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thegreenfairy13 · 4 years ago

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A Mother’s Truth

A veeery belated birthday present for the incredible @mexican-texican. I do know you deserve better and I definitely fiddled waaaay too long with this fic. I’m sorry, dear! But I do love you! I hope you’ll like it <3.

Plot: Gertrud reflects upon her son’s rise to power, his infatuation with Jim, and her own delusions.

Read it here on Ao3. Or here:

Gertrud Kapelput is in denial. Nobody in their right mind would argue on that. Not even Gertrud - if she was in her right mind.

Sadly, or luckily for her, she left the shores of reason decades ago and set sail for the faraway land of delusion. It’s not like she had ever intentionally lied, she only liked to bend reality to her will. On some days, that would work out in her favor, on others, she would have to dive deeper into her own mind to achieve the intended goal.

So no, Gertrud wasn’t lying for her son Oswald when police showed up for the first of many times to follow. She was simply telling her very own truth. One that didn’t necessarily overlap with reality.

At this point, the frail woman is already used to being frowned upon. Despite the skeptical look on the agents’ faces, she opens her door widely, allows for them to step inside, and to judge the few belongings she managed to save over to this new life she’s living now. She shepherds those condescending officials into her living-room, pretends not to note how they wrinkle their noses at the cobwebs and the dust covering once invaluable furniture. If they only had the slightest idea what castle her decor had once graced, what family she belonged to, they wouldn’t….

Instead, Gertrud tilts her head, offers them coffee, and listens to them telling her lies about her beautiful son, Oswald Cobblepot, son of Gertrud Kapelput, grandson of Imre Kapelputh, Earl of a land long lost. She huffs out a laugh, a sound that only means to hide the offended, undignified noise she’d else make.

She smiles tightly as she gracefully motions for them to sit down, tunes out as they start making wild accusations how her clever, kind, compassionate, caring, precious boy is supposedly part of the mob, making his way ever so slowly up the ranks. Gertrud can’t suppress an unladylike sneer once they don’t let go of their delusions. She looks over at her boy’s photograph and shows them the door. Back home, that menial task would have been up to one of her valets, but here in America, she used to be a servant herself, a cook for a family who had only known what it means to be rich for three generations. If they had only had known the Kapelputs go back to the middle-ages!

Gertrud grits her teeth remembering how the Van-Dahl’s dismissed her, carrying the legitimate heir to lands and castles the family has no concept of beneath her heart. Despite her dire fate, Oswald had always been destined to become a King. But certainly not one of blood and terror. As if a delicate soul like his could….But then Kings come with a certain strength.

There is more to it than only rumors, things she can’t unsee even if she wants to. Gertrud would be blind not to note the bruises and hematomas covering her son’s face and chest. Her fingers tighten in her darling’s hair as she applies more shampoo, trying to wash away the horrors he must have gone through. She clings to him in a way only the truly lost and lonely cling to another human being. After all, he’s all she’s got left, isn’t he?

And he’s such a beautiful, beautiful boy, right? The women must be tripping all over themselves for a slight opportunity to bask in the sun that is her only son. It’s her greatest fear, that one day some painted hussy will waltz right in and snatch her boy away. As inexperienced as he is, she’d only take advantage of his good heart and leave it broken.

Her fingers stiffen when he suddenly turns to her, eyes shining brightly, and mentions some new friend . Gertrud purses her lips. She knows the look in her boy’s eyes, recognizes it immediately, as it mirrors the expression she used to wear on her own face almost 30 years ago perfectly. It’s the expression of a believer in front of an icon, the look of a person with faith in a greater being, in a savior.

Her heart almost stops when he reveals the one to have stolen his heart to be a cop. It’s the worst scenario, even worse than him running off with a greedy whore. “Don’t ever trust a cop,” she mumbles as she gently lets warm water run over her child’s head. Once upon a time, it had been a corrupt cop who had dragged her from her home, pregnant, and penniless. “They are bad news,” she adds, and her kid hums in agreement, unconvinced.

She thinks about the agents visiting her mere days ago, stares at a fresh bruise covering his back, and tries imagining her boy being what they claim him to be. It’s a lie, of course, it is, has to be, yet if there’s even a slight chance, the cop is toying with her darling’s heart and life.

“He’s different than the others,” her Oswald adds, finally calming Gertrud’s racing nerves. If her boy, a boy so different from all the others, so special, so unique, says so, the cop must be. After all, wouldn’t Oswald be able to recognize one of his own? Sighing deeply, she accepts how unlikely it will be for her to ever have grandchildren carrying Oswald’s features.

One week later, she can’t find it in herself to look away any longer. Gertrud demands an explanation for the ever-increasing bruises littering Oswald’s delicate skin, for the awkward gait, the pained expression on his face whenever he as much as takes a hesitant step.

She’s appalled at those dots of black, blue, and green, can’t help but trace the outlines of the wounds covering her child’s body, doesn’t even dare to ask what those finely-knitted trousers he all of a sudden is able to afford might hide. Oswald merely smiles in response with an expression so forced it looks painted on.

“I joined a boxing club,” he explains easily, and Gertrud raises an eyebrow at her son. She can’t recall her Oswald, this slender, elegant figure, ever being interested in such barbarous activities.

Frowning worriedly, she takes Oswald up on his offer to introduce his new friends to her.

“Mother, as the owner of Gotham’s most famous nightclub, I need to be able to defend myself. As you are well aware, we’re unable to hide our successes from jealous eyes in a city like this.”

Gertrud’s face lights up. How she could have ever doubted her son is beyond her. Of course, Oswald’s words make perfect sense.

“Please, mother, allow for me to dissipate your concerns,” he tells her, head cocked to the side, looking just as innocently as he had on the day he informed her he had gotten a scholarship and she wouldn’t need to work double-shifts any longer to pay off his school fees. It had been unheard of until this moment, a fourteen-year-old receiving the Wayne-aid for gifted pupils, but her Oswald had always been remarkable. Of course, they had to be hush-hush about it, refused to honor him during an official ceremony, but it had undoubtedly lifted a great weight off both their shoulders.

Gertrud nods in return and decides to surprise her boy the other day. The party greeting her once she places a basket filled with various treats from her home-country is nothing like she would have expected. Those men are nothing like her Oswald, not well-behaved, for sure not nobility. One of them flashes a smile at her, a golden tooth shines in the dim light, and Gertrud’s frown increases. Another one gets up, offering her a stiff bow, while her son fidgets worriedly behind him.

“Mother, this is Mr. Gilzean,” he explains, clearly nervous. The bulky man grins encouragingly while taking the basket from her hands. He looks at the wonderful supplies and trips all over himself to express his gratitude. Gertrud falls silent, tries to make sense of the other figures occupying the room, and wipes her worries away once more. She can’t help admonishing them just a bit though when she decides her eyes practically hurt from all that heavy gold those men decided to wear around their necks and in their mouths.

“It isn’t dignified to put your wealth on the table as you are, gentlemen,” she tells them while the one being introduced as Gilzean offers her a glass of champagne.”

“This is America, mother,” Oswald replies gently as the other men look somewhat sheepishly at her.

Her boy’s words are almost enough to dissipate her worries again. Almost . She decides to keep an eye at his contacts and starts visiting Oswald’s club regularly. After all, it’s a beautiful place, her son is a wonderful host, she’s being treated like the royalty she is, and she’s allowed to sing again.

The men, Oswald’s ‘friends’, clap politely whenever she enters the stage, and encourage her to keep going. The traitorous voices in the back of her head keep telling her they are simply being polite, or thankful for the food she keeps bringing. But then one evening one of those cumbersome men walks up to her, tears in his eyes, tells her how thankful he is that she keeps looking out for them. Crossing himself, he stares up her, awe written clearly all over his face, and vows to protect her with his own life. “You have become a mother to all of us,” he confesses. “Us Italians honor a mother,” he adds, refilling her glass.

Gertrud smiles benevolently, but her boy gives her reason to worry again when the infamous cop shows up at the club. The man named Jim is stern. His shoulders are straight, his jaw is set tight, and her boy seems nervous whenever he is around. Oswald pulls him into a corner, whispers something into his ear, and gestures at her. Gertrud is irritated. Nobody has the right to force such a reaction from her Oswald!

For a moment, the blonde man looks confused, and then, his shoulders sag. He puts on a smile, even if only forced, and bows for Gertrud just like the rest of his men. She doesn’t know what his visit is about, but she knows when a man bends to the will of another. His tone is reserved yet respectful when addressing her, the tone of a man trying to make a good impression. She studies him intently and decides he’s not the worst company for her son. Solid. Simply, but well dressed. Not a painted whore.

Gertrud bites her lip though when his body language changes again, when he cages her Oswald against a wall. Her eyes narrow when witnessing the way he keeps manhandling her boy but she also sees other things. She notes he’s always standing a tad bit too close to her Oswald, even when they are not talking, how their bodies are almost constantly being angled toward each other. She observes the blonde grabbing Oswald’s wrist, how he bites his lip when doing so, and the genuine worry he tries to hide. The way the blonde touches her boy is forceful, yet protective, indecisive.

Stepping closer, she wants to say something but then changes her mind as Oswald locks eyes with her. “This is not what you think, mother,” he’ll tell her later, and she’ll indulge him. She’ll always indulge him.

The next time Gertrud visits the club, she tries to see the place with the cop’s eyes. The man, Jim, he has clear eyes, the kind of eyes that see everything while hers are almost constantly glossed over.

She spots a new figure, a man with black hair who obviously has no concept of buttoning his shirts properly. Putting on her biggest smile, she saunters over, toys with her hair, and leans over the table, shoving up her cleavage in the process like a common hussy. The moment she lays eyes on that man, Sal Maroni, Gertrud is worried about her son and starts flirting as if her boy’s life depends on it. And then she notes the deep, genuine fear etched into her Oswald’s features. She doesn’t want to ask, and she knows he wouldn’t want to answer, so she accepts another glass and curls her hair around her finger.

The fear eventually fades from her beautiful son’s face as does the man she once met. What remains, though, is him constantly mentioning the name Jim. At times, the name is spoken in awe, at times it’s spoken in disdain. Gertrud sees him on the TV sometimes, righteousness and determination written all over his features, and she repeats to her boy how the man will be bad news one day. Oswald shrugs her off but she catches his wrist. “My boy,” she tells him. “My love for you is blind but it also derives from devotion. Does that go for him, too?”

Oswald sputters, clearly flustered, and doesn’t reply. Once he finds his voice again, Gertrud is already busy recalling the lyrics of a song she learned when she was little.

Mere weeks later, Gertrud’s devotion is being put to the test when another one of Oswald’s acquaintances kidnaps her and forces her into a tiny cell. She scoffs when they truly think her dingy surroundings will intimidate her. She notes the camera in the corner, starts pacing the room. Of course, she’s afraid. And she’s angry. She keeps banging at the walls, yelling out to anyone who might hear her how this must all be a terrible mistake, how she’s merely the mother of a well-respected club-owner. Nothing that could happen would convince her in any way that this isn’t the truth. And now the world has proof of her conviction, too.

Her misery ends, eventually, when her Oswald shows up, an entire army in tow. Her eyes light up then when she recognizes how he really grew into the king she always knew him to be. But the snake, Galavan they call him, is sly, and it almost ends in blood and tears - but almost.

The reinforcement arrives just in time, and Gertrud can’t help but flinch and curl in on herself when a single shot echoes through the basement she had been kept in way too long. There are blood and cerebral matter now covering her face. A beautiful woman with long, black hair is staring lifelessly at the ceiling while her son and the other man start shouting.

Oswald is completely out of his mind, wants to lunge forward, knife already in hand, when a heavy hand reaches for him. It’s that cop again, Jim, grim and, unmoving as ever. He steadies her boy, grounds him with as much as a touch even when he behaves in a way she never witnessed before. This is definitely not her boy, this howling, bawling animal that consists only of pain and fear.

“She’s alive, Oswald,” the blonde growls as her son keeps forgetting himself. Gertrud reaches for her child herself, holds him close as he breaks down completely, and continues to shout out horrifying threats. He wants to escape her grasp, and she has no doubt his intentions are anything but pure when he turns towards Galavan again.

Stiff as ever, the cop merely ignores him as he cuffs Galavan, takes his price with him to another cell much like Gertrud’s.

He’ll later testify how her son, Oswald, tried to kill him. And Gertrud will face him in court, unable and unwilling to recall anything in detail. She’ll cry and argue. Where she’ll be emotional, the cop, Jim will remain bereft of emotion. With a straight face, he’ll tell his very own truth how he found Oswald and Gertrud huddled together, terrified of the man now being dragged away forever.

Gertrud will smile in relief then. When it comes to her Oswald, she now isn’t the only person with her very own truth.

#gertrud kapelput #gertrud & oswald #gobblepot #fanfiction

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hookedonapirate · 5 years ago

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Summary: What happens when the high school principal’s son falls in love with the pastor’s daughter?

Hiding a relationship is hard, especially since Killian’s girlfriend is seventeen and not allowed to date until she’s thirty, it’s even harder to hide her pregnant belly. Can Killian save his relationship with Emma when her parents find out? Some miracles are worth fighting for no matter what. Especially when there’s a little hope involved and a whole lot of love.

Teen Pregnancy AU

Notes: Check out the lovely banner @itsfabianadocarmo made for me here. Thank you so much!

I wasn't going to post this until next week, but I'm so overwhelmed by the feedback and support, I wanted to thank you all by posting this early. There are some things that will go unanswered in this chapter, but I will switch to Emma's POV in the next chapter and cover those things then. The next chapter will also jump ahead a bit so we can move forward with the story.

If you haven't noticed the rating or were wondering about it, this story does include teen smut, including masturbation, so please be prepared for that, or to skip it if you're not comfortable with it. You'll know when it's coming (no pun intended).

Thank you all so much for giving the story a chance and sticking with it so far. I appreciate you more than you know!!!!

Rated: Mature

Catch up: Ch 1 I Ch 2 I Ch 3 I Ch 4

Also available: AO3 l FF.N

Chapter 5

Killian checks his reflection in the mirror for the hundredth time that morning, making sure his hair looks perfect, making sure his tie isn’t crooked. He’s never been to church before so he was worried about being underdressed. The church is casual, but his father always wears a suit and tie, so Killian had done the same.

“Killian, I’m leaving for church!” his father calls from downstairs.

Killian dashes out of his room so fast, he trips over his own feet and almost dives face-first onto the carpet, but catches himself at the door frame and runs downstairs once he recovers his balance. “Wait, I’m coming with you!” he announces as his father heads for the closet and pulls on his leather jacket. He eyes his son suspiciously as Killian reaches the bottom of the staircase, out of breath.

“You’re going to church with me?”

“Aye.” Killian slips his phone into his pocket as he reaches the door, hauling it open. He’s so nervous, he’s sweating under his dress shirt and blazer, so he knows he won’t have to worry about a jacket. “Ruby got the morning off, so she’s meeting me there.”

His father looks perplexed as he follows Killian into the garage and closes the door behind them, his keys jangling as he retrieves them from his pocket. They head toward his silver Bentley, which always makes Killian’s truck look pathetic in comparison. “And you and Ruby still aren’t a couple?”

Killian wrinkles his nose and shakes his head. “I don’t see her like that. Ruby’s like a sister to me.” It’s true, Ruby’s always been there for him as a friend, and they have this warped love-hate relationship, but he’s never had romantic feelings for her. Plus, she’s more into girls anyway.

“So the reason you’re suddenly going to church has nothing to do with a certain blonde, who’s the pastor’s daughter, does it? And Ruby isn't tagging along for moral support, is she?”

Killian’s face flushes as he hops into the passenger side. “Nope.”

His father climbs into the driver’s side and starts up the engine. “Uh-huh,” he mutters sarcastically.

The reason Killian’s going to church is that he’s not giving up on Emma, but he’s not about to tell his father that. He had argued with his friends until he was blue in the face, assuring them Emma was clear about her decision, but they made sure he would not give up on Emma. They had eventually convinced him into going to church when all he wanted to do was spend the morning in bed, sulking over her.

~*~

The church is packed when they arrive. There are enough people to make Killian feel crowded and claustrophobic, sweat trickling down his back. Now he remembers one reason why he doesn’t go to church, other than adults wanting to chat with him and ask him questions about school and graduation and the future that he’s already answered fifty times that morning.

The things he’d do for this woman.

Ruby is sitting next to him on his left side, his father on his right, hunched over the woman on his other side, chatting her up with a charming grin. Killian fights off a smirk. Now he knows why his father attends this church without fail. It looks like he has the same idea Killian does. Like father like son.

Killian is busy looking around for Emma in the front row of the large sanctuary when he feels a light nudge in his ribs. “Oi, what was that for?” he whispers, turning his head to scowl at Ruby.

She nods her head toward the stage and Killian follows her gaze to see Mr. Nolan, ceding to the choir as everyone stands from their pews. As a pianist plays in the corner and the choir begins the first hymn, Killian’s eyes are drawn to the gorgeous blonde standing in the front, wearing a wrap-around royal blue dress, her long golden hair cascading around her shoulders.

It’s Emma.

The musical arrangement is boring enough to put him to sleep, but a few minutes into the song, Emma sings solo and her voice fills the sanctuary through the microphone. It’s the most beautiful voice he’s ever heard in his life; she energizes the crowd with her words and her voice, and everyone’s raising their hands in worship and singing along.

He’s completely captivated by her, and he swears for just a second her eyes lock with his and her breath catches in her throat.

The pastor begins droning on again, but Killian is too busy watching Emma to listen to the sermon. She’s busy watching him too, their eyes connecting several times as she sits with the choir on stage.

They sing a few more times before the service ends, and each time Emma rises, Killian is enchanted by her voice and finds himself worshipping God too—something he never thought he’d do. But love is a funny thing. It makes you do things you never dreamt of doing.

Afterward, his father drags him over to the pastor and is forced into an awkward conversation with Mr. Nolan that he’s been dreading all morning as his father’s eyes wander over to the woman he sat next to and watches her leave.

“Killian, you made it. I’m glad you decided to join us,” David says, shaking Killian’s hand.

“Me too,” Mary Margaret chimes, wrapping Killian up in a hug.

Thankfully, David legitimately seems happy to see him and doesn’t mention the conversation they had the other night. In fact, he’s being extremely nice to Killian, which makes him suspicious. But maybe it’s because his wife is there or because Emma hasn’t attempted to go near Killian, and instead has disappeared from the sanctuary. Or maybe it's because they're at church and he wants to remain professional and levelheaded in front of all the churchgoers who look to him for advice and spiritual wisdom.

Brennan and the Nolans are engaged in boring conversation as Killian surreptitiously leaves and joins Ruby outside the sanctuary where people visit with each other while exchanging baked goods and gossip.

“She went upstairs,” Ruby mutters through a mouth full of blueberry muffin. She waves her head toward the staircase. “Go. I’ll be on the lookout for her father.”

Killian whispers a thank you in her ear as he passes.

She grins, licking muffin crumbs from her lips. “You’re welcome.”

Killian casually heads upstairs, drawing no attention as he searches around for Emma. The second floor is empty, so he makes his way toward the ladies’ room, and quietly knocks, hoping she’s in there and that she’s the only one.

When the door opens and Emma pokes her head out, a wave of relief washes over him. Her eyes widen in surprise when she sees him. “Killian, what are you doing?” she whispers. “My father will catch us together.”

“Can I come in, then? I just wanna talk, Emma.” His voice cracks and he swallows thickly, breathing out a shallow, “Please.”

Emma pokes her head out further and looks around to make sure there’s no one else around to see them. “Did anyone see you come up here?”

Killian shakes his head. “No.”

She steps back, opening the door to let him in. He sighs softly as Emma closes and locks it before turning around, crossing her arms. “What do you want, Killian?” she demands, her voice almost low enough to be a whisper.

“I told you, Emma, I want you,” he answers quickly, his eyes locked with hers. “Ever since you walked into my life, I haven't been able to stop thinking about you.” He can hear his words giving out under the weight of emotions he feels, but he doesn’t care. He needs to say this. “You're always in my head. My thoughts, my dreams,” he confesses, tearing down those walls of fear that surround him. “When I close my eyes, you’re all I see. When I open them, you’re all I see, even when you’re not really there. When I heard you singing on stage, you sounded so amazing and I know all I’m gonna hear now is your beautiful voice in my head.” I’m in love with you, Emma, he wants to say, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to scare her off, but his heart has clawed its way out of his chest much sooner than he’d preferred. “So, tell me, Emma, how am I supposed to just forget about you and walk away after one conversation with your father?” he asks, taking a step toward her, inhaling a shaky breath, inhaling her sweet, intoxicating perfume. “If you think an idle threat is all it takes to keep me away from you, then you’re wrong. So, I'm asking you again, will you go out with me?”

An insufferable silence fills the restroom, and she’s wide-eyed and speechless, unable to respond. But he needs her to respond. He needs to know what she's thinking. More than he needs oxygen to breathe.

She surges forward and grabs hold of his tie, their lips colliding so forceful, he almost stumbles backward. Instead, he growls and grabs her hips, lunging forward until her back hits the sink. He’s hit with relief and happiness and hope as she kisses the hell out of him without any sign of remorse. He loves how her lips feel against his, so soft and pliant, and wonders what her mouth tastes like. He slides his tongue across the seam of her lips, asking for entrance, and she parts her lips in silent invitation, their tongues frantically finding each other. He groans in her mouth and she eagerly swallows the sound, her hands moving to his face and cupping his cheeks. He slides a hand through her golden locks, itching to feel how soft her hair is, as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. Her hair is so soft and silky and he loves how it feels on his fingertips.

He never wants to stop kissing her; she tastes so sweet and heavenly, like hot cocoa and cinnamon and everything he never knew he wanted or needed until now. He savors her flavor every time their tongues connect, their bodies fusing into one as they move in sync, enchanted by one another. He feels everything you’re supposed to feel when you kiss the right person. He feels sparks and sees fireworks, he feels dizzy, his mind is cloudy, and it feels like he’s enveloped in the finest piece of velvet, floating above the clouds. It feels like the ground has opened up, like the entire world has vanished and all that’s left is them. He’s caressing her cheek gently, affectionately as their tongues twist around one another, tasting and probing. The kiss is fierce, yet so good and pure it awakens a possessiveness he didn’t even know he had in him.

He scoops her up in his arms and lifts her up on the edge of the sink, never breaking the kiss as she spreads her legs for him and he gets comfortable in the cradle of her thighs. Heat surges through him and she helps him shove off his blazer, lest he burst into flames. Once the jacket is off and hits the floor, his arms instantly wrap around her and his chest is pressed to her breasts as she curls her arms around the back of his neck. Everything feels so right and perfect, yet so wrong at the same time.

They finally pull apart, uneven breaths dancing with each other, keeping them connected as she leans her forehead against his, adoration plastered all over her angelic features. “Killian, did you really used to go to church?” she asks in a shattered whisper.

His lips twist into a smirk as he nuzzles her nose with his. “Never stepped foot into a church until today,” he answers, his words completely wrecked as his thumb strokes her cheek. “How did you guess?”

Emma manages a strangled laugh. “You’re not a very good liar. And neither am I.” Her features grow serious as she licks her lips. “This will not end well for us, you know that right? My mother always says lying is useless, the truth always comes out. But that might be because she's incapable of keeping a secret,” she adds playfully.

He shrugs rather weakly, his entire body feeling the aftermath of their kiss. Once her tongue had connected with his, once he had a taste of her, all bets were off. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take. If you’ll take it with me?”

Emma nods, a smile creeping over her lips. “Yes. And yes, I'll go out with you… if my answer wasn’t obvious when I kissed you.”

Killian chuckles. “I figured as much.” He captures her lips again and kisses her deeply, his tongue plunging into her mouth, hands roaming her back, pressing her closer to him. A moan slips past her lips when his groin rubs against her panties, and he almost loses himself. Her moan is the most exquisite thing he’s ever heard, her body is the most lovely thing he’s ever held in his arms and her mouth is the most heavenly thing he’s ever tasted. He has to slow down and take deep breaths as they kiss. He has to control himself around her; he doesn’t want to fuck this up. So he just kisses her slowly. He kisses her until their lips are numb and swollen, until there’s no air left in their lungs, or rather until there’s a knock on the door, pulling them back down to reality.

“Crap,” she whispers as they reluctantly break apart.

He helps her down from the sink and they frantically work to straighten their hair and clothing, but when he glances at Emma, her face is all flushed and her lips are rosy red and swollen. Whoever’s on the other side of the door will know they’ve been making out.

“Guys, I know you’re in there. It’s just me.” The sound of Ruby’s voice through the door makes them sigh in relief.

Emma straightens her hair some more as she sluggishly walks to the door and cautiously pulls it open. Killian hides behind her, looking over her shoulder.

Ruby smirks when she sees the two of them, both completely wrecked and disheveled, before her eyes fall back to Emma. “I just wanted to let you know that your Dad’s looking for you. I told him you went to the restroom, but that was ten minutes ago.” She looks at Killian. “And I told your father you got bored, so you went for a walk.”

“Thanks, Rubes,” he says with an appreciative smile.

“No problem.” She grins from ear to ear, glancing between them. “So I take it you two made up?”

They both smile and blush, answering her question before they even say anything. Killian wraps his hand around Emma’s hip and kisses her cheek. “Is it that obvious?”

“As obvious as that ridiculous grin on your face,” she teases. She’s not helping with the blush in his cheeks. “Come on, Em, you should go downstairs before your dad comes up here searching for you.”

“Okay, we’ll be out in a minute,” Emma says.

“Okay, I’ll keep watch.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” Ruby says with a wink.

As Emma closes and locks the door, Killian looks down at himself and realizes he can’t leave just yet. “Emma, you should go first. I need a few minutes to… regroup.”

“After that kiss, I need some time to regroup too,” she laughs.

He clears his throat and scratches behind his ear. “Aye, but for me, it’s a little more obvious.”

She turns around and lifts a brow, eyeing him in confusion. “What do you mean? You look fine,” she reassures him, lifting her hands to straighten his tie. The way her warm breath fans his skin as she adjusts his tie and runs her hand down his chest does not help his situation in the least. She doesn’t understand what he means though, and he doesn’t know how to explain himself without being blunt.

“I have a hard-on, love,” he blurts out and watches as her eyes widen, her mouth parting slightly.

She peers down between them and sees the prominent bulge poking against his slacks, trying to break free. “Oh,” she replies, her voice unusually high-pitched as she lifts her eyes. She shakes her head and removes her hands from his chest. She blushes in embarrassment from not being able to figure out what he’d meant. “Of course. Sorry… I’ll just… I’ll leave.”

“I’m the one who should be sorry.” He flashes a bashful smile. “I got a little too excited while we were kissing.”

The smirk she offers him is so adorable, he wants to kiss her again, but he knows she has to go so they don’t get caught together. “I noticed, I guess I didn’t realize how excited you were,” she laughs.

“It’s okay,” he chuckles, lifting a hand to stroke her cheek. “Can I see you tomorrow before school?”

Emma nods and kisses him chastely on the lips. “Yeah, I’ll think of an excuse to leave early,” she says before pulling away.

He doesn’t want to let her go, and he feels the loss once she’s no longer in his reach. “Okay, I’ll text you when I get there and wait for you in the parking lot.”

“Okay. Bye, Killian.” She smiles back at him as she opens the door.

“Bye, love.”

She closes the door behind her and Killian turns around leaning against it, taking shallow breaths. His heart is pounding and he’s still unbearably hard. He tries to think of other things, like baseball and airplanes and how Emma’s father might murder him if he finds out Killian was making out with his daughter in the church restroom. But he can’t get Emma out of his head. The way she tastes, the way she felt in his arms, the softness of her lips. The softness of her touch. He’s completely enraptured by her and his lips still tingle from their kiss.

He looks down and curses himself. He’s still hard.

He turns around and locks the door before undoing his pants, knowing he won’t be able to settle down without taking matters into his own hands. He reaches into his pants and drags out his erection, taking himself in his hand, desire pounding through his veins. He feels instant relief as he pulls at the skin and strokes himself up and down, a groan tumbling from his lips as he tips his head back against the door and closes his eyes. This isn’t the first time he’s touched himself thinking of Emma. The first day he met her he had to relieve the tension he felt from that day. At least then he'd waited until he was in bed that night. He’s jerked himself off before, he’s a horny seventeen-year-old virgin, but he’s never jerked himself off while having an object of his desire to help push him over the edge. Tightening his grip, he swipes his thumb over the stickiness gathering at his tip.

He imagines being with Emma, flesh against flesh, bodies writhing and thrusting as they make love, her legs wrapped around him, their hands linked, fingers entwined. When he pictures Emma in his mind as they both give themselves to each other, he imagines her long golden hair spread around her, vivid green eyes twinkling in the darkness as her mouth falls open in pleasure. But not all of his thoughts about her are dirty. He sees beauty and light and intelligence when he thinks of her, he sees perfection in her smile and the kind of person she is. He sees a woman he wants to get to know and spend the rest of his life with; he sees someone he wants to give the world to.

“Emma,” he murmurs softly as the pleasure builds. He’s biting his bottom lip and increasing the speed of his hand, wondering what she’d feel like around him, wondering how tight and warm she’d feel. His heart is pounding and heat is swirling through him so fast it makes him dizzy.

After that mindblowing kiss, it doesn’t take long for him to reach his peak, and when he feels the familiar sensations and heat pulsating through him, he makes a dash for the sink and points the velvety tip away from him. He strokes himself fiercely, until pure bliss consumes him, until his muscles convulse, guttural groans crawling from his throat, until thick, warm cum is spurting out onto his hand and into the sink. He pumps out a few more streams of the white stickiness into the drain, his breaths labored as he tries to gather his wits. By the time he empties every ounce of release, his entire body is spent, his legs like rubber as he slumps and grips onto the sink for balance. He lets his eyes fall shut for a few minutes, lets his mind clear of fog.

When he’s able to find some sort of semblance and move his muscles again, he opens his eyes, retrieves some paper towels from the small wicker basket on the counter and cleans himself up.

“Fuck,” he whispers, his voice hoarse, his body still trembling from his orgasm.

He tosses the paper towel in the trashcan and tucks himself back into his pants before washing his hands. He splashes his face with some cool water, dries his hands and grabs his blazer from the floor, trying to process what he’s done before he leaves the restroom and has to explain to Ruby why he’s been in here by himself for so long.

He just jerked off in a church restroom thinking about the pastor’s daughter. The pastor’s daughter . Who he’s supposed to stay away from, and yet she’s the only reason why he showed up to church in the first place.

He’s so going to hell for this.

Tagging some people who have either shown interest or asked to be tagged.

@teamhook @onceuponaprincessworld @itsfabianadocarmo @followbatb @natzombeez@resident-of-storybrooke @kmomof4 @artistic-writer @ilovemesomekillianjones @jamif @darkcolinodonorgasm @nikkiemms @carpedzem @ashley-knightingale @tiganasummertree @ultraluckycatnd @its-about-bloody-time-cs @maquita @mariakov81 @bugheadswanjones @searchingwardrobes @andiirivera @melly326 @squidvisious @snow-into-ash @snowbellewells @kingofmyheart14 @biefaless @superchocovian @willow154

I’m probably missing some people, so let me know if you would like to be tagged or untagged.

#cs ff #captain swan #cs ff au #highschool au #set my soul on fire #smut #my fic

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letsperaltiago · 5 years ago

Text

We’ll sweep out the ashes in the morning |CHAPTER 4|

Sorry for taking so long to update, but life has been hella stressful and busy lately! I will try to get the next chapter out faster. Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think: comments and kudos are always oh so very appreciated

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With every single pulsing heartbeat and ticking of the clock, the world kept spinning and time went by without further intertwining of two specific, lost souls. The cold, nail-biting winter slowly and tortuously transitioned into spring. Somewhere in Brooklyn Amy’s eyes unconsciously flickered to the calendar hanging on her kitchen wall, which would tell her that the day was indeed May 14th, involuntarily bringing her to think of the fact that Jake and Sophia were throwing their much anticipated Spring-wedding (not her words) soon… More precisely this weekend… Even more specifically May 16th — or so Rosa, who happened to be invited, had told her over drinks a few weeks ago. Just like her friendship with Jake had faded after her job transfer, Amy and Rosa rarely saw each other these days, but once in a while they'd make sure to catch up over drinks and the occasional comfortable silence (compromise). The memory of Rosa breaking the news to her over drinks still stood out vividly, even weeks down the road.

“You coming to Peralta’s wedding? Do you guys even talk anymore?” Rosa had thrown into space, catching Amy off guard by initiating the end of what had happened to be a renowned comfortable silence, which for the past minutes had managed to only get slightly interrupted by the discreet sound of Amy sipping on her beer bringing her about to put it down with a thud against the wooden bar.

No, she wasn’t invited - no wonder why - but also couldn’t help but be overpowered by guilty curiosity. Ever since that malefic evening they’d spent together, Amy had obsessively wondered whether or not Jake had told Sophia about it - or anyone, for that matter. it was a fact that Rosa was one of Jake’s closest friend thus, although Rosa was a very private person, Jake could’ve opened up and told his friend about the evening he spent with their third, common friend. Alas, she hated admitting to it and probably never would out loud, there was a tiny part of her that hoped that maybe some day a text or a phone call would confess to her that they should be together; that said malefic evening wasn’t a slip-up but on the contrary an epiphany. Well, perhaps an ‘epiphany’ wasn’t the right choice of word since their act was a rather immoral act of selfishness on both their parts. Perhaps ‘revelation’ had a less religious undertone and was therefore probably more appropriate for this particular sticky situation. “Oh- uhm… When is it? And, I mean, we talked a few weeks ago, but that’s… about it,” she trailed off before looking down into her bear in attempt to try and hide the fact that the latter was a lie.

“I don’t know,” Rosa shrugged nonchalantly. “May 16th or something. I threw out the invite as soon as I saw the terribly cheesy engagement picture of the two of them that they’ve used for it.”

Though it didn’t really surprise Amy that her friend reacted the way she did, it was undoubtedly Rosa Diaz that she was talking to, a frown and crinkling of the nose only seemed appropriate. “Was it that bad? And what are you going to do then? Just show up on a random date?”

“Sure,” an iconic shrug of the shoulders from her friend let the curious woman know that she didn’t care much and was going to do like she always did - and probably nail it with her cool attitude anyways. Rosa took another sip as a natural break from talking before picking back up the conversation. “I know I can’t run from the fact that I actually-” she took a pause as to brace herself for what she was going to say before continuing with a look of discomfort, “…care about Jake. Like, he’s my friend…”

A small smile crept onto Amy’s face. Every tiny glimpse into Rosa’s secret soft side felt like a huge moment to celebrate. Yet Amy knew better than to point out said glimpse; this would only provoke her already calloused friend to share even fewer details and secret sensitivities. Instead Amy bit her lip and let her friend continue with wherever the, surprisingly, personal conversation was going.

“… But honestly I don’t care much for Sophie. Never really liked her… Or maybe I just don’t like her for Jake. I can’t really tell.”

“Sophia?” Amy corrected meanwhile Rosa tried to recover from the emotion in what she’d just said by downing the remaining of her drink and smoothly ordering a replacement.

“Whatever, sure. Anyways I’m only going for Jake’s sake.”

“That’s…” Frist Amy tried to grasp, secondly put together, the somewhat ground breaking information she’d just been given. Meanwhile her friend had unsuspected knowledge of all the speculating and whirlwind of emotion she’d just opened the way for. The third stage of dealing with these informations consisted of figuring out whether or not what she felt was actually… bad? Evil? Was she a horrible person for feeling just a tiny bit less worse about what happened between her and Jake solely based on the fact that one of Jake’s closest friend (and therefor a legitimate source!) didn’t like Sophia?

“That’s…Too bad. But at least you’re going. I’m sure he’ll be very happy to see you there,” Amy finished her sentence, just barely making up for her sudden, suspiciously uncharacteristic reticence by raising her almost empty beer suggestively.

“To Jake?”

Having definitely picked up on some way too obsessively curious indications and not Amy-like behaviour, Rosa shot her friend an uncertain glare before deciding on not diving into whatever was haunting her friend. Today had already contained too many emotions for her liking.

“To Jake,” Rosa raised her refill.

The conversation about Jake and Sophia had come to its end at that moment but Amy’s worries, hopes and speculations sure hadn’t. They had since then haunted her day-to-day life making it impossible to go on as if she didn’t feel the ghost of Jake Peralta’s lips haunting her skin, in the form of burning spots on her neck, every time she passed Shaw’s or made her way through the 99th precincts’ neighbourhood. Impossible had never been a word in Amy Santiago’s dictionary; yet here she was with the troubled feeling of losing control of herself, defeated over and over again by the image of his hungry, alcohol-infused eyes ransacking her lips and chest for the first time. A tiny part of her wanted to believe Jake Peralta was a horrible person. A horrible person because he cheated on his fiancée with some old colleague he hadn’t seen for years who just so happened to be there at the right time and place; some old colleague who happened to be there when he was drunk, causing him to feel scandalously unrestrained. Yet there was no denying the fact that branding him as a horrible person would be unbelievable wrong and hypocritical. Amy herself wasn’t much better at all. She was said old colleague; she had kissed Jake Peralta without denying him it when he complied. If Jake was a horrible person then so was she and maybe that was something she wasn’t quite ready to admit to yet - or ever.

The daylight of an otherwise ordinary May-day gradually dissolved into familiar darkness reminding Amy of kisses in drizzling, frozen rain and dark Brooklyn-alleys. Similar to how a pressuring countdown could drive the most sane person insane, her own equivalent of a ticking bomb was counting down to detonate on May 16th. A partnership of letter and numbers on the white, clean pages of the calendar which hung above her organised nightstand burned in the pitch black of her bedroom. Beneath it, on the nightstand itself, a digital display of numbers glowing in the dark let her know what time it was; for how long she hadn’t been able to sleep and instead had spent tossing and turning like a woman possessed by the devil.

2 : 54 AM.

“Damnit,” her body’s180 flip to rest on her opposite shoulder, facing away from the clock and calendar in protest, was alas in vain. The date and number still burned in her mind as if she’d never turned over at all. Buzzing through every working vein, fiber and cell in her restless body was the anxious feeling of losing and it was making it impossible for her to sleep let alone unwind from the her constantly, both mentally and physically, jittery state.It hadn’t always been like this. The first few days after their adventurous evening had definitely left her in jitters and a constant state of confusion as well, though it was nothing compared to the horrid nauseating feeling of time running out. To make it even worse it had only started growing faster and stronger, totally destroying its previously somewhat balanced curve, as soon as her calendar had displayed the month of May.

There was nothing more frustrating than the feeling of losing something wasn’t even hers to lose. From the depth of the dark night her phone then chimed loudly, immediately interrupting the chaos inside her head with wonders about who would be calling during this horrifically time of night. She flipped back to her other side in order to grab the phone on her nightstand; no sane person would call her in the middle of the night if it wasn’t an emergency, right? So she told herself as she blindly reached out for the screaming device.

“Hello?” She mumbled tiredly, repressing a yawn in the back of her hand.

“Amy?” Resonated from the other end of the line.

And somehow the sound of her name had the ability to freeze her in her spot in the darkness of her bedroom, more helpless than she liked feeling. And it was all because of a phone call that she’d anticipated for so long yet now wanted to run from so bad she could feel adrenaline pump furiously through her entire system.

“Ames?” A stroke of pulsing energy rushed down her spine upon hearing the distant yet so familiar nickname moulded by the sound of his annoyingly perfect voice. Was it because it sounded good or simply because it belonged to him, she wondered.

“ Are you there?” Jake tried once more to catch her attention, unbeknownst of the fact that he already had it but that she simply couldn’t seem to push the words she tried to form across the edge of her lips. By accident, her eyes panned across the digital clock on her nightstand just as the last number increased to 2 : 55 and subconsciously prompted her to utter the bare minimal.

“Y-yes,” she’d left her lying position to instead sit up in the queen sized bed, using her free arm to hold her knees to her chest as to have something, just the bare minimal, to keep it occupied and away from gripping her already messy hair.

“It’s me… Jake.”

Of course it was. There was no point in trying to deny the fact that Amy had recognised his voice right away. Even in a crowd of a million people she’d be able to pick up on it. Yet, as if him actually coming forward with an introduction, committing to the crime of calling her in the middle of the night before his wedding, her heart suddenly ceased to beat for him. There was no telling whether it was caused by the fact that being called as such an ungodly time of the night was just unpleasant in genereal, or if it was because of the unjust, perplex comfort his voice brought her, when the hard truth was that she could never have him. Yet one thing was definite: something within Amy clicked, catalysing an entire range of unpleasant emotions.

“You’re not supposed to call me,” she expressed cooly, completely ignoring the previous feeling of yearning for his attention and outreach.

On the other end of the line a hitch in Jake’s breathing declared inquietude on his part, obviously feeling thrown off by his ex-partner’s hostility.

“I-“ another hitch. “I know-“

“No,” she cut him off; all mercy had been thrown out the window moments ago. “You don’t know, Jake. If you did know you wouldn’t be calling me right now.”

“Why are you attacking me like this? You make it sound like all of this is only my fault?” His voice climbed to a scolding tone, which was new to Amy who’d only ever known Jake as the incredibly goofy, immature yet only good-hearted person. Even after the course of multiple years of partnership, he’d never been anywhere near raising his voice at her. “I’m the one with a fiancée; I’m the one who’s bound to hurt the person I’m supposed to promise to love forever.”

“What do you want me to say?” The tone of her voice followed his progressively aggressive lead feeling provoked by where the conversation seemed to be heading. “That it’s my fault that you ended up cheating on your future wife?”

“Wha- No! That’s not what I’m saying, Amy!” How come it had to sting every time he said her name out loud, she couldn’t help but wonder in the midst of these crumbling grounds. “I just want you to hear me out and not dismiss me like I’m the bad guy here.”

“Why?” she spat on the verge of tears stemming from the frustration of concealing her true feelings which’d shattered all across the floor the second she tasted his lips that wet, cold night. Amy would never back down; she would never let him, or anyone else for that matter, tell her that this was her fault alone. Although just the implicit accusation was enough to exasperate her.

“Because,” he paused letting a pregnant silence take over for just a brief moment, enough for him to collect his thoughts and fall back down to a composed tone. “I can’t stand the thought of you hating me. You’re somehow too important to me and- I’m all alone right now and suddenly all these thoughts came rushing in, questioning- ”

For just a second Amy considered giving into his suddenly apologetic tone; to give in to the infatuated butterflies in her belly which wanted nothing more than to feed off the sound of his voice confessing to feeling something too. Maybe not love but perhaps just something more than innocent friendship or unmanageable lust they’d expressed so far. Though contrary to what she wanted, without warning, Amy’s sense of control bursted at the seams.

“I- I can’t deal with this. It’s too messy and just… You don’t get to say that, Jake!” The tears that had now formed in her eyes, the ones that threatened to spill, started to show through her thick voice as she fought with everything within her. What did she fight for or against exactly? She wasn’t even sure anymore which only seemed to be amplifying.

“Amy, let me speak out, please,” he plead though his voice had gained back a certain touch of confidence, the firm tone she knew he possessed when needed.

“Why should I? Jake, you’re getting married in what is literally a matter of hours. You shouldn’t have anything to tell me. You shouldn’t be questioning anything on the night of before your wedding.” In strong contrast to her previous outburst, perhaps one that had woken up her neighbours, Amy’s voice now faded into a thick silence. For just a few yet long seconds, Jake was tricked into thinking she’d interrupted the call nonetheless he continued, praying to whatever stronger force hat she was still there, listening.

“That’s it! I shouldn’t be, I know, but I’m suddenly questioning everything!” All sense of confidence was sucked out of his body and replaced with trembling doubt that reflected in the way he spoke with a quivering pronouncing of every word that slipped off his lips in an anxious rush. “Am I where I’m supposed to be? Am I with who I’m supposed to be with? My entire life suddenly seems to be flashing before my eyes, making me rethink every defining moment I’ve ever encountered - even the ones I didn’t realise were that important back then, like… Should I’ve let someone like you slip away and out of my life? Am I a fool for marrying a women that to begin with didn’t believe in our relationship? Should I’ve followed my instincts and chased you instead? Where would we be now if I’d just-“

Fully ignited yet so very worn down. Nothing else seemed to describe her better at that very precise moment. After having lived in what could be defined as a constant state of emergency for the past three months, a state where she could only dream of hearing him say those words but never telling him simply because it would allow him to hurt her, she wanted to give in to what he was hinting at. Alas Amy Santiago didn’t have a life calendar for no reason; her life was and would always be well-considered and meticulously planned which meant that Jake Peralta was far from suiting.

“Amy, ever since that night together my life has been like… one big question and,” a shaky breath let her know that he’d been holding it. “I don’t know what the answer is anymore.”

She bit her lip, squeezing her eyes together in both frustration and fight against the tears. “This- This is too much… “ If only he knew what she actually wanted tell him. Something along the lines of how he should’ve followed his instinct back then. And although he hadn’t, she’d allow this very moment, even though it was morally wrong, to be their ‘now or never’ if he wanted it to be.

However Amy Santiago had never been the one to take such huge risks. The counterarguments seemed to be piling up in her mind; not only did she risk ruining herself but also someone else’s life. Alas a risk she couldn’t offer anyone.

“You shouldn’t be calling me.”

Though he wasn’t physically present to see it, the thought of Amy with a facial expression that matched the sound of her broken voice tore Jake’s heart into pieces. Her voice suddenly, after all the rage and fierceness, seemed wrecked, shaky and at the very edge of perishing.

“Ames…” He tried to soften up the tense moment as it seemed to slipping through his fingers.

“I hope,” she took a deep breath, a sob threatening to ruin her already collapsing facade. “I hope you have the most beautiful day of your life with Sophia. Don’t let anyone take that away from you - especially not me. We’re cool, Jake… I just can’t get further into this right now or… ever. But we’re cool, okay? Don’t worry about it. Goodbye.”

“Don’t say that-“

The line was cut off leaving him with nothing but the sound of a monotone beep.

In an suddenly very empty-feeling bed in Brooklyn, though he’d never actually lied there with her, sat a crumbling Amy who’d just barely managed to hang up before bursting into tears and disappointment. Across the water of the East River, somewhere in lower Manhattan, Jake sat speechless by the landline in some random hotel room, where he’d been situated as to follow the tradition of not seeing his future wife before they stood by the altar to promise each other a life of love and commitment. To his right, hanging on the outside of the wooden wardrobe, was a freshly washed and pressed tuxedo full of the said promises. The promises he suddenly doubted so strongly.

#peraltiago #jake x amy #jake peralta #amy santiago #fanfiction #b99 #brooklyn nine nine #peraltiago fanfiction #fanfic #peraltiago au #b99 fanfiction

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hozukitofu · 5 years ago

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the kids are doing espionage

He would like to preface everything by a singly stated -

It was Qing's idea.

He is only a simple tech boy, a robotic engineering undergrad, someone who just wants to corrupt enough of the capitalistic system and its funds to fund his recycling robot, to delete the littering problems around campus.

The facts that he happens to know like one bad form of martial arts and by virtue of being a robotics student, great with tools and improvised weapon creation, are irrelevant. Besides the point.

But Qing is deep down, within that core of his questionably existing heart, an opportunist - an investor of assets. She sees potential, she invests in it. That's always how it goes.

Zizhen is eating, simply existing, thinking about robots and redeeming himself at a round of chess with uncle Shao when Qing barges into his absolutely mundane life, waving a USB stick in front of his nose, crowing about how she cracked the capitalism code.

Normally he would care.

"That's great, cool, jie, but -" he doesn't even have time to bat the excited blonde away before a proposition is coerced into his food.

"You! Wanna be an anti-government agent?"

Zizhen almost drops his fork.

"I'm sorry," he blinks, not even bothering with his food any longer because his appetite had taken a nose dive out the processing plants by the back of the college. "What. Did you just say?"

Qing was going to elaborate, but he doesn't let her.

"No, it was rhetorical - jie! I'm not becoming your agent for hire! I'm too soft for killing people!" He denies, vehemently, because look at him! He wears clothes that have to oblige by fluffy and big standard, and his hair cannot be let loose outside of the house if it isn’t wavy and bouncy.

Doctor Wei calls him marshmallow unironically, on top of Romantic Guy, with debatable nuances under the friendly moniker because that’s his life goal, to be as soft and sweet as humanly possible. He is only someone who strives to dismantle the system in the ways he clumsily knows how to, but he always goes back to helping people at the end of the day.

Becoming a hitman for hire is never something he would consider, or ever would.

Qing badgered and wheedled, bombarded him with the benefits, the sheer overwhelming scale of everything good and pure tipping and burying onto his side of the balancing plates, to which he avoids, like one would, if a pack of mosquitoes with malaria starts heading your way. He had blended into the crowd. Worn disguises to avoid this woman's hawkish eyesight. Climbed out a window to avoid persecution and inevitable screeching. Legitimately broke into a dead sprint across the canteen as soon as he spotted Song-Xiao Qing looking for him.

One of these days she will catch up to him, and she will skin him alive, but not today. He weaves around busy college students arriving and leaving their lecture halls, his long arms tucked closely to his chest so that nobody snags them off him. It is a laborious chase that she incurred onto his person, and he dreads the reality where she finally hacks into a computer somewhere and puts a tracker onto him so that she can be two steps ahead of him and then she can beat him into the ground on the basis of him avoiding her like she will personally break all of his robots inside and out.

"Ouyang Zizhen!" He hears a death roar, and runs faster.

Gotta put that threefold authentication code into all of his login devices so that the two steps pre-planning stage doesn't happen. Yes. But run first.

He’s fallen asleep across a horizontal surface - he’s pretty sure that this is the first horizontal surface his eyes park on and his brain immediately decreed that We’re napping. Now. ASAP pronto LOL.

He comes back to the world of living when he is toed awake by a person, voice vaguely threatening and familiar to his ears -

“Ouyang. Ouyang.”

“Noo,” he whines, thinking it to be his father. “Dad I have the day off.”

“Zizhen. You will wake up or I will walk all over your face. Your choice, sweet guy.”

He sits up, immediately awake.

Look, he’s a coward. He has high sensors in-built to detect approaching danger to his person. It’s how he made it beyond high school to go where he does now. It’s nothing to be proud of - surviving, just barely, in this cutthroat world is a goddamn miracle, if he has to say so himself. So what if he’s a coward. He’s still alive. That’s what matters.

Also he has a feeling that if he had keep on sleeping, he will open his eyes in the next life, as a bug. Because he had been horrifically murdered in this life and that death was so bad that a bug’s body is the only viable and painless reincarnation the gods deem fitting for little poor him.

“I’m up,” he wheezes, vertigo slamming onto his head. “I’m physically with you but my brain had just taken a holiday. Please allow it some time to return.”

“I don’t need your brain for this,” Qing beams at him, mouth spreading in a Joker-ish feral look. “I’ve got a favour to ask.”

I’ve got a favour to ask sounds exactly like those questions that ask you for something but if you deny, you will die on sight.

The way his upperclassman is smiling at him gives him all the answers he has.

“What,” he grouses, mouth twisting, pulling his hoodie even more over his forehead and eyes, covering the majority of his freckles. They’re still here despite the lack of hours he spends in active avoidance of the sun and the majority of this goddamn school hates the sight of freckles like they’re something contagious so his instincts mostly had been ‘cover up’.

“Someone took something from me and I need a boy to get it back for Yours Truly,” she smiles, still feral and not the least friendly.

He squints suspiciously at her. “Why a boy. Is this hard even for you, lawbreaker extraordinaire?”

“I need a boy, you stupid robot builder,” she rolls her eyes, throwing a hairband onto the table in front of him. “Because someone from Gusu took my things and on virtue of me being a woman, I can’t enter without the security shooting me on sight.”

He groans out loud and slumps even further onto the table, hoping to become one with the recycled plastic.

“I don’t even go there. They’ll shoot me on sight too. They have stun guns -”

She cuts him up, retying her space buns. He lets out a huff of hysterical air and rethinks back to every wrong decision he had ever taken in this life.

“Which they’re not allowed to use on trespassers, chill. Listen, how you get it isn’t my problem. Get me the thing and I’ll squander all the favours you owe me.”

This sparks his interest. A-Qing is stingy. The stingiest person he has the misfortune of ever running across. She studies economics. She lives on cash alone. Just. Cash. She hoards money and favours and then harvests them like produce of her questionable farm.

Ouyang Zizhen owes Qing a lot of money for the completion of his robotics projects and the launch of his career as a junior lab assistant to the research team of the mechanical engineering department. She did all that, knowing that her investments were wise, and she constantly lords the favour over his head.

It sounds great, to get rid of one Song-Xiao Qing infinitely, but he can’t help but wonder if the catch, beyond You’ll die if you trespass Gusu like the absolute moron that you are. This sounds like it’s much more than just a suicide run. It sounds more like...a test? Of sorts?

“All the favours?” He looks up, hood slipping, his freckles all in glorious sight and judging his upperclassman. “Are you sure?”

Qing-jie grins at him, looking every bit like the crook she is. “Are you?”

“Heck, yes, why do you even ask. But I feel like you’re betting too much on this. How do you know if I’ll come back for you to squander all your favours for me? Seems fishy.”

“You’ll come back,” she waves him away. “I wouldn’t swear on it if I’m not sure. So, what of it, marshmallow? You want in?”

He can’t say no anyways. “You know I can’t say no,” he scowls, and refuses to shake her hand. “If I don’t come back, tell my father to take all my robots. And burn me paper money.”

Qing cackles right at his face. “You’re exaggerating, kid. It’ll be fine. I swear on it.”

“Your words are all lies anyways! Shut up!”

Research on how to get into Gusu? Actually kinda fun.

Actually sneaking into Gusu unscathed? Less fun. Bordering on traumatic.

Technically he knows the blueprints. Technically he knows that the scanning gates at the southern entry can fit an entire person if they just, like, lie down and limbo through the gaps of the plastic closing gates. Technically eight twenty-seven in the night is the time gap that he can safely limbo through without getting zapped by a stun gun. Technically from here he can just jog to the international student’s dorm and scale to the second floor, open the window fourth from the right, slide in, get the thing from under the desk, get out the way he did before, go home, change his name, get plastic surgery, genetically rewrite his fingerprints and DNA makeup, move back to Baling, call it quits.

Technically he knows all of this, but he had just slid through a scanning gate and his heart is trying to punch out of his own ribs. He’s wheezing as if he climbed up a mountain twice for no reason at all. None of this makes sense. Why is he here. He should go home. There’s still time. Father will be tired and disappointed but when is he not.

No, his brain, traitorous, but also wanting to get rid of the human leech Song-Xiao Qing, mutters. No we will get back that bundle for Her Highness and then leave her presence indefinitely. That’s what we’ll do.

He swings his feet, nothing short of Spiderman, into the intended room, huffing as it wastes him no effort.

Too easy. Smells exactly like a trap.

It’s nearly curfew, except that people haven’t been rushing back through the easy way in, because he saw people coming out and they pretended to not see him as he came in. Are they stupid. Are they not going to come back for roll call and suffer the wrath of Lan Qiren? Or worse, He Who Must Not Be Named.

He reaches for the bundle, stuffs it under his hoodie, and prepares for take off, when a door swing open and someone walks in, without turning the lights on.

His danger alarms not only went off, but into overtime and exhaustive underpaid labour.

“Ouyang?” He hears, hissed in the dark.

He should have covered his face, because wow he didn’t think he was that popular outside of his own robotics class for setting off that fire alarm back in first year. But. He is digressing from this imminent danger! This voice. That sounds distinctly similar.

“Do we know each other?” He hisses, crouching back in a Spongebob stance, eyes narrowed at the boy in the cats-covered face mask. He can’t make a run for it here but he can try for the knee caps.

“Yes. Oh my god, yes,” the person pulls his face mask down and lo and behold, it’s -

“Lan? Lan Jingyi?” He gapes, while sidestepping a stray tennis ball lobbing at his head. “Why are you here?”

Jingyi shoots back at him - “I go here. Why are you here?”

He throws up one hand, the other preoccupied with the bundle - “Qing-jie!”

“Bad answer, but expected,” Jingyi tuts his tongue, and shoves him out of the way. “You don’t seem the type to engage in trespass and theft.”

“Ha ha, pot calling the kettle black,” he sneers back, tracing back his steps. “Why are you here here. I know you go here, but this isn’t your room. Or anyone else’s room that you are affiliated with. It’s the international student wing. You never answered my question.”

He would not receive any answers because there are footsteps, grave and reverent footsteps, that bring pandemonium outside the corridor and Jingyi, not even thinking twice, shoves him into a wardrobe, finger on his lips.

“Quiet,” the boy hisses. “And when he’s gone, you can scram.”

Zizhen thinks that is the end of it, but somehow his bundle! Had gone missing from under his hoodie! When! And how!

“Lan, give that back!” He hisses, almost lunging and falling out of the closet. Jingyi shushes him even louder, forcing the doors to close in on his nose and shoes.

He grabs onto a wrist, clinging onto the arm stubbornly. Jingyi jostles his shoulder violently like he’s got himself a human-sized limpet that won’t let go and he elects to kicking it back to the depth of the closet, telling him to ‘stay put, come on, don’t make this harder for us’.

Zizhen is shoved back into the darkness of a small enclosed space with hangers falling onto his head and clothes dropping onto his shoulders. The tracking sticker he placed on his fingertip had migrated from him to the inside of Lan Jingyi’s hoodie. Now he waits.

There is a polite knock - because that’s Lans for you, polite even in walking and knocking.

Jingyi answers the door with a soft - “Hello, uncle.”

For a moment Zizhen thought he actually screwed up and somehow stumbled head first into Lan Qiren of all people on the night he attempted trespass and theft, but he listens some more, waiting for the dulcet tones of disapproval that the Lan Headmaster is so famed for dishing out at his relatives slash pupils.

“Jingyi,” he hears, and. Well.

This is worse than Lan Qiren. Somehow he had messed up even worse than Lan Qiren.

Lan Wangji, the Hanguang-Jun, is in the same room as him. The professor reliable for dishing out punishments at Gusu. The resting disappointed man. Doctor Wei’s long-term crush and object of pursuit. He’s caught. He’s gone. They’re going to string his corpse like a disappointing sight from here so that all across the country, people can see what happens when idiot college boys who sneak into prestigious Gusu get as a punishment.

He is suddenly religious. He asks for protection from the Buddha to the corner ghost to the Father, Son and the Holy Spirit.

“I suggest you return to your own dorm,” Lan Wangji gravely - and flatly - informs Lan Jingyi. “Unless you want to introduce me to your friend?”

Lan Jingyi, for someone doing a theatre degree, is woefully awful at lying. He starts laughing hysterically and like a bloody hyena under noise suppression and the target of at least twenty stun guns and he’s lost all sense of control so now his fight or flight response is to laugh.

Ouyang Zizhen regrets not leaving his father with a dying letter. It’ll be awful and humiliating to find him as a human flag on the top of Gusu’s flagpole.

“What friend, Uncle Wangji? It’s only me here!” Jingyi hacks out hysterically, as footsteps start heading his way, purposeful and brisk.

There goes living through tonight then.

“Hmn, what’s in the closet, Jingyi?” Hanguang-Jun asks, as the doors of the wardrobe rattle and -

promptly stop.

Jingyi, because he’s panicking and somehow is still the greatest and most shocking improvised line under possibly murderous circumstances, blurts out, completely and utterly from nowhere.

“That closet is fine. It has no one in it! Well, not me anymore!”

Zizhen can barely swallow down the wheeze that tries to climb its way out of his nose because what.

To his credit though, Lan Wangji stops his advance onto his hiding place, and promptly takes Lan Jingyi out of the room, so he hopes that he’s not being thrashed thoroughly for well, being gay, but in keeping it and using it as a distraction tactic on their Hanguang-Jun.

Zizhen quickly kicks the doors open and tumbles out, sliding the window up and climbing out, his watch telling him dimly that he has two more minutes before curfew comes and security tightens. He would check on Lan, but he’ll be fine. Hanguang-Jun isn’t a blind rule follower as the people make him out to be - by people, he meant just Doctor Wei, who went through a period of time in his life actively cursing and mooning over Lan Wangji, and it’s entertaining and just embarrassing to bear witness to. No. Bad memories. Let’s forget that and go back and report to Qing-jie.

He’s going to start breaking ankles the next time Lan Yuan asks for a big hang out.

“He took the bundle from you? Without touching you?”

“I snuck in the death place for that stupid bundle and that’s all you cared about?”

“Damn Lan. Anyways, good job, it’s fine, I’m seeing the golden trio in, like, ten hours. We can haggle the bundle back.”

He hears this, but he also has the tracker sticker. Does it work? Does it not work? Unclear. He’s not too sure. He hasn’t been doing this illegal theft and tracking gig for long. He lets Qing-jie and her favours reinstate themselves as constant reminders in his life as he stumbles back to his laptop and kick starts it to see how he’s going to not set a hoodie and a person on fire.

The good news is Lan Jingyi and his Lan Approved Hoodie will not be catching on fire.

The even better news is that he can get rid of Song-Xiao Qing for life now, because he knows where the package is.

The bad news is that the package is in Jin Rulan’s home. His room, to be specific.

Okay, so maybe he met Jin Rulan a few times when he went to archery tournaments to cheer on Lan Yuan, a friend but also practicing archer to become as great as Wen Ning, Olympic-level archer. Maybe he and Jin Rulan had gotten into a few arguments over pointless things in the past, like all stupid middle schoolers do. The point is that since his friend is a friend of Rulan, he has the honour of being flung at, in the face, with the address of his sizable family manor, because Jin Rulan can and will, with no preamble or social niceties, and so now Zizhen knows where he lives.

Not that a simple Google search wouldn’t tell him which place this is, but being reminded with Jin Rulan, a runt then, probably a runt now, he hasn’t seen the kid in like, two years. A-Yuan doesn’t want him to start testing his robots on real life people and everyone who had ever interacted with Zizhen knows who’s first on his list to be humanly pitted (sorry, tested) against his robots.

He bikes to the manor, easily buzzes his way in with a screwdriver and some tinkling with the system, and strolls right through the front door.

He did do research before this. Everyone’s out. Jin Rulan is out. He’ll just take the bundle and leave, and they don’t have to talk about it anymo -

Lan Jingyi tackles him to the floor from behind the door to Jin Rulan’s room, with a distant bark of a guard dog and Jin Rulan’s dulcet tones shrieking the heavens, hard, so that his dead ancestors can rise as zombies in the night and slap Zizhen back to Baling.

“How is he here?” He can hear Rulan yelling distinctly, as he grapples with Jingyi and rips the sticker cleanly from under his sleeve.

Jingyi and him get along okay. When A-Yuan wants people to wait for him after guqin recitals, he has Zizhen and Jingyi wait for him, and they play jianzi as they quiz each other on class things they should know, bickering back and forth. They played soccer together a few times, and Jingyi’s good - Jingyi’s training to be in the under 20′s representative Asian Games in a few months. They get along fine. They love literature and art. Zizhen doesn’t want to set a short-circuiting robot onto him.

Literally there is no reason for Jingyi to wrestle him to the ground like this outside of the context of a soccer match.

“You found us, how,” Jingyi demands, frowning. “Did you put a tracker on me?”

He huffs, bunching up his knees and kicking up, before rolling away with the bundle. “I will neither confirm or deny your accusations. Goodbye.”

Rulan is at the window, slamming it shut, and holding out a hand, snarling rabidly at him. The scuffle he was tackled into had knocked over metal plates and car parts all over the floor, everything looks like it’s a disaster zone, if he was at home then Father would have lost it. The shining mistress of the Jin family snarls at him, forcing him to step away from the window with the sight of his sharp canines alone, eyes narrowing at him and his bundle.

“Give that over,” he frowns. “And then you can scram.”

“I broke into your house to get it back,” he stresses, with hysterical stress. “No.”

“No can’t do, Ouyang,” Jingyi’s voice drifts to him, as his wrist is seized. “We need it.”

“And Qing-jie needs it, but none of y’all are telling me what you need it for -”

The door eases open with a loud creak, like a bow on an erhu string gone wrong, and both boys might as well have screamed in his face because the expressions on their faces are thunderous.

“Uncle!” Jingyi squeaks.

“Uncle!” Rulan also yips, stepping away from the window, and coming over to -

Oh my god he needs to scream.

Doctor Wei and Hanguang-Jun are at the door, brows raised in vague interest at the war zone spilling out all over their socked feet, Doctor Wei humming interestedly at their thunderstruck and mutually devastated faces.

Jin Rulan is almost the same height as his uncle but he’s looking as if somebody ran over his finessed bow. He and Jingyi, who unhands Zizhen quickly, are both standing and arms splaying, kicking and shifting so that the mess of robot parts are somewhat not so obviously sprawling all over the floor.

“A-Zhen!” Doctor Wei beams, and proceeds to squeeze him in a hug until he dies, stuffing his face into a shirtfront with too much Versace sprayed all over it. “You didn’t say you were friends with the kids!”

“We don’t know each other,” he squeezes out, gasping as he’s released.

“Not a friend,” Rulan vehemently denies.

Lan Wangji lifts two unimpressed eyebrows. Rulan swallows back whatever else he was meant to say.

“Occasionally a friend?” Jingyi amends.

He turns and gripes at the Lan boy - “How can someone be occasionally a friend, you lump of spineless potato?”

“His insults are creative,” Doctor Wei notes, half way between an explanation and a praise. “Listen, kids -”

He then gets cut off by Jingyi and Rulan, talking not only over each other, but in synching fragmented sentences.

Jingyi “Uncles, we’re going to pack this up, we know you need the house for guests to come over -”

“ - and we will introduce you and acquaint everyone, but this guy needs to hand over his things first and then everyone can go,” Rulan finishes, hand still reaching out to Zizhen and his bundle.

He tries to step away, but two much taller men - Lan Wangji and Doctor Wei, are in his way, benevolently smiling and stoically staring down at him, and he feels his resolve crumbling. In fear, but also they are educators and they’ve perfectly polished the I’m not angry at you, I’m just disappointed and very very sad.

“Sounds like a party in here,” he hears the dreaded singsong, the sound of the dead coming to collect his soul and putting him through all the levels of hell.

Song-Xiao Qing pokes her head around Lan Wangji’s elbow and beams at him. “Oh you’re here! I thought I had to call for you! You made my job so easy, marshmallow boy.”

“Uh,” he’s still being held captive by Doctor Wei. “Please. Explain.”

Lan Yuan finally emerges, serene, beautiful, refreshing and soft-spoken.

“Many apologies for my family’s treatment of you, Zizhen-xiong. Would you like some tea?”

The gist of it is this -

It was a test. And his gut feelings were correct.

And the test was Would Ouyang Zizhen Make Good Agent. Apparently he passed, because nobody expected him to pursue the bundle all the way to the Jin Manor, along with wrestling with Jingyi so fiercely.

“You -” he looks at Qing-jie, who is sipping chrysanthemum tea so calmly, as if she hadn’t led him on some wild goose chase. “I actually have no words. That was very clever.”

“I have words,” Jin Rulan, apparently part of whatever the hell this is too, whinges from his post at the arm of Lan Wangji’s chair. “Why him?”

“What, besides the obvious?” Jingyi looks at his friend. “He held me off, and snuck into Gusu. Like, impressive?”

“The sticker was a nice touch,” Qing-jie notes. “Although we did make it easy on ya.”

“He’s calm,” A-Yuan smiles at him. “You’re very calm, even though you opposed to this vehemently.”

He gestures broadly, to Everyone Present. “I can’t exactly freak out before this peanut gallery. I want to live past 5 pm today. I have an aunt’s dinner I have to go to. I can’t die before that.”

A-Yuan shrugs like that’s a good answer. It is. He knows. He has a few fire-breathing aunts himself.

“So,” someone prompts. “About this -”

“The answer is still no,” he looks over specifically at Qing-jie, who he knows no doubt will be sending him on more of these trips.

“You did good though,” Jingyi notes. “Considering that you improv like, 9 out of 10 things.”

“Well excuse me for being new at this stuff, how am I supposed to -” he stops his snapping tone as a familiar face walks by, blinking widely as the entourage of idiots who may or may not are influencing a youth in joining the forces to lawbreaking. How is Hanguang-Jun in the middle of this, he just wants to talk. He swallows his caustic words, and cautions a wave to the boy. “Hey, A-Song.”

A-Song bows back to everyone. “Zizhen-xiong -”

“Calling me gege is fine, sheesh, this kid -”

“I’ll see you at tutoring, gege,” A-Song, Jin Rusong, literally the sweetest kid ever, smiles back politely, before he retreats back to where he has to go back to, leaving their Idiot Entourage to their own.

“You know my cousin?” Rulan quirks a judgemental eyebrow.

“Yes,” he replies, tersely. “Can you not pay attention? He said tutoring. I tutor him. Shut up, I’m only mean to you because you’ve an awful personality.”

Nobody is sure who laughed but there is a ripple of a muffled laugh as Rulan screeches that I’ll have your head, Ouyang!

“Our deal is off,” Qing-jie snaps her fingers before his face. “You can go now.”

“Just like that?” He squints, suspicious. “No forcing?”

“No forcing,” Doctor Wei smiles, the same Jiang-Wei smile that put the cardiac arrest in people’s hearts. People being undergraduates. “We’ll win you over one of these days,” Doctor Wei slaps a fist to a palm. “Our doors are always open for you to join, A-Zhen.”

Lan Wangji levels a stare at him. “Hmn.”

He’s not quite sure how Doctor Wei isn’t freaking out in the presence of his beloved Lan-er gege but he’s not going to ask or go there. He has a dinner to go to.

“Well,” he stands, and bows, because he still has manners. “I’ll be taking my leave?”

“I’ll see you off,” Doctor Wei also stands, turning to the four idiot monkeys first. “Here ya go, kids. Don’t be playing hot potato with that now.”

It’s then that he realises that his bundle is gone, yet again, and Doctor Wei had only hugged him once.

“Shall we go?” The Doctor’s eye glints, and he wants to bolt out the door.

“How are you a part of this too?” He hisses to the Good Doctor, the top medical examiner of the goddamn country and youngest biology professor in his college, as he is shown out.

“I’ll tell you when you join,” is the cryptic answer he gets, as the doors close behind him.

Tell me, his Kermit brain says. But then you’ll have to join, his rational robotics brain whispers back.

Zizhen elects to just scream at the door and turns on his heels marching out.

The nerve of some people!

#mdzs #future fic #modern college AU #ouyang zizhen #lan jingyi #a-qing #jin ling #lan sizhui #jin rusong #lan wangji #wei wuxian #there is a universe where people fear lwj more than lan qiren #it is here #spy AU #this is so stupid please love it for me

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soyforramen · 6 years ago

Note

If you're still accepting drabble prompts, could you please write Bughead as best work friends, with Betty getting drunk at the office holiday party while Jughead stays sober (for personal reasons); he's designated driver and intends to simply drop her off at home, but she asks him to come inside and that leads to “& stay by my side until morning”... Thank you!

It took a while, but here it is!!! (Warning: Absolute pure fluff below. Continue at your own risk.)

xxx

Jughead sighed and flipped the keys around his fingers again. This wasn’t the first time he’d volunteered to be the DD for a work event, but this was the first time he’d also be driving co-workers home who didn’t work in his department. And it was the first time he’d be driving her home.

Ugly sweaters and anxiety over unrequited crushes aside (he was a Jones! Ugly sweaters and crushes didn’t happen to a Jones, or at least according to J.B.’s pep talk they didn’t), it really wasn’t a half bad party. Thanks to the new HR director Veronica Lodge, soon to be the owner of the whole damn company, their usual holiday festivities had been upgraded from the dive bar where Archie ‘knew a guy’ to a legitimate, actually-has-a-commercial-on-tv hotel bar.

“Enjoying the night, Jones? Or just the view?” Veronica asked as she made her way towards him. Impressively, she only stumbled once in her sky high heels and didn’t spill a single drop of her champagne.

Jughead’s lip curled, but he didn’t take the bait. They’d both come to an agreement shortly after Veronica had nestled into her windowless office and made it known she actually gave a damn about what happened to her co-workers. She wouldn’t say anything about his crush on Betty, and he wouldn’t remark on her infatuation with Archie.

Veronica sighed and leaned against the wall next to him. “Pity Daddy wouldn’t also let me throw a New Year’s party. It’s too much planning to meet someone under the mistletoe. At least at New Year’s you can sidle up to someone before the ball drops and claim your stake.”

“They seem to be making it work,” Jughead muttered. He pointed towards the mistletoe covered archway that had been set up in front of the bar. Archie and Betty had bumped into each other for the third time tonight. And just like the other two times, Archie would point up, and Betty would giggle. They’d exchange a chaste kiss on the cheek and order a shot of some dark liquid from the bar.

He turned away as Archie pointed up. Jughead knew how this particular scene would end. He knew it shouldn’t sting as much as it did. After all, they were only work friends. And it was a friendship borne of a love of coffee, bagels, and snide comments during work.

They’d become each other’s rock in the turbulent sea of corporate hell. His sharp biting wit paired well with her take-no-nonsense attitude, and Betty had long since admitted she’d have quit long ago if it weren’t for Jughead.

“I thought dating co-workers was against the employee manual.”

Veronica shrugged and threw back the rest of her champagne. “Daddy’s rules, not mine. Besides, the rules were meant to be broken over broad shoulders like his.”

He snorted and went back to watching his co-workers. Across the room, Dilton had torn off his sweater, festooned with tinsel, lights, and an overtly sexy elf, and waved it above his head like a banner. Reggie began to egg him on, and Dilton climbed on top of a table to the cheers of the rest of the IT department.

With a sigh, Jughead pushed off the wall. “Guess that’s my cue.”

“Like a bull to a matador,” Veronica mumbled into her empty flute. “Vaya con dios, Torombolo. I have a feeling you’ll need all the help you can get tonight.”

Jughead pinched the bridge of his nose to steel himself before heading towards the inebriated software engineer. This was always the worst part of the night, rounding up the drunks. It was worse than filing the monthly tax reports and infinitely worse than his required one on one weekly meetings with Cheryl.

Thankfully Dilton readily agreed that now was a good time to go home once he’d face planted off of the table, and it didn’t take much to convince Josie, Mel, and Val that the time to leave had come. It was easy enough to get them to the front doors, though they’d scattered a few times to say one last goodbye or sneak in one more shot. By the time they’d made it to the front door, Mel had lost both her earrings, Dilton’s tie was around his forehead, and Josie had somehow acquired Reggie’s sweater and was carrying it around like a cat would a canary.

While they were waiting for the valet to bring Jughead’s ratty old sedan to the front, another voice called out to him. He knew that voice, and braced himself for the image of Archie and Betty clinging together like two birds on the wire. He turned with a forced expression of cheer on his face but thankfully Archie was nowhere in sight. There was only Betty, with her reindeer antlers crooked on her head and sparkly makeup smeared across her cheeks.

“Betty!” Dilton called out in that happy tone only the truly sloshed could achieve. “Are you come to join our merry sleigh ride through the snow?”

Without encouragement, Josie, Mel, and Val began to sing a lovely, if slightly slurred, rendition of Sleigh Ride. Betty giggled and the sound of it threatened to quirk Jughead’s lips into a smile.

“If you still have any room left at the inn, I’d love to join you.”

Mel slipped a hand around Betty’s waist and pulled her close. “There’s always room on my lap for you.”

Val made a hand gesture that confused Jughead and Dilton, but all four women burst out in laughter that didn’t subside until they were snug in his four seat sedan.

Josie waited until the doors were closed to lean forward and, in a stage whisper, to announce to Jughead and Dilton that, “What happens at a work retreat, stays at a work retreat.”

“Except for Reggie Mantle,” Val said with a sly grin that sent the women a’giggling.

The rest of the ride was filled with the women’s laughter and chatter. At the first stoplight, Dilton’s head lolled forward. Before Jughead could check for a pulse, his mind already racing to every first aid class he’d ever been forced to take, Dilton let out a loud snore.

Mel laughed and leaned through the front seats to turn the radio up and over to the latest dance craze. By the time they’d reached Dilton’s apartment, even Jughead was murmuring along to confectionary laced tune.

Three stops and another eight songs later, Betty was left alone in the backseat. It didn’t take her long to crawl through to the front, her elbow narrowly missing Jughead’s forehead, and plop down in the passenger seat.

“You have very pretty eyes,” she said.

Jughead glanced over to find her leaning against the console, staring at him with sleepy eyes.

“Seatbelt,” he said. Betty pouted, but pulled the strap across her. Jughead cleared his throat and wondered why he’d chosen this route. Betty lived the closest to the hotel, and yet…

“So you and Archie?” he asked as nonchalantly as he could manage.

Betty reached up to toy with a lock of his hair. “Hmm? What about Archie?”

“You two kissed,” he said slowly, as if trying to deny the inevitable truth coming out.

“On the cheek. Because of the mistletoe.” Her voice wobbled on the edge of suspicion and laughter. “Besides, what’s a kiss between old friends. We grew up together after all.”

“When’s the wedding?” Jughead muttered, unable to keep his mouth shut.

From the corner of his eye he saw Betty’s head tilt, the same as it did when she was working through a particularly challenging copy-edit. Jughead reached towards the radio and turned it up, all the way hoping this was one of those small things a drunk person would forget the next day.

The rest of the snow ride was quiet, save for the radio wishing them good cheer. Jughead pulled into a parking spot closest to the side door of Betty’s apartment. He refused to look at Betty, even when she put her hand on his arm.

“You’re not jealous, are you?” she asked.

Her breath tickled his ear, and Jughead started at how close she was. He stared at her, his usual wit and whim leaving him high and dry.

“No, not at all.”

Betty smiled her bright, sunny smile at him as she opened up her door. “Good, then you’ll come up for some cookies and milk? I’ve got a few left over and I’d hate to have to give them to my next door neighbor. She vacuums before eight on the weekends.”

She slipped away before he could decline her request. With a groan, Jughead turned the car off and trekked through the snow behind her. If it had been anyone else, he’d have watched them leave. But with Betty he’d long ago resigned himself to the fact he couldn’t say no to her.

When they reached her apartment, Betty had already run through the work gossip she usually filled him in on at work, and Jughead only had to steady her once on the stairs. When they reached her apartment and she’d unlocked the door, he hesitated at the entrance, unsure of why he was even here.

Because of your useless middle school crush on a coworker maybe?

He ignored his own thoughts and stepped into the apartment. Betty had already taken off her coat, scarf, and shoes and was in the doorway of what he assumed was her bedroom.

“Let me slip into something a bit more comfortable. Help yourself to anything in the fridge.”

On anyone else it would have sounded like a come on, but with Betty it was a statement of fact. So he settled himself down at her kitchen island, too wound up to take her up on the offer of whatever leftovers were in the fridge. It wasn’t long before Betty returned to the kitchen and pulled out a tupperware with a few cookies left.

When she set one in front of Jughead, he admired the craftsmanship for a moment. It was a santa, iced to perfection with his long whiskers, black gloves, and boot buckles. She’d even gone so far as to put wrinkles on the bag he carried on his back. The craftsmanship, however, did not stop him from eating it all in one bite.

“Slow down there, Jug. I’ve only got two more left,” Betty said with a slight giggle in her voice.

She set two glass of milk on the counter and took the seat next to him. He did as she asked, taking smaller bites.

“So you and Archie aren’t -”

Betty shook her head and made a face. “We went to the same high school. Maybe at one point things might have worked out, but we grew up together. It would be like dating my brother. No, more like dating my sister’s ex.”

She peered at him, and he shifted under her scrutiny. Not many people could read him, but to her he’d always been an open book. “You really are jealous, aren’t you.”

Jughead shrugged and bit the head off a reindeer cookie, red nose and all.

“Why are you still single, Jughead Jones?” Betty asked out of the blue.

He glanced over at her. She was staring at the Christmas tree she’d bribed him to help set up. Instead of answering, he took another bite.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he said after taking a drink of milk. “Why are you still single, Betty Cooper?”

Betty pulled her legs up onto the bar stool and spun to face him. Her chin was lifted in a determined challenge.

“Because the man I like is too comfortable with being just friends to do anything about it.”

Jughead nearly swallowed his tongue. Of course she’d have picked up on it. Even Veronica had noticed his moping months ago and they didn’t work on the same floor. He cleared his throat and stared resolutely at the Christmas tree.

“Maybe it’s not a comfort thing. Maybe it’s more of a doesn’t want to screw up a good thing. Thing.”

Betty snorted. “Do I really have to do everything, Jones?”

Jughead turned, mildly offended by her statement. After all, he’d been the one to plan the birthday lunches for the last three months and he’d been the one to pick out the Christmas tree and -

Any and all proof to the contrary was immediately lost as Betty kissed him.

When they parted, he looked up and Betty asked what he was doing.

“Checking for mistletoe.”

She laughed and set her hand on his cheek. “I promise we don’t need mistletoe for a repeat.”

“A Christmas miracle,” he muttered, but his wry comment was belied by his grin.

Betty chewed on her lip, thinking a moment. “Stay?”

Jughead pulled back, startled by her sudden request. The last thing he wanted with her was a one night stand, especially when she’d been drinking.

“Betty, you know I’m not that kind of girl. You haven’t even bought me dinner or flowers yet, and what would my mother think?” he asked, already halfway to the door.

Betty followed him and grabbed his hand. “No, not like that. It’s just the snow was coming down hard, and I know you’re tired from closing the Baker account this week, and it’s dark -”

“And you worry.”

She sighed, relieved that he’d found her train of thought. “And I worry. It’s almost three a.m. You wouldn’t want to run over Santa on his way home from work, would you?”

So he stayed the night, cuddled up against Betty to ward off the chill in the apartment.

At daybreak he awoke suddenly, stifled by the heat. Betty had long since rolled over to the far side of the bed.

A pang of anxiety immediately assaulted him. What if that kiss had been nothing more than a drunken inhibitionless spur of the moment thing? Or what if she’d forgotten? Logically he knew Betty had been a shade closer to tipsy than drunk, and that she rarely acted on a whim unless she’d already thought out all outcomes. But he couldn’t keep the thought from cropping up.

One look out the window showed that the roads hadn’t been cleared yet. Too hot to sleep, Jughead took refuge on Betty’s couch. He settled one of the many Christmas themed movies and it wasn’t long until he was sound asleep.

When woke the second time, he was greeted with the smell of bacon, eggs, and pancakes accompanied by a woman humming Christmas carols. Groggy, he sat up and watched as Betty moved around the kitchen.

“Morning,” he said softly.

She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and stirred something on the stove. “Good morning. I woke up and thought -”

“I got too hot,” he blurted out. At that moment he was certain he’d have done anything to make sure Betty knew he liked her.

With a smile, she walked over and kissed him over the back of the couch. Whatever worries had assailed him that morning, her brilliant smile evaporated them all.

#bughead #bughead fanfiction #riverdale fiction #tis the season #this went wildly out of control #but have five pages!!!

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didsomeonesayventus · 5 years ago

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okay long time spending in gestation but I imagine that someone out of the followers I have wants to know my onion on KH3 is

Overall, good!

so consider wordbarf of very repeated and tired onions no one actually actively asked for below:

Alright so I’ve been trying to figure out how to make these words and what my opinions even are considering this game has been out for almost a year now (KH3 existing is wild imagine it turning a year old) so this will be. mostly bullet points + incoherent and unorganized rambling forgive me

BAD THINGS FIRST lets get the salt out of the way

Literally everything with Kairi was oof. I still feel her relationship with Lea is incredibly rushed given the last time they were interacting in canon he was literally kidnapping her but go off I guess nomura they’re brother/sister friendsy now at least the fandom can sell me on that better than you can. I seethe with rage recalling that they didn’t even try to hide that killing her off was a classic case of fridging (“You lack motivation” FUCK OFF) and I have been angry since the day I was spoiled by leak stuff accidentally. I wouldn’t have minded her getting her ass handed to her if they made it look like she tried and gave us some moments where she did defend herself and get some victories and not conveniently cut away from the actually badly needed training montage (surprise! this is why we have training montages!!!!) and I get she was instrumental in rescuing everyone and the fact she wasn’t THAT bad speaks for how much she improved but it still just. bites that she still feels more like a satellite love interest than ever.

Kairi was bad enough to get her own thing but tbh everyone who isn’t Sora also.. really suffers. The writing is really Sora-centric here and that’s not inherently bad (see good list) but it leaves a lot to be desired, especially since they dog pile the extended cast moments in at the end. There was no big confusion at Ven and Roxas sharing a face, no talks between characters who would have interesting interactions given their histories and circumstances, no obvious sign of development from anyone except maybe sea salt family and Aqua. They’re here to be more one-note than usual and resolve their arcs. Ven in particular (I’m totally not biased clearly /sarcasm) I feel is a big example given he was kinda in a really rough mental state at the end of bbs?? and 3 is exceptionally vague on just how conscious ventus was during his nap so I can’t even answer if he was able to give himself therapy the past 12 years or whatever

Anti Aqua is a damn cool concept but ultimately kinda pointless and I think we could have received it better if it wasn’t spoiled in trailers and wholly out of left field. Plus Sora coming in after what was pretty clearly set up as a Riku moment- while it gave us the incredibly gay press triangle to Sora + use a big keyblade made from ur love moment -was uh! really cheap!!!! and ruined what was clearly set up for being Riku’s thing with an almost nonsensical SIKE ITS SORA (it’s saved from being wholly nonsensical by 0.2′s opening foreshadowing + it still kinda makes sense for sora to at least help but damn if the narrative wasn’t leading us towards a riku moment)

Also everyone was hit really hard with the nerf effect in-narrative so unless you’re the dream team you’re screwed I guess and that. doesn’t quite work since it makes everyone else look... not great. And I think this is kinda a miscommunication on part of Nomura and the fans (IM MAKING ASSUMPTIONS TAKE WITH SALT) in that we kept saying we wanted people “saved” but meant having their arcs resolved in a reasonable way that preserved their agency and power and relationships, but got interpreted literally as “alright Sora comes in and solves every problem, is tough on stains, and makes julienne fries”

And yet there’s also a lot of mean spirited “oh no sora’s dumb and helpless w/out a second braincell” which was kinda funny the first couple times and I failed to pick up on it first go I’ll admit, but honestly? Yeah. they pick on sora too much. Donald and Goofy are the most guilty, and everyone else by virtue of not seeing Sora that much actually in-narrative are off the hook from me because they probably didn’t know how much teasing he’d been getting from his pals, but it felt kinda like they didn’t know what to fall back on between the three besides “oh donald and goofy pick on sora” which is cute once or twice but the amount he gets and how it clearly leads to his breakdown at the end is uhHHHHhhhHH hm.

As always the pacing is pretty awful where the disney worlds are somewhat relevant at best and then the end is 0-1000 but that is a usual KH gripe so its pretty low on the bar

Attraction flow is cute and neat at first but it gets.. really wearing towards the end and in the serious fights at the Keyblade Graveyard BOY are they a mood breaker

the “repeat the plot” worlds- Tangled, Frozen, Pirates -REALLY stick out like a sore, ugly thumb compared to the worlds that went out and did their own creative thing, and Big Hero 6 was.. cute? but kinda maybe too much of a breather.

Frozen also get an extra award for “Audio mixer most in need of firing!” because who the hell allowed the do you want to build a snowman scene.

They did nothing with Scala and I want a refund on that aesthetic if they’re not gonna do anything besides a framing device with it

HEY WAIT THERE WAS GOOD THINGS TOO!

Good news point that may or may not come to pass: Re:Mind DLC might fix some of the above salt! We shall see and probably know by the time this post is a year old sfjhdsakjgh

SORA! Sora was actually a character again!!!! holy cow they pulled up from the utter nose dive that was DDD!! god i love this dork and it was really fantastic to see him back to normal.

The graphical upgrade lost a lot of the squish and stretch that the OG graphics had but you know what? pretty. tastey. good graphics and better at doing more subtle emotions and hey have i mentioned Pirate’s glow up? Pirate’s glow up. The details in Olympus to recreate the swirly aesthetic of the clouds and explosions and lava is a great touch.

Worlds as far as levels go?? really good! They feel legitimately like worlds and explorable and with their own flavors and I LOVE battle and field themes x2 its really great I’m down for less worlds if they keep the quality. Hell we have NPCs!! maybe even too many npcs.

Writing OVER ALL/ON AVERAGE I’d say has improved a lot! It’s still not a literary masterpiece or anything but I found the disney worlds really cute and easier to get invested in even if long term they were less relevant than I hoped they would be. In every world there was at least one scene I found myself actually invested in. Like there was something to the writing that was legitimately more endearing than usual on average, and toy box and monstropolis were strong contenders for really good overall imo

honestly there were moments that- as moments -were incredible. Wayfinder reunion scene will haunt me, and Sea salt’s was good too, final world and rescuing everyone was jaw dropping, getting the LoD Back was also good, Union X, Xigbar exiting left stage pursued by a bear, wayfinder trio making a grave for eraqus, all the gummi ship scenes had great chemistry, beach party ending, hanging out with rapunzel for the first half of Corona is adorable as hell, all the nods to scenes in the movies, the easter eggs, like the game is not consistently amazing but it is peppered with stuff that I feel in a bubble ignoring surrounding context just work really really well

Damn if the end boss rush wasn’t thrilling as hell and honestly??? really good. Hard to parse out first flush but I think this was a good decision and added a lot of blood roaring urgency and wild turns, and even if I want to overhaul a number of things about the endgame I think this can definitely stay

Kingstagram is a beautiful gift man

OST? A fucking banger all around and I love how they’ve made cutscene-specific tracks that play with the leitmotifs throughout KH’s illustrious musical history

Over all there’s some really glaring issues, but overall it’s KH really at its best. I’m not sure if it’s my favorite entry and I’m still really mixed + befuddled on just how exactly I feel and I think a lot of that is I had pretty high expectations and my own ideas of how it would play out since like. 2012. it’s really hard to detach from those feelings and ideas sometimes. But KH3 wasn’t bad! It could’ve really been worse, and the fact that it got out the door in the state that it was is a good deal

now here’s to the wait for Re:Mind and to see if it’s basically the content we’d get in Final Mix that could definitely bump up my opinion

#Katie rambles #long post #((in case this fucks up on mobile which it likely will))#but yeah I'd say 7-8/10 #solid entry did remarkably well for what it needed to do but not really amazing favorite entry ever sort of love #got its pros got its cons. its solid and good and enjoyable for what KH is #anyways obviously this is my opinion and you're not obligated to agree but yeah! KH3.. exists.. its a thing.....

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katerbees · 7 years ago

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Cadre part 1

Ahhh here it is guys, part 1, 6 chapters @noonesjob @fortunatelycleverpaper @tintinnabulary @kateflowrchild13 Cadre Ch. 1

This city was a shit hole. Corrupt, dirty, dark. Lorcan had grown up here, learning early on how to hustle and how to stay alive. He took a drag from his cigarette. If you call this living he thought; assessing the alleyway for anything out of the ordinary. Detecting nothing, he tossed his cigarette to the ground and crushed the filter with his shoe. He sighed, mentally preparing for the night ahead. He grabbed the black solid door and stepped into the dimly lit club, The Oakwald.

The club was almost as dark as the street alley he had just walked in from, and smelled just as bad. The odor of alcohol, grease, and vomit mixed with bleach filled his nostrils. In a disgusting way, it smelled like home. “Check 1 2, Check 1,2” Lorcan heard from the stage. Fenrys was standing at the mic for sound check. “It sounds like shit,” Lorcan yelled across the empty theater floor. In two hours the place would be packed with fans and whoever else happened to find their way here on a Friday night. For now, it was just Lorcan and the other members of Cadre and Dorian, the sound check guy from Oakwald.“Sorry about that guys, let’s try again.” a voice came from next to Lorcan. Dorian was messing with some buttons trying to get the monitors and amps to fire up.“Check check” Fenrys tried again. At least this time, some sound came out. Lorcan rolled his eyes and headed backstage, these two idiots could figure that shit out.

He passed through a door to the side of the stage, into the green room. Gavriel, the oldest member of Cadre was sitting in a chair, making notes on some pieces of paper. “Hello Lorcan.” Gavriel said without looking up.“What’s going on?” Lorcan responded, gesturing to the papers even though Gavriel couldn’t see him.“Making notes on where you will be picking up Vocals. Fenrys has most of it covered, but you need to join him in “Blood Oath” “Enemy of the Mate” “Witch Blood” and “Valg pigs” “ Gavriel listed from their set list.Lorcan rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. “Fucking Whitethorn,” is all he said, and he went back outside to smoke another cigarette.

Lorcan leaned up against the brick side of the building. He didn’t feel like helping them set up. He didn’t feel like doing much of this anymore. Not since Whitethorn had decided to leave Cadre a few months ago, leaving Lorcan to pick up vocals, and leaving a position behind in their other job.

Cadre was a metal band. The city was in a state of turmoil and change. The gangs were all vying for power. This was very good for the metal scene; the band was finally taking off. Their manager, Maeve, had managed to score them some gigs at a few real venues. Ones that were in places like Perranth, Bellhaven, and Anielle. Places outside the city, where people actually came to listen to music and spend money on merchandise and food and cds.The reason they were playing at The Oakwald tonight was to move a new shipment of the hottest new pill, witch mirror, to their buyers. The new nice venues had things like security, and cops, and people that didn’t use drugs as often. And even if those nice suburban people were users, they came into the city to buy them. Here at The Oakwald, everyone knew that after the show, all you had to do was know the right word, and you could score what you wanted. Cadre was partially a front. But Lorcan and the rest of Cadre loved to play music. Maeve had promised them all that if Cadre took off enough, one day, they could cut out of the drug shit, sell off their portions to one of the other gangs, and go full time legitimate.

Whitethorn hadn’t given a shit about any of that. As soon as he met that girl, that Aelin, he was done. Done with selling drugs, done with playing music, and done with Lorcan.

Whitethorn had been the lead vocalist of Cadre, and he had been damn good at it. He also wrote lyrics with Gavriel. Most importantly to Lorcan though, he was very good at making connections with the right people. Good at making sure if there was security they either didn’t know or didn’t see what was going on behind the scenes with those extra boxes the band brought along. He was also good at kicking people’s asses if a deal went south. He and Lorcan had been through a lot of shit together; a lot of things they wouldn’t have survived if they didn’t have each other’s backs. And Whitethorn had walked away from all of that.To add insult to injury, that bitch he was dating, had stolen from Maeve, and had set Lorcan up to take the fall for it. Aelin had replaced three crates of witch mirror with goddamned tic-tacs. Whitethorn had looked the other way on security duty to let her do it. Lorcan delivered three crates of candy to the Valg gang instead of drugs. It hadn’t been pretty. Lorcan had managed to kill the four of them, but barely. Maeve had been disgraced, and an all-out gang war was a very real threat.

When Lorcan tracked Aelin down and had her pinned to the wall with a knife to her throat, Whitethorn had stepped in and ripped Lorcan off of her; standing between them,“If you touch her again, I will kill you” Whitethorn had shouted. Lorcan believed him.“She set Maeve up, she set me up, I was almost killed by four Valg soldiers!”Lorcan screamed at the man he had considered his best friend. “She tried to kill me Whitethorn, how are you defending this crazy bitch!?” Lorcan snarled. Whitethorn punched him in the face, hitting him so hard he fell to the ground.

“It’s Rowan now. And I don’t care what she did to you or Maeve. She did what she had to. If you find us again, I’ll kill you,” Rowan replied. With that, he put his arm around Aelin, and they walked off into the night.

“Fucking bitch.” Lorcan said out loud as he remembered his last encounter with the two of them.

Ch. 2

Lorcan always had a hard time adjusting to the stage lights. They made him sweat, his tan skin glistening, and his dark hair sticking ot the back of his neck. Everything else, he just felt with every ounce of his being. The music flowed through him, filling his veins with the closest thing to happiness he had ever known in his miserable life. When he was on the stage he didn’t have to worry about where his next meal was coming from, or Whitethorn, or selling drugs, or about the people he killed. He just played rhythm guitar and sang.

The audience was a sea of faces and bodies thrashing up and down to their music. Some people were screaming along. They were halfway into the song “Blood Oath,” when Lorcan saw something happening out of the corner of his eye.There was a young girl with long black hair, wearing a purple tunic and leggings, who was clearly not used to hanging out in dive bars. She kept looking behind her, and while she was trying to look like she belonged there, she had no drink in her hand, and she definitely didn’t know any of the words to the songs.Probably someone’s girlfriend that they drug along here, Lorcan thought to himself. Couples were the worst.

Lorcan continued singing and plucking along for the rest of the song.“Thanks for coming out the The Oakwald tonight everybody! Just a reminder that after the show we will have our regular merchandise as well as a ton of our new merchandise for sale,” Fenrys spoke into the microphone. Gavriel would work the legit table, selling CDs while Fenrys and Gavriel would be out back with the witch mirror. “Next up we’re going to play one of our favorites, “Witch Blood” he continued into the mic as he played the first note of the song. Lorcan looked up again, he saw the same girl in the back of the audience, this time, she was arguing with two men, dressed in the colors of the Ilken gang. One was behind her, blocking her path from the front door. The other was leaned in close to her, too close, judging by the look on her face. He saw her shove the one Ilken away and turn to walk into the crowd. The Ilken who had been behind her grabbed her from behind, putting a hand over her mouth. Her eyes went wide, and she made eye contact with Lorcan. Help me. Lorcan had to do something. But what? They were in the middle of a song. Shit shit shit.They were dragging her to the side door that led out to the alley.

Lorcan froze. He stopped singing. Fenrys looked over, confused. “Intermission. Sorry, nature calls!” Lorcan said, feeling like an idiot. The crowd collectively grumbled, several shouts of “what the fuck” were heard along with some booing “Nesryn,” he yelled to the barkeeper, “first round is one me!”That calmed the crowd down, Nesryn raised her eyebrows, shook her head, and started pouring shots into little cough syrup sized containers.

Lorcan sat his guitar down and ran for the side door.He arrived in the alley. Other people had already made their way out to take a smoke break.No sign of the girl and those thugs. Shit shit. Lorcan listened for any sounds that were out of the ordinary. He knew this city like the back of his hand. He saw a cardigan lying at the entrance to another alley down the street and ran towards it.

Lorcan turned the corner and nearly ploughed through the first Ilken who was standing watch. He quickly looked behind him to the back of the Alley and saw the girl lying on the ground, putting up a fight with the Ilken on top of her. Lorcan punched the standing ilken in the nose once, causing the man to double over. Lorcan introduced the man’s head to his knee sending the man falling to the ground. He then began kicking him in the ribs. The Ilken who had been on top of the girl jumped to his feet.

“Hey buddy, back off, it’s not what it looks like.” the Ilken lied, arms out in front of him in a placating position“Is that so?” Lorcan spat, stepping closer and closer to the man. He could see the girl getting up to a seated position, sliding her body over to the wall, protecting her body with her arms and legs and crying.

Lorcan could not remember the last time he was so angry. Even when Aelin set him up and those Valg tried to murder him paled in comparison to this. He would make this man literally eat his own dick. “It looks to me like you’re fucking kidnapping and assaulting this girl and it looks like I’m going to fucking kill you!” Lorcan yelled at the man.

“No, no, no. We were sent by her Uncle. She owes a great debt to the owner of Morath. She needs to come with us to pay him back. We are simply doing our job.” the Ilken protested, believing that by saying these words meant that he would be walking out of this alley with the girl in tow.“I don’t care what the fuck you think she owes anybody. You don’t have the right to touch her. You don’t have the right to come in and ruin my show.” Lorcan raged

“You know who the leader of Morath is, don’t you?” the man started again. “I do not think that’s an enemy you are interested in making. When I don’t return, they will know what happened. They will hunt her down. They will hunt you down.” the man stated with impressive calm. Lorcan had heard rumors about Morath. He knew it was a strip club in the city. He knew that a lot of girls who worked there were forced to and were high most of the time, and he also knew that a lot of them were never seen again. And the owner was the one person even Maeve was afraid of. The crime boss Erawan.

Lorcan hadn’t expected that.“How much much money does she owe?” Lorcan asked.“It is not money she owes. And it is something that only she has. So I will be taking her back to Morath tonight.”Lorcan detected the girl shaking. He could detect the panic at the mention of going back there, could sense that she was worried he was going to walk away and let this many take her away. There was no way in hell that was happening.“Well,” Lorcan started, “then I guess we will just make sure no one finds your bodes.” a cruel smile appeared on his face, as he reached into his pocket to pull out the knife

Ch. 3

Lorcan washed his hands in a puddle. He had drug the bodies into the Avery River with cinderblocks tied to their ankles. No one was going to find those Ilken any time soon. The girl handed him her cardigan to dry his hands. She hadn’t spoken yet, but she had helped him clean up the blood, Lorcan not missing the fact that she was not startled by the wounds the man had sustained, and that she knew the best way to clean up blood.

Lorcan looked down at her, she had finally stopped shaking.“Do you need me to take you to the hospital or police station or anything?” Lorcan asked as they began to make their way back to the club.“No. I have a few bruises from being knocked arund, but you got there in time before they could do anything else…” her voice trailed off.Lorcan grunted in an affirmative manner. He didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t want to ask her what the man had been talking about, and he certainly didn’t want to think about the fact that he had just killed men who were working for Erawan. Maeve had been working on brokering an alliance between the two gangs and this would not bode well. Shit, Lorcan thought, what was he going to do?

As they neared the back entrance to the club, he spotted Chaol, the security guard, Lorcan went to wave and give him a hassle but Chaol’s eyes widened and Lorcan knew something was wrong.“Lorcan you need to get the hell out of here.” Chaol whispered , looking behind him in the direction of the club.“What are you talking about?” Lorcan responded.“Shit is going down. Your boss lady showed up and saw you all weren’t playing. Worse, Vern from Morath is in there right now shouting about how something has happened to his security guards and how they were last seen heading into the club trying to find his niece. He is in there right now tearing it apart, detaining all of the concert goers trying to find them. Maeve is flipping her shit. “ Chaol spat out as much as possible and as quickly as possible.

His eyes shifted to the dark haired girl who had now gone very still, and who was almost folded into Lorcan’s side.Lorcan’ saw Chaol eyeing the girl and piecing things together. He felt her stiffen and draw herself closer to him. Shit.Lorcan growled “Stop looking at her like that.”Chaol’s eyes returned to meet Lorcan’s gaze, “ If you both get out of here now, and don’t come back. I won’t say anything to anybody. You have my word”Lorcan believed him.

Ch. 4

Elide had been through one hell of a week.She had escaped death not once, but twice. And now here she was with this stranger who had saved her even though he could have given her up twice now. She wondered what he would want in return.

The man next to her was built like a mountain. He was impressively tall and muscular. Elide had found herself admiring him when he was on the stage. He had seemed like he was in a trance.

“My name is Lorcan.” he said to her. “In a few days I’m sure things will calm down and my boss can straighten everything out. But until then, it seems like we need to lay low. Do you have anywhere we can go?” Elide shook her head. “No.I ran with only the clothes on my back.” She could have said so much more, but right now she was just tired. And it hadn’t been entirely true. Her friend, Manon, had managed to stuff a couple hundred dollars into Elide’s bra as she pushed her into a taxi, throwing another hundred at the driver to forget that he had ever been there or seen them.

Lorcan shrugged. “Alright then, we can’t go back to my place, Maeve and the rest of Cadre will be there later. So I guess we will get a hotel.” He heard her stomach growling. “One that is still serving food.” he added.

They ended up at a Glass Castle Inn on the north side of the city after having a taxi take them to a different hotel, and then walking two miles to this one to help throw off anyone’s scent who might be looking for them. Lorcan had noticed the girl had started to noticeably limp.

They walked into the Inn and sat down in the lounge. Lorcan went to the bathroom.Elide was flipping through the hotel’s information booklet when an older man came over and sat down next to her. She could feel his eyes traveling up and down her body.She looked up, gave a curt nod, and returned to reading the brochure.

“Welcome to our hotel miss. Do you have a reservation, or are you waiting to meet somebody?” he asked while leering at her.Elide looked up at him, he winked at her. “I’m not really looking for any extra company right now, thank you,” She stated and looked back down, she could feel her cheeks getting warm. The man moved to put his hand on her thigh.She might have been worried had a six and a half foot tall man not appeared in front of them.“Actually,” Elide said, removing the man’s hand and springing to her feet, “ I was just waiting for my husband to get out of the bathroom.” she stepped up to Lorcan, embracing him, and got up on her tiptoes to kiss him.

Lorcan slowly moved his head to look down at her, had she just called her his husband? He had definitely just given his number to a beautiful woman that was standing outside the bathroom. Now he wouldn’t get to mess around at a hotel and he would look like a cheating skeezeball.

“Ah, yes.” Lorcan said slowly. “Did you get the reservations made, wife?” he asked, his voice seething with annoyance.“Not yet,” Elide replied. “This gentleman right here was putting some personal touches on the suite he reserved for us.” It was Elide’s chance to wink at the man who had now gone pale in the presence of Lorcan’s powerful and towering presence.“Right away miss, of course.” he stammered, and made the arrangements that Elide had commanded.

Ch. 5

“Don’t you have any luggage?” the other man working the front desk asked them. Lorcan froze. Shit.

“No, our bags got lost on our flight here. They should arrive in a few days,” Elide lied through her teeth, leaning over the counter so that her large breasts suddenly made themselves known as they rested on the countertop.

Impressive lying and tits. Lorcan thought.The man at the desk barely bothered to try and avert his gaze. “No problem. Here are some extra toiletries for your room. The suite does include room service which is only closed from 2 am-6 am, please enjoy your stay.”

They took the express elevator to their room. Elide swiped the keycard and immediately felt safer with the door and the man she had just met standing between her and the city.

“Husband?” Lorcan finally spat out at her. “Not friend? Or brother? Even boyfriend, but husband?” Elide sighed while stretching her arms up over her head and yawning. “Sorry, that swine of manager was groping me before you came out. I told him I was not interested and he didn’t care. Men don’t respect women. They do respect and fear other men, especially other men’s property. Therefore, for now, I am your wife.” Elide replied in a calm voice, as if these were facts that everyone knew. Lorcan couldn’t argue with that. He had seen the way that so many men treated women like they were property.

“Fine. Wife. However, since we’re married now I feel like I’m entitled to know a few things about you. Firstly, your name.” Lorcan said, sitting down on the couch.“My name is Marion” Elide lied. If he got caught it was better if he didn’t know her real name. It would be safer for both of them that way.

“Ok Marion,” Lorcan continued, “Why were you at my show tonight with a bunch of Ilken trying to kill you?”

“I’d really rather not say.” Elide responded. It was such a crazy story.

“Well I’m in really deep shit with my friends and my boss right now because I rescued you so I think I deserve to know why I’m ruining my life and my career.” Lorcan snapped. Did Marion not appreciate any of the shit he had gone through tonight for her? “I know.” Elide responded quietly, sitting on the bed. She took off her shoes and rolled up her leggings. It was then Lorcan saw the massive scar tissue and terrible tattoo upon her ankle. She had literally been branded like property.

Lorcan became quite still. Trying not to stare, but unable not to look. “Who did that to you?”“My uncle.” Elide responded; her stomach growling. Elide shivered on the bed, as though a ghost had walked through her. Lorcan didn’t have a family. Maeve and the members of Cadre were the closest thing he had ever had to one and even though they were all cold-hearted killing bastards, they would never do anything like that to each other. What had this girl been through?Lorcan got up, sat next to her and put a blanket around her shoulders.“Hey, you’re ok for now. We will get all of this sorted out soon. For tonight, take a bath, and try to forget about the people who want to kill you.” Lorcan said, much calmer than he had been a minute ago. Elide looked at him with a shocked expression, “Easy for the star of a rock band to say.”

Lorcan snorted. “I’m flattered. First, it’s a metal band. Second, I’m not really a star, I’m more the second fiddle type of guy, and third, I’m a drug dealer for one of the gang leaders, Maeve. I have killed more people than I can remember and people try to kill me on an almost daily basis.”

Elide sat there hugging the blanket closely to herself. “Well, you don’t seem that scary.”

Lorcan rolled his eyes at her.“Take a bath, we can send your clothes to the laundry service since you scored us a fancy room.”

“I don’t have anything to sleep in.” Elide replied, panic starting to rise in her voice. Tonight when she kissed Lorcan it had actually been her first kiss. Her life had not lent itself to the frivolity of dating nor the desires of sex. She was not sleeping naked in the same room as a man she just met. Was that something he expected? Was there a price to him saving her?

“Wear a robe, turn off the lights, take the robe off in bed. Don’t worry, I’ve seen a ton of naked chicks, I am a rock star, remembers?” Lorcan teased. Elide did not find his comments funny. She gave him a look that dared him to say another word and went into the bathroom. A minute later, she put her clothes outside the door.

Ch. 6

When Elide exited the bathroom wearing a robe she looked around, and saw no sign of Lorcan. Her heart started to race. Had he decided she was more trouble than she was worth? And then she saw two bags and a pizza box laying on the bed. She peered into the bags. They contained a set of pajamas with unicorns on them and leggings that looked very similar to what she had on earlier, a few new shirts, a 5 pack of underwear and a bra. Elide felt like she was going to die from embarrassment. Lorcan had guessed her bra size. And got it right. And bought her pajamas fit for a ten year old. And underwear that came in bulk.

She heard the room key swipe outside, and heard Lorcan’s voice shout “Is it all right if I come inside?”

“Yes.” Elide responded, trying to sound as normal as possible.“I hope you don’t mind, there was a Bullseye store down the street and I figured that would be faster than waiting on the laundry.”

“Yes. Thank you so much.”Elide replied briskly.

“What’s wrong? Is something the wrong size? You can exchange anything you need tomorrow.” Lorcan asked, surprising even himself that he cared what she thought.

“It’s just…What about me says unicorns?” she asked, holding up the pajamas and trying to keep a straight face. Lorcan smiled. An actual smile. Elide was amazed at how much younger it made him look and how much more gentle.

“It was that or bananas and you are clearly more of a unicorn.” He responded. Elide laughed. She coudn’t remember the last time she had done so.

Lorcan walked over to the pizza box and opened it. “I went with half pepperoni half cheese. Take whatever you want and I’ll eat whatever is left.”

Elide could not remember the last time she ate. Even then, she could not remember the last time she was able to eat as much as she wanted. She grabbed three pieces to start with and began to devour them. Lorcan had also grabbed a 6 pack of beer and had opened one while she was picking out her pizza.

Elide began talking between giant bites of food, “My uncle is the manager of the Morath strip club. He and his security, mostly Ilken, drug the girls and make them dance. He keeps all of their money. If they try to escape or keep any of their money to send to their families, he kills them. He also traffics women to several of the gangs in the area. Mostly the Valg and the Ilken. Any children the women have are sold as well”

Lorcan sat there, fumbling his beer in his hands, taking all of this in. Did Maeve know what all was going on in there? Children being sold to the gangs for god knows what? Women being drugged out of their mind to be sex toys for the gangs? Maeve was a woman. There was no way she would be ok with this. He would straighten everything out in a few days.

Lorcan looked up from his bottle at Elide and said, with deathly calm, “Did your uncle make you…?”Elide shook her head. “No, for the past year I’ve worked as a cocktail waitress, to pay for the food and board my uncle said I owed him. But last week, he tried to dose me with pills. I don’t know why. It didn’t work, my friend who is a bartender there saw him do it and told me.. Another girl was super out of it from the drugs the dancers are forced tot take and she fell asleep in my bed one night. I didn’t think it was a big deal so I covered her with a blanket and slept on the floor. My uncle came in and put a needle in her arm instead of the pills. That needle was meant for me. It ended up being a hotshot and it killed her. I don’t know what he wants from me or to do with me, but I knew that night I had to get out of there. My friend helped me escape. I was on the street for a few days, when I spotted the Ilken looking for me and ran into the club. I didn’t think they would be bold enough to attack me in the middle of a concert. But they did. And then you came and saved me”

Lorcan couldn’t help but smile to himself slightly. For once in his miserable life, he had done something right. He had saved a nice girl from something shitty. Even if it was for one night, he had done something good.

“Let’s try to not make a habit out of it.” Lorcan joked dryly, raising his glass in her direction.

“Indeed,” Elide agreed as she finished eating. When she was done Lorcan ate the one piece of pizza she left behind. She had offered to order more or go get some, but he had refused, saying he wasn’t that hungry anyways. When they were done eating, Lorcan moved the couch in front of the door and laid down on it.

Elide changed into her new unicorn pajamas and granny panties, crawled into bed, and got the best night of sleep she had had in years.

#elorcan fanfiction #elorcan #cadre #lorcan salvaterre #elide lochan #lorcan lochan #elide x lorcan #throne of glass #empire of storms #sarah j. maas #tog fandom #tog fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #au

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spotlightsaga · 7 years ago

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Kevin Cage of Spotlight Saga reviews… Gotham (S03E18) Light The Wick Airdate: May 15, 2017 FOX Ratings: 2.977 Million :: 0.92 18-49 Demo Share Score: 5.75/10

**********SPOILERS BELOW**********

‘Heroes Rise’ is still finding it a bit difficult to pick up steam the way the show did in 'Mad City’… In all fairness, we’re without a doubt picking up speed as we head to the last half of S3, but FOX and the other 'Big 4’ (now Big 5 w/The CW beating out FOX on some nights now that FOX literally handed ABC their biggest ratings giant for 15 years on a hand carved wooden platter; served with fine cheese, wine & duck pâté) are stuck in stubborn traditions and continue to spread out entire seasons to 22+ episodes. Even splitting up S3 and attempting to brand each half with a different theme seems like it can’t break the cycle of eventual monotony. 'Light The Wick’ takes the dishonor of being the 2nd episode in the history of Gotham to score under 3 Million viewers… Clocking in at 2.977 Million Live viewers w/an 0.92 rating in the ad-land coveted 18-49 Demo Share, the lowest ever 18-49 Demo in 60+ episodes.

Let’s not get ahead of ourselves and put too much stock in those numbers that the monopolizing dictators of tv travesties continue to pump out even though they themselves have admitted to getting it all wrong months at a time over the course of many years. Like we’ve mentioned before, we include them on the website and across our Social Media hotspots as a courtesy to Spotlight Saga readers, but there’s no one in this room who thinks anyone over at Nielsen is getting an even remotely near accurate reading… Doesn’t really matter how long the company has been directly controlling the ad revenue for television. Streaming changes everything, those hidden numbers and the revenue brought in by companies like Hulu, Netflix, Vudu, Amazon, Sling, PlayStation Vue, Shomi, Crave, Crackle (and the list goes on and on and on and on) etc. probably would probably send James Attwood and his cronies Mitch Barns, Steve Hasker, and Jamere Jackson into a full on state of psychosis! Too specific? Good, then I’m making my point.

Let’s not get off topic… Which is honestly easy to do when Gotham is at the center of the discussion. We know Gotham is over the top. It’s meant to be campy and the more the show embraces its overly theatrical roots and comic book banality, the more fun the show becomes. I often speak highly of S3A, 'Mad City’, as it literally dove headfirst right into its own pool of glossy, detailed aesthetic and gothic screwball madness. There’s a fine line you must be careful walking when playing with the likes of kitsch tv, and Gotham just isn’t playing the game quite the way they should be… At least not right at this moment, but they’ve proved they can and they’ll do it again. Bet on it.

If the 'King Of Bad Taste’ and 'Fantastic Filth’, John Waters, has taught us anything, it’s that execution is everything. If one wants to bask in such graciously gaudy territory, it must be done right or not at all. 'Heroes Rise’ just can’t seem to find the right balance… Selina Kyle’s (Camren Bicondova) transformation into Catwoman with the help of Ivy Pepper (Maggie Geha) and her double-dealing herbs, flowers, and green growing what-me-nots is simply all kinds of fun… As usual, the aesthetic is down to a science on Gotham and they always seem to work in a reference of Ivy’s shocking transformation and subsequent casting change. Unfortunately it’s basically an afterthought as lead Ben Mackenzie takes center stage with a poorly slapped together infiltration angle of The Court Of Owls. These are the people that have been ruling everything in Gotham since its sketchy inception? A group so easily infiltrated (and without wit!) that they literally just allow Jim a chance to quickly climb the ranks on the off chance that he’s suddenly gone against everything he’s ever stood for in the blink of an eye? Nah. This was an arc I was legitimately excited for, and while there’s still time left for the 'Gotham Writer’s Room’ to knock this quickly derailing train back on course (or at least halfway back on the track), we’re quickly approaching the point of no return for 'Heroes Rise’.

Just a little tip for anyone over at Primrose Hill Productions, DC Entertainment and/or Warner Bros… There’s nothing on God’s Green Earth you can do, write, say, or shoot that will get the majority of the audience that’s left faithfully watching to give a damn about Dr Leslie Thompkins (Morena Baccarin). The character, any ties to Jim Gordon, and the fun little arc that played out with her returning to Gotham and Jim shooting her Tetch-Blood deranged, mob tied husband is dead in the water. No offense to Baccarin, this was just a badly fumbled storyline in a overly Gordon-Centric season. There are so many characters in this meticulously crafted gothic tinged birthplace of Good vs 'A Whole Lotta Evil’, we just want to see anything else but the soapy bits of what feels like a throwaway directionless character. Then again, look at what they accomplished with Barbara Kean (Erin Richards), I’d literally pay a monthly fee if we could just fast forward to all things Barbara and celebrate her infinite crazy.

So far, as a whole, S3 has been exactly what we wanted Gotham to be in the first place (and I wish more people were aware of that fact)… Right now, at this moment, it’s just trying to find its place after a long break and a few falls at the 2nd round starting line on a network that insists everything be stretched as long as possible to fill an episode quota to squeeze every last dollar from the DC Universe. I refuse to believe that this much improved Gotham is taking such a nose dive, especially when there are little hints of light starting to burst through the pipes at the end of a long dark tunnel. Gotham is better than most give it credit for, and I’m thinking anytime now it’s going to find its stride again and show us how fun a well crafted world of dark, campy, violent villains can make for a great tv show and all around roller coaster of classic, exquisitely polished tropes of Good vs Evil, in the most bizarre and unexpected of ways possible. Disgraced former Head of Arkham, Dr Hugo Strange (BD Wong)… Also disgraced former Chief of Police Nathaniel Barnes (Michael Chiklis), you guys have any ideas? If not… You know, there’s always that Joker’s Wild! Sitting. Waiting. Scheming!

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unicornforcewinds · 8 years ago

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WAM: Chapters 1 & 2

Just went through and edited this fic, so am reposting.

The Wolf and the Mermaid: Solas is a forensic financial investigator, and Lavellan is a mermaid performer with a mysterious past. Fluff, Smut, Angst, and lots of Drama. Solas POV.

Entire fic on AO3.

Chapter 1: Kieran’s Birthday

Driving was normally relaxing, when for leisure or because you were heading toward a pleasant destination. Today, every remaining mile seemed to stretch on for an eternity, a pit of dread in his stomach growing tighter and larger as he drew closer to his destination. It would normally have been nice to escape the city and enjoy the mountain air, and it certainly would have been if he was not diving head first into a den of hungry wyvern.

Morrigan had apparently hired a mermaid of all things. That was so quintessentially her style – over the top and ridiculous. He would begrudgingly admit to a modicum of idle curiosity, but was fully prepared to be underwhelmed. The whole affair had devolved into something preposterously extravagant, especially by the standards of a party for children. Why did he even need to be there? They were, after all, only related by technicality.

Kieran was an undeniably remarkable child, but what did that matter? He was nearing forty and had no children; so his going made no sense, but Mythal had made declining the invitation impossible. Seeing his family, if it was indeed appropriate to refer to them as such, was not agreeable under the best of circumstances. Standing beside a pool bustling with noisy children and in very real danger of having his Antivan shoes ruined was not what he would consider the best of circumstances.

It could’ve been worse, he thought, since he had been mostly left alone… but of course, that was when Morrigan decided it was necessary to swoop in and harass him.

“Enjoying yourself, are we cousin?” Her smirk was positively feral.

He would not take the bait, replying deadpan, “I cannot fathom a more pleasurable way to spend an afternoon.”

“Tis a pity we’ve pulled you out of your solitary reverie and forced you to be around people, in the outdoors.”

“My dear Morrigan, I have nothing whatsoever against the outdoors, even when accompanied by the potent aroma of chlorinated water.”

“Not to mention what would happen if it got on your shoes.”

She winked at him, actually winked! Her gall was unnerving, and he was about to make a retort of his own when the elusive mermaid made her appearance. It was… a startling sight – she was all glowing skin, long, cascading hair, and a glittering tail . While she would have been a striking picture on her own, she happened also to be carried by a hulking, one-eyed qunari . The whole of the spectacle left him quite without words.

Morrigan had, at some point, scampered away, and it wasn’t until her eyes met his for the briefest of moments that he realized he was staring, barely breathing. How was this possible? She couldn’t be a real mermaid, of course, but she certainly was extraordinary, if not legitimately magical. As everyone else became aware of her entrance and took in the sight of her, everything fell silent – people stopped talking and children stopped playing – all anyone could do was stare in awe. Even Morrigan was impressed, though she’d never admit it. If they had ventured to guess what a mermaid performer might look like, she had clearly defied expectation.

When the pair approached the side of pool, the qunari knelt down and gently deposited his cargo on the marble edge, her tail going underneath the water up to about where her knees would be. From this perch, she looked like a queen surveying her kingdom, and she might as well have been, for the way everyone reacted to her.

“Well hello my darling little ones!” She cooed and waved to the children, “My name is Lyna, and I’ve traveled from across the Waking Sea in hopes that a very special boy will let me spend his birthday with him. What do you say Kieran, would you like to swim with me?” While speaking, she had been making dramatic, sweeping gestures with her arms that should’ve looked absurd, but were somehow enchanting… it was a marvel. She was a marvel.

Kieran waded forward curiously and tilted his head sideways, examining the strange woman before him. “Why do you have a tail?”

She giggled, and Solas had determined that he was in fact losing his mind.

“Well my dear, it’s much easier to swim with fins than with feet!”

“Hmm,” He responded, thoughtfully, “Then I think I would like to have a tail.”

She lifted herself off the edge, and eased into the water, swimming towards him. “And perhaps one day you shall!” She smiled and gave him a little splash, before darting into the water and swimming towards the increasingly excited group of children at the other end.

He was watching, almost in a daze, and it was only a matter of time before Morrigan picked up on his piqued interest and felt behooved to antagonize him. Sooner, rather than later, as was usually the case. A self-fulfilling prophecy that thought had been, as that was exactly when she chose to appear.

“It appears as though you’re enjoying the party after all, cousin. ”

“Did I not already say I could think of nothing more pleasurable?”

“Hmm. Well, I for one cannot wait to see the look on Andruil’s face when she hears you’ve been gaping at the help.”

He looked her in the eyes and she was beaming at him, so certain she’d gained some kind of upper hand. Of all the conniving, underhanded… but she had an Achilles heel.

“Were you not so busy surveilling me, you might’ve noticed how taken Kieran is with the help . One would be inclined to think, that as his adoring mother, you would take no course of action that might lead to upsetting him.”

And there it was, that glimmer of feline satisfaction turned instantly into a scowl. He could not say he wasn’t enjoying himself; that was a first.

The party went on in relative peace until it was time to eat; Solas had even managed to reply to three work emails. The illogical distraction that was the mermaid , Lyna she had said, had proven to be troubling but not altogether unwelcome. It was unlike him and also alarming to be so… mesmerized… no, he was just caught off guard, that’s all. Even so, it had made the time pass quickly and he’d never disliked his family’s company less, and that was certainly something .

Kieran had decided that he wanted to eat in the pool, with Lyna, and everything had begun to quickly unravel. Where relative calm had reigned for the past two hours, utter chaos was quickly erupting. Solas squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose, suddenly remembering why he had been so reluctant to come in the first place.

Because things certainly had not escalated enough, the mermaid-carrying qunari was approaching – not them, but walking straight towards him. He cleared his throat before speaking.

“You seem like a reasonable person,” here he glanced sidelong at the gaggle of bickering people to the left, “Boss is already ten minutes past her contractually obligated break, and I’m sure I don’t need to tell you the problems that come with defaulting on a contract…”

Of course, because of course. He heaved a sigh and rolled his shoulders in an effort to release some of the tension. At this point he no longer cared that his shoes were destined to be ruined.

“Yes, I understand. Thank you for your patience.”

He walked towards the pool, crouched down and used his most authoritative voice, “Kieran, I understand that today is your birthday and you want to have your way, but your friend Lyna,” here he avoided looking at her because that could only cause trouble, “needs to take a short break. After you’ve eaten your dinner, she can help you open your presents.”

Kieran frowned, but his face showed that he was considering.

“And if you decide that you will not behave, Lyna will have to leave early and you will have to open your presents alone.”

Kieran’s mouth dropped open. It appeared he had chosen the right approach, and it left him feeling oddly self-satisfied.

“Alright,” he reluctantly agreed, and Solas reached down to pull him out of the water, getting his clothes much wetter than he’d have liked. The day was turning out better and better…

As soon as the kids had begun climbing out of the pool, Lyna pulled herself up and the qunari knelt down to lift her. When he stood up, mermaid across his chest, she was at eye level and she looked directly at him.

“Thanks for that,” she smiled, winking.

She wore contact lenses, over-sized and purple. Why was he so curious of how she looked without them? As the pair made for the guest house, which had apparently been their designated staging area, he chided himself sternly. Wondering who she was and how she looked when she wasn’t dressed as a magical creature was foolhardy, but he found the thought irresistible still.

Crazy, he had to be going crazy. Food would be good, or perhaps he should simply excuse himself and leave the party prematurely? Proximity would surely change things and that was definitely for the best, but what if he was required to diffuse another such situation? He needed to speak to Morrigan or Mythal, or someone with an ounce of sense and reason. In this family he was most assuredly wasting his time. With a weary sigh, he knew resolutely that it was going to be a very long day after all.

Before dinner, he decided to approach Sylaise, who was, sadly, his best option. While perhaps in short supply of altruism, she could, at least, be counted on for her diplomacy. He might’ve explained the situation himself, but he rather preferred that someone else handle it if possible; especially someone better liked by his family.

As a distant non-relative, he had already performed duties above and beyond what even they could expect of him. No, this was not something he need be further involved in. He ate his meal in the kitchen, where he could find peace - if only for a moment.

Shouting from the other room informed him that discussions regarding presents and contracts were fully underway. He could scarcely wait for the fun that awaited him once he was again pulled into the fray. Tense fingers were already rubbing the back of his neck when Mythal’s voice silenced everyone else’s.

“There is no reason you cannot act like rational adults.” He thought his eyes might roll out of their sockets, the hypocrisy was nearly hyperbolic. “We shall eat dinner like civilized people, the mermaid will help Kieran receive his presents, and when that is done, the party will wind down and everyone will leave. It is not so difficult to figure out!”

No, of course it wasn’t difficult to figure out. It’s just that they were all such blustering egomaniacs that they could never agree on or settle anything. At least the party was nearly over.

By some wild twist of fate, the present opening went almost smoothly. Kieran, who was sitting in Lyna’s lap, seemed more interested in her than in his gifts. That was no good to the attendees, who wanted it known that their gift was the best received. She had to be exhausted, Solas thought, but she took it all in stride – the companionable smile never leaving her face. If even his patience was being tested, it spoke volumes of her restraint.

His own offering was a hand-bound, antique journal, perhaps not entirely appropriate. He almost thought he saw Lyna look at him curiously for just a moment, but it was far more likely he’d just imagined it.

Solas decided that he’d wait to leave until she had been spirited safely away. Mythal had suggested he stay the night, but that was completely out of the question. No, the long drive back to his empty apartment was infinitely more pleasant than remaining in current company. Besides, driving always cleared his head, and that was something he definitely needed.

It didn’t work though, and when he got home, took a hot shower and changed, sleep did not come easily. This was unfamiliar and uncomfortable territory to say the least. He hoped that tomorrow would see things returning to normal.

Chapter 2: Dorian’s Soiree

Three months was not enough time to recover between parties. It wasn’t as though there was some kind of intrigue to observe or engage in. He would have been eager to attend if it would in some way appeal to him or further his interests, but this was nothing more than a social gathering. An overabundance of heavily intoxicated people moving haphazardly to very loud noise that passed itself off as music - it was not something he looked forward to.

Dorian and he were… friends, so to speak, but he really needn’t be there to prove that. It wasn’t even a celebration marking some kind of important occasion. Did Dorian hate him? It might be time to start seriously rethinking his interpersonal relationships. Maybe he should just get a cat. Anders was constantly raving about them. But then there would be shedding, and possibly vomit, and he decided that a cat was a terrible idea.

He was arguing with himself and scrutinizing the wall clock when his phone rang. It was Dorian; he sighed before picking up and didn’t bother to say anything.

“…Hello? Solas, I know you’re there.”

A pause.

“You’ve caught me at a bad time, was there something you needed?”

“The only bad time you’re having is trying to come up with a reason you think I’ll believe for not coming to my party. Save us both the trouble and just say you’re going to be there.”

“I would really rather not.”

“I didn’t ask what you’d rather. I put up with you and one of your contractual obligations as my friend is showing up when I throw a party.”

Just hearing the word contract reminded him of Lyna�� what was wrong with his brain? It had been three months, but the memory was still so sharp.

“Solas, I know you have no prior engagements and the only thing you have to do tonight is stay at home and read or watch Netflix. Even you have to crave excitement sometimes!”

That was untrue, he did things, many sorts of things! Yes, he read a lot and he liked documentaries, but he also painted and did work and… other things. He sighed. Lately, one of those other things was finding himself caught up thinking of a mermaid he should’ve very much forgotten by now. Maybe some kind of distraction was in order.

“Have you gotten so old that age has addled your brain? Earth to Solas! We’re having a conversation here, do try to keep up.”

Another sigh. “Very well, I will be there.”

“Perfect! I knew you’d see reason. You have the address? You know what, I’ll just text it to you, again. That way you can’t say you forgot or lost it. I’ll see you at 9!”

He closed the phone and rubbed his eyes. Maybe he was getting too old for this.

The closest spot where he could park was about half a mile away, and he could already hear the party before even reaching the doors. It was certainly not a good sign. Actually walking inside was no less than an assault on his senses. He definitely needed some very strong tea, but they were unlikely to have that here, so he’d settle for a double of vodka – top shelf, of course.

Dorian approached him as he took a seat at the bar.

“You know, I take back all the bad things I said about your bald head. When the light hits it right, it bounces off and I can see you from anywhere in the room! Just imagine, if you had hair I might not have found you.”

Solas downed his shot before answering, not bothering to turn his head.

“That would, most certainly, have been a great disappointment.”

“Don’t be so dour! This is a party, afterall. I know you’re out past your bedtime, but even you must be capable of having fun once in a while.”

He might need another shot.

“Besides,” continued Dorian, “I’ve managed to arrange some truly one of a kind entertainment, something that even you might be interested in. I’ve hired a mermaid to perform dur—

Solas sharply spun on his stool to stare at him, eyes wide. The sudden movement and expression had been enough to make the human stop talking, and that was impressive, since he loved the sound of his own voice.

“… Are you… alright?”

He offered no response, just staring at him, unblinking. It was apparently making him feel a bit uncomfortable, as he started to fidget.

Eventually the right wires crossed in Solas’ brain and he turned back to the bar, ordering another double.

“Mermaid got your tongue or something?” He did have to admit that was rather on the nose. “You know, I really went through a lot of trouble to get her, and then I’ve been dealing with her brute of an attendant. I think he was actually hitting on me! Can you imagine? As though I would go for some insolent lughead… Are you even listening to me?”

He downed the shot.

“Not really.”

“One mermaid in all of Orlais, highly sought after and always booked solid, and I manage to get her for my party. Most people would ooh and ahh and be impressed and clamoring to see the mermaid but not you, oh no. Dowdy, boring Solas doesn’t get excited about anything besides work and dusty old books written by dead people.”

That was dramatic, even by Dorian’s standards, which frankly, said a lot. He was of a mind to tell him so when they were interrupted by a large hand cutting between them and smacking the counter. Immediately they both turned, necks lifting upwards to lay eyes on a familiar qunari. Dorian’s posture instantly tensed. He couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle at that.

“I’ll take the strongest drink you have, and cranberry juice ,” he shook his horned head at the last part. “And another round for my friend.” He waggled his eyebrow and inclined his head towards Dorian.

To this, the human scoffed, but it made the qunari smile. When he turned his head to Solas, his eye narrowed slightly for a split second.

“I remember you. Mr. Reasonable, right? Surprised to see you here, it doesn’t seem like your kind of place.”

“It isn’t.”

He would not have liked the place on its own merits, but being in the same place as her was another matter entirely. Part of him wanted to leave and part of him wanted to immediately seek her out. It could not be healthy to be so at odds with oneself.

“Don’t you have some work you should be doing?” Dorian offered snarkily.

“Oh, a gig like this, there’s really not much to do.”

“Isn’t there some line in your contract preventing you from harassing your client?”

“I can’t be sure. Maybe we should go over it together. How ‘bout right now? There’s an empty office upstairs.”

Dorian started choking on his wine. It was a good sign that Solas should be finding somewhere else to be, like home. As he started to stand, he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

“Since you’re getting up, and you’re not enjoying yourself anyway, why don’t you take this juice to the sea maiden?”

Now he was the one choking, and he began to shake his head when the glass was thrust into his hand. He spared a second to look at Dorian whose face was contorted in disgust. He did not appear to be in genuine distress, so it looked like he was going to have to face her after all.

“Hey, Reasonable,” the qunari was addressing him again it seemed. “The guy working security for the door backstage is Krem. Tell him Bull sent you.”

Before Solas had a chance to nod in response, Bull had already turned back to Dorian. No escape now, he thought, and sighed heavily as he made his way through the crowd of people and toward the back wall. The stage curtain was down, which was a relief, because then at least he would not be caught up in staring.

“Sorry sir, no guests backstage.” The security guard, Krem, informed him as he got close to the door.

He paused, feeling positively ridiculous, and gestured toward the glass.

“Bull sent me.” It sounded as awkward as it felt.

“Ah, should’ve said so. Go right on through.”

He inclined his head as a form of response and walked inside. It appeared to be some kind of large storage and staging area, for whatever acts performed here. Having never been before, he could only venture to guess, but he assumed there was lots of loud noise involved. He was walking forward slowly, observing the surroundings when a voice startled him, her voice .

“Well you’re certainly not Bull.”

She was smiling at him, perched on a platform atop what looked to be a large aquarium.

He cleared his throat, “No indeed, I…” he trailed off. Why was it so hard to talk when she was looking at him? The silence continued uncomfortably until she decided to break it.

“But you’ve brought me juice it looks like? I’ve been dying for something to drink.”

“Something one might think odd for a mermaid to be in want of.”

She let out a small laugh, and he smiled despite himself.

“Well, I could drink tank water, if I was really desperate, but nothing short of dying would compel me to do that.”

He chuckled, surprising himself. She was truly spectacular.

“So, are you going to bring me the juice, or do I have to flop over and get it?”

She was teasing him, and it made his chest tighten.

“My apologies.” He inclined his head and climbed the stairs, bringing them much too close.

“You’re an odd one, you know,” she said, taking the drink.

He gulped. She was wearing large, teal lenses tonight. Her hand brushed his when she took the glass.

“It is not the first time I’ve been called something to that effect.”

Her gaze seemed to be piercing right through his heart, and he felt out of breath.

“You look like this is the last place you want to be, but here you are, coming to my rescue for the second time.”

She smiled at him and winked. She… she remembered him? He remembered her of course, she was not the kind of person anyone was likely to forget, but she had remembered him ?

“You give me more credit than I am due.”

“Or perhaps you just undersell yourself.”

He did not know what to make of that, except that he felt as though someone had lit him on fire. He was also staring full on at her, too shocked to be self-conscious. She looked away minutely, but then back into his eyes.

Her drink was empty now and she was extending the glass to him. When had she had finished it? He had not even noticed.

“I hope you enjoy the show.” Her parting words, he supposed.

“I am certain that I will, Lyna.”

He started to turn around, but she interrupted him.

“Ellana.”

“What?” he turned suddenly, facing her again.

“My name, it’s Ellana. Lyna is just my stage name.”

“I, Ellana, it is… beautiful.”

She laughed, more fully this time, hand covering her mouth.

“Thanks, but don’t go spreading it around. I wouldn’t want my secret identity getting out!”

He bowed at the waist.

“You have my word.”

He was almost to the door when she called out to him.

“I didn’t catch yours. Your name, I mean.”

“Solas, my name is Solas.”

“Goodnight, Solas.” She gave him a small wave before dropping into the water.

“Goodnight,” he whispered back, knowing she wouldn’t hear him.

-----

He sat himself at a vacant table near the stage. Thankfully, most people were preoccupied with dancing, so there was room. The house music tapered off, and what he assumed was the performance music started low and was quickly building. He would normally have considered it too heavy for his tastes, but when the curtain rose and the show began, he decided that it fit perfectly.

There were gasps and applause and even raucous hooting. She seemed to possess some innately bewitching quality that had everyone beguiled. He felt as though she was performing solely for him, and his mind flashed for the briefest second to the image of her on his bed… but no, that was highly inappropriate, not to mention disrespectful. She wasn’t performing for him or any other specific person here, he didn’t think. No, if anything, it was most likely that she was performing for herself alone.

“Can I get you something, doll?”

He hadn’t even noticed the waitress walk up, until she cleared her throat at him.

“Yes. I’ll have a vodka, with cranberry.”

What? So he had a sudden taste for cranberry. It signified nothing.

When there was suddenly a drink before him, he averted his eyes briefly and caught the bright smile of the waitress. He tipped 25%, he was feeling gracious.

“My thanks,” he said, lifting the drink to her.

“Any time, love.”

He sipped his drink slowly, his eyes glued to Ellana. Her movements were graceful, effortless, but with an almost predatory edge, like she was seducing the audience in attempt to ensnare them. Were it the case, he was not the evening’s only successful conquest.

At some point, Dorian had joined him, and even distracted as he was, Solas couldn’t help noticing that he appeared the slightest bit disheveled. He might have made an issue of it, but at this moment, it didn’t particularly interest him.

The show seemed to go on forever and yet ended far too soon. When the music died off and the curtain fell, it was almost painful. Just the sight of her set him ablaze; the loss snuffed the flame out like a bucket of ice water. He couldn’t explain it; was not the least bit comfortable with it, but it felt amazing . How long had it been since he smiled the way he was tonight? He had been content in his routine and was unaccustomed to change, but suddenly it had become very appealing.

Reluctantly he got up to leave, stopped by Dorian scoffing.

“That’s it?!”

He lifted his eyebrows, indicating his confusion.

“You leave me with that b rute , run off to do Andraste knows what, and then I find you with your eyes searing holes in my mermaid, without so much as a Hi Dorian, great party, I’m having ever so much fun .”

“It seems you found ways to sufficiently occupy your time in my absence.”

If Dorian was going to behave like a brat, Solas was not going to let him get away with it.

“You,” he coughed, clearing his throat, “I am not nearly drunk enough for this conversation.”

“Engrossed as I was, I did manage to notice the rather significant look our qunari friend gave you as he left.”

Was he blushing? He certainly looked flustered, but Solas could not let him off so easily.

“It was remiss of me to abandon you, especially when I was conscripted into service, but it seems your evening was far more eventful than mine.”

“Fine, fine! I yield. You’re an ass, Solas.”

“Perhaps.” Definitely, he thought.

“And you thought you wouldn’t have any fun.”

Dorian smirked at him, winking. He stood up, inclined his head, and left.

That night, he fell asleep thinking of Ellana - inside and out of the water. It was foolish, he knew, but he didn’t care.

#solavellan #solas x inquisitor #solas x lavellan #solavellan fanfiction #solavellen hell #solas #mermaid au #uni writes

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tbhhhhhhhhhh · 8 years ago

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IM GONNA RANTTTTTTTT (spoilers)

(this match was literally like 6 hours ago so???? I don't remember everything but I'll do my best to recall it. I was bummed the ENTIRETY (apart from Carmella and Eva Marie) of the Women's division could've even have made it onto the actual show but, the fact they were hyping Naomi up and let her pin the women's champ is👍👍👍👍 but I'm hoping they let Nikki and Becky win so Nattie and Mickie can win the singles matches they have (hopefully at Elimination Chamber). SHEAMUS AND CESARO LOST AND IM SHOOK and I'm really confused about what they're going to do with the two of them now and I hope they use them correctly, they're both incredibly talented and deserve to be used correctly. The Club deserved to be given something since they've lost literally everything since coming to WWE but they don't stand out to me idk, they don't catch my eye. I do like Karl's diving neckbreaker though. Nia Jax vs Sasha Banks was honestly one of the matches I was really looking forward to see since I love love love Nia and she looked so great in her new gear tonight, I'm so proud. I wish the match lasted longer and Nia just ragdolled Sasha for a bit after that Samoan drop, would've added a lot more heel heat made her look better in my opinion. The only Women's match on the actual show and, it let me down. I guess they're trying to build up that "Bayley's got heart!" and "she'll never quit!" but the match was pretty short, coming for a 40 minute long women's match at roadblock, and Bayley got pinned cleanly and idk, it did nothing for me. I wasn't really looking forward to Roman Reigns vs Kevin Owens since I don't like how they've worked up their feud idk, did Roman deserve another shot after roadblock? is he going to get another shot now? Why is Roman always looking strong over Kevin??? but I'll be honest, this match won me over mid way through because there were great spots throughout the match. The ending though, Will Kevin ever win a title defense without an interference? I like that their trying to add Strowman to the main event picture, somewhat, but I don't understand where they're going with it, Roman had a showdown with Taker in the Rumble match, which will most likely lead to something for Wrestlemania but where does that leave Roman and Strowman's thing they have now? ugh I'm salty salty saltyyyyyy because this match was the match I was looking forward to the most and my family kept distracting me!!!🙃 so I literally don't have any recollection of the moves. I love heel Neville, but it's bittersweet that he won it at the Rumble, the Rumble is a huge show but I would've loved for the King to be crowned with his championship at the "grandest stage of them all" considering he couldn't even compete in what would have been in his first Wrestlemania. Swann and Neville would've killed it at Wrestlemania. In my opinion, I would've loved to see Rich steal a victory from Neville at the Rumble so he could have a longer reign and so Neville could run through and just obliterate the rest of the cruiserweights division on the road to Wrestlemania. Wow, AJ and John gave another show-stopping performance with each other, it was a PHENOMENAL match and that's all I can say about it, but I don't understand why John got an opportunity in the first place and why he won, Styles' had a great run as WWE champion and I would've loved to see him hold it longer. Cena's already had his time and I honestly couldn't care less about his 16th reign because he doesn't deserve it, he gave a good match and AJ still looks strong because it took 4 Attitude adjustments AND ONE FROM THE TOP ROPE TO GET HIM PINNED, but he shouldn't have been pinned, in my opinion. Now onto the Royal Rumble match, I'm going to nitpick a lot because me and also I can. (it's gonna be blank if I don't have anything to say about the competitor) 1. I've said it before and I'll say it again, I don't like Enzo and Cass at all, but I understand why they'd want to start off the Rumble with two very """"likeable"""" wrestlers. 2. BREAK THE WALLS DOWNNNNNN, CHRIS JERICHO HAS BEEN IN THE RUMBLE FOR MORE TIME THAN ANY OTHER COMPETITOR, I loved that he came back in to the ring to eliminate people but he kept going back out, and as the match progressed I really wanted him to come out on top more and more and I was crushed when he got eliminated. 3. 4. (Breezango👀) 5. YOOO JACK IS CROSSING DIFFERENT WORLDS, HES OUT OF THE CRUISERWEIGHT DIVISION AND HE'S IN THE RUMBLE. His exchange between Chris was hilarious tbh and yeah he didn't get much done but you know, expected. 6.Great pop for Mark in his home state, well deserved, he's a legend. Really interesting to see him and Braun though, eliminated too quickly. 7. Braun was extremely dominant throughout the entire match and that's good considering they're building him up to be a new monster to the likes of Mark Henry and Big Show. I really like Braun, not really his character, but he's so quick for a big guy it's incredible, in my opinion the best big guy the WWE has had in a long time. Many people were predicting he win the thing but I think it's best he just eliminate a butt ton of people for now. 8. omg I literally forgot Dean literally told us Sami was going to be #8 and I was legitimately wondering who the next person was going to be smh. He lasted long which I like, but there wasn't really a memorable moment of him for me. 9. Boy if I wasn't singing Big Show's theme for 20 seconds before he came out, props to him for somewhat patching the torch to Braun and letting him throw him out, but I really want him to face Braun rather than Snoop Dogg at Wrestlemania. 10. MICHEAL COLE MISSED A HUGE OPPORTUNITY OF SAYING "who's going to enter at number..." and then Tye's music interrupts him with "Ten.." I WOULD'VE GONE CRAZY. Really hate how he was just in the background for most of his time in the Rumble and then he was jobbed out. 11. Pointless. 12. They really let their Intercontinental champion get thrown out by Brock Lesnar. That pisses me so much, Dean didn't really have any momentum coming into the match but he didn't deserve to get eliminated by a part timer so easily. 13. Really love how they let Smackdown's monster eliminate Raw's monster, since Braun got all the eliminations, it's only right Baron, at least gets to have a strong elimination to keep his momentum going. I loved him and The Undertaker going at it and I wish they were allowed to be at the forefront for a bit and given more time since Baron's supposed to basically be The next Undertaker/tall guy type of person. 14. His elimination/not elimination wasn't special this year and I'm crying. 15. I was going over who I wanted to win 15 seconds before The Miz got eliminated so I'm thinking, The Miz lost the intercontinental champion and deserves to be in the world title picture so he deserves to win this!!!! then he gets thrown out by a single clothesline by The Undertaker, so, you know. I kinda wanted Maryse to become the 4th woman to enter the Rumble and have the It couple just tear everyone to shreds but that wouldn't have ever happened. 16. 17. omg this entire time I swear I thought Xavier Woods always did the New Day intro and I'm shook. Liked him spanking The Miz tbh. 18. Woah I didn't know he had a broken nose, he's really tough to still compete in the match 6 days after breaking it. I don't like how they've wasted him in this Enzo & Cass feud thing, he should be doing better things and giving Goldberg, Brock and Undertaker a fight because he's that good. 19. I remember Cesaro entering at #19 and I was like "omg this thing is almost over." 20. I love Xavier with everything, he's great on the mic, he's great in the ring, HE'S THE BEST AND CUTEST PERSON OUT OF THE RING, but he didn't do anything spectacular, unfortunately. 21. He should've won. When it was him, Roman, Randy, he was the only the one who really really really needed the win, Bray has a great character and he's so good in the ring. (THAT LITTLE CHOKE SLAM TYPE OF THING IDK WHAT ITS CALLED HE DOES LOOKS SO GREAT ALL THE TIME) I hope Bray wins the title from Cena at the Elimination Chamber and beats Randy at Wrestlemania. He deserves good things. Give him good things @wwe. 22. Incredible in the ring, but he needs a character to make him stand out from the bunch! I'd love Apollo so much more if he wasn't just the "if you mess with him, you're messing with me" little thing he has. 23. Doesn't deserve to have won it again. If he's only putting over Bray, it's kind of a waste of a Rumble, but that's the only way I'll be happy with him winning it. Should've let Luke hit Bray with a sister Abigail. 24. why why why @wwe do you sell out your hard working talent who work 24/7 for a part timer and make them look so weak for someone so undeserving. Dolph can't even turn heel and get taken seriously by WWE and its terrible. 25. I love Luke and even though he's so going under in this feud with Randy and Bray I hope he gets another run at the intercontinental title soon. Give him good things also! 26. No. 27. No. 28. FUCKING love how they're making Brock job to Goldberg in such little time, it's hilarious and deserving to me, but that being said I'm glad Goldberg didn't win and neither Goldberg and Brock Lesnar didn't take much spotlight from the current talent. 29. I so called Undertaker entering 29 and Finn Balor entering 30 AND RETURNING. When the dong hit, I was so certain I was right. I'm a lot more lenient when it comes to Taker, he's been here his entire career and hasn't left, he deserves to eliminate a couple people because he's a legend and even though he's a part timer, it's only because his career has slowed down. 30. Like I said, I was looking forward to Finn returning and Romans music hit and I hate the people who boo him for no reason but I wanted Finn so I'll justify it, only now. IDK how I feel about him vs Taker though. Overall, the match started out really strong but dwindled down over time. I liked how there weren't any returns, people are pissed, but I'm happy WWE is putting effort to somewhat put their current talent on the forefront of one of the biggest Pay Per Views they have. It does them no favors having a retired talent eliminate a current superstar, in my opinion. Dude, I've been typing this for 2 hours djfnfnfn what am I doing omg, I really like writing out my thoughts yo and this is really long but if you like my thoughts yoooooo. I'm sleep now it's 1 am.

#royal rumble #wwe #my thoughts #rant #rant as hell omg #a lot of words

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the-mountainsflame · 5 years ago

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Surprises

((Or: Iron Sights meets something.

Featuring @aetherstitch‘s Sorin! ))

===

Iron Sights lightly jiggled one leg as she watched that Miqo’te and her war-leader’s darkside sparring in the depression slightly below herself and said war-leader, as the Gyr Abanian sun beat down on them from overhead.

She had been easily granted permission to hang around and watch, after she had dropped him off to Daeyona with her compliments about his ability to keep up with Roegadyn in exercising (though not without giving poor Sorin such a cheeky back-slap that it nearly sent him sprawling). It was, legitimately, a bit interesting, even as someone who pointedly kept to her guns and her machines instead of something so in one’s face as swordplay and such; she had still seen enough of her leader’s fighting and her other student’s fighting that Sights would easily pick out the differences between the three of them, even if they were all the same size and armored from top to tail.

Sorin rapidly ducked around one of Khann’s more sneaky swipes and needled her side with the sword-point, and Sights half-smiled in amusement. Daeyona was always the more brutal of the three—unyielding, taking blows as if they were mere annoyances (even when they absolutely weren’t), swinging her humongous sword with blistering force and speed that had this nasty habit of turning anyone caught in its path into pink mist and nondescript gibbets of gore. Vira, on the other hand...well, she had seen them doing a bit of sparring with their girlfriend the Ahtyn, and despite being a dark knight, they still fought like a Monk, pressing in with relentless vitality and striking rapidly and precisely as they could with a big bloody sword in their hands.

Then there was Sorin. She hadn’t seen him much around until recently, but she had still heard what he used to do as a Scholar, and that training showed even in a totally different style of fighting. He hung back just barely out of range, defending and parrying until his keen eyes caught a good opening, and he took every advantage of his tactics to use his enemy’s own flaws against themselves. In fact, Khann tried a vicious close-range charge, and she only managed to skitter her claws over his armor before the blunt edge of the practice sword caught her such a whack in her side that it made Daeyona jolt out of the half-doze she fell into.

“Hrm—?!”

But Sights just shrugged, where she was seated at Daeyona’s side, nodding down to the Miqo’te. “He got a nice shot off on your dog.”

“She’s not a dog, Sights,” Daeyona grumpily replied, though she stayed reclined on the ground. “But even I felt that one. It was a good shot. Even if I wish he’d stop dancing around and get in there before he exhausts his aether waiting.” Sights cocked her head to one side, still watching the darkside and the dark knight attacking and dodging, attacking and parrying, dodging again... “Well,” she started, thoughtfully, “gotta consider, though, he’s little.”

Daeyona’s voice gained a hint of dryness. “I know he and Vira are both not Roegadyn, Sights.”

“Really though, think about it. Vira’s still a Highlander; they’re not necessarily in a bind if something big chews on them a little. Your friend Sorin’s gotten a lot more filled-out, certainly, but he’s still a Miqo’te and he’s only maybe half your size—and compared to a lot of other enemies, too.” She looked up thoughtfully. “And it’s not every day you see a Scholar being a sword-fighter, either. He’s not being cowardly, he’s being smart.”

“Did I ever call him a coward?”

“You did call him easily exhausted.”

“He told me that in those words himself, Sights.”

“So he knows it even better than any of us, hm? He seems to be doing fine with it.”

Daeyona just let out a hum at that, and sat up enough to watch the finishing stages of that sparring match. No matter how much endurance one had, little would outlast a creature of pure aether made flesh, and it only took one particularly egregious misstep before Khann cannoned into Sorin and sent him sprawling flat. She rested her forepaws on his chest and growled in his face, but her tail was wagging wildly and Sorin just lightly booped her nose before sliding out from under the wolf-creature. It didn’t take the two long to come over, either, Khann’s voice rumbling out ahead of them.

“He’s clever.”

“And you hit quite ferociously.” Sorin sat down next to them with a heavy grunt, wincing. “I’ll have bruises for days, I’m afraid.”

“You’ll get used to them.”

“Hm.” He glanced at both Sights and Daeyona, but the former just grinned and the latter rolled one shoulder in a shrug.

“She’s right, you know. About both of those.”

Sorin chuckled wearily and stuck his blunted practice blade point-first into the dusty earth. “I do still prefer avoiding them.”

“Kind of hard to avoid it if you’re a dark knight.” Daeyona had beaten Sights to the thought, so Sights just huffed and shifted in her seat. She could swear that her war-leader could read minds.

“I’m quite aware, yes. But I have a duty to fulfill.”

This time, though, it was Sights who spoke up first, in insatiable curiosity. “What kind of duty, eh? Not everyone goes cavorting around using a sword as tall as they are and the forces of daaaarkness,” she noted as she casually wiggled her fingers at the word—and ducked a swipe from Daeyona, “or there would be a million of you running wild, not just you three. At least that we know of.”

But Sorin just kept looking up at the cloudless sky and closed his eyes, his furry ears flicking. “Someone dearly departed would have wished it.”

An interesting answer, that. But before Sights could keep prodding him further, something cast a shadow over them (however briefly) and her gaze snapped up just in time to see something flying up there. Something big enough that she immediately grabbed the Razorback and had her finger perilously near the large gun’s trigger. “The hells?”

Daeyona got to her feet in record time, even if the motion implied she was still having a great deal of aches and pains from that whole incident with the mind control, and her eyes found the strange dragon-y looking thing fast. “What is that?!”

Khann snarled and it was only by dint of Sights’ keen hearing that she heard Sorin’s resigned sigh underneath it.

“Not sure why you’re asking me, war-leader,” Sights hissed, bringing the gun up, though she knew already it was fair useless to do so outside of for intimidation. The Razorback was more a large shotgun, not a sniper’s weapon, and besides, that thing looked massive and even if she got to crack one off right in its face like she did that Garlean jackass in the armor, she doubted it would even feel it, much less be hurt by it. That was something more like a war-machina!

Though...not quite, she thought to herself over the wire-tight hum of her own nerves. Machina and magitek and other such things didn’t move as fluidly as that; there were a multitude of little twitches and sways that would never have been acceptable out of a machine—

Sorin sighed again and she sent him a sidelong glance. “Are you going to do something helpful, sir?”

He didn’t even respond to the tetchy question, though. He seemed to be thinking, and quite hard, though he came to a decision quickly enough she couldn’t ask any more questions. Instead, he actually whistled, loud, and his ears stood upright as he added an earsplitting cat-like chatter to the end of it. (Hunt-speak, she thought she had heard it called once.)

“Excuse you—?!” But any indignant thought Sights had was completely wiped out of her skull as the big flying thing dived, and with startling speed came to land just yalms away from them...

...Though not without stumbling and face-planting into the dirt so hard that it sent dust and small rocks galore in their general direction.

Sights spluttered and was forced to lower the Razorback as she pawed at her eyes with her free hand, and she very very did not appreciate being half-blinded when she heard Khann’s snarls reaching a crescendo and the deep metal thuds of the very heavy not-machine walking towards them.

“He’s friendly!” Sorin had to shout to be heard over the noise, and once Sights’ vision had cleared enough to at least sort of see, she wasn’t much reassured by the sight of that big thing towering over them and leaning down towards them sweet Twelve some part of her thought she was going to get eaten for a moment—!

“You know this bloody thing?!” Daeyona hissed, though her darkside’s growling subsided enough that it was more a dull rumble now.

“Runya and I found him,” Sorin shot back by way of explanation, though he did frantically wave for that not-machine to stay still and it obeyed, even if its four red eyes blinked with small metal clicks in confusion, where they were set in its heavily blue-armored face. “He...liked us, I suppose. So he’s been staying in the area, keeping low.”

“I...see.” Daeyona paused, though her magitek arm still hummed with tension as she kept a death-grip on her sword’s hilt. “Is this that ‘mage friend’ you mentioned to me?”

“War-leader, all due respect...” Sights shook her head, even as she kept nervously glancing at the blue dragon-thing. “But machines and machina that big don’t use magic. Chemical compounds, sure; firing hard things and sharp things and hard sharp things at eye-burning speed, yes. But magic? They don’t do that—at least not Garlean ones and they’re the only bloody country building things like this.”

The dragon twitched its tail at the mention of Garleans.

“It was probably Allagan.”

“That...does not make any of this feel any better, Lightweaver,” Sights retorted, unwilling to take her gaze off of the not-machine. “You’re sure it likes you?”

“Yes, Sorin, are you sure?” Daeyona was eyeing it even more warily than Sights herself was, even as the dragon-thing bent a little more to sniff at her with something akin to curiosity. “It looks like a bloody Weapon. Like that thing in the Praetorium.”

“I do wonder about that.” The dragon-thing had lowered its head enough that Sorin could scritch it under the chin now, though it was exceedingly unlikely the thing actually felt it, in Sights’ opinion. “He claims he is. But he is no marauding monster like such things have been for us before. In fact, he seems to wish to just be left alone by anyone involved now—including the Empire.”

Not that Daeyona looked any more convinced than Sights felt. But the other Hellsguard had let her grip slacken on her sword, and she stood stubbornly in place as her hair was blown about by the Weapon’s sniffing. “...So he’s intelligent, is he?”

“Yes.” Sorin blinked. “He speaks with his thoughts; I’m surprised you can’t hear them.”

“Well,” Daeyona grumbled, “I’ve gotten fairly good at shutting out things outside my head trying to get into it. Especially with Khann.”

Sights just for a moment felt a little flicker of the same curiosity on that Weapon’s face, but through her head instead, but as disorienting as that was, it disappeared quickly.

But Sorin turned back to the Weapon and gave it a harder pat, to get its attention. “Go on, we’re fine.” The thing hesitated, and he just raised his brows slightly at it. “They are my friends and they would not so casually betray me, or you if I tell them not to.”

It still hesitated, even if it straightened up.

“It’s alright.”

That finally seemed to settle the matter. With a few heavy paces away, a flare of its tattery-looking wings, and a gust of wind aether so strong even Sights felt it tingling across her skin, it powered into the air once more, sun glinting off of azure armor.

Daeyona and Sights both stared squarely at Sorin at the same time. The Miqo’te’s tail twitched with slight displeasure, but he just stared right back, shifting his eyes between Daeyona and Sights and back again.

“...Why,” Daeyona started as she rubbed her face with her free hand, “do you always, always make friends with things you shouldn’t be making friends with? I know what I said,” she added defensively as Sights sent her a side-long glance with iron-grey eyes. “Don’t start.”

“I’m just as perplexed about that as you are.” Sorin shrugged, entirely at ease despite both Roegadyn’s tension. “But I trust that both of you will not prove me a liar to Blue?”

“Is...that its name,” Sights replied, but she did sling her gun so it was hanging back over her shoulder again. “I guess. Might not be too bad to have that on our side if the Empire kicks up shite again. I don’t trust the bloody Alliance telling us it’s fine as long as they’re killing each other and not us. They’re planning something.”

And unlike the Roegadyn they liberated from the work camps, tormented and beaten and half-starved into submission...unlike the villages that had been trapped in a tiny chunk of their ancestral lands and all but forced into attacking and ensuring their own destruction...unlike the thousands, maybe millions the Empire had broken under its heel...they could and would be waiting. The Swarstral, those friends of her war-leader’s, and now even a Weapon itself, perhaps. If it really was that friendly as Sorin insisted, and just keen enough to fight off the Empire it supposedly wanted far away from.

“They are,” Sorin quietly agreed, “though none of us know what. But we’re not alone.”

And to that, Sights and Daeyona both nodded, the former speaking for the both of them. “Aye, that we’re not. Just hope it stays that way.”

#; writing #aetherstitch

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flauntpage · 6 years ago

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The Blurred Line Between Real Violence and Wrestling Violence

A significant part of pro wrestling’s in-ring appeal isn’t balletic dives or feats of strength. It’s the simulated violence, where we collectively sneak up to the line of the real, secure in the knowledge that it’s all under control, with pulled punches and magicians’ hands softening the headbutts.

That line can be extremely porous. As two high profile events over the past week proved, the simulation can turn extremely real through lack of care or maliciousness, and the results of real violence are very different from the stuff in the ring.

The first was during the David Arquette-Nick Gage match at Joey Janela’s LA Confidential on Friday night. Joey Janela has turned the weekends around each of WWE’s Big Four shows—Sunday was Survivor Series—into his own traveling circus show, where his post-ironic celebration of camp in pro wrestling runs into legitimate dream matches to make must-see pay-per-views over the past couple of years.

David Arquette might seem like an odd choice for a dream match, but the 47-year-old actor has quietly been one of the strangest feel-good stories in pro wrestling history over the past six months. It’s perhaps exited public memory, but he was talked into becoming WCW world champion in the waning days of that promotion. It was a farce meant to draw mainstream attention, and it did for a bit, but his reign went down as one of the major factors in WCW’s demise.

Arquette is a lifelong pro wrestling fan and he’s spent the past 18 years agonizing over his role in what he not incorrectly feels was a disrespecting of a tradition he loves. And he, in turn, feels disrespected as a joke who never cared. His solution was to train—really train—to be a pro wrestler. That’s what he’s been doing, working small indie shows just to have fun and give back. As he’s done so, he’s actually made a name as a decent worker and great guy, with fan sentiment building from a grudging respect to genuine appreciation.

Janela booked Arquette to wrestle his first ever death match against Nick Gage, the first CZW heavyweight champion, a legendary death match wrestler, and convicted bank robber. Gage is, as these things go, safe, but he also has an air of legitimate menace around him that most pro wrestlers simply don’t have. That air made the match with Arquette a perfect representation of what Janela’s shows try to do: on the one hand, it’s absurd and not a little bit funny that the man who killed WCW, David Arquette, would be wrestling known badass Nick Gage, on the other, this is a legitimate match with reputational stakes with two complimentary real-life stories of redemption colliding.

The match was standard death match fare until the end, when the horrific happens. Gage grabs a broken light tube and does the gruesome but well-worn spot of taking the jagged end and grinding it into Arquette’s forehead. Arquette yells and legit freaks out a bit, flailing and taking Gage down. The light tube slips on the way down and gashes Arquette near the jugular, causing blood to gush out.

What happens next isn’t staged. After holding Gage down with one hand, the other clasped to his throat to staunch the bleeding, Arquette tries to pin Gage, who isn’t having it. Arquette tries to leave, comes back, and Gage kayfabe attacks him. At that point, Arquette has clearly had enough and absolutely wallops his opponent with a chair and tries to fight him. Gage drops a very real judo throw, pins Arquette, and it’s over.

It’s worth watching the footage in full if you can stomach blood, especially the fan angles which popped up all over Twitter. The reactions of the two men as the violence becomes extremely real are telling. They move from continuing to go through the motions to confusion to fear to anger in a scant two minutes. It’s extremely human and the quick transition from the “real” to the real shows the gulf between the two.

The other intrusion of violence into the simulation came on last week’s Smackdown Live. During a pull apart brawl between the SmackDown and Raw women, Nia Jax hauls off and punches WWE’s hottest act of the year, Becky Lynch, full in the face. Jax has about 150 pounds and not quite half a foot on Lynch; the impact broke Lynch’s nose and gave her a concussion.

For her part, Lynch gamely went on after a brief moment down on the mat. When she got up, blood was all over her face. The image became immediately iconic: Becky Lynch, Smackdown women’s champion, bloody-faced and sneering as she backs away from the ring after conducting an ambush, arms outstretched as she verbally hammers her kayfabe opponents.

The wrestling world exploded when it happened. The sight of the bloodied Lynch cemented her as the next coming of Stone Cold Steve Austin for some, and even for the less hyperbolic, it seemed like an undeniably important moment. Here was a woman taking the sometimes cloying rhetoric around WWE’s corporate announcement of the women’s revolution and turning it into a statement: I can bleed, I can hurt, and I can by God sell tickets as good as any man, maybe even better, given the sometimes dismal state of the men’s matches this year.

There were real world consequences, too. Lynch was scheduled to wrestle Raw women’s champion Ronda Rousey—notably, a wrestler who made her name on real violence in UFC—on Sunday’s Survivor Series. That didn’t happen due to WWE’s concussion protocols. We instead got an extremely good match between Rousey and Charlotte Flair, but it was supposed to be the white hot Lynch in the ring. We didn’t get that because, in real violence, a lot of the time it’s just one punch that ends things, with physical repercussions that last.

Jax, for her part, seems utterly unrepentant. The fan footage of the incident has become pro wrestling’s Zapruder film over the past week, with people poring over what happened and how. The question of whether it was an accident or a deliberate sucker punch has arisen. Chris Jericho stated on his podcast that he thought it looked deliberate, and I’m inclined to agree; she steps fully into the punch after looking right at Lynch. On the other hand, this is just the latest example of Jax injuring her opponents. She’s a sloppy worker and this is in keeping with her reputation.

Regardless of intent, the damage is done and it is, again, real. There are all sorts of injuries pro wrestlers get, from broken bones to ruptured ligaments, but those are largely the injuries of athletes. They feel like the cost of doing business. It’s when the injuries are the types people get in fights and brawls that you catch your breath a bit.

But let’s also not kid ourselves: it’s also those injuries which we get shamefully thrilled by, and the pro wrestling apparatus knows it. It’s no accident that the gruesome Arquette situation was near the top of Twitter trends in the wake of LA Confidential, nor that Janela’s next show is liable to get a boost to viewers because of it. Nor is it an accident that WWE made hay on Lynch’s bloody visage over the past week. Rumors were swirling that Jax was in backstage trouble for the punch, yet she strode to the ring on Sunday holding her fist aloft and was the last woman standing in her match at Survivor Series. And she was booed mercilessly, but there was undeniable joy in those boos, as the crowd could genuinely hate someone for legitimately hurting someone they equally genuinely love.

All of which points to the fact that the relation between controlled and uncontrolled violence in the pro wrestling imagination isn’t as distant as we like to think. There’s something about peering over the edge into the realm of chaos which gets us going, where we watch the Nia Jax punch and David Arquette shooting on Nick Gage over and over again. We may not like the real thing, but we sure are fascinated by it.

The Blurred Line Between Real Violence and Wrestling Violence published first on https://footballhighlightseurope.tumblr.com/

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leehaws · 6 years ago

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The Blurred Line Between Real Violence and Wrestling Violence

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The Blurred Line Between Real Violence and Wrestling Violence syndicated from https://justinbetreviews.wordpress.com/

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flauntpage · 6 years ago

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The Blurred Line Between Real Violence and Wrestling Violence

The Blurred Line Between Real Violence and Wrestling Violence published first on https://footballhighlightseurope.tumblr.com/

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