#So I made a few alterations to his posture and height and it was much closer to my liking! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

five-rivers · 3 years

Note

Is there any way we could possibly convince you to write more of the Eldritch!Danny au? As it's own phanfic? This, of course, would only be done once you are under considerably less stress, and can comfortably put the effort into that, if there ever could be such a time whilst writing Mortified and Stars Aligned. It could even wait until one or both of those has reached a point that you deem them Completed™. I'm just immediately part of Sam's Cult XD

It’s been a bit, and this is kind of random, but...

Clockwork’s avatar pressed the food to Danny’s lips, and he bit down, hard. Juices dribbled down his chin as the food squirmed. He moaned in something like relief as the pressure in the venom sacs in the roof of his mouth lessened. He ate.

He kept Dreaming of himself with fangs and venom. Did that mean something?

A cold pressure under his chin forced him to look up. Clockwork’s avatar inserted another piece of food into Danny’s mouth.

Of course, it means something, it said. You are such a generous soul that you must give of yourself before you can even do something as basic and vital as eat.

Something about that didn’t sound right, but Danny wasn’t in a position to argue, not when he found himself so hungry.

Clockwork’s avatar fussed over him, feeding him more and more, past the point of mere satiation to the point where he felt bloated and slug-like. He wanted to curl up and sleep real sleep. The image of a caterpillar who, having gorged itself, began to form a cocoon, flittered across his mind.

You are a long way from metamorphosis yet, dear one, said Clockwork’s avatar. Come. I have something for you.

Danny followed the tug of the chained collar around his neck, blinking blearily, his footsteps just a little unsteady.

The careful direction of the chain led him to a small table cluttered with trinkets. Clockwork’s avatar leaned down to press its cheek against the crown of Danny’s head. Its cloak fell to either side of Danny, cutting off his field of view to the left and right, leaving him with only the table and the wall behind it.

A gift, said Clockwork’s avatar.

“Why?” asked Danny. It felt odd to speak here, and much more so in English, but he was still learning how to use his True Voice.

I wanted to give you something myself, before we celebrate your birthday.

“My birthday is ages away,” said Danny.

From some perspectives, perhaps. But we missed so many of yours. We must make them up before the next one.

There was something ominous there, but Danny just leaned into the avatar’s touch, unwilling to devote himself to interpreting omens.

Pick one, said Clockwork’s avatar, pick wisely. Gifts received in the Dream become part of you.

Danny nodded and opened his eyes (when had he closed them?) to look at the trinkets—no, the gifts—again. Gifts that, like all good gifts, came with strings attached.

There was something off about that thought.

But it didn’t matter. It wasn’t as if he could refuse a gift.

He reached out.

He picked the beaded pectoral necklace. Mostly because he was curious to see how it went on, what with the collar around his neck and all. Yes, this was the Dream, and multiple things could exist in the same place at the same time, but usually there was an… internal consistency, of sorts.

It turned out the answer was that the necklace merged with the bottom edge of the collar, which felt weird, but it was fine, because both were manifestations of Clockwork’s Love.

The unfamiliar weight of it hung strangely off his shoulders, especially given the counterweight that hung down his back, and forced him to alter his posture. He stood straight and… Well. Not tall. But to his full height.

Clockwork’s ticking sounded pleased. An echo of something where Danny’s heart once was agreed with that assessment.

When he left the Dream and went on with his life, it seemed as if not much had changed, except—

He felt more confident. More coordinated. He didn’t stutter as much. People listened to him more.

Even Sam and Tucker remarked on it.

Only a few days later, Clockwork called him back, reeling him into the deep Dream by the chain attached to his collar. He had another gift for Danny. A bracelet. Its weight joined that of the necklace.

Since you seemed to enjoy this so much, said the avatar, running its fingers over the faience beads.

And so it went.

Every few days, Clockwork would call him back and give him some new little adornment. A ring. A jeweled comb. An anklet. A brooch. A belt. Each gift seemed to smooth away some almost imperceptible flaw in his waking self, seemed to draw more eyes to him, more attention, more praise. People who would never give him the time of day before actually sought out his company.

He wondered. Each thing he was given was a display of wealth. Did that come across, somehow? Or was it simply gravity, the mass of his presence pulling in their regard?

The improvements weren’t just in his human life. The others were easier to fight, to distract and ward away. Their blows did not hurt nearly as much, nor did their ‘appearances’ distress him as much as they once had.

He noticed, too, the weight of what he wore in the Dream. Each ring, each bauble, made it easier for him to sink into the depths, made it harder for him to reach the surface.

Sometimes, after a return, he would like on the floor in his room, panting.

But he was growing stronger, too, and he hoped—

It didn’t matter what he’d hoped.

He could no longer reach the waking world. He tried seven times before the chain, vibrating with amusement, pulled him back to Clockwork.

We must celebrate, said Clockwork’s avatar, pulling a sort of woven metal sleeve over Danny’s right hand. It hooked neatly onto the rings on each of his fingers.

“Why?” asked Danny, barely holding himself back from falling to pieces. He had a responsibility to Amity Park. Not to mention, he wanted to live there with his friends and family.

Because it is a wonderful milestone, that you are too powerful to reach that place on your own. The avatar placed a crown of knotted metal on Danny’s head. This is what a cult is for, my little gem. To pull you up.

“What if…” said Danny, “I get too… heavy to be pulled up?”

Another milestone.

Except, no, Danny’s hand still hovered over the table, undecided. He let it fall back to his side and blinked, shaking his head to clear it of the vision that had just overtaken him.

Did it show what would be, what might have been? Or merely a possibility?

Reality splintered.

He put his hand down on a stack of folded white cloth, jostling the bells sewn to the hems. He didn’t actually know what it was, but it seemed harmless, and the fabric was soft.

It turned out that the cloth was a set of folded veils. The bells were weights, to make them hang properly.

Clockwork’s avatar helped him put them on in front of a mirror, since Danny had never worn anything like them before. The cloth was thin, diaphanous gauze. Where the veils touched the clothing he was already wearing, it whispered away, like it never was. In some places, mostly on his shoulders and back, for some reason, the veils merged smoothly, seamlessly, with his skin. It was an odd sensation, made more so by the fact that his nerve endings seemed to extend partway into the cloth.

Although, that might not be by design, but because Danny expected it. This was the Dream, after all.

Once all the veils were in place, the only pieces of his body exposed were his hands and bare feet. It was strange, looking at himself in the mirror through the sheer veils over his face and head. He almost looked like a ghost.

It was… it was kind of embarrassing, being dressed like this. The veils were the only things he was wearing, and even with all their frothy layers, he could make out the silhouette of his body beneath them.

He spun in place, just enough to hear the bells ring with high, clear tones. Like this, the subtle embroidery on the veils looked like feathers.

When he woke again, normal clothes felt rough and coarse against his skin in comparison. He gritted his teeth and bore it. He couldn’t very well walk to school in the nude.

“Did something happen last night?” asked Sam, surveying Danny up and down.

“Um,” said Danny, “yes, but why?”

“You look…”

“Mysterious,” said Tucker.

“Ethereal,” decided Sam. “But also…” She hummed. “Untouchable, maybe? I don’t know.”

Danny explained what had happened.

It was in the course of just messing around that they found another effect.

“Dude,” said Tucker, as Danny sat on his shoulders, “did you lose weight or something?”

“No?” said Danny, turning away from his sticky-note masterpiece on the classroom ceiling. “At least, I don’t think so.”

“You just seem a lot lighter than the last time we did this.”

They weighed him later, at Sam’s house. He was.

The next time he visited the dream, there were changes. One, the sensation in the cloth had extended. He could feel almost all the way to the ends of some of the shorter veils. Two, his form beneath the veils was less distinct. Softer. When he put his hand underneath them to check, his body felt softer, too. Three, he was glowing.

Of course, said Clockwork’s avatar, stroking its cold hand down his back in a way that made all of his new nerve endings overload. As the illusion fades, the truth may shine.

It did not elaborate, no matter how Danny pressed him. It did, however, pet him until he was left as little more than a pleasantly chirping puddle of veils and feathers on Clockwork’s floor.

He did not note the significance of the feathers until his next visit to the Dream, whereupon some of his veils had become wings, bells still attached and ringing with every motion. He spread them out and flew.

Flying was even better than he had imagined. Never before had he known such joy.

The changes continued, the form he wore in the waking world becoming progressively more and more alien to him, more grating and uncomfortable.

“That only makes sense,” said Sam. “You’re more than us. Being constrained like this can’t be good for you.”

Tucker nodded in agreement. “I mean, look at all of this.”

Danny looked around the cafeteria, catching several worshipful gazes.

“You don’t belong in a cage like this.”

“I want to be able to help,” said Danny. It had become easier, in some ways. It was as hard as ever to fight the others, but human aggression stopped dead in Danny’s presence.

“You’ll still be able to,” said Sam. “But Tucker’s right, you should be trapped here. You should in a high place… on a pedestal. Somewhere to give us hope. Somewhere we can look up to.”

He stood in front of Clockwork’s mirror again. There was a suggestion of a human body beneath the wings, but nothing more than that. Soon, even that would be gone.

Even as he thought it, he let his wings shift, forming a more spherical shape. The light at his center became blindingly bright, but Danny could still see the chains of Love attached to it that kept him grounded.

One of those chains pulled taught as Clockwork summoned him, not even bothering with the avatar this time. This time, Danny would be able to talk to Clockwork directly, and it would be fine, because Danny had shed that illusion of humanity and become more like Clockwork.

He entered Clockwork’s direct presence and—

Danny reeled as the vision simply stopped being something his mind could interpret. He felt a part of what he called his sanity crumble.

Perhaps… Perhaps not that one. Instead…

He chose the featureless white mask, lifting it with both hands. It was surprisingly heavy.

Clockwork’s avatar reached out, the sleeves of its robes whispering past Danny’s ears. Let me help you put that on, it said. It took the mask and flipped it over, brushing the broad, white satin ribbon out of the way with its thumbs.

Before Danny could think to protest, before he could decide if he wanted to protest, the mask was pressed against his face.

The soft inner lining fit perfectly snug against his features. Perfectly enough that it forced his eyelids and lips closed. The bottom edge of the mask cupped his jaw, preventing him from opening his mouth.

He could not see, with the mask on. Somehow, this surprised him. Part of him had expected to supernaturally be able to see through the mask.

This was inconvenient. On the other hand, not being forced to see the Dream and its denizens could be a boon in and of itself.

Clockwork’s avatar finished tying the ribbon. When you wear this, only those who know you will know you. And only those who you keep in place of your may have their knowledge progress.

Danny tested his ability to speak, first with human words and then with his True Voice. The best he could manage was a sort of hum.

I know you best of all. One cannot progress past completion. Remember, those who Love you will understand you, even without words. You will be allowed to remove the mask if it pleases you.

Danny nodded to show he understood, the weight of the mask making the motion more energetic than usual.

It took Danny time to learn how to navigate the Dream blind. The Dream was, well, Dream. It did not follow the usual rules of object permanence. Things Danny could not directly perceive existed only at the whims of others. While he was with Clockwork, he could have faith that things would stay mostly stable, but once he left, his world shrunk to echoes and what lay against his skin.

But when he did finally make it home and opened his eyes, he was able to fully understand what the mask gave him.

He could not see the nightmares and madness lurking just under reality. His sight was human. He turned to his mirror and saw not a monster, but simply his physical body.

He found himself weeping in relief. It had been so hard. Even if it was an illusion bought by ignorance, for the first time in far too long, he felt safe, no longer exposed.

Whether or not it pleased him, he might never take the mask off.

He walked to Jazz’s room to tell her the good news, only to discover he could not speak.

After some experimentation, Danny and Jazz determined that, when he wore the mask, his speech was as constrained in the real world as it was in the Dream. If he wanted to talk, he had to slip into the Dream to take it off.

It was inconvenient, but still. A perfectly hidden identity and relief from seeing were more than worth inconvenience.

With the mask on, he almost felt human again.

Before the school day began, he paused in the bathroom and braced himself. He had gotten away with being quiet at home, but at school, teachers would require him to answer questions.

He stepped into the Dream and reached up to untie the knot at the back of his head. It would not come loose. Danny pulled harder.

If it pleased him.

Well, it didn’t please him to be exposed in school. Beyond that… Danny suspected that Clockwork also had a hand in when he was allowed to remove the mask.

A few weeks later, the school psychiatrist diagnosed him with selective mutism.

“It almost makes sense,” claimed Tucker, gesturing at Danny’s ceiling, “if you think of it like a parent keeping their kid safe on the internet. Like, you don’t want their identity exposed, so you keep them from giving away personal information or talking to strangers.”

“That,” said Sam, poking Danny’s cheek, “or he wants your cute little face all to himself. What do you even look like in the Dream?”

“Like me,” said Danny. He raised a hand to touch his face. “I don’t know what I look like with the mask on.” The words came surprisingly easily. Before the mask, he’d worried that he’d eventually be unable to speak English, what with how difficult it was becoming to translate his thoughts to sounds.

Later that day, there was an incident. Danny couldn’t help. He couldn’t see.

(It was, however, very clear that the others could see him.)

(He couldn’t help but feel guilty.)

That night, Clockwork pulled him into the Dream.

There is someone I want you to meet, said Clockwork’s avatar as its fingers untied the mask.

“Who?” asked Danny as the mask came away. He nearly forgot his question as he once again took in Clockwork’s appearance. He had forgotten how beautiful it was here. Tears rolled down his face.

Your brother, said the avatar, gently leading Danny forward. I think you will get along. You both like masks.

It took a few minutes for Danny to distinguish this new presence from Clockwork’s, but once he did, the name came easily to his mind. This was Nocturne, the Dream Eater.

“Why is your mask different from mine?” asked Danny, because he couldn’t make a good first impression to save his life.

The mouth and eyes on Nocturne’s mask turned upward in humor. It plucked Danny’s mask from the hands of Clockwork’s avatar, and, to Danny’s simultaneous horror and delight, Danny discovered that he could feel Nocturne’s claws on the mask as if they were on his face instead.

That is because it is your face, said Nocturne, the one you show the world. Why wouldn’t you feel it when it is touched? When it is damaged? Nocturne ran his fingers down across the space where eye holes would have been in an ordinary mask, and Danny found himself forced to blink. For the other, it is because you are a child. I see and speak for myself. A child sees the world through their parent’s eyes. A child has no voice, but their parent speaks for them.

“Will it change when I get older?” asked Danny.

Nocturne laughed. You will not grow older. He moved forward suddenly, pressing the mask to Danny’s face, and putting one of his other hands against the back of Danny’s head. You will always be the youngest of us. The most… Human.

Is something wrong? asked Clockwork’s avatar.

“No,” said Danny, quickly. “It’s just hard to decide.”

You could have them all, it said, if it is so difficult.

Danny shook his head. “No, I just need more time.”

Maybe if Danny were human, this would be about getting the best deal, choosing the gift with the lowest price, but he wasn’t, and it wasn’t. This was about choosing the price he wanted to pay.

It surprised him, how much he wanted to pay some of them.

The set of bracelets clinked merrily when Danny touched them. They were four bands, each about two inches wide and a couple millimeters thick. The metal they were made of was smooth on the outside, but on the insides, they had the same fractal patterns as the collar.

The manacles are a good choice, said Clockwork’s avatar, approvingly.

Manacles.

Not bracelets.

Unfortunately, he didn’t think he was allowed to change his mind.

The manacles went around his wrists and ankles, each one closing with a snap. When they shut, the metal they were made of swirled, the hinges and seams disappearing to present a flawless surface and the overall shape shifting so the inside laid flush against his skin.

As soon as he closed the last one, and it finished altering itself, Danny felt a sharp pain through the center of his wrists and ankles, followed by a radiating numbness, as if a rod had been driven through each manacle, through each wrist and ankle, stopping only when it hit the other side. But the numbness soon faded, and as he flexed his hands and feet, he didn’t feel anything like that.

Still. The message was clear. The metal bands were not coming off.

Clockwork’s avatar took one of Danny’s hands, and examined the band. The metal, which had warmed against Danny’s skin, turned frigid under the avatar’s touch. For a moment, Danny’s vision blurred, and he saw a multitude of delicate chains leading from the manacle in every direction, connecting it to Clockwork, the other manacles, the collar around his neck and who knew what else. His vision cleared. A few long, silent minutes later, the avatar released him.

They were made with much skill. I hope you find them useful.

Danny nodded.

The manacles weren’t visible in the waking world, but Danny imagined he still felt them. Especially when he was doing things with his hands or feet.

‘Made with skill,’ indeed.

Lots of skills. Skills like drawing, writing, dancing, sign language. He didn’t trip or stumble any more but moved smoothly. It was interesting. It didn’t feel like the skills belonged to someone else. They were his, now, wherever they had originally come from. He knew how to do each thing he was doing, and he did them intentionally.

Still, his art (which he had always considered at least decent) was now scary good. He’d also outplayed Ember on the piano a few days back, breaking her hold on the people who had been listening. She’d been… rather upset about that.

It was worth it.

The string attached to the gift didn’t make itself known for a while. One day, while he was drawing, his wrists burned cold, and he found himself drawing something more than what he’d originally intended. The general subject was the same, but the skill put into it, the effort, was far, far greater. He’d meant to doodle a little, maybe for ten or so minutes before he went to bed.

Instead, it was hours later and if it wasn’t on the back of his French homework the drawing could have been hung in a museum.

It would have been the easiest thing in the world to imagine that he was being puppetted, controlled, that the manacles made him into a marionette, but that wasn’t what it felt like. Instead, it felt as if something had flipped a switch inside him.

He understood, then. The manacles granted him skills, but he couldn’t always decide when to use them. Or how much.

It wasn’t the last time it happened. He’d suddenly be seized with the urge to do something. Make use of some skill. And whatever he did when those urges settled over him was inhumanly good. Dangerously good. As in, attracting the wrong kind of attention good.

Those men in suits had been there for him, and he was quite certain that, if he had been perceptible to people foreign to Amity Park, they would have tried to take him. Tried, being the operative word.

More importantly, the mural he’d been compelled to paint on the side of the supermarket last night seemed to be attracting a following. He’d attempted to keep elements of the others out of it, but he knew they somehow slipped through, slipped past his attention, and into his art.

Sam and Tucker thought it was fine, though. He was inclined to trust them.

He was glad that the manacles did not seem to infer any violent or deadly skills. He wasn’t what he would do if they did and the urge to act turned into an urge to harm.

The manacles turned cold.

Perhaps he’d bake a cake. Something for Sam and Tucker, as a thanks for putting up with him.

Danny slumped against Clockwork’s avatar, who held him without complaint. These visions were mentally draining. They would be, what with containing weeks compressed into seconds.

Were they seconds?

The picture frame caught Danny’s eye. It was a picture of him, as an infant, being held by Clockwork’s avatar, the great expanse of Clockwork himself in the background. Danny wasn’t quite sure he knew the picture was of himself. Really, he’d been a generic-looking baby. But he did know.

He took the picture.

Nothing happened. He went home, woke up, and went about his normal life. On occasion, he would look at the picture when he dropped into the Dream. It warmed something in him.

It took him a month to realize he was aging backwards.

To be fair, no one else seemed to notice, either, even though the change was much more rapid than normal forward aging. Danny suspected they were being blocked from noticing.

No, that wasn’t quite right. They treated the age he appeared as the normal state of things, but they also treated him as if he were his apparent. Something which had bothered him all last week, even if he didn’t realize why it was happening.

It made it slightly more embarrassing that he himself had only noticed when he’d gone to retrieve a cup from the top shelf in the cabinet and couldn’t because he was too short.

Sam, Tucker, and Jazz were confused when he brought it up to them. They seemed to be under the impression that he’d always been a few years younger than Sam and Tucker. That he’d been skipped forward a few years to be in the same class as them. Danny had let the subject drop. He had no idea how to even begin fixing this. If it even could be fixed.

Every day, as he got younger and younger, he also seemed to attract more and more attention. Positive attention. People would smile at him, tell him he was cute, give him presents out of nowhere. Danny couldn’t say he hated it.

Until he got small enough for people to carry around. Which they did. Frequently. Without asking for permission. Even this wasn’t so much of a problem.

Until the cult.

Until the knife.

Until the sacrifice.

(And Clockwork was so thrilled to be able to raise him from infancy.)

He hadn’t decided yet.

How could he decide? They were amazing gifts. Terrifying gifts. Gifts he could not refuse. Gifts he didn’t want to refuse, at least on some level.

But this wasn’t about what he wanted. It was about what he could live with.

The pectoral gave him power and the respect of his peers but took away his ability to use those things in the defense of Amity. Although being powerful in the Dream was an idea that tickled at the shadows in Danny’s mind.

The veils gave him something he always wanted – flight – but at the cost of his humanity and individuality.

The mask would protect him, let him hide and return to a mostly ordinary life, but he would lose the chance to face his new existence on his own terms as well as some of his autonomy. Not to mention, his ability to actually help his people.

The manacles gave him skills he’d enjoy, but also made him a hazard for others.

The picture frame… Something twinged inside Danny’s chest… The picture frame gave him a new life with Clockwork, from the very beginning. But he’d lose everything else and kickstart an unmanageable cult.

He couldn’t give up his friends, his family, his human life. He couldn’t give up his ability to protect Amity. Perhaps all those things would fade from importance in his mind as he became more and more other, but for now they were razor sharp. That made his choice clear.

“The manacles,” he mumbled to Clockwork’s avatar. He could work around the drawbacks (even if part of him resisted the notion that the drawbacks were drawbacks).

The avatar stroked Danny’s hair. An excellent choice.

“How,” said Danny, trying to recollect his thoughts, “how do they work?”

Danny’s eyes fluttered as he saw the chains on the manacles again. The way they felt on his skin was just like what he remembered.

Skills that go unused are lost in the Dream. These find them and bring them to you, bind them to you, so they are never lost again. Clockwork’s avatar plucked one of the chains. It felt as if someone had traced their fingers possessively up one of his arms. Although some of the chains have other functions. It nuzzled Danny as something deep below in Clockwork’s depths began to chime. One can never be too connected to those they Love.

Danny woke in his bed and moaned. His pillow was wet with drool. Evidently, he had left his body behind this time. That happened, on occasion, when he went to the Dream. He was never sure how he felt about it.

He raised his hands up above his head. As expected, the manacles were not visible, but he did feel more… connected to the world around him. Being connected was good. It meant that what happened before wouldn’t happen again. It meant that he wouldn’t be lost.

He lowered his hands, clasping them over where his heart would have, should have been.

The connections, though, were mostly to Clockwork, who was as inhuman as any of the others Danny protected Amity Park from. Should that bother him? He thought of what Nocturne had said in the other timeline, the one where he had chosen the mask. He’d known, already, that as much as Clockwork protected him, he also kept him in a state where he needed that protection. Wasn’t it natural? Wasn’t it the desire to keep Loved ones close?

His breath hitched as he briefly felt the soothing mental weight of Clockwork’s Love increase.

It was fine, wasn’t it?

#danny phantom #eldritch abomination au #ask #answer #loved

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themadlostgirl · 3 years

Text

Abandoned (6)

*I had two months to do requests and this story and I waited until the week before classes start again to make some significant headway. You may hate me but I hate myself more.*

~~~

It was always strange looking through the items I had kept from my previous life. The books were nice to read, and some of the knicknacks I kept, but something I never really thought of were my clothes. Most of the clothes that I wore for everyday use had been altered in some shape or form after many years of roughing it on the island. It was a distinctly different style to what the Lost Boys usually wore but no one could say I didn’t fit in because of it.

There was one garment I had not let be touched by the island. A dress. One meant to look pretty and be admired. It was nothing too grand. A deep royal blue of soft velvet, puffed sleeves, a tiny bit of white lace along the neck and cuffs, and deep maroon flowers embroidered along the hem. There were a matching pair of blue slippers to go with it. The chemise to be worn underneath had been long ago torn apart to use as bandages.

Sometimes when I was alone I’d try it on and try to picture an event where I would have ever worn it. There must have been a time I did. Gliding along a polished floor dancing under the candlelight.

I stood on the beach in the dead of the night, wearing my pretty dress and imagining the scene that played out in my head. If I closed my eyes I could almost hear music.

“Da da da da dum dum dum,” I hummed as I swayed across the sand, “Da da da da dum da dum,”

“She does dance,” I stopped immediately and turned towards the voice. Peter stood at the edge of the jungle watching me with an amused smile. “All these years and I have never seen you dance once. Not even when I asked.”

“What are you doing out here? You’re never awake this late,” I suddenly felt self conscious at the knowledge that he saw me dancing by myself in my dress.

“Couldn’t sleep, wondered if you were awake yet,” He came closer, scanning me from head to toe. “I almost didn’t recognize you. Since when do you have something like this?”

“It’s from before,” I tried to subtly pull up the neckline, “I just wanted to try it on.”

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to look pretty, precious.” His hand reached out and rubbed the fabric of my sleeve between his fingers. “It suits you.”

“Thanks, but it is very late and I should be getting some rest now,” I tried to rush past him. He grabbed hold of my arm and pulled me back in front of him with a spin. I almost tripped at the sudden motion and went tumbling into his arms. My face buried in his chest.

His laugh rumbled softly against my cheek. I stood up ramrod straight, eyes wide and nervous. Peter hummed happily once more and took a step back. He bent forward at the waist in a deep bow with his hand outstretched towards me. “May I have this dance, my lady?”

“What?” I kept my arms crossed close to my chest, “You’re being ridiculous. Stand up. There’s not even any music you loon.”

“You didn’t need any before,” He gazed up at me, “Come on, indulge me for once.”

I scanned the trees, paranoid even now that someone would come upon us, “Only if you promise not to tell any of the boys you saw me in this. I don’t think I’d be able to win their respect back if they knew I liked playing dress up.”

“I do not think there is anything in this world that could do such a thing but on my honor I won’t tell them. Besides, I rather like having this little secret of yours all to myself.” He stood to his full height and placed one hand on my waist while the other took my hand. “Now how did that song you were singing go? Da da da da dum dum dum,”

“Da da da da dum da dum,” I sung back quietly as we started to twirl in the sand. “Dum dum da dum da dum dum dum,”

For a few blessed moments it was just us on that beach dancing along the shore. Peter humming in my ear. Bodies pressed flushed together. Far closer than we needed to be. It was a game we played. Cheeky touches and flirtatious comments. I can’t remember when it started. I think it may have been around the time I started referring to him as Peter instead of Pan. How many years ago was that now?

This was not the first time we had ever been this close but it felt much more intimate than those times he did it to embarrass me in front of the boys. There was no one but us here and he gazed at me in such a way that rendered my tongue useless.

Our grand sweeping steps and spins dissolved away until it was just the two of us holding each other close. My head resting on his shoulder as we swayed slowly to the sound of the waves. Peter’s voice was right in my ear, hushed and low. Like a secret being shared.

“You dance beautifully, and here I thought you never did because you couldn’t.” Peter said, “Why stay so still?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered back, “Never felt right.”

Echoes of another time doing something like this floated to my mind. So faint that I half thought I imagined them entirely. But if it was just my imagination then why did they make me so angry? Why did my heart break when they came to me? The memories were far different from this personal and quiet moment Peter and I shared. The memory clawing to the surface...it was anything but relaxing.

“I see that,” Peter brushed away a stray tear I hadn’t realized escaped, “Something from before?”

“I think there was a man,” I whispered as we came to a stop, “They had red hair, the room was spinning and someone was laughing. Everything was entirely too warm...”

“Are you alright?” Peter asked, “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Something like that,” I stepped away from him. I kept my eyes down on the ground, my face hot with an embarrassment. “I am going to turn in now.”

“But--”

“I don’t want to talk about it!” I snapped, “I don’t even remember him.”

“Him who? Your father?”

“Someone else,” I shook my head, banishing the memories that were trying to become more coherent, “No! No one! I don’t remember anything! I don’t want to remember anything or anyone!”

“Precious,” Peter followed me, wrapping his arms around me from behind. “We don’t have to remember anything. I’m sorry. Come, let’s finish that dance.”

“I don’t feel like dancing anymore.” I pushed his arms off me, “I really am tired though, please leave.”

Peter sighed and stepped away from me, his posture now rigid and guarded. Such a cold change from the boy that danced with me and spoke so sweetly to me a moment ago. “Of course, sorry to keep you. I won’t intrude again.”

My heart sunk into my stomach. “Peter--”

He disappeared. “Damn it.” I went about wrestling the dress off my figure and changing back into my normal clothes. I had half a mind to toss the infernal dress onto the fire or rip it in two but I folded it and neatly stored it away for another day. It wasn’t the dress’s fault I couldn’t keep my shit together.

It wasn’t Peter’s fault that I kept pulling away from him. I’ve been fighting against being close to him ever since I came to Neverland. I’ve come a long way since then but even when I wanted to be near him I was pushing him away. Being that close to someone again was terrifying. If I keep my heart closed then no one can hurt it.

The days went by since that night and Peter wasn’t coming by to visit me like he used to. Where before I could count on him coming by twice to three times a day I barely got to see him at his own camp. We still talked and laughed but there was a wall up between us that hadn’t been there before. It was there and I didn’t know how to take it back down.

That’s when she came to the island.

A girl with curly blonde hair, big innocent eyes, and a white nightgown touched down on Neverland’s shores. Right next to my camp as it were. I don’t know why Peter’s shadow left her there but she was here and I couldn’t very well ignore her with her right in front of me.

“Hello,” her voice was as sweet as her face, “I’m Wendy Darling. Who are you?”

I told her my name. She nodded sweetly and sat down in the sand next to me with a wide smile. She gazed around her in wonder. “So this is really Neverland? The place where children never grow up and can have fun forever?”

“Something like that, yes.” I answered. She was as innocent as a lamb but it was that innocence that made me uneasy. She was so perfect. Too perfect. I wanted to ruin her. Stain that pretty little lace nightgown or scar that cute face. Something to make her less appealing.

“Good evening,” Relief flooded my body as I turned to see Peter approaching. The smile on my face slowly faded as he walked past me and stood before Wendy Darling. “You must be the new person the shadow brought. I’m Peter Pan.”

“Very nice to meet you, Peter Pan.” Wendy shook his outstretched hand.

“Please, call me Peter.”

For a few moments my mouth hung open as Peter and Wendy exchanged a few pleasantries. Wendy giggled. Peter laughed. He was smiling. My Peter was smiling softly for this girl he had just met.

No. Not my Peter. How could I ever try to claim him as mine? He’s the ruler of Neverland and the Leader of the Lost Boys. My leader. Nothing more. I made sure of that, didn’t I?

Peter and Wendy stood up, Peter gallantly offering up his arm for Wendy to take as they started walking towards the jungle. Go. Just go already! Take your damn happiness and perfection and get out of my sight!

They left without another glance back at me.

All this time I kept Peter at arm’s length because I couldn’t handle the loss of someone I cared about leaving me again. Yet, without meaning to by keeping him at arm’s length I was letting him slip from my grasp altogether. I don’t want to lose Peter. I can’t lose someone else.

But what was there to do now? He obviously didn’t care one way or another. It wasn’t like I was one of his Lost Boys. I was a Lost Girl. An outlier. The only reason I was here was because my father abandoned me and joining up with Peter was the only option left to me. If I stayed out on my own I would have died. Now? What was I to do now if Peter didn’t care about me anymore? I wasn’t exactly close to any of the Lost Boys. I guess I still had Tinkerbell but I see here even more rarely than I talk to the Lost Boys.

I’m exactly where I was all those years ago. A scared and confused girl sitting on a beach with no one to care for but myself.

I didn’t follow them back to camp. The next day when I was checking my traps for small game and spotted Peter walking with Wendy I didn’t listen to what they said. When I heard music playing in the jungle I didn’t follow it.

It had been a couple of days since Wendy had come to the island. Every time I ventured into the jungle on my daily routine Peter was always there with her, with Wendy Darling. It was uncomfortable at first but I was soon getting annoyed by it. He knows this is where I go, he’s accompanied me enough times, can’t he give me the decency to ignore me in places where I am not?

In an effort to avoid this I grabbed my bag and hiked my way to the top of Dead Man’s Peak to spend the day. When I reached for my whetstone to sharpen my blades though I found it missing. Strange since I always kept it in my bag. Perhaps I had forgotten it at my camp? Heavens forbid it fell out somewhere on my way up this mountain. I’d never find it again.

Fine. I’ll just hope that I forgot my whetstone at my camp and sharpen my sword and dagger later. I fished around in my bag for some food as I watched the landscape below. The waves rolling in on the shore, the trees swaying in the breeze, the sound of the spring babbling behind me. It was relaxing. I should come up here more often.

The sound of crunching gravel ruined my moment of peace. Of course someone would be coming up here as I was relaxing. They were probably here to collect some dreamshade and would be gone just as quick. I scooted over so I wasn’t in the way and dug into my lunch.

“I know it is a bit of a journey but the view is well worth it.” The voice of one of my intruders said.

Please. No. Not here too.

“You’re right, Neverland looks amazing from up here,” Wendy said, her face bright with perspiration and glee. Her eyes landed on me and she smiled wider, “Apparently we are not the only ones who thought so. Hello again.”

“Hello indeed, Lost Girl,” Peter smirked, “Strange to find you all the way up here at this time of day.”

“Well I live to disappoint.” I stuffed my lunch back in my bag. “I’ll be going now.”

“Oh please stay!” Wendy caught my arm as I tried to walk past them, “I’ve been having so much fun I haven’t had a chance to come visit with you again. I’m curious to know more about the pirate turned Lost Girl the boys have been telling me about. Did you go on many adventures?”

“Sorry to say but I barely remember anything from those days.” I pried her hand off me, “And I don’t want to.”

“Come now, Lady Jones, I know you remember some things.” Peter said, “Indulge our new Lost Girl.”

I grabbed Peter by the throat. He didn’t seem concerned but Wendy leapt away with a yelp. “I told you never to call me that again.” I snarled.

“Now, now, spitfire, no need to make a scene. You’re scaring our guest.” Peter said calmly.

I let go of him and readjusted my bag on my shoulder. There was a gleam in his eye that I knew far too well. A game. This was all a game to him. I should have known from the start. It couldn’t be by accident that he kept turning up where I was with Wendy at his side. For whatever reason he did it I knew not, nor did I care. I was through playing his games.

Without another word I turned and made my journey back down the mountain. I got back to my camp as the sun was setting and I searched through my things looking for my whetstone but it was still missing. Guess I’ll have to borrow one from the boy’s camp.

The sky had almost gone completely dark by the time I reached the camp. I approached one of the boys and asked for a whetstone. They disappeared to find one and I stood by waiting. Several minutes passed and the boy had yet to come back. What was taking him so long?

In the light of the bonfire a group of Lost Boys were dancing. That was nothing new. What everyone had stopped to admire though was not the boys. It was Wendy Darling, jumping and twirling around the fire. Her golden locks like spirals of flame in the firelight, a wide and happy smile adorned her perfectly porcelain face, and she was dressed in a blue velvet dress that spun gracefully around her.

I stepped closer. All rational thought had left and I focused solely on the perfectly happy girl in front of me. She spotted me and leapt away from the ring of dancing to approach me. “You’re here! I’m sorry if my request earlier was rude. I had no idea that you didn’t--”

“Where did you get that dress?” I asked, heart thudding dully in my chest.

“Isn’t it beautiful? I feel just like a princess,” She giggled, “Peter gave it to me. He said it was an apology for causing a scene in front of me earlier. Of course I thought it much to grand and nice for a simple apology but he insisted. It hadn’t fit quite right when I put it on so he waved his hand and magically made it to my exact adjustments. Do you like it?”

“It’s mine...that’s my dress.”

“Oh,” She smoothed her hands down the skirt, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. Peter had said--”

“Yes, he says a lot of things.” My hands clenched at my sides.

“I’ll give it back. Just let me go change.” Wendy said.

“No.” I snapped, “Don’t bother. It suits you better anyway.”

I turned to leave. The reason I had come here forgotten as the ache that had taken root in my chest days earlier burst into a pain that consumed me from head to toe. Ignore me. Fine. Mock me. I don’t care. Give away the one thing I used to remind myself I was a woman? The one piece of finery I let myself have? The one thing that made me feel pretty?

My hands were shaking. Bitter tears were trying to escape but I wouldn’t let him have the satisfaction. He could take my peace, my dress and even my heart but he would not have my tears!

I stopped. The air around me growing cold. My heart? When did I ever let Peter lay claim to that? Surely I was not so dumb as to let someone as horrible as him sneak his way under my skin. There was no way I could have possibly fallen for the codfish! Not after he’s snubbed me all this time! Not after he gave away my possessions to what is essentially a total stranger!

Then I remembered us dancing on the beach. My head on his shoulder as he hummed quietly in my ear. I remembered us flying together. Holding tightly to him as he flew us high into the clouds where we sat overlooking the island. The first time I had called him Peter. The first time we started flirting. The ridiculous little bows he would do when asking me to walk with him and the equally silly kisses to my hand when he left.

I remembered when we were dueling and I cut him deeper than I meant to across his shoulder. He said it was no big deal but I had felt bad and bandaged it. It wasn’t until I had gone through the whole process that he reminded me he had magic to make it better. Not wanting to look like an idiot I had claimed I had magic to and gave the spot a kiss. I faintly remembered a woman long ago kissing my scraped knee to make it better. Just like magic. After that moment any time he got even the tiniest cut he came to me asking to kiss it better. I figured he was teasing me but I relented every time.

Nights sitting together on the beach looking up at the stars. Days filled with laughter as we lazed about the island. Quiet mornings slumped against each other as we watched the sunrise.

Peter had never taken my heart. I had given it to him long ago and I never even noticed. I liked him. I liked him and yet I wanted to hate him. He got to me and then he hurt me. He hurt me just like father had!

No. I would not mourn a betrayal like this again. I will not. I turned around and charged right back into camp, sword drawn. The boys parted before me. My eyes lit with fury that permeated with every step back into camp.

I saw him. Standing just at the corner of the shadows. Wendy Darling was with him. Dressed in her nightgown again and holding a pile of fabric out to him. As if sensing me Peter looked directly at me. His bored expression shifting into a smirk before falling as I prowled closer. He pushed Wendy aside and faced me.

“Spitfire, what is it--” I cut him off with a quick swipe of my sword. He jumped back out of range.

“You slimy, underhanded, unfeeling, and traitorous codfish!” I yelled as I kept taking swings at him. He was dodging all my attacks and it only made me angrier. I wanted to skewer him. I wanted to run this foolish bastard through and watch his blood paint my blade.

He got his hands on a sword and started blocking my attacks. “What is wrong with you?” He asked as he started regaining his footing.

“You are what is wrong with me!” I screamed as I tried to hit him again. “You lying, worthless sack of fish guts!”

“Spitfire, please, let me--” he tried to say but I increased. My attacks getting faster as I tried to overtake him again. My vision flooded red.

“Enough!” He disarmed me, leaving a long, shallow cut along my hand as he did. The boys surrounding us grabbed me and held me so I couldn’t get away. Peter was breathing heavily and stabbed the sword into the dirt. He collected mine from the ground.

“Now,” he said, “If I tell them to let you go are you going to try to decapitate me again.”

“You’d deserve it.” I snarled. “Lying little imp!”

“I am many things, swordfish, but a liar is not one of them.” A shadow passed over his face. “Let her go.”

The boys released me and Peter grabbed hold of my wrist. He pulled me away from camp and wouldn’t let go until we were back at my camp on the beach. The fight inside me had ebbed away leaving soul crushing sorrow in its place. I didn’t dare say a word, convinced that I would turn into a blubbering mess if I did.

When we got back to my camp Peter let go of me. I figured he would drop me off and leave but instead he grabbed a few logs I had kept near my fire ring and tossed them in before lighting it. He sat down and pulled me down with him. He inspected the cut on my hand without a word and took a rag from his pocket to bandage it. Why was he doing this?

“Sorry I had to do that,” He said, quietly, “You weren’t giving me much other option.”

He tied off the bandage and brought my hand closer to his face. I expected he was checking to see it wouldn’t bleed through when he gently pressed his lips to it in a darting kiss. Then I started crying.

I couldn’t stop it. The tears I had tried to hold back for so long came spilling out without mercy or an end in sight.

“Precious girl,” Peter sighed, pulling me into his arms. “I didn’t know I hurt you this bad.”

“Well you did.” I gasped out. My hands fisted in his shirt. I wanted to push him away and pull him in closer at the same time. “You mocked me.”

“I did.”

“You gave away my dress.”

“I did.”

“You ignored me!”

He took a deep breath, holding me closer. “I did.”

“Why?” I pounded my fists on his chest, “Why!”

“I thought it was a good idea at the time. I thought that it would make you admit it.”

“Admit what?”

“That you…” he trailed off. His clear green eyes searched mine. A secret laid just beyond them that he would not voice. “You and I have been playing this back and forth for years, Lost Girl. The other night when we were dancing I thought you were finally opening up to me and then you pushed me away again. I was sick of it. I thought that maybe if I could make you jealous then you’d realize what it was that you truly felt. You started me more though and I got desperate. I never meant to hurt you though. Never wanted to ignore you.”

“It’s not as simple as you want it to be, Peter.” I shoved him off, “It is not that easy for me to admit such things.”

“And you think it is at all easy for me? You think that I have ever felt this way about someone before? I haven’t! Not until you. Only if it’s you.” He said, “What makes it so hard for you?”

“Why do you think? I don’t want to let someone into my heart just for them to abandon me again. I can’t let myself trust someone like that again. They only end up hurting me.” I sobbed. “Just like papa did...just like you did.”

“My precious pearl,” Peter whispered, wiping the tears from my eyes with a tenderness that I craved, “Do you not remember what I promised you so long ago? I promised that you would never be alone again. I am not in the business of breaking my promises. If you were to have me, you would never lose me. Do you understand?”

“How can I be sure?”

“Because you are my Lost Girl.” He held tight to my uninjured hand, “From the moment I first saw you when you were only a pirate’s daughter, I vowed that you would be mine. Anyone or anything that tries to say otherwise will now have to get through me.”

“Yours?” A hope bubbled inside me. Peter smiled.

“Mine.” He closed the distance between us and kissed me. It sent a bolt of lightning straight up my spine. I touched a hand to his face and he held it there against his cheek. “Yours.”

“Mine.” I whispered with a smile as I kissed him once more. A promise passing between us that molded some of my shattered pieces back together. Never alone again.

---

(Previous) (Next)

#peter pan is bad at feelings #peter pan ouat #ouat peter pan #ouat #neverland #peter pan imagine #peter pan x reader

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infini-tree · 3 years

Text

FANFIC: birds of a feather (wip)

Summary: Romance is hard enough as it is, but it does get an extra layer of difficulty when one of you has a superhero alter ego and the other is an alien.

A/N: alternate title: love is stored in the lunchlady........

Anyway have something early for Valentine’s. This was originally going to be part of a bigger fic, but the things surrounding this bit aren’t as good, so have a preview/snippet.

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

The last few months were a bit of a whirlwind, with the… everything involving Benjamin and his… counterpart, she settled on, somewhat dissatisfied with the word choice.

The top layer of snow outside had melted and froze up again to a sheen. Edith closed the blinds before she got snow-blind from looking outside. She made her way back to the living room with a half-full plastic cup with what Captain described as bowling alley pattern.

A question for another time. She’s got bigger bass to boil.

“Hey,” Edith set the cup down on the low table. Sure enough Captain was hovering around her shelf of knick-knacks, looking at each of them like it was something in a gallery and not something she pilfered from the thrift store on several whims.

“Hm?” He pulled himself away from the novelty cat clock he was having a staring contest with. He did a little kick to the wall and he was on his back, floating towards her with hands cushioning the back of his head. His makeshift cape-of-the-day (which happened to be Benjamin’s sweater) hung like dried laundry off his shoulders.

His whole pose reminded her of those commercials showing off picturesque paradises, of people floating lazily in pools or the ocean. It was a little ironic, considering his whole… thing, with water.

Speaking of which.

“Does spit count as…” She hesitated for a moment, gaze turned askance-- was it insulting to ask? “...uh, water for you?”

Captain gave her a blank look. Then, realizing what she was implying, his mouth made a strange shape before closing it. He unlodged one of the hands behind his head and tapped his chin.

“Oh, yeah. It was pretty troublesome when I had to fight off the Loogie-Lass from last week.” He shuddered so violently that he turned to his side and was facing her now. “Benjamin complained so much about it after the fight!”

“I can imagine,” she said with a slow nod.

He let out a short laugh at her quiet bewilderment. “But, uh-- why do you ask, Miss Edith?”

He was floating at such a convenient height, that she could just lean over and just, you know. Kiss him.

It was, admittedly, quick as it was inelegant. She could feel him flinch in surprise. His hands began to fumble in the corner of her eye, reach out to her, only to pull away. The reluctance reminded her of Benjamin, right at the start of their relationship, which made sense; if he had little experience, then it stands to reason that Captain had none.

“I was, uh-- originally I was going to give you a peck on the cheek, but I didn’t want to risk it,” she explained as she stepped back. “Also, just Edith is fine.”

And, oh, his face had bloomed in a deep shade of crimson that would rival his improvised cape.

“Buh-bo-hwah-ba,” he mumbled agreeably.

She couldn’t help but giggle, but the wince gave away her nervousness. “Was that a little too forward?”

“Wah-wah.” Captain shook his head, brows pinched and waved his hands in the universal sign of don’t worry about it. He began to fall in what she could only describe was in slow motion. Despite that, he managed to hit the table with a hearty thud, sending the nearby plastic cup spilling right near his head.

His body jolted as Benjamin returned, and with it came the tightness of his shoulders, the aches, the pains. His hands immediately flew to his still-red face, one part flustered and confused because of being flustered in the first place.

“Oh my gosh, are you OK?”

“What happened? Where’s--” He let out a yelp as he noticed that she was there. He began to scramble so the makeshift sweater-cape was backwards and concealing him. “Edith! I, um. What, uh… brings you here?”

“I live here.”

“O-- oh, that you do.” He was quiet as he took in his surroundings, suspicious of every shadow that loomed too long. After a moment, he let his arms flop uselessly off the sides of the table. “Do you mind, uh, you know.”

“Oh, right, yeah, of course!”

Edith turned to face the wall, gesturing towards the futon where Captain left his clothes and toupee. She tapped her fingers on her arm. It was silent, save for the quiet shuffling. Maybe dial it back next time, she thought, quietly committing that moment with Captain to memory.

The reaction was par for the course, but the sudden fall was a surprise. That moment felt like it was straight out of those classic cartoons he watched sometimes.

“Um, you can turn around now.” Benjamin looked down to dust himself off, conveniently hiding his face. “Uh, why did-- the other guy, do you know what happened?”

“Oh, I have an idea.”

“Really?” His gaze snapped up to meet hers, brow knitted in confusion. “What happened?”

“Do you really want to know?” she tilted her head.

“Um, yes?”

“Really?” she made her way over, brows knitted in what she hoped read as concern.

“Edith--”

And once again, she leaned over and kissed him again.

“Bo-buh-hwah--” The flush of red had come back with a vengeance.

“Oh, good to know it carries over.” The edges of her lips curl up mischievously.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, and it was getting warmer by the second. “Yeah, that’ll do it.” Then in a lower voice, “Can’t believe I fell for that.”

“Better believe it, baby.” A pause. “Ew, no-- OK, uh. That sounded better in my head.”

Benjamin let out a snort of laughter that rumbled in the back of his throat and tickled her skin. She let out a short, sharp laugh at the sudden sensation.

“A for effort,” he said, and she could feel a ghost of a smile on his lips. “C for execution.”

“Harsh.”

Another snort. He made half a sound for a retort, but promptly shut his mouth as she let one of her hands wrap around him.

Edith made a contented noise. “Not that I’m glad that you're comfortable but my shoulder is going to fall asleep if you keep leaning on me like that.”

She felt the comparatively colder room temperature cool her skin, only for the warmth of his face to come back. His hands suddenly grabbed her arms, and she let out a yelp.

Benjamin may have said that the superpowers only ever manifested in Captain, but the death grip on her arms was an excellent counterargument to that.

“I would, but my back seized up.”

“It what.” She looked down. Sure enough, his body was rigid and holding itself up to try and not seize up in pain again.

“Just uh,” he hissed. “Gimme a second.”

Soon enough, his grip loosened and made its way up to her shoulders. His shoulders loosened. His posture settled into something more natural. He took an experimental step back before gingerly sitting down on the futon.

“Must’ve fell weird,” he grumbled, poking and jabbing at his back in an attempt to massage out the problem.

She gave a sympathetic wince. “You want me to get an ice pack?”

“Yes, please.”

#mellsian fanfics #captain underpants #sticky notes au #egg casserole (cu)#i've decided to on occasion post preview snippets so heres That

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lexosaurus · 4 years

Text

Everything Was White: Part 9

part [1] / [8]

read on: [ao3] [ffnet]

---

Danny glared at the space where his hand should have been, concentrating on the light tingles that ran throughout his fingers like tiny electric beads of energy. He felt the current in his fingers waver, and his hand flickered back into visibility.

That was no good. He pulled his eyebrows tighter together, willing his hand back out of the visible spectrum.

Danny sighed in relief and allowed his arm to fall to his side. He closed his eyes, and his body relaxed into the soft carpet below him. He could feel the stress leaking from his muscles. Even his chest, which seemed constantly at war against his fried nerve endings, felt at ease.

Much better.

Danny couldn’t remember ever feeling so fake . He spent the whole day with his core under lock and key—feeling physically more human than ever—yet surrounded by teens who couldn’t see him as anything more than Phantom.

The rest of his day at the PHP had been even worse than Danny thought it would be. With each new therapy came a new opportunity for the therapists to try to get Danny to open up. And when that happened, so did the stares and the tense silences which made him very much not want to speak, but then if he didn’t speak he would have to return to inpatient, but that resulted in more stress which caused his voice to clam up and then he was stuck right where he started.

His physical therapy session hadn’t come soon enough, and when Danny finally got to the clinic, he made sure to push himself as hard as his body would allow and then some. His physical therapist had commended him on the “great day,” but Danny couldn’t help but feel disappointed.

No matter what, it wasn’t enough. He wasn’t enough.

Because he was still trapped.

Footsteps sounded from the staircase. He bolted upright and glanced at his wheelchair beside him.

This was bad. This was really bad. The government was back and he had no way of escaping.

Goddamnit, if only his parents had given him access to his core, he could phase out of here and fly away. But he couldn’t do that now. He could hardly keep his fingers invisible for over a minute without breaking a sweat.

He made motions towards his chair as a plan formed in his head. A very ill-formulated plan—one that was sure to cause him to lose a few teeth—but a plan nonetheless. But just as he touched the wheels of his chair, his door flung open.

He turned, fully prepared to use what little muscular strength he’d managed to build up in his legs to launch himself over to his captors, but he froze.

The people at the door weren’t tall men in white suits and black sunglasses. There were no ecto-guns pointed at his face. There was no glowing green inhibitor ready to be clasped onto his neck.

It was Sam and Tucker, staring shyly at him in a way that reminded him of how they used to act around each other before they truly became friends.

“Hey, Danny.” Sam gave him a small wave.

“Oh.” Danny dropped his hold on his wheelchair. “Hey. Hi, guys.”

For a moment, no one said anything. Sam stared at him with eyes that were progressively getting shinier by the second, and Tucker stood with his mouth hanging open, as if he couldn’t believe Danny was there.

Danny fidgeted. There was so much unsaid emotion happening. The atmosphere was suffocating, and suddenly Danny was hyper aware of how uncomfortably he was sitting. He shifted so his legs were crisscrossed under each other and placed his arms in his lap. Maybe that would solve it. Maybe his posture was the source of his discomfort.

“Dude,” Tucker said. “Holy shit.”

“I—yeah, uh…”

Tucker shook his head. “You look...damn, what the hell did they feed you in there?”

The red package flashed in his mind, and Danny felt the blood drain from his face.

He wanted to snap at Tucker, to shout that he wasn’t a dog and turn invisible because he hadn’t seen his friends in weeks and the first thing they were going to bring up was his biggest point of shame and destruction in his life? Something so embarrassing that he hadn’t told anyone about it?

Oh. Wait.

If he hadn’t told anyone about it, then Sam and Tucker wouldn’t know about it either. He was safe, then, and Tucker wouldn’t have been referencing that thing. So then what was Tucker talking about?

He creased his eyebrows and looked down at his hands. He didn’t think he looked any different than usual. Even though the Guys in White had forced him to consume... that, it hadn’t drastically altered his appearance in the same way that his eyes would give off a light glow if he accidentally ate one of his mom’s ectoplasm-infused dinners in human form.

His arm looked the same. It was a little thin, and his skin was a little pale, but it looked like a normal human arm. There were no globs of ectoplasm dripping from his skin, no inhuman glow encasing his form, nothing. It was just a normal arm.

He must have looked lost, because Sam supplied, “You look really healthy, Danny.”

Oh.

Right.

He was reading too far into this. The last time Sam and Tucker had seen Danny, he was so underweight the doctors told him it was a miracle his organs were still functioning. He was on a special high-calorie diet filled with vanilla protein shakes, all with the goal of helping him regain what he lost.

It seemed like so long ago now, but it had only been a month since Danny had seen anyone outside the hospital. And so much had changed in that time.

“Oh...um, thanks?” He said, peeking at his friends from under his bangs. “I—uh...they had these...the protein—protein shakes. Made me drink them.”

“Well, you look amazing,” Sam said.

Danny felt like his face was on fire. He attempted to settle the topic with an “I’m glad you think that.”

If anything, that made their reactions ten times worse.

“Oh, Danny.” Sam sniffed, bringing one hand up to cover her mouth. “Wow.”

“What?” He blindly reached over to his wheelchair again, hoping that maybe some height would make him seem less pitiful. But before he could pull the chair closer to him, Sam sank to the floor.

“I’m sorry. I told myself I wasn’t going to do this. I promised I wasn’t gonna cry.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her fingers. “Ugh, sorry.”

“No—it’s. Um. I just...I just—” Danny tried to look at Tucker for help, but Tucker was avoiding eye contact with him now.

“I’m sorry?” Danny tried.

Sam’s eyes snapped over to his. “No! God, Danny. Don’t apologize. Please.”

“I don’t...I don’t…”

“No, it’s me, Danny. I’m sorry, it’s me.” Sam sniffed again and brushed unshed tears away from her eyes. She took a few deep breaths before glancing back over to Danny with that same damn shy expression as before.

Just what was going on right now?

“I know you don’t like being touched anymore—”

Danny grimaced. It wasn’t his fault that none of his nerve endings responded the same to physical stimulus anymore.

“—but would you mind if I hugged you? Just for a second?”

“Uh…” Danny trailed off. Since when did his friends ever ask him if it was okay to touch him? Normally they just barreled right into him, intangibility be damned. But, thinking back to his interactions with them a month before, he hadn’t really allowed them near him, did he? Of course, they invaded his room anyway, no thanks to Jazz. But even then, they always sat a respectful distance away from him on separate chairs rather than piling on his bed like they would have done before his time with the GiW.

Something churned in Danny’s gut. Had he really been that bad before that he made his own friends feel like they couldn’t have physical contact with him now?

“Sure?”

She leaned into him slowly, raising her arms up towards him as if he would break as soon as she touched him.

But he didn’t flinch, his eyes didn’t waver, and when she finally made contact with him, he didn’t pull away.

But he wanted to.

Arms wrapped around his waist, resting lightly on his back, and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had held him with such care, such tenderness. He knew his family was still keeping their distance, still unsure about how much contact he could handle, but he didn’t realize it had been this long since anyone had just...given him a hug.

And it bothered him.

The first time he woke up in the hospital, his parents had wrapped their arms around him similarly to this. Then, he felt nothing. He spent weeks after that mulling it over, wondering if maybe deep down inside he had been angry at them for letting the Guys in White force him away. Maybe he was just another Pavlov’s dog, and he was only able to associate touch with pain now. Or maybe it wasn’t that serious, maybe he had just been too drugged up to be able to process even a simple hug.

But it couldn’t be the drugs from the hospital, because it still felt different to him. He still felt nothing.

He tried to melt into her embrace, pulling his own arms to fit around her slim body. He squeezed his eyes shut and focused on the familiar smell of her coconut shampoo, the one from that vegan company she liked so much.

“Danny,” Sam’s shaky voice sounded from his shoulder. “I missed you.”

He felt something wet touch his neck, and he tightened his hold on her, desperate to ground himself in the moment. But the dampness from her tears reminded him of the way his skin felt for those last few weeks in his cell. Never dry, always trickling with loose ectoplasm.

Get a grip, Fenturd.

“Yeah. I missed you too,” he managed to choke out.

Sam shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“For what? You didn’t—”

“I—we tried. We tried so hard to get you out sooner. I’m sorry it didn’t work.”

He paused, then pulled back. What were they talking about? Hadn’t they organized that protest for him? What more could he have asked from them? “It wasn’t...it wasn’t your fault. I know you tried.”

Tucker shook his head. “No, dude. Like, we tried tried. We had a whole team of people—Ember, Frostbite. Hell, even Skulker—but nothing.”

“Wait, hold up.” Danny tilted his head, glancing between the duo with raised eyebrows. “Skulker? How did—how did you get Skulker? And, and Ember?”

“You remember that time last winter that Ember came over to listen to that band’s new album? ‘Cause she couldn’t do that in the Ghost Zone?”

“Yeah...she...oh, she almost got...right? The Guys in White almost got her then?”

“Right, and you remember who came to save the day?”

“Um...it was...it was…” Danny ran his fingers through his hair. That day was fuzzy. He remembered that Ember came over, and they were listening to the album up on the roof of the Nasty Burger while eating some fries some drunk teenager handed him in the parking lot. But then, a net came out of nowhere and grabbed Ember.

And after that, everything was blank, as if someone had burned a hole in the middle of his memory.

“Skulker, I guess?”

Tucker nodded, his face contorting into an expression that Danny couldn’t read. “Skulker came. He’d been watching Ember the whole time. Didn’t want her crossing over by herself, I guess.” He grinned. “Though, if you ask me, I’d say he has a crush on—”

“Ugh, Tucker! Gross! Don’t even joke about that!” Sam scowled.

“Right, you keep thinking that!”

“No, we’re not having this conversation again!”

“Sure, Sam…”

Danny blinked, head turning between them. For the first time ever, he was on the outside of their bantering.

It felt...odd.

“Point is,” Sam continued. “Ember almost got kidnapped, and neither of us were there to help you guys. And they had the whole building surrounded in no time, mind you. But Skulker of all ghosts actually showed up, blew up the Guys in White’s van engines, freed Ember, and got you both away from there.”

“Oh. Whoa.”

“Yeah, whoa. So when he heard you were taken, he actually came to us wanting to help.”

Danny’s fingers twitched. He started to raise his arm, but then, thinking better of it, lowered his fingers down to run along the carpet. His movements were rigid, and when he spoke, his voice was tight. “And what did...him and Frostbite...what did they think they could do? Find me? Break me—break me out? And then what?”

Their silence, as well as the blanket of unease that had settled over the group, was all Danny needed as a response.

His shoulders sagged. “You couldn’t...there was no way. I tried, and that didn’t...it doesn’t matter.”

Danny felt a hand drape his shoulder, and he looked up to see Sam’s eyes fixated on him.

“It does matter, Danny. You matter to us. And we would have never forgiven ourselves if we didn’t try to get you out, even if it was impossible. You’re our friend, and we care about you.”

“Yeah.” He broke eye contact. “I’m sorry. I put you through so much and I—I didn’t think. You guys didn’t know. I mean...what—what do you guys know now? Has—has Jazz told you anything? About what happened in...in there?”

“Uh…” Tucker started. His gaze flickered over to Sam. “I mean...Jazz told us some stuff. Other stuff I think we were able to infer. Like uh...your...you know…”

Danny could feel the looming presence of his wheelchair and walker next to his bed. And apparently, so could Sam and Tucker, because suddenly their eyes were flickering between Danny and his wheelchair, and he could see the inevitable question on their lips.

Maybe they wouldn’t ask. But then again, if they did, would it really matter if they knew? They were his best friends, and friends were supposed to tell each other these things.

Hell, they’d been there for the portal, they were there during all the time’s he’d been bitten or stabbed by all sorts of unsavory characters.

Maybe it would be okay.

He took a deep breath. “That’s what happened when I tried to escape.”

Tucker froze, and Sam ripped her arm off his shoulder and brought it to her mouth, her eyes growing in size by the second.

“Holy shit, dude,” Tucker breathed.

Danny lowered his head. This was a mistake. He shouldn’t have told them. They were only going to pity him more than they already did.

“It’s fine, I’m pretty over it at this point. It’s...wanna play Doomed instead?”

“Oh...Danny...”

“How did—I mean, what did they—”

“I—I can’t remember when it happened,” Danny said.

This was a disaster. He was going to have to tell them now, which is something his therapist would be proud of because that would mean he was being open and honest with his loved ones. So he should be fine telling them, right? This shouldn’t be a big deal.

He just had to power through this. “Everything kind of...blurred together at some point. But a guard—the guy who gave me dinner—he opened the door and I had this...this protocol…” He was fine. He could do this.

“What was the protocol?” Sam asked.

“Um it was...it’s not important.” He remembered it too well. Stand in the back of the cell, against the wall, facing the agent. Refuse and be punished. “But there was a...he—the guard would shut the window and unlock the door. And in that—that moment, when he opened the...the door and I push—pushed him. I pushed him down. He fell, and I ran.”

“Oh no…”

“It was stupid.”

“Danny, no it wasn’t.”

Sam went to wrap her arm around him again, but he shrugged her off, turning his head away from her.

“I wasn’t thinking. He still had his...communi...communication device in his ear. So when I turned down the—the hallway, he told...told...uh...it was over. I was—was ambushed before I knew it. Electrocuted. Dragged to a room with Operative...the head operative, and he had a metal...a metal bat I think, and it was over.”

“And they left you like that? Just beat you to the point of paralysis and then left you to rot?”

“Sam,” Tucker hissed.

“No, that’s—that can’t be legal! That’s torture! They can’t do that, even if you are half-ghost. They can’t do that!”

He frowned. “I mean, was it really a secret? What did you—did you think? When you saw me in the hospital?”

“I don’t know.” Tucker said. “Obviously we knew something happened. It felt like every time we talked to Jazz, you were in the operating room undergoing another surgery, or you were recovering from a surgery. So we knew something happened.”

“And my speech. It’s not...not the same.”

There was another awkward silence, before Sam said, “We didn’t wanna ask. But it seems better. Than the last time we saw you, I mean.”

“It’s fine.” Danny shrugged. This was exhausting. “They think I...I, uh fell asleep on a concussion...at some point. It wouldn’t...surprise me.”

“It was that bad,” Tucker said.

“It…” Danny’s voice trailed off. He had been ready to deny it, but the proof was right in front of them.

They were his best friends. He needed to trust them.

Sam and Tucker were silent, probably processing everything that was happening. How all their worst fears about life inside a secret government anti-ghost compound were likely coming true. Danny could see the last of their denial leaving their face. They’d tried their best to find him, even going to Danny’s enemies like Skulker for help, with nothing but speculation to go off of, and for what?

He’d already talked about the paralysis incident with his parents in therapy extensively . Not willingly, of course, but it was something he had to do before they would release him, and he’d really wanted to be released so he could get access to his core back.

Lot of good that did him now. He was home and still sans powers.

He thought back to that day. The therapist had already told his parents what happened—to prepare them, she’d told Danny—but that didn’t matter. They both started crying the minute Danny started the story.

It was funny how time worked. That therapy session seemed like it happened months ago.

But even then, there were things he didn’t talk about, like how for the next few days he lay in his cell, surrounded by a pool of his ectoplasm, passing out and waking up so often that he didn’t know how much time had passed. He remembered the chilling feeling as he realized that no one was coming to help him, that he really might die there. And then he remembered when the click of the door finally sounded, revealing two operatives who stood there, ordering him to “get up, ghost.” But he couldn’t stand up, they knew he couldn’t do it.

They had taken their time with him that day, mocking him. He was weak, pathetic, disgusting.

“You really thought your little Houdini act would work, ghost? I know you lot are stupid, but that’s just sad.”

“Hah, are you gonna cry, ghost? Are you crying for Mommy and Daddy right now?”

He remembered that morning, and he so desperately wished he didn’t, because when the operatives were finished having their fun with him, they punished him for not following orders.

For not standing up.

Danny frowned. He still hadn’t told anyone about that. He couldn’t…

Oh, right. Sam and Tucker were still here, still living with microscopic breadcrumbs of knowledge of Danny’s reality.

What was the question again?

Danny glanced up at Tucker. “Don’t you have homework?”

“Nah,” Tucker said, waving him off. “Lancer was nice to us today.”

Danny stared at Tucker, his lips twitching upward in some poor attempt to grin, just like the old times. “You’re such a—a shit liar. You know?”

“Must be a new ghost power. Nobody can see through my charming gaze.”

Danny snorted, his mind wandering to last night. He thought this would be so easy last night, but he hadn’t exactly been in his right mind then. He was happy and full of bliss, but it was all a lie.

Last night, he thought that telling them wouldn’t be so hard. Hell, they had seen him bloody and beaten more times than he could count. Just because this time it was done by the government, and not one of his ghostly foes...

But now the drugs had worn off, and reality was hitting him like a ton of bricks.

He knew he could tell them about some things. He could tell them about how the Guys in White would strap him down in a tube chamber, testing different chemicals on him to see how his body would react. He could tell them about how one day they surrounded him with blood blossoms to try to harness the electricity from the flowers and use it for energy.

Danny was almost thankful that one was a dead end. It turned out his ectoplasm was more powerful than the blood blossom electricity.

But there were some things he still couldn’t say. Like the time he was strapped to a table, conscious—though barely—and taunted with metal knives and other sharp objects. He couldn’t tell them about how just minutes later, the knives were brought to his skin and he had to lie there helpless and watch the ectoplasm trickle down his chest and pool around his sides, dripping off the table and splashing against the tiled floor. How the room started blurring and then, before he knew it, he was forced into consciousness by the feeling of fire and the sight of green-stained gloves inside his body, groping around for his core.

And just how violated he felt. Like the last of his innocence had been stolen from him right along with the chunk of his core they extracted. And that was the real reason why he wasn’t allowed access to his ghost core, because it was scarred and damaged now just like the rest of his body.

Ugh, he was stupid for inviting them here. He couldn’t tell them what they wanted to know.

This wasn’t a typical ghost fight. This wasn’t a time where he needed a few stitches in his arm, some Advil, water, and a good night’s sleep to heal.

This was permanent.

And then there was another matter entirely, the one with the red bag. And the sight of it, the smell, and the taste and—

“Earth to Commander Fenton! Do you copy?”

Danny’s head jerked up, and he realized where he was again: in his room, tense, with two concerned faces hovering over him.

He forced his shoulders to relax. “Yeah—yeah, sorry. Just, the timeline...weird.”

Sam gave him an encouraging smile. “I know it’s a lot, but we’re here for you. We’ll stay as long as you need, homework be damned.”

“Fuck homework,” Tucker agreed.

“Yeah.” Danny sighed.

Reality sucked.

“Um...”

“Danny, how did they get you?” Sam asked.

“What do you mean?”

“When they kidnapped you. I mean, what even happened?”

“They ambushed my house. You know—I heard it made the news—and...they dragged me away. Into the van.”

“We, uh…saw some footage of that. Videos people took. You know,” Tucker said.

Danny pretended not to hear that. “My parents tried to fight them, but they pinned them down. Shot a bullet in the floor next to...to my dad. I couldn’t...fight back. Couldn’t fight back. So they put the inhibitors on me and that was it, I was done.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah, I mean, it wasn’t all bad…”

Sam wiped her eyes. “That’s bullshit and you know it.”

That almost sounded like their confrontation before Danny was admitted to inpatient, before Dash caught him in the middle of a breakdown and got Lancer involved.

“I was in my cell most of the time.”

In the darkness, with the smell of ectoplasm and the red bag permeating the air, cold and shaking, constantly fighting against his body’s pain receptors or the clawing hunger in his stomach.

“And the rest of the time?”

Danny shrugged. “It depended. Most of it wasn’t...wasn’t horrible. They didn’t do much.”

Tucker raised his eyebrows.

“I mean…” Danny shifted. He needed to give them something, or else they were just going to accuse him of lying again. “I...uh, how do I say this...at first, they mainly just wanted to understand ghost—ghost biology. You know? Typical stuff. And they had other—uh, lower level...ghosts to compare me with. Tested my ectoplasm against theirs. They realized my ectoplasm was more...potent. Because my body is more dense than an—an average ghost. I don’t know. But they would have me flat on a table...and there would be a—uh...they would take some. I would just lie there and they’d have a tube in my arm. It was...boring.”

“And then?”

“I tried to escape...and things changed. They got worse. I don’t remember most of it, but they made me...I wasn’t—I couldn’t eat anymore. I could barely move, and one of my arms was busted. I couldn’t eat, so they would...granola bars, and...it—it was red, like one for, you know—and it...they...and…”

“There’s a good dog,” Operative O’s voice hissed in his ear. “See, was that so hard?”

Danny’s throat burned. He felt something trickle down his cheeks. Was it ectoplasm? Tears? Bile? He didn’t know. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered.

It was too hot in here. But he was so cold.

“I’m only doing my job. If you were a better trained dog, we wouldn’t have to do this, now would we? It’s not my fault we’re in this position. Don’t you get it?”

“—what was red?”

Danny flinched, startled. “Huh?”

“The red thing?” Tucker asked. “With the granola bars?”

“Granola bars?” Danny breathed. “I don’t...I don’t remember. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I brought that up. It’s not...I don’t remember why they brought the bag in. It was probably just to collect samples. For storage. I don’t know, I’m sorry.”

Sam and Tucker exchanged a look with each other. Another silent conversation.

“Everything is jumbled. I don’t remember most of it.”

“It’s okay.” Sam plastered an obviously fake smile on her face. “We can do something else if you want?”

Danny looked down at his hand. It was shaking.

“You up for some Doomed? Or think you’re too rusty to take us dweebs on?”

“Yeah,” Danny forced out. “Doomed sounds great. Let’s...let’s do that.”

He was fine, after all. Reality sucked but he was here and alive and with his friends who cared about him very much. He could play Doomed with them. It was his favorite game, right?

So why did he feel like there was a wall in between them?

---

They could hear the yelling as soon as they stepped out of the elevator.

“Oh dear,” Maddie said, hesitating beside Danny. “I hope everything’s alright.”

Danny hummed in response and focused on the voices. Stretching his sensitive hearing, past the muffled babble, he was able to pick out one distinct word.

“...Ghost…”

“I think we should wait out here,” Maddie said. “At least until it’s calmed down in there.”

Danny pushed himself forward. Had he heard wrong?

No, that was impossible. He knew what he heard.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” he said, trying to ignore the way his stomach squirmed.

Ghost.

“Danny, I’m not sure…”

“All I have to do is sign in, anyways.” Danny pushed himself closer to the door. The voices were getting louder on the other side. He could pick out more words now from the muffled yelling.

“...unsafe...vicious...”

“It’s not like we have to—to hang around the lobby.”

“Wait, I don’t think—”

But Danny had stopped listening. His hand was already on the door handle, his heart was already thumping in his chest, and his head was already swimming with pain from his chest and back and everything else going on.

“I thought you were running a professional clinic here!” the woman’s voice on the other side cried out.

There, that was all he needed to rip open the door to the lobby, where he immediately locked eyes with the owner of the raised voice.

The woman narrowed her eyes at him. “My daughter came here to heal. I can’t sit quietly while I know she’s here with that—that thing putting her safety at risk!”

Whatever Danny was about to say, whatever half-baked plan he had constructed in the corners of his curiosity vanished in an instant. He looked up at the woman twice his height, her finger extended out to him, scorn etched on her features, and Danny shut down.

That thing, his brain echoed. He was just a thing. Just some piece of trash kicked off the sidewalk into the street where cars could run over him.

He used to be something back before he stupidly outed himself on national television. Someone admired by most in the town. A ghost, sure, but a ghost with a purpose.

But not anymore.

The therapist swiftly moved between them. “Danny,” she said gently. “Please wait out—”

That thing.

He wasn’t human. Hell, he wasn’t even a ghost. What was he? What right did he have to be here?

“How dare you,” came his mother’s voice from behind him. “That is my son you’re talking about. How dare you imply—”

“And you, what the hell were you thinking? Enrolling your science experiment in—”

“He is a child!”

No. No he wasn’t.

Danny felt someone push him away from the raised voices, but he couldn’t see where they were going. All he could see was the expression the woman had on her face.

Disgust.

Repulsion.

Fear.

That was it. She was afraid of him, wasn’t she?

Maybe...maybe Operative O was right. Maybe all those days being tested and tortured were for something. Maybe they were all right back in the compound.

Maybe he was just a rabid dog.

A door closed behind him, and one part of his brain played the sound of his cell doors shutting in the Guys in White facility—that soft click bouncing off the walls of his mind—while the other part of his brain reminded him that he wasn’t there he was outside the compound where the government couldn’t get him, but then that was a lie too because he would never escape them, not really.

There was a therapist in front of him now. She was talking to him, Danny was sure of it. He could see her lips moving and he could hear a voice in the room but he couldn’t understand what she was saying. The words didn’t make sense together. It was just noise, just like everything else. It didn’t matter. It was noise.

His core thrummed in his chest, and he could feel the prickles of intangibility dance along his fingertips. More than anything, his core wanted to escape. To get away. Fly out the window and soar through the sky. Who cares if anyone saw him? It wasn’t like his leaving the hospital was a secret any longer. By tonight, the woman from the lobby would be all over the news, telling the story of how she only narrowly escaped the sharp claws of that rabid animal known as Danny Phantom. The disgusting, vile ghost masquerading as a human teen. How horrid that he’d managed to infiltrate a PHP program to prey on the defenseless, traumatized teens.

Everyone was going to know about him now.

Nothing mattered.

The therapist moved in closer to him, her lips still moving. He made eye contact with her, and she nodded encouragingly. But it didn’t matter.

There was no more hiding. No more running away.

Danny Phantom was back.

He was a monster.

“There’s a good dog.”

#everything was white #my writing #danny phantom #phandom #fanfiction #phicc

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shewantedtobeasecretgirl · 4 years

Text

10. Bathroom wall (Part Three) a.k.a. a queen bee, Prince in the shower and a backup Casanova

In the previous parts: The bunch spends a free evening in a bar, where local girls are trying to get closer to the band members. Dave suggests Jeff that he should make Judy jealous but she’s too busy with being outraged about a girl named Claudia dancing with Stone. Finally, Claudia backs down; after a fight with Stone, Judy reveals to Karrie, that her made-up stories about Stone had to do something with her reaction. In the meantime, Mike is feeling sick and refuses Karrie’s advice to take his health issues more seriously. She also shows him pictures of Effie but Mike’s evening ends with a surprising twist. Judy tries to calm down with the help a relaxing shower but she gets unexpected company in the common bathroom…

@shadowsonoureyes I think I almost completed your drabble challenge 😉

“I got a lion in my pocket and baby he's ready to roar…”

God, I wish this was only a nightmare and I woke up suddenly realizing nothing of this madness has happened actually, maybe I could even laugh at the whole setting. But now, laughing is the last thing I feel like doing, I’ve been standing here since who knows when, I’m freezing, I wanna finish my shower, I wanna dry myself, I wanna get out of here… this with the lots of “wannas” sounds like some random lyrics of The Ramones… But as things stand at the moment, I’ll grow old and die here because this skinny hippo has been splashing beyond the wall for at least fifteen minutes, performing the longest and most inconsistent mix of Prince songs ever, deliberately altering the lyrics, changing the range of lines or even skipping some of them whereas repeating other ones infinitely like a broken record player.

“You got the horn so why don't you blow it…”

Actually, I’ve even started playing with the idea of turning the water on again, maybe this capybara enjoys listening to his own voice enough not even to hear it. But no, that’d be too risky. But I could definitely get rid of the shower gel bottle to be able to rub along my body against cold, I’ve been squeezing that little plastic flask at full strength since he entered here, as if it could help me become invisible. I slowly stoop to place it on the ground in the corner feeling like a compromised spy who’s ordered to put her weapon down without making any suspicious or ambiguous move; but due to the slippery surface under my soles I lose my balance and as I catch towards the wall to prevent myself from falling I drop it… and it lands with a loud crash in the metal shower tray. Fuuuuck… I freeze immediately and perk up my ears holding my breath trying to figure out if he heard it too… of course he heard it, it was as ear-splitting as a rocket launch but maybe he was too distracted and…

“Is somewhere there? Who’s that?”

He heard it…

“Who’s that? Scully? Is that you? Don’t be so shy, we’ve known each other for ages, I’ll even wash your back if you need help…”

Okay, Judy, you can’t hide any longer, you have to find out something, anything… what if I just ran out with a battle cry and grabbed my towel and… okay, maybe something more discreet would be more adequate.

“Scully? I’m coming over…”

“NO!!!” I scream.” It’s not Scully… it’s me… Judy…” I manage to reveal my identity only for the third attempt since my voice won’t obey and insists on sounding comically high-pitched. “And thanks but I’d skip the offer, I can reach my back.” Jesus, I don’t know why I’m babbling this, it’s like…

“Oh… I didn’t know it was you. Actually, I thought I was alone, you were so silent… I couldn’t even hear the water running at you…”

“Because… because… it wasn’t running since… it’s a part of my shower routine, I begin it with hot water then I turn it off and stand a few minutes until I start feeling I’m freezing, this method works wonders on the blood circulation…” I basically yell the end of my bullshit excuse since I turned the water on in the meantime to finally put an end to this awkward situation. Unfortunately, when I turn it off, I can hear he’s still humming, seriously, how much time does he need to dry his balls?

“Anyway… you were right.” he speaks up out of the blue.

I was right? Meaning what? You’re a pervert? You’re a bitch who would bang everything that moves?

“The acoustics in this room are truly excellent.”

You don’t say…

‘I’m flattered by the fact that once in a blue moon you are willing to agree with me. And, uhm, I’m ready with my shower and as you’ve probably already noticed, my towel is hanging on the wall on the other side so… so I’d feel honored if you left…”

“If I left?”

Yes, I mean get the fuck out you pig, you heard it well.

“Why would I leave? I want to enjoy these fascinating circumstances a little bit longer…“

I should have known this wouldn’t be easy, this must be like a dream come true for him: holding me hostage, taking advantage of my miserable situation…

“But seriously, just listen: I really get a dirty mind whenever you're around… Awesome!”

I roll my eyes so hard that I can see my own frontal lobe… Being forced to listen to Stone’s falsetto serenade while being butt naked, fuck, I didn't know what I was missing in my life until now.

“What do you want? Should I sing a fuckin’ duet with you for my freedom?”

“That’s not a bad idea, actually… what about Together Forever by Rick Astley?” I hear him snapping with his fingers and giggling at his brilliant idea.

“Well, the performance of Under Pressure would sound more honest from my mouth right now…”

“You’re just so negative, nothing can please you today seemingly. But as a sign of my generosity, I’m ready to give you that towel.”

How can a voice be so irritating? This nasal tone with the mannered Northwestern accent makes sound everything what he says extremely annoying, I could punch him even for citing the headlines of a newspaper.

“Ha-ha, very funny, Gossard. But let’s skip your cheap tricks and move your aaa…self out of here.”

“Cheap tricks? I don’t think there’d be anything interesting to see here, plus, you’re forgetting about a very important factor: I’m out here wearing a towel whereas you are in there wearing nothing so it is me who makes the rules. But, again, I’m a genuine guy so I give your towel to you, all you have to do is to ask me.” the pain in the ass goes on with his rant.

“Okay. GIVE ME THAT FUCKIN’ TOWEL!” I scream angrily stomping of helplessness.

“Why do you have to be so rude? You’re hurting my sensitive soul all the time; if you want me to cooperate, you have to be kind and ask me nicely.”

Once I get out of here, I’m going to fuckin’ kill you, I swear, I’m going to kill you ten times, I’m going to kill your reincarnated bodies too even if you will be reborn as a cute kitten or a baby giraffe…

“GIVE ME THAT FUCKIN’ TOWEL! Please?” I yell again and append a fake, cheesy appeal to my words.

“You see? It sounds immediately completely different.” he snickers satisfied.

“Okay, but we have to clear the logistics first. I think the least awkward way would be you standing facing the door, handing the towel backwards to me and I would reach out for it and…”

“Do you really think I wanna peep?” he asks with amused smugness in his voice.

I do? I don’t? Shit, there’s no right answer to this question, I mean, I’m not interested in him at all, I don’t care what he might think about my look, my body, I don’t even know whether he would think anything at all or he’d just act neutrally like I wasn’t a woman or human at all but fuck, I’m a human, I’m a woman, I could be the possible subject of a guy’s interest too and when I mean “a guy” I don’t think necessarily about him although he’s a guy too…

“I don’t give shit about what you want, what I want is to minimize the level of my retinal damage by not seeing your face, so please do me a favor, turn away from me and give me that goddamn towel.”

By the time I’ve finished the sentence, a pale body with something bright blue at waist-level appears on my horizon with funny side-sliding steps. He’s standing with his back to me, as far as I can judge it even without my glasses, my assumption is only based on the dark trail of his hair on his back. Or he’s an aberrant psychopath who covered his face with his hair to deceive me. He pulls my towel off the wall… okay, that means he’s truly facing the opposite wall unless his shoulders are especially flexible… damn, he reaches it backwards to me lifting his arm to the same height… I’m still not sure about his exact posture…

I slowly walk to the edge of the shower tray, hesitating for a few seconds which one of my body parts I should keep covered before reaching out for it. With a deep sigh, I opt for my breasts and try to grab my towel but there’s still almost a one-yard distance between our hands.

“Stone… you’re too far… could you come closer?” I moan in agony.

“Interesting… until now, you wanted me to go away and now you’re asking me the opposite. Or you’re just trying to trick me into touching you and then get me arrested for sexual assault… no, Camden, I don’t buy it. Anyway, walking backwards is dangerous, what if stumble and fall and break my neck? It’d be safer if you came out of your hiding place, you can’t spend the rest of your life there when I’m gone, I don’t care…”

I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this but I obviously have no choice… I approach him with sneaking steps while terrible thoughts are chasing each other in my mind… What if he can rotate his head 180 degrees like owls? What if he’s got extraordinary eyes like chameleons and due to his particularly developed peripheral vision he can see basically everything around him?

As I finally touch the terry cloth fabric, I immediately tear the towel out of his hand and wrap it around myself. His arm swings automatically back to his body as if it was pulled by a spring and while I pull back into my shelter to dry all my body parts, he keeps standing at attention on the same spot.

“Ahem… I’m ready so… you can go…” I make an attempt to get rid of him.

“You’re not a quick learner… and you’re pretty ungrateful… I haven’t heard the magic word yet.”

I can’t believe this. And I can be grateful to him for not humiliating me even more…

“Thanks…” I mumble.

“I didn’t understand it… it’s strange, the acoustics in that corner must be different, it absorbs sound waves…”

“Thank you, Stone Almighty Gossard, nothing could express my eternal gratitude, you’re my savior, I’d be nothing without you, from now on, I’m your slave!!!” I shout paying special attention to my articulation.

“Could you hear the echoes too? Much better.” he clicks with his tongue satisfied and disappears from my sight with the same hilarious moves he made earlier. “Good night, Judith, and if you happen to have erotic dreams this night, please keep them for yourself, I’d feel embarrassed if you told me about it…” he adds and as I open my mouth for some snarky retort, I hear the door slamming.

Finally. This… prick is just unbelievable, after his performance at the bar he thinks he did me a favor by not behaving a like a perv? And erotic dreams? Come on, I’d rather puked myself to death of his sight.

I have to use the awkward choreography I invented earlier to get back to my stuff I left on the chair, although I myself don’t really understand either, why, I’m alone after all... As I lean down for my glasses, my fingers reach out for… nothing. They’re gone! I grope the whole chair along… still nothing! I put down the shower gel bottle and try to crouch down to check the floor under the chair, which is not easy to do at all without exposing my intimate body parts. I keep adjusting the towel with my left hand while I try to scan trough every inch of this goddamn place with the other one and I’m about to drop the freakin’ towel when I hear a weird noise from behind my back. Snorts… silent snorts… like someone was suppressing laughter… oh shit. That moron, that son of a bitch… he’s Satan, I told it.

I straighten up as fast as I can, I can only hope he didn’t see my backside or my nipples or… why can’t I die here and now without more suffering?

As far as I can see him without my spectacles, he’s leaning against the sink and checking me out with folded arms.

“Taking away my glasses? That’s the most creative idea you could find out? Seriously, where are we, in third grade maybe?” I attack him but in the meantime I realize I should calm down, seeing me being upset is probably his favorite entertainment. “Okay, Gossard, go ahead. I don’t know why you crafted this vicious plan with trapping me here, taking away my glasses, stalking me… let’s get over with it, whatever you want…” I shrug resigned.

“Firstly, I didn’t know you were here, I just came in since I have the right to have a shower too. Secondly, I have nothing to say to you, it is you who should talk.”

“Me? Do you think I want to have a chit-chat with you here and now? Are you completely nuts? Just give back my glasses and get out of here!”

“Well, that has a price.” he answers irritatingly slowly, I can hear clearly he’s grinning.

“Is this a blackmail?” I scream outraged.

“Why do you have to use always such tough words? It’s a… mutually beneficial offer. You want your glasses whereas you also owe me an apology and I’m ready to accept it.” he explains with fake generosity.

“I’m not gonna beg you, you idiot.” I hiss between my teeth and grab towards his hands but I’m not fast enough to catch him off guard. He raises his arm high before I could get my property back and smiles down at me with a smug expression.

Does he want me to bounce like a puppy? Well, I won’t. Actually, the only possible weapon that comes to mind is as childish as his stupid little trick but the end justifies the means… But I have to be quick since my one hand is busy with keeping the towel around my body and I don’t want to grope him for too long time either. But he didn’t leave me any other choice, unfortunately.

“Fine, Stoney…” I pretend giving in. “You’re right. So listen to me carefully because you’re not going to hear this from me too often…”

“I’m all ears.” he spreads out his free arm.

Piece of cake.

“Sooo…” I approach him cautiously “Stoney, I just want to say… TICKLE ATTACK!!!” I yell and poke my fingers between his ribs.

The effect is beyond expression. He immediately doubles over letting out a wide range of animal sounds and it only takes a few seconds to tear out my spectacles of his hand maintaining the offensive with my other hand.

“Ha, victory!”I yell chuckling at his convulsion but as I hear a weird noise over his whining, I immediately stiffen. “What was that?”

“What’s… what?” he asks still groaning.

“Didn’t you hear that? I think someone slammed the door…” I stutter as I place my glasses on my nose. “And that means someone had opened it before… and maybe saw us…”

“Bullshit. And even if it happened as you think, all that could be seen was you committing sexual harassment on me so…” he smirks sassily leaning back against the sink.

What an obnoxious asshole. And he’s also wearing flip-flops, which I’ve always hated on men, seriously, I could slap him with them…

“Sexual harassment? I would rather jump on a male tapir than engaging into an erotic intermezzo with you!” I tuck my hair nervously behind my ear.

“You and a tapir? I wish I could see the offsprings…” he keeps grinning and flips his wet hair back… actually, it’s surprising, usually, he’s not a big hair washer. A tiny waterdrop is swinging on the end of one of the dark strands that are wavier than usual, this must be their natural state… then the drop slowly falls on his shoulder and follows the line of his collarbone, changing direction at his neck only to gain momentum and now it’s pulling a trail along his flat stomach and…

“Ahem…” he clears his throat “shall we go? Or do you want to examine my naked body for a while?”

“Let’s go” I start like I was waking up from a dream and I can feel my cheeks are burning for some mysterious reasons. “But you go first, I don’t want to make myself ridiculous in front of more people tonight.”

“Okay, okay…” he walks out with lazy reluctance. “All clear!” he shouts and I put my head out of the door to check he’s not trying to trick me again. How can he walk so leisurely, isn’t he bothered by the fact he’s almost naked? And why did he wrap that towel so tightly around his waist that it shows every curve of his…body parts…?

“Do you want to spend the night in there?” he suddenly turns back and I can only hope I managed to look away fast enough.

“No… no…I’m coming…” I mutter and follow him in duck walk, squeezing my toiletry bag.

He stops at his door and leans with one shoulder against the door jamb, of course he wouldn’t miss out my clumsy performance.

“Wow, gracious. You were born to the catwalk.” he giggles.

“Shut up or I scratch your eyes out!”

“Okay-okay but I hope we can agree that we’re even.” he waves an imaginary white flag.

“We are. And I say now good night before you happened to die under unclear circumstances.”

“Good night, Miss Hundred Pounds of Concentrated aggression.”

His audacious grin mellows into a boyish smile and I don’t know if I am only hallucinating or for a fragment of a second, he scans me from head to toe…

He pushes himself away from the wall and disappears in the dark room, leaving me frozen in the hallway. I stumble back to my room and I plop down on my bed. But what was that stare? He was probably just mocking me as usual, he’s surrounded by beautiful girls and he must find my dwarf body structure ridiculous. But he said we’re even… I stare at the toiletry bag on my lap, although I didn’t turn on the light, its pattern is clearly visible in the street lights filtering through the torn curtain. Musical notes, treble keys… wait. He claimed he didn’t know it was me in the shower. But who else in the bunch would have a bag with these motifs? He knew it was me. He knew it and he still came in. He wanted to humiliate me, it wasn’t just an embarrassing coincidence. Stone Gossard, we’re everything but even.

***

„These piggies are so cute.”

“Yes, they are totally adorable.” Layne agrees observing them with a tender smile. “Look at their mom, how patiently she’s bearing as they’re pestering her… geez, some of these little fuckers are pretty aggressive… look at that one!”

He points at a spotted piglet which is the greediest in the bunch; I don’t know much about domestic animals, I can only guess he’s a tiny boar. He’s tossing away all his siblings to get free access to his mther’s teats and even after he gets one of them, he keeps her poking with his power outlet-shaped nose. Well, moms are the most patient creatures on earth, I’m sure I’ve caused a lot of trouble to mine too…

“I wonder if we can stroke them, their hair seems to be so fluffy…”

“A bit later, now it’s mealtime. Their mother is very protective of them, she would bite your fingers off… I think she’s going to pass out in a few minutes, you can try to grab one of them while they’ll be playing around her.” the farmer-looking guy answers. He can’t be much older than us but he speaks in a slow, prudent manner, which makes him sound like a grandfather. He must be an employee of this place… whatever this place is…

“Effie would love them.” Layne remarks, still fascinated by the nursing process.

Effie? Layne knows Effie? Interesting.

“Is she here too?” I stutter confused.

“Of course, dude, you bought her here, remember?” Layne glances at me and raises one eyebrow.

“Really? And where is she know?” I scratch my chin still not understanding how she got in the picture.

“She stayed in the house. She was interested in the greenhouse and the gardener happened to be there, you couldn’t drag her away from the orchids. Seriously, Mike, are you stoned our what? You should take more care of your girlfriend if you want to take this thing between you seriously.”

Girlfriend? Effie is my girlfriend? Okay, that sounds strange too not that I want to complain…

“And… what’s that house you mentioned?”

“Shit… I’m not gonna help you out with weed ever again, this stuff has obviously terrible side effects on you, you’re like a drunk goldfish. Hey, Jer, tell to this asshole where we are!” he shouts at his approaching bandmate.

“Estamos a la hacienda Cantrell, hombre! This my ranch! And in a few hours, we’ll be eating the best food you’ve ever tried, Consuela is the most badass cook in the entire world! But we have the whole afternoon, I want to show you my new golf course, we could even play, I have tons of golf clubs, I can lend you one of them…”

Wait, something’s wrong here. I know they have their share of success because of this Seattle madness too, not that they don’t deserve it, they are a fuckin’ amazing band but I never knew Jerry had a ranch, I mean, it must have cost a buttload of money and however much I like him, I must admit he’s not that type who prefers savings to poker, dope and strippers.

“How… how long have you owned this… this huge farm?” I wave around clumsily trying not to sound too stupid.

“For like… ages…? Hahaha, man, I know my beautiful maids drive every man crazy, that was my point when casting them and choosing their uniform. But you can’t complain either, I checked the little blondie out, nice catch! That cola bottle-shaped body, damn…” the skirt-chaser underlines his words by drawing the mentioned contour in the air flashing a filthy grin. I don’t like this tone, I don’t like the idea of Jerry talking about Effie or looking at her, fuck, I don’t even like the idea of any member of Alice In Chains staying in the same state as her for more than three seconds.

“But first, we have to choose the dinner. Which one do you want?” the guitarist nods towards the pigpen and knowing his dirty humor, I’m not sure whether he refers to any food-related or he’s called hookers or what?

“How… how do you mean?”

“Mike, this is definitely not your day, just pick one!” Layne giggles glancing amused at his bandmate.

“But… what?” I still don’t get where this whole thing is going.

“Geez man, okay, I”ll do it for you. Come on, little dudes, it won’t hurt, I promise you!” Jerry leans over the fence and grabs two piglets by the skin around their neck.

“No, no, are you trying to say we’re gonna eat them? No, never, this is the cruelest thing I’ve ever heard, you can’t…” I protest shocked but the asshole doesn’t give a shit about me and carries the two victims under his arms to the pickup standing close to us. He ignores the desperate squeals of the poor little things: he throws them in the truck bed and climbs after them.

“Jerry, where are you going? You can’t… stop, don’t do that, man!” I yell almost crying but he just keeps laughing with that typical, pedophile Santa Claus laughter of him.

“What do you think, for what purpose do I breed them? They are cute and all but just think about a crispy, red, roasted pig spinning on a skewer over the fire… yummy… Consuela has a secret recipe, it’s delicious. I takes hours to prepare it, though, but I think I can keep myself busy until then, you know, that blondie is waiting only for me…” he winks and I catch to my stomach. Effie… Jerry… no, that can’t happen, I think I’m going to vomit, Jesus, this is terrible…

He pats the side of the truck bed twice, signaling to the driver that he can start the engine.

“Yes dude, until the pork gets ready, I’m gonna bang Effie… bang Effie… bang Effie… bang Effie…”

His words get mixed with the squealing of the piglets and the roar of the engine and the terrible sounds keep echoing in my head distorted by the Doppler-effect until the car disappears on the horizon.

“Bang Effie… bang Effie… bang Effie…”

…

I wake up with a start. My heart is beating so fast that it almost rips my chest, the blanket is soaking wet of my sweat, even my hair is stuck to my head and neck. This was the worst nightmare I’ve had in the past years… wait… if it was a dream, why can I still hear the snorts?

I slowly turn my head in the direction of the sound and suddenly, everything falls into place. The girl with whom I spent last night is snoring next to me… Her red lipstick and black eyeshadow is smeared all over her face making her look like a slutty panda bear and the little stream of drool in the corner of her mouth makes it even worse. Thus passes worldly glory… not that I have any right to criticize her look, I must look like crap too and honestly, I also feel like that. My head is about to explode, my intestines are burning… but I can only blame myself and that bottle of pure vodka we consumed last night together. At least the sex was satisfactory... yes, satisfactory is the best term, not more, not less. The beginning was creepy, though, with those weird outbursts of her about her nonsense prohibitions… I mean, who the hell wants to do stuff like that? Poor girl, she must have had hard sexual experiences. But that cowboy roleplay could have been even good with the hat and slight bondage elements and all… but her exaggerated behavior kept it in conditional. After all, we both got what we wanted and I don’t have to feel guilty. I didn’t force her, she offered, I just played along… it was basically her who fucked me. I don’t know if it had anything to do with me being the guitarist of Pearl Jam but even if it has, come on, is that really such a terrible crime if the “also ran” member of the band takes advantage of his situation once in a blue moon? The girls are never cueing in front of my hotel door, I deserve to have blast when a rare occasion occurs for some mysterious reason. And I don’t owe anyone any explanation, the guys and Eric are not my chaperones, I’m a single guy with needs and I can’t live in a fantasy world for good, pathetically sobbing after someone I haven’t even met yet, right?

Hydration. That’s the first thing I need right now. The only problem is that she’s sleeping with her limbs spread in four different direction and her left arm happens to rest on my chest. Shit, I wish I had left after we finished it as I always do after one-night stands, it spares both the girl and me awkward morning scenes, these things are not about romance, anyway. But this time the sex was intense and the booze was kick-ass so we both must have passed out after getting on top.

I try to slide out of the bed basically in horizontal position placing the pillow on the same spot where my upper body used to be hoping she’s sleeping deeply enough not to notice the change. I freeze when she lets out a few louder snorts after my maneuver but after a few satisfied smacks, she calms down and keeps snoring. I tiptoe around the bed to collect my clothes and I found all of them except my boxers… fuck, she must be lying on them. After a few seconds of hesitation I get dressed without them, they’re clean since I didn’t have any “accident” yesterday so trying to get them back is not worth risking.

I silently walk out in the kitchen and immediately spot a few bottles of mineral water on the counter… but taking one of them would be stealing, right? But if I turned the water on, she might wake up… I open all of the cupboards until I find a larger glass and turn the water tap cautiously until a thin spout starts running from the pipe. It takes a while until I fill the glass with this method but I gulp the content of it with one breathe in a blink of an eye.

My rumbling stomach directs me to the fridge, even if I don’t want to take anything, I can check its content, right? The cool breeze feels unbelievably good as I lean into it… let me see… further bottles of water, some milk, a piece of moldy cheese which probably isn’t supposed to be moldy, expired yogurt and a bunch of bananas. Shit, banana is my favorite fruit, the best resource of potassium and I’m dying to eat one. But I decided not to steal anything… but come on, it’s only a banana.

As I’m about to leave the crime scene, I notice a notepad and a pencil on the table. Maybe… maybe leaving a note would be a polite way of giving an explanation for what I did, right? Yeah, that’s it! Okay… “Dear…” Fuck, what was her name? Clarissa… Claudette… CLAUDIA! “Dear Claudia,” Shit, this is going to be harder than I thought… should I thank her for the sex? “thanks for the evening. I didn’t want to wake you up so…” so I ran away like a coward “I decided to say bye in this note. I was really hungry so I served myself with a banana.” and last night I served you my banana, Jesus, I’m a gross pig. “Sorry for doing it without asking, as an apology, I drew you another one.” I try to sketch the schematic picture of a banana but it looks like a nonfigurative or even phallic symbol from any possible angle. Shit, I can’t leave it like this. Luckily, the pencil has a quality eraser on the top so I can make the terrible scribble disappear and correct the message. “I drew you the only thing I can draw:” I close my eyes to recall the logo I’ve copied everywhere more times than anything else… “KISS” at least I can still do it… I go over the message again, I think it’ll do the trick. “I wish you the best, Mike”. I stop in the kitchen door on my way out. Even a KISS logo can’t undo a theft. I should offer her some compensation… I walk back and grab the pencil again. “Ps. Next time we come to Charlotte, I’ll invite you for a coffee.” But what if we bump into each other anywhere else? “Of course I also invite you in case we encounter anywhere else.” Okay, ‘Cready, you don’t have to write an epistle, you don’t have to surpass Tatiana, just leave finally before she wakes up. But what if… what if she doesn’t like coffee? Now that I glance around, I can see no coffee machine here… “Ps2. In case you don’t like coffee, my offer applies to tea or soda too, of course.”

Okay, enough, she won’t even notice, who the hell takes inventory about bananas? I shake my head, take a deep breath and sneak out of the apartment.

***

Coffee. The first thing that comes to mind in the morning. I know I drink way too much coffee but caffeine addiction is sort of an inevitable outcome if you’re a rock musician at nights and an espresso guy at daytime. Of course the receptionist or janitor or whoever confirmed my initial aiming: this shitty motel doesn’t sell any food or drinks apart from the broken vending machine in the corner of the lobby. He also said I can take all of its content if I manage to fix it. No, thanks, the late seventies-looking chips bags with their probably fossilized content aren’t particularly tempting.

I’m heading to the bistro on the other side of the street, it’s probably not much better than that place but a coffee without hair in it and a decent breakfast would already satisfy my needs. On entering I must admit, the smells are better than expected and as soon as I take place in a booth, a polite waitress appears at the table handing me a menu and producing a cup out of the blue. She immediately fills it with the hot beverage I was longing for. A cigarette would feel good with it too but there’s no one around I could grub from…

I’ve taken only a few sips of my precious drink when I see a familiar hat appearing at the entrance and in a few seconds, its owner plops down opposite me, munching a banana.

“The prodigal son has returned, huh?” I remark with a wide grin.

“I know you missed me, just admit it.” he answers with a deadpan. “God, I’m starving…” he grabs the menu and begins to study it.

“A coffee, sir?” the waitress emerges again and spills coffee in his cup too without waiting for the answer. “What can I get for you?” she inquires helpfully as she pulls a small notebook with a pen out of the pocket of her apron.

“One Aspirin and a bullet in my head, please.” Mike groans with a dark face.

“Excuse me sir?”

“Give us a few more minutes, please.” I try to send a “don’t ask” signal with my eyes and it seems to work because she leaves with a confused nod.

“The last time I saw you, you felt sick. But somehow you must have resurrected like a phoenix from its ashes since you were out all night… so… go ahead.” I lean back but my bandmate is avoiding my gaze, turning his head around like he was distracted by the interesting furniture of the diner.

“Look, it’s Judy over there!” he shouts pointing at the counter.

“Mike… no… please…” I groan in pain but it’s too late.

“Hey Jude!” he shouts and waves frantically.

Great… I bury my face into my palms.

Unfortunately, Mike comes to the brilliant idea of stretching his leg along the seat he’s sitting on while she’s approaching us; so by the time she gets to our booth, her only option is sitting down next to me. Which she isn’t willing to do, she’s just sending reproving looks at me until I realize the reason of her reluctance is my right arm on the backrest. When I remove it, she slides in the booth as far from me as possible, she’s probably sitting with half butt on the air.

“Hi Judy.” Mike greets her pulling his small metal flask out of the inner pocket of his jacket.

“It’s six o’clock in the morning, you’re not having vodka.” she tries to tear it out of his hand without even greeting us.

“Easy Jude, it’s empty, okay? It’s just a bad habit that I keep checking it.”

“Anyway, I doubt he would begin the day with spirits, seeing he was drinking the whole night…”

“What?” she screams outraged.

“Jesus, are you blind? He’s, like, the quintessence of hangover, circles under the eyes, grey face, he looks like a dirty dish cloth…”

“Jesus, guys, do you really have to talk so loud??? Anyway, thanks Stone, you know how to compliment…” Mike moans rubbing his forehead with his hand.

“I’m just telling the truth. Come on, tell us how did you get so fucked up… or… no… I don’t want to know the details.”

“You probably think I got wasted with a few local dudes I don’t even know and I fell asleep in the corner and when I woke up, I realized someone had drawn a dick on my cheek.”

“You left out the pissing-and-puking part but yeah, sort of. Ouch!” I whine when she tosses me with a strict face at full strength in the shoulder. “What’s wrong with you, do you think he’s a saint or what?” I complain.

“Don’t even listen to him, unlike him, I’m interested in the details. So tell me… were there pubic hair on the dick too?” she leans closer confidentially, flashing a cheeky smile and however much annoying I find her, I can’t help snorting.

“Jesus, six of one, half a dozen of the other.” Mike rolls his eyes. “Anywayyy… I wasn’t with some unknown dudes… but I wasn’t alone either…” he shrugs with a mysterious smile.

“Okay, you’re getting a vasectomy. That’s final. I don’t want you to get sued by teen moms from every single town we stop in.” I shake my head.

“Not that I’m the Casanova of the band, are we going to talk about the favors you’ve done to Seattle’s female population too? Do you begrudge me it or what?”

“I’ve had a long string of girlfriends, so what?”

“What?” our band parrot squeaks in again.

“A long string? There’s a herd of them!” Mike goes on.

“Just stop!” she screams and we both fall silent, surprised by her sudden outburst. “I’m new here. Explain.” she adds in a mellower voice.

“Judith, maybe you should improve your “reading between the lines” skills. My colleague is trying to say that he spent the night with a female acquaintance, I guess we can call her like that with some euphemism. And I recommended some fertility restrictions regarding Mike’s wasted adventures are like the cliché bad examples in sexual education videos.”

“As if you…” my bandmate is about to reply but he gets interrupted by the returning lovely waitress, and honestly, I don’t mind, somehow I don’t want him to reveal my dating history before the girl who never misses any occasion to point out my flaws.

“Did you manage to choose in the meantime?” she inquires.

“I’d like to have… scrambled eggs with ham and a sesame seed bun, fresh orange juice, pancakes with maple syrup, a peanut butter sandwich and chocolate chips with vanilla ice.” Mike reads enthusiastically.

“A sunny-side up with bacon and a cherry pie á la RR.” my neighbor lists.

“A vegetarian cheese plate and I’d like to try that deliciously sounding pie too.” I smile at the waitress.

“It’s even better than you think, Sir.” she winks back at me and as I watch her collecting the menus, I can see Camden’s disgusted face from the corner of my eye.

“Sooo… a Twin Peaks fan, huh?” I nudge her. “From now on, I’m gonna call you Nadine, it suits you in every sense.”

“Nice try, Bob… Anyway, Mike, if this is your hangover appetite, what is your normal state like? I got nausea even of listening to you…”

“I burned a lot of calories last night so…” he grins proudly, making me cackle up.

“Here we are, I want details!” I imitate a drum snare with my palms on the table.

“Jesus, guys, are you really going to disc…” Miss Prudery clucks in but luckily, my bandmate ignores her whining.

“It was… wild.” he smirks firmly.

“Wilder than that escort girl in L.A.?” I giggle since this is one of my favorite stories with which I tease Mike from time to time and it’s also a great topic to outrage this first communicant next to me.

“What? Mike? You’ve paid for sex???” Bingo.

“How many times I have to tell that…” Mike pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers with a nervous gasp. “Judy, it wasn’t the way you think… when I was living in L.A. with the Friel brothers, I met a nice waitress at a concert venue… we sort of hooked up, she’d visit me at the record store I’d work at… she was busted all the time so I’d lend her my spare money, I mean what I didn’t spend on booking gigs for us… and Chris Friel tried to warn me gently that every time I’d give her money, we’d sex afterwards… and once we ended up in a strip club after a gig and I found out she was a stripper, she worked there, I mean, she was dropping her clothes right in front of me… and she wasn’t only stripping. So I realized that what I thought to be a friends with benefits situation was actually a prostitute-client relationship, she was just too good-hearted to enlighten me. Stone, are you happy now???”

“Awww, Mike, this is so sad… but it’s also somehow so sweet… I hope you got a discount at least. But what’s with that girl from last night? What’s her name?”

“Someone has suddenly become curious, interesting…” I throw in.

“Errrr… her name was…”

“Jesus, Camden, you know nothing about one-night-stands, don’t you?” I ask to buy Mike some time but to be honest, I don’t know what to think seeing the industrial amount of condoms I found in her toiletry bag last night. Either is she a wild cat and a really god actress at the same time or this tour is like a project for her to get rid of her virginity. Ten times at least. And Jeff Ament has the honor to assist. Jesus.

“Why, I only asked…”

“He doesn’t know shit about her, let alone her name.”

“You banged…” she yells but realizing everyone looks at us, she suddenly takes the volume back “You had sex with her and you didn’t even ask her name?” she whispers between her teeth.

“Why? Names are overrated. Anyway, she introduced herself, I just… can’t remember her name anymore. And she didn’t even care about my name either.”

“Judith, I understand this is new to you, you probably insist on swapping business cards before petting and ask the guy even to show his ID before the penetration but in most cases, these things are going in a simpler way…” I use the occasion to torture her a bit and she starts reddening so much that I almost feel sorry for her. Almost.

“Hey Stoney, don’t mock her! Jude, there’s nothing wrong with being cautious. I mean, the social security number can even be useful in case your partner suffers a sex injury.” he tries to help her out clumsily and glances at me for reassurance.

“Yeah, let alone the blood type in case he needs a transfusion after the experience.” I scoff.

“Could we go back to Mike’s experience?” she squints towards me with popped eyes making a nervous gesture. “I hope you had protection…”

“Jesus, of course, she was prepared…”

“She??? Mike, how can you be so irresponsible, it’s always the guy’s task, I would never ever… go out with a guy who expects me to provide him with condoms, Jesus…”

Ha. The little liar…

“Are we seriously analyzing these details? I mean, how was the chick?” I exclaim, earning one more toss arriving from my right side.

“She was… nice. I mean, she had that crazy vibe… It was weird, everything was okay until we left to her place, we drank, we played pool, she started flirting, I reciprocated it and so on… At one point, she threw herself on me, by the time I realized what’s happening, she was basically already licking my tonsils… not that I minded. So she dragged me to her place.”

“That doesn’t sound that bad…” I grin.

“Something tells me there was a “but” in the story…” the queen of condoms reacts ignoring my remark.

“Well yeah… she disappeared in the kitchen to bring more booze, so I turned on the TV, I thought some decent erotic channel wouldn’t hurt in the process but I stopped at a documentary, it was filmed in Kenya, I think, with beautiful shots and interesting narrations… she came back at the part on mating lions, she asked me if liked it, I found her question odd but I answered “of course” and she got completely hysterical.”

“How… how do you mean?” she asks fidgeting anxiously with her coffee mug.

“She… she freaked out saying she couldn’t believe I’m into that too. It so strange, out of context, I guess it was probably some dark secret with his ex, so I didn’t ask.”

What a coincidence!

“Interesting, the same…” I reply but a nervous little hand beats me in the thigh under the table. What the hell is she doing?

“Go… go on Mike, and what happened after that?” she inquires with a forced smile.

“I managed to calm her down, switched to Playboy channel, and you know… we begin to get into the thing on the couch… but my stomach started rumbling, I was starving since I hadn’t eaten the whole day. So I asked her if I could grab some food before we… you know… and she almost begin to cry, explaining she never mixes food into sex, it was so incoherent, I couldn’t even understand what’s happening…” he recalls causing me a lightbulb moment.

“Jesus Mike, I know why she acted like that…” I exclaim chuckling since it I know this is more than a simple coincidence, his story has too much in common with my conversation with Claudia. Actually, now that it’s not about me, it actually sounds funny. Hilariously funny, I can’t stop shaking of repressed laughter… But those restless fingers pinch me in the thigh this time and when I turn right to challenge her, all I can see are two, huge, warm, brown eyes, begging me concerned… and suddenly I realize what they are trying to say.

“And why?” Mike asks back. Okay, I have to find out something, and I have to do it fast, think…

“Because… because… she chickened out!”

“Yes, that must have been the reason.” she agrees as quickly as possible. Okay, crisis averted.

“She didn’t.” Mike smirks. “She finally allowed me to grab some snacks and then… mature content.” he illustrates with fitting hand moves the events. “Okay, she turned out to be into rodeo roleplay, which was new to me but… after all, it was fun.” he shrugs not too convincingly.

“Was she wearing boots with spurs?”

“Damn, Camden, you always grasp the most important details…”

“She wasn’t… but she had a hat made bondage stuff to me but it was fine.”

Our meals arrive in the meantime but somehow the consumption of my vegan cheese plate seems to be incompatible with the picture of the naked Mike tied to a bed and ridden by Claudia only wearing a cowboy hat.

“A lot of people are into it but of course, there are different levels.” our troublemaker plays the expert with her mouth full.

“It was the enjoyable level bondage. Anyway, she had one more outburst, when we were finished.” he tells stuffing a considerable pile of scrambled egg into his mouth. “After the action, she went out to the bathroom but she threatened to slit my throat if I’d follow her. Like, why would I do that?”

I snort but I manage to fake a cough fast enough not to be noticed by Mike and abused by the travel-size Terminator.

“I don’t know, shower sex?” she shrugs casually munching too. Like she knows.

“Yeah, but that’s a good thing, isn’t it? Whatever. Anyway, guys, how was your night?”

“Terrible.”

“Awful.” we answer at once.

“Why, was it because of the motel or…?”

“I had nightmares… I mean, during that one single hour I slept. I didn’t really dare fall asleep because of the cockroaches… and I kept dreaming about them.” she begins to play with the food pushing it around on the plate.

“Stone, you had nightmares too?”

“Oh, no… although I had every reason to do so. I don’t know, the bed was uncomfortable.”

There’s an awkward silence. Mike devotes all his attention to his food and honestly, probably neither of us minds that he stops asking about last night. Anyway, as for the Claudia thing, she was right. He was proud of his conquest, facing him with the fact he was only a backup target would have totally ruined his confidence. I have to warn Scully too, he’s such a gossip. And Ed would certainly disapprove it but come on, Mike just wants to enjoy being the member of a rock band. He doesn’t fuck girls in every bush we pass by, I don’t think he should be executed for it. Jeff isn’t better either, drooling over you colleague, how immature and irresponsible…

“Hi Jeff!”

Speak of the devil. Anyway, why is she so suddenly so enthusiastic of seeing him?

“Hi guys. Wow, that looks good.” our bassist leans over to check my plate while Mike pulls his leg back to leave him space. Of course he couldn’t do that a few minutes earlier, so typical.

“If you ask me, it tastes better without Mike’s bizarre sex adventures but it’s a matter of taste.”

“Bizarre sex adventures? Something tells me I have to catch up.” he laughs. “How are you, Judy? You disappeared tomorrow so early.”

“Thanks, I’m fine, I was just…tired. Look, Jeff, I was thinking… if you wanna hang out today before the show? I mean, you said you’d show me a few chords and…”

I can’t believe my ears. What made her change her mind? If Dave’s jealousy trick worked out, I have to re-evaluate my knowledge about dating.

“Sure.” Jeff’s face lights up. “Anytime.”

“Aaaanytime, Juuudy…” I mock. ”Just don’t forget to put some money in his G-string.” I add mumbling.

“Jesus, Stone, you’re gross!” Mike drops his fork annoyed.

“I’m the gross? Remember, Mike…” I’m ready to remind him of his various drunk performances but as the debate is about to get heated, Eric shows up in the diner followed by Ed and Beth.

“Guys, we have a problem…”

#pearl jam fanfiction #pearljam #PearlJamfanfic #eddie vedder #stone gossard #MikeMcCready #jeff ament #dave abbruzzese

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anonwriter27 · 3 years

Text

Trust in Me Ch7

She could hear the waves crashing upon the stones below their house, the fresh smell of sea air touched her nose. Y/N was a little girl sat in her bed. The lights were dimmed, and the room was warm, Y/N looked around at her soft toys: one a grey wolf from her uncle Tony, one a raven from her father’s younger brother, Regin. They sat at the bottom of her bed, guarding her as she slept. Y/N felt the warmth of her mother as they sat together on the little girl’s bed.

“…and so the young maiden said goodnight to her ghosts, and danced back to her chambers to await another day.” Lia said, concluding the bedtime story.

“Goodnight sweet girl.” Lia got up and went to switch out the light.

“But mama…” Y/N spoke.

Lia sighed but gave a knowing smirk, “Y/N you promised one more story and you’d go to sleep.”

“But I have questions.” Y/N said timidly.

Lia perched onto the end of her daughter’s bed, “Don’t you always. I will answer one, and then you must go to sleep.”

Y/N pulled down her duvet so she could sit up and talk, “Why is the young woman not afraid of the ghosts?”

Lia smiled, “There is nothing frightening about ghost’s sweet girl, they were people just like you and me. They have histories, families, homes, they should be allowed to visit every once in a while.”

Y/N smiled, “It’s nice that they visit.”

All of a sudden, the room went dark and Y/N was no longer a little girl, “I miss you.”

Lia smiled sadly at her daughter, as she opened her mouth to speak, Y/N woke up.

Y/N opened her eyes slowly, a single tear escaping when she realised it was only a memory. She didn’t move for a while, she tried to fix her eyes shut again in hopes she could return to her dream, but the tears stung too much to keep them closed for long.

Y/N didn’t have nightmares, not really. Occasionally she would remember the bloodshed on the steps leading up to her home, or the gaping wound in her father’s side as they laid him to rest on the bed; but they were not the memories that haunted her. No, her dreams always consisted of warm and loving memories, and in a way they hurt more. She would spend mere minutes reliving moments of bliss, then awaken to a world she feared. She was not ungrateful by any means, she loved her uncle and all he had done for her; she just found it hard sometimes, to acknowledge that she will never go back to the life she once lived.

Y/N looked to her nightstand where her clock read 3:12am. She looked around her room, spotting her grey wolf, and fluffy raven sat on the bookshelf across the room, still watching over her after all these years. She removed herself from the warmth of her blankets, snuck her feet into her fuzzy slippers and made her way quietly out of her room.

She made one cup of tea and one cup of coffee on her way to the lab on the first floor. She followed the sound of drilling and metal clanging, knowing it would lead her to her chosen destination.

And there she found him, Uncle Tony. He removed his safety goggles and gloves taking the coffee she handed him.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, she shook her head in response.

“Me neither. Pepper thinks it’s my excessive caffeine intake.” He said, imitating Pepper’s voice.

“Not the nightmares?” Y/N inquired shyly.

Tony looked up at her with a tired smile, “Always the nightmares.” He admitted.

Y/N nodded, “Need some help?”

Tony chuckled, “Sure, you can do the paperwork, you know I hate that part.”

They worked together, making idle conversation as they did so.

“So…Vision tells me Loki is settling in.” Tony said, he had been itching to bring up the topic of Loki but didn’t want to overwhelm her.

“He seems to be.” Y/N replied, not lifting her gaze from the charts in her hands.

Tony nodded, “Good…good…and you’re getting along with him…?”

Y/N decided to cut to the chase, “Subtlety is not your strong suit uncle, what is it you would like to say?” she said with a grin.

“Don’t look at me like that, I just want to make sure you’re being careful. He has a track record; we can’t just trust the guy because Thor’s given him a thumbs up. For all we know he could be pretending to be calm and collected, and when we least expect it, he’ll…” Tony was working himself up to a rant.

Y/N placed her hand over his, “Uncle Tony, please don’t worry. I’m okay.”

Tony seemed soothed and decided to say no more in the subject. They kept working till dawn; when the sun came up Tony looked over to his niece. She had fallen asleep on a stack of papers, pen held loosely in her hand. He draped his fleece over her and let her sleep.

The avengers assembled for their monthly meeting in the conference room on the second floor. Sam was teasing Bucky about not understanding the order sizes at Starbucks.

“Surely just asking for a large will do!” Bucky said, clearly irritated.

“Man, large can range from a grande to a venti, you’ve got to be specific.” Sam teased.

Bucky rolled his eyes.

Nat and Steve listened to Bruce explain a new theory, Steve nodded to mask his confusion on the subject.

Meanwhile, Clint moved over to Wanda and Vision’s side of the room when he saw Thor and Loki enter.

Last to arrive were the Stark clan, Pepper by Tony’s side and Y/N and Peter behind them.

Loki was surprised to see Y/N at the meeting. Since their library trip a couple days prior, he hadn’t seen much of her. He assumed his brother had something to do with it, perhaps she worried Loki regarded her in the same way now.

“Shall we begin the meeting?” Steve spoke up, gathering the attention of the room.

“Not so fast capsicle.” Tony interrupted, earning an eye roll from the captain. “I want everyone to drop what they’re doing tonight, we have plans.”

Half the room sighed while the other groaned.

“Tony, I don’t want to go to another party, I still have a headache from the last one.” Clint complained, rubbing his forehead.

“And if memory serves me right, last time you fell onto the piano in all your Iron Man glory, causing it to fall through the floor.” Nat pointed out, “You sure you’re ready for that again?”

“It’s not a party, so kindly pause your whining. It’s a movie night.” Tony explained, “Pizza and Netflix, who’s in?”

Everyone agreed, due to a mixture of wanting a cosy night in and relief they wouldn’t have to smell tequila around the tower for the next week.

Loki sat quietly, observing the band of heroes; they were in the midst of discussing which movie to watch, Peter voting for Harry Potter, Sam rooting for Die Hard.

Loki scanned all their faces, noting the happy and tranquil moment they were sharing; that is, until his eyes landed on Y/N. She didn’t look upset or distressed, she just seemed very focused. Loki could practically feel her overthinking from across the table.

He then noticed Pepper smile down at the young woman and hold her hand under the table. The action seemed to bring Y/N out of the thought she was currently having; she took a deep breath and began to listen to the debate going on.

Despite Loki noticing her discomfort, no one else in the room had picked up on it. The second Pepper had noticed, Y/N shook herself out of her reverie. This was another piece in the puzzle, she didn’t want others to worry for her. ‘Is that why she didn’t leave the tower?’ Loki wondered.

The team finally agreed on a movie and went their separate ways. Loki would have to let her know he did not agree with his brother.

Y/N sat in her room reading Wuthering Heights for seemingly the hundredth time, but her mind kept drifting to Loki. She was sure Thor must have told him by now, what would he think of her?

Y/N recalled the day Thor had worked out who her family was. His carefree posture and charming smile altered quickly, his lips forming a thin line and his posture stiffening. He was never outwardly rude to her, nor did he ignore her when she entered the room; but he certainly didn’t welcome her or encourage the idea of friendship between them. It was something that had irked Tony.

She hated the idea that Loki may look at her the same way. She liked being around Loki, she felt calm with him and that was rare for her.

The alarm on her phone distracted her from her thoughts. 7pm it flashed, movie time.

Y/N got up and threw on a hoodie, slipping on a pair of fuzzy socks and made her way out of her room.

She walked to the elevator which took her to the top floor of the tower where the cinema room was. The avenger’s cinema was huge and rivalled any Imax in the city; it took up the entire floor and had a popcorn station on standby, safe to say it was Peter’s favourite room.

The elevator doors pinged, and Y/N walked down the long corridor leading to the big screen. She stood to the side of the hallway, safely hidden in a little nook just off the right side of the doorway. She could see almost everyone handing out pizza boxes and laughing at something Wanda had said.

It was time for Y/N to do her little ritual.

Although she was reasonably comfortable with each avenger by now, big gatherings still intimidated her. She believed it had something to do with not knowing what each person was doing at any given time. Tony said she got that from her father.

So, before big gatherings like this, she would count and with each number she would name an avenger she could talk to if uncomfortable. There wasn’t an exact science to it, but it seemed to help.

“One, Tony.” She whispered, “Two, Pepper. Three, Peter. Four, Vision. Five, Bucky. Six…”

“Ranking your favourites?” She heard from behind her.

She jumped with a strangled yelp and turned.

“Loki, you startled me.” She said, catching her breath.

Loki smiled, “My apologies. Why are you hiding…and counting?” he asked.

Y/N blushed furiously, “It just helps…organising things…helps….” She muttered.

Loki nodded in understanding, “With the crowds?”

She nodded.

“Perhaps I should give it a try.” Loki said, earning a shy smile from Y/N.

They stood there a little while in silence, “You’re not going in?” Y/N asked, though her eyes still didn’t meet his.

“I haven’t seen much of you these past few days.” Loki said, ignoring her question. “Have you been avoiding me?”

“No!” Y/N said a little too quickly, causing Loki to smile at her honesty. “I just thought you might be busy with your brother; I didn’t think you’d want me to bother you…”

“Because you’re a Tatum.” Loki said matter of factly.

Y/N paused, she looked up at him, scanning his face for any obvious signs of anger or annoyance. Surprisingly she found no judgement in his features.

She bowed her head, “I’m sorry.”

Loki grew sympathetic and grew angrier at his brother. “You needn’t apologise for being born.” He spoke with a chuckle.

Y/N was surprised by his reaction, “I thought you would have shared Thor’s opinion…”

Loki shook his head, “If we all based our opinions on what other’s think, we wouldn’t get very far, would we my dear?”

Y/N didn’t really know what to think of his relaxed manner and lack of judgement, but she was certainly grateful for it.

She gave Loki that winning smile, the one he always felt honoured for having earnt.

“Now for the matter at hand. Shall we join the others for ‘movie night’?” Loki asked, causing Y/N to giggle at the way he said movie night.

She nodded, “Okay, would you like to sit with me and Peter? His reactions to the movie are usually more entertaining than the actual movie.”

Loki chuckled, “How could I say no to that.”

They walked in together and made their way over to Peter who had already saved them two seats beside him.

To everyone’s surprise Thor walked over to the little group with a large bag of popcorn at hand and sat in the seat to Loki’s left.

Thor turned to his brother and Y/N and cleared his throat, gathering their attention. “Would you like some popcorn Y/N?” He asked, a little meekly, or as meekly as a God can.

Y/N was shocked at first but didn’t want to waste the opportunity to make good with the God of thunder.

She nodded, “Thank you.” She said sweetly, taking a few pieces of popcorn in her hand.

The lights slowly dimmed till the room was dark and the movie began to play on the big screen. It would appear Peter had won the debate as the famous Warner Brothers logo appeared before them.

Thor didn’t have to look at his brother to know he was grinning. “Stop it.” He whispered to Loki.

Loki chuckled quietly, “Well done…brother.” Loki whispered back.

Thor smiled.

#loki x reader #loki fandom #loki odinson #thor #peter parker #bucky barnes #sam wilson #wanda #vision #tony stark #pepper potts #clint barton #natasha romanoff #bruce banner #avengers

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heartless-error · 4 years

Text

Broken, not perfect, but together. - Chapter 8

Fandom: DC comics, Batman

Pairings: Jonathan Kent x Damian Wayne (JonDami) & Jason Todd x Timothy Drake (JayTim)

Rating: Family feels, hurt/comfort, mental health issues, running away

Other(s) links: AO3

Broken.

The Batfamily was broken.

It was six years ago, and they had barely stood together since then, trying to stand up despite guilt and regret.

Damian was sure there was nothing to save, not after losing something that he didn’t know he cared about. But when a new opportunity to get back what they had lost appeared, he cannot help to doubt as his past decisions haunt him again.

If you love somebody, set them free. But you don’t know what you have until it’s gone.

Chapter Summary: He's not stupid, he knows what he's about to do is wrong. But finally they have a second chance, and he will do anything to take it. Anything.

Chapter 8

Now

Dick felt at the edge of an abyss.

He wanted to think it wasn’t a bad thing, because that’s how he had been most of his life, on the edge, literally.

He had grown up between spotlights, applauses, circus tents, stunts at great heights, and a foot on the edge to perform something only few could do. Over time, the stage and stairs were replaced by tall buildings, grapple guns, and a dark city to save. His on-stage outfit turned into a uniform to help those in need, and when he had previously expected to jump off a trampoline, now it could be a building, a cliff, or anything that would allow him to jump and fly.

The feeling he always had felt when he was about to jump, that bubbling emotion in his chest that stirred his muscles and altered his entire being, he knew it as well as breathing, enjoyed it, loved it.

However, all those times there was something along the side of the act of jumping that made him feel more secure, loved, capable. Because the Flying Graysons never flew alone, neither Batman and Robin, not even Nightwing when he was in solitary. Dick always had the certainty he wasn’t alone, no matter what or where he would jump, there was always, always someone on the other side, next to him, to grab him. A father, a friend, a brother, a mate, ready to help him if he failed, never to let him go and land together.

This time he didn’t feel that way.

He was at the edge of the precipice with no stairs, no gun, and no one around him. Alone, empty, lost, scared, and terrified of what was down there, but willing to jump regardless of the consequences of the fall. He considered that, in his actual situation, he preferred to risk all he had in that descent into the unknown (don’t sing it Richard, is not the moment) rather than letting go of the second opportunity they had been given.

He didn’t care, he didn’t care to end up sunk and crushed if in the process he got back what he was missing so much right now, when it was time to jump. Those hands, their presences, the guarantee they would be there no matter what, they would catch him, forgive him.

His brothers, any of them.

He didn’t care, he didn’t care at all, didn’t care about anything, he just wants them back. He hadn’t wanted anything more for years after lost them. He would do anything, and had reaffirmed that to himself a thousand times when he ran out of the Watchtower to run into the manor, when he sent as many text as he could to the others so they knew the situation and go there as soon of possible -despite knowing many were going to ignore him as always, an Babs would have to do the job- and also when he convinced Bruce to get the Batplane ready immediately to go where they needed.

He knew from the shine in his eyes that he didn’t even have to tell him that, he was about to do it before he got there. Judging by that and Alfred’s gaze when he showed up at the door, they had received the news even before he set a single foot outside the Watchtower.

Babs had offered to analyze all the images they had and determine the current location of the missing Robins. Not only because no one else would be in a position and state to do so, but because there was a lot, so many. Six years of images had been slammed into Oracle’s powerful systems and appeared so fast before them that Dick nearly passed out. He still was dizzy, even after the trip to the manor, Alfred’s breakfast, and the brief wait for the results.

When they obtained them, it was still only them in the Batcave, no one else had arrived even though they were on the way, but it was so evident they would go to Florida, so much. Because the decision was in the air and the resolution was palpable since the first picture had appeared on the Batcomputer’s screen. To think someone would disagree was crazy.

Alfred retired to the manor to cook and receive the others, and Bruce went to the Batplane again, both wanted to be distracted during the agonizing wait. He was about to follow him, before a small voice in his head reminded him it wasn’t a good idea. No matter how much the situation changed that morning, the tension between them was still a double-edged knife ready to cut them at any time, and see how Bruce entered the coordinates in the plane or studied the map of the small town they’re going to find the others it wasn’t going to be a good distraction.

Actually, nothing would be, he couldn’t lie to himself about that. All the feelings Dick had with him right now couldn’t be easily suppressed. Not after this, not having an actual photo of them in front of him, knowing they would be looking for them in a few hours or less. He had to get away from the batcomputer, rush to another part of the cave just to think, feel and not to fall back into the void with nowhere to hold onto. Relief, happiness, euphoria, comfort, concern, impatience, all flooded him and pushed more and more towards the edge, and he didn’t even care, nor did he want to stop it.

After all, he would soon be seeing his brothers. Was there anything more important than that? Clearly not.

Now, Dick wasn’t stupid. Many thought the opposite, that he was naïve and too positive for his own good. Rather than that, he knew how to have his feet on the ground when he should. But there were just times he didn’t want to, like this one, for example.

He would like to say he was divided, in conflict, but it wasn’t true. Most of him was excited, agitated, and just a step away from taking the batplane alone to go where he knew Tim and Jason were. And the other part of him totally silenced and ignored due to the other, had a negligible will to reason and think about this and about how wasn’t going to end well.

Going there wasn’t going to make anything better, Tim and Jason didn’t want to see them, didn’t want to know anything from them, much less about him, especially about him. And if his disappearance along with the following years hadn’t been an indicator of that, only had to look carefully at the photos Oracle had sent.

The way they were together, walking around, smiling, and going into those places of the small town in a relaxed way. It is obvious they had another life now, different, and far from them, it was easy to see. If they weren’t involved, it was because they had wanted in that way and going there was only another way to make them want to run away again. Maybe they didn’t even let them talk, maybe they would just fight and flee when they saw them, without giving them a chance to say anything.

What was he going to say anyway? “Hi guys, how you doing? I know you ran away because I wanted to ruin your life, forgive me? Yes? Cool! Let’s go back and pretend nothing happened!”

No. It was crazy.

Everything was crazy and despite knowing it was, and it was wrong to chase them like that, they were going to do it either way. Because six years, six years, Dick has spent six years without seeing them, without knowing anything from them. 6 years, 72 months and 2191 days knowing they hate him, they ran away from him, they will not be able to forgive the horrible things he did.

He can’t take it anymore. He can’t. When he close his eyes he hear the screams in the cave, when he have nightmares he sees blood on the ground and his hands, he sees Tim crying, Damian being terrified of him, Jason at his feet, Bruce yelling “What have you done? Why?”. It was an accident, please, it was an accident.

He yearns, he needs to see them, to know they are okay and to beg for their forgiveness. He needs it like breathing, literally, because Dick has the impression, he had been holding his breath for six years and now, at this moment, he feels he’s letting himself breathe a little. But it won’t be until he see them, until he talk to them, until Jason says him “I forgive you” that he won’t be able to get rid of the weight he has been carrying since that day.

That’s why he shut up his rational part with everything he had, ignoring how this told him that more than forgiveness, Jason would punch him, and he might make Tim cry again with the fact that they couldn’t let them go. But he ignored it, ignored everything, and simply retraced his steps and went back to the batcomputer to check the coordinates again and find out if Oracle had given them new information.

When he went there, he didn’t expect to see Damian arrive, nor to witness from the distance how he approached the keyboard with his head down, determined to do something until he looked up and saw those photos. Dick could see how the last Robin’s firm posture dissipated in an instant to stand there, astonished at the sight.

He couldn’t blame him, it had taken him even harder to react properly after witnessing that moment with Babs, and if he had made sure it wasn’t a dream it was because he had scratched himself with the remains of the cups he dropped on the floor in his surprise.

Damian hadn’t moved an inch when he reached him. He just kept staring at the screen until he spoke, assuring him that those pictures were real, it was true, they had found them, would go after them, it was happening, it was not a dream.

Being able to tell him all that made him almost breathe again, feeling that he had stuck his head out of that well where he had been drowning for so long. And even though seeing Damian cry caused him anguish, -because his little, precious brother, whom he disappointed and failed, didn’t cry so easily- it was okay. Because he was almost sure from the way he cried silently, almost without realizing he was doing it and looking at him surprised as if Dick has given him the best news of his life, it was because he was happy, relieved. He should be, because Dick was, he wouldn’t be surprised if he starts crying too.

Because they would be together again, all the family, everything would be okay, it was fine, it was fine.

“No.”

Until it wasn’t.

Dick looked at Damian warily, recognizing the stiff, severe tone he used. Even when the younger was just wiping away the tears with his sleeve, he could perceive the way he had recovered from the initial surprise and was beginning to build walls, defenses around him, one after another as he breathed deeply and gave him a fierce and determined gaze.

For him, it was almost yesterday when Damian was so small, he didn’t even reach his hips, when he gave him that same gaze, but loaded with hatred and sadness. He accepted him as his little brother so quickly, enjoyed teaching him so much, teaching him that it was good to feel, to mourn, that his sadness was not a sign of weakness. However, now when that sadness had turned into complete mistrust and resentment towards him, he felt like how need to go looking for the other two grew more and more, because if he got them back, would Damian forgive him too? Could he get all his brothers back at once?

“Where’s Bruce?” The younger asked breaking the brief silence after his refusal.

Dick tried to ignore the brief prick of grief produced by the knowledge that he no longer called him “father”. Although, well, it’s not like he earned that right. He also didn’t deserve to be called anything other than “Grayson”. With a sigh, he pointed to the hangar.

“He’s with the batplane.”

Damian didn’t seem to be agitated by that simple and obvious answer, at least externally, but from his gaze, he knew he didn’t like that at all.

“Stop him.” He declared loudly, angry.

“What? Why?” Richard asked, more confused than ever, a bad feeling beginning to flood him.

“Nobody’s going to Florida.”

Dick knew he was looking at him like he was completely crazy, didn’t try to hide it either. Of all the things he had thought would surprise him today, this wasn’t one of them, because he never had thought anyone would refuse to go see Tim and Jason, let alone Damian.

“What?” He asked again, wondering if this was some type of joke.

“You can’t go to Florida.” Damian repeated, irritation tinting his voice. “I’m not going to allow it.”

“D-Damian, what are you talking about?” Now, he was feeling the impotence invade him, he didn’t understand it. “We have to find them.”

“No, you won’t.”

“What-?” He spluttered, astonished. The other didn’t seem to mind, just stood firmly, and crossed his arms over his chest, without hesitation. “What’s this?”

“You’re not that stupid, Grayson.”

The last thing was said in a tone that radiated complete disappointment, it was like a direct blow to his face, which left him quiet for a few seconds and then felt the anger and helplessness increased. What the hell was wrong with him? Of course he wasn’t stupid, of course he knew it was wrong, that Tim and Jason didn’t want them there, and Damian did it too, but he didn’t care, he didn’t care about anything, he knew and ignored it because he needed to do this, he should do it desperately from the day he spilled blood on his hands.

He thought Damian didn’t do it either, seeing how these last years he hasn’t been able to look at him. He understood it, he hated him for what he had done, and had every right to do it, but he seemed to be in constant mourning and so he thought he would be the first to want to get on the plane. Finding out he was wrong did nothing to help his already stunted emotional stability.

“We have to go, Damian.” He declared confidently, crossing his arms as well. He wasn’t going to change his mind, he couldn’t.

“No.” The other replied in the same tone. “I won’t allow it.”

“Why?” He asked, frustrated.

“Are you really asking me that?”

“Yes!” He said confused. “I thought you would be the first to want to go, that you would be happy to know where they are.”

“Well, you’re wrong.” Damian snapped. “What do you exactly expect with all this?”

“Fix it, of course.” He replied convinced. It was more than obvious, right? “Talk with them…”

“And you think it will turn out well?”

“Yes!”

“And then? What? Will you force them to return to Gotham?” He said looking at him again in that mix of disappointment and anger that tore him so much inside. “It won’t work and it’s crazy.”

Coming from him, who two days or less ago had been involved in an explosion because he couldn’t bear the anniversary of the disappearance, it was a lot. He knew it, but…

“It’s Tim and Jason!”

“I know that! That’s why!” Damian exclaimed, looking frustrated at the situation. “For God’s sake, look at them!”

Damian turned and pointed at the photos displayed on the Batcomputer’s screen. Those where Jason was laughing, Tim seemed to have slept more than two hours, where both had grown up and were more adult, more mature, different, happy.

He had to look away.

“They will listen to us.” He didn’t know if he was saying that to convince Damian or himself.

“They won’t.” The younger refuted instantly as he turned again to look at him, more frustrated than ever. “Don’t you see?”

“They will!” He insisted. “We will give them no choice, and then we will fix everything.”

“Grayson, they don’t want to see you!”

That hurt. Because it was true. Dick was so ashamed of it he didn’t even know what to do with himself.

“I don’t care.” He said shaking his head.

Damian’s anger and frustration grew in him so fast that could be seen for miles, he knew it was because he refused to admit the reality, surely along with the fact that Damian couldn’t assimilate the whole discovery at once. But he had no choice, he was so upset, so nervous, so desperate that Damian opposing him didn’t help him at all. Only confused and disturbed him, because how could he refuse? It was something beyond his understanding.

“That’s the problem.” Damian began to scold him; it was incredible he was the older and despite that his little brother had to make him reason. “They don’t want to see anyone, the said goodbye and ran away, and you want to believe this plan would fix something? You’re hunting them.”

“They had given us no choice.” The most spiteful part of him told him that if Jason and Tim loved him, loved them, at least a little, they must have missed them, he was sure. And thanks to that the plan could work, they would listen to them, they would not run away when they saw them.

“That’s bullshit!” The younger said. “You sound like him.”

He knew that, also knew that very well. He sounded just as paranoid and stubborn as Bruce when he invaded anyone’s privacy under the excuse of overprotection or security. But Dick just shook his head and denied it, denied everything, didn’t want’ to admit it.

“Damian, it’s been six years!” He exclaimed, as if that were enough to support his decisions.

“That doesn’t change anyth-”

“We are their family; they can’t stay mad at us after so long.” Never in his life had a fight lasted this long, not even when he wanted to get away from Bruce’s shadow.

“Can you stop lying to yourself for five fucking seconds?!” Damian yelled at him, losing his temper.

That made him shudder, because curiously, that angry and weary yell had reminded him the same one Damian let out to stop the other fight years ago, that night when everything changed.

Richard didn’t answer. He didn’t know if he wanted to. He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to convince Damian to go and meet Tim and Jason, as much as they knew it was wrong, they had to go, but the younger still refused. At this point, neither wanted to surrender, and knowing them, along with how their emotions are shaking them, they might really end up fighting for real.

“Look at them!” Damian exclaimed again as he pointed at the screen. “Grayson, please, look at them!”

He finally did, breathing heavily and totally in conflict. Damian’s words sinking him deeper and deeper. Of course it wasn’t that easy. Everything was not going to fix with a single talk. He was already very aware the disappearance of those two didn’t happen only due to a discussion about the nature of their relationship, no, that was the straw that broke the glass after an accumulation of years of conflict, fights and negligence by some of them, including him. To say Tim and Jason were family, that they would welcome them with open arms for it, was selfish and wrong. They didn’t feel part of the family for a long time, didn’t seem them as one because they were wrong in making them feel like one.

But he couldn’t admit that, he couldn’t. He really wanted to think they would get there, talk about the latest fight, and it would work out without having to talk about the years before, about how he broke Tim’s trust or misjudged Jason. No.

“When was the last time you saw Drake smiling?” Damian asked seriously, without even let him take a breath. “And Todd?”

Long ago. And it hurts, it burns inside. It was his fault, his fault, he would do anything to see them smile again. Everyone, Tim, Damian, Jason, Stephanie, Cass, he wanted to see them smile for real. He missed them so much.

“They left for a reason and here you are, planning to screw it up.” The younger pointed to him and even without looking into his eyes, he knew he was judging him. “What do you expect to happen? Do you really think they want to come back here?”

Yes. Yes. That’s what he wanted, they back in Gotham, with them, together again. But he couldn’t have that, it was too late.

“I have to go, Dami.” He ended up saying with a shaky sigh.

Damian couldn’t understand it, didn’t know what it was like to carry so much guilt, so much pain in him. But he didn’t want him to know it either.

“You won’t.” The other ordered again, angrier if he could.

“Damian, please.”

“You. Won’t. None of you!”

“You can’t decide that.” As much angry he was, Dick wasn’t the only one who planned to do this, he couldn’t stop or convince everyone.

“I have more rights than you to do it!”

That caused another prick -like a stab- in his chest, one that nearly took his breath away. He had to force himself to relax in order to think again, not drown anymore. Dick turned his head for a second, so he didn’t have to look at Damian, angry and disappointed in front of him, and be able to calm down. During that, he caught a familiar shadow hiding in the cave’s darkness, silent and deadly. Cass had arrived, but didn’t seem to want to intrude, just looking and analyzing as usual, waiting to intervene when was necessary. Grayson sighed and turned back to his brother, annoyed.

“That’s what you think?” Richard asked, trying not to sound hurt, which he didn’t know if he could hide at this point.

“You don’t?” Damian asked in response fiercely. “Tell me, whose fault is all this?”

“Stop.” He ordered instantly. He didn’t need this, not now.

“Why? Don’t you like truth being told at your face?” The other attacked again, with cruel sarcasm. “You had no problem doing that to Jason that night.”

“You’re going too far.” He warned. It’s not as if it was new for him, to someone saying something like that, six years was time enough for many fights like this after all. But he had never had it with Damian, mostly because to fight first they would have to talk, and it was very sad to realize this was the longest conversation they had in a long time.

“Am I?” Damian exclaimed then, looking genuinely stunned. “I’m not the one who plans to hunt down his brothers after trying to kill them and ruin all their effort to hide!”

“Their effort to hide?!” Dick asked shocked, eyes wide open. What the fuck? “How can you care about that?!”

Again, Damian’s anger seemed to grow like waves, threatening to swallow him every time he said something he didn’t like.

“Todd was right, you’re a selfish shit!” He yelled at him suddenly, even more pissed off if possible. “You always hide yourself saying that you do it for the family, but you only think about yourself and do what you want! You don’t care about ruin everything!”

What?

Damian didn’t seem to notice the slip, whether or not what he was saying made sense, just looked at him with anger. Frustrated because he couldn’t make him reason. Dick knew that teaching Damian to accept and control his emotions was one thing but being aware that was one of his biggest flaws was another, and his temperament along with a sharp tongue is his undoing once he lost his temper.

Now, nervous and shaken, he had let out something that sounded more suspicious than he wanted, and the slip that he was worried about the other’s efforts to hide being in vain now made Dick’s heart race and he stopped to look at his brother closely, a small suspicion growing in his mind.

“That’s not true!” He answered again, this time paying more attention. “I just want to see them.”

“You’re not even going to come close.”

“You can’t avoid that!” Dick tried to explain. It was already useless, even if he convinced him now, they had already found them anyway, disabled the system was hiding them. They knew their location and couldn’t hide anymore; it was matter of time they ended up having them face to face.

“Watch me!”

“I can’t understand you!” He ended up saying, without believing they were having this discussion. “Why don’t you want to take this opportunity? We have been looking them for years!”

“We shouldn’t have the opportunity, to begin with.” Damian replied shaking his head. “I can’t let you go there.”

Damian’s stance didn’t waver, at least from his point of view he was still as firm as when they started arguing. However, the slight, almost imperceptible miscalculated footstep he managed to hear behind him, made him know Cass had seen something in Damian that made her fail, or at least try to warn him there was something he wasn’t perceiving, that he was letting go.

“I’m not going to change my mind.” He clarified again with all the firmness he could muster, which wasn’t much considering he felt everything falling apart.

“Neither do I.” Damian said.

“Why?” He had to ask it, confused. “What’s wrong? Why does this matter so much to you, Damian?”

The last Robin didn’t say anything, seemingly determined. But there was something weird, something wrong, everything seemed to indicate it. In the meaningless sentences, Cass’s reaction, and Dick’s instinct screaming at him to know more.

“Don’t you miss them?” Richard asked reproachfully, trying to use another strategy.

It seemed to work because the little temper Damian had seemed to tremble. Maybe it wasn’t where he had to aim, but if he pressed the right buttons, he might find something, even if he didn’t, maybe could convince him.

“Shut up.” The younger ordered with a grunt.

“I know you do.” He continued, ignoring him. Although that wasn’t a lie, Damian missing Tim and Jason was no secret to anyone at this point. “Me too, so much, that’s why I need to do this, I need to see them, why don’t you?”

“Shut. Up.” Damian ordered again, beginning to hiss like a cat when they felt the need to defend themselves.

“Do you feel that guilty?” Dick asked almost worried, even though he knew he was crossing a line he shouldn’t. Well, Damian crossed one earlier too.

“Shut up!”

“It’s because of your past?” He asked again, looking at how he stirred, like lava from a volcano before exploding. “They’ve forgiven you, will do it again!”

“Grayson, shut up! Now!” Again, that scream went wild, his walls and control had fallen completely.

“If you help us it will be easier to get them back!”

He knew asking him that, when he was fiercely against both looking for them and get them return to Gotham, would be too much.

It was, because Damian didn’t even seem to breathe or think about what he was going to say next before his jade eyes shined with fury and completely exploded screaming at the top of his lungs.

“How dare you ask me that?!”

“It’s the best-” Dick tried to explain.

“Don’t! It’s the worst thing you could ever ask me for!”

“Why?!” He asked again, shaken by the other’s explosion.

Why? Why? Why? Why is he like that? Why did he hate him so much? Why he didn’t want to see them? Why he didn’t want to fix this? Why couldn’t he forgive him? Why couldn’t everything be like before? Why? Why?

“Because who do you think helped them to escape?!” Damian shouted. “It was me! Idiot! Open your fucking eyes! It was me! Me!”

Silence.

For Dick, many things suddenly fell into place.

Before he knew it, he had already thrown the first punch.

#myfic #tim drake #jason todd #damian wayne #jon kent #jonathan kent #jaytim #timjay #damijon #jondami #red robin #red hood #superboy #robin #supersons #dc #dc comics #batman #batman comics

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rhyolight · 3 years

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(Part 2) Anyway, I think I have a basic understanding of DID. I’ll probably look into it more though. I actually thought you and a friend were running the blog. Although at times I did wonder. Well, out of genuine curiosity, what is it like and how does it work? (I would phrase that better if I could come up with how to phrase it better) -ゆう

Don’t worry, your question is just fine! Throughout this, you’ll probably get explanations from me and the other who usually helps out. Also this is a little long but not too long I think.

I actually didn’t know that I had it for a long time, and apparently this isn’t uncommon! There were definite signs though, and I’ll list a few of the big ones. This one I’d say should have been a pretty big clue, and it’s that all the time people would claim to have had conversations I didn’t remember, or I’d have “friends” who I’d never met. I don’t remember which, but somewhere I have a year of my life missing. I know this because Someone asked me what I wanted for my birthday, I responded that my birthday had been a week ago, I remembered that week in perfect clarity, and nothing else from the time that had passed. Honestly, the other who manages everything did a good job of hiding it. I’ve known about him since forever, but I didn’t realize what he was until a few weeks ago. I’d thought I knew all of them, but it turns out that there’s actually around 6 of us (myself included) as of a few days ago. Sometimes it can help, some of them provide really good advice, others not so much. Generally there’s 3 of us who like to be out, there’s another who comes out on occasion but she’s pretty little and shy so she mostly stays inside. It can be a bit weird, since it’s like having a bunch of people living in your head, and since they all have their own distinct personalities, they don’t always get along. One of them likes to sit up by the front and constantly give his opinions and annoy the hell out of the one who manages us. While the idea that at any point I could black out is scary, I’ve learned to trust them for the most part. I’m very grateful to them though, I do remember some of my trauma, and it’s given me a lot of issues including at least 5 anxiety disorders, a panic disorder, and ptsd, all of which have been diagnosed by a psychologist. There are a lot of missing parts though, and I don’t know what happened then, but the others won’t tell me. Sometimes if I get overwhelmed they can help me, and what we often do is they manage most things but I stay conscious. A good comparison I’ve heard is like driving a car. So you could say I’m driving, and I can’t deal with it anymore, so I get out of the driver’s seat and someone else drives. I can see what’s going on, I can talk to the driver, the driver can talk to me, and although I’m not in control. Normally in these situations I could take control if I wanted to, but if they see fit they can shut me out. I would be considered the host, or the original, if you will. I’ve talked for long enough though, and I’ll let the others say their piece.

Alright, this will mostly be a bit of a mixed style, as Rhyo doesn’t fully trust me alone with her blog. I suppose a friend is what I am in a way, though sometimes I feel more like a parent. I’m the one you’ll see the most of besides Rhyo, and, despite what a certain bothersome alter says, I am more mature. Something that makes a pretty big difference for me can be the height. Rhyo, as I’m sure you are aware, is short, and she tends to slouch forwards as well. I’m not sure why she does this as her posture used to be quiet good. Regardless, when I’m out, the voice will change slightly, and I’ve been told on occasion that I have a slight accent. If I take full control it can take me a second to adjust, since in the headspace I am much taller. As for how it works, this is based off of our understanding and what Rhyo has gathered through research, we came from trauma. We know this, and while I know much of what has happened, I do not wish to speak of it as I do not wish for Rhyo to find out.

He’s not really sure how to word it, and I did most of the research, so I’ll explain as best I can. He’s getting a bit frustrated, no fault of yours though, he doesn’t like when I pry, so I’ll do most of the talking for us. Basically, the way I think of it, when you’re exposed to repeated trauma at a young age this can happen. The way I think of it is like the mind fragmenting, but this should be taken with a grain of salt since it’s probably not the best explanation. On some level, they’re me, but they’ve become their own people. I know he complained a little about my height, and we can all have different heights, genders, sexualities, ect. My age is easiest to understand because it’s normal, I age every year. A few of us have fixed ages, so they stay the same, and some have a range that they slide around on, while others have a rough estimate of how old they are. I might make picrews for all of us so you can see the differences. this is definitely a long post, and it’s not very organized, so I hope it made sense!

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xoruffitup · 5 years

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The Report & Marriage Story: Adam Driver at TIFF

(If you just want to skip down to one/both of the film recaps, scroll on down to The Report and Marriage Story bolded headings. :)) There are some pics and vids down there too!)

So my friend Sarah and I spent just over 24 hours in Toronto, and it’s no exaggeration to say that during those 24 hours Adam made us feel the entire spectrum of every single possible human emotion. The Report was a nerve-wracking, intelligent, quick-witted political drama set at a break-neck pace of horrific headline after shuddering truth after sickening revelation. Marriage Story was nothing short of a masterpiece - delivering laughs, heartbreak, emotional turmoil, tears, and aching poignancy. I’m not usually one for romantic or real-life dramas like Marriage Story, but damn if that film wasn’t literally one of the most moving and powerful pieces of cinema I’ve seen in recent memory. The Report rises to the same standards, but for completely different reasons.

The films themselves are so incredibly well made in terms of writing and production, but seeing Adam in two major leading roles back to back that couldn’t have been more utterly different in tone or persona was nothing short of flooring. I know this, and of course most of you reading this also know, but GOD it isn’t even possible to fully describe the breadth and sheer force of Adam’s talent. The performances were light years apart, and yet both seared with completely unique energy that just radiated off the screen. I’ve watched almost everything Adam has appeared in, I know he’s the best actor of his generation, and yet he still manages to completely stun me with his seemingly never-ending ability to reveal an entirely different way of being in a new role. Beyond simply an accent or posture, Adam has this unparalleled ability to not only embody a completely novel persona each time, but to then completely naturally reveal that persona’s deepest, truest essence with the smallest facial twitch, turn of his head, or break in his voice. Watching him in a fresh role is literally like discovering a new facet of the human experience.

Watching these superb films in a setting like this massive film festival, where the audience was riveted and excited to engage with the content, elevated both of the viewing experiences to monumental heights. THEN, there was the fact that before and after each screening, Adam and the rest of the main cast members would come on stage with the director to speak about the film and answer questions. This of course meant – being me – that even the slightest glimpse of him would send me into silent fits of glee and awe. So combine being in Adam’s presence repeatedly and for rather long stretches of time with the emotional hurricane powerhouse of not just one but two film epics, ANNND yup it was a recipe for Biggest Emotional Rollercoaster Trainwreck Ever Known To Man. :’)

I did (somehow) manage to keep myself together! Enough so that I asked Adam a question during the Marriage Story Q&A! ;_____; (Sarah was trying to film covertly so needed a second to achieve that zoom action!)

vimeo

I couldn’t even tell you how it’s possible to string two coherent words together while speaking to 6’2” of well-dressed Talented Babe who’s fucking radiant in person, because it’s literally like an out-of-body experience where some alter ego screaming ‘TALK! TO! HIM!’ just takes over my body while the rest of me is floating off into the stratosphere!!!! (Skip on down to the Marriage Story movie analysis for more info on what I was asking about.)

Okay so let me back up and go through the day chronologically so I have SOME organization for my fangirl thoughts!

I got into Toronto from a 14-hour bus ride at 8:30 AM; Sarah got in on a flight at 9:30. We met up at our hotel and went straight to the theatre where the premium screenings would be taking place. We were able to get front barrier spots along the street and who soon arrived but none other than….!

Our lord and savior Rian Johnson, all hail! He directed the movie Knives Out that was playing at 11 AM in the same theatre. We took turns grabbing coffees because brrrr the Toronto morning was a bit nippy. The Report screening was scheduled to start at 1:45, but none of the cast had shown up yet as of 1:00. Shortly after, big cars started to pull up and Annette Bening and Jon Hamm arrived! We started nail-biting a bit at this point, because we needed to get into the theater 15 minutes before the movie started otherwise they might give our tickets away to people in the Rush Ticket line, but Adam hadn’t arrived yet and there was a chance he would sign for the barricade when he did. But once it started ticking below 15 minutes and still no sign of Adam (tension was real – the whole crowd would go quiet every time a car pulled up, then all sigh in disappointment when someone other than Adam got out), we called it and went to join the Ticketholder line to enter theatre.

WELL, good thing we did! Turns out Adam arrived late and had to rush inside right away, and we had the very serendipitous timing of walking past the secret elevator entrance up into the theater RIGHT when the elevator doors opened and Adam appeared, walking out and into the theater auditorium!! My heart slapped me in the face a bit (a lot) when we caught that glimpse of him so close up. I know there are plenty of pics now but he looked sO striking and sleek in that understated, classic blue suit. He’s SO taLL and still so massive when he’s a few feet away, don’t worry guys he looked plenty healthy even if without the Kylo Ren bulk <333 IT WAS GREAT. I COULD CRY ABOUT JUST THAT MOMENT. God help me with everything that would follow :’’’’’)

Before The Report started, Director Scott Z Burns came on stage to give a brief introduction. This was the first time the film was screening outside of the US and he was very much looking forward to the response and a wider dialogue about the issues raised in the film. He introduced the cast, and was joined on stage by the producer, Jon Hamm (who came on stage in a very silly fashion – see vid below), Annette Bening, and then Adam. And damn if that man didn’t look even MORE drop dead beautiful up there in stage lights. Be still, my heart.

…fat chance of that happening, because my heart was about to rev up into breakneck pace for the following 2.5 hours of the film.

The Report (We’re about to get very spoilery, fair warning!)

Movies are often called “important.” This one is more than that; it is imperative. The tragedy that will plague this film is that much like the staffers of the Senate and CIA that bicker back and forth throughout the decade chronicled in this movie; unproductive bickering will continue between those who appreciate a difficult truth-seeking film like this, and those that will disparage it knowing only the bare minimum of its premise. The latter will do so because of their unswerving understanding of American Patriotism to mean that America comes first, that there’s no justification more ironclad and unquestionable than national security, and America wins no matter the cost.

But. If by some miracle, the people of that latter group could be corralled into watching this film, it just might change their minds.

This movie is difficult. It is horrifying, at times nauseating. It challenges you as the investigations and counter-investigations build over each other, as the conflicting characterizations of the Enhanced Interrogation Techniques (EIT) program multiply, and yet even for all that, its takeaway hits you with clarity that is both sobering and impartial.

“National security” rationales were a chimera for barbarisms that achieved nothing. The US government tortured, degraded, and murdered prisoners at its mercy for no demonstrable reason or result. One of the most on-the-nose scenes where all the many moving parts of this complex, dirty history come together is when Dan meets with a New York Times journalist in his car towards the end, as he debates giving his report to the press to release when he fears government red tape will never let it see the light of day. The reporter asks him something like, “Why did the CIA keep doing it, if it wasn’t working?”

After two head-spinning, sickening, revelatory two hours, Dan compresses it all down to something like: “After 9/11 everyone was scared, and the CIA used that fear to act with impunity. They resorted to illegal means to try to keep some control of the situation. They knew it was wrong, and they knew it wasn’t working, so they became more desperate for results to justify it. And it was easy, because the detainees looked different than us. They spoke a different language than us, with different values.”

And so it spiraled to darker and darker depths, in which one failure to produce information by dubious means was taken to justify the next escalation in interrogation techniques.

This is where I need to warn everyone that this is not easy viewing. This film doesn’t let you shy away from what these interrogation techniques really meant. It doesn’t sanitize. You will see waterboarding happening. You will see people naked and chained in cells. You will see glimpses of even worse depravities. And then you will see the psychologist contractors who came to the black sites and claimed with utterly clueless, infuriating impunity that no, they’d never interrogated a terrorist before; no, they didn’t know anything about international law or the rights to trial and legal counsel. (“You think he’s getting a trial?” one said skeptically when his techniques were questioned.) But what they did know was the human brain and how to break it down. Then, you will see the CIA top brass back in DC who never saw with their own eyes even an instant of the abuses they were blithely and sanctimoniously sanctioning.

This film poses the question of how one defines American Patriotism. Chances are, you’re not going to be much moved by the CIA staff’s understanding - who say in defense of their tactics, “It’s only illegal if it doesn’t work.” Then when it doesn’t work, who go on to baselessly credit their EIT program with the intelligence that led to Bin Laden’s capture.

Then, we have Dan Jones/Adam. Dan Jones, who spent literally five years of his life in a basement bunker researching and scraping details together about a program the CIA did everything they could to keep under lock and key. He persevered when the CIA refused to provide any documents, communications, or witnesses; when the CIA denied that they themselves internally questioned the effectiveness of the program; even when they accused him of stealing the documents he finally managed to get his hands on. When the real Dan Jones was brought on stage after the film ended, he received a minutes-long standing ovation that couldn’t have been more deserved.

Most of the audience would probably find it difficult to identify with that understanding of patriotism that claims “It’s only illegal if it doesn’t work” and “Shouldn’t we be grateful just for the fact that we live in a country where a report like this can be written?” (claimed by Jon Hamm as Obama’s Chief of Staff, when pressed by Bening’s Diane Feinstein about releasing the report before the mid-term shift of the Senate going Republican.) What’s much more moving is Feinstein’s rejoinder that “I want to live in a country that publishes this report.” Or the coup-de-grace scene towards the film’s end that incorporates real footage of John McCain’s speech on the Senate floor against the EIT program, when he introduced the McCain-Feinstein bill that would ban the practice. When McCain called on the US to be better than its enemies, and to maintain a standard of honor worth defending.

Dan puts it painfully aptly in the full monologue teased in the trailer: “They say they saved lives but what they really did was make it impossible to prosecute a mass murderer, because if what we did to him ever comes out in a court of law, the case is over. The guy planned 9/11… (continued from memory) … but instead of spending the rest of his life in jail, we turned him into the strongest recruiting tool for our enemies.”

These moments of Dan’s desperation to make others see the truth so glaringly, shamefully obvious to him are when he delivers his most biting rejoinders. As he questions John Yoo’s legal justification in the Torture Memo of the interrogations not amounting to torture so long as they don’t cause “lasting harm”, Dan points to the detainee who died under the conditions of his confinement and demands, “So how long is he going to be dead?!”

Okay so FINALLY, here’s where I turn to Adam’s oh so stellar performance. Adam mentioned in both the Q&A after this screening and in a previous interview that he had to learn the appropriate sense of “decorum” from Dan Jones that would befit a Senate staffer. Adam nailed it. He was playing a relatively low-ranking staffer, grappling with issues of abuse and mismanagement that would have incriminated all manner of public figures miles above him. He had no real power to do anything about the horrific truths he was unearthing, and yet there were too many moments when he seemed to be the only one who truly understood or cared for the truth. Adam played this tight-knit, occasionally fraying sense of necessary professionalism with just the right amount of restraint and understatement. His performance was never boisterous nor melodramatic. And yet, the ever more desperate edge to his dedication couldn’t have been more palpable. Adam’s performance delivered every bit of impact commensurate to the towering gravity of Dan Jones’ investigation.

And yet, for every bit that Adam’s performance remained appropriately understated (it never felt like anything but a true-to-life depiction; hardly ever making you aware you’re watching a dramatization), the depth and nuance in its subtlety was nothing short of masterful. His brief but singeing moments of frustration are short-lived but strike deeply. What really struck me though were two particularly powerful #King of Microexpressions moments.

When the threat of criminal charges for hacking into CIA records is raised against him and he sees a lawyer for the first time to assess his options. After he has to face the fact that this is more complicated than his repeated assertion that “I didn’t do it. I didn’t do it.” He’s quiet for a moment, then asks in a soft, defeated voice, “How long could I go away?” The camera zooms close on Adam’s face when the lawyer responds “twenty years.” Adam’s face barely changes, and yet you can see that number settling into him with pained horror alongside incomprehension. It’s one of those moments where without saying anything, without barely even a gesture, Adam renders his character so desperately empathetic. As the viewer, you realize at that moment you’ve been building an irresistible and compelling emotional connection to him since the second you saw him the first time, and he didn’t even make you aware he was doing it.

The shot in the trailer of him sitting at a desk between the two giant stacks of his report papers. This is when the Senate Intelligence Committee is taking a vote whether to recommend the investigation for further action. I’m pretty sure Adam didn’t say a single line in this scene. Senator Feinstein called the Committee to vote, and as the voices around the table chime “aye” or “nay,” the camera does a slow pan on Dan sitting there, listening with his hands folded. You can barely trace the shifts in his expression. You can barely see anything discernible in his face, and yet simply by the way his shoulders move, the way his jaw shifts every so slightly, and the way he blinks – you’re right there on the edge of your seat with him. You can feel in your very soul his repressed, barely-controlled sense of desperation as the report that’s become his life’s work is put to a vote of either life or death.

Guys, just in case you didn’t realize this by now… Adam is a wonder and it simply defies my understanding how everyone in the whole world hasn’t come to consensus by now that he invented acting and everyone else can just go home and let him play every role ever.

Okay now the one kind of amusing bit in the film! Sadly most audience members won’t get the same kick out of this that we will, but Joanne is in the film playing a CIA staffer. She and Adam share one scene, in which she walks up to him and says, “Your face and your report are bullshit.”

INCREDIBLE. Roast your man, Joanne.

Although the movie tries to tie things up with the McCain-Feinstein anti-torture amendment that ended the EIT program and shows a quote by George Washington before the credits (in what to me seemed a bit of a forced attempt to put a comforting lid on everything) what left me feeling most helpless and frustrated was seeing how partisan politics repeatedly derailed meaningful action against the EIT program throughout the entire span of the film, and knowing full well that that’s exactly how DC still operates. There’s a scene where the timing of publishing the report is being debated. (“If we push this now, the Republicans will pull gun control. What if they pull healthcare?”) And to me, the most infuriating part is seeing the ethics by which our government runs constantly reduced to mere bargaining chips.

It seems there are no absolute lines of the permissible and impermissible. As we see, the CIA got away with torturing unarmed prisoners for years because they disguised it behind code words, wrapped it in nonsensical legal jargon to authorize it, engaged in some serious doublethink and called it a day. Constant debates that twist and manipulate the issues at stake can reduce every law to subjective application. Fallacies in logic and gruesome vengeance disguised as national security measures are defended without shame. The same modes of thinking that started the EIT program and sustained it for year upon shameful, unsuccessful year continue spinning the wheels of today’s destructive and shortsighted policies of self-interest and American exceptionalism.

OKAY, I’m off my soapbox now. Promise.

But last thing. Think about this for a crazy minute: Dan Jones’s report in full was some 7,000 pages. The only version that was ever published was heavily redacted down to a few hundred. What an incredible feat of scriptwriting that a five-year investigation that produced 7,000 pages worth of text was condensed down into a 2 hour movie.

((Also – I kept thinking at regular interviews during the film that holy shit this is giving me such strong vibes of my Presidential staffer Ben in my modern politics AU and I LOVED IT. I’m so extra inspired to press on writing!!))

End Spoilers: The Q&A afterwards! After the audience spent a few minutes giving Daniel Jones his much-deserved minutes of applause, the panel moderator started with a few questions, and here Jon Hamm and Annette Bening immediately started messing with Adam. (It’s clear they’re all buddies who love each other and I appreciate it so much :3) Whenever questions were posed generally to the cast, they would both immediately start passing the microphones down the line towards Adam, knowing full well that he wouldn’t want to talk but nudging him to do so anyway >:)) At one point he wound up with two microphones at the same time and started desperately shoving one back at Annette! For one question, before the microphones could be thrust upon him, as soon as Jon looked over towards him Adam sidestepped back behind the group and turned to start feeling the screen like he was looking for a way out. Lskdjflaskj DORK <3 Annette immediately teased him like “There’s no door, Adam!” and then on a later question that was also posed to “the cast,” Jon and Adam both started pretending to look for a door together. :’)

When responding to a question about what drew him to the role, Adam made a really interesting comment about Dan as a character who “gets the instructions for something to build, and it turns out he was building his own gallows.” (Video below!) He also spoke a bit as to the fact that he was intrigued to create a clear depiction of the internal effort to fact-find and implement accountability about such a contested, tangled issue for which a whole PR campaign existed to defend, even with misinformation.

vimeo

Have I mentioned how GOOD he looked in that suit?! Somehow he looked extra tall, I thought. And again, I know people are concerned about how thin he is right now, but he really looked fine!! His face is definitely a bit thinner, but his face shape has often changed along with his physique whenever he’s buffed up or down. He still looked plenty solid and very very damn pretty. >:3

Being the adoring fangirls we are, we’re well familiar with Adam’s ~discomfort or stiffness when he’s forced to be in public and speak at things like this. (We love one (1) awkward antisocial man.) During this panel, even though his answers had his usual introspection and self-deprecating, unconscious charm, he seemed to have an extra air of seriousness/attentiveness to him when listening to others’ comments or to audience questions. While he was giving the serious topic every bit the gravity it deserved, he also seemed to be conscious of not seeming partisan to any particular political outlook? I mean, the audience would often clap when someone on the panel said something about how the takeaways from the film are still relevant to the dysfunction and hypocrisy in today’s political climate. Adam would join in the clapping, but something I’ve always respected about him is that he never infuses his persona opinions – whatever they may be – with discussion of his work or his approach to it. I think it takes a lot of hubris and self-awareness to maintain that distinction, and resist the temptation to use a public platform to advance your own opinions. But he never seems remotely interested in any such thing. AITAF advocacy is maybe the closest, but even in that context he remains very restrained.

Did I mention he looked Beautiful like a damn vision? ;____;

Okay so leaving the theatre, my and Sarah’s heads were reeling. There was SO much to process and discuss from the film, we were grabbing onto our favorite lines and moments to recall, which launched us into discussion about political affairs today, interspersed with the occasional “Can you BELIEVE Adam’s Power in that one scene?!” and basically it was my absolute favorite kind of impassioned conversation ever. <333

Time was ticking though, and just before 5 we needed to head back to the theater entrance before Marriage Story started at 5:30. Okay and here – as if we hadn’t already endured enough emotional walloping today – came two massive emotional rollercoasters right after the other! With how little time we had between the films, it was difficult for us to get into the red carpet crowd just beforehand. But as we turned the corner, we heard shouts of his name and !!!!!! there he was outside signing!! Bless his heart, he was across the street from the theatre signing for the long line of people on the other side who I hadn’t seen anyone go over to that morning. :’) Sarah and I ran over to try to join the end of the line and he almooooost got down to us, but it was a little too dicey with the line being kind of chaotic where the barrier ended. But WE WERE SO CLOSE TO HIM. HE WAS RADIANT EVEN WHILE LOOKING ADORABLY SLIGHTLY GRUMPY WHILE HE UNCOMPLAININGLY TOOK PHOTOS AND HE’S THE BEST AND MOST EXQUISITE EVER

I can just imagine in his head like halfway down that line: “oh god this was a mistake. Adam what did you do.” <3333

Emotional rollercoaster moment #2: Because Adam and ScarJo were both out signing, the sidewalk right in front of the theater had been barricaded off. This meant that we weren’t allowed to enter the theater until they both went inside, which only left us a few minutes to spare! We rushed to the entrance, but alas there was a problem with scanning our tickets, so we were told to go to the Box Office to get them reprinted. We’re already on edge, afraid we’re going to miss the beginning of the film, when the woman at the Box Office tells us she can’t reprint the tickets because the name on them doesn’t match ours. (We bought them from a resale site so of course it didn’t…)

Even after showing her every email we had documenting payment and that the tickets were transferred through an official sale site, she remained adamant it was policy that she couldn’t print the tickets. Clearly, we were kind of devastated for a moment there, thinking we’d just paid way over face value for these tickets that weren’t even going to work. But Sarah, bless her soul, had the idea to leave, then go back in through a different door with a different ticket scanner person. The tickets still didn’t scan correctly, but we told the woman scanning that we’d already ambiguously “checked” with the box office, and honestly I think she was just a very nice person and could sense our Desperation, so SHE LET US IN. Woman – wherever you are right now, know that we love you and are forever indebted to you. ;___;

By the time we got to our seats, Noah Baumbach was already on stage introducing the film. But luckily we were in our seats, we had caught our breath and clutched each other in rejoicing relief before Noah introduced the cast and brought Adam and Scarlett on stage. Queue lots of enthusiastic applause! Someone in the audience yelled, “We love you Scarlett!” There were some whoops through the theater, then someone else yelled, “And we love you too, Adam!” and he did an adorable awk wave of appreciation and have I meNtiOnED this giant of a man is the softest and most precious being to ever grace this world????? And I’m not sure if it’s come up yet or if maybe I haven’t mentioned? But I really really really love him? ;____;

Thank gosh Sarah caught it! Painfully presh video of our painfully presh man!

Marriage Story: (Again, there will be spoilers)

Oh god, okay. This one was a beast of massively epic proportions that I was not nearly prepared for. It takes you on an intense fucking ride that spans every possible angle of passion between two people, ranging from love to hatred. To be entirely honest, I had gone into the day more excited for The Report because the subject matter was of such interest to me, and because I’m not usually one to really enjoy real-life dramas all that much.

But this fucking movie was Exquisite from the very first shot. The film opens with the “What I love about Nicole / What I love about Charlie” voice overs, and within the span of mere minutes you already feel deeply for these characters. You already feel as if they’ve been your close friends all your life, and instead of just entering your awareness abruptly – they’ve lived entire lives with ups and downs, mistakes and successes for as long as you can remember.

The movie is a sweeping epic, and yet remains achingly resonant and relatable. Charlie and Nicole’s relationship is passionate, fiery, and riddled with both miscommunications and repressed resentments. You rarely see a (doomed) love study played out with such complexity and fireworks. And yet, their frustrations, desires, and victories/losses both large and small are completely credible. Relationships are messy, and this film doesn’t shy away from their absolute darkest and even cruelest corners - even while maintaining sparkling moments of human connection that somehow survive alongside even the most difficult challenges.

The film is a brilliant study of contradictions. As Charlie and Nicole move through the divorce process, their control over it and the very narrative of their own lives becomes appropriated by their respective lawyers. The beginning of the film showed us the tenderness and deep understanding that exists between these characters, so the stories the legal teams spin seem ridiculously far afield from reality. The beginning of the film brought us into a rich world between these characters that was natural and so effortlessly believable (long, uncut monologues of dialogue; characters wandering from room to room as they talk – It’s masterfully and deceptively purposeful filmmaking that completely hides all trace of itself). Then later, listening to the lawyers concoct disingenuous legal narratives to “win” rather than tell any truth of reality is a towering contrast. The lawyers seize on the smallest tiny things Nicole or Charlie did in previous scenes (Nicole finishing a bottle of wine in one night with her family; Charlie forgetting to strap in their son’s car seat once) to paint them as habitual alcoholics or neglectful, absent parents. As the divorce proceedings escalate, things become distorted past recognition – twisted into abstracted and even absurd depictions of these two characters, between which we simply can’t decide whom we feel more sympathy for.

And then, following a gloves-off divorce hearing couched in legalese where neither side gives any quarter, you have a scene that’s quiet and effortlessly heartwarming. Nicole calls Charlie because the power’s out at her house and could he try to fix the power box in the front yard? He comes over, he works on the box, they pass their sleeping son between them (“Maybe he should just sleep here?” “But it’s my night.”), and then they both have to manually pull the gate on the driveway closed from either side – Nicole inside, Charlie outside. They look at each other as they pull the gate, perfectly in sync and their gazes locked, until the gate slides closed in the inches just between their faces. The movie is littered with these tiny gorgeous moments that just tear at your heart.

Or, the moment in the middle of negotiations between their lawyers when everyone decides to pause and order lunch. Charlie is handed the menu and he simply stares at it helplessly, uncomprehending because he’s still trying to work through the shock of their new reality that was just being argued over by the lawyers with such casual cruelty. Everyone stares at him for a long minute, until Nicole gently takes the menu from his hands and says, “I’ll order for him.” She knows just what to order – a salad with a specific type of dressing – and he quietly, almost absently agrees, “Yes, I’ll have that.”

The film takes pains to be even in presenting both sides of the story, and giving Nicole and Charlie equal screen time. I spent the entirety of the movie switching my sympathies back and forth between the two of them. By the film’s end, I understood both of their positions and experiences completely, as well as how much their perspectives on all they shared had come to oppose each other. Even though it’s impossible for either us or the characters to understand how they developed such divergent perspectives on their marriage, all parties involved have to face just how irreconcilable their grievances have become and how differently they each view the fundamental shortcomings of their marriage.

Being the annoying feminist viewer that I am, I was completely absorbed by Nicole’s monologue early on, the first time she meets with her lawyer (Laura Dern). She comes clean with the whole account of how she feels no control over her own life, and the longer she spent with Charlie and living in Charlie’s world, the “smaller” she was becoming. She felt that he didn’t respect her interests or her undertakings, when they weren’t connected to his theatre company. In essence, she feels she never got to be anything other than what he made her.

With that background of her position, I absolutely wanted Nicole to build her own life apart from him and find her own sense of personhood. One where she makes her own decisions and follows her own passions. In her recounting, she keeps saying that she’s used to part of her feeling “dead inside,” in terms of not feeling truly engaged with or in control of what she’s doing with her life. Taking a television acting job in California – separate from Charlie’s theatre company where she was the star under his direction, where he called the shots and she supported “his genius” – was the first time she did something bold for herself. This was also after repeatedly expressing to Charlie that she wanted to spend more time in California (where her family live), and Charlie never seeming to seriously consider the idea. Nicole felt she didn’t really have a voice, living shrouded in Charlie’s shadow.

But also being the annoying Adam fangirl I am, I was drawn in by Charlie’s charisma, by his effortless and guileless charm. I may have “sided” with Nicole towards the beginning of the story, resenting the small ways we could see that Charlie might have unconsciously been controlling (“Did you change your hair? I like it better long.”), but as the story progresses, so does Charlie’s unraveling. His world begins to crumble and fall apart before his very eyes, and even though he tries his best, he’s unable to do a single thing to stop it. Once Nicole gets her high-powered, cutthroat lawyer involved, things escalate beyond all control at breakneck pace. Suddenly he finds himself having to hire lawyers he can’t afford just to prevent the possibility that their 8 year old son Henry might move permanently to California with Nicole and Charlie might not get any custody; or that Nicole will take most of their shared assets and he’ll have nothing left to fund his theatre company with.

Neither of them mean for the negotiations to reach some vindictive heights, but suddenly they both find themselves fighting just to be able to live the life they each think is theirs.

Charlie finds himself having to move temporarily to California and rent an apartment so he can see his son and so Nicole’s lawyers can’t try to depict him as neglectful. We know he’s anything but. The first scenes in the film showed him being so patient and good with Henry that we could just about cry at the injustice.

(There’s the most darling scene at the beginning where little Henry comes into their bedroom, pokes Charlie saying “Dad? I had a nightmare.” Charlie gets up and comes to lay down in Henry’s bed with him. When he tries to get up, Henry asks him to stay, but there’s not really enough space for both of them in the bed so Charlie shifts to sleep on the floor. Queue a shuffling sequence where Henry goes to sleep on the floor next to his dad, Charlie goes up into the bed when it’s empty, then shortly thereafter Henry climbs up on top of Charlie so they both fit in the bed and fall asleep there. Yeah, MY HEART.)

As the accusations start flying when things are on the line during the divorce proceedings, this huge element of performativity comes into play. In a way it’s fitting, since they both work in theater, but these roles of enemies they suddenly have to perform is also terribly heartbreaking. (Also going back to the contrasts I mentioned earlier between the true essence of their relationship and their easy, ceaseless intimacy; vs the cold-hearted narratives forced on them both through the divorce proceedings.)

But in some ways, they’re not just playing the roles. There are two sides to passion, and just like they once cared about and loved each other so intensely (in some ways, they still do), there is also a shadow side to emotions of that intensity. In a catharsis that is much-needed after the austere, inhumane ways their relationship problems were discussed through their lawyers and absolutely devastating to watch in its destruction, their belated attempt to “talk” escalates into all-out war. “Talking” was the route Charlie first wanted to take – no lawyers involved – but which Nicole spurned. I was frustrated with her throughout the film for never fully communicating with him her expectations regarding their separation, but upon further reflection I understand that she might have feared that if they managed it on their own, it would turn into him managing it and her voice would once again disappear. Something along these lines rushes out during this scene of purging their demons and years of budding resentments and secrets all in one near-fatal blow.

(I’m about to quote a few sporadic lines I remember, but I have to say watching this scene with no idea of the savagery that was coming delivered absolutely lethal power, so I kind of advise not knowing the specific lines? Plus they’re a hundred times more powerful on screen, with these top-tier actors delivering them with every bit of feeling they possess. Skip to after both sets of ///// if you don’t want to know! But quoting here for those who don’t know if/when they’ll see the film ☺ These are definitely not in order and they jump around but whew, every moment when they were screaming these lines is simply unforgettable.)

/////////////////

Charlie: “Oh you just like to play the victim. We were happy. YOU were happy. Until you decided you weren’t anymore.”

Nicole: “You are just like your father!”

Charlie: “Don’t you EVER say that! Don’t you ever compare me to my father. You’re the one just like your mother. And your sister - you’re the worst of all of them combined.”

Nicole: “You slept with Donna!”

Charlie: “One time! Because you stopped having sex with me! For a whole year you shut me out and I didn’t know what to do. And after I gave up so much for you.”

Nicole: “Oh what you gave up?!”

Charlie: “I was in my 20s! I had my first solo work, I was successful, I wanted to fuck everyone but I didn’t. Because I loved you and I didn’t want to lose you. But I- I missed out on so much.”

Nicole: “You are SO selfish, you can’t even separate anything else from your own self-interest! You can’t even see me as something separate from yourself!”

Charlie: “So you hate me! You wish you’d never married me, fine, but god this last year it’s like you hated me!”

Nicole: “And I did! I do! (Screaming helplessly) I can’t believe I have to know you for the rest of my life!!”

Charlie: (Savagely snarling) “Maybe you don’t because I hope you get sick and die. I hope you get hit by a car tomorrow!”

///////////////

This scene escalates and escalates until they’re both in these uncontrollable, violent piques of rage. Charlie punches a hole in the wall, and things simply get uglier and uglier until they are screaming at each other the most horrible things each can think of with every bit of vitriol they can possibly muster. The build up in the scene is masterful, and the performances are simply stellar. You can feel that they are pissed as all hell at each other – that this is literally years of unspoken, repressed feelings all being torn out. But you can also feel that both of them are in such awful pain. Both of them are actively bleeding as the scene progresses, but it’s because both of them still care so much. It’s because there are still feelings there, and there always will be no matter what either of them do. That’s why the emotions are so desperate and searing off the screen.

After Charlie spits the final horrific line in her face, he sinks to the floor and weeps for it. It ends with her comforting him, and him putting his arms around her knees.

And – just fuck me up completely, why don’t you – if you thought that scene was the biggest beating your heart would have to take in this movie, THINK AGAIN BUDDY.

Because. Whew. My god. Words are going to fail me in describing this scene but I’ll do my best to go for it.

Months have passed since their fight, and grab every box of tissues in existence, because here’s the rumored scene where Adam sings “Being Alive” from Company. Now, I had somehow completely forgotten about this going into the film. So when Charlie stands up in the cabaret restaurant with his theatre group back in New York and starts jokingly singing the words when the pianist starts the song, I was just like ‘oh haha he’s singing! Wow!’

Charlie moves to sit back down after the first verse, still mostly fun and games…. But then the words draw him back as the song continues. He gravitates towards the small stage and the microphone, and little by little the joking edge melts away. Emotional gravity rises behind his voice little by little, until suddenly the words are loud and ringing and gorgeous, and there is palpable heartbreak in his eyes as the words begin to take the exact shape of all he has lost.

Now, we’ve heard snippets of Adam singing in Hungry Hearts and Inside Llewyn Davis and even briefly in Burn This. But. People…. You have never heard or seen anything like this. I don’t even mean from Adam. I mean… in your life. I mean: This scene literally stirred such a profound reaction in me; I didn’t know it was possible for an actor to evoke feelings like this. And imagine, this was on-screen performance. The entire theater applauded when the song ended, and I was in tears.

The song encapsulated in truly heartbreaking beauty the revelation Charlie was having of all he once had – every part of love that is both good and bad; cherished and difficult. And in possibly the most tragic contrast of the whole film: He is singing about love making it worthwhile to be alive – of how he’s now essentially left searching for what will now make his life worth living; while across the country Nicole is finally feeling “alive” for the first time, after years of being plagued by the feeling of part of her being dead beyond reach.

Yeah. I could spend thousands of words just trying to describe the devastating power and beauty of this scene, but no matter what words I use or how I phrase it, I’m going to come up short. It’s simply beyond description. Adam is beyond description. You’d think because I literally couldn’t love him more if my life depended on it that I couldn’t be so stunned by new demonstrations of his talent??? But jesus CHRIST. This man is a force that defies comprehension. To my ear, his voice sounded strong but untrained, and that was what made it so heartrendingly magnificent. In the held notes, his voice will crest into the gentlest vibrato as his emotions build, and I couldn’t tell you whether it’s the song that Adam disappears into, or if it’s Adam purposefully weaving every single element at play here into the most moving minutes of performance you’ve ever seen. Either way: The scene will ruin you utterly, and you will love it beyond comprehension.

I know a clip of this scene will certainly hit the internet as soon as the whole film becomes available, but god I almost wish that everyone has to watch it in context with everything that’s come before it. Because knowing every bit that Charlie has suffered along the way, understanding the way his heart is continuously breaking with each of the words-…. God, it’s too much.

Next up on Adam Driver Eviscerates Your Heart And You Thank Him Profusely For It: The scenes where he cries are just as painful as you think they’d be. Probably even more so, because he’s a talented jerk like that who takes no pity on us at all.

The first major crying scene is when he and his lawyer go off into a side room during a break in the first meeting on divorce terms. It’s just dawning on Charlie that Nicole probably has no intent to bring Henry back to New York, and unless Charlie does something serious, Henry might never live there with him again. While the lawyer’s talking, Charlie silently lowers his head, and suddenly the tears just rise up over him. It’s quiet and he only shakes slightly, but god do you feel for him.

The second time is…. lord, yet another moment that’s utterly heartbreaking and yet one of the most beautiful moments of film you’ve ever seen. This is the final scene in the film, and it references back to one of the first, where Charlie and Nicole try to go to a divorce counselor, who requests that they each write down the things they love about the other and then read them aloud. These are the lists each of them voiceover in the trailer and that play at the film’s very beginning. But during this session, Nicole refused to read her list aloud, because she didn’t “like what she wrote.” So Charlie never heard her list about him.

In this final scene, Charlie hears Henry reading something aloud in his bedroom. Henry had been struggling with reading, so Charlie immediately comes in to listen and help him. Charlie sits down on the bed with him, and realizes what it is Henry’s reading. Charlie helps him with the words he can’t pronounce, and then halfway through Henry hands him the list. “You finish reading it, Dad.”

Charlie continues reading the list, and it goes on much longer than the version we heard in Nicole’s voiceover. As Charlie’s reading aloud, Nicole appears in the doorway and begins to listen without Charlie realizing. He manages to read it all relatively evenly… until he reaches the end.

“I fell in love with him…” Charlie stops suddenly, and in an instant his mouth is trembling, the tears are brimming over, and he is fighting desperately to hold back the onslaught of tears in front of his son, even as it overtakes his entire body. Finally, he is able to finish: “I fell in love with him seconds after I saw him, and I’ll always love him. Even if it doesn’t make sense.” In the door, Nicole fights off her own tears.

This film is cinema at its very best. I know this is an incredibly bold statement, but: It just might be Adam’s best role to date.

End Spoilers: Q&A!

I WAS STILL SO STUNNED BY THE SINGING SCENE THAT I ASKED ADAM ABOUT IT AND JUST TO ROUND OUT FROM THE HAND TAKEN VIDEO ABOVE THIS IS THE OFFICIAL ONE AND THAT’S ME YOU CAN JUST BARELY HEAR AT 17:45!!!!!

youtube

CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT HAPPENED??? BECAUSE I CAN’T AND I WAS THERE. BYE I think I’m having an out of body experience taking in the fact that I’m watching this vid of Adam WATCHING ME OMG HE WAS SQUINTING INTO THE AUDIENCE TO SEE ME AND LEANING FORWARD TO HEAR ME SOMEONE HOLD ME I’M WEEPING HE WAS TALKING TO MEASKDFJALKSFJ

Ahem.

From Noah’s comments throughout the panel, it was amazing to hear how much of this movie was truly a collaborative process between him and Adam. In many ways, Noah built this role and film around Adam. He said that he and Adam had focused on the scene of him performing “Being Alive” very early on, and Noah structured the script to work towards that vision. Though he already had the idea of working in themes of performance and theatre, it was Adam’s idea to make Charlie a theatre director. I absolutely love hearing that Noah essentially wanted to make a film where elements of who Adam is in real life or his interests in what he wanted to play in a character were built into the heart of the script.

Someone asked Noah why he likes dysfunctional families so much and he replied “What other kind are there?”

Most of the other things said during the Q&A had already been echoed in other interviews. Plus I sometimes have trouble processing memories while Adam’s talking/standing in front of me because slkdjflsakjfdklsf just taking in the sight of him is a fucking lot to process :’’’’’’’)

“A fucking lot to process” is actually a perfectly apt summary of the day in its entirety! When Sarah and I got back to the hotel, we discovered it had a jacuzzi on the rooftop! That was truly the best soak ever, to soothe away the emotional overload and talk through all of our many, many thoughts on the two stellar films we’d just had the privilege of seeing.

Writing through this entire massive thing was also a huge help to work through all my complex feels about these films. As you might have gathered, I can’t recommend them highly enough. And as you also might suspect – Adam is an absolute force to be reckoned with in both. Seeing two of his most powerful performances ever back to back (and then getting to hear him talk about each in person!) was truly an experience I’ll never forget.

A massive thank you to anyone who persevered through reading all that!! I love writing analyses not only to work through my emotional response to sweeping works like this, but also to remember every bit of the impact. Give it a share if you don’t mind helping a girl out? :) I’m not on twitter at all so it’d be much appreciated!

(...have I mentioned I love Adam and I’m in awe of every single thing he does? Shower this man with Oscars already?!)

#Adam Driver #TIFF #driverdaily #Toronto International Film Festival #The Report #Marriage Story #TIFF 2019

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planetsam · 5 years

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Prompt: Canon divergent of 1x09 when Malex see each other again. Maybe Alex doesn’t walk away when he realizes how afraid Guerin is of him doing just that... again. Whatever you want to write/can picture out of it. That scene broke me a little bit with Michael whispering “is this really how it ends?” like he was desperate for Alex to really see him/understand him/love him. I LOVE YOUR WRITING! THANK YOU.

Alex has just realized he needs something a lot stronger than beer when Michael saunters in.

There have been moments like this in his life before, moments of realization and epiphany that are so life altering he can’t imagine being the same person he was before he knew them. The self blame is easy. He’s pretty great at it. The truth is the truth. Alex has never been one of those people who believes it’s subjective. Somethings true or it’s not, there is no grey area. He is still trying to wrap his head around the truth when the biggest lie of his life saunters in wearing a black hat and a smirk and sits next to him. Alex’s only thought is that he has to get out of there. He can’t get drunk and risk spilling the truth, not to anyone here and especially not to Michael. He tries to get out and Michael picks this, of all times, to come after him.

“Is this really how it ends?” Michael says, like he hasn’t been lying to Alex’s face every moment of every second since the day they met. He has no right to look as anguished as he does. He smiles, but it’s tortured, “the sex was epic.”

Alex feels sick.

He’s had sex that is literally out of this world, because that sex was with an actual alien. All the movies he’s seen that have scenes of probing flash before his eyes. None apply, thank god, but that doesn’t make it better. He’s had sex with an alien, but more importantly he’s had sex with someone who lied to him the whole time. Does the man he loved even exist? Michael leans forward and Alex forces himself not to react. He refuses to give Michael even this fraction of something. He’ll keep his hurt if that’s the only thing he gets.

“So shouldn’t the breakup involves some pyrotechnics? Scream? Break some stuff?”

Alex decides he’s going to kill him. That’s all there is to it. He’s going to kill him because this beautiful, smug, god damn telekinetic alien is standing in front of him asking if he’s going to break stuff. Michael is a genius but Alex isn’t stupid and he wants to question when Michael forgot that. Does he think Alex’s brain is in the desert with the rest of his leg and a few pints of his blood? His brain is fine, he’s undergone a lot of testing after everything. He’s fine. But apparently Michael thinks otherwise.

“Really make it feel over,” Michael says, his voice dropping.

This close, it’s impossible not to look at all of him. He’s shades of honey and gold and Alex wonders how it’s possible to love and hate someone in the same way, at the same moment, in the same breath. He’s been betrayed before, but it’s always been easier to switch off the love portion. He’s always been able to guard himself against the pain. He takes what he can when the truth comes out. But there’s no satisfaction, no promise of anything soothing. There’s just Michael and all of his sharp edges. Alex can see the plea underneath, the same look he always gets when they reach this moment and have given everything they have to what is between them. The moment before they have to push apart and return to whatever they came from. Before they do it all over again.

“Sometimes the world ends with a whimper, Guerin.”

He knows the exact moment he breaks Michael’s heart, but there’s no satisfaction in it. Actually the look on Michael’s face is an exact mirror of what he’s feeling. Only Michael wears his heart on his sleeve and Alex has long since learned to tuck it away. He’s hurt Michael in the same instant as he’s being hurt by him. It’s a low, bully move. But Roswell does that to people, it brings out the worst and the hurt. He pulls away and makes it almost to the door before he glances back and sees that Michael is still standing there.

He looks lost.

Alex never looks back. His mom told him that looking back only made you want what was left behind. Michael looks small and lost as he stands there, he looks like he doesn’t know where to go now. Alex thinks of that kid sitting in the back of his truck, the one who couldn’t fathom why anyone would be nice to him just because. He thinks of his father and what that kindness cost Michael in the end. The bullied become bullies, that’s always how it’s supposed to go. The good ones like Kyle fight back but it’s a part of you. He knows Michael played an instrumental role in keeping him from that. All the hurt parts of him say to go and leave him standing there.

Alex storms back over.

“So the world—“

“I know,” he says and everything stops.

Maybe the world has ended.

Michael’s has. All the color drains out of his face before he actually has the audacity to smile that stupid smile. Only now Alex can see it for the lie that it is. His whole posture changes as he tries to inflate, make himself bigger like that’s going to cover the lie. It’s a bullshit, well honed move but Michael still tries.

“You know what?” He says.

“Oh spare me,” Alex says and look purposefully at the movie poster for Cowboys & Aliens that MiMi hung up the year they all turned legal, “the hats a nice touch.”

It’s a struggle to keep up but he lets Michael drag him out of the bar, pausing only long enough to grab his hat though Alex isn’t sure he’s close enough for it. It occurs to him that he’s being dragged out by a literal cowboy alien. But it’s less funny when Michael gets them into the alleyway and makes sure he’s got his feet under him. Any mask he has on falls away as he stares at him, looks away and then looks back at him. Alex doesn’t expect an explanation from him. He isn’t sure he wants one. Or that there is even one to give. How the hell do you explain something like this?

“How do you know?” Michael asks.

“Massive government conspiracy,” Alex says, “I’ve known for months.”

Some of the color comes back into Michael’s face.

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?” Michael demands, stepping forward. Alex steps back. Everything shifts and Michael becomes small again, “are you afraid of me?” Michael asks, toying with the edge of his hat.

“No!” Alex says, “would you stop doing that? You lied to me for our entire relationship—“

“That’s not—“ Michael cuts in.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out? This whole town thought I was stupid, I never thought that you felt the same way—“ he keeps going.

“Alex—“ Michael’s face goes from scared to confused.

“But I guess it makes sense, I couldn’t protect you from my father so why would you—“

“Alex, stop!”

The dumpster lid bangs shut, making Alex whip around. He looks from the lid to Michael, whose eyes move from the lid to him. It’s one thing to read it on paper, it’s another for Michael’s powers to occur in front of him. The thing that keeps rolling through his mind, even more than the fact that Michael is an alien and thinks he would never notice, is the fact that Michael hasn’t used his powers. If Alex had the powers that he has, his father would never lay a hand on him. But he’s watched his father literally break Michael’s hand with a hammer and nothing happened. Michael is looking at him with complete horror.

“You think you couldn’t protect me?” He says.

Alex blows out a breath.

“We’re not talking about that,” he says.

“The hell we’re not,” Michael shoots back, “what did you mean—“

“We’re talking about you being an alien,” he cuts him off.

Michael shuts his mouth and Alex wonders, belatedly, if that’s somehow a bad term. Michael hates being called all sorts of things. But figuring out if alien is off limits is, admittedly, not a bridge that Alex ever thought that they would have to cross. He can see the spark of that same defiance as the kid who tried to deny a sleeping bag was his bed. Back then maybe secrets were okay between them but this, this is something else. Alex wishes he could logic his way out of the hurt, but he knows that isn’t how the world works.

“What?” Alex says, knowing that he’s not going to get answers if Michael shuts down more.

“It’s weird hearing you say that,” Michael says carefully.

“You’d be used to it if you told me the truth!” Alex says.

Michael is suddenly a lot closer and his back is literally against the wall. Alex was determined to rip the band aide off and walk away, not call Michael out on is bullshit. He doesn’t give him anything and pulls himself up to his full—and slightly higher—height. It doesn’t seem to bother Michael as much as it’s important to get him to understand. Alex would be annoyed if he wasn’t trying to not be affected by Michael’s proximity and contact.

“If you know, then you know why I couldn’t tell you,” Michael says, his eyes searching for the truth.

“I wouldn’t have said anything,” he says.

Michael gives him a look and Alex has to admit he might have a point. Nothing is ever a secret in this place for long. Except, apparently, stuff like that. He refuses to admit that though.

“I wanted to tell you,” Michael says.

“But you didn’t,” Alex shoots back.

“Not like you were around much,” Michael says and Alex opens his mouth, “you were trying to protect me.”

“I said we weren’t talking about that,” Alex snaps.

“You can’t win every argument from now on with ‘but you didn’t tell me you were an alien, Michael’,” he says, his eyes searching Alex’s face intently. He doesn’t know how the air is suddenly electrified.

“Watch me,” Alex shoots back.

Michael dives forward closing the already minuscule space between them, but Alex is dragging him forward already. Kissing an alien with full knowledge of what they are is, as it turns out, secondary to kissing a man you’re in love with. Michael’s lips are warm and dry and he tastes like cheap whiskey. The stronger stuff that Alex was thinking about leaving to go and get. Michael pushes him back against the wall, intent on kissing him senseless but his arm remains shoved there, just to make sure Alex can balance. They never kiss in public and somehow the adrenaline of it makes Alex weak in the knees.

“Door,” he pants out.

“On it,” Michael says and there’s the sound of a lock turning before their back to kissing each other.

His leg is going to kill him and they have a lot they need to talk about, but Alex can only think of Maria’s description of not bringing Michael home to his non existent mother, especially as he fights to stay quiet when Michael kisses his neck and works a leg in between his. Alex grips his shoulders and tries not to moan as Michael pushes them together. He may or may not have had several fantasies about something along these lines. So for the moment, he puts all the other stuff aside and focuses instead on kissing the man holding him up against the wall.

The lights go out.

All of them.

“God damn it,” Michael breathes against his neck and then turns, “what?!” He snarls over his shoulder.

“We need to talk,” Max says, “it’s about Isobel.”

In the dark Michael’s hands tighten on him, even as a Alex prepares to go. Isobel is Michael’s sister and despite everything, Alex knows that means the world to Michael. But Michael’s hands hold firm and the leg still pressed in between Alex’s doesn’t move. His eyes go from Max to Alex, Alex nods to show it’s okay. Michael steps back and they rearrange their clothing and as many signs of what they were doing as possible. Alex accepts Michael’s arm for balance as they make their way over to Max. He and Max acknowledge each other quickly, but before he can move past them Michael grabs his hand.

“Alex knows so he can stay,” he says. Max looks less than thrilled, “He’s a spy, like he’s not going to be just as helpful as the geek squad.”

Max looks at him and Alex wonders if it’s normal to be just as taken aback by having his hand held as it is to be in a staring contest with an alien. Two aliens.

“There’s a healer in Texas who might be like us,” Max says.

Make that three.

#michael guerin #alex manes #malex #malex fic #roswell new mexico #roswell nm fanfic #malex fanfic #prompts #michael x alex

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writeanapocalae · 5 years

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Inktober: Secret Injury

It was an odd day, in the fact that it was completely and utterly normal. Sure the world was acting like it was ending, riots and fires in the streets, a civil war between the naturals and augs, but inside Sarif Industries, there was nothing going on. Adam was wandering the halls, considering going through the vents just to make it a little bit more interesting, but then people would think there was an issue and that it was worthwhile to stress out. This was a safe space. He wasn’t going to alter it.

So he knocked on Francis’ door instead of hacking his way in. It was such a benign issue, a few customers having tried to return parts to a LIMB clinic only to find that their cards were all attached to the same account. For those four it was a big issue, a lack in security and a threat to their identities, but for a corporation like there’s it was hardly anything. It was more Francis’ job that Adam’s. But Adam was the one who knew about it and he’d been asked by Sarif himself to get it dealt with before it went to the press.

The opacity wasn’t completely up on the windows to Francis’ office, but they were somewhat tinted. It was clear that the man wanted his privacy. He always did. But if he was asleep the windows would be fully darkened and he wouldn’t be able to see him. He was sitting at his desk, leaning forward, curled in on himself. He was working hard on something, his posture got worse the more intense he was.

“It’s open!” Francis called out and Adam opened the door. It was rarely unlocked. Francis didn’t turn as he entered, his attention fully on his work. “What is it?”

“Good to see you too, Francis,” Adam cocked his hip, crossing his arms.

Francis still didn’t turn towards him. “Jensen,” he sounded genuinely surprised though his voice didn’t hold the usual hint of malice. He sounded run down, if anything. Adam had heard him close to exhaustion and far past it many times. This sounded worse, if that was possible. “How can I help you?”

That stopped him in his tracks. Francis had never asked him that. He’d never been this polite, this cordial. Something was wrong here. Something was different. He pulled his lenses back, took a step forward. He was tempted to turn on his CASIE but he’d promised himself that he wouldn’t use that on friends.

He and Francis weren’t friends, too many years of dirty water under the bridge, but they weren’t enemies either, nor competitors. He’d tried to be Francis’ friend, not in the beginning but a few years in. Things hadn’t improved much.

“Careful there, Francis, you’re almost sounding like a human being.”

There was a slight flinch in Francis’ shoulders, then a tilt of the head, but he was turning even further out of Jensen’s view.

“Would you get on with it? Some of us have work to do. I thought that, if I asked nicely, you’d spit it out and be on your way.”

He drew even closer. He didn’t like the idea that Francis was hiding something from him. It was very clear that he was though. He put his hand on the desk and told Francis about the mishap with the LIMB clinic, studying the edge of Francis’ face. He wasn’t looking at his computer, as busy as he seemed to be. He as primarily turned away, not wanting Adam to see his face. His hair looked like it was a mess, shoved back into the band within a rush. His right hand lay limply in his lap.

“Is that all this is?” Francis sighed. “You could have sent me an email for that.”

“But then I wouldn’t get to tease you,” Adam smirked.

That got Francis to turn, to glare at him, but he caught himself before the entirety of his black eye came into view. Still, Adam could see how swollen it was before Francis turned back away from him.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” Francis all but spat. “If you were to go back to your office I can get onto this little breach in security for you.”

He knew Francis didn’t want attention on it, he knew when the man was being stubborn and when he was genuinely wanting to hide away from things. You didn’t know someone for eight years without picking up on that sort of thing. And this, right here and now, was hiding. He didn’t want Adam to know that he was hurting.

And Adam wasn’t going to let him hide it.

He put his hand on Francis’ shoulder and the man jumped so hard, curling away from him, and he could see his teeth from how tightly he was grimacing.

“Let me see?” he tried to sound kind but this was Francis, it was hard not to slip into a voice that sounded like he was pitying.

“It’s not a big deal,” Francis argued. “You can go be Prince Charming for some other princess.”

“Heh, I’d like to see whoever’s stupid enough to call you Princess.”

Francis looked at him again. It wasn’t just his eye that was swollen but a swath of his cheek. There was blood on his face too, where it had been wiped away from his nose. He looked a bit of a mess. “You’d be surprised how many times I’ve been called that.”

Adam didn’t need the light to see by, not with his eyes, but in order to get detail it was easier with a lamp on. He pressed the switch under Francis’ desk to get the lights up, so he could see what he was working with. The nose didn’t look broken any and his cheekbones were sharp enough that whoever had hit him there probably hurt themselves more than they did him.

“You know who did this?”

Francis shrugged and winced. “Who knows and who cares? Just some punk kids out in the riots.”

Adam flicked his thumb over the darkening bruise on his cheek, light enough that he barely got a hiss out of Francis. He was telling the truth, probably. He’d never come in like this before. The wince made him nervous though, meant there was more damage that wasn’t on his face.

“You mind taking off your shirt for me?” he asked.

“Sorry, I’m not in the mood for a strip tease right now,” Francis sighed. There was supposed to be more of a fight there, more of a bite.

Adam reached down, grabbed the lapels of Francis’ jacket and started to gently tug it off of him. He didn’t miss the way that Francis bit his lip, how he was looking everywhere except for at Adam, how he shuddered when he got to that shoulder that Francis was favoring. He went slow, tried to be gentle. Even his breath seemed like it was hitting Francis too hard.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Francis wheezed, putting a hand on Jensen’s chest and pushing him gently away. “Don’t you have some walls to push through?”

“I need to see,” Adam pressed, “Or would you prefer I got a medic?”

Francis looked at the floor for a moment just breathing. Eventually he sighed and relaxed a bit more. “You, I guess.”

“Then you’ve got me,” Adam gripped the jacket a little bit harder and, with one solid tug he pulled it off of Francis’ arm, making him yip in the surprising onslaught of pain. Adam wrapped an arm around the back of his head and pulled him in, burying the unmarred side of Francis’s face against his chest. He shushed him as he ran fingers through his hair, trying to distract him from the pain.

“I think...” Francis finally breathed. “I think my shoulder’s dislocated.”

Adam couldn’t see it. Francis was still wearing his turtleneck, but guessing from his reaction to taking off the jacket he agreed.

He took up the hem of Francis’ shirt. It was both easier and harder to pull it up over his head. He could move it without having to jostle the arm as much but he also had to look at Francis’ chest. There were scars there, ink, a few odd ports, all hidden under more swelling and bright red bruises, too fresh and painful to change to purple and green. There were boot prints where Francis had been kicked so hard that the pattern had made their own distinct bruises. The swelling around those marked ribs were worse that the rest.

“You’re augmented,” Adam breathed, tracing the outline of a rectangular port right next to Francis’ heart.

“No, really?” Francis pulled a face and pulled his shirt down along the length of his wounded arm. “I thought they were beating me up for my good looks.”

Adam could see the gap in Francis’ shoulder, between one joint and the next. He put his hand on the part that had dislocated, remembering the way that the bones were supposed to settle. “This is going to hurt.”

“I know,” Francis breathed through his nose.

Francis leaned against his chest, clinging onto him with his uninjured arm. Adam breathed and counted and just before Francis could tense he shoved the limb up and back into the socket. There was another yelp, though Adam doubted their coworkers would be able to ignore this one. He ran his hand down Francis’ shoulder blades and down his back.

Pain was something that Adam was used to but he didn’t bear the marks of it. They all faded so fast. Francis didn’t have a healing factor; there was only so much a healing hypo would do, mostly topical. Still, he sprayed Francis’ chest down with it, noting how his breathing calmed down once it started to numb him.

“Come on,” Adam urged, pulling himself up to his full height. He left his hand extended, an invitation.

Francis stared at it, then up at him. “Where are you taking me?”

“Over to the couch,” he shrugged, “You need to rest up. I can’t believe you came in today, looking like that.”

Francis wrapped both arms around himself. He shuddered, cold. “I wasn’t going to just come half way, get beat up, and turn around.”

Adam took off his jacket and extended his hand again. “It’s a slow day, no one’s going to fault you taking it easy.”

Francis exhaled sharply and there was an expression on his face that was hard for Adam to read. It was hurt yes, but not physical and not directed at anything. There was definitely something wrong with his ribs but this hurt was something even deeper.

He finally took Adam’s hand and allowed himself to be led to the small couch. It was obvious that he wasn’t expected Adam to lay down and offer his own chest, his own heat, for Francis, but he did. Francis stared at the door and back the invitation before sighing, shaking his head, and laying down as comfortably as he could on top of Adam. The moment the coat was placed on top of both of them he was asleep.

#whumptober2019 #no. 24 #my writing #Deus Ex #francis pritchard #adam jensen #fanfiction

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herpleasvre · 4 years

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💋

send 💋 to kiss my muse ! @essence-flux-primed / no longer accepting !

A relic was tossed from each of the gargantuan man’s two sets of hands, defined muscles bulging & stretching before he let out a bored hum. it finally comes to rest under his upper- left arm, the other coming to scratch at his chin & the remaining limbs perching on his hips.

The ‘ adventurer ‘ , on the other hand, had looked on with an expression mixed between disbelief & relief ; clearly this artifact meant something to him.. but what could evan get out of it ?

Lips quirk at the corners, a smirk of mild devilry forming.

‘ seeing you make that face is almost enough to hand over this.. thing. almost. ‘ pearly whites are shown, his upper-right arm making a motion of reeling out his honey-coated words from his mouth as spoke. ‘ i mean, if you can make it worth my while, i’ll probably just give it to you. ‘

Blond hair bristled, a look of minor annoyance on his features – man was this guy cute ; athletic, baby-faced, & a lack of common sense when it came to a challenge. how adorable.

Blue eyes looked into his own burning ambers, posture straightening & his stance oozing self-assurance ; he got the gist of what the horned man implied. the sound of his boots echoed throughout the dusty temple hall, approaching the scarlet-haired man with a mixed expression of caution, valor, & a hint of his own quirky allure.

Even with the obstacle of height – the quadra-armed man quite a few heads taller than the blond – the younger’s drive never yielded. almost like that of a gymnast, he found ground on the alter the sought-after relic had been perched on, now coming eye-to-eye with evan.

At first, he seemed unsure what to do with his hands – though the taller is by no means obese, he lacks a thin waist, but his musculature more than made up for it.

Gloved hands reach out, fingers ghosted at the demon’s jawline, then settled on either side of his face. a heavy, pleased purr reverberated in his chest, the pupils of his cat-like eyes widening at the steady movements. ezreal acknowledged the risk in making a deal with a demon, it seemed. evan could tell that much from just gazing into those beautiful blue eyes, but he was clearly the farthest thing from a stranger to danger.

The moment lips touch, there’s a spark of excitement ; the partner hand to the one holding the relic was quick to grasp at the nape of his neck, nails digging lightly at the skin. a sign of power, of dominance.

Ezreal tastes like dirt ; like nature, unruly & wild. there’s hints of ash, perhaps from a torch he lit aflame earlier in the day. whichever the case, evan liked this flavor. his posture was lax, if for the waves of overconfidence to get a quick snog from such an unpredictable, handsome specimen.

Thumbs trembled lightly at his sun-kissed face, just for a second. then, the duo is delved deeper in the affection when ezreal pushes for another ; evan could only assume that the young man developed a taste for his bitter-sweetness, & a smile formed on his side of the kiss. energies collided, heat forming quickly & boldness growing as the melding of lips seemed to last eternity, when in reality it had been only but a minute or so.

There’s a break, for a bit. foreheads touch – or as much as they can, red locks intermingling with gorgeous golds – & a look between them is exchanged. evan chuckled behind pearly whites.

‘ never said i’d only accept one ‘a those, sweet face.. gonna need more than that. ‘

#essence-flux-primed #⊰ ic. / ᵍᵘᵉˢˢ ʷʰᵒ'ˢ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᶠᵒʳ ᵐᵒʳᵉ ᵎ ⊱#⊰ replies. / ʷᵃᶰᶰᵃ ᵈᵒ ᶤᵗ ᵃᵍᵃᶤᶰ ˀ ⊱#⊰ v : main. / ᵗʰʳᵒᵘᵍʰ ˢᵘᶠᶠᵉʳᶤᶰᵍ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᵗᵒ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ᵐᵉ ⊱

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creative-frequency · 5 years

Text

Cayde-6 x Reader: The Trigger Ch. 1

Word count: 2719 Pairing: Cayde-6 (Destiny) x Female Reader Contains: Rating eventually up to mature/explicit, Cayde being Cayde, sass, shooting, chickens, idek yet. Notes: You might be wondering how tf did this happen and I have no excuse, but I can point a finger at @glistoi.

My Writing Masterlist

The refugees, people who had lost their homes, and Guardians, who had lost their Light, had been arriving for weeks. Weeks of tending the wounded, burying the dead, sharing the supplies and scraping by with whatever you could find. Who knew how many more such weeks there was to come?

There had been hard times, it was easy enough to admit, but this was different. They were already calling it “The Red War”. It was a difficult concept to grasp for someone like you. So far, your life had been a rather solitary one, only banding together for convenience or the occasional need to talk to another human being. It was a good, simple way of living.

Life in The Last City had never been for you. You weren’t a Guardian, but the burn of the wanderlust was too tempting, its flame too bright to resist. There were others like you and a handful of them you were proud to call your friends.

Just like you, Suraya Hawthorne had lived half of her life outside the City walls. To neither of you there was no other way of life. The untamed, Fallen-filled wilds of the European Dead Zone were your home and the life of a wanderer was yours.

So, when Suraya came up with the grand idea of transforming your beloved Farm into the cradle of civilization, you couldn’t find the excuse to refuse her your help. Since then she had taken charge of the camp, much to your relief, and handled the daily tasks of running the safe haven.

Your job was much easier. Aim. Shoot. Kill. Provide. Repeat as needed.

The only problem was that the need was getting way too high to handle. The flood of people had peaked already, but there were still more arriving each day, and everyone needed to eat. For someone from the City, the lands of the EDZ were unfamiliar and unquestionably dangerous. To you the terrain was familiar, and most importantly, you knew where to go when one wanted to find something to fill their belly with.

After a particularly rushed, but lucky hunting trip, you were back at the Farm, resting your mind and body by enjoying the warm, sunny day sitting on the grass. Things had started to gradually calm down since the attack on the City as everyone found their daily tasks and the rhythm of the life at the Farm.

People kept coming and going around you, most of them ignoring you, until a pair of boots appeared to your field of vision.

“Oh, hey, they told me to find you.”

“Who’s asking?” You looked up from your rucksack. An Exo. That explained the metallic voice. “And who’s ‘they’?”

“Some guy at the landing. ‘Find the woman with a rifle and a permanent scowl’, so here I am,” he said sounding suspiciously excited. His blue eyes were bright and aimed at you like a pair of flashlights. A light glowed in the back of his throat as he spoke, altering between cold yellow and warm orange shades.

As it happened, you had been cleaning your sniper rifle and the parts were scattered on the grass around you. Half of the Exo’s description certainly fit but taking care of new refugees had never been your job.

“Well, sorry but that’s not me. You’re looking for Suraya Hawthorne – she’s up there,” you said, already focused back on the weapon and nodded to the general direction of the large garage building.

The Exo hummed in thought, nodded and planted his hands on his hips, waiting.

“Did you need something else?” There was a scowl on your face you could swear wasn’t there before his arrival. If someone had asked you to describe Suraya, you would have told them to look for a woman in a poncho with a falcon. Half of the people at the Farm were carrying a rifle and there wasn’t much to smile about these days.

The Exo tilted his head, a somewhat apologetic look on his face. “Could you show me the way? I’m not sure I can find her on my own.”

You looked up to stare at him, trying to figure out was he serious. The pair of blue lights blinked innocently.

“It’s that building over there. She’s probably on the second floor, straight ahead from the stairs at the left,” you explained patiently, now more carefully pointing at the right direction. Even from that distance you could distinguish the woman in a blue poncho, hunched over a table you knew was filled with maps and plans.

“Yeah, okay,” the Exo agreed, but made no motion to any direction.

You waited a few seconds, hoping he would get the hint.

“Fine,” you groaned and placed the barrel you had been cleaning to the ground. No one would dare to touch your stuff anyways, or you would see to that they would never touch anything that belonged to you again.

You ignored the hand reached out in aid, got up and started walking at a brisk pace, silently irritated at being pulled away from your solitude.

“I’m Cayde-6, by the way,” the Exo said and hurried after you.

Out of the shreds of courtesy you managed to dig from inside you, you turned to nod to him over your shoulder.

“Pleasure,” you said curtly but didn’t bother introducing yourself. You wouldn’t have to stand his company ever again anyway.

“So, you live around here?” Cayde questioned to make small talk.

“I do.”

“Uh-huh.”

There was a beat of silence, but he didn’t let it last for long.

“And what do you do?” he asked.

“I’m a hunter.”

Cayde let out a delighted noise. “Oh, what a coincidence! I’m a Hunter too.” He sounded way too excited about the revelation.

“Great,” you muttered and continued stomping up the stairs, not listening to what the Exo was gushing about behind you.

Being a hunter like you, and being a Hunter like him were worlds apart. With each step you were gladder you would get rid of him soon.

“Hawthorne, there’s someone looking for you,” you announced as soon as you stepped onto the second-floor platform.

Suraya was leaning heavily over the map that had been spread on the table. She looked up and her brows raised. “What is it?”

You simply pointed a thumb over your shoulder towards the Exo sauntering after you. You imagined he was throwing finger guns at everyone and everything along with the greetings that kept spilling out of his mouth. Seemed like you had found the noisiest person on the planet.

“Heyy, you must be Hawthorne.”

“And you must be Cayde-6. Welcome to the European Dead Zone.” Suraya straightened up and folded her arms on her chest. Her judgmental gaze scanned over the newcomer.

“Oh. Thanks.” Cayde glanced at you, eyes bright with clear as day mischief. “…For the warm welcome.”

Suraya laughed. “Don’t mind her. She’s our best tracker and that compensates to her people skills.”

You rolled your eyes to the heights, still not feeling like warming up to Cayde the Hunter. You had seen enough Guardians for one life time and had a long time ago deemed it best to avoid them.

“Oh, so that’s what you meant when you said you were a hunter. That’s amazing, though! I let my Ghost handle the tracking stuff.” Cayde was looking at you with completely new interest and it made your insides tingle nervously.

The small, red device appeared in the air as if on cue: “Nice to meet you. My name is Sundance.”

The Ghost made a circle around Cayde’s head before settling to hover above his left shoulder.

“You came from Nessus, didn’t you?” Suraya asked, her brows creasing in thought.

“Yeah. Had a little stuck-in-endless-portal-loop-scenario. The Guardian helped me out,” Cayde explained and chuckled.

Everyone knew which Guardian he was talking about: The only one who had gotten their Light back. News of her heroics around the system had spread like a wildfire.

“You know where she is now?” Suraya continued.

“We left Nessus at the same time. I sent her to Io, she was looking for Ikora, our Warlock vanguard.”

“Ah.”

When the conversation deceased, you started slowly retreating towards the exit, hoping Suraya would handle Cayde and you could go back to being left alone.

“Are you busy now?” she asked sharply, stopping you on your tracks.

“Always,” you turned to say with a blank face.

Suraya looked back to Cayde and her posture relaxed. “You should get some rest before you guys start planning on how to save the world again.” A hint of a smile tugged at her lips. For every Guardian who arrived at the Farm, she seemed happier. The Farm needed people who knew which end of the gun went where. Though you weren’t sure did the Hunter deserve so much credit.

Cayde swatted the air as if saving the world was nothing. “It’s just another Tuesday.”

“Hmh. Have you had time to explore the place?” Suraya’s tone was pondering and the feeling that you were not going to get back to being left alone grew tenfold.

“Nah, just got here,” Cayde said.

“Why don’t you show him around?” Suraya asked you in a tone that didn’t leave any room for argument.

You threw a murderous look at her, but after so many years of friendship, she was immune by now. Cayde, on the other hand, was not so immune to the power of your scornful glare.

“Y’know what? I’m good, really, there’s no–”

“Cayde? Are you there?” a booming shout carried from nearby.

The voice belonged to the Titan Vanguard Commander. You had seen him from afar, never made any contact with and didn’t even want to. He was an Awoken, always armored from neck to toe and seemed to have a stick up his ass but that was probably caused by the recent events. Losing the City you’re supposed to protect will do that.

“On second thought, I could really use a tour.” Cayde grabbed your shoulders and before you could utter a word of protest, he turned you towards the stairs and walked you down.

Suraya just chuckled and went back to her maps.

It was an easy way out of the situation, but as soon as you were down on the ground level, you shook the Exo off your back.

“Hey, I didn’t catch your name back there,” he said.

“That’s cause I didn’t say it,” you muttered loud enough to be heard.

“Yeah, I noticed. Just didn’t want to be rude.”

“You can call me whatever you like. I don’t care.”

“Uuh, I like that…”Cayde rubbed his hands together eagerly. “So, how about–”

You stopped abruptly, interrupting him by almost causing him to bump into you. You didn’t budge when you turned, and instead fixated the scariest, most serious look you could form straight into his bright blue eyes.

Cayde blinked, obviously surprised.

“I have no interest in being your friend, so there’s really no need to try so hard,” you said as you eyed him up and down, for the first time actually looking at him, “…Guardian.”

“Ah, the cold shoulder again!” Cayde waved one finger in the air, as if saying that he knew the answer to this one. “Sorry, I wasn’t supposed to say that out loud, was I? I’m not so good at this whole ‘making friends’ thing–”

A frustrated groan rumbled from your throat as you spun on your heels and continued to try and go on about your business. The rifle needed cleaning, the bow string needed to be changed, there was tons to pack before heading out and your dog was god knows where, so you’d have find him…

But Cayde skittered after you like a puppy wanting to play.

“Don’t you have something to do, Guardian?” you asked angrily, not sparing a look at him. You headed towards the spot where you had left most of your stuff behind the survey unit house.

“First of all, it’s Cayde, C-A-Y-D-E. But I forgive you since we only just became friends.”

Okay now you were sure he was trying to get on your nerves on purpose. You took a sharp inhale before opening your mouth:

“Why don’t you run along–”

The delighted gasp that left Cayde and the reason for it silenced you mid-sentence.

“What is that?” Cayde asked, skittering forward in tiny, dancing steps.

You patted your thigh and made a short whistle.

“A dog?” you said.

“Duh. I know it’s a dog. Of course, it’s a dog. What I mean is what is that doing here?” The pitch of Cayde’s voice heightened as he crouched with open arms, ready to try and hug the animal.

One of your concerns had solved itself as your occasional hunting companion sat on the grass, tail wagging and dark golden eyes peeled at you. You felt a weird sense of satisfaction as he ignored the Exo trying to call out to him.

“Good boy,” you murmured and invited the dog closer for a scratching behind the ear.

Cayde let out a dismayed huff and crossed his arms on his chest. “Now I know what it means that pets and their owners are alike...”

You hummed, decided to overlook the stupid comment and patted the dog’s head. He had noticed you were planning to leave and had come to check could he go with you. The short, orange-brown fur was clean and flowy, a telltale signal of love, care and a bath. Mark and the kids had probably looked after him again. You would have to go thank them before heading out. The thought brought an almost imperceptible smile to your lips.

“What’s his name?” Cayde asked after a few seconds of looking at you and the dog.

You hesitated. “Uh, he doesn’t have one…” At least to your knowledge. It was highly probable that the kids had given him a name. You just called him “the dog”.

You peeked at the horrification on the Exo’s face from under your brows.

“…What?” you asked.

“He doesn’t have a name?! How’s that possible?” Cayde all but screamed.

You shrugged, uncomfortable about the amount of emotion he put into his words.

“Well, he might have one. I just don’t have one for him.” You didn’t want to start explaining how he had been a stray in the wildlands and just tagged along when you had given him some food. Apparently, that had been an unintentional invite to be a part of your pack, but the dog had made himself useful, for sure.

“Then who does?” Cayde questioned with a frown. He was itching to lean down to pet the dog.

“Maybe the kids who live at the camp nearby. I– I don’t know. What does it even matter?” Your gaze shifted from the Exo to the dog. “The tour will have to wait until I get back. Come on, boy.”

As fast as you could, you started throwing the stuff from the ground into the rucksack, all the while trying to act like Cayde’s presence wasn’t bothering you at all.

“You’re ditching me already? I thought we were starting to bond here.” He gestured between himself and you, a mock hurt look on his face.

“I work alone,” you said when you were done and slung the bag over your shoulder. You didn’t mean to look, but Cayde had his hands on his hips again and a stern pout on his face.

“I’m gonna make sure you hold on to that promise, hunter,” he said and a look of dismay passed his features, “Good luck out there.”

A weird sensation fell into the pit of your stomach. You couldn’t snap back at him like you wanted to, nor did you say thanks or even glance at him. The dog waited eagerly by your side, ready to head out into the wilds and the feeling was gradually taking you over too.

“Come back with a story!” Cayde quipped at your retreating back.

As a reaction, only a light huff escaped you. It almost curled the corners of your mouth up.

“Man, I want a pet too,” Cayde said to himself, longingly staring at the dog that was happily trailing after you.

Next Chapter

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