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thebucketpail · 2 years ago

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When You Accidentally Kill a Clown pt 14.

Pt.1 pt.13 Ao3

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Jason had alot on his mind.

For starters, apparently his boyfriend had a kid, which, great! She seemed awesome and that was totally okay. But then there were the concerning things he had overheard from the phone call. Like the bit about cloning, which would make Dani- well at least it was somewhat better than the alternative. Suffice to say, he and Danny had alot to talk about later.

All this had led to the very strong urge to find this 'Vlad' character and shoot him where it hurt. (Well it would probably hurt no matter where he shot him but the point still stands.)

Luckily, Jason didn't have to spend long trying to hide this fury before getting an alert from Oracle about some super-powered lunatic tearing up the upper east side. Now that usually wouldn't be his problem, but beating up bad guys is, shockingly, a really good stress relief, so he took the out.

Hopefully Danny didn't take him leaving so suddenly the wrong way.

Unfortunately, Jason didn't really have the mental bandwidth to actually think all these thoughts while also getting shot at by a green floating maniac.

"Oracle, please tell me you have something on this guy, I'm almost out of tricks," he yelled, not waiting to watch the round he unloaded sail right through the guy, before diving behind a half melted car.

"Tt, you may be out of tricks, Todd, but I am not," Robin called as he vaulted over Hood's makeshift shelter. Giving him a satisfying view when seconds later he sailed back overhead and crashed into a storefront, as a chorus of, "Names, Robin," crackled over the intercomm.

"Lucky shot," he grumbled, stumbling over to Jason who had to stifle a laugh at how the kid's face was scrunched up in annoyance. "Not a word. Oracle?"

"Sorry boys, nothing yet. I'll keep trying but all I'm hitting are dead ends."

Robin scrunched up his nose and sighed in annoyance, "So what's the plan then?" He asked.

Hood was about to snap back that 'how should he know' when someone else spoke.

"The plan is: you focus on getting civilians out of the way while we take out big, mean, and corrosive over there." Okay, Red Hood would never admit that he jumped, but to be fair, Robin did too. The voice had come from directly over his shoulder and no one should be able to sneak up on two trained vigilantes that easily. Especially not Damian.

They turned in unison to find two floating teenagers, no more than 17 and 13 each, with floating white hair, and green, green eyes. They were nearly identical, all the way down to the black and silver jumpsuits emblazoned with a flaming D insignia, or were they p's? It was hard to tell.

They were clearly heros of a sort, but Jason didn't recognize them so they were either really small time and in Gotham for a visit, or they chose the wrong city to jumpstart their heroing careers.

"Why are you dressed like a traffic light?" The younger one asked, blowing and popping a blindingly pink bubble as she floated closer to Robin, "I thought the bats were supposed to be discreet."

"That's none of your business," demon Brat growled, "Touch me and you're dead." The girl's hand paused, halfway outstretched toward Robin's cape. She didn't back off, though, until he pulled a birdarang.

"Woah there," she said, holding up her hands and floating backwards as if to calm him, "You're a little late on the dead part, but let's go easy on the knives, eh?"

The guy, now standing next to Hood as he watched the scene play out, snickered.

Robin scowled, "Who are you?"

The guy beamed and raised his hand like he was waiting to be called on in class. "Ooh! I know this one! Uh, hi, my name's Phantom," he gestured grandly to himself and, grinning, took a small bow, and that's Stray," he continued, "We are ghosts, like you, but we're here to help with that." He finished off the whole thing by pointing at the guy stomping around the streets and shooting acid.

The little one- Stray- nodded and popped another bubble. "Yeah, basically, our job is to beat up the ghosts who escape the zone and cause mayhem. We're just cool like that. But don't worry, y'all aren't causing to many issues so you're good."

"We are alot more expirienced than you though, so you guys should just stick to evacuation while we take care of the combat part," Phantom added as he flipped a -was that a soup thermos?- in the air.

Somehow Robin's frown managed to get deeper.

"We do not need you're assistance with combat," he scoffed, "and I find it unbelievable that you two have more experience than I do."

Stray's eyebrows shot up. " Oh okay, sorry didn't relise you were good on your own. I guess that's probably why you just flew through a window and can't seem to land a single hit," she sassed back, hands planted firmly on her hips.

"Tt, a slight miscalculation. Besides, I have no doubt I could take you in a fight easily, much less the flying green bozo over there."

"Oh yeah?" She replied, her nose twitching slightly, "You wanna go traffic light?"

"Bring it," he growled, dropping into a fighting stance.

Then they were at each other's necks. Damian was tackled off his feet almost immediately, making it less of a standard fight and more of a knock-down, drag-out brawl, and Phantom was just watching. No, not even just watching, he was cheering them on, meanwhile Jason was still trying to wrap his head around what they had said.

"Wait, waitwaitwait. Rewind," he said, causing the ghost to turn toward him distractedly without pulling his eyes from the wrestling demons. "What do you mean 'ghosts like you'? Were not ghosts" At least as far as Hood knew he wasn't a ghost. Zombie plausibly, but he had gotten better, so not a ghost. No walking through walls and spraying people with goo, and he definitely didn't float and/or glow like these people.

Phantom snorted and turned toward him fully with a roll of his eyes.

"I don't mean like ghost, ghost," he snorted, "at least not what most people think of ghosts. But you've both clearly died before, and you have cores, however small, so- ghost," he explained, trailing off with awkward jazz hands.

what?

"What?"

Phantom looked like he was about to respond, but was cut off when a large glob of plasma careened into their makeshift shelter and melted the remains into the ground.

The demons, now rolling on the ground, froze, and Phantom let out a low whistle.

"Right, forgot about that. Stray, come on." The girl popped up from the ground, sporting several new bruises and a manic grin.

"Time to kick butt now, Dad?" Hood's brain froze. 'dad?' Phantom just let out a drawn out sigh as he mussed up her hair in a way that seemed oddly familiar.

"Oh so no I'm 'dad'," he grumbled before turning back to Hood. "You're good on the plan, yeah? Cool, see you in two shakes of a ghosts tail." He punned, then they were off, shouting insults and throwing punches that actually managed to hit.

Hood took a few seconds to process what the fresh hell just happened as Robin stood up and spat some blood from his mouth. He was also sporting fresh bruises, aswell as a small cut on his forehead. Impressive.

"Tt, they are adequate," he muttered, turning on his heel and heading for the nearest building where civilians were still trapped.

Hood sent a quick message to Oracle and B that they had help and to focus on civilians, before following as the fight raged on overhead.

---------

"So is it just me or does Red Hood seem kinda familiar?" Dani asked, ducking an ecto blast and moving in to land a solid hit.

Danny raised an eyebrow and shot a widely at their opponent. "What do you mean?" He asked in response, frowning as the shot missed.

"I don't know, I think it's his core? I feel like I've met him before, but I'm pretty sure I would know if I had."

"Huh, strange. Hey Acid Breath! When was the last time you took a shower? You're stinking up the whole street." The Ghost roared in response as they showered the area in corrosive ectoplasm. "Damn, sorry, didn't mean to strike a nerve. How'd you get here anyway?"

"AAACCCEEE!!" now what could that possibly mean?

"Sorry I don't know anyone called 'Ace'," Danny called, stopping long enough to keep their attention off Dani as she went in for another attack. "You wouldn't mind introducing us, would you?"

"RAWR!!!" Okay, that was a no then. Finally, Dani struck, landing a solid hit to their back before getting smacked to the pavement twenty feet below.

Danny yelped, fumbling with the thermos on his belt before promptly souping the poor sap and flying down to his clone.

"You good kid?" He asked, wincing as Danny scowled up at him and spat out her wad of gum.

"Just peachy," she replied with a sarcastic smile as she took his offered hand. "I thought you promised me a fight."

Danny squinted at her and looked around at the carnage and smoking crater they were currently standing in.

"Was that not? A fight?"

The kid snorted and rolled her eyes, "I meant like a fun one, like with Ember or Skulker. This guy was no fun, no finesse. The closest thing I got to a fight was that brawl with the traffic light."

Danny sighed and ran a hand down his face, "Sorry? We'll see if Robin's still up to fight, either that or we can spar later?"

"Hmph, fine. But don't think I'll go easy on you just because you're old and you're bones are creaky."

Danny gasped, old? Him? "Oh you're going to so pay for that comment kid."

"Oh yeah?" She asked, planting her hands on her hips and raising an eybrow.

"Yeah," Danny grinned back, with equal levels of Fenton sass.

Their standoff lasted about twenty seconds before Dani's gaze focused on something behind her original.

"What's with the guy in the leather furry suit? He's staring at us."

Ancients, could he not do one thing in this city without attracting this guys attention? Apparently not. Batman stared at Phantom and Phantom stared back. Danny groaned.

Unfortunately, with the fighting now finished and most if not all civilians safely removed from the street still dripping with ectoplasmic acid, Danny probably should, *shiver,* talk with the local heros, including the Bat himself. There was no way Danny would be able to walk out of this without setting up several more flags for the furry brigade to hunt down.

But as much as he dreaded it, for some reason Danny obeyed when Bats stared him down from a nearby roof, his eyes communicating a clear talk now or I will make your life hell, though he would probably do that anyway.

"Ugh, here comes the hard part," Danny mumbled as he motioned for Dani to follow him up to the roof. "Batman," he greeted with a curt nod when they landed. At least they were on equal ground now and it didn't feel like he was being looked down upon.

Dani landed behind him, just as Robin, Red Hood, and Red Robin materialized next to Batman.

"Hey, Traffic Light!" Dani beamed, pulling an arm across her chest to stretch her shoulder, "You wanna go again? That fight wasn't too enriching."

Robin scowled at her and shared a look with his- father? Partner? Boss?- whatever their relationship was, Batman had a hard set to his jaw, but Robin looked, not exactly pleading, but more that he wouldn't back down. Somehow Batman lost the stare off.

"Very well, your form could use improvement and I am an excellent teacher," he said, taking a few steps away from the group. In no time at all they were fighting again like they hadn't even stopped.

Robin tried calling out the flaws and tactics in the fight, but was quickly, fully, engrossed on not losing his ground or footing as Dani attacked with more brute, unrelenting, strength than with tact.

Batman stared very dissaprovingly, seemingly ignoring Danny. Danny cleared his throat in an attempt to, Ancients forbid, draw the Batman's attention back to him.

"Don't worry, Stray won't hurt him, at least not more than some bruises or maybe a small sprain if he's not careful." Shit, maybe he shouldn't have said that. The stare Batman gave him chilled Danny to the bones.

"Sorry," Danny muttered, with a sheepish grin he held out his hand, "I'm Phantom by the way, I don't think we've met."

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There was something about Phantom that felt vaguely familiar, Hood just couldn't quite put his finger on it. Aside from the fact that he could've sworn he'd seen this guy before, the ghost felt familiar. The vibes that seemed to exude from the glowing teens somehow felt cozy, in a way.

It was so weird. There was no way to explain it. It felt like- finding someone who was just like you, someone who shared your interests and tastes. It felt like community, like people you can rely on and a place to come home to.

The feeling was so sudden and out of place it made him want to punch something. But like in a positive way. Like when he used to wrestle with Dick or B, way back when. Something in Jason's chest seemed to sing, or more like contentedly rumble. It was something he was used to feeling around-

Hood watched as Phantom ducked his head with a nervous smile, his outstretched hand wandering back to rub at the back of his neck as he avoided Batman's glare.

"Not much for social niceties then, eh?" He asked, shooting honest to god finger guns at The Batman, personification or 'revenge and 'the night'. B's mouth drew into a tight line as he studied the ghost.

"Uhm, sorry for like, invading your territory and stuff, I'll try not to let it happen again," Phantom said, attempting to bring his eyes to meet B's gaze.

"Hn," B grunted, "Gotham is no safe place for meta's, besides, we've got the heroing thing taken care of. We don't need help."

Finally Phantom managed to lock eyes with the bat, he looked taken aback.

"Yeah, sorry. No. You kinda did need help with this one, thank you." Phantom's confidence grew as he proceeded to explain just exactly why he and Stray were needed there. Citing the Bats' underpreparedness, as well as a bunch of ghost politics stuff that was hard to follow.

Batman listened raptly.

And yeah, no. Jason had to be entirely wrong. This couldn't be him, sure the face shapes were nearly identical, and the same freckles, and actually if it weren't for the color change and differences in age they could be the same person. But they couldn't be.

Sure Jason's boyfriend could be a bit... odd, and boisterous sometimes. But he really couldn't imagine him being able to scold motherfucking Batman with that much confidence.

But still it nagged at his brain. It really was a long, long shot, that was really, very, highly, unlikely. And Jason really, probably shouldn't have said anything, but he did.

"Danny?" Phantom faltered and the way he froze at the name was almost confirmation enough. His green eyes flicked around the rooftop, then fixed on Red Hood. For a moment his mouth pulled to a slight frown and his brows furrowed, even the noise of the kids' fighting ceased as Stray- come to think of it, that was probably Dani- stared dumbfounded, with a hint of surprise. The two 'ghosts' shared a look then melted into.... laughter?

One double take later and sure enough they were laughing. It was actually kind of unsettling, all echoey and reverberating as if they found the statement absolutely hilarious. If he didn't know better, Hood would've thought they had gotten Joker gassed or something, but he did, and suddenly felt very awkward at even entertaining the notion.

Batman grumbled.

So yeah, whatever, he gad been wrong. He shouldn't have said anything. But did they really have to keep laughing like that?

Phantom was doubled over and clutching his stomach, while Stray went intangible and rolled out from under Robin, who'd had her pinned, giggling uncontrollably.

Eventually, Phantom managed to straighten out and wipe a tear from his eye.

"Who's Danny?" He asked with a few residual giggles tainting his voice. "I don't know a Danny," it was said with such ease, but something felt forced, and his eyes kept flickering around.

"Pft, yeah," Stray snorted, floating a bit to lean her elbow against her partner's shoulder, "His name's Bill actually. Y'know, like inviso-Bill?"

Phantom sobered up completely and fixed her with a glare as the kid devolved into another laughing fit.

"Its not," he said seriously, "I've been going by Phantom for thousands of years, that one nickname is not going to stick." Yeah, if there was any doubt left that he'd been wrong, allegedly existing for thousands of years probably blew that theory out of the water.

"You wish," Stray forced out between giggles, causing Phantom to sigh.

"Anyway," he emphasized, clapping his hands together as he forced a smile, "Ghost problem solved, so we should probably get going then. Right, Stray?"

"Sure thing, Bill," She snickered, but followed as he slowly drifted away form the rooftop, "cya around traffic light!"

Phantom rolled his eyes once more before they both shot off. In seconds they were gone.

B turned toward Hood, mouth already open to ask a question, but he was already gone too. He'd done his part and he could debrief later. For now he had a boyfriend and his kid to get back to.

Fifteen minutes later, Jason was back outside Danny's door with a whole new set of emotions swirling about in his head. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

Danny turned form their game to look at him with his ice blue eyes, and smiled. He patted the spot on the bed next to him as Dani threw a card down with a small shout. She followed Danny's gaze and twisted to look back at Jason, blowing a strand of black hair out of her face and grinning.

"Ay, welcome back! Glad to see I'm not a deal-breaker!" Jason chuckled and took the seat, cuddling up into Danny's side. What gad he even been thinking. There was still alot of concerning things to talk about, but being a ghost/superhero was something he could cross off the list.

-even if their similarities still nagged at his brain

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Woop, finally did it! And with Jason's suspicions successfully waylaid, we're going to take a (planned) break, while I get swamped down with all my other projects + school.

Hope you liked.

#dpxdc damian wayne #dpxdc #dpxdc red hood #dpxdc danny phantom #dpxdc batman #dpxdc dani phantom #dead in main ship #when you accidentally kill a clown #bucket writes things #long post #fic

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years ago

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for anyone curious, my newest book is about the Salem Witch Trials! it’s at the point of view of Mary Warren and how she went through trials, ultimately ending in her downward spiral into madness as the trials deteriorate her mental health. it’s called Servant of Evil.

here’s the first segment of the first chapter!

— — —

She was gathering crops the first day she caught wind of the hysteria.

It was late January and sunny, the last warm day in what would soon feel like forever. The sickle in her hand was wickedly sharp and gleaming in pale yellow light, and the stalks of the corn she was cutting away were rough and sharp beneath calloused fingers. Already, the skin on her hands was shredded, oozing ruby droplets of blood and staining bright green stems. Her legs ached from crouching in the dirt, muscles locked up and tense. Somewhere beyond the pillars of corn stretched out before her, she could hear her master’s children talking in high-pitched voices, dogs barking, and horses neighing. Even closer than that, however, she could hear heavy footsteps tramping through the field, and she knew the owner of this land would not enjoy such galumphing through his crops. But she also knew that the one who appeared through the stalks wouldn’t care much for the fiery point of John Proctor’s scorn.

“Something weirdish is going on in Salem.”

Without looking up, Mary Warren answered the unexpected visitor, “Something is always going on in Salem.”

That much was true, at least right now. Salem was a town of rich trade and sea salt, characterized by a sparkling harbor that was bested only by Boston’s and a habit of fighting with itself. For years, Salem had been split between two forces: the nobles up in Salem Town and the farmers down in Salem Village. The two territories were never not fighting with each other; they were always mad about something the other did, and it was easy to lose track of who hated who and for what reason. Salem Village didn’t like the control Salem Town held over it, while Salem Town was annoyed by Salem Village thinking it was its own settlement, but they all detested the British church, which was mutual. Salem Town often pulled men from Salem Village to be a part of the national guard, which made Salem Village nervous because then they would have nobody to protect them, and Indian attacks were a regular fear throughout the civilization. Aside from its harbor, the other thing Salem had to owe to its popularity was its unfortunate position in front of frequent ambushes. And if it didn’t suffer ambushes first-hand, then it suffered ambushes through the survivors of such raids, many of which populated the city and would soon help with the grisly events that turned the community over on its head.

But the only other thing Salem Village and Salem Town could agree on was that the Indians were an issue. Unfortunately, that was where agreements ended and arguments began- Salem Town wanted more men to train, promising protection; Salem Village refusing, saying they knew how Salem Town lied, and if they didn’t, then they only saved them because of their bountiful trade and not because they were their people. It wouldn’t be long until the yelling broke out, testaments from the Bible were quoted, and grown men argued like two children fighting over who was their parents’ favorite kid.

However, Salem as a whole had fallen silent recently. Things were peaceful. It was as though a grace period were opening up before them all--or, perhaps, it was actually ending.

Except for right now, in the Proctor corn field, of course. Because her visitor would only bring silence if she were dead, and she had proved to be too slippery for death’s fingers three times over after surviving several Indian attacks throughout her young life.

“This is different.”

Wiping a sagging green sleeve over her damp brow, Mary looked up and squinted through sweat and sun to look at none other than the Putnam’s maid, Mercy Lewis.

Mercy was a fine example of everything the Puritans didn’t want. Despite her name’s sake, she was stubborn, brash, and spitfire, though she was smart enough to never act in such a way in front of the church. And she was, indeed, smart. She was more clever than a fox, easily outwitting several situations despite the minimal education women had in their lifetime. The only thing she was merciful to was her younger cousin, Ann Putnam Jr. Her parents were better off naming her Big, Loud, and Vulgar.

Mercy was nineteen-years-old, two years older than Mary, and built like a small bear. She was short, compact, and sinewy, her muscles and joints well-honed from rough maid work. Her temper was black and her teeth were sharp. Her curly dark brown hair was tucked up in her blindingly white bonnet, and she was dressed in a nondescript dress of purple. Storm cloud grey eyes bore down on Mary with bright amusement.

The two of them met three years ago in Elizabeth Proctor’s tavern. Mary had been struggling to wipe away a sticky stain on one of the tables; Mercy was looking for fresh meat. They both were in the right place at the right time.

Mary hadn’t heard her come in. It was as though the shadows of the tavern itself had unfolded the sixteen-year-old before her because she was suddenly there, towering over the front of the table, and Mary ended up spilling the bowl of soapy water she was using all over herself upon noticing her.

“My, are you jumpy,” the strange girl had observed, peering over the edge of the table. She didn’t offer Mary her help or even an apology. Mary didn’t ask for one. “Were your parents murdered by savages, too?”

“What?”

“Ooo, no, then. Got it.”

Mary blinked up at her for a moment, then carefully got up out of the sudsy puddle and retrieved a dry rag to clean up the newest mess. The entire time, the strange girl watched her as she dripped droplets and beads of white soap from the bottom of her old lavender dress.

“Can I help you?” Mary asked as she got back down on her hands and knees to clean the floor.

“Oh, no,” the strange girl answered. “I just came to say hello. Introduce myself. You work for the Proctor’s, yeah?”

“Yes,” Mary nodded.

“Interesting, interesting. I work for the Putnam’s. Thomas is my cousin, actually.”

Mary nodded again. She looked back down at the puddle, trying to focus on that. The girl didn’t move.

“Mercy.”

Mary looked back up again. She blinked. The strange girl blinked back. Was this a game?

“Pity.”

The girl stared at her for a moment, then burst into loud laughter that seemed to shake the walls. Mary was startled; she had never heard anyone laugh so hard in her entire life. Especially in a town as strict as Sakem.

“No, that’s my name,” the girl said after calming down. “My name is Mercy. Mercy Lewis.”

“Oh,” Mary’s ears heated up. “Right. Your parents were feeling pretty creative, weren’t they?”

Another bout of laughter. “Yes. Yes, they were.” She squinted at her. “And you are?”

“Mary. Mary Warren.”

“Well, Mary ‘Pity’ Warren, I think we are going to be very good friends.”

And she was right.

Mercy, as menacing as she could be, made life in Salem a lot more bearable, especially when Proctor’s whip frequently began lapping at Mary’s bare back. Together, they formed a cohort of sorts, sneaking away into the woods with other village girls, hiding away from the Lord’s watchful eyes to discuss the most sinful of things.

And today, Mercy wanted to carry on with their long-running traditions.

“Different in what way?” Mary asked.

Mercy rolled her eyes. She kicked a cloud of dust at Mary, and Mary sputtered, nearly falling backwards into the corn.

“Different-different,” Mercy answered. “Something is wrong with Abigail. Betty, too, I hear. We’re gonna go up to the Reverend’s house and see them. They’re ill, you know?”

“No,” Mary shook her head. “Mister Proctor didn’t tell me anything. They’re sick?”

“Yeah. Real sick. Ain’t wakin’ up. The Reverend has been throwin’ a huge fit over them.” Mercy explained, “I’m surprised you never heard him howlin’!” Then, doing a horrible imitation of Reverend Samuel Parris’s voice, she wailed, “Oh Betty, Betty! Wake, my sweet daughter! Wake! Why won’t you wake?!”

She clung to Mary’s arm dramatically. “God! God! Why have you forsaken me?! What have you struck my little girls with?!”

Mary couldn’t help but giggle softly. Still, her mind was made up on the whole ordeal.

“Tell them my pardons and prayers,” she said, grabbing the fallen sickle. “My master said I gotta tend to the crops. Then I can go to town. But I am not spendin’ my free time meddlin’ in someone else’s affairs.”

Mercy groaned loudly and snatched the sickle away from Mary, making her yelp.

“Live a little, will ya? Let’s go see poor Abby and Betty!” Mercy urged. “To Hell with your master right now. You can’t let him lead you around by a leash all the time. Deal with the consequences later. Let’s go!”

Mary stared into the older girl’s eyes and then sighed, giving in. She stood up- Mercy was taller than her, as she always had been. “Lead on, Mercy.”

Mercy brightened.

Together, the two of them snuck out of the Proctor property, careful as to not get caught by one of the many children roaming the plantation.

Technically, the Proctor’s had eighteen children, though four were dead and eleven were brought forth by two different women, both of which had also passed over the seasons. The only living child of John Proctor’s first wife, Martha Giddens, was Benjamin, a tall, lanky man who could never seem to grow a beard, yet had hair down to his shoulders. He was thirty-three and didn’t talk to Mary very often, but when he did, he greatly critiqued her work in the field. That farm was his pride and joy, and it was a challenge to not roll her eyes when he would go on about the importance of their crops and proper plant care.

Elizabeth II was the second oldest at twenty-nine, and helped Elizabeth Proctor run the tavern with her other siblings: Martha IV, twenty-six (the first two Martha’s had died when they were both infants, along with the woman they were named after); Mary II, twenty-five; John II, twenty-four; Mary III, twenty-three; and Thorndike, twenty. Why Proctor decided to have TWO daughters named Mary was beyond Mary herself, but it wasn’t uncommon for things to become confusing when their name was shouted for whatever reason.

Elizabeth Proctor’s children stayed on the farm, helping clean and take care of the livestock: William, eighteen; Sarah fifteen; Samuel, seven; Elisha, five; Abigail, three; and Joseph, one. Mercy often made jokes that Elizabeth had obviously been the one to name the kids, as they were actually creative and not repeating several times over.

But with so many watchmen on the property, Mary was surprised about how easy it was to slip away unseen.

The road was loose and crunched loudly beneath their footfalls. Mercy kept kicking a rock, and Mary watched it bounce across the ground.

“So, what’s wrong with Betty and Abby?” Mary asked.

Mercy smirked widely.

“There be witches about, Mary.”

#servant of evil #lizzie’s dumb book #my writing #original story #salem witch trials #mary warren #mercy lewis

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internalsealpanic · 5 years ago

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Radio Silence

Summary: You take Tim with you to a family reunion hoping to monopolize his time. You may have forgotten to tell him a few things. For example, the haunted radio.

masterlist

a/n: I’m sorry for the wait. I forgot that I am no longer used to describing atmosphere. This isn’t my best work but I hope you like it. This was based on my family’s tradition of sitting in the dark on Halloween listening to scary stories on the radio. This is mainly Tim Drake x Filipino!Reader because I realley wanted to try my hand at a bilingual character. You will see misspelling of words in the dialogue. That’s intentional on my part. There will be translations.

“Yes, Nay, he’s the one in the picture,”

“No! It’s the guy with-” You blow out an exasperated breath. You hear Tim snicker behind you and you dedicate half your brain cells to coming up with the best way to kick his ass. “Yung mukhang Koreano. Yeah. Yeah. Dat one.”

“Yes, he looks more like a white boy. Mistiso.” You explain curtly.

“Yes, he’s smart. I hab standards,” Tim raises a disbelieving brow at you. You stick your tongue out at him but nearly bite it off when your grandmother speaks again.

“What do you mean doubtful?!” Tim looks absolutely delighted. A cheshire smile curling on his lips as he leans back into your couch. You glare at him then at your phone then at the ceiling then past that to glare at whatever god was up there.

“THAT WAS ONE TIME! Justine was an-” You mutter trying to remember the word. “- an anomaly and you know it!”

“…..”

“Ok der were 2 anomalies!”

“3”

“Ok maybe Tim is the anomaly, but seriously, Nay, he’s fine,” You snarl, the jaggedness of your Gotham accent rearing its head. You wince but do not apologize. This will bite you in the ass later but you didn’t say it. You don’t like the taste of the word.

“No. I mean if you don’t want us to embarrass you at the church social then- Yes, I have been going to church,” You can see Tim rolling his eyes and mouthing liar with a twitch of his lip in the corner of your vision. “No, he’s not the showy type. Nay, I gotta go. The food’s burning,”

“Yes, Nay, I lab you bery mach,” You sigh into the phone letting your grandmother’s lather your tongue cutting into the briskness of your consonants. It held the same euphoria as taking off your shoes after a particularly long day.

“Unless you’re Dick, you can’t burn cereal,” Tim cut in carting you away from your reverie.

“Watch me, Drake,” You huff throwing a pillow at Tim almost making him drop his cereal bowl.

“So, can Gotham survive without Red Robin for a weekend?”

“Shouldn’t you have asked me this before telling your grandma that you’re taking me?”

“I’m just double-checking,”

“How considerate,”

“To be fair, your schedule is already volatile as is," You huff snuggling up to him on the couch. It was too cold in Tim’s apartment. You think a rich kid like him could afford to turn up the heat. Though, you aren’t exactly going to complain about an excuse to cuddle him.

Tim doesn’t make a move to push you away. Instead, he wraps his arm around you pulling you closer. This was the type of easy affection you two had become accustomed to. This was also the thing that will make your Schrade even more convincing. "True, but I asked Cass and the others to cover for me. Plus, your grandma sounds like she likes me,”

“Considering you don’t have a criminal record and aren’t currently being investigated, you immediately rocketed to the top of her list,” You answer absentmindedly stirring your cereal and taking a bite.

Tim whips his head to you and gives you a concerned look which you return with a smile full of cereal. He blanches at you, shaking his head and grabbing the remote to unpause the Star Trek episode you two were watching. You both prop your feet up and chew your cereal slowly, not feeling any reason to hurry.

How long has it been since you started? You’re pretty sure it was 1 AM when you started.

As if reading your mind, Tim looks at his phone, winces then turns back to the screen without another word. You quirk your brow at him but decide that there is some truth to the saying ignorance is bliss.

You were gonna hate yourselves come noon.

It’s noon, the sun has the audacity to show itself, and you hate yourself.

You definitely, unequivocally hate yourself.

You groan in the passenger seat, head pressed against the cool window. The faint warmth of the sun glancing off your skin makes the tinges of nausea circling the periphery of your senses come to life. Your stomach does a cartwheel and you think- you’re sure you’re going to throw up but you aren’t gonna do that.

No way in hell are you gonna do that. Not when you’ve finally conned your way into monopolizing Tim’s attention for the weekend.

Ok, yeah, sure it was the result of some miscommunication between you and your cousin who then passed on the miscommunication to the whole goddamn family but that’s just what you call a happy accident.

You blow out a breath, greedily taking in all the coolness of the glass pressed against your skin calling your mind back to your body. You weren’t really good with handling the not sleeping thing.

“You ok?” Tim asked his eyes flickering between you and the alarmingly empty road. There was worry in his eyes whether it was the fact that you looked like shit or the fact that the road you were on looked like the opening to a terrible 80s slasher flick. It was Halloween after all. It would be pretty perfect. Dread licks at your stomach at the thought.

You let the silence lapse. In the corner of your eye, you see Tim’s hand tighten on the steering wheel. You stare at the expanse of farmland stretching to the horizon debating whether to humor his question or to let him stew.

“I’m fine,” You picked the third option.

“You don’t look fine,” Tim deadpans, turning to you.

“Stop looking then-” Tim scowls at you his pouty lips pulling into an angle. You sneer. “-You don’t look too good yourself, Kirk,”

Tim makes an offended noise. You look at Tim, really look at him, for the first time in hours. Tim, as per usual, looked obnoxiously handsome even though he was running on at most 30 minutes of sleep and had eye bags running down his face. Somewhere lost in his contemplative expression was the blindingly obvious hint of self doubt. You’ve seen it tons of times.

You peel yourself away from the cool glass to look Tim in the eyes. Dread swims in the pools of teal looking straight back at you. Tim’s mouth edges between a pout and a frown. You soften, shifting in your seat angling until your body is facing his.

“Whatever it is you’re overthinking it,”

“You don’t even know what I’m thinking!”

“Ay,” You chuckle and shake your head. “Tim, it’s you. You overthink everything. I don’t need to be a mind reader to see that,”

Tim huffs. Maybe he was overthinking things.

“ ‘sides, I don’t see why you would be nervous 'bout meeting my family,”

Has it occurred to you I want to date you for real at some point? Tim thought a little frustrated.

You laugh when he frowns but instead of teasing him any further. You flick the radio on. Your hackles rise as it crackles to life. A smile flickers on your face when ‘All-star’ comes on. You cry out, a noise of shrill joy filling the air.

“Oh my god” Tim breathes, running his long fingers through his dark hair. “You absolute dork,”

“Kettle. Pot.” You grin.

Tim snorts as you loudly sing along with the radio. Unfortunately for him, your enthusiasm for the song was infectious. Somehow you both managed to miss every beat of the song.

You somehow felt like you were definitely forgetting something.

6 cans of monster and 5 things of 5-hour-energy drink later, you arrived. Tim’s nice-looking car pulls into the dusty gravel driveway of a rather large and old colonial looking house. Seeing the robust form of the large house looming in the distance injected your veins with a stifling source of dread.

You love your family to bits but sometimes their presence weighed so much. You can feel their words already pecking at you, drawing pit and pieces of your self into frayed fibers. All you can think about were the comments hushed behind palms and the dissecting gaze of dark eyes. Your mouth feels dry and you can already feel your feet pivoting back towards the car.

Tim reaches for your hand, lacing his slender fingers between yours. He smiles at you squeezing your hand. You can feel him rattling from his own anxiety but his effort steadies you. You grin at him and squeeze back.

Your teeth click the entire walk up to the large oak doors. Tim squeezes your hand again, his teal eyes sweeping over you with a concerned glint. You furrow your brow and somehow he understands and raises his hand to knock on the door.

The door bursts open. Music and laughter wash over you as hands hurry you into the front hall.

“Nay! Dito na sya! May dalang gwapo!” (Mom, y/n’s here and they brought someone handsome.)

About 20 heads turn to look at you. Tim feels some embarrassment from the attention but that doesn’t last too long as in the space of about 5 seconds, those 20 heads were swarming you both, pulling you into hugs, shaking your hands, and ruffling your hair in varying degrees of force and order.

“Beh, you’ve grown so big” Your aunt coos squishing your face.

“Nena, look at this guy,”

“Tita, he doesn’t have any tattoos,” Your little cousin marveled looking bug-eyed as she lifted Tim’s shirt. You swat her away but take a quick second to subtly admire Tim’s sculpted abs. Your aunt scolds him and your uncle drags you to the main room where more guests were sitting chattering or screaming at a foreign horror movie.

All the apprehension bundled into your stiff shoulders dissolves like seafoam against the overwhelming warmth of the festivities. The raucous laughter drags the roughness of Gotham away from your tongue. In place of your slow, careful syllables are quick clattering consonants and concise vowels. Your vowels were still elongated and angled to a sharp point unlike the nearly musical words of your cousins but as you said before ‘Gotham has its way of burying itself in your bones’. Tim just never thought about how saliently it showed itself in words. He wonders how his accent (folded, neat, and sterilized) sounds to you. He wonders how dull he sounds to you.

You have teased him about it. You’ve teased him endlessly about the way upper-class Manhattan just rolls off his tongue, how Alfred’s British affectations worm their way into his syllables. What you don’t tell him is how the smooth velvet of his words lull you into a hypnotic state that steals every bit of oxygen from your lungs. What you can’t make yourself tell him is that you would gladly spend your whole life listening to him read a fucking phone book.

The festivities were lively and informal. Jokes flying every which way. All alternating between your native tongue. You laugh into your drink, hiding the hesitant curve blunting your infectious smile. Tim nudges you to ask what’s wrong but you simply nudge him back and shake your head as if he had said something funny. Your relatives didn’t seem to notice your demeanor or if they did they left it alone.

Tim decides to leave it alone for now. Instead, he leaned into the flow of conversation. His years of speaking at galas working their magic on your aunts. They bombarded him with questions. Most of which sounded like screening questions at the embassy. You snarled at them more than once to knock it off but Tim shook it off. He knows they’re just worried about you the same way he worried for you. Well, not the same way but it was their way of showing they cared. He lets himself be immersed in the conversation. It’s more like he tuned into the sweet sound of your laughter but made sure to dedicate enough restraint to not look like a love-sick puppy.

“Tanga!” (MORON!)

“Baliw!” (Crazy!)

“E gago ka pala, di ba halata yun?” (No shit sherlock, isn’t it obvious?)

Tim is at best confused as he watches the volley of words between you and your cousin. Your voices rising above the blaring karaoke. Anthony (?) clamps a hand on his shoulder and laughs as he watches you and Martin (?) hurl insults at each other. In the corner of your eye, you watch his reactions checking if he understood a word. He isn’t fluent but he understood bits and pieces. He’s heard you mutter angrily about customers enough times to distinguish an insult.

“Dun worry about 'em. They won’t fight. They’re stupid but they’re not that stupid. ‘Sides, they’re too afraid of Nay for that,”

Tim gives Anthony a doubtful look. Anthony chuckles at him, clapping him on the back urging him to keep watching. He does if only to make sure you’ll be alright. When he does, he tunes into your words. Tim marvels at how musical you sound as you trade another round of rapid-fire jabs with Martin, how at ease you seem. Tim makes a mental note to get you to teach him. Though, he wasn’t entirely sure how he would justify it. Admittedly, part of it was just wanting to spend more time with you.

He can probably swing it.

A surge of protectiveness crowds his veins when Martin grabs at you but his hand is swatted by a cane. The air crackles with a sharp snap. The room plunges into silence. A small woman with silver hair stands tall and imperious at the other end of the cane. You and your cousins stiffen.

“Hi Nay,” You trail off with a distinct lack of grace. You swallow the lump forming your throat, robbed of any coherent thought by the stinging look in her eyes. You felt bare under her gaze. Layers and layers of skin peeling beneath the weight of her attention. Fury flickers like firelight across her dark eyes. Your skin suddenly felt like lint and you were sure you would catch fire.

A pause.

A bated breath held for what felt like an eternity.

“Iha(Iho), It’s been so long,” She says, softening. Her wrinkled face stretches into a kind smile that made you think of freshly cooked vegetables. Her cane folding to her side as she loops her arm over your shoulders. “It’s nays to see you,”

A choked sound comes out of you and you feel something shake loose. “Missed you too, Nay,” You breathed. Tim feels awkward, fidgeting in his place.

The soft smile on your grandmother fades a little. Her sharp eyes appraising Tim. The look wasn’t particularly venomous, but it left Tim feeling like he’d been cut open and analyzed. He wasn’t entirely sure of why you were all so scared of her before but now he fully understood.

She relinquishes her grip on you and urges you to go back to Tim. You frown a little, giving her a suspicious look which she returns innocently. You let out a little breath before walking back to Tim’s side. She gives him another long once over before silently strolling away. His stomach churned but eased at your touch. You still look uneasy but you don’t fuss over it. Not when Martin decides that he wasn’t quite done with bickering.

The festivities went on as normal. Maybe with a little less cussing going around. But Tim barely noticed when your laugh, free of any hesitance, echoed sonorously in his ear as he held you close.

Roz presses a drink into his hand. “Congrats, you’ve survived round one of Nay’s hazing,”

“Round one?” Tim hiccups into his drink. He coughed. The beer was strong. A strangely potent amount of alcohol that made his throat burn.

“Yeah, Roz, that was more like round 2.” You mutter sullenly, distinctly taking no sips of the drink Roz had also handed you. The paranoid Bat-part of his brain screams that he’s been poisoned. He’s struggling not to let it win over but your conversation wasn’t helping.

“Nay will eat him alive,”

“I mean. She’ll do it nicely,”

“Pfffft, right! Ok, Tony, name one time she’s been nice.”

“How about-”

“The thing with Y/n earlier doesn’t count,”

“Why not?”

“There was a hidden agenda,”

“Oh shit! The bitch is right- Ow! You are!”

You look at Tim apologetically and squeeze his hand. Somehow this does not calm his nerves, but he tries his best to ease into his touch.

On the trip here, you warned him that it was going to be exhausting. He assumed, incorrectly, that you were exaggerating. After all, he’s survived snobby rich people and his family. Your family seemed nice. He can survive a nice family dinner.

But what you neglected to tell him was that it would be sheer chaos. He definitely wasn’t prepared for the sensory overload. The house was almost unbearably loud compared to the manor. Every corner was filled with people chattering, playing games, eating, and doing anything to entertain themselves. Sure, Tim was used to chaos but he was more accustomed to short bursts. He wasn’t quite as prepared for the seemingly endless stream of conversations and liquor.

You had definitely not prepared his poor unassuming introverted ass well enough. Not even halfway through the night, Tim was ready to crash. The 20 minutes of sleep he got beforehand had not helped.

You, the angel that you are, guide him away from the party. You drag yourselves down the wide yawning corridor to the grand staircase.

Lit only by the thin veil of moonlight, the house showed its age. Walking up the stairs and walking through its hallways was like falling through time. The halls were lined with paintings, all landscapes and still-lifes. He’s thankful for that small mercy. His head swimming in liquor, he is reminded of the portraits at Wayne Manor and how their eyes burned at you as you passed.

The lack of portraits doesn’t make the house any less creepy mind you. Religious fixtures line the halls, crucifixes affixed to every arch-like mistletoes. There were doll-like statues of hollow-eyed saints at every corner table. It might have been the dancing moonlight but Tim swore he saw one of them move. Tim suddenly wishes he hadn’t ingested so much liquor.

Before long, you make your way to a bedroom. How the hell you knew which one to put him in was anyone’s guess. You lead him into the room. Touch gentle and careful as you coaxed him in. Soft jazzy music echoing hauntingly. The dancing moonlight and the solid shadows of the room highlighting your gorgeous features, drawing his attention to your plush lips. You lean over him to make sure he was indeed still part of the living. Liquid courage surging in his face, he presses his lips to yours. It’s cautious. He gently runs his hand through your hair, pulling you towards him with a push. The press of his lips is restrained, more of a question than a demand. Slightly chapped lips press against your sweet and searching.

Tim remembers the warm press of your lips, the way the pads of fingers trail against the soft fabric of his shirt, your warm breath fanning against his cool skin, then nothing.

Knock

KNOCK

Tim grouses into his pillow. Tim was having an absolutely wonderful dream. He could still feel your warm lips against his. Tim squeezes his eyes trying to go back to sleep.

Knock

KNOCK

‘1 AM’ the antique analog clock at the nightstand reads.

“I’m up!” He lies burying himself further into the thick sheets.

His brothers really needed to stop breaking into his apartment at 1-

KNOCK

Tim nearly falls out of bed when he remembers where he is. He jams a shirt over his head and some sweatpants before stumbling to the door.

“Hey Tim, you coming?” Anthony asks through the crack of the door.

Tim opens the door a little wider. “Where?”

“Outside,” Roz shrugs vaguely.

“Whe-”

You step out of your room, extremely hesitant. Your knuckles were turning white from apprehension. You look at Tim, surprise plain in your eyes. You flinch heat rising to your cheeks. Tim remembers the texture of your soft lips. He wishes that wasn’t a dream. You glare at your cousins who give you a confused look.

“Roz, he-”

“Awwww, ‘insan, you’re actually coming?” Martin mocks clapping you on the shoulder drawing, what Tim considers, an adorable squeak from you. His heart almost leaps from his chest when your warm body presses further into Tim’s side. You can’t hear it but Tim’s breath stutters in his chest. He loops his arm around you protectively. Martin gives both of you a sly conspiratorial look.

You scowl at Martin. Glaring with as much intensity and intimidation your burning cheeks would allow. Roz swats him over the head making him almost topple down the steps before Anthony even gets a chance to rebuke him. Instead, Anthony turns to you, brows furrowed. “You sure you want to come? Nay said-”

“La a!” Martin protested. Roz rolls her eyes and swats him again. “Dipshit’s right. Nay didn’t say jack,”

“Then why did you swat me?”

“E, I felt like it e,”

“Bish, whose side are you on?!” He snarls but before he can lunge at Roz, Anthony is already dragging him by the scruff of his neck.

“Shhhhhhhhhhh! Not so loud. The kids will hear us,”

“I for one will not help you wrangle tita’s crotch gremlins,”

“We’re going to be late and Nay is going to unleash hell upon us,”

Anxiously, you tug at Tim urging him to follow your cousins as they filed out through the back door.

“Where are we going?” Tim hisses.

All four of you share a look.

“We’ll explain,” You promise.

The journey was eerie. Punctuated by the fact that none of you explain jack. The walk was entirely silent, devoid of bickering or any sort of conversation. He can see the silence driving both Roz and Anthony mad. You honestly look like you’re going to keel over. The odd thing was that even the birds were silent. Not a single sound penetrated the thick canopy of juniper trees.

You wonder the woods guided only by the thin ribbons of silver light peaking through the thick clouds of leaves. Tim can feel your pulse as it thundered in your chest. No matter what was going on he would keep you safe.

You arrive in front of a rusted gate half a foot shorter than Tim. It was small, easily climbable with plenty of spiraling pieces to stick your foot into for purchase if needed. Your eyes cut to Roz who fished out a key he’d seen perched on one of the coat racks. Hesitantly, you held your hand out for the key. Roz, on the other hand, all but slammed it into your hand, grinning in a mix of absolute glee and relief. Your teeth click as you worked the lock. He wants to suggest just going over it but you seem quite adamant and he wasn’t about to push your nerves.

Finally, the lock gives in.

You all file in one at a time in a sort of practiced motion. Beyond the gates was a path with its stones polished from a shine from use. The scarce light coming from the canopy of trees rippling against them. It lit the rest of the way still keeping the surroundings in deep shadow.

The path ended in front of a small dilapidated stone structure that seemed too small to house anything.

“Age before beauty,” Martin jeers, bending down dramatically urging Roz to go in. She, in turn, shoves him in with a swift kick. The dark interior of the structure swallows him whole. Her dark eyes cut to you. You swallow but ultimately you shrug off Tim’s hold and relinquish your death grip on Tim’s arm. You let out a shaky breath as you step over the threshold. Just like Martin before you, the shadows leave no trace of you.

Tim reaches for the last bit of your swaying blanket. Roz taking the chance shoves Tim over the threshold, his vision goes pitch black.

“See you there, lover boy~”

The darkness is all-encompassing making his eyes completely useless as much as he tries to adjust them. Instead, he strains all of his other senses. He feels the press of moss-covered walls closing in on him. The staircase only seemed wide enough to let one person pass at a time. The stairs wind in shallow predictable patterns. The scent of moss and burning firewood grew heavy as he made his descent. Distantly, he could hear the soft padding of your shoes against the stone but he also heard the crackle of jazzy music. It was the kind he only heard from the old black and white movies Bruce and Alfred watched. It was oddly familiar but he couldn’t place it. The smooth baritone of the singer rattles in his head. A shiver of mild discomfort travels up his spine.

After what feels like an eternity, Tim emerges. His eyes slamming shut from the sudden brightness of his surroundings. He blinks, eyes adjusting to the light. His eyes take in his surroundings.

He was in a clearing. It was man-made, constructed using the same stones that lined the path you’d taken. The stone walls were covered in moss and ivy, but the stone that did peak out reflected the moonlight freely raining drown from the clear autumn sky. In the center of the space, sit 9 people including yourself. All cast in the warm glow of the crackling bonfire. It is a living thing, raging and casting shadows sharpening and obscuring features.

“I’m so glad you could join us, Timothy,” Your grandmother calls out as she fiddles with the nobs of the old radio perched in her lap. It crackles uncooperatively despite her efforts. He can’t pry his eyes away from it even as he takes his seat next to your shivering form.

Without much thought, Tim pulls you close. You tremble, teeth still clicking eyes wild and fixed on the radio. The radio is a curious thing. It’s an old model. It’s sleek but dotted with various nobs and switches. If he had to guess, it was something out of the 1960s. In the periphery of his senses, he hears Roz and Anthony step out of the staircase and take their places in the circle with Roz sitting right next to your grandmother.

Your grandmother stops fiddling with the radio then turns to Roz who is now comfortably seated. Your teeth chatter and your shoulder hitch as they silently converse. Roz inhales then exhales. Her dark eyes sweep over all of you making sure she had your attention. Based on the silence and the still forms, she did. She sits a little straighter, her shoulders rolling back.

She throws herself into a tale. It was a story she’d heard long ago about a man, a house, and a secret. Her calm voice carries over the soft roaring of the bonfire. It wasn’t the scariest tale Tim had heard but Roz told it well. Well enough to draw squeaks from several people including yourself.

Tim relaxes catching on to the turn of events. He lets you press into his side as you make your feeble attempt to get away from the story. Tim chuckles at the amount of theatrics you’ve all put into building up to this little gathering. However, all his smug skepticism vanishes when Roz finishes her story.

The static from the radio vanishes. Its various nobs move without assistance and its switches click into place. The same baritone voice carries from the radio. Tim doesn’t hear what it says as his mind reels. He turns to you and opens his mouth to ask but Anthony begins his tale before Tim can even formulate his question. Beside him, you fidget with his sleeve shaking hands clenching and unclenching on the fabric.

Tim remembers how much you hate ghost stories. You’d once gotten sick with a fever just from watching horror movies. At this point, you were on the verge of tears. Your breathing slowed abnormally as Martin finished his story. The radio predictably did not whirr to life after his story. Through your chattering teeth, you give your cousin a vicious smile which he volleys by sticking his tongue out petulantly.

It’s your turn.

You squeeze Tim’s hand twice before worming out of his grasp. You flutter your long lashes, lightcatching in them looking golden as the fire flickered urging you to delve into your story. You roll your shoulders and let your blanket and apprehension slide away in one smooth action.

You tell your story.

Your countenance still and grave as you tell a story of crossroads and terrible choices.

The radio huffs, seemingly amused by your effort.

“Well, y/n,” The radio coos. Your name drips like molasses from its speakers. It’s unsettling how crisp it sounds. Its voice absent of static as it addresses you. “You sure do know about bad choices. I believe so does that young thing- Pardon me. Young things swimming in the harbor. They’re just a tinsy bit cut up about it.” The radio teases almost sounding gleeful. You nod gravely, stomach reaching the floor.

Harbor?

You settle back down into your seat. Tim nudges you, cocking his head to the side to question you. Your fist clenches and unclenches in your lap before you look him in the eyes again.

“Case,” You mouth silently.

It clicks.

The harbor.

The bodies.

That’s what the radio meant.

Someone clears their throat urging Tim to tell a story. He stumbles through a half-remembered urban legend he heard from Steph awhile ago. His mind far too preoccupied with the new information to really devote to any theatrics.

His turn passes.

And the stories continue as he mulls over the information.

It’s your grandmother’s turn. Your hand grips Tim’s arms white-knuckled. You attempt to swallow down the fear but it catches in your throat constricting your airway. The flames dance casting her face in sinister shadows that bring out all the sharp angles in her features. Her smile curls cruel. Her bony fingers trace the seems and delicate patterns embossed on the old radio. Static erupts loud then dies down just as quickly. Her smokey voice fills the air. Heavy and commanding. The story spills from her lips smooth and velvety slick with gore and unspoken horrors. None of you dare to speak. Some don’t even breathe. Your hands scrabble for purchase on Tim’s shirt as you bury your face in his chest. You feel him wrap himself around you shielding you the best he can. Ear pressed to his chest, you can hear Tim’s pulse hammering. The terror soaking through to his bones. He remains steady. Unflinching even as the story reaches its climax.

The flames flash, fade, then flicker.

The radio crackles.

The smooth baritone of its voice distorting into something undeniably inhuman.

Shadows dance.

Their hands reaching out as the flames did. A hard yank from one of them nearly topples you out of Tim’s arms. He shifts you both away from their grasp. He glares fiercely at them making sure you’re safe.

Sorrowful moans fill the air but your grandmother is undeterred.

With a shrill cry from the radio, everything dies down.

The shadows retreat.

The fire simmers down now small and tame.

Everyone lets out a breath. Both of you could feel everyone unfurl. Tense muscles, locked jaws, tight chests all loosen with the end of the story.

For a long moment, the entire circle is still. Then your grandmother stands up. The rest follow her in a mostly quiet procession up the steps.

“Roddy was harsh this year,” Martin whines.

“Nope, you’re just terrible at it. I mean hell even y/n got an answer. It was creepy as all shit but they got an answer,”

“Uh- Is it a good time to ask what just happened?”

Your cousins turn to you.

“You really didn’t tell him anything, did you?”

“How do you propose I bring up the demonic radio?”

“Pffft,”

“Pirst, it isn’t demonic. Do you really think Nay would have kept it if it was?”

“She lets Martin hang around,”

“…….”

“Dis is a good point,”

“HEY”

Tim clears his throat.

“Raaayt, Ok so… once a year we tell the spooky radio stories so we can get answers or our future told,”

“Was the whole creepy walk necessary?”

“Nope,” You answer in chorus.

“It’s just our way of psyching up for it,”

“It’s your guy’s way. Tita at least let’s me hum songs,”

“Well excuse me for not wanting to listen to you sing,”

“Is there anything else you guys want to tell me?”

“Aside from y/n really not wanting to tell-”

You snarl at your cousins, red-faced and bearing your teeth. Martin and Roz cackle as they run. Anthony has the decency to at least look slightly apologetic as he runs.

“Y/n… What aren’t you telling me?”

“Tim, I- I’m- Damn it- I-” You put your hands on your face. You try to calm your breaths. “Look Tim, I-”You take another breath. “I’m sorry. I kissed you but you were drunk-”

“Wait that wasn’t a dream?” There’s a flicker in Tim’s chest.

You look at him mortified. You want the ground to swallow you whole. “Yeah, I- Tim, I know it’s- I’m sorry.”

He remains silent.

Your stomach feels like it’s going to burn up.

“I-”

“I want a redo,”

“A what?”

“A redo,”

a/n: I will rework the ending at some point but thank you for reading!

taglist: @batarella, @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @idkmanicantenglish,@birdy-bat-writes, @boosyboo9206, @americasmarauders (I wanna drag you into Terry hell), @l-horizon11

#Tim Drake #tim drake imagines #tim drake x reader #my writing #batboys #batboys x reader #spooktober #fake dating au

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gamergirl929 · 5 years ago

Text

Pose For Me (Charlotte Flair x Reader)

You just so happen to be the photographer for, THE Charlotte Flair’s boudoir photo shoot, and when you catch the woman’s eye, things take a drastic turn. SMUT.

This idea was birthed by the pictures Charlotte shared on social media of her modeling.

This one is PRETTYYYY smutty, so be readyyyyy!

Your hold on your camera tightened as your hands began to tremble.

Your hands never trembled when it came to meeting a client, but THIS client, this client was different.

The blonde smirked cockily, as if she knew what you were thinking, her green orbs scanning your face.

The woman before you was nothing less than a goddess, her teeth blindingly bright and her hair, which looked incredibly soft, was a platinum blonde.

“Ms. Y/L/N?”

You jump, clearing your throat, your cheeks dusted pink.

“Sorry I was-

“Distracted?” She purrs and you fidget.

“I-I-I’m sorry.”

She winks with a chuckle.

“Happens to the best of us, I’m Charlotte by the way… Charlotte Flair.” She says as she holds a perfectly manicured hand out, which you take.

“Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N.”

Charlotte grins.

“Well Y/N, this is my first time, so try to be gentle?” She husks, voice raspy.

You swallow hard, your cheeks burning.

“Umm… Well… I-

Charlotte smirks, brushing her index finger along your forearm.

“Well aren’t you a cute one?” She lets out a raspy laugh and you swallow hard, mouth opening and closing a few times before you clear your throat.

“Well um, if you’ll come this way...”

Charlotte follows, the two of you walking side by side, her fingertips brushing yours.

“There you are Ms. Flair.” Your boss makes his way over with a beaming grin, the man giving her hug before giving you a nod.

“We’ll let you get ready then we’ll get started.”

Charlotte glances at you, smirking before she walks off, your eyes burning holes in her back as you watch her go.

“Jesus.” You mumble to yourself, eyes widening when your boss clears his throat in annoyance.

“Less staring more preparing.”

You nod.

“Right.”

***

The next time you see Charlotte she’s in only a robe, your heart hammering in your chest as the woman’s eyes dart your way, her lips splitting in a grin.

As if the woman couldn’t get any more beautiful, she now has on makeup, her eyeliner making her green orbs pop.

You’re so busy in your staring you don’t realize she’s staring back.

Your cheeks flush blood red as you abruptly turn away, nearly tripping over your feet as you try to make your escape.

“Y/N? I need you to go help Ms. Flair get ready. NOW please.” Your boss tuts and you nod.

“R-R-Right away.”

Charlotte’s brow arches when you make your way towards her, the blonde humming.

“Can’t stay away from me, can you?” She teases and you glance away, shrugging, your cheeks pink.

“You’re pretty hard to stay away from...” You stiffen, cheeks and ears burning.

“Wh-Wh-What I meant was-

Your mouth snaps shut when Charlotte grabs your wrist, giving it a squeeze.

Your forearm erupts with goosebumps, something Charlotte IMMEDIATELY notices, the woman smirking.

“I’ve heard that before, but not from someone as cute as you.”

You gulp loudly, the woman giggling as she gives your arm a squeeze.

“We’re ready for you Ms. Flair.” Your boss calls out and you clear your throat, nodding.

Suddenly, Charlotte stands, the woman standing inches from you as she disrobes, revealing a black bra and lacy thong.

“Do you like it?” She purrs, your mouth instantly drying at the look in her eye, her cocky smirk making your knees week.

“I...”

Charlotte ducks down, her lips inches from your ear.

“I know you do.”

Charlotte walks passed you, the woman’s ass on full display as you turn towards her, the woman looking over her shoulder at you, a grin on her face.

“Well, are you coming?” She teases and you clear your throat, nodding.

“Ye-Yeah, sure, o-of course.”

Charlotte giggles, watching as you hurriedly rush passed her.

“Too cute.”

***

Photographing Charlotte Flair wasn’t just another job, it was an EXPERIENCE.

The second she’d stretched out on set you thought you were going to combust, her muscled body, long legs and ample chest on display.

“Jesus Christ.” You mumble as the woman turns to you, brow arched teasingly.

She knew EXACTLY what she was doing, and she was loving every single second of it.

The second she’s able she crawls your way, allowing you to take a few pictures, while showing off a generous amount of cleavage, the woman grinning when she sees your cheeks have darkened.

By now you wondered how your head hadn’t exploded.

“I think we’ve got all we need Ms. Flair.” Your boss glances your way and you nod.

“Uh...Y-Ye-Yeah.” You stammer, helping Charlotte to her feet, the woman running her fingers though her hair for a moment before letting it fall, her blonde locks resting on her chest.

You grab her robe off a nearby chair and drape it over her shoulders, the woman grinning.

“Thank you darling.” She grins as she, slowly, ties the robe shut, cutting her god-like body off from view.

You stiffen when she leans in close.

“How about you show me how those turned out?” She whispers and you swallow hard.

“Unfortunately, I have another photo shoot, but Y/N is free.” He smiles, completely oblivious to the way Charlotte is hungrily eyeing you.

“I am...?”

“If it isn’t any trouble.” She smirks, her fingertips running down your arm, the woman reveling at the sight of your goosebumps.

“Uh... Umm....”

“Good.” He nods, almost immediately making himself scarce.

It’s then you realize that you and Charlotte are the only ones in the studio.

“R-R-Right this way Ms. Flair...”

“Please.” Charlotte grabs your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

“Call me Charlotte.”

You nod, smiling.

“O-Okay... Charlotte.”

***

It turned out that Charlotte had forgone getting dressed, instead covered only by the white robe she was wearing.

“Uh... Are you sure you don’t want to get dressed?” You ask, the blonde letting out a throaty laugh.

“Am I distracting you again?” She asks, smirking when the tips of your ears turn a deep shade of red.

“N-N-No...”

Charlotte toys with the robe’s strings, thoughtfully humming.

“Are you sure...?” She purrs, slowly undoing the ties, your eyes wide as the robe, slowly, slips open.

“And now?” She smirks, your heart racing in your chest at the slightly open robe, the woman’s bra and muscled stomach peeking from beneath the slit made between the two pieces of fabric.

“Ms. F-

“Charlotte.” She smirks as she leans back against your desk, her tongue trapped between her teeth.

“Ch-Charlotte.” You stammer as the woman sits down on your desk, RIGHT beside your laptop.

Your fingers hover over the keys, your mouth dry and cheeks flushed as you TRY to pay attention to what’s on the screen instead of who’s inches away from you.

“You know, your boss seems like the strict type...” Charlotte hums, your eyes widening when she pushes your chair back with her foot, the woman moving to stand in front of you.

“It would be a shame if SOMETHING were to happen to his desk...” She shrugs, your brows furrowed.

“What do you mean?”

Charlotte hums, sliding off your desk and sauntering to the door.

“Follow me and you’ll find out.” She winks, dropping her robe in the hall and your eyes widen.

You swallow hard, glancing at you computer before glancing at the door.

You huff.

“Goddamn it.” You mumble as you move out of your seat and follow after her, finding her sitting on your boss’s desk, the woman grinning.

“I knew you couldn’t resist.”

You glance around, shuffling nervously from foot to foot.

“Wh-What are you doing?”

Charlotte grins, using her index finger to beckon you over, as if in a trance, you walk towards her.

The woman spreads her legs, wrapping them around you, using her calves to pull you in.

You inhale sharply as the woman’s lips brush your neck.

“What do you think...?” She whispers, pressing delicate kisses to your neck. “I mean, what ELSE would we do on your boss’s desk?” She smirks and your eyes flutter shut, the woman’s tongue lightly brushing your neck before disappearing back into her mouth.

Your hands ball into fists, the blonde chuckling against your neck.

“You can touch me, I know you want to...” She purrs, her tongue flicking against your neck.

You grasp the edge of the desk, your knuckles shifting from pink, to white.

“Fuck me on his desk.” She whispers. “I won’t tell.”

You inhale sharply when she untucks your shirt from your pants, slowly unbuttoning the offending garment, receiving absolutely NO protest.

“Fuck.” She whispers when she gets your shirt completely undone, revealing your tattooed covered flesh beneath.

She traces your sharp jawline with her fingertips before she shoves your button up off entirely, revealing your ink covered arms as well.

“What are you doing hiding all of these?” She asks as her fingertips run down your arms.

“C-Can’t have them out at work...”

Charlotte hums.

“What a shame... I think you need a new line of work...” She purrs. “You shouldn’t have to hide such a work of art.”

Your brows arch.

“Why do I feel like you aren’t just talking about my tattoos...?”

Charlotte grins, her hand slipping to the back of your head before she pulls you in.

“Just met and you already know me so well.”

Charlotte’s lips press against yours, the woman’s lips feeling just as soft as they looked, her lips full and kisses intoxicating.

Charlotte’s hands slip behind your back, her nails digging into the flesh there as your fingers tangle in her soft, blonde locks.

Charlotte lets out a groan when you give it a tug, her legs wrapping tighter around you. Her parted lips give you the opportunity to strike, your tongue sliding into the wet heat of her mouth, flicking against her tongue, the woman sighing as your tongues dance.

You’re unable to stop your hands from roaming, wanting to feel the woman skin beneath your fingertips.

Charlotte chuckles throatily when she feels your hands untangle from her hair and run down her back, fingertips running down her spine.

She smirks.

“Well?” She purrs, your eyes widening as sends you a sultry wink.

“Take it off.”

You core throbs, your eyes dropping to her bra covered chest, the thought of seeing her bare making you shutter.

Deftly, you unhook her bra, the woman’s chest bare before you, a smirk on her face as your eyes drop to her now naked chest.

You lick your lips, eyes darting from her green orbs, to her chest and back.

She giggles, lips parting to make what you suspect is a flirty comment, but you cut her off, slamming your lips against hers.

Your tongues swipe wildly against one another, the woman letting out a moan when the pads of your thumbs brush her erect nipples.

“Shit.” She gasps into your mouth, your eyes locking as you, teasingly, brush the stiff buds.

“Payback for all the teasing earlier.” You whisper, your foreheads resting together as your fingers play.

“Oh.” She lets out a gasp when you give one of her nipples a pinch, her back arching.

Your eyes remain locked as you pinch and tweak the sensitive nubs, the woman’s brows furrowed in pleasure.

With her eyes shut, she completely misses when you duck down, the woman’s breath hitching when you tenderly kiss the swells of her breasts.

“So delica-”

Charlotte cries out when you roughly bite the bottom of her breast, knowing that it could be hidden by her ring gear.

You nuzzle into the spot you’d just marked, pressing tender kisses to the bite mark.

“Feisty... I like it.” She smirks, gasping when you latch onto one of her nipples, your eyes locking as you suck as much of her breast in your mouth as you can, but since their so big, you don’t get much.

You lash your tongue against her sensitive nipple, teeth scrapping across it as you release her breast with a loud pop.

Charlotte watches intently as you give her breast equal attention, giving her nipple a nibble as you pull back.

You tilt your head back, your lips meeting Charlotte’s in a surprisingly gentle and passionate kiss, one that makes your heart stutter in your chest.

The two of you part, eyes fluttering open at roughly the same time, Charlotte’s bottom lip trapped between her pearly white teeth.

Your eyes rake down her front, greedily drinking her in.

The blonde’s dark green orbs widen as you slowly sink to your knees, eyes still locked with hers as you spread her legs.

“I could get use to you between my legs.” She winks, unable to take her eyes off of you as you nibble at the insides of her thighs.

“Do you want me to keep going?” You ask with a whisper, the blonde chuckling.

“You better.” She groans as you nose at the hem of her thong.

“Or what?” You smirk, the woman’s brows arching as she grins down at you.

“I’ll just do it myself.”

You scoff, grabbing her thong and jerking it down her legs, throwing it over your shoulder.

“As if.”

Charlotte throws her head back, a high-pitched moan leaving her parted lips as you bury your face between her legs.

“O-O-Oh god.” She groans, finger tangling in your hair as your tongue runs through her folds, flicking against her clit before running back down her soaked slit.

Teasingly, you press kisses to her lower lips, the woman whining, giving your hair a rough tug.

You smile, the woman shivering at the feel of it, though moments later she’s shivering for an entirely different reason, the fact that your tongue is working her to ecstasy in a way like no one else's has.

“Th-There!” She groans as you pull back her clits hood, lashing the newly exposed flesh with the tip of your tongue.

Charlotte clutches to your hair tight as she rocks against your face, the woman’s moans only getting higher and louder, as she moves closer and closer to the edge.

It’s when her body begins to twitch that you pull back, the woman looking at you with wide, confused, glassy eyes.

“Wh-What are you doing?” She frowns. “I was-

Charlotte doesn’t even have time to catch her breath before two of your fingers slide into her, the woman’s eyes rolling into the back of her head as your fingers slip in and out of her tight heat, the woman’s walls fluttering around your long fingers.

You curl them in JUST the right way, making the woman cry out loudly, burying her face in your chest as her hips rock.

“Ju-Just, l-l-like...” Charlotte cries out again as your fingers brush the spot inside her that makes her toes curl.

“I’m- Don’t stop...” Charlotte gasps, wrapping her arms tightly around you, a thin sheen of sweat covering her body as she chases her release.

“Please...” She gasps, brows furrowed in pleasure, her eyes slammed shut.

Green orbs flutter open, immediately locking with Y/E/C, nearly black orbs.

Charlotte’s green orbs disappear, rolling into the back of her head as she cums with a cry you know can be heard across the street, the woman shaking violently as she achieves her release, crying out your name as she trembles.

“F-F-Fuck.” She clutches to you tight, unable to moan as your fingers still work inside her, working her up again.

“O-Oh god- Y/N-

Charlotte growls as she cums again, shaking even harder in your hold this time, her body twitching with aftershocks as you work her down from her high.

You’re about to sink to your knees yet again when you hear a slam and a familiar shout.

“IF YOU HAVEN’T FIGURED IT OUT YET, YOU’RE FUCKING FIRED!” Your boss’s shrill voice sounds through the closed door.

Charlotte’s eyes widen as she scrambles to get her clothes, realizing she’d left her robe in your office.

The blonde, despite the situation, smiles softly when you drape your own shirt over her, the woman pulling it shut, as best as she can before the two of you leave your boss’s office, the man shaking his head in utter anger as he advances on you.

“WHO DO YOU THINK YOU-

Charlotte puts a hand on his chest, pushing him back.

“She doesn’t need your mediocre job, and I’d watch what you say if I were you.” She threatens the man smart enough to shut his mouth as you head to your office to hastily grab your things.

You sigh sadly, your shoulder’s hunching.

“Now I’m out of a job...” You mumble sadly as Charlotte retrieves her robe, slipping it on and tying it shut.

“No, you aren’t.” She shakes her head and your head snaps up, your brows furrowed.

“What do you-

“I can make a couple of phone calls, but if I do that means you’re stuck traveling with me...” She shrugs, a smirk stretching across her face, the taste of the woman’s essence still on your tongue.

“Oh, I think I can manage.”

#wwe #charlotte flair #charlotte flair x reader #charlotte flair imagine #wwe imagine

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krispydefendorpolice · 5 years ago

Text

Demon’s Bride Drabble

Meet the Batfam Take 2

So, around the time I lost my motivation to write a lot of the Adrian salt haters were getting pretty vocal. I don’t hate the canon character so much as I hate what the creators expect us to accept as “romantic” and “heroic” about the canon character.

Unfortunately I disagree with the creators. The canon character is a a sad, abused and abusive character that doesn’t hear what he doesn’t want to (Ladybug has said “NO” too many times for his continued behavior to be anything but harrassment, blackmail....), and throws temper tantrums when he doesn’t get his way.

I don’t like the canon character. But fandom does what it will and so many amazing authors have taken this character and given him the redemption he deserves and the chance to be a better person. I was considering doing this and this Drabble came to be, but since I have my other story where Adrian gets his redemption I’m gonna go ahead with the salt in the Demon’s bride verse so you have that to look forward to storywise. Until the next chapter comes out, enjoy this outtake.

Recommendations:

Adrian Salt - Seeing Green by @thyladyanput and

some no salt Adrian Confident by @snowhirl

Both are great stories I absolutely enjoyed.

Drabble Masterpost

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

Waking up the day after Damian as Robin dropped her off at her hotel Marinette sent a group of texts. In the lobby she met up with Max, Kim and Alix. They were going to go with her to meet up with Damian and whomever he brought along. Though if she were a betting woman she would place money on that including his brothers, whether Damian wanted them there or not.

Four men waited outside the arcade. Damian smiled and stepped forward to meet Marinette before introductions were made between her friends and his brothers “officially” meeting Marinette.

Three hours of gaming later and the group decided to get lunch at some nearby food trucks. As they walked Marinette held Damian’s hand and would pull him behind her as they walked. She would occasionally drop his hand to pull out a sketchbook where she would spend a few minutes drawing before she would walk again. Each time Damian stood quietly with a small smile and watched her before their fingers would lace and they would continue on with the group.

About halfway to the park the group came across Nino and Adrian who had finally separated from Lila’s group. Lila continued to insist Adrian hang out with her and for some reason his father was pushing Adrian to keep Lila happy.

Seeing them, Marinette dropped Damian’s had and turning to face their group she held her finger to her lips with a small smile as she walked backwards towards the two boys. She stepped so softly that not even Adrian’s Miraculous enhanced hearing heard her approaching, thought the cover traffic provided certainly helped.

When she was only a couple steps behind Adrian must have sensed something because he started to turn around. Unfortunately it was too late and Marinette attacked.

“KITTY!” she yelled and jumped on his back.

Adrian yelped and stumbled a couple steps but kept his balance and gripped Marinette legs where they wrapped around his waist to help.

“Why do you always do this Bug?” He asked the girl clinging to him like a monkey.

“Because it’s fun to scare you Chaton,” she said before shifting her weight so that Adrian stumbled back towards their group to keep upright, “come meet my Gotham friends.”

“Stop, stop, I’m walking, I’m walking,” Adrian muttered as he shifted Marinette on his back so that they were no longer in danger of tripping.

Damian watched with an unemotional mask on his face while the bat boys were trading glances with each other, Damian and the monkey that was their brother’s girlfriend.

As soon as Adrian arrived at the group Marinette jumped off his back and ran through introductions for him and Nino again.

“Join us for lunch?” She asked.

“Sure. It’s better than watching Lila try to scam her way into yet another restaurant,” Adrian agreed.

“Great,” Marinette smiled blindingly and rubbed at an ear, “game of chase?”

Adrian and Nino looked at her questioningly while Max, Kim and Alix smiled conspiratorially at each other.

“Chase?” Dick asked.

Marinette turned back to Damian, “Let the Big Bat know we’re not here for trouble. Just have a few bones to pick with him. Yeah?”

He tilted his head to the side in acknowledgement.

“Tikki, Spots on.”

“Roaar, Stripes on.”

“Wayzz, Shell on.

“Xuppu, Let’s riot.”

“Fluff, Time’s up.”

“Kaalki, Reign in.”

After all six heroes were armored up. Marinette threw a wink at the bat boys. “See you soon birdies,” she said as she threw up her yo-yo and caught zipped off.

The other’s followed her lead and soon the whole group was parkouring over the roofs of Gotham. Unlike during patrols in Paris they allowed themselves to have fun with this. Turning it into a giant game of chase they took turns tagging a team member before running off in the general of the food trucks.

———————————

The bats watched the laughing group take off. Tim was the first to break the spell and pulled out his phone to call Bruce.

“Yeah we got a group of Meta’s that are asking for the Bat’s attention,” he said when Bruce answered.

“Where at?” He asked

“I think they’re headed towards the Botanical gardens food trucks.”

“You think? You don’t have eyes on them?”

Tim side eyed Jason who had shook off his shock only to fall to the sidewalk laughing like a hyena. Damian watched him with a look of mild disgust while Dick was still obviously confused.

“It would be kind of hard to disappear for a change after a group of six kids do a magical girl transformation in front of you. I have too many eyes on me right now. But before they took off they told Damian to let the commissioner and the ‘Big Bat’ they have ‘a bone to pick’ but don’t want to cause trouble.”

“Right,” Bruce said before hanging up. Tim knew that meant that Batman was on his way towards the spontaneous meet.

“Come on we got work to do,” he said motioning for Dick to help him pick Jason off the concrete and carried him in the opposite direction from where the Parisian’s had headed.

———————————

When Batman and the boys arrived it was to the teens sitting around and on the various tables around the food trucks still in costume. Each was eating something from the trucks around them and tourists were taking photos of them. The Gothamites were edging away from the unknown constumes all too familiar with how the city’s rouges often behave. In contrast the French tourists were easily spotted as they were exclaiming over the presence of their city’s heroes across the ocean and taking selfies with the teens.

“Hiya Bats. Want a taco,” the red teen asked the Gotham heroes holding up said taco in offering.

“Who are you and why are you in Gotham,” Batman ignored the question to get to the point.

LadyBug shrugged and finished the taco in two bites before standing and brushing crumbs off her hands.

She jumped off the table she had been using as a seat and stood before the bats. A red-orange, black and white clad hero stood and joined her just a step behind in support. The others quieted their laughter and watched the interactions with seriousness.

“I’m LadyBug, the Hero of Paris. I’m here because I have a bone to pick with your Justice League Bats.”

“The League is unaware of any active heroes in or around Paris,” Batman stated. It wasn’t a disagreement exactly but it was understood that he didn’t believe her.

“You shouldn’t be. Both the Mayor of Paris and myself have reached out to the League when the terrorist Hawkmoth first appeared almost four years ago. A total of 38 requests and pleas for help were ignored. After the last we were put on a do not respond list and prevented from further contact.”

“I am unaware of this. I will look into it,” Batman said.

LadyBug shook her head, “We don’t need you to come help anymore. Instead we, I, want a full acknowledgement that the League failed to do its duty to my city and its citizens. I want a full apology for every death Hawkmoth has caused and that you and your League let happen.”

“You were meant to be Heroes for the world. Instead you failed to protect those who needed it and left a city in the hands of two teenagers who still aren’t adults today,” she dropped the magic to reveal Marinette. “And I want to know what you’ll do to prevent that from happening again.”

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

So mostly the interaction between Marinette and Adrian in this take was what spurred this fic on. I think if she were ever to get over the crush she would be super touchy freely with her friend.

@g-arya @multifandomscribette @mochinek0 @inevitableenquere @ravennightingaleandavatempus @northernbluetongue @bluerosette23 @fertileleaf @thepeacetea @zebrabaker @mystery-5-5 @dast218 @evil-elf16 @vivilakitty @dessarious @rhub4rb @ozmav @unmaskedagain @actualaster @a-marlene-s @del-phin @tog84 @luciferge @sonif50 @actual-human-disaster @clumsy-owl-4178 @aarushi-03 @moonyloonyx @shreky-boi @thanks-captain-obvious @panda3506 @hinata3487 @thequestionablyhuman @dontgiveaflyinflip @chocolatecatstheron @asianfrustration13 @weird-pale-blonde-person @yin-390 @mycupisbroken @vixen-uchiha @kuroko26 @autisticlinx @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @mariae2900 @zalladane @hypnosharkrebeldreamer @tbehartoo @novicevoice

#Betrothed AU #The Demon’s Bride #marinette x damian #maribat #daminette #DLDR #dead dove don’t eat

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okietokiee · 6 years ago

Text

Fic: Hjönk, Hjönk

Pairing: Skwisgaar Skwigelf/Toki Wartooth

Rating: M

I was really inspired by @picklespunchedme @bittebecca @sonderrbeee ‘s various fan art of clown!Skwisgaar 😳 thanks so much for letting me write a fic based on your gorgeous art!! 💕

Summary:

Skwisgaar makes some especially harsh remarks which cause Toki to start avoiding him, and the lack of contact is really starting to make the Swede’s sex drive go absolutely haywire.

Fortunately, Skwisgaar comes up with a genius (albeit horrifyingly embarrassing) plan to make it up to his hot-tempered boyfriend lover.

And Toki positively loves it. Perhaps a little too much.

——————

Skwisgaar knew he had fucked up.

After countless years of brutally harsh, biting criticisms and demeaning insults, Toki had finally had it. Normally he was able to take Skwisgaar’s comments, admittedly not always in a stride, but with minimal bloodshed (most of the time). And he wasn’t even completely sure what was different about today, about the disparaging remarks he’d grown used to throwing out daily.

Maybe it was the stress of having to record a whole knew album from scratch? The stress of the rising tensions becoming so goddamn obvious lately? He knows he’s not the smartest person around, but you’d have to be blind to not see the cracks forming in their band’s already fragile dynamics. He knows it’s not just affecting Nathan and Pickles.

But whatever the underlying causes were, all it took was an offhand, “That’s was fuckins dildos, dos it agains idiots,” during a slow-moving rehearsal to get Toki raging like a spoiled five-year-old kid told that no, he could not have candy for dinner.

After screeching and using his flying-V to destroy a fair amount of their studio and sound equipment, Toki had tired himself out and retired to his bedroom.

He’d also taken to avoiding him for the past week. And maybe the Skwisgaar from a few years ago wouldn’t have (outwardly) cared so much, but ever since they’d shared an earth-shattering, momentous night together just months before, they’d both been inhabiting the same bed for a majority of nights.

And, though Skwisgaar would rather die a painful death by firing squad than admit it to anyone, Toki had been the only person he’d been sleeping with ever since that night. He loathed to label it as anything serious, but that didn’t change the fact that he was painfully reluctant to break this surprising streak of faithfulness, his longest one yet.

However, regardless of how much he didn’t want to sleep with anyone that wasn’t a dopey Norwegian guitar player with a penchant for tantrums and hissy fits, that didn’t change the fact that his sex drive was going fucking haywire.

Storming into the Mordhaus living room, he irritably asked, “Has anyones seens our dildos rhythm guitarist?”

“Eh, I think he went out drinkin’ with thet clown again,” a stoned out Pickles mumbled from the couch.

“Whats!? I thoughts we puts a restrainings orders on dat creep!”

Nathan sighed from a nearby desk, putting down his book. “Yeah, we did. But you know that kid. He just loves those fucking clowns.”

That unfortunate string of words made an idea pop up in Skwisgaar’s head.

“…coulds you repeats dat?”

“I said he loves those goddamn clowns.”

“Nos, de odder words!”

Nathan glared, confused. “Those fucking clowns?”

Skwisgaar grinned manically. “Ja! Dat weirdos loves fucking clowns!”

Pickles could be heard potentially dying of laughter a few feet away.

Nathan narrowed his eyes, a disgusted grimace on his mouth. “I know you suck at English Skwisgaar, but ugh. That’s some brutal imagery.”

Skwisgaar, ever the trooper, did not let the revolting thoughts affect him, as his plan was coming to fruition in his mind. Yes, Toki was annoyingly fond of childish gimmicks, clowns included. Toki could never even stay mad at Dr. Rockso, an old drugged-up, strung-out rock-and-roll clown, no matter what shit that creepy asshole put him through.

Yes, he knew what he had to do. He didn’t like it one bit, and it could potentially ruin his reputation completely if word ever got out that he even considered this.

But…

Skwisgaar bit his lip, his thoughts suddenly full of brown whiskers and childish giggles.

It would be worth it.

——————

Hours later, Skwisgaar was regretting every single choice he’d ever made in life that had led up to this point. He felt like a fool and looked like one too.

His only solace was that the random klokateer he’d ordered to find him this costume was no longer capable of ever blabbing his secret to anyone, at least in any way that involved a functional mouth. Or hands.

And now he found himself pacing around Toki’s small room, waiting for the little dildo to get back home. The sound of his baggy blue and yellow pants swishing and the stomping of his large red shoes did nothing to alleviate his growing anxiety.

Skwisgaar scratched at his neck, careful not to smudge any of the meticulously applied clown make-up he’d taken an hour to perfect. He was vaguely grateful that his experience with corpse paint made this endeavor slightly easier, but also horrified at exactly how naturally circus make-up came to him.

As he was pondering his deteriorating mental state, he heard the door creak open and a surprised, ear-shattering, absolutely delighted squeal.

Toki crashed face-first into his chest, holding tighter than a newborn koala to its mother.

“Oh Odin! Yous a real cool clowns Skwisgaar!” Toki gleefully said, nuzzling the red ruffles around his neck.

Skwisgaar was glad his red cheeks were camouflaged by the blindingly white paint.

“Eugh… Ja, I guess I ams,” the Swede nonchalantly agreed, not meeting his lover’s eyes.

Toki paused from his snuggling, and gazed adoringly up at Skwisgaar’s embarrassed face.

“Skwisgaar… Dids you do dis because you know Tokis been mads at yous?”

Skwisgaar coughed awkwardly and avoided his gaze. “Maybes if a dumb dildos hadn’t beens avoidins me for sos long, it woulds not haves come to dis…”

Toki smirked. “Yous just proving Toki needs to do dat more often.”

“Fucks you-!”

“Okej,” Toki cut him off with a contented sigh, cuddling into Skwisgaar’s colorful, silky costume even more.

This was the closest they’d been in a week, and Skwisgaar’s body was responding rather excitedly to their close proximity.

Toki giggled, feeling the growing hardness coming from Skwisgaar’s loose trousers, and he pulled the Swede over to the bed and pushed him down, crawling right on top of him and going in for a deep, fervent kiss. With the right angle, Toki was able to avoid dislodging the bright red clown nose on his lover’s face.

With a few well-practiced maneuvers Skwisgaar was able to bring Toki down to only his underwear, but when he made movements to remove his own ridiculous clothes he was stopped by a firm hold.

“Nos, keeps it on.” Toki’s flushed, erotic expression was very convincing.

“Ja, fines…” Skwisgaar groaned, canting his hips up, desperate for any kind of friction.

Toki smiled, reaching for the lube that has been ever-present at his bedside table for the past few months. He took a moment to take in Skwisgaar’s smudged clown make-up and gorgeous, smoldering expression. The juxtaposition was disorienting.

“Skwisgaar…?”

“Ja Tokis?”

“Do yous maybe… I knows we havent’s dones it likes dis yet, but,” Toki mumbled, his face red and expression coquettish, “I think I wants to tries to take it.”

Skwisgaar was at a loss for words, his mind (and body) already overheating. So far Toki had been the only one topping, citing his lack of experience with men and dislike of being dominated as his main reasons for wanting to avoid switching positions. And Skwisgaar hardly cared, always being very satisfied by Toki’s eager enthusiasm.

But the thought of finally being able to become so wholly one with Toki had Skwisgaar’s head spinning and heart racing.

“Of course älskling, as long as yous ready,” Skwisgaar said, rubbing circles on Toki’s naked hips.

Toki’s eager nodding was answer enough and then he wiggled out of his underwear.

Skwisgaar leaned forward to get a hold of the lube, but Toki pushed him back down.

“Yous just watch for nows,” Toki murmured with a sweet smile, opening the lube to prepare himself.

Skwisgaar couldn’t handle watching a mewling, trembling Toki Wartooth preparing himself for long without feeling like he was going to literally explode into a cloud of confetti. The Swede pushed his own baggy pants down, not fully taking it off but exposing his painfully erect manhood. He moaned, giving himself a few strokes as he continued watching his lover teasing him.

Finally, after what felt like eternity, Toki stopped and got another generous dollop of lube for Skwisgaar Jr. before lining himself up on the Swede’s lap.

Skwisgaar watched enraptured as Toki slowly lowered himself down with a seductive whine and several sensuous movements of his hips.

“Ah, fuckins hell Toki,” Skwisgaar cried, thrusting up desperately.

Toki reciprocated in kind with more moans and wet, raunchy kisses, ruining a good portion of Skwisgaar’s make-up.

As it was getting especially intense, their movements both in sync and frantic, Toki leaned down and did something incredibly peculiar and, honestly, kind of hot, at least to Skwisgaar’s current fucked-out-of-his-mind state.

“Hjönk, hjönk,” Toki murmured with a smile as he squeezed the large, squeaky clown nose on Skwisgaar’s face with something akin to reverence. All without once pausing his fast, unmerciful pace.

Skwisgaar was too goddamn horny and in love to question this, and he just responded by increasing his thrusts as well as his volume.

“Ah, for the loves of Odins, Toki I’ms gonna-” he punctuated with a shout, feeling Toki tighten around him.

After a long moment of blissful euphoria for both of them, Toki collapsed on top of him, breathing heavily and sneaking a few affectionate kisses along his neck.

“So ams guessings you not mads anymore?” Skwisgaar snickered, running his fingers through Toki’s now tangled, sexily-ruffled hair.

Toki giggled and playfully gave Skwisgaar’s big red nose, which surprisingly hadn’t fallen off at all during their vigorous lovemaking, a few more squeezes, filling the small room with obnoxiously loud honking noises.

“Nah, buts if you does something like dis every time I gets mad at yous then I gonnas make sure to be angry evens more oftens.” Toki chuckled, snuggling up to Skwisgaar’s now cum and sweat stained clown costume.

Skwisgaar sighed, equal parts hopelessly exasperated and desperately fond.

“Wells enjoys it while yous cans you dildo, dis ams not likelys to ever, ever happens again,” Skwisgaar said firmly.

Toki grinned mischievously and lifted himself up.

“I thinks Toki cans change yous mind abouts dat,” he declared proudly, slipping out of bed to walk over to his nearby work desk. He leaned over it enticingly, ass up, giving Skwisgaar the most pornographic come-hither look the Swede had ever seen.

“Comes over heres and let’s me convince yous,” Toki murmured suggestively, giving his cute butt a little shake.

And that night was the first of many that the halls of Mordhaus were filled with the echos of passionate Scandinavian honking and lovemaking.

——————

I don’t think Hjönk actually translates to anything but god I love that word LOL

Also, sorry for any weird mistakes I didn’t catch! I’ll edit it and maybe add some extra stuff soon and then post it on ao3 :D

#about to board a 13hr flight and im glad i was able to post this first LOL #also im only a lil bit ashamed to admit that ya i totally get the clownkink toki probs has :')#metalocalypse #dethklok #mtl #skwistok #skwisgaar skwigelf #toki wartooth #my fanfic #fanfiction #lemon #clowns

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artificialqueens · 6 years ago

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Fall in Time, Ch3 (Branjie) - Somesilverreply

A/N: Thanks again for your support! <3

Note: I’m basing the auditions Brooke attends off of the annual Unified auditions that aspiring BFA musical theatre/acting students go through which I’m very familiar with, but I’m not certain the recruitment for BFA dance programs are the same.

Read on AO3 here.

When Brooke Lynn Hytes was 17 years, 11 months, 3 days, and 1 minute old, she met her best friends.

But she didn’t know that, yet.

She had grown up in Canada, a small suburb outside Toronto with her mom. Her father hadn’t been around much, so she and her mother lived a quiet, conservative life that consisted of pancakes every morning (except Sundays) and dance recitals.

Brooke had known, from the time she was a little girl that the States was where she needed to be if she was going to be a ballerina. Canada had beautiful professional ballet, of course. Much to her mother’s dismay, however, she had her sights narrowed in on exactly what she wanted for herself and her life.

After some convincing and a little extra work around the house, she and her mother embarked on what Brooke remembers as The Great Audition Tour of 2003. She remembers riding in a plane for the first time, seeing New York City for the first time, and the way it all made her feel so small in a five-foot-eleven frame.

It’s day three, or four, she’s so blindingly exhausted from her anxious stomach keeping her up all night every night to the physical trauma of college dance auditions. She was practiced, she was trained, of course, and her mother made sure her shoulders never fell even for a second as they felt the illustrious buzz of New York when they walked through the city.

“Sit up, Brooke Lynn, you never know who could be watching,” her mother repeated like a mantra as they sat for breakfast each morning. She was always on.

But in the third hour of her fourth (she’s pretty sure) day of auditions, Brooke let out a laugh as she heard the murmurings of the girls beside her.

“I swear to God, I was holding relevé, and it was so fucking loud,” she heard one girl say, blonde and petite, looking almost like she belonged in a beauty pageant against to the stripped away anonymity of the black leotard, pink tights combination that painted the room.

“You farted?!” the other girl, as tall as Brooke but enviably slender with uniquely beautiful features, laughed incredulously, earning a small hit to the leg as the pair leaned over into a side stretch like a seasoned pair of synchronized swimmers.

The other blonde looked around, checking for any onlookers when she locked eyes with Brooke, giving a minuscule smile she tried to hide in the crook of her elbow mid stretch.

The girl looked embarrassed immediately, Brooke instantly correcting her expression.

“I’m so sorry you had to hear that, sis,” the blonde said with a chuckle, the girl beside her still stifling a laugh.

“It happens to the best of us,” Brooke shrugged, unsure whether or not she was safe to join in on the fun. She pressed her luck, happy to feel some of the pressure release from her shoulders for the first time in weeks.

“At least it wasn’t a silent but deadly,” she tried, immediately sending the other two girls into a fit of giggles, careful not to draw extra attention from the fellow auditionees (but failing, somewhat).

“I’m Alyssa, this is Yvie,” the blonde told her.

“Oh, I’m Brooke, are you guys friends?” she smiled, placing a careful strand of her bun that had fallen into her face behind her ear.

“She’s stalking me,” Yvie told her, completely deadpan.

“I am not, I’m not a stalker,” she turned to Brooke, “We met in our hotel night one, and we’ve just kind of hit it off this weekend. You been here all four days?”

Brooke nodded sheepishly before adding with a cautious drop in tone, “Unfortunately.”

“Tell me about it. I literally feel like I could stick my leg in a subway door and it would snap in half,” Yvie added, moving into a middle split with little to know extra effort required, her voice unwavering.

“Well, we got you, you’re one of us now,” Alyssa grabbed her hand with a smile, sharing a knowing glance with Brooke before they heard the boom of the microphone over the loudspeaker, instructing the hundred-plus girls in the room to rise.

That night, after the penultimate day of auditions was completed, Brooke nervously told her mother she had other dinner plans for the evening, that she had made friends. She looked at her mother carefully, expecting the reprimand or warning she’d grown accustomed to. Instead, she was greeted with a half smile, a light touch on the back, and a simple, “Be careful.”

Brooke had spent every night of that trip bee-lining for the hotel by 9:00pm, showered, practiced, and ready for the early AM wake up call. She had barely seen the city, and by the second or third day had begun to forget she was in any place that wasn’t the blinding white walls of a dance studio.

But that night, as she felt the soft red glow of Times Square, authentically American street hot dog in hand with her new American friends, she felt the most prepared she ever had all week. They spent all night running around the city, dancing in subway cars and calling Brooke “Canada” whenever she pointed out something that made the girls giggle. She had friends back home, of course. But not like this. Not so unabashedly carefree and naive.

So when they all tentatively sent each other MySpace messages as they opened their acceptance letters and found that all three of them were accepted to their number one choice school, it felt like pure magic radiated through the computer screens in all three ends of North America.

Alyssa and Yvie were her closest confidants, her mirrors, and her worst critics all at the same time. They were there for her through the trauma of her injury and did their best to remind her of who she was whenever they got the chance, even though Brooke hadn’t done so much as a twirl since it happened. Alyssa had worked with her on and off for years at Ballet D’Amerique, and now was working as a dance instructor in New York, while Yvie had been successfully working in Vegas shows for years, creating the perfect excuse for a girl’s trip weekend there every year.

They’d all changed, naturally. Brooke’s gentle, cold exterior she adorned now was different from the softness of her bright-eyed college days, but leave it to Alyssa and Yvie to bring out the parts of her she needed constant reminding were there.

So when Brooke Lynn Hytes was 33 years, 3 months, 19 days, 7 hours, and 7 minutes old, sitting on her red line train, the familiar whirl of the Chicago transit easing as the train car rose above ground, she pulled out her phone once again.

She’d contemplated calling them in her office earlier that morning, but that desire dissipated the second she’d shoved the flyer into the depths of her purse, as if it had some Mary Poppins transfigurative ability to make it cease to exist. But as she sat now, foot incessantly shaking as she sat cross-legged, uncomfortable and cramped in her seat, the air full of post-work bliss on a Friday evening, her heart never stopping to catch up to her breath in their ongoing footrace, she texted them.

To: Yves and Lyss

B: I have a problem.

Y: ugh i’m about to go on :((

A: Hi how are ya to you too, Canada!! B: Sorry I know it’s been a while.

Y: i miss you bitches.

Y: got some mad D last night. forgot to text, sorry bout that

Y: he reminded me of greg from freshman year. but like.. not as high

B: Ew.

Y: sorry brooke catch me up later, dollface, i love you

A: Weed Greg!! haha

A: Brooke, call me bitch!!

Brooke cracked a smile and let it melt into the phone, calming the repetitive movement of her leg. With a sigh she reached into her purse the best way she could, shocking her body when her finger caught the edge of the flyer like it was begging for her attention. She grabbed her headphones, gingerly popping them into her ears as she moved to FaceTime her friend, forever thankful for the excuse to hear her friend’s voice.

“Okay, what’s the tea bitch?” Brooke heard suddenly, acutely aware of the burning glances in her direction.

“Shit, hold on,” she fumbled with the bluetooth, mouthing a few “sorry’s” around her as if anyone had given any real mind. It was the Chicago transit, she was hardly what anyone was looking at, and although Brooke was hardly one of the warm and gentle souls her home country had been known to produce, apologizing was a knee-jerk reaction she couldn’t shed.

“I don’t even feel bad for you, Miss Airpods,” Alyssa scuffed, before smiling at her brightly, simultaneously distracted but fully attentive to Brooke at the same time.

“What’re you up to?” Brooke asks, before paying closer attention to the shadows in the mirror evidently behind her. “Wait, Lyss, are you teaching right now?”

“Yeah, they’re taking a little juice break, it’s fine, what’s up? No time for the how was your day blah blah bullshit let’s go!”

Brooke shook her head gently with a heavy side of you’re nuts , and I love you , before breathing out a sigh that’d been trapped in her for hours.

“So I turned away another dancer today, and I don’t even know why, she just… made me feel… I don’t know.”

“ - Horny?” Alyssa finished, Brooke laughed, looking around her on the off chance of another headphone malfunction.

“No, I don’t know, just… weird. Like I suddenly wasn’t me, anymore. And not in a bad way, which is worse. And then she invited me to see her show tonight, to watch her dance, and it’s like part of me knows I should stand my ground because we’ve already gotten so many new dancers this month from other agents in the office and I already said no and what kind of talk will there be if Ice Queen Brooke Hytes is seeing little dance shows around the city like she has nothing else to do with her Friday night, which by the way, she doesn’t because she hasn’t gotten laid in like, 3 years, and lives alone with her fucking cats but no one can know that or else no one in the industry will take me seriously because I’m not even a dancer anymore so what do I even know and what the fuck do I do,” Brooke realizes she’s not even looking in Alyssa’s direction when she finishes with a huff, feeling the unfamiliar slump of her shoulders.

“Okay, Canada, breathe for me baby,” she looks at her through the glow of the screen, her eyes piercing her from miles away. She waits till she has Brooke’s eyes before telling her sternly, “you are a dancer. And a beautiful one at that. So don’t you think for a minute that part of you has gone away. And secondly, bitch, you need to get laid. Go fuck this girl, please, for my sake,” she gives her a knowing glance.

Brooke takes a breath, doing her best to muster a smile. “I don’t know her. And I certainly can’t do that. Can your kids hear you saying all this?”

“Their moms are still paying me, so it really doesn’t seem to matter all that much, do it?” she laughs. “Listen sweetie. It’s gonna be fine. Just sneak in the back, pull out one of your Gi-von-bur-berry-froo-froo sunglasses I know you have all incognito like. That way she doesn’t gotta see you there. And please report back, okay?” Alyssa turns her head to face to the side of the camera, looking out at her class and raising her voice. “Brooke should go, right girls?”

Brooke couldn’t help but roll her eyes with a laugh as she heard the thundering chorus of “yeah!” in only a way six-year-olds can.

“See bitch? I gotta go, but I love you honey,” Alyssa blows her a kiss, winking as she ends the call, Brooke feeling the lingering click of her tongue as she stares at the homepage on her phone, once carrying her best friend inside of it. She looks up, taking the headphones out, and feels the screeching halt as the red line stops at Fullerton, a few blocks from Brooke’s high-rise apartment. She can feel the soft carpet of her bedroom phantom-brush against her feet as she wills herself to stand, but locks her knees as they’re set into place, the train going as soon as it stops past the comfort of her little corner of Chicago.

Her legs were moving before her mind was, like her body knew what it needed before she did (it always had), and she found herself clutching the flyer as she stood in front of the advertised address.

The building was hardly anything to look at, in fact Brooke had done several double takes before finally deciding that yes, this was the place, but it was in high contrast to the modest theatre she had been expecting. It almost gave off a thick air of mystery and palpable intrigue, and Brooke braced herself as she slipped on the sunglasses and walked in.

She walked down a narrow hallway lit only by a small red exit sign, the only noise coming from the reverberated click of her heels and the muffled pre-show music and murmuring in the background.

After turning a corner she guessed was where she needed to be, entering a maze she was far too lost in to begin with, she barely registers a girl in a less than decorous bodysuit collecting donations, her eyes growing wide as Brooke drops in two one hundred dollar bills like they’re pennies in a fountain, her eyes locked ahead of her as she enters in the performance space. It’s a typical Chicago, rent-by-the-hour black box space, modestly filled with decoration and filled with rows of seats. Brooke’s thankful for the crowd that’s generated already, carefully slipping into an inconveniently placed (but conveniently for Brooke) stage left corner seat that slips out of the glow of the followspot on stage. She curses her deep-seated punctuality as the time of 8:48pm glows on her phone screen, and slips off her sunglasses, looking around casually. As she takes a breath, she’s finally aware of her surroundings, and namely who she’s surrounded by. She’s known growing up in the entertainment world that oftentimes small-venue performances such as these generally are only put on for resume building and so that people like Brooke can attend. On any given night you could have three people to a full house and it’s all considered normal. But as Brooke looks around to the people that surround her, she’s overcome by the unlikely undercurrent of excitement in the air.

There’s a fog machine intermittantly blowing the thick clouds into the already-stuffed room, and Brooke’s thankful for the particular blanket to her lungs giving her something to drown in.

Of course it’s popular, she thinks, I’d want to see Vanessa too .

She sees people of all walks of life, but a dedicated concert-like mosh pit of men surround the stage itself, and Brooke has to bite her tongue at the lack of etiquette. She knew this wasn’t a ballet performance, but it sure as hell wasn’t a display at the Chicago Zoo.

Her phone buzzes in her lap, giving her the reminded to silence it, the timing glowing 8:59pm as she takes one more glance at her notifications, quickly opening one from Alyssa to ground her.

From: Lyss

A: Bitch you’re motha fuckin Brooke Lynn Hytes, just like your momma say (maybe not the motha fuckin part) but you got this!! You’re gonna be just fine. That bitch is lucky she gets to be eye-fucked by you. ;)

Brooke smiles, slipping it into her void purse but this time so she can save it for later.

The lights begin to dim, and her stomach flips like it did before a dance recital, as if she were one of Pavlov’s dogs salivating at the ding of a bell.

With another gratuitous gust of fog, three girls come out in the dim, low lighting as the soft bump of a familiar jazz tune begins to play. There’s a few faint whistles of recognition from the audience, but nothing matching the energy of the pre-show volume they’d been living in before. Brooke recognized the song from one of her freshman dance classes, feeling the shadow pain of her teenage pointe shoes as she sees the figures enter the stage, each of the girl’s faces concealed by a Bob Fosse inspired black-brimmed hat. They’re snapping along to the rhythm, clad in full trench coats with the peak of a fishnet tight peeping out below the hem as they straddle individual bar stools. While it was a departure from her traditional eye, it wasn’t anything groundbreaking. They were in Chicago, after all, and Roxie Hart’s name had been spilled far too often for Brooke’s, and just about every talent agent’s in the city’s liking.

She cranes her neck, still not completely able to make out which one was Vanessa, the black of the coats swallowing the figure of the dancers. They’re all talented, clearly limber albeit a little traditionally stiff in style. As she watches them move from jazz kicks to jazz squares she’s hit with the sudden pang of realization that there’s no way she’ll be able to sign this girl, and she’s even thinking about leaving at intermission because the thought of lying to the poor girl when she gets that follow up email a week later is simply too hard to stomach and oh -

Oh.

First she hears it, then she sees it: the deafening beat of the bass, the inharmonious uproar of cheers and applause, the soft thud of the trench coats hitting the ground.

Any doubt she had finding Vanessa was relieved in an instant as she stepped out to take center stage, a mass of hands clawing at her feet, revealing her glowing skin in the flashing club-like trance of lights, wearing nothing but a small red bodysuit, dangerously sheer and lacy along her mid section. The girls behind her were wearing similar ensembles, coated in black and white, but Vanessa stood front and center, moving her hips impossibly slow and tantalizing to the beat. Brooke doesn’t know the song, and it doesn’t matter. The music radiating from the delicate trace of Vanessa’s inner thighs as she moves into the splits, and effortlessly steps out of them and into her next move and her next move and her next move could move mountains. The men in the front now suddenly became Brooke’s kindred spirits as she watched them wave one’s at her, swallowing back a bitter taste in her mouth as she watched in slow motion: Vanessa grabbed one of the men’s hands, sensually pulling him on stage, her finger light touches making it evident he was doing all the work to hoist himself up.

Vanessa looks powerful, endearing and dominating at the same time as she pushes him down into the stool, his eyes locked on her like he suddenly didn’t know how to use words anymore.

Brooke wasn’t sure she did either.

She works her magic on him like its a practiced spell, bending, arching her back, all while flawlessly executing technique Brooke’s Ballet D’Amerique troupe couldn’t dream of doing. Brooke swears she feels her breath leave her body as she leaves him high and dry after moving to kiss him on the lips, lingering enough to make the whole room want her more than they already did (if that was even possible) before moving away with a snap, wiping her bottom lip with her thumb as she walked away, finishing her number.

The millisecond between the end of the song and the audience reaction is tangible - Brooke swears she can feel everyone’s heartbeat in tandem before it’s simply too overwhelming to handle. She doesn’t even notice when she’s on her feet, slipping into the group-think of the crowd and losing herself in the moment.

Vanessa looks out at the crowd, smiling, blowing kisses, absolutely eating up every drop of praise the audience has to give her. Brooke, in any other given moment would be shaking her head, feeling herself collapse, feel terribly inadequate, or any delectable entree featuring all three.

But she was mesmerized. Vanessa’s eyes were sparkling under the harsh lights, the red of her costume so commanding it’s like she was daring the crowd to stop.

Her eyes scanning. Her eyes.

Fuck.

It’s brief, but it’s enough. Their eyes meet, and Brooke’s body once again has her moving, anywhere, far, far away, thanking her photo-oriented memory as she once again navigates the delicate maze of the building that’s now become her sacred alter.

She doesn’t stop until she feels the rush of cold air, the whirling of the red line train, and the soft carpet of her bedroom.

Brooke clicks off her phone by her bed, the familiar glow softening for the night.

But no sooner than she sets it down is she ripping it from its resting spot, eyes glazing over the email she hadn’t dared believe would come so soon.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Ms. Hytes,

I’ll see you Monday?

Xo,

Vanessa

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #slow burn #lesbian au #eventual smut #fall in time #somesilverreply #tw mention of injury #concrit welcome

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dememarquette · 6 years ago

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Office Raid

I heard a knock on the door, flaring my temper. I'm not usually this impatient, it's just that time of the year. Tax Season. My primary line of work is in Greed. Meaning, I pitch businesses, get them started, and hand over the keys. I do accounting in the background, ensuring my clients maintain their wealth so they can enjoy it. That, unfortunately, includes managing their accounts. I know every tax break in the book. It's all a matter of playing Tetris with finances to keep them happy- for, say...hundreds of people. If not thousands. Because of this, everything between January to April is a nightmare. I have hateful quotas, and my free time is sank into inane questions like 'How can I claim my employees as dependents?' The batshit accounting of my multi-million dollar clients doesn't happen overnight. My schedule is clean of new patronage until April 12th, but lot of good it does when they still arrive at my door. I wanted to put up a sign, 'Come back in May.' "Come on in." I say instead. Julia would kill me if I turned down anyone, regardless if I was up to my eyeballs in W-2's and Form SS-4's. "But make it snappy." I said snappy- I know I did- but I think he heard 'blast my goddamn door open.' The seven foot panel blew off its hinges, sailing across the room at an flawless horizontal angle. I stared as it smacked against the wall, cracking the already-unstable structure. I gave the curious incident the benefit of doubt. This is Hell, after all. I couldn't jump to conclusions to accuse my guest- But the moment one armored boot stepped into the room, it became a safe assumption. The forth circle isn't known for its sturdy craftsmanship but he was still pleased with himself. He sauntered in like he'd receive an ovation. I did stand, but it was scantly out of reverence. "Hello." I said, at a loss. "Why don't you make yourself at home?" "Demetrius Marquette," He announced, standing grandiose just inside the entry way. Decked out in red and gold, the familiar uniform took such majestic inspiration from the Romans that it'd be impressive if it wasn’t set off by a swampy water cooler in the background. "I am Arodeus, and I have orders bestowed upon me by the 6th Choir to terminate you immediately." I don't know how one is normally supposed to oppose a declaration like that, so I did my best. "...Not guilty," I reasoned. "Of which part, exactly?" "...All of it." His head canted. One arm eminently held a thick document to his chest like he was here to strongarm a petition on climate change. "The dozens of counts of violating your celibacy vows? Sacrilege? Fraud? The hundreds of documented instances of simony during your time as a member of the clergy? And all of the Hellish transactions that succeeded it?" He posed. "All of that?" I considered carefully. Yeah. Checks out. "Hey, uh- listen. It sounds awful when you word it like that, but my application was fifty pages for a reason. By the way, who let you in-?" "Consider it rejected." With practiced dispassion, his wrist flicked. The ream of pages scattered across my office floor in a manner about half as cool as he pictured it. I recognized my giant letterhead anywhere. Alone, it presented a very large problem but in the category of 'will kill me now' versus 'will get me killed later,' the angel was in the former. "You know what?" I took a generous step backward. "Totally understood. Thanks for stopping by." "Not that easy." His wings snapped, and he shot across the floor. I had a split second's notice to move. That manifested as a genius two foot teleport to the side. His reflexes were faster. My tail was yanked a sharp pull to the left. All 200lbs of my weight was shifted off center, rocking my balance. I fell forward straight into his fist as he lobbed an uppercut at my ribs, working with gravity to double-team me. 'Fuck-' I folded as the air was forcibly vented from my lungs. Retaliating in that instant, I wrenched my elbow to his gut, but he was prepared. Agile, he suspended himself to take the force out of the blow. My hit simply guided him in the air of where he'd float next. I stumbled with his weight gone suddenly, while he touched ground for a graceful landing. "Did you even read it?!" "Oh I read it. We all did." "It wasn't your mail!" "No-" He pondered. "No it wasn't. Not until your name was flagged as a repeat offender. At which point, yeah. It was ours. Good read though." "Thanks?" I combusted to appear at his side. I learned that the hard way what his answer to that was. My hand connected, and if I had taken Tak's punching class I was sure it would have cracked. The moment he lost sight of me for the barest of seconds he threw up a shield. My knuckles skinned where it graze off the surface. I had no time to re-evaluate before the wall disappeared, priming him to deliver another kick. This one rocketed me into my bookshelves. They tipped, threatening to crush me with the likes of the Intradimensional Exchange Rates and the Necroeconomicon, but held steady. Arodeus was already closing in for a second round, but I could already feel the air tense for a second shield. Knowing better than to go on the offense close range, I lifted my hand to fake out a hook. It worked, long enough for him to to summon a defense just for me to spark a fire inside it. It flared bright, a globe of flames that ignited him like a goddamn lava lamp. He howled out a sharp note of agony before it popped. The blaze released, and the forcefield burst in a wave of Holy heat. His wings flared wide, putting out the unassuming fires in one pump of his wings. His feathers were left dusted with ash, frayed so thin it looked like he hadn't used conditioner in two years. Still, even if he looked like a BP oil spill duckling, he was more humored by my counter than threatened. As someone who was actually proud of that maneuver, that was actually very concerning. I threw my hands up, making it clear I never intended to cause the damage I didn't actually reap. "Listen guy, I don't want to fight!" "Ah, great! You don't have to!" He grabbed my client chair. I reared back into the wall behind my desk. A moment too late I realized that it happened to be against the most priceless fixture of my office. I couldn't tell if it was out of spite or sudden inspiration, but he held the chair over his head. My eyes widened- "NO! No! N-NOT-" And hurled it into the glass. "-the fish tank!" I cried. "You ASShole!" A torrent jetted from the top, breaching my office with an aggravated geyser of mineral treated water and glass. Katy perry's Last Friday Night sputtered into distorted gargling as the damage claimed everything. The atmosphere of Hell turned my desk into a grill; my gobies and angelfish fried instantly. The rest erupted into a veil of steam, obscuring me long enough to crawl under my desk. I yanked open the drawer, hand blindingly reaching for anything of use. Scissors, letter opener- I'll take a Montblanc if it meant not being defenseless. The angel rounded the corner, tearing shit up as he passed. He couldn't see clearly so anything vaguely smart and stylish was destroyed in his warpath. My lamp shattered against the wall, and my accent table overturned, with my artisanly selected selfies lost to the destruction. I very much doubt his memo for my extermination today included office renovation. He was being a dick, and my neighbors on either side were complacent jackasses too. They throw a fit if Lady Gaga was belting it too hard but you bet my asskicking was music to their ears. And because my intuition stops short of fisticuffs, he found me too soon. Cornered, I blasted him in the face. The inferno lasted all of two seconds as the shower behind him put it out and doused me in turn. He reeled back, leaving my hand to fizzle out in a thin line of smoke. "Shit-!" Arodeus drew a reedy breath through his teeth. He cradled his face, one palm to a shiny, fleshy cheek. It healed in a glow of white, alighting the skin until there was no trace of trauma at all. His grimace of pain turned into a cheerful 'ta-da,' showmanship for my benefit. I hadn't ruined even one of his perfect eyebrows. On my very short list of lines of defense, that was it. "Oh come on!" I angled to take a shot at his kneecaps but he got me first. One kick to the spine of my seat, and he tipped it on its wheels. It bashed into me one, two, three times in rapid succession. Defending myself meant getting a hand caught in the metal bars and slammed into my face. The collateral damage from my elbows alone drew blood. I was crushed up against the wall of my desk like a 1980's nuculear drill. An attempt for freedom put me in the perfect spot for a forth blow knocked my knee into my jaw. I slid to the ground, favoring my side. My world blurred- a smear of reds and oranges- as he snagged my collar, and fished me out to the open to be salt-waterboarded. "You do realize I'm just an accountant right?" I croaked. A stream was still cascading over the jagged glass, spilling directly onto my face and the nape of his neck. His charred wings were being weighed down, but he made up for it in the delighted posture of a man about to finish the job. Borrowing his words, it would not be that easy. "389 hostage souls say differently." "What? Hostage-?!" I squinted through the burn. "They're not hostages. They're legally attained!" "Gee, I hope you kept the receipts." (For the record: I did, but he wasn't here for semantics.) The heat of a holy fist charging up was unmistakable. My vision was still flickering through static but his power presented itself as a flare of white in my retinas that'd be debilitating had I not had protection. Just before the hit would land, I was reminded of a prior engagement. My office phone beeped- the antiquated hunk of plastic, too ancient and powerful to be bothered by the sizzling fish carcasses and water damage. "Mr.Marquette, your 2PM?" "Yeah!" My head lolled. "Send them in!" My attacker snapped toward the door, and I disappeared under his weight. - - - Cross-planar, and thousands of miles away, I hit the sidewalk in a limp. I had moved without thinking, landing in a pleasant suburb bathed in spring's afternoon sunlight. It served as a delightful contrast to how I was feeling- which was shit. I was screwed. I was so fucked. If the angel was worth his salt, I'd be tracked right after he dealt with whoever walked into my office, no matter what corner of the globe I popped to. I was running on borrowed time, and with all my options exhausted, I turned to my phone. My contact list spun like a rotary. Demon, demon, demon- Why am I friends with so many demons? The thought was counter-intuitive to me before 2013, now they made up half my friendslist and are completely useless in the face of celestial opposition. I slumped against a tree as I searched for alternatives. I recognized the neighborhood as upstate Washington, a personal spot for me. It shouldn't be the first go-to in an emergency, but I was concussed and apparently craving foie gras. Down the block, surrounded by a beautiful lot of imported cars, Chez Tzaz stood tall. No other spots were coming to my bruised brain when I needed them most. But it was as safe of a spot as any when it came down to it. At least there I had a bouncer. Not only that, but it sparked a sudden moment of clarity. I jerked the scrollbar back up to the top. Adria. I shot off a text. It was unfortunately less than polite. [2:03 PM] do u mind calling rock me amadeus off my back!! Her response was instantaneous. [2:03 PM] WHAT?? WHO?? [2:03 PM] the angel sent to my office!! said he was there to kill me?? i thought you said you'd warn me!! [2:04 PM] ARE YOU SERIOUS?? WHERE ARE YOU?? I twitched my thumbs volley a text back but arguing in the distance caught my attention. Someone without a reservation had made it to the door and was causing a scene. Sure, I was still seeing stars, but it was hard to miss the glaring refraction of light off their heels. That damn uniform again. My heart fell to the pit of my stomach. [2:05 PM] they are at my restaurant too??? That has to mean my apartment has already been raided. And my vacation home. And who knows what else. I'm not modest with my brand. Anything that has my involvement is emblazoned with my logo- I've plastered it everywhere I could make my mark because nuance isn't my strong suit. The unsaid consequences of this made my head pound. [2:06 PM] IF YOU ARE CLOSE ENOUGH TO SEE THEM, YOU ARE CLOSE ENOUGH FOR THEM TO SENSE YOU. GET. OUT OF THERE. I wanted to. I truly did. But all of the locations I could visualize in my mind belonged to that of other demons. Archer's apartment just thirty minutes away, Niko's office who already suffered a remodeling this year, my favorite cafe- I didn't want to drag my trouble to them. Especially not when it was looking inevitable. Meanwhile, in the distance my dutiful hostess was patiently and condescendingly explaining the dress code policy just like I taught her (armor is NOT formal-wear post the 1700's, please see the handbook). The distraught angel launched into full riposte about her obstruction of justice, so much so that I ignored my phone for ten whole seconds. By then, Adria already had an essay, surmised with a frantic, 'What are you going to do? I'm serious, where are you?' rephrased a spectacular three different ways with various usage of caps lock. [2:08 PM] im at chez tzaz. washington [2:08 PM] WHAT? WHY? WHY ARE YOU STILL THERE? [2:08 PM] why are THEY here??? The text bubble popped. The three ellipses disappeared with her abandoned thought, and I was left on read. I couldn't tell if it was a bust. Not until I heard the timely flapping of wings behind me, noticeably less toasty than Mr.Arodeus. The sound should have made me panic, but I had no doubt who it was. "What did I say? Are you an idiot?!" She hissed. As a cordial 'hello,' she shoved me into a tree. "Go!" "Ow?!" "You can 'ow' when you're safe!!" "Well?? Where do you want me to go, huh? They can find me!" I thought about jumping to whatever I could think of. Maybe to the first thing Google maps would suggest, but for it to work I had to seriously think about my location before going. At that moment, I wasn't sure if it was possible. It felt like my mind was jumbled to the point where if I tried again, I'd end up in the exact same spot. Did I also mention I felt safer by her? Because that too. She combed her bangs back, stressing as she craned around me and the tree to view the angel at the door. Looking between the two of them, they matched. How narrow was the chance that she'd be on my execution team? "Friend of yours?" "I told you to stop pushing it! They definitely have a kill order on you now." "What fantastic information that would have been earlier." "I. TOLD. YOU!" She shot back, barely restrained. Scratch that- her voice was kept low so she had dibs on killing me first. "I told you this would happen! You have friends right? Go to them!" "And endanger them too?" "Go to someone, I don't know, capable!" "You?" "Not me!! I have to deal with this." My hostess was now calling security. And in the face of one haughty college student, the angel apparently felt the need to as well. Now there was two of them, and the arrival of the second seemed to register on Adria's radar. She turned around at the same time- -And looked like she was about to blow a gasket. "Oh my God- you need to go NOW." "And what are you going to do?" "This isn't about me Mr.Sends-My-Lifestory-to-the-people-who-want-to-murder-me! LEAVE! Now!!" "I can't-" "NO! No more talking! LEAVE!" I couldn't argue any more. Our bickering caused two heads across the way to snap up. She gave me one final, violent shove, and I disappeared to the last place muscle memory remembered her pissed at me. The cowboy strip club was a start. - - - Six hours later, I was across the United States and checked into a motel. After my headache faded, I broke up my trail into pieces, ranging from teleports, taxis, and one distressing trip aboard public transport. Under the assumption that no angel would dare subject themselves to the general populace on such intimate terms (see: wedged between the lunch rush and earlybird boozers), I felt safe. Adria did not. "This is my fault." She said, for a third time, pacing the floor. I looked up from the pages of a Better Homes and Gardens magazine, spoon in mouth. The first time we had this conversation, I was covertly panicked. By the second, I wore myself out. And by the third? I have more productive things to talk about. "I knew it was a bad idea. I knew they were doing raids-" "Do you always do this?" It couldn't just be me noticing it, that there was something egregiously wrong with this picture. She was an angel- a Power, a soldier of Heaven's prestigious battalion- worrying this hard over a demon she met two months ago. Don't get me wrong. I get it, I'm charming, I'm suave, and maybe in the right light my atoning adds a tragic depth to my character that may drive the angels wild- But I was still just that. A player on the opposite team, who made a huge mistake that got me booked in the first motel who'd take cash instead of card, until I was sure I wasn't being followed and I looked presentable enough to see my friends again. And she was here with me, inexplicably, trying to make my screw-ups her own. Why? I had no idea. "Do what?" "Overthink." "This is not overthinking!" She said, denial in gusto. I began worrying a lot less when her catastrophic thinking began siphoning all the energy in the room. That left her fretting on her own, while I examined Martha Stewart's upcoming Spring line. I much preferred being told how to pick the perfect counter-top than conduct my own life. "I should have been the adult. I shouldn't have sent the letter knowing what was going on upstairs." I snorted, flipping a page idly. "Don't take credit for my plan." "I'm not taking credit, I'm taking responsibility!" "And why would you do a thing like that?" She rolled her eyes. "What are you going to do now? Tell me." "Easy. I get Dr.Nikolai to write me a doctor's note." "Really?" She stopped, sudden. Her tensely folded arms fell loose. Taken off-step of our normal rhythm, I almost didn't have the heart to issue a reality check. She caught up to me in the next beat though, defeated with a heavy sigh. "Aren't you afraid..?" "Yes and no." I shrugged. "I need this to wrap up. I already miss my shower and my kitchen, I mean look at that-" I waved a hand at the sad, sad kitchenette through the door. One half-wall was fencing it off from the living room. It sounds trendy in theory, but the execution here had bar stools doubling as coffee tables, and the bite-size microwave trying to hop the border. The whole layout was claustrophobic, and pretending that this was the biggest of my problems worked for me. Not her. She plunged onto the edge of the bed, her head in her hands. Her bangs fell over her eyes in a tousled mess that matched her fringing braid. My busted up face didn't hold a candle- looking at the two of us, you would have thought her life was the one turned upside down. "You aren't taking this seriously." "I'm taking it seriously, Adria. Are you just trying to admit you are afraid?" "Yeah! Yeah, I am actually! It's like every time I try to help I only make things worse!" "Well that's funny because I refuse to do anything but believe you helped me." I shut the magazine, scooting to her side, with Ben & Jerry's in tow. "I wanted my name up there. Guess what? Now it's there. What's a little clout?" "Clout," She spurned, tired. "Would you call what he did to your face clout too?" Her hand delicately lifted to assess the damage but I ducked away. Not today, ma'am. I shifted my shades like it'd cover the bruise bleeding down into my cheek bone. It wasn't the worst of it. I imagined my chest to be a blotchy bovine pattern by now, but I sensed her concern for what it was: another way for her to feel worse about herself. Another way to be a failure. "No touching." "Yeah, well. Here's the rest of your things." She tossed me a bag. They were necessities I requested. The woman had yet to get herself an iPhone but had no problem grabbing my shopping list of moisturizers and specific detergents. The Green Giant wasn't on my list (it was her own addition to my list of demands, which she loving refereed to as 'shit you ACTUALLY need') but she grabbed that. Punching the bag into submission seemed to give her reprieve when just saying she helped didn't. I watched her pulverize the frozen vegetables, under the guise of breaking them up for me, until it was just sad and vaguely terrifying. The Quick And Easy Dinnertime Medley didn't deserve this, nor did she. Something bad was going on in that head of hers- guilt. I didn't understand it, but I know I didn't need to because it was ridiculous to begin with. "Hey. Heeeey," I leaned into her shoulder. "I don't know why you're so broken up about this but it's fine. I'm the one who should be worrying right?" "But you're NOT. I am! And I can't help it, okay." "You helped me, alright? You did," I rescued the bag, putting it against my sore ribs like she originally intended. "You did something for me no one else could. And for some reason that wasn't enough, and now you're here!" "Yes." She admitted, biting her lip. "Doing nothing." "Nope- nope. You're leaving out the cool part. You're here breaking three heavenly laws in the process." "Definitely." "Like a rebel. Like a spy. And my hero~" "And getting you putted on a most wanted list by mail, and delivering frozen peas? They should make me a saint, too." "Yup. Saint Kyriakoloupoulos, Patron of unconventional assistance." I said, mocking prayer. "And fists. If only I invoked you then." You could tell she wanted to answer something else melodramatic and guilt ridden, but her gaze fell to my hands.

The beginnings of a smile tried to set in, trickling in through the recesses of her totalitarian 'No Fun Allowed' conscious. "...Did you even get a hit in?" I grinned, quickly concealing my bare knuckles behind my back. The worst of it was healed to superficial scrapes, which regrettably looked a lot less cool when trying to impress a girl with non-existent fighting prowess. "Depends. Are you rooting for my side?" I pretended like I wasn't expecting a specific response. That the wrong one wouldn't disappoint me, and that this bag of groceries may be the last piece of divine intervention I get out of this woman who already followed me down to the strip clubs of 2nd, and was now tagging along my fugitive romp across America. But she didn't. She pulled her legs up onto the bed, trying to mull over my question as if the answer wasn't clear on her face. She always was a bad liar. "Maybe." "Thought so. Ice cream?"

#office raid #towns #adria #story

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bapyess1r · 7 years ago

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Sum’n Bitch: pt1

It started 10 years ago…

“Maya, I mean it, it’s time to go!” I heard my father yell from the bottom of the stairs. I groaned as I blew out my candles and grabbed my book bag. He was interrupting my morning rituals.

“I’m coming…” I shouted back as I stood up. I went to the closest mirror and checked to see if my hair was still in place and it was. I opened the door, running downstairs to greet my father with a kiss on the cheek. He held out the brown bagged lunch he made for me so early in the morning and kissed my forehead. “Sorry I’m late, pappy.” I joked.

“Don’t call me pappy. That makes me feel old.” He replied laughing a bit.

“You are old!” I said walking towards the end of the driveway to go to my school bus. I was too far away for him to rebuttal and he just smiled and waved.

It was just another dreaded school day. When I got closer to my bus stop, my friend Louise waved at me from across the street. Her long copper hair hanging on either side of her pale face beneath her black page boy cap, a stunning smile pulling at her thick, curvy lips. I grinned, waving back and running towards her to engulf her in the biggest hug. We chatted like every day as we waited in the humidity of dawn for the bus. Luckily, it wasn’t too cold today, I had forgotten my jacket on my way out and the sheer white top I wore wasn’t doing me any favors. “Damn…” I exclaimed as the bus pulled up, trying to gather my thoughts as the day approached. I got on the bus and nodded to my acquaintances, smiled at my classmates, and made my way to the back of the bus and we people watched while looking over each other’s homework like the good students we tried our best to be. I looked up from Louise’s government essay as the bus stopped to pick up more students and I smiled when I saw his face through the water spotted window. The sun seemed to peak through the heavy clouds to shine just in his direction. Logan stood up from his couch position as he talked to his best friend. His smile was blindingly white, damn near perfect and carefree. He ran his hands through the front of his short thick dark locks as he threw his faded red book bag over his shoulder. My jaw dropped practically looking at him. When he got on the bus, he waved at me and smiled. I gave a closed lip smile and continued to look over the work before me.

“You know we could do a love potion thingy. I know you know one.” Louise suggested raising a thin copper brow. I could see the mischief sparkling in her dark orbs.

“I’d rather not stoop to that level.” I groaned. The idea was tempting but I knew it was wrong. I wanted to keep my dignity for as long as possible.

“You never wanna do anything fun.” She pouted playfully.

“Get a new friend then!” I joked with a laugh and she clung to my arm in protest, giggling.

Classes were ok. I got A’s on my assignments and asked questions and stuff. In Biology, Louise and I dissected a frog and she hated it. I had one friend in photography named Ian. He was funny and had an incredible eye. We were often models for each other’s photos. He would often flirt with Louise when she walked me to class. In history, we watched Newsies. I still didn’t know what it had to do with what we were learning but I loved musicals so I said nothing. Geometry was boring, P.E. sucked, English was ok, Drama was interesting. I mean, it’s drama class…. Lunch was different. Nicole Healy was the bane of my existence. She was everything I could never be. She wore her highlighted dark brown hair in coils and eyelashes so long, you’d think she’d fly away if she blinked too fast. She was tall and light skinned with a slim, curvy figure and that made me jealous. She was a Sophomore and the Regina George of the school. This particular day, Logan came by to pick up some flash cards I made. I passed but he failed the Geometry test but he got a retake. In the midst of the small talk, he began flirting with me a bit. The wind blew by messing up my hair a bit and I was already fidgety from nervousness. “Thank you so much for this, Maya. That test kicked my ass today.” He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck.

“It’s not a problem. If you next flash cards again just y’know….let me know.” I said awkwardly in the cringiest fashion.

“I definitely will…. do you uh….have anyone to go to the uh….Halloween dance with...by any chance?” He asked, blushing a little bit.

“Oh my god!” I snorted. I was geeking out. I couldn’t believe he wanted to take me. “No! No I don’t!” I told him, enthusiastically.

“Oh great! Do you maybe wanna-”

“Maya, your blouse is torn!” Nicole interrupted. She and her two friends stood behind her like puppies waiting for her command. I freaked out and stood from my seat to try and touch my back and the back of my pants.

“Oh my god, where?” I exclaimed feeling nervous. Logan also checked around my body as Nicole approached us.

“There’s no tears anywhere.” He said to me, shaking his head and shrugging.

“Sure there is! Right there!” Nicole exclaimed as she grabbed the front of my sheer white top and torn it wide open, exposing my bra to the whole school. I frowned in humiliation as Louise got up and covered me with her big black bomber jacket. Nicole and her friends laughed as the cafeteria reacted with mixed noises. I looked back in a snarl as my friend walked me to my gym locker. I still had a tee shirt. I changed in the girls bathroom and Louise paced back and forth in anger. I just stared off into space. I couldn’t believe that had happened. Logan saw me. Not only him but the whole school…

“We’re doing something about this right?” Louise growled. I shrugged. I didn’t want the drama. “What is that?”

“What?”

“That. That shrug. What the hell is that?”

“I’m not gonna do anything. I’m just gonna keep my head down. I just wanna get through the week.” I groaned.

“No you’re not. You’re gonna do something about this. Nicole has been humiliating you for far too long and this is not ok.” She exclaimed.

“Well!.....what would I even do?” I pouted.

“Do you have a spell for eternal diarrhea?” She joked and I laughed a bit. Suddenly, I became full of darkness and my brain thought of an evil thing.

“I have an idea of what we can do. Meet me at my house tonight around 9.” I smirked.

“Oh hell yeah.” She said.

“Also… I need you to do something for me. I need you to get me a strand of her hair.”

“I can do that. Don’t worry about it.” She said as the lunch bell rang and my name was suddenly called on the PA. I was to be sent to the school counselor. I groaned.

“I don’t have time for this!” I exclaimed.

“I’ll meet you after class.” She said. “Be strong.”

“Yeah…” I mumbled as I dragged myself to the counselor’s office.

When I arrived, she sighed upon seeing me. She took her glasses off and placed them into her snowy white short feathered hair, rubbing a small hand over her wrinkled face. “Ms. Andrews…. wanna tell me what happened?” She asked me as she leaned back into her chair.

“No, Ms. Sykes. I don’t.” I said sarcastically as I took a seat in one of the chairs at the front of her desk. I flopped as I sat down and sighed.

“Jesus, kid…. why won’t you let me call your father- at the very least, her mother? Get her in trouble for a change.” She groaned.

“Because I don’t want to deal with everything that comes out of that.” I snapped in a monotonous voice. She sighed heavily.

“Don’t cha ever get tired of her doin’ this to ya and gettin’ away with it? Hmm? I can only help if you let me.”

“I won’t need it. I appreciate the offer though.” I said snarkily.

“You sure, kiddo?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Alright...fine.” She said this to me reluctantly but I didn’t care. I just wanted it to be 9 o’ clock so I could get my revenge.

|9 o’ clock|

“Am I doing this the right way?” Louise asked as she placed the black candles in a circle around us indicating North, South, East, and West after casting a circle with olive oil. Then she placed two red candles on either side of the southern candle and the last one near the northern.

“Yeah, this is perfect. And it’s a full moon tonight which is perfect because I had no clue that it needed to be present….” I said looking up at the moon in our backyard, taping the hair strand to the back of a picture of Nicole we printed off her social media. I wondered suddenly what lengths my friend went to in order to acquire this strand of hair. “How’d you get this so easily?”

“You know how the art room is so close to the gym? Well her last period is P.E. So I excused myself to the bathroom, snuck to the girls locker room, got a strand off her brush.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“And you’re positive this is Nicole’s hair?”

“Yeah! Look at it! How can it not be? What are we even doing?”

“I’ve decided that I’m going to perform a hair loss spell.” I smirked and my friend giggled with glee and mischief before we continued with the spell. I sat facing South as Louise stood outside of the circle to watch. I closed my eyes to gather all my rage to center my energy and breathed in deep. I picked up the candle behind me and bowed in each direction lowly and humbly, seeking pardon from the gods for what was about to go down. With that same candle I burned the strand of hair all the way up to the picture and placed it on the porcelain plate in the middle to burn to ash. When it had completely burned, I quickly blew out all the candles and looked at Louise.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. The spell works overnight.”

“..... is it forever?”

“Unfortunately not. It’s only temporary. Her hair will grow back. Slowly.”

“Nah…..Nah- she needs something else. A little extra.” She said pacing and thinking.

“Jesus, Lou. Nicole Healy is losing her hair.her hair! Do you know how fucked up she will be from this alone?”

“I don’t care. It’s not enough after all she put you through…. what about bad luck? Don’t you have like a cursed object or something that I can place on her?”

“Do I look like Dumbledore to you?” I chuckled.

“For a bad luck curse, just wear a pentacle, light a black candle and think negatively about her.”

“Oooohhhh! I can do that!”

“Do you own a pentacle?”

“No….”

“I’ll lend you one and a black candle if you wanna do it that badly.” I said cleaning up.

“Yes please!” She grinned.

“You’re a psycho you know that, right?”

“Would you still be my friend if I weren’t?”

That was an excellent question. She balanced me in a way no one else could. If anything, I needed her! After we cast the spell, Louise went home. My father, Virgil, watched his tv programs as I did the dishes from tonight’s dinner, casually asking me questions about what Louise and I did. “I saw you take some candles out back. What were you guys up to?”

“Just a full moon ritual. We needed some good luck for a test tomorrow.” I lied. Usually if I just make shit up and use a bunch of fancy words, he believes me.

”Did it work?” He chuckled with his deep voice.

“We’ll find out tomorrow.” I smirked. I couldn’t wait to see her tomorrow. Oh how I wished I could see the look of something awful on her face when she gets that first clump if hair in her hands. I grinned at her suffering. The next day was going to be interesting. I had been messed around with the Heathers for far too long and it was time I took action. I felt liberated doing the spell somehow, like from here on out it was going to get better. But I knew I was gonna have a price to pay for it. I just didn’t know what yet.

#supernatural poc #supernatural reaction #supernatural imagines #supernatural headcannons #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fandom #supernatural smut #sam winchester #dean winchester #sam and dean #sumnbitch #supernatural fanfic #sam winchester x oc #dean winchester x oc #fictober18

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itsomgitsgreenblogging · 8 years ago

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Break My Heart: Chapter 1 (A Solangelo Fanfiction)

Imagine you take your average “Three Days in the Infirmary” fic, and then add a twist. This would be your fic! And the twist is a prophetic dream that throws Will Solace into turmoil.

I hope you all enjoy!

Read on AO3

Preview:

“Okay, but in all seriousness. What are you going to do?” Cecil asked him, resting his chin on his hands. “Not all of us get dreams to give us forewarnings about the treacherous nature of the dating waters, so how will you use your newly acquired powers?”

“Well, since starting anything with Nico di Angelo obviously isn’t going to go anywhere, and I had no idea why, I…I guess I’m just not going to go for it. If I tried it would be a self-fulfilling prophecy,” Will said as he waved off Cecil. “I mean, how hard could not falling for one boy be?”

It was a dream.

A caveat being that it wasn’t just a dream. Demigods, as Will Solace had learned early on, don’t just have casual viewing experiences. Especially if the demigod in question was a child of Apollo, who was indeed the god in charge of prophecy despite all of Apollo’s notoriously bad decision making. That didn’t mean that Will couldn’t have your run-of-the-mill weird trippy nonsensical dreams, or other dreams that tended to be inappropriate for young impressionable demigods. But that did mean that Will had to be able to tell the difference between the two, and the difference was always this: in regular dreams the scenery would be foggy, whereas the prophetic dreams were sharp, colorful, and loud.

And that was what this dream was; it was vivid, it was real, it was prophetic…it was about Nico di Angelo?

They were sitting together at the end of the dock, the autumn breeze crisp and clean as it flitted from the lake carrying with it the scent mist and strawberry. The sky was almost blindingly bright and blue, while the trees were just tinged with just a blush of color. Will turned to the boy next to him, noting his leather jacket and feeling a thrill that nearly set his heart on fire. The Will who was a part of this dream welcomed it, while he succumbed to his confusion.

“Will…I…” Nico was saying to him, looking up at him with eyes wide and…was that a blush staining his cheeks? And he looked healthier than any time that Will could ever remember Nico di Angelo being, his cheeks filled out, the dark bruises under his eyes only shading them, his hair pulled back in a little ponytail, and his skin had color to it versus the warmed-over-corpse white shade he had been on Half Blood Hill during the battle.

And Will was holding his hand (how had he not noticed that was beyond him, but somehow it felt natural, so natural), and Nico’s fingers were curled with his own instead judo-flipping him and killing him with a well-placed strike. On that note, why were his own nails painted?

“Am I…is this…alright?” Will’s mouth moved and asked, and Will could feel his own cheeks heat up in return. He was just wearing a flannel and jeans but he felt entirely too warm, as if he would explode from nerves. Nico didn’t move, something guarded in his expression, before he met Will’s gaze evenly. It was intense and dark, and Will could feel his stomach twist up in a hundred knots.

“Hey Will?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t think we should do this anymore.”

Will woke up with a start, his heart racing in his chest. He felt like the rug had been pulled out from underneath him, he felt the sickening feeling in his stomach as if he had just missed a step on the stairs and his foot had fallen through the air, he felt the recoiling blow of rejection like a slap to the face. The dream was there, and he replayed it in his mind again and again as his heart rate fell, trying to parcel out some sense from it but finding nothing.

“What in the name of the Gods?” Will asked himself, before looking around his mostly empty cabin. Thankfully the younger kids were still asleep, not disturbed by his sudden outburst. Kayla and Austin were probably still in the infirmary with Roman children of Apollo who had accompanied the legion to Camp Half Blood. And it was still before dawn, probably too early for him to be getting up. But if Will was good at one thing, it was avoiding his own problems by helping to solve other people’s. And this dream was something he definitely wanted to avoid before being more awake to deal with it (or possibly never).

And so Will crossed the camp in the dark after throwing on some fresh clothes and a sweatshirt, and walked into the infirmary. Phoebe looked up from the desk at him in confusion. She was the leader of the Roman medics, and had been nice enough once they had gotten past the initial awkwardness. That awkwardness being attributed to an unfortunate relative of both of them named Octavian, and though Phoebe had definitely not been a fan of the guy, there was also the principle of the matter. Will supposed they both had inherited Apollo’s protective nature in the end, and death wasn’t easy for either of them. So they had mostly agreed to focus on their work, and leave everything else to fall as it would.

“You are here early,” Phoebe observed stately, taking another sip of her coffee.

“Anyone I can help?” Will asked, sitting himself up on the desk and looking through a chart. With his general level of sleep deprivation and dyslexia, he barely made any progress before the words began shifting on the page.

“You know that you should be sleeping, you need the rest,” Phoebe pointed out to him, running a hand through her hair.

“I had a weird dream is all, I’m not going to be falling back asleep anytime soon,” Will dismissed her, shoving the dream as far back as he could in his head for the moment.

“Well, if you must, check out Alicia’s leg, you know, the child of Mercury. She was awake and groaning about it earlier, but I also have a feeling she was trying to pickpocket Kayla and she isn’t awake enough to ward off attacks,” Phoebe told him with a huff, standing up to go to the coffee pot and pour him a cup with a splash of cream and sugar. She handed it to him, and Will smiled back gratefully before going to do just that.

Alicia’s leg was in good condition and healing well, and Will managed to avoid any wandering fingers. Ellis Wakefield’s broken ribs were on the mend, and Will knew that because Ellis could hiss out insults after being poked and prodded with minimal gasping. Lacey from Aphrodite was sleeping soundly and the cut on her forehead was looking fine, while Nyssa from Hephaestus’ fingers were looking much less swollen. And Suzuka Yamato, a Mars legacy, reported her head was feeling better by communicating with both him and Ellis Wakefield in a series of expletives in Japanese, Latin, and English.

He continued to do the rounds, scooting his tired siblings who had done the nightshift out of the infirmary to get some rest, and tugged at his sweatshirt’s sleeve absently. The sensation reminded him of what he was working so hard to avoid, and eventually he had to say something to someone.

“Hey, Phoebe, has Nico di Angelo come in at all?” Will asked Phoebe, trying to be as nonchalant as possible, as he returned to the desk with the excuse of making a fresh cup of coffee.

“You mean the son of Hades?” Phoebe asked, her eyebrows drawn. “I haven’t seen him. Why? Should I have?”

“Well…I told him to report to the infirmary for three days,” Will excused quickly. “I guess this means I have to go get him.”

“Well, I would rather you not die. I will talk to Chiron about it,” Phoebe said with a sniff. “I’m sure he’ll corral him and have a conversation about the importance of healing wounds.”

“Nico wouldn’t—“

Phoebe’s look was enough to get Will to do the smart thing and shut up. And maybe she had a point. After all, Nico had apparently been the one who would break up with him, so maybe the guy secretly hated him and would try to fight him if he approached. But that still didn’t mean that he should let Nico be injured, the more rational part of Will’s brain pointed out, and if they had at least had a thing or would have a thing then maybe Nico also liked him somewhat. (And Will had to admit, after the birthing and just running into the field of battle, he had been hopped up on adrenalin and had probably been more forceful then he had needed to be, and he had been previously hoping the days in the infirmary would give him a chance to apologize.) But the whole thing didn’t make any sense to begin with, Will tried to reason back. Everyone knew that Nico had had a crush on Annabeth Chase. Maybe Nico was bi? Maybe Will would have just been the unfortunate rebound. Or maybe Will had been making the moves on him and was about to be rejected—

Will’s head hurt, and he desperately needed council. So Will went to sit next to Cecil who was nursing a pulled tendon and a sprained ankle. He poked his very good friend awake, and like a true friend Cecil blinked awake, groaned, and then immediately turned over.

“Bro…no…just no…” Cecil groaned dramatically, trying to dig himself back under the covers like a bear attempting to return to hibernation. Will wasn’t having it.

“Cecil, please, I need to talk to someone I think I’m going crazy,” Will told him as he pulled off the covers, Cecil sat up to snatch them back and Will let them go.

“Yeah you have to be pretty freaking mental to be up so early, and making me be up so early!” Cecil snapped back, before seemingly giving in and laying back down. “Alright, alright, I’m awake. What do you need?”

“I had a dream, but it wasn’t just a dream it was a prophetic dream,” Will tried to explain before realizing that had not been an explanation and groaning.

“Okay? And? You get those sometimes right?”

“Well yeah…but this one was different…it…” Will trailed off before shifting uncomfortably. Cecil did not look amused by Will’s fidgeting and rolled his eyes as he reached over to swipe Will’s coffee.

“Alright Will, seriously spit it out—“

“Nico di Angelo was breaking up with me,” Will blurted out.

Cecil immediately choked and coughed out the liquid, and after getting through the worst of his coughing fit, Cecil stared at Will with something akin to disbelief as he set Will’s coffee back on the side table.

“You’re joking, that’s supposed to be funny right,” Cecil said as he wiped his face with his arm, and when seeing the suffering look on Will’s face he broke out into a grin, “wait you aren’t joking? Seriously? Damn Solace you’ve got so much game you see it ending before it even starts.”

“Okay seriously I’m having a moment so I would appreciate some concern,” Will groaned as he let his head fall into his hands. “You can at least pretend to be my actual friend.”

“Why would I do that when this is so much more fun,” Cecil noted before humming as he laid back against the pillows, “that’s crazy though, seriously.”

“I know, you’re telling me!” Will said as spun on his chair absently.

“And you are sure it was a prophecy, and not just some weird lucid dream?” Cecil asked seriously, a brow quirking in his favor. Will dismissed it with a glum shake of his head.

“Yeah, I can tell the difference. It was prophetic, very prophetic, with the sense of impending doom and everything,” Will explained nervously as he continued to spin, until he got dizzy and settled with nervously tapping his foot to the frantic rhythm of his panic instead.

“Well tell me what happened,” Cecil said as he crossed his arms over his chest.

And so he did, recounting the plot of dream, every little detail he remembered, and the state that he woke up in. Cecil hummed and nodded along, only interjecting once or twice for clarification. At the end, they both sat quietly for a moment, the infirmary coming to life as Roman demigods did their rounds. Cecil finally broke the silence,

“We’re pretty sure that Nico was breaking up with you. Or at least rejecting you. And the way you describe the dream…well…it sounds like it took place a few months from now. It had to at least be September or October-ish.”

“So what should I do?”

“Well, I don’t know. Do you like Nico di Angelo?” Cecil asked curiously without judgment.

“I…he’s cool, and heroic, and he’s pretty attractive. You saw him in the battle, and I do want to help him. But I don’t know, it’s hard to like like a person I don’t know. And I don’t really know him,” Will said in return with a noncommittal shrug.

“Apparently, you are going to get to know him pretty well,” Cecil pointed out and he flipped to laying on his stomach. “Well enough that you are going to start dating, or at least making moves on him.”

“Don’t be a douche,” Will told him with a sigh.

“Infamous last words,” Cecil noted as he lay back down completely. “Don’t worry there are way more fish in the sea.”

“What am I? Percy Jackson? I—at least get your leg elevated,” Will muttered as he pulled pillows from the side and helped Cecil get readjusted with a small piece of ambrosia, not bothering to address the implications of Cecil’s previous comment.

Will left Cecil’s bedside soon after that and Phoebe immediately looked towards him.

“Chiron’s going to bring Nico di Angelo in later,” Phoebe reported without any preface. “He said he was going to have words with him, so, let’s hope for the best.

“Alright,” Will said before putting on his best smile, which felt oddly placed. “Better get to work then.”

#Solangelo #Solangelo fanfiction #Will Solace #Nico di Angelo

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storyunrelated · 8 years ago

Text

Proper Schooling: Valentine’s

Gasp! Proper Schooling stuff!

It's dumb, mostly. Mostly mostly. Mostly I'm using these little...bits as exercises in trying to pin down what I want from these two.

The idea in this particular one came from me reading, uh, some fanfic or other and they mentioned the idea of the cruel game which is mentioned in here and I found the idea so unbelievable I wanted to put it in. So I did. I didn't make the best use of it, and I still find it unbelievable.

But there you go. Big wodge of words.

Through no fault of their own Olivia and Andrew had had a run of showing up late for lessons. The reasons for these delays varied and were usually brushed aside as ‘excuses’ despite being perfectly valid explanations for being late. Building collapse. Fire. Sludge monster. These were things that had happened and had caused them to be anywhere up to five minutes later. The teachers cared not and they suffered accordingly.

Because of this they had decided to make a conscious effort to get to lessons early, in the hopes of arriving at them on time.The first lessons to benefit from this new approach of theirs was a maths lesson and they set off together with high-hopes, ignoring the sudden flurry of snow that started as they left Wrackit Block and which only got heavier the further along they went. They likely should have paid it more attention.

An unfortunate combination of poor weather and even poorer lesson planning meant that when they arrived the classroom was empty of both other pupils, the teacher and (somehow) a considerable amount of the furniture. This wouldn’t have been so bad for them had the weather not immediately worsened on their arrival, cutting off all routes of escape for them and barring access to anyone else. Things went from a little chilly with a few flakes to foot upon foot of impenetrable drifts in seconds. So it was just them now, until they cleared the snow or the snow stopped coming down. Whichever came first.

Olivia was by the windows. What she hoped to see was anyone’s guess. The snow outside made it like staring at a brick wall, only worse, because at least with a wall you could count the bricks if you were feeling bored. This was just swirling whiteness that made her eyes water. Her options were limited enough that this seemed like the best thing to do.

Sometimes - though she couldn’t be sure if she was imagining it or not - the snow would clear enough for her to be able to see what looked like Drudges struggling with shovels and some very large, plough-bearing machine that seemed to be refusing to start. It would explain the inordinate amount of muffled swearing she could hear even above the wind outside. Nice to know someone was working on it, too. She wondered if the Drudges were still cold in those big suits of theirs. She imagined they were and for a moment felt a little sorry for them.

“What’s the date today?” Olivia asked out of nowhere, breaking the silence that had previously been filling the classroom. The classroom was also cold, and a tiny missing chunk in one of the other windows meant a constant stream of snowflakes were falling and melting in one particular stop in the middle. Neither of them cared about this.

“The fourteenth of February,” Andrew said without a moment’s hesitation. Boy was like a calendar. Also like a compass, an encyclopedia and a stepladder (if the situation called for it).

“Valentine’s day…”

Despite being a daunting dimension of academic neglect and all-round unpleasantness, pretty much every major holiday and day of note was exactly the same as the one Olivia was used to back home. This was handy, even if it made her head hurt if she thought about it for too long. Andrew said it wasn’t worth worrying about, but that didn’t stop her from time to time. That sort of thing was just too stupid to let go easily.

Valentine’s day though. That made her gut clench.

She wandered back across the mostly-empty classroom to where Andrew was sitting, dragging a chair with her part of the way she could slump down on the opposite side of the desk he was on. Andrew had felt the best use of his time trapped in the classroom was to find something and dismantle it, so that was exactly what he’d started doing and what he was still doing when Olivia sat across from him. What it had been before he’d got his hands on it was unclear, but now it was just parts.

“Have you ever been in a relationship?” She asked. Andrew did not look up from what he was doing, but then again she hadn’t really expected him to.

“I am going to assume you mean a romantic relationship. The answer would then be ‘no’,” he said, squinting as he undid a particularly tiny screw. He carried tools for this sort of thing with him everywhere, Olivia had learnt, and usually in a place no-one would find if they wanted to search him. She hadn’t probed him too deeply on this. Make of that sentence what you will.

“Any particular reason?” She asked.

“Why would I need a reason?” Andrew asked, genuinely unaware of why he might need a reason. Olivia tried to think of one for him but his response had been so blunt it took the words out of her mouth and left her grasping at nothing. This gave him an opportunity to ask:

“I take it you have, then?”

“Two. Maybe two. Mostly just one.”

“Given the subjective nature of romantic relationships I imagine it is hard to be any more specific than that?” Andrew asked, picking up a component and blowing on it. What this did was unclear, as he didn’t seem any happier after doing it and put it down with all the rest. Olivia gave him a look.

“You really don’t know much about this, do you?” She asked. He shrugged.

“I’m aware of some technical aspects but on the whole, no. It’s not something that concerns me much and it doesn’t really have to. Some people have told me that this is a weakness or a bad thing but they’ve never really been able to explain to me why this is.”

“I guess it’s just the way you’re put together.”

“Basically. I am content though, so I’m not sure where the issue is. I take it Valentine’s day has stirred some memory or other in you, prompting you to ask me?”

“Yes. No. Sort of. It just made me think of something which made me think of something.”

“That has been known to happen.”

Olivia waited for Andrew to say anything after this that she could use as something to keep talking. He said nothing. She had expected this, but had sort of been hoping that today might have been the day he’d surprised her. It wasn’t and she sighed, rubbing her temples. Andrew was more of a person you talked at then a person you talked with.

“I haven’t had many good Valentine’s days, and I’ve had at least one very bad one,” she said, promptingly.

“Days can vary in quality,” he said. Olivia gave up.

“I’m going to tell you something, okay?” She asked. Andrew nodded.

“There was a game that some of the girls used to play. The popular girls, I should say, not all the girls. They would, ah - would pick out one of the boys and would start stringing him along. Subtly hinting they might want to go out, you know? Without saying anything, of course. Just little things. The kind of affection that they wouldn’t be used to, the kind it was easy for them to fake without thinking. And they would let that build and build until it got to a point that the boy would open himself up to her. If he did this in public the girl would deny everything - loudly - and mock the boy for him making assumptions like that. Lonely boys, usually. Or lonely girls, if they knew they’d respond. But they only did it with the girls once or twice. Definitely at least twice. Uh, yeah..” Olivia said, distantly.

Andrew considered this, chewing it over in his head, mouth working silently as he ran through this unfamiliar concept. Evidently it did not pass muster as he shook his head and looked at her for the first time in the whole conversation.

“No. No sorry I can’t really see that happening I’m afraid. Just seems like a lot of work for very little payout. Doesn’t seem believable to me,” he said. It was a truly foreign concept to Andrew on a very basic level. Certainly, he’d never heard about anything like it happening either here or back at the Academy either, and Andrew usually prided himself on hearing about unpleasant schemes fairly quickly.

“I can tell you first-hand that it happened,” Olivia said, the distance in her tone replaced with considerable bitterness. Andrew looked at her blankly. Bitterness was not something he was capable of picking up on without assistance and it passed him by without a murmur.

“How very bizarre. Then again I do suppose you come from a different world entirely. A world of nightmares and cruelty, from the sound of things.”

This was the very height of richness given where Andrew lived and what happened there. Just yesterday she’d seen a teacher staple a pupil to the wall through his jacket for not synchronising his eyelids properly when he blinked. But on this particular point Olivia didn’t feel the need to call him out on it. The cruelty here was at least so over the top and random it had a certain charm and flair. It held a curious lack of obvious malice, despite everything that happened. Back home it was just callous. The girls had done it to get a reaction, because they could. She rather wished she hadn’t brought any of this up at all. Bit late now.

“It wasn’t fun. To see. It wasn’t fun to see it happen. From up close,” Olivia said.

“I bet,” Andrew said, doing a fine job of missing the blindingly obvious while also completely failing to notice that Olivia was now quite upset. “And this has what to do with Valentine’s day, exactly? Or am I failing to grasp something quite blatant?” He was, as previously stated. Olivia glared at him. Subtlety was getting her nowhere.

“It happened to me,” she said.

“Oh. Why didn’t you say?”

“I thought I was dropping enough hints,” she said through gritted teeth.

“You were? What was I supposed to do with them?” He asked and Olivia was filled with the type of crushing despair you got when your only point of contact in a world that wasn’t your own was a boy who understood the words you were speaking but nothing of what you were actually saying. Folding her arms on the desk in front of her she flopped, defeated.

Outside in the cold and the wind the Drudges had turned their shovels onto the plough vehicle in the hopes of coaxing it into life. It withstood this abuse with patience, waiting for its moment. When it came, it unexpectedly lurched forward and smeared several inattentive Drudges across the snow. This amused the plough greatly, and sent the rest scattering. It also destroyed its engine and rendered the vehicle finally, utterly dead. It was later burnt on a pyre as an example to the others and also to keep some of the Drudges warm. Inside and in the present, Olivia and Andrew did not know about any of this.

Silence filled the room again as Olivia - the only one with any real reason to talk - lost all stomach to do so. The memories that had boiled up within her were not overwhelmingly pleasant ones and she had rather been hoping for a sympathetic ear into which she could pour herself. Given that the only ears she had valiable were Andrew’s she knew she should have known better.

Still. Now that she felt awful there wasn’t much use in sitting and bottling it all back up again. That way madness lay, she well knew. If nothing else Andrew could be a sponge for her. Certainly, he wasn’t going to complain. She stirred from her slump.

She wasn’t going to bother giving him the whole thing from start to finish. It was doubtful he would fully appreciate hearing about the tentative starts of conversation with someone she’d never thought would even notice her. How the tentative start had grown gradually to become something Olivia poured herself into every moment she could and which ultimately culminated - thanks to the date being so close - in her deciding that a nice, romantic gesture on Valentine’s day would be a pleasant surprise well-received. It hadn’t been. Olivia grimaced.

Andrew would not have understood any of it even she’d told him anyway.

“It wasn’t all bad, though…” She said, rubbing her eyes.

“As if often the way of things,” Andrew said and Olivia just ignored this and continued.

“There was a girl - Polly. She’d had the same thing happen to her, I must have missed it. But we, uh, got to talking and we hit it off. We had fun, for a bit. Didn’t last but it wasn’t a bad thing. Just ended mutually, you know? Two people acknowledging that they’re better off as friends and that it’s happier that way. You know?” She looked at Andrew. He did not know. Whatever he was fiddling with while staring dumbly back at her snapped in his fingers and he glanced down.

“Drat,” he said.

A sudden gust of ferocious wind blew a pane of glass clean out of one of the window frames and sent it whizzing across the room to shatter against a wall. This made Olivia jump and she whirled around in her chair. Other than this though nothing else seemed to be happening. More snow was piling up inside the classroom but that was about it. Andrew hadn’t even flinched. She wondered how long it would take for her to end up like that. The thought didn’t make her especially happy. This place had already taken more from her than she would have liked.

“Anyway. That’s why I don’t really have any warm of fuzzy feelings about Valentine’s day,” Olivia said on turning back in her seat, fully aware that at no-point had anyone suggested she had fuzzy feelings about anything. She just felt that the blanket assumption was that everyone - barring the occasion love-hating sourpuss like her - liked Valentine’s day even if they didn’t admit it. What she based this on was unclear. Societal pressure, perhaps.

“I think you’re focusing on the wrong parts of this anecdote,” Andrew said, prodding the broken pieces of whatever had just snapped. Olivia’s eyes silently whacked onto him with a furious force. An intangible force agreeably, but had anyone else been watching her they would have felt it. This was a sore spot for her, after all.

“What?”

“You seem far more concerned with the malicious actions of the popular girls then with the positive period that followed. What makes a girl popular, by the way? Is it something they have to work at?”

“Hey, I’m not downplaying Polly, okay? I really liked her. We weren’t together-together long but it was great and she’s a good friend of mine now, yeah? I just - I’m talking to you about this thing and it was real bad what they did to me! And every time I see the date roll around again it just reminds me of what happened!”

“It does sound unpleasant,” Andrew said in a way that suggested he thought this was what he was supposed to say. That was because he thought this was what he was supposed to say.

Arguing about an unhappy Valentine’s day in a freezing-cold room while a blizzard happened outside was not really how Olivia had planned on spending her day. Then again at no-point in any of her planning had she considered waking up in Bowport Wood, so maybe planning was a waste of time in the first place. Certainly it never seemed to make much difference to what happened to her here.

The surviving Drudges outside had been reinforced with new arrivals and had, after working up the courage to approach it, set fire to the plough vehicle. In a final act of spiteful revenge it waited until they’d huddled around it for warmth before allowing the flames to lick downwards into its fuel tank at which point it promptly exploded and killed them all. It had always been a spiteful machine. The Drudges should really have known this, and had no-one to blame but themselves.

“Unpleasant? You’ve never done anything like it, have you?” Olivia asked.

“Nope,” Andrew said, bluntly. He hadn’t.

“They humiliated me! In front of everyone! Well, not everyone - but a lot of people, okay? A lot of people saw what they did. And they all laughed, too. Some of them filmed it. Filmed it! They knew what was going to happen and they let it happen. Because they enjoyed it. All of them.”

“Except for this one person. Pulley? No, Polly. Sorry. It seems you’re doing yourself some damage by choosing to focus on the negative here rather than the ultimately positive outcome that followed.”

“I’m not - I’m not choosing to focus on the negative! It was negative! It made me feel bad! You can’t just choose things like that! It happened and I felt something!” Olivia was dangerously close to hammering a fist on the desk at this point.

Andrew shrugged again, a gesture he was unaware was perfectly calibrated to infuriate anyone who saw it.

“Men are disturbed, not by things, but by the principles and notions which they form concerning things. If you stop feeling bad about something you won’t feel bad about it. It will continue to have happened, yes, but it will have no more hold over you. Just takes practise,” he said.

“That - what? Not everyone is like you, Andrew.”

“I just don’t think they’re trying hard enough.”

Olivia accepted complete and utter defeat and sank back onto her arms.

“There is one girl, actually,” Andrew said eventually, breaking the silence again. Olivia’s ears pricked up and her head raised ever so slightly so she could peer at him.

“What?” She asked.

“She claims I’m her boyfriend. I’ve never actually met her. She’s said to have very impressive eyebrows. There are things I’ve heard about her. Would she count?” He asked. Olivia’s ears pricked back down again and she sunk onto her folded arms.

“No, that doesn’t count,” she said. This did raise a considerable number of further questions but she was in no mood to ask those ones right now. They would be exhausting, she just knew it. Andrew didn’t seem concerned either way.

“If you say so,” he said, laying his screwdriver down and regarding all the little bits and pieces he now had spread out in front of him. The broken ones were in a pile off to the side. Olivia peeked out at all this as well, albeit through a curtain of hair.

“What are you dismantling anyway? What is this?”

“It was, I believe, something to do with the information infrastructure of the building. A router maybe? Or a regulator. I’m not sure. Bowport Wood has some odd technology in it I must admit. I just thought it might contain something useful I could use to upgrade your implant. How is it handling the cold, by the way?”

Olivia stiffened and sat up, adjusting her jacket and her shirt. Even then the slightly awkward, lumpy shape beneath it still tented the fabric. She didn’t want to touch it because it made her skin crawl even thinking about it being there.

“It was fine until you mentioned it…” She said with a grimace. Andrew just nodded.

“One of those things. If you feel anything you consider worrying you tell me and I’ll see if I can do anything about it.”

Olivia still had difficulty accepting the fact that her heart had apparently been removed - or partially removed, as Andrew always reminded her - but that she had been saved from death by one boy and the replacement heart he just happened to have lying around. Which he’d installed on his own. With no formal training. In the rooms he’d carved out of an abandoned boarding block that sat in the least reputable side of a school larger than most towns.

All of this was just that sort of thing that sat in the corner of her head making her think this was all a lengthy, unpleasant dream. She knew it wasn’t though, because her dreams would never, ever have been as stupid as this. Still, it was nice to imagine sometimes that she might just wake up and get back to normality.

“Course,” she said. Adding: “Thanks.”

Further conversation was forestalled by a mournful cry carried into the classroom on the wind. Olivia’s eyes widened. That hadn’t been one of the normal screams she sometimes heard.

“Ah. The ice-men cometh. They’re far South for this time of year,” Andrew said, as if this kind of thing was normal. Of course, he knew about the breach of the Watford Gap and the associated nasties that had pushed down into the heartlands only to be cut-off and left behind, while Olivia did not. It was unclear whether knowing any of this would have made her happier, but odds looked slim.

“What was that?” Olivia asked.

“Yetis. Or snow-men. They have a name for themselves you can’t pronounce it with a warm mouth. This blizzard might be their doing, come to think of it. Would explain how sudden it was. They’re here to reclaim the snow.”

Olivia was set to start feeling justified in choosing to panic when she actually ran through what Andrew had just said. It was too obtuse to allow for thinking about anything else and brought her worry to an abrupt, crashing halt.

“If it’s their blizzard why would they send it just to reclaim it?” She asked. Andrew shrugged.

“Who are we to fathom the motivations of yetis? Anyway, we need some heat or else they might come in here. Help me wrap this wire.”

#Amwriting #Writing #Writblr #Proper Schooling #WIP

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thesinglesjukebox · 7 years ago

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THE CHAINSMOKERS FT. EMILY WARREN - SIDE EFFECTS

[5.86]

Hoorah for Emily Warren!

Will Rivitz: The Chainsmokers are cheating my rating system a bit, in that I am physically incapable of giving any song with a house beat and a chunky bassline anything less than a [9], but no matter: this is the best the duo has sounded since "Closer." This song is what Vegas wishes it felt like: incomprehensibly titanic, seamlessly whipping from dangerously vibrant verse to the brief respite of prechorus eye-of-storm to a chorus so blindingly bright that describing its neon as "euphoria" is an almost insulting undersell. Even the Shamir-knockoff bridge feels essential, the kind of interlude Chromeo wishes they could write. It's every pop-house producer of the past five years at their absolute best -- snatches of Ronson and Harris and Disclosure and Gorgon City and so many more -- but combined in a way such that the whole is infinitely more than the sum of its parts. This would have been unquestionably the song of the summer had it come out in May or June, but it's just as well it was released when it was: its fire need not be contained by a single season. [10]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: The Chainsmokers have gotten worse by getting better. "Side Effects" is on a core level better than anything in their astonishing run of 2015-2017 chart success ("Roses"-"Don't Let Me Down"-"Closer"-"Something Just Like This," all of which went at least three times platinum in the US)--it's completely devoid of embarrassing drops or shoe-horned references to Blink 182, and Emily Warren's performance as a non-specific maker of bad decisions is convincing (save for an awkwardly rapped bridge). But it doesn't feel like a song by anyone or for anyone--it lacks the honed, craven knowledge of pop that Peak Chainsmokers was driven by, especially on "Closer," which is unfortunately and undeniably one of the defining pop songs of the decade. There, every line, every stolen synth hook was a pinpointed assault on your mind, driving you inexorably into, if not love, at least a weird sort of respect for the sort of operation they were running. Two years later, "Side Effects" feels inert--a weak approximation of the weak approximations of disco-pop of the middle part of this decade. It's competent and listenable--but that's not what the Chainsmokers are for, are they? [4]

Taylor Alatorre: No Chainsmokers song will ever live up to the one that namedrops Blink-182. It's just a fact. They can try to "branch out" all they want (in which "branching out" refers to picking from the buffet of worn-out pop trends), they can white-boy rap all they want, but they'll always be the ones who brought pop punk nostalgia to the top of the charts at a time it was desperately needed. But why stop there? They could've made a whole career out of bringing Ryan Hemsworth's vision of emo-electro to the masses; they could've been the ones who posthumously collabed with Lil Peep instead of Marshmello. What a wasted premise. [5]

Will Adams: The sudden pivot to disco-pop may seem cynical, but it's necessary and, after a series of bland Twenty One Pilots drippings, more than welcome; finally, The Chainsmokers have stopped trying to sing and are returning to the emotive dancepop they briefly dabbled in. Emily Warren is reliably sharp in her approach to forlorn EDM tropes, and the spoken bridge adds something new to the formula. [7]

Thomas Inskeep: Finally, Emily Warren gets a "featured" credit! She co-wrote "Don't Let Me Down" (ugh) and sang on "Paris" (heretofore the bros' best single), and does both on "Side Effects," which succeeds for a simple reason -- well, no, two simple reasons. One, it's not sung by the Chainsmokers themselves; these dumb-as-rocks frat bros generally benefit from a female perspective. Secondly, it's uptempo, not that dreary slow-to-midtempo EDM shit they spent much of the past two years inflicting upon the world (or at least its pop sphere). I wish that the song weren't another entry in the "(potentially) smart women making poor choices" school of "it's 4am..." (need I go further) pop songs, but I'm much more willing to accept it when it's coming from a woman. And musically, this is almost -- by Chainsmokers standards, at least -- ebullient, a housier spin on their lowest-common-drop EDM. So yeah, call it a success and enjoy it for what it is. [6]

Anna Suiter: This is a summer record, plain and simple. You don't even need to be told that because it's written all over. It's nice enough, sure, and the Chainsmokers always sound better when they aren't being too dour. It's too bad that so much of that feeling depends on who's actually singing the words, though. [5]

Alfred Soto: Better blankly compelling over house keyboards than coerced pathos with pretty male bangs. [4]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

#The Chainsmokers #Emily Warren

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weglitterystrangercollector-blog · 7 years ago

Text

A Hoarder and His Friend Finn: This Is Their Story The shrill wail of my alarm clock echoes and beats against the walls before my hand flies out from the fleece blankets, smacking hard until my fingers are lucky enough to find the OFF button. My eyes are still closed when my breath comes out in deep sighs of exhaustion and annoyance. I look around my dorm in unfortunate familiarity, the reality of stacks on stacks of coffee mugs littering my side of the room explains how most of my nights are being spent, and I chuckle in spite of myself, knowing if I were to ever mysteriously disappear, a private investigator would entirely find his answers in my cramped, “Buried Alive” kind of college dorm room. My roommate shifts in his bed, but the snores don’t decrease in any sort of volume. If I wasn’t already used to the loud, exasperatingly irritating Alroy Murphy I would have assumed he was choking or suffocating on something in his sleep, I also would have debated saving his life, at least for the desperate satisfaction of waking up in complete silence. “Al!” I say throwing my pillow at his obviously vibrant red hair sticking out from the bed sheets. He doesn’t even flinch.

The snores are louder now, and I can’t help but thinks he’s subconsciously aware of how unbearable it is for me to sleep in the same room as him. I fling my sheets off my bare legs and my feet quickly hit the hardwood floor, they carry me passed Al’s collection of meditation crystals, yoga mats, a concerningly weird number of wooden clocks and other little trinkets that contribute to most of my friends thinking I live with an extreme hoarder. “you got to get the man some help, or just make some profit off exposing him to a sort of addictions show!” Gale, my good friend would spout in laughter when Al wasn’t in the room.

“Sush, I’m not the cleanest either trust me,” I laugh pointing towards my dirty dishes and gym shorts that hang off the side of my dresser.

I sigh, thinking back on how my friends mess with Al, rearranging his stuff in every which way and occasionally pocketing something they think could be worth a few dollars. It’s not that I hated Al, I just found him flashy and his meditation sessions sometimes made me uncomfortable. Alas, me and Al surprisingly did share one thing in common, and that’s irresponsibility. When I applied to college, I applied right on the deadline, no time to spare. So instead of getting a room all to myself, Al and I were graciously granted the gift of each others company, and at least he was excited about it, even though he knew the feeling wasn’t mutual. My phone dinged, the screen seemingly bright in the dimly lit resident shared bathroom, it pulled me out of my thoughts as I spit out the mouth wash and watched it whirl around the sink, disappearing down the drain. I look towards the light and read the text I just received: “going to the party tonight?” it read, from Gale.

“I am, not much to do,” I type quickly, wiping my mouth a couple times with my shirt sleeve.

“starts at 10!” She texts me one more time before I turn my phone off, watching the screen as it fades to black. I walk sluggishly back into my dorm room to get changed. Throwing a hoody on over my tee shirt, my short hair gets ruffled and messy when my head comes out through the hood. I swipe my keys up from my desk, looking back one more time at Al sleeping peacefully as his alarm blares “Come Together” by the Beatles practically right beside his face. I shut the door, shaking my head in shock. That guy is a heavy sleeper. ***** Alroy’s Point of View

Let your muscles relax…. You are in control of your own mind…. This feeling of relaxation is yours, it’s in your grasp…. Let your body *KNOCK* guide *KNOCK* *KNOCK* My eyes spring open, narrowing them in annoyance at my door.

“Finn’s not home!” I yell, uncrossing my legs and turning off one of my favourites from the guided mediation set Granddad got me for Christmas. Love that man. “Yeah that’s pretty clear!” Peter, one of Finn’s friends shot back with sarcasm, muffled by the wooden door separating us. I get up with a huff, making my way to the door and turning the knob. “why are you knocking then?” I ask when our faces meet, my head tilting slightly upward, Peter being a little on the tall side, me on the other hand, not so lucky. As our eyes meet, Peter rolls his, opening the door wider and inviting himself in.

“are you busy right now?” He asked, frowning at my wooden clock collection, picking up a small, hand painted one and eyeing it, as if he were a clockologist, attempting to decipher what clock class it’s in on the clock kingdom.

“I guess not, I mean-““great, then can you come with me to the party? Finn’s plastered, the mans gonna need a ride home.” He cuts me off, putting the clock down and looking at me expectantly. I shift my eyes uncomfortable, Peter can be a pretty intimidating guy. I clear my throat,

“sure.” ***** Finn’s Point of View

“Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!” My friends cheered, I smiled sloppily, shotgunning another beer. “Woah!” “annnnnd that’s! How its done ladies and gentlemen…” I high fived Gale but I didn’t hear the *smack* sound, my hand also never reached hers. I lost my balance, and although Gale tried to pull me up, she wasn’t strong enough. “Woah…” My friends all muttered before my face hit the ground. *****

Alroy’s Point of View

“so… How’d you and Finn become friends?” I asked awkwardly, genuinely curious, although I could tell Peter was annoyed I’d broken the not so comfortable silence. He looked over at me as I drove, I was glad I had an excuse not to make eye contact. “I don’t know… why you have all this shit in your van?” He answered with another question, pointing towards the back, where I kept some of my antiques… Some more clocks. “I don’t know,” I chuckled mimicking him “why do we keep answering questions in more questions?” I turned my head to look over, see if I made him laugh or anything, his face was turned to the window and he ignored me for the rest of the drive. ***** A couple wrong turns later, and a lack of directional skill from Peter, we made it to the party house. When I looked up at the brown window sills, and long walkway I knew exactly who’s house we were at. They were notorious for parties because they rented out the house with nine other students, probably because unless you were Tom Cruise, there’s no way any one person could afford living in it, no matter how much money they’ve inherited. I turned to Peter after parking my van in the driveway. “should I get him?” I wondered out loud hoping he’d say no. “I’ll get him,” He said, hand already on the door handle, I thanked the universe for granting me one spell of luck, even if it’s wasted on a situation like this. Peter got out of the car quickly, almost as if he was embarrassed to be seen coming out of my camper van, I could understand where he was coming from, but nevertheless I was doing him a favour. I waited for what seemed like forever, watching students I recognized from lectures and others I didn’t. They walked out from the house stumbling or laughing, or both. When I caught a glimpse of who I’d been waiting for, Finn was smiling while leaning on Peters shoulder. I rolled down the window and called to Peter, telling him to put Finn in the back. Before I could say bye, Peter slammed the door and sauntered back into the party. I checked the time, the car clock flashing 1:52am, taking the van out of park and turning around, I drove off. ***** It had been a good ten minutes before I heard the clink and clank of Finn touching something in the back of the van. “hey, what you up to back there?” I ask softly, I was smarter then to think nothing would be broken after driving a drunk Finn home, I was concerned about which one of my things were the unluckiest.

“nothing...” he drawled, but the clinking didn’t stop. “I really like this pot thing, do you like, boil tea in here?” I turned briefly to see him looking around, as if in search for the nonexistent stove.

“that’s one of my nice ones, don’t break-“Finn drops the pot “it” I sigh and turn around, watching the road. As I drove, Finn mumbled things every now and again, I thought it was just drunk babbling before I took a glance into the rear-view mirror. My eyes widened in shock, I could see another figure there, sitting with him on the floor of the van

“what in the world!” I shouted but before I could process anything, a squirrel had sprinted into the road, getting caught in my headlights. If I hadn’t known of my lack of talent, I would have thought myself to be some type of multitasking god, I swerved the car in time missing the squirrel, but with the roads narrow and the absence of light that would be in the midnight hours, I made a little bit too much of a right angle. I panicked, knuckles turning white on the steering wheel until the road ahead is replaced with a big birch tree, and a branch shatters glass, shoving its way into the window shield. ***** My head is pounding when I come to, stubby fingernails picking at the small gash on the right side of my forehead.

“jesus..” I muttered, trying to remember what had happened.

“That was a close one...” someone said from beside me, my eyes squinted, before opening all the way, slowly turning my head towards the passenger seat. “who the hell are you?” I ask, pausing “and where’s Finn?” I ask, “what the fucks going on!” I ask “relax kid, I’m the guy that’s been living in that shitty lamp your friend has been messing around with.” When my vision focused on the person, all I could look at were their blindingly bright blue eyes, I was more than confused and was pretty certain I was either in the afterlife, or had entered complete nirvana, it crossed my mind I would have to somehow contact Granddad and tell him his Christmas gifts are amazing if the latter really was the case. “yeah Al, don’t even, like, worry” hiccup “this guy, he’s pretty chill,” Finn’s voice can be heard from the back of the van and I crane my injured neck to narrow my eyes at him. A wasted Finn would definitely not be here if I were in complete and blissful peace. I make to get up, but the blue-eyed man stops me with his hand. “alright, before you move let me explain a few things.” He says this like it’s been rehearsed, like he’s said it before, and times before that too. “shouldn’t we get outta the car? What if it blows up-“before I can even take another breath after my sentence Finn and I are sitting outside of the car in lawn chairs, the blue eyed man sits in some kind of Lazy Boy recliner, it looks like real leather too. “what the f-“ I’m in shock, where are the chairs coming from? Why aren’t we in the van? Who the hell is this guy? I turn to Finn, seeing him smiling lopsidedly, he doesn’t seem to have a care in the world. “My names Ebony, when you picked up that lamp from “Vintage, Hipster Thrifted Finds” I thought for sure you were gunna drop it in the parking lot, but you didn’t.” He sighs, pausing for a minute, a glass of water materializing in his hands. He takes a sip. “So, you didn’t, shockingly. But now, after a few years, this guy,” he points to Finn exaggeratedly and Finn smiles proudly “Has freed me!” Ebony snaps his fingers and we’re standing in the middle of a baseball field, thousands of people cheering on the teams they’re rooting for, in the next second, we’re back at the unfortunate sight of my busted van, and I’m still just as confused as before. “That was for the sound effects” Ebony shrugs, turning on the massage machine built into his reclining chair. “alright let me get this straight, you’re like some sort of magical being?” I say my eyebrows still resting just below my hairline, I can’t believe that I’m even considering the impossible, but at this point, meeting a genie would probably be the coolest thing I’ve ever done in my life, and if I’m dead, my brain’s obviously experiencing the effects of DMT and I should enjoy it while it lasts. “well yes I’m magical I guess, but usually people call me a Jinn, or, a genie.” He shrugs, acting like its no big deal, his shoulders reaching long brown hair when they lift slightly. I stare on but eventually the tension falls from my face “that’s sick.” I say and Finn nods melodramatically in agreement. ***** “c’mon Finn, the obvious first wish would be to get some money man,” I say walking around and towards Finn, still slumped in a lawn chair.

“Yeah, but that’s exactly what he wants us to do,” Finn conspires, but I can’t bring myself to take him seriously since most of his words are rushed and slurred.

After going through the acceptance stage that any normal human being would after their thrifted lamp broke, and a magic genie appeared out of thin air, we later came to learn the rules and oaths a genie swears by.

“number one,” Ebony says in a serious tone, eyes flickering between mine and Finn’s “a genie can only grant three wishes and you can’t wish for more wishes.” “oh come on” Finn whines, getting nothing but a glare in return from Ebony. “Rigged” Finn shouts, but quickly slumps back into his lawn chair.

“number two,” Ebony continues, ignoring Finn and getting up from his chair, when he stands, the chair disappears like smoke when it’s carried into the wind. “no world peace bullshit, I’ve been living in a lamp for thousands of years, that stuffs so boring,” he walks around us, his blue eyes never wavering from our stares, “world peace isn’t boring,” I challenge, knowing well I shouldn’t test my luck, arguing against the rules and beliefs of genieisum, “I think world peace would actually be one of the most fulfilling wishes of all time.” I nod to myself, as if I’m agreeing with what had been said, although it came from my own mouth. “yeah yeah whatever, don’t try me pal, I’m the one with the powers.”

And so, it goes, we listened to Ebony share his two most prized “Laws of a Genie” he claims to live and die by (even though its clear he’s immortal) and now Finn and I have spent a good twenty minutes arguing beside the road, trying to think of a good first wish.

“if he wants us to wish for money fine! Then we’re all happy.” I counter, knowing Finn is not in the right state to make any sort of rational decision, especially one involving magic and the mythological. “Ok,” a pause, “ok. So, If we do wish for like, wish for some money,” Finn talks slowly, leaning his head on his hand, elbow resting on the chair’s arm. “What are we gunna do with it?”

I look at the genie in exasperation and he rolls his eyes, snapping his fingers quickly, four trash bags full of money immediately catch my eye beside the van. “ok now we’re getting somewhere.” I say with excitement, smiling. After a beat, I turn to Finn to see him staring off into space. “one wish down, two wishes to go!” Ebony shouts, catching Finn’s attention.

“I want to, be, in like a show, but only for twenty minutes or something.” He squints, I could practically see the gears turning in his head. “like Seinfeld, I wanna be Jerry Seinfeld at least ones in my life.” He says this with clarity, like it’s on everyone’s bucket list. Ebony’s eyes flicker to me in question, I shrug. “ok, Seinfeld, have fun,” Ebony snaps his fingers again and we’re in Manhattan, Monk’s Café, sitting across from each other in a dark brown booth, exactly like the show.

“I can’t tell if this was a complete waste of a wish, or the best experience I’ll ever have,” I whisper yell to Finn who’s holding his mouth, stifling laughter, sat beside us are George and Elaine. They have a conversation amongst each other almost identical to that of the episode, when Jerry’s lines come, Finn’s mouth moves as if it has its own mind, and a voice that is definitely not Finn’s and completely Jerry’s comes out followed by queued laughter, I jump when I hear it, looking around in surprise. Finn and I’s eyes meet, and we stare at each other in shock, laugher bubbling up from how absurd this whole situation is. “dude. Say something, screw up the lines!” I say, George and Elaine don’t even hear me, I’m slightly disappointed I didn’t get to be a character. As George goes on a monologue about how his plans are to now do the opposite of anything he regularly would, explaining, he’s screwed up his life by trying to do all the right things, I turn to Finn, encouraging him to say something out of Jerry’s character. He sits there, thinking, while his mouth moves, Jerry’s original lines spouting out. Before he can say anything and change the original script, everyone turns at the same time to gape at me, “By the way, who’s this guy?” George asks frowning. My eyebrows raise, before I can respond, we are zapped back to reality and Ebony looks at us unimpressed.

“man, we should have asked for thirty minutes,” Finn sighs, stumbling back towards his lawn chair, I nod. “that was six minutes, you guys were about to tear a hole in time and space, destroying reality as it is and everything that exists at this moment would no longer be the same.” Ebony looks at me and rolls his eyes. “what! You never said any of that when we wished for it,” I shouted in vexation. “Yeah,” Ebony says, dumbfoundedly, “I’m a genie, I’m pretty sure we’re known for deception,” Finn sighs, leaning off his chair and sitting on the grass. “whatever, that was still amazing.” “ok, one, final wish.” Ebony says with fake dramatics “make it count!” ***** “you blinked!” hollered Finn “we weren’t-““you blinked,” Finn cut Ebony off, dragging the “u” in “you” like any drunken person would with impaired speech. Ebony turned to me, eyebrows raised and crossed at the same time, the facial expression of complete and utter confusion, one I am very familiar with. “I’m staring at you,” he turns back to Finn, slowly annunciating his words, “because we’ve been standing out here for twenty minutes and both of you haven’t wished for anything since that waste of a wish on Seinfeld,” he sighs “Seinfeld is actually one of the greatest sitcoms of all time in my opinion,” I say, fist bumping Finn’s fist that has been hanging loosely off his arm rest. “yeah sure, and ‘That 70s Show’ was filmed in the seventies,” Ebony says sarcastically, “It wasn’t?” I ask, He sighs, closing his eyes tightly. ***** I turn to Finn and really look closely at his face, he is completely out of it and not at all aware that my eyes were scanning over his features, vision going in and out of focus like a camera lens not quite sure what the central object is. Then, an idea came to me. “ok, final wish,” I started, immediately catching Ebony’s attention, “I wish I could ask Finn anything and he would have to soberly and brutally be honest with me.” The genie looks at me and then at Finn, “Okay,” he says simply and snaps his fingers. ***** Finn’s Point of View

The colours on Al’s van are pretty, it’s mainly a blue that’s not quite blue, or, a green that’s not quite green. I settle with breen, and I can’t seem to blink my eyes when I focus too hard on it. I hear the snap of the genie’s fingers and it echoes against my skull, as if we were all standing at the bottom of a well, and in that well, we were attending some kind of underground poetry slam, one where snapping wasn’t opted out for jazz hands yet, I remember how angry Al was about that. I see Al’s face in front of me now, blocking my view of the van, when I concentrate on his face, I notice his eyes are breen too.

“Hey Finn , mind if I ask you a few questions?” he asks this softly, insecurity and embarrassment laced in his voice. I want to say of course, or why not, or why wouldn’t I let you “sure,” I say.

“Okay.”

And he’s quiet for a long time, my eyes attempt to waver above his head, catching a glimpse of the van when, “why do you hate me so much?” and its almost too low to hear, it takes a hold of my intoxicated brain, swimming around in my temporal lobe, before sobering me up a little too quickly.

“I don’t,” I say, frowning “I know I’m not the best roommate, but I never hated you.” His eyes are looking anywhere except my own and I can tell he’s trying to believe me. “then why’d you act like it,” he pauses, “like, the only time I hang around with you is when you need a ride somewhere,” I look down in shame at this, because I know its true. “I’m sorry,” is all I can say, literally, I tried to say, ‘of course not’ or ‘I would never’ but it got stuck in my throat like a piece of chip when it goes down sideways.

“alright, this is really touching, but you have some company,” the genie, Ebony, says with his arms crossed, uncrossing them only to point towards the police car driving down what once was a deserted back road. He puts his sirens on briefly, and I would argue, pointlessly, only to roll up beside us slowly.

“and on that note, its been fun guys,” Ebony laughs before disappearing into the darkness, as if we were hallucinating him the whole time. The cop opens his door, grabbing a flashlight before slamming it and turning the light in the direction of our faces. I stand from my chair, squinting, and Al raises from his crouched position, we try and act natural but the branch halfway through the van’s windshield gave us away.

“you guys alright? Seems like you got into an accident,” he says, but its not really a question, its more of a ‘Law and Order’ line the cop gives you when they know you’ve been up to something. “no, no, officer, I mean yes we’ve been in an accident but, but-“Al’s voice fades out when we watch the cop point his flashlight into the trash bags. “shit.”

Epilogue

“So that’s how you became friends,” I chuckle at that, I was hanging around with Gale and Peter, Al was off somewhere, probably at an antique shop.

“yes, I thought you would quit asking, I told you all this when my mom bailed me out last month,” after the whole genie, money, van situation, it was tough explaining anything to anybody. Al and I however, stayed close, bonding over our shared experience and horrible wishing skills. Although I tried, my detailed reciting of the past events was to no avail, because as we all sat crossed legged on the floor of my dorm room, I could tell by Peter’s face he didn’t believe my story. *KNOCK* *KNOCK*

“hang on,” I say before getting up to get the door, when they think I’m out of ear shot, I catch the bed creak and then, “Man, you try acid once,”

The End.

#genies #thepoweroffriendship

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