#like he may seem blocky but the eyes!! they tell you he's soft | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

singtotheskiies · 3 years

Text

uneasy lies the head // five hargreeves x reader

summary: all those years of hunting and plotting and denial were bound to catch up with five sometime—but you’re going to do everything you can to keep the ghosts of the past at bay.

words: 1398

warnings: slight panic/anxiety attack, emotional distress, brief mentions of murder

a/n: surprise, surprise! i’m back at it again with the five fics😎😎 this one’s more of an unplanned, plotless hurt/comfort scenario; hopefully y’all like it okay!! also, please message me with any requests you may have!! these hargreeves deserve loVE, and we need to give it to them!!!!!

✖️✖️✖️

Five is sitting on a couch—your couch, to be more specific.

Nothing else. Just sitting.

But something about the action doesn’t feel right to him.

You’re in the kitchen, humming softly to yourself as you find some snacks for the movie pulled up on the living room screen. Normally, he’d feel a tug at his heart at your sweetness, but tonight—something’s wrong.

His thoughts aren’t going where he wants them to; they’re messy and blocky, colliding with each other. Past failures, faces of victims, and pressures and manipulations are all choosing this exact moment to swirl up from a secret place in his mind where he’s tamped them down all these years. He shakes his head (what good will it do him?), bringing his trembling fingers up to his face to rub at his eyes. As his fingertips reach his rapidly blinking lids, he’s surprised to find that there’s wetness trailing down his cheeks. He ducks his head, suddenly unable to breathe, and his backs of his hands are drowning in salt water (or is it blood?) and he just needs to get up but his legs are lead—

“Five?” Your voice, small, from the doorway.

Again: “Oh, Five.”

Next thing he knows, you’re kneeling in front of him, taking his hands softly in your own and moving them, together, down to his lap. He meets your eyes and stiffens—just for the briefest instant.

And then, years and years of false confidence and murder and trauma and never quite getting there are let loose as he sobs.

✖️✖️✖️

You instantly know that something’s wrong when you see Five motionless on the couch, slumped over with his head in his hands. Dropping the food in your hands on a nearby table, you rush across the room to him, kneeling down in an attempt to see his face. His hands are covering it, and you gently guide his shaking fingers to his lap so that you can see what’s going on.

The green eyes you love so much are brimming with tears as they meet your gaze. Five stiffens for the briefest moment—no doubt a habit from years of refusing to show vulnerability—but then decides against himself and redoubles his sobs.

“Come here, baby,” you whisper, sitting yourself next to him and wrapping his shaking frame in your arms. He weeps into your shoulder quietly, his silent agony broken by the occasional sniffle or ragged breath. After several long moments, you feel his lips moving against your shirt, repeating a phrase you can’t quite make out at first.

Then— “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m s—“

“Shhh,” you tell him. “I’ve got you.” His tears redouble, his words breaking up as they’re replaced with heaving sobs. His body shakes sorrowfully against yours, and your heart breaks as you smooth a hand through his soft, straight hair. The feeling of your fingers seems to ground him—his breathing evens out a bit, and after a while of you stroking his head gently, he lifts his head up from your shoulder. He doesn’t meet your eyes at first, but you put a gentle hand on his cheek and he hesitantly finds your gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he starts, his voice raw.

“No apologies,” you cut in, but his eyes plead with you.

“No, I am sorry. I—I don’t know why this happened, I just—“ His brow furrows again, a few more tears leaking down his cheeks. “All these years of having to be the strong one, having to know what I’m doing at all times, the—the killing—“ He trails off, looking at you with eyes so sad that you feel tears coming to your own.

“I’m just as scared as everyone else,” he continues. “I might know more, technically be older, but—I still feel powerless. Trying to be the voice of reason, knowing all the things I know—that doesn’t keep the nightmares away.” His eyes well up again, and you hold onto his hand a little tighter. “And then there’s you—you don’t deserve to be put through this; you deserve someone who doesn’t have decades of trauma and who hasn’t killed hundreds of people and—“ He breaks down again, too much emotion coursing through him to keep going. You let him cry it out again, waiting until he’s quieted down a bit to start talking.

“Five, I cannot begin to imagine what your life has done to you emotionally. But I can see you in front of me and you’re scared and sad and lost. I can’t undo what’s happened to you, but I can try and help a little right now, okay? Will you let me do that for you?”

He nods, sniffling, his eyes still watering at intervals.

“Do me a favor, okay?” You ask, cupping his cheek in your hand. He leans into your touch, brow furrowing in desperate relief. “We’re not gonna focus on the big, scary fears right now. I’m going to talk to you about little things, so just listen to my voice.” Five nods again, and you smile sweetly at him. He weakly returns the gesture.

“There’s that smile I love so much,” you say, kissing the faint outline of his dimple with as much tenderness as you have in you. He looks at you with so much love that his tear-filled eyes burn a quiet hole in your chest.

“Your eyes are so beautiful, too,” you smile. “They’ve seen so much, but they can still look at me like you are right now.” You press feather-light kisses on each eyelid, feeling his long lashes flutter against your lips as he sighs in contentment.

“Your freckles are so sweet,” you continue, kissing each one on his cheeks. “And I love your forehead, too. The mind inside of it is so incredibly beautiful and complex.” Your lips meet the space between his brows, and he releases a quiet outline of a chuckle as you keep going.

“Don’t even start me on your hair,” you laugh. “Even when you’re a sweaty mess, it still looks perfect. I gotta admire you for that,” you say, bringing a hand up to brush back a few strands that have fallen in his eyes. Five sighs as your fingers touch his skin, and you take a few moments to softly comb through his hair. You know how much he loves it, even if he won’t admit it.

“Your ears and nose are adorable,” you say, kissing them as you speak. A little shudder runs though Five’s body as you whisper in his right ear. It’s always a sensitive spot for him, and you giggle along with him at his reaction. “Your jaw is absolutely stunning,” you continue, pressing your mouth gently to the underside of his smooth, strong face. “I especially love where it meets your neck,” you grin, nosing at the mentioned hollows before placing delicate pecks there. Five lets out a shuddering breath, neck arching to allow you better access. You kiss your way down to his collarbone, running your fingers lightly over the strong line. After giving the area some attention, your fingers move to latch onto his.

“I could talk about your hands for hours,” you say, admiring the firm yet delicate lines of his knuckles and fingers.

“I wish you would,” he whispers mid-wrist kiss, so quietly you can barely hear him.

“Someday I will,” you promise, and as you lavish each knuckle with attention, you marvel at the boy coming undone in front of you. The snarky facade everyone is used to seeing is completely gone, leaving a child, really, who just wants to be loved. The heady power emanating from each soft breath and tiny smile channels itself straight to your heart. Looking upon him, this boy out of time who has chosen your shirt to wet with his tears—you can’t help but feel as though this is exactly where you were meant to be.

You release his hands softly, moving your own to cup his cheeks. Slowly, inevitably, you connect first your foreheads and then your mouths. As your lips fall together, you feel a tear slide from Five’s cheek to yours. Drawing back a fraction, you ask, “What is it, baby?”

Something in you already knows his response, but that doesn’t stop his words from resonating deep, deep within you after he’s spoken them against your mouth.

“Just love you.”

And the air dims down.

#five hargreeves #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves imagine #number five #number five x reader #number five imagine #aidan gallagher #aidan gallagher x reader #aidan gallagher imagine #the umbrella academy #tua #tua x reader #tua imagine #umbrella academy x reader #umbrella academy imagine #angst #fluff #fanfic #hurt/comfort

481 notes · View notes

jostepherjoestar · 3 years

Text

An Educational Favour VII

ENDING!

NOTsfw // FEM! reader & pronouns

warnings/notes: 18+ content, minors dni, risotto x reader alone finally, interc0urse, soft, romantic, intimate, face riding, scent kink? a little, squirting (kind of), ris is a service top don’t @ me, aftercare with ris, u can read into what risotto is trying to say/do readers 👀

part 1- 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7

PART VII: 🖤Risotto🖤

It took some time to finally assess what you’d learned over the span of time since starting your educational adventure with your colleagues. After every session you had been left with your own thoughts, albeit in a haze, but it gave you time to relax and reflect. Illuso taught you to be confident and ask for what you want and shy Pesci made you put those communication skills to good use as you received one of the most intense orgasms you’d ever experienced. Damn that man has some great skills; it still makes you shudder to think back to your thighs clamped around his face, trembling in pleasure. Ghiaccio showed you how fun it could be to be hammered into the mattress while also desperately trying to make your capo feel good. Unlike Formaggio, who let the slow tempo take over and took his time to make you feel amazing. Then Melone who wasn’t afraid to get involved with Risotto as well, to let inhibitions go and indulge together. And your last, Prosciutto, showing you what it takes to handle being an obedient sub, which may or may not have gone just as rough as you had hoped. It had been very educational to say the least but it also made you realise how much you appreciated Risotto’s care. He’d been there the whole way through, getting his needs met in a different way, building up even more patience and strength. Maybe that’s what he’d taught you: sometimes the wait is worth it. And oh God did you want the wait to be over! It had been a month since your last lesson, the roughest so far, and you ached to be intimate again. This time with the very man you’d been craving since the start: Risotto.

For a while you pondered if you should just ask one of your teammates to help satiate that yearning, but it felt unfair. Everyone’s had their fun with you, except Risotto. So you remained patient, sure that your broody capo was very busy and trying to find the right time to squeeze you into his packed schedule. But the days kept dragging on, every call for a meeting squashing your hopes and desires when its subject was merely a new hit.

Over the few weeks you had been waiting you tried your very best to go the extra mile; willingly taking on a big chunk of paperwork so Risotto didn’t have to work such long nights, cleaning up his office, bringing him drinks and snacks throughout the day. It didn’t go unnoticed or unappreciated but his thanks were never more than just the word and a nod. He tried to hide his usual broody manner from lifting when you were around. His shoulders would relax and the tight grip on his pen would ease up, that little crease knitting his lovely brows together becoming ever so slightly less dented as he could breathe a soft sigh of relief with you near. Of course he won’t tell, or rather show you just how much he appreciates all you do for him; at least not yet.

If Risotto was truthful to himself, the wait wasn’t a planned one. Work kept piling up and your tired capo needed every bit of rest he could grasp. Knowing how good and obedient you had been with Prosciutto, Risotto knew you could handle it; well at least a bit. Your dark eyed superior wasn’t planning on anything as extreme as the former session, quite the opposite actually. He needed it to be perfect: the right day, the right mood and the right time.

And if your capo was being even more truthful to himself, his thoughts were starting to turn on him. He would be your last lesson. And the last of his men that had already quite successfully showed you how well they could indulge that eager curiosity. The final. The pressure of having to somehow top all other orgasms, top all other deep thrusts and caresses… it nagged at his mind. Pulling at the smallest insecurities that he’d freeze up when he finally had you all to himself. That he won’t be as amazing as your depraved fantasies had conjured him up to be. Even your lovely smile, your eyes that glimmered and had fireworks sparking behind them with every quick glance could only ease his mind so much.

The great Risotto Nero doubted his own expertise. The imposing, brooding, domineering capo fighting his very own powerful battle under that silly little jingly hat. Oh, what have you done to him?

For once you weren’t busy, lounging on the couch in the shared living room resting next to Melone. He’s become a bit of a confidant since your night with him, lending his ears so you could air any of your worries and more than gladly airing his own to you. Along with lots of jokes and talks late into the night, the whole ordeal had brought you closer to the usually more emotionally distant man. He’d opened up a lot more which you greatly appreciated since he’d already known so much about you.

At the moment you were just enjoying your rest, the tv in the background offering ambient noise as you nearly drifted off from the relaxed atmosphere, still a bit tired from your previous hit that strained your body. Melone idly talked about anything and nothing, the cadence of his smooth voice bringing you closer and closer to sleep. Your eyes fluttered shut for what felt like mere seconds but as it turns out you’d been taking a nap for a little while.

You were roused from the comfort of slumber by strong arms holding you close to their owner’s chest which felt well built and defined. They felt somewhat familiar in your haze, not sure if it was Melone. Too tired to really care you mumbled some indiscernible babbling, trying to thank whoever it was that so kindly laid you down on your bed.

Wait. This wasn’t your bed, the covers felt satiny, too soft and slippery to be your own thick comforter you liked to huddle in. It smelled completely different too. It smelled like… Risotto. You turned and breathed into the soft pillow, moaning in satisfaction as his smell engulfed your senses making your head feel even foggier. If you could bathe in it, you gladly would. Drenched in the most wonderful essence that clouded your thoughts in a hazy bliss.

“Mhh Ris? S’that you?” you mumbled sweetly as you came up for air, slowly opening your eyes again to assess the room you were currently in. You sat up a little, supported on your elbows, blinking at the darker hues of his surprisingly monochromatic interior. Furniture remained a dark stained wood, nearing a cool black while the walls were kept a light grey offering a lighter feel to the heavier placements of his blocky closet and bed. It was simple and straightforward, offering a seeming simplicity that contained more than it let on.

The room only lit by the soft light of the setting sun that streamed through his thinly veiled windows. As you scanned the room for any sign of him you felt a large figure loom right next to you, a little ways past the square bedside table. “Oh there you are.” A small smile gracing your lovely features, eyes meeting his darker ones that glistened with a certain excitedness you hadn’t seen before. Risotto was getting easier to read as time went on, small hints becoming clearer to his mood and thoughts, leading you to connect the dots on your own.

“All my meetings got cancelled for the day. Our boss had a sudden personal emergency.” his voice rang out even deeper than usual, the sound shivering through your core and straight into the slick building between your thighs. There was a certain relieved salacious hint to his tone, indicating it was finally time to get ravished. The long wait was finally over.

Heat rushed to your cheeks in abandon as the realisation set in. Risotto moved from his previous spot to cage you in his form, denting the mattress further with his added weight. His domineering figure offered no way out from under him, a dark gaze glued to yours as he drank in your expression. So cute and flustered, eyes wide in anticipation, a single touch could melt you. Risotto’s previous anxieties and insecurities were hushed and silenced by your innocent little stare, reminded of just how much he wanted you. Somehow you had still retained a sliver of chasteness, even after your trail of debauchery.

You swallowed thickly, too intoxicated and mesmerised by the realisation of the situation to initiate any further action. Even now you’d gladly wait for your patient capo to strike. “Wh-what are we doing today, Risotto?” Throat starting to feel dry under his continued glare, afraid to lick your plump lips to wet them again.

Risotto inched closer, his beautifully angular jaw relaxed of any previous stress moving ever closer to meet you just a breath away. Lingering over your lips he breathed in gently, as if sniffing his favourite cabernet sauvignon, basking in its essence but only for it to be yours. The one he’s smelled over and over but could never fully take in, for it was never yours alone, there was always another muddling your true essence.

“So sweet…” he mumbled, his breath tickling your lips that ached to meet his, to finally get engulfed by the man you’d craved for so long. Deciding to take a sip, sampling his sweet summer wine, his lips finally met yours. They were soft, softer than expected. Even more unexpected is how carefully he moved them against yours. For a moment he roamed cautiously as if to make sure this was really happening. You were glad he kept his pace slow, his deep kiss nearing a full short circuit of all your brain functions.

Never had you felt this before, an act so common making you feel like you’d entered the gates of heaven itself to be engulfed by anything you’d ever dreamed of. You matched his tempo, letting his tongue linger between your lips, offering a way in if he so liked. And he did, moving it with similar care and motivation, tenderly taking the lead but only to please you further. A moan escaped into his mouth, vibrating through him while your hand reached up to caress the side of his face, into his hair. He’d already forgone his usual hat, letting his silvery locks roam free. He leaned into your touch, gently rubbing a small thumb across his cheekbones and jawline. Mapping out his features in case you’d ever forget.

It made him break his kiss, slowly letting your head fall back into the pillow, admiring how plump your lips had gotten and how he’d love for them to never leave his again. No words were needed to communicate, your bodies told stories and iliads by themselves like they had been doing it for ages.

You both regained your breaths, continuing to drink up each other's flustered expressions. He looked so at ease, so at home, it made you wish he could feel like this forever. As if you weighed nothing more than a feather, he curled his arms beneath you and hoisted you up into him, cradling you and letting you wrap your legs around his hips.

To your surprise he fell onto his back, returning to his lustrous dark satin sheets with you resting on his hips. He never for a moment looked smaller or any less in charge, leading the way of your movements, knowing just what to do and how it could please you. You felt yourself get more and more excited as time went by. Your core feeling ready to explode before much was even done. You rested your hands on his chest, feeling his large length strain against his trousers, a reminder of your final challenge.

Your cheeky streak never left you, not even in this thick heavy fog of desire that seemed to permeate your very beings. You shifted in your seat to rub your clothed wetness against his aching length. The movement alone made him slightly hitch his breath, eyebrow twitching up in a playful manner to ask if you knew what type of game you’d gotten yourself into. You smirked back to let him know just how ready you’ve been to start, commencing once again with a snap of your hips. The move itself making you shiver out a moan as his girth slid perfectly between your folds, rubbing deliciously against your sore clit.

It was as if the sound awakened a new sense of hunger in the man underneath you, his eyes glazed over in lust knowing that his cock made you mewl so sweetly. That only he could truly satisfy that hunger you’ve been trying to satiate with his teammates. The thought alone made his cock twitch, springing him back into action with a great need to hear you whimper out his name.

He lifted himself up to meet your cute little face again, a sit up so casual like it caused his muscled core no effort. You couldn’t help yourself, bringing your lips back to his for a hurried kiss, a quick one to settle the craving. “Get undressed, you’re riding my face.” he demanded, kissing your jaw. His voice so closely against your neck sending yet another jolt of pleasure straight through you. Walls clenching around nothingness and awaiting his tongue.

You quickly undressed, discarding your clothes as fast as possible while trying not to look all too desperate, which was quite difficult because of his previous order to ride his face. He took off his top slow and deliberate, letting you gawk at his muscled arms and torso as they contorted. Risotto bathed in the attention, normally not one to overtly want people to stare or to crave others’ attention that much. But watching your eyes rake over his torso, your eager little glint shining brighter than any light in the room only made him want to indulge you more.

For now he’d keep his trousers on, taking in your lovely form that sat on his hips. Your plush thighs spilling over him so invitingly, the curve of your sides leading the way to your breasts that lay sweetly against your ribcage, nipples stiffened from all the excitement. He wanted to cherish every single bit of you, give every patch of soft skin the attention it deserved. If he was lucky enough he’d get the time today, and many times after to complete that wish.

It didn’t feel embarrassing to let him stare at you, his crimson eyes were so gentle when they took you in, engraving every curve and mound into his memories. Surprised that there could be even more appreciation for you than previously thought.

Risotto’s large hand reached for your hip, taking in your shape and giving it a soft knead, as if to feel how pliable you were. His touch made your skin tingle, heated sparks spreading in pools around his digits. His other hand moved parallel, assessing the very handles he’ll be holding onto in a minute. “Come on then.” he smirked up at you, his dimple presenting itself so cutely. You felt like you could pass away at how adorable his smutty request was and how casual it felt to talk to your capo in such a way. Any shame or embarrassment just simply not invited to this party.

You did as you were told, positioning yourself right above his face, caging in his head like you’d done before to dear Pesci. Maybe today you’d writhe and moan in such pleasure again, the naughty thoughts sinking you down without Risotto even needing to guide you. It made him chuckle deeply into you as his mouth met your dripping folds, the ripples of his voice tickling you.

He began to lap at you, drinking up all of your sweet essence like it was his last glass of beloved cabernet. His tongue moving with the same care as before, tracing around your clit before giving it a suck with his lips, the aching bud of nerves already hardened with pleasure. You moaned at his ministrations, clamping your thighs while he worked you, bucking your hips rhythmically; setting a comforting pace. Risotto moved in tandem, holding onto your hips like before but gripping them tighter with his large palms, fingers digging into your gorgeous form. Hot breaths swiped at your mound, a dragon breathing steam out of his nose while he softly grunted into you. You felt even more slick trickle down, glad to hear him let go like he has before and not be afraid to be heard. You loved hearing how much he was enjoying himself.

Just like many times before, heat started rising, orgasm near and bringing in tsunamis of pleasure that crashed wildly at your insides, your head reaching new heights of haziness. “Fuck Risotto-” you got out the words between ragged pants and mewls, feeling your walls tighten around his tongue that would dip in from time to time to skillfully work inside. “M gonna come sh-it!” you hunched over to grasp at the sheets for any semblance of support, no place to hold onto the bed frame since it was just out of reach. As you snapped your hips a few more times, Risotto focussing all his attention on working you into a dizzying orgasm, you came on his face. A new sensation washing over you along with the pleasure of your peak, a gushing of sorts that made you moan out his name even louder while your legs trembled around his head.

The silken fabric was too soft, not giving you any grip whatsoever, having to support yourself on your hands while sparks rippled through every crevice of your being. And Risotto had no plans of stopping, keeping up his pace and gladly licking up all your juices, having felt him growl into you when you gushed over his face. You had stopped rocking now, too focused on remaining seated; panting and trying your best not to collapse into the mattress as he kept eating you out.

Risotto ingrained every single bit of your movements and the way he could make you squirm and tremble under his attention. How you yelped out his name during worn breaths, how your thighs and core were overheating from pleasure. He was making you feel this way and no one else for once. At this moment his only job was to make you come again, knowing how quickly you could be urged into your next orgasm if he just kept going. You weren’t the only one learning stuff on this educational favour.

With another strong swirl and suck on your overstimulated clit, your second orgasm was brought on. It made you fall onto the mattress, twitching as you lifted your hips away from his face to catch your breath. The cool air offering some sort of relief while your walls anxiously clasped around empty space. Risotto could finally breathe properly again, not that he wished to be doing anything other than servicing you, cursing his lungs for needing air. His chin and mouth were completely covered in your abundant slick; something he took in pride.

You slowly moved off of him completely, chests both rising and falling deeply. The only sound filling the room was that of your combined heavy breathing. For a moment laying there, relishing in the ambience of pleasure, realising that you were getting what you had wanted. You felt relieved, thankful that he’d made you wait because somehow it made it all the better. And getting in some experience certainly helped too.

“Please fuck me.” you plainly said, reminded of the first time you’d asked him and how nervous you felt, all of that gone now. You heard him breathe out a chuckle, making you turn your head to see why he thought it so amusing of you to ask such a thing. “What’s so funny Risotto?” you asked, smiling at his glistening lower face, wiping off the remainder with his sheets. You’ll just wash them later.

“You still think I’ll just fuck you.” he replied as casually as you’d asked. His facade did not let on any sort of humouring which made your stomach sink and eyes widen. What? Was he not going to fuck you? Your thoughts started spiralling into a panic, propping yourself up to question him further. But you couldn’t even do so, with one swift move he was back on top of you, caging you underneath him with that crimson glare boring through yours.

“I won’t just fuck you gattina.” he intoned, delicately moving a strand of hair back in place while speaking. He leaned back in close now, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear as he breathed out. “We’re going to make love. It’s your last lesson.” he purred, starting a trail of soft wet kisses from your jawline all the way down to your neck and collarbones. You still remained shocked, at least glad that he didn’t mean to reject you.

You were stumped. All that was somehow still a very smooth move despite scaring the actual shit out of you. You huffed out a relieved laugh now too. “You scared me for a second, Ris!” He was steadily working his way down to your chest, letting him take one of your breasts into his hand to knead it and sucking on the pert nipple of the other. His grip was strong but still careful, making sure to massage them just enough to hear your breath hitch. “I’d never leave you hanging high and dry. Unless you’d want me to.” you could feel him smile against your skin; the mischievous bastard. You playfully tugged at his silver locks, dark eyes shooting you a gorgeous smile that pierced right through you and melted your heart. He really was a bastard!

Your heart had settled back into its place, ready to continue and forget all about the short little panic he’d caused you. Guess that was just a bit more payback for testing his patience and strength throughout the sessions.

Risotto halted his succession of pecks right above your ribs, planting a trail where your bra usually made its home and planted a few more wet kisses over the indents that still marked your skin. Like his lips would make them fade and replace them with a loving memory of his touch. You could only stare at his deliberate movements, enamoured by the way he gently held onto your sides while he kissed you sweetly. You were squirming under him, trying your best to not ask him again to plow you into the mattress because by now you knew better; he’ll get to it. Eventually.

You sighed in satisfaction when he stopped, his thick fingers now moving downwards just above your mound. He ghosted over the area, digits barely felt which made goosebumps rise all over, a small yelp leaving your lips at the soft graze. He moved further down, dipping between your soaking folds carefully, avoiding any touch to your overworked bud which still ached to be stimulated again. A single finger slid inside your amply drenched hole now, pumping in and out of you at a slow pace.

Risotto looked up at you, meeting that expression he so loved to see. Lips slightly parted, a soft wet sheen over your forehead from your orgasms, cheeks that remained heated and puffy from arousal. With every thrust he heard a soft moan escape, eyes crinkled shut while he hit further and deeper inside of you with every push. The way your eyes shot open again as he entered another finger, the thickness of them stretching you open further. It felt amazingly tender to have him take all the time he needed - you needed- to adjust to his size.

Your soaked walls clenched and squelched around him, accepting more and more, ready for the precise thing you had been waiting to receive. He hadn’t been paying your sensitive clit any mind, the only focus on working you open. But the way his fingers curled, now three of them joined inside, tickling the most pleasurable spot nestled in your walls you let go and groaned loudly as he made you near another orgasm, head heavy and lost in a thick fog. He didn’t let you come however, feeling how your walls had quickened their grasp on his fingers and how your chest heaved and how those moans and groans sounded so desperate.

He moved himself out of you slowly, creeping up closer over you again and letting his coated fingers rest on your lips. Your eyes met again, glazed over in lust and a deeper craving to be even closer to him, those dark ones so trained on every small contortion and crease of your expression. You opened your mouth to receive them, suckling at the digits and lapping up your own juices with determination. Even propping yourself up a little to better your licks and sucks, eager to work him clean.

Risotto felt like he could burst, your tongue working with a focus that you couldn’t offer last time you had your mouth wrapped around him; too busy being fucked into oblivion on both ends. Satisfied with your cleaning he took them out of your mouth and kissed you again. Deeply and tenderly, tasting each other and your essence on his lips as tongues danced around. It was enrapturing to indulge so much but you were both ready to finally have his large leaking cock inside of you. He promptly discarded his trousers, his leaking head and impressive shaft bobbing as he got ready for you. The image alone never failed to surprise you, making your mouth water in anticipation.

“I’ve waited for this so long. Please don’t hold back, Ris.” you sighed as he kept you on your back, legs being spread open and moved up and wide with your knees bent closer to your chest. More than enough room to accommodate the man and his daunting length, the air no longer fresh or cooling; too heavy with the scent of lust and the heat of the moment. Risotto clasped both of your wrists in one of his hands, his large palms comfortably holding them and reaching them above your head where he held them pressed into the mattress. He leaned over you now, once again capturing you under him in a way that felt so protective and safe, the place where he’d take care of you and cherish every single moment pleasing you.

The familiar tip of his leaking member grazing just outside your hole, leaning at the entrance. Somehow the feeling made you tremble, the fires burning between your thighs lapping flames against him. “Oh I won’t hold back, you’re going to feel every single inch of me.” his wordiness surprised you, the way his deep voice carried making you weak.

His other hand supported his weight beside your head, letting his hips do all the work of carefully pressing deeper into you. The intrusion made you gasp, his head welcomed by your previously stretched walls. Wailing as he slowly inched further and further. He stopped every couple seconds, groaning deeply between heavy breaths, so vocal in how good you fit around him; so warm and inviting. “Cazzo you feel so good-” he muttered under his breath, starting to pump in and out of you, not even fully sheathed yet.

Being so stretched out, hitting every single spot and hidden pleasure-centers made you see stars, eyes pinched shut and squirming under his firm grasp on your wrists. It felt even better than you could ever imagine. He was perfect, made just for you and you for him. The final puzzle piece clicking in place.

When he finally buried himself inside of you, a thrust paced and calculated as to not hurt you in any way, his tip brushed against your cervix sending shivers down your body as you yelped at the sensation. He paused again, letting you pulse around him, feeling every contortion of your core. “Please keep going Risotto, please-” you whimpered, opening your eyes again to beg with a pleading gaze. Of course he can’t deny you, he’s never been able to.

Set back in action he started a steady rhythm, hips rolling his cock inside you with ease. Every single thrust brushing against your g-spot sending wave upon wave of pleasure through you. At this point no one was being quiet, much to your delight. His deep grunts and moans awakening a need to hear them on repeat every single day of your life. It only egged him on to hear you wailing, tears starting to prick the corners of your eyes while he continued. Completely lost in ecstasy, not a single thought in either of your heads other than this moment.

You felt your orgasm earn footing again, his cock reaching so deep and right. Feeling you clasp around him so often only made him twitch, getting close too and all too focused on making you come again before he can spill. “Touch yourself, I want to feel you come on my dick- You’re so beautiful.” He groaned desperately when you clenched even harder around him, his words affecting you greatly. He freed your wrists, letting his other hand support himself as well, letting him deepen his thrusts even further with the added grip.

You toyed your clit with vigour, your folds soaked with your slick letting you increase your pace. Desperate for your orgasm to wash over you while Risotto increased his speed as well. Chasing your peaks together, you reached it first. You could only mumble something that vaguely resembled Risotto’s name at this point, over and over like a mantra that lead your orgasm on. You felt yourself gush over his length again, dripping down onto his already soiled sheets. As you pulsed and writhed riding the waves of it to shore, Risotto followed suit. With a loud guttural groan you felt him tense up and twitch, releasing inside of you with languid spurt of his warm come. His thrusts slowed and sputtered as he kept coming. For a man of his expertise and experience, this was the first time someone had made him come this hard. Well, it was the first of many things he’s experienced with you.

Both breathing heavily as he stopped, resting above you and eyes opening again to adoringly stare at each other's satisfied faces. His eyes held a certain emotion he hadn’t let himself show before; he needn’t use words. You smiled back at him, that goofy satisfied one he always looked forward to seeing after a session, communicating back that you shared his sentiment.

As soon as he pulled out you felt so dreadfully empty again but never have you felt more full on a different level. That hunger that gnawed at you before now finally satiated (even if just for tonight). You had gotten what you wanted and so much more. The look on Risotto’s face told you much the same for him as he laid down next to you, pulling you into his arms where you nuzzled his sweaty chest. You placed tired kisses on him, basking in his soft caresses over your shoulders and into your neck where he gently massaged your scalp. You melted into his touch, sighing deeply and feeling your sleepiness settle in again. “Thank you Risotto. For everything. I… I really appreciate all you’ve done for me.” you admitted, listening to his heartbeat settle with your head pressed against it, drawing circles into his biceps with your finger.

“I wasn’t sure at first but I’m glad we did it. All of it. It might be strange to say but-” he sighed as he planted another kiss on the crown of your head. “I’m proud of you.” he felt relief wash over him for finally having said what he’d wanted to for so long. It may have been such an unusual thing to have gone through together but he really was proud of you. For always being open minded and learning along the way, for getting what you wanted and even bringing the squad closer together since commencing the journey.

Sat between his legs, enjoying the warmth of the water and letting small bubbles fizz at your skin while you let Risotto massage your scalp. He worked the shampoo through your locks with care and purpose as you sat there, eyes closed, head tilted back, fully enjoying the moment. Having him with you as you regained your senses felt so wonderful, usually doing it by yourself as Risotto retreated in the past. But now was his turn to take care of you like he’d wanted. He washed your limbs, running the washcloth soaked in your favourite scented body wash over every plane of skin. Giggling as he paid extra attention to your breasts. “They need cleaning too.” he mumbled playfully. It was like you’d opened up a whole other side to your capo, finally showing slivers of his more vulnerable side, not afraid to let you in.

In return you washed his hair too, scratching and circling every spot that made him putty in your hands. You don’t think he’s ever been this relaxed before. You traced the lines of his muscles, mapping out dividing routes and connecting them again only to break off and discover new ones.

Perhaps staying in the bath a bit too long as you both pruned up, digits crinkled like raisins. Dressed back in the most comfortable clothes you owned, Risotto and you went out into the shared headquarters again. You felt renewed and somehow a bit changed since last walking through these halls. Everyone was seated at the long dinner table that faced the kitchen, talking loudly and passing plates and scooping up helpings of pasta and sauce. Their noise dissipating once you and Risotto entered, eyes now pointed towards your direction and following as you both took your usual seats.

You remained quiet, a smirk gracing your lips as you tried to contain your laughter at the curious stares of your colleagues. “Good nap?” Melone quipped, a salacious smile covering his face, he knows he’ll get all the details later on. “Uhu!” you nodded happily as you held out your plate for Illuso to fill it with pasta, who did as asked with a quirked eyebrow. “Learned enough?” Formaggio asked next, wolfing down his food and basking in the moment of openness. “One can never stop learning.” you replied politely, watching as your plate got handed to Pesci who had turned as red as the sauce he was ladling onto your plate. “Got good grades?” Prosciutto asked, letting himself join in on the questioning with a minuscule smile curling the corner of his mouth upwards. “Top of her class.” Risotto interjected, letting his dimple return as he started his meal. “I might do some extra credit, just in case.” and with that you began your dinner, happily twirling the pasta around your fork and letting your colleagues figure out how you will ever be satiated.

#it is done my dearies!! i hope you enjoy because i had a lot of fun doing it #jjba x reader #risotto x reader #la squadra x reader #risotto nero x reader #risotto imagine #jojo smut #jjba smut #jojo x reader #minors dni #notsfw #jjba fic #jojo's bizarre adventure #risotto nero #la squadra

211 notes · View notes

weirdmarioenemies · 3 years

Photo

Name: Picross 3D Host

Debut: WarioWare: Snapped! (no not really. It is Picross 3D)

Hello! I feel like we have not had Funky Friday in kind of a while. But that doesn’t matter because here’s one right now! I feel obligated to announce when it is Funky Friday so we don’t have another incident where someone unfollows us because we posted about Pico Pets.

I love Picross a lot! It is great. It is fun and satisfying and leads to wacky discoveries like GRAND GOOMBAS, and pretty much ALWAYS has a Mola mola puzzle somewhere! And that is in fact what made me interested in Picross 3D!

When I learned that THIS was in Picross 3D, I just had to play it. It did not matter if I was overwhelmed at the implications of Picross in a whole new dimension. I was ready to brave anything for my dear Mola!

And when I started playing... I was met with a new, never-before-seen dear!

This little creacher, on the top screen! What a creacher this is! A common response when seeing it is for the brain to jump to the conclusion of “duck”. We see an eye on a yellow shape, and a connected orange shape, with a “nostril” on it. That's Duck! However... it is not! This is no duck whatsoever! First and foremost, it is a cuboid creature, with floating cube hands, and what appears to be a bill is actually a depression in the face itself, the bottom surface sometimes emoting like a mouth! And finally, that’s no nostril, it’s a second, mismatched eye! This creature is a beautiful, absolutely splendid piece of abstract art, and I have even better news... it is our gracious host!

I’ve seen this creature referred to as the “mascot”, but I don’t think that’s right. The mascot is the blocky puppy on the game’s cover and cartridge. THIS creature greets us, invites us into the world of Picross 3D, teaches us how everything works, constantly supervises us, and tells us fun facts about the puzzles we complete. This is no mere mascot, but a kind, smart, and capable host!

I have already said a good deal about it, but I am just getting started, for I have thoroughly analyzed everything I absolutely could about this very creature. I have learned about its anatomy, its abilities, its personality, its likes, its dislikes, its fears, and its favored palindromes. And I will share some of my favorite points from the long list of things I have learned!

Firstly, we shall discuss its anatomy. Despite its sharp and blocky appearance, our host is quite soft and flexible, able to contort and twist in all sorts of ways! It can even transform into forms such as a mermaid and a wrapped present- in which form it even changes color! Could it perhaps be the very essence of blocks given life, allowing it to become any part of this block-based world?

Whatever the case, it is most certainly MADE of blocks! Maybe that is obvious, but I feel I should mention it anyway. When it is hit in a certain manner, individual blocks may fly out, able to be played with and shoved back in! This seems painless and purely recreational, but what may NOT be painless is when a puzzle is failed and the host “dies”, collapsing into an inert pile of blocks! Perhaps, however, this is all an act, adding to the spectacle of the game. What a good host!

Next we analyze: the floaty hands! THESE floaty hands are particularly versatile. They can roll like wheels, propelling the creature at higher speeds, and they can spin around, allowing it to fly! Unlockable animations even give insight into the nature of such limbs, showing that they can in fact be separated from the main body if the creature is caught off guard!

Even with such an innovative body plan, though, our host doesn’t quite have it all. It muses about wanting a tail when explaining how versatile a fox’s is, and it can’t lift twice its own body weight. Also, it has blood! It is quite scared of bloodsucking bats, evidently because it has something they want. Blood!

And now, we move from a biological to a psychological analysis! The menus and descriptions are all given in first person with our darling creature in the corner of the text box, and that clearly indicates that it is meant to be the one speaking. So what have I discovered? That it is pretty much a perfect being! The Host is kind and nurturing, values creativity and positive thinking, and cares deeply about the environment. It thinks squirrels are cute, sea stars are amazing, and waterwheels are quaint. Above all else, it loves to rest and relax. And to think some players call it creepy!

That’s not all there is to this creature, though. That would be unrealistic. Did you really think the character dancing on the top screen of this puzzle game would be just a one-dimensional goody two shoes? Well, it’s THREE dimensional! Capable of sarcasm and cheekiness and that sort of stuff! For example, it’ll reveal an incredibly obscure term, only to follow up with “I can’t believe you knew that!”, or “but you already knew that, right? (wink)”.

Our host also has some rather particular thoughts on what is and isn’t cool, so if you want to impress it, you’d best listen closely here! It thinks that the act of riding a unicycle looks quite cool, but that snorkel goggles do NOT look cool. As such, we can assume that someone riding a unicycle while wearing snorkel goggles appears as average as average can be!

There is still so much to talk about with the delightful host of Picross 3D, but this post must end at some point, so it will here. I hope you have a newfound appreciation for this fascinating creature you likely had never seen in your life! But one last thing...

Much more well known than our host is Dr. Lobe, of Big Brain Academy! I mention him because not only is he also wonderful, but they have quite a lot in common! Both their games are part of the Touch! Generations label, and with all the fun facts the Picross 3D host provides, it’s clearly an intellectual. These two should be friends! They probably already are!

#picross 3d #picross #picross 3d creature #picross 3d host #mod chikako #funky friday

130 notes · View notes

egcdeath · 3 years

Text

a blip in the reader-verse

chapter 6: extra! extra! read all about it

series summary: a minor mistake causes a shift in the multiverse that only you have the capacity to fix.

chapter summary: you kept your friends close, and your enemy even closer.

pairing: politician!andy barber x journalist!reader, steve rogers x reader

word count: 4k

warnings: american politics, fake dating/marriage, angst at the end, heavy codependent behavior at the end

author’s note: i saw @jtargaryen18 post about politician!steve a while ago and must’ve internalized it because this chapter pretty much wrote itself. just a heads up: all of my political knowledge comes from political sitcoms, so sorry in advance if i get some things wrong. another warning is that there are still some very unhealthy relationship dynamics at play here, so promise me you won’t be like reader okay?

previous chapter / series masterlist

Is Andy Barber Really the Best for Our Nation’s Future?

Opinion

by Y/N L/N

Feb 7, 2021, 4:36 PM ET

After tonight’s debate, the question that’s begged is if Andrew Barber is truly fit to run our country. Although he’s clearly a front runner for his party’s nomination, he’s shown time and time again that he may actually be our weakest candidate.

His weaknesses were highlighted during the debate, with his dodged questions and vague answers. At this point in time, it’s hard to tell if Barber has a platform at all.

With Super Tuesday just around the corner, I ask you to reevaluate your support for Barber. Though a charming candidate, it seems that that’s all he has, his charm. His policies are weak, and borderline impossible, and he certainly isn’t the right person to become the most powerful man in the world.

—-

When you became conscious, you were no better than unconscious. Your eyes opened and were immediately met with a harshness from the sun peeking through a window. You shifted away from the brightness, body sinking into a memory foam mattress while your nude form rubbed against similarly soft sheets. You sleepily rubbed your eyes before they flitted throughout the room you were in. Observing an oddly clean, generic looking area, you’d quickly connected the dots that you were in a hotel room. A rather fancy one at that.

Soft breathing came from next to you, and as you turned your head a bit more, you were met with the back of a fluffy and dark haired man. You weren’t completely sure, but judging by your history of finding your way to Steve, you’d assumed that it was some alternate form of your partner.

The man in bed next to you yawned, and haphazardly threw an arm in your direction, before rolling over to greet you, “morning sunshine,” he slurred sleepily.

The beard was a bit of a surprise to you. Though you’d begged and begged your Steve to keep it, he often refused for one reason or another. Seeing the man next to you who (what was now much clearer to you) a version of your boyfriend, was a rather pleasant surprise.

“Morning,” you responded in an equally sleepy manner, ignoring the rhythmic vibration coming from your night stand.

“Mm, you should get that,” he mumbled, pressing a disoriented peck to the side of your head while you reached over to grab your phone, which you could now see was the perpetrator of the vibrations.

“Hello?” you asked into the phone.

“Are you dumb? Or are you fucking stupid?” Aaliyah’s voice scolded through the phone. “Do you know what kind of position you’ve put me in? This is a fucking mess, Y/N. All for some dick? How could you be so careless?! Jesus!”

“What are you talking about?” You glanced over at Andy, and sat up a bit, pulling the crisp blankets over your body in an attempt to retain some form of modesty.

“Don’t play dumb with me. You’re fucking Andy Barber, but you’re writing articles about him like you just watched him kill your dog. You realize that this puts all of us at risk, right? You’re gonna lose your job, I’m gonna lose my job since I decided to edit and publish your shit, and you and I will lose any sort of journalistic integrity we’ve ever had, or will have, for the rest of goddamn time! Seriously, you could’ve had anyone, but Andy Barber? Andrew fucking Barber?” she groaned over the line.

“Uh, I’ll uh, call you back,” you whispered.

“You’re joking right? Are you with him right now?”

“Aaliyah!”

“Oh my god, you’re with him right now. You’re a fucking mess,” she huffed before hanging up.

Why did the universe have to send you off to such a shitshow?

You rolled out of bed, and sulked into the bathroom, desperate to find out what was going on. While sitting on the toilet, you scrolled through the wall of notifications; tweets directed at you, messages from confused friends begging you to call them when you had a chance, and even the occasional concerned email.

You grimaced as you read through each one of them, eventually clicking on the article that many seemed to be referencing, which included a paparazzi photo of you and this Andy Barber character entering a hotel together sometime in the late night to early morning, partnered with an article or two of your own criticizing him. At first, you wondered if he was some sort of celebrity, but what you ultimately found out was much worse.

He was a politician. A senator who was running to be president.

You screamed into your hands, before tossing your phone aside, and starting a warm shower for yourself. Perhaps the shower could help jog your memory a bit.

Stepping into the steamy chamber, and letting the water pelt down onto you did do wonders for you, and it gave you a moment of focus. With both your memories from this universe, along with the information you’d been given through your phone, you were able to piece a few aspects of the universe together.

You were a journalist, a popular one at that, Andy was Steve, but not Steve, and also a presidential candidate. Aaliyah was your editor, and a higher-up at the Times, and you were about to have your ass handed to you over an affair. At least Andy wasn’t married.

Your shower must’ve taken longer than you’d expected, as there was a soft knock on the door after some time.

“Everything okay in there?” a slightly muffled voice asked.

“Yeah. Just peachy. Why aren’t you more worried about this?” you called back.

“I have a good publicist. And campaign manager. I just have a good team,” Andy paused briefly. “When you’re ready, room service is ready.”

----

Over aggressive mouthfuls of fresh fruit and bitter coffee, you conversed with Andy.

“How are we gonna fix this?” You questioned while setting down your fork.

“Well, it’s simple. We just have to find some kind of spin to this whole story. Maybe you were just interviewing me, or getting a soundbite from me.” “Why would you agree to get a soundbite from someone who clearly has it out for you?” You set your fork down, and crossed your arms over your white robe clad chest.

“That’s a good question,” Andy nodded a bit, “a good question for someone else to answer.”

“Why don’t we let your publicist figure out how to play this?”

“I’d say I’m a bit of an expert at this at this point, but I’ll call my team.”

“You do that, I need to assess the damage to my career,” you huffed, moving to sit on the bed so that you could aggressively scroll on your phone in peace.

Andy called someone, and you patiently waited while he chatted with them.

“Okay, Y/N. We can’t leave through the front, so my guy’s gonna pick us up in the garage. We have like, half an hour,” he tossed his phone aside, then maneuvered himself to get in bed with you, setting both hands down on either side of you, and placing a soft kiss on your lips. He slowly began to inch down your body, untying the belt of your robe as he did so, when you interrupted him.

“What do you think you’re doing, Andrew?”

“We have time.” He looked up at you.

“We are not doing this. What do you think got us into this mess in the first place?” you frowned, moving one of his hands so you could slide away from him.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes! Why aren’t you taking this seriously! Do you realize that both of our careers are at stake here? I don’t want to lose my job because I’m having an affair with you. You shouldn’t want to lose a shot at office for a woman you’re not even with.”

“Come on, we’ve been doing this for almost a year, and you only have a problem with it now?”

“Yes! The public had no idea before! They’re going batshit now! And the worst part is that I’m the one taking the most heat,” you sighed, and Andy gave you a frown.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. You know I didn’t want this to happen.”

“It’s kinda too late for sorries now.”

——

You stepped out of your suite about five minutes after Andy left, suitcase in tow, blocky sunglasses on your face, and a heathered grey peacoat draped over your shoulders. Although you were stressed from the controversy you’d found yourself in, you couldn’t help but feel the buzz of excitement from having to hide from the paparazzi. At the same time, you felt quite bad for this version of yourself.

When you finally got out to the designated Cadillac, you asked for his driver to roll up the partition, like you’d done a million times before, then looked out of the tinted windows. The ride was pretty awkward, considering you were in no mood to talk to Andy, and Andy felt bad about the issues he’d imposed on you from his own carelessness. He set a cautious hand on top of yours, and though you were agitated, it did brighten your mood the slightest bit.

After what felt like forever, you arrived at his campaign building, and you were ushered into a small, soundproof space, with a large and round pine table in the center of it. Surrounding the table was a very tired looking Aaliyah, and… Tony Stark?

“How’s everyone’s weekend been?” Tony asked, breaking the ice as you and Andy settled into your seats.

“Are we really doing small talk right now?” Aaliyah deadpanned, “sorry, that was uncalled for.”

“Alright, straight to the elephant in the room then. You two were out spotted, big deal, happens all the time to politicians and their mistresses-“

“I’m not his mistress! You know this, Tony,” you huffed.

“Tony knew and not me?” Aaliyah gasped.

“Well-“ you began.

“Save it.”

“It was on a very need-to-know basis,” you muttered.

“Back to what I was saying. I suggest that we don’t address it, unless addressed.”

“I don’t know if you’re dense, or what, but that’s the exact opposite of what we need to do. We have to get on top of this story before the story is that you,” Aaliyah gestured at you, “are packing your shit at the Times.”

The door shot open, and quickly closed. A slightly flustered blonde man stumbled through. “Sorry to interrupt,” he began.

Aaliyah rolled her eyes at this notion, muttering a ‘sure you are’ to herself.

“We just finished polling numbers, and Andy, you’re up?” He projected the screen of his iPad onto a TV in the room, then passed the device over to Andy on his way to sit down.

“Thanks, Vis,” he gave him a curt nod.

“Why would our candidate allegedly hooking up with someone who hates him boost him in the polls?” Tony asked.

“Middle America loves a family man, you know that,” Vision said in a matter of faculty manner. “Andy has had a hard time connecting with that demographic because when they see him, they see an Elitist East-coaster.”

“Hooking up with a hot reporter does not make you a family man,” Aaliyah retorted.

“That brings me to my next point. If you don’t mind, I’d like to add a proposal of my own,” Vision stated, and received a shrug from the rest of the room. “Well, if we need to put a spin on this, the obvious choice is to explain that they’ve been seeing each other the whole time. Under wraps, of course. The photos the paparazzi received are not damning by any means, and look more romantic than sexual, to be quite frank. Y/N wrote those articles to throw the public off her scent, and she didn’t really believe anything she said, and Andy? He’s just a good, all American man who was tired of keeping his relationship under wraps. Everything’s to gain from this plan.”

“Well, I lose my journalistic integrity. That’s a pretty big loss to me. I may never work again,” you rubbed your forehead in a distraught manner.

“You won’t have to worry about working when you’re the First Lady. Think about it, if we can get votes from the swing states, we’ve secured enough electoral votes to have a Barber win. All over a little character rebrand.”

“Excuse me, the First Lady?” You nervously glanced between Vision and Aaliyah while you attempted to pick your jaw up from the floor.

“Well, yes. We can’t exactly get the full ‘family man’ look without Mr. Barber being a real husband.“

“Are we talking, real wedding?” Aaliyah questioned.

“Yes. You just have to be legally bound together for around four years, eight years tops. About twelve would be preferable, but I understand that not everything works out.”

“I don’t object to that,” Andy winked and nudged you a bit.

What a mess.

“Back to what I was saying, we’ll probably need about a two week PR period before we do a press briefing announcing the engagement. Give or take. During that time, we could have your publicist arrange all sorts of good photo ops for you two.”

“Either way, my career is ruined,” you sighed, and Andy set his hand on your back.

“Sorry, sweetheart.”

“You don’t have to do that. We’re not currently standing in front of 30 cameras.”

“Well, we should prepare for when we are in front of 30 cameras.”

“Is it though?” Vision interjected, bringing you and Andy back from your aside. “We can just deflect, maybe have a few of your friends make articles about how what you did wasn’t all that bad.”

“Is it not a valid criticism of me that I was sleeping around with the person who I was also slandering?”

“Is it not possible to criticize someone you care about? In fact, helping someone learn how to improve can be very romantic,” Vision shrugged.

There was a brief silence throughout the bunch while everyone pondered a counter argument.

“That right there, that kind of insight is why we call you the Vision,” Tony shook his head and proudly clapped the man on his back.

“So it’s settled then? We’re really doing this?” You glanced around at your peers while Aaliyah spoke. “Any objections, love birds?”

Andy shrugged, “I’d be happy to spend the rest of my life with her.”

You, on the other hand, weren’t so sure.

——

Barber and his Greatest Critic Break Bread Together on Friday

Y/N L/N Announces She’s Not Resigning from Senior Position, and That She’s Been Seeing Barber!

BREAKING! Barber Announces Relationship with Critic Y/N L/N

Is L/Nber the Ship that Shows us How Relationships Are More Powerful than Politics?

Our New Favorite Political Power Couple Showed Up Together at a Rally, and We Couldn’t Be More Excited.

Barber 7 Points Ahead in the Polls, Leaving Loguidice and Kline Trailing Far Behind

Was Y/N Really in the Wrong?

“L/Nber” Celebrate Valentine’s Day Together

These L/Nber House Hunting Photos Are Giving Us Life!

This was your reality for the next two weeks. The news cycle was filled with a plethora of articles about you, some criticizing you, some criticizing Andy, but most, supporting the two of you in your romantic endeavors. Unsurprisingly, the world loved a good story about two attractive people getting together.

During this period, you didn’t particularly feel like leaving, though the thought had certainly crossed your mind. You just weren’t sure that you wanted to be dealing with those terrible symptoms again in the midst of an already stressful stage of your life. At the same time, it seemed like the universe was not going to be fair with your time in this reality. You were convinced that you were here for the long haul, or at least, until Andy proposed to you.

Although it was a bit annoying, cameras around every corner, a watchful eye on everything that you or Andy even considered doing, you found yourself growing on Andy. In some ways, he was a bit more intense than Steve, whose personality had mellowed out a bit since the Snap.

This had been the first time in all of your travels where you felt like ‘Steve’ was the one pursuing you, and in all honesty, it made you feel good. Even if everything the two of you did had an aftertaste of artificiality.

You spent more and more time with him every day, staying together with him in hotels across the country, visiting local businesses with him to get the perfect photo op, and attending galas with donors. It seemed like in every candid photo of Andy, you weren’t too far behind. By the time the day of your proposal arrived, you weren’t even all that opposed to the marriage.

When the proposal finally arrived, the two of you were sat inside a rather fancy restaurant, finishing up your meal when Andy settled on one knee in front of you, “Y/N,” he began, and you felt the all too familiar tremble of your watch on your wrist.

You almost had to restrain yourself from exclaiming out loud. It’s not that you didn’t like Andy or anything, he’d genuinely grown on you. In the least cheesy way, it wasn’t him, but you. Being somewhere so unfamiliar for so long had begun to create a cumulative exhaustion that wore a bit more on you every day. Feeling homesick was an understatement.

You brought your hands up to your face, and gasped dramatically, squeezing your eyes shut to see if you could possibly produce a few tears, while mobile cameras and a few professional flashes were directed towards you. A few warm droplets slipped down your face, and for a moment you weren’t even sure how fake they were. It seemed like once they started, they couldn’t stop.

You missed Steve, your Steve, the man you’d fallen in love with. You missed your friends, teammates, and family. You missed the stability of knowing what the world held for you next.

In the midst of Andy’s proposal, in what should’ve been the happiest moment of your life, all you could focus on was your overwhelming desire to have a sense of normalcy in your life once again.

——

You woke up in a cold sweat, heart racing in your chest, and shaking your ribcage. You looked up to the ceiling of what you had grown to know was your room in the Compound, your real room, and felt your eyes well up in tears that stung you.

You sat up, and took as deep of a breath as you could manage, when you noticed Wanda sitting by your bedside.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” she said softly, coming closer to you, offering you a glass of water before sitting at the foot of your bed.

“Where’s Steve?” you asked, trying to gauge where you were.

“Honey,” she sighed softly. “I’m so sorry. He’s still missing.”

Your lip trembled as you took a sip. You really were back home.

“I know you’re hurting, but when you feel a little better, we’re going to Medbay. Banner decided that we should probably keep an eye on your vitals, but you were gone before we even had the chance to get you there.”

You gulped down the water, then set it on your bedside table, “so was that all just a dream or something? Why isn’t Steve back?” you huffed frustratedly.

“I don’t know why he isn’t back, but I don’t think you were dreaming. I was trying to watch your dreams, but I couldn’t read you, or your thoughts at all.”

“Hmm,” you mumbled, throwing your legs over the side of the bed, “let’s go.”

As you settled into the cold, and sterile medical facility you were hooked up to a plethora of monitors, and a cacophony of devices beeped as they read your physical state.

You tuned out the words being spoken around you, zoning out and looking forward to your vital signs monitor. Your mind wandered to your last few thoughts in your previous reality, the desperation to come back, to see your estranged lover again. You couldn’t help but to feel disappointed, lamenting the fact that you’d found your way home, yet felt the ever present void in your heart where your Steve used to be.

“Y/N?” a voice asked you, and you glanced in its general direction. “What happened while you were out? What did you see? Did it work?” Bruce pelted you with questions.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to talk about it yet,” you sighed softly, bringing a hand up to your neck and rubbing it. “The watch worked though, I was definitely in other universes. I just couldn’t reach him. Bring him home. I failed.”

“Do you think he’s really out there?” Bruce whispered to Wanda hoping that you might not pick up on it.

“I’m… I don’t know. I just don’t know how likely it is that we’ll manage to find him,” she responded in a hushed tone. You bit back tears as she spoke, resuming your empty gaze on the pixelated green text of your heart rate on the monitor.

“I’m sorry, guys. I have to go back,” you interrupted. “I can’t give up on Steve yet. I know he wouldn’t give up on me.”

“Y/N, you could be gone for centuries before you find him, then return back here with no time passed at all, and possibly no Steve. You don’t deserve to take on all of that pain,” Wanda set a hand on your shoulder. “Steve would’ve wanted you to move on from him. To find happiness without him.”

“I can’t do that, Wanda. Without him I don’t even know who I am,” your voice trembled as you spoke. “He’s literally been my only tether through all of this.”

“I just don’t know that this is the best thing we could be doing. Sure, you’re physically fine, but it almost seems like you’re doing worse emotionally than you were before you left,” Bruce added.

“I’m not!” you sniffled before continuing. “I’m just tired from going to all those new places.”

Bruce and Wanda didn’t seem too convinced. “Don’t you guys believe in me? When have I let you down on a mission before? I’m gonna find him, okay? I’ll find him if it’s the last fucking thing I do,” you blubbered.

Wanda’s hand slid down your shoulder, and to the watch that was currently on your wrist.

“Don’t,” you uttered, swinging your opposite hand to grab onto your own wrist. You were aware that there was absolutely no way you could overpower her in taking the watch from you, but even in your minor hysterics, you were able to think fast enough to press the round button before the watch was able to be taken off of you.

You, and your wrist shook. Wrist shaking from the watch, and promise of sending you elsewhere, and you from a mixture of sobs and adrenaline. Though not the most ideal exit, it was an exit nonetheless.

You weren’t even sure if you cared that you were on good terms with your teammates anymore.

You just needed to be with Steve again.

#steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #andy barber x reader #andy barber x you #marvel fanfiction #ABITRV

42 notes · View notes

owillofthewisps · 4 years

Text

beckoning light - part four

notes: in a classic writer move, i knew exactly what i wanted to do in this chapter and just couldn’t get it out of my head. in some ways this is the fic that takes the most out of me, because i can see it so well and i want to get it down as i see it. life, of course, rarely works that way. hopefully the next chapter will be faster!

anyway this is my thousandth post on this blog. it feels right that it’s beckoning light. and yes i may have stopped posting just so that could happen, i’m just like that.

rating: light mature? (just some dirty thoughts, really. some brief descriptions of wounds.)

pairing: geralt of rivia/fem reader

word count: 3.5k

part one ∙ part two ∙ part three

the wisps have never led you astray, but you hadn’t expected them to lead you to him.

The sun pools over you, a warm pond of golden light.

It warms the house despite the breeze stirring through your open shutters, a cool lick of wind that plays over your skin like a soft kiss. The forest breathes, the leaves fluttering with each exhale, sending the dappled sunlight dancing over the ground. You can hear the pulse of it, the forest song fading into a heartbeat as familiar as your own.

You hum to yourself. The gaps between the trees are still shaded, dark maws of space, the little saplings rising like teeth, sharp with growth. The forest will swallow you whole one day, you know.

There is the faintest hint of movement in that velvet night space between the trees, and your hands slow, the knife heavy in your grasp. Asha nudges you, calls you back, her blocky head solid against your hip. “Nuisance,” you tell her, but you trail your fingertips over the velvet slip of her ears. The grumble that leaves her resonates like a summer storm thick with thunder. She nudges you again, her nose smudging cold through the thin fabric of your shift.

“Nuisance,” you say again, but you are betrayed by the honeyed warmth of affection that lines your voice. She huffs and you relent. You slice off a small hunk of sausage, smeared greasy with slick fat, and give it to her. “Satisfied?”

Her tail thumps against the floor, a whip crack of noise, and she licks at your fingers before nosing at you once more.

“I suppose not,” you say. You bump her with your hip. “But that’s quite enough. Go on then.”

Asha grouses, a rumble of a sound, but she obeys. She pauses just long enough for you to lean down and press a kiss against the crown of her head.

You dip your fingers into a nearby bowl of water to rinse them before returning to your task. The breeze trickles in through the window, tugs at your sleeves with playful fingers, but your knife is steady as it slides through the rest of the sausage. You pluck a bundle of fresh thyme from your shelves and crush the delicate leaves beneath the flat of the knife. The woody, earthen smell of it wafts up, a forest all its own. You breathe it in, this hint of the wild, and feel Geralt’s eyes upon you.

You don’t think you have words for it, for the sunscorch of his amber eyes and how they’ve burned themselves into the marrow of your bones.

“Tell me, Witcher,” you say, “is breakfast so fascinating that you can’t look away? I know that food on the road leaves much to be desired, but this seems excessive.”

“It’s not breakfast that I’m looking at.”

You glance over your shoulder.

In the daylight, even ensconced in the cradle of your bed and your worn, rumpled blankets, Geralt brings to mind the statues that stood proud in the summer-scented courtyards of the marquess’s estate. The breadth of him is mesmerizing, the slope of his shoulders a mountain range of muscle.

Your gazes meet. Geralt’s eyes are tinder sparks, a flare of heat catching against the kindling of your desire, and the air thickens, goes syrupy at the edges. It’s the breath before a storm, the sultry promise of something on the horizon drawing near. You swallow. His golden eyes dip to the play of your throat, drag a trail of phantom touch across your skin.

He stops cleaning his sword, his grip tightening around his broadsword’s hilt - your piece of the bargain struck, a trade for him remaining abed until Hadrian arrives - and you shift. You think of how his fingers would press indents into the plump of your thigh as he pulls you to him, as he settles the heat of your slick cunt against the thick line of his cock. The kindling catches alight low in your belly.

Geralt inhales, his jaw sharpening as he grits his teeth.

The sun glistens against him, catches on the thin sheen of sweat on his chest, and you focus on the swath of bandages across his chest. Miniscule blossoms of dark crimson have sprouted in the cotton, tiny clusters of ruby flowers.There are not many of them, but they are there. It dampens the edges of the heat.

“Funny,” you say lightly, turning back to the cutting board, “because you look hungry.”

“I’ve no doubt you can sate my appetite.”

“Then I’d best finish making breakfast.”

Geralt grunts.

His eyes linger as you work. The pan nestled into the hearthfire spits as you drop the sausage into it, the thyme going crisp, the small leaves furling back onto themselves in a last bid of protection. Asha moves closer to the hearth, ever hopeful. You crack the dove eggs into the pan. She snuffles at the shells when you discard them, heaving a mournful sigh that has a smile flirting at your lips.

“Here,” you tell Geralt, handing him a plate piled high, “eat.”

You wave off his thanks. As is your habit, you clean while you eat, stepping around Asha’s massive frame as she trails after you forlornly.

“I feed you,” you tell her, ignoring the way her velvet ears perk up at the sound of your voice. “Stop acting as if I don’t.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you think you see the faintest flicker of a smile on Geralt’s lips.

It is not long until you are taking back an empty plate from Geralt. The sun has risen higher, the shadows shifting as it treks across the deep blue of the late morning sky. It glints off of Geralt’s broadsword, and you take a moment to appreciate the way his forearm bunches as he glides the cleaning rag against the flat of his sword, his thick fingers deft.

You eye him meditatively. “I don’t suppose you’ll stay abed if I go tend the garden?”

He grunts.

“That’s not an answer,” you tell him, scooping up a basket. You should change, likely, but your chemise covers enough, and hearth has already spit soot-streaks onto it.

He keeps at his sword, keeps those long, rhythmic strokes.

You sigh. “Keep to the bed,” you tell him. “It will help with the pain, as I understand it.”

“Witchers are used to pain.”

“That doesn’t mean you should suffer it needlessly,” you say mildly. It is an assumption and overstep in the same breath, but you are not always kind enough nor wise enough to curb yourself. “Used to pain’ differs from ‘deserves pain’, and you do not deserve it, no matter what they tell you.”

His hands go still for a breath, his knuckles curving into hard peaks, whitening like snow-capped mountains.

“I do not know if you are punishing yourself,” you say, “but if you are, consider who you are doing it for.”

Before he can respond, you dart out the door with Asha romping wild at your heels.

---------------------------

“Careful,” you say absently, tugging up another ruby red radish and shaking the thick loam off of it. The soil is still laden with the morning dew’s touch, sweetly damp and cool. You let your fingers sink home, curl them into the soil like roots to anchor you in the earth. You pinch the radish stem between your fingers and tug. “There’s cow parsnip nearby, it’ll give you an awful rash.”

“I suppose I should be used to that.”

You raise a brow. “To having an awful rash?”

Jaskier makes a deeply offended noise. “That seems uncalled for!”

You laugh, sitting back on your heels. You wipe at the sweat on the side of your neck. The dirt smears there, but you leave it for now. “What else was I supposed to think?”

The bard sputters. “Not that!”

You pull up another few radishes, twisting their leafy greens through your fingers. “What should you be used to, then, Jaskier?”

He peers down at you, his cerulean eyes gleaming like the sea waves beneath the afternoon sun. “The way you knew I was coming. Geralt’s impossible to sneak up on, what with his Witcher nonsense, the enhanced senses and all. Doesn’t stop him from pretending he can’t hear me when I’m talking to him, though.”

“Oh,” you say, “I hadn’t realized you were trying to sneak up on me.”

“I wasn’t,” Jaskier says, “but you seemed far away.”

You smooth the dirt back into place, covering the small divots that used to house the radishes. There are more radishes nearby, but it won’t hurt to harvest them another day. “I was, but the trees told me you were coming.”

Jaskier eyes you, rolling a brass button between his deft fingers. He seems to be honoring the burgeoning season, his fine doublet the faded burnt orange of fallen autumn leaves. “Right,” he huffs, settling his hands on his hips. “Has anyone told you that you’re hard to read, woodwife? Your face, though pretty, is a mystery to me, and I cannot quite tell if you are serious.”

You bite down on your smile. “Oh, didn’t the villagers tell you about that, the trees and their gossip?”

“Well yes,” he says, pulling you to your feet when you hold out a hand. He braces you as you stumble. He’s broader than you thought, the cut of his clothes cloaking his apparent strength. “But they also told me that you feed the forest - wouldn’t say what, which is a bit unnerving, I’d be concerned about Geralt but he’s so thorny anything that eats him tends to spit him back out again - and that you’re part tree yourself, so you can see how it might get a little difficult to sort out.”

You scoop up your basket and tuck it into the crook of your hip. “Even if I could talk to trees, they wouldn’t have needed to tell me. You’re not quiet,” you say with a smile. “I think most would hear you coming. Is Hadrian inside?”

“Yes, he said something about how I should wait because of your hellbeast.”

“He exaggerates. She’s likely running through the woods anyway.”

“Having seen the size of your hound, I thought I should defer to his knowledge.”

You nudge the door open with your foot. “Understandable, I suppose,” you say. You duck inside the house and Jaskier follows.

You pay your three visitors little mind as you put away the garden’s harvest. It’s a meager one, but that’s not uncommon at this time, too early for most fall crops to be fully grown. And meager does not mean poor; the radishes are rotund little things, gleaming under the layer of dirt, and the carrots are full bodied and the color of a setting sun. You wipe the dirt from them as best you can and then tuck some away. You glance at the bed.

Hadrian is examining Geralt with careful fingers.

The Witcher is stoic, but there’s a hint of pain tucked into the corner of his lips. You are sure he can feel your eyes, but he keeps his amber gaze trained on the foot of the bed.

Hadrian moves with quick delicacy, checking at the whitening edges of the wound, where the skin is pulling tight with the promise of a thick scar. The very center of the gash is still wine red, deeply claret, the type of color that has teeth. You think again that none but a Witcher could have survived it. You know little of wounds, but you had known it was a terrible one as soon as you’d set eyes on it, and you have never seen something so perilous lose its relentless bite so quickly.

There’s a fragile intimacy to Hadrian’s probing fingers, and you glance away. You pull Jaskier - propped up on a small stool near the bed, plucking at his lute, his wide eyes darting between the strings and the river of stark stitches winding their way across Geralt’s torso - into some of your daily chores. He protests, but it’s half-hearted.

You’ve just bundled the linens into the laundry tub when Hadrian comes outside. You’ve left Jaskier chattering at Roach as he brushes her, the horse clearly delighted by his presence.

Hadrian kneels beside you, helps you push the fabric down into the water, the cloth fading into something ethereal as it dampens, diaphanous and eerie. He hisses at the heat of it, pulling back with a curse. You laugh quietly and knead at the linens, the steaming water lapping at your wrists like waves against a shoreline. You blot your hands dry against your shift once the linens are sodden and sit back on your heels.

“What’s this?” you ask, leaning over and tugging at the ribbon wound around Hadrian’s ponytail. It slips like silk through his hair. It’s a pretty little thing, carefully embroidered, little clusters of sunshine bright calendula blossoms and bundles of sage stitched into the smooth fabric. “Are you being courted, healer?”

He brushes you away with his long, delicate fingers. “Stop that, gnat,” he says.

“I’ll consider that a yes. What’s their name?”

Hadrian ignores you, reaching past you for the washing bat. He wipes away the thin layer of dust that’s accumulated from beating out the linens before slipping it into the tub, spinning the washing around in a slow, wide circle.

“The Witcher could ride,” he says after a moment, the click of the bat against the sides of the tub a steady beat that cuts through the forest’s song. “Not far, and the wound would likely open again, but if you wish it, he does not need to stay here.”

You hum quietly, watching the wisps of steam curl into the air to fade like smoke. “All of these years and yet you know me so little, it seems.”

He sighs. “I do not mean it as a slight,” he says. “I am only offering a choice that was not there before.”

“It is no choice.”

“I suspected as much.”

He hands you the laundry bat and pushes to his feet, his lanky frame unfolding like a fan, a graceful flick of lean muscle. “I’ve left a few tins of salve inside. The way he heals is far beyond my understanding, but it is still a terrible wound, and they cannot hurt.”

“Alright.”

Hadrian studies you for a moment, pierces through you with his slate gaze, the color of the winter sea, when the whitecaps have teeth. “The forest may betray you one day,” he says.

You watch the laundry water, the swirl of fabric spectral. “Perhaps,” you say. “But not yet.”

Hadrian sighs. The sound is a forlorn winter breeze ghosting through bare branches. “Try to wait until he’s healed to fuck him.”

You laugh, the sound swelling up from somewhere deep inside. “I’ll try.”

“Where’s Jaskier?” Hadrian asks.

“Talking to the horse last I saw him,” you say, getting to your feet. “Help me with this.”

Between the two of you, it’s easy to carry the washtub to the forest’s edge. It’s the briefest taste of the wild, moss creeping high on slim tree trunks, mushrooms opening like flowers where they are nestled into the curve of roots. The last of the summer wildflowers are struggling, going crisp at the edges. The forest has little mercy.

You switch the washing to your other tub, tuck the tallow soap and washboard in with the sodden fabric.

“Do you want me to stay until you’re back?” Hadrian asks.

“No,” you say, hefting the second washtub up onto your hip as Hadrian tilts the other on its side, the water rushing out like a river, sluicing through the undergrowth and winding along networks of roots. “You can if you’d like, though. Take that back to the house.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Hadrian lilts, “right away.”

You swat at him. “Please.”

“Better,” he says, hoisting the tub up. “Be safe, gnat.”

He trots back towards your house, the ribbon in his hair fluttering behind him like a ship’s sail. You watch him for a moment more, watch the way the sun catches on his charcoal hair.

The forest sings as you step into the treeline. You weave your way across the cobwebs of roots that puncture through the thick loam, moss gleaming wet on their outstretched limbs. Sleek saplings whisper in the wind, swaying like dancers. Something chitters in the undergrowth, the sound spiraling high in agitation, a warning in a language far beyond your tongue.

Sunlight cascades through gaps in the canopy, anoints the forest floor with a golden kiss. Small flowers are speckled through the undergrowth, their blossoms turned up in worship, little faces raised to the sun. You venture deeper into the forest, the ancient trees swelling above you. They creak and groan in the wind, sleeping giants tossing in their beds.

The hair at the nape of your neck is damp with sweat. You heft the washtub higher, ignoring the moan of your muscles. You can hear the stream now, the quiet burble of it, and know it will not be long.

The glen is a sumptuous one, teeming with greenery even as autumn sets in, the ferns fat with fronds, fed by the stream’s sweet water. You kneel at the stream’s edge and get to work.

You sing to yourself as you scrub at the washing, the stream a steadfast companion. The forest murmurs around you.

You slip into the stream once the washing is done, leaving your dirty shift on the bank. The water enfolds you with icy fingers. It’s a chill bite of sensation against your sweat-slick skin, something that edges on gnawing, but it fades into something kinder. You turn your face towards the canopy and let the water flow over you like a blessing.

Something crashes in the underbrush.

You duck low in the water, scanning the edges of the glen as the rustling grows louder. Your dagger is tucked beneath your shift on the shore.

The ferns whisper in the wind, and then there is something hurtling from the undergrowth, massive and lightning quick, and as it plummets into the stream, you spit out scream that’s half curse. Just as the water surges around it, you catch sight of a familiar brindled pattern, and then the hound is on you.

“You’re the worst,” you tell Asha, shoving water at her.

She snuffles happily, ducking her muzzle beneath the water.

“Fine,” you say, “we’re going home.” You wade to the shore and put on a damp chemise, shoving your dirty one under the washboard before piling the rest of the washing in. “C’mon,” you call.

Asha trots next to you as you wind your way back through the labyrinth of the woods, through the drape of moss and the scratch of the pricker bushes.

“Should we visit?” you ask her. She pants, nudging at you to get you around a sapling. “I saw it, thank you.”

The forest opens into the cozy meadow your home is tucked into. You can see the smoke wisping out from your chimney steadily, fading into the afternoon sky. The shutters are flung wide; one of them sways in the breeze, the hinges creaking. You consider your home for a moment, and then you put down the washtub and walk back into the forest.

It is a familiar path. You think you could walk it blindfolded, twisted roots and eroding soil and sprouting trees bedamned. The ferns thicken, their fronds trailing over you like fingers, catching at your hair. You push your way through them, duck beneath their overgrown greenery, and then - they fall away.

You step into the small meadow, a little ring of wildflowers and swaying tall grass with a small copse of trees in the center. The forest prowls along the edge of it with wild roots, waiting for an opening.

The trees are humming.

It’s a slow, soft sound, rippling through you like a lullaby. It draws you near, lures you close to the copse, to the twisted trees with their wrinkled, worn bark, their branches arcing high. The soil at their roots shifts, rises and falls as if they’re breathing.

You breathe with them.

They whisper to you, their leaves tracing across your cheek, across the back of your hand, fluttering over you like fingertips. The sunlight glistens against the silver sheen of their leaves, the light draping warm over you. Things go soft at the edges, like morning mist swathing the meadow when you first rise. You murmur to the trees.

The sun begins to dip in the sky, a steady downhill march. You rise from your bed of roots, skim your fingers against a hint of moss cushioning the rough scrape of bark.

You press a farewell kiss against the trunk, against the cheekbone curve of it, and the tree croons.

It is a long, lonely walk home.

taglist: @fairytale07 @whitewolfandthefox @inber @tutuwho @ambivertomnivore @raspberrydreamclouds @waitingtobeimpressed @imsoft-barnes @msgeorgiarae @ayamenimthiriel @rabenherz-blog @writingstudent @hina-chans-stuff @beautifuluniversityhoagieslime @bumblingandblooming @sageandberries-png @bucksgoat @alwayshave-faith @nonamejustshame @1950schick @riviawitch3r @yespolkadotkitty @restingnurseface @consultingdetextive @theunwantedomega

#geralt of rivia x reader #geralt x reader #geralt imagine #the witcher x reader #the witcher imagine #story: beckoning light

155 notes · View notes

indiavolojones · 4 years

Text

anon it’s like you’re LOOKING at my diary ヽ(｀Д´)ﾉ

2.5kish, gen, dia/luci.

“Before you do anything stupid that involves my permanent work on your body," the distaste radiating off of Lucifer is palpable, "Try an ear piercing first. It's plenty shocking to you business types, and a helluva lot less painful.”

“So, what do you say, Lucifer?"

SPECIAL THANKS TO @canonlucidia FOR BEING THE LUCIFER TRANSLATOR WE ALL NEED TO ELEVATE OUR FICS

“Huh,” Diavolo tilts his head, “I would have never guessed you were over eighteen.”

Lucifer's ID shows none of the telltale signs of forgery, nor does the man look like a teenager. Diavolo just likes to have fun with people that seem too serious for their own good.

Besides, it would be impossible for Diavolo to misjudge the man in front of him as a child—there are no children with eyes as hard-edged as Lucifer’s. Lucifer’s drenched coat is slung over his arm, the layers beneath thankfully still dry. His long hair is twisted up in a messy, haphazard bun—something about this man makes Diavolo think this is unusual.

Probably the impeccably tailored, expensive-looking vest and suit jacket. The watch peeking out from underneath his shirt sleeve is worth at least a couple hundred dollars, if Diavolo’s instincts are right. Minutes within meeting Lucifer and he already knows that this is a man that takes an incredible amount of pride into his appearance.

Lucifer narrows his eyes, but the effect is less than intimidating to Diavolo, who has faced far worse than severe looks. Besides, the dark, exaggerated bags under his eyes can’t lie. The proud jut of his chin and squaring of his shoulders be damned; Diavolo can sense his bluff a mile away. Lucifer is more likely to pass out from exhaustion than start a brawl.

“What an interesting business model, insulting your potential clients like this.” Lucifer retorts, and Diavolo thinks he’s probably terrifying when he’s had at least eight hours of sleep.

“There are plenty of other tattoo parlors around town,” Diavolo offers with another disarming smile, his arms crossing. An asshole customer is an asshole customer, no matter how pretty their mouth is.

“No,” Lucifer insists, “It has to be this one.”

“Okay… Then you’re going to need to relax a little, because it’s not often that I have people come in during a storm demanding a full back tattoo out of nowhere,” Diavolo shrugs, passing Lucifer’s ID back to him.

"I wouldn't do any work on you today anyway. You haven't paid the deposit and we haven't had a consultation meeting. Sorry, it's my policy." Diavolo shrugs, not very sorry all and Lucifer can tell. Lucifer looks like he's about to spin on his heel and march out the door, and Diavolo, damn his soft heart, holds up his hands.

"But… if you'd like, we can set you up for a piercing session. We've got an open slot and I'll give you a returning customer’s discount."

"I want the tattoo." Lucifer says, like Diavolo's stupid for offering anything else and he has to stamp down his own mild tinge of annoyance.

"And I get that. If you can afford my rates, I'm willing to discuss." Damn it, Diavolo knows the man is trouble, but Lucifer's mouth is so pretty when it frowns, as if affronted at the possibility of him not being able to pay. "But I can tell this is some kind of act of rebellion. I see types like you all the time."

"Types like me—" Lucifer repeats, suddenly furious, and Diavolo holds his hands up placatingly.

"Hear me out." He says, and Lucifer's mouth snaps shut at the interruption.

"You’d have to be blind to not see that this is part of some… bigger thing for you," Diavolo gestures at all of Lucifer, "And you're an adult that can make your own decisions. But for now, before you do anything stupid that involves my permanent work on your body," the distaste radiating off of Lucifer is palpable, "Try an ear piercing first. It's plenty shocking to you business types, and a helluva lot less painful. So, what do you say, Lucifer?"

Lucifer doesn't look keen on it, but he at least seems to be seriously mulling over Diavolo's offer.

More time passes where Diavolo grows more and more convinced that Lucifer is about to tell him to fuck off and walk out of his life. At this point, it would probably be for the best. Diavolo is a sucker for sullen, gorgeous businessmen with obvious emotional baggage—not that he'd realized that until a scant ten minutes ago, but Diavolo's always been a bit of a masochist.

As if the day's events have finally, truly weighed down on him, with a barely visible slump to his shoulders, Diavolo sees when Lucifer relents before he hears it.

"Fine."

Barbatos' workstation is immaculate as ever, and the other works with maximum efficiency to prep his required instruments.

“You’re the one that pierced my brother, Mammon,” Lucifer says, and something in Diavolo’s brain clicks. Mammon. Lucifer’s brother is Mammon—the very thought almost makes Diavolo burst into laughter.

Barbatos is nothing if not polite as he tips his head to the side, as if trying to remember Mammon. He snaps his gloved fingers, and nods.

“Ah, yes! He’s the one that passed out, I believe.” Lucifer looks strangely… delighted by that.

“I’ll be over there, then,” Diavolo says, leaning against the door frame and gesturing back behind him at the front office. Diavolo almost laughs again when he sees the clear alarm in Lucifer’s eyes, can hear the silent why aren’t you doing it before it’s said out loud.

“Barbatos is one of the best piercers I’ve ever worked with, you’re in expert hands,” Diavolo hums, soothing.

It somehow works, because Lucifer is lowering himself into Barbatos’ chair. Not a word escapes from Lucifer as Barbatos finishes prepping the earrings, two black studs that Lucifer had chosen from Diavolo’s display case. Lucifer actually looks a little pale, and Diavolo thinks it’s adorable.

“Unless… you’d like me to hold your hand, if you’re scared?” He teases, and Lucifer’s eyes narrow in purposefully unconcealed fury for one beautiful, brief moment. It shutters away as fast as it comes, and Lucifer is staring impassively at the wall before him.

“You may leave.” Lucifer dismisses Diavolo.

Diavolo hangs out, just to be a dick. Lucifer does not flinch, or sway in his resolve past that one moment of weakness. Barbatos finishes one ear—Lucifer does not react in the slightest—and moves to the next. He tilts Lucifer’s head gently to get better access, and it makes Lucifer have to look at Diavolo in the doorway. Diavolo gives him a brilliant smile, but Lucifer glares at him the entire time.

Diavolo loves it.

Diavolo doesn’t see Lucifer for one week; but he hasn’t received any terrible reviews on Yelp, and no department official has come knocking down his door with a surprise audit, so he thinks he’s in the clear. All in all, he chalks the experience up to some kind of weird twist of fate. He’s perched on a stool behind the register at the display case when the automatic doorbell chimes. Diavolo’s lips part to welcome the guest even before he looks up.

“Hey, how’s it—oh,” Diavolo says, finally glancing up from his newspaper, “You got bangs.”

Gone is the messy, windswept bun that Lucifer had his long hair tossed into, and instead, a short, layered cut has replaced it. It makes him look younger, somehow. Or maybe he’s just gotten more sleep. Lucifer reaches up to card a hand through his hair, pushing the now loose strands out of his face.

Diavolo spares a moment of silence to mourn that he never got to see how long Lucifer’s hair was in person, “It looks nice.”

He places his cheek in one palm, grinning at his client. It would be easy to miss the light blush on Lucifer’s cheeks at his comments, but Diavolo is more perceptive than most.

The blush on Lucifer’s cheeks intensifies, and he coughs into his fist. “Thank you. The hair was a nuisance, so I cut it off.”

Silence passes, and Lucifer blinks, as if he’s not quite sure why he overshared. Diavolo takes pity on him, and tries to continue the conversation.

“How are your ears healing, then? Are you—”

“I’d like to set up a consultation meeting.” Lucifer breathes, and Diavolo blinks at him. Then he sighs.

“Before that… I suppose I should apologize for my impudence the other day, Mr. Morningstar.” Diavolo says, finally, elbows propped up on the glass counter. He watches for Lucifer’s reaction like a hawk.

“How did you—” Lucifer’s lips remain tight, before realization dawns behind his eyes. "You saw my ID the other day."

He glares, no doubt wondering if Diavolo gone to the press with information of his spontaneous request. It would be like dumping chum into shark infested waters for them to hear how the otherwise resolutely tight-lipped eldest brother is doing. Too many people are already trying to pick at the man’s psyche for more garbage to feed the greedy masses.

“I barely even noticed your last name," Diavolo waves his hand in the air dismissively, "However… it's a little hard to ignore a face like yours when it’s been plastered all over the news,” Diavolo spins the newspaper around, sliding it across to show the grainy picture of Lucifer and three of his younger brothers at the last company gala. Lucifer's proud, intimidating stare is unmistakable in its intensity.

The headline ‘FALL FROM GRACE: Lucifer Morningstar Leaves Celestial Industries over Disinheritance Scandal with Brothers’ stretches across the page in blocky, damning font.

"I didn’t reach out to any media outlets. You can relax,” Diavolo huffs, “But really? Your first move after all this is to go and get a tattoo?"

“Do all of your consultations feel like interrogations?” Lucifer shoots back, lips turned down in a frown. He does not look down at the article, his gaze keeping level with Diavolo's.

Diavolo laughs, and holds his hands up, “No, not really. I only try to make sure my clients understand that this is too permanent and expensive of a decision to make on an emotional bender. Tattoo removal is possible, but it’s costly.” Diavolo lets his own eyes narrow in the slightest, “Considering you don’t have the fortune of a multi-billion dollar corporation to fund your whims anymore, I doubt you’d have the money to spare if this is something you regret.”

“Why are you antagonizing me over this,” Lucifer grits out, hands fisted at his sides.

“I take pride in my work, Morningstar.” Diavolo stands, inherently pleased to see that Lucifer’s furious gaze has to tilt up in the slightest to continue meeting his eyes, “I have no desire to see someone else's terrible work slapped over something I created."

"If you get paid, what does it matter?" Lucifer spits, clearly reaching his wit's end. Diavolo stares at him, silent, and Lucifer shuts his eyes. He exhales through his nose for strength, and cards a hand through his hair again, clearly unused to it still. When he speaks, his tone is genuine, and he sounds tired.

"I apologize," Diavolo blinks, not expecting the other to deflate as they have. When his eyes open again, they are alight with a fervor that Diavolo's breath catches at. “I have had…. An interesting week.” His smile is wry, too tangled up with hidden meanings that Diavolo isn’t sure if he should consider it a smile at all.

“I understand that this is permanent. As permanent as being disinherited publicly.” Lucifer’s stare is unflinching, his resolve ironclad and as spirited as Diavolo’s own, “Which is why I have come to request a consultation appointment, rather than demand you do it today. You are the only one who I want for this.”

Why rests on the tip of his tongue, but Diavolo knows the hard look in Lucifer's eyes, the kind of determination that refuses to be ignored, denied. It's entirely possible that Lucifer himself does not know why, only that he must. Diavolo keeps his gaze for another moment longer, fingers suddenly twitching for a habit that he quit long ago. Barbatos would kill him if he started smoking cigarettes again anyway.

Another moment, and Diavolo allows himself to smile.

"You could have scheduled a consultation online, you know," Diavolo laughs, and moves from around the counter towards his small side office.

"Come on," Diavolo says, but Lucifer does not move, still staring Diavolo down from his place in Diavolo's front desk area. Diavolo looks up at the heavens, exhaling ruefully, "I'm assuming you have an idea of what you want."

Lucifer only takes a moment to shake himself out of his stupor, the cool, almost snobbish expression back on his face.

"Of course."

Diavolo's laugh shakes the walls of the small office, and Lucifer's face is, amazingly, deep red. Diavolo is hunched over, hands gently sifting through the sketches.

"You're insane. Your first tattoo and you want a fully detailed back piece? Not to mention it's huge."

"We’re looking at somewhere between twenty and thirty hours of work. What if you can't handle the pain? Back tattoos can be rather painful, depending on where I'm working at the time."

"That won’t be an issue." Lucifer sniffs, back straight as he sits across from Diavolo.

“It’s going to cost you,” Diavolo warns. He knows what his work and experience is worth, and charges appropriately.

“Everything does,” he says, simply. He catches the quick glance Lucifer tosses at his now bare wrist, and remembers something about Lucifer wearing one of those fancy watches last time he’d seen the other. Had he sold it?

Diavolo hums, before looking back down at the sketches in front of him.

"Did you draw these?" Diavolo asks, impressed with the amount of detail. It'll be a challenge for sure, but if Lucifer wants to keep the tattoo exactly like the source drawing, Diavolo's confident he can do it justice. However… if Lucifer allows him to add his own touch... it'll be spectacular.

"My sister," he hesitates on the word, and Diavolo knows there's a lot to unpack behind that, and immediately labels that as 'definitely do not touch', "She was the artist of our family."

Ah, was. Lucifer's gaze darkens as he stares down at the papers, and Diavolo sighs. He runs a hand through his short hair, and leans back on the couch. Crossing his arms, he huffs when he looks at Lucifer again.

"Alright, you're crazy, but it's your money."

Other assorted headcanons/thoughts:

Not exactly sure what Lu’s desired tattoo is but it’s something like this pic

Lilith has like, Just Died. Is v sad.

Getting his ears pierced felt like absolute nothing to Lucifer, but having no point of reference he’s allowed to be a lil apprehensive. (“It’s like a shot, just… really close to your face!” Thanks, Mammon.)

Mammon has awful tattoos from different artists, but ever since he discovered this Diavolo fellow, they've all been coming out beautifully. Asmo has also gone! Lu doesn't trust online reviews, and while he takes what Mammon and Asmo say with a grain of salt, he can’t deny the quality he's seen of Diavolo's is phenomenal.

Diavolo's art style is similar to Lilith's.

All the brothers are around in this lil universe. for certain Reasons, it's just Luci/Mams/Levi/Asmo that have all been disinherited for now.

It's been several years since I got a tattoo so I pulled details out of my ass sorry for the inaccuracies

as always ty for reading (ノ°∀°)ノ⌒･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*☆

#obey me lucifer #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me fic #writing #dialuci #ch: lucifer #ch: barbatos #ch: diavolo #pr: dialuci

129 notes · View notes

korpuskat · 4 years

Link

Summary: It was a tabloid craze for a while. A short-lived fever that brought an uneasy fact to public knowledge: serial killers had soulmarks, too. Rating: Teen (? - Background character death, Michael is Michael, no sexual content) WC: 2,272 Warnings: Violence against Reader (mild), Stalking, background character death, Soulmate AU obviously

=====

It’s late already. You stretch languidly, resign yourself to bed. Tomorrow, maybe, you’ll get lucky and it’ll happen. Hope still lingers, uninvited, deep inside. You turn to leave your living room- your heart catches in your throat.

There’s a man standing in your hallway, face obscured by a white latex mask. Something glints in his hand- flashes as the TV switches to a commercial. A knife. He stands there, the only noise in the room is the humming of your laptop as it shuts down and his heavy, low breathing. Your eyes flick between the blade and the expressionless white mask, try to decipher what’s going on. You already know deep down.

He steps towards you. You have nowhere to go, he blocks the only exit. He raises the knife, loosens and tightens his bloodstained fingers rhythmically over the black handle. He comes even closer, his long legs crossing your room quicker than you want. You stumble back until you’re pressed against the wall, fingers sliding over paint in hope to find, what? A weapon? An escape?

You find nothing, and are left only with the intruder who dominates your living room, who steps ever closer-

“You’re that serial killer, aren’t you?” The words slip from your mouth. It’s stupid to ask, even stupider when you almost expect a reply. And yet- he stops. He’s close enough you can feel the heat radiate off his body, close enough you can smell the blood that stains his clothes. Slowly, tortuously slow, the mask skews off to the side as he tips his head to the right. Your heart slams in your chest and you don’t know if piquing his curiosity is a good thing. His hold on the knife loosens and by inches, his arm lowers down to his side once more.

You watch, fight the lightheaded panic that threatens to make you faint. Your intruder comes no closer, just stares down at you through darkened eyeholes. His breathing is even, not even the thrill of scaring you has registered in his chest. The same cannot be said of yours; your chest heaves in frantic gasps- the noise nearly drowning out the man’s inhuman calm.

The mask dips and looks you over; the unexpected scrutiny makes you shiver, but fear keeps you pressed to the wall. He stops when he reaches your wrist. The knife lifts- you whimper, look away- the tip digs into your arm. You turn your arm with the pressure, gasp at stinging pain as it leaves a shallow cut in its wake. You keep your eyes screwed shut, strangle sobs before they can leave your lips. You don’t move, can hardly breathe-

The knifepoint leaves your skin, blood drips down your arm, slides warm and slick over your palm. The floorboards creaks only once, you never hear the bootsteps.

You don’t know how long you wait, but long after the chill has set in over your skin you slide down the wall and sob.

The police came when you called, took down notes on your strange encounter. But in truth, they didn’t seem to believe you. One officer dismisses you, “A copycat. Probably got too scared to go through with it. The guy we’re looking for has no mercy, he’d never just leave.”

You nod, mutely. Sure. Makes sense.

The other one- Is that a dog? curled over the right side of his face- clicks his pen closed and hesitates. His partner rolls his eyes. “Just to be sure, did you say anything to him?”

You stare up at them, consider the weight of his words. You shake your head, dispel the possibility from your mind.

The woman on the television drones on, her voice near monotonous, the inflection not changing as she recounts the tragedy behind her. Ambulances’ and police cars’ lights flash blue and red over her face. In high definition you can make out the beginning of text that trails down the center of her neck, between her clavicles, and below the line of her shirt. You tip your head sideways, struggle to read as she speaks: Quite a fa, “The murder was one of several in a spree last night, the perpetrator still at large…”

Your eyes linger on the black text on her neck. It’s fancy, a serif type, but a little loose; the tail of the q has a curvy bounce to it. You wonder if they’ve met yet.

Your skin is warm under your fingertips, the edges of your soulmark raised softly, the cut from the intruder's knife nearly healed. The text over the inside of your left forearm haunts you. The letters span from nearly the crease of your elbow to your wrist. Everyone’s soulmarks are unique, should be something meaningful and poetic: the first words someone who loves you will say to you.

They aren’t always easy. Some people have multiple, one for all the people who love them, who have some cosmic connection to their soul. They don’t always match up, those are the ones that get lots of attention- people whose love is unrequited, will always be unrequited. But at least they usually have multiple marks.

You only have one. You don’t mind that. It’s simple, you only have to worry about one person loving you.

But the lines are heavy and bold, huge patches of inky black covering your skin. The font is plain and blocky, sans serif and shaky- like its handwritten, but thick and dark. ”That means they really care for you.” Your babysitter had told you when you were young. She was littered with tiny marks, her hands almost jealous as she touched your arm again. ”You must be very special to them. A love like that will last.”

And yet, you can’t find the elation that other people feel when you touch the letters. You don’t listen attentively each day for the special words, don’t get excited each time you meet a new person.

Because your soulmark is your own name.

No special clue given to you to help you figure out when you’d meet them.

For a few years you tried introducing yourself first, cheerful and excited for the first person to respond with your name. Only your name. Nothing else. But each time you’d see the soft fall of the other person’s face, knowing exactly what you were trying for, and the hesitant smile before “That’s a nice name.”

You’ve lost hope. It would have to be your lover’s mark that’s identifiable. You hope at least your first words to whoever it is are something memorable, something better than their name. You follow the letters with your fingers, wonder for the millionth time why they would already know your name.

You worry more about the real nightmare: you’ve already met them and didn’t know it. If you were too young to really understand, too young to start keeping track of who you’d spoken to before.

The news plays on, switches over to a policeman. There’s a curfew in place while the craziness plays out. But that wasn’t anyone you know, something far away and strange. Absolutely foreign in your tiny town.

You don’t need to hear the description of the murderer to know what has happened.

He isn’t here now, or at least you can’t feel him. You’d seen him- a week after he’d broken into your house. From your window he stood at your back fence. He lingers, uninvited, in your neighborhood- you catch glimpses of a white mask pressed close to trees, of the empty black eyes staring at you from your neighbor’s yard.

He hasn’t tried to break in again- as far as you know. But he would soon enough and you needed to know for sure.

It was a tabloid craze for a while. A short-lived fever that brought an uneasy fact to public knowledge: serial killers had soulmarks, too.

Most killers’ marks could be accounted for. Spouses and partners were all identified- so rarely would a mark go unsolved after they were apprehended.

So rarely did they help keep children incarcerated.

Your hands shake as you click through links, read page after page until you find a clip of an interview. An older man’s voice plays in your headphones, laid over the mug shot pictures from an arrest.

“We’re not quite sure, actually. He was not a true serial killer until 1978, so we don’t believe he could have met them before that. I have a theory an orderly or nurse may be it, but is too ashamed to come forward. He’s been in captivity for such a long time, they may have even taken the secret to their grave. If the meeting has happened, Michael will never tell us, I know that for certain.”

The man in the picture stares blankly at the camera, betrays no emotion- even with a gauze pad taped over his left eye, another taped to his neck. He’s gorgeous. Brown curls fall around his face haphazardly, nearly hiding his pristine icy blue iris. You stare at it, wish to feel something for the face on your screen. The picture changes- and shows a young man’s chest, the photographic evidence of his identifying mark.

He waits for you. You know as your fingers turn on the lock to your front door that you are not alone in the house. It’s already too late.

You turn- and get a glimpse of white latex. You have just enough time to gasp before huge hands wrap around your upper arms. You drop your bag and he spins you, slams you against the wall so hard you see stars. You blink them away, fight to stay focused on the cracked, dirty mask.

He doesn’t move, only holds you there- it gives you enough time to gather your strength. “It’s me, isn’t it?” A cold chill races over your skin. Another stupid question. You know it already- you saw the photo, the reports, the theories.

Michael Myers doesn’t move, doesn’t acknowledge your question at all. His hands dig bruises into the flesh of your upper arms, but he makes no further move to hurt you. Even unarmed, you know well enough he’s dangerous. He’s bigger than you, stronger- the text on his chest is the only thing preventing him from killing you now.

You hold your chin up, steel yourself and hope you sound impressive. “Let me see it.”

The mask tilts slowly. You want to know what expression hides behind the latex, but the articles had made it clear enough. There’s nothing at all under that mask. This is not a man.

One hand leaves you, raises up to his chest- your breath catches behind your ribcage. You swallow and watch as he pulls the zipper down halfway. He touches the black shirt under the coveralls and begins to lift. Your eyes flick up to the mask and find him watching you, head still tilted as he waits for your reaction.

Your eyes burn, threaten to break into tears as the same text you’d seen before slides into view. They don’t age, soulmarks- don’t fade or stretch like tattoos. It’s perfectly preserved, the same first phrase photographed on his chest back in 1963. You raise your hand to touch it, instinctively- to feel the raised edges of black fate.

It’s broken into three lines, set over his left pectoral. The font is shaky, hand-written, but dark. Not nearly as wide as yours, but its existence alone was traitorous enough.

You’re that serial killer aren’t you?

Undeniable proof, somehow- somehow you loved him. Would love him.

You touch the edge of the question mark- you cry out as your wrist is slammed back to the wall, pain shoots up your arm. His shirt falls back down, obscuring the writing once more. You don’t bother looking to the mask, just close your eyes and let your head hang in defeat. You would love him, you were cosmically destined to-

His thumb slides over the last letter on your arm. You look up and find him staring at your arm again- reading your own name over and over.

He hasn’t spoken to you yet. Alertness returns all at once, a rush of adrenaline makes you inhale sharply. You might love him, but that doesn’t mean-

“It might not be you.” You say before you can think better of it. The words tumble freely, wetness blurring your eyes. “Please, please, don’t. I could still… It could be someone else, please.”

He keeps your wrist pinned to the wall- his other hand raises to his throat. He hooks his thumb under the mask and pulls.

He’s aged since his mug shot. Gray stubble covers his neck and chin. He lifts further and reveals pink lips and a large, strong nose. Another tug and it finally comes off entirely, Michael drops the mask to the floor- and you can only stare at his eyes. Through tears you can make out the same icy blue as his mug shot, the left one half-lidded and scarred, a faint ring of blue visible under the milk white scar of his cornea.

He’s expressionless, utterly blank as he leans in close.

“Please,” You beg, feel the tears slip past your eyelashes and run hot over your cheeks. Michael does not acknowledge them.

His stubble scratches your cheek, his breathe hot on your ear as he breathes. A knot forms in your belly, you twist your fingers into the loose material of his coveralls, his arms raising to bracket you tightly between them. There’s no escape- he inhales slowly.

His voice is low and hoarse and scratchy as you begin to sob.

#Michael Myers #michael myers x reader #Michael myers x you #slasher x you #soulmate au #slasher x reader #this is the tamest shit ive written in so long dkhdsg #i actually do not like how it turned out but idk gabby liked it so here it is :)

209 notes · View notes

grouptalekindnesssoulstories · 4 years

Text

You can’t be my soulmate!

So, I kinda got a sugar rush when I was watching a tiktok compilation on youtube. And the idea of the first words but with multiple people popped in my head. So I decided to do a lil snippet. I may still have too much in my system but eehhhhhhh just makes my brain go zoom!

Warnings: Misgendering, manipulation, a mention of homophobia, mention of disownment

What are you laughing at hot topic? haunted each day that Virgil didn’t find his soulmate.

I love the new outfit caused Roman to switch up his attire everyday he could, but being a well-known actor made that a common sentence. Not a very common first sentence luckily.

Thanks, why wear those gloves? shamed Ethan every time they removed the aforementioned gloves.

___

I fiddled with my newest piercing, the third on my ears. I had gotten it less than two months ago, which had gotten dirty looks from my parents when i saw them. They had disowned me several years prior after learning I was gay, and trans. With a shit-eating grin, I flipped them a double bird. After they turned away in horror, I mounted my motorcycle and roared down the streets. I parked it behind the restaurant I worked at, locking it up on a special pole my brother had installed when I got hired.

“Reeem. Seen our parents lately?” I called as I shoved open the back door. He poked his head back, tilting his sunglasses down as I removed my patchwork hoodie.

“What parents. All you’ve got is me, babes. But, yes. I saw the people who birthed us a few days ago. I assume you ran across them and they disapproved?”

“Of what? My top surgery, new piercing? Answer to that one is all of it” I gave him a quick peck on the cheek and waved to one of his partners, Remus. I tapped my ear after tying on an apron. He pulled out his ear so I could see the blue pin in it. I shot a thumbs-up as I straightened my posture to wait on my first table. The first few hours passed in a blur of people I didn’t care to make note of.

“Excuse me, sir. I believe we have a reservation?” A weedy man flagged me down. I raised an eyebrow as I checked the schedule.

“Only one, and that’s for R. Roy. One sec-” I turned around and shouted over my shoulder “Re? What time was the reservation coming in?”

“That’s for m-”

“Uh, 3 o’clock or so” Remus surfaced, cutting off the man.

“I’m afraid I’m here on Mr. Roy’s beh-” The man tried again, this time I cut him off.

“That was twenty minutes ago. And where did Brit go? They were supposed to be doing this”

“EXCUSE ME. I AM HERE TO MAKE SURE MR. ROY’S TABLE IS READY” The man practically screamed, cutting off our conversation.

“Ah, I’m afraid he’ll have to come himself. We only answer to our customers” Re cut in, smiling wide.

“You and I both know that isn’t true you idiot” An almost-familiar voice accompanied the man himself.

“RoRo!” My sibling-in-law immediately brightened, scooping the smaller man into a hug. I chuckled behind one hand as the man made breathless protests. When he was at last released, my laughter got louder because it was the Roman Roy, and his appearance was all mused up now.

“I’m so sorry sir! I’ll go get your backup right now!” The assistant started to buzz nervously around the famous man, reminding me of a fly.

“No, no. I’ll be fine. This is a family place, so it’s not a big deal if I look a little messed up” He soothed, waving the man out the door. My laughter had not ceased by the time he had turned his attention to me.

“What are you laughing at hot topic?” I clasped my wrist as the words tattooed across it flared with heat. I shoved the discomfort down, offering my hand.

“Only your fly-like assistant. I’m Virgil Maelstrom. I’m the younger brother of that idiot’s partner. Or one of them at least” Mr Roy took my hand, shaking it briskly before following Remus to the table near the counter. I pulled down my sleeve to see a name written under my words. Roman. I was soulmates with ROMAN ROY the singer! How did I end up with him. Emile caught me staring numbly as new words appeared beneath the original ones.

“So. Finally met your soulmate?” They asked, a soft smile gracing their features. The smile that had caused my crush all those years ago. I had long grown out of it, but it still held power for their partners and me.

“One of them I guess. It’s Roman Roy” I whispered the last part, showing them my arm. They hummed thoughtfully, messaging their own wrist. Rem had told me about his own experiences all those years ago, but to actually experience it was insane.

“Well, why don’t you go tell him?”

“I...can’t. He didn’t react to me saying anything. It was like I was just another person, y’know?”

“Well, as your sibling-in-law, I say we’re gonna tell him. C’mon” They pulled me after them. I tried to make excuses, but the doctor was in full help mode. There would be no stopping them.

“Uh, what’s up honey?” Re asked, looking confused at the determined march.

“Roman. Good to see you. I found you a soulmate” They yanked me forward as they spoke, lighting up in pride.

“Look, I’m sorry. They’re just re-” I started babbling, reaching my exposed arm up, forgetting it was free for anyone to read.

“That’s my name” A soft voice interrupted me. Then a whoop from Re shattered the shock.

“Lil’ bro! Look at that, two siblings, two chance meetings in this restaurant!”

“What did you say your name was-ow!” He cried out as words burned into his arm. Only your fly-like assistant -Virgil appeared beneath another set of words.

“I- Virgil. I’m Virgil Maelstrom. And it looks like we have another soulmate” He scooted over, nodding for me to sit by him. I took it hesitatingly, watching as his hands started moving as Remus drew him back into a conversation. The shop was closed as Roman ate, and paid for the rest of us to join him. I buzzed nervously, playing my my earring once more. It wasn’t until we were cleaning up when Roman approached me.

“So. Uh. Virgil? Would you. Would you w-. Wouldyoubemyboyfriend?” He stammered, so at odds with how he was when in the public eye. I nodded mutely, and he swept me into a hug.

~Elsewhere, A few months later?~

My hands shook as I reached for the top shelf. I wobbled, leaning heavily on my cane. I snarled, planting my cane firmly and stretching for the stuff I had put up there.

“Sir, do you need help?” A woman approached me. I nodded, and she got it down easily.

“Thank you mx-”

“Oh, no. It’s Mrs. Smith. Have a good day sir!” She pranced off, ignoring my protest that I was not a ‘sir’. The fire that had scarred me burned away my gender too. I hoisted the bag onto my good shoulder and walked the opposite way. I did not look forward to returning to the place I was forced to call ‘home’.

“I’m home” I called, opening the door slowly. My girlfriend ran around the corner, beaming.

“Sweetie! I missed you so much! I was gonna be so sad if you hadn’t gotten back so soon!” She nearly yelled, her face dropping slightly at the thought.

“No, I wouldn’t. You know I try to be home as soon as I can” I offered a soothing smile. She took my cane and dragged me after her. She ignored my winces, her face screwed up so she couldn’t see. I kept as quiet as I could until the tv concert of Double R. I beamed as he sung, his current outfit looking so much better on him than the previous. When it had finished, my girlfriend was fast asleep on the opposite side of the couch. On a complete whim, I stood up and limped to the door. Taking my cane, I set out on a walk.

~~~~

“Ro, be careful. You’re easily recognizable” Virgil begged as I stepped outside.

“Don’t worry my storm cloud. I promise to not draw unnecessary attention-” He snorted so I revised my statement with a glare “-I promise not to draw any attention to myself. I’ll be back soon”

“Whatever. I’ll have my phone on me, so call if you get in trouble” He closed the door behind him. We had been dating for a few months, and they’d been the best (and safest, but don’t tell Virgil that) of my life. I couldn’t wait to meet the third member of our soulmate bond though. I drew the hood of my sweatshirt, borrowed from Virge, up over my head. I wandered aimlessly for a while before deciding to get some milkshakes before heading back. I bumped into someone as I was putting in my earbuds.

“Oh my gosh, are you ok?!” I asked them, and they waved me off.

“Yea whatever” They mumbled to the ground. I offered them a hand up. They took it and when meeting my eyes, just stared.

“I love the new outfit!” They finally blurted out. I let out a yelp as my arm suddenly got warm.

“Thanks! I uh, I think you should know that you may be my second soulmate?” I said, drawing back my sleeve to show them my first message. Just like when Virgil’s message had finally appeared on my arm, there was a name there now. Blocky letters spelled out: Ethan.

“I...yea. That’s my name. I’m Ethan! Ethan Snips. They/them please” they spoke hurriedly. I nodded, sweeping them up into a hug.

“C’mon! You’ve gotta meet your other soulmate now” I smiled as they stared in disbelief when my own first sentence to them appeared with my name.

___

I was soulmates with Roman. Roy! And there was a third person. I obviously needed to meet them as I had their message left. But I had two soulmates and one of them is famous!

“Wait I- nevermind. Please, just take me to meet them” I smiled, limping after him as quickly as possible. He bought three milkshakes, which he rudely refused to give me mine until we got back. We were near his trailer when I heard her.

“She doesn’t sound happy” Roman turned nervously towards the sound.

“No, she isn’t. Hurry, please” I nearly shoved him in my haste to get away.

“Bad?” He asked, meeting my eyes. I noticed he didn’t even seem to register my scars

“Very bad” I nodded, raising a hand up towards my blind eye as if it would keep her from coming.

“HELP! SECURITY!” He screamed at the top of his lungs before scooping me up and running. I yelped, clinging to my cane and the arm wrapped around my chest.

“Princey, you idiot, what did you do!” A dark haired man appeared, one hand already on his hip.

“Reeescued someone?” Roman smiled charmingly.

“You idiot. He’s pretty, so I can see why you wanted to be knight in shining armor”

“No, you’re prettier. Handsome! Like the moon” I mumbled dazed.

“Thanks, why wear those gloves?” I saw his frazzled gaze on my threadbare gloves. I clapped one hand to my arm where warmth radiated suddenly. I raised my cane in answer.

“This is Ethan! Our second soulmate! Uh, they/them. I need to explain to the head of security why I uh...just screamed. Have fun!” Roman dashed out the door.

“I’m Virgil. I’m assuming that was your mark suddenly warm, so my name should be under it” He sat a few feet away, playing with a small ball. I checked, and that was true. He didn’t move any closer or try to continue the conversation. It seemed like his question was more of a defense mechanism than him actually asking.

“Virgil?”

“Hm? What’s up?” He looked up.

“What’s your family like?” There was a small chuckle as he picked up the ball and started tossing it between his hands.

“Well, I’m assuming you don’t want to hear about my parents. They disowned me a few years back. My older brother Remy basically raised me anyways. He married Ro’s older sibling, and Dr. Picani. I work at the restaurant they own. I met Ro a few months back when he came in, and we started dating”

“Oh.” I traced the end of my shoe in thought.

“Here. A secret for a secret? I’ll you something most people don’t know about me for something about you?”

“Uh, sure. My middle name is Daniel”

“Ohhhh that’s kinda sweet! Well, I’m trans”

“Huh. And once again society has made equal exchange impossible”

“Ah! I see we have a philosopher” Roman came back in, kicking off his shoes and handing out replacement milkshakes.

“Yea. it happened aft-After a certain`”

“You don’t have to tell us if you’re not ready. We have time” Virgil interrupted me.

“No. No, I want it in the open. I was caught in a fire, which caused serious damage to most of my left side, and my hands” I pulled off my gloves, showing the scars that across them. Virgil reached over, offering a hand in invitation. I shook my head and he withdrew it without comment. I already felt safer with these two than I had with anyone else.

#sanders sides #sympathetic deceit #sympathetic roman #sympathetic virgil #manipulation #prinxieceit

32 notes · View notes

rosethesongbird · 4 years

Text

Lady of the Lake Chapter II

Thanks all, for the love/likes/reblogs on Chapter I. You can read that aforementioned Chapter I here.

If anyone has any suggestions for a title for this story, I’d love to hear them.

-R

Epione rose from her place at the side of the bed.

“Well, that’s that,” she said, using the last clean rag to wipe her face. “Do you plan to stay the night with us, Witcher?”

“Not like I have a choice,” said Geralt, still focused on the smaller man asleep in the bed.

“Of course you do,” said Epione, chuckling. “You just wouldn’t take it for anything else in the world.”

Geralt turned to look at her, silently, his jaw set. She was hanging her apron, facing away from him. She was making herself vulnerable. She was not afraid. It was almost annoying to see, due to the fact that every nerve in his body was still screaming, his friend was in danger, and he just let a complete stranger cut him, on purpose.

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” she said. “Although, it’s not the first time I’ve had daggers stared into my back. You just aren’t used to being read so easily. But that’s alright,” she turned to face him, stoking her fireplace. “I won’t tell a soul.” She smiled.

“Hm.”

“Well, since you’re staying the night, you can choose your bed,” she said. “I usually sleep in the bed upstairs, it’s yours if you want it. I’ll be waking up every hour and a half or so to wake him, as counterproductive as that may seem, so I’ll sleep here. Of course, you can always choose to sleep down here with us, if you’d like.” She removed her overdress, revealing a simple cotton chemise. Her braid seemed to uncoil itself from the bun, reaching halfway down her back. “I will warn you, though, you’ll get more rest upstairs. And you look like you need it.”

Geralt turned back to Jaskier, his hand now resting on the man’s chest. He felt like if he moved, Jaskier may stop breathing. But he was exhausted. The last hunt had not been kind to him, and this whole…situation came immediately after.

“I…don’t get much sleep even on my best days,” he said, his voice coming out much more callous than his heart felt.

“Well, tomorrow, we will go down to the Pool,” said the small woman, now sitting next to him. She cautiously placed her hand on his knee. “The waters are enchanted, and can assist with many things, insomnia included. They should speed up the healing process. He’ll still have to stay here for…well, three or four days to be safe,” she leaned down, turning her head until she was pushing her way in to Geralt’s line of sight. “For which I’m guessing I’ll have not one guest, but two,” she said, smirking.

“I suppose so,” he said, rising. “I’m going to check on Roach.”

“I feel like a horse so beautiful should have a more beautiful name,” said Epione. “Would you mind refilling this?” she handed him the bucket, full of water now filthy with blood and remnants of infection. “Oh, and,” she opened the cabinet, removing a small lump of sugar from a bag. “Give this to…Roach, and tell her she’s a very good girl,”

Geralt smirked. She had no idea how good Roach really was.

After updating Roach on the night’s events, he returned with the clean bucket.

The girl was already asleep.

Jaskier’s bed had been fortified with more strategically placed pillows than Geralt could count, and the girl slept with a single pillow and small blanket on a cot next to the bed.

There was a third cot, empty, with an extra pillow and blanket folded neatly on top of it, and a note. The note was written in neat, yet blocky script. She must usually write in runes.

Witcher, Geralt of Rivia-

Thank you for your dutiful assistance to me and my patient. I’m sure I speak for both of us when I say it is greatly appreciated.

Please, feel free to help yourself to the pantry, and adjust the fire to your liking. And expect a fresh, hot, homemade breakfast in the morning. It’s my pleasure.

-E

P.S. Please consider joining us in the Pool tomorrow. I think you will find it worthwhile.

—

Geralt jolted awake to the sound of a choked sob.

“Breathe, sweetheart,”

The girl was already awake. A few strands of hair had fallen out of her braid during the night. The fire was smoldering, and the first light of dawn was coming in the window. He had to reluctantly admit to himself that the girl was right. He was exhausted. He had expected to wake every time she had risen, and instead had abandoned his companion by sleeping through the night.

“I can’t, I can’t,” said Jaskier, wheezing, lips blue, face wet with tears. “I’m dying,”

“You aren’t dying, songbird. I promise. I wouldn’t let that happen.”

“What’s going on?”

“The infection spread to his chest before I could treat it,” said Epione, eyes bright despite the early hour. “Here, watch him for a minute,” she hopped off her cot, barefoot, nearly gliding over to the cupboard of medicines. “I can fix this but it’ll take me a moment. Oh, good morning, by the way.”

“Yeah, what a great way to wake up, very…relaxing,” Geralt said, moving to the bard’s bedside.

Epione scoffed. “Don’t take this out on me, Witcher,” her speech was muffled, a vial of herbs in her hand and the cork in her mouth. “It helps not a single one of us, and especially not him.”

“Sorry, I just…Fuck. Nevermind.”

“Geralt?” Jaskier broke into a fit of coughing. Wet coughing. Epione tossed a rag on Geralt’s cot. Blood began seeping from Jaskier’s parted lips. His face was so pale it almost appeared gray.

“Hey, uh… you’re going to be fine,” said the witcher. This felt so…tender. He owed it to Jaskier, for all the times he had insisted on patching up Geralt after a rough fight, or a rougher break-up. He realized that he was wiping the blood from his lips, and gripping his hand. The gesture came naturally, seemingly from a part of Geralt’s heart he didn’t himself have access to. Jaskier was shaking like a leaf in autumn wind. He was gasping for breath.

“I thought… I was dreaming,” he said, throat seized, with fear or with sickness; Geralt didn’t know.

“What did you dream?”

“Geralt of Rivia caring to hear my dream,” Jaskier laid back into the pillow. “Now I know it is a dream,” he laughed, a humorless laugh, that swiftly became another coughing fit.

“No, Jaskier,” Geralt growled. “Stay awake, this is real,” his piercing golden eyes trained on the soft blue ones before him, feeling like if he looked long enough it would keep the other man from falling asleep again.

“I was dreaming, that…” the blue eyes closed in a grimace of pain. An arched back. A keening whine. “…There was, this woman, and I was so afraid, but when I looked at her, it was like I knew, everything was okay,” the eyes opened, soft, raspy speech broken by heaving, rattling breaths. “It felt like, she was,” the eyes closed again, seeking for a word.

“An angel?” said Epione, appearing at Geralt’s side, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “Drink, love,” she tipped a glass to his lips. “Drink and rest.” Her other hand moved Geralt’s to the glass. She met eyes with him. The soft green communicated “I know, and I care.”

Not a sentiment Geralt was used to meeting.

—

Upon finishing the drink, Jaskier immediately calmed, apparently content with doing nothing but staring half-lidded at the ceiling. He was moving his lips, but no sound came out, and it didn’t seem concerning to him, so it wasn’t concerning to Geralt.

He leaned back onto the cot, training his ears to the sound of the bard’s breathing slowing down and evening out. He tried to calm himself enough to sense more than his own uncharacteristically quick heartbeat.

The scent of the fireplace, glowing, complimented by the scent of many loaves of bread long past.

Jaskier’s scent, flowery, sullied by illness and weakened by blood loss, but his.

And a third scent, like salty seawater, and something else. Something hard, unyielding, but natural.

The girl sighed and sat on his cot. The smell was seawater and granite, eroding, beaten over and over by eons of tides.

“Some say it’s because we are from Sirens,” she said, unprompted. She had put on her overdress, and the braid was back in its conservative bun.

“What?”

“Everything. Our smell, our lake, our eyes,” The light of the rising sun made her skin appear as orange as her hair. “The women in my family have tended this place for centuries. Legend has it that whatever in our blood that isn’t human is from a Siren. A long time ago, Sirens and men got along.”

She rose from the cot. “But, you know that already, don’t you.” Another sigh, when Geralt didn’t respond, thinking.

“Fresh eggs for breakfast? How does that sound? I’m sure the chickens have laid something,”

“Fine,” said Geralt.

The healer began to pull on her leather shoes and leave.

“Epione?” she turned with a questioning look. “Thank you,” said Geralt. “What…payment…will you require?”

“Your thanks is enough,” she said, her lips pursed in a suppressed smile. “Coin is only good for the good it can do.”

The door closed behind her, and Geralt and Jaskier were alone.

—

Jaskier’s voice rose to a whisper. Geralt was about to shush him, try to get him to rest, when he realized what he was saying.

Her current is pulling you closer

And charging the hot, humid night

The red sky at dawn is giving a warning, you fool

Better stay out of sight

“She’s missing verse two, Jaskier, she left,” said Geralt, quietly. He put his hand on his companion’s cheek. “You’ll have to sing it for her when she comes back,”

Jaskier’s eyes shut tightly. His voice rose even more, cracked, raspy, disused, but audible.

I’m weak, my love, and I am wanting

A tear tracked its way down his cheek, pallid, soft.

If this is the path I must trudge

I welcome my sentence

Give to you my penance

Garrotter, jury, and judge

Epione cracked open the door slowly, basket of eggs in tow. She began humming softly, along with Jaskier’s lyrics; soft dulcet tones despite recent trauma. Geralt closed his eyes, taking in the scene, comfortably…domestic.

The song was broken up by the sound of an egg suddenly sizzling on a hot pan.

—

“Eat, Geralt,” said the woman, pushing a plate of eggs into his hands. “I have some soup for our ‘invalid,’ if he wakes before it’s time to venture out,” she smiled.

“Was I asleep?” Geralt rubbed his eyes. Jaskier was mostly still, except for the soft rise and fall of his chest.

“I think so,” she said. “Either that or lost in thought, maybe.”

Jaskier stirred, groaning. His eyes shut tight before opening, clearing the remnants of sleep.

“Hey, Jaskier,” said Geralt. “How are you feeling?”

He thought for a moment. His brow furrowed. “Like shit,” he said. Across the room, Epione let out the purest laugh Geralt had heard since they had met mere hours earlier.

“Welcome back,” he said, smiling.

He tried to rise, sucking in air and clutching his right side. “Owww, Geralt,” he whined. “What did you do?”

“What did I do? How is this my fault, bard?” He shook his head, already exasperated. It was an odd feeling, to be happy that you are annoyed.

“Oh, I don’t know, it’s just that whenever something is deeply wrong with me, it has something to do with this guy I can’t stop hanging out with that has this whole ‘monster fighting’ thing going on,” said Jaskier, shaking hands gesturing to the best of their ability.

“You can blame it on me, songbird,” said Epione. “I’m sure your witcher would have stopped me if he had any other choice.” She sat down with the wooden bowl, half full of broth.

“Well hello there, fair lady,” he said. “Do we know each other?”

“I’ve seen your insides, so I suppose so,” she said with a smirk, holding the spoon to his lips. “Now hush and let the grown-ups talk, my dear,” she chuckled.

Jaskier opened his mouth in protest, only to be met with a mouthful of broth.

Chapter III here!

#fic #fanfic #the witcher #jaskier #dandelion #geralt #geralt of rivia #whump #jaskier whump #hurt/comfort #oc warning #chapter 3 will probably come in a few days #quarantine writing #this started as an excuse to whump jaskier but now i’m enjoying writing geralt #my writing

39 notes · View notes

yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

Text

In Our Bedroom After The War

[Broadway Kids]

Prompt: “Fuck what they think. I respect you and if they don’t, I’ll break their knees.”

Word count: 2944

-----------------------

Tommy can’t quite remember when Carrie stopped speaking. Some people said it was in the third grade after she brought that Bible to school and started praying in the middle of lunch, others said after the Christian Youth Camp incident and she swallowed so much water that she “permanently clogged her vocal cords” or something stupid. Whatever happened, something had made Carrie White go silent, and she’s been a target of mockery since.

Deaf and dumb. That’s what the other kids liked to call her. But she isn’t deaf, Tommy knows, because she always reacts to what is said about her with great offense and pain, and she certainly isn’t dumb because Tommy has seen her grades when her report cards are stolen and passed around by bullies. She’s a smart girl, very smart. If anything, he was the dumb one, because the amount of times he’s almost given away their little get-togethers was unbelievable.

It started a month into the school year, he believed. He went into senior year, while Carrie just started high school. He can’t quite remember what caused them to start meeting up in the hidden bathroom under the staircase in the C hall stair well, and he’ll admit that he had never imagined himself hanging out with the city’s resident freak and actually enjoy it, but he would seriously miss their reclusive meetings every Friday after school if they were to ever stop.

Today in particular was very special. 1) because he was finally going to try and teach Carrie about video games (she was fourteen! she should at least know the basics like Pokemon and Mario!) and 2) he had noticed that Carrie seemed a little off the past week and he wanted to ask her about it.

When you saw someone like Carrie White, you would assume that she was constantly in a state of anxiety and depression, but Tommy has learned to pick up on little ticks she does over time. Like how lately, she’s been tugging on her hair and biting her knuckles more often, something she only does if something is really bothering her. Because of their social status in the high school hierarchy, he was never able to ask her if she was alright, so non verbal forms of communication would have to do until their weekly meetup.

There’s the way he tried to avoid letting her out of sight, and if it isn’t that, then it's the way they move around each other in natural synchronicity in the hallway, like celestial bodies that have been caught in orbit for millennia. It's the way he makes excuses to walk alone to class just to make sure she doesn’t get any trouble on the way to her own. It's the silent conversations, an inquisitive look (“You okay?”) answered by a minute nod (“All good.”). It’s everything he wishes he had done for her before his final year of high school.

He tried not to think about it. Tried not to think about how Carrie would soon be all alone again after he graduates. Tried not to think about what would happen to her when he isn’t there as her silent guardian. Tried not to think about how sad he would be without seeing her every day anymore.

Tommy slipped inside the bathroom, shutting the door as quietly as possible to avoid alerting anyone who may have been lurking around, and turned to face the rest of the space. Carrie is sitting at the sink counter on one of two stools Tommy had smuggled in there for them. She turned her head to look at him sideways, but she’s still got her nose buried in a sketchbook, which she still hasn't let him look at. He wondered what she's drawing. Maybe it's a treasure map. Or a secret code. Or that deer they saw earlier. Or him.

“The party has arrived!” Tommy has announced, his voice rebounding loudly off of the silent bathroom walls. He dropped his backpack on the floor, unlike Carrie had done, as hers was hung up on one of the hooks on the wall.

Carrie finally put her pencil down and swiveled around completely in her stool to smile at him. She doesn’t show any teeth with her grin, and it’s slightly wry, but it’s a smile nonetheless and Tommy is honored to get such a thing from her. He examined her quickly, luckily finding no new wounds from bullying, then crossed over. She hastily closed her sketchbook.

“One day,” He said. “One day I will see your masterpiece.”

Carrie gave him an apologetic look, her smile becoming a little more tight. She grabbed a nearby whiteboard to write on, but stopped when Tommy waved a hand.

“No, no,” He said. “No need for that! I’ve been doing really well in my ASL class- you can sign to me!”

Carrie looked skeptical, but Tommy doesn’t miss the flash of excitement in her warm honey eyes. It’s not often that someone understands her when she uses sign language.

“Come on, I’m smarter than I look! Don’t doubt my abilities to learn a new language!”

Carrie nodded. She held up her hands, shaking down the frayed sleeves of her shirt, and began to sign.

“What (something) we (something) today?”

Okay, maybe he wasn’t AS fluent as he thought, but Carrie looked so much more comfortable being able to sign! He could just use his context clues!

“Something very fun!” Tommy assured her. He took out his phone and turned on a playlist that they’ve been progressively adding more and more songs to (with Carrie having to write hers down and give the list to him, seeing as she didn’t own any electronics). You can tell who added what like this: if it’s Christian related or something grungy-chill, Carrie probably added it; if it has folk music vibes and/or a lot of acoustic guitars, it was probably Tommy, surprisingly enough; if it just generally sounds like it’s ripped from an indie movie, it’s kind of a toss up.

He took out the Nintendo Switch he got last Christmas next and set it up on the sink counter. Carrie tilted her head at it as if it were a peculiar flower that had just sprouted out of the porcelain countertop.

“Ever played before?” Tommy asked, although he already knew the answer.

“No. (something) I’ve seen (something) (something).”

“You’ve seen it before?” Tommy repeated, guessing just by the way Carrie had pointed to her eyes.

Carrie nodded.

“Well, now you get to play it!” Tommy beamed at her and she smiled back, but it seems a little forced. Something is definitely on her mind- he’ll have to ask once she’s a little more relaxed. “Hmm… How about Minecraft?”

“M-I-N-E-C-R-A-F-T. I’ve heard (something) (something).”

“It’s fun!” Tommy assured her, selecting the game. “Trust me, you’ll like it.” He put the controllers in her hands and she rubs her thumbs over the rubber protectors. “So the main goal is surviving,” He went on. “There's a lot of objectives actually, but surviving is always the first one. Once you get used to it, you can play in Survival mode and start making a good base and start getting tools and armor and stuff, then you can move on to other objectives. But for now you can just play in Creative. What should we name the world?”

Carrie thought for a few moments, and Tommy could practically see all the random names cycling through her brain. After a moment, she signed, “(something)”

Tommy blinked.

“One more time.”

“(something)”

“Can you fingerspell it, please?”

“V-E-N-U-S.”

“Oh! Venus! We haven’t learned planets yet.” Tommy said. “Wait- Venus?”

“V-E-N-U-S (something) (something) (something) cool place (something) live.”

Tommy laughed. “Can’t argue with that logic!” He helped Carrie type in the name and clicked through a couple of other settings before hitting “create world”. Within a few moments the world was up and running. Carrie’s character was off in no time, exploring the blocky landscape and sifting through her colorful inventory, although her movements were sporadic and jerky since it was her first time playing.

Decorating the base was by far Carrie’s favorite part. There were so many different flowers for the outside and wood types for flooring and even COLORED glass. The only thing that would make it better was if you could have animals and OH MY GOODNESS YOU COULD HAVE ANIMALS!!!!!!!!

For a moment, Tommy debated just leaving Carrie there and allowing her to design the base and play around however she wanted, but he couldn't. He was so worried that someone may waltz in and see her in the boy’s bathroom and then do something to her. Carrie being nearly drowned in one of the toilets, Carrie getting her head smashed against the sink counter, Carrie being raped, Carrie getting beaten into a bloody pulp- so many horrible scenarios forced their way into his head. Carrie getting her throat slit, Carrie getting her body stuffed in the air vent, Carrie getting sodomized with a mop stick.

Why? Why were kids so cruel to her? Why couldn’t Tommy protect her from everything? Why does he know he can’t?

There was a soft touch on his hand and he jolted out of his thoughts. Carrie flinched away, too, then signed something he couldn’t understand, but knew she was asking if he was okay by the pinched expression on her face.

“I’m okay,” He assured her. “Just thinking.”

She made the gesture of “what” and tilted her head. Then she pointed to herself.

About me?

“Yeah,” Tommy admitted.

That made Carrie’s nose scrunch up in a giggle.

“Don’t (something) S-U-E know.”

“If you think that I would cheat on my girlfriend with a fish, then you are very much wrong.” Tommy said. “What about you? What’s been on your mind?”

Carrie put the Switch controllers down and shrugged her shoulders. She began to play with the cuff of her sleeve, not really making eye contact anymore.

“Come on,” Tommy urged. “You can tell me!”

“People,” Carrie signed vaguely.

“People?” Tommy echoed. “People being rude to you?”

Carrie shrugged again, and it was clear she didn’t really want to talk about this anymore, nor did she seem to be in a mood to continue playing. Tommy packed up the Nintendo Switch and paused their shared playlist. He gave Carrie her backpack and they started to walk out of the school in mutual silence.

“Sorry,” Tommy said as they neared the parking lot. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Carrie shook her head, then signed, “You didn’t. Don’t worry.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Well if it isn’t praying Carrie!”

Carrie went rigid, like she had been struck by lightning. She stopped mid-step and didn’t move as a group of seniors trot over, their faces alight with mischief and cruelty.

“Ross!” One of them called. “What are you doing with this freak?”

“Is she holding you hostage?” Another guessed, casting a look at Carrie.

“I bet she’s leading him out to his car to force him to let her ride him.” A third said. The group howled with diseased laughter at that. Tommy is appalled. Carrie looked ill. “Is that it, church girl? The need for sex has finally broken into you and you’re ready to sin?”

“Back off!” Tommy growled, shoving the boy away. He put himself between him and Carrie, becoming a barricade of sorts. “Leave her alone.”

“I wonder how loud she’ll moan,” A fourth member of the group mused.

“Can she even moan?” The second wondered out loud.

“If you plowed into her hard enough I bet she’ll make some sort of sound.” The first said.

Carrie darted left and sprinted for the nearby line of trees edging the campus. Tommy glared at the group of seniors, then followed, concerned.

The darkness of the forest quickly closes around them. Carrie is fast on her feet, but Tommy was an athlete and he caught up quickly. He snagged the back of her jacket in a loose grip. They stumbled together over uneven ground and exposed tree roots until Carrie collapsed in a hollow between two moss-covered rocks. Tommy slotted himself in front of her so that she’s shielded from all sides- the rocks and Tommy forming a barrier from the world.

He said nothing. He listened to the girl’s gasping breaths and knew that it’s nothing that words can cure- not anymore. Not after years of having no one, being stabbed in the back and spoon fed lies. He closed his eyes and immersed himself in the rustling of oak leaves, the distant calls of birds, the persistent harmony of crickets.

He wondered what Carrie used to ground herself.

He wondered if she grounded herself at all.

Slowly, softly, Carrie calmed to some degree. It comes faster than Tommy expected, but he assumed that’s just because she’s grown used to the treatment she gets. She shifted, wiggling her shoes beneath Tommy’s thigh. Tommy doesn’t shift. He won’t leave until she does.

“It’s okay,” He finally whispered. “I’m here. I won’t let them hurt you.”

Carrie whimpered and made a sloppy gesture- Why?

“Because I care about you.” Tommy said. “Fuck what they think. I respect you and if they don’t, I’ll break their knees.”

He wanted to make her laugh or smile or at least stop crying, but Carrie just whimpered again. She swiveled around to face him, eyes flashing with tears.

“Why?” She signed again, sniffling miserably.

“We’re friends.” Tommy told her. “You know that, don’t you?” The look he got said that she didn’t believe it. “Come on. Tell me some things you know about me. You’d be surprised how well you know me.”

Carrie hesitated, then began to sign, “Your name is Tommy Ross.” She winced at how bland it was, but Tommy only nodded, brushing a bit of his dark brown hair out of his eyes. Carrie’s face scrunched up like she’s memorizing her timestaple in front of him, struggling to bring that gridded mess of numbers to mind.

“You’re the tallest (something) (something) everyone (something) your team,” She continued. The sky overhead is eye-wateringly blue, with crisply white cotton clouds scudding along the horizon. A light breeze shakes the leaves of a nearby oak tree that has the initials of some high school sweethearts carved into the base of its trunk. They’re a little crooked from where someone’s hand had slipped, the flat of a switchblade arcing a little too close to the bark, and making a J thicker, almost a U when you looked at it dead on.

“That’s right,” Tommy said. He knows his role here is only background noise. That’s his job, whether Carrie knows it or not, and he’s more than happy to fulfill it. He doesn’t mind being subject to the scrutiny of befriending ol’ praying Carrie because of it. Not if it’s what she needs to feel better.

“Your eyes (something) like a (something) green-brown, (something) (something) like slimy algae. You always have (something) stupid red sports jacket on. Your sneakers (something) (something) white, once upon a time.” She managed to tease him, uttering out a tiny giggle.

“What can I say, Carrie, I’m a filthy gremlin, like all boys are-” He joked, and she swatted him lightly on the arm. She bit back a laugh, and Tommy wished that she wouldn’t- Carrie tips her head back when she laughs, unabashed and on the edge of hysterical, giggling and snorting, shoulders shaking with mirth until she’s brought her gaze back down again, cheeks flushed from the exertion of being host to that much joy despite everything that she’s been through. No one holds the weight of trauma and mistreatment as heavily on their shoulders as Carrie White does- Carrieta, the library to all of those scattered instances of would-be’s-could-be’s-shouldn’t-be’s. And still, there is a smidge joy. It’s beautiful. He thought that she’s most beautiful when she’s laughing (don’t tell Sue, and if you do, make sure you let her know it’s completely platonic. but just don’t tell her at all).

“You have, like, (something) favorite red shirt, with a light brown hood on it. And S-U-E thinks it’s hideous.” Carrie continued. She’s tapping her foot against his leg, a gentle soothing gesture, and he lets her. He knew that it’s more for herself than him.

“You have a golden ring (something) onto a necklace.” Carrie signed. “But you don’t wear it (something) you think it (something) you look silly. But it’s really pretty.” Pause, and when she signed again, it wasn't about the necklace anymore. “It’s (something) (something) like having a sibling.” Pause. Carrie looked up at him with glittering eyes. “You’re Tommy Ross.”

The weight that she placed on his name makes his heart stutter, catching in his chest- the warmth that he felt towards her is almost unbearable, and he found himself grinning, mouth gone crooked in the gesture.

“I’m Tommy Ross, that’s right,” He repeated to her, as if they’re introducing themselves at some shitty college icebreaker. “And I’m not going anywhere, Carrie.” He went on, a touch of urgency in his voice- and she smiles, eyes closing, though hers are more reserved than his, somehow. There’s a tear bright in the corner of her right eye, and it traced a thin path down her face. More come. They pool at her chin, dripping off of her face, and soaking into the softness of the earth. His chest ached.

“And you’re not going anywhere,” She whispered, voice hitching a little halfway through. He swiped a thumb over her cheek, flicked the tear off into the green grass behind them.

“I’m not,” He promised. “I’m not leaving you, Carrie.” And his voice had gone soft, her name cradled gently in his mouth, like he’s afraid of breaking something precious.

#it hurts because carrie kills tommy in the musical #dont tag as ship or I WILL pee in your sink #carrie #carrie the musical #broadway kids carrie #carrie white #tommy ross #carrie fanfiction #my writing

12 notes · View notes

transboygenius · 4 years

Text

Season 4 promo

After overcoming some abuse, anxiety, and depression issues, I FINALLY have it finished.

Three months ago, a huge ceremony took place for the graduation of Lindbergh's fifth grade students. All children were dressed in caps and gowns, receiving their diploma one by one. Cindy earned an academic award along with her diploma. Fortunately, for Jimmy, he earned quite some more, which made him fall over with all that weight. Cindy looked over to him in envy, while Nick helped him pick up some of those awards. Miss Fowl was crying tears of freedom, for she was finally free from Sheen's shenanigans. While the ceremony was still going on, Jimmy gave an inspirational speech about what he learned. Not just about geometry, history, or science, but socialization, and how it changed him. He even gave a sincere shoutout to Nick.

Cindy watched in all bitterness. She was upset. Was it because Jimmy managed to outdo her achievements? Yes. Was it because she still misses him in her life? Also yes. She still loves him, but she is also jealous of him. Why can't she just be one of those? Despite that her and Jimmy vowed to each other that they would be friends instead, she could never move on from him. Ever since him and Nick escaped fron the medieval century, he has redeemed himself from his arrogant and egotistic ways, putting friendship before science. Cindy doesn't get it. She has tried for months to bring him into common sense, even tried beating it out of him, and he does it for some kid he used to have minimal interactions with.

Not only that, but they also became really close friends after that time warp trip. Something about their relationship really made Cindy feel envious. They're always happy with each other, as well as supportive. Even when they find something either of them disagree on, they still search for a way to cooperate. Also, the way Jimmy's always bedazzled by Nick brings her with a lot of questions. Why doesn't he ever look at me like that? Compared to his friendship with Carl and Sheen, he definitely had some "weird" subtext going on with Nick. Cindy lost two goals in this year. While in her gloomy state, her mother began to comfort her. Or at least that's what she thought.

"Oh, don't let the agony of defeat weigh you down, Cynthia! This is only the beginning! That big headed whippy dip may have won the battle, but I guarantee you will win the war! We'll just have to try HARDER this time! I'll help you, and make sure you stay on track!" "Gee. Thanks, Mom. I really appreciate that." "Anything to bring the Vortex image up!"

...........................

It was another fun summer vacation for children, especially for Jimmy and his gang, along with Nick. Sometimes they would go off into far adventures. Sometimes Jimmy would give a new experiment to present. Sometimes they would do normal summer activities such as going to the beach, or Retroland. Or sometimes they would lie around at home all day like couch potatoes. Nick has never had such a productive summer before! He was so happy, he even did his chores whenever he was told to. Well, occasionally. While everyone was making the most of their vacation, Cindy would continue researching and studying until her brain melts.

Most of Nick's summer days were spent with Jimmy, because of course. He spent some time with Libby, since they surprisingly had a lot in common. He at least put his best to hang out with Carl. Even though Nick doesn't consider Sheen much as a friend, Sheen can't help but get a little clingy over a new amigop. Just for Jimmy, he tolerated all of his actions, even when he starts to infodump about how much he knows about Ultralord. When Nick feels he isn't doing a good job being pal-friendly to Jimmy's two comrades, he cooks them up lunch, takes special recipe requests, and gave free cooking lessons. He'd cook for Libby too, only to test out new vegetarian recipes. The only member of the squad Nick interacted with the least would be Cindy.

After three months of summer, it eventually went down to a bummer. When the first back-to-school commercial airs, every child is met with horror. Speaking of which, on the third of August, it was time to face a new beginning. Goodbye Elementary School, and hello to Middle School. Nick was gazing into the mirror, grooming his curtain cut with care. Although he's not popular anymore, keeping his own hair perfect has become a habbit to him. He also decided to try a new casual, comfortable wardrobe: white long sleeved shirt, blue t-shirt over it, teared loose jeans, and purple converse. The ring around his neck never left him. After he finished admiring his own reflection, he took his backpack and ran towards the door.

"Nick, would you like me to drive you there?" Shouted his mom from another room. "It's cool, Mom! I'll just take my scooter!" Replied Nick. "Well, you better not be late on your first day! Love you, honey!" “Love you too, Mom."

.....................

So on the scooter ride to school, he met with a few friends on the way. Libby and Cindy took the bus, but he only waved to Libby. Sheen was passing by in his dad's car, constantly trying to get Nick's attention while Nick did his best to ignore him. Then came Bolbi on a unicyc- Wait a minute, he's not a friend. Lastly, up in the sky, there was Jimmy in his hovercar, greeting Nick from above. Then there was Carl in the backseat, catching the breeze in his face, then a splattered bug. All of the squad met at the front entrance of Gelaway's Middle School. Even though summer was over, some were eagar to move to a new school level where they'll no longer be regarded as little kids.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhh... Can't believe we're in middle school now! The place where practices to being a teenager begins! Pretty soon we'll be driving in our parents' cars, and attending R-rated movies!" Cooed Libby. "I can't wait to wear body jewelry!" Said Carl. "Sooooooooo, looks like this is a new stage in our growing life. It feels like only yesterday we were doing show 'n tell, and macaroni art. Now there's... ...here. Wow." Spoke Nick.

Jimmy gave his tall buddy a light nudge on the shoulder, then grinned at him.

"Shall we... ...go inside now?" Asked Jimmy. “YES, LET'S GO INSIDE NOW! I've been surrounded by babies for too long! PEAK OF ADULTHOOD, HERE I COME!" Shouted Sheen, then dashed on ahead.

The rest of the gang followed behind. When they made it inside, it felt like opening a door to a whole new world. The inside was full of older and maturer kids, all in a different multicultural range. Most of them were just fooling around on their phones. Libby had her eyes on a couple of teens playing music and then dancing to it. Sheen had his eyes on a couple of dudes having a casual conversation about science fiction. Carl had his eyes on... ...a Llama Lovers club? Nick had his eyes on something that made him wanna act fast. He quickly hid behind a really tall, blocky kid while the gang continued to chat amongst themselves.

A trio walked down the hall, in an intimating fashion. The lead of the trio was a blonde boy who wore fingerless gloves, a snapback, baggy pants, sneakers, and a t-shirt that had a ravenous spike collared bulldog on it. Not to mention he had a (fake) tattoo on his left arm that read "Beast." He appeared to look the most intimating, and seemed to be at Nick's height. The kid on his left was a lanky boy, who wore a red and yellow tank top, with matching shorts, plain white sneakers, and his hair was braided. He was the tallest, and looked like a friendly kid at heart. The last one was a short redhead with a fringe hairstyle. He wore a blue sweatshirt, long jeans, and a pair of crocs. The boy was the shortest of the bunch, but still a little taller than Jimmy, and he looked like he was trying way too hard to be intimating.

The three happened to be approaching the gang, and then the short one tripped.

"AARON!" Shouted the blonde lead. “Uh, uh- Sorry, chief!" The redhead soon got back up to his feet.

The front blonde kid then snapped his fingers to get everyone's attention. As he did, he gazed down upon Jimmy.

"Well, looks like we have some new fish in this joint! Hey squirt, you must be Neutron!" “Uhhhh... The pleasure is-" “I'm not done talking yet, nerd! *AHEM*"

The blonde grabbed Jimmy by his hair, and lifted him up to make direct eye contact.

"You and I will be getting to know each other very well."

He then released and just dropped Jimmy, leaving his soft served ice cream hair now out of shape. The gang just stood in silence as they waited for this blonde kid to say something else.

"What? I'm done talking!" Said the blonde. “Who are you jerks, anyways?" Asked Cindy. "Ah, I'm glad you asked, doll! They call me 'Tony!' You BETTER remember that! You are prohibited to call me anything else besides 'Tony!' Understand, huh?" "Chief?" Asked the short redhead. "YOU WERE EVEN LISTENING- Oh. Whaddya want, Aaron?” “I thought you were done talking.” “UGHHHH-“ “And don’t we get an introduction?" "*Sigh* And this is my crew, Mike and Aaron. Call them anything you want, I'm sure they don't mind." "I'm Mike, btw." The tall kid declared. "Coooool! A real school gang! Do you guys have a super cool gang name??" Asked Sheen. “Of course we do, needle-neck! Otherwise we wouldn't be a gang! It may sound simple, but it still manages to strike fear into the weaks' hearts. We call ourselves: Tony Mike n Aaron!" "Oh. Well, it sure is easy to remember." "Dang straight! And you better not forget! As for you, nerd. I'll be seeing you around soon."

With business now done, Tony turned the opposite direction and walked away. Mike fixed Jimmy's hair before catching up with Tony. Aaron just continued to stare at the squad aggressively, trying not to give away a blink. Eventually, he had to stop when Tony called him up. As soon as they were gone, Nick came out of hiding, and got back in place like he never left. And it's a good thing the gang hasn't noticed, otherwise he'd make himself look like a wuss. He was in no mood to deal with those three right now.

"Uhhhh, Jimmy. Shouldn't we be collecting our schedules?" Nick tried to change the subject. "Huh? Oh YEAH! C'mon, team! We don't wanna make a bad impression by being tardy on our first day!"

.........................

Homeroom was with English class. The teacher was a man who looked like he hasn't gotten enough sleep, and talked in a stoic monotone voice. His expression was blank.

"Welcome, class. My name is Mr. Nite. Here we will be learning the art of literature English and how it will build up your doctoral level. Also for other stuff that's very important in the future, bluhblubbluhbluh. Now, can each student stand up from their desk one at a time, and present themselves to me?" “Salutations! My name is Cynthia Vort-" "That will do for now. Thank you all for giving me the chance to know each and every one of you. Now, to start the day, please turn to page 13 in the textbook in front of you. We will be going through Sonata For Harp And Bicycle. When you are finished, there are questions you shall answer at the end of the story. You are also proposed to write a five paragraph summary for Sonata For Harp And Bicycle. We will be reviewing the story tomorrow, write an essay report on the author's background, taking notes on what you learned, and then comes the big test on Friday. Begin now."

Mr. Nite slumped his head down on his desk to take a nap. All the students hesitated for a moment, before opening their textbooks. First day of middle school, and already their week is busy. Well, first day of school is not supposed to be a party. Carl and Sheen went through at least one page. They both started to get a migraine from all the big fancy vocabulary they're never used to, not even when hanging around with Jimmy for years.

.............................

The other classes were just as bizarre and stressful. In music class, the teacher was a grown man with a purple dyed mohawk, visor sunglasses, and other stereotypical attire from the 1980s, also talking in outdated slang. His name was Mr. Beatz. He played his guitar, loud enough to sting the students' ears, and break windows. Libby seemed to be the only one taking a liking to him. They're first assignment was to recreate they're own cover of Do Re Me. He didn't feel like starting with something simple, since "That's so early 2000s."

In home economics class, the teacher was a plain lady who wore chef attire. She also appeared to act like two characters in one. One minute, she's a sweet housewife gently instructing the basics to culinary skills, then the next she turns into a strict food teacher with the cooking arts of a five-star chef, also bearing a British accent. Her name was Mrs. Rosemerry. Their first assignment was to fix up something without a recipe. Lucky for Nick, he could easily survive.

In P.E. class, their coach was some buff, toned women. Right before anyone could introduce themselves, she blew on her whistle and started the first assignment: Run fifty laps around the field. Anyone who gives up, or pukes, has to do a hundred pushups. Her name was Ms. Barbell, by the way.

............................

Everyone became quite exhausted from this long first day. They didn't expect middle school to be quite a challenge. Then again, nobody said growing up was easy. To add insult to injury, all of them had homework. Homework on the first day. Feels like being punished for no reason. Thank goodness lunch has arrived. The squad took their trays and waited in line to be served. Nick, however, brought his own lunch, but he made sure to reserve a table for his friends. Then, Carl and Sheen came in contact with the lunch lady. She looked nothing like a stereotypical lunch lady. In fact, this dollface sweetheart looked like someone who walked out of their dreams. The two boys couldn't help but gaze upon her remarkable beauty. They eventually snapped out of it when she scooped some unidentified glop onto their trays. She was attractive, but not her cooking.

The squad all sat at the table Nick held for them. None of them ate. They just stared at the mystery glop on their trays. Carl gave a taste. It was so revolting, even he couldn't work it down. Libby felt there was meat products cooked into the stuff, so she refused to touch it. Nick, about the only kid at the table who packed something edible, looked at the poor, hungry boy genius. Caring for his best friend, he offered him half of his lunch on a napkin. Then, he started getting hungry stares from Carl and Sheen. He knew that giving Jimmy some of his own lunch would give them the wrong idea that he's just giving out free eats, but he would never let the little guy starve like that. They were drooling down on the table, begging Nick with big, gapping eyes.

"Please, Nick. I gotta keep my blood sugar up." Whined Sheen. "(You say that like it's a bad thing)"

Nick wasn't feeling any sorry for them, but the only way they'd leave him alone is that he gives them what they want. So, he put out his lunchbox and told them to take a little. The two boys helped themselves, feasting greedily like a bunch of animals. After they were done, they wiped off their faces clean with napkins, then slid the lunchbox back to Nick. There was nothing left for him but an empty milk bottle, which had a big mark bitten out of it.

"Thank you very much! Now how am I gonna keep my blood sugar up?" Said frustrated Nick. "Hey, lighten your mood, gang! Sure, the classes are pushy, the teachers are looney, and the food here stinks! Quite literally, too. But, at least there's some good to come out of this!" Exclaimed Sheen. "Like WHAT?” "Recess! GERONIMO!"

Sheen flew towards the door that's suppose to lead to the playground. He crashed with a loud thud, then Jimmy came up to point out the the print on the door says “Pull.” Unfortunately, all he found were students lounging outside; Enjoying their packed lunches, gossiping with each other, reading, or being on their phones and tablets.

"Whoops! This isn't the playground!"

All the outside students overheard Sheen's statement. Some got up from their sitting positions to give him a taste of reality.

"Sounds like you're new around here." "Sorry, we don't have any of that 'little kid' stuff anymore." "No teeter-totter, no slides, no monkey bars, *Sighs* no swings." "Welcome to phase one of growing up. ...sir."

Now this has gone too far. First all this work, no edible nourishment, and now they can't have the one escapism that helped them pull through elementary school.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

The others then met with Sheen outside, surprised themselves to find no recess playground. Just big kids doing "big kid" things. Sheen crawled on his knees and begged to Jimmy.

"Jimmy, could you invent something that would shrink down ages? The peak of adulthood is scary!" "C'mon now, Sheen. An age reversal process isn't gonna fix anything."

Nick then separated the Ultralord fanboy from his short friend, giving him some comfort.

"Don't worry about that, little bud. Sure, this first year has gone through a rocky start, and it'll probably get much worse in the future, but... ...with all our effort, we'll make it through together." "Thanks, Nick. Although, that doesn't seem to make me feel any better." "Oh, buck up, will ya?"

Nick then pulled Jimmy close to him as they decided to find some spot to longue outside, which made Jimmy just blush a bit. And from his tall friend's cheesy motivational speech, he wonders what he's implying when he mentioned "we'll" and "together." Together as in the whole squad as a group, or together as just him and Nick as a pair. Cindy, following behind, watched with indifference on Jimmy and Nick's closeness.

#Jimmy Neutron #Boy Genius #Nick Dean #Sheen Estevez #Carl Wheezer #Libby Folfax #Cindy Vortex #fanfic #Season 4 #I’m sooooooooo sorry for the wait!

13 notes · View notes

starr-fall-knight-rise · 5 years

Text

Humans are Space Orcs, “For Science pt. 2″

IMPORTANT: This is a very important story in regards to the plot-line of everything. I know I posted the first part of the story on the 4th so a lot of people were busy, so here is the link

https://starr-fall-knight-rise.tumblr.com/post/186052173240/humans-are-space-orcs-for-science

BOOK: as for this, I hope to get the first chapter out by tomorrow. Tomorrow is sort of a special day for me, so putting it out would be a present from me to me. I WILL let you all know where it is and provide the link for you. The platform will be wattpad for those of you wondering.

Sunny looked on in helpless horror as her human friends slumped to the ground and grew still. There was nothing she could do, the window remained unbroken by her attack, and no matter how hard she hit it, or what she hit it with, it would not break. Krill, likewise stood staring on helpless unable to help. She wasn’t sure which one of them suffered more. Her for her emotional attachment to them or him because, as a doctor, he knew what might just happen to their bodies.

Between the two of them it couldn’t have been worse. She turned from the window ran out the door, pushing past Connn, who floated like a useless sack of garbage staring off into space with nothing but a vacant expression.

She made it to the place where the intake room had been locked down jamming her fingers under the door and began to pull. If she pulled hard enough, than maybe…

“STOP!”

She didn’t stop.

“I said STOP.”

A body dropped in front of her between her in the door obscuring her vision and stopping her progress. She reacted suddenly and violently jolting upwards and grabbing the distraction about the throat. Ribbons of white billowed around her as she moved.

Conn almost died right there and then. Had she pushed him any harder against the wal his entire body would have shattered. But you couldn’t tell just by looking at him such a thing had taken place. He stared at her defiantly, his unnervingly human face pulled into an expression of annoyance rather than fear. Slim fingers raised towards his head, and his hands began moving quickly translating his words into speech that she could hear, “You will only get them Killed. If you run in there now they surely have cameras and sensors. We are lucky if they have not noticed us yet.”

“I won’t let them die.” She snarled

“Oh yes, and getting yourself killed heroically while you attempt to save them and fail is even better.” The sarcasm was thick, layered on like butter. She was reminded how human Conn was compared to the rest of them. It almost made her jealous at times, and she wondered if that may have been one of the reasons she couldn’t stand the smug creature.

But he continued speaking, “I can hear them, you’re humans. They are not dead yet, but we must remember that, somehow they managed to defeat two teams of humans on the insides and two teams of humans on the outside. They have all our men, what do YOU think you can do? If you storm in now they WILL die.”

“But Ada-”

“Is still alive.” The straborn signed exaggeratedly, “And dreaming cute fluffy dreams about bunnies.” He mocked. With one hand he reached out and pushed her away. As weak as he was it wouldn’t have done anything if she had been trying to resist him, but she stepped off and ran back onto the observation deck, leaving Conn floating behind her massaging his throat.

Krill was still there waiting and watching in wide eyed horror as doors opened up in the sides of the room leaving six cavernous black spaces from which nightmarish things poured.

Large, blocky, black robots gilded their way onto the floor. They were tall slabs of black with blocky mechanical arms resembling no species that she knew of, simply wide rectangles with blinking lights and a set of arms. She would assume they had originally been used as autonomous guards when the prison was still under friendly hands.

But now, they were busy picking up the fallen humans, taking their weapons and stripping them of some of their gear. Helmets rolled across the floor and vests were sliced off to be piled against one corner. The robot that held Adam turned in a wide circle and then proffered the body in a random direction as if it was asking someone’s opinion on the specimen it had collected.

“Fascinating, truly fascinating.” The robot spun the limp body about in its arms, “Show me the leg.” A loud ripping noise broke through the silence as fabric was sliced, and a single knee guard was torn off and tossed away. The glittering blue of her carapace glowed slightly in the ambient light. The prosthetic itself was dead, and unmoving just like the brain up to which it was synched. “How FASCINATING.” The scientist repeated, “I wonder….. How many parts can you remove before it stops being a human…. This one already has a leg and an eye missing. Shouldn’t be an issue to see what else I can take. Sure humans are powerful all by themselves, but the MIND of a human integrated with the body of a machine…… GLORIOUS. Take the other leg, and the arms, then that eye of course. Oh, and then destroy the ears, implant something a bit better.”

The scientist paused for a long moment as Sunny stood hands pressed against the glass in despair.

“What else could I remove….. The pump system is fine, and so is the waste system I suppose. Probably want to keep its ability to breed if I want more of them….. Does it need a tongue? Well I suppose it does if I still want it to eat. You know, on second thought, can we just replace the entire rib cage, I want it to be stronger. The soul of the human, body of a machine. I mean of course I could just remove the brain and put that into a robot, but….. I don’t know what that would do to the soul….. Besides the trauma might just kill the poor creature. That’s why the human’s haven't made full cyborgs after all the brain doesn't like it.”

A soft keening broke into the quiet of the observation booth, and she suddenly realized the sound was coming from her. Adam was carried away through the black door and into darkness.

“Mmm, I was also thinking soe biological weapons. Humans are nasty little creatures aren't they, just chalk full of delightful diseases.” One of the female marines was being held up now, “An epidemic here a plague there Viral Hyperactive Ectomucsacytosis,for the Gromm, it already destroyed them once, so it will do it again, not a human disease per say, but they are glorious carriers. For the rundi? Well they seem to be rather susceptible to the human flu, I am thinking Influenza A H7N9. Of course I have most of the starborn under my control, so that won't be much of an issue. Oh but the Vrul…. The ONE good thing about those annoying creatures is that they don’t get sick very easily….. Perhaps I will just send the painless in to deal with them. Their limbs are big enough for the humans to just rip off.

The last of the humans was being dragged away through the doors. The last one to be carried through the door, Ramirez, head lolling arms dangling down towards the floor completely unresponsive.

Then the doors slid shut, and they were left in complete darkness.

Sunny leaned her head against the glass with a soft keening. She pounded her first halfheartedly against the glass. That crazy scientist was going to rip them apart, and there was nothing she could do about it.

That’s when she heard it, “Slimy little bastard.” She turned just then to find Krill floating at the control panel. As he did, a wall of holographic projections leaped to life before him, the cameras for the entire facility. The little doctor muttered something low in his throat and began cycling through the screens. Behind he, the convict floated his slow way into the room hands clasped lightly behind his back weaving through the ribbon-like strips that streamed from his back.

Krill turned to look at Sunny, “Asshole just gave me access to the entire facility, so maybe we can do something after all.”

Suny walked over leaning against the control panel to look at the screens, “That doesn’t exactly seem in character for you. I thought you would want to do something logical.” The Vrul went silent, and she looked down to find him glowering up at her, “Now listen to me little missy, saving our friends IS logical. You forget that I have been with them MUCH longer than you have, and I am just as attached as you are…… I have kept them alive for this long, and I am not about to fail….. Just because you…” He paused here and then trailed off

Her eyes narrowed, “Just because I what.”

“Nothing, It doesn’t matter. We have to get going if we want to save them. Conn floated up just behind them peering over sunny’s shoulder, “I can hear them now…. A lot of deranged souls here, a lot of sick starborn…. There are many. This will not be easy.”

“Yeah, no shit.” She said keeping with her back to him.

The star born made a gurgling noise deep in his throat, “I find it interesting how you haven't liked me from day one even though you have never openly spoken to me. I may not be able to read the inside of your head completely, but I have this theory that you don’t like me because I can see inside your precious human’s head, and that rankles you because you wish you knew how h-” This time she was very much intending to kill him when her hand went around his throat. His hands were dropped as they went to her wrists.

“BOTH OF YOU, KNOCK IT OFF!” The anger in Krill’s voice stopped sunny, and she turned to look at him where he was leaning up close to the projections, “This is hardly the time for childish insults and name calling. Conn, quit being an absolute dick, and Sunny, I get that you are upset, but Killing your allies isn’t exactly an appropriate reaction.” He flipped through a few more screens then stopped, “This is hardly the time because things are only going to get worse.”

Sunny leaned closer to the feed and her eyes widened when she saw a familiar figure. He was short, not as short as Krill, but not as tall as Adam. he had a furry tan body and large bat ears. He had thrown a guard's uniform jacket over his prison jumpsuit, but was leaning back against the warden’s desk like he owned the place.

“Noctus.” She breathed quietly, before Krill could answer she shoved further forward, “Can we get audio?”

“Yes…. hold on.” He played around for a few moments before pressing on the projected image. The other cameras fled towards the corners of their vision growing smaller and dimmer. The selected image grew large in their vision and audio, both hearing, and radio began to leak out into the room.

“Calm yourself my battle hungry friend. Give the scientist time to work. He may be a little bit crazy, but I guarantee he does good work.” He raised his arms and waved them about the room, “I mean look at everything he has already done for us.” He leaned back a little further in his chair brushing down the fur on the top of his head which was slicked back in a way that wasn’t particularly Tesraki in nature. “You just need to calm yourself and wait your turn.”

Sunny gasped as the figure came into the photo slamming her fists down on the desk, “I did not agree to this plan to be bossed about by a furry little maggot.” General Cosma, hissed leaning over the little creature in all her terrible glory.

To his credit, the Tesraki didn’t even flinch, simple flicked one of his large ears, “Please you shiny beetle, you aren't going to hurt me. I think by now you have realized that, while you are perhaps good at war, you are completely garbage at politics and economics.” He motioned to himself with two thumbs and hopped down from the over-sized desk…. Perhaps once belonging to a Rundi or even a human.

He walked around the side of the desk and out of frame leaving General cosma standing alone by herself in the center of the room, “Look, Iet it. You are out for revenge against the race that killed your mate, corrupted your daughter, adopted your traitorous son, and turned your entire race into a spineless lot of peace loving pacifists, but let me tell you one thing, even in the new world empire, philosophy doesn’t run nations. Economics does. We give the people what they want, and they will fall into line. Once the humans are taken care of, than the rest of the galaxy should come quietly.”

General cosma remained quiet for a long moment before turning away, “I don’t care what you do maggot, as long as I get what is my due.”

“Yeah yeah, princess I’m right with yah.”

General cosma didn’t grace the last comment with a response, nd turned away and off camera. The feed was silent after that, and Sunny felt her bones grow cold. Krill, knowing what had just happened turned to look at Sunny, “I didn’t know your mother was here.”

Sunny shook her head, “I had no idea either. I didn’t pay attention after I heard she was locked away….. This is very very bad.”

“Mm angry at you.” Sunny turned around to look at Conn, who had his head tilted to the side. His usual blank ace was dusted with a distant heir of concentration. She assumed that meant he was concentrating very hard.

“ You can hear them.” She demanded

“Not easily, not their thoughts per say, but their feelings. She is bright with anger like a star that burns in the blackness. She doesn’t intend to work with either of them. Once she has control of the troops, she intends to take over completely….. The same goes for that Tesraki. He’s only working for her as long as she is useful, and then he intends to cause an accident. He is willing to wait longer though…… Your mother, she doesn’t like that human of yours. Let’s hope she doesn't find out that he’s here.”

Great, great, things couldn’t get much worse now, could they.

Krill flipped through a few more screens before turning back to them, “I’ve got it.”

“Got it…. Got what?”

“The floor plan.” He muttered in annoyance

“But this prison is huge, you couldn’t have just…..” She trailed off at the look he shot her

“Of course I can JUST. Perhaps you don’t pay enough attention to notice, but I WAS one of the greatest doctors in the galaxy before this mess for EVERY species, and I have four separate cortical hemispheres that can work separately or in tandem, so yes of course it wouldn’t take me that long to memorize a floor plan.”

Sunny frowned, “What is your problem.”

Another incredulous look, “Oh, so now your the only one who is allowed to be upset that our friends are missing, but I have to be nice calm and collected, is that it.”

“Well no I-”

“Just because your Adam’s best friend does not give you the right to act all special.” He turned away towards the monitors and began working furiously.

“Wait….. Are you jealous.” Conn wondered aloud from the other side of the room.

There was a long silence, and Sunny turned to look at rill who stood ramrod straight still working, “I wouldn’t call it jealous. I am logical enough to understand that you two have a lot more in common as friends, and have a lot of the same hobbies that I cannot participate in, but I find it rather unfair that he seems to spend all of his time lavished upon you when there are others of us that he has known longer and gone through more with.”

“So he is jealous.” Conn hooted from the other side of the room, “I knew it.”

“SHUT UP.” Sunny and Krill snarled at the same time.

“Krill I…. Didn’t mean-”

The doctor held up one of his three hands and with a sigh shook his head, “This isn’t the time or the place. The only thing I will say is I consider the entire crew my family, my clan, my people, and I worry about them. Things are changing, and I am not particularly known for enjoying change.”

“But.”

“Ah, there it is.” He turned around and scuttled past her, “I have dissabled the feeds for as long as I can. Hopefully that will give us enough time to make it through without he guards noticing. Sunny, I need you to pry open that door.” He glanced back towards Conn, “And you… well, think helpful thoughts I suppose .”

Sunny did as told eager to be doing something again, fitting her nails under the door and pushing with all of her might. It was tough, and on any other day she might have given up. But today was not that day. She shoved and shoved and shoved, until something gave, and the door began to slowly slide open.

Krill was the first to make it under followed by Conn before sunny was able to fit her massive bulk under the door and let it slide closed.

They were left in almost complete blackness. The Drev weren’t exactly known for their night vision. With the volcanic activity on their planet, there was always light at night, but with the help from Krill, she was able to make it across the room and past the stacks of discarded equipment. On second thought, she grabbed two of the guns as she went past. She knew it wasn’t much, but one of the marines would be happy to have it when they finally found them.

She tried to keep her thoughts positive as they pushed their way into the dark building, but it was hard when she thought of what might be being done to her friends…. Adam, at that very moment. Were they cutting off his limbs? Ripping out his rib-cage? The thoughts were just too horrible to fathom, and she tried to keep her mind clear as they stalked through the darkness.

She did her best to keep quiet, but with her size and carapace, it was rather more difficult. Of course the motor on the back of krill’s backpack made a quiet whirring, but the thing was battery/ solar powered, so wasn’t much more than that. And Conn, well he was completely silent simply floating through the air unhindered by the weight of gravity and propelled by the stored energy on the small solar cells along the ribbons on his back.

They came around the corner and were met by a dim illumination. Now that she was able to see, her sealth improved remarkably, and she took point keeping the other two behind her back as she stalked forward. The other two would be worse than useless in a fight, so things were left to her to keep everything going well. Reaching the end of the hallway, they came across a juncture, and Kril indicated the need to turn left.

Holding her staff out before her, she took the corner eyes wide in anticipation, but saw nothing. The hallway was much lighter than before, almost blindingly so. The source turned out to be a wide row of windows just to her right.

From the angle she stood, she was unable to see through the windows, and slowly she began to push forward ignoring Krill’s warnings from behind her. As her angle grew closer, she began to see snatches through the window. What once must have been a massive prison block towering thousands of feet into the air and lined with rows upon rows of glass fronted cells, was now plastered with medical equipment. Large, white tarps lay over the floor of the cell block, while each and every one of the prison cells housed either some sort of experimental unit, or one of the test subjects.

They came in all shapes sizes and species. There were Drev, and Tesrkai, and Rundi and Tvek, and the list went on. The “researchers” themselves wore the same prison garb as many of their own subjects, but the glittering tools in their hands separated them from their counterparts. There were many species among them as well. There were Drev, Tesraki, Gromm, Tvek, and maybe one Vrul. The Rundi were conspicuously on display only as prisoners and not as scientists. Of course, they didn’t wear the garb of prisoners which made Sunny suspect that they weren’t originally prisoners, but were, in fact, the old prison guards.

The Rundi would never allow their government structure to collapse/

No one seemed to notice her as she starred in at their experiments most gruesome, some painful, and all wildly unethical.

She turned back and motioned the other two forward.

They came a little hesitantly, but kept at her heels as she hurried up the hallway trying to keep to the far right side to avoid as much notice as possible.

Krill directed them down a few more hallways, before they came to a hallway much like the one they had seen originally. There was another large viewing bay onto an upgraded cell block, accept this time, there was one big difference.

All the subjects were humans.

They were kept in the small cages, sometimes packed together. One of the humans was strapped down and screaming as an apparatus was secured about his head. From behind her, Sunny listened as Conn whispered, “Don’t worry, human, it will hurt for a second, and then never look again.” Sunny wanted to look away, but kept her eyes riveted. Krill made an involuntary squeaking noise.

Out on the table, the human went still before a slow grin began to spread across his face, and he began laughing maniacally.

“By Sanctum’s rings.” She heard Krill whisper

“What are they doing to them.” Sunny hissed.

“Making their army.” Conn muttered. Krill and sunny both turned to look at the starborn who was staring off into the distance with a blank expression on his face, “They are creating an army. They will use biological weapons, humans that carry diseases, they will use the ones who don’t feel pain, they will see how far they can push project steel eye, and turn their humans into machines.” He turned in a slow circle as if he was trying to catch a better signal, “They are testing weapons viruses, chemicals, things that will incapacitate and kill humans. They will have some so that even their saliva causes burns. They can send a sweating human into a peace conference and kill all those with a water intolerance. Man can be turned into an enemy against everyone, and a friend to no one but their master. I hear them speaking, they feel no human emotions….. They are no longer human.”

Sunny shivered at the words, and went to move forward when the doors at one end of the massive room opened, and the large black robots filed themselves into the room carrying their human prizes.

One of the Terasaki doctors stepped forward to inspect the humans. It looked Adam over, “The boss wishes to see this one. Project steel eye.” Conn’s voice was oddly eerie in the long hallway. Sunny watched as the man was carried down the length of the floor unconscious.

She didn’t bother trying to break the glass.

“This next ones will be in the carrier project. They look strong enough to hold off a virus for a little while.”

Ramirez was dragged up afterwards. He looked strange dangling in the arms of a robot despite how large he was. His short, dark hair was matted with sweat and his head lolled back uncomfortably.

“A good specimen for the painless, I think. Can get him done in a few minutes.”

At the other end of the room, the door had closed, and Adam was gone, the others were brought into cages and locked inside lying on the floor, on their sides, unmoving.

The human test subjects screamed in agony.

391 notes · View notes

theroyalweisme · 4 years

Text

The Christmas Song

So... Firstly... I want to thank @leelee10898 for organizing this. I can bet herding us writers can’t be an easy task!

Next... Kudos to ALLLLLLL the writers participating in the 12 Days of Fictmas! This was so much fun for me... I hope you all enjoyed it as much as I did!

Now! I got The Christmas Song... Everyone knows the Nat King Cole version (and I LOVE that version). But I fell in love with this version while writing this little diddy.

Tagging: @hopefulmoonobject @allaboutchoices @zaffrenotes @cordoniantrash @burnsoslow @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @msjr0119 @texaskitten30 @janezillow @the-soot-sprite @mskaneko @blackcatkita @darley1101 @thecordoniandiaries @speedyoperarascalparty @ao719 @leelee10898 @cocomaxley @annekebbphotography @brightpinkpeppercorn @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria @alj4890 @bbrandy2002 @cordoniansgonewild @god-save-the-keen @debramcg1106 @emichelle @dangerouseggseagleartisan @innerpostmentality @beardedoafdonutwagon @desiree-0816 @addictedtodrakefanfic My perma tags: @mfackenthal @enmchoices @writtenbycandy @alwaysthebestchoice @craftytacotrashdream @umccall71 @mitalijoshi @blackcatkita @scarlettedragon @ranishajay @hopefulmoonobject @flowerpowell

Now onto the Fic! Please enjoy some Leo and Sabrina from Duties of a Prince... in the future... sometime 😉

Word count: ~ 1500 words

The door creaked as he pushed his way into the too-hot apartment, the heat hitting his face as he stepped over the threshold as quietly as possible. A blocky head pushed insistently at his legs, jingling softly in the darkened rooms. Green eyes glanced down to see the sweet face of Killer, a set of plush reindeer antlers perched on her head.

“What did your momma do to you, Girl?” He chuckled gently before pulling the offending decorations off of the pup. Killer whimpered gently before nudging him for a pat on the head. “I know… I know… C’mon, take me to your master.”

The dog seemed to grin up at him as she led him through the apartments and through another heavy door.

The heat seemed to rise another several degrees as he took in the room around him. A large fir tree in the corner with lights twinkling and blue and silver garland wrapping around it, ornaments laying just off to the side waiting for attention, saturated the room with a woodsy scent. Accenting the smell of the tree was the wood crackling in the fireplace, the mantel adorned with small knickknacks of Santa, Frosty, Rudolph and other Christmas mainstays, 4 stockings hanging below with initials stitch into the red fabric, “L” “S” “K” and a simple blank stocking.

His smile grew as his gaze fell to the oversized couch taking up most of the front of the room. Curled around a bowl of popped corn was the woman he longed to see all day, her blond hair haphazardly piled on the top of her head, one hand resting under her ballooned belly, while another was wrapped in a string of the popped treat. His large hand brushed back strands of the blond hair that had draped over her face, causing her to stir gently.

“Brina…” he whispered, brushing against her cheek again. “C’mon, Beautiful… let’s go to bed…”

Her head shook slightly as she groaned negatively at him. His grin grew as he gently unwound her hand from the popped corn string, winding the strand and placing it and the large bowl on the table before the couch. Gently, he slid his hands under her shoulders and knees before lifting her from the leather.

“Leo!” she screeched, her ice-blue eyes snapping awake at the sudden movement. “Jesus Christ put me down! You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“You’re as light as a feather, Beautiful,” he grinned down at her. “Don’t kid yourself.”

Her eyes narrowed at him as he swept through the apartments and into their large bedroom.

“Would you like me to start a fire in here too?” he asked as he slipped her between the covers on the dominating four-posted bed. Soft snoring drifted up from the pillows on the bed, her blond hair spilling over the covers. His smile was soft as he leaned in and grazed a kiss to her forehead. “G’night, Beautiful.”

-------

Soft Christmas music filled the room as Sabrina watched all the glistening gowns were swept across the ballroom floor in front of her for the Christmas Eve ball. Her lip twisting gently in a scowl as her hands rubbed her very swollen belly in gentle circles. Her shoulders tensed as a pair of strong hands suddenly found their way to her shoulders and relaxed as the scent of the wind and sea filled her nose.

“What’s wrong, Beautiful?” Leo’s strong voice crooned into her hair as he rested his chin on the top of her head.

“Beyond being as big as a whale?” she griped owlishly. “My back’s bugging me today…”

Strong fingers dug into her sore lower back as he brushed his clean-shaven cheek against her neck, causing an involuntary shiver to course down her spine.

“Don’t insult my wife like that,” he warned before playfully nipping at her ear. “I’m far too vain to be married to a whale.”

“Your highnesses have been requested on the dance floor,” Bastien’s voice broken into their small world making Leo’s back straighten as he cleared his throat.

“Of course,” he coughed gently before holding his hand out to Sabrina. “May I have this dance, Beautiful?”

“Do you worst, Pretty Boy,” her eyes twinkled with mischief as she laid her hand in his, squealing as he spun her into his side.

“Now you’ve done it, Princess,” Bastien chuckled as he cleared a path to the dance floor for the young couple. Piano notes with a light guitar riff sounded throughout the room as Leo drew his Princess to his chest, wrapping one arm around her lower back while the other drew her hand into his chest. His lips stayed near to her ear as he softly sang about chestnuts over fires and Jack Frost.

“Have you ever even tried roasted chestnuts, Leo?” she grinned up at him gently.

“I didn’t actually know this was a thing,” he chuckled before spinning her away from him before pulling her even closer than before.

“My mom used to have roasted chestnuts ready for me as soon as I got home from school in the Christmas season,” she whispered. “They were always so warm, she used to say they were her hug in food form.”

“I wish I could have met her, Beautiful,” he brushed a single wayward tear from her cheek as they continued to sway, more than dance, to the music around them.

“She would’ve- oof…” she dropped her hand resting on his strong chest to the balloon between them.

“Sabrina?” Leo’s hands came up to her shoulders as worry filled his vibrant green eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing…” she waved him off. “Just Braxton Hicks… Honestly, Leo, it’s nothing.”

“You’re sure…?” Sabrina lifted her thumb to smooth out the furrow that was forming between his eyes.

“I’m sure,” her chuckle was soft as she pulled his arms back around her. “Just a twinge. They’ve been happening on and off since yesterday. I talked to the doctor, she said that it was still too early and not to worry myself.”

“Just promise me you’ll tell me if it gets worse?” he pleaded gently with her.

“I promise,” her smile placating. She cleared her throat gently to hide her wince at the next twinge in her core before brushing a piece of hair from his forehead. His green eyes narrowing in suspicion as he continued to dance her around the ballroom.

As the song finally began to wind down Sabrina tightened her grip on his hand and shoulder, biting her lip to keep from squeaking out in shock and pain.

“Highness?” Bastien’s voice came from behind Leo’s shoulder, the young man’s eyes searching out the older ones. “May I recommend we get you to the medical wing?”

“Not a bad idea, Bas,” she grinned up at him, stepping past Leo to take the older man’s outstretched arm.

“Sabrina…?” Leo’s worried voice carried solidly over the whispers now starting around them.

“My water broke, Pretty Boy,” she smiled through a wince as the next contraction hit her. “This baby wants to spend Christmas in the real world.”

Leo stood rooted in place for a beat before a strong hand patted his back roughly.

“You should catch up with them, Son,” his father’s voice broke through the fog as he followed Leo’s gaze to the doorway Sabrina had disappeared through. “Do not let her go through this alone.”

“But…” Leo’s gaze moved from the doorway to meet his father’s. “I’m not sure I’m ready.”

“I’m not sure that baby cares, Leo,” Constantine chuckled. “Now, go and get the best present you’ll receive all year.”

The sentence hadn’t fully left his father’s mouth as Leo sprinted towards the door.

-------------

“He’s perfect…” Sabrina cooed down at the tiny bundle resting softly on her chest, her index finger tracing a perfect cupid’s bow on the tiny puckered mouth.

“You’re perfect,” Leo corrected, pressing a gentle kiss on her disheveled head. “I’m so proud of you, Brina. You barely even swore to castrate me.”

Her gentle laughter brought a smile to his own face. The jostling of her chest gently waking the babe.

“Hey there, little one,” Leo crooned down at his son. “I’m your papa and you will soon learn that your momma is the best woman that God has ever placed on this earth.”

“Don’t you forget it,” she grinned up at her husband. Over his shoulder she noticed the large wall clock, 3:45 am. “Leo… Look… It’s Christmas Day.”

“Well, look at that!” He exclaimed, rubbing the babe’s downy head. “You share a birthday with the baby Jesus. You lucky little boy.”

“I have the perfect Christmas name for him,” she half-whispered her blue eyes twinkling in the low lights of their room. Leo’s head nodding to her to continue. “Merry Christmas, Nikolas Michael Constantine Rys. Welcome to the world.”

#choices 12 days of fictmas #choices #choices: stories you play #choices fandom #duties of a prince #leo x sabrina #christmas time #the christmas song #brothers #leo rys

47 notes · View notes

lycorogue · 5 years

Text

Latest Story: “Is She Your Mama Too?”

Look at me, on a roll!

This story is a birthday gift to the wonderfully awesome Tohru to my Uotani, @chibisunnie.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CHIBI!!! <3 <3 <3

**WARNING** This story is post-manga

“Is She Your Mama Too?”

Summary: The curse has been broken. Tohru and Kyo have moved away, and Yuki will be leaving soon too. As life around him changes so drastically, Momiji decides it's time to get back the life he was owed. He only hopes it wouldn't bring any pain this time.

Word Count: 5058; completed story

Rating: General Audiences

Characters: Momiji Sohma, Momo Sohma, their parents, Hatori Sohma

Triggers: Please be warned that this story talks about voluntary memory suppression, parental abandonment, forced separation from family and isolation, and severe mental illness. (If you read my story and find something that is triggering, please let me know so I might warn others. I am sorry, I don’t really trigger so it’s hard for me to remember to do this)

You can find the story at my normal three locations: On AO3, on FFN, and on DA

“Is She Your Mama Too?”

The room felt so large that he was drowning in it, but at the same time he felt crushed by the walls being so close. There were too many pieces of furniture. There weren't enough. His whole body ran cold, but his face and ears were hot and clammy.

Momiji wasn't sure why he was so nervous. He had talked with them before. He wasn't really supposed to, but he had. This would be different though. Would they hate him? Would they be glad? Would they...

Embrace him?

He paced around the room once more. He picked at his nails. They weren't painted this time. He figured he needed to give the best impression. He wished he had at least put a clear coat on, then he could chip it back off as he waited.

“Momiji?”

“Ha'ri!” Forgetting his mature poise for a moment, Momiji skipped over to the door; again a childish fifteen.

Hatori held his hand out; reminding Momiji that he was far too tall to try to leap onto his back anymore. Standing as stoic as ever, Hatori lingered in the doorway.

“Are you sure this is wise?” Hatori's voice was even; neither filled with encouragement nor scrutiny.

“I- I don't care. Akito wanted to make things right with me, and I asked for this. I want to be with them; to be able to call them by their proper titles. I'm tired of being alone. It may be selfish, but don't I deserve it? If Kana were still single, wouldn't you have wanted this?”

It was too far. Momiji knew instantly that he had gone too far. Still, Hatori was calm. He even smiled a little.

“Perhaps, but that will forever be in my past. Zodiac or no, what I did to her - the pain I caused her – couldn't be easily forgiven. So I don't know if I could ever tell her. Either way, I am quite happy now, and so is she. That's what's important.” Hatori crossed to a window. Glancing casually out of it, his hands in his pockets, he again smiled. “What you're doing is brave, even if it is selfish. I wish the happiest outcome for you.”

“Papa told me that you'd talk to Mama; help her understand everything.”

“I will, once they get here. He wanted to ease her into everything; let them know about the Zodiac curse. Your sister won't know the full extent of what your mother went through, but I'll help your father explain everything to your mother once we're alone.”

“Will she hate me again? Once she knows the pain I caused her?”

“It wasn't you.” Hatori placed a hand on Momiji's shoulder. “It was the curse - and her own mind - that caused her pain. It was never you.”

“But I'm making her remember it.”

“You can change your mind. Your father isn't telling them anything until they get here. You can simply host a lovely dinner party for Sohma family members if you want. Your mother still thinks you're a kind boy who has taken to her husband due to your family ties.”

Momiji pulled away from Hatori, and sat on the sofa. He was still so unsure as to what to do. Was it cruel to make his mother remember? Let her know that she abandoned her first child for over a decade? Would it be equally cruel for Momo to find out she had a brother that had been stolen from her? Would she be the one who felt abandoned? Could he do that to her?

Would it be more cruel to stay away? He had the opportunity now to be with his family. His father wouldn't have to strain with a double life. His mother, who had always been so kind to him once she thought they weren't related, would be able to reconnect with a child she once couldn't hold. His sister, a bright and wonderful girl, had told Tohru that she wanted Momiji to be her older brother. He could be granting her wish. They could be a family. No more complications. No more forgotten memories. They could start to heal.

Was he being selfish? Which option would be better for everyone?

The doorbell rang before he could decide.

“Ha'ri?”

Hatori sent a servant to answer the door, then knelt before Momiji. He placed a hand on the teen's knee.

“This is your decision. I trust you thought it through. I will help you however I can. You are not alone in this, I promise.”

“Thank you!” Momiji pulled Hatori into a hug, his eyes welling up with tears.

“Sohma-san, Momiji-san,” the servant cleared her throat, “your guests are in the foyer. Shall I bring them in?”

Momiji and Hatori stood in unison. Hatori gave Momiji a quick sideways glance, and Momiji gently nodded.

“Yes, please, see them in.”

The servant bowed, then retreated to collect Momiji's family. If all went well, he could leave with them that evening. He could go home. A home he never stepped foot inside, but one he desperately wished to return to.

A moment later, the servant escorted the trio into the living room. Momiji's father was a well-built man just reaching his forties. He was well-groomed, but the stress of running a business already created some gray streaks through his hair, and some wrinkles around his eyes. By his side was Momiji's mother, a thin woman with Momiji's blonde, wavy hair. It was pinned up that evening, with a thin lock of it draped down her cheek as an accent. Her clothes were clearly high-end, and draped loosely but elegantly on her. She just had her fortieth birthday, but she still looked about Hatori's age. A few laugh lines around her eyes and the corners of her mouth were the only tells of her maturity. Clinging to their mother's hand was Momo. She wasn't nearly as little any longer. She had become a surprisingly tall nine-year-old. Still, she hovered close to her mother's hip, as she always did when she was unsure of her new surroundings. Her hair had more brown in it than Momiji or their mother, but it had the same waves, inherited from their German half.

“Welcome.” Hatori walked forward to great their guests with hand shakes and polite bows. “Mamoru-san, Freida-san, Momo-chan, thank you all for taking the time to come out and visit.”

“The pleasure is ours, of course.” Momiji's father Mamoru shook Hatori's hand; a lightheartedness in his voice. “Thank you for inviting us over for dinner in the first place. Might I ask for the occasion?”

“Well-”

“Momiji-kun?” Momo's soft voice chirped out. “Were you invited too?” She quickly dropped her mother's hand and skipped over to Momiji.

“Momiji?” Mamoru's voice grew tight; unsure.

“Momiji-chan?” Freida's face contorted in confusion. “You were asked here for dinner? Shouldn't you be having it with your parents?”

Both Mamoru and Momiji flinched. Slightly.

“You see,” Hatori interjected, “Momiji, he-” he glanced past his shoulder, searching for the correct phrasing before turning back to his guests. “He had to live away from his parents. In truth, he has his own home here on the main estates, and he has been living alone for some time now. Since his house is so close, and he is still under aged, I had offered to peek in on him, and have him come here to share his meals with me. I'm a poor excuse for a guardian, but it seemed to have worked out.”

“Oh, you poor dear.” Momiji's mother pressed her hands to her chest, and her face softened as she looked over at him. “It's no wonder your mother never seemed concerned by your late-night trips to my husband's building.”

“Yes, sorry about that.” Momiji hid his German accent as a conditioned reflex of being near his mother. He had gone most his life speaking with a near-perfect Japanese accent whenever she was around; anything to further distance himself from her so she would never remember he was hers. “I don't know if you remember, but my friend Tohru worked in that building, so I frequently stopped by to keep her company.”

“Ah, yes, I do vaguely remember you with a young cleaning girl. Well, I hope you didn't distract her. My husband was paying her well to do a task. I'd hate to know that he was paying for sub-par work because you couldn't find a more suitable social environment.”

Mamoru rested his hand on his wife's shoulder to still her.

“Hatori-san,” Mamoru's words were sharp; warning. “What is this?”

“I'll explain. Please, Mamoru-san, may I speak with you alone in the other room?”

Mamoru's eyes darted from each person to the next. His face was stiff and blocky; his jaw tight.

“Come along, Mamoru-san,” Hatori rested a hand on the man's shoulder, trying to direct him out of the room. “Momiji can play host for a few minutes. Then we can have a nice dinner together.”

Reluctantly, Momiji's father followed Hatori out of the room, holding his gaze on his wife until the last moment.

“Would you like some tea?” Momiji scooped up the already brewed pot. Resting a hand on the side of the ceramic, he checked if it was still warm. The tea was still good. Before getting responses from the ladies, he poured three cups, and rested them on the coffee table.

Freida sat across from Momiji, but Momo plopped onto the seat beside him on the sofa.

“Momo generally doesn't take to strangers the way she does with you.” Freida sat with her back perfectly straight, but she smiled as she picked up her cup of tea. “You must have a kind soul that she recognizes.”

Momiji blushed. He focused on his balled up hands on his knees before stealing a quick glance over at Momo. “She seems to have a kind soul as well. You did such an amazing job raising her. I can tell how much you two love each other.”

“Are you close to your mother? Even though you can't live with her?”

Momiji scooped up his tea, and took a long sip. Shaking his head, he rested the cup back on the table. “Not as close as I'd like, but I do try to stay up-to-date with her. I like knowing what's going on in her life. My father's too, although it's a little easier to talk with him.”

“Such a sweet lad. I'm sorry you two can't be all that close, but I'm sure your mother is lucky to have you as a son.”

Momiji dug his fingernails into his palms, fighting back tears. A sad smile inched across his face.

“I hope she truly feels that way.”

“I promise you, dear boy, she does. Every mother cherishes her children, especially ones brought up as finely as you.”

Momiji drank the rest of his tea. He got up to pour himself some more. He had to focus on anything but his mother's words. He prayed for Hatori to hurry and come back. Half way through his second cup, the tears spilled over.

“Momiji?” Momo's little hand rested on his forearm.

Freida gasped, and leaned forward so she was closer to him. “Momiji-chan, are you alright?”

Momiji shook. This was hard. This was harder than any other time he spoke with them; any other time that he had to pretend they weren't his beloved mother and little sister. He was free now. He had escaped. They could all be together. Yet he was still pretending. This wasn't what he wanted. This hurt so much worse than before.

Ha'ri, he mentally pleaded, please, hurry.

“I am so sorry.” Freida rested her hand on Momiji's, making him jump a little. “You can't be with your family, and here I am asking you about them. It must hurt. It was unkind of me to push like that. Please forgive me.”

Momiji rested a hand on top of his mother's, and then reached over to Momo's shoulder, comforting both women. Wiping his tears, he smiled.

“No. It's okay. It was nice hearing you say that my mother must be lucky to have had me.”

“Are you okay now?” Momo leaned close, inspecting his face for any lies. It made him laugh sorrowfully.

“Yes. Thank you, Momo-chan. Sorry to have caused a scene.”

“Momiji?” Mamoru's voice echoed from the doorway. He rushed to his wife's side, studying both her and their daughter. “Darling, what happened, is everyone alright?”

“Everything is fine, Love.” Freida pulled her husband down to sit beside her. “I just got a bit too personal about Momiji-chan's family, and it made him a touch emotional.”

“Momiji's family?” Mamoru's gaze darted to Momiji. The teen shook his head, silently telling his father that neither of the ladies knew their connection to him.

“I feel like this is a fine segue, don't you, Mamoru-san?” Hatori pulled over a chair and set it between the two couches.

Mamoru's grip tightened slightly around his wife's hand.

“Mamoru? Is something the matter?”

“Freida-san, Momo-chan,” Hatori spoke calmly, with his most refined bedside manner. “There is something about the Sohma family that you need to learn.”

“Mamoru?” Freida glanced over at her husband, who was rigid; scared. Still, he slowly nodded his head.

“Momo-chan, do you know the story of the Chinese zodiac?” Hatori gave her a gentle smile to help reassure her.

“God hosted a banquet for the animals, but the rat tricked the cat into staying home. The other twelve had a great feast, and the zodiac is in the order that they arrived at the banquet: starting with the rat and ending with the boar.” Momo looked over at Momiji to check that she was correct. He nodded, then turned to Hatori in order to help direct her attention there too.

“We're not entirely sure why our family, but the Sohmas were cursed generations ago,” Hatori continued. “Fourteen members of the family would be possessed by the vengeful spirits of the twelve zodiac animals, the slighted cat, and the god that hosted the banquet in the first place. Part of the curse was that those possessed could not be embraced by the opposite gender. If they were, they would transform into the animal that possessed them.”

“Hatori-san, should you be telling these children such fairy tales as if they were fact?” Freida shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Mamoru squeezed her hand tighter.

“Let him speak, my darling.”

“The curse has since been broken,” Hatori continued in a calm tone. “Those once possessed are no longer bound to the Sohma who was God, nor do they transform when hugged. They will never become their animal counterparts again.” A touch of glee slid into those final words.

“If this supposed curse is broken, then how does anyone know it existed? What does that have to do with why we're here?” Freida again fidgeted in her seat, constantly crossing, uncrossing, and recrossing her ankles.

“We know because I was once one of them: the dragon. Momiji was the rabbit.”

“What?” Freida shrieked.

“Wow!” Momo gaped at the teen beside her.

Momiji blushed and hung his head, unsure where to look.

“Momiji had to live away from his family because his mother could never hold him, and-” Hatori paused as he tried to determine how much Momo needed to know.

“It broke her,”Mamoru chimed in. “It utterly destroyed her.”

“Did you know this woman?” Freida inched away from her husband, pulling her hand from his.

Hatori stood up, waited for a confirming nod from Mamoru, and then turned to Momiji.

“Momiji, perhaps you would like to show Momo-chan the garden?”

“Wait.” Freida was becoming frantic. “Wait, why does Momo have to leave? She needs to stay here, with me. Mamoru, are you going to listen to this man state that he used to be a- a dragon, and that Momiji-chan was a rabbit, and then let our daughter leave with one of them?”

“Freida, honey, please. Let the children leave for the moment. We'll fetch them for dinner.”

“We're staying for dinner?” she screeched.

“Momiji,” Mamoru turned to his son, “Take Momo. Now.”

“Mama?” Momo shrank into the sofa as her wide eyes scanned her mother.

“Come along.” Momiji stood and held his hand out to Momo. “I brought my violin along tonight. I was told you know how to play too. Want to show me what songs you can play?”

“Papa?” Momo stared at her father. He nodded for her to go. Slowly, she reached her hand out to accept Momiji's, and he escorted her out into the garden.

“You- you said you have your violin?” Momo kept her distance now, her voice low.

“I do, but first I need to talk to you, if you don't mind.” Momiji walked into the center of the garden, his hands behind his back as he looked up at the rising moon.

“Okay.”

“Are you scared? Of me? Of Hatori? Of that curse?”

“No, but Mama looked scared. Is she going to be alright?” Momo glanced back at the house. She played with the folds of her skirt, and shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

“I'm not sure, but I hope so. Ha'ri is going to do everything he can to make sure of that.”

“Were you really a bunny? When a girl hugged you?”

“I was.” Momiji spun on his heels and leaned in towards Momo, a goofy grin on his face, and his index finger by his cheek as he winked. “A very adorable little yellow bunny. Yellow like my hair. I didn't mind turning into an animal as much as the other Zodiacs did. Probably because I was so cute.”

Momo giggled. “I wish I could have seen you then.”

“Me too. I think it would have been fun to have you pet my head and scratch my long ears.” He held his hands on the top of his head and wiggled them like bunny ears. Somehow, he already missed his real ones.

“Was it scary, to be possessed by a 'vengeful spirit'?”

“I don't think they were really vengeful.” Momiji sighed and turned towards the bamboo water feature just off the porch. He listened to the bamboo softly rap against the stone after pouring the water into the small pond. “I think the Zodiac spirits just wished to be together again. Maybe that's why the curse broke. They finally felt like they had enough time, and they could move on.”

“Was the dragon scary?”

“Well, you have to keep this a secret, okay?” Momiji again winked as he held a finger to his lips. Momo vigorously nodded. “Poor Ha'ri actually turned into a baby dragon when he transformed.”

“A sea horse?” Momo gasped, her hands zipping to her mouth to hide her laugh.

“Exactly!” Momiji bopped Momo on the nose.

“Are you sad you couldn't see your mama all this time?”

“Very sad, but I was happy that she was doing well. I loved seeing her smile.”

“Can you see her now that she can hug you?”

“I hope so.”

“Momiji?” Momo curled her fingers deep into the folds of her skirt. She stared up at Momiji with pleading eyes. Pleading for the truth; pleading for the answer she always wanted. “Is my mama also yours?”

Momiji swallowed deep. He wasn't sure how he was going to tell her, but he should have known a girl as brilliant as Momo would have been able to figure it out.

“Ja.” Momiji dropped his false accent; letting his German articulation leak back into his words.

“I knew it!” Momo started hopping up and down, the way Momiji used to when he was younger. He always thought it was because he was possessed by a rabbit, but maybe it was just a family trait. Either that, or maybe Momo picked it up from watching Momiji from afar for the past year or so.

“You look so much like her,” Momo continued. “She says she doesn't see it, but you really do. You used to wear frilly and girly clothes before, and it really made you look like Mama. Now that you're grown you also look like Papa. I don't know why Mama can't see it. Does she not want to? Was she afraid that I would be scared of my brother turning into a rabbit whenever I hugged you?”

“No. Mama and I stopped living together long before she had you. It was too sad for her to have a son she couldn't hold. It was too much for her to bear, and she got very sick. I wanted Mama to be happy and healthy, so I went away.”

“But she thought you had other parents. Did she say that just to confuse me? It seemed so cruel now that she asked about your mother when that's what she is.”

Momiji knelt so he could be just shy of eye-level with Momo. Taking her hands in his, he spoke softly and solemnly. “Momo, I don't wish for you to get scared, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Hatori can hide memories so the person forgets. When Mama got really bad, she asked him to get rid of all memories of me. She doesn't know I'm her son.”

“That's- that's awful!” Momo ripped her hands from Momiji and stepped away from him. “Mama wouldn't do that! She couldn't!”

“Momo, she was sick and in pain. She couldn't think of me without it hurting. She loves you so much, though. She would never do that with you. She's also been kind to me since she forgot she was my mutti. It's all okay.”

“No! No it's not okay! You're my brother! I've wanted you to be my big brother, and you are, and I didn't know it!” She crashed into him, nearly tipping him over as she squeezed his shoulders, sobbing.

“It's okay, Momo.” Momiji stroked the back of his sister's hair as he pulled her into a tighter hug. “I'm here. We have so many years left to make up the time we missed. It will be okay.”

“I barely knew you, but you meant so much to me.” Momo continued crying in her brother's arms, squeezing tighter each second.

“I watched you grow up, Momo,” Momiji confessed. “I was supposed to stay away, but I couldn't. I watched Mama walk around with her pregnant belly, and I watched her parading you around proudly when you came home from the hospital. I noticed that she would take you to pick up Papa from work each night, so I went to the building too in order to watch the three of you. Mama looked so happy, and she loved you so much. I was so glad.”

Sniffling, Momo pulled away, wiping away tears. “It should have been you. Mama should have been happy to have had you.”

“I know.”

“It's not fair.”

“It wasn't, but it can be now. You and I can be brother and sister now, if you'd like that.”

Momo laughed. “Are you kidding me? Of course I want that! You silly!”

Momiji also laughed. “Good. I really wanted it too.”

“What about Mama? What's going to happen with her?”

Momiji stood up and brushed off his knees. “I don't know. Hatori is trying to talk her through her memories, bring them back gently so she can remember them without them hurting too much. He and Papa are reminding her that I love her very much, and that I'm not mad at her for forgetting me. I just want us to all be a family again. But if it's too much, Hatori might hide those memories again. She may never remember who I really am.”

“But I can still remember that you're my big brother, right? And I can call you that?”

“Ja! You can call me big brother anytime.”

“Good.” Momo grabbed Momiji's hand and started swinging it. Momiji swung into her rhythm, and soon flipped his arm over her head, forcing her to spin.

He did it again, then pulled gently away from her. Soon they were dancing in the yard, laughing and playing as siblings should.

“Momiji? Did you truly bring your violin?”

“I did.”

“Could you play something for me? I love listening to you play.”

“Sure.” Momiji jogged over to one of the side doors.

“Mo-Momiji?” Freida's voice squeaked from the main entrance out into the garden.

“Oh! Freida-san!” Momiji dropped his accent instantly.

Momo stiffened, her eyes darting between her mother and Momiji.

“No. No, I- I believe you are to call me Mom?” Freida choked out the last word, as if she still wasn't quite sure how to properly say it.

Tears. More tears. Momiji could barely see through them. He vaguely registered Momo's happy gasp.

“Is- is 'Mama' alright? Like Momo calls you?”

Freida kept her distance, but nodded.

“In that case,” with some effort to retrain himself, Momiji spoke with his German accent in front of his mother. “Hi, Mama.”

Freida covered her mouth as she fought back her own tears. “Momiji, I am so sorry for what I've done. How could a mother forget her own child like that? Could you ever forgive me?”

“I did. A long time ago, Mama.”

“Can- can I hold you now? You're not going to change?”

“Not anymore. I am me.”

Slowly, cautiously, Freida walked over to Momiji. Her hands inched towards his cheeks, her thumbs wiping his tears, and then her fingers stretched up to his hair.

“Momo told me,” she muttered, “Momo told me we looked alike, but I couldn't see it. How could I not see it?”

“It's okay, Mama.”

Freida slinked her arms around Momiji, as if she were learning how to hug him. She was. She was so unsure as she lowered his chin to her shoulder, her fingers running through his hair.

Just as cautiously, as if he were approaching a bird, Momiji wrapped his arms around his mother's back.

The hug was slow to happen, but quick to break. Freida gasped as she pulled from Momiji. She wove her hand in front of her, as if warding him away.

“I'm- I'm sorry. I- this is all so much. I need time. I'm so sorry, Momiji, but I just need time. This is too much.”

“Mama?” Momo walked over and took her mother's hand.

“Momo! Oh my goodness, I'm sorry. You- you've had a brother-”

“I know. Momiji just told me.”

“But you've known this whole time, haven't you? How could I have not? I'm his mother? How could I-?”

“Mama, it's okay. He's not mad.” Momo squeezed her mother's hand.

“Momiji, would it be cruel of me to ask you to stay in that house? Just for a little longer?” Freida sighed in disbelief. “I don't even remember our first home! We moved because your father was afraid just the rooms of that house could remind me of you! This is too much.”

Freida collapsed against Momo, causing Momiji to sprint to her side.

“Mama, it's okay. I'll stay put. We don't have to be in the same house. I'm just happy I can see you, and call you Mama.”

“Is everyone alright out here?” Mamoru stood in the doorway, his voice still as tight as when he first saw Momiji that evening.

“Yes, my love,” Freida forced herself back upright. “I'm just- it's a lot to take in.”

“I'm sorry,” he replied. “I'm sorry I was the source of all of this mess. Akito-sama suggested that Hatori-san wipe your mind in order to ease your pain, and I had talked Momiji into agreeing to it. Then I hid him from both of you. I am so sorry.”

“Papa,” Momiji gave him a sad smile, “I'm not mad.”

“Well, I'm a little mad,” Momo pouted, “but I can forgive you if Momiji can.”

“I'm sorry, Momiji.” Mamoru walked over to help his wife back inside. “I think we need to skip dinner tonight.”

“I understand.”

“Papa, can I stay?” Momo tugged gently on her father's sleeve. “That way you can take care of Mama instead of worrying about making dinner for me? I promise I'll come straight home when I'm done.”

Mamoru looked between his re-found family. His face was hard, and his brows furrowed, but both softened slowly.

“I could escort her home, if that's alright,” Momiji offered.

Mamoru stared at his son, then glanced over at his wife.

“Have her home by eight. It's a school day tomorrow, and both of you need your sleep.”

“Thank you, Papa,” the siblings said in unison, then giggled at their accidental chorus.

“Momiji?” Freida weakly called for him. When he caught her gaze, she continued. “I was right before. About your mother. She is lucky to have such a strong, brave, caring, kind, and forgiving boy.”

Momiji simply nodded, afraid he wouldn't be able to get words out anyway if he tried.

Mamoru and Freida said their farewells for the evening, and headed home. Hatori hosted a simple dinner for Momo and Momiji, but quickly took his meal to his office so the siblings could catch up. After they were done eating, Momiji played some of his favorite songs in his violin. Momo confessed they were her favorites too, mostly because of how frequently she watched him practice them in his room.

The hours quickly ticked by, and, after thanking Hatori for everything, Momiji escorted Momo home. Their father greeted them at the door, and quickly escorted Momo inside to get ready for bed. Mamoru reassured Momiji that his mother was doing alright, but she did need time to adjust. They had agreed to start by having Momiji come over for brunch on Sundays.

Momiji wasn't able to manage his goal of stepping inside that new home that evening, but he would on Sunday. It would only be three days that he'd have to wait. He could wait three days. Then six days after that. And another six days after that. Then, maybe, he could move out of his house, and finally move home.

The thought made him skip home, like the happy spirit of a rabbit still resided inside him. It would be a battle to fully have his mother back, but he already had his sister.

He couldn't wait to write Tohru about his victory.

20 notes · View notes