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babyjamiebarnes · 3 years

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Build-A-Bear

Part Two

Featuring: Bucky x Stark!reader, dad!Tony, Peter Parker (platonic), background MCU characters

Warnings: [chapter] language; [series] language, smut, violence

Summary: The only people who knew she was actually a Stark were her dad, her step-mom Pepper, and her “uncles” Happy and Rhodey. A promotion within Stark Industries takes her from an already-sought after position in the Weapons Anaylsis Unit straight to the Avengers as a Weapons Enhancement Specialist... which means her dad is her new boss. There’s only one rule at work: no fraternizing with coworkers. There’s one more rule at home: no dating any Avengers. So what is she supposed to do when a grumpy super soldier becomes not-so-grumpy around her? At 25, do her dad’s rules still apply? Or is her entire livelihood at risk?

Author’s Note: This one was gonna be super short but I felt bad so it’s super long instead lol. I originally planned on posting shorter chapters more frequently so it might be closer to 3-4 days between parts now that I’m posting longer chapters. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list! I’ve never done a tag list before so I’m going to keep the limit pretty small. And if you want, you can buy me a coffee! ❣️

(Part One)

Tags: @kennedywxlsh

About an hour later, a light knock on the lab door drew your eyes from your work to Bucky as he walked in. Peter’s eyes darted up but immediately looked back down when he realized the visitor was for you.

“Hey Bucky,” you smiled. He smiled back and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“So… you wanted to see my arm?” he said, more as a question than a reminder.

“Yeah, if you could sit right here, that’d be perfect.”

He did as you asked and took a seat on a lab chair, letting you lean across the lab table toward him so you could fiddle with his prosthetic arm. You quickly grabbed your magnifying glasses, flipping the magnifiers up so you could examine him at face value first.

After a few minutes of looking at the outer plating and sensory receptors, you pulled away.

“Can you feel with this arm?” you asked.

“I can feel pressure but I can’t actually feel with it.” You gave him a confused look, only sort of piecing together what he meant. As he fumbled over his words to explain again, you put your glasses to the side, running around to Bucky’s side again to stand in front of him.

“Okay, this might be weird but it’ll really help me. Hold your hands out, palms up.” He did as you said. “I’m going to do the same thing to both arms and then I want you to show me, using just your right arm, how it felt on each one, okay?”

Bucky nodded and watched as your fingertips gently glided over his forearms, leaving goosebumps in your wake. The second time, you brushed your palms against his skin, as if you were brushing away crumbs. The final time, you scratched your nails down his right arm, making him take in a sharp breath as he watched the skin of his arm turn a pale pink. His left arm, however, kept catching your fingernails between the plates so you resorted to scratching across instead of down.

“Okay, now show me.” You flipped both of your arms over, palm up.

Using just his flesh arm on your right arm, he grazed his fingertips over your skin, admittedly sending a shiver down your spine. You didn’t even consider how weak that touch usually makes you, especially from someone who looks like that. And you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t find him attractive before you even graduated college. You and your roommates were guilty of many nights of fuck-marry-fight with the Avengers as your victims.

When your gaze moved up to meet his, he brushed his hand over your arm, then delicately scratched his nails down your arm.

If it hadn’t been for the slight hum of machinery across the room, you’re sure Bucky would’ve heard your heart beating out of your chest.

Dad would literally kill me if he knew the thoughts going through my head right now, you thought.

“Okay,” you started, pausing briefly to clear your throat. “What about what your left arm feels?”

This one made him furrow his brows, either in concentration or confusion. He pushed his fingertips against your skin harder than before and moved them down your arm. He used more pressure again with the second movement, then went back to heavy fingertip pressure for the scratches.

“Hm,” you said simply, letting your arms drop to your sides again. “So you feel the weight of the touch but not the sensation that comes with it?” The confusion in his eyes made you rephrase. “So this on your right arm —“ you ran your fingers down his flesh arm again, “gives you goosebumps, but this on your metal arm —“ you repeated on the left, “is just a weight, no shiverbugs?”

“Shiverbugs?” he repeated with a barely noticeable smile.

“Goosebumps! Sorry. Shiverbugs is something my grandma used to say. Sometimes I slip into the family slang,” you chuckled. Bucky’s smile grew a bit at the sound of your laugh.

“Yeah, I only feel that on the right arm. No shiverbugs with the left.”

You jokingly scrunched your nose at him before returning to your previous seat. He stood there as you scribbled down notes on how he feels things and your immediate thoughts on how to make it more real for him.

“Is there anything you want done to your arm?”

Bucky seemed slightly taken aback at the question, but quickly steeled his expression. “I know Tony wanted to make it quieter,” he said.

You pushed your glasses up your nose and leaned your elbows on the table between you. You could tell he was still pretty reserved, either because you were new and he didn’t feel comfortable around you, or because he didn’t feel comfortable in the tower as a whole yet.

“I know what Tony wants,” you said gently. “What do you want?”

He frowned at this, turning his eyes to the floor as he thought. After a beat, he finally said, “I just want it to feel real again.”

And you could’ve cried right then and there. You knew the story of the Winter Soldier. You had heard what Bucky had been through. You couldn’t imagine going through anything close to what he experienced, and you’d be damned if you let him down.

But you couldn’t cry in front of him on your first day, so you smiled at him softly.

“That’s not an easy feat but I’ll do what I can, Barnes.”

He smiled briefly before frowning again. That frown seemed to be his default expression.

“Is there anything else you need?” he asked.

“Not right now. Thanks for helping me out,” you replied. He just nodded before walking out. Your eyes stayed on the door for an extra couple seconds before you spun around on your seat and scurried across the room to plop down next to Peter, who was packing his stuff to head home for the day.

“Hey, Boy Wonder, question.” Peter looked at you with raised eyebrows. Nicknaming ran in the family. “Want to use that biomolecular engineering and help me with something?”

•••

Nearly every day when you stopped in the kitchen for lunch, you’d run into Bucky. Sometimes he’d be with Sam, sometimes Steve, sometimes on his own. But almost every single day, he’d be in the common room chatting or the kitchen eating. For the first couple weeks, he was a little tense when you were around. You’d hear him and Sam bickering as you approached, just to see him quiet down once you entered the room. It was a bit disheartening at first, but when it was just the two of you, he always engaged.

You’d called him into the lab a couple times to look over his arm again, but you always felt bad taking him away from whatever training or cases he was working on. The digital renderings were always there, and you spent plenty of time digging into those and running simulations of the different ways you could muffle the wiring. And it’s a good thing you ran the simulations, because a couple of them would’ve fried his whole arm and then some.

Peter was a great help too. When he wasn’t working on his own projects, he’d poke his nose into your work and throw out recommendations. Robotics may have been your specialty, but the kid knew his stuff. He’s the only reason you finally figured out the perfect combo to quiet Bucky’s arm without knocking him out.

Nearly four weeks after your first day — and a week after Peter went back to campus, leaving you alone in the lab — you cornered Bucky in the communal kitchen again and turned on your classic Stark charm.

“Hey Bucky,” you said sweetly, leaning over the counter across from him while he tossed fruit into a blender.

“Hey [Y/N].”

You’d grown a bit more comfortable with each other, mainly from when you two were left alone. He still was a bit quieter with one of his friends around, but he was growing more talkative in general. You felt comfortable tossing nicknames at him; he felt comfortable saying “hey” instead of “hi” and once gave you your own nickname. Since you called him Bucky Bear a time or two, he called you Build A Bear. He almost looked panicked when it slipped, but your initial shock was quickly followed by giggles, easing the tension in his shoulders. But the feeling that name sent to your stomach felt more like bats than butterflies. He even joked with you now.

“So I’ve been looking at the blueprints we have for your arm and I was wondering — I know this is a lot to ask — could I maybe spend some more time digging around in your arm?” You flashed him a hopeful smile, even propping your chin on your hand to look cuter.

Before he answered, he put the lid on the blender and started it, staring at you blankly as the sound filled the entire room. You just sat there, continuing to smile at him. And the more you fluttered your lashes while he let the blender run, the more you could see his frown-y facade start to crack.

He finally broke into a smile when he shut the machine off.

“You don’t have to ask, [Y/N]. I mainly train in the mornings so my afternoons are free. As long as I’m here, you can call me in whenever.”

You jumped up and ran around the counter, giving him an unexpected hug, made obvious by the way he tensed up. You elected to ignore it.

“You’re the best, Bucky Bear.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he said, gently pulling away from you to pour his smoothie into two glasses. “I just have one stipulation.” You looked up at him expectantly. “Take the rest of this? I, uh, I made a bit too much.”

With a laugh, you grabbed the nearly full glass and led him down the halls to your lab. Since Peter was only coming back one weekend a month, you had kind of taken over the lab, adding some color to make your workspace a little less drab. Your guilty pleasures playlist — aka your favorite middle school dance songs — played quietly over the speakers as you directed Bucky to sit down.

Getting into his arm wasn’t the easiest task. You had to pry off the opening of each individual outer plate, then unscrew — yes, with a screwdriver — the covering on the inner plates to actually see the wiring inside. Fortunately, Bucky brought his phone with him so he could occupy himself and let you focus. You were a bit surprised at how easily he understood modern technology, but he wasn’t quite the old man Steve was when it came to the changing times.

After spending a solid 10 minutes leaning over the lab table to open Bucky’s arm, you poked around inside for a while, jotting down notes as you went. Shuri had sent Tony quite a few notes for you to reference, but seeing everything firsthand and taking your own notes always helped.

Unfortunately, Bucky had two removable sections in his arm: one on his forearm, one in his bicep.

“Scale of one to ten, how comfy does the table look?” you asked.

Bucky looked up from his phone and gave you a confused look. “Uh, maybe a two? Why?”

“Well, Buckaroo, I need to get to the top plate too so you’ll have to either hold your arm up for me to get to it or lie down somewhere.”

He glanced back down at the table, then looked at you in confusion as he voiced his own suggestion. “What about the couch in the common room?”

You tapped your nose and pointed at him with a smile, gathering your supplies and the rest of Bucky’s arm. He led the way, lying flat on the couch and raising his left arm over his head.

“Is it okay if I play more music out here?” you asked as you unloaded everything.

“Sure. I should probably catch up on modern music anyway,” he said with a soft smile. You had Friday play your guilty pleasures playlist again while you got to work on opening up the top of Bucky’s arm.

You’d been poking around for almost 20 minutes when the silence was broken.

“Music nowadays is so sexual,” Bucky said suddenly.

“Hm. What makes you say that?” you asked, only half paying attention as you drew up more stream-of-consciousness notes on the coffee table beside you.

“This song.” You paused and immediately recognized the beat for “Candy Shop” by 50 Cent.

“Oh come on, as if you didn’t have any inappropriate songs in the ‘40s,” you scoffed.

“Of course we did but it was never this blatant! We were more subtle back then,” Bucky defended.

“Bro,” you deadpan. “If you think ‘Candy Shop’ is obvious, you have way more catching up to do. Friday, play ‘WAP’ by Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion.”

You watched Bucky react as the song started. Even the initial “there’s some whores in this house” made his eyes go wide. At “wet ass pussy make that pull out game weak,” he turned to you, beet red in the face.

“What kind of music do you listen to?!”

“This is a popular song!” you laughed. “We have some obviously sexual songs that aren’t quite as… vulgar too. Friday, play ‘T-Shirt’ by Thomas Rhett.”

Bucky eyed you cautiously this time, not quite sure if you were actually playing a more censored song. He visibly relaxed when he heard the first lyrics, “Get off of work and we meet down at our spot. We got a patio with a view of a parking lot.”

“See, this is already so much better.”

“Don’t act so innocent,” you smirked, rolling your eyes at him.

“That sounds like an accusation,” Bucky laughed.

“Oh, it is.”

“Yeah? What’s that supposed to mean?” He sat up to face you directly, one leg landing on each side of your body sitting on the floor. His posture combined with his playful conversation had you wondering where this confidence came from. Because you definitely liked it.

“Come on,” you scoffed. “You can’t convince me a face like that,” you pointed directly at him to emphasize your point, “wasn’t making panties drop left and right back in the day.”

He shook his head and laughed to himself, leaning back on the couch, yet made no move to deny your accusation.

“Who would’ve known my sweet little Bucky Bear was a player?” you joked.

“Oh, like you’re not the same way, Build A Bear.”

“Excuse me?!” you squealed. “I’ll have you know I’m a good little Christian girl and I’m saving myself for marriage,” you said with a grin, maneuvering from sitting on your butt to kneeling and clasping your hands together like you were praying.

“You’re a lot of things, [Y/N]. A good liar is not one of those things,” Bucky smirked.

Your mouth fell agape. You liked this confident, playful side of him. You’d only seen glimpses until now.

“What’s your number?” you asked, dropping your hands to your sides.

“Uhh… My phone number?”

“No, your sexual body count,” you laughed, making sure to clarify; former assassins probably have a different interpretation of ‘body count.’ “How many people have you slept with?”

You knew it was a personal question but given the topic of conversation and casual tone you’d both taken on, it didn’t seem totally out of bounds.

Bucky thought for a second, slowly counting on his fingers. Your eyes watched as the slender metal digits flicked up: one, two, three... “Four.”

“Yeah, okay,” you scoffed.

“Why is that so hard to believe?” Bucky said with a laugh.

“Because that’s my body count.”

“Doll, I took plenty of dames out on the town, but I’d leave the night with a kiss and nothing else,” he said, that old school Brooklyn lilt sneaking up on him.

You sighed and shook your head, still not believing him but choosing to let it go for now.

“Give me your arm,” you said, holding your hand out. Bucky let his arm drop into your hand while you picked up a microchip with a needle-thin pair of tweezers. “This will adhere to the vibranium and essentially act like a pillow to muffle the sounds of your arm. So it’ll still make noise — I can’t just get rid of all sound — but it’ll be notably quieter.”

You tucked the chip under the inner plating of Bucky’s arm, watching as it sparked over the metal to let you both know it was working.

“Now lie back down so I can put you back together, Humpty Dumpty,” you said.

Bucky let out a quiet chuckle, but leaned back on the couch with his left arm over his head. After 15 minutes of angling the plating just right so it would fit back together, you climbed off the couch, distancing yourself from Bucky for the first time in nearly four hours.

“Anything else I can help the mad scientist with today?” Bucky asked. He had moved to rest his elbows on his knees, looking up at you from his spot on the sofa.

You checked your watch to see how much time you had left in your workday. 4:15. Forty-five minutes until you can clock out for the weekend. Not quite close enough to bullshit through some dumb side project so you don’t get too invested. But there’s one thing you wanted to check out to improve the feeling in Bucky’s arm.

“Can you take your shirt off?” you asked plainly.

Bucky’s eyes went wide for half a second before he slipped back into his playful demeanor. “Shouldn’t you take me on a date first?”

“Shut up,” you giggled. You giggled. “I just want to see how the arm is connected to your torso.”

Without pause, Bucky leaned forward, grabbed the back of his shirt, and tugged it over his head to let it fall to the floor. Unfortunately for you, you didn’t consider what he’d look like underneath his clothing, so it took you a second to gather your bearings again. You couldn’t help yourself. How could you not admire the slender lines of his collarbones, the thick layer of muscle covering his chest, the distinct ridges on his abdomen speckled with scars, the very tip of what you could only assume were two tantalizing depressions leading right to —

“Like what you see, doll?” he smirked.

Your eyes met his, reluctantly pulling away from what you knew would be the source of your dreams tonight.

“Four, my ass,” you mumbled in fake annoyance, kneeling between his thighs again to get a better look at him. Your fingertips trailed along the smooth line of scarred skin bordering the harsh metal of his arm. It took all your willpower to focus on work instead of the heat his body was radiating being so close to each other. “Was this how, you know, they put your arm on?”

Bucky shook his head, his expression growing sullen at the indirect mention of his tormentors. “They just kind of dug away at it. The Wakandans actually cut away a bit more of my skin to allow for healthier healing.”

You could tell it was carefully done, judging by the faint discoloring and thin ridge alongside the metal, as opposed to angry red lines that protruded out like the photos Shuri sent.

“Does this area hurt?” You pressed your hand flat to the scar; Bucky had to try to reign in his heartbeat. You had leaned in close to see his arm, leaving you close enough for him to just dip his head down and —

“What’s going on here?”

Both of you whipped your heads to the side to see a very confused — and slightly annoyed — Tony standing in the entrance to the common room, clearly just passing by and stumbling on a somewhat compromising situation: his daughter on her knees between a shirtless Winter Soldier’s thighs.

Without taking your eyes off your father, you reached around on the coffee table and grabbed your notebook.

“Research! I promise!”

“Research that couldn’t happen in your designated lab?” You could tell there was so much more he wanted to say, but had to keep it to himself for now to avoid telling Bucky who you really were.

“I had to open the compartment in his tricep area and didn’t want to make him lie down on the lab tables for three hours.” The accusatory glare from your dad made you shrink into yourself, your voice growing quieter as you spoke. Fridays were family dinner night, and you already knew you wouldn’t hear the end of this.

“Uh-huh,” he said slowly, still eyeing you and Bucky suspiciously. “And why did he need to be half naked for that?”

“Da — Tony,” you said, barely catching yourself. “I mean, Mr. Stark. I was examining the scar tissue and spinal connection to determine how to enhance the sensory receptors currently embedded in the vibranium.”

Tony’s eyes flitted between you and Bucky. Your eyes were wide, clearly nervous as he grilled you. Bucky, on the other hand, was flushed pink and leaning a little too close for Tony’s comfort.

“Keep this PG from now on, okay? And no working outside of the lab. This is Stark Tower, not Bezos Tower. We’re not gonna work you to the bone.” He started to walk away before stepping back and adding, “No fraternizing with coworkers, remember?”

With a quick nod, you stood abruptly and gathered your things to take it back to your lab for the night. Bucky was quick to slip his shirt back on and followed you with his head down to avoid the burning gaze of your father — or as far as he knew, his boss.

You didn’t expect Bucky to go back to your lab with you, but part of you was glad he did. Being around him brought you a sense of calm and comfort, even after what just happened. If he had just walked away, you’d assume the worst: that an accusation like that was far from what he wanted to hear.

You set all your things back on your table to start putting them away when Bucky shoved his hands into his pockets and cleared his throat.

“Sorry about that,” he said. You spared a quick glance at him, seeing the tension in his shoulders as he chose his words carefully.

“Why?” you asked, genuinely confused on how that situation was somehow his fault.

“Tony… he doesn’t really like me much.”

“Yeah, I know,” you laughed. “But that was way more of a me-problem than a you-problem. We’ll just have to work in here from now on.” You shrugged and went back to putting your tools in their respective drawers.

Bucky still stood right inside the doorway, the door shut behind him so no one outside could hear you two. He rocked back and forth on his feet, trying to force himself to follow through with at least mentioning what he planned on asking you.

“I was actually gonna see if you wanted to get dinner together sometime until Tony gave us that speech,” he chuckled.

You slid the final drawer shut and turned to Bucky. You knew you two were getting closer and you couldn’t deny feeling an attraction to him, but you never expected him to feel that same pull. The thought made you smile back at him while he cracked his knuckles, most likely from nerves. What happened to that fun and flirty attitude he had just a few minutes ago?

Your grandma always said to never date a man who wasn’t nervous about asking you out...

“I’m pretty good at keeping secrets,” you said quietly.

His eyes stopped darting around the room to find your gaze. You stepped closer, taking slow steps as you crossed the room to him until you were toe to toe. He didn’t take his eyes off of you until you held your phone out to him.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” you said with a small smirk.

His lips curled into a small smile as he snatched your phone and entered his number.

“I’ll text you my address. Does tomorrow night work?” you asked, unintentionally biting your lip but not missing the way Bucky’s eyes followed the movement.

“Tomorrow sounds great,” he replied.

“Okay. See you tomorrow, Buck.” You took a bit of a risk and stood on your tip toes to give him a kiss on the cheek, his face immediately flushing red. Your own cheeks grew warm when you stepped back, tossing Bucky a quick wave as you turned back around and hoping he’d leave before you started screaming.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x Stark!reader #bucky barnes x Stark!reader #Stark!reader #bucky barnes fanfic

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thatonerandomfan4 · 3 years

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Madness Combat: Just Bros Being Dudes

AO3 Link:

(Hhh This Took A Long Ass While Lmao)

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Fandom: Madness Combat

Characters: Deimos, Sanford, Hank (Briefly), Jebus (Briefly), Tricky (Briefly)

Platonic Or Romantic?: Romantic Sanmos

Summary: Just A Normal Saturday In Nevada For The Boyfriends, Sanford And Deimos. They Also Share Their First Kiss With The Help Of Hank And Tricky Thanks To A Text Message. Also Deimos Makes A Lot Of Jokes, If You Know Them Then Congrats. :) If Not, That's Ok.

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The Sound Of The Alarm Clock Went Off At 8:00 AM, Causing Deimos To Wake Up From His Slumber. He Sat Up From The Sleeping Position He Was In And Yawned While Stretching Before Hitting The Snooze Button And Rubbing His Eyes. Looking Over To His Side, He Noticed Sanford Was Absent From His Side Of The Bed. It Was Cold, So He Had Been Probably Gone For A While Now. It Was Done Nicely Compared To The Smaller Man's Side Of The Bed, Which Was Very Messy.

Deimos Knew San Liked To Wake Up An Hour Or Two Earlier Than Him All The Time. He Did That Even If They Weren’t Being Bothered By The L33t / A.A.H.W (Agency Against Hank Wimbleton) Groups Anymore. Deimos Slipped On The Closest Pair Of Slippers He Had By The Bed And Headed Toward The Kitchen. There He Heard Pans Being Set Down On The Stove Or In The Sink To Be Washed Later And Bacon Sizzling In A Pan.

Sanford Was At The Stove Making Breakfast While Whistling One Of Their Favorite Songs. That Favorite Song Happened To Be Poker Face By Lady Gaga, Deimos Would Always Sing And Dance Happily To It While Sanford Watched And Laughed During Their Breaks In Between Missions. Deimos Instantly Smiled At The Sight Of His Boyfriend Being In A Good Mood On A Morning. Everyone Knew Sanford Wasn't Much Of A Morning Person, He Was Only Cheerful When He Knew He Was Going To Have A Good Day.

It Always Was Fun Going On Missions Together And Then Getting To Relax With Each Other Afterwards. They Loved To Chat And Goof Off With Each Other All The Time. The Smaller Man Quietly Shuffled Into The Kitchen Being Careful Not To Distract The Man Cooking And Sat Down In A Chair. Ford Smiled And Flipped The Pancakes In The Pan. San Turned Around To See His Beloved Boyfriend Sitting At The Table.

Sanford, Smug: “Enjoying The View, Dee?’

Deimos, Jumping In Surprise And Hiding His Face In Embarrassment: “U-Uh What? Yeah, I Like Roses. I Mean What-”

Sanford, Giggling A Bit: “What? Anyway, How Many Pancakes Do You Want?”

Deimos: “Ooo, Can I Have 4?”

Sanford Nods And Turns Around, Walking Back To The Stove To Continue Their Breakfast. Deimos Watched His Boyfriend With Love In His Eyes. Dee Loved Watching His Boyfriend Do Anything; He Even Has A Whole Photo Album Full Of...Just Sanford In Battle Poses, Laying Down, Sitting, Ect..

Sanford Knew About Deimos’s Pictures. He Didn’t Really Mind, It Was Just When They Got Posted Online And Girls Were Coming To The Posts and Simping For The Man In The Bandana. Cut Back To Deimos Looking At Sanford With Love In His Eyes, Dee’s Tablet Vibrated On The Table.

Deimos Quickly Picked It Up, And Saw It Was From Hank. His Panic Died Down A Bit, And He Just Stared At The Notification. Like Sanford, Hank Liked Getting Up Early So He Can Get Things Done. One Of Those Things Would Be Making Sure Tricky Wasn’t Eating All The Food In The Fridge. Tricky Normally Has To Be Fed At Least 8 Times A Day To Ease His Chaotic Nature For A Few Minutes At Most. Then Jebus Has To Look After Him For Safety Reasons.

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Hank: Deimos. Are You Up?

Hank: Deimos? It's 7:04 AM.

Hank: ?

Hank: Deimos??

Hank: Oh Yeah. I Forgot You Like To Sleep In

Hank: You're Probably Going To Wake Up At 8:30 AM, As Always.

Hank: Anyway, I Just Wanted To Say Tricky Misses You Guys. He Keeps Talking About You And He’s Wondering If You 2 Can Come Play With Him Later Today Or Tomorrow.

Hank: He's Happy You Two Are A Couple Now. He Bought A Gift For You Too.

Hank: Well….He Stole It, Then I Had To Pay For The Damage….AND The Gift

Hank: Also, Quick Question….Have You 2 Even Kissed Yet?

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There Was Silence For A Good 3 Seconds Until Deimos Screamed, Startling Sanford. The Tablet Fell On The Table Before Ford Could Even Reach His Boyfriend. The Man In The Bandana Hugged His Boyfriend To Calm Him. Ford Thought It Was Some Fangirl Who Messaged Him And Sent Something Gross As That Happened Very Often. He Took The Tablet To See For Himself, And Snorted When He Saw The Message. He Looked At Deimos Desperately Trying Not To Laugh At What He Saw.

Sanford: “You-” *He Quietly Giggles, Trying Not To Embarrass Deimos On Purpose* “You’re Screaming Because We Haven’t Kissed Yet?”

Deimos: “Well- I- Yo- We- He-”

He Was Immediately Silenced By His Boyfriend’s Lips Making Contact With His. They Stayed Like That For A Few Minutes Before Sanford Pulled Back And Got Back To The Stove. Deimos Just Sat There In Shock, His Face All Hot And Red. That Was Their First Ever Kiss, And Deimos Wanted To Be Involved Too. Just Thinking About It Made Him More Flustered. He Must've Been Spaced Out For A While Because When He Looked Up, Sanford Wasn't There. He Checked His Tablet Again And Saw A Notification: A Text From Hank.

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Hank: Lol. Sanford Told Me You Screamed When I Asked.

Hank: That Probably Was Really Funny In Person

Hank: If Only He Recorded It.

Hank: *[One Attachment Sent]*

{Hank: He Didn’t Answer My Question. Did You Guys Kiss Yet Orrr?

Sanford: Well Yes And No. You Embarrassed Him Lol. It Was So Funny Haha

Sanford: He Screamed When He Saw Your Message, Then I Kissed Him.

Hank: Pfft- Are You Serious?! Wow Lol

Sanford: Yeah Lmao. Made Me Throw A Pancake At The Ceiling. It Was Mine Too :(

Sanford: Good Wasted Pancake :(

Sanford: *[One Attachment Sent]* {Image Description: A Gray Tiled Ceiling With A Medium-Sized Pancake Smacked In Between 4 Tiles.}

Hank: XD}

Deimos: I-

Deimos: YOU!! >:( THAT WAS YOUR FAULT HANK J. WIMBLETON!!

Deimos: YOU MADE HIM WASTE HIS PANCAKE. THAT WAS YOU!!

Deimos: YOU FUDGING BULLY >:(

Deimos: I'LL HECKING FIGHT YOU!!

Hank: XD

Hank: Yeah Right Lol. I'll See You Later

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A Couple Minutes Pass And Sanford Taps Deimos On The Shoulder. Dee Turns Around To See His Boyfriend Fully Dressed. A Pile Of Clothes Was Placed In The Seat Next To The Shorter Man. Deimos Could Only Assume It Was His Clothing, As Hank Did Invite Them Over To See Tricky. The Smoker Popped A Cigarette In His Mouth And Left To Get Dressed. Once He Got Back, He Put His Cigarette In The Ashtray And Got Sanford Greeted With A Kiss. Well 2, One On The Forehead And One On The Mouth.

Deimos: “You Know, You Could’ve Waited Till I Was Ready For The Kiss.”

Sanford: “Why? It Would’ve Been A Year Or Two If You Said You Were Ready. That’s Basically How Our Relationship Started. Everyone Knows That, Ev-EVEN TRICKY KNOWS!”

Deimos’s Face Just Heated Up, He Knew That Was True And Couldn't Argue. After That Chat, Sanford And Deimos Got In Their Car And Headed To The Base. Deimos Was Messaging Hank During The Entire Ride. Hank Was Teasing Deimos A Lot About The Kiss, And How Deimos Reacted When It Was First Brought Up. Deimos Yelled-Texted At Hank Again, Causing The Man In The Red Goggles To Laugh Again. Dee Put His Tablet Away Once They Got To The Base. Of Course, None Other Than Hank Himself Was There To Greet Them And Welcome Them Back In.

They Passed The Savior, Jebus, Who Was Reading A Book, Supposedly A Bible Or Something He Could Find Lying Around. He Was Sitting At A Table With Red Wine In A Fancy Glass And Biscuits On A Plate. Deimos Wondered If Hank Told Him About It, Since He Received A Teasing Look. Sanford Just Thought Nothing Of It, And Wanted To See If Tricky Had Actually Changed Since Their Last Encounter With Him.

Once They Approached Tricky's Room, Or Area (Whatever You Would Call It), They Saw Signs Like 'Caution: Beware The Clown', And 'Do Not Enter Unless You Are Hank'. They Were Also Greeted By The Sound Of Someone Eating Something Viciously.

Looking From The Glass Window On The Wall, They Saw The Clown Filling His Face With All Different Kinds Of Food. He Stopped To Grab A Drink, But Got Distracted By Seeing Hank With Sanford And Deimos. Tricky Immediately Ran To The Glass And Smacked His Face Against It, Causing Ford And Dee To Jump Back.

Tricky Smiled In Delight After Seeing Deimos And Sanford For The First Time In A Long While. He Waved Through The Glass, Then Rushed To The Speaker. The Faint Sound Of Someone Yelling 'HAAANNK!' And 'VALID. FRIENDS' Could Be Heard Through The Speaker. The Door Suddenly Opened Slowly, The Smell Of All Kinds Of Foods Plus Blood Pouring Out Of The Opening And The Cracks. The Clown Immediately Jumped Out Of The Room, Startling The Trio.

Tricky: "SANFORD! HANK! DEIMOS! FRIENDS! VALID. YES."

Hank Actually Smiled Upon Tricky's Entrance, He Patted The Clown's Head Twice And Let The Other 2 Do The Same Thing After. They Talked About Everything That Happened, And Caught Up With Each Other. Jebus Entered The Room Half Way Through The Conversation And Joined In. They Chatted For Hours, Tricky Was The One To Point Out The Time To Everyone. Sanford Said That He And Deimos Had To Leave, As It Was Late (11:12 PM).

They Said Their Goodbyes Before Ford And Dee Headed Out. They Stayed Silent In The Car, Just Thinking About How Much The Others Have Changed. Tricky, Who Has Become More Friendly And Takes Baths. Hank, Who Is More Calm And 'Married To A Blender'. And Jebus, Who Has More Control And Is Starting To Learn Dad Jokes.

Deimos: "I Had Fun Chatting With Them After A While. I Just Wish Candice Was There With Us, I Miss Her."

Sanford: "...We Didn't Know A Candice."

Deimos, Grinning: "I Know Candice. I've Known Her For A While Now."

Sanford, Not Falling For It: "Good For You. Is She Nice?"

Deimos: "....Y-Yeah…...Although Her House Really Smells Like Updog. It's A Problem."

Sanford: "......Really?"

Deimos, Pushing The Joke: "Yes, Especially The Kitchen. It Really Reeks Of Updog. It's Disgusting, Bleck"

Sanford, Sighing And Smiling: "What Is Updog?"

Deimos, Giggling Like A Child: "Nahat Much Wh-"

Deimos Couldn't Finish His Sentence Because He Was Laughing. Sanford Just Snorted And Smiled, He Always Knew How He Could Get His Boyfriend Lost In Laughter. Even If A Joke Wasn't Really That Funny, Deimos Could Be Laughing For An Hour. He Absolutely Loves Jokes Of All Kinds And It Doesn't Matter Who Tells Them. By The Time They Arrived Home, Deimos Was Still Slightly Giggling And Wiping A Tear From His Eye.

Sanford Carried Deimos Into The House, As The Man In The Visor Finished His Giggling Fit. Ford Set His Boyfriend Onto The Couch And Started Getting Ready For Bed. He Left Dee Some Comfy Clothes To Slip Into For Bed. About A Couple Minutes Later They Both Were On The Couch In Pajamas (Or Just Clothes They Never Wear To Work).

Deimos: "Why Weren’t You Laughing At The Joke, Sanford?"

Sanford: "The Joke Wasn't That Funny, Deimos. You've Heard It Over One Hundred Times Already."

Deimos, Giggling Again: "But..It's Funny."

Sanford, Trying Not To Smile: "It-It's Really Not."

Deimos, Now Full On Laughing: "I- It Was Funny When Hank Fell For The Candice Joke." *He Smacked His Side While He Laughed* "It Hurt Like Hell, But It Was Worth It!"

Sanford, Smiling But Trying Hard Not To Laugh: "Oh Right I Forgot About That."

Sanford Then Let Deimos Cuddle Against Him As He Laughed Again. He Only Laughed Harder When Sanford Yelled, 'It's Not That Funny!'. Eventually, Ford Was Laughing As Well With His Boyfriend. They Laughed Until They Eventually Fell Asleep. Today Was A Good Day For Both Of Them, And They Were Happy They Could Spend It Together, Like Old Times.

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ceo-of-daichi · 4 years

Text

Characters - Sawamura Daichi x Fem!Reader

Summary - Lockdown had really affected your social life and daily routine, luckily a certain someone was willing to help you get your life back to somewhat normal. What will happen when you start catching feelings?

Genre - Fluff

Warnings - Slight mentions of anxiety

Word Count - 2.3k

A/N - Back again with another Daichi fic! Are you surprised, probably not i got a one man mind lmao. This one isn’t as long as the last but still as fluffy, hopefully you enjoy reading it :) p.s. this was almost called Toothpaste I blame Jas👀

Covid-19 had really flipped your year in a completely different direction to what you were expecting. You started the year hoping to finish your last year of high-school on a high, helping the volleyball team get to nationals and getting into university. However, the world clearly had a different plan for you, when the virus first started you didn’t think much of it. Why would you? It was only when the announcement came that the country was going into lockdown that your brain finally registered what was actually happening. Being the slightly more extroverted individual you thrived off seeing your friends, plus both your parents worked as nurses. You were going to be alone.

The first few weeks went by pretty fast, managing to keep up a routine by going out for runs and making yourself eat at certain times. Even keeping in touch with your friends from the boys volleyball team as well as Kiyoko, one of your closest friends. However, after this fairly stable period you had a really bad day. Nothing went your way, blender… broken, guess you weren't having a smoothie this morning. After that frustrating incident Tanaka and Noya decided to start poking fun at you in the group chat, which you were NOT in the mood for. Group chat… Muted. It was also raining extremely heavy so you decided maybe a well deserved rest day was in order, throwing on the TV you flopped down on the couch to start your film marathon.

5am. That was the time it was when you finally passed out on the couch. How did you end up staying up that late, Harry Potter. Why you thought it was a good idea to start watching the films you don’t know, but you managed to watch them all, all 19 hours of them. That was all it took to mess your routine up for the next month, not waking up till 2-3pm everyday just to lounge around. Barely keeping in touch with anyone, you hadn’t talked in the groupchat for close to 3 weeks, hardly even thinking about eating anything but snacks.

Luckily you had a saving grace, Daichi. After going MIA , the third year’s started to get worried about you, especially Kiyoko. She had dmed you multiple times and got nothing in return, mainly because you saw the messages but forgot to reply. You were a whole ass mess to put it plainly.

~ 3rd Years Group Chat ~

Kiyoko - I’m worried about [y/n]...

Suga - Tell me about it, she hasn’t been in the chat for weeks

Daichi - Have you tried dming her?

Kiyoko - She is ignoring me, she hasn’t replied to one of my messages

Asahi - Maybe she’s just busy?

Daichi - In the middle of lockdown…

Suga - Yeah thats unlikely

Kiyoko - Can one of you dm her as well? I just want to make sure she’s ok?

Daichi - I can... i’ll let you know if she replies and if she doesn’t Asahi or Suga can try

Having received a concerned message from Daichi, you realised how much you had lost track of everything and anything. Replying to both him and Kiyoko apologising and explaining you had just forgotten to press send. Although Daichi wanted to believe that was the case he couldn’t, instead of being upfront about it though he started messaging you throughout the day. Just small things asking if you had eaten and if you were staying hydrated, little did he know that this helped you get back into a better rhythm of lockdown life.

You slowly fixed your sleep schedule and got back to eating 3 meals a day. Although you hadn’t managed to get back into running, your talks with Daichi slowly got more frequent and for longer periods of time. The more you talked to him the more motivated you started to feel, eventually you got back into your running routine. It no longer became the odd message to make sure you were eating, but full day conversations about anything you could think of. Eventually you started relying on talking to him to cure your lockdown loneliness, a day without talking to him was not a good day for you. Daichi being the fairly observant person that he is, started to realise and eventually bought it up.

Daichi :) - Hey [y/n], I've been meaning to bring something up with you, you mind if we call?

[y/n] - Yeah sure Dai, just call me whenever i don’t exactly have anything going on

Receiving this was like a bullet to the chest, worrying what it could be about you pulled your knees up to your chest steadying your breathing. As you were lost in your head, your phone started ringing. Answering it you heard his voice for the first time in close to 3 months, it was music to your ears. Slowly over these 2 months you had grown fond of the boy, but you had quickly dismissed the idea of anything forming between each other. Both having different priorities in life, being scared of rejection also didn’t help.

After an hour and a half of deep conversation, a couple tears shed but more laughter at the end. You collapsed backwards onto your bed, he had found out everything. How your parents were barely home, always doing long shifts at the hospital, how you felt like you had no one during those 3 weeks you were MIA. Most importantly though you had confessed that talking to him was like receiving a warm hug. It's exactly what you needed at this time, obviously you would love an actual hug as well but that's pretty hard from a 2m distance.

~ 1 week later ~

Your eyes went wide as they announced on the news that lockdown was starting to be lifted, you were now allowed to meet up with people outside at a safe distance. Smiling you quickly messaged Daichi telling him how excited you were that restrictions were finally being lifted.

Daichi :) - That's Great [y/n]!! So.. you fancy going on a socially distanced pic-nic tomorrow? Don’t worry about bringing anything but yourself. I got the rest covered, obviously if you're ok with that?😃

Reading the text over multiple times, pinching yourself to make sure it was real. You hadn’t seen Daichi in close to 3 months, and within that time you had developed feelings. What would it be like seeing him in person now, generally being awkward with past crushes, you started to worry about scaring him away. You couldn’t do that, you needed him. Taking a couple paces around the room thinking about what to reply, before realising you were most definitely overthinking it. He didn’t see you that way…

[y/n] - Yeah sure! Just let me know a time and place, i will be there

Daichi - 1pm at the park round the corner from your house?

[y/n] - See you there!!

The next morning you woke up with a huge smile plastered on your face, excited for the day ahead. Jumping out of bed and rummaging through your wardrobe you pulled out a cute summer dress, not too dressy but showed you put effort in none the less. The summer dress was red and was covered in little white flowers, you had only worn it a couple times and decided it needed another outing.

Walking down your road and around the corner to the park, the wind hitting your face made you feel like maybe the world was getting back to normal. As you walked through the gates, you noticed Daichi stood over by a slightly more wooded area, smiling as you made your way over to him. Greeting each other you forgot how much his laugh and smile made it seem like nothing else mattered, making your heart beat faster in your chest. He ended up leading you through the woods and into a small opening which had 2 picnic blankets laid down at the appropriate distance. As you got closer you noticed that there were sandwiches, fruit and small cakes on both.

‘You didn’t have to do this Daichi you know? A simple sandwich would have been fine?’ You started smiling at him, no one had ever gone to this much effort for you and honestly you felt bad. ‘It must have taken you a bit to set this up…’

‘Oh no, honestly don’t worry about it… i wanted to, neither have been out in a while so i figured why not?’ The laugh that came out sounded almost nervous, which confused you slightly… Was he really as nervous as you?

The afternoon went by quicker than both of you wanted. Chatting, cracking jokes and eating, which the food Daichi had made was really good. You had asked why he had never told you about his clear culinary skills, apparently this was the first time he had attempted something like this. Trying not to get too far ahead of yourself when he had mentioned this, even though you were freaking out. Mainly chatting about quarantine life and how you missed being out of lockdown, being able to socialise freely and do whatever you wanted.

You only realised how long you had been with Daichi when it started to get dark, letting him know you should probably be getting back. Even though in reality you could have stayed there for the rest of the night and into the early morning. Helping him pack everything up occasionally sneaking glances at him, wishing you could pull him into a hug or give him a peck on the cheek. Just to let him know how much he had helped you over the past month. Sadly you couldn’t, once everything had been packed away Daichi (being the gentleman that he is) offered to walk you back.

‘I had a really good afternoon, thank you for this Daichi…’ Smiling at him as you walk up to your front door.

‘Would you want to do something like this again maybe?’ The way he looked at you, his eyes almost pleading, with a slight smile gracing his lips. This made your heart instantly melt.

‘If you want to? I would love that!’

‘[y/n]... why would i ask if i didn’t want to?’ Raising a brow at you playfully.

‘Shut up you dork, i’ll see you soon then!’ Laughing as you walk through your door giving him a wave before closing it and sliding down it on the other side, trying to calm your heart that was about to burst through your chest.

Another couple weeks past, you had only met up with Daichi once more, but both were still texting all day with the occasional call. You also had met up with Kiyoko within these weeks, explaining your situation. She thought it was really funny how much you were worrying about it because to her it seemed obvious that he returned your feelings. You were still completely denying this fact though, it was something your brain really couldn’t fathom. However, the next day lockdown was reduced once again, you were now allowed to have people in your house from other families.

Being as excitable as you were and the fact your parents were out almost all of the time, you rattled off a text to Daichi asking him if he fancied a chill movie marathon night? Both of you deciding to watch The Hobbit trilogy later on in the evening. Hopping up from the couch you started cleaning the house, preparing snacks and setting up pillows as well as blankets on the couch. Seen as though it was a chill night you had decided on a pair of grey sweats and a plain v-neck t-shirt, that was tied so it wasn’t too long.

You had just finished setting everything up when there was a knock at the door, practically running to get it. Opening the door to his smiling face made something snap and you don’t know what came over yourself as you jumped into his arms, wrapping your own around him. Luckily he was quick to catch you.

‘What did i do to deserve this hug?’ He chuckles to himself as you nuzzle into his neck.

‘Everything. Daichi I owe you so much, you don’t even understand’ Letting out a sigh, he closes the door and carries you over to the couch. Placing you down next to him as you pout at him, sad that the hug was over so soon. You had waited for so long to be wrapped up in his arms and when you finally get the chance it barely lasts 2 minutes.

‘Listen Daichi… you have helped me so much over the past few months, and honestly…’ Taking a breath to figure out how to phrase your next words, however before you could say anything else he had pulled you back into his chest.

‘I like you too dork…’ Frozen in his arms, how long had he known… How long had he liked you back? All you could do in that moment was snake your arms round him and enjoy each other's company as he started the first film.

~ BONUS ~

‘How long have you liked me Daichi?’ You question him half way through the first film.

‘About 6 months give or take why?’ He turns his attention towards you and gives you a quick head kiss, before looking back to the film.

‘6 months… that's before we went into lockdown..?’

He hums, smirking at your clearly oblivious nature, as your brain was spiralling thinking about how many signals you missed.

Tags: @super-noya @stcrryskies @iwaxme @bb-noya @vventure @ardorwrites-hq-mha @scorpiosanssexy

#Daichi #sawamura daichi #daichi owns my whole ass heart #haikyuu #daichi #daichi sawamura #haikyuu fanfic #hq fanfic #daichi x reader #sawamura daichi x you #i am in love with this man #fanfic #oneshot #hq writing #daichi writing #daichi x you #haikyuu x you #hq daichi #hq anime

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maria-scribbles · 4 years

Text

glitter + crimson (let’s start a riot)//part three

summary: while mother nature isn’t very kind to the obx, jj’s dad is even worse to him. sailor sees the aftermath, relives a day that changed her life forever, and realizes she’d be down with murder if she could get away with it. between nutella sandwiches, story time, and a shared bed, an unspoken thing slowly starts to become a little more real.

word count: 6.9k+ (oops 😅)

ship: jj maybank x oc (sailor flynn)

warnings: abuse/neglect, blood, mentions of parental abandonment/gambling addiction, swearing, whump, hurt/comfort, fluff, blatant references to hocus pocus, the little mermaid, percy jackson and the olympians, and mean girls (and a teeny, subtle reference to stranger things, see if y’all can catch it! 😉)

a/n: i was so excited to write this part, not gonna lie (if you couldn’t tell, just look at that word count). hurt/comfort is my shittt and i’m a pretty big slut for physical comfort/touches so i kinda went ham with it lol. i’m also very happy to finally introduce everyone to peyton, who’s a character i really love and enjoy writing, especially her relationship with her gf alison. both of them will get some time to shine in this part, peyton in the present and alison in the past! as usual, this is unbetaed so all mistakes belong to me. enjoy!

gif credit to @sci-fi

~Masterlist~

part one | part two | part four | playlist

part three: storm surge

It rains the entire week. Scratch that -it storms: the whole island buffeted by howling winds and blanketed by a thick layer of dark and angry clouds that make life just shy of miserable. For someone who spends 99% of her time outside like Sailor, miserable doesn’t begin to cover it. And to think, it’s only the beginning of hurricane season.

The redhead props her chin in one tan hand as she leans against the cool marble counter of The Butterscotch Bonnet Ice Cream Parlor, watching the rain pound against the shop’s bay windows. Across the street she can just make out the rough, gray surf of the Atlantic through a tiny gap in between two buildings and she sighs wistfully, thinking about all the beautiful shells getting tossed onto the beach by the waves. She’s half tempted to just throw off her apron, hop the counter, and make a break for the sand, storm be damned.

She’s almost positive she wouldn’t even be missed. There isn’t a customer in sight and there hasn’t been one since she started her shift three hours ago. Peyton was still in the back kitchen, messing around with whatever convoluted ice cream flavor she thought up for this week; her boss definitely has a knack for concocting weird combinations that somehow work together, at least most of the time. Sailor thinks back to a few weeks ago when they debuted that delicious blackberry balsamic that sold out every day without fail, then followed it with a cilantro lime that was hit-or-miss (a definite miss in her opinion, as cilantro just tastes like soap to her; Peyton had just smiled her infectious smile, shrugged her tiny shoulders, and said, “Can’t win ‘em all, I guess.”) This week’s flavor involves mascarpone and peaches and she can’t wait to steal a sample because if the wonderful smell coming from the kitchen is any indication, it’s gonna be bomb, even though it probably won’t upset the shop’s namesake flavor from the top of her list.

Thinking about ice cream makes her kind of hungry, on top of the fact that she has a terrible habit of eating when she’s bored, so she dishes out a small scoop of Butterscotch Bonnet and grabs a spoon before leaning back against the counter, digging through the cup to find the best part: salted caramel-filled chocolate sea shells, made in house. The days Sailor gets to help make them are her favorite days to come to work, when she and Peyton commandeer the kitchen and have the time of their lives, blasting music and dancing as they slave away. Of course, the little bag of chocolates she gets to take home is a pretty big plus, too.

“That’s coming out of your paycheck, Sail.”

Spoon halfway to her mouth, she sheepishly glances up from her snack as Peyton emerges from the kitchen, fondly shaking her head and sending her inky black braids dancing across her shoulders.

“What am I gonna do with you?” She continues with a wink before starting to make herself a milkshake, dropping two scoops of their tiramisu flavor into a malt cup.

“Sorry, you know I can’t help myself!” Sailor knows the other girl was joking but she apologizes anyway and opens the cabinet to grab a cup and straw for her, setting them on the counter beside the old-fashioned milkshake machine. As far as bosses go, Peyton is one of the all-around best to have and the redhead loves working at her shop. While the Buckleys are rich as shit and total kooks, the family’s youngest daughter is down to earth, kind, and prefers to work hard for what she wants instead of flaunting her parents’ wealth and The Butterscotch Bonnet is proof that, despite her last name and penchant for the finer things, she’s a pogue at heart. It’s no wonder Alison’s head over heels for her.

“I also know you’re bored as shit.” Peyton calls over the sound of the blender, sending a knowing smirk toward the younger girl, who rolls her eyes and shovels another spoonful of ice cream in her mouth as she replies, “Obviously. This weather fucking sucks.”

A loud clap of thunder seems to shake the very glass in the windows and she gestures toward the storm outside, her point proven. Peyton glances around the deserted shop, still bright and cheery despite its lack of movement and life, then back to the relentless downpour, before shrugging and turning back to finish blending her milkshake. “Wanna go home early?”

“Seriously?”

“Why not? You’ve already cleaned this whole place from top to bottom and I don’t think we’re gonna be getting customers any time soon.” Ignoring the paper cup, she plops the straw straight into her drink and takes a big sip, then nods in satisfaction before adding a huge swirl of whipped cream on top.

“Have I ever told you that you’re the best?” Sailor asks, smiling excitedly as she grabs her bag from under the counter and tosses her empty cup into the trash.

“Only every day,” the older girl replies cheekily, smiling as she’s pulled into a one-armed hug of thanks by her employee.

“Well, you’re gonna hear it again: you’re the best.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Peyton pats the redhead’s shoulder with one deep brown hand and then gently pushes her toward the kitchen. “Now get out of here, brat. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Sailor throws a peace sign over her shoulder as she heads out the door, cackling at her boss’s offended call of “don’t call me ma’am!” After clocking out, she fishes her keys out of her bag and dashes through the downpour to her beat-up clunker of a truck. A hand-me-down from Alison, Flounder’s nothing to look at with all the dents and chips in his blue paint, but he gets her where she needs to go and has room for surfboards in the back and two other pogues up front on the bench seat -and the other two unlucky ones riding in the bed, hiding under the boards- so she’s not complaining, even though she wishes his radio worked more than half the time.

(Two reasons why John B’s almost always the group chauffeur: the fact that he can legally drive all five of them around without breaking the law -not that they’ve ever gotten caught in Sailor’s truck but anyone with a brain knows that where one pogue goes, the other four aren’t far behind- and good music flowing from a perfectly working stereo.)

Unfortunately, it’s on the fritz today so her drive home is spent listening to the sounds of Flounder’s windshield wipers and the pounding of rain against his roof. She heads inland from the beach, away from Peyton’s shop in the outskirts of affluent Figure 8 and its kook mansions to the more homey, laid-back Cut, passing by the turnoff to the Chateau and through the woods before pulling into the empty driveway of her tiny house. The fact that her mother’s car is no where to be found doesn’t surprise her in the slightest. Waiting for her on the porch is Binx, the stray black cat she’s taken to feeding and more or less adopted, stretching on the blanket she left out for him.

“Hey, handsome,” The redhead says, kneeling down to give him a loving scratch behind the ears; he meows in response and rubs his fuzzy face against her ankles, weaving between her legs as she slides her key into the lock. “Come on in.”

The front door closes behind them with a hollow bang that echoes through the empty house like the thunder outside. Sailor hangs up her keys and follows Binx down the hall toward her room, ignoring the closed door that leads to her mom’s room and a bed that she assumes hasn’t been slept in in months. Not that she would know: she’s made it a habit to spend as few nights as possible alone in the house, instead crashing at the Chateau or Kiara’s place and hoping her mom’s comfortable in her makeshift room at The Sandbar where Carmen doesn’t have to deal with the teenager she’s supposed to be caring for (Sailor’s always been an independent girl and has no trouble getting by alone but fuck, that doesn’t mean she wants to.).

Her father’s green eyes, the same color as her own, stare back at her from a picture hanging on the wall of a better time, when everything was alright and her family wasn’t so broken; the three of them on the beach with a twelve year old Sailor in the middle and surfboards in hand. Carmen looks like the mother she remembers and misses so bad it hurts, and while Ryan wasn’t always the most caring of fathers and only acted like a dad when it was convenient, she’d still do anything to have him back, terrible parenting skills and all. She turns away from the picture and the complicated mess her heart becomes when she thinks about him, continuing down the hall to her room.

Complicated doesn’t even begin to cover her feelings about her dad, though. She’s always believed she was an afterthought to him, never first on his list but still good enough to tag along for company when he was doing something he wanted to do. He was a man who liked the idea of having a kid but never wanted to actually step up and parent when things weren’t all fun and games, instead deciding to take off to Atlantic City for a month or two at a time to gamble away whatever money they earned at the surf shop.

She wants to hate him. She should loathe him and in a way, she does. She hates the way he still makes her feel like everything’s her fault, even when he’s not around. She hates the person her mother becomes when he disappears, someone distant and cold and so unlike the good, caring mother Sailor remembers. She hates that home doesn’t feel like home anymore and it’s all his fault, and she hates that despite everything he’s put her through, all the hurt he’s caused, she still can’t find it in her big, bleeding heart to truly detest her father. After all, he could’ve been worse. So, so much worse.

The only place she can get away from everything is her room, her own little sanctuary from the cold emptiness of the rest of the house and constant reminders of Ryan’s absence. It’s warm and bright, the walls painted a sunny yellow that reminds her of lazy days relaxing on the beach. Her first surfboard hangs on the wall above her bed, tucked away in a corner, doubling as a shelf for her massive shell collection while pictures of her and her friends dangle underneath, pinned to a long piece of twine. Her current boards stand propped in another corner, leaning against a wall plastered with all types of movie and music posters. Through the windows covered with curtains as light as sea foam, the rain steadily pours but in here, she’s safe. In here, she can breathe.

Sailor strips off her uniform, tossing it along with her bag onto the chair by the door and slips out of her worn red high-tops before pulling on a pair of sleep shorts and the first long-sleeve shirt her fingers find in the closet, then flops onto her bed and pulls the soft blue blanket around her shoulders, reading glasses and well-loved copy of The Lightning Thief in hand while Binx curls up at her feet. Every summer without fail she rereads the series (why, she’s not exactly sure: maybe its nostalgia, maybe its because she lowkey relates to water-loving, steadfastly loyal Percy) and she’s fallen behind this year, so she fully intends on reading as much as she can tonight before bed. The storm provides perfect background noise and soon she’s five chapters in before a sudden loud knock on her window causes her head to snap up in alarm.

Oh no. Without bothering to save her place, she tosses the book and her glasses aside and scrambles from the bed to the window, tearing open the curtains to reveal a sight she always dreads seeing. Her best friend stands outside in the rain, soaked to the bone, hand pressed against his side, and the sight of bright red blood trailing down his face and staining the collar of his gray shirt makes her heart drop to her stomach. Wordlessly, she opens the window and helps him climb inside before closing it firmly and drawing the curtains, once again blocking the world from her -now their- sanctuary, then grabs her blanket from the bed and wraps it tightly around JJ’s shaking shoulders after he kicks off his sodden boots.

Her hand slowly moves to cup his face and her heart breaks a little more when he tenses, blue eyes carefully tracking its movement until he seems to remember who it belongs to and lets himself lean into her touch, cheek resting against her palm. Sailor runs her thumb under his split lip and and wipes at the crimson staining his tan skin, her mouth curving into a small frown when she only succeeds in smearing it further.

“Come on,” She breaks the silence with her gentle voice, barely above a whisper, and reaches her other hand out to take his, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

His fingers hold so, so tight as she leads him down the hall to the bathroom and she’s so laser-focused on the way they tremble against hers that she doesn’t notice the blood left behind on the handle when she opens the door. After flicking on the light she turns to face him and gently pushes the blanket from his shoulders with her free hand, letting it fall to the floor in a damp heap, then blindly reaches behind her to turn on the shower, cranking the heat as high as it’ll go.

“Sorry about your blanket.” JJ says at last, his voice quiet, and Sailor shakes her head, running her thumb in circles on the back of his cold hand.

“I don’t care about that, J.” She replies just as quiet and before she can stop herself, before she can think about what exactly she’s about to admit, she adds, “I care about you.”

The corner of his mouth lifts in a barely-there smile and while it may be tiny, it’s a smile nonetheless and she feels the tight knot in her chest begin to loosen as she lets go of his hand, reaching for the hem of his shirt. “Can you lift your arms for me?”

He does as she asks but his pained wince doesn’t go unnoticed by the redhead when she pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it on top of the discarded blanket, and her jaw clenches at the sight of deep purple bruises in the shape of his father’s fists marring the skin over his ribs.

“Let me know if this hurts.” Oh so carefully she reaches out with one hand and gently touches the darkest mark, where she’d seen him clutching at outside her window, her fingers delicately feeling for any damages.

“A little.” He admits, shaky breath warm against her forehead and she does her best to keep her hand steady as she checks over the rest of him, then feathers her fingers back over that first bruise.

“It doesn’t feel like anything’s broken or cracked, so that’s good.” She says, allowing her hand to linger for a second before letting it fall from his side. “A rib or two might be a little bruised, though, so we’ll put some ice on them later, just in case. Sound good?”

JJ nods and watches her with those ocean blue eyes as she pulls her own shirt over her head, leaving her in a plain black cami and shorts, before grabbing his hand once again and pulling him into the shower with her. The water’s just a tad too hot and it instantly starts turning her skin red but Sailor doesn’t mind, instead choosing to embrace the heat and the way it burns everything away, leaving behind brand new skin that’s ready for a new day, new adventures. She reaches up and gingerly wipes the blood from her best friend’s face; in a mirror of earlier, he leans his cheek into her palm, eyes slowly closing while both arms wrap around her waist and pull her close.

“Sail,” He whispers her nickname into the humid air between them and she barely registers the tremble in his voice before his knees buckle, sinking them both to the shower floor until they’re face to face, sitting in between each other’s legs. He clings to her, arms even tighter around her waist and face buried against her neck, and she feels the shake of his shoulders when she winds her own arms around them. One hand moves to steadily run through wet blond hair, over and over, comforting in the best way she knows how, the fingers of her other hand tracing circles on the bare skin of his back as water continues to rain down on them like the downpour outside.

She’s eerily reminded of another time they sat like this, sobbing in each other’s arms five years ago, the first time she saw just how cruel his father could be, the first time she realized she’d do absolutely everything and anything to keep him safe, and it was both one of the best and worst days of her life.

Eleven year old Sailor shoved her math textbook into her cluttered locker and kicked it shut with a scowl. She hated math, her math teacher, and especially whoever made her schedule- who in their right mind would put math in eighth-period? She swung her backpack onto her shoulder and grunted softly at the extra weight it carried. JJ hadn’t come to school that day and Sailor had volunteered to take his missed work to him; it made sense, considering she lived closest out of the pogues and it’d make her feel better if she got to check on him herself -there was a reason the rest of the group called her the mom friend, after all.

She’d already collected assignments from the classes he shared with Pope and Kiara as well as herself, so now she was just waiting for John B to drop off his own. As if summoned by her thoughts, the brunet boy rounded the corner and waved, weaving his way to her through their fellow middle-schoolers. “Sorry, you know how Mr. Jefferson likes to go on and on and on...” He said, pulling some papers from his backpack and handing them to the redhead. “Do you remember where J’s house is?”

Sailor rolled her eyes and carefully slid the homework into her own bag. “Considering I live, like, five streets away, I sure hope so.” She fired back, ignoring his cackle of laughter as they joined the rush of students, excited for the weekend, flooding out through the double doors of Kildare County Middle School. She lingered by her friend as he unlocked his bike from the rack and then climbed on, asking, “You’re helping out at the shop on Saturday, right?”

She nodded, scanning the sea of waiting cars and waving when she spotted her ride. “Yeah, why?”

“My dad and I are gonna hang out at the beach that day so we’ll stop by and say hi.” With a casual salute in her direction he slowly started pedaling down the road, calling back over his shoulder, “Tell JJ he can come too if he’s feeling better!”

“Tell him yourself!” She yelled after his retreating back, not surprised in the slightest when he didn’t turn around and disappeared into the trees. Alison’s beat up blue truck pulled up to the curb seconds later and the older redhead leaned out the open window, a shit-eating grin on her face as she joked, “Get in loser, we’re going shopping!”

Sailor laughed and climbed into the passenger seat, dropping her backpack on the floor with a loud thump. Alison winced at the sound, raising her eyebrow as she waited for the younger girl to put her seatbelt on. “What the hell do you have in there, rocks?”

“One of my friends missed school today so I have his homework. Do you mind driving by so I can drop it off? He only lives a few streets away.”

“Sure,” Alison replied, flicking on her turn signal and merging into the stream of cars leaving the school’s parking lot. “So who skipped: Smarty Pants, Bandana Boy, or Surfer Bro?”

The eleven year old giggled at the nicknames -she’d never admit it, but they were honestly pretty accurate- and replied, “Surfer Bro. And his name is JJ, Ali.”

“Rightttt, JJ. What do you think it stands for, huh? Jesse James? John Jacob?”

“Oh my Godddddd!”

The high school senior continued to come up with names, each more ridiculous than the last until Sailor exclaimed “There!” and directed her to park near a small, run-down house on a quiet road. She pulled a folder from her backpack and was out the door before the older girl could blink, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll be right back!”

The redhead slammed the truck door behind her and made her way toward the porch and what she assumed was the front door; she’d never been inside JJ’s house but he always came out to meet them through there so she figured it was a safe bet. The smile fell from her face, ears registering the sound of horrible, angry yelling just as she brought her fist down to knock and she anxiously fidgeted back and forth on the step, her heart starting to beat fast in her chest. What the hell was going on?

"Fucking hell!” An enraged shout came clear as day from inside and as she heard the person’s stomping approach, something in her, a feeling, urged her to hide the folder in her hand behind her back. She jumped in surprise when the door was suddenly ripped open, revealing a fuming, red-faced man who glared down at her with heavily lidded eyes and one hand clenched in a fist at his side, the other holding the threshold in a white-knuckled grip. “What the hell do you want?”

“H-hi, I’m Sailor, one of JJ’s friends? He wasn’t at school today so I came by to check on him.” She said, proud of herself for keeping most of the tremble out of her voice while she studiously avoided his cruel gaze, instead subtly trying to peer behind him and hopefully catch a glimpse of her friend. The man, who she realized with sheer horror had to be JJ’s dad, was absolutely terrifying, with breath reeking of booze and mouth curled into a vicious snarl as he moved to block her view into the house and snapped, “Kid’s fine. Now get the fuck outta here.”

“Can I just see-”

She was cut off when he slammed the door in her face with the hand that had been by his side and her eyes widened, stomach sinking with dread as she caught sight of the splotch of bright crimson left behind on the wood. Oh, God. This could not be happening. She remembered John B’s warning about JJ’s dad, saying he wasn’t a very nice man when she became friends with them last year but she didn’t recall him ever saying anything about this and it hits her like a freight train: he probably didn’t know. Her heart pounded against her ribcage. If JB didn’t know then Pope and Kiara definitely didn’t and a sickening feeling started to churn her belly, both at the thought of JJ facing all of this by himself and the fact that she alone had the power to help.

Inside the house, she heard his dad resume his screaming, every other word accompanied by a sickening thumping noise she’d only heard in person once before, a few years ago on the beach with her parents when two drunk tourons started wailing on each other over a spilled beer: the sound of a fist hitting flesh. Sailor started to panic, both hands flying to cover her mouth in terror. Underneath the screaming and punching, she couldn’t hear anything, any cry or yelp or whimper from her friend and, mind racing with million terrible, awful thoughts, she turned and ran back to the truck, flinging open the door and scrambling inside to grab Alison’s arm, folder in her hands falling to the floor.

“Ali, please, we’ve got to help him-”

“Whoa, where’s the fire?” The older girl joked as she looked up from her phone, smile falling from her lips when she caught sight of the eleven year old’s pale face and wide eyes. She reached over and placed her hands on Sailor’s slight, trembling shoulders. “What’s going on?”

Her lip quivered terribly as she told Alison everything she saw and heard, watching her expression slowly twist into outright dismay, the fingers on her shoulders tightening their grip when she finished, “Ali, what’re we gonna do? We have to help him right now!”

“Fuck, okay, first off let’s calm down- don’t give me that look, kid! We can’t just burst in there like Wonder Woman or something, let me- oh, look!” Alison pointed through windshield, where JJ’s dad furiously stalked from the house to his truck, climbing inside and violently slamming the door before taking off in a cloud of dust. Sailor quickly ducked when he drove by and stayed down until the older redhead gave her the all clear, “He’s gone. That was perfect timing, huh?”

She didn’t reply or even wait for her to unbuckle her seatbelt, taking off at a sprint and bounding onto the porch in no time, furiously knocking against the door. “Hey, J, are you there? It’s Sailor.”

There was no reply and her heart dropped to her stomach. Alison joined her on the front step, her face blanching when her eyes landed on the blood stain on the corner of the door. One of her hands reached out to grab the handle while the other found Sailor’s smaller one and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“Come on,” With no hesitation and the bravery Sailor wished she had, the eighteen year old pushed the door open and pulled them both into the dusky house. The younger redhead wrinkled her nose at the sight of beer cans and pill bottles littering a circle around the couch but she pressed on, calling his name as the girls moved room to room.

“Sail?” The sound of JJ’s pained voice coming from the room at the end of the hall made her heart skip a beat and she dropped Alison’s hand, running forward and bursting through the door in a rush, not even thinking about what state her friend might’ve been in. Feeling like she’d just been sucker punched right in the gut at the sight of him lying face down on the floor with a small puddle of blood forming under his mouth, she dropped to her knees beside him and delicately took his hand in both of hers, nearly crying in relief when his fingers gripped tight to her palm. Behind her, she heard Alison’s sharp intake of breath as she entered the room, darting over to kneel on JJ’s other side and place a gentle hand on his shoulder, and together they carefully helped him roll onto his back, then up into a sitting position with the older girl’s arm behind him as a brace.

Her jaw trembled as she tried and tried to say something, anything; her head was filled with so many questions -what happened, how could he do this, when did this start?- but the only thing she managed to ask was a simple, “Why?”

“It’s just what he does.” He replied with a shrug, wincing at the movement, “I’m sorry, Sail.”

“What the hell are you apologizing for?” She asked incredulously, then followed his finger as he pointed at a pile of jagged yellowish-brown pieces on the floor by his bed.

“He broke the shell you gave me.” He looked so upset, so distraught over the broken whelk and she felt her heart swell with waves of affection for her friend, who was more concerned about her broken gift than he was about himself.

“Hey,” She said softly, turning away from the mess to look him in the eye with a small smile, her hand reaching out on its own accord to brush a lock of fine blond hair away from a cut near his temple. “It’s just a shell, okay? I’ll find you another one.”

The sight of blood on his teeth when he returned her smile reminded her of the task at hand and she shook her head, wrapping her thin arm around his waist. “Let’s get you out of here. Think you can stand?” At his nod, both girls put one of his arms around their shoulders and slowly stood, shuffling out the door with all the grace and speed of an old man with two bad knees, but hey, they were moving and getting JJ out of that terrible place, so she’d go as slow as they needed to, even if her anxiety was getting worse and worse with each passing second they spent in the house.

After loading the kids onto the bench seat of the truck, Alison quickly drove them to the empty Flynn residence -Carmen and Ryan still working at the shop- and helped Sailor move JJ into the bathroom. “I’ll go grab you some towels and dry clothes, okay? I think some of your dad’s old stuff might fit him.” She said, watching as the young girl kneeled beside her friend and started untying his shoes.

The eleven year old nodded at her older friend and sent her a small smile. “Thanks, Ali.”

“No problem, kiddos.” With a quick smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes she was gone, heading down the hall toward the laundry room.

Sailor reached over and turned the shower on as hot as possible. “Okay, um, take as long as you need, I guess. I’ll wait outside.” She jerked her thumb toward the hall but before she could even take a step, his hand darted out and grabbed her wrist.

“Stay.” It was more of a demand than a question and JJ seemed embarrassed to even be saying it, the uninjured parts of his face turning an endearing shade of pink. “Please?”

She just nodded and reached a leg out to gently kick the door shut, her mind racing. She stayed but what the hell should she do now, keep her back turned? Get in the shower with him? From the way he was fidgeting back and forth and avoiding her eyes, he was probably thinking the same thing.

“Oh, come on.” She finally said after a minute or two of decidedly not looking at each other and kicked off her sandals, darting forward on impulse to grab his hand and pull them both under the spray. The water uncomfortably soaked into their clothes and made their movements sluggish as they clumsily shuffled around -stepping on each other’s toes and mumbling identical apologies- before finding a position that was only a little bit awkward in the confined space, his arms on either side of her waist and bracing against the wall, her hands tentatively resting on his shoulders.

“This okay?” She asked, feeling her cheeks reddening from more than just the steam curling around them and frizzing her hair, and JJ nodded, swallowing thickly and blinking away a droplet of red-tinged condensation that slid down his forehead. Her hand, moving on its own accord, slowly reached for his face until her palm gently came to rest against his flushed cheek, the tip of her pointer finger just brushing a small cut that sliced through one eyebrow.

“How...” Sailor shook her head, taking a deep breath before finally asking the question that’d been on her mind since this whole thing started, “How long has this been happening?”

Once again he avoided her wide-eyed gaze, eyelids fluttering shut as he answered hesitantly, quietly, “I...I don’t remember a time when it didn’t.”

His answer chipped away the last brick in the dam and the floodgates broke. She flung herself into his chest, arms wrapping around his shoulders and fingers twisting in the sodden fabric of his shirt, sobbing into the warm skin of his neck. He froze in her embrace, whole body stock-still until something in him seemed to break too, and his own arms encircled her waist, bit by bit, pulling her close as he buried his face into her shoulder and two sixth graders slowly slumped to the shower floor in a tangled mess of limbs.

“J, why didn’t you say anything?”

His body trembled in her arms and she inhaled sharply at his reply of, “Because I’m not worth it.”

Pulling away from his neck to rest her forehead against his, she cupped his face in both hands and forced him to look her in the eyes, her voice quiet but adamant, insistent as she said, “Don’t you dare say that again, got it? You are worth it. So, so worth it.”

The look behind his red-rimmed, ocean blue gaze was made of pure, unadulterated disbelief and Sailor, at a loss, wracked her brain for something, anything she could do to make him see himself the way she did: loyal, adventurous, funny, and oh so brave, already a beloved, dear friend to her in the short time she’d known him. How could she help him realize he was so much more than his father’s abuse?

‘What can I do to make you believe me?’

An epiphany came to her like a bolt of lightning straight to the heart. It was more than a little crazy and the thought of actually doing it was lowkey terrifying but she’d seen it work beautifully for Alison and her girlfriend Peyton that one time and hell, she was so desperate to help her friend that she’d do just about anything. And so before her anxious mind could start to overthink she surged forward, both hands still holding his face in a gentle grip, and firmly pressed her lips to his.

JJ’s eyes were almost comically wide while he stared, frozen still at her touch, and her own eyes were just as huge as she held the kiss for a few seconds and then abruptly pulled back, her face slowly changing into a shade very similar to her hair.

“Y-you, I-” He stuttered, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as a deep pink flush started to color the tan skin of his neck. “Wh-why-”

“Because you are worthy, J. Promise me you won’t forget that.” Her words were as fierce as the hug she pulled him into, only letting the tension bleed out of her when she felt him gradually return her embrace and nod against her shoulder.

“I promise, Sail.”

“Good.”

And with that they fell silent, holding each other tight until the shower ran cold.

Sailor didn’t know it at the time but that hadn’t been just her first kiss but JJ’s too, as they never talked about it until two years later, during a game of truth or dare with the rest of the pogues. Neither actually told the truth, both giving a vague answer about a bet that seemed to placate their friends enough to let the matter drop, never to be brought up again.

The only kiss that happens today is the light brush of her lips against his forehead as she holds him close, even as the water slowly begins to lose its warmth. His embrace is tight, their limbs intertwined so fully that it’s hard to discern where one ends and the other begins and when he speaks, she has to strain to hear the words mumbled against her neck over the pounding spray of the shower.

“I don’t know how much more I can take.”

His confession cuts her deep. Hearing him admit something so utterly heartbreaking and vulnerable, coming from the side of him Sailor alone gets to see, ignites a fury that simmers under her skin and burns her from the inside out, thoughts turning venomous and, dare she say, downright homicidal. Fuck his dad. Fuck his dad and everything he’s ever done to hurt her best friend, both with and without fists.

“If I could get away with murder, I would.”

It’s true. For JJ, she’d do anything and everything to keep him safe without hesitation, up to and including maiming his dad so he could never touch him again (and if she happened to take it a little too far and straight up kill the bastard, she’d most definitely be fine with it.). He laughs, but it’s empty, hollow, and sorely lacking the joy, the carefreeness, the pure life that it normally radiates.

“You’re not the only one.”

Some time later, after the water raining down on them turns ice cold and their tears have dried, they reluctantly disentangle themselves from each other and towel off before making a quick detour to the kitchen to grab an ice pack for his ribs and have a meager dinner of sandwiches made with the last of her bread and a near empty jar of Nutella. He laughs, for real this time, when he reads the note she writes herself on the fridge future sailor, as much as you want to, you can’t live off just nutella and sheer spite, okay? please go shopping. love, past sailor <3 and grabs the marker out of her hand, adding +past jj and a little smiley face that makes her smile brightly.

They return to her room where they change, back to back, into dry clothes -one of her dresser drawers is full of his things she’s stolen acquired over the years- and, after throwing everything wet, including their discarded shirts and blanket retrieved from the bathroom, into the washing machine to be dealt with some other time, they lie on her bed side by side, shoulder to shoulder, wrapped up together in a spare throw stashed at the bottom of her closet. Binx slinks up from his spot at their feet and lazily drapes himself across their laps, purring like a motorboat when Sailor starts running her hand along his back.

“I almost sat on those,” JJ says, handing over her glasses, “and this.” He holds her forgotten book in his hands, casually flipping through the pages before turning it over and scanning the back cover.

“Have you read it before?”

He shrugs, a barely-there grimace briefly twisting his features as the motion jostles his sore ribs. “Started it, never finished.”

“Well,” She starts, slipping her glasses on and snatching the book out of his grasp, “how about we fix that? I’ll read, you pet the cat.”

Sailor’s voice is soft and steady as she starts to read aloud, a content smile on her face that’s echoed by the boy lying beside her when she settles against his side, head pillowed on the arm he curls around her shoulders without a thought. JJ’s the near perfect listener, only snickering once or twice at her total butchering of some of the more difficult Greek names (how come she can say Hephaestus just fine but gets tripped up on Dionysus?) but otherwise hanging off her every word and the relaxed ease with which he runs his hand through the ends of her damp hair fills her with a warmth, a happiness that she can’t describe but never wants to stop.

Hidden away from the rest of the world, curled up together on her bed, they forget the day’s past horrors and replace them with bright hopes for the future, exchanging comforting touches, deliberate yet played off as unintentional, in the soft glow of the bedside lamp -a caress of knuckles here, a brush of a palm there- as she reads into the night, until the cloudy sky darkens to black and they’re both fighting off the languid pull of sleep.

“I think that’s enough for today.” He plucks the book from her hands without waiting for a response and marks their place with a gas station receipt she was using as a makeshift placeholder, and setting it on the beside drawer.

“It’s your turn to read tomorrow,” He takes her glasses off with gentle fingers as she speaks into what little space still exists between them (that’s not otherwise occupied by Binx), smiling at the slow graze of his thumb along her cheek and nestles further against his side. “I’m done botching the names of deities for a while.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Damn it, Sailor kind of hates it when he says that cause it makes her feel things that she’s not quite ready to think about yet. Thankfully, her blush is swallowed by the darkness as he turns off the light and settles down beside her, arm slung low over her waist; her hand carefully brushes against his bruised ribs over the old shirt he wears, ice pack long ago thawed and thrown somewhere onto the hardwood floor.

“How do these feel? Better?”

She feels JJ nod, his chin brushing the top of her head. “Much.” There’s a pause, long enough that she starts to feel like she’s about to nod off, then he whispers, “Thank you, Sail. I know I don’t say it enough.”

She takes a deep breath, fingers stilling on his side, “Because you don’t need to, J. Remember what I said earlier, in the bathroom?”

He nods again but doesn’t reply, instead drawing circles on the small of her back, so she takes it as a cue to continue, “I care about you, okay? You don’t have to thank me for that. I’m just...doing what feels right.”

After a beat, the arm she’s using as a pillow curls and pulls her tighter against him as he says quietly, almost shyly, “I care about you, too.”

The rain outside had slowed to a drizzle without either teenager noticing and the gentle pitter-patter against the roof casts a somnolent spell into the air, dazed and dreamy. It wraps around the pair, not unlike the way they wrap around each other, and slowly, easily, safely, they drift off as one.

let me know what you think!

taglist ❤: @jiaraendgame @hmsjiara @heavensalreadyheres @obxsummer @maysbanks @alexa-playafricabytoto @sunflowerbecca @obxlife @obx-adventures @sexualparkour @mortifiedposts @coltonparayyko @miawantsapuppy @jjmaybanky

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vannahfanfics · 3 years

Text

Piano Man

Category: Romantic Fluff

Fandom: Haikyuu!!

Characters: Hajime Iwaizumi, Tooru Oikawa

Hello, everyone! I’m happy to present my story for the Seijoh Exchange for my giftee, kamunamis! I hope you all enjoy a good dose of IwaOi AU fluff!

Hajime scrubbed the residue from the whiskey glass with a thin white rag, then lifted it over his head to inspect the surface, using the refraction of the fluorescent lights in the crystalline surface to illuminate any specks he might have missed. Once he was satisfied that the glass was indeed clean, he set it beside the rest of the clean glasses before picking up the next dirty one, cleaning the soap residue away. While he used his thumb to push the rag against the sleek glass, he lifted his brown eyes to sweep across the bar, making sure he hadn’t missed any new customers while attending to his other chores.

The old man who’d been throwing back beers like water for the last hour was still going strong, smacking his lips lazily while he watched the volleyball game on the television hanging above the bar. The college student who’d been flirting with a sorority girl had apparently failed in his attempts at courtship because he was now sitting alone and grumbling into his hard cider. The pair of young moms who’d come out for a girls’ night had abandoned their martinis to sip at their waters, sobering up to return home to their children. The alcoholic who’d come in for his daily dose of bourbon was now passed out asleep, filling the air with loud, obnoxious snores. Hajime tipped his head at the bouncer, Issei, indicating it was time to wake the man up and call him a cab.

Hajime liked his job, all things considered. Though it was hard, and sometimes he had to deal with the most blockheaded of society, it was well worth it for the things he overhead. Working in a job like this, he had really come to appreciate just how colorful people were.

For example, those two moms were actually single moms— both of their husbands had perished in active duty, and they’d bonded over their struggles. He’d learned today that one of them actually had a date in a few days, and he’d congratulated her by giving them their first two martinis on the house. The sleeping drunkard had squandered his life savings gambling, leading to a nasty divorce, and now he just nursed his sorrows with alcohol instead. The gang of sorority girls giggling over margaritas in the corner was celebrating their finals for the semester, all congratulating each other on earning top marks. Hajime saw the highs and the lows of society, a rainbow of colorful folks from all walks of life.

Yet his eyes always drifted to the door when the most colorful of the bunch to frequent the bar strode in.

Tooru Oikawa smiled prettily at the waitress as she passed by carrying a tray laden with drinks, making her flush and hurry away as fast as her wedges could carry her. A few of the men watching the volleyball game at a table covered in empty glasses and the remnants of bar snacks raised their drinks to him, and he paused to chat amicably with them about the state of the game before bidding them a pleasant night. As he strutted across the bar, he shrugged out of his coat and tossed it over his shoulder, then rolled the sleeves of his button-up shirt to just below his elbows. Hajime couldn’t help the way he swallowed thickly at the way Tooru’s muscles gleamed in the lowlight of the bar— how did a pianist have such defined arm muscles, for crying out loud?

Tooru was the bar’s hired musician. He came in three nights a week— Ladies’ Night, their Friday Happy Hour, and Saturday Game Days— to provide live music via the large grand piano that sat on the small stage in the corner. His music was always a hit, and the regular customers liked his electric and charming personality— especially the waitresses, so Hajime always had to be extra vigilant in making sure they were actually delivering their orders instead of ogling at the pretty musician. Admittedly, Hajime was also a fair bit jealous and wanted to be the only one to stare at the handsome man, but like hell he would ever admit that aloud.

“You’re staring.”

Hajime nearly jumped out of his skin as Issei spoke. He shot a cold look at the taller man, making the bouncer tip back his head in laughter. Snorting, Hajime stomped over to the other end of the bar to tend to a customer, then walked back to begin mixing rum and various fruit juices into a glass. “You can’t blame me,” Issei purred as he leaned against the counter, his amused eyes watching the streams of alcohol and fruit juice cascade down into the glass. “Your pining over him is one of the few things that brings me entertainment.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not very entertaining to me,” Hajime gruffed back, shooting him a glare before carrying the rum punch over to the girl who’d ordered it. He snatched up another glass to begin cleaning it on the way back, still glaring at Issei. “Why do you always come over here to nag me about him?”

“Besides the fact that you look at him like you want to jump his bones?” Issei laughed, and Hajime threw his rag at him. Issei pulled it off his face and dropped it on the counter, and Hajime snatched it back up to resume cleaning the glass. “Come on, Hajime, it’s painful watching you pine over him. Just grow a pair and ask him out already!”

“Please,” Hajime snorted in derision, setting the clean cup down and picking up another. “A guy like that? You know he’s taken.” Someone at the bar called for another beer, so Hajime ignored the way that Issei’s eyes gleamed knowingly to grab one out of the freezer and carry it over to the man. When he came back, Issei was drumming his fingers against the wood of the counter, leaning his cheek in his hand while he gazed at Hajime like he knew something downright devilish.

“Come on, Hajime, you’re insulting my skill as a wingman,” Issei hummed. “I know for a fact that he’s single, and I know for a fact that he thinks you’re cute.”

Hajime’s face blazed bright pink, and he froze on the spot, struggling to process what Issei said. A girl came up to the bar pleasantly asking for a daiquiri, and it took Issei reaching forward to nudge his arm for him to snap out of his stupor. After hurriedly grabbing the ingredients and throwing him in the blender, he leaned over the counter to ask over the crunching ice and swirling fruit juice, “He thinks I’m cute?”

“Very,” Issei smirked with a meaningful wiggle of his eyebrows. Hajime’s gaze slowly drifted to Tooru, who was now sitting at the piano. Behind his glasses, his eyes were intensely focused, but a smile alit his lips as his fingers glided across the keys. Hajime had honestly never cared about the music; Tooru’s movements just seemed like magic every time he played, his body moving so languidly in rhythm with the sweet chimes of the keys. He forgot to blink, forgot to breathe even as he watched him, so he definitely forgot about the daiquiri. “Hajime, your drink,” the bouncer chuckled while snapping his fingers in front of Hajime’s face, making the ravenet jump slightly and hurry to finish making the drink before the girl’s pleasant attitude took a nosedive.

“Look, man,” Issei said when Hajime slumped back against the counter in front of him, pouting as he ruminated on whether or not to finally ask Tooru out. “If you don’t make a move soon, someone else will, and I shudder to think of how grumpy you’ll get watching him strut around with someone else.”

Hajime’s lips curled down into a frown just thinking about it. No, he would not enjoy that at all. Still, it was always a drag, asking someone out— even if Issei had given him a fair bit of confidence that Tooru wouldn’t refuse. He drummed his fingers on the table as he studied the wood grain of the counter in contemplation. Finally, he grumbled, “All right, all right, I’ll do it if it means getting you of my ass.”

“You wound me,” Issei huffed and splayed a hand over his heart in mock hurt. “I go to the trouble of wingmanning for you, and you treat me like this? You’re so cold.”

“Shut up and get back to the door,” Hajime said gruffly, shoving Issei lightly in the shoulder. Still, a smile danced on his lips, one that Issei didn’t miss. The tall man simply hummed “Good luck~” as he headed back to the door, leaving Hajime to figure out how in the hell he was supposed to ask a guy like Tooru Oikawa out on a date without looking stupid. Hajime was good at pretty much only one thing, and that was making drinks.

Wait. That might just be to his advantage, he thought, his gaze sliding to the bottles of liquor lining the back wall. He sidled up to the shelves, crossing his arms as he studied the various drinks; he then looked over his shoulder at Tooru, who was lost in the piano notes. Yeah… Yeah, I think that’ll do, he thought and looked back at the shelves, then leaned up to grab a bottle of vodka and some sour apple liqueur. I think this’ll do just fine.

Hajime approached Tooru as he was taking a break. The piano player straddled the bench, kicking his feet against the solid wood while he watched the volleyball game with interest. He saw Hajime approaching from the periphery, and when he turned to look at him, his eyes brightened with delight. It made Hajime’s heart stutter; half of him wanted to grin like mad, and half of him wanted to hurl the caramel apple martini in Tooru’s face for some inexplicable reason.

“Ooh? Is that for me?” Tooru crooned with delight when he saw the green drink in his hand. “I hope it isn’t a replacement for my paycheck,” he joked as he shifted on the bench, sliding over to allow room for Hajime to sit. Hajime gave Tooru the martini as he sat down, and he watched the brunet study the caramel swirls on the inside of the cup, the green liquid swirling within, and the apple slice garnishing the rim with more interest than he wanted to show. With a pointed look at Hajime, Tooru sipped at the martini, then pulled away while smacking his lips. “Wow. That’s a good drink, Mr. Bartender.”

“I thought you’d like it, Piano Man,” Hajime smirked. “You seem the type to enjoy fruity martinis.”

“Oh no, did the bouncer tell you?” Tooru said with a playful pout, leaning in a little close to Hajime’s face. He blushed on instinct, and looked at Issei to find him smothering a laugh with his hand. “That rascal,” Tooru continued with a rumble in his voice that made Hajime’s nerves sing. “I thought I could trust him.”

“Issei?” Hajime huffed. “You can’t trust him as far as you can throw him.” His blase humor could always help him keep his cool. Thankfully, Tooru laughed, his eyes glittering as he studied Hajime over the rim of the martini. His nervousness returning, Hajime’s tongue flicked out to wet his lips. Immediately, Tooru’s eyes flicked down to his mouth and then back up to his eyes, and Hajime swore his face was going to catch on fire.

“Do you enjoy fruity martinis, Hajime?” Tooru asked, the mischievousness gleaming in his eyes belying the innocent tone of his voice. Body heat rising to uncomfortable levels, Hajime began tugging at the collar of his uniform shirt.

“I might be so inclined, depending on the martini,” he grumbled, looking away for a second. Of course, he couldn’t help but glance back at Tooru out of the corners of his eyes, and he was relieved to find a gleeful expression lighting up his face. “I can’t drink on the clock,” he continued slowly, “but I get off in an hour, if you’re willing to stick around and hang out in this dive for a while.”

“I’d love to,” Tooru hummed. He then tossed back the rest of the martini, squinting his eyes at the sour liqueur. Hajime thought he would hand the glass back to him, but while maintaining direct eye contact, Tooru licked every single bit of the caramel swirls from inside the glassHajime's mouth fell open as he unabashedly watched Tooru’s tongue slowly lap up the thick caramel syrup, so stunned that he didn’t even have the sense to blush. Chortling in a low voice, Tooru tapped the martini glass against Hajime’s cheek to indicate that he was finished.

“Better get back to work, Mr. Bartender,” he winked. Robotically, Hajime rose from the piano bench and took the glass before walking back to his work station. He chanced a look at Issei, and nearly hurled the glass across the room as the bouncer stuck out his tongue and wiggled it at him. Red-faced, embarrassed, and admittedly excited, Hajime dunked the martini glass into the sink of soapy water for the resident dishwasher to attend to before looking back at Tooru. He was back to playing again, eyes lidded and a smile on his face as his body swayed to the beat.

Tooru looked at Hajime from across the room, his smile widening until his eyes crinkled up, and Hajime couldn’t help but melt a little. I suppose I’ll have to thank Issei later, he thought with a small sigh, picking up his rag and another glass to begin cleaning again. Though I might punch him in the face first, he thought with a slight grimace when he noticed the bouncer slinking over, looking like he was ready to give Hajime all the hell he could offer.

“So? Did my wingmanning bear fruit?” Issei hummed. Hajime just snorted, scrubbing a particularly troublesome speck from the glass before lifting it up to the light.

“Please. The caramel apple martini was a way better wingman than you,” Hajime huffed, but he couldn’t stop the smile from appearing on his face. “Though I suppose you helped a little, so thanks.” Issei just snorted and mumbled something about how Hajime was an asshole, but he had a smile on his face, too.

The piano tunes continued to echo through the bar, a colorful melody for the colorful people drawn to this little hole-in-the-wall. Here, Hajime saw the best and the worst of society, but he wouldn’t trade it for the world— because it was the best place to be, he thought with a smile, dropping the glass to look at Tooru again. It was the best place to be.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

#iwaoi #hajime iwaizumi #iwaizumi hajime #tooru oikawa #oikawa tooru #haikyuu #haikyuu!!

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letsreadwomen · 4 years

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Gideon The Ninth by Tamsyn Muir (aka @tazmuir)

The author summarises the book by saying that Gideon The Ninth is a story of “two women forced into a bloodstained get-along tshirt” so take from that what you will

@mylordshesacactus already explained here that Gideon is hard to peg (hah) as a book because it encompasses so many genres

This is indeed the tale of a Disaster Lesbian Jock in space with necromancy. And! It is so much more besides!

The two main characters are a Goth Jock (that’s Gideon) / Goth Nerd (that’s Harrow, whose name is on the sequel – yes there’s a sequel!) pairing, which mainly shapes the tale

Enemies to grudging friends to unwilling partners (in more than one sense of the word)

Yes they are both angry with themselves for liking the other why do you ask

Did I mention that the Jock Lesbian is the very specific sub type of Sword Jock Lesbian – expect a number of riveting duels and other collected fight scenarios

The murder mystery (yes there is a murder mystery) features a volume and complexity of plot twists reminiscent of The Seven And A Half Deaths Of Evelyn Hardcastle – as would only be expected when you throw that genre into a blender that already contains necromancy

The murder mystery also presents a veritable host of fully formed side characters with their very own and specific personalities and motivations and bonds, and they are all super eager to complicate the plot further

Extremely rich lore and world building

Damp & cold vibes (possibly a result of the necromancy)

Strong narrative voice, with the story being told almost exclusively from Gideon’s perspective – so expect lots of judgments of fighting styles and techniques, Gideon being distracted by attractive women, and generally not caring about necromancy Nerd stuff (and therefore missing lots of cloak-and-dagger plot happening in the background).

Also includes: completely irreverent tone but can carry drama when needed, with jokes thrown in as well-timed counterpoints when the drama gets too intense

My main impression was that the book has a slow start (mostly bc it’s setting the scene) but once the characters go off-world after the first few chapters it doesn’t ever slow down

#gideon the ninth #tamsyn muir #book review #review by me #mine #hah im pretending im still tagging #this system is unreliable at best #anyway yes i was trying to do a bulletpoint review #but there's so much to shout about in gideon #it just became a review separated by bullet points i guess #and you all thought i was over this book #i tell you #No Way #murderbot diaries were a great follow up #but this book is the source of some recent agony #so it's a good thing i get to review it for the lesbrary #keep an eye out for that

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nicolewrites · 4 years

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two shots of vodka

@mishspelled, @tsunnychan, @shining-jul-of-hope here’s more of this roommates au nonsense because someone talked down about vodka.

Dedicated to that one shrine in BOTW which sucks and also the cocktails my friend and I made on Canada Day last year.

Rating: T Genre: Friendship Characters: Sylvain Jose Gautier & Ingrid Brandl Galatea & Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd Words: 2,300

Movie night has been their tradition for years. / roommates au

AO3

“Are you two going to help me or continue to fail miserably?” Ingrid called.

Her hands were currently stained red from the juice of the strawberries she was cutting and she’d only made it through half of a box. The lemonade and vodka bottles were waiting on standby next to the blender and the box of popcorn was still sitting, unpopped, on the counter in front of the microwave.

“We’re almost there, Ing, come on!” Sylvain protested, not even tearing his eyes from the TV screen.

Felix didn’t even bother to reply, twisting his controller with such an intense look of concentration Ingrid wondered if he would throw the controller at the TV if he managed to lose this time. On the screen, the glowing orb balanced precariously on the edge of some kind of maze thing. Felix tilted his hands a little and the orb shot forward, launching onto the next area of land.

Sylvain cheered and jumped off the couch as the game played its telltale jingle for the correct solving of the puzzle. “Fuck yeah, Felix!”

Felix groaned and dropped the controller, tipping sideways so that his face collided with the couch. “I fucking hate that puzzle. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.”

Ingrid rolled her eyes. “No one told you that you had to play the game again.”

Felix lifted his hand and flipped her off without moving. “I have to be ready for the race.”

Sylvain laughed. “Look, just because Dorothea challenged you to a race doesn’t mean you have to actually do it.”

Felix looked up at Sylvain. “You’re joking, right? I’m not losing to a music major.”

Ingrid clicked her tongue as she finished cutting up the last of the strawberries. She scooped them up and dropped them into the blender. “You seem plenty happy to lose to Annette whenever she’s over,” she teased.

Felix went red and scowled. He saved his game and quit to the main menu before shutting the console off. He jumped up and walked into the kitchen. “How can I help?”

Ingrid grabbed the lemonade bottle and poured a healthy amount into the blender. “Can you grab me the ice cubes from the freezer?”

Felix immediately opened the freezer. Ingrid turned to glare at Sylvain who was still lounging on the couch, though now he was scrolling on his phone. He glanced at her when he realized she was staring at him and just batted his eyes at her innocently.

“Are you going to help?”

“And get stuck doing all the dishes like I always do anyway? No,” he replied cheerfully.

Ingrid wanted to berate him, but he had a point. Sylvain almost always ended up doing the dishes. He was the worst cook of the three of them, so that meant he was almost always relegated to dish-duty after meals. When alcohol was involved, he ended up doing the dishes purely because he had the highest tolerance and was the most adept and practiced at managing his hangovers.

She picked up the vodka bottle and reached around Felix for their liquor cupboard. Felix glanced at her oddly, but placed the ice cube tray next to the blender and backed out of her way. He leaned against the counter and folded his arms.

“What are you doing?”

Ingrid grabbed the metal cup from the cabinet and waved it at him. “I need this."

Sylvain laughed. “Ah, Ingrid, always the responsible one, using the jigger to measure our alcohol intake.”

Ingrid was screwing off the lid of the vodka bottle when he spoke. She paused. “The what?” she questioned.

Sylvain blinked. “The jigger.” He gestured to the shot-measuring cup she was holding.

“Why the fuck do you know what that thing is called?” Felix asked, staring at Sylvain.

Sylvain raised an eyebrow. “Because we own one? And we drink a lot?”

Ingrid laughed out loud, almost spilling vodka on the counter. “Sylvain, I’m pretty sure only bartenders who are either super hipster and sell you the most expensive shit on the menu or the ones who work high-class events know what these things are called. As far as I’m concerned it’s a shot-measurer.”

Sylvain’s ears reddened. “It’s not that strange of a thing to know!” he argued.

The doorbell rang, saving Sylvain from more teasing and Felix slipped out of the kitchen and down the hall to open the door. Ingrid focused back on the task at hand, measuring a full shot of vodka and adding it to the blender. She dumped a handful of ice cubes in and then measured another shot.

Sylvain hopped up from the couch and leaned on the counter across from her, watching her as she mixed their drinks for the night. “Please tell me you’re adding more than two shots to that thing. Dimitri is coming.”

Ingrid paused and stared at him. “It’s not Dimitri I’m worried about.”

Sylvain held his hands up innocently. “Don’t blame a guy for his alcohol tolerance.”

“You started drinking when you were like 14."

“I had a good high school experience.”

“Sylvain.”

“Ingrid,” he parroted teasingly.

He leaned forward until there was only about an inch between their faces and every muscle in Ingrid’s body tensed. She was saved from having to react when Felix and Dimitri re-entered the kitchen. Sylvain leaned back and she went back to measuring vodka to add to the drink mix.

“Why do you know what a jigger is called?” Dimitri asked Sylvain, completely bypassing any greeting.

Sylvain smacked his forehead. “Is it really that weird?”

“Yes,” Ingrid and Felix chorused.

“I mean, I knew what it was called,” Dimitri admitted. “But that’s because there was a very chatty bartender at an event I went to last summer.”

Sylvain and Ingrid exchanged a look. A chatty bartender meant a flirty bartender and Dimitri, in his glorious and typical Dimitri fashion, had not even noticed a thing was strange about her behaviour, chalking it up to the woman being “friendly”.

“Anyway,” Sylvain cleared his throat. “I see you have brought food to rescue us from Ingrid’s inevitable wrath.”

Ingrid was almost offended, but then her stomach growled and she could only drop her gaze back to the blender and hope that she wasn’t flushing. She dumped a few more ice cubes in and slapped the lid on, holding the blend button as the grinding sound quickly drowned out her embarrassment.

Dimitri dropped the pizza box on the counter and Felix immediately went to pull out plates. Sylvain strode into the kitchen and it was suddenly very overcrowded with her three male friends, Dimitri and Sylvain especially, who had no concept of the fact that they were buff guys who took up much more room than they thought they did.

Ingrid stopped the blender and picked up the pitcher, sloshing the liquid in it a bit. It had changed to a pretty pinkish colour thanks to the strawberries and it smelled both sweet and alcoholic: just how they liked it. She poured it into the four glasses she had out and turned to hand them off.

Felix took the first glass and Sylvain the second. Dimitri took the third and replaced it with a plate that had three slices of pizza on it. Ingrid beamed at him and carried both the plate and her own glass over to the couch where she sat next to Felix in the centre of the couch. Dimitri immediately claimed the armchair and Sylvain lingered in the kitchen to grab the bottle of vodka from the counter.

Felix tasted the drink and wrinkled his nose. “This shit is sweet.”

Ingrid sipped it and was pleasantly surprised by the sweet and fruity taste of it. It tasted almost exactly like the strawberry lemonades she used to get at restaurants as a kid with just the slightest hint of alcohol.

“I think that’s the point,” Dimitri said as he sipped from his own glass. His brow shot up. “Wow, there’s alcohol in this?”

Ingrid hummed in agreement. “Annette gave me the recipe. I wanted to try it out.”

Sylvain plopped down on the couch next to her and placed the vodka bottle and four shot glasses down. “As lovely and boozy as it is, we’re still doing this with shots.”

Felix grumbled. “Just because you don’t have anything to do tomorrow.”

Sylvain grinned. “Your fault for scheduling shit after movie night.”

Felix crossed his arms and glared at Sylvain. “You’re cancelling on us next week so we rescheduled to this week. This is your fault.”

Sylvain shrugged. “Hey, the girl from my gym said she was only free next weekend. I’m not going to miss that opportunity.”

Ingrid’s drink was suddenly less sweet. She placed it on the coffee table and stood up, heading for her room. She grabbed the hat from her dresser and walked back into the living room. She placed it on the corner of the TV and balanced it so it wouldn’t fall off.

Felix grabbed the remote from the table. “I can’t believe we’re watching this movie again.”

Ingrid sat down between Felix and Sylvain and picked up her drink again, grinning. “It was my turn to pick and we watched Dimitri’s choice last time. Besides, this one works great with the hat game.”

Sylvain tapped his glass against hers. “Not that we don’t appreciate the artistry of The King’s Speech, Dimitri, but Ingrid is definitely correct on this one. Die Hard is a true pinnacle of cinema.”

Felix rolled his eyes but queued the movie. “No chickening out on these rules.”

Ingrid laughed. “Yeah, yeah we know. Every time someone wears the hat you take a sip and every time they have a line while wearing it we do a shot. We have done this before.”

Dimitri slouched in his chair. “I always lose these things immediately.”

Sylvain threw an arm over Ingrid’s shoulder and smirked at Dimitri. “That’s because you care more about the film than the actual drinking. We’d get the same reaction from Ingrid if we were watching the Great British Bake Off or Chopped.”

Ingrid elbowed him but didn’t shove his arm off. She was already a little warm in her stomach and she took a bite of her pizza. She was hungry and they were about to drink a whole lot more, so she needed to have food to balance the copious amounts of alcohol.

“Are we still doing the Sylvain rule?” Dimitri asked as the studio logo took over the screen as the movie started.

“Obviously,” Ingrid snorted. “Anything stupid or romantic he’d do means the last one to shout “Sylvain” takes a shot. That’s a given for whatever film we’re watching.”

“Everyone shut up,” Felix grouched as the film started.

Ingrid was warm. She was warm and her arm was numb and her eyes were sticky. She shifted the arm that wasn’t numb and brought her hand up to rub her face. She pried her eyes open and got an eyeful of grey t-shirt.

She blinked and twisted, realizing that she was definitely not in her bed. She tried to sit up, but she couldn’t move her left arm, the numb one, at all. It was thoroughly pinned between her very fit roommate and the couch that they had fallen asleep together on. Plus, his arm was tightly wrapped around her waist like a steel band, keeping her pinned against him. Her head had been resting against the top of his chest over his shoulder and under his chin.

Sylvain didn’t stir as Ingrid twisted, still passed out cold. Ingrid managed to carefully extract her arm and pry Sylvain’s arm off of her. She had a horrid crick in her neck that made her scowl as she disentangled their legs. She sat on the very edge of the couch and looked around the living room.

Sylvain was, naturally, passed out on the couch where they had been unintentionally cuddling. Dimitri was asleep in the armchair, head awkwardly bent forward against his shoulder. Felix was nowhere to be seen. Ingrid turned and looked behind her into the kitchen and saw her other roommate standing in the kitchen, sipping from a coffee mug with an amused look on his face.

She rolled her eyes and stood up, walking towards him. She dropped her voice low so that she didn’t wake Dimitri or Sylvain. “When did you get up?”

“About fifteen minutes ago,” Felix whispered back. “Unlike you idiots, I did actually make it to my bed last night.”

Ingrid’s cheeks warmed and she glanced at the back of the couch where Sylvain was still sleeping. “We just fell asleep?”

He shrugged. “We were talking after the movie and you started wrestling with him. Dimitri was already out so I just went to bed. I guess you guys fell asleep after that.”

It wasn’t unusual for them to fall asleep after movie night and it certainly wasn’t the first time that she’d woken up cuddled to one of her friends. The best was still the time that Dimitri and Sylvain had fallen asleep together and she and Felix had taken many, many photos.

“Did he get his contacts out?” she asked, gesturing to the couch.

Felix shrugged. “I doubt it. It’ll be his problem today.”

Ingrid’s nose wrinkled. She felt sympathetic, but not overly remorseful. Sylvain had bitched about how much he hated sleeping with his contacts in before, but he continued to forget to take them out so it really was his problem.

“How much did we drink?”

Felix nodded to the vodka bottle by the sink. It was empty. Ingrid slapped her hand over her mouth to muffle a startled laugh.

“Oh,” she replied dumbly.

Felix sipped his coffee again and shrugged. “Pretty on brand, honestly.”

#the writing section #sylvgrid #sylgrid #roommates au #r: t #sylvain jose gautier #ingrid brandl galatea #felix hugo fraldarius #dimitri alexandre blaidd #c: sylvain jose gautier #c: ingrid brandl galatea #c: felix hugo fraldarius #c: dimitri #words: 2.3k+#fe3h #fire emblem three houses #f: fire emblem #ship: sylvgrid #nicolewrites

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avengerscompound · 5 years

Text

The B-List Avenger - 2

The B-List Avenger: A Hawkeye Fanfic

Series Masterlist // PREVIOUS

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Clint Barton x F!Reader

Word Count: 2694

Rating: E

Warnings: Action, Injuries, Angst, Pregnancy, Smut (vaginal sex)

Synopsis: After an explosion in your building, it’s up to Hawkeye to get you and your daughter to safety. There might be worst ways to get to know someone.

Chapter 2: Upstate New York

You were in the hospital for two weeks. In that time your mother flew in from out of town to take care of Alexis. You had received significant bruising on your spine that was exacerbated by the amount of time it took you to run to the evac point. The leg injury had required sixteen stitches.

Most of your friends had been affected by the sudden attack by HYDRA too so apart from when your mother brought Alexis around to see you, you didn’t have any visitors. That is, except for Clint Barton.

Clint had come in a day after you were admitted looking like he hadn’t been shot at all. You knew for a fact that he had. You’d seen wound with your own two eyes.

“Avenger’s get the good insurance.” He’d said when you’d asked about it.

Every day for two weeks he came in to see how you were doing. Sometimes he was there when your mother was visiting with Alexis. When that happened Alexis was just obsessed with him. He took it with good humor. Letting her climb in his lap and held conversations with her like she was a full-grown adult and not a one-year-old.

Your mom was developing quite the crush. If Clint was there when she was, she always spoke animatedly with him and praised him for how good he was with Alexis. Or for saving your life. Or for just general Avengers things. If he wasn’t she took to speaking about him to you. How cute he was. How great it was that he kept stopping by. How he looked like he’d be such a good father.

It would be annoying, and you tried very hard to pretend it was, except that you thought the same thing. He was cute. And hilarious. And he was really amazing with Alexis. Not to mention his arms were amazing. You really, really wanted this to not just be him taking pity on you.

Only the signals were as mixed as if they’d been put through a blender. When it was just the two of you he’d respond to flirting like it was a second language that he spoke fluently. Always knowing just the thing to say that would make your mouth dry and other parts of you much moister. If Alexis was around though he flicked between being potential future husband candidate of the year, laughing at your mother’s jokes, being affectionate and caring to your daughter and smiling and joking with you. Or he was all business-like he’d stopped by out of some moral obligation and had no desire to even make friends with you.

On the day before you were due to be released, he came to see you while you were alone.

“Checking out tomorrow?” He asks, leaning in the doorway of your room.

“Yeah. The doctors said I still need to take it easy. I’m not allowed to pick Lexi up for another month.” You explain. “Also, I don’t actually have a home anymore. Or a job. So that’s gonna be fun.”

Clint grimaces and walks over, sitting on the end of your bed. “What are you gonna do?”

“I’m gonna go back home and live with mom until I get back on my feet. It’s pretty shit. But there’s not much I can do about it.” You answer.

Clint looks crestfallen. His shoulders slump and he looks down at his hands. “Where does your mom live?”

“Upstate New York.” You answer, poking him with your foot.

He looks up at you with a smile on his face. “That’s where I live.”

“I know it is. It’s a little hard to miss.” You say.

“How far away?” He asks.

You chew your lip and look at him. “Like two towns over. Maybe half an hour or so? Forty-five minutes tops.”

He scoots a little closer to you. “So you think we could hang out sometime?”

“I’d really like that.” You agree.

It’s another couple of weeks before you see him again. You were busy having to talk with insurance people, buying clothes and settle down into a new routine. Alexis was pretty thrilled to be spending so much time with Grandma. She’s even more thrilled when Clint shows up to pick you up for your first date.

“Cwint. Cwint. Come.” She squeals as she stands at the end of the hall bouncing up and down on her chubby little legs.

“Hey, kiddo. Just give me a minute to say hi to your mom.” He says, kissing your cheek. “You look beautiful.”

“Looking pretty good yourself, Barton.” You say. Which is not a lie. He’s wearing a suit that’s color isn’t quite gray and it isn’t quite blue. It doesn’t quite fit him right, but just something about him in it makes you want to get him out of it.

He follows Alexis to her bedroom where she shows him all the new toys that have been bought for her since the move. He lets her show him everything before ruffling her hair and telling her he is taking you out. She doesn’t take it well. Almost immediately breaking down into tears and throwing herself on the ground.

“Aww… kid. You’re killing me.” Clint says, crouching down beside her and patting her back. “Tell you what, next time we can all go out.”

That doesn’t help. At all. She just becomes more hysterical. Thankfully your mom comes and saves the day. Taking her into the living room to watch TV while you escape with Clint.

“I’m so sorry. I think after the incident, she’s gotten really attached to you.” You say as you follow him out to the car. It’s a lavender Volkswagen Beetle. You try not to look as surprised as you feel about him driving it.

“That’s what we’re calling it? The incident?” Clint asks as he opens the door for you.

“I don’t really know what else to call it.” You say when he climbs into the driver’s side.

“The incident is fine,” Clint says. “And don’t worry about Lexi. I always say that I hate kids. But I think actually …” He trails off and groans.

You turn to look at him as he drives. “What’s wrong?” You ask.

He whines. “Can’t talk about deep stuff.”

“Does dating someone with a kid scare you?” You ask.

“Yes.” He whines. “But only marginally more than getting serious with anyone. I’m not good at it.”

You start to nervously strum your fingers on your leg. “Clint. I’m not trying to push you into anything that you’re not ready for…”

He grabs your hand and holds it still. “You don’t have to say it. I’ve told myself it a million times now. You can’t lead this chick on. She has a kid and you and your fuckin’ problems with … whatever … will hurt them both. I like you though. A lot. I get it if I’m too high risk, but if you could give me a chance.”

“Is the ‘whatever’ intimacy issues?” You ask, linking your fingers with his.

He nods his head.

“If you do this and they get the better of you, you’ll break both our hearts you know?”

He nods again. “I know. I can’t promise it won’t. I can’t even promise we won’t break up for other reasons. I just feel like maybe I can do it with you. In a way, I haven’t with anyone else.” He lets go of your hand and runs it through his hair. “Normally when I think about someone I … like or whatever…” He shakes his head. “Even if it’s just for a one-time thing. I have an expiry date in my head. One night. Two weeks and three days. Six months and she cuts up most of my clothes. With you, I don’t see a time.”

You sigh and turn and bite his shoulder. “How serious are you about trying?” You ask.

“Pretty serious.” He says. “Maybe I should grow up a little.”

“Just a little though.” You tease. “Would you consider going to therapy?”

“Aww… therapy?” He whines. He pulls the car into the parking lot of a steakhouse and looks at you. His blue eyes doing that sad puppy thing. “Yeah. I guess I could probably use it, given I don’t sleep.”

“Alright. If you’re willing to do that I’m willing to try. I do have one more question though.” You say.

“Yeah?” He says sounding nervous.

“How do you feel about putting out on the first date?” You ask.

He smirks and squeezes your leg. “I am in favor of it.”

“That’s good because I am dying to get laid.” You joke.

Dinner goes fine. He really does have a way of putting you at ease even when he’s slightly panicked and overthinking everything. After dinner, he takes you up to a lookout that looks over the town and takes in some forest and the Avengers compound in the distance.

You sit side by side holding hands, your head resting on his shoulder and his cheek on your head. “It’s really beautiful up here.” You sigh.

“Yeah.” Clint agrees. “I always see things best from high up.”

“I think they call that being far-sighted.” You tease. “You can get glasses to correct it.”

Clint digs his fingers in your sides. “You think you’re so funny.” He snarks, as you squirm away from him.

At some point his hands move from your side to your back, pulling you tightly against him. You wrap your arms around his neck and you’re kissing before you even know what’s happening. It’s hungry and desperate. You claw at each, bite at each other’s lips. Your tongues swirl together and explore each other’s mouths.

His hands move down to your hips, dragging you closer and then up under your skirt. You break the kiss panting. “We should - we should go somewhere - less public.” You pant.

Clint teases along the line of your panties. “You sure about that?”

You whine a little and nod. “Pretty sure.”

“Your place or mine.” He asks, helping you to your feet.

“We gonna have a sleepover?” You ask as you head to the car.

He falters for a moment and you watch as the gears turn behind his eyes. “Yeah. Yep. Sleepover. That’s what couples do.”

You pause at the door and look at him. “Clint?”

“No. It’s good. I want this.” He says with a smile.

You laugh and shake your head before getting in the car. “My place then.”

As soon as you’re back at your mom’s house you’re all over each other. He kisses at your throat and tugs up your skirt. You somehow manage to get through the door and he pushes you through it and up against the wall. Your hip bangs the side table by the door and the vase sitting on it tips over with a clatter.

“Shh… Clint.” You whisper. “You need to be quiet.”

“That’s going to be a problem for you. You’re not going to be able to stay quiet.” He whispers back.

You drag him into your room. “Because I’ll be laughing so hard?” You tease.

He pushes the door closed and pulls his shirt off before wrapping you in his arms. “Such a smart ass.” He smirks, unzipping your dress. He pushes it down off your arms and you start to kiss again. Moving slowly towards the bed, shedding each piece of clothing one by one. He picks you up just before you reach the bed and tosses you on it.

You move back and he stalks up after you placing slow deep kisses up the insides of your legs. When he reaches your inner thigh he’s pulling your soft flesh into his mouth and sucking on it hard enough to leave small bruises. His nuzzles at your pussy and you spread wider for him. He flattens his tongue and swipes it up your folds before placing a large open mouth kiss over them. His tongue swirls around, tasting everything it can reach and he pulls back sucking your clit into his mouth.

Your hips buck up. “Holy shit.” You hiss. He smiles up at you and rolls his tongue over your clit.

You arch back tilting your hips up to his face. His fingers tease at your entrance before he thrusts them into you. You gasp clenching around his digits. He finds your g-spot almost instantly like he’s targeted onto it and when his fingers push against it he curls them like he’s beckoning someone to him.

He fucks you with his fingers as his tongue continues to work your clit. It isn’t long before you’re a whimpering mess under him. Trying to keep quiet as your legs shake and your core muscles clench. You pull his hair and clutch at the sheets as you completely come undone. Your orgasm hits you hard. You twist under him, trying to escape it as it surges through you and you drag your pillow down to your face crying out into it.

He strokes you through it and then reaches for his pants, pulling his wallet free. You take the pillow off your face and watch as he pulls a condom out of it.

“You think you were getting lucky tonight?” You ask sitting up and taking it from him.

“If the boy scouts taught me anything it was always come prepared.” He says smirking.

“Nice pun,” you say, tearing the packet open. “But it’s ‘be prepared’.” He starts laughing and you put the condom between your lips and crouch down placing the condom over the head of his cock and using your mouth to roll it in place. He lets out a strangled moan and his hands bunch in your hair. You bob your head a few times, loving the sound of his soft moans, but he takes your jaw in his hand and guides you up to him. Kissing you hard and pushing you back into the mattress.

You feel his cock press on your entrance as he lines himself up with you and with a roll of his hips, he sinks into your cunt. You both groan as he fills you and you adjust to him. He starts to thrust. You wrap your legs around him, linking your ankles at the small of his back.

He kisses down your throat to your breast sucking your nipple into your mouth. Your hands roam his skin, running your fingertips up his back at a feather touch before digging them into his firm biceps.

Your skin prickles and flushes with heat. “Oh fuck, Clint.” You groan as you feel the pressure of your orgasm weighs you down.

“Me too.” He groans.

His fingers dig into you, he picks up his pace and you come. You arch up and just as you let out a cry his mouth is on yours smothering it. You each moan into the kiss as you find your release.

He comes inside of you, you close your eyes and focus on the pulse of his cock as he empties. For a moment you just stay like that kissing, as the last of your orgasms shudder through you.

“Fuck.” You sigh as he slips from inside of you and rolls off. “I needed that so badly.”

Clint salutes you. “Happy to be of service, ma’am.”

You go clean up together and dress, you in flannel pajamas with dogs on them, him in his boxers, before climbing into bed. You rest your head on his shoulder and he wraps both arms around you. “Just a little warning. I sleep like shit.” He says, pressing his lips to your forehead.

“That’s okay. I’ll sleep through the TV if you turn it on. Just keep it down for my mom.” You say, closing your eyes.

You fall asleep quickly, cuddled up to him. In the morning you wake as the sun comes through the curtains. Clint is deep asleep on his side facing you and sprawled out on her back between you is Alexis.

“I’m doomed.” You sigh, pressing a kiss to your daughter’s forehead and closing your eyes again.

// NEXT

#clint barton #clint barton x reader #hawkeye #hawkeye fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #smut #b-list avenger #upstate new york

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cosmiclunarprincess-fanfic · 5 years

Text

The Professor Pt.6

A/N: I didn’t feel like being extra while I was editing so thoughts are in italics. Also please leave comments and tell me what you thought of this part :)

Tags: @namelesslosers @blackchunkyqueen@panthergoddessbast @forbeautyandlife @cancerianprincess@shegoego @soulsparker @iamrheaspeaks @blq-gyal @ashrae720 @chaneajoyyy @loosewindmill @hold-me-like-a-heart-beat @txmellayella @tiava143 @ohshititslezz @sheisexcellent @sydneebleu @blackpinup22 @hold-me-like-a-heart-beat @whoramilaje @izraahh1

Pairing: Erick x Aniya

Characters: Erik Stevens

Fandom: Erik Stevens, Killmonger

Warnings: I’m not the best when it comes to following writing rules. I pretty much write how I want to, so if you’re a stickler for grammar and what not just ignore it or don’t read loll (I’m nice I promise.)

Word Count: 1624

Erik gave his final notes and dismissed the class. As the students cleared the classroom I glanced over my shoulder and caught his eyes on me. He looked away quickly. I turned and walked to my next class knowing I left him thinking about me. I attended the remainder of my classes and ended my school day with a late dinner. Simone went back to the apartment to get some work done but I headed back to building C.

I made my way to Eriks classroom. I stopped my hand from opening the door when I heard more than one voice inside. I peeped through the window of the door and Ms. Cooper. I stepped to the side so as not to be seen. I watched them talk about who knows what for a couple of minutes. I could tell that she was flirting hard by the way she was batting her eyelashes and touching his thigh. The smile on his face didn't seem to mind, hell he looked like he was enjoying it. I couldn’t help the anger that started to bowl within me. I couldn’t hide my territorial nature. After about ten more minutes they stood up and walked toward the door. I thought about leaving but I wanted him to see me, wanted him to know that I had seen everything.

When he opened the door to allow her to walk out the expression on his face when he saw me was priceless. She gave me one of those fake teacher smiles. Her teeth were overly white, I could tell she’s had some work done. Her makeup was heavy and I’m not talking full glam beat heavy. I’m talking clay face I’ve never seen a beauty blender in my life heavy.

“Hello Ms.Cooper. You look very nice today. I love your makeup.” I said flashing her the same fake smile back.

“Oh thank you so much. I’m trying out a new foundation.”

It shows girl trust me. I thought to myself. As she turned back to Erik.

“It was nice talking to you Erik…”

Her eyes darted over to me as she had forgotten that I was there.

“I mean professor stevens.”

She made sure to touch his arm one more time before turning and walking away. The extra sway in her hips very apparent. Erik was extra careful not to look. I took a mental note of that. I made sure the hallway was clear before walking past him into the classroom. If he thought he was free to flirt and be a hoe, he made a sad mistake. He was mine and I was going to make sure he knew it.

“Hi Niya.”

I looked at him tilting my head to the side, remaining silent.

“Hey Erik how are you? That's usually how this conversation goes?”

Without a word, I made my way over to his desk bending over to expose my bright red panties underneath my dress. Slowly I pulled them over my round ass and down my legs. I hung them off of the table light he had and sat in his chair spreading my legs wide. He jolted to the door covering the window with his body.

“Have you lost your damn mind? Anyone could walk past and see you like that...exposed in my classroom. I could lose my job!”

He quickly lowered his tone not wanted any teachers or students to hear from the hallway. I giggled at the amount of panic he was displaying. I enjoyed playing with Erik, making him squirm. I knew he was used to always being the dominant one with a girl but not with me. I licked my fingers as he watched me closely.

“What are you doing?” He asked frantic.

I slid my hand down my body and rubbed my clit, moaning from the feeling.

“Are you crazy? Be quiet now!”

I raised an eyebrow at him. Who the fuck does he think he’s talking to? The bass in his voice only enraged me more. I rubbed myself faster moaning even louder than before.

“Erik yes like that!” I groaned

He almost gave himself whiplash trying to check the hallway to ensure no one heard me. I cackled. Seeing him freak out was hilarious.

“Niya stop please!” He begged.

I rolled my eyes as I stood up adjusting my clothes. Once I felt that I looked presentable I made my way over to the door he was still standing in front of. I smirked as I pushed him out of the way. Before I walked out the door I handed him a neatly folded piece of paper that read:

Meet me at the Ramada Hotel at 8.

Bring the panties with you.

I left a key for Erik at the front desk. When I heard the hotel room door unlock I couldn’t hold back my excitement. I waited for him to make his way to the bedroom. When he finally did he paused. I can only assume he was in awe of my black lacy lingerie that left little to the imagination.

“Do you like what you see?

“Niya we need to talk about what you did tod-“

“Shhhhhhhhhhhhh….that’s not what I asked you. I said do...you...like...what...you...see?”

He let out a heavy sigh.

“Yes I do.”

“Good. Now get on your knees and crawl to me.”

He did as he was told with little resistance. When he was close enough, I placed my perfectly pedicured toes on his chest.

“You Erik sometimes I feel like your taking me for a joke and I don't like it. So now I have to teach you a lesson.”

He looked at me with a confused look on his face. Erik had a way of making me feel things I didn't usually feel like butterflies and shit and I didn’t like it one bit. I can honestly say that when I first laid eyes on him I thought I would have a way harder time getting him to let me be dominant but it was surprisingly easy. I thought about what kind of women he must’ve been with in the past and how he’d been with them and how it differed from how he acts with me. Oh hell no. Girl don’t even go there. Don’t invest to many emotions into him.

I shook my head to get out of my thoughts and reached back to grab my tazapper from the line of toys I had laid out on the bed, caressing it in my hands. I knew he had no idea what it was.

“Take your clothes off.” I said taking my foot from his chest.

I watched him strip and the way his skin glistened in the dim lighting made me want to do nasty unspeakable things to him. When he was completely naked. I walked circles around him admiring his body. I got to his back and without warning I zapped him on his lower back. He jumped in shock and I couldn’t hold back the belly laugh that came out of me. I took note of the fact that he remained silent even after I zapped him all over his body, never asking why I was doing this or what he did wrong. That let me know that not only did he know what he did wrong but he also knew not to question me further. So he is learning.

“I’ve been very lenient with you Erik but today...today was the last straw. Now tell me, what did you do to upset me?

ZAP!

“I was flirting with Linda.”

ZAP!

“WHO?”

“I mean Ms.Cooper!”

“Now tell me. Why would you do that knowing you belong to me? Huh? I know it's not because her looks because she could never look as good as me on her best day pooh.”

He looked down at me with a stern look on his face for a second I thought he might turn the tables and snatch me up throw me on the bed and take me.

“I did it to get back at you for what you did to me. I planned to get close to her maybe date her for a bit to get under your skin but you caught me and if im being fully honest you probably wouldn’t care anyway, it's clear you don’t feel the same way about me that I feel about you.”

“How do you feel about me?” I asked genuinely wanting to know.

He inhaled deeply gathering his thoughts together before he gave his answer.

“I’ve never felt this way about any girl before. You have this control over me and I can’t explain it, you just do something to me.”

His words hit hard. I had no idea he felt this way about me. It kind of made me want to be nice to him. Almost. I still had to teach him a lesson for trying to get back at me and I intended to do just that.

Continued in Pt.7

#killmonger #Erik Killmonger #the professor series #Erik Stevens #Sub!Erik #marvel series #killmonger smut #erik stevens smut #marvel smut

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wahbegan · 5 years

Text

The Scary Asylum Trope (From Somebody Who’s Been Committed)

I can’t help but feel that the very loud and righteous voices of people with the best of intentions....who also have no idea what the fuck they’re talking about often overshadow those with a more nuanced and realistic view of the world because they’ve been through the shit. Especially on this site. In the real world, of course, both are drowned out by the man who both has bad intentions AND no idea what he’s talking about, but either way, the fact remains: people with first-hand experience of the ugliness of society saying shit nobody wants to hear, especially shit that makes the world a bit more morally grey and a bit more frightening than anyone would like to deal with are never listened to.

Although it’s often overlooked, I think we can all agree that the mentally ill and substance-addicted are among the most cast-off and overlooked members of society. Junkheads and crazies are already struggling to survive and nobody wants to give them a job, get too close to them, give them money, have them wandering the streets or coming into their businesses. Unlike other forms of oppression, one of the most insidious things about this is it’s opposed by almost nobody. “Don’t give that guy money, he’s a crackhead”, “stay away from that bum, she’s not right in the head, she’s dangerous”, “we can’t give you a job because of your history with substance abuse”, none of these statements are remotely controversial with the vast majority of people. A lot of people get angry when you say they should be or even suggest the mentally ill (not disabled, mind you, just ill) or addicted are even oppressed by society at all. Addicts, particularly. The general consensus is they ARE dangerous, they DO do illegal shit, they ARE unpredictable and unable to work reliably or have an interpersonal relationship with you, and most importantly...they brought this on themselves. This, of course, brings us to that great garbage bin of society’s dregs, the mental hospital.

Okay, so a bit of background. In Senior Year of college, I was alcoholic, cartoonishly depressed, and trying to deal with vague, unspecified shit that may have been trauma or a personality disorder or something I do not know, all I have ever been officially been diagnosed with is depression, but that doesn’t cover everything. I don’t know to this day exactly what’s wrong with me and I’ve gotten too old and used to it to really care enough to speculate. But long story short, one night I got too mouthy about a suicide attempt as I often do...to be honest, I think my crippling fear of the oblivion i believe follows death tends to manifest as loudly telegraphing my intentions to commit so that I have a chance to wake up even if I don’t chicken out at the last second...but anyway. My friend Vanessa came by my door and helped me down out of the home-made belt noose in my closet, and the cops were called. Cue being taken away in a cop car in handcuffs and 96 hours in a mental hospital without ANYONE believing any of my attempts to defend myself or even being put before a judge how’s that for due process ladies and gentlemen?

I won’t say what hospital I was in due to all the horrible shit I’m about to say about its character, but I WILL say when i first got there, many a joke was made about a then very topical certain someone who was known as a whistleblower and/or traitor depending on where you fall on the political spectrum who leaked a bunch of CIA and NSA shit. Oh, yeah, completely unrelated, did I mention I went to the University of Mary Washington in Fredericksburg, VA? Just a fun tidbit.

Anyway, I know this is slow in getting to the point, so let’s cut to the meat of the thing. From Outlast (the good one), to Arkham Asylum, to Silence of the Lambs, Session 9, Halloween, to House on Haunted Hill (the bad but enjoyable one), to that story some kid in grade school and/or your older sister wouldn’t shut the fuck up about that had an escaped mental patient who apparently the staff had deemed wise to give a pirate hook for a hand, the common consensus is: mental hospitals are fucking scary. More specifically, crazy people are fucking scary.

In recent years, as we’ve all grown a little more compassionate and people give the mentally ill at least a few months or years before they decide your shit is too much for them to deal with and throw you out like a leper, there’s been very strong pushback against this. Particularly on places like tumblr and other random blogs and op eds around the internet. It’s easy to see why. Dehumanizing the mentally ill is not only offensive to people who CAN actually generally understand and remember what you say about us, thank you very much, it’s just lazy. People like Michael Myers (no not that one the scary one) and Joker, who would NEVER see the inside of a hospital due to their clear intelligence and control over their actions, are thrown in an asylum as a cheap plot device, and classifying a character as crazy lets you ignore pesky little things like “character motivation” and “consistent characterization in general, fuckwit”. People may even praise your character for lacking those things if they’re cuh-RAZY enough. Again, Michael Myers (still not that one) and Joker.

I’m a huge fan of the pushback against the escaped mental patient with a hook trope. Having been a mental patient myself, I can assure you that almost all ANYONE wants to break out of that shit hole to do is get some good fucking food, sleep in a real bed, and pork their significant other. Mr. Pirate Hook, in a realistic version of that story, may have jumped the teen lovers for their car just to drive it to the liquor store and then his girlfriend’s house.

The problem is, and this is the main point of this giant fucking essay, that there is now also considerable related pushback against asylums being scary places. Ironically enough, this is coming not mainly from certifiable and dangerous-to-themselves-or-others type people. This pushback is coming from very well-meaning young adults with anxiety disorders and/or depressive episodes who are very sweet and god bless them I just know for a fact have never EVER seen the inside of one of these fucking places. It is coming from people who don’t want asylums to be seen as scary places because they want the mentally ill to want to go to them. To help them, ostensibly, but a tiny little cynical “fuck everyone” part of me thinks it’s more like to sweep their mess into someone else’s room so they don’t have to fucking handle it.

Now, before I continue, let me stress that the place I was in was a bit renowned for being a terrible shit hole. I’m sure my experience would have been a lot nicer at a suburban 50k a day mansion rehab for celebrities in the hills of Los Angeles. You don’t condemn all hotels in the world because of one particularly traumatic stay at the bumblefuck nowhere clown motel next to the old graveyard (yes that is a real thing), right? And unlike hotels, there’s no such thing as an asylum critic. A lot of people do NEED to be hospitalized for safety, and a lot of people DO, through one method or another, find themselves better off by the end of their stay. And I’m sure the go-to solution for any and all of life’s problems isn’t “tranq them in the ass and throw them in an isolation room” in EVERY hospital. But I get a sneaking suspicion it’s most of them. With that disclaimer out of the way, let’s continue.

Mental hospitals are the most terrifying fucking places in the world. Every time one of my well-meaning friends who’s never been committed says they think a brief hospital stint would do me good, I want to throw a blender at their fucking head. Every one of your relatively well-adjusted but probably on an anti-depressant or anxiety meds guidance counselor and social workers friends will list their good qualities until they’re blue in the face and tell you it’s not at all like the movies and there’s nothing to be scared of. It’s not like the movies, most of the time. Not exactly. But that resort and bond with people who have been through the same thing as you and time to work on yourself and group therapy and art class pitch they sell you on? Yeah, it’s bullshit.

Let’s continue with my story. When I was brought in from the main hospital, they first sent me to acute. I’ve been to county jail, and I’ve been to the acute treatment (read: high risk/high security) wing in an asylum, and I would pick county. Every fucking time. Bless her heart, my patient and long-suffering girlfriend at the time, who had been by my side for the whole process, was sitting next to me and holding my hand as they did the intake survey. They were at least compassionate enough or smart enough to know I would be a lot more placid and manageable with her around to let her stay for the intake process. Outside, the hallway was dark, one guy was on a prison-style wall-mounted phone, some dudes were playing cards, a woman was wandering up and down the hallway....and up and down and up and down and up and down the hallway. And from somewhere, someone was screaming. Not words. Just...screaming. Nobody seemed to do anything about it, see what she was screaming about. I don’t know if it was agony, misery, or fury. Maybe some combination of the three. On and on and on, with breaks seemingly only to get her breath back. I was in the acceptance stage at this point, and was busy shutting down emotional channels one by one and going into survival mode, steeling myself for my stay, but my girlfriend at the time...she looked terrified and broken-hearted. The thought of her leaving a loved one in this windowless pit (this wing, you see, was underground) destroyed her. I could tell. It would me, if I were in her situation. It is a traumatizing situation to be in. There’s no way out, nobody believes anything you say unless you tell them the worst, you can see that woman out in the hall passing back and forth and back in forth in the door window, and someone is screaming like she’s in Hell. Maybe she was.

The screaming was when I first realized an ugly truth and my morals were shaken into a grey zone: people who are mentally ill can be pretty fucking scary. Even if they’re harmless. I never saw that woman or found out why she was screaming. But in that moment, I desperately feared her and hoped I would never find out. It’s easy now for me to look back on her with compassion and pity and feel ashamed for my reaction, wish I could have helped her, but then...I was already in a fragile place. She scared me. And this leads to the next conclusion, even worse. You scare other people, and maybe it’s understandable that they’re scared.

I deeply repress my anger. I have never in my life been violent or had the urge to be, and I don’t plan on changing that. But my anger is repressed. It can take a lot of battering before it shows itself...but when it comes out, it’s in a sudden, explosive, deep-throat scream worthy of a jump scare in a horror movie showing a protagonist is losing his mind and can’t be trusted any more. I usually only get about half a sentence out in this way before I scare myself, my eyes go wide with horror, I clap my hands over my mouth and run out of the room crying. But by then it’s too late. I got so drunk so often I forgot huge chunks of my past and have no idea what I said or did. I emotionally wounded people. I acted unpredictably. I asked to borrow a friend’s cigarette while she was DRIVING, and casually, with no warning, ground it out on my arm. My girlfriend often found me passed out through booze or asphyxiation or covered in blood. Crazy is undeniably scarier to live with than it is to witness, and I often get frustrated when it feels like people don’t remember or fully understand that. But...that doesn’t mean witnessing it isn’t fucking horrible. People were being perfectly rational to be afraid around me. Never afraid OF me, everyone who knows me knows of my physically gentle nature (with others) and desperate desire to be a good person. But they were afraid: afraid of my behavior when I wasn’t in control, of what reckless and insane shit I might do to self-destruct and/or inadvertently hurt people around me.

Thankfully, my intake survey and a nurse who noticed my relatively normal behavior both indicated I should be in the (above-ground!) high-functioning wing, so I was quickly moved there. I never figured out who that scream belonged to. But even in high-functioning...it wasn’t much reprieve. A woman shit the bed, a man fresh out of acute regaled us with stories of getting tranqed and thrown in isolation because he had barricaded himself in his room with all his furniture and berated the orderlies as they tried to force their way in about “you should really bolt the furniture down it’s a safety risk I could be killing myself in here” because he was bored. My only friend in the wing, who I really did like quite a lot and still do even though we fell out of touch, had a roommate who was always acting like she was just on the edge of doing something fucking stupid. Once, her husband smuggled her a shaving razor, which she whipped out in front of my friend, waving it around and threatening to kill herself. When my friend alerted the orderlies, this woman put it (IN ITS CASE I always feel I should clarify) up her pussy to hide it and feigned ignorance, resulting in my friend going to isolation. No tranq though. This was the high-functioning unit, after all.

Your one-on-ones with the psychiatrist were roughly 3-5 minutes in length and consisted of medication questions and asking if you were literally going to beat your head against a wall until you died in the next 15 minutes, otherwise talk about it in group. The more you insisted to this man that you were fine and shouldn’t be here and inquired about the legal status of your incarceration and when you could be released, the worse he thought you were.

There were times to gather and talk about feelings. There was art. Some people were very good at it. Visiting hours. But most of the time was just...sitting. Sitting, bored out of your god damned skull, so bored you might just barricade your room with all of its furniture and laugh and laugh and laugh as the orderlies try to force their way in. The patient man doesn’t need to inflict physical torture to break someone. Isolation and boredom do things to the human mind, maybe sooner, maybe later, but...up there, I said hospitals make a lot of people better. They also make a lot of people worse. Then they have to stay for longer. When they’re finally released, they don’t remember how to live in the normal world and soon end up back inside.

Just like prison. Make no mistake, the asylum is a prison. A prison where nobody believes a god damned word that comes out of your mouth. A prison for people nobody wants to deal with. A prison where they stick you with people whose crazy does NOT fuck with your crazy and you start to think maybe people are right for not wanting to deal with you after all. That’s the worst part of negative emotional reactions to symptoms of mental illness. How god damned much they remind you of yourself. The trauma I mentioned off-hand up there was that my ex from High School may or may not have abused me it’s complicated and fuzzy i don’t remember it’s not important. What is important is a new girl came in once who casually admitted to abusing her boyfriend. I backed away slowly and retreated into a private room, where my one friend had to comfort me. Later, the class clown, Mr. Barricade Tranq-in-the-Ass, made a rape joke in front of her. A rape survivor.

Everyone’s mind breaks in very similar ways, but for very different reasons and with just different enough symptoms and fears and psychotic hatreds that there WILL be people in your unit you fucking hate, whose crazy and yours grind on each other’s gears. There will be people you are afraid of, people you’re stupidly attached to for no reason other than they’re there and nice to you.

Throwing all these people in a hole and throwing away the key does not create an environment conducive to anyone’s mental health. Then, of course, there’s the treatment. Yes, like I said, if you’re willing to petition like 5 people about it and constantly remind them, you may get some good one-on-one time. You may get some good nuggets out of group therapy. You might make nice art. Mostly, though, they cut you off from the outside world and take you away from everything you love and put you with a bunch of potentially terrifying strangers and just fucking leave ya there. To rot.

The problem with mental hospitals is the problem they’ve always had. No, obviously nobody’s head is in a cage and they don’t electrocute and lobotomize you, but the theory is the same. They want you to stop being crazy. But first, and foremost, they want to keep you there and keep you under control. That is the primary goal. Not treatment. Keeping you there and controlled. I suppose if you consider the history of asylums it’s quite humane, but I wasn’t joking up there about the tranqs in the ass.Everything from death threats to trying to pork another patient to getting too lippy with a nurse is treated with the tried and true ass-tranq isolation room. How long will you be in there? Who knows!! Until they remember they put you in there and/or the shit that you’ve smeared on the walls starts to smell.

And all of this leads to the most horrible conclusion of all, the kind that makes people truly lose their minds if they think about it too long in that Lovecraftian/Poe kind of way where your hair turns white: maybe there is no right way to handle mentally ill people, and if there is, we sure as fuck haven’t found it yet.

The mentally ill are oppressed and deserve compassion. Love. Support. But we can also be terrifying to the mentally well, to each other, to ourselves...and forcing all of these people into a cage they don’t want to be in with strangers who they’re irritated with and scared of who are irritated and scared right back at them and leaving them in this weird, artificially constructed, regimented society until you deem them fit to leave is....ha. Well, it’s crazy!. And it is scary. And it can and often does make people worse.

So please, don’t...don’t say mental hospitals shouldn’t be seen as scary or shouldn’t be used in horror. By all means, do it. But do it well. Look to Outlast. See, in Outlast, the set-up is very trite. Big asylum, patients escaped and massacred the staff. But you’re there on a tip that human rights abuses and clandestine experiments were being performed. Most of the inmates are doing vaguely unnerving shit but are harmless, just like a real hospital. Some are just fucking watching TV. And the game is never satisfied with “this guy’s crazy.” Walker, the ‘UGE FUCKIN GOI who everyone’s terrified of has awful PTSD and if you listen to his idle dialogue, is always muttering about containment protocol and stopping the spread of something. And by the end of the game, you realize he might not be as crazy as he seemed, and that the patients massacring the hospital staff was completely understandable and maaaybe even a little bit their own fucking fault. One guy, in an absolutely heart-wrenching and my absolute favorite part of the game, is just sitting broken in a burning kitchen talking about how this place took everything from them because nobody cares about a few abused or dead lunatics, so he’s gonna burn the whole fucking thing down.

You know what it basically comes down to? Most of the crazy people aren’t dangerous. Some are, but the ones that are have clear motivations. Crazy ones, but motivations. Almost like........ooohhh the point emerges REAL FUCKING PEOPLE! Make villains crazy. Well, all right to be honest, it wouldn’t hurt to slow down a bit on that, but I don’t want it to stop entirely. Depict asylums as the Hellish shit holes they are. But for God’s sake, just write mentally ill people like human beings. A human being you can’t understand isn’t the same thing as a non-human. Nobody does things for NO reason at all. If you’re writing a crazy villain, don’t make him evil because he’s crazy and the symptoms of his crazy are being evil; if you’re setting something in an asylum, make sure the horror doesn’t start and end with guys in straightjackets frothing at the mouth and screaming about how they want to fuck whoever’s walking past them in the aorta.

I don’t want the truth about us, our condition, our capacity for harming those around us, or how fucked up it is how society treats us because it has no idea what the fuck it’s doing sanitized because it’s difficult to deal with and there are no clear good guys.

#mental illness #ableism

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kaiju-z · 5 years

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Seon Adventures Episode 15: Dicks and Danger

Following the dramatic conclusion of the Ogre confrontation and the moment of respite under the white willow tree, our party is now back on their feet, all but Burk well rested. As Luctan checks on everyone, he is somewhat worried for Burk, who had spent the entire evening awake and alert, now quite exhausted from this venture.

Checking with the little elf child, Luctan feeds him and, after what a good five to ten minutes of baby jokes (the best kind, really), the party take off on their way to Crystalgate.

By the point, where it would be 2pm-ish is when they reach said town, which, much to some surprised, is a place governed mainly by changelings. The most noticeable is that it just really springs out of nowhere, there’s not a forested area, little bit of trees every now and then. )So, basically, mostly fantasy California town.)

By when they reach the town, Belli even tries to make a baby carrier for Luctan, so he can have a hands free experience, carrying the little one onward. But that doesn’t go perfectly, seeing as they had been in motion during the trip. (But half a sling is still better than none! I believe in you, Belli!)

There are baby shenanigans along the way, trying to feed the crying baby, trying to change his diapers.

What the party immediatelly notice is that the town is mostly made of stone and brick and for every 4-5 buildings, there are tents. From what they learn, given the territory, the folk here work their trade with fishing and the occasional smithing work. It’s where Luctan sells the Ogre clubs, at that, to a beefy looking changeling woman, to whom he shows respect. (Also, fun fact, smithing in Seon is a lot more magical! Local blacksmith use magic rocks and wheels. It’s how Ricardo, the elven blacksmith in the town/village Luctan recuperated in back in the day made the Evenchord sword).

With Luctan in his human form, he doesn’t really understand why the locals are weary of him, seeing as he’s not really aware of the discrimination the people had suffered from mankind over the years, what with changelings’ inate ability to shapeshift into other ‘noid races.

He learns of this, though, thanks to a conversation with an elderly changeling woman, whom he impresses with his politeness, kindness and udnerstanding. He hopes for a time, where they can walk around and not get second glances and suspicion from those, priviledged.

Luctan kisses the woman’s hand, which looks odd to the party, seeing as she had transformed herself into him to express physically what the “problem” was. But Luctan is cool with it. He chill. And carrying a baby, so there’s that.

(At some point, out of character we break down into a discussion on selling the baby, what the going rate would be and the like. The jokes were a plenty, but this gem from the DM will always stick with me: “People, who buy babies aren’t usually good people.” – Lauren, the DM)

At some point, Amelia goes on a walk. Then hears a sound of a tubby orange cat. She looks to the cat. “I would take a 1,000 arrows for you.” (she says in the best voice ever. We stan a legend). The cat nuzzles her and Amelia immediatelly takes the tomcat with her. A soft boi, she dubs “Archie”. ( Amelia is keeping the cat and if anyone has a problem with that, she’s gonna kill ‘em all. )

By the time she comes back to the carriage, after supplies and baby feeding is done, the cat is resting over her shoulders and Belli tries/fails to draw a dick on the back of Luctan’s jacket. (Luctan will remember this. Luctan makes an owl head turn.) And she also rpeats the funny with Mournimar. ( “What the hell is passive perception?!”we joke ooc-ic, when Mournimar, for some reason mentions that in-universe)

One very extatic Belli gives Amelia a ribbon to collar the kitty. And then she tries to pull on Mournimar’s tail, which immediatelly gives Luctan ye ole’ shell shock as he gets back behind the reigns of the carriage, alongside Burk.

As the party carry on, the red tiefling bonds withthe green goblin over their vengeance paths. Luctan apologizes to Burk for taking his kill from him, by asking Ficus to remove the tiefling. Burk is fine, either way, asl ong as the guy’s dead. As recompence, Luctan offers Burk a pick from any of the remaining three, aside of Landis. Landis was his to deal with. And Burk is fine with this.

On their way out of Pollum, on the first day on the Winding Path, they find a separation at the river. Based on the rainy temperature, this close to the ocean, the water’s more hydrated, so the roots are darker. There’s a lot more shade in the area.

As they make their way on the path, Perception check time.

With Mournimar’s 20, they immediatelly notice “it”. A very large clump of roots on the way. Part of it seems to twitch. Resolute, the Tiefling Ranger makes his way to inspect.

It is the big mistake that almost costs him his life, however.

Because as he gets close enough, a root tries to grapple Mournimar, Mournimar manages to dodge as a bizzare looking skull comes out from between the darkened roots and looks him in the eye. With the ferocity of a graboid, by way of a messed up tentacle nightmare, the skulled creature screeches a large and mighty screech.

The tree is actually a tree monster. And it wants those tasty tiefling meats.

And this? This signifies the start of the fight. First in line is Mournimar (Both tieflings rolled a 20, but Mournimar’s passive skills are much higher, so it’s his turn first)!

Retaliating for the damage he took from the whipping vines, Mournimar immediatelly discharges his hellish rebuke and unsheathes his blades, striking wild and true, chopping at the creature. One strike, after the other!

No mercy with those sword strikes, as Mournimar occupies the attention of this hellbeast, while Luctan places the baby in the back of the carriage and charges forward, taking his full 30ft of movement, before aiming and discharging a couple of shots with his crossbow (DAVID CROSSBOWIE!!!)

He can tell, from some of the reading he had done. This thing is not Abyssal, like the Kenku. It’s a local realm monster. It’s nothing like he’s seen from the books, but judging by his knowledge, it doesn’t see, but feel movement.

He calls for Mournimar to get out of the thing’s range, believing his archery skills will do him better against it.

As Mournimar gets warned by Luck, he backs away, only to be caught by the thing. He feels his body pulled back and grappled. Necrotic power drains some of his essense as he gets flailed around like a ragdoll, screaming in horror. . The thing looks as it almost gains back some of the damage it took. It tries to squeeze Mournimar like a slim jim, basically.

All the while, using it’s other vines, the beast tries to strike at Luctan, but the fighter dexterously dodges out of the way, only taking whipping attacks, as opposed to getting full blown caught by the beast.

Enraged, Luctan’s eyes glow as he makes a cutting motion across his throat and casts Hellish Rebuke. Though it does cause certain pain to the beast, it still retaliates, striking the fighter again and again, bludgeoning him, while he keeps his posture. If not for his armor, Luctan thinks at this point that he’d be far more bruised than what he’d be by the end.

Mournimar then gets slammed against the ground and is stunned until the creature’s next turn. As the action continues, Ficus and Morgan hear shuffling and alert the rest to the cliff on the right of their path. Soemthing’s coming. What that is, they’re not certain ,though.

Morgan, being the good dire wolf he is, takes the elf baby and moves a fair distance away from the carriage, alongside Rimefang and Archie, as their moms and dads go fo deal with this disaster.

Ficus makes a move, north west from Luck, where he gets his Dash action on to get to a point, attempting to throw some daggers at it, at a disadvantage. The dagger, the first one, misses, but the second one certainly hits as he sneakily strikes the creature, compensating for the initial failure...

Worried for her adoptive brother, - Belli gets close to danger and tries to cast sleep on the creature. Sadly, the thing is not yet close to a low enough damage and just shakes off the drowsiness.

A desperate Belli winds up giving Mournimar inspiration with the help of All-Star.

The blue fist’s turn, next, Amelia makes a dash and throws two darts at the creature, while maneuvering between it and the cliffside. Given the noise, she can definitely tell that anothero ne of these things is fast approaching.

Burk rages and charges the tentacles, throwing a javelin at the creature. With a small person fury, the creature gets struck. With the power of another javelin, he hits the fucker again.

With Mournimar unmoving, he gets lifted around and waved by the creature. Mournimar screams for help as Luctan charges in with shortswords East Ender and West Wounder.

Determined to rescue his taller friend, Luctan reverse grips the blades and leaps at the monster. Slash, slash, slash, slash! There is no mercy at the hand of the crimson fighter as he slices up the monster in a flurry. The closer he gets, the more he resembles a sentient blender, spinning the swords like a dual blade (or a light saber staff. Or Agni and Rudra from Devil May Cry 3), until he gets to the beast’s head.

In a swift motion, Luctan goes 3 for 3 and decapitates the monster, he would later learn was referred to as a Flurry.

Once the monster appears dead, Luctan wastes no time and carries Mournimar back to the carriage. And just in time as the second one climbs over and proceeds to contine from where it’s compatriot had begun.

Not noticing Amelia, however, it walks around her, allowing itself to be struck by the Air Genasi Monk .For that, the monster tries to catch her. Realizing the threat, it It grapples Amelia and she fails to save herself as she suffers the same kind of damage as Mournimar had before her.

Seeing Burk as close by, it reaches and takes him in it’s grip as well, immobilising the raging barbarian. With it’s last attack, it attempts to catch the source of it’s companion’s death, but Luctan moves just far back enough to only feel the whipping strike of the Flurry.

Frustrated, the monster screeches and a terrified Ficus goes to grab and yeet his daggers. Though, because he’s in range, he almost gets caught. The first time. He then gets hit and minimal damage to the helpful boy.

A desperate Belli tries to use Shatter on the thing, wanting to rescue her family and friends. With It takes 7 damage at the noise of “Baby Baby Baby”.

The tieflings try to convince Belli to step back. But she refuses to get out of the way. But she refuses to give ground. From where she is, all she can do is just give inspiration to Burk as Amelia’s attempts to fight in this grappled state.

Pulling her darts out, she flings them, one after the other, missing and hitting respectively, at the back of the thing’s roots, only causing it further anger.

Raging, still, Burk brings out the pain axes and starts going Lumberjack on the Flurry! Strike after strike, after strike, after strike, Burk smashes the thing with the axe, bringing a hell of a lot of damage and by the end, with addition of the armor, Burk deals 33 damage. Though injured, this pisses the monster off all the more.

Amelia manages to free herself, thanks to Burk’s distraction, but this all the more inconveniences the green ball of rage, as the attention on him keeps him from suceeding as well.

Leaping out of the carriage, Mournimar makes some distance, sheathing his blades and pulling out Savon’s Bow. The bow, gifted to him by the centaur of the same name.

Thanking Luctan, Mournimar aims and fires arrow, after arrow, sending them flying true into the tangly body of the horror show the party was having to deal with right now.

On Luctan’s turn, he starts chopping like a madman. Several brutal strikes with both East Ender and West Wounder, missing only twice

The angry creature attacks with, appropriately, a flurry of tentacle attacks.

Amelia gets smashed, Burk gets grounded, Luctan gets whipped, but not grappled and poor Ficus gets captured and critically knocked around by the beast’s powers.

Limp, in it’s grasp, Ficus goes unconscious and steps close to death’s door.

Belli refuses to let her older brother, her last remaining blood family, die!

With the power of her healing words, she brings him back to consciousness and, now very muc pissed off by the abomination’s horrific actions so far, she mocks it. Viciously. With all the force that the Vicious Mockery entails as the creature just. Looks legitimately downtrodden by her commentary and releases her from it’s grip.

With her free, Luck begs her to move back to safety as Amelia can, but only throw her darts again and again. The impact causes a crack to appear at the back of the beast’s skull, forcing it to shriek wildly and madly.

It flails, both Amelia and Burk, forcing the monk into an unconscious state and Burk to suffer all the damage he can, due to his gripped and stunned self.

In retaliation, Mournimar fires the bow again and connects with one of two arrows.

And it is then that Luctan brings the end to the battle.

East Ender and Westwounder in hand, he starts jumping up the thing’s tentacle limbs, cutting, slashing and chopping as he closes in on the monster’s head. And much like it’s twin, he removes said head after a spinning slash attack.

The monster falls in a gore of it’s blood and vines, while Luctan lands. He wastes no time and runs over to Amelia, who, along with Ficus, have suffered strange black scarring from the monster’s attacks.

Luctan pulls out his Greater Restoration potion and feeds it to the blue monk, bringing her back to consciousness, before taking her back to the carriage.

Eveyrone comes together at their vehicle and the party proceeds to make mild recuperations as they try to get their bearings, over what had just happened.

Arguments go around between Mournimar, Belli and Ficus over who should drink potions, with the boys much more wanting her to have herself a drink. All the while this happens, a vengeful Rimefang flies over to the remains of the second Flurry and gives it a good slapping with his tail as payback for all the hurt it had put on his green papa.

While Belli brings out Orion as a comfort animal for herself and Amelia, alongside Archie’s presence, Luctan makes sure to calm the elf baby with funny faces and voices, seeing as this had been the second time the little one had to deal with terrifying noises and the sounds of violence.

He manages to calm him down, before handing him over to Amelia.

Tired, but determined, he goes to inspect the monsters for any possible loot or identification. He eventually returns, having collected Amelia’s darts and Burk’s javelins, handing them to their respective owners, before he brings out the amulet he had found on one of the things.

Possibly from a previous meal, they identify the amulet as belonging to a follower of Keemis, the goddess of Birth and Death. A snake, eating it’s own tail, the cycle of life.

Luctan decides to keep the pendant for now, until further prodding, as they collectively agree to just. Get the fuck out of here.

He takes the baby and the reigns, accepting the thanks from his friends. Though they were not necessary. It was the right thing to do, of course. Dive in head first and chop like a mad hatchetman at these monsters, all to free his fellows.

With four heads now occupying the Bag of Colding, Luctan decides to ask the next town over about a follower of Keemis going missing or something along those lines. Maybe get some feedback on the monsters themselves and if there is something they need to worry about, regarding Amelia and Ficus’ injuries.

It takes a while, but at some point, along the way, they reach a hill, servicable for camping. Tired, bruised and beaten up, but victorious, they settle down for the evening, with a fire and food, deciding on the turns of watch service.

Luctan and Amelia go first and, while everyone gets situated and napping, Amelia approaches Luctan.

Amelia thanks Luck for what he did during the fight. He just says she’d do the same. During their conversation, Luctan admits that he doesn’t follow any of the gods. Legal or Illegal. He doesn’t appreciate their inactivity and allowing things to happen as they do. He muses on how they became gods and on the future he wants to bring to the little one. Amelia agrees that there needs to be justice for him and that they will do the best they can.

He thinks of the amulet he has, considering to give it to Amelia. But decides to hold onto it for now. Seeing as he speant his for on her, Amelia hands Luctan a Normal healing potion (2d4+2).

As their watch ends, Luctan brngs Mournimar up and awake to have a go at night watch.

With the two sleeping, Mournimar has a conversation, bonding with Ficus. They discuss today’s battle and the pain they had experienced. Mournimar is at least glad that he will know how to fight them from this point onward.

Nodding, Ficus thanks Mournimar for protecting Belli and gives him a thumbs up, awkwardly. Honestly, Mourni would give his entire life for Belli, ok?! He’ll make sure she gets her happy ending.

Matter of factly, Ficus tells Mournimar he set up an alarm system, around the area they resided, in case someone tried to attack them again. (Hell yeah, Alarm!)

They agree that there is too much cult activity, yo. The two bond over their family woes. Mournimar wishes his father was still alive. Having Mourni’s backstory is not fun. He hopes his dad miraculously survived and he just didn’t stick around to see if that was the case.

Mournimar has his head stuck in the past, Ficus states. “Don’t let the things you had make you forget what you have now.” After this wisdom from the Half-Orc rogue, the two seperate for rest times. Ficus evidently still very sore from all the damage he took. And Mournimar tries to eliviate some of that, curing the man of some wounds.

Burk’s watch comes next and frankly? He isn’t impressed by the time he spends awake. It’s nice, quiet and peaceful. Or as he would consider it - boring. With a sleepy Rimefang at his side, Burk just waits until dailight slowly approaches, to wake Belli for her turn, seeing as she always usually takes the last one, for her chef duties.

And creates French Toast. NARAH TOAST!

With the party waking, they can agree on a few things.

They still feel stiff from the previous night, they are much closer to Crystalgate... And they feel they’ve learned somethings, along the way.

Why?

Because the party is now Level 7!

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