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lackingspace · 3 years

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Null Moon (Marko x Reader)

Rating: SFW

Word Count:5.5k

Summary: Due to some mad bogus circumstances your hand was forced into relocating to the Santa Carla witch coven. Not exactly where you saw yourself, but beggars cant be choosers or however that saying goes. New coven, new community, no idea how this was going to play out, what could go wrong?

Warnings: Nothing really. Just 80s slang, some suggestive themes, trigger warning for witchcraft I guess, vampire boys doing stalky vampire things, and expanding the magical community at large. Throw in psychic fliting too. The only real warning here is that I wax soliloquy, stopping me is impossible.

So I watched Lost Boys again and Marko just too pretty and wouldn’t stop, so I had to write about it. I’m dedicated to worldbuilding because it pleases me, so no smut yet, but don’t worry, its comin. Enjoy the 80s slang sprinkled everywhere. Out of no where I know, but I hope you all like it ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Part 2: Blood Moon ✧･ﾟ:

Salt was something you’d found yourself trying to quickly get accustomed to. Don’t get it twisted, you weren’t mental and liked it in your food just fine, but it was in everything here. It was bogus, really. None of your new sisters warned you about the mundane annoyances when relocating to their beachfront town.

It was almost insidious how it could worm its way into just about anywhere and everything. Even on days you were a shut-in, your hair still had a salty ocean breeze scent and you swore you’d find grains of sand in the oddest of places. It wasn’t that big of a deal, just another thing out of your control-- one you’d never be able to change.

The atmosphere answered to no one. Maybe this was the ocean’s way of welcoming you into the fold? Taking it as a sign that the gods were pleased with your departure from the Louisiana coven helped soothe the bitter ache.

You had other things to occupy your thoughts, anyway. Nothing exciting, just the very normal, very stressful situations that came with moving. Having a not so smooth departure made your integration into this coven rocky. Trying to smooth that out while accommodating for the new energy and dynamic of the community made things difficult. Stressful? Definitely. Normal? Unfortunately. Hectic? Totally, but still necessary to process.

Getting to know your new coven sisters was also proving tedious, certain views not quite matching up. At least you were kept too busy to really worry over it. Keeping your mind occupied made everything easier. Even if they didn’t know why you’d really been looking to transfer, it was no secret on their end why they’d been so eager to accept you. They’d had a very specific position that none of the current members were willing to entertain.

A major part of the job was the operation of the coven owned metaphysical shop on the boardwalk, night shift specifically. That had a swirl of mixed emotions bristle your senses- excitement just edging out over apprehension. Your old coven hadn't been open to the human public in any way, shape, or form. The practice was sacred and you were taught to keep it that way.

The only non-paranormal individuals allowed within the walls were partners of the community. A werewolf's mate, for instance, maybe suffering an energetic imbalance would be brought in. So dealing with the stuffy clueless human populace nightly? Well, the idea was less than stellar...but survival required adaptation, and you could be flexible. Still, predicting the havoc it’d play on your nerves was easy. Good thing wine existed because having a glass a day was majorly on the agenda.

Oh well, every job had to have something and each place had slightly different energetic needs, different spiritual practices, and don’t even get you started on the nuances of rituals- everyone and their mom have their own twist. Baton Rouge had been a prime example of that- a hotbed for the magical community, it was embedded in the culture. Overflowing with a little something for everyone and then some. Different ailments, practices, people, and best of all different magics.

On the other hand, all that variety came at the cost of a massive headache in interspecies politics. Witches and vampires, weres and goblins, selkies and sirens, demons and wendigos, elementals and everyone, keeping up with who was at who's throat was exhausting. It gave you a gnarly stomach ache frankly, but if that was the price of learning your craft, well, it wasn't that steep.

Headache, stomach pains, whatever- it was a price you'd gladly pay- had paid. Plus, you had loved the community there. Once you got past the politics there was a wealth of knowledge and power just floating around, free for grabs- even when it wasn’t free, there were ways to get what you’d wanted.

Admitting that your departure had left hella bitter resentment towards your previous sisters was something you actively denied. Your new high priestess hadn’t wanted any hexes sent their way following her acceptance of you. Assuring her it was a mutual departure had been easy, they were extremely desperate and hadn’t really gone through all the hoops to look into it. Besides, it was technically true, there wouldn’t be hexes, just bad blood. There wasn’t really a need to let them know they’d be black listed from the area communals. You’d been to enough of them in the past, they weren’t that special anyway.

Here, alone in the dark with your thoughts, you could sit with the discontent. The choice to leave hadn’t been yours, but you could admit it was for the best. When faced with exile you were willing to sacrifice. Resentment notwithstanding, growth rarely happened if you stayed stagnant for too long. This could actually be a blessing in disguise, even with the perpetual gallons of salt. So here you were; New city, new coven, new people, new rules.

A sigh escaped you at the thought as you put on a nice balancing act for anyone watching. The rules were certainly different here.

Less in some ways, more in others- some very curious agreements. Carefully trying, and trying being the keyword, to descend some questionable-looking stairs while carrying delicate cargo. It being pitch black didn't exactly help either, but at twelve am with no flashlight, the darkness was expected.

Not like you could carry one right now anyway and you’d be caught dead before you put on one of those gaudy forehead lights. A distant bonfire, presumably with partygoers, a few miles off was the only source of light outside of the odd shop still lighting up the boardwalk in the distance.

Neither were a help to you here, but the darkness didn't bother you much, it was more the feeling of the wood against your feet that had you on edge. Foregoing shoes had seemed like the smarter choice knowing you'd be walking in the loose sugary sand, but with the way it mixed against the rough wood to scratch against the arch of your foot? Regret was front and center which only exacerbating your already agitated mind.

Catching your toe on an uneven patch in the wood had you hissing in pain. Someone was def getting cursed if you got a splinter. Actually, you'd be surprised if you made it out without one. These steps were legit grody, they barely even qualified as stairs honestly.

Just some half termite eaten planks, driftwood more likely, definitely nothing professional, all nailed together and stuck into the side of a steep sand dune. Falling on your ass at some point was almost guaranteed- You were always a major klutz in these situations.

Shrugging your shoulder and regripping the box, at least the sand would give you a semi-soft landing whenever it happened.

You should thank whatever beachrat made these stairs though, adjusting your grip on the box again had the jars inside clanking together, water sloshing- good thing you'd tightened the lids before leaving the shop. Thanks to these little stairs you didn’t have to miserably fail at trying your luck in midnight sand surfing. If this was midday you’d have trouble with it still- trying sand surfing now? That'd be so warped. Ugh, just imagine having to make your way back up? Now that'd be a real treat- psych.

When both feet planted safely, and surprisingly splinter-free, in the soft sand you shook yourself into focus. No more letting your thoughts drive you, way too much negativity to unpack and you didn't need that energy seeping into your work here. Moon-water wasn’t usually the most influenceable, but you could, and with your attitude the way it was? You’d totally choke if you didn’t check yourself. No need to mess up your first job, right?

Breathing deeply you set about focusing your mind; grounding, feeling yourself coming back to a controlled center was the first step of your job here tonight. Tightening your grip and breathing in had the scent of the ocean hit you full force. With practiced ease, focusing inward had your eyes naturally drifting shut and calm settle over you. It was incredible how soothing grounding- ritual in general really, could be.

Your next inhale highlighted the subtle undertones of the boardwalk overlaid in the breeze, an amalgamation that fused into a scent uniquely Santa Carla. Letting your energy sink deep within you, then lower down still, dropping into the earth, feeling the vibrations of your surroundings- naturally letting it mix with the energies surrounding you. The ocean was a powerful tool, you'd be a ditz to ignore its embrace. There was an unusual magnetic pull in the air, a buzz that licked against your senses.

The full moon was calling, and like the ocean, you were here to answer.

Centered and ready to work you made your way down to the shore. Funny thing about this new coven, part of the new rules was night rituals were restricted to a single practitioner. That restriction had seemed mental to you, and frankly? You still thought they were a bit out there to bend to such restrictions, but once you learned there was a surprisingly sizable vampire pack in the area it had made more sense. Having just one practitioner was easier for accountability and all that, but like, it was still twisted.

Vampires were picky. They claimed a territory and stuck to it. Any other lucky supernatural creature was subject to their "authority". Barf me out with that attitude. If they weren't solitary, it was usually a duo, anything more than a trio was especially rare. Vampires could be mega volatile in general, but especially towards one another. The fact that there were at least four confirmed vamps in the area? Now, that piqued your interest. Their bonds had to be radically tight to stay together with any type of calm.

Unfortunately, vampires and witches? Typically not such a hot mix.

Vampires and magic didn't always mesh well and historically that meant witches and vampires couldn't play nice together. Funnily enough, this coven didn't go against status quo- every sister you'd met so far vehemently detested vamps. Too bad they were smackdab in the middle of fang city.

The location being legit brill had something to do with how docile the coven acted. It said something when witches were willing to take shit and obey in order to practice. Energetically potent, magically powerful, Santa Carla was a delightful nexus. Not to mention scenic too.

The coven was desperate for someone to be the designated night ritualist, working the stores night shift was just a caveat. The timing had worked out because you were just as desperate. You thought the whole vampire witch feud thing was lame, but it’d saved you from ex-communication, so you'd keep that tidbit to yourself.

Vampires didn't bother you really. Well, they could, but not because the vampy bit, just the entitled attitude. Anyone could be a barf bag regardless of what they were. You'd met just as many ditzy witches as narbo vamps. You were more concerned that you'd most definitely have human tourists bombarding you every night.

What got you though was the craziest part of the deal. When within a 15 mile radius of the boardwalk there was a restriction to strictly restorative work. Even being a nexus, you weren’t sure this place was worth neutering yourself energetically for. Sure, vampire's had their reasons, severe sensitivity to magic yada-yada, not to mention if their bond was as tight as you assumed, they probably felt active magic like nails on a chalkboard, but damn.

You couldn’t believe the high priestess would agree to it. It really seemed the witches got the short end of the stick here. You weren’t seeing a lot of benefits for yourself. So far your opinion on the coven was….well, at this point you were half-convinced you’d joined a gaggle of ditzes.

Having taken stock of the ingredients they had on hand a quick glance had made replenishing the monthly moon water a top priority. It was such a simple thing, very useful, super versatile, and no one in the coven had been willing to make a large batch of it. Ugh, imagine letting prejudice get in the way of making such a staple ingredient. There wasn't anything fancy that went into it. A cool head, even temper, patience, and a little prep was all that it needed.

That’s what you were here for now, though. They could keep their dislike and eat their cake too. Still, you weren’t completely obstinate and took their warning to heart, it wasn't just the vampires that made the area witches refuse the night shift.

Santa Carla wasn’t exactly Disneyland. Murder was a thing and it happened here daily. Nexus’s tended to have a magnetic draw. Pulling in powerful things, good things, weak things, bad things- the sheer unpredictability wasn’t a friend in this case.

A random human could decide tonight was beach shanking night and you’d be the lucky victim. You’d like to see them try at least. Maybe one of the vampire pack would break the agreement if they were feeling a bit nippy? Doubtful if they didn’t want a war on their hands, but possible. A stray wendigo attracted to your energy feeling a midnight snack seemed more likely. Could even be a banshee needing a quick meal. Never can tell how things were going to work out.

Knowing yourself though, you’d probably just trip up those hella grimy stairs and break your neck.

You weren’t too worried about being attacked though, honestly. You had wards in place and if it got past that, well, you'd deal with whatever it was then. No use worrying about it now. You were more than happy to take on the privilege to essentially moon bathe on the beach while funneling the energy to the water. It was good on all levels.

Walking to the area you’d scouted during the day set your mind back into focus. Setting the box down, the jars jostling while you grabbed the blanket hanging off the side of the box. Spreading it out and setting up your area had everything falling in place. The jars spread just along the outside of your circular blanket, with that done you sat yourself down in the center.

Determined to do this right you brought back that focused rooted energy. Using this as an opportunity to release some built-up tension would be a good idea too. Let the ocean wash away your bitterness with the tide and allow the moon to shift you into clarity for whatever was to come. Even if you did think your new sisters were idiots, they were to be your idiots and you had to embrace it.

As you laid there working the energy and letting it shift, you noticed a curious sensation at the edge of your perception.

A slight tickling at the fringe of your awareness; soft, so extremely soft and subtle that if you’d just gone about your business and hadn’t been so introspective focused you’d totally have passed it over.

Watched.

The subtle sensation wasn’t threatening as of yet, but you were definitely being watched. By what? You weren’t sure. Getting a firm reading on it was difficult. The more you focused on the energy the further it pulled back. Pursuing it only had whoever it was slyly staying just out of your grasp.

Definitely not human. Wouldn’t be a witch or a medium either, they’d just answer your psychic questioning. Could be a were, you’d heard they’d been in the area recently. The next brush sent a shiver down your spine and had you crossing weres off. It was definitely too silky to be one, they always felt gruffer to you, wilder. Possibly a demon, they had that shade of sensuality and always liked to follow you around in new territory. A quick flash of tightly-wound sharp control coated in a mischievous air finally spit out the answer; Vampire.

Satisfied, you dropped the pursuit and turned your attention back to the sea. Subtle brushes returning, but this time not trying to hide itself or their interest. So one of the new overlords had decided to drop in on their new subject? That was just fine as long as they stayed watching and didn’t interfere.

You’d give it to whichever vamp this was. They had wicked nice energy. Like, once you got a read on that was. Playful, cheeky almost to a fae’s degree, brimming with an elusive danger, while still having a quiet peace underneath. That quiet calm resonated inside your own field and was exactly what you needed to settle back into your space. You didn’t hate the idea of their company so much.

You’d expected a run-in at some point, but right away? They were some go-getters to the max.

Nothing came of it though, the watcher had just been that. A watcher. When three am came, went, and passed, you’d decided to pack things up. You felt their vigilant gaze the entire time. Even after you got in your car and motored on home, it was still with you. It was only after you entered your home did their light press on your awareness leave.

The rest of your week played out much the same. Feeling that attentive gaze in every outside ritual from start to well after the finish. Even while you were working the shop they’d pop in and out of your awareness only to settle when you were locking up for the night.

You’d tried to catch a glimpse of who your designated monitor was, but it proved an impossible task. Stealth was a vampire’s friend and this one was incredibly apt. They stayed just far enough away during ritual and on the boardwalk you were too busy entertaining space cadet humans or dealing with an actual client to seek them out.

On that note, there was a surprising number of shapeshifters in the area, changelings especially had been a nice treat. They weren’t exactly common in Louisiana and working with them was always interesting. They required a delicate eye and full attention when diagnosing their condition.

A shapeshifter’s physicality was entirely based on energy manipulation, so one wrong push or pull and you could injure them more than help. Pinpointing where your attentive observer was out in the crowd became annoyingly out of the question.

They’d turn up eventually. Until then, however, you’d just have to sit tight. Lucky for you changelings had a penchant for gossiping. They’d been kind enough to give you a rundown on the pack and their opinion of them. Changelings weren’t known to have easily won loyalty, so the popular opinion on them being pretty rad, was surprising.

They were apparently chill on the authority, which was shocking enough, but they said the pack leader, David, could be hella genial. Vampires weren’t usually described that way. Not outside of the anyone they were glamouring anyway. Maybe the coven weren’t such spazes to reside here.

Friday saw your week coming to a close. You’d woken up ready to put your first week behind you and spend the weekend really exploring the area. There was a nice hiking trail not too far away that you’d really wanted to spend some time at. A few brownies had spirited into the shop and mentioned it as a great area for herbs and ritual during conversation.

Brewing a second cup of tea, calming herbs this time- regular humans really did get on your nerves with their incessant brainless questions and barf bag attitude. There were a few mediums that'd dropped in who you didn't mind, actually really liked, but the rest of the human race made you want to gag. Lumping witches and poor mediums into the same category didn’t seem fair.

The night was steadily cruising along. The humans came in bursts, sporadic, but manageable. Client-wise, nothing too dramatic either, the most interesting case was a few sprites suffering a nasty goblin hex. It was an easy enough fix, orders on how to use the herbs, and a cautionary chastising to leave the gobbies alone unless invited. They giggled their departure as you shook your head, sprites never learned.

The night's energy had you listless. Only a few hours left before you could close down shop and you were antsy. No pressing ceremonies to perform tonight for the coven either, so heading straight home to open that bottle of wine you'd acquired before your arrival was on the top of the to-do list.

Curiously, your nightly specter hadn't visited once. It was surprising how fast you'd gotten used to a vampire’s energy body. If you were honest with yourself, you'd even come to look forward to having it- him, the changelings had listed only male vampires, being a steady sensation on the outer edges of your senses.

The absence of the strange new routine left you with an unsettled itch. Something was off, you could tell, your antsiness screamed of something about to happen, you just weren't sure what.

The answer came not too long after that. With a lull of what you assumed to be the last customers of the night, you’d busied yourself restocking and starting to close down. High on the shelf ladder reorganizing the herb wall. It got so messy with the daily run-through of customers’ grubby hands all over it. Turning a jar forward as the bell above the door sounded.

"Welcome! I'll be-" the energy that zapped your senses had you cut off the greeting with a sharp inhale. Thank the gods you hadn't been holding one of the glass jars, it'd be smithereens otherwise.

The shift had hit you instantly, an electric buzz that lapped against your mental self. Giving you a clear idea of what just walked in. Four of them. They'd all come. Shifting through the sensation, trying to grasp each of their unique patterns had you stopping short when you felt your chaperone's energy reach out to you.

It wasn't just a soft prodding like usual, instead, it was like a full-body caress. More like a lick if you were honest.

Skin tingling, electric sparks sent down your spine settling somewhere you'd rather not question right now, and if your nipples had tightened from it? Well, that was nobody's business. Beneath the shameless lick was an urge of reassurance.

The unspoken highly nuanced language assuring you of safety. Thank the goddess you were fluent. It was odd, really, a vampire reassuring a witch of their safety? You weren't prey, not if they wanted the coven to stay placid. Even if they’d decided to attack you weren’t helpless. The kiddie gloves would come off quicker than lightning and then they’d see what was up.

They’d definitely break you, but you’d do some damage. So there wasn't any rhyme or reason to make you feel safe or calmed. Nothing you could think of except for your own peace of mind. It had a giggle bubbling up, but you clamped down before it could escape.

You appreciate the sentiment regardless and dragged your energy against his in return, showing your mirth, and if he was apt enough to recognize the instant anxiety their entrance caused, he'd feel the praise underneath.

Taking a deep inhale before steeling yourself. You'd anticipated that it was only a matter of time before a meeting. The high priestess had said it’d come at some point when they felt ready, so you were decidedly not going to freak out and treat them like any other customer. Even if one of them had already made your nipples pebble.

You were also so ready to end the mystery of what your babysitter looked like. Putting a face to, well not a name, but an energetic signature rather. Stepping down from the ladder you made your way towards the front counter.

They were milling about between aisle shelving so getting a clear look wasn’t working. You could see bits of hair, flashes of leather, and hear their banter- typical dudes messing with each other. You were right, hearing how affable they were with each other solidified that they def have a legit bond.

Waiting another minute behind that counter still hadn’t made them come to you. Sighing before you decided to speak up, "What can I help you with tonight?" That had the laughter in the back trickle off before a rumbling voice spoke out, "Many things, maybe nothing. Depends on what you're offering." He hadn’t needed to emerge from the aisle for you to feel the leer paired with that statement. Ah, so David was the edgy type. You could work with that.

What you might stumble over though, was just how pretty they all were.

Don't get it wrong, Vampires were supposed to be attractive, it was part of their thing. A magnetic and alluring shift happened to them all when they were turned, but this? This was on another level.

The vague memory of lessons from your old covens compendium on vampiric lore came to mind. It’d stated the first vampire came into existence born by way of an incubus mingling in a maenads rites with a medium. Their resulting child the first vampire.

Who knew how accurate those stories were, the compendium was specific to each coven; an enduring collection of their line of knowledge, but authenticity was always questionable.

Looking at them all as they emerged- really made you believe there was some weighted truth to the legend. Incubus certainly seemed like it was mingled up in them. You’d been gifted by a few incubi once upon a time and the similarities between them and these boys? Striking. Between their movements, their magnetic presences, and the brazen way they gazed at you.

The vampires in Louisiana were all charming, but it was all a subtle compulsion. It didn’t help that they typically had a bad attitude mixed with antiquated style. They just never appealed to you.

This pack, however, seems like they’d had no problem keeping up with pop culture. Embracing it wholeheartedly, one of them looked like he moonlighted in poison for crying out loud. Maybe they were young, but you got a vibe that hinted otherwise. More like they were adaptable.

Trying to keep a straight face, professionalism and all that, was difficult, but doable. At least you thought it was, but once you locked eyes with a pair of soulful hazel- there was no doubt that they all felt the psychic warble you let slip accidentally.

He’d been the elusive watcher this week. There wasn’t a question about it, a perfect face to match his auric self. The breath you’d been holding choked out when he broke into an impish grin followed by what was essentially another playful full-body kiss.

You swore you could hear a purr resound in your mind. The three subordinates chuckled when you drew in a sharp intake.

“Marko.” David's tenor was soft, but firm. Marko? Cute. Without breaking eye contact, his smile widened mischievously while he raised both hands in surrender. The undivided attention was unsettling in all the right ways.

Sparking a heat that undulated throughout you. Tabling that information to the back of your mind, you broke the gaze. Needed to if you were going to have any kind of brain function for conversation.

Turning to the de facto leader you sized him up. Or tried to. Definitely threatening, actively making it hard to read him. On the surface he felt like a cold blade; sharp, decisive, piercing.

Good qualities for a leader you supposed, but like, damn, that didn’t sate your curiosity. If he wasn’t going to work with you then that only left the boring way, “David, I presume?”

He raised a brow with a pleased look, “Good. The little crone knows who matters around here.” Bo-guuus, edgy with an attitude. Those changelings either lied or were talking about someone different because genial? You weren’t seeing it. Aiming an unimpressed look paired with a, “Mmhmm” brought a chuckle of his own.

Waiting for him to speak again seemed like the best option, you weren’t very good at small talk, and Marko was still so very distracting. After David’s chiding, he really hadn’t let up much. He might not be doing that lick thing with the delightful heat, but what he was doing wasn’t far off.

Going out of his way to make sure a large portion of your attention was still focused on him by continually baiting you; almost like energetic petting. If you weren’t trying to have a serious conversation you’d bask in the new attention. You weren’t a cat, but you imagined this is what they must have felt like. Psychic flirting was always fun, but his attention had it quickly becoming your favorite.

With him doing it in front of his pack though? Any sensible person, witch especially should be uncomfortable. Totally pissed if not outraged- it was definitely a claim, unnervingly possessive, and you shouldn’t like the blatant territorial display, but for some reason, it stroked something deep in your harebrain that majorly worked for you.

Before you could drop down that rabbit hole further David brought you back, “You’ve been a busy little witch this past week.” Annoyance fluttered in, what’d he expect? There hadn’t been a night ritualist for over a year. There was a lot of work to do, some things just couldn’t be done during the day.

You shrugged “Ha, massive understatement. New coven, new clients, way too many neglected things to catch up on. Seems like you should thank me for taking over.”

The look he gave you was piercing and indiscernible. You weren’t really sure where you stood with him. You hadn’t done anything to step out of the bounds they’d placed on you, but somehow with the look he was leveling at you begged the question, had you?

Mentally retracing your week yielded nothing. Hadn’t even tried to hex anyone, even that human who’d cut you off on your drive in Wednesday night, now that’d been difficult. Was this why you’d had such heavy surveillance? Not that you’d minded, but here you thought it was just your shining personality.

“Keep it up. The community needs a witch with some spine.” Maybe you’d spoke too soon, he might not be so bad.

“I wasn’t so sure about you. Word on the street and all.” That had you freeze. Not even Marko’s continued attention phased you. There was no way he knew anything. That was impossible. Your new coven didn’t know, your old coven wouldn't dare let anything slip- it wouldn’t just be you who lost face.

There was no way anyone knew anything about you or why you’d moved. It had to be a bluff, a well aimed taunt. It was common knowledge that witches rarely transferred covens, it happened for a multitude of reasons- good, bad, ugly. He was just being a dickhead, a nosy dickhead.

Forcing a calm mask even though you were sure they could all hear your rapid heartbeat, trying not to play into his bait, “Oh? Word on the street? I have a rep already? Bitchin’.”

Anxiety was a mega issue for you, so not having a cow and playing it as chill as you did? A total moment for you. clammy hands, rapid heartbeat, clenched jaw and all. That pulled a laugh out of Marko and the hair band look-alike while David and the clydesdale in the back wore smirks.

“Word is the new witch isn’t from the clique. Never can tell what you little hags are planning, bringing in new blood?” He leaned forward across the counter catching you with his piercing blues, “That has trouble written all over it.”

You were slow to process what he’d actually said, too caught up in how the light glinted off his pretty eyes. There was no denying it, so you didn’t try, “For sure,” but on second thought you didn’t want to make it sound like you were here to start shit, “but change isn’t always bad.”

He tapped the glass of the counter before he pushed off, “We’ll see about that, little hag”. That must have been the signal to leave because he’d started walking towards the door with the silent type in his shadow.

Marko hadn’t moved, hadn’t dropped his attention and you were nervous to return it. Too likely to get caught up in something now that they were all leaving. You liked it, but it was still like mega nerve-racking.

Before you could work up the confidence to engage with whatever that was, the taller blonde slapped his shoulder, “I like this chick! She’s got some spunk!”

He made to push away from the vampire still comfortably leaning against the counter, but something had caught your eye. Without thinking, your hand shot out like a viper to grip his wrist before he could walk any further away, “Wait up!” Marko’s purr, or whatever that buzz he was coating you in suddenly sputtered out.

With everyone’s attention returning, you dropped the skin contact and made your way around the counter. Standing in front of him while quickly giving him a psychic once over. His tallness made it very inconvenient to look for the physical indicator of what you suspected. With a yank to his shoulder you spoke before you really thought how it’d be taken, “Bend down and show me your teeth.”

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breathings-of-the-heart · 4 years

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Imagine Levi Confessing his Love for You

A/N: THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT PLEASE READ THE TEXT BELOW BEFORE PROCEEDING THANK YOU :))

HERE IS A TIMELINE / EXPLANATION / BACKGROUND INFORMATION BECAUSE CASE THE TIME SKIPS OF THIS STORY ARE CONFUSING: I’m sorry for that everyone, I know the dates are sloppy and as a whole this fic doesn’t make too much sense; I tried to edit this piece as best I could to make the story as easy to follow as possible, but seeing as I can’t unpublish part 1 or 2, the cleanup still leaves things bit unclear. These imagines were originally chapters of a longer Levi x Reader fic that I decided to discontinue, which is why there are so many loose ends. Here was my original intention for this story, broken down for the few who choose to read the Author’s Notes lol.

We are going to do this in the order of the 3 part fic (I also put attached all the links to the titles)

Part 1: Imagine Relating to Mikasa About Loving Someone in the Military

The scene is set during the events of SEASON 1 of Attack on Titan, BEFORE the Female Titan Arc. (Y/N) was also hand selected by Levi to be part of the original Special Operation Squad; she bit her hand at the dinner table along with Petra, Gunther, Eld, and Oluo to show their dedication and understanding towards Eren wayyy back in the beginning of the series. The Survey Corps is making preparations for their first attempt to go to Shiganshina since the Fall of Wall Maria and not only uncover the mole who killed captive titans Sonny and Bean, but also to get to Eren’s basement.

Part 2: To Love Another

The flashback and opening scene in the beginning of this writing piece (where (Y/N) and Hange are talking to each other) occurs shortly after (Y/N) wakes up in the infirmary room, before anyone breaks the news that she, aside from an injured Levi, is the last surviving member of Squad Levi after Annie killed the others in the Forest of Giant Trees in her female titan form. Hange’s intentions were to bring the (Y/N) and Levi together so they would be able to support each other during this mutual loss. But alas, (Y/N) accepts his rejection and the two suffer the aftermath of this tragic news alone. To read this arc for context/bonus content to get a better understanding of this mini series, see my posts (as a sort of prequel, if you will) Imagine Levi Finding you Injured on an Expedition and Imagine Being the Last Member of Squad Levi To Survive to fill that time gap :)

In real-time, all of Season 2 and Season 3 Part 1 have gone by with limited interaction between (Y/N) and Levi. This part of the story is occurring during Season 3 PART 2, (spoilers) after the Coup D'etat, and after Historia becomes Queen. (Y/N) is no longer an active soldier, having sustained injuries too severe to be reliable in combat. She remains useful to the Corps as a battle strategist, however, which allows her to stay. The Scouting Regiment is currently preparing to go to Eren’s basement in their second attempt, knowing Reiner and Berthold will be waiting for them there.

Part 3: Imagine Levi Confessing his Love for You (YOU ARE HERE)

This part takes place pretty much a week or so after the events of “To Love Another.” It is revealed how much (Y/N) has isolated herself in the months between Parts 1 and 2 from not only Levi, but Hange, the only one besides Mikasa who knew about her feelings for Levi prior to their falling out. (Y/N) confesses her feelings for Levi before the mission to Shiganshina in Season one, and the fic parallels itself and comes full circle once their final interaction occurs before the second and final mission to Shiganshina, for which, (Y/N) is unable to go for her death would be almost certain. She seen to be more valuable inside the walls, where she can carry on the duties of the Survey Corps should the entire regiment collapse during the mission. This is the final part :)

I HOPE THAT CLEARS THINGS UP!

requested by @a-single-uwo @dracq and @little-diva-gurl and a lovely anon who def isn’t the happiest that this took so long. Deepest apologies! Hope this was worth the wait. I also hope this post finds everyone safe and in good health during these crazy times <3

~~~~~

Dread bottled up in the bottom of your stomach, which threatened to fall down to your knees. Even Hange’s eyes brimmed with concern when she informed you that Levi requested your presence in his office; all of which was out of the blue, uncharacteristic, after months of him being accustomed to giving you your space.

Feigning annoyance, you stared at the soldier dummy two paces ahead, dented heavily with the marks of your punches. The sun was beating down on the early autumn day, and heat waves rose from the ground. It illuminated the glistening perspiration sliding down your figure, torso rising and falling in short breaths of exhaustion.

Hange watched you carefully from a distance. She noticed your tense muscles, clad in a sports bra and boxing shorts; the lack of attire made it impossible to hide the sudden tension and stiffness embedded in your lean muscles, a tell tale sign of distress. As a creature of observation and analytics, the Squad Leader could sense your discomfort as if it was written across your forehead.

The brunette watched you wipe the sweat off your forehead and yell in frustration, turning towards her direction and moving to land a kick at her head.

Unfazed and in possession of sharp reflexes, Hange took a step back, only to watch as you twisted mid-air and landed a 360 Crescent kick to the dummy-shaped bag, which broke open on impact under the force of the blow. Sand poured out of its opening and spilled onto the ground in a steady stream that grew less heavy as the seconds passed.

“I’ll have to admit, you are getting better, but (Y/N), don’t get your hopes up,” Hange cautioned. “The problem does not reside in your muscles. No matter how well you learn to fight like you used to, Annie crushed your ribs and threw you to the ground: it's your lungs that will never recover. You can’t come with us to Shiganshina tomorrow like this.”

Hunched over with hands on your knees, you regained a regular breathing pattern and began to feel the explosive pain in your chest. Airways blocked, you began coughing, willing the oxygen to enter your body.

“Let me humor myself, Hange-san. If I don’t try, I might go insane.”

It was almost tragic that such a young soldier was out of commission; you were full of promise, rivalling Mikasa in skill. Hange knew you were itching to do what you trained for your whole life: Coming to Shiganshina and putting it all on the line had always been your number one goal. You didn’t want to be left behind again, to die bitter and alone without the only people you cared about.

“Regardless, (Y/N), you’re stalling,” Hange smoothly shifted the topic of conversation back to what brought her to you in the first place. “He still has that power over you, huh?”

"It'll pass eventually," you sighed, hoping the words were true.

You bowed towards the tall female. She smiled in return, shaking her head softly.

Whilst pacing away, said person stopped you once more.

“(Y/N). For what it’s worth, I stand by what I said before. Don’t look so nervous, okay?”

Her words replayed in your head, a haunting ghost of the not-so-long ago past. Time was strange, that way. It seemed like everything happened yesterday yet in another lifetime, all at once. “He loves you, more than he’s ever loved anyone. Surely you know that.”

Stupid, you thought, how I might have believed it once.

As you made your way down the hall, numbness crept into your body once again. You were too proud to admit you were afraid, especially with the Section Commander’s radiating sympathy, but everyone knew the once friendly dynamic between you and the Captain transformed into one more distant and cold. With each step towards the door, you felt the icy chill grow and that fact alone shook you to the core.

But it didn’t matter, seeing as Levi was of superior authority. There was no way around it.

Your hand shook as it raised to knock.

~~~~~~

“Name and business,” Levi spoke, voice muffled by the closed door.

“It’s (Y/N), sir. I was hoping to speak with you.”

There was a pause, and in that time you considered the option of fleeing back to your room and retreating back to a life of emotional safety, normality. It wasn’t too late to forget.

It had been a week since you spoke to Mikasa on the rooftop, after realizing the deep shit your heart decided to put you in. You didn’t think Levi would notice the distracted nature of your behavior-- tried to make it as subtle as possible whilst you figured out what you felt for him.

But before you could explore other options, Levi muttered a stern “enter.” You knew with the first expedition back to Shiganshina tomorrow, and the prospect of death closer than it has ever been on a mission, it was now or never.

The room was dim, small, warm, and thick with building tension. Shadows danced across the Captain’s face, sharp features lit by an orange flame. Only candlelight, sourced at his desk, assisted your adjusting eyes.

Your nose was hit with the smell of tea and cleaning products upon entry. This fact made you smile despite your bundling nervous energy. It was a familiar place, filled with memories of late night conversations (granted, of mostly you speaking and him listening), witnessed only by the large piles of paperwork. It started here and resulted in a natural, growing fondness kept secret to all except you two and the moon looking in from the window.

This man was your squad leader, your commander, your trusted comrade. There was no need to be afraid-- Not unless of course, you held the potential to shatter such damn a delicate relationship.

And you did.

Was it worth it?

Your gaze gravitated towards the center of the room where the Lance Corporal sat. And in that instant, your smile evaporated instantly. He placed his pen down, gracefully resting his cheek on his fist and lazily tossing the raven locks out of his eyes-- they landed on you, piercing yet drowsy and indifferent upon first glance. He was beautiful, as always. The allure was nearly sickening; unfair to the rest of the world.

Looking closer, however, he was anything but relaxed. The observant eye could see his countenance stirred something different. He seemed sharp and focused, ready to dart out and wrap himself around your heart, squeezing tighter with every breath you took. And you felt it-- the heart palpitations, which got worse at the sight of him.

He seemed… different. Dangerous, like a storm stirring in the distance, and the inevitable downpour that comes with it. The dark circles under his eyes told tales about the insomnia; a fresh cup of caffeinated black tea even rested on his left, steam rising out of it. And whilst attraction was undeniable, your concern always came first.

Levi was never quite good at getting proper rest before a mission.

“(Y/N),” The word was breathy, yet his voice was rough.

You shuffled in your spot, your name on his tongue making your stomach churn with desire.

Levi seemed to pick up on your affliction, getting out of his chair and gliding towards you. Everything happened fast and slow all at once, starting off with a momentaneous rush of air and the collision of your back with the office wall. A small shriek filled the air, out of place against the silence; was that your voice? The pain should’ve been there, but it wasn’t.

Then the seconds dragged out. Levi was a new person, setting your skin aflame as he gripped your wrists and pinned them against the wall. His lips brushed your eartips, which turned red the instant the raven’s breath fanned over them. This normally reserved, disciplined man unleashed something you had never seen before.

“Finally ready to talk to me about why you’ve been acting so strange, brat?” he whispered.

This wasn’t supposed to be so dirty. He was angry, but the mood was established in layers: something more sinister existed beneath.

The scent of fresh pine filled your nostrils until your brain went foggy. Levi was close--so close, and with the fact that you’ve been avoiding him mixed in with the fact that you missed him for it, all bets were off: there was no stopping the words that came out of your mouth next.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” you whispered back, looking him dead in the eyes, no fear this time.

His grip on your wrist slackened.

“Hm?”

You took in a deep breath, ready to leave it all on the line, and spoke.

“I like you a lot, sir. And not in a comradery type of way. I-I just thought I’d tell you before, you know, we leave tomorrow.” Your gaze found the floor again, too timid for your own good. But the statement was said, and it was finite; there was no turning away from it.

The Captain’s eyes went wide and gleamed brightly at you. His chest felt lighter and as he looked down at you in speechless awe, staring at anything but his face in your adorable embarrassment, he realized exactly why your absent look irked him those days ago. Why your lack of enthusiasm and lighthearted-ness gave him a strange sense of frustration.

Levi never felt more awake, more hyper aware of his surroundings.

The feeling of your chest pressed against him, the heat of those rosy cheeks, the pounding within his ribcage, the moon hitting your pretty face. With your figure in his arms, after the blissful seconds passed, everything felt, for once, okay.

Until it wasn’t.

Gaining the courage to look back up at him, you all but tore apart at the scowl on his face as demons flitted through his beautiful brain and polluted the image of happiness. Levi grew more indignant by the second, all but throwing your arms he held back at your sides like they were poison to the touch.

Tears pooled in your eyes as the soft expression you didn’t get to see turned sour, disgusted-- the Captain’s lips curling into a snarl as he imagined what he could lose if he opened up his heart for this girl in front of him to take. The risk and pain of falling for someone, in the world the two of you lived in. And all the stoic man could think was how he allowed this charade to come so far.

No, he wouldn't allow it.

“Get out, (L/N)” he commanded, harsh and unforgiving.

You were trembling, body feeling detached from reality as it moved, convincing itself that it was simply a nightmare. Levi’s cruel demeanor all but shattered you as you looked wide-eyed and his anger grew, the short man pacing behind his desk and bringing a hand over his face. His free one crumpled into a fist, knuckles turning white as he slammed it on the wood, the loud bang making you jump; the fear, grief, confusion coming all at once until it choked you and your vision spotted black.

“I said GET OUT!”

The room stilled and Levi looked up to face you cowering near the door, a single tear rolling down your cheek. He stilled at the sight, the weight of his words dawning upon him.

“I-I’m sorry,” you gasped before racing out of the room.

Had you looked back, you would’ve seen Levi’s outstretched hand betraying his body, desperately reaching out for you, gray eyes filled with pain.

But you knew now you’d never be dumb enough to spare him that second glance-- and maybe that was the right call, seeing as his feet moved in the direction you left, only to shut the door left askew in your wake.

~~~

The Captain’s gaze was on you more than necessary, but it was clear the two of you had the same thought: You focused everything into this discussion, melting into the emotionally-detached soldier your duty commanded, just like Levi did. His words had no ulterior motive, no deeper meaning. They were monotonous and empty.

Or so you thought.

Levi stood up the second you came in, but your gaze fell to the ground in submission.

“Hange said you needed to see me, Captain?” your voice was small and weak; you kicked yourself for it. How pathetic.

“Damn you...”

The man said nothing more, brushing his fingers along your cheekbones and you everything hit you like whiplash, the memories. Levi ran them along your face, down to your chin to lift it gently, so that for once you’d let your eyes meet instead of looking at the ground like a coward.

When they did the man’s breath hitched in his throat, because although your (eye color) orbs were no longer as vibrant, they were still beautiful and entrancing; why hadn’t he ever appreciated them before?

"I missed you, brat," he spoke firmly.

You felt a churn in your abdomen as you watched his eyes study the details of your face and take in every feature, committing it to memory painfully slow. You were paralyzed, his face inches away from yours and forcing buried emotions to resurface as months of restraint came undone. He didn’t speak, holding you delicately after not being this close for far too long and discerning what he’s been missing.

“Um, Captain? What are you...?"

You bit your lip, feeling puzzled and confused as you remembered the hate in Levi's orbs the last time you saw him like this.

All you could see now was how quickly his emotions shifted from serenity to fury that fateful night, and as you recollected the way Levi lashed out, all chaos and fury, he retracted his hand.

And you flinched away.

The Captain froze.

“Don’t-- don’t fucking do that,” he growled, his urgency startling. “I would never hurt you, (Y/N).”

Your eyebrows furrowed, all inhibition thrown out the window the second Levi’s countenance flashed with hurt at your response to his touch. You let your fear go and emotions free at the irony of the raven’s statement. Your mind went into overdrive, recounting every instance you wanted to give up and leave, drown in yourself, give up on finding purpose in the aftermath of rejection and Squad Levi’s death and your permanent injury changing your way of life. Things you faced alone, because instead of rekindling any semblance of a relationship, Levi tossed everything away and berated you for feeling.

The man who resided here cut your heart expertisely like the countless swords he wielded then disposed. He did not have the right to look at you so kindly; did not have to right to fan the flames of false hope. But here he was, procrastinating until the very last day to take initiative regarding those actions.

“Why are you doing this?” you whispered, forgetting your composure.

“I’d advise you not to speak in riddles,” Levi spoke in a low and even voice, no real malice as he addressed you and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

You took a deep breath and fought to remain calm, grabbing Levi's wrist to keep him from touching you.

“Please don’t toy with me, or mock my feelings like this. Why did you call me here? You made it plenty clear how you feel about me, Levi. What else is there to say?" you begged, the lack of closure driving you insane.

This was the first time you used his name, an unprecedented amount of spite and pain expressed through it, because you wanted Levi to remember this moment. It was over: that time of feeling sorry and ashamed of yourself for being nothing other than human. The remorse was gone, and the heartache was fleeting.

“Tell me, dammit!”

His was overflowing.

“You want to know how I really feel about you, (Y/N)!?” the Captain shouted, voice rising because for a man who relied on impulse and action on the battlefield it was fucking frustrating, watching the woman in front of him live this way for the simple reason that he was not good with words. "The thoughts that go through my head when you can't even bear to look at me?!"

"No, that's not what I asked. I already know that you don't--"

"--Fuck this."

Relying on instinct to guide him, Levi leaned forward and kissed you.

The second his lips met yours, you melted on the spot, knees giving out beneath you. Tongue sliding into your mouth, Levi simultaneously lifted you into the air, feeling lightheaded as you moaned into him, eagerly returning the kiss. His hands were everywhere, grasping at your waist, clutching the back of your head, running down your thighs. You were in such a state of euphoria that nothing else existed.

Your own digits threaded through Levi’s raven locks and pulled needily, emitting a growl from his throat as he bit down on your lower lip. He reveled in the feeling of your legs around his waist as your soft lips worked against his own, hungry and relentless. The kiss was passionate and you’d imagined it a million times over, but this-- Levi successfully ruined you for any other man.

The need for oxygen pulled you apart, Levi’s strong arms keeping you in the air as his eyes remained shut; he pecked your lips once, then twice, savoring the moment until it mournfully passed.

He was hesitant to break the silence, but you deserved it. You waited long enough to hear the truth, and he knew his time was running out; you weren’t going to wait for him forever.

“(Y/N)...” he began to speak, forehead resting on yours as he panted softly to catch his breath. “I dreamt of you last night. I have been for days.”

“Levi--”

“--Just listen,” he interrupted, unable to stop himself from kissing you softly once more. “Neither of us are running away this time.”

You fell silent as the man let you down, pulling you into his solid chest as you buried your face in his shirt, patiently listening. His calm heartbeat thrummed soothingly in your ears like a metronome.

“Isabel, Farlan, Oluo, Petra, Gunther, Eld. They all knew that what they meant to me. And I them."

One of the only things that made it easier to say goodbye, you thought with a bittersweet pang in your chest.

"With us, it's different. I died in every dream, (Y/N). Every one. And in every single one, you lived on believing I never loved you. Call me selfish, but I...”

You pulled away from the stoic man, searching his gaze as he trailed off. Shyly, you interlaced your fingers, his larger hand enveloping yours and you prayed to whoever was listening upstairs that all of this was real.

“I just can't leave until you understand...”

He clutched you impossibly tighter, eyes squeezing shut.

"...that you, are everything."

~~~ Extended Ending ~~~

A soft hum filled the air, the tune dreamy and sweet as you repeated the melody once again. You smiled warmly as hands wound around your waist, pulling you closer to a toned and shirtless Captain Levi, silken sheets tossed haphazardly on top of the two of you. His breath sent goosebumps on your neck as he kissed your shoulder gently, warmth deliciously intoxicating.

Giggling now, you turned around to face him, the man’s onyx hair ticking you softly. You captured your lips in his with one smooth movement and snuggled closer, taking in the small slice of heaven that was home in his arms, legs tangled together. Feeling unbelievably content, like your heart might burst, you leaned forward and rubbed your nose against Levi's.

Although he wasn't smiling, the look he was giving you revealed his own sensation of happiness.

“I never thought you’d be the cuddling type,” you remarked devilishly, scrunching up your nose as you teased him.

Though your tone was lighthearted, you were painfully aware that the moment was ending. You internally cursed the sun as it started to set, orange light peeking in through the window shades to signal the coming of night. Levi said nothing, looking deeply into your eyes, and like always, it felt as if he could read the contents of your soul.

But it wasn’t vulnerability you felt: on the contrary, you knew you would never find as safe a place as here. With him. Finally.

“Levi...” you swallowed, humor all but gone. “Now you have to come home.”

To emphasize your point you sat up on the bed, legs tucked neatly underneath you as you stared imperatively at your lover.

“Mhm. We’ve wasted enough time,” he agreed, taking you by the wrist to pull you back on top of him, to bask in this personal paradise if only for another minute.

#levi ackerman x reader #lance corporal levi #LEVI ACKERMAN #snk #shingeki no kyojin #AoT #attack on titan #attack on titan imagines #attack on titan x reader #snk imagines #Captain Levi #snk season 3 #aot x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi ackerman imagine

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xumos-hoe · 4 years

Note

Heyyyyyyyyy heard you were doin some.... requests 🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔 May I get headcanons on how all the boys would react to MC who wakes up in the middle of the night in excruciating pain because of her period? That shit happens to me EvErY TiMe and I need some fluff and maybe (most def) panicked bois 😩🥺🤭🥵

OK I JUST WANNA SAY I WISHHHHH I GOT MY PERIOD DURING THE NIGHT UGH. It always comes during the day at work or school and it fucking sucks :(((

Hope you enjoy babe💕

MLQC crew react to MC waking up w/ period pains

~~~~~~~~

Victor

The first thing he noticed was that it was a little colder than usual from where you had taken all the blankets. That, and you kept shifting around.

He didn’t think much of it until low whimpering and groaning made its way into his ears, and Vic was ALERT.

He turned to find you on the complete opposite side of the bed, curled up and rocking side-to-side as the whimpering became louder and louder. You were sniffling a bit too.

It seemed like you were holding something close to your abdomen—a heating pad—and it didn’t take much longer for Vic to put two-and-two together.

“MC?”

He fought against reaching out a hand in case you didn’t want to be touched. “MC? Are you alright?”

You shook your head slowly. An unspoken no. He knew better than to leave you, so the first thing Vic did was scoot a little closer before placing a gentle hand over your shoulder.

“Tell me...do you need anything?”

You paused briefly before answering with a tentative voice; sounding pained and even a little breathless.

“Last night’s soup would be nice...”

He laughs quietly and you already feel him shuffling out of bed. “Even under these circumstances, you still think about food.”

It isn’t long before he returns with a tray of steaming soup, a glass of water, and painkillers neatly tucked in a napkin. He presses a kiss to your forehead before returning to his side of the bed as he watches you eat.

Every once in a while, he asks how you’re feeling now that the painkillers have made their way into your system. And although it’s too dark to tell, you catch a bit of relief in his expression when you assure him that the pain has gone down.

When you’ve finished your little midnight snack and found a comfortable position in bed, you welcome Victor’s arms with a full heart as he cradles you back to sleep, whispering sweet nothings. You nearly forget the pain altogether.

Lucien

Sudden movements disturb the professor from his sleep.

The mattress shifts abruptly when you sit up slowly and clutch your lower abdomen as a horrible ache begins working it’s way through your system.

You gasp aloud as the ache becomes sharper and more intense, eventually waking Lucien. He rises slowly before leaning on one arm, watching your movements in confusion until complete understanding crosses his features.

Lucien is on his feet before you know it, and you hardly need to question whether or not he actually knew what was going on this is Mr. PhD we’re talking about, because soon enough, he’s on your side of the bed with just one question.

“Can you stand on your own?”

You bite down on your lower lip to stifle a whimper before nodding—but even that doesn’t stop him from wrapping an arm around your shoulders and lifting you gently from the sheets towards the bathroom.

He presses a chaste kiss to your temple and switches the lights on. “Get cleaned up, okay?”

And as you dealt with the cleanup process, Lucien had already switched out the sheets that you may or may not have bled on, laying a fresh towel on your side of the bed, and placing a glass of water and painkillers on the nightstand. He even prepared a warm water bottle!

how he managed all of this in such a small amount of time, don’t ask

You feel a little emotional seeing it all when you get back, though that might have something to do with your hormones, but truthfully—who wouldn’t? And especially at 3 in the morning with a boyfriend who’s already so alert and prepared...

The first thing Lucien does when you slip back into bed, wincing as another wave of cramps practically obliterates your insides, is drape an arm across your pillow and pull you into a gentle embrace with the second kiss of the night. He adjusts the position of the warm water bottle to your liking, all the while watching attentively in case you showed too much pain.

For the rest of the night, and well into the morning, he holds you—and despite the pain, you wish that things could stay like this for a little while longer.

Kiro

Well. Kiro doesn’t wake up right away like the others two.

When sunshine boi falls asleep, it’s deep af.

But when he makes out the first round of crying and soft groaning, his eyes finally open. And although he’s still a little hazy from his sleep, he’s alert enough.

It takes him a few seconds to realize that you’re the source of the not-so-happy sounds. He also notices you’re not asleep in his arms anymore, because some time earlier, you had to slip out and quickly find something to prevent the bleeding from staining anything else besides your pjs.

It’s you that sounds in pain—and oh boy, if Kiro wasn’t awake before, he’s definitely awake now. You’re nearly startled at how quickly he flips over to look at you, no denying the urgency in his voice

“Hey, hey! Miss Chips! What’s wrong??”

You clutch your tummy painfully and manage out a small “period” hoping by some miracle, he heard and understood your circumstances.

Thank goodness he did, because Kiro’s arms are tucked snugly around you in mere seconds.

“Ah damn...” He sounds frustrated and you feel his hand settle over yours. “Are you...in a lot of pain..?”

He feels you nod against him before you make another pained sound. It’s silent for a few moments, and you think it’s almost bearable with him wrapped around you like this, until he speaks up again.

“I-I’ll be back in just a second... can you wait for me?“

The last thing you want to do is let go of him amid all the pain. He pulls away almost hesitantly before bolting out of the bed and out the door of the bedroom.

Theres clattering in the kitchen. Rapid footsteps. Something...crashing? And some more footsteps, running down the hall with the plastic squeaking of a snack bag and the distant gurgle of contained water.

Kiro enters with exactly what you thought he would—your favorite snacks, painkillers, and a heated water bottle. You want to smile and say something but the excruciating cramps stop you.

He walks over and switches on the lamp before neatly setting everything on the bed. You reach almost instinctively for the snacks, because damn potato chips sounded amazing, but Kiro stopped you before you could even touch the bag.

“Take some pills first.”

The heated water bottle felt heavenly against your tummy, and the snacks just about hit all the right places; with the painkillers doing a quick job of taming the pain and your boyfriend by your side to bear through it all, you were grateful—

To say the least.

Gavin

As much as you tried to be quiet about; all the shifting and miserable sounds were enough to wake up birdcop.

He knew you’d gotten out of bed earlier and heard the bathroom door shut a little too loudly—that’s what really had woken him, but sometime afterwards, he drifted back to sleep.

And now he was awake again.

Your quiet voice called out to him in the darkness, unusually low and there was a brief sound at the end that told him something wasn’t right.

“Gav?...Gavin? Are you awake?”

From his stretching and yawning just moments earlier, you were pretty sure he was. And in your current state, it was too painful to get up and retrieve a heating pad alone. You felt bad to assume he might be awake...but...

“Yeah, I’m up—what’s the matter? What’s wrong?”

You came face to face with Gavin, who was still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Hurriedly, of course—you knew when your boyfriend was concerned about something.

His gaze almost turned bewildered when you opened your mouth to say something, but all that emerged was a small gasp and you squeezed your eyes shut, as one of the worst cramps (so far) came over you.

He scooted closer with a hesitant hand outstretched, unsure of where to place it or what to say.

“MC...? Hey MC, talk to me—are you alright?”

All that nervousness and panic melted away when you finally explained that it was the time of the month again and the cramps were being a little extra cruel. Gavin’s expression softened an instant, but still, there was that trace of concern in his features.

His hands moved exactly where you wanted them most, filled with all the warmth and reassurement needed to get you through the night. But he didn’t stop there—soothing, circular motions made their way across your tummy, warming the pain away.

Not entirely. But significantly enough that you managed to ease into his arms and sigh a breath of exhaustion. Gavin’s hands were still at work, even as you felt your eyes becoming heavier and almost didn’t catch the kiss that landed itself atop your head.

“Try to sleep—I’m right here so don’t worry...”

And even in the morning, you found Gavin’s hand lying still over your tummy and his entire body cuddling yours close. Just as you knew it would be.

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dollhousemuses-a · 3 years

Text

A Christmas Miracle

this takes place in the ducktales universe me and @mallhit have been developing for the warners but it could also def be read from just a wakko’s wish adjacent verse. also it was supposed to be much sadder but I decided to give the kid a break.

It was often that Yakko got a moment alone.

Most days his energy was spent corralling two younger siblings, finished up with the strenuous task of attempting to get them into bed by a decent time. Most days, by the time he had gotten them asleep he was ready to collapse into bed right after them, and most days he didn’t try to stop himself. But that night he felt… restless.

He made it to the area of their remade water tower that was sectioned off into their kitchen area. He moved the candle he had lit from the counter to the table and climbed up onto the counters. Despite being taller than both younger siblings combined, he still had to stretch onto his tippy toes to reach he small metal tine that sat pushed to the back of the shelf he was reaching for.

He was quiet about making it back down to the floor, not wanting to wake his siblings, and took a seat at the table.

He was already feeling discouraged by the weight of the tin, but it didn’t stop him from opening it and spilling the contents out on to the table. He counted it carefully once, twice and then a third time to make sure he wasn’t getting it wrong. At the confirmation of the sum of all the bills and change he let out a quiet sigh. His hands reached up to rub at his eyes, suddenly feeling that burst of tired he hadn’t just ten minutes prior.

He leans his head down into his hands, his eyes squeezed shut just for a moment as he wracks his brain for something to do to make it work. He turns his head to the side and looks into the ‘family room,’ which wasn’t much more than a beat-up sofa and a shelf with the few books they had managed to scavenge. In the corner was a sparsely decorated fir tree and on the wall next to it hung a row of patched up stockings.

He smiles briefly at the memory of bringing his siblings out to cut down a tree, the nicest tree they could find despite their lack of ornaments to decorate it. But the memory fades too quickly and instead he turns his head back to look at the money gathered in front of him.

It wasn’t enough. No matter how many times he counted it, how many ways he dived it, it just wouldn’t be enough to give his siblings the Christmas they deserved.

The cupboards were empty, he knew this for a fact. There was a box of cereal with enough at the bottom for his siblings to have breakfast in the morning and then that was it. No matter what he wanted to do with the money he knew a large portion of it would be needed for food.

As for Christmas presents, well, that just seemed like a distant dream now. There was no way he’d be able to make the money swing far enough to properly feed his siblings and get them something nice to open that morning. Even if he went to the second hand store that was near the grocer he liked to go to he’d be scrounging up pennies just to pick something out for the both of them.

Wakko’s sweater had been patched up more time than Yakko could count, and there was a sizable patch on Dot’s skirt that had once belonged to Yakko’s scarf. If he had just been able to get enough money to replace those maybe this Christmas would have been better.

He let out one more sigh before he fathered the money back into the tin and left it sitting on the table. When his siblings woke up in the morning, he would set them up with breakfast and go get them some food, and maybe, by some miracle, he could throw together enough gifts to make it seem like Santa still cared about them.

As he left the table he meant to go to bed, he’d have to wake up earlier than his siblings if he wanted to trick them into thinking he had eaten before they woke up, but his feet led him towards the door.

He paused just long enough to throw his scarf around his neck before he stepped out into the cold December night. He was already rubbing his hands together, his breath coming out in small clouds in front of his face.

He shut the door behind him and walked a little while away from the water tower, not far enough that it was out of sight, eventually coming to an old tyre and sitting down on it. He pulled his feet up, crossing his legs in front of him before his face turned up towards the sky.

“What am I doing?” He asked allowed to the area around him before he let out another sigh.

“Um.. hey.. uh, Santa..?” Yakko started speaking softly, his cheeks tinting a bit of a light pink as he spoke either from the cold or from what he was attempting to do or both and his eyes turned towards his hands folded in his lap. “I know that, um, traditionally speaking, you’re supposed to write a letter, but I figured Hey, if you know when we’re naughty and when we’re nice you’ve probably got some way to hear this, huh? And I can’t really afford the stamp..” He gave a small choked sounding laugh, before he looked back up.

“Speakin’ of the naughty list, um, I- I know that I haven’t exactly been the best behaved, with the, uh, the lying and the stealing and all that, but I- I swear it’s been for a good reason! I just don’t know how else I’m supposed to- no, that’s not important... What’s important is that you need to stop, please. Please stop punishing them because I’ve been bad. It’s not fair. They haven’t done anything wrong; it’s just been me! I-” He can hear his own voice break as he speaks to thin air. Was this stupid? Did Santa even bother with kids on the naughty list when they had been on it as long as Yakko had?

He curls in on himself a little more at the thought. It was still worth the try. “So, um, if you’re listening… please? Can you please do anything? They deserve something good. Anything good… And I can’t- I can’t do that for them. I’m not- I’m not enough, so please, just, I just need a little help. I promise, I’ll try to be good, I swear, just, just let them have something good this Christmas.”

Yakko stairs up at the stars, his eyes sad and a little foggy as he tried to hold back the tears.

He didn’t know what he was waiting for, some sort of sign, some little hint that his begging did something, and some form of good luck was coming their way. But the longer he stared up at the sky the more he felt the hole that was starting to form in his last pair of gloves, and the more he felt it was entirely useless.

He frowns, his eyes turning back to the ground as he reaches up to wipe at them.

“Yeah… I wouldn’t listen to me either..”

Yakko got up from his seat on the old tyre, shoving his hands into his pockets as he started the trek back to the tower. He was about halfway back when he felt his toe collide with something and before he knew it his hands were hitting the ground, coming out just quick enough to keep his face from meeting the frozen ground.

He let out a groan as he slowly raised himself on his knees, blinking his eyes open to see a scrap of fabric caught on a rock in front of him. It took him a moment to realize where it was from, looking at his hands to see an entire finger missing from his gloves.

“Oh, come on.” He said out loud, turning to look at the affronting paint can with anger he was usually better at keeping deep down inside of him. Tears lined his eyes as his frustrations became too much and he grabbed the paint can, throwing it as far as he could.

The loud crash that sounded because of his actions had him flattening back to the ground, his eyes wide as he waited for someone to show up to see what was making such a racket. But as he stared at the spot the can had landed with bated breath he watched as something fell out, landing on the ground with a small little thump.

His eyes narrowed as he zeroed in on it, waiting a minute and then another to make sure no one was coming over before he made his way across the lot. He kept low to the ground in case anyone showed up.

His eyes recognized the object as he got closer, and once he was within reach of it, he picked up the small leather wallet with shaking hands.

He didn’t think he was breathing as he opened up the pocket and pulled out a small bundle of twenty-dollar bills, his hands still shaking with the shock of his discovery. After a quick count he discovered that he was holding over a hundred dollars.

He finally took a breath, and with his exhale came out a small, shaky laugh, though making the noise made him freeze again. He looked around himself like at any moment someone was going to jump out and accuse him of stealing.

After a moment of nothing in the lot moving, he went back to picking through the wallet. There was a small amount of change in the bottom of it, and after a quick examination of the few credit cards in the card sleeves, he was excited to find that all of them were expired by a few years at the least.

No one had been looking for this wallet for a long time.

Yakko was quick to take the money and stuff it into his pockets before he took the wallet and stuffed it back into the paint can. He tucked it into a pile of dirt so that no one might come back across it before he made off in a sprint back towards the water tower.

He couldn’t keep the smile off of his face as he got to the door of his home. He took one last look behind him, up towards the smile as he tried to keep his tears back.

“Thank you.”

#;; ficlet #verse ;; yakko ;; woo-hoo!#yakko ;; verse ;; wakkos wish #[ im going to have like nine more fics for this universe #and the next will def have huey ]

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mauserfrau · 4 years

Text

Eyeshine 1&2 - Bordertober

Reposting 1 since I changed the one line that gets repeated. Ooof. This thing might be quite a few parts! Not complaining. Def. expect a spit-polished version on Ao3 eventually.

Anyway, last verse same as the first: Twins on the ship, something fishy is going on, Tyreen’s being Tyreen. Hecking claustrophobia.

The jump brought them to a space so empty it didn’t even seem black. No— darkness rested between other stars, far off and distant. Here was a clear nothingness, out of reach of the rest of the universe.

Tyreen drifted at his shoulder. He could feel her fuming.

Neither of them had said anything sound since they’d stopped. The lights were low, the gravity still off and wherever they were now, it seemed like there hadn’t been a sound there since the galaxy formed. A word from either of them would disturb this.

Besides, this wasn’t Pandora. This wasn’t even the Pandoran system. Or any system. This was nothing.

“Stars move, you know,” Troy said, fumbling the silence apart.

“It’s only been like twenty years,” insisted Tyreen. “They can’t move that fast. We should at least be able to see it!”

He gestured a spiral with his hand. Did she care that the star cluster where Nekrotafeyo had grown spun opposite this one, that they were blue-shifting verses each other and that had choked the navigation system? He decided to summarize. “I think the computer’s a little off and umm…”

“Umm what?”

“I might have overcompensated for stellar drift since I ended up doing it manually.”

“Troy!” She made his name sound like she’d broken something. He half-expected a slap.

“Look.” He forced calm into his voice and turned to face her as he spoke.

She was livid, her whole body tense and her hair standing on end.

“We can’t run out of power. We jumped fine. We have water. We have food. We have a working toilet.”

“And where are we!”

“I’m gonna run an extrapolation and figure that out while the jump drive resets.”

“Can’t you math it in your head?”

“Um.” Sighing, Troy turned back to the view screen, focusing first on the blank reach where their ship rested, then letting his vision float to the stars. The blackness lived between them, but in some strands there was no between, only stars thick enough to make mist out of each other. “I don’t think so.”

Tyreen groaned and swam off towards the bed.

Tyreen moved better in zero g than he did. Troy was always twisting around to his left to push, pull, founder. Still, he hated to turn the gravity back on. There was something about watching her float above the bed with the covers billowing around her. She seemed so right like that, singular and and easy and in this case put out.

Her Coeus reader was flickering lately. She ended up groaning and setting it loose to float through the cabin where Troy caught it.

She also said— “Hey, turn the heavy back on. I gotta piss.”

“Alright. On three. Three.” Troy threw the switch. His back crunched as weight returned to his spine through the seat at the command console. His sister landed with a thump. Their foodstores yelped and howled and shed feather-forms along the floor. Tyreen caught herself with a huff and pulled herself into the water closet, giving the cage of spindly hexlings a sour look before she shut the door. One of them shrieked after her. Troy shushed it and went back to the console.

The keys pressed easier with weight back in his body. He pulled up the extrapolation program. Another likely set of coordinates failed a final round of testing and ticked away. The system was working to match the spectrographic information of visible stars to known clusters as far as he could tell. Color seemed such a tenuous way to determine place, but that might have been the emptiness intruding on his thoughts more than anything rational. Besides, he kept thinking he had somehow spied the white supergiant that held Pandora out among all the other points of light.

Troy was tempted to ask his sister to try. She was the Siren. She might be able to do it if she listened across all the dark matter between them and that place.

She was still in the water closet.

Troy let the extrapolator run in the background and idly tabbed into the superstructure of the ship’s hard drive. It had been made to be piloted by someone with little skill, all of the command icons in welcoming jelly-style art with three to four clicks needed to access any functions more complicated than the gravity or the sublight engine speed. He’d picked the interface up fast enough, but modifying the OS to accept a jump drive had been more hours of frustrated keystrokes than any actual handiwork.

Every system responded in good order. He’d done the same check once they’d cleared Nekrotafeyo’s gravity well and before the jump. The only difference was thousands of light years to nowhere and the bottom falling out of his very existence for a heartbeat.

He even dug into the audio system. If Tyreen asked, he wanted to be able to tell her literally everything was fine.

A handful of loose example recordings bothered the top folder. Troy thought about moving them, but the system considered their poor placement somehow proper and complained when he tried.

Tempted again, he clicked down the list, which was when he realized: one of them had a different date than the others.

He leaned over a speaker and hit play, curious what had been loaded on this particular sound test file. Since that was probably it.

Instead, he heard Dad say, “Well, if this isn’t some sweet doll over here.. Yeah, that’s a good girl. Let me see those eyes shine. I love it when you…”

He slammed stop.

There was somebody else on the file too. They were laughing that bubbly way he knew happened, but he barely remembered as something he’d experienced in his own life.

Troy stared at the file.

A thump sounded behind him and Tyreen came tripping out of the water closet, pants around her ankles and her underwear yanked up in her fist. “What the hell was that?”

“Ah, system check. Since we’re here, you know.”

She growled and she sat down right where she was and in the puddle of her pants. “Warn me next time.”

“Your intuition didn’t tip you off?”

Those words didn’t even merit an answer. She closed her eyes and turned her back to him.

The ship was so small he only would have had to lean out of the chair and he could have had his hand on her. She wasn’t in the mood though, not about that, not about anything to do with Dad and definitely not about playing Siren anytime before they made planetfall.

And well, then she wouldn’t be playing anymore, would she?

Maybe that fact had settled funny someplace in her stomach. Troy just knew that after a while she stole her Coeus back and stood in the corner, smacking the screen. The extrapolation program ticked off another hundred coordinates that didn’t suit, approaching 50% complete at a crawl.

Tyreen peered over his shoulder, but said nothing about the progress bar.

It looked like half of their chances for finding themselves had been spent. Troy thought it was more of a best match situation.

He wondered what he would do if he was wrong.

The jump drive reported usable quiescence. Tyreen swore and started to get back into bed. Instead she kicked her pants off and stretched out belly-down on the floor which was chalky with the bookmarks of the night they’d left.

It had only been two days. He thought. The active time on the sublight engine monitor was somewhat misleading. Startup had taken so long, but he’d been fumbling all over himself, movements thick with the shock of what he was about to do.

What Tyreen said they were doing.

Like, she just… dragged him. Now?

Now there his sister lay, looking like she’d melted into the ground.

“What’re you staring at?” she muttered without looking up from the well of her arms.

“Mm. Nothing,” Troy murmured. “I was thinking about when we were kids. That game we’d play about not getting off the bed back when we only had the one.” Well, he thought about that a lot, even though it hadn’t been bothering his mind in that moment.

Tyreen sat up, still hunched over. Her Coeus rattled in her grasp. Eventually, she tipped it into one of the charging slots. “I’m eating now. You want in?”

“Sure.”

Food was something to do anyway. Troy hauled himself out of the chair and got himself into the cupboard after some of the stale rye bread they’d taken from the stores back at the homestead. He checked it for mold and then also took a plum.

Tyreen picked over the cages with a tongs. Did she want manta eggs? A hexling or two? A flush of air coral and sprat? One one of the lonesome baby Djira mewing in their own slime?

She took two eggs.

The two of them hunched together on a sheet of tanned air algae. Troy’s plum was sour, but he sucked the pit clean while Tyreen stared at him. As he reached for the bread, Tyreen shoved one of the eggs at him. “Open it for me.”

Troy sighed. Speaking of games from when they were children, Tyreen could have eaten the egg regardless, but he’d gotten awfully good at spinning the tops off with his knife and one hand. He smiled and he did this for her now, placing the egg on a spare sack so that his sister’s leavings would spread through the ship, get into the instruments.

The egg squished as she pressed her fingers inside. It turned to dust and glass. “Hmm. That was fresher than I thought.”

“Good. Want me to do the other one too?”

“Sure.”

So, he sliced again. He was going to have to wash his hand before he finished his own super.

This time, his sister stared at her dirty knees. “Are you sure you didn’t fuck everything up?”

“If I did,” Troy said softly, “then we’ll deal wi-…”

Tyreen leeched the other egg, sloppily this time, sand leaking between her toes. She grabbed the piece of rye and stuck it in Troy’s mouth before burrowing into the bed and covering her head with the pillow.

Troy chewed thoughtfully and then moved to clean up. The baby Djira chortled in their cages as though night had fallen. Well, it was that time by the engine clock.

Tyreen sat in the bed. She left her Coeus in the charging station and kept scratching her ankles. Suddenly, she tugged her socks off, tossed them aside and toppled over and over the blanket until she ended up beneath it. She turned the lights down and resumed watching the space above her.

“Hey, Troy?” she said.

“Hey yeah,” he answered, turning in the seat for the navigation console. The old bearings hissed.

“Who decided which way the ceiling goes in these things?”

That didn’t sound like a her question. It held too much potential to wander. It also did, echoing in him as he considered if she wanted an answer or not. In a way too, it made sense. Space brought no horizon for her to navigate, no right side of a Marrow Bone to climb. “Well, that’s the same place the ceiling went wherever it was built. There’s no up out here.”

“Right, right.”

“No North either.”

“So we can’t get to Pandora upside down?” she asked that last part in a slow, measured voice.

“We actually cannot do that. But we are…” Troy pointed towards the viewscreen. “…somersaulting real slow that way if you see the stars changing at the edges of the viewscreen. It’s just with the gravity on we…”

“OK, OK. I get it. I’m going to sleep now.” She turned over, back to him, clenching the covers. “Saving my excitement for later or whatever.”

He could tell she was still hungry, the way she bundled up. Troy didn’t mention it though. Instead, he said, “Excitement shouldn’t be much longer.”

There was no answer.

Troy listened for his sister’s breathing to even out and to the abandoned place kind of quiet in the shuttle. The water and oxygen cycler ran every fifteen minutes, bubbling at the end. The fans for the computer equipment hummed in a way that reminded him of the ruins back on Nekrotafeyo. Their Djira murmured at one another through the dried scrub that made up their cages and the faint chemical reek of their drained acid.

And the sounds of her sleeping. That too.

Little by little, he swung towards his pack, slipping his fingers inside and feeling around until his touch glanced a familiar cord.

The headphones were older than him, their audio tinny and erratic given the air algae patches on the wires.

Troy held one pad to his ear. The jack filled with static as he tabbed back to the errant audio file. He set the volume down low and pressed play.

The speaker rang to life. There was music— synth and beats and wind instruments. Some other sound too, water or distant conversation.

Then, Dad’s voice. “Well, if this isn’t some sweet doll over here. Yeah, that’s a good girl. Let me see those eyes shine. I love it when you act all shy. No, wait, wait, wait…” a swish of movement followed, besides the strains of laughter. Typhon. And a woman. “…there’s some fancy word for that.”

“Coy? Coquettish?” Fuck, her voice was light as sunshine, ephemeral and gone someplace in the worn-out headphones. “Well, Mr. DeLeon, what’s the big idea? I followed you back to your little ship.”

“No, no. It’s a boat. Ships are big. Got names.”

“So I must be anything but shy. Riiight?”

“You know I put the recorder on.”

“Oooh. That’s different.”

There was a kiss.

Troy swallowed. He shut the playback off and pulled the headphones out of the jack.

He breathed like he’d been down to the bottom of a crater lake long enough to make his ears throb.

He breathed and breathed until the cycler ran and Tyreen snuffled in her sleep.

The location program still hadn’t produced a result. It seemed to be running slower again. Feeling over the housing for the processor, he didn’t think it felt any warmer than the rest of the shuttle, so it wouldn’t be a mechanical issue. Hopefully.

Troy stood and stretched. He tried to wash his face in the water closet, but that got him cold. In the end, he went over to the bed, still damp, and he pressed himself into the smallest place beside his sister that he could manage.

The thing was damned uncomfortable, lumpy and musty and too short for him. Besides, he had no way to match the fold of his knees to Tyreen’s. What little space he did find wasn’t a comfortable one.

He rubbed at his eyes one more time, tracking water off from his lashes. In the brief moment before his eyes focused he saw his father, a shadow of a woman draped elegantly beside him as they each breathed wine on the microphone.

He also saw himself, curled up below the bed, arm wrapped protectively around his head.

That looked even less comfortable than he felt.

Besides, he was too tired to move.

Tyreen chased him out of the way so she could head to the water closet. One of the hexlings chittered at her as she passed and she flipped it off. She stayed in, swearing for awhile, as Troy pressed himself to the wall side. He left her the blanket and squeezed his toes between the mattress and the wall.

He almost slept again before the toilet flushed and she returned. She ground herself to his back, so close he could taste her breath when she sleep-sighed. Well, he got some blanket too this way.

Troy thought he heard her scuffling off of the bed right before he drifted off again, but it must have been the shuttle itself again since his last awareness was of her nearness making his back twinge.

They got up together what would have been shortly before dawn by their clock. Troy ate a slice of bread and Tyreen the leaking Djira. She swung around to the consoles with one of its clipped claws dangling between her fingers. “Yeah, that one was no good for you. This didn’t poof. Musta been dead.”

“Sure didn’t,” said Troy. “Look what I’ve got.”

Tyreen looked from a space bent over his lap. A pleased snicker flowed from her. She pointed to a globule of brightness wedged in the very corner of the viewscreen. “Pandora’s that way! Yes!”

Recalling what his fancy from earlier, that maybe she could spy their destination between all of the emptiness, Troy laughed too. There were other stars in the way and lagging behind, but she looked pretty much right to him based on the jump display. “Pandora’s where we’ll be in like ten minutes. Just gotta get us cued up.” He made a show of gliding his hand up the charge slider for the jump drive console. “Well, and then a day or two while we pull into the system and land. I’m not gonna take us in super close because of…”

“Yeah, yeah. We’re almost there!”

“We’re almost there!”

The parameters for landing the jump hadn’t saved. He muttered to himself as he slid them back in. He wanted the shuttle to appear this many AUs from the planet, LaGrange points to be avoided in case of debris or sudden space stations. Time was as soon as possible. Gravity…

As Tyreen fiddled with her Coeus, he announced, “Heavy off on three. Three!”

And his sister, reader in hand, pushed up on her toes, floating towards the ceiling as her supper squealed and the fan in the water closet took up some stray water droplets.

This was a much smaller jump than the last one. It took, well, closer to twenty minutes for the system to finish processing exactly how to suck them through spacetime.

The chime sounded. Troy hovered his hand over the execute button, wiggling an eyebrow at his sister and daring her to push it first. She lunged. He slammed his fist down. She pulled his hair as he laughed again.

And then nothing.

Unknown Error said the jump drive console. Nothing else changed. There wasn’t even a chime from the audio system.

#bordertober #border-tober #borderlands 3 #Calypso Twins #Tyreen Calypso #Tyreen being Tyreen #Troy Calypso #troy calypso pov #Calustrophobia #backstory #fanfic #fanfiction #I'm sorry my tablet is hecking distracting

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angst-fairygodmother · 4 years

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Hi, I hope this isn't annoying sending a request but I was wondering if you could maybe do a fic with the reader and Geralt based on the song Fight for Me from Heathers: the Musical? It doesn't have to be a songfic with lyrics or anything but I thought it might be cool, sorry if its awful

A/N: Sweetheart, muffin, honey bunches of oats, a) you are def. not annoying for requesting fics, I’m happy to take them until/unless I say otherwise, and b) you come in here to my inbox, request a fic – you give me Permission to write based on what might be my favorite song from a bizarre cult-classic musical and then you feel like you need to apologize?! Niet. There is nothing to apologize for and, in fact, thank you. I love you anon, and I hope you love this fic. Word Count: 1044 Content Warning: violence A/N2: Just realized this is my first strictly Geralt x Reader fic. So thank you for that as well Anon.

Your eyes fell on the white-haired stranger, tracking him as he walked through the market, head tucked low as if he thought he could hide despite his striking appearance and…bulk. You had a bad feeling that this was not going to end well for him.

“Hey! Butcher! What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” one of the local thugs, a bald-headed brute named Mick, called out.

He and his cronies, about seven of the dumbest meatheads you’d ever met, began circling slowly like a pack of coyotes, laughing and jeering as if to provoke the stranger.

“Shit,” you swore under your breath, bracing yourself against the fencepost, ready to jump in and handle the carnage when it was over, just as the first punch was thrown.

The stranger ducked smoothly under the swing and it connected with the thug trying to flank him. He followed the motion with a quick jab to Mick’s face and even from your distant watching post, you heard the crunch of breaking bone. Instinct told you to look away, but you couldn’t, finding yourself drawn to the sight of the combat, and the elegant movements of the stranger who somehow managed to make a dance out of brawling in the street.

All your life you had abhorred violence. But somehow, he made it look, well to be frank, incredibly sexy.

Two men now lay on the ground, groaning but alive, and surprisingly, conscious. The stranger had a few minor injuries: his eyebrow split open, a swollen lip, bloody knuckles. You wanted to go to his side, to offer to treat the wounds, to hold him tenderly and mop away the muck, run your fingers through his hair.

“Bloody witcher!” Mick cursed, charging again.

You realized that the fight had been going on for quite a while, the thugs refusing to give up and the stranger refusing to give ground. You were impressed. Mick and his gang were notorious in the area and ruthless. You found yourself entranced with the back and forth, the dodges and the blows, a flowing fluid action. And then all too soon it was over and you were internally scolding yourself for being glad to see that the stranger stood victorious, for engaging at all with the fight instead of turning away in disgust as you otherwise might have.

“Hey,” you said softly, hopping down off the fence to land in the tall grass. “I don’t know your name, but I’d like to.”

He grunted, a noise half in pain and half dismissive, as if he thought you didn’t actually care.

“I’m a healer. Will you let me take a look at those injuries?” Technically it was not a lie, even if you were only an apprentice still. It was enough to handle his minor hurts.

“Shouldn’t you be more concerned with your fellow townsfolk on the ground?” his gravelly voice sent tingles up your spine and you wanted him to tell you every story in the world, and a number of more scandalous things.

You shrugged. “Mick and his thugs have been nothing but trouble since the day they breezed in here and decided they were our ‘protectors.’ Frankly, I think you deserve a parade for knocking them down a peg.”

“No parades.” Your perceptive eye caught both the slight quirk of the corner of his mouth and the wince that followed it.

You laughed. “Fine, no parades, but can I tend your wounds?” Your fingers itched to reach out and touch him.

With an edge of reluctance, he nodded and you waved him over to a nearby bench.

“That was some pretty impressive fighting,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady and neutral as you gently poked at the skin around each mark on his gorgeously pale skin, feeling yourself warm under his amber gaze. Nothing seemed to be broken.

“You can…punch…um…real good.” You frowned at the lameness of your attempted compliment, pulling a small jar of ointment out of your pouch.

He huffed, almost a chuckle, and you shivered as the hot breath brushed the thin fabric at your middle, leaning over him as you were. The images it sent through your body made you flush, hot with both shame and desire, and you hoped desperately that he didn’t notice.

“So, what did you say your name was?” you continued, keeping up the one-sided conversation as you dabbed the cleansing medicine on the wounds. Your teacher always said that gentle chatter helped calm patients and distract them from the pain that your treatment might cause, but he flinched so near-imperceptibly that you probably didn’t actually need it.

“Geralt,” he said, once again hesitant, “of Rivia.”

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you Geralt of Rivia,” you beamed down at him. “My name is Y/N. And I have to say you are one of the best patients I have ever had the pleasure of treating.”

He shifted slightly, seeming uncomfortable, or perhaps just unused to, your compliment. “I have no coin for you Y/N…” the way his tongue curled around your name sent another wave of wanton desire through you.

“That’s quite alright, Geralt of Rivia,” you practically purred. “Like I said, it’s on the house as thanks for making those assholes think twice about bothering folks. Although if you’re free tonight…maybe we can give each other a better thanks?”

Your own boldness shocked you, almost as much as the heat that lit behind his eyes and the soft brush of his fingers against the inside of your wrist, ghosting down to your palm to press a room key into your hand. Gently, he moved you out of his way and stood.

“I have business with the alderman,” he said, “but perhaps we’ll see each other again.”

“I think we shall,” you smirked. “And just so you know, I expect you to fight for me.” He growled in response, deep with desire and promises of a truly wild evening, but only if you accepted his invitation.

‘Holy shit!’ you thought to yourself. ‘What have I gotten myself into?’

You cast him a wink before turning and walking the other direction, making a show of slipping the key into a pocket for safekeeping, and very much looking forward to the evening.

#Geralt x Reader #Geralt of Rivia #reader insert #The Witcher #The Witcher fic #Fight For Me #please always feel free to request #especially if your request is 'hey I like this song from a musical can you write me a thing' because that's my jam #anonymous messages #why is this keep reading in a weird place? I don't know but I have accepted that I do not control this site merely bend to its whims

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sunnyvaiprion · 5 years

Note

You can give advice? O.O PLEASE TELL ME YOUR STRATEGY FOR BRAVE VERONICA.

Brave Veronica, hm? Well, personally my strategy is this guy walking in her range and taking 0 damage from one to four times (depending on dance and speed), then kills her/holds her attention while others can get the Aether. It actually works but… this answer may (more like, it will) not suit like… the majority? So here’s other options:

(read more since it’s another long post)

First of all, what do we need to do with B!Vero? Her huge range will make it difficult to (safely) kill her from a distance, so logical decision would be bait her closer to your team and kill her there… and she, like all staves, has a dazzling effect… BUT. You dont have to kill her the exact second she approaches you. It’s very possible to survive one-two (or even three-four, if she gets repo’d back and danced) of her attacks without much damage and kill her on the subsequent player phase very easily, because of how frail she is near enemies, and all her attacks were charging your special...

“Normal” Veronica of a player, who put her in a def team cause she’s “meta” has 49 attack and 36 speed (neutral IV + 3att A). “Super-invested” (+att IV, +10, atk/spd solo A, AND dragonflowers) Veronica has 60 attack and 47 speed… Usually you’ll be seeing something in-between. With only 54 attack on average and no access to offensive specials - that’s something a good number of heroes can take. If baited at max range - she is also away from her team - no goads/drives.

Note: with her abysmal HP - any visible buff she can receive is an invitation to panic ploy. Since there’s a lot of panic tools in AR now (Panic ploy users, panic manor, Aversa in particular) visible buffs on defensive teams arent popular (unless they use a rally/restore+ trick, watch out for that, but that’s -1 dancer turn already), but if she has a visible - you can panic it, go ahead. She has silly res too so all other ploys like atk ploy will easily land too. It applies to every other enemy too, but Veronica in particular is easily ploy-able.

What heroes we can use for this?

Disclaimer: I’m not saying these are the only characters that can be used to bait and kill Veronica, but rather something popular/requiring lower investment.

Eir. Just free vanilla Eir. She was inroduced as a pretty much forced memeber of every raiding party during light season and beyond, and she has pretty strong stats and skills to deal with Veronica. Her base res with Lifjaberg is 34 (can be further buffed by allies and/or S slot), her B skill effectively halves damage dealt by staff users, and even that damage will be partially (or fully, since far from every Vero will double Eir) healed after combat. There isnt much Veronica can do against Eir in any given situation. I personally know people who were literally saved from doom when they found out Eir can bait Veronica.

Raven mages are very effective against Veronica, since she cant inherit Cancel Affinity, like some sly archers do. Raven mages with Triangle Adept are hard counters to Veronica, since they needs only around 35 res to take 0 damage from Veronica (or close to that) even after she applies her staff effect, and in turn need very low attack (like 40) to OHKO her on their phase.

Any mage you inherit a raven tome and TA onto can fit the bill, as long as they have at least ~20 starting Res on them (Res tactic/class buff on ally + Distant Defence SS will bring their res to 35 range) which isnt too much. Gronnraven+ users are preffered meta-wise, because along with Veronica and other colorless threats, they will be able to take on blues like Reinhardt. But other colors are viable too! After all people like Lilina and Lewyn exist too.

Units that naturally come with Raven tomes are: Cecilia (I used her to cheese through lower tiers, where VeroLynHardt was a constant thing, pretty solid unit), F/M!Robin (both have prf raven which will help a lot in tactic teams that dont have many spare slots for visible buffs, although F!Robin is preferred for Green color), newly refined Sophia, Lyon and Henry (although less reliable due to very low attack. might get a refine soon). But again - any mage with above 20 res (I’d suggest also having above 20 def too for archer/dagger purposes) can run a Raven (PA!Inigo is a popular choice, since he is green and can also double as a dancer)

Magic tanks (of any color again) will have little problems baiting Veronica with little harm too, since dedicated PP mages actually hurt more than her (but can be killed with counterattacks ay). There’s a big variety of heroes that would fit in this category. My boy Julius actually sits here, with his atrocious magic damage soaking abilities, but I’d also note ranged heroes like Leo, Micaiah, Deirdre, Kliff, F!Morgan, Innes, Felicia, W!Ceclila, built enemy phase, and others, whose weapons directly reduce damage or have a lot of res, making stacking res an option. Double distant def and guard bow/serpent tome with a visible res buff from an ally will bump up your res by so much that having 30 base may entirely/almost nullify damage from Veronica.

While ranged units typically have more res, Dragon units are often built into mixed tanks with lots of defences, and 4* ones are also popular merge projects so chances are you might have one merged. W!Fae is a res monster, Myrrh with her prf hold a special place in my heart, others with ~30 base res like Fae can be brough up and used as mixed/res tanks too, which should cover Veronica. Other melee units with high res and useful skills like Sheena and Fjorm can be of use too, even if some of them dont run DC/DC weapons because you arent counterattacking anyway. BUT if you have a wall between her and your melee unit - you’ll have to use something ranged to actually go for a kill. (not that it’s too bad)

Head-on method - Nailah and her Null-C-Disrupt. Extra and premium, but … also worth mentioning.

Of course each different situation requires a unique approach in terms of positioning, sometimes you can go around some buildings and assassinate Veronica first, sometimes you can avoid combat with Veronica on first combat phase and bait someone else, so on so forth, but here’s just some general ideas that may help.

Also another note: Double savage blow (that Veronicas often run) doesnt affect the target, so if you dont put anyone within 2 spaces of Veronica’s target - no one will take splash damage. Eir’s C skill heals everyone as long as they took equal amount of damage, so sometimes it may be not that bad.

About Restore+: if enemy Veronica has Restore+ and her ally in range has any negative status effect - she will prioritize healing them instead of attacking someone she cant kill (or significantly damage, unfortunately I dont know the details but the idea is that it’s not a unit you want to bait her with). You will need to get the enemy formation moving your way by killing/damaging or baiting someone else, unless number of enemy units with negative status effects (excluding veronica) She will start healing statuses even before you trigger the rest of enemy movement so be careful for her not to catch you off guard with shifted range, because a dancer will dance her after she heals! The rest of enemies wont move before you interact with them anyway. This applies to any staff user with Restore+.

I hope you find something that you like using and Veronica stops being a problem!!

#fire emblem heroes #Veronica #scribbles #I hope it helps!!!#Veronica is pretty strong but nowdays I rarely factor her as danger #like if we're being real Reinhardt can survive her during light season #... I tried yeah I'm sorry #i accept constructive criticism

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lywinis · 6 years

Note

Daisy + Coulson = five times Daisy stopped herself from calling Coulson "Dad" (BECAUSE YOU WRITE THEM SO WELL)

FIVE TIMES MEME - GIVE ME A SHIP, AND A SITUATION, AND I’LL WRITE YOU 5 FICLETS ON 5 TIMES THAT SITUATION OCCURRED

“You’re going to be fine,” Phil said, his voicesoothing in her ear as she raced through the hallways, her boots pounding theconcrete of the tunnels. “Make another right at the fork here, then headstraight past three doors, then enter the last one on the left.”

“I’m not going to ask how you have a HYDRAbase laid out by memory,” she snarked, even though it was out of breathsnarking that sounded more like whining when it actually was given life withher voice.

“They’re boring and don’t ever change thelayout,” Phil replied. “They had two designs in the forties and they don’t wantchange, not like that.”

“I still don’t get why they’re trying totake over,” she huffed, counting doors. “It’s not like we don’t still havemilkshakes and racism—”

An explosion in the distance rattled thecompound, and she skidded to a stop in front of the last door.

“You know what you’re looking for?” heasked.

“Yep,” she said. “Server room, plug in theUSB key, get the data downloaded, then out. Is it getting hot in the landingzone?”

Muffled gunfire over the comms confirmedher suspicions.

“I’ve got to handle something,” he said. “Meetin one hour two klicks south of here, Quake. Don’t be late, or you’re grounded.”

“You’ve got it, Da—Director. Be careful.”

“Of course.”

------

“You’re up late,” Phil said, plopping downbeside her on the couch.

She shrugged, offering him the bowl ofpopcorn mixed with chocolate candy, grinning as he dug out a handful. There wassomething mindless on TV, an old B-movie with a dude who had a massive chingetting beaten up by undead. Good brain candy, not a lot of plot to follow.

“Can’t sleep?” His tone was one of concern,not one of censure. That was the thing about Coulson; when not in directdanger, his mothering instincts took over and he tended to be a broody hen whenit came to their wellbeing.

Daisy hummed, swallowing her M&M andpopcorn mouthful. “More like my brain won’t shut off.”

“So you’re watching horror movies?”

“More like classics,” she said, gesturingwith the remote as she leaned over, flopping so she rested against his side andhe’d tucked a companionable arm around her. He’d forgone the ever-present suit,though she couldn’t say he looked out of place in the worn Def Leppard shirt(though it was definitely a dad band) and pajama pants.

“You want a classic, you’d watch YoungFrankenstein,” he said.

“Mel Brooks?” she tipped her head back andpeered up at him. “I didn’t think you were a man of sophistication. Aren’t youall about the old reel propaganda and dad stuff like World War IIdocumentaries?”

He snorted. “I can still have a good time,jeez.”

“We’ll see about that,” she said, handinghim the remote. “You pick next.”

------

“Stop fussing with it,” Daisy said, standing ontiptoe to straighten his collar for what felt like the umpteenth time. “It’sfine.”

“I still feel like I need a tie—”

“If you touch that tie rack, I will ejectall of them out the window at 30,000 feet and May will help me,” Daisy said,swatting at his hands. “Tie is too formal this time.”

He lifted his brow at her in the mirror,watching her hide his tie rack behind another of his suit jackets.

“So, who died and made you fashion coordinator?”he asked.

“The fact that you were going to go todrinks with Captain America in a full black suit that screamed ‘Look at me, I’man Agent of SHIELD! I couldn’t be casual if I tried!’, that’s who,” she said.Her hands met her hips as she gave him a challenging stare in the mirror. “You’vegot game, Coulson, don’t be nervous. He asked you out, so you know, rock thedad vibe and do the dressed down ‘just off work’ look, like you just paid thesitter and are out for the first night for you in a couple weeks.”

“I should make you do burpees for that,” hegroused, though his lips were twitching even as he said it. Her answering smilewas enough, honestly.

“You’ll kill it,” she said. They could feelMelinda taxiing the plane, the dull roar as the VTOL for the BUS kicked in andshe docked them in the hangar. Daisy swore the queer feeling of them slowingdown and changing direction in what was essentially a jumbo jet would never stopbeing weird for her. “And I really, really want to snap your walk of shame, so takeyour time.”

“I really am going to make you do burpees.”

------

“Breathe,” he said, cupping her face as hervision cleared. “Take a deep, slow breath for me. Match me.”

She focused on his voice, letting herbreathing take on his rhythm, inhale-beat-exhale-beat-inhale—

“I killed them,” she said, feeling bilerising up in her throat as she said the words.

“Daisy,” he said, forcing her face up soshe was focused on his eyes, too grey like the powder that covered this dustycavern she’d hollowed out for them with the last of her strength. “Look at me.”

She could feel the tears welling up as shedid.

“You did what was necessary,” he saidsoftly. “I’m not going to say there was another way—hell, we might look back intwenty minutes and see a whole other route to get here, where we are now—but I’malso not going to condemn you for saving our skins.”

“I just…I never wanted these powers to hurtpeople,” she said, her voice breaking on the last word. “It was never supposedto be like this.”

“I know,” he said. He pulled her close,gathering her against his chest, and the solidness of him there, and breathing,was enough to bring her a sense of focus and clarity. She clung to him like alifeline, shuddering. She didn’t know how long she wept, but he held herthrough the last shaking sob.

Jemma cracking a glowstick caught both oftheir attention. Daisy’s eye was drawn to Jemma’s face, to the bruising she’dendured at the hands of the AIM subcell that had taken her captive. She feltCoulson’s arms relax, and she sat back, tucking her hair behind her ears. Theothers were already setting up bivouac for the night to let her gain herstrength back; Mack and Bobbi were getting food together and laying out emergencyblankets.

She had her family. That would be enough toget by, until she could put this load down and catalog the hurts anddecompress.

It was always enough.

“Thank you,” she whispered, reaching outand squeezing Coulson’s hand.

“Any time,” he said.

------

“Hey, hey, stay with me,” she said, pattingCoulson’s face. He was out like a light, the cut across his brow bleeding freely—thankfullyshe knew that headwounds were bleeders so she didn’t freak out more than she alreadywas. “May, we’re gonna need a Hail Mary.”“I regret ever letting him teach you that phrase,” she huffed over the comms. “Ishe conscious?”

“Not yet,” she said. “He got clocked prettyhard by that aftershock.”

“All right. I’m bringing in the Quin. Getto the edge of the field and don’t show your position until I uncloak. I’mgonna need you to make a run for it, if you can. Mack is with me and can straphim in.”

“Okay,” she said, frowning. “He’s heavierthan last time. Has he been getting fat?”

“Muscle,” May said. “That serum packed onat least twenty pounds of it.”

“Jeez,” she grunted, shifting Coulson intoa fireman carry as she listened carefully for the telltale whisper of the Quintouching down. “You’d think he’d at least have a dad-bod to go with the dadpersonality.”

“If he were awake you’d be grounded.”

“Exactly why I’m saying it now.”

“We’re here.”

The hum of the Quin got louder as the cloakslipped away, revealing the craft close to a hundred yards from where she washiding, and Daisy took off at a jog so as not to jostle Coulson too hard. Shehanded him off to Mack and they got him strapped into the gurney at the back ofthe plane even as Melinda blipped them off the radar once again and took themback to base.

------

+ One Time She Did:

“Daisy.”

She turned from where she was leaningagainst the window, looking out at the cars below and really just enjoying thesunshine since their extended stay underground.

“I just heard the big news,” Coulson said. “I’mglad. You two always were a good team.”

“Ah,” she said, feeling the flush rise upto her ears. “Thanks.”

It had taken bravery far greater than thefeats she’d done as Quake to pop the question to Jemma, but it had been allwell worth it. She bit her lip, hiding her grin.

“You know,” he said, strolling to thewindow and looking out with her, standing shoulder to shoulder. “I’m reallyvery proud. Of you both. You’ve both overcome a hell of a lot of stuff thrownat you in such a short amount of time, and you’ve become stellar agents alongthe way. You’re exactly the kind of person I was looking for when I brought youon board.”

“A hacktivist with just enough knowledge tobe dangerous?” she asked.

He smirked, tucking his hands in hispockets. “Someone who gave enough of a damn to try and change the world.”

“Someone like you, you mean.” When he didn’tanswer, she looked at him. He was far away, his eyes distant as he looked outthe window. “…Coulson?”

“Hm?” He blinked, seeming to come back to himself.“Sorry. I was remembering when I was that young and full of my own bullcrap.”

She shoved him, gently against his shoulder.“You’re still full of bullcrap.”

“Probably,” he said with a grin. “But Iwanted you to know that I really am proud of you.”

“Thanks,” she said. “I’m glad you came by,because I kinda wanted to ask you something.”

“Shoot,” he said, giving her an awkward pairof finger guns. She supposed it was only awkward because it was Coulson, and hemanaged it at some of the best times.

“I was wondering if you would, uh, walk medown the aisle?” she asked. She rubbed the back of her neck, cutting her gazeaway. “I don’t really have anyone else I’d rather do it, and I mean, you’rebasically my dad anyway and—”

She cut herself off, clenching her jaw. Oh,that was the wrong thing to say. She’d never wanted him to know that she lookedat him like that, he was already sensitive about that sort of thing and—

He sniffed. She looked up and found himwiping at the corners of his eyes with his thumb.

“I’d be happy to,” he said, his voicethick, like he’d gotten something caught in his throat. He coughed softly, meetingher gaze then. “I’d be honored.”

“Thanks,” she said. “I just…is this gonnamake things weird? Me calling you Dad?”

“Weirder than they already are?” he asked. “Idoubt it.”

“Good,” she said. She leaned into him, andhe wrapped an arm around her. “You want to go get some food? I’m hungry.”

“Hi hungry,” he said, and she could hearthe laughter in his voice. “I’m dad.”

“You are so lame,” she squawked, shoving at him even as he laughed at his ownterrible joke.

#lywinis writes #lywinis memes #Capsicoul #Bioquake #at least in the background #readmore because whoo that was 2k words I wasn't expecting LMAO #waverly-earp

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jackconnolley · 5 years

Text

Jack Connolley, who strongly resembles Colin O’Donogue, is more commonly known as Mac Lir . He is a 36/?? year old god and he has been in the city for a century. Mac Lir has been known to have Divinity. While he is not Mac Lir, he is working his day job as the owner of The Crusty Lemon. He is known to be Thoughtful & Protective and Cantankerous & Old-Fashioned. ((Tabs, CST, 22, she/her))

At it again with my second child! I’ve really taken my time with this one, but I think I’ve worked out a good story for him. Anyway, this is going to be HELLA long, so if anyone sticks it out for the long haul, I am proud of you and we should plot.

Most people think that gods come about through great, spectacular, cosmic events. That, or they’re born into it by celestial parents. There aren’t many stories about quiet, sneaky godhoods. Men and women who carve out a place as a deity for themselves, sometimes asking for it, sometimes not.

Jack didn’t ask for it. He came from humble beginnings, a peasant in the old world, with two parents that died and a younger brother who looked to him for help. He got them to the sea alive, but barely. With no parents, no money, no home to go to, they expected death. It was mermaids that took pity on them, as they were only boys. They swam the boys to a distant island, one only reachable by those who had already been there. The place was full of old magic, said to hold both the secret to endless life and the entrance to the Otherwold (Celtic afterlife).

They were able to live there for a long time, time sort of blurring so they weren’t able to keep track of it. The fountain of youth was there, keeping them young regardless of how much time passed. But the fountain wasn’t made for humans, it was made for supernatural beings. It did not sit well with his brother, James. The two started fighting, eventually, ending with Jack leaving.

He never should have survived the swim, but so much time spent on an immortal island, drinking the water of the gods, he was strong enough to make it a surprising distance. He did not make it to his home, though. He was picked up by a Chinese trading vessel, put to work. But Jack was a smart boy, and he picked the work up fast. He learned the work, learned the language, learned to love it. It would be decades later that he finally made it back to his homeland, still aging painfully slow.

By now, it was not the country he remembered, and his legs were no longer made for land. He took to the sea again, following different trade routes and watching the world advance around him, as though he was in slow motion. He worked his way up until he had his own ship, until travel by sea was something done in more areas of the developing world. He returned to the island.

His brother was gone, but the place had not changed. By then, it felt more like home than anywhere else, and he made it his own home port. He became something of a legend, a man who did not age or die, who could sail a ship through a hurricane. Slowly, the accounts of him grew more exaggerated. People carved statues of him to ward off evil sea spirits and finally, they prayed to him.

Jack didn’t notice at first, until a century passed and he didn’t age a day. He learned that his words had power, that he bled green and he drank salt water. He didn’t know what he was, but he did know that he had passed humanity by.

Of course, the people continue to spin stories, some true and some not. More people searched for the island with the fountain of youth and entrance to the Otherworld, and it took it as his own responsibility to protect it. He didn’t do much trading, in the height of his life. In time, he didn’t even need a ship in order to travel the oceans. He was given a different name, a god name, something he never really understood.

And in what seemed to be just as short a time, the time of the gods faded. Christianity came to Ireland and Wales and every place he had called home at some point. The world continued to change around him, and his name was no longer used. Nobody searched for his island.

Jack returned to sailing. He could not leave the sea, regardless of what he was. He did what he could for his country, but the tides of the changing world were more than what he could control, and eventually revolution ate up what he knew.

He played countless different parts in the centuries to come. A captain. A navy man, a privateer, a ship doctor, even a cook. Then even the time of ships passed away and Jack was tired. He had been tired for a very long time, and his life just kept going on and on and on.

Jack retired himself to a quiet, seaside cottage off the coast of Ireland in the eighteen hundreds. He was more than happy with his quiet life, and that was when James exploded into his life once more. Jack still does not know how his brother stayed alive for so long, but he does remember the anger, the bitterness, the insisting the Jack had betrayed him. He did his best to kill Jack and he nearly succeeded.

Jack, against everything in him, left his home. He traveled instead to the new world, the Americas, finding a place to settle there instead. At that time, Ceres was nothing but a small port town under a different name. Still, Jack settled and opened a small pub, and two hundred years haven’t moved him from that spot.

Extras! Because apparently this long-ass bio isn’t enough!

First off, powers:

Water Manipulation: This is pretty specific to salt water, he can’t just move around any liquid. It’s directly related to the sea. But over the ocean, he can do as much as stir up wind, start or end storms. He can do a little of that on land, but it’s real weak compared to what it is over the sea.

Weather manipulation: See above

Immortality: He’s a god, so...immortality. He’s kinda hoping it fades off eventually, but eh

Healing: He definitely heals faster than humans, but he has to either be in the ocean, or at least drinking salt-water. He can help to heal other people, but that definitely has to be in the ocean.

Enhanced strength: Being a god, Imma say he’s pretty strong. Yeah.

Witchcraft: So in the original lore, Mac Lir was known for having magic. I’m going to go ahead and say he picked some up from superstitious sailors, and he doesn’t use it much anymore, but the ability is still there.

Siren Voice: So I did not include everything that Jack has done in his life because WOW a lot, but there’s a lot. At one point, a siren definitely gave her his voice and now he can use it if he chooses. He rarely does.

Obviously he can’t drown.

Opposite of a power technically, if he goes too long without sea/salt water, he starts getting weak and dehydrated? Basically he needs that as much as we need regular water.

Assorted others: I know there has to be more that I’m missing and I might get to it later, we’ll see.

Random!

First of all, Jack is always carrying a flask and drinking out of it. Everyone assumes it’s rum, but it’s usually salt water.

He definitely makes people think he’s a villain? Maybe even spent some time purposefully spreading rumors, making it look like he was doing questionable things. He prefers to be seen as a bad guy, because in his mind it makes things easier. He just wants to be left along because he’s an old man.

Always grumpy, but 100% bark and no bite in the least. Like he acts like a shit, but he def follows people home sometimes to make sure they get there safely, and watches out for everyone in his bad and is just a total dad friend.

He doesn’t really like to be recognized as Mac Lir and will deny it.

#jack #intro #about #vi.intro #guys this is so long why #why is this man so complicated #also it's terrible i know but i spent all day and I'm sick and I have a headache so this is what you get

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trash-the-tozier · 6 years

Text

Dog Days (1/7)

Title: Dog Days

Length: ~36.6k words (5k for this part)

Summary: Richie Tozier is twenty years old, over halfway through a Chemistry degree at the University of Maine, and in love with his best friend and roommate, Stanley Uris. And he figures that it's fine, with no cause for change, until he finds an injured puppy near his apartment.

Warnings: Explicit language, small amounts of smoking/drinking, vague description of a dead animal, mentions of animal abuse (the animal stuff is all about the injured puppy, it’s not like... a recurring theme or smthn) and like... one punch is thrown (it's a cute fic I promise)

Pairings: Stan/Richie, background Ben/Beverly

A/N: I have a bunch of losers club x dogs headcanons, so I finally wrote one! this fic was originally written for the @itbigbang, and while the exchange ended up falling through, I did have a wonderful time writing this fic ♡ also posted to ao3 here

"Oh, here." Richie pulled Stan's phone from his hands, who let out a dissenting breath from his nose, but didn't attempt to stop him. "Beverly just sent me the mix she made. I'll put it on while we study."

"What's it called?"

"Uh..." Richie plugged Stan's phone into the speakers he'd left on the coffee table, opening up Spotify. Beverly's playlists usually had hilarious names long enough to rival Fall Out Boy themselves, but this one was unexpected. "It just says 'idiots'. No capitalization."

"Sweet, isn't she?" Stan asked, amused, pulling a notebook and a pencil from his backpack, tucking the writing utensil behind his ear so he could use both hands to pick up his Statistics textbook. That thing was heavy, Richie knew; Stan had dropped it on his head once. He frowned, scrolling through the tracklist.

"These songs are weird."

"Yeah?" Stan slid the textbook to the edge of his knees, beginning to open it.

"Yeah." Richie frowned, reading out the first song. "This Guy's In Love With You."

Stan dropped his book on his foot, cursing loudly as Richie laughed.

"...excuse me?" He finally asked.

"Do you know that song?" Richie asked back, instead of repeating himself. "It came out in 1968! Justify My Love? What is all this stuff?"

"Isn't Justify My Love that really risque Madonna song?" Stan asked, and Richie gave an incredulous little laugh, pressing play on the playlist and laying back against the couch. He nudged Stan lightly with his elbow.

"You're so gay, Stanley."

"Right." Stan raised an amused eyebrow, nudging Richie back. "You kissed four different guys at a party last week, and I'm the gay one."

"That was just for spin the bottle! Besides, I didn't say I wasn't the other gay one."

Stan rolled his eyes, turning to his Statistics homework. Richie was supposed to be working on an English essay but he felt painfully distracted, staring at his laptop screen every couple of minutes before picking up his phone. Justify My Love was, in fact, an incredibly risque Madonna song, and Richie ended up leaning forwards and skipping it because Stan was turning so red that Richie worried he might explode. Thankfully, Richie knew the next song inside and out.

"Def Leppard!" He exclaimed, as the opening guitar notes from the iconic 'Pour Some Sugar On Me' began. Stan glanced over at him.

"Don't pretend you're some classic rock fan." He said. Richie opened his mouth in offense.

"But I am!"

Stan tried to go back to his books but Richie interrupted almost immediately, splaying himself across Stan's lap and singing along in a terrible, dramatic voice, his face screwed up in a way he probably thought was 'punk rock'.

"I'm hot, sticky sweet! From my head, to my feet."

Stan glanced down at him, pursing his lips, but he did look amused.

"You're not hot, Richie. Especially if you're sticky."

Richie pouted at him.

"But I'm sweet!"

"...right."

A huge grin spread across Richie's face, catching Stan's eye and sticking his tongue out.

"Why don't you give me a taste and find out?"

Richie expected an eye roll, already imagining the dramatic position he wanted to land in on the floor when Stan inevitably shoved him off his lap. Instead Stan leaned in close, a nervous jolt racing up Richie's chest when his eyes began to close. His lips were mere centimeters away, Richie's heart hammering, when Stan stopped.

"Shut up, Richie." He murmured. And then he shoved Richie off his lap, but Richie was caught so off guard that he didn't manage to stick his landing, letting out in undignified yelp as he hit the coffee table on his way down. That had Stan laughing, laughing so hard that he leaned back on the couch and closed his eyes, and in spite of the dull throb Richie now felt in his shoulder, he had to grin. He crawled back up onto the couch, staring hard at his computer screen, trying to use the assignment as a distraction to get his heart rate back to normal. He got about a paragraph of something barely intelligible written, his fingers freezing when he heard Stan murmur a curse under his breath. Richie wasn't sure if he should say something or not, but it quickly became too much to handle.

"Fuck!" Stan finally growled, Richie trying to ignore the way his breath hitched and be a sympathetic friend instead. He'd been doing that a lot lately, when it came to Stanley.

"What?"

"I've tried this problem three times." Stan said in frustration, stabbing at the paper with his pencil tip. "And I've gotten a different wrong answer all three times. I swear I'm using the formula correctly, but..."

Richie leaned over Stan's lap, glancing over his work. He pointed at the third step of his most recent attempt.

"There. You forgot to carry the one."

"Carry the one?" Stan asked in slight disbelief, and when he realized Richie was right, he let out a groan and collapsed onto Richie's shoulder in defeat.

"I hate it when you make me feel stupid." Stan mumbled, his voice slightly muffled.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Because you're stupid."

In spite of himself, Richie chuckled.

"Why are you majoring in Accounting if you suck at math?" Richie asked. "You're so much better at other stuff."

Stan sighed, pulling himself upright. He turned back to his homework, twirling his pencil between his fingers. Richie watched his hands.

"A stable job, Richie."

"A stable job? In this economy?" The question was more of a joke than anything, and thankfully Stan laughed. Richie got to his feet, his shoes already on by the time Stan spoke up.

"Isn't that essay due by midnight tonight?"

"Yeah. I'll get it done." Richie waved a dismissive hand. "I can't focus right now, anyway."

"Going on a walk?" Stan asked, but it wasn't really a question, the answer already obvious. Richie took walks off campus when he needed to de-stress, or exhaust himself enough to get his brain to calm down and focus on an uninteresting task. This essay definitely qualified as uninteresting. Richie nodded.

"I'll probably be at work then, when you get back." Stan told him, Richie nodding a little when he realized Stan was right.

"Good luck during your shift! Don't die, or whatever." Richie said, pulling on a jacket. He took his cell phone from his pocket, showing it to Stan. "Feel free to text me if you want."

Stan nodded, Richie giving him a salute, checking his pocket for his keys and his cigarettes before stepping out the door. He kept his phone in his hand, and when he'd made it down the apartment complex steps, he called Beverly's number.

"Hey, punk." She greeted, and he grinned. "What's up?"

"Not much. Just on a walk."

"And you missed the sound of my voice?"

"C'mon sis. I always miss you." Richie told her, and she laughed a little.

"Ben and I live on the other side of campus. You can come over any time, you know that. I gave you a key to our apartment for a reason."

"Yeah yeah, I know." Richie held his phone to his ear with his shoulder, pulling out a cigarette and lighting up. "Bev, about that playlist..."

"Did you like it? Did you and Stan make out or something?"

"That's what that was about?" He asked, amused by the excitement in her voice. “I threw myself in his lap, and but he didn't go for it.”

“Oh, damn.”

Richie laughed. “C’mon Beverly, how many times do I have to tell you that I don’t like Stan?”

“You can’t fool me, Richie.” She sounded slightly reprimanding. “You want him to stick his tongue in your mouth so badly it’s insane.”

“No!” Richie insisted. “I don’t. I don’t like Stan, and I have to keep telling myself that. I have to, because if I don’t then I will definitely kiss him, and it will definitely ruin everything.”

The line was silent for a few moments, Richie watching his feet as he walked. He veered off the sidewalk and the pavement turned to drying grass underfoot, taking himself in the direct opposite direction of campus and towards a distant patch of trees.

“It might not, you know.” Beverly said quietly. “Ruin everything, I mean.”

“Yeah, but it could. We’re roommates, and we’re friends, and that has to be good enough for me.”

Richie heard Ben’s voice in the background, sounding like he was asking some sort of question, and decided he didn’t want to interrupt their afternoon any further.

“I’ve gotta go, alright? I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Rich--”

“Bye Bev!” Richie hung up before Beverly could protest, slipping his cell phone into his pocket and taking a long drag on his cigarette. He appreciated Beverly trying to help him in her own, playful way, but he needed to be deterred from kissing Stan, not encouraged. Beverly just didn’t understand the complications of love, Richie supposed. She’d met her Prince Charming when they were all thirteen, and while the two of them had taken a while to get together, they’d always liked each other. It hadn’t been that way with Stan.

Richie had thought for years that Stan didn't like him at all. Stan tolerated him, maybe, but didn’t prefer his company. They never hung out one-on-one. Stan was transparent about Bill being his Loser of choice, always next to him, always close to him. Stan liked Eddie too though, connecting with him over things like calling Richie an idiot, or being clean and neat (though Richie knew that truly Stan was the neat one; Eddie was a germaphobe, sure, but he was still a chaotic teenage boy with a unorganized room and backpack full of loose papers. Stan grew up creating alphabetized binders of bird polaroids.)

Richie made an effort, though. When he learned that Stan wore that little circle thing on his head because he was Jewish--and that Jewish people spoke a different language, which was so cool--he studied up to make puns in Hebrew, made probably too many jokes about birds, and learned that poking Stan on the cheek made him blush. Despite all this though, they didn’t hang out independent of the others when they were fifteen, and the rest of the Losers (a group which now included Mike, Ben, and Beverly Marsh) weren’t able to make Richie’s impromptu sleepover. The two of them had stayed up until nearly four in the morning, half watching the Die Hard movies and half talking about nothing and everything all at once. Stan confided in Richie that night that he was gay, not telling him until later that he was the first person he’d come out to.

“Do you like me?” Richie had asked, almost immediately after. He didn’t realize the terrible timing of his question until Stan had turned red and punched him in the shoulder.

“I didn’t mean it like that! I mean… I meant as friends.”

Stan looked incredibly surprised.

“Of course I do. I always have.”

“...oh.”

Richie’s cigarette burnt itself out between his fingers, a cold gust of wind bringing him back to the present. It was chilly for March, even by Maine standards, Richie bringing his jacket in closer around himself, fumbling with the zipper. He closed the jacket up to his chin, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He didn't remember when his crush on Stan had developed, if he was being honest. Stan was just… Different. Different from all the other Losers. Different from anyone else Richie had ever known.

If Richie was in the mood to go out and save the world, he went to Bill. If Richie wanted to recline on a couch and laugh his ass off, he went to Mike. But Stan made him feel balanced. He was just deadpan enough to take in Richie's chaotic energy, just sarcastic enough to be amused when Richie made a joke, but still bite back with a retort of his own. Stan made him feel happy, made him feel right. He couldn't explain it really, but he knew it was a feeling he couldn't lose, and if all he could be to feel like that was Stan's friend, then so be it. Friend could be agonizing at times, but it was infinitely better than nothing at all.

The sound of rushing water registered in Richie's ears a second before his shoe landed in the creek. He cursed and jumped back, losing his footing and pinwheeling his arms in a desperate attempt not to fall entirely into the water. The creek was a familiar route in his walks, the body of water a full mile from campus, and Richie turned to follow along the bank. He kept a safe distance, stepping carefully. He already had one soggy shoe; he didn't need another.

Richie forced his mind to focus as he lit a second cigarette, trying to stop daydreaming about Stan and start planning out his essay, which was much less enjoyable, but much more productive. He didn't know why he needed a literature class, being a Chemistry major and all, but he had to take it, so he was at least going to try to pass. Good grades would help him keep his scholarships, and he needed those; his job at the pizza place he and Stan worked at was barely enough to cover his share of the rent for their tiny apartment.

There was a dark pack of birds up ahead. They looked large, all having landed by the creek bed, huddled close together. Richie had to get a little closer to them to see what kind of birds they were, but once he did, they were easy to identify. Vultures. A group of them, with their wide, dark wings and ugly bald heads. Richie didn’t realize until too late what a committee of vultures must mean, the unmistakable stench of rotting meat hitting him full in the face only a few paces later. He staggered back, his face scrunching instinctively, trying not to gag. But curiosity got the better of him, approaching slowly, wanting to see what it was the vultures were all crowded around.

He couldn’t tell what animal the carcass used to be. It was decomposed, waterlogged, and in the process of being ripped apart, but he still squinted at it in confusion. The bits of fur that remained were fuzzy, dark brown and black, the creature roughly the size of a dodgeball. A rabbit, he supposed. Something like that. It was too round to be a cat, and too dark to be a raccoon, and he couldn’t think of any other animal that would find its way to the creek to drown. Feeling unsettled, and unwilling to get between a pack of vultures and their prey, Richie turned tail and headed back home.

As he said he would be, Stan was gone to work by the time Richie returned. He kicked off his shoes and peeled off his socks, both feet freezing--though the wet one much more so--tucking them under his body as he pulled his laptop into his lap. He'd left it open with the screen on, and there was a little message at the bottom of his essay that Richie realized must be from Stan.

Man, you have to analyze Grapes of Wrath? Sucks to suck, that book is terrible. I’m like 99.9% sure you didn’t read it, seeing as I never saw you holding it, so make sure to talk about the multiplying effects of selfishness and altruism, and the symbolism of the dead dog. You’re welcome. And also... good luck! c;

Richie couldn’t stop smiling and he didn’t even care, taking a picture of the message with his phone, and attaching it in a text to Stan.

To: S(a)tan You flirty little bastard

From: S(a)tan ;)

To: S(a)tan ;D

From: S(a)tan If you send me the eggplant emoji I will block you istg.

Richie bit his lip to try to stop grinning but it was futile, leaning back on the couch.

To: S(a)tan What’s wrong with a harmless vegetable? I hear they’re quite NUTritious

He could almost hear the eye roll.

From: S(a)tan I hate you. Also, since you’re only looking at theme and motif for that essay, you probably don’t have to mention that part in the book where the teenage girl breastfeeds the dying old man in a barn

To: S(a)tan Excuse me the WHAT

From: S(a)tan I told you the book was terrible. But you have an essay to write. I’m not texting you back until it’s done.

To: S(a)tan But stanleyyyyyyyyyyyyyy

Richie didn’t get a response. He sent a few more whiny messages (and even the eggplant emoji for good measure) but true to his word, Stan didn’t text him. So Richie turned to Beverly instead.

To: Lavagirl Bevvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv im lonely and bored

From: Lavagirl What, your other half went to work?

To: Lavagirl ***Stan. My Stan went to work. And I have a stupid essay to write

From: Lavagirl I know. He told me. He also told me not to text you until you finish it. Bye!

“Fucking Stanley.” Richie grumbled, when after a few attempts, Beverly didn’t respond either. Out of distractions, Richie stared down the word document for a few moments, sighed, and got to work. But Stan didn’t text him back even after he’d finished and submitted the paper, so Richie assumed he was simply busy, taking Beverly up on her offer from earlier and making the trek to her and Ben’s apartment, picking up a pizza on the way.

He knocked when he arrived--he’d walked in on too many compromising situations not to knock at their door--beaming brightly when Ben answered.

“I didn't want to only invite myself over, so I invited myself and a pizza.” He explained, Ben laughing a little as he stepped back to let Richie in.

“I was literally just about to text you.” Beverly said when she saw him, getting up from the couch in greeting, her cell phone extended in his direction. Sure enough, an in-progress message To: Sharkboy shone on the screen. “You got that Steinbeck essay finished?”

“Yep!” Richie set the box of pizza down on the small table in the kitchen. “Didn't read the book and submitted the first draft without revising it, just like my momma taught me.”

Beverly slapped him a high five, while Ben looked disapproving. Richie caught the expression.

“C’mon, Ben! It was Grapes of Wrath. That book is terrible. It doesn't deserve a good essay.”

“How do you know it's terrible? You just said you didn't read it.”

“I was told that it was bad by one very reliable source, thank you.”

“But it's Steinbeck!” Ben sat down at the table next to him. “He’s an award winning author. The way he puts prose together--”

“Steinbeck is a dweeb.” Richie said flippantly. Then, when Ben opened his mouth to protest, he continued. “And so are you, Ben.”

“Yeah, but he's my dweeb.” Beverly interjected, walking up behind Ben to come to the table. Ben looked back at her.

“You think I'm a dweeb?” He asked, Beverly grinning and looping her arms around his shoulders, kissing his cheek. He turned pink and the conversation was effectively closed, Richie grinning and moving to open the pizza box.

“We already ate.” Beverly interrupted. “Ben made dinner. It’s just chicken and pasta, but you can have some if you--”

“Thank god.” Richie closed the box again, getting up with it in hand and walking to the trash can. After working at a place that made pizza, he didn't enjoy the pseudo-Italian food as much as he used to. He would still eat it if there was no alternative though, unlike Stan, who would rather starve. “I really--”

“Woah, hey! What are you doing?” Beverly intercepted his path, taking the pizza box from him. “Not everyone here works at a pizza place. I still enjoy eating one of the greatest food inventions of the century.”

“Good for you then.” Richie helped himself to the aforementioned leftovers, the healthy food causing him to frown and turn back. He’d just remembered something, how Ben had slowly but surely been slimming himself down. “Wait, are you sure you want that, though? Isn't there some diet thing you guys are doing?”

“It's not a diet.” Ben said quickly. “It's just… I'm just making my own food, instead of eating that processed, high sodium crap I was fed all the time when I lived at home.”

“Well, it's working for you, buddy.” Richie put the plate in the microwave, turning to give Ben a wink. “You're looking good.”

“He's getting really good at cooking, too.” Beverly said in excitement, sliding the pizza box into the fridge. All of the praise had Ben's face slightly pink again. “That is the best way to a person's heart, you know.”

“I've heard that between the fourth and fifth rib is a pretty good way, too.”

Ben frowned at his pessimism, Richie sitting down. Beverly sat down across from him.

“You're just jealous because you don't have a dweeb.” She declared.

“Stan isn't a dweeb.” Richie said quickly. A grin grew on Beverly face.

“I didn't say anything about Stan.”

“Sure, but you were thinking it, and he was thinking it--” Richie pointed his fork at Ben with a sigh-- “and I was thinking it, so…”

“Why don't you just tell him?” Ben asked. “What's the worst that could happen?”

Richie stroked an invisible beard, pretending to think.

“Let's see. I confess my feelings--probably by kissing him because let's face it, I'm hopelessly in love and rash action is very much my style--and he's so freaked out by his roommate having a big gay crush on him that he changes his name, moves to Yemen, and I never see him again.”

“Don't give yourself so much credit. You're not so bad of a kisser that it drives people to move to another country.”

“Bev, I kissed Cynthia Anderson in ninth grade, and a week later she moved to Canada.”

“That was a coincidence!” Beverly exclaimed, as Ben laughed. “Just be charming! You could… I don't know, write him cute notes or something.”

Richie rolled his eyes.

“I'm not Ben.”

“Hey, it worked.” Ben pointed out, Beverly nodding.

“If I leave him love notes like Ben did, then he'll probably just think the notes are from Bill, like Beverly did!” Richie pointed out. He frowned. “Bill is cool. Stan would probably go out with Bill.”

The following silence lasted a little longer than Richie liked, neither one of them rushing to his defense.

“C’mon, guys!”

“You won't know until you try, and that's all I'm going to say.” Beverly said. “Speaking of Bill though, I talked to him today. We talked about possible tourist stops for The Road Trip.”

“Oh, tell me.” Richie said excitedly, stuffing a bite of chicken in his mouth in preparation to listen without interrupting. The Road Trip was a dream hatched up by Mike, an idea to get a van after graduation and drive around the country, fueled purely by nothing more than the desire to get the hell out of Maine. None of the Losers, aside from Ben and Eddie, had ever left the state before. But Ben had simply moved in from a different state in middle school, and Eddie was out of the state now, at a pharmacology school in New York with his tuition, housing, and meal plan all controlled by his mother's money. He claimed to like the freedom of the city, though.

They spent the next couple of hours brainstorming about things they could do, and places they could go. Most of it was simply amusing and unrealistic (in truth, the whole trip was unrealistic, but they tried not to think about that) Richie in the middle of explaining just how they would get away with stealing the world's largest boot out of Minnesota when his phone began to ring. It was Stan.

“King Stanrick the Third!” He answered grandly, putting on a rather bad British accent. “How was your shift at the pizza palace?”

“Monotonous.” Stan answered. “You finished that essay, then?”

“All done with time to spare, thanks to you!” Richie told him.

“Yeah, you're welcome. Hey, have you had dinner yet?”

“Yeah.” Richie said apologetically. “Ben and Beverly took pity on me and gave me their table scraps.”

Ben looked a bit disgruntled at his home cooked meal being called table scraps.

“That's awesome, actually.” There was a smile in Stan's voice now. “I am craving sushi, and now I can get some without you complaining.”

“You disgust me.” Sushi was about as abhorrent as asparagus, which Richie lovingly referred to as 'the green stalks from hell’. Stan laughed.

“Anything we need from the store while I'm out?” He asked. Richie thought for a moment.

“We are out of ice cream.” He said. The line was quiet for a moment, Richie able to hear the background noise of the road as Stan drove.

“...anything essential we need from the store?” Stan tried again.

“Ice cream is essential, Stanley! It shaped me into the man I am today!”

“Really? Then maybe you should never eat it again.”

“Fuck off.”

Stan laughed again, a quieter and more private kind of laugh that had Richie grinning, holding the phone a bit closer to his ear.

“Alright.” Stan allotted. “We're broke as hell, but I'll see what I can do.”

“See you soon?”

“Yeah.”

Then Stan hung up, Richie slowly lowering his phone. He'd all but forgotten about his friends, and Bev had a shit-eating grin on her face.

“Oh, fuck both of you.” He said, the words made infinitely less menacing by the light blush on his cheeks. “Also, thank you for having me over, the food was delicious, I love you both so so much, and I'm going home.”

He said it all quickly, rushing around the table to give both Ben and Beverly tight hugs, then made his way out the door. Richie showered and put on comfy clothes, and about thirty minutes later Stan was home, a half-eaten roll of sushi in one hand and a small grocery bag in the other.

“Hey.” He greeted, but Richie made a show of scrunching his nose up.

“You smell like raw fish.” He said. He couldn’t actually smell the sushi, but knowing it was there was bad enough. Stan rolled his eyes.

“No I don't. I smell like pizza grease, and I need a shower.”

Stan was right, and soon disappeared into the bathroom. When he re-emerged he was clean and warm, soft in a loose t-shirt and old pajama pants as he sat next to Richie on the couch, his curly hair a little damp and slightly frizzed from drying.

“Well Stanley, it's nearly nine-thirty on a Sunday evening. Ready to get crazy?” Richie asked.

“Crazy. Right.” Stan gave him an amused look. “I have class tomorrow, so no. And you have work.”

“I do?” Richie didn't remember being put on the schedule. Stan nodded.

“The manager asked me if you were free to cover an opening shift tomorrow, and I said yes, because you are.”

“Opening shift? Those are so early though!”

“Ten-thirty is not early, Rich. Just because you only have class on Tuesdays and Thursdays doesn't mean you can spend Monday doing nothing.”

“I'm pretty sure that's exactly what it means, actually.” Richie countered. “Real talk though, anything you want to do?”

Stan thought for a moment.

“I still am only on season three of Brooklyn Nine-Nine.” He said, and Richie gasped.

“Yes, that, we’re doing that right now.” He quickly pulled up a streaming site on his computer--prompting a “we really need a TV” comment from Stan--hurrying off to get his laptop's charger cord. When he returned Stan was holding a half pint of Ben and Jerry's ice cream, and two spoons.

“You said you wanted ice cream. Want to share?” He offered, and Richie felt his heart melt into a puddle of goo on the floor. The episode started and they settled in in front of the computer screen, Richie remembering something almost at once. He pointed his spoon at Stanley in excitement.

“Stan! Can I spoil something from season five?”

“What? No.”

“It’s really important! Please? Please?” Richie repeated the word eleven more times, and finally Stan relented.

“Fine! What is it?”

“Rosa is bi! She’s bisexual.”

“Oh.” Stan smiled. “Cool.”

“Yep.” Richie winked. “Me and Rosa Diaz, two badass bisexuals.”

Stan laughed, shaking his head.

“No, you cannot compare yourself to Rosa. You’re more of a Scully than a Rosa.”

“Hey!” Richie protested, eventually convincing Stan that he was much more like Jake, the show’s main protagonist. After some hilarious back and forth Stan was likened to Amy, the character Jake just happened to be in a relationship with. If Stan noticed the comparison he didn't let on, and Richie sure as hell wasn't going to say anything about it.

“That was fun, but let’s not do the other Losers.” Stan requested.

“Oh! That Was Fun But Let’s Not Do The Other Losers: title of your sex tape.” Richie exclaimed, knocking his spoon against Stan’s. Stan laughed at the reference, leaning back into the couch cushions and resting his head on Richie’s shoulder. Richie’s breath caught in his throat, and he tried to slowly ease into the contact, Stan staying cuddled close to him for the entirety of the episode, even after the ice cream ran out. This was Richie’s third rewatch of the comedy, but for those thirty minutes, he couldn’t have said a single thing the episode was about.

#stozier #stozier fic #richie tozier #stanley uris #it 2017 #myfic #I'm so excited to post this fic #dogs #dogs!!!!#all the animal stuff sounds bad but this is a really cute n domestic fic #where pining idiot richie is front and center #dog days

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urloth · 7 years

Text

AU Silmarillion Drabbles 30/50

Prompt: Social

Summary: Bitter winter on a battlefield and all they can do is gossip and wait.

Notes: I have attempted to write a sort of cross over with the very talented @vanimore‘s amazing fic a few times. This is a part I recently excised out of the fic I am dwadling my way through. It was too much of a diversion and change of scene and didn’t fit the rest of the fic’s tone. It also didnt really work and it was too explination-y. But I didn’t want to just delete it and I feel guilty all the time about not writing more the Silm AU drabbles.

So this is cheating it I guess. And archiving a bit of writing so I can go back later and pillage it for usable bits.

Warnings: OCs and world building. A unholy mess of two different worlds hitting each other in a way that doesn’t really work at all which is part of why it got taken out. Likely OOC and not really compliant for Vanimore’s fics. That and the tone was too jovial. Be more serious Erevir.

There was a pair of Five Arrows guarding Thranduil’s tent, standing proud. There was shouting inside the tent. Erevir could identify most of the lords inside thanks to it. Thranduil had bid them to wait, even invited them to take wine and sit within the tent until it was their turn.

Erevir was fine outside. Away from the yelling and the inevitable stares and accusations of being Gil-Galad’s spy. The weather was fine and the Five Arrows were quiet and interesting company. Erevir liked the Five Arrows. They were the least likely to become offended if their hallowing reacted to them and more likely to just be amused.

It was a change from the Thindar who were usually given the honour of guarding the royal tent. Given or who had edged out others, whichever it was. Greenwood was a political and racially complicated mess.

These guards were wearing the hardened leather armour over soft hides that Erevir was used to seeing them wear. What was new was the colours of Greenwood bright in their cloaks, the sigils clear and proud upon their chests.

Thranduil was honouring Oropher’s promise to the Five Arrows who came from the marshiest and wettest parts of the deep heart of the forest. For years, Erevir had heard, scholars had wondered where the people the kingdom of Doriath had called the sawadhrim; the filth people, had made their home when Doriath and the Laiquendi would not give them any space in their own lands. Then Oropher had found them.

Erevir knew the settling of the Greenwood had not been the most comfortable thing. There were more than just the Five Arrows spread through the expansive forests, and Tatyar within the mountain in the centre to boot. The political gymnastics Oropher had performed were impressive but instilled prejudice against Five Arrows had been hard to break.

It was… it was good. Yes it was good that Thranduil was continuing Oropher’s sometimes bloodily stubborn push to have the Five Arrows brought into the union of peoples that he had cobbled into his court and country.

Three years of fighting, Erevir remembered dim gossip by campfires. Three years of fighting for him had been what Oropher had asked in exchange for enshrining complete protection of the Five Arrows in his laws.

He had even signed those laws before Greenwood’s armies had moved out as a sign of good faith.

They were four years in now, and the war had not indicated when it would end and how.

There would be no forcing them to undesirable areas of the forest. They would have their own Lord in the Council and most importantly they would have their own name. They were Five Arrows and the king himself would lay grievances against those that used that other, long hurtful name.

Erevir hoped what they saw meant that Thranduil had taken his father’s word as his own.

They hoped Sawadhrim would not be an acceptable name for them within what would not be Thranduil’s realm. It was a terrible name. Instinct said that the nature of humans meant another, just as painful, name would be found by those who would not let their minds be changed.

Well the Five Arrows would likely deal with that themselves. Utumno and Angbad had gifted many of them with the jaw strength similar to the orcs they had crawled their way back to elf form from, generation after painful generation; changeling child by changeling child. Better teeth though.

Better looking teeth.

The right sided guard turned his head, seemingly unaffected by the glare of the sun on the winter ground into his face, dark tattoos of plants found near Greenwood’s heart framing his face. His companion had a fine twisted set of lines over his nose and cheeks, well displayed when he turned to look where his fellow guard looked, that Erevir wanted to say was perhaps a star-chart but was unwilling to commit. Who really knew.

An Ithiledhil walked past them. There was nothing unusual to them asides the usual. Erevir found themselves both overwhelmingly drawn to the Ithiledhril and utterly repelled. Thus they kept their distance. Anything with two different extremes of reactions was likely bad for their general health. They kept their distance and just watched... listened to the distant song of something that was carried in their fea as a flower carries pollen.

As for the guards… well Five Arrows and Ithiledhil, as far as they knew, simply ignored one another with a skill that was pure artistry.

There was only the slightest narrowing of eyes and a very subtle tension in the guards as the pale, strong figure crossed before them, and the song Erevir heard hissing through the cool air was one of flame white hot and cold.

Then it happened.

There was a patch of ice, hidden under mud that had not frosted over from the underlying chill.

The Ithiledhil stood on it…and slipped. Down he went. Straight down onto his arse with a squelch enough for them to hear across the way from him. His hair, it flew in the air from his high tail like a rippling peace banner. The colour was so pale and beautiful.

And the mud was very dark as that hair fluttered downwards and crossed paths with it.

From the Five Arrows came a sudden pure and golden joy. Erevir shivered from the strength of it as it passed through their bones and warmed all the places that had been chilled by the grey misery of winter. This happiness was so innocent and so sublime. It shimmered in the air and both the Five Arrows were, for a moment, transcendentally beautiful and Erevir was drawn to that like a proverbial moth.

“If I die tomorrow I go into the darkness fulfilled,” the one on the right said with great satisfaction and a great wave of contentment, his lips curled in a smile that revealed too many teeth, and not all of them quite in the configuration expected of elves. But Erevir was grinning back, so hard their cheeks were starting to twinge, and all because of this singular moment of joy.

It was not the right thing to enjoy the misfortune of others but where else would they ever feel this perfect happiness here in Baradur?

“A sight not to be repeated.”

“Ah and he heard us,” the left commented. The Ithiledhil had found his footing, refusing them the further viewing of his slipping and sliding in the mud. No he had righted himself on the first try to the disappointment of his audience of three, and had turned to stare at them.

The Five Arrows’ smiles became fixed, disagreeable emotion displacing that glorious happiness. The right had eyes flecked like bloodstone and the pupils were pulled into tight thin lines, the left had eyes more amber with sharp petals of crimson exploding out from around his thin pupils. Neither dropped eye contact but it was the left guard that slowly and deliberately let the filmy white of his second eyelids slide over his eyes in a lazy blink.

The Ithiledhil turned on his heel without a word and walked away.

Disatisfaction from the left guard and bitter amusement from the right.

“Stone cold bastards,” Left said.

“Ah they aren’t so bad if you pretend they don’t exist,” Right straightened his stance, his shoulders having almost crept out of perfect alignment.

“They cant even die and give us a funeral to watch properly,” Left complained, “no fun at all.”

“Master-Healer Lindlaer of the third mounted patrol was having a fling with one of them for a while, actually from before the war since third mounted had that region in their circuit,” Erevir supplied, “ended it last month. The fallout has been quiet enough, but kept most of the Healer Corps entertained.”

“There you go,” Right said to Left, “you can pester Pethras for details. He is apprenticed to that Healing Lord now. He should know enough to satisfy your strange fetish for Ithiledhil.”

Left made a gesture that was both obscene and demonstrative of his opinion of Right. Erevir had their interest wetted though. Five Arrows distrusted the Healing House, Lord Lithwaloth had, had trouble getting them to accept healers placed amongst them, and Pethras was a name they knew; he was one the Five Arrows’ more prominent shaman.

“I feel like I know the name Lindlaer,” Left mused.

“He’s the one who keeps having affairs with the sort of men who don’t take the end of those affairs well and make very public shows of it,” Erevir supplied, “the Lord of the Red Maple tried to kill him in the middle of a court service is the most famous example I think.”

There had been about three hadn’t there?

The incident of the Ithiledhil in the Night would never surpass that incident. Erevir had been living in Lindon and it had been the first thing anyone had mentioned in their letters to them for a season. Then the news of it had completely stopped.

Greenwood’s Healing House protected its own.

Lord Healer Lithwaloth tended to crack down on gossip that exceeded acceptable parameters of the noisy air Healers seemed to need as much as food and more than sleep.

“Ah,” a nod.

Poor Master Lindlaer, you could be a master healer and a leading mind of your speciality and all people remembered was your torrid and turbulent love life. Though in Lindlaer’s defence he never slept with married men…which had also been the reason for so much of his laundry being aired publicly.

There was such a thing as being too beautiful it seemed. And Master Lindlaer was very beautiful. Enough to make Erevir wonder if, when this current furor had died down a little, they might see if his bedroll was feeling empty.

“The Lords have quieted,” Right noted, “maybe they’ll finish and you can go in out of the cold and speak your business.”

Someone suddenly swore and called another lord’s father a name that made Erevir rock back a little. Even the Five Arrows who likely knew black speech, blinked and though they did not break their positions, Right mouthed what they had all just heard. Erevir’s ears blushed just at the repeat. What had been the use of living in a brothel for ten years, they wondered sometimes.

“Never mind,” Left cast eyes to Erevir, “it would please me to hear more about the Master-Healer Lindlaer’s current predicament.”

#AU Silmarillion Drabble Series #My Fanfiction #Erevir #OCs #Five Arrows

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reapers-carino · 7 years

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You should totally write a short thing with the "your lips are really warm" prompt for the junkers and Ava~ (is it Ava right omg if I got that wrong -hides-)

((Anon, omg anon I love you. Thank you for requesting this. It is def Ava who is with the Junkers. Thank you for requesting this))

‘We are definitely not in Oz anymore…’

“Come on darl ‘urry it up!”

Ava’s shoulders jumped as her attention suddenly snapped back to Junkrat, the tall, lanky Junker bouncing from boot to peg impatiently. Ava’s hands hovered, brow furrowing in concentration as she tried to figure what to do with the rest of the thick, bright glittery orange scarf. It had already been wrapped around Jamie’s shoulders twice but still hung towards his waist. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, humming quietly in contemplation before twisting and turning the scarf in various directions before pulling her hands back cautiously.

“I think I got it”, the petite woman exclaimed, patting the giant balled knot she had created gingerly. Stepping back to examine her handiwork, Ava gave an approving nod as she looked the Junker over. He was bundled up tightly if not mismatched; a neon purple puffy coat, the orange scarf, and a pair of baby blue sweatpants that was tucked into his left boot and rolled up to right above his prosthetic. Underneath, she knew there were several more layers of clothing piled on top of the jittery demolitionist, the both of them needing all the layers possibly to make up for their lack of body fat. Nodding once more, Ava awarded him with a wide grin and a giddy giggle, bouncing on the balls of her booted feet. “Isn’t everyday that we get to see ice fall from the frickin’ sky, right?”

Snow. Mako and Ava had learned about the non-native weather when they were young, before the omnium explosion, before things had went even further down the shitter after the Omnic Crisis. Back when there was a ‘normal’. Junkrat wasn’t as fortunate, the man only receiving the education of Junkerdom with a self-taught major in pyrotechnics and explosives. He had been lucky enough to have been taught how to read, a skill scarce in the Outback amongst the youngest of survivors living in the Junkertowns. But they weren’t in Australia anymore, finally freed of the irradiated desert they had called home.

Luck had shined on all of them when Ava had procured three premium cruise tickets, using a pretty chunk of change from Junkrat’s and Roadhog’s former heists. Damn near forty thousand bucks, falsified identities, additional hush money, and the occasional knocked out busybody but they had made it off of Australia, seen Polynesia, stopped off in Hawaii, went to bloody fricking Disneyland before finally landing and disembarking in Vancouver. It had been exciting crossing into the Northern Hemisphere and being told that the seasons were officially flip flopped, summer turning to winter the further north the ship sailed. It was nonsensical, illogical to the three of them that an imaginary line could simply change things like that, Junkrat tittering about it endlessly. The three warm-blooded Australian natives were less excited with the cooler weather that assaulted them, Ava and Junkrat especially so with their lithe frames. Still, neither one of the slimmer Junkers was complaining when they had woken that morning and been awarded with large, fluffy snowflakes falling from the sky.

The two younger Junkers had scrambled out of bed, pulling on every bit and piece of clothing they could find, squealing and jumping up and down excitedly. Mako watched both of them mirthfully, their energy charming but not contagious, the larger man waving his hand at them when they both had tried to ask him to tag along. ‘He’d join you later.’ As with Jamison, matching was the furthest thing from Ava’s mind. The petite woman had yanked on a pair of thermal black leggings and pulled rainbow tiedye leggings on top of that, Mickey’s face peeking just over the edge of her black boots. Her jacket was a fluffy, fuzzy light pink monstrosity and hung to her mid thighs, a deep green scarf wrapped around her neck and chin and ears. Her hazel eyes were bright and glittering with excitement, cheeks flushed pink from being so tightly bundled up in the warm safehouse.

“Ready?”

Ava’s voice had gone soft, bouncing on her the balls of her feet eagerly, another new adventure making her feel keen. This whole trip had been exhilarating and pants shittingly terrifying all at once, the ‘lull’ of Junker living completely different from the way life was lived in the ‘real world’. Even Mako and her had agreed that the world had changed so drastically from when they were kids, before the war. New technology greeted them at every turn, the rise of a new Omnic rights movement and international organizations focused on ‘altruism without warfare’; the rise of good for goodness sake and all that fake shite. But some things were steadfast. Conglomerates suffocating the poor for their last dime, actual innocents like kids and babes being yanked into terrorist or criminal situations, governments relying on generalized ambivalence to get away with crimes against humanity. The new mixed with the old in a intimate yet unfamiliar ways, only further encouraging the crime sprees they went on. They would take this new world by storm together.

“‘Course sweets”, he exclaimed, grabbing her hand and lacing his metal fingers with her own, his own citrine eyes were alight with wonder. Never in his twenty-five years of life on this planet had he ever seen as much as he had when they had left on the boat.

He thought he had seen nice shit when he went to Sydney for the first time, but it didn’t compare with seeing a ‘bloody fucking whale’ or eating food from every continent until he was sick (despite Roadie’s warning) or getting seeing all the different kinds of fires and explosions the world ‘deemed acceptable’. It had been heaven for his constantly racing mind, the world if just for a moment, rivaling the constant storm that brewed between his ears.

“Let’s go!”

Jamison took the lead at Ava’s shout, the both of them giggling as they threw open the door. The weather was ridiculously serene, nothing like the intense wind storms or radioactive acid rain showers that devastated the Outback. It was cold and quiet and insanely peaceful that pre-dawn morning. The air was full of snowflakes drifting and collecting wherever they fell, the world covered in brilliant, glittering white; the rental cabin tucked in the woods creating the perfect picturesque scene.

“Hooley dooley…”

Ava took the first tentative step, her black boot sinking effortlessly into several inches of powdery snow at their doorstep. Her face turned up to Junkrat, eyes round with wonder, her wide, excited gap-toothed grin splitting across her face. The petite five foot woman dashed forward, Jamison stumbling behind her, laughing, his long legs easily catching up with her shorter ones as they ventured further into the snow depths. They watched the tracks their feet and his peg leg made, purposefully disturbing the snow and kicking it high into the air. Ava’s face turned up to the sky, eyes shutting as snowflakes caught on her lashes and cheeks and forehead. Jamison followed suite, his head tilted back, tongue stuck straight out. Snowflakes melted as soon as they landed on his tongue, the Junker smacking his lips approvingly at the cool, fresh taste.

“S’like that shaved ice”, he said matter-of-factly before squatting down and scooping a handful of cold substance into his mouth with his metal hand. Ava’s eyes dropped to watch him as he swished it back and forth before giving her a thumbs up as he swallowed. Ava squats next to him, head tilting to the side apprehensively, her own fingers pressing into the snow that was gathered on the ground. “S’good Gadge! Needs that sweet milk! Think we got any inside? Think Roadie’ll take us into town for some? Maybe we can go ta that boba place too! Ya think they recognize us?”

“This stuff is weird”, she analyzed aloud as he continued talking, picking up a handful but looking at it instead of eating it. She crushed it, a fascinated giggle bubbling from her lips as it made a melty mold of the inside of her hand. The cold burned at her fingers but intrigue held away the creeping pain, the two Junkers suddenly enraptured with gathering as much snow into a pile as possible. A distant memory tickled the back of her mind; a childhood Christmas special, friend and family built–.”Jamie! Let’s build a snowman!”

“Whassat?”

Ava spent the next few minutes stumbling over her words, hands gesticulating her words as she tried to explain making something she had only seen in cartoons. It took several more moments for her to figure out how to start forming a base snowball and soon the two of them were making snowman-esque versions of themselves. Ava’s break in between building grew longer and longer, Junkrat’s body burning a lot hotter than hers ever did, the youngest Junker still not feeling the frigid burn of the cold. But Ava did. She stopped for a moment, shaking her hands, whining quietly as she kneaded at her fingers for a moment.

“Needta get real gloves”, she muttered, more to herself than Jamison, who was now watching her. They all fancied fingerless gloves, each of them owning dozens of different kinds that ranged from functional to aesthetic. The vibrant purple fabric was plum-colored, completely soaked with snow, the fabric clinging tight to her palms. She peeled the fabric off of her hands, stuffing them into her pockets and shaking her hands vigorously again. Her skin was angry and pink, Jamison’s eyes look it over suspiciously before darting out with both of his hand to grab them. “Jamie?”

“Give em here darl”, Jamison said simply, holding her wrists for a second to examine them. He was careful, his movement tender as he used his flesh hand to massage some warmth back into the appendage. When that didn’t seem to move fast enough he leaned forward and started to blow on your fingers, his lips kissing your fingertips. You shivered, not from cold but enchantment, beginning to giggle with each kiss he pressed, his eyes lighting up mischievously.

A shrill shout of amusement filled the air, as Junkrat double downed on the kissing, moving between both hands and nipping lightly at the skin of her palms. Ava’s fingers curled but the way he held her hands prevented them from closing all the way, his lips dancing over the back of her hands too.

“Face is a bit cold too ain’t it darl?”

His manic titter filled the air as, Ava jumping as the cold of his prosthetic touched her face, the touch soon forgotten as his lips suddenly covered her cold flushed skin in kisses. His lips and hands, just like the rest of him was so damned warm. Warmth bloomed everywhere a kiss landed, Ava’s skin heating underneath his lovey-dovey ministration, her body warming as his arms wrapped around her coated waist. His giggles began to mix with hers, his kisses getting more focused as he several to her freckled forehead then cheeks then nose before pushing the scarf down. He froze, his wild yellow eyes connecting with her dazzling light brown ones, shyness creeping into them both.

Mako was fortunate, his formative years over and done with by the time everything had gone completely wrong. He was more confident than the two of them; self-assured, independent. Ava was ridiculously anxious and self-conscious, Jamison paranoid and untrusting of all those around him. Falling in love wasn’t unheard of among Junkers, but betrayals were as common as sand was plentiful; it had originally left all three constantly wary, waiting for the others inevitable treachery. Trial by fire had taught them all that they would have one another’s back, that they could and would work for and with one another. That was almost scarier in a way. Finding not one but two people who loved each of them unconditionally felt staggering; sweet timidity bubbling up at what felt like absurd luck. To love and be loved, to protect and be protected, to trust and be trusted; that was better and wilder and more fucking beautiful than anything they had stolen in the world.

Ava’s tongue darted out to wet her cold lips, her smile large and sweet.

“Your lips”, she started, eyes darting down for a moment before lifting back to his face, lifting onto her tiptoes, still just out of reach of the six foot man hovering over her. His wild brow arched at her words, curiosity burning bright in his eyes. “Are really really really warm Jamie…”

His lopsided grin filled Ava’s inside with a million fireworks in her core, his giggle softer, more intimate somehow. Jamison leaned the rest of the way down, pressing his lips hard to hers, both of their eyes slipping closed. They hummed against one another’s lips in bliss, several small pecks turning into a deeper, loving kiss. Electricity shocked up and down their spines and through each of their lips, stars dancing behind their eyes as they wordlessly communicated just how much they loved one another. Giddiness, excitement, happiness boiled inside of the both of them, the heated, passionate liplock interrupted by breathless, whiny giggles.

“Rat, Gadge.”

The both of them jumped, their giggles turning into full laughs, like teenagers that had just gotten caught making out. Breaking away with one last searing peck, Jamison and Ava turned to see Mako standing in the doorway staring down at them. It didn’t appear that he was going to be venturing out; dressed in the same loose black sweatpants and pastel pink shirt with a flying pig on the front. Grunting, he tilted his head towards the cabin, silently ordering them back into the cabin. He held a large blue comforter in his hands, the smell of food wafting out of the house temptingly.

“Make out inside”, he teased, a growling laugh rumbling in his throat. “Got breakfast ready, come warm up before ya get sick.”

“Okay!”

“Whatcha make, Hog?”

The two younger Junkers laced hands, walking back to the house together; the promise of food and warmth and cuddles with the Hog drawing them back inside. They could live like this for a little bit long; normal, idyllic and in love.

#Anonymous #Overwatch #Overwatch request #Overwatch headcanon #Overwatch headcanons #Overwatch hc #Overwatch requests #reapers-carino #Roadhog #Mako Rutledge #Roadhog x Reader #Jamison Fawkes #Junkrat #Junkrat x Reader #roadrat #poly roadrat

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spottersplace · 7 years

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Dark Days in Western Mass.: A Review of Jon Boilard’s Settright Road

Settright Road, by Jon Boilard Dzanc Books Publication Date: January 2017 Paperback: 176 pages ISBN: 978–1–941088–62–3

Like Ray Carver’s What We Talk About When We Talk About Love, Jon Boilard’s Settright Road is a cohesive collection of stories about working class life that delivers an impact similar to a novel when read as a whole. Set mostly in dying mill towns in Western Massachusetts in the eighties, these sometimes interrelated stories, composed in taut yet often lush and lyrical sentences, present characters teetering on the edge of ruin and sometimes death. Children living in unstable households mismanaged by adults struggling with fading economic prospects, mental illness, alcoholism and drug abuse cope as best they can.

Go get my medicine you little shit, she said, and she told me which ones and I brought them and she tilted her head back to swallow each pill one at a time. Her room was dark. Her room smelled like fish. Now get away from me you little shit, she said. I went back to watch television.

Most of the protagonists are teenage and twenty-something townies who work at gas stations, package stores and diners, who pick vegetables or tobacco on local farms for low wages in the summer. They are glue-sniffing, gas-huffing, pot-smoking underage drinkers with pregnant underage girlfriends living in unstable situations. “I sniff paint thinner in Bobby the Killer’s garage,” is the first sentence in the collection. The narrator of the opening story, “Just the Thing,” goes on to tell us:

I’m supposed to be mowing the lawn, and he’ll be pissed. I’m only living with him because he’s banging my Aunt Haylie and she has custody. They met when he fixed the tranny on her car — a two-door, four-cylinder rice burner with a hatchback. She couldn’t get it out of first gear. He’s got a little shop in a barn behind the garage where I’m sitting on a stack of studded snow tires and looking out the busted window.

Aunt Haylie used to be a stripper at the Castaway Lounge, but the owner said she was getting too fat and fired her. Now she’s a bartender at the local VFW Hall. Many of the adults in these stories are bartenders, strippers, and waitresses who once had better-paying jobs in the mills, but those jobs were sent overseas and the mills were shut down. Those are the relatively lucky ones who are still hanging on. Others, not so lucky, are inmates at the Massachusetts Correctional Institution in Cedar Junction or the mental hospital in Tewksbury.

I was reminded at times of Bruce Springsteen’s autobiography, Born to Run.The characters in Settright Road are reeling from the same malaise, economic uncertainty and loss of identity that the inhabitants of Springsteen’s hometown, Freehold, New Jersey, experienced a decade earlier in the seventies. “They’re closing down the textile mill across the railroad tracks/foreman says those jobs are going, boys, and they ain’t coming back…” as he puts it in “My Hometown.”

While the lives these young characters lead may conjure up lines from Springsteen’s “The River,” Tom Waits’ “Kentucky Avenue,” and the Animals’ “We Gotta Get Out of This Place,” their own musical tastes tend toward hair metal. The songs these drunk, stoned, sometimes violent teens listen to as they drive around aimlessly in cars borrowed from their drunken fathers, single mothers or rowdy older brothers are by Van Halen, Bon Jovi, Billy Squier and Def Leppard. Two young brothers lounging in a junker car that’s up on cinder blocks in their yard in the title story listen to NRBQ playing a gig for college kids in a distant parking lot as if it’s music drifting in from some other world. And it is.

The divide between the townie kids living a paycheck away from ruin and the college kids who more or less have got it made is explored in the story “Watch Out, Townie Boy.” The narrator’s friend, Jabber, drives a limo for a living. Between gigs ferrying wealthy kids to the roller rink and aging mourners to funerals, they drive around aimlessly and drink beer.

The narrator hasn’t got much in the way of parental guidance at the moment because his mom is in jail for stabbing her boyfriend in the neck with a broken bottle and said boyfriend, due to the stabbing, is in the hospital. He and Jabber resent the poor blacks and Puerto Ricans who the local farmers bus in from out of town because they’ll work for low, low wages. They’ve taken the summer jobs he and Jabber and other local kids used to do picking strawberries, corn and tobacco. On the other hand, they resent the well-to-do white kids from out of town who attend the nearby colleges and look down on them as townies. There’s no college in the future for either of them.

Jabber almost went to college on a football scholarship but his knee blew out and he didn’t have the grades. Mom tells me I should think about the Army for when I get out of high school but that’s two years away.

Two years is like forever.

A lot can happen in two fucking years.

While there is no direct narrative through-line to the collection, there is an emotional one. The book is populated by characters stuck in a place that makes no sense for them to be anymore wondering how to get out and where to go. In “Dark Days” teenage Nick and his Uncle Eddy are hiding out in the woods planning to skip town to escape some unspecified trouble his criminal father and other uncles have brought down on the family. In “Sometimes There’s God” a local biker and backwoods brawler talks with his on again/off again stripper girlfriend about escaping to Vermont or maybe New Hampshire. But would things really be any different there, or would they simply have the same problems in a different location?

Richard, the teenage narrator of “Listen to That Train Whistle Blow,” talks endlessly of hopping a train to California even after a legendary local creep known as Raping Ray explains to him that the tracks he’s eying are the Boston and Maine line so only go north and south. No way in hell of getting to California on that. He can’t let the idea go, though, and raises it again near the end of the story while sitting on the roof of a local dive bar with a friend:

Yeah, I say, I’m a hop that fucking train tomorrow, boy. It feels good to say it aloud, but Bobcat doesn’t say anything back and he doesn’t even look at me. Fuck him. I know he thinks I’ll never do it. I spit over my shoulder and it lands on the ledge. The problem is that I already talked it to death. The idea. The concept of getting away. That’s what happens sometimes when you put things into words: you kill them.

Each of the stories in the book is just as long as it needs to be with the exception of the longest story, “Sometimes There’s God,” which feels entirely too short. While Boilard’s lean, mean, muscular prose delivers the goods in perfect measure in the other stories, here it comes across choppy, clipped and jagged. I found myself wanting to read the hundred-and-twenty page novella it might have become if it had been allowed to breathe and expand. Like a boxer who dropped too many pounds too fight in a lower weight class, the story winds up losing strength as well. It may have been better off bulking up and fighting heavy.

It is important that we have stories such as these now as globalization and the war on the working class grinds on, as the wealthiest of the wealthy rig the system to take more and more for themselves, as their paid-off politicians continue their quest to destroy Social Security, Medicare, Medicaid and SNAP and fight any attempt to increase the minimum wage to a living wage. Jon Boilard’s Settright Road is a story collection for our time which shows what happens to working class folks when the old work goes away and nothing new comes along to replace it.

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