#definitely not to fill the weird void in their chest whenever they think about how lonely their apartment is now. definitely not | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dilfgmancoolatta · 3 years

Note

can yuo write angsty freelatta........-benryphobic

@benryphobic

Gordon looks down at the half-eaten pizza, his appetite almost completely gone. He was initially suspicious of it- as much as he trusted Tommy, he had no idea what Mr. Coolatta’s intentions were. But after seeing everyone else dig in (well, everyone who had made it out of the boss battle alive), he let himself give in. It was horrible, but horrible in the way that most Chuck E. Cheese pizza generally is. Mr. Coolatta pulled out all the stops for this one, huh?

He sighs, gently nudging his paper plate away. He’s not really sure what to do. He doubts Mr. Coolatta would react well to being asked when they could leave- he seems really protective of his son.

Gordon decides to get some fresh air. Quietly pushing in his chair, he sneaks away from the group, Mr. Coolatta and Bubby seemingly distracting by a story Dr. Coomer was telling from the Engineering department.

He breathes a sigh of relief once the door closes behind him. He looks up at the sky as he slides down the wall. It’s strikingly beautiful, yet chilling. It’s a sky Gordon’s never seen before, with a large spiral galaxy, that definitely wasn’t the Milky Way, taking up much of it. Planets upon planets and stars upon stars that Gordon couldn’t recognize.

“That’s Andromeda o- up there, by the way.”

Gordon jolts, feeling his heart rate spike, before laughing. “Tommy, don’t scare me like that, man. Kinda still on edge.”

“Oh-” Tommy covers his mouth. “I’m sorry, Mr. Freeman, I thought you knew I was out here.”

Gordon waves him off. “It’s not a big deal. Just- Thought I should let you know.” Tommy nods. “Andromeda’s a lot bigger than I remember.”

“Mmhm! I told my dad once that Andromeda w- is my favorite galaxy. And after that, he always made sure Andromeda was the biggest thing in the night sky in his pocket dimensions.”

“That’s… honestly pretty sweet.”

Tommy nods, sitting down next to Gordon. “My Dad’s a good guy, even if he is pretty weird sometimes. Though I guess I can’t talk.”

“I don’t think you’re weird, Tommy.”

Tommy looks at him in disbelief.

“Mr. Freeman, I wouldn’t be so sure-”

“Listen, we’ve got a lab grown human, a man who’s been cloned, like, 1000 times, and then there’s you. I don’t think the identity of your dad makes you weird.”

Tommy looks like he wants to say something, but seemingly decides against it. Instead, he decides on a simple “Thank you.”

The two sit in silence for a few moments, staring up into the night sky.

“Did something happen at the party?” Tommy asks. “I hope my dad wasn’t being weird about the Chuck E. Cheese debate-thing.”

Gordon shakes his head. “No, I just needed some fresh air. Gordon sensory overload time was coming up, I could feel it. Wasn’t that hungry either.”

Tommy nods. “I understand. That… happens to me too. The only reason I could handle the arcade inside is because my dad makes the machines quieter-” He frowns and scrunches his nose. “But you don’t want to hear about all that.” He waves him off.

And there it is.

It’s a pattern Gordon’s noticed throughout their time in Black Mesa. Every time Tommy seemed like he was about to express any negative emotion, he’d change the subject and say something about Gordon not wanting to hear it.

So he takes a chance.

“But what if I do want to hear it?”

That wasn’t the answer Tommy seemed to be expecting.

“I mean- there’s not much more to it. It’s just me not e- liking loud noises. Nothing all that interesting.”

“It’s not about it being interesting, Tommy. You don’t have to dismiss your own feelings.” Tommy looks at him, his eyebrows furrowed in an unsure look. “You’ve been, like, my emotional rock throughout Black Mesa. You’ve gotta let me return the favor.”

“I d- really don’t want you to think any less of me.”

“Why would I?”

Tommy looks away from Gordon. “I’ve learned from experience, Mr. Freeman. There isn’t r- any way for someone like me to be upset without being treated like a child throwing a tantrum. And then they talk about you like you’re not even in the room-”

Oh.

Unfortunately, the experience is all-too-familiar to Gordon.

“I’ve gotten the same shit- it’s awful.”

“You... have? I never thought that of you- I mean, anyone in your situation might- would be a little on edge.”

“I mean, even before the Black Mesa incident. People would either use kiddie gloves around me or flat out tell me I was overreacting whenever I was slightly upset. So I do somewhat get it, and you don’t need to expect anything like that from me.”

Tommy nods, a small smile beginning to form. It’s a very nice smile- No, Gordon, now is not the time for gay thoughts.

“And I know I shouldn’t have let them win, and I really did try to not give in, but it just got so ti- exhausting going to work everyday with people who saw you as an overgrown child.” Tommy brings his knees to his chest and rests his head on them.

“I mean, I don’t think you ‘should’ have done anything in that situation.” Gordon shrugs. “I don’t think making a statement is worth more than making things bearable for you. It’s not your job to ‘show them who’s boss’.”

“Mm,” Tommy hums, taking his right arm off of his legs and putting it in between them. “It just doesn’t sit right with me that I ba- essentially taught them that that behavior works.”

Gordon gives his hand a comforting squeeze. “You didn’t teach them anything. They were shitty people to begin with, and even if you refused to ‘give in’, I doubt they would’ve changed their minds. You just would’ve been even more miserable.” He feels Tommy shift his hand so their fingers are intertwined. Don’t blush, don’t blush, don’t blush- “If you don’t mind me asking, couldn’t you have told your dad about it? He doesn’t seem like the type to let that slide.”

Tommy shakes his head. “He’s not, but…” he trails off. “Listen, my dads a go- great guy. If I had told him about how I was being treated at work he probably would’ve… either got them fired, at the very least, or have locked them in a void for who knows how long to ‘teach them a lesson’.” Gordon can’t tell if that’s a joke or not- from what little he knows about Mr. Coolatta, it probably isn’t. “But I’m a 37 year old man. My dad wants to protect me from the world, and I don’t really blame him for that, but I need to fight my own battles. I’m not going to be the kind of person that calls their dad at the first sign of danger.”

Gordon nods, brushing his thumb across Tommy’s hand. He understands where Tommy’s coming from. As a father himself, it’s been very hard to ignore his immediate impulse to protect Joshua from anything that could potentially harm him. He can’t imagine what it’ll be like a few years from now when there are dangers Gordon couldn’t protect Josh from even if he did try. “I can’t blame you for that. But I hope that line of logic hasn’t lead to you refusing to ask anyone else for help.”

“Well…”

“Tommy.”

“I’m gonna start trying to change that behavior, I swear!” Tommy laughs, doing an ‘x’ sign over his heart.

“Besides, considering the whole Resonance Cascade thing, I doubt your shitty ex-coworkers will be able to be shitty to anyone else.”

Tommy laughs, shaking his head. “You’re right about that, Mr. Freeman-”

“You can call me Gordon, you know.”

“I- Are you sure?”

“I think, after everything we’ve been through together, we’re well past the awkward coworkers stage of friendship.”

“I mean, if you’re sure about that… Gordon.” Never before had hearing his name filled him with more joy. “But… I don’t know. It’s st- silly, but I still feel bad that they died? Even though they were awful to me.”

Gordon shakes his head. “I don’t think it’s silly at all, man. Feelings are really fucking complicated- Not to mention you’re probably not mourning them specifically, just the fact that people died. You’ve got a big heart, there’s nothing silly or stupid about it.”

“You do too, M- Gordon. You’re a very kind person.”

They stare at each other for a few moments, both of them red as a beet.

“I think…” Gordon gulps, hoping how flustered he is isn’t that obvious. “I think I’m ready to go back inside.”

Tommy nods, standing up and pulling Gordon up with him. They both turn their heads to look inside the Chuck E. Cheese, seeing Mr. Coolatta somehow playing a perfect game of Skee-ball while Dr. Coomer and Bubby cheer on. Gordon looks at their hands, still intertwined, then back up to Tommy.

“C’mon, before the pizza gets cold.” Gordon opens the door with his shoulder, grinning at Tommy.

Tommy follows him in, and the Birthday Party At The End of the World continues on.

#freelatta #gordon freeman #hlvrai #tommy coolatta #nhlvrai #gordos feetman #halflife vr but the ai is self aware #I TRIED TO MAKE THIS ANGSTY BUT IT ENDED UP BEING VENTY SORRY

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shotosprincess · 3 years

Note

BAKUGO SCREAMING AND IZUKU

( ˘ ³˘)♥︎ AAAA HIII TYSM FOR REPLYING TO THE BNHA PLAYLIST THINGY FOR FICS I LOVE YOU MWAHMWAH

anyways aaa bet !! ill do midoriya first if you don’t mind bc im currently in such a soft mood and hajdjj i just love him sm :((

— 𝙠𝙞𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙨 𝙤𝙣 𝙤𝙣 𝙞𝙯𝙪𝙠𝙪 𝙢𝙞𝙙𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙮𝙖’𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙢𝙨

inspired by this playlist by nimbus on yt !! pls check them out ansjdjf their playlists r heaven ^^

❝ you never truly understood that about him, the way he continued to put himself through the pain, to push himself, even, past his limits and then some—

plus ultra. and now his arms were all but littered with rough scars of diluted white and blunt tan. ❞

notes ! gender neutral! reader,, best friends to lovers au ,, 2nd person pov

summary: in which your best friend deku shows up at your dorm late at night due to kacchan locking him out. he asks for bandages to stabilize his newly-healed scars, and you ask to kiss them.

genre: fluff !! <33

it went without a doubt that deku had been to recovery girls’ office more times than anyone else at the academy. it hurt, honestly; each time you saw his still-healing figure emerge from the little swing of her door, a sharp pang reverberated starkly through your chest, for though the freshly-scarred over wounds didn’t diminish his beauty in the slightest, you simply couldn’t deny that an empty eddy of sadness settled in you whenever he was in such a state.

and unfortunately for you, he was constantly in it.

his body could only take so much. and he was still so young too—the very same held true for your heart.

it’s been that way ever since the two of you had first entered ua as shining, eager students. though in all fairness you had to admit, he was...different from the very beginning. even as the prelude to his eventual rising and growth in his quirk, he had shone with a certain unmatched brilliance ever since the entrance exams. and over the years you spent together, you had watched him persevere so passionately towards the glow of his ultimate goal; to be a hero who can help others. little did he know just how much he already had. he had always been so excruciatingly oblivious and aloof to even the evidence and affects of his own kindness, and you hated the fact that so many tended to take advantage of it. of him.

though, of course, this did not mean that he was weak in any form. no, if anything he was quite the polar opposite—he had proved it time and time again, and yet it didn’t mean that he couldn’t get hurt too. the dull aching of tiredness ringing in his eyes, the one he tries to desperately to mask, the ragged marks scattered across the pale valleys of his once-scar-barren skin; he wasn’t immune to pain, to injury. and yet, he fought. you never truly understood that about him, the way he continued to put himself through the pain, to push himself, even, past his limits and then some—

plus ultra. and now his arms were all but littered with rough scars of diluted white and blunt tan.

nevertheless, truth be told, you actually admired it a great deal. his sheer determination, the purity of his motives, it was more than laudable. despite all of it, you truly couldn’t help but feel this...magnetic urge to help him. protect him. if you could soothe the pain in any way, even if it would be but a temporary relief—

three knocks clack on the door.

you and izuku’s secret door code—just a silly little something the two of you made up a few months after the dorm system had been put into motion, and all so you could sneak out to the grass-flooded yards of the building and train together.

naturally, you open the door.

“ heyyy there you are! “

your head perks up at the cheery jingling of his voice, all drafts of exhaustion and sleep deprivation washing away almost instantaneously. he might as well be the very personification of caffeine at that point, despite how direly he needed it himself.

the starry shine of his eyes meets with yours as a diluted sanguine seeped colour into his face. he turns his head away awkwardly.

you lean against the doorframe, smiling at him. “ deku...you didn’t tell me we’d be training today. plus it’s a little late right now, don’t you think? i’m already in my pajamas. “

“ yeah, um, sorry about that. kacchan...kinda locked me out. “

“ he what? “

“ he locked me out. “

“ how does that even—don’t you have separate rooms? “

“ well, yeah, but we were racing down the halls after glass today and he...got to my room before i could. well, honestly i have no clue what he’s doing over there. “ he laughs, rubbing the back of his neck.

“ oookay then. little concerning, i won’t lie. “ your shoulders lift in a shrug, arms crossing in front of your chest as your shy laugh matches his.

“ so i was wondering if...you know...i could maybe stay here for a bit? “ his voice wavers subtly, though you’re quick to catch it. the tips of his ears flush with a deepened pink.

you can’t help but silently gush about how cute he looked.

you’re quick to snap out of that too. eyes bursting open with a brilliant shock, you notice he’s fiddling nervously with his fingers as you remain absolutely, positively frozen in place.

“ i’m—what? “

his countenance immediately shifts to one of sheer embarrassment. flustered, he begins to frantically wave his hands in front of him, as if to put some sort of considerable distance between his panicking self and your seemingly-composed demeanour. and as if that would do anything to deescalate the tension which was only progressively building between your equally-timid selves at this moment.

“ ohmygod i didn’t mean it in a weird way or anything! i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’ll just—i’ll just go— “

you slide against the wood a little bit, pushing your weight against the slightly-agape door, so it swung open even further to reveal the, admittedly, fairly-messy state of your room. draped carelessly on the side of your bed, a sweater you had taken off earlier because the temperature of your room had suddenly decided to heat up an unreasonable amount. countable cups holding shallow pools of hour-old drinks scattered throughout nearly every shelf. a creased textbook splayed out, cover up on your desk.

yep. definitely looked like someone’s lived here.

“ i mean...you could come in if you want. no one’s stopping you. it’s a little messy though, i haven’t found much time to properly clean it yet, with exams coming soon and stuff. “ a small smile accompanies your growing blush, despite how much you were trying to play it off as nonchalantly as possible.

psh, right. as if letting him in your room—something you had never done prior in the history of your friendship—wasn’t a big deal in the slightest.

his eyes shoot wide as his arms flail about. you have to keep yourself from laughing at his silliness.

“ uhm, i mean...only if that’s okay with you! “

“ yeah, yeah, of course! you need a place to stay for now, after all. who knows when bakugou’s gonna let you back in? “

“ yeah, i guess you’re right. well, i mean, if you really don’t mind— “

you playfully roll your eyes, giggling as you shove him into your room.

“ oh, quit it with the politeness. you’re too nice, you know that? “

“ too...nice? “

“ too nice. “ you reiterate, giving his shoulders a little squeeze.

his head lolls to the side as he carefully lowers himself onto your bed, his sweater shifting with the subtle movement.

for a few moments, the space between you is occupied with a simple, comfortable silence. it’s refreshing, really. a welcome difference from all the boisterousness of the academy. you loved the action and everyone’s energy, of course, but sometimes what you really needed was really just a simple break from everything. to do nothing but exist for a little while, to simply be without the constant pressure of having to get up and jump into action all the time. just for a few moments. and so you relished in these said moments spent with him, for who knows when the next time you could ever be with him like this again would be?

and then his voice fills that void of silence, but you’re not disappointed in the slightest.

“ hey. “

“ yeah? “

“ you don’t happen to have any extra bandages, do you? “

“ bandages? for what? “

he clenches his fist, flexing the muscles in his arm. “ for...stability. just in case. i can’t afford for my arms to get hurt more. “

“ oh. well, uhm...i think i have a few spares in my drawer! “ you push yourself off the bed, leaving the comfort the soft sheets brought about, pulling open a tiny drawer. taking out a transparent box of bandages, you jump back onto the plushness, sitting cross-legged directly across from midoriya, who’s already presenting his arm.

your lips silently part as your fingers wrap themselves around the thick ivory fabrics of bandage, rolling them around so you could wrap them around him.

another pause of wordless silence falls.

“ hey deku? “

“ yeah? “

“ could i...could i kiss your scars? “ you whisper, afraid that he’d get mad, though you knew he was anything but the type to do such a thing.

the meadow depths of his eyes kindle a cozy hearth within you as his initial surprise quickly softens, melting away into what could only be described as the most endearing smile to exist.

“ sure. “

jagged patches and uneven streaks of faded cloud white and prominent earthy tans decorate his arms, and you can’t help but bring the rosiness of your lips to meet them. you decide begin with the ones littered along his fingers.

one kiss for the scar resting within the curved dip between his thumb and index.

“ for every time you used just a flick of your fingers to defend everyone back then, when you didn’t even have full control over your quirk. “

a longing sigh leaves him as he reminisces briefly on the memory. you place a soft kiss upon the scar resting at the side of his pinky.

“ for every fist you made with this hand, for every punch you’ve delivered in the name of other’s safety. “

a drop splashed onto his arm, trickling down and tainting the scars etched into his forearm with a subtle, diaphanous sheen. you look up through your lashes, and a prominent gloss coats the kindness of his dark emeralds. your hand comes up to carefully caress his cheek, cupping it gently as the pad of your thumb swipes beneath his eye, wiping away the upcoming tear. your features are knitted together in concern.

“ are you okay? i can stop if you want me to— “

he takes your hand in both of his, squeezing as if to keep you there forever. “ no, don’t. please.“

it’s a tiny whisper, a softened plea into the dark quiet of the night, as if he were ashamed for wanting to be taken care of. your brows curve downward as you pull your twined hands to your lips, tenderly planting your lips where your skin kissed his.

“ hey, hey. it’s okay. it’s okay. “ you hush him, running your free hand through his thick tendrils of vivid, verdant green.

he leans into your touch, nodding at you as if to urge you to continue, which you gladly accept.

you shift a little closer to him, kissing the thick mark of serration painted into the skin of his wrist.

“ for every countless moment you’ve sacrificed for your dream. “

another kiss to the one just above it.

“ for every hour bled into the night that you spent helping me train. “

your fingers dance along his arm, finally stopping at the scar stretching from his elbow and dragging upwards. as per routine, your lips come down to delicately kiss it.

“ for every ‘ plus ultra! ‘ you’ve ever passionately shouted. “

little giggles left the both of you at that.

your touch trails to the scar just beside it, kissing it as well.

“ for every life you’ve ever saved. “

you look him in the eye. holding his arm like this, you were so close to him. and yet, you didn’t want to pull away. if anything, it was the very last thing you would ever want to do. he matched your stare, a certain sense of longing displaying in your gaze as it reflects off of his. the prolonged stare lasts longer than it probably should, longer than what best friends should probably look at each other this closely, this intimately for. the moonlight dimly shines through your window.

and then it happens.

his lips collide with yours in a captivating symphony, hands going straight to twirl through the locks of your hair as you wrap yours in a loose loop around his neck. everything feels as though it had all snapped into place, and the tension you had felt before was all completely dissipated now, displaced into the passion in which this kiss exuded. it was earth-shattering, galaxy-shredding. it felt as if even pain itself could never reach either of you, not in this moment.

this moment was for the both of you, and no one else. in this moment, in his arms, nothing and no one could hurt you.

he pulls away, stunned, lips parted with a saturated red. you stare at him with just about the same level of blankness, of utter shock at what you two had just done.

but then the realization catches up with him, and he is pulled out of the daze. much to your surprise, he doesn’t move away. if anything, he pulls you closer, enveloping both your hands within his just as he did before.

and just as you had done earlier, he brings them to his lips.

“ and that’s for every ‘ i love you ‘ i’ve ever wanted to say to you but never had the guts to. “

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mae-gi-writes · 3 years

Text

Obtuse | Bang Chan (Stray Kids) - PART TWO

Summary ☆ "I don't know. I want to be his friend but then again, I don't. I mean, how can you simply be friends with someone when every time you look at them, you're thinking about how much more you really want?"

Genre ☆ bestfriends to lovers au, angst, slowburn, suggestive themes, college au, fluff, soft Chan x oc (Micha)

Word count ☆

. ° ☆ ° .

PART ONE | PART TWO

. ° ☆ ° .

Idiot, Micha kept on replaying the words like the words to her favourite song, Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

There she sat in the hospital chair beside her mother’s unconscious body, her life hanging by a thread with the help of the machine that beeped obnoxiously in the corner, and all she could think of was of the messed up realization that she was in love with her best friend.

Chan hadn't spoken a word as she'd sobbed and sobbed, even though she wasn't sure what she was crying about exactly. He'd only wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in to rest his head against hers in an embrace so firm and filled with warmth that her heart tugged in pain. He was so close that it pained her, the realization that he was so close yet so far was a blow that left a permanent bruise.

So she'd pushed him away, wiped her tears and gestured him to follow her.

He said nothing as he sat beside her, shifting every now and then as he succumbed to the dreadful silence filling the room.

And she hated it, that he was here as if this was the most normal thing for him to do. Because it wasn't. As if on impulse, Micha couldn't help but glance at his attire that confirmed her suspicions he'd just gotten out of the gym, probably having dropped everything to rush to her side.

"Who told you?" Micha asked. Her voice felt weird, strangled as she spoke.

Chan shifted and she felt his eyes on her face, the warmth of them permeating through her skin, "Felix called."

A stagnant pause ensued. In the silence, Micha forced herself to swallow down the lump of emotion stuck in her throat, forced down the feelings that seemed to have erupted through her every pore like she had just opened up a pandora's box of truths.

Go away, was what Micha's brain screamed. Go away.

But her heart protested. Please don't leave me.

Her brown orbs lifted to his side profile. Please don't leave me.

Even if I love you.

"You should go," is what she murmured out instead, "you're wasting your time."

"Don't say that," he replied, tone firm.

His silent assurance, that made it even harder to push him away. Micha didn't know how to feal with these feelings and though she wished she had stayed blossfully ignorant of them, there was no denying the cold hard truth that now blared atop her head like a red alert sign.

At some point, Micha's eyelids had fluttered closed for the next thing she knew she was squinting, disoriented and cuddled into a warmth that smelt of familiar pine and boy aftershave. Chan.

It was so familiar, laying on his chest and smelling that comforting scent of his, a scent that reminded her of home. She couldn't help but notice how well she fitted against him, the warmth of his hands casual on her waist and his nose nudging her temple and her heart skided to a momentary halt.

This was Chan. Just Chan, her best friend. Nothing else, nothing more.

So it was a relief once the doctor slid through the door, causing her to instantly jostle Chan out of the way. He stated that while her physical injuries would heal in a few weeks, though the one thing that worried him the most was the fact that her mother might not wake up from her vegetative state.

Micha would've fainted if not for Chan's strong hold on the back of her elbow and at some point, her father ushered her out with firm orders that the young man take her home.

"Here," he stuffed a few dollar bills in Chan's hand despite the latter's protests, "get some dinner. I insist."

The next few weeks were a blurry mixture of visiting the hospital while helping her father to run the family restaurant whenever she could. They took turns sleeping and watching over her mother's unconscious form, talked about the happenings of their everyday life in hopes that it would trigger something, anything.

The unforseen circumstances caused Micha to push back her internship by a semester and that so meant that she was permanently home and permanently swamped by none other than her best friend.

"What are you doing here? You’re supposed to have class," Micha asked upon noticing him slide out of the the kitchen with two sets of noodle bowls on a tray. It was no understatement to say that NomNom Noodles Restaurant was bustling with hungry customers as it was a Friday evening. What Micha hadn't expected though, was to see Chan's sloppy smile and sweaty forehead.

He shrugged, "your dad told me you could use the help."

Her heart tugged, partly churning with affection followed by this burning annoyance to get him out of her sight.

And he was helpful; he was a charming waiter that cracked jokes whenever he could, grabbing the dishes from her hands the moment she walked out of the kitchen, wiping tables he wasn't even assigned to. And all that made it harder for Micha to push him away. Oh how she wanted to ignore him, to make him understand that she needed a space, and a lot of it.

But she didn't want to hurt him. Not when he deserved so much better.

"Oi."

Micha was whipped back to reality when she felt Chan's finger poke her forehead, only to be faced with his dimpled grin, "earth to Micha. Customers are waiting."

Heat flushed through the back of her neck. She swatted him away, "don't touch me with your greasy hands."

"Aw shut up you," he made a move towards her, causing her to sidestep with ease, "stop it, Chan--"

She whipped around, almost bumping into one of the chairs as Chan's arms circled around her shoulders to pull her back to hug her close, "Chan!"

"Don't I smell nice? I'm just sharing it with you!"

And as if on cue, the door chimed open, both their heads whipping up with welcoming grins.

Only to face Ayeong's smile.

"Ayeong!" Micha all but shoved Chan away as she noticed the slight, barest slip of the said girl's smile.

Chan whooped and ran up to his girlfriend, cheeks flushed and eyes crinkling into crescents, "baby girl! You came!"

"And I brought company," she allowed him to kiss her cheek just as the door opened to reveal Minho and Seungmin bundled up into their coats.

Swalllowing down the sudden lump of pain, Micha went forward into Ayeong's open arms, "hey, it's been a while."

"I know!" Ayeong hugged her tight, so genuine that tears threatened to fall. Micha squeezed back slightly before quickly diverting her attention to greet the two other boys.

The restaurant was empty by the time their noodles were fresh out of the pot, meaning that they had the restaurant for themselves as they caught up on life and remembered their high school days. Micha learnt that Minho was interning at another restaurant, Seungmin had passed his Design projects with flying colours, and Ayeong had already signed a contract with the business hotel that she had trained with.

"That's amazing,” Micha said to Ayeong, "do you like it?"

"I do," Ayeong beamed, "and my superiors are nice too. They're all a bunch of guys so they aren't complicated."

"Careful Ayeong, one might think that you're gonna change boyfriends," Minho teased and caused the girl to stick out her tongue at him before leaning against Chan's shoulder.

Micha's eyes instantly shot away, swallowing hard at the knot forming in her stomach. She couldn't help it. It was like second nature to hurt herself by catching small glimpses of their entwined hands, of the adoration dripping from their eyes and she wished she could just make all the pain end.

It seemed like Minho noticed her unusual demeanour, for as they were leaving the restaurant after washing up the dishes, he'd stopped by the door to shoot her a concerned look.

"You okay, Micha?"

Surprise flitted through her face for a few seconds, "uh, yeah. Yeah I'm fine."

She saw him glance at Chan's figure before looking back at her with pursed lips, eyebrows knitted together as if deep in thought, and shook her head.

After all, who could deprive Chan of his happiness?

. ° ☆ ° .

It was safe to say that Micha fell into a routine; waking up to visit her mother in the early morning hours, replacing her father at the restaurant when it was his turn to sit at her mother's bedside, avoiding Chan at all costs even though he was practically throwing himself in her way, and locking up at around ten, nine earliest if the restaurant was void of clients.

She would've made a much greater effort at pushing Chan's helping hand away if not for the fact that her mother was mostly occupying the forefront of her mind. The truth was, a small part of her was actually relieved that Chan stayed no matter how angry she seemed, how cold she was to him. He was a big puppy constantly coming back for more no matter how much she kicked at his countenance.

And that made her feel even worse.

"Me and Aejong made pancakes the other day," Chan chatted on one late evening as they were clearing the tables, with Micha responsible for wiping them down while he mopped the floor, "she's a horrible cook. As unbelievable as that sounds."

"Why? Because she's too good at everything?" Micha knew she sounded bitter, but her tongue seemed to have a mind of its own, lashing out without control.

Chan, as oblivious as he was, didn’t seem to catch her sense of mockery, “maybe not everything. But she’s definitely very talented in many ways. I never knew she took piano lessons until she was seventeen. She passed the exams and all.”

"Good for her.”

“You know what’s the best thing though? I really like that she never boasts about herself. That, I admire that--”

“Yes Chan, I get it,” Micha finally snapped.

Chan paused in mid-mop, “What? What did I do now?”

Her teeth sunk onto her lower lip as she kept on wiping down the tables instead of answering his question.

“Why are you angry with me?”

"I’m not angry with you,” she folded her dishcloth a little too aggressively and turned to the other table.

“Then why are you talking to me like that?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Micha.”

“I said it’s nothing!” Micha finally whipped around to scowl at him and maybe it was the mixture of saddened pain whenever she thought of her dying mother along with the continuous stab, stab, stabbing of knives that pinched her heart every time she saw Chan so much as utter his lover’s name, a name that wasn’t hers, that brought tears to her eyes despite her not wanting to let him in, not anymore, not when he was one of the sources causing her pain.

But the young man’s frustrated expression gave way to instant worry the moment he caught her eye. He made a move towards her.

And that was when she burst into a fit of angry, heart-wrenching sobs.

It was as though all the pain and the pent-up emotion that she’d stuffed at the back of her heart like an unused closet she could throw away the key suddenly burst open without warning, for once she started crying, Micha found that she couldn’t stop. Her tears only heightened upon feeling the warmth of her best friend’s embrace, pulling her closer and allowing her to sob her way through the tides of pain and worry and sadness that seemed to have taken over her countenance.

Cheek pressed against the side of her head and hands softly rubbing comforting circles along her back, Micha just allowed herself to feel sorry for her state, if only for this one night where she thought that everything was slipping through her fingers; her mother, Chan. Her career. Her future.

Once Micha had cried all the tears from her body so that there were none left, she could only rest against Chan as he rocked her from side to side, the only comfort that was holding her broken pieces together at this point. She hated it, loathed it. His kindness, his genuine concern for her.

It made it so much harder to push him away.

“How long have you been holding this in?” came his softened murmur against her hairline. She shivered unconsciously, hating the way her heart seemed to beat a little faster merely for his alto. Or maybe it was the closeness, the intimacy of his touch, especially in the dim lights of the restaurant with only the soft distant sounds of traffic in the distance to keep them company.

“It’s not about how long,” Micha’s fingers unconsciously gripped the back of his hoodie, hoping to extend this moment for a little longer. Just for tonight. She continued in a mumble, “everything is...everything is just so overwhelming.”

"Want to talk about it?”

Micha’s lips pressed into a thin line. When she spoke after her slight bout of hesitation, her voice trembled, “it’s like I’m not even in my life anymore. I feel like I’m in a nightmare-- and I can’t wake up.”

He hummed in reply, hugged her just a little tighter and kept rocking from side to side. That was all the encouragement she needed.

“I mean, my mom’s a vegetable and she’s--dying,” a small sob echoed through her throat, “I know how these patients end up. I see no other solution. She’s going to wither away in that bed and I can’t do any fucking thing about it. And then there’s my degree which I’m not completing because we obviously need the money for mom so I don’t know what’s going to happen to me, to my life and to my career and just, I just can’t breathe Chan and it scares me, it scares me so damn much--”

“Hey hey,” he pulled back just enough to see another path of tears dribbling down her face, thumb reaching up to brush it away, “it’s okay, shh. Enough crying, hm? You know I hate it when you cry.”

That only incited her to cry some more and Chan made a noise of protest before he cupped her cheek, gently wiping them away as they fell, “I know that everything sucks right now. I--I can’t even imagine how impossible everything must be for you, and I can’t tell you that things will sort themselves out because we never know what might happen.”

“But,” he continued with a gentle squeeze to her hip then and she tensed slightly at the intimacy of his gesture, “I swear it gets better. I swear it on my heart. And if you want to cry then cry, I’ll be here. If you need to shout, to scream, to punch someone, I’ll be there Micha,” tilting her chin up so that she had no choice but to gaze at him, he cracked the softest of smiles that left her all giddy inside, “I’m not going to let you go through this alone, that I can promise you.”

Swallowing thickly, it was hard not to squirm underneath the soft glimmer of his soft maroon-eyed stare. So she dropped her eyes while mumbling out a soft, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he whispered back.

“You don’t deserve to be here, you-- you’ve done so much for me and I don’t even know how I’m supposed to repay that--”

“There is nothing,” he cut her off firmly while his hold tightened unconsciously, “to be sorry for.”

Still, Micha’s eyes suddenly found interest in the patterns of her best friend’s shirt, knowing that there was no possibility of eye-contact now, not if she wanted to keep her self-control in check. Maybe it meant nothing for Chan to hold her so casually in his arms, but there was no denying the fact that anyone looking through their restaurant window could mistake them for a couple, and the thought caused Micha to reel back in self-disgust.

As if sensing her inner turmoil, her best friend’s hand went up against the back of her head before he nudged her to his shoulder. And while Micha’s brain was shaking in disapproval, she couldn’t find the strength to fight against what her own body yearned for, returning back into his arms and telling herself that it was just for tonight. Tonight, she would push everything at the back of her mind and just for now, would enjoy the mere warmth and comfort that came with Chan’s arms.

Burrowing her face into the crook of his neck and taking in his scent, Micha allowed her eyes to slip closed for a moment, trying her best to engrave this into memory.

Just for tonight, she promised herself inwardly. Just for tonight, she would be selfish.

Just for tonight, she would imagine that Chan was hers. And no one else’s.

. ° ☆ ° .

"Do I have to be there?"

Micha caught Minho's eye as he helped her hand through her coat sleeve. The said young man's eyebrow rose at her question as if she'd never asked a thing so dumb, "yes you do."

"But why?" She stomped her feet while whining, "I don't even like to drink. Or dance."

"It's my birthday. I call the shots."

"I hate you."

"Aw, me too," he pinched her cheek with aggressive fondness and Micha batted him away with her hands, scowling and muttering a string of curses under her breath as she trailed after him towards his car.

Minho's birthday was to be special as he was turning twenty-two, the perfect excuse to go out and drown themselves in alcohol. Felix, Changbin and Jisung had even rode all the way from their campus to stay over for the long weekend, taking advantage of the public holiday to party the night away.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" Minho asked as he slowed to a stop at a red light.

Micha turned to him, "yeah?"

He hesitated for a few seconds. Then, "do you like Chan?"

It was so sudden, like ice running down her back and making her go tense, fingers curling onto the material of her dark pants. Micha gazed out at the stop light until it went blurry, not knowing what to say to make it sound truthful.

"No--"

"I know he doesn't see you," Minho spoke up hurriedly, "but I see the way you look at him. I couldn't help but ask."

It wasn't like she had planned to let her secret out so soon. But he'd caught her red-handed. Her shoulders slumped, followed by the softest of sighs escaping her lips.

"You caught me," was the only thing she said.

Another pause that allowed the words to settle between them, before the light turned green and the car moved forward. A good distraction against the awkwardness sticking to Micha's heart like sweat.

"Do you..." Minho paused, "do you think you should tell him?"

"No."

"Don't you think he needs to know?" Minho turned his car down a street lined with pubs. They were slowly approaching their destination, “It’s not fair to him.”

She kept her gaze out of the window, partly too embarrassed to face him and partly to keep herself from crying, "what good would it do?"

She was glad that they had reached the parking lot of the restaurant bar at that point, for she had no intentions of continuing a conversation that led to nowhere and, ignoring Minho’s call for her name, quickly jumped out of the vehicle and strode right up to the doors of Seniora’s.

The restaurant was already full and she was glad that they had at least booked a private VIP spot in advance, thanks to Seungmin’s amazing organization skills. Micha weaved her way through in the dim spotlights shining atop dark mahogany tables that blended in with the darkness, trying to find their respective table among the throng of pretty, made-up girls in too-short dresses and guys who had no problem puffing out their cigarettes right into her face.

“Guys!” Felix’s voice boomed through the jazz notes floating through the air, and Micha turned towards his voice to see him waving frantically, a huge grin on his childish face, ‘over here!”

His excitement was contagious as it caused her own lips to stretch into a mirroring grin. She bounded into his arms without hesitation, “Felix! You made it! You said you had an assignment to finish.”

“You know how convincing Minho hyung gets once he sets his mind to it,” the freckled man gave her a once over before he whistled, “don’t you look--”

“--Fucking gorgeous, Micha,” the pair turned towards the voice, seeing Changbin with open arms while she squirmed at his compliment. He was being too kind, though her sleek black jumpsuit that clung to her curves was definitely a contrast to her usual sweater and jeans. Behind him stood Jisung and Seungmin, as well as a few other of their classmates, girls and boys included.

Her eyes suddenly locked onto a familiar pair of dark orbs. Chan.

“Hello! Hug, please?!” Changbin’s hand brought her attention back as he waved before her, scowling in mock annoyance. Micha grinned, wrapping her arms around his neck, “come here you big baby.”

“Careful Mi, he might have wandering hands now that he sees you’re more than just a replacement for Chan,” Seungmin commented while giving her shoulder a squeeze.

That earned the latter a glare from the said muscled man, “what? I’m just stating how beautiful she looks.”

Micha made her rounds of greeting -- did Minho’s friend group triple by tenfold since she was gone?-- and was exhausted by the time she finally stumbled before Chan.

“Hey, look at you,” Chan offered her a dimpled grin and she swore she wanted to coo at how cute he was. Stop that, Micha gave herself a mental slap as he continued, “all I’m gonna say is, stay away from Changbin tonight.”

“He’s not going to do anything,” she rolled her eyes, “I’ve known him long enough. I’m basically his brother.”

Her best friend said nothing, only gazed at her in that undecipherable way of his, like he was trying to solve a puzzle that couldn’t be solved.

“What?” she asked.

“Uh--nothing,” he dropped his gaze, looked away just in time for their attention to be diverted by Minho calling for a round of shots, “alright alright everyone! I’ll open up the party, shall we?”

Before she knew it, Micha had been tugged along by none other than Felix only to be dragged to the counter where a row of shots were being filled to the brim. She didn’t have to ask, knew instantly by smell that this was definitely not water. Her nose burned at the sting of vodka permeating her nostrils and she cursed under her breath as Minho handed her one with a teasing, yet sympathetic grin.

“I think you’ll need it tonight,” Micha couldn’t stop herself from scowling at the underlying meaning in his words. She swore at him, “dick.”

Micha hadn’t realized how monotonous, how boringly routine, her life had become ever since she flew back to her motherland. What with her mother’s situation in hospital and her running around trying to cover up all of her father’s blind spots, Micha had forgotten how it actually felt to be young, to be as carefree as she usually would be during university in-between her constant flow of assignments, how she used to get into this ‘fuck-it’ mood and hit up the arcade with the rest of the boys before winding up at one of the local bars, beers in their hands as they competed on who could chug down their drinks faster.

So she took advantage of Minho’s birthday to let herself relax and actually pay attention to what was happening to her, around her. Just in this moment. Nowhere else. And it felt good. It felt...alive. Free.

She danced along to the music, chatted with the other girls who she now realized were quite cool and sassy in their own flirtatious ways, drank shot after shot every time another one of her friends dragged her back to the bar without realizing that maybe she should’ve kept count.

Until it was all too late. The alcohol didn’t have any effect. Until it hit her like a tow truck.

And maybe this sudden rebellious streak had manifested itself the moment her eyes lingered over the familiar pair of figures on the dance floor, chest clenching and heart crumbling at the sweetest brush of Chan’s fingers against Ayeong’s forehead. Micha turned away just in time to halt the tears burning through the corners of her eyes and she impulsively made a grab for Changbin’s arm before pulling him along with her, “let’s get another drink.”

“Are you sure Mi? You kinda look tipsy already--”

“It’s on me. Now stop being a wuss and come on.”

Seniora’s was filled to the brim now that it was almost past midnight and the sea of bodies aided to calm the storm threatening to split her heart into. It made it easier to breathe, easier to push back the thought at the back of her mind as the alcohol paved its way through her blood and thrummed against her veins.

It felt good. Too good. And Micha wanted this numbness to last forever.

. ° ☆ ° .

Unfortunately, it didn't.

"It's alright, you're alright," Changbin's soothing alto comforted her as she kept on throwing up the contents of her dinner, continuously dragging her hair back to hold it up and out of the way.

"Oh god--" Micha's stomach lurched "I'm sorry--" she couldn't stop herself from vomiting once more and boy, was she glad that Changbin had dragged her out of Seniora's just in time.

"So?" Felix called from the corner of the small street in which they were hiding from curious eyes. No point in giving people something to talk about, "how is she?"

"Holding up," Micha called back despite the sour taste in her mouth. When it felt like she wasn't going to pass out anymore, she slowly dragged herself upwards, throwing Changbin's concerned expression a weak smile.

To which he replied, "you look like shit."

"Thanks Changbin. That's exactly what I need to hear," Micha rolled her eyes, feeling his strong arm wrap itself around her waist. She allowed herself to lean into him just this once, fearing that she might trip over her feet and fall flat on her face if she wasn't careful.

They stumbled over to Felix who, upon giving Micha a once-over, stated that she was to be sent home at once.

"I'm fineeee guyssss," Micha whined through slurred words, "pluss, I really wanna...dance y'know?"

She swayed a little for good measure, only to stumble and she would've landed flat on the sidewalk if not for Changbin's arm holding her upright.

"I'm bringing you home," Changbin's tone was firm.

"Nooo, I don't want to go home yet!"

"Micha, you and I both know that you're too drunk to make those decisions right now."

"But Changbinnieeee I just--I really want to--" and as soon as the picture of Chan's face flashed before her eyes, she felt her resolve crumbling into the form of tears, "I want to...forget about him--"

It hurt too much. She couldn't keep it together. It was like she was forcing herself to hold in the pain burning through her loins and no sooner had had she tilted up to meet Changbin’s eyes that she burst into wretched sobs.

She felt him still for a moment, arm hesitantly tugging her closer, hand wrapping around her head in comfort, “h-hey,” he peered into her face, slightly panicked at her outburst, “what--what’s the matter?”

“Mi?” Felix’s voice joined in. Warmth swept over her side, “Mi, what’s wrong? Do you not feel good? Do you want to go home?”

Micha nodded, and felt herself getting tugged to Changbin’s chest. That made her cry even harder, for while his scent was nothing short of comforting, it wasn’t the warmth she was looking for.

All she wanted was for Chan.

But he wasn’t hers. And he never will be.

“I got her,” she heard Changbin’s words over the raging storm tossing her heart aside. Warmth circled her shoulders -- his leather jacket, no doubt -- and she allowed his hands to steer her away from the loud bass beats of the restaurant bar and she had to give that to him. No matter how much of a bad boy he was, no one could possibly deny him of his heart of gold. That Micha was pretty sure of.

They were halfway up the street with Changbin flailing for a cab when a familiar car pulled up their street. Its window rolled down, causing Micha’s breath to halt in her throat.

“Need a ride?” Chan’s eyebrow was raised in amusement, only to drop in concern upon noticing her pale composure, “what the--Micha?!”

“No,” Micha quickly stuffed her face into Changbin’s shoulder, “Changbin, please...”

The latter, as confused as ever, nudged her towards the car, “come on Mi. Chan’ll take you home.”

“Nooooo.”

"Not the time, Micha. Seriously, get in the car.”

“I said noooo--”

Too late, for Changbin simply whipped her up in his hold, walked right around to the passenger door while ignoring her trying to sock him one, before plopping her into the seat. He slammed the door in her face and waved goodbye, “see you tomorrow, loser!”

Great. That was exactly what she needed. To be alone with Chan.

“Well someone drank a little too much tonight,” was the first thing he said the moment he pulled onto the street, a little smirk sent in her direction. Micha only sighed heavily, before leaning away to look out of the window pane.

This was painful, sitting here with Chan with all those unresolved feelings burning her loins while he sat, totally oblivious and charming and just so breathtaking that it physically hurt her fingers from stopping any attempts to hold his hand, just touch his skin, just-- feel him.

“Where’s...Ayeong?” she mumbled against the glass.

Just the name caused her chest to tighten.

“I dropped her off with the other girls. They’re having a sleepover or something.”

“She’s not spending the night with you?”

“No.”

“Ohh how dumb of her,” the words rolled off her tongue so easily now that there was alcohol swimming through her veins. It actually felt good to know that Ayeong was not to be with Chan that night, “it’s her-- it’s her lossss.”

“Oh you are so drunk.”

“I am...” she hiccuped and threw him a scowl, “not drunk!”

Chan chuckled, reaching over to ruffle her hair playfully and that simple act merely got her heart racing, “I’ll see if I have some extra aspirin to give you for your headache tomorrow--”

"Chan, can I--can I tell you something?”

He stopped at the red light and as his head turned, eyes finding hers in the darkness of the morning hours, a surge of courage suddenly overtook her.

She wanted to blame it on the alcohol even though deep down Micha was certain a small part of her had always wanted to let her best friend in on the most deepest, darkest secret she wished she could carry to her grave.

But this secret that had been eating her from the inside out, was something that was making her heart to burst at the seams. And while she never even imagined of hurting Chan that way, she knew that this was inevitable. It had to be done, for her to move on from it. Because she’d realized then and there, that it would be impossible for her to just bury those feelings away, no matter how hard she tried.

So that left her with no other choice.

“I think that,” her hand rose up as if on instinct to poke his cheek then, eyes drooping with sleep, “I think I....might be in love with you.”

-----

Tagging: @allyg-onz @elysianxshepherd @rindomo @freckledquokka @maedesculpaeusoubi @missskzbiased @seungoclock

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justheretobreakthings · 3 years

Text

Whumpmas in July: Day 12

@whumpmasinjuly

Warmth

Also my fill for Hypothermia for @badthingshappenbingo

Read on AO3 My house, my rules, my ko-fi

When Coran had been doling out supply-gathering assignments to each of the paladins, Keith had thought nothing of his. Telrov was cold, yes. He wasn’t used to cold climates, sure. But he had his armor, and he had dealt with extreme weather before, so when Coran had asked whether Keith was up to the assignment, of course he said he was. In fact, he was almost insulted that the Altean didn’t think he could handle a bit of cold.

And sure, maybe ‘a bit of cold’ was a bit of an understatement, since it seemed that the entire dwarf planet was covered in a layer of ice that he had to hammer through with his sword in order to get to the fungi growing under the frozen soil that he needed to collect. And sure, maybe after the team’s previous mission yesterday, he should have mentioned that he had taken quite the wallop to the chestplate, but it hadn’t looked like anything had been damaged any worse than a bit of denting, and he had walked away from it with just some soreness and a bit of bruising.

How was he supposed to have known that the temperature control valve had been damaged? There had been no warning signs. Nothing but a few ticks of high pitched beeping started up while Keith was already nearly a varga’s walk through the rocky, frozen wasteland from Red’s landing site. The next thing he’d known, the heating that usually flowed evenly through the armor had disappeared.

He had tried his best not to panic. He knew where Red was, and even without the temperature control mechanisms, his armor and suit were far from flimsy. Surely he could hold out for long enough to make it back. He hadn’t gotten quite as much of the ingredient as Coran had requested, but hopefully he would be forgiven that shortcoming in light of the circumstances.

Shoving the last of the fungus he had managed to collect into the bag he’d been given to store it, he turned to start making the journey back to Red. It should be a shorter walk getting back to his landing site, in terms of time, since he didn’t have to collect anything on the return journey and he’d already broken through the spots where icicles had been thick enough to block his path. Still, despite those advantages, the return trip was slowly revealing itself to be more difficult than he would have liked.

For one thing, it was a lot harder to trudge across the ice while shivering, and that shaking worsened the longer Keith was out in the cold. The boots of his armor gave him some traction, but not enough to always keep him from slipping in places where there was no rock wall or frozen shrub to hang onto for support. More than once he lost his footing and wound up gracelessly splayed across the ice, and each time he dreaded the bruises he was likely gaining from the impacts. During one fall, a slip over the edge of a path and down a good ten feet only to land on his rear, he was certain he heard his loinguard crack – he could feel a particularly biting cold sneaking into that spot as he went on, which he tried his damnedest to ignore.

His helmet, too, was causing him trouble. His breathing, which grew steadily heavier the longer he walked, would fog up the visor with every exhale. It wasn’t completely impossible to see through – the material wasn’t quite glass, and didn’t fog up quite so badly as, say, a window or pair of glasses on Earth would – but he still had to squint through the blur enough to give him a hell of a headache to avoid walking into ice pillars or off of cliffs. He debated simply removing the helmet altogether, but exposing his bare face to the cold didn’t seem like a good idea.

So instead, he powered through, tripping and sliding across rocks and ice. His movements slowed as he grew steadily more numb, not to mention more exhausted by the minute. What he wouldn’t give right now to be back in his room on the Castle of Lions, wrapped up in as many blankets as he could find. Maybe with some of Hunk’s hot cocoa or Shiro’s tea. Not Pidge’s coffee; it was hot, sure, but it was as bitter as Lance after losing a round of sparring during training.

Heh. That was a good one. He’d have to remember it, find some point where it would be natural to use it. Lance always claimed that he had no sense of humor whatsoever, but Hunk actually said that Keith was getting better at –

In his distraction, Keith didn’t notice the thick crack in the ice in front of him until the toe of his boot was already in it, and he was sent sprawling to the ground, his vision whiting out for a flash when he landed on his chin and his jaw was knocked together.

He let out a groan and slowly rolled onto his side, curling inward. He needed to get up, keep walking, get back to Red. But God, getting up was so hard. His muscles were stiff as he could ever remember them being, his hands and feet throbbed. On a whim he tried to curl his fingers – he had no idea whether or not he succeeded, which was concering on its own.

The Garrison had covered first aid pretty extensively, and definitely had at least touched on what to do in extreme cold, considering the low temperatures that could be reached even within their own solar system, but admittedly, first aid hadn’t really been his forte. Especially not first aid related to cold. He was much more accustomed, after all, to weather that was too hot than weather that was too cold. If Telrov was a desert instead of a tundra, he’d surely be having no trouble at all. He knew what to do about overheating, and what signs to look out for.

And he knew that fatigue was a danger sign of heat exhaustion. If freezing was anything like heatstroke, his current sleepiness was probably a bad omen.

The shivering had stopped too, he noticed as he fought to keep his eyes open. Shivering was likely the cold equivalent to sweating. Another bad sign, but he found that he wasn’t quite as concerned as he was a little while ago. He was just too sleepy to be concerned.

He had never noticed before just how pillow-like permafrost was…

His oncoming sleep was interrupted suddenly, with a low, rumbling noise. Not from the world around him – Keith hadn’t encountered a single animal so far on Telrov, and it was unlikely there were any nearby that had managed to hide from him, at least none big enough to let out that low a growl – but seemingly from inside his head, echoing in his ears and worsening his headache.

I’m fine, he thought back to Red. Not because he was, but because that was his automatic, knee-jerk response whenever anyone was concerned enough about his wellbeing to actively check in on him, which the Red Lion usually only did in the direst of circumstances. When he’d spent hours getting beaten up by Blade agents, for example, or when he threw himself out of the airlock of a Galra ship and into the void of space.

He knew, on some level, that he wasn’t, in fact, fine. But at the moment, he couldn’t quite recall what exactly was wrong, besides just being very tired. So he didn’t bother answering any further.

Another growl in his head followed, this one laced with skepticism. It was a weird sensation, having a giant robotic lion inside his brain. Almost humorous. Keith didn’t have the energy to laugh right now, but if he did, he would have.

Red reached out again, this time sending a mental image his way. Well, more a mental sensation than an image. A feeling of icy, sharp and wet and seeping through his skin as if frost were expanding from the inside out and melting into slush to drip off of his fingertips. A sort of questioning lilt at the end.

Cold. Something about cold.

…Are you cold, Red? Keith thought at her.

The frustrated growl that she returned seemed to be as close as a lion could ever get to saying ‘You are an idiot’ in plain English. Rude.

He tried to think of some retort, glad that he could express it telepathically rather than speaking it aloud since he was pretty sure his teeth were frozen together, but before he could come up with anything at all coherent, another sensation was sent his way. At the edges of his mind, he could see the flickering of flames. Not much – the last embers of a fire in a fireplace that hadn’t been properly stoked, but that was still fighting for life.

And just as he saw it in his mind’s eye, he felt it. Sometimes in the heat of battle, Red would send him fire. A heat that would act like a sort of fuel, pumping throughout his body like blood and granting him a boost of adrenaline that could make him feel faster and stronger than he had ever been in his pre-paladin life.

Now, she was giving him that fire again, but it was different this time. It wasn’t a sharp and focused flame propelling him into action. Instead this fire was softer, more diffuse. Spreading slowly from his chest, moving more like water than like fire. Gradually melting the frost in his veins. Warming, but not burning.

Keith shivered, noticing once again how cold the world outside was compared to his insides, but that noticing came as a relief. The aches were returning – he wasn’t numb. As his blood started flowing again, he grimaced at the throbbing sensation that began in his fingers and toes, the skin stinging bitterly where it touched against the fabric of his gloves and socks, circling the silicone of the black and white rings on his middle fingers, always tucked into the safety and privacy of his gloves. He hoped it wasn’t frostbite. He didn’t doubt that a trip to the cryopod could fix it if it was, but he dreaded the way his hands and feet looked right now if they were frostbitten.

Red huffed in his mind, warm breath seeming to hit his face as the sound seeped into his ears. He curled in on himself further before blinking his eyes open, relieved to find that they were no longer stinging from the piercing cold. For several ticks, all he saw was gray, the gray of the sky fogged up by the paler gray of his breath against the helmet’s visor. Even as he watched, though, the fog was clearing, thick water droplets cutting through like rain as he warmed.

And minutes later, the world beyond the visor wasn’t gray anymore. In an instant the cloudy gray was replaced by a mass of red and white, and he found himself staring up at the Red Lion floating above him.

She let out a sound halfway between a growl and a purr, and although the Lions of Voltron had fixed, robotic faces that couldn’t show expression, Keith could swear she was looking at him with that sort of fond exasperation that a parent would give to a kid who had wandered away and later been found. The look his dad had given him as a kid when they’d lost track of each other at a zoo and security had found him trying to figure out how to climb into the hippopotamus exhibit before dragging him to the information booth and reuniting them.

A look that said, “You just did something very stupid, but I’m just glad you’re safe.”

Her mouth was agape, waiting. Not scooping him up on her own, just certain he would climb into her on his own. Keith took a deep breath before finally beginning the arduous struggle to his feet.

It took several attempts to get upright, but once he was standing on trembling legs, the ramp descended from Red’s mouth, and Keith’s hauled himself up it, against all odds making it into the cockpit without falling. Once there, he collapsed instantly into the pilot’s seat. He had never before fully appreciated just how soft the cushioning of the chair was, or how pleasant and soothing the hum of the engine, or just how cozy and warm the entire interior. Never again would he take it for granted.

One more sensation sent his way from Red, a softness added to the weight of his armor and his clinging undersuit, making them feel just a hint more like a blanket. Then she sent one more mental nudge, this one questioning.

“Yeah, Red,” Keith said softly. “That’s better. Thank you.”

With a final purr of approval, and apparently having decided Keith was too busy getting cozy and warm to pilot her himself, Red took to the air, leaving the ice behind.

#whumpmasinjuly #badthingshappenbingo #keith #red lion #vldgen #my writing #fic: it's cold out here

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littlemisslipbalm · 4 years

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“You get me” Pt. 2 -- aka “I got you” (famous!y/n x harry)

Harry x famous!y/n - FLUFF pretty much

ahh you all are so kind and literally you all mean so much for liking, reblogging, and commenting! Means the world to me! NOT PROOFREAD

also if anyone wants to let me know how to properly do a tag list ?? as of now I have a couple people on the tag list so yah but if it grows i might need some tips

Taglist: @marauderswhisperer, @morgannope, @daddystevee

Now for Pt. 2 - feedback super welcome, maybe we’ll have a part 3 and please no stealing of the work :)

Dedicated to all the peeps out there who find themselves constantly in line with Harry and his vibes but feel weird agreeing with him constantly because people think you’re only that way because you’re in love with him

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: kissin’ and stuff, nothing graphic

Pt. 1

“Am I right? I- I could be wrong” you rushed.

“No, no, I got you, don’t worry...I got you” his eyes outshown his smiling lips but nonetheless he reassured you.

It’s seldom that one person meets someone so perfectly matched to themselves. So similar yet not annoyingly so. Two pieces of clothing from the same custom collection, perhaps. You couldn’t believe you’d spent almost seven hours just talking with Harry. Your conversations ranged from silly situations to music inspiration to any dreams you had unfulfilled. Your answers always lined up - not the same, but exceptionally similar and the other was always quick to say “wait, me too” and jump into their own story.

It was the next morning after hanging out at Harry’s and you’d had trouble sleeping, worrying about not having your phone with you. Luckily, that meant your body was quick to wake you up in the morning even without your usual alarm. When you woke up, you quickly dressed in sweats and a tank top, shuffled some shoes on, and freshened yourself up with some quick hygiene care - teethbrushing, facewashing, and the likes. Then, you jogged to your car, anxious to reunite with your phone and the prospect of seeing Harry again so soon moved your legs far quicker than normal. You had figured you wouldn’t see him very often, despite the amazing friendship the two of you had already cultivated, he lived in England mainly and you lived in the United States - California specifically, the furthest you could get from the Harry within the continental United States, sadly. This mistake gave you the chance to see him much sooner than expected and you were very grateful for it.

As you drove out to Malibu, you kept the windows down and your sun roof open. It was a lovely day and you could never get enough of the warm wind whipping around you as you belted out the lyrics to the old rock radio songs. When you sensed you were getting closer to Harry’s you felt yourself begin to tingle, your nerves were gone this time, only excitement filled you as you took in the now familiar surroundings. Harry’s home was set further back from the street so that random pedestrians and street noises never reached the house. You noticed more and appreciated the total beauty of the grounds while you walked up to the house this time, the daytime sun and the lack of nerves both allowing you to soak it all it.

Your actions mirrored those of the previous night, just in a slight fast forward - everything moving faster. You had began to worry slightly though, ‘what if he is upset that I woke him up, what if he is out and I can’t get my phone, what if he has early morning company?’. Still you proceeded to knock and hoped to hear Harry’s footsteps any moment. Thankfully, your ears were greeted with the sound of rustling and soft, slow steps behind the door. You then heard the deadbolt turn and again Harry was before you. His hair fell into his sleepy spectacle-clad eyes, barely open, but he had raised a hand to rub out the sleep from one of them as he opened the door, skewing his glasses. You took in his disheveled appearance, you had obviously woken him, his sweatpants hung low on his hips and he had a hoodie on that was askew, showing a hint of his tanned olive skin - a corner of one of his laurels if you were being honest but you forced yourself to believe it was just a shadow. His feet were bare and you noticed his toenails were painted electric purple and a deep green.

“Hi,” you squeaked, biting your lip. Harry blinked hard and opened his eyes and raised his brows, just trying to wake himself up, but also slightly confused to see you at his doorstep. He had texted you last night, asking if you’d made it home safely, but had never heard back. He hadn’t worried, just assumed you weren’t always on your phone. His was a light sleeper and had heard the knock on the door echo through the house, so he slipped on a hoodie and went to see who it was, when it was you it was definitely surprising. Your presence was shining through his stupor, a small smile graced your face, but it radiated light as strong as the sun.

“Y/N... s’lovely t’see you again, but why’re you ‘ere, love?” He almost whispered your name, his voice catching in his throat due to the lack of use during his slumber. He quickly cleared his throat to get rid of the rasp and groggy sound he heard emit from his own voice. Your smile grew at the sound of his melodic voice, how he pronounced your name - like it was something fragile and needed great care, how it was rough from sleep, but it mostly grew from his use of love, so common for him, yet it felt so special for you. “I left my phone here last night, actually. Sorry for barging in, and, uh, waking you up, I’m assuming,” you said as you took in his appearance once again. He nodded and mustered enough strength to chuckle.

“When’d you realize you’d left it?” Harry asked as he let you in, as he swung the door open, he hung onto it, to keep him upright. “Oh! Right when I got home, of course!” you started as you began to talk with your hands again. You walked ahead of the slower Harry, through the house, back to the sitting room where the two of you had entertained yourselves last night with each other’s company. “Barely could sleep at all, was so worried you’d have jetted off again already and I’d have to figure out how to break in and heist it out of here.” More laughter. Being around you like this was like a shot of espresso straight to Harry’s veins. He perked up at the sound of your sweet voice and your accompanying hands. He noticed they were void of your rings this morning, he guessed you took them off to sleep and forgotten them this morning, due to the rush.

He pushed his hair out of his face with both hands and huffed out a breath as you looked around the room. “Where could it be?” you asked slightly desperate, more to yourself than to Harry. He suggested the couch, walked over, and began to take the leather cushions off. You sighed and began to help Harry with his search of the couch. The last cushion to be removed from the couch uncovered your abandoned phone. “Finally!” you both exclaimed. Then, you looked around, “We made a mess...shit, I’m so sorry, Harry.” “Don’t, don’t be silly, its an easy fix, and y’needed your phone, c’mon Y/N.” He was quick to discourage your apology, despite your surroundings looking like someone had ransacked his room. All the cushions were discarded haphazardly, some blankets had fallen to the ground, and magazines were strewn across the coffee table and the floor.

“Well I’m not leaving you here to clean up a mess I caused,” you stated matter of factly, quickly beginning to repiece the room. Harry threw on a couple of the cushions then said, “S’alright, really, but if y’insist...I’ll start a pot of coffee. Do you?..” he trailed off, but you understood his question. It was kind of him to offer, but you assumed it was more for himself than you. “Nah, I don’t love coffee, sorry, now tea, that’s another story, but I’m fine really.” Harry glanced over to you and there was that smile again. It’s like it lived full time on your face, Harry thought, no wonder you’d already seen such success, not only were you technically a good musician, you were also a good person. He quickly nodded with a breathy laugh. You two went about your self-given tasks, cleaning and “cooking”. Neither of you spoke much as you worked, but you glanced up when you heard Harry begin to play some song from his phone after he had set up the coffee pot. The moment was domestic and tranquil, like the two of you tidy the house and make coffee every morning together.

A whistling sound cut through the soft moment just as you were grabbing the final magazines from the ground. “I thought you said--” Harry cut you off before you could finish, “I made both, love. Any preference for your tea?” You moved into the kitchen and leaned against the bar top, amazed by the man before you. He’d gotten down two mugs, gotten out an assortment of tea, put on the kettle and the coffee pot, making you what you preferred despite your claim to be fine with nothing. He held the two mugs out to you, “Which?” he questioned moving them back and forth from his chest encouraging you to choose, raising his brows for added effect. One was a wide and short ceramic speckled mug with a line painted fish. The other was a taller cream ceramic mug with a shiny red interior with a colorful scene of a town around the outside, the sun was shining in the little town. You crossed the kitchen to him and placed both hands on the red town mug, encircling the little people and houses smiling up at the two of you.

“Good choice, very treat people with kindness of you.” Harry smiled down at you. Whenever you were in closer proximity to him, his body so obviously towered compared to yours. It would seem intimidating, but really just felt comforting, safe. This moment far tenser than any previous moments that morning. He stared into your eyes and you returned the gaze. His hands still holding the mug you had chosen, you felt the heat radiating off of him and warming up your cheeks. There and then it was gone, you turned from him and went to the stove where the kettle sat. You filled your mug with the boiling water and fished a packet of some pink floral Parisian tea you saw and dropped it in the mug. Again you turned and leaned on the counter. Harry had poured his coffee and was opposite you, leant against the counter as well. Like a silent conversation had gone on between the two of you, Harry said, “Creamer’s in the fridge.” You nodded and went and grabbed it. You scurried back to your place against the counter. Harry set his mug down and crossed the short distance between you. His movement was so sudden and disturbed the peacefulness occurring in the kitchen, the synchronous movements between you two. You tensed and your heart began to race when he didn’t stop moving closer. His body was almost against yours when his left arm reached above and past your shoulder, opening th cupboard, and taking out a box of brown sugar cubes. Slowly, he moved the package between the two of you, either side resting on parts of both of your bodies. His warm coffee saturated breath fanned your face.The smell was warm and all consuming when it mixed with the scent of just Harry, probably a combination of shampoo, laundry detergent, and sweat. “Sugar’s right ‘ere,” he spoke just for you, lingering in the bubble your proximity had created. He couldn’t pull away and neither could you. But you had to. You nodded and took the box of sugar cubes, plopping a few in your tea. With that, Harry huffed an inaudible sigh and grabbed his coffee.

Happy witht the taste of your drink, Harry and you journeyed back to the couch where you been last night. Careful to set your phone in eyeline, you got comfortable, tucking your legs under you on the couch, leaning back and gazing at Harry. Comfortable silence fell between you, but again it was like the two of you were communicating in someway that didn’t require words. You noticed you were situated closer to Harry on the couch than you had been last night. Maybe you were less careful or maybe Harry had chosen to scoot closer to you as well. “So, I’ve been thinking, I know we like literally just met, but I’m just so in awe of how well we get along, Harry. Honestly, when I was little I was a huge fan and when you said you wanted to meet to discuss my work I was on a new level of existence, seriously,” you stated, “Hey! Don’t laugh, I’m being for real,” you feigned hurt when Harry giggled from your word choice. “Anyways,” you emphasized and playfully gave a pointed look towards Harry’s shaking body. “You’re like image in my head that I never thought was attainable and now...feels like we’ve been friends for ages,” you finish softly. You weren’t exactly sure why you were sharing this thought with Harry, but the moment in the kitchen had set your heart beating. You had to say something to try and explain how you were feeling. Harry had grown silent again as you had pressed forward. His brows had slightly furrowed as he had watched you speak. You sensed you’d messed everything up, you believed the silence was a sign of your overstep. You both seemed always to be on the same page and now you’d jumped chapters and Harry was still behind. Learning a spoiler can always be upsetting, sometimes even ruinous.

Shit, you thought. “Am I right? I- I could be wrong” you rushed to add, hoping to salvage any work relationship possible after crashing and burning so hard with this presumptuous statement. “No, no, I got you, don’t worry...I got you” his eyes outshown his smiling lips, but, nonetheless, he reassured you. He reached out and cradled your exposed shoulder, his thumb brushing up and down. “I feel it too…s’a bit weird, innit?” Harry kept smiling and you had to smile too. His lips were perfect, you noticed, shape and color. Every feature of him was like that, perfect shape, perfect composition. In your heart, you felt the words of a song beginning to piece itself together just from his face. You wanted to explore its every nook and cranny, the slope of his nose, the peaks of his cheeks, the sleek lines of his jaw, the depressions under his eyes, all of it. You didn’t want to leave a single piece of flesh untouched. It stayed silent and you noticed Harry had leaned in to hold your shoulder and you shifted comfortably towards him in return. And you were about to reach out and touch want you wanted so badly, your faces closer than ever before, when a doorbell rang throughout the home.

Harry twitched his hand away from your shoulder and pulled back from your face exploration activity, throwing his head back on his neck in some sort of disappointment. You were in disbelief, pulled from the trance that was Harry’s beautiful skin, ‘I didn’t know there was even a fucking doorbell here’. “‘S one momen’,” Harry grumbled, running through the house to the front door. You took a deep breath, trying to cool yourself off from what you were pretty sure was just about to happen. You grabbed your mug and took a sip. You strained your ear to hear anything at the front door, but it was all completely muffled, but the conversation seemed to be coming to an end after a couple minutes. You looked inquisitively at Harry when he returned, he waved you off. “Unimportant...what were we doing?” Harry said as he regained his position beside you. “You were about to kiss me,” you replied, taking the arm underneath your resting head and grabbing at his hand. You intertwined your hands as you had last night, when you first noticed that Harry was being vulnerable with you and getting to actually know you. Harry was caught off guard at your forwardness in the moment, but melted at the sight of this confident and caring woman in front of him. You had been so true to yourself on your album he realized after your first conversation last night. You were beautiful inside and out. He looked down at your hand in his, “No rings today…” “I forgot them...had to get over here.” “Were you excited t’see me again?” Harry questioned somewhat out of the blue. “Of course. What about when I showed up at your doorstep?” It was fine Harry hadn’t really addressed your kiss comment, you were so comfortable with him, it didn’t bother you. “I’d ‘ave thrown anyone else out after they’d found their phone if they’d been the one t’wake me up this morning.” He raised his free hand up to your hair now and ran it through until he cupped your ear, then he ran his hand down your jaw and up onto your cheek, his hand cradling your delicate face. “Can I?” He looked into your eyes intently.You bit your lip and leaned forward into Harry. Your lips connected and the kiss was so tender and filled with mutual respect and care, passion just below that surface of soft kindheartedness. Your plush lips pushed against Harry’s and the two of you moved in unison. Soft touches and faint whispers.

The chaste kiss began to turn when you pushed Harry further into the couch and crawled into his lap, your legs seated on either side of his sweatpant clad leg. One of your hands held his jaw in a strong yet loving grasp, while the other was tangled in his hair massaging his scalp. You arched your back as Harry ran his fingers down the back of your spine to land on the side of your hip, his other hand on your neck. His tongue pushed into your open mouth and you made a noise of appreciation and your tongues danced in each other’s mouths. His touch was liquid fire on your skin, seemingly harmless yet burning you everywhere he felt. His hands traveled to the bottom of your ass, slowly sliding over its entirety and squeezing at the bottom. You squealed and Harry grinned, “Easy.” You couldn’t help it, your clothed core was pressed against his toned thigh, his hands were on your ass pushing you down and to top it all off, he was an amazing kisser. He kissed your lips one more time before moving to the corner of them, then your jaw, and finally your neck. He left open mouth kisses on your neck, soft and tender. He was slowing down, taking more time to run his tongue over your neck, massaging it in a way. This was just as amazing as the rougher makeout session that had just occurred. You resumed massaging his scalp and brushing through his curls. Then, you ran your hands down to his broad shoulds beneath his sweatshirt. You drew patterns over his skin and he hummed. “Mm I’like tha,” he whispered into your skin and looked up at you.

You both wore matching smiles, basking in the warmth the two of you had just created. You dropped your head into the crook of Harry’s collarbone beneath his neck, “We should do that again.” “We should definitely do that again, Y/N,” Harry responded emphatically, giving your bum a final squeeze before moving his hands to encircle your waist. You two sat there silently for awhile and then changed to a better cuddling position where you could both still drink from your mugs. You discussed your upcoming schedule, press, time off, and upcoming tour dates. Harry would be in town for a couple more weeks, but was going back to London afterwards. “You should come visit me when you’re on break before tour. We can go out and do somethin’. Tha’d be fun.” You agreed that it sounded fun and that you two should schedule something when it was closer. Harry was largely free during the time that you were on tour. “I dont wan’t to be presumptuous, but… if you wanted, you could come visit me while I’m on tour, we could explore when I’m on my Europe leg?” you said hesitantly. It was Harry’s turn to agree, “Sounds like a great idea, love,” he ran his fingertips up and down your arm idly. You continued to plan the future, nothing had to be defined, it was clear the two of you loved to spend time together, everything just seemed to flow when you were together. Everyone and everything else could fade into the background, as long as you had each other, you were pretty sure you’d be alright.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, breaking some silence that had settled over your cuddled figures. “What for?” Harry looked down at you in his arms. “For getting me,” you smiled for the thousandth time that day. You were sure you’d grow extra smile lines if you continued seeing Harry so constantly like this. Harry returned it and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, “I got you.”

Pt.3 🥺

#harry styles #you get me #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfic #mine #my writing #not my gif #love you h #hope you all enjoy #PART 2!#famous!y/n #famous!reader #my writings

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imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl · 3 years

Text

White Lies (Pt. 06 of 21)

Pairing: Keanu Reeves X Reader

Word count: 2.2 K

Summary: Keanu found the girl almost dead, in the wrecks of what was once her car. While she was in surgery, stuck in a coma, he gathered the best doctors of New York to attend to her. They told him she is likely to have some kind of brain damage, what may lead to memory loss. And this possibility added up wit the fact that she's pregnant, made the council come up with an odd idea. They asked Keanu to pretend to be her husband, since the stress of finding out everything that happened could put the baby in danger. He reluctantly agreed, but only if she does has some kind of memory loss. He still goes she'll wake up soon, with her memories intact.

But when you finally wake up, there's nothing inside. You're quick to find your head is empty, void, like a blank canvas. The only thing that brings you some relief, that makes you feel less lonely is the mention of a husband. And you can't wait to meet him, because you know you can't deal with this by yourself.

<- Previous part (05)

Next part (07) ->

{Keanu Reeves Masterlist}

{John Wick Masterlist}

Being Held

“I don't care what you think, you'll do what's best for (Y/N).” Keanu didn't want to be this rude with Mrs. Davis, but she's giving him a hard time. The doctors have already spoken to her and she agreed on not telling (Y/N) the truth since her health and the baby's depend on it. But still, seating on the first floor's balcony, as (Y/N) showers and changes after the morning walk, Lucia doesn't seem very happy about it.

“Of course not, Mr. Reeves. Or whatever you fancy people rather be called. But this isn't fair, and it isn't right. Do you plan to have this going on for how long?” She raises her voice, what makes Keanu's heart skips a beat. He looks over his shoulder, just to make sure (Y/N) isn't anywhere near. “My son is dead, but this is his child. You can't steal it from him.”

“Everything I'm doing is to keep her healthy.” He whisper-yells, both hands resting on the circular wooden table as he stands up, bending forward, trying to look as intimidating as he can. He doesn't give a damn if Lucia is her mother-in-law and the child's grandmother, he won't let her do anything that may put (Y/N) or the baby in danger. “You weren't here. You didn't see how desperate and lost she was, but I did. Breaking the news to her may lead to a miscarriage. Is this what you want? To lose your grandchild?” He spits the words out, tired of this stupid conversation. This woman is an idiot, he thinks, because he knows she had a meeting with both Dr. Wright and Dr. Harris about (Y/N)'s situation. But Keanu's last words make the woman sink a little, eyes softening, but he can still see some anger. Lucia Davis doesn't like him, that much is clear. “I'm not trying to steal anything from your late son, I'm just–”

“Keanu?” Her soft, low voice calls from the inside, cutting his words short. He takes a deep breath before turning around, watching as she shyly walks to the balcony, curious eyes already looking for Mrs. Davis, and she stops when her eyes find her. “Hi.”

“(Y/N), this is Lucia Davis. Your mother's friend.” He says, reaching out his hands, which she quickly takes, moving to stand next to him. “You were somewhat close.”

With a hand on the small of her back, Keanu listens to the small greetings, thinking if he should go away now, unsure if it's safe to let Lucia alone with (Y/N). But he quickly remembers that the first floor bathroom is close by, with high windows that will allow the conversation to reach his ears. He doesn't want to spy on them, but this is (Y/N)'s health, and he'll do whatever is necessary.

“I'll take a shower.” He tells her in a low voice, offering a small smile when she nods. Placing a kiss on her forehead, Keanu touches her belly gently, at the same time shooting a hard glance at Mrs. Davis. It's a warning, a reminder of what's at risk of she opens her mouth. Then, he leaves, heading to the bathroom after quickly grabbing some clothes, the low voices successfully making their way inside the bathroom.

You're bouncing your leg lightly, wondering how long Keanu will take. This woman is weird, she hasn't stopped asking about your husband, if he's taking good care of you. At first, you thought she was a fan, but now... There's anger in her eyes, like she's pissed off. Ten minutes into the conversation and you want Lucia to go already.

“Has he ever tried to... Force you?” She asks, leaning forward on the table, across from you.

“What do you mean?” Sighing, you play with a strand of hair, twisting it around your finger.

“Has Keanu tried to get intimate with you?” Lucia speaks faster now, grabbing your hand over the table. “Because that's not ok. Even if... Even if you're married–” She spits the last word as if it's something disgusting. “–you don't remember him, so he can't force you to do anything. Don't let him trick you into it.”

“Mrs. Davis, Keanu has been amazing.” You repeat, the conversation draining your strength. “He hasn't forced me into anything. I'm still sleeping in the guest room and so it'll be as long as I want. He's giving me all the space and time I'll need to get things together.” You really hope she can't see you blushing, because there's heat spreading through your face. You haven't thought about any on this yet, and you do hope it won't get into your head. “I assure you everything is great. He's taking good care of me.”

She sighs, shaking her head slightly. “If he ever does anything you're not comfortable with, you call me and I'll take you with me to Argentina.”

A laugh escapes your lips because you can't believe your ears. “I'm not going to leave my husband.” You tell her, crossing your arms over your chest. “I'm completely fine, you don't have to worry about me.” The headache that had just vanished is starting to come back, and you begin rubbing your temples.

“I'm just–”

“Headache?” Keanu speaks suddenly, startling you a little just before you're filled with relief.

“Yeah.” He knows you well. “I think I'll take another pill and get some rest.” Hoping Lucia will get the hint, you stand up, taking Keanu's hand.

“Mrs. Davis, I'm sorry, but I think you should go now. The doctor's said (Y/N) has to rest whenever the headaches get bad.” He says, and you nod, giving the woman a small smile and a wave before heading inside.

That was beyond awkward, and you don't think you'll want to meet with her anytime soon. Making your way to the bedroom, you sit on the bed, back resting on the headrest. It's terribly hot in here, and you jump back to your feet just to push the two windows open before going back to bed. You were expecting Keanu to come to check on you, but long fifteen minutes or so pass by before you listen to his heavy footsteps, and then it doesn't take much until he's opening your door. You're fanning yourself with your hands, the wind coming in not enough to push the heat away.

“I didn't like her.” It's the first thing you say. “And she doesn't like you one bit.”

“I noticed.” Keanu sits next to you, furrowing his eyebrows. “It's probably the age thing.”

“What age thing?” As you speak, you get irritated, pulling your hair off of your shoulders and pinning it above your head with both hands. “Damn it, why am I so hot?”

For some reason, it amuses Keanu, who smiles. “It's called a hot flash.” You were just about to snap at his smirk, but when he leans forward and blows on your neck, the fresh sensation makes you close your eyes and relax just a little bit.

“That's so good.” You mutter, closing your eyes. Then, an idea flashes through your head. “Oh! Go get some ice cubes.”

“Ice cubes?” He asks, quite uncertain.

“Yeah. I had an idea.” Playfully, you give his leg a light kick, smiling when he gives in and stands up.

A couple of minutes later your husband is back with a glass bowl full of ice. You're still fanning yourself and the moment he sits on the bed, you take two cubes, one in each hand, placing them on your neck. “Damn, this is good.” Giggling, you close your eyes to take in the cool sensation against your burning skin. “Help me out.” You ask him, eyes opening again to give him a look. “If you want of course.”

He hesitates a little, eyes lingering on you before he takes an ice cube too. “Where?”

“Uhm...” Thinking for a while, you sigh. “Here on my chest.” Pinching his eyebrows together, he hesitates again. “C'mon, I'm burning up.” With your hands slightly wet from the melting ice, you put the thin straps of your shirt down your shoulders a little. A smile comes to your lips when he finally gives in, softly brushing the cube on your skin, bellow the collarbones. “Thanks.” You mutter, feeling as the heat slowly starts to fade. “What was that you said before? The age thing?”

Keanu sighs, eyes on his current task as you run the cubes through your neck. “Some people are very judgmental about the age difference between us.” He starts, and you're sure he gets a little sad. “It got me thinking too, of course. You definitely should be with someone your age so–”

“Yeah, but here we are.” Deciding to cut him off, you stare at him even though he won't look at you. “I can't speak for myself before, but whoever I was, I married you. So it's probably everything you gotta know about it. And now...” Maybe you shouldn't say it, but you know it's true. And when his eyes meet yours, filled with doubt, and something you've never seen before, you know you have to say it. Keanu needs to know where you stand now because this is like a forced restart. “...I find it really hot.” Muttering, you feel a different kind of heat spreading through your body.

Keanu's lips break into a smile, and a soft giggle reaches your ears. You absolutely love the sound, it makes you want to kiss him. Wait, what? You knew that what Lucia said would somehow get into your head, but you never thought it would be that fast.

“You know what else is hot?” Keanu asks as you pull the ice cubes away, throwing them back in the bowl Keanu placed on the nightstand.

“What?” You inquire, wondering if there's a joke coming your way.

“This,” Keanu answers, tilting his chin slightly, pointing out at you. Now your burning again, cheeks red for sure, looking away from him.

“Don't tease the pregnant woman, Keanu.” You warn him, voice suddenly and unexpectedly weak. “Lucia also said that she'd take me to Argentina with her. As if.” You didn't want to bring her back into the conversation, but you're willing to talk about anything else, eager to calm yourself down and get rid of the thoughts of kissing Keanu.

“If you want to go, you know I won't stop you, right?” He puts the ice cube away, and you sigh, turning your attention back at him. “I'm sure she'd take good care of you.”

“I doubt that. She'd never rub ice cubs on me.” Taking his hand, you give it a little squeeze. “I'm happy, Ke. Living here with you is great. There's a lot to get used to and a lot of things to work on but... This is good. I feel good and safe with you around.”

The smile he has on it's amazing, beautiful. It's the most beautiful smile you've ever seen. “This makes me happy too.” He mutters, bringing his free hand to caress your cheek.

“So don't worry. As if I was going to leave the father of my child behind.” Changing to a joking tone, you place his hand on your belly. “I don't even speak Spanish.”

He giggles again, but soon enough Keanu gets all serious. “You have no idea how much it means to me that... That you're feeling fine. Happy...”

It's true that sometimes you even forget about the accident. It never lasts for more than a couple of minutes, but it means that you can move on from it. But you don't think the same happens with Keanu. You feel like the accident is everything he thinks about, and you hope that taking care of you isn't overwhelming to him. You wish there was something you could do to ease his burden.

“Ke, I... I really want us to work out. If I remember or if I don't, I want things to be completely, one hundred percent fine here.” Moving to sit on your legs, standing closer to him, you touch both his shoulders. “You worry too much. And I get it. My body is still recovering, and there's the baby too, but... I don't want it to become too much and... Ruin things.”

“You're not ruining anything, beautiful, I promise.” With his index finger under your chin, Keanu makes you look into his eyes. “I'm doing this because I love you. I worry because I love you. And nothing will change that. It's not too much, I can do this.”

“Alright, but... Share things with me, you know. Let me help as much as I can being... Well... Like this.” There's a lump in your throat, and you feel tears starting to form in your eyes.

“Hey, don't cry. Come here” Keanu gently pulls you into his arms, and you don't even try to fight it. You had planned this, you decided to fall for him again, but you didn't know your feelings would start to grow by themselves, without you having to force them. You want him, you want to be in his arms, so you don't think much before placing your legs over his, allowing him to hold you. This is everything you need right now, everything you want, to be held by him.

@multific @inumorph @aestheticallywinchester @bvbwestfall @liviiii98 @allie1804-fan @gian-giannina @playboygeniusphilanthropist @partypoison00 @mariafetamina @fortheloveoffanfic @trin303

#keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves imagine #keanu reeves fanfiction #keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves #imagine keanu reeves #john wick #john wick imagine #john wick fanfiction

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subtlereferencetomyinterests · 4 years

Text

Sharp Spikes and Glamour - Fusion AU

Ao3, MasterPost, More of This AU

Relationships: Romantic Dukeceit, mentioned Romantic Royality and Analogical.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of sex/sexual innuendo, violence against inanimate objects, mentions of injury- for perspective this is Remus-centric, and he’s just like that. Also mild arguing, some self-deprecating thoughts. The Dukeceit fusion uses it/its pronouns (as do I, so no clowning).

Word Count: 3,992

Remus let himself fall backwards onto the hardwood floor, huffing. A satisfying thump echoed through the empty room, but the dull pain at the base of his skull stopped him from slamming his head down again. If Remus kept tripping over himself when his body was in top condition, he probably wouldn’t do any better with a cracked open skull and shattered vertebrae all the way down his back (however fun that might be).

Schmaltzy music lingered in the room still, and with a snap Remus willed it into silence. Now, Remus hated silence, but in that moment it felt like a blessed mercy in the wake of fucking classical fucking ‘music’. He laid flat on the floor, enjoying the quiet and wallowing in his aching muscles. As disgusted as he was by the orchestral garbage, he liked the dancing that went along with it even less- maybe for the simple fact that he was so very bad at it.

So, the big question was why he was doing this to himself. Why had he gone through the trouble of making a dance studio in his side of the Mindpalace? Why the hell was he using it to learn waltzes, rather than his usual style of fast-paced and very suggestive movement?

The answer was simple enough: Janus.

Now, just a month ago, Remus could very confidently say that his and Janus’ relationship was perfect. And it still was, really, but back then he’d been safe in the knowledge that they were also as affectionate and intimate as they could be! Which is to say, very very intimate. Wink, wink, if you catch his meaning. That was the way he liked it; Remus didn’t want there to be a step he hadn’t taken in any situation, but especially a relationship like that!

But then, that month or so prior, a very weird and crazy and impossible and fucking awesome thing happened right in the middle of the goddamn living room, proving Remus unfortunately and/or fortunately wrong about his boyfriend. His brother and his best friend had fused. Like, actually, Roman and Patton had pulled some cartoon bullshit that none of them had ever known they could even do before!

Obviously Remus was floored; everything there was to know about his (and other people’s) physical forms, he knew it and he’d pushed it to the limit before! Except for now, with something he had somehow never found out about that his brother got to first. That was the kicker, that was what made it both shocking and anger-inducing.

There was no question. Remus was going to learn to do that.

So, here he was, trying to learn, but he was not good at like, actually dancing. Which would’ve been fine, if he was dating anyone other than Janus- the most elegant, classy, coordinated side of them all! And Remus knew, somewhere in his sick-and-twisted guts, that Janus deserved to have something special, something that wasn’t more fitting in a sleazy nightclub. He wanted to give him that, no matter how hard it was.

Which was much harder than he’d originally assumed, actually. Before Remus knew it, Virgil and Logan had also managed to form a fusion before he had even gotten the hang of a waltz. And those two hadn’t even danced to get it! Wasn’t that just cementing his confidence?

Remus shook his thoughts away with a frustrated growl. He sat up on his knees braced against the ground, scraping his talons down the shiny wooden floor of his horrible, horrible dance studio. He was gonna get this right, because if there was one thing he wasn’t, it was a fucking quitter.

Swinging up to his feet, Remus pushed his hair back from his face and fixed it into a tangled mass of ponytail. He brought his arms down, and then back up again, shaking them wildly. When he deemed that job done, he kicked his legs out in much the same way. Seeing as he was the embodiment of energy, he never managed to get rid of all of it, but the wiggling definitely helped his focus. With a huff of finality, Remus settled, stared at nothing, and snapped his fingers. Shitty ballroom music filled the room again, and it took all of Remus’ effort to count his steps instead of willfully vomiting onto the floor.

But he did restrain himself, he kept his focus for once and propped his arms up on the empty air. Under his hold, the very absence of material wavered, shaping itself into something like a person. And so he laid his hands on that, in relatively respectful places, and began to lead the mannequin around the room in choppy movements. It matched him beat for beat, but it could not offer its own, organic responses like an actual dancing partner might- and that was by design.

It was boring, that was the real problem. How was he supposed to get invested if it was the same four movements, over and over! Each new attempt, he got maybe five minutes in before the fatigue hit, the need to do anything more interesting. What was just a couple of twirls, maybe a dip? Janus would still probably appreciate those additions anyway!

None of the flair attempts went well. He stumbled, hit the wall, tripped, all of it. By the end of twenty minutes Remus was waving the mannequin out of existence, feeling frustration pricking the corners of his eyes. What was he thinking, he wasn’t Roman, this was so stupid!

Remus straightened up (ha, ha) and spun around. He made his way to the corner of the room, fell into a crouch, and sunk his claws into the edges of the glossy wooden floor. Splinters bit his fingers, but he barely noticed them as he began to peel back the panels. They came free in a series of crunches and snaps, spitting shards of wood out and revealing the void beneath the ground. Remus held the chunks of flooring, feeling sharp edges digging into his palms, and he shredded them to pieces. When they weren’t much bigger than pencils, he let them fall into the newly made hole. Once done, Remus set his hands on the new edge, and he did it again.

But, like almost everything he did, the destruction was loud. Shrieking, splitting, crunching kinds of loud. The kind of loud that didn’t go unnoticed.

And the mindscape was as infinitely big as it was claustrophobically small.

Within minutes there was a sharp knock against the doorframe. Remus jolted upright, spitting out the hunks of plank that had one way or another found their way to his mouth. As he turned, he grinned manically, tucking his hands behind his back.

Janus lifted a brow at him from across the room. The side stood with one hand propped on his hip, the other raised above his head so that he leaned on the doorway. His mouth was a thin, quietly concerned line, his eyes flicking around in tiny movements as he assessed the situation.

“This is quite unlike the other rooms you've created,” He observed, clicking the back of his heel on the floor. Remus turned his gaze to the wall just above Janus’ shoulder, discreetly picking the splinters from his hands. In all honesty, this situation wasn’t unexpected- Janus was known to wander around in Remus’ new creations, whenever he wanted to catch his attention- but Remus had been under the impression that when that happened, he wouldn’t be right in the middle of tearing it all down.

Which had clearly been a stupid assumption from the start, because he was. Himself.

“Hey, J.D.!” he chirped, scraping the last of the rubble from his fingertips, “Thought I might try out something new!”

Janus’ eyebrows arched up, a bemused smirk gracing his lips.

“An empty room?”

“Yeah, but obviously it got boring, so-” he gestured at the corner he’d torn into non-existence. “Time to get rid of it! It was probably a dumb idea, anyway.”

Even to his own ears, his cheery tone sounded forced. He threw in a gargled giggle to make up for it, but that came out even worse. Janus narrowed his eyes in that knowing way of his, then, and Remus knew he’d have to explain himself properly.

“Darling,” Janus slipped into the room with long strides, “What is so wrong that you’re using half-truths to talk to me?”

He wasn’t embarrassed that he’d been learning to dance- he was 99% sure he wasn’t able to feel shame (which was very sexy of him, in his opinion)- but he was upset that he was so disappointed at it.

He didn’t need anyone’s approval… but he certainly wanted Janus’.

“It doesn’t really matter,” Remus’ statement rang with honesty. He met Deceit in the middle of the room, his smile challenging, only to be met with calm and patience.

“I don’t care if it doesn’t ‘really’ matter. I just want to know why my partner was angrily devouring housing material in a brand-new corner of the mindscape.”

“It’s not that weird, I’ve eaten a lot worse than plywood!”

Janus huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You’re clearly frustrated.”

“I’m frustrated all the time,” Remus argued, “There are so many stupid things to be frustrated about, you know that. It’s a very easy feeling to have, you get it without even noticing! Like, if it were an injury, it’d be a papercut; everyone has a papercut somewhere on their body most of the time.”

“What?”

“It’s an analogy, I think!”

Janus gave a long-suffering sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. Remus felt a small bit of pride at how annoyed he looked, despite the uncomfortable situation he’d gotten himself into.

“Whatever, if you’re really doing so well I suppose I should spare my worry and save us both the headache.”

“Exactly! See, just because I’m feeling a bit manic-panic doesn’t mean it has anything to do with you, scaleface.”

And that was his mistake.

Janus stopped turning away as soon as he’d started, his mouth curving into a deep frown. He crossed his arms over his chest, and he almost seemed to be offended.

“You just lied.”

Remus, internally, screamed. He hadn’t even fuckin’ lied on purpose! That couldn’t be fair!

“So it is about me, then,” Janus went on slowly. “Are you angry with me?”

Remus blinked, falling untense oh-so quickly at what he now saw was Janus’ nervous face.

“Wha- no! That’s not what this is about!”

Janus only narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Remus grabbed the snake’s hands with his own scarred ones, pulling him near. He felt his hesitation leave as soon as it had arrived, replaced by his usual affinity for just spitting out whatever he had to say. It wouldn’t turn out any worse than having to see his baby hurt or worried.

“It was supposed to be a surprise. For you.”

The suspicion melted off of Janus' face in increments, leaving him with a confused little half-smile.

“For me?” He echoed, “What was it?’

Remus huffed, snapping his fingers. The lyricless music returned to the desecrated room, and he gestured around with both hands.

“It didn’t really work out the way I planned, so,” he rolled his eyes and huffed. “I was teaching myself to dance all proper.”

Remus could basically see Janus’ thinking, and for some reason it was grating him.

“You want to dance with me? Dear, you know you don’t need to give me traditional romantic gestures like that-”

“It was to fuse!” Remus blurted, “I wanted to fuse with you. Like, properly.”

Janus made a soft sound of realization, his eyes going wide. He was silent for a long moment, holding too-tight onto Remus’ hands. But he had yet to let go, which the creative trait counted as a good sign.

“Oh, Love,” he whispered at last, “You’re really serious.”

Remus would’ve winced, if not for the fact that Janus' face was split in a smile, open and sincere in a way that showed he'd really been caught off-guard. His face was warm, and he looked pleased for all the world. He wasn’t judgmental, then, only surprised.

“Um… yes? I wanna fuse with you?”

Janus shook his head musingly, laughing almost exasperatedly.

“No, no, I understood that bit, but-” he waved a hand at the barren room, smirk growing wider, “Ballroom dancing? You? Really?”

He had a point. The walls were a pristine white, shot through with neat marbled patterns. There were mirrors stretching the surface of either wall, reflecting onto each other with clean clarity. There was no clutter, no objects, nothing but the little box itself. And Remus felt no more frustration as he burst out laughing. He tipped his head back and cackled, tugging Janus’ arms until they were pressed together.

“I don’t know why I thought this would work!” He cackled.

“I never know why you think anything that you do,” Janus’s nose wrinkled as his own resolve cracked, leaving shrill giggling behind. Remus snorted, holding onto his partner just to keep himself upright.

“Sorry, Jay,” he almost wheezed, “There’s no way we’re gonna be able to fuse like this, I’m horrible at it.”

Janus’ giggles tapered to a stop sharply, turning to trills of confusion before cutting off completely. Remus met his eyes, and was surprised to find renewed concern.

“Now, that’s entirely what I meant by that remark, you aren’t misinterpreting at all.”

Remus squinted at him, at the sudden spout of backwards talk.

“...What?”

Janus scoffed.

“Of course I don’t want to fuse with you, it’s not like we’re in a committed relationship, or anything.”

Janus got very lie-ey when he was heated; the ferocity had Remus taken aback.

“Soooo, you… do want to try it with me?”

Janus glared in a very duh-obviously--you-idiot kind of way. Remus might have been annoyed with his little tsundere, but the snake’s grumpy face edged just too much on the endearing side for it to spark any of that. It wasn’t too much of a shocking revelation, he supposed, but when he admitted to failing before it felt pretty final, in his opinion.

“Uh, Okay! You have to lead, though, and I’m at least 60% sure it won’t work, because like I said I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Janus hummed in satisfaction, his grimace curving up into a smirk.

“To start, we’ll need a change of scenery.”

Remus nodded agreeably. They couldn’t risk falling into the nothingness pit he’d made, after all- those were very difficult to get back out of and not a whole lot of fun in general. So when Janus held his hand out invitingly, Remus took it, letting the trait transport them to wherever he had in mind.

But that place was no better than the destroyed dance studio at all. The room they ended up in was also very much destroyed, and cluttered, and generally very slimy.

Remus’ room. From the corner of his eye, he saw Janus’ lips twitch in amusement.

“Dear, let me explain,” he tilted his head back just so, making eye-contact with his boyfriend. “We’re going to fuse. It could be in here, for all I care, or somewhere bigger for our needs, but whatever it is most certainly will be a dancefloor. Because we’re not doing this your way.”

Remus made a startled chuckling noise, almost convincing himself that the doublespeak was somehow triplespeak- which just looped back around to ‘speak’, come to think of it.

“You- that’s a really bad idea.”

Something teasing glinted in Janus’ eyes.

“Aren’t bad ideas your specialty?”

“Yes,” Remus ground his teeth together, “But not yours!”

“Your point?”

Remus breathed exhaled, loud and puffing, as he tried to explain. He wasn’t going to deny the excitement this was all bringing him, but it was hysterical, an almost negative side to enthusiasm. There were so many things that felt needed to be said. To be warned, before Janus made a horribly bad decision for himself.

“My point,” he managed, words heavy in his throat, “Is I don’t think about things, so one of us has to. I want to do this the right way, Jan, this is like the one thing I don’t want to fuck up.”

Janus narrowed his eyes, the corners of his lips twitching down.

“You think it won’t work this way.”

“You like doing things so fancy and dramatically!”

“You called it the ‘right way’,” it was hardly above a whisper, he looked surprised at his own words as he said them. Remus could only scoff.

“Well, yeah! If we do it how I would, then you probably won’t wanna be part of the creature that comes out of that!”

Janus’ pupils went from circles to slivers in no time at all, pain washing over his expression. Remus held his hands tighter and leaned in, ready to apologize for whatever he’d said to hurt him, but he couldn’t get a word in.

“It’s going to end up more of you than me. That’s what you’re worried about.”

It wasn’t a question. Remus felt some of his usually infinite energy slip away from him. It left a hole behind.

“I know you, baby,” he was tired, maybe desperate, “You won’t want that.”

“Why shouldn’t I want it?” Janus snapped suddenly, “I’ve already made it clear that I want you. Clearly I must find some of your qualities desirable, why else would I spend nearly all my time with you, around you, thinking of you?”

There was a fragile kind of quietness, broken only by Janus’ hitching breath. Remus found himself blinking and blinking, his eyes stinging like someone was pushing needles into his tear ducts, agonizingly slow. He pulled Janus to his chest, propping his chin on the side’s hat and shivering.

And Remus, to his own shock, had no words. He didn’t have much on his mind at all, knowing only that he felt so much in the moment, so much and so powerful and all serving to remind him why he loved Janus as much as he did.

He wanted to ask more questions, to make sure that Janus was as sure as he said he was, but he couldn’t. His snake was stubborn, would stick to his words no matter how much Remus badgered him, and he wouldn’t have had it any other way. He pressed a kiss to the top of Janus head, closed his eyes, and let the emotions wash over him.

He breathed in, out, and suddenly the second wave hit him in the chest, his eyes forced open.

Or…

It. Its eyes were forced open. Yes, that sounded right.

It stood in the middle of a room- a familiar room, but certainly not Remus’. It was much bigger, the ceiling higher to accommodate the inhabitants height, and much more organized. There was still plenty of clutter, plenty of skulls and bones and preserved creatures, but all in neat little rows on pretty rustic shelves. The place had the distinct vibe of a house belonging to a very ominous, eccentric, wealthy old murderer. Perfect.

The new creature turned its attention to itself, stretching out its limbs curiously. All nine of them, it turned out; seven arms stacked on their torso, four on the left and three on the right, all of which ending in sharp talons covered by gloves. A wicked grin split its face, and it wasted barely a moment before dashing out of the new room and down the hall. It came to the bathroom door, threw it open, and leapt inside. Two hands gripping the basin, it peered at its reflection. Two piercing, yellow eyes peered back, the pupils mismatched in shape and size. Lime-green scales covered its face and neck in splotches, smooth and diamond-shaped.

As its gaze traveled downwards, it appreciated the too-wide mouth filled with dangerous fangs, those snake-like slits up both sides of the face. Its hair was kept pinned back from its face, partially hidden beneath a black, metal crown. It was clearly messy- probably greasy- colored very dark with shocks of silver running through.

The collar of its shirt rose to nearly past its jaw, then plunged down to reveal a lot more of its chest than necessary. Its clothes were almost entirely black, broken up by the lemon/lime embellishments travelling up its arms and around the clasps in the front. The overcoat had long coattails and striped sleeves, ending in cuffs of fabric about the wrists. Moving lower it had very tight pants that did not leave much to the imagination, and boots that were more than a little over-the-top. Finally, there was the cape, hung around its shoulders and reaching floor length. It billowed when it moved even as much as an inch, looking at first like more black. Then the material caught the light, showing a dazzling display of green and yellow, glittering like a perfectly formed geode.

A laugh sprouted from it, giddy and exuberant. It twirled in the small space, its many hands twisting and toying with its outfit, hair, anything it could reach. From its hazy mind came then came its first intelligible thought, just from its appearance: it was called Rennet.

It stilled, hands hovering in scattered positions. The sharp laughs were quieting, but it still shook like it was laughing. Just shaking in general, probably. The worries of its more excitable half weren’t all gone, not that easily, and it knew it wasn’t yet stable.

Rennet took a breath, but its head didn’t clear, if anything it grew fuzzier. It was two creatures, two creatures that spent hours and hours inside their own heads as it was, and now both of those over-stuffed brains were in one too-small skull. It could almost feel the weight, leaning heavily on the wall just to keep upright.

“Should we stop?” Rennet verbalized the question in a thickly accented voice, knowing that otherwise it would never be able to understand the words through the mess of its mind.

“I don’t know,” it’s tone dropped in pitch, the sharp edges smoother, “Is that what you want?”

But it had barely gotten a chance to be. It couldn’t give up already.

So what was wrong with it?

“Oh, I don’t know. Everything?” Rennet threw its head back, because of course the worst thought was the only one that ended up audible. It sighed, dragged a hand down its face, shook its head. “Just remember the saying- two wrongs don’t make a right!”

Rennet’s mouth shut with a snap, and it felt quite angry with itself. On behalf of itself. It wasn’t sure, really- the indignation was much like something felt when a loved one was insulted, not when one’s self was insulted. That somehow made the sting worse.

“You think you’re wrong?” It said in a whisper, clutching its own wrists tight. Rennet knew the answer, though, knew it as it was ingrained into them.

And with that, its resolve sharpened. It was not going to come apart so easily, it would not accept either bits of it thinking anything so bad about himself, and…

Rennet was going to be the sexiest, baddest bitch the Mindpalace had ever seen. That was for damn certain.

It stood straight up, clapping three pairs of hands together and snapping its fingers with the seventh. It had to bear in mind that it was, for the time being, a giant sparkly monster babe. Now, being sad under those conditions just wouldn’t make any sense, and it intended to keep that thought at the forefront of its newly formed mind. Because Rennet was smart, it’d certainly retained that part of Janus, and it was peppy, if Remus had any part in it at all.

And, it mused, as it walked through the hall and down into the living room- it was undoubtedly very mischievous.

Taglist: @glitter-skeleton-uwu @donnieluvsthings @intruxiety @thefivecalls @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @gayformlessblob

#sanders sides #ts #fanfiction #dukeceit #fusion #my writing #sanders sides fanfiction #ts fanfic #fanfic #janus #remus #WijjFusionAU #I kin rennet and also i want it to maul me so it was a very fun character to write

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padfootagain · 4 years

Text

Girl Crush (IX)

Chapter 9 : A Breath of Aloe Vera

Here we go with an adorable chapter!!! Be careful, this is sooooo cute!!!

I hope you like this new chapter :) Tell me what you think about it, please!

Word Count : 2684

"So… how can I save it?"

"I don't know… I think… I think it's dying, Harry."

"Dying? There must be something I can do…"

"I mean… look at it…"

"You're the expert here, help me save my cactus!"

You heaved a sigh, but the poor plant was beyond saving. It had turned yellowish, and seemed ready to crumble, at least, that was what you could assess on the image on your computer screen. Harry and you were having an evening together, only he was in London, and you were in L.A, so your time together would be spent staring at the other painted in pixels on a screen. And well, with the different time zones, it was lunch for you and dinner for him. While the sun shone brightly in your sky, his was filled with stars. You had opened your window to let some of the fresh air in, making your apartment almost chilly. But you could hear birds chirping, so you reckoned it was worth it. Anyway, you had a warm pullover on, that Harry had left at your place in case he would need it while you were going through one of your movie nights or board games afternoon. As he was away, you often stole it, as it was comfy and warm… obviously not because it still smelt a little like him…

Harry's image wasn't as clear as you would have wished for, but it was alright though, you were still grateful to technology for giving you a chance to see Harry's face again.

He moved the cactus before the camera of his computer again to magnify it for you.

"What did I do wrong with this one?" he asked with a disappointed voice. "I'm doing great with the other plants, but the cacti just seem to not like me."

He pouted, almost childish, almost like a 5-year-old staring at a dying flower he had picked up for his mother, and you felt so soft staring at him like this.

"I think you gave it too much water."

"Really?"

"Yeah… I'm afraid it's a lost cause, sorry, Harry."

He pouted again, but gave up, putting the little cactus back on his shelf.

"Your Aloe Vera looks gorgeous though," you encouraged him, and Harry's pout was soon forgotten, as he took up his laptop to give you a better look of the little plant.

"It is! It's thriving!"

"You're doing great!"

"Oh, and I need to show you my Calathea too, hang on…"

"Did you change the brand of your fertile ground like I told you to."

Harry nodded, walking across his apartment to his bedroom.

"Yep, just like you told me to. Look! It's grown so much!"

"It is! It's quite big now!"

Harry hummed in agreement, and you couldn't help but notice that he had the novel you had lent him before he would leave for London

"Alright, now that you've checked on my plants, let's eat, I'm starving."

"Me too! And I'm excited to try this pesto recipe you sent me!"

"I hope you don't burn down your building in the process…"

You rolled your eyes while he gently put down his laptop on the end of his kitchen counter.

"Very funny!" you replied with sarcasm all over your voice, placing your own laptop on your own counter so you could still talk to Harry while you cooked.

You chopped your ingredients at the same time. It almost felt like you were side by side for real. You talked, and laughed, and it was practically as if he were standing in your kitchen again, nudging you all the time just to get on your nerves, eating some of the ingredients before you could throw them in the pan, just… just the two of you being mindless of everything else but each other and spending a simple and yet bright moment together.

It felt… domestic, almost…

His telephone rang and he excused himself for a handful of minutes. You couldn't help but wonder who was calling him. You felt guilty for the thought that crossed your mind, you reckoned that Harry didn't have to tell you everything. Yet, you still wondered if it was a woman on the other end of the line…

He was about to end the call when he re-entered his kitchen.

"I'll be there, no worries. Bye! Love you!"

Love you?

He put down his phone and turned to your image again.

"Sorry 'bout that!" he smiled, before taking his knife once more to resume his chopping.

You took a sip of your red wine, shaking your head.

"It's alright. I've used the time to finish cutting everything."

"You're always cheating, aren't you?"

"Me? Cheating? I never cheat!"

"How do you explain that I always lose whenever we play boardgames together then?"

You shrugged, a devilish smile forming on your lips.

"Maybe you're just bad at all of them, and it's simply easy to kick your fancy arse."

He rolled his eyes, sticking out his tongue at you, making you giggle.

A short silence settled, and you nervously moved your weight from one foot to the other as you summoned your most innocent tone to ask the question that burnt your tongue.

"So… how's your girlfriend?"

"What girlfriend?" he asked with a frown.

"The one who just called you, obviously."

He laughed at you.

"It was Gemma, you dummy! I'm gonna see her and mom next week."

"Oh… How are they?"

"Fine. Everyone's fine."

"So… no girlfriend? Sorry, it's none of my business…"

"It's alright. Uhm… no, there isn't. Hasn't really been anyone since Jess, really. At least, no one worth mentioning."

"Oh… okay."

"Yeah…" he ran a hand through his hair, giving you a side-glance, feeling a little uneasy all of a sudden. "Uhm… nothing much going there, really."

He thought about the woman he had brought home the previous night. She was nice, pretty. They had exchanged their numbers, he would call her back because they had spent the night together, and he reckoned that it was the least he could do to be a decent person. He had no interest in seeing her again though.

He could have had. Honestly, in any other circumstances, he would have asked for another date and tried to see if things could work out between them. But the thought to which he woke up at the crack of dawn made it impossible.

That morning when he opened his tired eyes beside her, he found that she vaguely looked like you.

That was a little weird, and now that the thought had settled in, he couldn't look at her again without seeing you. Better not try it then.

"Because of Jess? Because you still miss her?"

"Not really. I just… I don't know… haven't had the… uhm… opportunity, I guess. Haven't looked for it either."

He cleared his throat, trying to sound as casual as he could.

"What about Gareth then? Everything good between you two?"

You nodded.

"It's nice. He's very sweet."

"Does he treat you right?"

"He's very kind, he's a good person."

Harry hummed in response.

What was he supposed to reply to that?

"We went on a date last night, he took me to a rather fancy restaurant," you laughed. "It was lovely."

"What does he do for a living?"

"He's an architect. He renovates old buildings, mostly."

"That's nice."

And it was nice. An architect. That was nice… definitely safer than a musician, no matter Harry's fame at the time.

He shook himself out of his thoughts. Why was he even comparing himself to that guy? He wasn't your boyfriend, he wasn't your ex, he was just your friend. Best friend, okay, but friend still.

But then his mind built the image that had woken him up several nights in a row since he had seen Gareth walk out of the flower shop. Why was his chest so painful all of a sudden? Was some form of asthma getting to him again?

What if… you and him… what if he had…

He cleared his throat, trying to compose himself again, because he was well aware of your stare resting upon him. He couldn't refrain the question that burnt his tongue though. Because he kept thinking of him kissing you in your kitchen where Harry and you would spend long hours cooking and eating and laughing, and against your front door that you always left open for your friend, and on your couch… on your couch he could…

He needed to know. Needed to make sure that these places that meant so much to your friendship were still his.

His? He didn't own you though, never would. What a strange notion to think about…

He asked the question anyway.

"Did he… did he stay over last night?"

You shied away, hiding your reaction in your glass of red wine.

"Uhm… uhm… no, I… I stayed at his place, actually."

It didn't make Harry feel much better.

"Oh… that's… nice. How is it there?" he asked, thinking that he had to stop using the word nice.

"I mean, he is an architect, so… he knows how to make homes pretty," you awkwardly chuckled.

"… I guess," Harry replied, making a face.

You reckoned that it was more than time to direct the conversation towards another topic…

… and your lack of culinary skills was a perfect answer for once.

"So, what do we do now with all these ingredients, chef?" you asked, your tone much lighter, and Harry followed your queue without a hesitation.

He gave you some things to do, and you started to cook all the ingredients you had prepared.

None of you were talking while you mixed everything in your pots, and in the comfortable silence, you didn't notice that you had started humming.

Harry's lips curved into a smile at the sound, letting your sweet voice cover the void of his kitchen where you should have stood. Your voice was a little distorted through the internet and the distance, but he didn't mind. He still felt much calmer thanks to it.

You were making up a tune that had been more or less stuck in your head for a few days, and Harry couldn't recognize it. No matter how hard he focused and how much he dug in his old memories, he couldn't find any song that your tune belonged to.

He liked it though. Actually, he loved it. It was sweet and a little sad, a touch of melancholy wrapped in a soft tune.

After a couple of minutes, you were singing the same words over and over again under a breath, barely loud enough for him to hear you, but he didn't recognize them either.

Even my phone misses your calls, by the way

No matter how much he loved listening to you, he was just too curious.

"What are you singing?"

You immediately fell silent, and he regretted asking you.

"Uhm… nothing."

He rolled his eyes, his spoon stilling in his pot.

"Please, Y/N. I like the tune. What is it? I can't recognize it, I don't think I've ever heard it. It's driving me insane…"

"Uhm… I… I don't think it's something I heard, it's just… been stuck in my head for a few days."

He stared at you with a raised eyebrow, his mouth a little agape in surprise, and you shifted under his gaze.

"You… you came up with this?"

"I… guess…"

"Really?!"

"You know… I am aware that I am not a professional musician like the rockstar that you are, but that still hurts that you don't think me capable of coming up with a very mediocre and basic melody on my own…"

"No, no, no, no!" he shook himself. "That's not what I meant, you know it. But it's… it's very good actually."

"What?"

"I like it. The tune, I like it."

He put his pasta in some boiling water to cook, and disappeared before you could reply anything.

"Harry?" you called for him, leaning to the side in an attempt to spot him, until you realized that it was stupid, as it didn't make the camera move.

He reappeared with his guitar and leaned against his kitchen counter, right where he was standing before.

"Sing it again," he instructed.

"Huh?"

"Sing it again!" he repeated. "The tune, sing it again."

You were taken aback, but complied anyway. When Harry started to play along, you fell silent again though.

"Don't stop. Y/N, don't stop, it sounds great. Sing the words too."

You resumed your singing, while he played, changing the cords and rhythm until he had settled on the notes he liked best.

And then he joined you singing the words softly as well.

He added some lines that felt right, and you let him create a verse, twisting the tune a little.

Woke up alone in this hotel room

Played with myself where were you

Fell back to sleep, I got drunk by noon

I've never felt less cool

He hummed again, and sang your line once more.

He seemed to struggle to get anything else, so when he sang your line for the seventh time in a row, you added another in.

Maybe one day you'll call me and tell me that you're sorry too

Harry smiled, his brow furrowed in concentration but he repeated your new line over and over again, changing the notes and bending the melody from time to time.

He fell silent again, but didn't stop playing, until he found new words to add, lyrics that made his throat and heart tighten, but then, it was only because they were true.

Woke up the girl who looked just like you

I almost said your name

He cleared his throat, refusing to analyse why he felt a little uneasy all of a sudden, a little too raw.

He sang your lines again instead.

Until your shout interrupted him altogether.

"HARRY! YOUR PASTA!"

He turned around and his eyes opened wide as he spotted the boiling water spilling out of his pot.

"Fuck! FUCK!" he cried, putting down his guitar in a hurry and grabbing the pot. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, shit! SHIT!"

He carried it to the sink.

"Be careful, don't burn yourself," you admonished with a worried wince.

He went to clean up the mess he had made, only for you to finally notice that something in your own apartment was burning…

"MY PESTO!"

He looked at you hurrying as well, pouting at the sight of your burnt dish.

"It's ruined," you sighed.

"Mine too," Harry realized.

You looked at each other, before exploding with laughter.

"We really are both terrible at cooking!" you doubled with laughter, and Harry could only agree.

"Hey, you can't write a song and cook at the same time! Do you think I could use it, by the way?"

"Use what?" you asked, confused, as you threw the carbonized pesto into your trash.

"The song. Crediting you, of course. But I… it feels right. You know it feels… it feels like a last track…"

"You want to actually put it on your album?"

Harry shrugged.

"At least, I can finish it. See if it fits then. Can I?"

"Sure… sure! Of course!"

"Great! Plus, your name would look pretty on my album."

You giggled.

"It wouldn't. Don't you dare do that."

"Why not?"

You shrugged.

"I don't know…"

You looked at him again, and the two of you exchanged a shy smile, before letting out a breathy chuckle and diverting your gazes to the floor in sync.

"Well, right now though… Indian? Chinese?"

"Chinese," you nodded, and you both reached for your phones to order some well-deserved food.

You were two terrible cooks, but then, no one could be perfect, right?

************************************************

Tag list : @ponycake27 @horsesreign @xinyourdreamsx @jbluevelvet @notkeppeki @daynigt-dreamer-stuff @fudgeflyss @stuckupstucky @snek-shit @suchatinyinfinity @i-padfootblack-things @buckybsarmy @heyohheyitsgabi@jigsawlover10 @emyyjemyy @addictedtofictionalcharacters @staringmoony

@madamrogers @cronias13 @stylesfics-xx

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles series #series #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #imagine

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iwaisa · 4 years

Text

request. Hi! Could I please request Komori Motoya for the whole alphabet? I couldn’t pick which ones lol 🥺👉🏼👈🏼 - anon

a/n. of course ! i had to watch a compilation of scenes because i honestly had no clue how he acted so i hope i characterized him right !

► now playing...

a - affection (how affectionate are they? how do they show affection?)

↳ he loves affection <3 he likes to kiss your forehead whenever he can. back hugs are a must.

b - best friend (what would they be like as a best friend? how would the friendship start?)

↳ the friendship would probably start with sakusa being… sakusa. you were probably talking to komori and sakusa kept asking if you got your flu shots and whatnot. as a friend, komori would be super supportive and just so happy to be your friend !

c - cuddles (do they like to cuddle? how would they cuddle?)

↳ LOVES CUDDLES. he loves tucking his face into your chest and hugging you close to him.

d - domestic (do they want to settle down? how are they at cooking and cleaning?)

↳ he definitely does. i think he would be amazing at cooking and ESPECIALLY cleaning since his cousin is a complete germaphobe.

e - ending (if they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

↳ he would probably be crying as he breaks up with you. he would only break up with you if something really really bad happens between the two of you. he will need a lot of time to get over it.

f - fiance(e) (how do they feel about commitment? how quick would they want to get married?)

↳ he’s super committed. he would want to get married a year or two out of college. he wants everything to be set up perfectly for your futures together.

g - gentle (how gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

↳ physically he would be so gentle and loving with you. he would also be gentle emotionally, but he likes to joke around and tease <3

h - hugs (do they like hugs? how often do they do it? what are their hugs like?)

↳ he basically lives for hugs. i think because he doesn’t get any hugs from sakusa, he wants to fill the void with hugs from you :) his hugs are sweet; he really likes picking you up off the ground for a couple of seconds.

i - i love you (how fast do they say the l-word?)

↳ he says it not too fast but not late in the relationship. probably two or three months in. he says it first lol

j - jealousy (how jealous do they get? what do they do when they’re jealous?)

↳ i don’t see him getting jealous at all. he trusts you <3 but,, if he was jealous he would try his hardest to push his intrusive thoughts out of his head and wait for you to talk to him.

k - kisses (what are their kisses like? where do they like to kiss you? where do they like to be kissed?)

↳ so soft and sweet !! he loves to kiss you on the nose just to hear you giggle. he loves when you kiss the top of his head then ruffle his hair <3

l - little ones (how are they around children?)

↳ LOVES. CHILDREN. any age. he’s so good with them. he loves playing hide and seek and just joining in with any game they’re playing.

m - morning (how are mornings spent with them?)

↳ he wakes up late lol. once he does finally wake up, he would make you the most smack breakfast ever.

n - night (how are nights spent with them?)

↳ he wants to cook you dinner hehe. he’s pretty calm and he usually falls asleep right away, clinging onto you.

o - open (when would they start revealing things about themselves? do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

↳ he opens up instantly. he might talk really fast but then when he’s done he asks you about yourself.

p - patience (how easily angered are they?)

↳ he’s extremely patient and not angered easily at all.

q - quizzes (how much would they remember about you? do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

↳ he remembers everything 🥺 he’ll bring something up one day and you’ll be like “you remember that??”

r - remember (what is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

↳ he thinks about the first time the two of you cuddled together all the time. it never fails to make his cheeks turn red

s - security (how protective are they? how would they protect you? how would they like to be protected?)

↳ he’s not a helicopter boyfriend, but he’s very protective. he loves to protect you by making sure you’re comfortable in situations, and he loves when you stick by his side whenever he’s uncomfortable.

t - try (how much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

↳ he puts just the right amount of effort in <3 he buys you the cutest gifts and always says “for the cutest person”

u - ugly (what would be some bad habits of theirs?)

↳ he’s also a bit of a clean freak out of habit because of sakusa, so whenever you walk into his house he constantly tells you to wash your hands.

v - vanity (how concerned are they with their looks?)

↳ he’s a lil self-conscious 🥺 but his insecurities melt away whenever you compliment him

w - whole (would they feel incomplete without you?)

↳ he would feel weird not having his best friend and sidekick there with him. he would constantly ask what happened.

x - xtra (a random headcanon for them)

↳ (in the timeskip) he tends to get sad that sakusa always receives gifts from fans but he doesn’t want them so komori takes them and gives them to you lol

y = yuck (what are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

↳ he definitely doesn’t want someone who doesn’t support him. if you don’t support volleyball or his decisions, he doesn’t like that.

z - zzz (what is a sleep habit of theirs?)

↳ he likes making faces at himself as he’s brushing his teeth lol

issa’s 200 follower event!

#issa's 200 follower event!#haikyuu!! x reader #komori x reader #komori motoya #motoya komori

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kittybellestark · 4 years

Text

Hi I’m having sad boi hours so I thought I’d write Peter going thru it too. Idk man

Trigger warning: thoughts of suicide

Peter was having a really good day. A great day even. Today was going perfectly, even better than expected.

First he woke up before his alarm. And he felt fully refreshed. So he made breakfast for himself and May (cereal, but with fruit on top, that he cut himself). And then on the way to school he found $50 just laying there. There was no one around when he tried to find the person who lost the money. Flash was also sick today, so that meant a torment free day, which was just exciting, and the lunch lady even gave him an extra meatball!!

Everything was going great. Overall a super good day. Until his heart twisted and his stomach dropped and Peter felt empty. He was two seconds away from crying and the world felt heavy. For no good reason. Peter kept a smile on his face, and laughed at all the appropriate times, but he was tired. Emotionally exhausted.

And there was still so much more day.

He was supposed to go to the lab and work with Mr. Stark. Today was also a patrol day, he’d already finished all his homework.

But Peter couldn’t do it.

Peter needed to go home. And lay in bed. Sad boi hours have hit him. And they’ve hit really hard on what should be a great day.

The world was out for him. That had to be the only explaination for the sudden turn of emotions.

So Peter texted Tony.

Hey not feeling right today ,,, gonna go home instead sorry. :( see you Friday instead.

Tony sent a thumbs up, and Peter was glad that his absence wouldn’t affect his mentor any. But it just felt like another stab through the heart.

At the end of the day when Peter was leaving Midtown, head phones on, and hood over his head, choosing to wait until everyone else cleared out before leaving, he was surprised to see Happy making his way to him.

“Did Tony not tell you that I’m going home?” Peter asked instead of greeting the man like usual.

“Well, I’m already here, so I’ll take you home then.”

“I don’t want to bother you any, Happy. I’m sure you got better things going on in your life then picking up some kid from school.”

Happy looked Peter over, surprised by the words out of his mouth. Peter -while overly apologetic- loves to chat Happy’s ears off. It was a red flag for sure if the kid is already feeling like a bother.

“A thank you will suffice next time.” Happy responded with a snort and an eye roll, trying to get a reaction out of the kid infront of him.

“Oh, thanks.” Peter’s voice was flat and void of any emotion, which was opposite of the smile he held on his face.

Happy walked to the car, and Peter followed behind, getting into the backseat. Once Happy settled into the drivers seat, he looked into the review, starting the car, but making no effort of driving.

“What, suddenly you’re too good to sit in the front seat?” Happy tried again.

“Sorry, I can sit up there if you want, you just normally say that I’m supposed to be in the back. Figured I’d save you the breath today.”

Peter didn’t make any moves to go switch seats so Happy decided to drive anyways. It was weird that Peter was sitting in the back, he never sat in the back unless Tony was also in the car.

“You okay, Pete?” Happy finally asked.

Peter’s eyes filled with tears, needing to be blinked back. Peter sat there for a moment before deciding on an answer. He was lucky happy didn’t see his watery eye.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m good, just not feeling too well I guess.”

Happy nodded, deciding that to be the end of the conversation.

Once they reached Peter’s apartment, the car had barely stopped before Peter was getting out, with a whispered thanks.

Every step up the stairs, Peter’s body felt heavier and heavier. His lungs felt tights and his heart hurt so badly. Thinking was hard, like the thoughts were stuck trying to move through sludge. Existence was too much. The world is heavy on his shoulders and all Peter wants to do is go to sleep and never wake up. He’s tired, tired, tired, tired. And living hurts.

As Peter unlocks the door to the apartment, he remembers that May is working until 3am, and that he’s alone. Again. He’s so alone. And that thought hurts just as much as the thought of being with people.

Why can’t he just exist in the same way other people do?

Peter drops his bag at the front door, kicking off his shoes. He should probably eat something. Peter knows that he should definitely eat something. But that sounds so exhausting. How can he make food and then chew food and swallow food when he just wants the world to swallow him whole? Even water, drinking water just sounds like so much work. His whole body is heavy and he’s tired and so fucking sad. Peter wants to cry, he feels like he should cry but that is so exhausting he can’t even manage that.

He’s lucky he makes it to his room. He’s lucky he had enough energy to strip out of his own clothing. He’s lucky he’s able to put on his comfiest pjs. He’s lucky he didn’t crumble when he first walked into an empty apartment.

Peter makes it to his bed before his legs give out. He’s only half on the bed, but it’s enough for now.

It feels like everything under his skin is itchy and wrong, begging to be soothed. Peter’s brain won’t shut off, but won’t hold a thought either. Everything is hazy and the world only exists in blurs. Everything felt twisted and heavy and stabbed. Peter could feel his heart in his throat, could feel as if someone was choking him. Existing hurts.

Peter becomes aware of the world again some hours later, the blurry haziness now only a little fuzzy. He rubs the tears he didn’t realize he cried off his cheeks. He’s still in the same position and everything feels like too much, but there’s someone in the kitchen.

He should probably investigate. He wonders if the person will kill him. If he makes it look like enough of a struggle it won’t look like giving up, will it? Peter shakes his head to get the thoughts out. He doesn’t want to die. He just doesn’t want to live right now. There’s a difference.

Opening his bedroom door and shuffling out to the kitchen, blankets all wrapped around himself, he finds Tony. Tony is singing softly to himself and he cooks in Peter’s kitchen.

“What are you doing here?” Peter asked. Even to himself, his voice sounds detached, like it doesn’t belong to him.

“Happy was worried about you. So I thought I’d come make some chicken noodle soup for you. Chicken Noodle soup makes everyone feel better, it’s a law. But if that doesn’t help any I can make my famous hot cocoa.” Tony smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. His heart heart seeing the state Peter was in.

“Oh.” Peter turned back around, planning on going back to his bed.

“Woah, woah, woah. You’re not going back to your room. I’m much more interesting than anything that could possibly be in there. Let’s go, chop, chop. You’re going to help me cut these veggies.”

Peter stood there, looking at Tony like he’s insane, before turning back around and making his way to the kitchen, sitting down at the breakfast bar, where there was a small cutting station already set up. He continued to stare at Tony, who gestured for Peter to start chopping.

“The chicken noodle soup and the hot cocoa we’re going to make later and very important family recipes from the Carbonelle side. They’ve been passed down a few generations, and when you’re older, I’ll pass them down to you. Whenever I was having a bad day, Mom would always bring me down to the kitchen and have me help cut all the vegetables for the soup. So I’m doing that with you now.”

“Mr Stark. No offense but if it’s family recipes you should keep them in the family. I’m just the intern, you should be saving that for when you have kids.”

Tony stopped what he was doing, seeing how Peter was focused on the work infront of him. His face was red, and there were tried tear tracks down his face. He had big dark bags under his eyes, and every movement made looked like it too all the energy out of him. Peter looked exhausted in a way no kid should ever look.

“Peter, kid. You are family to me. Sure you aren’t biologically my kid or anything, but I care about so much it hurts. Maybe I’ll have kids of my own one day, or maybe I won’t but you’re always going to be my kid too. You get the fun family recipes and inheritance if I die. I’m going to share these traditions with you because you’re family and I love you, kid, even if I don’t say it a lot, I want you to know it.”

Peter’s face crumpled in on itself, and he dropped the knife on the counter. Peter sucked in a breath trying to stop himself from the inevitable. Tears started racing down his cheeks as he sobbed right there in the kitchen in front of his mentor. In front of his father-figure.

The world crashed down on the one thing that was holding Peter together. It sucker punched him in the gut and stole his breath away. Everything in him snapped and fell apart. It hurt, and took everything in Peter. Peter’s whole body shook and ached. His heart twisted and twisted and twisted more.

Arms wrapped around Peter, as if trying to put the pieces back into place, trying to work out the puzzle that is Peter Parker. They held on tight, and lifted Peter right out of his chair. The arms brought Peter to a chest and Peter’s head rested on a shoulder as he cried and cried and cried.

Tony started to hum, causing his chest to vibrate against Peter. He rocked back and forth, holding the teen tight to him, allowing Peter the ability to be vulnerable with him. Holding Leter close. Tony ran his finger’s through Peter’s hair hoping to bring comfort to his kid who needed it more than he’d ever admit.

Tony held his kid who needed comfort and love and someone to be vulnerable with when he felt like the world was too much.

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shipaholic · 3 years

Text

Omens Universe, Chapter 13 Part 2

Nearly made it to Alpha Centauri!

Warnings for this chapter: the terrifying vastness of space; vertigo; and more child endangerment than we’ve seen so far.

Link to next part at the end.

(From the beginning)

(last part)

(chrono)

---

Chapter 13, cont.

Of all the infinite spaces they’d found themselves in recently, this one truly made each of them feel small.

Nebulae crackled in the corner of their eyes. Comets sparked across the heavens like distant fireworks. There were stars, billions upon billions of stars, a riotous tumble of them. And planets, cold and grand, passing by like ships.

Aziraphale had never been here before. For the life of him, he had no idea why. No - perhaps he was afraid of the vastness. Of feeling engulfed.

He leaned, half-consciously, towards Crowley. Their fingers brushed. Slowly, as if moving underwater, Crowley gripped Aziraphale’s hand.

Aziraphale tore his eyes away from the magnitude of space and looked at Crowley. He was in profile, lips slightly parted. His eyes shone with starlight. Aziraphale wanted to kiss him and keep watching him forever. He remembered Crowley had probably seen this room before. Thousands upon thousands upon thousands of years in the past. Perhaps it hit him harder to come back than Aziraphale to see it for the first time.

“Did I ever mention I helped build some of these?” Crowley whispered.

“Yes, dear,” Aziraphale whispered back. His heart brimmed over.

He happened to know the only part of Her creation missing from this room was the Earth. That was because it was on the top floor. He saw it the last time he presented his weekly report to Gabriel, floating in the air like a large, sedate disco ball. They would all use it in three days' time to transport themselves to Earth for Armageddon. Every angel in Christendom, pouring out of the sky.

Aziraphale peered around. There didn’t seem to be much of a filing system in here. Maybe all he had to do was…

“Alpha Centauri?” he said.

It was like going for a gentle stroll and accidentally stepping off a skyscraper.

Space lurched. The detritus of the universe streaked towards him, and past him before he could think about screaming. Two blue dots came out of the darkness like all-knowing eyes that meant the end of all things. They expanded until they were the size of suns, filling his vision, pinning him under their gaze, until with a heart-stopping wrench -

It all stopped.

Space was still again. The binary star system of Alpha Centauri lay before them, winking blue.

Aziraphale shook off the feeling he’d just freefall dived from a million miles up. He glimpsed Crowley’s face, and got a sudden idea of what it must have felt like for him, before all this happened. The Fall. He squeezed Crowley’s hand. Crowley’s eyes were glazed. Slowly, he came back to himself and squeezed back.

Aziraphale remembered, a fraction later than he should have, to check on Adam.

The boy’s face was white with exhilaration. “Wicked,” he whispered to himself.

Spacedog yipped and scratched his flank with his cybernetic back leg. His ears jiggled inside his fishbowl helmet. He didn’t look impressed. Aziraphale supposed he was made for this environment. Then he went back to deliberately ignoring Spacedog, because while Spacedog’s existence was remarkable, Aziraphale found him far too ridiculous to dwell on.

“We want Proxima Centauri B,” he said.

This time they all braced themselves. There was a relatively short, painless lurch forward as the room zoomed in on the planet orbiting one sun, Proxima Centauri. The planet was pockmarked like porous stone. It turned ponderously in the light from its star.

“Oh!” Crowley leaned forward in wonder. He pointed down at the craggy little planet. “I remember this! This one was one of mine.”

Aziraphale watched him puff out his chest and smiled.

“Yup. I totally helped with this one. Well. I looked over the plans. Well. I graffitied a rude word in some space dust.” Crowley paused. “They probably took it out.”

“How lovely,” Aziraphale said, dryly.

This was it. Triumph rang through his head. He was about to become an outer space fugitive. He couldn’t believe they’d got this far. There was only one step left, and they were home free. Or… not home. Not yet. But definitely free.

“Crowley, do you trust me?”

Crowley’s head snapped round. “That’s a funny question at this stage,” he said, sounding perturbed.

“Sorry. I need to be sure, though, or this next part won’t work.”

Crowley’s golden eyes regarded him.

“I trust you, angel.”

Aziraphale turned to face him. Crowley did the same, mirroring him. Aziraphale caught his other hand, holding them both, bare and gloved.

“Fuse with me.”

Relief lifted Crowley’s face.

“Oh, thank Satan. I was worried for a moment.”

Aziraphale gave a chuckle. “Sorry for being dramatic. I wasn’t -”

He broke off. He hadn’t been sure. If Crowley had truly forgiven him, yet. It would be understandable if he needed more time.

Apparently not. Crowley was attempting to loosen up in the receptionist’s tailored trousers. He stretched his inhumanly bendy spine, wiggled his snaky hips. It would have been rather alluring if Crowley wasn’t, as Aziraphale well knew, an awful dancer. It still was quite alluring, actually.

“Remember how to do this?” Crowley grinned.

“Of course. Like riding a velocipede.”

Crowley groaned and laughed. He began… a kind of shimmy, Aziraphale supposed. It was very wriggly. It had a slight drunk-wedding-guest-cum-gay-bar aspect, not that he’d been to a wedding or a gay bar in over eighty years.

Now that push came to shove, he felt rather foolish doing this in front of an audience. He avoided looking anywhere near Adam and broke into a modified Gavotte.

They danced towards each other. They were taking it slower than the urgency of the situation asked for, if he was being honest. But it was thrilling, the build up without touching, the coy flashes of eye contact. Aziraphale felt Crowley’s body heat through his silk blouse. Crowley’s long, skinny chest wiggled inches away from him. His gem glowed softly, like it was warming up.

Aziraphale clasped his arm, and his own gem flared.

They melted together.

Zadkiel stumbled out, wide-eyed and flushed.

“Wow. I need to get a room.”

He noticed Adam.

“Ummmm. Hello there. We’ve sort-of met, sort-of haven’t. I’m Zadkiel.” He held out his hand.

Adam glared as he took it. Some weird grown-up stuff had just happened, and he was ready to zip away from it at the speed of light.

“They just… turned into you,” he said.

“Yup.”

“They’re really bad dancers.”

“So am I!”

“Right. Why’d they do that, then?”

“Well… they’ve been apart for a while, and while they’re not human, as you know, er, I know for your species the whole dancing thing can be something of a mating ritual… has anyone ever given you the Talk?”

Adam looked deeply disgusted.

“Why’d they turn into you?” he asked, in slow, measured tones.

“Oh! So they can’t track us.” Zadkiel flashed a grin. “The people we’re running away from can tell whenever Aziraphale or Crowley use their powers - their alien powers, that is - but I don’t show up on their, errr, alien scanner things. So they can’t follow us to Proxima Centauri.”

This was going to require a lot of discipline, he realised. If they wanted to be good intergalactic space fugitives - and Zadkiel absolutely did - there would have to be no more performing of miracles unless fused from now on. One thoughtless snap of the fingers from either of them, and it would all be over. Zadkiel hoped the other two were up to it.

He squared up to the orbiting planet below.

“Enough explanation. It’s time to go. Are you ready?”

Adam nodded. The blue lights of Alpha Centauri shone in his eyes.

“Brilliant. Hold on to my arm and don’t let go no matter what.”

Adam scooped up Spacedog,[1] along with the Book, and looped his spare arm through Zadkiel’s. He may have shown up unexpectedly, but he was a reassuringly large presence.

Zadkiel performed the ritual on himself and Adam. Nobody needed to leave their gems behind accidentally at this stage. He guessed it would be messy in Adam’s case.

“Here we go -”

Zadkiel reached out.

His fingertips dissolved as they neared the planet. Then his whole body melted into a stream of atoms, and this really was a freefall, dimensions compressing around him, his body stretching back miles, stars streaking across his vision. He was made of mist and he was rushing through a cold tunnel faster than any living thing had ever moved

~*~

They popped out at the other end, mouths agape like fish.

The first thing was the silence.

It was crushing and absolute. It was the silence of a void. A sea of darkness full of pinpricks of light that only made the darkness more infinite. He remembered, from two different perspectives, rowing across a lake that had been like this.

Then, the planet.

It spread out below him. A hard, mountainous, canyon-pocked waste-scape. He could see where it curved, the crescent of light like the rind of an orange. He could see the shimmering corona of its atmosphere. He could see the granite and sandstone and marsh-coloured patches of its body, all merging like a paintbox left out in the rain.

He had never seen anything like it. A new world. Untouched. Alien.

He had to admit it was a cracking view.

Adam’s fingers dug into his arm. The green dog yipped at a hysterical pitch.

Zadkiel looked down at the boy and noticed the third thing.

Adam gasped for breath that wouldn’t come. He stared into Zadkiel’s eyes, terrified, as his lips turned blue.

---

[1] Neither of Zadkiel’s components knew what to make of the dog. They’d each secretly hoped that fusing would bring some wisdom on the subject. Zadkiel was happy to report: nope. The dog thing was really weird.

(Link to next part)

#omens universe fic #omens universe #good omens fic #good omens #ineffable husbands #steven universe #yeeeeah so Aziraphale and Crowley are terrible guardians #who forget that children need things like oxygen #and to have their eyes shielded from thirsty fusion dances #any gross space-inaccuracies I wish to preemptively attribute to Antichrist-induced cartoon physics #I spent an afternoon on wikipedia looking up details on Proxima Centauri B #and the best I could come up with for a description was still 'the planet... was... brown...'

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moonaft · 4 years

Text

The Killing Frost - Review

I usually wait for my library to have a copy before reading the latest book. Not this time.

Honestly, this is more of a live blog than a review.

Spoilers up to The Killing Frost and June 2020 for the Patreon stories.

Before I begin, I want to mention that I have physical copies of only some of the books. These are Rosemary and Rue, One Salt Sea, The Winter Long, The Brightest Fell. As of yesterday, I count the Kindle copy of The Killing Frost in that number and will pick up a physical copy eventually. Everything else I borrow from the library, which are usually always available. This series is something I keep re-reading because there’s something new every time I read.

“It doesn’t matter what I wear to the wedding, we both know it’s going to be completely covered in blood before we reach ‘I do’“ and we’re off to a wonderful start. I’m so glad Toby has become genre-savvy. She can now anticipate and plan for being covered in blood. That’s character development.

“My name is October Daye because my mother should never have been allowed to name her own children.” No, your name is October Daye because Eira wanted children named thematically after their parents and the Torquills went for all the months of the year. You can blame September for that one. Or I suppose August is older than January, so blame Simon.

Interesting that she’s accepted that one day she’ll burn out the rest of her humanity.

“Now I live in a house that I own free and clear, thank to Sylvester” Does he still pay property taxes on it, or is that Toby? Does Sylvester have an accountant, and if so, are they fae or human?

Toby, you could definitely get married at the courthouse and then do a fae wedding. They won’t recognize the mortal one but you can still say you’re married. Do Tybalt have any form of human id? I guess they could magic something up and confuse the attendant.

Hi Karen! Something I forgot for my “Open Question” post - why does Stacy have two Seer daughters when Seers have been nearly extinct for centuries?

How’s that for a plot hook? Your seer niece lets you know what you’re doing and with whom. Easy.

After everything Toby’s been through, she has a right to be paranoid when someone knocks at the door after Karen’s done warning her.

Could still be a trap. Negative points for not confirming with Tybalt first.

His date idea is very romantic, I will give him that.

Does Tybalt even have a last name? I don’t remember if he does.

It’s always fun to recognize people before the narrator mentions them by name. Hi Patrick and Dianda! This isn’t suspicious at all.

Does Dianda use the same wheelchair whenever she’s on land? If so, where do they store it? Or do they haul it with them? Is there a storage unit filled with Undersea fae stuff?

Patrick, this isn’t weird at all. You’re digging for something. Given that the summary says Toby needs to invite her legal father to her wedding, I assume you’re trying to make sure he’s there.

I’m not convinced Simon’s trying to wake up Evening. He doesn’t like her, and if losing his way home made him forget August even exists, I’m not sure he’d return to Evening given a chance.

And there’s the actual kicker - by not inviting Simon, Toby allows his boss to claim offense. Evening claiming offense on his behalf is a very very bad thing, and that’s why it’s important he’s there. I am certain Patrick’s parents weren’t at his wedding, but they probably washed their hands of him when they heard who he was marrying. And their liege probably didn’t care about a landless Baron in another Kingdom, so there was no consequence.

The Luidaeg did tell Toby she has to find Simon - along with two other tasks. What happened to those?

Looks like Patrick does have the broad strokes of the plots of The Winter Long and The Brightest Fell - given how much Toby doesn’t tell people, I wasn’t sure. She didn’t tell him about Poppy prior to the Ducky of Ships, after all.

Patrick and Dianda do want him back - looks like I might right that he goes to Saltmist when this all clears up. And they really want him to divorce Amandine, which, yeah. That marriage is not a good one. I firmly believe that if they do divorce, both Toby and August would declare for Simon.

“Bring him home” from Les Mis starts playing. It’s interesting that Dianda is the one telling Toby this.

“You and Tybalt have been banking on my ignorance throughout this whole process, and now your reward is that you have to go with me to look for Simon Torquill, and Tybalt can’t come” I love how she rolls with it. This would have been unheard of in The Winter Long.

“And yes, I actually wanted him to be there when I did that, if it was even remotely possible.” Aww. It’s a shame her relationship with Sylvester is deteriorating at the same time her relationship with Simon is growing, but it is growing.

I assume Spike, being fae, is also functionally immortal and won’t die of old age.

“I hardly wind up ambushed and alone at all these days.” True, thanks to your ever growing cast of rotating characters.

I love Toby’s continued roasting of Evening and Amandine.

If Evening’s been in the Mists for a thousand years and also popped for Tam Lin in Scotland 500 years ago, how is she getting back and forth between the two? Though she convince Torin to take Saltmist when she was asleep, so maybe she’s just been dreamwalking.

Hi Marcia! What weird things are you going to do this book that no one’s going to pick up on?

Dean and Quentin are cute together.

Wait, this means Toby needs to invite Amandine to her wedding. Fuck.

It’s the Summer Roads key again.

Right, Ceres could do it too. And Toby’s actually thinking of the consequences of her actions.

Quentin will be a force of reckoning on the High King’s throne.

Hi Etienne! You could totally go visit Toby whenever you want.

Randomly appearing magic door - technically, the knowe could bring them directly to the Moon Garden if it wanted to. It wants to bring them to this door, and let them know something’s going on.

Blood for the blood door? Toby has a right to Shadowed Hills, and the knowe knows and likes her. Maybe this is a way of helping with her eventual claim?

“Cool. Good to know. We’re all going to be eaten by weird magic flowers.” “Let’s face it, this isn’t much of a surprise.”

It’s Raysel’s bed/coffin. Given that they’re looking for Evening, I don’t like the parallels to Raysel’s Firstborn.

Neither Evening nor Simon have an interest in Raysel, but Sylvester doesn’t know that.

I love October’s speech to Sylvester about Rayseline.

It would likely be good for Raysel to spend a year with Toby at her house. She can meet Toby’s teens and live without her parents for a while. Might be awkward when Dean shows up but that’s a conversation they need to have.

Interesting that Raysel’s magic changes - did she get more of her father’s scent?

Summer Roads key is weird, and definitely more plot related than it appears. Given that it’s currently a MacGuffin to get to Evening, that’s pretty powerful.

What is this weird black bubble.

Shit, May got impaled.

So this is where Simon stored Luna and Raysel for 14 years. I personally wouldn’t anchor a formless void holding a Blodynbryd off the Rose Road where she has power, but it ‘worked out’ I suppose.

Toby’s headache is concerning me. I wonder if she’s doing the impossible without knowing it, and that’s what’s causing the magical backlash.

How did Luna and Raysel escape the bubble? There’s been no indication that someone found them, so perhaps they found Simon’s door.

Toby’s talking to Maeve as roses. How is she doing this? Why is Maeve (or part of Maeve?) part of the Rose Road? Didn’t the Luidaeg and Toby turn onto Annis’s Roads at some point during The Winter Long? Did they transition from the Summer Roads part of the Rose Roads into the Winter Roads? Is that even a thing? Why does the Summer Key allow them access to it?

Reviewing TWL again, the Luidaeg used the Key to open Annis’s forgotten road to take a shortcut to Shadowed Hills. Then Luna used the Key to open a Rose Road to Evening. The Key, which “belonged to [Luna’s] grandmother”. Unspecified grandmother. Maybe it’s not a Summer Roads Key afterall.

Roses are the thing that connects all three Branches - Maeve has them, Eira has them, Amandine has them.

Unrelated to the current plot, I think Raysel would be great with flowers. It’s implied that when a mixed blood uses a hope chest to pick one bloodline, they keep something from the missing bloodline. Tybalt’s niece Cailin (Daoine Sidhe/Cait Sidhe -> Cait Sidhe) is extraordinarily good with illusions and can’t shapeshift. August is relatively good with illusions (enough to bind Quentin) and kept her red hair and yellow eyes.

And Maeve (or a representative?) listens to Toby. Wow.

Quentin has strong and unflattering opinions about Evening’s forest scene. I love how the characters feel focusing on the small details. They’ve accepted the impossible and have moved beyond it.

Interesting that there’s no scent of roses before finding Evening’s clearing. Another open question: why does Evening also get apples in addition to roses and snow? What causes the shift between roses+snow and roses+apples?

And why doesn’t anyone but the Luidaeg recognize that apples are also Evening’s?

“I wish I’d met Simon and Sylvester’s parents... it doesn’t make sense.” “Most Daoine Sidhe I’ve known have something floral about their magic. Simon doesn’t” Does his mulled cider not count? Fruit isn’t floral? I want to know Septimius’s magic scents as well, because I’m pretty sure Simon got the apple cider from him, via his own mother aka Evening’s daughter Fómhar. The October Daye wiki is failing me on some of these names.

Please let her know that the twins were once changelings this book. Please.

May, I’m sorry you have a literal hole in your body, but I live for magical theory.I need moar.

Hello, Sleeping Beauty. Also, Simon is rather good at archery and I don’t know why that doesn’t come up more often.

Simon is not looking well. He’s also doing some bizarre leaps of conversation -

October: We came here to look for you.

Simon: Where’s Oleander?

No one brought up Oleander? I get that the spell is doing weird things to his mind, maybe it’s skipping.

"who seemed to have stolen most of his memory of who he’d been”

Jossed on him not seeking out Evening, but kinda confirmed on the reason why: he doesn’t give a reason why he’s working with Evening. The spell’s not working as well as it did on August - he is definitely getting confused, if only briefly.

Is that why he didn’t show up during Night and Silence or The Unkindest Tide? He was stuck in the clearing? What has he been eating? Is he still wearing the same clothes he was in for The Winter Long and The Brightest Fell?

October: Hey, you can wait here for a hundred years, we just need you to take a trip to see the Luidaeg. It’ll be super quick.

Toby, I love you.

AND HE REMEMBERS PATRICK. Enough to stand down, at least. But he think’s Patrick’s dead? Oh no no no. Did he think that for most of the last century? This keeps getting sadder.

At least he’s not hurting May and Quentin.

I don’t think he sent the Doppelganger in Rosemary and Rue, pretty sure that was Devin.

He doesn’t remember the events of TBF, interesting.

Fucking hell, that was too easy. I should have seen it would be too easy. And he thinks Amandine modified Toby’s memory?

I guess May doesn’t need to worry about infection.

Helpful pixies! Glad to see more of them. Toby better deliver that dinner soon.

“Also to be fair, the terrible disaster was usually either my fault or happening to me” True words, Toby.

Hi Walther and Cassie!

HI Luidaeg!

If her debts are currently balanced, then she did work off the other two from The Unkindest Tide.

Yeah, pretty sure Simon hasn’t broken the Law yet.

Emotionally mature Toby strikes again. She’s been so this entire book. The amount of difficult conversations so far is pretty large.

This focus on Stacy not wanting her kids to date is interesting, unless it’s a red herring. And she grew up with Toby in Shadowed Hills. Not Firstborn, I won’t guess one of the Three - Marianne? But she was fully grown back during the earthquake. Did her fae grandparents have a human partner like Simon and Sylvester’s parents, and her fae parent was also a changeling? They moved away after their child died because they couldn’t deal with the grief? A hope chest moving her blood? How old was October when she met Stacy?

Hi Arden!

Recap time with the Luidaeg.

A solution with Dianda and Patrick? If he goes and lives in Saltmist, he’s far from people who want to harm him.

If Simon’s so good at using other people’s blood, then potentially he could use Amandine/August/Toby’s blood to be a poor man’s Dóchas Sidhe. For healing, maybe?

‘Her husband could only hear the ones who belonged to him” - huh, interesting tidbit about Oberon.

Torquill lore! Finally revealed to Toby!

Off to Goldengreen. Return of the water trauma for Toby, boo.

Oh my god she’s an otter. So cute! Yes, everyone should be an otter. Bite her, Toby. Do it.

Marcia! Does Marcia not know that Simon exists as a separate person from Sylvester? Acacia at least understood that Simon wasn’t Sylvester, even if she didn’t get the concept of twins. I’m not surprised she survived Simon’s spells - Evening seemed to completely ignore her in TWL. And Firstborns tend to get mind whammed if they think about her for too long. More evidence for the Titania theory (or Maeve, if she’s in multiple pieces).

That many spells can’t be good.

I am not surprised that Toby asked how to give Simon her way home. This family has a tendency to pass around debts.

Also, now would be a good time to call Tybalt. Might be faster than driving to Half Moon Bay. I guess the plan is to steal a Selkie skin and swim to Saltmist since Goldengreen was a bust? But yeah, he’s probably not up to date with TUK if he’s been stuck in the clearing for a year.

“evil hot potato” good phrase. This stinks a little of self-sabotage.

Diva did need to be shifted, interesting.

Simon wouldn’t have gotten away with it, there’s nothing natural about a boy eating 6+ bowls of soup, especially if he kept doing it past when he’s physical ill. Poor Quentin.

Interesting that Simon’s not trying to cause harm. His superpowered spells are doing a terrific amount of damage, but nothing that can’t technically be reversed if they have the power to do so. Even Quentin was harmed only because he couldn’t stop eating, and that wasn’t Simon’s intention.

Dean admittedly is not have a good day. Neither is Quentin.

Simon under the Luidaeg’s curse is surprisingly self-reflective. I wasn’t expecting that.

Fuck off, Evening.

I didn’t think we’d get the reason behind why the Luidaeg couldn’t lie in this book, that’s nice.

Go Toby, tear this bitch down.

It is interesting that of the three daughters of Titania we’ve met, each one follows a different school of magic. Guess it shows that schools of magic don’t always follow blood.

Evening has been dreamwalking. Stronger when she’s sleeping? Can’t keep her asleep, can’t keep her awake. Can they turn her into a stone?

Confirmation: Titania was banished, and I assume only Oberon could do that.

“Lady, let alone” Maybe in the first blood changing dream, with her father who I think was actually Oberon? I don’t remember.

Tybalt and Walther also aren’t having good days.

I don’t get what Toby’s figured out.

“Rolling emergency that is your ongoing existence” Love it.

Dean’s day is getting better.

There goes the hot potato. I appreciate that Simon’s first action is to get the Luidaeg to reverse it and I’m sure Tybalt isn’t far behind.

Simon’s spending a good portion of the book confused.

Toby just coughed up a pigeon. I can’t determine if that’s weirder than the Luidaeg pulling it out of her chest.

“None of my enemies are remotely that powerful” I’m pretty sure there won’t be a book where Toby travels back in time, but just imagine what a book that would be. And Simon’s mulled cider is back, nice. And confused again.

Seriously? SERIOUSLY? Thornton?? OBERON???

Is his name a play on ‘root and thorn’?

Did he make himself human so Janet could fall in love with him as human? He’s expecting her.

Her name was suppose to be Almandine? And she doesn’t count as home to Toby, no wonder.

She got Oberon lost in Annwn and then pulled him out again. What the fuck.

Confused man remains confused. “He looked like a man who’d just lost everything” Something tells me that isn’t because he’s meeting his father-in-law/a physical god. Did Evening tell him something about Oberon’s return that hasn’t been revealed yet?

Lots of people get to come home today. This is great.

Time to get status reports. Toby is calm in crisis, as long as no one’s actively trying to kill her.

Let the Luidaeg and her father catch up. Wow. I didn’t expect they’d find Oberon with more books left to go.

Toby owes Walther far more than just one pizza - get that boy home and let him sleep.

Way too tired to consider how the car got there. Is it only one day since the Cat in the Rafters? Is this book taking place over the course of a single day? How long were they on the Rose Roads? Everyone needs sleep and food.

I do appreciate Simon taking responsibility for his actions and while apologizing doesn’t fix anything, it is the right thing to do. Toby hasn’t had a chance to tell him about her meeting with Patrick and Dianda, has she? He assumes he’ll be elfshot.

Not that his opinion matters on the Toby/Tybalt relationship, but I like how he’s being supportive.

Get married in the courthouse Toby, The fae won’t recognize it but it takes pressure off the wedding in Toronto so when that goes south, you are still married. Take May, Jazz, Quentin, Raj and whoever else you can grab at short notice.

Good on Toby for checking in on Tybalt and having a difficult conversation.

Back to Goldengreen. Do let Marcia hit Simon, let her do that. Once again, no one remembers that Marcia’s survived things a thin blooded changeling shouldn’t. And Simon doesn’t want to face Patrick and Dianda. It’s been over a hundred years since he last saw them. I wonder how much of the time he thought they were dead?

Changing people into trees can at least be reversed. There’s going to be trauma, but it’s better that everyone in Goldengreen was a tree or toadstool then dead.

“We have access to Oberon now, we can ask him for more Laws if you think we need them.” Oh god. I love this entire chapter, the dialogue is great and too numerous to quote.

And Simon, Patrick, and Dianda aren’t saying anything. Thank you for taking charge of this scene, Toby, otherwise nothing’s going to get done.

“Not that we’re going to get a honeymoon, since someone is inevitably going to try to murder or abduct us” If you say it and plan for it, it might not happen.

Toby’s little interjection to Dean, the pro-mammal conversation, this chapter is pure good.

Can Simon say Eira’s name now? It choked in his throat during TWL.

Are they really getting into the Janet thing now?

Side-stepped that conversation. Simon definitely wasn’t expecting his best friend and wife to convince to divorce his wife, and then have his step-daughter and her fiance agree as well.

OT3! OT3! Oh man, I didn’t expect this and I love it so much! OT3! Do it! Also, Dean’s day just got weirder.

OT3!

“hey, kiddo we want to open our marriage and include the man who just turned you into a tree” so many difficult conversations to have.

Oh my fucking god, this is everything I could have wanted and didn’t know to ask for.

Wedding time? IS IT WEDDING TIME? “My mother’s divorce proceedings” THAT WORKS TOO.

Glad Toby is still carrying her knife even to this. She’s going to be wearing it to her own wedding.

I still can’t believe Simon’s the one calling for the divorce but good for him. Prior to this, I assumed it would be Amandine insisting on it. I assume the news got to Sylvester and Luna and I would love to know what Sylvester thinks of this.

Hadn’t realized Evening got Quentin fostered to Shadowed Hills because she wanted to marry him and become High Queen.

Fuck off, Amandine. Poor August. Raj gets one line in this book :(

And now it’s confirmed public knowledge that Amandine’s Firstborn.

Called Toby declaring for Simon, and I love how fierce she’s picturing her human father during this.

Also, I firmly believe if August hadn’t disappeared and Amandine still married Jonathan Daye (and Patrick and Dianda hadn’t convinced Simon to divorce her), Simon would have been a part of that. And if Amandine hadn’t told him and just brought October home one day, he would have helped Toby still see her own father.

Patrick and Dianda have gotten him to sleep and eat, good. He wasn’t looking well a couple chapters (a week?) ago.

He’s still trying to protect August to make choosing Amandine easier. I still think she’s choosing him.

CALLED IT.

Hi Oberon! Nobody recognizes you, that’s interesting. And you can calm everyone in the crowd. So you have some power.

“You have no descendant line to stand for you” Is that why Eria’s focused on breeding pure blood Daoine Sidhe? She gets power from everyone who declares for her? My current theory is that she wants to be the true Queen of Faerie, get rid of the Three and rule by herself.

Surprise wedding! Five minutes after Simon got divorced! I love this OT3 so damn much.

Dean, Peter and Toby all agree, August doesn’t say no. Toby has two new step-parents and two step-brothers? I honestly can’t think of Dianda as Toby’s step-mother. She’s Toby’s punchy friend and also the women who married Toby’s step-father/ fae legal father.

Peter’s the one who probably going to spend the most time with Simon, given that he’s still an enemy in Goldengreen. Is August moving down to the Undersea? She can’t stay in the tower anymore. Maybe she can crash at Toby’s or Shadowed Hills or Tamed Lightning if she doesn’t want to stay underwater. Has she seen January since she got home? Or maybe stay at Muir Woods.

I would love to see the dynamics of this new family. And the conversations of the OT3 in the past week.

I’m glad to see Simon and August out of Amandine’s grasp. She was abusive.

Wait, Toby doesn’t need to invite Amandine to her wedding because they’re not legally related anymore. Excellent.

Really wondering how the news is taken at Shadowed Hills.

What a great book. What wonderful surprises. I couldn’t have asked for more. No one died. Lots of trauma from super powered compulsion and shapeshifting to deal with but honestly, things are better for a lot of people.

To me, it feels like Simon’s story has mostly closed. He can rest and be happy with his spouses in Saltmist, and pop up whenever Toby needs info about Evening’s plan or blood magic, like Walther does for alchemist solutions. Staying mostly out of the line of fire. Good for him. I was so concerned he would die as a result of resolving his story.

Review of Shine in Pearl to follow.

#october daye #october daye spoilers

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shadowofthelamp · 5 years

Text

I Think We Might Be Related

Summary: Johnny gets a call from a kid who claims he might be his nephew. He decides to see for himself.

(Rated teen just for a few brief gore mentions and language, pretty in line with the comics)

Based off my theory that Membrane is either Johnny C’s brother or that Johnny’s plasma donation was used to help stabilize and differentiate the Dib clone.

Wordcount: 2600

Read on ao3

Reblogs/replies/tags/likes are all super appreciated, I love hearing what people think!

The phone rang. In most houses, that’s not a very unusual occurrence. Number 777 was not most houses.

The owner of 777, (or rather, the occupant- if there was a landlord, they’d either been dismembered or made otherwise defunct a long time ago) was currently laid out on the couch, watching an old-timey show about cowboys when the loud ring rattled his eardrums. He sat up, long limbs running into each other like spaghetti in a pot before his hand curled around the phone and he picked it up.

“Hello?”

“Hi, are you…” There was a shuffling of papers. “Johnny C?” The voice sounded young.

“Is this the library- did you get my submission? Your voice is high-pitched, are you an intern? Selling your hours and youth for no pay is only killing your soul on the inside, you know. Although the library does provide the public with comic books, so I guess-”

“No, I’m not with the library. I live a little further in the city, and… I think we might be related? You might be my uncle, or something like that.” The kid’s voice quirked up the same way Johnny’s heart started doing a kickline with his lungs.

“You think?” Uncle. Uncle implied a sister or a brother. A family. He couldn't remember the last time he'd thought of family, other than turning around the soaked marshmellow of his brain that revealed jackshit about who he was.

“Yeah, it’s a… really long story, but the short version is that I was rummaging around with my DNA, and your name was one of the few on file. The others were all dead ends.”

“In your DNA?” Okay, this kid was definitely fucking with him. Served him right for even thinking about hoping for a clue. “Right, and I’m the muffin man, running off and leaving his kids in a place called dreary lane. Seriously, who does that?”

“I promise this isn’t a prank, don’t hang up! Are you still living in 684 South?”

“No.” Was that his old address? It sparked recognition that then died smoking like a match in a tray of water. It was probably a good sign, though, unless this kid was a stalker. “777 Offmain.”

“Okay. Can I… meet you at some point? I just want to get to know you. As a person. Like me. Okay, wow, this is coming out weird. I promise I’m not an axe-murderer.”

At that, Johnny cracked up. He ruffled a hand through his hair- he liked how the longer spikes flopped over his eyes. Sometimes. Sometimes he wanted to hack it all off, not feel the grease and salt the congealed when he didn’t move long enough that his body made itself disgusting again, but then he just stuck a beanie on it and forgot all about it until the urge passed. He’d cut part of it off once and it had just sat in the kitchen for a… week? Time was funny.

“Well, we can’t both be, can we?”

“I’ll... man, my self-preservation instincts have really started going down the toilet since I started following an alien with an arsenal strapped to his back, but can I stop by tomorrow at around three?”

“Happy Friends is on at three. Make it four.”

“Alright! Sounds good. Gosh, this is exciting, I’ve never met any real family besides Dad- okay, that was oversharing. Oversharing’s bad, especially to strangers.”

“If we’re family, we’re not strangers.” Johnny’s grip on the phone tightened, and he could see the tendons and veins on the back. Hmm. Maybe he could pick up sculpting, see if he was ever any good at that. The human body was properly horrifying in mere existence.

“See you then- should I call you Johnny or what?”

“Johnny is fine for now, but if we really are related, I’ll go with Nny. So, how are we related anyways?”

“I’m not sure. I’m hoping it’ll click when we meet.”

“So, what’s your name, anyways?”

“Dib.” And with that, the line went dead and Johnny went to see if he could make anything good enough to hang up on the wall out of fingerpaints.

If his leg bounced and his chest felt vise-like, he blamed the coffee patches and the 30 hours of no sleep.

______________

Dib knocked on the door at 4:10. Johnny pulled it open, staring down at him.

“Geez, you got a water balloon pumped up inside your head or something?” He had really big glasses, the kind that said when he didn’t have them on he probably couldn’t see half a foot in front of his face without tripping over something. His skin was the same shade as Johnny’s, he was pretty sure, but he had some faint freckles. Duh, he was a kid, he probably had to go outside to go to school and stuff.

“Well, that could have been a better start.” The kid had a briefcase- what kind of kid had a briefcase? No kid that should have existed, kids should be dragging around teddy bears like Squee or grimy dolls filled with teething marks. Oh wait, he was holding out his non-briefcase hand. “I’m Dib. I’d say it’s nice to meet you but now I’m not so sure about that.” He craned his head. “Oh, wow. Your house is a mess but I’ve been in our living room when Gaz is on one of her marathons and this is only moderate compared to that. Did you try and paint your own walls?”

“Gaz? That’s a fun name. Who's she?”

“My- you know what? I’m not volunteering any more information until I get a little more on you besides your name and height. Looks like weight changed. Wow, you’re a stick.” Dib rummaged around in his pocket, pulling out a wrapper with a big grinning mascot on it and handing it to Johnny. It was a chocolate protein bar. “You can have that one, I’ve got dozens.”

Johnny tore open the wrapper, stuffing half of it in his mouth. Damn, it was good, actually. Who would want a protein bar that tasted like sawdust when you could make it sweet? “So, is there any magical connection? I like the coat, though.”

Dib beamed. “Really? Everyone says it’s too much, but I say that there’s nothing like twirling around in a good coat and feeling the wind snap on the fabric when you run.”

“Oh, that is a good feeling. One of the best. Shame I can never keep mine, they always end up tossed to the void whenever something happens or I get particularly dramatic. It always feels excellent in the moment, but then you’re left with cold shoulders and regret for the strawberry grandma candy you left behind in the back pocket.”

“You know, I think I see the resemblance.” Dib said. “I’ve got your cheekbones, and nose. Maybe you’re my uncle? Do you know Professor Membrane?”

“That guy on tv? He’s kind of fun.” Johnny watched it when it was on sometimes.

“That’s my dad. I take it he’s not your brother if that was your reaction, though.”

“Dab-”

“Dib.”

“Dib. My head’s been shot to shit, both literally and figuratively. There’s scars on the back I don’t remember getting there. I had some serious garbage claw me up, and I wouldn’t be able to tell a brother from the easter bunny unless it slapped some chocolate eggs up my ass.” He ripped another portion of the bar off with his teeth.

Dib sagged a little. “Oh… Dad’s always been really tight-lipped about any other family. I hoped-”

Johnny swallowed the chunk of chocolate protein bar. “Look, I haven’t got the answers for any existential crisis you may be having. I’ve been through quite a few of my own, if we’re being honest. But I have some chips that are going stale and a TV that has colors that make your eyes bleed that tickles pretty feelings up your skull. I also haven’t left the house in five days. If you have anything interesting to say, we can talk about it over some cartoons.”

Dib perked up again at that. “You… want to listen to me?”

“Depends on what you’ve got to say.” Johnny raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got a mouth on you, that’s for sure.”

“Oh, I’ve got loads! I love the paranormal, and some parts of math but not all of them, and also no one ever listens to me about the alien that goes to my school-”

“Alien? I’m curious, tell me more.”

Dib made a squeaking noise so strange Johnny wasn’t sure he hadn’t just had his organs spontaneously combust. “Hey? Kid? Kid, I don’t wanna clean up another corpse already, I’m running out of trash bags.”

“You really- wait, another one?”

Johnny grabbed the knife in his belt- he’d nicked himself with it a dozen times but it was nice and convenient and he liked that. “Just a joke. I mean, kids like jokes, right? How old are you, nine?”

“I’m twelve!” Dib tugged at the bottom of his shirt. “Anyways, so there’s this alien named Zim, he is the biggest pain in my butt, and I don’t know if you remember when gravity stopped working for a bit a couple of weeks ago and everything started freaking out and going screwy, but that was him-”

“Oh, huh. I was wondering why I made footprints on the ceiling. I figured the squirrels did it.” Johnny said. “Do I have to worry about him destroying the world? Because I’m pretty sure earth is the only planet with slushie machines and it would be just criminal if the universe lost those. Shame you have to deal with people to use them, but everything has a price.”

“Apparently, aliens have slushie machines too, I’ve asked.” Dib said. “Well, I stole a couple of Zim’s files, and he orders alien versions of them with his shipments of food. But that’s not what matters, he’s trying to take over the- wait, you actually believe me?”

Geez, kid, slushies always mattered. “Sure. I got abducted on a Tuesday once. Stuck a couple of needles in me, but tossed me back down hard enough to fuck up my spine when I managed to eviscerate one. Wish I’d brought a camera, those guts looked delightful- and it was so clean! No blood, they had robot insides!”

Dib took half a step back. “Uh-”

“And it was blue, can you believe that? Like one of those crabs! The horsey ones- hey, maybe those were aliens too.”

Dib blinked, shaking his head. “Yeah, maybe. A friend of mine has a theory like that anyways. So… what do you do?”

Johnny stared at him. “Whatever I want. I go to the movies, I eat stuff, I kill people.”

Dib’s mouth twitched before he started laughing. “Pffft, you’ve got such a straight face!”

“Just so you know, if you hear any screaming, don’t worry, they’re all restrained.”

“Right, right.” Dib settled down on the couch. “Oh, nice, this is surprisingly comfortable.”

Johnny settled down next to him. He knew how to talk to Squee- poor kid barely said a word most of the time. He really needed to help him be more confident. Maybe he could get him a hampster. Pets made people more responsible, right?

Then again, Nailbunny hanging on the wall said otherwise. Although that could just be him.

But this Dib kid, he didn’t really seem at all phased. Which was weird- weren’t you supposed to be nervous around strangers? Especially ones that had houses like his, with blood splattered on the walls and a noose tucked in the corner. Maybe that big head’s meaty brain was stuffed with stuff from the aliens instead of common sense, or just figured that the new weird skinny guy was just joking. Squee had first seen him with blood splattered all over. He hugged his legs to his chest, watching the kid pull out a laptop that looked real fancy. Maybe he was rich. Oh, right, if his dad was on tv he probably was.

“Anyway this is Zim- and this is a couple sketches I’ve made of him without his disguise. I’ve seen it, but the pictures keep getting destroyed because the universe really hates me.”

“We’re in the same boat, then.” Johnny said. “If there is anything looking over the Earth, it always picks a couple people to just dump dookie on, just for shits and giggles. It’s a pain in the ass, let me tell you.”

“Yeah, it is.” Dib mumbled. “This is his little robot in a dog costume.”

“That’s kind of cute, actually.”

“Yeah, not so much when he’s also got lasers attached to him.” Dib said. “He’s not as bad a Zim, though, mostly he’s just kind of dumb.”

Dib started rambling on about routines and habits and skin texture, and Johnny kind of checked out, preferring to run his eyes over Dib’s face. He was little, for a twelve year old- but then again, it wasn’t like Johnny spent a lot of time around twelve year olds. Or anyone. Dib's glasses slid down and he adjusted them twice in a few minutes without a pause. Listening to him was almost like putting on the radio in the background to distract from the car crashes outside and the nothingless and everythingness of being a human being. His voice was kind of whiny, but the crescendos in it with the tides of how emotional he got were almost like music.

“And then he started raving about how cloning is far superior to filthy human breeding, and that’s when I started getting curious about checking out the rest of my family.” Dib was breathing hard. He had a look on his face like he wasn’t used to being allowed to talk for that long. Frankly, Johnny agreed with the alien kid that the way people reproduced was utterly repulsive, but they’d come back around to why he’d let Dib in in the first place.

“Well, verdict?”

“Huh?”

Johnny held out his arms, one leg slipping off the couch while the other loosened so his heel rested on the edge of the couch cushion and his toe pointed up at the ceiling. “On me.”

“Well. You’re kind of weird, but I guess my whole family is like that.” Dib said. “And you actually do listen to me, which is a really nice change of pace.”

“It can get boring around here, and you’re not nearly as irritating as some other people can be. At least you ramble on about fun stuff.” Johnny shrugged just as there was a shriek from the stairs. Dib’s head whipped around.

“What was that?”

“A ghost, probably. Or I need to add more electricity to the guy from the church picnic...”

Dib set a hand on his forehead. “Yeah… yeah, probably.” He patted at his pocket, then seemed satisfied by whatever was inside. “Want me to exorcise it for you?”

“Nah, I’ve gotten used to it.”

“Alright, suit yourself but the offer is open.” Dib said. “You said you had TV?”

Johnny grabbed the remote. “What kind of idiot wouldn’t?”

Dib left about an hour later after laughing at the hokey acting on some soap opera, and Johnny realized he was in good enough of a mood that he whistled over the begging when he he slid his favorite knife through a man’s chest cavity and carved him open, collecting the viscera in a bucket.

He’d give the wall monster some organ meat to go with the coating, he decided. Give it a treat. And maybe he’d invite Dib over again sometime.

#invader zim #jthm #johnny the homicidal maniac #dib membrane #johnny c #nny #dib #shadow writes stuff #iz blogging

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hank-mcdankblade · 5 years

Text

I Know A Bottom When I See One Princess (Part 2)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary

Chapter 1: You and Dean have been pals for as long as you can remember, practically raised together. Are things still the same as you remembered when you reconnect with him after a couple years apart? Well there is one thing you see differently and you’re about to call him out on it.

Chapter 2: After you flirt back with Dean you start to rethink all of your life choices. Why did you flirt back instead of making fun of him? God it would be so much easier if you were just a genderless blob. Hopefully the new supernatural case a friend of your mom’s gives you will distract you from all this romance mumbo jumbo.

Chapter 3: You and Dean both start to realize your feelings are not what you both originally anticipated them to be. If only you two could actually talk like adults instead of bantering like childish 8 year olds. The case picks up when you see a certain someone’s name over every case, a certain boomer’s name.

Chapter 4: You and Dean do some sleuthing into Chrissy’s apparent death. After learning the truth your trip to Wendy’s/Jack in the Box gets interrupted by Chief douchebag. Rick takes the three of you on a nice drive to the mountains to introduce you to his daughter.

Word Count: 4,697

Warnings: a fuck ton of swearing, self hatred, angst, fluff bits sort of

______________________________________________________________________

Ever since your little accusation of Dean, there’d been a little tension between the two of you. You were unsure of what kind of tension there was, or if there was even any to begin with. Surely Dean wasn’t upset about you teasing him, he’d let worse things roll off of his back without sparing a thought about it. Despite your doubts, your routine and friendship were pretty much the same in all regards. You still hunted together and made an awesome team. You still ate greasy food at establishments that barely deserved the title ‘Diner.’ And you still sang together to all his old music. So you were probably just over thinking things like you always did, but you still had an inkling that something was off about Dean.

Black and blue streaks painted the night sky with speckles of stars scattered across the canvas. The street lights outside cast pale yellow rays from the crack in the curtains that hit across the corner of Dean’s bed and stretched up the wall. The rays revealed to you the quilted pattern of the comforter and Dean’s duffel bag thrown haphazardly on the floor with clothes leaking out of it. Parts of the room not in direct contact with the light were in view as well. Traveling up his bed, you could see the curves of his cheek bones as he slept. Dean truly was beautiful. This was when he looked completely at peace, when he was asleep.

You turned to your side again, the bed rustling while you did. You had nightmares like most hunters did, but that wasn’t the reason why sleep evaded you tonight. After that night in the bar you basically cemented that you both had feelings for one another. Sure you and Dean flirted back and forth as a joke, but the other night was different. It was more real. What you had before was just your normal relationship. Dean shamelessly flirted with you and you made a joke out of it. It was your go to move to dodge his affections.

You didn’t really know how to respond to these advances from him, or anyone really at the moment. Your track record of relationships wasn’t the shiniest around and definitely nothing to brag about, most ending in either death or betrayal, but you were mostly scared to make things weird with Dean. He was your bud, your pal, your dude, any nickname that you could call a friend you’ve absolutely said it to him.

What would happen if you two did get together? A million and one questions popped into your mind when you thought about it, all ending with the same answer. Nothing good. It would be easier to play his flirting off as a joke to not hurt his feelings because relationships were nothing but trouble from your experience.

At first glance you’d think that Dean would never want to settle down and was content to have temporary lovers that lead nowhere, but he wanted what most people wanted, what you wanted too. True love. Pure and unadulterated love. But the bond you two shared was enough for you right now. You were ok with being alone, not that you really gave yourself much of a choice on the matter having sworn off relationships and meaningless nights with strangers. You couldn’t bring yourself to be with someone, not with the baggage you had strapped on your back. If anyone, hunter or not, saw the scar on your back you knew what they would say and the facial expression that would come with it.

If you let your walls down for even a single moment you would lean closer to Dean and let what might happen, happen. But the growing void inside refused to let you, God if he saw your scar he would look at you with disgust. It’s not the scar that would make him turn away, but the identity associated with it. Across your shoulder blades read a prophecy in Latin, burned into your skin the day your powers were activated. It was a symbol of your power and title. The curved letters created the prophecy of the Slayer reading;

“In omni generatione, est electus. Una puella in mundi. Et arte vires et solus geram et in surgere viribus a tenebris. Ad propagationem eorum mala prohibere et ad terras eorum numero. Quæ est Slayer.”

“Into every generation, there is a chosen one. One girl in all the world. She alone will wield the strength and skill to stand against the forces of darkness. To stop the spread of their evil and the swell of their numbers. She is the Slayer.”

The night you got your scar was still fresh in your mind and could play back like a movie reel. It was an ordinary day just like any other. Your biggest problems were fitting in at your new high school, getting good grades, and avoiding whatever bullshit your mom was going to throw at you, but little did you know you had a big storm coming. The activation of a Slayer’s powers differs from Slayer to Slayer. Some feel nothing, others feel a tickle, but you experienced the worst burning pain you’d ever felt in your life. The moment the imaginary hot metal touched your skin a hellish scream was ripped from your throat. You swore you could feel your skin melt away to expose your bones. The pain was so white and intense that after only a couple of moments your body went limp as a way of protecting you.

For weeks the burning pain didn’t go away. The pain and scar served as a reminder that you would never lead a normal life. Never wear a strapless dress or swimsuit ever again. You could never let anyone touch your back. If they felt the raised skin on your upper back you knew they would have questions, and ones you couldn’t answer. It’s not everyday you see anyone with a large brand on their back, or a brand of any kind. But after the reveal the reactions were the same, eyes filled with pity and hands recoiling from disgust.

Dean would react the same way. He would look at you just like your mom did, nothing but a demon. I mean that is where you got your powers from as the Slayer, so you had to be a branch on the demon family tree. Dean hated demons more than anything in the world, so where did that put you in his eyes? Embers in your heart started to light at the thought of being related to scum, to vermin. Thoughts and fantasies of a normal life poured gasoline onto the fire until it burned away your entire existence.

“God damnit.” Hot air left your lungs as you sighed. The cardboard sheets of your bed pooled around your waist as you sat up. Your eyes were seemingly staring at nothing while you pondered what the hell to do now that you were awake. Your heart felt deflated like a popped balloon, crushed under the weight of your reality.

You would give both your legs and your entire movie collection to be able to sleep right now and forget about the harsh world outside the warm cocoon your hotel room proved to be. The desperate need to just sleep was choking you, making tears prick at your eyes.

“Hey, you ok?” Had you been more awake, Dean’s sudden interjection would’ve made you flinch. Your reflexes and actions were much slower as you turned to look at him lying on his back. Your heart fluttered at the sight of him half asleep, hair fluffy and eyes barely open.

“Would you believe me if I said yes?” You asked in a rough voice. Your fingertips ran through your hair pulling it out of your face. Your eyelids fluttered closed in an attempt to concentrate on your breathing. Dean was taking his sweet time answering you. His eyes were scanning over your form. Your chin was perched atop one of your knees, arms around said leg while the other was stretched out under your covers. Your skin had been hardened by years of hunting, fingertips riddled with callouses from the weapons you’d handled. The only parts of you that were soft were hidden from sight. Dean also bet that your cheeks were soft, he had never had the chance to touch them but someday he’d like to. If you allowed it he would be able to stare at you for hours, trying to solve you like a Rubix cube. For the most part Dean could tell what you were thinking and feeling without second guessing himself, but there were always moments he was unable to read your body language.

He’s seen you in this state before, not too often but every once in a while. It was almost as if you were a statue, unmoving and barely talking. Whenever you were quiet he knew something was up. It was terrifying when you were quiet. At the pit of Dean’s chest an ache began to grow, he felt this way whenever he saw you like this. Physically there was nothing he could do, no mountain he could push or villain to defeat. This was something you had to work on your own in order to heal, and he understood that. But it didn’t make it suck any less watching you torture yourself internally when you were hit with these episodes.

“Need some company over there?” You held your breath for a moment mulling over Dean’s question. A familiar touch caressed your mind. This wasn’t the first time you’d been in this situation before. Nothing registered as contact on your skin, it was just numb.

“Yeah, I do.” Wordlessly, Dean padded over to your bed and lifted the covers. The shadows on his body moved with the light from the street lamps. There was a silent pact you two had to never bring up these nights, nights where you both needed some human contact with no questions asked.

Nights like these began after your activation. Dean had never seen you so upset before. As a teen he had no idea what to do, he probably still didn’t know now. But he knew that being held helped you and your mother was sure as hell not gonna do that for you. She was always too busy hunting with John. Truly those two were cut from the same cloth. Without the guidance from your parents you sought comfort in each other, and thus your silent pact was formed. Neither of you knew what the reason for this silence was, but nonetheless you kept it. Dean laid on his back with his arms open inviting you in, reminded of when you two used to do this before you left.

Feeling your head on his chest felt like home. A gentle surge of energy made his skin hum as you wrapped your arms around him. If there was anywhere Dean knew he was meant to be, it was here.

“Goodnight sweetheart.”

“G’night.”

And for the first time tonight, you actually slept.

Once the morning came around you and Dean were already on the road heading towards another case, Colorado to be more specific. You got a call from a friend of your mother. Her name was Jen and she worked as a park ranger for the Grand Mesa National Forest near Grand Junction. During the past couple of weeks, people had gone missing with no evidence left behind. Jen knew that this wasn’t a bear attack like the police claimed, so she called you and Dean for help. Of course you both accepted excited for a new adventure.

The Impala roared across the black pavement, kicking up rocks and zooming past trees so fast the leaves shook. In your opinion, the day was perfect. All across your part of the hemisphere the temperature was starting to drop. It was early October and the snow was starting to fall in a beautiful light drift, letting the wind decide its path. The ground was dusted with white sparkles that glittered in the sunlight. The snow wasn’t thick enough to build igloos out of just yet, but it was just thick enough to stick to the ground. You closed your eyes trying to absorb the environment’s good energy. Somehow you convinced Dean to roll the windows down and here you were with your head practically out of the window taking it all in. You were never sure why, but something about the cold air woke up your bones. Dean would always claim it was because you ran hot and then wink at you.

The negative energy was evaporating into the air to be turned into a beautiful white mosaic. The wonderful weather made you think that maybe someone was looking out for you. Maybe someone out there saw your rough night and decided to give you a break. Whatever the cause, you weren’t going to question it and were going to keep singing along to the Blue Oyster Cult CD Dean had in.

Dean looked over to you and committed the image to memory. No matter how many times he saw your smile it would never be enough. You were stretched out in the passenger seat with your shoes kicked off and jacket thrown in the backseat despite the low temperature. Seeing you beside him in the Impala brought on a flood of old memories. Dean wasn’t able to count the number of times Sam, him, and you drove to get ice-cream and dick around town just to get out of whatever motel you were stuck in at the moment. The three of you were inseparable as kids, always hanging out or messing with each other. But everything came to an end once you both turned eighteen.

By the time you had become the Slayer, your relationship with your mother was already strained. She was not the fuzziest person around and was certainly not fit to be a parent. The way she ended up in the hunting business was the same as John. Her husband got killed by demons and the rest was history. From then on she dragged you along on all her hunts and after a couple years she ran into John Winchester. The two made a surprisingly good team.

Your mother, Caroline, was always off putted by your existence it seemed. It was as if you were a burden to her, just extra luggage to haul around that reminded her of her late husband. There were never any bed time stories or hugs, just life lessons and the occasional pat on the back. At fourteen you considered yourself to be independent. You cooked for yourself, you took care of yourself, and with the help of Dean you were able to raise Sammy up to be a productive member of society. (Or dork as Dean would like to say) Your mother was barely around so it wasn’t a surprise that you grew up faster than you should have, but things only got harder after you received the call of the Slayer. Caroline resented you for what you were, even if she never voiced her opinion out loud. Her words were sharp and responses were short. You knew what she thought about you.

Dean never understood how a mother could do that to her child, her only child. Mothers, parents in general, were supposed to protect their kids. The day you left Dean swore he could feel his heart break in two. But as much as it hurt him to see you leave to start your own life in the big world, he knew why you needed to. He knew that you needed to get away from your mom’s abuse and passive aggressive attitude. But none of that mattered because you were here now and Dean was incredibly thankful to whoever brought you into his life again.

A violent buzzing on your thigh stole your attention away from the beautiful weather today brought you. You sat up from your seat and reached your hands forward, clasping them and stretching until you heard a few clicks from your joints. You stifled a yawn as you looked at your phone. “Hey Jen, yeah we’ll be there soon. No, no don’t worry. Alright. See ya.” Dean glanced over to you, silently asking you if everything was ok. “Jen’s just being paranoid. She thinks the police are gonna know that we’re up to something nefarious.”

“What does she think we’re gonna do? Show up holding a sign that says ‘Hey we’re definitely going to murder someone?’”

“You never know, those could come back in style.”

After another hour of driving, the Impala rolled onto a gravel driveway connected to a log built office. As you stepped out of the car the crisp air of the forest nipped at your skin waking you up. The gas and pollution of the cities made you appreciate the fresh air and scenic views before you. As far as the eye could see there were only trees that looked straight out of a Hallmark movie perfectly covered in snow. For the last month all you had seen was gray buildings. It was suffocating how many people squished themselves into one place that they called home.

Dead leaves and rocks crunched underneath your feet as you walked into the Park Ranger’s Office. A wave of hot air rushed past your cheeks as you stepped into the heated building. It was simple in structure having only four rooms, a kitchen, a living room, a bathroom and an office. The aesthetic was just as you had imagined it would be. The walls were covered with nature paraphernalia everywhere, with samples of tree leaves and forest fauna tacked onto poster board naming the different parts of the organism. Other parts of the wall were covered in maps and pictures of memories from years and decades ago, like a life size scrap book. The heels of your boots clacked against the wooden floor giving a signal to the workers inside that they had some company.

“Hello?” You called out. It’d been awhile since you saw Jen, so you weren’t sure what you were going to get. But after a few moments your voice was met with clunking boots and a familiar face.

“(Y/N)! Dean! Thank god you’re here, I’ve had enough of all the spooky shit going down here and would like to go back to fearing bears instead of monsters.” Jen said bounding towards you two with a smile. In her hands she was holding a manila folder that had papers sticking out in all different angles. You smiled feeling her bubbly energy, feeling yourself start to charge up a little after such a long drive.

“We’ll get you back to fearing those bears in no time. What do you have for us?” You asked stepping closer to get a look at the file Jen prepared, with Dean following your steps.

“The disappearances have been happening for years and only during the late fall and winter season, but no one talks about it.” Jen huffed out. She leaned against the kitchen counter with her arms crossed.

“The police usually just show up, ask their questions, and never do anything to solve the cases. Always claiming it’s bears. But I call bullshit, because bears only kill people when threatened or if they’re messing with their cubs. I doubt that many people would be stupid enough to play chicken with a bear. And even if they did end up dead bears bury their prey and feed on them until completely gone, but we haven’t found any evidence to support that claim. No body, no bears.” Jen’s description of the case was strange. Both you and Dean were already mentally working on a list of creatures to rule out in your hunt.

“Have you seen or smelled anything strange in those weeks?” Dean asked. He was thumbing through the file to see pictures of the site of the crime, narrow footprints on the ground, and trees scratched with bloody long claws. Jen looked at the ground, pulling her brows together in concentration as she thought back, willing her memories to give her some sort of clue to what happened here.

“Not that I can think of…” For a moment it looked like something clicked in Jen’s eyes. “Although….”

“Yeah?” Jen shook her head again dismissing herself. “Anything will help.”

Jen pulled her lips tight before answering you. “The claw marks I’ve noticed on the trees are odd.”

“How so?” Your partner asked stepping in.

“It’s not a huge difference from regular bear claw marks, but something feels off about them. The claw marks feel less like territory guarding and more like a result from an attack. If that makes any sense, they’re less precise.” You and Dean shared a look, almost as if you were telepathically sharing the same idea. Your gut was telling you already predictions of what was terrorizing the woods, but you wanted to get all the details before you jumped to conclusions. The case seemed like a pretty open and close shut one. You were about to thank Jen when the office door suddenly swung open. After a moment of panic, Dean quickly picked up the case file and hid it in the confines of his leather jacket. The door swung back hitting the wall with a loud smack revealing an older gentleman in a police uniform. His face was grim, every crease in his face probably from frowning so much. Your eyes looked to his breast pocket with the name tag, ‘Rick Sullivan, Police Chief.’

“Ms. Clinton, you’re not scaring the locals again with your fairy tails are you?” The policeman’s voice lacked any humor or sarcasm whatsoever. From the cadence of his words you could tell that this wasn’t the first time Jen had this conversation with him. Jen’s body language switched. She stood up straight with a stoic look on her face. Oh yeah, they had definitely met before. Jen bit her tongue, wanting so badly to tell him off and reveal to him the true nature of this world and watch as his face morphed into one of pure terror.

“Not at all,” Jen said, clipping her words as short as she could. “just telling these kids that now might not be the best time to go hiking. Ya know, what with the disappearances and all.” Her eyes narrowed slightly with a fake smile. She couldn’t help but get in at least one jab before the conversation ended. It was a damned if you do, damned if you don’t situation. But at least with this option she was able to do what she wanted, regardless of the consequences. The police man, now known as Rick from his name tag, clenched his jaw. Tension built up into the air as the two stared at each other for a moment.

“Just some bears getting their energy out, nothing more than that. But regardless the department needs to check all the bases and I need the sign in form.” Jen breathed deeply, most likely to stop herself from saying anything else and walked out of the room to get the clipboard the office left out at the entrance on a pedestal for guests to sign in at.

“Is everything ok? We heard there were some people who went missing here.” You asked casually slipping your hand into Dean’s. The rush Dean felt from your skin touching his made his heart beat quicken. That familiar hum of energy traveled up his arm and dissipated into the rest of his body. He knew you were only doing it to protect your cover, but it still didn’t fail to make him nervous. Feeling some sort of magnetic pull, Dean moved closer to you. You would be lying if you said that playing this role didn’t feel natural to you. It was odd how easily you could slip into the role of a fake girlfriend, holding onto his arm and leaning your head on his shoulder.

Rick shook his head and sighed. “Nothing so dramatic happened here. We just have a few residents that like to stir things up and make trouble where there isn’t any. As long as you don’t hike where you shouldn’t be you should be fine.” He stated this like it was such an obvious fact that even a mouth breathing four year old would be able to see it. Rick seemed to think highly of himself, towering over you two in condescension. To him you two were just some dumb kids looking to cause him grief.

“Are you sure? We read that there wasn’t any damning evidence that pointed to a bear attack.” Dean butted in. Your grip on his hand tightened almost as a warning to get him to cut the attitude he was sporting. If it wasn’t in his voice, you could see it all on his face. Dean’s eyes were locked on Rick with his lips pursed. Of course that shit head had to have at least one word in on this, his personality wouldn’t have it any other way. He always had issues with authority, something you thought he picked up since he was always under John’s thumb.

Rick could sense Dean’s snarky attitude a mile away and reciprocated. His posture straightened even more, if possible, and he pulled his shoulders back. “Son, I’ve been on the force for damn near forty years. I think I know a bear attack when I see one.” You were sure if Dean uttered another word Rick would have him arrested just for being disrespectful. Truly the police chief before you was the epitome of the angry baby boomer’s generation, and Dean was just another millennial in his eyes here to ruin the diamond industry by spending all his money on avocados or not getting married.

You tugged on Dean’s arm wanting nothing more than to get out of here before the situation escalated. “Hey love, why don’t we head home and come back another time?” You asked leaning into Dean, affectively playing the part of the girlfriend. The two of you had everything you needed from Jen to start working on the case, and if you had any more questions you’d call her. Guess she wasn’t kidding when she mentioned over the phone that the cops around here were twitchy. Dean couldn’t help the smile that crept onto his lips looking at you clinging onto him. Fake or not he loved being able to have these moments with you.

“Sure thing sweetheart.” Dean’s eyes followed your figure as you lead him out of the door to the office, ignoring anything Rick Sullivan had to say to him.

Once you knew you were out of ear shot of the asshole back in the office you felt the need to speak up brewing inside you.

“You are going to get us arrested with that smart mouth of yours.” You poked at Dean. Looking over to him you saw a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. He didn’t regret a word he said. You both walked in sync to the car with clasped hands, no longer safe from the cold outside.

“Well my mouth could be doing other things if you want sweetheart.” Dean tugged on your hand, pulling you to him with a smirk. Your laughter filled the air as you shook your head.

“Like what? Complain and bitch about the cold? You are pretty good at that.” Rick’s crotchety behavior was long forgotten by the time you two got in the Impala. Yet again your rapport with Dean remained the same. Maybe harmless flirting was just your friendship and you were making too big of a deal about it. Analyzing your history with him did remind you that this dynamic of yours had been going on forever. Nothing came from it then, so maybe nothing will come from it now. The two of you settled back into the Impala to start yet another adventure into the supernatural world.

#dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #reader insert #dean winchester x reader smut #supernatural x reader #bottom dean #I know a bottom when I see one princess

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faejilly · 5 years

Note

[Wildcard Prompt]: 175. “Yes, it is a real dragon, but I can explain everything…”

ilu #because dragons

also I went with Malec during the Shadowhunters season finale, even though you are not one of my show-people, just because I could not RESIST, and you always encourage the really ridiculous ficlets 💖💖💖 🐲

Magnus flings himself more than just walks through the Portal back home out of Edom, following the anchor of Lorenzo’s spell to get them over the Void between Realms, racing the destruction growing behind him, trying to move faster than the death of a world.

He doesn’t quite make it, caught by one final chaotic flare of power just as he goes. It feels like feedback static, sings down his spine like the worst mic squeal he’s ever heard, and even as he’s stumbling onto the Institute’s floor his body’s on fire, burning and twisting and he can’t breathe, he can’t think, he wants to roar.

He blinks, and the world looks wrong, the angles different and the colors dimmer but the shadows thinner, he can see the spark of Lorenzo’s magic, the stillness of Simon’s blood, the way power twists in and out and through Meliorn, just like the vines that grow on his skin. And oh, how the Nephilim shine.

He’s too tall though, and his hands are… he doesn’t have, he can’t–

Magnus inhales, chokes, sees sparks in the air and an itch in his scales, and he’s half-a-breath past panic when he meets Alec’s eyes. Alexander is looking up, but the expression is the same as it’s always been, warmth and wonder and an endlessly protective sort of adoration, and it’s enough to settle the too hot pace of Magnus’ heart.

“Did Magnus just turn into a dragon.” There’s a twist in Jace’s voice, like he’d tried to ask a question but couldn’t quite make it, because yes, somehow, Magnus is clearly a dragon, and he can’t really deny that even to the point of sarcastically asking if it truly happened.

Magnus tries to give him his usual I am too old to deal with your ridiculousness look, but his face won’t move and he can’t seem to roll his eyes. He pulls back a little though, and feels how much longer his neck is than it used to be, and tilts his chin down and flares his nostrils.

There’s a little trickle of smoke when he does it, and Magnus makes very sure to keep his mouth closed, since he has no idea if fire breathing is a thing, or how to control it if it is. He’d really rather not burn down the Institute.

If you’d asked him that a year ago…

Alec snorts, so Magnus thinks he got his point across.

“Well, that’s definitely Magnus,” Izzy agrees, an almost smile making her lips twitch at whatever it is Magnus actually did with his expression.

“Why?” Simon asks plaintively. “Was today not weird enough, we had to add unexpected shape-shifting?”

“Hmm.” Lorenzo hums, and tilts his head. There’s a glint in his eyes that Magnus doesn’t particularly like, but it’s not cruel or condescending or vindictively satisfied, as he might have expected considering the whole Asmodeus turned him into a lizard thing, just curious. “Edom’s leftover power had to go somewhere? And as the previous Prince’s heir was right there…”

“It turned my fiance into a dragon.” Alec presses his lips together, and then he sighs, shoulders sagging. “Of course it did.”

“If it’s anything like regular demonic transformation, he should be able to control it in a few minutes when the magic settles.” Lorenzo is really being quite nice about the whole situation, it’s a little unnerving.

Then again, he is getting to show off how he’s the smartest person (who can talk) in the room, so that’s probably appealing for him.

Magnus huffs out a breath and manages to make his new head nod in agreement.

Alec sighs with clear relief, his eyes closing with one long blink. He gives Magnus a wry smile as they open. “Not that you aren’t still gorgeous as a dragon.”

“But it’s hard to walk down the aisle if he’s too big to fit?” Clary offers, a smile growing on her face now that they’re all pretty sure this is temporary.

“Won’t fit through the bedroom door either,” Jace mutters to Izzy, who giggles softly.

Alec shrugs, not disagreeing with either point, still looking up at Magnus. “Since Lorenzo mentioned controlling rather than dispelling, does that mean you’ll be able to turn back into a dragon whenever you want to?”

Magnus’ shoulders don’t work the way he thinks they will, and instead of shrugging back, his wings arc upwards and smack into the courtyard walls.

Ouch.

This is a terrible place to be stuck as a dragon, that’s enough of that.

Magnus closes his eyes, and focuses on the flare of power that had singed beneath his skin, that has now settled everywhere, intertwined with the more familiar pulse of his usual magic.

It’s… smokier than he’s used to, but not actually terribly different.

Lorenzo was right.

He’s going to have to admit that when he can talk again.

Magnus swallows the urge to sigh, since he’s still not sure about that fire thing, and focuses on twisting the new magic down and in, on easing it into something sort of like hibernation.

He realizes part-way thru that he has no idea what happened to his clothes, which means he has no idea what happened to his ring, and he panics again, a too strong surge of magic as he tries to rear up on his hind legs. He smacks against the walls again, and feels everyone pushed back with the force of his power, and then Alec’s there again, stepping closer instead of back, lifting his hand enough to let his palm brush against Magnus’ scaled chest.

“Shh,” Alec whispers, and Magnus can’t stop himself from whining, a harsh whisper of sound that fills the area around them. “We’ll figure it out, whatever it is. We got you home, that’s what matters.”

Magnus twists his too long neck and rests his chin against Alec’s back, counting his breaths, his heartbeats, and tries again.

He finds his clothing this time, caught in some weird in-between space that doesn’t really exist but is where all the extra mass of his dragon body goes back, and yes, he will definitely be able to turn this around again if he wants to, which is a something to think about some other time.

He staggers a little, back on two feet, back in boots, which don’t rest at all the same on the floor as dragon feet and claws, and then Alec’s holding him up, strong arms wrapped around him. Magnus sighs again, his head tucked properly into Alec’s neck where he most wants to be.

Now they’re home.

Now he’s home.

#twistedsinews #because dragons #shadowhunters #malec #magnus bane #my sh fic #jilly answers #jilly writes

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