#that I have tried so many times to draw Dave smiling with teeth | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

whump-town · 3 years ago

Text

Stubborn

Everybody taking care of old Hotch because... I don't like it when old Hotch gets left to just die on his own :( don't ask why that's where I draw the line

No pairings

No warnings

In Jack’s second semester of his junior year, Hotch collapses again. He’s home this time, out in his garden under the glaring sun. The day had begun no different than any other. The birds on the powerline chirping and causing their disturbances, as eager for the day to begin as the school-aged children shouting in the street. He’d watched them from the sliding glass door facing the street, his tea warm in his hands. He’d waved at a few, the older ones who recognize him as a mystifying adult with stories to be unlocked. The younger children give him a face akin to a monster’s, his mystery horrifying in their already confusing enough lives.

It’s an hour before lunch. Two hours before Spencer shows up because it’s Thursday and he teaches a class on this side of town every Tuesday and Thursday at 2. One that he occasionally asks Hotch to attend -- as a guest lecturer, as a treat to his students, or just for the company.

He could call just about anyone.

Emily’s downtown, on her way back from a meeting with the Department of Justice. She’d be thrilled for an excuse to not go back to the office and spend an hour or two in his kitchen telling him about those pretentious assholes.

Garcia’s about ten minutes away, working at a nonprofit teaching “at-risk” kids how to code. Being the guiding hand she’d needed as a teenager so that they might not repeat the same mistakes she made. She was lucky, Hotch saved her but he’s not around to catch any more kids like her.

Morgan got hired by a family two streets over to fix up their house before they move in. He’s there now, tearing out rotting beams.

This collapse is not of the life-threatening kind. Not to Hotch at least. There’s no internal bleeding, no emergency surgeries. He doesn’t even need stitches but he’s on so many medications that thin his blood that it’s just on the safer side. From the hospital, he calls who he needs to. Reid first, he’ll worry when he gets to Hotch’s house and sees his truck gone. Then, Jack, it’s better to hear this sort of thing from him and not Emily in half an hour when she needs to yell at someone and who better than the son of the idiot she hates right now? Dave and Emily follow and he trusts them to carry the news the rest of the way. Rather, he simply doesn’t want to talk about it anymore and he’d rather Garcia and JJ and Morgan and everyone else just be mad at him than go on to have another conversation about how he’s feeling.

Fine. He just got light-headed. It was the heat and his perpetually low iron and probably his thin blood (the killer had been his blood pressure but they’re working on that). He just needs to get better about remembering to eat breakfast -- a larger breakfast than just tea and toast. Fainting, he assures Dave, happens. Jack’s seen it happen. The heat makes it worse, the summertime drains him. He’s come in from the garden and gotten weak in the knees plenty of times. He actually moved some chairs around the sliding glass door to the yard, prepared for this exact problem.

This over clarification does not help.

Made only the more complicated when he explains his head is fine. The fainting thing really isn’t a big deal, he just needs a ride home. He’d landed weirdly and pulled his back. He left with a new problem entirely, a torn ligament in his shoulder. That is a problem for a different day.

The surgery is set for the week just before Jack’s finals. Armed with a suitcase full of textbooks, his laptop, notes from this semester (and a few from last), and just enough clothes to recycle a few and still be fine, Jack shows up on his father’s doorstep. “I mean, the hospital isn’t exactly the library… but it’s not the worst place I’ve studied.” It’s far too late to send Jack back but Hotch is reluctant to let him stay. Even if he does prefer Jack be his ride rather than the likes of Penelope and that tiny green eye-sore of a car she drives or leave him to Reid and his defensive, jerky driving.

To the sound of “Aaron Hotchner November 2, 1971”, Jack settles down with his books. He tries to put himself in the right headspace for studying but it’s harder than he anticipated. The constant motion of the room unsettles him and he looks up several times to see his father’s reaction. To gauge the anxiety in his face, in the deep breathes that he pulls in through his nose. In how tight his fists are holding the sheets underneath him. It’s a simple surgery and they’ll be out of here in no time.

“Young” his heart had not handled the heavy sedatives and morphine well. Then again, those incidents are always hard to measure against a thing like this. Rushed into the ER with nine chest wounds and having nearly bled to death, it’s natural to conclude the stress of his depleted blood supply and his very recent trauma had caused his heart to stop on the table. That said trauma was the reason his heart had maintained to be a steady problem up until they released him. Again, when he was brought in with some of the worst internal bleedings the staff had ever seen. His heart had given them trouble too.

Jack is staring blankly at his flashcards when the doctor comes out.

Hotch had gone to Georgetown to be a lawyer like his father and his grandfather. Jack went to Georgetown to get an Art History degree. He was lead by something else. Not chasing some shadow, clutching at a lie he spoonfed himself. Jack didn’t live in anyone’s shadow, never felt the pressure to look and act a certain way. Was never beaten into submission or told to hold his tongue. Jack went to museums every Saturday with his father, preferred them to the aquariums and the zoo. Hotch held him close to the artwork, pushed his dense schedule around to go to new shows, and learned the names of pieces just to recite the knowledge back to Jack.

In his lap, Jack is memorizing pieces of art like his father had years ago for him. He’s stuck on The Anatomy Lesson, eyes glued to the details. The way colorless skin is held in forceps, peeled back to reveal angry red. He can feel the pinching teeth on his own skin, feels the heavy flow of hot blood spilling down over his arm.

“Hotchner?”

Jack flinches, caught completely off guard. He stands, flushing as he tucks his notecards into his textbook, and stands. “Ugh, yeah. That’s me.” He wipes his hands off on his pants, rubbing away the nervous sweat he’s built up.

The doctor recognizes him from earlier. He’d watched Jack and Hotch get out one last goodbye. Jack pulling up a nervous smile, dirty-blonde hair, and light eyes a complete contrast to Hotch’s ever-darkening features. Somehow more solemn, voice taken by the sedatives already working through his body. He hadn’t said a word, eyes vacantly following Jack’s movements but unaware.

Jack expects the same monologue he hears every time. The one that comes out so dry and perfect that they must practice it in front of the mirror, say it softly to themselves as they as they get ready each morning. He’s got it memorized himself -- the bits about recovering in post-op, make a full recovery, and whatever on the fly timeline they give for access back to the room.

“But he’s-- He’s okay? He’s--”

Jack feels impossibly childish. Five years old and Emily’s chilled fingers brushing his tears away, “baby, I know you miss your mommy. But you’re being so terribly mean to your daddy.” He had been, a terrible little monster squirming away from his father and refusing to eat anything. Throwing tantrums about nothing and everything. Screaming and crawling under his bed every chance he got. Pushing himself to the wall knowing he couldn’t be reached.

Now he can remember Hotch just sitting at the edge of the bed. There on the floor for hours. Sometimes he read, would pick up a book, and just start from wherever just to make it so his voice was reaching where he couldn’t. He slept there too, on the hard ground just to make sure Jack knew he was there. Slipped strawberry pop tarts on crazily designed animal plated under there, offered bites of his own food to the darkness under the bed. Sippy cups full of chocolate milk and juice.

He feels like a little boy again, getting news that he has no idea how to handle.

“He’s okay?” Jack stammers. “He’s going to be okay? I can see him?”

Hotch remembers those days under the bed too. Waking up in the middle of the night as Jack groggily curled close to him, still under the bed but crawling under his blanket. The ends of those awful sobs, Jack’s little chest jerking as he hiccuped. The force of his sorrow was too much for his little body. And Jack would fall into his lap, exhausted and needing comfort. His little fingers tracing the scars on Hotch’s face. How he whispered “thank you” and “please” from underneath the bed and how he’d pop his head out to say, “Daddy, I’m going to potty. I’ll be right back.”

Jack’s legally old enough to drink now and Hotch still sees that little boy. The three-year-old wiping his snot on Hotch’s dress shirt. The six-year-old holding his hand and reminding him to look both ways twice before crossing the street. The eight-year-old he left the hallway light on for, old enough now to think he needed to brave the night without a nightlight. So Hotch would offer to keep the hallway light on, not for Jack but for him because he doesn’t like the dark. The ten-year-old sheepishly offering him a father’s day gift he bought with saved allowance, a t-shirt he’s now worn the words off of. The fifteen-year-old curling up beside him on the couch, seeking his comfort but not sure how to ask anymore. The eighteen-year-old as tall as him talking his ear off while he tries to get dinner ready, sticking his fingers in the pan and sitting on the counter.

How did he grow up so fast?

He’s not a little boy anymore. Hasn’t been for a long time.

The creaking of a chair moves Hotch’s attention and he looks away from Jack. Away from the sight of his little boy curled up on a cot, drooling onto a pillow and notebook still open, a pen dangling from his fingers. He looks over and Emily’s sitting up, her reading glasses precariously sat on the tip of her nose. “Oh look,” she mumbles. She stretches out, groaning as her joints complain from being held in this miserable hospital chair for hours. “You’ve decided to join the land of the living.”

Hotch watches her fold the thin black frames of her glasses up, gently sits them down by his hand as she stands up. Jack had called her, even though he promised he wouldn’t worry anyone. Hotch didn’t want anyone else coming to the hospital over something so small and though Jack protested that their concern wouldn’t be because he was bothering them but because they love him. The very same reason he’d come home is that people gather after these sorts of things. They need reassurance that he’s alive and he’s just going to have to accept that. They compromised in the end, everyone could come to smother him in worry after he got home from the surgery.

But Jack was scared. He called the only person he could think to, the woman whose role in his life that was never really clear. She’d gotten on him about his grades, smacked the back of his head when he said something stupid, and always let him taste-test her wine at Thanksgiving dinner. Emily knew things that not even Jessica knew and she could be sterner than both Hotch and Jessica and also more relaxed, more understanding. She was always there for both of them, in the same capacity as Jessica and yet her own unique one. A friend Hotch trusted and loved and Jack could understand that. His friends always wanted to know if they were dating and he knew intuitively that the answer was no but he would hesitate to try and explain. But he didn’t understand the gravity that pulled them together, adults and their relationships far too complex to fit it into his simple understanding of love.

He did understand she was the only person to call.

“What’d he do this time?” she asked and knew she was playing the wrong role for the wrong Hotchner because no sooner than she could ask she had an armful of Jack. She sat with Jack for hours, let him get his fear out. Held him while he sobbed, felt pulled to the past. When it was Aaron on her shoulder, terrified he’d lose his son. Life has this very odd way of bringing everything full circle.

“I bet you’re hurting.” Emily moves to the table and pours water into the little paper Dixie cup left by the nurses. “Been right dramatic this afternoon,” she informs him, a dissatisfied matter-of-fact tone in play. “I know you find that to be particularly taxing.” She holds the cup for him, gentle despite her annoyance. She’s close enough to see the iodine on his skin. Dark orange swipes across his pale skin, the smell burns with its strength.

He pulls greedily from the cup, mouth impossibly dry. Stopped only by how little she poured, he sinks back heavily into the pillows behind him. His shoulder hot and angry from forcing himself upright.

“They’re going to let you go in the morning,” she says, sitting back down. He won’t remember this in the morning. Emily holding his hand, whispering thickly how angry she is with him as tears fall down her face. How scared she was getting that phone call from Jack, racing down here to be a composed person to comfort his son thinking her best friend was in the morgue.

He’ll wake up with a pit in his stomach, residual feelings from the night before he can’t tie down to memories. Emily shows no inclination to repeat herself, just coldly informs him that she’ll have Penelope make him a cardiologist appointment (it’s unspoken that no one trusts him to do this himself). Jack walks on glass, close by but terrified of being pushed away. Hotch is too out of it to put up much of a fight, by the time the morning shift has their hands on him he’s silent. Properly dosed up for a ride home and out of his mind.

He’s groggily propped up on pillows, watching Jack and Emily fight over if he has the right to wear shoes or not. Emily wants to hold them captive, he won’t run off or refuse the wheelchair without them and Jack shakes his head, “he’s not our P.O.W, Emily. He’s even going to get that far if he does try to run.” He’s given his shoes but Emily makes a point to collect his cane, holds it while the nurse helps him into the wheelchair. He’s a flight-risk and she’s not going to trust him, he’s run off on her too many times for that.

At the house the other’s have gathered up, having nothing better to do evidently on a Wednesday at ten in the morning. Penelope’s frying eggs and bacon, the carnage it takes to feed their brood spread out on his kitchen counter. Reid sitting on the counter, Hank in his lap, and the two of them watching Penelope. Derek’s on the sofa, feet kicked up on the coffee table, and Savannah learning on his shoulder. Dave’s getting orange juice from the store declared them all lawless, and didn’t trust them to get the right kind.

Hotch is granted his cane to get back inside the house but Emily threatens to kick it out from underneath if he tries anything fast. He smacks her ankle and Jack has to actually step between them to keep them apart. It’s in times like these where Jack finds himself wondering how these two ever had any role in raising him at all.

“Don’t you have jobs?” Hotch asks, hooking his cane over the coat rack and toeing his shoes off. He ignores the hand Emily places on his arm, afraid he’ll knock himself over. He manages just fine, has the whole house set up so that every other step is within arms distance of something to lean on. Fingers trailing the back of the couch he limps past Derek, smiling when Savannah offers a soft “glad you’re okay”. She pats his hand and he nods back.

“Up for some food, sir?” Penelope asks and she’s not taking no for an answer. They might be having heaping servings of eggs and bacon and gravy and orange juice but she’s made two small bowls of oatmeal. She takes the medicine Jack tosses up on the counter, puts it at the end where the rest of his medication sits. “I cut up apples,” she tells Hotch with a wide grin, sliding the bowl in front of him. “Dashed a little cinnamon and sugar in there, it’ll stick to your bones. Keep you healthy.”

He’s at a healthy weight at the moment, not as thin as he leans to when he’s sick but with Hotch, it’s always a good thing to have some collateral weight for the “in case”. Lifting the spoon in his left hand he scoops some of the oatmeal up, doing his best to hide his annoyance at how weak his extremities still are. How his hand shakes under the light strain of the oatmeal. He looks up, watches Spencer carry Hank over to the highchair sitting at the table beside him. He’s distracted so Emily swoops in, takes his spoon from his hand, and tries his oatmeal. He lets her do it. He raises an eyebrow and she shrugs. She likes it. He nods, it’s pretty good.

Hank immediately knocks his spoon on the ground and makes a low whining sound in the back of his throat. “Hop help,” he whines, pointing down at his spoon. His speech is still developing so he pronounces help and hop nearly identically but Hotch understands the difference. He just can’t bend over like that. His right arm is still pinned to his chest in an intricate web of gauze and this sling.

“Reid,” Hotch calls. His voice is deep, strained from intubation and anesthesia. It makes him sound sick. “He’s dropped his spoon.”

Reid nods, he already knows.

Hank points to his shoulder and frowns, “Hop fall down?”

Hotch nods, that is pretty much what happened and at the same time, Emily sweeps in and tickles Hank. She presses kisses to his face and making him laugh loudly. “That’s what happens,” she says. “Hops is just old.” Hank is too distracted by the ongoing attack to defend Hotch not that a toddler rising to his defense is very helpful.

Hotch sighs as Jack comes up behind him, stealing his spoon too. He takes a bite of the oatmeal and deems it nearly as good as the kind that Jessica makes. Hotch wants to be annoyed by it and yet all he does is nod and finds himself smirking just a little.

Penelope calls everyone in for breakfast and Hotch ignores the kisses pressed to his cheek as people drag chairs to the table around him. To the hands that slide over his back, assurance of life he remembers Jack calling it.

Derek slides him a mug of tea, made exactly how he likes it. He sits across from Hotch, close to Hank in case either needs assistance. Emily sits to his left, slides her coffee up beside his tea so he can have some if he’s quick about it. Jack sits beside her and the rest is a blur, too much motion at once for him to take in without his contacts or glasses. Penelope slides a tea plate to him, his medicine on it, and kisses his head while he’s still scowling at the plate.

They don’t leave him alone all day.

He ends up taking a nap with Hank, the toddler’s sticky little fingers holding onto his shirt as he finds himself unable to fight off the effects of the medicine and his full stomach.

He’s squished on the couch between Derek and Dave, forced to watch baseball because he can’t worm his way upright again just yet.

They change the dressings on his shoulder, his teeth clenched tightly so that he doesn’t let anything slip.

At midnight he wakes up on the couch. Jack’s bedroom door is shut, he’s sleeping peacefully inside. His heating blanket is pulled up to his chin, the heat turned up all the way. He can’t remember getting into this state himself but he has a fate memory of JJ helping him move his hand to his mouth, encouraging him to take the pain killers before bed. Of Derek making sure he didn’t just fall straight over onto his side. He manages to find Dave stretched out on the Lazyboy -- the chair he got Hotch for his fifty-something birthday. He’ll wake up in the morning to more food being made in his lonely kitchen, JJ this time. She’ll make blueberry waffles.

If he’d wanted attention, Emily will tease the next morning, he could have just asked. And he didn’t even know he wanted this. He never finds the words to ask for it to continue but every Saturday morning it happens anyway -- his kitchen and living room full of pajamas and suits in varying degrees depending on who has what to do that morning. The fainting thing is not cool but he considers this to be a good trade.

#criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #savannah hayes #hank morgan #jack hotchner #emily prentiss #david rossi #penelope garcia #spencer reid #jennifer jareau

63 notes · View notes

seizethecarpe · 4 years ago

Text

Deep Sea Blues || Dave and Adam

Timing: Around 2 months ago during the Sand and Glass plot of the week. Parties: @walker-journal @seizethecarpe Summary: Bloody Mary sets her sights on two murderers. Triggers: vomit mention, body horror mention, drug use, lots of blood mentions

Dave came to with a groan. This whole waking up in the middle of nowhere shtick was getting old. He’d thought the sleepwalking was over and done with, but no, here he was, in a dark cavern with a flickering light in it. Everything smelled of salt and rotting seaweed, thick and heavy in the air. The air itself was thick and heavy, popping his ears like a clan. The rocky floor beneath him was slick and wet too. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, Dave stood slowly, trying to take in everything. There was a prone figure not too far away - he could feel them breathing through the water on the floor. The lantern, the only source of light here, was red, lit with oil, impossibly, looking for all the world like it’d been here for decades. It had rusted, the paint peeling and staining the rock around it, but still it was lit. It didn’t illuminate too much of the cave around them, but enough to get a feel. It was more like a tunnel, really, and they were on some sort of raised bit - on either side the floor dropped away into water lapping at the edge. The air tasted stale, there was no breeze rustling through here. Limited oxygen supply, maybe. He stepped into the water, getting a feel for what was nearby. Something as big as a tuna swam a hundred feet away, which by itself wasn’t weird, but Dave couldn’t feel any water crashing against the surface of a beach or against the edge of a cliff face. There was no water churning in air nearby at all. For a second, he thought he saw a pair of eyes looking back at him, but with a flicker of the oil light, they were gone. His lips pressed in a firm line, he stepped back out of the water. “Hey, you waking up back there?”

The dampness of the cove’s stone was the first sensation that registered to Adam's mind, unyielding but unpleasantly jagged and moist with tide scum against his cheek. The sharp smell brine in the cave’s thick poorly filtered air filtered into. Lantern light pierced his closed eyelids, and Adam’s body clicked into pure trained reflex before conscious thought even began.

Adam sprang to his feet in gymnast’s kick-up, green-hazel eyes immediately hard with hostility. “Who are you! Why’d you bring me here?” The snarling words were accompanied by Adam reaching behind him to draw a concealed knife. But the impending threat was cut short by Adam’s hand finding nothing there

Dave’s eyebrows rose slightly. Now that wasn’t something you saw every day. He raised a hand to show he wasn’t armed or intending to hurt, eyes narrowed. “I didn’t. Not too sure how I got here myself. Name’s Dave.” He looked back around the space, but kept his senses attuned to the other man. “One moment I was fishing, the next, I woke up here.” Fishing was one thing to call it, but it had involved a net, and his prey was living in the water. Dave ran his tongue over his teeth in thought, before realising he wasn’t wearing his teeth caps. He’d have to be careful with how he spoke, then.

“If I had to guess, we got caught in some sorta rip tide.” That didn’t really even begin to make a lick of sense, but the disbelieving folks bought anything, these days. “Do you have any idea which way might be out?”

“No clue,” Adam admitted. “Like on the way down did you…”

Light brown eyes gazed up at Adam from the still water, belonging to a smooth face with a high forehead and cascades of red-gold hair that framed lithe shoulders in way even Adam’s groggy brain appreciated. She was a tall woman, nearly six feet of trim athleticism gained from a lifetime of riding, tennis playing, and dancing at court. The woman in water wore a mourning gown of black and white whose cut was cut was severe despite the richness of the fabric.

She seemed to not look at Adam so much as directly within him, a primal understanding between two murderers whose fair features and self-effacement had masked bloody intentions until it was far too late.

A blink, and it was just a cavern pool, dark and featureless in dim claustrophobia of this chthonic cove.

“Um,” Adam tried to collect his thoughts, forgetting what he’d been about to ask. “I’m Adam by the way. Let’s try this fork over here, see if it goes anywhere.”

Adam, whatever else he was, seemed real distracted. Dave hadn’t seen whatever he’d been looking at but nodded silently as he followed Adam through the caves. It was like they were walking on a ledge, and the water was always to their left, this unnaturally thick air holding it at bay. There was the smallest ripple in the water behind them, enough to make Dave turn. She was hovering out of the surface of the water, looking delicate as jellyfish, her skin so pale it was translucent. She met his stare with eyes that practically glowed with loathing, like she had been digging through his entrails and hadn’t like what she had found. A moment later, she sank back below the water surface.

Dave put his hand in the water and didn’t feel anything. He had a sinking feeling in his gut, about a type of ghost that he’d really fucking like to not deal with in a cave. He looked back at Adam, who was unavoidably a young, handsome man, which didn’t help his suspicions. Rusalka often targeted Adam’s sort, and they were a nightmare to deal with if you didn’t have someone with incredible strength to match theirs. Shit. There wasn’t much else that Dave could see

“Might be worth avoiding the water.” Out of arm’s reach if a ghost decided to jump out in the first place.

“Joseph Jolly,” a voice whispered, but somehow the whisper echoed in the cave, a woman’s voice dripping in judgement. A name belonging to a renowned spellcaster, who had in the end deserved to have his skull cracked open like a chicken egg, fifty feet underneath the water surface. Dave narrowed his eyes, looking around and wondering if the goddamn guilt ghosts were back. Nothing.

Adam was surveying a small trawler that lay quietly rotting in one of the coves’ erosion-smoothed curvatures. The damp decades had turned the hull into mass of rust and barnacles. The footballer hoisted himself over the corroded railing up into the cockpit with the ease of a born athlete who wasn’t overburdened by caution.

Footsteps echoed dulled in the hull as Adam dropped down out of sight to root around in the hold. Whatever dereliction or treasures the young man found elicited only a disappointed “well shit.” After several scraping sounds against oxidized metal, Adam’s wet tawny hair reappeared again as he clambered back up into the half-intact cockpit.

Adam had jumped down onto the cove floor when there came a whisper. The college student tensed instinctively and scanned their premises in the manner of one used to searching for strange noises with a rifle to back him up. “So, uh...are you Joseph Jolly?”

“No. I’ve never heard that name before,” Dave lied, like he hadn’t spent weeks tracking the man down, concocting an elaborate trap so that one day when Joseph was looking for seaweed for a spell, Dave had lunged out of the water to bite his ankle and dragged him down to the depths. He clambered over the trawler to get to the other side of the path, walking until he reached the water. “Still just Dave.”

“Dead end this way.” It might not be, of course, but if there was a way to get out without risking facing a Rusalka under the water, and like hell was he leaving the kid here if he could avoid it. They had to have gotten here somehow. “Let’s circle back and try the other path at that fork. The sooner we get out of here, the better.” He looked at the trawler suspiciously. The lantern lights flickered on the water surface and the whispering returned, bouncing off the cavern walls, ringing off the rusted metal. This time, the quiet British voice didn’t just talk about Joseph Jolly, but dozens of names. Dave knew too many of them, just not all.

‘James Ross’

Adam whirled at the from where he’d been inspecting an overturned paddle boat that been irretrievably shattered by whatever vortex forced had sucked it down into this air bubble. James’s name pushed all the MacGyver-esq musing right out of his head, filling him only with memories of the night the Jenga Tower of a holy cause finally came tumbling down at the sight of his friend’s slit throat.

‘Winn Woods’

“Who the fuck are you! Show yourself!” But the cavern only echoed Adam’s following stream of a profanity back at him, punctuated only by the slow drip of water in the dark.

“Ok, Dave, the hell is going on,” Adam demanded, tensing as heat built in his chest.

“Like hell if I-” Dave paused, looking at the oil lamp light flickering on the still water behind Adam.

The figure was beautiful, water lapping at her ankles as she walked forward. Rusalka often were, which was half the damn danger. She wasn’t soaking in her ethereal figure, but blood stained the edges of her garments. She had a long silver shard of mirror in one hand. Her lips moved as her voice echoed more names. Sylvia Pevensie, Jason Nakamura. She didn’t look happy. “Adam,” Dave said in a quiet growl, picking up a piece of driftwood that was too sodden to be any kind of useful weapon. “Get behind me.”

The ghost smiled slightly, and then lunged, her mirror shard raised.

Adam’s thoughts raced as the Euro-LARPer monster started going all The Shining on Dave. It was galling to put this dude in danger, but Adam had no weapon at the moment and getting shived for the sake of macho pride didn’t do either of them any good. This thing was fast, like really fast. Adam kept to Dave’s flank as the bloody spirit blitzed forward in a madhouse whirl of slashes, the surgical edges of glass as more names issued forth in an echoing threnody through the cave.

Adam’s water-logged brain, still dizzy from whatever barotrauma of pressures he’d gone through while being dragged down here, went through everything he knew about Rusalka, Nix, and other swimmer babes who might want to do a Little Mermaid and American Psycho crossover. He kept drawing blanks and contradictions before Blanche’s theory a few days ago and stuff Dad had said way been they’d been stationed in Westminster came together.

Much as Adam was averse to out himself to Dave and tended to keep his nature on the DL. There comes a time when things get a little too Lord of the Flies to really justify remaining silent.

Adam tried to duck and roll as her murderous majesty pivoted from Dave suddenly, but she landed a long slash down the Hunter’s back. Seawater from his damp clothes made the jagged wound sear through him, and Adam struggled to regain his feet on the damp stones as the deep laceration made his leg muscles spasm and grow dangerously numb.

“She’s Bloody Mary, like the creepy kids’ game. She goes after murderers,” Adam stated hoarsely as watery blood slid freely down his back and legs, leave a dark red trail across the cove sand as he tried to avoid Mary’s attempts to hamstring him.

The flickering oil light was as much help as hindrance, always highlighting the mirror shard as she arced it through the air. Dave moved with practiced dodges and while she was spirited and fast, her body signalled her intentions as much as any other fighter. Fortunately, Adam had the sense to stay just as much out of the way as the ghost and her blade danced through the cave with the vicious temper and grace of an electric eel. As soon as she was almost fully out of the water, Dave tried to body slam her to the ground, only to move right through her. Not Rusalka. Well, shit. With that in mind he left himself duck and weave his way into knee-deep water, breathing deeply to catch a hint of fresh air and a way out. Even where he was more comfortable, her blade drew red lines across his body, cutting his shirt to ribbons one swipe at a time.

His selkie nature may give him an advantage with water, but Dave was not immune to the laws of physics. The algae clad slippery rocks offered no friction as they moved, and it only took one underbalanced dodge for Dave to lose his balance. Fortunately, instead of landing in the rocks, he landed in the pool, feeling the ripples against the most sensitive hair of his face, and seeing in the dark a subtle shift of the light, twenty feet away, where the flickering oil light didn’t bounce off under water cave holes but instead gave way to darkness, and a way out. He pushed himself onto his feet, blinking as his eyes adjusted back to the air and the bright firelight. He had been about to push himself out in front of Adam again when he saw the kid’s moves, while hampered by injury, were strategic and trained. Not in need of as much protection as thought.

Dave only caught the tail end of what Adam was saying, that the figure in front of them only went after murderers. He only nodded to acknowledge that he’d heard, not wasting fractions of a second in questioning the information or the implications thereof. Miss Murder might have been untouchable, but the mirrored glass in her hand was as real as anything. Dave grabbed a broken rock from the seabed and raised it as she whipped her own blade back. He brought it down, through her arm until it cracked through her glass weapon, breaking it in half. It wasn’t destroyed, but the largest part was still shrunken in her hand. Bloody Mary retaliated by clawing her nails across his face. Dave yelled, covering his face as he retreated into the water, Bloody Mary taking precious seconds to readjust her grip.

“Get in the water,” Dave growled as he staggered back, blood seeping from his eyelid into his eye. “How long can you hold your breath?”

Normally Adam might question the wisdom of going out into an unknown distance below sea level while wounded and with a Catholic Supremacist ghost on their tail, especially since the salt in the water didn’t seem to give her any trouble. But they had no way to actually hurt Mary in here, so sure, let’s Ironman Lanzarote this thing.

Mary caught Adam deep in the right shoulder with the sunken remnant of a shard as he made a staggering break towards the water. She tore the broken mirror out of the Hunter with the deft precision of a surgeon’s scalpel, whispering an all-too-familiar name in his ear. Black spots blossomed and quivered in Adam’s vision as he waded off the cove’s drop off, salt flared across his open wounds like a whip.

“Longer than I’ll make in here,” he gagged.

That sure filled Dave with confidence, but neither of them could afford another stab wound. Hell, Dave wasn’t sure if he waited much longer without medical treatment that he could do the swim for the two of them, as blood stained the water around him, thick and heavy considering how much blood his body held.

“Great. Deep breath.” Dave said, filling his lungs one last time as he grabbed Adam’s body in warning before pulled him under, kicking deep into the dark water. He pulled Adam’s arm firmly across his own chest, the speed through which he was already moving them through the water emphasis enough as to why Adam should let him do the swimming. He could taste their blood in the water as he began to manoeuvre through the crevices of the cave channel. The salt water didn’t slow Bloody Mary, whose knife Dave felt ripple through the water behind them, slicing at his ankle. Dave jolted and contorted away from it, trailing more blood behind him as he kicked to the surface. By the time they emerged from the cave mouth there were 50 feet between them and the surface. The seconds ticked by as Dave tried to swim towards the distant shore as he ascended, treading the tightrope between not drowning Adam, not letting the ghost catch up with them, and not killing Adam with the bends. He could feel the waves breaking overhead, adjusting his angle again to push Adam into the air first.

Adam choked on his own blood in the water. The autumn-chilled water was a frigid vice of sensory deprivation and pressure all over his rapidly numbing body. Salt water flensed his wounds like icicles sinking between ribs until even pain became lost in the current.

James Ross, Winn Woods, Iris Canidy, Elias Angelopoulos...

The names went on, a litany of sin chasing Adam down in the cold darkness and dreams of sanguine mirrors.

Adam’s eyes opened blurrily as oxygen and the sound of the surf crashed through the nightmare fog of red glass. He faintly felt sand against his calmly skin, grainy mounds that made faintly audible rustling sounds as Adam tried to fight against the leaden feeling in his limbs.

The Hunter tried to speak, but spent a bit just urping up bloody salty water on the beach before benign able to hack out: “Dave?”

“That’s a relief,” Dave said as Adam managed to speak, hefting himself onto the sand and looking out at the water, blinking to adjust to the loss of certain colours in his vision and the bright light in his eyes. Still, he would have seen the ghostly figure on the waves by now. “I don’t see her. Jesus fucking Christ.”

They needed an ambulance. Dave only had to contend with the sort of bleeding that would give a doctor a heart attack, but human-smelling Adam had the icy cold and the pressure changes to contend with too. Dave could barely summon the strength to hold his own weight, though, as he tried the stem the bleeding along his chest, but the sand around him continued to darken. He needed the shit in his van. Dave rubbed his face and looked over at Adam, cursing softly under his breath as he moved back closer, taking stock of Adam’s injuries, his blue lips stained with his own blood. Shit. The kid was too damn young to have the number of names that ghost had attached to him. “Your back’s in bad shape. I wanna try’n stem the bleeding before I get to my van to call for an ambulance. It ain’t far, alright?”

When Adam had thought his current loss of powers had been due to something related to the werewolf bite, he’d trade Alain for some Zombie adrenal glands. The plan had been to trade yet more favors with dubious sources in the underworld to get those adrenal glands treated into some Doctor X elixir. Maybe the transitive regeneration of the Elixir could kickstart his own Hunter healing? Admittedly desperation makes you open to some ridiculous longshots.

Heh, he’d done a legit science experiment, injecting himself with chemically altered necrophage tissue...Regan would be so proud.

Sample Size: This still powerless dumbass.

But many Babineaux’s generosity wasn’t pointless after.

Focus, need to focus. Keep eyes open

“Dave,” Adam managed quietly, “when you go the van...in a sand pit by the tide pools there's a backpack. In the font pocket there’s a bottle of black tarry stuff,” Adam continued, breathing labored and shallow as he struggled to keep upright on the sand. “Drink some...and if you could bring the rest back that’d be poggers.”

What the fuck was poggers? Dave wasn’t even sure he’d heard it right, Adam was so quiet, but the consonants were pretty fucking distinct on his lips. He hesitated for a second before nodding.

“.... I’m calling an ambulance first. If I get back and that stuff works, I’ll call them off. You ain’t bleeding out out here, you hear me? You’re gonna hold this here,” Dave slipped off his blood-soaked shirt, bunched it up in his fist, pressed it against the back of Adam’s shoulder where he’d been stabbed, and pushed Adam’s hand against it, “and you’re gonna stay awake.” And Dave was going to push himself to his feet, ignoring the sharp pain of his ankle, and he was going to hobble as quick as he damn well could back to his van. One mile. There and back. He wouldn’t be, couldn’t be more than a few minutes.

Dave grabbed the bag and hefted it back to his van, his legs buckled by the door as the white-hot lacerating pain cut through him again. Had it been front pocket? Back pocket? He rummaged a little, but he knew it the second he pulled out the black bottle. Fucking elixir. Even perfectly sealed, the bottle stank of death and decay. Dave didn’t know what exactly was in it, knew it was bad and that he didn’t want to know. He’d also seen the effects on dependent folk, their own flesh rotting decomposing as they looked for the next dose. Dave gagged as he unscrewed the lid, taking the smallest sip. Worse than eating rotting squid, worse than a haul out. The elixir slid down his throat like slime, with disconcerting lumps in it. With a grimace, he closed the bottle and got back in the van, already feeling his skin begin to stitch itself back together. By the time he was back, he was hardly bleeding at all, his head clearing up. “Still awake, kid? Here’s your damn elixir.” In the state Adam was in, Dave was ready to force feed it down his throat.

The Elixir tasted like meat so rotted that it’d turned brackish, laced with spices and formaldehyde. Adam’s veins ran black with the unnatural necrophage blood he’d taken into his system, dark lines spreading like tainted roots along his face, neck, biceps. But the bleeding stopped at least and that ghastly sense of lightness through his body seemed to recede. Adam’s lips parted to thank Dave, but his eyes drifted coastline.

A woman rose from the sea as if she was ascending the stairs of a royal dias. Waves broke through here unhindered, the rolling surf not stirring a single fold of her elegant black and white silks. She strode towards the pair with unhurried dignity, like something implacable, feet leaving no marks on the sand.

“Mary’s here,” Adam said quietly, from where propped up against a mussel-covered rock.

“You gotta speak up, kid, can’t hardly hear you-“ Dave turned to follow Adam’s line of sight, cursing as he scrambled to his feet. She walked without hurry, her features calm. She was listing names again, as even and clear as the bells at a funeral. Paul, Zihui, Joseph, James, Iris. A claxon of murder. Dave’s chest sank. He reached down to help Adam up, heave him to the car or something. He had no idea how well that elixir worked, but just because ther was some colour back in Adam’s cheeks didn’t mean he was ready to run, and if Bloody Mary was intent on them, well…

“We gotta move,” Dave said, bringing that thought to a sharp close.

Bloody Mary crossed the distance in between the blinks of Adam’s eyes, hauling the Hunter to his knees as he stumbled up a dune towards Dave’s car. Whether it was the X-elixir still rushing through his veins, exhaustion, or some subtle influence of Bloody Mary, Adam saw more than his reflection in the glass shard the spectre pressed against his throat.

In the mirror, Adam saw a boy with shaggy brown hair look through though empty rooms in a neighbor’s house. He called out his friend's name but reviewed only muffled sobs in answers. The boy followed them into a spotless kitchen where steam wafted from a single pie on the countertop. The crust pie’s texture was that of skin, topped with too familiar tufts of hair. A quavering voice whispered the boy’s name.

Adam met Mary’s tawny-colored eyes. A moment of silent understanding passed between from one killer to another as blackened blood ran down from where the glass shard was pressed against Adam’s throat. “I used to think it was my powers that set me apart, my calling or whatever,” he confessed to her majesty. “But gone and I’m still fucked up in the head.

Mary remained silent but didn’t press the shard in further. Her regal aquiline features cold yet knowing. Perhaps the Bloody Queen of the Scots knew better than anyone how the curse of Cain so often spreads from one life to another.

In the mirror, Adam saw a shaggy haired boy swinging an axe down on a mangled body he’d pinned to the floor of a woodshed. The shed’s door creaked open, but the boy just kept wordlessly splitting lifeless limbs like kindling. “They’re dead, Adam,” came a low voice as calloused hands tried to grab the axe as it came down over and over on what'd once been a person. The frenzied young man felt scarred muscular arms encircle him, holding him fast till the gory weapon was finally pried from a death-like grip. The Hunter quietly held his son as the crazed boy punched and struggled in a blind frenzy, staining his shoulder with tears.

“The stuff I saw it like...changed me I guess,” Adam said as more reflections danced across the mirror’s edge. “I’ve been fighting the worst of the worst for so long that it’...it’s what I automatically expect now I guess,” Adam said as blood being repaid with blood flickered across the glass.”

In the mirror, Adam saw a familiar face with dark eyes that’d seen the depraved and unspeakable so often it was simply a numb day at work. The boy who’d found his friend baked into a pie was still in there somewhere. But the horror and anguish had been tempered like iron, shaped into deadly focus by those who’d clothed him Kevlar and replaced the axe in his hands with an assault rifle.

“I tried not to let evil be all I see but it changed me so much that…”

“Winn Woods,” Mary interrupted, seeming to already know.

Adam’s swallow deepened the blooming cut on his neck. “Yeah,” he agreed. “When he confessed it just confirmed the world I knew. I dunno when exactly I’d stopped hoping for something better but…”

The queen who’d made pyres out of Protestants waited Hunter shrugged helplessly, wincing as his lacerated back protested.

“I have to believe what I did was wrong,” Adam insisted hoarsely, “I rather have to atone for all this shit then be right,” was the paradoxical statement of faith. “Because if I’m right all along? There’s no hope for any of us.”

But the last word was spoken to empty air. He and Dave were alone with the rolling surf.

One moment Adam had been beside him, the next he was gone. Dave turned to see Adam and the ghost before him. It was an unnerving image, the ghost so pale Dave had to imagine that her skin had been translucent even in life, blood staining the hem of her time-worn dress, standing tall and proud over the bleeding, bedraggled boy. They were frozen in their moment, by the blade in her hand that she held against Adam’s shivering skin. There was iron in Dave’s van, but he stood frozen too, knowing it was too late to act, and Adam seemed to know it too. It looked like complete surrender, even from a distance. Dave did not see the images on the blade. He did not need to, when it was shown so clearly on Adam’s face.

There were all sorts that thought what made them different was what made them special, but few that referred to it as their calling, that saw their duty to fight the worst of the worst. There were bits that didn’t make sense, but with each word, a little more fell into place. The practiced rhythm to Adam’s movements in the cave, the knowledge, the bloody list of murders to his name. The air smelled like salt, and weeds, and the copper of Adam’s blood as it stained her knife and the ground all around him. Dave wondered for a brief, hateful second, if it was so wrong to leave Adam to die as just another hunter who had gone off the deep end. He did not move, and the air barely whispered as Bloody Mary moved on.

Dave breathed shakily, eyeing Adam. Bloody Mary’s knife might barely have cut through the tension in his expression. Few hunters knew the names in Dave’s own ledger, and none learned this fast. But it was true that had Mary turned her blade at Dave’s neck, there would have been no penance in him to stay her blade. Adam’s guilt had saved Dave’s life. He rubbed his face, grimacing at the smell of decay that now permeated every inch of him. “C’mon, kid,” Dave said eventually, offering Adam his hand once more. “I got your bag in my van.” And a first aid kit, too.

#shows up to the potw two months late with starbucks #para #chatzy #adam #but this one is funnn

5 notes · View notes

perfectharmonyloveschaos · 4 years ago

Note

what if whenever klaus is accidentally doing his telekinesis at first, everyone thinks it's vanya, including him. but when hes by himself or something and things keep happening he doesnt notice it or brushes it off by reasoning it. ben keeps trying to tell him that hes being dumb and it's klaus whos doing all of that

Sorry if you just wanted me to talk about this in bullet points or anything (i still might, god I love making those), this idea was just too good and immediately inspired me to write a small fic about it so hope you’re not mad anon! I wasn’t sure how much to go into, so I tried to keep it to your ask, but goddamn if it wasn’t fun. Klaus being an idiot and not realising that he can move things with his mind is so funny to me for some reason, hope you enjoy it!

The first time there had been anything out of the ordinary, it had been Ben who had noticed it. Field after field of wheat and corn and cotton stretched as far as Klaus could see, squinting his tired eyes against the glare of the sun that sat lazily on the horizon. If not for the aches left from his sudden fall into whatever time period they were in – little Five had said that the equations were a bitch to get exactly right – than Klaus may have paid more attention.

Ben, however, didn’t get sore from falls out of the space-time continuum or hours of blind walking, so it really had been no wonder that his deceased brother had far more focus.

“Great.” Klaus hissed; his brows knitted together tightly as he hugged his arms closer to his chest. A shiver ran through him, the irritable itch of his skin taking no time in setting over his body. “This is just peachy, huh? Fivey couldn’t have dropped us somewhere nice… like Vegas?”

Ben made a face, strolling leisurely by the medium’s side as he watched the cattle stare as they passed. “Fresh air is better for you than booze and slot machines.” Ben reasoned, his lip rising as he watched Klaus’ slug by, his legs dragging off the dirt countryside roads until anything else came into view. “Besides, all these,” He added, gesturing a hand to a black Angus calf ignorant to them as it suckled its mother. “-must belong to someone.”

“Little shit dropped us in the asshole to nowhere…”

“The others could have landed in the nearest town.”

“-and my ribs hurt.”

Ben sighed, leaning his head back as he let his arms flop down to his sizes, focusing on the swaying motion of them as they walked in silence. They’d be okay, they’d find the others – probably Diego in that stupid outfit scowling at Klaus for ‘wandering off’ – and then Klaus would smile and quip and everything would be okay.

The others weren’t in the nearest town.

They could only gather so much from their surroundings, but their deductions seemed sound and clean enough that Ben smiled at his brother as he peered at the newspaper over his shoulder. Klaus’ long, knobby fingers worked on straightening the wrinkles and skimmed over the weather-worn letters – people had thrown looks at the lanky man tearing paper from a nearby trashcan, but none of them said anything, thankfully – only to let out a tired groan.

Ben didn’t need to read through it to understand what his brother meant.

“Nothing.”

Without another word, the newspaper was crumpled up into a ball and dropped at his feet, worn trainers that scuffed off the concrete feebly kicked it aside. He could see the tension in his brother’s shoulders, bare against his torn army vest – Dave, would he have been able to lift Klaus’ hopes better than Ben, did Klaus want Dave there more than him? – as his withdrawal slithered back in to replace the time-travel nausea.

Ben grimaced at the slump of Klaus’s body, hunched meekly on the sidewalk.

A few moments of silence went by.

“What are we gonna do?”

“We should check around for the others, at least we know something.”

“Fine.” Klaus nodded but didn’t budge from the sidewalk as his hands covered his face. The fashion definitely struck them of being around the 1960s, at least giving them a when to base their next action on, the newspaper only confirming it as 1960 to be exact. It was early morning, so fewer people were around to see Klaus – who appeared to be talking to the air, Ben reminded him – but the oncoming morning rush meant a higher chance of standing out.

“The Commission is probably already on our asses.”

Klaus snorted, but didn’t release the tension in his shoulders. Pressing his arms tighter against his side, the skin of his hands pressed white off the sidewalk, pushing all his weight into his limbs and yet failing to move. Short nails clawed at the concrete. Ben stared down at him, brow wrinkled at the heaving breaths that passed through his thin form, shivering with each exhale.

Glancing up to take a look at their surroundings, Ben forced himself to stay put. Withdrawal was a bitch, that much was given at how many times he had seen Klaus go through it before in hospitals and rehab, only to dive back into the intoxication pool without hesitation. But time-travel? That was a whole other game, sensations that he couldn’t understand as he was.

Klaus exhaled a hard breath beside him, the muscles of his arms flexed between them and his teeth clenched down hard into his jaw. Breathe, Ben reminded him, repeating the word over and over until it sounded wrong and then kept going.

"Breathe”.

“I know.”

“We’ll be okay.”

Klaus groaned in reply.

“We’ll find the others, and everything will be-”

The newspaper shot away from them and all the way across to the other side of the street.

Ben blinked.

His mouth opened to speak, to question what had just occurred, only to let his mouth close once more. There had been no wind, no breeze that flapped at Klaus’ clothing or anything else on the street strong enough to do that, so how-

“Alright... I’m alright,” Klaus said slowly, letting out a groan as he shakily rose to his feet. Ben leapt to attention, adrenaline left over alerting him to the scuff of his brother’s foot off the road before he could help him to his feet, his eyes never leaving Klaus. That was… new. “Let’s go.”

(***)

“Klaus.”

“Ben, for the last time-!”

“It was floating!”

“I must’ve made some other ghost corporal by accident!” Klaus reasoned, waving his brother’s concern away as he shoved his arms back through his jacket sleeves. “Remember when you were able to hold stuff again? You knocked all kinds of shit over-”

“There were no other ghosts, I would’ve seen it.”

Klaus rolled his eyes, picking up the knocked over lamp and replacing it back on the motel bed table. Blowing a raspberry after flicking the light switch on to make sure the bulb wasn’t damaged; Klaus hoisted his bag over his shoulder and gestured for Ben to follow. “Maybe being corporal makes it harder to see other ghosts, Benny-boy.”

Realising the other was heading out the motel room door rather than listening, Ben pursed his lips with a shake of his head as he followed Klaus. Watching Klaus tie his hair into a high bun – the tangled mess of curls on his head now reaching his chin – in order to help dry the sweat still coating his neck, Ben sighed.

Ghosts can’t knock over lamps, he frowned to himself as Klaus hopped into the driver seat, quickening his pace to slip in the passenger seat before the other had time to start the engine. But idiots who can move stuff without touching them having nightmares can.

(***)

“Lucky that the guy tripped, huh?”

“Yeah,” Ben sighed, rolling his eyes as Klaus swung his arms leisurely, going on his merry way as if he hadn’t almost been mugged and stabbed by some alley-thug five minutes before. “It’s our lucky day…”

Because men twice the size of Klaus just so happened to become clumsy despite being able to sneak up on a man and a literal ghost.

And that said thug had tripped so hard that he somehow flung himself back down the alleyway far enough that they could escape.

And that the man’s knife just so happened to fly out of his hand and straight into a wooden pallet leaning against a wall more then ten feet away.

Purely, undoubtedly, luck.

Shaking his head, Ben forced himself to only nod when Klaus suggested they get something to eat.

His brother was such an idiot.

(***)

Their whole family were idiots.

“Our first objective should be stopping the apocalypse─”

“We need to help Vanya─”

“Allison please, we don’t know what she’s capable─”

“She is trying to control them, Luther. Why can’t you─

Any attempt at conversation was muffled out as Luther shouted louder, only angering Allison who had stood in-between him and Vanya once their brother had shown a lack of resolve to control himself. Lingering off to the side of the room, Klaus could only chuckle as chaos erupted between his three siblings, earning a look from the remainder of his family.

Five took no time in trying to dismantle the tension, jumping back and forth between the living room and the kitchen counter in order to move his plans elsewhere. Neither Ben, Klaus or Diego could blame the fifty-year-old-teen for his lack of concern, arguments were as common in their family as game nights for other, more functional homes.

Earning an expectant look from Ben, Klaus sighed as he hoisted himself up from the couch and stepped cautiously over to their siblings. Diego, raising a brow, glanced over to Ben before giving his dead brother a small smile.

Good job.

Ben straightened his posture, lifting his weight from the settee arm and instead balancing it on his opposite hip. He pursed his lips, however, into a glare at the shift of Luther’s stance, using his bulbous shoulders to basically shove Klaus out of the argument without even hearing what the medium had to say.

Lifting his hands before him to show no harm, Klaus tried to draw attention back to Vanya and her own voice, rather than letting her be drowned out like always. Sharing a smile with his shorter sister, Vanya shifted to allow Klaus room, guiding Allison who could only smile at her growth in confidence.

The conversation, however, didn’t calm as Luther continued to protest despite the majority, besides Five who was too busy working out equations in the kitchen and trying to save the world to care, to the point where Diego rushed in at the mention of their childhood numbers.

Klaus groaned, smothering his face with his own hands once Diego unsheathed a knife. Not listening to either Allison or Vanya demanding them to stop, Ben stood back as the argument began to break down into a brawl between the two highest numbers.

That was, until, something pushed them.

Silence fell as a force of some kind knocked into both men, knocking Diego’s knife from his hand and sending both him and Luther further back from one another. Wide-eyed, the group grew silent.

Until Five jumped back into the room, pissed-off and snarling at the group to restrain themselves, rather than making the Commission’s job easier for them.

Ben sighed as the blame shifted to Vanya, furrowing his brows as he caught sight of Klaus stepping back from his sister in shock. None had noticed his hand, clenched tightly into a fist and still slightly glowing blue.

Sharing a look with his startled brother, Ben scowled at his dismissal and the attention on Vanya, ignoring their sister’s certainty that she hadn’t done anything. Klaus shook his hand out, letting the colour fade and acted to be simply stretching once Five and Diego looked at him at the collapse of the argument.

Shrugging of Diego’s concerns, Klaus was quick to console Vanya.

Ben frowned but pushed those thoughts away upon his siblings realising he was corporeal once more, attempting to ease tension within the bunker.

Idiots.

#the umbrella academy season 2 #the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy fanfiction #tua #tua season 2 #tua klaus #tua fanfic #tua ben #klaus hargreeves #i forgot you could tag asks #oops #do i tag the rest of the characters?#nah #ill just tag ben #ben hargreeves #it is his pov mainly

18 notes · View notes

spartanguard · 7 years ago

Text

a charm of powerful trouble: the jack frost incident

HAPPY (BELATED) BIRTHDAY, B! (@optomisticgirl) Sorry it took so long to get this to you, but here’s (part of) your birthday fic! Inspired by something of a throwaway line in the last chapter of a charm of powerful trouble:

But it was the wolf who ... kept Emma and David warm when Jack Frost decided to ice over the station.

CS & Captain Charming fluff | rating: PG (with teases of M that go nowhere) | 4.3k (you’re rubbing off on me, B)

Emma had just slid the file drawer shut when she was suddenly pushed against the cabinet from behind, a warm body and strong arms holding her tight to the cool metal. Hot breath on her neck was shortly followed by a deep, almost feral voice.

“You looked like you could use some assistance there, love.” Emma could feel Killian’s voice rumbling in his chest from the where it was pressed to her back. “I’d hate to leave a lady wanting.” Every syllable was dragged out and dripping in desire.

There was a reason wolfstime had become her favorite part of the month, and this was it.

Not having the room to turn around within the bracket of his arms, she instead arched her back to brush her ass against his crotch, drawing a growl from him. She grinned. “No, I think I’ve got it, but you seem to need a hand there,” she teased; it was impossible to miss the feel of his erection, even through layers of denim.

He shuffled back and lightly grabbed her shoulders with hand and hook, then gently turned her around to face him. His eyes were wide with lust, taking on that bit of glow they always had in the evening during wolfstime, and though he was trying to maintain it, he had some of that shaggy wolf style going on with his hair and beard. Hot damn.

She’d fixed and reinforced his necklace after the first time he’d worn his enchanted charms, so now Killian was the only one who could remove them and free the wolf. Which meant nights like this—when it was just the two of them working at the station—got a whole lot more interesting.

In one graceful motion, Killian had his arms wrapped around her and pinned her to the cabinet again, his left arm keeping any drawer handles from painfully hitting her back, and hungrily found her lips with his. Emma’s hands slipped under his leather jacket, palms pressed to his back trying to feel his muscles move under too many layers of fabric, and she hitched her leg up to wrap around his and tug him closer.

They both gasped when she rotated her hips against his, and she was just about to lock the door with a flick of her hand when they heard it slam open. The noise was jarring enough to make them halt and pull them from the haze of lust they’d been all too happy to fall into only moments before.

A voice shouted down the hallway, and they instinctively jumped apart. “Bad news, guys!” It was David; of course it was. Like two teenagers caught in the act, Emma and Killian cursed and quickly started to adjust their clothes and hair to look like nothing was happening.

“We’ve got a prob...lem.” David strode into the office intently, but paused at the sight of his daughter and son-in-law not-so-casually leaning against the filing cabinets, awkwardly avoiding eye contact. Emma was studying an incredibly interesting ceiling tile when he asked, “Um, am I interrupting anything?”

“What would give you that idea, mate?” Killian answered, somewhat annoyed but plastering on a cheesy grin anyway. Emma had to bite back a laugh; she knew Killian was just trying to rile David up.

But her dad apparently wasn’t going to take the bait this time. He just sighed disappointedly and continued on. “Whatever. Like I said, we’ve got a problem: someone is causing a snowstorm out there.”

She and Killian both turned to look out the window; they hadn’t noticed it due to their earlier preoccupation, but snow was swirling fiercely outside—certainly not uncommon for Maine, but usually storms died off by this time of year. A shiver went down Emma’s spine; it reminded her of all the Ingrid nonsense a couple years ago.

“Could it be Elsa?” Killian wondered aloud.

“It’s not,” David answered matter-of-factly. “The guy came into Granny’s earlier, before turning the place into an ice rink. Says his name is Jack Frost and he’s giving us a snow day.”

“Ugh, didn’t we have enough of those this winter?” Emma complained. Well, the snow had been annoying; being locked in the house with Killian certainly hadn’t. “So I guess we, what, talk him out of it?”

“It’s a start,” David said with a shrug.

She shot an apologetic look at Killian, who gave her a half smile back. Hopefully, this wouldn’t take long, and they could get back to their scheduled activities.

The trio headed toward the exit, Emma reluctantly pulling a beanie off the coat rack on the way. She’d just haphazardly tugged it on her head when the station’s power cut out, leaving them with only the dim blue light shining through the doorwall.

“Well, this seems familiar,” Killian quipped, somewhat exasperatedly; Emma just groaned and pressed on.

Her dramatic attempt at throwing the door open to face down their new foe fell short; it barely opened a foot before colliding with snow and ice built up on the ground. She managed to slip outside through the gap, but almost immediately regretted it at the first blast of icy air that nearly blew her back inside; Killian caught her before she fell on the slick pavement.

Carefully this time, she took small steps forward, watching both her step and for the source of the trouble. The cause of the power outage became quickly apparent: a layer of ice was growing on the outside of the building, wrapping around it from the back, and was inching closer and closer to the door.

“Hey! You guys can’t be out here!” An unfamiliar male voice was shouting at them; Emma turned toward it. The guy looked like he was still in his teens, with pale skin, spiky white hair, and ice blue eyes. Given the fact that he was also hardly dressed for the elements—barefoot, even—and had a long staff in hand that seemed to be in control of the swirl of snow around them, she was pretty sure she knew who it was.

“Are you Jack Frost?”

He puffed out his chest and defiantly called out, “Yeah, I am, and I’m not letting some dumb cops ruin this snow day for everyone!”

Emma wrapped her arms around herself to brace against the chill and took a few steps closer. “See, the thing about that—we already had a bunch of them this year, and it’s kind of disrupting—”

“No!” the kid screamed, and she could see the wild look in his eyes that told her he was slightly unhinged. “This town needs a break, and you can’t stop it!”

Before Emma could make another protest, a harsh, bitter cold wind hit her like a wall, knocking her on her ass and pushing her across the icy pavement back to the station. She could hear both her father and husband shouting for her as she slid their way, but couldn’t see a thing in the snow and ice that was attacking her.

She was vaguely aware of making contact with two solid objects, but she didn’t stop moving until she came to rest against something hard and metallic—her desk. Jack had pushed her all the way back into the office, and David and Killian were scrambling over to her.

“Are you alright, love?” “Emma, you okay? Did you hit your head?” They both tried to help her sit up, but she promptly ignored both of them as she fought her way to standing.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she assured them through chattering teeth; she was cold, but she’d survived that before. “We’ve gotta stop him.”

But she didn’t take two steps before falling back to the floor, her legs still feeling as though they were made of icicles. Killian was at her side immediately, but David continued on to the door. She wanted to yell at him to wait and not face the crazy kid alone, but couldn’t summon the energy.

It wouldn’t have mattered, anyway: right as David got to the door, she could see the solid layer of ice that formed over it, so thick that it was tinted blue. Characteristically, her dad tried to push against it a few times, even throwing his shoulder into it, but the door didn’t budge.

They were trapped.

Shit.

“Dave, stop it—you’re gonna hurt yourself.” Apparently, the prince thought persistence would be what broke the ice and freed the three of them from the station. But he could tell that ice was nearly a foot thick, and given its magical origins, would likely need the same to take it down. And Emma was already down for the count after being blasted with snow and cold air; the last thing they needed was David getting injured, too.

It had been a while, but Killian could feel his captain’s instincts taking charge, even over the wolf ones that were typically in control right now. Though, he supposed it all came down to survival, and the wolf wouldn’t make it if the captain didn’t step up here.

“You need to call Regina; let her know what happened and what we can do to get out. I’ll get Emma settled somewhere more comfortable and track down some blankets.”

Emma tried to protest as Killian scooped her into his arms and lifted her, but it was weak—and reminded him far too much of the time she nearly froze in the ice wall. He’d be bloody damned if he let that happen again.

He carried her into one of the cells and bent to set her on the cot, but to his surprise, she was clinging to him. “You’re so warm,” she murmured, burrowing her face in his shoulder, and he couldn’t hold back the grin.

“I know, Swan; let me get some blankets and you will be, too.” Thankfully, she nodded a concession and let him set her down; she immediately curled into a ball. He could hear David on the phone as he rummaged through the storage closet for whatever extra layers he could find, and made a mental note to order more—and thicker—blankets after only coming up with a few thin ones and some station-issued hoodies. He was alright with the chill, but Emma needed as much heat as she could get, and it was only a matter of time before David too succumbed to what were surely falling temperatures.

He rushed back to Emma’s side, draping the blankets over her and pulling her to his lap. Her shaking had stopped, thankfully, but he could also see his breath in the air—not a good sign.

David walked into the cell, shaking his head. “Well, I’ve got more bad news. Regina says her magic can’t break through; she couldn’t even undo the damage at Granny’s.”

For a brief moment, Killian imagined the look on Granny’s face when Regina likely tried to melt the ice with a fireball and smirked at the thought, but then the ramifications sunk in. “So we’re truly stuck here for a while?”

“She’s got some things she wants to try, but until she can figure something out...yeah.”

Nervousness settled over them. They knew Regina would work fast, but how much time did they truly have? There were some snacks in the break room, and the ventilation seemed to be working alright, but the main issue would be keeping warm.

“T-tell her to call...call Elsa,” Emma stuttered from her perch in his lap. “She might know what to do.”

David nodded in agreement, shooting off a text to Regina, and then Killian made him put on both sweatshirts. His father-in-law tried to scoff at the command, but the unwitting growl Killian gave him—likely paired with the intimidating glow of his eyes, which Killian always seemed to forget about—convinced David otherwise.

And then it was just a waiting game. As expected, the temperature in the station continued to drop as the night wore on. To combat the chill, David took to pacing the room, but it didn’t take Killian’s enhanced vision to see the way he was starting to shake. Emma was still doing okay, but continued to burrow farther into his chest in search of warmth.

At some point, David turned on a battery-operated radio, but the only station that came in was broadcasting a sporting match. Even so, Killian tried to focus on the sounds of that—something about teams called the Rangers and Red Wings and “hockey,” whatever that was—but the more the men on the radio talked about ice, it only continued to make Killian even more aware of their situation. Not even the noise coming from the radio could drown out the sounds of the ice crackling all around them—at least, his wolf ears heard it; if the other two noticed, they made no indication.

Eventually, the game faded to the strains of classical music, intermingled with static. Regina called with an update, but only to say that they still hadn’t figured anything out. At some point, David had gone into the break room to call Snow, and Emma began to shake again, despite the fact that she was practically wrapped around Killian. Even David finally seemed to admit defeat to the chill, collapsing on the cot in the other cell after wrapping up his phone call and unable to stop the shivers that racked him.

The coffee was bitter cold, and Emma’s cocoa from earlier had frozen over. They weren’t going to make it through the night at this rate.

Well, they wouldn’t—Emma and David, that is; Killian would be just fine, with his internal wolf heat keeping him warm. But the other two didn’t have that, so he knew it was going to fall to him to ensure they both made it to morning.

“Dave, come over here. You’ll freeze to death by yourself in there,” he called out.

“I’m f-fine,” David answered through chattering teeth.

Killian snorted. “Yes, clearly you are,” was his sarcastic reply. “Get over here; I won’t let you catch hypothermia on my watch.”

David gave a low sigh. “I am not cuddling up with you and my daughter. I saw enough earlier.”

“Seriously, mate?” Killian rolled his eyes. “This is a life or death situation.”

“I’m sure it won’t be that much longer,” David stubbornly replied.

“Obstinate arse,” Killian muttered under his breath, letting his head fall back against the brick wall. Emma hadn’t made much noise or movement in a while other than her gentle yet constant shivers, so he assumed she was asleep. But at his movement, she gripped the open V of his shirt and her eyes fluttered open, darting around until they settled on his. “It’s alright, love; I’ve got you.”

Her answer was a tiny nod as she tucked her head back against his chest. She seemed so frail and tiny like this, curled up in his lap, and her fingers were like ice where they brushed against his skin, carding through his chest hair. As cold as it was, though, it felt heavenly, and drew a relaxed rumble from his chest much like when she would pet him in his wolf form.

Wait—that was it! Emma would sometimes complain that the wolf gave off too much heat, especially in the summer. But that was exactly what they needed tonight.

Carefully, he gathered Emma in his arms and slid her from his lap to the cot. His heart broke when she whimpered at the loss of his heat, but he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead and whispered, “I’ll be right back.”

As he walked out of the cell, David called out, “J-just where do you think you’re g-going?”

“You’ll see, mate.”

He made his way into the back room and proceeded to strip off his clothes and hook. Once he was naked, he shivered involuntarily, finally feeling the chill, but he knew that as soon as he pulled off his necklace, he’d be fine.

Without wasting another moment, he grabbed the chain and lifted it over his head, just managing to drop it on the pile of his clothes as the transformation took hold. Shifting was no longer the torturous event it was at first, but he couldn’t say it was a pleasant experience—he was all too keenly aware of the sensation of his bones changing shape, his muscles lengthening, and there was still that tingle all over his skin as fur filled in. He shook his head to clear it when the transfiguration was done; it always left him a bit disoriented, even if he had gotten used to being on all fours rather than bipedal. The hardest part was being significantly larger, but his wolf instincts usually accommodated that and all other changes.

After carefully making sure he still fit through the door, he padded back out into the main room. David gasped at first, but then sighed in relief when he realized what was going on. Killian looked at him and jerked his head towards the other cell, trying to beckon him in.

When he got to Emma, he nuzzled her neck and gently licked at it to get her attention; sleepy eyes blinked open, and when she realized what was going on, she smiled at him. Moving sluggishly, clearly mustering all her remaining strength, she stood and spread the blankets on the floor. Killian plopped down on the edge of them, sitting in a semicircle, and Emma followed suit, finding her usual nook near his shoulder.

“Dad, come on,” she tried to yell, but her voice was tired.

It was hard to tell if David was shaking his head ‘no’, or just shaking from the cold. “I s-said I’m f-fine.”

“You don’t sound fine. Please, Dad, come over here.”

But David apparently would rather be ornery than avoid freezing to death. “I don’t want to interrupt again.”

Emma groaned. “For fuck’s sake, Dad, he’s a wolf. He literally transformed to keep us warm and alive. Get your ass over here or else Mom is going to murder all of us.”

Emma’s tirade seemed to convince him. Slowly, David got to his feet and shuffled over. Emma patted the floor next to her, inviting David to settle in on Killian’s stomach, but he only got as far as kneeling.

“Are you sure this won’t hurt him?” he asked, insecurity in his voice. While Killian was touched that David was making sure he’d be fine, he’d grown impatient of the reluctance. So Killian growled at him, long and low, while staring directly at him. “Okay, fine,” David conceded, and settled against Killian’s side.

Once he was laying down, Killian curled up a bit more to try to have them as surrounded as possible. For a while, he stared at them over his shoulder, watching as their shivers finally dissipated, and feeling as David’s breathing evened out and sleep took hold.

But then Emma cracked an eye open at him. She smiled softly, and gently stroked his shoulder. “Hey, we’re fine—thanks to you. Get some rest, okay?”

He snorted in reply; she knew that he’d get no rest while there was any chance of danger to them—not under his watch. But then everything dissipated into a sensation of pure bliss; his eyes closed and head fell back and he was washed away in physical euphoria, though not of the sexual kind.

Bloody hell, it felt incredible, and it took some time before he noted the rubbing sensation behind one of his ears. Dammit—he’d forgotten about that: his canine side was completely weak to a good ear scratch, and Emma was all too aware of it. But there was nothing he could but set his head on his paws as Emma’s ministrations eased the tension from his body and lulled him close to sleep.

The last thing he heard before drifting off was a whispered “I love you”; he was still working out how best to answer that in wolf form, but hopefully his low, gentle growl said it.

“Be careful! We don’t have any room in the town budget for unnecessary repairs!”

“Regina, she’s fine.”

“I’ve definitely gotten through worse, Your Majesty. This is nothing compared to the ice wall. Or my aunt’s weird cave.”

Regina scoffed, but let Elsa work her magic on the thick casing of ice around the sheriff station. Snow looked on impatiently, worried that it had been hours since they last heard from her family trapped inside. It was still dark out—only in the early morning hours—but she was still wide awake, running on adrenaline from the night’s adventure. It turned out the villain of the week was an escapee from Arendelle, so Elsa was all too willing to retrieve him.

Once she arrived, they’d spent half the night tracking him down; but he was safely back in his home realm now, and Elsa was taking care to undo the damage. The harbor needed to be thawed, and Granny’s needed to be set to rights before the upholstery cracked any more, but first things first: freeing David, Emma, and Hook.

Elsa’s magic was focused on the front entrance, a frigid blast that was sending a spray of flurries and ice everywhere as it burrowed through the thick glacier that was wrapped around the building. The most recent text from David had come in around 6 hours ago, and he hadn’t responded to any since then. Though Snow could feel that nothing terrible had happened, she was still worried about what shape the three of them would be in. While Elsa continued to work, she pulled up the number for the hospital on her phone—just in case.

“Almost...there…” Elsa’s strained voice pulled Snow from her thoughts, and she could see the glass doors of the station coming into view. Then a few seconds later, an anticlimactic thud sounded as the last bit of ice fell away.

“That’s it?” Snow asked, surprised that was all it took.

“Yes; I can’t sense any other type of barrier spell. The rest should melt away.”

“She’s right; there’s nothing else there,” Regina confirmed. With a soft smile, she gestured from Snow to the door. “We’ll take care of the rest of town. Go.”

“Thank you!” she shouted, and then ran to the entryway, nearly slipping on ice in her dash. The door didn’t open on the first tug, but she freed it on the next and headed down the hallway. Immediately, she shivered—it was even colder in here than it was outside, so she picked up the pace to the bullpen.

She called out, “David? Emma? Hook? Are you allri—” but her words died on her lips when she saw where they were. And then she couldn’t help the grin that broke out; other than her babies, she couldn’t think of anything she’d seen that was more adorable than this. She hoped she didn’t often have reason to see her daughter and husband curled up on the floor with her son-in-law in his wolf form, but goodness, it was precious.

Her phone was still out, so she quickly and quietly took several pictures, but she apparently wasn’t as silent as she thought: big blue eyes were staring at her in the last one.

“Sorry,” she whispered to Killian. “It was just too cute.” He snorted a wolfish laugh in response; at least, she assumed that’s what it was, because Red used to do the same.

She came closer and knelt to gently scratch the top of his head, holding back her own laugh as his eyes closed in pleasure. “Thank you for keeping them warm,” she murmured. His eyes shot open and he gave her a nod, with that same bashful look he got in his eyes whenever he was on the receiving end of praise. She could almost hear the implied “Of course, milady,” that would have normally accompanied that expression, were he in possession of a human mouth at the moment. She had to admit, there was a strange comfort in having a wolf in town again, and though she wished he could have been spared the accompanying trauma at first, she was glad it was Killian. In a lot of ways, it suited him. And she smiled to think of the trouble he and Ruby could get into together.

She roused both David and Emma in succession with quick pecks on the forehead, receiving sleepy grins in return. Emma gave her a quick hug before running into the break room, but David was slow to rise.

Snow watched as he sat up and wiped the sleep from his eyes, before glancing over at Killian. Wordlessly, her husband reached over and patted Killian’s side. “Thanks, man,” he murmured.

Killian slowly got to his feet, taking time to stretch his oversized canine body. After a final shake, he turned and padded over to David, standing nose-to-nose. For a long moment, they just stared at each other; but then Killian quickly and slyly licked a wet stripe up David’s cheek, and then scampered out of the building before David could properly react.

Snow couldn’t help but giggle first at the shocked look on her husband’s face, then at the way he wiped off the slobber. “Seriously?” he shouted after their son-in-law, just as Emma walked back in holding a bundle of what looked like Killian’s clothes.

“What happened?” she asked, voice still a bit raspy with sleep.

“You need a leash for him,” David grumbled as he stood.

Thankfully, Emma just rolled her eyes and headed out of the station, shouting back, “See you later!”

Snow went up to David to fix his sleep-mussed hair. “Come on—it wasn’t that bad, was it?”

“No,” he admitted reluctantly. “Just...don’t broadcast it.” He wrapped an arm around her waist and leaned into her as they began to wander out of the station.

“Don’t worry; I won’t tell Wilby, if that’s your concern,” she teased. He snorted as she continued. “But...I’m definitely going to frame that.”

Hope your birthday was just the best and that this added to it!!!

Tagging a few others who (i think) liked this series: @cocohook38 @initiala @snowbellewells @kat2609 @thesschesthair @fergus80 @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @annytecture @killian-whump @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @jscoutfinch @nfbagelperson @stubble-sandwich @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @pirateherokillian @luvmylife25 @drowned-dreamer @lenfaz @losttalongthewayy @jsilva0117

#cs ff #werewolf!killian #a charm of powerful trouble #happy belated birthday #optomisticgirl

83 notes · View notes

twoteenswriting · 6 years ago

Text

Copper and Salt

Actually just Homestuck fanfiction. Vriskanroserezi on the meteor.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

It started as a joke, it had to be. There’s no way anyone would really like her, especially Kanaya. She wasn’t worth the trouble. Terezi must have put her up to it. She would enjoy it while it lasted, but she was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Kanaya was waiting too.

Vriska was just teasing her, incessantly. She knew, she had to know that she is- was infatuated with her years ago, and she wouldn’t risk her relationship with Terezi. Would she?

The flirting was black, Terezi would understand, Rose wouldn’t. At least Dave didn’t get it, and they were pretty much siblings. They couldn’t tell anyone, because if one did, the other would jump out and reveal the joke. They would laugh, but neither of them wanted it to end, so it didn’t.

It typically went like this. Dinner, or breakfast, someone would make a quip about time not passing right, usually Dave. Terezi would joke with him and Karkat and Rose would sit ready to intervene, one hand in Kanaya’s. As soon as she did Vriska would say something from across the table about getting a haircut, Kanaya would act interested, waiting for the punchline.

“No, a haircut for you, Kan.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Are you really so deep in the vampire schtick that even your hair has to match?”

“At least I have a theme, lately your style is very…”

“What, fussy-fangs?”

“Like you picked it up from your floor and did a sniff test.”

“That’s Terezi.”

“HEY”

Then Terezi and Vriska would engage. Rose would try to mediate, and Kanaya would be out in the cold again. She could jump in, but she found it’s best to fall back and wait, and look at Vriska.

Roughhousing made all her wild attributes pop. Her hair normally tangled hair fluffed out, her teeth gleamed when she laughed, and when she flexed… well, she went to such great lengths to make sure Kan could see.

She tried to scold down the blush that was rising in her cheeks. This was a joke. She didn’t mean it, couldn’t.

Rose knocked over the salt. She took out her copper piercings and tossed them on the table before jumping into the fray. The copper sparkled like the sun, and the salt the stars. Kanaya pushed back tears and pretended to laugh about all the mess.

Terezi was on a salt kick. She salted everything, including hot cocoa. Dave introduced the cocoa and somehow Terezi grew up without any salt so she was getting her fix. They had to stage an intervention when she started walking into rooms with a bottle full of salt. She even salted her own mouth once before kissing Vriska. She claimed she enjoyed it. Kan didn’t get it.

Rose was newly fixated with copper, and so was Kanaya. The color suited her, and they would talk for hours about its antibacterial properties. Rose would spend hours alchemizing jewelry and playing with copper sheets. She said that she never got to express her inner craftsman at home. All this about aesthetics; Vriska didn’t get it.

Kanaya pulled her aside after dinner / breakfast, her eyes darting left and right. She led her past bedrooms and hallways, no place far enough away for their secret, and settled on a closet in the heart of the meteor.

“Something has to change,” Kanaya didn’t like the way her voice wavered, “this is real, right?”

“Real, I mean-“

“You have to tell me that this isn’t all in my head, that I’m not imagining things because it can’t be, this isn’t-“

“Breathe,” Vriska put her hands on Kan’s shoulders, “breathe.”

They were so close, and the past few months flashed through Kan’s head. Brawls that lasted way too long, inching toward each other at the table, it couldn’t be just a joke, this girl had played with her feelings too many times and if this was one of those times she would rather face the punchline than take one more minute of this. Anything but this.

Vriska was usually the one falling apart, and while the role reversal made her smirk it mostly made her worried. They’d been playing relationship ouija ever since… well ever since they’d met in person for the first time. She was so different in the real world, outside of that little chat box that seemed to rule their lives. Kanaya had needs, and Vriska thought she could fill them in a very very platonic way, but she moved here and she moved there and she didn’t know when they crossed the line but Vriska struggled very hard to shove the very very un-platonic feelings away, but they kept coming back.

Kanaya abhorred what she did, but she was trying to change, and she wanted to help with that. She tried to get her to open up but there was always a barb or a detour to surprise her. She had finally pinned her down in the closet. It felt real, very very real, and being so close was torture and she would never get another chance,

and she would never get another chance, and she went for it

and she went for it.

The kiss was long and deep, violent and passionate. Years of feeling condensed into one long moment. They only stopped when they tasted copper and salt. Vriska’s lip was cut and tears streamed out of her eyes.

“Stop, stop! this will hurt them so bad.” She didn’t recognize the words coming out of her mouth.

“I don’t care.”

She didn’t believe Kanaya either.

She leaned in again, Vriska had to shove her away. Blood was all over her face.

“You don’t care?”

“I, I do, but I didn’t feel it- what did you do to me?!”

“Me?!”

“Yes, you’re influencing me… some how, just get to the punchline Vriska just say I’m the punchline!”

“You thought I was- I thought you-“

“What did we do?!”

Light flooded the closet, neutralizing the soft glow of Kanaya’s skin. She looked away, Vriska didn’t.

“Rose… I can-“

Her expression was obscured by the backlight, but her emotions were clear when the door slammed so hard it rattled the hinges.

Back against the door, Rose struggled to take deep breath. With all her foresight she had neglected to account for this outcome, how? She thought she could see Kanaya so clearly, Vriska not so much. What would Terezi-

“TEREZI”

She dragged a couch in front of the door before running off to collect the other cheat-ee.

Vriska’s eyes adjusted back to the dark and cold. She was used to being cold, but not when just a second ago she was flush with someone so surprisingly warm. Kanaya wouldn’t look at her. She wanted to know what she was thinking so badly, but she was uncertain what she would find, so she went about it in the old fashioned way.

“Would you leave me for Rose?”

“In a heartbeat.”

“Wow Myryam… that’s cruel. Am I rubbing off on you?”

Kanaya wiped the blood off her lip and tasted it.

“You could say so. What about Terezi?”

“I’ve been talking to her about… whatever we are. I need her, ugh, but I think I need you just as much.”

“I have trouble believing that.”

“At least as friends, I mean, aggressive acquaintances, if you really want to go back to that. In a heartbeat.”

“I didn’t mean-” Kanaya sighed “I didn’t mean that I don’t care about you. I meant that you’re… like the stars. Rose is like the sun. Without you I might lose direction, but without Rose…”

A smile pulled at Vriska’s mouth. The way it was, it wasn’t perfect, but it was good. Now it might not be, but she was used to messing everything up. Her very existence seemed to draw in trouble. She never seemed to know when to fight it or accept it. She looked at her hands, the floor, anywhere than the little bit of normal she sacrificed to have just one kiss, just one.

“I get it. I’ll step back.”

She jumped a little when Kanaya squeezed her hand.

Rose found Terezi surrounded by piles and piles of cans, hammering out can town’s constitution with the Mayor.

“Terezi there is a situation in the closet.”

“What?”

“Come see for yourself.”

“I can’t see anything.”

“Terezi!”

They both make their way to the closet, Terezi chuckling the entire way. She pushes the couch aside with one hand, and winks with both eyes. Without opening the door she yells,

“WHAT’S GOING ON IN THERE, ARE YOU TWO MAKING OUT?”

“Were.” Kanaya’s voice is hoarse.

“Oh. Hmm…”

Terezi paced back and forth, tapping rhythmically with her cane. She slammed the door back into place when it creaked open. Still tapping her cane, she parsed the situation.

It’s not like she didn’t see this coming. She knew Vriska better than she knew herself, and on top of that she was a terrible liar. Every time she caught the glances between the two the pangs of jealousy only fueled her teasings, but now it was real.

A relatable struggle, but Terezi was better at hiding her true feelings.

Rose only interrupted when the tapping became pounding. Putting one hand on the cane and the other over the hand tapping it, she looked into red eyes and failed to notice the blush spreading over Terezi’s face.

“What do we do?”

“I’m not sure. I mean Vriska’s kind of stupid but I’m not leaving her.”

A muffled HEY made Rose turn.

“You’re not?”

“I don’t see a reason to.”

“But you never see.”

She shrieked with laughter, and Rose couldn’t help but smile. All she was looking for was some sigh that everything was going to be ok, and Terezi’s blood curdling laughter was the same as it ever was.

“I mean, I’m going to punish her somehow, but leaving her would be cruel. What about you and Kanaya?”

“I don’t know,” Rose slumped against the wall “On Earth I would have, but now I’m a god of light and she’s an alien vampire so does anything matter anymore?”

“I guess not. She’s super hot by the way.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Isn’t this what this is about? Keeping secrets?”

“I suppose so.”

“We should talk to them-“

“I’m a moment,” Rose pulled her down so they were both sitting on the ground, “but not yet. I don’t know if I’m ready to see her yet.”

Rose took a moment to breathe. On the other side of the door Kanaya buried her head in her hands and cried. Vriska was her childhood crush, but even then she knew she was a mess. There was something about that wildness that intrigued her. Rose was beautiful, amazing, perfect, and everything she ever thought she wanted. Maybe she was too perfect. She would fuss and fuss but not much could be done without starting a fight or Rose retreating behind another layer of human sarcasm.

Time spend with her felt subdued, their conversations were sparring matches, and while Vriska was no less of a stressful enigma she needed someone, and she needed to be needed. She needed adventure and someone to take her, and she needed to express the feelings she never let slip so long ago, but she needed Rose’s stability even more.

Vriska tried to comfort her, telling her how much of a catch she was, assuring her that she wasn’t horrible, rubbing her back in long, slow circles while telling her to breathe. The role reversal was jarring.

“Sometimes I feel Rose slipping away,” Kanaya said on a long exhale, “on Earth women weren’t supposed to love other women.”

“Yeah I know. Dave talks about it but, Rose never brought it up.”

“I know it bothers her. Sometimes I felt that she was just looking for an excuse to break it off so she wouldn’t have to confront it. I’m worried she’ll freak out.”

“Yeah I think trapping us in a closet constitutes as a freak out Myryam-”

A quick jab shut her up. Unfortunately the silence was killing her. The mumbling from outside drove her crazy, and pressing her ear to the door did nothing.

“Can you… listen in?”

“I can try.”

Vriska took a steadying breath before reaching out with her mind. Terezi’s mind was familiar and comforting, and she often sought out its presence when they were apart. She would never tell her that though. Settling between her ears she began picking up any stray thoughts. Smell, touch, she was playing with the edge of her cane, no sight but- ah! Sound.

What she did pick up was muffled by emotional turmoil. Something gross and mushy around Rose, fear, truth, honesty, tuning like a radio she tried to silence it, but it was no use. She decided to just observe. Tempting as it was to meddle. So tempting…

An idea floated past, she could just, nudge it along. Open the door, come on. Come on.

The door creaked open. Terezi came in first. She walked over to Vriska and slapped her.

“I know what you were doing!”

“You were out there so long I thought I’d die.”

“Fine. If you want this so badly I guess you’ll have it. Come on in Rose.”

There were flames in her eyes. Flames directed at Vriska. She stormed over and gave her another slap.

“What was that for?!”

“I don’t know! Everything’s just always your fault somehow, isn’t it!” Rose pinched the bridge of her nose “Anyway, I have something I wanted to say.

On Earth, this wasn’t something I was supposed to do. I tried so hard to suppress it but it always came out. I thought that because Earth was gone, so was that guilt. I was wrong. I’m scared. This is scary. I found some kind of stability and now it might be gone. A part of me wants to throw it away because it’s not what’s supposed to happen, but it has. Kanaya, I struggle but I’ve felt more right than I ever have in my life with you, and if I’m not doing something right I want to know, please.”

“Rose…” Kanaya rushed over to embrace her “nothing, you’re doing nothing wrong. I love you, and just because I love Vriska doesn’t mean I love you any less.”

“You love her?”

“LOVE ME?! MYRYAM THAT’S GROSS!”

“But I will stop this if that’s what you want.”

“Wow thanks.”

“I will learn how to tolerate Vriska if it will make you happy.”

“I guess it’s just bag on Vriska day huh.”

“I love you Rose.”

“I love you too. I have to say I was a little disappointed when I figured out those flelexing sessions weren’t for me.”

“HA! I KNEW it, everybody is in love with me.”

“Not so fast!”

all eyes shot to Terezi,

she took her time with the suspense,

“Dave isn’t.”

“Babe I never wanted him to be.”

Terezi head-butted her girlfriend “I know.”

“Are you sure you’re alright with this?” She motioned to herself and Kanaya.

“As long as I get PLENTY of attention and you pay a fine of… one million kisses!”

“We’d have to be together for a really long time for that dude.”

“ACCEPTABLE! Well what are you waiting for? Begin your payment.

Oh! And before I forget, Kanaya,”

“Yes?”

“Your girlfriend’s hot. Rose? Your girlfriend. Is. Hot.”

“Did you have to say it in that way?”

“No, but it bugged you didn’t it?”

Terezi let out another demonic shriek and Vriska chuckled against her cheek.

“She really got you there! Why don’t we come out of the closet?”

Rose laughed so hard that she had to lie down. Maybe this would work out just fine.

#vriskanroserezi #homestuck #I did NOT proofread this #vriskan #rosemary #roserezi #I want to continue with my original projects but this is the only thing I've been motivated to write in months #and I don't have an ao3 account so it's here

8 notes · View notes

shadedscar-blog · 6 years ago

Text

so now yeah about the skinwalker alert because apparently what houston needed was also those fuckers at this point when im going to have my dinner with a wendigo and have a fucking tulpa tell me my sense of fashion is ugly really im fucking waiting

besides yeah i went out to research on those inscriptions from the post i made a few days ago about the shit happened at the plaza especially after talking with my friend about that untranslatable inner circle of ciphering which apparently is voynich and we all know that shits been a massive case of question marks over question marks for something like a bazillion years but besides im a resilient man and with the help of the internet and a good chunk of good will i decided it was the case to venture myself to the nearby public library to collect some more info since ive seen that a few texts that i cant apparently get on amazon are actually in there

now i know the guy working at the library his names tobias hes your typical gentle giant with so many freckles you could draw the entirety of the known constellations on him and hed probably pinpoint that one obscure constellation in some remote angle of the milky way youve missed with a big goofy grin and boy if he looked like shit he was pretty much me after an awful run of cal screaming and nightmares combined when i entered he barely gave me a wave because he kept checking behind his back and was really snappy

so i look at him and im like trying to get some smalltalk yknow because its not that i can barge in with a hey youre looking fucked up bro... whats poppin... so i tried to see about those books i needed and hes like shrugging and checking the database and all of a sudden hes like

“hey dave listen youve seen those weird things going around right”

and im like sure its not that i cant avoid that dude so he really gave me that freaked out gaze and started telling me about how theres this thing in the residential area where he lives that just has been causing some good capital h for havoc and not just little things okay were talking about beyond the streak of goopy blood and weird writings over the entrance doors smelling like rotting cadavers because he was all about how lately at night hes been having this weird humanoid thing with piercing white eyes and tattered clothing following him and this thing apparently had this wobbly stance and would try to go after him while also having a serious case of convulsion

and i was like wow it seems we got a serious case of /x/walker are we back on fourchan or what and he literally was “dude im serious i have pictures because apparently it stops something like roughly 100 meters from the crossroads all the time and i managed to take a shitty ass blurry photo” and that

thats where things get freaky

ON THE POST: clearly blurry and trembling because it was taken by a person scared shit, but there’s indeed the almost sharp clean profile a hunched black figure right in front, with the traits of a distorted, blackened face barely recognizable within the tatters and whatever else is covering the creature. the eyes are lidless and white, piercing, and the smile showing a line of jagged, sharklike teeth.

honestly after seeing that if i ever have to go around the residential area id make sure to have a rock salt rifle with me but i dont know you

#- ̗̀ online // an accurate depiction of pom gets wifi ̖́-#- ̗̀ logs // were under siege by planet fucking jupiter ̖́-#long post /#logs

3 notes · View notes

dave-meowstaine · 7 years ago

Note

All those mf asks yo

👌Finally getting round to doing these, sorry it took a while!

1: How tall or short do you wish you were? - I’m happy with my height. I’m around 6ft

2: What’s your dream pet? (Real or not) - I would love a dragon or a grisly bear

3: Do you have a favorite clothing style? - I love all of my hoodies. I also love my Dave Mustine shirt and my really edgy shirt, both bought for me by Lizzie

4: What was your favorite video game growing up? - Diablo 2 is my favourite game of all time

5: What three things/people do you think of most each day - Lizzie, college work, and Everquest to be honest

6: If you had a warning label, what would yours say? - Warning: Too clingy and over emotional lol

7: What is your opinion on [insert person/thing here]? - Ooh that’s my favourite thing haha

8: What is your Greek personality type? [Sanguine, Phlegmatic, Choleric, or Melancholic] - I have no idea

9: Are you ticklish? - No where near as ticklish as when I was younger, but yeah I am still ticklish

10: Are you allergic to anything? - I get hay fever and I found out I’m allergic to my cat’s fur (doesn’t stop me from cuddling her though, I just end up sneezing a lot and having very itchy/watery eyes haha

11: What’s your sexuality? - Never really know, to be honest. I like anyone I like, whether that’s a boy, girl, or whatever you identify as

12: Do you prefer tea, coffee, or cocoa? - Definitely tea. I must drink at least 5 mugs of tea a day haha

13: Are you a cat or dog person? - I’ve lived my entire life with cats, but I love my dog to pieces. It’s impossible to choose one over the other

14: Would you rather be a vampire, elf, or merperson? - Probably an elf. I’m not a huge fan of the water and although I’m basically nocturnal (thanks, Lizzie ;) ), I would miss the daytime if I was a vampire. Plus everything is shut at night

15: Do you have a favorite Youtuber? - I used to but not anymore. I do have a couple of channels I regularly check, such as Funhaus

16: How tall are you? - I’m around 6ft

17: If you had to change your name, what would you change it to? - Most people get my name wrong and call me Taylor so I guess if I changed it to Taylor at least people would get my name right haha

18: How much do you weigh? [Only ask this if you know the user doesn’t mind!] - Eh I’m about 9 stone. I know, I’m light as fuck. Trying hard to gain weight, though

19: Do you believe in ghosts/spirits? - To an extent

20: Do you like space or the ocean more? - Definitely space. I long to explore the stars and the galaxies…

21: Are you religious? - Nope

22: Pet peeves? - People being rude

23: Would you rather be nocturnal or diurnal [opposite of nocturnal]? - Probably diurnal. I love the night time, but more things happen in the day

24: Favorite constellation? - Don’t have one

25: Favorite star? - Don’t have one

26: Do you like ball-jointed dolls? - Eeerrrr I guess?

27: Any phobias or fears? - Don’t like clowns, height, or the water

28: Do you think global warming is real? - Of course it is

29: Do you believe in reincarnation? - I think it would be pretty cool

30: Favorite movie? - John Carpenter’s The Thing

31: Do you get scared easily? - Not really. I have my moments, though

32: How many pets have you own in your lifetime? - 4 cats, 1 dog, 2 fish, 4 guinea pigs, 3 chickens, and 1 hamster

33: Blog rate? [You’ll rate the blog of the one who’s asking.] - You’re on anon so no can do haha

34: What is a color that calms you? - I love red or purple

35: Where would you like to travel and/or live? - I like the area I live in now, to be honest. I know most people can’t wait to get away from where they grew up, but I think Malmesbury would be a lovely place to settle down, have a family, etc.

36: Where were you born? - I was born in South East London

37: What is your eye color? - Grey/blue

38: Introvert or extrovert? - Ambivert

39: Do you believe in horoscopes and zodiacs? - I do

40: Hugs or kisses? - Depends who it is. If it’s Lizzie, then kisses. Otherwise hugs

41: Who is someone you would like to see/visit right now? - Lizzie, obviously

42: Who is someone you love deeply? - Lizzie, obviously

43: Any piercings you want? - I don’t know if I want anymore piercings

44: Do you like tattoos and piercings? - I love them

45: Do you smoke or have you ever done so? - Yeah, I smoke

46: Talk about your crush, if you have one! - Lizzie!

47: What is a sound you really hate? - The fucking disconnecting sounds on Facebook or Whatsapp calls

48: A sound you really love? - Lizzie’s voice

49: Can you do a backflip? - Nope

50: Can you do the splits? - Nope

51: Favorite actor and/or actress? - KEANU REEVES

52: Favorite movie? - John Carpenter’s The Thing

53: How are you feeling right now? - Eh I’m alright. Want to be with Lizzie

54: What color would you like your hair to be right now? - I’m happy with my natural colour

55: When did you feel happiest? - When I’m with Lizzie

56: Something that calms you down? - Lizzie

57: Have any mental disorders? [Only ask this if you know the user doesn’t mind!] - I have anxiety and depression

58: What does your URL mean? - Dave Mustaine as a cute cat

59: What three words describe you the most? - Kind, loyal, asshole haha

60: Do you believe in evolution? - Obviously

61: What makes you unfollow a blog? - If they never post anymore or their theme changes to something I’m not interested in

62: What makes you follow a blog? - To be honest, I never follow any new blogs anymore

63: Favorite kind of person - Kind, caring, sensitive, funny, doesn’t take life too seriously

64: Favorite animal(s) - Chimps and sharks

65: Name three of your favorite blogs. - I don’t have any favourite blogs

66: Favorite emoticon - 👌

67: Favorite meme - DO YOU KNOW DE WAE

68: What is your MBTI personality type? - INFP

69: What is your star sign? - Libra

70: Can your dog roll over on command, if you have a dog? - Nope

71: What outfit out of all your clothes do you like to wear the most? - I don’t have any specific outfits, just throw on whatever suits the occasion

72: Post a selfie or two? - Look at my /tagged/me

73: Do you have platform shoes? - Nope, unless my DMs count

74: What is one random but interesting fact about yourself? - No idea

75: Can you do a front flip? - I used to be able to on a trampoline, dunno if I still could. Probably could, if I tried

76: Do you like birds? - Of course!

77: Do you like to swim? - If it’s leisurely swimming, then yea

78: Is swimming or ice skating more fun to you? - Ice skating

79: Something you wish didn’t exist - There are many things I wish didn’t exist

80: Some thing you wish did exist - Dragons, as long as they didn’t fuck everything up

81: Piercings you have? - Septum and three in my left earlobe

82: Something you really enjoy doing - Spending time with Lizzie

83: Favorite person to talk to - Lizzie

84: What was your first impression of Tumblr? - Thought it was really cool

85: How many followers do you have? - Currently at 1990

86: Can you run a mile within ten minutes? - I’ve done it before, yeah

87: Do your socks always match? - Yeah

88: Can you touch your toes and keep your legs straight completely? - After limbering up, yeah

89: What are your birthstones? - Sapphire

90: If you were an animal, which one would you be? - Probably a chimp

91: If a flower could aesthetically represent you, what kind would it be? - Maybe a rose? I really don’t know haha

92: A store you hate? - None that I hate

93: How many cups of coffee can you drink in one day? - Never drink coffee so none haha

94: Would you rather be able to fly or read minds? - Definitely fly

95: Do you like to wear camo? - Sure

96: Winter or summer? - Winter, to be honest

97: How long can you hold your breath for? - I don’t know, I think I got to two minutes before, maybe more

98: Least favorite person? - Don’t know

99: Someone you look up to - Don’t know

100: A store you love? - There’s a retro video game store in a town near me that I love, although all of their stuff is really expensive

101: Favorite type of shoes - Converses or Doc Martens

102: Where do you live? - I live in a town called Malmesbury

103: Are you a vegetarian or vegan? If so, why? - Nope, used to be but I need to put on as much weight as possible

104: What is your favorite mineral or gem? - Don’t really have one

105: Do you drink milk? - I do

106: Do you like bugs? - Yeah

107: Do you like spiders? - I love them

108: Something you get paranoid about? - I get anxious about a lot of personal stuff going on at the moment

109: Can you draw - Hell no haha

110: Nosiest question you have ever been asked? - No idea

111: A question you hate being asked? - No idea

112: Ever been bitten by a spider? - Nope

113: Do you like the sound of waves at the beach? - I love them

114: Do you prefer cloudy or sunny days? - Cloudy if it’s still warm, otherwise I guess sunny

115: Someone you’d like to kiss or cuddle right now - LIZZIE

116: Favorite cloud type - The big ones?? lol

117: What color do you wish the sky was? - I like blue

118: Do you have freckles? - Nope

119: Favorite thing about a person - Don’t have one

120: Fruits or vegetables? - Fruit

121: Something you want to do right now - Be with Lizzie

122: Is the ocean or sky prettier? - I would say the sky

123: Sweet or sour foods? - Definitely sweet

124: Bright or dim lights? - Dim lights

125: Do you believe in a certain magical creature? - Not that I can think of

126: Something you hate about Tumblr - Basically everything now haha

127: Something you love about Tumblr - I met my girlfriend on here so…

128: What do you think about the least? - I don’t know, I don’t think about it haha

129: What would you want written on your tombstone? - Just put the 👌 emoji on there and be done with it haha

130: Who would you like to punch in the face right now? - Too tired to punch anyone right now

131: What is something you love but also hate about yourself? - Everything??

132: Do you smile with your teeth showing for pictures? - Nope

133: Computer or TV? - Computer

134: Do you like roller coasters? - Love them

135: Do you get motion sickness or seasickness? - Motion sickness yeah, but not seasickness

136: Are your ears lobed or attached? - Lobed

137: Do you believe in karma? - Definitely

138: On a scale of 1-10, how attractive would you say you are? - Definitely 10 ;)

139: What nicknames do you have/have had? - Big T and Tyrone are the only two that come to mind

140: Did you have any pretend or imaginary friends? - Didn’t everyone as younger children?

141: Have you ever seen a therapist/shrink? - Many haha

142: Would you say you are a good or bad influence to others? - I hope good

143: Do you prefer giving or receiving gifts/help? - Ehh I like both

144: What makes you angry - A lot of things

145: How many languages do you speak fluently? - Only English, but I need to learn Spanish

146: Do you prefer boys, girls, and/or non-binaries? - Don’t have a preference

147: Are you androgynous? - No

148: Favorite physical thing about yourself - Everything

149: Favorite thing about your personality - Everything

150: Name three people you would like to talk to right now in person. - Lizzie, Dom, and Ed

151: If you could go back into time and live in one era, which would you choose? - I like the present day

152: Do you like BuzzFeed? - Not really

153: How did you meet your spouse/girlfriend/boyfriend/partner? [If you have one.] - Through Tumblr. Turns out she’s been following me for about 3 years but never thought anything of it. Then we started talking and yeah

154: Do you like to kiss others’ foreheads or hands for platonic reasons? - I don’t kiss people platonically

155: Do you like to play with others’ hair? - I love playing with Lizzie’s hair

156: What embarrasses you? - Not much

157: Something that makes you nervous/anxious - A lot of personal stuff

158: Biggest lie you have ever told - No idea

159: How many people are you following? - Only 98 people

160: How many posts do you have on your blog(s)? - 72,845

161: How many drafts do you have on your blog(s)? - None

162: How many likes do you have on your blog(s)? - 2,380

163: Last time you cried and why - I can’t remember

164: Do you have long or short hair? - Short, but I’m growing it out

165: Longest your hair has ever been - About half way down my back

166: Why do you like, dislike, or have neutral feelings about religon? - This is a whole other debate

167: Do you really care how the universe and world was created? - I would love to know, yeah

168: Do you like to wear makeup? - Nah

169: Can you stand on your hands or head for more than thirty seconds? - I used to be able to, dunno if I still could

170: Did you answer the questions you were asked truthfully? - I did

Thank you! :)

#asks #anon

1 note · View note

belladonnaandulriched · 4 years ago

Text

the artist | chapter two

I still recall the thick of the pandemic almost down to the detail. There came several points in which I had to switch off the TV and I had to log out to take time to myself. I sought out the power of music to help out and go hand in hand with my art. I would spend hours a day bunked up in my room while my parents worked from home: I had nothing more than my drawing pad, both physical and digital, and the music in my ears.

All the music I sought out touched my soul in some way. It was all I could resort to when the days lacked any miasma of hope. Hearing their voices and all that lovely music was enough to keep my spirits alive. I wanted to remain positive and that there was in fact a light at the end of that tunnel. I even played around with my neck gaiter and accompanied with things like paper flowers and my hats. I wanted to have fun, even with everything closed; thus to meet up with Chris and Joey not only felt like a dream come true to me, but it also fulfilled something I had yearned for during that lonesome time.

It was especially lonely when I felt like I couldn't speak to people on Twitter: the lack of any true genuine conversation left me feeling out in the cold. I wanted to talk to someone about Nirvana and all I got were these random memes about “Teen Spirit.” So many complainers, too much politics, too much fear, and not enough comfort.

I actually met Dave from Nirvana two days after I met Joey there in the park. It happened in one fell swoop I had his as well as Chris' numbers in my address book and whenever I found a moment over those next two days, I texted to and fro with Chris and Joey. The former always greeted me in the morning with a sweet text. Short and sweet and just enough to beckon a smile from my face.

I told Joey I was an artist and he seemed rather elated when I told him I wanted to draw him.

“I wanna see it when it's done!” he told me, to which he followed up with a little blue heart. He sent me a little blue heart to sort of mirror my purple heart towards him.

Chris meanwhile, texted me every day. I knew he only lived about ten minutes from me up the road: he told me he lived in the neighborhood right outside of the Queen Anne borough of Seattle.

“I can look right out my window and see Mount Rainier right outside of my window,” he said. “You ever see Mount Rainier at sunrise following a rainstorm?”

“A couple of times,” I confessed; I recalled one morning during the worst part of the pandemic wherein it had rained the night before, and I peered out the window at the mother mountain herself, and those cold rain clouds surrounded her summit, and the rising sun filtered through to paint the glaciers a rich, beautiful orange creamsicle color. But he sent me a photo from his window where he stood right next to Rainier and made it look as though he dwarfed it: he stooped down and held the palm of his hand down towards the summit, of which the sunrise had painted a bright beautiful pink and all different shades of yellow. I chuckled at the picture and I had thought of sharing it with my mom, but I decided to keep it for myself, especially when he sent me a picture of himself making it look as though he made Rainier his chair—complete with bent knees and everything! as he put it.

Meanwhile, I scoured the Internet for a good picture of Joey. No matter where I went, and no matter how many times I typed in Joey Belladonna, it gave me nothing more than something with himself as well as Scott, Danny, Frankie, and Charlie. At one point, I lay down on my bed flat on my back and gazed up at the ceiling and tried to picture him from memory. Long jet black curls sprawled down over his shoulders: real handsome face with maybe a tiny little kiss of sun upon his otherwise olive skin.

I reached for my sketchbook to begin with something simple. A skinny little boy with thick strong looking thighs and hips a little on the round side. I stopped myself as I thought of drawing something a little more than him in my sketchbook, a little drawing of myself putting my arms around his slim waist. Slim and—kind of beautiful. He was slender and yet quite shapely: his shoulders were trim and lovely, and accentuated by those black curls.

I had to put down my pencil next to my sketchbook so I could run my fingers through my dark hair.

What a beautiful boy.

Granted, Chris was beautiful to me but there was something hypnotic about Joey. Something that reminded me of like the guy next door. The cute boy next door.

I lifted my head from my pillow and peered out the window. Still some daylight out there.

“Might as well take a walk before the sun goes down,” I muttered to myself. I threw on a purple sweater and my boots, and ran my fingers through my hair. My mom was working late that night anyway: my dad had gone out for something somewhere there in Tacoma, and thus I was left to my own devices for the time being. I had no money with me so it wasn't like I could easily buy myself a glass of lemonade like I did with Joey the other day.

I stuffed my hands in my pockets; on the right side, I could feel the smooth glassy exterior of my phone. I thought of taking a full three sixty shot of the coast, if and when I ever went to the coast again. The whole panoramic view in complete detail: so real it makes you feel as though you're actually there with me.

I came to the corner, right across the street from the service station and I recognized that long streaky blond hair underneath a faded blue ball cap standing there next to the dumpster with a rolled joint in hand. It couldn't be: I crossed the moist pavement and made it look as though I was just walking past him. But then he turned and my eyes locked onto his as well as the cherry at the end of the joint. I recognized that narrow, slender face and those prominent front teeth.

I didn't even realize where I was going.

I ran right into the door right as it swung open.

“Oh, shit!” he declared. I staggered back and rubbed my nose. Lucky for me, I didn't break anything but it still caught me off guard. He lunged for me to ensure I was alright. The guy who walked out of the back door there gaped at me as though I had lost my mind.

“Are you alright?” Dave asked me; the foul odor of the weed burned my nose and made my eyes water a bit, but it had nothing on what I was feeling right then with his face before me. I fluttered my eyelashes and grinned at him.

“I think so?”

He showed me a smirk, complete with those big pearly teeth up front. I felt my phone vibrating in my sweater pocket. Chris was texting me. Or maybe it was Joey. I had no idea at that point and at the same time, Dave wanted my attention. I didn't want to interrupt his train of thought with something as trivial as my phone.

He guided me away from the open door there and huddled next to me at the corner of the building as though he felt cold. Granted, it had rained all day that day, but I felt colder than this, though. Once I had myself pulled together, he took another puff of the joint.

“I know, I'm a little funny looking,” he confessed to me.

“Nonsense,” I retorted.

“No, it is sense,” he teased me, to which I chuckled at him. “Look at my teeth!”

“I'm looking, alright—they're so pearly.”

“Hey—you wanna know a secret?”

It was so sudden and yet it was Dave Grohl, for crying out loud!

“Sure?” I replied with a bit of reticence. He peered over his shoulder right as the guy padded back into the building: that time, he checked behind the door to ensure no one was back behind there.

“You know what a lily and a chrysanthemum have in common?” he asked me, to which I chuckled again.

“They're both flowers?”

He took another puff from his joint before he shook it out and gestured for me to follow him. I swallowed but I trusted him. He led me to the front of the gas station, past the polished clean ice machine and the sliding double doors. He peered over his shoulder to ensure I was still with him; my nose and my chest still ached from running into that door. We reached the other side of the building where we were met with a square of black pavement. Beyond that stood a vast stretch of lush, full grown plants lined by a couple of short stubby evergreen pine trees. Dave led me towards the garden, to which I stood there and took a deep intake of breath from the fresh earthy aroma of all the plants.

In the dim light, I noticed all of the plants were held up by delicate little wires, so delicate in fact that I swore they resembled to translucent silk webs courtesy of spiders. The wires led back to a series of sleek wooden posts in between the pine trees. The plants meanwhile ranged anywhere from flowers like little white lilies and bright yellow chrysanthemums to vegetables and berries.

A long haired man knelt down before one of the blackberry plants sprouted from the dark soil. He lifted his head and showed me his prominent brow over big eyes and soft cheekbones.

“Hi, there,” he greeted me in a soft voice.

“What's all this?” I asked them.

“This is our post collapse garden,” Dave explained to me as he ran his fingers through the blond hair on the side of his head. “Stone and I began planting this when things started to come unraveled. We saw the end coming and so we decided to get our hands dirty in the remote part of the world before things really got out of hand.”

“It was actually his idea,” Stone gestured to Dave. “My band disbanded after the death of my friend and he was out on the job, and so we looked at one another and went 'fuck it. Let's plant a garden together and help fix things before they got worse. The country had gone sideways at that point.”

My phone vibrated again, this time a much more prolonged vibration. Someone was calling me, but I would have to let it go to voice mail.

I turned back to Dave, whose blond hair glowed an eerie golden tone from the neon lights of the service station and the fading sunlight to our right.

“So what's the deal about a lily and a chrysanthemum?” I asked him. He stooped down to one of the lilies down below and one of the chrysanthemums, and picked them off of the stem. He handed them to me with a warm smile on his face.

“Why, thank you,” I told him as I took the flowers and took a whiff of them. As fresh as anything. We all had returned to the earth during the pandemic and then came out the other side with the bullet in our hands, and yet some time along the way, I had forgotten the sweet aroma of a big white and pink lily straight from the soil.

Stone climbed to his feet and wiped his hands on the thighs of his jeans: his smooth hair dangled down around his collar bones and his slender shoulders.

“Would you like something to drink?” he offered me.

“Some lemonade, please,” I replied to him.

“I'll take a beer,” Dave added. I peered down at those spider webs of wires around a particular plant right behind him, one with leaves that resembled to that on a mint plant. But I knew it wasn't mint.

“Do—the people here know you guys are running this garden here?” I asked him as I held the flowers close to my chest, and he nodded his head.

“Yeah, but we're a little paranoid about it, though,” he confessed.

“Why's that?”

“Because I'm in Nirvana and Stone's tryin' to look for work.”

“That shouldn't make you paranoid, though.”

“Everyone's tryin' to shake off the whole thing against partaking in a bunch of things. You know—remember the whole 'essential' thing during the pandemic? You had to specialize in something otherwise you were told otherwise. I want to play drums and sing, but I also want to grow all of this and paint and do all kinds of stuff. My fear is that if we're caught down here in Tacoma, our garden will go by the wayside and we'll have nothing to go to now. I'm in a band and Stone's trying to get back into one, and we both feel like the pandemic sorta killed the music business. And—you know, we put a lot of work into this, too.”

“I can tell.”

He knitted his eyebrows at me.

“What do you do?” he asked me.

“Me? I'm supposed to be in high school, but I guess that's a thing of the past now. I'm just a straight up artist living at home.”

“Is there anything else you do?”

“I love music and science.”

He ran his fingers through his hair again. “Ever think of going a little further with those things?”

“Not really. I'm trying to find my footing in the shambles of everything.”

“Why not start there? Why not start with all of the things you love and go from there? I mean, you said it yourself—high school is a thing of the past now. We're all at square one if I'm honest—” He lifted his gaze to right behind me.

“That was quick!”

I turned around to find Stone striding towards us with a cup of lemonade in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. He said something to Dave as he handed me the lemonade. I set the glass down on the post closest to me and took out my phone from my pocket. Using one finger, I opened up the voice mail and brought the phone to my ear.

“Hey, Hahlly—” I knew that upstate accent anywhere. “—it's Joey. Gimme a call back whenever ya can, please and thank you. I've got sump'n to tell ya.”

I wondered what it could be as I slipped my phone back into my pocket and took a sip of the lemonade.

0 notes

transformationstuck · 7 years ago

Text

In the Right

Loud moaning sounded throughout the halls again. Kankri grated his teeth. His brother and his brother’s boyfriend seemed to constantly pound into each other, uncaring of the time of day or the thinness of the walls. Kankri had talked to Karkat about it many times, but still his reading was distracted.

Enough was enough. It was time for hands-on teaching. Kankri gripped the glass in his hand a bit harder as with his other hand he knocked on Karkat’s door.

“Fucking… who is it?” Karkat groaned out through the door. “A bit busy in here.”

“Karkat, it’s me,” Kankri said. Kankri listened as it sounded like Karkat was screaming into some surface, probably a pillow or his boyfriend. There was shuffling and then the door opened to reveal a naked Karkat. Past the doorframe, Kankri could see Dave lying on Karkat’s bed, lower half covered with a blanket, still wearing that dumb eyewear. The door closed behind Karkat as he stepped into the hall and closed the door behind him.

“The fuck do you want? If you’re looking for a turn fucking Dave, you can keep it in your pants,” Karkat joked and grabbed the cup out of Kankri’s hand and looked in it.

“Your boyfriend at least has the modesty to cover himself, why must you be so perverse in a public space?” Kankri asked. Karkat ignored his question and seemed satisfied with the orange juice in the cup and drank it without asking Kankri. Karkat looked at Kankri to show off a devilish grin, but faltered when he saw Kankri having the same expression on his face.

“If there’s one thing I can count on, it’s you being rude to me,” Kankri said mostly to himself as he turned Karkat around and put him against the wall. Kankri undid his jeans and brought them down a bit to let his bulge out.

“What? Why can’t I move?? You bastard I’ll fucking kill you! If you rape me I’ll fucking ruin your life, y’hear? You're dead!” Karkat shouted out in vain as Kankri brought his bulge closer. Karkat braced himself to take Kankri, but was surprised when Kankri’s bulge instead rested on his back. Kankri began moving his bulge up and down in an oddly relaxing manner.

“What’s going on?” Karkat asked, mind slipping away into what felt like sleep. His mouth opened as he moaned out and began to drool against the wall.

“I am going to show you how an adult handles their libido,” Kankri said and thrust his bulge further along Karkat’s back.

Kankri was amused at the shrinking brother below him. He grinned as Karkat was slowly absorbed into his bulge. If the packet information was right, Karkat would be in a semi-dream state. Still conscience but incredibly horny. Karkat’s former mouth gave a spurt of pre as the transformation finished. Kankri pulled his pants back up and looked around to make sure nobody had seen him. He them whistled and made his way back to his room.

“Now if you cum before 24 hours is up, you’ll be my bulge permanently,” Kankri said and grinned as he felt Karkat squirm around in his pants. “We’ll get that urge to fuck cleaned out of you real good.”

Kankri turned a corner to find Porrim in front of his door, in conversation with Mituna and Latula. The trio looked as Kankri walked towards them and then turned back to their conversation. Kankri walked up to Porrim’s side as he waited for the conversation to be done so he could invite Porrim to the multiplex. However his thoughts kept getting interrupted by the duo in front of him. It looked like the couple had recently been swimming, Mituna in swim shorts and flipflops and Latula in a one piece swimsuit and the same, both carrying wet towels around their shoulders and clearly still gleaming with water. Karkat stirred in his pants as Kankri thought about his almost-naked friends in front of him.

‘Oh, you may squirm at any sight of a bare chest but I will tame your jackrabbit libido,’ Kankri thought to himself and Karkat, and shifted Karkat in his pants to best hide the squirm the bulge was making. Throughout the conversation with his friends Kankri subconsciously looked around at his friends in a less than polite manner.

“Shh, you’ll ruffle the wet blanket,” Porrim said to his left and put her hand on his shoulder, which brought Kankri out of his lines of thought.

The group giggled a bit as Kankri blushed, though not for the reason they thought. Kankri hadn’t heard what stupid things his friends had said this time. Instead his mind was focused on the feeling of Porrim’s hand rubbing circles on his shoulder as he let out his best totally-not-fake laugh, which seemed to work, at least as well as the shoulder rub was working on Karkat’s movement downstairs.

The joke seemed to have broken up the impromptu gathering in front of his room as Latula and Mituna walked away and Porrim let her arm fall away to her side. She turned to start a conversation, but to her and Kankri’s surprise Kankri had already met her with a kiss. It had put off Porrim how much more passionate this one was compared to all the others as she moved to meet his pace. Usually he had insisted on infuriating small pecks, but here they were finally making out.

Kankri pulled back and looked Porrum up and down. Something had came over him. It was as if his something inside him was screaming to get off, and his bulge felt better than he’d ever felt it, even when experimentally moving it around late at night, still a bit too irrationally frightened to do anything with it.

“Kankri, are you ok?” Porrim asked and put her hands on his hips to draw him back in. “You’ve never been that strong before”

“Oh, yeah. I am perfectly fine Porrim, thanks,” Kankri said as he started to move his hand along the outline of his bulge through his pants, all thoughts of Karkat being in his current state out of his mind. Porrim watched and grinned.

“Oh baby, are you ready to move this to the pillows?” Porrim asked as she moved Kankri’s hand away to move his bulge herself. Kankri moaned into her neck and nodded.

“Yeah, I don’t know what’s come over me, but I need this so bad right now.”

“Finally, too. Here I thought you were going to try and stay sex free for a few more decades. Something like that would ruin any relationship I’d want to be in,” Porrim said. She turned around to open Kankri’s door and giggled a bit as she felt Kankri wrap his arms around her neck to give her a weak hug as he kissed the side of her face.

The door opened and the two moved to the far corner where the pile of pillows were. Porrim undid her dress and let it fall away, amused at Kankri standing there and stroking his bulge, which was now hanging out of his pants. Porrim walked over and grabbed the bottom of his shirt before lifting it over his head. Kankri whined at the brief neglect his bulge was facing away from his hand. Porrim merely let the shirt fall to the floor and began kissing Kankri deeply on the lips. She moved them over to the pile and let herself fall into it, bringing Kankri with her with her arms around his waist, never breaking the kiss until they had fallen.

Kankri looked at the beautiful woman before him and move one of his hands along the side of her perfect naked figure. He leaned over to kiss her stomach before moving his head along her body up to her lips, continually kissing her. They both smiled dopily at each other, the exhilaration of being in a vulnerable position with the other being incredible.

Porrim reached over to undo the button and then the zipper of Kankri’s jeans. Kankri took the hint and hooked his underwear and jeans under his thumbs as he pulled both over his legs in one movement. Kankri laid back naked, stroking his bulge as he looked at Porrim, who was running a hand along his chest. It occurred to Kankri that this was the first time he’d been with Porrim while showing his naked crotch, much less his chest. He smiled at Porrim, who smiled back as they drew in for another kiss. Porrim moved her body on top of Kankri’s and reached a hand down to begin to stroke her bulge. Kankri looked down and moaned. The hand currently not occupied with his bulge also found its way down to his crotch to begin to stimulate his nook.

Kankri had only experimentally played with his nook before and was a bit relieved when Porrim moved his hand away to replace it with her own. Porrim took two fingers and began to rub them inside of him as Kankri moaned out. The stimulation continued until Porrim removed her hand and looked up at Kankri. She stroked her bulge and looked at him, asking a non-verbal question. Kankri moved his other hand down to grasp at her bulge and lead it to his nook. Porrim smiled and moved his hand away to properly penetrate Kankri with her bulge.

Over and over again Porrim entered him, faster and faster until finding a rhythm. Kankri had grabbed onto Porrim with his arms and legs, crossed around her. Her speed picked up again before she moaned out and shuddered, erratically thrusting seed into Kankri’s nook. The fluid rubbed along his swollen sac, and Kankri cried out as his bulge twisted madly in the air before releasing his own seed in orgasm.

Kankri’s eyes immediately snapped into attention from his previous half-lidded state.

Karkat.

Porrim let her body down on Kankri’s and drew her bulge out of his nook. She sighed and put her face in the crook of his neck to kiss Kankri. Once more Kankri’s thought of Karkat was distracted and Kankri turned his head to meet Porrim in a mouth-to-mouth kiss.

------------

Later, Kankri stood naked in the bathroom. He mindlessly played with his bulge as he thought about how he had doomed Karkat to life as his bulge.

‘Well at least he’s with a responsible owner,’ Kankri thought to himself. ‘Just think what would’ve become of him if he had become that clown’s bulge. No, this is much better. And I’ll keep good care of my brother, mark my words.’

Kankri tried to rationalise himself into the innocent side as Karkat, still very much sentient, tried to twist and get more friction from Kankri’s fingers.

‘Yes, I’ll treat Kankri as best I can, I owe it to him,’ Kankri smiled.

------------

About six months later, however, Kankri had stopped referring to his bulge as a person altogether.

#mod sb #ctf #kankri #karkat #transformationstuck #homesmut

16 notes · View notes

gwynnew · 7 years ago

Text

Miss Piggy's 'a mess inside': Frank Oz and puppeteer pals reveal Muppet secrets

Frank Oz poses with Muppets Fozzie Bear and Miss Piggy in August 1977. (Photo: Mirrorpix/Courtesy Everett Collection)

A conversation with the “Muppet guys” is not like a conversation with other people. During a roundtable interview with Yahoo Entertainment, Frank Oz, Dave Goelz, Fran Brill, and Bill Barretta spoke thoughtfully and fondly about their experiences creating and performing Jim Henson’s Muppets. At the same time, these friends speak a language all their own, a playful cacophony of gestures, jokes, character voices, one-upmanship, and riffs on their shared memories. It’s something that really needs to be experienced to be understood — but you don’t have to take my word for it.

Oz’s documentary Muppet Guys Talking (available March 16 exclusively at MuppetGuysTalking.com) gives Muppet fans the chance to pull up a chair and enjoy a casual, intimate conversation between the longtime colleagues. The film’s participants include director Oz (performer of Fozzie Bear, Bert, Cookie Monster, Missy Piggy, Animal, Grover), who was Henson’s closest collaborator during his lifetime; Goelz (The Great Gonzo, Bunsen Honeydew, Traveling Matt, Boober Fraggle, Beauregard), who started out as a puppet maker and became a principal performer; Brill (Prairie Dawn, Zoe, Little Bird), one of the few original female performers on Sesame Street and The Muppet Show; Barretta (Pepe the King Prawn, Bobo the Bear, Big Mean Carl), who began performing with the Muppets in the ‘90s and now plays several of Henson’s characters, including Rowlf and Dr. Teeth; and Jerry Nelson (Count von Count, Snuffleupagus, Emmett Otter, Robin), a longtime Muppeteer who died in 2012 after a long illness. Muppet Guys Talking was produced and conceived by Oz’s wife Victoria Labalme, who saw in the Muppet performers’ relationship something that deserved to be captured on film.

Watch a trailer for ‘Muppet Guys Talking.’

yahoo

In the first part of our interview with the Muppet guys, the four performers reveal their secrets for getting into character, including what they’re doing underneath the floorboards while the Muppets are above their heads. Oz tells us the one word he needs to say to become Bert, and Baretta explains the facial expression that makes the difference between Dr. Teeth and Rowlf.

The performers also talk about how their characters have changed over time, particularly Miss Piggy, who Frank describes as “such a mess inside.” Brill speaks about her experience being the only woman working on the Muppets, occasionally taking on characters who were “kind of chauvinistic… but funny.” The friends discuss the hazardous situations they sometimes put themselves in for the sake of the Muppets, whether it was Oz lighting his arm on fire for a commercial or Goelz working his Fraggle Rock character from inside a landfill. Finally, Oz details the perfectionism that made him put his friends “through hell” on Muppets Take Manhattan — and opens up about how he used to sabotage Sesame Street takes.

Read on for the full conversation and stay tuned for Part 2, in which the Muppet guys share their memories of Jim Henson.

Yahoo Entertainment: Tell me, Frank and Victoria, what made you want to make this particular film with these particular people.

Frank Oz: I don’t know anybody else!

Dave Goelz: He has no other friends.

Fran Brill: Certainly no one who would agree to do it.

Oz: It was all because of Victoria. I wanted to do it in the beginning because I wanted to give these guys their due — people don’t know these guys. But then Victoria made me realize there was a larger reason.

Victoria Labalme: I think it’s very rare in today’s society to see this kind of spirit of collaboration, of playfulness, of professionalism mixed with fun, of a sense of real respect and listening to each other and bringing the best out in each other. And I thought that should be shared with the world.

Goelz: Well yeah, we’re living in a cynical time here. The whole culture is more cynical than it was then. And I think part of wanting to do this is to talk about that innocence and the way that it brings out more in people, creates a safe environment and spurs creativity. And life is better.

The ‘Muppet Guys Talking’ poster features the hands of performers Bill Barretta, Fran Brill, Dave Goelz, Jerry Nelson, and Frank Oz (Photo: Vibrant Mud)

The Muppet Guys Talking poster is just your hands, in position as if you’re working puppets. When I hold up my hand, it’s just a hand. But when you do it, the hand is alive. What are you thinking when you hold up that hand?

Oz: As soon as I put my hand up, I’m observing.

Brill: Waiting.

Barretta: Listening.

You also talked a little in the movie about how when you have the puppet up top and you’re beneath the floorboards, you do a lot of overacting to create small reactions in the puppet. Are there habits you have with the characters that nobody sees, movements with your face or body while you’re under the shot?

Goelz: Sure, we make these ridiculous expressions. One of my favorite things to do is always to stand in front of Frank’s monitor and mirror his face.

Oz: I wouldn’t want people watching me, because then I’m self-conscious and I can’t perform.

Goelz: That’s exactly what used to happen. I would mirror your expression and you would lose it, and we’d have to do another take.

Dr. Teeth, performed by Jim Henson, sings “Can You Picture That?” with The Electric Mayhem in ‘The Muppet Movie’ (1979). Drummer Animal was performed by Frank Oz, bassist Floyd by Jerry Nelson, and saxophonist Zoot by Dave Goelz.

youtube

Barretta: One thing I learned, actually — when I first started doing Dr. Teeth, Dave brought up that when he would watch Jim perform Dr. Teeth, he would do this [grimace smiles] kind of through his teeth.

Goelz: As much of a smile as he could get. He would just strain at it.

Barretta: And it also creates a sound quality that’s different from a character with a similar voice, like Rowlf.

Oz: Also it’s important physically. Animal is always [grinning and doing Animal] “wiiiide”, so I gotta be always wide. It depends on the size of the mouth.

Goelz: And that comes from the puppet.

Zoe, performed by Fran Brill, was introduced to ‘Sesame Street’ in 1993.

youtube

Brill: With Zoe, she was designed like a football, with a very wide mouth, so I tried to do a Carol Channing thing — [Carol Channing voice] “because Carol Channing talks like that” — and I tried, and I tried, and it just was very forced and didn’t feel like it was coming from me. But I think I usually take my cue from, what does that puppet look like and what is the mouth doing?

Barretta: Also, I think a lot of times we’re using our arms to make them walk and move in a certain way. I walk a lot in place. Like if I’m doing Bobo, you know, [does Bobo, walking in place] : when I’m walking I kind of do this thing under there, because he’s very stiff in his neck and then I turn this way a little bit — but my whole body is doing it down there, hoping it translates.

Goelz: Yeah, Bobo can’t turn his head.

Barretta: [Doing Bobo] “What’s goin’ on back there?”

Goelz: It’s a weakness in the puppet that becomes a strength in the character. That limitation is fun.

Brill: Well said.

Bobo the Bear, performed by Bill Barretta, and Beauregard, performed by Goelz, in a ‘Muppet Musings’ sketch from 2011.

youtube

Frank, you talk in the film about having a “lock” for the character, a certain sound that you make to get into Grover. Is that something that you have for all of your characters?

Oz: I haven’t worked with them for so many years, but I did with Grover, I did with Bert —

Goelz: What was Bert’s?

Brill: I was just going to ask.

Oz: Yelling “Ernie” like Costello would be yelling for Abbott. [As Bert] “Ernieeee!”

Bert, originally performed by Oz, and Ernie, originally performed by Jim Henson, on ‘Sesame Street.’

youtube

Is that something the rest of you do or did?

Barretta: I growl for Dr. Teeth a little bit.

Oz: You do that normally anyway.

Goelz: I think it happens in the early stages of a character more than later, because later it’s reflexive. A couple years ago I did a character, a new one called Chip the IT Guy, and I had a little key phrase for him. It was [as Chip] “I’ll figure it out.” And I always went back to that when I was trying to figure out who the heck he was, for the whole season I was trying to develop the character. And I was also trying to surprise myself all the time. There were a lot of times when he was startled by somebody and he had to react, and I made a point of not planning it and just doing something on the spur of the moment. As opposed to creating the character in my head, I just thought, what would happen if I just try to live it? And make a stupid reaction, a ridiculous reaction, and not know what it’s going to be? I had a lot of fun doing that.

Chip the IT Guy, performed by Goelz, introduces himself on the half-hour ABC comedy ‘The Muppets’ (2015-2016).

youtube

Brill: I think as soon as I get my hand in a puppet that I do all the time, and I see her on camera, everything is right there immediately: the voice, who she is, how she stands, everything. With a new character, I’m sort of learning as I do it. Like waiting for the puppet to tell me okay, she stands like this. It’s sort of discovering who she is at that moment. I think it just becomes instinct, like most jobs after a while.

Dave Goelz, Fran Brill, Frank Oz, Jerry Nelson, and Bill Barretta in a still from ‘Muppet Guys Talking’ (Photo: Vibrant Mud)

The characters that all of you have played for a long time – do you find that those characters have changed with you?

Brill: Prairie Dawn was my first real principal character. I was handed this little puppet, and she was supposed to be very, very sweet. But that was very boring to me, to just be very passive and sweet all the time. So she got a little stronger over the years. But with Zoe, there was nothing. No drawing. They just wanted somebody who would be a buddy of Elmo. And that was much more difficult, because there was nothing to look at visually for me where I would come up with a character. But I went around and I watched other three-year-olds, because they wanted her to be three, and seeing how they acted, how they moved, how they talked, and came up with some catchphrases that at least gave me some basis, like [as Zoe] “Don’t joke me!” But they both changed, of course. The more I got to know who they were, the more they changed, if that makes any sense.

Prairie Dawn, performed by Brill, on ‘Sesame Street.’

youtube

Barretta: Pepe was written at first — he was supposed to be this guy who just wanted to be in show business but had a language barrier. But then over time, I don’t know how it happened, he just became this kind of ladies’ prawn, you know? He was very much into the women. And then women seemed to respond to him for whatever reason.

Brill: The accent. Has to be the Latin accent.

Pepe the King Prawn, performed by Barretta, in scenes from ‘Muppets in Space’ (1999)

youtube

Barretta: And I think he’s blunt, and he cuts through a lot of the crap. Now he’s much more confident and just loves his life, because he’s got women all over the world. He can go to any city and he has a place to stay. So yeah, he changed over time.

Goelz: We’ve done some of these characters for a long time, it’s like 40 years, so there’s also the element of trying to keep them interesting. And keeping them interesting to us means finding new wrinkles, new nuances to their character. With Bunsen Honeydew, he started out to be kind of a guy who misses the big picture because he’s so specific, and over the years I’ve added a lot of joy to him. He just loves the specificity so much, that I find ways to amuse myself with that while we’re shooting things.

Bunsen Honeydew, performed by Goelz, in a Muppet Labs sketch from ‘The Muppet Show’ (1976-1981).

youtube

If I were thinking about, from a viewer’s perspective, which Muppet changed the most over time, I would say Miss Piggy.

Oz: Yeah, probably so. But Piggy is a different situation. I’ve said this before: her beginnings were in the women’s liberation movement, just by accident. And I don’t consciously change things, but the characters don’t interact with the world — I interact with my world. And I don’t interact in such a way where I say, “Oh, I’ve got to put that in my character.” I think because of the zeitgeist, it just kind of happens without me knowing it. But Piggy’s a little different. Piggy is such a mess inside, that I think as the years go on, she gets more and more emotional baggage. And that’s mainly why she changes. She keeps being rejected by the frog. She keeps trying and cannot do the things that she wants to, like tell jokes or dance. So I think she has this emotional baggage that hurts her more and more and more, and as a result she covers more and more and more. That’s what I think.

There’s something Dave says in the film, and, Frank, you used it in the trailer: “To create a character, I find a flaw in myself, amplify it, and try to make it lovable.”

Oz: And by the way, Muppet Guys Talking is great because I never knew that! We found out about these things we didn’t know.

Goelz: I have an endless supply of characters.

Well it’s interesting because you think of these characters as lovable, but hearing you guys talk, some of them really come from this place of pain.

Oz: If not pain, seriousness. If you’re coming from a funny place, you’re screwed. It’ll never be funny.

Barretta: For me they have to be rooted in reality first, grounded so that they’re real to me. And then things can come on top of that to make them silly or fun or crazy. And actually, Frank gave me a note — and I don’t remember when it was, but Frank had told me to be very specific about the character’s background, where they come from, where they live, what kind of jobs they’ve had. Just very, very specific things about their life to create that backstory that only you need to know. But it feeds opportunities or scenes or whatever you’re doing with them.

Oz: And there are characters like Animal who’s just two-dimensional.

Barretta: Carl is one who doesn’t change or grow.

Big Mean Carl, performed by Barretta, on ‘Muppets Tonight’ (1996).

youtube

Fran, I want to ask you about being a woman —

Oz: Me?

Brill: You cannot answer that question!

Oz: I apologize, I’m sorry.

It’s funny that Frank jumped in because as Miss Piggy, he was the main female character on the Muppets.

Goelz: Had to have it all.

So this was pretty much the norm when I was growing up: I’d watch shows and most of the characters would be boys, who were defined by different traits — the smart one, the silly one, the leader — and then there’d be one girl who was defined by being the girl. The Muppets certainly have more nuance than that, but they also were a group of characters with very few women and very few female puppeteers. So Fran, what was it like for you coming into that dynamic?

Brill: It honestly never occurred to me that, oh, I’m the only female here. It really didn’t. They just needed a girl, so I just became another person who became a puppeteer who was doing the female [characters]. I didn’t feel a weight of responsibility of being all things to all women or anything like that. I remember, I guess it was on Muppet Show, where I had to be one of these — I call them the “ta-da women,” who go “Ta-daaa!” And I thought, yeah, this is kind of chauvinistic, it may not be PC — but it was a funny character. And they dressed her kind of sexy or whatever, and all she ever did was go, “Ta-daaa!” But I had a lot of fun doing that kind of a character. You can do so much with puppets that you can’t really do as an adult or an actress. You can get away with murder just being as stupid as you possibly can be, because it amuses you, and then hopefully it amuses everybody else. I’ve never thought about it before, but I don’t think I could do a character who I didn’t like, or think was funny or interesting myself.

Oz: No, I couldn’t either.

Jerry Nelson and Bill Barretta in a still from ‘Muppet Guys Talking’ (Photo: Vibrant Mud)

But Frank, did you feel a responsibility with Miss Piggy — I remember she was on the cover of The Saturday Evening Post, representing women in the workforce?

Oz: She was on tons of covers. She was huge. She was massive, yeah.

Miss Piggy, performed by Oz, and Kermit the Frog, performed by Henson, in ‘The Great Muppet Caper’ (1981).

youtube

Did you feel a responsibility of any kind to live up to a certain ideal with her?

Oz: If one lives up to anything external as a performer, you’re screwed. That’s not one’s job. That is not something that is my responsibility. My responsibility is to entertain and perform the script with my fellow performers and try to bring that alive. After that, it’s none of my business.

Brill: Exactly. If you thought about that, you’d get frozen. You can’t say, oh, I have a responsibility for all the females who are watching.

Oz: And that’s when things get really dull and didactic.

One of the highlights of the film is when you talk about all the insane situations that you found yourselves in, and that Jim put himself in, while performing the Muppets. I’m wondering if you have specific memories of a moment when you went, “Oh my god, I cannot believe I’m doing this right now.”

Oz: I do. I was 20, still too frightened to do voices. But there were two characters called Wilkins and Wontkins, and they were performers for these 8-second commercial spots, and they sold things – mainly coffee. So the idea was that Wilkins says something positive about Wilkins coffee: “Hey, don’t you love Wilkins coffee?” And Wontkins says something negative about the coffee, and then Wilkins does something violent to him, just destroys him. The first one I saw, he blows him away with a cannon. But we were doing a lot of them, and one was Wontkins saying, “Old Man Wilkins hired me to sell his crummy coffee.” And then, this is bizarre, but a match comes in and lights Wontkins in flames, and Wilkins says, “He just fired you, too!” So what happened was, there’s something called cold flame that magicians use, and you can put it on your finger and light it, and it will burn. But the actual finger won’t burn, the liquid around it burns. And so I had cold flame all over my arm to protect it, and behind the stage there, I had a big bucket full of water. And on the first take he lit the match, and the whole thing went “Whoosh!” and went right down my arm, and burned all my hair off! And of course, Jim said, “Okay, take two.”

Goelz: On Fraggle Rock, we had a head writer named Jerry Juhl. He was a longtime part of the Muppets, one of the first four people. And I had a character named Traveling Matt who went out into the field every week, exploring and misunderstanding what he saw. So Jerry would sit in his office and think of things for me to do. One week I was sent out to a chicken coop, and I was in a little closed room with a dozen chickens, which is not pleasant, on the ground, lying down under a moving blanket, working this character. And Jerry is back in his office, typing something else, and just smiling and thinking, “He’s probably in the chicken coop.” The next week I was in a little tiny pen, on the ground, next to a 700-pound sow. The zookeeper said, “If she starts to roll? Get out.” And then I found myself at the city dump covered in garbage — I’m covered in garbage, Matt is sitting on top of it. And then there was the roller coaster. It took 13 trips to do all the shots, and he sent me there because he knew I didn’t like roller coasters. And so again, he’s sitting in his office, working on something else, going [checks his watch, chuckles].

Did you have any experiences like that on the Muppet movies?

Barretta: Driving things is always a little uncomfortable, when you’re in the front [with the puppet] and there’s somebody driving from the back and they’re hiding back there. And you’re not sure how well they can really see, but you have to trust them.

The hazardous taxi scene from ‘The Great Muppet Caper,’ featuring Henson as Kermit, Oz as Fozzie, and Goelz as Gonzo and Beauregard.

youtube

Goelz: In The Great Muppet Caper, there was a shot where Beauregard was driving a taxi, and Kermit, Fozzie, and Gonzo were in the backseat. And the car came down a city street, went around in a loop, and then went right in the front door of a hotel.

Oz: Smashed right through it.

Goelz: Broke a breakaway door. And there was a driver wearing a Beauregard suit, so he was driving and he could sort of see through the mouth, and Frank, Jim, and I were on the floor of this little Austin taxi cab —

Oz: In the backseat.

Goelz: Well there’s no seat, it was taken out.

Oz: I mean supposedly in the backseat.

Goelz: Yeah, and the characters were working above us. So we’re sitting right on the floorboards with a little cushion. And the door was three inches wider than the car on each side. So he had to line it up just right, or we were going to hit the side of the door and just all get crushed, because we didn’t have seatbelts or anything like that. And he’s going like 25 miles an hour, doing this loop, skitting around in a circle. And he goes right in the door and he makes it — it was perfect. But I’m just sitting back there thinking, it’s Jim and Frank and I — what happens if he clips the door?

Frank, when you directed Muppets Take Manhattan, did you end up putting anyone in mortal danger?

Goelz: He put us through hell.

Oz: Not danger, hell.

Goelz: Yeah it was hell, it was different. In hell there’s no death. There’s no chance of getting killed in Frank’s movie and not having to work with him anymore.

Oz: What happened was, I had co-directed Dark Crystal, which means I was learning on the job while helping Jim direct his movie. And then I shot Muppets Take Manhattan next. So that was my first movie by myself. And I thought I had to do everything myself, and I thought I had to know everything — every first-time director’s mistake. And I was just so hard on these guys. Dave hated my guts.

Goelz: Oh, for years! Years. Still a little residual.

Oz: Because I did all my characters also. I was directing and doing my characters. And I also knew what these guys can do and what they can’t do. And so I pushed them, and of course it wasn’t very nice and I was an a**hole. That’s what happened. I put them through hell.

Brill: But you only asked for a couple of takes, right?

Oz: There was a time I was pretty intense. Very intense.

Brill: “Take 42! 43!”

The opening number from ‘The Muppets Take Manhattan’ (1984), directed by Oz.

youtube

What’s the most takes you ever remember doing?

Brill: Oh I don’t remember. But Frank does that — because you’re very self-critical of anything you do.

Oz: That’s true.

Brill: So with a Bert and Ernie skit, or something like that, you would say, “Oops, sorry, sorry guys, I didn’t get that.” I sometimes thought you did that just because you wanted to do it over and over again, because you still hadn’t achieved exactly what you wanted.

Oz: Oh yeah, I was terrible. The idea is, you have a playboard here [above the puppeteer’s head] and you can’t see. So the worst thing to do — you can’t have your head up. But if I’m doing a lousy take, I’m going like this. [Peeks head up from under the playboard.] It was terrible! But you could control a take that way. If I didn’t want them to accept my lousy take, I’d put my head in the shot. “Oh, I’m so sorry!”

Goelz: I worked with him for 44 years or so — this is the first time he’s admitted that.

‘Muppet Guys Talking’ is available for streaming on March 16 exclusively at MuppetGuysTalking.com.