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lexiseigneur · 5 years

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Chapter eight : A leap of faith

Her first action back at the bunker was to take a scalding shower. She was fine. All was well. The phantom worming sensations had ceased. Body and mind were once again aligned and had concluded that had she been infected, she would already have shown symptoms. Today she would not look at the brains again. She needed to look at something innocent and good.

Lexi headed directly to the garden. Quinlan was nowhere to be seen when she crossed the control room. At the lower level, she soon realized she had neglected her food providers far too long. Enough lemons had matured for her to prepare a new batch of jam. The tomatoes plants had developed uncontrollably. Useless side stalks had grown and stolen resources away from the ripening fruits. Other concerns such as spreading fertilizer and repotting also jumped to her attention. She sang to herself while gathering all fruits and vegetables that could be harvested. Proud, she lifted the basket full of colorful deliciousness to estimate their weight. It was extremely satisfying. The elevator lifted then as it came back down she wondered what the Dhampir could possibly want. She dropped the basket and waited. In one hand he carried a bowl and with the other, he was placing sunglasses over his sensitive eyes.

“Lunch.”

Quinlan said and placed the warm dish between her fingers. It was oatmeal with a generous dollop of lemon jam.

“Thank you. I will eat it later.”

“I will assist so that you may eat presently.”

Lexi smiled, both grateful and amused.

“I was going to repot those and clear out the tomato stalks.”

She sat on the concrete against the potted lemon tree. Quinlan did not seem as inexperienced as she had imagined. He did not destroy the plants which needed repotting but accomplished a remarkable job. Probably cleaner than she would have managed herself. When he approached the tomatoes and cocked his head to the side, she joined him and quietly started removing the useless green sprouts from the thicker branches. He imitated her and Lexi enjoyed that moment of peaceful collaboration.

“You’ve had a garden before, haven’t you?”

“I had land. A long time ago.”

The woman desired nothing than to ask all the questions this response inspired. He continued speaking unprompted.

“After finishing my carrier in the Roman army, I took a family and was granted land.”

Lexi did not speak. She was afraid to interrupt him. That her voice might lock his words away forever. How would he have a family?

“It did not last long but I learned about farming.”

Lexi perceived the sadness in that sentence. Suddenly, she did not want to know more. It was selfish to wish to satisfy her curiosity about his past if that caused him pain.

“The Master killed them before their time.”

She stopped plucking at the plants. Lexi turned to him but still held her tongue. She also controlled her face as best as she could. Quinlan did not need to feel pitied.

“I know you always wondered where my motivation to destroy him originated. It is very simple: vengeance.”

Quinlan tore two more stalks and faced her.

“Does it bother you?” He asked.

Lexi shook her head.

“Not even a little.”

The Dhampir scowled. He did not believe her. As if he had a monopoly on holding grudges.

“After my father remarried briefly, I still wanted to hurt him for all he had done. I did not care about his new wife and if he also mistreated her. I just wanted him to pay.”

“Did you ever get your revenge?”

“Not exactly as I had wished but close enough.”

She headed to the fertilizer bags and Quinlan followed. They continued talking while tending to the plants. Lexi learned that the Dhampir had been a slave and had fought as a gladiator. He told her of all the languages he had mastered over two millennia and she listened with enchantment.

By the time they got back to the control room, her fresh clothes were marred with dirt and sap. Quinlan’s vest and waxed denim pants were also dirty. She smiled at the idea of needing a change of clothes for such a wholesome reason. No blood or worms, just fertile soil. The rest of that day, she thought about his words. She wondered what life had been like for the women with whom he had shared a home.

That night she fell asleep in her own bed to his guilty dismay. Memories of the previous day tried to plague him. This single minute had been pure horror. Between the moments he had seen the Strigoi covering her with filth and when he had yanked that abomination out her skin. The Dhampir shuddered at how close he had been to have to kill her. It made him sick.

He forced himself to reminisce about less painful events. Lexi’s adorable flushed face and futile attempts at masking her heartbeats filled him with contentment. The sound of her breathing in the next room lulled him into deep relaxation. Quinlan drifted in a state between consciousness and sleep.

She screamed herself awake. The woman sobbed and stumbled to her bathroom. Water splashed and the sounds of her distress echoed louder in the tiled room. Quinlan sat up. She needed help. Then he stopped himself. She could feel resentment at being spied upon. The Dhampir forced himself to lie down again. Lexi was an adult and did not need him. Another nightmare would soon be forgotten.

His companion did not return to bed but instead made her way to his door. Quinlan grinned. Standing there so close, she suppressed another sob and turned away. Not this again! He wanted her to come back, he wanted her presence and the softness of her body. And he wanted her lips against his. Time slowed. He flew across the room and reached the handle before she could take another step.

You should not do this. The voice of reason was particularly irritating. Quinlan countered with a simple: To hell with reason.

The door opened and she swirled back, startled.

Stop, you fool.

“I’m sorry I woke…”

Quinlan took her hand and pulled her through the door. His grip was loose, she could free herself and turn away.

Just let it go.

Her fingers tightened on his. Quinlan stopped walking and faced her. Wet trails ran down her cheeks. He wiped one of them and her eyes widened in surprise.

Why are you doing this?

Of course, she would be surprised. Had he ever given any indication that he could be tender? She had not been privy to his thoughts, just his actions. Lexi knew nothing of his desire to smell her skin or of his pleasure every time her face pressed against his heart.

To her, he was just a brute barely who barely tolerated her presence. From her own mouth, she found him cruel. That thought made his throat tighten. Now he resented the astonishment because it was entirely his fault. That surprise grew when he stepped closer and wiped her other cheek. His thumb traced the fullness of her lower lip to remove a non-existent tear.

Damnatus.

Lexi leaned into his touch and her heartbeat flew into a lovely crescendo. The open door let in the glow of computer screens. She scrutinized his face and he wondered what she could possibly be looking for.

“Quinlan?”

He was close enough to see the curb of each of her eyelashes and the humidity which still clung to them.

“Yes?”

His voice ended in a soft purr.

“What are you doing?” She murmured very lowly.

“This.”

Both his hands cupped her face and leaned down. Lexi’s eyelids closed and she sighed. Small fingers clutched at his forearms. When their lips touched, she gasped and backed away. Lexi stared at his mouth. That hurt. Her getting away from him.

She doesn’t want you, you simpleton.

His brow furrowed in anguish. Had she refused him? The thin hand clasped his nape and pulled him closer. This time it was not a simple brush of lips. She tasted him carefully and he responded in kind. Quinlan controlled the instinct to produce inhuman noises and hugged her tight. The hollow of her neck welcomed his face. The Dhampir wanted to nibble the smooth skin. To taste her. The fear of reminding her of his nature kept him back.

Instead, he nuzzled the naked flesh just under her ear. Lexi pressed against him and this made his so very…happy. He kissed his way to the base of her collarbone. His tongue brushed her slightly. An attempt at satisfying the urge to savor her. Lexi inhaled sharply at that contact. The need became poignant so he took her lips again.

At the beginning, her tongue remained shyly back but soon grew brave. Maintaining his own firmly closed, he enticed her for more. When she broke the kiss, he felt like he could have continued for hours. Lexi smiled and only then did he notice that her left canine was slightly crooked. He regretted not seeing this smile more often.

Her digits ran down his throat and he shivered at what was coming. Like that night, just imagining her lips on his throat sent his heart into a frenzy. Quinlan had not anticipated her warm breath on the swirls or that tongue tracing their outline. He certainly did not expect her teeth grazing him.

The zipper of his pants became uncomfortably tight. Would she notice that? Her body was so close and she pulled even closer. The softness of her chest was pressing against him. How could she not notice? When she became more confident and sucked on his skin gently, he snarled. He needed more. Quinlan lifted her and grinned when her thighs pressed on each side of his waist. She giggled into his ear.

The Dhampir walked to the bed and sat to free his hands. Under the loose shirt, he caressed the firmness of her waist and back. There was a scar between her shoulder blades which had once been hidden by hair. He would ask her later. She hugged him and brushed against the bulging denim.

“Oh!” She whispered and he took the lips now stretched into a mischievous smile.

He enjoyed the oversized t-shirts and how much the collar stretched. He kissed everything available to his mouth. To his amazement, she removed the cumbersome garment. Prudent, he stared into her eyes, waiting for confirmation that he could touch her. The way he so wanted to. Her expression was inviting him. This time he could not stop himself from biting, ever so gently, the roundness of her breasts. She breathed rapidly and her hips moved against him. The tightness turned unbearable. He undid the button and the zipper became undone.

Quinlan groaned in disappointment when she stood. Lexi lifted the hem of his sweater and threw the piece of clothing away. Then she pulled the denim free of his hips. He did not expect her to take such an initiative but relished it. The pants fell around his ankles and he kicked them off. She stood at the edge of the bed, between his legs. Her palms against his skin traced the stripes. She smiled when she realized where the ones on each of his flanks lead to.

He could smell her now, the humidity and warmth. The only things between him and that scent were sheer shorts. Quinlan cursed them. He gripped their edge with both hands and the fabric started tearing. Lexi’s chest shook with laughter and he laughed with her at his own impatience.

Accepting his greediness, she pushed the shorts down and stepped out of them. The small woman pulled Quinlan up. Staring into his face, she slid his undergarments down. Quinlan closed his eyes when the freed erection fell against her skin. The small woman hugged him tightly and stretched for a kiss. His member was caught against her core and his. The pressure caused it to pulse almost painfully.

Quinlan sat back down to counter her teasing. He grabbed the flesh of her thighs and made her straddle him again. Gently, he took a nipple in his mouth and tried to ignore the overwhelming attraction of her wetness. Quinlan had to wait. It had happened so fast and he needed to restrain himself.

Apparently, she did not wish this. She reached between his legs and grabbed him. His fingers tightened on her. He froze against her chest. At this very moment, he did not know what to do and just fought to remain in control of his Strigoi voice. Lexi directed his member and he groaned when he felt the humid warmth on its tip. When had he started to wish for this very moment? Was it when… His thoughts vanished when she lowered herself around him. There was no past or future, just the heat of her body. She stopped halfway down his length. His hands shook and a very loud growl escaped him. More!

Lexi’s smile was taunting when she pulled herself up again. Panting slightly, she repeated her torture three more times. Something broke inside him.

“Please.” He whispered against her lips.

He tossed his pride aside and begged. Somehow, it did not feel wrong or demeaning. The woman sat down and welcomed all of him inside her. He exhaled in intense satisfaction. After that Quinlan got lost in the swaying of her hips.

The only shred of his conscious control was busy maintaining a firm muzzle on his snarls and growls. To hell with the mission. Her breathing was accelerating and blood rushing to the thin skin of her chest. He would trade it all away to stretch this instant into another millennium. Lexi’s moans grew louder. It was becoming difficult for Quinlan to resist the release.

She was still twitching around him when he flipped her on her back. He thought that maybe if less of her skin touched his that he would remain in control longer. Quinlan got a full view of her flushed breasts, her fists closing on the blanket and her gaze fixated on his. When he moved and her chest swayed in synchrony, he knew he had been sorely mistaken. The twitching around his member started again. Too late. When pleasure rippled through her core and she screamed, he gave up. He pressed against her firmly and clenched his teeth to prevent his stinger from bursting out. As waves of bliss rose from his crotch and flooded his body, his human voice took over and he whimpered.

Please gods, may this happen many more times. He nuzzled and kissed her until her sluggishness deepened and she fell asleep in his pale arms. When had he started to wish for that moment? When had the wanting started? He was a selfish fool. He breathed deeply into her wavy hair. A happy fool.

The perimeter alarm yanked her out of profound slumber. Muscle memory took over her body, she jumped out of bed and reached for the nearest weapon, Quinlan’s sword. It was too heavy and the bone hilt felt queer between her fingers. But she still took it. She ran to the control room. Every single time the alarm rang, she imagined the control filled with screeching Strigoi. It made no sense but the loud blaring scratched at something deep and animalistic in her brain. The room was empty save for a naked Quinlan who had just pressed a button and terminated the horn. Her chest heaved with a huge sigh of relief. The Dhampir was calm which meant that nothing dangerous was happening.

“What were you planning on doing with my sword?”

There was a genuine smile of amusement on his face and he crossed his arms on his large chest. Lexi took in his exposed body with appreciation. The white skin was marbled with grey and the deep green of those strange markings. Those were not only visible on his face but also his abdomen and shoulders. Without the shadow of a doubt, she would one day draw him. He was remarkable.

“Why…defend myself of course!” She said with grandiloquence and attempted to raise the weapon further.

Her bicep shook with the effort. She let it fall carefully by her side and chuckled. Even if she trained for years, she would never have the power to wield it.

“I might place my bets on that raccoon.”

The sword clanged on the desk. She lacked the control to place it down more gently. On a monitor, the form of a large critter waddled lazily.

“Are you feeling ok, Quinlan?”

She caressed his arm with fake concern.

“Yes? Why?”

“You made a joke…that’s…”

He huffed and grabbed her hand.

“I do that every ten years or so.”

Lexi laughed again and felt warmth running down the side of her thigh. Unfortunately, he had that in common with human men. She pulled away from him and ruffled her hair. Then Lexi headed to her bedroom, stretching her arms above her head.

“You can work on that comedy sketch while I shower!”

The water washed away the sweat and other remnants of the previous night. The events replayed in her mind and for once the memories did not hurt. It had seemed that everything lately was bound to end up shoved in the dark room but not this one. This one she would cherish because it warmed her very core. Other such memories had ended up spoiled. Those with him. But these were concerns for another day. Today, she would be content with what little she had. Tomorrow she would focus on their mission. The suds slid down her legs and into the drain. Her hair had gotten wet at their very ends but that would dry quickly.

Music started in her bedroom. For a crazy moment, she imagined Quinlan making the effort to install her laptop on the drawing table and peruse through song files. That would be…very unlike him. No, this did not come from the subpar speakers of her computer.

It did not surprise her that the Dhampir could play the piano so well. He had been alive for the entire period the instrument existed, after all. That tune she knew by heart and was quite certain that she had only practiced it once since Quinlan had arrived. The rendition was flawless. Her focus was such that it took her several minutes to dry her body. The Dhampir keyed on another song she did not recognize while she stood behind him. Lexi was close enough to feel the heat of his back. It was so very…sad. Just like she liked them. Happy songs were annoying. They rang fake to her ears. He stopped and leaned back onto her. She hugged his neck and kissed the top of his head.

“Did you know it before I played it?” She murmured.

The skin of her arms tickled from the vibrations of his throat.

“I did not. I thought you might like the other one as well.”

“I do…how did you know?”

“It is melancholic, like all the others. Why is that?” He asked.

He turned to face her.

“The light ones don’t resonate with me. They sound…wrong when I play them.”

Quinlan nodded and nuzzled her chest. This combined with the purring and pointy ears evoked the image of a large, hairless cat. The situation was eerie. Last night, he had blindsided her with his gentleness. Lexi had, of course, noticed his hungry gazes and how his heart had reacted to her stroking his skin. She knew physical desire and the animalistic need that had driven her and others into embraces. It did not require complicity or tenderness. Those were what she had expected him to give. Barely a variation of the daily sparring they already shared. Lexi expected him to try to dominate her. But it had not happened. Instead of satisfying another physical need through each other, he had gifted the warmth of intimacy.

There laid the main difference between this and all the physical connections they had shared before. She had given him blood because he had provided her with information and a reason to fight. Quinlan had trained her because she needed to defend herself and he wanted a self-sufficient associate. He had let her rest to the beating of his heart because he wanted her mind and body healthy for the mission. The affection he was showing did not serve a higher purpose; it was its own reward. Her throat tightened at the realization. She did not want to think about it right this moment.

“Your scar…on your back…how?”

Quinlan had abandoned his usually impeccable syntax. His hands ran across the goosebumps of her flesh. What scar was he talking about?

“I have a scar on my back?”

His fingers found the spot, between the bottoms of her shoulder blades. Probably the only square of skin she could not reach herself.

“Here.”

A memory slammed against the door of that dark room in her head.

“One day I’ll tell you. Promised. But today…”

She hugged him tighter. Today she would enjoy the unexpected present of his caresses.

“I am sorry.” He whispered between her breasts.

The movement of his lips tickled the sensitive skin.

“You couldn’t know about it. I have other scars whose origins are quite funny.”

“No…I am sorry about everything.”

Lexi cocked her head. What was he talking about?

“I’ve been so unkind to you since the very moment we met.” He said.

There was heavy regret in his voice. Quinlan looked up and her chest constricted painfully.

“My first words to you were a threat.”

Ha. Stop talking. She could not tell him that with that stone in her throat.

“I do not remember exactly when I turned so cold. For all the things I have said and done without regard for you…Please, forgive me.”

His voice was very low. Quinlan pressed his forehead against her plexus, averting his gaze in shame. Lexi breathed deeply to chase away the tears burning her eyes. The dark room was enticing her but its use should remain for things painful. She was not in distress, she was just overwhelmed. Even as he was offering his own vulnerability on a platter, she was avoiding reciprocation. It was pointless and immature, so she let go. The small woman cried, her hands closing into tight fists against his back.

“I forgive you.”

He took her face into his large hands and kissed her.

That day they barely left her bedroom. For just those few hours, Quinlan allowed himself to forget about the rest of the world. When she fell asleep again, the feeling of duty crept back up. With that, guilt came as well. The Dhampir was acutely aware that across the centuries, his love had been a death sentence. The Master had made sure of it.

Was he deluding himself into believing that this time would be different? No, this time would be different. It had to be. For the sake of his peace and sanity, the beast had to be imprisoned forever. For so long, he had been convinced that he would die with his progenitor. Now, he wanted what lied after the Master’s end. Locking him away had been their plan since he had met Lexi, it had not been motivated by selfish desires. Then why was he feeling so guilty about it? Glutton for punishment, he scratched and pulled at those feelings. Desperate to understand why he felt so disgusted with himself for wanting a life with her.

You know why. It was preposterous. He felt guilty for settling with imprisoning the Master instead of outright killing him. Killing him is impossible. Then he remembered the fate of the rest of the Ancients. That was also ridiculous. He did not possess access to such destructive weapons. That powerful fire was out of reach and nothing else compared. In the back of his head, a voice was accusing him of lying to himself. He ignored it and instead focused on the naked woman against him. In her arms, he dreamt of his time in Asia in the early 1880s and of a deafening sound.

#mr quinlan #quintus sertorius #the strain #the strain fx #the strain fanfiction #the strain fanfic #quinlan

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kathrynmaslow · 6 years

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Love Lies 5/15

Summary: Ever since Emma was 13, she knew she had the ability to destroy people if she wanted to, and some days, she really wanted to. After being forced to go to Greenwood Academy following a traumatizing event in her childhood that brought to the surface her ability to manipulate fire, she never thought she would be free of the place. So for nearly 10 years, she lived a solitary existence with the exception of her best friends, but that was all about to change.

Killian Jones had just been sentenced to attend the university campus at Greenwood Academy after an accident at sea caused him to be dishonorably discharged from Her Majesty’s royal Navy and lose his hand. He doesn’t know what to think about these newfound powers and what they spell for the rest of his now not-so-normal life. But a chance encounter one day has the ability to change all of that.

A story about love and redemption between two people that shows, if you have the right person beside you, you can find a light in the darkness.

Rating: M Content Warnings: Mentions of Violence/Death, Brief mention of Childhood Abuse/Sexual Assault, Mild Sexual Content Chapter Notes: Chapter 5 is here folks! This is actually one of my favorite chapters in this entire work so I am excited for you to read it as well!

Check out the amazing art work that my artist @princesse-swan did for both chapter 3 on tumblr. Thanks again as always to my beta @daveyjacobsthepotterhead for taking this work and helping me turn it into something great. You are the literal best.

Read on FF

Catch up on Tumblr: One Two Three Four

Art by @princesse-swan here

Chapter 5 Emma sat down on the edge of the wall surrounding the plant beds at the entrance to campus from the dorms. Unwrapping her grilled cheese and tomato sandwich, she looked out at the rows of dorm buildings lining the main walk onto the academic campus.

The sidewalks were abandoned, with nary a soul on campus to be found. Many of the students went home during the fall break about halfway through the term, and Emma took advantage of some time just to herself that she didn’t have to spend in her room.

While she enjoyed time with her friends while they were on campus, she did enjoy having the campus pretty much to herself during the breaks where everyone who wasn’t high risk got to go home. If she remembered correctly, after Elsa moved into a community in Alaska last summer, there were about 17 other students that had a full run of the campus to themselves.

Losing Elsa as a friend had been hard. She had arrived at the academy after Emma had, and could have been considered her polar opposite in every way. While Emma burned hot, Elsa burned cold, with extensive gifts of ice and snow, she proved quite the challenge for the staff to contain, considering that she could freeze off her suppression gear and not be affected by them at all. She was someone that Emma could relate to, someone who could understand the beast that prowled beneath her skin, and losing that confidant last semester had been something that she truly hadn’t fully bounced back from yet.

Taking a bite out of her sandwich, Emma just sat and watched the leaves fall from the trees.

o.O.o

Killian didn’t know what to think about how quiet the campus had become once fall break had begun.

Yes, he had been told that all the students who weren’t high risk students would be allowed to visit home for the two weeks that classes were on break, but he hadn’t realized how truly empty the campus would feel.

He spent the first two days of the break wandering around campus to see who was around.

A few of the administration members were lingering around with the multitude of security officers watching the campus, but he had only run into a handful of other students.

There was one gentleman named Eric, who had the power to create storms out of thin air. He was a perfectly nice guy, but after living 6 years of his life on a boat, he decided not to trust anyone who could sink a ship on a whim.

Another woman named Cruella had the ability to control people with her voice. How they regulated that power, Killian couldn’t fathom, but it was probably for the best.

On the third day, it seemed as though he was in luck.

While wandering through the abandoned floors of the library, he stumbled upon Emma bent over another drawing book sketching.

Thankfully she didn’t have any headphones over her ears this time, so he didn’t have any chance of ruining her artwork, but he still made the effort to make a bit of noise against the door as he walked in.

Emma looked up at him in shock.

“Killian, what are you doing here?” She asked.

“Wandering through the library, but I don’t suppose that is what you meant by the question.” He stated. He had never mentioned to her that he was a high risk student before and Killian had to imagine that this was a bit of a shock.

“I am so sorry, that completely came out wrong. However, that was what I had meant by the poorly phrased question.” Emma said, tucking her hair behind her ear as she flushed in what Killian presumed was embarrassment.

“It’s fine Swan, truly. I know you didn’t mean anything horrible by the remark.”

“I am a bit curious though, what kind of powers do you have that make you a high risk student?” Emma said, pushing her notebook to the side and leaning towards him.

He caught a glance at the notebook as it turned towards him slightly, and he grasped at the chance to change the subject. He didn’t even like thinking about his powers, so he really didn’t want to talk about them with someone else.

“Emma, this is amazing.”

It was, truly. Drawn out on the page was the image of a woman, long black hair hanging over her shoulders, one bloody hand clutching a dagger to her chest and the other grasping a heart. There was no color to the design yet, but she had shaded in where the blood was likely soaked into the woman’s hair and dress. The entire thing was hauntingly beautiful.

“I know an attempt to distract me when I hear it.” Emma said.

“I wasn’t trying to distract you, I genuinely like your art.” He retorted.

“I also am pretty good at knowing when someone is lying to me. And while you do like peeking at my sketches, you were lying that this wasn’t a distraction.” Emma said, looking adorably smug when she said it.

He couldn’t help but smile in response. “Fine,” Killian said, rolling his eyes. “Maybe I was trying to get you off my tale, but I would prefer not to talk about this. It’s not something I am truly comfortable with and, while I do enjoy your company and think of you fondly like a friend, I don’t think this is something I can tell you about.”

Emma stared at him for a long moment before nodding her head.

“I can accept that, there are things about myself, and events that have happened to me that I don’t talk about to anyone else. I can understand needing time to process things that are traumatic before being able to open up to someone else.” She said.

“Since we aren’t talking about anything related to our powers or our past,” She said, pausing to look up at him meaningly. “Why don’t you tell me something that I probably wouldn’t know about you.” She said.

When Emma was smiling at him like that, He couldn’t deny her anything.

“I actually am a bit artistic myself. I do the occasional doodle.” Killian said.

Emma’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Really, I wasn’t expecting that.”

“There are a lot of things about me that you wouldn’t expect Swan.” He said, relishing the flush that spread across her face in response to his quirked eyebrow and tongue in cheek.

“Alright Killian, let’s see what you can do.” She said, pulling blank sheets from her book for the both of them and handing him a pencil.

“What do you want me to draw for you Love?” He asked, taking the pencil from her and working to move the paper into the position he wanted it in with his other wrist.

“Whatever inspires you right now.” She said.

He looked up into her bright green eyes and knew exactly what he wanted to draw.

“How long are you going to give me?” Killian asked.

“Let’s say, finish in an hour. Whatever you can finish by that point in time is what you’ve got.” Emma said.

“Challenge Accepted.” He said, turning to his work and beginning his attempt at replicating perfection.

o.O.o

Emma and Killian were spending the afternoon out in the courtyard between the college campus and the lower campus when they heard it.

Killian stopped mid-sentence in his retelling of how his brother got stuck by the back of his shorts in a tree when they were younger and cocked his head.

“Swan, does that sound like crying to you?” He asked.

Emma listened harder, facing further towards the lower campus where Killian was pointing towards. Sure enough, it did sound like someone was crying.

She stood, gesturing for Killian to follow, heading towards the lower campus.

Normally, students on the college campus were not allowed to venture onto the lower campus, but since it was a school break, students were allowed to roam the grounds as they pleased.

They walked past the first handful of buildings before they could finally locate the sound.

Curled into a ball between two of the buildings and crying into his hands was a boy with a mop of brown hair.

The young boy could have been no more than 12, which was incredibly young for someone to come to the academy.

But then again, Emma had arrived around that age as well.

Emma flashed back to one of her first days on the campus, reeling from being separated from her family and forced to move halfway across the country to a place she didn’t know and getting surrounded by people she was unfamiliar with.

She had also spent a few nights crying from the loss. The loss of her brother, the loss of her mother, the loss of the only home she had known.

The loss of her normal life.

She turned to see Killian watching her with a speculative gaze. She only shook her head at him.

Turning back to the little boy, she walked slowly towards him, since he still hadn’t noticed them standing there.

“Hey, are you okay?” She asked, crouching down in front of him.

The boy visibly started, looking up at her in surprise.

“What? Who are you?” He asked.

“My name is Emma, and this is Killian,” She said, gesturing behind her at Killian, who was still standing back from them at a good distance.

She noted that his blunt wrist was tucked behind his back.

“Are you okay?” She asked again.

The boy sniffled, nodding his head in agreement even though a few fat tears still escaped his eyes to fall down his cheeks.

“What’s your name?”

“Henry,” He said, sticking his hand out in greeting.

“Well Henry, it is a pleasure to meet you. When did you start your stay here?” Emma asked. He didn’t seem the type to be a new high risk student since he didn’t have any suppression items on that she could see, but you never know.

“My mom dropped me off this morning.” Henry said, sniffing loudly again, his lower lip quivering.

“Well, it sounds like you could use a friend, would you like to hang out with me and my friend for the rest of the day?” Emma asked.

Nodding his head, he stood up and fell into her extended arms.

He shook a little with quiet cries, and Emma rubbed his back in a soothing manner.

Killian came around in front of her, and placed his hand on the back of Henry’s shoulders and rubbed slow circles as well.

“You know Henry, I remember my first night that I spent away from all my family.” Killian said.

Henry pulled away from her slightly, turning to look at Killian.

“Really, I thought it was the most terrifying thing that could ever happen to me at the time.” Killian admitted. “Would you like to hear about it?”

“Is it a scary story?” Henry asked, standing fully away from Emma.

“Not really, it only seemed like it at the time. Why don’t you come for a walk with Emma and I, we had a lunch sitting out in the courtyard.” Killian stood, extending his gloved hand for Henry to take.

Emma smiled, watching Killian lead Henry towards their impromptu picnic sight, weaving an exaggerated story of a 20 year old man sleeping away from home for the first time, and crying himself to sleep.

Killian winked over his shoulder at her once he got Henry laughing at his story.

With that wink, Emma felt something she was pretty sure would grow into love start blooming under her breast.

o.O.o

Killian was walking around campus outside.

It was pretty close to the time he went to bed, but it was fixing to storm out, lightning streaking across the sky and thunder rolling in across the campus, and it made him restless.

The barrier surrounding the campus kept out all supposed threats against their safety, but unfortunately, couldn't prevent the rain from falling on them.

His thoughts were occupied with thoughts of Henry, that young lad they had found on campus earlier.

Emma had told Killian that he was a bit of an anomaly when he mentioned that his gifts had only just manifested at 25 years, but he didn’t know they could start showing that early.

The young lad hand only just turned 12 a few weeks ago, a fact the young lad had divulged to them while they were splitting ham and cheese sandwiches and cheetos in the middle of campus during the day.

He had something relatively minor as a gift, something that doesn’t require him to stay on campus during school breaks like him and Emma have to.

When they revealed that fact to the lad, it seemed to turn his entire spirit around, from sniffeling and sad to bright and chipper.

Almost a bit too bright, considering the lad started glowing on them.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he was pretty spooked when he heard a voice off to his left.

“Killian?”

He whirled around, and found Emma sitting on a low wall surrounding a garden in the yard.

“Emma, what are you doing out here?” he asked, tucking his hand into his pocket as he made his way over to her.

“I could ask you the same thing.” She said, watching as he came over and sat down next to her.

“Couldn’t sleep, decided to go for a bit of a walk.” He said, shrugging his shoulders a bit.

“Me neither.” Emma said, pulling one of her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around it, resting her chin on her knee.

“Yeah, but I couldn’t sleep because of the storms, I don’t think that was the case for you. What’s vexing you love?”

Emma turned to look at him, but once she noticed him looking at her, she turned her face away.

A flash of lightning across the sky lit up her face for a split second, and Killian could have sworn he saw tear tracks tracing down her cheeks.

It wasn’t until after the rumble of thunder rolled over campus a couple of seconds later that she began to talk.

“I started at the academy here when I was 13, not much older than Henry is. I guess seeing him today brought back some memories of when I first arrived here.”

“I can’t even imagine what that would have been like.” He said, when it became obvious that she wasn’t going to continue. It was so unlike her to open up about anything to him when it came to how she started at the academy, so he was going to have to take it as it came.

“It was lonely.” She said, still not looking at him.

Killian watched a few more bolts of lightning flash across the sky, the air becoming damp and oppressive as the storm continued its advance towards them.

Neither one of them made any move to leave and avoid getting poured on, but Killian wasn’t inclined to leave her alone.

He never could leave her like this.

“I lost everything. Henry gets to keep his family, he gets to go back to his mom, see his dad, and play with his brothers and sister. I got none of that.” She looked over to him, her eyes rimmed in red, and something in Killian’s chest tightened.

She had obviously been out here a while before he had happened upon her.

“My mother disowned me, my father was already long gone, and I haven’t seen my older brother, my best friend and partner in crime, in person in almost ten years. I didn’t get to see him get married and I didn’t get to see the birth of my niece. And it’s not fair.”

Something in her voice cracked when she said “fair”, and Killian wanted desperately to pull her into his arms and give her a hug, but she was so closed off that he didn’t think it would be well received.

At that moment, the heavens decided to open up and the rain came pouring down on the two of them.

Killian looked up at the sky, the rain hitting his face with wet plops that made water run into his eyes and he blinked rapidly to clear them.

Turning to look at Emma, he felt the rain continue to soak into his hair and shirt, and he wondered absently if it would ruin the mechanics in his glove getting them this wet.

Getting a good look at Emma for a second, he had to choke back on a laugh.

“What?” She said, hearing his choked off laugh and turning to face him after looking up at the storm clouds above them as well.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to laugh, truly love. But you’re steaming.” Indeed, little wiffs of steam were rising from where the rain was splattering down onto her bare skin.

He pressed his lips together in an effort to keep himself under some measure of control.

But it seemed to be in vain as a large smile broke out on her face, wiping away the lingering sadness in her expression from their conversation.

“Did I never mention that I may run a bit warmer than a normal person?” She said, chuckling a bit as she asked him.

“No, but that might be a useful thing, considering that I am now soaking wet and cold.” Killian laughed.

“Oh no you don’t, that is entirely your own fault.” Emma said, moving away as he leaned towards her, but it wasn’t in fear of him. No, she could tell he was playing with her.

“Come here and warm me up Emma!” He said, lunging after her.

She leapt off of the wall with stunning speed, darting across the yard in a blur of damp blond hair trailing behind her.

And as he chased her around, moving after her and sliding around in the mud enough to cause them both to burst into further hysterics, something warm bloomed up in his chest.

It felt like the first ray of sunshine after a storm, and he wanted to hold onto that feeling as long as he could.

Wrapping his arms around her from behind as they both went sliding through another patch of mud, Killian pulled her close as he tried to keep them both upright.

They were both laughing as he turned her around to look at him, her arms coming around him in turn.

Something in her expression changed, some of the laughter and lightness transitioning into something curious.

His eyebrows pinched together, getting ready to ask her what she was thinking about when Emma pushed up on her toes and pressed her lips to his.

It was like that first ray of sun, and when the seas are calm and the sky is blue, and that first bite of fresh summer fruit after a long, cold and dark winter.

Her lips were soft against his, and he pressed back, tightening his arms around her and forming his lips more firmly with hers.

They broke apart with a start when a peel of thunder began right above them.

She gave him a tentative smile, and took his hand. “Come on sailor, let’s get you out of the rain.”

o.O.o

The rain had fried some of the electronics in his glove, and he couldn’t move his fingers the next day, but he wouldn’t have changed that night for anything.

#csbb #2018 csbb #Love Lies #my writing #captian swan #emma swan #killian jones #Emma x Killian

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domingoharalson-blog · 3 years

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starwarsnonsense · 7 years

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Colin Trevorrow's Women Problem

At the moment of writing, my ask box is full of messages about The Book of Henry, the newly released film from Colin Trevorrow, who is both writing and directing Episode IX. This is because BOH is, to put it mildly, getting terrible reviews. These reviews don’t just say the film is bad. They say the film is a disaster on the scale of The Room (no, not the one with Brie Larson) and Birdemic.

Perhaps more worrying, though, is the suggestion that BOH is terrible at characterising its female characters, who apparently include an infantile mother whose every move is dictated by her 11-year-old son’s instructions, an alcoholic waitress who kisses a young boy on the lips, and a schoolgirl who exists to be sexually abused and subsequently rescued thanks to a boy’s genius. This is, understandably, a cause of concern given that Trevorrow will soon be the arbiter of Rey’s fate - the same man responsible for The Book of Henry will soon be responsible for giving the heroine of the Star Wars sequel trilogy her voice.

The issues with BOH seem to go beyond an insidious edge of sexism - reviews point out wild tonal jumps and ludicrously misjudged directorial choices. While it might be tempting to place most of the blame for the characterisation on the scriptwriter, Trevorrow’s handling of the material only seems to have magnified its faults and heightened the bizarre tonal inconsistency. This points towards the responsibility for BOH’s failure lying largely with Trevorrow. Any assignment of blame aside, Trevorrow has treated BOH as a passion project, having been working on getting it made for around 10 years - for some mystifying reason, he found what appears to be objectively bad material an enticing directorial prospect. At best, this seems to indicate poor judgement - at worst, it indicates troubling detachment from the qualities of sound and emotionally resonant cinema.

I haven’t seen BOH for myself. If you want to read reviews from people who have seen it, check out the notices on the film’s Rotten Tomatoes page (the score currently stands at 25%). Because I haven’t seen BOH for myself I am not in a position to truly judge it, so I intend to move on. Instead, I will briefly discuss the other Trevorrow projects I have seen and my feelings on them.

The first Trevorrow film I saw was Jurassic World. I thought it was fine - it was bland and by the numbers, a pillar of corporate cinema, but mostly inoffensive to me. I only became conscious of its more insidious aspects when I started reading think-pieces on the portrayal of its female characters and the attitudes demonstrated towards them. Bryce Dallas-Howard’s character is uptight and shrill, a career woman whose ‘arc’ sees her humbled and restored to her proper maternal role (of caring for her nephews) and the status of assigned love interest to the hunky hero. Poor Katie McGrath suffers an even more ignominious fate - we see her screaming body being mauled by an assortment of dinosaurs more than we see her developed as a character. Trevorrow gave a spectacularly ill-conceived explanation of the thinking behind McGrath’s character’s death to Empire magazine:

But we definitely struggled over how much to allow her to earn her death, and ultimately it wasn't because she was British, it was because she was a bridezilla. She has one line about the bachelor party: 'Oh, all his friends are animals.' In the end, the earned death in these movies has become a bit standard and another thing I wanted to subvert. 'How can we surprise people? Let's have someone die who just doesn't deserve to die at all.

It’s almost like he catches up with himself here, giving the true reason for her punishment (how dare a woman be invested in her wedding! Brutal torture incoming!) before correcting himself by saying she didn’t deserve to die. The clumsiness of the back-track would be almost amusing if it weren’t for the insidiousness of the initial remark.

Much more recently, I watched Safety Not Guaranteed. I mentioned this on the podcast, and if I’m being entirely honest the film has soured for me since then. While I can’t really pinpoint outright sexism in SNG (though there is a definite aspect of Manic Pixie Dream Girl to the lead character, whose ultimate purpose seems to be getting a socially awkward loner out of a funk), I can highlight the remarkably bland and uninspired direction. While I appreciate that Safety Not Guaranteed was low budget and the first feature Trevorrow had ever made, I still find it remarkable that it demonstrates almost no creative flair or visual imagination yet still became his calling card in Hollywood. Safety Not Guaranteed was apparently the film that impressed Kathleen Kennedy enough to get Trevorrow on board for Episode IX, but she clearly saw something in it that I did not.

Just yesterday, I watched something from Trevorrow that wasn’t just bad. It was actually repulsive. This film is Trevorrow’s first short film, called Home Base:

youtube

This ‘film’ (I use the term in the loosest sense of the word) is, apparently, a comedy. The premise of this ‘film’ is that a man who is dumped by his girlfriend for another man decides to take his revenge on her by ‘fucking her mom’. This man is never questioned or treated as the appalling misogynist he so clearly is, instead being presented as something of a cheeky chappie whose ‘triumph’ at the end of the film (yes, he does it! He fucks her mom! What a hero!) we should applaud while hooting with laughter and slapping our knees. The awful capstone on all of this is an awful correctional speech that the man delivers to his sobbing ex:

I don’t think you’re shallow. I think you’ve got something wrong. You were just emotionally completely disconnected. I mean that whole orgasm thing, I mean it’s not my fault if you can’t come. I’ve tried everything, you’ve done everything. You’re just emotionally frigid, you’re physically frigid. I leave the light on in a room and you freak out, you’re not paying the electricity bill. It’s my apartment. And how you feel about kids. It’s weird.

There we have it - the writer and director of this is also the writer and director of Episode IX. Joy of joys.

And any allegations of sexism aside, just look at that thing. I was amazed by the length of the credits, by the fact that something that looks so shoddy and cheap could even have an ‘Assistant Producer’. It looks like it was shot by a lone agent on a camcorder over a single weekend. This is not the kind of short film that should portend great things. In any just world, this kind of audiovisual abomination should signal an abrupt end to a career in Hollywood.

The fact that Trevorrow has found such extraordinary success despite his track record, with much of his success apparently resting on his personal connections and his ability to charm prominent figures such as Brad Bird and Steven Spielberg, is a troubling indictment of the system that saw Patty Jenkins denied the opportunity to make her second feature for over 15 years. While Oscar-winning female directors struggle to be taken seriously and given opportunities, directors like Trevorrow - who demonstrate little artistic sensibility and only have extremely limited filmmaking experience - are put at the helm of major franchise films. For a highly eloquent explanation of this phenomenon, I strongly recommend checking out Kayleigh Donaldson’s piece on Pajiba.

I do not have a personal grudge against Trevorrow. In every interview I have seen with him, he has seemed charming, eloquent and enthusiastic. He is clearly passionate about Star Wars and intensely aware of the scrutiny he and his film are under. But at the same time I am troubled by the persistent misogyny and lack of creative flair that have been evident in his work from the beginning of his career. Star Wars films are basically modern myths, totems of Western culture that people look to as a source of inspiration and hope. In particular, this new trilogy is the story of a young woman coming into her power as a hero and grappling with her destiny. It’s a story that should be handled by a filmmaker who has demonstrated an interest in characterising women as something more than props for men’s stories. And I have strong doubts that Trevorrow is up to this task.

I am not saying that Rey shouldn’t have relationships with male characters - Wonder Woman is an excellent demonstration of how a woman’s story can involve a strong central relationship with a man without that bond being shown to diminish her - but I am saying that that shouldn’t become the sum of her story. Nothing would break my heart more than seeing Rey become sidelined in her own film, or reduced to a prop for another character’s journey.

I have loved what I’ve seen from Disney-owned Star Wars so far, and I don’t believe that Kathleen Kennedy will allow Trevorrow to use Episode IX to peddle the retrograde misogyny so clearly on display in Home Base. But I do think it reflects badly on her that Trevorrow was appointed the director of Episode IX in the first place, when there are clearly so many superior directors out there - women and men - who have shown far greater creative flair and competence. I think there will inevitably be a fallout from BOH - most likely after the inevitably dismal box office results emerge - and while I expect it’s too late in the process for Trevorrow to be removed from the project entirely, I fully expect him to receive considerable oversight and have his work scrutinised to ensure that the capstone to this new Star Wars trilogy doesn’t do irreparable damage to the franchise.

#star wars #colin trevorrow #THE BOOK OF HENRY #episode ix #star wars sequel trilogy #hollywood misogyny #kathleen kennedy #women in star wars

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spiteandalice · 7 years

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Judas Touch pt. 6

ONCE AGAIN. This is my third attempt at posting this stupid chapter and if it fails again I will call you all personally and read it to you because I have officially given up on trying to do the internet. To make up for a month without anything I have decided to post everything I have so there.

@beltz2016 @beautifulramblingbrains @kenzieam and if I have forgotten you I am sorry, my brain has more holes than a colander.

THIS CONTAINS SMUT, VIOLENCE, LANGUAGE AND MENTIONS OF TORTURE AND PHOBIAS. Proceed with caution, mkay.

Hold on to your hats people because we seem to be switching gears throughout this chapter. Enjoy. That is an order.

PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE PART FOUR PART FIVE

The next day is beyond interesting, Eric refuses to acknowledge my existence like the big child he is just because I tried to steal his assistant. Let me be clear, I did no such thing. I did message her if she knew someone who would fit my standards for an assistant, which basically are… someone exactly like her. Being a leader's assistant is a coveted job in most factions and in Dauntless it is one of the few ways for those with lower initiation ranks to rise up. It's not a job that involves active duty of any kind and we do try to keep those with better combat skills in jobs that require them.

But there is the slight problem of our personalities and Eric changed assistants like some their underwear - once every few weeks.

Being the insufferable snoop he is he saw my message and freaked out just a tiny bit, which amused me because I'm still on bed rest and in desperate need of entertainment. I even rifled through his book collection, but after war strategies, human psychology and a well loved book about a tower in a field of roses that are all somehow universes I'm done with printed words for the next decade or two. Reading is not something I generally enjoy doing, it requires a level of staticity I am not willing to commit to. I'm Dauntless, I'm too restless to sit still and focus on a book.

Some lower life form brought my brand new tablet so I can work, Max sent me a few notes on various subjects that require my immediate attention and Four keeps me updated on the initiation process which is as sad as ever.

In other words, I am completely and utterly bored out of my skull.

There is a knock on the door around noon and I get excited for a moment before I remember that an intruder probably wouldn’t knock to alert me to their presence. Maybe they would kick the door in. I grab my gun anyway and make my way to the door, remembering way too late that I am in my standard issue tank top and not-so-standard issue… shorts. Eric replaced the ones he tore off me while I attempted to work out the other night and said something about me better not going anywhere in those. Which, of course, had me contemplate parading around in them through the entire compound.

Ripping the door open I get ready to snarl but it’s just Raven, so I drop my gun that was pointed directly at her forehead and step aside. You can tell that she has been working for Eric for a while because she doesn’t even flinch, just breathes slowly and I swear she is almost smirking.

“Eric asked me to bring you some lunch. He’s expecting the test results back from Erudite this afternoon.”

She holds out a tray of dubious food related items, a half wilted salad, a protein bar Erudite claims is the best nutrition ever but that tastes like the chopped up soles of old boots, and a browning fruit salad. Why is there no such thing as good food in this blasted faction? That’s right, because we get all the stuff that doesn’t go bad within moments. I kind of miss Amity. Then my eyes travel back to her face and I lift an eyebrow.

“So he’s still pissed, huh.”

Something akin to amusement quickly flashes across her face, and I admire this woman because around Eric that poker face must come in so incredibly handy when he is throwing one of his tantrums and you can’t help but find it ridiculous, which in turn causes him to try and kill you if you are not me. He usually just tries to fuck me when he gets livid, which some would say is an advantage. Angry Eric is a force to be reckoned with, unless he's buried to the hilt inside you. Or especially when. Depends on my mood.

“If I were suicidal I would say when is he ever not, but if you are referring to your particular situation then yes. He punched a fence guard in the face this morning for stuttering.”

Ah. Well. Maybe my actions have consequences and now that I am a leading leader type of person I should think about the things I inflict upon the people around me. But I can’t be solely responsible for keeping Eric in a good mood, sometimes the sun shining too much or not enough seems to aggravate him greatly and as important as I find myself sometimes, there is no way I can tell the sun what to do. But I can try, I guess.

“Well. I’m sorry, I guess. Do you want to spend your lunch break here? If you keep me company you are guaranteed that you won’t be seeing him at least during your break.”

Raven smiles at me and gingerly steps into the living area, making it very obvious that she is trying not to look around too much. I guess it is weird to be in the home of the guy you work for, without his permission. Which may or may not piss him off even further.

My tablet beeps and I roll my eyes. Ten credits say that…

Why the fuck is she in my apartment

Rolling my eyes again, this is going to give me a massive headache, I flop down on the couch and type my reply.

I thought it was OUR apartment

I’m not sharing her with you

Don’t worry, not my thing

Mina.

I’m not stealing her. We’re talking. About things. Not you. I'm fucking bored and craving human interaction. Stop watching me you perverted asshole

There is silence after that and when I look up Raven is watching me with a broad grin on her face.

“You’re both looking like you’re on peace serum when you’re talking to each other, it’s kind of cute. Weird and freaky, but cute.”

I pretend to throw my tablet at her head and she laughs, maybe I can make her forget that I’m doing her boss or that this is his place, technically, and that the spot on the couch she sits in has probably seen more of both our naked asses than the training room showers.

“I’m sure he’ll be delighted to a about that. Maybe Erudite can do something useful for once and completely destroy the nerves in my face so I can’t move a single muscle.”

While Raven pulls an apple out of her pocket I begin to dissect the salad like substance in front of me. There are tomatoes in there, which tells me that this is not your regular salad from the mess hall because we don't usually get those in the winter, they are grown in experimental greenhouses the Erudite built. And there is a good dose of chicken in this salad, not exactly uncommon here, but also egg and what looks like cheese. The nurse said something about better food and I guess a certain someone listened. I know I sure as hell didn't.

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

My eyes snap to her and try to burn holes into hers as I growl but she isn't at all impressed. No wonder Eric loves her, she must be a transfer from his old home. For a moment I study her, fascinated by her composure and the way her hair is braided into tiny little braids. Before I can get distracted any further I straighten up and try my best scowl on her, which usually inspires terror in lesser beings. Raven just chuckles.

“You’re a transfer, too?”

Now she outright laughs at me and throws her hands up.

“What gave it away?”

“I like you. For some reason I am drawn to transfers, especially you no-good, brainy Erudites. Quoting Shakespeare doesn’t help you conceal it, either.”

It’s her turn to look at me like I just sprouted a second head right between my eyes.

“But you know who Shakespeare is and can identify a quote? He’s been dead for hundreds o years and outside of Erudite I’m pretty sure nobody has ever heard of the guy. Pretty boring, actually.”

I shrug and attack a piece of chicken, which is unfortunately half covered in something green and slightly slimey. If that is avocado then Eric and I are going to have to have words, once they served this to me in Erudite, where they have avocado plants absolutely everywhere apparently, because it is such a nutritious plant and healthy and good for your brain or something, but we can’t get it here because it’s not worth it. You have a window of about five minutes between rock solid and rotten where these things are edible, but they are delicious.

And it is avocado. Mother. Fucker.

“I could tell you that Eric likes reciting poetry, but before my tablet goes off… like I said, I seem to hang out with the transfers and no matter how much I try, some stuff just starts to rub off. There was a guy in my initiation class that liked to say that. Insufferable moron.”

My sole mission now is picking out the avocado and tomato bits while I ignore the sad green leaves, spinach and whatever else kind of garbage the rest is. If I’m spoiled with actual food I can’t just sit here and pretend I don’t hate the rest of it, life is too short.

“Really, what happened to him? I wonder if I know him, I’m only two years behind you.”

With a smug grin I stop the fork halfway to my mouth and sigh inwardly because this being social is seriously hindering my eating habits, which have previously been described as disgusting, gross and likened to various animals.

“He came in second. Yet another problem Erudite boys are having. I will stop making comparisons there for my own safety and your brain,” I pause to acknowledge her mouthing ‘thank you’ by raising my eyebrow at her, “and his ego never quite survived that blow. He wanted to join the fence guards but is leading one of our surveillance teams out in the city. His name’s Blaze. Formerly known as Balthasar.”

That name still gives me the giggles. We could have turned into sworn enemies like Four and Eric, who at this point remind me of two old neighbor dogs that snarl at each other out of habit, none of them really able to remember why they are supposed to hate each other in the first place. Or we could have turned into lovers, something I could also see with the other two but please don’t mention that to Eric. Instead we ended somewhere in between, we tried hooking up twice during initiation and decided we were quite compatible but not enough to make it interesting, it ended up feeling like fucking my brother who happens to be into the same kinks.

Eric can’t stand him, of course.

But, as it so happens, blaze is one of the very few people that I consider a friend, most of them are coincidentally male and most of them have shared a bed with me once upon a time. Or a wall. A surface. You know what I mean. Women and I never seem to get along, but Raven is a nice exception to the rule. If I can’t steal her, well, I think her and I could team up and strive to make Eric’s life hell. My day just got a lot brighter.

“I think I know who you’re talking about, pretty tall, mohawk, a dragon tattooed on the side of his head? His parents must have known he was Dauntless since he started to walk. That guy probably hasn’t touched a book his entire life.”

Oh Raven, you would be surprised. Much like someone else I won’t name, Blaze is still very fond of his books and keeps a stash of them under his bed. I’m not sure if this applies to all transfers, but it seems that most of them keep just a smidge of the Faction they were born into, no matter how long ago they transferred.

We talk some more, about things that happened while I was gone - Eric hired Raven after the previous assistant threatened to jump into the chasm and was talked out of it by Four, Eric wrecked three doors in his first week after she started, a month after my apparent death. You know. Fun little tidbits - and about looking as Dauntless as possible. Raven is shocked that I don’t buy anything but the standard uniform stuff and I am shocked that she has never gotten a tattoo. Granted, her skin is almost as dark as our clothes, but when she says she has never even gotten a piercing I am positively outraged and promise to drag her off to get something done.

In the end she has to go back at some point and leave me alone in this boring little prison, even though I have to admit that it is a lot better than the one I was locked up in before. Eric doesn’t show up until eight in the evening, carrying his tablet like it is about to explode.

“So?”

He barely glances at me before frowning at his screen, but I can see his eyes roll upward ever so slightly. Public Eric is back in full force and he doesn’t want me to see that he is as nervous as I am. Probably. Did I mention that I suck at this human interaction thing? It’s a lot easier if you don’t give a shit about what they are thinking about you, to be quite honest. And he is far from the ideal practice subject because he is as easy to read as some of the books Erudite keeps that are written in long dead languages.

“I obviously waited to open the message until I got here.”

Obviously. Asshole. Resisting the urge to hit him in the head, probably breaking my hand on his thick skull in the process, I sit up instead when he walks up to me and sits down at the very edge of the couch, looking as if he is about to flee. Which he probably is. Wordlessly he opens the message and doesn’t bother to look at me again, he probably feels my breath on his neck when I lean in to read over his shoulder.

Not pregnant.

Great. Right? It’s a good thing. I mean. We’re clearly not ready to be parents, I’m pretty sure I will remain in that category until I die. People as messed up as we are shouldn’t have children and I just got back from being tortured and nearly starved to death so this is a very, very good thing. Why am I suddenly feeling weird? There is a little pull in my stomach that makes me uneasy, almost as if a part of me hadn’t minded the idea of becoming a mother. Or rather, the mother of a child of Eric.

Before I can say or do anything stupid I get up to get dressed, this is not something you think about, you better drink about it. And since I am not knocked up my bedrest should not apply anymore.

I actually did buy a skirt when I got my new clothes, crazy me, and before I can change my mind I pull off the shorts and pull up the very short and very tight skirt, not bothering to change otherwise. Without a single word or glance towards Eric I leave and make my way down to the Pit, ready to drink myself into a stupor and then, maybe then, figuring out what to do next.

Two hours later I feel pleasantly buzzed. Which is a lie because everything around me is spinning but I hold on to the bar, glare at the moron who tried to refuse to give me another drink, and casually elbow a guy next to me that doesn't quite understand that I am not interested in going back to his place - which is a matter so important to him that it was the first thing he said to me. Now he hisses and calls me a bitch but still slides right back next to me. His friend tries to get him to leave - for the third time - but buddy here is painfully slow at understanding all the subtle hints.

“Come on, man. You really don't want to mess with her. Eric will kill you.”

Oho. So it's totally okay to harass drunk women if they're single or seeing someone less intimidating? I'm mentally preparing to give a speech, even going as far as putting a hand on my hip and drawing in a deep breath that makes my head spin even worse, but the guy decides to put an arm around my neck and pulls me even closer. I barely hear him slimily state that my boyfriend isn't here because I think about a tall factionless man grabbing me from behind and holding me just like that while his friends beat me to a pulp. But this time I'm not sedated and before I can register that I am in the Pit and not some long abandoned building I have slammed the back of my head into his nose, turned us around and flipped him over my shoulder. Panting heavily I stare at his bleeding face, my boot on his neck ready to stomp out his lights when I feel someone behind me and tense, ready to attack.

“This is why I didn't do anything, Peter, I don't know why his friend was worried about me. Mina can handle herself and I think she's even more dangerous than I could be, especially considering that she drank half the bar at this point.”

That smug bastard probably enjoyed the show. When I slowly turn around the world is tilting to the right but I manage to adjust just fine. Eric is leaning against the bar, arms crossed and looking like a man casually observing some fucking clouds with a friend that thinks every second one looks like a tit. He is cold and cruel as ever, and I don't want to be here. Too many people that are too close and that makes me want to scream and kick until they go away.

Something must have given it away, because Eric drops his cold grin and steps up to me, frowning when I flinch away from him. My skin is crawling with invisible insects, ghosts of the not too distant past that are recurring stars of my nightmares. Eric puts an arm on my shoulder and it takes all my strength not to punch him for it.

“Are you okay?”

Of course I'm not okay. That's what I want to yell, but I also want to be sarcastic and tell him that I have never been better. But my tongue is strangely dry and swollen and I can taste bile, giving me the distinct feeling that someone replaced my tongue with a dead slug. So I just look at him, hope I don't look as panicked as I feel, and shake my head just slightly.

Suddenly he pulls me closer and my hands fly up automatically to fight him off, but Eric whispers in my ear to play along. Because if he carries me out of here having a panic attack I will look weak, that's bad whether you are a leader or not. But if we start to make out after I just punched a guy that got too handsy? People will most likely cheer.

And they actually do. Morons.

Eric doesn't put me down until we are home and I immediately want to take my clothes off, feeling the need to take a shower. Somewhere on the way I began to talk, about the ambush, about getting shot and stabbed and abandoned by my own team. About dark basements and fever and infections. About cold water in freezing temperatures soaking my clothes. About sedatives and beatings and endless questions I never answered. About being covered in spiders and all kinds of bugs and being too weak to even try to brush them off. About death and thinking about it coming for me so much it became all there was. About being too tired to cry. And about hate, festering and swelling like a bloating corpse until it bursts, consuming everything else until there is nothing but rage, giving you the strength you didn't know you still had left.

Eric doesn't say a word. He carries me home and sits with me on his lap until I'm done. There is absolutely no expression on his face but I can see something shift in his eyes and my drunk mind wonders if that insane level of hatred that's scared me so much is contagious, like some nasty virus that spreads slowly and kills everything in it's path.

But then he carries me into the bathroom and, ignoring my protests, takes off my clothes before stripping down himself and turning on the shower. The water is so hot that the mirror fogs up almost instantly but I'm still shaking when he lifts me into the tub, making me wonder if the cold will ever really leave my body or if it will stay inside my bones until I die.

We stay until I stop shaking and only then does he remove his arms to turn away and shut the water off, leaving me standing all by myself and I hate that more than I want to admit. Suddenly I feel tired, drained and boneless but before I can slip down into a pathetic pile of limbs Eric is back, wrapping a towel around me and carrying me to the bed. Our bed. I crawl under the covers and when he doesn't follow I want to whimper like a scared child. It would be easy to blame this on the alcohol, but the truth is… all it does is let me be vulnerable for once. It was one of my worst fears. Humiliation, not being in control. Darkness. Confined spaces. Insects and birds, those sketchy assholes. I could deal with all of those. But being vulnerable was the worst, it almost cost me my first rank.

When he finally returns I feel relieved, and I notice a low humming in the background. Eric turned on the heat and that is such a thoughtful little gesture it almost makes me cry. Instead of rolling to the side I stay on my back and pull him on top of me, I want to forget for at least a little while. Our kiss is almost desperate but we keep things unusually slow, when Eric begins to kiss a trail down from my neck and across my breasts I almost growl with impatience, but he doesn't stop or speed things up. Instead he seems intent on covering every inch of my skin with his lips, saving the best for last. By the time he buries his head between my legs I'm wound so tight I feel like I'm about to explode but that kind of slow torture is very much acceptable as it turns out. Eric has me howling and screaming with a few slow strokes of his tongue and when he pushes two fingers into me I grab the sheet underneath me and scream, not at all deterred by the smug grin I can feel against my skin.

Before I can even catch a breath, much less think about returning the favor, Eric is on top of me and moaning into my mouth when our tongues find each other, my taste still on his lips. All it takes is for me to wrap my legs around his waist and he is inside me, I never had time to ponder just how well our bodies fit, especially in this position. We are usually fighting for the upper hand, clawing and biting and wrestling until we both collapse. This time we're slow, holding each other close, but it's not less intense. Maybe even more so. There is a strange undercurrent that wasn't there before but I'm too busy focusing on him, on us. Then our foreheads touch, both covered in a thin layer of sweat that would honestly disgust me otherwise, and we enter in what I have to describe as an intense staring match. We are both quiet, there is an occasional hiss or a low groan, but it is far from our usual athletics.

My orgasm leaves me literally speechless and I would be embarrassed about looking like a fish on land, mouth wide open and all, but he looks just as ridiculous. It’s ferocious in it’s own way and we both collapse, limbs tangled in that awful way i have gotten so used to already. Maybe I can sleep now, at least for a little bit. Before I drift off I think I hear Eric speak but that might just be my tired brain and the alcohol conspiring against me, although they manage to keep Eric wonderfully in character.

“I’m going to get you the guy’s head as a wedding present.”

Yeah, you do that. I’ll be here, sleeping.

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