#hmm i think smith actually being the one that kills him is way better than bishop doing so
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Okay now I will Not think of krueger I will Nawt think of krueger I will not go back to being insane and delirious I will be sane I will be normal I will Not be silly I will Not be goofy
#the plot of freddy v jason btw.#except uh um. i will not think of him bc i cannot go back into liking him i cannot i refuse#i already had enough thought about him during my dbd au. he does enough then I kill him bc its funny as hell#still unknown if bishops the one that kills him directly i like to imagine that he send him over to test if smith had figured out how to#kill him yet since fredster was no longer part of his plans.#hmm i think smith actually being the one that kills him is way better than bishop doing so#he finally did it fellas no more dream demon yay!!!
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Alone Too Young
The first installment in my Princess Bride AU. Today we meet our first protagonists, Gwen and Elyan (playing the parts of Valerie and Inigo respectively). Wednesday, we get the rest of their origin story, and Friday we start with the Princess Bride Retelling Proper (Morgana/Lancelot for the main pairing).
Warnings for semi-graphic depictions of murder (Thomas's) and blood. Also semi graphic depiction of injury (Broken ankle), and mentions of death and burial rituals. Implied threat of sexual assault.
Teen and Up Audiences Advised.
Summary: It was supposed to be a day like any other day. Except the king came early for his commissioned sword, and slayed their father before left, leaving Gwen and Elyan orphans.
Word Count: 3,859
AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32975395
For Protagonists: Albion Party 2021 (❤️Red Team Rulez💋)
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It’s just like any other day, really. Father is in his smithy, creating a sword. Elyan is there, helping him, and Gwen is in the kitchen, preserving the ripe spring fruit for winter and fall. Her mother had taught her to do this, when she was still very young, and when mother had died, the kind woman down the road had helped her perfect the craft. Most of the household chores had fallen to Gwen in her mother’s absence, while Elyan had tried to apprentice under his father and her father had to work even harder at the forge to buy pre-made clothes, since Gwen couldn’t sew nearly as fast as her mother and she and Elyan were both at the age where they outgrew clothes quickly
Gwen had heard father telling Elyan that this sword will be his master work. That it is the most beautiful thing he has ever created, and it will fetch a good price, keep them fed through the winter when firewood is harder to find, and buy them both nice warm clothes that they won’t have time to grow out of.
The King himself has commissioned the sword, he hears them whisper in the quietest tones late at night, while Gwen attends to her sewing, trying desperately to make enough clothes, and patch and resize what she can salvage. King Uther will be there at the end of the week to pick it up, coming himself to inspect the craftsmanship. It’s a high honor. Tomorrow Gwen is meant to begin preparing the house for royalty.
Only… a very fancy looking party is coming down the road, past her house, towards her father’s smithy. The clatter of chainmail and swords, the clop of hooves and the creak of carriage wheels passes her by, and she is worried, because there was no word that anyone noble would be passing through their little village. And the knights are all dressed in an unmistakable Pendragon Red.
Gwen leaves her jam, covers the fruit with a towel so the flies and bugs can’t get to it, and she dresses hurriedly, not even putting her hair in a nice braid before donning her cap and making for her father’s forge, taking the shortcut that she knows by heart after years of being sent to give her father, and now Elyan lunch, dinner, and water.
“It’s not ready.” She mutters to herself as she goes as quickly as she dares in her nicest dress. “It’s not ready. Father will be so embarrassed.”
She slips into the forge through the back door, and can already hear the King’s party coming.
“Gwen,” her father says, voice high and mouth smiling. “What a lovely surprise. Is the jam-making going well?”
“No.” She shakes her head and tries to pull herself together, heart racing and breath weak from having come as fast as she had to try and outrun their horses. “No, father. The King! I saw his party coming this way. He passed by the house not long ago. Where is his sword?” She is quick, frantic as she speaks. Her heart is racing, her head turning side to side, looking for any sign of the sword her father has spent weeks and weeks making.
“The King? He’s not due till next week.” Father’s voice mirrors her now, as he looks toward Elyan. “Give my that sword, son. It’s not ready, but I can polish it up before he gets here.”
“Hurry, please.” Gwen says, frantic, as Tom is looking for his polishing materials. Maybe it’s the clopping of hooves she hears, or maybe it’s the racing of her own heart, getting louder and louder. King Uther is not known to be patient or forgiving. She is terrified of what might happen if he is displeased in any way. Could he take the forge? Kill her father?
No. No, she couldn’t think like that. She just couldn’t. It would only make things worse, to think like that.
“Elyan, take your sister home. I don’t want either of you here for this.”
“Father, no!” Elyan begins to protest, and Gwen goes to do the same, but Tom’s gaze becomes hard, his mouth set in a firm line that quiets them both.
“I said, take your sister home. I’ll see you both for dinner.”
No you won’t. Gwen’s terrible thought replies, but she pushes it down, pushes it back. Because she won’t believe it. She won’t. Her father will be fine. He crafts the finest swords in all of Camelot, and even if the sword isn’t finished, it is still beautiful, and sharp, and the king will not be disappointed in it. Of course he won’t be.
So then why does the thought feel so much like a lie.
Her brother takes her arm and leads her out with much more authority than he had any right to. He is smaller than her by an inch, though he will catch up to her soon. Guinevere is only fourteen, he only fifteen, sixteen come winter, but mother had predicted that she would grow faster than he would, leaving Elyan to catch up when he was older. Soon he would, she is sure of it.
They dash through the trees, but Elyan stops when he catches a glimpse of the King’s riding party. Gwen stops too, forboding and dread weighing her down to the spot.
“You go ahead. I’m going back with father.” Elyan tells her, and she glares.
“No, we both go home or we both go to the forge.” Gwen hardens her features, standing her ground like Mother always taught her to, and Elyan glared back at her, a battle of wits ensuing.
Eventually, Elyan sighs, defeated. “We’re wasting time. Come on. But you’re to stay outside and out of sight, and if you think they might start looking around, you run back home, do you understand? Men like that, they aren’t kind to women below their station.”
She swallows hard. She knows what he means, and what she is risking, but she will not leave her father alone, and neither will Elyan.
They race back, just barely making it to the forge as the King himself bursts through the door, loud and rude. They watch through the window, obscured by bushes and the curtain father uses to keep bugs out.
“Tom, smith, it is good to see you! I hope I am not too early.”
“Of course he’s too early.” Elyan muttered from their perch at the window, glaring at the king in a way that would be treasonous if he saw. Gwen doesn’t blame him. She’s sure her own gaze is not particularly favorable to the king just now.
“Of course not, your Majesty. I’m just finishing polishing it up, if you don’t mind waiting a moment.” Gwen can hear the tenseness in her father’s usually easy-going voice. The fear in it that the King is probably used to, maybe even delights in by the way his eyes light up.
“Excellent. I’ve heard nothing but good things this about your work. I expect the result to be excellent.”
“I endeavor to please, Sire.” Tom continues polishing the sword as the king looks around the smithy, walks casually, hands behind his back, and examines the walls lined with tools and swords and horse shoes.
“This is beautiful.” King Uther said, picking something up off a table that Gwen can’t see. “I should like it as well.”
“Thank you sire. I was actually making it for my daughter. Her coming of age is soon, but I would be happy to make another just like it, better even.” Tom is smiling, but Gwen can see the insincerity in it, the sweat beads forming at his temple are not just from the heat of the forge.
“No, I won’t be back this way for some time. I’d like this one. Make your daughter another.”
Elyan starts to stand and Gwen grabs his arm, clawing her nails into it and leveling her hardest glare at him. Their father was a competent man, and they would leave him to do what needed doing.
“The metal is from my late wife’s wedding ring, Sire. I would prefer not to part with it, if I could.” His voice is soft, pleading, begging the King to understand, but King Uther is heartless and the whole kingdom knows it.
“Hmm.” Uther carelessly drops whatever it is he is holding onto the table, the clatter making Gwen flinch even as Elyan grips the window seal like he would like to jump through it and give the King a piece of his mind. “Enough of that then. The sword.”
“Here, Sire.” Tom’s voice is soft with relief that Gwen can feel in her chest, a knot unwinding ever so slightly, that will not be fully undone until the whole thing is over and the King is gone.
“Excellent.” The King takes the sword an examines it, head and hand turning this way and that to admire the work her father had done. “That’s 100, isn’t it?”
Tom is quiet for a moment, eyes widening. “Um, Sire, I believe we agreed to 1000.”
“He can’t be serious. Father worked for months on that sword.” Elyan seethes beside her and Gwen finds her own anger is rising, even above the anxiety. She can’t see this ending well.
“1000?” The King scoffs, “What does a peasant need 1000 for all at once? 100. Take the money or you shall get nothing at all.”
“Sire, with all due respect, I can’t take less than 1000. The materials alone are worth more than 100. That handle is inlaid with real gold, precious stones. I have a family to feed, Your Majesty.” Tom’s tone is raising, higher pitched, pleading, not yet angry like Elyan so obviously is beside her. She keeps hold of his arm, not to keep him in line, but to keep herself grounded. This cannot end well for them. It will not.
“I don’t believe I asked about your family, smith.” King Uther adjusts his grip on the sword and places the tip at their father’s breast both, just beside his heart. “Be lucky I offer you 100.”
“Sire, please.” Tom is looking around frantically for anything he can use to defend himself, and his eyes catch on something just beside Gwen. When Gwen follows their path she realizes that he is looking at Elyan. Whether he has always known they were there or just discovered them is unclear, but Gwen read the words on Tom’s lips clear as words straight from a book. “Don’t.” Her father tells Elyan, and Gwen grips her brother’s arm, but it is too late. He is racing around the building, toward the door, and Gwen can’t stop him. She’s wary for her own safety, and her father had begged him not to.
Elyan doesn’t see their father’s death, because he is running around to the door, but Gwen sees it. She has to hold her hands to her mouth to keep a scream from escaping. She has never seen a sword pierce a human before. She’s never seen anything killed before today, so to have the first death she witnesses be her father’s is more than she can bear. She collapses into the bush outside the smithy window, the gurgling sound of her father’s final breaths creeping out the window, but soon covered by Elyan’s roaring yells of “father!”
Their father won’t survive. Elyan won’t survive. What will they do? What will she do? Her limbs are stiff and her lungs are empty, refusing to fill themselves. She hears the clashing of sword, and her brother’s grunts of pain. She is still crying, sobbing, even, but she holds her hands so hard to her face that she thinks maybe she’ll have bruises across her lips afterward. It hurts. Everything hurts.
She hates King Uther. Hates him with a fiery passion, but that is nothing compared to the sorrow welling inside her. Her father is dead. Her brother is dead.
She hears hooves on hard dirty road, the king giving orders to leave, and only then can she gather enough sense to crawl out of the bushes and around the smith to see what damage has been done.
Her eyes are so wet with tears that she can’t see anything but red. Red that turns deep black where there is too much blood pooled of the smithy’s dirt floor. She can hear her father’s choking, gurgling breaths and she collapses again, sobbing. She doesn’t know how to save a stabbed man. The nearest doctor is two villages away. She can’t help him. She can’t save.
“Guinevere.” Elyan’s croaking voice calls to her and she sobs harder, curling in on herself and holding her knees.
“Elyan!” She wails, “Father!” She hates King Uther. She hates him. She hopes he gets caught in a hideous fire, burns alive and has hot metal searing his flesh in his final moments. She hopes he suffers. She hopes he dies.
“Guinevere!” Elyan yells louder, though nowhere near his full strength. “Help me.”
She forces her shoulders to still and her sobs to quiet, wipes at her eyes with her sleeves. Her hand is wet, wetter and stickier than tears would leave it, and when she has cleared the tears from her eyes she sees that she has put her hand in blood. Elyan’s blood most likely. She’s enthralled by it, can’t move anymore, knowing that the king has spilt both her father’s and brother’s blood. She’s only able to move again when Elyan calls her name.
She crawls to him, ignoring the blood staining the worn blue fabric of her mother’s handed down dress, still the finest dress she owned. It was too big for her, and the fabric would have dragged through the blood even if she’d bad the strength to stand, which she didn’t.
She dropped again beside her brother, who laid in the dirt, too weak even to move his head. His foot lays at an odd angle, and his face is bleeding. There is so much blood Gwen thinks he might die too.
“I will-“ Elyan starts to say, but he winces with the pain of his injuries, “I will avenge our father, Guinevere. I will keep you safe.” He reaches up and touches the blood streak on Gwen’s face, brushes it away with the sleeve of his own shirt. She brings her hand up to hold his, tears still tracking down her cheeks and making both their sleeves wet. There father is silent beside them.
“You have to live.” She pleads. Looking over at their father, whose eyes are glassy, wide open, chest unmoving.
“I will. He laid no killing blows. He thought me younger than I am.” Elyan swallowed hard and Gwen squeezes his hand, walking on her knees to take the pitcher of water from the counter and bring it down to the ground with them. She has to help him sit up, and move him to rest against father’s work table before he can drink. He tries not to show how much he’s hurt, but Gwen can see it in the way he tries so hard not to move his left leg, and grits his teeth harder with every motion.
“Elyan, what are we to do?” She whispered once he’d drunk what little water was in the pitcher.
He doesn’t speak for a long while, and Gwen starts to cry silently again, her eyes settling on the wall farthest from where her father lay dead, unwilling to look upon his body again.
“You have to go fetch the doctor, or my foot won’t heal right. I’ll be of no use to you if I can’t walk.” Elyan grit his teeth as he adjusted himself against the table, trying to get more comfortable. “Once he’s finished with me, I doubt we’ll have much money left. I’ll find some odd jobs in the villages, see if there’s a widow needs firewood or something of the like. I’ll keep the forge going at night, prove to people that I’m as competent as father.”
Gwen nods and swallows hard. “The fruit will be bad by the time I get back with the doctor.” It’s the only thing she can think.
“Damn the jam, Guinevere. We’ll make due without.” Elyan’s voice is dismissive, angry, but she knows it’s not aimed at her. Even so she feels herself shrink, frightened by him.
“I’m sorry.” Is all she can think to say. She is sorry that their father is dead. Sorry she can’t think of anything but the jam. Sorry that she didn’t… what, stab the King? If Elyan couldn’t lay a hand on him, what hope did she have? Guinevere was never trained with a sword. She would make Elyan train her now.
That thought centered her as she stumbled to her feet. “I’m going to get the Doctor. I’ll see if The Henricks will let me borrow their horse.”
“Don’t ask them. Their son has eyes for you. Ask the Tailors, down the way. The mother has a soft spot for you.”
Gwen nods, pulling her scarf closer around herself. “She’s always been good to us.” She had taught Gwen to make jam. And to sew, and all the best household remedies and cleaning tricks. Surely they’d spare her a horse.
“She has.” Elyan nods and his eyes focus once again on their father’s dead body. She knows that’s where he is looking, but she doesn’t dare look herself. She’s only just stopped crying and she can’t afford to lose it again. She has to bring a physician back, for Elyan.
“Hurry back,” Elyan says to her on her way out the door and she nods at him, eyes steely and determined. When she passes people and they see the blood on her knees and the tears still glistening her eyes, they put two and two together. None of them stop her or ask her questions, but they leave a trail of gossip in her wake.
She ignores them.
—
The physician sees to Elyan quickly, who’s been moved to their house by a neighbor with a cart and kindness in their heart. Elyan is laid up on their father’s bed, rather than the cot they usually shared, to try and keep some of the pressure off his ankle.
The physician had given her something to help his pain, and showed her how to change the dressings on his wounds. She had taken all the instructions in stride, committing them to memory and never once glancing towards the fruit still sitting on the kitchen table, waiting to be cooked and jellied.
“You’re a very lucky young man.” The physician says as he’s packing up his things. Gwen can’t fathom how anyone could apply the word “lucky” to their situation. “The King has killed boys younger than you for smaller slights. If he had, your sister might be left all alone, and where would she be then?”
Elyan bites his tongue, and Gwen does too. They both know how lucky they are Elyan isn’t dead, but their father is, and they are still too young to be alone like this. It’s cruel of him to torment Elyan so.
Gwen sees the physician out the door, and gives him most of their money as he goes. She doesn’t know what they’ll do when the few coins they have run out, but she will just have to think of something until Elyan is on his feet again.
“Father still needs to be buried.” Elyan said as the sun begins to set. Today had seemed so ordinary only hours ago, but now it feels upside down and there’s nothing she can do about it.
Gwen nods as she tries her best to save the fruit that was left. It would cost too much to waste it now. “The Tailor’s son has offered to come first thing in the morning and help me dig.”
Elyan nods as well, but doesn’t look at her. It must be weighing on him that he can’t dig the grave himself. Guinevere remembers how at just ten years old, Elyan had insisted on helping father dig mother’s grave. Guinevere had braided flowers into a crown for her. Father had told her not to touch mother, but Gwen had always been a stubborn child, and she had snuck over to her mother’s shrouded body, moved the shroud from her face, and placed the crown on her head.
Her mother was cold, stiff, like a doll made of corn husks, but more solid. It felt strange to touch the body and find it completely stiff. The neck wouldn’t give even an inch so she could put the crown all the way around her head, so Gwen had just rested the crown askew, and replaced the shroud. Her father had caught her, yelled at her to step back. Mother had been very sick for a long time. It wouldn’t do for Gwen die as well, now that all of Mother’s duties were hers.
Mother had told her once, that she’d run a home one day. This was probably not how she meant it.
After placing the crown, Gwen had gone inside to finish the day’s chores. It was all she could do. Playing didn’t feel right, and people kept coming to the door, saying how sorry they were and asking when they would bury mother. Gwen fielded these questions as best she could, and finds herself fielding the same ones late into the evening as word of Tom’s slaughter at the hands of the king, and Elyan’s injury, spread through the village. A few of the village men bring Tom’s body to the main house, to keep it safe for the night. Gwen tells them thank you, and when they offer to help during the burial tomorrow, Gwen gladly accepts it.
“You’re too young for this.” Elyan said, with a single candle burning down on the kitchen table and Gwen laid out on the cot by her brother’s side, unwilling to go more than a few feet from him.
In the dark of the night, Gwen feels another set of tears start, and she leaves them, lets them soak the hard pillow beneath her head. “We’re both too young for this. But we’ll make it.”
“Yes, we will.”
When Gwen looks up at Elyan, his eyes are focused over her, probably on the shrouded body of their father. There will be a stink in the house by morning. There was with mother. They will have to take they father outside as soon as someone comes by in the morning, and someone will have to guard his body from wild animals while they dig. Gwen thinks Elyan should do this. It would make him feel useful. Even when mother died, Elyan had tried to be jovial, but he is nothing by sad and serious now. She can’t say she expects him to smile, but they’ve barely spoken all day except to make plans. Gwen lets the tears keep flowing late into the night, and she barely sleeps for the grief.
#albionparty21#redteamrulez#Elyan#sir elyan#gwen#gwen pendragon#lysa's pbau#pbau#pbau proper#<<<the tag I'll use for just the story#Tell me what you think I'm so excited to finally get to post this#pbau au proper
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We Creatures, Chapter 3
When Alcor felt Mizar calling to him, he came to help. Perhaps, this one time, he should have stayed asleep.
See most updated version on Archive of Our Own.
______________________________________________________________
“I spy with my little eye… something beginning with e.”
“Is it elves?”
“What? No!”
“Just checking,” Mizar sat back in her seat. “Just checking, uh… electricity! From the lights?”
“No.”
“Elm tree! I see some elms over there.”
Alcor grinned. “Nope.”
“Okay… fuck, I give up. What is it?”
“Okay, are you ready? You’re gonna kick yourself: Everest.”
“Ev… Everest?” She raised an eyebrow. “Like the mountain in the Himalayas?”
“Yeah!” He chuckled to himself. “You know, I’ve gotten a not-insignificant number of summoners over the years who wanted me to teleport them to the top of Everest and back. Some of them worded it better than others, but you humans are just obsessed with that place - it’s so funny to me!”
“That’s great, but this is the third time you’ve named something only you can see.” She crossed her arms. “I don’t think this Eye Spy game is working.”
“Oh… that’s okay! I have other road trip games! How about twenty questions - we pick something in the environment and, uh, the other person asks you twenty questions about what it could be…”
He launched into an explanation. In the back, Mizar rolled her eyes. She was grinning, though.
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They rounded a curve on the interstate, radio blasting.
“We gotta hooooold on to what we got!”
“It doesn’t make a difference if we make it or not!”
Mizar was using a soda can as a microphone. “We got each other, and that’s enough for noooow, we’ll give it a shot!”
“OHHHHH, we’re halfway there!” Alcor swerved in time to the music. “OOOH-OHHH, livin’ on a prayer! Liiivin’ onnn a prayyyy-aaa-err!”
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“And so I told her, you can’t ride a pig into battle, Mabel. Waddles - his name was Waddles - is too small, and let’s face it, he’s not really a fighter. He rolls - rolled - in the mud all day, he ate carrots, he’s not really down to charge through a cultist’s basement and strike fear in their hearts”
Mizar was slumped in the back, methodically ripping up gummy worms. “Mmmhm.”
“But, uh, a bit of a size change, and boy was I wrong.” Alcor chuckled, one hand on the steering wheel as they cut through a forest. The sun was still up, but it was blocked by the trees; every so often he’d squint as a ray peeked through. “Kind of glad that didn’t become a regular thing. A horse-sized pig is, uh, more intimidating than you’d think.”
“Mmmhm.”
“But yeah, she did funny things like that… all Mizars tend to do stuff like that… but always a different thing, you know?”
“Yeah…”
“I dunno, maybe I’m explaining it weirdly.” His smile faded a bit. “It’s been a long time since I thought about her… too long. I just… I sort of forgot, I guess? It feels like I can’t’ve - she was my sister, but… I guess time does that to you.” Alcor stared forwards. “Everything fades. In time.”
The silence stretched, and Mizar frowned a bit. She glanced over at him.
“Dude?”
“Huh?” He blinked. “Oh, sorry! Think I blanked on you for a second there.”
“Always encouraging to hear that from your driver.”
“Heh, yeah…” Alcor nodded, and then looked back at her. “So what about you?”
No reply. He looked back, and saw she’d gone still.
“Mizar?”
“What do you mean, what about me?” Ostensibly nothing had changed about her, but Alcor could feel a sort of carefulness in her choice of words now. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, and Alcor made a face.
“I didn’t mean anything serious by it. I just thought I’d get to know you a little bit more!” He shrugged. “You know, uh… oh, what’s your name? I never asked you that.”
“You’ve been calling me Mizar, right? That works.”
“Well, Mizar’s your soul’s name. You have a name apart from that, right?”
“Sure I do.”
“Yeah?” There was a pause. “Uh, what is it?”
“…Smith.” Mizar ripped a gummy worm in half. “John Smith, there you go.”
Alcor struggled to keep a smile. “Okay, Mizar, uh… so you lived in New York, huh?”
“Yeah. You gonna make me give you an address now?”
“No, I- ugh. Forget it.” Alcor rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t trying to pry, I was just trying to get to know you. Why are you so against that?”
“Why do you want to know so bad?” Mizar sat up a bit. “Look, genuinely? I’m sorry that’s frustrating for you. When I summoned a demon, I wasn’t exactly thinking I’d have to make small talk with them.”
“What does that mean?”
“Means I actually kind of like you, dude! And I feel bad, but I can’t risk…” she trailed off, then cleared her throat. “How about this. Once we get to the desert, you can ask me anything you want, okay?”
Alcor frowned. “Okay… I’ll wait for the desert, then.”
“Thank you.” She sat back a little. “Thank you, Alcor.”
He didn’t quite know what to say to that. The conversation seemed like it had reached its end, and he started fiddling with the radio again. Most of it was adverts, though; it felt like sometimes the stations were coordinating to all go on break at the same-
“Look out!”
Mizar’s voice shot through him like a knife. He looked up and noticed there was something in the road - a deer! He swerved hard, and then he tried to swerve away from a tree right at the bend in the road but it was coming up too fast and-
The impact broke on him like a wave slamming against a hard cliff, and the sound of glass and metal shattering split his body’s eardrums. He felt his head crack against the steering wheel, and when he looked up he had to blink through the blood.
There were… legs? Legs through the windshield, and a sweatered body wrapped around the tree, and Alcor felt a raw fear flood through his being.
“Mizar?” He tried to get up, get out of his body, but something held him in place. “Mizar!”
And then she moved. He froze.
“Ugh…” Mizar shifted, and moved her neck off the right-angle it was making with the tree’s trunk. She rubbed her head. “Ow.”
Alcor watched with wide eyes as she shook herself off, and started extracting her legs through the opening. All the broken glass on the hood hadn’t left a scratch on her, it was…
“Impossible,” Alcor breathed. He saw her eye settle on him, her face flash through a million expressions before turning carefully blank. “You’re not human.”
“It…” She hesitated. “It doesn’t matter right now. We need to go.”
He tried to sit up, but something was keeping him rooted in place. It was more than being trapped; he tried to step into the Mindscape, but something had tethered itself to his very soul and bound him to the Earth.
“I can’t.” He frowned. “I’m… trapped?”
“You’re trapped?”
Bound to the Earth… Alcor lifted up his shirt, and found a branch impaled through his abdomen, skewering him to the seat. It was young, thin, but before his eyes, he watched it grow thicker, watched bark form on its trunk, and creep up his skin.
Mizar saw it too. “Shit,” she said, and backed up. “They’re here. They want you.”
“The elves?”
“Yeah… I have to go now.” She jumped off the car’s hood. “Sorry, dude.”
“Mizar? They want me? Wh-what does that mean? Mizar!”
But she was gone - vanished into the darkness. Alcor gritted his teeth, then he summoned a flame and tried to burn the branch. Nothing happened; if anything, a couple leaves sprouted where it should have turned to ash. The bark kept climbing up his chest, and he felt… strange. A little drowsy. It was easy to resist - for now.
But there were voices, and he pushed all that to the side.
“...No, child.” Elvish - spoken softly, like a song. “Do not chase the startled bear into its cave. Have patience, patience…”
He could see three pairs of feet, approaching. Two of them were clad in bark armour - the middle wore a long, flowing robe, and continued forwards where the other two stopped. It walked right up to Alcor, and for the first time in a very long while, he could feel a little bit of apprehension.
It was just an elf, he told himself. Just a mortal. Whatever it was, he’s a demon, he could take it…
The feet stopped in front of a mangled car door. Then they leaned down a little, and a face appeared through the broken glass. By the ears, they were elven, and by the locks of brilliant white hair framing their face, they were ancient indeed.
“Greetings, demon.” said the elf in a quiet tone. “You’ve made a mistake.”
Then they smiled. Alcor did not like the way they smiled.
“You’ve made a mistake,” He growled. “I don’t know how you’ve got me bound, but you can’t keep it up forever. If I get out and you’ve hurt one hair on Mizar’s head… what are you doing?”
The elder was waving at the other two. In unison, they kneeled on the ground, and started whispering to it. The bark creeping up Alcor’s chest started accelerating.
“Alcor the Dreambender,” the elder turned back to him. “You don’t know what a Sanctuary is, do you?”
“Wh-”
“No, you wouldn’t. Thus far, you’ve been a wise demon; you’ve stayed out of our affairs, and we’ve stayed out of yours.” They smiled. “Or perhaps, you’ve just been a lucky one. If you were wise, you wouldn’t have meddled last night, would you?”
“Meddled?” They leaned back as the elder leaned in close. “You were trying to kill Mizar, you- get back!”
“Let me educate you, child.” They whispered in his ear. “We will grow a great forest over your body. We will live in this Sanctuary, we will walk these woods, and our every thought will keep you bound, will keep you aslumber. And your wistful dreams will cause flowers to bloom in the springtime.”
With a smile, they stepped away, and spoke again.
“Now, do you see? Do you see why you should have been wise, demon?”
Alcor growled. After a moment, he got his claws under the bark encircling his neck. With a little effort, he ripped it away, and glared up at the elder.
“You can’t bind me forever. I’ll get out - you’ll regret this!”
“Hmm… perhaps. But not in time to protect that which you travel with. This… Mizar, you say?”
“Don’t you dare.” Alcor lunged at him. “Don’t you dare! D̞̖̟̱͉O̡͖͇̫N̳̦̳̫̮͎̯'T̹̼̮̤̠͢ͅ ̻̼Y̮͖̜OU҉͙̠̪̭̞̭ ͙̥͍̙͚̹̻D͈A̵̞̠̫̙̲̝R̠E͚̜̺̫̬!̦̤̬͉̪”
“A Mizar…” They stroked their beard. “So that is how it enlisted your help.”
“She҉ is̡ ̵mi͠ne͘!͜ S̸h̸e ìs mine̢!̕ ̷You̧ ̷hu̴rt̢ my̕ Mi͘zar,̴ ̸I ̢W̨ILĻ ͢ḰĮLL͢ ̨Y̵OU̧!”
“But she is not your Mizar.”
Alcor frowned. “Don’t you tell me who my Mizar is - I can feel it. I know!”
At that, the elf… laughed. He growled.
“What? What’s so funny?”
“Oh… it’s not funny.” They sighed; for once, the smile seemed to dip. “It’s not funny. I suppose it just… to see it happen again, it’s strange, is it not?”
Alcor watched the elf look into the distance. In their eyes were a thousand memories, and in their furrowing brow, a thousand pains. It seemed like an eternity before they spoke again.
“I had a daughter, once,” they started. “Long ago. Before I was one of the elders. Before the Transcendence. Shalana, her name was.”
Alcor watched the elf smile.
“And she was so full of life. She loved to dance with the wind and the leaves. And she loved everyone around her.” They shook their head. “She trusted everyone around her, and… she was mistaken.”
Alcor frowned. “What happened?”
“This is why you outsiders shouldn’t meddle.” They glanced up at him. “You ask me what happened - any elf would know what happened, but you are…” they sighed. “You don’t know of the Blighted Ones - they are hunters of us. Very specialized hunters; humans would see through their tricks, but we-“ they gestured at their visor. “We cannot. And you cannot, either.”
“What do you mean?” Alcor raised an eyebrow. “I have enough magic to see through any illusion-“
“And it is your magic that prevents you from seeing the truth! These creatures feed on magic - they twist your Sight, you cannot trust what you see!” The elf clenched their fists. “Just like Shalana could not See. She thought it was a friend who wanted to walk the forest with her; instead it was her doom.”
Alcor made a face. “I’m… so sorry to hear that.”
They looked at him, and did not smile. “You dare apologise to me?” They hissed, and leaned in closer. “You dare apologise to me when you saved her murderer last night!”
Alcor felt the elder grab his suit and wrench him in close. He was too stunned to resist.
“I spent millennia pleading with the Elders to hunt this creature down! Now I am one, and you dare interfere? You dare deny her justice? And for what?” They dug angrily in his suit pocket, and drew out the dewdrop. “For this?! This is what I’ll lose my retribution over?!”
Alcor couldn’t respond. The bark creeped up his neck, and he was fighting to keep his eyes open. The elder was only a blur as they pushed themself off of him.
“No…” they said. “Calm. Be calm. The mountain does not sway like the wind around it.”
He tried to sit up, but he was rooted to the seat. Nothing budged.
“I should not be surprised by this,” said the elf. “I should not. After all, what does a demon know of love?”
The bark was stretching over his jawline. Alcor could hardly summon the strength to panic anymore.
“Sleep well, Dreambender. You will wake to a better world- what is that?”
His closing eyes rolled over to look, and he saw something drop from the trees. There was a snarl, a cry, and the two elves stood up; suddenly the sleepiness fell away from him, and he jolted awake.
Mizar - or whatever she was - was the first thing he saw. She had the elder pinned, and with the back of her hand she slapped the visor off his face. They pushed her off and jumped away, covering their face.
“No! No! My eyes deceive! You’re not her!”
The two elves drew their swords and closed in. Mizar danced back as they slashed, glanced to the car, and then ripped off the side door and used it like a shield. One elf stabbed and stuck their sword in; she twisted it out of their hand, bashed them to the floor, then pounced on top and ripped out their throat.
The other elf raised their sword and drove it down through her back. She let out a cry, but in a flash she was on her feet again, eyes on the blade. They tried to slash at her; she caught their arm, twisted it back, and slammed them into the dirt.
Then it was silent, but for the quiet whimpering of the downed elf. Alcor watched her slowly, slowly kneel down to their level. She gripped their shoulders, and turned them over to face her.
He couldn’t see their face - only a sweater, and jangling bracelets on her arms. But the elf saw something else; he saw them go rigid, saw their feet kick up leaves as they struggled to get away, heard their groans turn to a desperate cry -
“No, no! No! Help! Tarathiel, aid me! I-”
Then Mizar struck. Alcor flinched at the scream, at the crack of bone and gristle; a deep pit formed in her stomach as he heard her begin to eat. Yet the more he watched, strangely, the fuzzier she seemed. Whatever she was doing, it was like the world around him had formed a kind of censor, and even the sounds of it faded sharply.
Like something was twisting his Sight… Alcor looked down at the visor that had landed on the front seat. He took a deep breath, and then ripped his hand out of the bark that had encased it, grabbed the visor, and put it over his eyes.
Now he saw without Sight. Now he saw the Creature that he had called Mizar.
It wasn’t human, no. It was much taller, and so, so thin. It was covered in a layer of fine yet shaggy hair, lending a greyish tint to the pale skin beneath; around its legs it was matted and grimy with dried sewage. Its hands were curled, clawed things at the end of its sticklike arms, and it was digging them into the elf to scoop out meat and dripping organs.
It was… oh, stars. Alcor felt a rush of primal fear at the sight of it, and he couldn’t help but gasp.
The Creature heard that; it froze, and then its head snapped around. Its face: its eyes were up where its forehead should’ve been, and the rest was all mouth, dripping with blood. Its jagged teeth glinted like broken glass as it turned and knuckle-walked towards him.
Alcor couldn’t help it; he growled, he leaned away as far as he could. “No… stay, stay back!”
He threw a blast of fire its way. It melted the side of the car, but nothing happened to the Creature - no, worse than nothing. His fire swirled around the narrow, bloodless hole in its chest, and sealed it.
“I’m warning you!” Alcor watched it squeeze itself through the opening in the car; it was so much larger than it looked. “Don’t come any closer, don’t - d-don’t touch me! What are you...”
It was reaching its filthy claws towards his face. He stiffened as they scraped against his forehead… then carefully closed around the visor, and took it off. The glow-eyed, primally terrifying being that hunched before him suddenly-
-just looked like a Mizar again. Felt like a Mizar again. If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, there wouldn’t have been a doubt in his mind that this was his sister smiling sadly at him.
“I’m sorry,” said the Creature, with her voice. “I did lie to you. But… look, if I’ve built up any goodwill with you since we met… can you just hear me out? Please?”
Alcor didn’t move, didn’t speak. He didn’t know what to say. He watched the Creature’s eyes flit down, and fix on the branch that was keeping him in place. It reached out a lie of a hand.
“Here, let me get you out of that.”
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and then i’d kiss you
pairing: marcus pike x f!reader
summary: when going undercover requires you be fake married to your longtime work crush... because of course that’s how life is going right now.
word count: 3.6k
warnings: mentions of guns, excessive pining
a/n: an idea sparked by discussions with @hdlynn and @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa about undercover!fake married!marcus. shoutout to them for the inspiration and being my think tank.
(also i hate trying to name things)
***
You slid into the conference room right at the end of the briefing, coffee in hand. Marcus stood at the front of the room, presenting the case you’d been building with the rest of the team. You’d been doing so much planning and research for the sting that you had almost forgotten about the meeting for it, so you inconspicuously took a seat at the back, pretending that you’d been there the whole time, and listened as Marcus closed.
“The gala is tomorrow evening at The National Gallery. Very fancy, very exclusive. Our targets are, as I’m sure you guessed, Mitch Pimpkin and Harriet Smith.” Their images appeared on the monitor in the conference room and every member of the team groaned. These two had been a thorn in your team’s side for months. They were particularly good at what they did. They were dangerous, not afraid of casualties, and they always covered their tracks. Agent Pike continued, “They are confirmed to be attending the gala. They are supposed to be meeting with three clients at the event. The clients are already in custody, but Mitch and Harriet don’t know that. So that’s our in.” Suddenly he called you up to explain the rest of the plan and you just about had a spit take with your coffee, looking at him wide-eyed. The look on his face told you he caught you coming in late and putting you on the spot was now the revenge. You glared at him, but the shit-eating grin remained on his face.
“Yeah, so, “ you stumbled, trying to find your bearings as you joined him at the front of the room, “According to the information we got out of the clients, Mitch and Harriet have never actually seen them, so we’ll be sending in three agents undercover. They will pretend to be the clients and catch them red-handed,” you nodded to Marcus and he put the pictures of the three apprehended clients along with their basic information up on the monitors. “First is a single buyer meeting with Harriet, name is Natalie Reyes. A real femme fatale type. Should be fun. Anyone feeling particularly strongly about acting as Ms. Reyes? Maria, interested?” You looked to the agent sitting directly in front of you.
“Yeah, I’m down,” she grinned. She was going to enjoy this way too much.
“Now the other two that are meeting with Mitch are a married couple. Allison and Shane Morgan. They’re attached at the hip, extremely into each other.” You rolled your eyes, experiences with them in the interrogation room painting your memories. “Gotta be a pretty convincing couple or Mitch will catch on. As we all know, he is extremely intuitive. He’ll run at the first sight of a lie. Anyone with any secret relationships wanting to make-out on the job?” Everyone laughed, but no one volunteered.
You missed the way one of your fellow agents, Logan, looked at Marcus. And you certainly missed the way Marcus looked back at him.
Don’t you dare.
Logan spoke up. “Well, if no one wants to volunteer, maybe it should be you two.” You gaped; Marcus pinched the bridge of his nose. “After all, it’s your plan and you are the only ones to have met the couple.”
“Plus, you two go on assignments like this all the time. You’re closer than anyone else in this room. You would probably be the most convincing,” Maria chimed in.
The look you gave her was murderous. She wouldn’t dare. She knew all about the little crush you had. You’d trusted her with that information-- actually she’d figured it out, but that was beside the point-- and now she was about to ruin everything. The most frustrating part, though, was that you couldn’t argue with any of that logic. She was completely right.
And that is how you ended up at Pike’s front door in a form-fitting black cocktail dress that flared out just enough to hide the thigh-holster and concealed gun. That was paired with strappy heels that were probably going to leave your feet numb within the hour. The duality of the job. You played nervously with the golden necklace that weighed heavy on your neck while you stood there, preparing yourself to knock. It was all starting once you made your presence known. Tonight, you were going to have everything you wanted in all the wrong ways. It was going to be so easy to pretend, because it wouldn’t be pretend. You would be feeling every word you uttered. But it wouldn’t matter after you took these heels off tonight. Lord, did it hurt thinking of how it was going to be on his end. It was all pretend to him: every touch of his hand to your back, every interlacing of fingers, every whispered compliment to make you blush, every-- God forbid-- kiss that was to come tonight was untruthful. It was all part of the gig and you resented it.
You didn’t know Marcus was sitting on the other side of the door, waiting for the minute you knocked, thinking shockingly similar things. You had no way of knowing that. You had no way of ever guessing that he was both anticipating and dreading the way your hand would brush his, how you would look at him like he’d hung the stars, how you would maybe even dare to kiss him. It was all for show and it made his stomach turn to think about it.
He blamed himself. If he had come clean months ago, he would’ve never been put in this situation, no matter what your response was. You would either be really kissing him tonight or else no one would’ve dared suggest that you be a fake couple due to “your history.” Either of those scenarios would be preferable to pretending that he wasn’t shaking right now, waiting for the best and worst night he’d had in DC so far.
You finally knocked.
He jumped up to answer the door.
Time stopped with two people looking at each other like it was the first time all over again.
He looked more handsome than you’d ever seen him before. He wore suits almost every day, but this was different. He looked nothing short of elegant in a black suit and bowtie, accents of a dark burgundy through the ensemble. His actual appearance was much the same, but elevated somehow. The facial hair was a newer addition to his look in general, but it looked its best tonight, accentuating his jaw line, making it sharper and more defined. His deep brown eyes took on a new color tonight with the way they sparkled and brightened in the early twilight’s light.
Damn, your fake husband was fine. And it killed you.
Of course you were no better with your perfectly fitting dress and the beautiful jewelry that made you look like one of the art pieces you were protecting tonight and the heels that looked like they couldn’t be comfortable to him, but oh did they draw attention to your legs in the best way. You were beautiful every day in his eyes, but the way you’d so elegantly done your hair and make-up served to accentuate that. The smile that slowly spread across your face was what really did him in, though. It was the smile he saw every day, but tonight it seemed extra special.
He’d have to be swatting others away left and right to keep them away from his fake wife tonight. But there was nothing actually tying you to him. Someone else could sweep you off your feet tonight and you’d have nothing to keep you around. And it hurt.
There was a beat of silence as all of these thoughts arose and swirled around each other.
“Uh- ready to go?” he initiated finally.
“Yep- yep let’s go. Can’t keep our convicts waiting, can we?”
“Oh, before I forget,” he patted his pockets, searching, before pulling out a ring.
Of course. You hadn’t even considered wearing a fake ring. That would’ve been a dead giveaway. He was so good at all of this.
“May I?” he asked, just above a whisper. You nodded and he slid the piece on your ring finger, gently holding your left hand in his. Your stomach flipped, swallowing hard at the lump that formed in your throat. There was nervous laughter from both sides as you looked at it now settled on your finger. He slid his own on and shook his head.
“Feels weird to be wearing this again,” he curled and flexed his fingers around the piece.
“Were these--” you started, but found yourself unable to finish.
“They were,” he smiled sadly, “Not sure why I kept them. But at least we’ve found a use for them, hmm?”
“Yeah, great thinking, by the way. I would’ve never clocked that, but Mitch definitely would’ve. And might I say,” you studied the simple, stunning ring in the fading light, “You have excellent taste, fake husband.” The warmth went straight to his cheeks.
You can have it someday, if you want.
Is what he almost said, but this was just two kids playing dress up (and anyway, he would’ve bought you a new ring if it came to that).
“Shall we, fake wife?” he put out his arm for you to take. You did with a plastered on smile. You tried to miss the warmth of his other hand as it came to rest on yours.
***
The National Gallery was already beautiful in its own right, but the coordinators of the gala really went all out with ornate chandeliers and furniture being brought in just for the event. Even the food tables were gold and sparkly, filled with all kinds of food you didn’t recognize and were frankly scared to eat. You inconspicuously rendezvoused with Maria, giving her a quick hug and pretending to introduce her to Marcus.
“Spot them yet?” you mumbled to her, thankfully covered by the echoing sounds of the other attendees and the music that was accompanying the dancing in the center of the ballroom.
“Just arrived. 6 o’clock and 10 o’clock. She’s upstairs at the railing, he’s downstairs.” You clocked them both.
“You start with Harriet first. We’ll stall for a few minutes so we’re available for back-up. I’ll be expecting a ‘cuffed’ text in 15 minutes. If I don’t get one, we’ll come check on you unless you tell us otherwise. Copy?”
“Copy.” You exchanged more plastic smiles and parted ways, though you didn’t miss the wink she directed at you, eyeing you and Marcus standing there together. His arm came around your shoulder as you walked off. You played with his fingers there in true rich-fake-wife fashion.
“Now how will we stall for time, sweetheart?” You fought with the tightness in your chest. The dichotomy between words meant only for you to hear and the term of endearment that came with the act confused you. There was no use for such words with all the noise, so why use them?
“Shall we join them, my love?” you nodded towards the people dancing.
You wouldn't have known but his stomach flipped so violently at the name that he thought he might be sick.
He nodded and grinned, leading you by the hand. His hands found your waist as you joined the others in their swaying and dancing to the classical music. Your hands looped around to the back of his neck and you absentmindedly played with the short hairs there. It was as soft and thick as you had thought it would be.
Not that you’d made a habit of imagining it, of course.
“Maria is on the move with Harriet. They look like they’re having a nice talk,” Marcus laughed, looking over your shoulder.
“That’s a good sign,” you sighed, pretending to scan the room, but purposefully finding Mitch chatting with another guest. You looked back to Marcus, focusing your full senses on the music and how you were moving with it, the pressure you felt on your waist, and how his eyes were somehow even deeper this close.
You almost missed Mitch leaving your vision, heading up stairs.
“Mitch is on the move,” you hissed, a little disappointed over the loss of Marcus’s hands on your waist as you left the dancers to trail the target. Though you took the steps maybe little too quickly to be just a normal couple, your hands swung, connected between you, hoping to still pass as a couple just looking for a quiet place to get away from the bustling party.
You stopped in a small, sparse exhibition room, hearing Mitch’s voice on the phone around the corner. The broken words you heard sounded like he was talking about a different deal entirely. You breathed a little easier. He wasn’t suspicious of you and wasn’t calling back-up.
But he would be if you didn’t think quickly.
You heard him say his goodbyes to the associate and you knew what came next. There was only one way out of the room and it was behind you. You were too close to him to try to get back out unnoticed. So you did the only thing you could think of. You could only hope that Marcus wouldn��t be totally appalled.
“Marcus, kiss me,” you whispered, noticing you were still holding his hand, you gripped it tighter.
“What?” he whispered back, not… Appalled exactly, but surprised. You couldn’t blame that, you guessed.
“He’s coming back this way. Kiss me.” You saw it in his eyes as the plan suddenly clicked for him.
Mitch’s footsteps began clicking against tile and your back was all at once pressed against the wall closest to you, hands meeting either side of your face.
“Sorry about this.”
He was hardly sorry.
You weren’t either.
And, damn, did he kiss you. It started hesitant, barely there, but it didn’t stay that way. Once you heard Mitch round the corner, you deepened the kiss- that’s the only reason you did right? Because he was coming?-- letting your lips part, fingers weaving through Marcus’s hair.
He caught on, responding, taking the space your lips allowed. One hand came down to your ass, your leg hitched up around his waist. Just to really sell it-- that’s the only reason he did it right? To sell it?
You can just barely hear Mitch let out an annoyed huff at the sight over your heartbeat in your ears.
But then came the hitch: Mitch gets another call, presumably an urgent one, because he doesn’t keep moving.
Which meant you had to keep kissing Marcus.
You couldn’t say you hated that part, but you were really wishing it wasn’t a matter of life of death.
“A fake? Where are you? ... Stay there. I’m on my way,” he clicked off, running out of the room. You and Marcus broke apart finally, gasping for breath. But still the separation came too quickly, the lack of him everywhere such a stark contrast to the cool air spreading against your now too-warm skin.
“Maria,” you whispered to him, eyes wide. “He’s going after Maria.” He pulled his gun and you followed, at some point ditching your heels in favor of speed as you took off after the thief. You made a call to the rest of the team outside as you ran. “Plan aborted. Maria caught. Come inside to make the arrest.”
You caught up just as Mitch pulled a gun on Maria who had hers already pointed at an unarmed Harriet, her hands in the air, phone smashed on the ground. You moved out to flank him while Marcus moved directly behind him.
“FBI. Drop your weapon,” Marcus announced. You watched Mitch wince, looking behind him and then over to where you stood. Then he smirked. You didn’t like that one bit.
“I see you two were having some fun on the job. Might have to bring that up in my interrogation. Doesn’t sound like FBI policy to me to--”
“Watch it, jackass,” you sneered. He chuckled and you hated that you let him get a rise out of you.
Back-up slammed in through the emergency exit to your left and it was game over. They cuffed Mitch and Harriet, taking them back outside with them while Maria went to get her injuries checked by medical. That left you and Marcus in the room alone, catching your breath on a garish, velvet covered bench. The silence was awkward until Marcus finally broke it.
“That was… Good thinking… Back there.” You laughed.
“That’s what you’re going with? ‘Good thinking’?”
“Well, what do you want me to say?” he asked, a little frustrated
“I don’t know just--” you groaned, “Forget it. Nevermind.” You stood to face away from him, crossing your arms, and willing yourself not to get upset.
Of course you already guessed it hadn’t meant anything, but now hearing it out loud made it too real.
“Are you wanting me to say that I liked it?” Your stomach turned in the worst way. You would’ve never expected this kind of cruelty from him, but his voice wasn’t accusatory. It was… hopeful? “Because I did.” You spun around to face him.
“You-- Marcus, don’t be funny about this.” He stood now, stepping in front of you.
“I’m not. I’ve wanted to do that for… Longer than I’d like to admit,” he confessed, a hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck, “Something about the way you’re acting right now tells me you might be thinking the same thing.” You smiled bashfully, thankful he was braver than you were.
“Yeah,” you brought a hand to rest on his cheek, “I loved this night with you-- other than all the life or death stuff.” He grinned, leaning into your hand. HIs bright eyes seemed to bore right through you, hanging on every word. “I was just wishing it was… Real. I guess it kind of was after all.”
“Oh, not even close.” You tilted your head in confusion, dropping your hand from where it was gently laid against his cheek. “I would’ve done it all very differently,” his voice dropped to a whisper, too close to need anything more.
“How so?”
“Well,” his eyes darted to your lips and then back to meet your gaze, “May I?” You nodded vigorously.
“Please.”
This kiss held nothing back. It wasn’t quite so vigorous as before, but was a slow and steady presence. No longer afraid to be truthful, it was free to be deep and passionate and real. So real.
“Soooo, is this what Mitch was talking about earlier?” Maria’s voice interjected. You and Marcus scrambled away from each other to find her, arm bandaged, leaning against the doorframe of the emergency exit. “Don’t stop on my account, just be back to the bureau in an hour to debrief.” You both nodded sheepishly.
“We’ll be there,” you told her, finally finding your voice. She shook her head, smiling.
“Oh, everyone is going to love this.”
“Please don’t say anything, Maria.”
“I have to,” she grinned. “We all had bets placed. I said you’d get together tonight, but Logan said it wouldn’t be until tomorrow. Looks like I won. Bye, you two.”
“We’re never gonna hear the end of this,” Marcus murmured, kissing your forehead as you watched Maria leave again.
“Never,” you agreed as you started walking hand-in-hand back to the car. “Hey, what else would you have done differently tonight? Just for… Curiosity's sake.”
“Sure, that’s all it is,” he mused. “Well, I would’ve taken you on a proper date first, somewhere you didn’t have to wear those shoes that look like they’re--”
“Shit.” No shoes. You both looked down to find your bare feet and started laughing far too loud for the middle of this pristine gala. Everyone stared. You couldn’t care less now. There was no act. You shrugged, “Good riddance. Keep going, keep going. What else?”
“On that proper date I would’ve told you that I’ve been wanting to ask you out since the first assignment we had together. I thought you were beautiful, of course, but it was really the way you worked. You were so on top of everything-- saved my ass more than once. You had such an incredible work ethic, but you made it all so fun. Like now, we’re laughing about you walking through The National Gallery with no shoes after facing multiple instances of life and death. Who else could I do that with? I would tell you that I want that every day. And then would I have kissed you.” You stepped outside into the cool, quiet autumn air.
“But first,” you interjected, “I would have to tell you that I’ve been infatuated by you since that first assignment. You were the new guy and I was a little skeptical at first, but you proved me wrong so quickly. You were so cool under pressure and it calmed me down too. I would’ve told you that you’re still a calming presence in my life; that everything’s easier around you. I would’ve told you I couldn’t understand how anyone could let you go, and it made me angry, honestly. How could they get a chance with you and waste it when I couldn’t even get one?” His thumb rubbed across the back of your hand comfortingly. “I’d tell you that you’re the most beautiful soul I’ve ever met-- and that this look tonight almost killed me.”
“And then I’d kiss you.”
“And then you’d kiss me.”
And he did.
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Mischief Managed
Mischievous Professor Clark x librarian reader
Author’s note: This is part of the Cavillry School writing challenge by @oh-for-fic-sake ❤️
Word-count: 1.869
Warnings: naughty fluff (I mean, just look at this puppy!)
--
The library is shy of abandoned and the ceiling-high bookshelves are looming like ancient trees over the last section of the library that is still lit. It’s a Friday night and mischief is in the air, the sound of giggling girls catching the ear of the last soul that still lingers between these bundles of knowledge.
A man, tall as a tree himself stands in the gentle kiss of the light, his strong fingers leafing precariously through one of the books. No, no, no. Slowly he shakes his head, an obnoxious onyx curl falling over his chiseled face. No, no, no. This is not was he was looking for.
Knitting his brow he pushes the book back on one of the shelves, his free hand placing the curl back where it belongs. How long would this take?
Sighing quietly he lets his eyes wander back in the direction of the entrance, his ears once again catching the girlish giggles of his eavesdroppers.
Oh you ladies!..If only you knew what's awaiting you. His lips curl up in a knowing smile as he pulls yet another book from the shelves, his ears now picking up the sound of two quiet feet, muffled by nightly slippers.
There she comes..
—
‘Miss Juliette, Miss Tanya, say now, what reason have you for being out of your beds?’ Your voice echoes clean off the smooth tiles as the two girls quickly straighten up, their backs pressing awkwardly into the slightly opened library doors.
’N-nothing.’ Juliette bites her thin lip.
You raise an eyebrow above your half-moon glasses, not believing one word of it.
‘I see. You were just..sleep-walking then? Together?’
‘Yes!’ Tanya nods quickly, ‘I mean..yes Misses..’
‘Miss..and..’ You silence them with a raised finger, your curiosity now getting the best of you as you too notice the light that licks through the slightly ajar door. Someone has snuck into your sanctuary! Well, have you there! Your eyebrows raise even further as you look back at the mischievous two, their teeth biting into nervous lips.
‘Very well then. Off to bed!’ You whisper with hush authority, the girls already sprinting away before you can finish: ‘And...quietly!’
Mischief, mischief, mischief! Was it something in the air today? First you find the Smith’s girls attempting to rip out a page of one of your beloved biology books. A very special page may you add - with very special..naked..male examples.
You wet your lips as you get ready to find the next mischievous soul, your fingers gliding over the cold handle of the heavy door as you push it open.
In the very back of the library you notice a solitary crest of light, the free-standing bookcases in the middle of the space obstructing your view, making you even more curious about this nightly visitor.
Curiosity killed the cat, but ..satisfaction.. brought it back.
With careful steps you move over the Persian carpets, the thick wool quieting your feet as you finally get to see the curious critter. But much to your surprise, it’s not one of the girls; it’s a wide-shouldered..fine male example.
Clearing your throat you take another step, making your presence known without treading into the light: a little shock would surely make him think twice about snooping around in your sanctuary, right?
But no. You are mistaken there. It doesn’t seem to phase the young professor at all, his eyebrow slowly quirking up as he looks straight at you in the darkness.
Guess he has some night-goggle glasses there, hmm?
‘Bit of a nightcrawler, professor Clark?’ Your question lingers in the air as his signature half-smirk curls up his lips, his broad shoulders shrugging sheepishly.
‘Apologies. I didn’t mean to wake you misses..-‘ — ‘It’s miss.’ — ‘Miss.’ His eyes quickly drift over your long, sophisticated nightgown, your covered body shivering underneath his undressing blue gaze.
He wets his lips as he quickly averts his eyes back to yours. ‘Please don’t let me keep you. I’ll make sure to lock up once I..’
You click your tongue and he instantly quiets, your feet stepping into the light now your presence is known - and seen. Squinting slightly, you look up at the large framed man, this small hidden-away nook suddenly feeling even smaller, the thousands of books embracing you both in a pathway no wider than a few feet.
Taking a steadying breath you are suddenly so very aware of his presence, your feet quick to turn your attention to the books before you melt right onto the carpet.
A carpet that would look good with the two of you on it, doing things from the biology...NO, stop that!
Calming your racy thoughts, you find yourself a task at hand, your fingers pulling out one of the books. ‘You didn’t put it in the right place.’ You say pedantically, pushing it a few shelves higher, your feet having to lift to reach.
‘My apologies, Miss.’ His low sweet voice crawls into the shell of your ear as you feel him getting closer, his hand reaching out to help, but doing quite the opposite. Hands touching, you feel his fingers press the cover back into its snug home.
Where it belongs.
And right then you can think of other things that could find belonging beneath his fingertips. OKAY. No. Stop this. Girls school. 11 o’clock. Time for bed. Behave yourself!
But ooph..there is just something about this charming professor. His masculinity oozes through the thin layer of fabric that hides you from him and again you feel so bare, his musk mingling wonderfully with the smell of old books and dusty oak.
‘I can’t have you…’ You turn around, but your warning never makes it past your lips as you find his face suddenly so very close to yours.
Mischievously close.
He licks his lips again. ‘..I was just..’ His words don’t make it much further as his blue eyes grow black, that same boyish little tug playing at his lips.
‘..looking for the stars?’ You try, making his smile grow.
GO TO BED NOW.
‘Well it sure is a perfect night.’
‘And yet you are staring at..books.’
For a hesitant moment you both just seem to exist, waiting for gravity to pull you towards or away from each other. But that would probably take light years and ..
‘Oh!’ You giggle nervously as he suddenly presses forward, lips brushing over yours as your glasses clash into one another.
The both of you can’t help but laugh, the surprisingly swift move on his end ending in a clumsy crash of glass to glass.
‘Apologies again.’ He awkwardly crooks his lips as he quickly takes off his glasses, your hand instinctively doing the same.
You don’t see much without them, but it doesn’t matter. Within moments you feel that you don’t need your eyes to stargaze with this professor, his lips tasting of coffee and smiles. And promises. And surprising strength and...
‘OH!’ You gasp as he pushes you into the bookshelves, one of his hands calming you, caressing you, fingertips grazing over your cheek and neck while the other plants itself firmly next to your head.
Almost as if he’s keeping himself grounded.
You are not grounded at all though. Your heart flutters with embarrassing giddiness as he kisses you like they do in the movies. Or in really good romantic Jane Austen novels actually. But then even better.
He is a good kisser, the type that carefully tests what you like before he goes on. From sweet lip pecks to a little probe, a tongue caressing your flesh, before he tries a little nip. And then a harsher bite. A more eager tug. Before he goes back to a few hot sweet pecks.
Anything you had dreamed of as you had watched the professor meander through your library with his students, was nothing compared to how you feel right now. Your fingertips tangle through those soft obnoxious curls and your lips curl in a smile as he rewards you with yet another sweet merry kiss.
‘Wait,’ He suddenly quirks his head, hands pulling you away from the bookcase and more into the shadow. ‘someone’s coming.’
You're not sure if you’re so happy-daisy that you’ve just lost both vision and hearing, but alas, you quickly nod and gesture at one of the bookshelves.
‘There’s a..a...lever..a..’ You claw at some of the books until you find it, his breath hot behind you as the secret passage opens before you; a good thing about old schools is that there is often more than one way out of a precarious situation. And you sure are in a precarious situation right now. The both of you are supposed to be in your beds. Your OWN beds. You're supposed to give a good example! Not this..this..you reach your hands forward as your sight leaves you half-blind in the narrow dark corridor behind the secret door.
Behind you, you can hear the bookcase slide closed again, professor Clark’s silent footfalls not far behind you.
‘Woa.’ He says quietly, probably ogling the small hallway, which, if you are to take a right turn, would lead you to...
Gentle moonlight washes through a large glass door that leads out to the nightly gardens, a million stars pricking little lights in the solid black sky.
By daytime a hundred girls would walk up and down this hall to go to class or lunch. But right now it’s quiet, your lips letting out a silent sigh as you turn back to Clark.
The both of you can’t help but giggle.
‘Mischief managed.’ He grins and you giggle even louder, poking him playfully. ‘I always got some Harry Potter vibes with you professor..though of course you are a more..grown..’ Your eyes may not see every little detail, but his large presence is hard to miss.
As are his lips, his hands catching your cheeks again as he tilts your head to get another taste of what was so abruptly stopped moments earlier.
And then he pulls back again, his eyes rolling in their sockets. Another visitor? Were you really so...deaf?
‘Ssh.’ He hushes as he pulls your giggling figure back into a well-hidden nook.
Now you hear it too. Footsteps, a gruff voice echoing through the near-empty hall. ‘Looks like someone left the light on ‘s all.’
Was that Coach Sy? Perhaps.
You reach for each other’s mouths, hands muffling your incessant giggles as the figure passes, then disappears.
Now the moonlight cascades so prettily over his face, you must at least see him, and so you hastily put your glasses back on, afraid that if you’d blink he’d be gone again. That this is just another vivid daydream.
But it’s not. As you regain your vision you look straight up at two pale blue eyes that shine with care and gentleness, his hand caressing your hot-burning cheek.
‘Looks like you don’t really need those glasses do y--’ As the words leave your lips, realisation strikes. Without the glasses, and in the gentle light of a thousand stars..he looks like..like..
He bites his lip as he sees the reality sink in your eyes.
‘Oh my.’ You gulp, but he quickly shrugs it off.
‘Hi.’ He smiles boyishly.
‘Hi.’ You blush.
‘And eh, I’m actually more of a sci-fi guy, you see.’ His deep voice sounds almost longingly as his blue eyes now turn to the dark sky that calls for him outside.
Sighing softly he pushes his own glasses into his chest pocket, deciding he won’t need them for now - but it’s not just that; it also frees up his hands. With a hint of a smirk he turns his mischievous blues back to you.
‘Want to see?’
--
General Tagsquad: @harrysthiccthighss @tumblnewby @magdelen69 @thereisa8ella @mary-ann84 @darkbooksarwin @summersong69 @madbaddic7ed @luclittlepond @maroonmolly @tillthelandslide
#henry cavill fanfiction#henry cavill fanfic#smut-ish#clark kent#superman fanfic#superman fluff#look at that puppy#just look at him#cavillry school writing challenge#clark kent x you#superman x reader
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my thoughts on the lorien legacies reborn series [spoilers]
i think it sucked
sorry
i loved most of the characters to bits and they all deserved better (in terms of characterisation, plot)
nigel. oh my god nigel i love him so much
ran takeda deserved SO MUCH BETTER im still mad
the way they hinted at a whole bunch of romances but only made the one i dont give a shit about canon
i really really hate white girl taylor cook
yes, having a white american girl as the main character IS diversity :))))))
isabela is cool as shit and i wish i was her
i love their fleshed out backstories but i wish i couldve heard more
THERE WAS LITERALLY NO DEVELOPMENT IN MOST OF THEM (personally i think the series was cut short bc they all had so much more room to grow)
(it gave off percy jackson movies energy)
it hurts me how the writing hinted that nigel would get his heroic moment but he literally never did
and then nigel was left with what? his only best friend dead, his parents corrupt assholes and him still not having healed from his trauma- still the underdog
ALSO: NIGEL WAS THE ONLY CANONICALLY GAY CHARACTER (except for maybe daunphen but still that doesnt really count bc its only implied) but they just like. didnt give him a love interest.
nic was literally right there- that homoerotic moment really hit me and i just read it over and over
ran’s death was really well done but also COMPLETELY PREVENTABLE
if isabela had just told einar to stfu and shoot lucas it wouldve all been over and ran and five would still be alive
speaking of which, ran and five were a super cute couple/friendship i cant tell but i like their dynamic a lot
five saying that he “actually likes” ran is essentially a confession of love in his terms
caleb. i liked him. but he was so boring and straight. i think his development wouldve been great if they just DID SOMETHING WITH HIM
also idk whether to ship isabela with caleb or daunphen but personally i like to think of daunphen as trixic which is unrelated
caleb literally. had potential. troubled home life. not as bad as the others but he never really stopped being an uptight little bitch
if he had, i think he wouldve been great
I LOVED EINAR’S GROUP’S DYNAMIC
do they have a name? i feel like they do but i cant remember
like... what a mix of characters, i love how they work together
personally i think theyre just the gay friend group
on the topic of einar,
i KNOW i shouldnt love him the way i do but if you didnt want me to love him you SHOULDNT HAVE GIVEN HIM REDEEMING QUALITIES
(same with five)
literally einar’s final monologue hurt me so much even though he nearly did drown nigel in gen 1 but still
“will you- will you finally listen?” yea kill me now
i really hated how they brought the villain in in the final book. the fuck. who even gives a shit about lucas. no one remembers him
also it feels slightly political to make the main villain a radical christian who wants to convert the earth garde by killing them
listen i could talk about einar all day
i think he and isabela were a great friendship... of sorts
i mean did einar ever really let anyone close enough to him to make friends
but hes just so... S O F T
no hes not
but he is to me
ew
kopano really deserved a better gf than taylor
god
also i wanted to see more of miki
again i will reiterate i think nic and nigel wouldve made a great couple
i keep forgetting theyre all just teenagers and thats kinda painful
einar was just a kid bro
SO MUCH NUANCE TO HIS CHARACTER THAT WAS NOT EXPLORED
so much potential
hmm am i forgetting anyone?
lets talk about john smith
that man has a hero complex and its really annoying and part of me is really glad he wasnt the one to save the day this time but also i didnt want ran to die so
i think it wouldve been fitting if einar just ended it all since he kinda started the whole fiasco
fuck bea barnaby and her homophobic (and also mass-murdering) ass
the john and marina thing shouldve been forgotten completely no one ships them pls
they had their one true loves just let them be without an s/o thanks
ella deserved to have more screen (? its a book) time bc she was my favourite character in the original series
OH MY GOD I HAVENT TALKED ABOUT NINE YET
hes the loml
also the part where lucas (in the body of john) rips off his cybernetic arm really hurt me
i kinda wish taylor died instead of ran
kill off the heroic white girl instead: the fifth wave style
john is such a stupid selfish bastard honestly but having a hero complex a valid flaw but still. i cannot deal with his bullshit all the time
writing one line on john and nine reuniting was cruel when you know most of the fandom ships them
also i like einar’s softening up near the end, and treating the group like they were his actual friends
i wish we couldve seen more of them
i love myself a found family ragtag group situation
even though 2 of them died
and the other has an inhibitor in his head, gets shocked every 3 minutes and took the fall for everyone
AS HE SHOULD THOUGH, MOST OF IT IS HIS FAULT
but hes just a kid
my thoughts are so scattered
omg stop i think i relate to einar... no..... not the literal mass murderer “terrorist” psychopath
he’s uptight and always needing to be in control
but he feels the pressure of having to be perfect to everyone else, and thus falls apart on the inside
gosh i wish i didnt love einar the way i do
final thoughts (but i’ll probably add even more): ran :’( nigel :( taylor >:( caleb :| einar :’( isabela >:) daunphen :D john :|
i hope no one reads this
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Separatory Funnel
Here’s my 2020 Portal Secret Santa for @artistyutaki, she offered a few prompts but one that I thought was interesting was Chell and GLaDOS/PotatOS hiding from Wheatley in the later chapters of Portal 2. I thought I might as well tie it into some of Chell’s thoughts about the ordeal, while also showing what Wheatley’s up to. I also noticed she was interested in the idea of computer gore, with plates and cables all over the place, so I tried to incorporate a bit of that in as well. I also threw in a tiny nod to Mel and Blue Sky since she mentioned she’s a Blue Sky fan. So this ended up being longer than I thought, and it’s my first time writing a proper fanfic of sorts, but I really hope you like this! I had a great time making it!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This was not the best place to be in right now.
Not that it ever was down here, but where Chell was at this exact moment was especially not great. She didn’t complain though, it could always get worse. Actually, it usually did get worse, especially right about when she would wonder if it ever could. Perhaps it was best not to ask that question right about now. Sure, she had just fallen from a deactivated funnel and landed in a dark office whose only door was blocked by overturned desks, monitors, and furniture, which happened to be heavy enough that it’d be a pain in the back to move but for whatever reason the Portal Gun didn’t want to pick up. On the bright side, at least she didn’t fall all the way back down to the 1950s again.
Realistically though, knowing Aperture, it was bound to get worse no matter what she did. If even superstition was anywhere near reliable at this point, it would have been an improvement compared to everything else in this insane complex that somehow had only gotten stranger and more… alien-like, almost, after its founder had died of moon rock poisoning. At least the idea of a set of metal underground spheres laced with asbestos and full of half finished test chambers, the brainchild of a man proudly named Cave, was somewhat navegable. There was an understanding that if one were to see some place and travel far enough in that direction, they would eventually get to that place. If that place moved downwards in freefall, it would be because of the design of the facility, not some sarcastic supercomputer trying to keep her testing while calling her fat.
This bundle of desks, chairs and monitors was somehow all tangled up, with the wires going all over the place. It looked like she would have to either pull the whole thing at once or remove each one separately.
The recordings she heard from Cave Johnson painted a general picture, though they didn’t get awfully specific. But seeing as ground up moon rocks were all the rage down here back in those days, and hearing Cave coughing while ranting about lemons for some reason, it wasn’t difficult for her to figure out exactly how they managed to finally bring down the founder of Aperture. The real surprise? That somehow every other employee at Aperture hadn’t inhaled the stuff and keeled over. It had to have been a possibility, as there was no way that anyone smart enough to work a portal gun would have taken it upon themselves to design any part of this place without being crazy enough to consider the idea.
This table was a lot heavier than it looked. Hopefully she could fold it over. It wasn’t exactly easy to see the parts that let the table fold on itself when it was this dark.
Could she have been one of those scientists? Chell couldn’t remember anything about herself before waking up under Her testing course, however long ago that was, or whether she was actually adopted, like every personality construct in this place seemed to think was a big deal. Any attempt at figuring out how she got down here would have to be based on guesswork. She was a test subject, which made her a likely employee at some point, though if Her insults were anything to go by, she was only a part time employee. Not committed to this job, just doing it on the side to make ends meet.
She finally managed to fold the damn table, and began to drag it out of the way.
At least that meant she wasn’t some Olympian from the 60s who got tricked into going here. Or a homeless person that got plucked off the streets of some town in Upper Michigan all for the promises of $60 at the end. She wasn’t sure how much that would be in today’s money, but wasn’t about to get optimistic. The real downside to it all was that she never would be able to figure it out. She didn’t even know how long it had been other than that it was long enough to concern Wheatley about brain damage, and even if there were information available about her and why she was here to begin with, she didn’t want to go out of her way to find it. Her main goal was getting out of here as quickly as possible, so there was no time for expositional detours.
At most, she could stumble upon her backstory without looking for it. Figuring out what happened to Caroline was enough for one day, or however long it had been since she had last gotten some sleep. Besides, it would probably be a huge letdown anyway. Maybe she really was adopted after her birth parents considered her completely unlikeable even as a baby. Maybe her last name was something boring, like Smith. Or Jones. Maybe her name wasn’t even Chell at all. But hey, at least it wasn’t Cave. Hopefully.
Of course, she could just ask the supercomputer turned potato battery where she came from. Yes, that would be a great idea, confiding in who up until recently was her own worst enemy about a detail that She had constantly made fun of. She definitely wouldn’t take advantage of that fact and tell her all about how little Miss Chell SmithJonesWhatever couldn’t hold a single job until she came here because everyone hated her. They seemed to be on good terms now, but she wasn’t going to risk jinxing herself. Besides, she had a rule. No talking in Aperture. Nothing that any AI said was ever worth a response.
So the lights didn’t work in this room anymore. Phenomenal.
Regardless, even though it still didn’t explain whether she was one of the employees, part time, or otherwise, who might have almost inhaled ground up rocks that cost anywhere from a TV to a house - she wasn’t about to do the math to figure anything more precise than that - it was at least clear that she had made it into Aperture under vaguely legitimate pretenses, and that they considered her smart enough to get her hands on a machine that, in the right hands, could’ve solved the world’s climate crisis by generating free energy. It was damning with faint praise.
Which just so happened to summarize the remarks from her semi edible companion. Not directed at her, for once, rather the situation at hand. Neither one of them were the most frequent of talkers, but She was more willing to comment on the situation. Funny enough, once they happened to agree with each other, Chell could reasonably rely on her as somewhat of a spokesperson.
“After seeing what he's done to my facility, after we take over again, is it alright if I kill him?”
Chell looked over at the glowing yellow circle, the only part of Her she could actually make out in the darkness of the room, and could only shrug her shoulders. Do whatever you want, she would have said. Frankly, as much as the two had been getting along, Chell wasn’t about to act like this was some new found friendship between the two. As far as she was concerned, the facility deserved to explode in a mushroom cloud with a giant blast radius. The bigger the better. If she was lucky, it would kill Her, Wheatley, and every other personality construct. Just as long as she wasn’t there for it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Since he was connected to the mainframe, Wheatley had been trying to figure out how to work this new body. Now that his only test subject was missing, admittedly due to a mistake on his part, he could explore further. There had to at least be some way to hack the solution euphoria program. But until then, the next order of business was to redesign his lair to his own liking. Not too bad a job She did, but it didn’t quite have the Wheatley style to it. Needed a bit more work. Namely, getting rid of that stalemate button. No way that could remain.
“Right, so, asking the announcer... voice... guy... didn’t seem to do anything.” He said out loud, “Guess he didn’t quite understand what I was getting at. Hmm, wait a minute, maybe if I go and change this setting, then- Это программное обеспечение повреждено. Удалите его и обратитесь к администратору. Aaaand, nope, still there. Hasn’t even budged a little bit. Guess that didn’t work.”
He then remembered the complexities of hacking the neurotoxin emitters and thought he might start there. “Oh, um hello, Mister button, there.” He said in an accent beyond the rage of any human’s hearing, “I’m a representative of the mechanical parts… association, and we are inviting you to a… convention! Yes, a convention, with all sorts of members, cubes, turrets, even other buttons! And we’d like to invite you! Full expenses paid, shuttle bus straight there to the convention. And there’s going to be a whole panel on buttons! Who knows, they might even have you as a guest speaker! All you have to do is head straight down to the lowest part of the facility! That’s where the bus is! Just head on down there and you’re good to go!”
The button didn’t budge.
“Not one for conventions I guess? Perhaps you’re more of an introverted sort of button. Doesn’t mind being pressed but also fine with staying where he is.”
Wheatley, being the genius he knew he was, figured he ought to look in the old tapes to see what Her old room looked like. Ever since She had been killed, the facility had been in some disarray, of that much Wheatley was well aware. The relaxation center had taken a hit, for sure, and it seemed the rest of the facility was none the better. Wheatley wondered how long it had been, and though he probably could have figured it out, this new interface wasn’t exactly what he would have considered user friendly.
Come to think of it, he could figure out a few things at once by going through the recordings. For one, he could figure out what Her old room looked like and what She had done about this pesky little button. Or more interestingly, how her whole room got destroyed just from being shut down, that was always a mystery there.
All he could find were tapes, and they didn’t seem too promising. Just video feeds of the room, none of which showed if the button was there at all or what she had done with it. Maybe skipping around a bit would work, perhaps it would show something. Nothing so far…
Wait a minute now, here were the tapes of when She was killed. Yes, this was definitely the same test subject all right. Silent as always, she was. Maybe her brain damage was pre-existing.
Well this was concerning. Neither neurotoxin nor the built in rocket turret defense station was enough to even faze her. All that nameless lunatic needed were a couple of seemingly easy portals and in less than the required six minutes She was dead.
If that silent test subject was still alive, she could find any flaw in his lair design and it’d be bye bye Wheatley.
First immediate order of business, no portal surfaces anywhere in the lair. That shouldn’t be too hard, just meant he would have to move some panels around. There, piece of cake, only a few panels detached and falling off. That was probably normal.
“Right, no portal surfaces anywhere. Check that off the list. Ding! Next we can- OW! Great, another panel just went and fell right out of the ceiling. Hit me right in the… to be honest I’m not sure what this part of me even is. Doesn’t really look like it does anything useful. Tell you what, how about I take this part off, don’t really need it do we? Won’t be hurting anymore, I imagine. Here we go, unscrewing… and done!”
The offending plate came off of his right side, pulling down several attached cables right out of their sockets, leaving them to dangle around and coil around the floor like snakes. Snakes that occasionally gave out electrical sparks. That probably existed somewhere in nature. Electric snakes. Maybe unicrons ate them. Wheatley made a mental note to look that up, right after learning how to play cards.
“OK, wow that was actually pretty painful. Guess they don’t simulate any anaesthetic in this thing. Aaand now the lights are flickering on and off. Those are the lights, right? The flashlight doesn’t seem to be helping, so maybe I killed that too. That’s probably normal. Happens sometimes. That’ll probably fix itself.”
In the meantime, he at least had time to see what else was in Her old archives. Maybe there was a guide to fixing whatever was going on. Nope, nothing there. He did find an old security protocol system. Aperture Employee Guardian and Intrusion System, it was called. Interesting, that could help make sure she never got anywhere near his lair. Wait, no, that system was shut down locally. Before She went back online even. Odd, not clear who did that. What else was there… Oh, hang on a minute. The Cooperative Testing Initiative. That sounded useful. Wheatley kept reading.
Yes, these two little bots seemed to be the fix for everything. As soon as he could he had one of each type assembled and sent straight up to his lair.
“Hello! Right, so I understand you guys are built for testing, and what have you. So, I have selected you two to be my next testers. I need a few favors from you two though. See those cables down there? The ones that are kind of sparking there a bit? Those? Yeah, ever since I unhooked those, the lights have been flickering on and off.”
Blue looked at Orange, somewhat confused.
“You guys don’t see it? Wait, it just happened again real quick right there.”
Orange shook its head.
“So that might just be my optic sputtering out then. Yeah, that’s not great. Either way, I need you guys to try and get those back into me so I can see again. Now you might be wondering why I can’t just use those grabbers of mine and do it myself? Turns out, if I ever try to fix myself without someone else to help out, I’ll die. So you guys will have to do it for me.”
They both suddenly appeared nervous, and Blue slowly approached the bundle of wires. They sent out a spark and they both flinched. Upon reaching the wire, Blue picked up the first one, which went back in without a hitch. The second one was still going through the exterior plate that Wheatley had just unscrewed off. Pulling it as hard as possible didn’t work. Orange, annoyed, went up and pushed Blue out of the way, then slowly pulled out the cable and stuck it back in. By now the flickering was still happening, but only in randomly appearing colors.
“Great! OK now just one more to go! Home stretch!”
Orange was ready to pick up the last cable, but Blue, unrelenting, snatched it out of Orange’s grasp, and emphatically plugged it in. And then the flickering stopped.
“You did it! Bingo! Oh, man alive, that’s much better. Aaand now it seems you guys are knocking each other’s heads out of their… socket, things, whatever they’re called. Not really getting anything productive out of that, besides I kinda need you guys for something else.”
Neither Blue nor Orange were hearing it though. Once they had decided to play the classic game of Knock the Other Bot’s Head Off, there was little that could stop the competition. For personality constructs designed to get along, they did this a lot.
“Ahem, knock knock, anybody there?!”
It was getting heated. Now Blue was running around with Orange’s head, Orange’s body trying to chase after it but only managing to flail around miserably due to lack of eyes.
“ENOUGH!”
Wheatley hadn’t had an outburst like that in a while. It was a little easier when his only test subject and her potato weren’t driving him up the wall smashing his monitors and not giving him the relief when he wanted it. But the lack of test solution euphoria was starting to make its presence known once more, and it made him impatient as ever. Both bots stopped to look over, then Orange snatched its head and put it back on, glancing angrily at Blue.
“You know, there are bots in orphanages that don't even have heads to steal. Maybe think about how lucky you two are and stop fiddling around like that, yeah?”
They both looked at each other, shrugged the mechanical equivalent of their shoulders and gave each other a quick hug. Wheatley didn’t understand how they could forgive each other so quickly, but he wasn't about to object.
“Right, so, what I need you guys to do is see if we can find any neurotoxin reserves. Ever since I hacked the main factory, genius, I know; we haven’t had any neurotoxin to dispense. So I’m building you a testing course that should lead to where the neurotoxin facility was to see if you can find any clues. Alright, Go team!”
Several panels cleared out of the way to reveal two elevators facing each other, one blue and one orange. The bots looked at each other before taking off and heading to the disassembly machines. In less than a minute they had reached the first test, a simple introductory course with a laser and a redirection cube. And no test of Wheatley’s would be complete without his signature, the word TEST written in lights on the wall.
These two were smart enough to have figured out how to solve it rather quickly, and Wheatley immediately felt the rush of solution euphoria. Whether it was the amount of time since he had last felt it or because he was testing new subjects, this felt much better than the last few tests he had gotten his other subject to try. Now he could focus on the text task, seeing if there was a trap he could build, just in case those two weren’t dead. Getting rid of the button would have to wait. Maybe if they found some turrets or explosives to keep anyone from reaching it, that could work as a solution. For a little while at least.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Having cleared out all the tables, chairs, and any other debris lying around in what was once an office, Chell could finally get through to the other side and out the door. And the potato on her gun had done a great job at keeping her company.
“Oh good, now we can get going again. Maybe we can find a way out of here.”
Chell picked up the portal gun and made her way out of the office. To her disappointment, the walkway just led down to the entryway to another test.
“Great, it looks like we’ll need to keep testing a little while longer. And I’m not sure we have that much more time left. Look on the bright side though. Maybe we’ll get to see more of that moron’s inventions. Maybe he’s gotten so desperate he’ll have tried to fuse a turret with a redirection cube and give it laser eyes.”
Chell couldn’t help but smile a bit at that. She resented that Wheatley had become like this, and somewhat missed him in a way, but it was nice to occasionally poke fun at his less than amazing intelligence.
“If a defective turret and a pile of trash had a baby, he would make an excellent pet for that baby.”
Chell’s smile grew slightly bigger and she chuckled silently. It was kind of nice to hear Her jokes while not also being the recipient. The classic insults thrown her way, that she was fat, adopted, unlikeable; those didn’t work on her at all. But they were at least well crafted, almost stand-up quality, though she never would have admitted that. Despite being a murderous former supercomputer with zero conscience up until this point, she did have a bit of a knack for humor. Chell would at least miss that when she left this place.
This was the end of the walkway, and Chell jumped down; her testing break was over. It was going to get tough before she finally did make it out of here.
#portal#portal 2#portal secret santa#@yutaki#38's fics#portal stories mel#blue sky portal#fanfic#portal 2 fanfic
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91 Lucifer prompts
Some of my favorite quotes from my favorite devil. (Cut at 15 cause it’s long.)
Lucifer Morningstar
1 “People don’t arrive broken. They start with passion and yearning until something comes along that disabuses them of those notions.”
2 “People don’t have power over us. We give it to them.”
3 “The best thing to do is always to follow your greatest desire.”
4 “Sometimes we are what we are, and we should embrace that.”
5 “Desire shouldn’t be contained, it’s unnatural.”
6 “Why do humans think they can rectify one evil with another?”
7 “Life’s too short to hold grudges.”
8 “Believe me, there is no winning when you play by a twisted tyrant’s rules.”
9 “You shouldn’t have to change for anyone. And neither should I.”
10 “I refuse to be a scapegoat for which something I bear no responsibility. It’s a theme in my life.”
11 “Trust me, I’ve been doing this a long time. I know evil.”
12 “If you desire something, just take it.”
13 “Trust me, if there’s one thing I know, it’s desire.”
14 “What I hate more than anything is a liar, a charlatan, someone who doesn’t believe in what they say.”
15 “Hell truly hath no fury like a man/woman scorned.”
16 “No one gives us the right… we take it.”
17 “Mmm, dangerous. NAME likes.”
18 “There was immediate danger. He/she was about to leave this man/woman completely unsatisfied.”
19 “When in doubt, go with the classics. That’s what I always say.”
20 “Guilt is such a useless emotion”
21 “Take a swing and I’ll shove that so far up your ass, you’ll have splinters in your stool.”
22 “What makes us vulnerable is often right under our noses.”
23 “Now tell me, what is it that you truly desire?”
24 “Well, maybe it’s like butt stuff. Easier the second time around.”
25 “It’s always the ones you least suspect, the ones you trust the most, that hurt you. They wait until your guard is down and then wham! In my case, it was tequila.”
Chloe Decker
26 “It’s better to move forward than stay stuck in the past.”
27 “We can’t control what happens to us only how it affects us and the choices we make.”
28 “You have to stop taking responsibility for things that you can’t control.”
29 “Sometimes we get along best with the people we’re most different from.”
30 “Pull yourself together. You look like a homeless magician!”
31 “It’s really not a good day for… your… NAMEness”
32 “You don’t save a marriage by sleeping with other people.”
33 “If you go looking for loopholes, you’ll always find them.”
34 “NAME’s not another guy/gal. He’s/She’s a weirdo.”
35 “As any parent knows, the best time to get things done is when everyone else is asleep.”
36 “I wasn't afraid of you.”
37 “I don't want you to see me like this. I know it scares you.” “No, that's... that's what I was trying to tell you. I'm not... I'm not afraid of you anymore.” “You're not?” “You see, this is what I'm talking about. It's so sweet. I'm going to puke.”
38 “I miss him/her. I mean, he/she pisses me off all the time. And there are so many things about him/her that ... that I find hard to accept, but I just have to believe I can find a way. Because ... I'd rather have him/her in my life than not.” “Well, then... I think you know what you need to do.”
39 “You're different than me. You're stronger. You could have run, but you didn't. Why didn't you?”
40 “It's not like you haven't always told me the truth. You know? So ... I think, deep down, I just ... I always knew.”
41 “Let's pretend for one second that you're someone else. Someone nice, someone mature.” “Ooh, I love role-play.”
42 “What, you're just gonna leave me here? In this part of town?” “You said you wanted danger.”
43 “Please tell me I'm hallucinating.” “Well, I am dreamy, but try to contain yourself.”
44 “You step out of line one time …” “You can give me a right-good spanking, I promise.”
45 “This cannot be true. Can it? I mean ... if you knew this, why wouldn't you say something? I mean, I almost married him/her. I mean, I almost married him/her.” “I tried to tell you, but you wouldn't listen.”
46 “Oh, my God. Did the world just turn upside down? Did you just admit to being wrong?”
47 “You know, it can be scary sometimes, but ... being who you really are is never a bad idea.”
48 “I need you to stay here and watch your dad/mom.” “That's true. Without the two of us, he’s/she's defenseless.” “I don't know if I like what you're whispering about.”
49 “How long have I been out?” “Three years.” “What?!” [NAME starts laughing] “You’re such an ass.”
50 “I couldn't sleep last night, so I stayed up all night working, and, you know, I drank a lot of caffeine. Like, a lot.”
Mazikeen Smith
51 “If you go by someone else’s pace, it shows how much you really care.”
52 “Sometimes you have to accept when someone doesn’t feel the same way about you.”
53 “Self-worth comes from within, bitches.”
54 “I would never ask you to change. I like who you are.”
55 “Hey! No one calls my skank a skank.”
56 “Good. It's settled. Now, where do I put my knives.”
57 “Okay. One, I like to fight when I'm happy or ... horny. And, two, I really don't want to accidentally kill my best friend.”
58 “Maybe next time, I won't be around to save your ass.” “Mm! Well, that is a shame. 'Cause you and my backside used to get on very well. My front side, as well, actually.”
59 “And your name?” “NAME.” “How do you spell that?” “Surprise me.” [Later gets coffee with "WRONG NAME" on it]
60 “Everything that happened showed me exactly why I need to go back.” “I don't understand.”
Linda Martin
61 “Emotions are hard, but that’s why they make you strong.”
62 “Goodness isn’t a toy.”
63 “Sometimes we need to lose something to understand its value.”
64 “Sometimes it’s easier to make intimate issues about something bigger than yourself.”
65 “I find people who are rude usually feel powerless in their own lives. Terrified of not being in control.”
66 “Look... I know I'm not dad/mom, or partner or whatever. But I ...” “No. No, you're not. Come here. You are Uncle/Auntie NAME. And you will always ... be a member of this family.”
67 “Let's talk about what you're dealing with emotionally.” “Yeah, I really don't want to.”
68 “Why is he:she able to refuse my charms? I mean, is this thing on?” [points at him/herself] “Yes, yes. Definitely on.”
69 “How's that saying go? We're all in the gutter, but some of us are looking up at the stars.”
70 “Should've seen that one coming.”
Amenadiel
71 “We need the most love when we’re being most unlovable.”
72 “No matter how bad things get, the true test is how we choose to respond to the pain. We suffer, or inflict.”
73 “Cosmos are yummy.”
74 “If you really want to know if you’re a worthy romantic partner, ask yourself.”
75 “NAME. What are you doing here? Did you hurt NAME?” “Only when he/she asked me nicely.”
Ella Lopez
76 “Whenever I’m procrastinating on something, I make an appointment for myself to do it. That way, can’t back out.”
77 “You see what I'm dealing with?”
78 “Hey. No one insults my family, except for me.”
79 [high on "candy"] “I know I should be freaking out right now, but your hair is so shiny.”
80 I'm usually not into reality shows either. I prefer more, you know, scripted-content, documentaries, but... I've got a little extra time these days, so... sort of kind of watched, uh, 27 seasons in two weeks.
Dan Espinoza
81 “We all need someone to have our backs every now and then.”
82 “Ooh, lemon bars. My favorite. Mmm. Oh, man, these are amazing. Who made 'em?” “Uh, NAME did. Would you believe that hunk bakes?” [spits out the bars] “On second thought, who needs the empty calories?”
83 “Say you fall in love with a man/woman who has a cat. What are you gonna do? You accept the cat.”
84 “Are you sleeping with this idiot?” “He/She hasn't had the pleasure, unfortunately, no.”
85 “Dude, I cannot deal with your weirdness right now.”
Trixie Espinoza
86 “We’re wearing the same shirt!” [both] “Sushi shirt!” [from around the corner] “I don’t know what’s going on out there, but I hate it!”
87 “I ate it.” “Mm-hmm.” “But NAME said it was okay.” “Oh, really?” “He/She said, if you really want to do something, you should. And I really wanted to eat some chocolate cake.”
88 “Are you looking at a no-no site?” “No. Why would you think that?” “Because you put it away so fast, and you look really, really guilty.”
89 “NAME, sever their Achilles first. If they can't walk ...” “They can't betray you.”
90 “You need to get a thicker skin. Stand up for yourself, because the truth is, nobody’s gonna do it for you.” — Charlotte Richards
91 “Anybody worth dating should understand everything that makes you … you.” — Ev
#lucifer quotes#lucifer prompts#lucifer morningstar#chloe decker#mazikeen smith#trixie espinoza#dan espinoza#linda martin#ella lopez#amenadial#writing prompts#drabble prompts#dialogue prompts
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Moments of Lightness
This is just for prosterity from Ff.net, written way back during season 1 of EoA so lots of things in here have been debunked. Long time since then. Just four "scenes" of Paloma and Esteban of things I imagined of Shuriki's reign, connecting to present like why they have a rivalry, how Paloma got her fan, why she dresses so conservatively, that yellow neck thing Esteban has, how she got greedy etc. A lot of this headcanon was inspired by daydreamingobsessed.
Esteban tried to avoid flinching at the ear piercing volume Shuriki was emitting as she heard the latest report of the trade deal between Satu and Avalor.
"I want him in!" Shruiki shrieked, "How could Satu have duped us. I said we should be the ones getting more money out of the deal."
"Uhh, The Magister of the Guild is a she." A guard piped up to Shruiki's glare.
"What?" She hissed.
"You killed Master Mascarenas and his associates last week because you suspected him of rebelling."
"Oh, right" Skruiki smiled, "So who do we have in charge now?"
"His ward, your Grace. His daughter." Higgins put in.
"She better have a good explanation." Shruiki looked at the mirror once more, admiring her reflection and preening. "Bring her in."
Esteban's eyes turned toward the door where Paloma Mascarenas walked in. He had seen her around when he was younger, whenever her father came to talk to King Ronaldo. She had been so vain and cocky, what with her father as a very important man in Avalor. She and he would get in the most petty fights.
Paloma looked be in her twenties now. Still pretty with her brown eyes, and slender frame accented by a silk teal gown. Her hair in tendrils to frame her face as the rest flowed down her back.
But she looked like she lost most of her arrogance for now. She looked terrified as she stood in front of Shuriki's throne. As one should. Esteban shuddered as he remembered Shuriki ruthlessly taking over Avalon, killing anyone in her way.
"Explain yourself." Shuriki demanded with a tone of steel, "What were you doing? Making a fool out of Avalor? Letting Saturday gain the upper hand. You signed a contract that gave them a quarter of our exports for only a 4th of theirs! What were you thinking? YOU are the one who is suppose to lead the Guild, do you know anything about fine print?" Shuriki sneered.
"I..I thought..I mean in the long run, the trade will work in our favor. By exporting our goods at slightly higher prices than their imports, eventually we.." Paloma tried to gather her thoughts into an explanation but Esteban could see that Shuriki had no patience to hear. She never did. She only cared that things got done.
"Eventually." Shuriki cut her off, "What does that have to do with now?"
"Your Grace, I thought.."
"You are a failure. Avalor is the best trade city in the world, the height of sophiscation and your mistake could ruin our reputation. It would let other countries think they can deal whatever they want with us. Are you trying to make a fool out of Avalor, Mascarenas? Hmm? You are working like your father. Slowly ruining us from within.."
"No! No, no your grace I wasn't trying to do anything against Avalor or you I swear" Paloma cried.
"Silence." Shuriki got up from her throne, taking a knife that the Captain of the guard handed her.
Shuriki came up in front of Paloma, and surveyed her wth a critical eye, "Honestly, I don't know why I allowed you in my service. You should be a prostitute. It would be more fitting considering to your clothing choices." She dismissively waved a hand over Paloma's partially covered shoulder. "That way you can actually make money."
Shuriki grabbed her firmly by the chin, "I won't fire you for now. It's too much work finding people. But if you dare mess the next trade deal and you do not get me the 12 pounds of diamonds I requested. Well..." she made a small slice on the girl's cheek.
Shuriki turned away, handing the blood specked knife to Esteban.
"Till next time" she smirked.
Paloma stiffened and walked backwards out the door.
It wasn't until much later in the day when Shuriki was having her daily routine of looking at herself, and Esteban finished any miscllaneous duties, he decided to pay a visit to the guild.
Esteban quietly knocked the office door of the Trade's Guild before he entered.
"Señora Mascarnes, I would like to discuss today's meeting with you." He entered to see Paloma frantically looking through papers, almost on the verge of tears. Her cheek faintly red from the scar. The room was a mess with piles of paper, boxes of trinkets and unorganized seats of furniture compared to the tidiness of the warehouse.
She jumped up with a start, "What? Has she changed her mind? Are you..Are you going to kill me?"
"No" Esteban held up his hands, showing his lack of weaponry.
"I just wanted to know what happened? Your father was very good at his job, I thought he would have taught you the same skills. You have been for the last 4 years."
"Yes" Paloma muttered in agreement, her head down in reverence. Esteban remembered he was in his official uniform of a Chancellor. He sometimes forgot that in the few times he walked in Avalor. He was so used to being in the town, but now everyone looked at him differently due to his position. As Shuriki's right hand man.
"Well? What made you make the deal?"
Paloma slowly looked up at him, "I..I did think it was a good contract. I mean we didn't get as much money but the imports would have been very useful for Avalorian resources and workers so I signed. I really wasn't trying to do anything against Shuriki."
"Isn't there a way you could have gotten more money from it?"
"I'm sure there was." Paloma nodded.
"And you didn't?"
"I don't know how." Paloma admitted, "She's right. I don't know what I'm doing. I mean, you see, I was suppose to be in training for 3 more years. Then gradually take over the job. I was suppose to be Master at 30, not now! And..and I can't find anything around here. The guards ransacked my house and the office. They took all my father's belongings. I can't find any contracts, I can't find his will. I couldn't ask for help because all the other officials would love to see me fail and take my position."
Esteban pitied the girl in front of him. Truly she did look younger than she was right then. Vulnerable, scared.
"I have a solution for that though." He said, "I have some experience in financial matters since being in Shuriki's court." He pulled out a fan he had Ben hiding in his inner coat pocket. He had plucked most of the jewels from it's cover so it showed its actual light blue design of flowers rather than the bejeweled design of a rose. "This, you can use to cover your scar if you wish."
He picked out a small pile of rubies buried within the pocket as well. "And this you can use as bribes when you need to."
"Bribes?" Paloma stared at him dubiously.
"Money makes the world go round. And with Shuriki in control, I really don't think we could afford to have too much of a moral compass. Believe me." Esteban thought to when he let Victor get banished. To allowing his family to be trapped in a painting and an amulet respectively. Letting Shuriki kill the king and queen as he stood by meekly.
Paloma looked at him to continue.
"I don't know how far along you got to in training but right now as Master of the Guild, what matters is that you make money. That way we can keep Avalor prosperous and keep everyone in standard comfort than poverty."
"Yes" Paloma leaned forward eagerly, greatful that someone was giving her advice.
"We need more taxes. Just for a little bit. Put a price on everything. At this time, everyone wants to decorate to have some cheer in their house. So they are more than willing to pay in decorations, candles, food. But what else, we need a bigger revenue, more of a reason to buy this stuff. So that is why we need to organize sales, competitions. In which you must play the people off one another."
Paloma nodded, calculating the numbers in her head, "A harvesting contest would be good. You need to hire workers to plow and of course, materials which could cost extra since they have to be built.." Paloma continued happily, employing more people was necessary.
"That's it" Esteban encouraged
"Good, really good. Everyone is dismissed." Shuriki called to the officials, waving them out the door, "Ah Paloma, you look less whorish. But still quiet vulgar for my court. A slut among nobles." Shuriki smiled at her.
Esteban resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Paloma had been dressing less "slutty” lately. Her dresses covered her shoulders, and any other skin that could be shown, from her ankles to her collarbone.
An hour later as they were walking to the docks for a impromptu meeting with sailors, Paloma asked him.
"Esteban, what is it? Do I really look like a prostitute?"
"You never looked like a prostitute. Her Grace, is just...Her Grace. Look, you're young and she isn't, that's all."
"There is a part of Shuriki that is insecure of her looks?" Paloma said dubiously with a look of disbelief.
"Yeah that's probably not it." Esteban admitted, "But if you want to make her stop trying copying her dress. Put your hair up like a married women. Fancier jewelry, I'm sure you could get it."
"So like real jewels instead of plain smith shop work. But what about the blacksmith? He needs the money I pay him for his work..."
Esteban gave her a look.
"Right, no moral compasses here. I forgot." She fingered her gold tinted chain that had PXPM carved into the stone in the middle.
"You use your mother's maiden name?" Esteban asked pointing to it.
"Oh no, I have two middle names actually." Paloma said, "My parents wanted to name me Paloma Prospera Mascarnes but then my mom died so my father wanted to name me Xiomara after her as well."
"How?" Esteban asked softly. He never knew his parents, no matter how much he begged Francisco and Luisa and his aunt and uncle to tell him, he never got the answer. He sometimes would dream of the day they would return from some long journey and come to him and they would spend the days like a family, and he could say "My Mom and Dad" instead of "My Abuelo and Abuela."
"I came three weeks early and there were complications...and my mom's body couldn't.." she took a pause to recollect herself "She died almost half an hour after I was born. I wasn't suppose to live either. I was all small and pale, like a paloma. So..yeah."
"I used to wonder if that is what happened to my mom." Esteban whispered, "But death by childbirth is somewhat a normal occurrence so I thought Francisco and Luisa would tell me. I just wonder..”
Paloma put a hand on his shoulder, "I'm sure they didn't abandon you because it had anything to do with you. After all you were left with your grandparents and they are so..I mean were so kind."
"Well they would definitely abandon me now" Esteban thought to himself, "And my grandparents wouldn't be so kind if they knew what I had helped do."
Esteban mustered a small smile at the girl beside him and tried to push the thoughts away.
Months later, Esteban was walking down the royal palace when he saw Paloma walking ahead. Behind her a guard was obviously trying to look like he was walking casually behind her but Esteban could see him leering at the women's long skirt. Esteban shook his head in disgust. There was nothing to see! She wasn't doing anything and they all looked at her like some sort of sex toy.
Esteban quickly strode up, and shoved past the guard. "Señora Mascarnes, I must have a word isn't you in my study. Right now."
He whisked her off to his study and firmly closed the door.
"I don't like that man." He growled.
"Why Esteba," Paloma smirked with a mocking tone, "Don't tell me you're jealous?"
"Jealous!" Esteban thought. No, he wasn't. Yes, he didn't like it when other men stared at her. But that only was because they were not gentlemen!
They all saw her as "the prostitute" the pretty girl who had nothing in her brain. He wished they could see what he did. Over the months he worked with her to keep Avalor, prosperous he saw her as educated, and sly and witty, and very well-cultured. She was fiercely protective and determined in doing her job as Magister of the Guild.
He never could have thought of the many ways to squeeze money out of people as she did. And how to outmaneuver the trade deals to Avalor's favor.
But jealous...no he wouldn't let himself. It was something he could never do. He couldn't afford to make that kind of liaison in Shurki's court, no matter the women.
"No" Esteban answered. He thought he saw her smile falter a little but dismissed it as his imagination.
"I was keeping your virtue" Esteban let the sentence speak for himself.
Paloma grew solemn, "Thank you, I appreciate it very much."
"I think it's wrong. You are more than that. You are a valuable member in court."
"Thank you again." She blushed, then she straightened like she remembered something.
"I got you this." She pulled out a yellow handkerchief, "I never thanked you for the fan. I got it from Córdoba"
"It is very fine. Thank you for your gift..and your company." Esteban smiled
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"Did you not hear that Esteban!" Paloma beamed pulling him into her office, "She didn't say anything about my appearance. She didn't call me a prostitute! I'm finally doing something right!"
Esteban tried to match her feelings but felt like he couldn't. He didn't like Paloma's appearance. It was too..it was like Shuriki's. Formal, somewhat regal but didn't hold a candle to the colors and vibrancy of Avalorian dress. Her long brown hair had been pulled into a bun mimicking how Shuriki wouldn't let one thing out of place. Large, heavy-looking emeralds laid at her neck. A hat with an absurd feather poking out, just announcing her presence. No, it wasn't...
"She didn't call you anything." he pointed out.
"That's music to my ears." She smiled, "This is just the beginning. She'll have to start calling me something. An actual title like yours. Señora or Doña."
"I don't like this." Esteban blurted out.
"What?"
"I don't like this" Esteban gestured to her body "It's not you. Neither is this title thing."
"Excuse me. Do I not deserve a title? After all I have done. I have brought more money the past two years than my father has ever done in his two."
"Yes, yes. That is good. But this sucking up to Shuriki."
"And you don't?" Paloma argued.
"I have to!" Esteban amended vehemently, "I'm her right hand. I'm the one doing all the royal duties here. If I'm gone, Shuriki would neglect it and let some poor, unefficant soul run Avalor to the ground. I am helping Avalor."
"I'm helping Avalor too!" Paloma retorted "I'm the one that is keeping the economy going, keeping jobs for the people. I'm not letting the other countries take advantage of us."
"You are making the people buy buy buy to run the economy. You tax the lower villages too much." Esteban said.
"What I'm doing is helping them in the long run. Yes, they have to pay taxes but those taxes provide them with food and shelter. You can't get things if you don't give a little." Paloma crossed her arms.
"But you are using some of the inventory to buy that." He pointed to her necklace.
"Just this." Paloma hissed "For my own sake. Do you know how hard it is to be taken seriously when you're called a prostitute by the queen? She calls me that in public everyday in front of officials, in front of guests! Do you know how many have treated me like one. Seven offered to pay for my services. Three didn't even bother with the pretense of paying they just tried to force.." Paloma took a shuddery breath before continuing, "I have to look like I'm a part of the court to do my job, Esteban. I have to suck up and do what Shuriki wants and get the amount of money she wants. I don't know why you think that is different from you. You are so close to her. You might as well helped her to.."
Esteban took a sharp intake of breath, "Because it doesn't matter that you look better now. You are still a lower person even you don't look the part. You only made it because I helped you. You wouldn't make it at all."
"I would." Paloma's eyes flashed with fury "I know just as much. Even more than you."
"I'm the royal here." Esteban said coldly.
"You've been overthrown." Paloma answered icily "I can make it just fine without you. So get out of my office."
Esteban hesitated but with a defiant glare he left. He was the one in the right. He wasn't turning to Shuriki's pet. Right...
So from then on, I imagined it developed into the rivalry they have in the present. Who is the one who knows court life/formalities more? Who is the one who could always come out on top. I also imagine Shuriki could see their tension and helped to pit them against each other so there is that as well.
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In depth fandom ask: the last fandom you joined bc I can't remember it now
Well, I guess the last fandom I’ve properly joined --making a few edits, starting yet-another-WIP etc.-- is Black Sails, so. Plus I want to talk about it a little, spoiler-free, in case you decide to watch it ^-^ (I’ll leave that to the s3 post I need to finish...).
Top 5 favourite characters: Max is my number one, without a doubt, and of the rest of my faves Silver has an edge... but the remaining positions are a tough fight between Flint, Jack, Madi and Miranda, and I honestly can’t choose DD:
Other characters you like: Mr. Scott, Anne, Idelle, the Maroon Queen, Billy, Eme, Abigail... This show has a lot of great characters tbh.
Least favourite characters: I still loathe Peter Ashe with every fiber of my being. Alfred Hamilton is obviously The Worst(TM). And though it hasn’t grown into hate (yet), I don’t like Woodes Rogers one bit ¬¬
Otps: Flint/Miranda, and the combos in Flint/Madi/Silver and Anne/Jack/Max (in no particular order at the moment because I just HAVE TONS OF FEELS ABOUT THEM ALL).
Notps: I don’t have strong NOPE feelings towards anything, but I’m not into Eleanor/Max (which is a dynamic I actually really like BUT that I’m glad it doesn’t return to shippiness LOL); Eleanor/Rogers (I might be indifferent towards Eleanor most of the time but I haaaaaate Rogers for her. RUN GIRL), Flint/Vane (booooooooring).
Favourite friendships: Max & Silver (THE duo I swear), Jack & Max, Flint & Silver, Idelle & Max (I might not have said so before but I guess I like a little conflict LMFAO), Billy & Flint (NOT a friendship, but their relationship absolutely cracks me up I swear. “Who’s Billy?” XDDD).
Favourite family: Madi’s family, which is all I can say without getting spoilery. I just. *lies down on the floor overcome with emotions* xDD
Favourite episodes: the problem with binge-watching (okay, I’ve taken s3 more slowly but) is that they all kinda blur together LOL. Hmm. The season finales are all *chefs kiss* so far (sometimes in a very painful way... I’m looking at you s2. Though the ominous Flint/Silver moments in the s3 were A LOT too); any in which I get to see Max & Silver scheming together ofc. And the first handful of eps in s3 were particularly enjoyable to me because I was drowning in PURE ANGST and Flint & Silver feels xDD (I can’t NOT believe the fandom seems to call one of those “the shark date” asñldfjasdfñl).
Favourite season/book/movie: oof. I honestly can’t pick; s1 is probably the “least” because the others include better moments for some of my secondary faves, and because there’s a plot that’s really hard to watch... BUT it has things on it I adore to pieces too. s1-2 doesn’t have Madi (major drawback xD), and s3 is after one of my faves’ death... but frankly they’re all neck and neck so far.
Favourite quotes: “I am ruined over you” always comes to mind DD: “Liked is just as good as feared”; Max combo with Eleanor about sand (typing that down made me think of Anidala LMFAO. The scene itself is very different though! xD) in the s1 finale; “in another time, in another place, they would call me a queen”; “this ends when I grant them my forgiveness, not the other way around”, Mr. Scott’s “No. Only YOU.”... honestly, this show’s dialogue is just too good(TM), I could just quote it all back xD. And of course, I HAVE to mention “WHO’S BILLY”. It’s the law.
Best musical moment: the score is perfection all around, but given that I never skip the intro just to listen and watch it... yeah, the intro xD
Moment that made you fangirl/boy the hardest: well, I *might* have lost it the moment CAPTAIN FLINT COMES OUT TO LONG JOHN SILVER OVER A BONFIRE, IDK XDD
When it really disappointed you: the fact that I won’t get to see a fully fleshed out Mr. Scott-Silver dynamic is MAJORLY disappointing, let me tell you. That Flint’s actor didn’t somehow get his mother (aka Maggie Smith aka Professor McGonagall aka Lady Violet) on the show too ¬¬. LOL.
Saddest moment: character’s deaths of two of the characters listed on “top 5”/“others you like” xD.
Most well done character death: the hanging in 3x09 was well done and served its purpose.
Favourite guest star: for a value of “guest star”... I’m going with Idelle.
Favourite cast member: Jessica Parker Kennedy is the one that I know and love for other projects she’s done.
Character you wish was still alive: THE ONE WE TRAGICALLY LOST IN 2x09.
One thing you hope really happens: I’m cheating because I know there’s some of that in s4, but I want to watch more Flint/Madi interactions pls.
Most shocking twist: well, I wasn’t spoiled for Mr. Scott’s plot in s3 so I was (pleasantly) surprised by that xD
When did you start watching/reading?: a little over two weeks ago; I watched (devoured) s1-s2 and 3x01-3x04 in a few days because I wanted to meet Madi, and then I tragically had to slow down :(((
Best animal/creature: I will always love Treasure Islands’ parrot that Silver named after Flint LMFAO.
Favourite location: Nassau aka Max’s ~domain xD. And Miranda’s house.
Trope you wish they would stop using: noooooone. I love the tropes this show reuses LMFAO. Romantic Betrayals(TM), triumvirates, “good things happen in the dark/away from civilization”, the power of narratives, social climbing and revolt... bring them oooooon.
One thing this show/book/film does better than others: quite a few xD. But one that really stands out to me is the dialogue; both the ~deep and sorrowful type (there were so many quotes where I had to take a break to freak out properly lol), and the humorous ones.
Funniest moments: I know I’m repeating myself, but I recently rewatched the pilot to edit some scenes and I keep remember the WHO’S BILLY one xDD (which I maintain it was Flint trolling him. He could give Abigail a rundown of Billy’s whole life story AND he shamelessly checked him out that one time. Flint knows who Billy is, he’s just an asshole xD). Really, all the scenes between Billy and Flint in that episode are comedic gold lmfao. Billy’s “oh dear I fucked up” expression when he tells Flint the crew has started to think him weak and Flint looks half a second away from murdering him right there, his WTF face at Flint’s antics with the stolen page... Gold, seriously.
Couple you would like to see: I meannnnnn. I would’ve been very happy if the show had decided to go with Flint/Madi/Silver, for one. Bonus if Miranda could’ve been included. Or just explicit Flint/Silver in poly arrangements (THEY ARE IN LOVE, IT’S JUST ~COMPLICATED XD).
Actor/Actress you want to join the cast: MAGGIE SMITH DAMMIT.
Favourite outfit: literally everything Max wears in s3. Eleanor’s s1-s2 outfits were things I’d love to wear too. Flint’s ~dramatic coat. Miranda’s collection of supposedly-puritan-but-showing-the-goods dresses xDD (and ofc her London clothes), Jack’s clothes (he’s Nassau’s fashion icon lbr).
Favourite item: the books!! Especially when Flint gave Miranda “La Galatea” as a gift (given that sometimes he reminds me of my OC Latoya, you might understand the freakout I had when he gave the other member of my OTP a book titled like that xDD).
Do you own anything related to this show/book/film?: no, but I kinda want to. I did have a Treasure Planet computer game I tragically can’t find... it was about collecting money in increasingly difficult scenarios LOL. And I probably have more pirate-y/Treasure Island theme stuff. I had a long pirate phase xD
What house/team/group/friendship group/family/race etc would you be in?: Max’s because I like being on the winning team, thanks xD (though I do ~align more with Flint and Madi’s lbr...).
Most boring plotline: Eleanor and Vane’s ~romance is not at all badly written... but the fact that I find both of them boring kinda ruins the whole thing because I always wish that time went to someone else xD. Also, Blackbeard. Meh.
Most laughably bad moment: n/a.
Best flashback/flashfoward if any: the London flashback where Miranda goes to Flint’s house unannounced to take him to an art gallery, she finds him half-naked and he gets all awkward about it lmao. And then they hook up in the carriage :DDD
Most layered character: we get to explore Flint and Silver the most. Silver’s development in particular is something that never ceases to impress me ngl.
Most one dimensional character: except the one-note characters I wouldn’t really call anyone completely one-dimensional, tbh. Though I do think the fandom attributes more complexity to Thomas than it’s seen in canon? Like, I like what I see; I think he’s functional, he works well, and he adds wonderfully to Flint’s (and Miranda’s) story, but I don’t see him as a full character in his own right. Which is perfectly fine for the narrative so far, but I fear it might fall apart for me at the very end.
Scariest moment: I never know what to say in this... I mean, I guess Flint killing a man with his bare hands in the pilot Like That was scary xD. I understand why Silver freaked out LOL.
Grossest moment: any of Max’s interactions with Vane tbh. Stay away from her ¬¬
Best looking male: Flint has that ruggedly handsome thing going on for him, if you’re into that (and sometimes I do appreciate his ~aesthetics... very sad he shaved his head in s3 though. Like, I get you did it for the Angst, honey, and trust me, I Feel U, but still). I feel like I might be forgetting someone, but seriously, none of the dudes in this show so far do anything for me LOL. I can honestly say I love them for their personalities xDD
Best looking female: I have a weakness for Max, but Miranda, Madi, Anne, the Maroon Queen, Idelle, Eme... all of them are gorgeous in their own way. This show is good for sapphic women’s enjoyment in that sense xDD.
Who you’re crushing on (if any): I could crush on any of the women mentioned above tbh.
Favourite cast moment: I have literally only seen this post about an interview where Flint’s actor says he’s too old to party with The Youth of the cast and just wants to chill on the weekend... with bonus Max and Eleanor’s actress talking about how Vane’s once climbed the side of a building up AND back down. I’m with you, Toby Stephens, you don’t need those shenanigans xDD
Favourite transportation: the Walrus, for sentimental reasons LOL. I liked stolen Spanish warship too.
Most beautiful scene (scenery/shot wise): lots of good ones, though I think my fave might be the one of Miranda sitting by the window in London. Or the one of Charles Town burning down, I liked that :))) (I remember thinking “Flint better go full Daenerys on them”. And he did! It was nice xD).
Unanswered question/continuity issue/plot error that bugs you: n/a, so far.
Best promo: n/a.
At what point did you fall in love with this show/book: I liked it from the word go, but the moment that TRULY cemented it for me was in 1x03, with Max making a decision that I... frankly didn’t expect. It made things worse for her in the short-term, the storyline itself was difficult and disturbing to watch and I still have some mixed feelings about it. But what it said about her as a character and how her journey goes after that... I was in awe of her, and of the show.
#missbrunettebarbie#replies#my thoughts#black sails#black sails thoughts#talking to the void#bsmax#miranda barlow#james flint#john silver#flintmiranda#silverflintmadi#silverflint#silvermadi#billy x flint#bsmadi#i think those are the most prominent ones#thanks for the ask :D
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“There were times I struggled to find my place in the band,” Louis admits today.
But it’s often the quiet ones you’ve got to look out for.
Behind the scenes he was very much centre stage: Louis was the mouthpiece, constantly fighting the boys’ corner and acting as chief negotiator between band and management.
“Being from Doncaster,” he says, “I’ve never had a problem with telling anyone ‘no’.”
“There was a while when I was worried I was getting left behind – some of the boys are on to their second album now,” he says, taking a draw onthe first of several cigarettes. “At times, I’ve been swimming against the tide, working out who I am. I was trying to find a way back into the industry, thinking of it mathematically rather than going off feeling and emotion.”
He’s referring to collaborations with Bebe Rexha and Steve Aoki in 2016 and 2017 respectively, which, although successful, weren’t where his heart lay. With Kill My Mind – the exhilarating ’90s-inspired opening track of the album Walls – he sets his stall out with a clear departure from anything he’s done before.
Walls is about regret, reflection and ultimately, hope, and feels like Louis, who sings in his still-broad Doncaster accent, has finally found his voice.
“I’ve always wanted to be autobiographical and honest. And in the last six months the songs I’ve written and recorded are of a better standard because there’s an honesty there,” he says.
Honesty certainly characterises the album, sometimes devastatingly so. There’s no escaping the fact that Louis, 28, has faced unimaginable pain over the last few years.
“It wasn’t until after I’d written it that I realised how much vulnerability I’d put in there,” he says. “When I first performed it… I had fans coming up to me in tears telling me their stories, and that’s not something I’ve ever had before. And to do it on that level about something so delicate… It was really cool to take something so dark and make people feel like that.
“I had to get a song like that off my chest. It was difficult writing about things that felt trivial compared to what was going on in my life. There was, I think, a necessity to write that song before I could move on creatively.”
Understandably, Louis won’t talk specifically about Félicité. But when asked about how grief has shaped him both as a man and an artist, he pays tribute to Jay.
“I think it’s a credit to how my mum brought me up that I have a resilience,” he says. “There’s nothing I want less than to have people feel sorry for me, so having that mentality has helped me through the hardest of times.
"I’ve also felt a real support system through my fans. I’d always felt it on a lower level, but when it’s something so impactful and life-defining, I really did feel it from them.”
Days after Jay’s death, Louis appeared live on The X Factor to perform Just Hold On with Aoki.
He was clearly in pieces and it was hard enough just watching, but somehow he held it together, presumably thanks again to that resilience.
“Sometimes it’s fight or flight,” Louis explains. “And the way I was brought up and because of where I’m from, I only see one option in that situation. I also wanted to put myself second and do it for my mum.
"That moment was bigger than me and it was actually incredibly liberating. It used every bit of strength and power and I look back on that performance as one of the proudest moments of my career.”
He says he tends not to suppress emotion and is able to share his darkest points with those he’s closest to.
But as the eldest of Jay’s seven children (five girls and two boys), he also feels a huge weight of responsibility towards his younger siblings and hasn’t had any professional therapy himself.
“No, no, nothing like that. That might be down to a bit of Northern pride, but I have a lot of responsibility on my shoulders and that drives me. I’ve got siblings who look up to me and I’ve got my grandparents as well. So all those things keep my head screwed on.
“My mum had a massive influence on me and I lived with a lot of sisters in the house, so I do find it easier to speak about my emotions. But I’m also from Doncaster, where to be a guy is to be tough and traditional and I feel like [there are] times where pride kicks in and I just say I’m all right.
"I’m lucky that I’ve got good people around me who I can trust and who I can be completely vulnerable with and say how I feel. Nine times out of 10, I don’t bottle things up. I wear my heart on my sleeve.”
They sold 20 million albums worldwide, earning over £40million each, but the pressures of fame were, at times, intolerable. Louis says they were only able to keep their heads screwed on because they had each other.
“You can never be prepared for that. It was such a head f**k. But we grounded each other so the minute one of us acted like a d**khead one of the others would say: ‘Stop being a d**khead’. I see people in this job surrounding themselves with superiority and they lose the concept of the real world.”
He remembers doing a shoot with the band for Pepsi over in the States with American footballer Drew Brees.
“This guy was like a god and we were insignificant when he was around, which we understood. But I’ve never seen anything like it. Every sentence that came out of his mouth he’d have an audience of hangers-on in hysterics.
"These people were so far up his arse and he didn’t have one good joke. He had no banter! I still hang around with my boys from Doncaster and I hear real stories all the time, which helps me understand the world that unfortunately I don’t get to see. Having empathy with people and a connection with the world is imperative for any songwriter.”
Harry Styles recently said that he never touched drugs during his time in the band (although he’s made up for that since), because he didn’t want to “mess it up”. Louis smiles as he confides that he can’t say the same.
“All I’ll say is that I did my fair share and enjoyed my time in the band. It’s right what Harry said and it was smart of him, but I definitely had a lot of fun in the band. I was always aware of how amazing the opportunity was, but also enjoying the moment for what it was. I lived like anyone else my age – the difference was that I was in One Direction.”
He’s in touch with Harry, Niall and Liam “sporadically” (we’ll come to Zayn shortly), but they’re all on very different paths for now.
“If we all went to a pub tomorrow it’d be like we’d never left. The enormity of what happened in One Direction creates a massive bond and we’ll always have that.
"There have been times when we’ve done each other’s heads in. There might be something I say in an interview that bugs Liam or vice versa, but we all know what each other is like and we can call each other up and say sorry for being a d**k. We’re like brothers.”
But that’s not necessarily the case with Zayn, who quit in 2015 and with whom Louis has had a turbulent relationship since. He was hurt when Zayn was the only one not to turn up at the X Factor studio to support him through his performance after Jay’s death, despite promising to be there.
Then there’s Zayn’s apparent repeated digs. In one interview he branded 1D’s music “generic as f**k”. There’s a difference between making a break from the past and dismissing it completely, and it’s a line Zayn perhaps hasn’t always managed to walk.
“Hmm,” agrees Louis, cautiously. “Other than maybe Niall, there is no one who is prouder of the band and the songs we created than me. But while what I did with One Direction is relevant, it doesn’t define who I am and I don’t struggle to make that dissociation.”
Does he think some of what Zayn has said has been disrespectful?
“Yeah, I do. But I can understand it. We have a lot of situations where we’re sat in interviews and if you’re in a certain mood you might run your mouth. The older you get the more you can tell if these things actually carry any malice or if they’re just a prod in the back. That’s life, innit? Sometimes people chat s**t and that’s the reality.”
He’s not ruling out resolving their differences in the future, but there’s no olive branch on the horizon.
“No, but I’ve not actively tried. We’ve all got a lot on our plates and there might be a day where I wake up and think: ‘OK, I want to right that wrong’, but not yet.”
After being in his company for a while, it’s not hard to see why Louis was 1D’s driving force backstage. He’s thoughtful, articulate, open and self-aware, but there’s a steeliness to him and the requisite pop-star swagger, which doesn’t seem to spill over into arrogance.
And that is reflected in his music, which is heavily influenced by the Arctic Monkeys, The Smiths and Oasis. In fact, the title track and latest single Walls sounds so similar to Oasis B-side and fans’ favourite Acquiesce that Louis’ manager flagged it as a potential issue.
“These kinds of things happen. There are only so many melodies you can write and if you listen to a band all the time like I do with Oasis…”
Anyway, says Louis. He had to make a choice.
“I was ready to risk it, but everyone said we should get in touch with Noel [Gallagher] so we did. Often the industry, and especially Noel’s world, can be a bit snobby and say: ‘F**k you you’re not using this song’. But he was really cool about it, signed it off no problem and although I’m sure he’s not happy about this, I f**king am, I’ve got a writing credit from Noel Gallagher on my album. That is some sick s**t so I’m buzzing.”
Is he nervous about going it alone? “I think I’ve got a good record so I’m confident. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t little bit nervous – there’s three and half years work gone into it so there’s a level of anticipation.”
The most overwhelming emotion though, is relief.
“Because it’s taken such a long time. I’m excited to go on to the next phase of my career.”
#louis tomlinson#tw death#020220#wpress#tw drug#fizzy tomlinson#the sun#fabulous magazine#im tired alrady#stunt mention#i cleared it up
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The Affair (Warning!! Smut assured)
Hey guys! So this is a fic requested by @peggysousoversteggy. It does contain violence, slander, and smut. It is extremely ANTI-Steve Rogers and ANTI-Steggy. So if you support either one, do NOT read this. However, it is Pro- Peggysous!It is super long so I will separate it into sections. This is section 2. So enjoy!! :)
2 weeks later:
"Peggy." Steve says. He's just returned from Washington and is very unhappy. "What the hell happened while I was gone?"
"What are you chattering on about?" She says, annoyed. The pile of files on her desk need to be signed by the chief, so she heads that way.
"Grant. You know, our son? I just picked him up from school and dropped him off at home. He says you haven't been feeding him. What the hell? You're his mother it's your job to-"
"I'm going to stop you right there." She turns around to Steve and glares at him. "First off, seeing as he is 'OUR' son, I shouldn't be the only one responsible for him. Secondly, I do feed him. I'm the only one who actually tries to give a damn and give him what he needs. Not you. You are never around, and the fact that he adores you so much makes me gob smacked because you are never there for him. I am. You've never once been there to sooth his cries, change a bloody nappy, help him walk or anything. I did!
"That child of YOURS chooses to not eat what I give him. Like you, he thinks I need to be a chef and give him everything he desires; but I don't. Because MY JOB as a mother is to raise him right, teach him manners and discipline, so he is ready to join the world as a PROPER gentleman. Unlike his father! So, don't came here and confront me with the problem of YOUR SON. If something is wrong, deal with it yourself!"
"Where do you think you're going. I'm not done talking with you." He grabs at her arm pulls her closer to him, and she punches him in the face; he falls back and uses the desk for support.
"Did I or did I not say to never touch me again? Hopefully that's a good enough reminder." She storms off and into the Chief's office. Daniel watches from afar like the rest of the office; and they all laugh.
"Rogers just got his ass handed to him by his own wife!" Thompson says, and they all laugh harder; but not Daniel. He just smiles proudly. Proud that Peggy put Rogers in his place in front of everyone. Maybe now he'll get the message. Steve grumbles and goes to his office, slamming the door behind him.
"SHIT!" He screams. Agent Caldwell opens the door and finds Rogers on his ass. His office chair snapped under his weight. He tells the others and the have another round of laughs. Daniel couldn't help but think today was a great day, and tonight was gonna be even better...Hours go by and when its lunch time, Peggy takes Daniels order and slips him a note 'File room after lunch orders -PC 🖤' It takes all his strength to not smile too much; now meeting in the file room is more than a comforting hug...After Peggy gives everyone there lunches, she meets Daniel in the file room.
"Hi." She says
"Hey..." He pulls her close and their lips meet immediately, their tongues duel in an explosive battle. She moans and bites his lip, which forces his hips to thrust. Peggy chuckles.
"Not yet, darling." He groans and leans her against the table; and she gasps. Both his arms on either side of her hips.
"Why not? Hmm?" He attacks her neck and forces a moan from her throat. He grinds against her and she starts to lose control.
"Daniel..." She rests her hands on his chest. "We can't, not now. Steve- "
"Isn't even here." He starts to unbutton her blouse.
"He's upstairs."
"I don't give a damn." He snogs her silly and she groans; wrapping her legs around him. He slips a hand in her brassier and she moans once more.
"Daniel..." Peggy leans back, slightly, on the table and enjoys his hand on her skin. His lips trail down her throat and lead to her chest. "We-we're going to get caught." She chuckles breathlessly. He thrusts again with a small growl, and she gasps. "Dear lord, Daniel!"
"Shh, Peg." He laughs. "Keep that up and we will get caught." His hands slide down her leg and up her dress.
"I can't help it, you-ugh" she playfully slaps his chest as he starts to touch her core, and they kiss again. She drops her legs from his waist and places a hand on his arm. "Daniel. Seriously, I don't want anyone to come down here and see." Her eyes meet his and he can't help but melt in in them. He sighs and takes his hand away. "Don't look so disappointed" She laughs. "Your coming home with me, remember?"
"Mm, I can't tonight." He hesitates.
"Daniel! What-"
"Chief put me on the night shift again, and I can't get out of it. We'll just have to... meet up tomorrow." He kisses her head and she slump down. "That's why I was hoping..."
"To do it now." Peggy wraps her arms around his neck and kisses his nose; and he chuckles. "I can wait, I'm not in a hurry. I like to savor this, not rush it."
"Okay." They kiss once more and leave the room separately.
The rest of the day went by fairly quickly, and Peggy goes home; not without a sly wink at her lover. When Steve leaves the office, he hits the town for the night, and of course leaves Peggy at home with their son. Every time he does this, he doesn't return till early morning. What a headache that is for her. When she enters the house, she sees Grant in the living room, with an enormous mess on the floor.
"What in the bloody blue blazes happened in here?!"
"I was hungry, and I tried to make something to eat. Its not like you were going to do it."
"I wasn't- Grant I make you breakfast and supper every day, since you were born. What is it with you and being so ungrateful! The food we have is perfectly edible and not at all disgusting. You're being stingy because it isn't a bloody steak."
"No, I'm not. And Mrs. Smith doesn't make steak, she makes beef stew. I just don't like the food you make. Its gross. AND you don't make breakfast 'everyday' like a mom's suppose too- "
"I do everything a mother is supposed to. So, excuse me if YOU young man are an inconsiderate little arse!"
"I'm not an ass, you're just a bad mom! You don't even feed me real food or pick me up from school." Peggy has been trying her hardest, but now she can't take it.
"School? Hmm. Very interesting, Grant. Yes, lets talk about that" He shakes his head and looks at Peggy.
"What?"
"School. And why the hell you keep being sent home or I get notes saying how horrible you are! You treat the girls as if they were good for nothing dirt, your grades are horrid, you do nothing but bully the other children. And for what? Because your father is Captain America?" She exclaims. Her blood begins to boil, and her face is turning red. No matter what she does, her son keeps going down a destructive path; and she can't save him.
"So, what. I can handle myself. I'm better than they are, I don't need school or girls. They're supposed to help take care of us, not the other way around 'Mom'. Who's to say I'm not a super soldier too!" Peggy looks away and closes her eyes.
"You're not. If you were things would be very different. Trust me. Now take you little attitude and go to your room. I don't want to see you for the rest of the night!"
"Wha- "
"Now!!" She points to the stairs.
"Whatever!" His dirty blond hair bounces on his head as he runs upstairs.
"If you break anything, I swear on my life your new best friend will be the end of a BLOODY TWIG ON YOUR ARSE!" He slams his door after hearing her yell.
The Next day:
"Mom, make me some toast."
"No."
"But I'm hungry."
"And I said, No. Besides aren't you that one who said my food is 'gross'?" Grant rolls his eyes as he sits at the table. "If you're hungry make it yourself. You're eleven years old and its time you learned to fend for yourself. I doubt you'll marry anytime soon and get a glorified trophy wife to cook for you. Therefore, if you want food, make it yourself." Grant glares at Peggy behind her back and grabs his bag.
"I'm going to school."
"You're not going to eat?" He says nothing and slams the front door. "I swear I'm going to kill him one day..." she mumbles. She needs a break and a distraction from the annoyance she feels with her son and husband. Peggy walks towards the telephone and calls Daniel; they both have the day off today...
"Hello?"
"Daniel..." He laughs on the other line.
"Peggy..." He teases. "Is everything okay?"
"Oh yes, of course. I was just calling to let you know," She smiles and twirls the cord of the phone. "that Grant left for school already, and I'm home alone..."
"What about your husband? Won't he be in soon." Peggy laughs.
"Oh please, Steve won't be here. He's either with a bimbo whore or at the SSR right now." Daniel chuckles and hangs up the phone. "Daniel? Dan- bloody hell. I'm not falling for that again." Daniel once hung up before and she got worried; so, she went to his apartment, and he had a surprise waiting for her in his room...She yelled at him, obviously, and taught him a lesson on not doing it again. An hour later there's a knock on the door, and Peggy answers it. "Daniel!" She throws her arms around his neck and crashes her lips into his.
"Hey..." She kisses him again and again and drags him inside. "Slow down Peg." He laughs. Daniel hasn't made it four steps inside and already she refuses to stop placing fleeting kisses all over him.
"No."
"No? I see how it is..." He grabs her by the waits, twist her towards the wall, and traps her against it. "You really want to play this game?" His voice begins to deepen. She bites her lips and rests her hands on his shirt.
"You're an intelligent man.... Why don't you figure that out yourself?" He thrusts against her, involuntarily and she laughs. "No interruption today?"
"Not a one." Peggy looks into his eyes and starts to lose her breath; and the pounding in her chest refuses to leave. Daniel leans in all the way, no space between their bodies; and she has no where to turn. Her belly begins to twist in desire as he drags his lips from her neck to her lips. Rather than a kiss, he nips.
"Daniel..." He keeps her pressed against the wall and dives into her lips. She moans as his tongue duels with hers.
"I think we should take this somewhere else..." She gasps and laughs.
"Lead the way." He takes her hand and they walk towards the bedroom. He's been there several times before in those 2 weeks Steve was gone...He shuts the door behind him and unbuttons his shirt. "No! I wanted to do that!" She laughs taking his hands in hers. He shakes his head.
"Not this time."
"Is that so...?" He hums in confirmation and nudges her towards the bed. She stands in front of it, defiantly. He nudges her back, but she doesn't budge.
"Okay, Peg. I see how it is." He grabs her waist and snogs her breathless. When she's let her guard down, he lifts her up and puts her one the bed.
"Ah!" She squeaks. "DANIEL!!" She leans on her elbow and looks at him, shocked. He shifted all his weight on his left leg when he lifter her, so he didn't put pressure on the prosthetic, and so he climbs over her to relieve his legs.
"Somethin' wrong, Peggy?" She laughs with all her breath as he undoes her blouse.
"No. Everything is perfect." She lays down fully and runs her hands in his hair. He takes off his shirt and hers, and their skin feels hot to the touch. Peggy moans as her body tingles with desire. She reaches for his trousers, and he stops her. He grabs her hands and places them over her head. "Da-Daniel..." He then licks, kisses, and nips at her exposed skin; releasing every gasp, moan, groan, and giggle he can discover. "Please!" she squirms underneath him, her patience running dry. He chuckles at her plea and release her hands; immediately she scratches at his back, and he arches as grinds instinctively.
Peggy grabs his hair and snogs him until neither can breathe. His hands slide down her belly, leaving electric shocks in their trail, and he undoes her trousers. In one swoop, they're tossed to the floor. Peggy laughs and kisses him again, clawing him up and down. He unclips her brassier and tosses it aside as he indulges the globes on her chest. Peggy undoes his own trousers and sits up to pull them down. Daniel stops his kisses and helps her remove them; his trouser and underwear are tossed all at once. He lays her back down and reaches in her nickers and swallows her moans in their kiss. He tears them off and thrust inside, both moan in lust. The bed begins to shake as the lovers' rock and dance in love.
"Ugh Daniel!" She shouts. He groans and thrust again and again as sweat beads at his brow.
"Peg-I -God Peggy..." He begins to lose his rhythm so she soothes him with a kiss, and he finishes. He loses all sense of control and begins to collapse, but she catches him in time.
"Are you alright, Darling?" She chuckles.
"Yeah, just..." He tries to catch his breath. "I just need a minute." She laughs as he lays his head on her chest and listens to her heartbeat. Both of their hearts beat as one, and time stills as they lay together, spent and in love...
#peggysous#peggy carter#daniel sousa#peggysous > steggy#anti steve rogers#anti steggy#peggy sousa#mentions of peggy rogers#angst#smut#warning
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“You’re late.”
Alice puts on her best stern face, but Gladys pays her no mind. Instead the brunette kicks her bag under the bar and pulls on the collar of her blue work shirt to take a sniff. Alice sucks her teeth and starts pouring another beer for the kid standing in front of her.
“Look alive, Cohen. I said you’re late.”
Gladys steps into her personal space and some beer sloshes onto Alice’s hand. Gladys tugs her shirt towards her.
“Take a whiff. Do I smell?”
Alice slams the wet glass on the bar and snatches the crumbled up bills from the kid’s hand. He’s too young to drink - hell, she’s too young to drink too - but it’s a party going on and it’s the Southside of town and normal rules don’t apply in places like the Whyte Wyrm.
The kid slaunders off looking put out and even younger than he is in his way-too-big letterman. Alice crosses her arms, discreetly wiping her hands on the inside of her open flannel shirt, as Gladys inches ever so close. Her breasts press against Alice’s arm and she can see the smirk on Gladys’ face without looking.
“Al,” Gladys nudges her with a sneakered foot, “do I smell? I think I got some motor oil on my shirt. Well do I? Al? Alice Smith?” She nudges her shoulder. “Can you hear me? I’m right -”
“Yes, you reek. You smell like a goddamn garage.” Alice shrugs her off and takes a step away, taking in the sight of the bar. There were too many blue and yellow jackets for her to be at ease. “Can’t you bother to shower before you get here?”
“We’re fixing up a Mustang at the garage. I lost track of time.”
“It got real busy here for a while, you know.” Alice tries to sneak a look at the four loud boys whooping at the pool table, but Gladys’ gaze is burning a hole in her. “And I was all alone, left to deal with these drunk morons.”
Hog Eye isn’t even ten feet away doing a crossword puzzle at a table. They both know he’d never let the bar get backed up when there were Northside kids here with good money burning holes in their pockets, but Gladys keeps her mouth shut at Alice’s lie. She unbuttons the top of her work shirt, exposing the tank top underneath.
“Please, Gladys.” Alice mockingly covers her eyes, as if Gladys has anything she hasn’t seen before. “I asked you here to tend bar, not entertain.”
The words would cut if she was on the receiving end, but Gladys is all smiles. “This place couldn’t afford to get me up on that stage.” Her expression changes as she pulls her shirt over her head. She looks either way around the bar, grin tilting. “Are we in school or something?”
Alice leans back, finally getting her glance in at the boys hogging the pool table. Fred’s running his hands through his hair in exaggerated frustration, FP has a sour look on his face, and -
A hand in front of her eyes brings her back to the bar. “What’s going on? Why is the entire football team here? I’ve told FP a million times the less I see of those stupid jackets, the happier I am.“
“You know we won that big game against Seaside High last night?” Gladys’ expression doesn’t change. “Well, we did. And since it was an away game, the team got home late so,” she waves her hand around the bar, “they decided to celebrate tonight.”
“Right.” Gladys rubs her bare arms. “And this is their idea of celebrating?”
“I guess they want to live life on the edge.” She rolls her eyes. “A bunch of dumb jocks slumming around a scummy bar.”
“Hey, you frequent this scummy bar all the time.”
“Not by choice.”
“Hmm. Where is FP?” She scans the place. “He can’t be too happy about his football buddies hanging around his stomping grounds.”
“Oh, don’t worry.” She drops her voice. “He’s in disguise.”
Alice head snaps back to the pool table to gesture at them. Of the four boys, only FP is sporting his RHS colors, yet he still looks more in place than the other three. Gladys cranes her neck to look at them and a mischievous grin comes upon her.
“My, my. What have we here?”
Alice bites her lip as she stares down the foursome. Hiram is in the middle of a celebratory dance and Fred and FP look sulky. The other -
“How did FP drag Fred here?”
The fourth boy lines up his shot on the pool table and Alice feels her breathe hitch. “Probably bribed him.”
Gladys laughs. “Oh I bet he did.” She does a rude gesture with her hand and mouth that earns a smile from Alice. “Are they hustling Northside boys?”
“Fred’s a Northside boy.”
“Northside boys with money, I mean. No one would be dumb enough to hustle Fred’s broke ass.”
The boy makes his shot and Hiram claps him hard on the back as he sinks a ball. “Sure looks like hustling to me. But Fred’s selling it too hard. Every time he misses a shot he starts throwing a fit. Good thing Hiram’s too stupid or drunk to notice.”
“Hiram’s not stupid.” Gladys goes about wiping down the wet rings on the bar with a rag. “He’s just cocky, arrogant.”
“That’s worse than being stupid.” Alice catches a lump in her throat. “He’s not even on the football team. God knows why he’s here.”
“Neither’s Fred.” Gladys pauses mid-wipe and looks over her shoulder. “Lodge is friends with Coop, he’s probably with him.” She shakes her head and returns to wiping down the counter. “Poor idiots. They’re going to walk out of here with no shoes.”
Alice clicks her teeth. “Yeah, well. It’s what they get. They’re not from this side of town.”
“Neither is Fred.” Gladys parrots her words for a moment ago.
“Fred is - Fred is Southside by association. Plus he and FP are trying to save up enough to buy a van. It’s as good a cause as any to scam some rich boys, right?”
“Right.” Gladys nods. “Hey, if they make enough tonight I bet I can weasle some two am milkshakes out of them.”
“I’d kill for a rootbeer float right now.” Alice peeks at the boys again. Hal Cooper’s looking in her direction and she snaps her head back so quick her hair brushes Gladys’ bare shoulder. “I’m just craving something sweet is all.”
Gladys raises an eyebrow and looks back towards the pool table. “Something sweet alright. Is that why your panties are in a twist?” She breaks out a cheeky grin. “Fred and FP ripping off the wrong rich boy tonight?”
“I don’t give a shit if Hiram Lodge is stupid enough to fall for the oldest trick in the book,” she scoffs. The heat rises in her face and her voice comes out several octaves higher than she cares for. “The pool scam? How dumb can you be?” She grabs a bottle of tequila from the wall and pours herself a shot. “Hasn’t he ever seen a movie or anything?”
Alice downs her shot and Gladys takes the glass before she can slam it on the bar. “Panties twisted,” she whispers an inch from her face. Alice swats her away and goes to tend to the group walking up.
“You’re so testy tonight, Al. I’m only messing with you.” Gladys hands off the beers Alice fills from the tap. “I know you have better taste than him.”
“Damn right I do.” She passes off the last beer and makes no move to give change for the ten they pass her. She raises an eyebrow and the group shuffles off looking embarrassed. “My type is the exact opposite of whatever Hiram Lodge is.”
“I get it.” Gladys nods. “You don’t go for short, dark, and handsome. Nope. You’d prefer tall, blonde, and boring.”
“Hal is not boring,” Alice hisses. She half glances over her shoulder. “Don’t you call him that.”
“Who said anything about Hal?” Gladys smirks at her confession. “But you did actually call him that last week.”
“I - no. Of course I didn’t.”
“Hiram said something dumb to you and you said,” she clears her throat and tries to mimic Alice’s high voice, “‘You think you’re so tough just because you have tall, dark, and stupid and tall, blonde, and boring with you.’ Ring a bell?”
She remembers the exact moment, coming out of the cafeteria and walking smack dab into Hiram with Marty Mantle and Hal Cooper on either side of him. Hiram falling flat on his ass and telling her to watch her attitude as Hal lifted him back up.
Alice shrugs. “I don’t remember that.”
“Of course not.” Gladys’ eyes search the smokey ceiling. “I just didn’t peg him as your type is all. Alice Smith drooling over some broad shouldered, all American boy who’d look better suited in a Leave it to Beaver rerun than a bar on the Southside. I’ve really seen it all now.”
“I’m not - he is not my type!” she hisses. "I don’t have a type! There is no drooling here! He’s just - just nice is all.”
“Nice and boring.” Alice glares at her. “Sorry. I just don’t get it.”
“Well no one is asking you to.” Alice plays with the loose button of her flannel. “He’s just kind of - of cute. And I like his articles in the school paper. And maybe I like,” she sighs, “caught him drawing in English class one day and we got to talking and everything, but that doesn’t mean anything. I don’t like him. He’s not my type. I don’t have a -”
“Well, your type or not, he won’t stop staring at us.” Gladys peeks over Alice’s shoulder and gives a little wave. Alice pulls her hand down and whips her head around. Hal is looking at them, but Gladys’ wave is directed at FP. Hiram’s bent over the table lining up a shot as FP makes a crude thrusting gesture behind him and Fred fake coughs to cover up his laughter.
Gladys shakes her head. “FP’s so stupid,” she says, but there’s a smile on her face and adoration in her eyes. Alice doesn’t know whether it’s sweet or sickening. “He’s like the teenage version of a puppy.”
“Uh huh.” Alice can feel Hal watching her even though she isn’t looking. “Trying to hump everything around him. Sure sounds like a dog to me.”
“Hey, barkeep!” Alice hears FP scream, even over the music blasting. “Mind bringing me and my boys over here some shots?”
Gladys cups her hands around her mouth. “Sorry, jock. Table service is for fellows from this side of town only. Guess you’ll have to come up here yourself.”
FP licks his lips. “There might be a nice tip in it for you.”
“Yeah? With what money?” She has the attention of half the bar. “You look like you’re about to lose the shirt off your back!”
He winks their way and turns back to the game. The patrons - still far too many Riverdale High students for her taste - slowly turn back to their own business. She catches a glimpse of Marty Mantle by the dart board looking stupid as ever in his varsity jacket, playing against some Serpents who look ready to tear him apart if he says one wrong word.
“I did my part. Maybe they’ll believe he really sucks now.” She turns back to Alice. “What’s with the pout?”
“I’m not pouting.” She wraps her arms around herself even though she’s as warm as anything. “I just wanna head home already.”
Gladys does an exaggerated pout herself. “What about your root beer float?”
“I’ll live.”
“Ah, I know what this is about.” Gladys takes her by the shoulders and spins her around so she’s facing the pool table. “Did my little outburst ruin your chances with Wally Cleaver?”
She shrugs her shoulders up but Gladys doesn’t let go. “I am not Hal Cooper’s type, okay?
“Says who?”
“Says me.”
“Hey.” Gladys’ voice is softer than normal. She wraps her arms around Alice from behind and rests her chin on her shoulder. She nudges her head until she looks up and she sees their ridiculous reflection in the mirror over the bar. “You see that girl I’m looking at?”
“Uh huh.” Alice tries to go back to wiping glasses, but Gladys tightens her grip.
“That girl right there,” she swings them back and forth a bit, “is one of the hottest girls in town, you hear me? I’d probably sell my soul to get curls like hers.”
Alice snorts. “As if you have a soul.”
Gladys squeezes her harder. “Anyone in this bar would nail her.” She smiles as the corners of Alice’s lips finally twitch. “Present company included.”
Alice finally let out a full smile. “Don’t profess your love to me just yet.“
"I didn’t say love. Just said I’d nail you.”
“Guys like him like prissy cheerleaders. Not me.”
“Oh, I think guys like that love girls from this side of town.” She turns her attention back to the pool table. “Look at him. Boy is a freak waiting to come out. And a virgin to boot.”
“He is not a virgin!” Alice rolls her eyes. “People like him.”
“Alice, please.” She takes her chin and turns Alice’s face towards the boys. “Look. He’s the type who’s mother has probably instilled abstinence and chastity into his head from birth. He’s just waiting for right girl to free him from that. Teach him the ways of the world. Show him a good time.” She turns Alice’s face towards her own, her lips pouted out like a fish. “You can be that girl, Al.”
Alice lets a breath out as Gladys frees her face. “A guy like that would never date a Southside girl.”
“Who said anything about dating?” Gladys scoffs. “You don’t need some suburban prince to save you, Alice. You know that, right? You don’t need to date him. But what you do need is to get laid, so get your ass over there and talk to him.”
She bites the inside of her cheek and fixes her eyes on her scuffed boots. “I don’t want to.”
“You’re such a pain in the ass.” Alice doesn’t look back up until she feels Gladys plucking at her flannel. “You’re all flushed. Let me borrow this. I’m getting cold.”
“No.” She wraps her arms around herself. “All I have on is a -”
“A t-shirt and I just have a tank top.” Gladys practically takes it off of Alice. “Just give it here.”
A thin line of skin shows between the bottom of her shirt and her jeans, but she’s worn a lot less in this place. Gladys slides the flannel on and rolls the sleeves up. She regards Alice, looking her up and down quickly.
“You look perfect.” She finally meets her eyes. “Hot, but casual. Knock ‘em dead.”
“Knock who -”
“Hey, Cooper.” Gladys glances over her shoulder and Alice freezes, unsure if she’s joking or not. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“Hey, Gladys.” Goosebumps run up her spine as she turns. He smiles at her and, even in the dim bar light, it’s blinding. “Hey, Alice.”
“Hey.” Her words come out slowly and she forces a smile. “Cooper.”
“Cooper,” he repeats. “You’ve never called me that.”
Her mouth goes dry, but Gladys saves her with a light smack on her shoulder. “Of course Cooper must be your father? You prefer Coop.” She looks over at the pool table. “At least that’s what all your football buddies call you.”
His eyes stay locked with Alice even though his words are directed at the other girl. “Coop is fine. Cooper’s fine. Alice just normally calls me Ha-”
“Did you want something?” Alice cuts him off and his mouth drops at her harsh tone. There’s still a smile there, still more teeth than she can believe, but there’s a slight sense of hurt behind his eyes.
“Drinks, yeah.” He breaks their gaze to pull his wallet out. “FP has requested shots.”
“Whiskey good?” Gladys asks. She pinches Alice’s forearm before finally taking her hand off her and grabs a bottle off the bar by the neck. “Or do you and Mr. Lodge over there have more refined tastes?”
“Whiskey’s great, thanks.”
Alice starts for the shot glasses, but Gladys bumps her hips to stop her, shoving her closer in Hal’s direction. She grabs a rag to keep busy and wipes the clean-as-it’ll-ever-be bar down next to him.
“Coop, is that your Dodge Dart I saw outside? The ‘74?” Gladys asks. She stomps on Alice’s foot but her Doc Martens protect her from Gladys’ sneakers. “It’s a beauty.”
“Thanks.” Hal takes his eyes off of Alice and she finally lets out the breath she’s been holding. “I like her alright.”
“Do you know,” Gladys passes Alice the bottle and sets six shot glasses down, nudging her to pour, “the car was originally called the Dodge Demon until some Christian organizations protested it and they changed it to the Dart for the next model?”
“No kidding.” Hal fixes himself back on Alice as she quickly pours. “My mom would be one of those protesters.“
Gladys gives Hal a lopsided grin. “Your mom would, huh?” She pokes Alice in the ribs. “You don’t say.” She grabs a shot and nudges one to Alice. “Take one with us, Coop. Alice will top you off.”
“No.” Alice nudges hers towards Hal. “I just had tequila. Take mine.”
He starts to shake his head. “I couldn’t -”
“You can and you will.” Gladys forces another shot glass into Alice’s hand. “Tequila for the lady.” She clinks her glass against either of theirs. “To Riverdale High winning a football game.” She regards Hal over the rim of her glass. “That’s why you boys are here, right?”
“Yeah, sure. That’s it.” Hal’s eyes are fixed on Alice again and he clinks his glass against just hers this time. “To the very attentive bartenders at the Whyte Wyrm.”
Alice takes her shot with him and slams the glass down. “Impressed with this hole in the wall?”
“Aspects of it, yeah.” He breaks his smile with her to take his shot. “That is - that is not smooth.” He coughs. “Oh, let me get that.” He takes his wallet out but she shakes her head at the bill he offers her.
“Don’t worry about it, Coop. This round is on me.”
He waves it towards her. “Oh, Alice. I couldn’t let you -”
Her instinct is to snap at his niceness, at him turning down her generosity, but she forces her voice to come out as nice as she can get it. “Hal, I’m serious. My treat.”
“I insist.” He holds out the money. “I couldn’t -
Gladys snatches the ten from Hal’s hand. “Let’s just call it a tip then, yeah?” She folds it up into quarters and slips it in Alice’s back pocket, giving her a sharp slap on the ass before walking to the other side of the bar. Hal raises his eyebrow.
“She is certainly,” Hal thinks of the right word, “friendly?”
Alice bites her lip. “Handsy is the word I normally use.” She lets her shoulders loosen. “And that’s just her after one drink. You have to see her after a few.”
“Right.” He gulps subtly and she knows she’s not supposed to notice. “So do you work here every weekend or -”
“Hal!” Hiram Lodge’s voice rings out across the bar. “You here to pick up girls or you here to play pool, Hal? Where are those shots? Hal!”
Gladys groans. “Cram it, Lodge! Can’t you see he’s busy!” She nudges Alice before ducking under the bar and stomping over to the pool table.
Hal rolls his empty glass on the bar. “I guess I should get back over there.” He picks up two shots with either hand. “I’ll come back when they want another round of beers -”
“They’re scamming you guys.” The words leave her mouth before she can help it and she leans across the bar towards him. “Fred and FP. They’re pretending they’re bad at pool and when your guard is down they’re -” Hal starts laughing. “I’m being serious.”
“Alice, Alice.” He shakes his hands and a few drops of whiskey fall on his sleeve. “I’m not stupid. And no offence, but Fred and FP aren’t exactly subtle either.”
She furrows her brow. “So why are you still playing?”
He shrugs. “We’re having fun. And if I’m being honest,” he downs one of the shots he’s still holding, “I only came out tonight because FP told me you work here on the weekend.”
Her heart speeds up. “Yeah?” He nods and she grabs the whiskey bottle to refill his glass. “That’s - that’s cool. I’m glad you came. Even if my stupid friends are bleeding you dry.”
“Nah.” His smile verges on goofy as the drinks settle into him. “It’s Hiram’s money we’re betting anyway. He has plenty to lose.”
Her nose scrunches up as she laughs. The face her dad says makes her look mousey, but Hal is still all smiles at her.
“I think Gladys has taken my place.” He looks over his shoulder at the pool table. “I’d ask if you want to go hang out, but I drove Hiram.”
“You’re too drunk to drive anyone anywhere right now.”
“I am not drunk.” He looks back to her cross eyed. “I’m fine, really. But Hiram -”
“They’ll take good care of Hiram. Get him home safe.” Alice leaves out the part about them not having a car. “I promise.”
“You sure -?”
“Nice shot, Cohen!” Hiram screams. They turn together just in time to see Gladys ignore Hiram’s attempt to high five her.
“He’s having a blast.” She taps one of his shot glasses. “Lets drop those off and go.”
“You can just leave?” He glances both ways down the bar. “Aren’t you working?”
She shrugs. “It’s fine.”
He smiles at her again, half dreamy and half drunk. “Cool.”
Her leather jacket is tucked under the bar and she pauses before sliding it on. She may have been warm enough in the October air with a flannel, but Gladys is already working up a sweat running around the pool table in it. She slides the leather on and watches Hal’s eyes take her in.
“Let’s go?” He nods obediently and she takes two of the shots from him to carry over.
FP has his hand tucked into the back of Gladys’ jeans as they approach. Alice hands one to FP and leaves another on the table for Fred.
“We’re going to take off,” Alice mutters under her breath to Gladys. FP’s ears perk up and she gives him a death glare before his mouth even opens. “You guys can take care of Lodge, right?”
“Hiram and I are pool buddies now,” Gladys says loudly. “Of course we’ll take good care of him.”
“You’re leaving?” Hiram gives Hal a hard shove in the shoulder, almost knocking the glasses out of his hand. He takes one from him. “Suit yourself, Hal. Gladys is a better partner anyway.” He clinks their glasses together, spilling whiskey to the floor. “One for the road.”
Hal reluctantly takes the shot and claps Hiram on the back. “I’ll see you.”
“Careful, Hal.” Fred finally takes his shot and knocks a ball off the table, narrowly missing his drink. Alice resists the urge to kick him. “Alice bites.”
Pink patches play up Hal’s cheeks. “I’ll take my chances.” He picks up his jacket from a chair - a light blue windbreaker instead of a loud letterman - and follows Alice. When she opens the door, he’s a few feet behind her catching up and Gladys is waving enthusiastically at them.
“My car is right there.” He points as they cross the slew of motorcycles in the parking lot. “The green one.”
He stumbles the last few feet to the car and breaks his fall hard against the side. She can almost feel Gladys cringing at the thump from back inside. He turns around and leans against the door, seemingly grateful for the steady object.
“Remember when I said I wasn’t drunk?” He fumbles through his pockets as she catches up to him. She takes one, two, three steps closer than necessary so there are only a few inches between them. He’s surprised at her closeness when he finally looks up. “I think I lied. I might be a little drunk.”
“No shit?” She throws her head back and laughs. “I think you passed little a while ago.”
“Maybe.” He pulls his keys out of his pocket, a plastic Statue of Liberty keychain dangling from the end. He raises them toward his head. “How about I let you drive if -”
She snatches the keys before he can finish his thought. “If what?”
His hand is still held out and he slowly lowers it as a smile plays on his lips. “If nothing. You drive.”
“You play football with those reflexes?”
“Not well,” he laughs.
“Don’t say that.” Alice shakes her head. “You’re good though.”
“I don’t even like playing,” he admits. “I don’t even really like football. I’d quit if it wouldn’t drive my parents nuts.” He leans through the window of the front seat and she wants to kick him for leaving his windows open on this side of town. Some soft rock comes from the stereo and he hits his head on the frame as he comes out. “I’m okay.”
“I didn’t ask,” she teases. He gives her a smile so genuine and bright, she wants to melt into him in the poorly lit parking lot. Instead, she shifts her weight between her boots and clutches the keys to her chest.
“You don’t mind driving?“ he asks.
"You have a nice car and I never turn down a chance to make Gladys jealous.” She feeds him a wicked grin and forces the words out of her mouth before she chickens out. “So where does Hal Cooper take a girl when he wants to have a good time?”
He bites his lip. “Pops.”
“Pops?” Her voice drops. Her face drops. Her mood drops. “That’s not very,” she searches for the word, “private.”
“Who cares about privacy?” She catches her breath as he tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear. He pulls back, seemingly embarrassed by his own move, and shoves both his hands in his pockets. “I’d kill for a cheeseburger.”
“A cheeseburger.” She slouches and make a mental note to kick herself when she hears the disappointment in her own voice. Desperate. Stupid. She thinks back to Gladys words and smiles. “You want a burger when you have a pretty girl right in front of you?”
“No, I want a cheeseburger.” There are teeth marks in his lower lip when he opens his mouth for a smile. Bright and wide, no doubt a result of the mouth of metal he endured until freshman year. “And you know, I want you to still be in front of me at Pops. I can have a cheeseburger with the company of a pretty girl.”
“Uh huh.” She shifts her weight between her feet. “And what do I get for being your chauffeur for the night?”
He regards her carefully, front teeth digging into his lip again. “A root beer float.”
Alice’s mouth falls open. “How did you -”
“Gladys told me.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head softly. “You prefer root beer floats over milkshakes. She said it would be good to know.” He peeks his eyes open. “For future reference.”
“Right.” She stiffens up. “Well don’t get too comfy yet, Coop. No one ever said this was going anywhere.”
“I like you, Alice.” He smiles softly again. “You know why?”
Her heart beats so fast in her chest, she takes a step away from him. “Because you’re drunk and not thinking straight?”
“No.” He slumps against the car, hands still in his pockets. “I’m good at reading people. At least I think I am. But with you, I don’t know.” He gives her a look that reminds her of Gladys looking at FP inside. Stupid, sappy adoration. “I never know what you’re about to say or what you’re thinking. You always take me by surprise.”
A lump rises to her throat that she can’t swallow. “You like that?”
“Love it. You’re unpredictable. Exciting.” He feeds her that sappy grin again and she doesn’t realize she’s closing in on him until her boots nudge his shoes. “I like you.”
She swallows the lump, swallows her pride. “I like you too, Hal.”
His hands are still in his pockets but she tilts her head up towards him. His mouth opens but instead of leaning down to her, his eyes look to the side and he smiles.
“Do you hear that?” His face lights up. “Your band just came on.”
She hears a familiar guitar rift coming from the car but the song escapes her. “My band?”
Hal hums along for a few seconds. “The Smiths.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. She raises her eyebrow. “They’re The Smiths, you’re a Smith -”
With a firm yank on his windbreaker, she pulls his face to her level and plants a kiss on him. It’s not until she lightly bites his lip that he opens his mouth and responds, kissing her back. His arms fumble as he takes his hands out of his pockets and wraps them around her waist. A few moments pass before they break away. Stars are in his eyes and color in his lips, apparent even in the dim parking lot. His hands stay firm on her waist.
“What was that for?”
Alice shrugs, letting go of his jacket and snaking her arms around his neck. “I had to stop you from talking before you said something else stupid.”
“It’s very likely I’m about to say something else stupid.”
They’re both leaning against the car as she kisses him again. She pushes from her mind how close they are to her home and how far from his. How different they are. How they come from different worlds.
All she wants is for this moment to last.
#parentdale#riverparents#riverparent fanfiction#parentdale fanfiction#alice cooper#hal cooper#gladys jones#fp jones#fred andrews#hiram lodge#halice#sorry not sorry#riverdale#riverdale fanfiction
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Hmm
Honestly I feel like the importance of framing in writing can be presented in the difference between how it occurs with Harry Potter as a character in OOTP versus HBP.
I’ve rolled my eyes for years at people who whine about how Harry was less than a ray of sunshine in Book 5.
Of course he wasn’t.
He was basically suffering from PTSD from watching someone die and also the very real fact and fear surrounding the basic boogeyman/wizard nazi dark lord who killed his parents and wanted to kill him was now fully returned. Not to mention all the garbage the ministry then put him through and the fact so many people didn’t believe him. He wasn’t happy. He gets to be. Even if he lashed out at people who didn’t deserve it that’s understandable. He’s a child and even most adults would do that.
How Harry acts in Book 6 while also concerning to me is also understandable in a way too. He’s lost Sirius and most probably blames himself. So in a sense I can see him becoming a swaggering tosser who insults people and is unkind as he desperately if subconsciously tries to emulate Sirius when he was at his worst (such as in Snapes worst memory his only real insight into how he was at the same age). He forgets the good things his godfather taught him, the nuggets of wisdom he gave last year and how even Sirius grew(and also the ways he didn’t which helped contribute to his end) but it’s just too painful to be self reflective in the wake of his death which he feels blame for. He’s basically a child who keeps losing everything and I could see Book 6’s behaviour making sense.
This is also shown with him being rather odd and even cold/selfish at times and not even bothering with reforming the DA (which he probably in some way sees as not only a reminder of Sirius and his death but as a failure and pointless. Even though it wasn’t and that is one of the few good things Deathly Hallows showed) and being hyper focused on normal teenage troubles which in the grand of scheme of things don’t /matter./
This being Harry’s way of giving a middle finger to the garbage situation he’s in. Which it is. It’s garbage. He’s sixteen and really all he /should/ be worrying about is quidditch, schoolwork and crushes. In a fair world. But thanks to crappy authority figures and prophecies he doesn’t get to do that.
Harry is already mentally wrestling with the idea he’s going to die. He’s heard the prophecy after all.
Thing is though how Harry acts in the beginning of book five isn’t framed positively. He’s not chewed out for it (he really shouldn’t be you weirdos) but it’s not great. It makes people uncomfortable , it even scares some of them but it’s how it is. Book six is somehow under the impression how Harry acts is charming rather than at times petty and even concerning.
It’s understandable how cold he is with regards Marietta for example but sweet Jesus and yikes there’s something so deeply disturbing about how he is on the train all the same to me and it’s not framed that way at all. The insults about Fleur and some others are never funny and beyond him mooning over Ginny and disliking the same people I’m not sure why we’re supposed to think they are.
I mean I even get Ginny being petty and cruel too. She’s seen some shit. Book 2 I feel gives her license to be a bit hellish alone and she was also in the Ministry raid in book 5 which was no picnic. I think that hexing Smith might be her way of saying hell to the no at having to discuss what was probably pretty traumatic! But once again: viewed as charming and cute. Which it wasn’t. Her being kind of bitchy about Fleur treating her like a child is also understandable in the sense she’s gone through a bit of trauma. In a sense perhaps she feels like she’s grown up. But no Ginny you /are/ a child. A child whose gone through horrible things in a world with no therapists. Perhaps how you’re acting is a major red flag too. But once again it’s framed as funny and charming.
Another thing: It’s understandable too why Harry he wants to bury his head in the sand and do fuck all for a year like a normal teen but the book sometimes acts like the Voldemort memories were actually important and relevant (and they’re kind of not beyond Slughorns. HBP was really in so many ways a pointless book outside of Dumbledore’s death and the fact Draco was interesting for five minutes). HBP was kind of a waste of time in the grand scheme of things. With better prose, more showing rather than telling and some tweaks (like for gods sake have Hermione and Ron get together in the beginning of HBP and have the awkwardness of Harry being the third wheel could have resulted in a more natural way for Harry/Ginny to develop) it still could have been good. This as well as the framing could have still made it a decent ride and almost make the pointlessness have a point in an odd way.
If that makes sense.
That’s just me though.
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Soul tax
Show: Supernatural
Summary: So your in hell! Not actual hell, but considering your annoying coworker Kevin and a soul draining boss, that would give Lucifer a run for his money, it's as close as it get's. How are you going to survive corporate purgatory? And why is there a new rich customer asking for the help of an intern? Well, find out...
You sighed, for what felt like the hundredth time that hour. The busy clicking of your coworker’s fingers, dancing over his keyboard, was the lullaby threatening on rendering you unconscious. Never before, had you been so grateful for the wall of blinding computer monitors separating your desks, but here the annoying things gifted you with a secluded fortress. A bastion against the boredom of corporate life, you - or rather your brothers - had subjected yourself to.
So, you continued to try to look busy, 'researching' on your favorite music website. Who knew, the insurance company you worked for could get a client from the music industry any day now, you were just preparing for any eventuality.
Bam - the door flew open and you, along with your heart, jumped into the air. Funny, you had never realized how utterly terrifying the appearance of a boss could be, you would rather go two rounds in the ring with a Vendigo, than face the sharp gaze of your supervisor. Once your guts had settled back into their respected places, you switched the screen with two clicks to the numbers you were so busy working on. Then you turned, to face cooperate doom personified, and were greeted with - a deserted hallway.
Weird. Kevin your coworker, was too engrossed into the exciting world of paperwork to pay any attention, or care for that matter.
Shapeshifters couldn't turn invisible right? "Are you actually going to get some work done, today?" A sneering voice erupted from behind the mountain of paperwork. 'Shut up, Kevin!' was the first thing shooting through your mind, but of course, an interested intern couldn't say that. So, you settled on the next best remark: "Yeah, right away."
See, that would teach him!
You really had to hand it to the normal folks, this was just hell. The hunter life seemed like a walk in a flower field compared to the stacks of paper threatening to bury you here! Anger burned in your stomach, just thinking about your brothers.
"Sorry kiddo but you're the responsible one, so it's perfect." Dean’s clap on your shoulder was followed by a wink. Going with the family motto: Offence is the best defense you started: „But Sam was a-" Sam’s voice seemed unusually rushed while cutting you off: "And we're both far too old to apply as an intern, it would look suspicious." To his credit he writhed a little under your smoldering glare. Dean on the other hand, seemed unimpressed. "You don't wanna tip the shapeshifter off, right?"
And thus your contract for eternal - one month - suffering was signed. "Today!" The tower of paperwork had grown even more. Oh, how you wished that Kevin was the shifter...
That would be so much fun.
Bam- this time you didn't react to the door barging open, some draft insisted on gifting you with a possibly fatal scare every ten minutes today.
Apparently your survival skills had dulled, this much was clear, when instead of a gust of air your boss, in all her imposing glory rushed into the room. When her sharp eyes focused on your computer screen, currently advertising the newest training trends, her neat shoes clicked to a stop at once. 'Busted! What is she doing here?' According to her neatly plucked eyebrows, just now meeting on the bridge of her nose, she wasn't about to hand you the employee of the month award.
Your body tensed, a rabbit preparing to be swallowed whole, though to your surprise the snake didn't bear its fangs, instead:
"There is an important, very wealthy-" here her eyes glazed over almost lovingly, as if talking about her boyfriend "-customer, I need help with." With the air of a privet, subjecting himself to a possibly fatal mission - all for the glory of his homeland - Kevin rose from his seat.
"So ___, come along!" Pluck, Kevin’s weight falling heavily back into his chair would have been music to you, if you panic hadn’t started to wreaked havoc in your chest. You had no idea how to help! You were just the intern, the glorified doormat of any company! Did they now expect you to take on responsibility, as well, as making coffee? "Mam, do you really think I'm the right person for...?"
She scoffed dark hair whipping on her shoulders. "For whatever reason, the client requested the presence of an intern." If your inner alarm bell hadn’t bleared before it now was Quasi Modo having a nervous breakdown in Notre Dames bell tower.
Clack, clack your bosses strides echoed down the corridor an urgent beat to them. You simply followed, entering the meeting room meekly behind her. The sight that greeted you there was enough to freeze your whole body.
"Ah how lovely, fresh blood." There, sitting both proudly and relaxed at the same time was none other than Crowley. His devious smirk was accented by his black suit and blood red tie. You settled on the most eloquent and suave approach to handling the situation like a pro: Starring at the demon dumbstruck.
"Not the most extroverted flower in the pot, hmm?" His white teeth gleamed and your boss made a sound probably supposed to be a laugh, while nudging you -rather forceful- into the direction of your 'client'. "Well, ___ here is new and you’re her first client: Stage fright, all part of the rooky year experience." She clapped your shoulder in a seemingly jovial manner, but the tightening of her grip, with nails as sharp as claws, wasn’t lost to your aching flesh.
The demon’s eyes followed while you were being ‘respectfully’ manhandled into a seat across from him. His dark eyes gleamed with mirth at the prospect of the Winchester sister being served to him on a silver platter. "So Mr. Johnson, I think you will love our offer of..." but you would never know what exactly was so tempting in making a deal with the devil. Which was for the better, as you had no idea who would claim the soul of whom in this tank full of sharks. "Mrs. Smith, I would prefer your esteemed-" he pressed the word, emitting all it’s sweet juice "-intern here, to handle the hard work."
The smile fell, as your boss smelled deceit but was soon replaced with an even broader smile. "Mr. Johnson, surely you want someone familiar with the work to handle your case, in order to avoid any mistakes." Shark teeth shone brightly in the dim light of the room. When Crowley reached out you almost jumped him. Judging by the mocking sideway look he cast you, your murderous intention wasn't lost to him. He didn't deter, however and grasped your boss’s hand.
"I would rest easier if I knew your delicate fingers to not be bothered with such trivial matters." Such foul sweetness was placed into each syllable that you felt the need to empty your lunch into the trash can, next to the desk. The bastard even had the audacity to stroke the woman's hand, while silently enjoying your reaction immensely. "Furthermore, everyone needs to start with some client and I so do love helping people learn from their mistakes." The dark charm rolling over your boss did the rest: "Of course Mr. Johnson, thank you for giving our intern this possibility." All caution and businessman ship forgotten, she almost floated out of the room.
Clack, the door fell shut leaving you, glaring at a very satisfied demon.
You couldn't keep your eyebrow from climbing farther up your brow. "Johnson? You gotta be kiddin' me!"
The king of hell, simply regarded his nails. "Well, I suppose some of that Winchester charm has rubbed off on me." "What do you want? What are you planning?" At this Crowley feigned a hurt expression. "Darling, you wound me! Am I not allowed to visit you at work? I am merely a concerned-" "Like hell you are! Now spill!"
He halted in his theatric pose, a hand on his nonexistent heart, and regarded you for a moment. The former mocking quality of his dark eyes froze and an unsettling expression crept into them. "You're just like moose, always looking for the great agenda. But did you ever consider the fact that..." Here, he leaned in, far too close for comfort "... I'm just enjoying seeing you squirm?" He leaned back and continued in a relaxed fashion: "One of the merits of being a demon, is seeing a certain hunter jump each time a door flies open."
A roar escaped you "You little son of a..." The demon ignored your outburst and activated a button on the table. "Mrs. Smith, I believe your intern needs help here." His eyes drifted up to you, gesticulating and waving to him: ‘Please don't do this to me!’, but the sadistic expression stretching around his features, spoke volumes about the nose dive your day was about to take.
What a day! Crowley had taken every opportunity, and you meant every opportunit, to make your live miserable: Asking for the most complex contract, an exact calculation of every financial way his investment could play out were just love tabs for him. Each time you dared to deviate from your task, mostly by throwing curses at him, he simply called for your boss like a lap dog. At the end the Chi Wawa thanked him for his patience with the untrained intern. You facial muscles still felt sore for trying to hold a smile at that. What had you ever done to deserve this!?
"Hey, Zuckerberg how is going?" Dean greeted, while you were busy throwing the heavy warded door to the bunker with too much force back in it’s place. Sadly, it simply drifted shut with a click. So much for therapeutic, anger reducing, door slamming. You spared your brothers an unamused look, while muttering something about ‘planning to kill someone’.
Slam, the door to your room, wasn’t as fortified against a twenty-something’s fury. Sam and Dean exchanged a look, and silently agreed: Whatever it was would settle itself, they put a good amount of distance, between themselves and your room, for good measure. After all, they didn't want to be over bearing brothers!
Without changing your clothes you fell into bed, vowing to kill both Crowley and Kevin. The tortured faces of your soon would be victims, lulled you into a restful slumber.
You woke up to the heavenly smell of coffee and the soft sound of a strumming guitar. Carefully opening one eye, you were greeted by the sight of a tablet, laden with croissant, jam and an apple on a stool right next to your bed. “What the actual, …” How did your brother’s get through your closed door. A few moments later, nursing your first cup of coffee you started to wake up. With that came the realization that this wasn’t a very Dean, or Sam-ly fashion of showing support. ‘But who?” That’s when you registered who was singing on the record:
"I went to the crossroad, fell down on my knees."
The next minute was filled with you, spluttering, trying to emit coffee from your lungs. When you finally calmed down you sat on your bed, a little shell shocked, but soon a small smile stole itself on your features. To the seemingly empty room you said: ”Well, thank you Mr. Johnson!”
#supernatural imagine#supernatural x reader#crowley x reader#crowley imagine#dean winchester#Sam Winchester#winchester sister
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Welcome to another profile on Behind the Screens, giving you personal insight on who your favorite artists are and what they do when they aren’t wowing you with their creative ability.
This week, we have the pleasure of learning more about Kristina, also know in our circle as Thiamlife. The author of Rivals AU, Anchors, and numerous prompts, she loops us in on her life as a trainer, her writing persona, and her tips for writing angst.
Kristina! To start us off, tell us something about yourself. The catch: use a sentence, where the word count is either equal to or less than the number of letters in you two favorite Teen Wolf character’s name.
Theo Raeken + Malia Tate = 19: I’m Sporty Spice but can act like Baby Spice, want to be Posh Spice but badass like Scary Spice.
Before the era of Teen Wolf, we found love and OTPs in other shows. What would you say were your first ships, think way back?
Oh lord, um, probably Marissa and Ryan from the O.C., but I also loved the Buffy/Spike/Angel situation.
And, how did you land in the Thiam Family? What about Theo x Liam drew you in?
Honestly, I just stumbled upon it. But it was one of those things where you see it and then it just clicks… like “Where have you been my whole life?” I wasn’t caught up when I saw the first Thiam related thing on my dash and was like hmm interesting and then when I was catching up the whole time I found myself desperately looking for all the subtle Thiam things.
I know we were made to hate Theo, but for some reason I just couldn’t and when I noticed that Liam didn’t either I was completely smitten. I just love how their love never was nor ever will be easy (blame the angst queen that lives inside me). They have to constantly fight and struggle to be with each other. But at the same time it was so blatantly obvious and simple for them to rely on each other even though they may not have realized it. I also just love how protective Theo was over Liam.
If you could build the ultimate paintball/laser tag team from any five characters on Teen Wolf, who would they be and why?
Malia cause she’s a straight badass and I love her. Theo because he likes strategy and has a serious sense of self preservation that would come in handy if the rest of us got taken out. Brett ‘cause damn, that boy is athletic. Corey because he could make us all invisible. And the fifth spot would be a wildcard choice between Chris, Derek, and Deucalion. All three of them bring something to the table and are valuable.
I’m definitely picking up the Sporty Spice feels, for sure! Together, your and Ashlee’s (AJP_37) teams would be an unstoppable force. Let’s shift into your writing. If your writing process was a person, describe him or her? What do they do? Wear? Listen to?
She is unsuspecting. A relatively plain and humble girl, but has a spice about her. It’s in her walk and the way she does her makeup. She loves leggings, off the shoulder sweaters, and having her hair tied up in a messy bun. She likes to listen to edm when she’s feeling light and free, Beyonce when she’s feeling badass, The Neighbourhood and Sam Smith when she wants to chill, and country on warm summer days. She’s a sucker for innuendos and teasing. She’s a gemini in the truest form and has many facets to her personality, but thrives in drama/angst. She’s fiercely loyal and it is extremely easy to make her jealous but she won’t show it unless cornered. She’s always ready to go big but wouldn’t mind going home either.
And your writing Kryptonite? How do you fight it?
My Kryptonite is honestly myself. There are always at least three different directions brewing in my mind in which to take my stories or chapters. Trying to pick one is so difficult and often deters me from completing things. I also am extremely critical of the flow of a piece of work. Sometimes it’s really hard for me to publish things because I know that it could be better but I don’t know how to take it there or don’t want to get rid of I have already written. When I feel like that I read over it a couple times and try to make all the adjustments I can before telling myself that this is how the characters in my head wanted it to happen if I was able to write a whole chapter about it. (Yes the characters in my head dictate where the story goes lol) I also go back and read everyone’s comments just to remind myself that people actually like the story so the new chapter can’t be that much different in terms of audience acceptance.
Do you write novels or short stories with original characters, as well? If so, share one you’re particularly passionate about.
I do. Although, I haven’t been paying it much attention since I got sucked into the Thiam fandom… whoops. It’s a romance novel about a girl that gets screwed over by her mom and doesn’t want help from anyone in fear that she’ll just be left in the same position. But a man from her past just won’t seem to take no for answer and refuses to let her continue in her struggle. The first chapter is on my Ao3, funnily enough it’s called Wolves and was titled that before I even began to write fanfics.
Characters often find themselves in situations they aren’t sure they can get themselves out of. When was the last time you found yourself in situation like that and what did you do?
I’m actually working on this at the moment. It happens far too frequently to just pinpoint one time… divorced parents that act like children are super fun in case anyone was wondering. Up until recently, I found myself being the tug of war rope between them and don’t know how to say no which ended up with me doing a bunch of things I couldn’t get myself out of. Can now happily announce that I have separated myself from that and hope to avoid those kinds of situations as much as possible from here on out. :) Sorry if that was too personal…
In addition to your prompts and other stories, you’re currently writing two chaptered works. We’d love to learn more about those and your process for bringing them to life. For anyone unfamiliar, can you give us a quick summary of both Rivals AU and Anchors?
Anchors: Liam Dunbar has had enough of being out of control. So he decides to shut his wolf off for awhile… the only problem is it could end up getting him killed. Theo Raeken had never been good with feelings. But he can’t fathom the idea of losing the little beta. So he makes it his personal mission to help Liam find his way back to the supernatural. Lines will be crossed and there may be no coming back from it. Its angsty and the end will have a twist you didn’t see coming.
Rivals: But rivaling teams AU though… Like, they don’t even play the same sports, but both teams don’t take the other really serious and they constantly prank each other and make fun of each other. Theo, captain of the Football team, and Liam, captain of the Lacrosse team, and they both claim they can’t stand each other and it would be all so easy if it weren’t for the fact that both find their counterpart more than just attractive and maybe one of their screaming matches on the field ends with them furiously making out under the shower after everybody else is gone. And maybe it becomes a regular occurrence from then on; first, they fight and bicker and then they make out. And maybe it’s getting harder and harder to pretend they hate each other’s guts because there is far more between them than just attraction. Oh, well, nobody has to know, right? Idea from formerprincess on tumblr. Okay this one is SUPER angsty, like beware.
What inspired you to write both?
Anchors kinda of just popped in my head one day. After Thiamweek and writing drabbles I decided I wanted to try writing a longer story. I fell out of love with it after being accused of plagiarism and honestly almost didn’t continue writing it. But decided that I would just change the end to reflect how the whole thing made me feel.
I saw the Rivals prompt on tumblr and was praying that someone would write it because it sounded sooooo good. The more I thought about it the more ideas I came up with until it got to the point where I was like no! I hope someone hasn’t already started writing it because I would love to take a whack at it. I hope everyone is enjoying what I’ve done with it! (P.S. sorry it has gotten a little dark, that was like rock bottom for both of them and now the only way to go is up :D)
Any scenes, specifically, inspired by your personal life?
Yes, actually. There’s a couple things in Rivals that were inspired by my personal life, mainly a few of the pranks that have been/will be pulled but there are a few other things in there, as well. And as I mentioned above, Anchors will kind of touch on how it felt to be torn down by someone but built back up by the most wonderful people.
They each include a fair amount of angst, what are some ways you get into the headspace to write angst? Do you have any tips for writers who’d like to improve those skills?
Hmmm. Angst is just something that comes naturally to me I guess. I love the way it makes you feel, like you have to stop but yet you keep going because you need to know what happens. It's like when you try to see how long you can hold your breath under water, those last few seconds burn and you know you should come up for air but you want to see if you can actually make it just a couple more. When I sit down to write something angsty I really just try to put myself in the character’s place and describe how I would be feeling but I make sure to tack on aspects from their character. For example, if Liam were to be sitting in the hospital with Theo, I would be freaking out and sad so I write that for Liam but add hints of anger and self-doubt.
So I would definitely suggest placing yourself in the situation and writing how you would react and then think of it from your character’s pov. I also like to write all my angsty scenes at night… it's weird but the darkness and less busy/loud city really help to put me in a ominous mindset. Also, use as many descriptive words as possible!!! Setting the scene for angst is, in my opinion, more important than the actual dialogue. Dialogue can be inserted anywhere but how it’s read or perceived depends on the mood you set for it.
Ok, that is amazing advice! Can we do a practice demonstration? How would you set the scene that use dialogue like, “Whenever you decide you can stand talking to me again, don’t.”
Depends on who’s pov it is. If the character is the one saying that then obviously they are a little angry/hurt. So the words “harshly” “through clenched teeth” “growls” “glared” would be really useful. But also internalizing the feeling. So like “He pushed out through clenched teeth. The words tasted like bitter venom in his mouth. He didn’t care how the boy across from him flinched upon hearing them, he only cared that he had allowed himself to be cut this deeply. He let his shoulders tense as he spun away from him and stalked off angrily to go lick his wounds somewhere else. The cold from the dingy warehouse finally breaking through his supernatural warmth and settling in his bones.” When I’m angry, I’m usually more angry at the fact that I allowed myself to be hurt/affected rather than the actual thing that happened or was said. So that’s how I would spin it if the character was the one saying it. Painting a picture as to why he reacted that way and making sure the reader can picture the look on his face and make them physically tense their own body in response to the words above.
If the character was on the receiving end of those words, I would convey the hurt/’oh fuck’ emotions. This one would be more internalized than the one saying it, so more of a mental reaction is needed here. Again, I put myself in the situation and visualize what I would do/what would be going through my head if I were to have that said to me. Here’s what I came up with: “He recoiled as if he had been backhanded. He didn’t mean to push the chimera that far. This all started out as a silly game but it had quickly morphed into something the both of them weren’t ready for. And now he stood there, frozen in place, and watched as the one person he truly cared about, his anchor, walked away from him in disgust. The room was darker without him, it was colder. Liam shuddered at the raw feelings slamming in to him and at tone of voice Theo had used with him. He hadn’t spoken to him like that since before he was pulled down to hell, Liam almost forgot who the old Theo was… and now he had just brought him back. His face dropped and a pained noise escaped his throat; What had he done?”
That’s just an angsty version though. It could also be placed in a humorous way. As a joke between Stiles and Theo. Again, set the scene… paint a picture for the readers with descriptive words:
Stiles mumbled under his breath for the fifth time while walking next to him. Theo couldn’t help but smile as they walked through the colorful preserve foliage on this bright autumn morning.
‘Something you want to say to the group Stiles?’ Theo chuckled after hearing yet another mumbled sentence out of the quirky boy who used to be his friend.
‘Not really’ Stiles grumbled which only made Theo’s smile a bit wider.
‘Are you sure? I’m pretty certain I actually heard you say that I had a good idea and that you were somewhat glad I was in the pack.’
Stiles retorted with some half-assed insult that made that rest of the pack giggle from their various positions beside them.
‘On second thought, whenever you decide you can stand to talk to me again, don’t.’
Stiles scoffed and stopped short glaring in to the side of his head making him stop and look back at him. ‘Oh that’s rich. You’re telling ME not to talk to YOU?’ He sputtered incredulously.
Theo smirked and nodded.
‘What the hell, why?’
Theo shrugged his shoulders and glanced over to Scott who was about to lose his shit laughing, same with Malia and Mason. ‘Because you’re extremely invasive and I don’t want you popping up at my house with some crazy plan every 5 seconds.’ He turned and winked at Liam.
‘Our house.’ Liam corrected as he slid up next to Theo brushing his shoulder against Theo’s arm.
Stiles sputtered and pointed at both of them, ‘How dare you! My plans are flawless’ he shouted earning a snort from Lydia and Malia, ‘and you… you… you little ungrateful shit! I practically raised you!’ At this point Mason and Scott were rolling on the wet leaves, tears streaming down their faces from laughter.”
Wow sorry just wrote a drabble and didn’t even mean to… see setting the scene is important! It takes simple dialogue to the next level and makes it a story rather than just a conversation. Hope this helps!
That was extremely helpful with a hearty side dish of entertainment. So while we're all processing how we’re going to write angst forever now, want to slide us any spoilers for things to come in both stories?
Haha, there may or may not be some steamy scenes in one or both of them soon. That’s all I can say for now.
I suppose, for now that has to be enough haha. Finally, what’s next for you? Both in life and in the writing world?
I’m currently in the process of taking over an athletic training company. So my workload has been steadily increasing, even though it may not seem like based off of how active I am on tumblr haha. Luckily, I get to do most of it from home before the actual coaching and teaching that takes place in the afternoon.
As for my writing, sadly I think Anchors is approaching the end… it will always hold a special place in my heart though because it was my first multi-chapter fanfic. Rivals is my number one baby right now and I have ZERO clue what I will do when I finish that. Hopefully I find another awesome prompt that can take Thiam for a ride. Been toying with dabbling in Drarry... but am thinking I’ll leave that one alone so I can just appreciate it as a reader.
My ask and inbox are always open!! I’m always accepting prompts; it may take me awhile to get around to them because of Rivals, Anchors, Secret Santa, and a possible oneshot smut ;) but I always like to take a break from my fics every once in a while to clear my head and get my creative juices flowing again!
Thank you so so much for wanting to interview me and get to know me a little bit more! The Thiam fandom is awesome and I’m so glad to call it my home!
And with that, Behind the Screens (BTS) presents ThiamLife to you! Let’s keep the conversation going; you can respond to any of her answers, ask more questions, send a prompt, or swing by for a chat with Kristina through her Tumblr Ask Box. And to dive into her works, check out her AO3 and Tumblr.
Tumblr: thiamlife
AO3: Mskristinamay
Ask Box: Thiamlife Ask
We’d like to thank her so much for entertaining our questions, especially the angst demonstration! One of our favorite pieces about BTS is the opportunity to learn craft secrets from one another. So thanks Kristina for breaking it down and going above and beyond the question :)
If you fan over a Thiam writer, artist, music mixologist, or video-making mastermind and want to know more about them, send us their usernames at any time. Also, feel free to add questions you’re dying to ask them. And if you, as an artist, would like to be a part of the Behind the Screens series, we’d love to get to know you, as well.
Until next time!
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