31. Satisfied (895)
"Do you believe in reincarnation?"
"A reinwoobywhatsit?"
The four month old grandson of Neocortex sighed in resignation, the scowling child rubbing a hand to his larger than average brow. "Sometimes I think talking to you is like talking to wet paint."
"Thank you!" The grandson of Sherlock giggled, sitting up straight and quite pleased with himself. The two children were out in the garden, the younger of the two (but only by two weeks, he was adamant on reminding people of that) was reading under the shade of a rose bush, while the older had been engaged in an imaginary dance recital, a ring of flowers encircling his neck. "But to answer your question, I think you've got the word all wrong. Troz!" Blue eyes smiled at his friend as the latter's brow arched in question. "I think you meant reinroseation. Those aren't carnations, you see." He pointed to the bush just above them, the little pink buds winking down from between the crisp green leaves.
Bay rolled his eyes. "Reincarnation has nothing to do with flowers, imbecile. It's when a spirit lives on in different bodies over different periods of time."
Sitting down in front of him, eyes wide in rapt attention, Pinny clasped his hands together and leaned in. "Like the ninja turtles! Narf!"
The younger sent him a bland look. "No, not quite. The ninja turtles stay the same. They're always Michaelangelo, Raphael, Donatello, and Leonardo while the actors who play them change overtime. Reincarnation is the opposite."
"Oh." Pinny blinked. "'Kay."
Bay thumbed the page of his ancient eastern culture text, brow furrowing as he continued to consider it, glancing up after a few moment of silence to see his friend still staring at him, tail swishing occasionally. "Well? Do you believe in that?"
"If you say it's true," the blue-eyed, buck-toothed mouse replied, smiling. "You know everything!"
"Not everything," he grumbled, crossing his arms as he glared at the book. "There's no proof such a thing exists, yet..." Yet sometimes he had this feeling... when he walked the halls of the castle. Just a feeling.
"I have dreams."
Bay's ears perked and he flicked his gaze back to Pinny, the idiot appearing oddly serious. "Congratulations, pinhead. You've figured out how to work your unconscious mind, a gift most people are born with," he deadpanned.
He giggled, something about his tone of voice just delighting him. "No, no, no, Bay! Zort. Not just any old dreams. Dreams that I'm big and a grown-up. Sometimes I'm here at the castle and sometimes I'm in this weird place with bars and a door and a water bottle and an exercise wheel. Kinda like a cage, but completely different. Oh! And I'm always with you!"
Eyes of blue and pink stayed fixated on each other, the former as bubbly as ever and the latter wide and curious. When he looked into those eyes... that was when that feeling was the strongest. "I have those dreams too," he admitted quietly.
Pinny gasped and leaned forward, bumping their noses together. "You do? Egad, Bay! We're like wizards!"
"Exactly, Pinny. We're like wizards," Bay sighed, choosing his battles with his simple-minded companion carefully.
"We're gonna be married someday, too!" The slightly taller child nodded firmly, losing the contact to sit up straight and puff out his chest. "Married forever and ever! Narf!"
Idiot. Bay flicked his forehead, sending the silly creature into a tizzy of giddy laughter. It wasn't the first time he'd said it, and he knew it wouldn't be the last. Ever since he could remember Pinny believed they were going to be married. "Is that what you think then? That if we had past lives, we were married?"
Pinny nodded exuberantly. "Oh yes, Bay! In my dreams we are definitely marrieds!"
"Are we happy?" Bay asked, almost hesitantly as his finger brushed over a sentence on the page, but he masked it with a scowl. When he dreamed, he was never certain. Sometimes there were a lot of dark things and nightmares... but whenever there were those blue eyes blinking at him, he believed he was happy.
There was another nod. "Very happy. Troz. And fun-fun silly-willy!"
The slightly smaller, chubbier child's brow furrowed further, even if the answer relieved some deep down part of him. "That doesn't make any sense though. You'd think to want to try living again, you'd be unsatisfied with your previous life."
"Well, maybe we just liked it so much we wanted to do it again. Poit."
Bay's expression smoothed out in mild wonder, watching Pinny rock back and forth as he held onto his toes. "I... I suppose that could be a reason. I mean, only if such a thing existed after all. As far as we know, they're just silly dreams." He closed his book firmly, picking it up as he got to his feet. "Come, Pinky, I've had enough of being outside."
"Right, Brain!"
The names came so naturally to both of them, neither noticed the slip. Pinnacle only laughed and spun in a circle while Basal Ganglia dusted himself off. With blue eyes sparkling, Pinny latched onto his friend's hand while Bay rolled his eyes with a reluctant sort of fondness and let him. As they left the shade of the ballerina rose bush, a squirmy tail twined around a crookedy one and held on.
32. Empty (649)
Molly didn't like her name.
It had been picked only to match Mia's, and being twins they had to match. "What are you doing with that flower on your head, Molly?" their mother would ask, shaking her head, amused in her exasperation. "You don't see Mia running around with things around her ears, do you?"
"I'm not Mia," she'd say, but she wouldn't say she was Molly either because the name tasted like a lie on her tongue. Heavy and wrong. "I want to look different."
"You're twins, dear. You look the same." And their mother would snatch up the flower she'd placed behind her ear, or the sash she'd draped around her waist, or the bow she'd tied around her neck. "We're mice, we don't need things like this. They'll only get in the way."
So she looked just like any other mouse, not special or unique. She'd blend in with her massive family, the boys always playing and fighting and rough-housing and Mia always whining about something. Molly read a lot of books and stayed in the corners of her house. No one noticed her anyway and it was safer in the corners. Her tail already had a kink from where it'd been stepped on too many times.
"You can't just sit around on the floor, Molly. You're in the way," her father would say. "Stop reading and go out and play with your brothers." But her brothers were too rough and it wasn't always fun to play when the playing was mean. They would tease her.
"So what's your name today, Miss Priss? Hm? What special name do you have today?"
Some days she was Dandelion. Some days she was Elizabeth. Some days she was Marie, Gwendolyn, Harmony, Athena, Desdemona, Sugarplum, Starlight, or Juliet. Some days she was Clara, and Clara felt the most right of all, even if it wasn't quite perfect. She supposed she just liked that it started with a C.
"What's wrong with your name? Molly is a fine name," her mother would defend.
"It's all those books she reads," her father would add. "A waste of time, filling her head with nonsense. A mouse doesn't need to read books. We only need to read the things that will help us survive."
"I like reading. I like understanding things."
Her mother and father would shake their heads. "What good will it do you as a grown mouse? You're too small and too meek and you don't know how to stand up for yourself. If you didn't have your head in a book so much, you'd probably have more life skills."
She was too small because her brothers ate all the food. She was too meek because it was impossible to speak up in this family. She could stand up for herself though, but nobody listened. "I'm going to be very important someday," Molly told them.
They smiled at her, placating smiles. "Of course you will, dear."
She would. She'd dreamed of it and the dreams always felt so right. When Molly dreamed it was of the prettiest blue eyes and the kindest smile and the sweetest laugh. She dreamed of warm hugs and gentle nuzzles and the feel of fingers delicately tying a satin ribbon around her neck. She dreamed of a strong hand patting her head, the highest of praise, and a low voice lulling her to sleep. When Molly dreamed there was attention and affection and ambition.
In her dreams there was a family that didn't call her Molly. And it felt more right than anything ever had in her whole life. She'd wake up with tears in her eyes and an ache in her heart. Why was the dream so much better than her life? When morning would come and her parents would call for her, she wouldn't answer. It was too hollow a sound to be her name.
33. Anger (604)
They didn't fight a lot, but they did fight, as married couples tended to do. Little fights, big fights, fights that climbed on rocks. Either one of them could be the catalyst and any number of topics could set them off. It really just depended on their respective moods. But the fights always ended when Pinky unexpectedly crushed his lips to Brain's, kissing him even when Brain didn't want to be kissed. He'd protest and rage and push away, but Pinky would keep kissing, kiss him until he became complacent and malleable thanks to a combined effort of lips and tongue.
But tonight, Pinky didn't want to kiss Brain.
No. Tonight he was feeling hurt and he knew he didn't want to kiss Brain when he was feeling like this. Angry to the point of trembling, sick to his stomach, achy-breaky all over, hurt. He couldn't even remember what had started this particular snap, but he did know that he was so, so tired of it. Tired of the insults, of the brush-offs, of the regret. Especially of the "I don't need you! I don't want you! You're useless!"
All the angry sad bad swirled like a whirly wind inside him, but not in the fun-fun silly-willy way. No, this way made him want to scream, cry, yell, throw things, run, run away, run far far far away and never ever come back.
"I wish I'd never met that angel!" Pinky shrieked, so far off from the subject they'd been on that Brain was actually silenced mid-thought, his mind scrambling to catch up with what he'd first dismissed as inanity. But it was too despairing to be something so easily dismissed. "I wish he'd never found me! He's a liar! He lied to me! You'd be better off if I were-!"
"Don't you DARE finish that sentence, Pinky! Don't even think about it!" Brain roared, his panic manifesting as more anger.
"Too late! I already have!" Pinky shot back, gesturing to his head. "And I'm still thinking about it! La-la-la, thinking-thinking-thinking!" The sing-songy tone, no matter how bitter it was, was still ridiculous enough to ease Brain's temper and allow him to clearly assess the situation.
Breathing heavily, his shoulders went slack and there was a heaviness in his chest that felt stifling. There'd been no cause for his anger, no cause for hurling cruel words at each other. But in the face of Pinky's anger he couldn't help it. Pinky wasn't supposed to get angry. Not with him. And definitely not angry for not having jumped off the bridge when he'd had a chance.
"Pinky... stop it," Brain requested, rubbing his temples in an attempt to keep his hands from shaking. He wouldn't do it. He wouldn't do it.
"No! No I won't stop it! I'm mad at you, Brain!" Pinky yelled, but there was no bite to it. The angry tears kept there from being any. "I'm really, really mad at you!"
"I know you are. And that's alright." He reached out to stroke his lover's side, holding onto his waist when he'd tried to squirm away from him. "It's alright. You can be mad at me all you want."
Pinky looked him in the eye, blinking rapidly as confusion, anger, and sadness rippled through his gaze. "Really?"
"Yes, Pinky. You can. Because it's not the angel who lied to you." It was me, he kept the thought locked away. "I do need you, my dear." When the taller mouse continued to appear unconvinced, Brain cupped his cheeks and crushed their lips together until Pinky became malleable and complacent and kissed him back.
34. Fury (788)
Pinky's ears stayed high on his head, almost completely vertical, and his fur tingled and itched, crawled up the back of his neck, prodding and poking and poking and prodding- until he turned around and there was nothing there. Just the empty sewer channel. It didn't stop his quivering, even the muscles in his tail taut.
"Pinky! Stop dawdling, I need those glowsticks!" Brain hollered from further down the tunnel. "It's pitch black down here."
"Coming, Brain..." Pinky murmured, inching along after his husband, always watching behind him.
"Pinky, I can't hear you. This bracing dankness is muffling average vocal vibrations," Brain complained and Pinky could hear him tapping his foot on the concrete. Echoing.
"I s-said c-coming, Brain," he repeated a little louder, forcing his trembling knees forward.
The greenish-yellow glow illuminated his husband as he got closer, the big, chubby head attracting his attention like a lumpy, friendly nightlight. The electrical sparks between the tips of his fur, keeping it bristled, eased along with the pounding of his heart. Brain was here. He was safe.
He watched a grumpy eyebrow raise. "What's the matter?" As he asked the question, his gaze roved over Pinky's countenance and steadily widened. "Pinky, you're shaking."
A sound. Behind them. He heard it. He did.
"Pinky, there's nothing there." His fur fluffed out threateningly as Brain laid his hand to his side. "Pinky, it's okay. I promise you, there's nothing there. See?" Brain held one of the glowsticks out, shining them down the way they'd come.
"'Kay," Pinky answered reluctantly, his neck still twisted back to stare at the darkness.
Brain sighed and tucked several more glowsticks under one arm and took Pinky's hand with his free one. "Come, dear."
The two mice ventured deeper into the underbelly of the streets, laying the wiring for Brain's underground radio disruptor. He no longer trusted towers that could attract lightning at any given time. With the underground system, he would knock out all the radio stations so the unwitting populace would be forced to listen to his and only his and steadily become convinced that he should be their rightful ruler and take over the world! But Pinky's jittery behavior was distracting. At every sound and nonsound, the taller mouse would freeze and look behind them. Trembling, alert, scared.
"Pinky, for the last time, there is nothing there!" It was the seventh time he'd said it.
The longer they spent down there, the worse Pinky got. Brain's frustration with his husband bled into concern as the whimpery sounds coming from him seemed as if they were choking him. He was willing to stop where they were and climb out at the next opening they found. Pinky very clearly wasn't okay and the plan would have to wait in favor of getting him out.
"Sweetheart, we're almost there. Shh, Pinky. There's nothing there."
Nothing he said was working.
Anxiety mounting, Brain ceased the tiring attempts to get his husband to keep moving and wandered ahead to see where the next exit was. Feet flying out from under him, the megalomaniac felt his heart hammering in his throat as he was pinned to the slimy floor. A feral scent surround him, clogging his senses and the cry came unbidden; instinctive, frightened, "Pinky!"
And then the weight was gone, flung off him as a loud hiss ricocheted off the walls. He only took a second to try and calm himself, then fumbled frantically for the glowsticks he'd sent scattering. He shone one in the direction of the sounds. Pinky had the rat, the rat, pinned now, fur bristled with his lips curled in a snarl and his chest rumbled with growls. Real growls.
The rat slashed at him and Pinky swiped back. Rolling, wrestling, clawing, squeaking, biting until the rat scurried off down the tunnel. Pinky was left panting, the residual growls rippling through his body. His eyes were wild and he wouldn't stop shaking, not even after Brain made the slow, cautious journey to his side and touched him. The ginger brush against his bristled fur did something though, they made eye contact and Brain watched as the fury fled the darkened, blue gaze.
Worry came first, Pinky touching him all over, sniffing, caressing, making certain the rat hadn't hurt him. He gathered him up in his arms and held tightly, and Brain realized he too was trembling just a bit. Then he watched shame and fear and finally tears fill his husband's eyes. Crying, hugging, rubbing, Pinky clung tighter and Brain stroked his back, hoping the bristled fur would settle and he could forget that Pinky even had it in him to fight a rat, hating that he knew the reason why he could.
35. Delight (503)
Sometimes after love things, if they weren't completely drained from the evening's plan, they would explore each other quietly. Seeing only with their fingertips, tracing curves and mapping out indents and taking note of what caused a shiver or a purr or a giggle. Brain's lips quirked up far too often during these quests of touch, the knowledge that Pinky's eyes were closed and couldn't see him acting as a sort of "get out of jail free" card.
Though he simply couldn't help it when his fingers danced low on the lanky mouse's belly and he felt it hitch and heard the quiet huffs of laughter. Or when he'd trace his neck and jaw and cheeks and receive a purr for his efforts and a soft hum. Pinky was so easy to please, every inch of him buzzing with nerves of some kind. The electric pulses of sensation most likely overwhelming his wayward husband's simple mind.
While he enjoyed the attention he received as well, for Pinky was very good with his hands, sometimes he'd scoot away just enough to not be undeterred in his journey. And to get to his slender legs, he needed to be undeterred or he'd never make it. Pinky always got to his tail first.
So he'd stroke his thigh, teasing the inside only a little, enough to make him moan quietly and then he'd move on to his knee. He slowly scratched at the cap, he'd always cheat a little at this part, peeking one eye open to watch the way his calf jerked and his toes curled. Pinky's breathing always picked up, always expecting him to go for the soft indent behind his knee, but he never did. His fingers would tickle his shin and squeeze his calf, the muscles firm from dancing, and Pinky sighed happily when his hard work was appreciated. When he got to his ankles, he'd rub them loving, rotating them and drawing mathematical equations over the bump and down the top of his foot. It was hard to capture, but Brain was nothing if not persistent, and he would have every inch of his lover succumb to him. He'd use both hands, grasping his ankle with one as he smoothed his palm over his sole. The giggles that bubbled out were a touch different from his usual amused sounds, more frantic, more squeaky. His lover was sensitive all over, but he nearly lost it when he'd run a single finger over his arch.
He did lose it when he finally got back to his knee. Peals of laughter and desperate squeals had no hope of being contained once he began his final assault, clearly driving Pinky mad with it. Yet he never once tried to get away. Oh, he squirmed and writhed and begged, but his calves and thighs were strong enough to kick away from him if he really wanted to. Pinky delighted in the torment far too much to even consider it though. And Brain delighted in his delight.
So I swapped the original #31 with #75 in the list because of reasons.
Well, the first being I haven't written Rage yet xD And also that I felt there would've been too much angry feelings in this batch lol.
Other reason! Because I realized StarShineDC's next update in her second round of prompts "100 Feels" has a wonderful blip in it. It's wonderful and brilliant, and Satisfied is where Bay and Pinny are first mentioned. For those who read both of our works, I felt that having that jumping off point would help when they pop up every now and again in our works. Hope you enjoy!
Oh, and if you're not reading StarShineDC's things, YOU SHOULD BE! Go read all her things, now.
Also, Delight. I think that's one of my new favorites xD Yes. Actually... I love all of this batch xDDDD For it's own reasons. Fury and Empty get me a little still when I read them lol.
Next up: Submission, Infatuation, Anticipation, Pessimistic, Jolly
