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moxfirefly · 3 years

Note

Oh... Bitch. #19 and I request Mikey. I wanna see your magic and well... His. 😏🧡

Oh yes, let’s get it!

Rated Explicit (18+ only)

Michelangelo was dumbfounded. Truly stumped at the sentence that rolled out of your mouth.

He must’ve misheard, it wouldn’t be the first time, his mind always running a hundred per hour but this wasn’t the case.

Michelangelo gripped your feet, massaging the soles as you spoke. The two of you sat on the couch in the truck. It had taken several weeks of begging but Mikey had managed to swear on a stack of Wu-Tang vinyls that if Donnie lended him the truck he would return it in its complete safe mint condition. The reason for this was he wanted to take his girl out for a drive, maybe park somewhere nice, watch the night life, the city lights.

It was gonna be a perfect date for sure.

After some driving around, totally showing off that he so was a responsible driver unlike what his brothers suspected, he had parked. The two of you moved to the back part and enjoyed every nifty little gadget for entertainment that Donnie had installed.

So now as the two of you settled and talked about everything, the topic had shifted to sex.

For Mikey, even if his actual reptile brain was vibrating at the possibility of sex, he knew some of these talks were a means for you to find your ground. The topic often came up, not to say things hadn’t gotten pretty heated between the two of you, but it never escalated above some heavy petting.

Tonight though, Mikey’s brow bones shot up over the reason why you were still apprehensive of taking that final step. The reason though, just left him feeling incredulous.

“What do you mean you’ve never cum from sex?!” Mikey sat up better, attention at high when you covered your face and laughed. “It happens, Mike. More often than one would like but the guys I’ve been with just...” You trailed off, the situation was embarrassing as if.

Mikey bounced the information in his brain, were you afraid he would be another on the list? Then again it could be understandable, this was his first serious relationship. You noticed his pensive gaze and scooted close. “Hey im not saying you aren’t gonna get the job done, but my experiences just haven’t been earth shattering” You grabbed his hand, thumbs pressing on his palms.

Mikey shrugged with a shy smile. “Well, I think I can change that string of bad luck” The confidence was there and you couldn’t deny it was something that often made you giddy on the inside. With no hesitation you pressed your smiling lips to his, you felt the tips of his fingers caress beneath your chin. If there was something the orange banded ninja felt confident about, it was his ability to kiss. Often a time had he seen that glazed, love drunk gaze on you after a particularly steamy makeout session. Wether a soft, ghosting of a teasing kiss to those more messier saliva exchanging kisses. Mikey simply just knew how to work his mouth.

And you would be a god damn liar if you hadn’t fantasized about said mouth doing other things.

There in the softly lit back of the truck, you let yourself fall into the familiar ache that his mouth caused you. A few weeks ago you had ridden his thigh to the point of your nethers throbbing with a terrible need. Mikey’s lips teasingly kissed towards your neck, carefully raking his teeth over the sensitive spots. His kissing alone was far superior than those of your ex lovers, Mikey’s attention to detail when it came to your sweet spots was critical for him. He knew your neck was free game, too easy but he’d learned about your shoulders, about squeezing your waist and pressing you against himself.

He was well aware of raining down some cocky comments against your mouth or ears would deliver fantastic results.

You pulled back just an inch, eyes scanning his. You caressed his face, thumbs running across his lips, shiny with the taste of yours.

“Okay, let’s try it out” You spoke softly, cheeks flushed but eyes so very certain. He felt his heart rattle inside of him, nervousness rose but he fought against it when your hands caressed him so lovingly. You could reassure him with a look often times but if you touched him, ran your hands over his cheeks or arms, whatever self doubt would melt away.

Everything melts with Mikey.

Just like now, somewhere along the various sounds inside of the truck and the soft music playing you got up and started to undress before him. Mikey’s frozen in place but not out of fear or embarrassment but more so because he doesn’t want to miss a second of what you are giving him. Intimate parts of you he’d only gotten his fingertips to brush or lips to kiss. He’s mesmerized, hypnotized truly. Watching jeans slide down your legs and a sweater fall somewhere near your shoes. He can’t take his eyes off of you, sweaty hands pushing down his own shorts as he kicks off his shoes, thankful for not being in his full usual gear.

Mikey swallows dryly when your knees hit the couch, straddling his lap and effectively trapping him in your scent. Lazily you feel his hands on your hips steadying you. The kissing picks up again and you’ve never felt more in tune with somebody.

Somewhere along the heat his fingers find the clasp of your bra, hand at the back of his head you give him that nudge to do what he’s so very much craved. Burying his face between the two fleshy mounds he inhaled and shuddered against softness. Biting your lip you try to grind down on him, lost in the content sigh that blows hot air against your sternum.

“Mikey...” It’s a whisper against his temple, felt so deeply within his soul that can’t help but tug you closer to him. “You’re like, beautiful” He’s punch drunk and you’re pretty sure he just said that to your breasts but it brings chuckling smile out of you. “You’re not so bad yourself either” You take your lustful moment to run your hands down his chest, enamored with the texture, aroused by the strength you feel beneath your fingertips. You take a daring second to lean down and lick a slow stripe up his neck. Mikey felt like he short circuited with just that, he wondered if the rest of you would cause more of those sensations.

So he can’t help but find out. He moves you to lay down on the cozy couch, settled between your legs he grinds against your clothed heat. You want him already, quiet little moans escape you and go straight to his hard on. His underwear is past his hips and yours is pushed to the side and that familiar burn knocks the wind out of you cause it’s never felt this strongly. The shape of him makes you lift your hips to seek him out further and Mikey moans something guttural against your chest when he bottoms out in you.

“Fu-uck, oh god” It’s so sincere and muffled against your left breast that you’re secretly proud you caused that in him. He’s wary of his weight, one arm above your head to grip the armrest the other dug beneath your low back. He keeps you just the way you want to and the rest is your legs tightly snug against his waist, the edges of his shell digging in. That first cautious thrust is accompanied by his lips around your nipple. You shudder against him, the overwhelming sensation catching you off guard. You watch the arm above you flex, muscle twitch with his next thrust. He’s hitting spots that no other lover had bothered to, tongue twirling around your nipple alternating between sucking and biting the flesh.

You cuss, feel yourself shudder and stick to him with desire. “Jesus just-god!” You’re a mess of words when he licks all the way to your earlobe and bites down. “Just what? Hmm, girly you’re so warm around my dick” You must be red, every inch of you must be crimson because hearing him talk like that shouldn’t affect you that much. Mikey’s clearly riding the high of it, noticing how you clench around him and pull him into wet warmth.

Soon enough he’s thrusting harder, quicker and the truck is filled with panting and praising. You run your hands up his plastron, enjoying how that makes him buck more. He finds you lips and kisses you with a need that can’t be measured, tongue entwining with yours. The hand that had been so viciously holding the armrest snakes down your side and in between both of yours moving bodies. You feel the pad of his rough thumb slowly circle your hardened clit and the feeling is enough to moan into his mouth. Mikey licks the roof of your mouth and recaptures your mouth and it’s dizzying. The soft but firm circles on your sensitive nub make you squirm and tremble. It’s too many feelings at once, his cock filling you up, lips on yours distracting and that’s treacherous little motion of his thumb.

Soon you start to feel it, a tightening, a tension that makes you seek his thrusts out more. You want to moan but his kiss muffles it, tongue so busy making you needier. Mikey rubbed faster this time, the salacious wet sounds mixed with the sounds of slapping. You’re teetering and it’s too much for you to be able to concentrate on the kiss. Your mouth opens and you gasp when that free fall feeling hits. Mikey rubs and pounds and you cum. Your eyes shut tight as you scream, gushing around his length and spasming. Your back arches, hands trying to grab or push at anything. Mikey jackhammers the last of what he can and cums hard only making you shiver and spasm more. He buries his face between your sweaty breast, harsh breaths hitting the skin.

You find feelings against in your legs and your heart allows you to relax in the post coital bliss. “Was...Was that good?” Mikey sounds dead but so deeply satisfied and you giggle, the movement making your chest vibrate and he happily nuzzles your chest. “More than good, I think I lost my vision for five seconds” He snorts and you smile as you affectionately caress the back of his head.

“...Wanna go again?” You ask shyly.

“Absolutely” He grins against your skin.

#tmnt bayverse #tmnt mikey x reader #tmnt michelangelo x female reader #michelangelo tmnt #tmnt michelangelo x reader #tmnt mikey #tmnt michelangelo #michelangelo x reader #mikey x reader #smut prompt #mikey #Michelangelo #ask #imthegreenfairy88 #ns*w

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kamotoshi · 3 years

Text

reminders [fushiguro tōji x reader]

pairing: fushiguro tōji x fem reader

genre: fluff

warnings: a bit of swearing; brief mentions of past trauma, manipulation, and financial instability/struggles

word count: 2.3k

overview: a sunset picnic reminds him to stop for a moment and remind his wife how he truly feels about her

note: just another fic to serve as evidence for my obsession with making big, beefy 2d men with tough exteriors completely soft for their significant others (wives especially)

“Aren’t we just the cutest couple ever?”

Tōji’s eyes move from the spread of food laid out across the patterned blanket beneath the two of you over to either side of him, where a few other couples and families have set up their picnic spots for the evening, then, to your phone. A glance at the screen displaying the timed photo you’d just spent the past five to ten minutes setting the scene for and perfecting brings a smirk to his face.

“Just the right amount of nauseating.”

“Like, to the point where people are a little envious, but they don’t think we’re being too over the top, right?”

“Right.”

You hum in understanding as you pop a piece of fruit into your mouth.

“But, I would say err on the side of caution and don’t post the super lovey-dovey ones. Actually, please don’t. That’s a request now.”

Your hand flies to your chest to match the look of feigned shock on your face at his words. He doesn’t miss how the diamond on your finger sparkles in the amber glow of the setting sun. The thought crosses his mind that he wants to buy you a bigger one when he has enough money to set aside—something that would shine just a bit brighter. Almost as brightly as that beautiful smile of yours he had the pleasure of seeing each day, if he was lucky.

“You mean… I can actually post a picture that I took with my notoriously elusive husband?”

With a nod, he shifts his gaze to the horizon—or whatever he can see of it peeking around the sides of each building—for a moment. “Just know it’ll probably end my job,” is his response given with a sigh, “Nobody’ll fear me after they see that I enjoy sunset picnics with my adorable wife, now, will they?”

“Or,” you offer with a grin, scooting closer to him so his arm can snake around your waist, “it could give you an advantage, people thinking you’re kinda sweet. Like, oh, he’s a cold-blooded killer who takes care of business, but he’s got a soft side, too. And then, bam! You swoop in and they’ll never even know what hit ‘em.” Sweeping a hand dramatically across the landscape in front of you, as if you want him to picture the scene in your head, you add, “Suddenly, you’re the talk of the town. Women want you. Men want to be you. Hell, they’d probably want you too.”

“And that’s the story of how I end up on the front covers of magazines, right?”

“Exactly. This is just the start of your success story, baby.” Tenderly, you place a hand on the side of his face to bring it closer to your lips. After pecking him on the cheek, you whisper, “Just try not to forget about me when you’re famous, okay?”

He turns to look directly at you, his eyebrow raised with incredulousness in an expression you’ve seen many times before. “You kidding me? I would never. Be famous, I mean.”

The teasing smack you land on his chest doesn’t deter him from leaning down towards you to press a kiss against your lips that you readily return in spite of your complaints at his devious comment. He relishes in the sweet taste lingering on his tongue when he pulls away, and the affection present in your half-lidded gaze brings a comforting warmth over him akin to the feeling of finally crawling into bed after a long day. In his moment of distraction, you’re able to sneak in another meeting of your lips before grabbing one of the snack boxes you’d meticulously crafted and dropping it into his lap.

“Since I’m nice, unlike you, I’ll still let you eat the food lovingly prepared by your loving wife.”

“C’mon, baby,” he murmurs, giving your thigh an appreciative squeeze, “You know I love you.”

“I mean, I hope you do. You did marry me, and stick with me all these years, after all, you weirdo.”

He chuckles and pats your leg before shifting his attention to the delicious food you’d put together for the two of you, and you settle down beside him after collecting your own. His free hand plants on the ground beside your opposite hip, closing the gap between you.

Each day that he gets to spend with you he’s thankful for. But there’s something different about those where the sight of the sun slowly descending toward the horizon is beautiful enough to draw both of you out of the house to sit and watch it. He can’t quite explain it, but everything about these days feels different. The harshness of the city seems to fade away for a bit. The air smells sweeter. His breaths come a bit more deeply. The absence of your body against his in some way is felt more intensely.

In between gazing ahead at the sunset—allowing his eyes to flicker to his meal, the kids zipping past every now and then on their bikes, or other passersby—he finds his attention being drawn back to you. Each feature of your face bathed in the golden light of the sun’s last rays brings an unexpected flutter to his heart. He’s never surprised by how gorgeous you are, but, still finds himself in awe of just how lucky he is each time he stops to take it all in.

Lucky that he gets to wake up next to you and see you in those quiet moments of the morning when your eyes are still struggling to focus and your cheek is stamped with each wrinkle of your pillowcase, but you look beautiful all the same. Lucky that the arms and legs he has draped around him until you both wake up sweaty in the middle of the night are yours. Lucky to be offered a refuge wherever you are. Lucky you’re one he promised to love for the rest of his life.

In the busyness of your days, sometimes things are assumed rather than said. He assumes the parting kiss he presses to your lips each time he leaves the house translates into a small, “I love you, I’ll be back soon.” Just like he assumes the way he pulls you onto his lap while you’re sitting together, watching a movie, sends a small message of, “I need you here, close to me.” Or the pause he takes to gaze into your eyes after your more passionate displays of affection means, “I love you more than I know how to say.”

He realizes, given the risky nature of his work, that thought alone isn’t enough, though. Maybe he’s too afraid of saying something that’ll curse you for his lips to form the words he’s thinking as often as they should, but if he was one to let his life be ruled by fear, he wouldn’t be sitting with you in the first place. He would’ve let his family wreak havoc on him for the entirety of his life, weighing it down with constant reminders of his failures. He would’ve let his fear of being vulnerable keep him from getting close enough to you to fall in love with you.

Yet, here he is, making relaxed conversation with you—his wife—as the two of you sit together beneath a sea of brilliant oranges, candied pinks, and the gentlest hues of lavender. With the way you use your steadily built and strongly maintained trust in him to speak so freely and be so vulnerable without fear of judgment, he feels it’s only fair that he shows his trust in you by doing the same. That he reminds you of his feelings rather than lets the implications behind his actions speak for him.

When he decides to mention it, most of the sky has lost its fire and quite a few of the other picknickers have packed up and returned home. But the two of you choose to remain out just a bit longer in the warmth of the summer night, bathed in the sound of cicadas chirping incessantly. “Hey babe?” he calls, giving your hand resting in his a gentle squeeze as his cheek drops to the blanket so he can look at you.

“Mm?” You shift onto your side and scoot closer to him, moving your interlaced hands to your chest, holding the back of his against your gently beating heart. On instinct, your other set of fingers find his face to brush a few strands of dark hair away from his eyes, and he presses feathery kisses to your palm.

Sighing against your skin, he asks, “Do I tell you I love you enough?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, you assure him, “I know you do.”

“Because I say it?”

You hum with uncertainty, fingers gliding from the scar at the side of his mouth down his neck, and to one of his broad shoulders. “More because I can see it in the way you look at me. But, then again, I also see you look at a really good meal the same way. Makes me kinda jealous sometimes,” is your answer given with a small, teasing smile, “Besides, I feel like I can safely assume that you’ve stayed with me all these years because you love me, right?”

“Of course,” he says, the strength in his voice contrasting the subtle, pained look behind his eyes, “But I don’t say it enough, do I?”

There’s a short pause before you murmur, “Not usually unless I say it first. But it tends to be more of a reflex for both of us, anyway. Like, ‘I’m heading out now, love you!’ or, ‘Goodnight, I love you,’ y’know?”

A gentle tug on your wrist pulls you towards him, until you’re propped up on both elbows, body leaning over his. Wrapping an arm around your waist brings your chests flush against one another and your faces mere centimeters apart. The way he’s regarding you as nothing else is as important as you are to him in this moment has you melting into the kiss he plants on your lips.

“You’re the love of my life.” Heat radiates from your chest all the way up to your face at his tenderly spoken words accompanied by his thumb skimming along your cheekbone. “And you deserve to hear me tell you how much I care about you more often because you’re the only person who’s made me feel deserving of love.”

The hand on your back slowly moves up and down, his fingers tracing along your spine. It was once deemed as a mindless behavior in your eyes, but after many years with him, you’ve come to learn that sometimes it’s a means of comforting himself or finding the courage to speak about something that’s been on his mind. To reassure him, you place a soft peck against the corner of his mouth and run your fingertips across his jaw.

He seems to find the strength he needs to speak the rest of his truth, since he continues, “I remember being terrified when I first realized how much I loved you. Because here I was, thinking I was only gonna marry someone as a way of erasing my connections to my family, and that falling in love would weaken me—make me easier to be manipulated—but you changed my mind. And I don’t think there’s a damn thing that could ever happen to make me wish I did things differently, even though we got married young, when we barely had enough money to our names to get ourselves through the week.”

A pang of somewhat bittersweet nostalgia ripples through you at the memories of sleeping on the floor, clinging to one another to keep warm during the cold, winter nights. Of how you’d both worked so tirelessly to make a living that sometimes all you’d do was cry into his shoulder when you got home. But soon, there was a couch. A bed. A table. A lamp that didn’t flicker. Then, a new place in a safer part of the city, filled with all the furniture and appliances you could need. Jobs that paid enough for the tears to subside.

The impulsiveness the two of you had displayed in your early twenties had gotten you into a lot of sometimes unbearable situations, but you wouldn’t have changed a thing had you somehow been granted the power to alter the past. While unpleasant, those events had helped the two of you get to where you are today, happier and more in love than ever.

“After all we’ve been through, and that you’ve stuck with me through, I at least owe it to you to remind you how much you mean to me instead of just assuming you know. Because you really do mean the world to me. So, this is me telling you that I love and appreciate you a lot more than I might feel capable of saying sometimes, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try.”

With that same, bright smile of yours that he adores, you take your weight off your elbows to wrap your arms around him while he gives your body a tight squeeze in return. “I love you so much, Tōji,” you hum, heart swelling with joy.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

There’s a few moments of peaceful silence while the two of you remain wrapped up in a tight and much-needed embrace. Eventually, a deep exhale fans across your neck before he mentions, “That was pretty cheesy, huh?”

“Just a bit. But I promise not to tell anyone you’re secretly a bit of a sap, okay?” you comment, sending the two of you into a small fit of snickers. Your tone is more serious, however, when you mention, “It made me really happy to hear, though.”

“Good,” is his response as he moves his head so he can press his mouth to your temple. His next words are spoken quietly, as if just to himself, and nearly lost beneath the layers of environmental noise surrounding you, but you’re glad you hear them.

“That’s all that matters to me.”

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #fushiguro toji x reader #toji x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 3 years

Note

Dialogue prompt

“Because I knew you wouldn’t!”

Spicy or no

okay so this one got... weird on me. but this is the Bouncey Castle so you know the ending is soft as fuck

Also I got so into this that I forgot to use the prompt you sent me but... Here you go?

based on Tove Lo’s “Habits (Stay High)” - modern au ‘post mountain’

tw: party scene, alcohol mention, marijuana use for the wrong reasons, dumb boys having feelings in public, mild panic attack, hurt/comfort with a very fluffy ending

---

Jaskier slams the rest of his drink and delights in the crinkling sound of Solo’s signature red plastic crumpling in his fist. He’s got an elbow-length fingerless glove on the hand that crushed the cup; he looks good enough to fucking eat and he... he’s fucking lonely.

“Want a hit?” a voice asks from his left, offering a lit joint. The tip glows a light orange in the dim of the basement room and for a moment the young musician understands how Eve felt as she stared down the snake in the Garden of Eden. He pushes the thought aside with a whoop of overacted excitement and takes a drag, letting the smoke swirl into his lungs and mask the taste of whisky that somehow refuses to abandon the back of his tongue.

Notes of Geralt’s favorite brand, some stupidly expensive Scottish malt that, in Jaskier’s personal opinion, tasted like damp peat moss and smelled like shoe-shine, cling to his every breath.

He feels trapped, suddenly claustrophobic in his seat on some beat-up leather couch. Who are these people? He stands and sways, eyes darting towards the staircase. I need some air. He lurches forward, unsteady, and does his level best to swim through the crush of bodies in the darkness.

---

Jaskier loves the smell of damp earth. It reminds him of springtime and rain-showers. The almost primordial glee that fills his chest cavity when that familiar mustiness hangs in the air is indescribable.

Now, leaning against the dank brick wall of an apartment building somewhere just south of the park, the cheer escapes him. He pounds his hands backwards into the jagged brick, momentarily grateful for the distraction of physical pain; his eyes are full of tears that simply refuse to fall despite his greatest efforts.

The beer is wearing off and the one hit of weed hadn’t done much to begin with other than make him a little dizzy. He wishes he had something else on hand. He wishes he had grabbed something on the way out. He wishes...

Jaskier wishes Geralt hadn’t said all those terrible things in front of his best friend and ex-lover, effectively blaming his boyfriend for his problems and ending things for good.

He doesn’t want to think about-

“Jaskier?”

Geralt.

The musician glances up through his bangs and sees the blurred outline of a dark shape looming before him. Fuck my life.

“Oh hey, Geralt,” he laughs humorlessly. Isn’t this just fucking perfect. Why does he still have the worst fucking timing on the Continent?

“Are you okay?”

“What does it look like?” Jaskier laughs again. He wipes his eyes and nose on the sleeve of his denim jacket and the fishnets suddenly more childish than sexy... like he used to wear in middle school when he wanted nothing more than to marry Gerard Way and escape his life as a politician’s son.

“Do you- Are you going-”

“I can walk myself home, Geralt. I’m a big boy. I can be responsible,” Jaskier snaps. The taller man flinches away and Jaskier is surprised. He thought his ex would have been over him far earlier than this. The musician was always the emotional one. Geralt doesn’t say anything for a moment and Jaskier shakes his head, turning away towards his own apartment. “Nice seeing you, I suppose.”

He takes three steps and then hallucinates. It has to be some kind of auditory hallucination because he thinks, he’s very sure that he’s made it up but he thinks he hears Geralt gasp his name.

Like prayer. Like a desperate, heart-rending plea.

Then there’s a large, familiar hand wrapping around his upper arm, jerking him to a stop. “Jaskier, please! I’m so sorry!”

He stops walking and glances back over his shoulder. The lamplight is haloed behind Geralt’s white hair, making his manbun look more like a heavenly crown than anything else. His golden eyes flash into view and Jaskier has to hold back a gasp when their gazes meet.

Geralt looks like shit.

His eyes are dull and tired, rimmed with purple bags. His skin is paler than usual and his scars stand out in stark contrast; Jaskier finds his hand wandering to Geralt’s shoulder of its own accord. Settling there. Steadying the other, stronger man. “Oh, Geralt...”

“I’m-” the man before him sobs openly beneath the obnoxious LED light. Jaskier watches in shock as Geralt falls to his knees on the pavement and clutches at his hands with such raw determination that it’s nearly frightening. “Gods, I’m so sorry. I should never have said those things, much less in front of Yennefer. I owe you so many apologies. I haven’t been able to- I haven’t been sleeping and I know it’s my own damn fault because I- You’re so bright and beautiful and I can’t seem to stop myself from dousing the lights in my life and you were too precious to lose so...”

“So you pushed me away before I could leave.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re a fucking idiot, Geralt deRiv.”

---

“What’s that whiskey called again?”

“Ardbegh.”

“Fuck off,” Jaskier laughs. He pours Geralt a glass and then pours a second for his brother, who’s visiting from across the Continent for summer vacation. “I still think it tastes awful.”

“I know. That’s why I buy you all that coffee flavored shit you love so much.”

“Don’t be mad at craft beer because it’s tasty!” Jaskier sticks his tongue out. He passes the boys their drinks before sinking gracefully into Geralt’s lap. “Tell me about school, Lambert! How are you liking your professors?”

Geralt’s hand squeezes his thigh gratefully beneath the table, never one for small talk himself, and Jaskier squeezes back.

It had taken a lot of time, a lot of couple’s therapy, and some very nice dates... but things had worked out. Geralt had proven himself to be an idiot, sure, but even more importantly: he’d proved himself capable of growth and positive change. Jaskier could live with that.

Growing and learning together was a much better option than growing old apart.

#alcohol tw #weed mention #geraskier #geraskier ficlet #angst with a happy ending #hurt/comfort #fluff #geraskier post mountain #modern au #geraskier modern au #geraskier fluff #drinking tw #party scene #inspired by the lovely tove lo

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soft-for-them · 3 years

Text

frumpkin ♡ caleb widogast x reader

Annon🪐: Hey!! I saw your post about writing for critical role and got so excited, always happy to have more writers! I'd love to see a Caleb x reader where he comforts the reader during a panic attack. I don't really have a preference as to headcanons vs one-shots, so whichever you’d prefer. Hope I didn't miss anything, thanks!

Anyone can read this, can be platonic or romantic, it’s based on my own panic attacks so sorry if it’s a bit specific, not proof read like usual.

Panic attacks have always plagued your life, it’s a thing you have unfortunately learnt to live with.

You know all the breathing exercises and mind tricks to get you out of an attack but really all you ever want when you feel the nervous feeling of panic rile up in you is a friend to talk to. For trying to stop a panic attack by yourself never truly works. You always find that stopping a panic attack by yourself makes you feel down for the rest of the day.

When you were a teenager you had ran away from your home to the circus, taken in by the half elf Gustav Fletching. For the first couple of years you helped the circus folk set up tents and decorate, then you found your love for art (no matter how good or bad you are at it).

Many years later you still helped out with the big top but you had become a portrait artist getting extra money from the patrons that came to the shows.

When you were around twenty or so you had met Mollymauk Tealeaf and Yasha Nydoorin.

The blood hunter and barbarian had always had their own ways of calming you down before you could have a full on panic attack but neither of them have ever seen you have a proper one.

Molly is always the type of person who would tell you stories to try to get you to calm down and Yasha would always try and stay near you becoming a shoulder to cry on if need be. However, none of them have ever seen you pace up and down whilst tears stream down your face and your hands shake in absolute discomfort.

No, they have never seen you fully break down.

Your panic attacks have almost disappeared since joining the Mighty Nein, since your found family has grown bigger. Yeah, you miss the carnival but you now feel like you’re doing something with your life now that you’re on this journey.

The Nein and you have all be travelling, in between quests, the canopy of the forest lighting the squiggly path to the next town. Right now you are setting up you tent that looks like a mini high top, the happy memories of your carnival days flooding your brain.

The tent is big enough for three or four people, depending on how bulky someone is. Normally it’s you, Mollymauk and Yasha snuggled in the tent much like you’re used to.

With a good meal in you and the sun setting you take the first watch, watching the orange sun blending in with purple that the night sky brings.

Soon enough Fjord taps you on your shoulder telling you softly that you watch is up.

With a soft smile you give him a small hug and a hearty goodnight, wishing him a peaceful sleep. The tall half orc only splutters out a ‘You too, goodnight (y/n).’

You have developed a soft spot for the half orc. You hug him once more him now sitting down and you bending down to do so you say your finale goodnight.

It’s a short walk to your tent, it’s very hard to miss, the patched up striped reds and pokkadot patterns stand out even in the dimming lights of the night. With a long stretch, your arms raised above your head, you walk into the tent Molly already in his corner of the tent.

‘To bed this early?’ you muse as you take off your boots and light armour.

‘Need my beauty sleep.’ He jokes sipping on a little flask presumably of some strong alcohol.

‘Well sleeping does help with beauty sleep.’ You joke back as you like down in the middle of the tent, leaving a gap to you over side for Yasha or any other person who feels like sleeping inside your tent (though it’s always been you, Molly and Yasha inside the colourful tent.)

For a while the two of you talk, mostly on the subject of setting up Yasha and Beau up like the good friends you both are but soon the talk turns to who Molly might want to set you up with.

‘You fancy someone don’t you?’ he teases knowing full well that you do have a thing for someone in the Mighty Nein.

‘Shut up Molly!’ you mutter turning away from him and snuggling into your covers.

Your try to sleep but he keeps on talking.

‘Is it… Caleb, you two share a similar quiet and shy nature, though you actually wash.’

You ignore him.

‘Or Fjord? I think he likes you and your hugs?’

You cover you head with your blanket.

‘Oh, are you into one of the lovely women of the group, Jester has been spending a lot of time around you lately?’

‘Mollymauk Tealeaf I will smother you if you don’t let me sleep!’

The purple tiefling chuckles but drops the questing, allowing you to fall asleep.

You wake up in fear, cold sweat dripping down your neck and back, the white of your shirt surly soaked. Your eyes shift around quickly to the people sleeping soundly in your tent. Molly is were he was before, deep in his beauty sleep. However, you are now sandwiched in between him and Yasha.

She must have fished her shift for she is fast asleep stealing part of your blanket.

Your breathing is laboured and you feel weak.

‘It was only a dream (y/n).’ you try to reason with yourself, sitting up and throwing the rest of your blanket onto Yasha.

Surely you can’t wake them up now, right?

The feeling you have is panic but you aren’t in a full blow panic attack yet, Molly and Yasha know what to do to calm you down. But they are asleep and you fear that if you wake any of them that they’d be angry with you.

They certainly won’t be angry with you but your brain says untrue things to you when your panicky.

First you try some breathing exercises.

They do not work.

You then try and search around for your sketchbook. Jester had drawn a cartoon of you and her in it that automatically makes you feel happy.

You can’t find the book in the dark.

You truly don’t want to wake up Molly or Yasha, you really don’t.

So, you scramble out of your tent, no shoes or coat, you just need to get out.

The cold early morning air hits you, the sun not even up yet but the moon low in the sky.

When you had first met the Nein you had tried to get to know everyone, despite your more introverted nature compared to the more colourful characters of the group. One night you had helped Nott pick pocket a rich man, not your greatest moment but it was very fun.

Out on that little stealing adventure Nott had said something that has stuck with you.

‘Sometimes just walking about outside calms me down, stealing helps as well.’ The stealing part might not help you but the walking part might.

With socked feet and hands stimming you begin to walk towards where you were earlier taking watch.

Molly, Yasha or Fjord won’t be there but there must be someone there to talk to before your start to cry.

The short walk towards the watch area seems like you’re walking a mile and your breaths start to become even more infrequent, you forgetting to breath out when you inhale a large breath. Tears begin to rim your eyes and your hands carry on shaking.

You’re not going to make it to whoever is on watch, you are going to break.

You stop and drop to the floor, legs crossed and hands going to you face, wiping away the now falling tears that don’t seem to stop. In this sitting down position you begin to slowly rock back and forward, tiny sobs escaping your lips.

Unknown to you the place you have decided to sit down and cry in is near enough to the person on watch that they can hear your sobs.

Caleb stands up, looking over the camp, seeing you breaking down on the forest floor.

He has no clue what to properly do.

Normally he is alone when he had any kind of panic attack but then he realises something. The last couple of attacks he has personally had Nott was actually around to help him. Nott was always there to calm him down with cuddles and calm words.

Could he go and get Nott?

No, that would get more attention on the panicked you.

Who else helps him?

Frumpkin!

Caleb quickly summons the cat familiar and he points over to you.

‘Go over to (y/n), ya?’ the Bengal cat nudges his head into Caleb’s legs then pounces off to the crying you.

As soft lump steps into your lap and nudges to hand covered face with its soft fur.

You nervously take down a hand to see Frumpkin nudging you in the way only cats do. He pauses for a moment but proceeds to carry on nudging you when he still sees tears dripping down your face.

Your breathing hitches but there is some kind of clarity as the cat nuzzles the wetness of your cheeks almost like he’s purposely wiping away your tears.

‘…Frumpkin…’ tears well up again but not in sadness per say, it’s a combination of still being panicky but also happiness that the ginger cat is trying to calm you down.

Your arms snake around the slim cat in a small cuddle, you still rocking just a bit.

‘D-did Caleb send you?’ you whisper to the cat in your arms, knowing the answer to the question.

Once your wobbly words are spoken you look up to see a nervous looking Caleb standing near. He fidgets a bit, not looking you in the eyes, though you aren’t looking at him directly either.

‘May I sit down meine liebste?‘ he asks. All you do is nod your head.

He sits down about a body away from you but you automatically nudge up to him so your legs are touching, Frumpkin purring at the two of you.

Your breathing is still a bit funny, a breath being held in. Caleb pauses as he, his hand stops pats Frumpkin’s head.

‘Let your breath out, breath.’ you look at Caleb and try to match his breathing.

‘Thank you, Caleb.’you eventually say.

Your body is still hunched over but you have calmed down, the panic attack has passed, which is very different to normal.

‘Not need to thank me (y/n), no need to thank me.’ He takes his had off of Frumpkin’s head and pats your knee, albeit a bit awkwardly but it gets you both looking up to each other.

You give him a small smile which makes his ear turn red in a blush.

‘C-can I take watch with you for a while?’ you ask.

‘Ya, we can watch the sun rise together.’

i had a bit of a hard time formatting it so sorry if it looks odd.

also, please send in some more critical role requests! (do mind that i’m new to listening to campaign two.)

#critical role #critical role x reader #caleb widogast x reader #the mighty nein x reader #the mighty nein #caleb widogast #frumpkin

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mrslilyrogers · 4 years

Text

Betrayal Part 1

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: (AU) Set in New York. You and Bucky have been married for 5 years. He’s the love of your life and you are his. At least, you thought you were until he started slipping away from you, coming home late and smelling of another woman’s perfume? You are in denial. Are you just losing your mind or are you really losing him?

A/N: Hi! I’m new here and still figuring out tumblr. I have no idea how all this goes! This is the first ever story I’m posting online. I just couldn’t get the idea out of my head and would like to share it with all of you! Quarantine’s finally given me time to get over posting online, lol. Please comment away whatever you think of the story! This is a very angsty fic! hope you enjoy :)

Warnings: ANGST, CHEATING

She turned in bed flinging her arm out expecting Bucky to be beside her as her groggy mind pulled her back into sleep, only to have her hand bounce back on the empty mattress. Her arm fished farther out, trying to find him in the dark but still, it was empty. Confused, she slowly opened her eyes to blink the sleep away, he wasn’t home. She shot up as the realization hit her and glanced at the clock, its red glaring lights mocking her. 4:25 AM.

Bucky didn’t come home.

She swallowed as a lump formed in her throat. The first few nights he kept coming home late, she waited for him, asked how his day was, what took him so long at work and he’d usually dismiss her with a kiss and her favorite crooked smile as he cuddled up to her in bed making her forget all her worries. Even up until now, after five years of being married, he still had that effect on her. One glance her way with his smirk and she’d still feel her heart flip inside her chest. Whenever he hoisted Lizzie up in the air making her giggle, Y/N was sure her heart was shining in her eyes as she watched them.

And now this.

She knew the first time he told her not to wait up, something was off. He kept coming home later than usual and when he did come home, he smelled of alcohol and as much as Y/N would like to deny it, perfume. A perfume that distinctly wasn’t hers. Instead of confronting him about it, she denied it to herself, closing herself off to the truth that was becoming more and more obvious as the days went on. Instead, she took extra efforts to please him, waking up early to cook his favorite breakfast, preparing his favorite dishes for dinner even though he barely came home for it, trying to pass by his office at lunch so they could spend time together. All the while hoping he would stay and come back to her, come back to being her Bucky.

She wiped the tears that started to drip down her eyes. ��Where did it all go wrong? What have I done to deserve this?” A sob came out as soon as she allowed herself to accept the truth. She brought her knees up to her chest and buried her face in between, hugging herself, trying to make herself as small as possible as sobs wracked her body. She cried for Bucky, cried for their family, cried for herself because somewhere in the process, she lost her pride and accepted whatever affection he could afford to give her, like a dog trying to please its owner, and never demanding what she deserved. She might have stayed like that for an hour or more but she knew that if she continued on, Lizzie would wake up and find her mother crying her eyes out and that’s the last thing she wanted. Lizzie, oh god, Lizzie what was she going to do with her sweet daughter? She could accept Bucky cheating on her, neglecting her even but for their daughter, it was unacceptable, she was only four, she did not deserve this. Yet, she was the collateral damage to the shambles of their marriage. The thought made her head hurt, she scrambled out of bed, needing to do something or she’d wallow in self pity and she needed to be strong for her daughter, always for her daughter, even if it meant living in a delusion to keep her family together. She heard footsteps at the stairs of their apartment and quickly grabbed her phone by the bedside table and ran to the bathroom. She leaned against the door, sighing, listening to him shuffling in the bedroom.

“Y/N, you in there? Sorry, fell asleep on Steve’s couch.” Bucky called from the door, no trace of guilt in his voice. Y/N just closed her eyes and sighed.

“About to take a bath!” She replied and checked her phone. No messages from him whatsoever that he’d be at Steve’s apartment. She quickly tried to hide her hurt to take on the day. For her sanity, for Lizzie, the mantra kept repeating itself in her head.

_______________________________________________________________________

“Mommy, why can’t I have cereal?” Lizzie whined from her seat at the counter as Y/N poured her orange juice.

“Yeah, why can’t she have cereal?” Bucky strode in playfully, the scent of his after shave filling Y/N’s senses, making tears prick at her eyes. She quickly turned around and faced the coffee pot, pouring more into her mug. She couldn’t stand to be near him after accepting the truth. She couldn’t face their situation, not yet.

“Daddy!” Lizzie chirped, already lifting her arms for a hug from her self-proclaimed superhero dad.

“How’s my little girl this morning?” He said lifting her up and kissing her cheek which only made her giggle.

“Eat your vegetables, squirt.” Bucky reminded her a little more seriously but with a charming smile nonetheless, and Lizzie, who worships the ground he walks on, eagerly nibbled on the beans from her plate trying to please him. Just like her mother, Y/N thought sarcastically.

She was still turned away from the counter when she felt Bucky sidling up behind her, his arms snaking around her waist, pulling her in to kiss her hair.

“Morning, babe,”

“Morning Buck,” She cleared her throat and moved away from him, standing in front of her daughter who was eating her breakfast far more enthusiastically than when her dad wasn’t around. God, this was a mess, what was she going to do? Lizzie clearly adored her father and if she were being honest with herself, she didn’t know how to live without Bucky.

Bucky saw the glassy look in Y/N’s eyes as she stared at their daughter, her hands fiddling in front of her and he instantly knew it was on him. He brought that look on her face, guilt and remorse punched him in the gut.

“Hey,” he said soothingly putting his hand on her back as he was about to apologize about last night.

“Lizzie, drink your juice, daddy will bring you to school,” Y/N flinched away from him, starting to flee the room.

“I gotta go,” She told him, grabbing her bag from the counter, and kissing their daughter on the cheek before heading out. She didn’t glance at him or give him his kiss goodbye like she usually did and instead, avoided looking at him. He froze, feeling the fear creep up on him. She didn’t know, did she?

“Bye Mommy!” Lizzie waved from her chair as Y/N got to the door. She turned around with a genuine smile on her face. God, she was beautiful when she smiled like that, and he missed it, he missed her and he hadn’t even realized it.

“Bye baby,” she said as she blew her a kiss. She cleared her throat and her expression blanked when she turned to him.

“Buck, don’t forget to pick her up today,”

“Today?” She usually picked Lizzie up from school, being the owner of a quaint little cafe, Winter Bakery, giving her the flexibility in schedule to do so. He had work to do and he was gonna meet up with Celeste around that time. The immediate thought of the woman he was seeing brought shame and guilt to his conscience, making him lash out at her.

“I can’t, you know I have work,” he said a little too accusingly.

Y/N just closed her eyes and exhaled harshly, trying to reign in her control.

“Daddy, don’t you want to pick me up?” Lizzie asked sadly and Bucky felt all his anger vanish as he saw his little girl’s fallen face.

“Of course not, sweetie, I just--”

“Bucky, we’ve been through this, I’m trying to land this catering gig for Stark, remember?” Y/N’s defeated voice rose above his and he immediately felt sorry, god, he was the worst husband.

Sure, it was just a little get together for the birthday of Tony Stark’s daughter but it was a big deal to Y/N. She had met Pepper in Lizzie’s school as they waited for their pre-schoolers to be dismissed and instantly became friends. At first, Y/N was starstruck with Pepper especially when she discovered that she was a hands-on mom, while running Stark Industries at the same time but she was such a down-to-earth woman matched with a witty sense of humor that it was hard to lose any topic of conversation with her. Of course, it helped that Lizzie and Morgan had become the best of friends even on just the first day of school. Next thing they knew, they were spending play dates at the bakery when the girls insisted on hanging out. That’s when Pepper discovered Y/N’s cupcakes and raved to Tony that, “they were absolutely the best she’s ever had”. Of course with Tony being Tony, wanting only the best for his daughter, set up a taste test meeting for his daughter’s birthday, insisting on trying every single flavor of cake and cupcake she could make, and not just a take-out of the best sellers, like Pepper had suggested. They weren’t just going to settle for the best sellers like some sheep following the herd. “His words, not mine” Pepper had said and having the Tony Stark to be Y/N’s first customer for her first ever catering gig would mean a lot for her business. Only recently has she decided to expand it and she felt like she’s talked Bucky’s ears off with her plans and here he was, seemingly having forgotten the day she’s most talked about. She wasn’t even angry with him, she was just disappointed and not even a little bit surprised.

“Oh shit, babe, I’m sorry I forgot,” Bucky immediately went to her and enveloped her in a hug and she hated herself for loving the feel of his arms around her.

“Promise, I’ll make it up to you,” he whispered but she didn’t believe him, she was over his empty promises.

“Just pick Lizzie up,” She said before she left the door with not a glance back.

Part 2

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #marvel angst #marvel x reader #bucky angst #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel imagines #steve rogers x reader #betrayal

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queenbirbs · 4 years

Text

waiting for rain | Ethan x MC

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x MC

Warnings: language

Word count: 2,786

Summary: After the funeral, Sloane catches a ride. Post chapter 11.

------

It’s a beautiful day.

The last week has been nothing but blue skies and balmy temperatures, with autumn peeking its head around the corner. The city is lovely anytime of year, but Boston thrives in the fall. The Common and adjacent gardens come alive in a spray of colors as the leaves change, the canopy dipped in orange and yellow and red.

It feels wrong, then, that the day is so nice and bright as they trudge along the rows of graves and back towards Bryce’s car. Glancing over her shoulder, Sloane frowns at the swath of black as Danny’s family gathers around the grave to watch the interment. Their labored breathing and soft cries carry over the open lawn and down to the road.

“What a shitty fucking day.” Jackie kicks at a pile of loose gravel along the pavement with her heel.

“At least the rain held off,” Sienna pipes up from where she’s slumped against the car. Clenched in her shaking hand is a gladiolus that Danny’s sister gave her from the casket spray. Noticing Sloane’s attention on the flower, Sienna traces a finger along the white petals with a wobbly smile. “I’m going to press it in my copy of The Secret of Ninradell.”

“Nerd,” Jackie mutters, coaxing a tremulous chuckle from Sienna.

Beside them, the doors unlock with a droning whir. The three of them pile into the back; Elijah and Bryce’s voices drift down as they approach.

“You know, all those parking tickets you keep getting are starting to make a lot more sense now.”

“These hands are for performing surgical miracles, not parallel parking on an incline.”

“A kid with a learner’s permit could parallel park this, dude. Your car is the Chevrolet equivalent of a sardine can.”

“We’re well aware of that,” Jackie chimes in from the center seat. “So can you two hurry it up?”

As Bryce helps Elijah into the passenger seat, Sloane catches sight of Ethan’s car tucked in along the other side of the access road. She caught a brief glance of him at the graveside service, but he disappeared into the crowd of mourners soon after her impromptu eulogy. The sun’s reflection on his windshield prevents her from seeing if he’s even inside. But then, a few cars down, Harper gives a little goodbye wave towards his car as she and Aurora reach her own vehicle.

Sloane throws open the door. Jackie frowns and reaches out for her as she slides out.

“Hey, what are you--”

“I’m going to catch a ride with Dr. Ramsey.” At the wave of worried expressions she receives, Sloane sighs. “I’m okay. I promise. You guys shouldn’t… I’ll see you at home.”

With that pithy attempt at reassurance, she shuts the door and crosses over to the S-Class. The driver’s side window rolls down before she reaches it, revealing Ethan in his customary black suit. His striking blue eyes are tinged red -- a sight Sloane has become accustomed to over the last week when catching herself in the bathroom mirror.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hello,” he returns. He glances down her figure, as if cataloging something, and then back up to meet her eyes. “Come on, then.”

“Thanks.”

She crosses to the passenger side and settles into the seat, avoiding his curious gaze by feigning a struggle with the seatbelt. Thankfully, he drops whatever question is plaguing him and starts the engine. Within a few minutes, they’re cruising south down the highway. The classical station finishes its latest piece and the suave-voiced host segways into a round of commercials. When the local news spot starts, both of them reach for the volume button, their fingers bumping clumsily. Ethan reaches it first and turns off the radio, then reaches down to capture Sloane’s hand with his. He links their fingers and squeezes, once, then again, before resting their clasped hands against the leather armrest. His thumb makes easy, gentle strokes along her skin.

Sloane eases back into her seat. The dull roar of the road isn’t enough to fill the aching silence inside her head. It makes her think of being back in that tented room, all alone, waiting to die.

“The service was lovely, as was your eulogy.”

“Sienna should’ve gotten to speak. She -- those were her words, all she could bear to write, but she asked… well, begged me at the last minute to say them for her.”

“That was kind of you to do.”

Her eyes clench tight at his praise. She focuses on the measured sweeps of his thumb, but all the bitterness in her chest keeps building and building until it bursts free.

“It should’ve been raining. Why was it… why did it have to be so sunny today? It should’ve rained. He deserved that much, at least. He was one of the only staff on my side when Landry was trying to sabotage me. He didn’t need proof or need to hear my friends vouch for me. He just believed me, straight up. And he was so sweet, and so kind, and so funny and now he’s dead, and I know we took Lasagna’s oath to not play God, but if I could, I would bring back Travis just to kill him for all the hurt he caused, and I know that goes against every--”

“Hey.” Ethan glances up from the road and over to meet her watery gaze. “It’s all right. You’re allowed to feel angry, and hurt.”

“I know,” she says, but it still feels dirty, somehow, to agree. She survived, didn’t she? Why should she get the privilege to fall apart at the seams when two people are dead and buried six feet under?

She keeps quiet for the rest of the drive. Unfortunately, it’s a rather short one, what with the cemetery being only twenty minutes north of the city. All too soon, they’re crossing the Tobin Bridge. The city skyline crowds the horizon, stacks of gray and glass forking up into the cloudless sky. Ethan takes the wide curve of an exit that crosses the Charles River and into the tunnel, down below the blue blood streets of Boston. As he prepares to merge over to take them towards her apartment, she squeezes his hand to grab his attention.

“Can I…?” she trails off, regretting how weak the request sounds. She bites back a relieved sigh when he pulls his focus away from the side mirror and over to her.

“Of course.”

They make their way through the ever-present downtown congestion before he turns down a side street and into his building’s garage. Neither speak as they exit the car. His hand finds hers once more as they step into the elevator. Jenner greets them at the door with her favorite stuffed duck, insisting on meeting her quota of belly rubs before allowing them entrance.

“Would you like a drink?” Ethan asks as he steps over the sprawled form of his dog with practiced ease.

“Yes, please.”

After a few more pats, Sloane wanders over into the kitchen. Ethan’s suit jacket lays slung across the island, a more telling sign of his mental state than anything visible on his face. His tie joins the pile as he pours them both several fingers of scotch. She takes the tumbler and knocks it back, ignoring the fierce burn at the back of her throat; she hands it back for a refill.

“Fine,” he sighs, “but this isn’t a jello shot at some tiki bar in Panama City Beach.”

“I wouldn’t know, seeing as I spent my spring breaks waiting tables,” she mutters against the rim of her glass, taking a small sip at his behest.

“I hated every second of it, if it’s any consolation.”

The murmured confession draws her up short.

“Wait -- you were a PCB spring-breaker? You? The man who can’t name a single artist on the top forty hits? The person whose idea of a good time is reading the green journal and annotating the margins with all the mistakes?”

“I don’t see how knowledge of Harry Mars’s discography would increase my enjoyment in life.”

Sloane’s face breaks into a grin at the name faux pas, prompting a scowl from him. “What? You said it yourself that I don’t know--”

“No, no, ignore me. Go on.” She rests her hip against the counter. “Please tell me about how you wound up in Florida for spring break.”

“It was Tobias’s idea, actually. He told me we were going to a medical conference in Atlanta. It wasn’t until we passed through Atlanta and he showed no sign of stopping that he told me where we were actually going. By that point, it was far too late to request he turn around. I was, in effect, doomed.”

“Doomed to spend a week at the beach. Poor you.” Rolling her eyes, she knocks her elbow into his side. “Did you at least have some fun?”

“I did. Well, after I went into a store and bought some more... appropriate clothing. Everything in my bag was pressed khakis and polos.”

Her mind immediately conjures up a younger Ethan, wearing board shorts and flip flops in whatever searing color the local beach shop sold.

“There has to be pictures, right? I’ve met Tobias, he’s too much of a snake not to have snapped a photo or two.”

“I’m sure he does,” Ethan agrees. “For blackmail purposes, of course.”

“And here I was hoping that our time in Miami was your most memorable trip to the Sunshine State.”

“It was.” The weak little smirk she wears disappears, folding under the intense scrutiny of his gaze as it rakes across her. “Why did you ride back with me?” he asks.

“Because Bryce’s car is ‘the Chevrolet equivalent to a sardine can,’ according to Elijah.”

He doesn’t acknowledge her lame attempt at brushing aside the question. When the silence grows too long between them, Sloane drags in a shaky breath and caves. “Because being around them, having them dote on me and worry about me, it’s… suffocating. And not because I don’t love them, or appreciate them, but I don’t… I don’t see the point. They should be able to grieve without me burdening them.”

“Sloane.” The way he says her name with all the care in the world drives that guilt deeper. She wants to shrug away his hold on her as he wraps his arms around her shoulders, but she doesn’t. She sinks into his embrace, breathing in the scent of his cologne, feeling the thud of his heart against her cheek. “You are not a burden.”

“Hearing that and knowing that are two different things,” she points out.

“Then I’ll repeat it a thousand more times until you get it through your thick head.”

“I don’t know what to do. I’m sad, and hurt, and angry about Danny. He didn’t deserve what happened to him, and neither did Bobby. And Rafael, he almost died, and-- and I almost died. And I’m sad, and hurt, and angry about that. But what gives me the right to feel that way, when I got to live, and they didn’t? Danny, he… he begged Travis to let us go, and all I did was stand there. I fucking stood there and let him kill my friend.”

She doesn’t notice the tears on her face, not until Ethan catches them and wipes them away. “And even after you came in, even after I was wheeled out and got to see Kyra, even after I was discharged, there’s been this crushing weight on my chest. I even wrote goodbye letters on my phone, but I can’t bring myself to delete them. Because what if we’re wrong? It’s like… like what if my body suddenly rejects the antidote and I’m back in that bubble? Like I’m going to wake up and be back in that room, as if this is all a last-ditch effort my brain has conjured up to help me cope with dying.”

Ethan makes a pained noise in the back of his throat. Gathering her impossibly closer, he presses his lips to her hair.

“This is real. You’re okay. You’re safe, Sloane. This is real.”

“But I don’t want it to be. I want it to all be some sick dream. They wouldn’t’ve even been there if it weren’t for me. If I hadn’t stolen the senator from Mass Kenmore, Danny and Bobby would still be alive. I just… I want to go back. I want to order them all out of that room before Travis ever gets his hand on that canister. If I could trade places with them, we wouldn’t be burying our friends.”

“You’re wrong,” he tells her. “If you were the only one in that room, we’d be burying you. And after coming close to such a thing, it isn’t a reality I’m ever willing to face.”

Sloane shakes her head as the tears come faster and faster, her body trembling against his. She feels as if she’s drowning, but her head’s above water.

“The responsibility for what happened lies solely with Travis,” he tries to assure her. “He’s the one who pulled the trigger. He’s the one who was determined to get his revenge, no matter who got caught in the crossfire. He admitted as much to me in his last moments without an ounce of regret.”

“Ethan, I…” her throat closes around the rest of her plea, but somehow, he hears the words.

His arms loop around her waist, holding her up as her knees buckle under the sudden weight of her grief. His words become nothing more than soft murmurings as he picks her up and carries her off down the hall.

In his bedroom, he sets her down on the bed. Kneeling before her, he picks up one foot and then the next, unbuckling the strappy heels she wears. Sloane leans forward and strokes against the grain of his stubble; she drags in a steadying breath when he leans into her touch. She reaches down for the hem of her dress, but he beats her to it. Raising her arms instead, she lets him slide the dark fabric over her head. He adds his own clothing to the floor, then joins her in his bed, his naked skin warm against hers.

Under the covers, Ethan tucks her there against his chest. Her eyes flutter closed at the sensation of his fingers tracing along her bare skin. It reminds her of that last morning they shared together, after the trial. The heartache now is different, vicious in that way only death can be. Sloane burrows closer, wishing she could bottle this feeling of safety and drink from it on the darker days ahead.

“Yours was the longest,” she admits, her voice sounding small in the quiet room.

“Hmm?” he murmurs.

“Your letter.”

The line of him stiffens, his hand stilling its movement.

“Hand me your phone.”

She rolls over and digs through the pile of their clothing, retrieving her phone from the pocket of her dress and handing it off to him. He holds it between them so she can watch as he navigates to her notepad app. The letters are all there, just as she said, in alphabetical order. She doesn’t miss how his thumb hovers above Naveen’s.

“I asked him to look after you,” she explains, biting her lip against the rush of emotion at knowing the words hidden beneath the names.

“When did you write these?”

Ethan’s eyes move from the screen and over to hers, tears collecting in the cradle of his lower lid. Her gaze never waves from his as she answers.

“After you took Raf away. It… became real, after that. Not that it wasn’t real before, with Danny, but to see him fall into a coma right next to me was a wake-up call. I didn’t want that to happen to me. Not without being able to say goodbye to the people I loved.”

Leaning across, he kisses her temple, and then her cheek, and then her lips. Then, with a few, quick taps, he deletes the letters and returns her phone.

“Thank you,” he whispers. At her raised brow, he doubles down. “Not for-- that was for you. I’m saying thank you because you listened to me.”

She snuggles close once more when he curls his arm around her and flashes him a curious smile.

“Go on.”

“You didn’t give up,” he tells her, his voice gone thick with emotion.

Between the sheets, her hand finds his.

“You didn’t give up, either,” she reminds him.

“On you?” he hums, pulling their linked hands towards himself to press a kiss to her fingers. “Never.”

------

Author notes and what-have-yous:

So, I learned that only eleven percent of medical schools still recite the Hippocratic oath verbatim, and about thirty-three percent use Lasagna’s modern oath (which is why I included it instead).This is coming from a few articles I read, all seemingly based in the U.S., so it may not pertain to every school.

The ‘blue blood streets of Boston’ is pulled directly from a Bob Seger song, though there is a historical connotation behind it.

The green journal is another name for the American Journal of Medicine.

#open heart fic #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #open heart #Kaila writes things #f: waiting for rain

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strange-lace · 3 years

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Did you think I was joking when I said my Monkie Kid, Nagi, becomes a pseudo therapist for the team? FOOLISH, SHAPESHIFTING MEANS FREE THERAPY! But I have no idea what this is, I just started writing for some hurt/comfort (I think) post episode 9 and wanted to post it without editing because why not? Plus I just wanted to do some more with Nagi since it’s been a hot minute since I talked about her.

Enjoy and hopefully you get some chuckle worthy mental images like it did for me!

It was an odd sensation to Nagi, shapeshifting that is.

The closest way she could describe it is like that of her body becoming clay, free to be morphed into anything that she desired as long as she had a clear image in her head and enough practice. Hair length, color, height, weight, vocal cords, all were free for her to change and allow herself to fit into any setting like a chameleon. Or more accurately, like a snake camouflaged into its surroundings, waiting for the perfect moment to strike at its prey.

The sensation of always feeling like she was hiding among others was one Nagi had felt since birth.

It had only gotten worse with the sacrifices forced on her that made her shapeshifting even stronger.

Some days, she felt like her ability to become anyone was more trouble than it was worth.

But this was certainly not one of those days.

“Are you sure about this kiddo? Remember, the moment it becomes too much for you, all you gotta do is say something and I’ll shift into something else. This is meant to help you above all else, got it?” Nagi lectured for what felt like the third time, wanting to hammer in the point to MK before they began. When the little guy had entered her cave at the crack of dawn asking for a favor, this was certainly not what she was expecting.

Then again, Nagi was still a sluggish mess when MK had shaken her from her slumber in a frantic desperation.

“Uhhh, what’s goin’ on kid? What time is it?” She slurred, noting the faint rays of blue, pink, and orange barely providing a break from the darkness in her cave. The last traces of sleep snapped away from her eyes once she took notice of MK who, to put it bluntly, was an absolute mess.

Dark rings circled his eyes, hair a tousled mess without his signature headband, and clothes rumpled as if he had slept in them. Though Nagi genuinely questioned if he had even slept throughout the night. Wait, were those bruises?

“Nagi can you… can you shift into someone you’ve never met before?” MK asked, completely ignoring her questions. He seemed almost tense as he stood at the edge of Nagi’s nest, a giant cluster of pillows that she had collected over the years.

“That depends bud. If you give me a detailed enough picture, then sure. No guarantee I’ll have the voice right, but it can be done. Why do you ask? You need my help with something?” She pulled herself out of her nest, letting out a groan as her stiff bones cracked yet kept her eyes on MK. He seemed almost relieved at this answer, heavy shoulders relaxing the slightest bit before pulling out one of his many sketchbooks from his jacket. Pages were flipped through with frantic speed before he found what he was looking for, practically shoving the book in Nagi’s face.

At first she had thought it was a drawing of Sun Wukong until she took notice of the dark fur and, more importantly, the almost sadistic smirk on his face. He was surrounded by shadows that seemed to sprout from the ground at his feet, all with matching grins and empty purple eyes. Overall, it was certainly an ominous picture of an individual that Nagi hoped to never have the misfortune of meeting.

But evidently, MK did.

“Would that work?” Okay, now MK was starting to make her worried.

“Uhhh… sure, yeah. And not that this isn’t a wonderful art, but you mind telling me who this guy is? A friend of Sun Wukong’s perhaps?” Nagi asked and internally winced when he seemed to flinch at the question. MK was silent for a moment, as if debating with himself whether to tell her, before simply giving a sigh.

“That’s Macaque. I… I’ll tell you more later, I promise. I just need you to do this important favor for me.” She was starting to not like where this was going. But the demon could never say no to the kid, the heavens help her.

“Alright, you already know I’m willing to kill for you so out with it bud.”

“I need you to shift into Macaque and just… I don’t know, whatever with me. I just want to not be afraid of his face anymore,” MK mumbled, his knuckles white at how tight he was holding on to his sketchbook. All sorts of alarm bells were going off in Nagi’s head at this and a part of her wanted to push for more information now, so she can find this Macaque and skin him alive. But that wasn’t going to help MK right now, so she pushed that heat in her chest down.

“Alright, that I think I can do bud. Let me go get my rollerblades and KO!”

And that led to where they were now, at the outskirts of the city with Nagi wanting nothing more to ensure that MK was comfortable.

“I know, I know Nagi! Just… do it before I chicken out, please?”

“Alright, alright, as long as you’re sure.” With that, Nagi closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She focused on the image MK had given her and felt her very being soften like clay to be molded. Her hair morphed into thick, black fur which spread over her body, clothes shifted to match the armored garments in the drawing, and she gained a familiar tail and large ears. It felt none too different to when she shifts into the Monkey King himself if she were to be honest.

Yet the look of uneasiness and fear Nagi was met with when she opened her eyes made her want nothing more to shift into anybody else.

“You still with me MK?” She asked tentatively, remaining perfectly still despite her wanting to scoop him up in a hug. MK gave another flinch, this time at hearing Nagi’s squeaky, hissy voice coming out of what looked like Macaque yet at the same time he couldn’t help but chuckle at the bizarre contrast. It quickly became a full on laugh as Nagi gave him an expression of exaggerated offense, the demon quickly catching on to the best idea on how to make this face less terrifying.

“I’m- I’m sorry, but hearing your voice come out of Macaque’s mouth is too funny!” He stuttered and the ache in her heart started to lighten up, just relieved to see the young man not as tense.

“I’ll have you know I have the voice of a goddess, young man!” Nagi said with an over-the-top huff, hands on her hips and a pout on her face. That only caused another bout of uncontrollable giggles from MK and she couldn’t help the smile on her face before taking the opportunity to put on her rollerblades. She was completely aware of how ridiculous she looked since said rollerblades were bright pink and decorated with numerous stickers courtesy of Mei.

Oh, Nagi was going to have so much fun ruining this Macaque’s reputation, whoever he was.

“Now, do me a favor and push me. I’m gonna skate down this entire hill backwards!”

“Isn’t that, I don’t know, kind of dangerous?”

“Oh it is, which is why I’m doing it and not you.”

Despite the look of skepticism on his face, that was enough for MK as he gave her a hearty shove. Nagi didn’t bother to hold back the scream of both terror and joy as gravity pulled her down the hill, frantic giggles punctuating the air. MK merely watched the spectacle with amusement as Nagi continued on into the city streets. She practically flew past confused pedestrians at the speed she was going, a number of those did double takes to be sure of what they saw.

The sound of a crash caused him to wince and quickly use the staff to pole vault over to where the demon had come to an unfortunate stop.

“You okay?!” Despite being covered in trash and hit a dumpster hard enough to make a dent in the metal, Nagi looked giddy as a child.

“I’m all good bud, thankfully I didn’t break my spine so it was totally worth it!” She said, prying herself out of her dumpster crater and happily brushed herself off. Seeing such a toothy but genuine smile combined with Macaque’s face was strange to MK, but he managed to not flinch as Nagi rose to her full height so it was a start. “Want to hit the arcade next? Or are you too afraid of your big sister beating you at all your favorite games?”

That certainly perked him up.

“Oh you’re so on!”

“That’s the spirit! Race you!” And like that, Nagi was off again though at a much more controlled speed and MK wasn’t too far behind.

“Hey that’s not fair, you’re on rollerblades!”

Up above the streets on his nimbus, Sun Wukong watched the two with an unidentifiable expression.

“No way, you absolutely cheated!” MK repeated for the third time, being carried on piggyback by Nagi as the demon skated down to Pigsy’s Noodles. It was now dusk and the both of them were still riding the high of spending a whole day goofing off for therapeutic purposes.

“I don’t know, that sounds like sore loser talk to me. But… did you have a good time bud? How are you feeling?” Nagi asked, tone turning completely serious. MK was quiet a moment, tightening his grip around her shoulders the slightest bit before speaking.

“Yeah, yeah I had a great time. I feel… weird. Because a part of me knows that I spent the day with you, not… him. But at the same time, I’m gonna remember you crashing into a dumpster if I ever see his face again and possibly die from laughing.”

“Then it sounds like my work here is done, ruining reputations is my forte after all!” She came to stop in front of the noodle shop, ears downturned in disappointment. Yet the demon still put MK down, knowing that Pigsy would have her head if she kept the kid out after dark when he had work the next day. “But I’m glad I could help you out kiddo. You get some good rest, alright? I’ll be around to bother you and Pigsy tomorrow.”

And Nagi thought that would be that, until she found herself pulled into a tight hug by MK.

“Thank you.”

She returned the hug without hesitation.

“Don’t mention it.”

Nagi stayed put until she was sure MK made it inside his apartment safely before turning around to return to her cave. After such a busy day, she was ready to curl up in her nest and finish that book Tang had loaned her weeks ago. Maybe brew some tea while she was at it.

Or that was the plan, until she caught the scent of peaches and mischief on her serpentine tongue as she stopped at the entrance of her cave.

“Oh no, not him,” Nagi groaned, secretly hoping that was just the remnants of MK’s scent. Unfortunately that was not the case as she walked inside to find the Monkey King lounging about her home like he owned the place and eating her apples. Resisting the urge to lose it for that alone, the demon took a deep breath and forced a smile that was all teeth.

“Sun Wukong, to what do I owe the pleasure?” She said as if it were anything but a pleasure to be around him. Despite the venom in her tone, the Monkey King continued to lazily chomp on an apple as he finally faced her. Her displeasure quickly evaporated once she noticed how tense he seemed despite the forced nonchalance.

“Hey Nag, took you forever to get here! Saw you hanging out with the kid today.” And despite his attempt to sound serious, Nagi could only blame hanging out with Mei and MK for what she said next.

“R-Rebecca it’s not what you think!”

“I won’t hesitate bitch!” Seems the Monkey King has been around the kids too long too.

They were both silent for a moment in an attempt to process what happened before the tension broke as they both giggled.

“I don’t know what to tell you man. He just woke me up this morning, asked me if I could shift into this guy called Macaque, and we just did dumb, fun stuff all day. Went out of my way to make the kid laugh until I was sure he’d lose a lung. But he never did tell me why he was so afraid of this face…” Tea. She really needed tea right now. So tea she began to make, not even realizing she had grabbed two cups and was making peach tea until it was too late.

“Oh he didn’t, huh?” Nagi gave him a silent nod, tail twitching in agitation as silence took over again.

“What did this guy do to the kid Wukong? What happened?”

“It’s a long story but let me say you don’t need to hunt him down because we beat him up plenty, it was mainly the kid though.” His pride in MK was infectious as she found herself smiling at that, handing Sun Wukong a mug of warm peach tea as she sat down next to him.

“Good, saves me the effort of doing it myself. I won’t push if either of you don’t want to tell me. But… listen, I’m not just here to help the kid and the others. You annoy the hell out of me but I’m here for you too Wukong. That’s what family does, right?”

The Monkey King was silent at that yet leaned in when Nagi wrapped her tail around his shoulders to gently pull him closer.

“Thanks Nag.”

“You’re welcome.”

#lego monkie kid #monkie kid #mk #sun wukong #monkie kid oc #nagi #fanfiction #my writing

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an-anxious-displacer-beast · 3 years

Text

Post #2

Warnings: Spiders, and minor suspense

Deep in his thoughts and work, a bright yellow Tiefling huddles over his precious tomes that lie sprawled about the table. With his massive mane of platinum blonde curls, only held back slightly by his wavering horns, they created a thick curtain between him and the rest of the sun filled room, he almost missed the soft pitter patter of bare feet on sandstone tiles. Still ensnared by the book about fiendish anatomy, which he has read over and over on countless occasions before, he didn’t leave his work. His very long and pointed ears perked up as a gentle smile cracked on his withered face, underneath the dark circles and premature wrinkles that hung below his eyes that lack irises and pupils. A pair of chipped fangs poked their way over his chapped lips and almost interacted with his recently groomed goatee. “And how is my sweet little desert flower doing on this sunny day?” He gently murmured to his daughter in Infernal without letting his eyes leave the diagram that he was analyzing. And a little Tiefling girl, whose skin was as pale as ash, and hair as red as a ruby, nestled up next to her dad with something cupped in her hands. And before he could process what it was, she released it directly onto the image he was studying. Ungracefully plopped onto his parchment was a hair coated, colorful, eight legged creature with far too many eyes for its own good, about the size of his fist. “Papa!! Look what I found in the cactus garden!!!” The four year old squeed with joy as her father remained frozen with fear for the highly venomous looking creature that remained just a few inches from his face. Both the spider and him being extremely unaware of what to do as their next move, Sunlight slowly drew his face away from the textbook and vaguely whimpered to his daughter. “Oh… Wow… This is ehm… Lovely, darling…” Both him and the spider kept their eyes lock on one another. And steadily, but gently he lifted the book, hesitating when the tarantula took a tiny quick step towards him. “Quite the uhm…” He tried to mask the fear in his voice. “Quite the specimen you found here!” Attempting a nervous smile, he very gradually stood up with the spider. “Do they have a name?” He glanced down at the completely still black, red orange and yellow spider that was almost as big half of a page in the book. “Yeah!! Her name’s Dawn!! She’s sooooo cute!!!” His daughter beamed up at him as he desperately held himself from tipping over the edge and into a panic attack. “Well, my darling, we should probably return her to her home so that she doesn’t get sad.” He looked between his daughter and back at the spider a few times before the little girl sighed. “Ok…” She tried to understand as she pouted. He slowly crouched down with the book in one hand far away from his child, and gently held her face with the other. “Hey, I know we’ve gone over this with the scorpions, and the lizard, the beetles, and the snakes. But I promise you, when we get out of this town, I will help you raise a pet, alright?” His voice took on a more soothing and gentle tonality as he looked into her completely black eyes. “Ok.” She nodded, a little dejected but more hopeful. “We just need to find a job that gets papa some more money in another town, and then we’ll be safe enough to be a home for a new friend.” He smiled as he slowly stood up, making sure that his old injury wouldn’t act up, and that their new fuzzy friend wouldn’t decide that it was time to hide in the furniture. “Now, let’s go find her little home, and bring her back. Her family might be missing her.” He limped his way over on cloven hooves to the door of his decrepit tower, with his very large tail and young daughter following behind. And as he pushed open the door the light outside grew brighter and brighter until it nearly blinded him. And before he knew it, his eyes opened and he awoke in the temple that he had fallen asleep in, surrounded by his still sleeping allies. After placing his rough hand on his recently scarred face, he sighed, and then tried to rest once more with a tear bubbling up in his eye.

#tiefling #yellow tiefling #bloodhunter #backstory #it was all just a dream #key moment #happy family #time to scare dad with a big *ss spider #tender moments #scholar #father daughter moment #dnd oc #dnd story #dnd character

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shiftytracts · 3 years

Text

This was gonna be a scenario post, hence the A and B format, but got so long (2.4k) it almost counts as a story. I’m less sure it counts as emeto--it’s all nausea/general digestive upset, no actual vomit. Also mentions scat and weight gain, but those tags would definitely constitute false advertising; they’re more like incidental story elements than kink elements.

A’s on new meds, whose side effects include slight but near-constant nausea. They wander one morning through the dark, brown-carpeted house they share with B (their SO) and another housemate (C), coffee cup in hand, still slightly sweat-sticky from bed but without the time to shower. It’s a small, thin-walled house, and C’s not up yet, so A and B keep off their shoes for as long as they can, trying not to make too much noise. A muffles their burps into the crook of their elbow. B makes eggs and toast for both; A’s gotta wolf ‘em before their appointment, but wishes they hadn’t—or at least that they’d skipped the orange juice, and maybe saved brushing their teeth for after breakfast. They head to their appointment with their heart pounding in their gut, queasy and bloated and short of breath, bubbly stiff cramps forming in new places every time they bend a different way, belly rumbling so much they wonder if B can hear it, if they can see it shake, can see A’s navel through their t-shirt.

(“Be honest”—A implores, when they wander back from the can to the kitchen sink where B stands washing grease off the breakfast plates—“do I look like a total fatass?”

(“What? No.” B laughs, rhetorically, and adds, “Why?”

(“Well ‘cause I sorta feel like one is all,” A says, peremptorily stroking up and down past their navel, but regretting it when this uncalled-for jiggling further upsets their stomach.

(“Aw. No, you look fine,” B assures them. They look back to their dishes, then at A again with preemptive shrug: “I guess if they were really looking someone might figure you’d had a big breakfast, but.” A yanks at their shirt, hoping to obscure this; “Don’t do that, you’ll stretch it,” B reminds them.)

A tries to crap before they leave but no dice—not time yet. Nasty cramps and cold sweat all through their shrink appointment. Comes home, gives vent to the pyroclastic flow, then collapses supine on the bed and unbuttons their shorts. Takes a nap.

Despite their best efforts B’s doings in there an hour or so after that wake A up; they direct A to the water glass they set by the bed. “Oh. Thanks,” A yawns, and asks if B’ll hand them pajama pants. B smiles and complies.

“Not going out again then, huh? Not feeling well?”

A shrugs. “No, I’m okay now, just kinda.” They try to make a hand gesture for tired or loopy, but judging from B’s lack of answering nod they figure this doesn’t suffice as explanation. “Might later though, I don’t know.”

“Mm.”

“Should eat something, probably.”

“Ah, yeah—get back on the horse?”

“Haha yeah.” Meanwhile A rubs their belly up and down as though to sound its opinion on the level of drawstring tightness they’ve selected. B sits next to them for a sec, puts a hand on their back, pecks their jaw.

“I guess you are a bit chubbier now,” B admits, feeling guilty for how they dodged A’s question on that score this morning.

“Seems that way,” allows A. This, they’re pretty sure, is the previous med’s fault. They wouldn’t’ve switched were that its only sin, of course, but the thing had the gall to be useless aside from its side effects of weight gain and insomnia. “Is it gross? Should I.”

“What? No,” B says again, and laughs rhetorically as before. “‘Gross’? Of course not.” B bats A’s jaw, very gently, playfully. “No matter what happens, I’m just happy you’re getting help.”

A’s answering smile lasts maybe a quarter of a second. “Thanks.” All the same they stand and spread their arms out to either side, to give B a better look. “Sure you don’t mind?”

B smiles, shakes their head chidingly, incredulously. “Why would I mind? It’s kinda cute, if anything.” To prove they mean it they go around behind A, rest the side of their face on the back of A’s neck, snake their hands around to A’s front and slot each one atop their waistband so B’s palms fit in the hollow between pelvis and flab. Roots around til they find the end of A’s shirt, pushes it out of the way, un- and re-does the drawstring so their pajama pants sit at a more flattering height. “That too tight?”

“No, it’s kinda grounding actually,” A shrugs. “Thanks.”

“Mhm. Now go eat something.”

A eats some leftover rice with soy sauce—C ordered way too much rice with their takeout two nights ago, and left the extra up for grabs. Then A figures they can handle two Oreos. Can’t stop burping after that, but only feels a little queasy, little squirmy. Lies on the couch with their laptop, alternately studying and playing Tetris (they’re a week or two into the fall semester; today’s Friday, which they have off from both classes and work). Until C gets home, at which point Mariokart happens. This makes A feel sick, though, not sure whether in a too much food or not enough kinda way, so they take their computer and go back to the bedroom, telling C they just want to remove themselves from the social distraction. Maintains this ruse until about halfway down the hallway, then lets go the foodbaby they’ve been suckin’ in and moves their free hand up and down it as they round the corner into their bedroom doorway. B’s all dressed and ready for their friend’s party now; has to go soon. They’re crisscross-applesauced on the bed looking at their phone, but they look up when A comes in. “Hey.”

“Hi! Feeling better?” B asks, with a slight frown that suggests they know the answer.

A busies their hands with setting their laptop on the bed so they can say, “Nope—queasatronic,” without seeming too self-pitying.

B nose-laughs but says, “Aw. I’m sorry.”

A shrugs, sits. “Eh.”

“Want me to stay home?—I could—?”

But this time A says, “What? No. ‘Course not, you should go. I’m fine, I’m.” (Shrugs, realizing already that this’ll sound like a guilt trip and wondering whether they secretly mean one. But they’re too bushed to think of another ending to the sentence.) “I’m used to this; don’t need a babysitter. You should go.”

“Okay. Thank you. If you’re sure.”

“No, please. Seriously.”

“Alright. What time is it?” B chirps, then presses the top button on their phone and reports, “5:24—yeah okay, I should go. Take care, feel better. Need anything?—I could stop at CVS, or.”

“Uh…” A mimes thinking about it, then spaces out for real.

“Well, you can text me if so,” B laughs.

“Cool. Sure. Have fun.”

“Thaaanks,” B says, swinging themselves by the hand around the doorjamb as they slip out. A arranges themselves supine again, hands folded on their stomach. Lets out an unimpressed sigh as though in summation. Doesn’t really wanna take a nap, but they try playing Tetris again and feel too icky when they try to focus their eyes on the screen. Closes their laptop but does not remove its warm weight from their lap, even though in the 5pm heat its plastic sticks to their wrists. Burps, mouth open, not loudly exactly but sorta high-pitched—as though they were an adolescent boy with a soda can, they scoff. Then wonders if they have any more diet ginger ale. Wanders out to the kitchen, in the extra wall space between which and the dining room (B calls it a “breakfast nook,” but A just assumes that’s a joke they don’t get) they keep their soda cans stacked on the floor next to the milk-cratey recycle bins. There is indeed one left. They grab that and a cup (and two ice cubes outta the tray in the freezer), too lazy to fetch the one B put water in for them earlier, and remind themselves to text B that they’ve run out.

C’s still out there, and notices A’s choice of beverage. “You alright?”

“Yeah, just. Guts’re on the fritz again.”

“Hm. Sorry, pal.”

“It’s cool.”

“You gonna be able to find something you can eat?”

“What?”

“Tonight, I mean. Is there food you can eat?”

A shrugs. “Still some rice left I guess.”

“I ask ‘cause I’m going to the store in an hour, so. If you want some saltines or something.”

“Oh.” A laughs; adds, “thanks. Think we still have some from last time though.”

“Okay. Well, if you think of anything you want.”

“Sure. Thanks.”

“No problem; good luck.”

At this departure from Hope you feel better A laughs slightly. “Thanks.” Heads back to their room, drinks their soda and melty ice. This is the hottest-ass part of the day, so when it’s gone they balance the still-cool glass on their clavicle. They feel much better now, if sorta bloated and fizzy. Quease level comparatively minimal. Figures they should eat again while they’ve got the, uh, guts for it.

Once they start on their second round of rice A finds they’re pretty hungry. Adds soy sauce a lot more zealously, this time, and risks the last leftover spring roll as well but regrets the grease. Has to make up for it with the unsauced bits of rice clinging to the edge of the styrofoam box—you know, like, a palate cleanser or whatever. They hiccup a little, then belch when they bring their plate to the sink, from the contact between gut and the edge of the counter: hadn’t thought about the extra room they take up now. Rubs a peremptory circle into the left side above the navel but finds they feel alright, for now—then 20 minutes later heads into the can, expecting lava from how their stomach cramps and rolls, but gets out only some air and a few wispy pebbles. Notices with greater dismay, then, on the way back to their room, how their belly queasily sloshes around when they walk. Doesn’t seem to have shrunk much.

In B’s mirror, back in their room, A finds they look pretty gigantic, too; they changed into a looser shirt after the first one got too sweaty, and in this comparative tent all you can tell is that the gut’s the widest part of their profile. They set their hands down on it to bring it down to size, and are dismayed at how little difference this makes. Does feel nicer that way though; leaves ‘em there as they trudge slowly back to their side of the bed, and pushes slow circles into each side. Sits heavily on the edge of the bed, hunched over a little. Can feel the tightness in their stomach that means either it’s going to rumble in that long drawn-out violating way where you feel like it’s loosing all your secrets or that you’re going to belch so loud you’ll wonder if you have to puke. Waits, then gives up on waiting and slowly, laboriously lies down. Stretches a little, tempting fate, but it kinda hurts: ties a weird knot high up on the right when they loosen back up. They put three fingers on it gently, and try to iron it out back and forth. Ah!—there it goes. Stomach starts growling, seems to shake everything up, then once that uneasy shifting’s done with it still keeps up the sound what seems a ludicrous, embarrassing long time. When that’s done they sigh and then burp a little. Laughs at themselves for this display. Carefully carefully carefully turns onto their side, facing away from the door, and tries to sleep, a protective hand curled around their stomach.

When B gets home much later that night they wake up a little (“Oh. Hi. How was the thing.” “Hey! Sorry to wake you. It was fun; I think it went well.” “That’s good.” “Mhm.” “Anyway good night.” B laughs: “Haha okay. Go back to sleep A.” They mean to reply at your service but instead say, “Open sesame”; B laughs and pats their hair so it itches their nose. When A swipes at it snot comes loose. They decide not to open that pandoras wormtails); figures they’ll fall back to sleep quick until the consciousness of nausea slides back into place, at which point they try to roll onto their back and find themselves ludicrously heavy. It takes several tries, and all their breath. They groan with bored self-pity, forgetting they’re not alone in the room.

Meanwhile B struggles out of their clothes and into pajama pants and an inside-out (but not backwards) tank top in the dark. “You okay?”

“Blugh. Not great.”

“Aw, still?”

“Yeah… nah,” A says, blinking, confusedly forgetting which answer is appropriate. “I gotta pee,” A decides. This helps a little, since it wakes them up all the way and therefore allows them to disentangle the need to pee from their other woes. In the bathroom mirror they look mostly deflated up top but still extra puffy and round lower down; at least it doesn’t hurt their stomach to stand up anymore. Only hurts like a menstrual cramp does after you take ibuprofen, but the quease that in that case is only incipient is much worse here. At one point they cough, and dread this “pandoras wormtails” too when it alerts them to all the mushy brittle things in their throat and chest. This also makes them start burping again, so that that’s how they end up greeting B when they get back to the doorway of their room: fist over their mouth, wincing a little, leaning into the wall for balance. B’s a good sport though. They face each other in bed and B lays both their warm hands on A’s stomach, whimpers in pity at how blown up they can tell it is.

“I’m sorry you don’t feel well,” they say in that affectionate half-asleep tone that always comes out querulous.

“It’s cool,” A says back.

B sloppily nods so that their jaw thuds against their pillow, hair spilling into their eyes, and tells A, “Just try to go back to sleep; feel betterinthmorning probbleby,” trying to get all the words out before a yawn.

#emetophilia #emeto cw

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sweetcatmintea · 4 years

Text

Dogwood & Co scene 1

So I started writing a new wip and figured, hey, why not post it? So, here’s the first scene so far. (It doesn’t have a title yet so the place holder is Dogwood and co.) Image credits are in a reblog so tumblr doesn’t hide this post :v Feedback is always very much appreciated

[image description: a mood board of three images on a herb background. The first is a photo of pair of copper crane shaped scissors. The second is a digital illustration of a person’s eyes. They have brown skin, dark eyes, and curly hair that’s shaved on their right side. They have orange makeup under their eyes. The third image is a photo of a dogwood flower, a white four petalled flower with a yellow centre and dark stem. description end.]

Words: 1858 Trigger warning(s): None. Ask to tag Character(s): Dogwood, Suecica, Hosta, Niobe, and Dogwood’s mother.

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This is not one of the greats, an epic adventure of brave heroes bringing long overdue justice to an ancient evil. There is no shining knight, nor corrupt monarchy felled. It is a simple story of a young witch and the trials they never imagined themself facing. There is triumph, loss, magic, and food. There is a baker with a wild glint in her eye and a smile so infectious even the cantankerous little dragon is swayed to joy. There is danger, of course, but, at its core, this is a story about love. You may not agree with that at first. That’s fine. This story is not one of the greats, but you have some time and I have a tale so would you lend me your ear and hear Dogwood’s plight?

Death will always follow in your footsteps, an inevitable shadow at your heels, but Dogwood, it will never take you.

To start at the beginning is to start much too early. Instead, we come to meet our protagonist midway through their morning chores, kneeling in clovers and dewy soil, gently snipping countryside herbs with ornate scissors. Brass, carved in a crane’s image, they sat light in Dogwood’s grasp. Suecica, the youngest of Dogwood’s brothers, crouched as close as Dogwood’s movements allowed, eagerly thrusting a basket towards them at the first hint of its necessity. Though his enthusiastic help was in name only, Dogwood was happy for the company. They placed the cuttings with the others, a single fluid movement, never breaking the flow of their work. They mused an explanation here and there, the function of this herb, the necessity of that ritual. For many, it may not have been the fun side of magic, but for Dogwood, it felt like home. Magic was their heartbeat. To teach it was a fulfilment they knew they would not be able to indulge in for much longer. Suecica was a young lad of eight, in but a few more seasons, his own magic would begin to manifest. It was only a matter of time until he made his vows with Nes. Dogwood wondered idly what form Suecica’s Dustmorph would take. A cat like their mother? A fox like their father and brother? They thought a dog might suit him better but there was no way to tell. There was an element of inheritability, to be sure, but the shape of a person’s essence has many hands moulding it. Until he was ready, it was a secret between his soul and the Gods.

The tug of magic pulled them out of their thoughts. Followed quickly by the appearance of The Respected Hosta. Dogwood rose to greet her, wiping their hand on their pants as they stood. Although it was not uncommon to see a witch of Hosta’s status in the countryside, or that she might seek out an apprentice in person, it was strange to see her usual mischievous graces shadowed by a worried brow and stiff gait. Shoulders rigid and back straight, her natural flow was entirely absent. Her robes battled at her ankles as she approached, raising a hand in greeting as soon as she made out the pair. Sharp vision was not a blessing she had claim to. Dogwood wondered, not for the first time, if the snake draped around her neck was a cause or a coincidence.

“Hosta, Niobe, your presence blesses us. What brings you to the country?”

Never one to be left out, Suecica parroted Dogwood’s greeting. “Your presence blesses us!”

Hosta nodded in return. “Your company is appreciated, Dogwood, as is yours young Suecica.” Niobe curved around her wrist, sliding the dimming location charm Hosta had used to find them over his head until it might be needed once more. As he reclaimed it, the magic pull faded to nothing.

“Unfortunately, I am not here for pleasantries. In regard to your recent behaviour, the Council has deemed it appropriate that you are to report to the catacombs on the ninth hour of this night for disciplinary action.” Hosta’s voice was sharp, leaving no room for argument.

The drastic change a slap in the face to Dogwood. They blinked at her, eyebrows arching in surprise. Her stony gaze gave nothing away. Moments lapsed before they remembered they should respond.

“Oh, okay… Will I need to bring anything?”

“No. Do not be late.” With a dip of her head, she turned and left. Niobe stared from her shoulder as she went, studying their reactions with an emotion Dogwood couldn’t place.

The siblings exchanged a look, broken by Suecica jabbing Dogwood in the ribs, laughing as they jolted.

“Ooooh, you’re in TRouBle~”

“It would certainly seem so.” Dogwood shook their head, taking on a mock stern expression. “If you don’t want me to turn you into a toad for that, you’d better run!”

Of course, they weren’t capable of that kind of magic, but that really wasn’t the point. Following a threat through was never the point with siblings.

Suecica shrieked in delight, taking of in the direction of their home. “You can’t run with scissors!!”

Dogwood pocketed the scissors and took off after him. “Don’t think you can escape so easily Sue! You’d better not drop those herbs unless you want to be the one picking them all up again!”

They ran through fields, spooking chickens and amusing friendly neighbours until they arrived, panting, out of breath, at the pink picket fence lining their family property. Sue clamoured through the hard wood door, kicking off his shoes and nearly upending his basket in his haste to enter the house. Fortunately for the pair, Dogwood caught it in time. They followed him inside, slipping their shoes neatly beside the brick wall, and setting the herbs aside to be properly prepared later. Though a chore to some, Dogwood enjoyed each and every First Moon Ritual, the ceremonial burning of hand-picked herbs at the height of night under a new moon to thank the stars for their continued guardianship. There was such a monotonous peace to it, a feeling of belonging and purpose they could seldom word, let alone explain, even to fellow witches. Would they still be able to perform it tonight? Would three hours be long enough for the Council’s intent? Even in punishment, they had always respected the rituals. But then, the whole situation was not quite right, what sway would ‘always’ have here?

Sue thumped down the hallway, nearly barrelling into their mother as she left the nursery. “Mum! Muuumm!! Save me! Dogwood’s gonna turn me into a toad!!” He feigned terror at his sibling’s approach, tucking himself behind her for safety.

Porlock, the sturdy white and red striped cat sitting on her shoulder puffed their fur and hissed at him while their mother scolded his noise.

“Hush, you silly monkey! I just got your sister down!”

“Oops!” He dropped his tone to a stage whisper, grinning sheepishly. “Sorry!”

She sighed, rolling her eyes just as dramatically as his antics, and ruffled his hair. She ushered them away from the sleeping baby. Porlock’s fur settled back to the almost tabby pattern as they left. With a huff, the cat leapt to the floor, plodding back to nursery, their red tail a flag behind them.

The three gathered in the kitchen, Sue fishing a honey biscuit from the tin and offering one to his sibling. Their mother nodded towards the basket.

“How did you go?”

“Good. The plants have grown well this cycle. We found plenty for the First Moon, as well as some to eat. Sue listened to instructions but, unfortunately, will have to live the rest of his life as a toad.”

“That is a shame,” she laughed as Sue whined, “I suppose he will have to develop a taste for flies.”

“Muumm, no! I don’t want to be a toad!” He crumpled into her, the mockery too much to bear.

“Maybe we can work something out. I doubt a toad will be as useful as our little Sue.”

“Muuuuummmm.”

She laughed again. Dogwood’s mother had the warmest smile they had ever seen. Her brown eyes sparkled with so much joy and life, the tired lines running through her skin could do nothing to dampen her spirits. She had always been a lively woman, but fatigue was unavoidable at the moment. Nuttallii, the youngest member of their family, had proven herself a difficult sleeper. She seemed to be committed to keeping their parents awake as long as possible and had shown no signs of slowing her tirade yet. It was only a matter of time until she would though. Just like her siblings before her, Dogwood knew she would learn peace eventually.

Dogwood was the second born and eldest of their three siblings. They did not mirror their mother as Sue and Nut did, sharing her coppery hair and soft face, nor were they made in their father’s image like Cornel, their other brother, carrying his dark locks and straight features. Rather, they were somewhere in between. On multiple occasions, they had been compared to their Grandmother, a portrait of her youth. The same warm russet skin, deep brown, near black hair, and the same ebony eyes that seemed to say more than their face ever could. They missed her dearly, a weakened constitution taking her long before they were ready to say goodbye. It was not the first Memoria Bell they had received but it was the one that truly introduced them to loss.

“Besides, I shouldn’t get punished!” Sue’s face lit up in a treacherous grin, “Since Dogwood was the one who got in ~tRoUbLe~!”

What a brat. Siblings. Honestly.

Their mother paused her teasing, looking to them for an explanation. They’d like one too if it was on offer. Instead, they kind of shrugged.

“Hosta asked-”

“Ordered!”

“… Ordered my presence in the catacombs at ninth hour tonight. I am to be reprimanded for my recent behaviour. She didn’t say what I had done, or really anything else.”

“Except not to be late!”

“Except that. I’m not sure what this is about. The only thing I can think of is falling asleep in the library during studies, but I doubt that would amount to such formal measures…”

A worried moment passed between them. The kind that is all consuming between adults yet hardly noteworthy to children. Though witches may command change from their fingertips, it would seem they turn shy when it is thrust upon them.

Their mother tried to gather herself, putting on faux airs for her children. “Well, there’s nothing much we can do until tonight. I’m sure it is a simple mix up, nothing to fret about.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

She put a comforting hand on their shoulder. It would be okay. They would get through it together if it wasn’t.

“In the meantime, I have some deliveries that need to be made. The Roselia family have several pots to be delivered and Ms. Prunus has a mortar and pestle. Can you take them? If the pots are too heavy, leave them. I’ll get your brother to take them when he gets back.”

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Tag list

@snobbysnekboi, @inkovert, @kainablue, @i-rove-rock-n-roll , and @goblin-writer

#Writing #writblr #original fiction #original story #original characters #Dogwood and co #my story #Character mentions #Dogwood

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wisepuma23 · 5 years

Note

I saw your tag on that virgil-with-heterochromia post about the new episode and i double dog dare you to do it. But only if you're up to it, don't feel pressured

Warnings: Angst, Deceit, Spoilers for newest video (Selfishness vs Selflessness), Crying, Feelings

Ships: Implied Moxiety, platonic LAMP

Word Count: 3,746

Notes: You can find the post that anon is talking about here! I’m tagging @believemeitsgoingtobeokay so they can see it too! I really liked this idea and it didn’t come out exactly how I pictured but that’s fine pffft. Got to torture Virgil so that’s a bonus! :D

Read on AO3

Virgil bounced his leg, hoping his jittery energy would leave him already. He bit at a loose strip of skin on his thumb. Patton hummed a song from the kitchen next room over. Smelled like soup with chicken and probably some potatoes too knowing him. Growing kids need veggies, as if they weren’t almost thirty at this point. Virgil couldn’t even focus on the smell for too long. His eyes darted around the common room as his leg bounced up and down, up and down, up and–

A dark shadow loomed behind the sofa, he didn’t dare to pull his eyes away. Virgil sat still and the back of the neck prickled. Finally. That bastard decided to show up. He straightened in his seat as he glared at the hidden shadow. Knock it off already. The shadow squirmed but made no move to slip out of its hiding place.

“Deceit,” Virgil snarled, then shot up from his seat with a growl, “Get OUT! I already told you to fuck off!” The humming in the next room stopped, “Your act is up!”

A low laugh echoed through the room. Virgil followed the glide of darkness past the sofa until it rippled into that dorky black and yellow getup. Why did Deceit insist on looking like a street magician? And not even one of the good ones! Deceit wiggled his fingers at him with a cheeky little wink that he just knew would dig under his skin. Virgil clenched his fists as he ground his teeth together.

“The only act here is you, darling,” Deceit looked him up and down, “And bravo, it’s just so good you’re even deceiving yourself. And you think I’m the liar!”

Virgil tensed but froze as he heard a paper bag crinkle behind him. He whirled around to see goddamn Princey arm-deep into a Dorito bag. Eugh, orange crumbs on his white uniform? Patton would chew him out later. No, not important! Virgil narrowed his eyes at Roman furtively look between them, then another slow crinkle as he reached for another Dorito.

“Roman!”

“Whaaat! Is this not our living room, Stormy Downer?” Roman draped himself across the sofa and dropped Doritos into his gaping mouth hole like they were divine grapes, “Mmph! Keep going! Mmm, like I’m not even here!”

More obnoxious crunches. A vein pulsed in his temple at the sound. Roman chortled as he shook the bag for more.

“Eat with your mouth closed, it’s gross!” Virgil snapped, then shook his head as he turned to face Deceit again, “Ignore him. How about we take this somewhere else and talk.”

“I just love how you ignore Roman, so very cool of you,” Deceit rubbed the pad of his gloves together as he raised an eyebrow, “And I’m sorry to say but this is a family participation talk today so the handsome prince will have to stay.”

Roman sat up, orange Dorito chips falling down and onto the carpet, “Handsome? Oh ho ho ho, you got me listening.”

Patton poked his head in from the kitchen, “I heard a racket in here, what’s the big–”

Deceit snapped his fingers shut and threw it open at the sofa. Patton landed with a yelp onto the soft pillows. He caught a glimpse of Roman’s disastrous uniform and summoned a napkin within seconds to start scrubbing at Roman’s face. Ha! Roman squirmed as Patton pinched at his cheeks. Deceit rolled his eyes as he pursed his lips at the loud doting from Patton. Virgil tensed as that wily snake eye focused on him.

“Logan dear!” Deceit called behind his hand, “Patton wants your opinion on something and he’s just absolutely distraught without your guidance.”

Virgil scoffed, “Like that’s actually gonna–”

Logan turned around adjusting his glasses with a smirk, then his face fell at the sight of Patton scrubbing at Roman’s sash. Several expressions flickered through his face before it settled back into that professional mask. Virgil looked down. Logan’s tie ironed straight and more immaculate than ever. Virgil squinted, did…did Logan have gel in his hair or had he gone crazy? Wow…

“DECEIT!” Logan had gone rigid at the sight of him. Thank god someone else with the sense to not trust that snake. And this is why Virgil preferred him sometimes. Okay fine, Patton was his favorite best friend but no one had to know that. Virgil shoved his hands into his hoodie as he glared at Deceit, ignoring the way his fingers twitched with the urge to smash his face in. The itchy ball in his chest that clawed at his ribs, hungry for wrath and screaming until his throat went hoarse. He could almost feel his eyeshadow darken by several shades.

“Leave us alone,” Virgil stepped forward, letting the shadows nip at his heels, “You’re not welcome here. Not now and not ever.”

“Oohh! Better put a muzzle on that Beast of yours, Beauty,” Deceit said as he glanced over to Patton, “Careful, he might bite you love.”

Patton dropped his hands from Roman’s face, “Hey that’s one of my four best friends you’re talking about! And he wouldn’t hurt me.”

Deceit grinned, sharp teeth glinting in the light, “Yes, that’s totally why I’m here, to talk about your cutesy rainbow vomit friendship,” He clasped his hands behind his back, “Boys? You know what to do.”

Patton yelped in pain as Roman held one arm while Logan pinned the other. Virgil could see how Patton’s eyes stung with the betrayal, brown eyes wide with tears. Patton struggled but grimaced as Logan kept him still until his grip creaked. Trapped on the couch, forced to sit and watch. Virgil snarled as he took a step forward. He knew Roman could be an airhead but Logan too?

“What did he tell you?!” Virgil said, his heart pounding in his throat like the walls threatened to close in, “He’s a liar! Roman, I know you’re thick, but you Logan?” He shook his head as Logan glared up at him, “Wow, I’m sure Thomas is gonna be real happy that his logic went haywire.”

“Me? I’m the problem?” Logan’s eyes shone with cold fire, “HA!”

Virgil stumbled a step back, “But I’m not…”

“Virgil, Virgil, our protective vigil,” Deceit mocked as he leaned in to whisper, “I didn’t tell them anything they didn’t already know.”

Virgil’s eyes flew open, “You didn’t–”

“I just meant your little alliance with Morality over there,” Deceit laid a glove on his shoulder, the touch a red hot iron even through his hoodie, “Not dangerous at all or destroying Thomas in the slightest. If it did,” The glove slid down his back as goosebumps followed, “It would have rather nasty side-effects like crushing his dreams and ignoring his rational thought. Would Thomas be happy about that?”

Virgil screamed as Deceit twisted his wrist until he crumpled to his knees. Fuck. Before Virgil could get back to his feet, Deceit pinned his other wrist behind his back. A sharp knee dug into his back until he bowed under it. Virgil shook as his thoughts raced in his mind. If this really was a family talk, Thomas would be here and not violent at all. No, no, he knew Deceit’s little game here. That dramatic edgelord wanted a show. A dramatic reveal of the boogeyman!

Heh, back to the start then.

Deceit snapped his fingers and cold iron cast shackles clicked around his wrists and a chain bolted to the floor. Like an animal. Virgil rolled his eyes at the overkill. He hissed as a yellow glove yanked his head up by the hair until his back arched. His neck twinged as sharp pangs shot through his back. The common room went dark.

A spotlight turned on with a hum, the bright glare directly on him. Virgil, Anxiety, the problem. He swallowed back a bitter laugh, well they weren’t wrong. If they really knew what he was…He swallowed, he didn’t want to go back to being alone. Alone in the dark. In the cold, until a snake came along pretending to be his friend. No, not again.

“What’s going on? Roman, I’m very disappointed in you!! We have to help Virgil,” Patton rustled in the shadows, Virgil shuddered in relief at his voice, “You’re a prince! How can you stand by and let this happen?! And help him?”

“He’s really nice and he knows what he’s talking about…”

“What? Roman, he’s a liar!”

“Oh honey, it came down to a majority vote,” Deceit twisted his fingers in his hair with a yank, “Three against two. And would you call that fair?”

“Well, no but–”

“Ah ah, you said it not me,” Deceit blew a kiss at Patton with a smack, “Mwah mwah so clever! But Logan is so much more clever and Roman too, far more than you give him due credit,” Deceit loomed over him, yellow snake eyes shining with glee, “It’s been a rigged game for so long and the prizes are full of ash. No candy for us.”

Virgil swallowed back a lump, “You want to make it fair. But you always rig the whole goddamn system anyway! There’s no point in this!” He bucked and convulsed against his shackles as his teeth snapped, “YOU’RE SELFISH!”

Deceit licked his lips, “I told you, glass houses. We’re doing this for Thomas.”

Roman’s voice piped up, small and unsure, “You said you were going to even the playing field but I don’t see how chaining him up is a good idea.”

“It’s not,” Deceit reassured over his shoulder.

“I too have my doubts,” Logan said as he cleared his throat, “Perhaps we can go back to my original idea of talking this out?”

Deceit rolled his eyes, “And how did that work from your bench?”

“Not well.”

“Right, we’re doing this my way,” Deceit shook his head, then whispered with a smirk, “Are they always so easy?”

Virgil narrowed his eyes, “Fuck you.”

“My my such foul language,” Deceit purred, then twirled until he stood behind Virgil so he could be in full view of his family, “I think it’s time to know your partner in crime, Patton. See who you’re really helping win. Oh, you’ll cry and cry and cry…”

Virgil froze, his breath stuck in his throat. No, no, no. They can’t know. He squirmed but the grip on his hair tightened and the cool air on his face reminded him how vulnerable it was. No bangs to cover his face up. The piercing glare of the spotlight made his shadows twist and suck at his heels like piglets. Weak. Sweat slipped down the back of his neck at the answering silence. His own ragged breaths loud in it. They can’t know. Patton can’t.

Deceit traced a finger along the bottom bone of his eye socket, “Have I ever said you got beautiful eyes? Brown? Blue?” He glanced up at his audience, “I don’t know which is it…”

“Let me go! Roman please!” Patton sounded angrier than Virgil had ever heard him, “I swear I will fight you! And I mean it this time! Logan just stop!” A broken little sob came from the darkness, “Stop it, Deceit! I can-I can do whatever you want, just stop.”

“Maybe we should–”

“Should we?” Deceit said before Roman could finish, “The show isn’t over until the fat lady sings, right? Why don’t I ask our guest here some questions? Harmless enough right, Father?”

Patton didn’t protest.

Virgil sagged, of course. Patton couldn’t resist eating play-doh so why wouldn’t he want to know his greatest secret? Deceit hummed in delight as he tapped a finger under his right eye. Virgil wanted to scream and run and hide. Be anywhere but here. Instead, a sick feeling coated his lungs like he couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t see. His eyes shook too hard from nerves and fear. Deceit had become a wavy blur of darkness and yellow eyes every time he tried to focus on the bastard.

“What’s your name?”

“Virgil but you already knew that, asshat–”

“Sure, but I meant your name,” Deceit’s voice dropped into a velvet purr as he leaned down, “Your real name. Not the one Thomas thought he knew. What your family knew.”

The room silent as the gallows, waiting for the pin to drop.

“It’s Ethan,” Virgil rolled his eyes as he scoffed, “Yeah no, it’s fucking Virgil. Like this is pointless and dumb and dramatic and you hate me!”

“So what if he has a different name!” Patton shouted and for a moment Virgil caught a glimpse of blue eyes glowing, “He’s still my best friend no matter who he is!”

“Yeah if that was it, then this was kind of a letdown,” Roman not so subtly whispered, “I’m just saying.”

Deceit paused then laughed, the sound echoing. Two hands gripped his head, the gloves bruising around his jaw as they forced his face forward. The spotlight grew brighter. Virgil hissed as something burned in his right eye. No! The damn light must’ve–he screamed as half of his vision went red. With blood or anger, he couldn’t tell. His shoulders shook as he dug his fingernails into his palms through the pain. He heard shouts at the distance of his hearing.

The gloves fell away and his head slumped forward. Bangs covered his face as he panted. The spotlight dimmed back to its normal glare. Shit. Shit. Virgil swallowed, hoping his throat didn’t kill itself with screaming. Wrenching away his spell like that? God the minute he got out of these shackles, he would have to punch Deceit in the face ten times more than usual. Manipulative dickwad.

“Virgil?” Patton whispered, “Are you okay? Look at me, please.”

Deceit stepped away with a low chuckle.

Virgil looked up.

Patton’s face was clear in all glory with a spotlight of his own, eyes red-rimmed with tears and cheeks wet. What happened next came in slow motion. Every minuscule expression seemed to last years. His eyebrows drew up as his eyes widened. Patton’s jaw dropped inch by inch. Then, what he had been waiting for, the flinch. The darting of eyes around the room like he needed to make sure it was all real. Sorry Pop, this was one nightmare no one could wake up from.

Patton gasped, the imperceptible lean back of his shoulders, “Your right eye its! Its-its-not brown! You’re a-”

“Two different eye colored freak like the rest of us,” Deceit purred from behind him, “Dark sides? What a totally accurate name for us. Evil and irredeemable and yada yada.”

Virgil didn’t need to look into a mirror to see what Patton saw. His right eye a pale blue that forewarned the rise of the sun. Almost grey in the right light. Whatever. Everything he needed to know about his eye came from Patton’s instinctual shrink in Roman and Logan’s arms. Deceit snapped his fingers and the spotlight and dramatic lighting disappeared. Everything back to normal, including no more shackles.

“I’m not Anxiety,” Virgil swallowed as he stared down at the carpet, “Never have been. It’s just what Thomas assumed I was since I liked to use anxiety a lot to help my purpose.”

Roman’s boots came to a stop in front of him, “Then….who are you?”

“I’m Isolation,” Virgil said as he pulled his hood over his head as his heart raced, “I’m supposed to protect Thomas from the outside world. Can’t really do that if he’s scared, right?” The joke fell flat, “I’m sorry, it’s just–I’m just the same old me. I’m still really weird cause I like being around his friends cause it doesn’t make me feel isolated anymore. Just like I did with anxiety, I can make more or less of it depending on what I need.”

Logan’s loafers came to stand next to Roman’s boots, “Is that why you wanted to go to the wedding? I do recall that you strangely didn’t know about Thomas’ anxiety about going,” He hummed, “So you wanted to go so he wouldn’t be isolated from his friends?”

“Wait, so isolation in all forms?!” Roman stomped the ground, “You were isolating Thomas from his hopes and dreams!”

Logan coughed.

“And oh right, and from his nerd,” Roman added, then tapped the floor, “Isolation, why didn’t you tell us? How can you lie about this?”

The disdain-dripped name drop of Isolation made his heart sting. Virgil croaked but no words came out to his defense. He knew this would happen. No more Disney marathons with Roman, late night talks or Logan, or no more of Dad’s hugs. Virgil froze as the last pair of shoes, brown crocs, came into view. Patton.

“This is the last you’ll see me,” Deceit chuckled as he sank out, “Good luck, best friend.”

Virgil shot to his feet with a snarl but empty air stood where Deceit once stood. Coward. He shoved his hands into his pockets but grimaced as sharp pain laced through his fingers. Oh right. How could he forget the long creepy black nails he had? Like straight out of a horror movie. Virgil adjusted his hands until his nails didn’t scrap against his palms anymore. Idiot, no wonder Patton hated him. Everyone did. He swiped at his eyes with a sleeve and sniffle. Don’t cry, don’t cry.

“Virgil?”

His shoulders drew up at Patton’s quiet voice, “S-sorry, dad. I can just go.”

“No! No, don’t go,” Patton stepped closer and turned Virgil around to face him with gentle hands on his shoulders, “Yeah I’m a bit shocked and angry but please, hear me out first?”

Virgil looked up at him through his bangs, “…Okay, sure shoot.”

“Virgil, I realize now I made a mistake,” Patton said, then continued like his whole world wasn’t shattering, “As much I hate to say it, but Deceit was right.”

Patton’s face became a blur through unbidden tears, “Right, right, of course.”

“Maybe we have been too hard on Thomas lately,” Patton patted his cheek with an emotion he couldn’t understand, “I know you don’t think I’m stupid but you can stop lying now. I was pretty stupid,” Patton laughed, “God I haven’t been helping Thomas at all, neither of us has, if I’d only seen it sooner.”

“You’re not stupid,” Virgil shot back, “And it’s not you could’ve seen it, I had it literally behind a whole spell and whatever. But…you don’t hate me?”

“No, I just only wish I knew earlier then I would’ve known what helped you,” Patton said, then pulled Virgil into a hug and buried his face into his shoulder, “You’re my kiddo. I love you unconditionally, it’s part of the package! But…” Virgil tensed, “I gotta pay attention to my other kiddos too. Roman hasn’t cracked a gay joke in two weeks, clearly I’m not paying attention.”

Virgil wrapped his arms around Patton in a tight squeeze, “You know what, fair. But I’m still pretty pissed at him,” He glared at Roman over his shoulder, “I had one rule and it was to never bring Deceit or any of his friends around here!”

Roman scoffed as he crossed his arms, “You two were acting weird and freakish! Like Patton was a terrible lawyer and he still won a court case! That’s like, impossible!” He nudged Logan, “Right? Very improbable and all that.”

“Indeed,” Logan adjusted his glasses, “Are we all on the same page now? The dramatics over? Because we have a set schedule to go back to and set up another audition to make up for that lost callback.”

Virgil narrowed his eyes, “You fricking teamed up with Deceit like that’s the definition of betrayal? Like hell, I’m trusting you and–”

“We also missed several past auditions, helped a friend move in when Thomas had a prior engagement,” Logan listed off his fingers, “Drove to comfort a friend on the other side of town when he needed to work on editing a video, never shuts his phone off so he could be reached at all times, and worries more about what his friends think of him rather than his own desires and needs.”

Virgil sulked, “So what?”

“So what, Isolate-tope Negative?!” Roman gestured to himself with a scowl, “He’s miserable! I’m miserable and Teach here won’t say it, but he’s miserable too without Thomas feeding him!” Patton flinched in Virgil’s arms, “Maybe you should shunt Thomas alone in his house for a while, that’s what you do right? Isolate?”

“Not just that,” Virgil muttered.

“You have made fools of us long enough, and what I am is not a joke,” Logan crossed his arms as he stared at them both, “We need to go inform Thomas of this development. And I advise you, Patton, to keep quiet and listen.”

Virgil’s hackles raised, “You can’t talk to him like that.”

“Virgil, it’s okay,” Patton patted his cheek, then straightened with a sigh, “I think we gotta go face the music, kiddo.”

Roman sank out with a huff. Logan gave them one last glare before he sank out too. They stood together in the common room, alone again. Virgil swallowed thickly as he looked down at Patton. What could he say? All excuses abandoned him. His right eye damned him from the very start, all of his progress from the last year or so down the drain. Great. And he hurt Thomas for however long. Virgil reached up to cover up his ugly right eye.

“Hey hey no,” Patton pulled down his fingers gently, “I know it surprised me. A lot, if I’m honest. Up close it’s very pretty! Virgil,” Patton smiled like the first hopeful rays of a sunrise, “I know best friends are supposed to tell each other secrets but I can see why you didn’t. It’s okay,” Virgil shook his head, “It is! I’m doggone mad about what I’ve done to make you feel like you couldn’t tell me. Or that we may have hurt Thomas. But…”

“Are we even still best friends?” Virgil whispered.

Patton twined his fingers through his, “No, we’re not.”

Virgil sniffled, “O-oh, yeah yeah I get that.”

“We’re not best friends yet,” Patton said, his eyes shining with unshed tears, “So come on. I think Thomas is calling us. I think Roman and Logan will come back around, okay?”

“Yeah I wish, one look at this eye will remind them why they won’t,” Virgil scoffed, then hesitated before continuing, “…You think it’s pretty?”

Patton pulled on his hand and they sank out.

#anon asks #sanders sides fic #sanders sides spoilers #moxiety #ts deceit #myfics #Anonymous

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dotthings · 5 years

Text

This felt a bit like a classic Twilight Zone episode, mixed with TFW 2.0 feelings all around.

I jotted notes and stuff. Feelings and thoughts and milkshakes.

Running with the Twilight Zone structure and style here, Cas would be the character who figures out something’s just not right and things unravel around him and he’s slowly freaking out and has to get others to wake up to it and stop whatever’s happening. The eps this most reminds me of are things like “The Monsters are out on maple street” or “It’s a good life.”

Starting from the top -- so Jack doesn’t seem right. Nope. Sam’s not okay either, and as I figured already from the promo clip, yes it turns out he’s got a raging case of PTSD from the bunker crew he led all being slaughtered. While the characters weren’t designed to stand out to audience individually (except, perhaps, Maggie, and she wasn’t much developed), they meant something to Sam. Not in the sense that he got deeply close to them. As I pointed out earlier in the season, the bunker crew is a bit like the cantina crowd in Star Wars. They’re there for world-building. They'd all have good stories of their own given a chance to tell the tale but that’s not what they are in the main story for. And Sam cares but isn’t really part of them. He’s a leader who hasn’t formed deep personal bonds.

But they were important to Sam, and Sam’s carrying a lot of guilt and trauma over their loss, which is why he blows past Dean’s protests that he’s tired and needs rest, they all need rests. Okay so everything I thought might be going on with Sam before this ep gets vocalized by the end of it, more on that in a moment.

That scene in the bunker kitchen is so...organic and domestic. I love that SPN is a monster-killing show. I’m a fan of genre shows and watching characters whose lives are strange and dangerous and how they cope with it and watch after each other, but the domestic grace notes are an important part of grounding it and making these characters seem real. This scene in the kitchen between Dean and Cas, with Sam blowing through it, was so good. So with Sam not in a frame of mind to understand Dean’s needs for rest or wait for him, and Dean needing to stay at the bunker to rest, and both Dean and Cas worried for Sam, and all of them worried for Jack, Cas basically steps into the role of family organizer, figuratively scooping them up under his wings because someone has to try to sort out this chaos and keep it together and try to make it better. So he volunteers to go on the hunt with PTSD fixated overly-driven Sam, assigns Dean to talk to possibly-soulless Jack and figure out what’s going on, tells Dean to get the sleep that he wants “’til the cows come home.”

I love that Dean says “they’re both full of crap” about Sam and Jack’s assertions of being fine. And then Cas, once he’s in the weird town with Sam, “yeah I know, everybody’s good,” Cas says grouchily. Cas is so DONE with everyone’s pretending-to-be-okay shit.

“Was it Scanners 1, 2, or 3?” I’m betting this wasn’t a Metatron pop culture upload. Oh guess what, Dean and Cas watch horror movies together. File this with the conversations and things we now Dean and Cas do together we don’t get to actually see. I wonder when their horror movie marathon was. Just after Mint Condition? Which expressly showed how great it is having a friend who’ll watch horror movies with you? Some other time?

The reveal that Cas reads the Saturday Evening Post after everyone else is asleep in the bunker is a small thing but it’s so damn good, it gives us another glimpse into what the heck Cas does while he’s not sleeping because he doesn’t need to sleep.

Sam and Cas weirded out together is adorable, as is their surprise milkshake date.

“I think the snake is sad.” Is Jack projecting onto the snake? Assigning his own feelings of hollowness and loss from his soul being eaten away onto the snake who just lost its original owner?

Dean trying to figure out how to talk to Jack is awkward af and endearing and Dean seems so very relieved when Jack picks the angel food cake over the devil’s food. Dean, I’m pretty sure things don’t really work that way and Jack’s choice of snack food isn’t the solution but I am appreciating the reasoning behind Dean’s relief. He knows angels are mostly dicks but hey, Cas is a thing in his life, and Jack picking angel food over devil’s food (Satan), Dean takes as an optimistic sign. Cas over Lucifer. Oh, Dean.

So. Much. Floral. And citris. Imagery. In this strange little town Sam and Cas are in. Sam holding that little rose teacup. Yellow tulips on the woman’s dress. Paintings with oranges and lemons. I think the set designer’s choices were are because citrus and flowers are generally bright, sunshine-y, "happy” things usually.

LOL Cas thinks Sam has beautiful hair. Well, he's not wrong.

Sam’s brainwashed altered persona is disturbing yet Jared is adorable so it’s weirdly adorable but disturbing and please make it stop this isn’t Sam make it stop.

“You will snap the hell out of it!” “I don’t wear a hat.”

Grumpy Cas incredibly put out and grumpy over one of his best friends in literally the history of the universe being brain-snatched by this stepford town is a delight.

As I said about structuring--things are unraveling around him and Cas is not a happy camper...so he deals with it. Much like he steps in and organizes Team Free Will 2.0 so everyone is looked after in different ways as needed, Cas takes charge of this case when Sam gets brainwashed. He is a competent hunter, abd he is a badass. What was that some have been saying about not seeing enough BAMF Cas? He can handle himself in a fight just fine. Albeit, his powers don’t seem to be as strong as in some previous season but I am more and more convinced this is purposeful because we know Heaven’s batteries are dying because the angels are and that’s bound to affect Cas’s power levels. So he has angel powers and he’s extra strong and self-healing and doesn’t need to eat or sleep but he’s also not the mega power we’ve sometimes seen. It makes sense.

Jack still doesn’t seem at all right and yet he seems to have a trace of a soul. He doesn’t want Sam and Dean and Cas to worry. Sam and Dean are his human role models (and no, this wasn’t Jack ommitting Cas--Cas isn’t human. We know Jack thinks the world of Cas). Which is sweet but at the same time uneasily reminds me of soulless Sam who observed Dean and then would say what he thought was expected to pass as normal. Jack latching onto Sam and Dean as models for how to act like he has a soul isn’t the same as really having one, and it’s not the same as early Cas, with all his confusing emotions broiling inside of him, adopting the Winchesters as an emotional compass and guides for how to human emotion. Jack’s going with Donatello (who is also soulless) WWTWD--What Would the Winchesters Do--literally just a plan to mimick them instead of Jack learning and feeling it himself.

“Maybe I don’t know what nothing feels like.”

Cas threatening to rip the info from the girl’s mind doesn’t seem like something he was actually going to carry out. That was a bluff, I’d say. Cas we’ve seen in the past is great at bluffing and does a good peacocking routine, a show of power. Not that he couldn’t rip the info from her. Maybe he would, at great need, to save Sam, and she was acting guilty. But I’m not sure.

“I won’t hurt you, Sam.” Of course you won’t, Cas. We been knew, sweetie.

So first Cas organizes and tucks Team Free Will 2.0 under his wings, so to speak, then he takes over the case when his parter Sam gets sucked into the happy vortex of brainwashing, and then Cas fights off like 4 people at once including Sam, who is very tall, without harming Sam, and then Cas talks Sam down from brainwashing and from killing him with an angel blade. Interesting parallels back to Dean and Cas’s fight in The Prisoner, but with differences. Because hey, ding!, these relationships are different. It’s not about the strength of the bonds, but they are different.

“I know what it’s like to lose your army. I know what it’s like to fail as a leader but you can’t lose yourself. You have to keep fighting. You can’t lose yourself. Because if you lose yourself you fail us. You fail all of those that we’ve lost. You fail Jack. You fail Dean.”

There’s so many things all at once in this scene and Misha is so good here. There’s a bit of a nod back to the “believe in us” concept from Prophet and Loss. I appreciate that SPN didn’t go for a simple, Sam regrets talking Dean out of it. Because much as I am all for Winchesters protecting the world, as I’ve pointed out already, I didn’t feel Sam was the least bit in a heedless frame of mind where he wasn’t thinking of the risks to others, and Dean was so extremely fatalistic, accepting the fate literally written down for him, it just didn’t feel right. I don’t think SPN is saying it’s right to be punished for hope, that Sam should suffer, gee that’s what you get for wanting a little more time just to find a better way, not let the world burn, not screw everything else, just a shot at finding some other way. But in the story they are telling, there is a cost for that hope and that’s heartbreaking. Also I don’t feel Dean’s plan was risk free either. It really was a lose/lose no win situation and that is the point. They have Dean free of Michael, they are free of Michael it seems, but now look, Jack is a mess. And so it goes.

As Cas did in Prophet and Loss, reaching out to Dean in a less overt way than Sam (but not unimportant), Cas is a voice of hope again. Urging Sam not to give up, and echoing what Cas said earlier this season about valuing yourself, the core self “without all the bells and whistles.” So there’s an important note for Sam here, and for Cas. S14 keeps having Cas vocalize on so many things it’s really important for Cas to say, about himself, but he does it via helping others. Cas has given advice to Jack, to Dean, and to Sam this season that indicates Cas listens to his own advice and has reached some insight about these things. Not only is Cas reassuring Sam, it shows that Cas understands despite his losses and failures, he’s worth not giving up on, and there are others who need him who are affected if he gives up. So Cas, having realized this, offers it to Sam in Sam’s moment of need and Sam drives the angel blade into the floor instead of into Cas (a familiar move), and shakes free of the brainwashing.

And Sam and Cas. Back in S9, Cas commiserated with Sam’s feelings of failure then too, and branded himself an even bigger screw up than Sam. SPN has shown for a while that Sam and Cas care about each other and have quite a few points in common, but it’s been a somewhat underdeveloped bond, and a little inconsistent. They’ve often bonded over their shared love of Dean, but we also have seen them caring for each other in their own right. I like their friendship. I appreciate that SPN shows that the relationships are different, and that Sam’s feelings for Cas aren’t the Sam as Dean’s, but I do think the Sam and Cas bond has been a bit neglected. So to land here, with a really big moment of connection for them over their particular shared traumas and specific senses of failures, is great to see. If we’re told they’re family, we should see it on the screen. Cas specifically was the person Sam needed right then. Just as Dean needs more than just Sam, Sam needs more than just Dean.

Moment to appreciate the absolute miracle Mishalecki in S14 is because anyone else remember when Misha and Jared could barely get any scenes filmed there was so much messing around and Jared loves to mess with Misha, and a director had to yell at them at one point to get serious scenes filmed between them. People used to say Mishalecki was the enemy of Sam & Cas scenes. Here we are, years later, they not only filmed this immensely dramatic key Sam & Cas scene together, but did it with Jared on top of Misha, pinning him to the floor. I don’t know how they got this filmed. But they did it. Think of the gag reel. And we got a wonderful Sam & Cas scene.

Cas takes a very proactive role in this ep which is also great to see, and it’s a really interesting note on his character development to see Cas in this role of the family member holding everyone else together, knowing the right words, watching after everybody, competently handling the case temporarily solo, saving Sam, watching after Dean and Jack.

However, notably it’s the young woman who actually saves the whole town by tapping into her own (genetically inherited) powers and taming her toxic, brainwashing father. Seizing back not only her own agency but for an entire town. There’s a Jack parallel on the tip of my brain here. The power is inherited from the parent, but what the offspring does with it is their choice.

“Yeah, I told him about the cardigan.” So Cas called Dean and told him about what happened...another Dean and Cas conversation we know took place we didn’t get to see first-hand. They talk way more than we are shown, more than we know. Unlikely they talk about the...stuff they actually need to but we keep being shown how much a part of each other’s lives they have become. They watch movies together, they talk all the time, they’ve had countless bunker kitchen talks. Cas is there. He’s been there for a while.

“I hate this place right now. Everywhere I look I see them.” That sound you heard was my heart shattering, and I’m not surprised Sam feels that way. He’s living in the place where he saw his whole team slaughtered. That’s...a lot to shoulder. But the bunker is also his home. What does a person do when their own home has been tainted by that kind of trauma (people suffer from home invasions, traumatic events, in their own home...how do people regain their sense of safety?) “this is my home. This is our home...I just need some time.” Again my heart shattering for Sam. Because he means that, yes that is home and I think Sam, as Dean did openly in SPN 300, is good with his life and who he is. But there’s no quick fix for that trauma. Sam’s not only dealing with guilt and grief and trauma, but his sense of home has been violated by what Michael did. We also know unpleasant things have happened in the Impala. Blood and trauma and fear. The Impala, like the bunker, has been home and shelter and safety, but like the bunker, has been the location of traumatic events in their lives (and who knows what kind of scary moments Sam and Dean had in that car when they were children). Yet their sense of home prevailed for the Impala and I think it will for Sam with the bunker too.

Okay. So. It seems like Jack’s soul really was fully gone already after all because he kills the snake to send its soul to Heaven to reunite with its original owner and that isn’t compassionate it’s murder and Jack thought that was a really good idea.

#Sam & Cas #Sam and Dean: a work in progress #Sam Winchester #Dean Winchester #Castiel #Jack Kline #spn #supernatural #supernatural spoilers #meta #Dean & Cas

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aliceslantern · 5 years

Text

Beyond this Existence: Counterpoint, chapter 9

Summary: After being recompleted, Ienzo vows to do everything in his power to atone for the atrocities he committed in the past. But this life hasn't been easy, and he's plagued with memories and nightmares. When Demyx suddenly reappears, the two discover that they have more in common than they thought, though the secrets in their past might tear them apart. Zemyx (Demyx/Ienzo), post kh3

Read it on FF.net/ on AO3

As much as Ienzo tried to sleep, his mind kept spinning dizzily, emptily, with half-formed thoughts from the day before. Worry for Demyx and frustration over Data Sora mixed together in a pungent slurry. He counted his breaths, and tried to relax his muscles, but the effort of relaxing was actually worse than being tense, so he let it be.

He felt nauseous, so he did not eat. He went, instead, back to the computer, noticing for the first time just how messy the space was. Ansem had never been very organized. But Ienzo did not clean. He sat down and booted the program. It ran, but Data Sora still looked stiff, and awkward. He walked into a wall and stood there. Ienzo closed out of the program and sighed. He coughed a little. The air had always been insufferably dry in here, partially due to the machines, and spending so much time in here didn’t help.

Ienzo opened up Data Sora’s files. He hesitated a moment, and then opened up the code for “memories”.

This Sora had been given all the memories from the copies of Jiminy’s journals Ienzo received. Even that small amount seemed to stretch endlessly on the screen. Ansem had done a little bit of rigging to allow Data Sora to have access to Roxas’s programmed memories as well.

Ienzo drummed his fingers on the keyboard. An idea began to hatch behind his eyes. It was more of a risk than anything. He hesitated, then started copying a third version of the Data Sora. Even though this data was not human, and even though Ienzo would do it no harm with this code, he couldn’t help feel a twinge of guilt.

He started writing the code. Ansem’s language vastly simplified things, but it was all still complicated to try and get the renderings right. By the time he had something workable, his hands were shaking with nerves.

The model turned of its own accord. It looked up, around. The movements smooth, fluid.

He wrote a message to display on the Data Sora’s gummiphone. Do you remember me?

The model looked at the text for a moment. I think so, he wrote. You helped with Roxas, right? He texted the same way the real Sora had, without punctuation. Ienzo felt a little thrill. Of course. Of course. Without anyone to latch onto, how on earth would the Data Sora gain sentience? His new friendship with Ienzo had been enough.

Yes, I did.

Why am I in Twilight Town?

Ienzo breathed quickly. His heart was beating strangely, the rhythm off, but he attributed it to excitement. Twilight Town is safe, he wrote. But can you help me with something?

Of course. What is it?

I’m trying to find you. The real you.

I’m not real?

Ienzo sighed. You’re real, but you’re made of data.

Like Roxas when he was here.

Yes. The you that was not made of data has disappeared, and we’re trying to find you. Your friends all miss you , he added. Then, a bit more recklessly, I miss you.

I miss you all too. But I don’t know how to help.

That’s okay. We can figure it out together.

Something warm was running down Ienzo’s face. At first he thought it might be sweat, but when he touched his chin his hand was bloody. He swore and pressed a cloth to his bleeding nose. He shut out the program.

He’d said he would rest when he’d made progress, and he had. Ienzo stood, noticing the ground pitched a little. How many days had it been since he’d slept? Two? He’d taken a nap yesterday, right? Or had it been the day before?

His heart was beating oddly again. The bleeding wasn’t slowing down, and he could feel it, wet and hot against his hand. This used to happen when he pulled consecutive all-nighters, but it had never been this bad before. The blood soaked his handkerchief. He was horrified, and yet also fascinated, to see the blood had stained his jacket as well. He felt giddy, dizzy. Very not good. He needed to sit down and rest. He was almost back to his room. He would get something sweet to raise his blood sugar. He would be fine.

“Are you alright?” Demyx asked. His voice startled Ienzo. “What happened?”

“Nosebleed. Very bad one. Nothing to worry about,” he said around the cloth pressed to his face. “Air too dry.”

His face was taut with worry. Demyx guided him over to a chair and made him sit. Ienzo was glad for the stability of the wood. He took the other clean handkerchief out of his pocket and replaced it with the old one. Demyx passed him a glass of orange juice. “Lean forward. You don’t want to swallow it," he said in an odd voice.

His heart was beating weirdly again. “It doesn’t usually take this long to stop.” The words came out of him without any forethought.

“Do you get them a lot?”

“Only when I… oh.” He was so frazzled he’d forgotten his promise to take care of himself.

Demyx’s lower lip twitched in disappointment. “Only when you overwork?” Demyx asked. “You haven’t rested at all since the last time I saw you, have you?”

Ienzo said nothing. He looked down at the cloth. The bleeding seemed to have finally subsided. He had a vicious headache. How long had he had it?

“Drink your juice,” Demyx said, with more than a little sharpness.

He sipped. The pain was worsening.

“You should lay down. Please.”

“I will,” Ienzo said. This time he really meant it. He didn't think he physically could do much else, and the humiliation of letting himself deteriorate this far sent a shudder through him. “I--” The pain flooded his vision with stars.

Demyx’s voice hitched with apparent anxiety. “Do you want me to get Even?”

The last thing he needed was to be told off. “No. I’ll be fine.” He just needed some sleep.

“You lost a lot of blood.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Ienzo tried to stand. His pulse was still off-beat. His knees gave out under him. His ears were ringing curiously, like he’d hit his head, but Demyx had caught him under the arms. He was barely aware of the touch. It was not like fainting; he could barely move. Dizziness curled the straight lines of the walls.

Pressure on his cheek. Demyx’s voice sounded like it was underwater. “Hey. Hey, Ienzo. Talk to me. Squeeze my hand.” Try as he might, he couldn’t. The world felt and tasted slippery, and things clipped in and out of awareness at an alarming rate. He found himself being carried, his cheek pressed against Demyx’s chest, and then he was lying on his bed which was blessedly soft. He could only vaguely hear Demyx and Even talking. Pinpricks of pain as Even stuck him with medicine. At least his heart rate wasn’t so weirdly off anymore. He could move a little, could twitch open his eyes, though his sight was blurry. “Demyx?”

Pressure on his hand. His teal eyes were full of worry and concern. Or were they green?

“What--” He tried to ask.

“You passed out. I am going to yell at you when you get better. Just a warning. I can be scary.” He tried to offer a smile, but it fell flat.

Ienzo’s eyes were wet. He had scarcely been so dehydrated and yet somehow he was crying.

Demyx kissed his forehead. “You’re going to be okay. You just have to get some sleep. I’ll be right here.”

He let his eyes fall shut. A blanket was tucked around him. Had it always been this soft? He was so tired… had he been sedated? And yet it felt so lovely...

Watery words. “So. That is the nature of your connection with Ienzo. He has mentioned you an awful lot. But I must admit I am flabbergasted. What is it you two even have in common?”

Ienzo had just enough sense left to acknowledge that the cat was out of the bag. Yet he found it something of a relief.

“I don’t know. But I… I care about him. And I think he feels the same about me.”

There was a little flutter of warmth in his breast. Was this real? Was he half asleep? Did it matter?

“It is not up to me any longer to try and stop that boy from making mistakes. But if this ends poorly… you realize there will be hell to pay.”

“Yes. I know.”

“That is all I have to say about that. At least until I process this. I am much too tired. I’ll come back to check on him. If there’s any unusual change, notify me at once.”

“I will.”

More pressure on his hand. To be warm and cared for wasn’t all that bad.

Sleep. At last.

Ienzo woke up slowly. His muscles ached, but he was feeling better. His vision was clear, and he could move freely.

“Hey,” he heard. “Nice nap?”

Ienzo looked up at Demyx. He rubbed his eyes; they were tender and raw. An IV line snaked from his hand to a bag of fluid. No wonder he was so sore; dehydration and a probable potassium deficiency had settled in overnight. “You’re still here?”

He sat at the foot of the bed. “Well, of course. You scared the crap out of me.” He didn't look well either. His eyes--definitely teal, not green--were bloodshot, and he held himself stiffly.

Ienzo glanced down at his shirt, faintly stained with blood. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I… I should have listened.”

“Why don’t you trust me?”

“I do trust you,” Ienzo said.

“Then why didn’t you listen?”

He looked out the window. “I thought I was so close to a solution,” he said. “And… when Roxas and the others visited, seeing their faces so full of hope… and knowing that I gave it to them… I could not in good conscience take myself away.”

“Okay, but, you know if you had gone much longer without sleep, or even water , you might not have woken up.”

Having rested some, Ienzo knew he was right. Prior to collapsing he’d been experiencing serious symptoms of both exhaustion and dehydration, and he’d written them off, too disoriented to recognize them for what they were. Guilt made him cold. “Is it true what you said?”

“What?”

“To Even.”

“You… you heard all that?” He gritted his teeth a little.

“Yes.”

He turned pink. “Yeah. It is. I care about you.” Demyx touched Ienzo’s cheek. “Why else would I get up in Ansem’s face?”

“You… did that?” He blanched.

“Yep. And he says I’m right. You’re going to rest. You and I are going to hardcore chill for at least a week. You’re going to learn from the expert.”

“A week away from my work? With you? That might be…” He was clearly too scattered to be able to adequately take care of himself, and he would not put himself through the shame of this again. He nodded. “That might be manageable.”

Demyx kissed him once, lightly. “I’m glad you think so, because unfortunately it’s out of your hands. Doctor’s orders. Well… is Ansem a doctor?”

Ienzo shrugged. “He has at least one doctorate. I’m unsure if it’s in medicine.”

“Yeah. Well, either way, I’m right.”

Ienzo stretched. “I should like to clean up and change. Perhaps eat. I slept for so long but I could very nearly go back to sleep.”

“You need it. Do what your body wants.”

He nodded. After a moment’s pause, he kissed Demyx again. “I have missed you.”

Demyx squeezed his hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He removed the IV line, ate a good meal, bathed to wash off the blood, and went back to sleep before his hair was even dry. He slept and slept and didn’t dream, and when he woke up he was surprised at the lack of aches and pains. If he remained an insomniac after this, he would swallow his pride and ask for medication. It was not worth the toll it was taking on him. He was also ravenously hungry; it was the first time he’d felt real hunger in a long time. His clothing, when he dressed, was noticeably loose. He needed to gain some weight back. He looked down at the pile of clothing from the other day. His favorite gray sweater vest seemed to be ruined, and he sighed. It had been a long time since he'd felt comfortable in his clothing.

Demyx was already in the kitchen, drinking coffee. “Oh hey, you don’t look like a zombie anymore,” Demyx said.

“I do feel quite a lot better,” he admitted. “Not… good, but better.”

Demyx made them both breakfast. The food was simple, but Ienzo was so hungry that it tasted good. Appetite at last somewhat sated, Demyx asked, “So what do you want to do today?”

The question threw him. He’d never had much opportunity to play as a child, and as a teenager usually when he’d had free time he’d read. Not very exciting. “I’ve really… no idea,” he said. “I think we have different ideas what constitutes leisure.”

Demyx snapped his fingers. “I think I’ve got it. First thing we’re going to do is go back to bed.”

His face burned. He didn’t mean--? Not possibly--?

Demyx’s eyes widened in panic. “Not like that! God, get your mind out of the gutter, Ienzo. Haven’t you ever spent the day in bed?”

Oh. That. He was mostly relieved, but at the same time, disappointed. There was no way he was ready for something like... that. The longing was so exhaustively potent. “Well--maybe when I was very ill.”

“Maybe that’s what you need. Sometimes it’s good to just do nothing. ”

“That sounds… very nearly boring,” Ienzo said.

“Kinda the point. You gotta give your brain a rest. Away from all the stimuli.”

“Okay. I’ll try,” he said. “If only because my critical thinking feels dangerously frazzled.”

“That’s the spirit.”

They returned to his room. There was just enough room on the bed that they didn’t have to touch. Ienzo settled back down against the pillows. “So we just do nothing ,” he repeated. It sounded bizarre. What was he to do? Count the ceiling tiles?

“Yeah. Well, I mean, I guess you could read, or something. But nothing strenuous.” He got back up and turned towards the bookshelf. Demyx hesitated over the titles and picked at the first book in Ienzo’s favorite childhood series. “What about this one?”

Ienzo cracked a smile. “That one? I haven’t read it since I was a boy. It’s a silly fantasy story.” He'd meant to pack it away when he removed his childhood things in the initial cleaning. He'd told himself that there was no room elsewhere for it. There was no shame in holding onto the sentimental. He was just so unaccustomed to the practice.

“All the more reason to revisit it now. And besides, there’s got to be a reason you’ve kept it.”

“All right… well… I suppose…” It was gleefully immature, not exactly a challenge to read. Demyx settled a bit closer to him so they could both see the text. Ienzo, having tread this series many times, skimmed it lightly and quickly. He knew it all beat-for-beat. Revisiting it, though, with an adult perspective, was interesting. It was always children saving the world, even in fiction. Children being jeopardized. Would it have made a difference, if he'd known what was coming?

Demyx frowned. “Can you go back? I missed that whole part.”

“Oh. Yes, of course.” He flipped back. “I have a better idea.”

He read aloud. The author’s poetic, sing-songy language felt good in his mouth, and he read eagerly. He leaned back, trying to get more comfortable, and found himself resting against Demyx. With the reading as distraction, it didn’t make him as anxious as it might have. Demyx's arm curled around his waist tentatively.

He read through the first five or so chapters and was dreadfully thirsty. “Throat’s dry,” he said, and reached for the glass of water at the bedside table. He set the book aside and found he hadn’t minded touching like that. It was a different kind of intimacy, soothing a different need of his that seemed to have bloomed along with his humanity. To crave touch was entirely natural. Though to say his ravaged psyche came from not being hugged enough was entirely reductive. “Yes. I… think I could do with a week of this.” He let himself settle more comfortably into the embrace.

For a long time they held each other. Demyx stroked his hair. He hadn’t ever been held like this; maybe as a very small child. And really this was very different than that. He felt as though it were too much and not enough, like his skin was thirsty. His hands shook. Though as the minutes passed, the tension eased. The sleepy, comfortable tenderness of the moment lulled him into a sort of daze, and the next thing he knew he was waking up. They’d both slipped down against the pillows.

“We fell asleep,” Ienzo said softly. He cracked his neck and then winced at the crick.

“Just a nap, I think.”

Yet more sleep? He was supposed to be resting, he reminded himself. It was okay. His limbs felt warm, somewhat slack. Was it the medication Even had given him? “I feel… soft, if that makes sense.” He ran his fingers through his hair to fix it, shook his head, and let it be a lost cause.

“Because you’re actually relaxing for once. All that tension you carry around all the time isn’t supposed to be there. The fact that this feels unfamiliar to you is more than a little concerning.”

“Times like this make me uncomfortably aware of my unusual upbringing,” he said with a shake of his head. “Maybe I was wrong about you. In the Organization, I mean. Maybe you weren’t as lazy as I thought.”

Demyx laughed. “No, I was. I really was.”

“Not so much anymore.” This version of Demyx hadn't shirked from anything that Ienzo had witnessed. Perhaps his new heart was instilling a lost sense of ambition.

“I wouldn’t go that far. You haven’t been around a whole lot lately. You don’t know what I get up to.”

“What is it you do all day?”

He shrugged. “Just kinda wander,” Demyx said. “Through the castle. Through town. I like exploring.”

“As do I. Part of the reason why I always looked forward to reconnaissance missions. People are so very fascinating . But now… it seems like I need a better understanding of myself. How do I synthesize Zexion and Ienzo? At some point do I draw a line between the two? How much of him still lives in me?” He did not feel the same, even though they wore the same face. How long had he sat, inactive, cruelly planning the Organization's next takeover? Unwilling to dirty his own hands? There was only so much an emotionless childhood could excuse.

“I think about the same thing every day,” Demyx admitted. “I feel like the last month or so has been one very long, very tedious identity crisis.” Doubly so, for him; he didn't even have memory to draw off of.

““Tedious” surely is the right word for it.”

“Stressful.”

“Wrenching.”

“Annoying.”

Ienzo smiled. “I’m glad you understand.”

“‘Course I do.”

Ienzo hesitated for a moment, then threw his arms around Demyx. The want was back, and stronger, and he was just so tired of denying himself things. Ienzo looked up at him. “May I ki--”

But Demyx, who had already picked up the hint, was already kissing him. This wasn’t just physical, Ienzo realized, though that was potent. They cared for each other, perhaps deeply. And after that whole episode of exhaustion, he needed someone to look out for him. He needed that in order to grow, to be better, to be more conscious and to not make the same mistakes. And that was okay. It was okay. There shouldn't be shame in needing to be cared for every now and again.

These revelations shook away the worst of the anxiety, and while his hands shook, it wasn’t from panic. He felt at the muscles along Demyx’s back, strong and soft. Ienzo’s body felt like a live wire. To feel so much all at once was both strange and divine. He felt himself getting aroused. Admittedly it was startling, but he choked the fear down. Demyx would not hurt him. This, too, was natural. Part of being human.

Demyx kissed him along his jaw and throat, and he heard himself gasp. “Let me know if you want to stop,” Demyx whispered.

“I don’t.” Little slivers of pleasure bloomed against his skin. Every time he thought he had a grasp on this, it seemed to reach out of view.

Demyx rested against him, his head against his heart. He trembled faintly. Ienzo realized he was not the only one feeling all this for the first time.

“You’re shaking.”

His voice was high and breathless. “Am I? I feel so much --”

“I do too.” He kissed him first this time, catching the hem of Demyx’s shirt and pulling it off, only to have his own sweater removed. He could see the scars all along his chest. Demyx brushed a finger along Ienzo’s own. “It’s how I passed,” he said quietly. “As a Nobody.”

He kissed them. Ienzo pulled him even closer, and in response Demyx drew him down against the bed. Pressed up against one another like this, Ienzo felt the warmth of their bodies, especially between their legs, and the hardness, startling and bizarre and yet also tantalizing. For a moment--not nearly long enough--they touched each other freely. Ienzo knew he wasn’t ready for whatever came next, as much as he wanted it. It had taken so much work just to get to this point.

“I can’t. I want to, but I--” he said.

Demyx looked relieved rather than frustrated. “I know. Me too. It’s just so… much. I thought I was ready. But I…” He lay back down on the bed next to Ienzo, and shifted away so that they weren’t touching.

Ienzo was surprised he could still speak. But the only thing he could think of to ask was, “...Does it hurt?”

Demyx blinked. “Does it--you mean--?”

Without making eye contact, and with the strange new pressure between his legs, he nodded.

“No. I mean, it’s uncomfortable the first time, a little, but it doesn’t hurt.”

“So you’ve done it, then?”

“...A few times. Not that much.” He sat up, blushing. “To clarify, we’re talking about sex, right? Not astrophysics? Because if that’s the case I’m hopeless.”

Ienzo laughed.

“Like I said. When we’re ready. If we’re ready. I shouldn’t assume--”

“When,” Ienzo said quietly.

#beyond this existence: counterpoint #ienzo #demyx #zemyx #demyx/ienzo #beyond this existence

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aritheapprentice · 5 years

Text

Afra’s Birthday!!!

It’s Afra’s birthday!!! Happy birthday to my oldest friend *hugs @afratheapprentice really tight* Dear, I hope you don’t mind I’m posting here this super sweet memory of mine... I am actually very scared and shy about it, I hope you’ll love it (^-^’)

Word count: 1723

Pairings: Afra/Nadia, Ari/Julian, surprises at the end ;)

“Doneee?” Faust asks Ari, in his cute snake voice. “Not bussssy moree.”

The apprentice smiled. Asra had had an amazing idea when he decided to leave Faust at the shop – The familiar was able to keep the two witches in contact without Afra noticing anything.

“Nearly done, Faust. We just need to wait for the others to get here.”

As if the words have been a summon, the bell from the shop’s door started clincking softly. Nearly all of Vesuvia seemed to pour in at once – Countess Nadia, closely followed by Portia and Julian Devorak (Ari’s heart fluttered when the doctor offered her his famous grin and wink) and then, to her surprise, Muriel. They all had their familiars with them – Chandra gracefully sitting on Nadia’s shoulder, Pepi cuddled in Portia’s arms, Malak flying chaotically around Julian and Inanna stepping carefully on the plush carpet, testing the novelty of it with her paws. It was such an unusual image – seeing everyone in the tiny shop, shades of purple on their faces. Ari hugged everyone and thanked them for coming, then led them to the kitchen. There, a big water buffalo head greeted them through the window with a long “MOOOO”, startling both Muriel and Inanna. It was really a wonder they were in the room with so many people at once – she wasn’t sure they would accept her invitation when she had sent it, and was really grateful they came, but maybe she should have told them about Afra’s huge familiar weird habits.

“Hey there, little one.” Ari teased the buffalo. “I thought I told you to not scare the guests, didn’t I?”

Bahay made a sound that was probably some kind of laugh, and Ari turned to everyone else. “Sit, make yourselves comfortable. I don’t think we have much more waiting to do, so I’ll bring the cake.”

“Do you need help, my dearest?” Julian asked her with a smirk.

“I’m not very sure I need your help with this, dork, but I could do with Nadia’s” the apprentice answered, thinking about what kind of help Julian was definitely talking about.

With the help of the countess, she managed to bring the huge cake, decorated with butter cream and sugar flowers, and then put the candles. When she heard the door open, she lighted the candles with a flicker of her finger.

“Okay, Afra, I have a surprise for you.” everyone heard Asra say. “I’ll cover your eyes with my hands now, and I want you to trust me. You’ll love it.”

When the two of them reached the kitchen door, everyone else started singing Happy Birthday, and Asra let Afra look around. Her eyes widened in surprise and she covered her mouth with her hands, tears of happiness starting to fill her violet eyes. Everyone started smiling as Nadia practically lifted the birthday magician and kissed her on the mouth, their faces radiating a happiness so bright it touched everyone else in the room.

“I.. I don’t know what to say… This is… This is so unexpected and it’s making me so happy, thank you all!”

“We couldn’t have missed such an important occasion to celebrate one of our favourite magicians, could we?” asked Portia, winking.

“Or such an occasion to get drunk” Julian added cheerfully, earning himself a frown from Ari and Asra.

“Come on, blow the candles and make a wish!” Ari said. “I’m not sure I can keep Julian from eating it for longer. Or Faust, if I think about how much he’s stayed around me while I was making it.”

Everybody laughed. Even Muriel was starting to relax, Inanna wiggling her tail in excitement. Afra bent towards the candles, closed her eyes and made a wish, blowing out all the candles at once. Cheers and the sound of hands clapping filled the cozy kitchen.

“It’s time for opening the presents!” Portia exclaimed. “Mine first, mine first!”

She pushed a little box in Afra’s hands, her eyes gleaming with excitement. The apprentice opened it slowly, savouring the feel of the soft wood. Inside, she found three wooden bracelets, painted in really bright reds and golden.

“Portia! They are so pretty! Thank you so much!” she said, hugging the tiny redhead.

“Do I get the honour to offer you your second gift for today?” Julian asked, grinning and bowing, a box in his gloved hands.

“I really hope it’s not leeches.” Afra said, stretching her hand out for the box.

It wasn’t leeches. It was a tiny knife, the handle beautifully carved from a dense cherry coloured wood, the silver blade so sharp it probably wouldn’t hurt at all. It had a simple spring mechanism, allowing the blade to swiftly get in and out of a special space in the handle.

“I… thought you could use it for potions or elixirs or whatever else you witches make in this shop. And… um… self defence.” he babbled, the tips of his ears and his cheeks blooming a deep red.

“Thank you.” she said, pocketing the knife. “I hope I’ll only ever need to use it around the shop. Who wants to be next?”

“I wouldn’t mind to.” Asra said, producing a bottle from one of his pockets.

Afra took it, opened it and smelled the contents. The rose aroma was so strong it made everyone react – even the big water buffalo, that was curiously watching everything.

“You are… mad. How many times did you go through the distillation process for it to be so strong?” Afra asked, a little outrage.

“Uhh… countless?” the magician shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, really. Just… don’t put that straight on your skin. You’ll kill everyone in the room if you use it undiluted.” he chuckled.

Afra rolled her eyes and hip bumped him. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

She turned her head and met Ari’s eyes, so she lifted her eyebrows in a silent question. The other apprentice handed her a flat box, winking in the process.

“I hope our companions are strong of heart enough to see this.” she smirked.

Expecting to find some sort of lingerie, Afra gasped in surprise when she opened the box and took out a long robe, made from a material that seemed to float through its own will.

“That is nopalian silk. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll stop stealing my pajamas, now that I finally layed my hands on enough of that to tailor you something.”

“This is.. so soft” she whispered, her eyes wide as she was feeling the orange cloth. “Thank you. I’m probably not sleeping in anything else from now on.”

“Except maybe my arms” Nadia intervened cheerfully, to everyone’s amusement. “This is for you.” She continued, offering Afra a bright smile and a box covered with velvet.

“Oh my. This looks expensive,” Afra said, frowning a little as she was opening it. A golden necklace just like the one she was wearing, but with a ruby the size of a dove egg embedded In the middle, sat on a velvet cushion. “I don’t believe this,” Afra said, her eyes wide and shocked. “Nadia, this must be worth a fortune!”

The countess just smiled and kissed Afra’s forehead. “You should stop worrying about how much my presents are worth – or rather, you should stop minding,” she said, a soft blush colouring her cheeks.

Afra looked around the room, tears in the corner of her eyes. “Thank you so much for being he-… oh?” she suddenly stopped when Inanna put her huge paws up, holding a wooden figurine in her hands. It was a detailed sculpture of Bahay, with Afra having her hands around his neck.

“I… oh,” she mumbled, her eyes overflowing with tears. “Thank you,” she told Muriel, who was aggressively blushing because of all the attention on him.

Seeing his friends filled with such emotion that no one wanted to speak, Asra put one hand around Afra and one around Nadia. “Smile! It’s time to eat, and Ari cooked everything! Faust’s been waiting for hours to taste the buttercream.”

The snake “sssss”ed in approval, slithering up the table. Ari smiled and began cutting the cake.

“Julian, would you be as kind as to bring the food? It’s still in the oven,” she said, smiling to the auburn haired doctor.

He blushed and proceeded to do as asked. The smell of freshly baked bread, hot fish brine, tender chicken with lemons and baked potatoes with butter filled the kitchen as soon as Julian opened the oven, attracting a long pleasured sigh from everyone.

“Ari, are you sure you wanna keep being a magician? There might be a free spot in the palace kitchens,” Nadia said, deeply inhaling the aroma.

Julian’s eyes were filled with love and admiration as he pulled tray after tray of spiced goodies. Even Muriel’s interest had been awakened by the mix of smells, enough that the silent giant was attentively watching the tables. Without being asked to, Portia found the dishes and distributed them to everyone, and they began serving themselves.

“Ari, this is one of the best fish I’ve ever eaten in my life,” Afra said. “I can’t believe it’s the first time you feed me this amazing stuff! What a fake friend,” she pretended to be sad.

Asra laughed. “Oh, but she’s cooked this before! It’s just that this time it’s better. I don’t know why or what, but something is definitely different.”

Ari smiled, but didn’t say anything, stuffing her mouth with chicken and potatoes instead.

Everybody was eating and having a good time. Later, they decided to play some games, keeping their wine glasses close. The first one to slip out, overwhelmed by the noise and activity, was Muriel. Later, when everyone in the city was sleeping, the countess, Afra and Portia left together too giggling and leaning on each other, leaving Asra, Ari and a very drunken and flirty Julian alone in the shop.

“Asra? That’s my boyfriend you’re kissing now,” Ari said when she entered the living room, after being in the kitchen to wash some dishes.

Julian’s cheeks flushed even more than they already where, and he looked on the edge of apologizing. Asra just threw her a flirty, drunken glare, that she decided she won’t resist to, at least this time. Afterall, how often would she find herself in such a situation?

#the arcana #oc #nadia satrinava #julian devorak #asra the magician #nadia x apprentice #julian x mc #portia devorak #muriel #ari the apprentice #afra the apprentice #birthday #asrian

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evdarcy · 3 years

Text

An Unusual Hero C12S3

Please remember, this is unedited and unfinished, but will hopefully fill in the holes that were left and answer some questions without leaving too many others. HOWEVER I will answer all and any questions if you want to leave me a comment.

Next update - Tuesday 20/07/2021

Luc kept his head down, trying to remain inconspicuous. Although it was rather hindered by the fact he kept shuffling from one foot to the other as he played with his phone. He was scrolling through the menus on the ancient device to find the games—he’d been the master of Snake way back when, could even do it one handed.

His brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to manoeuvre the black line around the screen to gobble up the square. Why the hell had he ever gotten rid of his original phone? This was way better than the newer—

The snake ate itself pretty quickly. He sighed and shoved the phone deep into his jacket pocket. He’d probably have plenty of time to practice while they traipsed around the damn country.

He glanced over his shoulder, towards the post office and saw the couple that had followed him all the way from the coffee shop staring back from the window. The two were pointing and gesturing towards him as if explaining their suspicions to someone else.

He tugged the brim of his cap lower over his eyes and turned back to the road watching for the rental car. When he spied the black SUV turning onto the street, he jogged down the sidewalk to stop Sarah before the mystery pair would be able to see the car from the store’s window. He didn’t want them capturing the plates.

‘Don’t go further down—’

His sentence died in his throat as he opened the car’s door and saw Sarah sat within. She had ditched the jacket and the tight fitting dress showed the swell of her breasts very well. The skirt had risen up her legs as she had shifted gears—she’d insisted on a manual car ever since the Excel—and he could see her creamy skin peeking from between its hemline and her lacy stocking-tops. He licked his lips at the idea of sliding the skirt up a little more, running his hands over that smooth skin as she lay beneath him—

‘Hey, I’m up here,’ she said flatly. He met her gaze, her raised brows daring him to… say something? Do something? He was certain she’d have no objections to him if he tried it on with her. Hell, she’d probably welcome it, spread her legs wide for him while he climbed up and—

He cleared his throat before he spoke, climbing into the car with his gaze averted. ‘Don’t go further down the street. Turn it around and head back down that way. They definitely recognised me.’

Sarah swore under her breath as she pulled away, completing a one-eighty in the road. Luc turned in his seat, his eyes focused on the post office waiting to see what the couple might do. Just before Sarah swung the car around the corner, a uniformed police officer stepped out from the store, speaking into his radio, followed by the couple pointing after the disappearing car.

Fuck! It was worse that he thought.

‘I told you the cap was a bad idea—’

‘But in a place like that, even without the beard and with the hair cut, you’re bound to be noticed. The cap was supposed to help!’

‘I tried to tell you,’—he tore the hat from his head and threw it on the backseat—‘I did a campaign last summer for Cap-Locked Caps. I was all over the place in the fucking things!’

‘God-fucking-dammit!’ Sarah shouted as she smacked the stirring wheel with her hand. Luc shrank back in his seat, waiting for the slap of a hand, or thump of a fist, across his chest… Maybe she’d punch him across the jaw. At a red light, she’d just unbuckle her seatbelt and go to town on him?

‘We’ll head back to Salt Lake and return the car,’ she said after a few moments of silence. ‘I’ll have to go somewhere else, this time as Hillary, to hire one. That wasn’t part of the plan.’

‘I tried to tell you,’ he said quietly as they pulled onto the I-15 and headed North towards the state’s capital.

‘It’s not your fault,’ Sarah sighed as she pulled the dark wig from her head. ‘I shouldn’t have been so pigheaded. I should have listened. And I’m sorry for shouting.’

Luc’s swallowed at the apology, reminding himself that this wasn’t Linda. Sarah and proved time and time again she wasn’t the type to lash out. She barely touched him and even then it was never anything more than a hand on his arm or shoulder.

She glanced at him, giving him a tentative smile, but he just continued to stare at her. The smile dropped from her face and slowly turned into a frown at his continuing silence. ‘What?’

He shook his head and turned away, afraid that he might spill all his secrets if he spoke now. He’d already revealed far more to her than he wanted.

He watched the mountains, their tops dusted with snow—crisp, white, and untouched—fly by as they sped off down the highway in silence. What would she do if he told her? Would she think she could act that way too? Would she decide he was too weak and leave his ass behind? Hell, she’d been trained specifically to survive this ordeal; she’d been taught how to fight in hand-to-hand combat, fire a weapon, strategic planning, disguising herself… He couldn’t even stop people recognising him.

‘You should cut me lose.’ The words tumbled from his mouth before he really thought about them, but the moment they were uttered, he knew the idea made sense. What the hell was he bringing to their predicament? Trouble. Problems. More ways for them to get caught or be killed. If he went back he could actually be of more use to her.

‘I’m sorry—what?’

‘I could go on TV and tell people who I saw, the government would have to protect me.’

‘Luc, you can’t trust the fucking government!’

He made to say something, but she cut him off. ‘I had your president and our PM handpicked my team. Hand-fucking-picked, Luc, I keep telling you. David was chosen personally by President Forbes. Does that mean she’s dirty? Does it mean she’s incompetent? I dunno, but it certainly means that there’s a hell of a lot of weaknesses that the evil son of a bitch can exploit in people that even your president can’t filter through.’

He bit his lip at that thought. If Renee Forbes had picked David herself, what chance did he have?

He could go back and head straight to a newsroom; speak out about what had happened, explain what Europe had been subjected to over the last few years, what the US was about to experience. Get a picture of the Demon out there.

Of course, that would also mean going back to Linda. He ground his teeth at the thought. It was the last thing he wanted, especially after realising that he could still be attracted to a woman, could still get hard, could fantasise over someone and enjoy it.

They drove for a while in silence, the sun, setting in the west, framed her as they headed north. Her auburn hair burned bronze in its orange hue and Luc felt as if he were looking at a Pre-Raphaelite masterpiece, and tucked the image away in his head. If was ever forced back to Linda, he’d be keeping every image he had of the woman at his side locked away, to picture and imagine whenever the bitch used his body for her own pleasures…

His stomach rolled at the thought, but he’d do it if he had to.

‘No. That’s not happening.’ Sarah’s voice was firm and brokered no argument as her fingers tightened on the wheel. A small smile tugged at his lips as he already recognised the motion—it meant she was getting ready to fight her corner, and she wasn’t going to back down. Something within him loosened, a tightness in his chest relaxed. She was going to push him away, wasn’t banishing him back to the future he’d accepted a long while ago.

God, he wanted to reach over and kiss her.

‘We’ll go get another hotel,’ Sarah continued. ‘Just outside of Salt Lake. Tomorrow I’ll drive back to Provo and get the money, then I’ll swing—’

‘You didn’t get the money?’ He sat up straight. Damn, he’d been hoping to get the hell out of Utah. Not just because he’d been spotted, but because of the little personal errand he’d completed just before that couple had wandered into the post office.

Sarah shook her head. ‘No, they said for that amount they’d need to order it specially. It’s being sent over night. I’ve gotta be back there for half-two tomorrow.’

‘Shit.’

‘Yeah. Anyway, I’ll grab that, come back up here to get you and then we’ll head on towards… I dunno…’ she seemed to think of a moment, before plucking a city from thin air. ‘Kansas City, tomorrow night—’ A yawn cut off her sentence and she shook her head to try and wake herself up a bit. ‘But first, ditch car, hotel, sleep. Tomorrow can wait until tomorrow.’

Luc nodded and sat back in his seat, watching the asphalt disappear beneath their wheels and wondered how many more tomorrow’s he’d be blessed with.

Any questions, please drop them in the comments. Next update on Tuesday!

#AUH #fangirl #Unpublished #unedited #luc's story #destiny

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