#did they go with him to find calico jack? did they sit at the table while izzy laid out the whole crew's potential weak points??? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ladyluscinia · 7 months

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Izzy Hands Is Manipulative, But Not That Way

...or I finally finish that long ass meta post about why I love the fucking Navy Plot lol

The Izzy manipulation debate has been really interesting to me pretty much since it started, because I'd see a post arguing he's manipulating Edward and go "No, and he couldn't if he tried" and then the next post would say he sucks at manipulation because he's a blunt fucking instrument and I'd go "Yea- wait. Hmm. No, he can be targeted and tricky as fuck." Which does, on its surface, seem like a contradictory stance, but I swear it works.

Because the thing with Izzy - and this is such a fun thing imo - is there are two core types of manipulation that characters engage in, and Izzy fucking sucks at the one you expect his style of antagonist to focus on. But he's scarily good at the other.

Long meta under the cut, so get comfy.

...

From his role under Edward to the protagonist vs antagonist dynamic setup to his introduction scenes, Izzy is very much invoking the conniving second in command. We know this character from other media. He doesn't have the full power he wants so he's constantly scheming to get it. He can't or won't challenge his boss for some reason, so he settles for being the devil on their shoulder or working behind their back. He's the voice constantly ready to inflame insecurities and turn relationship cracks into chasms, and usually he's lying constantly to do so. His fingerprints are all over his boss's problems up to the moment they show some weakness, and then their loyal second goes right for the backstab. He is THE ambitious manipulator. The shady advisor. The snake.

And then you actually look at Izzy and he is not that guy. In fact, it's a testament to the strength of Edward's character arc how much his evil little henchman is not causing his problems.

So - Izzy and manipulation:

Izzy Can't Convince People To Do Things

Like. He really can't.

This interpersonal struggle is fairly fundamental to his character. And moreover, it's a skill that Izzy is intensely aware that he lacks, so usually he doesn't even try.

In his first episode he walks right up to Buttons and just straight up asks him for the information on his party. He doesn't even resolve to steal the hostages until he realizes that Stede has lost them in the bush already, and Izzy obtains them by buying them. When Stede confronts him they end up splitting the pair in a very above-board negotiation and he pretty much just goes with what Stede suggests.

Then in 1x03, people make a big deal of Izzy "manipulating" Edward by not clarifying that Stede didn't know who he was when he turned down the invite, but kind of importantly he repeats the damning line of the conversation faithfully. If he was going to lie, then why not lie? Why even go see Stede at all? And, if he didn't want Stede dead until after the conversation (understandable, tbh, since "Iggy" was stab-worthy), surely he could invent a better insult to rile Edward up. It makes his omission hit more like being bitchy about Stede not recognizing the obvious - namely that Izzy Hands works for Blackbeard and literally everyone knows this - than a slander campaign to get him killed. And once we properly meet Izzy and Edward in 1x04, Izzy's inability to manipulate becomes his main struggle.

Izzy's a blunt and direct person. He leans on authority bestowed by Blackbeard to take control of situations, playing the role he's supposed to play, and without it he lacks a Plan B. In 1x04 he doesn't have any authority over Edward, so his efforts to get him to take the danger of the Spanish seriously amount to "Well as bored as you might be, if you don't make a decision soon we're gonna fucking die." And this is true! There might be a very subconscious attempt at manipulation in his resignation speech before the "That's Blackbeard. I'm Stede, remember?" line - of the piss him off to get him to get his shit together variety - but Edward literally makes a joke out of it so not exactly effective.

And once Edward stops giving Izzy authority in general, his plan to make Lucius do stuff is still just... brute force. Which works at first when Lucius doesn't realize that Izzy's on his own now, and stops working as soon as Fang breaks ranks. His last ditch blackmail attempt isn't manipulative either - he just plans to tell the truth to Pete and assumes he'll be pissed about it. My guy loses a fight over the pirate equivalent of making an uppity employee clean the coffee maker while the boss is out. Not only does he fail to manipulate the crew in a conniving antagonist way... he doesn't even try.

I mean, the only time he (somewhat) succeeds in talking someone into things is 1x06. Getting Edward to agree to killing Stede isn't really manipulation - Izzy gets Fang and Ivan to back him in a very straightforward way because they all actually do have a stake in this - but he's passably able to push Stede to go through with the fuckery via fake compliments. It's not exactly high level work, though. Stede being vulnerable to ego-stroking / dares is pretty obvious.

So what is Izzy good at?

Well, if you can't make people do anything other than what they were going to do in the first place, you might as well lean into that.

...

Izzy Manipulates Situations, Not People

Situational manipulation is one of those fictional tropes that rarely can happen in real life, but there's not much resemblance because real life rarely gives you all the building blocks for a proper gambit and lets you loose. Too many factors. In narratives, though? It becomes one of my favorite ways of having a character be clever.

And before I get into this too much, a really fun sidenote - I think Izzy does situational manipulation more like the way protagonists do it. See, antagonists are usually emotionally and situationally manipulative (ex: provoking the hero to lash out and using it to frame them for a bigger crime), but it's not a good look when your hero drives the target to do something bad and then punishes them for it. So heroes lean on stuff like Batman Gambits - where the lynchpin of the scheme is the target fucking themselves over by behaving completely in character. They've written Izzy so ineffective at emotional manipulation that he pretty much has to rely on other characters' flaws or histories to cause problems, which has a very similar result. And it's wild.

...

Going back to the 1x03 confrontation in Jackie's bar, Izzy doesn't really do anything abnormal in how he conducts himself, but people are picking up on an agenda for a reason. Namely, the whole damn conversation quickly turns into a trap, and Izzy fully sits back and watches Stede spring it from sheer idiocy.

There's no indication that when Izzy walked up he wasn't going to carry out his task with all the bitchy professionalism expected of him, while probably hoping that Stede would eventually stick his foot in his mouth without Izzy's help (assuming he's the kind of idiot Izzy thinks he is). His first section of this conversation is nearly polite:

Izzy (about the Nose Jar): "I have a few colleagues in there." Stede: "Ugh. You again." Geraldo: "Mr. Hands, welcome. It's been a while." Izzy: "(To Geraldo) Yeah, because I hate this fucking place. (To Stede) But for some inexplicable reason, my boss would like a word with you. Bonnet."

It's not until Stede starts talking that I think Izzy clues in that Stede doesn't actually know who his boss is. He didn't introduce himself until the literal last second of their 1x02 interaction, so it wasn't obvious Stede wasn't literally bolting into the forest in horrified realization.

And Stede? He goes hard on being a bitch right out the gate. Brushes Izzy off, tells him to "get in line", calls him the wrong name, says he doesn't care who Izzy is...

Izzy so far has met Stede in a public place, in front of people who clearly treat Izzy with respect and fear. He doesn't bring up their previous interaction, Stede does. He doesn't even goad Stede beyond existing. He corrects him on his name, and watches it not register in the slightest. The next line is the clincher:

Izzy (slightly incredulous): "So I'll tell my Captain that you're declining then, yeah?"

As Izzy is speaking the conversation becomes a trap - he chooses a reasonable way to refer to Edward that isn't "Blackbeard" and waits to see if Stede will make this worse. The jump from "no I'm busy" to "tell him he has terrible taste in flunkies and he can go suck eggs in Hell" is all Stede, completely ignoring context clues as Geraldo stares on in horror. Hell, Jackie only refrains from later de-nosing Stede on the spot because Geraldo knows what's up, and Stede still doesn't pick up on the fact he should maybe be asking some questions (though I'll give him the knife was distracting).

Izzy returns to the ship, quotes Stede directly for his damning line, and waits to see what Edward will do with it. It's not good behavior on his part (and if he could have seen the future he might have tried worse), but switching mid-conversation to offering Stede an opportunity to fuck himself over is a very different mindset than simply lying to / provoking Stede or Edward to get what he wants. He's mostly being petty.

Stede did insult Edward of his own volition, after all, and just because Izzy fudges the truth to hide he didn't know he was insulting Blackbeard instead of just Izzy and a random stranger doesn't change that. All Izzy did to "escalate" that conversation was give Stede a second opening to do so himself.

But there is a far better example of Izzy masterfully manipulating a situation than this in-the-moment bit of pettiness, so let's move onto my favorite bit... explaining in extensive and slightly awestruck detail why the Navy plot. Fucking. Rules. Because it does. Ready?

...

How to Mastermind the Decisive Removal of One Stupid Fucking Stede Bonnet Over Drinks

Ahem. The Navy plot. Masterclass in intimate betrayal. Izzy's biggest escalation in the total collapse of Edward and Izzy's relationship, but also a completely fucking fascinating glimpse into whatever tangled web of codependency they've got going on, because Edward isn't even mad after 1x09. This wordcount is going to be insane enough without me getting into the Blackhands relationship connotations, so I will... attempt... to stick to breaking down the actual scheme.

And what a scheme it was.

Let's start at the beginning. Jack showing up to lure them into the trap at the start of 1x08? Nope, earlier. Izzy getting kicked off the ship and going to Jackie at the end of 1x06? Further back. Edward proposing the "kill Stede" plan at the end of 1x04, which is the domino that starts all this, right? Closer, but still no.

Izzy's first appearance on screen is in episode 1x02, and that episode is where the seeds of the Navy plot are first planted. See, during Stede's confrontation with Izzy, both of the hostages chime in:

Hostage 1 (Wellington): "Believe him, he's quite insane." Hostage 2 (Hornberry): "He does have the eyes of a madman. Sorry, you do."

Wellington says his line in a tone of voice that clearly indicates a story to tell, and it should also be noted that he is the same one who earlier jumped at the chance to tell the tribe chief about Stede murdering their captain - Nigel. And he's the one that Izzy leaves with, in a sour mood and wanting information about this "Stede Bonnet" character.

When Izzy later reaches out to the Navy, it's no coincidence that he finds Chauncey. He's known since right after their first meeting that Stede was directly responsible for the murder of an Admiral's brother and that the English Navy would know soon enough, since he was literally about to ransom a hostage back to them who would tell the story. And he filed that information away until it was useful or relevant like a clever pirate should.

Moving on to Jackie's bar in 1x03, Izzy gets more potentially useful observations / inspiration. Jackie is actually the first person in the series to make a deal with a naval power. Izzy and crew track the Revenge to the Spanish warship, which means they must see Geraldo sold out Stede to them. Izzy isn't stupid. He knows Geraldo and Spanish Jackie, knows that she's the brains and brawn behind this deal, and has seen enough of Stede that he'd absolutely believe that he did something to get Jackie pissed enough to plot his murder. File away Jackie wants Stede dead and details of how she nearly succeeded in offing him for later.

Izzy spends 1x05 up to the fuckery demonstration observing Stede's crew while waiting for Edward to pull the trigger. I definitely want to note the scene where they interrogate the Frenchman at the beginning of 1x05, because Izzy is staring directly at Stede as he leans away from Edward threatening violence (we know this will later be in his love montage so not actually a turn off, lol, but like... it looked like one). His opinion of the crew is that they like to fuck around without structure (1x05 during the party), probably that they enjoy more standard pirate levels of violence (not shown directly since they are kept out of the 1x05 raid, but fairly obvious), and that they are really easily awestruck by the chance to hear "real pirates" tell charismatic stories (1x06 ghost story).

Any of that sounding like someone we know?

And now to go back to Izzy in 1x06, when he gets sick of Edward being cagey about the plan to kill Stede and decides to "make" him stop stalling, he's straightforward again. Getting Ivan and Fang to back him isn't emotionally manipulative, but it does give him weight in the conversation. They are the ones who bring up the whole "love of a pet makes a man weak" thing, and they do it in the context of calling out hypocrisy. Izzy knows the standards Edward holds his crew to. He lets them convince Edward it's time.

Taking the chance to suggest Stede try a fuckery is a strong blend of situational and emotional manipulation, and later challenging him to a formal duel knowing he'd be overconfident enough to accept is more situational again. Even the terms of the duel are designed to take advantage of the situation. And then Izzy loses in the most comedy way possible, Edward lets him get banished, and Izzy decides that if he was ok with just sending Stede Bonnet on his way to fuck-off before... he's fucking gonna kill him now.

My guy is not a creative thinker, but he's definitely a logistical one. And as he rows away from that ship, all the pieces fall into place.

First, Spanish Jackie. Who listens to him bemoan his relationship woes because she likes him (Izzy gets Jackie in the divorce). Who wants Stede dead and has the clout to summon and deal with a distasteful ally - Chauncey. Together, they concoct an arrangement where a trap will be set and Chauncey gets Stede and only Stede. This isn't a tip-off or a free-for-all. Stede comes from Chauncey's world and they are sending him back. Permanently.

Then it's time for the trap itself, which needs to do two things: get the Revenge somewhere that Chauncey can corner it, and get Edward out of there. And Izzy? Izzy knows Edward. Knows there's one particular person in his past that will have no trouble integrating with the crew, getting Edward to act more like a pirate than a gentleman, and who happens to have a great ambush location on hand.

I've said this before but I'm gonna say it again - I don't think outside characters realize how hard and fast Edward is falling for Stede. The BlackBonnet bonding moments happen almost exclusively when they are alone. The place Izzy dramatically fails to manipulate the situation is not having the evidence he would need to predict Edward going back for Stede. He (and Jack) both think that a precise wedge between BlackBonnet - one that Jack delivers near flawlessly by playing into real issues - will be enough to remind Edward that Stede isn't his people. This isn't a plan to murder the love of Edward's life while his back is turned. It's a plan to get rid of Stede, and remind Edward why he was on board with doing that in the first place. "That's fair," Izzy says about a punch to the face.

Instead, Izzy's plot accidentally backs Edward into a corner and forces him to publicly pull a grand-gesture relationship level-up that he was not emotionally ready for, and the fallout from that explosion is way worse than any of our conspirators were counting on.

Still... you gotta admit. It was a really good plan.

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drazzilder · 3 years

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A Hellish Encounter

By Drazzilder

Chapter 31: Café

The harsh grip of Jack Frost has hit Japan hard this January. The average temperature for the past two weeks has been 0F. Everyone is Japan is bundled up or staying inside to avoid the dangerously low temperature. Even crime has been low because of the bitter cold which is fine because you still have hero work. You may be half demon but the cold still gets to you but you have a secret weapon; a husband who happens to be a walking heater.

You and Enji both have the day off today and you decide to surprise him by taking him to a café to get some coffee and hot chocolate. Even though you thought you bundled up enough, you still end up shivering when your only about half of the way there. Enji notices this and wraps an arm around you and warms you up as he turns on his flame beard.

“Thank you, Enji. I thought I bundled up enough.”

“It’s fine. I don’t want to you to get a cold. What café are we going to anyway?”

“That’s a surprise!”

“I hope it’s better than that one surprise.”

“I accidentally take us to a child’s theme park once and I never hear the end of it.”

He squeezes you closer. “You know I’m joking, it’s just a café.”

“Just you wait and see.” You say, almost singing the words.

Once you arrive, Enji finally sees the surprise. It’s a cat café. The whole place looks like a cartoon forest with trees and bushes. The floor is painted to look like leaves and grass and there are platforms everywhere for cats. On this day, it seems that there are about 20 cats in the café. Enji looks at you with confusion after you sit down.

“Have you never been to a cat café?”

“No, what is this?”

“It’s a café full of cats, exactly what it sounds like it. It’s for people who can’t have pets to go and enjoy the cats.”

“Isn’t it unsanitary to have cats all over everything?”

“Maybe but I don’t care.”

“As long as your happy…”

Right after Enji said that and sat down, a white cat jumps up on his lap almost immediately. He pulls his hands away, almost looking afraid and unsure of what to do next.

“You can pet her, that’s what you’re supposed to do.”

He places his hand on the cat and gently begins to stroke the cat from head to tail.

“See, not so bad is it.”

“I guess. I never pet a cat before.”

“Really?”

“Never had one as a kid. And I was never interested in getting a pet for the kids. When did you ever play with cats?”

“I used to play with the stray cats I would find when I was on the run. Some were fun others didn’t want to be bothered.”

A waiter comes over and takes your order and a few more cats come to your table. You managed to get one them to come to you as the others head for Enji. You just pet the little calico cat that came to you and let it play with your tail and you flick the tip to give it something to chase. Enji looks confused as he tries to give all the cats attention. One of them tries to reach up to his face and he just backs up a bit.

“It seems like you a popular guy.” You say with a silly smile.

“(Y/N), why are they all coming to me?”

“Cats like warmth, it’s probably because your quirk makes you hot.”

“That makes sense. How do I stop them?”

“Turn it off completely and you should be fine. I need to go to the bathroom, I’ll be back.”

As you leave, Enji gives you a look that just says ‘Help!’ but you just go take care of your business. Once you return, the sight you come back makes you break out into laughter right there. Enji has cats all over him, probably about a dozen. Cats on his shoulders, cats in his lap, one even managed to get on his head. The other cats are around his feet and some are trying to climb the chair to get to him. Enji is frozen completely still, unsure of what to do. You walk over to him and take out your phone. You can’t help yourself and take a few photos of the number 2 hero covered in cats.

“(Y/N), what are you doing!” He says looking at you without moving his head.

“I’m sending this to the family group chat, they wouldn’t believe me if I told them.”

“Get them off me.” He pleads.

“I told you to turn your quirk off and it would be fine.”

“I’m trying…”

“Alright ladies and gents, let’s get off the hero sized cat scratcher.” You say taking cats one by one off Enji. He finally is able to move freely and takes off his glasses to cover his eyes and sigh slightly. He quickly then takes a napkin and sneezes loud enough that the room almost shakes. The napkin catches fire but Enji quickly puts it out. “Sorry.” He says as he wipes his nose and looks back at you after putting his glasses on.

“Sorry, Enji. I didn’t know they would be all over you like that. I was right that it would be fun but I guess it was at your expense.”

Right as Enji is about to speak, his phone dings and he sees the messages from the kids. They range from ‘LOL’ to emojis and GIFs. He just squints in anger at his phone and puts it away.

“At least I now know what the kids will be talking about tonight.”

“Sorry….” You say really meaning it.

“It’s fine. At least they can laugh at me. It wasn’t too long ago they were afraid of me.”

“I’m glad they can do that too. I’m happy that they be open with you.”

The food and drinks arrive and you savor the warmth from your hot chocolate. Enji takes a few sips of his coffee but then looks at the food.

“What is this?”

“It’s a cream puff, isn’t it just adorable?”

“Why does it look like a cat?”

“Just eat it and enjoy it.” You say with a smile as take a bite.

He picks up the feline shaped confection with two fingers and looks at it as he turns it to look at all its sides. He takes a bite and grows a faint smile from the flavor of the sweet pastry. Some powdered sugar sticks to his lips but he quickly takes a napkin to his face.

“Told you it would be good.”

“It really is.”

“I knew you would enjoy this place. It may be cute but they do know how to make good hot chocolate.” You say sipping from the cup again.

“You somehow always find the weirdest places but they end up being good in the end, well except the one.”

“Seriously? We already talked about that kids park once!” You say with a loud sigh.

As time passes, Enji relaxes more and starts enjoying the café. Some more cats do approach him but they must have learned their lesson because they don’t bother him like last time. Soon, it’s time to leave and you both go back into the cold. Enji starts off by holding you close so you don’t get cold this time. You still wanted to walk home, just enjoying the time you spend with Enji. After some time, you look up at him and he looks down at you with a look that you know all too well.

“What’s on your mind, big guy?”

“I want to ask you something, please don’t laugh.”

“Never, what it is?”

“Can…can you make those pastries we had sometimes. I really enjoyed them.”

“I never made cream puffs before but that has never stopped me before. Why the hesitation on asking me?”

“I…I want them to look the same too.” He says almost shamefully.

“Aww, that’s so cute that you want that. Sure, I’ll look up how to make them just like that.” You giggle.

“You said you wouldn’t laugh.” He quickly responds with an angered tone.

“You’re right, sorry. I didn’t mean it. I just think it’s cute that’s all. My big strong husband wanting cat shaped pastries.” You say squeezing his side.

“Can you just not tell the kids. I feel like I’m already going to get my ass kicked at home from that photo you sent.”

“I’ll only make them on special occasions, when we are alone. How does that sound?”

“It sounds perfect. Thank you.”

You tilt your head onto Enji’s shoulder and close your eyes as you bask in his warm. Enji leads you both home as you anticipate the kids’ reactions and laughter when you get home.

Next Chapter

#A Hellish Encounter #endeavor #endeavor x male reader #endeavor fluff #endeavor stan #endeavor mha #enji todoroki #enji x y/n #enji x reader #mha enji #my hero academia enji

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mushroommushy · 3 years

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Just Dashi and Tweak hanging out and being idiots together for fun.

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The Captain stretched himself out, sipping some coffee from a mug. He was a bit confused though. By this time, Dashi would usually be up here. "Hm..better go check it out." He placed his cup down on the table and slid down the ladder to the lower area of the ship, heading towards the shoot that lead to the arm holding Peso and Dashi's bedrooms. He hopped through, landing in the dog's bright room. "..Why isn't she in bed? Dashi! Where are you?" The polar bear sighed. "She's probably just with Tweak in the launch bay. I'll go check up on her." He hopped back into the hatch and went through another tube and looked around the launchbay. "Tweak isn't here either.." The Captain mumbled to himself. Usually he disliked sounding the octo alert just to make sure his crew was accounted for, especially this early in the morning. But it was necessary. He hit the button, "Octonauts, to the launchbay."

The loud siren jolted Kwazii up from his sleep. He hopped into his boots and jumped down the hatch, running down to the octopod where Shellington and Peso were waiting. "What's the problem Captain?" The pirate asked hurriedly.

The Captain waited a few more moments before frowning. "I can't find Tweak or Dashi. Neither of them are in their rooms. Not in the HQ, not in here.." Peso gulped worriedly. "So their missing?"

Just then, the screen behind them flickered on. "Cap? What's the issue?" The familiar southern voice of the rabbit answered. The polar bear sighed in relief. "There you are! Where are you? Is Dashi with you?"

The engineer smiled. "Yup. She's here. We're just in the Gup-Launching bay Cap. Wer-." The rabbit let out a squeak as a can of purple paint fell on her. "Dashi!" She huffed.

The dogs laughter could be heard through the call. "Ha! Got you!" Tweak smirked. "I'll be back later. See ya cap!" She hung up, approaching her friend. "Hey Dashiiii. Want a hug?"

Dashi yelped and stumbled back before spinning around and racing down the hallway. "NO- DON'T YOU DARE TWEAK!"

Tweak chuckled, "I'm faster than you are!" She hopped up on the Gups and sprinted after her while hopping across her vehicles she built with her own paws until she was running next to Dashi and jumped on her, snickering. "Caught you."

Dashi shook her head, her fur now stained purple in some areas. "Oh you little brat-." She grabbed a bottle of acrylic paint and squirted the bottle at her, sending sky blue liquid at her friend.

Tweak squealed, ducking down and grabbing one in her ear before dropping it down to her hand and opening the lid. She kicked it at her friend, splattering yellow paint. That one hit its target directly in the chest. The engineer snorted in amusement. "How'd this get from doing a paint job for the Gup-G to throwing paint at each other."

Dashi smirked, shaking her head to get some of the paint out of her face. "When I dumped a paint bucket on you." She was standing on the stains of previous paint wars that they had together.

"Alright, enough fun we have work to do." The rabbit laughed, going back to the unfinished Gup. She grabbed her roller again and rolled it on the platter filled with burnt orange paint. She glanced at her friend. "Can I have a lift?" The Gup-G was the tallest Gup, so she couldn't jump up on top on her own. Even if she had strong legs.

Dashi nodded, cupping her hands and letting Tweak step one foot on one before she launched her up. "You good?"

Tweak peeked out from the top and nodded. "Mhm!" She already had a paint tray down here and got to work moving it back and fourth to coat the metal orange.

Back on the octopod, the family was just starting to arrive in the gups driven by the Vegimals. They did this once a month, inviting the family over to talk to each other.

Koshi kicked her legs, climbing out of the Gup-E, Calico Jack behind her. "Sis?" She blinked. All of the other crew members were here. Usually they were here waiting for them.

Ranger Marsh hopped out of the Gup, just as confused as Koshi. "Captain. Where's my kid?"

The polar bear smiled slightly. "Don't worry. They aren't missing. Thought they were but we did find them."

Koshi ran up to him. "So..where are they?" The Captain pat her head. "Follow me." He hopped into the water, swimming out the octohatch.

Kwazii tossed the two of them helmets and air tanks first. Quickly strapping them on, they followed the bear out and down into a green hole in the ground. They entered a hallway, filled with at least 20 gups. Some sitting in tanks of water. "This is the vehicle storage area. Every Gup Tweak built is in here."

Ranger Marsh looked around, finally spotting his kid on top of an unfinished Gup. "What's all over her?" He questioned. "Paint." The Captain chuckled. "Dashi and Tweak tend to fool around in here. And I think she's about to start up again." Koshi blinked in confusion, watching."

Tweak leaned over, holding two different paint cans and tipping them over, right on top of Dashi. The dog screeched in surprise, now covered in green and red. "Wh- TWEAK!" The rabbit above her burst out laughing.

Dashi climbed inside the Gup and came out on the top, tackling her friend. "Damn you!" The rabbit was too busy laughing her ass off to answer her. "Brat.." She mumbled, dumping the orange tray on top of her in revenge.

And so they fell off, covering each other in the paint colors covering them as well.

The Captain snorted. "Idiots.." He said affectionately. Ranger Marsh was smirking. "Get her sweetie!" He yelled. Koshi huffed at him and threw paint at him. "Noooo!" She whined.

Soon, everyone was coated in paint, all laughing and out of breath.

#octonauts #writing

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spnsmile · 4 years

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Happy?

Monday prompt: BET #SpnsStayatHome

@pray4jensen @bend-me-shape-me @helianthus21 @verobatto-angelxhunter

Castiel leaving Dean to babysit Jack for a few hours comes back to find Dean declaring something utterly ridiculous as—

“I’m going to make you happy!”

This after Jack casually praises Dean not only for being a very good hunter but also an expert hustler, baby driver, fisher, the best chef in the Bunker and just about everything Jack also wants to become (though not really a making of a very good role model), still made Dean feel so good about himself which was rare because in the Bunker— between him and his brother— these are all essential stuff they needed under their sleeves and he thinks Cas barely cares about trivial stuff so Dean appreciates the kid’s honesty because kids never lie.

Until the catch when the boy mentions something in lines of, “Except, you can’t make Cas happy,” making Dean’s eyebrows twitch.

“Excuse me? I can’t make Cas…happy? Did Cas tell you this? That I don’t make him happy?”

“No, but he doesn’t need to say anything. He is not happy, that’s—"

“Wait, you’re telling me I can’t make Cas happy?”

“I think you can’t do that.”

“Even if I’m hilarious?” it has gone very serious.

Actually, Jack means the deal with the Empty but Dean still ignorant of context naturally heard it differently. He heard it like a taunt a challenge on his ability. No one ever challenges Dean without the consequences for even doubting le Dean Winchester! Excuse his French, but he can do anything he put his mind into—and just like that when the angel finally returns from his errand as if summoned, Dean studies him very carefully wondering when the last time Cas’ smile muscles were ever used.

“Cas, you ever been happy?”

Castiel freezes like Dean just told him there’s no such thing as profound bond and continues to look like Dean just gutted him when Dean looks him square in the eyes.

“Happy. I am asking if you’ve ever been happy?”

Eyes widening with a frantic look that seems so out of place from a very simple question, Castiel dwindles. He glances at Jack’s direction searchingly before running the tip of his tongue on his chapped lips.

“Um… why?”

“Ah, shit.” Scraping sound of the chair on the floor as it gets pushed back, Dean stands up tall before the angel, dead flicker on his eyes.

“What—why?” Cas looks taken aback when Dean turns his heels and walks away. Exchanging a confused looked with Jack, the angel runs after him. “D-Dean, what?”

“You should have said something.”

“About what?” voice quivers a little but no one pauses to check as they drag the conversation to the corridor, possibly aiming for a door to shut on the angel’s face, but Cas doesn’t wait for that so he pulls Dean’s arm back.

“Dean—”

“You not being happy, alright?” annoyance not equal to the hunter’s troubled handsome face. Castiel quickly steps on Dean’s space in concern.

“I don’t understand. What’s my happiness got to do with you?” again with the quiver on the voice.

Dean rolls his eyes heavenward. “ I’m not supposed to ask if my best friend if he is happy?”

Castiel shakes his head, lost for words, nothing to describe his shock at the turn of events. Dean returns it with guilt realizing how the ocean blues eyes always there when he is in dire need, those blues he considers so precious to behold have never expressed real joy since it’s fall. Just always stormy anger and determination to fulfill tasks after tasks season per season beneath the blues of the sky.

But never joy. Well, one time with that burger… Dammit. But then…

An idea suddenly occurs to Dean.

“Cas, I’ve never been a good friend to you—”

“That’s not—“

“No, hear me out. I really suck, I know—”

“Dean—” reprimanding, not right to say.

“I always make you angry—”

“Um… okay…” a slow take.

“I always get on your bad side—”

“That is true.” Approving this time.

“I annoy you most of the time—”

Castiel just nods not even trying to stop him now.

Dean glares. “Of course, you realize what this means, do you?”

“Um…” Castiel squints, remembering the Bugs Bunny line Dean always repeats when they watch the loony tunes together, “…war?”

“I’m gonna make you happy,” Dean says with relished determination.

Then true apprehension sets in. The angel saw it in his eyes.

Castiel gulps. “Please, don’t.”

Can’t make Cas happy? You wanna bet?

Three days passed since then. The Bunker remained at peace, oblivious to the upcoming storm. Dean was busy in his room while Castiel can only wait in vain. He becomes apprehensive every time Dean walks into the kitchen or the library or in his general vicinity. Except Dean only smiles at him and do absolutely nothing.

It begins with a text.

Dean smiles to himself in the kitchen with Sam drinking his coffee, Jack opposite him when Castiel’s familiar light steps come bounding from the corridor.

“Dean…”

Sam turns to the angel from his laptop, “Hey, Cas—get this—”

“Dean, you sent me a good morning text.” Cas says urgently, following Dean to the stainless kitchen worktable like he’s afraid Dean would vanish from thin air. Dean who’s wearing a gray calico apron on top of his dark green shirt, sleeves pulled up to his elbows and a very charming look on his face when they stand opposite each other with the angel holding his phone like it’s the bible.

Dean leans both hands on the table, smirking. “So?”

“There’s an emoji text… with a heart.” Cas insists like it’s very important that they understand and make it clear. Sam stares up quietly from one to another. Dean only smirks and shrugs like he’s teasing the overly reacting angel from a trivial text.

“There’s more where that came from, you just wait this afternoon, Cas.” Winks the hunter like it’s allowed to look even prettier in the morning with his beautifully shaped lopsided smirk playfully turning up as the angel helplessly stares in his direction.

Castiel’s eyes widen.

Oh, but that’s just the beginning.

“Dean, why are you thinking about me?”

Cas’ says from the other line of the phone with voice deep and sounding uncomfortable to Dean who’s currently driving the impala after a successful hunt for the day. Cas was left to babysit Jack in the Bunker while Dean took care of the ghouls in Minnesota that took about half a day to hunt and another half a day to kill.

Out of the Bunker the entire day, he messages Cas and promptly receives a call from a very stricken angel.

“You said in your message ‘I’m thinking about you’…Do you have any specific reason why you are thinking about me?”

“Nothing really,” Dean hums in satisfaction, “I’m just thinking about you, that’s all.”

Castiel gasps. “T-that’s very nice of you, Dean… umm…I cannot think of why a person would think about another—”

“Why? Aren’t you thinking about me all the time too?”

There’s a sound of something crashing on the floor so it’s either Cas was reading a book or holding a laptop and Dean’s betting it’s the latter so he hopes its Sam’s laptop not his.

Dean smirks again and perhaps just forgot Sam is sitting beside him until his brother clears his throat again with a funny look on his face.

Dean ignores him.

That same week when Castiel and Jack return from grocery shopping, Dean is there waiting for them in the war room table with a beer can in one hand and book on the other. He looks up and warmly greets them ‘Welcome home,’ especially giving Castiel a very long, meaningful look, green eyes speaking volumes of sincerity so Castiel stammers a response. Dean meets him on the bottom of the stairs and without a word, twirls Cas by the shoulder and begins removing his coat—

“D-Dean!?”

“Yeah, it’s summer, what are you doing still wearing this? You’ll get hot. Well, you’re hot—” and no one asks if it’s the current body temperature but Castiel adamantly fights him.

“My vessel does not respond to the weather as with you humans—”

Dean takes it off anyway, grinning at another success. Before Castiel can say anything, Jack stands Dean’s side, shoulders hunching and waiting for his own jacket to be peeled. Dean takes it too with a smirk, then sees Sam watching from the table giving him the same funny expression he had from the kitchen.

“You wanna get your flannel taken off too?” Dean shoots over Sam as he puts the coats on his arms. Sam rolls his eyes but it all didn’t matter because even when Cas seems annoyed when they reached the kitchen, he was smiling at Dean the entire evening with less coat off his shoulder.

And it just goes on and on be it in the Bunker, the Impala, in the middle of the case while they are working as FBI agents, Dean will just light up like fire in the middle of nowhere.

“Hey, Cas.”

“What?”

“Who do you think is my speed dial number 1?”

“Um… I’m guessing it’s no longer Sam?”

Dean laughs out loud before knocking on their prospect’s door with an agent’s grim expression returning on his face in a flick of a finger.

One night when Dean strolls past Sam in the kitchen comes the awaited talk because Sam has been watching them and knows it’s no longer ordinary ‘thing’ he can ignore even when he wished he could because just the other night, Sam caught the two dancing on top of the war room table with dopey smiles on their faces, arms around each other with Dean saying something about having a dream of tap dancing and symbolic lamps—

“Dean, you realize you’re giving Cas the ‘boyfriend treatment’...”

Dean who’s jut taken a can of beer from his stash doesn’t break a sweat shrugging, “You’re still speed dial 1 on my second phone, alright?”

“I—I don’t care! What’s up with you and Cas? Are you guys…?”

Dean leans his hips on the table and shrugs.

“Does it matter if we label it?”

“What?”

“Uh… I don’t know what you wanna hear, Sam, but… did you see how Cas’s been smiling a lot these days? And I just thought… it’s not bad. These simple things I’m doing… not bad at all.”

“Yes, I know, Dean. And it’s good.” Sam puts on the ‘I’m-trying-to-not-butt-in-but-i-think-you-need–to-hear’ look when he clasps both hands. “But don’t you think you’ll be confusing Cas? He told me about this whole thing, about how you were only trying to prove Jack a point. But this is more than a bet, Dean… This is Cas’ happiness… what’ll happen if you suddenly stop?”

Dean suddenly stops just enough to give Sam a serious look like he’s thinking and overthinking stuff once again before his thoughts come into a halt and he lifts his green eyes at his brother bearing something like a revelation lights his face.

He smiles.

“You got it all wrong, Sammy.” Then he was just gone.

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

“Are you happy?”

“Asking me this when you just shoved me on your door…” Castiel says, voice deep and husky inside Dean’s room, behind Dean’s closed door, with Dean upon him inches from his face, both hands

Castiel puts careful hands-on Dean’s chest, pushing him a little. Locking eyes with those beautiful orbs is enough for Castiel to forget why they were there in the first place.

“I think I maybe being selfish here, Cas but… I ….”

Castiel tilts his head.

“Why are you so fixated on making me happy, Dean?”

“Will this make you happy?”

“I prefer if you do not take this position.”

“What position?” Dean says, breathless, their hips dancing at the friction. Castiel takes Dean’s neck with rough hands and jerks him closer, foreheads bumping. In reality, Castiel is worried. Castiel knows Dean has been trying to make him happy for weeks now. With that kind of determination, it’s only natural Dean finally realizes what Castiel really wants.

“You don’t have to do all of this, Dean. Making me happy… this is too much…”

“You really want me to stop?” Dean says in a husky voice, his mouth already nipping on the angel’s chin sending shivers all over his body.

“I’m just saying you don’t have to do this to prove anything… Just stay by my side.”

“And if I really wanna do it?” the green eyes flash in arousal. Castiel eyes him searchingly, to see if Dean means it, if Dean is ready because Castiel has been waiting for a very long time. But he still fears it, fears the Empty that may just pull him out of nowhere.

“Are you scared, Cas?” Dean suddenly asks, pressing his lips on the angel’s cheeks, “Don’t look so scared… I’m gonna eat you, not leave you, ‘kay? I got you, Cas…”

Their lips crushed and it’s one thing for Dean to groan, another for Castiel to crush his lips on the man. When Dean lands flat on his back on the bed, Castiel as his top, he looks at the human—the man with the very soul he built from hell now ready to be taken apart again and all for him to take—

Dean who trusts him. Dean who loves him.

And Castiel realizes one thing that night when he wreaks havoc on Dean’s bed, while he breaks Dean apart and put him back again, it’s all too clear, realized why he was still in Dean’s arms the entire night, Dean resting on his chest.

Happiness is impossible to attain.

So, when Jack sits by his side munching on his sandwich months later with Castiel and Dean’s relationship out for the world to question yet bearing no real significance to their truth— comes the most important question.

“Cas, are you happy?”

“No, Jack,” Castiel says with eyes twinkling, watching Dean wrestle the Thanksgiving turkey in the oven. Dean whose wearing his apron again, against the blue shirt with solid determination to have the overlarge turkey inside his oven. Sam who’s there telling him how to do it. Dean growling, not listening just because.

“I’m not happy… I want to see more.”

Castiel just looks at Dean with pure hunger and longing and maybe yes, also lust. Such a human ‘thing’ he has acquired since living in this world for many years, first unable to grasp it until finally, it’s here, with him, a feeling also afflicting the angel. Of the real truth about happiness. That in a way, you cannot just say ‘enough’.

Not with what they have. Castiel smiles.

Oh, he is happy, but not too happy.

He will never get enough of Dean.

The end. Ao3 #stayathomechallenge

#SPNStayAtHome #destiel ficlet #cas x dean fluff #tooth rotting fluff #Destiel #DEANCAS #dean winchester #destiel domestics #domestics

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kittehkats · 4 years

Text

11 Writers Who Really Loved Cats

BY Sean Hutchinson

They say that a dog is a man's best friend, but these writers found solace—and occasional inspiration—in another four-legged companion. Celebrate International Cat Day with these feline-loving scribes.

1. MARK TWAIN

Mark Twain—the great humorist and man of American letters—was also a great cat lover. When his beloved black cat Bambino went missing, Twain took out an advertisement in the New York American offering a $5 reward to return the missing cat to his house at 21 Fifth Avenue in New York City. It described Bambino as “Large and intensely black; thick, velvety fur; has a faint fringe of white hair across his chest; not easy to find in ordinary light.”

2. T.S. ELIOT

Aside from peppering his high Modernist poetry with allusions to feline friends, T.S. Eliot wrote a book of light verse called Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats, a collection of 15 poems, dedicated to his godchildren, regarding the different personalities and eccentricities of cats. Names like Old Deuteronomy, the Rum Tum Tugger, and Mr. Mistoffelees should be familiar to people all around the world—the characters and poems were the inspiration for Andrew Lloyd Webber’s long-running Broadway musical, Cats. Later publications of Old Possum's included illustrations by noted artist Edward Gorey—yet another avid cat lover. You can listen to Eliot read "The Naming of Cats" here.

3. ERNEST HEMINGWAY

Ernest Hemingway and his family initially became infatuated with cats while living at Finca Vigía, their house in Cuba. During the writer's travels, he was gifted a six-toed (or polydactyl) cat he named Snowball. Hemingway liked the little guy so much that in 1931, when he moved into his now-famous Key West home, he let Snowball run wild, creating a small colony of felines that populated the grounds. Today, some 40 to 50 six-toed descendants of Snowball are still allowed to roam around the house. Polydactyl felines are sometimes called “Hemingway Cats.”

4. WILLIAM S. BURROUGHS

William S. Burroughs is known for his wild, drug-induced writings, but he had a softer side as well—especially when it came to his cats. He penned an autobiographical novella, The Cat Inside, about the cats he owned throughout his life, and the final journal entry Burroughs wrote before he died referred to the pure love he had for his four pets:

“Only thing can resolve conflict is love, like I felt for Fletch and Ruski, Spooner, and Calico. Pure love. What I feel for my cats present and past. Love? What is it? Most natural painkiller what there is. LOVE.”

5. WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS

Though not overt, William Yeats’s love for cats can be found in poems like “The Cat and the Moon,” where he uses the image of a cat to represent himself and the image of the moon to represent his muse Maude Gonne, a high society-born feminist and sometime actress who inspired the poet throughout his life. The poem references Gonne’s cat named Minnaloushe, who sits and stares at the changing moon. Yeats metaphorically transforms himself into the cat longing for his love that is indifferent to him, and the heartsick feline poet wonders whether Gonne will ever change her mind. Too bad for Yeats; Maude Gonne never agreed to marry him, despite the fact that he asked for her hand in marriage—four separate times.

6. SAMUEL JOHNSON

CARL COURT, AFP/Getty Images

Known to be a general cat lover during his life, this 18th century jack-of-all-trades was immortalized in James Boswell’s proto-biography The Life of Samuel Johnson. In the text, Boswell writes of Johnson’s cat, Hodge, saying, “I never shall forget the indulgence with which he treated Hodge, his cat: for whom he himself used to go out and buy oysters, lest the servants having that trouble should take a dislike to the poor creature. I am, unluckily, one of those who have an antipathy to a cat, so that I am uneasy when in the room with one; and I own, I frequently suffered a good deal from the presence of this same Hodge.” Although Boswell was not a fan, Johnson called Hodge “A very fine cat indeed.” Hodge is immortalized, with his oysters, with a statue of his likeness that stands outside Johnson’s house at 17 Gough Square in London.

7. CHARLES DICKENS

One of most important and influential writers in history, Charles Dickens once said, “What greater gift than the love of a cat?” He would sit entranced for hours while writing, but when his furry friends needed some attention, they were notorious for extinguishing the flame on his desk candle. In 1862, he was so upset after the death of his favorite cat, Bob, that he had the feline’s paw stuffed and mounted to an ivory letter opener. He had the opener engraved saying, “C.D., In memory of Bob, 1862” so he could have a constant reminder of his old friend. The letter opener is now on display at the Berg Collection of English and American Literature at the New York Public Library.

8. NEIL GAIMAN

The author of American Gods and The Sandman kept regular updates on his blog of the everyday eccentricities of the group of cats—including Hermione, Pod, Zoe, Princess, and Coconut—that he kept at his house. Though he hasn’t written much about them recently, the love and affection that come across in the posts from 2010 and earlier show someone who is absolutely an animal lover in all respects.

9. PATRICIA HIGHSMITH

Patricia Highsmith doesn’t have the friendliest literary reputation around (she once said “my imagination functions much better when I don't have to speak to people”). But The Talented Mr. Ripley and Strangers on a Train author nevertheless found a perfect way to let her imagination function with her many four-legged companions. She did virtually everything with her cats—she wrote next to them, she ate next to them, and she even slept next to them. She kept them by her side throughout her life until her death at her home in Locarno, Switzerland in 1995.

10. WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS

Imagist poet William Carlos Williams also worked as a doctor to supplement his writing career, which would eventually culminate in a 1949 National Book Award for Poetry and a posthumously awarded 1963 Pulitzer Prize. His direct style tried to capture the essence of small moments in everyday life, and it’s no wonder he uses a cat to conjure a simple scene in his poem entitled “Poem (As the Cat)”:

As the cat climbed over the top of

the jamcloset first the right forefoot

carefully then the hind stepped down

into the pit of the empty flower pot

11. RAYMOND CHANDLER

Raymond Chandler had an immense influence on detective fiction and came to define the tenets of hard-boiled noir. He used femme fatales, twisting plots, and whip-cracking wordplay in his evocative classics starring the detective Philip Marlowe, including The Big Sleep and The Long Goodbye. But it wasn’t all serious business for Chandler because—you guessed it—he really loved cats. His cat Taki gave him endless enjoyment, but also occasionally got on his nerves. Here’s a passage from a letter Chandler wrote to a friend about Taki:

“Our cat is growing positively tyrannical. If she finds herself alone anywhere she emits blood curdling yells until somebody comes running. She sleeps on a table in the service porch and now demands to be lifted up and down from it. She gets warm milk about eight o'clock at night and starts yelling for it about 7.30.”

This post originally ran in 2013 BY Sean Hutchinson

mentalfloss.com/article/49302/11-writers-who-really-loved-cats

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thepulta · 4 years

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A/N: Update: Am still garbage so I wrote this backstory thing so my children could yell at each other. Extremely fluffy. Diabetus tag. Additional unnecessary cursing tag because Morgan literally was raised in a bar.

-=-

Westlie turned on the light to see a Morgan-shaped lump already in her bed. She sighed. “Hey.”

No response.

Westlie was too tired to care. Her feet felt like lead bricks. She kicked off her boots and sank into the seat at the vanity, closing her eyes as she undid her hair with quick, practiced movements. Her vest got tossed aside and she eventually pulled over her nightgown, straightening it with a quick slap. The light from the window filtered through the room, a soft irridescent orange-red, as she picked up her miscellaneous things; it had been a soot-filled day. When she was done Westlie shut the curtains tight, finally moving to her side of the bed with the suspicious lump under it.

The fuck am I going to do with you, Morgan? Westlie stood there for a minute, contemplating being nice or being a total ass and pulling her onto the floor. She settled for being a sisterly ass and flicking her finger twice on Morgan’s cheek. There was an angry growl and a shift under the covers; Morgan flipped her off. Mission accomplished.

“Move over. You’re not four anymore.”

She listened the first time, surprisingly. Westlie groaned as she finally laid down and her feet stopped screaming, faxing herself into the disappointingly warm sheets. The house was pleasantly silent now. Some crickets somewhere; the occasional creak of it settling. Westlie sighed and melted into the bed before realizing, almost half-way to sleep, she probably should do her sisterly duty. “Any reason you’re in my bed?”

No response. Morgan was out again.

Westlie kicked her. “Morgan.”

“…stars you’re such an ass.”

“It’s my bed. You have a perfectly good one two doors down.”

“’m haven’t seen you in a week. Thought I’d say hi.”

That was… surprisingly sweet. “Thanks. …It’s been busy at the shop.”

“I know, I know. It’s always busy.” Morgan rolled over to face her with a hint of grumpiness, eyes still shut as she re-huddled under the blankets. “What was it this time?”

Westlie puffed out a breath. “Blemmigans today. 150 of them.”

Morgan opened one eye. “That’s kind of cute.”

“Not when they escape and bite your customers so you have to chase said customer down the street, free them from the clutches of the traumatized blemmigan and apologize.”

Morgan snort-chuckled, closing her eyes again. “Let me guess; this customer was not at all grateful for the rescue.”

“Could not be less grateful. They actually wacked me with their parasol.” Westlie rubbed her middle, testing the ache. It wasn’t bruising yet but it would. It definitely would.

She got both eyes open at that. “They actually hit you?”

“Mmhm.”

“What a cunt.”

Had it really been a week since they’d talked? Westlie could never keep track of time. The days blurred into each other, especially around the end of the month when half her nights were spent in paperwork and the other half was grabbing sleep before fixing whatever the rest of the staff had managed to fuck up within a 12 hour period. She felt vaguely guilty. “What have you been up to?”

“No no, I want to hear more about this bitch with a parasol. Why was she there in the first place?”

Westlie had tried to erase that whole incident from her mind. There had been multiple people on the street staring. It was one of those things you woke up from the memory in a cold sweat twenty years later. “Mm…. candles and squid ink…? And calico? Something like that. Stupid shit. We don’t even have calico.”

“Was she just tall and looking for a fight? That’s so stupid. Paint me a picture of her.”

Westlie groaned. “I don’t really-”

Morgan rolled onto her elbows. “Let me guess, she had brown hair, an evil bitch face, and multiple warts.”

“Brown hair, no warts, some bitch face, yes.”

“Mm, she looked pretty but squeals like a girl when the blemmigan got her.” Westlie tried to hide a smile but Morgan caught it. “… You definitely laughed when it bit her.”

“I did not! I was very concerned for my customer!”

Morgan laughed, flopping on her back in the bed, grinning. “You did!”

Westlie broke and laughed too. “Oh she was such a bitch. I hate her. I think she said her name was… Vennedti? Something like that. She kept throwing it around. ‘How dare you insult the Vennedti name!’ ‘My father will speak to your employer about this!’ ‘A Vennedti treated in this manner!’ Oh she was so dumb.” Westlie burrowed into the blankets and smiled at her sister. Morgan smiled back. “Now what about you?”

“Oh, everyone at our bar is fine. Do you remember that rich asshole Fennigan?”

Westlie tried to remember; there was a vision of handlebar mustache and stovepipe hat, but little else. “… Two whiskeys, one gin and tonic…?”

“Close. Two whiskeys, one cider.” Morgan flopped on her back. “I finally got him banned after he insulted Three-Ciders-Two-Rum’s aunt. I suppose there’s a dramatic scandal somewhere because they - Fennigan and the aunt - were definitely going out, but the aunt rebuffed him after she found a Tackety to run away with. Just up and left! No notes. She was an old maid too; like thirty or so. But anyway.” Morgan flopped on her elbows again. “Fennigan walks in upset; nobody in the bar gives a shit because we’re not nosy assholes. He gets his whiskey and starts whining to John - you know, the barkeep.”

“Right.”

“Like, two hours of this, he’s super drunk; wants to play cards, so he goes into the corner and I’m playing with Three-Ciders-Two-Rum in the corner. Was it whist? No, I think it was loo or something; not important.” She waved the details away. “Fennigan is a little bitch and whines for us to cut him in. He dumped like idk, 50 sovereigns on the table, and obviously he’s drunk as fuck. In the beginning he was holding his cards right but eventually we could just see what he had.”

Westlie smiled a little as Morgan grew more animated, leaning on her side to listen.

“Four rounds in we’re both 25 sovereigns richer and he’s livid. Just tossing in the pot hoping for a full on win. Then I got the bad hand. His cards were basically on the table at that point because he’d had like five drinks too many; only it was better than mine, so I told Three-Ciders-Two-Rum to slip me his queen and a jack since he won the last two rounds, and Fennigan lost his mind. Apparently I look like that skanky aunt to a drunk man. I’ve never liked him anyway, so I told him to fuck off and that she left because his top hat was obviously compensating for such a tiny dick.”

Morgan paused for Westlie’s appreciative snort of laughter.

“Fennigan overturned the table and tried to deck me. Three-Ciders-Two-Rum only needed a little prodding for him to defend his aunt’s honor, and then fifteen minutes later Fennigan was out a top hat and 50 sovereigns, bruised and on the street. I cited the damages and got John to ban him.” Morgan dramatically illustrated a headline in the air. “Local Stovepipe Loses Bride and Loses Pride.” She flopped back on the mattress. “That was a great Thursday. Oh I got all 50 of those sovereigns, by the way. They’re in your drawer.”

Westlie had stopped questioning Morgan’s reasoning 6 years ago so the fact they were in her drawer not Morgan’s was more surprising than their existence. “I thought you said Three-Ciders-Two-Rum won half the rounds.”

“Eh, I made sure he broke even. He was too busy slugging; it’s his fault.”

“I feel like I need to lecture you on the vice of theft.”

Morgan poked the tip of Westlie’s nose, grinning. “Alls fair when it’s sitting on the card table.”

“They overturned the table!”

“Shhh, shh shh shh. Semantics, Wes. We were playing cards, he was very drunk, and now he’s missing 50 sovereigns. No harm in that.”

“You’re a pain in the ass.”

“A pain in your ass,” Morgan corrected. “John appreciates me.”

“He absolutely does not. You cause a fight once a week.”

“And I help clean up after! I’m a dutiful member of my local community.”

“So many fights….” Westlie groaned, rolling over to eye her sister for half a second before grabbing her pillow and pinning it down on Morgan’s face. “Can you win this one?!”

There was a muffled ‘..Fucker!’ before Westlie got kneed right in the stomach and she keeled over. “I’ll beat your ass!”

Westlie ducked the right hook, and tackled Morgan around the stomach, pinning her back down to the bed. “I’ve still got weight on you!”

“You are such a bitch! I was feeling so sorry for you with that Venni cunt.” Morgan twisted her legs around and Westlie felt herself biting the bed with a pillow shoving her head down from behind. “Do feathers taste good? I’ve never bothered to find out.”

Westlie wriggled a shoulder free, holding her breath and betting on Morgan’s vindictive two-hand hold on the pillow to continue while she caught her sister’s wrist and yanked. Morgan tipped, thrown off balance and Westlie scrambled on top to pin her arms and legs down. “Aha!”

Morgan squirmed for a full minute, trying to toss Westlie off before she flopped back and rolled her eyes. “Alright, alright. Uncle.” Westlie grinned as she popped off, collected her pillow and flopped back under the covers. Morgan sulked as she did the same. “If I’d known you’d just lecture and be a dick the whole time I would have stayed in my room.”

Westlie poked the tip of her nose. “But you’re nice.”

“You’re mean.”

“I’m mean,” Westlie agreed. For full sulking aesthetic Westlie sat up and tucked in her little sister on the other side of the bed. Morgan eyed her with the look that said she was annoyed, but equally pleased before yawning.

Westlie caught the yawn as she fell back under the covers and they laid there, sleep catching up with them. There was a long pause until Morgan shifted a little.

“When are you going to come out with me again, Wes?”

“Mm,” Westlie curled under the blankets and shrugged after mentally reviewing her list of to-dos. “Things should die down in a few more days. You know how the end of the month is. And I can handle more things now I’m 18 so there’s that too.”

Morgan sighed quietly, and just like that the house felt big and empty and lonely. “…I miss you.”

They were only two years apart, but Westlie could feel the separation and she was reminded, again, of their estrangement in some ways; and that in many respects, they were each others’ only real family. She rolled on her side and reached over, squeezing Morgan gently with one arm. “Hey, it’s ok. I’ll have a night off soon.”

“You always say that.”

Westlie didn’t know how to respond, hesitating. She finally sighed and squeezed her a little tighter. “…I miss you too.”

Morgan felt very small and Westlie remembered when they were far smaller and fit much better in the same moderately-sized bed. She would come running in during storms or if the soot from the factories nearby made scary shapes in the clouds. Westlie was not good at comforting and it didn’t help that now she couldn’t scoff at the clouds or the thunder and tell Morgan to wait an hour. There was nothing else she could do except hold her. Even that was a bit empty now since Morgan wasn’t quite a child anymore and hadn’t ever really been a child, like Westlie; affection was a poor subsitute for false promises. But she was here, and Westlie genuinely couldn’t give her a date, a tomorrow, a next week. Westlie sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“You have your own problems,” Morgan said quietly. “I know.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

Morgan rolled back over and gently touched the tip of Westlie’s nose. “I might not like it, but I understand.”

Westlie sighed again and let go of her, curling up tighter in the blankets. “How does you coming in here always make me feel guilty?”

“Because you know I’m right.”

Westlie rolled her eyes. “Says the one who stole 50 sovereigns from some poor stovepipe sap.”

“Stealing and emotional intelligence are not mutually exclusive.”

“Mmph, spare me.” But Westlie couldn’t resist a smile, interrupted by yet another yawn.

She felt Morgan curl up tighter in the blankets, settling in. “Good night, Wes.”

“… If I get those letters written and the cargo done we can go out tomorrow.”

“Sure, Wes.” There was a hopeful lilt in Morgan’s voice, but it stayed tempered. Westlie knew that look and she didn’t open her eyes to check.

“Night, Morgan.”

#fluff fluff fluff fluff fluff fluff fluff fluff fluff fluff fluff fluff fluff fluff fluff #morgan #westlie #skyfarer #skyfarer rpg #the crew of the pyrrhus #adventures of the pyrrhus #sunless skies #I've never written a fight in dialogue before; that was entertaining.#is the ending even fluff? I feel like it's low-key tragic #now for a bar scene #I have no idea what they do in bars #especially because I only know half of morgans story #/narrows eyes #decisions.

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yellowmechanicalcat · 5 years

Text

fic: the boy and the bird (AU, plance + gen, part 3)

so when I said fingers crossed for daily updates I apparently meant that I will work on it daily until the next chapter is ready to update. (whoops?) a quick word of warning: things are getting spookier in this chapter! as some of you may have already notice, this isn’t an exact adaptation of OtGW, I’m cherrypicking elements as I go. please watch the original if you haven’t!

the boy and the bird Over the Garden Wall AU. At the Harvest Festival, Pidge and Lance get closer; Hunk is asked to dance. (Slight Pidge/Lance; 3,520 words.)

Part 3/7 (previous)

Pidge had been right about the festival looking like fun. The small town was decorated with garlands of autumn leaves and twisted crepe paper, brightly painted pumpkins and buckets of chrysanthemums lining the dirt streets. A cloth banner was strung between the houses, large painted letters welcoming them to the Harvest Festival.

They followed the sound of folk music to the center of town, where a crowd of people had already gathered while a band played. Everyone was wearing old-timey outfits with carved pumpkins on their heads. Some of the men were wearing suits like the man they’d seen in the cornfield had been, while others were dressed like farmers in overalls, plaid shirts and work gloves. Some of the women wore silk evening gowns, their hands and arms covered by long white gloves, but the rest looked more like pioneer women in calico aprons with plain cotton gloves.

Lance’s foot was already tapping along to the music. “Man, I love festivals!” he said enthusiastically. “I bet there’ll be line dancing later-”

“-and food,” Hunk said wistfully. “Pies and cider-”

“-and games and maybe a costume contest-”

“-caramel apples and sandwiches-”

“You two have very different priorities,” Pidge noted dryly, startling Lance. He’d forgotten about the pigeon.

“Jeez, Pidge, that was right in my ear,” he whined.

Pidge sniffed but tried to shift away before speaking in a slightly lower voice. “Look, it’s not like there’s a lot of room in here, okay?”

When they’d first decided to investigate the town of New Beginnings, it had seemed like a good idea to blend in as much as they could. As Lance had pointed out, the best case scenario was that they would look like everyone else, while at worst they’d look exactly like the couple they’d seen earlier and at least they wouldn’t be the only weirdos there. So they’d stolen the jack o’ lantern heads from the scarecrows in the cornfield, as well as the scarecrows’ gloves.

The plan got more complicated when Pidge had decided to tag along, because after a few pointed questions from Hunk the pigeon had admitted that talking birds were unusual even in this weird-spooky-woods part of the world and that it didn’t really want to attract any attention to itself. That had left them with no choice but to include Pidge in their disguise, although they’d quickly figured out that Pidge would have to share Lance’s pumpkin, since Hunk’s was already a tight fit.

Pidge pressed a little closer to Lance’s neck, feet digging into his shoulder. The bird was trembling slightly. The feathers brushing against his neck were surprisingly soft, although they kind of tickled.

“You doing okay?” Lance asked quietly.

“I’m not a big fan of small spaces,” the pigeon mumbled.

“You must have been really excited to leave the nest, then, huh?” Lance teased, grinning.

Pidge made a stifled noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “Oh, you have no idea.”

The music ended, the band promising to return after a quick break. The crowds began to disperse, finally clearing the way for them to get a good look at the rest of the town square. Just as Lance predicted, they had booths set up for a few simple games, like a ring toss and, bizarrely, bobbing for apples. Plain wooden tables lined the perimeter, places set with plates but no utensils, and people were already starting to claim their seats on the wooden benches.

But it was the long table loaded with platters of food and cornucopias stuffed with vegetables and fruits that interested them the most. They beelined towards it.

“Look at all the food!” Hunk said eagerly. His stomach growled loudly, echoing his appreciation.

Lance leaned in so he and Pidge could both get a closer look at a heaping pile of corn on the cob. The kernels were pale and the ears were still largely covered with silk.

“Is it just me, or does everything look kind of raw?” Lance said doubtfully.

“Maybe it’s like Mongolian barbecue?” Hunk suggested. “You know, you collect what you want to eat and then they cook it for you later on?”

“But there’s no fire. If they were planning on cooking anything, they’d have built one by now, and I don’t smell anything,” Pidge pointed out.

Hunk and Lance sniffed the air, but all they could smell was the damp pumpkin odor from their jack o’ lanterns. Their investigation was interrupted by one of the pioneer-like women in a long plaid dress shooing them away from the table.

“The feast isn’t ’til later! Run along and wait your turn like everyone else,” she scolded, her voice a jarring contrast with the wide, happy smile carved into her jack o’ lantern face.

They mumbled apologies and moved away, although Hunk couldn’t help casting one last lingering glance at the food.

“I think that cat’s staring at us,” Lance said suddenly. He pointed over towards one of the houses on the square.

But Hunk didn’t see any cat. Neither did Pidge.

“There it is again!” Lance said, pointing a few feet away from the first house. This time, Hunk almost caught a glimpse of something black, although he wasn’t completely sure whether it was a cat or just a shadow. Pidge still couldn’t see anything.

“Let’s go find it!” Lance said excitedly.

“Let’s not,” said Pidge with considerably less excitement.

“Sorry, but I’m with Pidge. What’s so great about cats, anyway?” Hunk said. “Dogs are cooler. They can fetch.”

Lance gestured expansively to the rest of the square. “Look, it’s find the cat or join the line for ring toss until the music starts back up, and honestly? I’d rather go pet a cat. Besides, any cat would have to go through me to get to you, Pidge, so you’re safe.”

Pidge gripped Lance’s shoulder a little more tightly. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Hunk could tell when he’d lost. He sighed. “Okay, fine. Let’s go.”

They headed off in the direction Lance thought he’d last seen the cat and ended up in a side street, where a low groan made them stop in their tracks.

A man was sprawled out behind one of the houses, flat on the ground. A carved walking stick had rolled a few feet away from him. He must have tripped and hit his head when he fell down, since the pumpkin he wore had a deep crack running through it.

Hunk and Lance each took one of his arms and slowly helped him to sit up.

“Are you okay?” Lance asked, crouched next to him.

“I’m fine, thank you kindly,” the man said in a smooth, slow drawl. He reached up to check his disguise, sighing mournfully as he ran his fingers across the crack. “This is liable to break apart any moment, though, and I’ve no time to find another…”

“I can probably fix that!” Hunk offered. He shrugged off his backpack and rummaged around inside until he came up with a roll of duct tape. He tore off a few pieces and covered the crack just as carefully as if he’d been sewing stitches. “There we go. It’s just a patch job, but it should hold for a while.”

With Lance and Hunk’s help, the man stood back up, leaning on Hunk while Lance fetched his walking stick.

The man reached up and felt Hunk’s repair job. “I don’t know what you did but it certainly feels much better. You’re a very resourceful young man.”

Flustered, Hunk reached up to scratch the back of his head, but ended up beaning himself when he forgot about his own pumpkin disguise. “Well, any engineer worth his salt should have duct tape on hand. That’s what my dad always says, anyway.”

“What’s duck tape?” Pidge muttered, Lance shushing in response.

The man was distracted and didn’t seem to have noticed. He was looking down at his shirt, making a puzzled humming noise as he patted down his suit jacket and checked his pockets.

“…I seem to have dropped my badge,” he said finally.

Lance turned and spotted a small piece of cloth on the ground, half-covered by some stray leaves. It looked like something was written on it. He picked it up, brushing off the leaves and dirt before handing it up to the man.

“Is this it?”

“My, you’ve a good eye,” the man said appreciatively. He pinned it back on his jacket lapel, the badge now clearly reading ‘MAYOR’ in shiny gold lettering.

“One kindness deserves another,” said the mayor. “I believe I owe you a favor.”

“Don’t–” Lance started to say, but Pidge cut him off with a swift peck to the back of his head.

“Thank you,” the pigeon said, speaking loudly to mask Lance’s whimper. “We’ll remember, sir.”

“You do that,” said the mayor. For a moment, it almost looked like his jack o’ lantern eyes glinted yellow. “Enjoy the rest of the festival.”

He nodded graciously at each of them and wandered off in the direction of the square, leaning heavily on his walking stick.

“Why’d you say that?” Lance complained to Pidge, trying unsuccessfully to reach through the jack o’ lantern mouth to rub the sore spot Pidge had left. Pidge nudged his hand away with another sharp peck of its beak.

“If someone owes you a favor, that’s valuable. You don’t just let that go,” Pidge scolded.

“Yeah, but we didn’t help him so we could get something out of it! That’s not how being nice works.”

Hunk bumped shoulders with Lance. “Stop arguing with yourself, people are staring,” he whispered.

They were definitely getting a few odd looks from the handful of people who walked by on their way back to the square. Lance perked up when he realized the music had started up again. This time, it looked like people were starting to pair off for dancing.

“Yes! That’s more like it,” Lance cheered, dragging a much more reluctant Hunk with him to go watch.

They squeezed through the crowd until they were at the front, ending up next to a tall, broad-shouldered couple. The man was dressed in a brown suit with a deep green bowtie, while the woman wore a cotton dress in the same green color as his tie, a patchwork apron tied around her waist.

They looked over as Lance enthusiastically clapped along to the lively music, which, as far as Hunk was concerned, was kind of embarrassing.

“Sorry about him,” he apologized to the tall woman. “First time here. He’s a little overexcited.”

She tilted her head, her hands flying up to her face as if surprised.

“That’s wonderful!” she said, sounding completely sincere. Her voice sounded younger than Hunk had expected from the way she was dressed. “Is it your first time to the Harvest Festival as well?”

Hunk nodded. “Yeah. I’m Hunk, and that’s Lance.”

“Welcome, Hunk and Lance!” the girl said. “I’m Shay, and this is my brother Rax.”

Rax just grunted, turning his attention back to the dancing just in time for one of the dancers to pull him into a circle, ignoring his loud protests.

Shay laughed at the sight. Lance whooped encouragingly, Pidge quietly scolding him for the unnecessary loud noise. It turned out that Rax, while reluctant, really wasn’t a bad dancer.

A little shyly, Shay touched Hunk’s arm. “Would you care to dance, Hunk?”

“Huh?” Hunk said, startled. “Oh, um, sure! Just a sec.”

He slipped off his backpack and held it out to Lance. “Do you mind?”

Lance shrugged and took the bag. “Sure.”

Shay took Hunk’s hand and led him away.

Being stuck inside a hollow pumpkin meant that Pidge had very little to do but stare at Lance’s face. So the pigeon couldn’t help but notice him sulking as Shay and Hunk danced together. Lance was twitchy, and Pidge could tell that he was disappointed he wasn’t dancing, too.

“Hey, Lance. I have an idea,” Pidge said quietly, trying not to startle him again.

“Hmm?”

“Why don’t we hit up the food table while everyone’s distracted? It wouldn’t hurt to have a few leftovers for later, and it’s not like it’s going to spoil…”

“But what about that lady who yelled at us before? Isn’t she, like, guarding everything?”

“I’m pretty sure she’s going to be busy for a while,” Pidge said. “Looks like she’s a big fan of the band.”

The grumpy guard had indeed left her post to stand directly in front of the band’s fiddler, loudly cheering. Lance had always thought guitarists were cooler, but he could kind of see the appeal. The guy was a showy musician, managing to dance and play at the same time even in his crazy costume.

“… okay, you convinced me. Let’s do it.”

Pidge let out a soft coo of triumph.

By the time the dancing was over, Lance and Pidge had successfully stuffed Hunk’s backpack with enough food to last a long time, and Lance’s mood had improved significantly. Shay threw her arms around Hunk and hugged him tightly as the music ended, Hunk shyly hugging back before rejoining Lance.

“Have fun?” Lance asked.

“Actually, I did. Shay’s really nice. She was telling me how she and her brother have a farm or something? She invited us to sit with them at dinner. Anyway, thanks for holding my stuff, man.”

“No problem,” Lance said cheerfully, thrusting his bag back at him.

Hunk nearly dropped it, unprepared for it to have doubled in weight. “What the—”

“Pidge and I may have grabbed a few snacks for later, don’t worry about it,” Lance said, throwing an arm around his shoulder to guide him over to one of the long tables, where Shay was waving for them to come join her.

Plates of food were being carried from the center table and distributed to the tables across the square. They slid onto the the wooden bench to sit opposite Shay and Rax, Hunk’s chest protector giving him some trouble, but he managed to sit down in the end.

“Remind me why I’m wearing this again?” Hunk said under his breath.

“It’s part of your look,” said Lance.

Before Hunk could say anything else, the crowd broke into cheers. The mayor was making his way to the center of the square, still leaning heavily on his walking stick.

“Speech! Speech!” the crowd called out.

The mayor raised a hand in greeting. “It’s wonderful to see everyone again! It’s good to be back here, isn’t it?”

Cheers and applause.

“As you all know, the Harvest Festival started in the Old Times, when folks gathered together to celebrate another successful year of harvesting souls and feast on the best of them…”

Hunk froze. Beside him, Lance inhaled sharply. Pidge said nothing, but Lance could feel the bird shiver as it nervously pressed against his neck.

The mayor’s speech continued. “Of course, a few things have changed since those days.”

Scattered laughter.

“Today, the harvest of souls is symbolized by the bounty before you, and we gather together in remembrance of how delicious life can be. And with that, let’s feast!”

“Let’s feast!” the crowd roared back in approval.

All around them, people began to take off their gloves and burst into excited chatter, loading their plates with food. Hunk and Lance felt chills run down their spines as they watched everyone reach for and grab and prod at the food.

Their hands were nothing but bones. And with their gloves off, most of their sleeves were loose enough that it was obvious that their arms were bones, too. In fact, there was a pretty good chance that behind those jack o’ lantern grins were just skulls.

And no one seemed to care. They were all perfectly at ease with the idea of having dinner with someone who was part or maybe completely a skeleton.

Lance and Hunk had both come to the conclusion that it was safer to keep their gloved hands hidden under the table until they figured out what was going on.

Lance reached out and tapped Hunk’s knee. “I think we may have a small problem,” he whispered, Pidge still pressed against his neck.

“A small problem?” Hunk replied shrilly, forgetting to whisper in his panic.

Shay looked over at them, holding a tray of new potatoes in her literally skeletal hands. “What’s the problem?” she asked curiously.

Hunk shook his head and let out a strangled laugh. “I don’t know where to start–”

Sensibly, Shay put a potato on his plate, and another on Lance’s. The potatoes were freshly washed but very obviously raw. “Well, why not start with these? Rax and I harvested them ourselves.”

“Oh, thanks. That’s great, really great,” Hunk said, his voice choked, staring at her hands.

“You must’ve worked yourselves to the bone,” Lance said without thinking, then groaned quietly as he realized what he’d just said.

Luckily, Shay just giggled. “The Harvest Festival only happens once a year. It’s worth working hard for.”

“So remind me again what we’re doing here? The Mayor said something about, uh, eating souls?” Lance asked, trying to sound casual.

Shay’s brother snorted. “You really don’t know anything, do you, first-timer?”

“Rax, that’s rude!” Shay scolded him.

Rax just shrugged and turned his attention back to the food, ignoring her.

“Every living thing has quintessence, it doesn’t matter whether it’s animal or vegetable. So we get our quintessence from the food we gather each year,” Shay explained. She gestured to the rest of the table. “See? It’s simple!”

All around them, people were pretending to eat, holding vegetables and fruit up to their pumpkin-head mouths and inhaling deeply. But as they watched, they started to realize that it wasn’t just pretend. They could see something — was it quintessence? — come out of the food and be sucked into each carved mouth. Whatever it was faintly glowed with a pale blue light.

The more light was sucked from the food, the worse it looked. Apples turned brown and rotted, skin practically slipping off and leaving behind only the core. Squash melted into mush, carrots curled and wilted.

But the people’s skeletal hands were starting to look more substantial as the pale blue light extended from the food in their hands and wrapped around their bones. Later on, Hunk would describe it like watching a gelatin mold set, and Lance would argue it was more like a watching fruit slices freeze inside of ice cubes.

Shay inhaled her potato with gusto as it sprouted eyes and dripped moldy puddles onto her plate. “Mmm. Everything even smells better this year. The quintessence is a lot fresher than usual.”

Hunk shuddered. “I think I’m gonna barf,” he muttered queasily.

Lance looked over at him and noticed he was starting to glow with the same faint light they’d seen on the food. Horrified, he realized that it wasn’t just the food’s quintessence that was being sucked in, but theirs as well, tendrils of light beginning to rise from his own arms as his stomach started to churn.

Pidge made a shrill noise of alarm, right in Lance’s ear. “We can’t stay here! We’ll be drained, too!” the pigeon hissed.

Lance abruptly stood up and dragged Hunk with him, startling Shay and Rax. They looked up, half-absorbed food in their bony hands.

“Sorry, just gotta take Hunk for some air,” Lance said apologetically.

He stumbled over the bench as they climbed over, but Hunk managed to catch him before he wiped out (much to Pidge’s relief). Unfortunately, Hunk didn’t let go of his arm, clinging to him the same way he had earlier that morning. If this kept happening, Lance’s arm was going to be permanently black and blue.

“There might not be anything here when you get back,” Rax warned.

Shay, apparently fed up, elbowed her brother in the stomach, causing him to choke and cough out some quintessence. The corn in his hand suddenly reverted from wilted and brown to dry and brittle.

“Don’t listen to him. I’ll save you a plate!” Shay called, the concern audible in her voice.

Hunk could only manage a wheezing noise in reply.

“We’ll be back in a few!” Lance called in a voice that was much higher than normal, saluting as they backed away slowly until they’d turned the corner.

Once out of sight, they pulled the jack o’ lanterns from their heads, tossing them aside and gasping for air. As the pumpkins smashed on the ground, they froze and looked at each other with wide, frightened eyes, but behind them the Harvest Festival continued. No one seemed to have noticed. Their skin was back to normal, the eerie blue light of escaping quintessence no longer visible.

“Time to go?” Pidge suggested in a small voice, wings flapping nervously.

“Time to go,” Lance agreed.

Hunk heaved, decided he wasn’t actually going to throw up, then gave a shaky thumbs up.

They tossed their stolen gloves next to the pumpkins and took off running straight out the gate and down the road, wanting nothing more than to put as much distance as possible between themselves and New Beginnings.

To be continued.

#plance #plance au #pidgance #voltron fic #voltron au #sarah forms voltron things #spoiler: hunk and lance's outfits will eventually make sense

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dragonbagel · 7 years

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Bonded - Part 5

a nice breather from the angst (but don’t worry, it’ll be back).

you can also read it on my ao3 as well because i actually have that now.

"You cold, kitten?"

Rhys awoke with a yawn that was honestly more of a groan, stretching his arms out above his head and scrunching his eyes closed.

"Wha time 's it?" he mumbled, failing to resist the urge to fall back to sleep.

"Almost noon," Jack replied, and Rhys forced himself to open his eyes (not without more grumbling, of course).

He saw Jack seated on the edge of the bed next to him, already changed out of his pajamas into a pair of sweats and his favorite, practically disintegrating Hyperion sweatshirt. They were honestly no better than Jack's ratty and stained excuse for pajamas, but it was way too early for Rhys' brain to formulate a snide remark about Jack's inability to dress himself.

"Tired," Rhys said shortly, closing his eyes again and burying his face into the pillow.

"Too bad," Jack said, and before Rhys could even reopen his eyes to figure out what was happening, Jack had ripped the blanket he was tangled in onto the floor, causing Rhys to topple with it.

The omega cursed, hitting the floor with a thud and quickly re-surrounding himself with the blanket. He was cold and naked, and goddamnit it was too early for this shit.

"Asshole," Rhys muttered, glaring up at Jack as he gathered the blanket more closely around his body. The alpha stared down at him with a smirk, enjoying his discomfort and annoyance per usual. He ran his fingers through Rhys' hair, mussing it up despite Rhys' irked expression.

"I made us breakfast," Jack said, grinning at Rhys' shocked expression. "Meet me there in five."

The omega didn't respond, instead quite seriously considering the fact that the two of them might be in the afterlife because Jack lacked any and all basic cooking skills, including the common sense of how not to start a fire.

"Put some clothes on, too," Jack said, looking far too amused at Rhys, who was still sitting on the floor. "As much as I love you in next to nothing, I'm pretty sure my grandma died in that blanket."

Rhys blanched, wriggling out of the fabric as the sound of Jack's laughter receded down the hall. He hurried to unzip his overnight bag as he searched for his clothes, still shuddering at the idea that the corpse of an abusive old lady may have been wrapped in the same blanket he’d slept in.

He slid on a rumpled pair of jeans and one of his various Hyperion t-shirts, pulling on some star-patterned socks for good measure. He tried to smooth out his unruly bedhead in front of one of Jack’s various bedroom mirrors (the alpha’s vanity knew no bounds), but he soon decided it was a lost cause. It was Jack’s fault for messing it up in the first place, anyways.

Rhys inhaled deeply as he made his way towards Jack’s kitchen, the scent of pancakes, eggs, and oh god was that coffee? filling his nostrils. The lack of smoke into the hallway probably meant that Jack had been abducted and replaced by somebody who knew how to properly use a stove, but Rhys’ empty stomach couldn’t care less.

“Smells good,” the omega said, smiling as he pulled back a chair from the table to sit in.

“Right?” Jack said, his back turned to Rhys as he flipped a pancake in a fluid motion.

Rhys took a seat and eagerly poured himself a cup of coffee from the steaming pot in the center of the table.

“Didn’t know you could cook, Jack,” Rhys mused, rolling his eyes as he blew on his coffee to cool it.

“I’m just full of surprises, cupcake.”

Rhys took a sip of his coffee, mulling over how he could get back at Jack this time. The alpha was always trying to pull shit like this, pretending his doppelganger was actually him in order to get something (usually sex-related) from Rhys. It wasn’t exactly difficult to tell the difference between them; aside from the fact that Tim wasn’t a complete asshole like Jack, the body double was a beta. It was easy to smell him even underneath the aroma of breakfast.

“I guess I’ll just have to stop cooking for you, since you’re clearly so good at this,” Rhys said, smirking to himself. “You’ll be in charge of making all our food from now on, alright?”

“Uhh,” Tim said, looking over his shoulder in a panic. Probably seeking Jack’s signal as to what action would be least likely to get him killed.

“Alright, alright, you win,” the real Jack said, entering from the other room looking both annoyed and defeated.

Rhys snorted. “Come on-- did you really think I’d fall for that one?”

“That’s what I said,” Tim muttered, carrying a platter of pancakes to the table.

Jack glared at his double before turning back to Rhys. “Do you have so little faith in my cooking?”

The omega grabbed a pancake, drenching it in syrup before digging in. “You tried to make toast in a microwave.”

Tim laughed as he slid into the chair next to Rhys. “I once caught him using an Easy Bake Oven.”

“Would you just shut up about that already?” Jack snapped, glowering as he spread copious amounts of butter onto his pancakes.

“Why?” Rhys asked, swallowing another bite. “It’s cute.”

“It’s not,” Jack retorted.

Rhys smiled, pressing a sticky kiss to Jack’s cheek. The alpha recoiled, wiping at the syrup with the back of his hand. They ate in silence for a bit after that, their hunger overpowering their desire for small talk. It was only after every morsel of food had been scraped off of Jack’s expensive plates that Tim revealed the real reason he was in Jack’s apartment (not that having a breakfast other than Eggo waffles wasn’t reason enough). He’d come to help research how to break Rhys’ bond.

“You told him?” Rhys hissed to Jack as they stood to rinse their dishes in the sink.

“I wouldn’t have said anything if I didn’t think he could help,” Jack replied, turning the faucet on.

“Still,” Rhys said, losing the rest of his thought as he bit his lip. He knew that Jack trusted Tim more than practically anyone else in the world, and Rhys of course trusted him too. But this… for some reason, he felt even more paranoid than usual.

“Come on, kitten,” Jack said, pressing his forehead against Rhys’. “He even made you pancakes.”

Rhys chuckled, the exhale booping his nose against Jack’s. “You do know my weakness.”

“Atta boy, Rhysie,” Jack said, shifting to quickly scent Rhys’ neck before pulling away. “Now come on, let’s go do our homework.”

“How are you not understanding this?”

Rhys narrowed his eyes. “There’s nothing to understand, Jack-- other than the fact that I’m right, of course.”

“No,” the alpha said, shaking his head and gesturing to the laptop screen. “No way.”

Rhys groaned, reaching his cybernetic arm forward from where it was resting on Jack’s shoulder to point to another part of the paused image. “This one’s better, and there’s nothing you can say to convince me otherwise.”

Jack groaned, leaning his head back in frustration. “Mittens? Really? Are you blind?”

Rhys unpaused the video currently playing, gesturing to the calico cat walking in circles beside Mittens.

“This one’s name is The Great Catsby,” he said, not even trying to hide the judgement in his voice.

“And it’s a great name!” Jack replied defensively. “All the other cat does is sleep.”

“Mittens is adorable,” Rhys grumbled, looking back towards the black cat softly purring in his sleep. It had been Jack’s idea to look at cat videos in the first place; couldn’t he at least pretend to agree with Rhys?

Jack’s attention span was notoriously short, so after their first twenty searches yielded nothing but elitist alpha propaganda, he’d decided they needed a study break. Rhys had gone along with it because his discomfort was at its max, what with some sites going so far as to say that a non-consensually bonded omega should be glad to have been chosen by an alpha in the first place.

“Uh… guys?”

Both Jack and Rhys looked up from the computer, Jack slamming his hand onto the spacebar to pause the video as his face flushed beneath his mask. “What do you want, Tim?”

“I think I, um, found something,” the doppelganger said, signaling for them to come over to him.

His university-issued laptop was open to a scanned book, pretty old from the look of it. It seemed like something that would come from a library on Pandora.

“School database,” Tim said, replying to the unspoken question as to where the info was coming from. It now occurred to Rhys that, as a college student, the beta would have the best shot at finding some answers for them.

“It says here that if the bond isn’t reinforced for three months, it will fade away of its own accord,” he read, squinting at the tiny text. “Aside from the alpha dying, that is. Although that seems like it’d be painful.”

“Reinforced?” Jack asked, leaning overtop of Tim to look at the screen. “What does that mean?”

“Reinforcing can include prolonged exposure to the bonded alpha, emotional attachment, scent immersion, and heat sharing,” Tim said, his voice neutral.

“So, basically, if I don’t go anywhere near this guy for three months, it’ll just… go away?” Rhys asked, running his fingertips over the now-scarring wound on the back of his neck.

“Sounds like it,” Tim said, scooting the computer towards the omega so that he could read more closely. “I think it’s a survival thing. Like, if your mate left, you’d want to be able to find someone else to protect you, right?”

Jack shot him a glare as Rhys flushed.

“N-not that you need protection, of course!” Tim stammered, raising his arms in innocence. “Just at an evolutionary level, i-is all.”

The alpha continued to scowl, and Tim was quickly excusing himself to use the restroom as he turned red beneath Jack’s glare. Nothing irked the alpha more than the archaic endotype hierarchy, and Tim of all people should know that. He understood deep down that the beta meant nothing of the comment, but when it was combined with all of the alpha supremacy bullshit he’d just had to sift through online, it’d pushed him over the edge.

He hated that Rhys lied about his endotype to everyone, and he hated even more that there was good reason for him doing so. The rarity of omegas coupled with their rumored submissiveness put quite a price on their heads; Jack had caught more than a few now-airlocked alphas talking in the Hyperion breakroom about what they’d force an omega to do for them if they ever came up with that much dough.

That sort of bigoted dialogue had always irked him; but after dating Rhys, an actual omega, for the past year, a single derogatory comment warranted an alpha a one-way trip to space. He now understood Rhys’ beta friend’s paranoia, how Vaughn had called every hour to check in on his friend the first time Rhys spent a heat with Jack. The alpha had chalked it up to some sort of codependent separation anxiety-- that is, until Vaughn told him what had happened to Rhys on Pandora.

Before he’d moved to Helios, Rhys’ then-girlfriend had tried to sell him out to some power-hungry bandit warmonger. Had he not made it off-planet in time, he’d probably be stuck as a sex slave until his owner got tired of him.

Which was why, as Vaughn had clearly pointed out, if Jack tried anything funny while Rhys was out of it with his heat, the beta would make his life so miserable that he’d wish he was dead. Jack had quickly accepted Vaughn’s deal. He’d also accepted Vaughn’s two liters of water (to keep Rhys hydrated), industrial-sized bag of crackers (Jack would thank him later when Rhys wasn’t puking all over Jack’s apartment), and warnings not to go near Rhys’ bonding site (because if he did, Vaughn would know, and Jack would be dead).

Rhys had reassured Vaughn the next week that Jack had taken perfect care of him; he was fed, hydrated, rested, and no longer running a fever. He’d also had some pretty fantastic sex, something that Vaughn never wanted to know. Besides, how bad could it have been? He was on suppressors. If something was wrong, he wasn’t too far gone to not be able to take care of himself.

Vaughn was quick to protest that Rhys’ black market suppressors were anything but reliable. Didn’t he remember the time he’d been running a 115 degree fever for two days? Because Vaughn most certainly did.

Rhys had simply shrugged him off. He’d hacked all his records to display his status to be that of a beta, and without insurance, those pills were way out of his pay grade. They weren’t, however, out of Jack’s. As soon as the alpha found out there was something he could do to ease Rhys’ misery (in a way other than offering supportive blowjobs), he was quick to act. He ordered top-of-the-line suppressors from his personal doctor, handing them to Rhys with glee. The omega had been confused at the gift at first, but once he’d spent a month without side effects, he’d decided it was better than Christmas and his birthday combined.

He still had a heat once in awhile, of course; that much hormone buildup wasn’t good for anyone. So while he still had to hole up every three months and suffer through the nausea and underlying horniness, he still felt in control of all of his faculties. And spending a week with Jack uninterrupted? That he could deal with.

“You know he didn’t mean it, right?”

Jack looked down to see Rhys leaning his head against his shoulder, resting as he waited for Tim to return.

“He-- they can’t-- he can’t just say shit like that!” Jack said, curling his fists. “It’s not right!”

“Yeah, handsome, I know it’s not right,” Rhys said, giving Jack a small smile. “But this is Tim we’re talking about here.”

“So?” Jack said, carding his fingers through Rhys’ hair. “He still said it.”

“C’mon, Jack, give the kid a break,” Rhys said, resting back into Jack’s touch. “He helped us find what we were looking for, right?”

Jack nodded, albeit begrudgingly. Rhys could tell he was still upset, as he seemed to take any mention of the endotype hierarchy even more personally than Rhys did. If the omega was being honest, it was kind of endearing.

“No unfamiliar alphas for three months,” Jack said, his expression softer as he repeated the advice they’d found. “Think you can do that, cupcake?”

“I think so,” Rhys said, taking Jack’s face in his hands and lightly pressing a kiss to his lips. “Besides, I’ve got the only alpha I need right here.”

#rhack #rhack fic #rhack tftbl #rhys the company man #handsome jack #timothy lawrence #omegaverse #bonded #trash writing

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