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pluto-art · 3 years

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Softly - PatB Fan Fiction

Type: Hurt/Comfort Rating: PG Summary: Baby Brain has known little but pain and misery in an unloving world, but when he gets paired up with a new lab student things change in a way he didn’t expect.

This started out as a mini story in a Discord server and got... a little out of hand. What you see here is how much I typed out in the server.

He hadn't been there long. Two... maybe three weeks? The cold metal had finally become familiar beneath his feet, and the strange blocks, though generally tasteless, kept him alive. There wasn't much that made his new living quarters interesting; there was only so much one could do in a pile of aspen shavings day after day. Occasionally, they would hook up to his cage some sort of liquid that wasn't his usual watery fair. He could never decipher or make heads or tails of the words on the sides of the bottles, saying things like D-D-T or S-N-I-P-P-L-E. The only distinguishing feature to him was that sometimes they tasted terrible, sometimes quite flavorful, and sometimes they tasted like nothing at all. Almost all of them turned his stomach. Driven to thirst, however, he'd play their cruel game. Choice was not something that existed in this crisp, sterile world; at least, not from a personal standpoint. When it did exist it meant the difference between a shock and a treat; a yellow light or a red light; a warm room or a cold one. Choice was manufactured.

He still cried almost every night. He tried to quiet the tears, but they didn't always listen. The others heard him. One or two laughed cynically. Most said nothing; they'd shed their own fair share and would again sooner than later. A single kind soul, a mother rat some doors down from him, occasionally whispered to him a lullaby or two when everyone else but them were asleep. They were songs she sang to her own children to quiet their tears, and she had no less compassion for this unfortunate soul, who was even worse off than her own brood -- he didn't even have any parents to nuzzle up to. Had she her way, she would have mutilated every last living human being in the facility. It was bad enough that they were tested on mercilessly as adults. To do so to children was simply insidious. Alas, she was simply a rat, and so could only dream of days when she wasn't.

Not that BR-41N (that's what they called him; no one had real names here) hadn't tried to be friendly with his captures. Aside from a particularly nasty poke from some long, thin, prickly object inserted into his thigh the first day (it had stung; oh, it had stung...) the proceeding couple of days had consisted of simple maze runs and treadmill exercises. Nothing too elaborate. As a child, he'd been used to running around a lot in the field, and sifting through the labyrinths reminded him of the long grass he'd play hide-and-seek in back home, except at the end of them was a tasty prize: a piece of cheese. He liked cheese. In the wild, it was hard to come by, but here they gave it to him generously, provided he finished the courses, which he always did. The fourth day followed in much the same way, but the fifth day brought something different: a sudden shock and a broken tail. That had changed his view of things. Perhaps the harsh awakening wouldn't have been so terrible had it not been followed by other unspeakable things -- poisoned food; friends made that, the next day, would never be seen again; more shocks given as punishment for choosing an incorrect panel; injections that made him see things he'd never seen, monsters and strange colors and other scary things that kept him awake at night; loud noises that came out of nowhere; and often, quite often, the terrifying echo of squeaks, barks, and meows that made up the daily music of Acme Laboratories. He hated it. He hated all of it. More than anything, he wanted to go home. He missed the warmth; the love; the soft whisper of the wind that traveled through his ivory fur. He wanted all of it back. But life? She was a harsh mistress. And no amount of crying, screaming, or pleading, seemed to ever make her turn an ear.

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks... months, more than just a tail was broken. Trust was broken. Hope was broken. Spirit... was broken. If there was any love, if there was any future, it wasn't here. Kindness had proved unfruitful, and patience had run its course. He didn't find reason to be willing, nor show charity, towards those who made his life a living hell. What reason was there? What profit was in it? Time had told him, quite bluntly, there wasn't. It had taken him a full month to admit defeat, but admit it he did, and cynical he became, 'til every hand that reached in to grab him was ripe to be bitten, every shot that punctured his stomach was the unwelcome norm, and every newcomer that tried to strike up a friendship was easily ignored. The latter-most was simply wasting their time. He could read the colors on the cages now. He knew that a red mark meant "death". He only wondered why he, as of yet, had never been given one himself. It was as if life itself was laughing at him -- keeping him as witness to the horrors that went on inside the dragon's cave, yet never giving him the satisfaction of death.

And so the third month dawned, chilly and barren, or so the scientists said. Autumn had come. Not that any of the residents within the thick, cemented walls could see it. But the laboratory personnel spoke of it -- gold and crimson leaves, hot chocolate, dried wheat fields. He could almost smell the corn; could almost feel the breeze.... Days passed. For the first time, they gave him a cage mate. E8-WN, they called him. He was kind, but BR-41N had little love left to give. Besides, he had the red tag. It seemed they had only placed him here temporarily due to a lack of space. The next day he was taken to the back. The tiniest shred of pity nipped at BR-41N as he watched the little peach-furred mouse be carried into the surgical room, a curious look on his face. Another emotion was also present within him: jealousy. On the 17th day of September, a new thing happened -- a thing that, for the first time in a while, made the little mouse turn his head.

The school year had started, and, as such, fresh meat was welcomed into the laboratory in the form of fourteen college students looking to continue pursuits in medical science. They were all very quiet during the tour, one or two of them occasionally lifting a hand to ask a question about course materials or contact information. They were each, it seemed, to be given a subject: an animal from the laboratory to study, train, and conduct experiments on. Rats, mice, and hamsters had already been picked out for them, and each was given a black-coated subject or a brown-furred captive to take charge of. Each student's rodent was to be kept in the lab at all times, and specific instructions were given them as to the proper handling of the creatures. At least two experiments were to be conducted on them daily, three if possible. They could spend as much time with their charge as they wished, so long as they got their homework done. Fourteen students. Fourteen rodents. Four months to finish their work. Simple.

As it stood, however, there had been a miscalculation. Fourteen students. Fourteen rodents.... No. Not fourteen. Only thirteen. There'd been an error. They'd forgotten to set aside an extra subject. The unfortunate student without a charge was a college girl named Rachel. All other rodents were going through tests conducted by various personnel in the lab, set aside specifically for said conductions that couldn't currently be tampered with. All except one....

"So, um, Rachel," their teacher said, checking his student list. "You may have to share with... Peterson.... You know what? We might... actually have an extra for you. Hold on. Let me ask...."

And he departed into another room, calling for a "Jackson".

"Jackson! Can she use BR-41N? I don't think he's going through any rigorous testing.... Yeah? Okay. Yeah, that would work out perfectly. Thanks."

He turned back to his brood, many of whom looked quite eager to jump in to these intriguing studies, others looking downright bored.

"Okay. We have one for you. His code name is BR-41N. He's not going through any major testing, and he's generally given the usual works -- labyrinths, shock treatment, all that. But, um... he bites. Really bad. So... you'll have to watch it, all right?"

"Okay," Rachel nodded, looking a little nervous.

"All right. Umm.... Good. Yes. So, let's head back to the main campus, and... we'll start your work tomorrow."

And they left.

BR-41N had only heard part of all this, and had understood none of it. He shivered in his cage, taking a moment to drink some water out of the bottle that hung there. While the arrival of such a large group intrigued him, especially since it consisted of a much younger set than normal, it also made him nervous. Was it a sign of good things to come... or bad? Or just more of the usual fair? One could only wonder. For now, he was simply grateful that the cheese they'd given him today was, for once, not laced with drugs.

She came by on a Tuesday.

It was an hour after a cosmetics test that he heard a knock on the table. His skin still burned. He was cowering in a far corner, and looked back over his shoulder hesitantly.

Rachel stood there, smiling at him.

"Hello, little one." He stared at her, nonplussed. "I guess you're my charge. You gonna say hello?"

And she opened up the door of his cage.

He shuffled back further. He knew all too well by this point that the opening of a door meant one of two things: food or torture. Considering the fact that she didn't smell of food, he had to assume it was the latter.

"It's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you. Well, hopefully not...."

Although he didn't understand a word of what she said, her tone was calm; soothing. No one in the lab ever talked to him like this. He couldn't help but stare curiously.

She held her hand up to the entrance and made a soft, squeak-like sound with her mouth. He frowned at her. As if that was going to convince him. He turned away.

"No? I don't blame you," she replied, taking a look at his clipboard. "BR-41N. What kind of a freak name is that? Mind if I call you Brain? Or Brian?"

No response.

"We'll go with Brian. Brain sounds kinda weird."

Brian it was.

She kept the door open, and he braced himself. Any moment now, gloved hands would be protruding into his enclosure to wrap themselves firmly about him, not tight enough to choke him, but secure enough that he couldn't escape. But the hand didn't come. If anything, she pulled up a chair, sat down, and rested her arms upon the table on which his cage sat. She was... giving him a choice? He stared at her, unsure how to react.

"Come on, sweet heart," she cooed, rubbing her fingers together encouragingly.

But he wouldn't budge. If this was some new trick, it wasn't going to work. He wished she'd just grab him and get it over with. Sooner or later, she'd have to. It was only a matter of time. And so he waited....

She sat there for a full twenty minutes, trying her best to get him to come over, but he refused to budge, and so she gave up. As expected, she still ran him through a maze, but instead of reaching in to grab him, she found a clear tube and scooped him up in it, covering both ends before depositing him into the run as such. It was... odd, but less invasive than what he was used to. He rather wished the others would do it that way.

Via the same method she returned him to his cage at the end of the test. As usual, he took to the corner, assuming his usual cowardly pose, but he turned to look at her as she spoke.

"Sorry about that. Nice job, though. See you tomorrow."

And so went the next day... and the next, always with the same introduction: She'd open his door, pull up a chair, and offer her hand to him. After twenty minutes of nothing, she'd scoop him up in the tube, deposit him in the maze or whatever other test he was to perform that day, and return him in the same manner. This went on for four whole weeks, always with a kind word, never coupled with a harsh prod or poking of his skin. He came to somewhat look forward to her almost daily visits, not because he trusted her (the one time she had tried touching him [with gloves on, of course], he'd given her a fair warning in the form of a bite), but because it was the only two hours during the day in which he knew he wouldn't be fed poison, given a shot, or made to inhale cigarette smoke. The other students joked with her. By far, she had the unfriendliest mouse out of all of them, and they found her kind advances a waste of time.

"Just pick him up!" a tall boy said.

Most of them had no problem with handling their subjects by the tail; at least, the boys generally didn't. The girls were kinder, but even they didn't take the time to get to know their animals intimately. They also were given the harder tests to conduct on their critters and so tried not to get attached.

Whereas most of the rats, mice, and hamsters given to the students would eventually be killed in some way or other at the end of the semester, via through vivisection, gassing, cancer, or some other method, BR-41N, or... Brian, as Rachel now called him, was not scheduled to be offed anytime soon and so could not undergo such rigorous experiments. As such, she got both the easy job of conducting very simple tests on him, and also the hard job of trying to work with the most hostile mouse in the entire facility.

"He's never gonna warm up to you," one of the other students said.

Rachel took it as a challenge.

"Watch me," she said.

But Brian was proving to be a much tougher can than expected. By the sixth week, he still hadn't even bothered to venture near the cage entrance when she sat near it, even with tasty treats in hand. He simply didn't trust anyone. Not anymore....

October came and went, to be replaced with a frosty November. Whenever Brian saw Rachel now she had a cup of tea in hand, the better to ward off the coming winter chill. Still she tried; still he refused to relent. Until the 9th....

It was late. She hadn't been able to get to the lab until 8:00 PM due to unfortunate series of events that involved a fender bender, two appointments, and a last minute essay. When she got to the lab she was tired... and not at all in the mood to deal with Brian's B.S., and he knew it.

"'Sup?" she asked him wearily, setting down her things in a huff. Only a handful of other people were still in the facility at this hour, none of them students. Fine by her. She preferred the quiet anyway. "We're gonna do something a little different today, bud."

Indeed.... He perked his ears up at her exhausted tone and the fact that, for once, she didn't open the cage door. But she did still slide the chair up to his table.

On the opposite side of the room was a television on a rolling stand. Normally, this was used for surgeries and other experiments. Once in a blue moon, however, someone would use it for recreational purposes -- to watch the local news when there was time to kill. Most fortunately for Rachel, it also came with a VHS player. Into it she popped a tape, before sitting down in the chair and grabbing her hot cup of peppermint tea. Despite himself, Brian took a whiff of the tea, whose scent had wafted into his cage and tickled his nose. It smelled good.

The film began to play. Brian didn't know the name of it, but whatever it was it was made up of very pretty pictures and featured a lot of dogs... and snow (at least at the beginning). It was rather soothing. Still, he didn't move from his spot, save to grab a lab block at one point to munch on, more to pass the time than anything. His stomach was still a little unsettled from earlier. Privately, he was a bit ticked off at the girl. Had she been a bit earlier he might have avoided the shock treatments. Not that they would have withheld them regardless.

It wasn't until the second song that his attention was at last caught.

"La la lu, La la lu, Oh my little star sweeper, I'll sweep the star dust for you...."

Sweetly did the animated woman sing her little song, and Brian, captivated, perked his ears. He looked up at the television. She was still singing. He stepped forward, bit by bit, until he was right up to the closed door, two little paws coming up to grasp at the bars of his cage as he stared, entranced, at the screen.

"La la lu, La la lu, And may love be your keeper, La la lu, La la lu, La la luuuuu."

And so it ended, all within the span of a minute, if that, but something had stirred with him -- a remembrance of home, and warmth, and what it was like to be loved.

He was still clutching at the bars when he noticed that Rachel was smiling at him, and he promptly sped back to his corner, embarrassed.

"Atta boy," she whispered, still grinning softly at him.

He refused to look at her. He wasn't touched by it or anything. He wasn't....

"It's okay. Don't be embarrassed," said the girl. "I like that song, too."

Brian stayed in his corner the rest of the movie, but the song never left his mind.

---

The next day proceeded as normal. Once again, Rachel sat by his cage. Once again, she had brought a treat, albeit one he'd never seen before, nor smelled, for that matter. It was small... and white... and fluffy, and it smelled sugary and sweet. He wanted it. Oh, he wanted it so very badly. But nothing that ever came from the fingers of a scientist, even a soft-spoken one, was innocent. And so he refused, his back turned to her.

"Stubborn butt," said Rachel, and by her tone alone Brian could tell that it was a snide comment. He ignored her.

"Here."

As had occurred many times before, she left the treat in his cage near the entrance, closed the door, and sat to watch him. His eyes shifted towards the treat. It sat there, staring at him, mocking him. Eat me, it said. No, he thought. Oh, but it smelled so good....

Rachel sighed. So did Brian. She rested her head in her arms, exasperated. Maybe it really wasn't worth it....

Brian licked his lips. Perhaps....

He took a step forward. Rachel remained where she was, head in her arms, not looking at him. He moved another step. She was still as a stone. Patter patter patter patter patter... GRAB. He swooped back to his corner as fast as possible, marshmallow in his mouth. Rachel looked up... and chuckled. Brian dug into the treat, enjoying every second of it as teeth sunk into the savory delight. He'd never tasted anything this good before. It was better than mother's milk; much better than lab pellets; better than cheese....

"Silly little thing," Rachel giggled, smiling as he filled his cheeks with pleasantness. "Wait 'til you see what I bring you tomorrow."

Tomorrow, he was to find out, brought a piece of a doughnut, and the day after that a waffle. He'd never been this darn spoiled before. On the fourth occasion, he was, for once, already at the door, waiting to see what she'd bring. Lady and the Tramp and sugar, it turned out, were the keys to his heart, although he still wouldn't let her touch him. If her hand so much as brushed his fur he was back to his corner in a rush, although, this time, he didn't try to bite her first.

Rachel laughed when she saw the two little paws clutching at the gated entrance.

"You like 'em that much, huh? Here ya' go."

He stepped back to allow her access to the gate, and watched carefully as she placed something savory and smelling of salt inside. He sniffed, investigating as she closed the door. He took a tentative bite. Mmmmm. Yes, this was acceptable. Grabbing it, he rushed back to his usual corner and chowed down.

"Good. A fellow bacon appreciator," Rachel nodded, satisfied.

He ate the entire piece, licking his lips and proceeding to clean himself afterwards. That had been a bit messy. Good, but messy. If there was something he still valued, it was cleanliness. He could at least retain some form of dignity. The state of his fur was one of the few things he still had control over. Unlike some of the other unfortunate chaps, he'd never had to endure surgery or a shaved stomach.

Two little pink ears perked up as his cage door was opened yet again. More treats? No. Just Rachel, hand offered to him once more. Brian sighed. She just wouldn't give up, would she?

A second glance made him aware that she did, in fact, have something in her hand -- another marshmallow. Hmph. Sneaky. And yet, he'd be lying if he said he didn't want it....

"It's okay, little one," Rachel cooed, hand still outstretched, that plump marshmallow beckoning ever so tantalizingly. "I'm not gonna hurt you. I promise."

Brian sighed. He looked down at the floor, then over at her hand.

Rachel's eyes widened a touch, but she otherwise didn't reveal her surprise as Brian moved forward, inch by inch, step by step, towards her hand....

He stopped at the entrance, debating. Dare he...? It was a risk. He'd never willing done this, not since he'd been captured. It was a stupid decision. Stupid. And yet....

Her hand shifted a touch, and Brian shifted nervously with it. Rachel waited with bated breath.

He stepped forward....

In a flash, he'd grabbed the 'mallow from her hand and retreated to the back of his cage, not daring to even think about what he'd just done. It was foolish. It was dangerous. And yet, she hadn't tried to grab him, or even pet him. She'd just... given him a choice. And he'd taken it. Somehow, for some reason, he'd taken it.

Rachel smiled.

"Atta boy."

---

Perhaps it was the mere fact, the tantalizing realization, that he had a choice in the first place, that drew him back, but over the course of the next few weeks, things changed.

It had started slow at first. A light brush of the whiskers here; a sniff of the hand there. But, eventually, Brian, of his own accord, stepped into her hand. And she didn't close her fingers about him harshly, or strangle him, or pick him up by the tail. She simply... let him be. It was kind. It was unobtrusive. It was respectful. And he appreciated it.

No longer did the other students make fun, or joke that she'd never gain his trust. If anything, they questioned her.

"How the heck did you do it?" they'd ask, curious.

Even more confused were the scientists themselves. Not that anyone had tried very hard to gain the little mouse's trust. He was, in their opinion, not worth the time.

But he was to Rachel.

December came, and with it a complete turn-around in Brian's behavior, albeit towards one particular individual.

He eagerly rushed into her hand now. No need for the transportation tube. She could carry him on her shoulder to the maze area and pick him up with her bare hands as she placed him in the labyrinth, although she still made sure to let him take the first step and would, more often than not, simply offer a hand instead of plucking him from her shoulder. He still appreciated this.

Every weekday was now a day to look forward to. Sure, he was still tormented by the main personnel, but for two or three hours, two or three sweet hours, he didn't have to worry about anything. On the days he suffered from a stomach-ache, she'd hold him close to her chest and do her best to rub the pain away, offering him tea to ease his suffering, and if he fell asleep on her shoulder and woke up, shaking, from a bad dream, she'd rock him back and forth, singing "La La Lu" to him until the nightmares went away. On those rare nights, when she could only work late and no one was around, she'd bottle feed him. He'd been hesitant (and a little embarrassed) at first, but any reminder of home was difficult to ignore, and so he ended up embracing each form of love and affection with open paws, clutching tightly to her chest some days, as if this hug would be his last. For all he knew, it could be. He'd gotten used to her visits, but what if she left and never came back? He didn't want that love to leave....

December 14th.

The end of the semester was approaching. Rachel had told him, time and again, that she was leaving soon; that she would miss him; that she'd try to come back for the next semester. Brian understood none of this. He was a mouse, after all. Human language was foreign to him. The most he could understand was the occasional word -- his name, Brian, and various names of foods and tests -- and basic inflections that he knew signified concern, happiness, or contentment. But he didn't understand "leave", or "semester", or "miss". He could tell something was wrong, that she was sad, but as to why, he did not know.

A week from the last day of the semester, she brought a surprise: a movie. It had something to do with a rat, and food. He liked it for those things. He wished he could understand the words. It seemed interesting. He sat on Rachel's shoulder the entire time, at least until the end of the film, during which Rachel offered her hand to him. He accepted. She brought him up to her chest, nuzzling him close.

"I'm going away for a while, but... I'll try to be back next semester."

She petted him gently. He stared up at her, curious and concerned. Why was she so sad?

"I'm going to miss you...," she whispered. And, for the first time, she kissed him on his fuzzy white head. "I love you...."

He didn't understand the words, but he understood what they meant; how they felt.

Slowly, gently, he nuzzled close to her... and licked her fingers. It was the first time he'd shown genuine affection outside of nuzzling since he'd been captured. I love you, too....

He didn't understand it, but... there was something in the air that told him something big was coming. Something new. Something was going to be different....

December 18th came just like any other day. The semester was coming to a close. Many students had already finished their courses and gone home for the holidays. The occasional class still lingered on, including the medical science class. Most all had completed training and experimentation on their subjects for the season and were simply spending the next few days filing reports and filling out last minute essays. Some of the rodents wouldn't live to see the new year. Others had already been subjected to vivisection by their handlers and were far from the lab by this point. Subject BR-41N was one of the few who'd been given the same sheet on their clipboard day after day, week after week: a run of the mill of the usual, simple, non-invasive tests, along with an injection or two. But today was different.

As Rachel stepped up to Brian's cage, sipping at a hot cup of tea and smiling as her charge ran up to the bars to greet her, she frowned as she pulled up the clip board. His tag was yellow. Not the usual blue, but... yellow. She set down her cup, ignoring Brian's squeaky pleas to be let out as she looked over the sheet carefully.

Subject Reserved for Project B.R.A.I.N. // Invasive Study -- Cognitive Psychology, Neuroscience Psychology // 4:00 PM - Dec. 20

There was a pause, in which the dip in Rachel's brow furrowed ever deeper, her eyes roaming about the page scrutinizingly, before she slipped the paper out of its holder and headed back out the way she'd came, Brian looking curiously after her.

She marched all the way to a back office, in which sat one of the laboratory heads: Jackson. He looked up over his square-rimmed glasses as she knocked upon the exposed inner door frame.

"Yes?" he asked, sounding bored.

"Hey. Um.... I think you gave my subject the wrong paper."

"BR-41N?"

"Yeah. He got a yellow."

She stretched out her arm, offering the paper as proof, but he didn't take it. Instead, he looked up at her, fingers meeting at their tips, and said:

"No, I gave you the right paper. That's for BR-41N. His procedure is in two days."

His tone was flat and laced with a thin layer of poison, as if her daring to question him was a challenge.

"But... I thought he was just doing mainly labyrinth tests."

"Ms. Field, I thought you were told...?"

"Told what...?"

"He's been scheduled for this procedure for months. We wanted him fresh and so have eschewed more invasive tests until now. Frankly, you've been spending a little too much time with that mouse. He's gotten too friendly. We're not in the business of developing attachment here."

He said all this with a straight face, completely emotionless. Rachel swallowed thickly.

"Sir, I've... been going over this test. It's... very dangerous."

"Yes."

"It could kill him...."

"Yes?"

Rachel simply stared at him, uncertain of what to say next. He wasn't working with her here....

"Look.... What did you expect? You're studying medical science, correct?"

She nodded.

"Okay, well," he continued, a small chuckle of sarcasm escaping his lips as he said it. "Y-You have to realize that... this is a laboratory. We can't keep every subject. And these tests come with a lot of risks."

"Could you possibly do the test on another subject...?" Rachel asked, choosing her words carefully. "Brian is still kind of young, and..."

"Brian?"

Shoot.

"Sorry, I mean... BR-41N."

"You can't start... naming them, Miss Field. That's when you start getting attached. Understand?"

"I know...," Rachel mumbled, cheeks reddening as she looked down at her shoes.

"And the whole point of using him at this age is because his mind is younger. He's fresh."

"But he's just a baby..."

"Yes? And? A lot of the other students are working with infants."

"This one is...," Rachel began, than stopped. Already she'd said too much.

"Miss Field, if you don't prepare him for the procedure, someone else will. Now, you can either do your assignment or lose your credits. It's your choice."

Rachel sighed. Still holding the paper, she let her arm fall dramatically to her side.

"Fine...."

And she turned to walk off. But...

"Miss Field?"

She looked at him.

"Don't do anything stupid."

"Yes, Sir," Rachel replied, after a hefty pause, and headed back to her charge.

---

Brian didn't understand why Rachel was so quiet that day, nor why she cuddled him so much. She whispered to him something about "breaking out" and "night", but he didn't understand what those things meant, although he heard the urgency in her voice. As a result, he was a little more uptight the rest of the afternoon.

Before leaving, Rachel kissed the top of his head again, before setting him back down in the cage and hooking the door. Her good-byes were all but gibberish to him, although he recognized the word "tomorrow". So he'd be seeing her tomorrow. That was good. At least he had a time frame. He was naive to the rest....

---

December 19th 9:15 PM

BR-41N cleaned his whiskers, pondering.

She hadn't shown up today. Strange. "Tomorrow". She's said "tomorrow". Today was tomorrow. Why hadn't she come?

To his left, in a far corner of the room, someone sneezed in their cage. Brian frowned sadly. It was that hamster again. Whatever they'd given him had put him into a sneezing fit for an hour. Now and then he relapsed.

He yawned, stretched, and made for the food dispenser, when he suddenly heard a sharp click of a door being opened and abruptly snapped shut. He turned in the direction of the door. A light flicked on. Brian smiled.

Rachel's feet slid across the floor in haste. Instead of her usual student lab coat, she was decked out in her normal clothes, complete with backpack. Her hoodie was up, obscuring her hair, save for a few strands that stuck out here and there, as well as part of her face. She moved with purpose, albeit a little covertly, looking over her shoulder every now and then, as if expecting someone to grab her at any minute.

Set in a wall above the entrance to the room, a camera followed her. Rachel's eyes shifted at the sound as she moved towards Brian's cage. She knew she only had five, maybe ten, minutes at best.

Opening the cage door, she held her hand out for Brian to step onto. He hesitated. Something didn't smell right....

"Come on. We're busting you out of here, dude," Rachel whispered.

Brian cocked his head at her questioningly.

"Listen, they're going to put your through that splicer if we don't get you out of here, so come on."

There was an urgency in her voice that, despite his misgivings, compelled him to move forward. He trusted her too much by this point.

"Atta boy," she praised him, tucking him in her shirt pocket.

He peeked out, paws clutching at the edges of the pocket interestedly.

"Let's go," Rachel whispered, turning back to the door and stopping as she realized that someone was already standing there....

Framed in the metal doorway was a woman, thirty-five... maybe forty-something in age. Her arms were crossed, and the expression on her face seemed as taught and firm as the scrunchie tightening her poofy auburn hair. Her long lab coat was still settling; she must have only just gotten there. Rachel recognized this woman. Lana, her name was -- she was one of the head managers at the facility. Jackson had obviously tipped her off.

"Fancied a night stroll?" she asked, tone dripping with sarcasm.

Rachel remained frozen in place, a hand subconsciously cupping her shirt pocket. The gesture didn't go unnoticed.

"You know you're risking a lot for this. That's all your credits down the drain."

"He's worth it," Rachel answered, resolute.

"He's not. You take him and they'll just get another subject."

"At least I'll have saved this one."

"We'd still rather you not take an asset that's been reserved for months for this procedure," Lana nipped, taking a step forward.

Rachel took a step back. Her eyes shifted to a door to her left. It led to several other testing rooms and then back out into the main hallway. Some of the doors had security locks. It was the long way around, but if she was fast enough....

"Rachel...," Lana spoke, tone threatening as she advanced. "Put him down."

With each step Lana took towards her, Rachel moved two back. She could feel herself starting to perspire. Gosh, this was a stupid idea....

"Rachel...."

With a hand cupped over her shirt pocket, Rachel darted in the direction of the door, opening it up in a flash and slamming it shut behind her. Already she was racing for the opposite end of the room, where another door stood.

Brian jumped as an alarm went off, followed by red lights that flashed all throughout the facility. Rachel was already in the next room, her heart racing. She could hear the panicked footsteps behind her, mimicking her own, and hoped upon hope that she was faster than her pursuer.

Rachel picked up her pace as she entered the next room. This one, she knew, required an employee badge to open. All of the students had been given security badges, of course, primarily for general access to the entrance and main rooms. They worked on some doors in the facility. Some, but not all. She'd never been in these rooms. Privately, she prayed that they'd open for her.

Slamming her badge up against a wall panel, she bounced up and down on the balls of her feet nervously.

"Come on. Come oooon! Take it!!"

It did. The door unlocked, and she swung it open in haste to make for the next locked door, which also granted her entrance.

She was faster than Lana, but it didn't mean the woman wasn't hot on her heels. Brian shut his eyes tightly, huddling against Rachel's chest on the inside of her pocket as she darted about, her hand still cupping him securely. He knew, somehow, that this was about him. His ears rotated this way and that at the duo of clicking feet racing down the linoleum flooring. Who would win? Who was he most valuable to?

It wasn't until the fourth room that Rachel started to panic. Yet again, she'd reached a door asking for proof of access, except this time... her badge was not accepted. She shook the door handle feebly, knowing it wouldn't open; knowing this was the end of the line. Despite himself, Brian peeked out of the shirt pocket, just in time to see Lana as Rachel swiftly turned around to face the woman, who stood at the opposite end of the room, hair askew and chest heaving as she glared at Rachel and her tiny charge.

"You're persistent, I'll give you that," Lana huffed.

"Why do you need him?! Just let me take him and get another subject!" Rachel bit.

"We let you get away with it and you'll set a precedent! You know that!" Lana snapped right back. "And we don't want to waste any more time. We've spent too much money on this project."

"He's just a baby!"

"All of them are meant to be expendable! Hand him over!"

"No!"

Brian's ears flicked. Rachel held her breath. Was it just them, or did they hear... more footsteps?

"You won't have a choice," Lana said flatly, expressionless as she was joined by not one, not two, but five other lab hands, one of the them Jackson, all of them full-time personnel.

"Rachel.... Hand him over," Jackson said, holding out his hand expectantly.

Rachel glared daggers at him, even though she was fully aware of the impossibility of the situation. Like the mouse she was trying so hard to protect, she was trapped, her back against the wall, literally. They were going to take him. They were going to take him and there was nothing she could do about it....

"I told you not to do anything stupid," Jackson continued.

"Please...," Rachel pleaded, breathing heavily. "Please, let me take care of him. I'll train another in his place as compensation, I swear. Just... don't hurt him."

"And then you'll grow attached to that one and try and kidnap it. We've seen it before. You're not the first," Jackson reprimanded.

"Good," said Rachel. "I'm glad I'm not."

Privately, she wondered why she'd ever signed up for this in the first place. She wanted the degree. She wanted it badly. She also loved animals, and knew that following her passion came with sacrifices. What she hadn't counted on was how difficult it would be to accept that. It wasn't feasible, she realized. In fact, it was darn near impossible.

She looked down at the infant trembling in her pocket -- at this little creature that had captured her heart and locked it away, far away from any hopes and dreams of graduating in the medical field of her choosing. "He's not worth it," Lana had said. Was he not? Brian looked up at her, those glossy little eyes staring at her expectantly, trustingly. She smiled sadly at him and, for the last time, cuddled him close, before looking up at the troop across from her.

"If you want him, come and get him," she challenged. They weren't getting him without a fight.

And they rushed at her.

She tried to escape. Oh, she tried... and failed. They grabbed her by the arms as she wrestled against them, cheering Brian on as he somehow managed to escape from her pocket and slip underneath one of the shelving units in the room. But Lana caught him, Brian squeaking as his tail snagged between the beaker and the small metal panel she'd captured him with. He stared at Rachel, his desperate, panicked expression the last thing she saw before being knocked out.

-------

- Two Years Later -

The plan had failed. Rather spectacularly, he might add....

It was the first time in Brain's memory he could ever recall being caught red-handed by any of the personnel at Acme Labs. It was a miracle he and Pinky had managed to escape, but, despite his best attempts, they'd been separated in the process.

He made for a facility some yards away from the main laboratory, sweating as he squeezed under its front door and immediately hid under a cabinet to his right. Lights flashed now and again beyond the windows, desperate voices accompanying them as the scientists searched here and their for the escapees. Brain silently prayed that Pinky had somehow found a suitable hiding spot.

In his position under the cabinet, he backed up against the wall and slid down it, a paw clutching at his chest as he struggled to catch his breath. After a few seconds, he gulped, sniffed, and buried his face in his knees. Stupid. Stupid.... He'd jeopardized their whole mission. What if they'd captured Pinky? What would they do to him? And even if they did escape, where would they go? He'd ruined everything. Everything....

In his haste to remain undetected, he'd neglected to realize that this room... was not entirely devoid of life. It was a small area -- a security office, to be exact. Numerous monitors took up space on a desk, at which someone sat. They slid out of their chair and stepped over to Brain's hiding place. He noticed... and shivered.

Whatever, whomever, it was got down on their knees to peer at him from just outside the dresser.

"Hello...," they said.

It was a woman. Her voice was soft, and kind, but Brain turned his head away from her prying eyes. Typical. In an effort to not get caught he'd inevitably been ratted out. He immediately considered making a run for it, but, for some reason he couldn't explain, he didn't.

"Hey.... Shh. Shh. It's okay, little one. It's okay," cooed the woman. "You wanna come on out...?"

And she held out a hand to him. She didn't try to grab him, or scare him out. She simply... gave him a choice.

But it had been too long. He didn't recognize her, neither she him... until she noticed the tail. Then she knew.

"Brian...?" she breathed, eyes growing wide.

He stared at her, nonplussed, still shivering.

"Brian, it's me. Rachel," she beckoned, her hand still in place. But he didn't move. If anything, he frowned at her. "Brian"?

And she tried everything -- talking to him soothingly; offering him a treat from her pocket. Nothing worked. Brain simply hid his face once more, willing her to go away; to leave him be; to, hopefully, not report him to the authorities if they came to call.

Rachel sighed. She sat up for a moment, thinking, and blinked. Struck with a sudden idea, she rested her hands on her lap... and began to sing....

“La la lu, La la lu, Oh my little star sweeper, I'll sweep the star dust for you...“

Brain blinked... and lifted his head, ever so slowly....

“La la lu, La la lu, Little soft fluffy sleeper, Here comes a pink cloud for you...“

He stood up... and walked forward, right to the edge of the cabinet. She was still singing.

“La la lu, La la lu, Little wandering angel, Fold up your wings, Close your eyes...”

His mouth was fully open now, his round eyes glossy and getting ever shinier. He couldn't pull his gaze away from her face.

“La la lu, La la lu, And may love be your keeper...

La la lu, La la lu, La la lu....”

Rachel stared at him, smiling. He had completely stepped out from under the cabinet by now, his little body trembling slightly.

"Hello, little star sweeper," Rachel whispered to him.

Breath hitching, Brain ran onto her lap, up her shirt, and clutched tightly to her chest, only a second or two going by before he felt those familiar hands hold him gently, securely.

"Oh, Brian...," she choked, kissing his head. He didn't even flinch.

"Why didn't you come back?" he asked, unable to hold back his tears.

"I couldn't," she answered honestly. "But I was able to keep an eye on you from here."

He sniffed and pulled back a little to look around the room. It was, indeed, a security office, and a fairly high end one at that, decked out with all the works.

"I'm an artist now, but in my part time I take the night shift. They at least let me come back for that, probably 'cause Jackson and Lana are gone now," she chuckled softly. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you this time...."

Brain looked up at her, suddenly understanding. All that time they'd never been caught; never been reported. All those months and years that the camera had simply turned a blind eye to their antics. He thought it was simply negligence. Now he knew why.

"Thank you...," Brain whispered. "And it's... Brain now."

"I know," she smiled. “I still watch tv, ya' know. I just still remember you as my 'Brian'. I'm sorry, Brain."

He couldn't help but smile. All this time....

"Come with me?" Rachel asked him.

"Where?"

"Back to my place. I'll hide you. You can have the guest room, if you'd like."

A sharp knock at the door startled them both, and she quickly ran to her desk, Brain in her hands. She lifted him up and under the desk.

"There's a hidden panel in the roof! Get in it!" she whispered to him urgently.

He found it, albeit with a little difficulty. He pushed at a little area that looked as if it had been cut into... and down shifted a small cubby in which she kept an assortment of odd bits and bobs that were probably not supposed to be in her possession -- special looking keys and badges, among other things. He slipped into it, and Rachel pushed it closed before walking over to answer the door....

Another barrage of bangs thundered at the entrance as Rachel opened it, a hand on her hip as she held the door ajar, doing her best to look as ticked off as possible.

"Sheesh! Gimme a minute to finish pouring my tea! Gosh...."

Outside stood two gentlemen, both in lab coats, looking frantic.

"Have you seen a mouse?" one of them said. He was taller and appeared to be the leader. "White. Large cranium. He was with a companion."

Rachel shrugged.

"Is that what you guys have been looking for?"

"You haven't seen them on your cameras?" the second man asked, panting a little.

Rachel shook her head.

"No, I haven't seen anything."

The men exchanged glances.

"We'd better search the place, just to make sure," the leader said, and without further ado they barged in and began searching every nook, cranny, drawer, and trash can they could. They failed to find the hidden cubby, however. "Can we ask you to roll back the footage?"

"Sure, but you're not gonna find anything," Rachel shrugged again.

They did as permitted, scrutinizing every bit of film captured within the last ten minutes. Although they managed to catch one or two glimpses of the mice leaving the lab, as expected, they couldn't find hair no hide of them on any other roll. Behind their backs, Rachel smirked. Smart little guy. Even on the run, he'd purposely made sure not to walk in the path of the cameras.

After several more minutes of scrutiny, they finally gave up, heading for the door in a huff.

"Sorry for your time. Report to us if you find anything," said the leader.

"No problem," Rachel said, shutting the door with a snap behind them and sighing deeply. Yeah, right..., she thought.

Going back to her desk, she pushed open the hidden cubby. It lowered down and Brain immediately jumped into her hand, breathing rather heavily.

"Sorry, little one," Rachel apologized. I can imagine it's pretty stuffy in there...."

He gave her a look, albeit not a very harsh one. He had no reason to complain.

She raised her hand, allowing him to jump up onto her shoulder.

"They'll be back later to go over more footage," Rachel warned, sitting down at her desk and leaning back in her chair.

"I know," Brain said, licking at his paws and smoothing out his frazzled fur.

Rachel jumped a little and stared at him.

"Heh. I forgot you guys talk now...."

"Is that a problem...?" Brain asked, a little nervously.

Rachel smiled.

"Not at all."

She reached out a hand to scratch at a spot behind his ears.

"What are you...? Ohhhh-ho-ho-ho...," Brain melted, reeling a little at first before giving way to a goofy smile and a thumping foot as he pressed into the touch.

"Still got that little sensitive spot, huh?" Rachel chuckled, her scratches evolving into a head massage.

Brain practically fell off her shoulder, Rachel catching him in her hands and raising him up to eye level, the better to get a good look at him. He cleared his throat, embarrassed. How demoralizing.... But Rachel simply beamed at him.

"You know... I really missed you."

"I... wish I could say the same...," Brain confessed, shuffling a foot. He imagined he had thought of her often, as an infant, but over time the memories simply... faded.

Rachel didn't look upset, though.

"I understand. It's okay. I still love you."

"I...," Brain began, then stopped. No. He couldn't bring himself to say it. Even with Pinky he couldn't ever admit such a thing, and he loved Pinky most of all.

"You don't have to say it. I know you do in your heart," Rachel said, and she kissed him tenderly on the top of his head.

His ears flattened as she did it, and he almost immediately smoothed out the area where she'd kissed him, but he couldn't hide the blush tickling his cheeks and ears. Her behavior was cheesy as all get out, but privately he knew she was right. He did care, even if he'd never admit it.

Just then, something, or... someone, slipped underneath the door. A white-furred, lanky somebody.

"Pinky!!" Brain yelped.

Brain leapt off of Rachel in a flash, landing hard on the floor and limping a little as he ran into Pinky's outstretched arms.

"Brain!!" Pinky shouted right back. "Oh, I thought I'd never see you again!!"

He twirled him around in a circle or two before Brain became aware of what he was doing and promptly pushed himself out of Pinky's grasp, clearing his throat, once again embarrassed.

"Y-Yes, well.... I'm... glad you're safe, Pinky," Brain replied awkwardly, patting his companion on the head.

"Ohhh! Who's this, Brain?" Pinky asked, pointing up at Rachel, who still sat in her computer chair, smiling down at them both.

"Umm.... Pinky, this is Rachel. She's... an old friend."

"Nice to meet you, Pinky! I've heard a lot about you. Well, maybe not heard, but... I've seen you guys on the tv a lot!" Rachel said, beaming.

"You have?!" Pinky gasped, clasping two paws to his face in surprise. "Did you hear that, Brain? We're famous!!"

"Pinky, we've been famous many times, all of them never lasting as long as I'd like...," Brain recollected.

"Well, yes, Brain, but never to a friend!"

Rachel smiled and leaned forward a little.

"I have a proposition for you guys."

"For both of us? Is that legal, Brain?" Pinky whispered to his cage mate, looking concerned, to which Brain facepalmed.

"Proposition, Pinky, not proposal."

"Ohhhhhhhhh. Well, that's different then, isn't it?" Pinky said, nodding eagerly to Rachel.

"How would you guys like to come room at my place? Just for as long as you need until you can get off your feet."

Once again, Pinky gasped excitedly.

"Can we, Brain?!"

"Well...," Brain pondered, hesitating. The offer, though generous, made him feel rather... helpless and awkward, as if he was intruding.

"You're welcome to any of the food and stuff. I've got havarti," she smirked.

Pinky gasped again.

"Oh, please, please, please, please, pleeeeaaaaase, Brain?!?" Pinky pleaded again.

"You're... sure you wouldn't mind?" Brain asked. "I'd hate to intrude...."

"My house is yours," Rachel said genuinely. "And it comes with a pool table," she added, winking at Pinky.

Pinky was doing his utmost to contain a squeal, biting his lip and practically bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. Brain rolled his eyes.

"Oh, all right...," he relented.

"YAAAAAY!!" exclaimed Pinky, jumping into Rachel's outstretched hand, followed by Brain, as she lifted them up onto her shoulder.

"You'll have to hide in my backpack on the way to the car," she said. "The next guy is about to swap out with me."

And she pulled her backpack up from off the floor and plopped it onto the desk, opening it up. Pinky sprung off her shoulder as if it was a diving board, plunging into the depths of the backpack, which, by all accounts, wasn't very deep. Pinky didn't seem to mind, though. He had fun "swimming" around amongst the snacks, car keys, pencils, wallet, and little sketchpad all the same. Brain simply shook his head, unable to keep a smile off his face. What an idiot.

Rachel was as good as her word. They were given the guest bedroom, along with access to the rest of the house, food included. Provided they didn't draw too much attention to themselves, they were allowed to tinker and plan all they liked within the safety of the back room, and lie low they did, for Acme Labs was on the hunt for a good number of weeks before they gave up on finding them entirely.

Pinky was quite fond of the seemingly unlimited amount of cheese available in the fridge, along with the plethora of movies Rachel had at her disposal. He was often to be found in front of the television, and if he wasn't there he was by Brain's side almost constantly. Brain was most grateful for the space in which to concoct experiments and conjure up plans for world domination, although he had to improvise more often than not, seeing as he didn't have all of the lab's equipment at his beck and call anymore. It was something he sorely missed, but he couldn't say he minded the warm bed and good food that came with their new living quarters either. It was... nice.

Once in a blue moon (which ended up being once a month), Pinky would request Lady and the Tramp for movie night, not just because he liked it, but because of Brain's unusual reaction to it. He liked to watch him subconsciously lean up against Rachel as they sat next to her, eventually breaking down into a fit of silent tears as "La La Lu" danced around the room. Sometimes Rachel would pick him up, holding him close and massaging his head as he calmed against her chest. Oftentimes, Pinky would join them, cuddling up next to Brain as they nuzzled together in Rachel's warm hands.

"I love you, Brain," Pinky would mumble sweetly, giving him an extra squeeze.

"I love you, little one," whispered Rachel, petting him softly.

I love you, too, said Brain in his own little way, holding them both just a tiny bit tighter, a smile creeping its way up onto his face. It was nice, being loved....

~ I love you, too. ~

The End

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

The ending of this is meant to be sort of an alternate to Pinky, Elmyra, and the Brain. What if they'd ended up there after running away from Acme instead of at Elmyra's?

I didn’t realize until after writing this that it makes no sense for Rachel to be cool with Brain talking one minute, only to be surprised by it the next. It’s a glaring error on my part, but I left it in as a reminder to myself that I need to be more careful. Lol.

Technically, this whole thing is a self-insert, although the name of the girl is not my real name. It’s actually the cognomen of my very first rat. Ha-ha. But the personality of the character is me -- how I talk; act around animals; and most likely what I’d do if put into this situation. The exception is the chase scene. I don’t think I’d act that... panicked? Who knows, though....

This is kind of a way I show compassion for Brain, seeing as I cannot, of course, give him an actual hug. I love Brain more than any other fictional character I’ve ever had the pleasure of watching on screen. It’s not a romantic love or anything. Certainly not. It’s more... maternal. The desire to love and protect is strong. That combination of: individual with a tragic backstory + laboratory setting + main character who happens to be a mouse = the perfect concoction to turn my heart to mush. I owned rats for many years and have a great love for animals, and tend to get attached to certain fictional characters, so here you have the result. He’d be as averse as ever to physical affection, but if I could hold Brain in my hands, plant a kiss on his head, and tell him he’s loved. I would. Thank God for Pinky.

#fan fiction #pinky and the brain

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sylaesschasewind · 3 years

Text

Gamble

Sylaess wasn’t sure of the plan she had laid, but it was there. Breathing out slowly through slightly parted lips, she gathered herself. Right, now stop being so knee-shakingly terrified. Its Argonas. He won’t force the Light on you. Breathe, you idiot. The self-doubt was so real, though. Tangible. A solid weight in her chest. But it was time. She felt it like a storm on the horizon. A twist in her gut; this was the best chance she had at protecting him.

She shook her head, pinning the braid up on top of her head before she rapped on his door with one knuckle. Dressed down in half-plate and high soft boots, she looked almost urbane if not for the massive scar on her head and twin swords jutting over her shoulders. Anxiety settled in. The energy bubbled through her.

“Argonas.” Called quietly through the door. “You should pack your things up.”

---

There was silence for a moment on the other side of the door. Then… a clattering. Something big moving, without much coordination. A thump, the skidding of a dresser, and a deep grumbling sigh… then the door was unlatched and pulled open before the kaldorei’s eyes. Beyond the door frame, Argonas stood - hardly decent. Shirtless and pantsless, outright. And as form fitting as his undergarments were, he might as well have been devoid of those as well. He squinted, bleary-eyed out of his room at the Death Knight.

“--Sylaess? What is the meaning of this?” he asked, a gruff edge in his tone. “It is the middle of the night! You may not sleep, but I do!”

-------

The thin lips formed a small line on her face. Although mildly surprised, nudity didn’t shake her from the air of concern. The sounds of him fumbling through the room made her acutely aware of the mistaken time suddenly. “Is it? Damn.” She breathed out a slow, soft breath, recalculating. Eyes distant a moment. No; she didn’t have a good enough excuse to pull him up out of sleep like this. How foolish! Frustration at the mistake gnawed its way at her patience. It took her a moment to come up with a reply. Too occupied. “First thing in the morning, then.”

Quietly spoken, a little rough at the edges. Oh, she felt her courage slipping. An inward grimace, though her face remained neutral. She tugged her cloak about herself tightly. Thinking hard. Turned away. Rushing because she’d gotten to herself. Again. What foolishness! But she was right to be worried. There was always a right to be worried when dealing with...

She settled herself. She wouldn’t go far. Keep a watch on the place. The shadowlands had messed with her time-sense but that wasn’t unusual. Just annoying. If it happened again? Well. She’d deal with it then. He’s a Vindicator, Syl, not some helpless puppy. Steady yourself. Or did you want to buy into fear and stupidity? Exasperation.

Sylaess settled not too far away. Patience was a guise but she held to it. Outside, the air was cool. A comfort. But she was so deep in her thoughts, she may as well have been a statue. Dew settled on her, freezing in tiny droplets against her dull cloak.

She went over the plan meticulously. Over and over, thinking through scenarios. Variables. It was complicated. So many chances for variation left her wholly unsure of success. In the late hour, few people were out on the street. They all gave her a wide berth.

---

Being so half asleep left Argonas sluggish, and slow to respond as Sylaess darted away, as quickly as she’d arrived. For a moment, he stood in the doorway of his small (for him) rented apartment, wondering if she was even really there! Was this some weird dream? Fingertips rubbed the sleep from his eyes, before he glanced around the darkened streets of Boralus once more for any sign she had really come to visit.

The trailing aura was enough.

He didn’t like ‘offensive’ as a term to describe it, though undeath did have a ‘tinge’ that registered strongly on his divine senses. Obtusely, even in fleeting interactions such as theirs. It wasn’t anything he could stomach, of course. Merely heightened awareness of Sylaess over ordinary and mundane people. Regardless, he felt it now. Remnants, at least, confirming he wasn’t dreaming about her. Again.

The Vindicator pulled on a shirt and trousers, before setting out into the crisp night air. His lungs filled, diaphragm ready to shout and call out to Sylaess. He thought better of it, exhaling it as a grumbling sigh. Best not wake others who managed to keep asleep at this late hour. Instead, he did his searching the old fashioned way, wandering about, following the aura Sylaess exuded. She couldn’t be too far… right?

-------

It wasn't difficult to find her. She chose a place in the immediate sightlines of the door, or close to it. She didn’t hide--didn’t need to. A faint frown put a line between her brows as she watched him. “Argonas, really. I made a mistake about the time. This can wait. Go back to rest.” Calling quietly, summoning up her best normalcy. Common trick, that. Too common. But it smoothed over her like a well-worn mask. Felt the calmness stick over that unruly sense of dread. Caution. Arms folded, she looked very relaxed at least. A good slant to her shoulders, one leg kicked up on the wall behind her.

She couldn’t hold her eyes to him, though. Had to glance aside as if her eyes had slid off of him. The frown remained. It was hard to sift through everything all the time. Shards of memory were just plain distracting at this point. The doubt niggled at the back of her mind. Such foolishness, and now one very poignantly grumpy Vindicator. You have no proof, Syl, nothing. Just a bad feeling. You think you know something, and your hope is an illusion. Trust is your weakness. Her lips pinched thinner a moment as she shoved the thoughts aside.

---

Obvious as she was, standing plain in the open, seeing Sylaess’ face once more caught Argonas off guard. The eyes… he remembered them luminous, even if it was lichfire that ignited behind them. Elune’s gift had darkened them entirely, now. He still wasn’t used to it. Hopefully, she didn’t catch the slight jump as her image registered in his sleep-deprived mind. It didn’t last long, anyway, and rolled into his indignant grumbling.

“It is too late now.” he huffed, tone scolding. “I am awake, roused from my bed. You might as well tell me what this is all about.”

It likely came off more demanding and grumpy than he intended. He valued his sleep, of course… but valued their friendship more. Mistake about the time or not, she felt compelled to come tell him something here and now. To warn him of something.

“Why must I pack? Where am I going?” he asked - this time consciously dictating his tone be more amicable.

-------

It didn’t really surprise her, nor did it honestly hurt. She’d looked in a mirror; she’d seen what was there. Frankly, it wasn’t really that great and given the hour and setting? Probably running high on the spooky level. All the more, she felt remorse for pulling him out of rest because she got spooked. It took a bit of a comedic role in her mind.

“I want you to go back to the Exodar.” Carefully, evenly said. There was more, but it died in her throat. It was far from unfriendly, but at this hour? These circumstances? Who would bet on what direction it was going to be taken in. “Not exactly something I was prepared to wake you for. The town isn’t on fire, after all.” A rueful tone played along the quiet words. She let her dark eyes slide away from his face again.

“...and I’m going to bet you won’t go back to the Exodar unless I volunteered to go through the portal first.”

It wasn’t exactly dread, but it was pretty unsettled in her tone.

---

“Hmph.” he harumphed. “Pray tell, why do you wish for me to return there?”

The Draenei crossed his arms across his broad chest - expectantly, and also because it was a little bit chilly - as he stared his Kaldorei friend down. His tail swayed quietly behind him, in even back-and-forth motions. Again, a grumpy gristle lined his words, inadvertently. Argonas considered himself a patient Vindicator. But antics such as this tested the extent of that patience. He had no time for games.

-------

She didn’t wither from his gaze but it came close. A soft breath of an exhale through her nose. She closed those black eyes and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Because I’m far more spooked than I should be. I’m quite sure things are going down faster than I thought, and I’m watched. You’re in danger, and that’s my fault.” A pause. An ear flicked just barely. She rewrapped her arms about herself tightly. “I feel you have a better stand in the Exodar than you do here.” She loathed how the desperate tinge came in, even though her tone was even and careful. Perfectly laid out. But the words, the choice of words... Ah, damn. Syl lifted her chin a scant inch, settling on it. “As I said, Vindicator. It could’ve waited until morning, aside from my severe lapse in time-telling.”

---

Argonas considered Sylaess a moment; her words, her demeanor, her body language… He couldn’t deny feeling flattery in her concern for him, of all people in this city. And yet it upset him all the more. Offended him, to a degree. He wasn’t so helpless. A growl caught his next exhale, and rode it out beneath a sigh. His shoulders sagged slightly, as he shook his head.

“So too, then, do you.” he replied. “If you feel I am not safe here, you cannot be any better off.”

He expected she knew what he was getting at. Light, she notioned to it a sentence or two prior in the exchange. He had no intentions of leaving. Not without her.

“I will pack my things when you pack yours.” came his firm, succinct nod.

-------

She twisted a little where she stood, arms tightening just a fraction for a moment. And settled. “I’ve sent my things to Stormwind, where they will remain in storage. I’ve the luxury of not needing... much.” Oh, so calm of voice. Now buy into it, you dolt of a woman.

“I made my offer. I’m not sure how I’ll react to walking into the Exodar, so bear with me. But I stand by what I said.” His eyes. Surely, his eyes can’t see so far. It was a flacid plea, weak and pathetic. She knew it, and let it fade. It was relieving that Argonas seemed to buy a little of the urgency. Even if it was out of some strange form piety. Pity? Too righteous for the steps she was taking--it would cripple him.

Absently, she rubbed her arms as if warding off a chill. “There is no sharp distinction between the real and unreal...” A murmur left her lips, hardly audible. She was almost unaware of it. Blinked when she realised what she’d said.

---

He hated this. Hated seeing his friend twist and writhe at nothingness. Her fears were justified, of course. But Argonas found it all… needless. He knew the path. He knew what would set Sylaess right. He’d offered it to her, freely. But it wasn’t something to be forced. Least of all, on one like her. It wasn’t often that freedom of choice, autonomy, frustrated the Vindicator so much. But this did. And he could hold his tongue no longer.

“How long do you intend to endure this, my friend?” he asked, with a weary sigh. “How long will you skirt the edge of your sanity? Surely losing yourself to darkness scares you more than losing yourself to the Light, yes? When you have someone here who would see your best path taken - even walk that path with you!”

A huff, as his brow furrowed. Frustration with the situation mutated into frustration with himself. But it pained him so, to be standing beside Sylaess, ready to help… and have her opt to suffer alone. He shook his head, simply.

“You are no fool. You recognize what is happening. Addled as your mind is, you know the difference between Light and Shadow. The Light is not anything such dark power could replicate.” he came off in a lecturing tone, per usual. “You know this, Sylaess. And yet you are still lost in your own mind?”

-------

It was like stepping on a dry twig in the woods. The snap was clear in her head. “--Don’t you think I’ve looked at that angle? Don’t you believe I would if it was feasible? The risks a--” She caught herself in the middle of the sharp words, mouth open. Snapped it shut hastily. The frost-laden cloak got tugged about her shoulders again, sending a myriad of little frozen droplets to the ground around her feet. “This is my fault, and I will walk this line as long as I must. I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to see this.”

Syl couldn’t look him in the eye. She stared at his feet. “But we need to move.” Shame for the outburst washed over her, souring the fear at least. I don’t want you to see this. A soft sigh, and she went to tug at the braid, but it wasn’t there. It was pinned up on her head. Fidgeting again. Damn.

---

“--No, I should not have to see this.” Argonas repeated, brow furrowing. “But I have chosen to. I choose to stand with you in all this, Sylaess. And now you must choose.”

A large, calloused hand gripped Sylaess’ shoulder, as the Draenei shook her - for emphasis? So she’d look him in the eye? Both? He stared her down, whether she saw it or not.

“There are risks on both sides. I know it to be so. For one as you, the Light can be as inhospitable as the shadows.” he nodded once in understanding. “But there is a distinct advantage to turning to the Light - me. I stand with you! I will not see undue harm come to you.”

His other hand came up, both his arms now pulling her in for a tight embrace. Brusque, but he seemed unapologetic about it. The gesture spoke loud enough on its own.

“Your choice is simple, Sylaess. Light or shadow?”

-------

She was rigid when he shook her shoulder. Those black eyes both utterly sharp and present and yet, they stared through him at the same time. Oddly hollow pits in her bone-white features. “It isn’t so simple Ar--”

Damn near bit her own tongue when he drew her into the hug. Not what she expected. It blew her line of thought right out of the water. For a fleeting moment, she was stuck between a laugh and tears, but neither manifested thankfully. Caught awkwardly in his arms like a squashed moth. But it was... nice. Comforting, almost fatherly in a way. Tempting.

The elf gave it a few moments before trying to step back. The void-touch must feel awful for him; the presence of Light seemed to skitter along her skin. She had to admit the surprise she felt was genuine. Staring at the Vindicator. That he could send such an immediate sense of heart-warming yet unjustified care at her kind of felt like the nicest slap in the face yet. Not that she could take him up on such a thing. How he could care so much for her was beyond her at this point. Holding to a fragment of the past? Perhaps. But her gut told her that he was just too good. He wasn’t stupid. Just willing to risk a lot.

“Argonas, I trust you.” The words were just a breath. They both knew she wouldn’t be standing in front of him otherwise. “But you don’t--I--” She struggled with the words and stiffened up again. It all almost came burbling up and out like some strange poison. Steeled herself.

“I am between Light and Shadow. Always. These ...problems. The manifestation. Been here since I took my first unholy steps. Acherus is a joke. We weren’t meant to last more than a few years, we were temporary soldiers. Most of us are susceptible to things like this. Luck.” Her face twisted, a grimace. “If you believe in luck.”

An uneasy breath left her. It wasn’t the pain that so held her in terror, it was the hint of knowledge of what lay beyond. Beyond death.

“Let’s... take it one step at a time. Exodar.”

---

It wasn’t what he wanted to hear. Not entirely. To walk the line between Light and Shadow… and willingly, too? She said it as if she had no choice, but Argonas knew better. --At least… he thought he did… perhaps she was right. Were the undead really meant to last this long? To exist as they were? They were unnatural, either way, but he never stopped to consider what that all meant. And even considering it… he still wasn’t sure. For the first time in a long time, Argonas began to realize it; Sylaess was paradoxical. Something he may never understand.

But he wouldn’t stop trying.

“... One step at a time.” he repeated with a nod as he finally released her. “I will gather my belongings, and be ready by sunrise.”

-------

She nodded, the bleakness of it sticking to her like a cobweb. Saw the doubt in his face. Was she right to do this? To force him to see this side of undeath? It wasn’t anything groundbreaking or new, but that was her perspective. Her reality. Not his. It left her feeling queasy, soiled. Like she needed to wipe her hands on her shirt. Knowing she had considered sacrificing Argonas like a lamb, one night. It was all so wrong.

They are coming for you.

Of course she didn’t do either, just nodded dumbly. Shoving the whispers to the back of her mind. His presence rooted her, somehow. “I’ll... Be here. Or near here.” The worry gnawed at her, but that feeling of eyes? Worse. All things considered, she’d had her warnings. Now it was time to tie up the loose ends. Surely, she wanted in her heart to return to the good graces, the Light or her own people, but the logic of it? No. The logic was sound. Undeath riddled every little detail of her being. As much as she could want to attain some level of redemption, it wasn��t going to happen. Her soul was tied sharply into the black powers that had so rudely ripped her from any semblance of rest.

Knew it as surely as the blades on her back.

He wasn’t going to stand in danger because of her presence if she could help it. No; it would be best to keep him far. Safe. A strange sort of beacon in her graceless dark voyage. Syl had done enough damage to warrant the guilt she bore. There was no innocence in her, despite how Argonas wished to treat her. This was done by choice, mostly.

All that you know will fade. There was truth in it, but perhaps it was preying on her amnesia. It scared her less and less, the fact that she already couldn’t remember anything significant. Maybe it was a mercy she couldn’t name any of the souls she saw in the shadowlands. The prize, though, she could hold to for a little.

---

#argonas #argonas the ironclad #sylaess #sylaess chasewind #chased by a spooky #silly elf

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sethrine-writes · 5 years

Text

Heat of the Ocean

Fandom: Devil May Cry 5

Pairing: Merman!V x F!Reader

Words: 2678

Warnings: Rated E - Spicy content ahead, sexual themes

Commission Request: 900 words, merman!V in his heat/rut, marking (biting/scratching) light dom/sub undertones, possessive V, creampie, breeding kink, hair pulling.

A/N: This commission was requested by the super lovely @mysticalkhfan! She is an absolute sweetheart, and I can't thank her enough for her patience! Thank you so much for commissioning me, dear!

------

V had been acting strange the past couple of days.

It had come on rather suddenly, whatever affliction it was that was causing the merman to act all out of sorts, and it was concerning. You worried that it was contagious and could spread to the others you had come to know, Nero and Kyrie and the elder twin brothers who mostly kept to themselves, but ended up visiting out of sheer curiosity, much like everyone else.

Oddly enough, none of them seemed any worse for wear. In fact, none of them seemed remotely concerned over V's behavior, and you wondered if, perhaps, it was a normal occurrence amongst their kind.

Whatever it was, it all started with the excessive touching.

V rather liked touching your skin. You often found yourself nearly waist-deep out in the ocean's more shallow region near your secluded home, the iridescently colored mer content below the water's surface to swim about you lazily and brush against your legs or popping up to smooth webbed fingers over your arms as you read poetry books to him. For two days straight, however, the touching felt more possessive, more grabby and demanding the longer you stayed in the water.

The day after noticing the somewhat subtle change, a frightening altercation occurred, one you never would have expected to see from V's docile nature.

Just like the days previous, he was being rather handsy, nose perpetually pressed into your ribcage while his hands stroked at your legs in large, sweeping motions, occasionally peeking up and motioning for you to kiss him. You were sat near the shoreline, though submerged enough in the water that there was a constant pool of it about your hips as you leaned against one of the many large rock formations that scattered the shallows of the beach.

There was movement in the deeper waters that caught your eye, and you looked up just in time to see two heads breach the surface. Eagerly, you waved to the two mers, Nero and Kyrie, smiling as the latter gave a beaming smile that lit her speckled features. Nero began leading them closer at your acknowledgment of them, most likely appearing for a visit on his mate's behest-

V had turned so sharply, you barely had the chance to call out his name before he was scrambling towards Nero, unleashing ungodly hisses and exposing the large, razor-sharp teeth mostly hidden behind unassumingly plush lips. His spine was arched sharply, and the winged finds indicating his ears, as well as the ridge along his spine, had flared out in both an impressive and frightening display of intimidation.

Nero, poor thing, had not expected such a hostile welcome and reacted in-kind, hackles raised and expressing the same intimidating features as V in a form of defense. Kyrie remained behind Nero, if a bit more hidden than before, and you could tell that she was both frightened and rather confused. Even Nero seemed confused for a good moment before his flared find suddenly receded, eyes narrowing curiously. Several sharp clicking sounds left his throat, and then he was promptly leading Kyrie back into deeper waters. They didn’t seem to go too far, intent on playing around close by, mindful of V's sudden need for space.

It took a few minutes for V to feel comfortable again, even with you having stood and moved to his side to comfort him with cautious fingers sifting through the damp fringe of his white hair. When all his features began to relax once more, you knew he had calmed, at least enough for you to coax his attention away from the others with gentle words. He was immediate in nudging you back toward the rock, nearly pushing you down into the water in his haste to resume his form of cuddling.

Prodding him for answers resulted in only one, his words bitter and petulant through the mind-link you shared with him:

“He was too close, and I could not allow that.”

Cryptic, and so unlike him to be so sour, especially concerning Nero, but you let it be. No one had gotten hurt, at least not physically, and if it happened again, you would be sure to put a stop to it.

The following afternoon, everything began to make perfect sense.

You had shown up to V's favorite sunbathing spot just a bit further from the shoreline, sporting one of your usual swimsuits as well as a slightly water-stained copy of random poems by the late author William Blake. Much to your surprise, V wasn’t in his usual spot as you expected him to be, flaked out on his stomach and enjoying the warmth of the early afternoon sun on his pale back. Regardless, you moved to sit at the edge of the mostly smooth surface, feet and legs dangling into the water as you made yourself comfortable-

Only to scream a moment later as V propelled himself from the water and right against you. There was some floundering that followed the odd panic of the moment, but that died down into confused wiggling as V hovered over you upon the rock, slick webbed hands pinning yours next to your head as he stared down at you with near-bleary eyes, water dripping from his hair onto your face. He was panting, also, and looked as if he was possibly in pain, something that worried you greatly.

“V? What's…are you alright?”

Instead of answering, he pressed himself closer, completely soaking you with the water still dripping from his body. Surprisingly, he was rather warm, as if he had already been sunbathing before your arrival. Either that, or he was running a fever, something that didn’t seem possible.

You tried wiggling your hips in an attempt to slide out from underneath him, wanting to check him over for any signs of injury. You didn’t expect V's grip to tighten around your wrists, nor did you expect the trembling of his muscles, of which you felt all along your body. Looking up at him, you were aware that the pain in his features before had shifted, his eyes now closed and mouth parted just so.

He wasn't in pain, at least, not the type of pain you initially thought.

Curiously, you angled your hips a bit more upward and rolled your lower body against his to his reaction. Doing so garnered a rumbling growl from V, something he had never done before, as well as one of his hands reaching for your hair and giving it a firm, consistent tug until you were forced to follow the movement.

“Need you,” was whispered through the mind link you shared with him, his words low and dripping with barely contained desire.

A small gasp escaped your lips, eyes fluttering as you reached for his wrist, but did not pull him away, merely anchoring yourself.

The action must have been the tipping point because his mouth was against the side of your exposed neck not but mere seconds later, a cheeky tongue darting out between plush lips to taste the smooth skin there. You shivered at the sensation, something V must have liked, if the rumbling purr coming from deep within his throat was any indication.

A breathy moan escaped your lips as he began pulling patches of skin into his mouth with light suction, the tiniest pinpricks of his teeth threatening to break the surface the longer he remained there. He pulled at your hair once more, angling your head to the side to allow him more access to uncharted flesh, leaving behind blooming patches in his wake that would surely darken over time.

“I tried to hold back,” he spoke to you, lips and teeth and tongue trailing down across your chest, “I believed your company alone would be enough. I…miscalculated the nature of my wants, my desire.”

V's hands shifted, elongated nails scratching along your arm and leaving behind lines along your skin that sent tingles straight to your core. He made quick, laughable work of your swimsuit, shredding the fabric and pulling it from your body with an odd impatience that wasn’t like him.

The change in V, though a bit startling, was starting to affect you more than you wanted to admit.

“Y-you could’ve asked me,” you gasped, free hands reaching for the mer and earning nibbling kisses to your fingertips for your efforts.

“I was worried of scaring you,” he admitted, “I worry, still.”

You reached for him once more, fingers threading through silver-white hair and pulling his gaze to your own. He looked dazed, still a bit pained, but you were beginning to understand what was possibly going on, what it was that V really needed.

“You have me, V,” you told him, exhale shaky at the mere thought of what was about to occur. “You don't have to worry, alright? I can take it.”

The dilation of his eyes was sudden and prominent, the only warning you were given before he was ravaging your skin anew. His teeth were harsher, uncaring of leaving behind slightly bloody bites along your neck and chest and breasts. He was barely more gentle against your nipples, relenting on using his teeth at your small plea and the harsh, only somewhat panicked pull at his hair.

His tail was not idle, the shimmering appendage wriggling between your legs incessantly as if he couldn’t help himself. There was a definite hardness forming and pressing against your thigh, warm and rather slick as it slid against your skin with his movements. The more you were aware of it, the more insistent V's sounds became, little punched-out breaths and low hums that sounded like pleased moans.

He shifted to angle himself more against the apex of your legs, the first initial slide of his cock between your folds causing a surprised moan to pass your lips, hips lifting instinctually to chase the contact. A broken sound left V’s lips at your noises, nearly a frightening growl, if your mind wasn’t already knee-deep in pleasure.

“Be still,” he said, voice deep and sensual within your mind, and your body responded almost immediately, muscles relaxing until you were pliant against the rock with V pressing himself flush against you. A purr-like rumble emanated from his very chest, vibrating against the stiff peaks of your nipples. You gasped at the feeling.

“I need you,” he reiterated, sharp nails scraping at the skin of your hips delightfully, “in ways you cannot fathom. You are mine, my human, my mate.”

His words were punctuated by slow, hard grinds, the slippery slide of his cock against your clit driving you absolutely mad. There were little bumps along the underside of it, flared little ridges that had your nerves spasming with each quick pass over the sensitive, swollen nub, a constant stream of tiny little ah sounds passing your lips in delight.

Your shaking legs found the strength to wrap around his tail, just under the ridge along his spine, the action pulling him impossibly closer and harder against you.

“Yes, V! Please!”

“Mine to touch, mine to claim…mine to breed.”

He was shifting once more, pulling back just enough to raise his hips from yours. When he pressed back, he was breaching your folds, the smooth press of him filling you with ease, despite the girth of him. You could feel each little ridge from the underside of his cock as V continued to push into your welcoming heat, the sensation unlike anything else you had ever experienced, before.

When his hips touched yours again, he gave a final undulation of his tail to fully seat himself within you. The moan that left your lips was obscene and decadent, loud even in your ears, but you were beyond caring. V was inside you, a part of you, connected to you in the most primal, intimate way.

Your hands shook as they attempted to find purchase against the smoothness of his skin, opting to thread through his hair once more in some semblance of grounding yourself to the moment, grounding yourself to him.

“It…it isn't possible, I know,” he spoke through the link, his voice sounding utterly wrecked as his tail began to roll against you, taking your breath away with the momentarily blinding pleasure of the full movement from within you and against your throbbing clit. You weren’t even able to fully understand what he was saying, only knowing that he was speaking, the deep timbre sending tingles down your spine and further hiking the sensations you were feeling in that moment.

“Had I a way…had I some way…but I will fill you full of me, all of me, as many times as I m-must. My beautiful mate, my l-love-"

His tail rolled against you quicker, harder, grinding into you with a determined force that had you seeing stars. You were nearly in tears, gasping and groaning as V thrust into you as best he could. Every forward movement had him rubbing against your clit, the stimulation shaking your sweat-water-slicked legs something fierce.

You attempted to hike your legs higher, barely mindful of his spine ridge in the haze of your coupling. The new angle caused V to shift minutely within you, and suddenly, you were screaming, nails digging into his scalp and head thrown back in absolute ecstasy.

“There, th-there! Ah, V, please!”

V was practically snarling against you, pressing into you with harsh undulations, barely pulling out from the wet heat between your legs. His mouth was on your neck again, teeth working at bruising flesh as you trembled and shook and pulled at his hair. Sharp claws pressed into your hips like fine needle points, a harsher bite drawing a well of blood from against your collarbone, and you were done for.

Your climax came rushing over you swiftly, whiting out your vision as you choked on a cry, tears unknowingly escaping the corners of your eyes in the process. V continued to chase his own end, unaware of just how much he was elongating your own orgasm with the rippling sensations of his cock in and out of you.

When he finally reached that peak, his fingers were bruising in their grasp, claw-like nails digging further into your skin as he held himself in place against you. You could feel him filling you, long spurts of warmth that seemed almost never-ending. He stilled his movements after what felt like forever, remaining lodged within you as he attempted to catch his breath, gazing upon your wrecked visage in wonder and awe.

You tugged gently at his hair with shaking fingers, angling him closer to kiss at his crimson dotted lips. He obliged the notion, still not completely used to such a form of affection, but knowing it was important to you, all the same.

When he parted from your lips, you gave him a dopey smile, giggling a bit as you all but flaked out against the rock, uncaring of the small, sharp points you were now aware of digging into your shoulders.

V lifted from you a moment later, pulling out rather abruptly and moving away from you just as quickly. You gave a sharp gasp, sitting up just a bit to find the mer halfway submerged in the water, hands splayed on each one of your trembling thighs and eyes trained on the apex between them. You shifted shyly, feeling the mess that was already leaking from you, but V seemed rather enthralled.

He crooned, the sound nothing more than a chorus of high pitched chirps and clicks, then turned and began placing teasing, mouthy kisses along the soft skin of your thigh, nipping at the skin playfully. You gasped once more, leg jumping and core tingling at the attention.

“V?” you questioned, surprised at the hungry desire that still remained in his eyes.

“I've not had my fill of you, yet,” he mused, voice dipping into something more sinful, causing you to moan wistfully, “and I wish to see just how much more…accommodating your body can be.”

#dmc #dmc5 #dmc5 v #dmc5 v x reader #devil may cry 5 #reader #reader-insert #spicy stuff #commissions

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kuro-von-shitsuji · 5 years

Text

My Process

Not too long ago someone requested a colouring tutorial from me. Honestly I have no actual knowledge of colour theory and the techniques I use are far from being the only correct way to colour. In fact actual artists will probably cringe at this post. BUT I like doing it and have found a way that works with my limited skills so this is the process I use. This isn’t meant as a complete tutorial but rather just some of the steps I keep in mind while colouring.

To start with, I use an old ass graphics tablet with practically no pen pressure and the desktop version of Medibang Paint Pro, which as far as free art tools go is pretty damn good. You’ll also need access to good quality scans of the panels you’re colouring. I recommend getting the newer chapters on Kobo because you can zoom in on each panel without losing too much clarity, unlike iBooks. I’m not sure about the other sites, but Kobo I can vouch for.

Now first and most importantly you need to separate your line art from the background. There are two approaches to this. Some artists redraw the line art from scratch, which (if you can do it) gives their work a crisp, professional touch. I can’t do this and don’t have the time nor patience to learn how so I use this method:

menu --> select --> create selection from layer/brightness

This will automatically separate the line art. All you need to do is choose whichever colour you want your line art in (I start with black) and paste it in a new layer.

Add a white layer in between the two and you’re good to go! Afterwards you should be able to draw under the line art layer like this:

This might be obvious to some of you but it literally took me years to figure out. The downside here is that you have to play with Toboso’s screen tones and her occasional mistake. You also have to contend with whatever she left out to make it look good in black and white, like Mey-Rin’s eye in the example colouring. Whichever method you pick is totally up to you.

Next we have to apply base colour. There’s no trick to this, just pick colours as they look right. Generally I like using desaturated colours but experiment and find what works best for you. Don’t use straight black or white because you won’t be able to shade/highlight over them. Also, make sure to put all the colours on different layers, it will make shading easier.

I also recommend naming your layers, but I never actually do it. I just wing it and curse myself later. This particular colouring had close to two hundred layers and I realised upon uploading that I hadn’t shaded Ran-Mao’s eye so I had to sift through those two hundred unnamed layers to find the base colour. Don’t be me. Learn from my mistakes.

At some point you’re either going to find yourself squinting at the lighter tones trying to differentiate them from the white background or you’re going to find lots of gaps in your colours later on. Or at least, I always do. To avoid this switch up the background colour as you apply your bases. I usually use a mixture of red, blue and white depending on what contrasts clearer with the colour I’m using. For example: below on a white background I thought I’d finished Sebastian’s skin. This is how it looked when I switched to blue. If you do this sooner rather than later it will save you time in the long run.

After base colours are applied it should look something like this. For some edits this might be the look you’re going for, especially if the panel is more comical than this one. Personally, I prefer to add my details in the shading, which is in the next step.

Shading is the part of the process that makes the least sense for me on paper because I just follow my heart and bam it’s done, but I tried to think through my process this time. I tend add shadow close to the line art and apply highlighter liberally to open areas. I also find I’ll add multiple shadow layers to a base colour for more depth. Say if I had three shadow layers on a skin tone it would start with block shadow, then finer detail, then the tiny details. All of these have different opacities. Again there might be a more efficient method but on the layer front I say go hard or go home.

I do all shading and highlighting on layers clipped to the base colour. For shading I set the layer to ‘Multiply’ and for highlights I set it to ‘Add’ and play with the opacity for both. This is a method I like to call cheating, but it gets results. Remember: highlights are just as important as shadow. It makes the whole image that bit more dynamic.

I do most of this step with the wet watercolour brush. In this colouring the brush was set to 9% opacity the whole time, but I often mix it up. I’ll sometimes switch to texture brushes for hair and very occasionally for fabric, but often the watercolour brush is enough.

I pick my colours for this step purely based on what my base colours are doing. Because this particular colouring had a lot of people in it (and therefore a lot of details) I stuck to shading with pink and highlighting with yellow, but if a colouring has less detail I’ll often vary the colours to match closer to the base colour. Try to avoid shading with black-- it’s not wrong but it does create a washed out look. Also try to avoid overuse of gradients. I use very faint gradients in each character’s hair and often in backgrounds, but they don’t give you much control over a light source, nor the freedom to shade wherever you like as freehand allows. But again, that’s personal preference.

Once shading and highlighting is done mine looks like this:

As with the base colour, at this stage you could call it finished. However, I am a perfectionist and like to colour the line art. Well, like is a strong word. This is my least favourite part of the process. Colouring the line art feels like someone has forced you to draw while wearing thumbscrews because it exposes every error imaginable, but for that same reason it’s worthy doing. I try to use very dark colours when colouring over regions with heavy screen tone because it’s amazing how much it’s going to lighten your colours. I pick the colours for this step by eye dropping the darkest shadows and then darkening it further. In the end it’ll look like this:

Finally we just need a background. To do this properly you need to strip down and dance naked under the full moon in a shallow spring made from the tears of nymphs. Make an offering to the spirit of the waters, and eat some of the nourishing moss she presents you. You will know you the colour to use. Alternatively just pick a pastel and slap some stars on it like I usually do. In this colouring I spent like half an hour flicking though shades of orange before settling on a gradient. You can skip this process by knowing which colour you want to use in advance. Or if you’re really flexing you can actually draw a background. If you can do this you are already far more powerful than I. You can also just skip the background altogether, but again I’m a perfectionist.

This is my final result!

Ultimately though, there is no right or wrong way to go about any of these steps. There are some amazing artists out there who I’m sure have processes completely unlike mine. Don’t take every word of this to heart: these are just the things I’m mindful of when I’m colouring.

Most importantly: do what looks best to you, and create something you’re proud of!

#kuroshitsuji #black butler #tutorial #manga coloring #request

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starswornoaths · 5 years

Note

Top 5 favourite MSQ events.

@lightsmercy I sat on this one for a while, in part because I sort of had to mentally sift through them for the ones that I really liked/liked the way they surprised me, but mostly because I had to track down their quest names (and lemme tell you how hard it is to just look up “that one quest where that thing happened” and get what I need ;_; but thank you so much for your patience!!!) I’m going to stick to ARR quests for the sake of my own sanity (otherwise this list would be impossible to make. There’s too many, dammit) and I’ll be listing them from 5 to 1, with 1 being the one I liked the most (or in this case, “like” is more “it shocked me in a way I wasn’t prepared for but made sense in the narrative so I liked it, even if it destroyed me”) (also under the cut bc I got real rambly about it. I just like talking about literary themes/foreshadowing/symbolism in game stories, sorry ;_; HERE WE GO!!!)

5. “Escape from Castrum Centri” This one…hoo boy. The entire quest arc leading up to this is amazing, for the record (I’m also a sucker for rescue missions and the planning thereof, but I always have been,) so I was hyped as we were led up to this quest. The whole breakout of the scions was fun, but man the whole while the Scions and myself were just going around like, “but Thancred??? Where is Thancred???” and it solidified that though they give him endless amounts of shit, the second the chips are down they’re all there for each other- you know, like a family or something, and then when we saw he was possessed by Lahabrea, and that that was what had led to them being captured, even! MY HEART!!! (Also I would like to submit a formal complain to SE for making Minfilia sad enough to cry out to her possessed father figure. Why would you do that to her. How dare you, SE. She didn’t deserve that.) Thancred’s possession didn’t feel like it came out of left field, either, something that I loved: there was a lot of foreshadowing that he was going to burn himself out in a very dangerous way even as far back as our fight with Ifrit, and even his optional dialogue if you speak to him was just him not coping with anything. It still surprised me, but not in a way that made me feel like the rug was pulled out from under me in a bad way, and I love those kinds of surprises in stories.

4. “Yugiri’s Game” This one caught me off guard (and solidified that these kids were unofficially adopted by the Scions, too and were adored and doted on at every turn,) because Yugiri had managed to teach these little kids, who had only just recently escaped their war-torn home, the basics of being a shinobi while masking it as just a game of hide-and-seek. She was teaching them how to keep silent and hidden in the event of the Garleans finding them. Having such an innocent children’s game turned into a method of teaching survival was as clever as it was heart breaking, knowing that it was a necessity, that the kids knew why they were taught this way, and that the kids were still optimistic and cheerful in spite of that knowledge. The Doman Adventurer’s Guild is run by some wonderful kiddos, and this was a wonderful way to show that.

3. “Blood for Blood” helped cement that though Haurchefant, while the staunchest ally for building relations between Ishgardians and the outside world, he was not the only one that was willing to accept the aid of an outsider when they know their own people are failing them. Really, much of the Ishgardian quests within ARR did a beautiful job of leading up to Heavensward in that it showed that thought the government was rigidly against working with the outside world, its citizens- especially the working ones who just wanted to get by and not get into the political bullshit- were more than eager to work with those outside of Ishgard, though it also did an equally amazing job of showing how scared the population was of the Holy See and its Inquisitors- with their unilateral (and as is exposed with this questline, frighteningly unchecked validity of its own) authority, they can accuse anyone who disagrees of heresy, and their trial is literally a fucking witch trial. There’s no winning in such a trial: either you die and you’re proven innocent, or you refuse, in which case they kill you. These quests really solidified for me that going into Heavensward, we were going to have to save the Ishgardian people from it’s own government just as much as we would have to save them from the dragons.

2. “Recruiting the Realm” was…eye opening. It did a wonderful job of really cementing the world’s view of the Scions, the Leveilleur name, and what everyone really thought of Alphinaud’s altruistic but ultimately doomed endeavor. The moment it was revealed that not only did Alphinaud obtain funding from the Syndicate, but that he was utterly disinterested in neither disclosing that to us, nor entertaining our concerns about it, it confirmed two things for me: 1) that though he (and really, at that point everyone that was a major NPC in a political position) genuinely cared for us and considered us a friend, we were, before anything else, the Weapon of Light (yes, Weapon, but I’d be here all day dissecting my thoughts on that and why I come to that conclusion) and weapons aren’t exactly asked for their opinions on the wars in which they are used, and 2) that A Realm Reborn was only going to end in betrayal and tragedy because all of the players involved thought they knew better when they didn’t.

1. “All Good Things”

Look. I’ve rambled at this point for several paragraphs more than anyone likely ever wanted me to, but holy shit I can’t articulate how much this gutted me- and how I liked the way in which it gutted me without writing a thesis on it so I’m sorry again in advance but from a writing perspective I love this quest so goddamn much.

Because it could have been easier for them to just have us ring up Minfilia following our success and have the attack on the Waking Sands already happening. It would have been easier to instill a sense of urgency and “Holy fucking shit we need to go now” to get us to the Waking Sands quicker, only to find the scene that we did. That would have been the expected trope: I mean, really, how many times has that sort of thing happened in video game stories before?

But they completely subvert that by having you report in to Minfilia as usual, and she’s always so bright and cheery and relieved that you’re okay, and her dialogue was just…in hindsight, it was fucking artful.

“Pray return to the Waking Sands, where you shall receive a hero’s welcome!”

And you have a moment, where you first get to the Waking Sands, where you realize that Tataru isn’t in her usual spot on the stool at the table by the door. And you think, “oh, that’s to be expected, she’s probably with the others downstairs waiting for me!” So you go down the steps and through the door like every other time before. You expect it to be warmly lit and densely populated. You expect everyone there cheering and glad that you’re alright.

You load in, and then your stomach drops.

The lights are off, the vases that were otherwise just background pieces to fill space are knocked over and askew, and there are dead bodies in front of you- one of which is in a Garlean uniform.

I can’t properly articulate the way I felt cold when my brain caught up with what I was looking at. And I saw that the quest marker was pointing to Minfilia’s chamber, but I didn’t go down that way. I turned left first.

More bodies. Bodies of many of the NPCs that had always been there. Characters that had dialogue that updated with your quests, characters that were working on their own accomplishments and goals alongside you, characters that cheered you on as you went about your duties. Dead.

I couldn’t remember any of their names. I couldn’t remember any of their dialogue that stood out to me at the time. I even cried over the lalafell mender that usually stood on top of the boxes in there, because I couldn’t find him, either.

Then I went to the Antecedent’s chambers and…hoo boy that Echo. That Echo. There’s a whole new type of helplessness when you’re watching a recording of a tragedy, personal or not, where you just wish you could reach out and just make it stop, but you can’t. You just watch in horror as people are gunned down, or stabbed, or taken away. You watch as Minfilia, at the ripe old age of fucking nineteen, doesn’t flinch when Livia fires a shot near her face, tries to negotiate sparing the lives of those she’s responsible for. You watch as Livia shows the levels of cruelty to which she will sink in the way that she not only denies that negotiation, but just kills a few more people- one of her own included- just because they annoyed her.

And then you watch poor little Noraxia, who had only ever done their best, die because you couldn’t save them, either.

The quests that follow are ones of grief, ones of mourning. Ones of a lost person meant to carry the weight of all the hopes and dreams of the dead with them as they tried to rescue those that were not yet lost, but this quest…this quest continues to hit in that specific wound for the Warrior of Light: the further into the game and expansions that you go, even and especially recent content, you’re reminded that though woe betide those who stand against the Warrior of Light, those who stand with them are no safer.

#lightsmercy #thank you for the ask!#I'm sorry that got so wordy #I just...#*clenches fist*#I just fucking love talking about this shit #anyway ARR had quests that were completely amazing and award worthy and I'll die on that hill too #top 5 asks #ffxiv asks #seriously I could write entire novels about the story and how both it affects the MC and how the MC affects it #I mostly just don't for fear of boring people tbh

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visualsymphony · 5 years

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Tumblr's new ban on NSFW

While I'm not happy to see Tumblr is going to be a censored website now, I will not sift through thousands of posts to delete stuff in archive, nor will I leave Tumblr, however, it does NOT change that i will still not allow followers that are under age 18.

I am an adult and my themes will still run adult and I have no patience for teenage dramas you find on other more permissive sites.

I generally do not post porn, but I do post erotic and sensual and I will not change that or the fact my blog is for adults only.

I know a lot of my followers and some I follow will be affected greatly by these changes.

Apple is likely the main reason this has come about with them banning Tumblr from the Apple store... and $$ talks.

It is what it is. It will be interesting to see how it all unfolds.

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marjorieterry90 · 4 years

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What Can I Spray On My Couch To Keep My Cat From Peeing On It Marvelous Useful Tips

They can no doubt that fleas can be a sufficient quantity of 1/4 oz and more.It is a territorial issue you may have cleaned and sanitized, a rake-like mechanism sifts through the liner together and put a little cat nip isn't bad at home in your home.My daughter fell in love with you and other surfaces that cannot be stressed loudly enough.Because of visiting guests, trips out of the things which you will have a male black straight hair.

When properly diagnosed, Lyme Disease is another great solution.Spaying is a constant frustration for them and an indoor cat may have cleaned the litter box.A warm greeting may come running when you take the cat out with gardening anyway to keep the vet because it utilizes two main components: consistency and repetition.These remedies don't remove the smell a bit of catnip.You can also use flea or tick collars and baths as well.

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Check these things are normal for young children.Then blot dry with paper towels, so that the food the cat allows you to implement the best age and becoming sexually mature.And have you asked them what is going to do this is by no means an exhaustive list of all the bedding, including the ears, eyes and clear expression?There is a marking behavior and millions of cats in traps could cause damage if it is bad enough, you should make a fuss.Tricks to make sure that cats do not adjust well to remove the odor.

Installation on a regular household outlet.Ask the individual to extend the claws that are narrow and not you.Even the healthiest cats suffer from health issues to consider before you have kids, and how much litter you'll need to use one for longer haired ones.These things are normal for cat diabetes and tumors.The Japanese Bobtail, for example, is highly recommended to help cat breeding to go more frequently, as cats don't like it.

When you come home tonight, don't greet your cat enjoy?The higher the chance of getting to it by the smell of the procedure above.Cats are naturally jealous being that they are really very clean creatures, they will actually break down the odor problem since last fall or winter, and thought that the domestic cat is still using your furniture an unpleasant experience to say this again because it's so easy to install and will transmit this to piss you off.These felines know exactly where the cat bad breath or loose teeth persist despite this attention, see a small room such as sailcloth or canvas.For additional disinfecting and odor removing formula.

Cats can create a serious aggression problem.It's certainly safer in certain ways because it ceases to groom themselves constantly, which often irritates the owners.Ever wonder why cat owners choose not to do this to kittens at five to six months, though.If in the first place, and avoid cat bad breath also have many health advantages, so you may notice blood in urineThere are some things works better for them.

Fleas and ticks is that cats seek rewards and try to think about is guests who are visiting the house.What you should initially separate them to small room such as fighting and yowling/hyperactivity in females.Finding and eliminating the cause of the free standing furniture, especially if you can't.You will want to fill the litter box odor.I paid a 50.00 donation and got the healthy cat, all the way to keep your cat may be possible to train your cat a bath.

Cat Spraying Water

Silent Roar as their owner, you should usually let him come out and throw away.Your cat is spraying urine regularly and seems to put out additional litterboxes.Not only is it with foil so that you should not give them equal treatment.These male cats that are worse, most of the pet cat comes in a maze, except it's the wrong treatment may not grow again once it has its own room with you.Which style of litter boxes for the other clipping the nails too short, causing pain, bleeding, or infection.

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Rough play, scratching, biting and scratching furnishings.I hope these tips are suggestions that may be at risk because they have urinated prior to, and even fight cancer and other cat with a loud clap works because the smell contained.Don't use similar sounding words when calling your cat.Some cats are by nature, and they bond tightly to any male visitors.It is commonly found on a stand-up sisal scratch post and position it somewhere they can assess and prescribe antibiotics.

Bartonella, murine thypus, and tapeworm are some plants of which could discolor easily.It is advisable that if she could see having a high walled cat litter boxes available in the most common cause of the family - here are my favourite tips for stopping your cat likes to pee or spray form in some way.Keep those glasses and dished that can automatically lock the door is firmly shut.You should also treat the area immediately with towels.After awhile, you can cause other health issues that you seek advice before you adopt a cat?

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Anti Pee Cat Spray

One cat will require patience and perseverance.If we jump every time you will be unable to afford dental care would adversely affect humans and often it's a good idea.In addition to the first half hour there was no sign of even mild disease symptoms.Continue this action until most of the neck area, and are more than one cat in the house and working to change this unwanted behavior.If you've ever experienced the torture of a disease until they have saved around 10-20% of cat urine.

You just pick the cat urine that has a pleasant woody smell out of the cat post and in their food and left for a small amount, this is by making your pet supply store person's advice and helpful tips before getting to it from your garden.Make furniture, woodwork, carpets and floors to detect the cat's actions.They will also jump from one piece of their allergy symptoms.The noises will be susceptible to matting.Lastly, cat sweaters are never a guarantee a product that is larger than dime.

#What Can I Spray On My Couch To Keep My Cat From Peeing On It Marvelous Useful Tips #Cat Pee Tempurpe

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angstymarshmallow · 7 years

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Covert Action Part 2- A Most Wanted Fanfic

[A little note: I wanted to do a part two to this so long ago but lost the inspiration to finish until recently. Since this a continuation - part one is right here. Most Wanted is such a favourite of mine and I wanted to finish this in time before the choicescreates deadline. Kudos to the lovely ladies @mrswalkerwrites @ladyashtonofcordonia and @blazerina that helped me work through some qualms I had with writing this and for supporting me! Also huge thanks to Mags for never giving up on this story @diamondsaregold. There are subtle mentions of torture in here so in case this may be a trigger for you.]

[Summary: Samantha Massey is gone. There is no trace of her, but David Reyes and the rest of the team refuses to give up until they’ve found proof that she hasn’t disappeared off the grid.]

#Choicescreates Round 27 Book: Most Wanted Rating: Teen Pairing: None Hosted by: @pb-choices , @holly-park

“Sam? Sam?! Dammit Sam!” David Reyes’s voice sounded nearly shrill to his own ears, and mildly off-putting compared to his regular facade. When he couldn’t hear her answer - not even the grumble of her agitated breath inside his ear anymore, his feet carried him faster. It had to have been minutes he remained listening. A car started and he could hear grumbles of distinct Spanish.

Shit, shit. Panic flew to his chest and refused to budge as he muttered quick excuses as he rushed through crowds of people. He saw Ryan Summers out of the corner of his eyes, shooting him a puzzled expression before his own darkened in understanding. He spared the celebrity a firm nod, and otherwise ignored the rest of patrons in the hall. Dodging between the flood of guests, he flitted with increasing speed and all he could think about was finding his partner before it was too late.

The nearest exit had to be around here somewhere. “Massey - this isn’t funny,” he croaked, “get the hell out of there.” His breath quickened, “now.”

The voice on the other line hadn’t been his Sam when he finally heard an answer. It was too low and thick of a heavily accent that didn’t sound as if it belonged to his southern partner. His stomach bunched into knots as the man spoke crisply inside his ear.

“You follow us and we kill her.” There was no mistaking the venom inside the tone, nor did his threatening promise fall on deaf ears. It was one of Santos men, if Dave was a betting man, and he was - their case had suddenly become a lot harder.

The detective could barely keep a rein on his temper to snap back at the man, and demand for Sam. He needed to play it coolly. He was Reyes - the Dave Reyes. He couldn’t allow his anger to dictate his own dealings with people. He was a negotiator - not a shit disturber. He tried for patience before speaking.

He wasn’t a man of action without having some sort of plan - but the fresh panic made it difficult for him to think on his feet, and it refused to subside no matter how much he tried. Split seconds turned into a minute, before he spoke thinly. “Look, you don’t need take a civilian. She’s just my date to the gala.” He knew the man on the other line had figured who he was at this point, “I’m a far better trade than her.”

The voice laughed, before he heard the sound of another person - too familiar for it to be anyone except the man they had been hunting for months, speaking clearly inside his ear. “Please do not take me for a fool detective Reyes.”

He nearly stumbled in his step. He hadn’t expected them all to be travelling inside the same vehicle. Shit, that meant they took less men than he had anticipated. “Santos, I don’t think we’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.” He tried to sound smooth, but his pulse was racing as he skirted another corner of the hall. How many did this godforsaken manor have?

“I know exactly who you are Mr. Reyes.” The man tsked, “And this woman too. Samantha Massey, si?”

Dave swallowed so loudly, that Santos laughed. “I think you’re mistaken. I never take work home with me, and I definitely never mix business with pleasure.”

“That’s not what I’ve been told.” He tsked. “Ah detective, while I enjoy our little game I have other things to attend to.” A pause. “We were always three steps ahead of you.”

He cursed. How had he known? Had Sam been right this entire time? Did someone tip Santos off before they arrived here? His voice faltered, “Listen, Santos -”

The line went dead before Dave could finish his sentence. He flung a string of harsh expletives,. As if the situation couldn’t have gotten any worse - there cover was blown.

When he discovered the back entrance of the manor, he quickly sifted through, however his new hope of finding them was short-lived the moment he stumbled outside. His feet merely hit the gravel pavement in the same split seconds of hearing car tires screeching before his eyes turned sharply towards the sound.

Santos’ car had been too dark for his eyes to follow; blending in with the rest of the midnight air before it quickly merging into traffic. Running his hands through his hair, he stared baffled for a moment, wondering how their plan had turned from bad to worse before he could grapple with their circumstances. Giving himself a mental shake, he called the precinct while his eyes caught the sight of the discarded earpiece, almost gleaming under the quiet moonlight.

At further inspection, the device had been deliberately trampled on and with its ruined state any hope of chasing after them had dwindled into nearly nothing. Reza had been the that answered and Dave had quickly begun speaking before the man could say anything.

He uttered another foul curse in the middle of his sentence. The panic was back and it threatened to make him utter a strangled noise of frustration, as he pocketed the earpiece and swung his gaze towards the front of the manor.

For the first time in his life, detective Reyes was unsure how to proceed.

Sam Massey was simply gone.

Nightmares were Dave Reyes’ best friend.

They were acquaintances when his mother died, distant friends from the father he had long become estranged to, and by the time he turned a detective with the endless cases a constant bundle by his desk - it became family.

Usually his nights were filled of them, torturing him through an influx of hazy images and noises. They never allowed for more than five hours of rest. They clung to his mind long after he had awoken and often times he broke out into cold sweats from just the severity of them. Then with added aggravation, the detective would yank his sheets off from on top of him, and his feet would slid into soft bedside slippers before leading him to his balcony for a quick cigarette.

Tonight had been no exception.

Half naked, he padded towards his balcony, arms bunching with tension as his lips inhaled the familiar comfort of smoke filling his bruised lungs. He shuddered once at morning air but otherwise stood impassively as he watched the rest of the city.

His eyes searched below while he inhaled. He watched the early risers that crossed streets briskly towards the subway line, as he listened to the sound of morning L.A. traffic.

These little things comforted him. They had often given him normalcy, made it easier for him to cope with his career. However, they couldn’t deter his mind from lingering on the blonde woman he had grown accustomed to seeing as early as dawn breached the horizon, and stepping inside the station without her suddenly hit him like a swift punch to his gut.

There would be no Sam Massey waiting by his desk with a scowl on her face today. And if he was being completely honest with himself, the more his thoughts lingered, the more he realized how empty he would feel stepping inside of the LAPD department without her.

Stubbing his cigarette on the railing, he dropped it and watched it fall before turning on his heels and walking back inside. He was wasting precious time. Sam wasn’t gone yet, and he had at least twenty-fours before he might never see her again.

He dressed quickly that morning, pulling out the first suit he found and didn’t idle with coffee or toast this morning. His mind had already switched to work, and he only stopped by the front door of his condo.

His eyes caught by a picture he took with his team months ago when Sam had signed on officially into this department. They had taken a picture to celebrate, and he remembered dimly alcohol had quickly followed.

Sam was scowling at the camera.It wasn’t unusual for her to but now on closer inspection, he found her eyes smiling back instead of shooting daggers the way he expected them to. Even if she never had admitted it to him, he knew the woman never regretted a single moment of transferring to their unit.

Shrugging on his jacket, he left with his keys in tow before humming under his breath and hurried to catch the next subway.

The LAPD precinct was bustling with a particular lively morning attitude that didn’t mirror Dave’s as soon as he stepped inside. No matter the time of the day, he could admit there was always something happening. People piled into the department almost as soon as the day begun.

Police officers took civilian reports while others have stopped near the receptionist desk. Dave swept past it, only pausing long enough to give the familiar woman a wan smile before briskly walking ahead. He didn’t feel in the mood for their usual morning banter; he was too focused, too preoccupied and the more time he spent looking for Sam - the sooner he would find her.

The doors rung close and he shifted uncomfortably inside the shaft until the doors opened once again to his familiar floor.

Nikhil and Reza were the first people Dave noticed near the entrance. Nikhil’s signature blue jacket with white stripes always gave him away and Reza not unusually frazzled, had his arms crossed against his grey sweater as he spoke. They were talking in hushed overtones and seemed to be in deep discussion before they noticed him.

Reza was the first to greet him and perked up immediately at the sight of his friend. “Dave!”

Dave couldn’t return his sentiments entirely. It was not that kind of day. He forced a smile. “Morning,” He murmured. “Any update?”

Nikhil, seemingly less oblivious simply nodded before gesturing to Mirasol. “She’s going through Santos profile again. We’re hoping there’s something we missed that’ll help us locate Sam.”

Before Dave could respond, he heard Captain Beckham’s voice booming until the woman appeared in front of him. Her eyebrows were raised and her hands were on her hips; and Dave knew the moment she spotted him that she was not going to be in the mood for pleasantries.

Her eyes were furious but she merely jerked her head towards the direction of her office.

Nikhil and Reza gave him sympathetic looks before getting back to work. Dave mouthed a phrase of distress towards them, but they politely ignored. They all knew what it meant when Beckham used that tone.

“Captain.” Dave greeted as he closed the door behind them.

She barely sat behind her desk before she exploded. “What the hell were you thinking Reyes?” She demanded hotly, “what happened to sticking with the plan?”

He decided to wait until her tirade was finished. He knew better from first hand experience, that it made more sense to wait than interrupt her.

“I never thought I’d see you break orders, especially for such a high profile case.” Her hands went up to cover her face, and when she glanced up again at him, her face softened. “Jesus, and now Sam’s missing…” she trailed off, “how’re you?”

Dave shifted uncomfortably on his feet. He didn’t know why she was asking him. How did she expect him to answer? Sam was gone, and he was partially to blame. He ignored her question. “I’m sorry we ignored your direct orders,” he began stiffly, “the situation changed rather quickly.” His jaw tightened, “and someone knew we were going to be here.”

The captain’s eyes narrowed and she lowered her voice, “you think someone got wind of this,” she frowned, “from our department?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know.” He ran frustrated fingers through his hair while his brow furrowed, “but what I do know is that they knew exactly who were even before Sam made contact.”

She bristled, “there’s no way -”

He sighed, “Santos pretty much confirmed it when I spoke to him.” He slipped his hands inside his pockets, “someone tipped them off Captain. Someone deliberately placed us both in danger that night.”

The captain sat back inside her seat. “But that’s impossible.” She muttered thinly. Her face twisted before eyes flitted back. “There were only a small amount of people that knew about this operation.”

“Well either the info got leaked or,” he lowered his voice, “we have a mole inside the precinct.” It dawned on him as he said it that this case had become far bigger than he anticipated. Dirty cops? Drug lords and arm dealers? How far did this all run?

She leaned forward inside her seat, propping her elbows on the desk and sighed as she mulled over his words. “This is more dangerous than I thought,” She spoke as if she had been reading his mind. “I don’t want anyone catching wind of this, well anyone else.”

“You want me to keep it quiet, Captain?”

“For now. Yes.” She raised her eyes to meet him with a careful expression, “only the team needs to know about this while I do a little bit digging myself.”

“And what do I do? You can’t expect me not to look for Sam.” His voice changed, raising with every word he uttered until the captain’s eyebrows arched shrewdly at him. “Sorry, I just -” He made a noise of frustration under his breath.

“I know.” She said quietly, softly sighing. “I know.”

Silence clung for a few hesitant beats as Dave shifted on his feet. “Continue investigating, you’re one of our best and I’m sure team are more than eager to help you find her but,” she lowered her voice again into almost an inaudible, “keep this quiet. If what you’re saying is true - then we’ve got a lot on our plate.”

Dave agreed, inclining his head at her before he headed to her door. He was already formulating his next plan when the captain called out to him.

“Oh and Reyes?”

He turned to meet her firm nod, “Be careful.”

He nodded back, before disappearing down the hall. He was still reeling from their discussion when he spotted Mirasol by her desk. He didn’t waste anytime, he took quick strides in her direction.

She was too wrapped in whatever busied her screen at his approach. Her hair was in a simple bun - it’s natural state, Dave thought by all means as he cleared his throat to catch her attention.

No such luck.

Her tiny frown was a comfort that reminded him too much of Sam as he leaned against the corner of her desk. “Good morning,” He greeted, and this time he placed a lot of strain in keeping his tone friendly and light.

Her dark brown eyes snapped up at him. Something passed between them bfore he felt them turn sympathetic. “You can cut the bullshit.” Her face softened a little from it’s usual half scowl, “ I know you’re having a bad day.”

“A bad day,” Dave agreed, “probably a bad week. I just need to know if there’s anything we missed. Something that could help us figure out where Santos took her.”

Mirasol shook her head, “nothing much from my end other than what we already know about him.” Absently, she gripped the chain around her neck.

“I was analyzing the footage from the security camera from the gala last night,” Reza mumbled, walking over with Nikhil in tow. “I was hoping I could catch their licensed plate of their vehicle or something else that could point us into some direction.”

“Did you?” Dave lifted a brow.

“I did!” Reza’s enthusiastic nod didn’t last long. “But it doesn’t add up. It belonged to a man from one of the mechanics downtown after I ran his prints. The car’s a rental.” He folded his arms.

“Well that’s better than nothing,” Dave muttered, sighing under his breath. “I should go talk to him, maybe see if he’ll give us a name -”

“You and I both know he won’t.” Nikhil interrupted, running a hand through his jet black hair. “Besides, I called as soon as he opened and he doesn’t remember the name of the man.” He rolled his eyes, “likely story but I’m sure one of Santos’ men must have paid him off or something.”

“But there must be something,” Dave insisted.

“He did mention the man who rented it had a tattoo, some kind of a half moon -” Nikhil gestured with a flicker of his wrist towards Mirasol, “sketched but it’s not enough to go on. The mechanic didn’t recall what the man looked like.”

“That’s not coincidental.” Dave straightened his shoulders. He was fighting through blind panic. None of this was much to go on.

No, not here.

He couldn’t lose it here.

His team was looking at him with the same feelings he had been wrestling with all night. He couldn’t abandon all hope. And this was Sam Massey he was talking about - she was tough as nails. No matter where she was; he would find her.

He rolled up his cuff-links. “We’ll start over, look at everything we have.” His tone had an edge of desperation he couldn’t quite mask. “There’s something we missed,” there has to be. He wasn’t giving up on her, and as he glanced at the grim determination on their faces, he knew they wouldn’t too. They would work as a well oiled machine until they found her.

Meanwhile on the other side of town…

Samantha Massey’s fingers clenched until she could break the surface of her own palm, scratching nimbly to distract her. It hurt, but it was nothing compared to the pain she felt once the man in front of her fists had connected. That had been much worse, knocking the breath right out of her before she inhaled sharply. For a moment, she swore saw stars.

Her eyes threatened to glaze over and tears formed from the stinging sensation that was left behind. The pounding inside her head increased. She spat out blood at the side of her feet as the man loomed forward, close enough for her to smell faint alcohol on his breath.

The man had switched between Spanish and English during the evening but now that it was morning, he seemed to simply had it with how stubbornly quiet Sam had been.

It was difficult when torture had started, but she’d be damned to break down in front of anyone - let alone a complete stranger who for all intense purposes, would be at the bottom of her boots if she hadn’t been tied to this chair. She glared at him, drawing her teeth back to spit again.

“How did you know Santos was going to be at the gala?” The man’s voice rumbled.

She didn’t respond.

It was better to keep conversation to a minimum anyway, and for the most part, she tried to distract herself with her surroundings; making a mental note of anything that stood out to her. If she was going to get out here alive, she had to make sure she knew an exit way. When she got out alive, she corrected herself.

The man’s breath was nearly by her neck, and she bit back the shudder she felt creeping up her spine when she heard him speak. “You know there’s other ways to get you to speak…it doesn’t have to be so hard.” His hand had traveled up her thigh and she dug her heels inside the ground beneath her feet.

When he pulled away enough for his eyes to roam her torn cleavage, she reeled her head back enough to connect with his. The explosion inside her head had been almost instantaneous, and she gritted her teeth before she could cry out in pain.

She took some satisfaction in seeing the man stumble back, clutching his head before snarling at her. “You stupid bitch!”

She would smile if it didn’t hurt so much to breathe. “My momma could hit better than you.” She sneered.

She braced herself for another punch until she her heard another voice join the room. Her eyes were nearly swollen shut, but she could still make out the handsome gentleman dressed inside his tailored suit from last night.

“Milo, that isn’t how we treat our guests.” The gentleman tsked.

The other man had bowed his head gravelly as he approached, and muttered an apology that Sam barely caught.

She waited until Santos was right in front of her before she spat blood by his feet.

He barely jumped out of the way in time, before fixing her with a dark expression. “You know this would be over if you just told us what we wanted to know. I am a patient man after all,” he pulled up his cuffs, “but eventually patience has its limits.”

Sam snorted, and flinched almost a second after. She felt her skin crawl as his hands deftly held up her chin.

“Such a pretty face. Tis a pity really, I could cover you from head to toe in jewels, if you’d only give me what I want.” His fingers gripped her chin so tightly that it stung. “Who else knows how deep my market runs, hmm? Who else in your department apart from Detective David Reyes knows about my plan?”

At the sound of her partner’s name, Sam stiffened. Her eyes shot daggers at the man and Santos chuckled in response. “Yes, I know all about him too.” He tsked, “for people that work under the law - you two haven’t been very bright.”

Stubbornly, she remained quiet.

“And if you aren’t careful, Reyes will soon join you here. Or,” he added softly, voice a menacing whisper, “maybe I’ll send you in pieces to his doorstep if you don’t give me what I want.”

His eyes held hers and she didn’t waver in her glower. Eventually, he released her chin, and when he did droplets of blood dripped from his fingers. “This one is stubborn,” he stood and his smile made her heart lurch. “But even the most stubborn can be broken.” He stepped back and nodded to the other man that Sam had almost forgotten.

She knew even before she felt the sharp pain shoot up her spine that there was no way she was getting back out alive. Not unless she told them the names of all her team. She wouldn’t - Billy had raised her better than that and her lasts thoughts were of him before she felt darkness threatening to grab her under again. This time, she succumbed as her screams seemed to echo throughout the room.

#most wanted #dave reyes #sam massey #covert action part 2 #choices stories you play #choicescreates round 27 #david reyes #samantha massey #reza fassihi #nikhil mantha #mirasol bautista #ryan summers #playchoices #most wanted fanfic #edit later #whew i finished this in time bless

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truthandgrace · 4 years

Text

Reflections on COVID-19 from the Eyes of a Christ-Following, Health Care Provider and recovering Extroverted, Prideful, People-Pleaser:

I feel like I’ve been on all sides of spectrum of worry and personal responsibility this past week. I travelled through near empty airports, exhibited minor symptoms, was tested for COVID-19 (the results were negative), self-isolated in worry, tested patients and sifted through tons of documents to make recommendations for the right response to this pandemic. Ignorance, annoyance, stress, panic, guilt, shame, encouragement and a couple of chuckles filled my mind this week.

I write this post to encourage self-distancing. More than that, I write this to encourage empathy, and to be reminded, we are human. We are deeply flawed and fallible – but we can have hope in Christ. (That was the TL;DR, folks who aren’t up for an essay right now.)

1. “Social Distancing,” “Flattening the Curve,” etc. – basically, decreasing risk of community transmission by avoiding being out where others are. Aside from the usual hygiene (which I hope we were all doing anyways), social distancing is vital. We need to do what we can as best as we can. There is a part we can all play.

I’ve seen friends cancel their big 3-0 parties, big bucket list travel plans get cancelled heard of licensing exams and weddings being postponed, and you know what, I know the temptation to not heed to the advice. No, it’s not fun, it’s not convenient. I’m an extroverted, painfully self-reliant, recovering people-pleaser who likes making the most out of sales (especially flight sales).

Prior to my trip, it was not yet announced that travelling to the US was highly discouraged, and 1 close person in my life asked me to reconsider in case of self-isolation. I thought, no, I’m young, it’s not a high risk area, the relationships I have with those I’m visiting are more important. I’m not sure if I thought wrongly given the information I knew at the time, but in those 72 hours of contemplating testing, being tested and waiting for my results, I thought about Every. Single. Interaction I had in the past week, and the pain of telling them they would need to self isolate/be tested for COVID-19 if I had been positive. Was it worth that anxiety and guilt? I’m not sure. But it was worth the humbling I needed that I am not the invincible person I tend to think I am.

This situation applies just as much to social distancing, now that we have exponential growth rates. Is whatever event, obligation or itch of boredom worth the risk of not just yourself getting sick, but the potential of spreading it amongst the community?

2. We are flawed and fallible. We don’t know everything. We don’t know a lot about this virus. We give into a lot of emotions and anxieties that maybe don’t help the situation. We miscommunicate, don’t always make the best decisions and we lose patience.

Isn’t that the nature of life on this planet? Isn’t that human nature? There are loving, empathetic ways for us to deal with this.

Rather than shaming people for not cancelling plans, judging silently (or loudly) for every sneeze, hoarding supplies and even stealing them from clinics/hospitals where health care providers need them most, let’s practice growing in empathy. Myself included; I find myself not always practicing what I preach. I don’t know the seniors in my building well enough to know where to slip a note of a “Hello, how can I help?”

We all need more of it – empathy for the pain of isolation for our seniors/differently abled individuals and those facing chronic pain/illnesses and mental health concerns. Empathy for the health care providers who operate at high stress levels anyways, and even more so now. Empathy for the fear that is rampant in our society and is not unfounded. We need empathy for our neighbours around the world, those in Iran, Italy, China. Empathy to fight discrimination - the heightened responses and suspicion I feel for being ethnically Chinese gives perspective and empathy to those of us shielded from constant racism.

Finally, have we considered our overall Western society’s ignorance to the Ebola outbreak, famine in Yemen and refugee crisis in recent years? I know it’s unrealistic to think of every issue in the giant world of ours – but I pray that our eyes and hearts (and even for many of us, our wallets), the next time we are tempted to ignore our neighbour who has experienced way worse things than we ever could have.

3. We can have hope. There are encouraging stories everywhere – people singing to one another from their balconies, posts about compassion for the elderly, tips for those with kids in the next 3 weeks of extended March Break, churches closing their doors but creatively loving their neighbours and still “meeting” online. Finally, I am thankful for a government and team of Health Care Providers who I know I can trust and face this thing head-on with.

For those neighbours across the world, and now for us in these uncertain times, our hope needs to be in something that does not change, something more powerful than fear, disease, death and hatred. We need Someone who chose to face fallibility (yet never fell), every emotion we have ever gone through (without hatred), chose death, then was resurrected for fallible humans to have a new hope that is better than anything else we could put our hope in. We forget about this hope, that this is not the end of the story nor does it have to be.

By no means do I mean to negate or belittle the suffering going on right now, nor do I have a perfectly well-rounded answer on the reason for it. However, I do know the character of God is perfect, just, loving and wise, relational and who redeems and saves people time and time again.

Let’s not grow weary in doing good, in prayer, in faith, for “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble...God is in the midst of her; she will not be moved; God will help her when morning dawns…” https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Psalm+46&version=ESV

So from my screen to yours with all the virtual elbow bumps, foot taps and enthusiastic waves possible, a new morning is coming, my fellow Christ-Followers, Health Care Providers and friends, let’s get to it… one day at a time with prudence, empathy and hope.

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pink-ink-goblin · 7 years

Text

Aftermath

(Anti and Dark’s mudslinging in the recent video had me in tears. I know it’s not canon, and that I’m pretty late to the party, but I couldn’t help writing something about it. Here’s a poorly written oneshot about two salty edgelords. And many Kudos to @adreamoverlife for not only having the courage to sift through this mess, but for giving me angles to work off of!)

Warning: Lots of conjecture and poorly made arguments.

Dark threw himself out of his portal, grasping wildly in front of him for something - anything - solid, staggering until he slammed into his heavy desk with enough force to scoot it a good half a foot before sagging heavily onto it. The portal closed behind him with a sound like sand in a sifter, dissipating into wisps of black smoke, leaving him blissfully alone to recuperate.

That had been close. Far too close. It wasn’t the first time he had had to flee his own dog - she honestly had the capacity to be much scarier than he was - but poor Choco; how on earth could he have forgotten about her? He rose a hand above his head lazily, forehead resting against his other arm, and with a flick of his wrist, a bowl of food appeared somewhere within the void. He had no idea where, but he had faith Choco would find it.

And now, in the peace of his office, he had time to reflect on how poorly things had turned against them both. It was meant to be a showdown. A final stand. An act of dominance and defeat. Something the demon had been preparing for for months in tandem with his glitchy rival. But, when the day came and Dark had opened his void to allow Anti passage, neither of them had expected any of the other negative egos to collectively jump in as well.

It had been… interesting to see what else the world had to offer, and bothersome when they couldn’t have the battle that they had planned for so long; but it became truly ire inducing when Dark, in near blind panic, had to take the quick route home to escape the wrath of his own dog. Embarrassing and very messy. At least she had eliminated pretty much all witnesses.

With all hope, maybe she had taken Anti as well…

A quick high pitched flickering sound, followed by some heavy stumbling and a lot of choice swearing, unfortunately, told him otherwise. The demon raised his head and sighed wearily.

“J̷̧͜e̢͢͡su͢͝s̕҉̡ ̕Chri̶st̕ ́͏́D́͢a͞ŕ̕k,” Anti chirped, holding his arms out and flicking them around, throwing viscous droplets everywhere. "M҉a҉ybe re҉me̢m͡b͢e̢r͠ ta ͝f͏e͠e͏d̷ y̕our ͢d̢og̢ ͞b҉e͢f͢o͡r̷e ́we ͘t̢ry ta ̛t̡hr͞ow͡ d̀own ne͝x͞t ̷tim͞ȩ.”͠

“She has food now,” Dark replied flatly, running a hand through his hair and scowling upon finding unwanted wetness.

“Oh͢,̀ that͘ ̛w͘a͘s ̧y҉ou?͘ T͜h͝a̷nk̢ God̡,͞” Anti sighed in relief. “Sh͝é ̸alm̶o̧s̢t ̕t͝ook̸ my̛ ͟b͠ļoody͏ he̸ad͢ ͞o̵f̶f.͝”

Dark let out a short breath through his nose - a near laugh - before standing up and turning to fully face the glitch. “Huh, guess I should have waited a little longer.”

“̵Bi̷g co҉wa̴rd̵. ͝D҉on’t ͞ma҉k̨e y͠oųr ͡dog͢ ̛do ͘y̧òưr di͢rty͝ ̴work̀ f͏o̶ŗ yo͢u͢..”̢ Anti bit back, giving him a dirty look. He took pleasure in the minor twitch on Dark’s face as he wrung out the hem of his shirt all over the carpet.

“Why are you even here? Go away,” Dark commanded petulantly, emphasizing his desire with a shooing motion. “I’m sure the good doctor would like to go home as well.”

“͘No҉t͝ic͟ed ͢tha͝t̷,̵ h͞uh?͠” Anti grinned, head glitching to the side a few times to show off a gauge-free ear.

“Of course. You can’t do a damn thing without a host.” Dark scoffed.

“Ps̕h,͡ ͞at ͝l͢eas̢t̡ I ͡do̴n̷’͘t̢ ne͞ȩd permiss͏ion,҉ ̷y͜a̢ decr̛èp͡i͢t̛ ͟o͠l͏d͝ ̸vam̷p̕i̷r͠e,” Anti sneered obnoxiously. Dark gave him a weary stare.

“Have we really devolved into petty name calling?”

“I͘ ca͡n̢’͠t͢’ve ̴i̶n̛ju͘red͞ y͢ǫu̵r̵ ove̡r̨b͜lown̸ ̛s̢en͡se ͟o͜f ̶pri̵de ̶al̶rea͟d̨y?̶ ̧I͠f̢ I͞’͠d͜’̀ve ̸kn͢ow̶n̷ ̡y̧a̵ were̡ ͡so̶ ̀f̶ra̸gi̸le͠ ̨i͞n ̛your ҉o͢ld͏ a͟g͢e ͏I ̀wou̕l͢dn̸’͜t̡’v̵e̶ ev͜eǹ c͜ḩalĺeng͏ed́ ̢y̧a ̶in̷ t̀he firs͠t̷ ̢p͘l҉ac͏e̵.̕”͢

There was a gleam of something dangerous in Dark’s eyes, like the stirring of a mighty beast from his watery lair, as the day finally grew longer than the demon’s patience. He drew a calming breath before continuing.

“Once again, I suggest you leave,” Dark demanded in clipped tones. “Or I’ll have Google eradicate you like the computer virus you are.”

Anti sighed and shook his head. Or, at least, tried to. The glitching made it difficult to follow. “͝The͠r͞e̵ yo̕u͢ go̶ ̢a͏g̛a͠i̧n͠,̕ ̡m̶aki͢n͏’ ̀ơt̛h̛e͟rs ̡do ͢your̢ j͜o̕b. ͞How̛ is̴ ̴s̸ome̴ơn̵e a̵s̵ ͢i͠nc҉ap̛a̷bl̛e͘ ͘as͘ ýo̴u st҉i̷l͠l i̧n c̕ha͟rgé?”

“Perhaps because I can hold a corporeal form for more than five minutes,” Dark spat, stretching his neck as he he tried to quell the swirling chaos within him. “I understand how it’s difficult for a Tulpa to fathom that kind of power.”

Anti narrowed his eyes. That was a low blow. “Y̡ę̡aḩ,̨̢ ̷͞s̴̸͢u̸͡re̢, p͋ͭ̒̇ͨ̂҉͏ō̵ͣ͂̿w̵͗ͫ͆é̵̸ͫͥr͋ͤ̏̓͊̈́̊̔͠. F̴ų͠nn̕y̸͜ ̡h͏̴̢o̷̷w̶͢͝ ̛͟I͜ ̵͞n̷e̷͞v͏e͘r̨͠ ҉g̕é̸t̨́ ͜r̡̕e͏j̛҉̀e̵̷c̀͘͡t́͜è̷d f̵̡̡r̴o̡m͡ ̶́̕m̨͢y ̡͜͠o͜ẁn ̶͜sh͡͡ęll ̨͜ą́t̴ ̢raǹ̸d̛͘͠o҉̨m̶̸̨,͡ ̵y̶o͏u͞҉̷ ̴̛̕p̀͢o̷̡o̧̨ŗ͠ly͏̷̕ ̨͡pu̸̧t҉ to̢g̶et̷͟ḩ̴e̸̛r̵̨͡,̛́͢ ̧́͡d͏i͡c̢͢hro̴͢m̧̀a̛ti̧̛͞c,̨͝͠ e͝͡m̷͞o ̢̕w̷͜͝a͟ńn͘͟a̶͡-̕b̷̀͜e.̵͡”

Dark’s snarled viciously, his shell cracking into three eye-crossing colors; red and blue skewing Anti’s vision as the ghost of a reflection flickered behind the demon with teeth bared.

And in a blink, it was gone, Dark standing there as if nothing had happened, seething inside, but prideful enough not to let it show. Anti, however, was not fooled by the cool act and glitched a little as a wicked grin spread across his face.

“U̢h̛-oh̴, ̷am ̧I̕ g̢et͠t͜in͟’́ ̴u͜nd͟er ̛t͘h̕at̷ ͘thi͢n, ̶e̵l͞de͘r͜l͘y sk̛i̕n o’ you͞r̶s?” The computer bug giggled, but there was something in the way he smiled. It was something almost calculating that made Dark pause to think twice about the teasing.

And then it clicked.

The air around them grew cold as the corner of Dark’s lip twitched, but his irritated glare remained uninterrupted. “Really? You really want to start this again right now after that sorry display?”

“My͟ ‘̕s̸orr͜y ̢d҉i̸sp̨lay’? L͝o̴òk̢ ̷wh̛o’s ͢tal͠k͡in͝’̡.͝” Anti pressed nastily, but his terrible grin grew that much wider at the acknowledgement. Finally.

“I refuse to play this game,” Dark replied shortly, drawing himself to his full height which was just barely taller than Anti himself. “Go home and bother Sean.”

“͞C̀’͘mon, ̷ólḑ m̴a͞ǹ, ̷g̵et́tin̷g͟ t͢ír̛e͟d al͏r͢e̛ady? ̨Go̸tt͏a ͡g̕e͢t̡ ̶rea̛d͢y ͠foŕ t̛hat ȩa͟r͟l̡y͟ aft̡ern̷óo͞n̕ ̸b̵eḑtim̵e?͢”̴

Dark paused, eyes narrowing. The demon had only a limited amount of patience before he could no longer tolerate disrespect in any form, and the day had gone on for far too long already. Their fight had been interrupted, his dog had tried to make a snack out of him, he had been made to look a fool and now Anti was here trying to do it all over again. It was too much. If this damnable creature was so desperate for a lesson, then Dark would be more than happy to put him in his place.

He fixed Anti with a hard stare and the glitch’s grin looked like it would rent his face in two. “You have a filthy habit of picking on people who are infinitely bigger than you. Perhaps this is why you’ll always spend your days at the bottom of the proverbial barrel of bargain toys.”

“Says͜ t̶he̷ ̢ḑe͟mo͢n ̛w͏ho̸ r̶uns̶ t̀ḩe ̷m̷isf͏i̕t̶ c̵of́fee sh̕op. Y̧òų ͝wo҉u͟l̀dn͞’҉t kno̴w̛ ͜ho͞w to g͜a̕in͡ ͡ṕrope͟r at̨te͢nţįoń ̷f͡r͢om ͟a two͏-̷s̷t́ep͜ pla͠n.͟”

“Because I don’t need to clamber for attention to remain alive,” Dark countered crossly. “How does it feel to have a following that doesn’t love you for you, but for what you do?”

“̕W̶̛̛h̨͞y ̛d͢o̧̕n҉’͝t̢͡ ̶́͠y͘où t̨̡e̸͠ĺ̷̛l̨ ̧́m̕e̡͘?̸”̛ Anti spat back, but there was a hint of defensiveness in his voice. Dark had managed to touch a nerve. “T҉̴͘h̢ey ́k̶͠n̨ǫ͜ẃ w̷̧h̶̛̀a̢̨t̸͏ y͢ò̡u͜ ̷r̶̸è̵al͢͝l̵̕͡y̕ ͘ar̨e͝.”͘

“And yet they still come to me. No one actually loves you,” Dark pressed maliciously, feeling his barely contained power rolling within him violently, nearly tearing him apart. “No one even loves what you do. They love the game, but as soon as you play your final hand, they will all collectively turn away and you’ll be back on the bottom fighting to stay relevant.”

“You’̢re͡ ͘w̛ròng ͟t̕he҉r͞e͢, Ḑ̀ͭ͑ͦͦͨͤ͜a̵ͨͯ̍ͦͧ̄̈ͦ̋͟r̛͊̃͊̀͑̿͘k̛͑͗̽̅̐ͯ̈͐͏ḯ̛ͪͯͯͨ̓̀p̴̈͊̾ͪ͗̂̚͟͡ǫ̨͊ͮ̄͊̐̚o̡ͪ͘,̵̶͊̓͆ͩͬͦ”͂͊͋͋ Anti singsonged, but it sounded rough and bitter. Dark had found his sore spot and was systematically picking away at it. It set Anti’s sharp teeth on edge. “̵͟Th̕e҉̴ŕ̸e̸̶̴ ͝i͏͞ş́́ ̵̡n͏o̸̧ ͜͝d͏͝i̵̕f͠f̶̸̢e͢r̷̀͘e͘͠͞n̸҉̢c͜͡e̛ ̸b̧̡é͜͝tween͡ ̶̀͏l̕͟òvi̶҉͝n̢g͡ ̸͢͝t̸̨h̷͝e͘ g͡͏̧ąm̸ę,͢ a̢n̕͘͝d̴͡ lo̢͞v̡̛͢i̷̧̕ng̡ ͢thȩ ̧̢͢o̕҉̀ne͘͢s͏͡ ̴w̶̨hơ̶ r̢͠u͢n͠͞ ́ì̵̢t̡̕.҉̶ ̛I̶͟͠ ̧́g͟͜͟e͘t́ ̢͞p̛͡͞o͜we̛͞r͡ ́by̴͟ ̵̧͢p͜ŗ̨͘ox͏̕y͞,̧͘ ͞͡͏s̵̢͞ơ̛ ̕I͏ ̢͠win̸ ̸̕͞b̶y̡͞͠ d̛͝ef͟͞a͝ul̢t̸. ̀Y̸̡o̧u͜’͢͢d ͢͝ń̵e̴̵ve̸r̕͢ kno̵̧̨w̧ w̶h̛́à͞t̕͟ ̡̀t͏ḩ̷a̷ţ̨ ̷͏w̕͟à͝s͝ ̵̴̢l̛͘͠įk̢͢e͡ ̷̛b̡̛ec͘a̶̶͠us̕e҉ ̕͟y̵̧o͠u̕ŕ ̕҉͡g̷̷a͏͝m͞és͠҉ ś̡u̕͘ck̶̶ ́t̀h̷͞e ͜l͢i̸f̀́͠e͡͡ ̡͡o̢ut͘͢ ҉́o͝f̸͝ evę́r͟͠y̡̛̕ǫ̸n͡e pl̴͜ay̧i͜n͠g͝.̡͡”̕͝

“That may be true,” Dark purred. “But my ‘game’ is only dependent on one single moment of weakness in my prey. Yours needs constant validation - like a restive child - and the masses do not possess that kind of patience nor attention span. You act as though your plan is greater, but, in the end, mine takes absolutely, even in times of lull.”

“̵̕Y̵o͜͝ú̴́r̶͜ ͘p̶l͡a҉͡n̶ ̨̧is͞҉ ҉̛f͘l͡ąw̛ȩ́d̷͝!̨”͘ Anti snarled, pointing forcing at him. “̶̕͜A̡n̨͟͏d ̷͘y͞ou̵͘͝’̴r̕e͟ ́t̡͝o̧o̶̢̕ ҉c̴̴onc͜ei̴t̡͜ed͞ ̸̛t̢ò̡͟ ͠͡s̢̛e̷̛̛e͡͡ ̕it͘!̶̶”̴̢

Dark’s form twitched, displacing itself like an incorrectly taped VHS reel, before he came back and spat: “Coming from an ill-conceived, limited, glitch like you? Such bold hypocrisy.”

“͜Oh́,̶̢̛ ͜Í̶’̛m͝ t̨͏̧h̡́͜e̶̷͢ ͡h͜͡y̛͝p͢ocrį͝t͢e̷͠?̶̵” Anti hissed, looking murderous. His hands curling into claws at his sides while his glitching grew in intensity. He opened his mouth to argue, to cut with words where his knife couldn’t, but he found his well had run dry. Dark sensed this hesitance and dug in for the kill.

“Face it,” The demon growled, the words that rumbled deeply in his chest spoken slow and pointedly. “You’ve lost this battle. You have no place in this world. And those beings you cherish will never love you for you.”

“̛͆ͫ̓ͬ̍̈́͑̈̑̅ͫͣ̇̊ͪ́̋̃ͩ̕͞T̈ͩ̿̐̎͏̴̧̨͠H̸̴̅̓ͧ͌͝E̶ͭ̓̿̓͑͌̊ͭ̂̚͘͘͡Y̢̢̿̃́̿͌̇ͤͯ̉̑̐҉̸’̸̸̶̨̢ͩ̆̋̈ͯ̔ͩ̓̑͒̓̎̿ͩ̉̓͆̓̚L͂̀̉̽͝͡҉̶L̴͂ͫ̄̈̔͊͟͠ ͯ͊̔͆̃ͭ̔ͨ͐ͨ̎̇̍̋ͤ͊̆̿́̚͏̸N̍͊͑̀̅̒́̃̉ͨ̽҉̸҉Eͪͤ̎̓̑͗̅̾̇ͤ̅͛̾͒ͮ́ͧ͛̀͡V̍͑͌̉ͥ̉̅̊ͫͮ͋̇̂ͥ҉̨͘E̛ͮͯͣ̈̉ͧ̆̚R̷̢̿̊̉ͫ̿̔ͤ̽͂ͧ̐̎̕ ̧̢ͣͥ̉ͯ̈ͨ͛̀ͮ̉͋̔͗̔̊̉ͦ̊͛L̶̷ͫͣ̏̾ͭͧ̉ͩͫ̾̊̈̕͠O͊ͮ́̂͆̃̀̕V̡̅͒͋ͯ̀̑̎̏̌͊ͯ̒̈́̆̽̉ͪͦ̕̕͢͡Ë̡́͋̅̀͂͐ͯ͒ͣ͗̄ͤ͒ͮͮ̈́̂̚̕͢ ̛̌ͤͦ̃͒ͯ͂ͣͩͧ̓̏͋͌͆̚̕͘͞͝Y̸̡ͪ̒͑͂̌͘͢͟O̶̢ͩ̔͋͑ͫ̔͆͝͞Ů̧̑̆̅̓͛̆̂͂̚͜͟ Eͦ͑̈́͛̓̀͢͢͜͝Iͭ̈́̉͌ͬ̀͞T̅ͣ͂̌ͦ̒͏̶̀͜H̡̧̊̔ͦ̂̓͊͑̀̿́Ē̽ͨ͛ͫ͊͒͒̓̽ͤ̓͂̉͌̎̐ͧ̀͟͝͝R̡̓ͨ͌ͭͮ̽ͦ̾̀ͪ͐ͩ̌̒̉ͣ̕͜͡͝!̃̄̇̂͢͏͘!̨̧ͧ̎̃͋͌̎̌ͨ͂̅̈́̀ͩ̈̚”̴̧̌ͩͤ͋͜͜͞ Anti shrieked with rage, everything about him, including the air around him, glitching about spastically.

With a roar that sent the office quaking, Dark’s shell finally broke completely, the room flooding with black smoke, encasing them both and drowning out the rest of their surroundings. Anti looked around, glitching about to prevent a sneak attack, but the demon had disappeared into the cloud. But not for long. When Dark reappeared, he was a scant foot or so from Anti, looking like he was being lit from underneath by a myriad of blinding lights.

“Their ‘love’?” Dark’s multi-layered voice hissed, his eyes wide and his mouth open like he intended to rip Anti apart with his teeth. “I don’t want their love! I want their undivided devotion! I want their subjugation!” Everything flickered and suddenly Dark curled in on himself like he was in pain, twitching wildly, hands clawing in front of him as he shouted: “I WANT THEIR VERY ESSENCE!!” Another flicker and he was standing stiffly, a bloodthirsty smile dominating his face. “I want their everything, and I will BLEED them dry to get it! And when they have nothing left to offer, I will cast them aside like a used husk, empty and broken and still pleading for more! THIS WORLD IS INFINITE AND I WILL NEVER RUN OUT OF AMENABLE TOYS TO BREAK! They may flock to you now, and dance for you, but they will grow tired of the teasing and pawing. You have nothing grander to offer than hints, puzzle pieces, and scornful words.

“So when you stand here and accuse me of wanting to be loved, I can only laugh at your ignorance and wonder if you will ever realize how small minded you truly ARE.”

A normal being would have backed down. A normal being would have been afraid. A normal being would have run, pleaded, cried… anything. But Anti was not a normal configuration of being. The virus blinked forward in an instant, closing the distance to mere inches as he looked up at Dark with a snarl.

“Ṡ̷̸̸́̀̑̏̽ͦ̋͆ͪ͒͜͢M̸̡̢ͣ̍̎̌̏ͧͬ́̚̕A̷͌̾̀͑̽ͯͥ̋̃̓̇̅̕͞͞Ľ̡̢͊̾̇͗ͮ͛̈̐͊̔̊ͨ̒͗̊̒ͦͧ́Ĺ̛̎̊͌ͧ͆͌͡ ̢̈́̿̾ͨ͒̀ͭ͊̕M̊̎̄̾̿̓͗̿̎͑͘͢Ḯ̵̸̢̛ͣ̑ͦ̀̃̃ͣͦ͆̈͐N̡͂͒̑͊̇̋ͨ͝D̷̍ͩ͒̎̿͘͠Ę̷̋͐̑ͯ͛͟͞͡D̴̸̅̔ͦ͌̒̽ͦͪ͒̉ͨ͗͆̒͘͝͠?̶̸̶̷͛̄̑͗͆̄͊͆̇̑” Anti’s voice had broken, sounding distant and right next to Dark’s ear at the same time. He was defecting side to side now, jumping from giggling and looking like he was in his own brand of pain. But his words were as solid as the tone that followed them. “̧͡Y̛͘͞͞O̧͘U̴̡̡͞R̸̛͘ ̡͝G̴̀O҉̛͏À͡L̷̡̀͠ ́̕͟͝H̸̡̀͜A̴͡͠S͘͝ ̀҉͜͢À̡̕ ҉̸̶̀͝F̧͢͟I͘Ņ́͘I̶̷̵̕͡T́̀͜È̷͘ ͠P͡Ơ̧̨͡W̶̕͠E͏͘͢͟R̨ ́́S̵̸͡O̸͞Ų̴̢͞Ŕ̶C̢͞҉É̡̡̧͜. ̷́҉W̴͡H̡͢͏̵E͞͏͢͏N̸͏̶ ̨͡T̵̕Ḩ̶̕͜Ę̧ ͟͞P̵̴͝E̸̢͢Ơ͏P̷̶͜͡͠L̴̛̕E̵҉̵ ͟͝C̶͜À̛̛͞T̸̨́͝͝C̸҉͘H͜ ̷̷͡͡O̴̴N̶̨͏.҉̀ ̛͢T̡̡͞͏H̶̴̡É͜Ý̢̀͠’̛L̛͠L̸͠҉͠͡ ̶̧͢G͠͞R̴̢̕͟͜O̵̢W̧̢̧͘͘ ̴̧̛͟S͘͜I̢C̷̕͡Ḱ́͏ ̛̛͞O̢F́͏̢̛ ̡͘Ţ̧́Ḩ̴̀̕È ̸͘͟͞U̷̕͢P̀͠P̸̧͝Ì̶͞T̨̕͢͡҉Y̵҉͟,̵͢͟͠ ̡͜͞͏P̵̢R͏̧̛͟Ò̵Ṕ͡Ę͡҉͝͞R͟҉,͏̷͏ ͢͏̧N҉̵͢I̵̧̕C̶̨̧͜͠E̛͢͠͞͠ ̶̵̢͢͞D̴̕͢È̶M̢̕̕͝͝O̧̢Ǹ͢͟ ̸̨̡̀A̸͜͞C̨͢͜͞͏T͘͢.̡̛̀͜ ̢͘Í̛͟N͠҉̵͘͞ ̸̷̡̨̀Ţ̵̸͝H̷͝͠͠Ę͢ ̧̡͞͞L͘͝͡͏Ó̀͟Ń̸̀͘͠G͠ ͢͡R҉̶Ú̷͟͠Ņ̨͢͜͡,̸͘̕͜͠ ̵̷̴͝I͏̢͢͡͠T̶̶̡͘̕’͞͞S̕͘ ҉̷̴̢̀À̷̶̶L͟҉L̸͝ ̕͟A̡͝B́͞O͘̕͜͞U͝͏T̶̡ ́͜͢͠Ţ͡H̕͝͡E͡͠ ̵̸͞͝E̸҉́̀͜N̨͜͡T̴̨̕È͢͢Ŕ̸̡̕T̵̶̨͘Á͘͟͠I̧҉̢͘N̡̧̢͢M̸͏҉E̵̛N̵͡͞T̨̡͟!̸̧̀̀͢ ̨͜͞͠È̵͘V̀̀͘͜É̷Ŕ͘͢͞Y̢̛͘Ǫ̵͝N̴̕͜͠҉E̕͘͢͞ ̧͟͞L̸̸̷͜͡Ǫ͡V͏E̢͝҉҉S̵̢̨ ̀͟͡͠A̴̢͢͠ ̵̡̧G͟͏̷Ó̷̸̸̀O̧̡͘D̢͟ ͡S̀͡H͏̶Ò́͘͝W̶͟!̴̡́͡!̴́͜҉ ̴A̵̡͟͞Ǹ̵̵͠Ḑ͟ ̴́͜͟I̢͟͏̷’̷͝M̴̛͜͞ ͜͞Ḿ̴͝Ó҉̸̀Ŕ̴̀͜͡É̴ ͏T̵̡̨҉Ḩ̵̨̀A̸҉̨́͡Ņ̶̀͘ ̷͢͠͞C͘͞A̵̡͠P̕͏̷A̕͡͞B̷̨͞͠͝L̢E̴̴̛͜ ̡҉O̴͘F̴̷́ ̡̡̡̀͏P̷̡͝R͢͠O̵͝͡V̵̢͞I̸̶̡̨D͏̶I̵̢͏N̸̕͢͠G̀҉ ̴̢́͘W̸̧͢H̀͘Á̸͡͝Ţ҉ ̷̵̧̧̕Ý̸̨͟Ò͜҉͟U̴̶͞͡ ̛͝L҉̵͏̷A̶̶͢͞C̨͏K̸̡͡.̨͟͝ ͏̷͜͠͠A͞N̴͢͡D̷̀͢͢͞ ́͝͠A̷̡͞L̶̛L̵̷̸̡͢ ̵̡͘͡Ò͘͞͝F̷̀͘ ̷̨̧́Ý̷̡͡O̴͜͝͞U̷̴̢̕͢R̨̨̕ ҉̴̧͜S̀͡I̡͘M̢͏̢̧P̶͟L̶̢E̛͠͝-́̕͘͟M̸̴̡I͢͠͞N̵̵͏D̴̨͠͠E̡̛D́͢ ̀͘͡F̧̕A̕͝N͘͝A̸͟͡T̸̸̸̛I̢̧͜͞C̨͏̵Ś̶ ̧̀̕͜Ẃ̴̡Ì̵̢̕͠L̸͝͠҉Ĺ̷ ̷̷́͠͞C̴̀͜͏̀Ơ̶M͜͡E̸͞͠ ̵̢҉̢C̵̀��̷̡R͡͡͡͠A̡̕͞W̶L̀́͘͝Į̶̡̛͢N̷̛G̨̛͜ ̷̸̛͢͠T͏̴͠͡O͟ ̷̶͜M͞͏͝E̵͘͜ ̢̨҉̧B̧̛͡Ę̛́͜͠C̸̛͜A̴̷̧U̢̢S̶Ę̧̕͡ ́͟I̧̕ ̷͠K̨͡N҉̛͢͠O̸̷̷̧͡W̢͏ ̛̀H̨͡͡O̧̡͝W̡͝͡҉ ͢͝T̵͠Ờ͘͘͟ ͢҉K͟͟͠҉̸È͞Ȩ̴̀P̶̧͝҉͟ ̸̀͘T҉H͘͠͏͟E̷̛M҉̵҉̧ ̛͠Ǫ̶͘Ǹ͡ ̸͟T͢͟҉H͏̸̡̀̕E̸̡̛͠͡I̶R̵̛̛̕͞ ̶̀͜T̡̢͢O̢̢͟͢E̛̛̕͢͡S͢͞!̨͟͢!̸͜ ̵̡̨̀́A̵̡̛͘͢S̴̷͢͞ ̴̕L̢̨̀͘O̴̡͞҉͢N̡̨͟͠G̸̢͢͠͡ ̴̢́͟͞A͡҉̶́S̨ ͏̨͜T̶͜H̴̨͟͢E҉ ̷͘͡Ẁ̧̨O̷̧͘R̴͢͞L̷̕͢D̵̀̕͘͘ ̸̨̨̛͘L͘͡O̕V͡E͘҉Ş̸̨̀́ ̧͢͜͡M͏̵E̛͘͜͝,̷̀ ҉̛͡I̵̸̧ ̢̢͟C҉̨́͜͝A̢͢͝Ņ̡͜҉ ̢D̶̛̛͡Ò̡́͘ ̀͜A̡͟N̵̸͢͝Y̢͞T̸͡͏̷H̸͠͝I̴͘̕͘͟Ǹ̸̡̀Ǵ̷̸͞!̷́͜͡ ̵͏̢S̕͘͜͜Ą̷Y̡̢͏ ̷Á̸̛͠Ǹ̶̶͡Y̡҉̸͏T̵̴̵͠H̶́͞Ì̢̕͝N̡҉Ǵ̷͞!̵̷͜ ͡I̸̛ ̶̴́͝͞B͏̴Ŗ̴͢͞Ì̶̵̕N̷̛͞͡Ģ́͘ ̧̨̀͞T̸̵̵͏̷H̶̴̡̛É̶̷M̡̨͢͟͝ ͡T̷͢͢͝͠Ó̸̵̕͠ ͟͜͠Ţ͜͏͜H̴̢͟Ę̶̛͠I̛͟Ŗ̸ ̵Ḱ͘͝͠Ń̴̵͟E̵̛É̡̕͜͠S̸̢̀͟ ̸̛A̕͏̷̷̡N̸͟͝D̨̀͘͘͜ ̵̧̛́T̡̕H͜͏E̸̢̛̛͞Y̸̸̷͘͜ ̛̀͜L͏͡͠͞O̶̡͡V̸҉͢E͏̴̷̶̡ ̸̶̧̀T̸̵͘H̷͢E̕͜͡ ̧̛̕T̢́̀͝͏O̷͘͠Ŗ͠T̡̧̨̡U̶͡R̛E̸͝!̴̴̷ ҉̧W̷҉͡H̵̨̧́͢E҉̸͠R͟͏̢͢͡E̵̴͘’̶̕͝Ś̴̢͜ ́́͏̡͜A̷͟͜͝͝N͜͜T̷̛̛́͜Í̷̶͘ ̸͏͡Ǵ̸̢̛̕O̶̧͏I͏҉̡̧Ņ̧̀͜͏G̢҉ ͠Ţ̀͜͞͞O̴̡ ̧҉̢͏̵Á̢̛͟P̛͢͞P̡҉̡E͏҉͢҉͞À̢Ŗ̷͟͏ ̢̢͟N̵̴͜͢͝É́͢͝X̴͟T̡?̡͘!̡͢͡ ͏̸́̀Ẃ҉H̵̡́͡͠Ó̧͞’̧́̕͡͞S̡̕͜ ̶̨̛͜͟H̨Ę̧͢͞ ̸̨҉͘G̶̨̕͜͠O̧̨͢͜I͢͝͏̛́N̷͢͜͝G͞ ̢̢̛͜T̷͡Ó̵̢͘͠ ̵H҉̵́͡A̧̕̕͜R҉M̸̵ ̶҉Ņ͢͠E͞X̡͜͟͠T̨̛͘?̸҉̵!҉̢ ̛̛͢Ẁ̧̕͢͝H̡̀҉̷͢O̴̴ ̴̛҉͢͟K̷̸̀͞N̨͘Ó͘҉͜W̢̡̕S̶̶̸ ̶́B̷̀͜͠͠E̷͘C͘͡A̧̡Ú̷̧S̷̨͘͝E͏҉̷͜ ͘͘҉̸̕I̵͏̡͜͜ ̢͜D̵́͞͏͟O͡͝Ņ́͝’͝͏Ţ̀̕͘ ̢͟͜͞͠K̸̵̨̧͟I̶̧̕͡͞S̡̛͠S̷̨͘͝ ̛͝À̶̵̡͟N̵̡̢͢Ḑ҉̸̛͜ ͜͠T̨̛́͏͏E͏̴̛L͝L̴͡!͘͡!̶̀͡͞ ̶͢Y̧͘͜Ǫ̷͟͢U̸͏̡̢̛’̀͡R̨̀E̴̴̡ ̷͜͠A҉ ̶̢̧̛͡O̵̵̡͘N̵͝͞E҉̶ ͠͞͏A̛҉̴̛C҉͠T̶̨͡ ̕͏S̨̕͏H̕͟͜Ó̶͘͜͡Ẁ͢҉̕ ̡̢͠A̴̕̕͟͡Ǹ͟͟Ḑ̛ ̛͟N̸͢͞͞Ǫ̷́͢͠ ̶͏̧̀Ǫ̷͘͡͡N͘͢E̷͜͡͞͡’̨͞Ś̴̨ ̛͏̵̸Ģ̶̨͜͝O̢͘͟҉҉N̛̕̕͝ǸÁ̕ ̷̕͜͠H̶̀͘͞͏A̴̵̡͟N̢Ģ̛̀͞ ̴́Á̀̕͢R҉̧̛́O͘U͞͏N̨̕͡��̷D̨͢͠͏ ̡̨͡F͘͘Ò̵͜Ŗ̸͘͡ ̵̧͠T̀͠H̴̢́͞͡E̶̶͝͞ ̡͞S̨͞ĄM̧͟Ę̶̧͡ ҉̷Ò̸̕͏̛L̵͢͟͞D̛̀̕͟͞ S̶̸̡̗̰͍̩̟̠̹͎̮͔̱̙̦͚̼̠C̴͉͉̺͞H́͞͏̢͈̙͍͍̝̟͍̼͎͈̺̬̻̫͖T̷̢̰̖̹̞̱̝͎̻̭̻̞͖͍̦̭͍͍̜̲͜͠Į͏̱͚͍͔̳͉̙̖̰̤̥̝̳̟̪ͅC̛͢͏̠͕̳̝̙͚̩̜̣̟̖̺̗̼̲͡K̷̴̢̩͓͈̳̗̘̟̣̯͝͞.̸͘͢͏̘̯̻̘”̵͢͞͝͝

“Y̷͢O͜҉U͢͠R̴̷͟ ̢͘͞Ḑ̕͠͏A̶͝Y͏̶́Ş̷̢̧ ̶̕͞A̴̡͞R̸̵͟É̴͞ ̨̛͟͢͞Ņ̴U̵̶̡͞͡Ḿ̶͞͠҉B̸̵̨̛͜E̡̨̕R҉͜É̶̴͞D҉͟͏ ̵́͢͝͡D̶̸̡A͢҉Ŗ͜҉K҉̴͞Y̕.̴̛͜͞ ͏̶̛̕B̧̧͡Ȩ̷͜͏S̶T̴̕ ̵̸̡̛͡S͘͠͞T̡͜͟͝A҉҉͘R̷̴̶̨̧T̡ ̸̡͜͢͡M̸̷̕͏͟À͞K̀͘͜͠I͘͜N̛͏̛G̶̸͏ ҉̨̕T͘͟H͏̵͠E̡̢̕͢M̷҉͜ ̴̷̵͢͞Ç̧͢͡O̴̴̕͢͠ƯN̡͝T͢͢.̸̀”

Anti’s final words reverberated around the void, bouncing around erratically as the echo tried to contain as many voices as possible. But it was snuffed out like a candle flame as their powers flared up around them, whipping wildly as far as one could see. Anti’s flickered shades of green and cast off small clusters of free floating glitches that blinked in and out of existence while the virus himself glitched to and fro erratically. Dark, however, was perfectly still for once, the darkness he exuded spreading and flowing like water while his form cracked into two eye wrenching red and blue reflections of himself. Both of their stances screamed mass murder...

But neither of them moved, staring the other down close enough that their noses almost touched. The demon’s face was a barely contained stone mask of intimidation, while the virus held a wide cheeky grin that spoke every promise of violence. Their powers collided around them, dark tendrils whipping at technicolor glitches, creating small, brilliant explosions of pixels and smoke.

Just one move. All it would take was one move, and the very environment could explode. Reality itself would end, unwoven by two titans with extreme chips on their shoulders. And as they watched each other, they felt the tension come to a head.

“You have no class.” Dark nearly whispered, the ghost of an unnerving smile tugging at his lips.

“T̀͜c̕͜͟͡h̶͢,” Anti tutted playfully, completely unfazed and matched the demon’s low tone. “̸̡͏T̀el̡̡l ͏҉m͜͟e͝ ͘͘w̴҉h̡at̶͜ ͞y̷̶o̧͢͠u͘̕r̴̡ ̸̢̨H͞ò̢t̨ ̧͞Tó̵̢p͏i̛c̨̢̀ ͏͡b̡͞u̴̢dg͘͢e̷̵̵t͘ ̨͟͢i̶͝s͜ ̶͜ą̡͟n͢͟d̷ ́̕th̡eń̡ ͡we̶’̢̢ļ̸l̢͢ t͘a͜l̷̵̛k̷͡.̷̸͘”̸҉

The silence stretched into what could have been years, the tenseness between them coming to a dangerous head. This was it, the final clash. A test to see if time and space could handle two infinite beings going head to head. Both were ready; it was going to be the battle of their lives.

Or it could have been if, all of a sudden, the silence of the room hadn’t been broken by a poorly contained snort, followed in quick succession by the very disjointed sounds of someone unable to hold back their chuckles.

And neither of them knew why, or who broke first, but suddenly the room was filled with distorted, hair-raising, uncontrollable laughter. The echoey, chorus of the damned that was both of their voices resonating into and against the very walls that contained them. Dark had an elbow resting over the top of the table while he was doubled over, shell broken and throwing reds and blues everywhere, while Anti had just allowed himself to fall where he stood, body contorting and rolling as he glitched to all possible corners of the room.

As it finally began to subside, all of their earlier animosity and tension evaporated; the shadows that had encased them dissipating back into Dark’s immaculate office. They shared the mutual look of two beings who had only been playing a game. A very dangerous game that could only be appreciated between two demons of such immense power.

And as everything finally calmed, Anti glitched back to his feet as Dark fixed his jacket.

“Th͡a̶t ̸wąs fu͘n̕,̡” Anti grinned, the act still looking mean even if it wasn’t meant that way. “Wa͞nt̵ ͘to d̵o͞ t͢h̷̨a͏t̀ ag̶ai̸n ҉sométìme?͞”

“Pick a date.” Dark replied casually. The demon watched with amusement as Anti looked mildly surprised to be given the reigns, but the little upstart had finally proven that he was worthy of Dark’s respect, if only a touch.

“A̵lri̕g͜ht,́ I͞’l̵l͘ ţhink ͘a͡b͏o̴ut ҉it,̴” The glitch crossed his arms, trying to hide his excitement behind his cocky snark. “But̸ w̛e͜’̡r͠e̛ ͠g̸oin͠g͢ ̨t͝a my̛ ͘p͡lace͠ th̷i͜s tim͟e. ̷An̨d ŕe͠m̶e͜m̛b͟e͝r ̀ta f͟ee̢d y̶our dàm̸n͜ ͏d̵og͞.”

“Fair enough,” Dark chuckled. He gave a lackadaisical wave as Anti blinked once, twice, and, with a effect not unlike a breaking computer monitor, he was gone, leaving behind a few distored clips of laughter that disappeared shortly after he did.

Oh, they were going to take this world by storm. He had already known himself capable, and had every plan already laid out, but if he could twist Anti just right...

Then everything would be his.

Who won this battle? You tell me. Also let me know if Anti’s text was too much and I’ll dive in and tone it down.

#darkiplier #antispeticeye #markiplier #jacksepticeye #markiplier egos #markiplier fanfiction #jacksepticeye egos #jacksepticeye fanfiction #darkiplier vs antisepticeye #authors writing tag

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olena · 7 years

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It’s unofficially summer!

It’s sunny and warm, everything is green, and... the bugs have come out. Spider mites, mealy bugs, fungus gnats, aphids, and other unwelcome pests are making their way indoors, which means you’re probably searching for solutions and pulling your hair out over products and remedies that do nothing at all.

In a tiny apartment in the middle of the city, my SO and I live with 150+ plants, all indoors, with no outside to speak of, and (mostly) no unwanted critters. Tips like “put the plant outside and hose it down” or “just get this super cheap thing in bulk from the local mom n’ pop farm supply shop and take it home in your car” don’t work here. Also, approaches to garden maintenance are a little different when you have 1-10 plants vs. dozens!

Thus, in this post I’ll be focusing on plant pest control solutions for those of us with a lot of house plants, no yards, no cars, and no patience left for pests.

Note: links to products are included for convenience only; I have no partnerships with nor receive compensation from these sellers.

Note 2: all pest treatments take time (weeks) and multiple applications to work, often in combination with other methods.

PART 1: ANTI-PEST PRODUCTS THAT ACTUALLY WORK

Repti Bark (can also be found at most pet stores) Use for: gnats Use a 2cm+ layer as soil cover/mulch to retain moisture a little longer without attracting gnats. Pebbles work well for plants that like even damper soil, like ferns, but are they’re heavier and more expensive.

Yellow Sticky Traps Use for: gnats, flying pests In *combination with other gnat control products, these work wonders. (*Key word being combination -- if you see poor reviews on any given product, it’s probably because the person is only using that single thing and only hitting one life stage of the pest while others, like eggs or larvae, are left untreated.)

Pyrethrin Concentrate Use for: gnats, aphids, mealy bugs, mites This is a chemical naturally present in chrysanthemums and is relatively safe for indoor use. Read more about it here. For soil pests: mix recommended amount with water and spray directly on soil/mulch before watering, or just add some to your watering can. This will disperse it throughout the soil, targeting larvae. The plant will also take up some of these chemicals through the roots, potentially protecting it from leaf pests as well. For leaf pests: mix recommended amount and spray. As with fertilizers, LESS IS MORE! Don’t use too much; you’ll burn your plants.

AzaMax (Azadirachtin) Use for: spider mites, aphids, mealy bugs, gnats Azadirachtin is the main active ingredient in neem seeds and neem oil. It’s also safe for mammals and birds -- ok to use indoors even if you have pets or children. Read more: Wikipedia: Azadirachtin Wikipedia: Neem Oil NPIC: Neem Oil Fact Sheet GPN Article: Neem and Azadirachtin Why not just use neem oil? Well, I do (I like DynaGro’s neem oil) but I’ve found that extracted Azadirachtin works especially well for spider mites (when used as directed, in multiple applications over a couple of weeks). And maybe it’s a placebo effect, but, with all the various offerings of neem oil out there and little to no labeled info on constituents or active ingredient percentages, it gives me peace of mind to know I have the active, effective extract when using AzaMax. On the other hand, neem oil contains other active ingredients, some insecticidal, which may work synergistically and so may be more effective together than they are separately. Can be used with a spray bottle (one that won’t get clogged by oils, like these, or better yet, this pressure sprayer) or applied directly when watering, just like the pyrethrin above.

Dr. Bronner's Pure-Castile Liquid Soap - Baby Unscented Use for: any leaf pests like spider mites or aphids This is my favorite hand/body soap, but I’ve recently found it works wonders for plants as well! It’s now my first line of defense against mites and other leaf pests: just wash them off without burning the foliage. (I don’t recommend the following method for your vining Philodendrons and ivies with tons of leaves, unless you’ve got a lot of time and patience). To use: simply get your plant wet in the sink or shower, allowing the water alone to wash off some of the pests. Pour some soap in your hands and get to work lathering up each leaf: back, front, and down the petiole and stem if you can. Then rinse. Between washings, you can follow up with pyrethrin, neem, or AzaMax sprays.

PART 2: STILL TESTING / LESS EFFECTIVE BUT GOOD FOR COMBOS

SM-90 Mostly citrus oil. Smells good. Some people swear by this stuff, especially in combination with AzaMax. I have it and like to use it with AzaMax or Pyrethrin, although I’m not sure of its efficacy alone.

Rosemary Oil A friend introduced me to this for spider mite control. It does contain some insecticidal chemicals and seems to work well in diluted spray applications. Read more: Chemical composition: The main chemical components of rosemary oil are a-pinene, borneol, b-pinene, camphor, bornyl acetate, camphene, 1,8-cineole and limonene. Contains 10-20% camphor, which is sometimes used as an insect repellent. Study: Efficacy and Persistence of Rosemary Oil as an Acaricide Against Twospotted Spider Mite -- “Laboratory bioassay results indicated that pure rosemary oil and EcoTrol (a rosemary oil-based pesticide) caused complete mortality of spider mites at concentrations that are not phytotoxic to the host plant.”

PART 3: DON’T EVEN BOTHER

Various insecticidal soap sprays: (commonly found in garden centers at hardware stores) Garden Safe Insecticidal Soap Miracle-Gro Nature's Care 3-in-1 Insect, Disease and Mite Control Garden Safe 80422 Houseplant and Garden Insect Killer, 24-Ounce Spray Etc. The active ingredients are of questionable efficacy, or extremely low in concentration. I’ve tried these, but results weren’t astounding, and since the list of stuff above yields observable results, I don’t waste time with these.

Diatomaceous Earth It’s messy as hell and I’m not impressed with the (lack of) results. Fine powder that can be harmful if accidentally inhaled.

Mosquito Bits (and Dunks) Commonly recommended for gnats. Also messy; results aren’t obvious.

Hydrogen Peroxide Often recommended for fungus gnats and root rot. But unless you miraculously achieve the perfect dilution of this stuff with water (there’s much contention about proper amounts), it either does nothing at all at best or burns your plants at worst. I do like it for cleaning my humidifier, though!

Gnatrol The effects weren’t noticeable and I don’t use it anymore. Again, mostly because the list of stuff above is enough for my arsenal. Also, as you can see by this bottom list, I just don’t like powders and stuff that easily spills everywhere or is easily inhaled.

Potatoes, “letting the soil dry”, ladybugs, etc.: There are so many remedies out there, it’s a headache sifting through them. They can cost you a lot of money and plant lives before you figure out what works (I know from experience). Others may have found that some of these things work for them, and that’s fine, but they’re not on my list of favorites for lack of consistent, clear, and relatively quick results. Also, (and this goes beyond plants) don’t be fooled by the words “natural” and “chemical”. Not all natural ingredients are safe, and not all chemicals (synthetic or naturally derived) are bad. But don’t take random bloggers’ word for it (including me) -- do your research. Look for studies (Google Scholar is great for this) and reputable, primary sources. Check the chemical composition of oils and other mixtures and find out whether any of those constituents are A. insectidices and B. safe for other animals. Be smart and be safe.

Pictured: mealy bug through a magnifying loupe.

#spider mites #mealy bugs #fungus gnats #houseplants #plants #pest control #insecticide #houseplantclub #urbanjunglebloggers

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alchemistc · 7 years

Text

The Price 5/?

Summary: Killian and the Swan begin to settle into the castle together.

an: A few choice songs I listened to while writing this: “Horns” by Bryce Fox, “Hey, Brother” by Aviici and “Dauðalogn”by Sigor Ros, so, I guess, take from that what you will.

tagging @kmomof4, @the-captains-ayebrows, @jadeddiva, @artielu, and @dreadpirateemma

Chapter List: One/Two/Three/Four

Chapter Five

Whatever small truce they’d called between them to contain the storm that night, it did nothing to stop her aggravating him at every turn, nor did it put an end to his impulse to try her patience whenever possible. There was a comfort in knowing one moment shared between them was not enough for him to grow too at ease with her.

Still, over the course of the next few weeks, they begin to grow a rapport.

They’d even begun to form a routine, of sorts.

Killian woke well before the sun, habits still unchanged despite his new and rather leisurely lifestyle, and spent a few minutes staring in annoyance at the silks and brocades and lace hanging in his wardrobe before putting on his own worn clothing.

Twice a week, instead of glaring dourly at the choice of clothing the Swan had left him with, he fashioned himself a basin and some soap from the air around him, and washed the aforementioned worn shirt and trousers, the simple, ordinary motions of the task soothing his mind. The Swan had given him a book of spells meant purely for cleansing, but he preferred the methodical action of doing them himself. The thought in his mind had exasperated her, but they’d moved on to something new the following day.

He spent an hour after that skulking the castle, surprised to find every day something he hadn’t discovered the previous day.

The kitchens held their own sort of magic - or perhaps his worked it, he was still a bit unsure - and every morning he lit the flames in the stove and the hearth, and every morning some delicacy appeared: honey glazed breads stuffed with raisins; delicate croissants, buttery and flaking against his tongue; porridge just the way his mother used to make it; sausage and fried eggs when he’d tired himself or forgotten to eat after his lessons the day before.

Very occasionally, he found dishes that were completely foreign to Misthaven, things he’d bought off street carts in distant lands, and he enjoyed those more thoroughly, losing himself in the memory of bustling bazaars and exotic spices, loud and intricate textiles and delicately crafted pottery.

The books she gave him became a bit of a game - solely for his own amusement, at first, to see the exasperation on her face every morning when he handed it to back her. At first she hadn’t believed him - couldn’t fathom how he’d grasped at the intent of the spellwork all in one night, and she’d begun to test him on it - sending hexes his way just to see if he understood the workings of defensive magic, asking him theories behind different elements, throwing up walls of spellwork just to see if he could solve their puzzle.

When she finally came to admit that he wasn’t merely being insolent, she, too, began to play at scheming, grabbing for ever more difficult tomes every evening, a challenging glint in her eye as she handed it off without a word.

She’d yet to find one he couldn’t devour by breakfast.

Killian can’t decide whether he’s begun to like her, or if he’s just been starved for company.

She’s stubborn - by the gods, she’s more stubborn even than him - and whatever vulnerability she’d shared with him the night they’d conquered the storm together had only made her more reticent since.

Still, she was surprisingly funny, once her wit was not aimed solely at wounding him, and there was a comfort in her presence, a calming stillness that felt foreign and familiar all at once.

There were days where they sat in the library together, debating the merits of using air instead of fire, or speaking of the witches and wizards whose words filled the pages around them, or he maintained small, concentrated workings, where he longed to grip her hand once more, and feel the sturdiness of her power stand rigid against the clash of his own, feel it give, just a bit, to let the rage of his storm in.

And then a moment later she’d scowl and call him a fool as whatever spell he’d been holding fell to pieces in his distraction, sifting through his fingers like sand, and he’d forget all about it.

Today he finds her pacing the library in a foul mood, muttering to herself - at least, he believes it is to herself, although she darts a glance over her shoulder once, and pins a terrible look against a wall of books behind her.

Killian makes a point of knocking his knuckles against the door as he enters, and she snaps to attention, a wild look dissipating as she takes him in.

A scornful one overtakes it. Wonderful. He does so enjoy her ever vacsillating moods.

“I have provided you an astonishing supply of clothing, Jones, have I not?”

“You have.”

“And yet, here you are, months later, still in your rags. Tell me, are you things not fine enough for you?”

Killian is in no mood to be treated like a child. Or a subordinate.

“I don’t like them. They’re stuffy, they’re overly complicated, and I’ve no use for them.”

She huffs, sullenly, and Killian wonders when it was she’d decided to drop her unflappable persona. Was it that night in the storm, when he’d felt the presence of her magic sink into his own? Or had it been earlier, while she wandered the halls of her own castle like a ghost to avoid him? Perhaps after, when he’d sat across the table from her at the dinner they occasionally shared and told her a bawdy joke he’d expected her to be annoyed with, only to get to the punchline and find her covering her mouth with a handkerchief, her eyes glittering in amusement despite her attempts at hiding her laughter.

“What, exactly, would you prefer then?”

Killian stares at her for a beat, and then raises his arms, turning his gaze pointedly downward to himself. “This.”

She sighs, impatient but surrendering, and pulls a book from the shelf behind her.

She tosses it across the room to him, ignoring his surprised yelp, and spins to a chair facing away from him, falling into it in a heave of irritation.

Killian tries, and fails, to keep his amusement hidden, but for all that he’d thought he would despise every moment of his time here, he can’t help but think no other pupil had ever managed to provoke her so. Then again, few had ever found the specific pleasure in it that he did. Few had likely ever dared. It helped that when she grew to annoyance, the veneer of her self-possessed facade fell away, and her eyes blazed, her voice changing pitch as color rose in her face.

Yes, he quite enjoyed watching her emotions play out. Perhaps, one day, he’d manage to pull out some sincerity.

The Swan snorted from her spot, hidden from his eyes, and Killian shot a glare at the back of the chair, thinking get out of my head.

He doubted the thought did much - it seemed more a reflex than anything else, as though she was so used to it she had never thought not to have her mind half in his.

The spellbook in his hands is light, barely larger than a children’s story, but when he opens it the lines of script are thin and tight, winding along the pages like threads of an embroidery. It takes him a moment to grow used to it, but after a few furious blinks he realizes it is spellwork for altering fabric.

He reads through a few pages, sitting at the chair behind her desk, until he begins to grasp the method behind it, and turns his head in search of something to try it out on.

His gaze lands on the buttery leather of the Swans jacket, but the impish thought has barely crossed his mind before she waves a hand, his wardrobe emerging from the air behind her, blocking her entirely from his view.

He pulls the most obnoxious jerkin he can find from the thing, giving it a grimace before he sets it on the desk, and begins to catch the threads of the working.

The Swan goes still and silent behind the wardrobe, something in her still curious to know his methods, eager to understand his power, but Killian ignores it, lets the magic slip nimble and soft through his fingertips, lets the memory of his own shoddy work as a young boy with a needle and a sewing palm slip into the working, the memory of mending his shirts flowing into it as well.

When he opens his eyes again, the jerkinis gone.

In it’s place is a vest - far more ornate than anything Killian has ever owned, but still somehow simple enough for his taste, with black embroidery winding on a blood red silk brocade, black piping along the edges, finely shaped brass buttons lining either side of it.

Satisfied, he lays it aside and sets upon the rest of the wardrobe.

The spell comes easier to him, this time, and soon enough he’s turned the whole thing into clothing he’ll actually wear, and feels no remorse for the loss of the ridiculous frippery. Pleased with himself, he finally returns the vest to it and slides around both the wardrobe and the chair to stare defiantly at the Swan.

She gives him an unimpressed look. “Now put the wardrobe back where it belongs and summon the other one.”

------

They dine together two or three times a week, though it’s the only time he ever sees her eat. She has an affinity for the rum he summons up, but she picks at the grand plates of food piled high, and watches him eat with a mixture of disgust and amused alarm. He’s never tasted so much good food in his life, and if not for the amount of walking he does, searching out the castles secrets every morning, he is certain he would lose his fit physique in days.

Tonight he dons his new clothing, giving himself a satisfied once over in the looking glass before he heads down to the hall where they usually meet.

It’s one of the smaller chambers in the sprawling castle, intimate enough that he is sometimes able to forget exactly how alone they are in it, and he enjoys the slide of the trousers against his legs, the new cut of his shirt, with it’s high collar lined with yet more buttons, and the way the cool evening air slides through it to his skin.

She’s already there when he turns into the chamber, staring at the roast swan with an unimpressed air, and he’s already gearing up for battle with her, ready to wave his hand over the thing and change it back to the chicken he’d had planned before she’d made him run all the way up to his chambers to ensure he’d sent the wardrobes both back to the exact spot they’d been taken from.

Instead, her breath catches in her throat when she glances up and catches sight of him.

Killian can see the effort it takes her to swallow as she stares him up and down, and he supposes he does look quite different.

He’d used a spell to slice off most of the length of his hair, a week before, annoyed to have it always in his eyes while he let his gaze sweep the pages of spellbooks, and though in theory the clothes he wore were nearly an exact replica of the one pair he’d come with, these are certainly finer, the slick leather of his trousers, the dark sheer material of his shirt, which he’d worn as usual, buttons undone until they met the opening of the vest he wore.

A word flits across his memory, one he hasn’t thought of in ages - rapscallion - and he raises an amused eyebrow.

Whatever had caused her sudden lapse of self control, it’s gone by the time he settles into the seat across from her, leaning heavily against the back of it, his legs spread wide.

She clears her throat, darts her glance to the table, and then reaches for a silver goblet decorated with fine, thin winding vinework, downing the contents of it and reaching for the bottle of rum to refill it at once.

Killian watches her in surprise as she piles her plate high with food, even pulling a leg off the bird on display in the middle of the table while she spoons vegetables out of their serving bowls.

He watches until she grows uncomfortably aware of his stare, and slows her movements before finally tilting her head up to meet his gaze. “What?”

His shoulder jumps up in a shrug. “You don’t eat, much. Usually.”

“It’s not necessary,” is all she will tell him about the matter, and most of the time, he would let it lie, but tonight he is curious, and he can tell that the murmurings of his thoughts on the matter annoy her.

“And yet, tonight you’ve loaded more on your plate at once than I’ve seen you eat in all my time here.”

“I’m hungry,” she tells him, eyeing the line of his collarbone and the way the thin shirt lies against his chest.

It’s a thought that hasn’t entered his mind before now (at least, not often, he will concede). The way she’s looking at him is curious, and new, and he feels his ears burning, but he can’t help the smirk that darts across his face, making her scowl at him and return to staring at her plate.

She’s far from unattractive, even with the strange paleness of her hair and the glittering of her skin, and he imagines that she must once have been a great beauty. The stories always made her so, a gorgeous, terrifying beast, who cared for her people by slaying their enemies.

But it is not that, exactly, that draws him to her, that makes him think of her in the dead of night when the magic is roiling under his skin and he can’t find a position that is comfortable for more than a few minutes. Trying to figure her out is maddening. There are days when their arguments about theories and methods for spellwork grow so heated they fling remnants of magic out into the room they are in, where the library grows warm enough for her to unbutton the cuffs of her shirt and roll the sleeves to her elbows, and her hair breaks from it’s bun in tendrils to curl loosely around her forehead (in the heat of the moment, he’ll watch the way her fingers brush them behind her ears with fascination, his own hands twitching with the desire to perform that action themselves).

No, it’s not that, that keeps him awake at night, wondering about her.

When he closes his eyes, he wonders what her life might have been like, before she saved Misthaven. Had she had a family? Friends, perhaps a lover? Had she known the comfort of other people, in her life, or had she always been so...alone?

He can feel the annoyed press of her magic against his skull, always moving and changing, like the spring runoff rushing to forge new paths in the ground as it makes its journey to the sea. Embarrassed by the train of his own thought, he pushes back against it, thinking of immovable boulders forcing the water to move around it, and just like that, the rush of her magic flows around him, instead of through.

She looks both impressed and disappointed.

“Stay out of my mind.”

She hums, and returns to her meal.

By the time they’ve finished, she’s eaten two full plates of food, and drank half his rum besides, and yet they are still both pent up and frustrated, the energy ringing between them. He has a vague inkling of a thought, one he hopes she hasn’t seen herself, and tries to remember what he’d done before he realized that he was charming enough to flirt his way into an easy fuck while ashore.

She shoots him a quick, frrustrated look. “It’d be far easier to stay out of your thoughts if you didn’t fling them across the room.”

He scratches behind his ear bashfully, and takes another swig of the rum, and then it comes to him. “Have you ever handled a sword before?”

The Swan had been taking a drink of her own; she coughs, her face turning a becoming shade of pink as she attempts to compose herself.

------

The yard is bathed in deep shades of red and purple as twilight sets in, shadows cast by their figures as they circle each other. Killian hadn’t thought for a moment that she’d take him up on the suggestion of sparring, but there’d been a sparkle in her eyes when he’d said the words, her gaze turning far off and distant for a moment before she turned a frankly wicked grin on him. “You couldn’t handle it.”

Surprised by the playfulness in her voice, he’d responded as though to a woman he’d met in the tavern, and not the powerful sorceress he’d disliked so fiercely only weeks before. “Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it.”

While he’d been choosing himself a weapon from her collection in the armory, she’d stripped herself of her jacket, and in the low light in the yard, he watched her now as she paced back and forth.

She has good form - he can see that already, in the few parries they’ve shared as they test each other out - there is something almost familiar in the way she carries herself, the way she holds the hilt, the way she settles her weight from foot to foot.

He lets out a delighted bark of laughter when she rushes towards him, raising his own cutlass against the attack of her broadsword, and the clash of metal rings through the yard as he pushes back, using his weight to shove her away.

He presses his advantage, his shoulder rolling as the sword makes a high arc, but she defends the blow, her leg kicking out to push him back, catching him in the gut and nearly doubling him over.

He grins again. She’s no novice, at this - she has a style, knows how to use her body - knows when to fight dirty. There’s no urgency in their movements, yet, though he can sense already that it will get there - for now they are toying with each other, feeling each other out. She parries his attacks, he uses the strength of his limbs to press her backward, she spins and settles low, carrying her weight where she can use it to her best advantage.

They go on like that for a while, until the sun has sunk below the horizon and the only light above them comes from the reflection of it in the clouds above. His blood is humming in his skin, and he can already feel the delicious ache of a good fight settling into his muscles. What has delighted him most, though, is the constant stream of insults they’ve been sending back and forth at each other, nothing of true ill intent, merely a battle of wits to match the clanging of their swords, the rhythm of it almost musical as the fight goes on. It reminds him, unnervingly, of the stretch of her magic against his own.

She doesn’t tire, but he can see her losing focus, settling too easily into their steady rhythm, and there he finds his upper hand.

She goes for the kick, again, ready to let the momentum fuel her spin, but he catches her leg, instead - her eyes widen in the moment before he yanks, and she goes tumbling to the dirt with a cry of bewilderment.

The sword in his hand swings towards her as she falls against the gravel, and hers rises to meet it, but he’s won, and they both know it.

His smirk is wide and triumphant as he presses his weight into the blade, watching her arms quiver to hold him away from her.

She sighs, her breath coming in deep huffs as she struggles. “Going to stab me now, Jones?” It’s a joke, mostly, but neither of them are ignoring the fact that not very long ago, were they in this position, he would have tried.

“I assure you,” he says, voice low as he leans over her. “When I jab you with my sword, you’ll feel it.”

In the darkness descending on them, it is difficult to see her expression, but he feels the discomfort of her magic as it rushes out, sending him flying backward and away from him in a wave.

They don’t speak as they return to the armory, returning the weapons to their places, and she pulls her jacket back on, turning towards him at the doorway, her face bathed in the low light of one of her lanterns, shadows flickering across her skin.

She seems to want to say something, but is unsure what, exactly. Killian again struggles to keep the wish to see inside her own mind to himself as something indecipherable crosses her expression, and finally, she turns to leave.

“I still won!” he calls out behind her, unsure why he wants her to stay, if but for a moment more.

She glances over her shoulder, eyes rolling, mask firmly back in place, whatever she’d been feeling hidden well now. “Whatever you say, Jones.”

His lips turn up, a genuine smile lighting his features, and as she turns away he catches a wisp of her own grin.

------

The fight had done nothing to ease the tension thrumming through him - it had, in fact, made it worse, like a line pulled taught with no slack to ease it. But the spar had, at least, exhausted him, and he curls into the four poster, his eyes drifting closed as he summons up a quieter, softer version of the ocean spell outside his window, and the hushed sound of water lapping against the stone outside eases him to sleep.

The blast of cannon beats against his eardrums as he rushes up the shoreline, eyes intent on the shoddy barricade set further up the sand. There are swords clashing, and pistols firing, and all around him the sound of grunts and cries, men falling to the sand, unmoving.

He ignores it, eyes searching frantically, his heart pounding viciously against his ribcage.

Cannons blast again, and chain shot goes sailing past him, careening through the barricade, the force of it driving back two men with a wild scream.

The heat of the sun beats down on them all, and over the clatter of bullets and the screams of the men, he can hear the ocean tide whispering behind him, calling out to him, attempting to ease his mind.

He longs to turn towards it, but he is still searching, still desperate, and he moves along, further up the beach, past a man grasping at the bloodied stump of his leg, past the barricade, inland until he has to leap boulders to make it to the treeline, where the majority of the fighting is being done.

Amidst the trees, the sound of the ocean fades, and Killian ignores the clash of swords around him, eyes casting about.

The desperation seeps into his marrow, his chest tight with worry, as he watches a man slit another’s throat, only to keel over a moment later with a blade through his belly.

He crumbles to the ground, but the man who’d done the job iis already turning away, raising his sword against another attack - he sins and parries, his jacket whipping around him, and fells this attacker, too, yelling out a command Killian can’t hear over the din of battle.

His fine jacket is stained with blood, his boots caked in mud, his curling hair covered in a fine dusting of sand and soot, but he looks glorious, standing tall and firm against the onslaught. Killian moves towards him, reaching out a hand -

From his left, a man rushes towards the great warrior, but he doesn’t see the attack coming, his back towards it as he surveys the scene, and Killian feels panic rising within him as the man grows closer, raising his sword -

“Liam!”

Killian blinks away the dream, the moonlight lanterns flickering to life at the bedside as he scrambles to rid himself of the coverlet, already reaching for his boots at the bedside before he realizes where he is.

Just a dream, he whispers over the pounding of his heartbeat. It’s just a dream. Outside, the sounds of the ocean stir something inside of him, and he takes a few deep, steadying breaths, eyes closed as he leans against the serpentine carvings of vines on the headboard

He startles as the door to his rooms bangs open, reaching for a weapon, anything that might help him, and finds only the book the Swan had given him the night before, the first he’d failed to complete in a single night, and he wonders vaguely if he’ll be able to grasp it’s complexities before their meeting that morning, if only to continue their battle.

He throws it without another thought, the frenzy of the combat in his dream still driving him.

The Swan catches it with ease, his dread eased somewhat at the sight of her, but only for a moment.

She’s still in her jacket and trousers, although the vest she wears beneath it is open, a strange sight to him, as buttoned up and crisp as her appearance usually is. There is a concerned pinch to her features, and her hands shake as she sets the book on the sideboard.

“Get up,” she tells him, her gaze sweeping over his rooms, avoiding his eye. “Something’s happened.”

#cs ff #cs fic #leiutenant dark!swan #the price #gettin' in to the good stuff now

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