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dancingtotuyo · 11 months ago

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Kryptonite | Dave York x Reader | One Shot

Rating: EXPLICIT/Mature

Summary: Running into Dave York changes your life and unleashes a new part of yourself.

Inspired by Kryptonite by 3 Doors Down

Tags: dark!Dave York, infidelity, Germany, song fic

Warnings: infidelity, violence and descriptions of violence, death (not Dave or reader), descriptions of blood, murder, self defense, explicit smut (p in v), oral sex (both m & f receiving), heavy groping, choking, smacking/hitting in a sexual manner, knife play, power dynamics, use of “daddy” in a sexual manner (minimal), consensual sex, possible dub con, cream pie

Notes: I wrote this one for the LOML @janaispunk for Christmas 🫶, though you won’t find it filled with Christmas festivities! Huge shout out to @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for listening to my ideas, reading through it, and being an overall huge encourager!

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PAY EXTRA ATTENTION TO WARNINGS ON THIS ONE

Words: 7160

THIS STORY CONTAINS EXPLICIT CONTENT AND DARK THEMES. IT IS NOT INTENDED FOR THOSE UNDER 18 YEARS OF AGE. MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT

“I took a walk around the world to ease my troubled mind.”

Dave York isn’t a bad guy. If one were to give him a chance, he would explain how he’s actually one of the good guys. He’s simply standing up for those who have been wronged by the fucked up system that abandoned the ones who do the dirty work. It’s all conjecture. How he rationalizes it all away. How he lets himself sleep at night, and go home to his wife and beautiful daughters. He does this for them. He isn’t a bad guy.

Yet, even he starts to see through his bullshit. He won’t admit it, but it’s getting harder to sleep at night. Tonight is one of those nights. That’s how he finds himself wandering the streets of a German city he can’t remember the name of.

The air is just verging on chilly, the breeze whipping at his typically well-kempt hair. He usually keeps to the shadows when he’s managing his side business, worried about being picked up on a camera, but it’s late now. He keeps out of the street lights, the stars shielded by the light pollution.

He inhales deeply. This time tomorrow he’ll be on a flight back to the States and slide into bed next to his wife. He’ll wake up, make lunch for the girls, and take them to school. The perfect all-American family. Dave loves them. His girls are his world. He is doing this for them. Every smile and giggle makes this all worth it. Alice and Molly deserve the world. Sometimes, he wonders if his wife knows. Carol hasn’t said anything, but sometimes he catches her just staring at him. Logic says she just loves him. How many times early on in their life together had he done the same thing? How long has it been since he looked at her with that awe?

If he’s honest, Dave doesn’t give his marriage much thought anymore. It’s something that’s just there like two planets orbiting each other but never intersecting. It’s something that’s just part of the persona of Dave York. The version of him his friends and family know. He is starting to wonder if that man still exists. He’s found himself feeling freer during his “work trips” than he does at home.

If it weren’t for his girls…

Dave can’t finish the thought as he collides with a woman in a blue dress and billowing feather boas wrapped around her neck. You.

“Oh shit!” Dave’s hands shoot out, steadying your form, one on each shoulder.

You let out a soft snort quickly covering it with a giggle. “Oh my god.” You try to sober but fail before another giggle takes over. You buzz with the carefree energy of someone a couple drinks into the evening but not wasted.

Any words forming in Dave’s head die there. Your eyes sparkle with mischief. Your smile leaves him stunned. He’s seen his fair share of women even as a married man, but never crossed the boundary of infidelity. Dave doesn’t label what is about to happen as infidelity because right now he isn’t Dave York from Arlington, Virginia, father to two and husband. Right now, he’s Dave York private gun for hire, or Patrick Smith born in Pennsylvania if you looked at his passport.

“I’m sorry,” you say. Dave’s hands don’t move from your shoulders. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

Dave flashes a smile, the same one he used to pick up Carol years ago, but she’s the furthest thing from his mind right now. “I should be more aware of my surroundings. Especially with such a beautiful woman about.”

Your cheeks flush with heat. He has a sneaking suspicion that it’s not from the alcohol in your system. Dave has never been above sweet-talking to get his way during his time with the agency. “You’re American.”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Dave winks. You laugh. Dave swears he could listen to that sound every day if given the chance. “But are you with anyone? It’s late. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you out here all alone.”

You tilt your head to the side, life glowing in your eyes. Whether you’re always like this or it’s all alcohol-induced, Dave doesn’t know, but he wants to find out. He needs to know.

“And I’m supposed to trust you, Mr. America.”

He chuckles, looking up at the sky for a moment before bringing his gaze back to you. He can’t stop taking you in. You feel like a breath of fresh air in his stifling life. He smiles, the first time he’s felt fully himself in possibly years. “My name is Dave.”

You glance between his hand and his face, sussing out if he is trustworthy. He seems so, comes across as genuine. He’s a bit older than you, but handsome nonetheless with big brown eyes and the sincerity of a well-raised child.

You inhale deeply, choosing to be a little wreckless for once and jump head first into something. What’s the worst that could happen? You take his hand.

“I watched the world float to the dark side of the moon.”

It’s probably a stupid choice, but Dave gives you his number. His real number. He doesn't have enough time to see you again before he leaves Germany and he isn’t ready to let this go yet. He escorts you safely to your apartment, chatting idly over the 10-minute walk and the 30 minutes you spend on the front stoop. As he goes to leave, you stand on tiptoes, pressing your lips against his. In return, he pushes you against the front door, hands roaming up your sternum. You giggle at him like a smitten schoolgirl and hand him your phone.

Dave has a second number. He could’ve given you that one. He probably should have, but he wants easier access. He risks it. Dave is not a careless man, but he leans into the easiness of it in the moment. He kisses you again before leaving, much more chastely this time. He promises to see you next time he’s in town. He tells you he does business in Germany often. It won’t be long.

His veins buzzed with electricity the whole walk back to his apartment, his body alive in a way that feels almost supernatural. As he crosses the threshold, his phone pings with a text from an unknown number. Dave knows who it is before he looks at the text.

Over the next two weeks, Dave finds himself instantly reaching for his phone with each ping. The time difference is a pain in the ass but sometimes works in Dave’s favor. Like when Carol is sound asleep and you’re wide awake across the sea.

When the call comes through from a contact that they’re ready to move in on a target in Germany, Dave almost jumps up in celebration. He’s never hit the tarmac with his bags packed so fast. He tacks on a couple extra days to visit you.

Those extra days can’t come soon enough. He always prides himself on his ability to compartmentalize. He can tune out the rest of the world, get a job done with the precision of the assassin he is, and return to life as if nothing happened, but this time, he finds himself rushing through the process, eager to get to the finish line, eager to get to you.

However, when the night of the hit comes, he slips right into Dave York The Killer, cold, heartless, robotic. The crew is smaller this trip, the target not as high profile, but still a big payout. He forces himself to stay steady, forces himself not to speed through his progressions. The team doesn’t notice a difference in him. He takes that as a good sign. The target is asleep, alone, thank god.

Dave slides the knife into the victim’s chest. He’s lying if he says he doesn’t find a particular beauty in it. The firm pressure, the slice of the knife, the crimson blood. It’s always a rush, the planning, the practice, the kill, and Dave enjoys it all. This particular hit sends an extra rush of pleasure through his veins.

He takes the train to get to you, fighting the urge to show up on your doorstep in the wee hours of the morning. Dave York is not a patient man, but he somehow manages, pacing his hotel room still as he buzzes with the high of the night’s hit and the excitement of seeing you in the morning. You recommended meeting at a small cafe, but as Dave lays awake with the sun peeking through the curtains, he decides to surprise you at the apartment.

Dave has to force himself not to rush, which seems to be becoming a theme with him. He makes himself a cup of coffee in the hotel room and sits down drinking every drop until he can’t stand to wait any longer, leaving his hotel 30 minutes before he needs to.

Dave could’ve taken time to enjoy the city in daylight. He spends so much of his time in these destinations under the cover of darkness, missing the beauty, but he doesn't. He wants to believe he keeps to his training, keeping an eye out for someone following him and staying out of the view of cameras, but the truth is, he’s completely unaware of it all. His sole purpose is to get to you.

When your apartment building comes into view, he finally slows, aware of how early he is. Hell, he’s supposed to meet you there.

One of your curtains is open, giving him a faraway view into your apartment. Dave has fully accepted that he’s verging into creep territory, but he doesn’t care. It’s been two weeks since he’s laid eyes on you. That’s two weeks too long for him.

He holds his breath, waiting in anticipation for a glimpse of you, patience dwindling within a few minutes of waiting. The anticipation grows into anxiety. Did he come to the wrong building? That’s impossible. Dave never forgets places, even if he did, he would never forget yours. Are you home? Did you forget? He studies the window searching for any evidence of life. Has something happened to you? Oh god, has someone connected the two of you? Figured out his whole facade? He has half a mind to break down the door and go in guns blazing.

His phone pings. It’s the only thing that could break his concentration. Your name pops up, granting him instant relief.

See you in 20?

He smiles, glancing back up toward the window. You are okay. Everything is okay because Dave is a smart man. He knows how to cover his tracks, and you are a sacred treasure he wants to keep all to himself. He will hide you away, protect you from it all.

He catches the subtle flutter of the curtains. The world around him becomes nonexistent as his full attention is pulled toward the window. She moves into view, head whipping around as you search for a specific item. He smiles, all of the anxiety leaving his body.

Instead of responding via text, he hits the call button. The dial tone plays against his ear. She moves out of view, no doubt searching for her cell.

“Hello?”

A smile overtakes his face. Dave can’t remember the last time one did so effortlessly. “Look out your window, Darling.”

His voice sits low in his chest, sending shivers through your body. You pull back the curtain. Dave waves down below. “Are you stalking me now?”

“It’s not stalking if you showed me where you live.”

You bite back your smile, heat gathering in your cheeks. “We were supposed to meet there.”

“I couldn’t wait.”

“Give me two minutes.” You say and the line goes dead.

Dave watches you zip away from the window. The swinging of the curtains is the only indication you were ever there. His chest tightens as he waits. Dave York considers himself a patient man, but he checks his watch for the 5th time in two minutes.

Then your door swings open. You come barreling toward him, a smile plastered to your face. It’s contagious as Dave chuckles, spinning you around like an episode of The Bachelor. His lips are warm against your cheek. “I’ve missed you, darling.”

A shiver runs down your spine as your feet plant on the ground. Dave’s warm brown eyes meet yours. “How can you miss someone you’ve hardly seen?”

“How can someone not miss you?” He laughs, fingers weaving with yours.

“You lie, Dave.”

“I could never lie to you.” He winks.

Dave holds your hand all the way to the cafe. He pays for your meal. He’s engaging, charming, making conversation, desperate to know everything he can about you. You’ve never felt such intention from another person.

After the cafe, you walk through town, hand in hand in broad daylight. The conversation continues to flow as naturally as a river. Dave is captivated. There’s no other word for it. He wants you. He never wants to leave. He thinks he may need you for survival.

You steer your steps toward your apartment. There’s a time and a place for subtlety. Today is not that. Dave picks up on it, catching the dilation of your pupils, feeling the shift between you.

But when you make it to the door, Dave plays the gentleman, asking when he can see you again. You cut him off with a kiss, tongue quickly delving into his mouth. His large hands plant solidly on your hips. You pull him inside. Dave remains respectful, but commanding. You eagerly submit to him. He stays the night.

“After all I knew it had to be something to do with you.”

Dave is losing it. One might argue that’s a bad thing. He’s not so sure as his mind is overrun with flashes of you. He’s quick to check his phone each time it dings. He knows better than to assign you a specific tone, but he wants to, even knows which one he would choose.

His team is building quite the reputation in the gun for hire business. They’re turning down jobs, having to play the cautious game of balancing their time between murder and families. They can’t arouse suspicions. They take turns staying stateside, sending in different crews depending on the job and need. Dave accepts every job within a quick train ride of you. He goes on each one. Sometimes it’s just him. Those are the easiest. He doesn’t even need to tell the team. It makes it easy to slip in, add more red to his ledger, and run to you with his hands dripping, metaphorically of course.

He can never stay more than the weekend, usually no more than a night, but you take every moment. He’s a drug you crave, an addiction you can’t kick. In fact, you don’t want to. It doesn’t matter if you never get more than a stolen night here and there, you’ll take whatever you can get running your hands over his toned muscles, tracing the scars littered over his body, some new and red, some old and faded.

It gives him an air of danger that sends a rush through you each time, like there’s darkness embedded in each scar and it seeps into you. The feeling should unnerve you. It doesn’t.

You want to ask, but you bite your tongue. They seem almost glaring compared to the person you know. Dave is sweet and gentle. The most violence you’ve seen in him is the intense fly hunt you went on last weekend as it buzzed intently around the two of you on the couch. You wonder about the stories behind each nonetheless. He’ll tell you when he’s ready.

He leaves again. He always does with the promise of returning soon. He can’t give you a date. He never can. His phone rings as he walks out the door. You catch the flash of a couple on his screen and a woman’s name drops from his lips. He doesn’t know you see it. Carol.

“But still your secrets I will keep”

You’re drenched. Sweat gathers across your naked skin. Dave thrusts into your dripping pussy, cock soaked in your juices. Your moans marry together, echoing off the walls of your apartment at 2 o'clock on a Thursday afternoon.

You called out of work when he appeared on your doorstep without a warning. He seemed broody, crashing his lips onto yours with more force than you were used to, setting your body ablaze in a new way.

Dave’s hips snap into yours with greater force than usual, his grip a little tighter, but it doesn’t hurt. Not how you expect it to. You like it, this rough side, the way his large hand pins both your arms to the mattress. “You’re taking me so good, Darling. Like a good little girl.”

His words strike a chord within you. Your walls tighten around him. You’re close. You know it. He knows it. His fingers run through your sopping folds, flicking at your clit with skill and precision. Your back arches. You feel like you need to crawl out of your skin. “I’m almost there.”

“I know, baby.” He keeps pace, pushing you closer and closer.

The invisible line snaps as waves of pleasure roll over your body. Dave keeps going, so close to his own release. He’s relentless, prolonging your own orgasm.

“I want to finish inside you. Fill you up like a dirty little whore.” Your cunt clenches around him. You’re not sure why his words affect you the way they do, but you love it. He moans. “Please, Darling.”

“Yes,” You hiss, feeling as if your orgasm has started over. “Please, fill me up.”

“Fuck!” Dave thrusts into you. Once. Twice. And then he buries himself into you, filling you with every drop he has.

Once the high settles to a mild thrum and you’ve cleaned up, you sit on the bed, fresh sheets below you, watching Dave as he gathers his things off your dresser. The sex was different this time, good, mind altering.

Dave has yet to put a shirt on. There’s a scar along his back that disappears beneath the waistband on his jeans. You’ve seen it before. You know all his scars, and you’re gathering his secrets too.

“I hope that wasn’t too much,” Dave says, back still turned to you. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he turns to you, with worried eyes. You saw a piece of him today that no one has seen before. Of that, you have no doubt.

“No, I liked it.” A small smirk quirks your lips. “I wouldn’t be opposed to trying some new things.” Heat pools in your belly again. That same darkness flashes in Dave’s eyes. You want to pull it out and learn it.

He chuckles. “I’ll keep that in mind for later.”

He pulls on his shirt, turning his phone back on. Your heart drops, popping the bubble. “You can’t stay.”

Dave sighs. You catch the guilt hanging off of him. “I’m sorry, Darling.”

“It’s okay…”

Dave bites his lip. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise. I-”

“I know you’re married.” It rolls off your lips without a second thought. You’re not sure where it comes from.

Dave’s face pales, tongue going dry as sandpaper. “Darling-”

“And I don’t care.”

The color fills his face again as he steps over to you. “How do you know?”

You shrug, laying back on the bed. “She called you when you were leaving last time. I did my research, Dave York.”

Dave isn’t sure what to think. In his line of work, it’s scary to know you found him on the internet. It’s a safety issue. If something ever happened to Molly and Alice… but he’s trusted you with much more than anyone else.

“You mean it? You don’t care?” He searches your eyes for any doubt, but finds none.

“You’re the one traveling across the ocean to see me. I also think you’re not just ‘working for the government’.”

There’s a deep growl low in his throat. He oozes evil like your favorite book to movie villain, sending shivers through your body. He cups your neck, using force to pull your lips to his. It’s hot and needy like he didn’t just spend the afternoon buried inside of you. His tongue shoves its way into your mouth, fighting with yours. He grabs your ass kneading it in his palms.

Then, he pulls away, voice gravely in your ear. “One of these days I’m going to tell you every single evil thing I’ve done, and you’re going to like it.”

You gasp, toes curling. He keeps eye contact with you, searching for any sign that you might reject him for it. You don’t ask. You don’t scoff. You believe him. You’ve seen the slivers of evil before, felt them. You’re beginning to wonder if they’ve seeped into you too.

Then he’s gone, disappearing like a ghost.

“I picked you up and put you back on solid ground.”

Adrenaline pumps through your veins. Your heart pounds in your ear. You can’t tell much in the dark, except there’s a man in your apartment, clad in black, and it’s not Dave.

You clutch the kitchen knife to your chest, thankful for Dave’s obsession with keeping things sharp. His boots are steady on your hardwood floors, leaving you to wonder if you’re safe huddled in the corner, or if you should sneak up behind him. Dave taught you to attack only if you are sure you can land a debilitating blow by surprise. You’re not a trained fighter. You’re not an assassin. You’re pretty sure Dave is.

Then, you see your chance. A small opportunity where you know you’ll be hidden in the darkness, not exposed by the open window. You know which floor boards to avoid.

You expect it to go by in a blur, but your mind feels clear. The exposed point on his neck calls to you like a beacon. The artery. He’ll bleed out before he knows what’s happening. Dave’s voice echoes in your head.

Your knife sinks into his neck, slicing skin and tissue like it’s softened butter. You pull the knife out, it drips with crimson blood. He tumbles forward, your lamp shattering into a million tiny pieces as he falls forward.

“You bitch!” He manages to his feet, blood spurting out of his neck. He tries to cover it with his hand, but he’s already losing color in his face. He stumbles toward you. You easily step out of his path, sinking the knife into his chest cavity. It’s more difficult, but you know when you hit his lung.

You watch him fall to the floor, air wheezing from him like a punctured balloon as he coughs and sputters. He’s trying to speak, but can’t. You cock your head to the side, watching it happen, watching the life drain from his eyes, listening to his final breaths. You did that. You took down a man bigger than yourself with two quick blows, without hesitation.

You can feel the thick, red blood dripping off your fingers, soaking into your clothes.Your chest heaves. The knife clatters to the floor. You turn your hands over. You should want this off of you, scratching at the skin to remove it. Instead, you just stare in awe.

Dave appears, heart racing as he takes in the scene. He was gone for only a few hours. A quick job in a neighboring town. “Darling?”

You don’t respond, still inspecting your coated hands. He puts a hand on your shoulder, desperate to know that you’re okay. You jump, eyes blow wide.

“What happened?”

“I don't know. I woke up and he was here… I just- I did what you taught me.”

Your eyes focus on him. He’s in weird clothes- tactical gear. He probably killed someone tonight too.

“Are you okay?”

Your eyes snap back down to your hands. Are you okay? You don’t remember getting hit or knocked over, just the steel blade sinking into flesh over and over and over.

“Darling, look at me!” His hand wraps around your neck and your back hits the wall.

Your eyes snap to him. Your heavy breaths mingle together in the deafening silence that coats your apartment. His eyes are dark. Darker than you ever remember seeing them. You think, maybe, there’s a hint of cruelty floating in them.

“You’re okay.” His eyes scan over you to assure himself as well. He reminds himself that blood is not yours.

Your eyes drift back toward the body. The body that used to house a person with a life and family and-

“Look at me.” Dave’s voice is commanding, forcing obedience. The other side of him is coming out. This is not the Dave you know. It’s the one you’ve caught glimpses of. The one he told you about. This Dave is a monster. A monster you should run from.

“You did nothing wrong. He would’ve killed you.” His hand presses into your neck again. “You did the right thing.”

You thought this moment would break you, losing your Dave, but this Dave is yours too. You thought the monster would scare you. It’s everything you’ve ever stood against, but you want the monster.

A thrill shoots through you, unlocking a deep urge. The world should be blurry, hazing like the TV shows when someone experiences a trauma, but it’s buzzing around you instead. Your senses feel heightened.

Dave says your name. You look up at him. Time stands still. He knows you know. It’s a question of if you will accept it. You shouldn’t. You’re too good for him. He shouldn’t tarnish you, but he catches that look. It’s everything he feels after a kill. The adrenaline rush, the buzz of life through your veins. Maybe he didn’t tarnish you. Maybe he unlocked something in you. Your bloodied hands tangle in his thick hair as he surges forward lips colliding with yours.

This is wrong, so wrong. Another man’s blood is literally on your hands as they tangle in Dave’s hair. You should be disgusted with yourself. This is wicked. You’ve run from the wickedness your entire life. Now you feel like you should have embraced it. He bites your lip, so hard there’s a metallic taste in your mouth. It only spurs you on. A familiar ache grows in your core. Your teeth nash against his, meeting each of his tortuous movements.

His hand squeezes your neck just enough to make your head go dizzy. You should hate this. You should despise this, but your cunt clenches again. “You like that don’t you?”

He loosens his hold, the blood rushing back quickly. It’s a new rush, crashing over the edges of your heightened senses. You feel as if every nerve ending in your body is on fire and you never want it to stop.

His rough voice presses to your ear as he caresses your exposed neck reminding you how fragile your own life is. “The little slut likes when I get rough.”

You whimper at his words, your underwear growing wetter with each passing second. His knee presses between your thigh, granting some tension to your aching core. You move your hips against it. “Not so fast, Darling.” He tightens his grip on your neck, pressing you further against the wall. “You think just because you killed him you’re in charge now?”

Another whimper falls from your lips. An involuntary tear seascapes the corner of your eyes, beginning its descent. Dave’s eyes flicker to it, head cocking to the side. His eyes look different- wild verging on insane. You should be scared, but it’s still Dave. You trust him. Then his tongue is against your cheek, wiping it away with a long, slow swipe. Your nipples pearl under your thin nightshirt.

He whispers in your ear. “I'm in charge. Do you understand?”

You nod.

“Good.”

He produces a knife out of thin air. It’s one you’ve seen before. He’s sharpened it at your kitchen counter. He brushes the tip along your collarbone. Your eyes track its every movement. It’s not enough to cut you, but enough that you can feel how sharp it is. Your heart thuds harder, but your hips move against his knee of their own accord.

He clicks his tongue, forcing the knife down in a single swift movement. You cry out, expecting to feel pain, only to find your chest exposed and your nightshirt torn down the middle. He hand gropes your breast, squeezing it like a stress ball. A gasp falls from your lips as his finger runs over your nipple.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

By your neck, he leads you in front of him to the bathroom. He kicks the door shut, pressing you against it. He produces the knife again, running it through your pajama shorts. The scraps fall to the floor, leaving you in the delicate lace pair of underwear you wore in anticipation of Dave’s arrival.

His tongue clicks appreciatively. The tip of the knife traces over the lace. You whimper, eyes falling closed. He falls to his knees.

“So pretty.” Dave presses his mouth to your clothes cunt. He works his tongue over the thin fabric, pulling it between his teeth. It’s just enough to tease and not enough to provide relief.

“Dave.” It comes out so hoarse you don’t recognize your own voice.

He grins up at you, pulling the knife through your underwear with a rehearsed flick of his wrist. They join your shorts on the floor. You’re bared to him while Dave is fully clothed.

You catch the blood in his hair, splattered on his clothes. It’s drying on your skin now. You know you should be repulsed by it, but the thought of what you did still makes you buzz to life.

“Stay right there.” He eases to his feet. “I mean it. Don’t move.”

He turns on the shower, pushing the hot water all the way. As steam starts to fill the room, Dave removes his clothing item by item. He’s not making a show of it per se, but he is commanding, concise. He pulls another knife from his belt and sets it on the counter. Your breath catches and he makes eye contact. A whisper of a smirk plays on his lips. “Standing so still for me, darling.” You squeeze your legs together, feeling the familiar squelching between your vaginal lips.

You eye the knife a moment longer, biting your lip. Something about it calls out your name. You’re not sure if you should grab it and find the nearest person to plunge it into or if you want Dave to use it with you, on you.

Dave catches the glimmer in your eyes as you eye it. A newfound excitement tugs in his belly. A whole new world is opening before him. One where he doesn’t have to hide all this shit from you, one where you might enjoy it too. You’re not shutting down after killing that man, his body cooling on your living room floor. You liked it. He likes it.

He kicks off his boots and socks. His pants follow. Your eyes travel over his body. The scars make sense now. You still don’t know what Dave does, but you know it’s bad. There’s a small band across his ankle that houses another knife. You should hate him for all of this, kick him to the curb. Instead, your cunt is soaking, and you’re not sure you’ve ever wanted him more.

He chuckles as you eye the knife on his ankle. It’s the only thing he wears other than his briefs now. His dick bulges, usually pulling your attention, put you can’t pull your eyes away from the knife.

Pulling off his underwear, Dave comes back over to you, pressing his body against yours. His teeth scrape over the veins of your neck and he bites down on your earlobe as his hand tangles in your hair.

You release a soft yell. You barely recognize the man in front of you, but it doesn’t matter.

He grips your thigh, hiking it over his hip, running his dick through your sopping cunt.

“You like my knives, Darling?”

You nod as pleasure plays like a movie across your body.

He gips your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Use your words.”

“Yes.” It barely comes out.

His brows raise in amusement. “Would you like me to use them?”

“You won’t hurt me.” You say it as a statement.

Flashes of his softer side show before he clamps them down. “I won’t hurt you.”

“Yes.” It’s almost a yell.

Without hesitation, he grabs the knife off the vanity, pressing it to your neck. “On your knees.”

You obey coming face to face with his hard cock. The knife stays against your delicate flesh.

“You know what to do, baby.”

Again, you obey, taking it into your mouth. The knife is cool against your neck, the only reminder it’s still there. You don’t know how it never pierces your flesh either by dumb luck or expert skill.

Dave’s hips thrust forward, almost triggering your gag reflex. Tears fall from your eyes. Curses sputter from Dave’s lips as he uses your mouth. “Such a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

You breathe from your nose, forcing yourself to nod.

“Shit!” Dave curses, pulling out of your mouth. “I’m going to paint that pretty pussy of yours.”

Your cunt clenches as a small moan tumbles from your lips. He chuckles, hand closing around your neck once more as he ushers you into the shower.

The water is hot, burning against your skin as if it might melt your skin off. Dave holds you under the water. Your breath catches as your body screams out. The water beneath you runs red as the blood washes from your skin.

Your back hits the cool tile wall granting relief from the scalding water. He lathers soap over the parts of your body still stained red, fingers occasionally brushing under your breasts, tweaking nipples.

“You’re so beautiful, darling. Even covered in blood.”

You whimper again, senses overloaded from the trauma, the rush, the teasing. “Dave, please.”

“Please what? You have to use your words, Doll.”

Your walls constrict again, desperate to be around something. Your arms and legs are heavy with need. He’s never used that term with you before. It should be degrading. It is, but it sets another wave of pleasure. You wonder if it’s possible to orgasm virtually untouched. If it is, you’re close.

“Fuck me.”

His tongue clicks as he floats around yours, almost taunting you. He grabs your boob, hard enough it should hurt. It does a little, but pleasure overrides the pain.

“Ask nicely, Doll.”

His finger trails over your collarbone traveling between your breasts and down across your hip. Your thighs squeeze. His palm slips around as he grabs the back of your thigh, kneading it.

“I said.” His words come out like a punch. Concise. Almost sharp. “Ask. Nicely.” He pushes your thigh over his waist, forcing your supportive leg to your tiptoes.

You feel his cock near your entrance, brushing your pussy lips. You moan, hips bucking. He pushes against your neck, running your head into the tiles behind you. “You little slut. You think you can just take it.”

You gasp. “Please.”

“What do you want?”

“I want your cock inside me, Daddy.” It tumbles out of your lips before your brain catches up.

He thrusts his cock into you, sheathing himself fully, hitting the deepest parts of you. Then he’s gone, making you feel empty but only for a second until he enters you again. His hand squeezes tighter around your neck. You come for air as he continuously splits you apart thrust by thrust, pulling out almost fully each time.

Your moans are loud, drowned out by the steaming shower. Tears gather in the corners of your eyes. Dave pays you little mind, shows little care as he continues with a brutality you’ve never encountered, a brutality that only makes you soak his cock. He doesn’t slow. You don’t want him to. He never touches your clit, but you're propelling forward, chasing that high in a way you never have.

The pitch of your voice steps up. The spasm starts in your stomach traveling down to your core as you flutter around Dave’s cock. Your supporting leg shakes. Still, he never eases up, working you through your orgasm.

It hits you like a punch to the gut, a scream piercing the air. Your scream. Dave doesn’t stop. He doesn’t stutter. He keeps pace, chasing his own release.

With each thrust, you yell. You hear the squelching of your sopping cunt against his dick over the roar of the shower. His continuous movements extend your release until he finally buries himself inside you, coating your pussy with his cum. “Such a perfect little doll for me.”

You let out a final whimper as he pulls around, dropping your leg. Your knees buckle. You barely keep yourself upright, legs tingling and shaking.

Dave kisses your cheek. The softness causes a sense of whiplash. He glances over your body, making sure the blood is cleared from your skin and hair. He rinses the blood from his hair as your brain slowly returns to the world. You expect to be exhausted, and you are, but there’s still that low buzz deep within your body.

You killed a man. You took a life. You should feel bad. There’s a fucking body in your living room, but all you can think about is the rush. You liked it. Watching Dave, you wonder if he feels the same way. There’s no doubt to you that he’s taken lives before. You wonder if he knows how many.

The water stops. Dave dries you off with the soft bath towel. He helps you into his soft white t-shirt and tucks you into bed.

“I need to make a call.” He kisses your head and shuts himself in your bathroom. You hear him on the phone, but his words are muffled by the door.

You lay on your back, sheets cool against your hot skin. Staring at the ceiling, you can still feel the blood dripping from your hands, hear the piercing of the knife. You heart rate picks up. What would it be like to do that again? Would you feel the same rush of adrenaline? Would it feel better?

Dave comes out, tossing his cell on the nightstand and sliding under the covers. His hand covers yours.

“What about…?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s taken care of.”

You don’t ask. He probably knows people. His fingers drift over your cheeks and jaw. They skim lower, following the same path down your neck as your arteries. They feel cool against your skin, drawing patterns where you anticipate bruises tomorrow.

“Did I hurt you?”

He’s almost back to the Dave you know, soft and kind, but you still catch the edges of his dark side. He’s more of a blend now. You think you might be getting the real, true Dave now.

“No,” you shake your head. There was pain. You’ll be sore tomorrow, sport a few scrapes and bruises, but it doesn’t feel like he hurt you.

Dave kisses your forehead, fingers tracing your collarbone now. A question forms in your head, gnawing at the corners of your brain.

“Dave?”

“Hmmm?” He sees distracted, entranced as he follows his hand over your skin, skimming the tops of your breasts. Your nipples tighten making you curl your toes with a familiar tug of desire. How are you ready to go again after that?

“What if I liked it?”

His eyebrow quirks. “The sex?” he pinches your hardened nipple making you gasp.

“All of it?”

His palm stops. The pitch of his voice deepens. “All of it?”

You bite your lip, nodding.

“Use your words, Doll.” He cups your breath, teasing your nipple more. His breath is hot in your ear. “Tell me what you like.”

“I-” Can you really say this out loud? Will it blacken your soul? Or is it already charred and damned.

“Tell me.” He smacks your chest like a parent might smack their child’s hand away from an electrical outlet.

Your pussy clenches as you squeeze your legs together. He smacks your other breast in the same manner. You gasp, practically yelling out your answer. “Killing him.”

The air stands still. For a second, you expect a look of disgust to cross Dave’s face. Instead, a smirk grows. “You liked that?”

You nod, not able to say anything else. Dave climbs on top of you, kicking away the covers. He pushes his hand up your sternum, kneading your breast before running it back down. He repeats the motion, rotating between the two. Moans grow in your chest. He bites your earlobe.

“Did you like the way the knife slid into him?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, Daddy,” Dave growls in your ear.

“Yes, Daddy,” you repeat between moans. Your sopping hole drips onto the sheets below you. Dave’s motions steadily grow in intensity.

“Did my doll like the way her body felt alive? Like you absorbed that bastard's energy.”

Tears drop from your eyes. You want him again. You need him again. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Does my doll want to do it again?”

“Yes, Daddy.” You practically scream. You should be ashamed of the answer. You should be ashamed that there isn’t an ounce of hesitation in your being.

“Fuck,” Dave says, shoving your legs apart. He pushes his cock inside you again. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll make sure you will.”

Dave moves inside you. It’s not as violent, not as torturous as earlier, but it’s just as satisfying. The promise of more ignites a fire inside of you.

Dave takes you to the brink, pushing you until you pass out from exhaustion, spent, used, and sated.

“I’ll keep you by my side with my superhuman might.”

When you wake up the next morning, the body is gone. The lamp you broke is replaced and a new area rug is delicately placed in your apartment. Not a speck or splatter of blood can be found anywhere. Dave stands in the kitchen gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He cooks eggs on the stovetop and a steaming cup of coffee sits on the counter.

You wrap your arms around him. He hums. His skin is warm beneath your cheek, heart beating against your palm. “I like the rug.”

“Me too.”

“Kryptonite”

#dave york #dave york x reader #dave york x you #dave york x female reader #dark!dave york #dark!fic #pedro pascal #the equalizer 2

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davidbrussat · 2 years ago

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The Capital Center Build-Out

View pictures, left to right, Center Place, the Gateway Center, Blue Cross/Blue Shield (to its rear), GTECH and half of Providence Place. The Westin towers are in further distance, behind the mall and GTECH, which distance seems to render smaller in size. (Library of Congress) As you will or maybe already have seen, flipping the order of Chapters 19 (“We Hate That”) and Chapter 20 (“The Capital…

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#Adrian Smith #Blue Cross Blue Shield #Capital Center #Center Place #Citizens Bank Building #Friedrich St. Florian #Gateway Center #GTECH #Lost Providence #Providence Place #Providence RI #Rhode Island State House #Richard Benjamin #Westin Hotel

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victoria-daydreams · 4 years ago

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Of Vices and Virtues

Chapter Nine: Challenges

AN: This story has really blown up it’s amazing, not to mention my follower count! I appreciate everyone’s support, you don’t know how much it means to me to see my notifications going crazy from all of you. Again, just leave a comment if you want to be added to the taglist below.

Word Count: 5.8k

Trigger Warnings: body negativity, unresolved trauma, mentions of KKK terrorism, mentions of The Holocaust

Taglist: @azayamari

Chapter Ten: Old Wounds

It was early morning at the Xavier Mansion and I just finished my morning cup of coffee, when I began walking around the mansion. The sound of light clinking could be heard from Hank's lab and I peeped my head in to see him peering down a microscope. I raised my fist and briskly rapped on the lab door which startled Hank in his chair. He looked up from the instrument and flashed me a shy smile.

I entered the lab and crossed my arms together, "What are you doing up so early?" I asked, sliding onto a stool across from Hank.

"Oh, you know how the saying goes, the early bird gets the worm," Hank answered, letting out a nervous chuckle.

I cocked my eyebrow, but didn't say anything as I stretched myself out, "Well, Hank you can have all them," I quipped, with a smile on my face.

"Why are you up?" he questioned, shifting in his seat.

"My body woke up and I couldn't go back to sleep, no matter how hard I tried to force myself," I answered shrugging, as my eyes did a quick glance at the microscope in front of me. "You know Hank, I've been wondering about something," I stated, placing both my arms on the table.

"And what would that be?"

"This serum you're making. It doesn't affect abilities right? Just appearance? Normalizes it?" I questioned him and he gave a small nod. "Why do you hate your mutation so much?" I asked inquisitively.

"Well, where to start? I have huge monkey feet, they're an eyesore to look at," Hank explained darkly, looking down at his shoes.

"Don't!" I scold him and he looked up at me in surprise. "Never say that about yourself Hank. I'm sure there are benefits to your mutation," I commented, trying to get him to see a bright side. "All mutations do," I added, nodding my head.

Hank scoffed slightly, "Like what? Earning another demeaning nickname?" he deadpanned, placing his hands on the table.

"It's not like you're alone in this," I pointed out, but Hank still looked at me unsurely.

"But you have an amazing gift Claudia. You are extremely lucky," Hank reasoned.

"Hey, even the best of powers can have cons," I tell him in an off handed tone. "For most of my life I thought my empathy was a curse. I hated it," I added, balling my fist up.

"Okay, so explain it to me. You asked me so I'll ask you," Hank began. "Why would you hate your abilities?" he questioned.

I sit up straight and fold my leg underneath me, "Once upon a time I wasn't fully in control of my empathic and telekinetic powers. With me, I get emotions, and emotions are real whether they truly are or not. I become the person in a way so much deeper than a telepath could. I am not them, but I am no longer me," I explained, pausing so I could catch my breath. "It was exhausting, the constant migraines I had, not to mention the shields I built to block everyone's emotions worked sporadically," I continued, looking down at the black top of the table. "You have no idea what it's like to be afraid of the damage that you could potentially do because of the powers your born with. But...all of that changed when I met him...my mentor," I finished, looking back up at Hank with a slight frown on my face.

"It sounds as though you don't care for him very much,"

"That's the thing I shouldn't like him, but yet in some twisted way, I owe him everything," I confided quietly. "If it weren't for him, I would have never been able to master my abilities. Hell, even when he was mentoring me I think we just scratched the surface of what I can do. It's probably for the best though, who knows what kind of trouble I would've gotten into or caused," I stated, a mirthless laugh escaping my lips.

"But you could never hurt anyone, you're too kind," Hank insisted, as if it was obvious. I let out a faint laugh, and he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "Why did you laugh at that?" Hank questioned.

"Very rarely have I been called 'kind', that's why I laughed. It's just nice to hear it for a change," I explained, shrugging my shoulders.

Hank nodded his head understandingly and we sat in a comfortable silence. My eyes moved from Hank to the window behind him, my eyes focusing on the magnificent array of gold and pink that colored the landscape before me. It was strange, to be able to slightly let my guard down and become relaxed around Hank, or anyone in the mansion and let them get to know me more. It felt nice to finally have friends.

I focused my gaze back to Hank only to find that he was looking down awkwardly at the floor.

"What is it?" I asked with concern, he fumbled about with his hands not sure to say.

"Claudia, while I sympathize with your plight and what you've gone through, it's still different. I mean, even though you're a mutant your still beautiful, people can't see your mutation and they wouldn't think of you as a freak. They would see you as a goddess," he spoke stubbornly.

"Thank you Hank, I'm flattered," I chuckled, a gentle smile gracing my face. "But I can tell you that not everyone in this world holds that same sentiment," I informed him with a small laugh.

"Well then their blind," Hank stated, a chuckle escaping his lips. He momentarily dropped his stare down to the table before he looked back at me. "Look Claudia, I-uh, I promised myself that I'd find a cure ever since I was a little boy," Hank went on. "And I'm glad you don't care what my feet look like, but it's how I feel," Hank told me with a sigh, the two of us glance at the blood sample that Hank was studying.

Unfolding my leg I stood up from my stool and waltzed over to him, "You know Hank, you're quite stubborn," I mused, letting out a sigh of my own. "But it's your choice," I added smiling, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He nodded, "Thank you," he replied, a sigh of relief escaping him.

I pulled him into a side hug, "That doesn't mean I don't like it though," I muttered, making Hank chuckle.

~~~x~~~

Wearily, I trudged to the door and opened it to find the hallway almost leering at me, like it was speaking to me. Shaking it off, I stepped out into the even chillier air and made my way down to the lab from hell where the devil incarnate himself was waiting for me. I do not have the energy for this today, then again…when have I ever? When I heard him demanding me to be in the lab in two minutes or to suffer the consequences, I considered staying in my room, wanting to aggravate him, but decide against it. I didn’t want to stretch it too terribly much. So, on shaky legs I continued my miserable journey to the basement of-

"Claudia," my head snapped to the side at the sound of my name being called, my eyes slightly wide. Blue eyes and dark hair. Charles. "Are you alright?" he asked softly, standing next to me. "You had a faraway look in your eyes," he commented. "And you also started to make some items in here levitate," Charles added quietly.

He opened his mouth again to speak, but all I could hear was my blood pumping in my veins and I closed my eyes tightly to try and calm down, my head swimming with images of my past. My eyes glanced back over to the window I was in front of and stared through the glass pane, it promised to be a beautiful day. Clear skies, temperature below 60, but still warm enough for us to enjoy. I wasn't there now. I was here. Here, staying in a house that belonged to Charles Xavier. I was as far away from that life as humanely possible. I would never do anything I didn't want to do ever again.

"Claudia?"

I looked over to Charles again, "I'm fine," I breathed, not even realizing that my fingernails were digging into my palms until Charles gently took my right fist and pried it open before doing the same with my left. "I was just...thinking. That's all," I answered, flashing him a faux smile.

It was another skill I mastered over the years, hiding my true emotions. If I were to let them show, people would see me as weak. I turned around fully to see Erik and Moira already staring at me, both of them with different expressions. Moira was visibly concerned, while Erik's lips were pressed together creating a thin line. His eyes, they were guarded, as if he wasn't certain what to think of this situation. Or maybe Erik was always like this. It's hard to tell with him.

I looked back over to Charles, "Please, continue," I stated, motioning my hand for him to speak.

Charles gave me a slight nod and cleared his throat, "As I was previously saying, the wings aren't ready yet. Hank has informed me that he has to put the last touches on them today," he announced, looking between the three of us.

"What wings?" I thought.

Moira ran a hand through her straight brown locks, "It's no secret that Sean has a talent for destroying property, but isn't it counterproductive to throw him out a window of what we're trying to accomplish here?" Moira asked, with slight confusion.

"Wait, we're throwing Sean out of a window?" I questioned, raising an eyebrow in amusement. "I would also love to know the logic behind this," I stated, a grin now on my face.

"Charles and Hank apparently think he can fly," Moira explained, looking at me.

I folded my arms together, "Unless I'm mistaken, Sean's only power is his supersonic scream," I reminded, staring at the telepath. "How does flying coincide with his ability?" I asked curiously.

"It's the sound waves that Sean emits," Charles began. "When his sound waves hit supersonic they'll carry him," Charles finished.

"Interesting," I nodded my head, I slowly turned back around and stared out of the window again. My attention focused on the towering satellite on Charles' land, as I lifted my right thumb to my lip, sensing that this conversation was over.

"Charles, I've been meaning to ask more about your ideas for training," Moira announced, standing up from her seat.

"Ah, yes! I would love to talk about that," Charles answered happily, I could envision his eyes lighting up at the opportunity to discuss his ideas. "We'll talk it over a cup of tea, yes?" he proposed.

"Sounds lovely," Moira agreed.

I heard the two of of them leaving the room, but didn't bother turning around. My eyes were still trained outside, softly biting my thumb. How did I let this happen to me? I thought I was over of what happened in the past. All it took was me to mention him and suddenly the band-aid that was placed on my wound was ripped off and I'm back to being to that frightened girl I once was.

"Are you alright, Claudia?" Erik asked, breaking me out of my reverie. I didn't say anything or look his way. Just nodded. Suddenly, he was in front of me, and I inhaled deeply, and I involuntarily took a step back. "Look at me," he said gently, and I refused to do so. That was until I felt two rough, calloused fingers lift my chin. "Something troubles you Claudia, I don't need to be a mind reader to know that. Your posture and your face are all the evidence I need," Erik finished, as my brown eyes met his blue ones.

"I'm fine," I answered, pushing his hand away. "Just like I said earlier," I insisted, before turning around to leave the room as well.

I was not in the mood to talk. Not about this.

At the doorway of Charles' study I stopped, "Stop fretting over me Erik, you're gonna give yourself a heart attack," I warned, before walking into the hallway.

I hadn't taken more than a few steps when I spotted my shape-shifting friend turning down the same hallway I was.

"Afternoon Raven," I greeted, mustering up a small smile on my face. Raven didn't return my warm expression as she walked past me, and I cocked my head while furrowing my eyebrows. I turned on my heel and stared at her back. "Raven!" I called, walking at a quick speed to catch up with her as she went down another hallway. "Hey!" I called again, this time grasping her arm. "Have I done something to upset you?" I asked, releasing her arm.

"I just don't understand why you are doing what you're doing," Raven murmured.

"What?" I asked, my face scrunched up in confusion.

"I get that you and Charles have a thing going on, but why isn't that good enough for you?" Raven asked lowly, but the anger was evident in her voice. I scoffed as she finally turned around to face me. "You know, I've been noticing that you and Erik have been acting too friendly to be just friends and you just brushed it off saying it was nothing. But now it seems you turned sights on Hank-"

I waved my hands in the air, "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" I interjected, my eyes widening at Raven's accusation. "Raven, what the hell are you talking about?" I asked, placing my hands on my hips. "If you're insinuating what I think you are, first of all how dare you! Second of all, I am most certainly not doing what you're accusing of me of," I stated, defending myself. "Where did this all come from? I thought we were friends!" I reminded, crossing my arms against my chest.

"It's just that, that," Raven began, but ended up letting out a frustrated groan and running a hand through her long, blonde hair.

My face softened and reached my arm out to Raven and gently grabbed her arm, "What is bothering you, Raven?" I asked, the anger inside of me ebbing away as I was truly curious what made her have such an outburst towards me.

"You are! You're so perfect," Raven sighed, frustration written all over her face. "Perfect face, perfect powers, perfect body," she listed, almost spitefully.

"Oh, come on Raven, nobody is perfect," I corrected gently, forcing back a smile as I thought back to when Charles and I were discussing the same thing. "I have my imperfections just like everyone else," I assured, giving her arm a slight squeeze.

"Where are they, because I don't see them," Raven disagreed, shaking her head and then crossing her arms. "You're just saying that to make me feel better," she grumbled.

I smiled slightly, "Truly, I am not," I replied, shaking my head. I exhaled deeply. "Well, I hope yelling at me got whatever that was plaguing you out," I mused, crossing my arms again.

Raven put her head in her hands, "I'm sorry," she sighed, lifting her head back up to face me. "It's just that I saw and heard you with Hank this morning and my mind just created so many stupid scenarios," Raven explained, her face flushed with embarrassment. "And then I saw you and Erik, but I turned ar-" she rambled on.

"I'm sorry Raven, but I'm beginning to notice a pattern here," I chimed in, raising an eyebrow. "Are you following me around?" I asked, my expression turning serious now.

"No!" Raven exclaimed quickly. "Well, at least not on purpose. This morning I went to check on Hank's progress with the serum and then I saw you two hugging and just now I saw you and Erik very close to each other," she explained, lowering her gaze to the decorative rug covering the wooden floor. "Just like when you were sparring," the blonde added quietly, before raising her eyes to meet mine.

"Look Raven, despite what you think I do not have an objective of being with every man in the house, okay? The mansion is predominantly male, so yes, it's going to be more common that I'm talking to someone of the opposite gender," I explained, placing my hands on hips. "Makes sense now?" I asked, cocking an eyebrow at her.

Raven nodded her head, "Oh God, I'm so sorry, Dia," Raven apologized again. "I can't believe I was that stupid to even think that of you," she groaned, hiding her face in her hands temporarily. Raven uncovered her face, "C'mon, let me make you lunch. It's the least I can do," Raven offered, letting out a laugh.

"It certainly is,"

~~~x~~~

"You know what I just adore about you, my dear Claudia? I can break you every night, and you'll still be a viable subject by the next morning,"

I threw punches at the punching bag as if the source of all my bottled up pain was actually here, standing right in front of me. I struck the bag as fast and hard as I could attempting to release all my pent up frustration. Why won't these god forsaken memories just disappear from my mind. I was angry. Frustrated. Upset. Ashamed. Embarrassed. My behavior was unacceptable. I was a broken, scared little girl. I was pathetic. I could never help save the world.

I was so fucking weak.

Never ending questions nagged at my brain as I furiously punched, ignoring the blood dripping off my knuckles.

"Claudia, stop before I make you stop," a velvety voice from behind me ordered.

I turned my head slightly and there stood Erik in his grey sweatsuit, "I'm fine," I stated simply wiping my knuckles on my pants, and positioning myself to continue training once more.

Erik stepped in front of the punching bag, grabbed my wrists in a firm, but not painful grip and pulled me into him, his steely blue eyes gazing intently into my own assessing me like a predator would it's prey.

"You had a thousand yard stare earlier, slightly lost control of your telekinesis, and now your beating a punching bag until your fists are raw and bloody," Erik pointed out, glancing at my bloodied fists. "And you honestly think that you're fine?" he asked, arching a brow and dropping my hands.

"Didn't I tell you to stop worrying about me?" I asked back, annoyed that he wouldn't leave well enough alone.

"But that's what friends do, we worry about each other," Erik informed, folding his arms together. "You would do the same for me, I hope," he added, a small smile forming on his lips.

I took a deep breath and slowly nodded in agreement.

"Come on, I'll clean those up for you," Erik said simply, leading me out of the gym and into a small white room which looked like a small medical bay he lead me over to sink and carefully cleaned my wounds then applied some anesthetic cream. "Sorry if it hurts," he apologized quietly, surprising me with his thoughtfulness. I found myself unintentionally smiling to myself. "What's so funny?" Erik questioned, finishing up with the bandages.

"It's just that...when we first met, I thought you were the biggest asshole known to man," I began, a ghost of grin on my lips. "But now I know that's not true, it's good to know that you're a nice man after all," I finished, pushing off from the sink.

"You think I'm a nice guy, I'm flattered truly I am," Erik replied cheekily. "Any other first impressions you had about me that I should know about?" Erik questioned, arching his brow in amusement while walking out of the door.

"Well, I also thought you were pretty handsome," I started, and Erik' face lit up with what looked like amusement. "But your personality soon negated all of your attractiveness," I added, with a smirk on my lips as I left the small room as well.

Suddenly Erik lifted me up and spun me around.

"Erik! Stop! Friends don't do this!" I said between laughs while attempting to escape his grasp.

"Some friends do!" he countered with a wink. "Now with me being a friend to Claudia, I have to wonder where the real Claudia is. Two compliments within a minute apart, I find that suspicious," Erik remarked, and let out a laugh.

"Erik! Put me down right now!" I scolded, with a smile on my face even though I hated the fact I'd lost control of the situation so easily. From over Erik's shoulder I saw Charles at the end of the hallway with a raised eyebrow. "Charles!" I called, a smile still on my face. "My knight in shining armor, come save me!" I exclaimed, reaching my arm out towards Charles and laughing.

"Don't listen to her Charles, this is just a lookalike. She has been too kind to me today, this can't possibly be the Claudia we know!" Erik claimed, his laughter vibrating against me.

Charles chuckled as well as he followed behind us, "You know Erik, I think you might be on to something," he agreed, smiling at me.

"Charles!" I called again, my mouth opened in shock that he took Erik's side instead of mine and Charles just shrugged an amused expression still on his face. I rolled my eyes and grinned myself before turning my attention back to the metal bender carrying me to the living room. "Hey, let me go!" I ordered, lightly hitting Erik's back with my fist.

"Fine," the metal bender answered simply.

In an instant, I landed hard on the floor with a thud. I watched as Erik walked down the hallway laughing all the way. He dropped me? He knew exactly what I meant when I told him to put me down. The audacity of him to do that. I'd show him, you can bet your bottom dollar that I will have the last laugh.

Charles extended his hand out towards me, "It seems you've taken a tumble, my dear," he remarked smiling.

I grabbed it and hopped to my feet, "Yeah, no thanks to that asshole," I commented, nodding my head in the direction of Erik.

"Ah, it seems we were wrong," Charles began with a chuckle. "There's the Claudia we know," he finished, leading me into the living room and I rolled my eyes again.

I spotted Erik standing with a relaxed posture, his hands in his pockets as he waited for Charles and I. He smirked at me and I just slid my index finger across my throat.

"Well, since the two of you are here, I wanted to test an idea out I had with your powers," Charles started, looking at me. "Claudia, I've been thinking about your empathic powers. We know you can use your 'persuasive' ability on people verbally. I want you to inside Erik's mind and give him an order without speaking,"

"What do you want me to make him do?"

Charles hesitated and looked at Erik, "What do you feel comfortable doing?"

Erik thought for a moment, "Nothing that will cause me extreme bodily harm," he answered, giving me a knowing glance.

Fine, I'd think of something else. I closed my eyes and lifted my mental shields as the confusion, curiousness, and a hint of tiredness sparked through my mind from Erik's. An idea popped in my head and I smiled to myself. I opened my eyes and stared at Erik unflinchingly which he returned, I cocked my head to the side and began my work with Erik's brain.

"You're feeling tired," I began. "Very tired," I added.

Erik let out a yawn as I furrowed my brow in concentration.

"You feel dead on your feet, you should have a seat right now," I suggested. "The chair behind you is just calling your name," I continued.

I pushed my suggestion into his head and Erik squatted down as if to sit down on the chair. But there wasn't a chair, so he fell to the floor on his ass. Erik looked up at me and glared.

I smiled triumphantly, "It's what you deserve," I stated, content with myself.

Charles was happy as well, "Excellent!" he cheered, before holding his hand out to Erik to helping him back to his feet.

"Am I done being the test dummy?" Erik asked, an annoyed expression on his face.

"Yes, you were a great help just now," Charles answered cheerfully, Erik shot me one last glare before he left and I stuck my tongue at him childishly. "A bit of fresh air will do the body good, don't you think?" Charles questioned, sticking his hand for me to leave the room first.

"I do," I concurred, making my way out of the room and towards the doors that led to the stone deck.

I pushed the door opened and the fresh late afternoon almost evening air was such a relief. An immense amount of sudden stress completely wiped me out already. The door behind me closed with a soft click from Charles and walked over next to me.

"What happened to your hands Claudia?" Charles asked, grabbing a hold of them and softly running his thumb across my knuckles.

"I got carried away with the punching bag, that's all. Please don't work up a sweat about me, I just had some steam to blow off," I explained, a reassuring smile on my lips.

Charles' brow furrowed as he looked out into the sprawling greenery that almost resembled the gardens of Versailles. The cool October breeze wrapped around us quite heavily as it sent chills down my spine and blew black strands of hair across my face. Charles noticed how my body reacted from the breeze and quickly took his jacket off and placed around my shoulders.

"Claudia," Charles started, giving his jacket a quick tug making sure I was snug within it. "I want you to know that whatever is bothering you, you don't have to face it alone," he reminded gently.

"What makes you think something is bothering me?" I asked, looking up at him.

"You haven't been your usual self, I mean I've barely heard a witty comment from you all day," he pointed out, a slight chuckle escaping his lips.

"It's better that I do though, you know, when it comes to facing my own problems alone," I answered, before looking over at the gardens as well. "I've done it for years now, what's a few more weeks going to change?" I inquired, shrugging my shoulders before turning my attention back to him.

"Everything," Charles answered, placing each of his hands on my shoulders looking straight into my eyes. "It could change everything, Claudia," Charles repeated, rubbing soothing circles on my biceps before his hands slid down my arms.

~~~x~~~

I laid wide awake in bed, my eyes spacing out, my mind somewhere else, I had been awakened by a dream. Not a dream, exactly, more a memory of a rain made of ashes. The stomach-churning scent of the burning bodies still scorched my nostrils whenever I thought about it. I saw a young boy in ragged striped pajamas and there was also a woman who appeared to be middle aged, but she looked so much older than she should. She was filthy and was in ragged pajamas, just like the boy. And there was a man, a man who looked all too familiar...

That's when I heard something. A creaking of sort. I sat up softly, and my eyes glued onto the door, as the sound grew louder, and soon I knew clearly it was footsteps. I got up and hesitated by my door, until the muffled noises were faint. Creeping out my door, I followed the suspect as I caught their shadow turning to the left in the hallway.

With quiet steps, and making sure to be in line with the shadows, I stalked behind whoever it was. Soon I was close enough to try and take out the figure's features. My night vision not being very strong. But before I could even make out their face, a voice spoke.

"I should have known you would follow me," It was hollow, and low.

I stepped into the speck of light the gleaming moon gave off, "Sorry. I was curious as to why you would be up and lurking around past midnight," I responded to Erik, and moved forth towards him.

"Could not sleep. But I should be asking you the same," he stated gravely.

I shrugged, "Got a lot on my mind," I explained lamely.

We stood there, giving moments of awkward silence, then he began to slip away towards the kitchen. His movement gave me a beckoning signal to follow him. Once there, he dug in the fridge, and tugged out a bottle of beer. He glanced over at me once I sat on the island counter watching him. "Want one?" He asked.

I scoffed at him, my brows raised, and expression saying 'seriously?'.

"I'm too much of a lady to drink beer," I quipped.

A soft chuckle erupted from him and he shook his head, as he pulled out a bottle of pop for me. I gladly took it, and he popped off the caps of both drinks. The two of us taking a swig of our bottles.

"So, what was life like for you before Charles and I hunted you down and dragged you here against your will?" Erik asked, his back leaned against the island beside me, as his eyes roamed over the pictures hanging on the wallpapered walls.

I glanced down at my bottle, my right index finger tracing the rim of the bottle, as I stayed mute after hearing his question. It was a long enough silence to notify him, and let him glimpse over at me.

"Or...don't answer my question," he muttered brashly.

I gave a soft sigh, "I lived in South Carolina until I was five, my grandpa was murdered by the KKK, they bombed his bookstore. It was a miracle that I survived," I began, Erik looked over at me, a sympathetic expression painted on his face. "Then we moved to Pennsylvania, and that's what I considered to be home for me. After I graduated high school, I moved to D.C. and attended college. I graduated and now I'm living the ‘American Dream’ the best that a black woman can," I explained, purposefully excluding certain events that I wasn't ready to share. "Nothing quite special about my life, Erik," I added, before taking another swig of my drink.

"I'm sorry about your grandfather, Claudia," Erik apologized, placing his beer down. "But I know there's more to your story than that. I know there is something or someone from your past that you're running from. Trust me, I know all the signs," he argued softly, and my throat felt awfully dry because of the statement. "If you don't want to tell me about your past, fine. But answer this question for me. Why are you up?" Erik asked again. "And don't tell me another terrible lie," he added.

I sighed, staring into my drink, before answering, seemingly measuring my words, "Sometimes my walls come down when I sleep deeply enough, so my empathy is open. When people have nightmares or sleep fitfully, it can wake me up if the emotional signature is strong enough," I shrugged, a bit embarrassed.

Erik froze, "Do you ever...um...see what people dream?" he scratched the back of his head, projecting nonchalance.

My brown eyes narrowed in speculation on the opening of my bottle, "It depends on if the nightmare is strong enough," I set the bottle down, my eyes sympathetic. "Usually what I see is so fractured that I don't understand it,"

He grunted in his throat in acquiescence, staring at the tabletop, "I've always wondered why Charles never wakes up,"

I shrugged, "Maybe his shields can't drop," I suggested. "He probably made them that way for when he sleeps or needs to block everything, he's had more practice than I. Then again, he's a telepath, so he's working to block thoughts and dreams and such. A person can hide what they think, but rarely can they hide what they feel," I informed.

"That sounded textbook," Erik smirked in humor.

I shrugged, "Probably was," I agreed laughing.

We stood in silence for a moment, before my eyes fell upon his left arm and I noticed the small black numbers. He followed my eyes and extended it fully toward me. The numbers stood out before me almost screaming at me about the pain this man has been through.

"He hurt you, didn't he? Shaw did," I stated bravely, looking up from his arm.

"You...You saw what I dreamed of, didn't you?" Erik questioned, returning my stare and I silently nodded.

"Sorry," I whispered apologetically, and he just mimicked my nod. "H-How old were you?" I asked quietly. "When-When'd it happen?" I asked again, glancing at his arm.

"I was eleven,"

"Eleven?" I echoed, in shock. "That's so young," I breathed.

"You became a bomb survivor at the age of five," Erik reminded grimly, shaking his head.

Neither of us spoke for several long moments before I brushed a strand of hair behind my ear uncomfortably.

"There was a woman that I saw," I recalled. "Who was she?" I questioned, folding my arms together.

"My mother," he answered, staring at me.

I stood staring back at him unsure of what to say or if I wanted to ask the question that was now burning in the back of my mind. I opened my mouth to speak, but closed it and breathed deeply.

"How did she die, if you don't mind me asking?" I asked softly.

"My family and I were put in a concentration camp, as you know," Erik said quietly. His usual calm demeanor had dropped and now he was sad, almost angry. "It was there were Shaw shot my mother point blank and it was there where I discovered my ability," he answered, his mouth forming a thin line.

I couldn't even imagine witnessing your mother being shot point blank in front of you. It was completely unthinkable and horribly wrong. I shuddered at the thought of him witnessing such a thing.

"I'm sorry, I can't...can't even begin to imagine it,"

As if a sudden electric bolt of realization hit me, I was now aware of why I had woken up suddenly, feeling so...angry, so thirsty for vengeance. It was because Erik wanted Shaw so badly. It was the simple thought of revenge. He wanted to avenge his mother's death to finally be at peace with himself and with the thought of his mother's horrific death.

He blamed himself, but he shouldn't.

I placed a hand on Erik's shoulder for comfort, "We're going to get him," I promised, looking into his blue eyes with a determined stare and he raised his hand covering mine and gave it a soft squeeze.

"There was a never doubt that we wouldn't,"

Chapter Eleven: Bottled Up

#x-men fanfiction #black fanfiction #x-men fanfic #charles xavier fanfiction #charles xavier x oc #black!oc #magneto x oc #charles xavier #erik lehnsherr #erik lehnsherr fanfiction #erik lehnsherr x oc #black!reader #x men fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel imagine

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rvexillology · 4 years ago

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My Redesign of the Flag of Warwick, RI

from /r/vexillology Top comment: I've been doing a project for the last year where I create sample redesigns of all the cities and towns in Rhode Island, and I finally completed Warwick, RI last night. This is my favorite of my redesigns. Warwick is fairly interesting from a historical perspective: it was settled by English religious dissenters (called the "Gortonists" after their leader, Samuel Gorton). It was initially sort of an anarcho-Puritan town, there wasn't even a town meeting, people just lived there in "free association" with each other. Gorton had caused trouble for the other English settlements in RI, angering the leaders of Portsmouth and Providence (themselves English religious dissenters) for his unwillingness to recognize the authority of their governments (which, he rightly pointed out, didn't have the consent of the king). Gorton and his followers eventually founded Shawomet, but only after annoying the nearby settlement of Pawtuxet. The Pawtuxeters put themselves under the jurisdiction of the Colony of Massachusetts Bay, who invaded and expelled the Gortonists. This is the inciting action that led the founders of Rhode Island to seek a charter from the King, and so directly led to the unification of Rhode Island. Gorton also lobbied England, and got the Parliamentary Commission on Plantations (a forerunner of the modern UK Board of Trade) headed by Robert Rich, the Earl of Warwick (himself a Puritan sympathizer), to pronounce that any colony that wanted to control the area must either accept the presence of the Gortonists, or pay to resettle them somewhere else, a poison pill that preserved its independence. When the Gortonists returned, they renamed their settlement "Warwick" after the man who had saved their town. The first seal of the Council of Warwick appears to feature an eagle, and the town arms are officially described as using the arms of Robert Rich, Earl of Warwick (a red shield with a yellow chevron surrounded by three yellow crosses botonne) with a red eagle on a yellow chief. There is some debate about this, as the Warwick Heritage Commission produced a report alleging that it was supposed to be a wyvern (the Rich family used a silver wyvern as its crest). The current flag of Warwick can be found on the [CRW Flags of the World website](https://www.crwflags.com/fotw/flags/us-riwar.html). At some point, it seems like Warwick switched the chief of their arms to be a gold eagle on blue. I've gone with an eagle, as I was unconvinced by the wyvern argument, updated it to be a bald eagle, designed something a little more modern. I've also gone back to the red eagle on gold. The twelve feathers on the eagle's breast weren't intended to have a specific meaning, but they could stand for the twelve original Shawomet Purchasers. The crosses botonne in the corners are from the Rich arms, representing that connection, but also Warwick's place as one of the four towns that united to form Rhode Island, and also are configured in a way that mirrors the flag of the Governor of Rhode Island, representing the governors that Warwick has produced.

#My #Redesign #Flag #Warwick #RI #flags #vexillology

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evilbuildingsblog · 5 years ago

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Blue Cross/Blue Shield of Providence about to take over all of RI

#evil #building #scary #villain

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enyas-sojourn · 4 years ago

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A Capture on Genesian Road

(07/05/20 10:51) ~ Warrior Of The North ~ Bejar Bjorntand Master Tharlarion Rider ~ ~ Hraesvelgr ~ ~ says to ALL: Enters ... (07/05/20 10:52 am) Absolute Obedience Enya -=Genesian Road=- Is traveling along the Genesian Road connecting Brundisium and other coastal cities with the south says to ALL: I am forever amazed, and rendered speechless which in and of itself is a bargain for anybody who really knows me. But, alas!!! There aren't very many who can honestly say that. Not that I'm a difficult slave. Nor am I the type of slave that balks because I do not like the kiss of the whip upon the flesh of this back. It stings and though the welts are visible for days, those same welts create when itchy fabric comes into contact with it. I've had my share and I do my best to avoid being whipped. Or cuffed upside the head. Then again, the majority of the whippings were purely educational purposes only. When a slave does something wrong, punishment soon follows and the type of punishment is at the sole discretion of a slave's owner. Personal or City owned or even if the slave is being put through her paces at a Slaver's House. Indeed... sometimes lessons need to be learned the hard way. These lessons aren't always as difficult as they are challenging. I've always enjoyed challenges and look at them as pieces of a puzzle that just has to be solved. (07/05/20 11:04 am) Absolute Obedience Enya -=Genesian Road=- Is traveling along the Genesian Road connecting Brundisium and other coastal cities with the south says to ALL: These proclamations are, of course, based on my own experiences. There are a few scars that stripe my back and are quite visible when you know what you're looking for. Whip me once, shame on me, but whip me twice for the same thing then it's ALL on me. It usually is regardless, but the point is, is that slavery isn't for everybody. That pitiful creature that kept whining about what to do now? I don't see her as slave material. But, what do I know? I don't have an eye for slave flesh. Except my own and I will do whatever I can to ensure that my flesh remains intact unless told otherwise. I've always been owned by an Inn or a Tavern. Once I was even part of a Camp. That didn't last very long and within 4 hand I had been sold. Back to the beginning some would have told me. But it's not going back to the beginning at all. My future owner just hasn't discovered me. Yet. (07/05/20 11:12 am) ~ Warrior Of The North ~ Bejar Bjorntand Master Tharlarion Rider ~ ~ Hraesvelgr ~ ~ -=Genesian Road=- Is traveling along the Genesian Road connecting Brundisium and other coastal cities with the south says to Absolute ObedienceEnya: grunts (07/05/20 11:20 am) ~ Warrior Of The North ~ Bejar Bjorntand Master Tharlarion Rider ~ ~ Hraesvelgr ~ ~ -=Genesian Road=- Is traveling along the Genesian Road connecting Brundisium and other coastal cities with the south says to Absolute Obedience Enya: The medium sized tarnship had made landfall to a small port middway between Brundisium and Bazi. I had some bussines inland and thusly had brought my high tharlarion with me as it was mutch faster then walking. While the crew would resply fresh water and suplies i had made the short tripp inland to meet an old friend of mine that had agreeded to serve as a "mail office" between myself and my oldest son that was the commander of a unite of mercenarys. After some proper man hugs- and some paga letters were exhanged and i was on my way back for my ship. Taking a shorter route over some knolls rather then following the small dirt road out to the main coastal road i would halt on my vantage point as a spotted a small caravan. I was some 400 yards away so might not be noticed from the road unless someone were on alert and scanned the knols and surrounding terrain. I had not been on the hunt but i was a man of Gor and more so a Torvaldslander. hmmm......i would squint...then grunt and pull out my builders glass to get a good look of the small caravan moving on the road down below. And should anyone down there have a buildersglas and spy back on me they would see a man and beast that looked something like this I was mounted atop of my high tharlarion Scar, the reins held with calm to the left hand*1*. My frame was that off 6´4. 230lbs. I was dressed in a leather tunic with a raven sewn into the chest peace over the heart. A leather cloak with the hood up tho with the helmet under it the hood held a somewhat triangular shape. Dark brown leathers and my feet and legs covered by high tharlarion rider boots. A northern helmet, with chainmail covering the neck and with the nose guard in the down position covered my head*2*.A 7 foot spear to my right hand held aprox mid haft with the tip skyward.*3* And a 3 foot round wooden center gripped Torvaldslands shield reenforced with steel band and a center steel boss held was held to my back with a thick leather strapp, it was painted with my personal crest of a crossed gladius with a northern battle axe in a circle in a background that was devided with a deep red to the left side and a deep blue to the right side.*4* Over my left shoulder the handel of a 3 foot long sword could be seen. The cloak having been pulled aside to uncover that of my left shoulder to enabel a draw of the blade that was .36 inches total length. 30 inch blade. 4 inch cross guard, 6 inch handel with a hammer shapped pommel.*5* To my right hip i held a quiver of 10 bolts for the cavalry crossbow.*6*. To the right side of the saddel there could be seen a cavalry crossbow It was positioned in sutch a manner it could easily be drawn by the right hand and with my right boot to the stearup used to drawback and make the weapon ready to fire another bolt.*7* The spear was resting across my lap while i held the buildersglas with my left hand to get a good look at the road and my current object of interest. (07/05/20 11:34 am) Absolute Obedience Enya -=Genesian Road=- Is traveling along the Genesian Road connecting Brundisium and other coastal cities with the south says to ~ Warrior Of The North : The caravan was making slow progress. I was, in my own way, anxious to reach our destination and see what the future might hold for a girl like me. I didn't dwell on such things as that. I was curious more than anything and I knew that whatever happened was meant to be. I never counted on anything being the same or remaining the same because nothing remained the same. Changes took place all the time. Most didn't see it or didn't want to see it. But me? I wasn't better than any slave. I was merely being me and who I was and not just who I was but what I was, too. I sighed and peeked out the back of the wagon. I almost wanted to get out and walk along side the thing ... but just at that moment, I heard cries for the caravan to stop. I honestly think that this was another deterrent in reaching our destination sooner rather than later... However, because the wagon was beginning to slow and because it was time for the noon meal to be prepared and served ... I, as well as three other girls and two thralls, were unshackled and told that we were to begin the meal preparations ... I just grinned. Didn't have to beg to be let out of the wagon and I'd be able to stretch my legs and tease some of the guards in the process ... (07/05/20 11:43 am) ~ Warrior Of The North ~ Bejar Bjorntand Master Tharlarion Rider ~ ~ Hraesvelgr ~ ~ -=Genesian Road=- Is traveling along the Genesian Road connecting Brundisium and other coastal cities with the south says to Absolute Obedience Enya: As the two wagons stopped i at first thought it was becouse of me. But as the slaves were let out of the 2nd wagon and started to sett up a simpel camp site off the road to the east i would take my time to counte you all cuz yes i did know how to counte sens mother had been a scribe from Ar- murmering to myself- 1..2..3...4 kajiras... moste of them seemed rather plain but then there was you.....There was a Slaver and a young man-perhaps his son or apprentice... And two other men the drivers of the two wagon. and the two thralls....hmmm......I considered my options...i wasnt really looking to kill anyone this day but you were pretty so what to do...what to do......But then as i saw you breaking away a bitt from the rest of them and go behind some bushes probably to gather fire wood or perhaps for a nature call- eather way you were alone- away from the group and so with a sly sleen grin i would sett away the builders glass to the saddel bag and bring my spear down along the tharlarions right flank pointing forward. I gave a low sharp whistel and the Tharlarion would start to walke slowly sideways down the knoll towards the area were you were at. My hope was that you all were not paying to close attention to notice the dust nor myself as i made my way down the side..... (07/05/20 11:49 am) Absolute Obedience Enya -=Genesian Road=- Is traveling along the Genesian Road connecting Brundisium and other coastal cities with the south says to ~ Warrior Of The North : FREE!!!! I almost laughed at the thought, but then I sobered because I was free. Freeer than most women ever imagined to be. I had been tasked to gather wood and other debris to start a fire. I was given a sack in case there were bosk chips missed or left or recently dropped. I wrinkled my nose and rolled my eyes, recalling the time I had accidentally stepped into some of these ... chips ... then I began to giggle. And the giggles turned to laughter and soon I was in a fit. Here I was, in the middle of nowhere ... really, I was somewhere between Bazi and Brundisium collecting items for a fire and recalling a time when I stepped into a mess .. I wasn't paying attention to where I was going nor to how far I had traveled from the "safety" of the wagons... Another quick glance over my shoulder said I was still within seeing distance of the small caravan ... I shrugged a shoulder. Turned my back on the caravan and continued to gather items needed... (07/05/20 11:55 am) ~ Warrior Of The North ~ Bejar Bjorntand Master Tharlarion Rider ~ ~ Hraesvelgr ~ ~ -=Genesian Road=- Is traveling along the Genesian Road connecting Brundisium and other coastal cities with the south says to Absolute Obedience Enya: Then as the Tharlarion slipped as it wasnt really built like a mounten verr but a sprinter on flat lands a small landslide of rocks and pebbels whent down the side with a clowd of dust some 200 yards behind of her. I grunted gave a sharp tug of the reins with my left hand to straighten up the beast and then wacked his right flank with the butt end of the spear and he came down the side like shoot out of a canon with a leap and a THUD he landed on even ground and sett off towards you like its ass was on fire with big long bounding stepps -this when in a larger group of the high tharlarions in full run would at times have a similar sound to thunder. The distance between us was shortened very fast as i moved the reins over to my right hand to have my left hand free while i hunched forward over the neck of my tharlarion. If she was dazed and got in a bitt of panic might not even see the man atop of the beast and simply the rather lage meat eating lizard comming at her in a full sprint..... (07/05/20 12:12 pm) Absolute Obedience Enya -=Genesian Road=- Is traveling along the Genesian Road connecting Brundisium and other coastal cities with the south says to ~ Warrior Of The North : Gor, at times, is very harsh. Some might even want to call Gor cruel. Hrump! No one ever menions the beauty found here. Or the wonders of Gor. I gave a mental shrug, knowing that most are usually swept up in what's taking place with them or around them. As a slave, I didn't have to worry about that. Did I? Of course not!! THUD!!! I was leaning to scoop some dried bosk chips into the sack I had been given when I heard the noise. And rather than bring my body upright to look, I turned my head in that direction expecting to see ... what I didn't know. But all I could see was a cloud of dust. And then I heard a rumbling sound. Deep and vibrating. I looked down at the ground, thinking it was going to leap up and meet my face half-way but it didn't. It was a pale Thassa gaze that saw an enormous dark shadow that seemed to be rising out of that pile of dust and moving. Fast. It was moving very fast. I felt my jaw drop. But could I move? No, because my mind was still trying to decipher if that huge, dark shadow that was still shrouded in that dust, was real or not. The dust was clearing. And the shadow loomed. The shadow was moving. And it was moving toward me. I was unable to move. My body wasn't listening to any command I was giving it either! The dust was clearing. The dust was clearing!!!! THE DUST WAS CLEARING!!! Racing toward me was a behemoth of a beast. And astride this beast, high perched in the saddle of the Tharlarion was a man that appeared to be larger than the Tharlarion!!! I moved then. Yes I did. I moved in the direction in which my feet were facing and I didn't stop. I opened my mouth and let out a screech, that, I'm sure, could be heard all the way back in Bazi!!! But could I look away to see where I was going? No. I could not. I wasn't making as fast as progress as that beast was!!! (07/05/20 12:23 pm) ~ Warrior Of The North ~ Bejar Bjorntand Master Tharlarion Rider ~ ~ Hraesvelgr ~ ~ -=Genesian Road=- Is traveling along the Genesian Road connecting Brundisium and other coastal cities with the south says to Absolute Obedience Enya: I grinned moste pleased as she got up and ran in a straight line away from us, that be me and the high tharlarion. Her scream did catch the attention of the Slaver and the other peopel scattered around the make shift camp. First they saw her run across the road towards the sea. And then with a might leap the muscular beast leap atop of the road and they would hardly catch a glimps of my dark brown cloths in a road runner similar fassion befor she whent down the left side of the road and the tharlarion after and we were out of sight from the camp. With a small sharp whistel ones the tharlarion was snapping at her heels i would have it adjust with a diagonal stepp forward and to its right as i leaned down and to my left with my thick powerfull tree trunk arm bent and then she feelt something akin to the oar of a serpentship hit her across her shoulder blades and a paw would then secure itself to her center torso as she was HEAVED UP -off the ground as i then leaned to my right and pulled her Up and over and the wind knocked out of her as you were sett belly down across the thick next of the High Tharlarion as i layed the weight and force of my left arm across her back while a vice like paw closed in a iron gripp to her neck so she would not slipp and dropp on her head-the fall would moste likely at this speed have killed her one way or the other as two short sharp whistels would have the Lizard named Scar due to the long nasty scar running down tween its eyes from the right tempel and down to head for the coste line and the port where my ship was . The port was not far off. (07/05/20 12:56 pm) Absolute Obedience Enya -=Genesian Road=- Is traveling along the Genesian Road connecting Brundisium and other coastal cities with the south says to ~ Warrior Of The North : I can honestly say I had never been hunted. But, from my experience, there is always a first time for everything. And this, of course, was no exception. I screeched again, thinking that it wasn't doing any good, plus I believed that I was too far from where the caravan stopped to be heard above the thundering that was right on my heels. I dared not look over my shoulder. I dared not stop, either. I was already gasping for breath and the sack I had been given to collect bosk chips was still held tightly and firmly between my fingers. I grinned because I lifted my arm as high as I could, thinking that if one of the guards from the caravan could see the sack they would know where I was and come after me. Is there such a thing as luck on Gor? Because if there was, I hadn't seen hide nor hair of it. Which meant that luck didn't exist or was nothing more than a figment of the imagination. I had to know where the thing was!!! Yet, I still didn't dare turn to look fearing that to do so would cause me to misstep and fall. Or stumble. Or get trampled on. I had to know though!! So, I turned my head and all I saw were grey and green colors. I wrinkled my nose again because of the odor that engulfed me. The combination of the dust and the smell of the beasts and, I'm sure, the aroma of my own fear that mingled with those other flavors were soon put out of my mind because I felt my body plunging forward. My eyes widened. My feet left the ground, and then I was gasping for air. Again. And as my mouth opened and closed, similar to a fish out of water, I felt as if I were being squeezed and that I would be making a trip to the City of Dust ... the last thing I do remember, were my eyes closing ... (07/05/20 1:08 pm) ~ Warrior Of The North ~ Bejar Bjorntand Master Tharlarion Rider ~ ~ Hraesvelgr ~ ~ -=Docks=- At the docks, where the Thassa meets the land says to Absolute Obedience Enya: There was a rison the high tharlarion cavalry of Lara was called Shock Cavalry. I had ones upon a time been there commander. Right here and now i simply keept her like that belly down across the thick powerfull neck of the High Tharlarion with my left arm keeping her secure in this position. The beast was keept in a full run right up untill we reatched the small Port only then would i slow down and as the clicking of metal shoed claws tapped on the rounded stones of the ports streets. Only then would i relax some. I would seat myself in my usual manner of straight back. Head held high and the spear held at my right side with the speartip for the sky. Making our way down for the docks my crew was ready some of the men loitering on the docks talking and laughing as they spotted me- THERE HE IS! They would shout and then point- LOOK- He got us a gift! The men would laugh- Whatcha got there Captain??? As i halted and slided you down into the awaiting arms of two Torvie men that even with there size were rather gentel as they captured her by the legs and arms and sett her to her feet and then held her-more so to keep her steady then so she would not run away. I took a moment to look down at her dust covered self.- she had looked pretty enough from afar but now not so mutch- And what WAS That smell?!? she smelled like bosk dung- The men would wrinkel there nose and waft a hand befor there faces- WHATCHA DO WITH HER Captain? roll her in bosk shit??? - Dontcha know he likes em smelly -would the skinny looking fella simply known as nose the knife say sitting on a crate picking at his nails with one of his manny knifes- and the men laughed anew.

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likethetailofacomet · 6 years ago

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Brave for You- Part 1

Author’s Note: FIRST AND FOREMOST, LET IT BE SAID THAT THIS IS NOT CONGRUENT WITH THE WORLD OF LEARNING TO LOVE AGAIN. That is why this is a Riley and Drake story, not Claire and Drake. So this is something that happened completely out of the blue. I was listening to music this afternoon and Brave for You by The XX came on, and I was hit with this story. It came to me like a music video, haunting and strange. I suggest listening to the song before/during or after you read.

Warning: character death, lots of angst. ugh.

Pairing: Drake x Riley, Liam x Olivia

Riley stood in front of the mirror holding her lipstick, waiting for her hand to stop trembling. She stared into her own blue eyes, forcing light to come back to them, even if it would only be temporary. She'd done her hair in an intricate braid that framed the top of her forehead before sweeping her long locks into a woven net of criss-crossing braids off to her left shoulder. He liked it like that, said it made her look like the warrior she was inside, a shield maiden, always ready for battle. She swallowed hard and blinked her eyes shut against the tears that threatened to spill as his voice echoed in her mind, deep and rich, happy and in love. Her hand had stopped trembling, but now her lips were quivering. She threw the lipstick into the sink. It clanged loudly as she let out a ragged sigh, bracing her hands on the white marble counter top. There was a light knock on the door at the sound of the lipstick hitting the porcelain, and Riley wasn't surprised. She blew out another breath, trying to steady herself again. “Riley? Do you need anything?” Hana's voice was soft and gentle, and Riley could picture her laying her palm on the door, concern twisting her beautiful features.

“I'm...” What? Fine? She wasn't. Okay? Nope. “I can do it,” she lied. She knew Hana would have done her makeup, her hair, would have picked her outfit and coordinated her shoes, her earrings. She knew that Hana would help her through any part of today that she needed, Olivia too. The both of them had told her as much. But Riley knew that she couldn't handle any one on one time with either of them. They'd just start talking and she couldn't... she had to hold it all together for her speech, and she knew she'd have nothing left for that if she had to hold it together in front of her friends, too. Just be brave, she told herself, but it was fighting a losing battle as she heard his voice speak her thoughts. “Okay,” Hana's voice interrupted his, and Riley was grateful. She straightened up, again looking at herself in the mirror, and took three deep breaths. She looked down at the lipstick in the sink and decided that she wouldn't let it defeat her. She picked it up and opened it- deep purple, not the fire engine red she used to wear- and held it to her lips. Slowly and with painful restraint, she applied it flawlessly. She closed the tube, setting it down and blotted her lips with a tissue, pressing it between them to remove the excess. Don't get any of that on my face, Brooks, he'd groan when she'd kiss him while wearing lipstick. She knew it didn't really bother him, knew that he actually loved the perfect imprint of her plump lips that would be left behind, a symbol of her affection, marking him as hers. She wore stains now, the kind that didn't kiss off or smudge, and only dark colors. With her lips done she took one more deep breath before leaving the bathroom.

“You look beautiful, Ri,” Hana said softly. Riley swallowed and nodded, shoving it all down. She was determined to get through the next hour and a half without tears- doing her makeup once was hard enough, a second time would be impossible. She pulled her lips up as far as they would go, hoping it was enough to hint at a smile. It seemed to work, Hana's eyes softening.

“Thank you, Hana,” she said, practicing her tone. It sounded a little flat. You can do better than that, Brooks. She closed her eyes and felt his hands coming around her waist, felt his breath on the back of her neck. My brave girl, my warrior, you can do better than that.

No I can't! She wanted to scream at him. She wanted to rip his hands from her and tell him to leave her alone, tell him that this was the best she could do, and that she knew how pathetic that sounded but that's just the way that it was. She felt something gnawing at her heart, at what was left of it, and she was immediately flooded with guilt. How dare she want to scream at him? She knew she didn't, not really. If he was here she'd latch onto him, would fuse her body to his and never let go. She'd lock her lips with his until neither of them could breathe. She'd take his hand and they'd leave, they'd run and get far away before anything could take him away from her again. But that wasn't what was happening, and she couldn't let her fragile thoughts hold on to the impossible. She opened her eyes and was in her room again- their room, it would have been- Hana hovering nearby but not too close, and Olivia sitting in one of two chairs by the fireplace. Her long legs were crossed, ending in spiked red leather heels that matched the scarlet top and sleek black pencil skirt she wore. Her features were set in a calm fashion, eyes cool and lips drawn together not too thin and not too slack. The perfect picture of composure. She stood as Riley left the bathroom.

“You'll do fine, Riley,” the other Duchess told her. “You'll do fine, you'll get through it,” Olivia locked eyes with Riley and put a hand on her shoulder. Riley was caught off guard by how the simple touch form the woman who had only recently become her friend helped to give her strength. Her eyes were drawn to the diamond on Olivia's third finger. “You'll get through it for him.” Olivia nodded and removed her hand. “Ready?” She raised an eyebrow encouragingly and Riley nodded back. “Okay, then, let's go. Come on, Hana.” Olivia put her hand on the small of Riley's back and lead her out of the room. The two women flanked her and they walked through the halls of Riley's estate until they met with Liam in the grand entrance hall.

Riley wasn't ready for the hollow look in her King's eyes, and it nearly knocked the air from her lungs. Olivia went to her fiance's side, linking arms with him, her shoulder lightly pressed against his. Riley noticed how he stood a little straighter, and she knew it was because of Olivia. He needs you to be brave, too, Brooks. Help him, okay? For me. She could see that silent way that the deep brown pools of his eyes would plead, lightening to a soft leather and pulling at every piece of her heart until she'd touch his face and kiss his cheek and give in to whatever it was that he wanted her to do. Okay, Drake, she told him, okay, for you, I'll be brave. I love you, Drake Walker. Her fingers went to the chain around her neck, and the ring dangling from it. Liam saw her do this and his breath caught as he drew his eyes back to hers, knowing what she was thinking about.

Drake's mother had come to Cordonia a few days after...after it happened. Riley had never met her, but now here she was, saying goodbye to her son, to the man that Riley had fallen irreversibly in love with, the man who had given his life to protect her and Liam. She could hardly breathe as Bianca Walker laid her eyes on her, on the woman who'd claimed Drake's heart. She swore she stopped breathing completely as the woman in front of her took a small box from her purse and set it in front of Riley. “My son told me he was going to give you that, the night of the ball.” Her voice sounded like straw, like rough sandpaper, and Riley couldn't imagine how her heart must have felt. “He called me a few nights before, out of the blue.” Her eyes had watered then, and Riley wasn't sure if she should or not, but her hand shot out and covered Bianca's, giving a tight squeeze. “He wanted me to know that he found the woman he wanted to spend his life with,” her voice broke then, a small sob coming forth. “Open it, Riley, please,” she urged. Riley had taken the box, her heart throbbing, her chest on fire from her lungs' inability to get air in. She opened the box and shards of her broken heart tore through her throat, sobs dripping from her lips and tears falling from her eyes. It was a gorgeous diamond ring, modest in size but intricately cut and purely beautiful in it's simplicity. Her throat clenched as she remembered his last, choked words to her- “Marry me, Brooks”- she'd answered yes, over and over, her lips pressed to his as she kissed him over and over, feeling his breath become weaker against her mouth. “Be brave, Riley, I love you, my brave girl,” he'd whispered slowly as her white gown turned a deep rusty brown, and his heart slowed to a stop. She stared at the ring that Bianca had given her. “Please, Ms. Brooks, please, he wanted you to have that...he...he loved you very much, Riley.”

She wouldn't disappoint him. She wouldn't disappoint Bianca or Liam. She let the ring dangle on the chain, resting close to her heart. I'm taking you with me, Drake, every step of the way. I can only be brave if I take you with me. She stepped up next to Liam and wordlessly wrapped her arms around him, his coming around her in a strong, familial embrace. “Are you sure you're ready, Duchess Riley?” his voice was soft and she knew that he was hurting beyond words, but that he was trying to be respectful of her grief, too. He knew just how much she loved Drake, knew how much Drake loved her, and he wasn't sure which one he felt worse for, neither of them getting to be loved by the other the way they should have been.

Riley pressed her lips together, rolling them inwards and wrinkling her nose to keep the tears in her eyes. “I'm ready, Your Grace,” her breath caught but she nodded. It had been three weeks, and she knew that the people expected her to make a statement as their newest Duchess. She knew the people were waiting to hear from their King and Duchess Olivia. But she also knew that if she needed more time, Liam would have rescheduled the event, rescheduled her speech. Riley knew there would never be enough time, knew she'd never heal completely, and that the longer it took to start doing things like this, the longer it would feel this way. She knew she'd never fully come back from losing the only man she'd ever love, but she could be brave, and she could try to carry on as best as she could. She could try to make something of the life he'd died saving. “I'm ready, Liam.” She set her eyes and took a deep breath before he turned to kiss Olivia on the cheek, then offered Riley his arm and walked her into the great hall, where a press stage was set up.

“You're a strong, amazing woman, Riley Brooks, and Drake was lucky to have been loved by you,” Liam whispered to her as he squeezed her arm before she took the stage. Hearing those words from Drake's best friend sent warmth through her heart, even as it threatened to break all over again. She took the stage and looked out at the gathering of nobles and members of the press, her eyes falling on Bianca, on her tear stained face. She closed her eyes before she began her speech, picturing his face that night as they'd finally given themselves to one another, as they'd finally allowed themselves to use the word that they should have been using for so long by then. His smile had been so real, had made him look younger and lighter, like he'd never been hurt, like he'd never known anything but bliss. He made her feel that way, too, like every scar and every nightmare simply hadn't existed because this man loved her. I can die a happy man, he'd said as he kissed her, the two of them getting dressed to head back to the ball they'd snuck out of, unable to keep their hands or lips off of one another. She hated hearing him say it then, and she hated the way it would always echo in her memory. I'm sorry for that, Brooks, that was a dumb thing to say. She could hear the sincerity that would always enter his voice when he apologized. It really was, Drake, but she knew he hadn't meant anything by it. Even now, she tried not to let those words bother her. She needed to be strong and brave and get through this.

“Thank you all for coming,” she began, squaring her shoulders and trying not to look as paper thin as she felt. “Today we honor the memory of a great man. A man that I was lucky enough to know, to love, to be loved by. A man who was a true hero, to me, to our King, and to Cordonia.” She paused a moment and let out a small breath as she blinked back a tear and the flash of a camera caught her attention and she continued. She spoke of Drake's selfless bravery, of how she wouldn't be standing there as their Duchess without him, how neither would they have their King, without Drake Walker's sacrifice. “That is why it is was great pride, that I want to announce the start of the Drake and Jackson Walker Foundation-” Riley's eyes found Bianca's and she gave the woman a small nod. “To benefit and support all the families of those killed in the line of duty in Cordonia, be it in the armed services, the police force or fire squad, the King's Guard,” she looked behind her to where Bastien stood near Liam, giving him what she wanted to be a smile but knew was more like a sad frown. She turned back to the crowd, “Or even just a good, brave man who stepped in and did the right thing.” She finished by outlining all the ways that the foundation would be able to assist families that had been broken the way that she had been broken when Drake was taken from her- college scholarships and tuition funds, after school programs, mentors. All things that Drake would have supported as a Duke, she was sure of it. She finished her speech to applause as Liam and Olivia stepped up to hug her, the future Queen giving her a quick peck on the cheek before leaning in to whisper, “He'd be so proud of you, Ri.”

That afternoon she'd locked herself in her room and wrapped herself in one of his shirts. It was starting not to smell like him anymore, but it would always feel like him. She closed her eyes and tried to burrow into the fabric, tried to vanish into the soft, well worn garment- into the residual warmth from his skin that would always be embedded in it. You were amazing today, Brooks, she imagined him holding her, stroking her hair with his big strong hands as her breathing slowed and she drifted off to sleep. So brave, my beautiful, brave warrior. I love you, Riley Brooks.

A few months later, Riley had found another reason to be brave- he'd given her something else, someone else to be brave for.

--- --- ---

Tagging a few who I think might be interested. This will have at least one more part so let me know if you’d like to be added or removed please!

@zaffrenotes @sleepwalkingelite @ooo-barff-ooo @brightpinkpeppercorn @mind-reader1 @agent-bossypants @andy-loves-corgis @drakewalkerrosenberg @jovialyouthmusic @akrenich @gardeningourmet @indiacater

#drake x mc #drake x riley #drake walker #riley brooks #liam x olivia #king liam #the royal romance #brave for you #choices fanfiction #angst #trr

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riilsports · 6 months ago

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Introducing 2024 RIIL Student-Athlete of the Year Leila Hopkins of Classical High School

On May 8, 2024, the Rhode Island Interscholastic League and Official Hometown Health Partner Blue Cross & Blue Shield of Rhode Island presented the 2024 RIIL Student-Athlete of the Year Award to Leila Hopkins of Classical High School and Wayne McNamara of Lincoln High School at the 12th annual RIIL Awards Breakfast, held at the Quonset O Club in North Kingstown.

Here are excerpts from the presentation of Leila's award, made by BCBSRI Executive Vice President and Chief Customer Officer Melissa Cummings:

I’m honored to be presenting this year’s Student-Athlete of the Year awards, which recognize the outstanding efforts of two seniors in Rhode Island high school athletic programs. These awards are given to student-athletes who excel in the classroom and during competition, who participate in multiple school-sponsored sports, and who demonstrate good citizenship in their school and in their community.

Our first award is being given to Leila Hopkins of Classical High School. An outstanding track & field athlete – and captain of both the indoor and outdoor teams – Leila is a 2-time All-State and All-Division pole vaulter, a 3-time All-Division high jumper, and an All-Division triple jumper in Outdoor competition. For Indoor, she’s collected 4 All-State awards in the pole vault, and 4 All-Division awards in the high jump. She’s also earned All-Division honors in Cross Country, led Classical to the 2023 Indoor state championship, and was her team’s MVP during the 2023 Outdoor season.

Photos Courtesy/Leila Hopkins

As a member of the Rhode Island Fencing Academy and Club’s most competitive team, Leila traveled to compete in the 2023 Junior Olympics and qualified for the 2023 Summer Nationals. She’s also a member of the Rhode Island Kung Fu Club and is a 2-time winner of the Kung Fu regional tournament.

Photos Courtesy/Leila Hopkins

Academically, her unweighted GPA is 100.61! She’s an AP Scholar with Distinction, has received Summa Cum Laude and Magna Cum Laude awards, placed third in the State Science Olympiad for Chemistry Lab, has done independent studies with both Brown University and Johns Hopkins University, and ranks fourth in her class. Leila is also a YANG mentor as well as a tutor for both Math and Latin. AND she’s been her class president since 2021!

In her resume, Leila notes a saying that is used by her family members – “Leila does not fit in a day.” I’d say that seems like a pretty fair assessment!

Now, if you’re like me, you’re probably wondering, “So, what’s next for Leila?” She will be attending the Desautels Faculty of Management at McGill University – which is ranked as one of the world's top international business school.

Please join me in congratulating Leila Hopkins, and welcoming her to the stage to receive her Student-Athlete of the Year award!

#Classical High School #Leila Hopkins #Leila W.X. Hopkins #Leila Welcome Xihui Hopkins #blue cross blue shield of ri #RIIL Student-Athlete of the Year

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poisondog2 · 6 years ago

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Launchpad: The Mask we Wear- Chapter 2

Ring Ring!...

Ring Ri- Click!

“H-Huh? Yes, hello?”

“Launchpad, finally!” Came the voice of the fowl’s employer.

“Mr. McDee! What can I do for you?”

“The boys are getting out of school soon, so you should start heading out to get them.”

“Oh, right! Of course! I’ll be right over the get them!” He responded, jumping out of his hammock and rushing to take a shower.

“Very good, and I’ll want you to stay when you get to the mansion. We have things to discuss about the next trip we're taking.”

“No problem Mr. McDee!” Was all Launchpad said before ending the call and jumping into the shower. Cleaning off the sweat and irritation from earlier he jumped out and towelled off and grabbed a clean, by his standards, olive coloured collared shirt and yellow tie from his drawer.

Throwing on his clothes, cargos, jacket, and hat in all, before standing in front of the limo and composing himself, “Smile… People trust you when you smile, a smile makes others happy. They make you feel safe,” he finished the mantra he’s told himself many times before as his beak pulled into a “genuine” smile before getting in and starting the car.

The sun was waning in the sky as Launchpad took the route to the triplets’ school like he’s done many times before, parking just outside. Drumming his fingers against the wheel he didn’t have to wait long before the boys rushed out and entered the limo.

“Hey Launchpad!” Came the chorus of voices from the red, blue, and green-clad brothers.

“Heya! How was school today?” He asked, leaning against the window between them.

“Good, Louie almost got us in trouble at lunch,” answered Huey, crossing his arms in a huff.

“I did not! If all I did was sell delicious snacks to our schoolmates.”

“How many times do I have to tell you, you can’t do that!”

The boys devolved into a tussle as Launchpad chucked to himself before he started driving towards the mansion. It was a quick trip to the Manor and during that time Huey, Dewey, and Louie out everything out of their system and were onto other topics as the limo pulled up to their still new home. Once the car was parked, everyone exited only for the boys to be tackled by a Webby shaped bullet, “You’re back!” Webby rambled on with questions and whatnot about the boys’ day and what normal school was like as they entered the Manor, LP tracking behind.

Dropping off their backpacks in their room they all headed into The Study, “Ah lads, Webby, Launchpad, good to see you all. We have much to discuss.”

“Are we going on another adventure Uncle Scrooge?” Dewey asked calmly in voice but bouncing in place.

“Yes Dewey we are,” cheers erupted from the four children, which put a smile on both Scrooge’s and Launchpad’s face, “but it won’t be until next Friday,” the cheers shifted into groans, all except for Webby who was now cheering in anticipation.

“Sorry lads money and education are the most important things, especially to a Duck in this family. Now, we're going to The Tomb of Kar-lek, a tomb never discovered and left to rumours… until now. Aye sent Donald and Launchpad out to gather things for this trip and one of those items were curse shielding amulets,” he handed out the necklaces to the kids, Donald… and Launchpad, to his surprise, “Now it wouldn’t be an adventure without curses and traps and luckily we can handle one of those problems right away.” He held up his own amulet, thin black rope connected to a silver bail and ruby pendant, “As long as the Jewel is intact we're impervious to anything magical that the tomb throws at us, so don’t break’em!”

“Yes Uncle Scrooge,” Came the robotic response from the four children.

“Good, now I don’ know exactly what the tomb had in store for us, so stay close when we go. I’ll give more details when we’re on the way. Any questions?” Everyone was quiet for a moment and right before Scrooge adjourned the meeting Launchpad cleared his throat.

“Um, Mr. McDee sir?”

“Yes, Launchpad, what is it?”

“I think you mishanded these out,” holding up the amulet in his possession, “I know I’m flying the plane, but I don’t think I’ll need if if I’m standing guard.”

“Who said you’re standing guard? We’ll need an extra set of hands, so you’re coming with us into the tomb.”

LP was shocked by this, “W-What?”

“Yes, lad, you’re comin’ along. Beakley would be the one helpin’ us, but she told me that she’s staying.”

The burly maid crossed her arms, glaring at Scrooge, “Someone has to make sure this place is up to standard when you return, lord knows the mansion will fall apart if I’m not here,” the triplets and her granddaughter were laughing at the look of disdain Scrooge threw at Mrs. Beakley.

“Anyway, that’s why we need you Launchpad. I know you’ve come along before, against my wishes at times, so that why I’m officially inviting you along. Think you can handle it?”

Launchpad didn't know what to do… other pull his employer into a bone-crushing hug, “Thank you Mr. McDuck, I promise you won’t regret this!”

“Ack! Ah- Yes Yes Launchpad, that’s fine- N-Now put me down!”

“Oh,” he gently set Scrooge down who started coughing, trying to breath, “heh, sorry about that Mr. McDee,” LP apologized, rubbing his neck in embarrassment.

“Quite right McQuack. Now that I all I wanted to tell you all today, boys I believe you have homework to do,” the triplets muttered in disappointment but otherwise followed Donald out of the study, “and like I said Launchpad I have nothing else happening today so you can go home a rest, but I expect you-“

“Here at 8 sharp, no problem Mr. McDee! I’ll see you tomorrow, bye Mrs. B!”

“Have a nice day Launchpad,” Beakley saluted off as the large duck left the Manor. His drive was partially distracted by the sheer excitement LP had for the upcoming adventure. Scrooge McDuck trusted him as an extra set of hands, as muscle, but anyway that he could help out Launchpad would jump at the opportunity.

He was his driver, after all, his job was to get him and his family places- safely or not was up to debate.

As Launchpad pulled up to his hangar and parked inside he sat in the driver seat for a moment before cheering until his lungs gave out, he was ecstatic. Smiling from cheek to cheek he panned up to see the amulet dangling off the rearview mirror, grabbing it before exiting the limo, “Better this in a safe place,” he said to himself and he stuffed it in one of his cargo pockets.

Only to feel the cold sting of metal grace his feathered hand.

The smile and happiness he built up shattered in an instant as it registered with him exactly what he was carrying. Something that he shouldn’t even have on him.

Letting the necklace go and fishing the other object out he raised his closed fist in front of him, breathing deeply, before opening it to reveal what he already knew…

Brass knuckles.

Only one set, but he recognized the scratches in the metal, the dents that never buffed out, the stains that never really washed out.

It was his original set, the set he hadn’t touched in years. Why were they in his pocket? He didn’t remember grabbing them, so when would he-

And then It clicked. That morning when he was first getting ready: groggy, disassociated, and oblivious. That’s how he woke up.

“I must’ve grabbed them when I was getting ready,” he said to no one in particular, rolling the knuckles in his palm. The cold, unforgiving metal felt so familiar to him, but at the same to feeling so alien, “Never again.”

Rushing up the stairs to his loft he went over to his dresser, pulled out a medium sized ammo box from the third drawer, and unlocked it with the key he normally kept stored in one of the inner pockets of his flight jacket. Unlocking the box revealed a plethora of assorted items he dare not touch again, dropping in the brass knuckles with a resounding Clack! When it landed.

Locking the box up tight he stored it away and placed the key where it always laid. After storing the box away he felt… more at ease. He didn’t feel comfortable when it was out and even more so when it was open.

Like digging away at an old wound.

His eye began to darken, only to be stopped by the shine of glass only s few feet away. He glanced over at the picture frame he kept above his hammock, and as he came closer the image came into focus, it was of his family: Ripcord, his father, who was a brick wall of a man with a chin to boot; Birdie, his mother, who despite her smaller size was feisty and passionate; Loopy, his sister, who had frizzy blond hair and a nonchalant attitude; and Launchpad, easily the smallest as it was an old picture. He was wearing an old leather flight helmet and goggles and cream scarf that belonged to his father when he was younger, wearing the biggest smile you had ever seen.

It was the last time his family was ever really happy.

The picture never failed to bring a smile to his face… but never failed to ruin it when he glared at the torn off section of said picture.

The picture was incomplete, but it didn’t matter to Launchpad as the people in the picture were who he considered family and that’s all that mattered. His smile was soon restored when he panned over to see the picture next to it: a complete photo of everyone at McDuck Manor, including him. A newer addition to his home, but nonetheless important.

After reminiscing for a bit the large fowl soon realized that he had a few hours to kill before he headed off to bed, normally returning home around 7- or if an adventure took a while longer a little later. So after changing into some pj’s he headed downstairs and posted up on his couch and turned on the t.v., the channel he was on was running a marathon of his favourite superhero Darkwing Duck. There was no way he was gonna miss this!

_____

As night fell overhead the city of Duckburg, and most were turning in for the day, there was still one duck that stood wide awake.

It had been many years since he set his eyes upon the city or the free outside for that matter, but even so, he felt right at home.

The cold sea breeze blessed his feathers, standing above what would soon be his… all he had to do was find one duck and his plans could begin. It had been many years since he sine the duck but had no doubt he would run into them eventually.

If not… then he would just have to tear the city apart until he found what he wanted, “Hello Duckburg… I’m back! And I’m excited to see what you have in store for me, after all,” the mysterious duck reached into his pocket, pulling out a set of broken aviator goggles, “I already got what I wanted out of St. Canard, I just need the final piece.”

#launchpad mcquack #donald duck #donpad #Huey Dewey and Louie #Webby Vanderquack #scrooge mcduck #mrs beakley #fanfic #fanfiction #ducktales #Launchpad: The Mask we Wear

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jobkash · 3 years ago

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Quality Engineer - Entry Level

Quality Engineer – Entry Level

Job Description We are hiring an experienced Quality Engineer for our Cumberland, RI location. BENEFITS : Blue Cross/Blue Shield of RI with a company paid HRA, Delta

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writevswrong · 7 years ago

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FANFIC * NESSIAN * PART TEN

Nessian Part Ten by L.J. LaFleur

Azriel stared at me for a moment longer, silently calling bullshit to my lie.

I crossed my slim arms, glaring up at him--waiting for him to say it out loud. I dared him with the subtle crack of my lips.

He shook his head in defeat before undressing his hidden weapons from his scaled armor. Accepting the fact that I didn’t want to discuss the topic further, at least he knew when not to press for information.

Azriel set his shiny blades on the painted table. “Let’s begin then. I have somewhere to be after practice,” he noted while cracking his neck to each side. Azriel held up his scarred finger, forgetting his favorite dagger.

“Elain?” I bluntly asked, pursing my lips. I watched his muscular back harden then relax.

He peaked over his armored shoulder, “no.” Azriel replied calmly, closely studying the obsidian hilt of Truth Teller before setting it down.

I steadied my shaking hands, clenching them tighter to settle them. Egging on Azriel about my sister did nothing to distract me from the chanting whispers. Memories tugged at my heartstrings, memories of the cauldron. Loosening a shallow breath, I moved to the center of the room.

Azriel shifted in his stance, taking on the defensive position. “Strike,” he challenged.

I swung at him, only to shove my fist into a mist of singing shadows.

Azriel pushed me from behind, smacking me into the intricately designed stone floor. The center of the floor contained three mountains, each topped with a metallic star.

“You take off for two days and this is all you got?” He scolded with a rippling smirk. Wisps of darkness danced along his shoulders, fading him in and out of view.

Cursing under my breath, I stood up. I lunged for him—missing again. Talons pierced my fingertips, tiny flickering flames exiting the puncture sites.

“Attack me,” Azriel ordered, shaking his night shade hair out of his face. The brilliant specks of gold in his hazel eyes shifted—twisted into something darker as he studied me.

I sucked in a deep breath while raising my fists to block my face. Fire circled around my forearms, charring my azure sleeves that had fallen down. I broke focus as the flames rose higher. Panic rising as I patted away at the growing fire.

Azriel’s foot connected with my cheek—slamming me into a carved pillar.

The sound of a crack, reverberated through the circular training room. My vision blurred, as the back of my skull pounded with pain. Azriel swayed in front of me; several copies of him following one another.

He gently touched my face, cold hands examining the inflicted damage. “Shit. Are you alright?” Azriel’s concern amplified with fear. “Your sister is going to kick my ass,” he mumbled as he waved his palm in front of me.

I could barely breathe, let alone speak. Closing my eyes, I gave a quick nod. It was all I managed as the acidic fire circled within.

“Nesta…?” Azriel began before swiftly encasing me in the electric blue shield.

“Run…” I attempted, shaking violently as the heat raced towards the surface of my skin. Fire…a blistering fire, so hot it burned cold. Something ancient, something untouched for many centuries, ignited through my veins.

A golden light erupted from my core, similar to the one I shot at Hybern, blasting into Azriel’s protective wall. His grunt echoed through the room as he nearly fell back from the impact.

Talons slid out of my skin. I could barely hear due to my own screaming as I transformed, shredding myself until I became nothing but the monster that lurked beneath.

I dug my talons into the center metallic star, ripping through it as easily as fresh snow. Bracing myself against the floor, wings of fire sliced out of my remaining High Fae skin. Every time. Every damn time, I thought of Cassian’s wings being shredded and broken. Of what it must have felt like to almost lose them. His guttural scream echoed through my head—matching mine.

“That’s twice now, that you let your emotions rule your inner beast.” Azriel held his fists out firmly, trying to contain me. Ignoring my fading roars, his siphons glowed brighter.

I hissed in response, trying to speak through my new mouth. “I don’t know how to control it.” I snapped, instinctively biting towards him with a growl.

“For starters, calm down,” his soothing voice floated through his shield towards me. I focused on the growing emotions, then on his honeyed voice. “You can do this,” he reassured.

I watched as claws returned to fingertips, as dripping fire disintegrated within the bitter air. Wings of flickering amber sunk back into my trembling shoulders. My forehead pressed against the frigid stone, flaming tears threatening to break free from their cages as I brushed my fingers against the damaged star.

Azriel waited until I was no longer able to transform due to exhaustion. He released me from the incandescent prison. “Here…” Azriel whispered, wrapping a pewter gray blanket around me before facing away.

I didn’t say anything as I raised to my bare feet. Several new claw marks, my claw marks, had dug into the near-impenetrable floor. Not only destroying the center star, but also the mountain beneath it.

He pressed his tongue into his cheek before speaking, “I’ll train you in combat, but Rhys might be the better choice for fighting inner demons.”

“No.” I stared at the lacerations, processing. A distant headache formed in the back of my head, growing more painful as the seconds ticked by. I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply to rid myself of the increasing agony. A desperate string pulled at the excruciating pain, stripping it out of my head entirely.

“Why not?” Azriel asked smoothly, dressing himself with his blades of death.

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know how to say what I felt in case I exploded into that creature again. What if he couldn’t cage me in time? What if I attacked him? Or if I…? I didn’t let myself continue that thought.

“It will only get worse,” Azriel stressed over his shoulder, his golden rich eyes touching mine.

“I know…” I tried to speak but felt tongue tied. I know it will get worse, everything seems to as of late. My tortured fate wouldn’t let me forget it.

Azriel finished assembling his combat outfit and faced me just as I was turning away. A blanket of mystery clouded his features, I could hear the whispering shadows dance around him. “Those are Naga markings on your back,” he commented.

I glanced over my shoulder then down at his hands, “we’re all damaged goods, are we not?” I didn’t say another word before retreating towards the bedroom I had once resided in. I needed air, I needed…I don’t know what I need.

Cassian waited outside, blocking the intricately carved bedroom door with his firm figure. Every muscle, every line of his warrior body hugged against his fitted ebony tunic. His face unreadable as I edged closer to him. I hadn’t realized I loosened a breath until it was too late.

“Do you enjoy fighting in the nude?” He teased with a sudden wink.

“With Az? Always.” I didn’t miss a beat, I only slid the blade from earlier in further.

Cassian’s face dropped, his eyes shifted to his worn boots then back up at me as he cleared his throat.

I studied the blow, focusing in on his raised chest. Usually my torturous replies didn’t cause this much damage. “Did that hurt?” I asked with little to no concern in my voice, my chin raised.

He breathed in through his nose, inhaling me wholly. “Yes,” he answered truthfully. Cassian’s lips tightened as I brushed my body against his.

“Good.” I quickly reached around him for the doorknob but it was just out of reach. Those damned wings pressed against my wrist, pushing me farther away.

Cassian’s voice sharpened, “I’ll take you back to the house instead.”

“I’d rather stay here,” I lightly grumbled, struggling to reach around him to no avail. My breasts firmly pressing into him as I stretched my arm. I could have sworn I heard a cursing moan escape his lips.

His calloused hands gripped my biceps, “stop fighting me.” Cassian’s seductive whisper coiled through me, wrapping itself throughout the strands of tawny hair and down my spine.

I nearly snarled as the amber talons threatened to come out, “I’m staying.” My grayish blue eyes penetrated into him, tearing apart any ounce of affection he held towards me.

“Alright then,” Cassian enclosed his arms around me, pulling me intimately closer--his immense package collided into me. “I’d say hold on, but the idea of you smacking into the earth for a reality check seems very enticing right now.”

“Let go, you mindless beast!” I squirmed against him, thrashing wildly. Pink hues flared against my cheek bones, inner cravings disagreeing as I yelled.

A subtle flap of his wings and we were in the air, traveling through the corridor until reaching a balcony. His snicker shook against me as we shot into the cloudless sky. My hands instantly clung to him, threatening to break his tattooed surface. He didn’t hold me like he had in the past, he didn’t cradle me. No—he let my legs dangle, entangling with his as we soared through the sky. Our bodies moving as one.

“Are you afraid of heights?” Cassian’s cunning smile nearly made me choke on my own spit.

“You should be.” I replied with a loud gasp. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to show fear but this was high. Too fucking high.

Cassian chuckled as I buried myself into his chest. “It’s not that bad. C’mon. Look for yourself.” He tightened his strong arms around me while slowing his speed. “I won’t drop you…on purpose,” he quipped.

“Prick!” I shouted, only to encourage his laughter. “And I’d rather not. I’m…I’m fine right here,” I murmured, nuzzling myself further into him.

His laughter ceased as I pulled myself upwards to bury my face into his neck--his scent sending shivers through me.

The curve of my nose rested against his thumping pulse. I was scared to look, scared to remember an army of ash. Memories erupted within, begging for their exploding release. I held him tighter, wrapping my arms around his neck rigidly.

“Nesta…” He choked, we slowed down further, sinking towards the ground. “Nesta!”

“Sorry,” I whimpered as I loosened my arms.

Cassian’s grip tightened around my waist again, securing himself to me so closely that no air would be able to pass through our connected bodies. His left hand slid up and down my spine, calming my racing heart. Safe, I felt…safe.

I relished his golden skin, the mess of waves that whipped out of his low bun. I caught my breath as our eyes connected, without realizing, I moved against him. Hiding the sky from my sight.

“It took me weeks to fly again,” he mentioned. I could hear his forehead pucker as he looked away from me, staring ahead. Every crease, every flap of his wings—my ears tuned into him.

I stopped fighting, my body stilled as I peeked upwards again. His jaw tightened as we raced through the heavenly sky. “You’re flying now,” I reassured him quietly, erecting bumps along his inked shoulders with the graze of my fingers.

There wasn’t even a light thud as we landed gracefully on the roof of the townhouse. His hazel eyes glistened over as he released me. I breathed in heavy, hoping to keep the vomit from rising and to pace my heart once again.

“And you will fight again,” he replied, onyx strands layered around his perfectly chiseled face.

The bile surged upwards as I reached for my stomach. “I am no warrior,” I uttered before letting the space between us grow. Fresh air flooding into me, shooing away the threat of vomit.

Cassian chuckled, his face brightened, “says the woman who blasted Hybern out of this world.” He tilted his head downwards, dancing copper eyes looking up through his long lashes.

“But not the next,” I whispered leaving him alone on the rooftop.

I didn’t want to leave, but how could I possibly explain what I dream of? How could I explain to him what haunts me at all hours? Hybern’s resurrection. Cassian’s torturous death. Losing everyone I hold in my heavy heart. Where would I begin to release that kind of information to the Lord of Bloodshed, Commander of the Night Court army? Would he even understand what it’s like to have a human heart trapped in a body that was no longer mine?

Instead of bathing, I stared out the decorated window like I had done for the past two days. I pressed my thumb into the carved figurine my father had left behind in this world, the only part of him I had left. A gryphon. The fucking irony of it. Comfort brought to me by one of my greatest fears.

My attention turned to the garden as I watched Azriel pass an orb of shadows into my sister’s hands. The darkness unveiled a lapis and gold colored flower bud.

“Thank you, Az,” Elain’s enchanting grin beamed up at him. She was starting to smile again. One day I would hear her laugh too and it would be thanks to him.

Azriel clasped his hands behind his back, lifting his wings, “it’s from the Day Court, apparently the only one of its kind remaining,” he replied. The shadows that latched onto him nearly disappeared in Elain’s eternal glow.

Elain studied the bud in her petite hands, “what is it called?”

“Lapis Sundust. The petals start out as lapis stones in the day and by night they’re as bright as the sun. Coils of light wrap around them closer to dawn, returning them back to stone at first light.” Azriel didn’t look at the flower bud, he stared at her--observing my sister with the utmost tender expression I had ever seen.

Elain’s smile grew, as did the light around her. “That sounds beautiful. Light blossoming in darkness, in shadows.” She cradled the bud as if it were her own child, “um, would…would you? Will, will you help me? Please? Hm.” Elain fumbled over her words. I had never witnessed her stammer to that extreme, especially in front of men. But Azriel was no man, he’s a shadow singer—the Night Court’s Spymaster.

Azriel’s lips twitched, a shade of pink flushed his cheeks. He bent down beside her, steadying himself on one knee while helping her dig a hole for her Lapis Sundust to reside in. His scarred hands pressed into dirt that was absent of blood, an action I was sure he hadn’t done in many lifetimes.

“Have you talked to her?” Elain asked, digging her nails deeper in soil. Their hands touched briefly before she shyly—hesitantly--pulled away.

I hadn’t noticed before, but her forsaken iron engagement ring was off. Maybe because she was working in the garden? Or maybe she finally let that lump of coal go? She deserves everlasting happiness, a blossoming love that’s as colorful and full of life as her gardens are.

Azriel nodded, smoothing back his dark hair with a lingering shadow, “yes, she needs more time.”

“She doesn’t have any more time,” she replied with a sigh, shaking her head in concern.

“I know,” he confirmed with a somber expression.

“She needs to work with Rhys. Someone who understands her transformation power. Or things will become very ugly, very quickly.” Elain continued as she reached for the mini shovel, using it to dig out any rocks they felt along the way.

Azriel bit the inside of his cheek. “Maybe it would be best if you or Feyre talk with her?”

Elain sighed, “She’s not ready for that, either.” She released the shovel, wiping her forehead like she had done for so many years before, that it was only habit by now. “She may have failed us at one point or another. But we both failed her as well. It goes both ways.”

“Elain?” Azriel’s tone changed as he said her name, like it was his greatest and only secret—no, treasure, he had come across in his existence.

She held the cosmic bud in her hands again, cherishing it with the slightest touch. “Hm?” Elain asked, distracted by her new lifeline.

Azriel’s body stiffened as he hung his head, “Lucien wants to see you.”

“Oh…” She stopped petting the flower bud, I could hear her heartbeat gallop against her ribcage. Elain slipped the bud into the pocket of her floral apron.

Azriel relaxed his shoulders, his thumbs circling one another. “I received a third letter, a request. Honestly, his desperation pours out of every sentence.” Azriel attempted to laugh but couldn’t bring himself to smile as he took in Elain’s concern.

“You are the Spymaster. I’m sure you receive lots of letters and lots of requests,” she took up the mini shovel again, stabbing at the ground--driving the spear into the world with all her might over and over.

“What would you like me to say?” He gently laid his burned hand on top of hers, steadying her death plunge to a halt.

Elain stared up at him, releasing the shovel, her eyes glazing over… “Flames of suns, tendrils of night. Wings of ruin. End of sight.” Her body went limp, crashing towards the flower bed before Azriel caught her.

I shook violently, dropping the carved gryphon, unsure if I had fallen asleep. If this was just another nightmare. I blinked, Azriel cradled Elain in his arms. I blinked again and again, Azriel still held her. With fury, I flung open the door to see Cassian leaning against the wall.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, his eyes widening as he took in my shaken appearance. “What is it?” Cassian demanded, swearing when I didn’t answer.

I couldn’t speak. I ran past him, down the stairs and towards the garden--Cassian right on my heels. I collapsed to my knees beside Elain, barely able to keep the wool blanket on as the worry drowned me.

Azriel held Elain in his arms. “She’ll be fine, Nesta. It was just a vision.” He still hadn’t taken his eyes off her, his thumb stroked the inside of her limp arm.

My breathing became ragged as I frantically looked from him to Elain.

“It happens from time to time. Nothing to worry about.” He replied to my unasked questions.

I wiped a strand of her golden-brown hair behind her ear, my raging heart turning into a murmur.

The air behind me filled with begging whispers. The air shifted as I felt my back tense. Mor. I could smell her, the sickening sweetness of honey and milk. Mor and Feyre’s laughter died down as they took in the scene before them. Feyre fell in by my side, calmly staring between us. Mor’s eyes shifted from my bare back to Cassian, her hiss vibrating against the walls of the garden.

Feyre’s elegantly tattooed hand reached for mine but I pulled away.

“I’m sorry…” I couldn’t look at her, I couldn’t stand to see our mother. Not now.

“I know,” Feyre mumbled for only me to hear, “I know.”

Elain’s eyelashes fluttered open, to see us standing over her. “My beautiful sisters,” she smiled up at us, another enchanting beam of light.

My gray-blue eyes burned with oncoming tears, she had our father’s eyes. The sound of his neck snapping echoed through me. My jaw slightly dropped as I felt my heart crack a little bit further.

Cassian lifted me with a slight tug on my elbow, pulling me away from my sisters. He held my bare shoulders, steering me back to the bedroom as I brushed away amber tears. Careful, I didn’t set anything on fire. Cassian guided me into the jasmine scented bathing room, leaving the door cracked open behind us.

“Sit,” he ordered softly, pointing to an old wooden chair in the center of the room.

I sat without an argument, staring at the stone beneath my thin feet. Several buckets appeared around us.

“I can take a bath on my own,” I finally spoke, I couldn’t bring myself to be cruel. Not when my past flooded into me—not when my nightmares clouded my vision and hearing. The snap, the twist of my father’s prominent features—contorting and burning itself into my mind as I watched him die over and over like a spinning coin.

“This isn’t much of a bath though, is it?” Cassian stated, kneeling across from me, in between the steaming buckets.

I didn’t reply as I regarded him. His darker than night hair had been tied back with a leather strap. Chocolate colored stubble ran across his jaw line and up towards his stunning cheeks. I had never seen him with facial hair. I certainly didn’t mind it, since it only added to his rugged warrior appearance.

Cassian observed me, I wasn’t sure what he noticed—or if he just saw through me in a way no one else could. He tore his eyes away, looking down at my leg and back at me again, slowly he raised the wool blanket upwards to my knee. Scarlet scratches had formed from when I slammed myself into the ground beside Elain. My eyes glistened over as I scrutinized the drawn blood, my stomach churning the longer I stared.

He bent down, kissing the crimson markings on my knee. I could feel a warm sensation flood into the cuts, ridding me of pain and unwelcome thoughts. A flicker from his siphons. Cassian didn’t speak as he lifted himself away, licking my blood from his lips. I had never felt myself turn to molten before this moment. I snuck a peek, already I was healing. My brow raised in question.

Cassian carefully dunked a washcloth into the scalding water. Lightly, he pressed the fabric against my skin, observing whether or not I thought it was too hot. After an eon of waiting, his muscular hand tenderly guided the towel up my foot, circling around my heel. Cassian raised the cloth towards my shin until stopping at my knee. Caressing each subtle curve on the way down like it would be his last chance, his only chance.

He stared at me, neither of us said a word. I studied the protruding veins up his strong forearms, the leather cuffs that directed all his power and down to his rough yet pleasant, long fingers. Cassian drenched the towel again, this time adding the charcoal soap, leaving trails of small gray bubbles behind.

He cleared his throat as he looked at the blanket then back at me, not daring a touch as his calloused hands remained on my foot. Gently massaging my arch.

I could barely breathe. The craving nectar between my legs screamed. I swallowed hard before raising the blanket to my upper thigh. I could feel my pulse thundering beneath skin. Anticipating him, wanting him—I couldn’t focus on anything but him. A chord of desire plucked through me, echoing against my curves.

Cassian’s tender touch did something other worldly to me. A rush of shivers crashed through my body. I sucked in air as his palm trailed up my shin, towards my newly healed knee and finally slowing as he reached my upper thigh. I ached, I wanted him to go higher. I wanted him to explore further. I felt the craving liquid flood between my thighs.

His nostrils flared as his pupils dilated, I could feel his racing pulse against me. Could he sense what he had done? What unfathomable hunger I felt? Our pulses matching in speed, in strength. As his bronze hand moved back down my creamy thigh, I caught his wrist.

“What’s wrong?” Cassian asked, his breath caught in his throat as he cautiously examined me, his voice hoarse, “did I hurt you?”

I leaned in, to where our lips nearly touched, “you’d make a terrible servant,” I whispered—my lips threatened to twitch upwards.

Cassian nearly fell back laughing, throwing the wet towel into the nearest bucket. Water splashed all over, soaking him and the blanket wrapped around me.

“And here I thought you were gonna…” he didn’t bother finishing as he studied the curve of my lips. “Guess I should be grateful I wasn’t kicked in the nether regions today,” Cassian remarked, a settle—heartbreakingly slow—smirk erupted into a beaming smile as he held my stare.

That smile, the one that carved new pathways into my heart, sparkled like a million suns combined. I lost my breath, if only for a moment, I would lose my ability to breathe entirely because of him.

I looked down, knee at the ready. A similar smirk tugging at my velvet lips.

Cassian’s confused expression trailed down my body, “oh c’mon!”

“The day isn’t over,” I nearly laughed—almost.

“It will be if you hit me there.” Cassian’s frown calmed as he took in my growing grin, a rare occurrence in itself. Something within him shifted, I could tell by the gleaming hazel ponds that grew brighter and yet deeper than I had previously seen them. What had just been unleashed within him? What had unlocked such never-ending beauty?

My knee adjusted, brushing against his thick staff. I could feel it, the length of his sizeable mass. I hastily turned away, a flourishing blush coating my face and chest. “Leave,” I commanded to the best of my ability. By the mother and that damned cauldron…he’s much larger than I had originally thought…damn him. Damn him and his cocky self. And those incredibly…massive, membranous wings…

“As you wish,” he leaned forward, intoxicating me. Even on his knees, he towered over me. Cassian bit his lower lip, a flare of his crimson siphons radiated against the walls, “but the next time we do this…” he hung his head, gliding the tip of his nose against the back of my neck, a subtle graze of his soft lips, “…there’s another body part that can replace your knee.” His husky voice enraptured me.

“Pig,” I breathed, reaching for the wet cloth.

“Princess!” Cassian yelled as he ran out of the bathing room, a slight grunt echoed in the room as I nailed him with the soapy cloth.

The glowing grin on my face plastered itself further as I heard his laughter continue down the hall.

It took me a moment to realize that I hadn’t smiled for a very long time. It had been so long that I couldn’t recall the last time. Months? Years, maybe? And as infuriating as that winged-warrior-asshole-Illyrian can be…he made me smile, he made me feel something other than the constant loss and regret.

For the first time, I felt hope.

In case you missed the previous parts...

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

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possibly-meaningless · 5 years ago

Text

Dailies - France

19.06.19

I feel myself travelled through by something flammable, down the mouth, but not ignited. I remember knowing that I was drilling my eyes next to her plate, and hearing only what I allowed myself to hear. “The desire to be needed?” I did the dishes like a murderer washes their hands, put up the laundry like a sociopath smiles. In the morning, the sky is gray and I cannot read.

20.06.19

An especially specific thing to do with a three year interval, participate in a study. I’m healthy enough that hospitals are a fascination. I ask about the make of the machines, and what work in the unit is like, about the roof gardens and the validity of measuring BMI. When I wrote about being picked up from a hospital by Akira Touya, I did not know how to say it. Now I am different than fourteen, and could tell you how these rooms are made, and look up who might be allowed to pick me up at all.

It was misty too that freshman year, I remember it more like myself than anything else from that time. Funny that, once again and exactly, I ordered the salmon, and noticed the drum flourish of the MRI scan, turned at the incongruous smell of the hallway cafeteria. I suppose this just means that I am still myself, in a way separate from the certainties I have and how I feel, that my eyes and senses are still the same as those that worried on the dirty floors of our Bingham suite. Or at least that they are enough like all human eyes that not much would have changed anyway.

Le musée par contre, c’est différent. On peut y aller pour pleurer. Je rejoins Millet sous le ciel et je déborde d’amour, mais j'oublierai les noms des impressionnistes, comme d’habitude.

21.06.19

I am preparing myself to go home, weighing the luggage of my person. I am practicing retorts to catcalls in my own language. I will leave the house on Sundays. I have stopped paying attention to New Haven. There is a transitory phase.

22.06.19

Retourner est comme une obligation. J’échange mes inventions du livre comme une exercise. Thumb the blue house of New Haven between the cracks of my phone. Je sens le pli de l’inquiétude dans mon sourcil, et je sais que ma prose en anglais est longue comme du français, l’as toujours été. Je retourne vers les femmes-mères de ma vie, les femmes-famille qui se marient, et laisse derrière moi les ébauches de mes femmes-amour.

23.06.19

I wonder how long I will last being happy to be home. With some grit, until the end. Right now, I have no reason to doubt it. Our candles match the pool chairs, the avocado the grapefruit salad, the water the sky. Children on the plane ask a million good questions, my mother reminisces that that is exactly how I was, I hope that is how I have remained. I look at my cat and think no wonder the Egyptians worshipped you, perfect thing, little piece of god, scarab-sniffer. I’m glad to be back.

24.06.19

Ça commence bien avec Marie. Maman me regarde dans mon costume masculin depuis le fauteuil et ne sourit pas. Elle veut bien, je fais ce que je veux, mais elle ne sourit pas. Marie me demande si je suis “entièrement lesbienne.”

25.06.19

Getting home and dropping into the pool is the kind of thing maharaja’s son does. I take the long way home. Eating fruit here is so much better. I forget my mosquito bites. The women on the metro are, god. Something about it. I smell the air deeply. I think how I would hold Eda’s face if she were here sitting on the banquette next to me, I grip the head of my hat, the woman’s bag on her lap looks like a stomach, I talk about Adrian’s sectioned jaw, Marie’s friend is studying to be a nurse, bonne maman is the eldest child who did not run away she said of earrings “there are things you have to get used to. I got used to my husband, thank God.”

26.06.19

The weather is an occasion for us all to wear sweat. Some things get especially sticky, like the kitchen table, and my computer charger. Everyday utilities gain the properties of an oven. We migrate out of our beds and into the ground for the night. I feel I deserve to live only in the morning, when the air is cool and clear like the first bite from a fruit.

27.06.19

Une brise clémente détend le cimetière du Père Lachaise. Comme les corbeaux je pends mon cou le bec ouvert, et je me crois intime avec les morts. Je verse la larme d’une femme dont le mari et la fille sont morts il y a cent cinquante ans. Les sépulcres sont C.A.P. Faire corps avec l’histoire plutôt que le présent est quelque chose que je dois aux BDs en partie. Adèle Blanc Sec, Corto le faisaient, et leurs auteurs... un cimetière n’est jamais une mauvaise idée, à New Haven non plus, certains coins se recoupent avec celui de la Côte-Saint-André, ca se sent à leur odeur. Un vent clément détend le cimetière du Père Lachaise.

28.06.19

Paris drunk is not the same as New York drunk is not the same as Paris drunk is not the same as New Haven drunk. New Haven drunk has the weight of all my questions in it: whose weight do I want on mine, what kind of love will I accept? Paris drunk has all my answers: not yours, not yours. Even if you are very polite, and you scout out mines on a ship of 26 for the government « secret defense » you are getting off here and I am not giving you my Facebook contact.

29.06.19

Grotte musée, j’en fais l’usage convenu, les yeux humainement levées dans la pénombre, je somnole dans l’abri indéniable. Et en le pensant je m’écorche sur les mots d’hier, peur très peur de l’arrogance. But what of it? If I were a man, I would have no qualms in seeing myself like Picasso saw himself, megalithic, and right, the figure-man in his cave.

Une nostalgie infinie pour la main sur le bois, sur l’os, les salles de cinéma où on s’enfouit, la poussière et le sable, le geste comme l’insecte, l’artiste qui pense, et comme tout au final se ressemble un peu, toujours.

30.06.19

Punition pour ne pas avoir écrit: un rêve qui me détruit.

01.07.19

Compliqué de décrire ce que c’est de parler à quelqu’un derrière un clavier. Grey et moi parlons dans un monde baignée de leur odeur orange, un soleil américain, le ton de la voix surgit des détails du textes, et du choix des mots. Je ris tout haut, oui je vous jure. Et avec Claire c’est l’argent, le violet, c’est une voix qui est comme grave même si je la sais aiguë.

Je peins n’importe comment, mais je peins.

02.07.19

Si je rate, j’écrirai

03.07.19

The idea I have of the metro north when I am away from it is just of a yellow line zipping down a glittering sea. Not much of that is true to what you see (red seats and yellow floors, complications regarding what you are eating or will eat, and who will take you where and how) but of the experience that is it: I am zipping down on an eyeless snake, and the light is always golden.

04.07.19

I haven’t found a way to describe this sky that isn’t electric blue. The air from the window feels like a classroom fan blowing on just some of the leg, someone across the street it seems is eating at a table alone, in an apartment being painted auburn, but I cannot see clearly through the balcony. I keep getting these feelings, dredged up like photographs of a childhood moment, and that way of seeing the world seems so much less complacent than how I currently see it. Not that I am unhappy now, or inattentive, but perhaps feeling for children is more, stronger, stringent and my mind has mellowed to a hum. Feel strongly, think right. Feel strongly.

05.07.19

You got up too late again. You eat like you’re choking and there’s something missing from your movements but licking the spoon of jam clean is the same as many times before bitter on exactly the same parts of your tongue, and reminds you what awakeness can be.

At the section of light before the airplane door all the colors are bouncing out: the raspberry pink of a woman’s dress, the orange chitin of the plane, the misalignment of the pilot’s teeth. Baldwin’s words are still in my head, categoric.

We pass by clouds that look sculpted by a frantic hand which still had in its terrorized tendons, all of herds crossing a path, broccoli and cloaked monks, a monstrous overgrowth of cotton on the stem, the photo-perfect disposition in ranges of mountains as if for a family photo, all of these, behemoths in flight, animals the size of maps, on which you find your way from the relief, shielding your eyes, and in this, smaller yet, I think of Claire’s Leviathans coming often to this playground, so tiny that they would need to shine like pin-prick mirrors to be seen at all.

06.07.19

Il fait gris ce matin. Poppy doit être en train de flipper. Je rythme des sabots au pas est quelque chose auquel on n’est plus habitué. Si je voulais l’écrire il faudrait le décrire plutôt que d’avoir confiance de le trouver dans un esprit ka-pok ka-pok ka-pok. On s’extirpe d’une région sonore à l’autre, oiseaux, grillons, cloche d’église. Je partage le hamac avec deux mouches et au final je vais quand même choper un coup de soleil.

Moment cinématique de la soirée: je m’éloigne de la fête pour regarder l’horizon violet hors du terrain de lumière. Le DJ, fils du propriétaire, pas clairement fille ou garçon au premier coup d’œil, est assis et nous regarde comme le personnage principal fumant, le misanthrope magnifique.

La grande tente a attrapé un frelon. Tout le long du repas on le trouve toujours là, changée à peine de coin. J’y vois un mauvais augure, chiante que je suis.

07.07.19

Fantasy maps tend to be like bowls: a valley of the known hugged into certainty by mountains. I was seated, slouched and film-able, in monoliths

The gravel driveway, too, was a circle of light. Darkness waited at the gate, knowing itself to be charming, and did not speak to me.

The fact I was well dressed matters. All that femininity can be, staring like only jaded men who know they are of adventure’s mettle, out the lip of this great shivering bowl.

08.07.19

Mon impression de la Poyat est comme rayée. Je sens les choses une fois (l’eau de la piscine qui monte au nez, le hall de la maison en odeur de béton et de carrelage, les pages de livres pour enfants qui s’affinent et jaunissent comme la peau d’un rat âgé) puis, plus rien. La musique de mon telephone est une petite voix microscopique sur ma couverture. Les personnes âgées parlent de la maladie comme de plans de vacance. Mes cheveux sont rêches, je ferme les yeux et je vois une forêt noire aux troncs nus et propres.

09.07.19

I’d like to think all of us do this, go up to the attic to sit on the side of the bed and look at Stephane, photo paper stare phasing through our own which traces smile-crinkled eyes and heavy eyebrows, a fringe which would certainly have disappeared by now. I wonder if that is what cuts through my mother’s mind: what he would have looked like now, where he would hang in the house instead of like a funeral mask on a wall of the attic, what it would have looked like to see his face next to ours rather than in them.

10.07.19

La lune est à Demi dans le ciel poudré, je trimballe avec moi une boîte chantante, le chat est là, mais je me teins les mains comme un ancêtre avec des baies mauves. Le ciel n’as jamais été le nôtre, nous n’avons fait que grouiller dessous, heurtés toujours par les mêmes choses: l’eau, l’odeur de viande cuite, la capacité à peindre nos corps, à se sentir être là. On s’entoure de nos créations dans un jardin en perpétuelle construction, mais le ciel n’as jamais été le nôtre.

11.07.19

Le soleil me cuit lentement, et miroite à grandes volées sur la plaine. La peau rougit comme une question posée, répond du doigt pressé comme un photon sur la rétine.

12.07.19

Media is the perfect litmus test for maturity. I watched Breaking Bad having honestly no idea how to follow, what meant what, what was real and what was fanciful, how adults act in hospitals, at work, at home... now I’m an inside interpreter, more or less, I’m keeping track of the script. It’s funny to see Adrien make these assessments, I have no way to tell if they correlate to understanding. It’s like when we trap a wasp under a glass and he asks “do you think it knows it’s under glass?” and I tell him there’s no real way for us to know: our best bets would either be observations of its anatomical function, or tested behavioral response, but the proof that it can conceptualize as we do, that we will never have.

13.07.19

There’s a cat in heat outside. I have my period. I told my grandmother that no one I was sleeping with had the ability to make me pregnant. I say to Max and Adrian “that’s why it’s easy to substitute the idea of entropy for the idea of death, and life for what goes against entropy.” I wear the bathing suit that hides my body the most. I wear a white dress and a pad. I tell them “wait, I’m going to change my mood.” I don’t want to fold napkins with you old women. I want to write about religion and autonomy and women who are in love and make the case for complexity and the risk in having a conscious mind. I’m wrong in thinking these activities preclude one another. I try to think through clamorous music. I want to hit myself to accompany the fact that I cannot be a student of every subject. I want to stay up and write. I will likely fall asleep.

14.07.19

Il n’y a que le quatorze juillet où l’on se surprend à être dehors en robe d’été alors qu’il a commencé à faire réellement frais. Le vent est aussi inutile que les foulards que l’on se pose sur les jambes. Le chat passe, oui gris. Et le feu d’artifice on l’a déjà vu. Ce qu’on remarque peu c’est le rouge attrapé par le ventre du nuage, et la lune qui nous regarde, la nuit qui fuit volontiers à nos yeux tous les soirs, et nous qui si rarement nous éloignons de nos propres lumières.

15.07.19

On s'arrête au long de la ligne, une excroissance routière où les camionneurs passent leurs vies. Petit royaume tout de même, j’y trouve l’abandonné (un terrain de basket), l’explorable (échelle de la station service), l’histoire (coquilles d'oeufs durs, rib blanchi) et une colline d’où tout voir. Les champs, comme toute surface vue de si près, restent infinis. Ils sont disponibles pour s’y perdre, même si ça ne se fait plus beaucoup. Et moi, mon humeur j’en veux bien: je chante comme jamais.

16.07.19

I refuse to tear the weeds out of fear they might be saplings. The stem is too tender not to feel like murder. So it is perhaps with my crying teenage self, who I let possess me, out of fear she had not lived as she deserves.

17.07.19

Lever les yeux dans le métro pour voir les yeux d’un acteur se baisser. Toucher pleinement l’arme flic à Opera. Cette ville que je croyais me scruter à présent c’est moi qui la tourne, mes yeux sur la foule qui danse, et moi dedans. C’est avec Jack que j’y danse, c’est mon visage qui s’ouvre sur la porte de la pharmacie. J’ai la dépose d’un gamin et du lévrier sur la scène, le regard qui ne se rompt pas. Les miroirs, j’y suis, je porte un costume d’esprit. La ville, c’est moi qui l’aime. Je suis acteur, j’ai vue sur la scène.

18.07.19

It’s late, and I’m making use of a moment of outsider eyes I’m being granted by rereading my own writing, my site’s curation. I test my mouth, considered cutting into my tongue to speak more slowly, comment on deep voices, try on a beard. I lean into the mirror and try “I’m gonna fucking kill you.” I draw looks on and off my face. I wonder if I will ever be depressed again (which would mean I have learned nothing). I consider feelings had weeks ago, picking them up and examining them. I dreaded going back, now I dread going home. I wonder if I can be depressed again. I can do things like love Jesse, although not quite the same. I suppose it’s up to me.

19.07.19

The man in Saint Eustache I suppose he is praying, knee-leaning, alone-eveninged, humbly day-rumpled. He is as serious, as husky as the nave-drawn lights, gold folding on skinny shadow. He sighs, or at least it is as if he does. He has as much to say as the church’s Igor, the Latin mass, but as incense he says none of it.

When I pray, because I do pray in holy-water-sampling, pretty-moved, starwards-gazed and history-guessing, it is not for the lovely waitress and the kir, not for my mother counting change, my grandmother and her therapist, the piss and cracker on the street, the fire set to oil or the motorcycle-kicking kid, the woman stroller-helped over over the fence. It is for nothing if my own wonderment, if for the light itself.

20.07.19

The day I leave the weather is unbearably pleasant. The wind is the kind you personify on the mosaics of a villa-home, passing low to bless the living. You are the kind of hand awoken by a clean damp cloth. And the day I go home, the shower-fawn is still there yes, her color has changed with the towel behind the tile. Storm coming like an undertow.

21.07.19

The more I think of it, I haven’t landed in America, idea of itself as a loud city and wide upset nature, America thing, but home, my home in a different kind of air to breathe. I’ve returned to the place I named myself, the place that saw me different, the beast I saw insane across the valley and touched of my own knowledge-less hand. America has kept a piece of me in it, more than the other way around, more perhaps than good old continent.

Through the windows of the Whitney the world itself is diegetic. Circle ‘round or stare through, the wind is installed for now, I placed this tarp just here, ordered the leaves and printed the sky. Can you tell what it is I wanted to make? What the making of it was like? Take care how you look at it, or you’ll be missing out.

I want to be with you, lullaby-flat, baby-funny, rub-the-face. There’s no shame, no shame at all, when tenderness is in the game— if the note is soft and so is your skin, why in the world should it matter what we listen to, what we look like? We’re children, monkeys, old ladies with Alzheimer all at once, we paw and glance and try the world in our hand— hold me won’t you? It just seems it’d make sense.

22.07.19

Everyone in my part of the train is sleeping. The Paleocene outdoors barely watches us go. A strange world is better than one I should get. Storms are uncertainty I’ve come to adore. I’ll go get the mattress, I’ll call up a friend, eat something untimely from the fridge or the table. We are hacking through tropics up to alien machines, weirder and weird but delightful.

#creative writing

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ddproductionsw77 · 8 years ago

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Birthdays, First Times, and Letters from Princeton Pt. 2 (Riarkle Future Two Shot)

Fandom: Girl Meets World

Pairing(s): Riarkle

Characters: (Main) Riley Matthews and Farkle Minkus, (Supporting) Maya Hart-Hunter

Rating: I’ll back this part down to T with a warning of mentions of sex and swearing ;)

Description: Farkle Minkus gets dumped by the love of his life two days after the first time they’d ever been so close. A month passes and finally, he can’t take it anymore, he needs to know why. Riley owes him why.

Author’s Note: It’s a break-up/make-up fic guys. I’ve already established that in this universe, these two go one to get engaged and have a baby on the way. BTW check out those snapshots, ‘Summer Plans’, ‘Little Drunk, Lotta Careless’, and ‘Just Go To Sleep, Riles’.

Monday rolled around inevitably, like the dread in the pit of Riley’s stomach.

She was at her locker when he found her. She’d pulled her hair into a simple ponytail that trailed down her spine, adorning a white t-shirt, black leggings, and a loose gray jacket. Farkle thought she looked absolutely beautiful until he noticed that her attire was missing something.

Riley wasn’t smiling.

“Hey,” He greeted, uneasily rocking on his conversed feet with his hand shoved into his pockets, “How, um, are you feeling?”

God, what was wrong with him? This is Riley! So, why did it feel like she was miles away when he knew he could just reach out and touch her?

She collected her books and shut her locker, “Better, I guess.”

“That’s,” Farkle rubbed the back of his neck. “Good.”

Riley nodded, leaning her shoulder against the metal of lockers and shifting her books in front of her, almost like a shield.

“So, I know you’re avoiding me,” Farkle stated, matter-of-factly.

Maybe he had hoped she’d roll her eyes and give him a smile, that she’d reach up and lightly pat his cheeks and tell him, Love, not everything is about you. Sometimes people don’t feel good. Maybe he had hoped she’d at least deny it.

Instead, she just moved her gaze from one shoe to the other.

Nodding, he sighed, “Well, this is just wonderful…”

Farkle still didn’t understand. If Riley was ignoring him, and now he knew she was, the timing would indicate it was because… well, because they’d had sex.

God, did she regret it? Wish she could take it back?

He didn’t think so, though, because Riley had seemed to… enjoy herself as much as he did. In fact, Farkle knew she had, recalling sweat, giggles, and gasped names from just days ago. Shaking his head, he fiddling with his hands nervously, “Look, if this is about that night than we can tal-“

“I think we should break up.”

Farkle stopped breathing, stopped moving, stopped everything.

He’d heard wrong. She’d said something else, literally anything else. Because she- She couldn’t have said- It just wasn’t possible. He knew life could be cruel, that the world could kick you down and make you feel small, like a nothing.

But it couldn’t that cruel. It could not just… take Riley from him, not now, not when he’d just gotten to know every piece of her, not ever. They were always, it didn’t make sense. He loved her.

He’d promised. Always.

Coming crashing back to reality, Farkle jerked back as if she’d struck him. Looking at her like she was a complete stranger to him, this girl he knew better then he knew anything, he barely managed to choke out, “W-what?”

Riley’s eyes filled up tears and she looked up at the ceiling, blinking furiously. Clearing her throat, she shook her head, “I just think it would be best for us both,” She shrugged, biting her cheek, “I love you, Farkle, but-“

“Wait, wait, wait,” He pleaded, throwing his hands up, “Just stop there, okay? Please, Riley, ju-just stop there. You love me and I love you, so just stop there, okay? Because, always, remember?”

Her face crumpled at the slight waver in his voice and she brought a hand up to cover her mouth, shaking her head.

Farkle stared at her, true horror and panic setting into his system like an infection, like a fever. Swallowing hard with tears in his eyes, he reached out and took her other hand, desperately trying again, “I can fix this, Riles. I can make it right!”

She dropped her hand and opened her mouth to speak but he cut her off.

“Whatever I did, Riley, I’m sorry, okay? I’m so sorry! I’ll-“ His voice cracked and he cursed before continuing with teary eyes, “I’ll be better, I’ll do better. I’ll keep my promises and I’ll listen, whatever you want!”

The girl’s eyes trailed down to their hands, fingers intertwined, such a perfect fit it could have only been crafted in the heavens.

Farkle, noticing her gaze, tightened his grip like maybe, just maybe, if he held on tight enough, she’d stay.

“Babe,” His name for her, the name that only felt right coming from his lips. Her eyes darted to meet his, to that electric blue that spoke to her heart and touched her soul, “I know I don’t even deserve to ask,“ He begged in a broken whisper, "But please.”

Please don’t do this. Please stop.

Please.

Just.

Stay.

His pleading eyes said it all as they took each other in, tears clouding both of their visions. Riley took a shaky breath and a step forward.

Farkle’s heart skipped a beat as she slowly pushed up onto her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, resting her forehead against the crook of his neck for a moment.

But then she stepped back.

She shook her head.

She pulled her hand from his grip.

And then Riley Matthews walked away from him, taking his heart, freshly ripped from his chest, with her.

Somehow, Farkle made it to class.

Taking his usual seat, right beside her, just close enough to catch her scent from the breeze sweeping in from the cracked window, he numbly stared down at his textbook. The scent brought all the memories flooding back, washing over him like a suffocating riptide, pulling him under and further and further from shore as he struggled against it.

Brushing again her shoulder as he sat beside her in the bay window, talking for hours about anything and everything cross-legged on the floor of her bedroom, laughing at her cheesy jokes because they were so damn adorable, pecking her lips anytime he felt like it because he could, knowing her favorite colors, animals, and lyrics, believing in her and her drive to change people, being as close to her as he could ever be to another person, feeling like they were written in the stars, like they were Pluto and Mars.

And none of it, not a single moment or memory, mattered now.

Farkle’s eyes clamped closed as he felt the telltale burn of tears. He gripped his pencil until it hurt and wondered how the wood didn’t snap.

He could hear a sniffle from her direction, could feel his chest twist painfully but couldn’t bring himself to look over.

Just feeling her presence made him feel like he might spiral into a panic attack, looking at her wasn’t something he could bare. He just couldn’t do it.

He loved her.

She loved him.

They were going to be always.

So, what the hell had happened?

“So, Farkle and Riley are just…done?” Maya asked, leaning down over her friend as he attempted to read the chemistry book before him.

Farkle sighed, “Ask Ri-“ He choked and cleared his throat, “Ask her. She’s the one who ended it.”

It had been a month. He didn’t feel any better.

“Trust me, I did! But she won’t say anything! Just that ‘it’s for the best’” Maya used air quotes before rolling her eyes, “Whatever the hell that means…”

“Your guess is as good as mine, Maya.” He said, tiredly, pinching his nose.

The blonde looked at him, sadly, before sighing, “It just doesn’t make sense! A fucking week before she broke up with you, she was asking me about-“ Maya stopped, considered, pressed on, “Well, even before that, she was all excited about finding the perfect dress for Prom, something you’d like, her words!”

He would have liked her in anything…

Farkle shrugged, “Obviously, she changed her mind.”

“About you? No way, not just on a whim. I refuse to accept that and you shouldn’t either!” Maya snapped, grasping his collar over the table and tugging him forward. “Dammit, Minkus, where’s your fight? Your girlfriend dumped you for no reason and you’re just gonna take that?! You’re not even going to demand answers from Riley?”

Farkle cringed involuntarily at the name and shoved Maya’s hand away.

“What would be the point?!” He snapped, glaring at the blonde girl. “Why won’t bring her back if she doesn’t want to be with me, Maya! And she clearly doesn’t! I can’t make her!”

The girl gave him a skeptical look, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest, “Farkle, I know you still miss her.“

Now, there was an understatement…

Life with Riley was like living in technicolor. Everything was vibrant and captivating and made you really believe in silly things like fate and destiny. In her absence, the color had bled out, turning into varying shades of gray. The colors hadn’t faded; they had just gone.

Kind of like she had.

Narrowing his eyes, Farkle bent his head back over his textbook, “Because how I feel matters so much, right?”

Maya paused, considering again, “Fine. I know she still misses you, too.”

Farkle doubted it.

Farkle sat in the library long after Maya had given up on him, staring down at the words before him and wondering what Riley Matthews was doing.

He knew he shouldn’t, shouldn’t think about her, shouldn’t care anymore, should be over it by now. That’s how normal high school romances went, right? They were fast and when they ended the world did too, but only for a day or so, and then it was supposed to be like nothing had ever happened.

He was supposed to move on from Riley, move past her.

But Riley wasn’t just some high school romance of his, she was Riley.

She was the girl who’d fought so hard not to laugh at his name like everyone else did, the girl who’d ridden alongside him as his father taught him how to ride a bike and the first person to reach him when he fell off. She was the girl who had kissed his scraped knee because at the time she swore she was going to be a princess doctor someday and the one who had always and would always love him just the way he was, freak or nothing or whatever.

Was there even a life for him past her? Because whatever bleak existence he’d been going through the motions of since Riley had walked away from him in that hallway was not a life. It was a joke.

…He wished it was a joke.

She had said she loved him… so why crush him, run him over with a Mack truck, split him like an atom so that everything left was radioactive and infective to everyone remaining in the devastation zone? Why make him promise her ‘always’ when she was just going to change her mind?

A shadow fell over Farkle’s textbook and he figured it had to be Maya or Lucas coming to find him, to 'hang out’ but he knew it was really to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid while alone.

He was surprised to look up and find Riley Matthews instead.

Farkle wished that she didn’t effect him anymore. He had hoped that after a month, seeing her wouldn’t send his heart into his throat or make his chest ache. He’d been counting on no longer finding her chocolate eyes as warm as cocoa.

But it was Riley, so of course, all those things were still true.

Riley spoke, quietly and hesitantly, to the boy staring at her, wide-eyed, "Maya said that, um, that you had something you wanted to ask me.”

Farkle was still in shock over his ex-girlfriend/ex-best friend’s presence, so close that he could have reached out and touched her. He almost did… before remembering that that was no longer okay. Riley’s space was her own again now, not his.

“Farkle?”

His name on her lips was like a twist to the knife she’d plunged into his chest a month ago. At least the pain snapped him back to life, his eyes instantly darting away from her face, “I don’t know what Maya was talking about.”

“Oh.”

Riley stood next the table, shifting uncomfortably as she glanced around, “Well if you need anything, I’m always-”

They both flinch involuntarily and her voice died in her throat. Sighing in a way that Farkle would almost say was wistful, Riley started to turn away. She was going to walk away from him again.

He couldn’t just watch her leave. Not again.

“Why?”

The brunette turned back with a furrowed brow, remaining silent.

Once he’d finally asked, Farkle found himself desperate to get her answer. She made him promise and then forced him the break that promise days later. They’d been friends practically their whole lives, surely he deserved to know why.

“I just need to know why.” He pleaded, hesitating at seeing Riley’s face fall but persisting anyway, “I’m not trying to make this harder or hurt you but I think you owe me at least that. Because I keep going over everything, keep going over that night, and I can’t figure out what changed for you. I can’t figure out how I managed to fuck us, Riley and Farkle and always, up.”

Her eyes sparkled with tears as they filled with sadness, wearing and tragic. He wanted to get up and wrap his arms around her, shelter her precious, kind heart from the pain she was carrying as if she were Atlas trying to hold up the sky.

But Farkle reminded himself once again that that would not be okay. Riley and he were now separate entities again. That was apparently how she wanted it. He clenched his fist because he would do anything she asked, even now.

Riley opened her mouth, voice unsteady as she shook her head and refused to meet his eyes, “You didn’t. I told you, it’s just what’s best for the both of us.”

“Bullshit!” Farkle snapped, unable to stop himself.

He hadn’t believed her when she said it a month ago and he didn’t believe her now.

There was no scenario, no situation, where either of them was better off without the other. Even before he’d realized he was in love with her, she’d always been his best friend, the first person he wanted to talk to when something great happened or even something terrible. She was Riley Matthews and he was Farkle Minkus. They fit together at every ripped edge.

“Farkle-“

“If you’re going to lie to my face, Riley, you can go. I thought we didn’t lie to each other.” He interrupted in a grumble, slumping back over his book.

He had known it was pointless to ask, he had told Maya, but now he had asked and it just made everything worse. Farkle really didn’t want to hurt Riley, but God, she’d cut so deep herself and had taken so much that he just spoke without thinking… He probably did that too often.

Farkle heard a strangled sob and closed his eyes, not daring to look up at her.

Riley crying was like kryptonite to him… and he didn’t want to feel bad just yet. He already felt shitty enough without piling guilt on top.

After a moment, her choked voice arose from somewhere to his left as he still refused to look at her anymore, “I’m not lying! I could never do that to you! Not after…”

Riley tried to clear her throat and Farkle wondered if she meant after ‘they had dated’ or ‘they had sex’ or maybe even after ‘everything they’d been through’. It didn’t really matter, he knew that, but the curiosity still burned in his chest, trying to pinpoint the moment his world had ended.

“Farkle, do you not see that this is killing me? Are you blind to how much I miss you?” Riley suddenly fired the passion and raw emotion in her voice enough to draw his full attention despite his best efforts. “But I am not the girl you want to compromise your future for, okay? I can’t be because I refuse to be the one that stops you from doing all the great things that you are meant to do! Can’t you just understand that?”

By the end, she was practically begging, her voice nearly hysterical as she pleaded for his understanding.

Farkle was so confused and so tired and he missed her, too. Slowly he stood, stepping towards her, close enough that he could track the tears as they spilled down her cheeks and smell the same sunflower perfume that had clung to his pillow for a week after their night together.

“So, why?”

Riley stared into Farkle’s eye for a long moment before squeezing her’s shut like he was a bad dream that she was desperate to wake up from. “I applied to Princeton.”

His stomach flipped, recalling every conversation, every time, that they had mentioned his ‘dream’ university. How obsessed Riley had become with some picture perfect happily ever after where they both attended and earned their degrees and went on to share their independent successes… She had been dead set on it.

“They rejected me.”

Farkle almost laughed at the cruel irony. She’d broken up with him so he’d go to Princeton… He’d never told her that he’d already made up his mind about that months ago, after the first time he told her that he was in love with her.

He remained silent, trying to run through her words again, decipher some other meaning than the obvious. Shaking his head, he sighed brokenly, “Riley, I turned them down. I’m applying to Columbia next fall.”

The girl’s big brown eye flew open, “What!? But- but Princeton is-“

“The dream?” Farkle completed before shrugging and shoving his hands in his pockets, “Maybe my father’s but…” He glanced away, “I had my own dreams.”

Still confused, the brunette took a step forward. Now, the pair was barely separated, so close Riley had to tilt her head up and Farkle his down to look each other in the eye. “Like Columbia?”

“Like you.” He mumbled, truthfully, for just her to hear. His electric blue eyes were trained on the stone tilting of the library floor and his ears grew pink.

Riley froze, heart pounding in her eyes.

Farkle had chosen her, long before she’d even thought to choose him. He was always so far ahead of her, so she should have expected it. She was his dream. And he loved her, she knew he did, probably more than anyone else…

And she’d crushed him, taken his love and his trust and thrown it in his face. Yet, he still wanted to plan his future around staying in New York, staying close to her.

Riley launched herself at the boy, kissing him hard and clumsily. It didn’t matter that it was messy, imperfect, and a little awkward though because the second their lips connected it was like taking the first breath of fresh air in a month.

It was like coming back to life, an explosion of color and light and something so special that they both knew they’d never find it with another.

Farkle pulled her in, hands pressing against her back until there was no space between them and they could feel each other’s racing pulses through the fabric of their clothes. The kiss was heartbreak and love, fractured but with the potential to heal.

Pulling away, Riley continued to cling to Farkle as his arm remained wrapped around her. Their noses brushed as the opened their eye, gazes locking. There was fear and uncertainty in her wide, open eyes like she was unsure of what his reaction would be and what was to come next.

Farkle tilted his chin up and pressed his lips against her temple, murmuring, “Please.”

Riley relaxed in his grip, leaning into his lips and warmth, before slowly nodding and looking up to meet his eyes again, “Yes. I realized I’m always going to be in love you, no matter where you are. Columbia or Princeton or fucking Mars, it doesn’t matter. I know that now.”

Moving one hand up to thread into her slick, soft hair, Farkle buried his face in the crown of her head, squeezing his own eyes shut as he nodded to echo her. “I’m always going to be in love with you, too, Riley Matthews. I promised you always, remember?”

“I remember.”

WOW! EMOTIONAL ROLLERCOASTER!

Note: If you guys are curious about the long spaces between posts, please read my update called ‘Bad News, Good News’ as it explains everything AND starts my drawing for my followers! CHECK IT OUT!!! Please!

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definitelyameatbag · 7 years ago

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The Comic Adventure

“We’ll be back soon, guys!”, yelled Steven, as he along with Amethyst and Peridot all waved them goodbye before disappearing into the cornfield.

“Alright! Stay safe!”, yelled Lapis back to him, before turning to Connie beside her, “They’ll be alright, won’t they?”

“Of course he would! Unless Homeworld’s hiding an army in that corn!”, Connie chimed, the thought making them both slightly more uneasy than they wished, “And even then, he has Amethyst to look after him. And Peridot too, I guess.”

Lapis snorted, “Yeah, she probably bite anything that tried to get near him. Anyway, should we...?”, pointing into the barn.

“Oh, yeah!”, the two went inside, Pumpkin following them, and Connie rummaging in her backpack. “So, you’ve read every book I left you last time?”

“Yep!”, Lapis grinned with no small amount of pride, looking down at the stack of children’s books Connie was using to help her learn to read, “It was tricky at first, but I really think I’m getting the hang of it.”

“Well, that calls for a reward, then!”, Connie declared, before pulling out a few thin magazine-like books with an angelic call, before immediately getting embarrassed and blushing, “Well, they’re called comic books, and they’re a bit wordier than the books you were reading, but way cooler! Dad collected them and he gave them to me, Mom thinks he threw them away!”

Lapis took the first one on top of the stack Connie pulled out. “‘The League of the...Mighty Atom?’”, she read the title, then looking down at the central image, a woman in a ridiculously colourful outfit holding an army tank above her head, black-uniformed soldiers either trying to shoot at her or running away in fear. “What’s the problem with her?”

“Oh, that’s Commander Cobolt.”, explained Connie, “She was experimented on by these super evil people called the Eternal Legion, but she used the superhuman strength she was given to escape and started to fight evil.”, she blushed again, rubbing her arm, “A lot of these characters have abilities that no real human has, except Steven I guess, but most of them I suppose are pretty tame for you gems.”

Lapis looked at her, “What, ‘abilities’? Like, controlling water? Or metal? Or predicting the future? None of you can do those?”

Connie shrugged, amused at the thought, “We make do, I guess. But in these stories, some people are much more like gems, and they use those abilities to either try to take over the world or to fight for good.”

Lapis stared at the cover in her hands, “I guess they’ve a bit like gems, but...”

Connie felt a shudder, a horrid feeling sank into her stomach that she had brought up bad memories.

“...I was always told to ‘Do Your Job’, not ‘Fight Evil’. I was made to carve out planets, and I wasn’t supposed to think too hard about it.”

A long moment of silence passes between them. Connie finally broke it. “I’m sorry, Lapis, we don’t need to--”

“Nono, it’s alright. Here...”, Lapis sat down on the ground, Pumpkin instinctively jumping into her legs, “How many do you have?”

Connie sat down with her, looking into her backpack again, “Well, enough to do us for a few hours, I think.”

Lapis smiled, “Well, you never know, I might like it.”

---

“Lapis! Connie!”, called Steven, the three of them approaching the barn, “We’re back! Are you there?!”

“That’s weird.”, Peridot stated, “Not even Pumpkin’s coming out.” She yelled at the top of her voice, “HEY LAPIS, ARE YOU OKAY?!”

Amethyst laughed, “Maybe she was bored to death by Connie bringing her some encyclopedia.”

Peridot huffed disapprovingly at Amethyst, “Amethyst, that was rude.” She looked over to the tent, “Maybe they’re listening to--”

Just as she turned back to the barn entrance, she felt a hard, wet splash hit her on the face, knocking her back slightly and causing Steven and Amethyst to jump on the spot. “Wha-what was that?!”

The three heard two voices come from the barn door, two laughs that were doing their best to be hearty and deep cackles.

Steven was the first to react, “Lapis? Connie?”

The two had emerged from behind the door, both with looks of amused scorn on their faces as they continued laughing. Lapis was wearing an eyepatch and a long, flowing dark blue coat over her dress, while Connie wore a blue office jacket and beret, holding a fully loaded water gun. Lapis spoke, “FOOLS! You think yourselves worthy of approaching the lair of Dur Aquatic?!”

“Psst, Lapis!”, whispered Connie, breaking character, “It’s ‘Doctor’. ‘Doctor Aquatic’.”

“Doctor Aquatic!”, boomed Lapis, “Famed marine biologist who, despising the polluting industrial world and mutated by a nuclear submarine accident, now plots global domination in the fortress you dare to come near!”

Amethyst burst out laughing, holding her belly as she took a few steps, “Oh, Lapis, you’re a ri--”

“Walk no farther, scum!”, interrupted Lapis, holding out an arm in a halt gesture, “Your presence offends me, you stand upon a planet I intend to conquer! Weirdtask!”, she turned to Connie, “Eliminate her!”

“Yes, Ma’am!”, Connie nodded, pointing her gun at Amethyst and pulling the trigger, releasing a pressurised stream of water that landed right at Amethyst’s feet, forming a small muddy puddle in the dirt.

“Umm...”, sounded Lapis, before returning to character, “Walk slightly farther, scum!”

“Arf! Arf!”, barked Pumpkin, bursting out of the door behind them wearing a blue ribbon with eyeholes cut out of it, as they stampeded towards Amethyst and jumped at her, knocking her to the ground and licking her face.

“Yes, Henchman!”, cried Lapis, “Attack! Attack!”

“Steven!”, Amethyst yelled, inbetween giggles, “Lapis has gone nuts! Get this thing off me!”

“Alright, I’m coming!”, shouted Steven, taking a few steps before Connie lunged forward to intercept him, him raising his hands at the sight of the water guns barrel. “Connie, what are you doing?!”

“We’re saving the planet! By conquering it, Do-gooder!”, she answered, her finger hitting the trigger no sooner than Steven had his shield out to deflect the stream, before she began to chase the boy after he rolled backwards out of her range.

Peridot took in the sight before her, Connie chasing Steven, Amethyst pinned to the ground by Pumpkins affections, and Lapis cackling and posing dramatically. She sighed, seeing the task of saving Amethyst came down to her.. “Alright, Pumpkin, come to Mommy. You’re being a naughty--”

“Halt!”, Lapis interrupted, Peridot seeing she was holding a small orb of water in her left hand, the right directly pointing at her in another dramatic pose. “I am not yet done with you, my little green friend!”

“Lapis, what are yo--” was all Peridot could get out before ducking her head down to dodge the orb of water as Lapis threw it at her. “Yipe! Have you gone mad?!”

“Only mad with power!, shouted Lapis, as she charged another shot.

Peridot dipped and dived in approaching Amethyst and Pumpkin, fast-moving bucketfuls of water skimming past her head. She grabbed Pumpkin, lifting them off and chucking them away while trying to take as much care as she could while under fire. Or under water, she inwardly observed, in a moment of punmaking that made her worried if whatever sickness that had gotten hold of Lapis had infected her too. “Get up, Amethyst!”

“Alright, alright!”, struggled Amethyst as she got to her feet. “But where do we go, Lapis won’t stop!”

Peridot rubbed her chin, looking around her for shelter. She turned to Steven, approaching them again in the circuit Connie was pursuing him on, “Steven! Head to the tent!”

The three groups together and sprinted away, Lapis and Connie only easing on the fire as Steven projected his shield behind him, dissipating it as they slipping into the tent.

“Ma’am, the trespassers have been run out, the lair is secure.”, Connie cocked her gun with satisfaction.

“Excellent work, Weirdtask! Henchman!”, Lapis called to Pumpkin, who dutifully jumped into her arms for her to pet. “That’s right, fools, ran away! Soon all shall learn to cower in the shadow of DOCTOR AQUATIC!”

---

Steven peered out of the tent, only daring to slip an eye through the opening. He saw Lapis and Connie still cackling in victory. Pulling back in to avoid being seen, he turned back to Peridot and Amethyst.

“OK, I think they won’t touch us for now. Maybe.”, Steven uneasily assured them.

“What was that all about?!”, yelled Peridot, pointing to the door flap of the tent, slightly bouncing from her sitting position on the layers of cloths and cushions that made up the tents floor, “Have they descended into complete madness?!”

“I don’t know, P.”, shrugged Amethyst, “I get a little freaky every few hundred years. Never wanted to, what was it, ‘conquer the world’? Nah, not like that.” Amethyst fell backwards onto a cushion, stretching out as she stared at the tent ceiling.

“Well, I don’t like it!”, Peridot huffed, crossing her arms, “Lapis wouldn’t hurt an insect, and now here she is throwing water at people! Especially me! Me!”, she repeated, tapping on her chest in emphasis.

Amethyst raised a hand, “She did nearly steal the Ocean. And she did say she went mad with power.”

“Hey, hey, hold on.”, entered Steven, “Let’s not get carried away.”

Turning around, Steven approached the open flap of the tent, peeling it away just slightly to see outside.

“Ha ha ha! Oh Lapis, you were amazing!”, shouting Connie, jumping up and down in front of Connie, making Lapis giggle in turn.

“Are you sure? I thought I might’ve been laying it on a little thick once or twice.”

Connie shook her head, taking a step toward Lapis, “No, you were perfect! Absolutely perfect! You were straight out of a comic!”

Lapis blushed, squeezing Pumpkin tighter in her arms.

Steven smiled, and crawled back in, “Guys, I think they’re just playing. Maybe Connie has shown her a few comics.”

Peridot squinted, “‘Comics’?”

“Oh yeah!”, declared Amethyst, “Yeah, that makes sense. I thought Lapis reminded me of something.”

“You collect comic books, Amethyst?”, asked Steven.

“Ehh, used to.”, shrugged Amethyst, “Got sick of them before we met Greg. Man, they went bad in the Nineties.”

“Can someone please explain to me what these ‘comics’ are?”, Peridot said, annoyed, putting ‘comics’ in finger quotes.

“They’re like...”, Steven started, “They’re stories, but full of pictures, and they’re about, like, superpowered people, and some of them are good and some are bad and they fight to protect people or to, like, rule the world, and stuff.”

“Hmmm.”, Peridot grumbled, only partially satisfied. “And you hypothesise Lapis and Connie are partaking in some...comic themed performance meepmorp?”

“Uhhh...”, Steven looked to the side, “Yeah.”

Peridot’s look of suspicion, after a moment of retaining itself, blew apart to form a face of pure enthusiasm, “Then we shall endeavour to join them in this! What do we need?”

Steven rubbed his chin, “Well, we need some costumes, I think. I’m not sure if we--”

“I’m way ahead of ya.”, interrupted Amethyst, before burst into a purple light as she shapeshifted a new set of something, what looked like a purple leotard with a cat paw symbol on her belly, with a small mask around her eyes and a set of sat ears on her head, “Whatdayathink? Puma Girl!”, she boomed, striking a pose even in her sitting position.

“That’s cheating, not all of us can shapeshift!”, complained Peridot, “And what are you supposed to be?!”

Amethyst dived to a pounding stance, lowering her voice into a gravel, “Lost to the mountains at an early age, I was taken in by a Puma mother. Raised on the values of strength, stealth and solitude, I came back to civilisation to fight injustice wherever it was.”

It her answer did not appear to be adequate for Peridot.

“It’s alright, Peridot.”, Steven butted in, “We’ll work on some costumes with what we have, and I’ll explain it to you.”

---

An hour passed, and at last the three heroes felt ready to leave the safety of the tent.

“Are you sure this plan is going to work, Steven?”, asked Peridot, scratching her arms in nervousness.

Steven reassured her, “I’m certain. OK, Amethyst, you first. Remember, they could have a trap out there.”

“Sure, bub.”, agreed Amethyst, before she dived forward, out of the tent, performing a roll before entering a combat stance. “Alright, Aquatic, show yourse--”

She was halted in her attack by the sight of Pumpkin, still with a mask, chasing a butterfly in circles.

Amethyst heard a few stifles of laughter from a distance, turning to see Lapis and Connie sitting on the ‘balcony’ on the front of the barn. Breaking out of their giggles, Lapis grabbed Connie by the arms and formed her wings, bringing them both down to the ground.

“So, you’ve come crawling back? Have you decided to join my army of evil?”, greeted Lapis, getting back into character.

Amethyst turned her body to fully face the two. “No way, Jose! We’re gonna stop you! And then we’re gonna kick your butt!”

“Ha!”, snorted Lapis, “You’re brave, foolishly brave, for you are alone and we are many. And the last I heard...”, Lapis formed a water orb, “Kitties don’t like BATHS!”

The jet of water approaching Amethyst's face was nearly as fast as the manhole cover that was lifted from its place leaning against the barn wall and was spinning towards her, and even if she knew the reason why it still made her flinch a whole lot more than the water did. Thankfully, however, it halted in the air right in front of her, in time to completely block the water, the jet splashing harmlessly on the side facing away from her.

Both Connie and Lapis were stunned, jointly stammering, “Wah?!”

“That’s right, clods!”, Peridot burst out of the tent, sporting a green cape and a large ‘G’ made of turquoise tape stuck to her belly, striking a pose, one that Steven had told her was ‘heroic’, beside Amethyst as she made the cover hover to her side. “Your troublemaking days are over!”

Connie had a look of concern, but Lapis took a step forward. “Hmm, a duo of do-gooders, then? Well, no matter, it is still three against--”, turning to try to spot Pumpkin, Lapis was dismayed to find them rolled over on the ground, taking a nap. Three distinct ‘awws’ were heard, causing Lapis to to turn back to Connie, finding a henchman incapacitated by the cute sight, and gave her a glare to return back to form. At last, she continued her gaze on the heroes. “Regardless, this battle will be over quickly, for though our numbers are equal--”

“No they’re not!” came a third voice from the tent, before Steven, in a white bedsheet fashioned into a short toga, jumped out, holding a bow and a set of arrows with suction cups. “Time to give it up, Dr. Aquatic, you’re facing the combined power of...”, Steven struck a pose, “Cupid’s Arrow!”

Amethyst put up her hands to make a clawing pose, “Puma Girl!”

At last, Peridot pushed a fist into the air, seeming to be punching the air, “And the Green Magnet!”

Another ‘aww’ came from beside Lapis, “Steven, you look so adorable!”, exclaimed Connie, causing Steven to blush and fidget on the spot.

Lapis barked, “Silence, Weirdtask! Destroy them!”

“Yes, Ma’am!”, Connie snapped back to attention, aiming down her sights at Peridot, only to be interrupted by the need to dodge an arrow coming from Steven’s way, diving to the side.

“Fools!”, shouted Lapis, swiping to the heros to send a wide stream of water towards them in an arc, “Retreat into the fortress!”

Steven, Peridot and Amethyst were all pushed back by the stream, but Peridot was the first to react, spotting a line of tinsel draped over a tree branch nearby. “Oh, no you don’t!”

Using her powers, Peridot made the tinsel pull itself off of the tree and fly towards the villain, it catching and wrapping around Connie’s ankles, flipping and raising her off the ground, immobilised. “Oh, ow!”

“Sorry, Connie!”, shouted Peridot, still manipulating the tinsel to pull her away from the barn door, which Lapis was just about running through. “You two, go get Lapis!”

Nodding in agreement, Steven and Amethyst ran in pursuit of Lapis, stopping in their sprint just before entering the barn. Amethyst turned to Steven, “You sure you can do this?”

“I’m sure, I just have to get close.”

Sliding in through the door, Steven and Amethyst found Lapis climbing the last rung of steps up the ladder to the second floor, turning around to greet them. “You’ve taken my henchman, but you won’t take me!”

Amethyst shook her fist, “Can it, you drip!”

Lapis snarled, “Ahhh! Away!”, and she began forming orbs of water, causing Steven and Amethyst to split in preparation for the throws. She chose Amethyst as her target, hurling the orbs down at her. Against her expectation, Amethyst did not try to duck out of the way, instead raising her hands to block the worst of the throws with her wrists and knuckles. She maintained a zig-zag advance, until she made a large jump up to the second floor.

“Stay back!”, screamed Lapis, drawing in some water from the aquarium to form shields, only for Amethyst to punch through them as quickly as she can form them.

“Enough”, Lapis boomed, gathering up the water just as Amethyst came within 20 feet of her, wrapping the formed ring around Amethyst into a cocoon.

“Oof! Let me go!”, Amethyst struggled, fighting against the tight hold of the water, but Lapis maintained her advantage, even having enough space to indulge in a laugh.

She stopped laughing once she heard the voice behind her.

“Put her down, Aquatic.”

Lapis barely had time to turn around before she saw Steven begin his sprint directly towards her. She had water, but it was all expended on holding Amethyst. She tried to look over to the aquarium, but it was too far awa--

All thought halted as she felt the blow to her chest as Steven ran into her, grabbing onto her and sending her down to the floor. She lost grip on her water as her head banged against the floor, and she nearly started to struggle as she regained her wits, but then she realised something.

Looking down at her tackler, Lapis saw that she wasn’t being tackled. She was being hugged.

“Dr. Aquatic.”, Steven began, looking up at her, his eyes seeming to get bigger. “I know that people haven’t been nice to you, and have done bad things to you, and you’ve been made to feel like you’re a bad person that can only hurt others, but I wanted you to know that are guys out there who think you’re sweet and amazing and one of the goodest people that they know. Well, at least I think you are.”

Lapis noticed that she had gone numb in shock, but she couldn’t help but feel the smile growing on her face, her cheeks flushing their dark blue, her jaw trembling. “Steven...”, was all she could manage, before giving in and wrapping her arms around the little boy on top of her, squeezing him tight.

“You three ok up there?!”, shouted Peridot from the ground floor, Lapis able to see her standing with Connie. She and Steven also looked up to see Amethyst getting on her feet, running a hand through her soaked hair.

“Yeah!”, answered Steven, “We’re doing great!”

Steven nuzzled up under Lapis’s chin, and she hugged him even tighter.

#steven universe #fanfic #steven #connie #peridot #lapis #amethyst #pumpkin

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