breath hitched. She had needed to hear that. “I am just worried you're not going to like what I'm about to ask you.”

If Jared didn't like it Raina was certain she wasn't going to but they had sat on his sofa and promised each other honesty and openness and that's what she was determined to give him, no matter how hard she had to fight herself for it. “Ask me anyway.”

Jared starting sweeping the hair back from her face, tucking strands behind her ear. “I know how skittish you are,” he began, “and I don't want to push you into anything you don't want so I am counting on you to be honest here.”

Raina frowned, wondering where he was going with this. They had only just yesterday come to an agreement on their relationship. Surely he wasn't wanting to amend it already? “Just ask, Jared.”

“I would like to formalize our end of this relationship a bit. I think you've gotten a feel for what it is like to submit, and this seems to be a natural fit for us. So I think we're ready to establish some rules, have a little more structure.”

Raina relaxed. How could he think she would react badly to a suggestion like that? Was she really coming off so commitment phobic that she couldn't even handle a few rules? “I think I would like that. What did you have in mind?”

“What are the rules we have now, Raina?” he asked, his voice becoming clearer and more firm as he automatically slipped back into his role as Dominant. Raina sat up properly before answering him.

“I am to follow your directions as you give them as soon as you give them. I am to call you Sir, and you may call whatever pleases you. If you ask me what my color status is I am to answer you verbally and honestly.”

Jared interrupted her there. “Tell me about the colors Raina.”

“Green means we are good, Sir, no problems. Yellow means caution, I am concerned or reaching my limit. Red means stop, there is a problem.”

“Are those sufficient for you? Do you want an additional safe word?”

“No, Sir, those are fine.”

“And if you can't speak?”

“I either tap three times or grunt three times.”

“Very good. Are there any other rules?”

Raina thought for a minute. There had been situational rules, in place only for that evening, but nothing overreaching. “No, Sir.”

“Don't you think there should be?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Jared smiled. “And do you think there should only be rules for when we are in bed together?”

This was something that Raina had only briefly thought about. She had been so busy juggling Shannon and Jared and keeping them from finding out about each other that she really hadn't given any serious consideration to what she wanted from Jared if things progressed further. She suspected, however, he had done plenty of thinking on that subject. “I think that I would be open to trying some additional rules,” she replied carefully.

“All right, we'll ease into this. First, for our playtime together. You will from this point forward ask me for permission to cum unless I have already specifically instructed you to do so. Is that clear?”

Raina was actually relieved to finally have some clarity on that front. “Yes, Sir.”

“We've been slowly incorporating that but I think you're ready to have it as a rule now. Of course, you'll need to learn better control going forward but we can work on that,” he added with a sly wink. Raina smiled back at him. He had been so solemn and intense this evening, just that small hint of his playful side coming back was making her feel better. “The only other rule I am going to add for right now is once our play begins, you are not to speak unless spoken to or you need to use your safe word. Is that also a clear enough rule for you to understand?”

“Yes, Sir.” Raina wasn't sure how she felt about that one. It flew in the face of her argumentative nature. But then again so did being a submissive at all and that has come as naturally to her as she had always suspected it would.

“I thought those would go over easily enough. I would like for there to be a little more structure in the rest of our relationship as well, Raina. Do you remember this past weekend? When I brought you food and made you promise to eat properly and call me before bed?”

“Yes, Sir, of course, I do.”

“How did you feel about that?”

Raina had bristled initially at that level of control. It had been hard been to accept but by the time she had visited the doctor and gotten back to her normal life she realized she had missed it. She told him so.

“Then let's go back to those rules. I am going to insist that you take proper care of yourself. I know you don't cook but there are a lot of better, simple choices than the garbage you had in your cupboards. Pop-tarts and wine are not are a balanced meal, princess.”

Raina had to laugh a little bit. For the second time that night she remembered spending many days of her childhood in her grandmother's kitchen while she prepared baleadas and Sopa de frijoles. Instead of paying attention to her Abuela's cooking lessons she had instead spent her time with her Tito, pouring over his chess board and listening to him expound on principles of strategy. She had no desire to learn to cook then and one had never developed as the years went by, even after she was out on her own and necessity should have dictated at least a little competency. Jared could insist all he wanted but she was never going to become domestic, not like that. “As long as I don't have to cook it, I will promise to eat better, Sir,” she compromised.

“Good. I want you to keep me up to date on your schedule, and I want either a text or a phone call before you go to bed at night.”

“That also sounds reasonable. I can agree to that.”

Jared regarded her carefully. “I'd like to start making some more decisions for you too when we're together. Activity choices, clothing....” he trailed off, gazing intently at her.

“You want to decide what I wear?” Raina had seen some of the questionable wardrobe choices Jared made. She was sure she didn't him rifling through her closet.

“If we go out somewhere special I'd like to choose a dress for you. Maybe lay out some particular underthings or choose what you'll be sleeping in. Something like that. Not your day to day clothing decisions.”

Raina looked him, still gazing intently at her to gauge her reaction but waiting patiently while she processed it all. Her first reaction was to tell him no, that she was her own person and not a Barbie doll for him to play with. But she realized that every little inch of control she had grudgingly afforded him he had used in ways that made her happier, and healthier and safer. He had said it was his job to look out for her. It had felt nice to let him do it. She was at least intrigued by the possibility. “If I agree now and I don't like it, can I change my mind?”

“Of course you can.”

“And where does Shannon fit into all of this?”

“Shannon is Shannon. I think we both know that the relationship between you and me is a lot different than what you have with Shannon. Our rules are for us. You can do what you like when you're with Shannon, but if the three of us are together I'd prefer we default to my rules.”

Raina considered her choice again, but her mind was made up. She was ready to start taking some chances. “Okay. I agree.”

Jared pulled her back to him, settling her in his lap. “I think you'll find you like this arrangement, baby girl. I promise to take my part seriously.”

Raina leaned over and nuzzled Jared's neck, enjoying the warm feeling of being in his lap. She realized she was fighting a battle she had already lost. She had been so concerned once about Jared thinking he could have anything he wanted. Now she couldn't wait to give it to him, and she wasn't going to let herself feel guilty about that. She wasn't going to let herself run again. She was going to give them a chance no matter how loud she had to shout down the voices in her head.

@msroxyblog @nikkitasevoli @maliciousalishious @meghan12151977@fyeahproudglambert @lady-grinning-soul-k

#jared leto fanfiction #jared leto fic #shannon leto fanfiction #shannon leto fic #30 seconds to mars fanfiction #presque vu

29 notes · View notes

totalfanfreak · 7 years

Text

Ain’t No Angel [Red Canyon]

Ain’t No Angel

[So I’m diverting a little bit, I need to quit going through Wikipedia at Reedus’ filmography. I decided to skim off of Boondock’s to give something different, this is for Red Canyon. And I feel like I should put a warning here, you know, for violence, rough stuff, language…etc. Will it be OoC, probably, but do I care? Sadly, I have no answer.]

Mac believed you to be a lot of things, but an angel sure as hell wasn’t one of them.

SAINT:

He had spotted you right away, huddled up against the bar and looking at your drink like you had no idea what to do with it. From that look you had you probably didn’t. Dolled up like a little girl on her way to Sunday school – yellow sundress that frilled at the knees, hair curled to waves around your face, strappy sandals with an ankle bracelet to top it off. You certainly didn’t look like you belonged at the fucking Luna Mesa. He bellied up next to you, slamming his hand down demanding a drink, you hadn’t moved, didn’t even flinch from the sudden intrusion, little hands still flexing around the glass like you were psyching yourself up to down it.

“Ain’t from around here are ya, girl?”

You did startle then, and Mac couldn’t help but smirk. Turning to him, you stared up with doe eyes before smiling. Wasn’t hard to get girls to smile at him, there were shit pickings in Caineville, and with his build and blue eyes it wasn’t hard to get a girl to spread her legs. It was the other shit that had them turning tail and running. One of them being his teeth, letting his lips pull apart to grin at you, the blackened rot flashing as he proceeded to pick an imaginary fragment from them. His teeth were the first put off, disgusting them. Bitches like that thinking they were better than him, not only them, too many people thought they were higher up than him, but every one of them were the fucking same. Still cried, still bled.

He waited for you to shirk away, drawing the conclusion that he was trash, nothing but a filthy drug addicted redneck and blow him off. Then the fun could begin. Yet you didn’t, your eyes still holding the deer in headlights expression but smile remaining.

“You would be correct. Sort of passing through, you could say…would you be the welcoming committee Mr. – “

“Mac, everyone around here calls me Mac.”

Your smile grew, perfect polished teeth shining while you stretched out your hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mac. I’m Y/N.”

He looked down at your hand, trailing up to look at your unblemished arms, he could imagine the things he could do to them. The bites, rope burns, knife marks – his, and his alone. Grasping your hand in his, he let he own smile grow, feeling your pulse leap under his touch. Perhaps not like a deer at all, but a little rabbit about to be caught in a snare trap.

“Pleasure’s all mine. Think you’ll like it here, might enjoy it so much you’ll never want to leave.”

He hadn’t taken you that day, a big mistake if he thought about it. For someone just passing through you ran your mouth off to a lot of fucking people. He’d watch you, dropping everything to help an old lady with her groceries, tending to another one’s garden, even getting down a kite that was hung in a tree for the kids at the park. During his observations you had caught him a few times, bounding towards him like the two of you were old friends, going as far as to hug him goodbye. That surprised him, enough so he didn’t think to push you off him. Mac wasn’t a hugger, never had one, didn’t need one, especially a pity hug from some dumb bitch. He didn’t allow people that right, but for that moment feeling your pert body pressed against his, that heart still going like a jackhammer, he faltered. He didn’t like the weakness from that, and though he had most people around here in his pocket, he didn’t like you bustling around town helping everyone, and he sure as hell didn’t like that you thought you could touch him. He knew it was an act, all of it was, acting like you were some kind of fucking saint, he knew better. And he’d teach you to try and fool him. Like all women, deep down you were nothing but a whore, and he’d be glad to help put you in your place.

It hadn’t been hard to get you in the truck, car broken down due to a few missing plugs, he almost sneered at how you smiled at him pulling up. Like he was some kind of hero or something, Mac already knew he was anything but. He had driven up to the canyons, and you hadn’t questioned anything until he put the truck in park. He watched as your eyebrows knitted in confusion, a question on your lips as they pursed. Before you could get out a word, he grabbed you by the back of the head, pulling you by the hair out the driver’s side, letting you fall in the dirt.

“Come on then, girlie, let’s have us some fun.”

You glanced up, panting from the struggle, before lurching up and head-butting him in the stomach. He doubled over, giving you time to run, you weren’t screaming, and he gave you some credit on that. They always screamed, though there wasn’t a soul out here for miles, the sound echoing off the canyon walls alerting him on where to go. Too bad you were too slow, making it easy for him to catch up and tackle you. On your stomach you let your arm draw back, hitting him square in the nose, he felt warmth rush in his mouth, tasting the copper of his blood.

“That’s right ya little bitch! Keep it up! All you’re doing is makin’ me love you!”

You grunted, trying to get on your back, he leaned up feeling you tense and relax as you rolled over. Your eyes were wide as plates, mouth gasping for air, red dirt splayed over you like dried blood. He narrowed his eyes as you began to nod.

“You’re doing the same to me.”

He was about to grab you again, demand what kind of shit you were talking about, when you grabbed him first, kissing him. Kiss being the operative words, your mouths were touching, but that was all. From the looks of you, he thought you’d be the kind to daydream of those sweet touches, kisses on the face when your lips barely touched each other. He felt everything now, your teeth clacking against his, nicking gums, making them bleed. Your incisor grabbing his bottom lip biting down hard enough to draw blood, he held back a groan as you lapped at it your tongue prodding at his rotted teeth when he finally snapped back to earth and pushed you off him, your skull ricocheting on the ground.

“Stupid little whore!”

His anger intensified at the sound of your laughter. “Can’t say I’m much of one yet, but I wouldn’t mind it – being your whore. You’re the first…you want to break things, don’t you Mac? I want to be broken. I knew it as soon as you looked at me at the bar, that you wanted me to hurt as much as you, that you wanted to eat me alive. So are you, Mac?”

He breathed in deep, feeling her body trembling under his hands, now realizing not in fear but anticipation. He gnashed his teeth, blood still trickling over his lips, letting the corner of his tongue lick it up. This was new, and he wasn’t sure how to proceed though he knew what was going to happen. He’d eat you up all right; devour you til there was nothing left but your bones bleaching in the desert sun.

MARTYR:

A virgin. A fucking virgin? Mac wanted to tilt his head back and cackle at the sky upon hearing that. But finding out the fact firsthand shut him up real quick. Girls usually saved themselves for their true loves and shit, then there was you, saving it until you found someone as fucked up as you were.

“Not that hard to find a guy that’ll smack a woman around. It is hard to find one that doesn’t blubber out an apology the next day, one that pays attention and sees she likes it, and finds a way to use it to his advantage.”

Oh, he could do that, had begun to over the next few weeks. Doing everything and anything that came into his twisted head, throwing him off each time when you took it with a smile. You’d scream, but then there was always that underlying moan that followed, the one that made him stop for a second and blink in disbelief. After a while he moved you in with him, telling himself that it’d be quicker access for him. He had pulled out your drawers, dumping everything out, while telling you to grab as much you could in three minutes or he was lighting the place on fire with you in it. You were quick getting four suitcases out with twenty seconds to spare. The first night you were made to sleep in the corner of the room on the floor, no blanket or pillow to comfort you. He’d break you, then he remembered you wanted to be broken. The next day you had begun cleaning everything, and though he didn’t mind it, would’ve told you to do it; he choked you for not asking him first. His hands tightened so hard your face turned purple, eyes rolling back before going limp. And for a split second he panicked. He hadn’t meant to…

Don’t go.

But seeing the rise and fall of your chest, he realized you only passed out. Waking a few hours later with a smile on asking if he wanted some dinner. No, he didn’t want any fucking dinner, he wanted to backhand you, wanted you to curse him, and instead grabbed his coat going out the door to get a fix. He took more than he usually did, bounding up the steps, falling through the door. You went to help him, and he snarled.

“Did I say you could fucking touch me, bitch!”

Shaking your head, you sat down beside him. Waiting.

You always waited, and for a while it drove him crazy. Now he expected it. Coming home from the shop or, like now, the caves. Spreading the red dust on the floors you cleaned as he came in to find you cooking his supper. You looked up from the pot you were stirring, a warm smile spreading on your face as you looked at him. He never did it back, but he didn’t hit you for it anymore, his hands twitched and some part in the back of his mind told him to pummel your face in until it cracked open and spilt like an egg but some other part had begun to override it. You looked at his dirty boots, turning back to the pot as the smile slipped.

He smirked, you knew what was up there, and not just the drugs they cooked. “Jealous?”

You shook your head, and he almost chewed his thumb, a habit he hadn’t done since high school.

“What is it then? Ya think you’re gonna bitch at me for dirtying the floors?”

Shaking your head again, you turned the stove off. “Feel bad, I guess.”

He snorted. “What the fuck ya feel bad about?”

“Those girls aren’t like us…If – if you wanted, I could switch with them.”

His eyes narrowed slits of cerulean peeking through. “The fuck you on about, girl?”

“They’d be fine, cooking and cleaning for you, but the chains – I could do the chains.”

He pressed his fingers into his eyes, if anything you were batshit crazy. He knew that when he went in dry and you called out his name like a god. He laughed; there was no god out here.

“Mac?”

He was still buzzing, the high from earlier calming down and stuttering him.

“Shut up.”

You turned away to the cupboards and he jerked you back, letting the plates crash to the floor.

“The fuck’s wrong with you?”

The fuck’s wrong with me?

You shook your head looking down, his nostrils flared, he had vowed to not fuck up your face. The bruises and the swelling getting to him with those fucking eyes, but you were pissing him off. Grabbing your chin hard, he made you look at him.

“You want away from me, huh? Want some other girl here sucking me off while every other meth head fucks you on the cave wall?”

Your mouth gaped open. “I thought it was only you…that, you know…had them.”

You were right, many times in his life Mac was given nothing, and now that he had the power to he took all he could only giving scraps back. But not you.

“Don’t fucking matter who had ‘em, you’re staying here til I say otherwise. You got me!”

You nodded, dropping down to pick up the shards of glass. Eyes flashing, he took you by the nape of your neck and dragged you until you were in the broken pieces, flesh cutting, as he saw blood skimming the floor. With his free hand he began to undo his coveralls.

“Want to be a martyr, princess, you stay on those knees and suck my cock while you bleed.”

Your cheeks pinked, more so when his girth was exposed.

“Mac…please.”

Any other girl would be pleading him to stop, but he knew your looks and cues now, and knew what you wanted.

“You crazy slut, take your clothes off and spread that little pussy for me. Bet your wetter than a river right now.”

“Can I – “

“You don’t get off, not until I say, and right now you got a few sacrifices to make.”

You did as told, mouth and hand on him, while the other kept yourself displayed for him, folds glistening as you worked.

“You slut…my sweet slut. All mine, you dirty bitch.”

SAVIOR:

“What the fuck you tryin’ to say, princess?”

It was the first time he ever saw fear in your eyes. It unnerved him. You threw the stick on the coffee table, getting up to go to the kitchen. He stayed seated though his body roared at him to move. Feeling something cold hit his cheek, he glanced up to see you handing him a glass of whiskey before sitting down with your own. You were not his equal, he made sure you knew that, but you were his, and that fact had embedded itself enough that you were comfortable around him now. He gulped the contents down, wincing as the flame embalmed his belly.

“How the fuck did this happen?”

You snickered. “If you don’t know the mechanics –“

“Shut that smart mouth now.”

The humor was still in your eyes, but did as you were told. The look quickly faded into anxiety.

“What do you want me to do Mac?”

How the fuck was he to know, hell, he might’ve produced spawn from here to Oregon wasn’t one bitch going to admit it was his. He didn’t know what to do.

“I don’t think I could use a hanger, but if you – if you put those boots on and kicked hard enough –“

“Jesus, are you out of your mind?”

“I didn’t think you’d want me to go to a clinic.”

“Maybe I want to fuckin’ keep it, you think of that?”

From the look on your face, he knew you hadn’t.

“We’re not meant to be parents, Mac. Look what ours did to us, broken into so many pieces the two of us are still shifting through them to get whole. We’d warp the kid. You know I don’t care what you do to me when you get high, but a baby, God, we can’t –“

“I could quit, cut down a little at a time and quit.”

Your eyes looked at him, not perceiving what he was saying.

“We’d do better than our parents.”

You scoffed, making him get up and sinking in front of you, a warning in his eyes.

“You think you’re gonna start calling the shots now? That’s my kid in you and you’ll do as I fucking say.”

It was a whisper, the fear creeping more heavily into you.

“I don’t want to kill it.”

“Then fuckin’ don’t!”

“No, I don’t know how – I don’t even think I’d know how to love it…could you? Do either of us even know how to do that?”

He stood up, pacing, before his eyes traveled back to you. He didn’t want to, didn’t think he’d ever would, but God be damned, he did. Looking at you, no matter how fucked up it all was he did know how.

#red canyon #mac #mac red canyon #mac x reader #reader imagine #red canyon drabble #norman reedus

59 notes · View notes

kuno-chan · 7 years

Text

Out of Fables - Ch. 9, Breaking

Rating : T

Summary : It’s been five years since Kai left, three years since their children were taken away and Jinora Gyatso has had non-stop poor luck since. Now, she lives in a dingy Republic City apartment with no remnants of the life she had built with her former love. Fortune seems to smile upon her, however, when an email arrives from her daughter begging her to come to a town called Fablebrooke.

This story was written by both kuno-chan and spiritypowers.

Please consider reviewing on fanfiction.net

–

Nima was in the middle of the story of the princess who was destined to become the Savior, both twins nestled into her side as she read, trying her best to imitate her father��s soothing tone of voice. Sleep began to take her, but she fought it, resolving to finish up the story and tucking the twins in before dozing off, just in case her parents were too busy to again, when there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” said Nima sleepily, and the door opened to reveal her mother, a cautious smile on her face. Nima immediately brightened.

“Sorry, am I late to story time?” her mother asked softly.

Nima resisted the urge to shrug and instead smiled brightly.

“It’s okay,” she said, more cheerful than how she actually felt. “They were really sleepy anyway so I just went ahead and started.”

“Oh…” her mother smiled. “Okay. Well, I guess it’s time for bed for you, isn’t it?”

Yes, it was and she was so glad of it. Nima nodded, making sure that Taani had the right stuffed rabbit under her arm -- she would be very upset if she had the wrong animal -- and let her mother steer her to bed. She kissed her father goodnight on the way, much to the obvious dismay of her mother, before going in and slipping into bed. At a point, she barely registered her mother’s voice and good night kiss, her eyes drifting asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

“Mom…?” she asked through a yawn.

“Yes, baby girl?”

“We really need to talk about the curse… it’s gotta get broken soon…”

“Tomorrow, sweetheart. Tomorrow. Right now, sleep.”

“But…” She yawned again. Wow, doing the twins’ laundry really took it out of her today. But that was okay. Anything to make it easier on her parents since they were both rather upset at each other again today.

“Sleep now,” her mother said soothingly and Nima couldn’t help it. She drifted away at the sound of her mother’s voice so soft and quiet, unable to even think of what the twins were going to wear tomorrow for school.

Both her parents hadn’t bothered to take it out quite yet themselves.

-:-:-:-

Dinner was lovely.

Maybe it was a little soon for a dinner date in her apartment, but it was hard to pass up the offer of having everything cooked -- where had Tenzin even learned to cook? He said he wasn’t sure either, just that he could follow a recipe well enough -- and the table set out so neatly, with a vase of fresh red roses perfectly placed in the center.

For once, Pema’s tiny apartment felt like more than just a place for some worn-out elementary school teacher to crash at night. For once, it really felt like home.

“Thanks again,” Pema said, smoothing out the skirt of the yellow dress she was wearing over her knees. Her hair was done up in a neat bun for once, and her favorite pendant, a burnt orange gem inlaid with gold, dangled from around her neck.

It wasn’t like this was her first time dressing up, and it was far from her first getting dressed up for a date, but somehow, she didn’t feel made up. She felt polished, like all the grime of life’s daily stresses had been washed away. Like she could show her true self, beautiful and shining in all her glory. And maybe it was because she was with him.

No, it was definitely because she was with him.

Not like she could express that on the third date. Why was she thinking this on the third date? This was crazy. She was crazy.

Maybe it was the shock of having a man come to her apartment just to cook her dinner and not just to go to bed with her for one fleeting night. Maybe that was it.

Spirits, she needed to pick better.

Although judging from her company sitting at the opposite side of the table, smiling warmly and perfectly at ease even in his dress shirt, she supposed this was a good start.

“It’s an absolute pleasure,” Tenzin said sincerely, and his smile reached up to his grey eyes, the light in them almost melting away any age, and Pema swore she caught some of that light within her, too.

“Really, thank you,” Pema repeated again. “I know it’s been busy, what with you settling into town and still trying to figure out what happened before you…”

“It’s fine,” Tenzin replied. “Honestly, I needed a break from all of that. I am glad to be getting settled working at the antique shop and everyone here has been very kind helping me adjust, but it’s so much sometimes. And over the past month, the only thing that’s really felt familiar is spending time with you.”

Pema flushed, feeling very much like a middle school girl who’d just gotten her first Valentine. “Well, the past month has been lovely.”

“It really has,” Tenzin agreed, his grey eyes warm like the sky at the first break of dawn. “Anyway, how was your day with your students?”

She went through the day’s events - she’d had to have a talk with some of the boys about drawing on the walls in the bathrooms, and she had been an audience to a rather important kickball game during her duty out at recess - and something about being listened to was both new and familiar all at the same time, and she couldn’t quite place her finger on why.

All she knew was that this was different. She’d only known him for a month, but Spirits, this was so different in the best possible way. And while there was a slight fluttering in her stomach at the sight of him, it was never that sparkling, bubbly high that had always let her down in the past. It was a warm glow, in her chest, maybe in her heart, a comfort and a security that she was sure she’d never felt before, despite its familiarity.

Not that she could actually express any of this on the third date. (What was wrong with her these days?)

But this was easy and comfortable in the best way, and she decided to sink into it, as the night went on with good food and easy laughter.

Yeah. She could get used to this.

-:-:-:-

“You’ve got to quit leaving all your books around the house,” said Kai, throwing a stack of three books onto Jinora’s bed. “They’re piling up.”

Jinora snorted.

“Yeah, you’re the last person who should be lecturing me about mess,” she said snappily. God, who did he think he was? Sometimes -- all the time -- he just really got on her nerves.

“I’m not lecturing you,” growled Kai. “I’m just saying. It gets a little--”

“Yeah, so does your mess of clothes on the floor--”

“My floor. In my room. Besides, I’ve just haven’t had time to go find a hamper. As soon as I get one it’ll be taken care of, I promise you. Now, will you quit--”

“No.”

She felt his stare on her as she continued to read casually. Quite frankly, she didn’t have to do anything. If anything, she could do whatever she wanted and he could deal with it. Just like she had to deal with everything he’d done to her.

“You know what? I don’t even know why I bother with you. I can try until I’m blue in the face, but you’ll never let up, will you? Not for me, not for the kids, not for a single soul in this world but yourself. And I’m sorry. I really am,” he said his voice getting quieter, but no less firm. “Because I did that to you--”

That made her almost look up, but she pointedly kept her attention on her book.

“--but that still can’t excuse you every time you decide to be selfish.”

Something in her limbs lit up and she nearly threw herself off the bed to walk after him, get in his face, do something to show him she was the last person he wanted to talk to about being selfish.

“I’m being selfish? You’re the one that’s--”

But he already had his back to her and was walking out of her room.

“I don't want to hear it,” he said then slammed the door in her face.

For the first time, she didn’t exactly have the strength to run after him and yell at him. They’d done that most of the day with each other and the children were sleeping. She was also fairly tired and she didn’t have the energy.

Of course, that was exactly what it was, she told herself.

Just the energy. Had the children not been asleep and she been a bit more rested she would have contested with him about that.

Herself selfish indeed.

The nerve of him.

Jinora turned off the lights before turning onto her side, fumbling with the covers. She shut her eyes tight, determined not to give his words any weight. His words didn’t deserve weight. Not after five years of silence.

It was surprisingly hard to get to sleep.

-:-:-:-

“Rough week?”

Pema’s light, gentle voice cut through the noisy clutter of her mind and Jinora set down her tea, releasing a long, heavy sigh. “Is it that obvious?”

“The most meticulous person I know stepped foot out of the house sporting an impressive bedhead and the most alarming undereye bags I’ve ever seen. And this is coming from an elementary school teacher.”

Jinora snorted softly through her nose, taking a long sip of tea. “You know, five years ago I would’ve given anything to have Kai under the same roof as me again.”

Pema smiled at her sadly. “And now?”

“Now things have soured between us too much. Between...our family,” she said, grumbling out the last couple of words.

“I don’t really know the situation, but it seems like he’s trying his best,” Pema said quietly, immediately taking a sip of her tea once the words had slipped out. Jinora raised an eyebrow at her friend.

“Dropping from the face of the earth is not ‘trying your best’,” Jinora said, attempting to keep her voice even. “And everything he does is just so...disruptive in our lives and he constantly finds some way to vilify me and he just acts so entitled to the kids when he left them--”

“Have you ever asked him why he left?”

Jinora’s gaze dropped down to her half-empty mug. “Why should I?” Her voice was a soft, almost petulant grumble, and it took everything in Pema not to laugh.

“Why would someone come back after five years and pay in blood, sweat and tears to get back into the good graces of his former wife--”

“Common law, it hardly counts,” Jinora cut in.

“--a woman he was committed to, regardless of legal standing -- and his three children? Most people would just stay away after that amount of time. It’s a valid question.”

“Guilt. Loneliness. To spite me.”

Pema didn’t even stop herself from laughing at the last option listed. “You know that’s not it.”

“It sure feels like it,” Jinora mumbled, taking another sip of her tea. “Anyway, enough about my life. Please tell me good things are happening to you, at least.”

Pema’s smile grew soft, and she stared at the rim of her empty mug, playing with the end of one of the unused napkins on the table. “Actually, things have taken...a nice change of pace.”

Despite the bags under her eyes, Jinora smiled. “Things with Tenzin going well?”

“It’s like we’ve known each other for decades,” Pema mused, folding a corner of her napkin over. “Sorry, I know that’s the most cheesy and cliche thing ever -- he’s just so thoughtful, about...everything. It’s like...like I’m home.” She shook her head, her cheeks taking on a flushed glow. “Okay, that was definitely cheesy and cliche, and I know it hasn’t been that long, it’s just...so different in the best way.”

“Good,” Jinora said sincerely, finishing off her tea. “I’m really glad he’s making you so happy. God knows you deserve this after all the assholes in the past.”

“You don’t think it’s too soon for me to be feeling this...strongly? Especially for someone who’s, like, fifteen years older than me? He never acts older than me, but everyone around me seems to keep reminding me of it even though we’re both adults and maybe it’s just because I’m sinking in so deep so fast but I know when a thing feels right and--”

“You don’t have to justify yourself to me,” Jinora laughed. “I trust your judgment, and he seems like a great guy. A little stiff, but from what I’ve seen of him, he really cares about you.”

“You...really? I mean, we’ve both been wrong about guys--”

“Just because I’m negative about that aspect of my life doesn’t mean you get to be about yours,” Jinora said.

Pema let out a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Jinora. I hope everything sorts itself out for you, too.”

“Wishful thinking, but thanks,” she murmured, a wry smile on her face.

-:-:-:-

“Nima, sweetie, why are you cleaning the floor?”

Nima didn’t look up as her mother came into the door and continued to scrub.

“Rama spilled his cereal,” she said automatically. “But it had chocolate in it so I need to get it out before it stains the tiles.”

Jinora frowned. She was so tired. So, so tired. Pema and her had been reorganizing the books all day and they weren’t even done and now she was coming home to this? Where was Kai and why wasn’t he doing it? God, he was just useless, wasn’t he? Probably on his laptop again while their ten year old was scrubbing the tiles on the floor. She looked up at the stove. Nothing. In the oven, however, was what looked like some kind of potato bake thing.

“Where’s your father?”

“He’s not home yet.”

Jinora stopped dead in her tracks, her purse dropping onto the couch. What? He was supposed to be off at three!

“Then how did you get home?”

Nima just shook her head. “We walked,” she said quickly.

“You what?”

-:-:-:-

And that was when Nima knew she said the wrong thing. She should have said he went out or something, but she hadn’t been able to pay much attention to her mother just come home. Her hand was stinging from where she burned herself on the oven putting the potato cheese bake in before it got too late. The oven was just so big compared to her sometimes. The kitchen had been a mess after she was done preparing it and she’d nearly finished cleaning it all up when Rama wanted cereal and then proceeded to spill it on the floor and she nearly screamed. But he still wanted cereal so she got him another bowl and had sat him down at the table where he wouldn’t make a mess while she cleaned up her own mess really quickly before remembering that chocolate milk stained white tiles.

Ane she hadn’t even touched her own homework and she still had to make sure she cleaned up the rest of the mess from making dinner.

And she was so exhausted from the cold outside. It’d been a nightmare walking home with all the snow on the ground and making sure the twins didn’t slip.

And she just wanted to take a nap.

“We’re used to walking,” Nima said quickly. “I like walking. It’s okay. You and Daddy were busy. It’s okay.”

It was that moment that her father chose to walk in. She could have cried when he saw the scene and her mother turned to face him. Oh no.

No, no, no.

“What’s--”

“You didn’t pick them up from school today?”

Her mother was already shouting. God, no, please. Nima felt her breath catch in her chest. Just please don’t, she thought, still on her hands and knees.

He frowned, taken aback from her mother’s sudden tone of accusation. “I thought you were picking them up?”

“How can I pick them up if I get off at five?”

“First of all, lower your voice,” he growled. “Second of all, same question to you. I told you that I had to work late tonight. You said you would take care of it!”

“Since when? I don’t remember any of that--”

Her father put his stuff down. “ Well, of course you didn’t! Why would you listen to anything but what comes out of your own mouth?”

Nima felt something inside the cavity of her chest squeeze her tight. No, why?

Why? Why this?

She was still on her hands and knees, her hands burning from soap and from the raw skin on her hand, the milk was still on the floor and her knees and back were aching. Getting on her feet, she turned off the stove, not looking at either of her parents, but still painfully aware of the volume of their voices.

This wasn’t how it used to be , she screamed in her head. They used to never do this and now that was all they did. After her father left and after her mother was gone, this was all she’d dreamed of them. Them together under one roof again, but her mind could barely take a minute of it because of how much they just seemed to despise each other. Each second they did this, her dreams shattered.

Dreams she had held for three years. Dreams that kept her from crumbling to pieces because she always knew Mom and Dad were going to take care of them as soon as they all got together again.

Of course they would. That’s what parents did. They took of care of their kids. But they weren’t able to do it, so somebody needed to take care of the twins and she was the best substitute. She had prayed and waited for the day to come when they would all be together again, but now she just always wanted to scream.

Her dreams were spilled all over the floor like the milk being sloppily mopped up because a real mop was just too tall for her to use. Where had all her wishes gone? All her daydreaming about the life she used to have when she was dead tired from having to cook dinner seven nights a week because Mr. Yangzhi, a former foster parent of theirs, used to do nothing but sleep all day. Sleep and drink if it was the weekend.

Why were her dreams in tatters when she had to stay up with the twins at night because one of them had a nightmare and refused to go back to sleep? What did she do to deserve this?

She glanced back at her parents, pacing around the room and shouting at each other. They were both so angry at each other, but she didn’t understand. They both left.

Why did her father leave? Why didn’t her mother find them? Why was this her life now?

And when it hit her, she nearly dropped the dinner pulling it out of the oven. She set it on the counter mindlessly as her thoughts roamed around one idea: This was her life now.

Her parents, it seemed, would never stop being mad at each other. Her brother and sister would always have to look to her for everything. At least, they’d be doing so for a long time. Until they could do it for themselves. Nobody ever wanted to talk about why they were like this. It just was.

And she was supposed to accept this.

All of her dreams, wishes and daydreaming… she had just had one wish and her mind flashed back to the videos and pictures of them together in their small apartment way back when. Back before everybody whose hand she needed to hold just up and vanished and never came back.

And those people. Those times were never going to come back.

Were they?

She was stuck in this ongoing cycle of tired and hoping and tears for no reason and just always hurting for the sake of hurting because pain was a useful tool to making things move along when she needed it and--

She choked on something in her throat. A bitter, spicy kind of panic as if her voice box had broken open and something hot was spilling through the muscles in her neck and melting into her veins.

She was going to scream bloody murder, biting down on her lip as tears burned her cheeks and her bones felt like shattering and her chest was going to break open from a pent up rage and undying anticipation at just the whole world and her whole life as it was and--

And it was always going to hurt like this.

-:-:-:-

“ You were supposed to pick them up! If you didn’t hear me when I said--”

“You said you had it!”

Jinora’s head had never ached so much. She could practically feel herself beginning to explode, a pressure digging into her temples with each word out of Kai’s mouth.

“I said I’d take care of everything else. God, Jinora, can’t you get over yourself long enough to listen to me for once?”

“All I heard was you saying you had it, I fucking swear you always do this--”

“Don’t turn this on me when you--”

“Mommy?”

Both their heads whipped in Rama’s direction, Taani standing next to him with her stuffed rabbit tucked under her arm and hiding pointedly behind her brother.

Jinora held a hand to her head, her voice rough from yelling even as she tried to lower it. “Yes, sweetie?”

“We can’t find Nima.”

Jinora frowned. “What?”

“She walked out the door after Daddy got home and she hasn’t come back,” Rama pouted.

“She just...left?” Jinora shared a glance with Kai, their eyes bright with something that for once wasn’t anger: fear.

“Is she gonna come back soon?” Rama asked.

Jinora exchanged a look with Kai, a silent agreement passing between the two of them as she nodded at him before grabbing the nearest coat.

“Kids, go with Daddy, he’s gonna have Zuko take care of you till we both come back with Nima, okay?” She tried to keep her voice level, but couldn’t get herself to stop shaking as she pulled on her coat. God, how hadn’t she noticed that Nima had even left? Where would she even go?

“Call me and I’ll meet up with you?” Kai checked.

“Yes,” Jinora said, her voice lacking its usual malice as fear set in.

Their daughter was missing.

#kainora #legend of korra #korra #lok #jinora #my fics

3 notes · View notes