#and was sucker punched by the the nonsensical nature of it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

showrunnerihardlyknowher · 2 years

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Okay but imagine a fantasy!au with a fairy!Jacob and Edix,whose still a catboy because he’s perfect the way he is.

Fairy!Jacob would have gotten separated from his nomadic village somehow,and after searching through the forest for a few hours,Jacob feels a pair of eyes watching him from somewhere,and the forest is too quiet for it to be his friends and family.After flying blindly to avoid whatever is stalking him,a giant figure appears out of nowhere and grabs him out of the air.

Edix stares at the flying thing in his hands that had really set off his hunting instincts and notices that it’s not a bird,but a (surprisingly cute) tiny man,with a pair of insect wings that were definitely not supposed to be bent and folded like that.

oh yeah, let's answer this prompt, she said to herself, it'll be a nice easy ficlet to tide me over until i can start working on my november schedule again!

7.3K words and 14 pages later, finished at 12:36am

Well, Jacob was fucked.

Although, to be fair, when wasn’t he? The fuckage typically ranged from being mildly inconvenienced when the magic he was trying to practice fizzled away mid spell to being royally screwed when he had caught the ire of a woodland creature who saw fit to corner him with its blunt teeth bared. Usually, he was always able to count on someone else intervening just in the nick of time to save his hide, though not without complaints. They varied from light jabs to icy glares depending on who had to clean up his mess. It wasn’t his fault that even now, nearly two decades later, he was still...well, awful at magic! That was the consequence of stealing a human away to be replaced with a changeling, even if the swap occurred during infancy. A human was still a human and no amount of spell casting and magical binding would change the fact that the species was wholly inept at being able to properly channel the mystical energies that came naturally to fae.

Nature versus nurture, Camellia had told him once, just because it’s harder to learn for you doesn’t make it impossible!

Granted, she was the very same fae who loved to watch him bumbling along through a spell until it ended in disaster before pointing out the obvious mistake he made twenty minutes prior, so perhaps she wasn’t the best influence to rely on. In the same vein, she was also one of the few fae who put up with his nonsense on a near daily basis with no complaint. He needed to be grateful for who he had in his very limited inner circle of support, which was a whopping number of two. Cam critiqued and ultimately taught through hands-on mistakes, but Angie defended him when others grew too irritated by his incompetence. Being a stolen child herself, it was a feeling she could relate to, the difference being she learned early on that a hex wouldn’t be able to hold any power over her if the speaker had all their teeth knocked out by her sucker punch prior.

And right now, Jacob was really, really wishing he had one of them here with him now...wherever “here” was.

It had been a stupid training exercise and he knew it was a stupid training exercise, but did he do it anyways? Yes, because he was a people pleaser and was way too eager to help when another fae foolishly asked him for help. It was a relatively simple task for any experienced fae, but for Jacob it might as well have been a suicide mission. It required him to fly deep within the forest, unaccompanied, and gather a small amount of material before navigating back to the colony.

The first issue arose with the fact that Jacob had zero sense of direction, trees and wildlife blending together whereas Cam was able to pick out every individual tree he would have passed eight times. The second was that he needed to go alone, which meant not only did he not have someone else to act as his navigator, it meant he also did not have anyone to act as his babysitter for lack of better words. He was easy prey, as he had been told many times over, both to animals and nefarious hunters. But he had simply been so blindly excited at the chance to prove himself as just a little bit useful to the colony, he was willing to ignore these pitfalls.

Even more surprisingly, the task was finished without a single mishap on Jacob’s part! It was a damn miracle, even taking himself by surprise with his lack of stupid mistakes. He had taken every precaution he could think of: he tagged the trees with a shimmering dust as a way to lead him back home, he ingrained every detail of every colorful plant he saw to ensure he would recognize it if he someone got off the path, he mentally chanted his list of materials so he wouldn’t forget a single one, even going so far as bring a remembrance charm to reference what each material looked like so that he didn’t grab the wrong one by accident. It was a pain in the ass, but it was foolproof, and it worked!

Unfortunately, he didn’t account for the afternoon storm that rolled in unannounced just after he had finished his collecting. Well, that wasn’t true, the storm had been hanging heavy in the air in the hours it took Jacob to find the exact location he was meant to do his foraging and subsequent gathering, it just wasn’t until he was ready to turn tail did it decide to unleash its fury. Had he been skilled enough to feel the static charging through the sky, he might have been able to redirect its path just enough to stay dry on the way home, holding off most of the drizzle until he was back in the burrow. But he wasn’t, so he didn’t, and as a result the storm came hard and heavy, leaving him little time to seek temporary shelter before he was thoroughly soaked.

He wasn’t stupid enough to attempt to fly through a thunderstorm, the heat of the summer making it twice as dangerous with the threat of lightening hanging overhead. The fat raindrops would have easily battered his body in bruises with how aggressive they poured down, a mistake he’s admittedly made several times throughout his life. Wings dampened with constant rainfall never would have been able to hold him up the entire trip home, regardless. Essentially, he would have been pelted into the muddy forest floor and risk being washed away or trampled by hurrying creatures also seeking shelter.

This was fine, though. No biggie. He had been able to stay dry enough in the tree knot he flitted into and the materials he had worked so hard to gather were still intact. As soon as the rain cleared, he could continue on his way.

Except when the rain did clear over two hours later, so had everything Jacob was relying on as unofficial breadcrumbs. The wind and rain had effectively washed away any trace of the glittering markers he used on the trees, not that he was sure they’d be much help at this point with the overcast still darkening the sky. The flowers he had so carefully memorized were also not as they had been this morning, soggy and dropping with various amounts of leaves and petals blown off in the storm. He tried his best to keep the sinking feeling of anxiety at bay as much as he could in these circumstances, but he knew it was a moot point. Even if it should have been a straight shot right back to his colony, he had no idea which direction that path actually pointed. Maybe if he hadn’t darted around like a nectar-drunk hummingbird while trying to avoid taking any serious damage in the beginnings of the storm, he might have remembered which orientation he was originally facing to be able to backtrack.

Which left Jacob here, more or less stranded in an unfamiliar part of the forest with no aid as far as he could tell. He had been out alone before, but never this far, just the same as he had been out equally as far with company, but never alone. This created a very unfortunate circumstance given that he didn’t know if it was better to stay put or attempt to venture back home, each with equal pros and cons in his mind. In the end, he decided to brave the trek back to the safety of his colony while he still had dimming sunlight to spare, hoping beyond hope maybe to unlock some dormant magic within him that suddenly granted him the ability to locate the magic radiating from the burrow.

So far, he wasn’t doing splendidly, and as the sun began to lower even beyond the clouds, he felt his resolve following suit. He was exhausted from flying non stop, but resting was too dangerous should he risk wasting any more precious sunlight. Every now and then he would call out, both to the colony in general or to Cam and Angie, in the hopes someone would hear his cries. When the skittering of critters and hooting of owls started to become more frequent, however, he thought it best to stop lest he attract the attention of something nocturnal and hungry. His only remaining hope now was that perhaps someone was already out searching for him as well given how long it’s been since he left on the task, even if he hadn’t been delayed by the storm. If nothing else, surely his friends were worried for his safety knowing his tendency to do poorly when it came to severe weather and directions. They wouldn’t trust him on his own, would they? He certainly didn’t.

The cold realization that no one might be searching for him made his heart sink further. Yeah, he was kind of a pain in the grand scheme of things, but he technically belonged to the colony as part of their changeling swap. They wouldn’t just leave him, right? They wouldn’t have purposely led him astray, right? No. He was getting too deep in his own anxieties again, thinking only of the worse instead of the facts. Like the fact that he was absolutely, without a doubt, lost in the muddy woods with no help. That was plenty about to worry on its own, no need to drag his self worth down with it.

Taking a deep breath, Jacob tried to steady his nerves while taking another turn past a tree he was only vaguely certain he passed once before (but was it because he passed it going in circles, or did he pass it when he left the colony? Was he potentially getting close?) yet no matter how hard he tried to calm his heart, it continued to speed up. Occasionally, the hairs on the back of his neck would send a prickle down his spine, and every time he turned around he would be met with neverending trees on a soggy landscape. Maybe...that was a good thing. Maybe it meant he was finally starting to sense something. What was he sensing, Jacob hadn’t the faintest idea, but he was certain by the twist in his gut that it wasn’t good.

So when he turned around for the seventh time to get a read on what was making his instincts go haywire, he knew the eyes shining back at him from the treeline was not something he wanted to fuck around with.

The surprise to see them at all was enough of a fright on its own, but to now have the knowledge he was locked in something’s sight made his blood run cold. They weren’t yellow like an owl’s or any bird of prey he knew, instead a rich green like a field twinkling with morning dew. It was a pretty color, admittedly, only it was a shame Jacob didn’t stick around to admire them as he turned around with a yelp to fly as far and as fast as he could in the opposite direction of those eyes. Much to his dismay, his seeker decided to follow in pursuit, at least that’s what he was assuming based on the sound of foliage crunching behind him at an alarming frequency. He zigged and zagged wildly as one of the survival techniques that had been drilled into his head since he was a child, a good way to avoid any lunging nets or mouths. In the back of his mind, he knew he was only hurting his chances of finding a somewhat straight path home with his unruly changes in direction, but that was a problem for future Jacob. Current Jacob was too busy flying for his fucking life to be bothered by the schematics of how he would return to the burrow after his escape.

As it turned out, future Jacob would never need to worry about what to do post escape as nimble digits were quick to surround him, crushing him against a warm palm as they closed him into a fist. He cried out, more so because the action squeezed out all the air in his lungs. The burning in his throat was not helped by the rush of bile he swallowed back down, trying to gulp in as much air as possible given the constraints against his hammering chest. Naturally, he tried to squirm within the hold, but he was quick to realize the hand that had snagged him refused to budge under his tiny struggles. With his arms pinned to his sides and his vision still clearing, he was powerless as the being pulled its limb back to turn him around and force him to face his assailant.

And of course, of fucking course, it had to be a cat.

Not a normal cat either, because that would be too easy, but a cat...person? He wasn’t really sure of the term they used, namely because he didn’t know much about them beyond that they were the combination of two very dangerous species and should be avoided at all cost. Granted, there were many dangerous species that should be avoided at all costs when you only stood the height of a frog and flew around like an insect, but at least fae had the advantage of magic and trickery on their side. Most fae, anyways. Not Jacob.

It was a little unnerving to watch as the slitted pupil in those emerald eyes expanded back to a larger width as the cat looked him over. It...they? he? would have been quite nice to look at from a safe distance far, far out of reach, the sharp features of lean muscles contrasting nicely to the soft, dark curls that framed his face, but it was the expression that was resting on said face that made Jacob tremble twice as bad. It was blank, totally void of any readable emotion he could have tried to use to his advantage to weasel his way out of this. The cat didn’t look happy, or annoyed, or hungry (as far as he could tell hopefully), just...unimpressed. He wasn’t even sure he caught the subtle changes of him quirking an eyebrow and tilting his head a fraction to the left as it continued to give his shaking form another glance.

“You’re not a bird,” the other said.

Yes. That was correct. Jacob was very much not a bird which cats were known to love to chase and hunt and kill and eat. Therefore, Jacob should not be subjected to any of those things, thank you.

It took a few attempts to make his throat constrict in a way that made the appropriate noises he wanted, but eventually he was able to squeak out his own affirmation. “N-no, I’m...I’m not.”

The cat hummed and Jacob felt his world skew in several dizzying directions as he rotated his hand around to a full look at every visible part of him that wasn’t concealed by his hand. The tan skin felt unnaturally hot, overheating his own clammy touch quickly which only served to worsen the nausea forced upon him. He wanted to shout out at him to stop before he lost the battle of keeping down the bile that still burned in his stomach, but thankfully the other did before he had to fight to speak up.

“Why are you out here? I thought fairies didn’t bode well in storms,” he said, seeming to finally have his fill of scrutinizing every detail of Jacob’s miniature stature. For now.

He gulped. Now that he was back to an upright orientation, he found it difficult to maintain eye contact with someone so intimidating. He could typically handle it in social interactions, even if he was being chewed out by someone for destroying half of their flower bed by accident. This was an entirely different ballpark, not only being glared down at by someone ten times his size, but someone who quite literally held his life in his hand. One wrong move, one wrong answer, and Jacob could be hacking up entrails as opposed to casting anymore spells. The mental image of choking on his own intestines as they were forced into his throat by a mere squeeze was enough to dash any bright idea of lying to get out of the situation faster. If he satisfied the cat’s insistent curiosity, maybe it would let him go.

“We don’t, I-I don’t,” he mended, not wanting to endanger anybody from poorly phrased words. Fae might be clever with their tricky bindings hidden in simple statements, but Jacob was never quick witted enough to catch someone in a contract on the fly. He wriggled his shoulders again as best as he could, uncomfortable beyond belief. “I-I was just running an...an errand. F-for a friend. I’m t-trying to get home if y-you could please let me...go?”

The last word of his request was a pitiful squeak, but he hoped the message was clear that he truly and honestly just wanted to go home. Nothing wicked or scheming, just a stupid, lost boy. The cat only furrowed his brow in response which made Jacob’s heart stutter.

“There’s no fae clans around here. Where exactly is your home?” he asked.

Oh no, Jacob was definitely not giving that information. Catching a fae could already grant a person a small fortune of power if done right, the possibilities were endless with a whole colony enslaved to a single master.

“That...is n-none of your concern,” Jacob forced out, trying to sound firm with conviction, though his eye contact still wavered with uncertainty.

Mercifully, the cat did not seem put off by his attempt at authority. Perhaps the other already knew it held all the power here and that Jacob was utterly screwed, because it tried a new tactic instead.

“What’s your name?”

“You can’t have it,” he was quick to bite out. Now that was a trick he was plenty familiar with, one he wouldn’t let the other try to turn against him.

The cat only rolled his eyes. “It was just a question, goodness. My name is Edix, because I’m polite and like to give people the ability to call me something.”

Well now it was Jacob’s turn to give him an incrediously expression because who in the fuck willingly gives up their name to fae!? Then again, it could be a fake name, a nickname even, but Jacob didn’t feel too confident betting solely on that fact. He was not going to be deterred against this potential slip up, not even to counter the unsaid insult that Jacob was being what was considered rude to the other.

“Let me go, Edix,” he said again, his voice coming out surprisingly strong. It was amazing what adrenaline will do to the nerves when they physically cannot move under the cat’s oppressive grip.

He appeared to consider this. “If I let you go, will you fly away?”

Fucking obviously. “...no,” Jacob lied. Edix wanted something from him, evidently, enough that he wanted the fae to stay longer than Jacob wanted to. After a moment of a silent stare off, one that Jacob felt himself on the verge of losing if those unblinking eyes didn’t stop trying to glare into his very soul, the grip around him slacked and the wrist tilted back so that he was partly laying down in an open hand. Open was still open anyhow, and without hesitation, Jacob sprang up and leapt off the palm with his wings flittering at mach seven to get him the hell out of here before the cat pounced on him again.

Except, the strangest thing happened. Rather than shooting straight ahead and disappearing into the treeline, hopefully camouflaging himself amongst the shrubbery with his green long sleeve shirt and brown pants, he instead felt himself continue to drop down to the ground. The speed from the freefall alone made his stomach flip uncomfortably, but the added fact that no matter how hard he buzzed his wings that he couldn’t go up, made every muscle clench with fear. The ground was rapidly approaching now and Jacob tried to flap his wings with all his might, the one thing he could do right by fae standards. With nothing else to keep him afloat, all he could do was brace for the brutal impact with the mud below, wondering if he would splatter upon landing or if the softened ground would allow him to lie in agony until the cat decided to finish him off.

With an oomph, Jacob found that he had, in fact, not crashed into anything cold or wet or bone crushing. The wind was still knocked out of him once again, enough that the sudden rush of going up like he had originally wanted had little effect as he gasped deeply for a second time. The surface under him was soft and burning to the touch, an all too familiar hold he had escaped a moment prior. Perhaps he should revisit the idea that this new ground wasn’t bone crushing like he had thought…

“Shit…” he heard Edix mutter, his voice rumbling around him just as the thunder had earlier in the day. Jacob screwed his eyes shut tight and tried to hold back as much as a whimper as he could, though it still slipped out. He fucked up. He didn’t know how he fucked up this bad, but there was no getting out of the mess he created now. Due to the angle of his fall, he was laying flat on his stomach with his back facing the cat, a stupid decision in the obvious predator and prey dynamic they had between them, but not one that he felt he had the strength to correct at this given moment. His stomach still hurt from the impact even if it had been softened, diaphragm sending an ache through his core with each labored breath.

A pressure settled between his shoulder blades and Jacob tensed, another whine caught in his throat that sneaked out when he grit his teeth. He could only assume the weight was from a finger pressing down along his spine, holding back the strength it would barely need to exert to completely paralyze him from the neck down. Or, he realized with sickening hyperawareness at the claws adorning the tip of each digit lightly caging him in, one quick swipe down his flesh could easily have the whole column exposed, ready to be plucked out like a stubborn splinter.

“Sh-sh-sh, it’s okay, just don’t move,” Edix crooned and Jacob listened, if only to prevent his death from being any more gruesome than it needed to be. After all, what else could the cat have in store for him? He didn’t give him his name, he didn’t tell him where the colony was, he lied and tried to flee, of course the other was going to put him through hell for those transgressions. Furthermore, he was still a cat, hybrid or not, and cats have always been well known to play with their food.

Jacob couldn’t help it though when he felt the touch move off of his back and towards the base of his left wing, the light touch of his nail sending a tingle sensation through his entire being. His eyes snapped open and with a yelp, he jolted to push himself up and far away as he could physically manage. Sadly for him, that wasn’t very far given the wobbling of his arms. “Wh-what are you doing!?” He gasped.

His sudden movement shook the finger away from his wing thankfully, but only a second later it returned to trace along the delicate film. “I’m just looking at your wing, it’s okay.”

It was not okay. Jacob was not okay with that idea in the slightest. He understood now what the other was trying to do; he wanted to rip off his wings for...one reason or another. To prolong his suffering, maybe, or to use them as ingredients in an unethical potion. There were several reasons people liked to rip off the wings of fairies, much like any other flying creature. Because they were pretty to display, because they were useful in a spell, because it hindered any escape. No way, he refused to let himself be subjected to such a fate, not when his wings were the only thing he truly had to tie him to his fae culture. He may not be able to grow a sapling to save his life, but he loved to fly!

“N-no, no! Let go!” he started to flail his thin limbs in an effort to gain some footing against the shifting hand trying to ensnare him again, “Let go! D-don’t take my wings!”

The poor little fae was roughly pushed back down against Edix’s palm again, the thumb of the same hand moving to curve over him and settling squarely against his back just as the finger had done previously. He was immobilized in a matter of seconds, unable to turn himself over or wiggle out from under the digit. With a strangled sobb, he focused all of his strength into his arms to push against the hold and be able to sit up, but naturally, it failed to make the other budge an inch. He let his arms crash down around him and dug his nails into the thick skin of Edix’s hand in an attempt to draw blood and make him let go through stinging pain. That, too, had zero effect, much to Jacob’s dismay.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Edix tried to soothe again while rubbing the thumb that pinned him down back and forth, “I’m not going to take them. I’m just trying to help.”

“Let me go…” Jacob sobbed again, letting the tears that had been steadily clouding his vision run down his cheeks. This would be the perfect time for Angie or Cam or the entire colony to come bursting from the trees to rescue him, any minute now. Please.

The strange touch returned to stroke against his wing, tracing near the sensitive base of where skin met dazzling chiten before thinning out into slender, translucent dragonfly wings. It was an unpleasant feeling only in the sense that Jacob hated the anticipation of what was going to happen to his beloved wings, though the touch itself wasn’t outright painful.

“Does that hurt?”

Jacob didn’t respond, opting to clamp down on his tongue to prevent egging the cat on in his search for validation. He didn’t want to lie again and risk any more punishment that was coming to him, but he also didn’t want to prompt him into upping his tactics to inflict actual damage. His silence was only met with more rubbing against his back.

“C’mon, honey,” Edix cooed encouragingly and Jacob tried not to heave at the sugary sweet nickname, “I’m not trying to hurt you, I need to know if touching your wing causes pain.”

He didn’t trust his voice to be anything but a choked cry should he open his mouth, so Jacob reluctantly settled for shaking his head once. Well, if he was going to lose his wings anyways, at least it wouldn’t be too painful of a procedure anyways depending on how deeply Edix tried to yank them out. Jacob just wanted this whole ordeal to be over, mutilation or none. The faster this was over, the faster he could get on with his next life that might reincarnate him into an actual fae.

“Really? You can’t feel anything?” If he wasn’t mistaken, it almost sounded like there was a hint of concern in Edix’s words. Probably because it meant he wouldn’t be able to have all the fun he was originally planning.

“I...I,” Jacob hiccuped, sniffling down a few more cries before they could tumble out, “I c-can...I can f-feel i-it.”

“But it doesn’t hurt.” The cat confirmed with a sigh and Jacob nodded. “Okay, that’s good, I guess. It means they’re not broken too badly then.”

“Br...broken?”

Jacob had no idea what Edix was talking about. Nothing felt broken. He fluttered his wings experimentally, though they weren’t able to full touch with Edix’s thumb between his shoulders. He tried to turn his head, eyes shining with tears that had come to a stop in his perplexion. Given the angle and the cat’s refusal to let him turn around fully, he wasn’t able to see his wings from where they were blocked from view no matter how hard he tried to splay them out.

“What d-do you mean?” he asked. “Wh-what’s broken?”

He glanced up, barely catching Edix’s expression out of her peripheral that twisted into something of a grimace. “Well, maybe not broken...I don’t see any tears, anyways.” His finger touched the left wing in question again and realization began to sink its claws into Jacob’s heart.

“What’s wrong? Wh-what did you do?”

“Your wing is, uh...bent.”

His wing should not be anything but straight, so hearing that it was sitting at a crooked angle was news to Jacob. It must have been why he wasn’t able to fly early. But he clearly had no problem going from point A to point B all throughout the day, so why had the injury suddenly occurred at what could only be described at the worst time imaginable? The only logical explanation would be that it happened sometime during the initial interrogation when Edix caught him, though he didn’t recall being physically hurt beyond the discomfort from his tight grip...oh. Oh.

“Y-you…” Jacob was shaking again, his fear renewed now that he had confirmation the cat was out to hurt him. “You broke m-my wing…”

Jacob wished he could see the expression the cat was making, if he was making one at all as that stony glare seemed to be his natural facade. He just wanted to be able to judge where these revelations would be leading them in the near future--if Edix had successfully worked up an appetite or if he was only getting started.

“...yeah,” he admitted with another sigh, “I think I did.”

On one hand, he didn’t sound giddy with excitement, but on the other hand, he was admitting he was the one at fault which, by Jacob’s standards, meant he was admitting he would be doing it again. He knew the cat must be able to feel his heart rabbiting against his chest as he started to hyperventilate. However, he wasn’t expecting to be shushed again, like he was supposed to be comforted by all things in the midst of this.

“Hey, listen, it’s okay, I can fix this.” Edix said, finally removing his thumb off of Jacob’s back. The fae didn’t have a chance to move an inch as the hand cradling him was already turning him around so he could face the other. His free hand that had been poking and prodding his injured wing came up to cup behind him, hovering but mindful not to touch the evidently fragile film of his wings. “Okay, well, I can’t fix this, but I know someone who can.”

The way he pursed his lips in afterthought did not do anything to quell the anxiety that gnawed ravenously at his insides. “...maybe, anyways. She knows a lot about tiny things like you, she could probably figure something out.”

That was probably supposed to be something akin to reassurance, but Jacob only felt his heart drop further into his twisted guts. So now he was meant to be handed over and experimented on!? For what? It wasn’t like the cat felt sorry for his actions, did he? Of course not, he was probably the type of feline that had more fun in the chase than the actual capture and merely wanted to return Jacob to full working order to prolong the fun before having himself a snack. It was only when Edix took a step forward was Jacob able to break free from his terrified stupor, frantically shaking his head and flinching away from the hands around him like he was being suddenly burned by their touch alone.

“No!” he yelled, stopping Edix in his tracks who tilted his head to the side again.

“No?”

“No, no, I don’t want to go,” the words were tumbling out of his mouth as quick as his heart was racing. His eyes, wide and shining with unshed tears darted around for any feasible escape that wouldn’t lead to his immediate capture and/or death. “I don’t want to go, I-I, I want to go home, let me g-go home--”

“Okay, easy now, calm down,” Edix’s gentle command had the complete opposite effect on the fae, leading him to brace a thumb across the little one’s midsection to keep him from doing anything too rash. He stilled almost immediately when the touch made contact, but he was quick to regain his senses and start fighting against the hold to no avail. Obviously, the poor thing was locked in a fight or flight response, both of which were impossible to act upon thanks to Edix.

He sighed for the millionth time. “Listen,” he tried, “if you want to go home then you need to tell me where it is because you aren’t making it back on your own like this. Otherwise, we’re going to Ylva’s place and she’s going to fix you up so you fly back on your own. Those are your options.”

They were not his options if Jacob could help it. He couldn’t help it very much, but it wasn’t going to be for lack of trying on his part. Bundling up all of his jittery courage as he could, he focused the budding indignance for this situation in what he hoped was a halfway convincing glare. He doubted that it was anywhere near as threatening as the one the cat wore so easily, but it was all he could manage with his shuddering breathing and tear damp cheeks.

“Let me go,” Jacob said slowly as to keep his words from wobbling too much, “or I’ll curse you.”

So much for not lying anymore to keep from making his impromptu kidnapping any worse than it was already going. If he had been a wooden puppet, his nose would surely be stabbed within Edix’s chest with the boldness of that entirely false promise. Jacob couldn’t even manage to sweet talk the petals of a weed into bloom half the time, let alone to any damage to someone through the powers of magic. Quite frankly, he never wanted to learn how to do those types of attacks, even though Cam insisted they would be for his own protection. If only she knew how much he regretted not taking her up on her offer now. Even Angie’s offer of learning how to chuck a sharpened porcupine quill into an enemy’s eye was sounding incredibly appealing.

Despite his best attempts at appearing high and mighty in the realms of magic, Edix did not appear phased by the threat that would normally have others clamping their mouths shut and scurrying out of fae territory. The cat instead narrowed his eyes in challenge and regarded him with the same tempered patience as a parent with an unruly child.

“Okay. Do it then.”

...that wasn’t the answer Jacob had been hoping for. Realistically, Jacob had been hoping for an apology before he left forever, for his wing to suddenly be healed, and for his friends to come take him home where he would never have to interact with this terrifying creature for the remainder of his life. Well, maybe that wasn’t wholly realistic, but he was at least hoping it would have made the other back off to some degree! Instead, his bluff was immediately called and the fae had no tricks up his sleeve to pad out the threat enough to make Edix reconsider.

He tried to hold out on the staring contest that was going on between them to make Edix crack first, but that simply wasn’t happening. All the cat had to do was raise an eyebrow during the uncomfortable stretch of silence as an unsaid well? and Jacob was a trembling mess all over again. Not only did he have the bitter feelings of anger and terror pooling in his stomach, he was also given the bonus unpleasantness of his cheeks burning with shame that he was unable to fulfil his promise, caught in a lie as soon as he said it. Was he really that pathetic that the other could tell he was no match no matter what bravado he tried to sell?

“Mm. That’s what I thought.”

“I could,” Jacob snapped.

“How?” Edix said with a light poke to the little one’s cheek with his knuckle, wiping away some of the wetness that remained. “You haven’t got any magic in you.”

“How do...th-that’s not true,” he tried to defend, cutting himself off before he foolishly admitted straight away that the cat was right. This could also be a bluff, a much better one, but one he should still take with a grain of salt. He grimaced and pushed the hovering finger away in favor of scrubbing his face dry with his sleeve to the best of his ability. It was only for a second, but he could have sworn he saw the corners of Edix’s lips twitch up at the display, like he thought it was cute. Gross.

The finger did move away, but not before Edix playfully tapped the top of Jacob’s head. “You don’t have any magic in you, not naturally anyways. Just kind of sprinkled over you. The scent is way too faint to have any real use.”

“You can smell magic?” Jacob wasn’t sure just how much he believed that, but it was better than the alternative that Edix knew he was lying right off the bat because he thought the fae was too pitiful to dole out any damage in the first place.

Edix shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, all venandi can.”

“What’s a ven-an-di?”

“Me,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing ever. To other creatures of the natural world, maybe it was, but as it was stated Jacob was not born into this world and thus had very limited knowledge. He didn’t know if venandi was the name of this cat species as a whole or just Edix particularly and wasn’t sure he wanted to find out lest he get himself tongue tied into something he couldn’t talk himself out of.

So instead, like the genius he was, he decided to blurt out the first thing that came to mind which was, “what do I smell like, then?”

Edix grinned and before Jacob registered the weight of his own request, the hands were pulling him too close for comfort towards the cat’s face. Despite his protesting squeaks, the fae was soon subjected to a nose pressing itself eagerly into the crook of his neck with a deep inhale. The body heat mixed with the soft puffs of warm breath over his body was enough to make him sweat, yet all he could do was shiver when the nose proceeded to rub against the fluttering pulse of his throat and down to his sternum. Each exhale was punctuated by a rumbling that worsened Jacob’s shaking purely because of the vibrations running through him as a result. If the deafening purrs weren’t enough, then the smile he felt widen against his stomach was all the proof he needed that Edix was thoroughly enjoying himself.

And yet another example of why he was such a pisspoor fae, he couldn’t even word his own questions right to keep himself safe. He whimpered when Edix moved to nose at the brown locks on top of his head, warm lips brushing against his cheek. The knowledge that behind the somewhat innocent smile were pointed fangs ready to sink into his flesh made him squirm to push the intruding face away at last. Edix obliged his physical plea to stop, snickering as he pulled back to see the burning bright red from head to toe.

“Honeysuckle.”

The fae swallowed thickly as he regained a modum of composure, “H-huh?”

“You asked what you smell like. Honeysuckle.” Edix hummed in thought, the grin on his face splitting open to reveal the fangs Jacob had fretted about seconds ago as a devious idea came to mind. “I wonder if you taste like honeysuckle, too?”

The color that had tinted Jacob’s cheeks drained absurdly fast at the mention of being sampled, a littering of freckles standing out against the newly paled skin that Edix had never noticed until the fae was inches from his face. The fear stricken expression made the cat laugh again, but Jacob couldn’t find it in him to get huffy about his legitimate fears of being consumed being played off as a joke, not when those teeth were still so close to nipping his flesh.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding…” the cat relented.

Except he wasn’t kidding when he let a beat of silence lower Jacob’s guard just enough to dart forward and swipe his tongue up the little thing’s cheek and through his hair.

Jacob let out a very unflattering squeal, a mixture of terror and disgust that came with the fact he had just been licked of all things. Thankfully, the partly coarse tongue meant it wasn’t saturated in saliva, but that didn’t stop him from trying to wipe the feeling off of him like he would wipe it from his memory all the same. Fucking hell, that was gross. Would only be worse if the mouth was still dripping with the blood and viscera of Jacob’s remains after he chomped him down in two bites.

Now, Edix seemed to have had his fun in giving Jacob as many heart attacks as he could in a single setting, cooing in mock disappointment as the fae tried to wipe off the remnants of his markings. “Oh, it wasn’t that bad.”

“I don’t like that,” Jacob shot back with a shiver.

“Well, if you do anything often enough, you get used to it,” at last, Edix lowered his hands a respectable distance away from his face to give Jacob some breathing room, “Just throwing that out there.”

Jacob shifted around between his hands, uncomfortable at the notion this would potentially be a reoccurring thing. How long would these teasing tastes last before the hunger overtook? Was he simply going to be a snack for the road, something to lick and suck on like a candy before he was eventually chewed up? The cat must have noticed his creeping anxieties because he rubbed his thumb against the cheek he had just licked, as if he was trying to help rub away the feeling of unease he caused, Jacob let him, only because he found he didn’t have much strength left to consistently fight the other over everything. In the end, Edix was always going to get his way.

“It’s just a day’s trip away, I promise,” Edix spoke up, suddenly reminding Jacob of the conundrum he was in in the first place. His wing, getting it fixed, the ‘friend’ who would either end up doing more harm than good or making him right as rain. “We’ll get you back home before you know it.”

Jacob very much doubted that.

#g/t #giant/tiny #fearplay #g/t fearplay #gt #gianttiny #macro/micro #my writing #ask #anon #the cat bastard returns #does it count as an au if i am the god of this universe to begin with #whomst knows #also shoutout to hiddendreamer for beta'ing the first half of this #the second half was written after she went to bed so we're going to assume its uh.........fine #did yall notice to lil camellia cameo #the CAMeo if you will #i love she #also i stan with fae!angie who decides magic is stupid and physical combat is superior even in the magic world #jacob is shit at magic #everyone knows hes shit at magic #edix loves that hes shit at magic #hey look its a rare instance in which they can actually understand each other!!#and edix still doesnt care what jacob wants because clearly he knows better as his new caretaker #edix: [cripples a fairy] oops guess we're dating now #edix's nickname for jacob being honey is lowkey one of my fav things even in canon #he'll name him eventually don't worry #anyways its time for bed i have work in like 7hrs #maybe tomorrow ill still work on the other story that was supposed to be lined up lol #top tier prompt anon please send more

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dirtychocolatechai · 3 years

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meet-cute | b.b.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Warning(s): fluff, awkward Bucky, vet appointment stuff, Alpine Request: Babes if you're lowkey taking requests can I lowkey make one? 👉🏼👈🏼🥺💕 something flirty and cute and maybe a lil spicy with Bucky and vet!reader where something's going on with Alpine? Not self indulgent at all 😻💖 Notes: This was the first thing I’ve written in months and it felt damn good. Funny story, I actually almost went to school to be a vet tech + shadowed a vet for two weeks and got to see some wickedly cool things.

This was a bit self-indulgent on my part because I had a cat who passed away some years ago because of struvite stones and I wished he had a happier ending like Alpine so I thought why not 🤷‍♀️💖

Taglist is open

(gif from google)

There’s nothing Bucky hates more than the stringent smell of industrial cleaners and clinical white walls - too many associations and shades of memory long laid to rest - except for when something’s going on with Alpine. The Turkish Angora was fine up until a few days ago when he started to hide away and sleep all day.

That wasn’t too concerning at first...

But then came the pained little noises, the frantic running back and forth from the litter box, the excessive grooming. The pit that started forming low in his belly grew, his instincts screaming at him that something was wrong, very wrong, with his little buddy.

Bucky wasn’t about to fuck around and set up an appointment with the first vet office he could find that had a same-day opening. And now he’s trying not to fall apart at the seams while he waits for the docs to do their magic and tell him what the hell’s going on with his cat and what he has to do to fix it.

The vet tech collected Alpine a bit ago and every minute stretches into years, the cat’s pitiful meow echoing in his ears and those betrayed eyes burned onto the backs of his eyelids.

I know, Bub, I’m sorry but they gotta figure out what’s going on. It’ll be okay, they’ll take care of you.

His ass went numb from the plastic chair ages ago, his leg jiggling up and down at a rapid pace as he chews on his thumbnail and waits.

And waits.

God, he knows these things take time but he’d rather be back at home, curled up on the couch with Alpine pigging out on breakfast food and watching space documentaries.

How much longer-

“Alright, Mr. Barnes?”

The heavy door swings open with a click, a kind, professional voice preceding a pair of sensible shoes as the vet steps into the room with a clipboard cradled against her chest. His eyes snap up, skipping over her completely to look at the tech holding his cat who looks absolutely miserable.

She introduces herself but he’s not paying attention. He’s not meaning to be rude but all his focus narrows in on that white little face, the knot in his chest unfurling at the little mew.

He smiles, his eyes crinkling around the edges as he breathes, “Hey there, Little Buddy.”

The vet doesn’t push, in fact, she seems a little enamored with how much he melts at the sight of his pet. Her own lips quirk up into a soft smile while she stands off to the side patiently as Alpine’s set down on the metal table.

Bucky gets in a few good scritches under his chin, the beginnings of a purr just starting to vibrate his hand when the vet clears her throat delicately.

He clears his throat, heat burrowing into the apples of his cheeks. “Shi - uh, ‘m sorry.” A hand scrubs over the back of his neck. “I’m just - uh - y’know...”

Her laugh trickles down his spine like warm rain, the sound effectively drawing his attention away from the cat rubbing up against his side. He gets his first look at her and oh.

A bare face and a no-nonsense hairstyle greet him, her scrubs and white coat adding to the overall doctor vibe but she’s still breathtaking. The natural beauty in the curves of her face, the slant of her brows, the sparkle of her eyes.

He feels like he got sucker-punched in the chest, his heart giving a sudden throb that has him coughing like an idiot as he scrambles to not look like such a jackass.

“So,” he clears his throat, scratching at the stubble along his jaw, “What’s - what’s wrong with him?”

Glancing down at Alpine’s chart, she hums and writes a note before glancing back up with a reassuring smile. “Nothing that can’t be managed with a special diet and watching his water intake.”

It’s like the weight of the world disappears from his shoulders, his broad frame practically heaving with his sigh of relief. “Oh thank fucking- ahem, ‘scuse me - thank god.”

Her chuckle and sly smile have him blushing from the roots of his hair to the collar of his shirt, his stomach squirming in discomfort. Old habits are hard to break, especially ones his momma taught him with a box to the ear.

“You’re allowed to swear, Mr. Barnes,” she says, reaching down to run her fingers through snow-white fur. “We’re all adults here.”

“No, no, I know...”

“Hm, anyway, his blood work came back and everything looks fine which is a good thing.”

And it’s back to business like that, any hint of personality hidden behind cool professionalism that Bucky thinks even Tasha would admire. Except for the playful gleam in her eyes as she sneaks peeks at him while going over everything they did and what they found.

“Struvite crystals are quite common in cats at low levels, especially males because their tract is longer and narrower.” She pauses, flipping to a new page. “Depending on the severity, they can clump together in the urinary tract and actually form stones. That’s where the true problem lies because get one large enough, and it can cause a blockage.”

He’s listening with rapt attention, soaking in the knowledge she’s imparting to him all the while, petting Alpine who keeps nuzzling him and making little sounds. Honestly, he could listen to her talk for hours even if he didn’t understand a goddamn thing.

She’s so animated when she speaks, holds eye contact and makes sure he understands everything without making him feel like an idiot. He’s had so many doctors who talked at him rather than with him, staring through him without seeing, more interested in the paycheck rather than their patients.

But not her, she cares.

Deeply.

He can see it all over her face and it’s utterly enchanting. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little enamored, charmed.

Turning the tablet towards him, she shifts closer and a waft of whatever perfume she’s wearing tickles his nose as she explains what the x-ray of Alpine’s abdomen found.

“These are the stones but thankfully they’re relatively small,” she points to several hazy white ovals starkly visible on the radiograph, “We caught them in time before they became a really big problem.”

Shit, she smells so good...

“Now, we’ll send you home with a special diet and see how he does. Also, make sure to up his fluid intake as much as you can. The food can take several months to start dissolving the crystals so we’ll have to do everything we can to help. Sound good?”

Bucky hasn’t pulled his eyes away from her face once this entire time, and how fucking creepy is that?

Quickly looking down at Alpine, embarrassment gnawing at his belly, he nods and wishes for the first time since he cut his hair that he hadn’t so he’d at least have a passing chance at hiding the blush burning its way across his face.

“Yeah,” he says, picking up the ball of white fluff to hold against his chest, a makeshift shield. “Is there anything else I should do?”

“No.” She smiles, writing another note and tapping away at the tablet next to her. “I do want to see him again in about a month for a check-up.”

Fuck, he doesn’t want to leave so soon.

The irony isn’t lost on him either.

How does he make this last longer? What can he do? If Sam was here right now, he’d be kicking him in the ass and bitching at him to ask for her number already, Ice Pick.

The clack of the chart being set down rings through the room, bouncing off the walls and sounding so fucking final that he starts to panic.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

She’s already halfway to the door when she asks, “Do you have any questions?”

The word vomit spring from him, unbidden and sudden without any thought, more forward than he’s been with a woman in years.

“Can I have your number?”

As soon as the question leaves his lips, he curses, cringes and wishes he could snatch the very words from the air itself.

Great, I just hit on my vet.

No amount of backpedaling can salvage this but goddamn it if Bucky doesn’t try, stuttering out some half-assed excuse about wanting it just in case he thinks of something later.

When he glances up, he wishes he hadn’t. The vet tech is in near tears in the corner, biting her lips so hard he wouldn’t be surprised if they started to bleed.

But it’s the absolute surprised bafflement on the woman he just inappropriately hit on that does him in, makes him about ready to burn all forms of identification and run for the hills.

Her brows nearly reach her hairline, her mouth slack, eyes startled. She gets ahold of herself before he does, and he barely stops himself from slapping a hand over his face.

Right when he’s thinking there’s no way he’s going to be able to show his face in the office again, her expression softens with gentle amusement and her lips twitch.

Struck dumb, he can only watch as she writes something down on a slip of paper before handing it over to him. He barely believes the string of numbers and the cheeky little call me anytime :).

The wink she sends his way is there and gone, so fast he almost believes he imagined it.

“For emergencies only,” she says, slyly. “Of course.”

“Of course,” he agrees, almost tripping over the cat carrier as he hurries to stuff Alpine back in. “Of course, thank you. I...appreciate it.”

“Anytime, Mr. Barnes.”

Bucky leaves the room in a stupor, the world sharply shifted to the left as he heads to the front desk to make the follow-up appointment, but not before hearing the whispered, “Girl, you’re lucky. He’s fine!” and the “He is, isn’t he?”.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky x you

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incomingalbatross · 4 years

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Very, very incomplete list of Canon Facts I love about the Brigadier:

He first met the Doctor in the London Underground while it was being taken over by Yeti, after he’d been sent to take command. Despite all the Nonsense happening, he was relying on the Doctor and the other two scientists there from the start, telling them the group was “relying on them” because he knew brute force wouldn’t work! “Science leads” was a thing from the start with him.

Related: his first reaction to “I have a craft that travels in time and space” is “can it get us out of here?” His reaction to “It looks like a police box” is essentially “Useful information, thank you, let’s try and retrieve it from where you left it.”

The second time we meet him, he’s already formed a UN-backed taskforce for fighting aliens and such, because clearly someone had to!

He also greets the Doctor, who’d just mentioned “time,” by asking if he’s “still making a nonsense of it, Doctor, in your, what was it called? TARDIS?” I mean. SHOW me a better description of the Doctor’s lifestyle than that. I dare you.

The next time we see the Brigadier is in the Third Doctor’s first episode—when UNIT finds an unconscious stranger next to a police box, he immediately takes man and box under his charge because they’re probably connected to the Doctor. Once the Doctor wakes up and helps deal with the Auton invasion, the Brigadier gives him a job.

(Let me just establish, for the record, that on all levels but the physical the Third Doctor is a cranky, bratty, obnoxious teenager trying to convince people he’s Cooler Than Them. The Brigadier puts up with this with sterling patience and good-will.)

The Brigadier basically spends half the Third Doctor’s era defending British/human/military nature to the Doctor, and the other half defending the Doctor from British/human/military bureaucrats. And he never lets his problems with either spill over to the other side.

...He gave the Doctor employment. He employed the Doctor. Imagine.

He also, at some point, bought him a car. The car was a bright yellow Edwardian jalopy, so the Doctor definitely picked her out, but the Brigadier must have done the actual buying. Love that thought.

One time he walked into the Doctor’s lab just as the TARDIS dematerialized (courtesy of the Time Lords) and responded by saying firmly, “Doctor, come back at once!” And (at the end of the adventure) the TARDIS came back the moment he said it. It was great.

Genuinely the last time we see him fazed by anything is in The Three Doctors, 1973. That was it.

(I’m forgetting a ton of Good Facts from Three’s era, but I have to note that the Doctor continued living at UNIT for years after he regained free use of the TARDIS, only going out for brief excursions and then coming back. He STAYED. I don’t think anything remotely like this happened again until Eleven or Twelve.)

The Brigadier is, in fact, the only person on record to react to the Doctor regenerating in front of him with “Well, here we go again.”

Post-regeneration, the Fourth Doctor mistook him for Alexander the Great and Hannibal before recognizing him for real.

The Doctor gave him a “Space-Time Telegraph” that was hooked up to the TARDIS, so he could get in contact if he needed to. Literally the only person to have a reliable way to contact the Doctor until the New Series, when he has a phone number. Before that? Just the solitary STT.

The next time we meet him after Four’s departure from UNIT he has amnesia for a good chunk of the story, but it’s still remarkable that he’s there—former characters didn’t make return appearances. It didn’t happen in Classic Who. And yet there he was, meeting Five.

In The Five Doctors he gets to hang out with three different Doctors he already knows at once! He also knocks out the Master with one punch, which is just funny.

The Five Doctors also establishes that the Brigadier canonically does not know what fear feels like.

In the Seventh Doctor story Battlefield, he not only comes out of his well-earned retirement to look after the Doctor, but demonstrates that by now he can recognize the Doctor regardless of his current face. (”So you recognize, me, then?” “Yes. *fond chuckle* Who else would it be?”)

Honestly all of his time in Battlefield is gold. So instantly comfortable with Seven, and vice versa—no angst, no uneasiness, just old friends happy to work together again.

AND, of course, there’s the bit where the Doctor’s preparing to go fight the monster... Brigadier: “Good lord, is that a spaceship?” *Doctor turns to look* *Brig sucker-punches him, knocking him out, and grabs the gun*

AND

Brigadier, leveling a pistol at the giant blue demon-monster: “Get off my world.”

“Pitiful. Can this world do no better than you as a champion?”

“Probably. I just do the best I can.” *BANG* *BANG* *BANG*

THE ACTUAL GREATEST

(Side note, this makes me so mad at Ten in “Christmas Invasion”. You don’t get to claim “Champion of Earth”!! Not when the ACTUAL Champion responded like this!!)

Then he defeats the narrative itself by not dying after coming out of retirement and killing the monster alone. Because he’s just that good.

In The Sarah Jane Adventures we got to see him again and he’s still wonderful!! Also he has a cane which is actually a gun.

There’s been a Lethbridge-Stewart in every multi-Doctor story except The Two Doctors. The Brigadier has also met all the Classic Doctors except Six onscreen, in canon episodes of the show.

Bonus: absolutely bonkers EU “facts” about the Brigadier!!

When he was young he went to the Underworld and had a romance with Persephone. Then he had his mind wiped, but it came up again at some point after he knew the Doctor.

He had a brother, but the brother was killed and then erased from everyone’s memories by the Great Intelligence when they were kids (like the Persephone thing, this was all before he ever met the Doctor).

In summary: he’s unflappable, he has an endless supply of dry snark, he has no ego, he’s an Officer and a Gentleman and the soul of honor, and he’s a constant in the Doctor’s life and basically his dad and I love him.

#brigadier alistair gordon lethbridge-stewart #the brigadier #doctor who #classic who #also his audio play with Six is really good #i accept it as canon but it couldn't go here because i was doing show-only

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siegelst · 3 years

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Anonymous asked [

Curiosity - Passage of time [ Day 12 - Ghost ] by Anonymous

Rated: Explicit Mature

Karl gets a visitor.

summary: 6 people break into Heisenberg’s factory, but karl gets a special treat when 1 of them show interest in taking apart his dead soldat. Events that happen before 90 days.

Day 12. - Ghost -

Karl made it his mission to see how flustered his help could get. It got so bad that she fainted dead away. He never let her live that down. in the end she hide in her room. darnn he was hoping to push her buttons to get her angry enough to sucker punch him. But anger wasn't in her nature it seemed.

The day was going normally, he was in the workstation and the help was cleaning in the far end of the room. It was only until an alarm rang out when Karl looked up from his work, to the red lights flashing. F*ck, he thought.

"Get over here quick." he said, pulling out his chair. Y/n went over to him - wondering why he's panicking. "Get under the desk, and don't talk!" He didn't' wait for her reply before shoving her down under his desk, her hitting her head against the back part of the desk. Karl sat in the chair, blocking her view of the room, just as odd voice was heard.

"B-brother! Haven't seen you in a w-while. I have these films that need repairing . . . and was wondering if you could fix them." the voiced wheezed.

"Uggg Fine, freak but you better get the f*ck out after I'm done." said Karl as he got up from the chair to walk towards the shadow individual y/a could see. The shadow Individual was hunched over and covered with a cloak and was slightly bigger than Karl even when hunched over.

She watched as Karl pushed the hunched-back man out the door before closing it. She heard a lock being turned. She stayed under the desk. whoever this individual must be bad news if her boss didn't want her to meet this individual. She decided to stay there for 10 minutes before pick locking the door to get out. She was walking on the 3rd floor when she caught sight of the hunchback man again. For a second they saw each other before he blinked in surprised, lights flickered off, and she slipped into a hidden closet. The man made a disbelief sound before she heard "B-Brother! I found someone!"

She could hear heavy footsteps coming up rapidly and few seconds later heard her boss voice. "What you talking about, you freak? No one is here!"

"B-but I saw a girl! This tall, heck she is shorter than you even!' said hunchback man. she heard her boss sighed.

"Oh that $lut! Yeah she was one of motherf*cking people that died in the maze game here. You saw a ghost." said her boss, very convincingly. The other man sputtered other nonsense before her boss interrupted him. "Salvatore, how can you explain her appearing in front of you and her disappearing the next second? hmm?"

"Oh." said Salvatore, and her boss humm in replied. "So how did she die?"

"Sturm." came the reply. "are you done? I fix the film you f*cking wanted. Here!"

Their voices began to fade away, as their steps took them future away from her hidden spot. She stayed there for 20 minutes before creeping out of hidden closet. She went back to the living quarters, hanging out there until her boss came back.

#karl heisenburg x reader #curio

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firstagent · 3 years

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Review: Digimon Adventure: (2020) Episode 43: Clash, The King of Digimon

In this episode, Tailmon’s unreliable memories of the area lead everyone so far off the path they end up in a Scott Pilgrim scene.

You’d have to be a real grouch to complain about this one. It’s one of the silliest things we’ve seen in a long time, and if you can’t appreciate silly you’re probably in the wrong franchise. Everybody’s in peak comedic form here, with two classic bombastic villains unwillingly sharing the spotlight, unusual Digimon behavior that confounds everybody, and a resolution ridiculous enough for a premise like this. Heck, there’s even a tiny bit of plot progression as Tailmon’s memories and the appearance of another alternate evolution hang in the air for potential development. We’re having plenty of fun, but on the heels of such dry action, and the inevitability of more, it sure would be nice to know what we’re supposed to be expecting.

When you see Volcamon and Etemon’s names featured in the same episode, you have a pretty good idea of what to expect. This is going to be loud, showy, and subtle as pantomime. They deliver right from the get-go, Etemon stepping up his musical game with some really nice beats that also propel Volcamon’s exercise routine into top gear. Together they fight for the adoration of a crowd that just seems happy to have two rock stars to cheer for. It’s a high energy moment that’s easy to get lost in, enough to make you kinda wish they didn’t have to roll in the main cast to spoil the party. On a typical week, these two have more personality than all sixteen of them combined.

Still, it’s not like the Chosen Ones aren’t doing anything productive. Tailmon realizes the recent trauma inflicted on the continent has transformed it too much for her to recognize. If there was any indication they thought were going the right way over the last eight episodes, that would have been a neat little situation. It also pulls back the random data card Koshiro found in the trash. When we’re craving any scraps of disagreement between the kids, we’ll take the little exchange between him and Mimi over whether to plug the sucker in. It’s a shame that the data on the card effectively and conveniently cancels out Tailmon’s problem. They were never going to get proper attention in all the surrounding madness, but they were things for a moment.

Since their regular personalities aren’t going keep up with the likes of Etemon and Volcamon, the easy solution becomes the Digimon acting insanely erratic thanks to the sound wave interference. And… everything’s just going to be nuts for a bit. They can’t control their attacks, attitudes change, pelts are lost, and Tailmon’s feline instincts emerge. The kids don’t get much chance to have any reaction other than bewildered, but it is telling who attempts to fight with their malfunctioning Digimon anyway. You expect that sort of thing from Taichi (and thankfully fate doesn’t let that idiocy slide this time), but Sora and Joe just revealed something.

Despite her rash stance on data input, Mimi turns out to be the one with a brain, recognizing the nature of this conflict and how it’s more about Etemon and Volcamon one-upping each other than actual animosity towards the Chosen. We haven’t seen many instances of genuine clever ruses outside of the cunning battle tactics Taichi rode into the ground long ago. Mimi turns the two foes back against each other until Palmon sees an opening and jumps into the fray, feeding off the weird rhythms to evolve into Ponchomon instead. Where previous alternate evolutions were harder to justify either because the conditions didn’t seem that drastic or we didn’t see how the situation demanded it, this is about as ideal as it gets, as Togemon wasn’t about to out-shake these guys and the sound waves were clearly messing everybody up enough to produce a weird one like this. And in an episode as ridiculous as this, the resolution should be equally insane.

Were this a one-off breather in a brief transition between big plot hits, this would be a classic. After six episodes of nonsense, the effect is dulled considerably. After 36 episodes that have felt mostly pointless due to the lack of characterization, we’ve had 7 that have been absolutely pointless due to the lack of story. So fun as it was, even a silly episode that teases us being back on track lacks power as we still have no semblance of a point. Right now, until we somehow dive into that, this whole thing is nonsense, which can’t help but deflate times like this when it’s intentional.

My Grade: B

Loose Data:

Etemon appearing at all is a nice throwback, but making most of his die-hard fans Gazimon and Pagumon is an extra bonus.

They didn’t really use it other than to justify being attacked, but the kids gaining a reputation among the neutral Digimon population is a nice touch. Only Frontier has gone anywhere near this concept. Best part is that the reputation is less as fated heroes but rather a gang going around beating up strong Digimon, which has been far closer to the truth ever since they’ve been on this continent.

You know who’s the real rock star in withstanding all of that noise? Komondomon.

Tailmon chasing one of Gomamon’s fish was adorable, but everything about her pawing the Holy Ring on her tail demands calling out.

Everything Ponchomon does stands on its own, but it’s relieving they didn’t try to actually have her beat Etemon and Volcamon in a fair fight, tricking them to punch each other out first. Gotta watch these sorts of things since that would be a hell of a debut episode supercharge knowing this could easily be her only appearance.

See reviews of every Digimon episode at Digimon: System Restore! Support the site by joining our Patreon!

#digimon #digimon adventure:#digimon adventure (2020)

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terrence-silver · 3 years

Note

okay, im the mood, so write us some headcanons on what they'd be like as fathers; for terry silver and john kreese. i dunno why, but reading about villains trying to parent (and probably failing. or maybe not, who knows???) is just a personal fave of mine.

- As a father, Terry would probably oscillate between either being immensely strict and cold or incredibly lax and loose to the point of it being toxic and enabling in rotten behavior. It’s a whiplash, to be honest. He’s either a ruthless disciplinarian expecting absolute perfection from you or he’s encouraging you to break someone’s nose in school and just act out. In front of everyone, preferably. With a move he personally thought you - and then pushed you to try out on someone the first chance you get, do him proud and draw as much blood and pain as you can from that poor sucker. It’s either or with him. You never know.

- Anyhow, he’s going to find ways to justify everything you do whether good or bad or horrible. It’s his brat. The heir to everything he’s ever built. He’s immensely and almost grossly biased and he doesn’t really care who knows it. It’s like justifying himself. Or an extension of himself, really. You misbehaved? Well, you’re Terry Silver’s kid - you’re allowed to. Roughed someone up? Good, as you should. Strike first, strike hard - no mercy. About to get expelled? Not anymore, now that the principal as received a, uh, mysterious bribe from a mysterious donor. Recklessness? Lying? Bravado? Well - children gonna be children. Everyone was young once.

- But, if there’s one thing he’s probably gonna be hard on you about is overachieving. See, he’s an overachiever. So, you should be an overachiever too. Expect that he’ll expect you to be a martial arts all-star, an all A-grade honor student, mega talented in at least one or two fields and a shining example of everything excellent, admirable and enviable, above all else. It’s something to do with narcissism and his own ego. Of course any offspring of his should and will be the best. And if they ain’t, he’ll make certain that they are by any means necessary - and it wont be pleasant. In fact, it’ll hurt. A lot. But, pain is just weakness leaving the body.

- Chances are though, he wont be around much. He’s a busy man with a busy schedule, but where he’s concerned he shows his care via his money and the excess it comes with. Look at all the things you’ll inherit one day? A literal empire. How is that not love? He’s given you everything people can only dream of. How’s that not fondness? Trips to Europe, cars, expensive nonsense, private schooling - you live like Richie Rich for crying out loud, so really, your entire privileged existence isn’t half bad despite your father being entangled in business and practices somewhat unsavory.

- When he is around - lets just be honest - he’s honestly smothering. When he doesn’t care, he’d destroy your life for the fun of it and wouldn’t even blink, But, when he does care, he cares far too much. Just look at him and Kreese? He’s all beaming and pride and smiles around his offspring because that’s a mini-him. How could he not? He just intentionally raised you to be an absolute bastard in his own image and enjoyed every second of it he could spare to indulge in that. It’s like watching a carefully crafted project unfolding and he just adores it. At least you wont grow up to be a weakling and now he’s made certain of it.

---

- Kreese is a, uh, difficult one to say the least. Really, any fathering he does will be messy, mainly because he’s probably the type not to show emotions readily because that’s just a sign of, yeah, you guessed it, weakness. So, get ready for some detachment. And cold shoulders. And being absentee. Which he is pretty often. Really, he just has the odd tendency of straying in and out of his child’s life on the regular mostly for personal reasons ranging from depression, alcoholism, military deployments he volunteers for, money problems and just plain old “I need alone time”. Sometimes his alone times can take up years, though. And by the time you blink, you’ll realize you haven’t seen him since you were like five. And that was several years ago.

- He does remember his offspring, though. In his very odd, very John Kreese-like way. Reason why he’s away from you so often can be partially attributed to feelings of shame. See, he’s no Terry Silver. He knows that. He doesn’t have much to offer his child financially speaking. No great future. No great inheritance. Nothing grand or glitzy. Nothing. It does, to an extent, eat him up inside and hurts his pride and he can’t stand the feelings of loss so he’d rather stay away if he can. And he does. He doesn’t want to admit to any of this, of course and he’d rather be viewed as a coldhearted asshole then a failure deadbeat. There’s more power in that.

- You do argue often, though and he does have the tendency to guilt-trip, gaslight and yes, he’s got a fair share of manipulation to him as well. It’s almost like the only time he does talk to his child is when they argue or when he reminiscences about things that happened in the past with a sense of nostalgia. But, in a weird way he likes and almost admires your spunk and fire. Your retorts. Your anger. Your absolute rage at him and the whole wide world. It fills him with some semblance of pride because you’re a tough cookie and he wouldn’t have it any other way, really.

- The only way he does know how to bond with his kid is Karate. The only thing he feels he probably excels at most, outside of his military career, so naturally, he’ll make sure to pass on the one thing he does best; fighting. That’s his gift to you and quite frankly, at least you’ll know how to throw a proper punch, even though he’ll view teaching you the way he’d view any of his other students; he’ll be hard on you, he’ll be relentless and no, he wont give you any breaks. But, you’ll learn, so that’s something. Why are you complaining? At least you wont get beat up.

- But, for all his shortcomings, rough-around-the-edges approach, outdated views, macho attitudes and failings he’d probably feel, begrudgingly that you’re the one legitimately positive thing he’s created in life. A legacy of sorts. Sure, he was Cobra Kai’s sensei for decades on and off, had more students then he can possibly account for and sure he has war stories and anecdotes a plenty but you’re a good kid and he’ll probably feel he failed you a bit even though he’ll convince you it’s somehow all your fault because he’d rather die then fess up to it and risk being vulnerable. John Kreese never changes.

#karate kid #karate kid 2 #karate kid 3 #cobra kai #john kreese #terry silver #headcanons #anon request #these are slightly angsty #slightly wholesome #and kinda tragic overall

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wevegottogetaway · 3 years

Text

Whirlwind Part II - Bora

DAY 2

Echoes are bouncing within the sturdy walls of the San Diego Marine Corps Air Station's main hangar. Blackshoes are in the middle of pre-flight logistics runs and equipment set-up before the launch of Top Gun program's first training mission. Aircrafts are being carefully escorted outside towards the runway, the sound of their roaring turbines whelming Harry's ears but he doesn't let that disturb his self-reflecting musings. His body is leant on the metallic hinges of the warehouse's entrance as his absentminded gaze doesn't shift from the take-off runway.

He is about an hour early but the upcoming events of the day have had him on edge since he reluctantly draped the cool bedsheets off his body that morning. How could he possibly get a wink of sleep knowing he was, at last, going back amongst the clouds for the first time since the accident? For the first time without his best friend. For the first time without is partner by his side (or rather behind him) watching out for hidden threats and targets in line. Jonathan had always had his back but from this day forward Harry would have to rely on Aella to keep them both safe.

He doesn't know what to make of that, what to make of her. There is no questioning her skills and capability, one could never join this program without those...but two highly proficient flyers don't necessarily equal one flawless unit. Especially since they know so little of each other. Be that as it may, the fellowship that binds two pilots flying the same aircraft is indispensable to their success and in those life-of-deaths seconds, when it feels like the sky is closing in on them and the next move can make or break them, it all comes down to one thing: the entrustment between him and her.

And he wants to. Wants to take his trust out from the jetted pocket of his uniform, lay it on the palm of her hand and enclose her fingers around it to keep secure. But it doesn't work like that, does it? Trust is not so much a choice as it is a spontaneous feeling immune to rational thinking. And for a reason he doesn't want to mull over too much, Harry can't help but feel wary of her in a way. He's seen her fire; the night before last when she made a fool out of their most redoubtable opponent. Recognized the same flame that used to inhabit his best friend's eyes and make him the warmest being Harry ever got to be around. It doesn't sway him as much as it scares him. Fierceness is a good trait in the Navy world, but too much of it can be deceitful. Harry experienced it first-hand.

He doesn't dwell on it too much for now though, and makes his way to the back of the warehouse where his "classmates" have started to huddle while waiting for the superiors. Most of the promotion is there, the usual inner-groups appearing clearly to Harry as his eyes takes in the scene: herdsman Rex and his sheeps on one side while the other crews enjoy one last round of banter before their sternness is summoned for the first mission of the program.

Harry takes note of Aella's absence just as someone calls out to him. "Styles!" It's his callsign tumbling out of Dean Marshall's mouth. Harry used to have another, but the only person who was allowed to make use of that one special letter, is no longer able to claim it.

Dean and his partner Emmet Iggersman - or as they are commonly addressed to on base, Dazzler and Tigger - complete the other half of Harry and Aella's team. The four of them fly in tandem to form a section and hopefully fulfill the missions' objectives before the others do. Harry has flown many a time with these two guys and he's glad he'll be able to count on them as well should his new pairing go south.

"Hey Daz, how's it goin' ?" his greeting is followed by a good-natured handshake.

"S' goin' awesome, thanks for asking! My boy just started walking like a penguin on steroids right before I left. I swear the little champ is takin' the helm to keep his mum on her toes while his father's gone!" The proud smirk teasing Dazzler's lips triggers a contagious chuckle from his peers as they all take in the sheer bliss coloring the new-dad's face.

"That's grand man! Send my prayers to Catherine, sounds like she might need it, yeah?"

"Will do Styles, but enough 'bout me, how are you holdin' up? I can't deal fo' you man, what with Fox gone and this new partner thing..." There's a painful tug at Harry's chest at the utterance of Jonathan's callsign, the nickname born from his tangerine-like hair though Harry always believed it was more reference to his best-friend incredibly cunning mind. He ignores it in favor of a more tempered and diplomatic answer than what his heart was crying out.

"It'll be an adjustment fo' sure, yeah. But overall I'm just glad to be back in the game"

"As we all are Styl-" Tigger has just placed a comforting hand on Harry's broad shoulder when he is interrupted by none other than Rex's disdainful voice.

"Hey girls! How's the BFFs reunion going?"

Dazzler doesn't hesitate before stepping forward and firing back "Just about a punch away from properly kickin'off. Why? are you offerin'?"

"Wooo I'm shaking" Rex replies with a fake tremor. Then he seems to spot something - or rather someone - coming up behind Harry and Tigger. It's Aella, head kept down as to not attract any attention. She's seen the despicable man interacting with her new crew so she tries to reach the makeshift classroom (mostly just chairs aligned in a couple of rows in the middle of a hangar) as inconspicuously as possible. The déjà-vu impression is not lost on her.

"There she is!" Aella tilts her head up, knowing she's busted. "Miss James Bond Girl in the flesh! C'mere sweetheart, come show these suckers who wears the pants in this team!" The disdain within her levels up a notch (as if possible) but Aella doesn't know what she hates the most about this nonsense. The fact he is ridiculing her once again or the fact he acts like none of the after James-Bond-Girl-debacle two nights ago ever happened. As if she didn't put him in his place like the badass she is.

Or maybe it's the affectionate pet-name coming out of his repugnant lips and directed to her... Anyway, she doesn't have the time to prepare a comeback before a second round is launched, this time at her new partner.

"Better watch it Styles! Next thing you know you'll be the one in the freakin' kitchen..."

"Cut it out, Rex-" Harry starts defending his team but a stern and humorless voice overpowers his.

"I don't reckon anyone asked for your moronic opinions. So please pack your ignorant bullshit away and leave us the fuck alone" She keeps her countenance as she tells him off but Rex is not budging an inch and neither is the insolent smirk hung on his face.

"Damn Harry, quite the mouthy one you have here. Sure you can handle her?"

"For Christ's sake, please shut the hell up and go back where you came from Rex or by God I swear I won't hesitate to have you weep on the floor for your momma like a baby, again."

"Again?" Dazzler perks up with a smiling frown just as Rex's smugness fades away to be replaced by unadulterated contempt.

"You're delusional if you think I can be scared of you Lonethorne" he spats out while backing away, head up mighty high. "Stupid cunts" he adds under his breath as he turns around to rejoin his buddies.

Aella knows she's worked herself up but she can't help but call out to him one more time. "Oh and Rex?... How's the hand doing?" He doesn't give her the curtesy of a respond but Aella is satisfied with the flare of his nose and the twitch in his eye.

Meanwhile the three men still at her sides are left speechless, Dazzler and Tigger still processing the heated exchange while Harry seems lost in his own thoughts.

She'd done it again. Let the fire out and turned Rex's crudeness into ashes before they could scar her skin. There was no attempt of taming the beast before she went in guns blazing. That didn't help assuage his worries one bit. She's too impulsive is playing in his head over and over like a broken record. Because while Harry agrees Rex is the worst kinds of knobheads, he's always believed responding to antagonization was pointless. Better to look the other way and let the jerk waste his energy on petty words that will never reach aim. And because all in all, there are dogfighters, but that endeavor is reserved in the air, not on land.

"My my, darling. You just pimped the shit out of the least pimpable man on base. I think I'm in awe." Dazzler says after regaining his senses.

"Please don't call me darling" Aella retorts softly as she knows he doesn't mean it in any condescending way.

"Sorry. Aella, is it?"

"Yeah, that's me. And you are...?"

"Dazzler, so very nice to meet you" he smiles widely accepting her handshake offer. "And just a heads-up dear Aella. After you tell me all about weeping Rex, you and I are gonna be besties, I can feel it" She chuckles lightly as his enthusiasm and decides she'll not only welcome his affection but also return it. Before she can reciprocate the sentiment however, the room falls suddenly quiet and a second later the reason, or rather 4 reasons, come into her view: Commander Berks, Lieutenant Rogers and two other officers that have yet to be introduced.

"Morning everyone, I can tell some of you over-indulged in Induction Rave. If you could put the same amount of devotion you put at getting faced into your training, I would be eternally grateful." Berks earns himself a full house of laughters, before compelling the room back to sobriety. "Time to be serious now. ACM training was not invented to entertain you and make you look pretty up there. As an era where the potential of confrontation is constantly rising, air combat excellence is now more than ever a vital technique to the protection of our country. And don't you forget that: you are above all defenders of the nation. Not heroes, not athletes. I say again: protectors. Best be at you sharpest then." The Commander pauses after his inspiring tirade.

"Now, let's talk about this first assignment. Just plain good old-fashioned dogfighting to give you guys a foretaste of what's coming. Today it's gonna be 4 units at a time against 4 of ours. Your goal is to target any one of the instructors' units while trying not to be shot yourself. I'll say it now, we won't go easy on you. This exercise is meant as an assessment of your current skills, so don't get too cocky up there, just do your ex-Commanders honor. First one to reach its target or last one to be shot wins the mission. Remember, there is no points for second place in this program." He pauses and starts grinning. "Show me what you got."

With that Aella tries a small glance in Harry's direction but his eyes are fixed towards the horizon with a permanent frown shrouding their luminescence. She sighs.

Fully equipped of her G-suit, helmet and headset, Aella is making the last adjustments on her seat at the back of the cockpit. She's not unfamiliar with the radar intercept officer position though she's usually the one at the commands. She's also used to flying alone.

The panel in front of her intimidatingly takes up all her front view with a couple of screens and numerous switches and tuners. Her perspective is limited to a peripheral vision on both sides of the cockpit but she wouldn't be relying on a full panorama to spot target and threats anyway. No her job is to accurately keep tract of all flying elements within the largest range and most anticipated time possible. There's no point in crying out for enemy presence when they're already at your six and firing away... Along with relaying their position to Harry, Aella can also suggest tactical maneuvers based on the predictions she draws from the opponents' moves.

Speaking of Harry, they haven't exchanged a word since their brief introduction two days ago. Now they're both tightly harnessed to their seat about to navigate a near-thirty-tons engine beyond the speed of sound. Aella's never been a religious one but as the technician gives her one last thumb up to signal their operational status, she's praying to all deities that the awkwardness between them on land is nothing but the result of a subliminal force destined to counterbalance their incredible chemistry in the air.

The canopy of the cockpit locks them into silence before Harry speaks up. "All good?" The mediocre quality of the microphone's transducer makes his voice even raspier than usual through the headset tucked over Aella's ears.

"Yeah all good. You?"

"Same."

She thinks their conversation is over but then she hears a hushed voice. "Let's kick the tires and light the fires." She figures it was more so for his own benefit though, so she doesn't comment.

All too soon they're propelled forward, backs pinned to their seats because of the tremendous speed pressure. It can be a small-scale body trauma for some but Aella has never felt more comfortable. A tingle of the fingertips later, they are welcomed in an infinite azure dotted by a few scarce clouds, the runway long gone behind them. Both pilots enjoy a couple peaceful seconds to take in their new panorama and then they snap: it begins.

"I've got a six strobe. I think he's locked on us." Aella starts reading out the incoming movements entering her radar scope.

With a switch on his radio transmitter, Harry reaches out to Dazzler and Tigger as they are flying in a parallel tandem alongside them. "Tigger, you spot it?"

"Positive. It's Rogers, looks like he's a single." Tigger who endorses the same role as Aella quickly reports, before she pitches back in for a few more precisions.

"Contact at 900 knots closure. He's gaining speed."

"Daz, it's split time." Harry announces.

"Copy that Styles."

After Dazzler's approval, the two aircrafts are both sharply veering outwards in a defensive split, leaving a Y-shaped trail of smoke after them. The move comes through as the chaser is contrived to choose one direction to follow, but to Harry's dismay they get the short end of the stick.

"Rogers coming left, eight o'clock high." Aella signals immediately.

The scenery below them is a mix of wild purples and pale magentas, with fields-worth of lavender adorning the dry soil so characteristic of Californian lands. Peace and nature prevail on these grounds slightly remote from the bustling life of the city but the same cannot be said ten-thousand feet above where Harry is caught in a tedious game of zig-zag trying to escape his pursuer.

"He's tailing us. Watch your six!" her pulse quickens every time Rogers' unit manages to lock its position right behind them. There is no more vulnerable position for a pilot than to have an enemy flying at their six. It usually means incoming fire. It's why Harry is relentlessly jerking the TomCat in a rapid and unpredictable manner, the constant change in direction making it near-impossible for Rogers to lock, aim and shoot them.

"No shit Sherlock, why d'you think I'm jinxing so much?" Harry is starting to see spots on his peripheral vision from the gravitational pull, and he can only hope his tailgater is experiencing the same. Beads of sweat dotting his hairline and starting to dribble along his temples but it doesn't put a damper on his concentration. He can't relent or he becomes an exposed target.

"Goddamn, he's not budgin.'" Harry tries with all his might to leave his frustration out of the cockpit but the situation is not looking up.

"You got new contact ahead, 2 o'clock." Aella perks up at the discovery.

"Imma bit preoccupied with Rogers up my ass, if you haven't noticed." She should have known pointing out a potential target while they were heavily pursued themselves was not what Harry wanted to hear, but she already had a plan all mapped out. That's what Aella is best at after-all: reading a situation and coming up with a strategy in .2 second flat, no reflexion needed, just the numbers, the physics and the sky on her side.

"I didn't mean it as a target. You can use them as a shield if you keep Rogers high enough right before making a dive under them." She explains her vision to him, desperately wishing she could be the one on the front executing it.

"He'll just go above and back to tailgating us."

"Not if you barrel-roll right after the contact, he'll just overshoot." His lack of response betrays his skepticism so she insists further, brushing off the way he's second-guessing her.

"At the least, it'll give you leeway and buy you some time." This time her argument weights enough to tip his scale in favor of her plan.

"'lright then." Harry reluctantly agrees, tilting his chin slightly to the side as if he couldn't believe himself he was going through with her move. "'s gonna be snug timing."

"Just trust my cue." Aella's words are left hanging between them like a desperate echo thrown in an empty ravine. Does he trust her? Does she? It's definitely not the moment to reflect on it, much less have a discussion about it, but neither of them are oblivious to the eerie silence filling up their space like a faux smile greeting a bad joke. Then the aircraft is once again yanked to a blunt left and Aella is snapped out of it.

"That's it. Target at 1 mile abeam 40° on your right." She's got the fellow fighter in her line of view, both on the radar and through the bulletproof glass of the cockpit's canopy. "Keep high, keep high...3, 2, 1, drop!" Harry immediately complies, the aircraft nearly skimming the underbelly of its twin above, before shooting right back upwards, nose pointing at the sun. The trajectory describes a half loop leaving them upside-down for a milli second before Harry rolls them back to normal, in the end effectively realizing a vertical U-turn. Rogers skillfully avoids a fetal collision with the third wheeler but doesn't anticipate Harry's sudden volte-face, in accordance with Aella's prognosis.

"Fuck, we're losin' airspeed." Because of such a twist of direction, they are indeed relegated to a lesser speed which Harry is not too enchanted about.

"He's losing some too." Aella reasons, before jumping to another matter. "2 incoming bogies ahead. I think it's Berks tailing Dazzler." She's barely finished her sentence that two familiar aircrafts flash passed them at such high speed, Harry has to crane his neck backwards to watch his friends in the same predicament he was mere seconds ago.

"I have to cover them." His instinct takes over.

"Fly your needles Harry, it's too late for them." Aella objects to it straight away. Her mind is unbiased, she knows going for them would be pointless.

"Like hell I'm gonna sit tight, they need cover." Harry's voice is categoric like he couldn't ever fathom a world where he would leave his friends stranded for the sake of a mission.

"They already lost, Berks' gonna turn for us now."

"You don't know that." He replies adamantly despite her warning.

"Except I do. Daz was loosing speed, it's over for them." Now she's the one trying to stifle her frustration with all her might. She just wishes he would listen, but instead they're doing yet another 180 to follow Dazzler's trail to the rescue. She has no choice but to adapt and keep calling the positions.

"Contact ahead, four hundred, coming down. He's gonna turn."

"Not if I nail 'im first." If she weren't so bitter about being ignored, she might find his determination admirable. Admittedly she can't deny Harry is an amazing pilot, as are proof his excellent accuracy in space and timing as well as the ease with which he performs each maneuver. But alas, the git won't take her words for it, no matter how knowledgable she is. Talk about eyes rolling...

Meanwhile, Harry is desperately trying to aim for the TomCat launched in his direction, but his opponent is using the same tricks he used against Rogers.

"Shit, 's not stable enough to fire." Aella can't believe he has to audacity to groan about it to her. DIdn't she warn him?

Any shot is missed as the two aircrafts cross trajectories, nearly grazing each other

"Don't lag, he's gonna come around high at your five." Instead of commenting on his failed attempt, she communicates her best educated guess.

"How'dya figure?"

"Cause he was lagging too." Her retorts are getting sharper and drier as her annoyance grows the more he questions her. Her eyes take a rest from the screens on her panel to lay on the Californian landscape flowing passed them. They've wandered quite the distance away from the base, the relatively greener scenery of the seafront giving way to a craggy turf redder and drier by the meter.

"Fuck." Harry suddenly swears, the quality of his voice could rival the roughness of the ground Aella was just observing, and she's effectively brought back into focus.

"Damn it, I told you!" She indulges with an expletive of her own once she spots the fast-approaching signal of Berks unit on her AMDR (Air and Missile Defense Radar).

"The fucker got in my blind spot, I'm doin' my best." Harry is quick to defend himself but the damage is done: they're being chased down once again.

Aella thinks she's starting to reach her disgruntlement threshold. The fact Harry isn't much receptive to her ideas doesn't alleviate her growing frustration at her lack of control over the damn carrier. "Well step up before we get wiped." She spits.

"I swear to God Aella, now's really not the time"

"If you just listened to me for- Watch out! At your six, closing fast!" She desperately wants to tell him off. Wishes she could go on a rant about how much of a dismissing jerk is being, but her duties reins her in when a loud signal starts beeping frantically on her board. Berks is locked at their six, a press of a finger away from shooting them.

"I hear that" Harry grunts as he gives a sharp jerk at the control stick in order to dodge Berks' line of fire. He keeps jinxing the aircraft in all axis but Berks follows suit and matches all his moves.

"He's too fast, I can't get out of his fire range." Harry's heartbeat skyrockets as the situation becomes more dire by the second. He doesn't know how long he can maintain the zig-zagging going, for the sake of both his energy and the carrier's. Abrupt moves are what's currently keeping them safe but these are sadly the greediest in kerosene.

Then all hell breaks loose when Aella is hit by one of her craziest ideas.

"Try a complete thrust reversal of the turbofan engines."

"' the fuck?! Are you nuts?! It'll send us spiraling." Harry's livid. He knew it. He fucking knew she was impulsive and reckless on the edges. She held to much fire in her hands for him to put his trust in them like he wanted to.

"Precisely." His harsh reaction doesn't deter her confidence. "If you're out of control, he can't anticipate your moves, can he?"

"Are you even listening to yourself? That's a stupid idea if I ever heard one."

"It's not. You just have to switch back off the burners for a sec and you'll get the control back."

"And what if I don't?" She knows her calculations are foolproof but Harry won't have any of it. He can't think past the boldness and near-arrogance of it all.

"You will, just trust me." Once again, the words leave a bitter taste in her mouth, even more so because she knows he won't likely follow through with it.

"That's suicide mission Aella. I'm not doing it, that's final." The last two words are categorical, a way for him to officially close the conversation.

"Damn it!"

The theory of it was beautiful really, but Harry thinks in practical and surefire moves he knows won't send him six feet under before his time. Aella, on the other hand, has always relied on her infallible knowledge of astrophysics to enhance her flying experience. She's followed the same motto ever since she stumbled across a quote that inspired her beyond grasp. It goes something like "aviation records don't fall until someone is willing to mortgage the present for the future." And while she would never even entertain the idea of a reckless and immature move, her self-taught philosophy gave her access to a whole world of potential tricks most pilot couldn't even conceptualize.

Aella is in the middle of an attempt at regulating her breathing when she starts noticing the spinning arrow on her altimeter. Her head swiftly tilts to the side to get a brief snapshot of the crimson soil of San Diego's wasteland. They must be pretty far in the land if the upcoming sierra of rocky mounts is anything to go by. That's not what is retaining Aella's attention. No, she's more puzzled by the lack of space between her and the ground, the carrier grazing over pebbly elevations and lorn cactuses.

"Flathatting? That's your idea? Christ Harry, the trees won't save your ass." She figures if he doesn't bother being civil then she should drop her filter too.

"Leave it Aella. Just do your job."

"I'm trying!" She fires back.

"Just trust me on this."

Blank.

"Fuck you Harry, that's a two-way street." She's actually fuming. He had the balls to call her out on trust when he hasn't been returning the same courtesy. If she had the time to worry further about it now, Aella would be questioning if coming to Top Gun and partnering with Harry was really a life-changing opportunity. So far, she's had very few upgrades from the grim world she's been privy too.

"There's a split trail 3 miles ahead on the left." She was under the impression they'd stop talking in tacit consent but the rasp of Harry's voice through her headphones is no mirage. "I can lose him there. Can you read the positions please?"

She's tempted to give him the silent treatment but the fervid pilot in her wouldn't let her jeopardize a mission on such petty grounds. At least he was polite about his request this time. "He's closing on 300, nose up. Going by 800 knots."

"Roger that" Probably the closest thing to a thank you she'll get from him.

They're currently speeding through a gorge, tall cliffs of maroon stone fencing them on either side. Aella starts to question Harry's move as it restrains their room for maneuver but then he makes an extremely obtuse left turn and she gets it. The intimidating mount on their left actually split into two narrow canyons. At the speed they were going, one is most likely to take the second channel whose angle isn't as sharp as the one Harry chose. Only someone with previous knowledge of the surroundings would know how to successfully make that turn. It's then Aella realizes Harry has more insight on the environs than he lets on. His trick proves to be conclusive as Berks falls into the trap and enters the other passage.

"He's out."Aella simply confirms, before Harry veers upwards and back towards the base.

"Hunky-Dory." He utters in the same whispered manner he used before their take-off. "Now let's bug the fuck outta here."

The moment she has her two feet on the tarmac, Aella is scurrying over to a furious-looking Harry. Nostrils flaring, daggers in the eyes, they're both squaring their shoulders once nose to nose, or rather nose to collarbone. She doesn't give him the time to even part his lips before she's jabbing her pointer finger at his taunt chest.

"You prick! I got better things to do than to fill some empty space at the back of your stupid plane. If you don't want my insight you can shove it where the sun doesn't shine."

"Insight? You call that insight?!" He starts laughing jeeringly. "'s fuckin' madness is what it was. I can't believe I passed the mission with someone like you!" Harry doesn't even care to temper his disdain anymore. He's seen enough to make up his mind about her. He doesn't like her. Doesn't want to find out about the person inside because he doesn't like the pilot that she is. It reminds him to much of futile losses and irreparable hurt.

"Someone like me?" Aella's face turns sour and if it didn't make her look so sentimental, her eyes would be hosting a few pearls. She really thought he wasn't like those sexist jerks back home. Maybe not the warmest but at least respectful of her talent enough to appreciate her place in the Navy. Now she hates herself for entertaining the fantasy of ever having an ally flying by her side. "You're an asshole Harry, and certainly no better than Rex." Then before he can reply she storms off, too angered not to lose her wits.

And really, her last words don't sit well with Harry, because he knows she's not referring to the jerk's flying skills.

#harry styles writing #harry styles fic #harry styles series #pilot!harry #harry styles #Whirlwind #part2 #ofc #enemies to lovers #harry styles angst #creative writing

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thecloserkin · 5 years

Text

fic rec: we get dark, only to shine by anghraine

fandom: The Borgias (Showtime 2011)

pairing: Cesare Borgia/Lucrezia Borgia

word count: 168k, unfinished

Is it canon: Yes

Is it explicit: Yes

Is it endgame: Yes

Is it shippable: Yes

Bottom line: hi my name is asdfghhkl i’ve been in fandom half my life and this is without a doubt a top 5 fic for me. i mean i got to the end and i went right back to the beginning to reread it

This is a Season 1 AU where Cesare and Lucrezia are each other’s first loves, as they ought to have been. First of all I absorbed more Borgia history via this fic than three published biographies put together (Sarah Bradford, Lucrezia Borgia: Life Love and Death in Renaissance Italy; GJ Meyer, The Borgias: The Secret History; Christopher Hibbert, The Borgias and Their Enemies). I found myself looking forward to the end of every chapter so I could devour the footnotes. This is a meticulously researched, perfectly paced, ingeniously plotted gem of a story that made all the historical details relevant. It is also a very cerebral story, which is not to say it didn’t sucker-punch me in the gut, just that it isn’t rough around the edges — it is SHARP. Lucrezia and Cesare are whip-smart; all the secondary characters are smart; the author is obviously brill and you, dear reader, better bring both your brain cells if you want to keep up.

To set the scene, we are in Rome at the beginning of the papacy of Alexander VI aka Rodrigo Borgia, the first pope to openly acknowledge his children gotten out of wedlock. The primary thing to understand about the Borgias is they are FOREIGNERS. They are from Valencia and their native tongue is Catalan; and while Cesare, Juan, Lucrezia and Jofre may have been born in Rome, foreigners they will forever remain in the eyes of the xenophobic populace. Rome is a cesspit of backstabbing and the Borgias are an unusually close-knit, insular clan. Here is an overview of Cesare and Lucrezia’s codependent-from-the-cradle relationship, intensified ofc by the hostile environment of Rome:

At first, Lucrezia would scream whenever the nurse took her away, and sneak after him at all hours. Cesare scarcely spoke, except to her. They looked like kicked puppies.

Yet it had always been that way with them: Lucrècia a little queen reigning over their games, Cèsar devoted to her.

he never paid much attention to other women around Lucrezia, even when she was little more than a prattling child.

Cesare had woken with Lucrezia in his bed more times than he could count. At eight, twelve, a newly-returned sixteen, he often opened his eyes to his sister sprawled beside him or curled up under his blankets. On more anxious nights, when she had an unpleasant dream or felt particularly troubled, he would find her pressed against him

“When he left for Perugia, one might have believed him going to his gallows. Their letters must have stripped a forest.”

Ok not to be an incest junkie on main but shoutout to the Childhood Bedsharing Trope. “When he left for Perguia” is when he went away to university, leaving Lucrezia disconsolate. When he came home following this extended absence is when her feelings for him flowered into sexual desire. The fic opens on the eve of Lucrezia’s marriage to Giovanni Sforza. Her impending nuptials are causing her anxiety:

”But I am a Borgia. I should not be afraid of anything.” “Nonsense,” said Cesare, “I fear dozens of things, myself.” “You?”

So much to unpack here:

being a Borgia means never letting the world see your weakness

Lucrezia’s hero-worship!!! she obviously thinks he’s the bravest person she knows

Cesare confessing his vulnerability, his fears, chief of which is “I fear most of all for your happiness. I shall not be able to ensure it from so far.” i am y e l l i n g

To relieve her anxiety about pleasing her bridegroom, she convinces Cesare to give her KISSING LESSONS. That’s how it starts. Did someone say I Want My Brother to Be My First because I love this song.

“Is there no one else?” he demanded. She tilted her head inquisitively. “Is there a man you would rather instructed me? Really, is there another man you would permit to touch me? To even remain alone with me? Juan? Should I ask him instead?” “No!” Cesare scrambled to his feet.

She knows exactly how to push his buttons, doesn’t she? She baits him with the idea of another man touching her—specifically Juan, his archrival—an idea guaranteed to get his blood up, and Cesare instantly shoves his scruples aside. A kissing lesson ensues, Lucrezia is married shortly thereafter, and that’s how things stand when this fic diverges from canon: Cesare stops by Pesaro to visit Lucrezia.

Now we all know how Lucrezia’s first marriage went—her husband treated his horse a sight better than he treated her. And we see her struggle with telling Cesare the truth about the abuse, because the importance of the Sforza alliance must stay Cesare’s hand from his natural impulse to pulverize anyone who hurts Lucrezia. I like how this fic draws a distinction between the family’s reaction and Cesare’s reaction:

as soon as Cesare understood, he would be set on vengeance. Any brother would, even one less devoted than Cesare. Jofrè would probably cheer him on. Juan would have strung Sforza up already. And of course, Cesare was Cesare.

Juan and Jofre are her brothers too, and neither of them would have let Sforza’s behavior slide. Cesare, though, is on a whole other level. Cesare actually sees red. The most romantic thing he does in this entire story is play chess with Lucrezia all night to spare her the nightly ordeal of marital rape. That was the first night. The second day he has Micheletto loosen the girth of Sforza’s saddle to cause a nonfatal riding accident which—honestly it makes way more sense thematically for the brother who loves her more than life to do this, than for an untutored stableboy whom Lucrezia met 5 minutes ago to suddenly exhibit master assassin skills?!! Fuck canon, this is what happened. Also fuck insta-love, I’m so glad Cesare and Lucrezia are head over heels for each other rather than some randos.

His pulse quickened in his throat, yet it was nothing he had not seen before, when he read to her until she fell asleep, talked to her as she sulked in her room, sat at her bedside wiping cloths all over her feverish head.

I’m so soft for this!!! Tfw it’s not the physical proximity to your sibling—that part’s familiar—what’s new is your feelings shifting like tectonic plates?? Askjdfkdjfd.

The thing that really precipitates the affair is Lucrezia’s brute of a husband, obviously. This fic has one or two Giovanni Sforza POVS and it does such a great job of depicting that discomfort of being laughed at by people smarter than you. Sforza was strong-armed into this match and he feels slighted by the choice of bride—because she’s bastard-born, because she’s Spanish, he thinks he’s married down. This brings him into inevitable conflict with Cesare, who will brook no insult to Lucrezia on his watch:

“My sister, Lord Sforza, is a daughter of Rome. Roman-born, Roman-bred, Roman to her fingertips. Is it not so, Lucretia?”

The POWER of this line—remember when i said the Borgias are forever seen as outsiders despite being BORN IN ROME? i felt that.

Perhaps their mother was right, and she loved him too much. Too much, at any rate, to spare that kind of love for anyone else. Sforza was a monster, but if he had not been, she still would not have loved him.

Vanozza is very perceptive; she fears her children’s all-consuming love for each other leaves little room for other attachments AND SHE WAS RIGHT. To put it baldly:

They had spent their hearts on each other, all they had to give, with only scraps left for anyone else.

“I am your brother, Lucrezia … There is a word for this. I would not have anyone say it of you.” “A word for what? … For loving me more than the baronessa Ursula, or some other woman you only half-know?”

THERE IS A WORD, Cesare intimates. He won’t even say it aloud. But this black cloud of rumor and innuendo that hangs over their family is not going to dissipate just because they refrain from giving into their feelings. The first time Cesare heard someone call his sister a whore, she was literally four years old. They’ve had to guard their hearts their whole lives because there is no one they can trust outside the family — and yet the family itself is riven by strife and jealousy (Lucrezia has a good laugh when her maid mistakes “my brother is coming to dinner” for “the Duke of Gandia is coming to dinner”— as if Juan would ever visit her in Pesaro!):

“I am the only person in the world you love without qualification or resentment or confusion, aren’t I?” “Yes … Well. Some confusion.” “And yet you pull away from me. You have spent our lives pulling away from me, because--what? There is a word? You will not even say it. Why should we care if people who hate us, hate our blood and our language and our father, use one more insult? For heavens’ sake, Cesare, you yourself told me that this friar in Florence preaches against my hair.”

!!!! The dig at Savonarola I fell out of my chair looooool

“We have no real friends here, do we? We don’t even have allies beyond the Sforza. Everything depends on Papa. If anything happens, perhaps--perhaps it would be better to go home.” “We could run away to Valencia,” he murmured, eyes distant, almost wistful.

They never entertain this as a serious possibility because “anything is better than obscurity” and sry2say a modern AU is the only place these kids are going to get a happy ending. They’re too ambitious and fiercely protective of their family for aught else.

the affinity they’d always felt flaring to life, the certainty that he could depend on her abilities as well as her loyalties. Together they had outwitted Giovanni Sforza and all of Pesaro; now there was the Pope, their family, Rome, and then--all of Italy? The world? Why not?

I say again, HE COULD DEPEND ON HER ABILITIES AS WELL AS HER LOYALTIES. Because they’re a team. Picture Cesare and Lucrezia, weapons in hand, back to back holding off a horde of enemies—but like, metaphorically. That’s the kind of partnership they have, that’s the kind of trust they share.

he would put her before ambition and glory. Even their father had not … Cesare wasn’t like the Pope. He loved her more than anything.

Meaning there are things her father would put before her happiness, but there is absolutely NOTHING Cesare would not do for her. What woman could resist this utter unhesitating devotion when it is laid at her feet??

gazing at her with all the adoration he had never offered to God

He would never hurt me. If she knew nothing else, she knew that.

She resolves to consummate their relationship, despite all her knowledge of sex being bound up with pain. Like, she literally doesn’t know if sex can even be pleasurable for women, but she wants Cesare in the face of her fear, which is impressive and heartbreaking:

there were Roman courtesans who knew something of him that Lucrezia did not, and it was intolerable. She wanted everything.

Yessss she already has the rest of him, she just wants this one last piece of Cesare to belong to her too. And as for Cesare, this is the first & only time physical attraction and emotional connection have been united in the same partner:

he had never been one to stay in a woman’s bed, afterwards, but he felt no inclination to move.

She laid her hand against his face, rubbing her thumb over his cheekbone, gazing at him with her impossible mix of steady, companionable affection and rapture.

He had long known that he did not love anyone as he did Lucrezia; now he could not imagine desiring anyone as much, either.

What I love is that the romantic/sexual aspect is just another layer overlaid on what has always been the most important relationship in their respective lives; it doesn’t change the underlying dynamic:

“Have we been mauled by bears, do you think?” “Nothing so dramatic, I’m afraid. We would need scratches for that.”

This is them putting their clothes on after an assignation in the woods (they go riding a lot). What strikes me is the companionable tenor of their conspirational lies.

She relished each touch, yet there was something ordinary in it, familiar and commonplace. Your cross is crooked. Your cap is falling off. Let me adjust your sleeve. I can mend your tunic. They had always been peculiarly domestic together, a comfortable intimacy they never repeated with their brothers.

hello siblings being simultaneously incestuous & domestic is my kink byeeeee

“Cesare,” said Lucrezia, eyes widening, “am I your mistress now?” “You are Lucrezia Borgia. The Pope’s daughter and my beloved sister. The man who calls you anyone’s mistress will lose his tongue. As for you and I, we are what we are. I love you. We belong to each other. That is all.”

NO LABELS WE JUST BELONG TO EACH OTHER. Favorite favorite favorite line forever

His sister, his — lover? How could he give up either? What have I done?

Please picture me shoveling popcorn into my mouth as I type this. This is the pinnacle of everything I love about incest ships. You don’t fuck your sister unless you fucking mean it. It’s like you’re married from the first kiss. As Lucrezia explains later to someone who has ferreted out their secret: “He is not some lover to be mourned and forgotten. If I lose him over this, I lose him in everything.”

You can’t date your brother casually, the stakes are HIGH.

A lover is invented in order to explain Lucrezia’s love bites and torn clothing to her maid. Micheletto accepts this explanation as well, until one day he realizes the true state of affairs, and it’s such an innocuous little moment, it’s not like Micheletto wALks iN On tHEM or anything similarly dramatic, oh no. He is watching them—he is always watching—and he must have picked up on some subtle cue of body language or something bc all of a sudden it hits him they’re in love:

Valentino bent his head down; Lucrezia was saying something, Catalan, scarcely comprehensible through her heavy accent and giggles--Micheletto thought it had to do with the Duke of Gandía and a race. Whatever it was, Valentino whispered back to her, mouth against her ear, and they burst out laughing. There was no lover. He could not say, exactly, how he knew for certain then, with no proof, and not before or after. But he knew it. There were no others for them, no room for others: only Valentino and Lucrezia, and Micheletto watching over them.

The perfect encapsulation of this show tbh!!!

They are recalled to Rome to attend Joffre’s wedding to Sancia d’Aragon. They leave Lucrezia’s recuperating husband behind in Pesaro.

“If this all depends upon the impression that Juan makes--” “God help us,” said Cesare.

first of all, FINISHING EACH OTHER’S SENTENCES. but also, this is a delicate mission Juan’s been dispatched on—sent to Naples to woo Jofre’s bride—and i am l i v i n g as I watch Cesare & Lucrezia bond over their low opinion of Juan’s diplomatic mettle. it reminds me of that scene in S2E1 during the masquerade ball when Lucrezia asks Cesare if he can make her laugh, and IMMEDIATELY he causes Juan (who is dancing) to take a humiliating stumble and then Lucrezia & Cesare choke back giggles behind their masks. What’s great about returning to Rome is we get to see them interact with the rest of their family. The Pope is wroth with Cesare for staying so long away and for ignoring his summonses, but Cesare tells him the truth—that Lucrezia needed him:

“Your daughter, Holy Father, could wring concessions out of a saint, and I am anything but that.”

The audacity!! Cesare straight up confessed to fucking the Pope’s daughter but he said it flippantly, so Alexander heard what he wanted to hear.

Then there’s Giulia, who takes one look at Lucrezia and detects the glow of first love. Lucrezia fobs her off with the same story of a clandestine lover, assignations in the woods, etc.:

“Swear to me that you will not repeat what I have said.” “To your father? I already promised that.” “To anyone! … Father would separate us. Juan would kill him. If my husband discovered it …” Lucrezia shuddered. “That would indeed be a disaster,” Giulia said, “but I think you have forgotten someone, Lucrezia.” “What do you mean?” She touched Lucrezia's face. “Your brother Cesare.” Lucrezia absolutely froze.

BWAHAHAHA and then Lucrezia scrambles to convince Giulia that her secret is that Cesare is discreetly facilitating her affair, rather than the far more salacious secret that Cesare is her affair.

“Men,” Giulia said carefully, “say many things, Lucrezia.” “Other men,” said Lucrezia …. The very idea that Cesare might not love her!

And of course Lucrezia is in a v unique situation here but it is the lot of highborn girls in Renaissance Europe to be bartered off to seal an alliance; Lucrezia was raised to expect it. She did no more than her duty. She also recognizes the balance of power is never going to be in her favor when it comes to matters of the heart. With one notable exception, of course:

But Lucrezia had never shown the slightest inclination to guard herself from him. I love you, she’d said as soon as she could babble out the words, clambering into his lap, wrapping her arms about his neck, toddling after him, I love you best, I love you most. And now she declared herself dozens of times a day, in word or deed: whispering into his ear, laughing at his side, crawling into his arms when she could and watching him with a greedy, possessive look when she could not.

Cesare is the only one she trusts to never hurt her, whose interests are always aligned with hers, are never opposed to her family’s since Cesare is her family. The only wrinkle is, he can’t protect her adequately as he promised to. Cesare reflects that if the truth about the incest ever came out “he would be lucky to escape with excommunication, while Giovanni Sforza could violate her nightly and nobody would say a word.” The unjustness of this, the way patriarchy arrays itself in Sforza’s defense, galls Cesare to no end.

Another person who comes into their orbit in Rome is Jofre’s new bride, Sancia of Aragon. It’s historical canon that she slept with both Juan and Cesare; in this fic of course Cesare/Lucrezia are exclusive. Lucrezia can’t decide whether Sancia is predatory (she wants to bang Cesare) or suspicious (she has a hunch Cesare is banging Lucrezia). Either way:

Lucrezia wanted Sancia dead, or disfigured, or shamed--and she wanted her to leave happily with Jofrè--and she wanted Juan to take her away, to satisfy her with some kind of discretion--and for one mad moment, Lucrezia wanted everyone to know what Cesare was to her.

Sancia and Juan, by the way, conduct an outrageously indiscreet affair where their lovemaking is so obnoxious it keeps Lucrezia up at night. She does what she always does when she seeks solace: she crawls into Cesare’s bed. They’re young, they’re honry, they’re in love … but the sound of Juan pounding away at Sancia definitively kills the mood. Lmao. The next morning at breakfast Cesare & Lucrezia lay their complaints before Alexander, who gives Cesare a cardinal’s palace to live in and bids him take Lucrezia with him. So now the two of them move out of the papal palace into their very own palace. I mean, the possibilities are endless! Here is a gem from Sancia and Juan’s pillowtalk, where Juan’s assessment is simultaneously hilariously off base and 100% accurate:

“Cesare has always been a sanctimonious prude, if you ask me. At any rate, Lucrezia says he's having a fit of celibacy.” “Lucrezia?” Sancia said, nearly laughing. “What, he tells her about his—?” Juan snorted. “They probably tell each other about their bowel movements.”

Some of my favorite moments from this “Cesare + Lucrezia keeping house together” idyll: She visits him in the confessional, they hold a lengthy strategy conference about Sancia’s divided loyalties, and he wraps up with:

“Have you any other sins to confess?” “No … Well, I am guilty of the sin of lust, but you knew that already.”

LOOOOOL and how could I forget this:

She always wanted him: when he approached her, when he touched her, looked at her, when she thought of him, when someone mentioned his name.

I give you my main bitch Lucrezia Borgia, who fantasizes about being rawed by her brother WHENEVER SOMEONE MENTIONS HIS NAME. We stan a bona fide legend.

Ok so among the people they encounter in Rome are their cousins Isabel and Bernardo, who are also Borgias, and who independently unravel the truth re: Cesare & Lucrezia, which means that we get not one but two Outsider POVs which means I have probably died and gone to heaven. My friends TONIGHT WE FEAST IN VALHALLA. Ain’t nothing I love more than an Outsider POV angle on an incestuous romance, and in this case we are truly blessed because we get two. This is Bernardo as he listens to Cesare wax lyrical about his new paramour:

Yet Bernardo heard none of the wild passion or simpering folly of men in the throes of infatuation; Cesare looked and sounded less like a newly enthralled lover, and more like a man speaking of someone he knew well and liked a great deal. Bernardo felt a flicker of alarm.

Bruh you’re supposed to talk about your mistress’s tits not her personality clearly Cesare did not get the memo?? And this is Bernardo when the pieces finally click into place for him—he walks in on Lucrezia dyeing her hair:

A Spaniard, very fair? By nature? No, Cesare had said, half-laughing, and even then Bernardo caught the odd shift in his tone, from the adoration of a lover to an easy, familiar affection. And he remembered Cesare, indignant even for a young man in the throes of infatuation. She is not my mistress!

It’s the vehemence with which he denies it, the “not my mistress” part, that gives Cesare away. Because she’s not; she’s his everything. Bernardo cannot seem to wrap his head around how they can be both siblings and soulmates, since for him there is just no overlap between those categories:

Cesare certainly looked and sounded more brother than forbidden paramour. That, in itself, troubled him; if they had rejected the fact of their blood relationship in pursuit of their lusts, convinced themselves that they did not truly feel themselves family, pretended to be something other than what they were—well, that would have been bad enough. But they did not pretend. They acted less as if they willfully transgressed the boundary between siblings and lovers, and more as if they utterly failed to notice its existence.

Cesare and Lucrezia glanced at each other, their conspiratorial smiles alarmingly familiar. He’d seen those exact expressions on their faces before, dozens if not hundreds of times. They’d always had secrets, their little schemes and confidences, childish mischief. And now—what? Deeper secrets, more convoluted schemes, more dangerous mischief. Was that it? Did they lie together and think it little different from the rest?—altered in degree, but not kind? Did they … when had catapulting oranges at the unwary become a hidden incestuous affair?

This is Bernardo watching Cesare & Lucrezia argue about who “made the first move” as far as initiating their relationship:

he knew not whether he was witnessing a lovers’ quarrel or a sibling one. He felt uncomfortably that, subject aside, it sounded very much more like the latter.

I think part of Bernardo’s difficulty is the way patriarchy teaches men to think about women, and treat them as means to an end:

There were, after all, other ways to avoid a pregnancy—though in his experience of eighteen-year-old boys, they did not bother with such things, and rarely thought that far in the first place. But then, in his experience of eighteen-year-old boys, they did not fuck their sisters, either.

Because eighteen-year-old boys are typically in lust whereas Cesare Borgia has found the love of his life. Can we also take a moment to appreciate that Cesare and Lucrezia are eighteen and fourteen respectively?? This must be their canon ages. They’re not even fetuses they’re like, homunculi. I won’t bother to look it up since this author clearly has forgotten more details about the Borgias than I ever knew—as God is my witness I would take her footnotes with me to a desert island over 80% of the other fics in existence. Holliday Grainger was 22 when The Borgias started filming, and Isolde Dychauk was 17 in S1 of Borgia, and of course we’re used to Hollywood giving us thirty-year-olds playing high schoolers so it’s not as if Lucrezia’s been aged up an unconscionable amount, but wow, fourteen is young.

Isabel and Bernardo have another sister, Jeromina, whose husband’s neglect is indirectly responsible for her death in childbed. Lucrezia holds up poor Jeromina’s fate as a cautionary tale of what can happen to any woman who lacks a male protector in her corner:

”We are not speaking of Jeromina.” “Indeed not. Her brother never came for her.”

Shots fired!!! This is Lucrezia’s implied rebuke to Bernardo: that he wasn’t there for Jeromina, that Lucrezia’s own brother would never have let her down as Bernardo let Jeromina down. Later on Lucrezia even locates the origins of her incestuous passion in the same system that killed Jeromina—she describes loving Cesare thusly:

“Something I chose, for myself,” said Lucrezia. “Everything else has been chosen for me”

Excuse me while I emit a series of high-pitched pterodactyl noises. It’s a subject the fic touches on very lightly, but the topic of aristocratic girls falling in love with their brothers as a big middle finger to The Patriarchy? This is a topic NEAR AND DEAR to my heart.

Isabel is a woman and sees more clearly than Bernardo does that Cesare & Lucrezia’s attachment is not mere puppy love:

Nor did she believe that a passion built on lifelong intimacy would be easily broken.

Damn straight, this is the real deal. Isabel then takes a different tack—she suggests that Lucrezia is at an age where girls itch to exercise their power over men. Lucrezia grants her the justice of this observation but counters that she’d never use Cesare so ill:

“Do you mean to say that your distress was such that you would have seduced any man who cared for you? You chose your brother because … he was there?” ”I could not have seduced a satyr. Cesare desired me as I did him.”

I COULD NOT HAVE SEDUCED A SATYR lmao. But it’s true, she was bruised body and soul, and Cesare rode up like a white knight and the dam burst. It wasn’t inevitable, but a confluence of events forced them to reckon with their feelings. And once they crossed that Rubicon there was of course no going back. Because they fit and they’re perfect for each other obvs. Just look at my babies reminiscing about childhood hijinks:

“The night that Juan switched your glass with Mother’s,” said Cesare, “You were what, nine?” Lucrezia stared at him, then laughed. “Ten. I spent a wretched night, and morning too. What made you think of it?” “Only that we have shared every part of our lives,” he said. “There is nothing to hide or pretend. We already know everything there is to know.”

otpotpotpotpotpotpotpotpotp

I need to quote a few more Bernardo POV passages because that’s where Cesare gives us some declarations of love worthy of the ages:

”I cannot remember a time when I did not love her above all else. Above the family, the world, God. I remember nothing of any time when I have not lived for her, when I would not die for her.”

“Some degree of remorse would not go amiss.” “I regret nothing,” said Cesare. “And your—” Bernardo shook his head. “What do I even call her now?” “My sister,” Cesare replied.

tl;dr Cesare: I HAVE ZERO REGRETS NONE

“Tell me that somewhere in Italy, or Spain, or any other nation, exists a woman I could love as I have loved Lucrezia. Tell me that there is a woman who could understand me half as well as she does. A woman who would know me as I am, and not as the world or my father or anyone would shape me. A woman who would see my true nature without fear—see the mark on it—share it. Look me in the eye, Bernardo, and tell me there is any woman who is so much my own soul.”

If you don’t ship them after that speech then your mom’s a hoe, I don’t make the rules.

Cesare: I am sanctified in her.

Bernardo:

Narrator: Bernardo hardly knew where to look.

Me: ascends to a higher plane

Bernardo eventually comes around. He’s had longer than Isabel to adjust to the incest revelation, so he tries to soften the blow for her. This is the two of them comparing notes:

”The last time I saw them together, Cesare had his hand on his dagger half the time, and then they started arguing about which one of them was the more responsible, as if they’d stolen a pastry. He laughs about her hair. Outside of themselves, they treat the whole matter as a … a lark.” This aligned so exactly with Cesare and Lucrezia as Isabel knew them that she winced. Nevertheless, her dry voice didn’t alter. “How uncivil. They might at least have the courtesy to pretend that they regard the change as a matter of gravity.” “They don’t think they have changed,” he replied.

THEY DON’T THINK THEY HAVE CHANGED— winner winner chicken dinner. Finally he gets it.

So there is this ring. A family heirloom which belonged to their grandfather, which Lucrezia inherits from poor died-in-childbed Jeromina, and recklessly bestows upon Cesare. This is the visible token of her affection, this is her way of letting the whole world know what he means to her. The problem is that Isabel is the one who disbursed Jeromina’s effects, so she knows full well the provenance of the ring in question, and what it signifies that Lucrezia gave it to Cesare. Subtlety, these kids do not have it. Cesare openly wearing the ring clues Isabel in on the incest, which is maybe not the worst result ever because family is still family but damn kids you gotta be more careful. What happens next, though, is a scene that absolutely wrecked me. We get a a scene where they EXCHANGE RINGS:

“Isabel gave it to me.” Lucrezia clasped her fingers in her lap. “For my husband.” “Do you remember what I studied at Pisa?” “Civil and canon law.” “Yes.” His voice was hoarse. “Did you know that if a man and a woman consent together, the ring and vows alone bind them in marriage? The Church does not wish for unblessed marriages, but by precedent and decree, they are marriages nonetheless.” His cardinal ring rested still in her palm. Cesare closed her fingers over it. “Alexander III declared that if the parties concerned say I receive you as mine to one another, they are married as solemnly as if blessed by a priest.”

So he gives her his cardinal’s ring to wear. And when his father notes its absence on his finger he straight up admits Lucrezia made off with it, you know how i can’t deny her anything, and the dinner table conversation turns to another topic. Because Cesare & Lucrezia are apparently just Like That and everyone who knows them is used to it. For pete’s sake they are supposed to be the well-adjusted ones among the Pope’s children. Every other member of this family is further along the disaster spectrum than these two, according to Isabel’s internal monologue:

Cesare and Lucrezia, those oases of sense and proper feeling among Alexander’s children, committing incest. Adultery too, now that she thought of it. Perhaps. It depended on the particulars.

Adultery is almost an afterthought lol

Parenthetically I do wanna draw y’all’s attention to this passage:

“I will kill him. I swear to you, Lucrezia, I shall carve his heart out of his body and give it to you on a platter.” Lucrezia put a hand over his chest. “I don’t want his heart,” she said. “I want yours.”

The above passage has the same energy as this passage:

One night she had Jaime follow him, to confirm her suspicions. When her brother returned he asked her if she wanted Robert dead. "No," she had replied, "I want him horned." She liked to think that was the night when Joffrey was conceived.

That’s a Cersei POV and the thing about looking at Cesare/Lucrezia and Cersei/Jaime parallels is I feel like the former is usually more sinned against than sinning, and the latter is the opposite. Cersei doesn’t want Jaime, she wants Robert cuckolded, she wants to Show Them that she’s Lord Tywin’s daughter and nobody gets away with disrespecting her. Idk maybe it would have read differently if we’d had the same events from Jaime’s POV?

I realize that you guys don’t need any more reasons to love this fic but I want to end with the scene where Cesare’s gearing up to challenge Count What’s-His-Face, Ursula’s dumbass husband, for the insupportable insult he gave Vanozza at Lucrezia’s wedding. One thing I appreciate about Showtime!The Borgias over Canal+!Borgia is this Cesare’s relationship with his mom is much closer than his counterpart’s. His willingness to fight a duel for his mother’s honor demonstrates (1) that his sister isn’t the only woman he cares about and (2) that he puts his family first. Lucrezia’s “Return to me victorious” still slaps more than any line in actual canon, don’t @ me. In that moment, he could have slain Mars. “I will,” he promises her.

If I don’t burn

if you don’t burn

if we don’t burn

how will the light

vanquish the darkness?

That’s Turkish poet Nazim Hikmet writing about a folk hero who spontaneously combusted of love. In conclusion no one burns brighter than Cesare & Lucrezia, the actual loves of my life.

#cesare x lucrezia #Borgiacest #fic rec #cause of death

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split-n-splice · 4 years

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A chapter in which Drakken is a purveyor of human suffering and Shego is a bad apple. owo

[Chapter Guide]

5. Enabler – 2

Shego couldn’t help scrutinizing the twitchy man as he pulled out a small leather-bound notebook from under his newspaper and flipped it open to a blank page. He held out an expectant hand, but she just stared at it suspiciously, her glower asking a question she didn’t have to say out loud, which he read even with his dorky magnifying goggles on.

“You’re getting an upgrade,” he claimed. It did little to alleviate her suspicions.

She was reluctant to humor him, but offered up a single glove nonetheless and watched him carefully. The curious man examined the meager article of clothing, looking it over inside and out. He hem-hawed.

From a distance, there was nothing unusual about her gloves – they were just gloves. She’d been heckled by villains before that they looked like dishwashing gloves. Shego knew her own gear well though, and knew they were more than what met the eye, as Dr. Drakken was surely finding out now as he studied the clusters of pin-holes dotting the hefty fabric, the palms and fingers laced with tiny eyelets. At a glance, the pattern might appear to be for grip, but Drakken wasn’t so quick to dismiss them.

“These holes, they’re for…breathability?” he guessed.

“Doy,” was as eloquent a confirmation as he was going to get. He was too distracted to snip at her for the attitude though, and her guard slowly lowered as she studied him. The thought of an upgrade was both tempting and laughable, but she wasn’t laughing. “The gloves hold me back. I don’t even know why I bother with them,” she admitted.

Demonstrating on impulse, she held both hands over the countertop, palm up, and watched as Dr. Drakken flinched back when they flared with her bubbling green plasma. The glow radiating from her covered hand was noticeably dampened, physically rather than drug-induced, by restricting the amount that could escape.

She wasn’t proud as she explained, “GJ designed them to keep me from going overboard on the firepower. I got carried away sometimes. So they did everything they could to keep me dialed back without making me useless to them.” She shrugged meekly. Even without full power, she could serve a hell of a sucker punch and leave second-degree burns, though the whole point of being a hero was to help more than harm.

“I see,” muttered Drakken.

He relaxed when she snuffed out her glow and pulled her hands out of sight behind the counter, tucked safely between her knees.

The blue man began jotting down notes on the pad. “Your hands still need protection though, so an upgrade is in order. These are getting worn out anyway.” He tapped his pen on his chin, humming. “Subduing you won’t do. I’d rather amplify this glow of yours if possible.” When he caught a glimpse of her piqued interest, he smirked. “I’m sure I can find something to conduct it.”

Fixing her face with mask of indifference, she refused comment. As the blue man sketched and scribbled nonsense across two pages of his notebook, Shego began to shift uncomfortably across from him. She sipped her soda, unsure if she was free to go yet. After a couple minutes, she was about to slip off the barstool and leave him with the glove, but he spoke up again.

“Can you produce this energy from anywhere else?” he wondered without lifting his attention from the notebook.

That was an invasive question if she’d ever heard one.

Shego narrowed her eyes at him, leery once more. The deep-rooted fear of becoming a lab rat and subjected to studies reared its ugly head, but she beat it back. This guy had been bullied out of the driver’s seat earlier and could be pressured doing her bidding with stupid threats like breaking the seals on his hoard of pickles if he didn’t drive her to Cow-n-Chow. So if he thought he could turn her into a test subject, he had another thing coming.

In any case, if she was hoping to make anything of this stint with the rogue doctor, then complying could work in her favor. Especially if he was willing to engineer custom gear for her.

She swore she’d spat fire at him before, a long time ago, but she couldn’t be sure. She was tempted to try coughing up plasma-laced phlegm to see if that would jog his memory or at least answer his question, but she resisted. If nothing else, the spoken truth would have to serve as a warning that her fists weren’t her only weapons.

“I can,” she said vaguely, and held out her bare hand again to show him her palm, sans glow. “My hands are just convenient.” Channeling the energy to her hands was second nature to her now, and over the years they had become the only area completely desensitized to the fire aspects. Although she still had all her nerves intact, and she still felt it when he reached out for her hand. She fought the impulse to jerk it back as she let him have a closer look, unsure what he expected to find.

His mouth twisted into a frown as he inspected her smooth fingertips and palms, much more interested in the faint old scars and lack of identifying fingerprints than her freshly-painted nails. “Does it hurt?” he ventured. “The glow, I mean.”

She was becoming increasingly aware how rough his hands really were in comparison.

Shego shrugged. “Used to. Now it kinda just tingles. But I mean, the first time it happened – that was yow.” She laughed a little nervously at the recollection of blacking out from searing pain and the bandages she’d worn for some time afterwards. Discovering her power in a hospital ward in Global Justice’s custody wasn’t a fond childhood memory. “It took time for my body to adapt, but I got used to it.”

The rogue doctor gave another thoughtful hum. “How did you even acquire this glow?” he asked, dumbfounded.

Her smile was brittle and crumbled away even as she quipped, “Y’know, you’d know all of this if you’d stopped to read my file.” She otherwise refused to answer.

The geeky man must have realized by now that she wasn’t so open to talking about it, because he mumbled a sheepish apology for prying and released her hand he’d probably only just realized as well that he’d hung onto for way too long. He quickly shifted his attention away in favor of her glove and the notebook.

It was another moment before Shego spoke again. “So, you’re gonna upgrade my gloves?” she asked carefully, and when he nodded, she willingly forfeited the other. Folding her arms over the counter, she leaned forward and chewed on her lip as she watched him compare them briefly for any differences beyond color.

Shego couldn’t help smirking. “You could have just asked for the specs,” she snickered lightly, and tapped on the notebook where he was brainstorming some gibberish in the tiny illegible scrawl of a doctor. She hummed wistfully after another moment, musing, “I used to think it would be totally rad to have, like…claws. But it didn’t fly with big brother.”

“Claws,” Drakken echoed in disbelief, looking back up at her finally. “Isn’t that…I don’t know, a little tacky?”

“Says you. Those goggles and that polo shirt? Yeesh.”

Drakken grunted. His face was tinged with a funny shade of purple. “You want claws, I’ll make you claws,” he sighed agreeably.

“Seriously?” She considered telling him it was a joke, but was curious now if he’d deliver. A smirk quirked her lips. The whole thing was probably a huge waste of his time, but it might be fun to see how much of his time she could waste.

“Sure,” he groaned, and removed the magnifying goggles to rub his eyes and push his usual glasses back on.

As the man squinted down at his notebook, Shego caught herself staring, inwardly musing that he might be more intimidating without his nerdy spectacles – but that was only logical. The small accessory advertised a form of weakness, however trivial and necessary, which wasn’t conducive to aspirations of being feared and respected. “You should lose the glasses,” she announced flippantly, and acted before she could think twice about snatching them off his face.

“Excuse you!” he barked, reaching across the counter for them, but she held them out of range. “I need those. They aren’t a toy.”

“I’m tellin’ ya,” she twittered as she inspected the snatched eyeglasses and then him. “You’d look badass without them. It shows off your scar better.” As she slipped them on herself, she wondered inwardly if it was the same warped and clouded vision he experienced without them. She peeked over the rim at him squinting peevishly at her.

“I’d say you look cute, but I can’t be sure,” retorted Dr. Drakken dryly, as if it were meant to be offensive. “Unfortunately, I still need them, so fork them over.” He held out a hand, fingers beckoning for the return of his glasses.

She obliged reluctantly, and he finished a couple more notes before peering back up at her, his inquiring gaze lingering a little too long for comfort while she sipped on root beer. “How long have you been like this, anyway? How did it happen?” he wondered, though it felt more like idle chitchat now. She almost answered until he added, “Team Go sprang up just a few years ago and it was short lived, but—”

Guard shooting back up, Shego snatched her gloves back and fixed the startled man in a heated glare. “Where you snooping?” she accused, paranoia rising.

“Easy, Shego, easy. I wasn’t snooping,” Dr. Drakken defended calmly, hands up in peace. “It was on the news. I’m entitled to watch the news.”

It took a long moment balancing on the precipice of distrust before she backed away from that ledge. He had a point there. She couldn’t hold it against him, no matter how much she detested the thought of him knowing anymore about her than she was willing to share herself. It was information the general populace of Go City already knew anyway.

Shego set the gloves back down and breathed deep, but still didn’t answer his question.

Thankfully, Dr. Drakken didn’t press it. “I was only making small talk,” he muttered, and it seemed he was ready to drop the subject altogether now because he was tucking his notebook into the pocket of his trousers and circling around the kitchen island to rummage around in the freezer.

Shego relaxed slightly, sitting back down and swiveling in her barstool to watch his back and sip her soda as the quiet blue man tasked himself with preparing a TV dinner. Looking to the favored frying pan gathering dust up on the wall with all the others, she wondered when he’d last cooked a real meal for himself. Not that she was about to do it for him.

Watching him ignore her, she considered a bargain long and hard before she finally spoke up again. “I’ll tell you,” she called over. It wasn’t like that information hadn’t already been leaked anyway. Nonetheless, Drakken glanced over his shoulder inquisitively. “If you tell me what your deal is with the all the blue.” And if he tried to tell her it was because he had the blues, so help him, she might just hit him with plasma.

He turned to face her fully and just stared curiously for a moment. “You want to know why I’m blue?” he asked dumbly, as if no one had ever asked the obvious before.

She gave a halfhearted shrug in confirmation.

The man leaned back on the counter and frowned, rubbing his neck as if the subject was a sore spot, but he chewed it over and took a deep breath before giving her the gist of it. “Classic tale of an experiment gone wrong,” he said with a moody huff. “It wasn’t even mine. I was an intern at a research lab owned by some big shot, Gemini. Some damn top-secret experiment malfunctioned, I got caught in the crossfire, and there you have it. I’ve been reduced to just the blue freak ever since.”

“Gemini?” Shego uttered, blinking at him. Hearing that familiar name shouldn’t have been so surprising. Still, it was unexpected. She tilted her head questioningly. “Did he have a personal vendetta against the director of Global Justice?”

“Bingo.” He shot a finger gun at her. “How many Gemini do you think there are?”

Shego eyed him suspiciously for another moment, until the man began to shift uncomfortably. She racked her brains, connecting the dots, and took a wild guess as to the picture it formed. “You don’t happen to have superstrength, do you?” she asked with a small incredulous laugh, but Dr. Drakken only gave her a funny look. She took that as a negative. “Do you know what he was trying to do?”

The man’s brow furrowed at her, as if he was the one ill at ease now. Good. “Not a clue,” he said slowly. “It wasn’t my post. Why?”

She only smirked and waved dismissively. “Nothing.” She didn’t need any more details anyway to convince her that the whacked-out twin brother of Global Justice’s head honcho had been trying to recreate Team Go. Had Gemini ever succeeded, she was sure she’d have known about it.

Dr. Drakken made a pleading sort of whine and tapped a foot irritably, and he didn’t need words to convey he was displeased that she clearly knew something about his condition that he didn’t.

She denied an explanation though, instead scoffing to herself and shaking her head in amazement. She might share her suspicions later, if she was feeling nice. “Small world, that’s all,” she mumbled.

“Indeed,” grumbled Dr. Drakken. He spun around and slumped over the counter to watch the microwave, as if there was really something of interest was going on in there. “Your turn, Shego.”

But Shego smirked wryly, leaning back on the counter and crossing her legs, giving her foot a bounce. “I said I’d tell you. I never said when I’d tell you,” she teased.

Drakken groaned. “Of course.” He hung his weary head, though it was counterproductive in trying to rake his hair back as he ran his hand through it. He waved dismissively at her, ordering, “Be gone, then. Dementor is bound to want payback, so go watch the surveillance or something.”

“Aye-aye, captain,” she said, hopping off her barstool and leaving her gloves and a smashed soda can behind. She had more engaging company to track down.

Shego had to mindfully keep her pace in check until she was out of Dr. Drakken’s personal living quarters, and from there she all but skipped through his workshop and down the twisting flight of stairs. She didn’t even pause to check the surveillance feed, taking the shortcut through the office to hit up the rec room in henchmen’s forbidden domain.

She’d found a routine over the course of the first week, the scenario quickly becoming part of her daily ritual. Dr. Drakken would unwittingly put her on surveillance watch, and while he was busy tinkering in his lab or vanished into the depths of the lair, Shego might order some pushover henchman to the CCTV desk in her place while she occupied herself with the rest.

They were all threatened to keep her prohibited visits on the down low, though she sensed threats of knuckle sandwiches weren’t what kept them quiet. More likely, the thugs just didn’t want her ban being reinforced. She was fine with that, to an extent.

It was unfortunate she wouldn’t have the enjoyment of breaking the tantalizing rule of don’t mingle with the henchmen for much longer. By day, she made it her business in the lab to annoy Dr. Drakken at regular intervals with trivial things like mocking how creepily engrossed he’d become over a stupid pair of gloves, or by refusing to budge from his cushioned computer chair when she was ordered to come test the effectiveness of new adjustments. He would be sick of her by evening and tell her off, usually shooing her down to the office, when she could slack off and go join the guys.

Eventually, she was caught red-handed.

++X++

The special order had been a welcomed distraction from the monotony of constructing power staves of a short life expectancy and shorter warranty for a villainous client. After several days of several scrapped prototypes to give him grief, Dr. Drakken at last finalized what he hoped would the last set of custom gloves he slaved over for a while.

Just as he applied the finishing touches, something missing began to nag at him. He poured over a mental checklist and looked over the new-and-improved gear, but that wasn’t it.

He was ready to proudly present the polished product of his handiwork when he discovered he was alone.

Which shouldn’t have been so damn disheartening.

Over the past couple weeks, he’d begun to get used to not being the only soul in the lab, whether he liked it or not. If it weren’t for the aloof subordinate’s nitpicking or devotion to being a nuisance, he might say he enjoyed the company, even if she wasn’t much for conversation. There was something relieving about having someone other than himself to divulge his process to at least, even if it did go in one ear and out the other with an occasional scoff or snarky remark he had to decipher as feedback.

So when Drakken turned around to call for her, the name died on the way out as he scanned the hollow cavern of his lab. He pulled back his sleeve to check his watch, brow furrowing. It wasn’t even noon yet, and he couldn’t recall dismissing her. The subordinate wasn’t duty-bound to stay by his side though, so he shook off the undue disappointment.

He checked his living quarters, expecting to find her scrounging up a lunch in his kitchen or lounging on his couch watching television. When he didn’t find her there, he prowled across the lair to her bedroom and rapped on the door, ready snip at her if he found she was napping, but he received no response. Boss or not, he grudgingly accepted the potential for repercussion if he were to invade the volatile woman’s privacy by simply opening her door to steal a peek.

His next course of action was to stalk down the hall and to his office to scan the surveillance feed in hopes of pinpointing where the elusive woman had strayed off to.

When he did find her, he was none too pleased with where.

Skipping the intercom, he set off at once, winding deep into the lair, to order her back to the lab in person. It was good to show his face to rest of his subordinates once in a while anyway – to at least remind them who the boss was around here.

Drakken stepped out on the catwalk that ran through a spacious man-made cavern serving as the gym, and glared harshly down at the scene below him. His frown quickly dissolved as he stared, puzzled.

For a minute, Dr. Drakken wasn’t sure if he was watching interpretive dance or a genuine quarrel among the four involved below. The swings and kicks of the henchmen held a very real force behind them, but the former superhero ducked and dodged with fluid movements and feline grace. She must have had the situation under control, because when she held up her hands to signal for a timeout, the men froze and allowed her to go along physically manipulating stances and chiding them before they resumed at her goading – or order? – to come at her like they meant it.

By the bruises and welts blemishing their faces, Drakken surmised that this wasn’t the first time they’d had such a session, but what began as a sparring exercise escalated as the men became increasingly frustrated with the newcomer continuously besting them. Drakken watched as their demeanor began to slowly change as their tempers rose, and he gripped the guard rail as he waited with baited breath for some sign it was time to intervene.

In a maneuver that made Drakken wince, he watched as Shego dove at one goon and flipped him over, pulling a backbend to slam the brute on his head. She proceeded to bounce away in time to evade another henchman charging at her with his fists flying. She laughed meanly as he stumbled over his fallen comrade, and she turned to try catching the third to attempt the move again, perhaps to test if the bumbling idiots would fall for the same trick twice. This one had wizened up and avoided her hold, but while she was dodging his punches and kicks, she managed to slip behind him, and even Drakken was surprised when she seized him by his belt and wife-beater, hoisting the thug clear over her head to toss him into another.

Even without her glow to aid her, she was stronger than she looked. She must have a touch of superhuman strength too, Drakken decided as he studied the woman jeering as his men, coaxing them onto their feet to attack her again. The sparring carried on for a few more minutes, the newcomer smiling and laughing in delight every time she got the better of the henchmen she toyed with.

Shego was rather enjoying herself. The henchmen, not so much.

And strange as it was, Drakken might have been enjoying it a little bit too, because he folded his arms on the rail to loiter, watching the show with profound interest. True, there was some shame seeing his men defeated with such ease, but he still smirked at the flicker of glee to have someone better than them on his team.

Some minutes later, two men still left standing managed to get the best of her. While one distracted her, the other swept a leg under her heels from behind, her reaction time just an instant too slow. As she fell back with a startled yelp, the men closed in, one of them snatching her arms so she couldn’t catch herself and bounce back up, and the other grappled for her ankles. Her smile was replaced with a disgusted sneer. Shego’s amusement had vanished as they fought to pin her down while she writhed and gnashed her teeth at them as she swore orders to let her go.

One henchman on the sideline nursing a black eye shouted at the active players to watch out for her hands, but the fools didn’t heed his warning as they scrapped with her on the floor.

Drakken couldn’t believe their impudence as the henchmen’s objective became crystal clear. One kept a secure grip on her wrists and the other fought past her thrashing legs to her belt. She was clearly not enjoying the roughhousing anymore as she spat a final warning at them to back off or else. Orbs of plasma were charging up in her hands when Drakken whistled sharply for attention.

Everything halted, if only for a split second.

The startled men released her and backed off abruptly when they finally realized they were being watched, and Shego hastily leapt to her feet, stumbling as she whirled on the men to discharge her plasma blasts at them as they scrambled out of the way. By the shouts of alarm, the two oafs having a go at her hadn’t known about her superhuman gifts.

The livid young woman turned her back to all, her head down and mane of hair sparing her from having to look at anyone for a moment while she fixed her belt and checked her zippers. She took a moment to calm own, heaving and visibly reigning herself in as she flexed her fingers, glow flickering erratically until it ceased.

She didn’t thank Dr. Drakken for the intervention, oh no. Instead she glared at him up on the bridge above, her lips pulled back over her teeth in displeasure as if he were the one in the wrong here. “I didn’t need you calling off your dogs!” she snapped indignantly up at him. She spat in their direction for good measure as she retreated up the staircase to join him, the steel rattling with each hasty stomp.

“Oh, I know you could destroy them if you wanted,” Dr. Drakken said airily, hoping to let it go for the moment. Though it did give him an idea for cruel and unusual punishment. He glared down to the henchmen returning to their exercises, but they didn’t look terribly shamefaced for attempting to assault the new recruit. Something about the grins the two instigators exchanged was enough for Drakken to go with his gut and write them off.

“Don’t disappear on me,” Drakken called to the newcomer’s back as she made for the exit ahead of him. “I need you in the lab.”

“Whatever,” she snorted.

Drakken almost snipped at her to watch her tone when speaking to him, but thought better of it.

On the way back to the upper level, the woman slowed her stomp. She combed her fingers through her hair and smoothed down her uniform, and double-checked her belt to be sure everything was in perfect order. Finally she threw a glare over to Dr. Drakken as they entered his office, and he knew the elephant in the room hadn’t disappeared just because they’d left the henchmen back in the gym.

“Here’s the deal, Doc,” she ground out bitterly. “If you wanna keep me around, you’ll get rid of them.”

He blinked over at the tense scowling woman stalking alongside him. He might have already planned their dismissal on impulse, but the subordinate’s command still surprised him and elicited an obstinate reaction. “What makes you think you’re more valuable than them?” he retorted in reflex, not especially happy to be bossed around to such degree.

Shego scoffed. “Because they’re a bunch of Henchschool dropouts and have to tag team for more than an hour just to wear me out enough to knock me down,” she answered, following him up the stairwell. “I’m not working with sex offenders that are gonna try pulling some sleazy shit on me. That goes for you too.”

“Understandable,” Drakken grudgingly grumbled, and he swore he could feel the daggers gouging into the back of his head. He’d have to brush up on everyone’s records. “Whatever happened to them being a bunch of pansies? I thought you wanted to hang around hardened criminals and lowlifes.” If it had been an attempt to lighten the mood, he’d failed miserably, quickly realizing she didn’t find his teasing humorous when he peeked back.

The woman snorted again and sneered, “Not the kind that are gonna turn on me like animals.”

He shook his head, grimacing. “It comes with the territory, Shego. If you had stayed away from my men like you’ve been told, they wouldn’t be a problem,” he argued weakly, but suddenly she was a step above him, looking down at him as she poked him hard in the chest, her glare burning into him. She could push him down the stairwell to his demise if she wished. It was pretty steep, and he was suddenly all too aware he’d never had a handrail installed.

“It’s me or them, Dr. Drakken,” she seethed venomously. “This is nonnegotiable. I mean it. They go or I go. What’s it gonna be?”

Dr. Drakken held up his hands in peace. “Okay, you,” he hastily agreed before he could overthink it. “I choose you. Henchschool dropouts, as you put them, are dime a dozen, but there’s only one of you. I’ll review staff tonight, if it makes you happy.”

“Good,” Shego said arrogantly, and turned back up the stairs, leaving him to tug his collar and hope she hadn’t seen the sweat on his brow. “You know, if you didn’t have that kind of criminal on your team, maybe you wouldn’t have to worry about them acting out of line.”

“What can I say? They’re cheap,” Drakken admitted unhappily behind her. “It was never an issue before.” It wasn’t like there was a foolproof way of weeding out such seedy fellows, but he wasn’t about to argue the matter here on the staircase, no matter how tall the order.

Shego peered back at him with a withering glance that told him she would be holding him to his word, but for now that was the end of the discussion.

++X++

Back up in the nerdy tech lab littered with scrap fabric and half-built staves, the rogue doctor wasted no time in handing over the new and improved pair of gloves.

The old pair from Global Justice was looking rather shabby in comparison, fiber frayed around the knuckles, and signs of wear around the palms as well. Shego was happy to toss them aside. Inwardly thrilled that the self-proclaimed mad scientist had actually come through for her, she kept a lid on her eagerness as she pulled on the brand new custom pair.

The new set looked slightly less like dishwashing gloves, with lightly padded knuckles, and sleek and slim-fitted over the fingers for dexterity. Seamlessly incorporated into the tough specialized fabric at the fingertips were the so-called claws she’d requested in jest and had tried to tell him so repeatedly. Though she was sure he’d added them to remind her to be careful what she wished for, she was still pleased by the surprisingly natural feel of the unobtrusive extensions.

More importantly, the hand protection didn’t hinder her glow at all – and most shockingly of all, her glow was indeed amplified to some degree, just as promised though she wasn’t even sure how he’d managed the feat. It only took one flare up to find out that much.

The new set of gloves fit like a dream to boot, but she knew that much from earlier prototypes. It was still something else to see it all come together in a finished product.

Depending how they held up, she might have to finagle more out of him.

Shego’s smile fell and she jumped when the blue man cleared his throat behind her. Wearing a strange sneer that almost passed as a smirk, he suggested she take the new gear out back to put them to the test. She hadn’t been outside in days, not even for a smoke break, and the thought of fresh air – along with releasing pent-up energy and getting a feel for what her new liberating gloves were capable of – was effective in bringing the smile back to her face.

She expected Dr. Drakken alone to accompany her. She was wrong.

He stopped before he could exit the lab with her, humming as a thoughtful look crossed his face, and turned back. She was told to wait outside for a surprise.

She wasn’t sure if she liked the prospect of a surprise, but she wasn’t kept waiting or guessing for long. As much as she itched to blast something while she waited, she resisted taking it out on the parched pines climbing up the slope beyond the expanse of blacktop wrapping around side of the oversized garage.

When he joined her, she was sure she didn’t like the surprise, whatever it was. Not keen on being made an exhibition, it had her frozen with a sort of stage fright as his crew of henchmen marched out from the side-door of the garage after him. Approximately a dozen rugged men – she didn’t stare long enough to count – congregated, all in red jumpsuits. The masks that usually concealed the better half of their faces were removed, but the broken dress code was the least of Shego’s concerns.

Dr. Drakken came to stand beside her, giving her a wry smirk, and motioned for the gangliest of his crew. The youngest henchman scurried out hastily to set up a row of plywood dummies for target practice and retreated back to the audience just as quickly. The rogue doctor then gave Shego’s back a small push and curt words of encouragement, “Go on. Show them.”

Her fists balled at her sides. She wasn’t so sure about being put on display like this. She’d spent enough of her life being a spectacle.

The chief must have read her hesitation, because he frowned at her and then turned to address his crewmen with biting authority, pacing like a drill sergeant with hands gripped behind his back. “There seems to be some confusion lately. It seems some of you think our newest addition is a secretary, or here to be your plaything,” he barked at his crew, dripping with derision as he issued a warning. “Make no mistake. A lovely little thing she may be, Shego here is your superior, and may God have mercy on the next man to lay a hand on her.”

The booming tone of his reproach was jarring compared to the softer indoor voice used whenever he wasn’t worked up or hollering across the lair. It surprised her for a second, but she reminded herself he was an aspiring villain after all, and most had to put on a mean show if they wanted to be taken seriously, especially by a bunch of thugs as underpaid henchmen tended to be.

“Flatterer,” she hissed under her breath. Her face was hot. It was an underhanded way of goading her on, even if superior sounded nice. She took it with a grain of salt though.

Returning to her, Dr. Drakken narrowed his eyes and impatiently ground out through his teeth, “Hurry up and light some fire under their asses, Shego. Don’t keep me waiting.”

Her reservations aside, Shego swallowed and nodded despite the onlookers watching her back. As she had so often in Go City, she tried to pretend they weren’t there as she let her clenched fists ignite. Four throws was all it took to reduce four dummies to a mess of splinters and flaming debris. It was overkill. Without her medication and old gloves, it was too easy to overcharge the blows, but the gloves held up. She’d really have to practice discipline now, she realized.

Nonetheless, she took a deep steadying breath and stared in wonder at her own hands. Her lips quirked into a smile, which Dr. Drakken caught and mirrored tenfold.

The man got his grin under control as he came to stand perhaps a little too close and fearlessly considering he’d just watched her obliterate targets with ease. “Well?” he pressed, lowering his voice to keep it between them. “How’s it feel?”

It was a stupid question when the answer was written on her face already. Between the new liberating gloves and having prescribed suppressant out of her system, she felt glee bubble up and escape in a small laugh. “Amazing,” she confirmed a little too happily. If she weren’t suddenly aware they were being watched by an audience, she just might have hugged the man for making such freedom possible – but she quickly locked that notion away. Such gratitude would be unbecoming of her now.

He was sidestepping away anyway, clearing his throat. He fixed the crew in a deep scowl. “Any questions?” he called out brusquely, but the crew remained silent. He stroked his chin as he paced along the row, and picked out two men from the crowd, beckoning them forward with a finger rather than by name. Either of the men could have flattened Drakken if they so wished, yet they humored him with hateful glares he appeared to willingly overlook.

Shego’s stomach lurched as she glared back at the loathsome men who’d made an attempt to rough her up mere minutes ago. Sure, she still burned with malice, but she couldn’t help flicking a disconcerted glance to the blue man presenting them to her as if they were gifts. Dr. Drakken’s smile didn’t reach his eyes, and he raised his brow expectantly as he nodded to them.

She had a hunch what was coming, but she was done. Demonstrating her capability on wooden dummies for the ignorant crew was enough. Still she had the gut-wrenching suspicion he had every intention of pushing it further. There was no reason to push it further, and yet—

And yet, Dr. Drakken was speaking loud and clear again. “Since they thought they could have their way with you, why don’t you return the favor and have your way with them, hm?”

Both humiliated and put on the spot, her skin crawled as she studied the grave mask of malevolence Dr. Drakken wore as he shoved the larger of the two men roughly toward where the incinerated targets had stood.

Shego stared at the new dummies standing rigid in their place. Live dummies.

Even if they deserved a lashing and she had reason enough to bear a grudge against the men, she wasn’t sure about raising a hand to them as they were. She would have wailed on them in the gym minutes ago had Drakken not interrupted, but now they were just standing there among the cinders and ash, doing nothing more offensive than giving her ugly looks.

Shego glanced to Dr. Drakken again, waiting for him to laugh and say it was all a twisted joke, but the stoic man stood to the side with his hands behind his back, reminiscent of a bailiff watching men on trial.

She was frozen like a deer in the headlights, stunned with disbelief at what was expected of her and entirely unsure how to proceed with dishing out punishment. Her fists curled as she weighed how badly she wanted to see them hurt.

After another moment, Dr. Drakken stalked back to her, shaking his head in exasperation, and grabbed her roughly by the arm. She almost twisted away. “Shego,” he hissed quietly. “You’re making me look bad. Show me you can be merciless.”

“But—,” but she was interrupted before she could articulate an excuse.

“Need I remind you, had you been any ordinary girl, these men would have hurt you. Horrendously. So punish them already and get it over with. Kill them if you want. They’re expendable.”

“Kill?” she uttered in surprise. She’d been at least partially responsible for deaths before – by mistake – in the heat of the moment – but it couldn’t be proven she was to blame for the casualties. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see the goons on display pay after what they’d tried, but murder might have been a touch too severe.

Suddenly one of the men on trial made the dire mistake of calling the bluff, and not in a particularly clever way. “Pussy,” the thug coughed under his breath. The man was cracking. The moron must have decided to let his mouth go unchecked if he was on death row for a little misconduct. “What’s wrong, boss? You sore the mistress is a slut?”

Like she hadn’t been called names before.

Before Shego could roll her eyes, the crack of a gunshot split the air and the offender jumped, crashing into the other at the spark of a bullet striking the asphalt where he’d stood a moment before.

“Do something to them, Shego, or I will,” Dr. Drakken snarled over to her, only lowering his revolver slightly. She recognized it. So it wasn’t just for show.

“I thought you were above using those,” Shego snapped, stepping back from him. She could understand now why the henchmen avoided stepping out of line.

Dr. Drakken waved the gun in a dangerously flippant manner. “Well sorry if it’s tactless!” he drawled bitterly. “It’s effective, and this isn’t the time to argue about villain tradition. Show these men you are not to be reckoned with, Shego. That’s an order.”

“What do you expect?” shouted the moron who was lucky to still have toes at the moment. “You hired a hero!”

Nasty names she could handle. Nastier idiots mistaking her for an easy target she could handle.

But like a magic word, it was that accusation that set her off, and she didn’t need any more encouragement than that. If the vile thug wanted a fight, he could have it. She’d show them just how much of a hero she was.

Letting a furious scream rip, Shego lunged into action to make an example of the offender before Drakken could shoot the fired henchman himself. Hand blazing hot – too, too hot – she let the swipe come down before the goon could dodge, connecting with the man’s torso with enough power to shred through his overalls and carve into the unthinkable beneath. A hot knuckle sandwich and the heel of her boot weren’t the taste of her they’d wanted, but it was what they got as they tried and failed to fight her off. One tried to flee, but he didn’t get far – as one plasma shot to the back and he was down for the count. He was the luckier of the two.

This time there was no intervention in the brawl, not that it lasted long enough for anyone to try.

Her brothers were thousands of miles away, but in her head, she could hear them screaming at her to stop over the roar of blood and her own scream in her ears.

Once the men were down, her fury died as quickly as it had been kindled. In no time at all, she’d overdone it, and she didn’t stop to wonder how many teeth she’d knocked out as she leapt back from the whimpering bloody pulp she’d been laying into.

Shego left the battered men sprawled on the ground as she abandoned the brutal scene without a glance back. She examined her knuckles as she went. The new gloves were sullied and in need of a good wash, but otherwise they had held up well, and the sharpened tips served a function after all, though she didn’t want to think too hard about it or that Hugo had been right that they weren’t too conducive to hero work.

Dr. Drakken barked an order for the offenders to be taken care of, and then he wasn’t far behind her, although he kept his distance.

#The Company You Keep fic #drakgo

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