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spnexploration · 1 year

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Collared part 28

Pairing: Dean x Reader eventually

Series summary: Sam and Dean save a woman from where she has been held as a slave by a witch. But things turn dark whenever they try to take her magic collar off, leaving them with a slave to look after and a curse to break.

Episode summary: Dean tries to help you with your anger.

Warnings: none particularly

Word count: 1.6k

Series masterlist | Supernatural writing masterlist

A/N: Had to queue this up while I'm away, so apologies for not updating the mastlist or providing links to other chapters yet. Fixed now!

Part 27 <- -> Part 29

Apparently, the yo-yo was back into angry zone today, Dean thought. He was surprised it hadn’t even been him who’d set you off. No, Sam had the honours this time, although Dean couldn’t really follow your logic as to why you were mad at him. He wondered if you could.

And once you were mad, you were mad. He thought there had been a brief glimmer of hope that you’d calmed down when you’d stormed down to your room and hid for an hour, but when you emerged Sam had made the clearly heinous mistake of asking if you were ok, and you were off again.

“What the hell does it look like, SAMUEL?”

Dean tried to choke back a snigger at you calling him Samuel, but unfortunately he drew too much attention to himself. “And YOU,” you yelled, rounding on Dean, “you think this is funny?!” It felt like school, like you were expecting a ‘no, miss’ answer.

You grabbed your food and marched off.

Dean and Sam exchanged looks. It was going to be one of those days.

---

You weren’t in your room when Dean next went to check on you. You weren’t in the kitchen, library, bathroom or lounge room. Now he was getting worried. He sent Sam looking for you too, worried this was going to be a repeat of last time you’d been in a different part of the bunker.

He found you in the garage. You had Baby’s hood up and were poking around, making frustrated sounds. Some of the other cars had their driver doors open, too. He sent Sam a quick text to say he’d found you.

“Taking up mechanics, are you?” Dean asked, casually crossing his arms and leaning against the wall.

“None of the cars will start!” You yelled at him angrily, head still buried under the hood.

“Did you reconnect the car battery like I showed you?”

“Yes!”

“Good job, you learnt well.”

“But it still won’t bloody start!”

“That’s probably because I disconnected all of the spark plugs.”

You came out from under the hood and marched towards him. “You. Did. WHAT?!”

“I disconnected the spark plugs,” he said calmly.

“WHY?” You were angry, but he was reassured to see that your pupils were the right size and you weren’t acting drunk or high.

“So you couldn’t start them.”

You clenched your hands into fists. “Am I your fucking prisoner? Is that it? Did you get the collar off so that I could have the illusion of freedom but not the actuality?!”

He uncrossed his arms. “No, I disconnected the spark plugs so that you wouldn’t crash and kill yourself trying to drive. I disabled Baby after I found you drunk, and the rest of them when I found you high. I’ve been reconnecting Baby every time I wanted to use her.”

“So I am your prisoner. Is Sam here under duress too?”

“Well, first of all Sam should know how to care for Baby and if he doesn’t then it’s his own fault for not paying attention to Dad and I trying to teach him. And secondly, no you’re not my prisoner. Name the place and I will take you there.”

“Oh, so I’m allowed supervised excursions but not to take myself there, is that it?” you asked sarcastically.

“In case you haven’t noticed, this is my car. Taking it without my permission would, in fact, be theft.”

You scowled at him. “FINE, can I borrow your stupid fucking car?”

“No.”

You gritted your teeth.

“I don’t think you’re safe to drive right now.”

“Oh, are you the world’s fucking expert on car safety?!”

“Show me you can make a calm, rational decision right now and I’ll reconsider. You’ve been screaming at me since I walked in, and I haven’t raised my voice once.”

He caught your punch as it sailed towards his face, his hand encircling your fist and capturing it. “This,” he said, shaking your fist slightly before releasing it, “is not making me think that you’re safe to drive.”

You glared but kept your hands by your sides, looking like you’d stopped. He didn’t buy it though, so he deliberately looked away from you, keeping watch on you out the corner of his eye. He saw your move, coming to attack him again. “Oh, no you don’t,” he said as he grabbed your wrists, spinning you around so that he had your back to his chest and he arms wrapped around your torso, pinning you there.

He waited a few moments, then said, “You finished?”

“Get off me!” you complained, struggling against his hold.

“You going to take another swing, or can we have a conversation like adults?”

“I said get off!!”

He slowly released you, and stepped back. You spun on your heels and glared at him, but didn’t try to hit him again.

“Come with me,” he said, gesturing out of the garage.

“What, am I in trouble? Is Sam the Principal’s Office?” Sarcasm still present, he noted.

“No, I have an idea for a more productive outlet for your anger than my face or my car.”

---

You reluctantly followed Dean to a part of the bunker you’d never been to before. You were a bit worried about what he was going to do, but you felt like you should follow him given you had just tried to punch him twice and he hadn’t returned the favour.

He opened the door to an old gym. This had been here the whole time?

He led you over shelves where he pulled off some boxing gloves. “These might be a bit big for you and they’re pretty old fashioned, but they’ll do.” He started to attach them to your hands and you let him.

You followed him mutely to the punching bag in the centre of the room. You had started to calm down a little on the walk here, feeling embarrassed about trying to punch a freaking monster hunter.

But underneath the surface, the same emotions that led you to do it in the first place were still there. Your frustrations with yourself, fear of Azaneth, boredom and monotony of life in the bunker, and anger at Dean for disabling the cars to trap you. Just thinking about it brought your anger back to the surface.

“Hit it,” Dean said, holding it steady.

“What are you, my personal trainer?” you sassed at him.

“I’m not kidding Y/N, hit it. You’ll feel better.”

Feeling like a fool, you took a bit of a swing at the bag.

“Hit it like you mean it.” You tried again, only slightly harder. “Hit it like it’s me,” Dean said with an irritating grin.

You punched it. Hard.

“There we go,” he laughed.

Now that you started, you didn’t want to stop. You hit it again, and again, and again, and again. Your arms started to burn and you kept going, getting your frustrations out.

You started to get tired, but you could also feel the flame of your anger starting to extinguish. Your blows slowed down.

“You wanna tell me what brought this all on?” Dean asked.

“You disabled the cars.”

‘You were angry before you even knew I’d disabled the cars. Go deeper, Y/N.”

“You’re treating me like a child, again.”

“I’ll pay that one slightly, but I don’t think that’s your whole problem.” Every time he argued back, you had a small spurt of energy to keep going on the punching bag.

“I can’t even buy my own bloody clothes or sit on the fucking furniture. I’m useless!”

“I didn’t know there was a global shortage of people available to fulfill our chair-sitting needs,” Dean said with a smirk.

You punched the bag near his face, “Har har.”

You took a few breaths, the next answer not coming with the same anger as before, “I’m the reason you’re not out there hunting things. I’m in the way.”

Dean let go of the punching bag and reached out to your hands. You looked down at the floor until he brought his hand to your chin, gently nudging it until you looked up.

“I know we're called hunters sweetheart, but the only reason we hunt things is to save people.”

“You’re not exactly saving people when I’m in the way, are you?” you said bitterly.

“Are you not a person?”

“You know what I mean, Dean!”

“I know that what you mean is that you are discounting yourself, again. I know that what you mean is that you think you’re not worthy of being saved, worthy of time. But you are, Y/N, you are. I would do everything I have done for you again, in a heartbeat. No regrets.”

You started to cry. He reached out and pulled you to him, wrapping his arms around you in a hug. You sobbed into his chest, weeks of emotions seeming to come pouring out.

After a minute or two, he manoeuvred you so that he could reach and take off your boxing gloves, while you stayed against his chest, still crying. It did feel better to have them off. He held you again, sometimes rubbing his hand on your back gently.

Eventually, your sobs settled down. You stood up away from him, wiping your eyes. You could see a wet patch on his shirt. Whoops.

“You feeling better?” Dean asked gently. You nodded. “Good. Next time you’re feeling those big emotions, you come find me and we’ll come here and you can box or even try out any of the other equipment. You don’t have to try to find ways to deal with this alone, ok?” You nodded again.

He put the boxing gloves back on the shelf and turned back you. “And sweetheart?” You looked up at him. “Don’t try and steal my car.”

You laughed.

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funnywormz · 2 years

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whats ur opinion on jean vicquemare? like. his relationship w harry n whatnot

ohhh jean is such a fascinating and complex character........ likewise with his relationship with harry. i am gonna put my thoughts under the cut so i don't annoy anyone too much with a long rant lol

i think jean, much like many other characters in disco elysium, is a shitty person but not without good intentions. he's got a pretty abrasive and callous personality at times, and we do get hints that he's harmed and mistreated people through his role at the rcm. but regardless of that, he's still a deeply fascinating character. in himself, he can be relatable and pitiable and unintentionally hilarious to me at times. but a lot of my interest in him comes from his dynamic with harry.

to me ive always interpreted his relationship with harry as a platonic but nonetheless deeply close and codependent one, at least before martinaise......... i think that maybe jean once looked up to harry, and even when he realises what harry is actually like, he still admires his can-opening abilities and tenacity. over the years they would have had to have a deep understanding of one another to solve so many cases together. jean does seem to genuinely care abt harry.

jean has clearly grown burnt out and tired with dealing with harry over all of these years. but i also think that at least harry's dumpster fire of a life/personality was something that was familiar to him, something he understood. throughout the game, the player has the potential to make harry "better", to lead him to choices which are better for himself and others.

it's clear that jean believes harry's behaviour in-game is a passing phase/completely fake, which is interesting. obviously it's probably a logical inference based on things he's seen harry do before, he knows that harry will go through phases of trying to get better only to crash and burn, and he knows that harry is capable of being manipulative. but i think it's also a form of wishful thinking.

a drunk, unhinged harrier is something jean knows very well, and it's the "version" of harry that he's always seen. this "new" harry, while still being the same person, is also very different. he doesn't recognise jean, he doesn't laugh at his jokes, he doesn't react as intended to jean's insults or jabs at him. he's also doing better (although this depends on how you play the game ofc).

i can't help but wonder how that makes jean feel. probably a bit left behind. harry gets to completely shed his old life, to move on and become something better, while jean is stuck dealing with all of the bullshit and emotional baggage the old harry left him with. i doubt that it feels very fair from his perspective. it probably feels like harry ditched him, left him holding the bag and bounced.

i also think that there's an aspect of mourning to their relationship now. the old harry was shitty, sure, but he was jean's friend and they understood each other very deeply. now that harry is just. gone. he's basically dead. but also harry is still there right in front of him, and he's different now, he's better, and yet jean can't help but miss the old harry, feel like he lost him. he's mourning someone who's still alive. someone who's right there in front of him. the old harry, and all of their memories together, are gone forever, and yet he can't rlly process it properly because harry is still there. fucked up.

those are basically my thoughts abt their relationship. i think it was deeply unhealthy for both of them and it's probably better for jean's mental health to have a less toxically codependent friendship with harry. but nonetheless there was a strong friendship there which is gone now........... sorry these thoughts aren't very well collected or articulated lol i hope you enjoyed reading them anyways

#jean vicquemare #disco elysium #ask #anon ask

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secretceremonials · 1 year

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i analysed the cassandra myth from a modern english and welsh legal perspective because i’m drunk, bored, and procrastinating (maybe this will be a good revision exercise?

Apollo v Cassandra: Breach of contract

i want to preface this by saying that i don’t fully study contract until next year, so i’m not going into detail here. apollo and cassandra do enter a verbal contract to provide the gift of prophecy for the service of sex (if we go with that version, which is my go to), so cassandra may well be liable for her breach. i would argue that this contract had unfair terms however, making it void to the extent of those terms. again, i don’t know enough about this to say for sure.

Cassandra v Apollo: maliciously administering poison

i don’t see any reason why apollo’s saliva that causes casssandra not to be believed can’t be interpreted as poison (we have case law of HIV infected semen being treated in this way). following this logic, his spitting can be viewed as maliciously administering poison, contrary to either section 23 or 24 of the offences against the person act 1861. for a section 23 offence, the defendant must intend to cause grievous bodily harm or endanger life. i’m not really sure that applies here, although cassandra’s mental state is possibly bad enough to constitute grievous bodily harm, it may be difficult to prove that apollo intended to cause this. section 24 would therefore be easier. this section simply requires intention to injure, aggrieve, or annoy. intention to punish would absolutely fall under here, i think.

failing that, spitting on people without consent is a battery, so we definitely have a civil route if not a criminal one. it is worth noting that it absolutely is possible to pursue an action on the basis of the intentional infliction of emotional distress. injury does not have to be physical.

Cassandra v Ajax: rape or battery, depending on your favoured myth

In some versions of the myth, Ajax rapes Cassandra in the temple of athena as the city falls. in others, he drags her away in a massive breach of sanctuary laws. which version you prefer will alter what wrong has been committed.

If she is raped, it is... rape. crazy, i know. the statutory definition of rape is the penile penetration of another without consent or without a reasonable belief in their consent (sexual offences act 2003, section 1), which is what occurs here. they have sex, cassandra absolutely does not consent. easy.

if she isn’t raped, there is still a wrong, albeit probably a tort rather than a crime. the tort of battery is committed when an individual intentionally (or recklessly) touches another without consent. obviously this happens here. assault is likely as well. this occurs when the defendant does something to make the victim think they are about to directly and involuntary apply force on their body. this probably happens, but we don’t have enough detail to know for sure. we can maybe convict him of a crime instead, but this depends on what injuries cassandra acquires. i think it is likely enough that she would suffer actual bodily harm (a bruise or worse- we know the attack was violent), but grievous bodily harm is unlikely. If she suffers actual bodily harm, this is common assault, contrary to s47 of the offences against the person act 1861.

Cassandra v Agamemnon: unlawful imprisonment

because slavery is illegal and i am completely ignoring historical context here, agamemnon most likely unlawfully imprisons cassandra. false imprisonment is confining an individual to a restricted area without their consent and without lawful justification. the only issue with proving this would be that i’m not sure if cassandra is really confined to a limited space? but presumably she has to stay around agamemnon? i think it counts.

Cassandra v Agamemnon: rape

it goes without saying that, in modern law, slavery is illegal. so, for the sake of simplicity, i’m going to continue arguing that cassandra’s enslavement is akin to unlawful imprisonment. obviously, keeping someone as a concubine without consent is very illegal, but we’ll ignore that for now.

bearing that in mind, it is probable (but not certain) that Agamemnon rapes cassandra. As we have already seen, the definition of rape in the sexual offences act 2003 is the penile penetration of another without their consent, or without a reasonable belief in consent. as cassandra does, in some versions, have children, I am going to assume that her and agamemnon have sex. so now the question is consent.

In section 75 of the sexual offences act, evidential presumptions about non-consent pop up in some cases. the effect of these presumptions is that non-consent is assumed, unless the defendant can provide some evidence that is “More than merely fanciful and speculative” that the alleged victim did in fact consent. one case where this occurs is when the alleged victim was wrongfully imprisoned by the defendant at the time of the incident. this means that agamemnon would have to provide some evidence of cassandra’s consent before a full trial would occur. this isn’t a particularly high bar, but it is something.

we don’t know enough about cassandra’s state of mind to know whether she consented (she did consent to the marriage in Euripides’ trojan women, and until 1992, marriage was taken as an express form of consent- not super relevant, but interesting anyway), and honestly, given the context, agamemnon may have had a reasonable (in his culture) belief in her consent. obviously now we would not assume that a woman would consent to a man who took her from her home and family, but bear in mind that this is the bronze age. i’m also not sure if we should apply the reasonableness standard of a reasonable man today or a reasonable one then? recklessness is also subjectively measured now anyway, so he may not even have been reckless as to her non-consent.

Cassandra v Clytemnestra: murder

okay, this one is probably the easiest. In (basically) every version of the myth, Clytemnestra kills Cassandra. murder is the killing of another with the intent to cause death or grievous bodily harm. Clytemnestra intends to kill Cassandra. She does so. It’s murder, she will really struggle to access a defence here. There is no self-defence or necessity present. There may be some grounds for a partial defence of provocation as she is faced with her sexual rival, but I honestly doubt there is enough of this to warrant a manslaughter verdict.

Conclusion

Cassandra deserves a break. i hope you enjoyed my silly little law exercise :)

#this is really stupid #and i think it says a lot about me that this is what i ended up doing when i was three parts gone #law school #law student #cassandra of troy #cassandra #greek mythology

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piratewithvigor · 2 years

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Journey Out Of Darkness: The History Of Kane

Chapter 17: On Purpose

Peanut butter can cure a lot of things, but not death

Last Chapter ~ AO3

Taglist: @the--blackdahlia @coffee-n-bagels-comic-universe @wendigoruble @old-no7 @kayfabebabe

Abel wasn’t sure exactly how much they’d been paying Mrs. Hill. He’d never really asked. It hadn’t seemed like a polite thing to do. Given how Margaret was acting after she was gone, it was likely a fair bit. She’d been doing all the work keeping the house in working order, after all. Without that extra expense, Abel had figured they would be saving the extra money to keep the ranch going longer. He didn’t know much about saving, but the conversations he overheard made that seem like the most logical choice. He must’ve been wrong, because Margaret started spending like there was no tomorrow.

Not food, of course. That had been Mrs. Hill’s job and Margaret didn’t seem exactly like she was well-suited to Mrs. Hill’s job. No, she was buying liquor. She’d done away with the flask and now usually had a bottle with her at all times. There was no hiding from her anymore.

The first few days after she left weren’t as bad as Abel had expected. Meals weren’t made anymore and they weren’t being eaten as a family, but he still had ingredients and as long as those held out, he’d be okay. A loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter went a long way. He kept them in his backpack just in case Margaret went into his room while he was at school and found them. Some of the kids found it a little weird that he was just dipping bites of bread into the jar instead of making a sandwich, but when Abel pointed out that he wouldn’t have to wash a knife or a plate as a result, he was heralded to be the most brilliant third-grader to ever live. He never dreamt of admitting it was because eating one bite at a time felt far more filling than two whole slices at once.

By the end of the fourth day, the bread ran out. Red still showed no signs of waking up. Abel just had to keep praying that he might wake up before the peanut butter ran out too.

–

Somewhere in all that praying, someone must have been listening. Or something was. At the end of the week, Red woke up.

“You’ve got the constitution of a twenty-year-old, my friend. I don’t know how else to explain it,” Doc Johnston said, standing up from examining just about every part of Red there was to examine.

“And I bet he wants it back, right, Doc?” Red joked, his voice raspy from underuse, but every bit as jovial.

“Joke if you want, but you really dodged a bullet, Red.”

“I know.”

He was pleased to be awake, and even more pleased when he heard about just how long he’d been out, but he couldn’t exactly ignore the obvious. He wasn’t a young man anymore and he was trying to pretend the years hadn’t been as plentiful as they were. His time, however long it may be, was going to draw to a close faster than he knew. He couldn’t waste it standing over burnt bridges and broken fences. The time could only really be used to make peace. Which would start with calling Aurora…

And end with dealing with Margaret.

He loved her, he was certain of that. Enough to have sacrificed his relationship with Aurora for her was a question he’d be pondering on his death bed, but he did love her. However, he didn’t, and never could love her enough to be entirely blind to what she had been doing and how she had been treating people. Mrs. Hill had always just been help to her, never family, and Abel… oh, he couldn’t excuse that either. She’d been distant at best, cruel at worst to him. Never the mother he needed. Abel was at a fragile place in his life and a wrong word or two now could have some terrible implications later on.

After Doc Johnston had left, Margaret came in to see him and it didn’t take a genius to riddle out the reason behind the stumble in her walk and why her eyes weren’t completely open. She was drunk and probably had been for a while.

“I’m so happy you’re awake,” she smiled, sitting at the foot of the bed.

“I am too. We need to have a serious talk.”

That seemed to make her droop a little.

“You shouldn’t be getting yourself worked up, Red. You’re still sick; you need to be resting.”

“I’ve been resting for two goddamn weeks now, think it’s been. I ain’t even sure. Can’t be wastin’ anymore time, so we need to straighten out this thing between you and Abel. Can you bring him in here?”

“Doubt he’ll come. He’s started some new club at school, must be tuckering him out. He gets home and goes right to bed and sleeps until morning. Come morning, he’s chomping at the bit to get out and get to school.”

“I see.” Margaret believed her own words, Red was fairly certain. It was a convincing story and told her what she wanted to hear, so she’d probably never questioned it. He couldn’t help but hear the distinct lack of mealtimes in that schedule. “Well, we can figure out your side, then I can talk to him when he wakes up.”

“I don’t have a side, Red.”

“You do. The boy’s been livin’ here half a year and you still don’t have a kind word to say about him.”

“There’s not much kind to say.”

“Sure there is. He’s a sweet kid who does his chores and jokes, but doesn’t sass. He’s curious about what we do here and always willin’ to learn, but y’ain’t bothered to teach.”

“Willing to learn, my ass.”

“Language.”

She rolled her eyes and it looked as if she was about to take a swig from a bottle before remembering she’d set it down.

“He’s never wanted to learn. Every time I’ve tried to teach, he fights me on it.”

“Are you teachin’? Or are you yellin’ at him every time you take a sip?”

Her eyes darkened a little.

“That’s not the problem here.”

“Ain’t it? Been shirkin’ off bein’ a Mom in favor of your flask. Have been these whole six months.”

“I’ve been doing both of us a favor, it turns out.”

“Hell do you mean, a favor?”

“You remember the cop that came here a few days before the accident? Left behind that big book with the boy?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“I read it.”

“Now what would you go and do that for?”

“Damn good thing I did. The boy’s a witch. He’s been cursing us since day one.”

“Margaret, you need to stop with the drinking. You know how crazy that sounds, right? Ain’t no such thing as curses.”

“You need to read the book! You’ll see. Everyone in that family’s died young, ever since they came over from Europe. Them and everyone they get close to get cursed. Why do you think you fell? You’ve been riding since you learned to walk, never fell once. Then he gets here and you fall so hard, you’re in a coma for a week. It’s us or him, Red. The whole family’s dead; there’s no one to miss him.”

That was enough. Red grabbed her arm tightly.

“We’re his family. I don’t know what you’re thinkin’ of Margaret, but you need to stop right now. You need to get yourself sober so we can talk about this rationally like adults. He’s a child and there’s no such thing as curses.”

“Let go of me, Red!”

“You’re goin’ for the bottle again and I can’t have it!”

She struggled against his grip hard. He might have been just waking up, but Red had held tough against horses and cattle and Margaret couldn’t match their kind of strength by a long way. The advantage she did have was two arms free of wires and IVs. An advantage she used by clubbing Red over the head with something. It could have been a bottle or a bat or an ax, he wouldn’t have known the difference. He just felt the impact over his skull and everything going black.

–

When he woke up, the room was dark. At the very least, hours had passed. At the most… he didn’t have a guess. His room had been filled with a constant series of beeps since he’d gotten injured, but Doc Johnston had taken away most of them. Everything except the IVs and the heart monitor. One single beep in the room. It couldn’t overpower the soft screams he heard from outside.

Abel.

Blood dribbled from his arms as he pulled out the IVs and the beep of the heart monitor was replaced with a sustained one, indicating there was nothing beating underneath the sensor. He felt wobbly getting up, but every scream he heard urged him forward. He wasn’t sure what was happening outside, but his gun cabinet being unlocked wasn’t a good sign. Nor was the missing rifle from inside.

Near enough to the front door, he could hear more than the screams. There was some kind of impact before each one. Coming from the tractor barn. An old building they hardly used outside of storage. In comforted him that the animals weren’t being hurt, but unnerved him even more that there was a multitude of tools in there. Any one of them could be used to seriously hurt someone with the right intent.

Unsurprisingly, she’d taken the time to lock this door. It was a stiff enough door to keep him out, but not so stiff that he couldn’t hear everything going on inside. A short, sharp whirring sound, a snap, a scream. A pattern that repeated and had been repeating for God only knew how long.

“Margaret? Margaret, open the door!”

“Go away, Red!”

The pattern sounded again and he heard the tell-tale crack. A whip. Oh God, she was whipping him.

The walk from bed had already taken so much out of him, but it didn’t stop him from shoving his shoulder against the door. It moved, but the lock hung tough.

The pattern stopped momentarily before a new sound replaced it. Abel coughing, choking, making a guttural noise that was unmistakably a struggle for air.

The rush of adrenaline coming from bed had been nothing to the one that drove him to trying to kick in the door. It was all the more startling when the lock gave way and moonlight flooded the barn. It fell on Margaret and followed her hands up the whip she was gripping to the beam it was wrapped around and then down to Abel struggling, whip around his neck and feet desperately trying to reach the ground again. She was hanging him and judging by his noises, the time he had was running out.

Red lowered his shoulder and ran into his wife, knocking her to the ground and losing her grip on the whip. Abel fell with her, laying still.

He was out of the beam of moonlight, but Red could still see him in the shadows and crawled over, frantically untying it from where it had begun cutting into his skin. Abel could barely gasp for air when Red pulled away the blood-slick whip.

“Should have left it.”

He turned to see Margaret pointing the missing rifle at his head.

“Margaret, sweetheart, put that down. We need to calm down… not do anything crazy.”

“I need to end it here, Red. I need to end it.”

She was barely able to stand without wobbling. She was even more drunk than she’d been hours ago, possibly on the verge of passing out.

“End what, Margaret?”

“The curse! The curse he put on us! He dies and the curse dies with him!”

“Come on honey, put the gun down, we can talk about this.”

“Just read the book and you’ll see I’m doing the right thing.” She turned the gun around and pointed it at Abel’s head. “I’m about to do the world a favor, believe me.”

She pulled the trigger

The gun jammed.

“Fuck,” she hissed, yanking the barrel back to check it. Red took this moment to try and charge her. His impact set off the rifle.

Something hit him in the chest. If his ribs weren’t cracked before, they were now.

Margaret stared at him, at the softball-sized hole in his chest, gushing blood, and fell to her knees.

“Oh god, Red? I didn’t even pull the trigger, I…”

She turned to Abel, eyes rimmed with the tears she’d been crying off and on for hours. “Damn you… this is your fault.”

He couldn’t breathe. He could barely think. He was going on instinct alone when he scrambled from his spot on the floor to a little corner behind the stored hay bales. Margaret was patting the ground, hunting for wherever she’d dropped the rifle to.

“Where are you, you goddamn brat? I’ll kill you! You hear me, I’ll kill you!”

Abel curled up against the back wall of the barn, hugging his knees to his face and rocking lightly, biting hard into the meat of his palm to stifle his breathing. He tasted blood, but it still didn’t hurt. The whipping hadn’t hurt either. It’d just been… scary. She was so angry. She still was. He was just grateful she’d given up on the whip when Red had come in.

“You did this to us. You hear me, boy? You did this to us. I hope you burn in hell.”

Her voice didn’t sound quite as angry anymore. It sounded more… sad. Upset. The last thing he expected.

Abel moved from his position carefully, trying to stay out of sight. He found a little peephole between the bales, showing Margaret sitting on the barn floor in the moonlight. The barrel of the rifle was in her mouth.

Abel was sort of glad the fire had happened at night. After seeing Margaret’s brains splattered across the barn floor like that, he wasn’t sure he could have handled seeing Ma die too.

#Journey Out Of Darkness #Kane #WWE #WWF #Writing #Fanfic #as promised a much longer chapter this week #now school has started and I don't know just how much homework I'll be having #so as a result the weekly updates may change #we'll see when I start getting assigned homework

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makeroomforthejolyghost · 1 year

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right so that moment has passed and now it turns out i do want to discuss my thoughts in some more detail lmao

like ok to be fair i'm an outsider to all this; i am not and never have been active in cpunk or -adjacent spaces. and i definitely feel like i have not seen the epicenter of this whole drama, since like. in browsing random disability blogs i have in the last week encountered multiple people whose posts for months have been 90% complaining about This Shit, and yet i have not encountered very much of the Shit in question at all?

like. i've seen a whole bunch of posts that go something like, "i can't believe abled NDs* have the gall to call us ableist bullies just for saying that chronic illness and autism are different experiences!", or like, "no matter how clear i make it that i'm talking about physical disability, all my posts end up with a billion notes tagged 'adhd' or 'depression' or whatever. why they gotta make everything about them! let us keep something to ourselves for once!", &/or c. usually in that order. but like... without the obvious middle stage where they argue on their blogs with actual objectors to this "let this be just for us" plea. so like maybe they've deleted most of those posts, or maybe the central example is on some cpunk bnf's blog which i just haven't happened to click on yet. idk. but my point is

that from my outsider's perspective it feels like a huge and sudden escalation? to have gone from "ugh not every post has to be about you; read the actual words i wrote, don't just pretend they said something else that you like better!" to, like, "in case you needed more proof that all abled NDs are ableist scum" rallying-the-troops type posts

and wow! i hate it! i cannot actually imagine a level of vitriol from The Other Side that would justify this bullshit.

i want, like?--i sorta hope that somewhere i've missed there's like, a long manifesto from the aforementioned (hypothetical) cpunk bnf about why they and their friends have suddenly decided that neurodivergent people don't count as disabled. even if i probably wouldn't agree with it, i'm still like. that should exist. you can't just start Asserting stuff like that, at people you know will take offense, without explaining anywhere why you've adopted these different discourse norms.

(or i mean--you can, but if you're not trying to escalate conflict then you really shouldn't.)

but.......... also it makes sense. not morally! but. logically. it seems to be a common problem with any echo-chambery discursive space? i remember when i was ~18-21 and much more Online, i would drink some shiny new kind of SJ koolaid and then forget within weeks that people who hadn't drunk that koolaid didn't know what it tasted like.

e.g. after that post that's like (i'm paraphrasing) "the expression 'boys will be boys' should be replaced with 'bad parenting leads to assholes'" got super popular, for years whenever i heard someone say "boys will be boys" i assumed they were either endorsing or deliberately mocking the sexist baggage with which i associate that phrase. when... no, pal; it's a common phrase. you have zero information about what it signifies in random strangers' minds

so like, i'm guessing that's what's gone on here? like like like, backing up a bit: i sympathize with and frequently feel for myself these people's rancor about mental illness (and, though to a much lesser extent, autism and adhd) being the public face of disability. and particularly the thing where like--

ten or fifteen years ago, when i first encountered awareness-raising activism about mental illness, a lot of it took the form of "you wouldn't download a car"-type comparisons with injury, illness, and/or central examples of physical disability. as in, like, rebuffing "your [mental illness accommodation] is just a crutch!" with "imagine telling someone on actual crutches that they shouldn't rely on a crutch" &c.

when what their intuition told them was about physical vs. mental or visible vs. invisible illness was really more about acute vs. chronic illness.**

and like a. this mistake is very annoying, since it leads to a lot of mentally ill/invisibly ill people assuming incorrectly that physically disabled/visibly ill people don't get doubted and belittled the same way they do, when uhhhh guess again.

but also b. it means that while from my perspective it seems super mega obvious that mental illness is the public face of disability in 2023, many people who care a whole lot about activist efforts on behalf of mental illness but who don't know much about other kinds of disability activism still, erroneously, inexplicably think that the reason they don't see as many campaigns like this for other kinds of disability is because physically disabled people are seen/accepted already and don't need to fight for that the way mentally ill people did/still do.

when like.

...this is such a tiny example but i'm bitter about it so: the other day on my university campus i saw a fundraising booth about support for mental illness. you can't log in to our canvas page without seeing a mental health hotline pop up in the corner. nearly every professor i've had here has at some point gone on a tangent about how important it is to support mental health. many times we've had little impromptu class discussions about the unique struggles faced by people with (always this phrase) "invisible illnesses like depression." my school is really really loud about how much it cares about student mental health.*** and i don't think any of these people know that when i encounter these pronouncements i feel like my own experience has been overlooked

so yes, ok? it pisses me off also when mentally ill/neurodivergent awareness-raisers, activists, and people generally think it's like. an underdog move. punching up, if you will. to reblog posts about chronic pain/other phsyical disability and add "this can apply to mental illness, too!" as if that's a mindblowing revelation to us stuckup, old-guard invalids when like. y-yeah, we know that mental illness also sucks. many of us (raises hand) experience it ourselves, and even if we haven't? we too have seen the internet. the mental illness experience is way more legible to the general public than ours is, so it's really fuckin annoying when people co-opt descriptions of our experience to be about theirs.

but like. the fact you (a physically disabled blogger) have now had this conversation with your (also physically disabled and blogging) friends doesn't mean you get to treat people who weren't in on that conversation like hopeless reactionaries??? this is like me in 2012 seeing the term "friend zone" as a red flag no matter who flew it, even though 2011 me had used that term nonjudgmentally and had no inkling of its entitled/sexist undertones.

like i can remember the exhaustion of communicating with waves of internet strangers who can't be bothered to backread your blog a few pages before commenting on some viral post but. th-that is the thing that's occurring here?? multiple waves of people who, each, individually, see something that without context looks inflammatory. not one wave of pigheads who refuse to listen.

*their term, not mine. don't like this at all myself. see previous post

**though to be fair, i don't doubt that plenty of otherwise-healthy people have been accused of "attention seeking" even for, like, a sprained ankle. or for still audibly sniffling when they come back to work after having had the flu. some people are just....? dicks? just dicks. if you can imagine a bad behavior, it's probably common somewhere.

****does this decrease the rate of mental illness in our student body? hahahaha no, probably not

#things i should hate thursdays

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bytheanchor · 2 years

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@nctafraid continued | [ FROM ] |

Sebastian liked to think he was well versed Hunter’s snark by now. After all those years, of first being friends in Dalton, and then eventually reconnecting, hooking up, and finally starting to date, many many months after it, he had as good a grasp in Hunter speech and mood as it was probably possible to get. He knew when his words were meant for dry humor, when they were mindless banter, flirting, when he was actually just annoyed at something else, when they were meant to get to him because Hunter wanted to have wild sex, or start a competition that would lead to wild sex, and when they were meant to get to him because Hunter was feeling specially sadistic that morning and looking for a fight. The answer caught him by surprise, as did the look in his face. It gave him pause, and he looked back at him as though the almost accusation from Hunter had very suddenly and briskly reminded Sebastian that he was extremely uncomfortable with expressing these things, himself.

“Yeah, trust me, I’m as surprised as anyone really.” He stretched his back, and shrugged, looking very much like an unbothered cat, before he rested back with his side against the couch’s backrest, his bicep propped on the top of it, and his face on his hand. He sighed. “We’ve been through this, haven’t we? I don’t do this,” he stated, motioning between the two of them, meaning relationships, “because I hate the hypocritical, pedantic, assholes, who get in it just so they can tell other people how to live their life, and shame everyone else, while also fucking everything that moves when none of their haughty peers is looking. And to be perfectly honest, I never thought I’d be willing to give up nearly daily casual sex for it, that I’d be remotely interested in doing so, so why half ass it at all? Better not get in, in the first place. And yet, here I am.” He pointed out, looking at him, now, quirking an eyebrow.

"Perhaps you can use that big brain of yours ─── if it hasn’t been completely stripped off of rational thinking yet by wearing that uniform, that is ──── ” he teased a little, though his tone was flat, just trying to lighten the mood, “to draw your own conclusions on why that is the case.” He dared. They didn’t trade empty words, but this wasn’t about that. This was just a logical conclusion. Something he felt Hunter would appreciate as he did. “I’ve tragically crippled my hook up pool for your hot ass. If that doesn’t tell you that I’m on your team, then I don’t know what would.” He threw his hands, “so, as much as my thick skin doesn’t care about your snark, do tell me, either way: is this something I need to get us both drunk enough for you to tell me and for me to properly listen to whatever it is, or is this the kind of something you’d like to get over by getting on top of my sexy sexy self?”

Sebastian really didn’t care most of the time, when Hunter was clearly lashing out because of something else, he was hardly sensitive. But it didn’t seem to him, either, that this was at all productive. Hunter wasn’t exactly the kind to let off steam, he was more of a hoarder, really. Only way past it was usually through it, and Sebastian much preferred it when he didn’t have to dodge Hunter’s insults, whether they were purposeful or not.

#in: seb doesn't do comfort without mocking #but also he thinks logic is much better than sugary words #and he is right #nctafraid #nctafraid: hunter #𝕔𝕝𝕠𝕤𝕖𝕕 ↬ do you stay up late; just so you don’t dream? (detectanprotect)

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lovesickramblingsofmine · 10 months

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Once more into the fray...

Mind is doing its 'lil jigg again, making me overanalyze and overthink things. I wonder if maybe I'm simply love-starved, if that's why my mind keeps deciding I should catch these half-crushes.

Before I get into the details. I shall define what I mean by a half-crush, I'm not actually into these people, I think. These half-crushes happen when I for whatever reason begin to suspect that someone may have some kind of feelings for me. I'm fundamentally aware that in actuality it's highly unlikely that there are any feelings from the other person's side. Since my mind has decided that one of my friends might like me, it then gets this somewhat awkward feeling while interacting with them. I don't change my way of interacting with them, but I read into their actions and get this somewhat excited feeling about interacting with them.

Now that we now what kind of half-crushes I'm catching, I shall explain what's going on right now.

I've this friend, and she's a great friend, one of the first people I came out to and one of the top two most supportive about it. She also used to be a classmate and I had a crush on her when we were both like 14-15, though to be fair I had crushes on almost all the girls I interacted with regularly so that means nothing. I've been entirely over her for years, and I really don't think we would make a good couple, probably. Add to this the fact she's in a long-term relationship with her boyfriend, who she lives with. And the fact I'm a trans woman, pre-transition but still, and for all I know she's into guys. Altogether I've never entertained seeing her in any light besides that of a friend. "She's a good friend but I wouldn't want to date her" I would have said a week ago, and I'm not saying I now disagree, I don't know.

So what happened with this friend? Well there was this gathering, with four friends and I, at my home. We ate good food, drank some alkohol and hung out, it was great. In the last, roughly, hour of the night I had two thirds of a wine bottle since no one else liked the wine. Unsurprisingly for the light-weight that I am I got quite drunk. But this isn't actually the part that matters. The thing that made my mind flip out was the fact that this friend got touchy, with me specifically, she grabbed my arm multiple times during the night and held it for multiple seconds each time. Something she has never done before. Now the logical reasoning here, which I myself came up with while being the drunkest I've ever been (not saying much), is just that she gets touchy when wine-drunk and I was the only one within reach. But another part of my mind is naturally spinning up a storm, maybe I'm just touch-starved.

What past happenings is my mind latching onto? For one her boyfriend seems to see me as a bit of a threat, which when I joked about it at one point she basically said "yeah, it sort of seems that way". She also greeted me with "hey hottie" at one point when I was to drive her and her boyfriend somewhere, which I pretended not to notice because it made me somewhat uncomfortable since I have zero interest in stepping on her boyfriend's toes. Regardless of the consequences, I had no interest in being even remotely flirty with someone who is taken. She has also complained about her boyfriend to me multiple times, and at at least one time said I'm more interesting to talk to. Altogether somewhat uncomfortable behavior, which I've shared with a mutual friend who agreed.

Like, she's cool but I hope she doesn't have feelings for me. For the sake of her boyfriend and the fact that I doubt I would even enjoy dating her. Another excuse I'm lathing onto is that maybe she is just beginning to see me as more of a fellow girl, maybe this is just the way girls are and she is including me in it. And I'm unused to it since I've been raised male. I hope that is the case. But my mind is spinning, imagining a future I don't think I would even actually like where in multiple years we end up together. Altogether this is all very inconvenient, I hope my mind gets over this half-crush.

She is also planning to get me shit-faced drunk at some point, or at least she was during the gathering. For the simple reasoning that it would be fun and I haven't had that experience yet. A part of me fears she is trying to get me drunk with some ulterior motive, though I don't think she would ever do that.

And thus, my ramblings conclude for the moment, I'm very tired. It'll be interesting to read this back later.

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t-t-t-t-twain · 1 year

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Week 7

This week, we read the first half of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn the sort-of sequel to Tom Sawyer. This time around there is much more critical discussion related to this novel and it makes for a much more interesting read. There are tons of things to talk about such as dialect, race, bad faith, satirizing female sentimentality, marriage hierarchy, feuds, and general internal moral conflict. I would like to focus on one particular character and his relation to poverty and bad faith: Pap Finn.

Pap Finn is the worst person in the whole book. He is self-centered, racist, drunk, abusive to Huck, and a leech to everyone else, you name any particular evil and that’s Pap Finn. Low-down, ornery, awful. One of the many past times of Pap Finn, other than taking advantage of people’s kindness so that he can get drunk and use his kid as a free meal ticket, is ranting about the “govment”. This is when he gets drunk as a skunk and tells his child about the wrongdoings of the United States Government. In the particular excerpt I am about to analyze, Pap Finn is ranting about a black man that can vote.

“‘They said he could vote, when he was at home. Well, that let me out. Thinks I, what is the country a-coming to? It was ‘lection day, and I was just about to go and vote, myself if I warn’t too drunk to get there; but when they told me there was a State in this country where they’d let that nigger vote, I drawed out,’” (Twain 42).

Wasn’t that just the loveliest sentiment you’ve ever read? No? I agree.

All jokes aside, what this quote tells us about Pap is that he is hypocritical and that his racism really knows no bounds of logic considering that he would rather have a set of rights go unused than be used by a black person. He would rather stand idly by as the laws change around him than use his right and ability as a US citizen to prevent them from doing so. This is, in the simplest terms, stupid. Pap Finn is stupid.

So, what does this tell us about poverty, racism, and bad faith?

I am so glad you asked, (even though you probably didn’t ask at all) because I am going to tell you. This tells us that people that are impoverished are often uneducated and fueled only by their own ignorant teachings. People like Pap Finn remain the way they are because they have no real outlets to learn to be anything different. When other members of the community try to help him they just pass their money to him and get him to cry and swear off drinking, and put on a good show so that they can feel better about themselves, but really no one is taking the time to teach him why what he is doing is wrong. Don’t get too excited, if anyone tried to teach him they would fail because he is an irredeemable character in a work of fiction, however, if Pap Finn were a real person with real complexities there’s a chance that he could change. Furthermore, it seems that poverty beats people down to the point where they have given up on themselves and the rest of the world. Pap blames the government because in a way the government has failed him. When a country’s government can not keep its people from poverty it has failed in a way. Despite that, there are elements of independence and self-reliance that Pap and the real people that he represents just don’t see. Poverty creates bitter, ignorant adults with no functional skills.

In terms of racism and bad faith, it’s obvious that Pap just follows the same system that everyone followed in the slave-owning south. He believes that black people are beneath him and he is angry when he sees any sort of success fall upon the life of a black person, but he doesn’t really follow bad faith.

I guess I should explain what bad faith is. Bad faith is when one turns a blind eye to the truth because it is easier to be ignorant. In this case, a lot of people turn a blind eye to the cruelties of slavery because it is easier than changing a society’s entire perspective on race and power. And just to really get to the heart of bad faith, another example is when we choose to ignore the fact that our clothes were made by the hands of child laborers because it is easier than making our own clothes.

Now with that tangent out of the way, let’s get back to Pap Finn. I say that he isn’t participating in bad faith because one, he does not benefit from slavery, and two, he is openly racist and desires that slaves continue to suffer. He has a need for someone to be constantly beneath him in most cases it’s Huckleberry, but in the societal cases, it’s black people. He is the lowest of the low, but at least he isn’t black. That’s why he’s so distraught when he hears about a Black man being able to vote because it means that he is truly at the absolute bottom of the societal ladder. He does not practice bad faith because he is not a participant in the system. He doesn’t even vote. So, even though he is the worst person alive, he still isn’t the main problem with racism and slavery. The problem lies within the people who are wealthy enough to own slaves and have the education to know that it is wrong but choose to anyways because it is easier than not owning slaves.

Twain often criticized people of a wealthy class. He made fun of them in the Lyceum circuit, and he satirizes them all the time in his works, (Huck Finn, the golden age, Puddn’head Wilson, etc.), but this poor demographic of white people that he has presented his audience with is so easy to fall back on as the villain of the story that it creates this very clever misdirection. There is an aversion of attention to the point that the audience practices bad faith when reading Huck Finn. Pap Finn is our villain, but Twain’s villain is every person who has ever tried to get Huckleberry Finn to agree with the sentiment that Black people are beneath him.

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arabellaflynn · 1 year

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(Note to the public: This is an expansion on an earlier Patron-only update. If you want those updates, sign up! I do post extra stuff, and Patrons get to see public blog entries at least 24 hours early.)

Packages continue to arrive. The Amazon guy must be so confused by now.

I am intentionally not trying to figure out who's behind it. I do know a few people IRL who could pull it off, but the reason I know them is because they're very public supporters of the arts -- I'd be aware that it was them, because they'd also be forwarding me grant applications and pitching me into networking meetings. At least two people were involved at some point, because one of the early anony-mice chose a pseudonym instead of using the default 'enjoy your gift!' message. Amazon lets you put a name on gifts, so if they wanted me to know who it was, they'd have said by now. I do keep sending thank you notes.

Nobody would keep it up this long if it wasn't fun, so good for you! I'd probably do the same thing if I had the resources. When I have money and other people don't I pay for lunches a lot, at least. I get to spoil the rats because the things that give them joy are very cheap in human terms. Right now one of them has shoved his fat little arm out through the cage bars and is trying to pull the Valentine's garland in, because it's shiny and make rustling noises and he wants it. They're very like toddlers, where the only value things have is how interesting they are, and how long it keeps them occupied. Plus they like to throw Cheerios all over the floor.

I don't have the money to get drunk right now, which narrows my options for entertainment down to 'YouTube' and 'overthinking things', so I've spent a lot of time trying to figure out why I have such mixed feelings about having an anonymous benefactor.

Most of it is very generic. When you're raised as female, especially if you turn out conventionally attractive, you're socialized to be suspicious of strangers who give you things without specifying what they want in return. Everyone wants something, when they give you a gift; even in the most innocent case, they want you to have a happy reaction. The presumption is that it's probably a dude, and he probably wants to bang you, or at least see your tits. This is a sexist and generally gross way of thinking that persists mainly because there are still some shambling choads out there who think this way, and get super mad when they hand you things you didn't ask for, and you still don't have sex with them.

I also find this line of thinking irksome, because it rests on the presumption that trading stuff for attention is somehow immoral. Why, exactly? I mean, it's uncool to assume you can just buy someone's time and focus without asking if they're for sale and negotiating prices first, but if two adults give informed consent to the arrangement, what exactly is wrong with this? And yes, you can take this to its logical conclusion. I don't do full-contact sex work, but I'm also not teaching ballroom dance or going to massage school -- I don't like strangers in my personal space. You can do whatever you want with your body. I have done boudoir and glamour modeling, and I've stripped on stage, and I'd be just fine working in someplace akin to one of Japan's famous 'hostess clubs'. It's an acting job like any other.

The rest, I think, is just that I live in a dourly Calvinist country, and I've been bombarded with 'nobody owes you nuthin' messaging since birth. Whatever you get for the work you do is supposed to be the reward for earning the approval of a higher power -- if not God, then at least management. Even artists are traditionally supposed to be concerned with the opinions of "critics", as if people with printed opinions magically control how much some other random yahoo is willing to pay to see, hear, or experience something pretty. I create things, and someone out there has decided that's worth making the Empire of Bezos mail me 30 lbs of pasta. Feels like making an illicit end run around the System.

In this case, I'm pretty sure whoever is sending stuff just wants me to have stuff, because stuff makes my life easier. And I appreciate it. The Wish Lists are about evenly split between things that seem bafflingly mundane, like socks and toilet paper, and stuff that looks like cool toys but is actually for work. Whoever sent the shoes, you should probably know that you've also provided the rats some most excellently comfortable places to sleep. Those were the boxes that got wrapped for the Valentine's Day cage set. You can see Casper's cage, la cage des Fromages, and their snack bowls on my Instagram.

(The improved picture quality is courtesy whoever sent the Amazon gift card. I hate replacing phones, but the previous model was starting to get pernickety about the exact angle at which I was allowed to press the power button. I upgraded to "whatever thing wasn't enormous but had a half-decent camera", which turned out to be a refurbished Samsung Galaxy S10e.

It's in a pretty red case. I give it about three more days before a rat puts some wee little teef marks in it. Phone cases are tasty, apparently.)

The stuff for work is a lot of fun, I suppose, but only because I like what I do for a living. I just applied to perform at another even in April for some percentage of the ticket sales, probably with one of the LED hoops. The bulk of the Electronics Wish List was the contents of a digital content creation setup. I already had a cheap ring light from being bored during lockdown, but thanks to the Amazon gifter(s) and another Patron who offloaded a bunch of ex-business computers into one of my wheeled suitcases the other week, I have a portable kit that fits in a computer bag and runs entirely off the laptop. I'm sure I won't get the full advertised 8-hour battery life with an audio capture box and a desk mic and so forth dangling off the USB controller, but if I'm streaming something for eight hours I'm going to demand a wall plug anyway. I'm using it to Zoom someone's wedding for their out-of-town guests this weekend.

I am sadly running out of things that I need which can also be bought on Amazon. I buy my contacts from the UK, rat medications from farm suppliers, rat decorations from the local Dollar Tree, some of the more esoteric supplements from a lab in Chicago, and transit fare from the vending machines in the T. Pretty sure the Apple Store would laugh at me if I asked whether the internets could pay to have my MacBook repaired.

At the moment, what is worrying me most is rent, phone service, and dance classes, not necessarily in that order. I think the rent and phone things are pretty self-explanatory; my grant money won't be here until March, because government. I've applied for the federal phone service stipend but I need to snail mail them some documents, also because government.

(I had to mail in my grant papers, too. They needed a voided check to set up the electronic transfer. Why, in anno domini 2023, would I have any idea where my checkbook is? I Venmo my rent, ffs. My other bills are paid online with a PayPal MasterCard. Hell, if I cared enough to set up Google or Samsung Pay, I could buy things at CVS by strategically whacking my phone against the POS terminal. The bank gave me a pack of 25 starter checks when I opened the account, and I finished them eleven years later. I did finally find the fucking thing, but I don't have any idea why it was necessary when I could give them the routing and account numbers just fine without it.)

The dance classes are probably more important to me than they ought to be. One of the reasons I have held onto the volunteer position I have at my home studio is that they compensate us in credit, which continues to exist on their system regardless of my own financial situation. I could be living in a refrigerator box under an overpass and still take class. (Admittedly, it's easier to work this in than a lot of other things -- there's a lot of dead time at the desk, and I usually bring in some other project to work on while I'm in. Some of it is the unrelated paid IT jobs I take care of for them, so technically I'm double-billing those hours. They know and don't care, because I'm a very good receptionist even when I'm only using a quarter of my brain for it.) I am deeply unhappy if I cannot be in class. I had to take the weekend off for a head cold last month and I was miserable, even beyond the part where I used several trees' worth of tissues.

I tend to follow individual teachers rather than styles, and several of the ones I like taking class with now also work at Boston Dance Studios, a new space downtown. I've applied to their workstudy program but received no answer yet. A 10 class/30 day package covers 5 weeks of classes for me, if I'm clever about timing it, and BDS sells gift cards. It's local, non-profit, and run by a woman of color, so I'd be inclined to support it even if I had to find all new teachers there. Her personal specialty is dance heels, so if you're also local and ever harbored fantasies about being a video vixen, you can take a look.

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keefwho · 2 years

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October 26 - 2022

4:41 PM

I don’t like the noises my tummy is making but I’m trying not to let it bother me too much. The good thing is I’ve finished all my responsibilities today so now all that’s left to do is chill. I’m doing my best to pretend like nothing is wrong because nothing ever really is. Maybe if I can pretend like it’s a normal night with lots of possibility, it will be. I’m also gonna take some time to chill and korok hunt in BOTW with a stream on the side. I hope this doesn’t ruin bestie time, especially today.

Its also helpful to remind myself that if anything IS wrong with me, like if I’m sick or have food poisoning, I can’t really stop it. It’s easier to accept it and get as cozy as possible than try to fight it like I’ll actually be able to stop it. I don’t think I’m either of those things right now but those are the worst case scenarios I always imagine. It’s much more likely that I’m completely fine. I don’t even feel bad, I just don’t like the noises I’m hearing in my tummy. This shouldn’t even be something I think about.

10:54 PM

I’m still thinking about the few things in the freezer that may have become warmer than everything else because of how they were packs. Unfortunately the thermometer I’m ordering will be useless since it’s getting very cold out now. I won’t be able to tell what temperature things actually would have been.

Logic tells me that nothing could have gotten “warm.” Surely the freezer is designed in such a way that you can’t possibly insulate something against one of the walls where it will be exposed to above freezing temperatures. The problem is I don’t KNOW that and I take zero chances. Maybe the thermometer will help me figure out how much fluctuation there is so I can go off of that at least. Also if food becomes stuck together again like this during winter then I’ll know it’s not due to partial thawing.

I hope someday I can look back on this and think I was fucking insane.

11:52 PM

Yesterday and today I’ve been constantly reminding myself that I always have choice and that any action I commit to will yield a result. I keep intentionally pulling myself out of the idea that I’m that “character” I made up about myself. Everything is so dynamic and I have the ability to gauge my surroundings and act how I choose at any moment. I’ve also been doing this “self” exercise where I notice a person, object, or anything else and think “I am aware of [thing]. I am not [thing]. I contain awareness of [thing].” It sounds silly and feels a little silly to say it but it does force a moment of perspective taking which is the whole point. If I’m struggling to keep myself together, it can help remind me that I am me and everything else is everything else.

I do want to get into the habit of talking about the things I did today but I often forget.

This morning was nice. I think I did a good job on my Inktober drawing and I ate a pizza right after. I felt bad because one of my friends wanted to hang out but I was planning to stream commissions. Then I interrupted that stream to watch a Monster High movie with my other friend, so I hope friend 1 wasn’t jealous or thinks I was avoiding him. I enjoyed the movie and realized how much I like learning about the media my friends enjoy. I probably never would have learned about or gotten into Monster High on my own. THEN my friend wanted to hang out again but I had a workout to do which went well. I pushed myself like I meant to, I did more squat reps than last time and went a little further on my treadmill too. For lunch I was going to make stir fry but went for chicken, rice a roni, and green beans instead since my stomach was being strange and I didn’t want to eat something that might upset it. Then I took some relaxing me time and did some korok hunting in BOTW until my bestie joined my discord VC and we chilled in there. After she went to bed I hopped on VRchat for about 40 minutes world hopping on my own until a very drunk individual joined halfway through. For dinner I had soupies and some oatmeal with cereal afterwards. Thankfully I hit my calorie goal today.

Tomorrow if I remember, I want to go outside for a little bit. Probably just walk around the woods for a little bit with my dog or something.

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monicalorandavis · 2 years

Text

The last date

I met “Lee” at a singles event I’d learned about from TikTok. I was unimpressed with the selection of men there so I drank too much. I rolled my eyes at the small talk happening around me. My friend and I kept getting separated and I clung to the wall, drink in hand.

I made friends with a lovable lesbian who took a shine to me. “Lee” took a photo of my friend and I on his phone. Then he sent it to me so he’d have my number. I knew he was doing this as a ploy. Too awkward to let it happen naturally. Or maybe he thought himself clever. I allowed it because he was fat and harmless. He was tall and had nice eyes and I don’t care much about fatness. So maybe, I thought, I could give this one a shot.

The text the next morning confused me.

“I hope I didn’t offend you.”

Then another one:

“So sorry if you’re upset.”

I was panicking. I had no recollection of being upset, offended nor did I have this mysterious number saved. Then,

“You seemed drunk and I didn’t want to take advantage.”

Enough now. I asked what the hell was going on. Lee told me I had ordered him to kiss me but he refused because I was drunk. This I did not remember. If this was the guy I thought it was, I would have done no such thing. Probably.

Frantically, I texted my friend. She didn’t recall any such behavior so I responded to Lee, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please explain.”

To this, he responded, “Oh in that case, let’s drop it!”

I was thrown off. Was this another scheme to get my attention? He succeeded. Before I knew it, he asked me out but that night was my birthday party. And I was casually dating a few other people at the moment. I dared not invite him. I was already feeling guilty about not inviting the man I was sleeping with (and sad about the other other man I was sleeping with who had not wished me happy birthday).

At any rate, Lee asked me out the day after my party but I didn’t want to go to the event in question. (Some car show downtown that had a corny Instagram flyer.) But he wasn’t discouraged.

Over the next few days, he asked me out many more times to random events that all sounded very adult dodgeball league. Not bad, per se. Just...suburban. I turned my nose up and refused. I don’t like meeting strangers over shared interests. I don’t like activities. When it comes to dates, especially first ones, I expect a dinner and my meal to be expensive and paid for.

After two weeks of these pseudo date invitations, I told him, “If you want to go out with me, you need to ask me out on a proper date. None of this group crap.” And he, maybe embarrassedly, agreed this was an appropriate course of action.

He invited me to see “Everything Everywhere All At Once” and I said yes. But even this proved difficult.

He canceled the first time to watch a college basketball game with his friends, and, I, trying to be amenable, allowed this because I too am a basketball fanatic. But after the game, when I asked if his team won, he admitted he was not much for basketball. The game was just “very exciting” and he thought it better to watch with his friends. I was in disbelief. He was very apologetic.

Was I missing something? The lovable lesbian from the singles event shared that Lee was feeling nervous because I was sexy. This seemed logical. I am very sexy.

My texts turned cold. I responded with one word answers and he got the hint, scheduling the do-over and procured tickets. I forgave him. All the other men I was dating had fizzled out. Plus, with so many of my friends in relationships, I decided that in order to be in a relationship, one has to be easygoing.

The day of our movie date, Lee showed up half an hour early and started texting me, “Hey are you hungry?” He was prone to a barrage of texts so I didn’t know where this was going. I was about to get in my car to head to the theater. I didn’t have time for a meal before the movie. I replied, “I ate a little while ago but might be hungry after the movie.” A little presumptuous that I'd even want to hang out after but I had to admit, I admired the forethought.

I could not have guessed what he said next. He replied, “I spotted an Indian buffet across the street and the aromas called me over.” Repeat: Indian buffet minutes before a movie date. It’s giving cheap. It’s giving fragrant. It’s giving strange.

I am gobsmacked. “Do your thing,” is all I could text him. I am in my car, boiling with rage, headed to the Landmark on Pico when I should be driving off a cliff into the Pacific Ocean. This is my rock bottom. I am running into the house fire. But I can not stew in this tikka masala spiral for long because Lee follows up with, “Hope you’re not getting fancy because I’m not.” As if I’m the one who needs a note on how to dress. As if he would be wearing a tux to an all-you-can-eat Indian buffet. I immediately texted my best friends with updates.

“This man is getting Indian food before the movie. And told me he isn’t ‘fancy’. He is a psychopath, correct?”

Each of my friends was too stunned to respond without sarcasm. “Monica, this man is going to murder you.”

“I know,” I responded. But it was too late. Maybe murder was what I wanted after all.

When I arrived into the lobby of the theater, Lee was nowhere to be found. I went to the restroom to cool off. When I exited, I spotted him. He was wearing a melange of mismatched gray hues. His grey sneakers were cheap and beat up. His grey beanie was too small for his head. His stomach poked out from underneath his henley that was a size too small. The only thing that wasn’t grey was the bag across his chest that was “full of snacks” (his words). I wanted to leave but he hugged me, cloaking me in an envelope of oniony body odor. He paid for my popcorn and a glass of wine and I followed him into the theater. I was in shock. He reeked and was perspiring nervously. Sober now, I could see that this man was a bumbling oaf. I had been charmed by it in my drunken madness but now, at 1:30 on a Sunday afternoon, I was scared someone would recognize me with him. I sunk into my seat. Just then, his phone rang. It was his mother. He answered.

They talked for several minutes and I sarcastically said, “Tell her I say hi”. That needlessly confused her and she needed minutes of explanation. After too long, he ended the call and we were able to talk. He became inquisitive. I was asked many deep questions I didn’t see coming. During a trailer for the A24 psychodrama, “Men”, he asked suddenly if I was pro-choice. I replied curtly, “I’m pro-abortion,” and he dapped me. I rolled my eyes. What was I doing here? I looked to the exit.

But then the movie swept me up. I felt myself softening towards him on account of the quality of the film. It was emotional and visually stunning. I realized this date was a metaphor for life: the twists and constant disappointments. I cried and so did he. When it ended, we filed out like everyone else and I wasn’t ready to go home yet. I felt high with creative energy. I had high hopes that this date would be good. I’d put on makeup and a clean pair of jeans. Maybe I was being too harsh on him. Maybe he would take me to lunch and that’s when I would meet a handsome stranger. I could turn this day around with the right attitude. I just knew it.

He asked if West Hollywood was far and I said not really. Turned out, he didn’t have a car and was headed to a business meeting. He asked if I wanted to come along. The audacity startled me and I said yes. My day was free and I couldn’t think of a lie. The drive took 15 minutes or so and he seemed suddenly ashamed that it was taking so long. But as we talked, I realized, through another interview session, he was very serious about settling down, as I was, and that was a good thing.

He asked me about my parents and I asked him about his. When we arrived at the location of his meeting he pointed out a bookstore nearby and begged to go inside like a child. I love bookstores so I needed no convincing. Once entering, he treated the bookstore like a grand adventure and pointed out many different displays that we needed to discuss. I was entertained. He read me a poem and asked that I read him one too. Then he bought me a book and we met up with his business colleague for a few hours and it was lovely. Everything turned out to be much more normal in the presence of a third party. It settled his constant questioning and he conducted himself in a professional manner. But he still sweated in a concerning way. I assumed it was from being in the presence of such a beautiful woman as myself.

Many hours later than I expected to be done, I headed home but not before he asked to see me again. He was quite literally blushing and I hated to admit that I’d actually had a good time in the end. His business colleague was sort of cute and maybe I could see him again one day. I agreed to another date with this strange, sweaty, poorly-dressed, onion-smelling man.

While Lee was certainly the oddest man I’d gone out with, I was unprepared for the second date he suggested. He invited me to sunbathe at his friend’s house who he was house-sitting for. I had the afternoon free and this seemed like good material. He warned me it was a long drive, deep into the valley. I needed some sun and had reading to do for class. Plus, I deserved some pool time. I started on my trek optimistically. If Lee turned out to be the man I ended up with this would be a wonderful story. But when I arrived, I had no service and Lee made jokes about there being cameras in the bathroom. I felt the hairs on my neck stand up. I was one hour from home at a stranger’s house with a man I barely knew. And now I had no cell service. He was not handsome enough to make serial killer jokes. I don’t think he was even handsome enough to be a serial killer. Ted Bundy he was not. More John Wayne Gacy. But JWG killed plenty of folks too. I guess serial killers come in all forms.

No matter. I had just driven straight into his web. This could get bad fast. I started thinking how to get out of there. I was aware of everything he said and kept a mental log of it. I recounted every turn I had made on the way there. Worst comes to worst, I could beat him in a foot race.

The weather proved to be on my side. It provided a lovely excuse to leave quickly. The wind caused a commotion and I couldn’t do much sun bathing. I needed to get out before it was dark. Just in case, I started writing my obituary in my head. I knew this scenario was sketchy. I could be found dead in a stranger’s house wearing a blue bikini. Sensing my anxiety, Lee started throwing money at me which is all it takes for me to drop my guard. He offered me many cannabis treats and edibles and ordered me a burger. I sent a text to my friends in hopes it would reach them in time. I made sure my location was turned on.

When the food arrived, Lee put on some Disney+ show and started massaging my very dry feet. He leaned in to kiss me and I could feel his nose running. I was sure at this point, God would be merciful and let me die of a heart attack right there with this man’s runny nose dripping on me. But no, I had to pull away from him and excuse myself. I decided that, yes, murder was my punishment and let myself make out with this man. Before I knew it, he was all over me but my mind was light years away.

After several minutes, he suggested we go upstairs and I agreed. That’s probably where the knives were so I might as well make it easier on him. The last thing I wanted was his heaving body flopping around as he fumbled with weapons. Giving him some dignity afforded me a little dignity in death, I surmised. The march upstairs was slow but I was stoic. He undressed and the sight of his naked body arrested me.

This was not my fate. Something was wrong. With him. With this picture. I didn’t go to the gym six days a week to be murdered by an Indian buffet man with a runny nose. I was a beautiful, insecure, personal trainer with poor judgment but I was hot, god damnit. I realized the only way out of this was to play nice. We hooked up a little longer and I looked into his sad eyes. I tried not to bristle when he touched me. He told me he had suffered a sex-induced injury to his penis that effectively broke it. I knew this was my opening. He was vulnerable. I moved for my clothes. In one movement, I was up and heading downstairs. He mumbled something about the sunset and was on my heels alarmingly fast. He took me to some rock outside and put his arms around my waist. He could choke me to death at any moment.

I thought about all the men I’d dated and how lucky I’d been. I could make it out once more, couldn’t I? I deserved one more shot. I looked at the sun slowly fade behind the hills and thought about my fading shot at freedom. Now or never. He opened his mouth to say something rude. I forget now what it was exactly but it was an effort to keep me there. I was now hip to his bag of tricks. “Negging” or another manipulation tactic the Pick-Up Artist advised. I didn’t acknowledge it and threw my things in a bag, making sure to take all the goodies he gifted me.

My feet hit the dirt road before I’d even put my sandals on. I bee-lined for my car. But again, he was faster than I expected. He was walking alongside me, practically running. I hopped in my car and he leaned into the door jamb. He kissed me sloppily and I slammed the door. I was making a U-turn before I exhaled.

Ten minutes later, he called. I had left my sunglasses on the table. I would not be coming back for them. I could not think of anything I wanted less. They somehow seemed tainted by his having them.

I got home 40 minutes later, speeding recklessly. My heart was beating so fast my chest was sore. I would not see Lee again. I could not be trusted to date anyone again. So now, I don’t date anyone. And frankly my life is very good. For years, my life was a disaster with sprinkles of humorous anecdotes. But at what cost? I wouldn’t die for this life. I didn’t deserve to die because I was in pursuit of one more good story.

My last two dates were with a man who I was initially charmed, then, repulsed by. In hindsight, that’s the story with all of them. I needed to fix the thing inside me that was broken, searching for connection with any weirdo that was interested.

#dating #disaster

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asset35-maya · 3 years

Text

.When the party’s over.

>REINITIALISING…

>ALL SYSTEMS ONLINE

>WIRELESS CHARGING: 69%

>RK900 SYSTEM HEALTH: STABLE

>24H FILE RECOVERY: 45%

Nines slowly regained consciousness. He was lying on his side and everything around him was quiet.

>ENVIRONMENTAL SCAN IN PROGRESS…

>THREAT ANALYSIS IN PROGRESS…

Layers of fabric covered his body and something soft and warm was pressed against his face. Eyes still shut, he nudged it gently with his nose and it emitted a low vibration.

>2% THREAT DETECTED: FELINE SUBJECT

The cat sprang upwards and hopped off the surface that Nines was lying on. It was ostensibly a bed, but Nines didn’t own any furniture apart from a couch and work table. The logical conclusion was that he was not in his own apartment.

>RUN LOCALISATION PROGRAM: Y/N?

>ERROR: PROGRAM FAILED TO EXECUTE

>ERROR: MEMORY FILE CORRUPTION

Nines had no absolutely recollection of his whereabouts or how he had arrived. He had not been compromised as his system health was stable, so there was probably another reason for being completely disoriented. It was voluntary.

He had gotten the android equivalent of blackout drunk.

It was not the first time and he feared it would not be the last. Such were the hard-partying ways of his friends and colleagues. They were all terrible influences. He loved them dearly, but they were terrible.

At 6PM every Friday, Chen and Miller would start things off rather innocently. “Hey there’s a new brewery downtown.” Or “My bartender cousin just hooked us up with a thirty percent discount!”

From there it wouldn’t take long for the DPD’s resident frat boys Connor and Gavin to gather a steady crowd of officers and check out the venue. If the vibes were good (which they almost always were), Sixty would get wind of things. Then the rest of the frat house would descend and total chaos would reign until the break of dawn.

SWAT Unit 32 was famous for its particularly destructive brand of revelry. Skinny dipping in private swimming pools, scaling skyscraper rooftops and causing media scandals were all par for the course. The day after Captain Allen’s birthday, the DPD crew spent the entirety of their bonuses to repair the collapsed ceiling of the Eden Club.

Nines couldn’t remember how he exactly he was coopted into the madness. Probably peer pressure. Connor insisted that he try thirium alcohol. Sixty said that he would regret being a loser and not joining them. Gavin had just held out a hand and double-winked. That did the trick.

One night blended into another and soon Nines had worked up quite a reputation of his own. He was the Casanova of the homicide department. The handsome devil… the hunter… the sex god. People would actually come by his desk and congratulate him on Monday morning.

Nines hated it but he couldn’t stop himself from doing the same thing over and over. Perhaps it was the appreciative clap on the shoulder from Gavin the morning after Sixty posted photos of a high-end Traci model giving Nines his very first lap dance.

Life at the DPD was the epitome of work hard, play hard. It seemed like one big party but deep down Nines knew they were all just slaves to their compulsions. He wondered whether it was because they needed to celebrate every demon they vanquished or whether they needed to wipe the troubling memories of doing so.

In Nines case, there were definitely things he needed to kill within himself. Some were nightmare inducing crime scenes, but some were memories so heart-wrenchingly sweet that he thought he might self-destruct if he were to dwell on them too long. There were things he couldn’t have and things he needed to erase from his brain.

Something touched his face gently.

>PERIPHERAL OBJECT DETECTED: HUMAN HAND

>THREAT ANALYSIS: NON-COMBATIVE

The hair on his forehead was brushed aside and fingers ran over his features. A thumb swept over his bottom lip and caressed his cheek.

Nines couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes and come face to face with his most recent conquest. He lay still, frozen with regret as the hand continued to stroke his face.

The hand travelled down his neck and fell upon his chest. Nines caught it abruptly. It wasn’t even the month-end and his savings were badly depleted. He couldn’t afford round two. He retracted the synth skin down to his wrist and prepared the electronic payment credentials.

Fingers merely intertwined with his.

“Just take your money and go. I’ll tip extra if you delete everything from your hard drive.”

“What the phck are you talking about?”

Nines eyes flew open. Steel blue met storm green.

>SYSTEM ALERT: THIRIUM PUMP OVERLOAD

“Fuck!”

“Wow that’s flattering.”

Nines pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes in a vain attempt to remember what had led to this absolute, unmitigated disaster.

“What the hell happened last night?”

Gavin looked affronted.

“You ruined our housewarming for one.”

>MEMORY ARCHIVE SEARCH: housewarming, Gavin

>RESULT: TEXT MESSAGE RECEIVED FROM “G.REED” IN GROUPCHAT “CLUBBERCOPS”, 15:33 18 JULY 2040: Assholes. Party at our new place. Next Friday. From seven till LATE. Bring booze, bring bitches. Nah. Actually, don’t. Our landlord’s a bastard and we already got three noise complaints.

>RESULT: TEXT MESSAGE RECEIVED FROM “CONMAN” IN GROUPCHAT “CLUBBERCOPS”, 15:34 18 JULY 2040: Yeah we should keep this one PG. Bring food if you wanna eat. This mf can’t cook and I don’t care to. See y’all!!

Oh right. Fuck. Gavin’s housewarming. Gavin and Connor’s housewarming. His two closest friends who were somehow even closer to one another. Nines hadn’t realised until it was far too late and there was nothing for him to do but smother the bitterness with his favourite coping mechanisms: android alcohol and paid sex.

The circumstances definitely explained the state he was in, but things still didn’t add up.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Did we… did we…”

“No. Nothing happened between us. You were completely shitfaced. I just put you to bed to stop you from embarrassing yourself.”

Nines looked up at the ceiling, struggling to put the pieces together. His system offered him no useful prompts. The fermented thirium had done its job of code corruption extremely well. He looked back down and met the green eyes focused on him with deep concern.

“What did I do?”

“Sixty has videos, but I don’t think you want to see them. God, Nines… why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I’m really sorry, Gavin. I didn’t mean to ruin your night… and Connor’s.”

“He’s fine. He and Sixty moved the crew to Hank’s place. Which is what we should have done in the first place… there’s really no point throwing a party in this shoebox and telling people like Tina Chen to be quiet. Honestly if it wasn’t you it would have been her bringing the house down. Good thing they had all of Michigan Drive to tear up. Hank’s neighbours can sleep though a bombing.”

“What did I do?”

Gavin put his hand back on Nines’ face, his expression unintelligible. The human touched him often enough, but never like this. Never so intimately. Nines forced down the twisting sensation in his torso. He couldn’t get his hopes up. This was pity.

Nines braced himself to hear the worst. He prepared for the shredding of all his dignity and the collapse of his falsely extroverted and confident identity.

What came though was a soft press of lips to his forehead.

“It wasn’t pretty and I wish it hadn’t happened like that, but I think it was a long time coming… I’ve never seen you so emotional before. I’m sorry I didn’t notice anything all this while.”

“Gavin, please.”

“I’m going to focus on the positives, because really… there were a LOT of negatives. Oh boy. You… uh…”

“Gavin.”

The detective dipped his head and looked away.

“Phck, I shouldn’t be so embarrassed…

You told me you loved me.”

Nines closed his eyes. That was it. He should quit his job and move to another state. Hell, he should go to Cyberlife and request a factory reset on compassionate grounds.

“I’m so sorry. I… I should leave.”

He made to sit up, but was pushed back into the mattress. Gavin curled into his side.

“Nah. You’re good.”

“What?”

“You threw up on my plants and smashed Connor’s RA9 sculpture, buuuut you’re good.”

“I don’t understand.”

Gavin wrapped his arms around Nines and edged closer until the android was forced to turn on his side and reciprocate.

“What do you think, genius? If a guy like me doesn’t throw a guy like you out of the house after all that… what does it mean?”

“That you have a high tolerance for toxic friendships?”

“It means I want you to stick around, dipshit.”

>SYSTEM ALERT: THIRIUM PUMP RATE FLUCTUATIONS. OVERLOAD IMMINENT.

“You mean you like me?”

“Of course I do! I always have, but it never seemed right to bring it up. We’re actually really good friends. I didn’t think it would be possible when we first met but we have so much in common.”

“Bad habits for sure.”

“Come on, Nines. We’ve had a really great time together. Some of my best memories at the DPD are with you. Don’t ever quote me on it but you’re a phcking amazing partner. Can’t believe you thought I had something going with Connor when it’s always been you.

So yeah, I do like you. And I’m willing to try… I dunno… being with you. Like for real.

Stop drinking like that, though. I know I’m a hypocrite but you really scared me last night. I lost my Dad and I nearly lost Hank to the bottle. You might be this super advanced android, but that liquid courage shit is a death trap, man.”

>SYSTEM ERROR: THIRIUM PUMP AT MAX FLOW RATE. PUMP OVERLOAD. REDUCE PRESSURE IMMEDIATELY!

Nines nodded quickly and blinked away the tears that welled up in his eyes. Gavin grasped the android’s chin and tipped his face down gently. Their eyes fluttered shut simultaneously and their lips met.

>SYSTEM RECOVERY MESSAGE: THIRIUM PUMP FUNCTIONALITY RESTORED

They broke apart after several golden moments and Gavin hugged Nines tightly under the sheets.

“What am I supposed to say to the others? I don’t think I can look any of them in the eye ever again.”

“Are you serious? You got nothing on the insanity that bunch is capable of. Sixty thinks he’s hot shit with his blackmail material, but I got receipts that’ll glue his mouth shut for decades. Anyway, that’s what friends are meant to be like. You have dirt on each other but you’re not meant to use it.

The same applies to us too, by the way. Don’t feel like you gotta be… apologetic about what happened last night. Yeah, you better replace my fancy new plants but I’ll never judge you for what happened. I want you to know that I’ll always be in your corner, Nines.”

Nines hummed thoughtfully and ran a hand though Gavin’s hair, marvelling at the fact that he could now do so whenever he wanted. He didn’t say anything in response, and just settled for cuddling closer to the human.

>>RK900 SYSTEM HEALTH: EXCELLENT

#tw: alcholism #reed900 #happy ending #rk900 #gavin reed #dbh fanfic #detroit become human #dbh rk900 #dbh nines #dbh #my writing #my work #long post

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quickspinner · 3 years

Text

Oops - Part 1

Part 1 | Part 2 | AO3

Summary: A little too much alcohol, a drunken hookup, it happens all the time, right? Marinette didn't mean to drink so much, and she didn't mean to wake up in a stranger's bed, but she did, and now this morning isn't going at all the way she expected. When Luka asks to see her again, she can't think of a good reason to say no...and the one night she never meant to have turns out to be the beginning of something she never could have anticipated.

Alya thinks its hysterical--only Marinette could take home a one night stand and end up with a date. But when the one night stand turns into a series of hookups, Alya's starting to get concerned. Clearly it's up to her to rein Marinette in before the girl gets seriously hurt.

Rating: M - this is a little spicier than my usual fare but not really explicit? There’s a lot of off screen sex and reference to sexy things and adult activities, some drinking (obviously), cursing/foul language.

Credit to my tumblr followers for this one, because one day I went "hey, you guys want to see some bits from the folder of fics I'm never going to finish?" and one of the bits I posted was the beginning of this story, and people liked it more than I was expecting, and then it was "well, you know, I did think about doing blahblah" and "I'd sure love to see that!" and the next thing you know I've added five thousand words with no sign of stopping. In Marinette’s words: Oops. So, with much love to my followers and readers across platforms, here's the fic I never intended to finish, and I hope you enjoy it!

I'm splitting it into two chapters but they'll both be uploaded within a few minutes, so if you finish the first part and the second one isn't posted yet, just wait a little and try back. Also, much love to @livrever for talking me down off the ledge and beta reading this one.

Marinette woke up with a mouth that felt like cotton and a pounding headache. She groaned, and pressed her face into the pillow. It...smelled funny. Not bad, just...not like home.

Oh. Because she hadn’t gone home last night. At least, not to her home.

“Are you shitting me right now?”

Marinette jumped, and sat up, clutching the sheets to her still-naked body. Her head reeled and she whimpered as she pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. The door to the bedroom was cracked and she could see a sliver of light beyond it that blinked in and out. It seemed her...friend, was pacing in the other room, and from the sound of it, he wasn’t very happy.

“—crosses a line, Jean. What? No, that’s not the point, Jean, you got me hammered without my consent! How can you not see the problem here? No, you know what, my head is killing me and I’m sick of yelling at you, obviously this can’t be fixed. As of right now, we are no longer friends. Don’t call me, don’t talk to me, if you see me coming just walk the other way. I’m done with you.”

There was a thump and a sigh and an emphatic “Fuck.”

Marinette just sat there, holding the sheet over her chest, and blinked, trying to figure out what she should do and think through the fog in her brain. She didn’t exactly have a whole lot of experience in these situations. Was she supposed to just…

Before she could form any ideas, he came in with a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers. He had a pair of tattered but well-fitting jeans on with patterned boxers peeking out from the waistband, but no shirt, and there was a lot of muscle and bare skin on display and oh God he had sex hair, and it was her hands that had done it. Marinette swallowed and twisted her fingers tighter in the sheets, suddenly feeling a bit lightheaded.

“Hi,” he said gently. “I’m Luka, in case you don’t remember. Sorry if I woke you. How are you feeling? I mean, hung over, obviously, but on a scale of just let me die to I might conceivably want to live to tomorrow …” He gave her a smile that perhaps wasn’t entirely confident, and Marinette couldn’t help a small smile back.

“I think I’m not quite up to dancing to the metal band playing in my head, but pretty far from oh God where’s the bathroom, so I’ll take it, all things considered.” She took the glass of water he offered and he opened the aspirin bottle and shook a couple out into her palm. That was sweet, she thought. At least he wasn’t just tossing her clothes at her and kicking her out. How could she have let herself end up in a position like this?

Luka sat on the edge of the bed and watched her take the pills. “Man, you’re really gorgeous. I thought at least some of it would be the booze, but—“ He looked away, clearing his throat. “Lucky me.”

Marinette’s face burned. “Thanks,” she said softly, not sure what else to say. At least he was nice, she thought. At least she hadn’t slept with a jerk. And he’d certainly been...considerate. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t enjoyed herself, just...

“How much do you remember about last night?” he asked. His voice was rough, but he kept it soft. “I’m sorry for asking but I was way more drunk last night than I ever let myself get and I don’t think I blacked out but some things are...spotty.”

“Most of it, I think,” Marinette flashed him an embarrassed smile. “The good parts for sure. The details and...transitions, I guess, are a little hazy. I don’t remember how we got here from the club, for example.”

“But you remember being here, with me.” His eyes fell to her neck and shoulders and he winced. “Man I really marked you up, I’m sorry. I hope that’s not going to get you in trouble.” His eyes widened slightly. “Please tell me you aren’t married.”

“No,” she yelped. “No, I’m not married. Totally single.” She put her face in her hand. “Absolutely, devastatingly, recently single.”

Luka let out a sigh of relief and gave her a sympathetic smile. “Bad breakup?”

She sighed. “Very. Bad breakup, bad best friend applying bad breakup logic that lands me my very first one night stand. Yay me.”

“Um, I’m honored?” Luka grinned sheepishly. “Although, I mean...it doesn’t have to be. Just the one night, I mean. Not that—” He cleared his throat and looked away. “Even as drunk as I was, I know I had a lot of fun last night.” He rubbed his hand through his hair. “And even before I got too drunk to function I wanted to get your number.” He rolled his eyes. “Apparently one of my so-called friends decided I needed a little extra liquid courage.”

“I wish I had an excuse,” Marinette muttered, shoulders curling inward. “I just...didn’t want to be sad anymore.” She frowned as what he’d said and the conversation she’d overheard connected in her brain. “Are you...okay?”

“I’m pissed off,” Luka huffed, and then smiled again. “But I’m fine. I didn’t do— much I wouldn’t have done anyway. Just, not necessarily in that order, or that soon. As long as you’re okay, I’m okay.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“I’m...not sure,” Marinette sighed, adjusting her grip on the sheet she held to her chest. “I don’t know how I feel. I definitely did some things I wouldn’t have done sober. You, specifically,” she joked weakly. “Not that you aren’t—not that I didn’t—“

“I get it,” he chuckled.

“But...I’m on birth control, and…” she turned and craned her neck to look at the spilled box and empty wrappers on the nightstand. “We used protection, and…” she looked at Luka, worrying her lip.

“I’m clean,” he supplied.

“Me too,” she whispered, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “And you’re hot and you seem nice and it’s not like it didn’t feel good, and I definitely wasn’t sad for a while, so…” She shrugged. “I’m a little embarrassed but...I think I’m okay too.”

“Well, no need to be embarrassed with me,” Luka grinned. “I’m definitely not judging.”

They sat smiling at each other for a moment, and then Luka seemed to remember something, because he winced. “Umm...about your dress,” he coughed. “I am so, so sorry but it seems drunk me was kinda impatient and your dress is in pieces on my living room floor.”

Marinette just blinked at him for a moment...and then she started to laugh. Luka grinned, and then started to chuckle along with her. She laughed harder and grabbed her head. “Ow, ow, oh my God.” Without thinking she leaned forward to drop her head on Luka’s shoulder.

He stiffened up for a second, but then relaxed, and one of his hands slipped into her hair. His fingers began to rub in small circles.

“Mmm, that’s good,” she sighed, and felt Luka’s chuckle.

“Well that sounds familiar,” he said, his voice going a little deeper. Marinette shivered. She felt him swallow, and his face dipped slightly towards her. “I like your perfume,” he said, and had to clear his throat again. Marinette’s face warmed.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. His fingers continued to rub her aching head, and the pain actually seemed to be receding a bit, though whether from the massage or the painkillers he’d given her, she wasn’t sure.

She should sit up. He was a stranger, after all, and just because they’d—she wasn’t exactly experienced at this kind of thing but this wasn’t really fitting in with what she imagined a morning after to be like. She probably looked weird, leaning on him like...like they were a couple or something, and—

Luka’s hands shifted and began to comb gently, slowly through her hair, and Marinette let out a small moan. She felt his breath hitch and bit her lip, embarrassed. “Sorry,” she whispered.

“What for?” he asked, but there was a rough edge to his voice that—she was being silly though, he’d performed last night, and then they’d done all that drinking, and...and those other things, and it was no wonder if his voice was—

That voice was doing things to her, though, and reminding her of—things, and this time it was her breath that caught as the fingers that had been moving through her hair kept going down this time, sliding along her spine, raising goosebumps and reminding her that she was still very much naked.

“Do you, um,” Luka began, in the exact same deep tones that had made her leave the club with him last night. “Do you have anywhere you need to be right now?”

His fingers stilled, resting at the small of her back, and Marinette couldn’t see his face since hers was still buried in his shoulder. It was hard to think when he was so warm, and her nose was brushing his collarbone, and she’d hardly have to move to press her lips against his smooth skin.

She barely knew him. But...well...that hadn’t stopped her last night, so...

Marinette took a deep breath, and lifted her head, sitting back slightly to look at him. His breathing was steady as he looked back at her, almost too steady, but his eyes were dark.

“No,” she managed, barely above a whisper.

Luka’s hands moved up her back to trail up and down her arms. “Then, do you want to stay for a while longer?” They were swaying towards each other. “Maybe…” They were kissing before he could finish the thought. Marinette put her arms around his neck automatically, but as his arms went around her, pulling her closer, she dropped her hands back down again to rub over his broad, firm shoulders.

“Again?” he managed to get out between the fevered kisses, and Marinette made an affirmative noise, but he didn’t move until she broke away long enough to gasp, “Yes.”

He was pulling away the sheet between them even as he wrapped one arm around her and dragged her more fully onto the bed, settling her below him with surprising gentleness. Okay, that was hot, Marinette decided, burying her fingers in his already-messy hair as he began retracing the path he’d marked along her neck last night. Last night had been a really, really stupid decision, but this? As he pulled back to look at her, eyes clear and sharp instead of the hazy, unfocused gaze he’d had the night before, and brushed her hair tenderly back from her face before kissing her again, softly, and then deeply, Marinette began to feel that this morning was by far the best decision she’d made in a long time.

***

He should get up, Luka thought hazily, listening to his shower running. He should at least put his boxers back on or something. Change the sheets. Make some coffee. Something.

Instead he lay there, limp and relaxed, listening to the shower, and trying to hold on to this feeling of languid contentment.

God, he felt so good. Marinette was an amazing partner, sweet and so responsive, practically melting under his touch, firm and toned but soft in all the right places, and her little gasps and hums drove him crazy. She was bolder than he expected, an amazing kisser even drunk off her ass last night, and her mouth was so pretty and soft, and this morning...his body hummed with echoes of pleasure as he thought about it.

He rolled over, hugging his pillow, and grinned. He could still smell her perfume. That scent was engraved in his mind; it was one of the things that was clearest to him from the jumbled mix of memories of the night before. Luka remembered dancing with Marinette, dropping his head to hear something she was saying, and inhaling that scent, vivid despite the riot of smells that permeated the dance floor. He remembered being surrounded by it in the blur that was the cab ride home. He remembered gasping it in on the living room floor...did they fall? He thought he remembered one of them tripping over the doorstep. Even just now, with all his senses full of her, he had found traces of it on her skin, at her jaw and right behind her ear.

Luka shivered, buried his face in the pillow, and breathed deep.

He’d played a killer set last night, he’d gone home with a beautiful woman who was great in bed, had somehow managed not to humiliate himself despite his spiked drinks, and he had nowhere to be today. This morning would be perfect if he wasn’t dead certain that Marinette was going to leave and he would never see her again.

He really wanted to see her again.

Which was why he hadn’t wanted things to happen this way, damn it. He sighed, this time burying his face in the pillow to muffle his groan. He was supposed to flirt with her, get her number, ask her out, think with his brain and not his—hormones.

He was still going to kill his so-called friend. There was no justifying what Jean had done. If Victor had been working it never would have happened, but he’d called out for the night and apparently whoever had replaced him had been more than happy to make sure Luka’s drinks were stronger than advertised.

Bastards, both of them.

Even if it hadn’t turned out too badly.

Rock Giant blared out from his nightstand, and Luka flopped on his back and grabbed for his phone, forcing his eyes open as he answered it. “Hello?” he grumbled.

Silence. Luka frowned, and opened his mouth, but the person on the other end finally said, “I’m looking for Marinette.”

What? Luka frowned, and then pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it. It was pink.

Right. Because he’d found Marinette’s dead phone on the floor this morning when he got up, and he’d picked it up and set it in his charger, while he took his own to the living room to call and yell at Jean. Then he’d hurled his phone into the couch and left it there.

Shit.

“Ah,” he said, reaching up with his other hand to run his fingers through his hair. “She’s, um, in the shower. I can tell her to call you when she gets out.”

“Tell her to call Alya. If I don’t hear from her in fifteen minutes, I’m calling the police,” the girl on the other end of the line said coldly, and then hung up.

“Oops,” Luka muttered, setting Marinette’s phone back on the nightstand with a sigh. He hoped she wouldn’t be too mad at him. He probably should have come up with a more ambiguous excuse, something she could use for a cover if she didn’t want to admit to this Alya person that she’d gone home with a guy, but he wasn’t exactly thinking on his feet this morning.

He should get up. He sat up with a groan and swung his legs over to sit on the edge of the bed, scrubbing his hands over his face.

He registered that the shower was no longer running at about the same time that the door opened. Luka looked up and his jaw dropped as Marinette shuffled shyly into the room.

Shit, he’d seen her naked less than an hour ago, why was he still blushing? She was wearing two of his shirts, a t-shirt with one of his button-ups over it, open at the front and with the sleeves rolled up, cinched at her waist with her scarf from the night before. He couldn’t look away from that scarf for a moment, a pink, gauzy thing the sight of which brought Luka another vivid memory of pressing his face against her neck to inhale her perfume as he untied it. His eyes flicked up to the lovely pattern of bruises along her neck.

“Thanks for letting me raid your closet,” Marinette said, tugging slightly at the hem of his shirt. She had what looked like a pair of his black bike shorts on underneath. They were too big for her but damn did her legs look good anyway.

“No problem,” he coughed, and cleared his throat, reaching for the glass of water that was still sitting on his nightstand. Ugh, when did he become such a horn dog, drooling like this over a woman who had already more than satisfied him. Why did Jean have to decide to be a jerk last night, of all nights. Luka didn’t want things to end like this.

“Well, I should...If you maybe have a bag I can put my dress in? Then I can just go and get out of your hair.” Marinette couldn’t seem to be still, feet shuffling, hands fluttering, not looking at him.

I have to fix this, was the only thing he could think as he stared at her. I’ll regret it forever if she just walks out.

“Actually,” Luka said quickly, trying desperately not to sound too desperate, “I was going to ask if I could buy you breakfast.”

That stilled her. She froze, staring at him, and he forced himself to go on. “No pressure,” he shrugged, “But the café on the corner has a great all-day brunch menu. And I’d like to make it up to you, about the dress.” He grinned sheepishly, running a hand through his hair. Marinette’s eyes followed the motion and he thought he saw pink tint her cheeks. Well, at least it wasn’t just him. “Breakfast probably doesn’t begin to cover it, but it’s a start. If you don’t mind waiting for me to shower.”

Marinette was shuffling again. “O-okay,” she said. “I’ll, um...I’ll wait for you in the other room?”

Luka chuckled. “Sure.” He waited a moment, but when she just stood there, he tossed aside the sheet covering his lap and stood. “I’ll be quick,” he told her with a grin that he was extremely sure she didn’t see. She squeaked as he passed her and he had to smother his laughter, even as he closed the bathroom door behind him. She was too cute, and her ogling made him feel less like a creep for his own.

Then he cursed and opened the door again, leaning just his upper half out. “Oh, I need to tell you, you need to call, um, Alya? I’m really sorry, but we have the same ringtone and I answered without thinking. Can you call her back before she sends the cops after me? I can’t deal with Officer Roger this early in the morning.”

Marinette paused, and then let out a strangled laugh, dropping her head into her hand. “Yeah,” she sighed, but she was smiling when she looked up at him. “Sure, I can do that.”

Luka smiled back. “I'll only be a few minutes.”

He did want to be quick, but he also wanted to be clean and attractive, so he throttled back his impatience as best he could to make sure that he both smelled and looked good. The bedroom was still empty when he came in, but the door wasn’t shut all the way and he could hear Marinette on the phone. He felt a little guilty for eavesdropping, but it wasn’t as if he could help it.

“—about that but it’s not like I ditched you on purpose. Well obviously I was wasted, Alya, so I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly. No, I’m really fine. I’m kind of embarrassed and I feel really stupid, but...it turned out okay. Hmm? No, he’s really sweet and considerate. He’s, um, buying me breakfast, so…what? No, Alya, I’m not stupid, I know that. He’s just being nice and—okay that is none of your business! ” There was a giggle that followed that, and then her voice dropped too quiet for him to hear, and another giggle, one that made him smile from the sheer joy evident in it. “I guess I got lucky in more ways than one.” She sighed. “Anyway, you don’t have to worry about me. I really am fine. Not even sick, much. I mean I had a headache for a while, but...” She giggled again. “Luka took care of it. Mm-hmm, so good, Alya, oh my God.” Luka grinned to himself as he dug in his closet to find the stack of leftover merch he had crammed into the back corner. “Nuh uh, also none of your business. Anyway, I’m not dead in a ditch somewhere, and I’ll text you when I’m on my way back, okay?”

Stop being a smug bastard , Luka told himself, but it wasn’t working very well. Given the state she had reduced him to, it was gratifying to know she’d enjoyed herself too. Well, he had known that, he’d made sure of it, but it still felt good to hear it from her. Maybe his odds were better than he thought. He found what he was looking for and tried to turn his smirk into something less incriminating before he opened his door and emerged into the living room. From the way Marinette’s face turned red, he failed. “I really gotta go,” she mumbled into the phone, eyes on him. “Bye, Alya.”

“I hope this will do,” Luka said, offering her the cheap mesh tote with his band logo on it. “You can keep it, we use them to bag up merch when people by t-shirts and stuff for the band...I hope it’s…”

“It’s fine,” Marinette smiled, taking the bag. The pieces of her dress were already neatly folded on the couch, and she turned away from him to put them in the bag.

“I’m really sorry about that,” Luka told her, frowning a little. “I’m...not usually like that.”

“It’s okay,” Marinette sighed. “It was kind of flimsy, with just those straps to hold the pieces together. I’m not usually like this…” she gestured with one of the folded pieces, “either. I’m not, you know, sexy like that. I made it because I thought...well, I thought he would like it, and maybe I could wear it for a special occasion at home, but I never meant to wear it out , and then when everything happened, I thought I’d never wear it at all, but then Alya insisted that I had to wear it at least once and…” She shrugged, and slipped the handles of the tote over her arm, smiling up at him. “I’m just as happy to have an excuse not to wear it again.”

“Well, you looked amazing in it,” Luka told her, the corner of his mouth twitching. “But I have to disagree with you about not usually being sexy. My clothes have never looked so hot.”

She tried to hide how much she enjoyed the compliment, but couldn’t quite manage it, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She’d had a breakup, he remembered, and probably wasn’t feeling too good about herself when she walked into that bar last night, dressed to the nines, and started knocking back drinks.

Then her blue eyes flicked up to give him a look through her lashes. “I find that hard to believe,” she murmured, and then blushed.

Oh he was gone. Luka found himself reaching for her, but stopped his hand before it touched her cheek. “Can I kiss you, Marinette?”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Now, you’re asking?”

“Yes, I’m asking,” Luka replied, amused. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Marinette’s eyes darted to his mouth, and then back towards the bedroom. “I don’t, um...think I can…”

Luka chuckled. “Thanks for your opinion of my stamina, but frankly, me either. I’d be more than willing if I could, but, right here right now? I just really want to kiss you.”

“Why?” Marinette blurted, and then covered her mouth. Luka blinked, but before he could come up with any kind of answer, Marinette straightened and squared her shoulders. “Look,” she said briskly. “I’m sorry, I just...I’ve never done this before, and I don’t know what...I don’t know what the rules are? The...etiquette, or whatever...I mean I kind of thought once we were done with…” Her eyes shifted towards his bedroom again. “I thought it was just, over? And I would go home? So I’m...I guess I’m confused. About why you’re still...um...breakfast and kissing and all that, it just…why would you still want that, after you—I mean we—aren’t we, you know…” She floundered.

“Okay, hold on,” Luka raised his hands placatingly. “Relax, Marinette. That was kind of a lot to take in.” Luka chuckled, and looked away for a moment as he gathered his thoughts. “I’m not gonna say I’ve never done this before, but...listen, I don’t have a playbook. This isn’t...a business transaction, or whatever. I just do what feels good. Dancing with you felt good. Kissing you felt good. Everything we did after felt good. This morning felt really good.” Marinette blushed, a smile tugging at her lips. “I just feel good with you. I don’t see any reason to put a time limit on that, just because we’re, um. Worn out.” They both giggled self-consciously, and Luka reached for Marinette’s hand, cradling it in his. “If you want to go, or you need to be somewhere, or if you’re just tired of kissing me—”

“I don’t,” Marinette said quickly, taking a half step forward. “I’m...not.” Luka smiled.

“Then just do what feels g—”

She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him, dropping the bag on the floor. Luka’s hands found her hips automatically, steadying them both from her hasty move, and the kiss softened as they both relaxed into it.

“You’re right,” Marinette breathed, sending a shiver up his spine. “It does feel good.”

Luka kissed her again softly, savoring the soft plumpness of her lower lip between his, and rested his forehead against hers. “I could kiss you all day,” he rumbled, and cleared his throat. “But fainting from hunger probably wouldn’t feel so good, so. We should probably go.”

“Okay,” Marinette said, and then bit the lip he’d just been enjoying. “But maybe we could...keep doing what feels good? For a while? Until I have to go?”

“Hell yeah,” Luka grinned, and grinned wider when she rose up and kissed him again. He picked up her bag and offered it to her, and walked her to the front door and opened it for her, his other hand still entwined with hers.

They made it to the landing when Marinette hesitated at the top of the stairs. Looking over her head, Luka saw one of his nosier neighbors staring up at them, judgment in every line of her body. Marinette was frozen under the stare, red slowly creeping up her face. He could sense the sudden panic in her, and put a hand on her hip.

Luka leaned down by her ear. “You were the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen last night,” he murmured, smiling when Marinette shivered and turned her head slightly to listen to him, jolted out of whatever spiral she’d been in. “You completely blew my mind this morning. You’re a goddess. Own it and walk out of here like one.”

Marinette felt as if Luka’s words sank into her skin, warming her in such a way that she almost forgot what they were talking about. She was busy reliving the way he had arched against her, the praises he had whispered into her skin, the way he had clung to her, moaning as he came apart. She did that to him.

Luka watched as Marinette bit her lip, fighting the smile that was suddenly trying to break out. He brushed his lips against her temple and she looked up at him, still blushing but with a sparkle in her eye that did things to his heart. She reached back and caught his hand, tangling her fingers with his, and marched down the stairs, offering a cheerful smile to the old lady at the bottom. “Good morning,” she said, and Luka grinned shamelessly as they walked out of the door.

When they made it out of the building Luka suddenly pulled back on her hand, and Marinette gasped as he whirled her up against the wall and leaned down. Marinette rose up on her toes to meet him, cupping his face in her hands and they kissed fiercely. Luka braced his hands on the wall and leaned into her.

“Perfect,” he breathed, though even he wasn’t sure whether he meant her performance just now, or her in general.

Marinette’s hands slid from his face to his shoulders as she blushed and looked down, but then she looked back up at him, beaming, and Luka couldn’t help smiling back at her as he cupped her cheek and kissed her lightly one more time. “Breakfast,” he sighed, and pushed off the wall. He held out his hand, and Marinette put hers in it, and they were both grinning as they meandered down the sidewalk.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, and Marinette sighed blissfully.

“I feel...really good,” she answered. “Thank you.” She paused, and scrunched her nose. “Is that weird to say?”

“No,” Luka laughed, and brought their hands to his lips to press a kiss against her fingers. “Thank you too. I had a really good time. I’m glad you did too. I’m glad that...well, with the way things started. It could have all gone really badly, or not at all, and...I’m really glad I could show you a good time.”

Marinette blushed. “It was good. Really, um. Really good.” She sighed. “I promise I know more words than this.”

Luka chuckled. “It’s okay. Here, it’s this one.” He opened the café door, but he didn’t let go of Marinette’s hand, following right behind her into the café. They were directed to a booth, and he tugged at her, urging her to sit next to him instead of across.

Marinette only hesitated a moment. Do what feels good . Luka’s arm felt good against her shoulders as he laid it along the back of the booth, and he leaned down and kissed her without any trace of self-consciousness. Marinette’s fingers curled in his shirt. Kissing him felt really good. She should be embarrassed; she should be pushing him away. Hadn’t she heard over and over how important image is, and here she is making out with her one night stand, wearing his clothes, in a public diner booth.

Do what feels good .

It definitely felt good.

“God that feels good,” Luka sighed as they parted, and Marinette giggled. He kissed the top of her head, and then picked up the menu as a slightly wary waitress approached. Marinette glanced up at him in surprise at the rather domestic gesture, but then quickly away again. Stupid. They’d already had that conversation. It was just an impulse, not something to read into. Marinette looked up at the waitress instead, feeling her cheeks heat.

The waitress didn’t look phased at all. If anything, she looked bored. “Coffee?” she offered in a disinterested tone.

“Um, no, thank you,” Marinette managed to smile. “I’d like some lemon tea with honey, please.”

The waitress nodded, and glanced at Luka. “Usual, Lu?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Luka said, flashing a quick grin before looking at the menu again.

“Come here often?” Marinette teased, and Luka chuckled, then coughed lightly.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “It’s close and I’m lazy, so…” He shrugged.

The waitress returned and set down a little pot of hot water, a cup with a tea bag in it, and a container of honey.

Marinette pulled away from Luka slightly to prepare the tea, but his arm remained behind her on the back of the booth.

“Here,” Marinette said, sliding the tea over to him when it was ready. “This’ll help your throat.”.

Luka blinked, and then smiled. “Thank you,” he said, and Marinette found herself blushing under his suddenly soft gaze.

“No, thank you,” she said, and he laughed as she reached over and stole his coffee cup. She sipped it carefully. It wasn’t quite as sweet as she liked it, but it was good enough. She glanced up at Luka over the rim, and he was still giving her that soft look.

“I should figure out a ride,” Marinette murmured, looking away, and she picked up her phone.

“I can get you a cab if you want,” Luka offered, but Marinette shook her head.

“My roommate’s boyfriend works nights around here, and he should be getting off soon. I’ll see if he can pick me up first.” She smiled at Luka. “If not, we can revisit the offer. Thank you.”

He leaned down and kissed her again, and she kept him close for another, and her next text to Nino wasn’t entirely coherent.

They had to disentangle from each other when their food came, but Marinette remained very aware of Luka’s arm brushing her own, and the soft smiles he gave anytime she glanced at him. She glanced away, tucking back a lock of hair to cover up the fact that she was grinning like a fool. Is this what it’s supposed to feel like? she wondered. Was this just like, afterglow or something? Would it fade away once she left?

Luka touched her shoulder and Marinette jumped. He blinked. “Sorry. I was just asking if you got your ride worked out, but I guess you were a bit zoned out.”

“Sorry,” Marinette said quickly, and stuffed her phone back in her purse. “Yeah, Nino’s going to pick me up here in a little bit.” Luka nodded.

He put his arm back around her when they were finished eating, and he ordered another lemon tea instead of the coffee she expected. “You were right,” he smiled. “It did help.”

Marinette mixed it up for him again when it came, and then settled in and leaned against Luka’s side as he sipped it. He smelled nice, and he was warm, and she loved how easy he made everything feel.

Luka watched Marinette’s eyelids begin to droop. He nuzzled her hair and kissed her temple, but she just smiled, her eyes still closed. She was adorable, and Luka sighed before jostling her slightly.

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” he warned, and Marinette blinked her eyes back open. “I don’t particularly mind, but we can’t stay in this booth all day.”

“Can’t we?” Marinette sighed. “I’m so comfortable. You’ve been...really great Luka. I’m kind of sorry it has to end.”

Luka took a breath, and took the plunge. “Well, about that. I was hoping maybe we could see each other again.”

Marinette blinked uncomprehendingly, and then blushed as she sat up and looked at him. “Y-you mean, like a...a b-b—”

“I mean like a date,” Luka corrected, mouth twitching. She was really too cute. “The kind with talking and dinner and movies or whatever. I’d really like to spend more time with you, Marinette. Talking, and not just...well. I’d be lying if I said I wanted to stop doing everything else, but...I want to get to know you.”

Marinette’s eyes widened. “R-really?”

Luka tilted his head slightly. “Why are you surprised?”

“I just don’t—I mean I didn’t think I’d be…” Marinette ducked her head, drawing circles in the ring of condensation forming around the base of her water glass. “You don’t even know me.”

“True.” Luka raised his eyebrows, and shifted his gaze away so he wasn’t looking quite so fully at her. “That’s why I’m asking you out. I don’t know you, but I want to. If you want to call it quits now and go home and never see me again, I’ll accept that, but...it’s definitely not the way I want this to go.”

“I…” Marinette looked down, twining a finger nervously in her hair. “I don’t know, Luka. You’re really sweet and—I really did have a great time with you. It’s just…I don’t want you to get hurt because I’m on the rebound, I…I don’t know if I’m ready for another, um...relationship, right now. I mean...”

Not what he wanted to hear, but...“Okay. That’s fair,” Luka nodded, the fingers of his free hand beginning to tap the table lightly.. “What if we just keep things casual for now? We can go out sometimes, and have some fun together...do what feels good…” he squeezed her hip, and watched her try to keep back the smile that wanted to break out, “get to know each other, and if you want to see other people or whatever, I’m cool with that for now. I’d just really like the chance to spend more time with you. If it doesn’t go anywhere then…” He shrugged, “at least I tried. You’ve put me on notice now, so it’s my choice to take the risk. I think you’re worth it.” His heart was beating so fast, and the tap of his fingers picked up tempo as he watched Marinette consider.

“Why?” Marinette whispered at last, with a sigh that hurt his heart. Her last relationship must really have done a number on her.

Luka cupped her cheek in his hand, coaxing her to look up at him. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just...have a feeling about you. I’ve learned to trust my instincts about people. I can’t explain it logically, I just...know. You’re someone I want to know. I felt it from the moment I saw you, before I’d even had a single drink.”

Marinette pursed her lips, looking up at him. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to live up to that,” she said after a long moment.

Luka let his thumb stroke lightly against her lower lip. “You don’t have to live up to anything. Just be you, and let what happens happen.” He bent and kissed her, slipping a hand behind her neck to get a better angle as he plundered her mouth in a way that was definitely not appropriate for a public place. Luka was pretty far beyond caring at the moment though. That this gorgeous, sweet, vibrant woman, could question that someone might be drawn to her, attracted to her for more than a passing moment...it just wasn’t right.

Marinette relaxed into him with a quiet moan. Her hand slipped under his jacket and pressed into his chest, feeling him up shamelessly, and his own fingers tightened on her hip.

“So,” he breathed, when he finally let her slip reluctantly away. “What do you say?”

Marinette looked up at him, and bit her reddened lip, and then quietly asked, “Are you free this weekend?”

Luka grinned. “Actually, not so much, I’m usually playing gigs on weekends...how about Thursday? That way I don’t have to hurry away.”

Marinette hummed, and pulled out her phone. He watched the fingertip she pressed against her lips as she considered her schedule, and admired her bright eyes when she smiled up at him. “Okay, Thursday works.”

“It’s a date,” Luka smiled so softly that Marinette’s heart fluttered. How did he do that, kiss her like that and then do something so—so sweet .

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, she thought as he got out his own phone to swap numbers with her. What if she fell for him?

But...he sounded like he wanted her to fall for him. Maybe? But what if he fell for her, and she was just using him for sex? Because he’d made her feel so, so good...important and beautiful and wanted and…

It might not even be like that again, she told herself. Maybe I just imagined it because I was lonely and depressed and feeling unwanted...maybe I would be thinking about anyone who gave me some attention that way. Maybe we’ll just...fizzle out and it won’t even be an issue..

Luka curled his fingers under her chin and tilted her face up. “You okay?” he asked softly.

“I…” her voice was shaking, and she took a breath and forced a smile. “Yeah. Just. I’m tired.”

He didn’t believe her. “You’re okay,” he told her, kissing her cheek gently, and then the corner of her mouth. “Whatever’s going on, it’s going to be okay.”

Marinette’s phone beeped, and she picked it up with relief. “He’s almost here.”

She slid out of the booth, and Luka followed. He left some bills on the table and took her hand as they walked out.

“That’s my ride,” Marinette gestured as Nino pulled up at the curb. She turned to face Luka, stepping close. He set his hands on her hips and squeezed as she leaned up to kiss his cheek, but she paused, and then turned and caught his mouth instead. Luka moved easily to meet her in one of those slow, deep kisses that made it seem like he had no other place in the world to be. She stroked his cheeks with her fingertips and kissed him again, and then again as she slid her fingers back up into his hair. “Goodbye, Luka,” she whispered, and he shook his head.

“See you later,” he corrected softly.

As he let go of her she felt something slide along her hip and looked down to see the pink scarf that had been tied around her waist slipping away. She looked up at Luka’s grinning face as he winked at her and draped the gauzy scarf around his neck. He raised the fabric to his face and inhaled. “See you Thursday,” he told her, eyes twinkling, and turned to walk away.

Marinette’s knees felt shaky as she stepped down the curb and opened the car door.

Nino was hunched down in the front seat, both hands pulling his cap over his face. “Geeze, Nette,” he muttered as she fell into the seat and tucked her feet inside. “I really didn’t need to see that.”

“Sorry,” she said breathlessly, but as she flipped down the visor to check herself in the vanity mirror, she saw pink cheeks and sparkling eyes and a broad smile, and knew that she wasn’t convincing. She pressed her fingers to her lips and, for Nino’s sake, fought down the urge to squeal.

Her glow dimmed a bit as she followed Nino up the stairs to the apartment she shared with Alya. She loved her friend, but...she wasn’t looking forward to this conversation. She tugged the collar of Luka’s shirt a little higher on her neck, and tried to remember what Luka had told her. She had nothing to be ashamed of.

“Well well well,” Alya drawled as Marinette slipped into the apartment after Nino. “Your very first walk of shame.” She smirked. “Marinette, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“What I had in me was a lot of vodka,” Marinette huffed, and came over to the table, accepting the glass of ice water Alya pushed across to her.

Alya waited until Marinette had the drink at her lips to add, “And a hot guy, apparently.”

Marinette choked, just as Alya had intended. “Alya!”

“Don’t tell me he wasn’t, girl,” Alya snickered. “You, my friend, look very well fucked.”

Marinette blushed hard. She was, at that, but Alya didn’t have to put it so...crassly.

Nino groaned. “You know what, just...knock and let me know when you’re done. I don’t want to think about it.” He went down the hall into Alya’s bedroom and shut the door.

“So you said goodbye to Mr. Right For Tonight?” Alya asked, tapping her fingers against her own glass. “You have all your stuff, right?” She frowned. “Are those his clothes? What happened to your dress?”

“I have it with me,” Marinette defended, picking up the bag she’d dropped. “He just...thought I’d be more comfortable in something else.” Not for a million euros would she have told Alya the whole truth about the dress. “And yes, I said goodbye. For now, anyway,” Marinette muttered, and caught Alya’s gaze when she looked up. Something in that look made her squirm. “Actually we have a date later this week,” she admitted.

“A date?” Alya raised her eyebrows. “Marinette, maybe I need to clue you in on a few things about this whole one night stand business. As in, one single night. After which you…” She made a fluttering motion with her hand. “You’re not supposed to get a date.”

Marinette shrugged, and reached over to pluck a croissant from Alya’s plate, just to have something to do with her hands. “Oops.”

Alya’s frown deepened.

“What? It’s no big deal,” Marinette defended, though she wasn’t even sure why she felt the need. “We just...thought we’d like to see each other again.”

Alya looked troubled for a moment, and then grinned. “It was that good, huh?”

“Well—” Marinette squirmed in her seat again. “It was fine, okay? He just...seemed nice.”

“Uh huh.”

“It was your idea anyway!” Marinette pointed out defensively.

“My idea was for you to go out and get buzzed and enjoy being drooled over,” Alya grinned. “You decided to get hammered and then get laid all on your own. I hope you’re satisfied .”

Marinette couldn’t cover the silly smile that wanted to come up at that, but when Alya snickered, Marinette shook herself back to reality and sighed. “It was probably my imagination making things better than they were. I was feeling pretty down last night and I did have a lot to drink. And it has, you know. Been a while.”

“Maybe started seeing through beer goggles?” Alya teased. “Not that I blame you, I thought he was pretty cute when you were dancing, but I’d had a few myself by then too. Not your usual type, but it’s good to branch out.”

Marinette blushed. She didn’t want to tell Alya that while her memories of the evening were hazy, she remembered Luka in the morning very clearly, not only the lines of his body but the broadness of his back beneath her arms as she clung to him, the ripple of the muscles tensing and releasing against her as he moved, the dark intensity of his eyes and the way they fluttered closed when she did something he liked.

She picked up her water glass and took a long gulp. No, she hadn’t needed the liquor to be attracted to him. Not at all.

Still. She wasn’t exactly thinking clearly, even now. “Watch,” Marinette sighed, setting the glass down. “The date’ll be a bust and that’ll be the end of it. We probably won’t have anything to say to each other and we’ll exchange awkward texts for a few days and then we’ll never speak again.”

“Hmm,” Alya raised her eyebrows. “We’ll see. It’s fine if you want to have fun, Marinette, you sure as hell could use some. Just be careful, always use protection, and don’t let him take any nudes.”

Marinette blushed deeply, and bit into her croissant. “Thanks so much for your concern,” she muttered around the mouthful.

***

Marinette knew she was in trouble as soon as she locked eyes with Luka and her stomach started doing somersaults. The slow smile he gave her was so distracting that she barely heard his greeting, or the compliment that followed. She didn’t remember putting her hand in his, it was just there, his fingers rubbing lightly over her knuckles. They hadn’t even made it to the restaurant when Luka tugged her into a shadowed corner and kissed her in that slow, purposeful way he had. His voice surprised her a little, smoother than it had been, without the roughness of hard usage, but, she found, just as seductive. Any resistance Marinette might have had crumbled the second he turned them out of the light and breathed may I ? against her lips.

When they did finally make it to their table, Luka was just as easygoing as he’d been on their first...night, and he meant it when he said he wanted to get to know her. He asked her questions, and seemed interested in what she said, even when she babbled, watching her with a quietly amused smile. He was interesting, too, telling her about his travels for the past year with his band. They had a surprising number of tastes in common. His eyes were fixed on her whenever she spoke, and he was touching her whenever he got the chance, taking her hand or playing with her fingers, brushing her hair back or letting his hand rest on her shoulder. Despite the kisses they shared whenever one of them couldn’t help themselves, his touch didn’t feel like seduction, just tenderness. Marinette felt like the center of his world, and after so long living on the sidelines of someone else’s life, she reveled in it.

They were laughing as he walked her home.

“You did not,” Marinette gasped, one hand over her mouth and the other curled around Luka’s arm.

“We totally did. What can I say, it was a full moon and my best friend is crazy.” Luka shrugged, and grinned while Marinette laughed.

“Wait, so are you a werewolf?” Marinette asked teasingly, as they approached the awning of her building.

“No,” Luka chuckled. “Unless you’re into that. If so, I can see what arrangements I can make for the next full moon.”

“You’d get bitten by a werewolf for me?” Marinette giggled. “How sweet.”

“I’d rather be bitten by you,” Luka teased back, and his hand found her hip, and her arms came up around his neck, and then they were kissing. Heat welled up in her, making her push up against him. Luka made a sound low in his throat and his hands slid to her lower back, pressing her closer. Oh, she wanted him, and by the feel of him he wanted her too, and…

Well. There really wasn’t any point in denying their mutual desire, was there. Marinette pulled away to press her lips along his jaw, and he made that sound again as he tilted his head for her.

“Do you want to come upstairs?” Marinette asked, toying with his collar. “My roommate’s out of town tonight, so we won’t be, um...bothering anybody.”

“I’d love to,” Luka told her, voice deepening. “I’d hate for you to be lonely, all by yourself.”

“Oh, I can entertain myself,” Marinette said daringly, looking up at him through her lashes. “I have an excellent imagination. There’s definitely advantages to having the real you here, though.”

“Play your cards right and I’m sure we can manage the best of both worlds.” Luka bent and kissed the join of her neck and shoulder, sucking hard enough to make her shudder. “You can start with telling me how you imagine we get upstairs. Are we making out in the elevator or am I chasing you up the stairs?”

“Elevator,” Marinette sighed, head tilting as he retraced his favorite route up her neck. “I don’t want to wear your legs out just yet.” She paused to consider. “Maybe you could chase me that far, though.”

Luka pressed another long, slow kiss to her mouth. “Then you’d better run,” he told her, grinning playfully. “I won’t be responsible for what happens when I catch you.” They both giggled, and then Marinette broke away, running for the building doors. Luka darted after her, staying just at her heels, sweeping her up in his arms just in time to carry her through the elevator doors. Marinette spared a brief moment to wonder what she was doing, being so bold, and in sight of the entire lobby, too, but Luka grinned at her, and she forgot to care. Marinette leaned over him to press the button for her floor, and then forgot everything but his mouth under hers.

Later, when they said a lingering goodbye at her door, and he asked her if she’d like to go out again, she didn’t even hesitate before agreeing. She’d figure out a way to explain it to Alya later.

Fiction Master Post

#quickspins #oops #lukanette #endgame lukanette #lukanette endgame #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #miraculousladybug #miraculous ladybug #i'll never not know you #pro lukamari #nsfwish fic #alya salt #depending on your sensitivity #one night stand to lovers

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thomaslightwood · 3 years

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“What if Paris was the first time we’d met?” || Thomastair University AU

I wrote this because 1) anxiety and 2) the idea of what would happen if Thomas and Alastair had met for the first time in Paris is killing my soul so here you go

•

Thomas closed his notebook with a sigh.

“I know you want to say it,” Thomas grounded.

Lucie looked at him with big innocent eyes. “Say what?”

Thomas rolled his eyes.

Lucie smiled at him and while they both stood up, she said with a grin, “Okay, I will say it. I told you not to drink last night. I told you.”

Thomas signed again. “Yeah, you did. In my defense, that guy was cute and I was nervous!”

“No excuses!”

“Mr. Lightwood.”

Thomas stopped on the exit and looked at the professor. “Yes, Mrs. Jahanshah?”

Sona Jahanshah handed him a list. “Your paper. I wished to give it to you yesterday but well.” You weren't here was left unsaid but they both knew what she meant.

Thomas felt ashamed. His Farsi class was his favorite and Mrs. Jahanshah was an awesome woman. Strict and rarely allowing compromises but amazing teacher. Thomas didn't want to let her down by missing her classes to get drunk. Especially on the second day of the new semester.

He hesitatingly took the paper and looked at it. A small smile appeared on his face.

“Thank you Mrs. Jahanshah,” he said. He hurried to Lucie who was waiting for him at the door.

“Well?” she raised an eyebrow.

Thomas grinned but only said, “Nothing.”

“Come on, let me see!”

“Nope.”

Lucie tried to grab it from him but she was too small compared to him. And in general. In the end she gave up but said this wasn't the end.

“One day I will read your work, Thomas Alexander Lightwood, remember my words.”

“Yeah, of course,” he said with a smile.

Together they left the university and went to the near coffee shop where they were supposed to meet with Lucie's friend, Cordelia.

Thomas was a little jealous how Lucie could find a soulmate so fast. It has never been so easy to Thomas. It will never be. Maybe he was just too awkward. Sometimes he felt like his insecurities were written all over his face.

Lucie's smile widened. “There she is. It seems her brother is also here.”

•

“I have work,” Alastair said.

“We all have,” Cordelia said.

“Okay, I have a lot of work.”

“Come on,” Cordelia arched an eyebrow. “You should take a rest from time to time. Or else your brain would explode.”

“Sure,” Alastair said sarcastically. “Tell me again, why am I here? To rest? By meeting people?”

“It's just Lucie! And one of her friends, Thomas, who is a really adorable guy. It would be fine!”

Alastair wasn't convinced but didn't say anything. Cordelia was determined to make him talk with people for some reason.

“Oh, I see Lucie. She's right there.”

Alastair followed his sister's look. He spotted her friend, Lucie Herondale, a small but lively girl. They have spoken a few times but Alastair didn't really know anything about her except the things Cordelia told him.

Next to Lucie was a tall, broad-shouldered guy with a shy smile that was laughing at something Lucie said.

Alastair felt like someone kicked him in the stomach.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You didn't tell me your friend is so cute.”

Cordelia blinked at him and smiled playfully. “I didn't know he is your type.”

“He is now,” Alastair stated.

Cordelia couldn't help but grin.

“Fuck,” Alastair said again looking at Thomas.

•

Thomas and Lucie sat on the table with Cordelia and Alastair. He was introduced to the Cordelia's brother and Thomas got worried he'd do something stupid and would make fool of himself in front of the beautiful guy next to him and-

Thomas forced himself not to space out too much but to listen to what the rest were talking about. He did his best to join the conversation but it wasn't easy to concentrate.

At some point Alastair said he's going to the bathroom and Cordelia went to ask for more coffee. Thomas breathed out and turned to Lucie.

“Why didn't you tell me your friend's brother is so cute? You know I don't know how to act around cute guys!”

“You are doing just fine,” Lucie said, trying to calm him down.

“Well, I was drowning in anxiety. But... I think it was sort of... the normal anxiety?”

“You mean...”

At this moment Cordelia returned to the table and Lucie didn't finish her sentence. Thomas was grateful. He was diagnosed with social anxiety and didn't feel comfortable talking about it in front of strangers. Only a few close to him people knew and Thomas did not want too many people to find out about it. It made him, well, anxious.

When Alastair got back he said he should hurry up for his next lecture and said goodbye. Thomas was a little disappointed.

Cordelia, Lucie and he had almost an hour until their next class so they remained in the cafe. Thomas wanted to know more about Alastair Carstairs but he thought asking Cordelia may look creepy and out of place. He may ask Lucie to do it. Or he himself to ask. Some day.

•

Thomas was nervous. It was his first time in a new class where he didn't know anyone (he didn't know many people in the university as a whole but still).

As he entered the room he tried to calm down. Took a deep breath. His anxiety was still there but after Thomas took his seat he felt like he wouldn't get an anxiety attack in front of the whole class and will survive this. Probably.

He prepared to take notes, took out a few pens (just in case) and tried to breath normally. He reminded himself no one was paying attention to him. There were a lot of people in the room, he was just another guy in it. It was going to be fine.

“Hey, can I sit here?”

Thomas turned to the person talking to him and blinked. Alastair Carstrais.

“Sure,” Thomas said after a second.

Alastair smiled a little and Thomas couldn't help it - he returned the smile.

“The room is just so full. I was worried there weren't any left seats.”

The room was indeed full. Thomas was happy he got here early so he could sit at a place he liked.

“Cordelia didn't mention you like history.”

“Cordelia is awesome but I'm not very close with her,” Thomas said. “And I'm a little bit of history buff,” he admitted.

“Enough history buff to take a class for it, it seems,” Alastair said with a small smile.

Thomas laughed. “Yes, apparently.”

The professor walked into the room and it got quiet.

Thomas listened with interest to the lecture, taking detailed notes. But he was also excited because of the person sitting next to him.

•

Thomas wasn't sure how much time had passed but he knew he was hungry.

“Hey,” Thomas turned to Alastair who had a little strange expression as he said this. “Wanna, like- I mean if you're not busy, to have lunch with me? Or even just coffee if you don't have a lot of time?”

Thomas' stomach did a flip but it was a good kind of flip, nervous and excited.

“I would be happy to have lunch together.”

Alastair smiled. It was a real, warm smile. “Okay.”

They went out of the university and Alastair said he knew a good place in the area. Thomas followed, careful to remember the way to it. He may need to come here again, hopefully.

As they sat, menus appeared in front of them almost immediately. Thomas ordered tea, Alastair - coffee until they waited for the food.

They talked about the lecture. It was about the history of the Ancient Near East. Alastair was half Persian and Thomas was fascinated to hear a few curious history facts about the Persian culture from him.

“I admit,” Alastair said. “My love of the Persian stories and songs is influenced by my mother. Sometimes she says it's her duty as a teacher to tell us, Cordelia and I, as much as she could about our heritage. Which of course has nothing to do with her profession but we don't say anything," Alastair laughed a little.

“Your mother is a teacher?” Thomas said curiously.

“Yes, for a few years now. She's a professor here.”

Thomas' eyes widened. “Wait, your mother is Sona Jahanshah?”

“The same,” Alastair said before drinking from his coffee.

“Whoa,” Thomas said with a smile. “I should have thought about it earlier. You have the same eyes.”

Alastair's eyes sparkled at this. He looked amused. “Most people would say we share the same temper not eyes.”

“This too,” Thomas laughed.

The conversation went in different directions a few times. They found out they share a great love for music. That Alastair's favorite book is The Prince by Machiavelli. Thomas in returned said his is Rubaíyat́ of Omar Khayyaḿ. They promised to read each other's favorite books because they haven't read it before. Thomas found out Alastair can play a piano and sing. Thomas wanted to hear him.

“What made you choose to come to France?” Thomas asked at some point.

“It's mainly because me and Cordelia wanted to study here. Paris is one of the cities where we were the happiest. So we moved here.”

Thomas wanted to ask about his father but he knew from Lucie Cordelia and Alastair's father was a sensitive topic so Thomas decides to leave it alone.

“How about you? Are you a big fan of France?”

“Not exactly,” Thomas laughed nervously. “Actually, coming to France doesn't seem very wise. My father wanted me to go study in Spain or Wales. Which would be logical because I know Spanish and Welsh. My father has connections in Spain and Lucie's father is Welsh. I started to learn French only a year ago. But...” Thomas tried his best to explained it. When he was saying it out aloud it sounded like a stupid decision but it makes sense Thomas' head. “It's about the university. The history of this city. I admire it. Lucie and I talked about it and our parents let us study here only because they know we're together.”

The waiter came to serve them the food and Thomas paused. He even didn't remember ordering a second time.

“You probably think I'm silly," Thomas said, feeling stupid.

“No, no," Alastair shook his head. “Not at all. I think I understand.”

Thomas looked at his eyes. He believed him.

“Also, you speak Spanish, Welsh and learn Farsi and French? I'm impressed.”

Thomas smiled a little shyly at that. He didn't mind compliments but coming from Alastair felt different.

The time was passing and they barely noticed. They both missed their lectures but as much as it was unusual for Thomas he barely cared. He did not regret the time spent with Alastair.

They exchanged numbers and social media. Alastair promised to send him more book recommendations. Thomas kept smiling the whole day.

•

the tree: sorry luce i can't have lunch with you today

small bean: ooooh, and why is this, little john?

the tree: i'm just not hungry

small bean: yeah yeah and i'm cinderella

small bean: are you seeing someone? someone dark haired maybe?? 👀

Thomas blushed a little and put his phone back into the pocket without answering.

“Ready to go?”

“Yep,” Thomas followed Alastair through the exit and together left the university.

They sat in the same place as the last time. Even on the same table. Thomas liked that.

“Okay, I suggest not to miss our lecturers this time,” Alastair said.

“Agreed,” Thomas said, laughing. “I can't survive this class only on Lucie's notes.”

They talked about books. They both have read each other's favorite book now and had thoughts to share. Alastair passionately talked about one quatrains of Rubaíyat́ of Omar Khayyaḿ while Thomas was eating from his toast. Since he left London he has forgotten the pleasure of talking about books with someone who was as much investigated in it as Thomas.

Same as the last time the conversation went in different directions. They talked a little about themselves.

“I miss my friends and family,” Thomas admitted. “We were always together, very close to each other. It was weird at first when I came here, without them being around.”

“Tell me about them.”

With almost every other person Thomas would think they were trying to make small talk. Alastair though, Thomas knew, didn't speak things he doesn't mean.

So Thomas told him. He told him about his sisters but not much about Barbara who had passed away because he felt like this was too personal. About the Merry Thieves and a little bit about how they're families were friends.

In return Alastair told him about the cities he had traveled to and what he likes about them, which places were beautiful, the history of them. After his parents' divorce when Alastair was almost 18, he, Cordelia and Sona moved to Paris because the siblings wanted to study here.

They could talk for many more hours but an alarm sharply interrupted them. It was Alastair's phone. He shut it down.

“This is for me. My lecture starts after ten minutes.”

“Oh,” Thomas couldn't hide his disappointment. “Okay.”

“Hey, do you want... to meet tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow is Saturday?” Thomas said, confused. “We don't have classes.”

“I know,” a strange look appeared on Alastair's face. Thomas in shock realized it was nervousness. “Actually, I... I’m asking you to go on a date with me.”

Thomas' heart skipped a beat. It was impossible to stop the smile on his face.

“Okay.”

•

“You're nervous.”

“I am not,” Alastair said defensively. Cordelia arched an eyebrow. “Okay, maybe a little bit.”

“Try not to freak out too much. He's just a guy.”

“A guy with a cute smile.”

“Yeah,” Cordelia laughed. “But you're cute too.”

Alastair frowned at her. “Don't you have homework?”

“I have,” she admitted. “But I also have a brother who has a date.”

Alastair sighed. “He is far from the first guy I have a date with.”

“But he's the first after you-know-who.”

Alastair shook his head. “His name is not a trigger. You can say it. And it doesn't matter. It was a long time ago.”

It wasn't too long ago and Alastair maybe wasn't too happy about his situation with Charles but Cordelia didn't need to know this.

Alastair out on his shoes and coat. The weather wasn't too chilly.

“Actually, I meant... Doesn't matter,” Cordelia said. “Just have fun, remember he is just a guy as nervous as you and don't break his heart because he's Lucie's friend and I like her.”

Alastair couldn't help it but smile. He kissed his sister's forehead and went out.

•

Thomas saw Alastair coming and tried not to look too anxious or look if his clothes were okay.

And he tried his best not to stare at the gorgeous view Alastair was.

Alastair led them on the way to the place he had in mind. It was far from the center, in a small alley that had one beautiful fountain. As they entered the small restaurant Alastair said a few words to the staff member and she immediately led them to their table.

It wasn't what Thomas imagined. They went upstairs. This floor was definitely emptier than the first one - the tables were farther from one another, with only a couple of people on them.

Their table was on the balcony. Thomas' breath stopped when he saw the view. He barely noticed as they sat and the waiter put menus in front of them.

Paris was beautiful during the night. The city of lights. The Eiffel Tower stood gold and sparkling.

“It's beautiful,” Thomas said and turned to Alastair. He caught him staring at Thomas with a smile on his lips.

“It really is,” Alastair said and also looked at the view before opening his menu. “I got lucky to reserve a table here. Part of which was that my mother and the owner are good friends,” Alastair laughed.

Thomas smiled and also opened his menu. “So. What do you recommend?”

Alastair carefully scanned the page he was on. “The toast is awesome. And the desserts are unique. Here is the best tiramisu in Paris.”

“You really like coffee, don't you?” Thomas said with a smile.

“Yes,” Alastair said. “I admit, I do love coffee a hella lot.”

Soon the waiter came to take their orders. After he left, Thomas said, “I'm curious about something. How did you come out? Wait, are you out to your family? Is this a sensitive topic? Oh god, I'm so-”

“It's okay,” Alastair laughed. “Do you always ask every guy such questions on the first date?” he teased.

Thomas blushed a little. “Well. Sometimes,” he cleared throat. “Anyway! Answer my question. Or don't if you don't want to.”

“I'll answer,” Alastair said, trying to hide a smile.“I came out to Cordelia first, a few years ago. Then she convinced me that coming out to Mâmân wouldn't be a disaster. And she was right. It was difficult at first. But it's mostly fine right now.”

The waiter came with their drinks - ginger beer for Thomas and black decaffeinated coffee for Alastair.

“How about you?” Alastair asked after they were alone again. “Are you out?”

“I am kind of out to my family and friends too, yes.”

“Kind of?” Alastair arched the eyebrow.

“It's a funny story actually,” Thomas said. “At first, one of my cousins, Anna, came out as non-binary lesbian. Not long after this Matthew, one of my best friends, came out as bi. And you see, in some way they cleared the path for me. When I came out no one was even surprised. I think they kind of expected everyone to come out as gay at some point,” Thomas laughed.

He didn't mention how sickly anxious he was to come out because he was worried his parents would react bad. Or how he worried his friends and sisters won't understand. Or the irrational, freezing fear to let even one person know something so personal about him.

They talked more about London. Alastair said he was there only once but would like to visit again. They joked that Lucie would drag Cordelia there for the first holiday that appears.

At some point they started to talk about Paris. Which museums they have visited so far. Alastair was scandalized Thomas hasn't visited the Louvre yet. They agreed they should go to one museum together some day.

It was a beautiful night, warm, with a nice breeze. They talked for long, so long they were the only ones left in the restaurant. In another time, in another life the same was happening. They were both different people, with different pasts and so different memories, unsaid words and broken hearts. But as the city of light was watching over them tonight they had this sweet memory, echoing through the centuries.

#thomastair #thomas lighwood #alastair carstairs #tlh #tsc #the last hours #the shadowhunter chronicles #lucie herondale #cordelia carstairs #tsc fanfiction #university au #feel good fic #sav's writing #paris #tsccreatenet #my post

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