#this shit's easy all i gotta draw is bald people | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

worldsover · 3 years

Text

BarelyLegalGirls2021Scene9.mov.exe ft. Jiheon

words ✦ 3741

genres ✧ the sort of thing that trips your antivirus; budding porn star!Jiheon

✦✧✦✧✦✧

“Isn’t this shit kinda exploitative?” you say in the dressing room. Well, it’s more of a big closet, but the porn set is just a house anyway.

“Dude, she’s eighteen, right there on the driver’s license,” the director says. He has tribal tattoos, a puka shell necklace, and honest-to-goodness flame patterns on his dress shirt. His existence alone would revive Friendster in 2021. The smell of his Axe—Phoenix?—body spray is so heavy, he would kill it again in 2022 when people smell him through the internet.

Baek Jiheon, April 17, 2003. Hate the way the light draws attention to the date, even if she isn’t much younger than you. “I guess I feel weird about it.”

He taps his foot. The guy looks like he has to dedicate all his brain’s resources to do it. "So like, when does it stop becoming weird?”

“Uhh… Eighteen and a half?"

"Okay, so. Um, what if we shot this a day earlier than that then? Hmm?”

Tilt your head.

“How 'bout two days earlier? A week?”

“Wait, wait, wait a sec. I know where this is going.”

“Okay, chill, when she’s not legal, stop there. Whatever. But like, actually think. Man ain't bald 'til there ain’t hair on his head.”

"Wow. Didn’t know Eubulides was a sleazy porn director."

“The fuck Obladi Oblada you talkin' about? Fuck you, I’m not sleazy. Anyway, you ever check the actual legal age?”

“What the fuck! Eugh.” Crease your face in disgust. “Fuck's wrong with you?"

“Get off your high horse. Remember Friday?"

Petite, smiley blonde, small breasts, easy to work with and handle for the scene.

"She was like, so coked out of her mind, she could’ve changed her name to Tuesday with how little she paid attention even though it was like Wednesday in the first place!” He waves his arms in the air, as if he said something so clever.

“Whatever you say, dude.”

“What? Not funny? I’m just saying! None of this shit’s real man. It’s all legal. Who cares? At least don’t feel weird about the bag. Plus you know, like, getting to fuck a tight young bod. Heh. Hehe.”

The director gestures at the outline of a human-sized Coca Cola glass bottle, then proceeds to spank it, having a great time imagining air jiggle even when you walk away.

You find Jiheon in the bathroom, touching up her makeup. Her pink hair stands out to your eyes at first. She looks more like someone who would make subpar Onlyfans content rather than gonzo porn. To be fair, she would make bank doing it when you catch a glimpse of her adorable face and the curves, especially on her waist. The sash really accentuates how fit she is. But you have to stop yourself from apologizing before saying anything else.

“Ahem. Look, I gotta say, I’ve fucked a lot of girls.”

“That’s good,” Jiheon says without sarcasm, nonplussed at your confession. Her eyes swivel and strike into yours.

“Wh-what I mean is, I don’t say this often, or at all really, but if you need help or something...”

“Wow.” Her lips exaggerate opening to say the word. “I’m getting a porn actor to simp for me. Really?"

“Huh?”

Jiheon caresses your muscles. “Oppa, tell me, why do I need help?”

Avoid her eyes before you eventually reply. You don’t mean to back her up to the mirror. Her thighs squish against the corner of the sink as she leans backwards, but she shows no discomfort. Jiheon’s not really the one stuck in a corner. “Okay, you got me, you fucking got me. The fuck are you doing here?”

“Tsk. I wanna hear it,” she says in a sing-songy voice.

You sigh. “I’ll put it in plain words. I fuck six to sevens caked in makeup. Do anything else. For fuck’s sake, sell ice cream in the winter and put your face on the advertising. Why are you here?”

“Doesn’t sound like plain words.”

“You’re too pretty to be here. Get out. Touch grass and smell the morning air, please.”

“Isn’t that the best part? Seeing a cute innocent girl like me become a slut for porn?”

Your mouth falls out of your mouth. Jiheon's mouth curls into a smile. It’s blinding.

“But what if I like being fucked by strangers?” she asks, her voice rising. “Plus you’re guaranteed to have a nice cock! Soo, you said you fucked a lot of girls before right?”

Nod slowly. She turns around, bends over on the sink and licks at her lipstick. Her asscheeks poke out from under her shorts.

“Well, I’m an adult now. Fucking use me like one.”

You really do have a crisis of faith. Why are you here? Is this really right?

It lasts two seconds with Jiheon wiggling her ass.

What an ordeal, getting your porn-approved cock to fit between her denim shorts—Levi’s fits well around her legs—but you’re in such exhilaration that you don’t bother with stripping.

“Oh? Really? You’re gonna miss the hole like that?” she asks teasingly.

Slide up and down between her legs. Your lips rest on her neck, but your touch has to be light, don’t want to have to redo the makeup. Then again, you look at her in the reflection. A hickey before she even starts would suit her. Could really play up the promiscuous angle in the scene.

“I wasn’t going for that. Your legs looked great but I had to check if they felt just as good,” you say.

“Do they?”

It’s more like her wetness is doing the heavy work of making her texture feel great, but you let her know anyway. “They do.”

“Now that’s that good dick I was looking for, f-fuck.”

As your cock slips into its desired home, Jiheon smirks in the mirror as she reverses her butt into your crotch, trying to hold in her volume. She has you wrapped around her finger. Well, her pussy’s the one doing the wrapping with its incredible friction, even tighter than the fabric of her shorts, but you take no time to consider the consequences. Grab onto the sash around her waist and thrust up. Each one is its own event, which is incredible considering how many girls you’ve fucked. Every fold is magnified on your sensitive shaft, the slippery walls clasp and ease perfectly in sync with yours. You only get a dozen or so in before you’re interrupted.

“Filming in ten!”

You might be thankful for the interruption. It’d be embarrassing cumming in a minute after all the talk. Her tightness drags you along by the cock for a few steps anyway before she lifts her ass, disconnects herself from you to earn a grunt from your throat, and then skips away.

“So, my bud here was having a little dilemma or something,” the director says. Look away from his gaze.

Jiheon looks at him, then the camera, then back at him. “Oh, I don’t think there’s gonna be any problems here. Isn’t that right, oppa?”

“Yep. Great.”

The two of you practice your positions on the couch and take some promotional pictures before the main event. There isn’t much of a script other than the physical action, just like how there isn’t much of a crew other than a lighting guy, a mic guy and the director, now a photographer. You don’t actually penetrate her in the photos, finding clever cinematic angles in more exposed states of dress. When she takes her solo shots for the cover, you note her modeling ability. She really could be doing anything else, but instead she’s here, choosing to get paid to fuck on camera.

You have a feeling it isn’t even about the money at all.

“Pose. Pose. Pose.”

Can’t really move. Jiheon is on top of you, her ass weighing down on your dick in a reverse cowgirl stance, though her legs are in between yours as though she’s giving you a lapdance. With each “Pose”, she drags her ass back. Forth. Back and forth. Bite your tongue to not let out some stupid moan.

“Hey girl, what’s that on your neck?” the director asks.

“Oh, we just had a little, hmm, practice session,” Jiheon replies.

The director rounds his mouth. “W-well, you should’ve filmed that.”

“Good point!” Jiheon looks back, her bare, perfect pussy bearing down on your cock. “Next time,” she says in a loud whisper.

Her entrance swathes your cock and a single motion would wriggle it inside.

Jiheon does more than a single motion.

“Damn, is this recording?” The director says, setting his DSLR down for the larger camera. “Whew, it is.”

The light bounces off her milky skin and you’re blessed to receive that light, to watch that ass bounce over and over again on your cock. She goes for a long time, the director taking the film camera and putting it next to your face.

“Yes, yes, yes, I fucking love this cock,” she rasps.

Light guy mirrors the director and puts his thumb up in approval to let Jiheon know this is great footage.

Girls usually need lube to ride you with this kind of intensity. Clearly, Jiheon isn’t a usual girl.

Match Jiheon’s pace to create photogenic ripples on her ass. As it turns out, Jiheon is built to be on camera because her juices are delectably creamy around your shaft and her lips grip in a way that would make any viewer jealous. Most other guys would be done here too, not a chance they’d last this long with Jiheon riding for her life.

Good thing you’ve had your beauty rest. Fucking two other girls in a day also helps, but the most important thing is counting in your head to distract yourself. It’s a bit like counting sheep to try to sleep, but instead it's the number of thrusts into her pussy to focus and last longer.

Jiheon dismounts and lays on top of you. Her soft tits press against you as she kisses and her nipples are firm enough to tickle your chest. The ends of your tongues meet like she’s trying to make her ends meet. No, it’s too passionate to be about money.

Maybe she’s a great actress.

“Alright, that’s probably enough of that. Put your clothes back on by the way, we gotta get a striptease for the camera,” the director says.

She licks at the string of spit between her lips before she picks her clothes back up from the floor.

Past the first bit, there’s little improv and the porn scene goes nearly to script. You can tell Jiheon is a great dancer. Her form is much more graceful than the other clumsy girls who can barely pull their panties off without tripping. To be fair, she has a bit of trouble taking hers off herself. The wet spot in her pink panties isn’t just decorative, she has to peel the sticky thing. Guess you should’ve filmed the preliminary scene after. Then again, yet again, it looks great on camera.

Jiheon takes off her halter crop top and her simple black bra with a flirty wiggle as she pulls the clothes up.

Interrupt her to add one more moment of unrehearsed content. “Keep that waist strap thing. It’ll look great, really shows off how tight your curves are.”

“I know it’ll do more than look great. And I know some other things that are tighter,” she says with a playful lilt.

Her smile is maddening. It’s cheeky, almost as much as her cheeks, and the corners of her mouth turn up in a way that makes you want to fuck her face. That’s not in the script though. You’re content with what is. Sit on the couch with your hands behind your head. The director circles around the two of you as Jiheon kneels in front of you, then he settles on a spot above your shoulder to get your point of view.

What a gorgeous point of view. Jiheon stares and crosses her eyes at the firm length on her nose and mouth. “It’s so big and mouth-watering. Mhm.”

“Suck my dick then. Make your mouth water,” you say.

She pouts and nods, then licks at it, all the way from your balls to right beneath its tip. Jiheon rests her tongue there for a moment. “Ahhh. You wike the way my tongue feehs on yoh cock?”

“Yeah, that’s the ticket, baby.”

Jiheon takes a sniff from top to bottom, revelling in your length as she slobbers from head to base. Then she takes it down her throat at once while her tongue drags along the bottom of the shaft. She knows exactly how to spit the right amount to create strands that shine in the harsh light before she slurps it up.

“That’s right,” you say, noting her eye for detail when she looks up at you but quickly focuses back on the camera.

Those eyes flutter and plead as though she doesn’t already have exactly the cock she wants. Jiheon’s gags are few and far between, but she adds the lewd noises that everyone craves such as vibrating moans that signal just how much she enjoys the dick in her mouth.

Grab her dyed hair. It’s sweaty, the ends are covered in spit and precum, and it’s all frazzled. Her makeup is much the same.

“You look pretty like this though. That’s right, you’re such a gorgeous little cocksucker, aren’t you? Down girl.”

Still on her knees, she turns around and gets her hands on the floor as well. You kneel too, lining up your cockhead with her entrance with one hand while the other gives her ass the slaps it deserves. You also slap her perfect pussy with your shaft three times before you propel forward. The tightness of her lips succumb to the width and you have to hold in your groans.

Don’t wanna be that guy that selfishly fills the audio with your sounds of pleasure, even though you know women watch this too and enjoy your noises. Instead, you consciously manage a fair mix of sound. The wet slapping of your waist against hers, your moans, her moans.

Ten. Twenty. Thirty.

With a finger curling against the corner of her mouth, she sucks on it happily like it’s your dick. To be honest, you do it to cut Jiheon’s only amateurish habit of repeating “Yeah, yeah, fuck, yeah” to let the viewer’s ears breath.

Good to know you’re putting a smile on the sound guy’s face too.

She’s right, it does more than look great and of course, you already know from your earlier rehearsal, but the sash on her waist is even better fucking her in doggystyle. It’s unfortunate you have to switch positions every five minutes, though you’re a bit thankful, you need to last as well. Jiheon is too great at pressing her legs together to squeeze your cock.

However, changing stances so often also gets tiring. Cowgirl. Missionary on the couch, with you on top, holding her chin and whispering sweet nothings, then her on top, nibbling at your ears and lips. You even pick her up, her legs around your waist and your hands on her butt. Jiheon is just perfect to hold in your arms as you thrust into her.

“Use me, stud. Use me like the fucking toy I am,” she whispers. “Break me in. Show me what a porn star can do. Be honest. You like fucking someone as young as me right? You love ruining eighteen year old girls with this cock, turning them into addicts. I think I might be too. I think I might be too. I think I might turn into a fiend for this dick, you know that? You’re a bad person. Ff, fuck but you have a great cock.“

You don’t mind leaving some things off the record.

You’ve lost count. Who cares about records?

The director has to tap on you to remind you you’re on film. “G-great. Great scene, really passionate.”

You hate him a bit but it helps. You would carry her all the way to your home and continue this scene without an audience without the reminder. As well, while you definitely enjoy your job, you appreciate the breathers before the facial scene.

“Oppa, what’s the syringe for? Gonna give me my third dose or something?” she says, hitting your arm where it’d be vaccinated.

“Right, we didn’t tell you, this is a lot better anyway. It’s just moisturizer and lotion that looks like a heavy load.”

Jiheon sticks her lip out. “Wait really? But, but, I really want your cum on my face.”

A breath through your rounded mouth. “Maybe we can do that later.”

Even as you stroke your dick with two hands, you have trouble holding your climax in for the first time in a long time. Usually the camera guy blocking a view of the girl’s face helps stop that. You attribute it to Jiheon’s zealous pre-production, though it’s more like a pre-game instead; she looks sufficiently cock-drunk on her knees. She seems unsure what to do with her hands, whether to put it on her thighs obediently or help you along with your handjob, but it’s too late when she takes her hands off her knees.

“I’m gonna fucking cum,” you say in a low voice as the director spurts the fake load from above the camera. The white viscous fluid gets all over her cheeks, eyes and tongue. She tries her best to appear excited as she licks at the goo around her mouth and spreads it but you know there’s a bit of disappointment in her face.

“Aaand cut. Seriously, great scene everyone!”

Everyone claps, so you join along.

As you learn quickly, Jiheon is quite the method actor, she loves immersing herself in her role. Jiheon pulls you aside to the bedroom and keeps that same expression, not bothering to put on clothes while the film crew wraps up. She even takes off the final article of clothing, that sash, and gives you a show while she’s at it, turning around and flaunting her perky ass as she pulls the fabric down

“So, we are working together again right?”

“Can’t say I mind.” It’s pretty funny how quickly you accept your change of pace, but you’re already here anyway.

“I’m really looking forward to our creampie scenes,” Jiheon says with a huge grin. She aligns your cock in her squat, while you lie down on the dusty bed, your hands unable to react.

“Um, I’m not paying you for this.”

“Doesn’t sound like a no to me. And sure you are, mmm,” Jiheon moans when she grabs your cock and teases her pussy lips with your tip.

Her noises of pleasure are more realistic than in her scene. Or at least she doesn’t sound like a dentist—it’s like all amateurs make the same hissing inhale sounds.

“This dick is great payment.”

Her enthusiastic ride on top also starts much like in the scene, but it becomes a tight embrace as you sit up against the back of the bed. Her lap slams into yours. You’re closer to a bumbling virgin than porn star, doing nothing while this irresistible girl—woman—jumps up and down on your dick. Warm pulses inundate your body, sealing the deal.

“Sorry, I don’t think, hah, I’m gonna last too long.”

“That’s fine, this was supposed to be my cum earlier.”

You growl while your pistoning speeds up. “Shit, I’m gonna fucking, I’m gonna—”

“Cum inside? Yess. Do it. Do it, do it, cum inside, cum inside my pussy, paint my little pussy, coat it, fucking give it all. Please, please, pleease.” Even when she’s not being recorded, Jiheon sings a dirty song and wraps her legs around your waist like it’s the last thing she’ll ever do.

Somehow, Jiheon clamps around your cock even harder and you can’t do anything but seal her lips in a deep kiss. One pump, two. You always count. But now all you can count are the seconds that your brain is mush as you give Jiheon the creampie she wants. You explode inside of her, everything throbbing and writhing, so all she does is hold you and kiss you tighter. Her lips are sealed but you can hear her mumble words of appreciation in your mouth. Again, Jiheon’s juices lather your cock white, but this time when she dismounts slowly, you can see your cum’s contribution.

Maybe it doesn’t play as well on film, but real semen looks great being cleaned up by an eager mouth with Jiheon’s face hastily finding your crotch. It’s soft again and maybe a little sore because she hasn’t stopped sucking away, but the blood rushes back to your loins as quickly as it left.

Jiheon spreads her ass prone on the mattress in front of you and you’re like steel once more.

She turns her head and smirks again. That’ll definitely be a signature look for her in the future. “We should get the camera for this one. Your load’s gonna look really good dripping out my pussy onto your cock.”

Jiheon pulls on her cheeks further. Her gooey lips almost refuse to part, like two lovers unsure if their relationship is worthwhile, stuck together only by circumstance—circumstances in this circumstance being a string of girl cum and your cum.

“C’mon... daddy.”

With your sore, throbbing cockhead, you help them break up.

What a messy breakup.

This shouldn’t be on camera.

However, you can’t deny the picturesque allure of Jiheon coating your shaft in circumstance.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

AFF, AO3

This was originally a quickie but Jiheon is too hot. Someone had to do it.

#kpop smut #fromis smut #male reader #reader insert #title tracks

779 notes · View notes

dabislittlemouse · 3 years

Text

Always by your side

Dabi cheering you up on a bad day

A soft Dabi x reader for @dabi0118 . A little flirting too. Hope you enjoy it ♡♡

12.30 pm

If it wasn’t for your phone ringing you wouldn’t even have woken up. You turned off the phone, not wanting to deal with anybody’s bullshit because today was not it. Or mostly like, this week was not it.

You cried yourself to sleep last night, your head full of thoughts about your life and future, all your fears and insecurities eating up your mind. Usually you would put these thoughts aside, act optimistic with a smile on your face but sometimes it’s hard to do so, especially when the night comes and all the “demons” in your head start waking up.

You’ve tried distracting yourself. Watching movies, drawing, reading, cleaning up the house, but nothing. You felt sad all the time, even though your life was going good. You felt so alone, worthless, like everyone hates you. Not even your friends would find some time to talk to you. You couldn’t fully open yourself to any of them because you didn’t want to be an annoying crybaby and make them run away. You didn’t even notice you were crying again. Jesus, the hell was wrong with you, you thought.

The phone rang again and you groaned in annoyance, but that feeling washed off quickly when you saw the name on the screen.

“Dabi💙”

Your heart started pumping out of your chest. Despite of him being a villain, you had developed a little crush for Dabi. Of course, he never knew. Or did he? Anywyay. But you remained as “friends”, even though Dabi’s flirtings would be thrown in the air and you, like those shy middle school girls, would giggle and blush. He would usually come and visit you but today you didn’t want him to. You didn’t want him to get affected by your negative energy today, nor did you want him to see how you looked. Your hair was a mess, your eyes puffy and tired from crying too much. No thank you

“Hey Dabi” you said with a weak voice, almost shaking but you coughed a bit and tried to sound more stable. “What’s up?”

“Hey doll. Up? The sky” you could hear him smirk like the jerk he is and you just rolled your eyes at this lame joke and giggled. His voice was low but soothing. “Just wanted to say I’m on my way to you”

Oh shit.

Find an excuse.

“Oh I didn’t know. I... I’m sorry though because, maybe I’ll go to sleep. I’m feeling a bit sick, maybe it’s the flu. So... yeah, we won’t be doing fun stuff at all” You felt bad for lying but you didn’t want him to see you like this. Not today at least. You felt ugly today, inside and out.

“I’m sorry princess. You can sleep next to me alright? You like how warm I am so that will make you feel better” he said with full confidence. Damn, he is so cute.

“Yeah but, I... don’t want you to catch the flu either” you bit your lips, hating yourself for lying to him. But he was stubborn, it’s not like he was going to listen. Before you could say anything , you heard a knock at your door.

“Oh sorry Dabi, I gotta go. Someone’s at the door”

“Yeah yeah okay. Talk later” he chuckled. You shut your phone and opened the door, only to be faced with Dabi himself. You jumped in surprise and hid behind the door, feeling embarrassed as he laughed.

“Dabi jeez! I didn’t expect you to be here so soon” you said, trying to look anywhere but him, hiding yourself behind the door.

“Well I did say I’m on my way didn’t I? And stop hiding, I won’t bite” he got inside. “At least not until you want me to” he winked. You gave him a weak smile, his flirtings usually would give you a whole zoo in your stomach but during your hard days, it wasn’t that easy. Dabi noticed the strange aura surrounding you today.

“Hey, are you okay?” He came closer. You looked down, not trying to face him. He grabbed your face to turn it to him. “Look at me... what is it?”

“N-nothing. It’s just... one of these shitty days that’s all. You shouldn’t have come though..” you said, your voice almost shaking. He raised his eyebrow, meaning to give him a reason why. “I knew you came here to stay and have fun together as always and I’m so sorry. I just don’t want to affect you with my shitty mood, and especially with my.... shitty face toda- “ You couldn’t finish your sentence as he put his index finger on your lips to shush you.

“If anything here is shitty, is whatever you are saying right now.” He said, his finger touching your soft bottom lip doing small circles. “If anyone is to worry about shitty mood affecting other people, it should be me” he said, his finger tracing your jawline. “And if anyone is to worry about shitty face scaring other people, again that should be me”

You shook your head, placing your hands on his warm chest and finally looked him in the eyes. “N-no, don’t say that. You never affect me in a bad way, you’re the only person who I enjoy being with. And you face is beautiful”

He softly smiled, leaning closer to you and whispering in your ear. “Well, you said the exact response I was about to give you a minute ago”. You blushed as he sat down in the couch, patting the seat next to him. “Come here”. You sat next to him as his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to his warmth, as his chin rested on your shoulder. You both remained like that for a moment, no words shared as you stared blankly at the TV, and then he spoke.

“You know...despite having shitty days I’ll still be here for you right dolly?” he softly whispered. “I know how it feels like to be... sad and alone, feeling worthless and disgusting” he grabbed your hand and softly kissed it. “Nobody was there for me back then, but at least I can be here for you now”

You just froze, a million emotions filling your chest as you listened to him.

“I know it’s hard but I can assure you babygirl, you are the most worthy person I’ve ever met in my life” he cupped your blushing face with his warm hands. “And the hottest one too”

Your face went tomato as you tried to look down, a chuckle escaping from Dabi as he buried his head on your neck, hands now in your waist.

“You are so beautiful princess, if anyone says otherwise I’ll turn them to crisp, you know it”. You remembered the day your shitty neighbor went missing just the day after you fought. You complained at him for his loud music every night. He had told you to shut the fuck up and called you an ugly bitch. Strangely, the next day he went missing. You knew it was Dabi’s doing even though he would play dumb.

Your thoughts were interrupted as you noticed his turquoise eyes staring at yours , a smug smile plastered on his face.

“What?!” You yelped, feeling embarrassed.

“Nothing. Just processing on my mind all the blessings I have in my life.” He started grabbing your face, examining it you as you giggled. “Oh wait, it seems to be only you” he smiled.

“You’re an idiot” you laughed as you finally wrapped your arms around his neck.

“And you are gorgeous”

“Stop!”

“What? Too much for telling the truth huh” he sighed as he held you close to him. You started feeling good now, after all these days of feeling down. You felt...happy. Happy being with him. You could forget all your worries whenever you were with Dabi. He had that kind of effect on you, whether he did it on purpose or not. It was hard to crack him open when you first met, but now you got to see the side of him he never showed to anyone, his soft charming self. He would kill you if you told anyone about it though. It ruins his villain reputation, he would say.

You both spent the rest of the day close to each other, cuddling and him giving you soft kisses all over, praising you so much you felt like some goddess. Your mood already got better. Then you started watching some dumb movies, where you would laugh at Dabi for mocking the characters in it, with tears in your eyes. Also the dumbass almost burned your apartment while trying to boil an egg. You both shrugged it off by laughing like idiots. Then you played a game, trying to find which pro hero is on your mind. You would draw or imitate the pro hero and the other would find it. It was fun though cause you got to see Dabi slandering the pros. He drew a deformed chicken with a man face, trying to take out an egg from its butthole. You were rolling in the floor from laughing when you found out that is the number 2 hero Hawks.

As the night came in, you were resting on him, his hands running through your dark hair as you would hear his soft heartbeats.

“Thank you” you whispered.

“For what?”

“For staying with me today. You made me feel better”

He smiled as he kissed your head. “Of course, dollface. If you are sad again and you don’t call me to come over, I’ll be upset... anyway it’s not like I’ll be leaving you alone too much from now on. You’re stuck with me”

You smiled as you kissed his neck softly. “You are so charming and soft when you want to be, almost as soft as a baby when-“

“I’ll turn you bald”

“Okayy, jeez!” You laughed at his blushing face, and rested your head on his chest. Your eyes felt heavy and it didn’t take much for you to fall asleep. He kissed your head again and rubbed your back.

“Goodnight precious”

#B.writes #touya todoroki #dabi #mha dabi #my hero academia #mha #dabi x you #dabi x reader #dabi imagines #dabi fanfics #dabi fluff #fluff #soft

113 notes · View notes

lovelylogans · 3 years

Text

spring cleaning

there’s a pack rat in the family. who it is will not surprise you.

part of the wyliwf verse.

warnings: food mentions, alcohol mentions, general messiness, jokes about hoarding

pairings: patton/virgil, offscreen logan/roman

word count: 2,412

notes: hi! this is just a quick little fic as i beta and finish off the next chapter of debutante. this is based off the gilmore girls season three episode twelve “lorelai out of water” cold open. takes place the spring after the main storyline, after alliance but before debutante.

⁂

virgil’s phone buzzes at 10:13 am on a sunny spring sunday. he pauses just after he drops off the brunch plates for mrs. torres, babette, and east side tilly, digging around in his back pocket to squint at his recent texts.

logan sanders: Please help.

any other time, this kind of text would probably send anxiety flooding his veins like ice water. as he’s been warned, sure, he’s a little anxious that he’s misreading the situation, but he shakes that aside and snorts.

“called it,” he mutters under his breath, before he wipes his hands on his apron and types out christ, you’re folding easy this year. is that a new record?

a brief pause. then, No, the record was twenty-four minutes. To be fair, that took place when I was ten years old, we were moving into the house, and you were already going to be involved, so I perhaps I should propose that does not count against my spring cleaning record.

ah, that’s right. god, helping patton move had kind of been a nightmare. helping anyone move is a bit of a nightmare, but with patton there’s a whole new layer of shenanigans.

Another buzz. Also, I need this to be hastened along. I have a Socratic seminar in English tomorrow, and though we have settled on a tentative truce I refuse to let Dee achieve the highest grade in the class.

he shoots back i’ll be there asap.

“jean,” he calls to the counter, but jean, having been warned as well, waves him off.

“i got it, at least he waited till the we hit the between-masses lull.”

“you’re the best,” he says, hanging up his apron and ignoring mrs. torres’ hoots about his arms—he's like ninety percent sure she’s spiking her own orange juice so she can have a screwdriver with her pancakes but he hasn’t caught her with a flask in hand yet—and heads out the door.

the citizens of sideshire are fully soaking in the pleasure of a sunny spring day—it’s one of those days, where the weather’s warming up slowly, but there’s sure to be more cold snaps before they fully settle into spring, so lots of people are taking advantage of it. families are sprawled with picnic blankets in the grassy town square. the “long-haired freak” (taylor’s nickname, not his. virgil’s pretty sure his name is dave, but also, he’s not totally sure his name is dave, and as such usually avoids any complications by saying “hey, man,” whenever virgil sees him) is out hawking fruits and vegetables from his garden. lots of people are out on walks, some with earbuds or headphones on, some calling out jolly greetings to other people taking advantage of a blue sky and temperatures that are soaring above freezing.

“hey, virgil.”

“hey, felix,” virgil says, craning his neck to catch sight of—well, he guesses felix and riley are technically his tenants? but that always feels weird to say—his neighboring business owners. felix is busy making sure a promotional poster’s taped to the window. “how’re things?”

“ah, y’know, y’know,” felix says, waving their hands around. “weather’s warming up, so we’re getting into busy season. guess people want to be able to flaunt new ink in the warmer weather, y’know?”

“hey, speaking of—” virgil says.

“oh, yeah,” felix says, scratching at the half of their head that was once shaved bald but is now growing in stubbly. “you wanna have riley do one this time? they can draw up some sketches for you, if you want. or i can, if you want, but it might be a minute ‘cause i’m all hands on deck for this massive full-back piece.”

“nah, riley’ll be cool, it’s been a minute since they’ve done one for me,” virgil says. “i’ll drop by later with some reference photos, ideas and stuff.”

“i’ll make sure they’re refreshed on what your style is before the consultation,” felix says. “appreciate the business.”

“appreciate you and your spouse taking over this empty shop so taylor didn’t get a chance to,” virgil returns, as he usually does whenever felix or their riley thanks him for something. he’s really awkward about accepting gratitude, he’s working on that with emile and patton.

“god, could you imagine taylor next door,” felix says with a theatric shudder. “bad enough he runs half the town.”

“i’ll call tomorrow to make the appointment?”

felix flashes him a thumbs up, and virgil raises a hand in farewell as he continues on his way.

he ends up pushing his sleeves up to his elbows as he walks to the sanders’ house, occasionally saying hey to other residents of sideshire, or tilting his face up to the sun.

this winter’s been brutal, even worse than it usually is for the northeast, with absurd amounts of blizzards and ice. on the days where it wasn’t shoveling ridiculous amounts of snow on the whole town, the sky had been gray and overcast, and what little sun there was could barely stream weakly through the clouds.

but now, the sun sinks softly into his exposed skin, warming him without overheating him thanks to the breeze, carrying the sweet scent of tentatively blooming flowers planted by particularly audacious gardeners.

it is a perfect, lovely spring day.

by the time he gets to the cheerful yellow clapboard house, he’s taken enough deep, calming breaths to ensure that he is a calming presence. he ascends the stairs of the wraparound porch—oh, huh, looks like patton or logan’s making an attempt at being a gardener, that looks like mountain mint—and knocks lightly on the front door.

“please come in,” logan shouts, sounding exasperated, and virgil obligingly pushes the door open.

he toes off his shoes, even as he overhears patton’s voice, cajoling.

“hug-a-world! c’mon, you’ve gotta remember your hug-a-world!”

hug-a-world, virgil mouths to himself, before it comes back to him in sudden, vivid technicolor and he rounds the corner.

and, sure enough, surrounded by the detritus of the sanders home, patton and logan sit in a hastily-cleared space in the middle of their living room, patton holding a stuffed ball tight to his chest.

“of course i remember the hug-a-world,” logan says, still with that tone of exasperation, but lessened now at the sight of a beloved childhood toy.

“you can’t make me throw away your hug-a-world,” patton declares viciously, which would almost be believably threatening if he were not clutching a stuffed ball made to look like a globe to his chest, and if his curly hair was not sticking up in a configuration that virgil thinks of as chaotically unruly, and if he were not wearing a pink-and-blue sweater he usually busts out around easter, and if someone did not know patton as a person. “you learned all seven of your continents on hug-a-world!”

see, without fail, almost every year patton gets suckered into the whole concept of the spring clean. and, without fail, logan or virgil will try to point out that he does this every year, and patton insists no, really, this time for sure he’ll get rid of some of the clutter around this house, it’s about time!, and then he gets sidetracked getting attached to objects he finds that he suddenly cannot bear to get rid of, despite the fact that said objects have typically been buried away in a dark closet all the rest of the year.

which means that logan and virgil sit with him and try to point that out, and patton wavers, before he decides to keep or donate or trash it, and it seems like it’s going okay, until the next thing he touches turns out to be another thing that he suddenly cannot bear to give up.

it’s gotten a little better since that time they introduced the marie kondo method, but also, that much worse, because of course he insists that everything sparks joy!

but this is way more mess than usual. there are cardboard boxes and piles of clothes and bits and bobs that are in piles that come up to his ribs. virgil squints it at it suspiciously.

“attic,” logan says wearily, in explanation. “he got boxes out of the attic.”

oh, shit, the attic. god, that thing is stuffed to the brim with boxes, no wonder the living room looks like someone upended the odds-and-ends drawer for a giant into the house.

“but—c’mon,” patton says, in that same sweetly coaxing tone that usually makes them all throw up their hands and leave the rest of this spring cleaning mess for next year’s spring clean. he holds out the hug-a-world to logan. “hold it. marie says so.”

“marie does not realize that she has a special case with my hoarder of a father and therefore should customize the approach of sparks joy, because you have too wide a definition,” logan says, but he reaches out and takes the hug-a-world with both hands anyways.

virgil examines logan holding it, thinking suddenly of a much tinier logan with a gap in his front teeth holding the same toy in the same way, though the fabric had been much more vibrant shades of blue and green then. there had been a solid stretch of time that the hug-a-world had been the toy that logan had hugged falling asleep, back in the poolhouse. he’d taken the hug-a-world to the diner and to school and all around the inn and to the princes’ apartment and back again.

a side of logan’s mouth twitches up, and then, as if suddenly conscious of it, he forces the corners of his mouth to turn down as he stares at it.

“remember?” patton repeats, staring at logan and the hug-a-world fondly. “we used to take turns to squeeze it as tight as we could and then wherever our pinkies would end up, that’s where we were going to go together when you grew up.”

“yes,” logan says, and then loses the fight against his mouth, because it twitches up into a smile again. “many a trip to uzbekistan was planned that way.”

“look!” patton says, pointing and tilting his head. “that’s canada, then, where’d your other one get you?”

logan moves his other pinky in order to squint at the faded fabric. “i believe that’s cambodia. possibly vietnam, i was rather splitting the border.”

“why not both?” patton says pragmatically, or as pragmatically as he can sound planning a potential trip based off hugging a ball.

logan hesitates, holding the ball.

“look,” patton says. “hey, how about virgil helps clean it up, and the hug-a-world can live in your room?”

logan chews at the inside of his lip.

“if it sparks joy,” patton sing-songs.

logan heaves a sigh.

“the hug-a-world will live in my room, then,” he says, before looking to virgil. “we’ve started a pile for you right here,” and pats a pile of what mostly looks like clothes that can be either repaired, repurposed, or sneakily donated.

virgil takes a breath, and says, “i’ll crack open a window and put on some music, then. patton, you take your allergy medicine today?”

patton tilts his head to think about it.

“that’s a no,” virgil says. “i’ll grab it on the way. water, snacks? we’re gonna be here for a while.”

“are we?” logan says doubtfully, twisting to look at him.

“we are finishing spring clean this year!” patton insists. “i mean it this time!”

logan arches his eyebrows at virgil, and virgil mouths play along, and logan sighs before he turns back to the pile, pulling out an old jacket at random.

“i have never seen you wear this. it should be donated.”

“that was from raf, we can’t just toss it!” patton cries out in dismay, and virgil heads for the kitchen.

he fills up three glasses of water, chops up some celery and apples, fills up three mini ramekins with peanut butter, and sets it all on a tray, along with the round white pill that patton takes for his allergies.

he plugs in his phone and scrolls to a roman-made playlist, lowering the volume so that they’ll be able to hear each other, and proceeds to make his meandering way around the piles of Stuff as best he can without knocking anything over.

on his way, he moves to crack open the windows of the living room, allowing the floral-scented air to waft into the messy room, to hear the chirping of the birds under patton and logan’s debating.

he pushes aside a pile of old books on the coffee table and sets the tray down, mostly ignored as logan manages to triumph and tosses the jacket into a box labeled DONATE.

virgil settles down next to his pile, sitting in criss-cross-applesauce, and gosh all of the clutter of patton and logan’s lives looms over them like a mountain at this angle.

“okay,” virgil says encouragingly. “good, that’s good! raf’s old jacket will probably make some other teenager very happy to have it.”

patton sighs, staring after the jacket. “yeah, i guess.”

“this is good,” virgil says stubbornly, before tugging at a piece of fabric sticking out at random and unearthing a blanket.

“oh, i was wondering where that got off to!” patton says, delighted.

“i thought that got lost in the moving shuffle,” virgil agrees, because the last time he saw this he was pretty sure it was tossed over the back of their rented apartment couch.

“so this blanket has not been washed in at least six years,” logan says.

“well, that can be fixed!” patton points out. “i say keep.”

“we’re never going to finish,” logan groans.

“of course we’re gonna finish!” patton says.

“yeah, logan,” virgil says unconvincingly. “listen to your dad.”

patton beams at him, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek; logan rolls his eyes, before he turns his attention to the blanket.

“so, you claim keep for your room,” logan says. “you already have so many blankets.”

“well, we can always use more blankets!” patton points out. “worse comes to worse, we’ll put it in the linen closet.”

logan tilts his head, before he sighs, and places it in a pile of other fabrics that they seem to have decided to keep.

“all right, fine,” he says, then fishes out another piece of fabric. “next item—”

“look how fast we settled that!” patton says brightly.

“pretty fast,” virgil agrees dutifully.

“we’ll totally finish spring clean this year,” patton says confidently.

(they do not finish spring clean this year.)

#my post #text #my fic #my fanfiction #the sideshire files #sideshire files #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #moxiety

50 notes · View notes

noonmutter · 3 years

Note

Kinky Questions, Go!! ALL 50! At least the ones you haven't gotten yet.

*knucklecrack*

1: Kitchen Counter, Couch, or on top of the dryer?

"Yes. If I gotta pick one, couch. Th' dryer's noisy an' I like bein' able t' hear th' other person.

2: Your last sexual encounter: Good or Bad and why:

Answered here!

3: A fictional person that you think would be good in bed:

(I actually don't know any ingame fiction to draw an answer from here, sorry. <.<)

4: Something that never fails to make you horny:

"Pullin' me int' you. Up, down, chest-t'-chest, back-t'-chest, whatever. Not often I get manhandled, y'ken?"

5: Where is one place you would never have sex:

"I mean, never say never, but somewhere it'd take some real convincin' t'get me t' do it? Th' meetin' space at th' center o' th' Dreamgrove. I'd sooner set my 'air on fire than fuck where th' statue o' Malorne might watch me, an' Remulos would not approve."

(Rest below the cut! Yes I did do all of them!)

6: The most awkward moment during a sexual experience was when:

"...Wakin' up in a pile o' people after an especially long bender, none of 'om I recognized, an' not one stitch o' clothin' anywhere in sight except fer a gnome-sized miniskirt. An' there were no gnomes in th' pile! "Days like tha' are why I don't fuck drunk anymore."

7: Weirdest thing that ever made you horny:

"Tenderizin' steak." Sigh. "Pretty sure it was th' smell o' th' raw meat, mostly.

8: What is the best way to sexually bind someone: Handcuffs, Rope, or Other [if other please explain]:

"With my bare 'ands, or with my teeth 'oldin' somethin' sensitive. Wolf's snout kin fit all th' way 'round most people's throats without actually bitin' down as long as I get th' canines all th' way across, an' as long as neither of us move too terribly much, it's great fun."

9: What is the fastest way to make you horny:

"Hook a finger in my collar an' pull me t' yer eye level. Trouble is, if we're not already pretty damn close an' y' start grabbin' at my collar, I might punch y'."

10: Top or bottom?

"Switch."

11: We were about to ____________ but then ______________ [example: we were about to have sex but then his mom walked in] "We were about t' sneak off t' start our 'oneymoon but then I tripped through a portal some jackass dropped in th' middle o' th' weddin' party an' 'ad t' fly all th' way back first.

12: Is one orgasm enough? Are multiple orgasms necessary?

"Sometimes it's enough, sometimes it's a start, sometimes it's not even th' point. Really depends on th' mood at th' moment, dunnit? I like t'go as many rounds as either of us kin stand, most o' th' time, but I def'nitely find plenty o' value in just one long, slow go tha' ends when it ends.

13: Something that you have hidden in your room that you don’t want anyone to find:

His expression was less jovial than for most of these questions. "Th' collar I made for Vandy."

14: Weirdest nickname a significant other has ever called you:

"Squigglebird. Long story."

15: Two things you like [or dislike] about oral sex:

"Like th' noises it makes a person make--vocally, I mean--an' th' views it gives o' th' person I'm goin' down on an' th' person tha's goin' down on my. Don't like th' taste all tha' much, really 'ate some o' th' noises yer lips an' throat make if yer a li'l overzealous."

16: Weirdest sexual act some has performed [or tried to perform] on/with you:

"Li'l inflatable toy thingie in m' backside. Felt alright fer a while, cuz I mean it wasn't like it was th' first time I'd 'ad anythin' in there, but ah... she kept goin' past my willin'ness, an' it got pretty damn uncomfortable pretty damn fast. I might be willin' t' try it again but not without a lotta thought b'fore'and, an' not with my 'ands bound.

17: Have you ever tasted yourself? [If no, would you?] [If yes, what did you think?]

"Yeah." He shrugged. "Tasted like cum. Nothin' special."

18: Is it ever okay to not use a condom:

"I mean, if y'both agree to it an' y'don't fool around with anybody else, then yeah it's fine. Overwhelmin' majority o' th' time, I wrap up, even with m'wives."

19: Who was the sexiest teacher you ever had?

"...I din't 'ave any teachers I thought were sexy? My first shan'do was a 'andsome elven woman 'o could arm-wrestle a grizzly an' win, but she wasn't wha' I'd call sexy. Too gruff, too keen t' be alone."

20: A food that you would like to use during a sexual experience:

"Not somethin' I really think about in advance, t'be honest. Cook or no cook, food just kinda 'appens on a whim."

21: How big is too big:

"Can't get my mouth 'round it is usually a problem. Length isn't so much a concern, just means y' won't get t' bury it all th' way after a certain point unless y' want me dead."

22: One sexual thing you would never do:

"Mess with any bod'ly fluids besides cum. I tried real 'ard t'understand tha' one an' I just can't, sorry. Gross."

23: Biggest turn on:

"Depends on th' person; wha's 'ot from one is wierd comin' from another. Pickin' out of a hat? When Val'rin says somethin', then rolls 'is eyes up t' look at me an' tacks on a plaintive li'l 'Sir?' at th'end."

24: Three spots that drive you insane:

"Pretty much anywhere on m' throat, th' undersides o' my wrists, an' my 'air. Partic'larly yankin' on it. Just... don't come up an' do it outta nowhere. Like with m' collar, tha' shit'll get y' punched an' I'd argue y' prolly deserve it."

25: Worst possible time to get horny:

"Most times aren't really tha' bad, Iunno... middle of a warzone I guess?"

26: Do you like it when your sexual partner moans:

"I'm kinna suspicious of anybody 'o doesn't. Wha' kinna person doesn't love tha' kinda instant feedback? Tell me I'm doin' a good job, tell me 'ow t' do a better job, tell me just 'ow blown yer mind is by losin' track o' words, sing me a song."

27: Worst sexual idea you ever had:

"Really dunno why I thought it was a good idea t' let a blindfolded guy toss me anywhere, least of all into a bed with a solid headboard on it."

He touched the back of his head in remembered pain.

28: How much fapping is too much fapping:

"When yer chafed an' still 'aven't finished cuz yer too damned raw and desensitized t' get off, it's prolly time t' stop fer a while."

29: Best sexual complement you ever got:

Answered here!

30: Bald, landing strip, Jumanji:

"Landin' strip, ideally. I kin deal with whatever but tha's th' most convenient amount. Less potential fer mess."

31: Is it good sex if you don’t nut?

"What a bizarre question, 'course it is. Shit, sometimes tha's 'alf th' point."

32: Fill in the blank: “If they ____________, we are fuckin”

"Bite my neck 'r pin me t' a wall."

33: What your favorite part of your body:

"My 'air. It's gotten damned difficult t' take care of, but th' tradeoff's pretty worth it."

34: Favorite foreplay activities:

"Touchin'. Just... touchin'. Runnin' my fingers real light an' soft across ev'ry...single...inch...of a playmate's body. Learnin' th' curves, th' blemishes, th' scars, th' ins, th' outs, th' sensitive spots, th' ticklish bits, th' fav'rites all by touch. I kin do tha' fer hours if they'll let me."

35: Love (>,<, or =) Sex For those of us who don’t remember our math that's “greater than, less than, or equal to]

"Does not equal. Th' two kin be completely unrelated t'one another an' tha's perfec'ly fine. They kin en'hance each other when they're both involved, but they aren't incomplete without one another at all."

36: What do you wear to bed?

"If I kin get away with it, nothin'. I run 'ot these days, it's real easy t' overheat if I wear stuff t' sleep.

37: When was the first time you masturbated:

"Gods, Iunno. Thirteen? Fifteen? Somewhere in there."

38: Do you have any nude/masturbating pictures/video of yourself?

"Not tha' I keep fer very long. I make 'em an' send 'em t' people tha' I made 'em for, then I get rid of 'em cuz I don't wanna watch m'self wankin' or whatever."

39: Have you ever/when was the last time you had sex outside?

"So many times, gods alive. Last time was a few days ago, if y' count th' back acres on our property as outside enough."

40: Have/would you ever have sex outside?

Leon just kinda snorted. (See previous answer!)

41: Have/would you ever had a threesome?

"Sev'ral times, an' I would 'appily do so again with th' right people. Fun, but occasionally tricky t' figger out."

42: What is one random object you’ve used to masturbate?

"Most o' th' time I'm very borin' an' just stick t' my 'and an' maybe a dildo, but I got one o' those vibratin' sleeve thingers not too long ago tha' I've been meanin' t' try out..."

43: Have/would you ever masturbate at work/school?

"No, an' maybe. If I were still workin' in a kitchen where other people 'ad t' work an' there's food ev'rywhere, it'd be an absolutely not. I work in a private workshop by th' 'ouse now, so I kin get away with it more, long as 'm careful. Thus far I 'aven't been so tempted tha' I couldn't make it back in th' house first, though."

44: Have/would you ever have sex on a plane?

"Never been in one, be willin' t' try. I've 'eard 'ow tiny those bathrooms are."

45: What is one song you’d like to have sex to?

"...gonna 'ave t' ask me that'un again in a few months when I know more songs, sorry."

46: What is something nonsexual that makes you horny?

Answered here!

47: Most attractive celebrity?

"Do th' Tarts count as celebrities? I'm not even gonna try t' pick one, but tha's all I got."

48: Do you watch gay/lesbian porn? why/why not?

"Not a big porn-watcher in gen'ral, my life feels like a goddamned romance novel as it is. Not often I need more'n a couple o' particularly fond mem'ries."

49: If a child was born on the occasion of the last time you had sex, how old would that child be right now?

"Four days."

50: Has anyone ever posted nude pictures of you online?

(Hard to answer this one since the internet at large isn't really a thing in WoW, at least not in a widely-accepted enough way for me to answer it...)

51: What is one thing that NEVER makes you horny?

"Put-downs. Don't call me slut or boy or bitch--gods, especially not bitch--or th' like if y'want me t' go 'ome with y'."

52: Do you have stretch marks? (How do you feel about them? Has anyone ever had a problem with them?)

"Not tha' I've seen."

53: Do you like giving head? (why/why not)

"Like givin' it cuz it makes m' playmate feel real nice, don't like th' flavor s' much."

54: How do you feel about tattoos on someone you are interested in?

"Doesn't make a dif'rence t' me, aside from most tattoos bein' pretty."

55: How would you feel about taking someones virginity?

"Done it, though I'm not a fan o' th' phrasin'. They put some trust in me, I din't take anythin'."

56: Is there any food you would NOT recommend using during a sexual encounter?

"Nothin' spicy. Period. Just don't. It's not worth it."

57: Is there anything you do on Tumblr that you would not like your significant other to see?

(Another one that doesn't really have an answer in this context.)

58: Do you own any sex toys? (what is it? (how long have you had it?)

Leon burst out laughing and pointed at the full-size steamer trunk at the foot of his bed. "Tha's not even close t' all of it, either. Gods alive, wha' a question t' ask me!"

59: Would you give your significant other unrestricted access to your Tumblr for a day?

"Wouldn't give 'em unrestricted access t' anythin' private o' mine fer a day. If it's tha' private t' begin with, it's cuz it's my safe 'aven, an' they respect tha', same as I do their private stuff."

60: Would you be offended if your significant other suggested you get plastic surgery?

"A li'l bit if it came outta nowhere, but I've talked a fair bit about wishin' I could get rid o' some o' my scars. It's not somethin' I wouldn't consider tryin'."

61: Would you rather be a pornstar or a prostitute?

"Pretty 'appy doin' th' latter as it is. Don't think I'd wanna try th' recorded stuff, it seems like it'd be really awkward t' do tha' fer a cam'ra crew an' with somebody 'o ain't really enjoyin' it."

62: Do you watch porn?

"Not really. Most of it's not int'restin' t' me."

63: How small is too small?

"'Too small' is 'ard fer me t' quantify. I 'aven't found anythin' too small fer me t' work with some'ow."

64: Have you ever been called a freak? Why?

Bit of a flat look. "Worgen."

65: Who gave you your last kiss? Did it mean anything?

"Me an' th' guy 'o fucked me on th' fence out back shared quite a few kisses b'fore, durin', an' after. Mostly they meant 'fuck yer hot.'"

66: Would you switch phones with your significant other for a day?

"I mean, I could. Nothin' on there I wouldn't want any of 'em t' see. Be a bit inconvenient though."

67: Do you feel comfortable going “commando”?

"Frankly I'm more comfortable tha' way than otherwise. Spent too long with a big ol' poof o' fur around m' crotch t' be comfy with most undies. Same reason I'm not overly fond o' shoes either."

68: Would you have a problem with going down on someone if they hadn’t shaved their pubic hair?

"Purely in a logistical sense, yeah. I kin still go t' town an' do thin's right, but it's... sloppy. Those 'airs seem t' WANT t' get in yer mouth, an' all tha', an' it's just so much messier overall."

69: If you could give yourself head, would you?

"'O says I can't?"

70: Booty or Boobs?

"I am very much an ass man."

71: If you had a penis, what would you name it?

"I do, but I didn't. Namin' it seems strange."

72: Have you ever been on an official date?

"Sev'ral, but all of 'em only took place in th' last few years. Never when I was growin' up."

73: Have you ever cheated on someone? (Why?)

"No, an' I never will, an' you kin quote me on tha'."

74: If you were a stripper, what would your name be?

"I 'aven't th' faintest idea 'ow tha' works."

75: Have you ever had sex in your parents bed? (Would you?)

"Nope. Never 'ad th' opportunity, an' I think I'd rather throw up on th' floor an' eat it."

76: How would you react if you found out your parents had sex in your bed?

"Sweet, I'm gettin' a new bed!"

77: What was your reaction the first time you saw a penis/vagina

"Assumin' we're not talkin' about my own bits... 'That's not gonna fit!' fer a dick, an' 'This is a lot less sexy than th'other lads made it out t'be' fer a cooch."

78: If you had a penis/vagina for a day, what are five things you would do?

Answered here!

79: Oral, Anal, or Vaginal?

"Yes."

80: What’s the first thing you look at on someone of the opposite gender?

"Their face. Also 'ow they carry themselves. But mostly their face."

( @pinpep @shckaewynn @valarin-sunstorm for mentions )

#prompty things #leon #SUCK IT RANEK

10 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 years

Text

Long Way Home

Warnings: noncon sex.

This is dark!Bucky Barnes (Biker! AU) and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: You're on your way back to the small town you grew up in. As usual, nothing goes to planned.

Life never failed to kick you when you were down. After months of resistance to the idea, you finally succumbed to the last resort. The city had been less than kind to you and the cost of living had drained you; even with two jobs and sixty hours a week. The toll had become exhausting; maddening. After a tub of ice cream, a bottle of wine, and a long talk with your mom, you gave notice and packed up your urban life in a single suitcase. The rest you sold and bid a somber goodbye.

You hadn’t planned on living with your parents again. The thought of moving back in after declaring your independence was humiliating. Your mom’s satisfaction on the phone had been insufferable. The drive was worse. You couldn’t afford a flight home, nor did you want to sell the last vestige of your sovereignty. So you filled up the tank of your beaten up Honda and set off on your journey home.

You came to a crossroad just an hour out of town. With twelve hours behind you, it was so close it hurt. You could pay the toll and be on the streets of your childhood in the next sixty minutes or you could take the country roads and bide the extra thirty. You opted for the latter as you thought of the pricey sandwich you bought at the last station. You knew it would come back to bite you in the wallet. You were trying to be frugal and you had more time than money.

Fifteen minutes down the back road, the evening sun blazing down, and you heard the sputter. You looked to the gauge over the steering wheel and whined. “No, no, no!” Your car wasn’t used to this kind of heat. You steered into the dirt as you stalled out and beat on the wheel with your fists as it finally came to a halt. You shifted into park and let out a frustrated holler. Why now?

You finished freaking out on your lemon of a vehicle and looked up into the setting sky. Shit. You checked your phone for the time and dialed your mom’s number. Nothing. No signal. You climbed out of the car, held the phone up and waved it back and forth; nada. Not a single bar. You had one option and it wasn’t a great one.

There was a bar ahead; the closest sign of life. You remembered driving past it as a kid on your family trips. Your mother always warned you about it. The men in their crested leather astride their roaring bikes. When they drove through town, people looked away. They kept their heads down and their lips shut. Maybe you could just walk until you found a signal. Whatever came first.

You grabbed your purse and slung it over your shoulder and grumbled. It would have been worse on the toll road; you likely would have caused a crash. It wasn’t much consolation as you started down the dusty road. Maybe someone else would pass and they could help you out. Sure, how many people were as stupid as you in this world?

You dragged your feet through the gravel. You checked your phone every few steps. Still no signal. You cursed the further you got and when you came in sight of the bar, your heart sank with the sun. Nightfall was only minutes away and you were marching into a den of strangers. The very monsters your mother told you childhood tales of. The real ones, not those beneath your bed.

The bar was even more ominous as you stood before it. Motorcycles stood on kickstands like a pack of wolves and the sky loomed closer to black. The moon peeked down in a sliver. You played with the loop along the waist of your shorts. You took a deep breath and marched forward.

You stopped before you reached the door, your eye drawn by a shape hidden at the corner of the bar’s facade. You glanced over at the artifact and stepped out of the way as the door swung open. You retreated into the shadows as the slender man burped and lit a cigarette. He didn’t pay you any heed as you approached the forgotten payphone.

You slipped a quarter in the slot but it glided down to the return. You tried again and lifted the receiver. No tone. Shit. Of course. Life could never give you an easy out. You looked back to the door. The skinny biker was still smoking. He leaned against the side of the building as he stared up at the sky. You could smell the alcohol from there.

You edged closer. He still didn’t notice you. You were thankful he didn’t flinch as you reached the door. You needed a moment before you dove into the void. The unknown. You stepped inside.

Aged sconces along the walls lit the barroom in a yellowed din. A pool table across the room and a long bar against the left side. Tables dappled the worn hardwood and voices mixed with the distorted buzz of classic rock from the cracked jukebox in the corner. The smell of sweat and alcohol mixed with body heat thickened the air. Men in leather jackets, both bald and overly furry, stood and sat around the room. A few other women were there. Some as hard as the men; others in short skirts and cropped halters. You felt modest in your cutoffs and slouched tee.

The door swung behind you and footsteps sounded from the other side. You moved out of the way before you could be knocked over by the man who had ignored you without. You were near invisible in this place. Still you felt like a seal among sharks. You crossed to the bar, two burly men with their elbows planted on the ledge barely noticed as you stepped up beside them. The bartender’s head was bare but for the ink that curved along his dome. His heavy brows furrowed as he watched the men playing pool at the end of the room.

“Uh, hello,” You called to the man behind the bar. His grey eyes clung to the man bent over the felt. A hustler no doubt. Still, you had pertinent business and little patience. Especially as you sensed the familiar and unwanted heat of attention. “Excuse me.” You waved a hand above you in and effort to draw the attention of the bartender. Still nothing. “Hey!”

A piercing whistle nearly burst your eardrum. The man beside you, with his knotted ginger beard and deeply wrinkled skin, removed his grimy fingers from his mouth. “Eh, the lady needs some help…” You tried to ignore his eyes as they lingered on you and the bartender finally tore his attention from the pool table “Whatever she wants is on me.”

“Um, thanks but I--” You turned back to the man behind the bar, “I don’t need a drink, I just need a phone.” Your cell was still in hand and without use. The triangle was empty. “I gotta make a call.”

“A phone?” The bartender scowled.

“No signal,” You explained as you fiddled with your phone. “So, do you have a phone I can borrow? Please?”

“Sure,” He shrugged and turned around. He searched the rack of bottles, glasses, and other miscellany. “Just a second,” He called over his shoulder as he began to move stuff around.

“You like whiskey?” The man at your shoulder asked. You subtly edged away from him as he leaned in. You could smell the alcohol on his breath and the pungent sweat in his beard. “Beer?”

“No thank you. I’m not thirsty,” You answered politely as you watched the bartender in his search.

“We don’t got any girly drinks here but maybe Tom’s got some apple juice. Take the kick off for ya,” The man offered with a slimy chuckle. The roar of motors sounded just outside and muffled half his sentence.

“Really, I’m good,” You kept a foot between you as you clung to the bar, hoping the phone would appear soon. The bar door swung open as new voices were added to the drone. The man beside you slid off his stool and you bumped into the seat on the other side as you tried to keep your distance.

“Just one drink,” He slurred. The bartender was knelt down and digging between jars. “Come on.”

“No, please, really,” You gripped your phone tightly as you found yourself trapped between him and the stool. “I don’t drink.”

“You can always start.” He leaned on the bar as he loomed closer.

“She said no,” The voice surprised you and a man you hadn’t noticed before stood with arms crossed. His dark hair and bright eyes looked vaguely familiar but you couldn’t place them. His broad shoulders stretched the fabric of his leather jacket and his stance betrayed authority. The man beside you huffed but retreated slowly to his stool. “Leave her alone.”

“Alright,” The strange man raised his hands defenselessly and sat back down. He picked up his empty glass and barked at the bartender for another.

A smack on the bar and you turned to the bald barkeep as he dropped a worn cordless on the tarnished wood. You took it and thanked him in a small voice. You spun back to the man who had saved you and nodded with another meek ‘thanks’. The corner of his lips twitched but he said nothing as he turned and marched across the bar. You watched him sit heavily in a chair where several other men were settling in and you exhaled in relief. You needed to be out of here as soon as possible.

You skirted around the bar to the small hallway just on the other side. The bathrooms were on the right side and a door marked private stood opposite. You hid in the grim corridor and dialed the operator.

“Operator, how can I direct you?” The voice chimed on the other end.

“I need a tow truck just outside of Langruth.” You said. “Just near Porter’s Bar.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, all the tow trucks are currently closed for the day.” The operator replied without a hint of sympathy.

“What? Aren’t they 24/7?” You leaned against the wall as anxiety tore through you.

“Sorry, Langruth has no 24/7 tow service.” She explained.

“What about Jared’s?” You asked.

“Jared’s shut down two years ago.” Her answer made you hang your head.

“Okay, well...thanks,” You hung up and stared at the glowing screen until it dimmed.

You sighed and unlocked your cell phone. You searched your contacts until your mom’s number shone across the screen. You reluctantly punched in the keys. She’d be so pissed. Not just that she had to bail you out once more but that you were currently in this shady bar. You could hear the lecture already. You hit ‘call’ and waited. You dug your toe into the hardwood floor as you braced yourself for the onslaught. You felt like a teen again.

No answer. You glared at the phone and hit redial. Again, no answer. You shook your head and tried a third time. Still nothing. You couldn’t even call your dad because he had moved out of town before you had. Jesus Christ, had you really paddled this far up shit river?

You cursed and tramped back up the hall. This really wasn’t good. You should be happy to be spared your mother’s usual reprimands but at what cost? You’re last option was to wait for your car to cool off in the night in hopes that it would start again or sleep in it. You’d surely be stuck with the latter. You replaced the phone on the bar top and checked your cell phone. Still no service.

You looked around the bar and you the sweat pooled along your neck. You couldn’t help but feel watched as more patrons had noticed the sore thumb moping towards the door. You ducked your head and sped up. The sooner you were gone, the better. You pushed through the swinging door and another ‘fuck’ floated from your lips at the sight of the black sky. A few stars and a sliver of the moon would be little help in your plight.

You flicked on the flashlight on your phone and held it up as you looked across the lot of motorcycles. The smell of dusk filled your nose and you urged yourself forward. You’d rather the deserted roads than the crowded bar. You dragged your feet through the dust and peered down the dark highway. Not even street lights to guide you. Just the deep blue sky and distant celestial orbs.

You shone the light ahead of you and began down the perilous back road. Almost ten feet down the way and your heart seized at the sound of decisive steps behind you. You spun and aimed your phone frantically until the shadow came into focus. It was the same dark-haired man who had fended off the creep at the bar. He held a hand up to shield his eyes from the bright beam of your phone. You lowered it and stepped back nervously.

You recognized him now. He was older than the last time you had seen him. His hair was longer too. He had been a senior when you were a freshman. Every kid in Langruth attended the same highschool, thus they were cursed to the same communal hell that is small town adolescence. The realization did not reassure you. He wore a leather jacket that marked him as a Howling Commando. The same beasts your mother had warned you against.

“Hey, I know you,” He said before you could find your voice.

“Yeah?” You said warily. Your fingers tightened around your phone as you kept it waist level.

“High school.” He said plainly. “I think I knew your sister.”

More like despised, you thought. Lana, the star valedictorian, had no love for her class’s resident heartthrob and bad boy. Perhaps you carried some of that with you. “Oh yeah, maybe,” You hid your anxiety. He made no move towards you and bore no obvious ill will. If anything, he had kept you from the worst inside. “Sorry, I just...my car broke down and I gotta go deal with it.”

“Tow truck’s not in service,” He stated.

“I know.” You frowned.

“So, you got someone coming for you?” He asked.

You squinted at him and reluctantly answered. “No.”

“Do you know what’s wrong with it?”

“I’m sorry, why are you asking me all these questions? Better yet, why are you out here?” You tried to sound braver than you felt.

“You shouldn’t be wandering around here in the dark,” He said. “Trust me. There’s worse out here than in there. You’re lucky I’m the only one who followed you.”

“I think I can find my way. Thank you.” You grumbled.

“And then what? You gonna sleep in the car if you can’t fix it? At least let me have a look at it.” He offered. “I know a thing or two about these things.”

You turned your phone in your hand and glanced down at the bars. Still empty. You smacked a mosquito on your neck and huffed. “Fine.” You made to head back down the road as you raised your cell before you.

“Wait, wait,” He was almost laughing as he jogged after you, “I’ll drive you. My bike’s just back here. I promise, it’ll be a lot faster. If we’re lucky, you’ll have that car running and be nice and snug at home in less than an hour.”

You turned back and nearly collided with him. “I-I guess you’re right.”

You relented and he stepped away. He waved you towards the bar as he headed towards the lot. You followed silently as he led you to the bike closest to the bar. You couldn’t see much even beneath the flickering sign. He unhooked a helmet from the handlebar and held it out to you. “Put this on.”

“What about you?” You asked as you switch the light off on your phone and tucked it away.

“I got a thick head. At least that’s I’ve been told,” You took the helmet and swore you saw a smile through the dark. He threw his leg over the seat and straddled the bike as he kicked up the stand. You blinked and struggled with the strap of the helmet. “By the way, I’m Bucky...and you’re, um, Lana’s sister?”

You told him your name as you finished with the helmet and climbed up behind him. There wasn’t much space left. “You headed back home?” He asked as he shoved his key in the slot.

“For a while,” You answered.

“A nice little homecoming, eh?” His chuckle was masked by the sudden roar the engine. “You might wanna hold on.” He yelled over his shoulder and patted his side. “Tight.”

He revved the bike once and you fell forward in a panic and clung onto him. The last thing you needed was to fly off before you even left the lot. You pressed yourself against his back as he rumbled up to the road; a brief glance back and forth before he tore off down the cracked concrete. The wind formed a tunnel around your bodies as he sped through the dark. You squeezed your eyes shut as the smell of exhausted filled your nostrils. You hated motorcycles.

Finally you came to a sharp stop. You were still latched onto Bucky as he killed the engine. He tapped your hand and you released him at once. The jolt nearly had you tumbling off the bike. You caught yourself before you could slip off and climbed down as he held it steady. He flipped the stand down and got off much smoother than you had. His boots ground the gravel beneath him.

“Light?” He asked and you pulled out your cell. Your battery was low. Great. Shit on top of more shit. You turned the light on and searched in the grey. Your car was a blur in the dark. He walked over to it and you followed a foot behind. He slapped the hood as he neared, “Wanna pop it?”

You didn’t answer. Instead you fished in your pocket and hit unlock as you approached the driver’s side. You opened the door and leaned over the seat to pull the lever. The subtle ‘pop’ sounded and he lifted the hood with ease. You tested the interior light; nothing. Shit. The heat must’ve drained the battery. You pushed yourself out and closed the door with a sigh.

You came around to shine the light down at the array of parts you could never figure out. He bent over and looked closely. His hand glossed over the battery and he felt around in the nooks and cranny. He held out his hand without glancing up and you hesitantly handed over the phone. He angled it towards where he was focused and you watched as he fiddled around.

He stood up and held the light over engine. “Go. Give it a try.” You blinked at him but obeyed. You rounded the car and plopped inside again. You took out your keys and shoved them in the hole. You cranked and the ignition didn’t so much as sputter. “One sec. Let me try something.” He called and you pulled the key out. A few minutes of tinkering and he gave the thumbs up around the hood. You tried again. Still as lively as a mouse in a trap. “Fuck. Battery’s kaput. It’d be one thing if it was a leak in your radiator but the battery’s totally fried.”

“Shit, are you serious?” You stood and almost slammed the door. The hood snapped shut as you neared him. What the fuck were you going to do? You could see if the signal was back.

“Yeah, I mean, not much we can do til the morn--” He went silent as you reached for your phone.

He sidestepped you and flicked it so that the light burned your retinas. You held up your hand and growled. “What are you doing? Give me my phone.” His finger slid across the screen and the light died. He raised it over his head; far beyond where you could reach. You slid to a halt before him and glared as best as you could through the dim. “This isn’t funny. Give me it back.”

“Well, I warned you,” He lowered the phone slowly as he kept his distance, “You shouldn’t be wandering around out here in the dark.” He dropped the phone suddenly. You stooped to grab it but his heels came down faster. His boot barely missed your fingers. “It’s dangerous.”

“Oh my god!” He moved his foot and you scooped up the remnants of your phone. “What the fuck, dude?”

You stood and the shattered screen was swept away. Once more your only lifeline fell to the dirt. Your heart leaped and you stepped back as your reality overshadowed the broken gadget. You were out in the middle of nowhere in the dark with a stranger and likely criminal. Just because you knew his face from high school didn’t mean you knew the man in adulthood. You gulped and tried to keep your fear hidden.

You stared at each other. It was as if he was daring you to do something. Even in the moonlight, his eyes sparkled with menace. “Bucky,” You said calmly, “Can you just take me back to the bar?” He didn’t say anything, only got closer. For each step he took forward, you took one back.

You spun and bolted back the way you came. You didn’t make it past his bike before you were stopped by the collar of your shirt. He clung to the cotton and drew it tight until it choked you. You pulled against him but his arm hooked around your middle and he lifted you off your feet. “Stop! Get off!”

“You think any different would happen back there? Hmm? You walk into that bar and you’ll have worse than me on your ass.” He snarled in your ear.

“No,” You kicked out and tried to reach the ground. You were like a turtle on its back as you fought against him. “No! Please! I didn’t--Why are you doing this?”

“Little girls like you shouldn’t be hanging around here,” He turned and let you back down to the ground. Even with your feet planted, your strength was nothing to his. “Shouldn’t be out after dark all alone.”

“Urgh, let me go!” You hollered as you clawed at his leather sleeve.

“Your sister was a real bitch in high school,” He sneered. “You know she came back to town a few months ago. Ran into her.” He forced you against the side of his bike. “Same old stuck up princess.” He removed his arm from your waist and grabbed the back of your neck. His fingertips dug into your skin until you bent over. “You’re just like her, aren’t you? You act all sweet but you’re really just a bitch.”

“I…” Your voice cracked and you tried to push yourself up as he bent you over the seat. “I’m not her. Please, don’t--”

He slapped your ass. Hard. You let out a yelp and braced the bike. “I know your family. I know where you came from. I know it all. Apple doesn’t fall far.”

“Stop, plea--”

He brought his hand down again and it sent a jolt up your spine. “Shut up. If I have to tell you again, I’ll gag you with your own shoe. Now zip it.” His voice silenced you and you lifted your head to look around. The open field led to a line of trees. The wilderness the only witness to your tragedy. “This little innocent act you put on…” He scoffed, “I know it’s nothing but a little game. You like to play with people. Use them for your enjoyment.” He shoved his foot between yours and kicked your legs apart. “I think it’s about time you know what it’s like to be the butt of the joke.”

“I’m not my sister,” You argued. His hand slipped around your neck as he bent over you. He squeezed and you gurgled.

“Close enough.” He hissed behind your ear. His breath was hot against your skin.

You couldn’t help but tremble as he pushed against you. Your arms were trapped beneath you and his iron grip held your head up. His nose tickled the shell of your ear and his teeth nipped at it. Tears pricked at your eyes and you kicked out desperately. His other hand slid the hem of your shirt up and his rough palm grazed along your side. He reached around to cup your breast as he forced your head up further and you arched your back painfully with a groan.

“Your tits are nicer than hers,” He rasped, “Thin little cheerleader type, isn’t she?” You bit down and didn’t answer. You couldn’t as your head pulsed from the lack of air. He let go of your neck and his other hand found your chest. He rubbed his crotch against your ass and his hands pulled at your bra until it snapped between the cups. He fondled you roughly and tweaked your nipples. “You can go on and scream. No one will hear you...but it might just piss me off.”

He stood and you tried to push yourself up. He caught your head and shoved you back down. The bike shifted below you but stayed standing. “It’s really up to you how this goes? If you’re so intent on going back to the bar, I’ll drag you in there and fuck you in front of every greasy bastard in there or--” He grabbed your hips and thrust against your ass. “You can shut that little mouth of yours, princess”

You shivered and your arms went limp beneath you. Your head fell forward and signaled your surrender. He chuckled and his fingers walked along the waistband of your shorts. You flinched as he fumbled with your fly, the button unhooked easily and zipper slid down in a single flick. The denim went slack and he grasped both shorts and panties. He tore them down to your knees. The cool night air made you quiver.

He spread his hand across your ass while his other worked at his own pants. You could hear his zipper descend as his fingers kneaded your ass roughly. You closed your eyes and held your head in your hands. Your arms tingled. His hand slipped down and he poked around. You flinched as his fingers glided along your folds and dipped between them. Your breath caught and your body went rigid.

He rescinded his hand and you exhaled in relief. His palm stung your ass as he slapped it again and you whimpered. You felt a prod along your ass. You shuddered at the sensation. The head of his cock was smooth and firm. He bent his knees and angled it down to your entrance. He rubbed it up and down your fold and dragged his finger across your clit.

He was impatient. He pushed inside roughly. You weren’t wet enough to ease his entrance. Your thighs quaked as your walls burned. You gasped and his hand gripped your hip firmly. Only your toes were still in the dirt as he impaled you entirely. He pulled back and slammed back in. You were in shock; almost numb despite the pain. It was dull; distant. As if it wasn’t your body.

His other hand bunched the hem of your tee and he pulled it taut so that it choked you. It was enough that you had to lift your head. He worked in and out of you. His grunts pierced the air and the metal of his fly bit your flesh. You clawed the leather seat as the night air no longer nipped at you. The heat crawled down your spine and nestled in your pelvis. Your cheeks burned in shame and you gulped back the moan that threatened to rise. No...no.

He sank to his limit and you squeaked. He pulled out just as sharply and you were surprised as his hand was no longer on your hip. His boots kicked through the gravel and he came up before you. Even through the dark, you could see the shape of him. His cock held firmly in his hand as he stood in front of you. His other hand went to your head and he pressed the tip to your lips.

You tried to shake your head but he held it steady. He pushed until your lips parted and you were forced to take him. You could taste yourself on him as he reached your throat. You gagged as he tried to go further and he pulled back only to thrust back in. He kept his motion shallow and slow at first, going deeper a little at a time. When your lips met his base, he held himself there and shuddered.

“See, that’s what girls like you deserve,” He growled. “It’s what you really want.” He thrust in and out and your entire body revolted as you fought back the retch. He eased himself out and you slowly relaxed. Your saliva strung between your mouth and his cock.

He stepped back and you watched as he tugged his sleeves down his arms. He removed his leather jacket and hung it on the handlebar. He pushed his shoulders back and cracked his neck. He paced around the bike and you shakily stood. He stopped you, his hands on your shoulders as he pressed you against the bike.

“Sit down.” He ordered. He released you and smacked your ass. You could feel bruises grow with each strike.

You grabbed onto the bike and draped your leg over the seat. You steadied yourself with your hands on the metal body but were off-kilter as he climbed up behind you. He straddled the back of the seat and forced you closer to the body. He nudged your shoulder until you were bent over the front of the bike and lifted your ass off the seat. He slid forward and lowered you onto his cock slowly. You moaned and clapped your hand over your mouth. He pinched your ass and you moaned again. Your palms barely muffled the pathetic noise.

He impaled you to his limit and beyond yours. Your walls ached and his fingers closed around your waist. He guided you back and forth. Each thrust sharp and painful. His motion deliberate. Torturous as the heat became unbearable. The tingle bloomed to a tickle. Soon enough, an unyielding tide. You sucked in your lip and tried to smother the sounds of your reluctant delight. The quaking of your body could not disguise its betrayal.

His hands slipped down to your hips as he sped up. Your flesh slapped against his noisily as he brought you back harder and harder. He dove deeper and deeper. You bit down on your hand as the wave crested and washed over you in a swirl of delirium. He crashed into you mercilessly. His grunts were barely withheld.

He hooked his fingers around your shoulder as he filled you. You arched your back as he jabbed your cervix and you whined. He dragged his nails down your back as he let go of you and you fell limp against the bike. He pulled out of you as swiftly as before. You panted and hugged the cool metal.

He grabbed the back of your head and made you face him. His other hand stroked his cock as he stepped closer. He hissed as he came, the ribbons coated your lips and dripped down your cheeks. He pressed his cock to your lips and spread his cum around your mouth. He snorted and released you. He took the back of your tee shirt and wiped himself clean with the stretched fabric.

“Welcome back,” He slapped your ass again and laughed. He bent and lifted your shorts from the dirt. You sat up shakily and he tossed the denim at you. “Best get cleaned up for your little homecoming.”

tags to be added in reblog

#dark!bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #biker!bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes x reader #mcu #marvel #captain america #fic #au #bucky barnes #dark!fic #dark fic #darkverse #dark!verse

833 notes · View notes

wardencommanderrodimiss · 4 years

Text

Witches, Chapter 26: back in the courtroom, and everything’s coming up as a shitshow, which is honestly how it always goes. Welcome to hell, Athena.

The second trial day of Themis is one of my favorites because there’s both Blackquill being entirely done with everything, and him showing for the first time that he’s got a bit of a heart left. Good shit.

[Seelie of Kurain Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

[Witches Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

---

Juniper sits on the lobby couch, her hands cradling a lone large sunflower that Athena brought her, watching Athena interrupt her pacing with jumping jacks. “Shouldn’t you take it easy, Thena?” she asks. She was rather green about ten minutes ago, but assured them that it was just the iron and stress of jail that left her that way, and that she would look properly human by the time she would stand before the judge and gallery. And in the elapsed time her skin has settled in its hue, if paler than she was yesterday, her fear still apparent.

Athena whirls around with a wild glint in her eyes. The tired bags beneath them accentuate her crazed appearance. “I’m taking it easy! I’m fine! I’ve gotta get - be - ready to go!” She jogs in place; she hasn’t had both feet on the floor since she arrived.

“Did you get enough sleep last night?” Apollo asks, knowing the answer is no.

“Sleep? Huh?” Athena finally stops moving. “Yeah, sleep! Yeah I totally sleep! I’m fine!”

She sounds like him on his worst days. “That’s not exactly what I asked,” he says. Juniper stares back down into the center of the sunflower. “Maybe let’s just drop it. We’re not inspiring much faith in our client.”

“No,” Juniper says. She looks up. “I have complete faith in you, Thena.”

“O-oh.” From Athena’s face, she’s wondering if that faith is warranted. Apollo will make sure that it is. For both the girls’ sakes.

“Guten Morgen.” All three of them jump. Klavier chuckles. “Ready to put on a show?”

“Do you have anything about the tape?” Apollo asks. Despite his best efforts, he had found himself wondering when this was all going to come crashing down - if somehow Prosecutor Blackquill would find out and put a stop to it, or if somehow it couldn’t even be proven that the tape was fabricated—

“And not even a ‘hello’ to start with!” Klavier says, still cheerily; he can’t really have expected anything else from Apollo, could he? There’s a trial starting in fifteen minutes and Apollo doesn’t know anymore who he thinks is the killer. “A bit rude, don’t you think? And nonetheless, I have a good-luck present to you both.”

“Guten Morgen, Prosecutor Gavin!” How did Apollo end up stuck with two people like this? Apollo’s probably more fluent in Khura’inese than they are in German (and for Athena, Spanish or Italian or French…), but he doesn’t go around flaunting it like he’s so worldly and cultured. (And he wouldn’t do that even if Khura’in wasn’t something he wishes he would forget.) “Do you have something for us?”

“Of course I do, Fräulein. I could hardly just leave one as lovely as yourself hanging, now could I?” Apollo rolls his eyes, hoping Klavier sees it. Klavier offers to Athena a small stack of papers. “There you are. A summary of the voiceprint analysis, proving that the voice in the tape is most assuredly, exactly the same clip as spoken in the mock trial.” Athena rifles through the pages. “You’ll also notice that there’s still analysis ongoing - hoping to discover what was originally on the tape before it was turned into fabricated evidence. It might give us some other clues, ja? But unfortunately we don’t know much more at this point than the length of the prior recording.”

“Well, maybe that could still help out, somehow,” Athena says. “Thank you! And—” She frowns. “Is this a second copy of the same thing? Wait, this one’s got more information about—”

“About the logistics of the analysis and who precisely down at the precinct was working it,” Klavier interrupts. “That packet is for Herr Samurai. I did not think you would appreciate me tipping your hand to him beforehand, but I imagined there might be more that Herr Prosecutor would like to know to be sure that you are not the ones inventing this wholecloth.”

Klavier made the same warning yesterday when they first discussed this. “Do you think he would?” Apollo asks. “Accuse us of that?”

“Hm.” Klavier considers the question for longer than Apollo would like, idly snapping his fingers. Athena retreats to the couch to discuss their new evidence with Juniper. “Truly, I do not imagine so. He plays a very threatening game, but when it comes to it he seems quite reasonable.”

Apollo thinks about Mayor Tenma’s trial, Blackquill’s dirty tricks that nearly forced the mayor into a false confession. “You and I have different standards of reasonable,” he says. Maybe he means relatively reasonable, that there’s so many other prosecutors who are even worse.

“Perhaps,” Klavier agrees, “but Herr Samurai could be the most reasonable man and I would nonetheless leave you with this document trail.” His eyes, stormy blue and unwavering in their hue this entire conversation, but Apollo doesn’t remember whether or not this color is the Sight, harden. “I would hate to see your integrity as a lawyer called into question, especially over evidence that I offered you as assistance.” His jaw tightens, thinking, no doubt, of what Apollo has continued to think about since he arrived at Themis. With Phoenix.

This also seems like the most emotionally honest Klavier has been all week. “Thanks,” Apollo says. “I—”

—appreciate it, the sentence means to end, but movement behind Klavier catches Apollo’s eye, and the doors that lead out into the hall thump suddenly shut. “Hey!” Apollo calls. “Who’s—”

“What’s going on?” Athena asks. “Who’s there, did you see?”

“I don’t know,” Apollo says. “It might have been Hugh.” He thinks he saw a bit of the dark blue of the Themis uniform there. “Eavesdropping to figure out our strategy, no doubt.”

“I would expect him not to be the only one,” Klavier says, glancing back over his shoulder. “The cardboard paparazzi and the prosecutor Fräulein are rather nosy themselves, wouldn’t you agree? I’ll go chase them down and make sure they cause no further trouble for you.” He flashes a casual grin, as light and easygoing as he ever tries to be, but it is undercut for Apollo, and Apollo alone; Vongole materializes from the air next to him, red ears pricked and nose pointed at the door, her head held level with her shoulders. A creature ready to stalk, ready to hunt, to pounce, and Klavier barely turns for the doors and she springs, plunging through the door like it’s just a projection. But Klavier, when he gets to the door, without much haste, has to open it, reminding Apollo that it’s Vongole who doesn’t adhere to the physical world, not the door.

What’s she going to do, herd the wayward Themis students back around toward Klavier? Can she even do that if they can’t see her? Can she make them see her? God, Apollo hopes that corralling them is all she’ll do; Klavier’s got control over that hellhound, right? He does, Apollo’s seen that. No need to worry about that. Focus on the case.

(Apollo’s still going to worry about that.)

“Apollo, you ready?” Athena asks.

“Yes!” Focus on the moment, the evidence, the trial. Forget Klavier and his haunted dog. “I’m Apollo Justice and I’m fine!” He feels better already, and a shaky grin draws across Athena’s face. “Okay, your turn. Ready?”

“I’m Athena Cykes! And I’m fine!”

“Ms Newman and Mr O’Conner have recanted their confessions made before yesterday’s adjournment, but you may expect, Your Baldness, to see them again in this courtroom, as I intend later to determine if they should be charged with perjury.”

Apollo has come to think that most of Blackquill’s lauded so-called psychological manipulations are really just brute intimidation that he pretends has more finesse than he actually does. Despite that, the question he finds himself with now is whether or not Blackquill is in as cheery of a mood as he is acting, grinning as he catches the court up on all that has progressed on the prosecution’s side of things. “Ms Woods likewise attempted to recant her confession, claiming it was made in the heat of the moment to” - he rolls his eyes, as if the disdain dripping through his voice wasn’t already making his opinion on the matter clear, and Athena’s expression hardens - “protect her friends, but given that she is already and continues to be the one on trial, that changes little of our situation.”

She did confess, didn’t she? In the midst of Robin yelling and Hugh interrupting, Juniper confessed too, trying to stop her friends from ruining their lives for her. And if he presumes Juniper is innocent, which he has to, because she’s their client, then that means when she confessed to murder, she lied; plainly and wholeheartedly, she lied. Which means that even someone half-fae can lie.

“Very well,” the judge says. “And the photograph submitted yesterday of the victim and the defendant together minutes before the—”

“Unfortunately, we will find that evidence no longer relevant,” Blackquill interrupts. He is still smirking, even while forced to refute the hand he played yesterday. If this is an act, to unnerve Apollo, it’s working. Or if he’s genuinely amused, then it’s probably because he’s got something new up his sleeve that makes him not concerned with all the ways his case collapsed yesterday. “The art room clock runs fast and will not give us an accurate measure of the time. ‘Tis a pity for our time to have been wasted as such, but the bungling oaf of a detective responsible for overlooking this fact will assuredly be paying for his failure.”

Athena winces. “Poor Fulbright,” she whispers.

Is Blackquill angry that he thinks Fulbright should have seen it - or is it misplaced anger, Blackquill sure that he would have noticed had he been on the scene investigating and angry that he has to rely on Fulbright, instead. (Is that why they keep spotting traces of Taka around? Blackquill thinking he can’t trust the observation skills of the detective? Taka didn’t notice the clock, either, for whatever that’s worth. Probably not easy for the bird to get into a building. How does it get out of jail?)

“Now,” Blackquill says sharply, and the flashes of mirth he showed a minute ago have vanished. “Today, I intend to prove to you that the accused is the only person who could have moved the body. And to that end, the prosecution calls its first witness.”

Hugh O’Conner did assure Athena that he would be testifying today, and true to that word, he takes the witness stand first. His claim is that he saw Juniper moving the high-jump mat that would’ve been needed to move the body without bruising it; he claims to have seen this from a vantage point that would have been impossible, until Blackquill obliquely reminds them of the crane that was present the night of the murder, as involved in the stage setup. This makes sense - the weird thing about it isn’t the statement itself, but Hugh’s reaction to it. He looks pained, clutching the side of his neck in a way Apollo has come to notice him doing each time he is stressed and struggling to regain his footing in an argument.

“That’s - you’ve said enough, Prosecutor Blackquill!” Is Hugh trying to plead with him or threaten him? Neither, Apollo thinks, is liable to work. “You promised!”

Blackquill laughs, a harsh sound from the back of his throat. “Did I?” he asks. “I recall nothing of the sort. What I do recall is that you came to me blubbering about making a deal that I would keep quiet in exchange for information, but you should have taken care to extract that promise for me before you went ahead and offered me your every secret like a blithering fool.”

Blackquill has a way with words that leaves Apollo incredibly worried about the fates of everyone who is in any way involved with him. Like he’s just waiting for the opportunity to snatch away the souls of anyone who isn’t careful who dares speak with him. Is that part of who he is - what he is - or is it one of his actual psychological manipulations? And is it the witness he means to scare with his phrasing, or the defense?

“Ah, well, if Golden Boy will not take the chance to lift the weight of truth from his shoulders, then I will tell you,” Blackquill says. Hugh, with his hand still clapped tight to his neck like he’s trying to staunch the flow from a wound, makes a kind of undignified whimpering sound. “He was up in that crane, and not simply mucking about there for fun. He does, rather, work part-time as a crane operator.”

“A high school student!” the judge exclaims. “Operating a crane!”

“No!” Hugh snaps. “The prosecution - there’s no proof that I was operating the crane! The prosecution might be lying!”

Blackquill laughs, and makes no move to argue. “I don’t know where this is going,” Athena says in a low voice, “because this is the point that Prosecutor Blackquill wants to make, but…” Louder, she adds, her voice ringing across the courtroom, “I bet we can prove it was you.”

Which they do, for whatever good it may or may not be about to do them, and the judge is still hung up on a high schooler operating a crane, rather than what Hugh would or wouldn’t be able to see from the vantage point of the crane, but Hugh splutters and protests about how brilliant and talented he is and that’s why. Blackquill watches him, smirking, waiting for his failure of an argument to trail away into nothingness. Hugh goes silent halfway through saying something about practicing archery one-handed, and Blackquill’s smirk splits open into a grin. “Dispense with this inane charade, Golden Boy.” He doesn’t wait for Hugh’s response and continues speaking over the witness’ begging. “Now, we will establish, for the sake of argument, that the age range of high school seniors ends at the upper limit of nineteen - still, legally, too young to operate heavy machinery. That, however, does not apply to Mr O’Conner, does it, now?”

“But he is a high school senior,” Athena says. “Are you saying he’s not around that age?”

Blackquill slams his palm on the bench. “Indeed, he is not. Golden Boy here is twenty-five.” The serious expression that he held on his face for a fraction of a second breaks down into raucous laughter, punctured by his further slapping the bench in uncontained amusement. Apollo really doesn’t like seeing him in a good mood. He’s only ever entertained by someone else’s bad fortune. “He took a seven year break from his schooling!”

They all had secrets - Juniper, Robin, Hugh. The courtroom is quiet; is it ever this quiet after a revelation, without a breath of murmured shock. “Eh?” Athena utters faintly. “Come again?”

“Twenty-five,” Blackquill repeats gleefully. He nods to Taka and the hawk snatches up a paper in its talons, launching itself into the air and making straight for the judge. “All in the school’s official paperwork, as you will find.”

“Twenty-five?” Apollo echoes, sure they’re all going to ask this in turn, a round-table of disbelief. “He’s - he’s older than me?” He’s not good at eyeballing ages, he knows that, and he knows that everyone always thinks him baby-faced and younger than he is, and Hugh could be like that. People in their twenties all look all over the place. How’s anyone to know? But on the other hand, what twenty-year-old, after taking a gap year for seven successive years out of high school, would want to go back to high school all over again? Apollo sure wouldn’t. But maybe instead of going to college to be a lawyer, Hugh went back to a lawyer high school because those teenagers are at his same maturity level.

(Solid burn. If he didn’t get heckled every time he was the slightest bit snide to a witness, he would say it out loud.)

“Seven years?” Athena asks. Blackquill might as well just go over the entire situation again, if they’re all going to ask for clarification on each and every tiny point. “But since you’re such a genius” - she does a remarkable job of not sounding wholly derisive when she says it - “wouldn’t taking a seven year vacation make you boring real quick?” She pauses, frowns, playing her words back in her head. “Make you bored.”

Her first one was probably correct, too. Does Hugh know how to have a conversation that isn’t about his own greatness?

“Heh.” Hugh’s recovery from his shock tips him back into the smugness he always seems to carry. “There’s the dull mindless vacations you ordinary plebians take, and then…” He falters, for a moment. “Even geniuses make mistakes,” he says, resuming with an entirely different thread of argument. “The ones I make just, you know, lost me seven years.”

Rising in Apollo’s stomach is the same kind of fear that Blackquill’s particulars of phrasing invoke. “Er, Mr O’Conner,” he begins, ignoring the shock that Athena sends his way, and bracing himself for the way everyone in the courtroom is going to respond to the utterly insane question he is about to ask, “are you actually, like, actually twenty-five, or just - you know, legally, that it’s been twenty-five years since you were first - you were born.”

He knows that at least half of the gallery is going to think he’s an idiot, have some perception of theirs confirmed about how lawyers are all schooling and no sense in their heads; even Athena stares like he’s just lost his mind. Hugh, though, blanches, his whole body tensing and his shoulders drawing inward. Blackquill’s cuffs clank as he hits the bench and Hugh flinches and nearly falls over with fright. Apollo jumps, too. He’d forgotten that Blackquill as much as anyone would hear this question and would get to respond to it in his typical magic-denying ways.

“What a question, Justice-dono,” he drawls. Apollo raises his chin defiantly. It’s a good question, because all the world around them is crazy. “No doubt a matter first brought to your attention by the rather unique situation of some other golden boy of our acquaintance.” His eyebrows raise and his mouth twists in amusement. Apollo’s heart skips and then stops. How does Blackquill know? It seems unlikely - though technically possible - that Klavier would have told him; the alternative is that Blackquill knows enough to know, to realize, when it took even Phoenix several strokes of luck and coincidence to piece it together. Blackquill shouldn’t be saying this. He shouldn’t know. And why of all times choose this as the moment to drop his pretense of disbelief? To psych Apollo out some more? To give Klavier, up in the gallery, a slap in the face for helping Apollo and Athena?

“But suffice to say, we will find that an irrelevant question,” Blackquill continues. “What matters is the legal age of the witness, that has so allowed him to work the discussed job as a crane operator. He was, therefore, up in the crane with the vantage point to see the accused dragging the mat in preparation to move the body. You must agree how clear this is, and that there is no need to deliberate this much any further.”

Oh. Right. Juniper. This is, after all, her trial, and the reason they have gone down this strange road still has to do with her case, and what she did or didn’t do, and Hugh did or didn’t see, on the morning that the body was discovered.

Back to the fight.

Hugh lied about ever seeing the body on stage.

It’s an utterly incomprehensible lie, in Apollo’s most just and honest opinion; it’s also one of a host of shady moves Hugh has made. Though the blood Juniper saw on his hands was his own, from trying to sneak a look at the mock trial script and instead finding Myriam’s spring-loaded razor blade-protected script envelope, and her suspicion against him in that regard can be discounted - well, there’s still his grades, and this, about the body.

If the body was moved during the mock trial - moved in fact at the moment Phoenix and Athena heard the shattering of the statues on stage that drew them outside to discover the body - then Hugh and Robin have airtight alibis, on the floor in front of a crowd for the whole mock trial. Apollo had his eyes on them the whole time. But Juniper, ever-multitasking Juniper, the conductor of her show, the only person alive at that time with all the secrets of her script, was not always down on the floor playing the defendant. She was up at the back of the hall in the sound booth, moving back and forth even during Professor Means’ speech. At any of those times, she could have slipped out to the art room, to send Courte’s body to the stage down the banner wire.

All they’ve done is help Blackquill build a more convincing case against Juniper, so convincing that Apollo can’t find within him a single point to dispute. They missed something; he knows it, he has to know it, he has to believe it to the end. But where? Can he object on the grounds that they need to know why Hugh lied about seeing the body? Would Blackquill let that stand?

Hugh starts to laugh. Hugh starts to laugh in the broken, hysterical way of a killer cornered, except he’s about to get away free with Juniper’s verdict. “Behold my brilliance!” he cries, his words breathless and interrupted by his own frantic, frenzied laughter. “Listen well as the rare genius of Hugh O’Conner reveals to the world the secrets of his perfect crime!”

Apollo looks at Athena. Athena glances back at Apollo. “Er,” she says. “What? Why’s this - why again?”

Because this, the wild confessions, happened yesterday too. To hell with this trial. Hugh appears feverish, his hair matting to his forehead and neck with sweat, his eyes darting all around the courtroom, jumping from Apollo and Athena to Blackquill to Juniper and never settling on any of them. “The murder, moving the body, the cover-up, all my works of genius! My great and perfect crime, bow in awe and stand to arrest me! I am confessing, am I not? You have your killer here!”

“Is he serious?” Apollo asks. He’s afraid he is. He’s seen too many other people unravel in this same manner, but the game was up for all of them. Hugh’s game - what the hell is his game?

“I think he’s serious,” Athena says. “Serious, and seriously suddenly cracked.”

“Enough!” Blackquill snarls. Taka shrieks in an angry echo. “You have a perfect alibi, not a perfect crime! And you dare to stand here and further act the mad fool to delay this trial from its inevitable outcome!” He fixes Hugh with his dark eyes, but this time, Hugh doesn’t shrink away. That is definitely stupidity, not bravery, on his part. “I will have no mercy for you should you not this instant stand down.”

“I will never!” Hugh shouts back. “I have testimony that will prove to you, the utter perfection with which I always act! You’ll doubt me, but in truth I used a body double at the mock trial! It wasn’t me at all, not about to lose and not with the alibi! I, the real me, slipped out and had the run of the campus! I moved the body, I’m the killer, and Juniper’s innocent!”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Athena says.

“I must ask of both the defense and prosecution,” the judge says. “Does this testimony make any sense at all, in the slightest?”

“No,” Apollo answers.

“Oh, good,” the judge says. “I thought I had just become suddenly, extremely confused.”

“The witness is the one suddenly, extremely confused,” Blackquill says. “And it would be charitable, to call him confused, instead of saying, for instance, that he is a bloody lunatic.”

“You’re a witch, aren’t you?” Hugh demands. As though to make the point for him, Blackquill’s eyes flash silver. “Don’t you know anything about doppelgangers? You know, changelings getting switched for people? You think creatures like that are not okay with being an accessory to crime?” A sour taste gathers in Apollo’s mouth. He thinks of Vera, of Kristoph, of Klavier in the gallery, that life-shaping trauma turned into Hugh’s latest desperate lie in the service of - what? To what end? “I had a—”

“Enough!” Blackquill roars, and it is, indeed, so much more of a bellow than his usual low snarling interruptions. Athena lets out a small scream and stumbles back into the wall behind them. Even Hugh shrinks toward the witness stand, seeming to recognize that he’s taken this impossible declaration a step too far. “That you know such words to use them does not mean you have the damndest understanding of what they truly entail!” He slams both fists in tandem on the bench, and Athena clasps both of her hands over Widget to muffle its surprised swearing.

“You claim familiarity with the concepts as part of your mad gambit, make a mockery of the gravity of such matters, and call me to my face a witch as though that would convince me of the veracity of your statements - yet you never pause to think that perhaps whatever I am, I also bear the ability to see through your pernicious bullshit.” Hugh’s mouth flaps open, and he shuts it without a word. “Spare this court your lies,” Blackquill continues. He has stopped yelling now, his voice merely as low and deadly as it ever is. “There is only one of you, as there ever has been - as is most fortuitous for us, as you the sole dunce as you are have made more than your share of trouble, and another of you would be far more than unbearable.”

Hugh’s mouth opens again like a fish deprived of water, but it seems to Apollo that Blackquill’s outburst has drawn to its close. “Shit,” Athena whispers, her and not Widget this time. “I’ve never heard him that angry.”

Have they? He has been furious at Fulbright, over stupid witnesses, over cases. Professional anger. This is different; this seems a personal chord, and a very disharmonious one, struck, and painfully enough to drop the game he’d made of it prior, denying right to Apollo’s face that monsters, yokai, and magic could ever exist. And is it painful to him the way it infuriates Apollo, on behalf of someone else, or is this another clue in the puzzle, the question, of what is Prosecutor Simon Blackquill?

“Now,” Blackquill says, his calm and his smirk returned, “Your Baldness, where we left off. The verdict.”

“But it’s - hey! Defense!” Hugh, gripping the witness stand, turns on them next. “You have that weird device, don’t you? For crazy testimonies like mine?”

“Widget isn’t weird!” Athena protests. Apollo could object to that. “And I’m not going to waste him on something this plainly ridiculous—”

“We don’t have any objections otherwise,” Apollo reminds her. “The only thing left otherwise is the verdict. There’s nothing worse that can happen from giving this a shot.”

“Oh,” Athena says, blanching as she realizes that she was about to let the trial reach its verdict and damn Juniper to prison. She clears her throat. “Well,” she says loudly, “against some of my better judgment, I would like to conduct a short psychoanalytic session with the witness.”

“As a judge, I feel this to be beyond my better sense as well, yet I also do not feel as though I should deny you.” The judge glances around the courtroom, pondering what must be yet another in the Wright Anything Agency’s long, long line of unprecedented incidents. “Well, then. Prosecutor Blackquill, I will ask your opinion. I trust you have no object… ah.”

The courtroom doors slam, seeming to rattle the whole room, and rattling Apollo even more is the empty prosecution’s bench. “Ah, Your Honor,” says one of the bailiffs by the doors, eyes still blankly fixated on where they closed. “The prosecution said, and I quote, ‘Rubbish! We will be out on a stroll’ and left, Detective Fulbright with him.”

At least he isn’t loose unsupervised, but holy hell, is there nothing that Blackquill can’t get away with? (Nothing short of murder, anyway.)

“I must suppose he would have lodged an objection in his parting words if he took issue with Ms Cykes’ plan.” The judge nods once, and decisively. “Very well. Ms Cykes, you may proceed with your therapy session-slash-cross-examination.”

“You’re up, Widget.” Athena draws up the emotional analysis screen and over her shoulder, Apollo watches it load. He can’t help but find the whole process fascinating, no matter that he’s seen it before, and he wonders how many times he’ll have to see it until he gets used to it. Knowing that Athena has the little gadget taking pictures almost constantly doesn’t change his amazement with the way she can compile it all into new mock-ups of scenes discussed in the testimony, or how seamlessly she does it. A large part of him still isn’t sure that there’s not magic involved, somehow woven into the technology. “Now, Mr O’Conner, please repeat your testimony!”

Hugh inhales deeply, his eyes still darting about, like he’s suddenly trying to remember the spur-of-the-moment co-called “testimony” he blurted. “All right,” he says. “I’ll say this simple enough that even mouth-breathers like you can understand. I used a body double! That wasn’t really me at the mock trial! And it wasn’t really me who was about to lose, of course. I slipped out while my doppelganger handled the mock trial, and I had full run of the campus. So it’s me who’s the killer, not Juniper. She’s innocent!”

“Well, he sure wasn’t kidding when he said it was crazy testimony,” Athena mutters, swiping through the pages on which she lists each sentence of Hugh’s testimony and the associated emotions. All of Widget’s projected screens flash bright green, as it blares out the alarm that warns it is overloaded by the emotional input. How Athena, with her sensitive hearing, tolerates that sound, Apollo will never know. “Right now, we’re getting an overflow reading on happiness, which is weird, considering he’s confessing to murder.”

“Maybe he’s just delighted by how the rest of us can’t understand his brilliance,” Apollo says. “But I’m guessing you think there’s something more going on.”

“Mhm.” He can’t tell if Athena was listening or is just mumbling to herself. She flips back and forth between two parts of the testimony, too fast to actually be reading over the sentences again; her eyes follow the images that she has placed with the words. Then she finally looks up. “So, Mr O’Conner, yesterday you told us that you didn’t care at all about Ms Woods anymore.”

Apollo glances to the defendant’s chair, where poor Juniper looks distraught, red-faced from crying and now wide-eyed with shock, staring at Hugh. “That’s right,” Hugh says, about as smoothly as he’s managing to say anything now. A silent sob shudders across Juniper’s thin shoulders. “She told Professor Courte my secret, and I know she wants nothing to do with me now.”

Juniper shakes her head, her mouth moving, whispering something Apollo can’t make out across the courtroom, but Athena probably could, were her attentions not rightly fixed on the witness. If he had to guess, had to bet on it, from the rest of her body language, she’s probably saying, that’s not true.

“So now I don’t care about her either.” Hugh laughs dismissively, but his eyes still move uneasily, and his hand clutches his neck. He’s still lying. “What, you think my confession has something to do with her? It doesn’t! It’s about one thing, and that’s the truth, the truth that everyone in this courtroom was too inferior to figure out!”

“No, objection!” Athena slaps her hand to the bench, through Widget’s hologram screen. “This whole testimony, you’ve felt great joy - so much that I can barely hear anything else! You’re happy that you could play a part in setting Juniper free.” She draws her hand back and props her hands on her hips. “People usually don’t feel like you do when they’re broken down enough to confess to murder.”

“So then, this is another confession trying to protect Juniper?” Apollo asks. Meaning it’s a false confession, meaning Hugh isn’t the killer after all. Like Phoenix thought, against all the evidence, on a hunch.

“It is,” Athena says. “He does care about her, without question.”

But if not Hugh, they still don’t have any evidence of anyone else, and they’ve looped back around to—

The courtroom doors slam again. “Figured it out, have you?” Blackquill asks. He whistles sharply and Taka returns to his shoulder from wherever it was hiding. Taka was still in the courtroom, then? Apollo glances around, wondering where it went, wondering if Blackquill’s dramatic timing is perfect because he was following the whole conversation via the hawk left behind. He makes his way back to the bench, without any great haste, and scratches Taka beneath the chin as he continues, “That testimony was naught but a great tangle of lies. May we agree now that the killer is the one person permitted to move freely out of sight in the lecture hall - that is, the accused herself. We need not waste more time deliberating this nonsense.”

“But you haven’t figured it out!” Hugh protests. Blackquill’s face darkens. “The trick behind my body-double stunt!”

“Would one even presume it to be true,” Blackquill says dryly, but lacking even an ounce of amusement in the hard line of his mouth and his shadowed eyes, “you did tell us in the beginning how it was that you claimed to have a doppelganger.”

“I think I’m gonna agree with Prosecutor Blackquill on this one,” Apollo says. A small kernel of doubt has dug its way through his prior certainty, and he wishes that Phoenix had been the one to watch the mock trial, instead. He could have noticed - if he’d thought to look, and he would have, right? He’s that cautious or paranoid, right? - whether or not Hugh was the same person, and human, the whole way through. Apollo just knows that the Hugh in the mock trial didn’t stray from the bench, didn’t seem to disappear or slough eyes off of him for even a brief moment - and still, still he doesn’t trust himself to be sure. Not when the fae could be involved. “But if we quit here, then Juniper is found guilty.”

“So the best of the bad options is to play along,” Athena says. She quickly taps out a few commands with her gloved hand on the screen. “Okay, let’s see here. What else can we find out?”

Hugh’s continues testimony is just as rambling and confused as before, tripping over itself and tangling itself up in knots that will only snare Juniper deeper. It’s pathetic to watch him falling apart as he is: certain that Juniper is innocent but too afraid of the corruption in the legal system to believe that the plain truth can ever win out, and desperate for some affirmation that despite his grades being bought (without his knowledge, which Apollo notes is definitely interesting) his friends could still possibly love him. This is not Apollo’s field of expertise, but he has Athena, Athena with her ears and Widget, and she manages beautifully. He’d tell her that he’s impressed, but Blackquill has been waiting to pounce, and with Hugh recanting his confession, pounce he does.

“This roundabout trial has returned us once again to the point I have been making: that the only person who lacks an alibi is the accused.” Blackquill folds his arms and taps a finger against his head. The chains rattle. “Consider that, Cykes-dono, and finally realize that your friend’s guilt is the truth you have so valiantly sought.”

“Did we really spend all that time getting nowhere?” Apollo asks. He casts his mind back over Hugh’s testimony. Doppelganger nonsense and more doppelganger nonsense; such useful information, all around. “This is exhausting.”

Athena isn’t listening. She frowns down at Widget’s Mood Matrix screen, which has updated to show that all of the emotions in Hugh’s voice have been cataloged and cleared, and it winks out of existence, only for Athena to immediately bring back up some of her case notes. “Hold on a minute, Your Honor, Prosecutor Blackquill.” She swipes the screen to display a floor plan of the lecture call, with the balcony seats for Courte and Means clearly marked. (Does the head of the prosecutions’ course not have enough seniority to join either of them in the balcony seating? Didn’t Phoenix say they all got fired a few years back?) “If we have someone else who doesn’t have an alibi, then we need to continue the trial, correct?”

“Of course,” the judge says. “But after so much thorough investigation and debate, can such a person even exist?”

“Where are we going with this?” Apollo asks Athena. He feels like someone scrambled his brains.

She rests her finger above the marked defense’s bench in the lecture hall diagram. “Remember how Hugh has been insistent on seeing this balcony seat empty?” She moves her finger diagonally to point to the seat noted to be Means’. “He thought that was because it was Courte’s, and she was dead at the time. But it isn’t.”

“So if Professor Means wasn’t where he was supposed to be—”

“Your Honor!” Athena calls. “However roundabout this testimony has been, we have arrived at one statement of truth. That balcony seat was empty, meaning that Professor Means wasn’t where he was supposed to be during the mock trial!”

“Oh please,” Blackquill sneers. “The whole of the lecture hall heard him give his speech!”

“It bored me half to death,” Apollo adds. He doesn’t remember what was actually said, just that it became a buzzing in his ears within about forty seconds, as some leftover instincts from college assured him that there would be nothing worth remembering.

“It could have been pre-recorded, right?” Athena says. “Then the professor could have given his speech, while he was wherever else on campus!”

“Wait!” Hugh interrupts. “You don’t - are you seriously accusing Professor Means? He’s been trying to help this whole time!” Apollo doesn’t believe that, but he can’t tell if Hugh believes it, or if his nervous habits are now simple shock at where Athena has taken this case. “It’s crazy to say that he - I mean, he was the one who gave me the tape recorder to take to the police!”

“The tape?”

Apollo asks at the same time Athena does, and they stare at each other; understanding and alarm start to dawn behind Athena’s eyes. “Athena,” Apollo says. “We have to get Professor Means on the witness stand.”

She purses her lips and nods decisively. “Mr O’Conner, did you just say that Professor Means gave you that phony tape?”

“Phony?” Hugh echoes. “No, I - he gave it to me and told me to go to the police and say I found it in the art room, but it’s not - what do you mean, phony—”

“And it didn’t seem suspicious for him to tell you to lie?” Apollo demands. This goddamn school, he swears - Hugh probably wouldn’t even have an issue with the lying, would have been sure that it meant instead that Professor Means had some kind of shady-but-ultimately-justified plan for Juniper’s defense, and who was he to question?

“Apollo, this isn’t the time,” Athena warns, her eyebrows drawing together. He follows her narrow-eyed gaze to watch Blackquill, his hand on his chin, smirking to himself, pondering something. Maybe whether he can add that to Hugh’s perjury charges.

“Defense, please refrain from hurling unsubstantiated accusations as you are by calling the evidence ‘phony’,” the judge says. “Unless you can—”

“We can prove it!” Athena interrupts, smacking her palms on the bench like she’s about to try and vault it. “This tape we discussed yesterday, the voice of our client shouting ‘You’re a goner!’, was faked by reusing audio from the mock trial video! We have evidence about the, um, about the evidence!”

Taka lands on the bench, its head twitching back and forth, expectantly waiting. “Hang on, which one of these is which - here!” Athena offers one of Klavier’s evidence packets to the hawk, which blinks at her in almost acknowledgement before it returns across the courtroom to Blackquill. He intently studies each page in turn, the seconds passing in excruciating slowness as they wait for his response. On reaching the end, he tosses back his head, hair falling in front of his eyes, and lets out a loud, sharp laugh.

“Is there an issue, Prosecutor Blackquill?” the judge asks.

“There is not,” Blackquill says. Could’ve fooled me, Apollo thinks. The prosecutor makes a dismissive flick of his fingers and Taka, still with the papers clutched in its beak, heads off to the judge. “I concede that, as asserted and evidenced by the” - he forces out a cough and then loudly clears his throat - “defense, that the evidence on the tape was falsified.” Apollo has to stop himself from turning his head to glance up toward the gallery, wondering where Klavier sits. “However, are not the odds greatest that our lying dullard of a witness merely overlooked the professor in the balcony?”

“We can’t know for sure until we ask him!” Athena fires back. “We can’t overlook any possibilities!”

The judge strikes his gavel twice. “My opinion on the matter,” he says, when they have both fallen to silence, Athena glaring furiously at Blackquill, and Blackquill unbothered, watching Taka preen its wing feathers, “is that it would be premature to pass a verdict without having properly examined a possible witness oversight. And to answer that question, I believe it would be best to ask Professor Means himself, and therefore to call him as a witness.”

Apollo lets out his breath, but the tightness in his chest remains. This is the one guiding piece of advice that Phoenix gave: if you see the opportunity to get him on the stand, take it.

Now they’re on their own.

“Good afternoon. I would like to thank you all for being here today. This mock trial, the crown event of…”

Means’ speech was ten minutes long.

Apollo forgot about that, honestly.

They’re searching for some sort of hint that the speech was pre-recorded, some kind of discrepancy between his words and what they know to be true of the day. Athena assured Means that they weren’t accusing him of anything now, just wanted to be sure of the truth of the matter of the speech and the balcony seating - and she said it with her face drawn solemnly across, her shoulders held stiff and her hands squeezing into fists at her sides. She lied. She suspects him. They’ll be accusing him later. And Means at the witness stand loses his trademark smile to glower at Athena whenever she looks away.

Blackquill pays no attention to anyone, his back to the court, his elbows propped up on the bench behind him, his head slumped forward. He had said - not really directed at anyone in particular - to wake him up when this was concluded. Apollo no longer thinks he’s joking, watching his shoulders rise and fall with the slow, steady breathing pattern of someone asleep. Taka, in imitation of its master, ducks its head beneath its wing.

Are neither of them actually going to listen? Blackquill not even try to assess the details for himself?

Apollo tears his eyes away from the opposite bench. The speech, focus on the speech. Athena’s hand flits over a blank Widget screen that she intended to use for notes, doodling flowers and swirls all across the edges. There’s a shape that Apollo presumes to be a bowling pin until she adds the beak to the penguin. She isn’t keyed in to the speech, either. It’s testimony, the worst kind of testimony, where they have to make it through an untold number of minutes of Means reminiscing about his own long-ago days as a Themis student, and how what he learned there became critical in his days as a real lawyer, before he returned again to Themis to instruct a new generation.

Was it in school that he learned that forging evidence worked, or was he like Phoenix, in a real trial back to the wall, nothing but that or losing? Are monsters born or made, and how are they made? What does it take to break an honest lawyer, if ever he began that way?

The video was to record the mock trial, not the speech before it; the camera in the lecture hall is fixed on the floor, the benches where Robin and Hugh stand, and the witness stand that Juniper travels back and forth from. They obviously can’t see the balconies - otherwise there would be an easy answer to this matter - but the audience is visible, students restless whispering to each other or leaning their heads in their hands or on their desks. Apollo wonders where he was sitting, if he can see himself.

The judge’s head droops and snaps back up, guiltily glancing around to assess whether anyone else noticed.

Professor Means, on the recording of the speech that may have been pre-recorded, interrupts himself to snap at the audience to wake up. The judge’s eyes pop open, and something clatters like he knocked his gavel to the floor; Athena’s arm jerks across her notes page, scribbling across her penguin drawing. “I’m awake, I’m awake!” she yelps, turning panicked to Apollo.

Blackquill doesn’t twitch.

This still isn’t even evidence that the speech wasn’t pre-recorded. If this is how Means always sounds, he would have known at this point, about eight minutes in, students would be nodding off. He easily could have scripted that for authenticity.

Athena adds angry eyebrows to her drawn penguin and adds what looks like a ball of lint next to it. Is that supposed to be a fluffy baby penguin?

The audio ends with a click. Apollo registers that the words that ended the speech were words that heralded the end of a speech, and already he doesn’t remember what. He shakes his head to clear out the static. He was supposed to find something useful in there. Something that meant it was pre-recorded. He glances at Athena. Her eyes are huge. So she didn’t hear anything, either.

“Listen well, Cykes-dono - if you subject us to this torturous tedium without due reason, I shall have your head.” Blackquill still hasn’t moved. He slowly tips his head back and turns to cast a cold stare onto Athena.

“Didn’t he nap the whole time?” Apollo mutters, but Athena doesn’t seem to be in the mood for humor. And Apollo shouldn’t be, either. They’re this close to a turnabout, and this close to a loss. Trucy calls it his “tightrope defense act”, and he hates the descriptor even if it isn’t wrong.

“Hey! Apollo!” someone hisses. He expects it to be Trucy, just thinking of her, but when he turns, and Athena with him, there’s Phoenix, hanging over the edge of the gallery. “Catch!”

“Wh—” Apollo fumbles with the object Phoenix just tossed at him, finding the magatama in his hands. “Why—”

“Mr Wright!” the judge scolds, whackling his gavel several times in swift succession. “I’m sure you must want to be behind the bench, but please, this court does not want any liability should you fall and crack your head!”

Yeah, liability for the ankle injury he’d probably incur from that. “Sorry, Your Honor!” Phoenix calls back with a sharp grin, but he only leans further down. “Listen to the end again, Apollo. The last minute or so.”

“But why—” The magatama is for glamours, and glamours are on people, and they’re listening to a recording of Means’ speech, not him speaking directly to them.

“Exactly why you think - I’ll explain the details later, when—” Phoenix jerks backwards as Taka dives, talons outstretched, for his face. Several gasps and shrieks arise from the gallery around him. “When this bird isn’t around! Good luck!” He scrambles away, Taka in pursuit.

“So,” Athena says. “What—”

“Listen to the ending again,” Apollo says. He squeezes his fingers tightly around the magatama. Please, please, he thinks, without any idea who he is appealing to, give me something—

The words hit his ears with a sharper clarity than before. He can think now, his brain no longer buzzing. Even in this little bit, Apollo understands that most of Means’ speech was all fluff and no substance, all inane and nothing meaningful. And then the sign-off: “Once again, our pure white Lady Justice will watch over all of you today. Pay attention now and one day, with the wisdom of our grand academy and your own experience, you may make a difference. Now, let the mock trial begin!"

What’s this Lady Justice that he’s referring to? That was the statue Athena put back together on-stage, with Klavier, but there’s a very similar statue standing very apparent in the center of the lecture hall floor, right in front of the mock-up judge’s bench. A statue that is, however, very much not white.

“Athena,” he says, and her head snaps around in a startled way that says he just knocked her out of another boring speech-induced reverie. “I’ve got something.”

Not enough on its own, but together with Klavier’s evidence, and that only breaks Means down into a new set of lies, and worse ones than ever.

“Fine, yes. I had pre-recorded my speech, but I assure you, the reason was not that which you think.” Athena’s eyebrows disappear beneath her hairline and she casts a doubtful side-eye Apollo’s way. Means peers over his glasses at them and continues, “Ms Woods came to me asking that I should do so - record my speech - and come speak with her in the audio room during the opening of the mock trial. There, she told me that she had committed murder and wished that I would defend her. She told me as well that this would happen - the suspicion you cast upon me - as I lose my alibi with the pre-recorded speech, and thus become an accomplice or suspect.” His stony features relax. “But when I said that I would defend Juniper as her attorney, I meant it, because it was the humane thing to do.”

“He can’t be serious,” Apollo says. “There’s no way. This is all too contrived. But he’s good at coming up with bullshit on the fly.” Unless he thought ahead far enough, to this eventuality, and pre-planned the best lies to cover his ass.

“Juniper would never!” Athena shouts. “There’s no way! This is all a bunch of shit.”

“Allow me to be perfectly frank.” Means lightly taps the end of his staff on the floor. “Juniper has taken my teachings to heart. That I would prove her and her two friends innocent was the result she sought, and two that end, she threatened and coerced me, her professor, to do her bidding.”

“And I may only imagine that you found such ruthless tactics to be impressive and admirable,” Blackquill says dryly. Shouldn’t those underhanded strategies be right up his alley; shouldn’t he himself be impressed? As far as Apollo knows, he’s drawn the line at falsifying evidence, but there’s a litany of shady shit that he’s toed the line of. And the murder, of course. The murder that he did and was convicted of.

“Oh, yes,” Means agrees. “What she did was most clever of her, which is why I agreed to defend her. Her capacity for deviousness surprised me, at first, though the more I think on it the more I understand that I should have seen this coming.”

Athena folds her arms, glaring daggers at Means, but she’s gone strangely quiet taking in the lies rather than yelling back. What’s she thinking? What’s she waiting for? Apollo isn’t sure what he’s waiting for - Means to keep digging his own grave talking about his corrupt methodologies, maybe. Get him brought up on additional corruption charges after they prove him a murderer.

“It’s really the hallmark of her kind, is it not?” Means continues, and Athena’s mouth presses even tighter together. Blackquill tilts his head just ever-so-slightly to the side, barely more than a twitch, studying Means, and waiting. “This sort of cunning self-serving cruelty, so typical of the actions of - well. We shall say that anyone may be cruel, but there is a particular and exemplary manner of it displayed here that you will also find to be quite… fae. And rather more than in half as one could first assume of this defendant.”

“Pardon?” The judge blinks in shock. “I am not sure I understand the relevance that this remark holds.”

Does he not realize? Does he know, or somehow have these things passed him by every trial? Juniper shrinks into herself, her hands covering her face. “It has none, Your Baldness,” Blackquill says, his disparaging gaze turning from Means to Juniper. “And before your protest I had been about to lodge my own objection, that the witness had best stick to discussing what it is that the defendant has done, and leave aside that which she is.”

Juniper lowers her hands, her eyes wide, but Blackquill isn’t looking at her anymore. Was it her honor that he was defending, or that of the fae in general? His responses to fae-related remarks have seemed - like he’s taking them personally.

“Objection sustained, then,” the judge says. “Defense, I believe it is time for your cross-examination.”

“You’ve been rather quiet now, haven’t you, Cykes-dono.” Blackquill can’t resist one last taunt. “Something the matter?”

Athena inhales deeply. She places her hands back down on the bench, her shoulders squared and her eyes flinty. “I’m not going to argue on principles,” she says. “Some long-winded idealistic speech. I’m going to let my evidence, and my victory, do the talking.” She lifts her hands and this time slams them down. “You claim that you were lying to cover for Junie, but that’s a load of hot shit!”

“That language, in our fair court of law!” Means interrupts indignantly. “Your Honor, it is an outrage!” Apollo personally finds Means’ guiding philosophies about the uselessness of the truth, and his forged evidence, a lot more of an outrage, but what does he know.

“Ms Cykes. Having adjudicated your mentor’s first case back, I understand where this unfortunate habit of yours was picked up, but please, do try to not make this such a frequent occurrence that I must penalize you for it.”

“Of course, Your Honor.” She takes that better than Apollo expected, though Widget still glows red. “Now, if the court would please recall the audio recording, presented as evidence yesterday, that today we have established to have been faked. It was Professor Means who gave that to Hugh and whispered to go take it to the police. If you had Junie’s best interests at heart, Professor, why would you fabricate evidence that uses her voice? That is, it’s an incredibly damaging piece of evidence that shouldn’t exist if you had wanted to defend Juniper - as it is, it seems like you’re trying to pin the crime on her instead!”

Means lowers his eyes. Apollo isn’t naive enough to think that means he’s chastened, or is going to do anything but dig in further. “You’ve done nothing but lie, and you’ve taught nothing but lies!” Athena shouts. “Your road to hell has no good intentions!”

“How dare you!” There it goes. Means’ head snaps back up. He grits his teeth in a snarl. “Themis Academy is an honorable institution with a proud name and how dare you slander it!” He grinds his staff against the ground. The sound sets Apollo’s teeth on edge, and Athena claps her hands over her ears.

“I’m not slandering the whole academy!” she protests. “Just your terrible teachings! You—” Means reaches into his pocket, producing a piece of chalk, which he flings at Athena. “Ow! What the helllleck, heck, was that!”

“Pay attention, Athena!” Means speaks like this is a lecture hall, like he’s the professor in charge of a classroom and not a witness on the stand, and she some wayward student of his and not a defense attorney on a cross-examination. “You’re disappointing me! The murder occurred on the twenty-third sometime between six and eight pm. I was already home at that time! How could I have killed her?”

“Can you prove you had gone home by then?” Athena asks.

Apollo knows what the answer will be before Means says it - the shifting burden of proof, always to the defense. “Can you prove that I was still at the school then?” he asks, a furious pointer finger waved in her direction.

Apollo casts about for any option, and he watches Athena slowly lose hope, her confident posture falling away, her hands sliding off of her hips and her shoulders slumping forward until she lets her elbows hit the bench and prop her head back up. “No,” she admits.

“Very good! I appreciate your honesty, even as it fails your case.” Means is still in teacher-mode, and now Apollo wonders if it’s some sort of mocking of them that he’s attempting to do. “But given that—”

“Hey! Hold on a second, man!”

Robin’s shriek could be an impressive rival to the Chords of Steel. She stands up in the front row of the gallery, leaning forward and peering down the drop to the floor, weighing whether she should just vault down, and deciding against it. She raises one hand and then rushes aside, leaving silence for several moments until she properly reaches the floor of the courtroom, where she places herself beside the defendant’s chair. Throwing her arm out in an imperious, pointed objection, directed at Means, she shouts, “I can’t believe I’ve let you lie to me all this time!” The Professor sputters indignantly, and Robin drowns him out with a roar. “I’ve got a confession to make! I can prove it!”

Of the statues on the stage, Klavier and Phoenix, Robin only had time to actually make the Klavier statue, the one that they put back together yesterday. Then the late bell rang, and Robin, without permission to stay on campus, asked Means if he could make the other statue for her. This puts him still at the school at the time of the murder, though he claims with the intensive work it would have taken to finish the artwork in an hour and a half, there’s no way he could have taken an instant to go to the art room and commit the crime. (Couldn’t there have been time after? Couldn’t the autopsy report’s window be off, have that wiggle room?)

Or there’s Athena’s objection, offered up without a thought, and then a few seconds after, she has invented a possibility. “What if we were all wrong about where the crime was committed?”

That’s one of Phoenix’s classic turnabout tactics. Apollo sees where she’s going; Means scoffs that she’s lost her mind, but Blackquill, glowering around the court at everyone in equal measure, very slowly says, “Continue.” When Means sounds about to protest, Taka alights from Blackquill’s shoulder and brings its fly-by so close that its talons rake through Means’ hair.

The murder took place on the stage, the blood spilling onto the banners lying there. The Gavineers banner soaked up most of the blood, was wiped on the art room floor to create the other crime scene, and then burned to hide the evidence. The white Lady Justice statue they repaired during yesterday’s investigation came from the art room, sent down the banner wire to make some noise and lead someone to the body. The body, therefore, was hidden on the stage somewhere.

How? At least a hundred people passed the stage on their way to the mock trial. What did it look like? Was there a crawl space under it that could be counted on no one to notice? What about behind it? Did they see it from other angles? Athena only has partial photographs, from up on the stage, nothing with the right angle, the wide shot. All of the pieces, these strange inconsistencies and bits of evidence collected, fit perfectly together with this theory.

There’s just no place for the body.

And that’s going to sink them.

They’re sinking, and Means just laughs. “Don’t you understand yet? There’s no killer other than Juniper Woods! There never was any other possibility, and there never will be!”

“But…” Athena falters. Apollo needs to help her, if he can just come up with somewhere, anywhere, that the body could have been. There were bruises on the victim’s wrists from being tied. Was she tied in some contorted position to allow her body to fit somewhere strange? Every second that he doesn’t say something, he’s failing their client, and he’s failing his friend.

“Poor Juniper must seriously regret asking for your help now - choosing you over me! And not just for herself, but for the way you nearly had Hugh wrongly convicted for murder! Surely you haven’t forgotten that big mistake of yours, too?”

“Don’t listen to him,” Apollo says. Though really, he’s not sure if Athena is listening to anyone, her face gone slack and her eyes glazed over, lost somewhere that isn’t here. “Athena?”

“You’ve not only failed to defend your client, but you brought false charges against her friend!” Means is positively gleeful tearing into her, a shark that’s scented blood and gone into a frenzy, and Apollo remembers what Phoenix said last night, about Athena, about accusing Hugh, wonders what he’s thinking now watching his best-laid plans to shelter her fall apart. “You don’t deserve to call yourself a lawyer!”

“No.” Athena hugs herself tightly, clutching her arms across her stomach like she’s sick, or trying to staunch the flow of blood from a wound, and doubling over herself. Her hair falls across her face, but not enough that Apollo can’t see her eyes, wide and hollow, and Widget’s screen, gone straight black. “No, I - wouldn’t let an innocent person be - I wouldn’t let him be convicted for - something he didn’t—”

“Athena! Hey, Athena, look at me.” Her shoulders start to shake. She doesn’t lift her head. Apollo reaches for her shoulder and stops; she flipped a mann larger than Apollo over her head the last time someone unexpectedly touched her, and if she’s already breaking, the last thing she’ll need is to hate herself more if she lashes out and injures Apollo. Means grins in satisfaction; Apollo glares at him and wishes, horribly, cruelly, for an instant, that he was fae, that he could kill with a look, literally, and then the wish turns his stomach over. Even if this man is a monster, even if he’s getting a laugh out of hurting Athena—

It’s not - it’s probably not a curse, is it? Some kind of spell Means put on her? It’s probably just - a regular mundane breakdown, right? Phoenix is up in the gallery watching, and if something had happened, he’d already be on his way down to let Apollo know. For Athena’s sake, surely, he’d break his habit of staying frustratingly silent on these matters.

“Breathe, breathe,” Athena hisses to herself. “Breathe in, breathe out—”

Blackquill crosses his arms over his chest. After watching him for three trials, Apollo still wouldn’t say he’s got a read on him at all, wouldn’t say he understands if the man has any tics - but maybe Apollo just hasn’t seen them yet. Because Blackquill’s mouth twists, his nose twitches; it might be disgust, and it might be barely disguised fury, and maybe it doesn’t have to be exclusive, one or the other, because those are related emotions. He doesn’t turn his glare from Means but closes his eyes instead, face slackening, like he’s trying to calm himself.

“Hey, shut the hell up, man!” Robin yells. She starts forward for the witness stand, her hands in fists, and Hugh grabs her by the upper arm. “Athena’s a great lawyer! She saved the friendship between Hugh and Juniper and me! And she figured out the secret I couldn’t tell, so I can live my life as a girl again! She is G-R-E-A-T and I don’t wanna hear another word against her, you lying meanie!”

“But I did,” Athena says. Her voice rings out clear and steady despite the way that her body trembles. “I did raise false charges against Hugh. And that - I could have - I could’ve done something unforgivable - I would have—”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Hugh says with a shrug. He still hasn’t let go of Robin, and that’s probably the better choice. “It happens. There wouldn’t be defense attorneys if it didn’t. It’s not like I’m mad - it’s really more like you’ve given me a chance to reevaluate. You’re an honest lawyer and I didn’t think it was possible, for an honest lawyer to do all you’ve done.”

Athena blinks. Apollo hopes that’s a good sign, considering she hasn’t for the minute prior. “But I still haven’t done - what does it matter if I can’t save Juniper?”

“I believe in you, Thena!” Juniper stands from her chair, her hands clenched at her sides. “I haven’t given up! You can’t either! And I know you won’t! I know you can do this, Thena.”

A strangled sound emerges from Athena’s mouth, like a wheeze interrupting a hiccup or sob. “Athena, breathe,” Apollo says.

She tips forward and braces herself against the bench with one hand, the other arm still pressed tight against her stomach. “I c-can’t.” Her valiant attempt at inhaling breaks down into uneven, shuddering gasps. “I c-can’t. I—”

“Perhaps it would help you breathe if you were to cease this pathetic bleating of yours.”

Apollo is ready to yell at him, because someone has to and Robin has already laid into Means, but Athena finally slowly raises her head. “Prosecutor Blackquill?” she asks in a faint, broken whisper.

Blackquill shakes his head. “No more of such foolish words as you have just now spouted.” Is this - is this Blackquill’s attempt at reassurance? Has the world and the court finally gone mad? “You became a lawyer for a reason, did you not? What would come of it should you give up on all of the work that you have done thus far?” He slams his forearm on the bench and leans forward, his eyes sharp and his mouth pressed in a tight frown. “It would hardly do for you to quit now and disappoint a certain someone who has been waiting for you all this time!”

“I—” Athena stares at him, her mouth hanging open, but her breathing has begun to steady from moments ago, and she slowly straightens up, drawing her shoulders back from the way she curved in on herself.

“Ha!” Means’ laugh isn’t a very convincing one. “Isn’t this a precious little waste-of-time effort you’ve undertaken! But it is, I assure you, meaningless. You have nothing on me, and no plan to create anyone else’s guilt! Your case ends here.”

“Oh shut up,” Apollo says irritably, deciding that if Phoenix and Athena are going to be swearing in court on the regular now, he can definitely get away with that. Ignoring Means’ indignant sputtering, he turns back to Athena. “You okay?” She nods. “You’re doing fine, I promise. We’re still going to prove that the truth can win against people like him, all right?”

“But how?” Athena asks. “What am I supposed to do now, Apollo? He’s right, we don’t have any evidence against him!”

No evidence. That’s the problem that Phoenix kept running up against. What does it take to break an honest lawyer? For Phoenix, it was no evidence. But god damn it, Athena has only been a lawyer for six months and when Apollo had been a lawyer for six months, Phoenix gave him the Jurist System to solve that one particular issue. They don’t have the Jurist System now. They might never have it again. Evidence is everything now, and all Athena has is Apollo, and Apollo doesn’t even have a theory. If they can pull together a plausible theory, they can look for evidence in the places their theory maps out. But they need the theory.

“Take a deep breath,” he says - she’s started to look frantic again. Not on the cusp of breakdown, thankfully, but frantic, and that won’t help her think clearly. “And we’ll look back over the whole case. There’s still truth to be found, and I believe in you that you can find it.” The sickly expression remains on her face. Is there something he can do about that, too? “Hey, Athena. Remember what Mr Wright says?” That saying that she in particular so enthusiastically took to. “ ‘The worst of times—’”

“—‘force their biggest smiles’,” Athena finishes. Okay, so maybe they skipped a bit in the middle there. “Right. I’ve got it.” She shakes her head back, her ponytail swinging behind her shoulder, and props her hands on her hips. She doesn’t actually smile, which Apollo can’t blame her for, but even with Widget glowing bright fierce angry red, she appears more at ease than she has for a while. “Think it over.” She squeezes her eyes shut and her whole face scrunches in concentration.

The body was moved in the midst of the mock trial, but didn’t have to be moved far, because the murder took place on the stage and the body had to have been hidden on the stage. What was moved via the banner wire was the other statue, so that Means could draw attention to the body and have it discovered when he wanted it to be discovered. It had to have been on the stage, and it can’t have been suspicious. It’s possible that there could have been some other objects involved in stage-setup that would have been capable of storing a body, but if they weren’t on the stage when Phoenix and Athena got there, then Means had to move it away, and that would have increased the time he spent there and increased his chances of being caught. Seems unlikely that there was anything more. So then, what was on the stage when they got there? Apollo didn’t get much of a glimpse of the initial scene. The mockup benches on stage - what were those made of? Could they have hollowed-out insides, possible to be lifted and have a body dragged beneath? What did the rope bruises on Courte’s wrists mean?

Athena’s eyes snap open. “I’ve got it!” she says. “Apollo, you remember how when we were repairing the statues” - more like when she and Klavier were and Apollo was just kind of there, but sure - “and we couldn’t find any chunks of the boss’ statue large enough to put it back together?” He nods, with no idea where she’s going with this. “And the court will recall how remarkable a feat it seemed that Professor Means could finish the statue of Mr Wright so quickly, when it took Robin so much longer on the other statue. And I can tell you why that is!”

Yep, Apollo has no idea where this is going. “He never built the statue!” Athena continues triumphantly. “It was all an illusion - he hid the body by making it look like the statue of Mr Wright! And with the statues covered by cloth, no one would know what was actually beneath!”

“Wait, what?” Apollo asks.

“Now this will be interesting,” Blackquill says.

What Apollo has come to realize is that he could not be a prosecutor. Not for any reason of principles - arrests have to be made, people are guilty of crimes, and an honest prosecutor is as important to the pursuit of justice as an honest defense attorney, even if both seem in unfortunately short supply these days - but because the prosecution don’t seem to be able to operate with a co-counsel. The closest they get is working as a team with the same detective, and that wouldn’t suit Apollo. What he needs is someone at the bench with him who can come up with utterly batshit theories that escaped his brain because they were, as stated, utterly batshit.

This is going in his journal as the weirdest thing he’s done in a trial. Because certainly weirder things have happened in trials - Kristoph’s shimmering, flickering glamour as it broke, or Blackquill starting to transform to a nine-tailed fox - but Apollo did not hold an active part in those incidents. Apollo is taking a very active role in helping to turn Athena into a sheet-covered statue mockup of the corpse at the crime scene.

Apollo is actively facilitating Athena’s outlandish theory - and less outlandish every second judging from Means’ face, furious instead of laughing it off. The trial takes a ten minute recess to hunt down the props that Athena will need to display her theory: a large sheet, a chair, some rope, and just in case, some duct tape. It feels like preparation for one of Trucy's tricks but if she were here it would be easy, and the Magic Panties would provide, but instead Apollo breathlessly rushes back into the courtroom at the end of ten minutes with a large pink sheet that’s going to have to work one way or another.

What is a co-counsel for but to help you fill in the gaps of your mad ventures? Athena figures out why the professor’s hands were tied and how they were positioned behind her head; Apollo reminds her that Courte had an arrow sticking out of her body and duct-tapes it to her side; they test those two facts together and find that the arrow isn’t long enough to make a convincing statue arm, but Athena notices that Means’ staff certainly could have. Reluctantly, Means hands it over; Athena holds it in place and Apollo shakes out the sheet to toss over her head again. Somehow even that is an ordeal. She got stuck in it last time she removed it, to swap the arrow for the staff, and now Apollo can barely get it tossed up over her head. Fabric doesn’t throw very well. He shakes it out and tries again and this time a cold gust of wind catches beneath it, billowing it upward spread like a parachute to drape neatly over Athena’s head.

Apollo glances at Blackquill. He has stood silent watching - it seems promising that he hadn’t been heckling them - and his arms are crossed, but he slowly lowers the hand he had just slightly raised up off from where it rested on his upper arm, like he made a little wave to direct the wind. Seeing Apollo watching him, he raises an eyebrow.

The courthouse has time and again seen manic laughter within its walls. Athena’s at least is different, triumphant, from underneath the pink sheet where her hands behind her head make the form of a large spiky head of hair, and the staff an extended pointing objection arm. All they’ll need to do now is test the staff for traces of blood, and Means’ guilt will be ascertained.

The proud, proud professor falls apart the way criminals all do, begging and pleading and wheedling for a way out, any loophole or last desperate reason that it isn’t them; cursing the names of everyone involved in their downfalls, everyone but themselves. And Means falls apart, literally, his words becoming more incoherent in his desperation, until they don’t sound like any words of any language Apollo has ever heard. They’re just noises from a man who has finally lost at every game he has played for years, and his voice grows softer and the clack of his teeth together, a horrid sound that makes Apollo acutely aware of all of the nerves in his own teeth that would be giving him pain if he were the one doing that.

He should just steel himself for what Clay calls “Fair Folk fuckery” at the end of every trial. He should expect it by now. And maybe he does, but with the myriad possibilities of their curses and consequences playing out, how does he brace himself when he doesn’t know what’s coming?

He assumes this is fae. What else could it be? Maybe an accident, the first time that Means’ mouth snaps shut and then he opens it and there is blood on his teeth and a chipped white piece of one falling into his hand. Maybe he just spent most of his life putting too much stress on those bones and one of them was already breaking apart before today. But without catalyst a second tooth cracks apart and drops from his open mouth, and another, and Apollo glances away from the spectacle, can’t close out of his mind the blood streaming down Means’ teeth.

“Ugh,” Widget groans, and Athena presses a hand over her mouth. Juniper, sickly green, covers her eyes with her hands. Only Blackquill has the stomach to not turn away, his narrowed eyes fixed on the witness stand and gleaming silver, equally cold and piercing as the yellow glare of the hawk on his shoulder.

#roddy fanfics #fic: the witches of los angeles

6 notes · View notes

siribear · 4 years

Text

whatever lurks beneath the pond in boston common continues to snore away when she returns. the ground vibrates as she walks to the other side of the park where the freedom trail begins. a protectron activates at her approach; metal footsteps clunk along the concrete path, its robotic voice reciting the history of the area.

what really catches her attention, though, is the large piece of plywood with a message written in white paint:

at journey’s end follow freedom’s lantern.

she looks down to the seal. it’s marked with paint she knows wasn’t there two hundred years ago. on this one, the start of the trail itself, an arrow points to the letter a with the number 7 written in the center. A-7. well, that ruins her plans of simply heading to the old north church.

she isn’t surprised that there’s a password involved in finding them.

so she follows the trail around, past the station entrance, up to the massachusetts state house. someone had been kind enough to fill in the missing trail with red paint. the railroad wants people to find it, perhaps. the state house seal has another part of the code: L-4. she makes a note in her pipboy, spacing out the letters. with a sigh, she follows the trail back down the road.

feral ghouls inhabit the graveyard with the next seal. two crouch in front of open graves, pawing at the dirt. those she takes out easily, one shot each, rotten flesh blowing apart with one shot to the head. at the noise, another three clamor out of the abandoned bus just outside the graveyard. somehow, they don’t see her, instead going over to the dead ferals. alice creeps around the bus, writes down the code on the seal, and leaves.

the painted red trail leads her right by a building manned by super mutants. they yell when they see her and begin firing immediately. alice runs, turning the corner, hoping to duck into a building. instead, she’s near-blinded by neon lights. goodneighbor -

another spatter of bullets hits the ground near her. she follows the arrow further down the road, to a high, barricaded wall and a door. alice enters goodneighbor, leaving the super mutants behind.

her sudden entry draws the attention of a few people near the entry. two people in bowler hats and carrying submachine guns head outside behind her. there’s the sound of gunfire, then nothing. the two reenter and nod at her before heading back to their posts.

‘newcomer, huh?’

alice turns to see a man in a greaser jacket and jeans, staring her down. ‘yeah. wasn’t expecting the super mutants.’

he takes a step toward her. ‘welcome to goodneighbor,’ he says with a grin. ‘see what we just did for ya? that’s what insurance gets ya. first time’s free, but...’ he tilts his head. ‘gotta pay if you want us to help you out after this.’

‘insurance.’ she repeats dully.

‘yeah. personal protection and that shit. now, we’ll say - ’ he eyes her up and down. ‘you hand over everything you got. or accidents will start happenin’ to ya.’

she doesn’t have time for this. ‘i think you should back off - ’

‘time out, time out.’ another man walks forward from the shadows, dressed in a red coat and tricorn hat. alice blinks just to make sure she isn’t imagining it, but - no. he really is dressed like john hancock. ‘first time someone steps through the gate, they’re a guest. lay off the extortion crap.’

‘she ain’t one of us. shit, she led super mutants right to our door.’

‘pretty easy, considering they live right around the corner, finn.’ in the light, alice notices the man’s skin looks... dried out. his nose is missing, his eyes are pitch black, but still he smiles easily. ‘let her go.’

finn is none too happy, but steps away. ‘keep this shit up, hancock - ’ okay, now she’s losing it. ‘- and there’ll be a new mayor.’

hancock grins. ‘how about i let you in on a little secret?’

he steps toward finn until they’re face to face. he puts an arm around finn’s shoulders and bends his other arm behind him. finn is too distracted to notice the knife gleaming in hancock’s hand until it’s sticking out of his stomach. he wipes the bloody knife on his pants.

‘breakin’ my heart,’ he says to himself. to alice, ‘you all right there, sister?'

alice shrugs with a smile. ‘i’m fine, thanks. didn’t mean to start any trouble.’

‘don’t worry about it. goodneighbor is of the people, for the people, you feel me?’

she has to laugh. ‘i feel you.’

‘i think i’m gonna like you. just remember who’s in charge, sister.’

he turns and enters the state house, and it’s then she notices a woman standing in the shadows where hancock came from. the two lock eyes, the other woman grins, and follows hancock.

alice ends up trading some of her scavenged scrap with an assaultron manning - womanning? KLE0 had been very insistent - the ammo shop. by the end of their deal, she leaves with more ammo for Righteous Authority and a scope attached to her hunting rifle.

‘lady, you don’t wanna miss this,’ a ghoul in a tweed shirt tells her. alice follows her to the front of the state house where a group has already begun forming. hancock leans out over the balcony, looking over the crowd.

‘hey! glad our newcomer could make it. daisy! how’s my favorite girl doing? didn’t i see you out on a date with marowski?’

the ghoul that lead her to the speech laughs. ‘he wishes!’ the rest of the gathering crowd laughs along, but one man, presumably marowski, yells an indignant, ‘hey!’

hancock gives a rousing speech about sticking together, having each other’s backs. ‘and what out there would want to drive us apart? who would want to hurt our peaceful community?’

‘the institute and their synths!’ yells another voice.

‘that’s right. who said that? come up to my office later, you’ve earned yourself some jet.’ his grin grows as his speech goes on. ‘the institute. they’re the real enemy.’

alice half-pays attention to the speech after that. the crowd raises their fists and their voices by the end of it, yelling, ‘of the people! for the people!’ before dispersing. the institute - she wonders if hancock would know anything.

the area outside the state house has cleared out before she realizes it, everyone except her, the guards, and a few stragglers left behind while the others return to their shops.

‘what a day, huh?’

alice near-jumps. the man beside her stands with his hands on his hips, looking up at the empty balcony. he looks - familiar, with his bald head and sunglasses. though now he wears a flannel shirt instead of the padding armor of diamond city.

‘day off from guarding diamond city?’

she sees his eyebrows rise over those sunglasses. ‘think you’ve got the wrong guy, doll.’

she tilts her head, sure it’s him. same look, same voice, even. ‘sorry. guess i was thinking of someone else.’

‘nah, you’re all right.’ he grins and points at himself. ‘i’ve just got one of those faces, you know?’

alice laughs, not all together convinced. ‘yeah, i guess so. you, uh, take care out there.’

‘mhmm,’ he sticks his hands in his pockets. ‘you, too, doll.’

even after finn threatened to overthrow him, alice is still able to simply waltz up to hancock in his office. if office is the right word for it. he’s made his home in the upper level of the state house. smoke clouds the room, and she feels light headed just walking up to it.

‘hancock.’

‘hey, sister.’ he throws a hand up in a wave. the other is draped across the back of the couch he lounges on, one foot resting on the coffee table in front of him. ‘enjoy the speech?’

‘well enough. i have - a few questions, however.’

he puts both feet on the ground, boots hitting the wood floor with a loud thud. ‘i love an interrogation,’ he says lightly. ‘have a seat.’ she does, on the couch across from him. the woman from earlier stands behind her. ‘i hear you made a name for yourself in diamond city.’

‘i thought i was interrogating you?’ she rests her chin on bridged fingers, elbows propped up on her thighs. ‘but - i don’t know what you mean.’

‘sorry, sister. not often we get a celebrity in goodneighbor.’ he grins. ‘you saved nick valentine. and i hear you were digging around an abandoned house.’

she clucks her tongue. ‘word travels fast in the commonwealth. yes, to both.’

‘you’re all over diamond city radio. making waves, sister. but i have my own questions. who are you?’

‘alice,’ she says. ‘a question for a question, then?’

he leans back again. ‘i knew i liked you. go ahead.’

‘you mentioned the institute.’ he nods. ‘what do you know?’

a shrug. ‘as much as anyone else. replacing people with synths in the middle of the night. not sure what they’re up to, with that. my turn.’ black eyes blink, once. ‘what’s your interest in the institute?’

‘i’m looking for someone that might be working with them, but he’s disappeared. hence, that abandoned house.’ she attempts to lean back, but brushes against the other woman’s hands. she settles for leaning forward. ‘do you know a man named kellogg?’

his eyes widen. ‘the merc? yeah, i’ve heard of him. heard of his work. he’s efficient, i’ll give him that. what’s someone like you want with him?’

‘that’s personal,’ she warns. ‘just know that i want him dead.’

‘ha. all right, i’ll bite. why come to me?’

‘because you’ve already given me more than mayor mcdonough.’ he doesn’t bother to hide his frown at the mention of his name. ‘and i’ve run out of leads. let’s say i’m just - just trying to keep as many ears to the ground as i can.’

‘ask your question, alley cat.’

oh, she likes that one better than blue, for sure. ‘will you help me?’

‘what’s in it for me?’

alice sits up straighter, bats her eyes, and smiles. ‘having the general of the minutemen in your pocket can’t be a bad deal, can it?’

‘the minutemen. now there’s a name i haven’t heard in a while. and that’s you, sister? you’re responsible for cleaning out the raiders up north?’ she gives him a long mhmm. ‘all right, then. formidable, i like it. tell you what, we’ve got a merc of our own here in goodneighbor. hand him this - ’ his voice has been steady while they’ve talked, but when he leans over to a side table and a rattling pouch of caps, he wobbles. ‘ - tell him hancock wants him to look into kellogg. i’ll see what i can get out of anyone else.’

when he tosses her the caps, she catches it before it flies way over her head. ‘what’s his name?’

‘go downstairs to the third rail. tell ham you’re looking for maccready. he’ll tell you where to go.’

she weighs the caps in one hand. it’s quite a bit - guy must be good if he’s worth this much. ‘thank you, hancock.’

‘thank you, alley cat. i’ll let you know if i find anything out.’ he picks up an inhaler from the side table and brings it to his lips. a click, then he sighs. ‘by the way, my favor for leading you to maccready?’

she’s already halfway to the door when he’s spoken. she turns.

‘there’s a place near diamond city. people call it hangman’s alley. wouldn’t be a bad place for another minuteman outpost, huh? farenheit, show her on her - thing.’

the woman, farenheit, all height and silent intimidation, does as she’s told. alice brings up the map on her pipboy obligingly, allowing farenheit to create the marker herself.

‘hangman’s alley. i’ll keep it in mind.’

hancock laughs, low and slow, not even looking at her. ‘i’m sure you will. see you around.’

#oc: alice ward #series: we will all go together when we go #siri drabbles #do i have hancock's voice down? not really #but it'll do for now

2 notes · View notes

kimmimaru · 4 years

Text

A piece of fic I’m working on, I’m particularly proud of this. It’s a Reno/Tseng fic, in the previous chapter Reno is tortured, in this one he and Tseng need to have a chat about how it’s changed their relationship. Under a read more due to length but I’m excited about this. :D

Rude finds Reno standing by the massive picture window in the staff rooms, he leans against the glass with one hip and his arms folded over his chest. The other staff give him a wide berth, their eyes constantly darting to his silhouette as they mutter in low voices to one another. Rude pushes through a small crowd of minor scientists and reaches his partners side. “You ok?” Reno doesn't look back, instead watching Rude's reflection in the glass, “Fine.” He says stiffly, rubbing at his arm absently as he frowns down over Midgar. “How's working with Cissnei?” Rude shrugs, pushing his glasses further onto the bridge of his nose, “She's not you. Don't know her as well, hard to work with someone like that.” “Yeah,” Reno sighs, pressing his forehead to the cool glass. He's dressed in his usual suit, shirt gaping open to reveal his bruised chest. Most of his wounds are healed, only minor bruising and a few bandaged cuts remain. He shifts, fabric rustling. “You seen Tseng lately?” Rude nods, “Yeah. He's been busy though, paper work on the Crescent and the Cheif's hunting that mole.” “Good.” Reno pauses, “They won't let me near the investigation.” “You just got out of hospital, give yourself some time.” Rude counsels, putting a hand on Reno's skinny shoulder. Reno shrugs him off, sending him a sharp look over his shoulder. Rude lets his hand fall back to his side, “Get back too soon and you'll hurt yourself. What good would you be then?” “I know.” Reno snaps irritably, grinding his teeth, “But I wanna be out there...doing something. Anything. Take my damn mind off of-” He cuts himself off, sucking his teeth before sighing and slumping his shoulders. “Tseng's been avoiding me. Haven't seen him since I got out.” “He's...busy.” Rude hedges, seeing Reno's brows draw down into a sharp frown. “Bullshit.” Reno spits, “I went to his place an' he never answered his fucking door, yo.” Rude's had his suspicions about Reno's relationship with Tseng but he's never voiced them aloud. Tseng's always been closed off, he rarely socialises with the rest of them. When they do manage to convince him to get a drink with them he has only one and then leaves, usually with Reno trailing after him. He hasn't heard all the details of their time in captivity but Rude can guess much of what happened. Tseng's lack of wounds and Reno's terrible state spoke for themselves. The only person who can say they know Tseng is probably Veld and he's not talking. “Maybe he's in the office?” Reno hums, pushing himself away from the glass, “Let's get a coffee, yo. Catch me up on the gossip.” He slinks away towards a nearby vending machine, Rude watches him go a moment before shaking his head and following. Generally the Turks keep to themselves, avoiding the other departments and being avoided in turn. People don't go out of their way to involve themselves with the Investigation department, fear holds them back. It gives Reno and Rude plenty of space as they take some seats and those few nearby beat a hasty retreat, leaving unfinished coffee behind. Reno stretches long legs out with a sigh, sipping his drink while Rude picks up a discarded magazine. A photo of Scarlet on the front, posing with a small smirk on her painted lips. Reno scoffs, shaking his head at the picture as Rude drops it back to the table. Reno puts his boots on it and crosses his ankles. “Press like her a little too much, yo.” “They don't know her.” Rude says quietly, leaning back in his seat and feeling eyes on them from all over the room. He picks lint from the cuff of his trousers. “She destroyed another lab again. Sent several security grunts to the hospital.” “You mean Hojo's table?” Reno corrects under his breath. Rude shrugs, “Who knows?” “You remember old Charlie?” Reno asks suddenly, eyeing his partner from beneath his fringe as it dangles over a brand new pair of goggles. “Guy from Urban Dev?” “Yeah, him. Nurses were sayin' he's been canned, yo.” Rude considers for a moment, “Why? He was just an old man.” Reno shrugs, one hand rising and fingers splayed, “Dunno. Maybe too old? The nurses were saying he was caught with some illegal material on his computer.” “Sounds like fake news,” Rude says slowly, running a gloved hand over his bald head, “We would've known about something like that. He was nearing retirement, right? They probably made up some bullshit so they don't have to pay him a pension.” “Yeah,” Reno sighs, tipping his head back so he stares up at the ceiling. His fingers tap lightly against the can of coffee resting on his leg. “Did you get the flowers?” Rude asks suddenly, taking Reno a little off-guard as he loses himself in his own thoughts. Reno blinks, turning his head to eye his partner. “From Aerith?” Rude nods, “She sent them with her regards.” “What does she know?” “Only that you weren't gonna be on duty for a while...but you know her, she knew more than she was tellin' even if we never gave her anything.” Reno relaxes back into the seat, leather creaking beneath him. He runs the tip of his finger around the sharp edge of the can in his hand, “She alright?” “Last I saw her she was with those orphans. Seemed happy enough.” “Good. Maybe I'll go see her.” Rude hums in agreement, watching a group of secretaries sit nearby and laugh. “Tseng's been down there a few times now.” Reno sips, “He'll go see her but-” He cuts himself off again, lifting a hand to his eyes and rubbing at them with a heavy groan. “Shit man.” “How much coffee you had today?” “Not enough.” Reno replies, staring into his nearly empty drink. “You sleeping?” “I'm fine, yo. Quit it.” Rude falls silent, frowning. Reno's hands shake almost imperceptibly as he finishes his drink and tosses the can in the vague direction of the trash. It catches on the rim and falls to the floor with a muted thud. He leans back again, both hands behind his head. For all intents and purposes he looks relaxed, like he's simply taking a break from the daily grind of the office...but Rude knows him too well. He can see the lines of tension in his shoulders and jaw, he can see that his eyes open a crack. He's hyper vigilant. Too aware of everything going on around him. Rude leans forward, arms resting on his knees and hands clasped between them. “Maybe...” he pauses, knowing what he's about to suggest will go down about as well as a tonne of bricks, “Maybe you should go see Doctor Thomas like the Chief suggested.” Reno hisses air through his teeth, “Fuck off. I'm not seein' a god damned shrink. I'm fine.” He sits up, leg bouncing as he grips the edge of the sofa in a white knuckled grip. “You were tortured for days, Reno. God knows what else they did-” “Shut your goddamned mouth.” Reno spits, leaping to his feet and glaring at Rude. “I'll deal with this on my own. You're not my nanny...I outrank you.” Rude takes his venom calmly, hands still clasped between his knees. Finally he shrugs, “It was just a suggestion.” Reno shakes his head, dragging both hands through his spiky red hair before he walks away. XXX Tseng returns to his apartment to find Reno sitting by his door. A dark stain on the hall way carpet as he drinks from a bottle in his hand. “Reno,” Tseng says, surprised. “Yo,” Reno gives Tseng a small salute and holds out the bottle, shaking it enticingly, “Wan' some?” Tseng shakes his head, “You're drunk.” “Chief's taken me off rotation, what else am I 'sposed to do?” “Recover.” Tseng puts his keycard into the slot and his door slides open. Reno scrabbles to his feet and hovers beside him. “What are you doing here?” Tseng asks finally, turning around and using his body to block entrance to his rooms. “Came to see you. Been waiting a while.” Reno mutters, the scent of cheap whisky clinging to his breath. He leans against the wall. “Go home, Reno.” Tseng insists firmly, waving a hand down the hall where Reno's own apartment is. “Nope.” Reno pops the 'p' sound and smirks, “You ain't getting rid of me that easy, boss.” Tseng's nose wrinkles as Reno leans closer, he's not sure if it's a deliberate move or if he's slowly losing his balance. Finally Tseng reaches out, pushing him in the chest so he stumbles back. “Leave. I have a lot to do.” “What the hell did I do, yo?” Reno asks suddenly, the words leave him in an explosive breath. Tseng straightens, turning his back, “Nothing. You just need to sit tight and heal, soon you'll be back in the field.” Reno licks his lips, shaking his head, “So...you're really gonna do this? Why am I being punished for tryin' to save your ass?” “Reno-” “No. No this is...this is bullshit, yo! I don't know what I did to piss you off but all this cold shouldering isn't gonna help. If I did somethin' wrong then you gotta tell me.” “You didn't do anything.” Tseng sighs, shaking his head slowly. He pauses, hand on the door and stares at it, “It's me. I'm the problem.” He admits reluctantly, turning to look back at Reno's stunned face. “I let you get hurt.” Reno stands unnaturally still for a moment. His eyes are the only thing animated as the silence stretches on. Finally he stirs, dragging his heel across the carpet, “Huh.” He says, pushing unruly hair from his eyes, “You're blaming yourself?” Tseng doesn't answer. His silence is enough. “Why? You didn't ask me to do that. In fact, you did the opposite. I was the idiot who thought I could help.” He slumps against the wall, messy suit riding up on one side to reveal a slither of skin. He takes another swig from whatever piss is in his bottle before rubbing at his eyes, “I just made everything worse.” Tseng hesitates before stepping back away from his door, it hisses closed. “Come.” He says, nodding his head down the long corridor towards the elevator at the end. “Where?” “Training room. You need to blow off some steam and so do I.” Tseng pockets his key card again and starts off, Reno trotting at his heels.

#reno/tseng #final fantasy7 #fanfiction #my stuff #swearing #Reno Of The Turks #Rude of the Turks #Tseng of the turks

3 notes · View notes

slothcritic · 5 years

Text

Dragon Ball Z Abridged - Episode 7 Review

Humor that doesn't let up. This episode is non-stop, action-packed, and delivers on everything it tries to do.

The cold open for Saiyans? On My Planet? (It's More Likely Than You Think) has a continuation to the "are we there yet?" skit, capped off with the Saiyans collapsing a building and cratering into the concrete, thus finally arriving on Earth. It's simple dialogue but the pacing, the delivery and the fact that it closes off a running joke makes it a wonderfully effective opener.

[Title Sequence]

Most of this scene has comedic and plot-relevant heft to it. Nappa glasses a city because he hates awkward silences and we as viewers are reminded that the Saiyans are here for the Dragon Balls. The "epic foreshadowing" joke however just feels needless and clunky. I wouldn't say it's out of character, Vegeta constantly begrudges Nappa's idiocy, but perhaps this line should've been written with less flashing bells and alarm signals reading "HEY GUYS, WE'RE MAKING A JOKE OVER HERE."

After a brief back-and-forth with Gohan and Piccolo, Krillin shows up, and... goodness me his voice is squeaky. Let me take a timeout from discussing this episode in a self-contained context. I'll criticize the microphone quality or the writing or the weaker visual gags or the editing missteps, but it's important to point out that not all of the show's improvements have been made through technical means. The cast has also improved personally as voice actors over the years. These contrasts are most notable in characters like Vegeta, Krillin and King Kai. Their modern voices are rounded out much better on delivery, whereas from the outset they're scratchy, unrefined, or even muddled. This also matters partially in-context of the episode itself, because goodness did that voice take me out of my viewing experience.

Krillin and Gohan catch up on how their respective year of training has been. While Gohan has no qualms about his stay with Piccolo, we're treated to distant laughter and an ominous pair of eyes in the background while Krillin undergoes what I can only assume is a PTSD-induced flashback.

One Fight Club reference later, the Saiyans finally meet the main ensemble of Piccolo, Gohan and Krillin.

"Hi."

Appreciating Nappa's role in this series is not exactly an uncommon or niche opinion, but I don't feel the urge to dismiss his humor or succinct, faithful-to-character writing just for the sake of being a contrarian or trying to get a reaction out of people.

I can see it now - "Nappa's characterization as a bumbling oaf is wildly inconsistent with the idea that he would've been a Saiyan General, or one of the most respected military mights in the universe. Vegeta would've been well aware of his character and annoying tendencies from a very young age and would've gotten the hell out of dodge the second he was capable. This depiction is nothing but a transparent flanderization of an originally unremarkable character created for the sole purpose of having a quotable, marketable personality with viral potential in a show that has so far been 'mildly entertaining' at it's peak."

Let me be clear. This is a parody. It’s meant to be pointlessly funny about certain topics. It’s meant to breathe life into creative interpretations of characters for the sake of humor. If I don’t think it’s funny, I will be critical of that. But I see no point in disliking something that I think is funny purely because it is either “popular” or, dare I say it, a “mainstream” opinion.

Vegeta is the kind of person who needs a strong sidekick who's subservient, loyal, and doesn't question orders. Nappa checks most of those boxes across both the original series and this one. Additionally, unlike a lot of other jokes or attempts at humor in this series, Nappa's very simple writing has consistently been a hit. Aside from the Arlia montage with no music, I can't think of a single line of dialogue or joke that Nappa has said that was a complete, useless dud. If it works, it works.

"So, you guys are the Saiyans?" "No."

I want to put on the record that I paused the episode after Nappa said "Hi", wrote for ten minutes on that, then resumed the episode and this line played. I immediately had to pause it again because I was laughing. Just the sheer childishness or petty playfulness that constantly surrounds Nappa and his counter-play with Vegeta injects something completely new and wonderful into this series.

The jokes don't stop after this one. This skit continues with the rule of threes, a callback to Vegeta being a prison bitch, a nerd joke, a eunuch joke, and more. I don't want to talk about all of these individually or I'll be here all day, but let's put a bookend where Nappa reads their power levels. These are all excellent jokes that keep up with the consistently funny pace set by Nappa's introduction. Perhaps the weakest skit is the two Saiyans snickering at Piccolo. It would probably work better if redone now, but the delivery on the laughter isn't entirely convincing enough to flow like everything else does. That said, the joke that an asexual race wouldn't have genitals lands pretty neatly within Nappa's ballpark of humor.

The idea that the Saiyan's power levels are measured based on units of Raditz, and the notion that they can actually grow beings with the same power level as Raditz, is hilarious. Nappa's "Taa-daa" after the Saibamen are revealed is like icing on a very dramatic cake.

I've gotta say I'm with Tien on this one - As someone who grew up in the city where they filmed the Fraggles, I take offense to the implication that they're obscure!

"More bald people!" - I have no idea what Toriyama has against drawing hair (let alone facial hair), but this is a very recurring trend in his art style and I'm glad TFS made fun of it. A cameraman earlier had made the same joke, but it wasn't Nappa saying it, so it was automatically less funny.

Another extremely iconic scene, and at the time a complex visual gag for what the series has done so far, is when Nappa throws the Pokeball at Chiaotzu. The fact that Vegeta deals with so much of Nappa's annoying shit but plays along here just makes this scene so much better.

"That's because you have to damage it first."

This joke has questionable veracity with only Nappa and his “lul so random” take on Chiaotzu’s appearance, but these concerns are immediately dashed by Vegeta, and this is why the dynamic works - Nappa on his own would just be too much stupidity, but Vegeta's deadpan counterbalance provides a nice anchor to reality and solidifies this joke even if Nappa is the one carrying it.

I'm actually rather surprised they didn't draw any comparisons to the Saibamen being Pokemon either. There's six of them, they're all vaguely creature-like beings of adequately short stature, and could quite literally be described as pocket monsters because they can be grown by seeds you keep on your person.

Yamcha lands on the scene with his big damn hero speech, and then immediately one of the Saibaman uses Self Destruct on him. No fight scene, no escalation, just immediate death for you good sir. The scene lingers on Yamcha's corpse while Krillin sheepishly cheers in the background, and that's where the outro plays.

Conclusion

Holy hell this was a good episode, even in retrospect. Almost all of the jokes landed, the pacing and consistency was on point, and we finally have some dramatic gravitas with the Saiyans arriving on Earth. A lot of this episode disappears fast because of how much it draws you in with the interactions and back-and-forth between all of the characters. It's succinct, it's well-written, and the balance and coordination of different kinds of humor play into each other wonderfully here.

If I had to say anything negative about this episode at all, it might be that some scenes played out for too long. While the "humor floor" and "humor ceiling" are definitely a lot higher in this episode than in almost every other episode, there is some variation in joke quality. As I said, nearly every joke in this episode works, but how much does it work? We've reached the point where if the jokes were athletes in a 100m dash, they're no longer breaking both of their legs at the start, but someone still has to cross the finish line first and last. This is also a very dialogue-heavy episode. That can be a good thing, but there's little attention elsewhere in the production of this episode. Things like non-obligatory or joke-dependent sound design come to mind. The video quality is also rather poor. KaiserNeko does switch over to high quality footage for Season 2 and onward, but in Season 1 it's very easy to see the frames shaking or jerking as they spice entire scenes back and forth for their lip flaps. Everyone still has cheap mics.

With that said, I feel like this is a landmark episode for TFS finding their style and settling into a confident stride for the rest of the series.

Score: 80

Passing Thoughts

"You're a prince?" "No." "Fuck you Nappa."

"Oh my god, he blew up the cargo robot. AND THE CARGO WAS PEOPLE!"

"Those readings are useless." "You mean like YouTube friends?" - OOF. That was a great line in 2008, and I personally still think it is, but does YouTube even have a friend system anymore? Or did that get integrated by some other Google platform?

#slothcritic #DBZ #Dragon Ball Z Abridged #TFS #teamfourstar

11 notes · View notes

madscientistjournal · 4 years

Text

Fiction: Disinhibited

An excerpt from the journals of Combat Search & Rescue Consultant Lana McGee, as provided by Myna Chang Art by Luke Spooner

Don’t call me a mercenary. Those guys are pricks. Kidnappers and murderers, the lot of them. I’m not like that. Sure, I get paid for my work, and yeah, I love a good explosion. Who doesn’t? But my job is to save people. Pull them out of bad situations. Bring them home safe.

I’m not an asshole.

“I didn’t think you were, Ma’am.”

Oh shit, did I say all that out loud?

“Yes, Ma’am, you did.”

Wow, this pilot doesn’t look old enough to shave, let alone fly a chopper.

“I shave, Ma’am.”

“You heard that, too?”

“Yes, Ma’am. My CO warned me this might happen.”

“Name’s Lana, not Ma’am. So, they told you about my disability?” Their word, not mine.

“They said you got a piece of shrapnel in your head. War souvenir. Said you blurt out whatever crosses your mind.”

“Yep,” I nod. “Frontal Lobe Disinhibition. Basically, if I think it, I say it. That’s why I’m freelancing now.”

“Yes, Ma’am. Not a merc. Got it.”

Pilot’s quick. And he does shave. Sexy stubble. Yum. Like to run my tongue up that jawline and–

“Due respect, Ma’am, I’m authorized to tell you to shut up.”

I bite my rogue tongue hard enough to draw blood. Damn it, Lana. Stop scaring the cute flyboy.

He flicks his eyes toward me and grins. “Truth is, Ma’am, I don’t scare easy.”

Oh. Well, then. I smile and shift in the seat. “Just to be clear … You wouldn’t mind–”

“Approaching the drop zone, Ma’am.”

I chuckle. His smile turns to a blush. Tease. “Fine, kick me out of your helicopter. Come on, Diamond, we’ve got people to rescue.”

My German Shepherd sits while I attach a jump harness to her K-9 armor. Takes about three seconds. We’ve done hundreds of these short jumps, and it never gets old. She woofs, ready to go.

“Godspeed.”

“You talking to me or the dog?”

“Both of you, Ma’am.”

He maneuvers the chopper over the moonlit compound and flashes a cheeky grin at me again. I try to keep my mouth shut, but as usual, the words tumble out.

“I’m probably gonna lick your stubbly jaw when this mission’s over, Pilot. Diamond might, too.”

“Countin’ on it, Ma’am.”

I laugh and step into the air.

The research facility sits on a swath of blacktop, devoid of plant life, a big wart on a bald head. The gate hangs open. I toss a handful of debris at the razor-wire fence, but it doesn’t spark. Looks like the power’s out. Not a good sign.

I was hoping this job would be a quickie: rescue the dashing scientist, secure his peculiar research, get home in time for dinner. Guess I should’ve known better. Anything involving Chase Mathews isn’t going to be easy.

“At least the compound hasn’t been bombed yet, huh girl?”

Diamond doesn’t respond. She’s good like that.

A Jeep sits abandoned near the fence. Wet-looking handprints smear the windshield, and a case of medical supplies has toppled onto the asphalt.

We skirt it, watching for movement, hoping for some sign of life as we approach the entrance. Nothing stirs. I tighten my grip on the MTAR submachine gun strapped across my chest, and we enter the facility.

Lobby’s dark, except for orange warning lights at the guard’s terminal. My NVGs flare in time with the flashes, so I pull them off. Diamond’s night vision is more reliable than the goggles, anyway. She’s the most capable combat partner I’ve worked with; I trust her with my life.

She nudges me. I nod, and she ghosts away, into the darkness. Nothing will get past her. A low growl, five yards to the right, alerts me to an enemy combatant. I bring my MTAR to bear, just in time. Two quick bursts, and the bad guy goes down.

I love this fucking gun. Compact and efficient, with a little kick. Kind of like me.

Diamond circles the lobby, vigilant, then returns to my side. I prod the body splayed in front of me. Scrawny dude, white lab coat. Blisters all over his face.

Or are those pustules? Jesus, that’s nasty looking. Diamond keens and backs away. I follow her lead. A blister-thing quavers and ruptures, spurting out thick goo. Hard to tell in the darkness, but I think it’s green.

I’ll never eat lime Jell-O again. Diamond rubs her head on my thigh; she won’t either.

“Come on, girl. Our dashing scientist isn’t going to rescue himself.”

She snorts her disapproval. Diamond had never liked Chase. She’d peed on his shoes every chance she got. My dog’s smart. I should have listened.

We creep down the hallway behind the guard station. Emergency lights flicker, strobing the corridor in snapshots of weirdness.

Flash. Body on the floor.

Flash. Smear of blood.

Flash. Heap of clothing, soaked with green sludge.

I wish the freakin’ light would either stay on or go dark. Vertigo pulses with every disco blink.

Diamond lets out a cautionary rumble, and I pull up my gun, ready to fire. A woman covered in angry boils slumps on the floor, back against the wall. She reaches out blindly, hands grasping air.

My first-aid kit’s in my pack, but I’m not ready to take my finger off the trigger guard; Diamond’s hackles are still up. The woman’s mouth opens and tainted saliva gushes out. Looks like pond scum.

I don’t think my emergency band-aids will do you much good, lady.

She jerks toward my voice, moaning. Spit froths on her lips. Several of her boils burst, popping like firecrackers, loud enough I can hear them over my thundering heartbeat. Syrupy goop, smelling of burnt licorice, oozes from the sores. Her body cants sideways and her shoulder hits the floor.

Nothing I can do will help her now. Maybe we’ll find a miracle cure in the lab. Diamond and I hug the far side of the hallway, avoiding her still-seeking arms. The thick fluids pooling around her body seem to throb in time with the emergency lights, and the cloying odor intensifies as we pass.

I’m not sure what we’ve gotten ourselves into, but I sure hope this bug isn’t airborne. Our combat armor should protect us from physical contaminants, but it doesn’t do anything to block out the stink.

We come to a junction. I remember the blueprints and hang a left. The bulb in this hallway’s dim, but at least it’s not blinking. Unfortunately, the path is blocked by a mass of writhing bodies.

All naked–explains the abandoned clothes back there–dotted with throbbing cysts. Many have already ruptured, leaving curdled trails of emerald slime. I stare, fascinated. The people are fusing together; everywhere the goo touches, their skin melds. Limbs, feet, heads, all merging into one giant blob.

Diamond paws the floor. One of the faces snaps up, focusing its attention on her. We back away. A distorted jaw juts out, leering. It trembles, and a body begins to emerge from the fused clump of flesh, first a shoulder, then a torso. Straining to reach us, it makes a squelching slurp and tears free–an arm, two legs.

The legs don’t match.

My stomach turns. The newly assembled monster stumbles and lurches at Diamond.

I shoot it in the head. It stops, but doesn’t fall, so I pop it again, center mass, where a heart and lungs should be. It totters for a split second before collapsing.

Diamond whines; the rest of the entangled mound of creatures squirms toward us. Maybe the gunfire got its–their?–attention. They stretch and heave, inching closer. Unnatural liquids gurgle and flesh splits as they rip themselves apart, rubbery appendages groping relentlessly in Diamond’s direction.

I flip the toggle on my MTAR to full auto and spray the clusterfuck. No way in hell those abominations are gonna get sticky with my pup. I let up on the trigger and watch for movement, then give them another blast, just to be sure.

I guess a full magazine was enough to do the job, which is good because, damn, that’s a scary pile of monsters. But now the hallway’s coated in weird-colored gore. Not gonna risk going through that mess. Doesn’t matter, though. According to the map, all hallways lead to the inner lab, where the research stuff should be stored.

And Chase. Can’t forget him, the handsome, charming scientist. My ex.

Don’t call me a mercenary. Those guys are pricks.

The electronic lock is toast and the lab door won’t open. Something’s wedged it shut. I kick it, hard, but that only hurts my foot.

“Chase? Are you in there?” Hope he’s not glued to the mishmash back in the hallway.

Diamond watches my back while I pound on the reinforced steel.

“Lana? Is that you?”

“Yeah, and I wanna see if you still turn me on.” Damn it.

“Are you infected?”

“I can still talk, can’t I?” Of course I can. It’s my biggest problem.

The door cracks open. He squints at me.

“Why’d they send you?”

“No one else’d take the job.” True story.

Diamond and I squeeze through the door and shove it closed again.

“Did you bring a platoon of Marines to save me?” Chase demands.

I spread my arms. “Just us.”

He groans.

Not as charming as I remember.

“If you’re all they sent,” he says, “they’re going to nuke the whole island, aren’t they?”

“Probably. I figure we’ve got another hour before the bombing starts.”

“No, no, no, it’s too valuable,” he mutters, already ignoring me.

Feels like old times.

His motions are jerky. He grabs a backpack and shoves miniature computer drives and scraps of paper into it.

Definitely not a turn-on anymore. Looks like hell, all bug-eyed and twitchy. Kinda soft around the edges.

He stops and glares at me.

Stinks, too.

“Still the motor-mouthed bitch.”

Oops. “I didn’t mean–”

“Yeah, you did. You’ve always been an asshole. The piece of shrapnel just makes it more obvious.”

That hurts. Gotta admit it. A muffled thud from the hallway preempts my snarky response. Diamond snarls, low and intense. The warning tone sends goosebumps up my spine.

“Chase, what happened to those people?”

He shrugs. “Sample got out. Spread a lot faster than I expected.”

“Sample? The research I’m supposed to retrieve?”

“Thought you were here to rescue me.”

“Yeah, but boss-man said you’re low priority. ‘Get the research,’ he said. ‘Grab the scientist, too, if you can.’ That’s what he said.”

“God, I hate the military,” Chase spits.

I have to agree, at least a little. CO didn’t mention the rest of the research staff. Guess the woman in the hall is zero-priority in his book. I call bullshit on that–I’ll save whoever I can.

“Is there a cure, or an antidote?”

“Why?” he asks, backing away from me. “Did you get any of the transfer medium on you?”

“You mean the green goo? No. But maybe some of the others are still alive.”

He goes back to rifling through the science junk on his desk. “I only make the contagions. Cures are someone else’s department.”

Seriously? “So you’re a full-on mad scientist now?”

“I prefer bioweapon engineer.”

I stare at him. Has he always been this cold-hearted?

Diamond barks, two short yips. That’s a yes.

Chase rolls his eyes and I realize I’ve spoken out loud again. He glares at Diamond.

“Bitch.”

“You talking to me or the dog?”

“What do you think?” He shoulders past me, opening a biohazard safe. Polished steel containers crowd the shelf. They look like those expensive vacuum insulated tumbler thingies. He yanks one out.

“You keep your weaponized slime in a fancy coffee cup?”

He sneers and shoves the container into the backpack. “I can’t believe they sent a brain damaged mercenary to rescue me.”

That’s ‘value-priced consultant’ to you, jerkface. Diamond snarls, exposing her fangs.

“Can you both shut up?” His hands shake.

Wait. Faster than he expected? How did the sample get out?

“A test,” he answers. “Proof of concept for the buyer.”

“You infected those people on purpose? So you can sell that stuff?”

He laughs. “You weren’t very smart, even before the shrapnel.” He zips his pack and turns.

Something’s wrong with his face.

Diamond’s growl modulates into a high-pitched howl–her extreme danger signal. Almost too late, I realize why: Chase is infected. I didn’t see it before. Hard to miss now.

I raise my MTAR. A smudge of emerald gel shimmers on the edge of the safe behind him. “Don’t move.”

He gapes at me, incredulous. “Put the gun down, Lana.”

I shake my head. “You must’ve gotten sloppy with your death jelly.”

“How dare you?” He frowns and scratches at a freshly blossoming pustule on his right cheek. His fingers drip green. “No!”

Diamond moves into a defensive position, guarding me. Chase stares dumbly at his stained hand. He raises frightened eyes to mine.

“Lana, help me.”

My gun barrel wavers. Diamond barks, short and sharp, warning him to stay back, reminding me to follow protocol. Chase reaches out to me.

“Please–” His voice devolves into a mewl. Sanity, whatever’s left of it, drains from his eyes. His face morphs, cheeks melting in a slurry of jade-colored paste. Pus drips from his scalp. He screams and launches himself at me, and for the first time in my professional career, I freeze.

But Diamond doesn’t.

She meets him mid-air, bashing into him with her shoulder. She ricochets off his body, crashing to the floor a few feet from where he lands. Teeth bared, she’s up in an instant, but he’s already charging toward her, crablike, faster than I’ve ever seen him move.

Diamond! Don’t bite him!

I don’t know if I’ve screamed or if she’s read my mind, but she keeps her mouth off him. We slide into a familiar rhythm of charge and retreat, strike and evade. She dodges, giving me a clear shot. I squeeze the trigger. Chase’s head explodes.

Clabbered wet tissue splatters across his desk. Ears ringing, I inch closer and nudge the slack body, but it doesn’t move. His entire head is gone. I doubt anything could survive that, but I give him a double tap, two to the chest, to be safe. Then I drop the gun and rush to Diamond.

You stupid dog. Did the goo splash you? I run my hands over her armor, up and down her legs, check her mouth and her teeth. After examining her doggie armpits for the second time, my panic dissipates. She’s okay; the K-9 gear did its job. She nuzzles my face, and I realize she’s cleaning up my tears. I wrap my arms around her, trembling. Good girl.

I call for evac and wait for the thump of chopper blades to split the air.

On a normal mission, I’d feel rotten about failing to bring my target home alive. This time, not so much. I drag a clean duffel behind me. It’s filled with Chase’s notes and computer drives, but not the bio sample. I left that crap behind for the bombs to take care of.

The chopper circles. I flash my light, three quick blinks, and it lands.

“Look, Diamond, it’s the yummy pilot.”

She woofs and thumps her tail.

“Oh, you approve of this one?”

She barks twice; that’s a yes.

“Okay then, let’s go give him a lick.”

Combat Search & Rescue Consultant Lana McGee specializes in the retrieval of personnel and property from high-risk environments. McGee is assisted by a Hero-Class German Shepherd named Diamond. McGee has recently raised her consultation fees, and now charges a premium for any “mad scientist bullshit.”

Myna Chang writes flash and short stories. Her work has been featured in Daily Science Fiction, The Copperfield Review, Defenestration, and Dead Housekeeping, among others. Find her @MynaChang or read more at mynachang.com.

Luke Spooner, a.k.a. ‘Carrion House,’ currently lives and works in the South of England. Having recently graduated from the University of Portsmouth with a first class degree, he is now a full time illustrator for just about any project that piques his interest. Despite regular forays into children’s books and fairy tales, his true love lies in anything macabre, melancholy, or dark in nature and essence. He believes that the job of putting someone else’s words into a visual form, to accompany and support their text, is a massive responsibility, as well as being something he truly treasures. You can visit his web site at www.carrionhouse.com.

Fiction: Disinhibited was originally published on Mad Scientist Journal

#Genetic Engineering #Lana McGee #Luke Spooner #Myna Chang #Virology

1 note · View note