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pleasancies · 3 years

Text

Escape Attempt #1

wordcount : 1.8k+

cw : self harm, mention of past torture, suicidal behavior

tropes : lab whump, lady whump, failed escape attempt, manhandling, whumper as caretaker, sensory overload, wound agitation, blood (everywhere)

***

Previous Chapter

John laid her on the infirmary bed, the white sheets instantly turning red. He left, and Professor Clayton replaced his absence with Lisette trailing behind. He had accompanied Avis to the institute, wrestled against five foot long greenery and walked over the pile of carcasses, yet his coat and pants doesn't look affected at all.

"Fenrir, I wager I never properly introduced myself."

"I've heard about you. Get lost."

Clayton glanced at Lisette. She hurried to the storage room. His side leaned against the bedframe. He reached for Avis's ankle. He held it in a vice grip. Plastic casing rubbed against gaping wound.

Avis grit her teeth, ended up voicing a guttural groan instead. Her voice was strained as she managed a 'stop'.

"I'll stop if you let me work on you. Cooperate."

"Just kill me and get it over with."

Clayton twisted his grip. The burning sensation multiplied. "It would be a mercy. Don't you understand? You lost the choice to kill yourself the moment you're trapped with us."

"Watch me," Avis said between grunts of pain. The edge of the wound on her ankle skinned raw. She tried catching Clayton's hand, but he had withdrawn his hold. He went into his pocket. The shock stunned Avis's like a slap to her face.

"Alright, try. Right in front of me. I'll help you even. Say the word, and I'll turn on your shock bracelet to full blast. You'll scream and writhe under this bed until you shit yourself. After I'm sure you're dead, I'll took your brain and put it inside a warbeast. I'll save the handful of memories that makes you you. The next thing you know, you're tearing your comrades limb from limb and there's nothing you can do about it."

Avis didn't bother to hide the fear in her face. It was abhorrent. Even the most pro-monarchy man she met would squirm with the idea. She think back to the warbeast she'd slain. Their eyes, does it ever glowed the way a human would? The bout of nausea was back. Avis covered her mouth, swallowing a gulp of saliva.

Lisette was back. She was carrying a table filled with medical kit. There's a thin smile on her face. A cross between smug and content. Did she heard?

Professor Clayton doesn't wait for permission. He took a small screwdriver, methodically disassemble the ankle bracelet. The man is practically oozing with competence. His steps were hurried but certain. Years of experience in researching alien technology shows clearly in the lines of his face and the coat he wears.

Meanwhile, Lisette worked on her smaller scrapes and bruises. She cleaned her up, dabbing a soaked rag across her bloodied face. She started from the top, wiping up Avis's blood matted hair first. Cool water dripped from her neck. Avis supressed a shiver. The intern nurse's fascination to her scars and peculiarities had died down. Lisette didn't even seem to care if she is alive. She grab a clump of hair, pulling it from the base of the scalp. All that for Avis to lift her chin.

"Cut it out, Lise."

"Stop what? I'm taking care of you."

Avis let it slide. Frustration welled deep inside of her. She let Lisette tug at her shoulder, poke and prod the bruises on her back like it was nothing. Her fingers somehow managed to find every point her body hurt most and make it worse. She hated it, the way people would play others like a toy if they could get away with it. She looked down on the bed, watching her shaking fingers. Avis wasn't feeling particularly cold, but her hands just wouldn't let up. She wondered how they distributed their tasks or what Lisette and John will do after their internship.

"What's wrong?" Lisette asked.

"My hands."

Lisette frowned. Concern crossed her face. Even Clayton stopped.

It was Avis turn to ask now. "What's wrong with me?" As if anyone would give a straight answer.

"Nothing. The trigger serum wasn't exactly a full success is all." Clayton draw a small incision on her ankle. The pain was dulled. It flared slightly as he fully opened the second layer of bracelet clinging on to her skin. "The Fenrir formula adjusts it's effects depending on the host. You'll always get the same enhancements of course, but each of it's potency differs in each person. You and the first Fenrir weren't the same, obviously. Not even similar. We need to run some basic test first before your reeducation. During your reeducation, we'll recalibrate the trigger serum. And then, you'll go through this test again. Ready as ever."

The professor dips a wad of cotton to a small jar. He gently dabbed it against the skin. The oily fluid runs againt the burning wound, causing Avis to wince.

"Now, now, don't flinch. I assure you, your next test will be so much more this would feel like a gentle stroke in comparison."

Avis scowled at her doctor. Fucking fantastic. Another round of tests, surgeries, physically molding her into the perfect hound. And a long session of brainwashing, mentally shaping her until she could strangle her comrades and derive joy out of the act. Avis needs to escape. And she doesn't even know which research facility they held her in. Empire's Defense Department my foot, practically every Institute is made for them. It's simply the easiest way to gain funding.

Clayton and Lisette left shortly after. The entire session with John passed like a dream. He was strangely sheepish. Unlike yesterday, he doesn't bother to strap her arms and legs. Avis was too tired to notice. Or even think. She slept.

A couple of days have passed when her hands and legs stop feeling like stone. It was midday. There's no other patients but her. One nurse stationed near the door. The same one she'd seen when Lisette brought her here to recover from her bruised ribs. It doesn't took long for her to notice Avis was staring.

"Yes, Avis? Anything you need?"

"Uh, some water please." Avis looked away, heat growing in her cheeks. Is she really that obvious? Embarrasing. Valerie was nice. She was the only one who called her with her real name. Shame knotted in her gut. Just a minute ago she was thinking how to incapacitate her. If only Valerie knew the reason why Avis was staring at her.

Valerie set the glass to her bedside. "Next time, talk."

Avis mouthed a thank you. She stared at her drink, unwilling to touch it. The beige walls of the infirmary looks a lot like the first hospital she got into as a patient. It was a strike that had gone awry. She was separated from her friends. The Empire's officers doesn't care if she was young or a woman. She could still remember the faint taste of rubber boots in her tongue. Her broken leg had healed a long time ago, but the dull ache in her foot stays every winter. Back then, Emmett and Sherman hadn't joined their organization. James got arrested. Their old friends like Thomas and Mike were either too injured or busy dealing with the fallout. Nancy alone had to hold her in a bridal carry.

"Well? Aren't you going to drink that?"

"Sorry, Valerie. Just zoned out a bit."

The infirmary nurse sat beside her. "Had something on your mind?"

"Yeah, actually. Do you think I should be reeducated?"

"I'm not an expert opinion on that. You should consult your handler."

"No, I'm not asking for you to revoke my probationary status. I just want to know your personal opinion."

Valerie pursed her lips, her face drawn in concern. She glanced at the camera in the ceiling. It's too unreliable to pick up sounds or even the movement of her lips.

"I'm conflicted to be be honest. You... you did a lot of bad things to other people, but when I got to know you better, it's obvious that you're just lost. Those Heretical men used and abused you. You're one of the good ones, Avis."

"Thanks," Avis said. Her heart sanked. "I'm really sorry, though."

Before Valerie could react, she swung the glass to her face.

***

There are two major types of pain. Acute or chronic. There are other classifications based on what caused it for or how debilitating it is, but it was irrelevant. In the context of Avis triggers, there's three. All of them present in her current situation.

She was backed to a corner. The soldiers were split in two. A small squad were standing at the bottom of the stairs, while a couple of them guard the door she sneaked out from. Drops of blood trailed her departure. It formed a line, then a puddle below her wrist. Avis cradled her bleeding hand. A piece of tape still stuck on the edge of her wound. Her hand is throbbing, a continous pulse that quickens alongside her heart rate.

A man started to climb towards her and Avis brings her hand on the edge of the wound. Clawing at the edges.

"Stop," she said. "Took one step closer and I'll fucking eat you." She hissed, partly due to pain and a spontaneous urge to do so. The hiss turned to a groan as she dip her fingers in. The floor sways slightly under her feet. Red stained her hospital gown.

This is manageable, she insist. What was she thinking? She doesn't even know where she is. It's fine! People had run away without figuring out where are they are. But she's escaping an military complex. Stupid, reckless! But she doesn't have a choice right? Barnes had warned her. Clayton had fucking taunted her.

Avis shield her eyes from the light, blood running through her face. The buzz of fluorescent lamp almost drowned the murmur of conversation between soldiers. Her senses grew sharper with every hurt she inflicted. A dull ache growing on the base of her nails, gums, and joints. This time the transformation was slower. Passive, even. Slow enough, she could understand the change in her mindset. Her stomach was already empty before she did her escape, but now the hunger pangs were almost unbearable.

Avis taunted between gasps of breath, "Go on, shoot me like an animal."

The door at the bottom of stairs swings open. Someone spoke, and the voice sends a chill to her spine.

"Don't listen to her. She can't hurt you. She's not under the trigger serum."

Professor Clayton strides up the stairs. Avis's legs scrambles backward but there's only solid concrete behind her. His eye settled on her arms.

"You pulled off your IV. Are you afraid of needles?"

"No, just don't want to be drugged again. It's what you do. You'll wait until I let my guard down before testing."

Avis glowered. The armed guards advanced to protect Professor Clayton. Nothing they give is safe. Anything could be drugged. Food, medicine, even the air she breathed.

"The test wasn't due for a week. But I could speed things up for you. How about the day after tomorrow? How does that sound?"

She tackled him, but there was no power in her arms. Avis collapse on his chest, her vision darkened. Gravity rapidly dragging her feet. The last thing she remembered was her nails, puncturing Clayton's shirt and flesh.

Next Chapter

#whump fic #lab whump #lady whump #failed escape attempt #whumper as caretaker #manhandling #sensory overload #suicide cw #self harm cw #past torture #injury whump #bleeding out #wound agitation

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makaylajadewrites · 3 years

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What a Woman

Summary: JJ and Emily seemed to be paying extra special attention to Spencer, and it was hard to hide his discomfort and obvious surprise when they dragged him out of the conference room to have a “talk” as they both put it. But the idea they had in mind was something he would never consider, not even for a millisecond, and to even think of such a situation made his skin crawl.

“Will you at least consider it?” Emily asked desperately, both girls following after him as he searched for an escape in the precinct break room, gravitating towards the coffee maker instantly to pour himself a cup of the black sludge they called coffee in Philadelphia.

“Not even for a second."

Potential tws: hate speech/crimes, homophobia, transphobia, not so nice Rossi, smut

Word count: 7757

Traipsing through his routine in the morning was simultaneously painful and difficult. Every morning was the same; he would wake up at five thirty on the dot and complain and curse for ten minutes about getting up early, then he would drag his willowy frame through his apartment like a wandering specter. Once his Keurig was on, he would vanish into the bathroom where he spent nearly fifteen minutes showering, attempting to tame his wild hair, brushing his teeth, and, much to Derek’s admitted surprise, applying makeup.

Spencer didn’t wear a lot of makeup to work, and in fact it was hardly even noticeable. His under eye bags were dark, almost purple, and it seemed that his perpetual lack of sleep and constant stress from the job was what kept them permanent. But with the concealer and powder he liked to use, it diminished them somewhat, and at least made him feel a bit better about his appearance. It wasn’t socially acceptable for men to wear full faces of makeup just yet, and with Reid’s subtle nature, he would have to deal with it as quietly as he could.

But today, something was different

Derek looked up and greeted him with a fond, “Good morning, baby,” but his eyes quickly flicked downwards to take in the pink sheen over his diamond-shaped lips. Reid smiled shyly, leaning in to kiss him and when he pulled back, Derek looked somewhat dazed and surprised. But he said nothing, and Spencer was grateful for that. He turned away and proceeded to collect the coffee mug that Morgan had prepared for him while he was in the bathroom. Once Derek took his own shower and readied himself for the day, they set off to work

Now that they were a couple, Derek seemed to be having a difficult time in keeping his eyes off of Spencer, at home, at work, on dates… All the time, really. Spencer had questioned him about this with a bit of humor in tone, and Morgan explained that it was because he realized just how pretty Spencer was, from his fluid movements to his somehow graceful composure. But Reid was quick to shut that down, since he found it difficult to accept compliments regarding his physical appearance - especially his normal, every day appearance. He was too awkward, too stiff. He didn’t know what to do with his hands sometimes and his autistic tendencies would often appear in the expression of silent stimming, rather it be in the form of flapping hands or wiggling fingers. He was a freak, but Derek was appalled by that word and assured him that he was, honestly, quite precious. Derek always had an incredible protective streak, but Spencer never expected to be on the receiving end of that, especially not in such an intimate way.

It must have been his lipgloss today, because Derek was practically undressing with his clothes the second they stepped into the bullpen. Reid had a habit of wrapping his lips around almost anything he got his hands on, but even as frequently as he mentioned how unhygienic as it was, he still had a tendency of biting on a pen cap or keeping one of the little black coffee straws in his mouth - That probably wasn’t helping Morgan’s vivid imagination.

Prentiss had taken a keen interest in the couple, commenting briefly on the shared glances between them over the past month or so and often encouraging them to ‘get a room’ without actually understanding that they were in fact involved with one another. Spencer knew that they needed to be careful, hence his disparity towards PDA and any form of more-than-friendly interactions. They couldn’t afford to be figured out, not unless they both wanted to lose their jobs or be reassigned within the Bureau. But today, she just seemed desperate to point out the obvious change in Reid’s appearance, particularly his new addition to his usually bare face.

“Lipgloss today, Reid?” Prentiss asked, not unkindly and mainly more curious than anything. Reid’s head popped up from where it was bowed down over his desk, a pen fitting between his parted, shimmering lips. He smiled around the cap, nodding his head shyly.

“O-Oh, yeah… I was feeling a little bold, today, I guess,” he said in a bashful murmur, his chestnut curls falling around his pretty face. He looked over towards Morgan, thick lashes batting innocently against his high cheekbones while he offered him a hesitant smile.

“I like it! It’s pretty. Brings out the color in your cheeks,” Emily observed fondly, and Spencer seemed to brighten up considerably. That was a considerable compliment, especially since he had the complexion of a zombie on his good days. He popped the pen out from between his lips, sitting up a bit straighter and crossing his slim legs effortlessly under his desk.

“You think so? I still think I look a bit washed out on normal days,” Reid said. Morgan looked a bit incredulous, but JJ happened to be walking by in that very moment with case files in hand.

“Reid, you know much I like to prove you wrong, but today we don’t have time. We have a case,” she said, patting the stack of files in her arm with one hand and clicking off up the stairs and towards Hotch’s office. The trio shared a look before getting up and heading towards the roundtable room in a group. They took their seats, side by side, but Reid wandered off towards the break room to fix himself another coffee before they had to get into the nitty gritty and bloody details. Because who could stand looking at mutilated bodies without overly sweet coffee? Certainly not Reid.

When he returned, everyone was inside and waiting for him, and he muttered a sheepish apologize while scurrying to his seat beside Derek who just acknowledged him with a fond smile. Rossi looked at him a bit strangely but said nothing, most likely noticing the lipgloss on his lips but ultimately diverting his attention to the case instead.

“Alright everyone, we have a case involving three murdered individuals in Philadelphia. They were all found in alleys with their clothing removed,” Garcia said, her full lips pursed. Some pictures showed up on the screen, revealing their nude and beaten bodies, with several stab wounds littering two out of the three. She left out a rather important detail though in her introduction, and almost immediately, Rossi seemed to catch on.

“Whoa,” Emily offered quite lamely, her brows furrowing together.

“They were completely castrated…” JJ muttered, feeling uncomfortable and knowing her male colleagues had to feel worse.

“Is that…” he started, only for Morgan to intervene before he said something potentially insulting.

“Are they transgender?” Morgan asked instead, and Garcia tilted her head slightly, indication of a mixed answer.

“Local law enforcement is saying yes,” Hotch responded with a firm nod.

“Maybe even drag queens,” Reid spoke up, his chin perched in his hand as he overlooked the file with a clinical expression on his face. “Do we know for certain if they were transgender or is local police just assuming they are? Because that makeup is… quite adventurous,” he said honestly,

“At this point, I believe it is just speculation. We’ll find out for sure when we arrive. Wheels up in thirty,” Hotch concluded, standing up with file in hand and leaving the conference room to organize their flight. Everyone else lingered, and Rossi just had to ask the question that everyone seemed to be dreading.

“You know a lot about makeup, Reid?” He asked a bit standoffishly, looking up and down Reid as if sizing him up. Spencer blinked, suddenly growing incredibly aware of the light makeup on his own face. God, this was uncomfortable, and even though he was a grown man, he felt like he had just been caught by his father, digging into his mother’s makeup bag. Subconsciously, he licked his lips in an attempt to destroy the evidence of gloss.

“Um… Just basic stuff, I guess.” Christ, it was like coming out as gay all over again. I sort of like guys… Maybe just a little. He swallowed and looked towards Morgan who was glaring holes into an unassuming Rossi. But Dave just frowned and narrowed his eyes a bit. “Uh huh,” He hummed, looking over Reid once more before leaving the room after Hotch. The girls looked after him incredulously and Spencer felt exposed, certainly uncomfortable, and definitely awkward.

“If he says another word to you, just let me know,” Morgan said, squeezing his shoulder in a way that didn’t suggest anything more than a protective, brotherly relationship. Spencer smiled slightly at him, and the girls agreed with similar statements. But he couldn’t get too caught up in his own feelings. They had a killer to catch, and if getting his feelings hurt along the way meant putting him away, it was a worthy sacrifice.

Right?

“I’m SSA Morgan and this is Dr. Spencer Reid. We’re with agents Hotchner and Jareau.”

Even though Philadelphia was only three hours, they couldn’t afford to waste time. They had landed in Philadelphia after an hour jet ride and almost immediately split up, Rossi and Emily visiting the most recent crime scene while Morgan and Reid tackled the M.E. Hotch and JJ had already set up at the precinct and were busy in the conference room, but as Morgan and Reid arrived, they were instantly approached by a deputy who questioned them, and he looked over Reid incredulously, and it was enough to make the young doctor uncomfortable. He probably had trouble believing that scrawny Reid was actually an FBI agent. But the deputy just hummed and directed the m towards the conference room where they could see their colleagues at work. It seemed that Rossi and Emily had beaten them back to the precinct.

“M.E. was able to tell us that all of our victims were biologically male, which we already knew,” Morgan informed the other four agents, and Reid was quick to jump in.

“All of the victims were wearing makeup, as we already stated, as well as colored wigs. Now, what’s interesting about that is that they were all wearing wig caps with glue or tape applied as well, which is a common trick that drag queens use to keep their wigs on while performing,” he supplied knowingly, his hands locking together in front of his chest. He knew that feeling this nervous was probably a bit dramatic, but it was almost like a personal attack on him - especially since he was beginning to believe that these victims were in fact drag queens, and not transgender or crossdressing individuals. The universe sure had a sick mind, and Rossi’s constant staring wasn’t helping.

“We can confirm this with Garcia,” Hotch said, and quickly took out his phone to dial their beloved technical analyst.

“Sir, yes, sir!” Garcia’s bubbly voice sounded from the phone, but the mood was far too somber for any of them to even think of responding to her quirkiness.

“Garcia, can you look into our victims and see if they were involved in the gay community, specifically as drag queens? Look into local gay bars as well as any other significant venues.”

“Ah, drag queens and gay bars, two of my favorite things in one sentence,” she cooed while her fingers flew across the keys.

“You know, it’s also possible some of them were involved in non-profits geared towards LGBTQ people. We—I mean, sometimes drag queens will get involved as role models for the kids who get rejected by their friends and families,” Reid said, cursing himself for his little stumble. Again, Rossi looked at him hard, but Garcia was quick to respond.

“Alright, my queens, all three victims were regular performers at a local gay bar known as Syndicate. And our second victim, Collin Knicks, took several trips a month to volunteer at a nonprofit in the Big Apple focused on preventing LGBTQ suicides and helping at-risk individuals.”

“There’s our connection,” Emily said with a nod of her head. “So it’s a hate crime.”

“Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” the local detective, Jim Stewart, said, his arms crossed over his chest. He frowned, looking over one of the crime scene pictures. “It’s possible he was interested in them sexually and when he discovered they were actually men, he became enraged.”

“I’m willing to bet that it’s a hate crime,” Morgan said confidently, and Reid instantly nodded in agreement, standing up a bit straighter in front of the map he had been glancing over.

“As am I. Twenty point four percent of all hate crimes are focused on an individual’s sexual orientation, and out of those 20.4, 56.7% were homosexual males. I don’t think it’s coincidence that all of these men were drag queens, and besides, not all of them were the overly feminine drag queens that can be mistaken for biological females. For example, our first victim was in a style commonly called camp, and in the drag community, that means overdramatizing feminine aspects of beauty. A lot of camp drag queens draw their inspiration from typical clown getups, especially in their makeup, but they also perform with clown values like comedy and satire.”

That left a few baffled individuals, in particular, Hotch, Rossi, and Stewart. Damn, he knew it was foolish to spout out information like that, especially since it implied intimate knowledge of the drag community. And again, it wasn’t a secret, but the less people who knew, the better, and the last thing he needed was his two superiors knowing of his pastime activity. He knew they most likely wouldn’t do anything about it, but he would rather Hotch and Rossi not know that he flounced around in women’s clothing and makeup in his free time.

Someone cleared their throat in a hope to dispel the awkward air that took over the room, and Hotch eventually, thankfully, decided to speak up.

“Alright, Reid. If this is a hate crime, how do you think the unsub targeted them? Through the clubs?” He questioned. Reid instantly nodded his head, pointing at the one bar on the map where all of the victims frequented for performances.

“Has to be. Syndicate, the bar, is at the center of all of the dump sites. They were all left in different alleys no more than two miles away from the bar, so I think it would only make sense to assume that this is where he is picking up his victims,” Reid said, his intelligence hardly surprising the rest of his team, “And since he’s been there before, I’m betting that he’s either a regular or he blends in.”

“Perfect… So how are we going to find a single fag in a bar full of ‘em?” The detective spat out, and his hate was pretty clear. If Reid wasn’t sure, he’d think that the detective could be their unsub.

“Watch your mouth,” Derek hissed dangerously, and Hotch was quick to cast him a sharp glare insinuating that he would get this under control, and if Reid knew Hotch well enough, he knew he would follow through with that.

“Do not refer to these victims as such slurs. Regardless of their sexual orientation or preferred gender identity, they were human and deserve respect,” He said both respectfully yet sternly, and the detective just shook his head with a huff.

“I just don’t understand what the world’s coming to. But fine, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. They were human.” Well, that problem was solved, for now at least. Reid feared that the detective’s clear disdain for these people - people like him - would rise to the surface again, but they would deal with that issue when it presented itself. They came to do their job, and regardless of how hateful some people could be, they couldn’t let that interfere.

Speculation wasn’t getting them anywhere, but over time, they were able to develop a profile, or at least a partial one; The unsub was a white male in his mid twenties to early thirties with homophobic ideologies that could possibly stem from religious beliefs. It was possible he was feeling homosexual tendencies and in an effort to dispel them, he killed the objects of his desire. Due to his ability to go to the same club on three different occasions without incident meant he blended into the crowd and was potentially a regular at the club. With nothing more to go off of, JJ and Emily seemed to be paying extra special attention to Spencer, and it was hard to hide his discomfort and obvious surprise when they dragged him out of the conference room to have a “talk” as they both put it. But the idea they had in mind was something he would never consider, not even for a millisecond, and to even think of such a situation made his skin crawl.

“Not even for a second,” he dismissed easily, pouring sugar into his coffee which he was beginning to suspect was actually really mud.

“Spence, please? This could be our only chance of catching the unsub,” JJ tried, looking both exasperated and equally as desperate as Prentiss. He frowned and shook his head, reaching a hand up to brush his messy curls away from his face with fingers he now realized were shaking just slightly.

“Guys, please… I can’t. Do you realize the impact that could have on my career? My reputation,” he said, his voice raising just slightly in pitch out of frustration.

“Spence…”

“I said no,” he said more firmly with a sharp frown set on his lips. It was too much of a risk for him to take. If word got around at the Bureau that the Dr. Spencer Reid was actually a drag queen, he would be devastated and ruined. He knew they couldn’t legally fire him over it, but the Bureau wasn’t the most liberal place in the world, so they would most likely search for an excuse to get rid of him. And in all honesty, every single member of his team had done something that would deem firing - and he was not exception to that.

The day continued on as was expected, and when evening came around and they had no leads, Hotch gave instructions for them to retire to the hotel. They all stopped at a local Thai restaurant for dinner though, and despite Rossi’s occasional hard glances, he was feeling a little less exposed than he had been before. When they finally made it to the hotel, it was simply common knowledge that he and Derek would be rooming together. Nobody really knew for certain that they were in a relationship, and although speculation would continue to circle the unlikely duo, they would neither confirm nor deny it. So it was simple to make the assumption that Reid and Morgan would share a room, but not as simple to assume they would be sharing the same bed.

“JJ and Emily made the suggestion that I go undercover in drag,” he said softly, wrapped in his lover’s warm embrace with nothing more than a pair of boxers on. He needed this… A sense of relaxation and a stress free environment where he could just wind down for a little, at least until the morning when he and Derek would both have to snap back into work-mode.

“Not such a bad idea, actually,” Derek said thoughtfully, and Spencer only proceeded to smack his muscular bicep. Derek only chuckled in respond, his arms squeezing slightly around his lithe lover in a form of comfort and reassurance. “But I won’t pressure you. We can catch the unsub without that, but I won’t say it wouldn’t be a helpful way to get him on our radar.”

“Derek… You know I can’t,” he murmured with a frown in place. Derek leaned in close and kissed his pouting lips, and somehow that was enough for Spencer to believe that anything was a good idea, at least until he sobered up from the sweet moment. “You know what that would do to me… I can’t.”

“And like I said, I’m not going to pressure you. But I will ask that you think about it, for the sake of our victims and their families.” Derek was obviously pressuring him, just not in a direct manner like the girls had done. At least Penelope wasn’t in on their little idea…

“Don’t try and guilt-trip me,” Spencer lectured weakly, pushing away from Derek’s embrace and rolling over, his back to the other man. He didn’t know what he was going to do. It would definitely help them, but was it worth it to put his own self at risk? It was in his job description, to put his life on the line to save others. But he was beginning to question the flexibility of those rules. Morgan followed him as he turned away, curling behind him and holding him close, pressing a kiss to the top of his shoulder.

“I’m not. I’ll respect whatever decision you make,” Morgan mumbled into his skin. Spencer sighed, hugging a spare pillow close while his lover’s hands laid over his stomach, feeling the concavity of his thin frame.

“Rossi’s been looking at me weirdly all day, and I don’t think my knowledge of makeup and drag queens and my ramblings of gay hate crimes really helped,” he admitted, and Derek just chuckled, the light stubble on his chin scruffy against his shoulder.

“Rossi is a conservative middle aged man with a Catholic-Italian upbringing. Are you surprised?” He asked and Reid just hummed a sound of amusement.

“You’re right… Doesn’t make me feel any better though. He seems both intrigued and suspicious, and almost disgusted in a way. I don’t know if he really feels that way or if he’s just surprised.”

“It’s probably a mixture of both,” Derek said honestly, his hand now moving up and down Spencer’s bare torso. “But you shouldn’t worry about it… I know you look up to him, but if he really does feel that way towards gay men, I don’t think you should torture yourself like that. It’ll only hurt in the end.”

“You’re right… Maybe I’m just overthinking it too,” he murmured, and Derek tilted his head slightly to nip at the shell of his ear, a sharp gasp responding to his ministrations.

“Want me to help you stop thinking for a bit?” Derek whispered, his breath hot against his neck. And Reid could only shiver in response, nodding his head immediately. Those hands traced along the expanse of his torso, thick fingers brushing over his sensitive nipples and over the contours of his ribcage. He could feel himself getting aroused, his boxers getting tighter around his growing erection.

“Oh, god…” Spencer breathed as Derek’s hand dipped down to squeeze the bulge through his boxers, his thighs quivering out of pure instinct. Derek always had the ability to make him shake, and even light touches could send him over the edge. But not tonight - he wanted this to drag out for as long as possible, so slow was good. His partner kissed his shoulder and neck, his tongue dragging a line from the base of his neck and up the length of his jugular to the underside of his jaw.

“You’re so pretty, Spence…” he murmured, his hand dancing across the fabric of his Dr. Who boxers, the TARDIS overlapping prints of itself in a spiral of blues. He stifled a groan as Derek’s hand finally delved beneath the waistband, grasping his cock at the base and squeezing before moving upwards. And just to be a tease, the bastard completely avoided the tip.

“Derek, please,” Reid whined, his legs kicking out childishly. Derek chuckled, kissing his jaw and on the next upward stroke, his thumb slid over his head, teasing the slit delicately before he went back to just fondling him. Spencer let his head tilt back and turn, his own lips seeking Morgan’s. Derek was quick to fulfill that wish, their lips meeting in a sloppy but still passionate kiss. Derek purposely set up a quickened pace of stroking then, and Spencer moaned into the kiss.

“Don’t make me gag you, Pretty Boy. You know how much I love those lips,” Derek chastised gently, his free hand connected to the arm underneath of Spencer slid across his chest, teasing his nipples. “By the way, I really like the lipgloss today… Couldn’t stop thinking about your mouth wrapped around my cock.”

Spencer choked on a moan, his hips jerking forward. Derek sure had a way with words.

“You don’t realize how gorgeous you are sometimes… You’re absolutely stunning, Spencer.”

“Derek,” he moaned softly, one of his hands raising to muffle the noises passing his lips. “‘M close…”

“Come for me, baby boy…” Derek encouraged, kissing up his neck and suckling on the skin near the junction of his neck and shoulder, but not hard enough to leave a mark. Spencer did just moments later, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip, as he released in Derek’s palm, legs spasming and toes curling. He panted heavily, and in the afterglow, he hardly noticed Derek leaning away to wipe his hand on a tissue from the bedside table. He gathered Spencer in his arms and held him close, nuzzling his neck.

“You’re too good to me,” Spencer murmured softly, beginning to move to face him. “Your turn?” He asked, looking a bit confused when Derek shook his head.

“No, baby, that was all for you. Just relax, okay? We both need it,” he said, turning Spencer’s head to kiss him just one more time before they got comfortable in their spooning position. It was one of Spencer’s favorite positions to sleep in, mainly because it made him feel safe and warm. And god, was Derek good at it.

“Alright… Goodnight, Derek,” he said softly, “I love you.”

“I love you too, pretty boy,” he responded, “Get some sleep.”

The next day came, and JJ and Emily were relentless, as Spencer had expected them to be. He was beginning to get a bit frustrated with them, but that night when another victim turned up, a confirmed drag queen still in her performance outfit, he began to feel inclined to help in any way he could. He talked to Morgan in private throughout the day, and as he had previously stated, he would support Reid no matter what he chose to do.

God, this was so difficult. The pain these victims must have felt; the fear, the horror, the fact that they were alone… He had been through experiences where such emotions presented themselves in his own life, with Hankel, the bullying he suffered throughout high school, yet none of it could even compare to having his life snuffed out simply for being himself. That was enough for him to finally cave and let them know he was willing to do it - for the victims. They deserved that, in the very least.

“Hey Hotch, we were thinking, what if we sent someone in undercover?” Prentiss started, skirting around and avoiding targeting Reid immediately. It would probably be best to mention the idea delicately, since Hotch and Rossi had no idea of his pastime activities. They were both bound to be surprised and maybe even a little offset, but Spencer was willing to suffer a bit if that meant getting justice for the victims and their families.

“Who did you have in mind? Neither you or JJ could do it, since our unsub is targeting gay men dressed as women,” he said, looking a bit confused and glancing back and forth between the two women before his eyes fell on the lithe man partially behind him who raised his hand like he were swearing his oath in court.

“M-Me, sir, I’m offering,” Reid said, and oh, how comical Hotch’s face would have been in any other situation. His eyes nearly bugged out of his head, his lips parting just slightly in shock and his overall demeanor simply befalling his previous state of serious to shock. Rossi looked on with a mirrored expression, but his was less drastic, most likely because, and Reid assumed, that he had his suspicions already. “It’s… something I do in my free time anyway. Drag, I mean.”

Hotch cleared his throat quite awkwardly, proving to be even more awkward than Dr. Spencer Reid himself, and Rossi simply nodded mutely. Stewart looked shocked, and the deputy who had regarded Reid oddly before glanced back and forth between the doctor and the detective. “W-Well… I’m certainly shocked,” he admitted, shaking his head and frowning at the doctor, clearly having some suppressed judgement for the younger man.

“At this point, it wouldn’t hurt,” Morgan tried to offer, and Hotch nodded slowly as if contemplating this idea. He looked to Reid, still recovering from the shock but regarding him with a serious expression. “Could you do it tonight?”

“Absolutely,” Reid said with a firm nod, “I don’t have any of my… equipment, but a quick trip to a drugstore can solve that. I can just fix my real hair, since it’s long enough,” he said.

“No, call Garcia immediately. We need this to be as smooth and genuine as possible if we want to catch the unsub,” Hotch instructed. He supposed it would be easier with his own supplies, and definitely more convincing since drugstore makeup didn’t always cut it in drag. He stepped out of the conference to let his revelation settle with his two unknowing team members and the local detective and deputy. He dialed Garcia.

“Hi, baby boy, what do you need?” Garcia asked, her bubbly voice as happy and unassuming as usual. He sighed and felt his cheeks flushing pink already.

“H-Hi, Garcia. Is there anyway you can go to my apartment and, um, pick up my… supplies? I need them,” he said, hoping she understood what he meant since the idea of asking for makeup in the middle of a police precinct was not at all flattering. She giggled through the speaker.

“You mean your makeup? Are they sending you under?” She asked him curiously, another giggle following.

“Um… Yeah, yeah they are. I mean, I agreed to it, but I don’t really want to. Look, I just need this to be as easy as possible. Could you bring them? Please?” He asked desperately, and she responded in the affirmative. He lowered his voice to a near whisper for his next request, looking around frantically. “Also grab my curly brown wig. A dress will probably be best and a pair of heels, but not too tall. Okay?”

“Gotcha, Bria. I’ll be there in a few hours,” she promised him before they both said their goodbyes and hung up. Reid sighed and dragged a hand down his face, feeling a rise in his stubble and knowing he would need to shave before tonight. He would get there eventually, but he had to face his team again. He entered into the conference room and instantly, he felt how thick the tension was. He shivered, knowing that he had probably caused it and frowning at the looks on Rossi’s and the detective’s faces. The deputy looked a bit conflicted, and overall, emotions were pretty ranged among the group. Hotch maintained that serious expression, but it looked somewhat angered. JJ and Emily looked angry too, but with more distress than pure rage.

But Derek Morgan? Now that was rage.

He looked murderous, his hands balled into fists at his side, clenched so tightly his hands were shaking just slightly. His brows were furrowed, mouth set in a heavy frown. His dark eyes were narrowed into dangerous slits, and the tension in his jaw was scary.

“What’s going on, guys?” Reid asked meekly upon his entrance, and Derek instantly looked at him with a slightly softened expression before looking back to the detective and Rossi.

“Nothing. We’re leaving, to scout the bar before we send you in tonight,” he said, and Hotch was quick to join them in their departure. Reid cast a glance back towards the conference room as they fled from the precinct, and he wondered he would have the power to fix this, particularly with Rossi, when this case was done and over with. He sure hoped so, because he didn’t think he could work with a man who acknowledged him with nothing but disgust in his eyes.

By the time they were finished with the scouting, Garcia called Morgan and let him know that she was about an hour out. Reid immediately asked to be taken to the hotel so he could get ready, and fortunately, Hotch didn’t question this request. He was actually very good at not mentioning the whole thing, most likely because Hotch didn’t do well with his team members’ personal lives, especially not with confidential information like Reid had so willingly shared with him and Rossi for the sake of the case. Reid only hoped that in the end, it would bump him up a bit on Hotch’s respect totem pole to counteract against the criticism and negativity he was sure to receive in the aftermath.

“Do you need help with anything?” Morgan asked when they were in the hotel room together, and instantly, Reid shook his head and smiled, beginning to unbutton his shirt.

“I’ll be fine. Just make sure that Garcia is… discrete when bringing my stuff in. I’d rather the city of Philadelphia not know that an FBI agent is about to go undercover as a drag queen,” he said softly, and Morgan smiled softly, approaching the slightly frazzled doctor.

“I will…” he said, raising a hand and rubbing it along Spencer’s now-bare bicep. Morgan’s touch sent electricity sparking along his skin, and he shivered slightly, a frown marring his features.

“Hey…” Derek started, choosing his words carefully to avoid upsetting Reid, who was quite sensitive when it came to the approval of others. He had been searching for it all his life, so of course he was sensitive. "Rossi and Stewart are just bigots. They’ll see, after we catch the unsub how valuable your input was. And if they threaten you in anyway, you can see to it that I’ll take care of it.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Reid dismissed as he shrugged the shirt off completely, halted in his undressing with the conversation at hand.

“Yeah, I do. Because you’re my man, and it’s my responsibility to keep you safe,” he said tenderly, and Reid just smiled and shook his head, turning away from Morgan and heading towards the bathroom. He was about to close the door only for Derek to block it with his foot, peaking in at his lover. “I love you, Spencer.”

“I love you,” Spencer said in response, leaning into the doorway and pressing their lips together before pulling back and meeting his eyes. “Now get out so I can get ready.”

Morgan didn’t question and immediately, Spencer set to work. He let the shower water warm up while he shaved his face, skillfully avoiding leaving any nicks or razor burn in his wake, and that was because he had done this a thousand times for this very reason. He rinsed his face off, reveling in his boyish appearance for a few seconds before undressing entirely and hopping under the steady stream of water. He washed himself up as usual but the majority of time was spent shaving his legs and underarms. It had been a couple weeks since his last performance so quite a bit had grown in that small time frame (primarily since he was a man, of course). Fortunately, he didn’t have chest hair or incredibly dark arm hair, so he never had to worry about that.

By the time he was finished, he could hear Garcia’s voice through the bathroom door. Wrapping himself in a provided bathrobe, he emerged and saw Morgan, Garcia, JJ, and Emily all sitting around the room, talking amongst themselves mainly. When Derek noticed him though, he smiled that show-stopping grin and approached the young doctor, slinging an arm around his shoulders and leaning in close, too close to be platonic, and instantly Reid tensed at the feel of his lover’s lips against his cheek. “Secret’s out, baby boy,” he hummed in his ear, and instantly his cheeks flushed and he looked down in embarrassment. The girls all squealed though, clapping their hands excitedly as if watching a rom-com.

“Congrats, guys,” Emily said happily.

“I knew it, I just knew it,” Garcia hissed at them. “You didn’t even have to tell me.”

“You guys aren’t as subtle as you think, that’s for sure,” JJ added in humorously.

“What about… Hotch and Rossi?” Reid dared to ask, and JJ immediately shook her head.

“They don’t know.”

“Figured we’d leave the hardest for last,” Derek said softly, kissing his lover’s cheek. A chorus of ‘aw’s’ met the action and Spencer playfully shoved Morgan away, his cheeks pink but a smile lingering on his lips. He tightened the robe around himself, sitting down on the bed beside Garcia. JJ and Emily took up the other bed, and Derek stood at the foot of both. He was worried about the repercussions of this little undercover mission, and as crucial as it was bound to be, he was still afraid of what could come from it. Because no matter how successful a person was, if they made one wrong move, their entire career could crumble. Reid didn’t want to fall into that category.

This wasn’t about to get any easier though. He had to do this. Spencer had work to do, and with a firm nod of his head and a newfound look of determination on his face, he began to gather his makeup.

He would become Bria soon enough, all it took was a lot of makeup and a little added confidence.

“Bria’s here, babies,” Reid’s voice sang out as he erupted from the bathroom in a flurry of long brown curls and strawberry body spray. He spun around in three inch heels, black in color with a strap around the ankle. The edges were scalloped over the closed toes and the heel of his foot. He wore a black body con dress with mesh sleeves and mesh over the chest, dipping down in between his breastbone. But since he obviously didn’t have breasts, he put his silicone breasts in place in the dress to further blur the truth of his masculinity. In truth, it wasn’t apparent that he was actually a drag queen at first, because in truth, he looked like a woman ready to hit the town. Damn, he felt like he could conquer the world like this.

“Yes, baby!” Garcia cheered, the other girls looking just as excited. Derek just looked slightly baffled yet enamored, as he always did when Spencer dressed in drag. But Reid had a job to do, and he couldn’t let anything distract him. Emily approached him and fixed a microphone to the front of his dress, the black apparatus blending in with the dress (which was partially why he asked for a black dress). As well as that, he wore a little earpiece as well, and fortunately his wig was able to cover that without issue. JJ and Emily were dressed up in typical club outfits too, and Morgan was dressed a bit nicer in a maroon button down and black slacks which really accentuated his muscular thighs… Reid looked away almost as soon as he noticed his eyes lingering, clearing his throat a bit.

“You guys are going in too?” He asked them, the three of them nodding simultaneously.

“Just in case anything goes wrong,” Emily said in her businesslike voice, all of them knowing that, despite the somewhat ridiculousness of the situation, this was a serious mission at hand, and lives could be at stake.

“I can’t wait to see Rossi’s face,” JJ admitted sheepishly, and Garcia giggled beside her as they all flooded out of Derek and Spencer’s hotel room to head to the bar together. But before they left the hotel, Derek pulled Spencer aside and grasped his biceps in his hands, scanning his lover’s face worriedly.

“If anything goes wrong, just say my name, pretty boy, okay?” Morgan said, and Spencer swallowed nervously before bobbing his head instantly.

“I will.”

Rossi and Hotch were already there by the time the group arrived, set up in a van outside for reconnaissance. With Garcia’s help, they had access to the cameras located in and outside of the bar, and with four of them on the inside, there would be no blindspots. When they arrived, Garcia departed from their group to slip into the van, and like she never left, the group of four sauntered into the bar in increments like they belonged.

All of their victims had been alone or had just performed at Syndicate, so they all had themselves placed strategically around the bar with all eyes on Reid as he stood alone at the bar, nursing a drink which appeared to be a daiquiri, but was in fact a virgin one. He still needed to fit in, but he couldn’t let alcohol distort his senses. He needed to be alert and focused, else they risked losing the unsub or a life - or both.

After about twenty minutes of standing alone at the bar, occasionally faking texting on his phone, a man began to approach Reid, albeit slowly, and through his earpiece, he could hear Hotch’s voice filter through to the rest of his team, “Heads up, someone’s taking an interest in Reid.”

The man in question was tall, about the same height as Spencer in heels, and he was broad shouldered. He wasn’t muscular per se, just bigger in size but not overweight by any means. He sidled up to Spencer’s side, laying his hand over top of his on the bar top and smirking at him. “Hey, baby. What’s a pretty little thing like you doing all by yourself here?” He asked.

Now, in any other situation, a single Reid would have been flattered, because in truth, nothing about this man screamed unsub. He was charming, not overbearing in anyway, and frankly, his cologne smelled nice. Spencer’s lashes fluttered in mock surprise, his pretty pink lips turning up into a seductive smile. “Nothin’… Looking for a man like you to whisk me away for the night,” Bria purred in response, and he swore he heard the sound of someone choking on a drink in his ear.

“I think I might be able to help you with that. But first, what’s your name, princess?” The man asked. Bria giggled, walking her fingers up the man’s forearm and meeting his eyes.

“You can call me anything you want,” she whispered, “But Bria will do.”

“Bria… A beautiful name for a beautiful woman. I’m Stephen.”

“Well, Stephen… What do you say we get out of here?” Bria asked softly, her hand now resting on the back of his neck. Internally, Spencer wanted to shiver and crawl out of his skin, but he kept telling himself he had to do this. He wasn’t entirely sure if this was the unsub just yet, but something deep in his gut was telling him to run, and Spencer trusted his fight or flight response more than anything. But keeping up the act, he sauntered away from the bar and led Stephen into the ally behind the bar.

Almost instantly, he was slammed into the brick wall, a solid oomph sounding upon his impact. Before he had a chance to catch his breath, he was thrown down to the ground and kick after kick was delivered to his torso and face. He knew that his team was most likely unable to decipher what exactly was going on, so in a panic, he cried out, “Derek!”

It take long for them to react to that, fortunately, because the back door of the bar swung open and his colleagues emerged from within the bar, guns drawn. At the opening of the dead end alley, Hotch and Rossi stood with their guns out as well. Reid, blood dripping from his nose, crawled away from the seething unsub and in Derek’s direction. Morgan immediately holstered his gun and approached Reid, helping him to his feet. Hotch apprehended Stephen, forcing his hands behind his back and cuffing him while reading his rights. Spencer looked to Derek with wide eyes, a smile growing on his lips as the realization caught up with him, and without him alone, they risked the lives of more people. He threw his arms around Derek’s neck and laughed his joy into his neck.

On the flight home, now dressed in his usual style, Spencer wandered down the aisle with a mug of coffee in hand and a tissue stuffed up in his bleeding nose. He hadn’t broken it, fortunately, he had just been kicked hard enough that it felt like he had. He joined the group at the table, Derek at his side and the Emily and JJ across. Hotch and Rossi were near the back of the jet, talking quietly amongst themselves while Hotch did paperwork as he usually did.

“Props to Dr. Reid for catching the unsub with some feminine mystique,” Emily said with a cute bow in Spencer’s direction. The doctor just smiled, leaning into Derek just slightly and exhaling a soft sigh of contentment.

“I’m just happy I was able to help, even if it was a… unique situation,” he said, happy that he had been able to catch a monster and take away his ability to hurt anybody else. Derek chuckled and held his hand under the table, squeezing slightly. He felt accomplished. After years of hiding himself and being ashamed of who he was in his professional life, he felt like he had defeated his own demons. He raised his eyes up and connected gazes with Rossi for a millisecond before the older man looked away.

It looked like he still had one demon to face.

<-Part 7: Origin | Part 9: Demons->

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #derek morgan #moreid #moreid smut #smut #drag queen Spencer Reid #a disaster if I ever wrote one

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sad-sweet-cowboah · 4 years

Text

Among These Pages

Summary: After a painful breakup, you move to a new town and you’re instantly attracted to a small bookshop near your new residence. The new owner has definitely caught your eye.

Warnings: Smut and mild cursing

A/N: So this idea originated from a Discord chat (again) in an Arthur specific server. Needless to say this one was fun to write.

The hot sun beat down amongst the worn cement and faded asphalt of this little town you now called home. Bright and sunny, though a little bit too hot for your taste. You quickened your pace to seek the shade of a tree, careful to keep out of the paths of others.

Having slight relief from the blistering sun, you squinted around for another view of your surroundings. A small, quaint village bustling with its inhabitants. The streets were lined with independent shops, restaurants and cafes. The buildings and walkways were splashed with brightly colored plants and paint, immediately setting a cheerful vibe in the atmosphere.

After spending the first day moving in and unpacking, you decided to take a break and explore your new residence. You’ve only really experienced it through your car windows, and stopped in one of the cafes once or twice. However, you now wanted the full experience. Though with how sweltering it was, you were probably better off driving.

You fanned yourself for a moment and cast your attention down the length of the block. More food, smoothies, coffee, ice cream, except you weren’t all that hungry at the moment.

However, another sign caught your eye. Though too far to see, your curiosity spiked and you walked forward. As you drew in closer shapes began to appear, along with letters. Morgan Books, painted in gold lettering in a distinctly Western styled font. Underneath was a stack of books with one opened on top. A bookshop. Being from where you were, you were used to the large corporate bookstores. You hadn’t come across an independently owned one in years.

Checking this place out was a perfect excuse to get out of the sun for a bit. You increased your pace until you were standing at the store front. The building like the others surrounding had a somewhat rustic appearance, part of the charm that attracted you to living here. The windows were dusty and the inside was fairly dark, but you could make out the silhouettes of shelves. You approached the entrance and pulled open the door, ringing a bell overhead. You stepped across the threshold to be greeted by a cool breeze of air conditioning.

You sighed in relief and looked around. The shop itself was fairly small, or at least appeared that way as it was full of multiple bookcases, all of which were stacked floor to ceiling with books. The floorboards creaked elsewhere, and you turned to see someone appear from around one of the shelves.

A man, tall and broad-framed. He offered a quick smile. “Hey there, welcome!”

“Hello.” You greeted him politely.

He stepped closer, allowing a better view of his face. You couldn’t help but to notice how handsome he looked. “Need help findin’ anything?” he asked.

You shook your head. “Nah, just exploring, really. I saw this place and I wondered what sort of treasures lurked within.” You lightly joked.

He chuckled. “Well, you’ll find plenty here. Got new n’ used, so feel free to look ‘round.”

You nodded in response, and turned your attention toward the endless amount of books. You scanned the shelves, following along with the signs marked on top of which cases held which topics. You found that he had a little bit of everything; from encyclopedias to New Age books, to computer guides (from the early 2000’s) to conspiracy theories. You had to giggle to yourself upon reading some of the synopses for a collection of the more esoteric pieces.

Time soon became lost to you with more exploration. All the while the man who greeted you earlier moved through the shop occasionally. After a while it felt like you’d been here for ages. When you checked your phone, you’d realized nearly a half hour passed since first walking into this place. You blinked in surprise. You hadn’t anticipated spending that much time here.

As you were putting your phone away and moved toward the front of the shop, the man sat at his register and caught your attention.

“So, find any treasures?” he casually asked.

You paused to turn to him. “Guess I did, you have a…uh, an interesting collection.” You responded, tilting your head back toward some of the shelves.

He nodded in agreement, offering you a half-smile. “You’d be surprised what people come in askin’ for, or what people come in to sell.”

“Well if I needed a how-to book on Windows 2000, I’ll know where to stop by.” You said with a giggle.

He shook his head and smiled even more. “See? Those books have been on them shelves for years. Ain’t sure why I still keep ‘em ‘round.”

“Antiquity value perhaps?” you joked.

He gave a small, hearty laugh. “’Spose so. Guess I should get rid of ‘em, they belong in a museum at this point.”

His laughter made you smile. “Anyway, I should be heading back home and unpack some more…”

His expression changed to curiosity. “You jus’ move here?” when you nodded, he asked, “Where from?”

“Couple hours north,” you answered. “Needed a change of scenery, you know?”

He nodded in understanding. “You’ll be glad ya moved here. This lil’ town has its charms, folks here are nice too.”

“I’m glad, believe me,” you sighed. “It’s a nice change of pace. I’m glad to have found this bookstore too, it adds to the charm.”

He grinned at you. A cute, slightly lopsided grin that somehow made your heart flutter. “Glad you think so.”

---

The next two days was spent unpacking the rest of your house, keeping yourself focused on it to have everything organized before the first day of your new job. It was Sunday, and by noon you’d finally unwrapped the last of your décor and placed it accordingly in your living room. You smiled to yourself as your eyes panned across the room, proud of how much you’d accomplished in just three days. Sure, you didn’t have too many possessions, yet it was a relief to tackle the largest of chores.

Though you hadn’t expected to finish this soon. With only half the day gone, you wondered what else to do. You supposed you could explore more, and that little shop on the corner popped up in your mind, along with the image of the handsome owner…

It wouldn’t be a bad idea to stop by again.

After a quick lunch break and heading outside, it was only fifteen minutes of walking before you reached your destination. It wasn’t as hot out today which you were thankful for. You strode up to the door and pulled it open, the bell once again alerting your incoming presence.

As soon as you stepped in, your eyes darted to the shopkeeper who sat behind the register. He peered up at your entrance.

“Hey, welcome back!” he greeted with enthusiasm.

You blinked in surprise. “You remember me?”

“’Course, when ya live in a small town, you tend to remember faces,” He explained. “Y’back to find more treasures?”

You smiled. “In a way, I finished unpacking earlier than expected so I thought I’d come back into town for a bit.”

“So you’re all settled in then?” he asked.

“For the most part. I start my new job tomorrow, so I’d figure I use my free time productively by…looking for more old computer manuals.”

He chuckled at that. “Now that ya mentioned it, I think I better do some inventory o’ the place. Might as well get rid of the useless stuff,” He spoke while standing up. “I won’t get in your way.”

You nodded, sidestepping as he rounded from around the counter to move past you. As he passed by, a short whiff of his cologne wafted through your nostrils. He smelled good, and you briefly turned your head to take a look as he walked away. He was certainly broad, almost too broad to fit in this little shop. Yet he moved between the bookcases with ease.

He turned a corner, obscuring himself from your vision. You turned your attention back to the books, looking for the topics that would particularly spark your interest.

It’d fallen quiet, aside from the creak of floorboards and sliding of books across wood. Out of the corner of your eye you saw him pass back and forth with a few in his hands, carrying them towards the back. You’d sneak another glance or two without him looking, appreciating his physique.

After a little while, you found yourself poring over a book on the religion of Wicca. It was something that piqued your interest in your earlier life, though never had a chance to really learn about it. You’d only just began to skim through it, although the content was interesting enough that you started to read.

A loud crash emanated elsewhere in the shop, causing you to jump in surprise. The shopkeeper hissed out a curse, prompting you to peer around in search of the source.

“You okay?” you called out.

“Yeah,” he replied with a sigh of annoyance. “Jus’ one o’ these shelves fell apart.”

You listened to the sounds of him attempting to clean up the mess, and followed it through the narrow aisles until you found him. He was bent over, attempting to collect the disheveled books spilled at his feet.

“Here, let me help.” You said, automatically starting forward.

“No, you don’t have to –” he began, glancing up at you.

“There’s a lot here.” You stated, gathering a few into your arms.

He didn’t argue further, and together the two of you managed to collect them all. He nodded in thanks and headed toward the back once again, with you on his heels. He led you to an open door to reveal a small back room. From over his shoulder you spotted a chair and desk, and a pile of books placed haphazardly on top of it. He placed his armful on an empty space and gestured for you to do the same. Once you emptied your arms and exited the back room, you turned to him.

“Thank you.”

You nodded to him. “You’re welcome…” you glanced around the shop again, and an idea struck your mind. “Need any more help?”

“Nah, jus’ ‘bout halfway done I think.” He answered, placing his hands on his hips.

“I could help with that though,” you pointed out, though surprised at yourself for even offering. “Kinda curious what else you got that’s ancient and obsolete.”

“Oh there’s plenty…” he responded, rubbing the back of his neck while he peered around as a thoughtful look painted his face. “Tell ya what, if ya find anything interestin’ that need to be off the shelves, I’ll let ya keep it for free.”

Bewilderment crossed your mind. “Wouldn’t you be losing money then?”

“A couple of ‘em won’t hurt business,” he said. “Better n’ throwin’ ‘em out or puttin’ em in storage, ya know?”

You didn’t want to decline his offer since he had a good point, yet you still felt bad regardless. “Alright, fair enough.”

And so you set to help him. All the while you two held a casual conversation. You learned his name was Arthur, and that he owned this place for a few years. Other than running this store he lived on a small ranch on the edge of town. You shared a little bit about yourself, including your career and a couple of shared interests you had with him.

Surprisingly enough, you’d pulled out many more old texts than you anticipated. Some were so worn and dog-eared that there was no resale value, and Arthur told you to just throw them away. Throwing away books? You instead convinced him to give them away, and he found an empty box and labeled it “Free Books”. You skimmed through them briefly to see if they caught your eye, yet none did and they ended up in the box.

After a little over an hour passed before the both of you picked the place clean. You dusted your hands off after placing the last few in the box. Arthur picked it up and carried it outside, placing it on the sidewalk. We walked back in and said, “Hope that gives ‘em some good use.”

“Hey, people will take anything free,” you pointed out. “Maybe even pull in more revenue for you.”

“Well here’s hopin’,” he sighed, briefly glancing toward the floor before meeting your gaze with a small smile. “Thanks for the help again, I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome Arthur, I actually had fun helping you.” You answered with a grin.

He chuckled softly. “Fun, eh?”

You nodded. “Sure, you’re a nice guy and fun to talk to.” You answered.

You weren’t sure, but his face reddened a touch as he ducked his head. He laughed again, shy and…cute. “Thank you, though I ain’t that much of an interestin’ person.”

“Nah, I beg to differ,” you argued lightly. “Either way, I think I’ll be coming back. I like it here, and if you’d need any more help…”

“You’ve been more than helpful Y/N,” he answered, waving his hand as if trying to flit away your words. He then paused, realization crossing his face. “Actually…no, never mind.”

“What is it?” you pressed.

“Well,” he released a heavy sigh. “I’ll be honest, business ain’t as good as I’d hoped. I’ve been tryin’ to think of new advertisin’ strategies, pull in more customers. Problem is I ain’t too good at it.”

“So…you’re asking me to help you advertise? Or create one for you?” you questioned.

“I know it ain’t fair to ask,” Arthur answered quickly, his face shadowed with a look of guilt. “We hardly know each other and you jus’ moved here –”

“I’ll do it.” You softly interrupted.

He blinked, staring at you in surprise. “Whuh?”

“I said I’ll do it,” you repeated, smiling at him. “Luckily for you, I took a few advertising arts classes in college.”

The surprise remained on his face. “Uh –” he huffed, and cleared his throat. “I don’t want ya to feel pressured or nothin’ –”

“I’m not, Arthur,” you assured him. “You were gonna ask for a reason right? I don’t mind. Besides, I haven’t used my art skills in years. Might as well put them to use again.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.” You affirmed. “Don’t worry about it, okay? It’ll give me something fun to do after work.”

Arthur was silent for a moment. He finally nodded and spoke, “Alright, as long as I ain’t troublin’ you with it.”

“No trouble at all,” you replied with another smile. “I’ll come up with something good, I promise.”

His smile matched yours. “Then I look forward to it.”

---

The next few weeks kept you busy. After settling in at your new job and coming home to sit at your computer to design flyers didn’t leave you much time for other activities. Still you stopped by the bookshop to plan with Arthur and discuss strategies, or suggested many ideas that he seemed to like. You laid out a few thumbnails of different designs for him to pick and choose, narrowing it down to two that he really liked.

You stopped by every day to update the progress, even when you didn’t have to. Admittedly you were enjoying his company, and you had a feeling he liked yours as well. After moving to a town where you knew no one and were far from your family and old friends, you were just fine with considering Arthur as one. As time passed on he’d become friendlier and more open to you, offering you a drink or snack even when you’d come by for a few minutes.

Sometimes you’d stay longer just as an excuse to be close to someone other than your new coworkers, and to admire how nice he looked. He always dressed in either button-up shirts or a nice T-shirt and Wrangler jeans like a cowboy, the fabric accentuating his broad frame in all the right ways. His sandy hair was trimmed neatly, and he kept his face somewhat clean shaven, although something about having stubble lined across his sharp jaw set a spark within you.

A relationship was the furthest thing on your list at the moment, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t admire how attractive he was.

Soon after you produced a finished product, and quite proud of the result after not having designed anything since your college days. It was a weekend which meant you were free, and upon printing out a nice colored version, you headed to the bookshop almost instantly.

Arthur loved it, as you had hoped. He paid for multiple copies to be printed and distributed around the town, and you spent the afternoon stapling them to telephone poles and handing them out in some of the shops. You thankfully had gotten a positive response from most of those you’ve spoken with, which gave you hope. You wondered how Arthur was doing on his end.

After a few hours you’d met back up at the shop, tired and arms empty, but Arthur looked as pleased as you did. You settled down in the back room while he handed you a water bottle from his mini fridge. You took it gratefully and gulped a swig, sighing in relief.

“I think we did good.” you said as he settled across from you.

He nodded in response, followed by taking a drink from his own bottle. “I think so too, lotsa people seem interested.”

“I would figure more people would come in here often.” You said thoughtfully.

“You’d think, but this place is more of a tourist trap than anything,” Arthur responded. “Can’t complain, but I understand. Ya get used to one place, it gets borin’ after a while.”

“Well, hopefully this will be the beginning of a new era for this place.” You enthusiastically gestured to the surroundings with a flourish.

Arthur smiled at you, chuckling as he took another drink of water. He didn’t speak, however your eyes met his. You’d never noticed before how absolutely gorgeous his eyes were. From a distance they appeared blue, yet you could detect hints of bright green surrounding his pupils. You wanted to view them even closer. Somehow you couldn’t tear your eyes away.

The entrance bell however sounded, pulling your attention and his toward the front of the store. The telltale signs of potential customers. Arthur glanced out in surprise, and immediately stood up to greet the newcomers. You stayed in the back room while he dealt with the customers, listening to their voices with a smile on your face. Who would have thought it would work that quickly?

You left shortly after, catching Arthur’s eye briefly as you walked by him helping out a young couple that wandered in. A gaze that lingered a second longer than you intended, however you felt it was best to leave him to deal with his shop at the moment.

—-

Two weeks passed and you hadn’t stopped by Arthur’s shop, mainly because each time you passed by, the building seemed to be teeming with customers. You felt more than happy, and proud of yourself that you helped a business owner earn more revenue after a dull streak.

You did find yourself missing his company. Each day he hung in your mind like a cloud. You certainly liked him enough to call him a friend, yet those gorgeous eyes of his would meet you in your dreams.

That following Saturday evening, you received a text from him.

Hey, would you mind stopping by?

He was vague yet direct. Perhaps he was going to ask you another favor? Either way you were excited to see him again, and to inquire how everything was going. You headed over just minutes after responding to his text, hoping your eagerness didn’t overflow into your phone.

The first thing you noticed was the closed sign hanging in the window, which explained the lack of people this time. It was just past 7 pm, and you walked up the door and knocked. Movement shadowed behind the glass and Arthur’s silhouette appeared just a moment later, meeting your gaze between the glass and smiling wide. He opened the door.

“Hey there, come on in.” He stepped back and gestured.

You walked in and turned to face him. “So, I’ve noticed business has gotten better recently.”

“All thanks to you,” he responded, the grin on his face only growing wider. He then lifted his hand to reveal he was holding a bottle of whiskey. “I wanna thank ya.”

You blinked at the alcohol, surprised by this but you didn’t have any objections. You smiled and nodded in approval. “You don’t have to thank me Arthur, but I’m not about to turn down a good drink.”

He chuckled heartily. “Sure I do, the booze is jus’ a bonus. C’mon.” He waved toward the back room and strode for it, and you were right behind him. Once he stepped inside he grabbed a couple of plastic cups, and filled the both of them with a few cubes of ice. He then poured in the whiskey before topping them off with some soda. He handed a cup to you, and then held up his own.

“To you, for your design and advertisin’ skills.” He said, although rather awkwardly. You figured he wasn’t good at that sort of thing, but you didn’t mind. Bringing your cup to tap against his, you smiled again and took the first sip simultaneously with him. The sweet soda tinged with the smokey bitterness of the alcohol was a pleasant mixture against your tastebuds.

It was quiet for a moment, and Arthur took another sip before drawing in a deep breath. He focused on you. “Drink’s good?” He asked.

You nodded, taking another sip of your own. “Very. Haven’t had a chance to have a good drink since I moved here. Had to resort to a few gas station beers.”

He snorted softly, a small smile of amusement appearing on his face. “Gotta introduce you to the good bar in town sometime.”

This piqued your interest. “Oh? There’s a bar here?”

“‘Course, every small town has a bar,” he pointed out. “It ain’t on any of these main roads though, it’s closer to the outskirts. I imagine ya probably didn’t explore that much.”

“Can’t say I have,” you said thoughtfully. “But I’ll take up the offer of you showing me.”

“Jus’ name a time, ya won’t be disappointed.” He confidently replied.

You finished your first drink after a little while and Arthur poured you a second to which you were not opposed to. The effects were taking hold of you before you knew it. Your lips were looser with each sip you took, and you found Arthur was the same way. The two of you spoke about random topics, anything ranging between favorite colors to what you cooked yesterday. Things that were otherwise too boring to discuss, yet somehow with Arthur they seemed more interesting.

A little while later, the conversation became deeper. Arthur spoke some about his earlier life and what kind of environment he was raised in, and how his teenage years were spent bitterly. You shared the reason why you moved: you were previously living with your significant other, only to find your shared bed occupied by two bodies when you arrived home early one day when you weren’t feeling well. The reveal absolutely crushed you, which led into an emotional spiral and you looking for a new place to live the next day.

It’d been a little over a month since then. Your mind was still heavy on the breakup until you stopped by here the first time. Arthur and his charming little shop seemed to absorb any lingering sadness you had. Seemed like both yesterday and ages ago.

Regardless of the story, the pair of you were chortling in good spirits. You ranted about all the negatives about your old partner, releasing the leftover bitterness you’ve suppressed and turned it into humor. It only heightened your mood more, and with each drink it only increased.

After a few more minutes it quieted down again, though the smiles remained on your faces. You since became immune to the sting of whiskey, immensely enjoying the flavors and the inebriation that accompanied it.

Arthur reached over and poured himself another helping. His sigh caught your attention. He stared down into his cup, fixated with a thoughtful expression.

“I gotta say, I’m glad you wandered in here that day.” He murmured, peering at you with a sidelong look.

“Yeah?” you chirped.

He nodded slowly, taking a swig of his drink before focusing onto you with a serious gaze. “I’ll be honest, I was thinkin’ ‘bout closin’ up.”

You were taken aback by this statement. “Why?”

“You saw for yourself. Hardly any business. Shelves lined with books decades old,” he snorted without humor. “Truth is openin’ this place ain’t even my idea.”

“Then whose was it?” you pressed tilting your head in curiosity.

“My fiancée’s,” he smiled bitterly, gently swirling his drink. “Eh, ex-fiancée. Had the grand idea to run a business together. Picked out this place herself. N’ like a fool I fell for it.”

Ex-fiancée. Your heart raced upon learning this new information, and you wondered what happened between them. Would it be too prying to ask? “So…what changed?”

Arthur shrugged. “She found someone else more interestin’. Said we had too many differences in our lives to really enjoy each other…” he trailed off to take another sip, his eyes shifting to gaze in the distance.

Your heart broke for him. Rather than wallowing in those feelings, you instead asked another question. “But why hold on to this place if it was her idea?”

His gaze pulled back to you. “Guess for a while I was hangin’ on to the dream that she’d come back n’ pick up where we left off. Obviously that didn’t happen. Stupid, huh?”

You frowned at this. Hell, you understood that pipe dream all too well. There was a brief time where you wished your ex would come after you like in the movies in some dramatic fashion, pouring out apologies and begging you to come back. Wishful thinking.

You noted his hand was resting against the table. In a quick movement you reached over and placed your hand comfortingly on his forearm, and offering him a sympathetic smile. “It’s not stupid at all. You loved her and you held on to the one thing that you knew she loved too.”

Arthur’s eyes dropped to your hand. “For too long,” he sighed. “After a while I knew there was no chance. Still I continued, kept this place open for my own sake. Came here every mornin’ with a rock in my stomach, least until recently.” He explained, his voice softening towards the end. He peered over to you again.

Your heart raced once again. The way he was looking at you… it was obvious as to why he mentioned that last bit. Hell, you knew for a while. He wasn’t subtle about trying to steal glances your way these past few weeks. As attractive as he was, you were denying yourself of your own feelings out of protection. It felt too soon after your last relationship, although it seemed Arthur had been single for a while. You were afraid you’d change your mind. “And why is that?” you asked, wanting to play dumb to hide your initial hesitation.

His arm moved – at first you thought he was pulling away, until his hand met yours. Palm to palm, skin rough but warm. His fingers entwined with yours and you automatically did the same. “I think you know,” he murmured.

His thumb smoothed against the back of your hand. Your eyes bore into his. Such a gorgeous light blue, glistening in the lamplight of this tiny room. Despite the table in between the two of you, it was hardly an obstacle to view him in better focus. Upon closer inspection, you could detect pools of green surrounding his pupils, reminding you of tropical beaches.

His lips were parted, wafting his gentle breath against your face. Scented with alcohol and the sweetness of soda, he seemed to be growing closer.

You closed the space immediately, the booze flowing in your system offering a boost of confidence. His mouth was surprisingly soft against yours, and within seconds he returned the favor. Your free hands joined, mirroring their counterparts with ease. He pulled you closer with no effort.

After a moment, he pulled back slightly to stare at you with a soft expression. He released your hand to cup your cheek gently, and you leaned into his touch with a smile.

“You don’t have to hold on to those thoughts anymore.” you sighed to him.

His smile mirrored yours. “Neither do you.”

---

It was nothing but pure bliss following that night. You’d fallen into a routine to spend some time with him every day, even when you had work. Arthur was such a sweet lover and was not hesitant to hold you whenever he had a chance. His arm around your waist, or pulling you into his lap. You helped around the bookshop more, even when he told you that you didn’t have to. Yet you insisted, and redecorated some of it to give a new energy while keeping its rustic look. It certainly attracted even more customers.

He took you to the bar as promised, and it quickly became a regular spot for casual dates. It was just as charming as he explained, accompanied with lovely patrons and entertainment. You were soon completely comfortable with this small town, completely integrated into its community thanks to Arthur. People often recognized your face from the bookshop, and the praise following was something he was elated to hear about.

A couple of months have passed, and you swore Arthur’s smile grew bigger each and every day. He looked forward to running the business again, and left those bitter thoughts of his ex behind with the help of you.

One particularly slow weekend day, you were spending time in the shop as usual. It was late afternoon and the last customer left an hour ago, thus creating a quiet and relaxing atmosphere. Closing time would be in less than an hour, and you just assumed no one else would be wandering in.

While Arthur manned the register, albeit with boredom, you began to observe some of the newer inventory. The shelves were thankfully lined with more recent texts to fill in the gaps of what you’d sorted through previously. Once again you found yourself coming across the book of Wicca again, the same one you were skimming through just months earlier. You were surprised no one purchased it with the heavy amount of traffic that passed through.

The book served as a better distraction than you realized. You pored over it, so focused on the information that you didn’t notice the presence that loomed over you until gentle hands found your waist.

“You can keep that if ya want.”

You blinked in surprise, turning your head to look at him. “No, I’d feel weird about it.”

“Why?” he asked.

“It’s still your store, I just can’t take it.” You pointed out.

He shook his head and quietly laughed. “Ah, it’s alright sweetheart. I know you were interested in that. ‘Sides, it’s been sittin’ here for months, n’ I can always order more if people want ‘em. Pretty sure it’s here for ya.”

“I still feel like I should pay…or something.” You murmured, placing the book back on the shelf.

“Now I don’t wanna hear none o’ that,” Arthur lightly chided you, despite wrapping his arms around your waist. “I never did properly thank you for all the help you’ve given me.”

You turned around in his grip, giving him a playful smirk. “As if all this affection wasn’t repayment enough?”

“’Course not,” he snickered, and leaned in to place a chaste kiss on your lips. “Think I got quite a while ‘fore I’m even,” he reached over and plucked the book from its spot, and pressed it into your hand. “Until then, take this.”

Your fingers instinctively wrapped around the spine, and you sighed again. He was adamant about you keeping this book, and there was no use arguing with him. No point in denying a free gift anyway. “Alright, I’ll keep it.”

He smiled in response. “Don’t ever think y’gotta pay for somethin’ in here. If ya like it, then help yourself.”

��You tell that to all the girls?” you asked.

“Only to the ones I like.” He replied with a wink.

You giggled, stepping back to lightly slap his chest with the book. “Alright you, I’m gonna head home. See you tomorrow?”

He nodded, drawing you back in for a hug and another kiss. “See ya tomorrow, darlin’.”

Breaking from the embrace, you headed toward the exit. Somehow you hadn’t noticed how much darker it got outside until you saw the iron-gray storm clouds through the door. You opened it just as a loud thunder clap rumbled through the air, vibrating the floor beneath you. A split second later, rain began to fall.

Well shoot, you walked here today.

Arthur’s low hum sounded behind you. He stepped up beside you to observe the weather. “Guess you ain’t goin’ anywhere for a while.”

“Guess not.” You agreed. You weren’t opposed to staying longer, however you were hungry and some leftover pizza at home was calling your name. Hopefully this storm would be quick.

Arthur seemed to have read your mind. “Got some snacks in the back, c’mon.” He said, reaching your free hand and leading you through to the back room.

The two of you settled at the table with a shared small helping of cut fruit. While it wasn’t much, it was enough to curb your appetite for the time being. It was quiet aside from the raging storm, which settled to an even calmer atmosphere. You popped a grape into your mouth, peering over at Arthur as he munched on an apple slice.

His eyes met yours. “Somethin’ wrong with my face?” he asked jokingly.

You snickered, scooting closer. “Yeah, a whole lot of handsome.”

He snorted and shook his head with a dejected smile. You learned early on that his self-esteem was low, even though he hid it fairly well. Any comments toward his physical appearance was usually deflected.

“It’s true, you know.” You insisted. “You ever see how some girls stare at you when they’re here?”

“Nah, only ever got eyes for you, darlin’.” He answered.

“It’s pretty obvious,” you continued. “They’re not so subtle with their googly eyes, even when they try to be.”

Arthur laughed again, his voice tinged with disbelief. “Guess I’m blind to it.”

“You must be, if you can’t tell how sexy you are…” you stood up briefly to slide into his lap. Your hands cradled his face. “Probably the most attractive man in this town.”

His cheeks flushed with a light shade of pink, ducking his head slightly to avert your gaze. “You’re jus’ bein’ sweet.”

“I’m being truthful,” You corrected, slipping your hand beneath his chin to tilt his face back up. Once he was looking at you again, your hands moved to his shoulders, down his arms and to finally take his hands. “I could stare at you all day, you know.”

He chuckled in response, entwining his fingers with yours. “I could say the same ‘bout you.”

“Ah, but this is about you…” you spoke softly, pulling his hands up to your mouth, placing soft kisses on his knuckles. “From your gorgeous eyes to your sexy jawline to your absolutely stunning body. And the way you dress? It’s like you do it on purpose just to make me feel all hot and bothered.”

“I don –”

You gently shushed him by planting your lips on his. Tasting faintly of fruit, your tongue swiped out to steal the flavor from his lips. You pulled back to see the flustered expression on his face, his mouth betraying a slight smile tugging at the corners.

He released your hands to wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you even closer on his lap. “Guess I can’t complain if you like it all.” He murmured.

“And then some.” You added, wrapping your own arms around his neck. He drew you in for a second kiss, softer and sweeter than the previous. He held you close to him, his body warm and solid against you. Seconds ticked by as it gradually grew deeper and more fervent. His tongue slowly invaded your mouth which you happily accepted. His large hands smoothed up and down your back, both soothing and igniting your body. A soft moan slipped from your mouth, unintentional yet you didn’t regret it.

This caught his attention. He paused and parted the kiss, confusion plain in his expression. His eyes however betrayed his thoughts, aquatic pools shining brightly in the lamplight. He wanted more and was held back by his hesitation. It seems like you would have to take the lead.

You offered a soft nod to him, a silent acquisition of permission for his unmentioned desire. Removing your hands from around his neck, you reached down and peeled your shirt off, tossing it to the side. Arthur’s eyes widened, staring without shame at your chest, only reflecting the hunger in its prominence. He moved then to attach his mouth to the crook of your neck, kissing your skin lovingly. Your head tilted to allow him more access, quietly encouraging him to explore more of your body.

He did just that. His calloused palms roamed the expanse of your back. His fingers trailed with feather-light precision up your spine. You shuddered in his grip, arching your back and pressing against him even more. He rumbled softly in appreciation while his other hand found the zipper of your jeans. You anticipated feeling him venture further, only for him to grip your ass. He stood up, catching you off-guard and you expelled a yelp. His journey with you was short as he brought you back down, resting your back on the table before him. You locked eyes with him as he smiled down at you, reaching up to caress your cheek. He dragged his fingers down your midline to the hem of your pants, gripping them to tug them straight off.

You were now down to your underclothing while he was still fully dressed. He was certainly moving fast. “You’re gorgeous too…” he muttered, his gaze scanning you up and down with great interest. He rested his hands on your hips, standing in between your legs. He leaned down to kiss your collarbone, moving his lips in a steady line following his trail from earlier. Looping his fingers through your underwear, he pulled them down just as his face reached just below your navel.

He tossed your panties with your other discarded clothing. As exposed as you were, you didn’t feel embarrassed. Your yearning for him was driving you wild. He kissed your mound before taking his spot in the center, and a split second later the wet presence of his tongue appeared along your slit, searching for his target until he honed in on it.

Good lord, who knew he was so good at oral?

You covered your mouth while he worked his magic against you, moaning quite loudly through your fingers. He held your trembling legs tightly against his shoulders, occasionally peering up at you for validation. Your other hand carded through his soft hair, allowing your touch to encourage him further.

He toyed with your entrance, exploring your inner walls. It wasn’t long until he hit that spot, a toe-curling and edge-gripping sensation that had you squealing his name. You were thankful this place was empty for once. He rubbed your inner thigh, offering his own encouragement. Your climax was arriving almost too quickly for you to comprehend. “A-Arthur,” you gasped. “God –“

You could barely utter another word as your pleasure washed over you like a powerful tidal wave, snapping your legs tightly to him while he lapped at you, drawing it out until you were writhing and whimpering from overstimulation. He broke free from your grasp with ease, standing back up to stare down at you.

As your breath evened out, you sat up slowly. “Where did that come from?” you asked.

He chuckled, offering you that crooked smile you loved so much. “I do have some tricks up m’ sleeves.”

You giggled with him, reaching out to wrap your arms around his neck. He leaned into your embrace, joining his lips to yours for a short kiss. You brought yourself to your feet and pressed closer to him, highly aware of what rested against your thigh. Sliding your arms off, you knelt down. “I got tricks of my own too.”

Before he could speak, you palmed him through his jeans. He took a deep breath, easing out a quiet moan to you. You nimbly unzipped his confinements, reaching in to fish out his already hardened manhood. He was larger than you anticipated, but not enough to intimidate you. You wrapped your hand around, finding him thick in circumference. To describe him as well-endowed would only serve him some justice. Your fingers couldn’t touch.

You peered up at him. He was staring at you with curiosity, the rosy tint in his cheeks only increasing. There was still a hesitant energy to him, enough to not push you further.. You offered him a slow rub, memorizing every inch in your hand from root to tip. He released a shuddering breath, his eyelids fluttering slightly.

A soft smile crossed your lips, and you brought yourself forward to kiss his hot skin. You parted your lips to slowly engulf him, keeping your eyes locked to his. Your tongue slid languidly along his silky flesh, drawing along the thick vein that lay on the underside. Soon you had a set rhythm, bobbing your head in an undulating movement. He moaned deeply, breaking his gaze to tilt his head back. His fingers tangled within your hair, a gentle hold that prompted you to take more of him.

The sounds he made were glorious. Guttural groaning with your name, pet names, wrapped with his pleasure. His palm pressed against the back of your head. As gentle as he was, you sensed an urgency behind it. And so you dove further, swallowing him whole with some effort.

“Oh –” he huffed, his hips shuddering with a small buck. “Shit, darlin’. S-sorry.”

You uttered a soft hum and rubbed his thigh soothingly in response. Pulling your mouth back, you deep throated him again. He swore out loud a second time and gripped a nearby chair. You repeated a third time, raising your hand to fondle his balls through his jeans. His breathing became erratic the longer you pleased him, taking him whole with long swallows and a wiggle of your tongue. He gripped your hair hard, though he broke any direct contact with your head, too lost in his ecstasy to aid your movement.

Though hardly any time passed when he spoke your name. “Sweetheart, ain’t g-gonna last.” He gasped out.

You stopped immediately, pulling your mouth off him with a pop of your lips on the tip, swiping off a small pearl of precum that formed. You sat back quietly on your knees as his breathing regulated, and he was able to straighten up and focus on you again. “God damn, your mouth…ain’t no other like it.” He sighed.

You smiled smugly and stood up, closing the space between you with a swagger. Your arms slung around his neck again while you gave him a sultry look. “Didn’t want to be done yet.”

Arthur caught on immediately, pulling you in closer with an iron grip. He ground against you, his rough jeans on your soft skin felt wonderful. His erection rested between your thighs, just inches of where you wanted it to be. “Didn’t think so.” He growled, setting a shudder through you.

With one swoop he propped you back onto the table. His lips hungrily latched to yours while his hands explored every inch of your bare body. His fingers found your center with easy, relaxed strokes. Your moans silenced in his open mouth. You could only hold on while he pleasured you with his hands, though your patience for all of him was wearing thin. His shirt balled up in your hands, fingernails digging deep into the fabric and against his skin.

You pulled back to gasp out. “Arthur, please!” you panted. “I need to feel you.”

He paused his ministrations, bringing his gaze to you. A sweet smile touched his lips and he moved to grip your hips, shuffling slightly to align himself to you. His hips rocked forward, allowing himself to poke between your folds. He invaded you slowly, inch by inch and spreading your inner walls. You hid a wince, underestimating his thickness. He watched your face intently as if to note any discomfort. Soon he was completely joined with you.

He caressed your cheek, asking a silent question of your comfort. You nodded to him and kissed his palm, then trapped his thumb between your lips to suckle on it. Out of the corner of your eye you could see the faint surprise on his face, and you couldn’t help but giggle.

His hand left your face to take place once again on your hip. He brought himself back and forward in one smooth motion. The discomfort dissolved almost instantly as your body accepted him, soon replaced with waves of pleasure. You moaned loudly, gratefully, hanging on him while he rocked you to the very core.

He murmured a breathless swear, gripping you tightly while he continuously thrust into you. You were enveloped by your own ecstasy, whispering his name into the air. Lost in your pleasure, you almost didn’t feel him lift you from the table. He held you without effort, driving himself even deeper. His grunts and groans vibrated deep in his belly, vibrating against you.

“Sweetheart, ya feel so nice.” He crooned.

You couldn’t form a coherent response. You could only muster up a long moan the more he fucked you, the further he reached and the harder he rocked. He paused briefly to move from the little room out into the main area. You felt him press you against a bookshelf. The books housed in it shuddered and some fell.

“A-Arthur?” you panted in question.

“Scientology books, no one reads ‘em anyway.” He quickly answered.

You couldn’t help but to laugh, a hearty giggle that switched to a squeal once he pounded into you again. The bookcase creaked behind you, tapping against the wall. The small aware part of your brain wanted to be careful, that is until Arthur shifted to snake his hand between you, his fingers once again toying with your clit.

You stifled another squeal, keeping yourself from becoming any louder than you already were in case any passerby somehow heard you, despite the storm still raging outside. Arthur seemed to have other plans, ramming himself so hard that you could only shout his name. His mouth latched to your neck again, not hesitant to mark and abuse your flesh. He growled with a nearly animalistic tone, echoing deeply throughout the shop.

Your second was on a quick ascent, peaking and surging through your center and radiating through your muscles. You cried out his name, your walls clenching around him. He grunted, unleashing a shuddering breath.

“Jesus, gonna finish soon.” He huffed to you, and caught your lips for a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. He held you again with both hands. His pace hastened and his hips became erratic, unshamefully moaning against your tongue.

Every one of your senses was overwhelmed in the most wonderful ways. Your taste and smell were overwhelmed with his essence, your nerves tingling as you came down from your high. Nails dug into his flesh, spurring him to finish even sooner.

The clear ringing of a bell pierced your otherwise distracted attention. The bell indicating the store’s door opening, followed by faint footsteps. It brought you back to reality quickly. Ripping your mouth from his, you tried to gasp out his name, only to have him nearly slap his hand over your mouth.

“Shh, nearly there sweetheart. Jus’ be quiet.” He grunted quietly.

Part of you was nervous about the idea of being caught by someone, yet another side seemed to enjoy the thrill. You barely managed a nod while he somehow quietly fucked you, keeping you pressed against the bookshelf and undulating rolling his hips. You locked eyes with him, hyperaware of the creak of the floorboards that sounded as if they were growing closer. Your heart raced despite the endless amount of pleasure racking through your body.

It almost seemed as if he wouldn’t finish in time, until he pulled out of you and stifled a low groan. Hot trails of his spend painted your bare stomach. His entire body shuddered and he eased your legs to the floor, planting a quick kiss on your forehead before ushering you to the back room.

Your legs felt like jello, but you managed to scurry back into the room, ducking from view of the shop while Arthur stuffed himself back into his pants and hastily adjusted his appearance before disappearing from your line of sight. You heard him greet the newcomers, his voice cheerful and not a hint of what just happened a moment before.

You swiftly and silently closed the door, cleaned yourself up, and redressed. A few quiet minutes passed by before Arthur opened the door back up. He smiled at you and let out a sigh of relief. “They didn’t catch us,” he announced.

“I thought it was closing time,” you said.

“Close, had ten til,” he rolled his eyes. “Usually how it goes…”

You sighed heavily. “Of course…” You stepped up to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. Despite the fatigue that took hold of your body, you felt energized from the whole ordeal. “You sent them on their way?”

Arthur took a hold of your waist, pulling you flush against his torso. “Once they found what they were lookin’ for, though they did hear us a lil’…I had to tell ‘em I was rearrangin’ some o’ the shelves.”

You snickered. “Gotta say, it was a little bit of a thrill feeling like we were gonna get caught. Like we’re teenagers sneaking around or something.”

Arthur snorted and grinned at you with a sly smirk. “Yeah?”

“Sure, but let’s wait until after closing time. Don’t wanna scare off the customers.” you amended.

He nodded, his face twitching thoughtfully. “Next time, I think my house is more suitable,” he laughed. “More comfortable than a bookcase.”

“Oh I’d hope,” you replied, arching your back and feigning a look of pain. “Pretty sure that threw out my back.”

Arthur’s eyebrows raised in surprise, though quickly realized you were joking and shook his head. That same adorable crooked smile returned to his face. “How ‘bout I massage ya to make it up?”

“How about we do that at my house?” you proposed with a cheeky wink.

#Arthur Morgan #Arthur Morgan x reader #Arthur Morgan x reader smut #modern!Arthur Morgan #modern au

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delimeful · 4 years

Text

WIBAR Intermission: Making Adjustments (1)

welcome to the first chapter of the intermission! if you’re new to this AU, you can find the first chapter here and the ao3 story here!

warnings: tension, blood, fear, nightmares, medical torture, needle mention

Virgil’s first impression of their ship was that it looked a lot less futuristic than Star Wars would have had him believe.

It was less ‘fighter jet’ and more ‘classic UFO’ in style, cylindrical and all curves instead of edges. The panels on it seemed to be made of some obsidian-like metal, glinting in the storm’s light. He didn’t know how it compared with other ships, seeing as he’d spent most of his time in space stuck in a cell on one, and thus didn’t have many references.

Oh his shoulder, Patton shook, spraying water from his ruff of feathers like a dog after a bath. Virgil squinted as a few droplets hit his face, and ignored the odd staring that the thin, willowy alien- Logan?- was doing. If Patton’s friend had something to say to him, he could say it outright, because Virgil wasn’t a mind reader.

... Were there aliens that could read minds?

Patton tapped his shoulder with a clawed finger, pointing at a slight imprint in the ship. “There’s the door! Luckily, we’ve got one of the bigger models since Roman is on the larger end of the alien size scale! You’ll fit just fine.”

“Lucky isn't the word I would use.” Virgil’s shoulders rose slightly as he caught the grumble from a few feet behind him, unheard by Patton’s duller ears. If he wasn’t so on edge, he’d be annoyed. If Roman was going to shit-talk him, he could at least do it in something other than Common so Virgil didn’t have to listen to it.

It was already difficult enough just letting the Crav’on walk behind him; everything in Virgil screamed danger at even the smallest movement from the bulky alien. At a squat five foot, Roman wasn’t able to loom over Virgil, but his spike-like scales were all fully extended, making him look like a mix between an angry cat and a porcupine. His rigid, shell-like ears kept twitching, and frankly, Virgil was expecting to get one of those scales through his spine any minute now.

Patton shifted eagerly, his feathers fluffing in a way that meant he wanted down, and Virgil swiftly crouched to allow the Ampen an easier trip to the ground. Both of the others twitched at the fast movement, and he barely repressed the urge to flinch in response. Showing his nerves would only make them more anxious. Conceal, don’t feel, ect.

As promised, he only had to duck his head slightly to get through the ship’s main entry door, and the hallways were luckily tall enough that he could pass through in his customary slouch. He couldn’t help but stare like an idiot as Patton led him through the ship’s passages, getting glimpses of other rooms full of the alien versions of furniture and books. Such normal, everyday objects, but for a while he’d never thought he’d get to see them again.

Roman and Logan accompanied them, as though the moment they let Patton out of their sight, he’d vanish. Though he suspected this in large had to do with the Ampen dragging around an entire Human, he could understand it. He’d also do just about anything to keep Patton safe, after all. He couldn’t blame them for it when he himself had a panic attack nearly every time the Ampen had left for a town to get supplies without him.

“Here!” Patton announced, guiding him into what was probably a bathroom. The Ampen leapt up onto the counter, pulling a white cylindrical container from one of the shelves. “We’ve got plenty of bandages for when Roman gets himself into trouble. Can you rinse that scratch off for me?”

Virgil nodded and spent a moment fiddling with the sink while Roman protested loudly, something about defending his honor and trouble finding him. Once he managed to get the water running, he carefully peeled his sleeve away from his cheek, wincing when the fibers pulled at the newly clotted blood. Logan appeared at his side and offered him a dark cloth towel, making him jump in surprise. “Uh, thanks.”

After a fair amount of delicate washing and applying some basic disinfectant spray, Patton gestured for him to crouch. His eyes flickered to the other two, who were watching him with fascination and disgust, respectively. He�� didn’t particularly want to be more exposed than he already was in front of them, Roman especially, but it was Patton asking, and what right did he have to deny Patton anything? He folded down into range of his little clawed hands, trying not to shiver at the cool air on the back of his neck.

Patton carefully applied gauze and tape all along the injury, making him feel like an underdressed mummy. “There! They’re pretty shallow, so they should heal up in no time with your healing rate!”

“Thanks, Pat.” He quickly rose back to a standing position, shoulders slouched.

The Ampen beamed at him, and Virgil felt more than saw the other two aliens stiffen. He let the edge of his mouth curl up in response, but carefully didn’t show any teeth. Never let it be said that he didn’t learn.

“Patton.” Logan reached out with one of his upper arms, settling crystalline fingers onto Patton’s shoulder. The Ampen leaned into the touch with a melodic hum. “Perhaps we could settle in the living quarters. We have a lot to catch up on.”

Virgil glanced between them, remembering that they were Patton’s real friends, and they’d been looking for Patton for ages, and had somehow managed to track them down where a huge smuggling organization had failed. Patton no doubt missed them just as much, his antennae fluffed out the way they were when he was truly happy.

He wasn’t about to ruin their happy reunion by making the others uncomfortable or worse, afraid. He couldn’t do that to Patton, even if his chest ached with the certainty that his welcome would only be temporary. Maybe the less he intruded, the longer they’d let him stay?

He cleared his throat awkwardly, drawing their attention. “I’m tired. Is it okay if I…?”

Patton frowned in worry and Roman sneered, but Logan was the one to speak, extra arms tucked behind his back politely. “Of course. We have a guest room, though it’s not particularly furnished at the moment.”

Virgil’s shoulders dropped a little at the idea of having some space to himself to breathe. “Yeah, that works perfect. Thank you.”

Once they reached the room, Patton was beckoning him down into a crouch again so he could check his head for ‘human illnesses’. Virgil chuckled quietly, still all-too-aware of the foreign eyes on him.

“No fever, Pat. I’m a little… too-much, right now.” He carefully moved Patton’s hand from his forehead and patted it like he was handling precious glass. “I’ll be okay. You said… they’re safe, yeah?”

Patton nodded exuberantly. “I would trust them with my life, Vee.” He paused, antennae flicking back and forth in uncertainty. “I… can I come check in later?”

Virgil felt himself soften further, well aware of Patton’s nerves at separating. He felt the same way, after all. “Always.”

Patton nodded again, gently bumping his head against the underside of Virgil’s chin before finally withdrawing. He watched as the three of them began to walk down the hall, Patton waving with a tiny hand and Roman shooting him a glare, and then ducked into the guest room, making sure to leave the sliding door partially open.

It was plain but had all the necessities, which was all Virgil really cared about, considering he’d been sleeping on the dirt ground for the past month. He checked the perimeter of the room carefully, exploring every corner and door.

Rationally, he knew there shouldn’t be any danger hidden away here, but he was too used to making sure his and Patton’s campsite wouldn’t be found by any stray locals. Habits that kept one alive were hard to break.

Eventually the paranoid itch in the back of his mind was satisfied, and he crawled into the bed, which was more of a hollow egg-shape, stuffed full of mounds of soft bedding. It was easily large enough for him, thankfully, and he settled in to sleep.

…

Sleep didn’t come.

Ridiculously enough, it was because he was too comfortable. The room was cool and quiet and dark, with no weather or local insects to worry about hurting Patton, but it was also wide and exposed to anyone who walked past his door. The bedding was soft and smooth, but clean enough that he felt bad for sprawling his dirty body across it.

He wondered vaguely if he could maybe shower, and then dismissed the thought. He didn’t even know what the supplies or facilities were like on this ship, and he really didn’t want to be without his clothes until he was sure one of the others weren’t going to attack him.

After what seemed like hours of tossing and turning, he gave in and dragged a thin blanket along to one of the odd circular storage cabinets in the room. It had a flat bottom, and it was hard and enclosed from any passerby, and that was enough for him. He had to fold his body slightly to fit in it fully, but he’d slept in worse conditions. Much worse.

Within moments, his eyelids drooped, and he was out.

He woke up strapped to a table, which was never a very pleasant way to wake. Above him, aliens in full-body protective suits muttered and babbled clinically in Common that was too complex for him to understand. He couldn’t struggle, stuck in his body looking out as he was stuck with needles and tubes.

At least this time whatever drug they had used to paralyze him was keeping him from feeling the pain.

His vision blurred in and out of focus, mind drifting as he watched bits and pieces of himself be cut away.

Suddenly, all the harvesters seemed to vanish, stepping back out of sight. He wished he could turn his head to see them, make sure they weren’t doing anything without him knowing, but what difference did it make? It wasn’t like he could do anything about it.

The horror of the situation only began to settle in fully when the Machine appeared at his side. His eyes locked onto its glossy surface immediately, his breaths coming quicker and quicker as gloved hands strapped cold bands around his forehead and wrists.

They flipped him over, and even though all he could see was the table, he knew the moment they’d attached the barbed metallic strip to his back, right along his spinal cord. His nerves jumped, feeling jolting through them again, minutes too late.

He had already been dumped in the arena, a room with cold white walls and windows set into the ceiling for harvesters to look down on him and whatever unlucky bastard they threw in with him today.

His gaze was drawn back down to the door lifting on the other side of the chamber. Speak of the devil.

Virgil rolled to his feet, ignoring the ache of his body to prepare himself. Almost all of the aliens they paired him with came out of the door ready to maul him, be it from anger, or drugs, or simple terror. He’d gotten enough scars trying to talk them down, enough to know the futility of it.

When the door rose, however, he knew the face behind it. Patton?

It was as though the past months had never happened, like they were meeting in that cell for the first time again. Patton shook and trembled, scrambling back against the door as it swung shut after him. Virgil felt something in him ache at the sight.

He opened his mouth to reassure him, tried to kneel and reduce the difference in height between them, to look as nonthreatening as possible. Patton, I would never hurt you.

His body was silent. It took a step forward without Virgil’s input. And then another. And then he was suddenly there, inches away from the Ampen, hand reaching out for his throat and Patton let out a desperate wail, the one he’d only heard once, just before their escape—

Virgil jerked awake like he’d been electrocuted by a guard taser, choking on his own spit as he struggled to breathe.

Just a dream. Just a dream.

He tried to concentrate, reaching out with a feather-light (never careless, never harmful) touch for the reassuring, fluffy weight of his friend against him. All he found was air, and his fear levels shot up into panic attack territory. Where was Patton? Patton wasn’t there, Patton was gone, Patton was-

Patton was home. Patton was safely bundled into bed with his real family, the ones that didn’t have violent, horrifying nightmares.

The memories of the past however many hours hit him, then, and his hands fell limp back to his sides. He shouldn’t be feeling this way, he knew, because Patton was safe and happy here, and that was what the Ampen deserved. That was what mattered, not his stupid little hurt feelings over the fact that Patton’s friends definitely hated him. He dragged a hand over his face tiredly, mouth sour with the knowledge that he was a bad friend.

All intent to sleep gone, he attempted to reach for the cabinet door, only to find empty air. He blinked, squinting in the dark, and found it easily enough. He’d apparently kicked out in his nightmare, because his right foot was stuck in the detached cabinet door, driven through the white material like it was cheap plaster. Oops.

This made it considerably more difficult to maneuver his body out of the cabinet, but he managed without driving the splintered door into his ankle too much. Still stung terribly when he pulled it off though, leaving several fresh new scrapes. Hopefully those wouldn’t get infected.

The door to his temporary room was still partially open, thankfully, and he quietly nudged it further to slip out into the hallway. The lights had been dimmed partially, probably to simulate night and keep them on a routine sleep schedule. The smugglers hadn’t bothered with light cycles for his cell, leaving one corner of the room darkened at all times for whenever he got exhausted enough to sleep. It was a nice change.

Aimless beyond an urge to ascertain Patton’s safety, he wandered the ship near-silently, glancing at any open doors he passed and attempting to figure out what the purpose of them was from what little he could see in the rooms. There were helpful labels on some of the doors, but he still didn’t know how to read the written form of Common. Patton had offered to teach him, but there wasn’t much time to waste writing in the dirt while they were on the run.

Still slightly out of it from his nightmare, Virgil almost walked right into one of Roman’s sharp-edged scales before realizing he was there. He froze, breath catching in his lungs as he waited for the bulky alien to notice him there at his side. The alien turned his head slowly, the horns atop it forming a distinct crown silhouette.

Roman’s red eyes were just light enough in color to be picked out from the rest of his face, and Virgil watched in disbelief as they passed over him without a second glance. The alien shuddered slightly, the movement making his scales rattle and shift, and then turned away to tromp back down the hall.

Night vision, Virgil suddenly recalled, thinking about how often he’d had to guide Patton through terrain in the dark. He’d thought it might have just been an Ampen thing, but it looked like Roman’s species didn’t see into shadows too well either. He let out a slow breath, watching as Roman began his circuit anew. He could only assume that the area he was patrolling was where the others were resting. Of course Roman would be up to guard them from the human.

Guess he wouldn’t be able to check on Patton after all.

Suddenly more tired than before, he waited until Roman’s back was turned and then bolted back the way he’d come on silent feet.

Well. It wasn’t like he hadn’t spent sleepless nights alone before now. A few more on a new ship wouldn’t hurt, since he couldn’t imagine it would be long before he was back to sleeping out on hostile planets.

#sanders sides #g/t #giant/tiny #ts virgil #space au #wibar #ts roman #ts logan #ts patton #wibar int: ma #watch it burn and rust #wibar intermission #*winks at you all* surprise!#writing #my writing

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thats-how-i-role · 3 years

Text

There is not a world out there where you will find Jem Morale grovelling. Begging. Pleading. Except when it comes to finding happiness for certain beautiful, intelligent girl.

“Please!” Jem whined, following their manager into their office. Jem’s entire posture was slumped. “It’s just for a night.”

Their boss nodded, visibly annoyed. “And it’s just a deposit.”

“Yeah, five hundred bucks!” Jem exclaimed, exasperated. “You sign my paycheques, we both know I can’t afford that.”

Their manager pinched the bridge of their nose. “And for the last time, it’s not my problem.” Jem laid their head down on their manager’s desk, staring up at him with the biggest puppy dog eyes possible. After a moment of a rather humorous staring contest, their manager finally said, “What do you need to rent out the café for anyway?”

“I have this... friend.” Jem began to explain, their gaze drifting off. “She’s been helping me out with my schoolwork, particularly the subjects I’ve been having trouble with. And her birthday’s is in two days. I just want to plan something special.”

Their boss quirked their eyebrow up, “Friend, as in girlfriend?”

Jem shook their head, “No. At least... I’m working on it. And maybe this could help, which is why this is so important.”

Their manager breathed out a sigh, shaking their head discontented. After a moment of silence he spoke up, “I can’t let you use the restaurant. But, with a deposit of one-fifty, half of which will be covered by your over time pay, and your tips over the next couple week, I can give you the roof.”

Jem shot up, “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Their boss shook his head, “Don’t thank me yet. It’s a mess up there, and in order to get it cleaned up you’re gonna need your own crew. But, not-only if you get it organized by yourself within the next two days will I staff and cater the event, then I will hire you to help organize parties in the future.”

Jem nodded enthusiastically, “A little hard work never killed anyone. I really appreciate this opportunity.”

Their boss nodded, and reached for his keys. He tossed a triangular, golden key at Jem who nearly failed to catch it. “You’re welcome, now get out before I change my mind.”

Jem quickly fled the office, and noticed they still had ten minutes for their break. They took out their phone as they walked up the stairs to the roof. Making a quick group chat, they sent a message saying, “I need your help.”

Alveyn was the first and only one to reply, as everyone else just read the message. “What do you need, mate?”

Jem unlocked the door to the roof, and got a look at what they were dealing with. Tables and chairs were covered in dust, and dirt. Some of which were sun bleached from being under the sun for too long. Jem heard a few squeaks coming from hidden corners and they knew they got in over their head. But, it was for Lewellyn.

And maybe their friends would see it the same way.

Jem sent a photo of the deserted rooftop saying, “I need to clear this and I can’t do it alone.”

This time, only a few people saw the message but nobody responded still. Jem rolled their eyes adding, “It’s for Lew.”

Suddenly, the crew entered the chat. Mercy and Laufi were the first to respond, quickly followed by Romy. Volstigg answered a couple hours later and the plan was beginning to form.

The next day, the crew showed up with brooms, and a truck to move the garbage out of there. Umbra showed up despite not mentioning he would in the group chat. Laufi was able to set up the rat traps, and get any rats that were present out of there without getting hurt. They found it easier just to buy new chairs and table cloths to put if the run down tables. Jem put the cake in the fridge at their work, a cake Mercy baked to perfection with beautiful white frosting with orange lettering. Romy made a list of things we needed to get done, and to buy. And was able to convince Lew to clear her schedule, although her parents were difficult to get ahold of for some reason. Volstigg helped a little but got distracted by the cute barista that was working that day.

After several hours of hardwork, the roof was in tip top shape. Jem dropped the seventy five they owed to their boss on his desk, and ran off before he could ask about what happened with the vermin. When Laufi told Jem, “not to worry about it,” it only made everyone that much more concerned. Aerilyn texted by the end of that day saying they’d show up to the party despite not doing any of the work.

And before they all knew it, it was showtime.

Romy messaged Jem as they were adjusting everything to be perfect upstairs. He said that, “we’re about a minute away.”

Jem attempted to shake out their nerves as they leaped down the stairs. But no matter how much they tried, their heartbeat wouldn’t slow down. Which I guess was normal whenever they saw Lew.

Romy and Lew entered the café, the wind catching her hair as the door closed. She went to approach the counter, until Volstigg walked up and linked arms with her. Romy shook his head, clearly amused but followed nonetheless. Lew’s eyes were lit up with joy and curiosity.

Mercy placed her hands gently over Lew’s eyes playfully as the party led Lew up the stairs. Upon reaching the rooftop, the entire shouted “Surprise!” As Mercy revealed the view to Lew.

What once was a cluttered mess of a roof, was now at the very least presentable. There were two rectangular tables pushed together and covered by a fabric tablecloth. A variety of snacks that most wouldn’t consider to be a part of a dinner we’re displayed on a separate table. Mercy’s cake, instead of candles had sparklers sticking out of it. Lew’s presents were displayed at each of their seats.

Lewellyn let out a joyful gasp. The smile that graced her face was enough to reassure Jem that they did the right thing. And it took all of their nerves and Jem’s breath away all at once.

The party continued into the hours of the evening. Many laughs, and stories were shared over the dinner table. Not only that, but it seemed like the group’s hard work had really paid off. When the party was finishing up, some people had to go home in order to get to their early morning classes on time. Umbra, Alveyn, Lew, Mercy and Jem stuck behind to clean up. Mostly to make sure Jem didn’t get their head ripped off by their boss.

As Jem cleared the plates, Lew slipped onto the table beside them. “So you really set this all up, didn’t you?”

Jem’s cheeks flushed, but it was thankfully hidden by the twilight. “It’s not that big of a deal, I just couldn’t figure out what to get you for your birthday.”

Lew giggled, “So your plan was instead of a present, was to plan a party? That definitely cost more than a new journal, or a nice bracelet...”

“I got your point.” Jem brushed off. But no matter how hard they tried, Jem couldn’t erase their grin. “But you’re wrong.”

“Oh?” Lew asked.

Jem reached into their back pocket, and pulled out a leather bracelet. It was a dark brown leather, only about half an inch thick. But with several silver charms. A feather quill, a cluster of stars, and several others. “I couldn’t decide which was better, so I got you both.”

Lewellyn shook her head, surprised and incredibly thankful. “Jem, this is too much.”

Jem gently grabbed Lew’s wrist, and clipped her bracelet on. “It’s not nearly enough for what you give me. I just can’t be grateful enough for you Lewellyn V’lain.”

“I want to pay you back! Maybe a haircut,” she quipped, ruffling their hair. “Or... maybe a date?”

Jem’s head shot up at the word, “Yes.” They blurted out then attempted to calm themselves down saying, “I mean yeah. Sure, I did put a lot of work into this. I think I uh, I could be treated.”

Lewellyn leaned in and kissed Jem’s cheek, a feeling Jem would never forget, “Sounds like a plan. I’ll text you tomorrow.”

“Shoy.” Jem said in a dazed tone. Clearing their throat they corrected themselves, “uh sure, a-absolutely. It’s a date. You already said that. I’ll shut up now.”

By the end of the night, Jem was still walking on air. And unbelievably excited about what tomorrow would bring.

#campaign 1 #jem #mercy #lewellyn #alveyn #laufi #romy #volstigg #Aerilyn #umbra #my art #my writing #my ocs #friend ocs #au week

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theotherteamrocket · 4 years

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Silver Linings - Chapter 1

Posting the first chapter of my fanfic, Silver Linings.

A Team Rocket grunt crosses Domino in a training exercise and sets off a chain of events that will change her life forever. She finds herself going to extreme lengths to keep her partner pokemon, becoming intertwined with her eccentric coworkers along the way.

Silver Linings

Chapter 1

The cafeteria was busy as usual. A tired looking, brown haired Team Rocket grunt squeezed through two other people and searched the room, finally laying her eyes on a vacant table. Her food was already cold, but she didn’t care. She sat her tray down at the end of the table. At the very same time, two other trays came down at the opposite end.

“Well, well, well.” It was a familiar voice. She knew who it was before she even looked up. It was the unmistakable rasp of Butch. He and Cassidy sat down at the other end of the table.

“If it isn’t the flavor of the week.” He laughed. “We were just talking about you.”

“Along with everyone else on the team.” Cassidy flipped one of her long, blonde pigtails over her shoulder and slid down beside the other girl as she lowered herself onto the bench. “Butch, take my picture with her and post it on our page.”

She flashed a peace sign and smiled wide. Ria smiled, too, but it felt as fake as her interest in talking to them right then. Still, as friendly as she was with Butch and Cassidy from having worked with them numerous times, they both outranked her and she wasn’t about to blow them off.

“I guess you saw the video.”

“Saw it?” Cassidy asked. “Butch was the one who filmed it!”

Ria blinked as she processed what Cassidy as said, before standing and pointing an accusatory finger at her green haired colleague.

“That was you!?”

“Calm down, calm down.” She glowered at him from beneath the brim of her cap and sat back down as he continued. “I made you famous. You should thank me. You should see how many likes this thing has on Rocketbook.”

Ria sat back down. He slid his phone over to her and she looked at it warily. Since members of Team Rocket were barred from posting any of their information or photos online due to it being a security concern, Giovanni’s recent initiative to provide a social networking platform exclusively for Team Rocket members had been a hugely popular success. In light of recent events, however, Ria couldn’t say that she was a fan. She wasn’t particularly interested in re-living the battle, but the two of them were already standing on either side of her watching the replay of her earlier training exercise with Domino.

“Heh heh. Check out that excellent camera work.”

“Be quiet Butch, this is my favorite part.”

The three of them looked on as Houndour started to glow and change shape, becoming a Houndoom. Butch and Cassidy laughed as Domino’s Roserade fell almost immediately to its attack.

“Look at her face!” Butch cackled. “It’s like you didn’t even care that the flamethrower would be overkill.”

“I didn’t ask Houndoom to use Flamethrower.” Ria said quietly. “ It just…happened.”

She rubbed the back of her head. She was still in shock from its evolution when it all happened, and it happened so quickly. Had it been up to her, she probably would have stopped the battle altogether. It had just been a training exercise, after all, and although she had been volun-told to do it, had she known how things were going to turn out she would have surely found a way to get out of it.

“Well, either way, it was hilarious.” Butch said around a mouthful of French fries.

“I don’t think Domino felt the same way.”

“Oh, please.” Cassidy rolled her eyes. “She got cocky, she wanted to humiliate someone that had a type advantage over her to make herself look like a better trainer. She picks on spineless grunts like you all the time, no offense, knowing that you don’t have the backbone to actually defeat her even if you wanted to.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Guess she wasn’t counting on that mutt of yours having a mind of its own.” Her partner chuckled. Ria sighed as Cassidy continued. She’d never had a problem with Houndour listening to her before it evolved.

“If you ask me, that little witch had it coming. That bleach job alone should be a felony.”

Behind Cassidy, almost as if she’d been summoned from Hell by the mention of her name, Ria saw Domino approaching the table. She had a sly smirk on her face and it was apparent she was up to something.

“Uh, Cassidy-“ Ria tried to interject when she saw the other blonde heading in their direction. Although Domino was technically the same rank as Cassidy and Butch, her relationship with Giovanni carried a lot of extra weight outside of the usual chain of command. Butch and Cassidy liked to tell anyone who would listen that they were the Boss’s favorites, but it was no secret that the title actually belonged to Domino.

“ -if only Houndoom had missed Roserade entirely.”

“Cassidy,” Butch also tried to intervene, but there was no stopping her at this point.

“HQ has been a much better place now that that spoiled brat has been taken down a peg.”

“Oh, and what spoiled brat are we talking about, exactly?”

Cassidy froze and, finally, turned to see Domino standing behind her.

“Domino!” She stammered. “Oh, you know…eh…”

“Actually, it’s no one that you would know at all!” Butch stepped in for the save. “Most definitely not anyone at this table or in the immediate vicinity of it.”

“Absolutely not!” Cassidy added.

“Well, feel free to carry on,” the blonde said, looking down at the lowest ranking member at the table. “I’m just here to see my good friend Ria on some urgent work business.”

“Work business?” Ria asked, suspiciously. She had expected some kind of retaliation, sure, but in the form of extra work detail or being sent on a field assignment in an undesirable location. The possibility of a face to face confrontation hadn’t even crossed her mind. Domino pulled a brown envelope from behind her back and handed it to her. She started to open it and Butch and Cassidy again leaned over her shoulder.

“Do you mind?” She muttered. Neither of them budged. She continued to open it carefully. Domino tapped her finger impatiently until she could no longer contain herself.

“You’re being audited!” She exclaimed, in a sing-song voice.

“What?!” Ria stood up in her chair, clutching the piece of paper so hard the edges wrinkled. Her eyes darted over the wording again and again, trying to make sure what she was reading was correct. It was an official order, and it had been signed by the Boss himself.

“Had to do it, Ria.” Domino’s remorse sounded more like sarcasm and Ria bristled at the sound of her voice. “It’s my duty as an officer to make sure everyone follows the rules, so I really had no choice. We both know that a grunt like yourself shouldn’t be able to defeat an officer like me in battle. The Boss would just be so disappointed if any officer witnessed something like that and didn’t report it.”

She glared at Butch and Cassidy who looked at each other sheepishly.

“You didn’t have to do it.”

“Now, now, you know as well as I do Rockets are only allowed to keep pokemon up to a certain level, depending on their rank of course. This may be a criminal organization, but we have rules for a reason and those rules apply to everyone, even me. But listen,” Domino leaned in, “I’ll tell you what. I’m in a really good mood. I know you’re about to leave on an assignment, so we can wait to do this until you get back. That’ll give you time to say your goodbyes to Houndoom. Don’t worry…once we retrain it, I’ll take really good care of it.”

Domino walked away seeming satisfied with herself.

“Thanks a lot.” Ria said, fighting the urge to smack Butch across the face with the lunch tray. “ She wouldn’t be half as mad at me if everyone hadn’t seen what happened on video.”

“Hey, there were plenty of people at that training who saw it first hand. That would have put her on a warpath with you anyway.” Butch defended himself.

“You guys are officers.” Ria pleaded. “You have to tell me, is there anything I can possibly do to get out of this?”

“There’s no way.” Cassidy was blunt in her reply. “Team Rocket is and always has been very strict about adhering to these audits, ever since…you know.”

“The incident.” Butch said with air quotes.

“What even happened, anyway? I was just a kid. My father was a part of Team Rocket at the time, and I remember hearing about it, but I didn’t really pay much attention. I…had a lot going on then.”

Ria ran her finger around the edge of her drink can. She was aware of ‘the incident’, as Butch called it, but it had occurred right around the same time her father had passed away, so she hadn’t paid it any mind.

“We weren’t there either, but the story goes an Elite agent decided he wanted out of Team Rocket.” Butch explained.

“Obviously they told him no.” Cassidy added.

“Right.” He continued. “So the guy just skips out one night. Makes a run for it. When the Boss finally finds out, he’s furious. Puts a BOLO on this guy, pretty much has the whole team after him.”

“A manhunt.” His partner echoed.

“When they finally tracked him down, I hear it was a bloodbath. This guy was a real hotshot trainer, there was talk he coulda made it into the Elite Four if he wasn’t a Rocket. His pokemon were really powerful and your typical Team Rocket issued field trash was no match for it.”

Cassidy narrowed her eyes at him when he said this. It was a well-known fact that Raticate was her favorite pokemon, and Ria assumed this was why she seemed to resent that remark.

“They say it took almost 50 men to finally take him out, and he didn’t survive.”

“Giovanni never wanted to have to deal with that again, which is why he put this policy into place where Rockets are only allowed to have pokemon up to a certain level. When any pokemon exceeds the level cap for their trainer’s rank, that pokemon becomes the property of Team Rocket. They’re sent off to the breeding center to be re-trained, and they’re either assigned to an officer or put into the reserves if they’re needed later.”

“Wait! I have an idea! You guys can have higher leveled pokemon than I can. Cassidy, what if you take Houndoom for a while?”

“Are you insane? That thing is public enemy number one right now.” She scoffed. “I’m not about to put a target on my back for Domino.”

Ria sighed. She pulled out Houndoom’s poke ball and looked at it.

“It just doesn’t seem fair.”

“Well, them’s the rules.” Butch said, matter-of-factly. He and Cassidy stood to collect their trays. “ It’s all in your employment contract, so there’s really nothing you can do.”

“My recommendation would be to just use the Team Rocket issued pokemon from now on. It’s what Butch and I do. They’ll send you a new one every few months. Even if you’re out in the field, Delibird brings it to you.”

“It’s kinda like a subscription service.” Butch added. “They’re tailored to the kind of work you’ll be doing, too. It’s neat.”

“Catching your own pokemon is allowed, sure, but you get attached and eventually you have to either hand them over to Team Rocket or set them free. The only other people I know of who actually do that are those losers Jessie and James. This is a really good example of why it’s just not a good idea.”

“Sorry kid.” Butch offered before he and Cassidy headed toward the exit. “That’s a real tough break. Here! You can have the rest of my fries.”

“…thanks.”

“French fries? Really?” She heard Cassidy hiss at him as they walked away.

“Well they always make me feel better after a bad day.”

Ria sighed as their voices trailed off and stared sadly at her lunch tray, which now overflowed with the addition of Butch’s leftovers. The fries actually were good here. Unfortunately, she had completely lost her appetite.

#teamrocket #team rocket #rocket grunt #oc #domino #butch #cassidy #butchandcassidy #yamato #kosaburo #fanfic #pokemon

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the-everlasting-dream · 5 years

Text

The Revelation, Chapter 14 - TRR AU

Summary: Drake and Elizabeth meet face to face finally.

A/N: Surprise another chapter, I’ll have you know I’ve scrapped the rest of the plot to this series so from now on this is pure spitballing so for those of you still with me, lets do this.

Word Count: 3000+

Warnings: Language, slight violence, mentions of blood and injury

MASTERLIST

‘I’m gonna call to check on Bartie then I’ll be back,’ Savannah informed her brother sitting on the hospital bed.

Barely hearing his sister stepping out to take a call, Drake sighed once again, eyes flicking to the ceiling, studying the white plaster mounted above his head. He’d passed out after the duel, after the significant blood loss he’d sustained from Neville’s cut to his side. The deep cut had gotten infected despite the medical attention he’d received. Under Savannah’s careful supervision, he’d taken the prescribed antibiotics and the infection was subsiding. You should be able to resume normal activity with supplementary physiotherapy sessions for that shoulder, they’d informed him after the latest check up.

By all rights, he should be fine. He should be okay, more than okay in fact. First man to win a duel in a hundred years they told him. You should be celebrating they said. You should be proud of yourself.

But why did he feel so numb?

Never in his life had Drake felt so… listless. As if he’d lost the will to move, to breathe, to do anything.. At first the pain, though it hurt like hell was a welcome distraction from her. Elizabeth… Her name still pierced him every time it crossed his mind more often than it should have. He was missing her so much… No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get rid of those thoughts, couldn’t stop them from creeping into his mind again. He’d tried to force her out of his head, but it seemed impossible. His victory over Neville had only confirmed that. At Hana’s insistence, he’d done it, he’d kept fighting, fighting for her and when he had won, when they were showering him in praises and honours, he’d realised that the only prize he’d wanted was to see her again. During the fight, a tiny part of him had naively been hoping that she’d miraculously be there and naturally when Elizabeth wasn't, his spirit plummeted.

‘You will face many defeats in life, but never let yourself be defeated.’

Jackson Walker’s rendition of Maya Angelou’s words echoed back to Drake now as he continued to stare out the hospital room window, looking out at what he could see of the Cordonian citadel stretched out beneath him. He’d held those words close to his heart all through his life, recalling how his dad had told him that after a particularly gruelling day at school. His father had made him promise him that no matter what life threw at him, even though he’d get knocked down, he’d always get back up. When Jackson had passed away, Drake silently resolved to honour his father’s memory in that. And so far, he’d kept his promise fiercely until now…

His chest ached now where the bullet had torn through it, a visceral reminder of what he’d had and lost. A deepset tiredness filtered through him. He was tired, so tired of feeling this way, of fighting constantly only to be constantly let down. I’m sorry Dad. Drake thought to himself, feeling a profound sense of shame and regret. This time, this time its too much… He couldn’t go on like this, to hope and to pray for a sign that was never going to arrive. This was the moment that Drake Walker gave up.

Almost as if fate had answered his call, Drake heard the door swing open. Assuming it was his sister, he ignored her, barely turning his head in favour of continuing to stare out the window at leaves blowing by in the wind.

‘If you’ve come to lecture me again Sav you can save it,’ he snapped backhandedly.

‘Its… its not Savannah.’

At the sound of her voice, Drake whipped his head around so fast, the nerve in his neck tinged painfully but he was too distracted by the sight of the one person he’d given up on seeing for the rest of his life.

‘Elizabeth!? W-w-what? How?’

What… what were the chances of her showing up so… just when he was ready to give up…

‘Hey Drake,’ her voice was small and smile even smaller as she stood in the doorway, hesitating.

‘You’re back.’ It come out somewhere between a question or a statement but Drake was too busy trying to still the butterflies in his stomach as he scrambled into a sitting position.

‘Uh.. yeah, I’m back.’ She shifted uncomfortably on her feet, hands wrung in a tense knot.

A million questions buzzed in his mind yet his tongue failed to articulate even one as he sputtered visibly at the sight of her, same dark hair twisted into a loose braid, grey cardigan, jeans and a t-shirt hanging on her slim frame he knew so well and at the same time not at all. Amidst his negotiation to settle into a comfortable, his arm missed the edge of the bed and threatened to send him crashing down to the floor. At the last second he managed to catch himself on the bed frame but not without a pain lancing through him so sharp, his vision tinged red.

Before he could register it, Elizabeth was by his side, helping to prop him back up on the bed. As she moved to position his pillow, Drake couldn’t take his eyes off her hand where it rested on his arm, her skin warm against his for the first time in months seemed to seep through him to his chest where a little spark of hope was rekindled.

‘What happened?’ Elizabeth scanned the sight of him, a tiny crease between her eyebrows telling him she was thinking hard with that medical science degree of hers, assessing him closely.

‘I..uh….’

How was he supposed to tell her he got stabbed? Drake glanced at her determined face and nodded slightly, knowing he shouldn’t lie to her.

‘After I passed out… after the duel… Neville’s stab… it wasn’t very deep but coz of the crowds at the ball, the ambulance took a lot longer to get… to get to me. They told me I bled a lot, almost bled out, used some big fancy word like ex-extrasink-‘

‘Exsanguination,’ she put in, her expression still calculating.

‘Yeah that,’ Drake gulped, dropping his gaze to the blanket cover his lap, resisting the urge to scratch at the sound under the bandages, a constant urge he fought to curb. ‘Anyway I guess I should count myself lucky that that bastard can swing a sword but he didn’t have any force behind the blow. Since it was on the side and not in the middle, its not too bad I think…’

‘You’re extremely lucky it didn’t hit any major organs.’

He nodded once. 'Got infected for a bit but they gave me something for that and it seems to be working, I guess...'

‘Its still an abdomen wound,’ she rationalised, eyes sweeping across him again. ‘They’re always tough to recover from because they’re in the middle of the body and you can’t just pop it in a sling like a broken leg. You must have had trouble breathing and eating and peeing and p-’

‘Yeah that’s been rough,’ Drake cut her off, feeling the top of his ears burn red hot in embarrassment. He shifted again, wincing as he tried to try alleviate the discomfort where the bandage was digging into his ribs.

Elizabeth noticed immediately, concern flooding back into her expression. ‘You’re not comfortable. Do you need me to call the nu-‘

‘Its fine,’ he cut her off, loathe to cause a whole scene. ‘Just this stupid bandage is twisted.’

She swallowed once. For the first time in months, those brown eyes lifted up to meet his own and he couldn’t help a sharp inhale of breath. ‘I can take a look if you want?’

Drake eyed her for a moment, conflicted but eventually he gave in. ‘Sure that would be great actually.’

It was a bit of a challenge to wrestle the hospital gown up while preserving his modesty but they made it work and as soon as Elizabeth’s cool hands touched his side, he hissed a little, not expecting the contact.

’Sorry,’ she gave him an apologetic look before leaning down to peer at his wound.

As she fiddled with the bandage, he marvelled at the level of care and concern she was showing him. He had no idea what state her memory was in but he couldn’t deny his own feelings, having her here next to him was so inexplicably right he couldn’t explain it. The spark of hope flared up in his chest.. Maybe they- Suddenly the tiny irritating pain in his side ceased.

‘Better?’

He wiggled experimentally and found that the pain had subsided and he could breathe properly again. ‘Much. Thank you.’

‘It was nothing.’

She helped him adjust his clothes again, sitting on the edge of the bed for a moment as Drake took in the sigh of her again, unable to believe she was even here. With her sitting so near, hand inches away from his, close enough to reach out and-

Elizabeth glanced down abruptly clearing her throat as she realised how close they were and wrapped her cardigan tighter around herself, almost as a shield between them. Her gaze slid hesitantly up to his before dropping to the floor. A hundred things were on the tip of his tongue, burning questions he had wanted to ask for the last few months but he couldn’t bring himself to vocalise any of them. Just as he was mustering up the courage to say something, Elizabeth spoke, her voice quiet and unsteady.

‘You could have died Drake.’

‘Elizabeth…’ Her name felt both foreign and familiar on his tongue after months of disuse. he wanted to say mo-

‘Why did you do it? Why did you do it Drake?’ She questioned. ‘Why did you accept Neville's challenge?'

A long, deep sigh escaped him as he struggled to find some explanation. 'I had to Richmond... I had to for you. For Savannah, for my dad, for every commoner they’ve ever looked down on. Saying yes was the only chance I had to prove him wrong about all of this. To fight him on his own terms... It was a stupid idea,’ he continued, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. ‘For a moment there, I almost didn’t make it.’

‘Drake..’

Her voice was wobbly as her mouth shaped his name and he knew tears were not far away. This time he did reach for her hand, grasping it between his fingers until she was looking him deep in the eyes.

‘It was you Richmond… Elizabeth.. I thought of you. I did it for you. Even if you don’t remember… even if you don’t love me… Elizabeth I-‘

She tugged her hand away from his suddenly, he gasped at the break in contact before his eyes strayed to her face where he could see her withdrawing further into herself… and away from him. He opened his mouth to speak, to say something, anything that would bring her back to him when the door suddenly slammed open, the sound shattering whatever headway they’d made.

‘Dra-Oh!’ Savannah’s grey eyes blew wide open at the sight of her. ‘Elizabeth…’ It was obvious how her tone immediately soured. 'I didn’t know you were back.’

‘Uh.. yeah. Hi Savannah,’ Elizabeth mumbled, standing up to quickly she almost tripped. 'Yeah well… I was just leaving actually.’

Drake watched his younger sister’s face morph into a disgusted look. ‘So soon? You look like you just got here… What made you come back?’ She snapped, crossing her arms over her chest as she stared the other woman down.

‘Yeah,’ he put in, finally questioned, curiosity deep in his voice. They’d had no contact since she left. How had she known where he was?

‘The duel…’ Elizabeth replied, swallowing thickly acutely aware of both their invasive gazes before continuing. 'I heard you got hurt and I… needed to make sure you were okay. Liam said-‘

‘Liam?’

‘Yeah he came to my brother’s apartment-‘

‘He came New York?’ Drake’s brain raced to put the pieces together. The night of the duel brought back so many unpleasant memories but through it all he remembered that Liam hadn’t been there. During at the Costume ball… Maxwell had said it was official business… Maxwell would never lie to him, would he?

‘He did.’

Drake dropped his gaze to the floor, his mouth tasting sour and his voice laced with months worth of resentment when he spoke. ‘I guess you’re with him now aren’t you?’

Elizabeth opened her mouth to argue but something ugly reared inside him, determined to make her hurt just like he’d hurt when he’d seen her kissing Liam but Savannah beat him to it.

‘You’ve got no fucking right to be in there you know?’ she snapped at Elizabeth, stalking up to the taller woman, anger radiating off her entire frame. 'After all the shit you put him through.'

'Savannah I can handle this,’ Drake interrupted but she ignored him, her voice raising in pitch and volume.

'Why can’t you just stay away!?'

Elizabeth seemed to shrink further into herself, backing away from her. 'I couldn’t okay?! I can't stay away when-'

’Then why you come back huh? To rub it in? Was leaving not painful enough for him? Or did you just have to see it through, to have the final laugh now that you-'

‘That not it at all,’ She cried out, immediately wincing as she raising a hand to her head, grimacing in pain as she turned to face Drake, eyes imploring him to listen. ‘Drake it was because of you! Back in New York, I could never get you out of my head. I tried to forget you, to move on but I couldn’t. The memories, our memories of you, of us wouldn’t stop no matter how hard I tried to block them out. And when I heard you got hurt-‘ Tears began to roll down her face as Elizabeth clutched her head in pain.

‘Save the tears for someone who actually cares princess,’ His sister was yelling now at full volume.

'Savannah could you… please-‘

‘Sav cool it.' Drake attempted to step in again, his voice a warning now as he struggled to get off the bed, pain arcing through his side.

‘Cool it? You’re asking me to cool it and this bitch just gets off scot free?’ She whirled back to Elizabeth, grey eyes flashing with rage. 'Puh-lease! After all the shit you put my brother through, you don’t get to ask You don’t get to traipse back here and suddenly decide that you want him in your life again!'

Elizabeth’s face twisted in anger. ‘Oh but you do?’

Neither of them saw the movement but there was no mistaking the sound of Savannah’s hand making contact with his ex-fiancee's right cheek, the stinging echoing throughout the small hospital room.

‘Savannah what the fuck!?’ Drake screeched, eyes wide as he regarded his sister, horrified at how smug she looked. His eyes flew back to Elizabeth, who was clutching her cheek in pain, the skin underneath already red and swelling up. He made to say something but Elizabeth held a hand out to stop him.

‘No its fine,' she gulped. ‘I-I..’ She didn’t wait to finish her sentence before dashing out the door, her sobs echoing behind her.

Drake stared after her retreating figure, frozen in shock what had just happened. Suddenly his mind kicked him into action.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ Savannah demanded, glaring at him as he struggled to get to his feet.

‘What the fuck does it look like?’ He growled. ‘I’m going after her. I'm not about to let her go again.’

His sister’s face twisted into an ugly look. ’She doesn’t deserve it. No one came after me when I left..’

‘How is this suddenly about you?’ Drake snapped, ignoring the pain in his side as he struggled to move into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. 'You know what I don’t have the fucking time to deal with this right now.’

‘You’ll never catch up to her,’ Savannah replied bitterly, watching him rip off the hospital gown and slip on a pair of pants over his boxers.

‘Watch me.’ With that he struggled to his feet, sliding on his shoes, gritting his teeth at the strain on his wound.

‘She’s not worth it Drake.’

He paused in the doorway to glance back at where she was glaring at him from inside the room, grey eyes still brewing with anger. He matched her gaze, looking her fiercely in the eye.

‘She’s worth everything.’

Drake barely heard the door slam and Maxwell’s gasp of surprise before blindly turning down a hallway, hoping to find Elizabeth. He called out her name, over and over as he staggered forward unsteadily, hospital parsons and staff of all kinds staring at him in annoyance but he didn’t care. He couldn’t let her go again… not this time.

Attempting to navigate the busy corridors for a glimpse of her grey cardigan, his shoulder glanced off a protrusion on the wall, jerking him back painfully. He reflexively brought an arm to the bandage on his side and found it wet with blood but he forced himself to go on, calling out her name with renewed vigour until red began to fringe on the edges of his vision.

‘NO, no, no, no,’ Drake muttered to no one in particular. ‘I need to find her, I have to tell her…’ His head swam and he could barely see until finally he sank to one knee, depleted of the strength to even hold himself up, vaguely aware of the hospital staff surrounding him, waving them off as he willed himself to get up but couldn’t as the darkness enveloped him once again.

I need to tell her Iove her..

Idk who’s stil keeping up with this Tags: @chantelle-x0x , @choicessa @quartzandarrow , @drakewalkerwhipped , @ooo-barff-ooo @meeraaverywalker , @littleblossom-18, @boneandfur , @lizeboredom , @topsyturvy-dream , @american-duchess , @withice , @majesticmintyj @ninamckenzie22 , @drakelover78 , @h3llostrang3r , @cocomaxley , @zarina-x-zig , @nicestrokepam , @enmchoices , @kellyale1804 , @mrswalkerreynolds , @kamybelen-blog , @hhiggs , @jenjosh5 , @bruhvs , @natalievgoodehenry , @choiceswreckedme , @laniquelove , @theroyalweisme , @jamielea81 , @penguininapinktuxedo , @tmarie82 , @crookedslimecreatorpasta , @asprankle , @drakewanker , @client-327 @graceisgone56 , @mfackenthal , @smritysriv , @drakewalkerfantasy, @bobasheebaby , @ineedpeetalikehekneadsbread , @srawesleyghuewrites , @ekhw1989 @mymandrake , @writtenbycandy , @andy-loves-corgis , @alwaysthebestchoice , @snyggflicka @mrsdrakewalkerblog , @moodygrip , @barbaravalentino , @agent-zephyrkah , @radpicklebakeryhero , @innerpostmentality , @fairydustandsarcasm , @speedyoperarascalparty , @debramcg1106 , @gardeningourmet , @blackcatkita , @meladoridarcy @lovelylittlewren @walkerduchess , @caz1003 , @annekebbphotography , @guilia3272 , @eileendannie

#did someone say update #no elle no one did #literally no one cares #lol here ya go anyways #its been 84 years #yes its another cliff hanger #you know i love those #drake walker #drake x mc #Drake x Elizabeth #elizabeth richmond #The Royal Romance #the revelation fic #the revelation au #choices #playchoices #choices fandom #choices fanfiction #long post

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elizabethhamilton1780 · 6 years

Note

Hamliza 37?

Send me prompts!

List (x)

Alexander watched his girlfriend in dismay from his perch at the end of the bed. Clothes were flying everywhere. He himself was wearing one of his nicer suits, the material being a dark gray, his tie black. He never realized that she had as many clothes as she did. There was definitely some items that he’d never seen before. He peeked up with interest at the sight of something lacy, but before he could get a good look, she’d snatched it up. “How come I’ve never seen that before?” he pouted.

“Because those types of clothing are only for my side flings, babe.” Eliza’s sarcastic voice sounded from deep inside her wardrobe.

“Huh. You know, even joking about it hurts.” He rolled his eyes when he heard her laugh. “All this for just a stupid dinner party?”

Her head poked around the corner, her hair curled to perfection, a light purple smokey eye covering her lids. “Martha Washington is going to be there,” she said plainly, as if that explained it all.

“Well, yeah. She’s my boss’s wife. Wonderful person.”

“She’s like, the best person. She’s done so much, her charity helps organizations all over the country— soon to be all over the world. Our program wouldn’t even be able to function without her help. It’s because of her latest gala that we were able to finish the basement and take in those kids from the home in New Jersey,” Eliza gushed, the passion in her eyes about her job reminding him just how much he loved her.

Then, the sight of her slender frame in the fairly sheer slip she was wearing made him remember why else he loved her. He must have had a look on his face because she rolled her eyes and disappeared again. He could have sworn he heard her mumble something like ‘one track mind.’

“No, come on. I’ll help.” Admittedly, he didn’t really pay attention to a lot of what she wore. She always looked beautiful, whatever she wore. Unless her clothing choice was particularly risqué, or led to a particularly good night. Like that night the first weekend they spent away with each other, when they attended a wedding of one of his old friends from his law school days. Which reminded him… “What about the green one?”

“The green one?” he heard her shuffle around for a bit. “This one?” she showed him the dress.

He shifted a bit on the bed to see, nodding afterward. “Yes, that one.”

She examined the dress chiffon dress, a thoughtful expression on her face. The neckline was a a deep v, the straps criss crossing down her back. “I don’t know… You don’t think it’s too slutty?”

Alexander nearly choked from holding in his laughter. “Babe, nothing you own is slutty. In any way, shape or form. Even your lingerie is somewhat conservative.”

“Uh huh, because that stupid number I wore for your birthday was just so conservative,” her tone was dripping with sarcasm.

He shuddered as he relived the night that had happened just a few weeks ago. “Okay, besides that night. God, you’re so hot. Where is that, and could we perhaps break that out again tonight?”

“Well, sure, babe. But it’s your turn to wear it.” he could just hear the smile on her face.

“Oh, don’t think I won’t.” he threatened, standing up from his seat before he moved to stand by her in the cramped walk in closet. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, pressing a few kisses along her jaw. “Wear the green one. It’s pretty, even if it is a little low cut.”

Eliza melted at his kisses as she always did, making Alexander smirk a bit. She hummed, hanging the dress back up on the rack. “Okay, but see, I think you’re judgement is a bit off. You probably want to see a lot more of me than the other guests do.”

“First off, I’m quite offended. My judgment is nothing but unbiased. And secondly, if my judgement was off, I’d remind you that you could always go nude.” he pointed out with one of his famous grins before he started to kiss at her neck.

She rolled her eyes, shrugging out of his arms. “Babe, all you’re doing is making me trust your judgment less and less. I’m really worried about this, I want to make a good impression.”

Alexander spun her around so they were face to face, maintaining serious eye contact with his girlfriend. “You are by far the most exquisite woman— no, person— that I have ever met in my entire life. You practically reek of kindness and generosity. You’re gorgeous and you’re classy, not to mention the fact that you have the patience of a saint. Martha is an excellent judge of character, she’s going to absolutely adore you. I promise. You could literally wear a nap sack and you would be the most stunning woman in the room.” he told her, her hands gently massaging her shoulders, his dark eyes soft, conveying the message that he so wholeheartedly believed in.

Eliza’s eyes shined and she pulled him into a deep, loving kiss that took his breath away. “I love you so much,” she told him afterwards, pecking his lips.

Alex smiled at her, his hands running down her back before he pulled away. “You know what? Wear the blue one. It looks beautiful on you.” He lifted the simple navy dress from the rack.

She took the hanger with a smile. “I met you in this dress, you do realize.”

“Makes it lucky, I think.”

“Well, I could use all the luck tonight,” Eliza sighed, adjusting the sleeve of the dress over the hanger.

“Hey,” Alex cupped her cheeks, pulling her into a single soft kiss. “You’re amazing and you need no luck.” Instead of answering, she kissed him again. He sighed a bit afterward, kissing the top of her head before pulling her into a tight hug. “Alright. Get dressed before I change my mind and keep you to myself tonight.”

Eliza chuckled, pulling out of his grip. “I love you. Thank you for being so patient with me.”

“Love you too.” Unable to resist, he pressed another kiss to lips, his hands starting to wander a bit. He pulled away when she swatted at his chest, raising his hands in surrender. “I’ll go start the car.” He exited her closet, pausing in the doorway of her bedroom. “You know, I could just call and say—“

“Out,” she said exasperatedly, but Alex could hear her smile.

He shrugged on his coat and grabbed his keys, grinning like a fool the entire time.

Perhaps that dress was lucky.

#hamliza #my fic #hamilton fic #alexander x eliza

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backstorywithdanalewis · 3 years

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Doping in Sport Back Story with Dana Lewis podcast https://www.buzzsprout.com/1016881/7762780

Speaker 1: (00:00) I have let them down. I have met my country down and I have let myself down. Did you ever take banned substances to enhance your cycling performance? Yes. Yes or no. Was one of those banned substances EPO? Yes. Did you ever blood dope or use blood transfusions to enhance your cycling performance? Yes. Dana Lewis -- Host: (00:32) Hi everyone. And welcome to backstory. I'm Dana Lewis. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. The first one you heard was American track and field star Marion Jones who won three gold medals and two bronze medals at the 2000 summer Olympics in Sydney, Australia, but was later stripped of her metals after admitting to steroid use. And she lied to investigators. So it was jailed for six months. Some never admitted like seven time winner of the tour de France. Lance Armstrong. He denied doping for years was finally cornered with undeniable evidence in came clean, but not before he attacked the world. Anti-doping authority, chief Richard pound saying lbs allegations of doping in cycling and against him was just the latest in a long history of ethical transgressions and violations of athletes rights by Mr palette. But Armstrong was proven to be a cheater and lbs. Integrity is an official determined to root out. Dana Lewis -- Host: (01:34) Cheating grew in stature. Now I covered five Olympics, four different news organizations, and along with the glory of victory and the flag waving and gold medals, where the scandals that every games in the scandals in between the games as athletes were spot checked and found to be cheating with performance enhancing drugs and always in the background, driving the movement to clean up sport was Canadian. Richard pound on this backstory, we hear from the man who first drove the drug cleanup effort in the international Olympic committee, and then formed and guided the world. Anti-doping authority that governed sports around the world to make cheaters pay. And most importantly, most importantly, protect the athletes who want to compete clean. Richard pound has just retired. All right, Richard William Dunkin pound is a Canadian swimming champion, a lawyer, a prominent spokesman for ethics in sport. And he was the first president of the world anti-doping authority and vice-president of the IOC, the international Olympic committee. And he joins us from Montreal. Hi Richard. All right, today, I'm good. I'm very, I'm very happy to see you. I haven't seen you in person, I think since 2008 and the Beijing Olympics, but we've Dana Lewis -- Host: (03:00) Talked since then on some of the scandals in sport, there've been many Richard Pound Fmr. IOC/WADA: (03:04) I'm afraid. So in 2005, Dana Lewis -- Host: (03:07) I didn't realize that time magazine named you. One of the world's 100 most influential people and they wrote pound. It's an appropriate surname for the head of the world anti-doping agency. Then again. So it would be harass, rebuke, schooled, and generally makes a pain in the of himself. Although the latter would look awkward on a business card. What was that flattery? Were you happy to get that? Richard Pound Fmr. IOC/WADA: (03:31) Oh, well, you know, time magazine has its style. Why Dana Lewis -- Host: (03:35) Do people cheat? That's the first question I want to ask Richard Pound Fmr. IOC/WADA: (03:37) You. They want to win and they don't really care how they win. And they don't realize that when they cheat, they don't really win. But, uh, anyway, it's, uh, it seems to be a feature of the human psyche. Dana Lewis -- Host: (03:50) I mean, you were a great sports and are a great sports enthusiast. You were a competitor. And then suddenly you found yourself being channeled towards policing doping in sport. Is that a turn you want it to take? Richard Pound Fmr. IOC/WADA: (04:05) Well, it's certainly one that I never anticipated. And, and when it, when it happened, uh, I remember as the world anti-doping agency was being created, uh, the IOC president of the day said, uh, Leeson, Deek, uh, you must be the president of this. And I said, but wait, I don't know anything about doping. I I'm, you know, I've spent all my time in the IOC doing television negotiations and the marketing program. And I said, beside, for which I'm half dead from the salt Lake city investigation. And he said he was unmoved. So I finally said, all right, well, how about if the dealers, when it's up and running in a year or so? I can get a yes, yes, yes. What year was that? They lie. It took me nine years to get it. Yeah. Dana Lewis -- Host: (04:55) So that was one Antonio Samaranch right, right. I mean, you were for, I mean, it's worth mentioning that you were the first guy to negotiate television rights with the, the IOC and the, and the networks, which you became billions and billions of dollars. Uh, you probably had no idea what you were getting into then, but you certainly had no idea what you're getting into when it came to doping in sport. And why did you do that? I mean, why did you pursue and continue on, because there must have been many moments where people came to you and said, you're selling the name of this athlete, your dragging down track and field or cycling or whatever the sport scandal of the day was. Richard Pound Fmr. IOC/WADA: (05:38) I guess, to some degree, it probably goes back to being a competitor. And I mean, as a competitor, I never liked to lose. Sometimes you, you, you make, I was a sprinter. So if you make any kind of mistake, you're toast, uh, you got to get everything right. And, um, sometimes, you know, and prepared well enough and whatever it may be, you could live with that. Didn't like it that you try to learn from, from losing, but I never liked being cheated. And I don't, I don't think that that's a, an additional risk that that athletes should have to take. So one of, one of the deals in sport is, is you don't take certain substances. Uh, you don't use certain techniques. That's part of the rules. And, and if you cheat that that's not good. So I was always, I think the calculus seemed to me fairly easy either you follow the rules or you didn't. Richard Pound Fmr. IOC/WADA: (06:31) And if you didn't, I mean, there are all kinds of rationalizations, you know, Oh, I'm just trying to level the playing field because there are other people that are cheating and so forth and say, no, no, you're not. You're actually, you're actually trying to win. And if you find out that I'm taking five milligrams of whatever, this prohibited substances, you don't take five. You don't want to tie with me, you're going to take 10 because you want to win. And I find that you're taking 10. So I take 20 and this sort of escalates to the point where the dosages become toxic or, or either lethal. So there's a health issue in it. And then there's the, the ethical issue, which is that you promised to follow the rules that we all agreed on, and you just made a unilateral decision, um, to breach them that that's not right. And you should, there should be consequences to that. Dana Lewis -- Host: (07:26) How much blame do you put on the people around them, the coaches, the people who are promoting sport for money? Richard Pound Fmr. IOC/WADA: (07:33) I think a lot that, you know, far more than half the, the blame goes there. I mean, some of the athletes that aren't even of full age when they're, when they're put on these programs, I mean, if you remember that the East German programs back in the sixties and seventies, it was the things they were doing to these young athletes, particularly female athletes, because the steroids were much more effective on them than they were on the men. It would make your, if you were an ethicist, it would make your hair stand on end. Yeah. Dana Lewis -- Host: (08:03) And that's the era you grew up in because when you were competing, uh, the East Germans, that program, and then the Soviet program was finally at its height, uh, without talking about Sochi yet. Richard Pound Fmr. IOC/WADA: (08:15) Well, it actually, when I was in the Olympics in 1960, there were no rules, no sport rules. There may have been, you know, general principles of law with respect to certain drugs, but I mean, not anabolic steroids or things like that. Uh, so, you know, in, in Rome we knew that the weightlifters had been doing this for years. So we knew that, that it had spread to the, the, the weight of events in track and field, like ShotPut discus and so forth, and everyone was very open about it. And they said, what are you taking? And how much of this? Oh, well, you know, is it, you know, what does it just say, look at me, I'm, I, my figures have changed from sort of just sort of beefy guys to athletes who are re cut and say, look at me. I met my body shape has changed. I'm covered with acne. And I'm dealing with terminal rage all the time. And my testicles are the size of jelly beans, but can I ever throw the shot much better than I used to instead of 60 feet, I'm throwing at 70, Dana Lewis -- Host: (09:22) The cliche, those big Hungarian shot putters or a weightlifter. Richard Pound Fmr. IOC/WADA: (09:26) Yeah. Not just Hungarian, but there were a lot of them. And, and, and so, uh, what happened and the startup we're getting to where we are today is, is during the cycling road race in Rome, those same games, uh, Danny cyclist died in part because of taking a whole bunch of that amines and the, the old guys on the IOC, they were army guys in those days said, Oh, you know, you're not supposed to come to the Olympics and die because the drugs supposed to come and have fun. So I formed a medical commission with a, uh, a doping and biochemistry sub commission. And, and the subcommittee was sent, figured out what the athletes are taking. And then, you know, which, which things in particular, uh, are dangerous as well as performance enhancing. And then let's put together a list. So they, they put together a list. Richard Pound Fmr. IOC/WADA: (10:20) And, um, you know, in fairly short order, given an international context and the IOC started testing at the Olympics in 1968 in Grenache and have tested it ever since. And that was the only testing that was really being done at the time. And the international federations filled with their own organizational testosterone. Don't where w w during our events, we'll do the testing. They didn't do any, but the IOC was not allowed to test other than during the Olympic games. And it took years and years and years for the IOC pushing and pushing and pushing to get international federations to do testing, which they did reluctantly. Um, but only at the world championships, you had this system where, you know, for three years and 11 months out of every four years, the only testing really being done was by the IOC at the games. And it's fine, race, state drugs. You can, you can detect, but if you've been on a steroid program and you you're smart enough to get off it, couple of months before the Olympics, all the metabolites are out of your system, but you've got the benefit of a steroid program. And so the next step was to get out of competition testing out of competition, Dana Lewis -- Host: (11:37) Testing at random testing during the year, Richard Pound Fmr. IOC/WADA: (11:40) Or even targeted, you know, the, the, the cyclist who's coming 310, the Peleton who cares, but what you, what you were finding was that it was, it was the best athletes that were those at the highest target, Dana Lewis -- Host: (11:55) Sorry to interrupt. Then what, how did that morph then from the IOC doing the testing during the games, and then out of, out of the games, when people were training during the year world competition, how did that morph that into the world anti-doping authority, which became very independent of the Olympic movement. I mean, you're part of it in terms of the testing, administering the testing, but in terms of the water became very independent and legally independent. Correct. Richard Pound Fmr. IOC/WADA: (12:19) Right. And that was the whole, the whole purpose of it, because what gave rise to the immediate cause was the Festina scandal during the tour de France in 1998, while in France, there were French laws about possession of some of these things on the French police found athletes and officials on the Festina team with industrial quantities of doping substances and the equipment to administer it and so on. And they were arrested, um, and put in jail. And that was a suddenly, you know, if it, if it doesn't happen in Europe, in a very Eurocentric Olympic movement, it doesn't really happen. So that's why the Ben Johnson thing, 10 years earlier in Seoul, it will, I was on the edge of the world somewhere. And it wasn't real because it was a, you know, a, it wasn't a European, it was in Korea, Dana Lewis -- Host: (13:10) Ben Johnson, Canadian sprinter who tested positive at the school Richard Pound Fmr. IOC/WADA: (13:15) And Ben Johnson. Yeah. Oh, no, no. Sorry. I was a little naive on that. I thought, well, maybe the message will get out to people around the world that, you know, at the Olympic games, no matter who you are, no matter what extraordinary performance you've put in, even if you're in the number one sport in the Olympics, if you cheat, you you'll, you'll be disqualified as a deterrent. I thought that was going to work. So it wasn't to say until you get to Europe in a, in a sport really popular in Europe and the blue ribbon event in that sport, the tour de France, that all of a sudden, some of these presidents said, Ooh, if it can happen to cycling and it's number one event, it might happen to my sport. So they started to think of it that, and the IOC executive board, I was on the executive board. Richard Pound Fmr. IOC/WADA: (14:04) At that point, we had kind of an emergency meeting because unfortunately our president made a, one of these things that come back to bite you, he's sitting in his hotel room in Lozan watching the arrests and stuff of the Festina officials, team members. And he sort of shook his head. He says, you know, for me, that's not doping. Doping is only if you can prove that it's dangerous to the health of an athlete. Wow. Who was that? This was sandwich. That was summer. And, and so, uh, w which is a perfectly defensible philosophical position, if you like, other than it was 180 degrees from what he'd been saying as president of the IOC, and he's forgotten that he's got a Spanish journalist in his room, who's been given this rare opportunity to spend a day with one Samaranch and see how he runs the world of sport. Richard Pound Fmr. IOC/WADA: (14:55) And he can't believe for these hearings. He's taking notes. There were no, no strictures on him. Then in the next day, the LPs are 11 Guardia headline, IOC, IOC president, not serious about doping, that sort of thing. It was a media firestorm, which led to an emergency meeting of the IOC executive board. So where we get to Lausanne. And so he says, well, what are we going to do? And we're all looking at each other saying, we, we were here because what you did anyway, he already knew that. So our conclusion was, look, you can't depend on cycling or, or, or any other sport to make sure its athletes are clean. You can't depend on France or Germany or Canada to make sure its athletes are clean. And the IOC itself is too weak to control the Olympic movement. So, uh, what, what do we need that that's, that's the diagnosis, the pregnant, we need an independent international anti-doping organization that is not controlled by any particular stakeholder. Richard Pound Fmr. IOC/WADA: (16:01) And I said, well, you know, as, as it happens, we have kind of a model that could be adapted, uh, for such an organization, which is the court of arbitration for sport, which the IOC had created. I think back in 1984, and it was made up of equal representation from IOC international sports, federations, national Olympic committees, and Olympic athletes said, no, that's not going to be enough here because we need the world of doping is a little more specialized. But if we added two blocks to that one being governments, and they said, why governments? Well, you know, in sport, we know who the athletes are. We know what they're likely to be taking. We know who the bad coaches and so on are, we don't want any power to Andrew premises and sees evidence of, of doping. We don't have the power to compel somebody to give evidence under oath. Richard Pound Fmr. IOC/WADA: (16:58) Governments have those kind of powers. Okay. And then I said, we need a six block. We need a major event organizer. We need somebody with coaching experience. We need to get somebody from the pharma industry to be, to help us with the, you know, the technical stuff. So that resonated. And they said, all right, well, let's see if we can do something. And we have to have, uh, uh, we need a world conference on doping because we got to get all of these stakeholders to come together and agree that an independent anti-doping organization is the thing to do. And so we called for, uh, the first conference in, I think it was late January of the following year, 1999. And we're proceeding towards this first world conference in. And of course, then, then the do-do hit the fan, the salt Lake city kind of improper conduct a investigation, which was another firestorm. And I remember San Francisco, maybe we shouldn't have this conference right now in the middle of all this. And I said, look, we'll, we'll get out of salt Lake somehow, but doping is too important. We've got it. We've got to get hold of this because there's a certain momentum right now. Okay. So anyway, sure enough, Dana Lewis -- Host: (18:10) They had, they had to be seen to be acting right. Richard Pound Fmr. IOC/WADA: (18:13) [inaudible] yeah. Yeah. Well, if you're going to assert yourself to be the leader of the Olympic movement, you've got to, from time to time, you got to lead, not just follow up. And so sure enough, if you had 15 minutes to speak at this conference, the first five were spent telling the IOC what a dreadful organization it was and how the sooner it would vanish from the face of the earth, the better everything would be. But then they got down to focusing on this and, and, uh, from out of this conference came a resolution that we establish what has now become what, and, um, and that's when, you know, Samaranch, you, you must be the president of this. And we get to the first conference, uh, which I'm sharing. Cause I'm now the president of water. We get this, this consensus, uh, with some difficulty because the governments through a complete collective tantrum and they said, you know, we're going to, this is outrageous. Richard Pound Fmr. IOC/WADA: (19:12) We're going to leave. We're, we're leaving the conference. If we don't have more than 50% of the control in the hands of governments, we're out of here. And I said, hold on, let's have a coffee break. I went to Sam ranch said, uh, they don't like my, my Mo my organic gram, um, told you we should never have had this conference. I said, no, actually their idea is better than mine. He said, what do you mean? He said, well, listen, if they have 50%, because they're not going to get more than 50%, give them 50% control. They're actually going to have to do something, not just sit on the side and carpet, the sports movement. And secondly, if they have 50% of the control, they can well pay 50% of the costs go back and talk to them. So I'm looking back to this room, seizing with 35 or 40 sports ministers. I say, you don't like my model. No, you hate it. You really insist on 50%. Yes. I said, you've got it. You got it. Dana Lewis -- Host: (20:11) You own it. You own it now. And you're in the soup with us. Right? Richard Pound Fmr. IOC/WADA: (20:14) You got it. And I said, no, it's a much better idea. I said, there are only, only two things. This is a serious problem. We don't have the luxury of you guys proceeding at your normal glacial pace to get anything done. We've got to be in the field January 1st of 2000 to start testing before then go to the Sydney games. Okay. And I must say to give credit where credit is due, they got it done by November. I said, the second thing is, if you got 50% of the control, you've got to absorb 50 of the costs. Oh, well, you've never seen such hand-wringing your life, all these governments arguing, but their share of what would have been $4 million. We are our governments, but the other one, 150 governments at the time. And I said, come on. And they said, well, why? And I said, I'll tell you what, we'll pay them. We, the ISA will pay the first two years, but you buy the start a year three, you've got, you've got to find a way to pay your share. And again, I must say, give credit where credit is due by 2000, 2001, they had a continental formula. Dana Lewis -- Host: (21:29) This is really clear for people to understand. I mean, the court of arbitration of sport became the judge and the jury and WADA, the world anti-doping authority was really the prosecutor, the organization that went and investigated and collected forensic sampling and presented it to the court. Is that right? Richard Pound Fmr. IOC/WADA: (21:46) Partly this is pretty primitive at this stage. So again, I'll give you an example. We got this setup and where we start early 2000 to do other competition testing only on the summer sports. Cause we were focusing on, on Sydney and we found that an overwhelming percentage of the international sports federations did not even have rules that allowed them to test their athletes out of a competition, a bombshell for me. And I suddenly, I was very naive. I thought they, all the things they were saying were true, you know, that they believe in, in clean sport and all that sort of stuff done. They just total lip service. So we spent the first number of months helping them put in place rules that allowed them to do the out of competition testing. That that's, that was the state of, of things. According to arbitration for sport cast was never part of water. It simply was the, the recourse that was available. If somebody did not think he or she should have been handed consequences for doping and you, so you could file an appeal. And that was decided on, on legal grounds. Dana Lewis -- Host: (22:59) So now there's a controversy with funding, right? Because the United States, as I understand it has, they've been harsh critics of WADA. And what has been harsh critic of the Americans arguing that what they should not sign up to funding water anymore, or where, what is the main crux of the argument? Richard Pound Fmr. IOC/WADA: (23:20) The main crux is, is, um, the United States suddenly deciding that that all of the problems in the world are waters, not their own. And, um, part of the foreign policy on the previous administration was, you know, it was okay to do an indoor hammer throw whenever you didn't like what was going on. And so one of the things they said, well, we're not going to pay our agreed upon share of the water costs. And we submit to you, you can't do that. They said, yes, we can. And if you criticize it, we will regard that as a direct attack on the United States of America, it doesn't really follow because you've just made an unprovoked attack on water by refusing to pay your share of, uh, of, uh, the money you promise to pay. This was something you agreed to as, Dana Lewis -- Host: (24:08) What is the point of control Dick? Like what do they want to control? Richard Pound Fmr. IOC/WADA: (24:12) Uh, it's not really clear what they want. That's part of the problem. They just say what it needs to be reformed. Okay. How do you want it to reform? Well, you've got to have different governance. Okay. Um, what are your suggestions? They don't have any, you gotta have more athletes on what we've already got athletes on water. They have the same representation that the 50 or 60 international sports federations have, and that the now 206 national Olympic committees have, uh, it would not be fair to have any more. So you already left, Dana Lewis -- Host: (24:46) You were quoted as saying, we'll have to wait and see, but at some point, if the U S becomes a rogue state, I think we will start looking at whether the games in Los Angeles should proceed. Um, if they are not performing their obligations under the convention. And they're trying to destabilize not only the structure, but funding of water, that's not acceptable behavior. And maybe the IOC, as I understand, you went on to see maybe the ILC system America, they can't compete. They become a rogue. Richard Pound Fmr. IOC/WADA: (25:14) Part of the deal in, in, in, in sort of within the Olympic movement is, is you have to be compliant with the world anti-doping code. One of the measures you would have to attract attention would be to make failure, to pay your share of the agreed upon costs, the equivalent of an anti-doping rule violation. And if you have an anti-doping rule violation, you're no longer eligible to participate in international sport, not just, not just the Olympic games. So that, they're the way that, you know, the Russia will be unable to participate as Russia for the next couple of years. So that's one of the things you can do. What I hope is that this, this rogue state mentality fades into the background, which is where, you know, part of the deal was that it was like a United nations in one country. One vote us says, no, no, no, we're paying we're paying far more than, than 80 years. So we should have more votes, but that's, that's not the deal. Well, that's, uh, that's the condition. We have this NATO to tell you the truth. Well, it, it, uh, it does. It's been, uh, it's been festering for a while. We think a lot of it emanates from the United States and he'd opened agency Russia. Dana Lewis -- Host: (26:33) Yeah. I mean, people don't realize that in 2014, Russia ran a state sponsored doping operation where essentially they were preparing cocktails, giving them to smuggling urine out of back door of the facility where these urine samples were supposed to be held secure. So there you have a state that is supposed to be helping water, make sure its athletes are clean. Um, and they're just completely upending the entire, the entire regime of anti-doping. I mean, and, and it goes on, right? I mean, they are still banned because even after there were whistleblowers, after the revelations were made as to what they were doing with the FSB, the security services that were helping them, they were then supposed to come clean on sampling. And then they didn't do that either. So they are perpetually banned, Richard Pound Fmr. IOC/WADA: (27:30) Well, not perpetually, but, but certainly they're there as a national anti-doping organization is their, their lab has been suspended. It's an evolving story here, but, uh, and until 2015, all our stakeholders international federations, the IOC, everybody, they did not give water the power to conduct investigations. We could rely on other investigations. We couldn't conduct our own. Think about that. There are a lot of folks didn't want an independent international anti-doping agency looking over their shoulder in, in many sports were very cozy arrangements regarding dumping. So the first one regarding Russia came, uh, uh, about, as a result of the, the step on offs, expos a on German television, it at the end of 2014. So the Dana Lewis -- Host: (28:25) Fled to the United States later on, and, and w one of them was a coach and one of them was, uh, an athlete and they, they laid out exactly what was going on in Sochi. Richard Pound Fmr. IOC/WADA: (28:35) Right. I remember, I mean, they had tried to give, give water some of this information, but we couldn't do anything with it because we weren't allowed to investigate. So I chaired the first investigation was limited to Russia only, and to athletics, track and field only. So we reported on that at the end of, uh, 2015 saying the system, as it affected track and field was totally corrupt, but there were two, the two loose ends that we didn't have, and they weren't really necessary for our report on it. One was the FSB, FSB is present regularly in the Moscow laboratory. And we said, well, what is the Russian state interest in stale, urine provided by athletes? That was a kind of a, does not compete. The other was reports of athletes coming with Brown paper bags with, with containers of urine in and depositing them various sports, say, what's that all about? Richard Pound Fmr. IOC/WADA: (29:37) Is this, is this kind of secret testing to see what their clearance times might be on a steroid program or what they didn't didn't know, but we made the observations, the subsequent, okay. Uh, investigation by Richard McLaren put those ends together. The FSB was there because they were involved in the substitution of samples given by Russians, in competition, pouring that stuff out, replacing it with clean urine, the paper bag stuff, which had been frozen and kept for just this kind of an occasion where the Russian athlete was tested in competition and would have been bounced except for the switching of the urine. Dana Lewis -- Host: (30:20) So they, they cannot participate in Tokyo. Um, so years decades, after you started all of this, isn't it a bit dark to you? That probably what was a few athletes cheating or a few hundred, or maybe a few thousand throughout the whole Olympic movement with their individual coaches became almost like where you began back in East Germany, not you began, but where all of this controversy began with the pharma labs in East Germany, state sponsored. I mean, it seems like we haven't gone forward. We've kind of gone where, Richard Pound Fmr. IOC/WADA: (30:54) Well, w one of the things we've done is we've, we've turned over the rocks and that people have at least a better idea of this stuff is going on and that it's not here. And there, you know, in cycling, they used to say, elephant is clean. And then despite themselves, they found pause, Oh, well, uh, that was an outlier, uh, that person's gone now, the pelotons clean. And, you know, it just went case-by-case like that. So, but there's no, it it's, it's certainly double digits in terms of, uh, a percentage and we're, we're getting better at it. And, and we've got, uh, you know, you got out of competition tests, you've got, uh, you can find very small quantities, so you can get athletes that are coming off a program. And there's very little traces left of the stuff they've been taking, but now we can, we can find, we keep Olympic samples for 10 years now. And so as, as, as the knowledge of science and the knowledge of what's been being used expands because of Dana Lewis -- Host: (32:00) No, it's a cat and mouse game where they use masking agents and different things, and they figure you're testing. We'll never find this, but if you hold it for 10 years, that's a long way. And then you go back and strip metals from methods. Richard Pound Fmr. IOC/WADA: (32:11) Absolutely. And that's in a sense that, you know, if you think about it, that's probably a more devastating outcome for athletes. And then being caught on the competition day in Santa, they got me, it's a fair cop and I'm out of here, but you know, 10 years later you've finished your, your career. You've got a family, you've got a job, you have a reputation in your country, and you're exposed as that being all false. It's, you know, you support Dana Lewis -- Host: (32:40) Calls for, do you export calls for tougher punishments, like jail time for athletes and S you know, some of the American debate is that they, they just don't suppress doping, but they rid sport of it with, you know, very tough measures, including jailing. I mean, Marion Jones went, the sprinter went to jail, but not very many people go to jail. Richard Pound Fmr. IOC/WADA: (33:00) Well, she went to jail, not for doping. She went to jail for lying and lying to the FBI. And I, you know, basically I philosophically, if you cheat, I don't want to play with you. I just, you know, go away, but to go to jail, no, if you're part of the organization of it, then you're supplying steroids and you're, you're submerging sport, generally as a, as an official, that's a different thing. Dana Lewis -- Host: (33:27) If you were just a very quickly bullet point, tell me which sports you think you've really brought under control and made progress in. And what are the ones that are going to be the tough ones in the future? What would they be? Richard Pound Fmr. IOC/WADA: (33:38) Well, certainly weightlifting has proven to be very tough and, you know, drug use is, is endemic, uh, track and field has got a big problem. Still. I don't think site cycling has solved its problem, uh, swimming as an increasing problem. It's, it's, it's, there's, there's no sport where there's, you are without risk Dana Lewis -- Host: (34:00) China. You know, there are calls for boycott in their upcoming games. Sorry, what year is it? It's a 20, 22. Is the winter. Yeah. Richard Pound Fmr. IOC/WADA: (34:07) Mean basically, basically less than a year from now. Dana Lewis -- Host: (34:10) Yeah. Yeah, because of Tokyo was pushed back year. Tokyo looks like it may go forward. We'll have to wait and see what this pandemic, but on China, I remember reading and we sort of end where we began as I, when I read your book, uh, right before I did an interview with you in Beijing, um, you, you were not a big fan of the boycotts that took place, uh, with the Soviet union. And then the Soviets then boycott at four years later in salt Lake city and Los Angeles, Los Angeles. Richard Pound Fmr. IOC/WADA: (34:42) No, I, I don't think, uh, I don't, first of all, I don't think they're effective. Secondly, if you, if you fast forward to Beijing, it's, it's being, it's a little bit like your government saying, we're so mad at you, China for suppressing the human rights and civil rights of, of some groups of your citizens, that you know what we're going to do to show you how annoyed we are. We're going to take away all the rights of our own athletes and put them metaphorically in jail at home to show you what dreadful people you are. Do you really think that's going to bring about conduct change in, in China? No, of course it's not. And we have a, a view, however, aspirational, it may be that the sport can help create a better world. You can, with the Olympic games, you can show that it is possible. Richard Pound Fmr. IOC/WADA: (35:36) Even if it's only a two week or one month bubble for 206 countries to live together, play together, work together, have common goals, you know, free of discrimination, all that sort of stuff. It is possible. And that's, I I've always thought that's one of the reasons why to go back to doping doping case at the Olympics is, is regardless, is so serious. Cause it, it destroys that aspirational goal. Now people are in professional sports, nobody cares. These people are regarded as gladiators and what they do to get ready for their, their sport. Then it's up to them. This is it's entertainment solely, but this, this aspirational international side of things is, is I think some good can come from it and it's not going to be, there's no silver bullet and it's not going to be, uh, you know, a sudden gestalt, but bit by bit going persisting with that view and insisting on, you know, doping controls and all of them, things that go with it, it, it can do something Dana Lewis -- Host: (36:46) Great to talk to you. And, uh, I've always been a big fan of yours. I think you you've been a, a great lightning rod for rod, for ethics and morality and sport, and you've never pulled any punches. And, you know, you're known for being forthright and, uh, and shooting straight from the hip and great for, you know, good for you. This is great to talk Richard Pound Fmr. IOC/WADA: (37:04) To you. Thanks very much. Dana Lewis -- Host: (37:11) And that's our backstory on Richard pound and water. The world anti-doping authority. This struggle to clean up sports as you already know is endless, but I guess it's like street crime. You catch the bad guys and gals make them pay, but there's always another waiting in the shadows, ready to do anything to steal. In this case, it's a stolen victory from another athlete who should have meddled and was squeezed out by a cheater. If you like backstory sheriff, and I've now started a newsletter on what is news and what I think is worth reading because a lot of people are confused as to what news sources to tap into today. That newsletter is on Dana Lewis dot sub stack.com. And please sign up to this podcast if you haven't already. And thanks for listening, I'll talk to you again.

#IOC @richardpound russia rusada olympics trackandfield USAOlympics sochi @backstorywithdanalewis

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mbtizone · 7 years

Text

Cheryl Blossom (Riverdale): ESTJ

Dominant Extroverted Thinking [Te]: It’s important for Cheryl to be in charge of her external environment and have power at Riverdale High, whether that comes in the form of being captain of the River Vixens, or by plotting against against her enemies. She’s domineering, barks orders with ease, and tends to come on quite strong and doesn’t hesitate to put people in their place. Cheryl doesn’t seem to spend much time tuning in to the emotions of the people around her. Cheryl is quite intelligent and, in addition to her position on the cheerleading squad and the various activities she participates in, she also maintains a 4.0 GPA. She’s a leader who wants to organize and implement her plans. She can easily take control of any situation and doesn’t back down when she has a goal. Cheryl is blunt, direct, and knows how to work within the system. Cheryl tells it like it is and doesn’t sugarcoat anything for anybody. “I think she’s crazier than a serial killer on bath-salts, but so what? She’s carrying Jason’s baby. That trumps everything.” The facts are important to Cheryl and she tends to need indisputable evidence in order to believe something. She doesn’t believe that Jason would’ve had anything to do with a playbook based on her prior experiences with him (Si), and it isn’t until she sees the book with her own two eyes that she begins to think that she might not have known her brother as well as she thought she did. Cheryl believes she must keep her emotions in check and wants to present a strong image. Cheryl is quick to take action in situations. When she comes to the conclusion that Polly killed Jason, she tweets the news to her followers in an attempt to get the residents of Riverdale to make Polly pay for what Cheryl believes she has done.

Auxiliary Introverted Sensing [Si]: Cheryl’s past experiences shape all of her opinions. The playbook doesn’t exist. It’s just a stupid “suburban legend.” She knows her brother, and he never would’ve stood for anything like that. And even if such a book existed, Jason would’ve told her about it. Tradition and hierarchy matter very much to Cheryl and she takes a great deal of pride in being captain of the River Vixens. The maple tapping ritual was something she and Jason participated in every year and she didn’t know how to face the annual event without him by her side. Cheryl cares about her status at Riverdale High and is extremely threatened by Veronica, who could usurp her as Queen Bee. She wants to keep Veronica in check and make sure she knows her place in Riverdale’s social hierarcy. Cheryl tends to hold grudges and loathes Polly because of what happened between her and Jason, and treats Betty poorly because she’s Polly’s sister. She judges people based on their past. She warns Hermione to put all of the money in the register because “Lodges are known to have sticky fingers.” Cheryl likes a sense of consistency in her life. She wears the same broach frequently, dresses mostly in reds, and her material possessions mean a lot to her, which is why giving her HBIC shirt and position as captain to Veronica and making amends with Jughead by giving him her broach were such strong indicators of what she was planning to do. At Jason’s memorial, Cheryl decides to wear the dress she wore the last time she saw him alive. Cheryl clings to Archie because he reminds her of Jason, and seeing him at the pep really in Jason’s jersey caused her to run off the stage and have a private breakdown (Si-Fi).

Tertiary Extroverted Intuition [Ne]: When Cheryl discovers that Polly escaped from the Sisters of Quiet Mercy on the same night that Jason’s car was set on fire, she “does the math” and incorrectly believes that Polly killed Jason. Though, there are times when her intuition is spot on. She thinks that one or both of her parents could’ve been involved in Jason’s death and theorizes that if Clifford wasn’t mad at Jason about Polly, he must’ve been angry with him for a different reason, telling her mother that it “must have been about the business.” Although she can be quite rigid, Cheryl is open to adjusting her beliefs and opinions as new information presents itself and is able to adapt when necessary. Cheryl is able to think quickly and improvise in the moment. She lies to her parents about having flushed the ring and makes up a story about Polly charging at her to get to it, but in actuality, she keeps it hidden because she has grown suspicious of her mom and dad.

Inferior Introverted Feeling [Fi]: Cheryl refuses to dwell on her emotions. She deals with her feelings by taking action. She doesn’t want the dance to be canceled after Jason’s body is found. Rather, she wants to use it to allow people to heal from the tragedy. When she’s feeling particularly emotional, she goes off on her own to deal with her feelings in private. Cheryl often lacks empathy and has a hard time relating to people, which is why her plan to get information out of Betty by being kind to her fails. Cheryl doesn’t like to be vulnerable and tries to present a tough exterior, but when her emotions do come to the surface, she’s usually quite volatile, as evidenced by her suicide attempt at Sweetwater River, the place she was last with Jason, and the place where his body was discovered (Si-Fi). Cheryl is much better at helping others by donating her time and her money (buying Archie a guitar, getting money for Polly) than she is at supporting them emotionally.

Enneagram: 3w4 8w7 6w5 So/Sp

Quotes:

Cheryl: Will this beautiful, exotic, hothouse flower drown under the town’s scrutiny, or be swamped by her emotions? The answer, ladies, is “no” and “no.”

Ethel: I already tried. Weatherbee said that he didn’t find anything. Betty: Okay, we need undeniable proof. Cheryl: Proof of what, Nancy Drew? That boys will be boys? And that playbook reeks of suburban legend. Betty: How would you know, Cheryl? Cheryl: Because, Frida Shallow, before he died, my brother was co-captain of the football team with Chuck, and Jason never mentioned it, and he never would’ve allowed it.

Kevin: Cheryl just tweeted #PollyCooperKilledMyBrother, NowhereToHide, SharpenYourPitchforks.

Cheryl: Speaking of breaks, what’s a big one worth to you, Mother? Letting me be a River Vixen again? Penelope: What on earth are you talking about, Cheryl? Cheryl: I have information you… Both of you, would find interesting vis-a-vis my brother’s case. But first, the Vixens are mine. And I want your permission to reclaim them. Penelope: Good Lord, fine. Cheryl: So, Ginger texted me while I was in the ladies’ room. It seems that crazy bitch, Polly Cooper, escaped from some looney bin, the same night Jason’s car was torched. So let me do the math for you. Polly escaping plus Polly torching Jason’s car equals she’s Jason’s killer. Covering her tracks, trying to go underground, like the vicious, cold-hearted murdering mean girl that she is.

Cheryl: As a maj thank-you for coming to the maple banquet with me tomorrow, I wanted to give you this. An ’84 Les Paul. In our signature color. You’re welcome. Okay. That’s all. I’m going now. My claustrophobia acts up in small houses. See you tomorrow.

Cheryl: What did my dad say to you? That everyone thinks I’m a train wreck? Jason was the golden boy, but me… People hate me, Archie. And at school, that’s fine, whatever. But this is my family.

Cheryl: You catatonic bimbos didn’t even vote. So you stuttering sapheads are too dim to exercise your own rights, and you’ve got the combined vocabulary of a baked potato. Consider this your last practice as River Vixens, and your last week as my social handmaidens. You’re fired on all fronts. That’s all. Shoo, bitches.

Penelope: One more thing before you go to the dance. Nana Blossom’s ring… It’s not in my jewelry box, it’s not with Polly. Where is it? Cheryl: It wasn’t my fault, it was Polly’s. She lunged at me, trying to get it, I didn’t know what to do. I panicked. I thought it would be better for everyone if the ring were just gone. Down the drain. That way, if Polly ever said anything to anyone, there’d be no proof. Just her word against ours. Did I do something wrong? Clifford: No… It’s quite right what you did.

Cheryl: I think something happened, Mommy. Penelope: Whatever do you mean? Cheryl: If Daddy wasn’t mad at Jason about Polly, it must have been about the business. I don’t know if he heard something he shouldn’t have, or he saw something he didn’t like- Penelope: You don’t know what you’re saying. Cheryl: What was Jay-Jay running away from? The business? Daddy? You? Ow!

Cheryl: Your room’s so sweet. Betty: It’s too pink. It doesn’t feel right anymore. Cheryl: No, I like how girly it is. Mine is, too. You should come over and see it sometime. But, just you, not Veronica. I mean, she must be evil incarnate if even you won’t have her as a friend. And on the subject of being friends, Betty, I’m sorry I’ve been such a witchy-witch to you. After Polly and Jason’s epic demise, I was angry… At everyone. But I took it out on you which was super unfair. Especially since, in a way, it’s kinda like we both lost siblings. How, uh, how is Polly? Is she still in that group home? Do you think she knows what happened to Jason, that he was murdered? Betty: I-I’m not sure. Cheryl: What do you think went down between them? Betty: I don’t know- Cheryl: What do your parents say? About Jason and Polly? Betty: Not a lot. Cheryl: Same. I keep thinking that maybe Jason said something to her or she said something to him. I mean, didn’t they have a big fight this summer, or- Betty: Why are you asking me so many questions about Polly, Cheryl? Cheryl: Because, you dumb cow, someone shot my brother and I think it was your crazy, tweaked-out sister.

Cheryl Blossom (Riverdale): ESTJ was originally published on MBTI Zone

#Cheryl Blossom #Riverdale #ESTJ #Type 3 #Enneagram 3 #3w4 8w7 6w5 #So/Sp #mbti #mbti types #mbti personality types #fictionalcharactermbti #fictionmbti #tv mbti #enneagram #enneatypes #enneagram type

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writingintheocean · 7 years

Text

I cannot apologize enough for how late this update is. You all deserved this two months ago. But we’re closing in on the ending! Two chapters to go.

Betcha didn’t know that.

AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/7216591/chapters/26450991

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Title: Of Adventures

Part 9

Part 10

The boxers dangling off the bedpost seem cheery in the morning light rather than accusatory. There’s been gaps of consciousness, waking up and remembering the night before and falling back into his dream about flying over the ocean. Water in every direction, dark against a bright sky. There had been trips to the beach when he was younger: before his mutation with his mom and nannies there were sticky popsicles and a day away from dressing up in doll-sized suits. After, with his father, it was talkative walks on a private beach below the mansion about anything EXCEPT when his next “treatment” was.

It’s so bright.

He should probably clean up in here. Warren rolls over on his side. Why did Xavier give him such a big wardrobe? Such a big room? He was the same crappy person (no, he had friends he was free, he was better) as when Apocalypse found him. A nice bedroom doesn’t change anyone for the better.

Hours after he first came to, Warren sits up. There’s no fatigue of a hangover but his mouth tastes like rotting graham crackers. He stretches as his feet hit the floor, the tips of his wings brushing against the rafters.

Why didn’t he ask Kurt to stay? He drops his head in his hands. “I’m an idiot.”

He grabs the empty bottle of vodka and drops it in the bathroom trashcan. He doesn’t remember falling asleep. He tried to grab onto Kurt before he left, not for any reason really. He wanted him there, wanted him to stay.

Warren grabs his toothbrush and slathers on the paste.

Now everyone knows he’s a slut at least. Couldn’t hide that forever. Did Kurt hate him now? He seemed pretty religious, maybe that was a piece of it too. Disgust at the disgusting.

He spits.

Or maybe Kurt’s still his same sweet self. Still smiling. God, even with all the fangs his smile looked like light made bone, still felt like a blessing.

Warren gargles and spits again.

If he’d asked, would he have stayed?

There’s a knock from outside. He takes the brush with him and opens the door, raising an eyebrow at Scott. “Whaht?”

“Hey. The Professor’s got a plan.” He nods. “You coming to the meeting?”

Warren spits onto a rogue t-shirt on the floor. “Well that was fast. In his office?”

“Yeah. Meet you there.” Scott jogs off, still in his boxers and t-shirt from last night.

Did he have to sleep in his glasses too? Warren shut the door and spit on the shirt again. He still didn’t feel clean. A few steps towards the closet and he stops and turns to look at the spit-shirt.

Whatever. It wouldn’t help.

He goes to get dressed.

“This would be a lot easier if we had Mystique here.” Jean’s speaking as Warren shuffles into Xavier’s office. “She and Eric would make this easy.”

Xavier’s face sinks slightly at her mention. “I’m afraid Raven will not be with us for this encounter.”

The corner of Warren’s mouth twitches. Raven wasn’t with them PERIOD. Four months and she still had to even show her face around the Institute. Probably back to rescuing random mutants, the way Kurt told it. His teeth clench to quell the flare of confusion. Of course she chose to take Kurt instead of him. He didn’t care if he never had to see her blue feathery nakedness ever again.

“It would be rather easy if you and I went, Charles. Don’t you think?”

Hank glances at him. “I think that his, uh, position as the most well-known mutant in the world might make that difficult, Erik.”

“Well you said you refused to send any of us,” Jean gestures to Warren, Ororo, and herself, “And the only adults here are you, the Professor, and Erik.”

“And Peter.” Erik offers. “I’m sure he wouldn’t be opposed to a little breaking and entering.”

“Erik, I’m sorry but you and Peter are not going to pretend to be a couple. Ever. It’s a matter of,” Xavier coughs uncomfortably, “Preference.”

Warren does a doubletake and raises his eyebrows. “You were planning to be a couple?”

“It’s our best plan without a straight-up military assault on the place.”

“Call the police?”

“Oh come on, where’s your sense of adventure?” Scott pats him on the shoulder as he comes through the door, Kurt following behind.

Oh god no, Warren can feel his mouth tilting upwards but he physically can’t stop the smile that grows over his face when he makes eye contact with him.

Kurt’s cheeks flare darker and he grins back.

His wings shudder as the smile spreads to his guts.

“All of our options without Mystique are cautionary at best.” Hank pulls a sheet of paper from his notebook and begins rattling off: “Xavier is too recognizable, as is Erik to some extent, I should really stay behind to run the technical aspect of all of this, and Peter’s……well, he’s Peter.” He crumples the paper and tosses it onto a similar pile on the floor. “There’s no best option.”

Scott nicks the top most ball and unfolds it. “What plan is this anyway?”

“Oh, you mean Plan G?” Erik smirks. “It’s simple really, a mutant couple who can’t conceive but wants a mutant child seeks out this organization.”

“Your plan is…….being gay.”

Warren glances at Kurt out of habit and catches his stare before looking away again.

“I know that it’s my plan,” Ororo laughs as she enters, taking the last empty slot in their circle. “But this plan will not work. If we’re going to go, we need to go. Now.”

Hank’s eyes seem to sink into his head even as his face twists with exasperation. "This is a delicate operation that will take time.”

“You certainly didn’t waste time taking down Apocalypse,” she fires back.

“That’s a completely different situation.”

“No, it’s not.” Warren crosses his arms and opens his wings wider. “These kids have probably been going through hell since Mira escaped. Things will only get worse the longer we wait.”

Erik casts an eye on Hank. “My thoughts exactly.”

Hank stutters and looks to Xavier.

The Professor steeples his hands and runs a hand over his, still conspicuously bald, head. “From Mira’s memories, I have to concur. I was hoping we could think of an alternative but it seems we might not have a choice. Besides,” he locks eyes with Jean, “I believe yesterday’s antics have proven that we may not have as much sway as we think we have.”

“I’ll go ready the jet.” Hank stands and breaks the calm in the room, jumpstarting Warren’s heart. “The rest of you should suit up.”

“I’ll stay here and communicate with you through Cerebro,” Xavier promises. “A sort of organic Communicator.”

Scott jostles Jean and laughs. “Yes sir, Commander Kirk.”

“This is no laughing matter, Scott.”

His face sobers quickly into its usual pout.

“You may be X-Men, but you’re still children. That is not,” Xavier holds up a hand to stop his protests, “A slight against your prowess. It is an acknowledgment of your youth. These heroisms are great acts but there is so much more life out there for you. I would never wish to see that opportunity wasted. Especially,” he lifts a hand to his temple, “For you.”

Scott’s hands are curled into fists but there’s a shudder to his lip. He sniffs and nods, turning to head out. “I’ll see you guys in the hangar.”

Kurt follows him out, waving to Warren as they leave. He’s not even sure Kurt spoke the entire time. Maybe during the ride he could talk to him. Say something. Insist he’s not some dumb, desperate 16-year-old anymore. That he’s not just down to fuck. He’s down to….hold hands and shit.

Jean opens the door for Ororo. “Where do we even keep the flight suits? Are they in our rooms?”

“I keep mine there.” She shrugs. “Try checking your closet.”

Jean shakes her head. “This school is a disaster.”

Warren remembers months ago on the battlefield, how a bunch of random kids showed up in matching black bodysuits and somehow got stronger after originally getting their asses kicked. Putting on a similar outfit now was…..strange.

Not as strange as whoever designed this fucking piece of hellcloth though. Where did his head go? If this side was the front then his whole chest was exposed. Did it have a zipper? Was it held together by science magic?

He pulls on one part. On another. Stretches out the legs because maybe the opening is in his crotch for some dumbass reason. Throws the outfit at the wall because HE IS A MURDERING MACHINE AND THIS IS WHY CLOTHES ARE FUCKING AWFUL.

Warren rests his head against the bedpost and picks up the suit again. It’s heavier than it looks, a large white stripe down the middle of one side and black everywhere else. The circle where he had assumed an arm went unlatches as he fiddles with it. It felt like his brain had been pounding on a particularly tough watermelon and was finally pulling the two halves apart.

He strips down and steps into the garment, sliding the equivalent of scaly leather over his legs and up to his waist. This was the tricky part. And the part that made it look like a stripper outfit. He passes one arm and then the other thought the REAL arm holes (they’re way too small to be considered sleeves) and pulls the side with the white stripe all the way up.

Does he look like an idiot? A miasma of fear and rage takes shape in his stomach and he rushes to the bathroom, hurtling the bed and doing a quick 360 in front of the mirror.

It still looks like a stripper outfit, with the ‘neckpiece’ still dangling in front and another piece of cloth falling past his butt but on the whole he doesn’t look…………like a Horseman.

Warren leans in, running a hand through his hair and tracing where his tattoos used to be. He had barely noticed all the little things happening in the last six months, too busy learning calculus and going through flying rehab and trying to figure out what to do. It’s a silly thought, that his body had never given up on him even as he gave up on himself. Growing his wings no matter how many times he removed them, keeping him free of hangovers despite the drinking, slowly but surely breaking down the apocalyptic scars on his face. A spike of water rushes to his eyes, spilling out onto the sink. Powering through the hiccups does nothing and he finally half-collapses, crying over the drain. He had something, there was something for him here, he wasn’t going to die, he was so happy.

It feels like forever, shaking and sobbing to his reflection. He cried leaving home, he cried after the first few fights, he hasn’t since. His arms ache. His wings shake.

Crying fucking sucks.

Eventually, Warren’s feathers lift from the floor. He finds the final dry spot on his sleeve and ruins it. Two kids giggle at his exposed back as he leaves the confines of his room but he can’t help smiling.

Hank’s new toy is a gigantic jet. It looks pretty similar to the one commandeered from some underwater military base, so say Scott and Jean, but to Warren it’s brand new. And awful.

“You know I can fly myself there, right? My wingspan’s probably bigger than this thing.”

“The only reason you reached the bridge so quickly was because of Kurt.” Hank flips a few more switches up front and glances back. “Don’t get cocky.”

The soft murmur on his left continues as Kurt prays, his head bowed and hands clasped together. A spike of heat hits Warren in the face as he remembers those hands recently crawling up his back, helping him finish getting into the ‘flight suit’ and clasping the back portion that had been hanging off him to the neckpiece. The good news was he could get in and out of it without having to maneuver his wings around it. The bad part was Ororo smirking the entire time and asking if he wanted help putting all his shirts on at this point.

“…lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.” Kurt stops for a moment, takes a breath, and starts again.

Hank calls out, “Three minutes and we’re there! Get ready.”

There’s a flicker of tension in his stomach as Warren stares at Kurt. How could he not realize how stupid they all were? They’d almost died getting Mira to safety. They were mutants— they weren’t invincible.

The first time he’d stepped into the fighting ring it had been easy to beat the mutant he was against. Didn’t know who they were, didn’t care. When they were on the ground and bloody, it was harder. The crowd was chanting his name and to kill her. He can’t remember asking if he didn’t have to.

He took a step forward and drove a talon into her chest. It wasn’t a decision; it was an action. There were lots of things that were actions, things to do not to decide to do.

Like chopping off a wing.

Like abandoning home.

Like reaching over to take Kurt’s hand.

He stops his repetition to widen his eyes at Warren, his hand not going limp but not grasping back either.

Warren keeps his eyes focused on their hands. “Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come….” He trails off and his cheeks warm. What came—

“Thy kingdom come,” Kurt closes his eyes, the tips of his fangs poking out of his smile. “Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.”

It comes back to him as Kurt goes on.

“Give us this day our daily bread,

And forgive us our trespasses.

As we forgive those

Who trespass against us,

And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”

His stomach has never been so upset and looking at Kurt only makes it better and worse. He needs to say something, he needs to tell him….

“One minute!” Hank shouts.

The view outside is mostly trees that are whipping back and forth as the plane comes down. It lands softly, rocking slightly as the wheels adjust.

Warren looks back to Kurt, afraid of something. He squeezes his hand and lets go, undoing his seatbelt like the rest of them. Warren follows suit and they exit the jet out the back, Hank bringing up the rear. Jean’s got one hand to her temple as she scans the horizon.

“The Professor says their base is in this direction.” She points and begins marching. “There are two guards at the main entrance and the rest is underground. It’s….it’s like it’s half of a house and half a lab. It’s….gross.”

“What do we do once we’re inside?” Ororo’s eyes are focused dead ahead, glowing.

“Scott, go with Kurt to the labs. You’re playing bodyguard. There shouldn’t be too many kids on that side so teleport them out. Ororo and I will take on the dorms and get the rest out.”

“And what am I supposed to do? Wait outside?”

“Your wings aren’t going to be much use in a hallway underground.” Jean comes to a halt and holds out a hand for them to do the same. She goes forward slowly, keeping the same hand to her temple. There’s a shout through the trees and rapid gunfire before it’s quiet again. “Stay here and escort whoever comes out back to the jet. Your job is keeping them safe, Warren.”

She’s right. He still clearly sidelined, but she’s right.

The building they come upon is little more than a dark steel trapezoid with a door with two of the soldiers from before lying facedown on the ground. Kurt stops next to their bodies and frowns, corssing himself.

“They’re not dead, I promise. Just unconscious.”

“Then the bullets…?”

“Probably just a misfire when they fell.” Jean kicks the rifles away from their bodies. “I just threw rocks at their heads.”

Warren scoffs. “It sucks to be the good guys.”

Hank bends down, now blue and furry, and grabs a key off one of the bodies. “Everyone ready?”

Warren shakes his head and looks to Kurt to find him staring back.

“Let’s go.”

The door opens. Warren’s surprised that a siren doesn’t go off immediately but they break off into a sprint, bolting into the darkness.

“Stay the fuck safe!” he yells at their backs. Kurt flashes a thumbs up behind him. He’s so goddamn cute.

#x-men #xmen #nightcrawler #Warren Worthington III #nightangel #Kurt Wagner #fanfiction

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antlerscolorado · 7 years

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chapter 8, part 13

CONTENT WARNING: This update contains mentions of gore and self harm.

Abbott’s apartment isn’t far from the DPR campus, in a small, run-down looking complex about half the size of Austin’s, back in Antlers. The door is barred by a thick barrier of caution tape, and as Austin tries the knob, he finds to his surprise that the entire door swings forwards, imbalanced and off his hinges. The sudden momentum nearly sends him and the door both toppling forward, but Cillian catches him and holds him upright. Working together, they lean the door somewhat precariously against the doorframe, with just enough space to duck under the caution tape and squeeze inside.

“It was locked when the agents were here before,” Cillian says, somewhat sheepishly, shifting the door back into its proper place once they’re inside. “Addison had to break in.”

“Right,” Austin says. The caution tape and the door didn’t look disturbed. That’s one strike against Abbott having come back here, unless he took time to put everything back into place.

Austin takes a few more steps into the apartment, looking around to get his bearings. It’s small, utilitarian almost. The foyer opens up directly in front of him, into a living room with only a ratty couch and an old, boxy television for decoration. There’s a kitchenette just off the living room, and even from where he stands, Austin can see dirty dishes stacked in the sink, swimming in old, cloudy water. A hallway leading just left of the living room has two doors - one open, leading straight into a small bathroom, the other closed. Probably the bedroom. There’s an odd smell lingering in the air that’s hard to place, an almost sweet smell that makes Austin’s stomach uneasy.

“Looks like he left in a hurry,” Austin says.

“I don’t think you needed to come all the way here to deduce that much,” Cillian says dryly, already snooping around the kitchenette, peering inside cabinets and drawers. He opens the fridge to the right of the sink, and recoils nearly immediately.

Austin starts towards the fridge, to see what’s inside, but he doesn’t get far before the stench in the apartment suddenly overpowers him, washing over him in a wave that nearly knocks him off his feet. It’s a mixture of sweet and sour that triggers his gag reflex, and as he turns away from the kitchenette, leaning on the television set and retching, he finally recognizes it for what it is. Rotting meat. As Cillian steps away, leaving the fridge door open, Austin can see stacks of prepackaged steak inside, the meat so green it’s almost black. The sight makes his stomach churn even more, and he squeezes his eyes shut, breathing through his mouth until he hears the muffled thud of the fridge door slamming closed.

“Those are old,” Austin gasps out finally, the smell still searing the inside of his nose. Involuntary tears leak from the corners of his eyes, and he wipes them with the back of his hand.

“No shit,” Cillian says, his voice equally hoarse.

“No, I mean, they’re old.” Austin straightens up, trying to will his head to stop spinning. “Those would’ve started to rot more than just a few days ago. Why didn’t he throw them out?”

“Maybe he wasn’t here very often,” Cillian suggests. He rejoins Austin in the living room, his eyes equally red and watery. “He did work late hours in the lab, and it doesn’t exactly look like he made much effort into making this place...homey.”

He’s right, Austin thinks, taking another look around the apartment. Anyone could live here. There’s no pictures on the walls, no decorations that would have sentimental value to anyone. No personal effects.

“I’ll check the bedroom,” Austin says, desperate to get away from the last of the lingering, foul meat smell. Despite the fridge door being shut, it’s still leaking into the air, a little at a time. Cillian must sense it too - he crosses to one of the windows, and cracks it open.

“I’ll come with you,” he says. “If Abbott really did come back here, we’d better not split up.”

“I think the apartment is small enough that you’d hear me calling for help,” Austin retorts, but doesn’t particularly complain when Cillian accompanies him to the bedroom door. It’s unlocked - regularly unlocked, not off its hinges - and the knob rattles loosely in the socket as Austin twists it open.

The bedroom is plain. Austin isn’t sure what he was expecting, really. He flips the light switch on, illuminating a double bed with unremarkable, off-white sheets, a wooden nightstand, a matching desk and chair. There’s a door to the right of the bed that can only be a closet. Austin catches Cillian’s eye, and can tell that they’re both thinking the same thing. Lots of places for Abbott to hide, if he’s here. Better do a sweep before we get interested in anything else, and caught off guard.

Austin nods towards the closet, and Cillian nods back at him, taking up a position in the bedroom doorway, his hand on the gun holstered at his hip. Austin moves towards the closet door as noiselessly as possible, and stops with his hand on the doorknob, taking a deep breath before he throws it open. There’s no sound, no movement, that follows. Austin peers into the closet and finds nothing but shirts and slacks, hung up and neatly organized. The closet is barely deep enough to fit a tiny shelving unit to hold spare linens, and definitely not big enough for a human to stand inside.

Pulling the closet door shut with his foot, Austin’s eyes fall on the bed - on its underside. The duvet isn’t long enough to hide anything under there, and he drops down onto his knees, peering underneath. But there’s nothing. No true underside to the bed, save for a gap just wide enough to wiggle a finger through. No chance that Abbott could worm his way under there. Damn.

“He’s not here,” Austin says aloud, once he’s sure.

“I’ll check the bathroom,” Cillian says, and moves out into the hallway, then disappears from Austin’s line of sight.

Austin rises to his feet, still scanning the room. There must be something we’re missing. Everyone said Abbott was different than before. What happened, to make him capable of stabbing someone? And why try to bring me back to Havenwood for Jacob’s sake, only to try and kill him when he disagreed?

He sits down in the desk chair. There aren’t any drawers built into the sides of the desk, but there’s nothing piled on top of it, either, no loose papers or notebooks, no recreational reading. Unless Abbott took it all with him, there has to be somewhere else he keeps that stuff.

Idly, not getting his hopes up just yet, Austin feels along the underside of the desk. He smiles to himself as he feels the shape of a long, flat drawer, and tugs on it to slide it out. Inside is a handful of pens and a simple, black journal.

The journal isn’t long, but the writing inside of it is nigh indecipherable, a list of dates and times without any apparent rhyme or reason to them. Several of the times take place over the course of one day, and each has a note hastily jotted down next to it. One entry reads: Sunday 6/8 - 9:45 AM - preparing meal in kitchen. Another: Wednesday 7/14 - 6:04 PM - out walking near pond in park, alone, no car. Yet another: Friday 8/6 - 11:27 PM - in bed, nodded off?

Austin shudders as he scans the list, becoming more certain what it is with each date he reads. His stomach lurches again, this time with a visceral hatred, the urge to make Abbott pay, to crush these pages into balls and shove them down Abbott’s throat. He tries to snap the journal shut, but both the hand holding it open and the hand keeping his place in the column of dates and times are suddenly frozen in place.

The writing on the page swims before Austin’s eyes, the numbers and letters turning to gibberish, spidery symbols with no meaning at all. As he watches, unable to tear his eyes away, the writing melts downwards, falling off the lines, funnelling towards the bottom right corner of the page, where his thumb is clamped down.

The symbols converge on him like army ants. Austin braces himself, but still fails to muffle the scream that tears out of his throat when they start crawling on his flesh. Nothing could have prepared him for the feeling, an itching so hot and bone-deep that it makes him want to claw away layer after layer of skin, gouging the symbols out of him with his nails. He shakes as they make their way up his hand, past his wrist, and feels tears sliding down his face as the symbols snake their way up his forearm.

His hands are still locked, claw-like, around the journal, the muscles tense and impossible to move. He tries to call for Cillian, but finds his voice tinny, lodged somewhere inside his throat. The symbols reach his elbow, and pass it, and continue on their steady march. Austin’s whole arm is blossoming with pain, every inch the symbols have touched feeling like an oozing blister, a flayed-open patch of skin. The writing looks almost deliberate, a living tattoo. Austin feels it curling up his shoulder, towards his neck, and bites down on his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.

“I said,” Cillian’s voice says, slicing directly through the haze of pain, “did you find anything else?”

Austin blinks, and drops the journal on the desk, nearly tipping over the chair in his haste to get away from it. He looks at his arm, twisting it this way and that, and finds nothing on it - no symbols, no lacerations, only a few old scars. The itching, burning sensation is gone, save for a slight numbness in his hands. Carefully, he flips the journal upwards, peeking at the first page. The dates and times are perfectly legible again, lined up as neatly as before.

��Austin?” Cillian asks, from the bedroom doorway. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“No.” Austin shakes his head quickly. Better to keep what he saw to himself. His stomach still feels queasy, and his head is starting to hurt, probably from hunger, dehydration, lack of sleep, or some combination thereof. “I, uh, I found some kind of journal. I think it’s from Abbott, you know, stalking Jacob. You can take a look at it if you want.”

Cillian approaches the desk and picks up the journal. Austin waits carefully, ready to snatch it from his hands if he, too, locks up and begins to look pained, but nothing happens. Cillian’s eyes rove from side to side as he reads, and his lip curls in distaste.

“Disgusting.” He lowers the journal, looking at Austin, his expression softening a little. “Austin, you must be exhausted. I think we’ve seen all there is to see here - why don’t you go home and get some rest? We can pick this up tomorrow.”

Austin opens his mouth to argue, and closes it again. Cillian’s right. A new lead isn’t just going to fall into our laps - we’ve already exhausted every avenue we could have. Might as well try and get some sleep, and start on it tomorrow when I don’t feel so much like shit.

“Okay,” he says. The image of the symbols crawling up his arm is still vivid in his mind’s eye, a vision he can’t quite put his finger on the meaning of. But there’s no need to trouble Cillian with it. Cillian isn’t a psychic, doesn’t understand things like that because he can’t see them for himself.

Maybe it’s a huge clue, Austin thinks, following Cillian under the caution tape barrier and out of Abbott’s apartment. Or maybe it’s nothing at all. Cryptic bullshit or not, I’ve got plenty of time to puzzle it out when I get home.

8.12 || 8.14

#story

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nightmareonfilmstreet · 7 years

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Happy 70th Birthday Stephen King: The 10 Best Horror Adaptations

New Post has been published on https://nofspodcast.com/happy-70th-stephen-king-heres-10-best/

Happy 70th Birthday Stephen King: The 10 Best Horror Adaptations

Today our father who art in horror Stephen King turns 70! And I for one thank Maturin, that great big turtle in the sky, every single day that Stephen was born. Just ask yourself “Where would we be without him?” In fact, what would horror be without him?

Stephen King was born in 1947 in Portland Maine. He sold his first professional short story “The Glass Floor” In 1967 while working in an industrial laundry. In 1971, King started teaching high school English, while at nights he continued to write short stories and work on his novels. In 1974 Doubleday published Carrie. The resulting income allowed him to leave his teaching job to write full-time. Over the next 40 plus years King went on to shape the horror landscape by releasing many genre defining novels including The Shining, Cujo, IT, Salem’s Lot and many more. King has amassed sales of over 350 million books to date, and thankfully isn’t showing any signs of slowing down.

Stephen King is also responsible for some of the most horrifying and nightmare inducing movies ever made. Many of his novels have been adapted into some truly iconic and recognisable horror movies in modern cinema; The Shining, It, Carrie, Christine, and countless others. To celebrate his birthday, a sacred day on my horror calendar, lets countdown my our 10 Stephen King horror movie adaptations.

Selection Criteria

a) Only Horror Movies: – I will only be selecting Stephen’s scary sh*t, so there will be no Green Mile, Shawshank Redemption or Stand By Me. We’re a horror site.

b) The rankings are mine, and are based on how much I liked the film- Not the scope of the cinematography or the maturity of the score blah blah bah. My list. My criteria.

c) I have only ranked movies I have seen. For all I know, Children of the Corn V: Fields of Terror could be the greatest movie ever based within the King-verse, but I haven’t seen it so it’s not on the list!

And without further ado, The List!

10 – Carrie (1976)

Hi Carrie, rough night?

Carrie White is a shy and sheltered girl, who after a particularly cruel prank unleashes her deadly telekinetic powers to get vengeance at her high school prom.

Let’s face it. This film is bleak. Sissy Spacek plays awkward so well that you grimace at her every interaction. Add to this the fact that she has clearly been systematically domineered and abused by her religious mother whom I’m pretty sure is the most evil character since Joan Crawford in Mommie Dearest. In fact the most uplifting moment in Carrie is when Mrs. White gets graphically and ironically killed; impaled on her own symbolism.

Anyway, Carrie kills everyone and lives happily ever after or something.

For me this film boils down to three scenes ranked by how much they terrified me as an 8-year-old boy.

3. The prom scene = mildly freaking out.

2. The hand out of the grave scene = big jump scare made me close my little eyes.

1. The pig murder scene = didn’t sleep for a week. Every time I closed my eyes i heard that poor piggy crying.

9 – Secret Window (2004)

Wait, what?

Uh oh, early controversy! This probably won’t be a popular choice, but I loved this movie, and remember: My criteria.

Secret window is a psychological thriller about an author named Mort. Recently divorced, he moves to his upstate New York cabin to work on his writing. While there he meets John Shooter, who accuses him of plagiarism and proceeds to torment him seeking justice.

Johnny Depp and John Turturro are easily two of my favourite actors named John. I will eat anything these two dish up and probably ask for more. Their chemistry really carries this film and Turturro’s accent is just plain fun. The mystery aspect of this movie however is the weak point and by the time the twist is revealed, you’ve probably already guessed it. But the way it’s handled is so entertaining that I didn’t begrudge it at all.

8 – The Dead Zone (1983)

Whoa Chris, Your sex is on fire!

5 years after a car accident leaves him in a coma, Johnny Smith (Christopher Walken) discovers he has the ability to see people’s secrets through any physical contact. With some deeply unsettling visualizations of his premonitions, we follow Johnny as he attempts to navigate his “Dead Zone” and prevent the untimely deaths of those around him.

If you need more incentive? (ahem, CHRISTOPHER WALKEN) it is also directed by David ‘freaking’ Cronenberg! Don’t even bother with the rest of this list, if you haven’t seen The Dead Zone. Cancel your plans for the evening and watch it now.

7 – 1408 (2007)

Should’ve got the suite upgrade.

*This movie has two endings and while both versions are good, I only have eyes for the darker ending.

Mike Enslin (John Cusack), a paranormal debunker decides to stay in the Dolphin Hotel’s infamous room 1408. Not long after checking in Mike learns that the stories surrounding room 1408 may not be as embellished as he first believed.

SPOILER ALERT! this hotel room is really f**king haunted! After he ignores the hotel manager’s (Samuel L Jackson) extremely convincing and rational speech, it doesn’t take Mike very long to realize his monumental error. This movie is tense and unnerving from start to finish.

6 – Christine (1983)

Dope ride bro!

A nerdy teenager (Arnie) buys a vintage car (Christine) that has supernatural abilities and a sinister, violent nature. As Arnie’s obsession with Christine develops, his friends notice that the car’s not so pleasant nature is starting to influence its owner.

John Carpenter directs a movie about a kick ass red car, that actually seems possessed by a demon, but don’t let this seemingly campy premise put you off. This movie is awesome as Christine is evil. The badass Red Plymouth Fury owns every scene it’s in with its larger than life presence, deep rumbling voice and inherent menace.

5 – Pet Sematary (1989)

I’m never making waffles again.

Behind a family home, in Maine, there is an old cemetery that holds the secret to life and death. When Tragedy strikes the Creed family, the lure of this power becomes too tempting to ignore.

Pet Sematary (spelt wrong on purpose) is a movie about a family who move into a new house that’s on a surprising busy road. Soon after they lose their small child in a tragic accident. Louis (Dale Mikiff) learns of the old pet cemetery and it’s apparent ability to bring the dead back to life (yay!) but they also seem to come back a little evil (boo!). This movie is full of fantastic nightmare fuel. I still cringe every time I think of sweet little, creepy AF child, slicing open poor old Jud’s Achilles tendon.

4 – IT (2017)

So much happiness in one place…

The newest film on the list, and it was only through sheer force of will it wasn’t number 1. For those of you who live under a rock, IT is about a group of kids called ‘The Losers Club’ who are taunted by a monster in the form of an extremely disturbing turn-of-the-century era clown.

This movie is so much fun. Sure, its full of terror. Sure, I haven’t slept in a week. But, it captures the innocence and humour of being a kid so perfectly, it almost made me wish I grew up in Derry….except, of course- for the evil clown trying to eat everyone.

3 – The Mist (2007)

Oh God, no!

You guessed it- This one is about a strange Mist that descends on a small town (probably in, Oh I don’t know- Maine). Along with the unexplained weather pattern come terrible monsters that pick off the town folk one-by-one. No one knows where it came from or how to get rid of it.

We spend the majority of this film in a grocery store, where the monsters outside are not necessarily the biggest threat. A great creature feature, The Mist is fun, action packed and dramatic (especially that ending!). Actually, maybe you should just press stop once they drive into the mist near the end, because the last 5 minutes is so dark, it will definitely break your heart.

2 – Creepshow 2 (1987)

UNCONFIRMED photo of Miley Cyrus at the kids choice awards.

I’m sure this one needs no description, but Creepshow 2 is a horror anthology of tales based on Stephen King stories. The first segment follows a cigar-store Native American statue coming to life to avenge the death of the shop owner and his wife. The Raft features a group of sexy teens travel to a secluded lake to swim and have fun. Problem is there is an evil organism living in the lake that is hungry for some nubile flesh. The final installment follows a woman who hits a hitchhiker with her car and decides to flee the scene, but the victim isn’t inclined to remain dead.

This was my favourite movie growing up! A brilliant collection of twisted, and timeless vignettes. The wrap around animation is a lot of fun too, telling the story of little Billy and his bullies.

1 – The Shining (1980)

You could’ve just knocked, Jack.

There is no other number one.

In The Shining, Jack Torrance (Jack Nicholson) takes a job as winter caretaker at the isolated Overlook Hotel in Colorado, hoping to cure his writer’s block. Psychic premonitions plague his son Danny. As Jack’s writing goes nowhere, young Danny’s visions become more intense. Jack discovers the hotel has dark secrets and he begins to unravel, terrorizing his family as he spirals downward into madness.

The pamphlet for the Overlook Hotel should just read: Overlook Hotel, where a bunch of jerk ghosts live. Poor Danny, his “Shining” ability along with a childish love of exploration, open him up to some serious spectral harassment. This movie builds tension to perfection. In fact one of my favourite characters in the film is Dick Halloran. When Dick is on-screen there is usually a slight respite from the heavy tension.

This movie is a classic that every horror fan needs to see at least once.. no, twice.

Honorable Mentions

Misery, Creepshow, Silver Bullet and Cujo

Thanks for making my life more entertaining Stephen! And please, keep the nightmares coming! Let us know in the comments below your top Horror Adaptations from Stephen King!

#1408 #carrie #christine #creepshow 2 #it #pet semetary #secret window #Stephen King #the dead zone #the mist #the shining

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