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dapandapod · 3 years

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How about 26 for the hug ask?

26. exhausted hug

YES! You absolutely may!! Thank you bestest @kuripon for betareading this, i literally wrote this at midnight and my tired ass is projecting on my lovely witcher. Please enjoy tired hugs!

Send me a hug prompt!

On Ao3 Hug collection here

The world is not so dark when there are toxins running through you. The shadows are not as deep, the night not as lonely. Everywhere there are little creatures, good and bad. Everywhere, they are watching him.

Geralt tries to step cautiously, tries to make no sound. He is good at it, usually, but the day has already been long. He has been tracking the Fiend for most of the day, and now he thinks he might have found its lair.

His sword lies heavy in his hand, his armor a solid weight over his shoulders. On any other night, he wouldn’t give it much thought. On any other night, he would tighten the straps and trudge on.

But tonight, his muscles are already fighting him. Tonight, the soft light of the moon is almost as bright as the sun, every sound loud to his potion-sensitive hearing.

He knows it will take him just as many hours to get back to the inn, back to his… his friend. Geralt is not used to having someone waiting for him, despite all the years they have spent together. Jaskier still being there baffles him every time, but tonight, oh, tonight he wants nothing more than to be with him back in their room.

He grips his sword tighter, fishes out one of his prepared oils and coats the blade quickly. He needs to be quick about it, he can feel Cat already draining out of his system, and with all the other things he has taken in preparation, he will feel like shit if he drinks more.

Geralt steps quietly, and inside, the Fiend roars.

The walk is fucking long. Geralt barely has the energy to return the sword to its scabbard on his back. He is not sure how to bring the fiend's head to the alderman. As it is, he can barely stand up. The potions are finally burning out, leaving his body a shaking, shivering mess. His muscles ache and there is a pounding behind his eyes and in his temples. His knuckles are white from holding such a tight grip. He is lucky the Fiend didn’t manage to cut through his armour, but he suspects he will have some heavy bruising over his back in the next few days, even with his mutagen-enhanced healing.

He could just sit down for a while and meditate. Just for an hour. He could.

He just doesn’t want to.

Before all this, before the bard, he might have. But now all Geralt can think of is a soft bed, a friendly presence, a hot bath.

He is trying not to think too much about Jaskier, but as he hoists his trophy over his shoulder and starts the long way back, he can’t help but let his thoughts wander.

Towards that brilliant smile when Geralt says something that makes him laugh, towards those strong arms that somehow manage to hold whatever Geralt throws at him. Towards those cornflower blue eyes that see so much more than Geralt even expected, toward that clever tongue that can cut or please with words alone.

He thinks about how on rare occasions, Jaskier would hug him. And once the thought has struck him, Geralt can’t stop thinking about it. He wonders if Jaskier would hold him tonight. That would probably be nice. And most likely filthy, considering today's activities. Maybe Jaskier wouldn’t care.

Those thoughts keep Geralt occupied as he finds his way back. He ignores his body's protests, his knees creaking. The stars are slowly replaced with the first light of day, the sky shifting and changing into the soft colors of morning.

Geralt has seen it so many times, and no matter how tired he is, he always has to take a moment and just take it in. He stops in the middle of a field, putting the Fiend head on the ground as he looks up and just breathes.

This is when he notices how close he is to the village. The forest and the hills are behind him, and only open fields lay between him and Jaskier.

Just a little further.

Jaskier actually meets him, just as the sun peaks up over the edge of the world. There is a light mist in the air as the ground fights off the night cold, and when Geralt spots Jaskier, he just stops.

He is not hurt in any way, he has just run out of energy. Jaskier comes towards him with a spring in his step, and the moment he reaches the witcher, he starts fussing. Geralt lets him, wincing when Jaskier touches the torn armor over his back. That is when he finally steps back. Grabbing Jaskier's hips, he pulls him closer and drops his head to Jaskier’s shoulder. He sighs. Finally, finally he made it.

Jaskier is silent, still for a moment. When it becomes clear that Geralt isn’t going to let go, Jaskier huffs and wraps his arms over Geralt’s lower back, mindful of the shredded armor and the apparent bruises.

They stand there for a long while, Jaskier only protesting when Geralt leans a little too hard on him.

“Don’t fall asleep on me, you big oaf. At least not here. Let’s go back to the inn.”

Jaskier pulls back and leads Geralt by the hand towards the village. They drop by the alderman quickly, meeting him in the door to trade the head for a bag of coins, and off they go.

Geralt fumbles with the straps of his armor, puts his swords and boots away. Jaskier only has to help him to remove the shredded pieces, and Geralt hisses when it puts pressure on the bruises.

There is a soft press of lips to the back of his shoulder and gone again, so soft he could have imagined it. He is too tired to comment now. It might have been his imagination, his wishful thinking.

Then Jaskier takes his hand again, and leads him towards the bed. They have two, but Jaskier follows him down into this one, laying on his back and placing Geralt atop of himself. They shift around until they both are comfortable, and Geralt ends up with his chin back on Jaskier’s shoulder, his arm resting over Jaskier’s chest, and Jaskier’s hand tracing gentle patterns over his sides.

The village wakes up outside, the sun rising higher and higher. But inside, behind a locked door in a soft bed with a bard in his arms, Geralt can finally rest.

#geraskier #the witcher #geralt x jaskier #fiends are so cool #also right now they be dead #hug prompts 2021 #spudmeisterin #exhausted hugs #they might have a pride and predjudice moment #you know the one #i want to kall this getting together #shoulderkisses #dapanda writes #dapanda should be the fuck asleep #shhh im absolutely sleeping

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popcrone818 · 4 years

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The Other Swan Part 4

Skylah P.O.V

I had taken notice that Seth and Leah were part of the group in Jake’s garage earlier today and I realised they mustn’t be all bad if they were all like Seth and Jake. Seth even helped me clean up after dinner, much to the surprise of Sue. We talked quietly to each other as we washed and dried the dishes getting to know each other a bit more. I told him a bit about my life and friends in Arizona and he told me about his life living on the rez. He spoke highly of his dad; Harry and I could tell he still missed him. Must have been good to live with both parents. He told me all about his friends; Jake, Embry, Quil and Jared.

“You’ll meet them all soon, and I'm sure you will even love Emily. She’s my first cousin but she’s more like a second mother to me and the rest of the boys.” He placed a hand on my arm and lent back on the counter. I felt my body flinch away from his touch, we were having such a nice conversation before he had to touch me. I wiped my hands off on the tea towel.

“I'm sorry Seth, I'm getting a bit tired, ill see you around.” I could see the hurt in his eyes, and something made me reach out to touch his hand that he had sitting on the counter after he had taken it away from my arm. My touch was feather light, but I knew he felt it. I quickly took off upstairs where I changed and hid myself under the cover of my bed. Shortly after I heard the howl of a wolf and Bella bounded up the stairs and into my room.

“What happened? Seth said you completely froze and then ran away.” She asked placing a hand on the covers over my body.

“We were having such a great time, getting to know each other and stuff,” I pulled my head out of the covers and allowed her to sit on my bed beside me. “Then he touched me, it was light and I know he didn’t mean me any harm, but after the abuse I took from Zach I flinched, I don’t know why but it looked almost like it hurt him when I flinched. Its hard to explain. And now I've blown my only shot at having a friend my own age.” My body wracked with sobs, Bella didn’t even try to console me as she got up off my bed and walked out. She turned around before completely exiting my room though.

“You haven’t blown it Skye; it will all take time. Jake is coming tomorrow to take you to meet the rest of the boys.” She turned and left shutting my door.

That night my dreams were plagued with the day and months of what I had called a relationship with Zach, I woke up more times than I care to admit, sweating a breathing heavily. At around 4 am I pulled myself from my bed and padded over to the bay window overlooking the forest. I saw something move off to the left of my vision and I was strangely comforted but the mysterious presence. I knew Zach couldn’t come to hurt me here. I knew that if things went sour and he did find me Jake would do anything in his power to protect me.

I decided then that I wasn’t going to let my past define me. What happened to me back in Arizona should have never happened to a 15-year-old girl, but it did. I still have the rest of my life to be the person I was destined to be. Not all boys were Zach, but I also knew not all boys were as sweet as Seth. I promised myself I would no longer be defenceless. I had taken self defence while I was growing up, but when it all happened my life turned upside down. I had to become the girl I always knew I was but feared for I thought no one would like a head strong girl. That because that is what Zach had told me. Told me that I was worthless and that all I was good for was a trophy wife, an accessory. Not as my own person.

I straightened my back as I sifted through my overnight bag looking for something suitable to wear for the day. I pulled out my black leggings and a tight fitted sweater, and pulled them on before I grabbed my headphones and sneakers and raced out the front door. My run was good, it was refreshing, the beat of the music making sure I was keeping pace while my feet thudded on the ground in the forest. I found myself on the river bank by the Olympic Suites Inn on the Calawah river before I needed to take a breather and rest before heading back to Charlie’s. No doubt he and Bella would be up by now. The run back to Charlie’s was much faster and I felt like I was being followed the whole time.

I noticed that Jake’s two-tone pick up was parked in the driveway and realised I had been gone far longer than I thought I had. I walked in through the back door and was greeted to the scent of waffles.

“Good run?” Jake asked around his large stack of waffles piled high on his plate.

“Fantastic, couldn’t sleep, so I left earlier than normal, but I took a long run. All the way to the Calawah River.” I plopped down at the counter next to Jake and pulled two waffles from his stack. Charlie had already left for work, and Bella was still asleep, so I assumed Jake had let himself in and helped himself to the food. “So, what are we doing today?” I asked him as we both finished our food and washed up.

“I'm taking you onto the rez to meet the rest of the boys. And Emily.” I nod and race upstairs to have a short hot shower and pull on my ripped skinny jeans and loose blue sweater. It didn’t take Jake and I long to get to Sam Uley’s place. It was a small cottage on the out skirts of the rez, it was made of wood and was two stories. It had large windows from what I could see, and the house just screamed homey, I love it and I felt instantly at ease. I could hear howling laughter coming from within as I followed Jake onto the patio that stretched the perimeter of the house. Jake pushed open the large wooden door and let himself in like he owned the place. Must be a Jacob thing. I shrugged and followed him. The laughter died down when I walked in and all I could smell was freshly baked muffins. Everyone sitting around the large dinning table stopped to stare at me. I felt uncomfortable but remembered the promise that I had made myself this morning.

“Hi.” I waved shyly, just because I wasn’t going to let the past get me down anymore doesn’t mean I wasn’t still shy. Everyone went around and introduced themselves to me. Sitting at the table looking at me was Embry, Quil, Jared, Paul, Sam, Leah and lastly Seth. I felt myself smile slightly when my eyes landed on Seth, even though I had met him last night he still introduced himself.

“Hi I'm Emily, its so good to have another girl here, you have no idea how mad it can get around here sometimes.” She walked over to me and pulled me into a hug. I noticed the scars running down the right side of her face that drooped her mouth down slightly. I felt bad for her but she still looked beautiful.

“Were not that bad Emily!” I heard one of the boys protest as I watched Sam throw a muffin at his head.

“Quit it Embry, you know Emily love having other girls around.” Embry grumbled and bit into the muffin that he had caught after it hit him. I smiled shyly at Sam and sat down next to Seth who passed me a blueberry muffin before digging into his own. “So, there’s a bonfire tonight Skylah, thought you might want to come and sit in on some of the tribe’s stories and history. Its always a big thing with lots of food and stories, we even break out the marshmallows from time to time.” I looked over to see both Jake and Seth watching me closely as I nodded and swallowed my mouthful.

“Of course, I’d love to come.” Same nodded at Embry, Quil and Jake and they took off leaving me with Seth, Paul, Jared, Sam and Leah. Not long after Leah left too. Seth Paul and Jared moved to the lounge and started playing a shooting game leaving me with Sam and Emily. And soon even Sam left leaving a kiss to Emily’s mouth and disappearing.

“So, how are you liking Forks so far Skylah?” Emily asked me as she and I moved into the kitchen.

“Its not as bad as I once thought it may have been, but I still miss Arizona, although I'm not sure if I’ll be able to leave here. It just feels like something is holding me here I'm just not too sure what.” Emily nodded as she started to pull things out of the cupboard and fridge. I moved to help her, and she allowed me to do things while she flittered around the kitchen.

“Yeah I know what you mean, I'm originally from Portland and I was visiting Seth and Leah when I met Sam, put it this way; I never left, and I couldn’t be happier.” I nodded and helped her cook meals for tonight’s bonfire. Sue stopped by for a while to help Emily out as well and smiled fondly at me when she saw me. Once Embry, Quil and Jake came back, Paul and Jared left in their place. The boys started to rough house with Seth, and I watched closely in case it was to get out of hand. “Don’t worry this happens all the time. No one ever gets hurt I promise.” Emily told me placing a hand on my shoulder in comfort. I shook my head and looked away from the boys. All too soon the bonfire came around. Sam, Paul and Jared all made their presence known before all the boys went outside to start the fire. Billy Black showed up with Sue not too far behind. There were a few older members of the tribe that I didn’t know but I was sure I would meet them eventually and so I just help Emily bring out tray after tray of food for everyone.

I looked at how much food we had and wondered how many people were supposed to be showing up. Around the fire that the boys had lit were large logs of driftwood displayed around in a sort of circle around the fire. I could feel the heat of the fire from where I stood, a good couple yards away.

I felt Seth before I saw him, he walked up to me and his arm touched mine for a split second before he took a small step away from me.

“So, are you excited for tonight? Your first Quileute bonfire.” He bounced slightly on the balls of his feet. “To be honest with you this is my first one too. Mom would never let us come as kids. She has taken over dad’s spot on the council though and she thought it would be time we learnt our heritage.” I nodded at Seth and moved closer to him, it had gotten dark quickly and everyone had decided to get some food. I had noticed some other girls show up and they seemed to be paired off with the boys. Seth and I hung back as everyone else got their meals before us. As Seth and I sat down on a log together Jake showed up but this time he brought Bella as well. It was unknown to me why he would bring her, but I shrugged and continued to eat. Watching in amazement as the boys almost devoured the whole spread of food Emily and I had organised.

Jake called Seth over to him and Bella, I couldn’t hear the conversation they had but I watched as Jake pulled Seth into a headlock while Seth tried to get out of it.

Seth jogged back over to me where he sat down before Billy started with the council meeting. Or bonfire as I was told it was.

“The Quileute have been a small tribe from the beginning. And we’ve always had magic in our blood. We were great spirit warriors, shapeshifters that transformed to the powerful wolf. This enabled us to scare off our enemies and protect our tribe. One day our warriors came across a creature that looked like man but was hard like stone and cold as ice.” As Billy spoke images flashed through my mind how they would if I was reading a book. Playing out as if a movie was being played in my head.

“Our warrior’s sharp teeth finally tore it apart, but only fire would completely destroy it. They lived in fear the cold man was not alone. They were right. She took her vengeance out on the village. Our elder chief, Taha Aki, was the only spirit warrior left to save the tribe after his son was killed. Taha Aki’s third wife would see that we would lose. The third wife was no magical being, no special powers but one. Courage. The third wife’s sacrifice distracted the cold woman long enough for Taha Aki to destroy her. She saved the tribe. Over time our enemies have disappeared, but one remains. The cold ones. Our magic awakens when they’re near and we sense it now, we feel the threat in our blood. Something terrible is coming and we must all be ready. All of us.” I listened to him intently, unaware that I had taken Seth’s hand and grasped it gently laying it in my lap. Seth turned his face to me and took a deep breath before swallowing.

“Skylah, the legends are true. We are shapeshifters, me, Leah, Embry, Jared, Quil, Paul, Jake and Sam is our alpha. I'm telling you this because when I first met you, I imprinted on you. And all imprintees need to know about us and what we can do. The cold ones-.”

“Vampires?” I asked him interrupting as he placed his hand over my own. I flinched away from his touch and his warm brown eyes were filled with sorrow.

“Yes vampires, we are werewolves, its why were so hot all the time. Its why we eat so much, its why everything about us seems a little off. Emily is Sam’s imprint, Kim is Jared’s, Quil has just imprinted on Emily’s niece Claire, and Paul has imprinted on jakes sister Rachel. You are my imprint.”

“What does imprint mean?” I asked him as I stood up starting to back away from him. I noticed the hurt in his eyes.

“that we are bound to that person for life, to be whatever they want us to be as a friend, a brother or a lover. We will do anything to protect our imprints. Technically it’s a soulmate but if you don’t want that with me, I will be anything you want me to be, even if it’s just a protector.”

“Seth this is all too much for me. I don’t know what to say, I'm not even sure I believe you.” I held up my hands and took a few more steps away from Seth. I noticed that everyone’s eyes were now on Seth and I as I slowly backed away from him as he tried to reach out for me.

“Skye, just listen to him, he’s telling the truth.” I heard Jake say in the background.

“No! you don’t get to say anything either! You kept this from me as well!” I spun around on my heel and ran into the forest. I could feel one of the boys following me and I hoped it wasn’t Jake or Seth. They both lied to me.

I kept running until I tripped on tree root and fell catching myself with my hands scraping them up and then backing up until my head hit the tree I tripped on. I must have hit it harder than I thought, because the last thing I saw before blackness clouded my vision was a black, brown and grey wolf bounding over to me.

#seth clearwater imagines #seth clearwater #seth clearwater imprint #seth clearwater x reader #booboo stewart #booboo stewart imagines

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welovekpopscenarios · 6 years

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Friction Pt. 3 (Fallout!AU Woozi X Reader)

Admin: Mimi

The truth is revealed.

Fandom: Seventeen

Genre: Angst, fluff

Pairing: Woozi x Reader

Warnings: Language, mentions of violence/death

Word Count: 5152

A/N: gUESS WHOSE LAPTOP FINALLY GOT FIXED AND COULD FINALLY FINISH THE LAST PART OF THIS STORY AFTER NEARLY A YEAR?? THIS GIRL OMG I’m so sorry for the wait and this probably isn’t even that good but taKE IT PLS

- PART 1 - - PART 2 -

It was funny how visiting Woozi everyday after work despite your apparent distaste for the mechanic became such a vital part of your day and one you refused to miss.

Well, Jeonghan, Scoups, Hoshi, Jackson (especially Jackson) and virtually everyone else who was privy to the ongoing bitter quarrels between yourself and Woozi found it downright hilarious, which of course meant the entire city obviously knew. And you could honestly say, you weren’t really amused.

Traversing through the clustered city to get to his workshop was full of knowing faces and smirks, the occasional holler from a close friend of his (particularly Hoshi and Seungkwan), and it left you with a face as hot as the torches on the walls and in a slight sour mood once you sat down next Woozi at his workbench and watched him idly tinker away at your rifle.

Not that Woozi noticed much of a shift in your behaviour – quite frankly he was used to your scowls and tight-lipped words. And despite his cheek and quick witted words that caused annoyance to wash over you, he never actually made any real attempt at getting you out of the workshop and away from him anymore.

There was something comforting in watching his slim fingers work their magic – repairing and taking apart, pulling and pushing, it was oddly mesmerising, and you spent more time watching with lidded eyes, resting your head on your arms and stuck in a daze of just Woozi. The man in question simply carried on with his work, his dark eyes occasionally flickering in your direction, lingering a bit too long when he thinks you aren’t looking, and replying when he needs to. He doesn’t ask about why the rifle is so important to you. You don’t tell him either.

And so, your days consist of idle conversation and comfortable silence with the mechanic, and once the strange peace of the workshop has to end and you return to your job at the Dugout Inn, it turns to dodging Jackson’s questions of when you’ll marry Woozi and helping Shownu throw out the occasional rowdy drunk waving his pistol around, all the while ignoring Jeonghan’s sly smirk at your flustered state when someone mentions how Woozi favours you more than half the people in this city.

You elect to ignore the disappointed feeling brewing in the pit of your stomach while you lie down on your squeaky bed when you think about how conversation with Woozi doesn’t really go anywhere. You lie to yourself that that’s a good thing. But the frown on your face says otherwise when you pop another saved cap into your stash, reminding yourself that this is only a business deal, and that once your rifle is finished you’ll be on your merry way fighting for your life in the wasteland and away from everyone in this city.

It’s roughly four and half weeks since you first came to Diamond City when Woozi decides to ask the dreaded question you’ve kept buried under the sand. You had the day off, awarded to you by Jeonghan and Scoups after taking a fist to the face by some old crone when you served her drink and she decided she didn’t like the look of you. With a smile of guilt, you were allowed to spend the day as you liked for your hassle, and it seemed like you would be spending the day in your ratty bed nursing a bruise on your face, muscles pulled taut with the scowl on your face and making the pain even worse. The hag was stronger than she looked.

Instead of subjecting yourself to lying miserably on your mattress, staring at the peeling wallpaper and faded wood, and listening to Jackson pull jokes every two seconds about your face, you grabbed your jacket and headed out to the one place you were guaranteed peace and quiet.

The day was dull – overcast and grey, and there were whispers around the people of a possible incoming radiation storm which had you sighing in annoyance. You’ll be cooped up inside for hours with a mask beside you until it clears.

Without even saying hello once you reached his workshop, you pulled up the familiar box you’ve labelled your ‘chair’ and took your usual place, rolling an empty shotgun shell found on his workbench between your fingers and eyeing your rifle, in two halves but looking considerably better than it was.

“Hello to you too,” Woozi mumbled, not straying his attention away from the barrel of your gun. You replied quietly, the shotgun shell clinking against the metal of the workbench as you fiddled with it. After a moment of silence, Woozi looked up in curiosity. “You’re unusually quie- wait, what happened to your face?” His brows furrowed, and he moved closer for inspection, wincing in sympathy at the markings on your cheek.

“I didn’t think I was that ugly, but thanks Woozi. Ever the charmer,” you said sarcastically, and he gave a light tap to your leg. You huffed out a laugh. “Some woman punched me last night. I was given the day off to ‘recover my health’.”

A noise of understanding slipped out of his mouth. He raised his hands slowly towards your face, but stopped himself short of touching you, instead looking at you at the last second when he remembered what he was doing, a question written on his face and his ears tinged pink. With your breath caught in the confines of your chest, you gave the smallest nod, and Woozi continued.

His fingers, the pads rough and calloused from years of work, travelled the lightest and gentlest of paths along your cheeks, turning your head to the side to get a better view of your injury. His touch was so hesitant you almost didn’t feel it, wouldn’t believe he was actually touching you had your eyes been closed, but there he was, mapping out the lines of your face with such care all you could do was stare and wonder if this was the same Woozi who would knock you flat on your ass for moving something in his shop.

With slight reluctance he removed his hands and moved quickly back into his previous position, hunched over your gun and imagining the last 20 seconds didn’t happen. He cleared his throat, and it was enough to knock you out of the trance he had locked you in, that the rapid beating of your hear had seized your muscles in shock.

“Doesn’t seem as bad as you think. It’ll be fine in a few days. Just put some of Seokjin’s cream he makes on it and you should be good.” His voice was stiff, as was his body, and it left a strange bitter taste on the tip of your tongue. You swallowed.

“Yeah, that’s what Hoshi said too,” you nodded, more interested in picking at your nails than looking at Woozi. You laughed lightly, attempting to lighten the dense atmosphere that blanketed over you at the strange intimacy that occurred. “He even offered to buy me some, seeing as I’m trying to save my caps to pay you for fixing my rifle. Says every little helps, or something like that. He’s a little fool, he shouldn’t be spending caps on me.” Your heart warmed at Hoshi’s bright smile and kind eyes. And his incessant need to bring up how great Woozi was in every conversation you’ve had.

Woozi fell quiet and didn’t answer you immediately, instead focusing on a particularly finicky screw in the gun, and had his tongue poking out of his pink lips in a comical display of concentration, and you looked on in mild interest at the bead of sweat rolling down his temple. As always, his face was lined with oil and dirt, and yet it became a staple look for him. To see him without the grease would seem strange, unusual. He really was dedicated to his work.

When ten minutes of silence passed, and you expected him to say nothing for the rest of your visit, he opened his mouth to speak, tilting his head slightly in your direction but not quite focusing his black eyes on you. He set the stock of your gun down carefully.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You just did,” you joked, but he didn’t laugh. He didn’t even roll his eyes.

“Why is this rifle so important to you?”

You heart walloped into the pit of your stomach, and you became so cold despite the lingering heat hiding in the air. The drop of your expression probably would have been funny to watch, but neither of you were laughing at anything. Woozi didn’t want to meet your eyes but he did, and his eyes implored you to tell the truth.

You suppose you should have seen this coming, your desperation for having such a basic rifle mended had most people in Diamond City questioning it’s worth - some speculated it belonged to a wealthy ghoul, others joked and said you won it in a fist fight against a super mutant and that you longed to keep the trophy. Both were wrong, but you never bothered to answer, too busy swallowing down the bile rising up your throat and focusing on keeping your hands steady when handing over drinks to the patrons of the bar.

That still doesn’t prepare you for the one person you deem most worthy of hearing your horrible tale, doesn’t prepare you at all for his aloofness about the entire affair to dissipate and drag up that elephant’s proverbial carcass into his tiny workshop, making things seem so cramped and leaving you with a shortage of air in your chest. You stalled, coughed, did just about everything else, and left the room in silence as your mind raced.

“Look, I normally wouldn’t push you, because that’s dickish and it clearly bothers you,” he murmured, head down turned, but every so often his eyes would flit upwards to meet yours. “But, I have to know- to understand - why you’re so hell bent on fixing this gun of yours. I’d rather we both be straight forward with each other.” He hesitated. “A-And Wonho said we should always get these things off our chest.“

It was clear that Woozi was looking for an answer, be it today or another day, and you honestly don’t blame him. You’ve eluded him about the topic for long enough, and were rather rude to him in any of his attempts at delving deeper beneath the surface, quick to push and throw him off the cliff of your problems. It wasn’t like you weren’t aware of it. Even Hoshi (not quite) subtly warned that your incessant defensive remarks were really rubbing Woozi the wrong way (in a much less playful way than they were), and that the man in question only wanted to know you for, well, you. And no one ever wanted to before.

It scared you.

It scared you to let people in close, when you’ve lived a life of pushing them away and caring only about the skin on your back and when your next meal would be. So for someone, especially someone like Woozi, to show even the slightest interest in knowing more about you, both dark and bright parts of you, it frightened you to the point where your fight or flight senses activated and waged war on your body instead of giving him a clear answer.

He tinkered away with your weapon, the rust and grime from years of use stained his gloves, and his face remained carefully blank. All you could hear was the tinkling of metal, the bustle of the main square, and the pounding of your heart in your fragile chest. But after moments of seemingly deafening silence apart from the echo of the moving world, your lips parted, mouth as dry as the barren trees in the wasteland.

“It was my dad’s.”

Slowly, his fingers stopped their movements, and he simply sat there. You watched with idle interest the way his chest moved as he breathed, even and steady, sturdy despite his small frame, anything to distract you and keep you rooted to the spot. Your feet itched to sprint from the scene and never return. You almost made good on that feeling.

He never lifted his head from your weapon, and anyone passing by could have mistaken him for one of those statues you remember seeing in some fancy pre-war household that was much too luxurious for your blood. He said not a word, made no judgement, but you felt the need to elaborate regardless, nerves eating away at your skin.

“He, uhm, he was- we were…I mean, there was these bandits, and they…well I, uhm, he-”

“Take a deep breath. You don’t have to rush.” His words rushed over you like a smooth wave, his baritone voices sending your anxiety away bit by bit, much like a stream on a spring afternoon - not forceful but firm, strong. His words sounded much like an exit, a metaphorical ‘Come Back Tomorrow!” sign flashing in your head, warning you that this was your chance to run, but once you started you couldn’t (wouldn’t) stop. So, you followed his instructions.

“It was always just my dad and I,” you began, shaking fingers twiddling with the frayed ends of your sleeves. It irked you slightly that Woozi still had not looked in your direction. “My mom died when I was little, so I don’t really remember her. But my dad raised me, and we’ve been on the move all my life. We went from DC to the Commonwealth, all over the area. We had each others back.

“But one night, a year or two ago, the office building we were hold up in filled up with bandits while we were sleeping. My dad woke me and told me we needed to get out of there fast. I was trying to gather up my stuff as fast as possible, but I wasn’t fast enough. Dad-” your throat closed up at the memory, but you forced yourself to keep going.

“Dad just promised he’d be right behind me, and told me to sneak out of the windows as quickly as I could. I waited in a nearby building for hours until I saw all the bandits clear out, and waited a few more for the dad to come out and tell me everything was alright. He…never came. I went back into the office building to look for him but he was already…I grabbed his rifle and his bag and I never went back.”

It was strange, how recalling a story that made you cry for months on end at just a single thought of it to someone who is virtually a stranger, someone who loves to antagonise you just for a laugh, could make that dead weight hiding in the pit of your gut ease up, even in just the slightest, for a moment, and you relished in the feeling of breathing without restriction.

There was a pregnant silence in the wake of this revelation, and you took the time to reign in your emotions and recollect your thoughts. You awaited judgement. You waited for a snide remark on how you acted like a stupid child, how you should have done things differently. Woozi broke the silence.

“When I was 15 my mom died trying to save me from a bunch of ghouls, and I’ve been blaming myself ever since.”

You really did not expect this to ever leave his lips, a similar tale of heartbreak to your own that made you realise you were more kindred spirits than you were initially willing to admit. Before you could kickstart your brain and say something, he continued.

“We were in one of those underground tunnels looking for a place to stay away from the raiders and super mutants and whatever else kind of shit is out there. We were used to moving from place to place, so we figured we could handle the tunnels despite everyone telling us how dumb that idea was when the underground is infested with those freaks. And it worked, but I was the one to fuck up everything.”

His voice broke towards the end, and with it so did your heart. The lines on his face seemed more weary, more tragic than you thought they ever could, and your heart clenched at the familiarity of this kind of situation. You knew what was coming next.

“I was bored and started snooping around the tunnels like the idiot I am, knowing that there were ghouls everywhere. I knocked over a box in one of the booths and then suddenly they all came swarming towards us because of the sound. My mom- she grabbed my hand and we ran but…there was too many.” He grimaced bitterly. “She tried taking them all on her own. She told me to run and not look back. So I did. I ran, and ran, and ran, until I wound up here. And I’ve never gone back since.”

He looked up, then, and looked steadfast into your eyes. Beneath the sorrow swimming in his dark eyes, even further beneath the self-loathing, there was acceptance. There was strength.

“I know you might blame yourself for what happened to your dad. Trust me, I do. But what I’ve come to learn is that, parents, they’d do anything to keep their kids safe. So while everything that happened is awful, and you feel like shit, your dad wanted you to keep living for a reason,” his jaw clenched, and your eyes began to burn. “So don’t get lost in the past, like I was. Keep your head up, and keep walking forward.”

You stared on in awe, stomach churning and heart heavy. But at the back of your mind, you knew there was some truth to his words. He blames himself for the loss of his mother so badly, but he’s still carrying on, living life as it comes. And for that, you think he might be one of the bravest people you’ve ever met.

Your hand - shaking like a leaf in the wind - moved itself over his own resting atop the workbench, and squeezed. His eyes followed the movement, wide with wonder, and the lightest of blushes dusting his cheeks as his eyebrows slowly inched their way to his hairline.

You smiled - small and fragile, barely there but a smile nonetheless. “I’m sorry for everything, Woozi,” you whispered. His dark eyes flickered back to yours. “But, thank you. So much. I didn’t realise I needed to hear that until it was said. You are…you’re very brave, and I don’t think you give yourself enough credit for that.”

He shrugged awkwardly, coughed it off, up-righted himself and refocused on your father’s weapon, but still never moved his hand from beneath yours. The fingers twitched every few seconds, as if itching to hold yours but choosing to stay back. In the end, you made the decision for him on a whim, hoping he would not object, and maneuvered your hands so that you both held onto each other tightly. He made no objection.

“Again, thank you Woozi-”

“It’s Jihoon.”

You almost missed what he had said, the words uttered so silently that they would have floated away with the breeze to be long forgotten, but the rising blush heating his face told you otherwise. You smiled wider, more genuine this time, and when Wo-Jihoon, returned your gaze, his own special sort of smile crept onto his dirtied face, and his eyes crinkled in such away that made your stomach somersault faster than when you fell down a ravine in your younger years.

“Jihoon,” you murmured, testing the name on your tongue with heated cheeks. Jihoon looked shy, but pleased.

“I like that name.”

If anyone noticed the slight (more like drastic) change in attitudes both Woozi and yourself now had towards each other in the weeks following your conversation, no one, thankfully and surprisingly, decided to comment on it, even if you could see Hoshi itching to say whatever was on the tip of his tongue when he saw the both of you acting amicably with each other.

Even Jeonghan, who tried to subtly worm information out of you about Woozi’s sudden behaviour change and was met with elusive answers, backed off rather quickly after observing the mechanic and yourself quite extensively, making up some sort of resolution in his mind. What that was, you weren’t sure, and if that ever familiar, all-knowing smile on his face meant anything in particular, you really didn’t want to find out.

Conversation flowed more easily with Woozi now, yet you were still hesitant to say his name out loud, feeling that simple 6 letter name too intimate to whisper in a dingy workshop. But your daily trips no longer consisted of just check ups on your rifle and comfortable silence. Sure, the comfortable silence was nice after dealing with lunatics in the Dugout, at least 50% of them trying to kill you, the usual stuff, but now it became questions about what he likes, your opinions on a project he’s working on, reminiscing on old memories, talks of future ones, and it was...well it was better than you hoped.

You couldn’t pinpoint the moment when his bitter comments stopped feeling exactly what they were - bitter. Instead, they were even funny, a ploy to get a rise out of you and you enjoyed giving it right back to him, a sense of satisfaction spreading through all of your bones at his small smile, suppressing a grin you know would light his face up brighter than the sun, and it became your personal mission to get it to bloom on his oil stained face.

“You ok there?”

You turned your head to the left, attention diverted from drying the glass in your hand. Jackson sat on the counter, counting the caps earned from last night in the deposit box. He smiled when your eyes met his own, fingers twirling a Nuka-Cola cap idly between his slender fingers. It reminded you, oddly, of how Woozi would fidget with the random bolts on his counter top out of frustration.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” you countered. Jackson laughed and pointed to the glass in your hands.

“Well, you’ve been twisting your hand around in that glass with the cloth for about 5 minutes straight, staring at literally nothing and smiling weirdly. So excuse me if I assume you’ve been bitten by a bloatfly.”

Your face heats up, rushing to put the glass on the shelf and start drying a new one. He laughs some more, returning to the caps in his hands.

“Is it because of him?” he asks, and you play dumb.

“Because of who?” you reply airily, hearing Jackson tut quietly.

“Mr Mechanic, of course.” You scoff in response, and he rolls his eyes. “What else could that smile mean?”

“I was...farting,” you reply lamely, and it sends Jackson into a fit of laughter, your own joining his after a moment of reflection on how stupid that answer was.

“Charming,” he giggles, and would’ve said more had the door not burst open, waking a sleeping Shownu who rested in a chair next to it.

“Where’s my favourite person in the world?” a voice called, and it brought that smile back to your face. Hoshi appeared in your line of sight, a grand entrance to an otherwise empty lounge.

“I’m right here, darling,” Jackson sang, and Hoshi visibly cringed while Jackson chuckled.

“I meant my second favourite person, of course,” he sheepishly said.

“I believe that would be me, what can I help you with?” you smiled. He grinned in response, his beautiful eyes disappearing with his happy expression.

“I am delighted to announce that your rifle is all patched up and ready to go!”

The glass nearly slipped from your grasp, shock etched into your expression as you stared at him. It was finished? So you wouldn’t have to see Woozi anymore? The thought left an unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“It’s done? B-but...I don’t have the 500 yet, I still have a bit to go.”

Hoshi shook his head, reaching forward to direct you around the bar and towards the door.

“It’ll be fine, don’t worry! I promise you, it will work out.” You should have been more suspicious of the shit-eating grin plastered on his bubbly face, but with how distracted you were with the strange disappointment of not having a reason to see Woozi anymore, you failed to notice that Hoshi seemed to have some plan in motion.

“But I have to help at the bar-”

“Don’t worry about it, kid! I’m sure Hoshi will be happy to help me clean the Inn, isn’t that right?” Jackson beamed. Hoshi chuckled halfheartedly, still ushering you out of the pub.

“Yeah, I sure will Jackson,” he murmured, and with one final shove, he forced you out of the door, Shownu closing it with a light smile and a faint cry of ‘good luck!’ from Hoshi muffled by the steel.

You stared dumbfounded at the red door, but with no other option (seeing as you had just been temporarily barred from the place you live), you headed to Woozi’s workshop, the inevitable meeting, running through each possible outcome in your head as you walked through the city.

That same old sign came into view as you rounded the corner of Jin’s Office, and subconsciously your steps slowed as dread filled your system. It wasn’t like before, when you and Woozi would share childish insults that left you irked at even hearing his name. It wasn’t like that. It was similar to the dread of having to give up something precious to you, something you weren’t yet ready to let go. And that thought scared you, because when had Jihoon become that something special? That precious thing you wanted to latch onto, like you did with your rifle?

“Ah, there you are.”

You hadn’t even noticed you had reached the entrance to his shop, staring numbly back at him as he gazed at you with something akin to nervousness, though it left you wondering what for exactly.

“You called?”

He nodded, stood and turned, picking up something wrapped up in a ragged cloth and presenting it to you so carefully. Unfolding the cloth led you to your rifle, looking as perfect as the day you had it before it was destroyed, before it was torn to pieces to be put back together again, and it took your breath away.

You really shouldn’t have doubted him as you had in the beginning. You should have believed everyone when they said Woozi could make the unimaginable happen, because he truly, truly did. In more ways than you could admit. Your chest tightened with emotion the longer you looked at it, but it wasn’t until Woozi cleared his throat awkwardly were you knocked out of your reverie with eyes watery and shaking hands.

His gaze was fleeting, much too hesitant to linger on the strong emotion on your face but not harsh to completely disregard your state, so he simply grabbed one of your hands, so gently, and rested the rifle in your grip, curling your fingers around the neck with his own. It almost felt foreign, out of your hands for so long that the weight of it was almost unrecognisable, but it slotted into your palms so easily it couldn’t be anything but your father’s rifle.

“I-I...Woozi, I...I just..” you were at a loss for words, and he looked like he didn’t expect you to say any, settling for a small smile that made your heart clench and your stomach twist pleasantly. With a deep breath, you placed your weapon gently on the table, nodded your head lightly, and faced Woozi.

Before he could question your behaviour, you reached out and hugged him, holding his small frame close to yours, hugging so tightly you could hear him struggling to get a word out, yet you hugged him with everything you could, hoping to convey your gratitude as best you could.

“Thank you. So, so much, Jihoon. I just...thank you so much,” you whispered into the crook of his neck, and idly wondered if that was Woozi shivering or if your body was trying its best to keep the sobs at bay. Hesitantly, and with a touch as light as a feather, his arms wrapped around your body, and the warmth that came with it surprised you. It was unexpected, how comforting it was in this position with a man you would’ve spat at a mere few weeks ago, and yet here you are, finding more safety in his touch than with anything in your life since your father died.

With great reluctance, you pulled back, wiped embarrassingly at the tears gathering in the corners of your eyes while Woozi stood in a slightly shocked silence, fiddling with the edges of his shirt. It was then that you remembered your payment.

“Oh, uhm, I don’t have the 500 caps yet. I’m really sorry, I’m saving as much as I can, but I still have a bit until I reach the full lot, so I’ll understand if you want to hang onto the gun until I have your money-”

“Just pay me 200.”

Your rambling stopped, staring wide eyed at Woozi, who stood with cheeks dusted a rosy hue and a shy, minuscule smile on his visage. He looked like he was working up the courage to say something, chest heaving with each breath and lips parting only to close a second later, the odd sound leaving them in mumbles and frustrated tuts. He closed his eyes momentarily, inhaled, exhaled, opened his eyes, and spoke.

“You don’t owe me 500. With the work I’ve done on it, just 200 will do. You don’t have to save for anything anymore,” he explained. He paused, tongue peeking out to wet his lips, and with a darker blush spreading across his cheeks, he continued. “If you want to pay me more, you...you could go for a drink with me at the Inn, if you want.”

Your brows inched their way up your forehead, and yet, happiness and glee replaced the dread in the pit of your gut. You could feel your lips spreading into a large, bashful smile, and you didn’t care. The look on Woozi’s face was sending you to cloud nine faster than a blow from a Deathclaw ever could, timid but with hope swimming in his dark eyes.

“A drink at the Inn?” you repeated. You smiled, nodded, and Woozi deflated with relief, not quite suppressing the grin growing on his hardened face.

“That sounds great, Jihoon.”

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omgkatsudonplease · 6 years

Note

49 or 1 for prompts!

“i’m too sober for this” / “we’re not just friends and you fucking know it”

@thehobbem is enabling me into writing all the royalty au tropes in the book, so

Yuuri has long suspected that Yurio’s tutor is not who he says he is.

After all, the man dresses extremely nicely for someone on a tutor’s salary. Yuuri had noticed the designer labels on his shoes and coats, the silk and cashmere scarves, the fine leather gloves. They’re all simple but quality, and extremely expensive, so even if being Yurio’s live-in tutor is really Viktor’s only source of income, then he at least had come from money.

This theory is further supported by Viktor’s comportment, by the regal grace in which he seems to command any given room, by his elegant posture and his intimate knowledge of the intricacies of haute cuisine and elaborate Western-style dining. He had impressed Hiroko and Toshiya with his knowledge of French and Japanese cooking, not to mention his ability to determine the proper order of dishes in a kaiseki meal. He’s absolutely rubbish at making things, of course, but he spouts the theory as easily as he can read passages from Tolstoy and Chekhov.

And while he’s nominally meant to tutor Yurio in ordinary subjects such as reading and writing and maths, Yuuri had caught him once discussing with Yurio something about “proper trade policies between small kingdoms and the European Union”. Yurio had rolled his eyes and responded in his usual abrasive seven-year-old way (”why don’t you just punch the bad guys who don’t wanna trade with you?”) but Viktor had laughed patiently and explained something about hegemonic power structures instead.

Yuuri doesn’t wish to pry, he really doesn’t. Viktor is very reticent about his past, often clamming up whenever Yuuri asks questions about it, and Yuuri would rather not chase him away if he could. How much that has to do with the way his heart flutters and his cheeks warm whenever he catches Viktor looking at him, Yuuri isn’t sure.

“Yuuri,” says Viktor one evening, after finishing supervising Yurio’s homework. The seven-year-old has gone to his room to play video games, and Yuuri is helping Mari clear away dishes from the inn’s dining room. Viktor also helps out with this, rolling up the sleeves of his jinbei and pitching in to the best of his ability. He’s gotten better at scrubbing dishes than when he’d first started out, and always beams when Yuuri tells him that.

“Yeah?” Yuuri asks, as they carry the tubs of dishes into the kitchen, where Toshiya is cleaning up the pots and pans for the evening already. Mari starts to wash the dishes; Yuuri hands them to her and Viktor takes them from her to wipe dry.

“Thank you,” Viktor says, “for taking me in.” His expression is quiet, pensive – very different from his usual effusiveness. Yuuri’s stomach twists a little at it; perhaps this is the night when Viktor tells him that he’s going to go back to his previous life, or move on to a new one, and leave them all behind.

“I’m sorry we can’t pay you better,” he jokes instead. Viktor chuckles, shaking his head.

“I don’t mind, I like it here,” he says, gesturing towards the ryokan. “It’s very open, compared to what I’ve dealt with before.”

“Sounds like you used to be cooped up in cage,” Mari remarks.

Viktor laughs. “It was a very pretty cage,” he says, and then his eyes go downcast. “But it was one, anyway.”

Mari hums, but she doesn’t pry further. Yuuri suspects his sister is just as curious as he is, but neither one of them want to be the first to step over the line.

“Let’s go soak in the onsen when we’re done,” Yuuri suggests instead, and Viktor perks up at that.

They check on Yurio just before heading to the onsen. The kid has fallen asleep over his video game, head bent over against his pillows with his cat Potya curled up in his lap. She meows at them and leaps off the bed with an irritated shake as they tuck Yurio in, putting his Nintendo DS on the nightstand. Yuuri kisses his forehead, and chuckles when Yurio scowls in his sleep.

“How did a six-time World Champion figure skater like you end up with a kid?” Viktor wonders. Yuuri feels his cheeks flaring; he pushes past Viktor towards the hallway of the ryokan, but the man follows in expectant silence.

Yuuri sighs. “Sochi Olympics,” he says, as if that would explain everything. Viktor arches an eyebrow, and Yuuri sighs again. “I got drunk.”

“But Yurio is seven, not two,” Viktor points out.

“I adopted him when I was drunk and forgot about it the next morning, until the orphanage contacted me later that year reminding me I still had to pick him up. Yurio wouldn’t speak to me for a while when I first got him.” Yuuri laughs sheepishly as they head into the locker rooms to strip for the onsen. “Not exactly the heartwarming found family story you were hoping for?”

Viktor chuckles. “Do you regret it?”

Yuuri shakes his head. “After a while, competitive skating falls into a sort of cycle. Especially if you’re unopposed. And I felt like I couldn’t… couldn’t deal with the added stress of a child on top of my usual… performance issues.”

“Performance issues?” Viktor’s gaze naturally shoots lower, just as Yuuri’s hands are about to roll down his briefs; Yuuri quickly removes his hands, and Viktor chuckles.

“Not that kind.” Yuuri’s certain his face is bright red right now; he tears his gaze from Viktor’s and finishes stripping with the distinct feeling of Viktor’s eyes firmly fixed on his back.

“Good to hear you don’t have that kind of performance issue,” Viktor jokes as they head out to the springs. Yuuri flushes again, keeping his eyes fixed firmly ahead on the tanuki statue at the end of the pool; he only turns back to Viktor once they are both submerged in the water. Viktor hums contentedly as he tilts his head back, letting his silvery hair float around him. It’s been getting a bit long; Hiroko had offered to trim it back to the length he had when he first arrived, but Viktor had politely declined.

Yuuri would’ve been content to remain in a companionable silence for the rest of the evening, but Viktor’s expression still seems melancholic, contemplative, so he asks:

“Is something wrong?”

Viktor bites his lip. “So you don’t remember things when you’re drunk?”

Cold fear squeezes at Yuuri’s stomach. “Um,” he says. “Depends.”

“What… what was your first impression of me, then?”

Yuuri gapes at him. “A… handsome stranger? Who happened to be a tutor looking for work, and we needed a tutor for Yurio, so…”

“So you don’t remember anything about our first real meeting,” Viktor states.

“Where would it have been?” wonder Yuuri, frowning.

“Sochi Olympics,” says Viktor. “I was there, too. I got invited by my country’s athletes to one of the parties, and you were… you were wrapped around a pole.”

Yuuri feels hot embarrassment seep through every cell in his body. “Oh,” he states. “I… I do that sometimes. When I’m drunk.”

“We danced the entire night,” Viktor continues, “and you said you were tired of skating, that you had no inspiration and felt like everyone was going to knock you off the podium the first time they see your weaknesses, and that you wanted to give more to the world than just figure skating records and trophies.”

“And then I adopted Yurio,” Yuuri mutters, rubbing his eyes. “Oh god. I’m too sober for this.”

“That’s not all,” says Viktor, and now he seems determined not to look at Yuuri, fixated instead on the light of the locker rooms and the people flitting around inside. “I felt something for you that night.”

Yuuri blinks. Somehow the onsen has started spinning. Maybe he should get out, this could be bad for his health –

“Yuuri?” Yuuri blinks again, and Viktor’s concerned expression swims up to him out of the fog that has become his mind. He’s somehow out of the pool now, and hurt is etched in every line of Viktor’s face.

“I…” He doesn’t know what to say. The fact that a beautiful, refined person like Viktor could fall in love with an upstart skater from the backwaters of Japan is something his brain can’t quite process. He sits down on the edge, feet dangling in the water next to Viktor, his mouth working uselessly.

“I understand if you don’t actually return the sentiment,” Viktor says, his voice and expression stiff and melancholic. “I’m sorry if I ever seemed like an imposition. I just – I thought you knew.”

“Knew what?”

“That we weren’t just friends.”

Yuuri’s heart is racing again. Tears are pooling in the corners of Viktor’s eyes; he wants to reach out and wipe them away, but his hands feel heavier than lead.

“I… I’m sorry?” he manages. “I didn’t know. You never tell me much about your past, so I wouldn’t have known.” Viktor’s expression crumbles further, and Yuuri’s heart lurches into panic mode. “I mean! That’s not to say I don’t want to be more than – I’ve had – I thought you couldn’t possibly be interested in someone like me.”

Viktor blinks at him. “Why would you think that?” he asks.

“You’re… look. You’re just so… you. Perfect. And I’m not.”

“Why do you think you’re not perfect?” Viktor wonders, tilting his head. “I’ve thought you were ever since… well. Ever since I met you.”

“I was a drunken mess.”

“And that drunken mess was the best thing to have ever happened to me.” Viktor laughs, a little ruefully as he presses closer to Yuuri, leaning on the edge of the pool with a sad knit to his eyebrows. “I’m not who you think I am, either. I’m not perfect. I… I ran away from my home, from my country, because I’m a coward and I didn’t want to do the duty I’ve had since I was born.”

“Your duty,” echoes Yuuri. “To your country.”

Viktor nods, and when he looks up at Yuuri his expression is the most open Yuuri has ever seen on him. “I’m the Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Petersburg, Yuuri.”

feed me prompts

#yoi #viktuuri #victuuri #royal tutor au #lily's dabbles #l aryy #ask

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mikethemod · 7 years

Text

Canterbury 10

I had a recovery week last week, covering just 20 miles including the Canterbury 10 mile race yesterday. This was a substantial drop from weeks of running 50, 50 and 42 miles. I would love to tell you it was part of my Master Plan but the truth was a combination of sore Achilles, a raised heart rate and an upcoming race.

The sore Achilles was my own fault - a touch of overuse. Averaging 30 miles a week throughout December, I started the New Year with marathon fever and substituted the 10% increase rule for 50%. A few nights on a foam roller, a week of Ibuprofen, some rest and some KT Tape across the actual tendon certainly helped.

Not sure what raised the heart rate. For those of you who may be unaware of the significance of this, it’s a very simple way of monitoring your body’s reaction to the load you are placing on it - whether you run or not! Take your resting heart rate when you first wake up each morning. Mine is normally 52 beats per minute but last Tuesday morning my heart was was 56. Firstly, I should say that if you get into the rhythm of monitoring your resting heart rate you will find it to be very stable. I wake up, watch my alarm clock and count how many beats over 30 seconds, multiply by two and that’s my number. So, are four extra beats a minute important? Well four extra beats per minute are 240 extra beats per hour and 5,760 extra beats per day! WOWZER. So your little old heart is suddenly beating nearly 6,000 times a day more for some reason! Maybe you are tired from marathon training and the heart is working harder to help your body repair all those micro-tears caused by the long runs. Maybe you have a cold coming and your heart is beating faster to send in armies of good antibodies to fight off the baddies. Whatever the reason, it’s a very simple signal that you may need to ease off the training and monitor the effect.

My last reason for resting was the upcoming race. I was impressed when a fellow Petts Wood Runner told me he was running this particular race at ‘marathon pace’. I questioned this as it seemed too early in the year and I felt he was in a great shape to run a good 10 mile time. The response was very positive, “This year is all about my marathon”. For someone who has run some very good times, but probably not fulfilled his potential due to getting caught up in races other years, I am hoping that this new initiative works for him. I will come back to the race later but I should say here that, as he glided past me before even mile one was up, I thought to myself “He’s going too fast already”, only to find that he was spot on at the finish.

So, my last blog was about Thursday track night. God it was sooo cold, in fact bloody freezing! The session was 15 min tempo followed by 5x1k, although for any runners slower than 27 min for 5k I got them to run 5x800m. The reason I did this was because these runners have amazing potential for improvement and what could be holding them back is simply a lack of confidence to run fast. Luckily for me it was a success, with a couple of 35 min park runners completing their 800m in 5 min, which is 10 min mile pace - 31 min Parkrun pace. So the seed has been sown in their minds that this time is totally achievable.

As the week had gone by without the appearance of my new Nike Pegasus, I needed to decide whether I would race on Sunday. By Saturday my heart rate was back to normal and my Achilles were feeling ok, although I had not tested them. So, to get me in the right headspace for a race, I took mikethemod to Mr Snips in Petts Wood for a race day haircut. To boost my fundraising efforts, I have been raising mikethemod’s social profile with some short videos of him and his eco-friendly leg-powered Lambretta preparing for his marathons.

I donned my Parka, my Teenage Cancer Trust cycling shirt (very Mod), a pair of Levis 501s and a pair Desert Boots and climbed inside my Lambretta for a short run to Petts Wood High Street. I had been growing my hair for the video, so my Suedehead had become more French Crop. I asked Martin Moss of Mr Snips for a “race day skinhead cut” (number 2 all over) and pressed record on my video camera. Martin put up a mikethemod poster in his shop and Teenage Cancer Trust and Demelza Hospice Care for Children collection boxes on his desk. It was a funny half hour...... although I was mortified when I realised I had climbed back into my scooter and run away without paying him.

youtube

At 7.45am on Sunday we boarded a 52 seater coach and headed off to the Canterbury 10 mile race - part of the PWR Grand Prix. I had entered for the last two years, registering 68 mins in 2015 and 72 mins in 2016. It was freezing, as it had been for whole of the last week, but the sky was clear and the sun was shining so we settled down for our journey. As we passed Maidstone, however, the fog descended - and that was the last we saw of any clear blue sky until we got home that evening.

Freezing fog met us as we left the coach for the short walk to Race HQ. It was clear that the sports hall was going to be busy, so I grabbed my number and walked into Canterbury town centre with my son Scott. We found a Wetherspoons Pub, The Thomas Ingoldsby, and made the most of a black coffee and a warm room. We then made our way back to the start and bang on 10am we were off.

I was hoping for sub 70 mins! It sounded strong, but my training run of 14 miles two weeks ago finishing with a 6 min 30 sec mile had left me feeling I was in good condition. My first mile was 7 min 10 sec, so spot on really. I was freezing cold though, my hands were already hurting and I was breathing far heavier than I should be given that I still had 9 miles to go. 7 min 10 sec again and then 6 min 50 sec and 6 min 50 sec. I was still breathing too hard and it felt like a tempo run, but the times were what i wanted and I hoped I would soon warm up and feel comfortable.

We passed through Bridge Village (running there much quicker than our later coach journey would take). At mile five I reached the only major hill on the course, I hate hills, Just keep the tempo up, I kept saying to myself, shorten the stride, but pace dropped significantly and my fifth mile was 7 min 50 sec, leaving me 36 min at halfway. I hate that, when you shave 10 secs off mile after mile - just to give it all back in one bad one. I guess that’s how your average golfer feels.

I suddenly got passed by three PWRs; Rory, then Emma, then Stephen. I was still cold and now my head had gone. Why was I here? What was I doing? Had I gone off too fast? More importantly, how far behind me was Paul? I knew this next section was downhill, so I tried to drive on. The freezing fog reduced visibility so much it felt like I was the only runner in the race - until I passed someone or someone passed me, the latter happening all too often.

With two miles to go I had got into a rhythm and suddenly saw Emma just in front of me. I pushed hard with a 6 min 58 sec and almost got to touching distance of Em, although she would have been blissfully unaware. The last mile marker obviously gave her a boost and, even though I finished with a 6 min 50 sec, Emma finished a good 20 seconds ahead of me, even beating Stephen on the mat ( I hear).

My fingers were painful and I felt quite sick as I sat down in the hall. A hot cup of tea revived me. As a club we did brilliantly with new club records, a winning team and Janine running a great personal best (she has worked incredibly hard on her running form at the track). Once we were all back on the coach we made our way to The White Horse Inn in Bridge for a well-deserved Sunday lunch (an old friend and colleague of mine, Elliot Blair, is a co-owner).

http://www.whitehorsebridge.co.uk/about-us/

We actually ran past The White Horse Inn during the race. Elliot was in a bit of a panic as the trophy presentation had held us up, but 52 roast lunches all arrived fresh and hot and the large coal fire and pints of Kentish Ale refreshed the parts other races could not reach. I got home just in time to lay on the sofa in front of the TV and watch the Blues win.

#pwr #petts wood runners #running #marathon training #london marathon #brighton marathon #the white horse inn #bridge #canterbury 10 #heart rate #achilles #petts wood #lambretta #mr snips #elliot blair #mikethemod

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