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Leverage Season 3, Episode 2, The Reunion Job, Audio Commentary Transcript

Jonathan Frakes: Hello everyone I'm Johnathan Frakes.

Michael Colton: Michael Colton.

John Aboud: John Aboud.

Aldis Hodge: This is Al Hodge.

Chris Downey: Chris Downey.

John Rogers: Am I sexual chocolate if you’re Al Hodge?

[Laughter]

John Rogers: It's John Rogers.

Aldis Hodge: Sexual chocolate is coming up.

John Rogers: Executive Producer of this particular episode, along with Chris Downey. And those other gentlemen are the writers and director down at the end. Welcome to The Reunion Job. Boys, which we always ask in the opening sequence, where'd this episode come about?

Michael Colton: The- initially you guys told us you wanted to do a high school reunion episode. And I think all you had was ‘they go undercover at a high school reunion’ and I think you had the end beat of the dancing.

John Rogers: Yes.

Michael Colton: At the dance.

John Rogers: Right, yeah.

Michael Colton: And so from that we started thinking, you know, who would be a good villain for this episode? Someone who high school meant a lot to.

Jonathan Frakes: You talked over my Bourne Identity opening!

[Laughter]

John Rogers: Sorry. Frakes why don't you tell us about the-

Jonathan Frakes: No, I got my-

John Rogers: Where'd that particular opening come from?

John Aboud: Bourne Supremacy.

Jonathan Frakes: I'm kidding. Bourne Supremacy.

John Rogers: Bourne Supremacy.

Jonathan Frakes: Carry on.

John Rogers: That was a very aggressive style.

Jonathan Frakes: Where’d you get the rest of this story?

John Aboud: Well as nerds, we were able to channel the rage of a software magnate. Why would a software magnate be bad in the Leverage universe? Well maybe he's supplying his software to some very bad people overseas.

Michael Colton: Well right at the time we were writing this, there was the Irianian- the aftermath of the Iranian elections, so it was actually in the news that this kind of thing could be happening.

John Aboud: And this episode aired on the one year anniversary of that election. And around- and the protests.

Michael Colton: There was enough propaganda.

John Rogers: It was actually funny, we did get one phone call that's like ‘are we gonna get in trouble for like- can we be open to litigation?’ I went ‘if one of the most evil regimes on earth wants to sue us, I don't really see that as a problem.’

Michael Colton: That would be good press for the show. Iran sues-

Jonathan Frakes: Any publicity is good publicity.

John Rogers: Exactly. Now who's playing our victim here? Did a great job.

Jonathan Frakes: That's Ricki Bhullar.

John Rogers: Yep, fantastic job. And now Frakes, why don't you tell us about that opening? What- cause it was a very different opening than what we usually do.

Jonathan Frakes: Well I think what we try to do with each of our cold opens is to either pay an homage or, in other words, steal stylistically from a show.

Chris Downey: Yes.

Jonathan Frakes: From a Hitchcock show, or from you know-

John Rogers: It lets you know what the rest of the shows gonna be like.

Jonathan Frakes: Well- hopefully. Or that you just feel like the story of this show is in this particular style. That was a Bourne Supremacy rip off.

John Rogers: Yes.

Jonathan Frakes: How many shots can we get? How fast can we cut it? How fast can this action happen? And it has that vibe of international espionage.

John Rogers: Yep. Also that room was great, it was built totally on set. That was actually just a two wall set, wasn’t it?

Jonathan Frakes: That was a three-wall set, but we shot the shit out of it.

John Rogers: Yeah.

Chris Downey: And then so you put your energy into that and the rest of the episode you sort of coasted? Is that- you sorta let it…?

Jonathan Frakes: Yeah it's an approach I've found very useful.

[Laughter]

Jonathan Frakes: Now.

John Rogers: Now.

Jonathan Frakes: Who do you think that- oh!

Everyone: Woahhh!!!

Michael Colton: There we go.

Chris Downey: And reveal.

John Aboud: Didn't see that coming.

Michael Colton: That worked really well.

John Rogers: It did; it did. Johnathan Frakes knows what he’s doing. Yeah and this was also part of the mandate for the opening of the third season, where we wanted to start opening it up into international stories. Kind of open up the Leverage universe in a way that, you know, this is a fictional universe wherein certain rules apply. And it’s close to ours but you know we wanted to start seeing the ramifications of crime world and politics.

Jonathan Frakes: It also suggests the backstory of a lot of these characters has been, in fact, international.

John Rogers: Yeah.

Jonathan Frakes: So that they have experience with all these things. It makes them look, or appear to have more experience than-

Michael Colton: Right.

John Rogers: And sometimes people ask where we get the cases, and we’re kinda establishing here there's a lot of-

Jonathan Frakes: ‘I'm inside your head!’

John Rogers: ‘I'm living rent free.’

Aldis Hodge: Yeah, haha.

John Rogers: You know, kind of establish there's a community of people out there who take freedom of software, the internet's role in being free of government regulations and rules and internationalism very seriously, and Hardison is part of that group. That's part of the hacker group he fell in with.

Aldis Hodge: Yes indeed.

John Rogers: And that's how he knows this guy. That's his background.

Jonathan Frakes: ‘Yeah that's right, we are here to inspect your restaurant.’

John Rogers: Also based on a real spy safehouse that came up in research. But with better locks I think that one had. Ah this is crazy. How'd we get the roach?

Chris Downey: That’s a digital roach.

John Aboud: Digitally inserted.

Michael Colton: It's a real roach, but that plate was not there, it's like the whole thing.

Jonathan Frakes: More discussion about this cockroach than there was about the script!

[Laughter]

John Rogers: We tried to be a little robotic cockroach that went poorly. It went actually too well because it killed.

Jonathan Frakes: What about the real cockroach that we had that nobody liked? Cause it didn’t-

Chris Downey: Oh look at that! Boy that's great.

John Rogers: I think the close up was the real one, that one digital.

Chris Downey: Is that one digital?

John Rogers: I love this, and the little.

Jonathan Frakes: Yeah, this tees up later.

John Rogers: Yep.

Jonathan Frakes: They don't get much to do together, it's nice to see those two have a little beat.

Michael Colton: I feel like there's a lot of improv in this scene with you guys.

John Aboud: Absolutely.

Aldis Hodge: Yeah this- you know, anytime you get me and Christian in a room together it's over.

[Laughter]

Aldis Hodge: It's like ‘script, what?’ We just talk.

John Rogers: Yeah, we’re just pretty much superfluous. Maybe next year without writers.

[Laughter]

Jonathan Frakes: That was how-

John Rogers: And that was a great way of using Jessie by the way.

Jonathan Frakes: How to make an entrance.

Chris Downey: We’re running out of ways for her to get out of a duct. I mean I feel like is there-

John Rogers: You know what? I just I may be speaking for-

Jonathan Frakes: Cirque du Soleil in town next year.

Chris Downey: We need to watch and take notes, cause there needs to be something new.

John Rogers: I may be speaking for a certain percentage of the audience, but anytime we have her in black jeans and that leather jacket coming out of a duct it's a good day. Really, the dismounts- really now you're really.

Aldis Hodge: I'm glad you said it, cause I was about to.

Jonathan Frakes: How about this shawarma?

John Rogers: I love the shawarma, by the way.

Jonathan Frakes: Who doesn’t?

Aldis Hodge: That shawarma was disgusting though, it was cold and greasy.

John Rogers: You can't shoot around hot shawarma.

Chris Downey: Prop shawarma was not?

John Aboud: Prop shawarma.

Aldis Hodge: Prop shawarma.

John Rogers: Don't eat the prop shawarma.

John Aboud: Don't recommend.

Jonathan Frakes: Not much room to move in this location as I recall, remember this place?

John Aboud: It was very narrow.

Jonathan Frakes: It feels as narrow as it was.

John Aboud: Hard to maneuver.

John Rogers: What was it? Was it a real restaurant we redressed?

John Aboud: It was a Hawaiian barbeque restaurant.

Jonathan Frakes: Real restaurant, Hawaiian barbeque.

Michael Colton: That's right.

John Aboud: And the production had to buy them out for the day, so there was a lot of the-

Jonathan Frakes: Are we happy with the yellow choice on the inside of the van?

[Laughter]

Michael Colton: It's a little late to be asking that.

John Rogers: Yeah, I think we might want to change that. Could you fix that in post? Could you just go and… And yes it's the first time- when do we air this? Episode two or three?

Chris Downey: This is second- this is first night.

Michael Colton: First night.

John Rogers: That's right even though we shot it- did not shoot it second, it aired second. And that was re-establishing- that was establishing the new Lucille.

John Aboud: That's right. Near and dear to Hardison's heart.

John Rogers: This is also fun is that- it always amazes me the amount of international espionage that is actually kept in notebooks.

Jonathan Frakes: Yeah.

John Rogers: No, the people-

Jonathan Frakes: Old school.

John Rogers: Old school. Yeah, but people-

Aldis Hodge: It keeps them off the radar.

John Rogers: Yeah. You can, you can burn it. You know it can't be hacked, it can't be stolen.

John Aboud: Now that dishwasher, I believe he was also in the prison- in the Jail Break Job?

John Rogers: Oh so this is the jail- it's the job.

John Aboud: In my mind the backstory is: he's on a work release.

John Rogers: Oh that's right.

Chris Downey: Already fell into the wrong element.

John Aboud: Yeah, right away.

John Rogers: Well he doesn't know, they don't tell him.

Chris Downey: His parole officer is not doing a very good job.

John Aboud: Right away, right away.

Jonathan Frakes: The victim. Now we get the villain Arye Gross. Very reliable character actor, been doing it for years.

Michael Colton: You worked with him…?

Jonathan Frakes: I worked with him on Castle. Recommend him to the gang and he nailed it.

Aldis Hodge: Nice.

John Rogers: Your career is banterific. Eliot, of course, learned to make amazing tea, and that is English Breakfast from his samurai master when he studied for 18 months. [pause] Wait no that was Wolverine.

[Laughter]

Jonathan Frakes: Now whose idea was this to add this whole sequence?

Michael Colton: Well this is all based on NLP which means neuro linguistic programming. And all this is actually based on a guy named Derren Brown, who is British. And what would you- what would you call him? A magician slash-

John Rogers: He calls himself a mentalist, but he uses like a quotation marks around it because he duplicates the effects of charlatans by using psychological techniques.

Michael Colton: You can look him up on YouTube. Look up Derren Brown and NLP and there's stuff he does that is, we sort of basically ripped off for this episode.

John Rogers: Yeah ‘D-e-r-r-e-n’. Yeah, the primary one being he hires two advertising guys to come to his office and give him a campaign- a possible campaign for a children's zoo. They do the sketches and then he reveals his own sketches he did hours earlier and they're almost exactly the same. And then he reveals the visual cues he planted along the way into their head. And that really was the crux of this whole thing.

Michael Colton: And the one where Simon Pegg from Shaun of the Dead has- sits him down and asks him what he wants for his birthday, and he says he wants a bike.

John Aboud: BMX bike.

Michael Colton: But earlier he had written down he had wanted something completely different.

Chris Downey: A leather jacket, I think.

Michael Colton: A leather jacket! And throughout this whole discussion he was just doing cues to get him to say bike. It's kind of amazing.

Aldis Hodge: Wow.

John Rogers: It was also fun to kind of get into the mechanics of- it's easy with a grifter character to say they're just natural at it. To get into the intellectual work that Sophie does in her job.

Chris Downey: And also the idea of hacking into someone's head. I think that's what made this-

John Aboud: Wanted to establish that up front.

Jonathan Frakes: How infuriating it was that it was this character who [unintelligible].

John Rogers: Yeah, and also the fact that once you guys came up with the whole hacker/villain- the whole hacker theme, that really led us to the other material.

Jonathan Frakes: And here we are, Dubertech.

Chris Downey: And this a great location too, this is very-

Jonathan Frakes: On the campus of-

John Aboud: The community college.

Jonathan Frakes: The community college in Portland.

John Aboud: It’s a great building.

John Rogers: The digital overlay on the sign.

John Aboud: It's a theater, actually.

John Rogers: A lot of digital signage.

Jonathan Frakes: It's the theater department, ironically.

John Rogers: It looks evil.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: Got an evil vibe to it. This was a lot of fun and this was one of the- one of the times that we took something we could do in a beat, and turned it into almost the entire act. We have broken into someone's office in like half a scene.

Jonathan Frakes: Yeah.

John Rogers: But sometimes you just.

Jonathan Frakes: What we go through to get the fingerprint.

John Rogers: And it's great. And sometimes you find ways to do- you find stuff you want to do, you want to explore and kind of revel in, and that's the fun of this show. You know there's no real template to this show. So if you have an act where you have a bunch of cool stuff you wanna showcase, you can. Yes, tons of fun.

Jonathan Frakes: Boom.

John Aboud: We wanted this to be a real showcase for Hardison.

John Rogers: Yes.

John Aboud: Because obviously we're dealing with his world. We are in the world that he knows well, and we really liked the idea of him confronting this 1980s technology. I think that was one of our initial pitches to you guys-

John Rogers: Yes.

John Aboud: For an episode.

John Rogers: I think that- you pitched that as a freelancer.

Michael Colton: Our pitch was Hardison hacks an ENIAC.

John Rogers: Yes.

John Aboud: In a museum.

Michael Colton: And that became a TRS-80.

Chris Downey: An abacus really.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: Yeah a giant, giant vacuum tube. Yeah and that blended right into this. No, that was- and by the way, if you're gonna pitch a Leverage, pitch a high concept, don't come in with a procedural. You know, ‘he has to hack a 60 year old computer’, I love it, you know. That was an easy one.

Chris Downey: And this is great, I mean how great did they dress this set?

Jonathan Frakes: I love that we [unintelligible].

John Aboud: The music was-

John Rogers: It's the music.

Michael Colton: The set’s great but it’s the music that put us over the edge and sold it.

John Rogers: Yeah Joe LoDuca again giving us that 80s synth pop vibe. It was fantastic. And Aldis you’re great here just the total shock and horror.

John Aboud: This take is wonderful.

Aldis Hodge: This took me back a couple years. I mean, this stuff was older than me but still.

John Rogers: Thank you, thanks for reminding us of that.

Chris Downey: We love to confront Hardison with old technology. Audio tapes things like that.

Jonathan Frakes: He’s appalled here.

John Aboud: His horror.

Aldis Hodge: He's offended, he's insulted.

Jonathan Frakes: And there it is!

[Laughter]

Aldis Hodge: This takes me back to when-

Chris Downey: Look at that.

John Rogers: Five and a quarter right there, baby.

Aldis Hodge: I used to run off of floppys though, I still remember those.

John Rogers: You were a baby though.

Aldis Hodge: It took like 10 hours to upload a page.

John Rogers: Yep.

Michael Colton: We used to use the war games. The phone doesn’t-

John Aboud: War dialer.

Chris Downey: They used to be on cassettes too.

John Rogers: Yeah they used to be on cassettes.

Jonathan Frakes: What was this computer called?

Michael Colton: TRS-80. Although I don't think we could say that.

John Aboud: We weren't allowed to.

Michael Colton: Yeah, it's just generic 1980s computer.

John Aboud: For clearance reasons.

Jonathan Frakes: I remember part of our prep was the ebay version of the TRS-80 that we shopped for, for two weeks trying to find the one that was actually going to be programmable.

John Rogers: Yeah. Yeah apparently Tandy Corporation has a problem with us saying that freedom is oppressed in Iran through the use of their product. Oh we’re the bad guy? That’s some sort of brand infringement I guess.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: I love the caricature- oh the caricature kills me!

Chris Downey: I didn't even notice that! The caricature of him winning the chess trophy.

John Rogers: He was twelve!

Michael Colton: Well they had photos all around of Arye Gross from that era.

John Aboud: From his personal archive.

Jonathan Frakes: With the hair. When he had that big John Hughes hair.

Michael Colton: The pre-Soul Man. Old stuff.

Chris Downey: That is pre-Soul Man]. He's great in Soul Man, by the way. Soul Man is-

John Rogers: That's a great little shot, by the way. That's kind of an iconic shot of Hardison being distracted and annoyed while Parker quietly freaks out next to him. It's just a nice vibe.

Jonathan Frakes: ‘How much time are you really gonna spend in here after I told you that the bad guys are on the way?’

John Rogers: Yeah.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: But they saw the bad guy in the sweater vest on the way in. I mean, they're not that intimidating.

John Aboud: They knew they could take him. They knew they could take him.

John Rogers: What do you think the origin for the- oh that's great.

Chris Downey: Oh that’s great!

[Laughter]

John Rogers: A locked off comedy frame people!

Chris Downey: It's a locked off comedy frame.

John Aboud: Yep.

Jonathan Frakes: The third in three shows!

[Laughter]

John Rogers: Can't go wrong. This was fun, by the way, the- this one when he says ‘it's adorable you still think there's privacy’.

Jonathan Frakes: Isn't this where some of our regulars drink when we do the 360?

John Rogers: Yes, yeah, we drink and we shoot it, too. But you guys had found out- who- was it Albert cause he was a journalist he knew that you could buy people's yearbooks?

John Aboud: Well he did that all the time at People.

Michael Colton: That’s what it was, yeah.

John Aboud: As a celebrity journalist he would go buy people's yearbooks. And it was the easiest thing in the world.

John Rogers: And there's actual services out there that will help you buy the yearbooks of different high schools. There's an enormous amount of creepy shit in this episode.

Aldis Hodge: Your embarrassment is on sale.

[Laughter]

Michael Colton: Here's where we bring up the Roman Room, which a lot of people thought we made up but is just another-

John Aboud: By a lot of people you mean Tim Hutton.

Michael Colton: Yes.

John Aboud: Thought we made it up.

Michael Colton: Just another curious thing from the mind of John Rogers.

Chris Downey: It's just one of your many hobbies.

John Rogers: One of my many hobbies.

Michael Colton: Memorizing everything.

John Aboud: Memorizing disconnected pieces of information.

Chris Downey: What was last season, whaling?

John Rogers: It was whaling. I remember I made you that scrimshaw-

Michael Colton: What, you memorized famous whalers?

John Aboud: Wow.

John Rogers: No. I am- a hobby of mine is memory techniques, and I use the Roman Room, and we wound up using it here. And it was just a great way- if we're gonna hack- the big problem was why do we need to go to this high school? We can go to this high school without this guy. Well no, we need context. Well what's the context? Well… It was interesting how this episode kind of organically came up. It was the flashback, it was the 80s thing. And that was that he was using, like I do, he was using his Roman Room for his passwords. And the- actually yes they did not believe this. I was up visiting them and I wound up doing the complete works of Shakespeare based on my high school gym in order to convince Tim that I was- that this was a real thing.

Aldis Hodge: Right.

John Rogers: Aldis you were in the limo that night, that's right. The- we didn’t take Colton or Aboud with us.

John Aboud: Well it coincided with Comic Con.

John Rogers: There you go that's right. Yeah this is, by the way, a really easy memory technique, you can learn it really quickly and with a little bit of practice and imagination. The key is making everything as filthy as possible.

Jonathan Frakes: Seriously?

John Rogers: Has to be obscene.

John Aboud: Ahh, there you go.

John Rogers: Actually Chris Downey made me not use him in my Roman Room techniques because he was distrubed by the fact that I was having him have sex with people and things.

Chris Downey: Yeah.

John Aboud: Well he knows what goes on in that room.

John Rogers: He knows that the Roman Room is a horrible place.

Chris Downey: And John you'll be at the Allentown Marriott this week doing the Roman Room technique, won’t you? Doing it on your tour.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: If you'd like to advance yourself in business or socially. If you’d like to amaze salesmen and other people in your company.

[Laughter]

John Aboud: Whenever you see those signs on a light posts that say ‘make money from home’ the number rings at John Rogers home.

John Rogers: I'm not just running a TV show. I'm running a lot of small businesses out of my garage. Oh was- was that the Psych yellout?

Michael Colton: Oh that was- it in this scene where we talked about what's on his Netflix queue.

John Aboud: That show Psych.

Michael Colton: I wanted Turk 182 to be on his Netflix queue but that was rejected.

Chris Downey: It’s a little too meta.

Jonathan Frakes: I thought it was Rockford?

Chris Downey: It is Rockford.

John Rogers: Well it is Rockford, we went with Rockford and Psych- we added Psych in the end cause Psych had given us a nice little shoutout in their show.

Michael Colton: I think Sex and the City was thrown out there.

John Rogers: Why Sex and the City?

Michael Colton: I think it was an improv, wasn't it?

John Aboud: Humor?

Aldis Hodge: It was an improv.

John Aboud: Humor. Cause it was funny.

John Rogers: Nothing funny about Sex and the City.

[Laughter]

Aldis Hodge: Very serious show.

Jonathan Frakes: Not that Gina likes to do accents.

John Rogers: This was a lot of fun.

Chris Downey: This was the tour de force.

John Rogers: And the difference- and what's great is watching this with the sound off is watching her physicality change and the smile, yeah, that character smiles and the other one is angry, yeah. It's lovely. And this is also one of those ones where it originally started much more complicated and turned into ‘let’s just have Gina talk, she can do the accents’.

Jonathan Frakes: We cut it all together, let her do the two characters.

Chris Downey: In, sort of, the Facebook era, one of the things I think helped this episode was that you are kind of confronted by people from your high school all the time that you have no recollection of.

John Aboud: Right, right.

Chris Downey: So it really sort of helped the idea that they could actually bomb into somebody's high school reunion as other people and they would just be accepted.

Michael Colton: Yeah this is kind of The Social Network of Leverage episodes, I think it's fair to say.

John Rogers: But before The Social Network- they stole this from you right? The Social Network is stolen from you.

John Aboud: And Facebook, the idea for Facebook.

[Laughter]

Michael Colton: We came up with Facematch.

John Rogers: This is the skype of evil.

Chris Downey: We got the finger pyramid of evil going too.

John Rogers: He's got the finger pyramid of evil.

Aldis Hodge: That was scripted right? Finger pyramid.

John Rogers: The finger pyramid of malfeasance I believe, this is the Skype of evil.

Jonathan Frakes: Wait heavies right, there's heavies in dark clothes behind him.

John Rogers: Yes exactly I like to think he prepped it ‘alright let's Skype this- wait turn off the lights!’ I can't.

Chris Downey: Oh I love this.

Michael Colton: This turn here is fantastic. After he hangs up with them.

Jonathan Frakes: Unafraid to milk.

John Rogers: And also one of the things I like about- that you guys did in the script just wanted the general attitude you want to give the villains - ahh there you go - is nobody’s a villain in their own head.

Michael Colton: ‘Larry Duberman?’

John Aboud: ‘Larry Duberman?’

[Laughter]

Michael Colton: It took so long, but it worked.

Jonathan Frakes: And we stayed on it! We kept it all in.

John Aboud: You did.

Jonathan Frakes: Confidant actor.

John Rogers: Yeah somebody said if schadenfreude is the pleasure of other people doing worse than you, what is the German word for delight in doing better than everyone else but not being able to come out and say it? The Germans should have a word for it. Yeah it's pretty impressive- that's a great match for Tim by the way, was that an actor or did we pick an-?

John Aboud: Stock. It was stock.

John Rogers: It was stock, wow.

Aldis Hodge: Now whose stock photos because there were some fugly people in there.

John Rogers: We went to fugly.com.

Aldis Hodge: All right.

John Rogers: That’s where we got that stock.

Aldis Hodge: I'm just saying there’s a select few you didn't know exactly.

John Rogers: Well it's also 80s hair.

Aldis Hodge: There’s that.

John Rogers: 80’s hair was just a nation making a bad choice.

[Laughter]

Michael Colton: Evil speech of evil.

Chris Downey: Oh here it is. It's the slow push in on the evil speech of evil.

Aldis Hodge: You gotta get in his nostrils, nice and tight right up there.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: Well it's a 40 ft screen; it's a different look when they're on TV.

Chris Downey: And now here we go!

John Rogers: Now where was this?

Chris Downey: And now we're off!

John Aboud: Actual high school.

Michael Colton: This was an actual high school.

John Rogers: They let us redress, and yeah fantastic.

Jonathan Frakes: This is the gym of- what's the high school called? Hall? James T Hall High School?

Chris Downey: Now how many days were you here at the school?

Michael Colton: We were there-

John Aboud: Three days.

Michael Colton: Three, I think.

John Rogers: You managed to get all this done in three days?

Jonathan Frakes: Well the exterior was stock, and not our greatest effort.

John Rogers: Still pretty good.

Jonathan Frakes: This is- here we go!

John Aboud: Here we go.

Michael Colton: Now this was unused-

John Rogers: This was unused footage.

Aldis Hodge: Unused footage from the first season.

John Aboud: Season one.

Chris Downey: Using every part of the animal.

Aldis Hodge: Yes indeed. It’s probably one of my favorite scenes I've shot.

John Rogers: By the way, that is fearless of you. Not a lot of actors would go in the braces and throw on the-

Jonathan Frakes: Aldis is fearless.

Aldis Hodge: Very much so.

John Rogers: Throw on the hat. You really did manage to spot-weld Will Smith and the other guys from Fresh Prince into one character there.

[Laughter]

Chris Downey: Alfonso Ribeiro, you mean?

John Rogers: Alfonso Ribeiro. That's the Fresh Prince of Alfonso Ribeiro right there. And this is great that we-

Jonathan Frakes: Eliot pre-hair.

John Rogers: Eliot pre-hair.

Jonathan Frakes: Like wait a minute.

John Aboud: Still the same guy, he looks to camera.

John Rogers: Well it's a flashback.

John Aboud: He looks to flashback camera.

John Rogers: As one does.

Chris Downey: That's good man, that's a good match.

John Rogers: I also like the dialogue fix. Cause it was originally the dialogue-

John Aboud: Brutal punch.

John Rogers: Where we actually lay in that he learned about the knives in context not from a murderous Guatemalan, but from a sexy Home Ec teacher.

Chris Downey: Sexy home ec teacher.

Jonathan Frakes: He's the one who doesn't get to go to the high school.

John Rogers: Ooh yeah that was fun.

Jonathan Frakes: It was easy to take that guy out with one shot.

John Aboud: Little minion did not deserve the brutality of that one punch.

Chris Downey: But it's also nice like-

John Rogers: You know what he knows he's screwing the Iranian kids. He's an accessory after the fact.

John Aboud: It's true, he's complicit.

John Rogers: Absolutely more than complicit, he's an accessory. And therefore worthy of scorn. Ah this was again the Joe LoDuca score. Amazing.

Aldis Hodge: This the song that's playing in this scene right now is the band that Dean Devlin was in.

Chris Downey: Oh that's right. What’s the name of Dean’s band?

John Aboud: What was the name of that band?

John Rogers: Nervous Service.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: This was Dean’s band from the 80s.

Aldis Hodge: Sure it wasn't Dean and the Devlins?

John Rogers: No, no, that was his 50s band. And that's Beth in the badger suit right?

Aldis Hodge: Yeah.

John Aboud: Yes.

John Rogers: Yeah that is Beth.

John Aboud: Yes, spoiler warning.

Chris Downey: Well they've seen it already.

John Aboud: No, they haven’t.

Michael Colton: This is like their sixth viewing.

John Aboud: I only watch Leverage with the commentaries on.

John Rogers: Really? Interesting.

John Aboud: Yes.

Michael Colton: You don't know what happens in this one?

John Aboud: Nope. No clue.

John Rogers: That would explain why your pitches were so weird first year.

John Aboud: Well then Rogers drinks, right? And we do a zoom to see he pours the alcohol into the glass.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: Oh yeah this was a lovely bit of scripting, by the way, on the NLP on this, guys. Very subtle.

Michael Colton: Yeah it's subtle it’s incredibly tight knit it’s-

John Rogers: And great dress. Is this Aboud or Colton on this scene?

Michael Colton: It's mostly Colton.

Jonathan Frakes: It's Grace Peltz! Look at Peltz in the middle of that shot.

John Rogers: That was a nice frame up on that shot.

Chris Downey: Look at that right there.

John Aboud: That's an actual Arye Gross high school photo in the row below.

John Rogers: Are you really?

John Aboud: Yup Lawrence Duberman, first one on the second row.

Aldis Hodge: Yup.

Jonathan Frakes: And here’s how it happened.

John Rogers: All you have to do is insert one page. Who doubts the evidence before their eyes? Where’s Arye Gross?

John Aboud: He's cross eyed. First one on the second row.

Aldis Hodge: That's really him?

John Aboud: That's really him.

Michael Colton: Now what kind of alphabetical order is this? Grace Peltz above Larry Duberman.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: Oh, the honor society had their own photos.

Michael Colton: Oh there you go. That’s computer club.

John Rogers: One of these days you gotta learn to just lie quick.

Chris Downey: You know how to retcon.

Michael Colton: Most of those names are from my high school. Jack Lebowski. I used my-

John Rogers: Don't say that, people have to sign forms for that.

Michael Colton: My high school girlfriend is in there.

Jonathan Frakes: Boom.

Chris Downey: Here we go.

Jonathan Frakes: Don't always get a ninja zoom into the socks and sandals.

John Rogers: He's enjoying that way too much.

Chris Downey: He is. Cleaning pools. I love that- I love that about him. Former quarterback now cleaning pools.

Jonathan Frakes: Tim owned Drake.

John Rogers: Yes.

Jonathan Frakes: He totally owned Drake Macintyre.

John Rogers: He really was enjoying that. There really was a moment you saw Tim kind of like ‘I wouldn’t mind cleaning pools. It’s nice and quiet’.

Michael Colton: Mandy Babson.

John Rogers: Yep.

Michael Colton: What do his pins say?

John Rogers: I don't remember.

John Aboud: One of them said ‘I'll wash first’.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: Wha- why? Why would you have a pin that said that?

Chris Downey: Not blondie or something?

John Aboud: That's the kind of guy you are. They were all slogans. Oh my voice is really giving out.

Michael Colton: Maybe you should stop talking.

John Aboud: Apologies to the home viewer.

John Rogers: Just let Colton- he’ll be honest about who did what.

Michael Colton: Yeah.

John Rogers: There's no way he’ll-

John Aboud: How can that go wrong?

John Rogers: Yeah. And it was also fun coming up with the idea that: of course there's a villain. Everyone has a narrative in their head, everyone had the villain in high school. You know the person who made their life hell. Unless you were the villain.

Jonathan Frakes: There he is! ‘Oh Doucherman!’

John Rogers: I'm glad we got that past Standards and Practices, cause Doucherman really was-

Michael Colton: The whole episode was built around Doucherman.

Jonathan Frakes: Whole episode.

John Aboud: It really would’ve fallen apart.

Michael Colton: It's the first thing we started with.

Aldis Hodge: All you thought about at first, and then you built the story around it.

John Aboud: It came later.

Aldis Hodge: ‘Doucherman, hmm we need to write a show’.

John Rogers: And she anchors it with a touch every time, nice acting, nice use of space.

Chris Downey: Who's that guy?

John Aboud: That guy was wearing a kilt! That guy was wearing a kilt.

John Rogers: I know, I saw him in the opening shot.

John Aboud: In the opening shot you can see he was wearing a kilt.

Chris Downey: Good variety of alumni characters.

Michael Colton: You know when I was on Twitter when this was airing to watch it, and Tim was- I thought it was very flattered he was just repeated ‘Douchermans got lady parts’.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: Yes over and over again. He loved that. This was also fun showing Hardison scrambling. There's just some stuff you can’t prep for.

Aldis Hodge: Well Frakes, that was the first scene we shot for this episode, but it was also in the middle of shooting another episode the same day.

Jonathan Frakes: Same day in the van, here’s what’s gonna happen.

Aldis Hodge: I remember all that banter.

Chris Downey: That was the violin stuff.

Jonathan Frakes: Well this was the double up day.

Aldis Hodge: Double up day. All that banter was- I'm not even gonna lie I learned that right then and there in like ten minutes. Because I was on the other episode-

John Aboud: It worked.

John Rogers: You were on the other episode.

Michael Colton: Well you were on the violin.

John Rogers: Other episode was a giant part.

Aldis Hodge: Really shoot five pages just straight out? ‘Ok guys!’

John Aboud: Who’s this guy?

John Rogers: And there's our line producer!

Jonathan Frakes: There's our producer Paul Bernard as Schmitty!

Michael Colton: Star of the show.

Jonathan Frakes: I will tell you, he did have the 80s hair, that's not a haircut.

John Rogers: That's just what Paul Bernard looks like.

Jonathan Frakes: He works in that hair.

John Rogers: He works, he plays in that hair. That’s not stunt hair people.

Michael Colton: Is it true TBS is interested in a Schmitty spin off? Is that happening?

John Rogers: Yeah I think we might do ‘Here’s Schmitty.’

[Laughter]

John Rogers: ‘We’re up to our necks in Schmitty.’ We haven’t decided yet.

Chris Downey: I think there was a reality show in which somebody- they had hidden cameras and people led-

Michael Colton: Someone made like a 2020 special about someone who- some woman who didn't want to go to her thing so she hired a- I think it was a stripper.

Chris Downey: I think it was a stripper.

Michael Colton: To play herself.

Jonathan Frakes: At her high school reunion?

Michael Colton: At her high school reunion.

John Aboud: She coached the stripper through an earpiece-

Chris Downey: Yes.

John Aboud: As she was watching on a video feed.

Michael Colton: While she was watching Hardison-style in a hotel room.

Aldis Hodge: Doesn't it seem like it takes a lot more effort than just showing up?

John Aboud: Just go to your reunion.

Jonathan Frakes: Here's the Roman Room!

John Rogers: Turns out not. See you're young, you still remember what these people look like. You have to remember after 20 years everyone's kind of- what's the great line from Grosse Pointe Blank? Swollen? Everyone just doesn't quite look like what they used to.

Aldis Hodge: I'm young, but I'm an actor, but I don't remember a damn thing past 5 minutes ago.

John Rogers: ‘I don't remember other people, I'm an actor’.

Aldis Hodge: Hey.

Chris Downey: It's fun, too, seeing Eliot typing stuff.

Michael Colton: Ten go to twenty stuff.

John Rogers: It was- and this was actually fun too, we were originally developing this trying to figure out what the hell Eliot was doing and then we realized just put him over there. For once he's gotta- yeah. Also allowed us to do the fight in an interesting way. This- god all high schools do look alike.

Jonathan Frakes: Yeah this high school is perfect. The shiny floors, the lockers. We said, ‘We’re looking for a broom closet.’ They said, ‘Well what about the broom closet?’ We said ‘Good, that'll be fine.’

[Laughter]

John Rogers: ‘That'll absolutely work!; And by the way Gina seems to really enjoy when her character doesn't like Tims character. She seems to be digging in a little bit more, I'm just saying. Yeah the utter scorn of the good looking asshole is fantastic. Oh we're past that. That was the-

Michael Colton: This is fun also ‘cause so much- I mean just ‘cause the nature of the show often Tim’s or Nate’s character is playing the shady businessman and this is totally opposite.

John Rogers: Yeah this is a low status character.

Chris Downey: He doesn't do a lot of low status.

John Aboud: He's not worn a hat like this on previous jobs.

Aldis Hodge: I just saw one of the other buttons said ‘I’m a handyman’.

Chris Downey: Is that what it said?

Aldis Hodge: One of them yeah. The yellow one.

Chris Downey: ‘I’m a handyman’.

John Rogers: The bright green one says ‘if you can't be handsome be handy’.

Michael Colton: There's very few of his characters where he can wear that necklace.

Jonathan Frakes: ‘I should give you my card’.

Aldis Hodge: The necklace is questionable.

John Rogers: Questionably- is it a surfer? Or what is that?

Aldis Hodge: It's a surfer, man.

Chris Downey: Oh is that what that is?

John Rogers: He's still a Boston guy, so I don't know what he's wearing that for.

John Aboud: Well he's around water all the time.

John Rogers: That’s true.

John Aboud: Pools.

Chris Downey: That's right.

Aldis Hodge: He's a great surfer in his mind.

John Rogers: The great surf pools of Route 9.

Aldis Hodge: Surfer in his mind.

John Aboud: Uh-oh what is this?

Chris Downey: Someone is coming down the stairs.

John Aboud: What’s this what’s this?

John Rogers: Oh yeah, the lovely Kari Wuhrer.

Chris Downey: Now uh MTV? I mean best known-

John Aboud: Oh absolutely.

John Rogers: The sliders, the-

Michael Colton: What’s it called?

John Aboud: Class of ‘96.

Michael Colton: Remote Control.

Chris Downey: Remote Control, that’s right.

Michael Colton: That was a formative influence on me. So I was very happy when I got to work with her.

John Rogers: Yeah, she's fantastic, by the way. She’s really sweet, worked her butt off and just-

Jonathan Frakes: Also happens to be married to our UPM [Editor’s Note: Unit Production Manager].

Chris Downey: But certainly we’re not giving away parts to people connected to the show!

John Aboud: No no.

Jonathan Frakes: Otherwise Jeanie Francis would be on the show by now.

[Laughter]

Michael Colton: I did not know-

John Rogers: She didn't want to work with you, that's the problem. We called here and-

Michael Colton: I did not know she was married to the Leverage team until after she was cast. Her audition was great.

Chris Downey: She was.

John Rogers: Well that's the- Jim Scoura, her husband, the UPM, plays of course the assassin in the finale, in the summer finale.

Michael Colton: It's a double assassin household.

John Rogers: In our heads actually they are married in the Leverage verse; they’re like the bad Mr and Ms Smith.

John Aboud: Neither one of them can actually complete a kill.

John Rogers: They just- but they work hard, they get a lot of-

Jonathan Frakes: Watch them roll down these lockers.

Chris Downey: Was Jim here for this sequence?

Jonathan Frakes: He avoided this scene.

John Rogers: Interesting.

John Aboud: Stayed in the office.

Michael Colton: Stayed with the kids this day.

John Rogers: Having your improbably hot wife all over a good looking actor is just-

John Aboud: Why improbable? Why improbably hot?

Jonathan Frakes: Watch this, watch Tim with these- is this where he does the-

Michael Colton: That’s coming up.

Chris Downey: Oh man.

Jonathan Frakes: The stuff with the-

Aldis Hodge: Did this in one take right? Just one take.

Chris Downey: Jeez she's devouring him. This is like an episode of V!

[Laughter]

John Rogers: She’s gonna unhinge her jaw any second now.

John Aboud: And here we go.

Jonathan Frakes: Oof what a surprise that she'd have it there.

John Rogers: It's a warm key.

Jonathan Frakes: Look at Tim! Look at Tim working those props!

John Aboud: Battling the brooms.

Chris Downey: Nothing like-

John Aboud: And then he stands back up.

John Rogers: Come on the doors right there.

Jonathan Frakes: Come on, come on. Tried and true.

John Rogers: ‘And now I'm gonna go kill a dude.’

Jonathan Frakes: Lucky for us, Beth is in the building.

John Rogers: Yep. This is a real broom closet, that's great. How did you have room to shoot in there?

Jonathan Frakes: Went for the big broom closet.

John Rogers: Ah there you go, as opposed to the little one. Also this is a recurring bit: how Parker will just dump food everywhere. It actually turns out to a plot point in the Rashomon episode.

Chris Downey: Apparently we can have food.

Michael Colton: We can if it's chicken wings. They had like three giant trays of chicken wings.

John Rogers: Ahh good spark welding effect. Thank you, thank you props and special effects, appreciate it.

Jonathan Frakes: This works great, actually.

John Rogers: Yes that was better than the lightsaber through the door in the Star Wars prequel.

[Laughter]

John Aboud: That’s a low bar sir.

John Rogers: Well it's still- it's a feature bar I'll take it.

John Aboud: Feature bar.

Michael Colton: ‘I’m for clean fun’. That's another button,

Chris Downey: Is that what it says?

John Aboud: That’s another one, another button.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: The one on the left is haunting me, I can't quite make out the one on the left.

Aldis Hodge: It says- wait.

Michael Colton: Can we enhance?

John Rogers: Stop and enhance, enhance, push in.

Michael Colton: Push in.

John Rogers: And yeah,this was a lot of fun just zooming in on- cause lets face it, not a lot of women can edge Gina Bellman out of that situation.

Jonathan Frakes: I know, and throw wine on her!

John Rogers: Yep.

Chris Downey: And the fun of this was having them revert to their high school personas and being offended by the cheerleader muscling in on her. I mean right? I mean this is- that's what-

Michael Colton: It's called subtext.

John Aboud: Seeing Sophie confront a mean girl.

Chris Downey: Yes.

John Rogers: Yes. It's great everyone had- everyone had their thematic little hook in this. One of the reasons we originally were attracted to the idea, even a year earlier, was because high school is that period where just the shell isn't on yet.

Chris Downey: And a high school reunion-

Jonathan Frakes: Had you done this before where the con men get conned in the middle of their con?

John Rogers: We play around with it, but rarely in this particular thing. Rarely this particular style.

Chris Downey: You mean an assassin showing up late in the episode?

Jonathan Frakes: No, no, no, I mean two con- our con and another con trying to duke it.

Chris Downey: Oh right.

John Rogers: Intersecting? Two Live Crew kinda.

Chris Downey: Well Order 23 we had a guy pretending to be a Marshall and he was an assassin.

John Rogers: Yeah but not a- those are the crucial- the crucials of surveillance photos.

Jonathan Frakes: Oh, she's on Interpol!

John Rogers: You need a half turn, you need a glasses-

Chris Downey: By the way you never see somebody eating spaghetti in surveillance photos.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: Well what are the odds that when you see that person they'll be eating spaghetti? You really don't want that on the wanted photo. That you can't recognize a killer without the spaghetti. You want a spaghetti free context.

John Aboud: ‘Here, eat this.’

John Rogers: ‘Oh, you're that person!’

John Aboud: ‘We've got our man!’

Jonathan Frakes: Mission Impossible.

John Rogers: Yeah great little three way walk, nice.

Jonathan Frakes: Boom. ‘You go this way I'll take this way’. Taking a long time to get through that door.

Chris Downey: Really is. It's a really thick door.

John Aboud: Very secure door.

Michael Colton: They stopped for a break.

Jonathan Frakes: Thick door they established that early.

John Rogers: This, by the way- this is great. Not a lot of guys could land this joke. ‘The health inspector?’

Michael Colton: Was that in the script or was that?

Jonathan Frakes: That was on the day.

John Rogers: That was on the day, that was an improv, right?

Michael Colton: Yeah, Chris did a lot of improv in this scene. Entire fight was improvised.

John Rogers: And that was fun, too, is coming up with the- I remember ‘ok what’s- what’s from the 80s you can hit people with?’

Chris Downey: Oh that's great.

John Rogers: This is a great fight.

John Aboud: First take on that smash.

Chris Downey: Oh that's great.

Michael Colton: Oh I know, ‘they give trophies for chess’ was Christian’s.

John Rogers: That's right.

Chris Downey: Yeah.

[Silence]

John Rogers: Sorry mouthful of Irish whiskey.

[Laughter]

Chris Downey: Yeah this is a great fight oh and the bowling trophy.

John Rogers: The bowling for chess.

Jonathan Frakes: There’s no prop he doesn't flip!

[Laughter]

Aldis Hodge: He flips everything.

Jonathan Frakes: Am I right?

Chris Downey: Or twirl.

Aldis Hodge: He’ll flip a table.

Jonathan Frakes: Never found a prop he couldn't twirl.

John Rogers: And that's interesting, because on the big screen, you cut from the dude sort of cracking his neck behind Christian, and it's a slam cut into two people kissing. For a second I'm like ‘what the hell? Wait what the hell is going on here? Oh alright.’

Jonathan Frakes: Here's something we've all looked forward to. The fox fight in the girls dressing room.

Michael Colton: Well that- when we were writing the high school show and we came up with this character we knew we had to have a girl fight in the locker room.

John Aboud: And where was that silencer?

Jonathan Frakes: Gina resisted, and then ended up saying, ‘When can I do this again?’

John Rogers: She loves fighting, you see.

Chris Downey: She does.

John Rogers: You're always worried you're going to get hurt fighting, but the stunt people know what the hell they're doing, everyone’s super safe and you wind up just having fun. And also that was a big thing, you know Sophie’s character is not a killer, she has to cheat.

Chris Downey: Oh and the shoes!

John Rogers: The shoes come off.

Jonathan Frakes: Now it's real. Boom.

[Laughter]

Chris Downey: And there's another locked off comedy frame!

John Rogers: And then the cross.

Jonathan Frakes: Locked off comedy!

John Rogers: The cross cutting between the two fights was a lot of fun. And yeah, she could probably take her if she didn't have the fire extinguisher. It- Kari’s frustration in ‘what the hell are you talking about’ here is hilarious, actually.

Jonathan Frakes: These stunt doubles are quite good, this is intercut nicely.

John Rogers: Yup it is. And-

Chris Downey: Oh and she uses a gun, look at that.

Jonathan Frakes: Yeah, look at that.

Michael Colton: Yeah, but she missed.

John Rogers: Yeah that's the problem, silencers are really useless anywhere over 10 feet. She should've unscrewed it but by then she'd be gone.

Jonathan Frakes: Woah, woah, woah.

John Rogers: And this is a great- actually of the early episodes this season this was one of my sort of favorite sort of character twists is that Drake actually has an arc.

John Aboud: Right.

John Rogers: You know no person is without redemption, including Drake. Oh yeah.

Aldis Hodge: And the taser!

John Rogers: And the taser. Again, crucial for the finale for us to plant it that soon.

John Aboud: Her weapon of choice for the season.

John Rogers: Yeah catering. We originally had her lowering from the ceiling, and then that was just crazy. Used the taser. Oh the hug, that's nice.

Jonathan Frakes: Oof.

John Rogers: Oh the- and then the double turn this, is this is dense. This one’s actually got a lot going on in this act.

Michael Colton: I have no idea what's happening now.

[Laughter]

John Aboud: Truly lost.

John Rogers: Is this the fourth act? This is the fourth act

John Aboud: I think we're in act nine.

John Rogers: Yeah this is the fourth action act, and there's an awful lot of story going on here.

Chris Downey: Oh here we go.

John Rogers: And what I kinda like here is where Arye Gross is playing not just angry, but hurt.

Michael Colton: Yeah.

John Rogers: It's like ‘I thought all my high school dreams had come true and now you're lying to me.’

Michael Colton: He's great in this.

John Rogers: Genuinely never- can't go wrong with a shot down the gun.

Jonathan Frakes: Nope. Reliable.

John Rogers: Gonna react to it? Nope, just go to the reverse.

Jonathan Frakes: Go out number one.

Michael Colton: Bang.

Aldis Hodge: Commercial, people.

John Rogers: Remember, a guy pulling a gun for the act break is always better than a guy leaving with a gun. And now we do- what's sad is this was the plan. That's- when you think about it this is the most convoluted possible way to get this information in this guy’s head. I don't mean sad in a bad way, I mean this guy really just has no chance whatsoever. And yeah the mixture of like ‘I’m a villain’ and- this may be the saddest villain we’ve ever had.

Michael Colton: Well I was watching this with my sister, who said- this scene happened, she's like ‘oh I feel bad for him’ then he has a line about ‘cause you brutally beat the Iranian’ then she's like ‘oh now I don’t feel bad for him.’ It was the perfect-

Chris Downey: You're like, ‘Ooh I'm glad I put that in there.’

John Rogers: It's a little- it is sometimes a little funny that you know you realize television very much leads you through the emotions of the show. So it’s- you sorta feel like an idiot resetting the emotions as a writer but it’s important. You know you're in a contract with the viewer.

Jonathan Frakes: Well we’ve been in the school for two acts.

John Rogers: Yeah.

Jonathan Frakes: Absolutely true. And the hacker getting hacked we've forgotten about that.

John Rogers: Yeah 42 minutes is- what is it, average American attention span is like 10 minutes? Which is why act length is probably just about right.

John Aboud: ‘Nice try fake Drake’.

Chris Downey: Fake Drake.

John Aboud: And he pointed out that that sounded a little like a Batman villain.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: Fake Drake.

John Aboud: ‘Very well Fake Drake.’

John Rogers: The- and again, these are people- these are professional spies. These are people who are hired to take care of people like Eliot.

Aldis Hodge: So it's okay for them to get hurt.

John Rogers: So it's okay for them to get beat up.

John Aboud: For his arm to bend that way.

Aldis Hodge: Yeah we don't feel bad for him, no.

John Rogers: I love the ASCII art there.

John Aboud: Yep, yep.

John Rogers: I love that he would go to the effort of making an ASCII manticore. Cause that's not easy. And you can't have an intern do that cause it's your secret logo.

Chris Downey: Yeah.

John Aboud: I think that probably took Derek all of five seconds. And then it even animates! It even animates when it dies.

John Rogers: x o x o x o yeah. Again, he would've had to do that. So at some point Arye Gross' character had to have gone, ‘What if somebody hacks this? I should put a death animation in just in case.’

Chris Downey: Yeah well you want to know that it's gone.

John Rogers: Yeah exactly. Made unaware.

Jonathan Frakes: This is the fifth Beatle, played strong in this show.

John Rogers: Yeah Derek Frederickson. And of course manticore based on various intercept methods that you can use. And that's kinda tricky is social media is both a tool of insurrection and makes you vulnerable. As soon as you network with other people it's a weakness.

John Aboud: We talked about Carnivore I think wasn’t that the-

John Rogers: Yes, that was the FBI one.

John Aboud: Was the decryption.

Chris Downey: Now how long did it take to ‘Badger 85’? ‘Cause you had to find ways to implant it.

Michael Colton: That- actually that was kind of fun because we had to figure out ways to use the word ‘badger’ or ‘85’.

John Aboud: For this.

Michael Colton: Yeah.

John Aboud: For this sequence.

Chris Downey: For the flashes.

Jonathan Frakes: There was a wonderful alliteration in this.

Chris Downey: ‘Five years’.

John Aboud: ‘Wasn't all bad-ger brain hold onto every detail’.

John Rogers: And there's the badger. You gotta remember that badger.

Aldis Hodge: AKA Beth.

Michael Colton: ‘I already ate, five months’.

John Rogers: I've had this dream so many times.

[Laughter]

Michael Colton: ‘You hacked me?’

John Rogers: And now the meltdown. We don't really give them a gloat here, we don't really give them a gloat.

John Aboud: He pre-gloats.

Aldis Hodge: With the Fred Flinstone run out.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: That’s a chess club run.

Chris Downey: He was in the chess club.

John Aboud: Schmitty.

Jonathan Frakes: Can’t believe we’re out of beer.

Chris Downey: ‘Out of beer!’

Jonathan Frakes: Never happened to Paul.

John Rogers: I don’t think that was a line, I think we just ran out of beer on set.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: Oh Larry Duberman, millionaire, the stress has gotten to him, he's melting down. I'll take him away.

Jonathan Frakes: Here's where we toyed with having our favorite FBI guys in this.

Chris Downey: We almost did but the scheduling didn't work. But we tried to have-

Michael Colton: Yep.

John Rogers: Again always the pain but real humans are attached to these roles. They don't wait around for us.

Chris Downey: Taggert and McSweeten.

John Aboud: Doucherman!

Aldis Hodge: Doucherman.

John Aboud: So disappointed.

Chris Downey: Gave him a nice shot there.

John Aboud: So disappointed.

Jonathan Frakes: He's a friend, he gets a good close up.

John Rogers: That's good.

Jonathan Frakes: And this- I love this end. I love this.

Michael Colton: This is what the show started with.

John Rogers: We held onto this end for two years.

Michael Colton: This was all we had.

John Aboud: This is the image from which the episode sprung.

Michael Colton: From whence it sprang.

John Aboud: Yep.

John Rogers: Like the head of Zeus.

Aldis Hodge: It's a red party cup.

[Laughter]

John Aboud: I love that shirt. I love that shirt. I do love that shirt.

Chris Downey: Is that what that is?

Aldis Hodge: Yup yup.

John Aboud: Red party cup.

Michael Colton: Which is a line-

Chris Downey: Oh I want that.

Jonathan Frakes: And he gives it up to. This actor gives it up again.

John Rogers: Yeah, well didn't we put cayenne pepper in his eyes?

Jonathan Frakes: No we did not.

John Rogers: Oh we don't do that anymore? Alright. No he was-

Aldis Hodge: It's how we motivate our actors. They go hard.

John Rogers: Absolutely fantastic work.

John Aboud: I made him cry.

Aldis Hodge: It’s cause you called him fat right before you shot it.

John Rogers: That's a big part of the show by the way, the victim isn't just pathetic.

John Aboud: It was the insults that did it.

John Rogers: That was a spinoff, too, we talked about - Mandy and Schmitty.

John Aboud: Mandy/Schmitty.

John Rogers: Unwittingly getting involved in cons.

Michael Colton: Schmitheads.

Jonathan Frakes: Mandy was thrilled to get to play a girl with big boobs cause she had just had a baby, so she never had boobs like this before. So she was thrilled to be asked-

Chris Downey: I'm sure she can enjoy hearing that on this.

[Laughter]

Jonathan Frakes: Lana[?] told me this for sure.

Michael Colton: They look wonderful.

John Rogers: The- and this was fun. The whole idea that they were so convincing at the con and so charming-

Jonathan Frakes: Yeah that they become-

John Rogers: You could've done an entire subplot like that.

Chris Downey: Oh look at that.

John Rogers: I think that's you know that's a good day for Schmitty, he really lost track of his friends, and he's just happy to know Drake’s doing okay.

Jonathan Frakes: And you can't miss the beer bowl, John Hughes. Thank you very much.

John Rogers: No he- and this is Joe LoDuca giving us- and we originally wanted words and then he gave us the melody as a sample before he put the words on and realized we don't want words.

Chris Downey: No, yeah, that's perfect.

John Rogers: This is perfect. This sounds exactly like an 80s tune.

Aldis Hodge: Now which one of your guys' high school dreams is this, here?

John Rogers: Dancing with Gina Bellman?

Michael Colton: Dancing with Tim Hutton?

[Laughter]

Aldis Hodge: Becoming prom king after like 85 years.

Jonathan Frakes: I love the callback to these two characters, in these costumes, in this place. I think this is lovely, actually.

Michael Colton: Magical.

John Rogers: This is fantastic. This is one of my favorite endings. It really is.

Aldis Hodge: Bit of redemption for what they’ve gone through.

Jonathan Frakes: No, but it’s in front of all these people. Their pasts-

John Rogers: Yeah, and she's not gonna tell him the name, but she's-

Chris Downey: And high school reunions like we said are full of, like, emotion. I mean it's just that’s what's- it kinda takes you back so it’s-

John Aboud: Well and of course what we liked was that Parker never experienced this stuff. So to her it's an alien world and by the end-

Chris Downey: And here's the shot.

John Aboud: This is it.

Jonathan Frakes: Well the metaphor of her feet being off the ground. Here we go bring it on.

Aldis Hodge: Yup.

Michael Colton: Oh yeah.

John Rogers: Yeah, just never actually touching the ground.

Aldis Hodge: I'm just that strong, I'm holding her up.

[Laughter]

Chris Downey: That is great.

Aldis Hodge: Oh yeah.

Chris Downey: And of course look! The one who- the one guy who didn't get to have any fun.

Jonathan Frakes: ‘I don't get to go.’

John Rogers: ‘Did anybody ask if Eliot's okay? Is Eliot alive?’

Jonathan Frakes: Sorry buddy.

John Rogers: Pissed off Christian is a funny Christian. And then pan up and then find both of them. Oh I love this shot.

Jonathan Frakes: Excellent use of the crane.

John Rogers: This is kind of the whole reason to do- yeah. And-

John Aboud: Fan favorite, gonna call it.

John Rogers: Fan favorite, yep.

Chris Downey: Yeah.

John Aboud: Calling it yeah.

Chris Downey: Both of your episodes guys have endings of real-

Michael Colton: The rest of them are shit, but the endings really land.

Chris Downey: But I'm saying-

Michael Colton: Stick the landing.

John Rogers: Gotta hold on for the ending of Colton and Aboud episode.

Chris Downey: I’m trying to pay you a compliment!

Jonathan Frakes: Makes you wanna put in another DVD doesn't it?

John Rogers: Yes, yes, you should go-

Jonathan Frakes: Let’s watch another episode!

John Rogers: You should go watch another episode right now.

Jonathan Frakes: Go run to the fridge, get some stuff, put another one in.

John Rogers: Get some stuff. If you're pantless that's cool we’re pantless.

Michael Colton: You’re saying for douchbags to go hard.

Aldis Hodge: If Hardison-

Michael Colton: We wrote two endings-

John Aboud: Fake it- we fake it well.

Michael Colton: That are actually heartwarming.

Chris Downey: Very heartwarming.

John Rogers: Well you were given one of them.

[Laughter]

Jonathan Frakes: Thanks for watching.

Aldis Hodge: Peace people.

#Leverage #Leverage TNT #Leverage Audio Commentary Transcripts #Audio Commentary #Transcripts #Parker #Alec Hardison #Elliot Spencer #Nate Ford #Sophie Deveraux #Season 3 #Episode 2 #Season 3 Episode 2 #The Reunion Job

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zims-left-shoe · 4 years

Note

Hello, I had a really cute idea for a request if you dont mind. Since it's been lockdown and stuff could I get a Zim x S/o where they're finally able to see eachother after isolation. Bonus for fluff if that's ok with you?

This request??? Amazing. Absolute perfection. And of course there’s going to be fluff!! Chaotic and feral Zim is great, but I love me some soft Zim.

Oh, and there’s no specific age here. Could be high school, could be adults, I’ll leave that up to the reader.

Blinking furiously, your eyes eventually settled on a squint as your phone cast painfully bright light into your face. The surrounding comfort of darkness was fended off by the harsh screen you continued to stare at. Nothing had changed in the past hour, nothing new was written. You weren't sure what you were hoping for.

A simple 'FINE' within a chat bubble marked the end of your conversation. Normally, you would snicker to yourself about how he flat out refused to write in lowercase, but the anxiety gnawing at your stomach prevented you from doing so.

Sighing, you rolled onto your side, hanging half off the bed in order to plug your phone in for the night. After that was accomplished, you flopped onto your back, staring into the black abyss that was your bedroom ceiling.

Quarantine had been a lot more difficult than you had originally thought. At first it was fun, you could be as much of an introvert as you wanted and could take care of your responsibilities on your own time and schedule, for the most part anyway. But once the weeks turned into months, and those months began to increase exponentially, it became a problem. Going just a bit stir crazy was bad enough, but the worst part was being unable to see Zim.

Again, at first, you didn't think it would be such a bad thing. He tended to get a bit clingy and possessive, so you thought a little me time would do you some good. But as time stretched onward, you realized that you missed the little roach bastard more than you had anticipated.

Of course you couldn't see him, considering not only the high human-to-human spread, but neither of you were quite sure to the extent Irkens would be affected, if it would be much more dangerous for Zim than an average human. As if that factor wasn't bad enough, Zim was already a huge germaphobe, so he rejected the idea of even socially-distanced hangouts with masks and all that.

So, being responsible and considerate, you had agreed to stick to text communication. It was fine at first, and you both talked regularly. Until about a month ago. Your worries began at the occurrence of two solid weeks of radio silence. Assuming the best, you waved it off as maybe he went to space and therefore couldn't get Earth cell reception. Finally, he had contacted you again, but brushed off any questions regarding the period of being off the grid. However, any response he gave you was short and simple, often a yes or no without elaboration, even to prompts where those answers weren't even valid.

This is where the unease began. Your mind began to run rampant with thoughts on the matter. What if he had gotten tired of you? The reasonable person inside of you told you that if that was indeed the case, then his loss, but that didn't mean you had to be happy about it. Just when you would convince yourself everything was fine, you managed to come back with something else, always a variation of the last negative thought. What if he had realized that he liked being alone, that he missed being a lone wolf soldier focused on destroying the world with no one to care about? You could never fully refute that one. After all, was a genetically modified alien soldier truly content being tied down by something such as a relationship?

The only thing that brought you any solace was that he had reached out to you that morning, requesting your presence at his base. Things had gotten better, allowing for the two of you to meet with contact, person to person. Well, person to Irken. Of course, your brain wouldn't let you enjoy that. It just had to spin some tale that would send you into a spiral of dread. Now, as you laid in your bed, sheets bunched in your fists, you were convinced that he wished to break up with you. Well, at least he had the decency to do so in person, if that even was the case.

You wanted nothing more than to be overjoyed that you would finally be able to see him after all this time. You had become quite attached to Zim, more than you ever would like to admit. You should be filled with excitement. However, you felt nothing but a sinking feeling that made your skin crawl.

"Just...please let me have a good night's sleep, would you?" You pleaded with your mind, shifting onto your side to face your wall, letting your eyes shut tight.

(more under the cut)

Unfortunately, you and your brain have two very different ways of defining 'a good night's sleep'. Trudging into the bathroom to get ready for the day ahead, you couldn't hold back the massive yawn. Stretching, about ten different joints popped as you remembered tossing and turning for a majority of the night. The worst part was the two or so hour period of staring blankly at the ceiling, mind racing with ideas of nothing at all.

Staring at your reflection in the mirror revealed you to be looking like hell...and not on wheels. More like hell discarded on the side of the road next to an empty shopping bag. Dark circles rested under your eyes, which weren't only from the previous night. Your sleep schedule had been almost non-existent thanks to quarantine, some nights you wouldn't surrender to slumber until three in the morning, and other days you would succumb to sleep's tantalizing claws at four pm.

Not to mention that you could barely remember the last time you had worn anything but pajamas or sweats. Groaning, you pulled on presentable clothes, as if this was the largest inconvenience you could ever be faced with. Not that Zim would care, but you didn't want to be shown up in the outfit department by a being from beyond who wore the same saturated pink military uniform every day.

You didn't even bother to glance at the time, it wouldn't matter. Either way, Zim would most likely chide you for being late, even if you were an hour early. You weren't sure if the construct of time even existed in the reality that was Zim's mind. Now that you thought about it, you couldn't say for certain if you had even set a specific time arrangement. All you had agreed upon was to be there some time in the morning.

It didn't matter regardless, he would be there whenever you decided to show up. He hadn't left his base once for the duration of quarantine. Zim had patience when it came to being cooped up for long periods of time, you would give him that much. It was about the only time he had patience, but it counted nonetheless.

That negative feeling wouldn't cease tugging at you as you meandered your way to Zim's base, quite literally dragging your feet down the sidewalk. Occasionally, you would come across a stray stone or pinecone, and you'd strike out with a half-hearted kick, watching it skitter across the pavement.

The entire walk was forgettable, and you had made the trek enough times for your brain to transition into autopilot until you made it to the fence line. The first few times you went to his place were unsettling. Now, you were completely unfazed as the security gnomes eyed you when you padded up the sidewalk, approaching the door. Their beady laser eyes tracked your every breath, but by this point you were unbothered. Besides, you were fairly sure that Zim had put you on the white list, so they shouldn't shoot at you unless it was a direct order.

You pressed the doorbell, folding your hands neatly in front of you as you waited for Zim to answer, scrambling to get a heartfelt speech together in your head. Whatever string of words you had managed to stitch together was thrown out the window when the door swung open, revealing a very animated GIR decked out in his doggy disguise. He frantically waved a black 'paw' to you, a grin splitting his face.

"Hi, Sparky!!" He hollered in your face, greeting you with a name that wasn't yours, per usual. Before you could even open your mouth to respond, he began talking again, in very much an outside voice. A chip right off the old Irken block. "Didja bring the pizza?!" The little robot inspected your arms curiously, stepping around you to make sure you weren't hiding the greasy pie behind your back.

"I, uh, wasn't aware I was supposed to be bringing pizza." You knew this was just an instance of GIR being GIR, but you went along with it anyway. He couldn't help himself, it was just the way he was wired. Or, maybe it was the fact that his brains consisted of useless pocket junk. It didn't really matter. GIR moved back to stand obediently in the doorway, you peering around the frame to see if Zim was anywhere to be found. He wasn't, which only made the nerves worse. Despite your worry, you kept your voice even and neutral. "May I come in?"

"Mhm!" He hummed, jumping aside to let you in. You closed the door behind you, standing around awkwardly for a moment before turning back to GIR, who was already shimmying out of his doggy suit.

"Do you know where Zim is?" Something seemed to click with GIR, however, it was not something that would answer your question. The poor robot burst into tears, which also wasn't out of the ordinary, falling face first into the floor and pounding his metal claw on the tile.

"That boy missed you so much!! He so sad, he even cried!! He loves youuu...!" He wailed, loud enough to draw Minimoose into the room who offered a soft and sad 'Nyah', seemingly agreeing with the statement. You couldn't confirm, since only Zim and GIR were fluent in the language you lovingly called 'Moosinese'. Tears continued to stream down the robot's metal face as he screamed, Minimoose resting a comforting purple nub on his back.

"Is that true?" Your response was calm, having dealt with GIR's outbursts many a time. You couldn't attest to the accuracy of his words, considering correct information was almost similar to a Russian roulette wheel when it came to GIR.

And as if nothing had ever happened, the robot immediately perked up, popping up to his feet with a smile, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. "Yep!! Master's been down in the base the whole time!! Just sittin' there all shmoopy-like!" A giggle followed, pushing his previous bout of sadness into the past.

"Nyah!" Minimoose showed you a bucktooth grin as he looked to you purposefully.

"Really? Fascinating." Again, you couldn't speak Moosinese, but still, you nodded. The purple moose appeared to be satisfied with your response, floating off to who knows where.

"You wanna come play with the piggy with me?!" GIR bounced up and down, eager to drag you off to roll around on the floor and have a tea party with whatever pig he had brought home this week.

"Maybe some other time, GIR." You weren't opposed to spending time with the little robot, but he wasn't exactly who you were here to see. He didn't seem offended, all he did was shrug his metal shoulders.

"Okie dokie!" He brought his claw up to his forehead in a salute, turning away from you and making a mad dash to the kitchen. You heard a noisy metallic clang echo from the kitchen, and you didn't need to witness the event to visualize GIR smacking face-first into the cabinet.

"Careful, GIR! My milk squid experiment is in there!" A familiar voice rang out from the kitchen, and two immediate questions sprung to mind. The first was why in the name of anything would you keep milk in the cabinet (even if it related to a squid)? The second being just what in the hell had he been doing all this time?

The whiny complaints had quieted to low grumbles as just the alien you wanted to see paced into the living room, eyes cast downwards, antennae drooping. The words that had been forming in your throat were choked into barely a squeak when you got a closer look at him. Zim still didn't seem to notice you, red bug eyes trained on the tile, hands clasped behind his back. That wasn't the surprising bit. A jacket you thought you had lost some time ago was thrown on over his invader uniform. You couldn't remember if maybe you had left it there or maybe Zim had taken without your knowledge, but either way, he was swimming in it. The sleeves were rolled up to meet his wrists, gloved hands peeking out from the fabric. Most of the jacket itself was well past his thighs, stopping just above the knee. It had been just a bit big on you, so of course it would be massive on him. You felt any unease you were feeling immediately leave at the sight. Clearly, he hadn't been enjoying the separation as much as you thought.

"I was wondering where that coat went." A chuckle slipped past your lips. Finally, Zim seemed to notice you, head snapping in your direction, antennae perking up to attention.

"Eh?" He didn't quite register your phrase, almost as if he had been wearing your coat for so long that he had forgotten it wasn't a part of his usual attire. "Y/n, I don't-" Zim looked down at himself, finally realizing why you were staring at him like that. He wriggled out of the jacket faster than you could gush about how adorable it was, throwing it forcefully behind the couch. "YOU CAN'T PROVE ANYTHING!!" He shrieked, pointing a clawed finger at you, antennae flattening against his head in curt embarrassment.

"So, you like my stuff, huh?" You asked cheekily, relishing in his refusal to look at you as he unknowingly clutched the hem of his invader uniform, scuffling his boots on the tile. You couldn't help but snicker. It wasn't often Zim would let himself be sheepish, since he normally knew nothing of shame.

"Nonsense!" He waved a hand dismissively, eyes still refusing to meet yours, although without his contacts, it was a bit hard to tell where exactly he was looking if his head wasn't turned. Crossing his arms tight to his chest, he wracked his brain for possible excuses. "I was just, er, working on repairs and didn't want to get my clothes dirty! Yes! I found this filthy piece of clothing and figured it would suffice." You rolled your eyes, knowing full well he would never admit to the true motivations behind his actions.

Lucky for you, someone else chimed in to voice your exact thoughts. "That's a lie." The computer spoke up from nowhere in particular, monotone voice bringing a growl to rise from Zim's throat.

"YOU'RE LYING!! There is no evidence of this!" The Irken jabbed a claw up towards the direction of the many cables and wires strung across the ceiling. This wouldn't be the first time you've witnessed him get into a spat with his computer. They could be quite entertaining to watch, actually.

"Proof." The computer said in a matter-of-fact tone, the gargantuan TV screen buzzing to life, static clearing to reveal a recording of internal base camera feed. The date was in Irken, but you were wise enough to surmise that it was from some time over the quarantine.

The screen displays Zim begrudgingly wandering over to the voot cruiser in the hangar. In the video feed, he looks decently depressed, antennae slack and hanging limp, posture slouched. He climbed into the ship, looking for something. Whatever it was, his search came to an unresolved end as he lifted your jacket from the seat. Apparently, you had left it in there the last time he had taken you for a flight. His eyes darted around to make sure he wasn't being watched, slipping on the coat and hugging his arms to his chest. The sleeves extended well past his hands. He brought them to his face, sniffing them. A delighted smile ghosted his mouth as he rubbed the sleeves against his face.

"Why would you record that?!" His voice cracked at the end, and you were trying your best to hold in a laugh as the TV faded back to static for a split second before opening on another instance.

This time the video depicted GIR and Zim sprawled out on the couch, watching something on the TV. Zim was wrapped in your coat as if it were a blanket, seeming to be content enough with it. GIR had reached out a claw for the article of clothing, wishing to share. Zim hissed, yanking the coat away from his grip, swiping a clawed hand out like a cat. Clearly, he wanted it all to himself.

This time you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing. You tried to apologize, especially since the Irken standing next to you looked absolutely horrified. You were sure he felt his dignity had just faded away right along with the video feed.

"Oh, and my personal favorite." The computer added helpfully as yet another recording presented itself on the TV. This one was a bit tougher to make out.

Zim was down in the depths of the base, and much was dark, the only light being cast from a large monitor just off screen. You were able to see Zim, sitting on the floor, sporting your jacket. He stared longingly at the sleeves that covered his hands. After a moment he shoved his face into his arms and knees as tears slipped down his face. You could only make out the tears due to the light being thrown from the monitor, making them glisten like jewels. Separation appeared to be much harder on him than you had thought. Maybe that was why he had been ignoring you, although it seemed counterproductive. It was possible that texting you made him miss you more.

Zim was not amused in the slightest by this particular clip. He stamped his foot on the tile, making frenzied cutting motions with his arms.

"COMPUTER!!!" His voice was high in volume, but a nervous chuckle laced each syllable. "I think that is quite enough!"

The computer groaned, cutting the feed back to static, eventually switching the TV off completely. "I was just trying to be accurate."

"You only seem to care about accuracy when it is of no benefit to Zim!!" You could only imagine what was going through Zim's head in the moment, because from the outside, he was a ball of red hot rage. However, the computer was having none of his antics, going dormant once more.

"Zim? You're up here." You raised a hand above your head to indicate his anger level. "I need you to be down here." You lowered your hand to your abdomen, knowing that was a complete stretch to ask for. Especially since he was so upset he was stringing together curses in Irken. He would only speak in his native tongue around you when he was incredibly furious. His teeth were gritted tightly, foot tapping audibly on the tile.

"That damn computer." His growl was closer to that of a feral animal, and although he was calm enough to speak in English, he still required some de-escalation.

"Relax, we'll just pretend it never happened."

"Good. Forget about those recordings." His eyes were narrowed, but he was relenting his irritation.

"What recordings?" You shrugged, a smile playing at the corners of your mouth. Zim seemed appeased, and in a split second, all of his anger was gone and replaced by something else entirely. All the fight seemed to leave his body as he looked to you, red eyes softening completely when they caught your own. He seemed relieved to see you, as if being away was one of the hardest things he had been through in years.

Wordlessly, he strode over to you, wrapping his arms around you and burying his face into your chest. Soft Zim was a rare occurrence, but these moments were something you absolutely treasured. It almost made the months of isolation worth it.

You returned the action, and the second you put your arms around him, every muscle in his body relaxed. It was a bit strange, really. To have a hardened alien soldier all but melt in your arms. He wrapped his legs around you as well, clinging to you like a koala. It wasn't hard to maintain balance since he really wasn't all that heavy.

"Couch." He mumbled, his chin resting on your shoulder as his arms were draped around your neck, your own arms supporting him under his legs. A chuckle fell from your lips at his behavior. At first it seemed like he had no energy, but in reality, it was closer to him being soothed by your presence. You were about the only living creature, scratch that, the only thing in the entire universe that could ease him like this; even he wasn't sure why you had this effect on him.

"Sure thing." You walked him over to the couch, using one arm to snag your jacket off the floor before sinking down into the cushions. There was a bit of a strange smell emanating from where you sat, most likely due to GIR spilling countless snacks, messes that weren't completely cleaned up. It wasn't super potent, and in that particular moment, it wasn't one of your concerns.

As you sat on the couch, Zim remained cuddled into you. A snicker slipped out as you tossed your coat over him as if it were a blanket. At first you assumed he would protest, proclaiming that he wasn't cold, nor a weak little smeet who needs to be cared for. So when he removed his arms from you, you were bracing yourself for a lecture and/or rant. However, all he did was tuck the jacket around him better, silently snaking his arms back around you afterward.

"You really did miss me, huh?" It was a redundant question, since without even saying, you both were aware of the answer. Still, you wished to hear him say it. It would put you in good spirits.

"Your absence was...not pleasant." His voice was uncharacteristically hushed, muffled by your clothes. His words were chosen delicately, as they always were when he didn't want to admit to something that he knew to be true.

"So you missed me." The smile that was spread on your face shone through your voice.

"If that is what you would like to think." Zim made an attempt at being snarky, but any mockery in his words was half-hearted at best. Breathing a sigh, you let your head fall back against the back of the couch. You knew full well that was the best you could hope to glean from him, even in his current subdued state.

"For the record, I missed you too."

"As you should. Zim is very great." Looking down, you were met with a sight that melted your heart. The coat still wrapped around him, arms still clinging to you as if you would walk out any minute. Zim's eyes were closed as he laid his head in your lap, quiet purrs rising from his throat as your fingers absentmindedly played with his antennae. You almost thought he would fall asleep.

"I know. You're the coolest Irken I know." You may have only known one, but still. Zim was pretty amazing in your book, despite being a self-absorbed idiot at times. A pleasant silence settled over the room for a moment as you continued to twirl his antennae between your fingers.

His eyes still closed, Zim spoke again, mumbling, "Zim's next plan is to eradicate these abhorrent human pandemics." The words slurred together a bit, and although you knew Irkens to not sleep due to lack of biological necessity, whenever he was completely relaxed, he tended to get drowsy.

"Good luck with that. I support your efforts one hundred percent." Despite the first statement harboring a twinge of sarcasm, the second was completely genuine.

"Does Zim detect a hint of ridicule?" His words may have been a challenge, but not a single eye opened even a crack, not a single muscle in his body so much as twitching.

"All I'm saying is I haven't seen much progress on your original plan of eradicating the humans, and it's been how many years?"

"Quiet or I'll steal another one of your inferior human zip-cloth thingies." He may not have technically stolen the first one, but you had to make a mental note to keep track of your jackets and hoodies. Or at the very least, make sure to keep the ones you wore often out of reach. You supposed in the end it didn't really matter. You would know where to find them if they did happen to go missing. And besides, he did look rather cute in them.

#invader zim #invader zim fanfiction #invader zim x reader #zim x reader #invader zim fic #invader zim one shot #invader zim oneshot #one shot #oneshot #fanfic #fanfiction #request

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lemondropsssss · 4 years

Text

“Hello Geralt.” By some strange miracle his tone is even, his hands don’t shake, and Jaskier doubts even Geralt could suss out his anxiety.

“Jaskier.”

Geralt looks different. Ragged would not be an incorrect word for it. Geralt’s hair is greasy, the white streaked grey from lack of washing. He’s dressed all in black par the course, but his shirt has seen better days and his cloak looks like it’s coming apart at the seams. Geralt is without his armor, but his steel sword hangs on his belt and Jaskier knows he has at least three knives hidden somewhere beneath the mess. He looks older, and more exhausted than Jaskier has ever seen him.

What is most curious is his companion. He can’t be more than fourteen, but why would Geralt have a young boy with him? He wears a loose shirt and worn trousers, and a cap covers his head. He looks up at Jaskier from under a too-big cloak, and he’s struck by all too familiar emerald eyes. There is only one green-eyed fourteen-year-old who could possibly be following a Witcher. A Cintran princess thought lost to the world.

He meets Geralt’s gaze and they have a quick nonverbal conversation over her head, Geralt confirming his suspicions of her identity with a curt nod. The ease and familiarity of their communication digs like a knife into Jaskier’s gut.

“We were hoping you could...” Geralt pauses, and Cirilla wastes no time in digging an elbow into his side. “We were hoping you could help us.”

“Help you.” He repeats, just to make sure he heard correctly. Not at all because asking had made Geralt’s face contort in ways Jaskier hadn’t thought possible.

Geralt sounds off a grunt and a short nod, which he supposes he should have expected from the Witcher.

“What kind of help do-” Jaskier is cut off by a door banging open down the hall, and the loud sounds of students spilling into the walkways. Geralt curls a protective arm around Cirilla’s shoulders, tucking her against his side and out of sight of any passing students.

“We shouldn’t talk here. The University is safe enough, but walls have ears, and you carry precious cargo.” He nods towards Cirilla. “Right then. Help. You need to go to Number 6 Cheeseman Street. Tell Beatrice that you’re friends of Julian. Here, take this,” He tugs the heavy silver signet ring off his middle finger and holds it out to Geralt, “So she knows I sent you.”

“Who’s Julia- Wait. You’re not coming with us?” Confusion is evident on Geralt’s face, and the knife in Jaskier’s gut just cuts deeper.

You’re doing it again says the cruel voice in his head, You’ll give and he’ll take until there’s nothing left of use to him. And then he’ll run off with his sorceress and his child while you wither and die like the weak pathetic mortal man you are.

“You came at the end of this class, Geralt, but I do have another one today. Funny, how schools work on a non-Witcher-centric timetable, isn’t it?” Geralt looks reasonably chastised, and Jaskier can’t help but feel a spark of vindication at that. “I have responsibilities here that I can’t just abandon. Go and wait for me. Bea will take care of you, and you’ll be safe there.”

Geralt watches Jaskier turn on his heel and walk back into his classroom with a feeling akin to longing in his gut. He hadn't realized how much he had been missing the bard until he was standing in front of him. He was struck with the sinking feeling that their friendship may not have survived the dragon mountains after all.

“Here,” He grunts, passing Ciri the signet ring. If he’s disturbed by this new, different Jaskier he doesn’t show it. He can't show it, not around Ciri. She needs him, and he would die before failing her. Geralt knew Jaskier might have still been upset after their disastrous parting, but the changes he saw in his old friend were not what he had expected. He wore somber clothes, had shorter silver swept hair, and no open smile; the man who had come out of that classroom didn’t seem much like the Jaskier he remembered.

They collect Roach at the front gates, and begin the trek towards Number 6 Cheeseman Street. Ciri is quiet as they walk, toying the ring between her fingers. It’s been a long year, and Geralt knows she’s more tired than he is. He leads her through busy city streets, keeping her tucked close between him and Roach, finally coming upon the quieter richer streets favored by nobles and the prissier academics. Of course Jaskier would know someone here.

They reach Number 6, and Geralt pauses and situates Ciri half behind him before he rings the bell. It’s another minute before the door is opened.

“Yes?” An older woman asks. She’s short and stout, her more-grey-than-brown hair pulled back into a neat bun. There’s a softness to her, a kindness around the eyes, even as she frowns warily at them. She doesn’t seem like the kind of woman Jaskier normally fell into bed with, but it’s entirely possible the bard’s tastes had changed.

“Are you Beatrice?”

“I am. Can I help you with something?”

Geralt motions to Ciri, who holds Jaskier’s signet ring out to the woman. “We’re friends of Julian’s,” Ciri says, and Geralt can see the older woman softening at the sight of both the ring and the child. She inspects the ring for a short moment, giving a long sigh and muttering something about bringing home strays before stepping aside to let them in.

Beatrice is a force of nature, and it isn’t long before Geralt and Ciri have both been bathed, scrubbed, changed into clean clothes, and settled at the kitchen table with bowls of hearty stew and fresh brown bread. Roach is taken two houses down to be stabled. Bea, as she insists they call her, assures him she’ll be well taken care of. Their bags are brought back to the house and settled in their connecting rooms.

This is all done in the span of an hour, and it’s all Geralt can do to just let it happen. The woman doesn’t seem any particular threat, though he has put an idle thought towards what happens when whatever lord of the house shows up. He knows Jaskier has friends in all sorts of places, but he doesn’t know of any noble who would be happy to find an unknown Witcher at his table.

They’re halfway through their second helping of stew when Geralt hears the front door open, and an even tread making its way toward the kitchen. A moment later, Jaskier appears in the doorway. He looks over them both with a sharp eye, and Geralt feels strangely vulnerable under his gaze.

“Here you are, dear,” Bea hands Ciri another large slice of bread for her soup, and then passes another to Geralt. “Get in here,” She orders, and Ciri’s gaze snaps up, just noticing another has joined them. “I’ll not be bringing you supper to your room later, you’ll eat here with your guests.” It’s not a negotiation. Jaskier grins, holding up his hands in a sign of peace.

“Yes ma’am.” He sinks into the chair at the head of the table, and Bea puts down his own bowl of stew and bread. “I should have warned you, Witcher, Bea does have a tendency to over feed her guests; you and your companion are bound to roll away from the table.” Jaskier winks at Ciri over his bowl, and the girl offers a small smile in return.

“I am sorry dear, in all the commotion we were never properly introduced.” Ciri stills, and her gaze shifts to Bea in the corner before flicking back to Geralt. “Bea,” Jaskier calls out when he realizes her worry, “Would you mind giving me and my guests the room?” The housekeeper huffs but leaves, with a stern warning to Jaskier about what will happen if he lets the bread burn. It’s only when Jaskier can no longer hear her footsteps that he turns back to Ciri. “I admire your caution, little one. An important skill to learn when one travels with a Witcher. I wish you no ill will, and I can promise that no harm will come to you in this house.”

Ciri looks back to Geralt for confirmation, and he gives her a short nod. Jaskier feels a mild pull of hurt at the familiarity of their silent conversation, and quickly tucks it away before either can notice.

“Ciri,” She says quietly, sitting up just a little straighter as she does. “You can call me Ciri. But we use Fiona around everyone else.”

“Then perhaps you should remain Fiona during your stay here. I trust Beatrice with my life, and she’ll probably spoil you rotten as long as you let her, but it will be safer if she doesn’t know your true identity. Information is powerful, little one, but no one can let spill a secret they don’t know. I am very happy to see you safe here, Ciri.” He says her true name softly, and when she smiles at him the sight practically melts his heart.

“Who owns this place?” Geralt interrupts, earning himself a scowl from Jaskier. “Not another lord you’re cuckolding?”

“It’s a bit hard to cuckold oneself, dear, but I supposed I could give it the old college try.” He’s smiling and his tone is light, trying to mask any hurt at the dig.

“What, this is yours?” Ciri asks, looking around the expansive kitchen. “Bea said it belonged to Master Julian, but Geralt said your name was Jaskier.”

“Yes, well, it’s been over a year and she still refuses to drop the ‘master’ part. I did try and tell her it wasn’t necessary and then she got very offended and didn’t speak to me for three days.” Geralt is giving Jaskier his dopey-what-the-fuck-are-you-on-about look that once upon a time would’ve made his knees weak. Now it just makes him sad.

“Well then, let me introduce myself properly. Or, reintroduce, as the case may be.” He stands and bows low to Cirilla. “Professor Julian Alfred Pancratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, formerly known as the Bard Jaskier, at your eternal service.” When he adds an extra flourish Ciri giggles, and the sound tugs at his heart.

Geralt is watching him with a frown, and Jaskier meets it with a raised eyebrow himself.

“You never said you were a Viscount.”

“You never asked,” Jaskier points out, folding himself back into his seat, “I’ve told plenty of other people my name. Truly, twenty odd years and it never seemed strange to you that a woman would name her honest to gods son Buttercup ? It’s hardly my fault you weren’t paying enough attention.” Geralt opens his mouth to retort, so Jaskier shifts his attention back to Ciri. “It’s very good to have you here, little one. I came to sing to you a few times for your birthday, though you were quite young then, so I don’t expect you’d remember.”

“No, I remember you. A little, at least.” She pauses, tilting her head to think, “I remember grandmother didn’t like that grandfather had invited you.You brought me a carved wolf, but grandmother screeched and I wasn’t allowed to play with it. I didn’t know why. I liked your songs, especially the one about the lion cub.”

Jaskier laughs. “Yes, while Eist and I had a friendship of sorts, I can’t say your grandmother was overly fond of me. I think she worried I would tell you stories of a mighty Witcher who would one day come to claim you. Perhaps a wolf was a little too on the nose.” He grows somber, and reaches out to cover her small hand with his. “They were good people, your family. I am sorry they are gone.” He squeezes her hand, and gives the princess a reassuring smile that she returns, albeit shakily. “I admit I worried for you, when I heard of Cintra’s fate. It makes me very happy to see you safe here with Geralt.”

Jaskier can feel Geralt’s gaze on him, but he does not meet it. They finish their meal together, and Ciri warms to Jaskier quickly. He jokes and trades silly stories with her, Geralt grunting or adding short corrections to the ones about their adventures together. Soon enough Ciri is falling asleep in her stew. Jaskier sends her up to bed, bidding her goodnight and watching as she ascends the stairs to her room.

Geralt is still sitting at the kitchen table, watching Jaskier. His gaze is careful, his eyes follow Jaskier as the man collects two cups and a bottle of wine.

“I assume you still drink,” He says, setting a cup down for Geralt before sliding into a chair. He pours them both glasses before sitting back with a heavy sigh. “Go on, then. You’ve got that look in your eye. Does the mighty Witcher Geralt of Rivia have something to say?” It was much easier to keep his tone level with Cirilla there. Now he can’t keep the bitterness from his words, and they leave a bad taste in his mouth. He tries to wash it away with big gulps of wine, but it doesn’t help.

Geralt grunts instead of a real answer, and Jaskier huffs a laugh into his cup. He drains it, and pours himself another.

“You’re different.” It’s quiet, almost so quiet Jaskier can’t hear it over the crackling of the hearth but he does.

“Yes, well, that is normally expected of us humans. Change. Personal growth. That sort of thing.”

"Personal growth. Huh. I half expected you to offer to sing Ciri to sleep. Regale her with tales of the White Wolf."

Jaskier's answer is to huff a dark laugh into his cup and continue drinking with determination. At least he can be good at some things.

“Where’d you get the money for all this?” Geralt asks after a long silence. There’s a hint of accusation in his tone which Jaskier bristles at.

“Fishing, technically. And taxes, I guess, you’d really have to ask my sister.” At Geralt’s confused look he sighs deeply before explaining. “I’m a Viscount of a coastal estate, Geralt. I make money by having other people fish and then taxing them for it. Is this really the first thing you ask me? Eighteen months and all you have is a question about my business practices?”

Geralt doesn't answer, and that only helps to fuel the anger growing in his belly. The wine isn’t exactly helping, but he isn’t going to stop drinking it. They sit in silence, Jaskier drinking and Geralt watching him. After what feels like an eternity, Jaskier heaves a sigh and stands.

“Right, well, if you’re not going to say anything I’m going to bed.”

“Jaskier, wait.” He almost doesn’t. He almost leaves, but that voice. It haunts his fucking dreams, and he can’t say no to it. But he doesn’t turn around.

“It’s Julian, now, actually.”

“Julian, then.” The voice is closer now, and Jaskier had forgotten how quietly his Witcher could move. A hand tugs at his shoulder, turning him back around to face Geralt. His face is doing something Jaskier had never seen before, and on anyone else he’d say it was regret. “I wanted to...” He trails off, and Jaskier tugs his arm out of Geralt’s grip.

“If you have something to say, say it.”

“Damnit, bard. You don’t make this easy,” The man growls out, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “I am sorry. About what happened on the dragon mountain. About what I said. I was angry, and you were there. I didn’t mean it.” It’s more of an apology than Jaskier had thought Geralt would be capable of, but it does nothing to repair the gaping chasm between them.

He still needs things from you, the insidious voice in his head whispers, Once you give him what he wants he’ll leave you. Haven’t you learned anything? He doesn’t care about you. You’re a burden to him. You don’t make this easy. How pathetic.

Jaskier offers Geralt a tight smile, taking a small step back. “The mountain is in the past. What happened there doesn’t matter anymore. You don’t need to worry, I understand what this is now. I’ll help you, and as soon as you’ve both rested and resupplied you’ll be on your way.” He says it with some amount of finality, as if that would make it any easier to get out.

Jaskier will help Geralt, because there really isn’t any version of reality in which he wouldn’t. But he knows now not to make their arrangement out to be anything more than that; an exchange of goods and services. He owes Geralt more than his own life is worth, and helping him and his Child Surprise now is simply a way to pay back that debt. As long as he remembers the status quo he should come out the other side unscathed.

“I bid you goodnight, Witcher.” Jaskier’s voice is steady when he speaks, thank all the gods for small mercies, and he’s almost halfway up the steps before Geralt’s reply reaches him.

“Goodnight, Julian.”

@itsthedemonsboi @naominami ya’ll asked to be tagged

here is part one, part two, and the full story on ao3

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stronghours · 3 years

Text

THREE QUEENS OF DOMESTICITY

Ava’s husband Reuben, as Ava informed Domme Lux in the unfinished basement beforehand, had only contributed to the collaring ceremony through draping the gaping drywall with swags of lavender gauze and twinkle lights from Christmas, which blistered the fabric in a damp whimsy Lux hadn’t thought the man capable. But then, Ava said, she had never brought a boy into the household before, and she thought it was only fair to respect Reuben’s distance in the matter. Where he was, she didn’t say. Evey, one of the four usual girls, was already naked but for papery hospitality slippers and trying to tame the blank concrete with a shredded mop. She squeezed the handle to a thin, practical breast each time she lost hope. Her clavicle was tense with little red marks.

Ava sat on her own padded stool applying lotion to her arms as she held court with Lux, Celeste and other colleagues regarding the guest list and particulars. She possessed downy Marilyn Monroe skin and her expression was luminous, while Lux, simultaneously underdressed, clammy, and overheated (it was summer, high noon outside, but Halloweentown below) started to feel the depression sink in. She’d chosen to wear a sleeveless mock turtleneck cinched in via a skintight pencil skirt and knee-high chunk pumps, and it all looked charming enough to her when she texted a picture to Jules. Sexual language arts teacher or Lorelai Gilmore season 1-2? She’d typed. But Jules had been AWOL since Thursday and now Lux had no chaperone and no wisdom. Ava didn’t let it go unremarked.

“It’s June,” she informed, like Lux didn’t know. “So, he’s sucking up to his leather daddies and his drag queens, while the rest of us behave like grown-ups. Correct?”

Guests arrived. Lux decided on strategic retreat and glued her spine to a far swampy corner and gradually became happier to have interpreted the dress code on the conservative side. Ava sent out the invite via her personal newsletter, with the esoteric instruction to dress within the modes of business or pleasure and it became clear of the basement filling nobody had made a collective interpretation. Celeste, shivering underneath her partner’s bomber jacket had prevailed on a frail sundress and the man in front of Lux wore a boxy Uniqlo blazer on top and a polyester jockstrap that read PIG BOY in an eternal ring around the waist. His white ass loomed beneath her line of vision, a sobering reality check to Evey and the other girls kneeling like wraiths up front, their smudged outlines harkening more toward Salo than Ava would ever intend.

Candles were lit. Lux could not get rid of the haunted house excess bringing her mood down, even as Ava, up front on her dais and methodically strapping her bagged up new boy onto his striker frame, vamped in a costumy corset of sectional purple brocade (Jules) opera-length latex mittens (Jules) and slick black shoulder plate and hood of indeterminate material (no doubt made by an enemy of Jules), and if Jules himself would ever show up, as promised, Lux could decide what was worse: Ava mixing materials or mixing designers.

But what was worst above all, she already knew, was that three poems had already been read and Ava was reading one still. She read one stanza per one buckle. Her new boy, before being lowered into his body bag, had read one himself to clarify his submission. His face had been beaky and palling. He had flat blue eyes. She liked him much better totally hidden from view and wondered how a hardline heterosexual like Ava could entertain delicate styles in women but such insipid taste in dudes.

A ray of light split the room like a knife and vanished. A couple people moaned, blinded in one eye. The crowd to Lux’s left grunted and spat, ruffled, then parted. She didn’t notice Jules until he had a cold hand behind her neck. Even with walls on both her sides, he found a blind spot.

He stuck his tongue in her ear, knowing full well she couldn’t shout him down in this scenario. “What’s up sugar,” he said, barely acceptably hushed. “How many poems has it been?”

“And the moonrise over the hill,” Ava recited, yanking a new strap, “Rises in tune – to your mind upon my person – to your body upon my person – to your devotion to my person –”

“It’s been this one for a while,” Lux said. She grabbed him and squashed him to her side. You had to meet Jules nuisance per nuisance when he felt energetic, or he’d trample you to death. When he was overbearing, she preferred him coldhearted, and when he was frosty, she preferred him needy. It was wedding season, and he hadn’t had enough brides to wear him out. “What took you so long?”

“Stopped for food. I’ve been up for uh…thirty-six hours.”

PIG BOY’s head turned back fractionally, then he thought better of looking and faced front.

“Wedding?”

“Shereen Allure made the Miss Continental Elite lineup. She got her hooks in me. She needs an evening gown, an interview moment, talent outfit that’ll stay together through the twenty fucking backflips I know she’ll want to do – baby, sweetie, honey, let me just stone you a fucking leotard, but no, she wants everything to sweep the toes. Insanity.” Jules craned his head around PIG BOY’s shoulder, and, seeing the wild look on his face, she wormed her hand underneath his shirt and pinched his ribs before he could think of speaking above sotto voice.

“Work function,” she warned. “Work function!”

“I wouldn’t go to my boss’s wedding,” Jules said, but he shriveled back into her shoulder obediently. “Gross. What’s she wearing?”

“A couple things of yours.”

“Against medical advice.”

Ava’s boy was buckled in midway up his ribs. They had to last to the neck. Somebody close to the front of the house darted forward to re-light the tea candles extinguished in their little glasses, scattered among Ava’s stilts. Lux thought: Suck-up.

“Cocksucker,” Jules hissed into her neck.

Profound is your sacred neck –

Ava claimed.

And affectionate, my lips, on its nape –

The boy in the bag didn’t judder or wince or squirm or move an inch. If Lux hadn’t been around to watch him step inside it, she would have considered him a mannequin. More guests arrived, fashionably late, and she and Jules alternately jostled the roach hotel between her ankles as they bandied to stay upright. PIG BOY had enough of them and forced his way further into crowd.

“What’s his name, anyway?” Jules asked, of bag-boy.

“Shawn. Mark. Uh…Jake.”

“Fucking John Donne up there has a boner for a goddamn Cody.” Jules wiped his nose on her shoulder. “I can’t breathe down here. Come on, ta-ta.”

The basement door opened into a little cairn staircase and led them blinking into the lawn (a lawn!) a black walnut tree dripping with green baubles (a tree!). Jules assisted her over the porch railing (a porch!) and spanked the dust from the seat of her skirt. They entered the gleaming kitchen, already occupied by Ava and Rueben’s straightest friends who, thin-lipped, met their sangrias with unenthusiasm.

“One thing I will say for Ava,” said a woman wearing a mock turtleneck similar to Lux’s own, “She certainly has…flair.”

A man turned to Jules and asked, helplessly, how long these things lasted. The preliminaries, Jules asked, or the mingling, or the primary ceremony, or the potluck or the afterparty? And while he laid out the etiquette Lux stared at the dustless countertops and the seafoam green cabinets, smooth to the touch, and their silver handles and the tile floor and the padded breakfast nook with its stained glass overhead light and the jazzy track lights situated over the looming kitchen island. Lysol lingered underneath the tawny fumes of a candle labeled CARMEL TRUFFLE SUNDAE and the photo pasted to the candle, she was ashamed to say, made her hungry. A kitchen-aide, which Lux had seen featured in some of Ava’s private photoshoots, gleamed, an untouchable ruby atop a mounted wall cabinet.

Jules’s conversation partner said he had tried to muscle through the ceremony but one of Ava’s slaves (the man himself hedged, politely, and referred to her as Ava’s housemaid) had accidentally brushed him with her nude bosom and he thought, well, better safe than sorry and beat it to safer pastures. “I don’t want to get her in trouble,” he claimed. The sangria was doing nothing to free him from this downward spiral of nakedness.

The mock turtleneck woman held the pitcher out to Lux for a sniff. “It’s virgin,” she pronounced, disgusted.

Jules shifted his backpack into the nook. He removed a pair of purple Easy Spirit pumps, a wad of pantyhose cut off at the thigh, two rolls of duct tape, a greasy paper bag from a Vienna Sausage, a Ziplock of loose bronze eyelets, a lacy bridal bralette and ouvert panty set Lux thought she had permanently lost and finally a half-empty bottle of white rum, which he handed around.

“She and Reuben,” the mock turtleneck woman confided, tit for tat, “Had two cash bars at their wedding.”

“I get it’s a private residence,” the man continued, wide eyed, as he tilted the bottle drop by tiny drop into his cup. “But is the nudity like – mandatory?”

“Don’t be shy,” Jules suggested, happy in his eternal revolving door from Bitch to Hostess. “Really tip that bad boy in there.”

The man turned on Lux, aghast. “Mandatory nudity?”

“Jules,” she said. “Bathroom escort, please.”

The floors were fake grey wood and if they’d been in socks, they would have slipped and slid like newborn colts through a framed gauntlet of Ava and Reuben’s documented civilian life. On the right, a picture of Reuben T-posing against the horizon of the Grand Canyon. On the left, Ava’s Reiki Master III certificate from Sat Nam. A family reunion and matching T-shirts (Ava’s side of the family). A newlywed embrace at the foot of an anonymous waterfall in the Upper Peninsula. She’d seen all this before, well acquainted with the ground floor of Ava’s house, but now she wondered if Zach-Cody-Jake-Shawn, petrified below her feet, was feeling the weight of the roof on his chest like she felt.

Jules, on his own agenda, bypassed the bathroom door which was modestly shut and tugged her toward the staircase.

“Oh shush,” she warned preemptively. “We’re not allowed!” They’d never been upstairs before.

“What? They don’t have a bathroom up there?”

“She’ll know,” Lux said as they tiptoed upward. She imagined their footfalls pounding through the ceiling of the basement and Ava, coolly, directing her eyes toward the ceiling and right up Lux’s skirt.

“If you quit being so aware of her, she wouldn’t be aware of you,” Jules counseled.

Every door upstairs was closed, sanded and paper-smooth and plumbed correctly in their jambs. Her apartment had more in common with Ava’s basement. Melancholy prevented her from noticing Jules bypassing the obvious bathroom door where the shadow of a jailed cat paced and opening another. It was Ava’s and Rueben's bedroom.

“Uh-oh,” Jules said. “What an honest mistake.”

“Stop, stop, stop,” she begged, dancing backward, but the arrested step of somebody entering the downstairs hallway had her shoving him inside. Jules grabbed her wrist before she could slam the door shut in panic and guided it closed himself, soundlessly.

“Somebody’s coming!” She hissed.

“Nobody’s coming,” he said. “Not upstairs, at least.”

Next door, the cat mewed piteously.

The bedroom, to her surprise, held no accoutrements of Ava’s work at the club, not a stocking on the ground or a corset thrown over the back of a chair. The only suggestion of her taste for grandeur Lux recognized was the four-poster bed and the plum carpet. Even the makeup mirror standing up on the desk was just an electric plastic-framed Conair. The same kind Lux, at 14, had hidden underneath her bed.

Jules touched one of the bedposts. “You think she ever spread-eagles ol’ Rueben on these babies?”

Reuben worked in software. He had a crew cut, no distinguishing features, and upper veneers. When grouped together, he referred to all of Ava’s dommes as you kids. Alone, he called Lux Little Lady and Jules Hey, It’s My Man! Before thumping him with lethal force between the shoulder blades. Lux didn’t want to imagine Ava and Reuben fucking in the four-poster bed. But, on contemplation, she realized it was an impossible task.

She peeked into the master bathroom long enough to confirm Ava installed a whirlpool tub. Jules had already thrown open her closet and was sifting through hangers. He stood rumpled in his flip-flops and she was worried his hands would leave marks.

“She’ll know someone was snooping.”

“Did she ever notice when you and Celeste moved everything in the dungeon three inches to the left on April Fools?”

Lux sat gingerly on the desk chair. The Conair makeup mirror was still lit, and she checked her hairline, her face, her cleavage (she’d been paranoid for two months that she was shrinking) in the mock turtleneck. In a silver stand-frame was a black-and-white of Ava alone, on her wedding day. She posed in black-and-white before a crumbling brick wall, body positioned forward but facing right, absurdly fresh, and nearly sweet-sixteen in a sweetheart neckline and ruffled cap sleeves.

Jules loomed like a vulture over her shoulder and judged for himself. “Not what I would have picked for her,” He decided.

But Lux couldn’t look away from the picture. Ava, pre-Entrance, pre-homeowner, pre-stable-of-subs, pre-whirlpool tub. In the sterile silence of the bedroom, she had nothing to cloud her thoughts. “Ava always knew,” she announced. “Look at her expression. She knew all along.”

“Knew what?”

“That it was always going to work out. That she was always going to lock this down.”

“Lock what down?”

Lux tried to set the picture frame exactly where she’d left it but couldn’t quite recall. She pushed Jules away from her, annoyed, and tried a different a different route. “Do you think he really loves her?”

“Reuben?”

“No, Zach – Jake – Shawn – whatshisname. In the basement.”

She felt Jules descend into sulky silence, that his magpie-plan of breaking and entering was not rendering hilarious fruit. She heard the bedsprings creak and two little claps as his sandals hit the floor.

“We make fun of her,” Lux insisted. “But she’s got the husband who loves her, and four full-timers cycling in and out of this beautiful house with a beautiful tree and green grass underneath and now this new kid. He wrote her a poem. She can inspire people to do things like that.”

Jules huffed.

Lux prodded: “Remember her interview in the Reader a few Prides ago? She said she owes it all to her Unapologetic Femininity. A successful woman constantly births this psychic potential in observing bodies.”

“He wrote a shitty villanelle and climbed into a gimp bag in front of twenty-three perverts, so Ava’ll suffocate him with her titties for three years. That’s psychic potential?”

“And what about Carmen, and Robin, and Deanna, and Evangeline?”

“What about Analise Petro? She split from the coven pretty fucking publicly.”

“Years ago. And she was immature. You and her were the same age.” At that time, Lux hadn’t made the decision if Jules, then a furious little boy-twink, would be nemesis or pal. She’d half-believed Jules poisoned Analise against Ava on purpose.

Jules, blissfully not thirty, ignored her. “Evey is my age,” he claimed.

“Carmen is thirty-six.” Lux, thirty-two, fretted, twisted her fingers. “Think of the responsibility. It’s all in her hands and she just…molds it.”

“Because of her essential femininity? You’re out of your mind.”

Downstairs, the sliding glass door to the backyard rattled. A few hoots of laughter drifted ghostly through the walls. Then the doors rattled twice, and silence seethed.

“They change until they stay the same,” Jules said, too self-assured for someone sylphing on a strange bedspread with dirty feet. “And they’ll stay until they go away. Right about when Ava stops making them feel safe.”

“With –?”

“With her social nets and her two-story house and her dual income,” Jules said, sitting upright. He was all the sudden blank-faced, voice poisonous, and she wondered automatically if his mother had been calling him late in the night. “With her sex gear she commissions from me. With the soothing atmosphere that Carmen interior designs, that Robin cleans, and the fucking homemade meals with the kitchen aide that only Deanna knows how to use. And you want me to think she’s this red-hot all-natural Madonna? You know better.”

Jules was rumpled beyond repair. He wore a tank top she’d gifted for his 27th birthday. It had ITALIAN FILLY printed on the front, and already the letters were starting to peel. He glared. Lux questioned the sincerity of his anger, if he only played it up because he noticed she was too sad to dig up anger herself, anger she felt all the time when she was perfectly alone, but she decided she was too pleased being noticed at all. Maybe in half an hour, she’d be happy enough to preen.

She got up and went to him on the bed and he sat up like a human being so she could clap his face in her hands. But he wasn’t done yet.

“She’s only a woman because she’s surrounded by one hundred sycophants who let her be one,” he sneered, and she felt the little muscles in his jaw. “Sisterhood is powerful!”

She slapped him on the mouth, but only a little bit. “What does that make me?” She asked, houseless, sycophant-less, suspicious her only sisters were biological.

“A woman who doesn’t need her yeast infections to remind her that she’s a woman.” He squirmed in her grip, for her enjoyment only, and his face reddened where it usually got red, close to the ears before it began to band his big nose. It was almost enough to make her forget she was only attracted to him when he was worn down to a nub of exhaustion. Usually, he was belly-up on the floor, with one arm thrown over his eyes, and one of his wrists in his carpal tunnel brace. Something about that brace lit her ass on fire. It made her want to pull down the blinds and eat him alive through his armpit. “Are we going to do something horrible to this bedspread or what?”

“Close your eyes.” He had an insane habit of kissing with his eyes open, and even she, the honorable first girl who’d ever fucked him, hadn’t trained him out of it. “Close your eyes,” he countered, and pulled the zipper on the back of her skirt so he could pull out her turtleneck out of her waist. It jammed. They struggled.

“Suck it in,” he ordered thoughtlessly, and the second she pulled in a deep breath she every inch of him sprang, alert, into a frenzy she couldn’t understand. He caught her around the waist and rolled them both off the bed and into the space between the wall and the gap where the bedclothes hung. She was just about to shriek at him when she heard bare feet pat-pat outside the bedroom door. Jules swept her under the bed (you could stack three bodies on top of each other, under there) and followed her himself just as the door opened.

Lux curled into a little ball. Jules elected to lay flat like a tapeworm.

A woman’s voice cooed. Lux waited. Doom squeezed her heart. But the voice wasn’t Ava’s.

“Sugar-pants, sugar-pants,” the voice caroled sweetly.

Then she saw the bare feet tip-tapping over the carpet, and she clocked the voice as Evangeline’s. She had freed the cat from the bathroom, and presumably held it in her arms, sweet-talking it. Lux dared to roll over to face Jules. He pinched his nose shut against a sneeze.

“I know baby, fluffy-baby,” Evey said. The desk chair scraped when she settled down into it. “You don’t like it in there. I know. I know. No huggle-wuggles for baby in there. You’re claustrophobic. So am I! Ugh!”

Evey gagged. She sobbed wretchedly for five whole minutes (Lux counted). The cat’s purr reached torrential volumes of pleasure. Near the end she reached for Jules’s hand, and they lay, foreheads together, too shy to look each other in the eye as Evey opened a drawer somewhere for tissues and was paralyzed by an attack of hiccups. Lux had to put all her muscle into not echoing her in sympathy.

Evey muttered to herself. “I’m claustrophobic, so I can’t let Her put me in the bag. If I can’t go in the bag, then I don’t get a poem.”

Click. Tap. Click. The drawer shutting. The lights of the makeup mirror turning off.

“I don’t get a poem,” Evey asserted. “I don’t get a poem.” And lower – “I’m not allowed to have a poem. I can’t have a poem. Or a tattoo.”

The cat gurgled.

Evey fled, down the hall, where a door slammed. Then, as if to fix the breach of discipline, the door opened again, and was closed so quietly Lux wasn’t sure it was closed at all.

She and Jules waited, then parted and unearthed themselves on either side of the bed. Jules zipped her skirt and together they patted down the bedspread. He had the faraway look in his eye he usually had when he was thinking about pattern-drafting and Lux replayed in her brain Evey’s Ugh! She wondered if one of her clients had ever gone home, away from her, looked in their bathroom mirror, stuck out their tongue and gone Ugh!

“Come on,” Jules said. The cat, abandoned again, eyed him from the desk chair. “Let’s go down and pay our respects to King Tut.”

And to the cat: “What the fuck are you looking at?”

If he’d acted smug at having his cynicism proven, she might have hit him for real. She’d hit him for real – which in their shared experience, meant purely out of anger – twice. The first time he’d deserved it. The second time he punished her, said she hit like a nelly fag and blocked her phone number for a month. Then he reemerged as swiftly as he’d removed himself, but pointedly, with an uncharacteristically physically proximate boyfriend who lasted exactly three months. She considered that his way of informing her she had been on probation.

“I’m lonely,” she said, because that was the problem.

“I’m literally right here, idiot.”

But when they reached the staircase the noise of the swelling party in the kitchen reached their ears. They decided to go down separately, for the sake of modesty, and Jules went first. He kissed her ear, conciliatory, and she watched the high yoke of his shoulders descend until she was alone again.

Who needed it, she thought, the fifteen-dollar candles and the floors constructed so they do not have to be waxed, the fleet of morose women and the sexless men? Years ago, she’d walked into Jules’s squalid, long-gone basement apartment with a frayed leather harness and been shocked at the sight of the missing Analise Petro sleeping on his futon. Split by her own precarious position in Ava’s club at the time, she’d whipped out her phone, as if to rat them both out then and there. Jules never even looked up from the dress form he was taping.

He asked: What do you give a cunt to convince her a community matter is a private matter?

He clipped off the tape with scissors longer than his hand.

A house!

Lux wanted a house. She wanted to jam her hooks into a hunk with big delts, and huge tits, and chain him up under the bed, somebody the opposite of Jules in every way, and she wanted to bake a successful quiche and she wanted, most of all, her and her sisters’ beloved childhood mutt Chessie, who had leapt off the family pontoon one 4th of July weekend on Indian Lake to his idiot death, to be revived and come trotting up the staircase and into her arms, panting with joy, not because he had been resurrected, but because he loved her best of all.

#the end! no moral #like 4000 words of overworked bitches being grim at parties im trying to ride this wave of suckage out #SAFEWORLD

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tazzytypes · 4 years

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Apocalypse: Sanctuary - Chapter 14

Hey guys! Thank you so much for being patient with me as I work to keep this story going. Between work and school my schedule is completely booked so finding time to sit down and write can be hard. As always, thank you for all the likes and comments. They really make my day and I get super excited when I see those notifications on my phone.

Read more on AO3 or see the Masterpost for more chapters!

Emily stood dutifully with her “sister witches” in the salon of the subterranean boy’s school, glancing here and there. She was desperately trying to read the room. Tension was high, but no one cared to explain why. Instead, she felt like a toddler watching her parents get a divorce without the needed schema to even understand marriage

God, she missed college. At least there, things were actually explained to her. All Cordelia said was they were here to perform a ritual of the Seven Wonders. The name sounded familiar, but other than that, she knew nothing.

What she did know was that the Hawthorne School for Exceptional Young Men was the counterpart to Robichaux. Why they separated the coven based upon gender alone was… perplexing. Emily imagined prestige had something to do with it, a concept that made her roll her eyes at the sheer absurdity of it all.

Emily had never been to California. One of her friends had moved there after high school, but they weren’t particularly close and the contact between them was now non-existent. It wasn’t as if she could reach out to the girl — duty being what it was and the fact that they were now in the least hospitable place in the entire state.

It was a pity, Emily hoped she would have at least seen the beach or LA. More to say she had than out of actual desire.

She looked up as Myrtle shimmied beside them, keys in hand. Quietly, she bestowed them upon the group — first Zoe, then Queenie, and finally Madison and herself.

“We’ll be doubling up in the broom closets they call rooms,” Myrtle said, keeping her voice low. “Make sure you check the sheets before you lay down.”

She spared a pointed look at Madison, “and don’t go about wandering in the night. God knows what these little perverts will do.”

Madison stood with her arms across her chest, an unconvincing smile more a smirk than anything else. She leaned forward and flashed a grin. “Just because I get more than anyone else in this coven doesn’t mean I don’t have standards.”

Myrtle smiled in a way that made the blonde frown and turned back to the center of the room where Ariel and Cordelia were still talking logistics. The Seven Wonders required careful planning. With the stakes being life or death, there was no room for even the smallest of errors. They also had to assure that the greasy little weasels weren’t cheating them out of their throne.

Madison leaned in towards Queenie, eyes flickering from the boy wonder.

“I have dibs,” she said.

A brow shot up Queenie’s forehead, “On what, bitch?”

“The bed.”

“Girl. I am not sharing a room with you.”

Madison turned to Zoe. The brunette’s eyes were trained ahead, purposefully not meeting Madison’s eyes. The ex-movie star rolled her eyes which came to settle on Emily. She shook the key with a painted “6” on the fob.

“Looks like we’re bunk buddies.”

Emily spoke before she could think, “Joy.”

“Whatever.”

Across the room, Michael watched Emily. He didn’t stare, but blue eyes frequently dashed to the girl. She stood stoically a few steps away from her sister witches with a stern expression on her face. As soon as she was brought into the light, however, it disappeared. Furrowed brows relaxed with the rest of her expression, only to return as it was but a moment before.

Her companions seemed not to notice, treating her as a bumbling and anxious thing. No, this girl was but a cat waiting to pounce from the shadows.

Emily’s eyes dashed to his as she felt his stare. For a moment they locked eyes, but she quickly averted her gaze and focused on anything but him. He watched a moment longer.

Madison whispered something and she rolled her eyes, but a blush crawled up her neck. Her eyes flickered back to him, but he quickly turned his attention to the conversation at hand.

Days before, all Emily had been able to glean from her conversation with Cordelia was that this important ritual would determine who the next Supreme would be… whatever that meant.

For all the useless information the others had given her, they did not explain what the Seven Wonders entailed. “You’ll see,” was the closest she had gotten to a response.

Either way, Cordelia wanted her help. What she could help with, she wasn’t quite sure. The witches seemed to find pleasure in keeping things vague.

Thus, long story short: Emily was in an underground all-boys boarding school doing occult shit straight out of a Steven King novel.

Green eyes flickered to a nearby bookshelf, her eyes trailing over the titles instinctively. Most of them were old, books having that rough binding with wrinkled spines that only came from constant use and gold inlaid titles. There was one, however, with no name.

Looking about, she carefully made her way over to the shelf. It wasn’t far from where she was standing — a few feet at most. Gently, she eased the large weathered tome into her arms, balancing it upon her hip as if it were a child.

It was a grimoire written in Latin. It was the one subject she had made traction in, reassuring her whenever she couldn’t conjure small objects to her hand or make butterflies out of roses.

That being said, she was far from fluent. Some words and basic sentences popped out at her, but beyond that was incomprehensible. Emily wished she had her pile of references with her. It would at least give her something to do while the adults tackled the issues at hand.

“Finis venit,” she muttered under her breath, eyes narrowed as she read the handwritten note on the inside cover of the book, “ante initium.”

The end comes before the beginning?

A burning sensation in her hands nearly made her drop the tome with what would no doubt have been a very loud, attention-drawing thud. Biting her lip to keep from crying out, she eased the book back to its place.

Her eyes darted around the room as she shuffled away from the bookcase. No one seemed to notice her faux pas, too engrossed in their own thoughts and tasks. Eventually, her gaze was drawn to the blonde boy who stood next to Ariel, Hawthorne’s headmaster. His hands were positioned behind his back, fist clenching as he continued to pay attention to the discussion before him.

Glancing back to her hands, she found a small circular burn mark around her right middle finger. Red irritation bloomed brightly upon her skin but quickly faded into nothing.

“God, I need a cigarette,” Madison whined beside her, crossing her arms and leaning back on the wall. Bored, her eyes trailed back to her new Sabrina. “Why are you here, anyway?”

“Cordelia asked me to come.”

Madison scoffed, “What does she want you to do? Throw up on them?”

“Who the fuck knows,” Emily said with a sigh. The reaction gained her a small, cheeky smile from the blonde. The amusement didn’t last long.

“If you know you’re not a witch, why the hell do you even stay here?”

“Cordelia thinks I have potential.”

“Ha!” Madison said, “What a load of crock.”

Queenie rolled her eyes as she stood beside the two, Madison sandwiched between the human voodoo doll and the powerless newbie.

“Can you stop being a bitch for, like, five seconds?” Queenie snapped at the blonde.

“Whatcha’ gonna’ do? Kill me?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

A small smirk crawled onto Emily’s lips at the banter, but quickly vanished the second she felt Madison glance towards her. From across the room, Michael couldn’t help but be amused at the scene. He did his best to hide a smirk of his own, covering it with a hand in an attempt to save face.

Madison rolled her eyes and scoffed before shuffling away from the pair to put as much distance between them. Emily glanced at Queenie and they both snickered.

“Like I said,” Queenie said, “I got you, girl.”

“I’d hate to be on your bad side.”

“Damn straight.”

Emily pushed off the wall and stood a little straighter as she noticed Cordelia turn. The warlocks retreated to their side of the room save for Ariel and the curly-haired angel. Green eyes met blue and the two simply stared at each other for a long moment before diverting their attention back to the reigning supreme.

There was something about that boy… something Emily couldn’t quite place.

“Today we take part in an ancient ritual used by our coven for generations,” Cordelia spoke, “The new must be ushered in and the old ushered out to maintain the strength of our coven.”

Finally, she turned to the boy-wonder, “Are you ready to take on this momentous task.”

“I am.”

Emily jumped as a loud chorus of cheers erupted above them, boys stomping their feet and yelling as loud as they knew how. She forced her eyes back on her headmistress and tried to quiet her racing heart.

Cordelia didn’t look pleased, everyone else too preoccupied with the noise to notice. It was a slight difference: the near imperceivable furrow of the brow and thinning of the lips.

Her eyes then trailed to the boy. He was smiling up at the crowd, basking in their adoration. It was a genuine smile — not the one he had shown when they first arrived.

The rowdy boys were quickly silenced with a well-aimed look of their headmaster. Emily could hear the shuffling of feet above her head as they skittered off into the halls, leaving the room feeling tense and lifeless.

“Like little roaches,” she heard Myrtle whisper to Zoe. The girl’s response was drowned out by the voice of their headmistress.

“Let the test of the Seven Wonders begin!”

***

The Seven Wonders was a test of seven magical talents… or at least that is what Emily observed.

Telekinesis was the first wonder, an easy enough skill for those who could actually use their magic. She felt a surge of jealousy at that thought. It was easy for Cordelia to say magical talent didn’t matter when she had more than Emily could hope to possess.

Michael held up his hand and a book crossed the room as if it had a mind of its own. The grimoire was a heavy tome in her arms, but the boy made it look as light as a feather.

He opened it to the first page, brows furrowing as he read the hand-scribed dedication. Closing the book, he looked to Ariel. The man was grinning ear to ear, clapping the boy on the back and praising him for a job well done.

“This is but the first test,” Cordelia reminded, voice stern, “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

The fair-haired woman turned to Michael, “The next test is Concilium. Control the minds of someone in this room.”

That wording did nothing to ease the tension in Emily’s body. She quite liked being in control of her own thoughts and actions. The thought of someone being able to override her autonomy at will made her palms sweat.

Emily didn’t know what to expect until Madison and Zoe started dancing at random. Their faces betrayed their true feelings, Michael’s powers not strong enough to make the pair like one other. A small smile flickered to Emily’s lips at the frowns carved into their faces, but it quickly vanished when she felt the boy’s eyes on her.

They danced and danced and danced some more in a silent room. If not for the circumstances it may have been poetic. The strings of the puppet-master were far too visible, their bodies too stiff. It made her skin crawl.

Just as the dance ended, Emily felt a sudden presence behind her followed by a feather-light tap on her shoulder. Her hair stood on end and a shiver ran up her spine. Hands instinctively curled into fists which swung back towards the sudden presence.

The problem with instinct was that your body moved before your mind could decide to. Her fist was mere inches from his face when she finally realized what she was doing. Michael’s hand swung out to block the blow, fingers curling around her hand as he caught the punch mid-air. Emily’s heart was racing in her chest and the boy-wonder could feel her heartbeat through her hand.

Power flickered through the air. Michael feeling like he was on the other end of an electrical shock. Gently, he let her hand go and it pulled back to her side as if his touch was fire.

“Careful,” He warned, a crooked smile curling at his lips. Emily’s eyes narrowed ever slightly. “You’ll end up giving someone a black eye.”

Emily’s eyes narrowed ever slightly, biting back a retort. If someone didn’t want a black eye, they shouldn’t sneak up on others. She was tempted to throw the other fist… but she doubted her headmistress would approve.

“You have conquered transmutation,” Cordelia noted, the pair turning back to the current supreme. Michael stepped back from her charge with the expression of a content cat. The Supreme’s frown was more prominent now, her eyes filled with annoyance she could no longer hide. “Now it is time for you to conquer the next task.”

She spared a glance at Ariel who stood beside her. He beamed at his student, looking to the woman beside him with an air of smug contempt. He was comically shorter than the woman, but her own expression did nothing to squash his silent gloating.

“One of your mentors has hidden something in this room. Find it using divination.”

Michael stepped around Emily, the girl taking a step away from him as he made his way towards the blonde woman. Stopping before her, he held out a hand palm-up. After a moment, Cordelia placed a dozen or so runes and bones into his hand.

Turning on his heel and taking a few deliberate steps, Michael crouched in front of the fire. He tossed the objects onto the floor. Emily stared at them, trying to sense their meaning. She had read tarot cards before — accurate readings, too… or so her friends had said. Runes and bones, however, were another beast entirely.

The bookshelf. Her own thought startled her as if she had heard another’s voice inside her head. She watched Michael’s eyes flicker up to one of the many bookshelves.

Then he was gone, vanishing into thin air. Emily moved closer to the wall, hairs standing on end once more. The next thing she knew, the boy-wonder was standing next to his headmaster who jumped as a hand was placed on his shoulder.

“I believe this is yours,” Michael said to the man. Ariel grinned and laughed, patting the boy on the back as he took back his pocket watch.

With every task, Cordelia’s mood soured. Anyone outside of Robichaux wouldn’t have been able to tell the slight difference in her demeanor. Her posture straightened into a thin line, her eyes growing sharper and sharper until her gaze could cut stone.

Pyrokinesis and Vitalum Vitalis. Michael made them look easy. Flames roared when drops of his blood hit the wick of a candle. He made a mouse come back alive after snapping his neck.

The latter disturbed Emily more than the former. Emily realized she had never seen anything die before. She’d experienced death, naturally — old pets and family members passing to the other side. There was something about the sharp cracking of tiny bones accompanied by a shrill shriek that made all her hairs stand on end. Her body buzzed and she felt a momentary pressure on her forehead.

Zoe turned at the sudden snap of power which echoed through the room. Emily stared at the sight before her, her eyes distant. It unnerved Zoe, the way the other girl stared. It felt like a black void had curled around Emily.

The second the mouse was brought back to life, the spell which entranced the woman broke. Clarity came back to Emily’s eyes and she finally felt the presence of eyes upon her. Zoe averted her gaze, pretending she had seen nothing.

“And so, we arrive at the final test,” Cordelia announced, “Descensum.”

Slowly, Michael’s hands came to rest behind his back. The more wonders he accomplished, the more contempt he held. Cordelia worried what his plans for the coven were. There was something about that boy that sat her on edge.

Her eyes flickered to Emily for but a moment, watching her whisper something to Queenie. Green eyes widened at the senior witch’s response.

Emily’s attention darted between the line of witches now standing before the fire. Queenie had chosen to stay with the younger witch to explain what was going on.

“What’s Decensum?” Emily asked

“To prove you are the next supreme, you have to go to hell.”

“Hell?”

“I didn’t believe it at first, either.” Queenie said, “but, then again, I’m a human voodoo doll so anything is possible.”

Emily’s lips twisted as she took in the information, trying to decide how she felt about the concept of hell existing. She had never been a particularly religious person… agnostic at best. It was an existential conundrum — one existing thus implying the other did as well.

Closing off her thoughts, Emily forced herself to save the existentialism for after their little trip. Hopefully, by then she would forget about it entirely.

Cordelia’s voice pulled them from their whispered conversation. Their headmistress’s voice rang loud and clear throughout the room, demanding attention.

“But today I am not asking you to perform this wonder,” The Supreme continued, dragging her eyes back to Michael, “I am asking you to conquer it.”

Emily’s eyes flickered back to Queenie as she shifted to her other foot, eyes narrowed at her supreme and brows furrowed.

“What is she doing?” Queenie muttered. Emily pulled her eyes away from her companion and looked to the scene before her. The wizards shifted uncomfortably, lips pressing into thin lines. Emily’s eyes then settled back on Cordelia.

“I’d like you to retrieve my dear friend, Misty Day,” the blonde woman continued, “who lost her own battle with this very task.”

“That’s impossible!” one of the warlock’s snapped, an African American man — Behold — dressed to impress in the same black color they all donned. “Those who don’t return from Decensum are gone forever; property of the underworld.

“But even Orpheus was able to challenge Hades to bring back Eurydice,” Emily muttered. She felt eyes upon her, but when she looked to the boy-wonder his attention was solely on Cordelia.

Queenie spared the girl a glance, “What was that?”

Emily slowly removed her eyes from Michael, “Nothing.”

““No other Supreme’s been made to do this, ever. This is not only unfair,” Another wizard — Baldwin — noted, angry eyes encased by thick-rimmed glasses, “this is suicide!”

Cordelia cut them off with ease, “Which is why I offer a compromise.”

The Supreme looked to Emily expectantly. The brunette glanced about the room, unsure of what was coming. Finally, after a good moment, she stepped out of the shadows. Cordelia offered her a reassuring smile as Emily came to stop by her side. She could feel the warlock’s eyes on her and she found herself focusing on the floor after meeting their gaze.

“Emily is a catalyst,” Cordelia explained to the warlocks. “One of the strongest I have ever seen. While she has yet to show any magical ability, we have found that others of our kind can tap into her magic and use it to power their own.”

“This is sabotage!” Baldwin said, his pose reminding Emily of a hungry wolf. What was Cordelia thinking? She wasn’t ready for this. She didn’t want this. She didn’t—

“Michael will need all the help he can get,” Cordelia reminded.

All this while, Ariel had been quietly fuming. He should have known the witches would try and undermine the alpha. Jaw clenched and expression sour, he did his best to keep his cool.

“Enough.” He said, head turning to his fellow warlocks before his gaze returned to the blonde witch, “Cordelia—”

Cordelia’s head cocked ever slightly to the side, waiting for him to speak.

“I need a word.” He finally concluded, words rushing past his lips. Cordelia simply nodded, and he led the way back into the shadow-filled halls of Hawthorne.

***

“You’re changing the rules!” Ariel exclaimed, voice rising and anger taking the forefront as soon as they were out of earshot. He paced back and forth in his office, trying to contain his rage. “Michael should only have to descend as you did!”

Cordelia stood calmly at the center of the room, poised with her hands resting in front of her. Her stillness was unsettling… more similar to a snake than a woman. It only served to anger Ariel more, waving his hands as he talked just to keep from imploding.

“You didn’t see what I saw,” the woman noted, voice stern and unwavering. Stubborn. Just like her mother. “Our world hangs in the balance. There is darkness coming and, if Michael is going to be the one who leads, us he needs to be able to withstand anything.”

Ariel stopped in his tracks.

“Bullshit.”

Cordelia’s gaze was as cutting as a knife, her hushed tone betraying her surprise, “excuse me?”

“I saw you drop. I know what’s really happening here.” Ariel said, satisfied as Cordelia’s face fell into a frown. “You’re fading, but you’re afraid to let go.”

“And you’ve hit a wall. Grand Chancellor is as far as you’re going to get,” Cordelia spat, “You and your powers have reached their limit. Your kingdom will only just be this hole in the ground.”

Ariel sputtered, unable to find a single retort. The woman was a scorpion and she was more than ready to sting him with her tail.

“Unless, of course,” She continued, “you use Michael to extend your influence.”

“This is pathetic — accusing me to cover your blatant attempt at his life. I won’t lose that kid over some sad, futile cling to power.”

“I’ll remind you that I am also risking one of my own girls in this venture.”

“An inexperienced whelp!”

“Who has more untapped potential than you can ever dream to have!” Cordelia snapped, “You may insult me, but I will not let you insult one of my girls.”

“But you would send her to her death… What a supreme you are.”

“You actually believe I am trying to get them killed?”

Ariel took a step towards the woman, then another, “What I think, Cordelia, is that you are your mother’s daughter, who I knew fairly well. You may come with a kinder facade, but deep down, you’re nothing more than a weak, frightened woman… just like Fiona.”

He watched as Cordelia’s eyes betrayed her fear, her insecurity. Ariel had hit the pressure point, the Achilles heel. Cordelia’s sad eyes hardened, her own rage boiling in her belly.

“With a flick of my finger, I could crush your larynx and tear it from your throat.” Cordelia warned, “Do not think for one second I am weak. I have humored you men, and coddled your fragile egos, but in no way does that mean you actually have a say.”

The woman took a step towards the man, forcing him to step back in turn. “I outrank you. I can destroy you. So, I suggest you fall in line because I am still your Supreme.”

A creaking interrupted them, their eyes trailing to the door which now stood open. Michael stood, doors moving without his touch. His hands sat behind his back with a solemn and resolute expression.

He locked gazes with Cordelia. There was something about his eyes that made her hair stand on end. He looked human, but his eyes seemed off and his presence made her stomach churn.

“It’s okay,” he said, “I’ll get your friend back.”

***

The warlocks and witches had divided themselves in opposite corners of the room, leaving Emily to stand aimlessly in front of the fire. Their whispering was a roaring sea in her ears, an annoying buzz to a mosquito she couldn’t squash. She found her head quirking just to free her ears from the sound.

Sparing a glance at the warlocks, she was met with narrowed and sharp glances. Baldwin spared a look in her direction before turning back to Behold to whisper something. They turned their backs so she wouldn’t read their lips.

The gaze of her fellow witches was less than reassuring, themselves whispering about the circumstances just as the warlocks. Zoe looked up and the younger witch quickly averted her gaze. Cordelia’s announcement blind-sided them all. Emily had always said she was going to go to hell… she just never expected it to come this soon.

“Cordelia’s sending her to her death!” She heard Madison hiss.

“Keep your voice down, bitch!” Queenie responded, slapping the girl’s arm before they also turned to keep Emily from hearing their conversation.

With a sigh, the brunette turned her gaze back to the fire. Curling her arms around herself, she stared into the flickering flames. Fire had always comforted her, its warmth and snapping flames. She could stare at it for hours, trying to make meaning out of the chaos.

Higher, she commanded in her mind, watching a single flame sputter higher before returning to its place. When she was small, she’d amuse herself for hours with the instances of coincidence, commanding waves to rise or wind to howl and pretending she had any control over it.

It was the silence Emily noticed first. It pulled her from her mulling like ice water poured over her head. Slowly she turned to find Michael standing behind her. He watched her eyes dilate at his sudden presence before returning back to normal, allowing him to watch the colors of her hazel eyes switch ever slightly. The girl practically vibrated with anxiety.

“Cordelia says you are a catalyst.”

“Try a charger hit with lightning,” Emily noted with a scoff. Michael’s head turned slightly to the side, analyzing her response. The gusto behind her words quickly faded, hand moving to fret with her bracelet. “Or… at least, I’ve been told.”

Holding out a hand, he watched it as she regarded it. Eyes once wide in doe-like fear narrowed into calculating pinpricks. Blue eyes stared at her, judging which piece in the puzzle she was. She didn’t look him in the eyes for very long.

“Shall we?” Michael asked.

Hesitantly, her hand rose from her side and her eyes flickered to his face. She was searching for something. Neither of them knew what, but whatever she saw was satisfactory enough for her to place her hand in his own.

Emily had never been one for physical contact. Her high-school years had been spent perfecting the art of walking down a crowded hall without brushing a single arm. Michael’s hand was warm, somewhere between natural and unnatural. It was as if the boy had a fever.

Her hand, in contrast, was unnaturally cold. Her fingers were like ice against his flesh and twitched slightly at the contact.

“Tell me what I need to do.”

“Just focus on my words,” He told her, true meaning lingering in the air.

And don’t mess up.

***

Emily’s nose itched and her head buzzed, but she did her best to ignore it. It was as if there were a hundred bees in her body, all batting their wings at once. She had yet to get used to the infrequent thrumming of her bones.

The silence was oppressive, sounds of breathing and footsteps more akin to howling wing and roaring thunder. Cordelia knelt beside them, muttering spells as she slowly wound a ribbon to connect Emily’s hands with Michael’s.

When she looked up to the warlocks, they were whispering one another. As before, they shielded their faces from view, glancing back at Cordelia every few seconds.

Emily found herself speaking before she could think, the monotonous silence far too overwhelming, “So which underworld do you have to conquer?”

Michael’s voice was somewhere between bored and annoyed.

“Does it really matter?”

“I mean… different religions have different tales — Greek, Christian, Egyptian — it changes based upon the culture.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about that, dear,” Myrtle spoke with a small chuckle. She did not even try to mask her contempt of the boy. “it’s all semantics.”

“Until you have to have Anubis weigh your heart,” Emily muttered to herself. A smile flickered to Michael’s face and left just as quickly.

The boy-wonder laid on the floor, his head in Emily’s lap. Her hands were placed on his chest where his arms crossed like he was buried in a casket. His golden hair tickled her arm. She could feel his eyes on her, but she refused to look at him.

What did Cordelia expect her to do? Even if she was a catalyst, she couldn’t control that power. Emily’s hands felt clammy in boy-wonder’s. Suddenly the ribbon felt itchy and his hands too warm.

Apparently, the binding was supposed to channel her magic into his own. Emily just thought it made her look stupid. Cordelia gave her a reassuring smile as she finished tying off the brunette’s right hand. Touching the girl’s cheek, the Supreme pretended Emily’s jaw wasn’t tense beneath her fingers.

The coven gathered, standing around the pair. They were like giants, looming over them. Emily was less than pleased about having someone at her back. Michael felt her fingers twitch against his own.

“Ready?” Michael asked the girl, forcing her to finally meet her gaze. Emily nodded and his eyes looked past her and towards the ceiling.

“Repeat after me,” He told her, “and focus on the words.”

“Got it,” Emily said, voice barely louder than a whisper.

“Deduce me in tenebris vita ad extremum,” He began to chant, “ut salutaret inferi.”

“Dedice me in tenebris,” she repeated, doing her best to put weight behind every word, “vita ad extremum…”

“Decensum.” They spoke in unison.

Myrtle stood by Cordelia, a hand on the woman’s shoulder as the blonde fretted at her necklace. Emily would alright, she reasoned. The transfer of power did not mean she would be lost to the underworld forever.

The rest of the witches looked towards their fellow sisters. Eyes shifted between their companions and the girl on the floor, gaging their reaction to what was occurring before them.

“Deduce me in tenebris vita ad extremum,” Emily continued to mutter, Michael’s voice already falling silent as he descended. Her brows were furrowed in concentration, hands squeezing the boy’s. “ut salutaret—”

Her breath left her like a sigh. With a dull thump, Emily fell limp to the floor. Her body curled around Michael’s head; hands still outstretched towards his. The rope that bound them together burned until it was ash. Their hands were still connected, holding onto each other as if their lives depended upon it.

Zoe lurched forward instinctively, a spell already on her lips. Cordelia’s hand shot out, her arm keeping the other woman from taking another step.

“No,” she said, voice betraying her concern, “we must not interfere.”

“She’s not ready for this!” Madison said, rounding the group so Cordelia was forced to look her in the eye. The ex-movie star gestured towards the sleeping girl. “She can’t even make a flower change colors and you expect her to find her way out of hell?”

Cordelia was less than impressed with her student’s reaction.

“You underestimate her power.”

“And what would that be?” Ariel demanded, voice raised and hands clenched to fists at his sides. The Supreme could feel his eyes boring into the side of her face.

Slowly, Cordelia turned to regard him.

“Emily’s power is entangled between this dimensions and the next,” she said, trying to convey her urgency with every word. It was getting hard to keep her anger from overflowing. “A rare gift. There is no one more suited to this task than her.”

Brown eyes flickered to the slumbering girl, her body lacking its previous tensions. It was the calmest Cordelia had ever seen her. A small, proud smile claiming her lips.

“When she is finally able to pull that power into the waking world,” Cordelia noted, eyes boring into Ariel’s like a knife, “she will be a force to be reckoned with.”

#michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon x oc

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notarelationship · 5 years

Text

In A Minute

Klaine Fic - In A Minute

Summary: AU. Kurt’s a bit clumsy, and Blaine needs a boyfriend in a hurry. What more do you want? Words: ~2500 Chapters: 1/? Warnings: none

AO3: Ch 1

I’m shooting for weekly updates. Faster if I can get ahead. Will get it up on AO3 soon-ish. Thanks as always to @honeysucklepink for the speedy beta!

“Okay, so you stick the order tickets to this revolving caddy, and the grill cook will pick them up and set everything here on the pickup counter.”

Kurt nodded. It was his first day at the diner and the assistant day manager – a gorgeous brunette named Santana, who swore under her breath in Spanish every time she walked through the swinging doors that led to the kitchen area, was showing him around the various stations that he had to master. Kurt had worked at the local coffee shop back in Ohio, but the diner was definitely bigger, and there were more things to forget.

“Busboys will handle clearing the tables and lay out the cutlery and fresh napkins. All customers get water when they sit down along with their menus – Denny doesn’t like to wait for people to ask, he thinks it sets this greasy spoon apart from every other roach buffet in the city.” Santana shrugged with one shoulder, clearly expressing her doubt that anything about the diner was special. “Whatever, he’s not a terrible boss and he’s pretty flexible with the schedule since everyone here is a performer. If you need time just get someone to cover your shift and write it on the swap board. Everyone wants time off and everyone needs money. It usually works out.” Kurt thought she was done talking, but she went on. “And once you're up to speed be prepared to take on a few shifts for me. I've got three commercial auditions next week.”

Kurt nodded again. There was no way he’d remember everything she had just told him.

“Anything else I need to know?” Kurt asked.

“Nah,” she said, popping her gum. “You shadow me today and if it’s not too busy you can take some orders later.”

Kurt followed Santana for a couple of tables, and it didn’t seem too difficult. It might take him a couple of days to learn all of the nicknames they had for various menu items, but he was used to memorizing dialogue, so he was pretty sure he would get it. He learned the various stations quickly, and how to cut the right size of cake or pie without giving away too much, but enough to satisfy the customers. Santana taught him how to keep the coffee pots fresh and full, because they served a lot of NYU students and they could get really unruly if they had to wait for their caffeine fix. After a couple hours he even managed to stay out of the way of the busboys as they moved around clearing tables, making himself virtually invisible.

By the time the evening rush rolled in, Kurt knew the particular way the line cook liked to be asked to speed up an order (that did not result in delivering the completely wrong item to the customer), and he could restock the napkins and refill the ketchup and the salt shakers without incident.

After three days he was sure he was going to be fired.

Kurt Hummel was a klutz. He dropped silverware, tripped on the smooth tiled floors of the diner, and once, during the breakfast rush on his third day at the job, tipped a customer’s Lumberjack Combo Breakfast Platter just a little too much to the left, depositing it in the lap of said lumberjack’s dining partner.

“You psych yourself out.” Santana expertly slid three breakfast plates along one arm, and pick up a fourth with her free hand, as she gave her version of a pep talk. “I’ve been watching you Kurt. You know what to do, you just try to do it all at once instead of taking it one plate at a time.”

Kurt shook his head. “I don’t know San, maybe I just have butterfingers.”

Santana nodded at two plates still sitting on the line. “Grab those two plates and follow me,” she said with a flip of her ponytail, heading over to a booth with an intimidating number of attractive guys who all looked about Kurt’s age.

“What’s it gonna take to get you to go out with me?” One of the boys teased. Santana set plates of food in front of four of them, then carefully took both plates that Kurt was holding and set them neatly in front of the rest.

“You’ve still got too much penis for me, champ.” Santana’s colorful language rarely shocked Kurt, but he wasn’t used to hearing her use it with paying customers. “Don’t worry, they’re regulars,” Santana said, somehow winking at the entire table as six jocks burst into giggles. “And fellas, I’m training a newbie, so I expect you all to behave. This is Kurt.” She gave a squeeze to one of Kurt’s shoulder. “Let him know if you need anything else, allright?”

They were wearing matching yellow shirts and shorts, so Kurt assumed they were on some sort of a sports team. In high school this would have set off warning bells for Kurt, but these guys didn’t seem that dangerous, and they had giggled when Santana said penis, not two minutes earlier.

“Big game?” he asked, trying to steal some of the ease Santana had with the group.

The boys mumbled among themselves and Kurt could just make out the words ‘not really’ and ‘just a practice.’

“Okay, well, just flag me down if you need anything else,” he said, taking his awkward with him back to the kitchen.

Twenty minutes later he was making the rounds, refilling water glasses, when Santana’s table flagged him down.

“Refills?” he asked, when he reached the table. The boys all nodded, pushing their glasses to the center of the table so Kurt could reach them easier. Kurt took a breath to steady himself, then reached over with the pitcher, pouring water into all five glasses with only a little splashing onto the table, but nothing too egregious. As he was pouring, Kurt noticed that a few of the boys had cleaned their plates, so he offered to take them.

Everything after that was a blur. He needed to set the pitcher down in order to stack the platters, but didn’t realize until too late that when he set the pitcher down, he set it directly onto a fork; the pitcher wobbled and dumped its ice cold contents all over the lap of the boy sitting nearest to Kurt, who let out a strangled screech.

“Oh shit! I mean shoot! Shit - let me - oh my god.” Kurt scrambled to grab some napkins off of the empty booth next door, and Santana, no doubt attracted by the familiar noises that followed butterfingers, arrived in seconds with a dry rag and a handful of fresh paper towels.

“Jesus Kurt, again?” Santana went to mop up the lap of the wettest boy, then smirked and seemed to think better of it. “Here short stack, you can dab your own crotch.” The boy squirmed a little, but took the napkins and attempted to dry himself off.

“It’s fine - it’s, the pitcher was almost empty,” the boy tried not to make a big deal out of it. He didn’t seem to be mad - at least, he wasn’t yelling at Kurt, which made him possibly the best customer Kurt had had since he’d started, but the boy was clearly uncomfortable, and Kurt could see the huge wet puddle dripping from where the excess water had pooled on the seat between his legs before puddling onto the floor. Kurt shuddered in sympathy. “Really don’t worry about it, it’s just water,” the boy said again. “And I need to go hit the showers anyway.” He tried to give Kurt a sympathetic smile, but Kurt thought he just looked uncomfortable.

“Please, let me comp your meal - all of your meals.” He looked around the table at the boys, but they all protested.

“You really don’t have to, Blaine needed to cool off,” one said

“Yeah, he scored three goals on me this afternoon, if you hadn’t dumped water all over him I probably would have.” They all laughed at that.

“How about dessert?” Kurt offered. “Coffee and pie on me?”

“How about next time? For the pie?” It was the boy Kurt had spilled on, Blaine, and with everything calming down, Kurt took a minute to look at him. His face was turned up toward kurt, and for a brief second Kurt lost his breath. Sure, he was wet, and a little dirty from whatever sport they’d been playing, but his eyes were beautiful, and he was smiling at Kurt in the most sincere way. “We come here all the time, there’ll be other chances for you to make it up to us.” He finished with a quiet smile, and Kurt had to force himself to look away.

“Okay,” Kurt collected himself. “If you promise you’ll come back.” They all promised, and Kurt left them to get their check.

“Santana!” Kurt wailed when he was back in the kitchen.

“Eh, don’t worry about it. They really are here all the time and I’m sure they don’t want to be annoying. Besides,” she added, “I think the little one you poured the water on has a crush on you.”

Kurt scoffed.

“Don’t laugh, maybe he gets off on having things spilled on him.” Kurt rolled his eyes, and brought them their check before disappearing quickly back into the kitchen.

After they had left and he was clearing their table, he discovered a tip far greater than the 10-15% customers usually left, along with a note written on a dry napkin.

Realy don’t worry about it, accidents happen. I promise to take you up on that pie - Blaine.

Kurt folded up the note, and stuck it in his apron pocket, and grinned all the way back to the kitchen.

“Hey Hummel, your shift is over in ten, why don’t you cut out early.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, Brittany’s already here, and it’s Tuesday. It’ll be a quiet night.” Santana was talking to him, but she only had eyes for his replacement. Kurt wasn’t sure they had something going on, but he was sure Santana was open to the idea.

“Okay,” he said brightly. “If you insist.” He washed up as best he could, grabbed his bag from the staff coat closet, and with a wave and a promise to be back the next day for the breakfast shift, he headed home.

Kurt stepped out of the restaurant, breathing in the sights, sounds and smells of the New York spring. New York didn’t always smell great, anyone would agree, but there were occasionally times when it smelled so New York that it was pleasant by association. Tonight was one of those nights.

After a few moments Kurt sighed, and began making a mental list of all of the things be needed to be working on, starting with his scene for his French new wave plays class. It would be better if they’d let him do it in French.

After turning right at the corner, Kurt dodged the light crowd that was starting to gather, as the city shifted from people rushing home from work to people heading out to meet friends and socialize at a much more leisurely pace.

He hadn’t gone more than ten paces before he noticed a familiar figure standing in a doorway. Away from the pedestrian traffic. In the twilight it took him a few long blinks to realize that it was Blaine.

Kurt started to say hi, then realized Blaine was on his phone, as he held up one finger with a somewhat pleading look. Kurt thought meant that Blaine wanted him to wait, so he stopped, and couldn’t help but overhear the end of Blaine’s conversation.

“Yep, yes. Of course I have time, yes, yes I’ll bring him, if he doesn’t have to work-“ Blaine looked at Kurt and grimaced. “Friday night, yes Mother. Love you too. And Dad of course.” Blaine was silent, obviously listening, but nodding along and looking as though he were experiencing slightly more than mild gas pains. After a few more moments he hung up. “Kurt!”

“Um, you weren’t out here waiting for me, I hope.” Kurt chuckled nervously. “No why would you be.” Blaine had said he was fine, but maybe he wanted to exact some revenge for the ice lap? Weirder things had happened on the streets of New York, Kurt knew.

“No! No, um,” Blaine fidgeted a little, then pointed at his phone. “My mom called.”

Kurt had no idea where this conversation was going, but Blaine was certainly cute when he was nervous, or at least when he seemed nervous.

“That’s nice?” Kurt asked, but Blaine looked mildly pained, so Kurt went on. “And I am so sorry, about the water -” Kurt waved his hand in a circle in the direction of Blaine’s crotch, but then thought better of it, stopping with a nervous laugh. “If there’s anything I can do to make it up to you.”

Blaine’s eyebrows did an adorable furrowing, and he finally said something. “Actually, um, there might be?”

Kurt perked up. He would really like to unload some of this guilt over the spill.��

“Anything. Well, most things, probably. I don’t think I could do a hit on anyone.” Blaine looked confused. “Kill someone?”

“Oh, oh nothing like that.” Blaine paused. “I need a date.”

“Oh.” That was not what Kurt expected. “Oh?”

“Actually, I need a boyfriend. On very short notice.”

“A boyfriend?”

Blaine nodded, then looked horrified. “Oh my god, I mean, I don’t want to assume, that’s terrible - bad Blaine - I guess I was maybe hoping, when I saw you come around the corner. You don’t even have to be gay! All I need is someone to go out to dinner with me and my parents and pretend to be my boyfriend. No extras required.”

Even his scattered thought process was a little adorable.

“Wait. You need a pretend boyfriend to have dinner with your parents? Don’t gay guys usually need fake girlfriends?”

Blaine laughed. “Probably, but my parents know I’m gay, they’re fine about it, mostly -“ his face darkened for the briefest of moments, “but they keep trying to fix me up with this guy whose parents go to their country club, and I just wanted them to stop so I told them I was in a relationship. And now they’re going to be here this weekend and they want to meet you.” Blaine shook his head and sputtered, his eyes wide in surprise. “Him! My boyfriend.” Blaine sighed and dropped his arms to his sides. “That I don’t have.”

Kurt took a second to really look at Blaine. He was definitely cute, and definitely gay, and while he looked a little rumpled and sweaty now, Kurt could imagine him cleaning up quite nicely. And also it was just for an evening. Kurt would definitely be helping him out, so he could stop feeling guilty about dumping the water on him.

“Nice restaurant?”

Blaine laughed. “Oh, definitely. My parents are the epitome of snooty rich people. It’ll be whatever the hottest place to be this week is.”

“Snooty rich parents and a free meal? I’m in.” Kurt grinned.

“That’s great Kurt, thank you.” Blaine took out his phone and handed it to Kurt. “Put in your number and I’ll send you all the details. I really appreciate this. You have no idea.”

“Let’s talk tomorrow. You can fill me in on anything I need to know about you then.”

#In a Minute #klaine fanfiction #klaine fic

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cat-lover-300 · 5 years

Text

Things I overheard during track season.

These are all the dumb quotes from my time with the track team. I apologize in advance for the cursing and the overall dumbness.

“I will come to your house and steal all of your left shoes.”

“Y’all I just stabbed a worm” “WTF JIMMY.”

“I thought my mom left the house because she was going to get me food, but she came back with a whole new car. She was like ‘So, you you like it?’ And I was like ‘where’s the food tho?”

“She smell like some greasy ass lays.”

“In the weight room* LETS GET THIS BREAD” “AHHHHHHHHH”

“THATS NOT A FETISH.”

*Gets a tiny scratch on her leg* “GREAT, NOW I GOTTA GET MY LEG AMPUTATED.”

“Melissa’s dead.” “Well, aren’t you in an unfortunate predicament right now.”

“Y’all, if I don’t get crawfish within the next week, I am going to kill someone.”

“Do y’all remember when bass pro had a sonic? Times were so much easier back then.”

“Y’all make me wanna take a tall glass of vodka and down it”

“What are we doing here?” “I don’t know, why am I alive?”

“Oh my lord, they building him a hairline.”

“Are you ready for the meet?” “Gurl, I rolled out of bed 5 minutes ago.”

“I can’t get wifi, I live too far away.” “Then move bitch, chop chop.”

“My laundry detergent smells like beer.”

“I would throw my rice crispy at you, if I wasn’t gonna eat it.”

“Baby, honey, you so fuckin ugly.”

“How long is that book?” “Like, a half a donut.”

“I don’t know what’s going on, but I keep spraying perfume in my mouth.”

“I stole this FOR the school, y’all.”

“MOMO” “YEE YEE” (this happened on multiple occasions)

“Your eyes are so small you could use denim floss as a blindfold.”

“The older I get, the more I want Pringle’s.”

“O fuck.” “NO CUSSING” “YE YE BITCH”

“FUCK YA CHICKEN STRIPS” *on the phone quietly* “see I’m trying to give people good advice.”

“It stuck upside down bro” “what the fuck”

“The fuck is growing on that.” “Idk bro, aspestes.”

“Do you know geometry?” “Hell nah gurl” “ahhhhhhh shit.”

*climbing in a locker* “this is why you so damn slow.”

“OH MY GOD KEMIRA DIED.” “Nah fam she just went into that room.” “NO SHES DEAD.”

“FUCK YOUR TOE.” “FUCK your chicken strips” “you mother fucker.”

“You look like Bart Simpson.”

(In the distance) “OH SHIT.” *loud crash*

“Jeremy scared me.” “Is it because I’m black?” “BITCH IM BLACK TOO.”

“I really like this guy, he’s sweet and funny and just...” *glances down at messages* *looks back up* “Men are fucking disgusting and I hate all of them.”

“Hello Snapchat, I’m working hard, as usual.”

“SO YOU THE ONE USING ALL THE GLUE. BITCH.”

“If you hit me and I die, it’s okay.”

“They gonna bring some expensive liquor and shit, and I’m gonna be over here with wine in a bag.”

“Are those sonic shorts?”

“Boy why you walkin around like you on the country bayou.”

“Where my car keys at?” “The same place my chips went, bitch.” “YOU ATE THEM?”

“Are we doing any athletic activities today? Because I’m seriously debating putting on my crocs.”

“Pee now or forever hold your piss.”

“One time my brother got his truck stuck in the mud, so I had to get the lawnmower to pull him out.”

“I’ve never seen an ugly Mexican baby”

“if you were a stripper, people would only throw Monopoly money at you.”

“Your ass gonna reincarnate as a roach.”

“TURN THAT GRASS SHIT OFF.” “THATS CRICKETS DUMBASS.”

*pulls a family size bag of chips out of his pocket* *another kid stares* “I ain’t sharing bitch.”

“Yeah you was sniffing markers in your sleep, you may be a little bit high.”

“If I die by chocolate cake, I will consider my life a success.”

“Y’all know me, I can do my who-ra’s from Facebook.” “That was the lamest sentence I have ever heard.”

“I wanna be albino” “The fuck”

“We a ghetto-smart school, bitch. We won’t hesitate to kick your ass in the parking lot and win the literary rally.”

“First of all, they done sat up here and gave me a t-Rex foot.”

“Man, I need to stop doing crack, I keep seeing stuff.”

“Let me get on your neck” “No gurl, this ain’t basketball season”

"My farts smell like them flowers... From the angel garden... From that, damn, what's that called?" "The garden of Eden?" "yas, that bitch."

"Thats why I don't go in the sun. I'm already Black as hell, I ain't trying to be a wakandan color."

#funny #track #sports #hilarious #funny quotes

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inexorableblob · 4 years

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Play the Game

So I used last week’s prompt of Golden Decay from @flashfictionfridayofficial to come up with some leftover french fries, and while I could say that the story I had originally was interesting, eventually it evolved into this, which I think is better, if scarier.

WC: 1015

TW: I don’t want to spoil anyone, because that’s the surprise, but I do want you to go into this with fair warning, it’s got a love potion in it.

I was alone. I didn’t like it. All by myself.

Just me, stuck in my own head, without a soul for company.

Not a place I wanted to be.

At least I had something in my mouth.

Wasn’t the best thing I’d ever had between my lips, but it kept me occupied.

Stale and limp fries, no longer crisp and warm. Without even a bit of ketchup to put on them.

All that was left in the room for me to eat, and I devoured them eagerly. I was hungry.

Last night had left me drained and in need of sustenance to recuperate. Anything. Even greasy lard-coated starches. My stomach rebelled at the meagerness of the offering, but I stuffed them down anyway.

It’s amazing what a little desperation will do for motivation. Doesn’t matter if it’s quiet or loud, if you’re on the edge, right on the precipice, and danger is right behind you, when it comes to the moment you’ll jump, whether you can swim or not.

Mother always said you’ll only know what you’ll do when you don’t have good choices.

When all that’s left is the bad choices you’ve made and the consequences of them.

That’s when you learn to live with yourself. And the things you’ll do.

At least I wasn’t tempted to raid the minibar. There wasn’t one. Couldn’t even turn on the television unless I wanted to watch the local broadcasts. In Black and White. The shower barely trickled. I could barely stand to drink it, let alone wash myself with it.

This motel room lacked amenities. Not exactly a presidential suite.

Just a dump in a roach trap.

There wasn’t even a view out the window, just a brick wall with another window in it. I suppose somebody could have gotten a little show last night. Things had been intense, and there wasn’t a curtain. They could have seen everything, and I wouldn’t have noticed or cared.

To be honest, I doubt I would have cared even if they’d been in the room. I might not have cared if they’d joined us.

I’d say we’d made a mess, but that would have been redundant, the place had already been trashed. The bedframe creaked with every move, and that was without putting a quarter in the slot. I wasn’t even sure when the linens had last been washed, and if the mattress wasn’t as old as I was, I’d be surprised. Not that I was going to check. I preferred the illusion.

Some things you’re better off not knowing. The little mysteries of life that are worth savoring, keep those secrets from yourself as long as you can. It’s hard when you finally open your eyes and start to see. Truth doesn’t always set you free.

The last of the fries left me unsated. I even licked the bag, just to get the remnants of the salt that had gotten stuck in the crevices. Pathetic.

Get any worse, and I’ll start looking for the bugs infesting this place. At least they’d be fresh, and I’d be doing the owners a favor. Yeah, that’s a reason not to do it. Wasn’t even a working ice machine in the place.

Not that I wanted to leave the room to go and get any ice, but still, it’s a courtesy, you get a bucket, you fill it up with ice, you enjoy the whole experience. Otherwise, why not just sleep on the streets?

At least we would have saved money.

The sound of a key rattling in the door startled me. I grabbed the knife off the table, it wasn’t much, but I wanted to be ready just in case I had to protect myself. There was a good chance somebody had already been murdered in this room, I was not in the mood to be a victim of another crime.

At least if some menacing stranger walked in the door, I could make a fight of it, struggle to resist, somehow protect myself from the harm they wanted to do to me. I could save myself.

Fortunately, the person who walked through the door was who I wanted to see, the boy, no man, he was a man now, I’d made sure of it, the man who made me smile. Every bit of my yearning ache went away. Finally, I had what I needed. Who I needed.

“Morning babe,” he said, his voice the sound I wanted to hear, a music in my ears, and I went to hug him, to embrace him, wrapping my legs around his waist as I jumped on him, I needed to feel him again, the touch of his skin against mine, I needed to smell him, the scent he had was like catnip for me. Exhilarating. I practically shoved my tongue down his throat trying to taste him again. I needed the thrill.

I wanted him. I’d had him, every bit of him and I kept on wanting more.

“Well, I guess somebody is eager to see me, isn’t she?” he asked as he pulled me off his torso, putting me down, letting me sink to the carpet on my bare knees. I didn’t care about the filth I was sitting on, just being in his presence was enough to make me giddy.

“Yes, I’ve been waiting for you to come back, I didn’t leave, like you told me, I just stayed here and waited for you. I was a good girl, right?” I answered, begging for affection like a lonely little puppy.

“Yes, you’re a good girl, you don’t need another dose of your medicine, do you?” he said while running his fingers through my hair.

No, I didn’t. I wouldn’t have needed one anyway, Mother wanted me to do this, expected me to follow orders, and I would. But the potion made me enjoy every bit of it.

I craved him, and I liked it. No matter how much it hurt. How much I hurt. No matter what I did.

That’s the power of love.

Even if it comes in a potion.

#tw: abuse #tw: sex #chosen supervision #morgan

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norsefenrir-blog · 7 years

Text

rats & moles // self-para

“ELVIRA!”

Fenrir’s roar cut down the shadowed hall like a knife cutting through flesh, sending several heads turning in his direction. Ignoring them, Fenrir practically streaked past them in long, powerful strides. There was fire in his eyes and eagerness in his smile. Finally, finally something interesting was happening - a real, bonafide hunt rather than endless minutes of ripping answers from someone’s throat. That was easy. When someone’s life was threatened, information came flowing out of their mouth like water gushing from a fountain. When someone ran… when someone thought they could fucking outsmart him in a basic game of cat and mouse? The wolf in him howled with joy as he turned another corner, his senses going into overdrive - his nose was practically crying out in victory. He’d been right about the smell of this place - there were vermin mixed in with the vermin. Rats among the already sniveling, power hungry roaches. Fenrir knew he hadn’t the most superior intelligence in the world, nor the most level-headed mind, but his instincts had been right once again - and that was what made him so lethal.

Looking back, something hadn’t been right - no, something hadn’t smelled right. Fenrir had sensed it from the moment he’d first stepped into The Ministry of Magic, waves of irritation washing over him like dark, inky water from head to toe. Yet he’d shoved the feeling down - as he did most things - assuming it was his simple distaste for the cockroaches who crawled around in the bowels of Britain’s magical center of government. Little had he known, that particular smell of vermin wasn’t the norm. In retrospect, he should’ve known almost immediately — something that now made the wick of his temper ignite in an explosion of anger. Up to that point, the hours had been painfully ticking by, each chime of the clock making his annoyance rear more and more of it’s head. Once again, he’d been dragged by the scruff of his goddamn neck into the place - despite how he’d acted the last time he’d been invited. The werewolf couldn’t help but smile at the memory of all the blood and the horrified faces of the outer circle whom he’d been assigned to babysit - he remembered the flicker in the eyes of then-new Guin’s eyes even better. How delicious that had been - one of the first things that had sparked his strange interest in her.

But the wistful smile soon faded, replaced with a thin line of aggravation as he shoved his hand into his pocket and drew out a toothpick, grumbling a string of nasty words as he did. Smoking - fucking damnit, he missed smoking. Cigarettes, cigars — Fenrir shoved it between his teeth and tried to dispel the craving as he opened a door at the end of the hall with a might crack. Damn the little bird with her long legs and platinum hair. Damn that he couldn’t have a fucking cigarette without it resulting in those damned puppy dog eyes and pouted bottom lip.

“Damn woman,” Fenrir muttered as he strode into the the… where the hell was he now? War had lost his way several times in the dark and dismal place, if only because he cared little about remembering the layout. His amber-like eyes grazed around the bustling room, sliding over employees — the Muggle-born Registration Department, a sign on someone’s desk read — shuffling papers and jotting down onto parchment with giant, curling black quills. Several paused to look at him nervously, though that was nothing new - unlike several of the children whom he’d spoken to during his travels from one boring interrogation to the next, they knew who he was and knew the reputation that came with him. They fucking feared him - so when one chubby looking man at the back of the room didn’t turn around to even acknowledge his presence, his eyebrow jutted up in question. Fenrir’s head had tilted to the side in a predatory manner, toothpick twitching between his lips as he rolled it between his teeth. Lazily, he stalked forward, though came to a standstill when the man reached into his pocket and drew out a potion bottle from his coat pocket with shaking fingers. Fenrir nearly looked away — a mere fraction of a second before he did, he noticed a bubble roll across the man’s skin. He lifted the potion to his lips, but sneezed at the last moment.

The blue-glass bottle went shattering into the floor, and that other vermin smell poured into his nose like tar.

Fenrir’s eyebrows shot up as he watched the man squeak, bubbles rising and falling beneath his skin as he skrunk a foot and lost the beer belly that had practically been spilling out of his trousers. The greasy, slimy looking employee melted into a kid no older than seventeen. Fenrir’s wand was in his hand in a flash, raised as he began to bellow “Impe-” only to have the spell interrupted and shoot out of his hand as his gaze snapped to a tall girl with cut-short raven hair. She barreled into the now-boy in his drooping suit, flicked her wand, and sent a burst of blue light in his direction. Fenrir had practically howled, deflecting the the attack, only to have to block several more in rapid succession. By the time he’d blocked the last of the attacks, she and the boy had vanished. The werewolf shoved his body into a bookshelf in a fit of rage as he shot back towards the exit, shoving it over and sending a flock of employees screaming. And that was how he had discovered the rats in his basement, under his nose, and his day turned for awful to down right entertaining.

After calling out for Lady Death, only to gain no response, Fenrir took matters into his own paws. The werewolf’s hulking frame moved like lightning into the central chamber of the Ministry, leering down at the mingling witches and wizards below. A sick, twisted smile curled onto his already Cheshire lips, flashing his sharpened canines. As he snarled, his eyes narrowed down at the slimey crowd of ministry workers as he hissed a brisk Sonorous before jabbing his wand into the side of his neck and all but roared his next words. “Which one of you idiotic fucks let The Order in?!” The crowds froze and fell silent. When no one answered him, the terrifying smile twisted again and grew wider on his face.

“Let me be more specific, aye?” He paused a moment, before thrusting the wand back against the column of his throat a second time. “WHO’S ABOUT TO HAVE THEIR FUCKING HEAD TAKEN OFF THEIR FUCKING SHOULDERS?!”

#self-para: rats and moles #event: self para #event02 #event: infiltrating the ministry

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thesnootyushers · 7 years

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As season 11 of Trailer Park Boys lands on Netflix, here’s my attempt at launching at a British version.

Trailer Park Boys returns for it’s 11th season today on Netflix. It is hugely popular around the world despite its very humble beginnings. It starts out as a documentary following Julian and Ricky as they get out of prison and attempt to go straight. They move back to the trailer park they have lived their whole lives, and the wacky characters of the park have made for a great comedy series eer since. After coming to an end on traditional TV, the three main actors (JP Tremblay, Robb Wells, and Mike Smith) kept the show going through a series of films, before launching Swearnet, their own produciton company and online network. They bought the rights to the Trailer Park Boys and have gone about making the franchise bigger than ever, having teamed up with Netflix to produce live specials, and even recently did a series with their characters touring Europe, which featured Noel Fielding in the first episode. They also regularly appear in character on chat shows, and there is a whole bunch of content on Swearnet featuring various cast members of TPB.

And with their international success, why not try to produce a British version?

Bear with me Bubbles, I think it would look a little something like this…

Julian (John Paul Tremblay ) to be played by …. ANDREW LINCOLN

Julian takes the lead in most of the boys schemes, and at times he is even moderately successful, before his loyalty to his friends and trailer park, the law, or sheer bad luck usually end up with him back at square one. He has gone legit a few times, running a bar/club/casino, and also various illegal plans such as a clean urine business. He is also the one who invited the cameras into the trailer park for the first time. As nominally the straight man in the trio, there were a few names that came to mind in a British version, including Martin Freeman, Ben Miller, and of course Idris Elba, because he should be in everything. None of them had the greasy edge that Julian has, until I thought of Andrew Lincoln. Although now a superstar due to The Walking Dead, his role in Teachers showed that he can do comedy drama, and obviously Egg in This Life wasn’t a totally straight role. And look at that picture of him in a black T-short and jeans – a bit more tricep meat and he’s perfect!

Ricky (Robb Wells) to be played by …. NICK FROST

Ricky is, simply put, an idiot. Rickyisms are one of the highlights of the show (“Make like a tree and f*** off”, “Looks like we need two turnips and heat” and “Don’t judge a cover of a book by its look” are some of my favourites), and I just think Nick Frost would be great at delivering them. He would also be brilliant with the physical comedy, as Ricky is constantly falling over:

A natural Ricky!

Bubbles (Mike Smith) to be played by …. MACKENZIE CROOK

And so onto the breakout, and most difficult to cast, character. Bubbles started out as an odd neighbour, but over time has grown into being the heart of the show. He lives in a small shed and is devoted to his kitties, as well as being a budding singer. In turn, actor Mike Smith seems to be the most natural performer when it comes to the live shows. Although I toyed with the idea of Peter Kay or Steve Coogan doing a comedy character similar to a young Leonard the paper boy or Duncan Thickett. Or Marek Larwood from We Are Klang, to try and match Bubbles heer weirdness. But when it comes to oddball characters, giving it a British twist is what we do best, and I can’t think of anyone who would capture Bubbles’ nervous, naive nature than Mackenzie Crook. And in the same way that Gareth Keenan was originally a totally different character before Crook auditioned and won the role, Bubbles would be slightly tweaked by retain the spirit of the original character. Plus Crook is sublime in BBC Four’s The Detectorists, alongside the great Toby Jones.

Jim Lahey (John Dunsworth) to be played by …. JIM BROADBENT

The supporting characters in Trailer Park Boys are much more complex than in most comedy shows. Jim Fahey is the Trailer Park supervisor, an ex-police officer, with a serious drink problem. At the beginning of the series he is a comedic foil for the boys, almost like Officer Dibble in Top Cat, but later he goes on the offensive to try and get rid of Julian, Ricky, and Bubbles. He has season long arcs, and a love story for the ages with Randy. There were a whole bunch of slightly older British actors I considered. Paul Whitehous, Timothy Spall or Mark Heap. But there’s a underlying tragedy to Mr Lahey, and I think that Jim Broadbent would be fantastic in this role. He has a background in comedy, and one of his most recent roles, as James McAvoy’s therapist in Filth, shows that he isn’t afraid to get weird when required.

Randy (Patrick Roach) to be played by …. JOHNNY VEGAS

Randy is the Assistant Supervisor at the Trailer Park for most of the show, occasionally holding different positions depending on the whims of the owners. At one time in their younger days he was friendly with Julian, Bubbles, and especially Ricky, but now he is on the side of law and order, helping Lahey to thwart the boys. He is also truly in love with Mr Lahey. There was only really one choice for the role of the shirtless, cheeseburger-eating, rotund Randy – Johnny Vegas.

Sarah (Sarah Dunsmore) to be played by… JESSICA HYNES

Onto the female characters. Sarah has got the measure of the boys, never taking any of their nonsense and with almost no romantic entanglement to cloud her judgement. She is also far more successful than Julian when it comes to planning and executing schemes – Trailer Park Girls would be a much different show! Jessica Hynes is a comedy great – she was one of the highlights of my Christmas countdown with her star turn in Nativity 2 – and as a smart woman trapped by her circumstances, she would be perfect. She’s also grown beyond her role as Daisy in Spaced, but I reckon we could work in one reference with her and Nick Frost, and someone else later on…

Lucy (Lucy Decoutere) to be played by… SHARON HORGAN

Another smart, confident woman who is held back by one thing – although with Lucy it is her love of Ricky that keeps dragging her back to him. She knows that she deserves better than him, but she loves him so they always end up back together. Although Horgan has made her name with starring roles in comedies like BBC Three’s Pulling and more recently Catastrophe which has been picked up by Netflix. This has led to her new show Divorce getting picked up on HBO, starring Sarah Jessica Parker and Thomas Haden Church. This would be a great role for her to just be a comedy actor though, a bit like when Chris Morris was in the first series of The IT Crowd.

Barb Lahey (Shelley Thompson) to be played by… JULIA DAVIS

Barb is the owner of the Trailer Park, and the wife of Jim. She also has a bit of a dark edge to her, being ready to act in her own self-interest and sell the park to anyone with the money. Julia Davis would be great to be involved, stuff like Nighty Night and Hunterby more than shows her comedy chops. I also see Barb as a young woman being impressed by dashing police officer Jim Lahey before he lost his job and fell into his spiral of self destruction, so that is why she is so much younger than Jim Broadbent. This would also help her bond with Lucy and Sarah, who I’ve always thought more of as an older sister rather than a mother figure.

J-Roc (Jonathan Torrens) to be played by …. SIMON PEGG

J Roc is the trailer parks’ resident wannabe rapper. He has a million and one catchphrases that have evolved over the course of the show,“maafk”. For the equivalent version in Britain I needed a very British comedian with a love of hip hop – so why not Simon Pegg? I reckon we could shoehorn in ONE Spaced reference with the Tim, Daisy, and Mike reunion.

Cyrus (Bernard Robichaud) to be played by …. JASON STATHAM

You didn’t think I could get through this without The Stath, did you? Cyrus is the inept faux gangster/pimp/tough guy who is the Boys main criminal antagonist. I’ve not recast everyone in the series, but Cyrus would be the big bad over the course of the first season of my British version of Trailer Park Boys.

Sebastian Bach (Sebastian Bach) to be played by …. BRUCE DICKINSON

Rockstar Sebastian Bach plays a recurring role in Trailer Park Boys, and a British reboot would need someone of a similar stature. Iron Maiden front man Bruce Dickinson could get involved with a drug distribution scheme either with his band on tour or with his own jet (he’s got a pilot’s licence).

Cory and Trevor (Cory Bowles and Michael Jackson) to be played by… DANIEL RADCLIFFE and RUPERT GRINT

Cory and Trevor are basically used by Ricky and Julian as a supply of cheap labour and free cigarettes. They are basically included in the plans to be ready-made scapegoats and take the rap when things naturally go wrong. So why not get the boys from Harry Potter back together?

But where is it set?

Sunnyvale, Nova Scotia to be replace by… BRIDLINGTON, YORKSHIRE!

In this country, we don’t really have “trailer parks” on the same scale of North America, so it has to be a seaside resort. Bridlington it is!

And that’s it for my British version of Trailer Park Boys. I’d like to thank our Senior Wrestling Correspondent Jonny Hogarth for his help as a sounding board to bounce my ideas off with this article, as I mentioned throughout there really were a a lot of names in the mix. What other shows would you like to see remade in a British setting?

So, what do you think now, Bubbles?

That’s all I ever wanted to hear.

Until next time, stay gold Ponyboy, stay gold. See you soonish.

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Fan Cast – Trailer Park Boys: The British Version As season 11 of Trailer Park Boys lands on Netflix, here's my attempt at launching at a British version.

#british netflix #canada #Netflix #tpb #trailer park boys #trailer park boys britain #trailer park boys uk #uk netflix

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shostakobitchh · 7 years

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I'm LOVING the one shots so much I didn't know about them before and they made my day!! You are such a great writer whaaat! My fav is the latest one with Ariel trying to take care of Severus! I love seeing how new Severus is to being loved! Could u do one where lil Ariel yells and attacks a group of students for talking badly about Snape. And then when he confronts her about why she did that she won't tell him at first because she wants to protect his feelings from getting hurt awww

Thank YoU so MuCH I’m sorry this is so late after you sent this in but I wanted to get this one right! Ariel is 8 here. x

She was mostly definitely in trouble.

Ariel had gauged that she was at least a four out of ten on the How Mad Will Severus Be scale, but now, she was closer to a six. He’d allowed her to walk back to the dungeons alone from dinner, but she’d gotten distracted by a ghost she’d never seen before floating up the stairs. Naturally, Ariel had to follow it, but now, she was very lost, and probably doomed. Her father was never going to let her go anywhere by herself ever again, after this. She’d thought she knew the castle better than this, but it turned out that the castle was more than just the Great Hall, the Astronomy Tower, and the dungeons.

Or maybe Ariel would end up wandering for eternity, like the ghost she’d tried to chase after. She’d been very pretty, and young, and troubled looking. Ariel had wanted to ask her what was wrong, but she’d disappeared, leaving Ariel alone in the corridor.

Either way, Severus was bound to be angry.

When Ariel finally heard voices, she let out a sigh of relief, and felt a twinge of excitement. Her father never let students talk to her – not that Ariel was out much while school was in session – but this was an added… bonus, she supposed, of wandering Hogwarts at night, by herself.

(She added another point to the How Mad Will Severus Be scale, putting her at a dangerous seven)

“ – thought it wasn’t too bad. What about you, Ernie?”

“Eh, it was alright.”

“Well I thought it was ridiculous.”

There were three distinctly different voices – two boys, and one girl. Ariel hurried after them, grinning when she saw their backs heading down the corridor, away from her. There robes were blue – Ravenclaws.

“Oi!” She called after them.

They whirled around, looking extremely confused as Ariel jogged towards them. The girl was very tall with blonde hair and baby-blue eyes, while the two boys were brunettes, though one was shorter with tan skin and a crooked nose, the other with freckles and a face that reminded Ariel of a bulldog.

“Can you help me?” Ariel tried to make herself taller by rolling on her toes, but it wasn’t working. “I’m a bit lost.”

“Sweet Circe!” Blondie said. “You’re Ariel Potter!”

“Is it?” Bulldog squinted, blinking in shock as his gaze landed on her scar. “Merlin, it is!”

“What’s Ariel Potter doing up here?”

Ariel didn’t like being spoken about as if she weren’t there. “Ariel Potter is lost and needs to find her d – I mean, Professor Snape.”

“Snape?” Crooked Nose made a face. “Why him?”

Ariel crossed her arms. “Cuz that’s where I’m supposed to go.”

“Greasy git.” Bulldog muttered. “Sorry, kid. That really blows.”

Ariel didn’t know what that meant, but she certainly knew that she didn’t like the tone he was using when talking about Severus.

“C’mon, kid, I’ll take you back.” Blondie put an arm around her shoulder and began leading her away.

“Ugly bastard.” Bulldog said once her back was turned, as though not seeing him made it so Ariel couldn’t hear him. “Why do you reckon he has her? Do you think he’s watching her as a favor for Dumbledore?”

“I dunno – poor girl.”

“A galleon says he makes her sleep in a coffin.”

She whirled around. “What’d you say?”

Bulldog’s eyes widened, exchanging a look with Crooked Nose. Smiles spread over their faces, then, and Blondie gave an exasperated sigh.

“Leave her alone, you guys.” She said. “She’s a kid – don’t scare her.”

“Don’t you know?” Crooked Nose said. “Snape’s a vampire.”

“That’s not funny, Klaus –”

Ariel didn’t hear the rest of what Blondie said – her brain had clicked off.

“Take that back.” Ariel said.

Two pairs of eyebrows hit two foreheads.

“But it’s the truth.” Bulldog said. “Us Ravenclaws – we’ve talked about if Snape works here because the rest of the vampires think he’s too ugly to keep around.”

“Hey!” Blondie cried, startled, as Ariel grabbed her wand out of her hand.

“I said take it back!” She yelled. “It’s not true!”

Crooked Nose hooted with laughter. “You’ve done it now – you’ve pissed off the Chosen One!”

“I’m not afraid of her!” Bulldog shot back, though he was eyeing the wand trained on him warily. “She’s just a little kid –”

Ariel flicked her wrist, a Stinging Hex hitting him in the shoulder. It was a small one – Severus had taught it to her this past summer. Bulldog cried out, his eyes narrowing. “Why you little –”

He reached into his robes –

There were a mass of black in front of her, then, and a very familiar, very scary voice speaking to Bulldog and Crooked Nose.

“Mr Gallagher,” Her father purred. “I thought I just saw something rather strange – were you just about to point your wand at a child?”

Blondie gulped to her left – Ariel wished she could’ve seen their faces.

“N-no, sir!” Bulldog’s voice squeaked. “She was just… I was only gonna disarm her! She took Betsy’s wand and Hexed us!”

“Disarm a child?” Severus asked softly – the hair on the back of Ariel’s neck rose. “Tell me, Mr Gallagher – would it have been impossible for you to simply have grabbed it from her?”

“I s-suppose not, sir, but –”

“And I’m sure Miss Potter had a very good reason to steal another student’s wand.” Her father turned, then – his face was very smooth, but his eyes were glittering dangerously.

Ariel opened her mouth to tell him what they’d said, and how angry it had made her, because she’d never heard someone talk badly about Severus, not ever, but when Ariel glanced at the students, they suddenly looked like they were trying to hide smirks.

She didn’t want to… tell him what they’d said… about him being ugly… or a vampire…

Ariel shook her head, instead. She stared at the floor, wringing Blondie’s wand in her hands.

Her father was silent for a long pause. “Are you telling me you assaulted a student and stole another’s wand unprovoked, Miss Potter?”

“Yes.” Ariel could hear her voice wobble. She peeked up at the Ravenclaws, finding them exchanging incredulous looks.

More silence.

“Very well – give Miss Jones her wand back.” Severus ordered in a flat voice. “Now.”

Ariel hung her head as she handed the girl back her wand – she didn’t look up at her.

“Ten points from Ravenclaw.” Severus snapped at them as he grabbed Ariel’s arm. “for loitering. Now go to your dormitories before I find an excuse to put you all in detention for the next month.”

They scattered like roaches exposed to light. The How Mad Will Severus Be scale was flashing red lights – Ariel had successfully broken it.

“You,” Ariel looked up at her father’s face, menace dripping from it. “are not so lucky.”

Severus was not sure why, but his daughter was lying.

Ariel had never lied to him before, because it was a silent understanding between them that Ariel could never deceive him. She started talking with one glare from him – spying was not an option in her future. Lily had been the same way.

“Sit down.” He snapped at her as soon as the were through the threshold of his quarters. She was very pale, and trembling, but Severus ignored it, wanting to get to the bottom of her erratic behavior.

Ariel sat down in one of the chairs facing his desk – he grabbed it and spun it around. Her eyes doubled in size, and her bottom lip began to shake. The tears were going to come either way – Severus fucking hated tears, but they were a necessary evil in situations such as these.

“First you wander off after I gave you explicit instructions to go straight back here.” Severus grabbed her chin roughly, forcing her eyes to meet his. “And then I find you brawling in the middle of a corridor you should have been nowhere near – what the hell is wrong with you? Where did you get it in your thick skull that this kind of behavior is in any way acceptable?”

“S’not.” Ariel whispered. “M’sorry.”

An instant apology? No – this was not normal Ariel behavior. She screamed back and defended her case, which was most times, surprisingly well for a nine-year-old. She never cowered.

Severus straightened up, perplexed. He was sure anger would’ve snapped her out of it and made the truth come gushing out of her, but instead, Ariel seemed to be trying to become smaller and smaller.

“Stop that.” He said. “Bloody hell, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I know, Daddy.” Ariel said, lifting her eyes to meet his. She sniffled, wiping at her face as the first of the tears began to spill over.

“Ariel,” Severus bent down. “what happened? Why did you Hex those boys?”

“I just attacked them.” She toed the floor.

Severus raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “You attacked three students, years beyond your own age and capabilities, just because you…” he inclined his head, prompting her to finish the sentence.

“Nothing.” Her voice was very small. “I just… did.”

This was either very alarming, or a very poorly put-together lie, and Severus was inclined to believe the latter. Ariel was not a sadist, nor did she possess a past of randomly harming other wizards. While it was true she had an explosive temper, simply attacking students unprovoked was not… normal.

She wanted him to believe she was completely at fault… but why?

“Did they say something to you?” Severus tried to soften his voice.

Ariel shook her head.

“Did they make fun of you?”

She whimpered – he was getting close, but she continued to shake her head.

“Did they… say something that upset you?”

Ariel didn’t move – he’d struck a chord. She looked like she was about to go to pieces. If they hadn’t teased her, then that meant…

Ah – yes. Gallagher and Conway had an innate talent for gossip – the Ravenclaws had reportedly been performing analysis’ on all the professors for some years. They’d apparently done a study last year on Minerva last term, and how many hairballs she produced depending on how much time she spent as a cat. Severus knew they called him a greasy git, dungeon bat – worse. He didn’t give a fuck, because they were all inarticulate little pustules, but it had obviously upset Ariel a great deal.

And he’d made her cry because of it. Shit. Why hadn’t she just said they’d been talking badly about him, then? Severus would’ve given them two weeks worth of detention with Filch and docked fifty points, walking away with a spring in his step.

“Ariel,” Severus tapped her cheek with his fingertips. “I know what you’re not telling me. Why are you protecting them?”

Her dark eyes snapped up to his. “I’m n-not… I t-told you…”

“Do you really think I don’t hear what the students say?” Severus sighed. “Child, I can handle a few brats insulting me. It’s something every professor deals with.”

Her eyes widened, and then, filled to the brim with fresh tears. It hit him like a thunderbolt – Ariel wasn’t protecting them, she was trying to protect him.

As Ariel burst out sobbing, Severus lifted her out of the chair so that he was now sitting, the girl in his lap. He stroked her hair, shushing her as he felt his guilty conscience gnawing away at his skull. The girl had only been defending him… and he’d shouted at her for it.

He was such a fucking idiot.

“This is ridiculous,” He growled once Ariel had been reduced to sniffles. “Do you really think I can’t handle name-calling?”

“N-no, it’s cuz you’re not what they were saying…”

It was… such a childish thing, and yet, it was so sincere that Severus felt his throat tightened.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that.” He tucked her head under his chin.

“S’okay.”

“The little cretins will often say things, Ariel, and while I greatly admire the effort, you cannot attack them for it, and you certainly cannot steal their wands.”

“They shouldn’t have let me steal it, then.” He was relieved to hear a smile in her voice.

“I suppose that’s a fair point.” Severus pressed his lips to the top of her head. “I suppose I can’t trust you not to try and swipe my own as you get ready for bed, can I?”

Ariel giggled, and he felt peaceful, even though moments before, he’d almost made her head roll. It settled against his chest, and as Ariel shifted in his arms, he realized that the girl was just as protective of him as he was of her.

He did not know why, but this realization scared him out of his mind.

#redsorrow #oneshot #writing until my hands fall off #snape vibes #ariel vibes

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rotttnapple · 5 years

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Short fic, original OC Dusty I haven’t written in a few years. Slightly unfinished? Yeehaw. Trigger warnings: Violence, blood, severe injury, death.

Dusty sat smoking a cigarette in the almost-dark, the greasy light that filtered in through the barred window illuminating a few scarred surfaces and forgetting the rest. He could see the hulking shape of a dresser missing most of its drawers next to a chair with a broken in seat, the peeling and stained wallpaper and dirty, ragged carpeting was blessedly hidden from view. He was almost certain the bed he was sitting on, his good leg cocked up and his metal one stretched out, also had fleas, but he didn’t trust the chair and the dresser wouldn’t hold his weight. Not to mention the sound of something rather large skittering along the baseboards.

Above him, the muffled shouts and screams had climaxed into a resounding thud that shook the ceiling and sent down a shift of plaster dust. This didn’t perturb him, he only wondered if one of the room’s occupants had taken it upon themselves to kill the other. It was entertaining how quick to anger the slum people were, how savage and murderous they could be at even the smallest perceived slight. It was a wonder that any of them managed to live long enough to reproduce, they seemed so intent on getting at someone else’s throat. Dusty glanced up again as the silence resolved into the rhythmic squeaking of bedsprings. A sneer that no one else could see curled his lip. Animals. Rutting, senseless, pitiful animals.

Dusty took a final drag off his cigarette before extinguishing the tip between his thumb and forefinger. He flicked the remains into some shadowy corner of the room. If he didn’t think the place would go up like a drought-parched field of wheat he would have tossed it over there alight, let it smolder, and then leave before the rathole went completely up in flames. No one here would be missed. Cheap little shitjoints like this one burned down or blew up all the time, if it wasn’t someone being careless with a cigarette it was a drug addict trying to manufacture a stronger high.

There were cleaner, fancier places, mostly marketed towards middle class people from other places who had trouble getting inside the wall, but they were also more expensive and they don’t offer the per-hour rates of the shitholes whose main clientele paid for their drugs by laying on their backs. Maybe he would still burn this place to the ground - there should be plenty of time to do so.

A small digital watch sat on his left wrist and he used the thumb of the opposite hand to wake it up. It glowed a bright blue in the gloom of the room. Nearly a quarter to six. He had to get going if he wanted to to be ‘on time’. The fights ran as long as necessary, until one of the fighters was dead, mortally wounded, or gave up like a coward. It was not wise to give up so it was better to just win. Regardless he liked to establish his presence before a fight and scout who decided to show up for a night of near-death experiences.

Once he had seen a boy - no older than sixteen perhaps - with a face swollen and bruised. Dressed for the pits in a pair of ragged shorts and the fighting bandages still wrapped around his hands, spotted with a little blood but not much. It was clear he had taken the brunt of the hits felled in the match. Around him spectators were gathering silently, mostly men, enclosing him in a hellish ring. Dusty had stepped out for a smoke but then found himself decidedly not in need of one. He heard the high, girlish scream before he had even turned around, and then the soft grunts of effort and the blunted noise of boots and fists connecting with flesh and bone.

He was not a coward, perhaps if it had been some Authority bringing to the boy what he had tried to run from after entering the ring he would have stayed to watch, or even to help. But he didn’t trust the groveling vermin of the outer wall to lower their ire even for a champion of their pit.

Regardless. It was time to leave. Maybe he would burn this place down later, if it didn’t burn in his absence. He swung his legs out over the edge of the mattress, planted his booted feet and stood. There was nothing to grab on the way out because he hadn’t brought anything more than his mechanical kicker and the clothes on his back. His winnings - of course he would win - would be transferred directly into a bank account he kept casually hidden from his family. They would call it dirty money, blood money, and then it would quietly disappear into The Greater Good, whatever politician his father felt needed a little polish or a push. Lund Senior thought of the great political ladder as a living thing, a great root for the delicate cluster of flowers at the top. To keep that root from dying it must be watered and fed, it’s leaves encouraged to grow and the weak and withered plucked off and discarded. It also must be protected. Dusty thought of The Wall and grinned.

The battered, gloomy hallways that wound down to the streets were mostly empty, save the lumps of flesh shoved into corners or against walls where they wouldn’t infringe on the progress of others. He paid these no mind unless they moved, and then he would not hesitate to plant his foot in the creature’s face and ensure it never moved again. The body would eventually be found and sent off to wherever. Someplace he had never been and never intended to visit, not even dead. Even out here among the squalor and the vermin he still carried his air superiority like a cloak.

----- shit I will transition this later because SOMEBODY won’t stop talking about KILLING THINGS

It was pleasantly cool in the this pit, one of the better ones built on the blood money of some slavery driven trade or another. Dusty allowed himself a moment to admire the sturdiness of the smooth wooden walls that raised up beyond what any man could jump, ending in a high tensile and probably electrified fencing to keep the unwashed and stinking masses from tearing it down and spilling onto the fighter’s below. They were already screaming, standing in their seats, money clenched in fists as the bidding sharks circulated, snatching crumpled bills away from desperate owners and giving betting tickets back in return. These were held on with feverish intensity - there was no such thing as refunds on tickets claimed lost or stolen.

He tuned the shouts out, for now at least while he observed more important things. Under the upper rim of the pit was a pane of smooth glass, black to those looking in. People with money resided in there, enjoying dainty snacks circulated by exotic creatures far from home, the overindulgence of those who didn’t understand what power really was - because their business resided outside of the wall, among the rats and roaches. Dusty doubted any of the fussy socialites he rubbed shoulders with as Einar would ever dare come to a place like this. There was fresh sand spread on the floor of this pit and now his attention turned to it, scrunching his bare toes into it and digging shallow furrows. It had a good grip, the hardpack was not far below. He would still slip and fall or miss crucial timing if he wasn’t careful, especially with his bionic leg. Crucial to lead with his organic one, then.

His opponent standing opposite of him was shivering and fidgeting, and had been doing such since they both had stepped into this ring not a moment prior. The carroty haired creature was also sweating profusely despite the pleasantness of the air. His hands started snapping open and shut, tongue darting out to lick parched lips and eyes that seemed to be going in several directions at once. He jumped when the booming voice began announcing names and odds and winning stats. Dusty was pleased to hear that this pitiful rodent had won a few prior matches, probably because he was swimming in an ocean of high-octane drugs. He undoubtedly got lucky at his first fight and became addicted shortly thereafter, now riding that train right off the end of the tracks. Dusty liked them like this, they were harder to kill. He smiled. His new companion just twitched.

The loudspeaker voice fell silent and with it a silence descended in the stands, cloaking the ring with its oppressiveness from above as the spectators all but held their breath. A bell chimed, almost straining in its clarity. Dusty couldn’t help but admire it, and then his air was gone in a forced exhale and he was doubled over. The ginger rodent was fast and had not let his opponent's distraction pass idly, choosing to take a punch that would land in the relaxed muscles of the stomach - but it was a bad place to hit, down near the belly button and not up on the solar plexus where breathing could be paralyzed to the point of death. Yes, the rodent was fast but Dusty was fast too, and maybe just a little smarter. As the ginger came to grab his head and drive a knee into his face he dropped his shoulder and pushed off with his natural leg and launched. A few more steps and he could crush the man against the wall of the pit, perhaps breaking his spine or causing internal organs to explode but instead he pushed up and simply tossed the man over his shoulder. The rodent landed on his back but rolled to his front, wanting to keep an eye on the man who was going to kill him.

Dusty’s smile returned, this time bigger. If he had tried to grab that sweaty skin it would have slipped through his fingers like oiled soap. Sand afforded so much more traction.

Ginger began to circle in a half crouch, wired up with muscles jumping and twitching under his fishbelly skin. He had been thrown off his game, he had not planned ahead. Dusty turned with him, in comparison he was as relaxed as a man on a picnic. Five seconds had passed since the bell rang.

There are no rules in the pit, but there are rules all the same set by the crowd. Seven seconds had passed and the Ginger gained a fraction of a pace and made his move. His fist was raised and driven by immortal drugs and fear, he intended to smash it into the side of the one-legged man’s head and force him off balance. If he could get the machine-man to the ground he could win, he was sure of it. He had one a fight before like this. He got his opponent to the ground and he had ravaged him until he was dead. There was lots of blood and the crowd had gone wild. Drugs, money, and girls followed like a tidal wave. He drowned in it for a while until it coughed him out on shore in rags, desperate and hungry.

If he could get the machine-man on the ground, he would win. He was sure of it. His fist would land, just like it had done before.

The spoiled-milk smell of fear coming off this creature was not something Dusty enjoyed. He considered ending it if only to get away from him, but he was keeping count in his head and it was too early to just pounce and forcibly wrench that pathetic head from those twitchy shoulders. Fighters who finished too quickly were often not invited back, and he very much preferred to be invited back although the desire was beginning to dwindle already. While a brief scuttle and a blunt death was fun for noone, especially not the people who had bet money on the loser, he had hoped to be matched with someone exhibiting at least some level of skill. Boredom began to gnaw at the edges of his subconscious. He could see the intention to brutishly clobber him over the head for what felt like ages before the sandy rat actually moved, coming at him on his right side. It was easy enough to turn and duck to avoid, again using his shoulder to throw Ginger back into the sand with the force of his own momentum. Dusty continued his own turn, his metal leg cocked and ready for impact with mechanic toes curled in. The foot connected neatly with whatever was left of Ginger’s genitals with enough force that he could hear the snap and shatter of the man’s pelvis all but exploding over the thunderous roar of the crowd. The rodent was flung against the wall and crumbled at it’s base. Eight seconds.

Dusty regarded the man that thought he could kill him. His eyes were open with pinprick pupils. Above the waist he shook and jittered, The region that used to be his waist had a mushy look to it that was rapidly inflating. His legs hung useless below it. The Ginger began to drool and make a high pitched sound in his throat, the sound of a brain short circuiting. Nine seconds.

He couldn’t help but to be disappointed, having desired a challenge that would have made him sweat and curse under his breath and question if he was going to make it out of this one alive, or if it would be him carted out on a blood-stained cart this time.He could have carried on the match, yes, for a minute, two, or five, even carry on teasing the drug-addled bastard for a full half an hour but it was boring. There was no challenge to be had here, only easy avoidance. The Ginger Rodent thought too much about what he wanted to do. Dusty had hoped for something closer to a feral, mindless savage. It was a fight a first grader could have won. Dusty looked up at the dark pane of glass, his smile was gone, replaced by vague irritation if not outright annoyance. They would know who he was, outer wall or not. They had pitted him against vermin from the gutter. He raised a hand, stuck out a thumb, and turned it down. Ten seconds.

It was but a few measured steps to the living corpse that lay against the wall, unchanged from when he had looked at it last. He raised his mechanical leg and rested it on it’s head. Eleven seconds. He began to press down.

He liked to use the metal limb for spectacular finishes, crushing, decapitation, kicks so forceful that bone is pulverized and organs explode with such gusto that they come shooting out of the nearest orifice. Fight with the skill of his body and wrap it up with a big ribbon. Now he could feel the resistance of the skull - which had initially given in slightly - he pressed down harder and the pressure built. Twelve seconds. He looked at the crowd, the screaming faces some so infused with blood it was a wonder the owner didn’t drop dead right then and there. Thirteen seconds. He looked at the glass again and applied that last pound of force.

Ginger’s head popped like an engorged tick. Pinkish grey brain matter mixed with richly colored blood squirted out from all sides His eyeballs ejected forcefully from their sockets. His jawbone snapped in half, sending loose splinters of teeth out onto the sand. His face took an overall flattened look. Dusty raised his foot and stepped away. Fourteen seconds and he was the victor.

He took a bow as they raised the gate behind him and left to collect his winnings.

#;dusty #;short fic #original character #tw: death #tw: violence #tw: severe injury #tw: blood #it's like really violent so #careful I guess??#getting smashed by a mega thunderstorm rn hot damn

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