#.....yeahhh... *finger guns* THIS is what I made in the past week

[star--anon]

The Greatest Victory Is That Which Requires No Battle

I really hope you guys like long fics because this one's 3,766 words and barely, like, 1/4 of that is actually tkle shit the rest is me having fun and being dumb

Stealing the idea I had here because SELF-PLAGIARISM BITCH

oh and I think I shared the phone idea with someone but I don't remember who

·:*¨༺ ★ ༻¨*:·.

It was just meant to be a training session. Combat training. Sparring session. Sword fighting. Call it whatever, but it wasn't meant to be serious. 

But it was.

Because if Tommy and Philza were watching, it was one thousand percent serious.

It was also one thousand percent not in his favor. 

Because he was fighting Technoblade of all people.  

When Phil had asked him and Tommy if they wanted to accompany him and Techno to go sparring, Wilbur had thought he would get a nice, premium seat to a fight between the Angel of Death and the Walker of Whispers. 

And for the most part, he did. But, he did not think Phil was also going to randomly pat his back and say, "You could try fighting Wilbur. He's good with a sword.", and send him off to fight Technoblade. 

He was going to die. 

Wilbur did his best to hide his nervousness and readjusted his grip on his wooden sword. He convinced himself he was at least going to die by the hands of Technoblade which carried no shame, and then began circling the piglin. The two walked in circles for an agonizingly long time before Wil realized Techno was waiting for him to start. He hesitated, unsure if he should draw out his last living moments or just charge and hope to take the piglin by surprise. 

His hesitation was noticed. 

With two fast strides, Technoblade cleared the space between them and swung his sword. Wilbur hastily lifted his to block and got knocked to the ground from the ferocity of the attack. He stumbled, and Techno paused, guilt and pity clear on his face. 

Something about the pity made him angry. He didn't need pity!

A short cry tore itself from his lips as he struck back. For a while, the two pushed back and forth. Sometimes, Wilbur grew convinced his death was near. Other times, Wilbur somehow managed to nick Techno. 

Pride coursed through him until he noticed Phil watching the two amusedly. Fondly.

He's holding back, Wilbur suddenly realized. And of course he was. Did he really think he could even come close to beating Technoblade? He had almost been brought to his knees on Techno's first swing. 

Something about that disheartened him. It was strange to be upset that Techno was holding back — he had, after all, been convinced just a few moments ago that he was going to die — but he was still upset. 

So when the piglin sharply struck the flat of Wilbur's blade, he let it fly out from his hand. Technoblade's wooden sword flew up to his neck. 

"Dead."

I wish, Wilbur grumbled in his head. 

As the four walked from the training clearing back home, Tommy kept stride with Wil and rambled about everything he thought was cool about the fights. 

"And did you see Techno's sword?! It went poof, and then..."

Wilbur felt an emotion. It was a strange emotion.

"...but it was so cool! I never knew Philza could make his wings go all iron-y and metal-y! Did you?"

It was jealousy. And as much as Wilbur hated it, it was there.

"You were very good back there," a voice murmured. Phil pat his shoulder a few times, then sped up to talk to Techno, who was stoically walking in front of them all. Wilbur watched the two chat and wondered what they were talking about. Probably about adult stuff. Like taxes.

Tommy kept babbling, "And then Philza did that cool kick-flip-spin thingie and-"

"Why don't you go tell Techno how cool he is then, Tommy."

The thought seemed to terrify Tommy. So much so that he abruptly stopped talking. 

"No thank you," he quickly said. "He's scary."

"Scary?" Wilbur hollowly echoed. Jealousy roared inside him. He fruitlessly tried to strangle it. Tried to deny it. 

"Yeah. He's got scars and stuff."

I have scars too, y'know. But Wilbur didn't voice those thoughts, because those were thoughts tainted with jealousy. And he wasn't jealous. Not one bit.

—

Wilbur found himself feeling incredibly jealous after that night. 

Because Tommy was right, really. 

Technoblade did have scars, was pretty scary, was better at combat, and was overall just... cooler.

It really began to hit him when dirt was pressed against his cheek, his arm was pressed almost painfully against his back, and he felt a tiny prick on the back of his neck where Technoblade had a wooden sword pointed at him.

"If I had a proper sword, I could remove your head like I would an apple from a tree with about as much effort."

"Thanks," Wilbur grunted. "Can you let me up now?"

With a shove, Technoblade sent Wilbur sprawling into the soft dirt of the clearing. He quickly scrambled back onto his feet.

"How come you keep beating me?" he roughly demanded. Well, he meant for it to come off as a casual question, but his frustration bursted forward and heated his words.

Technoblade raised an eyebrow at his tone. "Because," he lightly said, "I've had centuries of practice and have fought in hundreds of wars. It'd be alarming if you could beat me, wouldn't it?"

"I can't even touch you."

"Most cannot."

The two began to circle each other once more. Wilbur held his sword to his side, far too exhausted to lift it. Technoblade seemed almost the exact same as when they had began, only the right side of his tunic was torn. The only blow Wilbur had managed to land. 

"Most?"

"Philza Minecraft."

"Mmph."

Technoblade feinted for Wil's left leg, causing him to leap backward. Annoyance quickly buried what fear he felt a moment ago.

"Anyone else who can touch you?"

"Tommy, but only because I let him."

Another flash of jealousy.

Before he could overthink it, Technoblade ran at him again, and Wilbur struggled to hold his ground for the hundredth time. Soon enough, he found himself pressed to the ground, struggling not to sneeze as dust settled from his and Technoblade's relatively short scuffle.

"Dead," Technoblade said, emphasizing it with a light jab of his sword to Wilbur's exposed ribs.

"Thank you."

Technoblade flashed him a dry grin. "You're welcome."

The two glared daggers at each other, and then Technoblade stood up and allowed Wilbur to haul himself to his feet. The younger man eyed at the wooden sword in his hand for a moment, then tossed it to the ground in disgust.

"Forget this," he muttered, and then he turned and walked away, grumbling to himself.

Technoblade flicked an ear. He wondered if Wilbur knew a piglin could hear better than a human could. Or if Wilbur knew the piglin was perfectly aware that he was quietly hoping that his pillow would always be warm on both sides.

Wilbur didn't seem interested in returning, so Technoblade packed and decided to head home too. He couldn't help but feel oddly cheated; it had been Wilbur who had kept begging to spar with him, and now Wilbur was the one walking away like Techno had done something wrong. He grumpily thought over this concept, then tossed it away. It would do no good to brood over a man with a hurt pride. Still, he made sure to walk slower than he usually would, not too intent on bumping into an angry human on the way home.

As he walked, he let himself slip into the thoughts that constantly plagued his mind. The voices were, as usual, screaming for blood and revenge, but Technoblade pushed them firmly to the back of his head.

Other thoughts — significantly happier thoughts compared to the voices — flooded him soon after. One thought nagged him, but it was not his own, so he ignored it.

He saw a beehive and thought about Tubbo. The thought nagged him. Tubbo and his goat horns. He had started growing goat horns. The thought nagged him. Technoblade chuckled to himself, recalling the panic that had spread throughout the house when Tommy's friend burst into their home and hollered for Tommy to come quick because he was turning into the devil and growing demon horns. The thought nagged him. Tommy the raccoon and Tubbo the goat. The duo that struck fear into any adult they meet. The thought nagged him. And Wilbur, too. The adult that had fear struck into him. The thought nagged him.

The thought nagged him. His son was angry. His son kept throwing things and yelling. He was sad. Why was his son angry? They argued too much. They were no longer as close as they were before. Technoblade wanted his son to be happy. 

No, not Technoblade. One of the voices once wanted its son to be happy. This was not Technoblade's past experience. The voice had a son of whom it wanted to be happy. 

The voice paused on this part of the memory as if trying to make sure Technoblade understood.

The thought nagged him. The thought was not his own, but Technoblade listened anyway.

Wilbur was angry and was more distant than he used to be.

The thought nagged him.

Wilbur was sad.

As soon as Technoblade came to that conclusion, the voice seemed satisfied and subsided. Techno stopped thinking about Tubbo.

Wilbur was sad.

He remembered their training session. He remembered all of their training sessions. He wondered if it really was about training. 

"How come you keep beating me?"

Wilbur was sad. Wilbur was.. trying to be better. Than him. He was sad he was not better than him. Wilbur was sad, and it was because he felt inferior to Technoblade. 

Technoblade ran home.

The voices told him to hurry, hurry, hurry.

—

"There is no instance of a nation benefitting from prolonged warfare."

Wilbur glanced up from his papers to see Technoblade leaning on the doorway to his bedroom, arms crossed.

"Uhm..."

"You're upset," Technoblade said, blunt as ever.

Wilbur blinked. I mean, yes, but it was very random of Technoblade to come into his bedroom to tell him his own emotions. He briefly wondered if having strange siblings could be one of his supporting paragraphs in his school essay.

"Can I come in?"

"Er... sure."

Technoblade sat on the edge of Wil's bed, so Wilbur turned in his chair and straddled it backward to face him properly. The two waited in silence until Technoblade winced and flinched. Almost unconsciously, he brought up a hand to rub his temples.

"Are you okay?" the piglin eventually asked.

Wilbur raised his eyebrows. "Are you?"

It was a childish response, and one that he had learned from Tommy, no doubt ("what's wrong with you?" "What's wrong with your face?"), but he was angry and hurt and so he lashed out as a wounded animal would, desiring nothing but to forget today — to forget all the today's when Technoblade bested him on something — and nurse his injured pride alone. 

"No," Technoblade replied. "I'm usually not okay. But right now the concern is you: are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not."

"I am."

"No, you aren't," the piglin sighed, heaving himself up from the bed. The springs and wooden groaned in protest. He made his way across the room and sat down on the floor beside Wil. His height made him eye-level with Wil, despite the latter being on a chair. 

Technoblade reached hard for the right words. He was not the best at human interaction — that was Philza's thing — and he worried that the wrong words might only send Wilbur into greater sadness. 

The voices were quiet, something that didn't happen often. It seemed like the whole world waited with bated breath.  

The voice from before, the one with the memory of its son, pressed gently against his mind. With great effort, as though each word required a vast amount of strength, the voice whispered, Tread slowly, so the ice you walk upon does not crack from the weight of his sorrow.

"Would you like a hug?"

Wilbur eyed him, almost suspiciously. Technoblade quickly attempted to mend his words. 

"You seemed disgruntled these past few days, and I wanted you to know that not being better than me in combat is a perfectly normal thing."

A long silence stretched out between the two. Feeling emboldened that Wilbur hadn't reacted negatively, Technoblade added, "And for what it's worth, I have no idea how a guitar works."

A shy smile spread across Wilbur's face. 

"Awww, come on let's see that big grin of yours," Technoblade teased. He wracked his brain for more things to say. "You're better at reigning Tommy in than I am."

The mention of Tommy seemed to make the smile falter, so Technoblade hurried on, "You have an uncanny patience when it comes to fishing. You're able charm the birds from the trees. You sing."

It was a humbling experience, mostly because Technoblade was forced to admit that there were many traits he wanted to possess that he did not and Wilbur did. But then, he figured, the same held true for Wilbur. 

Technoblade rattled on until he emptied himself of things Wilbur was good at that he was not, to which he rather lamely concluded, "And a bunch of other things too."

By now, Wilbur had his face semi-covered with a hand, his ears and neck bright red. He was grinning. 

"Thank.. Thank you..." he whispered. He seemed unable to stop smiling and oddly embarrassed.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah I just... I don't know. I'm relieved, I suppose." 

"Happy?" Technoblade checked. Wilbur shrugged in response, much to his disappointment. He mentally took his brain, flipped it upside down, and shook it, as if an idea could fall out. 

And fall out an idea did. 

Another voice freed itself from the writhing chaos of the other millions of voices and shyly offered a memory. Technoblade saw nothing, but what he heard was what the voice seemed intent to share. Laughter. 

The voice repeated the memory over and over, letting Techno listen to the giddy merit before slipping away. 

Techno frowned to himself. Laughter? How was that relevant to anything that was currently happening?

Other voices, seemingly encouraged, leaped forward to offer more ideas, succeeding in nothing but further confusing him. 

Philza Minecraft. Tommyinnit. Family. Wilbur Soot. Laughter. Wings. Father and son. Tail. Fluffy tail. Fluffy. Laughter. Wings. Philza Minecraft's wings. Tommyinnit's tail. Laughter. Family. Wilbur Soot. Laughter. Wilbur Soot. Laughter.  

Technoblade shook his head. He didn't underst-... Oh. 

"Techno?" Wilbur's worried voice cut through the other voices like a knife through water. A warm hand rested on his shoulder. "Techno? Are you alright?"

"Are you ticklish?"

Now, Technoblade was pretty good at psychology. In fact, he had almost majored in it. He only swerved at the last moment to go into English out of sheer pettiness. And just for the record, he was the best English student at his school and it did not matter that he was a piglin and did not speak English as a first language, thank you very much. Howbeit, throughout the years, Technoblade retained his knack for psychology. In brief, he knew how to read people (which is what most people seemed to think all psychology was). 

He read Wilbur's squeak and blush as an affirmative answer. He read Wilbur's timid, "N-No," as a lie. 

Echoing the voices, Techno stated, "This'll cheer you up."

And then he pounced on the younger man and slipped a hand up his shirt to skitter his fingers across the man's stomach. 

The effect was instant. 

"N-Noho– Tehehehechno!!"

"Wil-bur," Techno mimicked, using the same high-pitched tone. "Hush and laugh."

For some reason, that seemed to embarrass Wilbur tremendously. So of course, Technoblade said it again. He shifted position so that Wilbur's back wasn't pressed against the floor in a painful way and so that he was straddling his hips more comfortably. Then he leaned down, drilled his fingers into Wil's tummy, and murmured, "Hush and laugh."

"Shuhuhut uhup!" Wilbur squealed, turning his head back and forth to avoid Techno's taunts. His limbs jerked and flailed uncontrollably, and his hand managed to catch Techno on the snout. The piglin jerked back, though mostly out of surprise than pain (pain was not something he registered anymore).

An evil idea wormed its way into his head.

Whether or not it came from the voices, he did not know, but he assumed it did, for he had never partaken in tickling before. It happened frequently in Phil's house — mostly because of his wings and Tommy's fluffy raccoon tail — but Technoblade had never been explicitly invited, so he stayed away, worried about breaking some unspoken boundary (piglins were not welcome among humans and half-humans). Still, Wilbur seemed happy, and a few voices told him to say it, so he did. 

"I'll make a call."

"Wh-Whahahat?" Wilbur did his best to lift his head up and look at whatever Techno was planning. But there were fingers digging into his stomach and ohdearlord-

"FUHUHUHUCK!!" Wilbur threw his head back in laughter. Oh god, oh GOD. Technoblade knew what he was doing. He knew it. There was no way he couldn't know it. He had watched enough of his tickle fights with Tommy to know that his hips were a spot that was fucking lethal. He could feel his face burn up, and he quickly moved both hands up to desperately hide it. "FUHUCK, PLEHEHEASE!"

"No looking," Technoblade admonished, though he quickly threw the pillow from Wilbur's chair underneath his head to prevent the squishy human from injuring himself. Human skulls were not made for head-bonking, much less thunking against wooden floor. "And hush. I'm making a call."

"WHOHO THE FUHUHUCK ARE YOUHU- AGH NOHOHOHO!!"

"Hush, I said. Do you need me to remind you?"

It took a moment for what Techno had said to settle in.

"GOHOHOHOD, SHUHUT UHUHUP!!"

"Hush and laugh, Wilbur."

"NOHOHO!" Wilbur practically whined. His arms began flailing again. So the piglin did the logical thing and pinned them to his sides. It took a bit more effort to straddle the ticklish human when his arms kept trying to jerk about, but he managed. 

"My phone's not working," Technoblade commented, but he held nothing in his hands. Both his hands were being used to torment Wilbur's hips. One scratched the dip of his hip bones while the other squeezed relentlessly. It was amusing to watch Wilbur try to decide which sensation was worse, the light scritches of ruthless squeezing, and which side to buck away from. 

Still, he moved away from the spot because from his observations (yes he observed the tickle fights that happened in the house and made a mental note of everyone's spots; why is this a question), hips were a death spot. He went back to swirling a finger around Wilbur's belly button and listening to his breath hitch with anticipation. 

And also because the voices kept insisting he do the "phone idea".

"My phone's not working," he repeated. "I suppose I'll need something else."

"Whahahat?" Wilbur forced out. He did his best to lift his head again. A thumb vibrating into his navel made him rethink things. "Gohohohod, Tehehechno youhu're ehehevil!!"

"No, I'm making a call. Now hush."

"Whahaht're youhu- aHAHA-! N-Nohohoho!" Wilbur squealed loudly. Oh, it was fucking torture. Goddammit, Techno. 

"Beep boop beep beep boop," Technoblade murmured to himself. It was mildly fascinating, honestly. Every poke elicited loud, rather adorable giggles and caused the human's squishy tummy to quiver. He continued poking around, pretending like he was dialing a phone number. "Quit trembling, Wil, I'm calling someone."

"Thihihis ihis whahahat youhu- Nohoho nohot thehehehere!"

"Not where? Here?" Technoblade poked the area beneath Wilbur's ribs, where the number 1 would be on a phone (or a communicator - it depends on what universe you're from). A loud squeal answered his questions. "Well, too bad. This guy's number has a lot of 1's."

"Plehehehease, whoho- Gohohod- Tehehehechno!!" Another poke underneath his ribs. Wilbur arched his back, then quickly curled up at another poke to the same spot. Oh god. "Tehehechno! Iihihi cahan't!! Plehe– Sahahafe-wohord!!"

Safeword?

Technoblade immediately flipped off of Wilbur, suddenly reminded that, as a human, he was incredibly delicate. Well, delicate based on piglin standards. 

He sat there for a while, anxiously watching the squishy human. Wilbur's chest heaved, and for a frighteningly long while, he just curled up and giggled to himself. Technoblade frantically worried he killed his friend (brother? partner in crime? Technoblade had no clue). 

A few voices attempted to comfort him, but the others immediately seized the chance to torment and torture his conscience further, insisting he had harmed his brother-friend-crime-partner beyond repair. 

"I-I didn't kill you did I?" he worriedly asked. "Wilbur? Are you okay?"

Wil weakly nodded. "Juhuhust... Ju-Juhust gihihive me a mohoment..."

"I didn't push you too far, did I?"

"I'm fi-fihine..."

Technoblade pushed the voices away.

Eventually Wilbur calmed. Then he nervously asked, "Who... Who were you calling?"

"Oh that?" And suddenly, Technoblade felt very stupid. Without the adrenaline "ler mood" and the voices eagerly trying to help him, Techno found himself painfully aware of his words and how dumb and childish they were. He mumbled out, "...Th-The tickle monster..."

Wilbur squeaked and blushed, and Techno felt slightly better. Tickling was meant to be dumb and childish. It was meant to cheer people up. 

Oh right-

"Would you say you're happier now?"

A strange emotion flickered across Wil's face. There was something about it. Embarrassment? Shame? Guilt? Reluctance? An odd mix of all four?

"I can always call the monster again," Techno threatened. 

"I'm happy!" Wilbur blurted out. He seemed embarrassed at his own outburst. Or maybe he hated admitting he had been cheered up. "Th-Thanks. I, uh... I guess I was jealous. Of you. I don't know. It was stupid."

"Probably. Probably not. One time I tried taking over the Overworld with an army of magma slimes. It nearly worked, but Phil and a few other humans stopped me with an army of lobsters. Stupidity is subjective."

"...Thanks," Wil mumbled again. He seemed to still struggle with something.

"What's up?" Techno gently prompted.

"...What... Wh-What... uh... Wh-What were you going to do when you finally called... uh.. the monster...?"

"You want me to show you?" 

Wilbur gave Techno a timid look and nodded.

Gently, Techno pushed Wilbur back onto his back, this time making sure to keep a good eye on Wil's face to recognize anytime he got pushed to his limit. 

As a way of a warning, Techno explained, "So, uh, usually, when something rings, it also vibrates."

...Oh...

From downstairs, Philza sipped his tea and casually listened to Wilbur's loud shriek of laughter. I raised an interesting bunch.

-🌟

#scheduled post #.....yeahhh... *finger guns* THIS is what I made in the past week #hey. nobody said creative meant GOOD aight- #anyway- #ler!Technoblade #lee!Wilbur #ticklish!Wilbur #and I suppose it mentions #Philza #Tommyinnit #idk #tickle fic #dsmp tickle #Staranon! 🌟 #wtf did I tag fics with? #idfk #anyway Ta-Da #I'm really tired #looooooooooooooooooooong fic

[kaesera-written]

[CP] Mark of Evil

Faint music played from an old jukebox in the back corner of the bar as Draven entered the building, the soft murmur of chatter blending together into an almost pleasant hum of noise. The place was fairly empty, as usual, with only a few people scattered around the tables and counter; it was something he honestly took comfort in, and the main trait about the small dive bar which kept him returning week after week. At the end of a long work day rounding out an even longer week, it felt nice to be somewhere he actually felt safe outside of his own home.

Making his way to the counter, Draven had a small dance to his step as he caught the quiet lyrics of one of his favorite bands playing from the jukebox, and a gentle smile graced his lips. He settled onto a stool and tapped the counter lightly as the bartender waltzed over, “Get me a cold one, Bruce,” he said, “For once I’m actually feeling good; I think that's a fair enough reason to celebrate.”

The bartender chuckled as he got to getting the drink and raised a brow as he asked, “Something good happened at the store today or what?”

Draven laughed and shook his head, “Oh gods no, today was absolute shit; had this guy come in asking for some obscure band from Finland, yeah? Turned out, the album he was looking for didn't even exist, nor the band, and he was just seeing how far I'd go to find it while secretly filming me to use as content on his dumb prank channel,” he huffed but continued smiling, “Look up ‘I trick an employee into searching for a band that doesn't exist’ when you get the chance. And that was just a fraction of the shit I went through today.”

Well then,” Bruce replied, rather shocked by Draven’s upbeat demeanor. Setting down a beer, he raised a brow as he slid it over to the other man, “If your day was bad enough to get you on WeVi, what’s got you in such a good mood?”

“Absolutely nothing!” Draven replied happily and let out another laugh, “I just feel good!” he laughed a bit more, pausing to take a drink, before adding, “I can't explain it, but honestly, I don't want to. Trying to find a reason might ruin it, and I'd much rather take advantage of feeling great, than chase it off with questions.”

Bruce laughed and shrugged, “Well,” he started, “I guess that's a fair place to stand on the matter, not to mention, a winning situation regardless,” he turned to leave then, waving to Draven as he went, “Welp, I hope you continue to enjoy yourself, Draven. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Will do,” Draven replied with a non-sarcastic finger gun and a wink before he raised his bottle for another drink.

The night went on from there, and Draven made his way from sitting at the counter to standing by the jukebox to listen to a few songs, to even trying his hand at a few rounds on a claw machine at the back. He didn't win anything, but he still felt good regardless. Eventually he settled at a table near the jukebox and just listened to the music as he nursed his third beer of the night; he had no worry of driving himself home since he didn't drive anyways.

As he sat there watching two guys who were undoubtedly drunk play a game of what could hardly be considered pool, he was immediately aware as a woman came up to his table and set a hand on one of the empty chairs.

“Hey,” she said in a friendly tone, “I noticed you’ve been alone all night and thought I'd offer you some company; mind if I join you?”

Draven smiled up as her and shook his head lightly, pushing up his glasses as he said, “Not at all; be my guest.”

“Alright,” she replied as she pulled the seat out and slid in, “but I'm not tying my napkin ‘round my neck.”

For a moment, Draven was taken off guard by the comment, and just stared at her in confusion, but then smiled and laughed, “Not bad,” he commented, “Would have been better if I had the accent though,” he chuckled.

The woman laughed and nodded, “Yeah, I get that a lot, actually; I just can't help it, every time I hear that phrase it's all I can think of.”

Draven shook his head, smiling, “No, I totally get it,” he told her, “I work in a music shop, and I'm a bit of a music enthusiast,” he explained, “I know quite a lot of song references, and make them every chance I get.”

“I see,” she smirked, leaning on the table, “So if I said something like...oh...Mama Mia-”

“Here I go again!” Draven interrupted and laughed.

She laughed too and covered her mouth as she did, “Well that was more aggressively enthusiastic than I expected, but I'm definitely not disappointed,” she smiled, “How about if I said ‘is this the real life?’”

Draven smirked and snorted, “Aw, c’mon, that one’s too easy,” he said, “It's gotta be something like...you're talking about thunderstorms and seemingly out of nowhere I just belt out, ‘thunderbolts and lightning; very, very frightening- me!’”

“Galileo,” she responded and laughed, “I guess I have a little to learn on reference making,” she smiled.

“Well if you're looking to learn, I’d be happy to give you some lessons,” Draven replied with a smirk.

“Do you offer home tutoring?” the woman asked with a smirk of her own as she shifted closer.

“Whoa!” Draven gawked a bit, “When did we move into innuendo?”

Blinking, the woman pulled back and looked at him, “Shit, sorry,” she said, “Am I being too forward?”

“N-no! No, no!” he replied quickly, “You're fine. I'm fine,” he laughed, “Just, I wasn't really expecting it is all.”

“Yeahhh,” she sighed and laughed a bit, “I tend to jump the gun a bit sometimes. I think it's nerves.”

Draven snorted and nodded, “Oh yeah, I get that entirely,” he told her, “I once proposed to a girl in high school,” he scoffed, “It was our first date.”

The woman burst into laughter at that and covered her mouth, “Oh my lord, you can't be serious!”

He laughed with her and shook his head, “I wish I was joking,” he said, “but unfortunately it's true.”

“Well I'm glad I've never jumped the gun that far,” she replied and took a breath to calm her laughing, “though I do hope she said no…”

“Oh thanks,” Draven scoffed, “That makes me feel good about being dissed and mocked for the remainder of the school year.”

Choking a bit on her own words, the woman fluttered a bit, “Ah, wait, no, I didn't- I mean- I- I worded that-”

Draven held up a hand to stop her and smirked, “I know what you meant,” he chuckled, “and I'm happy to say that yes, she did say no, and no, I don't have anyone else I might be with.”

At that, she smiled, and the two continued chatting for a good while as the two drunk men finished up their game, until finally the woman asked, “Would you like to come back to my place?”

“I'd love to,” Draven replied with a gentle smile, “Lemme just pay my tab and I'll meet you outside, yeah?”

“Sounds good,” she said, “I'll call a Jifty.”

Draven gave a nod and a thumbs up with a click of his tongue before heading to the counter.

Soon enough, he was stepping out of the bar into the cool night air. He glanced around and quickly spotted the woman, smiling as he made way over to her.

She looked up at him as he approached and smiled in return, “‘bout five minutes til’ they get here,” she told him.

“Good,” Draven replied and leaned in to kiss her, she didn't resist, but he stopped as something occurred to him. With a light laugh, he stayed close to her as he softly said, “I just realized we never exchanged names,” he chuckled as she snorted.

“Oops,” she uttered quietly, “Guess we should fix that...I’m Jenna.”

“Draven,” he told her softly, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jenna,” he chuckled, “I hope I’m not being too for-”

“Oh, just shut up and kiss me, you dork,” Jenna interrupted him and before he could respond, she shifted and popped up on her tiptoes as she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him in to press her lips to his.

He was frozen for a moment with shock, but quickly snapped out of it and responded to the kiss himself as he wrapped his arms around her. Soon enough they both pulled back for air, and Draven let out a light laugh, “I guess considering how tonight has gone, I’m not the one who should be apologizing for being forward,” he murmured.

Jenna chuckled in return and ducked her head to hide her face, “Sorry,” she said, “I’ve been trying to be more confident lately, but these damn nerves...I guess sometimes I just jump past confidence and go straight into assertiveness…”

Gently, Draven set his finger under her chin and lifted her gaze back up to meet his, “Nonsense,” he spoke softly, “you’re doing just fine. It’s actually really refreshing to meet a gal who doesn’t sink into the roll of being led by a man,” he smiled, “and honestly, you’re probably saving us both time because I’m terrible at getting to the punch in any situation.”

“I hope that doesn’t apply to the bedroom,” Jenna blurted then pulled back and slapped her hands over his mouth, “Oh my gods, I am so sorry! I didn’t mean for that to come out!”

Draven burst with laughter and doubled over, wrapping his arms around himself as his glasses slipped out of place, “Oh my fucking stars, Jenna!” he wheezed as he fought to pull himself back together, “How are you even real? That was fucking glorious; please, never change, good gods, you’re fucking great, the greatest even, oh my fucking gods,” he wheezed again and drew in a deep breath as he finally got a hold of himself and straightened up. Adjusting his glasses back in place, Draven was glad to see Jenna laughing as well, and wasn’t able to help the soft bursts of laughter still bubbling out of him.

Slowly, Jenna got a hold of herself as well and looked at him as she wiped a tear, “I gotta admit, Draven,�� she said, “I’m really glad you’re not put off by my weirdness.”

Draven snorted and moved to pull her back into his arms, “Put off?” he questioned, “Puh-leeease,” he laughed, “I’d be a hypocrite if I was put off by a little quirky behavior. I’m the king of strange. Awkward, strange, and ridiculous run through my blood,” he let out another laugh, then a soft sigh as he gently tucked her hair behind her ear, “But in all seriousness, I honestly just don’t judge people on things like that,” he smiled, “Some bad jokes, obnoxious references, badly timed innuendo,” he shrugged, “It’s just personality, and it’s not hurting anyone.”

Jenna smiled at him and leaned into him a bit, “Well, that sure is comforting to hear,” she said, “Both for my personal self value, and for my impulsive judge of you,” she chuckled.

Draven chuckled along then looked over as a car pulled up and rolled down the window.

“Jenna?” the driver asked.

Jenna started to speak but Draven quickly said, “Yep, that’s me,” before she could, causing her to laugh and gently bump her elbow into his ribs.

“You dork,” she snorted, then gave a wave to the driver, who was looking very confused at that moment, and said, “Sorry about that.”

The driver just shrugged and settled back in their seat, “I ain’t judgin’,” they said and motioned to the back with a light cock of their head.

Still laughing lightly, Draven moved and opened the door for Jenna, sliding in after her with a smile. The driver started off as soon as they were both settled and talked just enough to confirm their destination before falling silent and focusing on the traffic. As Jenna pulled out her phone to check a few messages, Draven figured he might as well do the same, but as he finished checking all the new comments that had been posted on the video he was in─and replied to a few of the nastier ones─he noticed that Jenna was still staring at her own phone screen.

Keeping his smile, Draven gave a soft but somewhat dry laugh, “What’s so interesting?” he asked as he slid his phone away.

Jenna glanced at him, then back at her screen, then scooted closer to him to show him the page she was reading, “A new post was made on this blog I’ve been following for a while now,” she told him, “It’s sorta this new movement group or whatever, led by this guy who’s got all these amazing views on how to improve society and the world and everything really!” the excitement in her voice grew in intensity as she spoke, until she was practically gushing about the whole thing.

It was all a bit jarring for Draven, mostly because what she was saying sounded familiar, but he tried to give it─and her─the benefit of the doubt and push his irrational worries back down into the depths of his mind. Letting out another soft, dry laugh, he wrapped his arm around her and gently took her phone from her, “So what,” he started, “You’re in some internet based cult?” he laughed, but it did nothing to hide how anxious he actually was to hear her answer.

She laughed too, however and gave him another light bump to the chest with her elbow, “No,” she replied, “It’s not a cult. There’s no religion involved, it’s just a blog and some really good points and ideals.”

“Not every cult is about religion,” Draven murmured, receiving yet another bump to the ribs.

“It’s not a cult,” Jenna stated firmly, “Just read it and you’ll see,” she motioned, then, to the phone in his hands, “Trust me, you’ll probably love it!”

Draven gave a sigh and nodded as he adjusted his glasses again, “Alright, alright,” he said and shifted a bit before scrolling back up to the top of the blog post. That was all he needed, however as he saw the title of the blog she was on, and with that, all benefit drained out of him.

Really should have known it was too good to be true… Draven thought with a sigh and lowered the phone back to Jenna.

She gave him a curious look as she took her phone back, frowning lightly, “but you didn’t even read it…” she mumbled quietly.

“Don’t need to,” he sighed, shifting gently to pull away from her, “I'm already very familiar with my brother’s preaching,” he huffed.

Jenna gawked, looking from him to her phone screen and back, “Wait, but that means you’re-”

Draven stopped her as he pulled out his ID and showed it to her, “Draven Marosa,” he stated with a huff, “Figure of chaos and source of all evil, right?” he asked, looking at her only from the corner of his eyes.

She frowned as she lowered her phone into her lap and looked down at the text there. It was just silence for a while then, and Draven caught the driver looking at them both in the rearview mirror, their gaze catching with his for just a moment as they gave him a wary but almost pitying look before focusing back on the road.

He focused back on Jenna and waited for her to respond. As her phone screen dimmed, ready to auto-lock, she finally came out of her statue state, tapping the screen with her thumb and scrolling up and down a moment before mumbling, “But you’re so nice…”

A glimmer of hope flickered in Draven’s chest and he shifted, reaching out to set a gentle hand on Jenna’s arm, “You’re right,” he said, “I am nice, and I have no evil intentions. Just because I value chaos and the beauty of free thinking, doesn’t mean I’m some devil figure, I-” he stopped though as he saw the way Jenna was staring at his hand on her arm, as he noticed the tension in her posture and the fear deep in her eyes. Slowly, he pulled away and shifted back to look off to the side, “I’m not a bad guy, Jenna,” he told her, “No matter what the rest of that community says, no matter what my brother leads you to believe; I’m not evil. I’m just...free thinking…”

“But isn’t that just what a figure of evil would say?” the response was hollow; cold. Her voice no longer held the carefree excitement it once did, instead gaining a layer of venomous thorns and jagged ice, “Defend yourself to gain my trust and lead me to corruption?”

It actually hurt, to hear her words, and Draven was unable to speak in response as the driver pulled up to a small apartment building. All he managed to say as they all sat there was a quiet, “Please just give me a chance…”

There wasn’t even a moment of silence as Jenna opened the door and slid out of the car, “I‘m sorry, Draven,” she said, “but I really don’t think I should. It’s too great of a risk, and there’s no telling what damage has already been done. Regardless, I wish you the best, and I hope someday you manage to see the truth.”

With that, she shut the door and headed off into the building, leaving Draven defeated in his seat.

The driver watched him for a moment, then sighed and shifted gear to pull away from the curb, “Where ya headin’ buddy?” they asked.

“Maple Drive,” he responded somberly, “Twenty-six twenty-eight…”

“Gotcha,” the driver replied, “You just relax and I’ll get you there.”

“Thank you,” Draven replied.

“Don’t mention it; we all deserve one act of kindness, regardless of who we are; that’s the teaching I follow.”

A dry laugh escaped Draven and he managed an empty smile, “It’s a good one. If only more people supported it.”

─

Characters:

Draven

#kaesera #character prose #mark of evil #draven marosa #short story