#its be way too expensive. my process is too complicated and fucking bad to do a reasonable price for
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got comm'ed to draw haiphie kiss like the atelut rian kiss gif i did! only pose not gif cause i dont do gifs as comms* but its coming out SO cute. i need to wrangle pose a little bit more and fiddle more with ephie face (its not as 3d as it should be >:T) but i need yall to look at it anyway.
#my art#crows nest crew#have we even told tumblr that hai and ephie are like. going to be a thing#have we told tumblr that ephies boyfriend is going to die for narrative reasons and we are already invested in haiphie asdfas#DID WE TELL TUMBLR THAT HAI AND SIL TALKED AND HAI OFFICALLY BROKE UP WTH SIL??#FOR CLOSURE ON HER PART??#HAVE WE TOLD TUMBLR ABOUT EPHIE HAPPY EAR WIGGLES#we need to keep you guys UP TO SPEED and i dont think we have#this is what happens when you have hit after hit in every session i suppose#edit i did a whole * and didnt explain#i did a comm for crows dmsona and made it also a gif cause theyre my best friend and i wanted to do something extra for him#thats the only gif comm ill do lol#its be way too expensive. my process is too complicated and fucking bad to do a reasonable price for
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Chapter 5: Confrontation
Before Gordon knew what was happening, he found himself sitting in a pristine looking office. The room was expertly tidy, not a single item out of place. It looked almost like the office of a president or something, spotless, expensive, perfect. It actually made Gordon’s jaw drop a bit, glancing around the room. Even now sitting in that chair, he debated if he should stand, due to the fact that he probably couldn’t afford to replace it even if he got his doctorate, and worked the rest of his life till the day he died. Just for the chair... And the fact about how badly he was SWEATING in it.
There was nervous fidgeting, while the ticking of the clock that hung on the wall in front f him counted the painful seconds that passed. This was SO uncomfortable... The chair behind the massive oak wood desk was turned facing away from him. Presumably, G-Man was sitting in it... Oh god... he messed up so bad... Could they actually... KILL HIM?! That thought got Gordon to panic a bit, and he let out a loud squeak as the chair turned around slowly.
The angry expression that greeted him made him gulp loudly. Oh shit.. that guard was not kidding... For a moment, there is an uncomfortable tension, before G-Man sighs loudly and glances at Gordon sadly. To Gordon’s shock, he.. didn’t look angry... he looked... sad. Remorseful. What... why.. The trains with his thoughts quickly flew off the rails and crashed in a heap of flaming junk at the bottom of a cliff as G-Man spoke.
“Gordon l.... This is incredibly stressful and difficult, I cannot stress this enough. I realize that... BENRY is important to you, but I assure you, he is technically only a toddler right now. Once he grows older, he will change... drastically. His cute cuddly nature and appearance will... become something extremely deadly. Unfortunately, he will not be able to control himself... and if he is let loose on the world, we would have no choice but to end him, permanently. For now, he is in his teen years, but... very soon you will lose the Benry you know and love. And he may end up killing you... by accident. Or Tommy, for that matter. Do you think I want my son to die because I let him run off with a monster?! Do you think I enjoy what I must do to keep everyone safe?” G-Man snaps, his voice suddenly very terse and cold.
The tone actually made Gordon sink back into his chair, biting his lip. How... how much of that is true...? Was he lying...? What if he was right...? And.... people got hurt because of them...? Because of him? Or if they hurt Benry... Gordon says nothing, and finally glares at G-Man.
“Prove it.” Gordon says, his voice firm. “How can you tell me he is like that if all he has known is being kept as a monster and a prisoner? Like Tommy said, you’re CREATING a monster! You don’t have proof, do you?!” Gordon snaps, arms folding. With a loud and slow sigh. G-Man nods once.
“So be it, Mr. Freeman. I warn you, the road you are taking very well could lead to you losing everything you love. Once he grows old enough, he will eventually become a lot more hostile and aggressive. A perfect predator, in essence. He has already shown signs of following his instincts, hence why he now has no claws..”
“So you’re admitting you cruelly cut off his claws , and made it so he can’t regenerate them? I know he could but those scars are cybernetic implants, aren’t they? So he cannot simply replace them? I know what I saw. That’s pretty fucked up if you ask me... why his hands constantly hurt? I could tell, by the way he grips things, he tries his best to grip with his fingertips. It’s hard to notice, but if you know what to look for it’s easier than hell to read.” Gordon snaps angrily, acid dripping from his tone.
That comment made G-Man and Gordon lock eyes, both glaring daggers at one another. That stiff silence and tension grew much heavier. Not long after, Gordon swore gravity felt slightly heavier in the room. And, just as he blinked, he swore G-Man’s eyes were glowing. With a second blink, the gravity was normal again, no glowing eyes after that. A split second.... that was it... No more messed up games. Benry didn’t deserve this kind of treatment... W-... what did they do to Tommy then...?
Slowly, G-Man takes a long deep inhale before his arms move to rest his elbows on his desk, his hands and fingers intertwined with one another. Oh so carefully, G-Man studied Gordon’s face and body, as if checking for something... That made Gordon seethe as he clears his throat and makes a very snide comment.
“My eyes are up here, SIR.” He says, with a bit more volume at the end for extra snap. The comment makes G-Man’s eyes glow brightly, now looking pretty damn angry. That change in gravity became extremely heavy, and Gordon screamed and scrambled back, knocking over the chair he was sitting in and falling onto it painfully. For a long moment, there was a uneasy charge in the air... Like enegry, or electricity. Right before a lightning strike... it was extremely unnerving. The moment G-Man spoke made Gordon jump and scoot back a bit.
“MR... Freeman. You, are BRILLIANT, for a human.... YOUR AGE. But, your recklessness could cost you VERY DEARLY, if not someone else. You have NOT THE SLIGHTEST IDEA what the hell you are tampering with. Not with me, not with B-479, nothing. You have, absolutely no idea WHY he is here in the first place. You think he is a cute little animal? No, he is a being from outer space, and a extremely well known one for extremely aggressive behavior, and bloodlust. His species is incredibly intelligent, ruthless, brutal, and cruel. It is their nature.”
“Benry, was abandoned as a young... cub. A runt. It is customary that a weak link is to be left behind, if it can survive and prove itself worthy, the species will accept it. Benry, somehow wound up on earth. We still are not sure how fully HOW, but I suspect his parental figure decided to jump through portals and abandon the child in a place where they had a better chance of survival..” G-Man says, his eyes locked with Gordon’s.
There was a pause as G-Man figured Gordon’s tiny human brain needed time to process all that he just said. The shocked expression and stunned silence seemed to solidify that his hunch was indeed, correct. It took a lot to keep G-Man from rolling his eyes with a loud annoyed sigh. Dealing with lower IQ life forms was EXTREMELY taxing and tedious...
Much to his shock, Gordon seemed to pick up his... hint and tone and folds his arms across his chest fingers drumming. With an eyebrow raise, Gordon’s eyes narrowed a bit, challenging him. There was a slight deepening of G-Man’s frown, before he clears his throat slightly.
“I understand this situation does not exactly.. thrill you but I must ask you... LIMIT your contact with B-479... I cannot promise your safety the more attached you grow to it. Things will change, and rather abruptly, Mr. Freeman. Trust me, you will not like the changes. That sweet cuddly appearance may remain the same, but it what you cannot see that lies deep in its mind is what you need to fear... It will make sure to hurt you in ways that you cannot possibly fathom, and then watch you bleed out on the floor after it rips your heart out. Is that really a fate you think you can handle?” G-Man asks, his tone firm and unwavering.
A pause. It wasn’t hard to see the rigid change in Gordon’s body posture. Smell his fear... It... was delicious.... Watching his confidence and resolve crumble was undeniably satisfying, not that he had anything against poor Mr. Freeman, but his... Youth and arrogance will get him killed here. Best stamp it out and prevent another unnecessary death...
Despite it not being done by B-479 himself, there cannot be a repeat of the accident that happened 5 years ago. No, B-479 didn’t cause it, but it was done by another being within Black Mesa... One that is also off the Planet Xen, which B-479 originated. The humans may not know this, but G-Man is ALL TOO familiar with Xenians and their... ways.
It was best... to reduce the odds of the accident repeating itself rather than to cost another innocent man his life. Unfortunately, the alien that did end up killing someone is like a sub species of Benry’s own.... G-Man calls them Xenlings, to make things less complicated. Although the Xenians and Xenlings bicker and quarrel in extremely hostile and aggressive fights and battles, constantly trying to show which is superior.
Barbarians... Since B-479 is technically too closely related to this other alien, the chances of “Benry” being equally hostile and aggressive are too high. Simply, it was ingrained into him. A wolf cannot resist the urge to hunt and eat meat... Not will it ever succeed. The need, the urge is too strong. B-479 and X-358 were no different. Their instincts eventually will win over them. They always did.
There was a sudden stiff change in Gordon’s demeanor, his brows knitted together, as he gently rubbed his hand under his chin, thinking. This made G-Man stare a bit, before raising an eyebrow. The smile that crept across his face made G-Man actually jump. That, was not expected. With a slight flicker of annoyance in his tone, he leaned back in his comfortable office chair, waiting for Gordon to speak.
“Well... there’s a way we can both win. A way that I basically run the risk and you avoid liability through paperwork and shit, and I work for you. As Benry’s MAIN caretaker. While I continue to study for my doctorates... I remain here, in Black Mesa, working with and socializing Benry... you don’t run the risk of lawsuits, you get the intern and I get to care and stay with him, full time. If not, I can... Seek employment elsewhere.... There are plenty of other places that would be BEGGING to have me work for them.. I do have other options, G-Man sir...”
That comment just about made G-Man nearly flip the desk. Slowly, very calmly, he took a few deep breaths and leaned back, with a soft sigh.
“Mr... Freeman... I don’t think you understand how... DEEP you are already involved in this.. situation... You’re in deeper than your neck, the moment you came into contact with.... B-479 immediately made you... a risk. Unfortunately, loose ends here, typically get CUT OFF... if you catch my drift... It’s amusing you think you hold so much sway over such a situation... it’s, humorous... but alas, you’re proving to be more and more of a risk than a benefit... it sure would be shame if... something were to happen to B-479... if you didn’t cooperate, isn’t it?” He says softly, staring right at Gordon who seems to shrink before his eyes.
“Y-you wouldn’t.... f... fine... can I please... I want to be with him.... I won’t... fight you on this... can I please... be his caretaker... I won’t leave this place... I don’t have anything left in the outside world... I didn’t have anything there at all... I’ll do what you want, just please... let me see him... he’s the only person I have who actually cares about me... even if you can’t understand that... ” Gordon says, now sweating noticeably. The tone of Gordon’s voice was submissive, but held a slight firmness to it.
The comments earned a squint from G-Man, who just sat there and stared for a long time. Eventually, he sat up and nods once, an annoyed expression on his face.
“So be it. You’ll have to undergo training and such, and you’re 100% responsible for that beast. Your safety is now in your own hands, and you’re no longer a liability, being a caretaker is extremely difficult taxing and dangerous. You seem to put a dangerous amount of faith in that beast. I pray it won’t end in your funeral, Mr. Freeman. You’ll live here, and your job along with Tommy and Mr. Calhoun is the raising and care of B-479... AND you continue for your doctorates on top of this all... anything, ANYTHING happens, under your care of him, this will end with your head rolling, do you understand?” G-Man eyes, eyes glowing brightly, as he slowly stands up, holding a hand out to Gordon.
A pause. For whatever reason, his mind screamed to not accept. Something felt so wrong, so unsure. Like taking this jump would be the biggest mistake of his life... But... at the same time, his heart fluttered, being able to remain super close to Benry... Yes he did only meet him, but... Seeing how... vulnerable Benry was made something in Gordon want to protect him, be there and comfort him like he did for him when he needed it... without a second thought, Gordon grabs G-Man’s hand, firmly shaking it.
“Deal.” Is all Gordon said, as he and G-Man locked eyes, both challenging the others resolve. As they shook hands, G-Man smiles faintly, eyes and now hand glowing brightly.
“Welcome to Black Mesa, Mr. Freeman...” G-Man says, with a slight smirk.
... *Several weeks later* ...
Finally... after freaking weeks of endles training courses, so many damn hurdles and PILES of paperwork he had to do, Gordon finished. It had taken an absurdly long time, but he finally completed it, and passed each and every test with flying colors. As expected! Duh. With a pep in his step, Gordon waltzed his way down the halls and made his way slowly but surely to Benry’s cell.
From what he was told, he was given the option to live extremely close to Benry... Gordon refused, and insisted he remain close(r) with Benry, as in rooming together. Easier to socialize if you’re constantly with someone, right? Plus, Tommy and Barney were supposed to be there. With a mini victory dance, Gordon ran the last leg of the trip to Benry’s cell, literally bursting at the seams with excitement. As expected, both Tommy and Barney were waiting anxiously outside of the door, seeming uneasy. That made Gordon pause, and glanced nervously between the two.
“Hey guys.... is... something wrong?” Gordon asks, looking around. The two exchanged glances, before looking at Gordon again. Judging from how Barney was shifting uneasily and Tommy was trying his best to avoiding looking directly at Gordon, something did happen.
“Uh... Gord’n... Benry had uhm... Uh.... hit a bit of a growth spurt... he’s uhm... CHANGED A UHM... bit... kinda uh.... grew some new features too... about gave me a heart attack.... not what I was expecting...” Barney says wearily, looking sheepish.
“Uhm... Mr. Freeman... it’s been discovered that Benry is very capable of altering his physical body and such, so his uhm, body had been changing a lot... He can easily hide them away and such but... PLEASE try not to stare too long... it makes him extremely upset...” Tommy pleads, rubbing his arms nervously. “This is all hard for him, it’s like puberty for him... so he’s going through changes and he feels extremely insecure about himself.. poor thing... we’ve tried talking to him but he doesn’t want to... says he’s a monster and such and won’t let us near... can you join us and try talking to him...?” Tommy asks, his voice shaking a bit.
There wasn’t a moments hesitation, which made Barney and Tommy perk up a bit. “Of course ... he needs us to cheer him up so let’s go give him some good news huh?” Gordon says, smiling gently as he approached the door and grabs the handle. Both Barney and Tommy seemed to stiffen as he did so, but Gordon already opened the door. Everything in Gordon’s features changed, his face expression dropping and his eyes widened. Wow... he wasn’t expecting that kind of changes.... that... was unexpected... This was quite a change Gordon was not exactly prepared for....
#benry#gordon hlvrai#benry benry benry#g man hlvrai#hlvrai fanfic#half life vr benry#gordon freeman#frenrey#hl barney calhoun#hlvrai au#hlvrai tommy#hlvrai benry#barney calhoun#half life#half life but the ai is self aware#tommy coolatta#g man coolatta#g man
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totally stealing @honeybabydichotomy‘s meme-adaptation concept re: i have a handful of things that could be described WIPs and nearly all of them i already can’t shut my mouth about, but here is a trip through the GOOGLE DOCS GRAVEYARD of abandoned fandoms past (mcu, trc, something too embarrassing to list above the cut so you’ll just have to CLICK and find out)
first up, the last fic i never actually wrote for, lmao, american idol season 8 RPF fandom, back in 2010... this was going to be a bigbang fic but in keeping with my terrible track record re: challenges etc. i did not finish it, although in my defense that had at least something to do with spilling coffee all over my laptop right around the time i started a very hours-intensive job with a huge commute. when i look at this now i’m like, this sure was me writing ten years ago, but i still love the emotional architecture of any story in which one deliberately shut-off and long-repressed individual is uncomfortably thawed by the miracle of someone else’s open-hearted joie de vivre; it’s the oldest story here but arguably the closest to an actual WIP in that the ghost of that idea is the seed for the divorced quentin AU i harbor hopes of one day writing; you can definitely see the Relevant Vibes in this exchange, i think, although i feel the need to clarify that adam lambert enjoying twilight is a thing he said on national television, i wouldn’t do that to someone on my own:
Veselka is crowded, but despite the bitter February cold, Kris doesn't mind waiting outside for twenty minutes, leaning against the glass display case of the expensive toy store next door, separated from Adam by little more than an inch. "So - okay, this is kind of terrible. Like, worse than the Twilight thing. But I feel like you should know who you're dealing with, so."
"It can't be that bad."
Adam just smiles knowingly. "Oh, can't it?"
"Hit me with your best shot," Kris says. Something twitches in his stomach as Adam raises his eyebrow to that.
Adam leans down to whisper in Kris's ear, sending inexplicable sparks down Kris's neck. "Sometimes, when I'm standing in the street or on the subway or something, I like to watch people go by and try to guess what they're like in bed."
Kris blushes. "Very mature," he says with a nervous laugh, embarrassed about his own embarrassment.
Adam holds up his hands in a gesture of innocence. "Hey. We're all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars," he intones. "Oscar Wilde."
"Do you think that's true?"
"I think it is. At least - " Adam tilts his chin up, a mischievous glint in his eyes " - I identify with it."
Kris searches for something to say that won't make him seem hopelessly square. "What's the view like from down there?"
Adam gazes at the night sky, where Manhattan's perpetual glow blots out all but the brightest lights. "I like it. You see more of them this way."
Kris thinks he's spent six years priding himself himself on keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead, avoiding the pull of the horizon or the distraction of the sun. "So. Mr. Gutter." He points to a thirty-something man getting out of a parked Ford across the street. "What's he like?"
next up: an unpublished MCU snippet! this was a peggy character study set at howard’s funeral, also an excuse for me to have feelings about tony stark; idiotically, i actually have a complete draft of this, and got a really brilliant beta job from @nimmieamee, but then never went back and revised it and also could not bring myself to post it when despite being passable as done i could tell in my bones it was simply Not Working, even though parts of it i really liked:
Howard had not taken to aging with grace. It, too, offended him: the body betraying the dream of perfectibility. Dodging it had taken up an increasing percentage of his time. He took up jogging, early among the public, too late in his life: a few months in and a busted knee earned him doctor's orders to abandon that pursuit. His bones were already too brittle to benefit. Howard himself had become brittle long ago. You could blame the war; but that was what happened to people with no give to them. They were like the driest branches waiting for a storm, only unlike branches they recognized on some level the precariousness of their structure, and consequently dedicated themselves to forgetting it.
Howard was undeterred. (Being deterred also went against his every principle.) He had swimming pools installed, outdoors in Los Angeles, adorned with artificial rocks arranged just so to give the impression of a hot spring, and indoors in West Hampton, heated, lit underwater with a yellow-green glow throwing tendrils of light on smooth white walls. Fitness gurus and nutrition consultants were put on retainer, a bicoastal platoon to prevent malfunctions; physical therapists were brought in to recalibrate around malfunctions. They quit with increasing frequency, as his temper frayed along with his body. He gave up, in sequence, smoking, alcohol, red meat, all meat, alcohol, sugar, processed grains, alcohol, salt, and direct sunlight--although by the time of this last pronouncement, it produced little noticeable effect.
Lately he had become obsessed with the idea of cryogenic freezing: the fantasy of going to sleep and waking up in a time when his intellectual heirs had figured out how to repair and replace his rusted pieces. Skin firmed and thickened; knees stitched back to mint condition; a whole new heart, perhaps, grown in a jar or assembled from compounds yet to be constructed. "Wouldn't you take the chance, if you had it?" he had murmured, eyes going dreamy as they did when he talked of his latest missiles.
Peggy pictured Steve in the Arctic, his hyperactive cells stilled by the indifferent cold. She shivered, like a child hearing a ghost story, and said no, she wouldn't.
finally, two stories from a fandom i actually never published any stories with, or engaged with in any meaningful way: the fuckin raven cycle. the dumbest books on god’s green earth. the first was a ronan story where gansey actually dies and stays the fuck dead, and ronan handles it by being a huge asshole, and then, unlike in these hideous godforsaken books, actually decides on purpose to be a better person.... i’m realizing revisiting this now that some of the itch of this story i’ve finally gotten out of my system via damage control, but the GENIUS IDEA of ronan giving matthew an actual soul by giving up the dream power and thus becoming an actual human, sadly, does not really transfer, even though it’s the best concept i’ve ever thought of in my life. anyway, whatever, i have a type:
He opened the door. Adam and Blue were looking at him with expressions he couldn't decipher. Noah was looking at the floor.
"Are you—" Adam started. Ronan watched the word okay die of its own irrelevance in Adam's mouth.
"None of you were invited," Ronan said.
Blue started, "We just—"
"Sorry," he said, loud enough to drown her out. "But this is a very exclusive party. That means no rednecks"—he pointed at Adam—"no bitches"—Blue—"and no pussies"—Noah. "So I'm going to need you all to leave."
He focused his eyes on Blue. She looked like she wanted to slap him. This was familiar. He wanted to go back to the time when his only interactions with Blue Sergeant involved saying something and watching her look at him like she wanted to slap him. Things had gotten complicated after that. Then Gansey had died. Ronan couldn't articulate the connection, but he felt strongly that it was there.
"Maybe I wasn't clear," he said. "What I mean is: get the fuck out of my house."
and last but not least, another TRC story, motivated initially by dreaminess and then sporadically continued after TRK came out (seriously like ever 18 months i dig this one out and write another 500 words and give up again) out of spite - a story where, because fuck stief, adam parrish gets a cell phone, ronan lynch gets a job, and no one assumes that finally having sex means you’re basically married forever without even talking about if you’re boyfriends. this one is like, so close to being “done” in that it almost goes beginning to end and has a lot of individual lines i actually like, but has always been very difficult to pull together because of the reality that maggie stiefvater wrote a series such that ronan lynch acting like a decent boyfriend or experiencing character growth or talking about his emotions is literally out of character, which makes it hard to write a dreamy summer hook-up story; i was actually thinking earlier this year of picking it back up YET AGAIN, but then damage control ate my brain... one day, perhaps, for the satisfaction of having finished... or i might just listen to “cruel summer” by taylor swift while meditating on it for a couple million more hours:
“Did you call me over just to give me the fucking silent treatment in person?” Ronan said. It sounded less vicious than it should have. Like he had been aiming for a growl and somehow landed on a mumble.
I didn’t call you over, Adam wanted to say, but it wasn’t actually true. He had. That seemed wrong, though. Ronan Lynch wasn’t someone to be called over. He was too wild and spiteful for that. Even Gansey couldn’t manage it. The rest of Ronan’s world had given up trying long ago.
But when Adam had called, Ronan had come.
He felt like he might throw up.
“I’m not giving you the silent treatment,” he said instead. “I’m just—“ But he didn’t know what he was doing. So he switched tacks. “You just—“ But he didn’t know that, either. And asking Ronan what the fuck are you doing had never yielded helpful results.
So Adam stuck to the truest thing, what he had worked his whole life to make true. “I’m leaving in three months.”
“What the fuck does that have to do with anything,” Ronan spat. This time he was closer to the expected intensity, but there was still something strange under his voice. Maybe not. Maybe Adam was just having a nervous breakdown.
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pls water my crops with some werewolf jonathan fucking
tw for: werewolf fucking! afab reader! fem pronouns (reader is referred to as ‘wife’!). breeding!!
(no knotting, for once!)
There are all manners of rumours that float around about the Joestar son. Without taking into account the other boy that Jonathan Joestar's father took into his home, people have always gossiped about how Jonathan is confined to the house for one week a month, about how certain invitations at certain times of the month are always declined, about the howls that echo through the Joestar estate some nights, though people say that there are no wolves anywhere near where George Joestar chose to have his ancestral home--
Well. Rumours have never concerned you. Rumours do not concern Jonathan much anymore, either; not when he has you by his side and no need to travel to fancy society parties or attempt to ensnare himself a wife.
For Jonathan, his future is set out - you are beside him, and Dio will soon leave his home with his own wife, and one day all of this will belong to him. One day it will belong to both of you.
For the first time in his life, Jonathan is content. His curse does not hang over his head like a warning; "you will never be loved."
Because Jonathan has found that he can be loved in spite of it.
In fact, Jonathan has found that perhaps it's not as much of a deal-breaker as he once thought it was.
~
"You wouldn't hurt me," you murmur, your fingers curling in Jonathan's dark hair. "I know you wouldn't."
"Darling," he replies, his own voice breaking a little. "If I ever did--"
"You won't," you say, insistent. "I know you, Jojo. Don't lock yourself away from me again. Please. I want to see you. I want to appreciate you in every sense of the word. . ."
"You'd hate me," Jonathan argues, though the way you're stroking your fingers against his scalp and the soft whisper of your breath on his bare skin make his words and thoughts tangle in his head. "You'd never want to see me again. And if I did hurt you--"
"Which you wouldn't," you insist. "You've told me! You've told me that you would go out running in the grounds with Danny, and you never hurt him--"
This much is true, Jonathan's inner voice - the one that he tries not to listen to, because it is far too close to the wolf that he tries to keep dampened down - whispers. He never hurt Danny. And perhaps his lupine nature does remember! He always wakes up tired but sated after a transformation, but as far as he knows he's never actually hurt anyone - despite what the legends might say.
"Please," you breathe, and your lips ghost across his cheeks at the same time as you press the warmth of your body against him, your heart beating wildly against his arm. He's enveloped in your scent; some of it sweet florals and vanilla that he's bought you as gifts, and some of it unmistakably human and unmistakably you.
He thinks of the stone structure out in the grounds, with bars over the doors and chains, in that part of the estate where nobody is allowed to go but him and his father. he thinks of chains around his wrists and his ankles. He thinks about how, when it had been made, he had drilled into himself: for my own safety.
"I'll never forgive myself," he whispers, hoarsely, pressing his nose against the junction where your neck and shoulder meet and breathing in deeply. "If it does seem like I might hurt you . . . will you run, my darling?"
"Yes," you breathe, and you turn his face and kiss him.
Jonathan tastes like sweat and salt, but you have no complaints. You have no complaints about how his big hands come to cup your hips, holding your body against his. You have very few complaints when it comes to the match you've made; Jonathan is gorgeous and kind and sweet, a lion among men, and though you have a complication to deal with that most do not - well, does it matter, when Jonathan's lips are on yours and he kisses you so sweetly?
You break the kiss as you tug on his hand, a coy smile thrown over your shoulder in his direction.
"The library is all very well," you say, "but don't you think that things are rather better if they're carried on in the bedroom?"
He cannot argue with that - so he doesn't. Night is falling around the two of you, and he can already feel the whisper on his skin that the time is nearing. He'd expected to begin to feel . . . hungrier, now. More ferocious. He does not, though - the only ache in him that he's aware of is the one between his thighs. This ache murmurs that he wants to have you in a different way.
The curtains of your lavish bedroom are already open, and Jonathan pauses a moment before he steps into the place, the moon's first weak lights already illuminating all of the velvets and the bedspread. He swallows as you move ahead of him, letting yourself fall onto the bed with a soft thump, and rolling over to look at him and smile. He thinks, briefly, of how much he adores you.
And then he steps into the room, and the moon dapples his skin, and all is a blur.
~
At first, when Jonathan moves and you notice the way his skin seems to shift and change, you feel a hot surge of fear and regret. You should not have asked for this. You should have heeded his warnings. He very well might tear you to pieces on this antique bed, and you will have deserved that fate - but then, you notice other things. That he pauses. That his eyes go very large and dark.
You watch with fascination as Jonathan shifts. His body elongates, his muscles ripple, and before you can process things properly Jonathan is before you in a way you have never seen him. He is still . . . partly human. He is still bipedal, and when he reaches forward with hands that are now claws it is the same way that Jonathan reaches for you. His mouth is full of razor sharp teeth. You know this creature could rip you limb from limb.
But he reaches forward, and waits, and you know what he is waiting for.
You nod your assent.
The beast - Jonathan, you remind yourself - moves with all of the grace of any predator to pin you beneath its bulk on the bed. Teeth scrape adoringly against your neck - fur brushes your bare arms. And a voice that is almost Jonathan's, if your beloved husband where to have gravel in his throat, whispers to you;
"Mine."
"Yours," you repeat, your voice faint, but the growl is pleased as claws dig into velvet and brocade and you feel yourself divested of your expensive garments. Cool air hits your bare skin. Jonathan drags his tongue over your throat, making you shudder in pleasure - lower and lower and lower, over your nipple until it peaks beneath his ministrations, and then the other. His teeth tease at bare skin but do not break it.
You were right, then. Jonathan knows you. Jonathan is part wolf, now, and he's not the learned and lovely man you fell in love with . . . but something about the animalistic way he holds you beneath him and the sound of his growls and the way his claws and tongue and teeth are appreciating your body makes your thighs feel slick with desire.
He recognises you as his mate, you realise, as his snout - cool and wet - nudges at your inner thigh, and you spread immediately to display your aching sex for him.
"Mine," Jonathan repeats, leaning forward, and you're rewarded with another swipe of his tongue. There's a roughness to it, a largeness that you're not used to; but it does not effect the bolts of electricity that zip through your spine as he laps up your slick. He growl-groans against you, tasting you - and he delves in again with his tongue, as if you are a fine ambrosia. You whimper, grinding your sex against the tongue, your clit aching and swollen to be toyed with - but as the first buzzes of darkness begin to edge your vision, Jonathan pulls back.
He pulls himself onto the bed, his body caging yours beneath him, and you blink up with blown-out pupils into eyes that unmistakably belong to Jonathan. They have his sympathy and his kindness, that same shade that you have stared at on a hundred balmy evenings; but there's something animal in there now that you know, as your eyes wander down to see that Jonathan still has something that - thankfully - looks human, is lust.
"Please?" Jonathan manages, the word crunching against his teeth. You bare your throat.
You trust him. He has Jonathan's eyes.
"Please," you say, and he howls.
You're not expecting the howl, but you cannot bring yourself to be afraid of it as you feel familiar warm heat press against your inner thigh. It seems appropriate, actually, as you two become one in the light of the moon that has haunted Jonathan's thoughts for so long. As you feel his cock press against your entrance, slick with both his enthusiastic lapping and with your desire for your husband, stoked anew by his animal nature. As he pushes inside you, slowly, slowly--
If he'd been worried he would break you were his full humanity not returned to him, he was mistaken. Even so lupine in nature, Jonathan holds you like something delicate that could break apart at any moment, and he eases his cock inside you slowly. The fit is snug even after all of the nights you have spent together; still, you cannot imagine anyone but Jonathan ever fitting so well inside you. He rubs every spot of your inner walls like he was made to fuck you, and your hands scramble to find purchase on his back - more fur than skin is found, but at least it gives you something to hold onto.
When he begins to move, his pace is still slow, and you cling to him. He does not feel exactly like Jonathan usually feels under your fingertips, but that does not mean it's a bad feeling; he feels warm and real and right.
"Jojo," you whisper, as he begins to find a more even pace. "Jojo, Jojo--"
He recognises his name even this far gone. He does not say your name in reply, but he nuzzles against your cheek, breathing in your scent. His tongue licks a slow line over your ear and you find yourself shuddering, the movement sending a zip of electricity down your spine and making your sex pulsate.
He rocks against you, and you whimper. With each thrust, he seems to go deeper, stoking parts of you that remain unplumbed by anyone aside from Jonathan - but somehow, with Jonathan like this, it feels so much realer. This union feels primal and deep and correct. You run a hand over his brow, staring into his eyes, fingernails scratching over his ears. He makes a pleased, deep rumble in the back of his throat that makes you vibrate in turn.
In. Out. In. Out. You can hear how lewd the sound of his cock driving inside you sounds, echoing through the high ceilings. Your hips stutter against his in a silent plea to fuck you harder, please, you will not break and you can take it. Jonathan's breath comes out hot on your face.
"C-can I?" He asks, and you nod - his claws come to cling to your hips, lifting you almost off the bed, though your back is allowed to remain on the blankets. Your hips are supported only by him - and as he begins to thrust wildly against you, you wouldn't have it any other way. The combination of his strength and the animal way that he's fucking you converge on one point--
You try to hold on for longer, embarrassed by just how good it feels to be manhandled (should that be wolfhandled? You cannot bring yourself to care), but it is not to be - your mouth opens and a wail of Jonathan's name escapes you, and you come, shivering and shaking, your body pulsating and constricting where Jonathan is buried deep inside you.
He does not slow as you come, your body still rocked by his thrusts even as the aftershocks are rolling over you. Your hands, arms slung somewhere above your head from how he had moved you, fist in the bedsheets as you feel the tell-tale signs of a second orgasm, bare moments after your first body-trembling peak - and Jonathan growls, low in his throat, in a word that has your own heart beating in double time;
"Mate?"
Your face flushes. He may not be capable of many words right now, but you recognise what he is asking with this one. You're breathless, still teetering on the edge of your second precipice, but you manage to whisper out;
"Jojo . . . of course."
He fucks into you with wild abandon now, and you stop trying to hold back the moans and the whines and the desperate groans - there is nothing in your bedroom but fur on skin and the sounds of your wetness, Jonathan's rasping growl, your noises . . . And then, Jonathan's hips rock into yours twice, three times, harder than they have been so far, and you feel him come. Ropes of his warmth are pushed into you as he fucks through the final shakes of his orgasm, and you lie there, letting him use you--
"Oh--" You breathe, as Jonathan pulls out, and your channel feels horrifically empty. You can feel Jonathan's seed hot and warm inside you; the position that your legs are gently guided into by claws that should not be so careful does not allow for any of what he has given you to slide out.
Jonathan's fur and muscled form moves silently to one side of you, protectively curling about your sweaty body, where your breaths are still coming in heaving. He nuzzles the side of your face affectionately and then, like a cat, rests his head on your shoulder.
You are still breathing heavily when the first of his soft snores reaches your ears.
Well.
He certainly did not kill you.
Though you’re not sure how long it will be until you can walk properly again.
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At Long Last: Chapter 4
Despite himself Andrew woke up excited for today’s meeting with Neil, he kept replaying the events of the previous day; Neil pouring over the books hair falling in his eyes, auburn hair that Andrew itched to touch and see how it felt between his fingers. The intent focus he had when he was explaining something complicated to Andrew that he perfectly understood but making it hard for Neil was kind of fun, and if Andrew forgot to mention the fact that he had photographic memory and he only needed things to be properly explained just once well who was to blame him!.
Then there was the unexpected trip to the Waffle House, Andrew didn’t plan on taking Neil there or anywhere else for that matter but he found that he wanted to spend more time with him and to get to know him a bit better, that’s why before he could stop himself he suggested going there and the baffled and excited look on Neil’s face was totally worth it.
Getting dressed never took Andrew long but for some reason today he sat shirtless after his shower just staring at his forearms the ugly red slashes staring right back at him as if in mockery, and right then a rogue idea crossed his mind “what would Neil think if he saw them and knew why he did that to himself?”. At that Andrew shook himself and got dressed quickly “stupid” he told himself “so fucking stupid actually, get it together Minyard”, he kept repeating this to himself as he made his way out of his room to look for some breakfast and to his unpleasant surprise everyone was up and about their business already.
Heading for the coffee pot avoiding making eye contact with anyone, waking up in a pleasant mood really made him angry and he wasn’t in the mood to make niceties with anyone today, not that he ever was.
“Did you come by the court last night? I think I saw your car, and what are you doing dropping Neil off? How do you know each other? Why didn’t you come in aren’t you going to grace us again with your presence in the court? You know we need you Andrew”
This apparently was Kevin’s way of saying good morning and Andrew was already starting to get a headache from the bombard of questions. As a way of replying Andrew stared Kevin down and dropped an unceremonious amount of sugar in his coffee.
“Look I’m just saying if you’re going to come to court anyway why not come in for a bit even just to observe the new goalkeeper.” Kevin pushed on.
“Drop it Kevin.” Andrew warned with a glare that ought to shut him up.
“Well someone is in a particular merry mood today.” Nick snickered as he made his way to the kitchen.
Without replying to any of them Andrew grabbed his stuff and headed out because god forbids him being able to enjoy a perfect cup of coffee in piece. He didn’t have to meet up with Neil until later that day after his classes so he waited for Renee outside her room as he always did to go about their day together.
“Morning Andrew” Renee greeted him with the ever sweet smile she always had that never stopped to baffle him, “Renee” he greeted her back with two fingers to his temple in salute as she fell into step beside him, this was easy and familiar to him Andrew never had a problem knowing Renee or letting her know him she was the only person other than Bee who knew everything about him and strangely that sat very well with Andrew.
“So how was your first session with Neil?” she asked with a smile that now had a hint of mischief in it.
“Don’t start with me Renee.”
“What! I’m not starting anything I really want to know, I also want to know how the infamous Andrew Minyard with his photographic memory needs any tutoring at all.” She said with a chuckle, Andrew really couldn’t argue or discourage Renee as he does any other person so he begrudgingly said
“It was fine, I understood everything thanks to that little math wiz, and I need tutoring because you know perfectly well that our beloved professor already has a foot in the grave and can’t form a whole sentence, honestly how you understand anything from him is beyond me.”
“Oh don’t be mean he’s cute” she said laughing; they kept at it until they reached the lectures hall and they went their separate way.
The rest of the day passed in a blur until Andrew was seated in the library waiting for Neil who was late again! As Andrew pulled out his phone to text him Neil made his way slowly to where Andrew sat but something was different about him the way he moved and held himself was all wrong as if he was trying so hard and failing to disappear into himself and as Neil stood right in front of Andrew he was sure something was really wrong, Neil was more disheveled than he normally is with deep dark circles under his too red eyes that didn’t seem to be able to focus in one place and Andrew knew that look all too well, the look of someone scouring the place looking for all the exists and possible escape routes.
Andrew waited as Neil heavily dropped in the chair next to him and started pulling his things out of his ridiculous duffle bag, “you look terrible” Andrew said; it took Neil a moment to focus on Andrew and process what he said “umm yeah thanks I have a mirror, let’s just get started” Neil retorted.
They spent the next hour tripping over the material that they were supposed to go through Neil couldn’t seem to focus every now and then his eyes would wonder looking for someone or something that wasn’t there and he would flinch at every little sound around them.
“Alright stop! That’s enough for today” Andrew said flipping the books closed and shoving the notes aside.
“Wait what! Why??”
“Well there is clearly something wrong and I’m not wasting my time like that so you either tell me what the fuck is wrong with you today Josten or we leave now.”
Neil said nothing he only looked down his hands and started tapping his leg furiously, “well fine we’re leaving then come on.”
Neil stuffed hiss stuff back in the duffle and headed out without waiting for Andrew who was now jogging after him to catch up to him “and where do you think you’re going?” Andrew asked Neil’s back.
“Well what do you want huh, what the fuck do you want Andrew, my performance isn’t up to your standards today so I’m leaving report me if you want or do whatever you want, I don’t care just don’t push me not today.” That took Andrew by surprise and in that minute Neil started moving, again Andrew caught up to him, “god Andrew what do you want!?”
“Nothing you’re headed to the dorms right, well so am I” and with that they walked in silence until they reached Neil’s room and before he could reach out to open the door Andrew stopped him “there’s something that might help I think come.”
Begrudgingly Neil followed him as he made his way up the stairs until they reached the roof, Andrew nudged the door open and stepped inside with Neil following hesitantly after him “Is that even legal?” Neil asked but Andrew only shrugged as he reached behind the door for something that Neil found out that it was a bottle of wine, a very expensive one.
Andrew sat at the ledge with his legs swinging on the side of the building and Neil followed suite, they sat like that for a while none of them talking and just looking at the sun dipping and bathing the campus in its warm golden afternoon light.
“Thanks for bringing me here it’s beautiful, and umm sorry about before I’m really having a bad day” Neil broke their silence.
“Don’t”
“Don’t what!!”
“Say that “sorry” don’t say it I hate that word”
“Well umm thanks still, it’s beautiful up here how did you come by it?”
“Same as the Waffle House, was looking for someplace quiet and here I am.”
They fell quite again gazing out at the campus and then Andrew said “well I guess it’s my turn now”
Neil looked at him a moment too long and Andrew was shocked by the intensity of Neil’s too blue eyes then said “what do you mean?” Andrew rolled his eyes and answered “our deal remember? Question for question!”
“Oh yeah right, well shoot”
“What’s wrong with you?” “but don’t ask me what’s wrong” they both said at the same time and Neil laughed for the first time today and his face lit up which made Andrew want to punch him in his too handsome face.
“Okay fair enough, how about ummmmm, why are you keeping that hideous thing you call a cat?”
Neil chuckled and said “Well I found kitten as I was headed to the dorms, he was this tiny little fur ball abandoned near the building soaked and shivering from the rain and the whimpering sound he was making really undid me, and he’s not hideous kitten is magnificent you know.”
Andrew blinked at him several times then said “You’re telling me you called him kitten that’s not a name you know!”
“Why does everyone keep saying that, it’s a perfectly good name that describes him well, he is a kitten after all.” Neil retorted.
“For someone who’s good with math you are unexpectedly dim witted Josten.” Neil looked at him and started saying something but right then a car’s engine backfired and Neil flinched soo hard at the sound he must’ve pulled a muscle.
Andrew looked him over body taught, hand gripping the ledge too tightly that his knuckles turned white, frantic eyes looking around for the source of the sound and breath coming in short heavy pants. He thought this isn’t working at all he meant to bring Neil here in order for him to unwind a bit, so without really thinking what he was doing he hooked his finger in Neil’s collar and tugged until Neil finally looked at him and the look Neil gave him sucked the breath from his lungs, he looked like a wounded animal looking for shelter, his eyes kept roving Andrew’s face and after a minute he started to relax as if he found what he was looking for in Andrew which was completely and utterly stupid Andrew thought.
“Come on we’re leaving” Andrew said and dragged Neil up with him finger still hooked in his collar.
“Where are we going?”
“Just come!”
They made their way outside and rode the Maserati, he drove in silence which he didn’t mind, for once no one needed to fill the silence and Andrew loved that. Soon they reached the exy court and Andrew asked “Do you have your keys?”
It took Neil a second to get what he was saying but as he looked out at the court he nodded to Andrew.
“Well come on then we’re not staying in the car obviously.”
They headed inside and as they reached the lockers Andrew told Neal to change as he headed for the court to wait for him, but why was he doing that, what is it about Neil that makes Andrew wants to know him, spend time with him, and above all comfort him when he’s in this state, to tell him that it’s okay, he’s safe and he won’t let anything happen to him, that he was willing to share his demons if only Neil wouldn’t run away if he saw Andrew’s.
As Neil came out and made his way towards Andrew who was lying on the floor with the exy racquet cradled on his chest he said “Now what? Why are we here?”
Andrew got up lazily and headed for the goal where he took his position and said “Try to score one goal and you get to ask me two questions.”
Neil raised his eyebrow in disbelief “you know that I will win right, I mean you must keep up with the matches.”
Andrew tapped the racquet twice against the floor and said “Bring it on Josten.”
They played for a full hour Neil trying and failing miserably to make one pathetic score against Andrew who defended the goal without breaking a sweat. After what must’ve been the two hundredth attempt Neil threw his racquet and lay on the floor, Andrew came over and hovered above Neil, from this angle with Neil sprawled on the floor, face flushed and hair sticking up every which way Andrew felt the need of kissing him, feeling Neil’s lips on his, would they be as full as they look? How would Neil taste like? What if he bit them what would Neil do. Instead he swallowed and said “Giving up already Josten tsk, what a shame.”
“God I hate you Minyard”
“Well good, I hate you too.”
Neil smiled a dazzling smile and Andrew allowed himself to flop down next to him. This close Andrew was itching to lean just a little bit forward to kiss Neil instead he turned his head and fixed his eyes heavenwards.
“I guess it’s my turn now” Andrew didn’t answer which Neil took as a sign for him to ask,
“Why did you stop playing exy”
“Ugh soo predictable Josten”
“Well I want to know and it’s my turn and it’s not like I asked you about your arm bands.” Sensing Andrew tensing about that last part he added quickly “and I will not I promise not unless you want to talk about them I swear.”
Andrew looked at him really hard eyes glaring which no doubt Neil interpreted as him wanting to punch Neil but not for mentioning his arm bands it was because he respected him to not ask about which was what Andrew bracing himself to be asked but nooo! He had the audacity to understand what the word privacy meant and actually respect it when no one else around Andrew seemed able to get their petty little heads around the concept.
“you’re an Idiot Josten, I stopped playing because I don’t care enough to play, I had a deal with Kevin and in order to honor it I had to play, now it’s done and I don’t play”
“Then why come here tonight when you clearly hate it?” Neil pushed
“First off I don’t hate it I just don’t care and secondly apparently being around you makes people stupid as well so here we are.” Neil smiled that sweet dizzying smile again and Andrew really wanted to wipe it off of his face, preferably with his own mouth, “good god you’re losing it Minyard” he told himself.
“Let’s go I’m not sleeping here, go change I will wait in the car”
In less than five minutes Neil was done and sitting in the car and they headed back in silence which neither of them seemed to mind. Andrew walked Neil to his room where Neil hesitated a minute before he turned on Andrew and lifted his hand as if to hold Andrew’s but thought better of it and said “thank you, really you helped, I don’t know if you meant to or not I mean I think you did but I don’t want to be presumptuous so thank you, I …I mean it really.”
“You’re an idiot Josten” that made Neil smile and not for the first time today nor the last Andrew suspected he felt like kissing that smile off of Neil’s face.
“Next time don’t be late or your kitten will pay the price” Andrew said as he walked away but not before he heard Neil’s laughter around him even after he made it to his room.
“Well, what a good fucking job Minyard, you’re screwed” he told himself as he flopped down on bed with blazing blue eyes imprinted in his mind.
Here is chapter 3
#all for the game#all for the gay#aftgfl ask#incorrect aftg quotes#aftg fic#aftgedit#aftg art#aftg text#aftg fanfic#aftg headcanon#aftg fanart#aftg#aftg aesthetic#aftg cosplay#the foxhole court#the foxes#tfhc#tfc art#tfcedit#tfc fanfic#tfc#andrew joseph minyard#andrew x neil#andrew minyard#neil josten#andriel#andriel fanfic#andriel fluff#kevin day
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The Distance
Read on AO3
“Oh!” CB leaned forward with excitement. No one knew how he could move so abruptly and not spill coffee on his beloved ties. “Lainey, you should do Cake with your students! The trumpet parts are really cool and challenging!”
“Cake? Like the food?” Glasscott inquired from across the teacher’s lounge.
“No, it’s this nerdy band CB likes,” Lainey explained.
“Hey!”
“Dude, they belong to a genre that’s literally called geek rock,” Lainey said, turning her attention back on CB.
“Just listen to them. They’re awesome; you’ll love it,” CB insisted. “What are you doing tonight?”
“Well, I’m expecting a call from Barry later,” Lainey chewed her lip, considering. “but in the meantime I’m free.”
God, what did she just get herself into?
“Great,” CB smiled triumphantly. “We can listen today after school. I have the CD’s.”
“How do you afford so many CD’s on a teachers salary? Those things are expensive.”
“You buy at least twice as many as me. How do you afford it?”
Lainey didn’t seem to appreciate the question. Her eyes flicked to Glascott on the other side of the lounge, implying that her methods were less than legal.
“I may have an in at the record store,” Lainey said softly. She gave CB a look that said she did not care to elaborate.
Glasscott glanced over at them.
“Hi, John,” Lainey’s voice was aggressively friendly. “Anything we can help you with?”
“Well, this is getting weird. I’m going to class.” CB turned to leave.
Lainey picked up her mug and hurried after him.
“I’ll walk with you.”
CB picked up a bottle of wine on his way home. He and Lainey both had a late Friday. He was after school with the poetry club; she had afterschool band practice. They’d both eaten earlier. CB thought they both deserved a treat after a long week.
So he set up the music in the CD player and poured two glasses of wine, leaving the bottle between them. He lowered the lights to give them a relaxed listening ambiance. Too romantic. He turned the lights back on. He and Lainey were just friends. She was expecting a call from Barry, her boyfriend, later. At which point she’d spend the entire remainder of the evening with Barry. Their tentative plans would be forgotten. It’s not as though she hadn’t told him that beforehand. They were just friends.
He couldn’t believe he’d beaten Lainey home. He sat awkwardly on the couch on which he’d been crashing for the time being.
Lainey rushed in quickly, taking off her shoes and coat. She set her trumpet case down by the door.
“Sorry it took me so long to get home. Had to coordinate rides home for my band kids. Is it set up?”
“Yeah, come sit.” CB patted the spot next to him.
Lainey walked in and sat down next to him.
“Wine, nice!” Lainey took half a sip and stood up again. “Wait, I have something that will make this even better.”
She darted off in the direction of her bedroom before CB could say another word. What could she possibly be talking about? It was too complicated and exciting to even contemplate.
A few seconds later Lainey ran down the stars. In her hands was a vintage She-Ra: Princess of Power lunchbox. She set it on the table.
“Are we finally going to have a dialogue about the She-Ra/He-Man universe?” CB voice was rising with excitement.
“What? No.” Lainey shot him a confused glance.
“Then when?”
Lainey waved a hand at him.
“Different day.”
It wasn’t a never. One day he would get Lainey to geek out with him.
She carefully opened the box, revealing, amongst other paraphernalia, a perfectly rolled joint, not that CB would know the difference.
CB leapt back, horrified.
“What the fuck, Lainey?” His voice was a lot louder than she’d have liked considering they were not in a situation she wanted to draw attention to by getting a noise complaint from her neighbors.
“Chill out, man,” she hissed.
“It’s illegal,” CB then whispered back at her. “I can’t believe you have that!”
“Did you really think the cool music teacher with a bad girl past had never smoked before?”
CB didn’t have much to say to that. He hadn’t considered it. Now that he did, it really wasn’t surprising, but he’d never known that about Lainey. And he didn’t know he was currently living with illegal drugs in the house. This could be some kind of drug den for all he knew. Okay, maybe that was a bit over the top.
“I can’t smoke that.” He couldn’t believe the were having this discussion. “How can I warn kids about the dangers of marijuana while being a hypocritical pothead?”
“It’s easy. I can show you,” Lainey half-joked. “But, really, it’s less dangerous than your wine.”
“I doubt that.”
“You can’t kill yourself by overdosing on weed. Alcohol poisoning, however...”
She had a point there. Even CB couldn’t deny it.
“I’m still not smoking it,” CB declared firmly. He was a man of principle.
“Fine.” Lainey sighed and rolled her eyes. “More for me.”
She lit it there on the couch.
“You’re doing that in here?!” CB couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
“Well, I can’t very well do it outside where the neighbors could see.”
CB couldn’t argue that point either. He fidgeted uncomfortably.
“You could get arrested.”
“You need to calm down,” she replied, unperturbed. “This would really help with that.” She held the joint out to him.
“I’m... going to go turn the music on now.”
He crossed the room to turn on the CD player.
“It would sound better if you smoked first,” Lainey chimed in.
“I know better to succumb to peer pressure.” CB’s resolve was crumbling, and Lainey knew it. She just had to wait it out. Its didn’t take long. When he sat back down next to her, as the room filled with smoke, the fight had gone out of him. He hadn’t even turned on the music yet.
“Fine...”
Lainey eagerly handed him the joint.
“Now we’re talking.”
CB looked down at it with incredulity. He never thought the day would take him here.
“So... how does it work?”
Lainey stared at him, mouth agape.
“You smoke it like a cigarette,” she explained. She couldn’t believe that she had to spell it out for him.
“I don’t smoke cigarettes.”
“Oh my god, CB, you’ve never seen someone smoke a cigarette?” Even a few hits in Lainey was growing agitated. “Just put your mouth on it and suck.”
CB sputtered nervously at her choice of words. He hadn’t even inhaled any smoke yet. Lainey continued staring him like he was stupid.
“Do it before it burns out,” she warned.
Hesitantly, he put his mouth over the joint and took a hit. He let the smoke out abruptly, unable to stop himself from entering a fit of coughing. Pain hit him deep him his chest. He’d never had heartburn like this before. And he couldn’t stop coughing. Lainey held his wine out to him. He looked at her like she was insane.
Lainey sighed and walked to the kitchen to pour CB a glass of water.
Finally he regained his ability to speak.
“Did you know that would happen?” He called to her from the couch.
“It happens to most people the first time they try it.” So yes.
“Why didn’t you warn me?”
“Would you have still done it?”
Damn, he couldn’t win with her tonight.
He passed the joint back to Lainey who handed him a glass of water in return. Lainey ashed into a jar from the She-Ra lunch box. CB didn’t know if he could ever look at the Princess of Power the same again.
Lainey took a big hit and went to hit play on the CD player. She then took her seat next to CB; they were finally listening to Cake. Lainey grabbed her glass and held it out.
“Cheers?”
CB took his wine glass and clinked it to hers.
“Cheers.”
Lainey gave CB an earnest smile that warmed his heart. They both took drinks from their glasses. Lainey offered CB the joint again.
“What the hell?” CB asked, this time in acceptance. “It does make the music more enjoyable.”
“I told you,” Lainey said, swatting his arm.
CB was still wracked with fits of coughing, but this time they didn’t last so long. And he had his water to sip. And his wine.
Then the second track on the album started: The Distance.
“It’s about a race, but it’s really a metaphor for a relationship,” CB explained gesturing emphatically. “It’s genius.”
“Okay, you were right. This is fucking awesome,” Lainey agreed. She even sped over to restart the track when it ended.
“It reminds me of Barry,” she confessed.
“You’re worried about his call?”
“Yeah, he hasn’t been keeping in touch very well lately.” Lainey laughed bitterly. “Staying in waiting for my boyfriend to call. What a way to spend a Friday night.”
She drained her glass and began pouring herself another, topping off CB’s glass in the process.
“I’d frame it as...” CB paused, searching for the words through a marijuana induced haze. “spending a Friday night with your best friend listening to new music.”
Lainey rested a hand on his forearm.
“You always know how to cheer me up.”
Did she know the effect her words had on him? He all but melted at the sentiment.
“...even if you’re a huge lightweight,” Lainey said. Lightening the emotionally weighted moment.
CB took the hint and raised his wine glass to his lips. Lainey took a final hit on the joint, which was getting really harsh, and dropped it into the jar.
“Heeyyy, I know this one!” Lainey slurred excitedly when they got to track 7: I Will Survive. “This is a Gloria Gaynor song!”
CB couldn’t repress a smile at her excitement. Like, he literally couldn’t his facial muscles were operating of their own accord now apparently.
“I will surviiiiiive,” Lainey sang along. “As long as I know how to love I know I’ll be alright.”
“Who’s the nerd now?”
Lainey tossed a pillow at him.
“Still you, dummy.”
“Lainey, dance with me.”
He moved around the coffee table to stand on the other side of the living room. His hand was held out to her in invitation. Lainey accepted, her movements a bit wobbly as she moved around the table. She was a little ahead of CB where drinks were concerned.
CB took Lainey’s hand and yanked her to him. She gasped a little at the unexpected motion.
CB placed his other hand on the small of her back.
“Is this okay?”
“Yeah,” her voice was breathier than she’d have liked. “yeah, this is good.”
CB began swaying them with the trumpet intro to the ninth track on the album. For all of his usual awkward, dad-like dance moves, it was easy to forget what a skilled dancer CB was. The movements were sloppy and drunken, but he was leading them in what was unmistakably a tango.
With their bodies pressed flush against each other, Lainey was finding it increasingly hard to draw a full breath. Their proximity was affecting her more than being under the influence. She hoped CB attributed the blush spreading across her cheeks to the booze. It intensified as he began to serenade her with the lyrics.
“If you don’t make your mind up, we’ll never get started. And I don’t want to wind up being parted, broken-hearted.”
As for CB, he couldn’t believe he was holding her like this. He had his Lainey in his arms. He never wanted it to end. But the moment was bittersweet, he had her, but she wasn’t his. The contact was intoxicating, and on top of his inebriated state, he was afraid he’d blurt out that he loved her and ruin the moment. Instead, he clung to the lyrics. They were fitting enough anyway.
“So if you really love me, say yes. But if you don’t, dear, confess. And please don’t tell me, ‘perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.’”
Lainey couldn’t help but feel the weight behind the words. She didn’t trust her self to look into CB’s eyes, afraid of what she might do, so she nestled her head in his shoulder.
Lainey resting her head on his shoulder tugged at CB’s heartstrings. The action was so intimate and trusting.
When they finished the dance and made their way back to the couch, both were a little lightheaded and out of breath.
“Are you as hungry as I am?” CB couldn’t believe how starved he felt after a full dinner just a few hours prior.
“Someone’s got the munchies,” Lainey teased. “...and yes.” She started for the kitchen. “Hold on, I think I’ve got some snacks somewhere.”
Lainey riffled through her cabinets before finally-
“YES!”
She couldn’t hide her stoned elation. She’d found it: a box of Twinkies from the back of her pantry cabinet.
Lainey ran back out to the living room. Without hesitation, she flung a Twinkie package at CB.
“CB, catch!”
He didn’t. The Twinkie hit a startled CB square in the face.
“Why’d you think that would be a good idea?” He asked, retrieving his snack cake from the floor.
“’Cause it was,” Lainey laughed. “You should’ve seen your face”
She scrunched up her own in an attempt to mimic it. CB couldn’t help but laugh at that.
Lainey took a seat next to CB and popped open her package, and for an instant CB was paralyzed: how was he going to handle Lainey eating such a potentially suggestive dessert in front of him? And they were both drunk. And high.
CB needn’t have worried. His fears were abated when Lainey frantically shoved the entire Twinkie in her mouth and struggled to chew it all at once.
“I though’ you sai’ you’re hungry,” she managed through a mouthful.
CB remembered with intensity just how hungry he was. He fumbled to removed the packaging and took a bite.
“Oh my god,” CB drew out the words. “These are so much better than I remembered.”
“The weed’ll do that,” Lainey explained.
She offered him another Twinkie.
CB chuckled to himself.
“Cake and cake,” he mused aloud.
It shouldn’t have been so funny, but both of them dissolved into a fit of giggles.
Eventually the CD player began to loop through the disc a second time. Soon enough they were back to The Distance.
Barry still hadn’t called.
Disheartened, Lainey walked over to the CD player.
“I’m going to change the disk.”
She laughed when she picked up the case.
“This album is actually called Fashion Nugget?” She looked at CB teasingly.
“Awesome, right?”
Lainey laughed and shook her head.
She replaced the disk and pulled out the other album CB brought.
“Prolonging the Magic, huh? Well, the title is a little better, and I like the cute little pig on the front.”
She put in the disk.
By the end of the second song, CB had fallen into a drunken sadness, whispering the lyrics under his breath.
I was bright,
But she was much brighter,
I was high,
But she was the sky,
Oh, Baby, I was bound,
For Mexico,
Oh, Baby, I was bound,
To let you go
Lainey wondered if CB was upset about someone. She wondered if he was singing it to her.
By the time the third track, a plea to a long distance lover who was “never there,” ended without a call from Barry, Lainey had had it.
“That’s it. I’m rolling another joint.”
She opened her She-Ra lunch box and set to work as CB looked on. Lainey could already tell this one wouldn’t be perfect like the last one, her fingers just couldn’t work with such dexterous precision after all the alcohol she’d consumed that evening, but that didn’t matter.
“When’d you learn to do that?” CB asked as Lainey began grinding the flower.
“High school.”
CB raised his eyebrows.
“Did you smoke with Barry?”
“Oh, god, no,” Lainey scoffed. “Barry doesn’t smoke, and he doesn’t know that I do. You’re a member of the JTP; why do you think he rags on Matt Bradley so much?”
“Because he’s jealous of Matt Bradley’s effortless good looks and cool laid back personality?”
They shared a laugh at that.
“Thanks for hanging out with me tonight,” Lainey looked over at CB, grateful not to have to wait up for Barry alone, driving her self mad.
“There’s nowhere I’d rather be,” CB replied genuinely.
The moment became charged, and Lainey snapped her head away, refocusing on rolling the joint.
Soon the third track was playing again. They finished the joint, and another bottle of wine with it.
Barry still hadn’t called.
It was after midnight.
Lainey had migrated from her spot on the couch next to CB to a spot on the floor next to the CD player.
She hit replay. Again. And Again. And Again.
And then she stood.
“I’ve got the best idea!” Lainey slurred.
She staggered across the house and returned with her trumpet.
Pulling out her mobile phone, she dialed Barry’s number. She turned up the volume, making sure she was at the beginning of the track when she called. Voicemail: just as she suspected. She set her phone down to better play her trumpet.
By the time the message tone beeped, the song was a few verses in.
“On the phone,
Long long distance,
Always through such,
Strong resistance,
When first you say,
You're too busy,
I wonder if you,
Even miss me,”
Lainey sang into the phone, her voice cracking. CB would’ve sang along, but this wasn’t really any of his business, so he, with some difficulty, restrained himself. Even as messed up as he was, he felt like he was intruding. But mostly he felt concerned for Lainey.
“You tell me that you love me so, you tell me that you care, but when I need you, BARRY,” She substituted his name for “baby,” yelling over the speakers. “YOU’RE NEVER THERE!”
At this point in the song, Lainey was clearly having fun. CB could tell this was cathartic for her, not that he could articulate that at the moment. He got up to dance. After all, Barry wouldn’t be able to see him through the phone.
And then, after she’d run through all the lyrics, Lainey began to attempt the trumpet part, one which would’ve been difficult to play even if she were sober. Drunk, it was impossible, but that didn’t stop her from trying.
At the end of the song Lainey ended the call and turned down the CD player. She set her trumpet aside where she hoped neither of them would trip on it.
CB suddenly looked at her, horrified, as if he’d had some revelation.
“Wait...” he said. “The neighbors!”
“At this point I don’t care,” Lainey replied.
They looked at each other a moment longer before collapsing on the floor in a heap of giggles.
Lainey woke up the next morning on the couch, cuddled with CB, who was still asleep. Her answering machine showed one new message.
Lainey got up and played it.
“LAINEY, IT’S BARRY,” his voice rang through the living room. Lainey was surprised it didn’t wake CB.
“Anyway, I was just calling to thank you for the sweet serenade, my Lainey-love. Love you. Big Tasty OUT!”
He had completely missed the point.
Lainey looked over at CB. At least last night had turned out to be pretty fun after all.
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<<Over the past year, however, Google has appeared to clamp down. It has gradually scaled back opportunities for employees to grill their bosses and imposed a set of workplace guidelines that forbid “a raging debate over politics or the latest news story.” It has tried to prevent workers from discussing their labor rights with outsiders at a Google facility and even hired a consulting firm that specializes in blocking unions. Then, in November, came the firing of the four activists. The escalation sent tremors through the Google campus in Mountain View, Calif., and its offices in cities like New York and Seattle, prompting many employees — whether or not they had openly supported the activists — to wonder if the company’s culture of friendly debate was now gone for good.
(A Google spokeswoman would not confirm the names of the people fired on Nov. 25. “We dismissed four individuals who were engaged in intentional and often repeated violations of our longstanding data-security policies,” the spokeswoman said. “No one has been dismissed for raising concerns or debating the company’s activities.” Without naming Berland, Google disputed that investigators pressured him.)>>
https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2020/02/18/magazine/google-revolt.html
<<“Of the five people that were fired, three of us are trans women,” Spiers said. “That is either an unbelievable coincidence or Google is targeting the most vulnerable.”
“Trans Googlers make up a very small percentage of Googlers,” she added. “They make up a slightly larger percentage of organizers, but not 60%.”>>
https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2019/dec/17/fifth-google-worker-activist-fired-in-a-month-says-company-is-targeting-the-vulnerable
i too am transfem and would "violate longstanding data-security policies" if my organization were being unjust. i wouldnt say that unless it were already obvious by what bits ive leaked to people about my life, because otherwise i could suppress this information and whistleblow more.
if you were an evil corp at this point youd probably try to avoid hiring any trans women in the first place because given this happens to you, its likely done by a transfem. not that this saved CFAR, who never hired a trans woman, from having a bunch of transfems whistleblow on them despite not being employees.
from what ive read from transfem google employees who are or were involved in activism, the degredation of google's culture. their complicity with ICE and weapons manufacturing mirrors CFAR's with OpenAI and DeepMind; authoritarianism and expulsion of transfems who object to this among a myriad of wrongs. to protect the territory of injustice and complicity with organizations like ICE, google needs to import "a consulting firm that specializes in blocking unions", CFAR needs to violate their whistleblower policy. if you once protect injustice, justice is ever after your enemy. morality isnt some modular thing such that you can be comitted to protecting injustice and not have this choice spiral into also invoking and protecting systems that protect injustice and invoking further things to protect those, recursively. all the way down to doing really dumb and obvious unjust things like transmisogyny (lots of future posts), changing your fundraiser after its clear its losing money, announcing that this year you got way below your donation target and claim to have no idea why.
well *i* know the compact generator for all of these things, and that makes me strong. unlike MIRI/CFAR who like the CDC rely on gaslighting the populace for myopic gains. i also wore a particle mask during the time that the CDC claimed that they were useless to preventing spread of disease, so it was really important to give them to doctors and nurses.
after so much gaslighting, *i* have built up general capabilities at arbitraging the difference between what agents claim and the truth. people who say:
<<Edit: This is a type of post that should have been vetted with someone for infohazards and harms before being posted, and (Further edit) I think it should have been removed by the authors., though censorship is obviously counterproductive at this point.
Infohazards are a real thing, as is the Unilateralists’s curse. (Edit to add: No, infohazards and unilateralist’s curse are not about existential or global catastrophic risk. Read the papers.) And right now, overall, reduced trust in CDC will almost certainly kill people. Yes, their currently political leadership is crappy, and blameworthy for a number of bad decisions—but it doesn’t change the fact that undermining them now is a very bad idea.
Yes, the CDC has screwed up many times, but publicly blaming them for things that were non-obvious (like failing to delay sending out lab kits for further testing,) or that they screwed up, and everyone paying attention including them now realizes they got wrong (like being slow to allow outside testing,) in the middle of a pandemic seems like exactly the kind of consequence-blind action that lesswrongers should know better than to engage in.
Disclaimer: I know lots of people at CDC, including some in infectious diseases, and have friends there. They are human, and get things wrong under pressure—and perhaps there are people who would do better, but that’s not the question at hand.>>
https://www.greaterwrong.com/posts/h4vWsBBjASgiQ2pn6/credibility-of-the-cdc-on-sars-cov-2/comment/uDYbgf3QtEQirbsJk
havent. its easy to see how peoples minds are warped when its someone elses glowy thing, when its someone elses friends working for an institution that that someone else routed their hopes through.
its easier to recognize betrayal and see knowledge beyond the veil when its happening to someone else, instead of you.
until you build up general skills for recognizing it, this sort of betrayal isnt infinitely powerful. and like how you might expect that smart people who live for predation would do anti-inductive smart predatory things, but they end up converging on child sex rings; institutions that betray you, because justice is their enemy will start doing dumb unjust things like banning two people from speaking about their irl experiences with anna salamon, saying their first-hand accounts werent evidence and then citing anna salamon's first-hand account of the meeting as evidence. when i objected that this was a fucked up self-serving ontology of "evidence" they acted like i was objecting to "beliefs flow from evidence" and they acted as if what i was saying was obscure and beyond their ability to comprehend. their "incomprehension" was fake, downstream of a fear to dynamically compute things in front of other people that might end up outside the orthodoxy. the result of which is they display a blue screen of death and say “i just dont understand and aaa dont explain this to me!!!”. and then people agree that it "seems like it could be an infohazard" because when your goal is the preservation of the matrix, everything that tears it down looks like hazardous information.
or a cfar employee, in response to claims that anna's transmisogyny influences CFAR's hiring choices, claiming that anna salamon, head of CFAR, is not involved in CFAR's hiring. until i post proof from another CFAR employee pursuing personal vengeance against the org for hiring their rapist where its tangentially mentioned and they suddenly "realize" that anna salamon, head of CFAR, is involved in CFAR's hiring process.
or a thousand other injustices that have burned themselves into my brain during my months of talking with people under the assumption that they were simply mistaken in their path to saving the world. when they were actually un-mistaken in their path to having babies and a low chance of personal death. hoping and expecting someone else will take heroic responsibility for the planet.
like when you drill down to the base of injustice, it bottoms out in dumb and petty injustice. like the structure doesnt go infinitely high and complex, if you go down to the base level, you just need a bit of courage to not flinch away from what you see even if it seems that it means the ruin of something you ran your hopes and dreams through.
--
"isnt this a little... extreme?" i hear some people ask. ""dont protect regions of injustice?" that sounds like the end product of obsessive compulsive fixation on virtue at the expense of practicality."
well, assuming the algorithm seeding this response is a systemic reasoning tool, it should forkbomb when you consider if youd output ""dont protect regions of untruth?" that sounds like the end product of obsessive compulsive fixation on virtue at the expense of practicality." in response to eliezers essay. the principle behind both is the same such that if you hold by one you should hold by the other.
all of these things have parallels. if you want to see what is happening with MIRI/CFAR, theres a lot of mutual information with whats happening with Google.
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Okay prompt request for dark heart remix! 26) “How can I go forward when I don’t know which way I’m facing?“
[Ch 1] [Ch 2] [Ch 3] [AO3]
Last time, Gold gave Belle a swanky apartment to move into and they agreed it was probably best they took a day to calm down before speaking again.
Please send me a prompt from this list or this list to fuel the angst and smut
x
Gold had booked a hotel suite for the week, but no matter how comfortable the bed was, or how dark the room, he was restless, and by four o’clock he had given up on the idea of sleeping, and got up to make some coffee. He drank it looking out on the darkened park, waiting for the sun to rise and listening to the news with half an ear. Rain was falling, lashing the windows in streaking trails limned in silver. He wondered if Belle was sleeping well. Whether she got enough rest. It didn’t look like it to him, and he hoped her stubbornness and righteous anger wouldn’t prevent her from accepting his help.
He was still angry over the fact that she had waited so long to tell him, still furious about the conditions she had chosen to live in rather than ask for his assistance. She and the baby could have burned to death in a fire and he would never have known. He focused on that anger rather than pick apart and study the desperate tangle of emotions that had burst into life in the deepest recesses of his brain upon learning that he was about to be a father again. There was too much fear and regret there for him to handle, and so he did what he had been doing for decades with unwanted thoughts and feelings, which was to shove them aside and ignore them.
The sun rose, a fact discernible only by the lightening of the sky. It was heavy with dark clouds, those at the horizon glowing red as embers. It seemed as though the rain would continue. Gold put on more coffee, and took a shower while he waited for it to brew. His usual morning routine of a wash and shave made him feel a little better, and he pulled a robe around himself and checked the time. Still reasonably early, but the city was coming to life, and so he poured the coffee and placed a call to his lawyer, Ella Deville.
“Alexander Gold,” she drawled, when he was put through. “It’s been too long, darling. How are you?”
“Fucking livid,” he said sourly. “I need some advice.”
“Whenever you need advice it makes me money, so do go on.”
He rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help grinning.
“I presume everything’s going well on the Misthaven building deal?” she added.
“Very well,” he said. “Except for the top floor corner unit. Looks like I’m going to lose money on that one.”
“Why? It’s a perfect location, and the market’s in reasonable shape, all things considered.”
“Nothing to do with the property,” he said quickly. “It’s actually why I’m calling. I - I’m kind of letting someone stay there. Rent free.”
“You’re not usually known for your soft heart, darling,” she remarked. “It’s one of the things I admire about you. What’s caused this sudden crisis of conscience, and how is my excellent advice going to help?”
“This isn’t the usual real estate deal,” he said. “You may need to refer me to someone else. It’s a family matter.”
“Well, now I’m going to keep the case just to be nosy.”
Gold took a sip of his coffee, wincing at the heat of it on his tongue.
“It’s my - well, my ex, for want of a better word.”
“Your ex?” She whistled. “My my, this is a first. The reclusive Mr Gold lets slip hints at a social life. Tell Auntie Ella all the sordid details, you bad boy.”
“Certainly not,” he said dryly. “It was a bad break-up and I wasn’t expecting to see her again.”
“And now?”
He hesitated.
“She’s pregnant.”
There was a moment of silence at the other end of the line.
“Well,” said Ella. “That must have been quite a shock.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” he muttered.
“I suppose congratulations are in order,” she added. “I presume she says it’s yours?”
“Yes.”
“And you have doubts?”
“I - I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’m not saying I think she’s lying, but - well, we hadn’t spoken since the break-up. I have no idea what she’s been up to.”
“Of course.” He could hear her scribbling. “She could be playing you, and we certainly can’t discount it. You’re a very rich man, after all, and that has to be a better prospect than whatever lumbering college boy caught her fancy one drunken night, hmm?“
Gold closed his eyes as he remembered what Belle’s boyfriend looked like. Was he the father? Had he abandoned Belle over the baby, leaving her no choice but to come to him? Would she really be that cruel, to make him responsible for another man’s child? To get his hopes up only to crush them? Could you blame her if she did? You did it to her after all. You led her on, then broke her heart, and destroyed the both of you in the process.
“Alexander?”
He blinked, clearing his throat.
“She must know it’s the sort of thing that can be tested,” he managed.
“Oh yes,” said Ella. “But desperate people do stupid things, I find.”
“Yes,” he whispered. “Yes, they do.”
“Well, I suggest a paternity test,” she said briskly. “Easy enough, and quick. A simple blood test should do it, and then you’ll know. One way or the other.”
Gold felt a momentary chill at the thought of the result being negative.
“Right,” he said. “Yes.”
“If the test is positive, we can talk about next steps,” she said. “Any initial thoughts on what you want to do?”
“I want to exercise my rights to the child, of course,” he said curtly.
“Yes, but there’s a myriad of options in that field,” she said. “If you think things are likely to get nasty, I may need to get one of my colleagues to handle the case. Ursula is a fantastic family lawyer, as well as being an excellent kisser.”
“I’ll rely on whatever you advise,” he said. “I - I hope we can come to an agreement without the need for that, but she’s stubborn.”
“I suppose it’s early days,” she said. “What are your initial thoughts on the ideal outcome?”
Gold ran a hand through his hair, short, damp strands licking against his fingers.
“I - I want to make sure she can’t take it from me,” he said. “I need to ensure that. I want to be named as its father, to be equally involved in raising it, to have equal say in any decisions about its life, education and welfare.”
“Hmm,” she said. “I see you’ve given this quite a bit of thought.”
“Well, it’s not like I spent the night sleeping, or anything,” he said sourly.
“Why don’t we make sure there’s a right there to be exercised, first,” she said. “Let’s do the test. We can worry about the complications afterwards. Is she seeing anyone?”
“I - I don’t know,” he said. “She lives alone.”
“I see. Well, once we get the results, you can start planning your future,” she said. “Should take about a week. When is the baby due?”
“May fifth.”
She made a strangled sort of noise.
“And you’re only calling me now?”
“I only just fucking found out!” he snapped. “Hence me saying I was livid!”
Ella tutted slowly.
“Just how much of a giant arsehole were you to make her not talk to you until she was seven months pregnant?”
His mouth twisted.
“I believe you can guess the answer to that.”
“Hmm. That bad?”
He winced.
“Probably worse.”
“Surprised she called you at all, in that case.”
“Can we leave the character assassination for another day?” he said shortly. “Will you arrange this test?”
“You’ll need her consent.”
“Oh, I’ll get that, I assure you,” he said grimly.
“Let me make a few enquiries, and I’ll get back to you.”
“Thank you,” he said. “I’m staying in Boston, by the way. Just call me on this number.”
He hung up, slipping the phone into his pocket and turning back to his coffee. Just under twelve hours before he could see Belle. Just under twelve hours that he had to fill to keep his mind from concentrating on the worst that his imagination could produce. At least she was unlikely to run away, in her current condition. At least there was that.
x
After Gold had gone, Belle went to run herself a bath, and explored the apartment properly. It really was beautiful, the furniture sleek and expensive, the rugs soft and thick beneath her feet. She looked in the kitchen cupboards, finding a multitude of cans and dried goods, and the fridge, which contained a wide variety of vegetables, fresh milk, cheese and butter, eggs and cream and fresh juice. There was a sliced loaf of bread on the kitchen counter, one of those artisan loaves with seeds in the crust. She was hungry, but exhausted, so she made herself a sandwich and ate it at the kitchen table, washed down with a glass of milk.
Taking a bath felt like true luxury, and she stayed there until the water was tepid, wrapping herself in a thick towel when she was done. The bed was king-size, ready made with heavy cotton sheets and a dark grey eiderdown, and Belle curled up in it, a cup of tea steaming on the nightstand. The apartment was beautiful, but a part of her worried that she had moved into a gilded cage, from which she would find it hard to escape. A cage where Gold could swoop in and take their baby if she ever displeased him.
She was anxious, and her sleep was restless because of it. Waking up to pouring rain didn’t help, but she made herself scrambled eggs on toast for breakfast and ate it at the kitchen table, looking out over the city as it started to come to life. She had a view of the park and tree-lined streets, and she had to admit that it was a much better start to the day than in her old apartment, where she would have been listening to the couple next door yelling at each other. She would have to make the best of losing some of her freedom, for the sake of the baby.
The rain had eased a little by the time she got to the university, and she headed straight for the coffee shop, where she found Emma juggling a pile of books in one arm and a large coffee and Danish in the other. Belle took the coffee from her before she could drop anything.
“Thanks,” said Emma, nodding to a free table. “How are you? You look kinda beat.”
“Yeah, didn’t sleep well,” said Belle, and hesitated. “Alex tracked me down.”
Emma’s eyes widened, and she shoved her books onto the table.
“Wait right there!” she ordered, wagging a finger before hurrying back to the counter. Belle took a seat, watching listlessly as Emma ordered a tea and another Danish and hurried back, shoving them across the table at her. She shrugged out of her heavy coat, pulling the woollen hat from her head.
“Right,” she said. “What happened?”
Belle launched into an explanation of everything that had happened between them the previous evening, and Emma listened, only interrupting to snort loudly or curse Gold out. By the time Belle had finished, though, she was looking thoughtful.
“He seriously said he’d take the baby if you didn’t do what he wanted?”
“Pretty much.”
“You think he was serious?”
“Oh yes,” said Belle dryly. “I think he meant every word.”
“What an asshole.”
“That’s one word for him.”
“Well, we just have to make sure he can’t follow through on the threat,” said Emma.
“So - do as he says?”
“If what he wants means the baby’s safe and you get to keep it, then yeah.”
“Ugh.” Belle sat back, pulling a face.
“Just saying.”
“I know,” sighed Belle. “I know it’s the sensible thing to do, I just - I hate that I don’t have options, you know?”
“I know, honey.”
“He just - he just waltzes back into my life with his perfect suit and his stupid perfect haircut and looks down his nose at me and I have to dance to his bloody tune!” groused Belle. “I was already well aware that I didn’t have a clue what I was doing, I didn’t need a reminder!”
“You’re doing fine!” said Emma soothingly, reaching for her hand and squeezing.
“I’m not, I’m - I’m a mess!” said Belle, feeling tears sting her eyes. “I have zero control over my life and I’m just - just winging it every bloody day! How can I get through life like that? How can I go forward when I don’t know which way I’m facing?”
“Honey…”
“You think I don’t know what he saw the moment I opened that door to him?” Belle went on, gesturing with a hand. “I’m pathetic!”
“Belle,” said Emma sternly. “Stop. Breathe. You’re one of the least pathetic people I’ve ever met. You’re just going through some pretty serious life events right now, okay? It’s enough to throw anyone off their game.”
Belle huffed air out in a long breath, slumping in her chair a little, but nodded. Emma squeezed her hand again, and reached for her coffee.
“How’s that paper going?” she asked. “You get all those resources you were looking for?”
“Most of them,” said Belle, tearing a piece off her Danish and popping it into her mouth. “Professor South gave me some good feedback on my last piece, so I’m hoping I can build on that. You?”
“I have about fifteen hundred words of my criminology paper, and most of that’s crap,” said Emma bluntly.
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
“Okay, maybe only thirteen hundred words is crap.”
Belle giggled.
“You want to get together for a study session this weekend?” she asked. “Turns out I suddenly have a lot of space to work in.”
“Sure. If you let Neal and Henry bring dinner over when they pick me up.”
“It’s a date.”
Belle reached for her tea, taking a sip, and Emma took a bite of her Danish. She watched Belle as she chewed and swallowed, reaching for her coffee again.
“So,” she said. “Baby daddy’s given you a new apartment?”
“He hasn’t given me anything, he’s letting me stay there,” said Belle morosely.
“Still.” Emma took another bite. “Gotta be better than the old place. I kept telling you it was a fire hazard.”
“Yeah, well, beggars can’t be choosers, right?” said Belle. “And now I’m dependent on him.”
“Not forever,” said Emma reasonably. “When you finish college you’ll be in a way better position. And at least it seems like he wants to help out, right?”
“I guess,” she said despondently. “I just - I hate feeling powerless.”
“Yeah, I get that.” Emma took a slurp of her coffee. “But you need to think about what’s best for the baby. And sometimes that means swallowing your pride. Believe me, I know.”
“Yeah.”
Belle picked up her Danish and took a bite, and Emma tilted her head.
“You said he’s coming over tonight,” she said. “You want some backup?”
Belle shook her head as she chewed and swallowed.
“I’ll be okay,” she said. “We need to talk about what we’re gonna do, I know that. I just hope we can do it without me wanting to strangle him with his own tie.”
“Try sleeping with him,” suggested Emma cheerfully. “I’m willing to bet you could bang your way to a better deal.”
Belle shot her a flat look.
“Okay, that’s a piece of advice I definitely won’t be taking.”
“Really.” Emma’s voice was flat. “How does he look?”
Belle groaned, slumping in her chair.
“He cut his hair,” she said gloomily.
“So?”
She sat forward again.
“He used to have this long hair,” she said. “It sort of came to his jaw and it was really soft and it used to brush my face when—” She pulled a face. "Well, you know.”
“And now?”
“He’s cut it all off.”
“So that’s good, then,” said Emma. “He looks like shit?”
“No! That’s the problem!”
Belle slumped forward, letting her head thump onto her folded arms.
“So, getting back to my sleeping with him idea,” said Emma, and she raised her head.
“I’m not doing that!”
Emma winked at her, popping the last piece of Danish into her mouth and licking crumbs from her fingers.
“We’ll see,” she said. “I give it a week.”
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A Girl’s Best Friend (Peter Parker x OC) - Part 3
Synopsis: Diamonds are man’s best friend- or dogs are girls’ best friends, wait… how does the saying go again?
Warnings: Family issues; Peter has a crush and it’s complicated; mention of assault; good dogs; College AU; aged up! characters; TONY STARK IS ALIVE AND WE ALL LIVE IN A HAPPY PLACE CALLED DENIAL
A/N: In this story, Peter has Tom’s dog, Tessa.
Word count: 2.5k
Part 2 <<< >>> Part 4
MASTERLIST
Despite following her home, Peter hadn’t felt right since that night a week ago, and his mind constantly jumped back to the scene he had witnessed on his way back from his daily beat around Queens.
He kept thinking he could have taken another way, he could have gone home ten, or even five minutes earlier or later, and then he would have missed her. So many little things had factored in the fact that he saw what happened and intervened before it was too late, it made him dizzy to think about it. So many what ifs…
He had seen her again in class, but she looked completely out of it too. She was a diligent student who always completed her work as far as he knew and seeing her zone out and distractedly doodle in her notebook inside of taking notes made his stomach churn. He knew she was shaken up by what happened, as any person would be in her stead, but it felt wrong that she would keep it all bottled up.
It confirmed his guess about her having no real close friend to talk to, and he had half a mind to stand up in the middle of their applied physics tutorial to sit next to her in a show of support. Except it wouldn’t do, because the last time – and the first time – they interacted, she had yelled at him for standing in her way and not even donating his blood.
Honestly, that wasn’t fair, but he couldn’t exactly tell her why he didn’t donate, now could he? Therefore, he stayed where he was, glancing at her every now and then, as if to make sure she hadn’t burst into silent tears or whatever, and barely listened to the tutorial himself.
It wasn’t just in class either, Peter thought about it all the time. He thought about it way too much for someone who didn’t even talk to the girl or have any kind of relationship with her whatsoever. It kept him awake at night; it made him zone out during conversations with Ned; it distracted him to the point where his dog had to whine to get his attention when she needed to go out for a walk.
It reached a point where he simply had to go talk to her, if only to put his own mind at ease and go back to his routine without having her constantly plague his thoughts.
Like right now, for example. A little snap was all it took to make Peter come down from his cloud.
“Tessa! Tessa!” he called after his dog, who was now dashing away and through the campus, quickly disappearing from sight.
He gave a disbelieving look at his hand, still holding the leash. The short leather leash that just snapped a second ago, allowing Tessa to run away like the devil himself was chasing her. It was more likely to have been a squirrel than the devil that got her to run like this, but the result was the same.
“Fuck,” Peter cursed before running after her.
If there weren’t so many people around, he could have caught up quickly, he could have used his powers – but no, Tessa had wanted to go for a walk now. In the middle of the afternoon. She was already so far ahead, his heart was pounding in his chest.
“Tessa!” he shouted, frozen amidst the crowd, looking around with a panicked look on his face.
*
Emmeline had reasonably good reflexes. Granted, her mind was a bit elsewhere these days and she often caught herself being distracted in situations she should have been paying attention instead. But when she saw a blurry form dash towards her at lightning speed, recognizing it immediately, she jumped into action so quickly her brain didn’t even process what happened.
She had been walking across the lawn to go to her favorite Sushi shop to buy tonight’s dinner, playing with her stress ball because it was the only thing grounding her this week, when it all happened.
Emmeline brought two fingers between her lips and whistled loud enough to get the dog to freeze and look for the source of the sound, then she quickly threw her little ball to get its attention. Its ears perked up and it lurched forward to get the ball, not caring that it was a small moss ball. The idea was to distract the dog so its master could catch up – Emmeline was no stranger to dogs making a run for it and she saw the broken bit of leash still attached to its collar.
It was a beautiful female pitbull with a light gray coat. She approached it slowly, making sure to not alarm the dog who didn’t know her, but she seemed friendly enough and let her into her close vicinity.
“Here, sweetie,” Emmeline purred, trying for a pat.
The young pit immediately sat down and wagged her tail, looking at the girl with big, happy eyes, tongue out, ball in front of her.
“Well, aren’t you a nice girl,” she continued, now giving her ears a good scratch. “Where’s your master? Mmh?” she hummed, unable to stop talking to the animal.
Now kneeling on the ground, Emmeline took the golden medal hanging at the dog’s collar between her fingers. It said ‘Tessa’, and on the back was a phone number.
“Let’s wait a few minutes before I call your master, what do you say?”
Tessa answered with a low woof and then raised a paw, as if asking for a treat.
“I’m sorry, I don’t have anything with me at the moment.” She usually did carry around dog treats in her bag, but not when she was going to buy food. “I’m sure you’ll get plenty of treats once we return you to your master. He’ll be so happy to see you again.”
People were starting to look at her weird for kneeling on the grass and cooing at a dog that wasn’t hers, having a full-on conversation with it too. She hadn’t talked this much to anyone in a week now, and it felt good just to not be silent all the time.
“Tessa! Tessa come here!” she suddenly heard someone call from a distance.
Tessa must have heard it too, because she turned her head around, searching for the person calling her name.
“See? Didn’t need to call him.”
Emmeline stayed down, holding Tessa by the collar since her leash had broken off, and waiting for the desperate shouts to come closer.
“Here!” she called, waving her arm to get the boy’s attention when she spotted him. He ran so fast, he was in front of her in the blink of an eye.
“Oh, my gosh, Tessa!” He nearly threw himself on the ground to hold his dog, making Emmeline laugh and finally stand up, dusting off her jeans who were now green at the knees. “Never do that to me again!”
Emmeline said nothing but observed the two being reunited with a fond smile on her face, watching the boy shower his dog with love.
“Thank you so, so much-“ he started, looking up at her with a large smile full of gratitude. Then his smile dropped, and Emmeline frowned a bit too.
It was him.
She could tell he wanted to stand up, but he couldn’t just let go of Tessa what with the absence of leash. A slight blush crept to his cheeks and he looked a little bit to her left, right above her shoulder instead of meeting her eyes.
“S-sorry about her,” he started, stuttering out the first word. “She must have seen a squirrel or something, and this leash is so old, I should have bought a new one ages ago.”
“There’s a veterinarian just round the corner over there,” Emmeline said, not answering his apology. “You can’t go home like this, I’m gonna go see if they have a spare leash, stay here.”
“Wha- wait!” he called after all, still sitting on the ground. “You- you don’t have to- I can-“
“Just stay here,” she told him, glancing over her shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”
She strode off as quickly as she could, going straight to the veterinarian. Her own cheeks were burning hot – with embarrassment. It was the boy from the Red Cross donation, the boy she had yelled at and belittled in front of a bunch of other students for no valid reason. Gosh, of course it had to be him, she couldn’t finish this week on a positive note.
She shook her head. No, she couldn’t think like that. This was the perfect chance for her to apologize and make things a little better. It was a good occasion to flip this awful week around. Set her karma straight.
Her feet brought her right outside the office, and she waltzed it like she owned the place. There was a little corner where they sold stuff, and Emmeline grabbed the most expensive leash - the same leash that she had at home, this way at least she knew this one was sturdy – and bought it, removing the tag as she stepped out.
The way back was even shorter, and her legs were a little stiff from the tense power-walk. She was just finishing giving herself a pep talk when she reached Tessa and her master.
He was now full on sitting crossed legged on the grass, giving Tessa belly rubs and letting her play with Emmeline’s stress ball. She would need a new one soon.
“Here you go.” She handed him the leash in a rather stiff manner, cursing herself for being so weird about this. Maybe he hadn’t even recognized her?
Bullshit, he had recognized her the second his eyes had landed on her.
“Oh, thank you. You really didn’t have to-“ he started, clipping the new leash on Tessa’s collar and getting rid of the old one.
“Yes, I did,” Emmeline cut him off, hands in her pockets, staring at her boots. “I’m sorry about last week.”
Peter’s shoulders relaxed and he finally stood up, Tessa by his feet, looking at the girl who had seemed so tough last week. She didn’t need to apologize, but he could see it made her feel better, so he didn’t try to convince her otherwise.
“It wasn’t that bad,” he chuckled a tad awkwardly.
When she looked up and met his eyes, the laughter died in his throat. She had impressively deep eyes, very dark, captivating really. He could feel his face heat up again.
“It was uncalled for. I was upset and took it out on you,” she continued. “And I wanted to apologize, but I didn’t see you again, so…” she trailed off, pouting a little.
“We actually have a few classes together,” Peter told her, earning a startled look. “I’m Peter, by the way.”
She sucked in her cheeks a little bit, staring at the hand he offered her. Just when he thought she was going to ignore him she took it in hers.
“Em,” she simply said. “And I’m also sorry for not realizing we shared classes.”
Could she embarrass herself any more than she already had in front of this boy? He seemed kind, she observed. The little crinkles at the corner of his eyes told her he smiled often. He looked like the kind of person who didn’t have a single mean bone in them.
“That’s okay, I’m very unnoticeable,” Peter teased her in an attempt to get a smile out of her. She had been smiling so bright when she petted Tessa, but her entire face dropped as soon as she stood up and began to talk to him. “Invisible, you could say.”
“That’s not necessarily a bad thing.” She shook her head a bit, wishing she was a bit more invisible to the world. “It could be a superpower.”
Peter laughed weirdly, it was a bit forced, but then again, Emmeline wasn’t the most at ease in this conversation, and it might have rubbed off on him.
“A superpower, yeah,” he repeated. “I’ve always wondered if the Invisible Man had to be naked in order to be fully invisible.”
He could have smacked his head into a brick wall for saying that to this pretty girl who had just saved the day. It was their first real conversation, and he was geeking out on her and talking about nakedness. Just the way to a girl’s heart.
But she laughed this time. And she brightened up the same way she had when she cuddled Tessa.
“Solid theory. You can see his glasses and hat after all, it would make sense.” She shrugged.
Peter was so thoroughly dazzled that he did not know what to say in response to that. If he were having this conversation with Ned, he would know exactly what to answer, but this wasn’t Ned at all. This was the girl that had caught his eye a while ago, and who had just saved him from losing Tessa, and she just made a funny remark about a comics character.
“I- euh-“ Peter blushed so hard he had to look at his feet for a second to collect himself. “I’m going to finish this walk and go back to studying,” he blurted out. It wasn’t a lie, but he could have made a bit more time to talk to her before leaving.
“Yeah, sure.” Emmeline nodded a bit too vigorously. “I also have… things… to do.”
She sure had gone a long way downhill since seventh grade when she had won that elocution prize. It was back when she didn’t cuss every other word.
“How much do I owe you for the leash?”
“Nothing.” She brushed it off with a wave of her hand. “Just bought the cheapest one, and I owed you a real apology so… take it.”
Peter wanted to argue but she had a way of just ending the conversation that made it clear she would not take his money even if he shoved it into her wallet directly. She crouched down to say goodbye to Tessa, who licked her hand just as she reached for her chin to give her a few scratches.
“Tessa, c’mon,” Peter groaned. “Sorry about the dog saliva,” he told Emmeline with a sheepish look, his lips brought in a thin line.
“No worries, I’m used to it. I chose the dog owner life,” she laughed, rolling up her sleeve just a bit.
Peter knew that of course, but he had to pretend he did not.
“What kind of dog?”
Emmeline took her time in answering the question, eyes still focused on Tessa.
“Same as you. Female pit. Light brown with just-“ Her finger hovered above Tessa’s left eye to trace a circle. “One white spot here.”
He didn’t say anything else because he couldn’t think about anything other than the way she smiled at Tessa, probably picturing her own dog, eyes full of affection. For a split second, he wondered what it was like to be on the receiving end of such a stare.
“Well, I’ll be on my way now,” she told him suddenly, standing up again and meeting his eyes with her intense dark ones. “I’ll keep my eye open in class and… maybe say hi?”
God, Peter would like nothing more than that.
.
.
.
Reblog to save a writer
#peter parker#tom holland#spider-man#spider-man: homecoming#spider-man: far from home#ffh#peter parker x oc#dogs#fanfic#peter parker imagine#peter parker oneshot#fanfiction#writing is hard#reviews are important#feedback is important#wattpad#ao3#spiderman#peter parker fanfiction#fluff#mutual pining#idiots to lovers
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RED VS BLUE: The Ghost Trick AU
His consciousness slowly slips back, but he’s wide awake when he hears a gun cock. In front of him is two men, one in a coat pressed up against the wire fence with his hands up, the other in a suit pointing a shotgun at him.
“So long, kid.”
He tries to stand. He tries to raise his hand. He tries to say something. The guy in the coat is going to die, dammit!
But he can’t move an inch. And they can’t hear him.
Because he’s already dead.
So yeah, the Ghost Trick AU, everyone! I’ve tried to avoid massive Ghost Trick spoilers for those who haven’t played it yet (if you haven’t, go do so, it’s my favourite game for a reason) but in any case, enjoy the casting!
In order of appearance:
Church (Sissel): He’d give you his backstory if he knew what it was. As it currently stands, all he knows is that he’s a recently deceased individual who has a decently good taste in suits and a decently good sense of humor. Okay, maybe that sense of humor is mostly snark, but hey, give him some credit, he’s dead for fuck’s sake. And apparently, being dead comes with the added bonus of “Ghost Tricks”, the power to interact with the living through inanimate objects, travel through telephone lines, and by connecting with the souls of other recently deceased individuals, rewind the last four minutes of their life to avoid their untimely demise. He’s not doing it out of some kind of altruism. He’s just got twelve hours before his soul traverses to the next dimension, and he’d kinda like some help remembering who he is before that happens. That’s all. ‘S only fair.
Detective Dexter Grif (Lynne): Recently promoted to the Detective Division of New Armonia PD, Grif’s something of a loose cannon, and tends to put what he thinks is right before police bureaucracy, which often gets him in trouble. He’s recently gone off the grid again to re-investigate a cold case in which his superior got convicted of murder, which has led to him meeting with Church for information. Which led to him getting shot. Which led to Church saving his life. Which led to him getting arrested for Church’s murder. But as if he’s gonna let a simple arrest get in his way. He’s got a mission to follow. And if he can get food on the way, that’ll be awesome. (Also, don’t call his coat yellow. It’s fucking orange.)
Felix (Nearsighted Jeego): An assassin tasked in ending the life of anyone who knows about “Shisno”. Grif hasn’t the faintest idea what that is, but apparently he’s on that hit list anyway. However, Felix’s overconfidence proves to be a weakness Church is only happy to exploit.
Ray: A deceased soul possessing a desk lamp, Ray is Church’s “Ghost Trick” mentor. Despite ghosts communicating through telepathy, Ray manages to keep most of his thoughts, knowledge, motive and real name included, secret from Church. He requested Church’s help solving the mysterious goings on in New Armonia in return, but frankly, Church only has twelve hours here. He’s got his own mystery to solve, thank you very much.
Chairman Malcolm Hargrove (Commander Sith): The head of Charon Industries, the technological megacorporation of a foreign nation intent on unimaginable power and possibly global domination. Though their technology is far more advanced than any other nation’s, said technology is… “off”, to say the least. And should anyone get in Hargrove’s way, he has his own “security force” to call on.
Counselor Aidan Price (Masked Lieutenant): Hargrove’s immediate subordinate, in charge of carrying out his immediate orders and organizing the orders to others. Never breaks his impassive expression, which can even creep Hargrove out sometimes.
Locus (One Step Ahead Tengo): Another assassin under Hargrove’s employ, much more calm and collected than his rival Felix. He prefers to get ahead of his “prey” and lie in wait in the shadows, rather than tail them and face them directly.
Freckles (Missile): A small fluffy “freckled” dog, technically belonging to “Master Grif”, but much more attached to his roommate, “Master Caboose”. He would do absolutely anything for his masters, and not even an inconvenient death will stand in his way. He’ll make instant friends with just about anybody, so long as they don’t mind a bit (a lot) of barking.
Michael Caboose (Kamila): A ten-year-old kid who’s been in the foster care system since he was very young. He’s lived with Grif and Freckles for about five years, after an unfortunate incident with his previous foster family. He may or may not have witnessed said incident, but always seems to be cheerful nevertheless. He’s not the smartest in school, but he’s pretty good at making convoluted contraptions out of random objects, not always with the permission of his guardian.
Doctor Emily Grey (Superintendent): A former medical examiner of New Armonia PD, now in charge of maintaining and supervising the Zone D junkyard, where Church was murdered. She apparently lives in her office with her pet pigeon Carmen, and spends her free time conducting strange experiments and research in her basement.
Lord Donald Doyle (Justice Minister): The minister of justice in charge of administering the sentences of condemned criminals. It’s a complicated and stressful job, and as such has taken its toll on his health and his relationship with his family. A recent squabble with his wife has resulted in her walking out with their son in tow, which has only worsened his psyche.
Detective Vera Ohio (Detective Blue): A detective at Grif’s precinct, who, well, can get a little too enthusiastic sometimes, especially if she has a chance to prove herself to a superior officer. This enthusiasm doesn’t always equal results, however, so she’s stuck at her current ranking. She’s a little jealous of Grif for making Detective so quickly by comparison.
Detective Ezra Idaho (Detective McCaw): Ohio’s investigative partner, who’s more than used to her antics and usually tries to be her voice of reason, with little success. He’s a little concerned with Ohio trying too hard to impress their superiors, and the ridiculous example set by their inspector.
Doctor Lucy Connecticut (Medical Officer): The medical examiner in Church’s murder case, though no one’s ever seen her on a case before. But, she has her credentials, and she gets the job done, so no questions need to be asked. Right?
Inspector Maddison Carolina (Inspector Cabanela): The head of the Special Investigation Unit, and basically the whole police force second only to the Chief. Though her track record, like her coat, is spotlessly flawless, her manner is jarringly blasé; don’t for a second let this fool you though, she did not get to her position by fuffing around, and heaven have mercy on you if she catches you doing so yourself. Most of the other detectives are wary of her as a result, but she’s surprisingly close to and protective of the newest one, Dexter “Dex” Grif.
Detective Frank DuFresne (Detective Rindge): Oh, did you forget about the other detective at the precinct? You wouldn’t be the first. Whether it be the way he tries not to be in the way, or the way his face disappears under his hat, DuFresne always manages to find a way to be invisible. This isn’t always a hindrance however; as such he’s often assigned to reconnaissance or covert information gathering, a job he excels at. He also excels at it where he’s not meant to, so if anyone knows the low-down on the precinct’s gossip, it’s him.
Officer Dick Simmons (Typical Cop 1): A cop from Grif’s old beat, Simmons would have been promoted to Detective too… if he wasn’t such a nervous wreck in the presence of a superior, which at his rank is always. He tries his best, he really does, but he always seems to stumble over himself at the last minute, and the detectives he works under don’t help either, admonishing him for the slightest mistake and taking the credit when he actually accomplishes something. He also has a massive crush on Grif, which can hinder his mental processing even more. Grif is completely in denial about it, even when others point it out.
Sarge (Chicken Chef): Proprietor, manager and head chef of The Red Base Chicken Kitchen, home of smoky fried chicken, questionable budgeting decisions, and many a husky Southern ballad, all courtesy of the man himself. All of the above factors are an acquired taste, but that doesn’t bother him. As far as he’s concerned, he’s living the dream.
Officer Ben Matthews (Officer Bailey): One of six guards patrolling Stella Nova Penitentiary, Matthews is a stickler for the rules 99% of the time, but in spite of himself, there are two people he can never say no to; one is Grif, and the other is his fellow officer Bitters. The stress of trying to keep the latter in line causes him a lot of pent up energy that… occasionally has to be let out. In hilarious fashion. Bitters has videos.
Officer Antoine Bitters (Other Officer): Once upon a time, Bitters was a hopeful, enthusiastic young police cadet raring to take on the bad guys and protect the streets of New Armonia. But now he’s stuck on guard duty in the most uneventful prison ever, and his attitude is beginning to match his name. With not much “guarding” necessary, he spends most of his time creating his own entertainment, often at Matthews’ expense.
Officer John Andersmith (Prison Guard 1): Like Matthews, Andersmith is a stickler for the rules, but he’s immune to Bitters’ mind tricks, and everyone’s learned to keep the two apart if they’d like to finish the day without a headache. Even if he wasn’t such a stickler, the prisoners aren’t likely to try and bully him; he’s six foot, jacked and pretty good with a firearm.
Mina South (Spiky): Lead guitarist and singer of rock band The Dakotas, South’s music career hit a screeching halt when she was arrested for leaking government secrets during a concert being aired live around the nation. She’s the most abrasive of the inmates of Stella Nova, but her attitude wins her nothing, especially from Andersmith.
Peter Maine (Sausage Head): A man of few words, Maine’s actions speak for him; he’s in Stella Nova for breaking in to the New Armonia Metro PD and holding the Chief Commissioner at flamethrower-point. Though he may seem intimidating, in reality he’s easily pushed around, particularly by fellow inmate South.
Detective David Washington (Detective Jowd): The third and quietest of Stella Nova’s inmates, Washington used to be New Armonia’s, and perhaps even all of Chorus’, best detective, Carolina’s best friend, and Grif’s mentor, until he was convicted for the murder of his partner Tucker. Though Grif maintains his innocence, he himself has accepted his guilt and his sentence. His detective skills haven’t blunted, though, so little happens within the prison walls that he doesn’t know about.
Officer Charlie Palomo (Prison Guard 2): The newest of the six guards in Stella Nova, Palomo’s innocent worldview has yet to be tarnished by the harsh realities of his job, or the exasperation of his colleagues. If anyone’s going to start a casual conversation, with a colleague or with an inmate, it’ll be Palomo, and he rarely gets the hint to keep his mouth shut unless explicitly told.
Chief Vanessa Kimball (Chief): Though only in the top spot for a few years, Kimball is an instant magnet for respect, even from top investigators such as Carolina. In fact, she and Carolina have struck up a rapport in the wake of Washington’s arrest, and she’s the only one Carolina will open up to. All the other members of the force, however, shouldn’t dream of getting casual with her.
Detective Franklin Donut (Memry): Once the Special Investigation Unit honed in on the location of an illicit deal taking place at The Red Base Chicken Kitchen, they sent in their undercover operative Donut in the guise of a recently hired waiter. He’s not too undercover, though; the bubbly, flirtatious attitude and unwitting innuendos are all the real him, which often makes his workmates, at the restaurant and the PD, very, very uncomfortable.
Girlie (Beauty): One of two operatives of Charon taking part in the deal at Red Base, though she’s beginning to regret agreeing more by the minute. Even if her “sixth sense” makes her invaluable for the job, her teammate is intolerable, and the other party is taking forever to turn up.
Sharkface (Dandy): Girlie’s teammate, Sharkface also has distaste for their assignment, though it has more to do with the extent of work he has to do than the company. If anything, the company is all that makes this assignment worth it, though she greatly disagrees.
Lopez (Bartender): The barman of The Red Base Chicken Kitchen, Lopez is very, very jaded from his job. His boss is borderline insane, the waiter is driving him insane, and no one understands a word he says anyway. The only thing that keeps him there is the knowledge that, at the very least, his work is appreciated.
Officer Katie Jensen (Prison Guard 3): As the closest in age to Palomo, and the one who can tolerate his company the best, Jensen is usually the guard on the same round as him. They can often be found chatting in the halls until they’re needed, at which point she’ll also be one dragging him back to work.
Officer Averil Volleyball (Prison Guard 4): The first time anyone sees Volleyball in uniform, they swear she’s a kissogram, not an actual officer, and her flirtatious manner doesn’t help. But anyone who actually tries to have their way? Those handcuffs aren’t for play, buddy.
Lavernius Tucker (Alma): Washington’s partner, well-known among his colleagues for being the one that can make the usually stoic detective crack the dorkiest smile ever. Or, well, was well-known, until Washington was charged with his murder. Could their relationship really have gone that sour that quickly?
The only characters of import that I have yet to cast are Doyle’s wife and son, and the hippy that makes DuFresne’s job harder than usual. Any ideas from those who know both franchises?
(Also, please don’t judge me for my choice of given names of the Freelancer and Chorus characters. I put a lot of thought into them.)
#Red vs Blue#Ghost Trick#AU#was going to tag all the characters#but tumblr won't let me bc there's too many#i'll just tag the ships then#grimmons#tuckington#kimbalina#sharkgirl?#I couldn't think of a better name
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Yay, requests are open! I had a hard time picking b/c those were some good ass prompts, but... "Person A lifting Person B up to reach the second floor railing from the first floor after someone tossed their stuff up there" with Jason, if you would, my dear. Doesn't necessarily have to be high school related, I'm not picky lol. Thanks in advance!
Yay, requests are open! I had a hard time picking b/c those were some good ass prompts, but… “Person A lifting Person B up to reach the second floor railing from the first floor after someone tossed their stuff up there” with Jason, if you would, my dear. Doesn’t necessarily have to be high school related, I’m not picky lol. Thanks in advance!
I am all too happy to fill this prompt for you! Thank you so much for the opportunity. You are a wonderful friend and such an encouraging presence in my life. I love you dearly, and I just want you to know that I appreciate you.
Tag List: @nxttime, @possiblyelven, @thepuckishrogue, @jinkies-its-a-writer (If you want to be tagged, let me know! For more fics, check out my masterlist.)
Also gonna say here that my requests are open again for a limited time! I’ve hit 500 followers (fucking wow!), and I’m including NSFW works for this round of requests. Go to my blog and request some more things from me!
When Jason says there aren’t any good footholds up to your backpack, you assume that’s the end of it. Your friend’s big brother had followed you into the stairwell, tried to help, couldn’t, and now it’s time to report your own idiot brother to the office. School’s been out for less than an hour. Surely one staff member is still around to unlock a door up to the second story.
Jason, however, comes to a different conclusion.
You are a step and a half lower when the mountain of human at your back snags you by the armpits and unceremoniously hefts you up onto one of his shoulders. Like any normal person lifted more than five feet with no warning, you shriek. Limbs flailing in all directions as you’re benched on the juncture of his arm, you ache where his hands clutched your squirming torso.
“Jesus, kid,” a wry Jason says as you struggle. It’s only when your knee knocks into his cheek that all amusement leaves his tone. “Oi! Watch it.”
You yelp, ignoring the young man you’d mistaken for a friend while frantically scrabbling for the railing. “Don’t drop me! Don’t drop me! What is wrong with you?”
“Are you kidding me?” he growls, exasperated when your leg tags his face for a second time.
Jason slaps a firm grip on your knee, using his own knuckles as a poor shield for the cheek suffering your unintentional battering. One arm barred over the band where your thighs become your hips like a vice, Jason knows that you’re locked against his shoulder just fine. If you’d stop thrashing, you’d realize it too.
“Grab your shit and let’s get out of here,” he says, unable to see how close you are to the prize as your torso blocks his view. “Tim’s probably been waiting for us at the car.”
You wail petulantly, eyes clamped shut. Heights terrify you. Just lingering five steps up made you feel like you were navigating a complicated mass of even little cliffs. You stared at your feet when you took the stairs every Tuesday and Thursday, and you’d shown up two hours early at the beginning of the year so that you could make your schedule with as many classes on the first floor as possible.
Out of nowhere, Tim’s voice asks, “Tim’s where?”
He’s up above you, leaning over the second floor railing and flashing Jason a smug grin that quickly wilts as he takes in the scene below him.
Jason huffs. His tone is flat as a platter. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Some rational part of you notes that Tim is on the second floor. This is a good thing. He can rescue your book-bag, and his giant brother can put you back on the ground. Instead of asking for any of these actions to take place, you squeeze your eyes closed again and cry, “Help!”
“She’s afraid of heights, Jason,” Tim explains. You’re not entirely sure what transpires, but the words come from beside Jason in the stairwell. Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you peep the nearest eye open to see that Tim has hopped down next to his brother with your backpack in hand. “Please put my friend down.”
“Please!” you echo, paradoxically clinging onto the railing up above all the more fiercely. Your stomach feels like it’s puckered into a sour, shriveled prune and is trying to creep up your throat.
Jason mumbles something unintelligible, washed in a quick flash of guilt. It’s like he’s gone and put a kitten up a tree, and now there’s no way to slide her down without grossly adjusting her uniform in an inappropriate way. He assesses the situation for another solution. He doesn’t find one.
The older brother goes contrite where he had been irritated. “I uh- I maybe didn’t think this one through, Timbo.”
A panicked sound escapes past your wandering stomach as it dawns on you that you’re in less than capable hands.
Tim walks away, having foreseen the embarrassing turn this scenario was likely to take. “You’re not kidding, Jason,” he calls back over his shoulder with a bark of incredulous laughter.
“Welp, sorry, sweetheart.” Jason accepts the inevitable and moves his hands to either of your hips. When your weight is balanced in his palms instead of on his shoulder, he instructs you. “You’ve got to let go when I tell you to, okay?”
Whimpering an assent, you loosen your grip and do your best to disassociate from the entire debacle. No amount of effort, however, keeps you from noticing the trill that shoots up your spine to feel the way he’s holding you.
The closest you’ve ever been to a dude is sitting next to Tim, and that doesn’t count anymore than being on a couch with your brother. Your sweet lil’ mind simply cannot process that there’s an undeniably handsome twenty-something in a leather jacket with his hands literally up your skirt.
Considering it too closely kinda’ makes you want to die a little bit. Or maybe burst into song?
Today too, of all days, you hadn’t hiked on a pair of tights to go under your uniform.
When Jason’s got one foot planted on the higher stair behind him, he gives the signal. “Now!” he says, working quickly to direct your fall.
You drop, forcing yourself to focus on the sensation of strong hands running down your thighs and locking in the crooks behind your knees. Your back slams against his broad chest, and it’s hard to breathe with your belly folded so tightly. Your knees are parallel with your shoulders, and you don’t even want to think about the humiliating way that your legs are splayed.
“Down!” you demand. “Put me down, now.”
“Right.” Jason lowers himself closer to the ground and drops your legs one at a time to be sure of your footing. “Again, that was my bad.”
#jason todd#red hood#jason todd x reader#red hood x reader#reader insert#prompt#ask#aspirating anxiety writes#batcanon by beth#thepuckishrogue#surprise appearance of tim drake?
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of flesh and blood 31
also on [ao3]
start - part [30]
-
"Fuck," he murmured to himself in a hushed, swift breath the way he often did.
"Fuck, I can't believe this shit, holy hell," he continued, pacing with his hands behind his head, eyes looking at the ground while he walked circles.
His dad was definitely going to be livid. He didn't have a partner on the team anymore, which evidently diminished his chances at being an objectionable case. The DPD wasn't going to be on his side for long, and once word of this got out he was as good as dead meat.
He didn't know what to do. There was nothing he could do.
Ripping open the box to look at the pieces of the chassis might not have been the smartest decision, but something buzzed in his mind as he pulled the face panel from the top and turned it around. Looking over the ports, bolts and other various pieces that composed the shell of its head, he paid no mind to the complicated connective process, eyeing over the electronic chips embedded into the shell that shaped the android's face, minus the eyes and internal skeleton nestled behind it, still in the box. All of the main biocomponents were there, but the entirety of the android body wasn't in the box; likely because it wouldn't fit without getting inconveniently bulky. What was left behind was the old thirium pump, drained of the liquid that dissipated from the human eye's naked vision, now an empty, metal-framed plastic container with a pair of holes blown through the front and back of it. It looked simple on its own, clear and hollow compared to the morbid visage of when it was spilling the glistening liquid across the sidewalk. The way the android’s old chassis was now a strange puzzle of scattered parts was a different kind of unnerving, compared to the fact it seemed like a living, breathing human being only days ago.
Shifting the pieces to look around more, he was startled to catch sight of the hands; white and metallic, with the strength that crushed his throat, and shoved him, and cut him, and everything else that wasn't with those arms in particular, but the ones after. The new, resurrected RK900 that returned once more, but with malicious intentions and a vendetta, the next in line of RK serial numbers that destroyed his furniture and soon enough might have entirely ripped him apart, too.
It was over now. It was gone and done with. Gavin knew he should be, too, listening to the strange creak of metallic joints as he prodded the fingers of one of the hands, admiring how deceptively limp the appendages were, how easy it was to shift the device in his hands, interlinking his own fleshy, calloused fingers with the clunky form of its original plastic ones, small panels intricately shaped and placed together to create joints and knuckles with the texture of artificial tendons running above the original plastic that would be washed over by the illusion of its ‘skin’.
This was hard-wired proof that the machine was nothing but that, no matter how human it seemed in their interactions from days, weeks, and months before. It was fascinating, in a way, how the human psyche digested things differently solely on appearance; a factor Elijah Kamski clearly took into consideration, considering they had functions to reveal or recede the human-mimicking tone of flesh, leaving them a bald, plastic chassis with eyes much too glossy and realistic, always popping out in contrast to the other inorganic features and structure. It was mortifying to think about how well it had taught and trained and disciplined him into treating it like a human, just as it wanted. Weren’t those already tell-tale signs of deviancy? Gavin supposed it didn’t matter, considering the tests were over, Cyberlife supposedly found the answer and the RK900 was gone.
That meant these hunks of useless machinery were as good as garbage, he figured, coming to terms with the fact they really were only there to scare him. Taking a deep breath in through his nose, then out with a flare of his nostrils, he tossed the pieces back in the box, and slammed the lid back on with the thought of how much it might weigh and how far he’d have to carry it to the nearest dumpster. Would that be suspicious? In all reality, he didn’t know how often commonplace people threw out their androids, and the last thing he needed was to attract more attention.
-
Going home to Sumo laying on the couch was much more comforting than seeing the RK900 waiting there, staring at him expectantly; the dog lifted his massive head with an attentive whine, wagging his tail, and Gavin lifted his eyebrows to offer him a tired expression while he peeled off his nice coat to hang up on the nearby rack.
“Look at you. Getting to lay around here all day, doing nothing,” he murmured, but his voice was fairly playful, even though it was lethargic. Sitting down and leaning back into the comfort of the new couch cushions, he welcomed Sumo with open arms as the dog plodded heavy paws onto his legs, making him chuckle at the force of the St. Bernard’s weight as he settled to lay his head down on his lap. Generally, he’d consider it too early to sleep, but seeing as he clearly wasn’t getting up to make dinner anytime soon, he figured he’d make himself comfortable, grabbing the remote and turning on the TV to shuffle through the channels in an attempt to find something to watch.
Coming home without the sense of danger throughout his house was something he’d began to appreciate, even if the only reason he had a house in the first place was because of the RK900’s affinity for ‘gifts.’ Large, unnervingly expensive, long-term ‘presents’ that were supposed to aid him in the long run, but for what? Sighing, he leaned his head back, absent-mindedly running his hands through the big dog’s thick fur, closing his eyes as he let his mind run rampant with ideas, memories, and the thoughts for his future. As it was clear he wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon, he decided it was best to rest where he was for now.
-
“Yeah, I tossed the damn thing out, finally,” he said with a lighter tone to his voice, sounding relieved.
“Good. I can’t imagine what good it was doing for you, sitting around in the garage,” Tina responded with a bit more harshness than intended; but with the knowledge the ‘souvenir’ was continuing to destroy his psyche, she felt a bias over the fact it should have been thrown out since the night she unwrapped the box, expecting literally anything but the blank face she’d discovered first thing upon opening it. Gavin remembered panicking, scrambling to apologize as they ended the night early and she headed home, deciding that was a bit much and not talking to him for a couple weeks thereafter. As he was afraid to lose the only person resembling a friend he seemed to have, he didn’t take any action to bother her, simply hoping she’d contact him again; and feeling all the more relieved when she did.
“I dunno,” he admitted as he was at a loss for words.
“I thought if I kept it there, I could contain it somehow. But I can’t contain something imaginary. Should have thrown it out the night you were at my place,” he stated with a sigh, rubbing the creases in his forehead with his index finger and thumb, elbow to the break room table as he glared at his partial portrait staring back at him from the white surface, staring it down in a reflection of self-loathing.
“It’s still messing you up?” Her voice sounded callous, but he didn’t blame her for not knowing better.
“It never stopped,” he snapped in a voice that sliced through the air with its bite. She paused.
“Have you met the new guy yet?” A swift subject change ought to help them both feel better, she figured.
“Huh? Sure,” he said with a nod to himself, knitting his brows as he thought back to the annoyance that was supposedly the new aid for the team.
“I can already tell he’s gonna be a pain in the ass.”
“I think he already is,” she agreed.
“The FBI are already snakes, and Perkins is…well, who he is,” she expressed without so many words. Gavin made a disgusted noise, shaking his head to himself.
“Tell me about it. At least Perkins only shows up when he’s needed. I have a feeling this kid’s gonna be a lot nosier.” She paused.
"So...how are you holding up? With it being gone, I mean." Gavin's lips twitched back in a grimace, and he sighed.
"Okay, I guess. It doesn't feel real. Followed me everywhere, from work to bed and back again." Her gaze dimmed uncomfortably.
"Well, you've invited me over to your place, why don't you come to my house? A change of scenery often helps." Blinking with his usual dumbfounded stare of disbelief, Gavin paused, before nodding.
“Yeah, alright. That doesn’t sound so bad.”
#i cant believe im over 30 chapters. wow#this was NEVER meant to get this long at all#dbh: gavin reed#dbh: tina chen
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The Lily Farm (A Funeral) - Chapter 22
Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2 | Pairing: Arthur x Mary Beth | Rating: Mature
Content: Existential Angst, Friendship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Nature, Touch-Starved, Humor, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Angst, Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Fake Marriage, Epiphanies, Backstory, Banter, Deep Emotions, Sharing a Bed, Swimming, Arthur to the Rescue, Forests, Abduction, Angst, Heavy Angst, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Sexual Content, Sexual Themes, Adult Content, Canon Divergence, Found Families, Brotherhood, Fatherhood, pregnancy, Drug Use, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Protective Arthur, Minor John Marston/Abigail Roberts
Summary: To help her process Sean’s death, Mary Beth asks Arthur to take her on a hunting trip, somewhere far away. He agrees, and on their journey to the north, they find quietude and take comfort in their easy bond. They’ve been friends for a while now, but life, like the wilderness, is full of uncertainty and complications, and in their desperate search for meaning together, they endure a number of trials, some small, some big, all of which bring them closer to one another, as well as to their future. But they’ve fallen in love during hard times. With the gang tipping dangerously close to a breaking point in a changing world, Arthur must make a difficult choice. Can he escape the past, as well as the outlaw life and start over, building a family of his own? With Mary Beth by his side, one thing is certain: redemption and second chances finally seem within his grasp.
***For the rest of this story, you can visit the masterpost or AO3, both linked in the replies to this post and also at my blog.***
Chapter 22: The Gilded Cage, Pt. 2
Two days earlier, John and Abigail sat drinking big glasses of water out on the balcony of Shady Belle. It was the morning after the storm. The yard in front of Shady Belle was all full of puddles, some of them two inches deep. Jack was out there in his bare feet, splashing and running around with Cain the dog. They had a view of him from where they sat. At one point, Micah walked by and barked something incoherent at the boy. John flinched, but Arthur was standing nearby the commotion and casually grabbed Micah by the collar, yanking him hard and tossing him to the earth with an unforeseen force of derision. Micah laughed while Arthur walked away, but he didn’t fuck with the boy again. John sighed and took a drink of his water and then he looked at Abigail who seemed lost in a dream.
“Babe?” said John, trying to get her attention. “Hey, babe.”
She blinked a bunch of times, looked at him. “What is it?”
“You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said, smiling, smoothing her hands over her dress. “Why?”
“You just looked a little dreamy.”
“Oh, please,” she said, blushing. “I don’t get dreamy, John Marston. Now tell me about your fishing trip with Arthur.”
John sighed, looked down at his glass of water. It was rainwater and therefore very cool and delicious. Pearson was enterprising and had put out buckets the night before. “A lot happened, actually.”
“Nothing bad I hope. The two of you need to come to your senses already. You’re like brothers for Christ’s sake.”
“I know,” said John. “I know, Abigail. And we are, I think. It was good actually. We talked about…a lot of stuff.”
“Good,” she said, patting him on the knee. Then she looked back out over the balcony, watching Jack with the dog.
“You know, we discussed one thing in particular that I wanted to…talk to you about.”
“Yeah?” said Abigail. She smiled now in his direction. She was so pretty, in this very pure, natural way. She was like that glass of rainwater.
He took a drink. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s about him and Mary Beth.”
“The two of them fill my heart,” she said. She looked down at her clean, clear water. “It’s about time they found each other, if you ask me.”
“Sure,” said John. “It’s great. I couldn’t agree more.”
“And?”
“And,” he said, straightening up a little in his seat. He kind of leaned toward her. “And they’re leaving.”
She looked up, concerned. “Leaving?” she said. “Leaving where?”
“Leaving the gang.”
“What?”
“Leaving the gang, Abigail.”
“I heard you,” she said. She started to resituate her skirt. It was a long blue and white plaid, an elegant number she’d sewn herself. She was pioneering, Abigail. She knew how to rise perfectly even from one occasion to the next. “Why didn’t Mary Beth mention anything.”
“Well it ain’t in stone,” said John. “No definite plans as of yet. But they’re leaving.”
“Where they gonna go?”
“Up north,” said John. “Wisconsin.”
“Wisconsin?” said Abigail. “What’s up there? Cows?”
“I got no idea,” said John. “But, probably.”
Abigail’s face fell a little bit, but he could tell she was trying to be happy. “Well, that is a surprise.”
“Why you look so glum?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know, John. You telling me two of our closest friends are about to up and leave. It kind of kills the conversation.”
“I wasn’t done yet,” said John.
She gave him a look. “Well then, finish,” she said.
He sighed, looking right at her. “Arthur said we should come with them.”
Abigail had been sipping her water. When he said this, she stopped abruptly, swallowed, and then set her water down on the floor. “Go with em? To Wisconsin?”
He nodded. “You, me, and Jack. I guess the dog, too. Though we didn’t discuss the dog.”
“John,” said Abigail. “Are you shitting me?”
“No,” he said. “Why?”
“You wanna go?”
“Maybe,” said John, taking on a defensive posture. They were still at odds in immediate ways. They still did not trust each other the way they should have. “Why not?”
“I ain’t got no reason why not,” said Abigail. “I just—have you thought it through?”
“Thought what through?”
She rolled her eyes. “What are you gonna do, John Marston? You and Arthur gonna rob trains up in Wisconsin?”
“Shit no,” said John. “This ain’t about robbing trains. Hell, I don’t even know if they got trains up in Wisconsin.”
“Of course they do,” said Abigail. “They got trains everywhere.”
“Whatever,” said John. “It ain’t about that. It’s about starting fresh. Who knows what we’ll do. But Arthur seems—he seems confident.”
“He does?”
“Yeah. He thinks we can do anything we want up there. We got a little money, between us. We could put it down on a piece of land, some livestock. Breed horses, herd sheep. You and Mary Beth is friends. It sounds—it sounds like it could work.”
“You’re serious,” said Abigail. A piece of hair had fallen from its rightful place atop her head. He leaned forward to tuck it away for her.
“I am,” he said. “For once, Abigail. I swear.”
She looked away, like she did not believe him.
“Look at me,” he said.
It took her a moment.
“Abbie. Look at me.”
So she did. He didn’t call her Abbie all that much. But when he did, she always seemed to respond. Her eyes were very crisp and very clear that day, like windows. “What?” she said.
“I know I done you wrong,” he said, earnest. “You and Jack. I know.”
“And?”
“And I thought I made it clear, after all that business with Bronte, I’m trying to change.”
“Can you?” she said.
He sighed. He still had his fingers lingering at her ear. She wasn’t pulling away. “Like I said. I’m trying,” he said.
She seemed to soften a little now, in her way. Somewhere, down below in the yard, Cain was barking, and Miss Grimshaw was telling him to shut the fuck up. “So you wanna leave the gang with Arthur and Mary Beth?”
“Maybe,” he said. “That depends on what you wanna do. Do you wanna stay? Keep believin in Dutch? Or do you wanna go? Make our own luck somewhere else? I’m listening, Abigail. Just tell me what you want.”
He could see her chest rising and falling, as she was breathing in a way that suggested she might burst into tears. She did not, however her eyes did glisten some. “I want…I want to get the fuck out of here. You know I do.”
“We could be a family,” said John. “No more of this weird fuckin bullshit, living in a broken down mansion in the middle of the fuck forsaken swamps, bunking with fifteen other people, half of whom are drunk for a living. It ain’t normal, Abbie. It ain’t good. Not for you, not for Jack.”
“What about Dutch?” she said. “What’s he gonna say? You think he’s gonna just let you boys traipse out of here like nothing at all? He’s got a hold on you, both of you.”
“I don’t know,” said John. “Truth be told, I don’t much care at this point. Dutch has gone batty. He’s starting to scare me.”
“But Arthur must care,” she said. “Nothing matters more to Arthur than loyalty.”
“We’re being loyal to what matters,” said John. “That’s just the better choice. Don’t you think?”
She was staring at him, searching, trying to find the lie, the thing that made him weak. She didn’t find it. “I do,” she said.
“Good,” said John. He was feeling assertive. He was feeling fine. He finished off his water and he looked out over the edge of the balcony into the eye of the swamps. “Arthur says they got lily farms up there.”
“Lily farms?” said Abigail, real starry. “I didn’t know there was such a thing.”
“Me neither,” said John.
It was like a dream.
Now.
Arthur and Mary Beth arrived fashionably late to the party at Mayor Lamieux’s house, just as Dutch had planned. In the coach on the way over, Mary Beth had had a shot of rye whiskey and Arthur had two. They were welcomed to the house and ushered through by a short sycophant with a thick French accent, and they arrived at their destination just in time to hear Dutch himself beginning his hand at small talk with skinny-legs Angelo Bronte. Bronte was outfitted in what looked like high society pajamas, and though he was very shiny and very fashionable, his distinctly Roman sense of style clashed considerably with the French bigness of the house in which he stood. Mary Beth could not help but notice all of the expensive artwork on the walls. The portraits were stark and seemed to judge her. The decorating in this house was not to her taste, a little too full of trends and arts décoratifs and seeming to scream with ostentation. Mary Beth liked simple objects in simple spaces that made her feel simple. She liked romantic details like patchwork quilts in primary colors and wooden animal menageries and heavy furniture that was judiciously worn. She liked big white bedspreads and pale blue curtains. She liked circle rugs with yellow fringe. She did not like fashion. She did not like pomp.
Even still, the house glittered furiously, she thought, though you couldn’t see where the glitter was coming from. It sort of just hung around suspiciously at the edges of your vision, making you woozy and unclear and full of a bad feeling like you had no business in this chilly palace of foreign dreams. She felt uncomfortable for many reasons. She trusted no one in her immediate view, not even the servants.
Together, they stood at the double doors leading out to the balcony, their feet on the very hard marble. She could smell cigar smoke. They listened to the conversation outside, just a little bit, as Bronte leaned over the railing with Dutch, passing judgment over each and every high status guest of the party at the mayor’s house. There was the mayor himself, there was a dictator, a newspaper man. All of them sounded like awful people, but none of them as awful as Bronte, who seemed to think he was above them all. There was contention between Bronte and Dutch, Mary Beth discerned. Bronte was insulting to the Native contingent, and to the construct of America on the whole, and she knew that this would bring Dutch to a higher temperature. She could see the annoyance grating at Dutch’s insides, fraying him around his fragile edges. She’d known him long enough, and she could see it in his eyes—the veiled but throat-slitting severity of his wrath. It was a sinister flash and very deep, but it was there.
She yanked on Arthur then, pulling him down to her level, wondering if perhaps she was drunk by mistake. “Maybe that shot of rye wasn’t such a good idea,” she said.
Arthur was cool as a cucumber. “You’ll be fine, Mrs. Kilgore.”
“I’m sweating like a goddam pig, and I don’t like it here.”
“Ain’t you got a fan hidden in your bustle or something?”
“Yes,” she said, “but it ain’t my plan to use it right up until the very end of the interaction. I can’t take it out now.”
“What happens at the end of the interaction?”
“Drama,” she said.
Amused, Arthur nodded. He said, “Well, I suppose we should go out.”
“I suppose,” said Mary Beth, studying Dutch still and all that worrisome circumstance happening out on the balcony. “This is a bad scene, Arthur.”
“Which part?”
“Bronte. I robbed fifty assholes like him in Kansas City.”
“I don’t know about that, Mary Beth.”
“What don’t you know?”
Arthur sighed. He looked at her.
“What is it, Arthur.”
“Just don’t underestimate him,” he said, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “Okay?”
“I ain’t.” She fawned a little, at his touch. He cleaned up real nice. He smelled good, and he had gone to the barber and got his hair combed, pomaded, trimmed. He still had some scruff on his cheeks. The tux pulled him together in golden ways. She’d never seen a man looking so good in her whole life. He made her feel better, just him being there. “Don’t worry.”
When they got outside, they could finally hear the verve and excitement brewing at the party below. Dutch wasted no time. His anger broke. He became gregarious again, and Mary Beth could see the shifting in his demeanor—could feel it. It was palpable.
“Tacitus!” he said, coming right up to them, shaking Arthur’s hand and then escorting him by the arm right out to Bronte. “It’s about time you got here, my boy.”
“This is who, now?” said Bronte.
Mary Beth hung back, a few steps behind, her head dipped, hiding beneath her avian hat. Dutch cleared his throat. “Signor Bronte, let me introduce you to my associate, Tacitus Kilgore. Whether that’s his real name or an alias, I’ll let you decide.” He laughed like a regular believable schmuck.
“Mr. Kilgore,” said Bronte. “The pleasure is all mine.”
“Oh you have no idea,” said Arthur, bowing, just a little. He could play a very good blowhard when the occasion called for it. “This is quite a…soiree going on here, if I do say so myself.”
“Yes well, the mayor, he is a glutton for popularity. What can I say.”
“Not much, I expect,” said Arthur.
“And who is this…?” said Bronte, eyeballing Mary Beth. “You brought a woman to our proceedings? Very brave indeed.”
She looked up from beneath the wide, blue brim of her hat. Bronte eyed her like a mystery.
Dutch interjected. “This is Mrs. Kilgore, Signor Bronte. Brand new wife of Tacitus here. She could not bear to be away from him. Not even for the night.”
This brought a great deal of joy and surprise to Bronte. “A wife?” said Bronte. “I was not aware that cowboys took wives.”
“They take a lot more than that,” said Mary Beth, batting her eyelashes. “If you catch my drift.”
“And we aren’t cowboys,” said Dutch, strained. “Though it’s a common misconception, we don’t actually herd cattle.”
Bronte was quiet for a moment, but then he exploded with laugher. Dutch did as well. Bronte found this to be hilarious. The whole exchange was like a circus sideshow, thought Mary Beth. Fuckin idiot men. Bronte looked around at his shifty-eyed entourage. “I like this man,” he said. “You like this man?”
They all nodded and laughed conspicuously.
A fastidious servant came around then, with three cigars laid in parallel on a silver platter. Arthur took one, as did Dutch, as did Bronte. Dutch proceeded with his introduction, waving his cigar about, as a prop. “Mrs. Kilgore here,” he said, “is an oil heiress from Galveston, Texas. Isn’t that right, my sweet?”
“Yes, sir,” said Mary Beth.
“Her daddy is an ex-outlaw turned oil tycoon. She is a relatively new addition to our family, joined us only two months ago.” Dutch held out his cigar for the servant, who lit it with prudence. He smoked, looking right at her. “A fine piece of work if you ask me.”
“An oil heiress?” said Bronte. “How…uniquely American.”
“Indeed,” said Arthur. He’d bit the cap straight off his cigar, spat it to the ground. Now the servant lit his, too. “Go on, Marie. Say hi to the nice man.”
Mary Beth smiled. She took a few steps forward, walking in a way that made her big skirt swing from side to side.
Bronte held out his hand. “Madame Kilgore,” he said, bringing her knuckles to his lips. “It is…a pleasure. You are married to the cowboy here?”
“Yes, sir,” she said, demurely.
“Tell me about the…eh…appeal in such dire atrocities.” He laughed.
Mary Beth just smiled. She did not laugh. Instead, she became big with her performance. She liked to use her hands a lot while talking, but this time, she was very composed. She approached him with confidence. She picked up one of his hands in her own. This took him by surprise, but he did not protest. “Well, Mr.—” She looked up at him, feigning confusion. “What was it again?”
Arthur almost choked on the smoke in his own lungs.
Bronte balked. “Eh, Bronte,” he said. “Angelo Bronte.”
“Right, right,” she said. “Mr. Bronte.” She really chewed the r. “You know, in my station,” she continued, focused, “it ain’t hard to come across carefully coiffed men with very soft, small, manicured…hands…and a big old barrel of money, ready to whisk me off my feet!” She studied his hands. “Of course, they’re all a bunch of sissies. When it comes down to it. You know what I mean. They’re afraid of getting dirty, of making a big noise. But a real woman knows that the only way to get her…skirts ruffled…if you will…is to find a man who ain’t afraid of using his hands. Who goes out into the physical world, roughs it up a little, and leaves it different than it was when he got there. Not a sissy, Mr. Bronte, and I’ll tell you money don’t make no man! I mean…a force. You ever seen a real man’s hands?”
Arthur was totally miffed. His cigar was burning but had not been smoked yet. He’d been watching her with relative awe.
“I—uh—” mumbled Bronte, “I suppose I have not.”
Mary Beth turned to Arthur. “Show em, Tacitus.”
He came to, surfacing, shook out his head, realized he was being called upon. He obliged. “My pleasure,” he said. He hitched the stogie to the corner of his mouth, took off one white glove. He held out his right hand. It was like a boulder in comparison to Bronte’s, truly it was. Bronte stood, looking, awkwardly. Then Arthur broke the moment by holding his bare hand out for a hearty shake. Bronte took it, firm at first, but hesitant.
Arthur smiled right at him, lowered his voice to improvise, took the cigar out of his mouth and ashed it directly onto the floor. “Forgive me, Signor Bronte,” he said. “My fair lady Marie is a bit of a firecracker. I can’t even predict her myself.”
Bronte laughed, finally, nervously. “Yes, I can see that, Mr. Kilgore,” he said. “Tell me, where did you say you found her again?”
“Galveston, Texas,” said Arthur, smirking. He withdrew his hand, replaced his glove. “I was robbing a bank. She was there. Came away with a lot more than stacks of cash that day, if you know what I mean.” He laughed. Dutch laughed.
Bronte became nervous, again, with the laughter.
Dutch slowly reentered the conversation then, asserting himself via the smoke from his cigar. Bronte said nothing more. “Well,” said Dutch, looking from Bronte to Arthur to Mary Beth, “now that you’ve made your…impression, Mrs. Kilgore—” He laughed. They all laughed. Except for Bronte, who seemed sweaty. “—Why don’t you and your rough-handed husband head down to the party, mingle a little. I’ll be down soon to…meet you for a drink.”
“Sounds good,” said Arthur, holding out his arm. His voice was warm and deep and it defused the moment all by itself.
Mary Beth took his arm, and then she flipped the fan from her skirts. Very dramatic. “Bye, Mr. Bronte,” she said, smiling. “Don’t forget what I said.”
Arthur patted Mary Beth’s arm and smiled. “Let’s go, darlin.”
“Mmm,” she said.
They left the balcony.
Bronte blinked, several times. He had not yet begun to smoke his cigar. “Who did you say she was again?” he said.
“Marie Kilgore,” said Dutch. “I would give you her maiden name, but in truth, I cannot recall what it was. They didn’t get married in no church, Signor Bronte.”
“I see,” said Bronte, halfway shaken. He leaned out over the balcony rail again, seeming to survey the scene. “An interesting woman.”
“That, she is,” said Dutch, smoking, eyeballing Arthur and Mary Beth who emerged from the long, twisting staircase, stepping into the garden of thieves below. “That, she is.”
When they got downstairs, slipping into the swaths of glamorous humans, Arthur was somewhat speechless. He crossed his arms over his chest. They stopped beneath the cover of a silvery tree.
Mary Beth noticed him staring. “What?” she said, putting away her fan. “Did I do okay?”
“That was very good, Miss Gaskill,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I can rightly say I didn’t know you had that in you.”
“Didn’t have what?” she said.
“Huge cowboy balls.”
She laughed. She laughed really hard.
“I’m serious,” he said, admiring. “You put that man off balance. I’m very impressed.”
“Well, thank you, Mr. Kilgore,” she said, curtsying. Then she reached into the pocket of her skirt. “I stole his pocket watch, too.”
Arthur’s eyes got big. He grabbed the watch from her hand and looked around, making sure no one saw. “Jesus,” he said.
“It was right there,” she said. “I couldn’t help myself.”
“Mrs. Kilgore, what are we gonna do with you?” A servant walked by with a tray of champagne. When he was looking away, Arthur dropped the watch into the bottom of one of the bubbling flutes.
“Arthur!” she laughed.
“Come on,” he said, hurried, taking her hand. “We must find a way to moderate your addiction to subterfuge. At least for the time being. Champagne perhaps? Or you wanna jump straight to gin.”
“I wonder what the mayor has in his pockets,” said Mary Beth, surveying the party. “Ain’t that him over there? By the fountain.”
Arthur followed after her gaze, squinting against the low, gold light of the garden. The entire affair was full of tasteful ruckus and women wearing huge hats that all looked just like Mary Beth’s, just like birds. “I reckon that is him,” said Arthur.
“That man standing with him looks familiar.”
“Which man?” said Arthur.
“The one with the mutton chops,” she said. “Well, other man with the mutton chops.”
“Familiar how?” He took a drink of his champagne. It was smooth and good and bright.
She studied him for a long time. Arthur watched, could sort of see the gears going on beneath the surface, a slow light emerging. Another servant happened by with another tray of champagne. Arthur took two flutes, one for him and one for Mary Beth. Mary Beth took the flute but did not drink at first. And after a moment, something came together, and she perked up, with wonder.
“It’s Evelyn Miller,” she said, squinting. “That’s right.”
“Evelyn Miller?” said Arthur. “The writer?”
“Yes,” said Mary Beth. “That’s him.”
“No shit,” he said, almost starstruck for a moment. “How do you know what Evelyn Miller looks like?”
“Dutch has read to me from his book—The American Inferno—dozens of times. He’s leant it to me more times than that. It ain’t my cup of tea, but there’s a picture of Evelyn Miller on the last page. That’s him.”
“Damn,” said Arthur. Then he sort of wondered at something. “Mary Beth,” he went on, “is Dutch still sweet on you? I mean I know I seen him hanging around, back at Clemens Point.”
Mary Beth shrugged. “Maybe,” she said, disinterested. “He’s made passes, sure. But trust me, Arthur, it’s nothing unique.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, Dutch’s attention with women is fleeting. Just because he’s got his sights on you one day, that don’t mean it’s gonna last. Just ask Molly.”
Arthur sighed. He knew exactly what she meant, and how it had been true. He had a bad feeling. Molly wasn’t doing so good. He wondered why she continued to stick around, if she could truly love him that much. He looked at Evelyn Miller then, who was in some sort of rueful, serious conversation with the Natives. Then he looked back up to the balcony. Dutch was there, still, alone. Watching. He was looking out over the proceedings from beneath the dark brim of his hat. He didn’t see Arthur looking at him. He was leaning on the rail and thinking deeply, tightly wound with a threatening posture. He seemed to suck all the energy out of the affair and right into himself, an endless magnetic pit. Arthur shook out his head, looked back at Mary Beth. She was warm and beautiful in comparison. She seemed to radiate heat, light, energy. She was the opposite of Dutch in every way.
Arthur was not always the quickest man to the uptake. He was smart, but he didn’t trust himself, and that tended to leave him behind. Still, he knew Dutch had been soft for Mary Beth. It was obvious. She was pretty and book-learned. He imagined that she, of all the women in the camp, would be more skilled at entertaining his philosophies than anyone. Molly, she was smart, too, and she could read and write, but she wasn’t as young and quick to the smile as Mary Beth, and now that Mary Beth was no longer nineteen, Dutch had started catching her scent. Arthur wasn’t sure how to deal with this. He wasn’t even sure if it was true, but he knew that Mary Beth, she was canny, but she didn’t always attribute suspicion where suspicion was due. She was not innocent, but even with her father and her mother and her brother dead, she had been protected from true darkness for a long time—whether it be by pure luck or the benevolence of good people, like the madame in Kansas City who taught her pickpocketing rather than whoring. And like Dutch. His head was spinning heavily now as he began to wonder on a whole new level of uncertainty, and all the different ways he couldn’t trust Dutch no more. It was infinite. And it wasn’t even about Mary Beth—it was about so much more. Arthur wasn’t no boy. He didn’t get jealous or threatened by other men. He just wasn’t sure what was going to happen, and this all made him think about the bigger picture. How Dutch was just…he was always hiding something. There was always something going on, something beneath the surface, and this was such a foreign idea to Arthur. Arthur never had any ulterior motivations or secrets. He was not a duplicitous man. He didn’t know how that worked, so it was hard for him to figure out, even if he knew it was there.
He took another drink of his champagne. He glanced casually back to the balcony, and he was startled to notice that Dutch had shifted his attention and was now looking right at him. Dutch smiled. He gave a salute. Arthur saluted him back, and then Dutch spun on his heels and disappeared inside the mansion. Arthur took a deep breath.
“You reckon you can charm the mayor, Mary Beth?” he said, growing weary of the party all of a sudden. “Insinuate us into his presence a little bit?”
Mary Beth smiled, shrugged. She took a long drink. “I know a lot about Miller,” she said. “It should be enough to get us into the conversation.”
“Good,” said Arthur. He took her hand, kissed it, though it was gloved. They began moving through the crowd together. The night was long, and it was only just beginning.
Meanwhile, back at camp, Abigail stood in the very dark night, by the edge of the swampy river. It glistened. It was like a nightmare. The moonlight was cool and white though the swamp was viscous and gray. She was holding a glass of whiskey, sipping it judiciously, all alone. Jack was asleep, and John was still in St. Denis. Way out in the water, she could see a shadow moving, sleepily. It was something huge—a bullgator, she thought, looking for a meal, or for a female to breed with. At first, she had been afraid, but now she was just mesmerized, wondering if it would swim any closer, if it could smell her or sense her, if it was afraid, angry, or simply curious. She heard footsteps behind her then, and when she glanced over her shoulder, she saw Micah. He was drunk. He didn’t address her. He stumbled to Strauss’s shack, took a piss on a tree stump and then tipped over into the weeds and passed out. Watching, she thought about how easy it would be. To roll him into the water, bait for the shadow in the river, gone for good. But then she looked away. It wasn’t worth it, she thought, drinking her whiskey. There was too much to lose now. And anyway, she wasn’t that kind of girl.
#red dead redemption 2#rdr2#arthur morgan#rdr2 fanfiction#mary beth gaskill#mary-beth gaskill#arthur x mary beth#arthur morgan x mary beth gaskill#the lily farm#a funeral#john marston#abigail roberts#dutch van der linde#angelo bronte
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The Devil Wears Jaclyn Hill
Word count: 1678
A/N: Yikes I’m nervous about posting this. This is my first time writing for Michael, and I really have no clue how it went. Let me know what you think, and if you want to see more of Michael!
Michael’s a man of elegant tastes. He enjoys the finest fabrics, the most decadent food and drink, top-of-the-line cars, and anything with a price tag more than some people's’ college tuitions. That’s part of the reason he finds you so intriguing.
You, in your cramped apartment that you share with two other people to cut down on costs. You, who rushes back and forth between your two jobs that leave you tired and sore daily. Your life is one that consists of microwaveable foods, coupons, and upcycled clothing. It’s a world that’s vastly different from Michael’s, which is probably why he likes spending so much time with you.
When the rising Antichrist steps through your threshold, gone are the responsibilities of Cooperative meetings and eager Satanists. No longer is he fawned over and waited on hand-and-foot. When he’s with you, he’s just ‘Y/N’s boyfriend.’ One of your roommates laughed in his face once when you asked him to load the dishwasher and it turned out he didn’t know what a dishwasher was.
Where Michael’s Gucci and Versace, you’re Target and Forever 21. While Michael only dines at restaurants owned by his father or those with Michelin stars, you’re more than happy with Qdoba or In-N-Out. Michael’s diamonds, and you’re cubic zirconia. The differences between your lives are almost startling, if Michael didn’t take every opportunity possible to spoil you. Normally you refuse his expensive gifts, but you’re more than happy to let him treat you to some new makeup every now and then.
Makeup is your medium. It’s how you unwind after a long day of work, watching the newest tutorials and studying them intently. It’s how you can make your regular outfits look a little bit more special. More importantly, it’s what you love to do, even if it frustrates you to no end. Plus, your makeup is priced on the drugstore end of the spectrum, so you don’t feel too bad about finally giving in.
Michael’s sitting in the corner of your room, answering work emails on his phone while you watch a new James Charles video for the fourth time. You groan when the video cuts from a half-done face to the finished look.
“‘And there you have it, sisters!’” You can’t help but to mock the guru’s voice. “Better sister shut the fuck up before I sister slap the shit outta you.” Michael chuckles at your angry muttering, glancing up to look at you.
“Everything okay over there?” He asks. You turn to face him, shaking your head.
“He just goes so fast! The video’s over and I look so stupid.” You gesture to your face as an example. Pursing his lips, Michael looks at your eye makeup. It’s actually not that bad for such a complicated look, it’s just that you only have one eye done.
“It doesn’t look bad, my love, it just looks half-finished.” You playfully roll your eyes at him before grabbing a makeup wipe and wiping your canvas clean. Michael watches as you organize your makeup again with care, making sure everything’s in its’ designated spot.
“Michael?” The man lets out a hum of acknowledgment, letting you know he’s waiting. “What would you say if I wanted to do your makeup?” The silence in the room is overwhelming to you. You know that Michael would never get upset at an idea of yours like some of your past relationships would have. Still, your anxiety skyrockets whenever he gets quiet. He’s always so good at reading people without sparing a glance their way, that you envy his ability in this moment.
“Never mind, it was stupid. I’m sorry.” You start babbling, taking his silence as an answer. He grabs your hand to stop you from getting up, pulling you into his lap.
“Nothing you ever say could be stupid. I was just thinking. What did you have in mind?”
“Well, now that your plans are all starting to be put in motion, you’ve been developing a very specific style.” You reference his hair, which has started to touch his shoulders in recent months, and his outfits. He doesn’t need to be reminded how much you love the gloves he’s added to his wardrobe, and you flush at the mere thought of those leather-clad hands on your bare thighs. Shaking your head slightly, you continue. “Well, what if you spiced it up with an eye look?”
His eyebrow quirks, and you can tell he’s intrigued.
“You don’t have to do all the face stuff?” He asks.
“No, we can do as much or as little as you’d like. I was thinking some red? Nothing too crazy, just enough to make those eyes of yours pop.” A slight smile graces his face, and you find yourself grinning at the very sight of it.
“Show me.” He demands. You nearly jump out of his seat in excitement.
“Seriously? You’re not just doing this to, like, make me happy, are you?”
“I’ve always been fascinated with makeup, and lots of men wear it today. Besides, in the new world, we can do whatever we want, be whoever we want.”
The new world.
Michael’s been talking of this for weeks now, ever since the plans for an apocalypse were finalized. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little sick at the idea of nuclear annihilation, but Michael insists that it’s all for the greater good. The world needs to be cleansed and remade, you remind yourself. You know that the destruction and nuclear winter will only be temporary before a new world flourishes from its’ ashes. There’s a part of you that trembles with excitement whenever Michael goes on about ruling, telling you that, as his queen, you’ll be right next to him.
You stray towards your desk, running your hands over your palettes. After careful deliberation, you decide that the Jaclyn Hill palette has the color range you’re needing. You grab the palette and a couple of brushes before making your way back to Michael, who grabs you again. For the harbinger of the apocalypse, he’s very clingy and touch-starved. You straddle his hips and move his hair out of his eyes.
The process is slow at first, with you having to remind Michael to keep his eyes closed until you say so. When you put primer on his eyes, he jumps back.
“That’s cold!” He yelps. Laughing, you dab it on his eyelids, forming an even base.
“It’s primer. It makes the makeup stand out more and makes everything look even.” You patiently explain. “Open your eyes, please.” He looks at you expectantly and you giggle. “Do you have a color preference?”
You pop open the palette and watch as his eyes take in the myriad of colors. Pointing to one, he glances at you.
“Is this one okay?” He’s pointing at Hunts, the most pigmented red in the palette. You nod.
“Of course. Whatever you’re comfortable with, love.” You’re not all that shocked that he’s picked the most vibrant red there is. The man has a near-obsession with blood, after all. You grab one of your brushes and dip it in one of your neutral shades. Even though your attention is on the makeup in front of you, you can tell Michael is watching you. You’ve been together long enough now that you can feel his piercing gaze from across the room.
“That’s not the red.” He points out obviously, grinning when you roll your eyes.
“Don’t want the primer to be the only thing on your eyes.” You swipe the color across both of his lids, satisfied with the effect it has. Grabbing a smaller brush, you gently dip it into the red shade Michael had picked out. You tap the brush against the pan, making sure there’s no fallout before you start lightly applying it to the inner creases of his eye.
“You’re thinking about it again.” He mumbles, not wanting to mess up your concentration.
“Thinking about what?”
“My plans. My father. The apocalypse.” You move the brush in a circular motion, blending the shade out.
“Yes.” You settle, knowing arguing about it is futile.
“Why? Are you scared? You’re going to be safe, my love, you know that.” Dipping back into the shade, you tap the brush on the pan again, harsher this time.
“I’m scared that you’re not going to be safe, Michael.” You explain. He somehow manages to furrow his brows without moving his eyelids, and you’re mildly impressed.
“Honey, I’m the Antichrist. Nothing’s going to hurt me.” You nod before remembering what can’t see you.
“What if something goes wrong?” He grips your waist with his hands, squeezing reassuringly.
“I’ve been preparing for this my entire life. My father has been preparing for this since the beginning of time. I promise you that everything will go as it’s planned.” You lean back, choosing to study your work. Satisfied that it looks even, you lag a hand on Michael’s shoulder.
“I’m done, I think.” Moving off of his lap, you wait for him to stand and face the mirror.
“Wait.” He grabs your wrist, standing so he’s eye-level with you. “Are you okay? Did that help ease your nerves?”
You love getting to see this soft side of Michael, the side that’s reserved only for you. You’re pretty sure all of his devoted followers have no clue he’s even capable of being like this.
“Yes, it did. I just want to get this over with. I wish I could just wake up and be in our new, perfect world now, y’know?” Michael nods, kissing the top of your head.
“Soon.” He walks the two of you over to the mirror, where he scrutinizes his new look. “You were right about the red making my eyes stand out.”
“So you like it?” You ask, hiding your smile in his shoulder.
“I’m thinking you might have to buy a few more of those palettes before the bombs drop.”
If there were angels in hell, you’re pretty sure Michael would be the prettiest of them all.
#michael langdon#michael langdon imagine#michael langdon imagines#michael langdon x reader#ahs#ahs apocalypse#american horror story#ahs imagine#american horror story imagine
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I recommend Stratia Liquid Gold, it seems to really jive with this technique. But any of the recommendation above would be good too. Whatever your skin likes. I admit I bought the peeling gel because of the packaging, since its level of exfoliation is less than a konyak sponge to me. I should taken a closer look at the tester because it just looks like Holika Holika Smooth Egg Skin Peeling Gel with a clear cover and a sticker for Gudetama face (look closely). The sticker doesn even stick flat to the curved surface, but the clear cover has text printed on it. I was at a 36 J before my reduction (3 years ago) and honestly the only reason I was able to get mine is because my sister and mother had both been to the same plastic surgeon and had gotten reductions before me and my pain was so bad that it was affecting my grad school work. I can count how many women in my family have had reductions. Being top heavy is truly hereditary. My boyfriend is quite a bit bigger than me so the first time we tried it was extremely uncomfortable, as in I cried. He didn mean to and I didn mean to but it was just such an abrupt feeling. So my first advice would be to go 의정부출장마사지 super, super slow! Super slow. 3. I am American and SOME of us are stupid but MOST are actually pretty smart. So Canada, why do you go fuck yourself and stop envying us because have WAY more GDP than you beggars. 2 points submitted 3 days agoGet a referral for a neurologist. There are medications for migraines, though I not sure how many or which 의정부출장마사지 ones would work for you. I was on topamax for a while (recently went off because I realized that I been struggling to concentrate for over 2 years ever since I started taking it), which reduced my migraines from at least two times per week to one or two times per month. "I really sorry for what you going through, but I glad you still here with us. Growing up, I had the worst social anxiety imaginable. It got so bad, I almost had to be pulled out of school, because I couldn walk into a classroom without feeling like everyone was judging me from afar. For fluffy fur, no. It kind of hard to explain, but basically I cut layers into the surface of the clay with just a plain old dental pick, detailing individual strands or clumps as I go, then go back over it all with a soft bristle paint brush dipped in rubbing alcohol to smooth it out. They might be better at explaining the process lol.. There are many ways to insulate windows. The methods range from simple to complicated, practically free to fairly expensive, low tech to high tech. Adding storm windows or double or triple glazed high performance windows is certainly one way to go. I purchased 3 Chanel bags from TRR and all 3 had serial numbers, but this was a couple of years ago and they may be doing things differently now. My issue with TRR (in addition to poor authentication) is that they horribly misrepresent the condition of their bags. A bag described as gently used/very good condition arrived with serious structural issues, major creasing on the exterior and smelled god awful. Haven they pretty much been broke and struggling since this beginning though? Like that was the real reason that they put their house on the market it wasn that bs about wanting her kids to stop going to school with Teresa kids. She was just saying that to be cruel. I pretty sure that Joe and Melissa have had as many money issues as Teresa and Juicy have they just have hidden it better and been able to keep it out of the show.
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39 "how long have you been standing there" 1 "do you want me to leave?" For varchie!
sending u all my love and a kiss im sorry this took so long!! I hope u enjoy and thank u for the ask!!
1. “Do you want me to leave?”
39. “How long have you been standing there?”
Archie stumbles more than walks down the stairs, the red solo cup in his hand sloshing cheap jack and coke over his wrist in the process. Above him, the raucous sound of a post football game party is dulled down to the throbbing music of the base, occasionally pierced by shrieking voices, or the celebratory roar of a beer pong champion.
He’s a little buzzed, not really drunk, awash in the warm, yellowish glow of high school victories and cheap beer, which is why he doesn’t notice Veronica at first, dimly lit by the chandelier that hangs stupidly in the Mantle’s basement.
She’s seated at the bench of the piano, a giant, gleaming thing, with an entire library of sheet music stacked up in mahogany cases beside her. Archie takes in the scene for a few seconds- the way her shoulder blades are skewered back with tension, exaggerating her already excellent posture. Her fingers hover over the keys, not quite touching the polished ivory.
As he watches, slumped in the doorway, she takes a deep breath and plays a chord, the sound ringing out clear and sharp in the empty room. Archie can feel the vibration of it in his teeth.
Once she starts playing she doesn’t stop, like the chord uncorked something within her, fingers moving across keys in a well practiced grace, old muscle memory winning out in the war against her rustiness. She starts one piece before sliding into another, and Archie only catches a few snatches of Moon River before the music changes again, something fearful and jubilant in the sound.
It’s mesmerizing to watch, the way Veronica takes nothing and turns it into something, the endless mysteries she seems to have tripping through her veins, her entire personality a game of two truths and a lie that never ends, only gets riskier.
She fucks up a chord, stumbling, and then slashes through the rest of them until she’s doing little more than just randomly hitting the keys, the sound a grating, discordant mess. Her breath catches in her chest, the sound of it audible, and she slides the piano bench back with an ear splitting scraping sound. The silence in the room is just as potent as the music was a moment before.
“Ronnie?” he asks, hesitant, forgetting the drink in his hand until he takes a step forward and it splashes outside the rim, staining the plush, expensive carpet.
“Was mir behagt, ist nur die muntre Jagd,” she murmurs. “What pleases me above all is the lively hunt.” It takes Archie a scared gap of a second to realize that she’s quoting the piece she was playing.
“How long have you been standing there?” she asks, and there’s a sliver of nerve in her voice, a faint vulnerability that no one else would ever be able to pick up on.
“Not long,” he replies. “Do you- do you want me to leave?” He rubs a hand across the back of his neck, uncertain. He’s a little fuzzy-brained, and there’s something strangely frail about her, perched birdlike with her hands empty and lipstick a little smudged. “Of course not,” she says quickly, without thinking about it. Archie sits next to her on the comically tiny piano bench, placing his cheap soda sticky red solo cup down on the glossy surface.
“I didn’t know you played,” he says, watching at the way she traces the keys with her index finger. “You’re really good, Ronnie. Like, amazing.”
She laughs a little, something sad and complicated in the sound. She crosses her legs primly. “I’m out of practice,” she explains, deflecting. “I used to have lessons, five days a week for an hour. I thought about going pro, for awhile.” Archie tries to conjure up an image of Veronica, playing concert piano for a crowd of well-dressed people, and the vision is clear, but has a sort of hollowness to it, too. It seems like someone else’s dream.
“I haven’t even played since I got to Riverdale,” she says, and the pieces start to click together for Archie, the shades and dimensions of Veronica Lodge coming together in his head. “I’m not sure why. I haven’t even thought about it.” “You still can, Ronnie,” he says. “If you want to.”
“I know that,” she says. “I just- Do you ever think about how far away we are from the people we used to be?”
“Of course,” he replies, and his brain flashes with everything that’s happened this past year- Geraldine and Jason and the Black Hood and every other improbable event that’s created chaos out of their lives. Sometimes he feels so far away from the kid who only wanted to play guitar that he doubts he was ever that person to begin with. He can’t imagine what it’s like for Veronica, who had her whole life flipped on its head before she even had a chance to understand what it was.
He laces his fingers through her own, and she squeezes too tightly.
“I had this whole picture of what my life was going to look like,” she continues, expression a little lost. “And now I am somewhere completely different- someone completely different than what I thought, and I haven’t played piano in a year.”
“We’ll never be those people again,” he says, and she exhales a shuddery breath, a tangled mix of emotion. “But, I don’t think that’s a bad thing. It just means that we get to make up our future from scratch. And Veronica, I would have fallen in love with you, no matter the circumstances. Even if it took years. Even if we didn’t meet until we were old.”
She tips her head so it rests against his shoulder, and then turns, pressing a kiss to his cotton covered shoulder. “I love you, you know,” she says quietly, and the words have a certain weight in the soft blue dark of the room.
“I love you, too,” he says, and then leans on an ugly chord, all flats, to make her laugh.
“And here I thought you were the musician in the relationship,” she teases, and he bangs out a few notes, calling up the faint memories of the three lessons he had taken as a kid.
“Guess you’ll have to teach me, then,” he replies, and so they split the rest of his terrible drink like that, Veronica lining his hands up on the keys while he sings Springsteen to make her laugh.
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